Look Out For Space (Seven For Space) by William F Nolan

them in the race, burned them out.
    Turn 1 loomed up at me.
    I threw Irmaline into a full sideways drift; she heeled over at a severely-raked angle, sliding hull down, dead for the rocks.
    Which is when I went over the side.
    Would I end up alive? I hit, rolled, slid, bounced along the course, taking out the seat of my zipsuit.
    I slid to a stop.
    Ahead of me, Irmaline exploded in a murderous thunder crack of flame and flying metal.
    I ducked as her pieces rained down. Part of her codcock rapped my nog, but my sturdy headhat saved me from a concussion.
    Finally — silence. Well, not really. The geeps were squawking and the track officials were yelling and the crowd was getting wild. But inside my hat, everything was sweet and serene.
    I'd done what I set out to do.
    I'd beaten Pendorf Wrenhurst.
    * * *
     
    After the track sawbones had pronounced me fit (I'd suffered a few bruises and some scraped skin, but was basically okay) I walked over to Wrenhurst's pit.
    The king was in a foul mood, cursing his head mechanic, blaming the poor sod for his having lost the race.
    "Scumhead!" shouted Wrenhurst. "Quarterbrain!"
    I tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr. Wrenhurst," I said in a clear voice. "My name is Tyrus Steadman."
    He stared at me coldly, his vulpine chin quivering. "I know you. What the dab do you want with me?"
    "I merely wished to inform you, sir, that I do not consider myself the winner of the race."
    He blinked. "I don't …"
    "My craft having been totally destroyed against the rocks of Turn 1, I am unable to refute certain strong rumors that my machine was illegal in terms of power equipment."
    "Damned right it was, and I'll personally see to it that you never …"
    I smoothly cut him off once again. "Therefore since my boat cannot be inspected and the charge cleared, I officially concede the contest to you, sir." I held out my hand. "My sincere congratulations!"
    I knew I had him. What could he say? He'd never refuse the gesture because he wanted his victory record to remain intact. I had to end with him in my debt.
    Wrenhurst's face softened. He smiled tightly and shook my hand. His voice was gruff but hearty: "Steadman, I'm in your debt."
    See, Sylvester, I told you it would work!

Fifteen
     
    The weekend following the race Pendorf Wrenhurst threw a wingding at his illuminated mansion on Dark Side — a modest little get-together for several hundred of his "galaxy-wide intimates" (as the local Moonpape phrased it).
    For entertainment he'd imported a band of giraffeheads from Oberon, specializing in nose-flute concertos. Wrenhurst was class all the way.
    Naturally, I was invited. Which was just the way I'd pegged it: beat the king on the track, concede the race to him, become an "intimate."All guaranteed to put me in a position to do some prime snooping into Mr. W's worm slave biz.
    If he was the gimbo behind all the kidnaps, I'd find that out. But quick.
    I decided to play my role of wealthy sportsman to the hilt. Flash and glitter. That's what I'd give 'em. So I wore phosphor flamepants, with a vented snug-crotch, boots of unborn galactic mollusk (actually faked, since I don't favor making anything out of an unborn mollusk), an open suitshirt, bodyribbed and collared in glofur. And, topping it all: a hat of pleated gratch feathers.
    I stood in front of the mirror in my rented pitroom. No doubt about it, I flashed and glittered.
    "Hello, sweetheart," I said to myself. And I grinned, thinking what a mug like Joe Hopper would say if he could see me now.
    I took a U-drive sandbug out to Wrenhurst's pad, which was no sweat to find. Built entirely of glostone, the mansion blazed like an immense jewel set into the south face of Dandelion Crater. Palace is a better word for the joint — a huge, ten-story structure of shining towers and looping balconies and crystal pillars. Rumor had it that two dozen Moonies had died in its construction, and no other mansion in the System surpassed it for sheer grandeur.
    Class. All the