“She is most dangerous,” the female said. “Truly, an old victim, most logical that she would be blame Izicho. She has suffered most of anyone.”
David nodded, thinking of the torture scars. These Elaki seemed almost morbidly distressed by her suffering. Their concern surprised him.
Mel scratched his left armpit. “Thing is,” he said loudly, “telling us you didn’t do it. It don’t prove nothing.”
David grimaced. They could have nodded their heads, said thanks very much for the input, and gone home.
“Is most of a good point,” the older Elaki said. “And we have made the arranges. We have called upon young Izicho from home planet. We would wish for you to watch this young one, and follow through with him the lure.”
“You mean he’s bait?” Mel said.
The old Elaki waved a fin. “Perhap we can learn what be to happen to the young colleagues. Perhap be connection. To invasion murders.”
“Does this Izicho Elaki know what she … he—”
“He,” the old Elaki said.
“Does he know what he’s up against?”
“He know,” String said. “We most fair to use one from personal connection. No stranger at risk.”
“Your … pouchling?” Mel glanced from String to David.
“Pouchling from my pouch-sib,” String said.
David scratched his chin, new beard rough on his fingertips. “Nephew?”
String teetered forward on his bottom fringe. “No. But some like that. Young relative.”
“You have no idea what he’ll be walking into,” Mel said.
“He will be protected.”
“I’ll watch him every minute,” David said.
“Yes. Watch, but stay off. You must do the job and learn. Protection otherwise provided.”
“You guys hang too close,” Mel said, “it may foul things up.”
“No Izicho. No. Have selected human protector.”
David had a sudden, odd feeling. “Who?”
String swiveled an eye stalk toward him. “Have all agreed.” He waved a fin toward the other Elaki. “Have selected Rose Silver.”
David took a breath, opened his mouth, and closed it.
Mel laughed and nudged David, hard, in the ribs. “Hope you guys got finances,” he said. “She charges an arm and a leg.”
TWENTY-NINE
It was warm inside the doughnut shop. The tile floor was white and clean, the brightness hard on tired eyes. Even in the middle of the night, the place was full.
David took a sip of coffee that was hot enough to hurt going down.
String chewed a jelly doughnut. Raspberry filling and powdered sugar had showered his midsection, but he was restful for once, no skittering back and forth on his fringe scales.
“What you say, String?” Mel ate a glazed doughnut in two bites, then took a gulp from a box of orange juice. “You rather be outside meditating?”
String reached for another doughnut. David watched to see what the filling was this time. It looked like lemon pudding.
“You wish a jelly doughnut?” String waved a fin at David. “Good homeboy food.”
David shook his head. “Plain cake doughnuts, or nothing.”
Mel pursed his lips. “Austere.”
“This is bad for nutrition,” String said. He waved the doughnut, sprinkling confectioners sugar on the tabletop.
David glanced around to the other tables. People were careful not to stare, but this was a rural area, and they didn’t see too many Elaki so far off the path.
David leaned back and closed his eyes to slits. The doughnut was warm, yeasty, sweet. He swallowed, thinking suddenly of Dahmi.
Where had she gotten the gun?
Someone like Dahmi wouldn’t be likely to latch on to a weapon like that, not a six-millimeter Glock automatic pistol. Not with ablative sheath bullets. Had one of the Guardians given it to her? Angel herself? But if they had, wouldn’t they have protected her—kept her safe from cho invasions, so she wouldn’t feel so alone, so desperate she was driven to kill her babies?
Where was she now? Suppose the Guardians didn’t have her. Was it the cho killers who’d taken her from the hospital?
David rubbed his face with his hand.
“’Nother doughnut?” Mel asked.
“No.” David looked at his watch. One A.M. Too late to talk to those kids Angel had mentioned. He’d get to them first thing in the morning.
“You are to be annoyed?” String asked. “Detective David?”
David looked up. “I’m sorry?”
“You are not happy with me,” String said.
