by Peter David
The therapist cleared her throat slightly, which settled down the low buzz of conversation in the class. They looked at her expectantly.
“Hello,” she said, bobbing her head at the class. “My name is Vivian Webster, and I’m so happy to see all of you here tonight. You’re really like pioneers, the first explorers in the new land of Newcomer/Human love. And with today’s headlines, your being here couldn’t be more timely.”
She held up a tabloid and read the headline out loud. “Human/Newcomer baby shocks the world.” Then she smiled gamely. “It seems that, on top of everything else, you’ve also got to worry about birth control.”
This drew some appreciative laughter.
It was at this moment, naturally, that Sikes walked in.
As self-conscious as he was, at first he thought that the laughter was directly in response to his entrance. But then he saw that everyone had their backs to him and were clearly amused by something that the teacher had said. It relaxed him, but not overly.
Then the teacher spotted him and looked up questioningly. Everyone else followed her gaze and, within moments, every eye in the place was on Sikes.
He stood there with his little cup, moving his feet uncertainly. “Uh . . . where should I put this?”
Vivian pointed toward a table. “Just set it there.” And then, seeing how uncomfortable Matt was, she endeavored to put him a bit more at ease by adding, “And don’t put it anywhere near the coffee maker. We don’t want a repeat of the time someone confused it with Cremora.”
This drew a healthy laugh, switching the focus from Matt back to the therapist. Sikes was, of course, quite aware of what she had just done, and was extremely grateful. Chalk one up for the therapist in the Sikes book of appreciation.
He set it down on the table and moved quickly over to Cathy, taking the empty seat next to her.
In a low voice, Cathy said, “I was getting worried about you.”
“This month’s interview was with Joe DiMaggio. I got distracted. Sorry,” he said.
She looked surprised. “Joe DiMaggio? I took a pottery class with him! If you’d like, I’ll introduce you.”
He sighed. The Newcomer gag names were wearing thinner every time he heard them. “No, thanks,” he said. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Oh. All right.”
Vivian, in the meantime, ignored the whispered exchange and said, “I like to start each class with a series of exercises.” She gestured for them to get to their feet. “Let’s all stand.”
They did as instructed, with Sikes looking as uncomfortable as he felt.
“The process of learning to make love requires the letting go of inhibitions. I know many of you are self-conscious, but let’s start breaking down some of those barriers right now. Everybody hold hands and form a circle.”
They did so. Sikes found himself holding Cathy’s hand with his left, but with his right hand he was holding hands with a Newcomer male. Even better, Sikes quickly realized that it was the Newcomer male who’d been standing behind him in line. The Newcomer was staring at him with a certain amount of dread.
“Say ‘hi’ to the stranger next to you,” said Vivian cheerfully. She did everything cheerfully. Sikes was starting to hate her.
“Hi,” said the Newcomer, making an effort. “I’m Noel. Noel Parking.”
“Sikes,” said Sikes, trying not to make eye contact.
“Now,” Vivian called out to the class, “The basis of Newcomer foreplay is humming. Can any of the human students tell me why Newcomers hum?”
“They don’t know the words?” suggested Sikes, more to himself than anyone else.
The comment got no laughs at all. It did, however, get a rueful smile from Vivian. “There’s one in every group.” She sighed. “The reason Newcomers hum, class, is . . . well, I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, ‘Let’s make beautiful music together.’ Newcomers find that the humming literally brings them in tune with one another. When they’ve reached the peak of humming, they will shift notes and tones in perfect unison without problem, because they are so completely in sync with each other. Imagine, if you will, an entire symphony orchestra playing a piece without sheet music or even a conductor. Instead they’re so in touch with each another that they simply operate as a unit, instinctively. Once the humming link has been achieved to perfection, then one can move on to the next phase of sex. So, let’s practice humming. Close your eyes . . . and let’s all hum.”
Setting the pitch, she began to hum. The others followed suit.
Everyone had their eyes closed, trying as best they could to be sensitive not only to their own sensibilities, but also the general tone that was being hummed by the class. Their eyes were closed, their attention was focused.
Everyone except for Sikes.
He chanced a look at the others, looking through narrowed lids at the idyllic expressions on everyone else. He knew he was supposed to have his mind squarely on what was happening. But instead, all sorts of things were whirling through his head.
Why was he the only one who was self-conscious? Was there something wrong with him? Was there something wrong with everyone else? Was this all really worth it? What was he committing to by undertaking the class? If a Newcomer was tone-deaf, did that mean he or she had to be celibate their entire life?
And finally, ultimately, as humming filled the room, all of Matt’s conflicting concerns boiled down to one, clear imperative.
It was simple.
It was clean.
It was tidy.
And it overwhelmed anything else.
Get me the hell outta here, he thought.
But he stayed.
For a while.
C H A P T E R 1 4
GEORGE WAS NOT particularly looking forward to seeing Sikes the next morning since Matt had been so dead-on accurate in his prediction of the intensity of Susan’s reactions.
Sikes was not particularly looking forward to seeing George the next morning since George had this tendency to discuss Matt’s sex life with a candor that was disconcerting and a volume that was stentorian.
