“Would you watch where you’re putting your other hand—thank you!—and, ah, how does this mind-reading thing work?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked coyly. “Absolutely.”
“It’s something only females can do.”
“That figures.”
“We can only read men’s minds.”
“That also figures.”
She stroked my brow. “Our lateral line can detect slight changes in bioelectrical fields. By interpreting t’ese changes and scenting pheromones, t’ose of us who possess tee gift can understand t’oughts.”
“And some of you can do this with humans?”
“Just little me,” she said proudly.
“Do you have to sit in my lap?”
Little Miss Mental Health and Hygiene giggled and crooned, “The bioelectrical currents are so weak. I have to be very, very close to detect t’em. Poor little vampire, don’t you want to bite my neck?”
“To be truthful, no.”
She sat up and clapped her hands together. “Well, we will just have to t’ink of somet’ing else fun to do!” She snapped the waistband on my underpants. “And what are t’ese cute little animals on your clot’ing?”
“Those are baby bunnies, and I would rather not discuss them.” I crossed my eyes. “While I’m thinking of it, what do Wipo’s boys have me tied up with?”
“It is called kwisti. It is made from a plant.”
One of the real pleasures in being a vamp is the allergies, which included, as 1 was rapidly beginning to discover, kwisti fiber. It was causing me to break out in a body rash. I sneezed, and Trixie delicately wiped my nose.
“I guess the first question you’ll want to ask is whether I’m a secret agent,” I said, thinking the words “NO. NO. NO.”
She tittered again. “Don’t be silly. We already know t’at.” She pulled a lever on the control panel beside the chair so that I could listen to a taped recording of Bobby Stemm’s voice saying, “I just can’t believe that the Powers That Be would send someone as inept as MacKay to spy on the greasers.”
“We have his office beetled,” she announced triumphantly.
“You mean bugged.”
“Oh. Yes. Bugged. How cute.” She tittered again, which was becoming monotonous. “Now let us see what our silly security people want to know from you. Here is a nice question: Are you working for Navy Intelligence?”
“No!”
“T’at means yes! T’is is so much fun. Next, does your mission here have anyt’ing to do wit’ warships? Anot’er yes! Of course it does! Oh, you are squirming so!”
“This stupid rope itches like crazy.”
The next half-dozen questions on her list were about Earth’s politics, which required yes or no answers. She ran through them impersonally and came up with one yes, one no, and a bunch of darned-if-I-knows.
“Here are some vampire questions! Do you drink blood?”
“No.”
She gave me a startled look, but wrote it down anyway. “How long do vampires live?”
“That’s a silly question. Even people who write life insurance sometimes miscalculate how long someone will live, and Fm making a mental note to add to my policy.”
“Have you used names other t’an Ken MacKay?” “No,” I said hastily. Until I was five, my great-aunts used to call me things like “Binky.” Apparently, my subconscious gave me away.
“Ha!” she said.
Her questions were beginning to get a little too close to sensitive subjects for comfort, and so was her left hand, so I tried thinking about mathematical tables.
“How many names have— Ah! Naughty, naughty! You’re not concentrating!” She pinched me in a rather private place.
“Excuse me. Do you have to do that?”
“Aren’t you getting your money’s worth, sailor?” she coaxed slyly. “Come tell Auntie Trixie what you are t’ inking.”
I was thinking that if I managed to get out of this in one piece, Catarina was going to tease me about it unmercifully for months. Or years. Or longer. “Ah, how did a nice girl like you get mixed up in a racket like this?”
“Oh, but I’m a very naughty girl. It is kind of fun, really. Males have such dirty minds! Poor little vampire, would you like to take me home wit’ you?”
To tell the truth, I was beginning to feel a little sorry for her. “Well, if you ever want to get out of here, we have a spare bunk down in Stores.”
Something about my reaction surprised her. Her eyes slitted. “You just want me to read minds for you!”
