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Table of contents
PREFACE
CHAPTER-1-2
CHAPTER-3
CHAPTER-4-5-6-7
CHAPTER-8-9
CHAPTER-10-11
CHAPTER-12-13-14-15
CHAPTER-16-17
CHAPTER-18-19
CHAPTER-20-21-22
CHAPTER-23-24-25
CHAPTER-26-27-28
CHAPTER-29-30
CHAPTER-31.1
CHAPTER-31.2
CHAPTER-31.3
CHAPTER-32
CHAPTER-33
CHAPTER-34-35-36-37-38
CHAPTER-39-40-41-42
CHAPTER-43-44-45
CHAPTER-46-47
CHAPTER-48
CHAPTER-49-50
CHAPTER-51
CHAPTER-52-53
The Sex Life of the Gods. Michael Knerr. CHAPTER-1-2
CHAPTER-3
CHAPTER-4
CHAPTER-5-6
CHAPTER-7-8
CHAPTER-9-10
CHAPTER-11-12
CHAPTER-13-14
CHAPTER-15-16
CHAPTER-17-18

keep doing all these goofy things for you, I'll never make commander. I 

won't even make Vice-commander." 

 

Lors smiled. "Don't worry about it. If things work out, you'll have had 

a hand in opening up a new planet for our trade rockets." 

 

Narvi sighed. "All right. I'll do it, although I should have my head 

examined by the ship's doctors." 

 

Lors grinned at him and finished the last of his drink. "It'll work out, 

Narvi, and you'll probably get a medal." 

 

"A prison cell, likely," Narvi snorted, "on Thista." 

 

Lors slapped him lightly on the arm and left the ship's wardroom. He had 

a lot to do, and damned little time to do it in. 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

 

 

Lors left the wardroom and walked along the hollow, brightly lighted 

corridors toward the hospital where Detective Nolan Brice was being kept 

a prisoner. He would be the tough one of the two, because his mental 

roots were still very close to the witchcraft believing parents who had 

given him birth. 

 

Brice was a Pennsylvanian; he was fairly intelligent, but like all 

Pennsylvanians he had an unconscious closeness with tradition. He was of 

the type who would stoutly deny he was superstitious, yet would refuse 

to walk under a ladder. How would he react to Lors' proposal? Would he, 

with typical Dutch stubbornness, tell him to go to hell, or would he 

co-operate? It was a difficult thing to predict. 

 

Lors shoved the door to the hospital open and grinned at the spacer 

behind the desk. "You've a Terran here?" He asked. 

 

The spacer nodded and laid down the sheets of paper he had been ruffling 

as Lors came in. "Yes sir, we have one. He's in the care of Doctor 

Zuloe." 

 

"What are they doing to him?" 

 

"I'm not sure, sir. I understand he was in a great state of shock when 

he arrived. I would imagine they're giving him rehabilitative 

treatment." 

 

Lors grinned again. Apparently the method by which they had snatched the 

detective had completely unnerved him. "I'd like to see him," he told 

the spacer. "Where can I find Doctor Zuloe?" 

 

"I'm sorry, sir. Only authorized personnel will be allowed to 

interrogate him." 

 

"I'm authorized, I believe. I captured him. I'm Lors." 

 

The young spacer flushed. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know who you were." 

He pointed to the door behind him. "You may go through there. Straight 

down the corridor until you reach the fourth ward." 

 

"Doctor Zuloe will be there?" 

 

"I think so." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

Lors shoved the door open and walked down the long hall toward the 

fourth ward, not quite sure in his mind how he could spring the Terran 

from the hospital and get him down to where the scout ships were 

hangared. But it had to be done. If he failed, and they all ended up 

dead, or thrown into the penal colonies on Thista, the trade program 


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