So naturally they both ran into the one individual who they wanted to see even less than each other.
George, walking through the coffee room, bumped (almost literally) into Albert. Albert looked up at him eagerly and said, “George . . .”
George knew precisely what Albert was going to ask, and yet hoped against hope that, in fact, Albert was going to discuss the weather or Vessna’s help or anything other than . . .
“Did you talk to Susan yet?”
George maintained his brisk stride. Albert paced him, utterly oblivious of George’s unconscious attempt to leave him behind. George smiled gamely. “You know, I forgot.”
Another individual might have been wounded at such a response. At that point in time, there was nothing more important to Albert than the conception of his child. For George to sound almost cavalier in his handling of the situation might have prompted, at the very least, annoyance in some people.
Not Albert.
“Oh,” he said, allowing the one brief flash of disappointment that his character would permit. Then he nodded understandingly. “I’m not surprised. With the giant and the strange baby—it’s been a very distracting couple of days.”
“Thank you for understanding, Albert,” said George, feeling like dirt. “I’ll speak to her tonight.
Through the bedroom door, he added silently, just like the previous nights since you got me into this. When was any honor so completely distressing.
Albert was still at his side, chatting about the giant, as they approached George’s desk. Sikes was already seated, which George found to be extremely interesting. The only time that Matt ever beat George in was when something was on Matt’s mind—something that, invariably, he didn’t want to discuss. George could take an educated guess what it was. Normally he would have immediately felt prompted to try and draw Matt out on whatever was bothering him, but this day, he was mo
re than happy to keep his mouth shut. If he didn’t probe Sikes about what was bothering him, Matt might not inquire about the increasingly tense situation between himself and Susan. An unspoken quid pro quo might be reached.
A nice strategy that was promptly blown to hell and gone as Albert said cheerfully, “Good morning, Sergeant Sikes. How was your sex class last night?”
Sikes looked up, paling slightly. Behind him, someone somewhere barked a laugh. His head snapped around, but he wasn’t able to see who it was. Then he turned back to Albert, but his gaze was leveled malevolently at George. “How do you know about that, Albert?”
Even Albert, who was not exactly a master of picking up nonverbal cues where humans were concerned, knew that he had blown it. “Uh . . .”
George guiltily looked down at his shoes.
Sikes sat back in his chair. The one convenient thing about Albert and George was that, between the two of them, they were as subtle as a television evangelist. Maybe they couldn’t keep secrets from each other, but neither of them could even come close to keeping secrets from Sikes. He didn’t have to be a detective to figure this one out. Hell, a meter maid could have put it together where these two bozos were concerned.
“Thanks, George,” he said acidly. “Just blab it all over town.” Then, with an irritated air, he stood. “Come on. Grazer wants to see us.”
George nodded, grateful for the chance to put some distance between himself and Albert. He headed toward Grazer’s office, Sikes right behind him.
As they approached the office, Grazer’s aide tried to block their way. “He’s on the phone,” she said. “Come back later.”
“We’re not yo-yos, Hilda,” said Sikes, in no mood to have to bounce back and forth between desk and office. “He wants to see us, so here we are.”
He walked past Hilda, George right behind her, although George did take a moment to mumble a brief apology.
They strode in and Grazer looked up at them, his ear to the phone, and he made a frustrated gesture that they should wait outside.
“It’s noisy out there,” Sikes said, leaning against the wall of Grazer’s office. George assumed a stance that was roughly on par with the military “at ease.”
“Yes, sir,” Grazer was saying through gritted teeth, still waving in futility like a crazed bird. “Perhaps it was a bit premature, sir . . .”
Grazer had the phone pressed so hard against his ear that the side of his head was getting white. And now Sikes understood. He glanced at George and saw that his partner likewise comprehended. The captain was smack in the middle of getting his butt severely chewed out by someone in authority. And considering Grazer’s activities in recent days, there was obviously only one thing it could be about. He looked at George, who mouthed the words, “The baby.” Slowly, grinning, Sikes nodded, and wished for all the world that he had a tape recorder for this immortal moment.
“No, sir,” said Grazer. “No, I . . . yes, I understand that I have to see the big picture. But you see, I thought that . . . no, obviously I wasn’t, sir . . . Yes, sir . . . I mean, no, sir. I won’t make any more statements to the press without your permission . . . without your written permission, yes, sir . . . yes, sir . . . oh, and, sir, I just wanted to say—and I think this is very important—that—”
He stopped because the click on the other end was so loud that even George and Matt could hear it. Grazer actually stared at the receiver for a moment, which surprised Matt since he didn’t usually see people do that outside of TV programs or movies. Then, slowly, as if defusing a bomb, Grazer settled the receiver back in the cradle. He looked up at the two detectives.
“I was, uh, just chatting with Chief Amburgey. This hybrid baby stuff seems to have set a lot of people off. Assaults on Newcomers are way up.”
“No! Really?” said Sikes. “I can’t believe it! Can you, George?”
George put his hand to his chest. “My hearts. The shock.” Matt grinned. For the perpetually polite George, that was truly blistering sarcasm. It was a hint of just how upset by the entire situation George was.