“Uh, no.” Unfortunately, I seem to have acquired a good dose of religion from Catarina, which manifests itself at inopportune moments. “Your technique is a little, ah, indecorous, and besides, most of the folks we dicker with have enough trouble not gyping themselves. Can you cook?”
“T’en you just want me for my body!”
I was beginning to figure out why mind-reading never caught on with human beings. It’s extremely difficult to carry on intersexual communications if you have to stick to the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “Well, no. There’s my partner Catarina to consider. One weird relationship I can deal with, but two would be pushing it.” “But you would still risk yourself to help me escape?” “Well, yeah, I suppose, but you know, I’m beginning to think that this stuff about rescuing damsels in distress isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
I was also seeing two of her and beginning to fade in and out of the conversation as my glands began pumping things into my system to deal with my allergic reaction to the stupid rope.
The last thing I heard her say was, “Poor little vamp.”
I woke up in a double bed. Catarina was sitting at the far end. “Are you alive yet?”
I looked around the room, which had chartreuse wallpaper. “If this is heaven, I want my money back.”
“Ah, you are awakened, Mr. MacKay.” A little Oriental guy in a white coat was standing next to Catarina with his hands folded. “I am Dr. Ye, the embassy primary care physician. After conferring, Miss Lindquist and I have decided to have you fixed.”
I blinked my eyes rapidly a few times. “Excuse me, but I thought that was something people did to unruly house pets.”
“I meant restored to health.” Ye turned on his heel and left.
I asked Catarina, “Why are you here, and where is here anyway?”
“The Spe'cial Secret Police have seized our ship. We’re in the embassy. Your friend, Supreme Agent Wipo, shipped you here after I convinced him that you’d probably croak without better medical attention than he could provide.” She gestured toward the little refrigerator in the corner. “He left a bottle of the local vin ordinaire to show that there’s no hard feelings on his part, but you’re out on loan, so to speak. The ambassador has promised to return you to Macdonald custody as soon as you’re well enough to travel.”
“I suddenly feel very, very sick. It may be months.” She coughed delicately. “Gwen has been in here three times to see you.”
“Nothing like a miraculous recovery. Suddenly, I feel great.” I ran my fingers over the welts on my arms. “What was the good doctor in a snit about?”
“You’ll be up and about in another day, which touches on a problem he alluded to. Technically, you’re not on the government payroll, and he isn’t authorized to accept your health insurance.”
“I ought to call Lydia and make her cough up enough funny money to cover it.” I reflected for a second or two. “Of course, that might also be hazardous to my health.” “Bunkie and I worked out a deal. To ask a very intimate question, how do you feel about donating your body to science after you’re finished using it?”
“Nothing like having a doctor who won’t get paid off if I get well.”
“Oh, nothing that crude. Currently, the betting line is two-to-one against your surviving more than a week, but I understand that Mickey managed to get about a thousand down at four-to-one.” She handed me a tray with a fruit pla
te and several servings of chocolate mousse. “Here, eat something. Doctor’s orders.”
“Thanks,” I said, opting for dessert first. “This isn’t what the embassy dining room is serving, is it?”
“No, they’re serving ethnic food tonight—meat loaf a la Des Moines, with green beans Dubuque and instant mashed potatoes. I’m told the ambassador has declared next week health food week, so we’d better lay in a stock of provisions.”
I repressed yet another shudder. “How’s our crew?” I asked between mouthfuls.
“Bunkie and Clyde came down when the Macdonalds took the Scupper into custody. I assigned Bunkie to keep an eye on Mickey and Minnie, who are like two cute little sticks of dynamite. Rosalee and Harry have both disappeared, leaving behind a swath of destruction. Harry left Wyma Jean with the impression that we dispatched him on a secret mission, so she’s not real happy with us. I got your note. So why did Dr. Blok finger you?”
I quickly outlined our conversation. “So as near as I can tell, he’s looking for proof that vampires have benign intentions. For the record, after meeting Blok, I think that Lydia ought to think about employing a better class of agent.”
