The Thief of Thoth

15

HURTLING TOWARD THE GAP at a relative velocity of several thousand light-years per hour, Quicksilver relaxed and switched the ship's controls over to the automatic pilot which was a portion of the computer-brain. Now to assume one of the many disguises for which he was justly famed in criminous chronicles. These were a strict necessity, as without doubt many of the outlaws inhabiting the criminal planet would recognize Hautley at a glance—and the fewer individuals who were aware of his doings, the safer he would feel.

After all, if the scofflaw class were in any way involved in this three-way contest to purloin the Neothothic cult object, as was highly probable, Quicksilver saw no reason to advertise openly his own participation in the struggle, until conditions suggested it might be advantageous to do so. Hence, he entered a small mirror-walled cubicle where reposed the Various materials from which he affected his seemingly miraculous disguises.

The small canary-yellow dragon he had permitted to accompany him thus far in his quest. Now he removed the little creature from its customary perch on his broad left shoulder, slipped it into an iridium wire cage and left it happily crunching away at a handful of iron pyrite crystals while he sat down at the cosmeticon.

Staring at his several reflections in the multi-angled mirrors, he began swiftly and smoothly to alter his appearance not only beyond all recognition, but also beyond any detection as well. A slightly radioactive hypospray was set against his head. Lightly pressed against his flesh, it squirted a pressure jet of radionic vapor painlessly through the cells of his flesh, entering his brain via the third intersticial suture of his skull. This harmless injection provided a temporary and minute stimulus to the cyno-pituitary gland, which would within minutes bleach the ordinary mahogany color of his skin to the hue of strawberry red.

Another innocuous and fast-acting chemical spray violently agitated he hair follicles of his scalp. As he watched in the mirror, the pewter grey of his meticulous locks assumed a satiny black coloration, darkening as the tide of artificial tint crept up from the chemically stimulated roots.

Next followed a facial spray. He bathed his features with astringent vapor from a pressure bulb, whose reaction was to crease the flesh of his face with a network of semi-permanent wrinkles, which added considerably to his apparent physical age. A touch of biostatic plasmoid deftly applied to he arch of his nose, the ridge of his brow and the line of his steely jaw altered his profile physiognomy subtly but surely. This synthetic and pseudo-living plasmoid flesh would stand up to anything less than an electro-microscopic analysis.

Then followed a few minor alterations in his costume. A loose-fitting singlet and padded hose of contrasting irridescents with slight and unobtrusive pads at shoulder and spinal curvature made Quicksilver appear somewhat stooped and hollow-chested, as well as lending a false slope to his brawny shoulders.

The man who now looked back at Quicksilver from the multi-mirror was an almost total stranger. The only thing about his face, physique, posture and seeming age which could remind one of Hautley Quicksilver was the mirror-bright eyes with which his pride and inborn love of tempting danger forbade him to tamper.

Only intimate physical examination by an experienced and suspicious surgeon could disclose the subtle cosmeticry used to mask his appearance. And as for the defensive gadgetry and miniature armory of weapons with which his "business suit" was invested, only a detailed search by an electronic expert and a clever tailor could uncover those.

Quicksilver was ready for action.

And even upon the moment, the automatic pilot chimed. The ship was nearing her destination.