“Next time you take me to a secret meeting in the dead of the night in the middle of the woods—I’d like some idea of what’s on the agenda.”
“Yeah, no need to scare the crap out of us,” Mel said.
String turned to him. “But, Detective Mel. Did you not find the conditions conducive to clear thought? Stimulation?”
“Damn right stimulation,” Mel said. “Don’t go stimulating me like that no more,’ less you warn me first.”
“You talked to Rose yet?” David asked.
Mel grinned.
String cocked an eye stalk in David’s direction. “No. Awaited until approval all around.”
“I guess it’s all right,” David said.
“I mean from Illieus.”
“The Bunkhouse Boys,” Mel said. “You sure you want her? Things tend to get violent, when you pull Rose in.”
“Is already violent,” String said. “I am most responsible for this young relative. And fond, also, Biachi most good. Must be Rose Silver. She is the … the … what you say? Man for the job.”
Mel smashed his orange juice box with his fist, scattering sticky drops. The box made a crackling noise and stretched back into its original shape. Mel slammed it again.
“String, give me some background on the Guardians,” David said. “Angel Eyes in particular.”
String swayed from side to side. “I know of Elaki. Male. Name of Bahran.”
“He’s telling stories again.” Mel scooted back in his chair and stuck his legs out.
“Bahran wishes a certain chemaki. And chemaki has suffered the loss of a male, and needs new member. The lost male—he has disappear. So Bahran take him place. But the missing one come back. He has been hurt and cripple. No vision and limited movement. Yes?”
David crossed his legs and scratched the back of his head. He looked at Mel.
“Hang on, David. Usually, you know, he works up to some kind of point.”
“This is a chemaki most concern. Many male members, only one female—unusual. Now they feel must accept the missing one back, but have too much males. Very out of balance and members unhappy. Bahran asked to find other grouping.”
“Broke his heart, I bet,” Mel said. “You guys got hearts?”
“But Bahran wish to remain,” String said. “So he removes eye stalks, and so loses vision, and asks also to come back. And because he now unlike to form new chemaki, old one feel responsible and take him.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mel said. “An Elaki love triangle. Quadrangle. Pentagon? How many were there?”
“What’s this got to do with Angel?” David asked.
“This is determination, Detective David. A willingness to do anything, you see? To accomplish the end. The Angel Eyes very dangerous.”
“Because she’s tenacious?”
“She hate Izicho unlimits.”
“I’d hold a grudge, too, you guys tortured me like you did her.”
String picked up a jelly doughnut. “Much more than this, Detective Mel.” He set the doughnut back on the table. “Izicho kill pouchlings of Angel Eyes. Two baby ones.”
Mel whistled. David took a slow, steady breath. He looked at String.
“She start the Guardian, understand. Most active; most ruthless. Even then, at begin, dangerous to deal with. And those many bad old days. Many what you call the … the atrocity. On both s
ide, the atrocity.”
“Cho invasions?”
“But yes. Friendship groupings, chemakis, sibs, pouchmates, pouchling and Mother-One. Pierce vocal chamber of victim, all times. Anyone to do with Guardians, to know Guardians, or to have habits of Guardians. Most bad times, this is dark. Squads go out, two to three in squad. And do this killing.”
“And the Guardians fought back?”
“Fought back hard and vicious,” String said. “I not in the world, you understand. Angel Eyes very young, but already leader. And target. It is the death of the pouchlings that turn it around. Everything else? Explain away quit. You protest? You victim. But this gives publicity and many revulsions. It make her most dangerous. You see that?”
David thought of Angel Eyes on the news broadcast, calm and sympathetic, asking people not to judge a desperate Mother-One. He pictured her in the gardens of Edmund University, talking about Dahmi. Had she been crying, or was it his imagination? How did an Elaki show grief?
“String,” David said. “Do Elaki ever cry?”
“Cry?” String ate a small bite of jelly doughnut. “No, Detective David. Only the human makes tears.”