“So in other words,” Sikes jumped back in remorselessly, “you just got your ass reamed.”
Barely able to contain himself, Grazer said angrily, “Shut up, Sikes! What the hell are you doing here?”
“You wanted to see us.”
“Oh. Right.” He took a breath to compose himself. “You ID’d that giant yet?”
“We’re running a tissue type, but the BNA computers are down,” Sikes said. “We should get it later today.”
Grazer leaned back and picked up a signed baseball that he kept on his desk, flipping it back and forth from one hand to the other. “The public defender’s office ordered a psychiatric evaluation of this giant, whoever he is. They think he’s non compos mentis—unfit to stand trial. A few bricks shy of a load. A few cards shy of a deck. So instead they want him—”
“To be made a police captain?” asked Sikes innocently.
“Drop it, Sikes,” Grazer warned him. “They want the giant remanded to a mental institution.”
“Ah. What did you once call that?” said Sikes. “Oh yeah . . . a one-way monorail ride to the Magic Kingdom.”
“Not my idea, Sikes,” said Grazer tersely.
Sikes shrugged. “So remand him.”
Grazer stopped flipping the baseball. He looked quite clearly irritated that, apparently, Sikes wasn’t getting it. “That Nuke is the only lead to the identity of the baby. Is he related? Did he kidnap her? The public wants some answers.”
“Hey, Bry, we didn’t call that press conference,” Sikes said. “Don’t start shouting at us when you want us to save your butt from getting burned some more.”
“You were supposed to find the parents of that baby!” he shouted.
Matt was about to yell back, but the more conciliatory George stepped in. “Captain, maybe if we brought the baby back here . . . showed her to the giant . . . he might respond in some way. Give us a clue.”
“I don’t care what you do!” bellowed Grazer. “Just find her!”
Matt clapped George on the back. “You heard the man, George. He doesn’t care what we do. Just the words I like to hear. Let’s go.”
And they went.
But as they went, George couldn’t help but frown in concern over what Grazer had said. It had confirmed all his worst fears.
And the most unnerving aspect was that at least George had the protection of his badge and gun, of his authority as a police officer, and of Matt backing him up.
His wife and children could not say the same.
He envisioned them going about their day-to-day business, and wondered bleakly how long it might be before George went from police officer to being the husband or father of a victim of violent racism.
It was not a pleasant thought.
Buck Francisco had gotten used to being one of the very few Newcomer kids in school. Or at least he had thought that he was used to it. But every so often, just when he believed that everything was going to be normal, something new happened to temporarily dash that hope. He was starting to think that maybe he was kidding himself. That “normalcy” was an idealized state that quite simply would never be attained.
As he walked down the corridor, he was aware of human kids looking at him and whispering. When he had first come to Earth, he had joined a Newcomer gang, striking a defiant attitude and lashing out at everyone and everything. But the ultimate folly and self-destruction of that had eventually become clear to him. The percentage of Newcomers in Earth’s population was almost insignificant.
He had come to realize that it was important to maintain dignity in dealing with humans, yes. Keep your self-respect, your pride. But the way that you did that was not to attack every pointless whisper, every sideways glance. You had to pick and choose your battles or else you were just a scattergun. A loose cannon. There was no point to that, and it was certainly no way to live your life.
He did what he had done so often in the pas
t. He simply took the whispering, the murmurs, the snickering, and turned them into a simple mental humming. It had no more meaning or importance than bees buzzing—less, in fact, considering that bees could sting you whether you wanted them to or not. Words could only sting you if you permitted it.
He opened his locker, and he heard a particularly loud peal of laughter that he knew was at his expense. Angrily, he tossed in his books, pulled out the biology text, and slammed the locker door so hard that the sound ricocheted up and down the hallway like a bazooka blast. The only purpose that that served, of course, was to draw more attention to him.
So much for Mister Calm Under Pressure.
Buck took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then walked down the hallway to the biology classroom. The door was open partway, and he heard the voices of several girls in the class, fairly loud as they spoke to be heard over one another’s giggling.
“I think it’s neat,” said one, whose voice Buck immediately identified as belonging to Cindy Bahr. “It’s like having a baby with E.T.”
“Would you go to bed with one?” came another voice that Buck couldn’t place immediately.
“Oh yeah!” said Cindy eagerly. “I hear they’re really hung.”
Buck sighed. This promised to be an extremely long afternoon, which in turn was going to be part of a long week, month—possibly even an entire lifetime of feeling dragged. There are simply some days where one feels as if he’s going to be in high school for the rest of his life.
Just ignore them, he told himself. Go in there as if you don’t know what they’re talking about and you don’t care.
He stepped in and started briskly across the room. Cindy and the girl she was talking to, who Buck now recognized as a blonde named Frannie, spotted him and quickly shoved a tabloid into Cindy’s desk. It wasn’t fast enough for Buck to miss the headline, which was “OUTER SPACE LOVE CHILD.”
It was kind of a shame, really. Under ordinary circumstances, Cindy’s attention was something that Buck might easily have coveted. By human or Tenctonese standards, she was quite attractive. But now her very glance made him feel dirty, and he was only grateful when she looked away self-consciously.