Jaws agape, the hideous serpent hung poised above her slim thigh.

BEFORE EGYPT

By E. K. JARVIS

It was Mallison's strangest assignment. The weird little professor wanted to go to Egypt. That meant a trip back to Earth so far as Mallison was concerned. But the professor pointed to a distant star and Mallison wondered: "Who moved Egypt?"

ike Mallison and Nicko were in the office when the new clients entered. A girl and an elderly man. The girl smiled at Mike. Then she looked at Nicko and a sharp involuntary scream got past her lips.

"It's all right, lady," Mike said. "He won't hurt you. He never injures a client. Won't you sit down?"

Nicko wasn't offended. He was used to women reacting that way at first sight of him. In fact, the hideous little Martian misfit had caused even strong men to turn pale.

The elderly man was also staring but with more clinical interest than horror. He turned his eyes on Mike and said, "I am Professor Arnold Brandon. This is my daughter, Doree."

"I'm Mike Mallison." He indicated with a nod. "This is my assistant, Nicko."

Nicko grinned, thus baring his tusks and adding new hideousness to his face. He waved his four arms and said, "I'm delighted to make your acquaintances. I hope your trip to Outer Port was not too tiring."

Nicko's tones were bell-like—his diction perfect. The girl gasped. The man blinked, then turned again to Mike. "I hope you received our electrogram."

"Yes, but it was a little vague. It merely said you would arrive at Outer Port as of this date."

"Quite. We wish to charter your ship for a cruise."

Mike considered. The Space Queen was at liberty but he wasn't sure about these two. Other than the fact that the man was old, the girl gray-eyed, slim, and damned pretty, he knew nothing about them. They certainly didn't look like big game hunters.

"For what destination?"

Professor Brandon hesitated. "Out toward Orion, sir."

"A man could cruise out toward Orion for the rest of his life and still not arrive at a destination. Could you be more specific?"

"There is a planet out there I wish to visit but at this time I'd rather discuss details other than its location."

"Such as—?"

"The cost is very important to us."

Doree Brandon spoke up. "My father holds the Chair of Ancient Cultures at Casa Blanca University, and educators, as you may know, are not very well paid. We've been saving for this trip for a long time—"

She faltered, somewhat embarrassed and Mike asked, "In what segment of Orion is this planet located?"

"The ninth, sir."

Mike leaned forward. "May I assume your trip is of a scientific nature?"

"You may, sir."

"Then I wonder if you are familiar with the Terran Educational Foundation? I happened to have had contact with them some five years ago."

"I'm quite familiar with the organization."

"Did it occur to you that they might assume some of the cost of your trip?"

"They refused. They make the absurd claim that this planet I spoke of doesn't exist."

"But you have proof to the contrary?"

"An ancient document," Doree Brandon cut in. "A papyrus scroll. Father translated it."

"And the Foundation did not agree with his translation?"

"I did not submit the scroll. They know nothing about it."

"Father bought it from two men in Paris and worked three years on the translation." Doree looked at her father with great pride.

"My reasons for not submitting it were personal," Professor Brandon said, "and are not pertinent to this discussion."

"May I suggest," Mike said gently, "that a pair of crooks sold you a counterfeit—"

"You may not, sir!"

Doree reflected her father's indignation. "I'll have you know my father is the foremost authority in his field!"

Mike raised a protective hand. "All right—all right. I'm sorry."

"Then perhaps you'll tell us the approximate cost of the cruise?"

"I can haul you to the ninth segment and back for around seven thousand but that won't leave much leeway for search."

Professor Brandon beamed. "We can just about manage it. And I assure you very little search will be necessary."

"If you'll give me the planet's location I'll plot a course and give you an exact figure."

"It is not my intention to seem mysterious, but I'd prefer to give you that data after blast-off."

Mike scowled and half-rose from his chair. Professor Brandon hastily drew a pack of yellow bills from his pocket and laid it on the table. "There are four thousand. I have the rest at the hotel. We shall demonstrate complete faith in you by paying the seven thousand before we leave Outer Port."

With that he smiled and arose from his chair. "I guess that concludes our business at this time. We'll be at the hotel when you wish to contact us. Come Doree." He herded the girl out quickly and closed the door.

Nicko chuckled. "Smart old codger. He had you pegged dead to rights."

Mike turned his scowl on Nicko and snapped, "For Christ's sake, speak Terran!"

Nicko had inadvertently used a Plutonian hill dialect he'd heard once, this being the hideous little Martian's amazing talent—an instinctive grasp of all tongues. His lingual talents were a tremendous asset to Mike but at times they drove him crazy because Nicko might absent-mindedly use several different tongues during a conversation; some of which he could not classify himself, having forgotten where he heard them.

"I said he had you pegged. He knew you were ready to turn him down so he upped with the mool. He knew once you touched the yellow you'd be his pup."

"I'm not so damned sure about that—"

Mike Mallison was a big game guide—a life he loved. He was a man of action and asked nothing better than the perils of his calling; the stalking of the great Plutonian ice bears; crouching in a Venusian swamp waiting for the ten-ton lizards to blow slime a hundred feet in the air and rise from their lava-hot beds; matching wits with the telepathic Uranian rock wolves, the most elusive beast in the universe; setting his sights on a Martian jet-bat so some Terran millionaire could have a new trophy for his game room.

"You're not sure," Nicko was saying in Ganymedian French, "but you'll stay glued to the mool."

Mike was busy thinking and didn't ask for a translation. After all, he needed the money and if he didn't take it these two deluded characters would no doubt find someone who would.

"Besides," Nicko said in Terran, "the female's a dream. The legs—the torso—very nice to be in space with."

"Shut up! This is a business trip! Remember that. Exactly the same as though we were hauling a couple of fat Terran bankers."

"Sure. But that kitty's got more in the bank than—"

"Get the hell out of here! Go over to the Exchange and see if our new pile came in on that ship."

Outer Port was a man-made satellite artificially oxygenated and gravitated. It was the largest of a group assembled during the experimental period of the late twenty-first century. Later, methods of shifting asteroids and small planets into desired