THIRTY
The campus was hushed, the buildings dark. Only the student center was lit. David put a hand on his hip and arched his back. He had not gone home. He had gone straight to the office with String and Mel, working through reports that would be garbled by Della’s computer program, going over the details of Dahmi’s last days.
Another night of no sleep. No wonder he felt like shit.
He shivered. Overhead, streetlights were blinking out, as grey light seeped into the darkness. David crossed Grosevenor Drive, onto the campus proper.
They still didn’t know where she’d gotten the gun.
David remembered Lisa suddenly, her downturned face, and her plea for him to kiss her good night no matter how late he got home. He looked around for a pay phone, then checked his watch. If Tate Donovan and Dreamer had eight o’clock classes, he’d have to catch them now.
A steady stream of students burst through the doors of the dormitory, all of them moving fast. Some of the kids were dressed, some were in T-shirts and sweats, some in nightgowns—all had that bewildered air of leaving in a hurry. Many of them held their hands over their nose and mouth, a few were coughing. A girl in jeans was running, the birdcage she carried swaying.
“Shit fuck,” she muttered. A parakeet swayed back and forth on a swing inside the cage. David half expected it to fall off.
He looked at the windows and rooftop, expecting smoke. There was none. No alarm was ringing. Just students, coming steadily through the double doors.
Two of them, at least, were keeping their heads. David spotted them by the left side of the building. One, a tall, whippy Elaki, hovered behind a large bush, watching in silence. He wore a black beret like the Israelis did these days, though his sloped at an angle behind his eye prongs. Beside him was a boy—three hundred pounds if he was an ounce—blond crew, arms folded. He had a watchful expression, an intelligent face.
Some kind of prank, David decided. And these two were the perps. He expected them to be laughing, but the pair seemed serious. Oddly serious.
David approached slowly. The Elaki noticed him first. He could see the stiffening muscles when Blond Crew became aware, but the kid did not look at David. Not even when David came very close.
“Excuse me?”
The Elaki swiveled an eye stalk. Blond Crew turned. He had honest blue eyes, a tan, lightly freckled face, and a serious smile that was not without charm.
“Morning,” Blond Crew said. “I help you, sir?”
Sir. David flipped his ID.
The Elaki slid sideways on his fringe.
“Yes, Detective?” Blond Crew gave him an intelligent, appraising look.
“I’m looking for Dreamer and Tate Donovan.”
Crew’s eyes widened. “That’s us,” he said ingenuously. “Is anything the matter?”
David smiled knowingly, then glanced toward the front of the building, where students were talking in groups. A campus security car, lights flashing, pulled up in the circle drive. David got the strong impression that Dreamer and Donovan would very much like to leave. But Donovan kept a steady, innocent gaze, good eye contact, and David was impressed.
He waved an arm, casually, toward the knots of students grouped on the lawn.
“What’s up here?” Work it right, he thought, and they’d be relieved to get onto the subject of Dahmi.
Donovan smiled.
“There is of the building a very bad smell.” The Elaki raised a fin tip. “Very bad; most bad. People run away.”
“Elaki run away?” Donovan laughed.
Dreamer’s belly rippled. “Elaki slide away.”
David was envious of their camaraderie, remembering the uncomplicated, tight friendships he’d had at that age. Gregorio Alonso and Bennie Howitzer were long gone. Bad ends. He looked at these boys, Elaki and human, and wondered where they would be in twenty years. He glanced at the security guard who was heading their way. Jail, possibly.
The campus cop was tall, with a red, well-scrubbed face, and a self-conscious pride in the belt that held up his pants and sagged with equipment. Nightstick, electronic cuffs, prod, flashlight, beeper—surely this couldn’t be standard issue?
The campus cop’s jaw was tight. His name tag said Smed, Ben.
“Morning,” he said, voice pleasant.
He was very young, David thought. Not much older than Blond Crew and his bud.
Smed nodded to the Elaki. “Sir.”
David frowned. He flipped his ID. Again. “I have no idea what’s up here.” David waved an arm. “I’m questioning these gentlemen on another matter entirely.”