“I’m sure that she would agree,” Catarina replied with a straight face. She shook her head. “How much did you tell Wipo?”
“Nothing about Blok. More than enough about other things. They know I’m an agent.” I ran through Trixie’s interrogation, omitting the low points. “If Blok knows about Trixie, his turning me in makes even less sense.”
Catarina shut her eyes and pondered this. “Are you sure it was Bobby Stemm’s voice you heard on Trixie’s recording?”
“New England accent, weevily whine. Yeah, it was Bobby.”
“And this Trixie—she can actually read your mind?”
“Like a book.”
Catarina nodded solemnly. “I guess it made you see read when she made you an author you couldn’t refuse.”
I made small, growling noises in my throat.
“Think of it as a new chapter in your life. I meant to ask, were you wearing—”
“Yes. I happen to like bunnies.”
“Here, 1 have something to show you.” She passed across a thick stack of paper. “Take a look at these numbers.”
“Sure.” I scanned them briefly. “What are they?”
“Economic figures. Real data for a change. Credit here is incredibly tight. What little there is the government is steering into heavy industry, but the output isn’t reappearing in the civilian sector.”
“That’s great. What does it mean?”
“My guess is that it means that the Macdonalds are switching to a war economy and that their navy is going to be ready to challenge us sooner than we think. I’ve been looking at recent government appointments, and it looks like the war party is in the saddle. I’m guessing that a surprise attack on the Confederation is imminent.”
“We have to get this information back to Lydia!” I said, hoping, of course, that she would say it was our duty to get it back as soon as possible.
“That’s already been taken care of. Unfortunately, those numbers probably aren’t enough to convince the analysts on Earth. We need Blok. My guess is that Trixie is one of his agents, and he turned you in so she could find out whether he could trust the vampires who he suspects of running the Confederation.” She unwrapped a chocolate bar and split it with me while she mulled this over. “Did Trixie squeeze enough out of you?”
“I probably passed out a little too early in the proceedings.”
“I’m the only other vamp they know of.”
“From Trixie’s comments, I gather that this mind-reading stuff only works across genders. Do you mean I’ve got to go back and let Trixie pick my brain again?” Catarina nodded, her mouth full.
“Why isn’t it somebody else’s turn to save the universe for a change? What was it that guy Nathan Hale said, ‘I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.’ ”
“I think he emphasized different words.”
“If Trixie picks my brain, they’re going to know that we know they’re planning to attack.”
“It may spook them into attacking before they’re ready. How does the saying go, ‘Hasty strokes often go awry’?”
“Isn’t that the third verse to ‘Auld Lang Syne’?” I scratched my legs, which were still itching. “Darn it! And to top everything off, I have bites from whatever was crawling around that miserable hole they stuck me in. I thought this blood-sucking stuff was supposed to work the other way around.”
“Your fluids probably poisoned whatever bit you.” Catarina smiled lazily. “Just take things lice and easy.”
I closed my eyes.
“Should I have said ‘nice and fleasy’?” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “First, get some rest. I’ll look into what Bobby’s been up to, and we’ll play things by ear for a day or two.”
A few minutes after she left, I heard a tentative rapping at my window. I tried to burrow underneath my pillow. A moment later the window came crashing down on the floor.
“Psst! Ken! Are you awake?”
“I am now,” I groaned. “Harry, what are you doing out there?”
Harry climbed into the room over the wreckage of the window frame and dusted himself off. “I need to talk to you, Ken. You know, man-to-man, or man-to-vamp.” “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra breathing mask on you?”
“Uh, right! Sure thing.” He pulled one out of his pocket and handed it to me.
“I’m surprised we haven’t heard any alarms. Normally, about sixteen of them go on when you break into an embassy.”
“Oh, I got Muffy to take care of it,” Harry said proudly as he sat down on the end of the bed. “She’s pretty good with that sort of thing.” Muffy stuck her head up, chirruped, and disappeared.