“I see,” Smed said.
David smiled blandly. “If you’ll excuse us?”
Smed ducked his head and headed toward the front entrance of the dorm. Dreamer looked at Donovan.
“He knows,” David said.
“Beg pardon?” Donovan was all smiles.
David scratched his cheek. “I understand you boys know Dahmi/Packer?”
“Packer?” Donovan frowned. “Yes, sir. We knew her. Is she—”
“Is she what?” David asked.
“Is she okay?”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
Donovan scratched behind his ear. “We saw her just before it happened. At the Wednesday night series. Right?”
The Elaki moved to one side. “That is the yes. She come most Wednesday-day night lecture.”
“You talk to her?” David asked.
“Dreamer, did she go over to Brownie’s with us that time?”
“Yes. She go. She not eat, but she go. She stand near for the table most usual we talk.”
“What did you talk about?” David asked.
“The lecture,” Donovan said. “We’re studying the Guardians. They’re the—”
“I know who they are.” David smiled coldly. I live in the world, he thought.
“Professor Angel was one, back, you know, back when. On her planet. Did you know that?”
“How interesting. Tell me, did Dahmi seem upset that night? Nervous?”
Donovan folded his arms and shook his head, gaze steady. A nearly psychopathic liar, David decided. Not that he was necessarily lying right now.
“Not so you’d notice, no, sir. We just talked about the usual stuff. The lecture. And Professor Angel.”
“She excited,” the Elaki said.
Donovan looked at him.
“Hard for you to tell on Elaki,” Dreamer said. “You a nose talker.”
Donovan grinned. “And you’re a goddamn bellybrain Elaki. Watch your mouth slit, or I’ll leave you out in a storm.”
The Elaki turned his eye stalks to David. “She leave early.” He had relaxed as soon as David moved to the subject of Dahmi. “And three times she ask of me the hour of the day.”
“And that was unusual?�
��
“She have pouchlings. But not usual want the time so much. I think maybe some special thing Wednesday-day night.”
“Was she worried?” David asked.
The Elaki slid sideways. “I do not have the knowledge.”
“At the time, did it strike you that way? That she might be worried or afraid?”
“No, no. I think then she be excited. Have somewhere to go. That make her high up feel funny.”
High up feel funny? David frowned. Too bad String wasn’t around to translate. But it didn’t sound like Dahmi had run across whatever frightened her so badly she killed her pouchlings. It did sound like she had an appointment. He’d give a lot to know who with.
“Did she leave earlier than usual?” David asked.
Donovan frowned. “Not sure.”
“She leave,” Dreamer said.
“Do you know where she went?”
“Nope.”
“Do not.”
“Okay, then. Here’s my card. If you think of anything, remember anything—”
“We’ll give you a call,” Donovan said.
David turned away, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Either of you own a gun?”
“No.” Donovan smiled sweetly, and the sun glinted down on his close-cropped hair. “Guns make me nervous.”
“Not safe for Elaki,” Dreamer said.
David nodded. A small movement caught his eye, and he stared over Donovan’s shoulder, getting a side-angle view of an Elaki who David thought, just for a moment, was String. The Elaki was smaller than usual, but thick, kind of ratty-looking.
The Elaki moved away, but David had the feeling he had been there awhile; that he had been watching.
THIRTY-ONE
David stared into the small ceramic bowl of hot and sour soup. Whatever it was that had surfaced looked amazingly like a deflated scrotum. He fished it up with his spoon.
Della leaned forward. “Mushroom, hon. Don’ you want it?”
He held the spoon out and she took the mushroom between her small, white teeth, crunching delicately. She glanced sideways as she chewed, scouting Mel’s plate.
David tipped back the brown bottle of Thai beer, finishing it off. There was an ancient cigarette burn in the red plastic tablecloth, two or three inches from his plate. He glanced at his watch. Angel’s lecture was an hour away. He looked at Mel, who was frowning, then across at String, who had rice scattered down his scale front. He decided to go by himself.
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