“How’s Wyma Jean?” I asked as my end of the bed tilted upward alarmingly.
Harry nodded assertively. “She’s doing pretty well. She’s been kind of peckish the last three or four days. I think she’s worried about her pet snake.”
I croaked, “Her pet what?
“He’s a Colombian boa. He’s really cute. You should see him. We named him Frisky.”
“I’ll just bet you did.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t remember anybody asking me if they could bring a snake on board my ship.”
“Well, after the cat split, we had to get her some kind of pet.” Harry began moving his hands like a windmill. “And with the ship about to lift and with you in jail so we really couldn’t talk to you about it, well—”
I reached out to slow down his left hand as it passed. “What does this snake eat?”
“Well, do you know that big bag marked ‘linguine’ in the back of the freezer that’s full of frozen mice?”
I shut my eyes. “So you’re telling me there’s a pet snake aboard my ship.”
“Well, we’re pretty sure he’s still there. I mean, he got loose, but it’s not like he can walk off the ship or anything.” After a moment of pregnant silence Harry leaned forward. “Could we talk about the snake later? I need help, Ken. I don’t know who else to turn to.”
I sighed. “Okay, Harry. Calm down. There’s some wine in the refrigerator. Why don’t you pour yourself a glass and tell me about it”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He took the bottle out. Not finding a corkscrew immediately handy, he absently used the side of the refrigerator to knock the neck off the bottle. He poured himself a glass, took a sip, and his face convulsed. “What is this stuff?”
“It’s a local product.” I took the bottle out of his hand and squinted at the label. “It says ‘Genuine California White Zinfandel.’ ”
Harry dropped the glass and leaped away, forming a cross with his index fingers. “White Zin?” It came out like “White Death.” “Do you know what kind of people drink White Zin?”
Although I knew Harry equated alcohol-free beer with hydrogen-free water, I didn’t know he had wine fe
tishes. “Well, yes, but—”
“Ken, if people see me drinking White Zin, it’s all over. They’ll start thinking that I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.”
“Harry, they already think that.”
“I mean it’s the end, Ken,” Harry said hoarsely, shaking his head. “People catch me drinking this and I might as well buy a cat and register Democrat. You won’t tell, will you? Promise me you won’t tell!”
“I promise,” I said soothingly. “Pour it down the sink and no one will ever know that zinfandel sullied your fair lips.”
He poured the wine down the sink and glared at me. “Where did the Macdonalds get the idea of drinking this stuff?”
“Well, I guess the Contact boys taught them how to make it.”
“God! What foul fiends in human form!” His eyes blazed. “Don’t you see,” he said eagerly, “it all fits. The fanaticism, the envy, the hatred the Macdonalds have for human beings—it’s from drinking this! Ken, we can save these people!”
“I had no idea,” I said. Then reality kicked in. “Wait a minute. No. No. No. Harry, you’re overreacting. Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Macdonalds are upgrading themselves to become the scourge of the galaxy because they’ve been drinking cheap wine?” Harry drew on his professional expertise. “White Zin makes for a mean drunk.” He shook me by the arm to emphasize his point. “Have you ever heard of . . . yuppies?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“This is what they drink.” He motioned across his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
I coughed. “Maybe we can come back to this White Zin thing later. What did you want to talk to me about?” “Well, it’s about Muffy. I want to help her, Ken.” “Have you talked to Wyma Jean, your g-i-r-l-f-r-i-e-n-d, about this?”
“Well, no. She won’t mind, will she?”
“Harry, I know Wyma Jean likes vegetable oil, but I don’t think she’s into threesomes.”
Harry puffed his chest indignantly. “You don’t understand. My relationship with Muffy is all business.” “Harry, I don’t care if it’s all business—whether you’re paying Muffy or Muffy’s paying you, Wyma Jean is still going to take a hacksaw to your genitals.”
VMR Theory Page 6