Bloodhype

by Alan Dean Foster

  “No, I’m not ready for that yet either, Commodore. I want no precipitous action here. KK storage cells don’t just go stale like honeyfrye, nor do emergency battle power-backup systems for communications and weapons complexes die while their life-support counterparts continue to operate. We are the subjects of a selective attack procedure of unknown power and undeniable effectiveness! . . . Lieutenant Hanover!”

  “Sir?”

  “There ought to be several ways of contacting the other ships of the fleet. We’re orbiting tight and close. Try mirrors, wave handkerchiefs. I’m not particular about how you do it. I’ve got to know if ours is an isolated case—it’s not inconceivable that we are the victims of some local spatial phenomena—or if, as I suspect, everyone else has been hit the same.”

  “Aye, sir.” Hanover left his basket and commenced pulling himself via hand and claw holds to the nearest lock. Since the gravity for the ship was supplied by KK storage power when the vessel was not in supralight space, the ship was in full free-fall. The lock had no purpose now.

  “Oh, and Hanover!”

  “Admiral?” Hanover exerted pressure on a bar near the lock, floated steady.

  “See if you can help the dispensary personnel, Doctor Furman and Surgeon Lee and the others, get organized. They may need some extra help. Authorize whatever they need. Going from .91 gee to no-weight as abruptly as the rest of the ship probably did, there’ll be a lot of men who lost more than just breakfast.”

  “Yes sir.” The Lieutenant turned and pushed off, disappearing like a feather down the lock-tube.

  “Well, Moorea?” The Admiral’s antennae twined in frustration. “No crystals of wisdom to offer?”

  “I didn’t think the AAnn had anything like this, Ash.”

  “Don’t bet that they do, Pat, don’t bet that they do. I dearly hope that, if it’s not a natural occurrence, the AAnn are responsible for this. The alternative scares the sugar out of me. And I haven’t been that frightened, Pat, in a long, long time.”

  On board the heavy cruiser Sanderling not too many hundreds of kilometers away, his munificence Baron Riidi WW was expressing similar sentiments, in which Admiral Ashvenarya figured prominently.

  Mal’s head cleared with surprising speed soon after he opened his eyes. He stared upwards and was confronted with the badly bent roof of the hoveraft. Pushing against the hard pecces behind him, he struggled to a kneeling position. By leaning on the outcropping for support he managed to inch his way to his feet. He stood there, holding on until most of the dizziness had passed. At about that time he became aware that pecces was not a normal fixture in Replerian hoverafts.

  Encrusted with shells and barnacle-like organisms, the sharp spine of the reef projected a good meter and a half through the floor.

  There was a moan forward. It was followed by some weak, if highly imaginative, cursing in feminine tones.

  “You all right?” he queried.

  Kitten tried to swivel the pilot’s chair, failed. The pivot ring was jammed against the supporting metal. She unstrapped herself, moving with slow, pained gestures, and staggered towards the foreport. It had shattered on impact. Cool seawater lapped gently against the bottom of the sprung doorway. A small crustacean was already inspecting this new addition to the reef.

  Except for a slight list to the back and right, the raft was fairly level. Mal took a step forward, nearly toppled. He put out an arm to grab a bar projecting from the near wall and noticed idly that it was stained red in places. Looking down at himself he was surprised to discover that the red came from a broad but shallow gash across the right side of his chest. He’d lost a lot of skin but not much blood. He ripped material from his left sleeve to bind the wound. Fortunately, the bleeding had nearly stopped.

  “See anything?”

  “We’re on a reef,” she replied. “Rose’s waveskimmer is jammed up in front of us. Part of it seems to be under our bow. Probably what’s causing our listing. What’s left of the skimmer, anyway. It’s in much worse shape than we are—not that this is seaworthy, either. Looks like he took the brunt of the blow. Bottom’s been ripped out.”

  “Any sign of the monster?”

  “Looks like it’s lying just under the surface of the water. Right about where the reef ends, which isn’t far enough away for my liking. Funny how peaceful this all is. The reef runs out about another twelve meters past the skimmer and then seems to drop off sharply. From there on as far as I can see the water’s black as ink, like you could walk on it.”

  She left the port and moved back to the doorway. Mal moved up behind her as she stepped gingerly from the raft. Bracing a hand against each side of the doorway, he saw that the pecces itself lay barely ankle deep, even protruding above the water in several places. The Vom claimed his attention almost immediately.

  Mal felt as though he were standing in front of an armed SCCAM shell. “It may be intelligent enough, but it sure doesn’t seem to notice us.”

  “We don’t know how it perceives things,” said Kitten as she picked her way over the uneven, slippery footing. “For all we can tell it might be paying all its attention to us. Waiting to see what the lab animals try next, I guess. Since it could have killed us at will before I don’t think it intends to. Yet.” She turned, “You’re higher than I am. Any sign of the old bastard?”

  Mal leaned out, hooking an arm around the doorway. A brief spell of nausea, then the sea air cleared his head completely. Peering around the front of the uptilted raft, he could see the top of the waveskimmer easily. The bottom of the bigger ship had been shaved off as neatly as though with a laser. It lay tail up, part of its curved bow just under the nose of the hoveraft.

  A recognizably human figure was strapped motionless in the foredeck pilot’s seat.

  “Looks like he wasn’t thrown free. Seems to be light-out, though.”

  “Any sign of the case?”

  “Sure is. It’s still chained to his right wrist. Appears to be locked firm. All the jerking and wrenching around didn’t tear it loose.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Can’t tell. He’s sure not preparing violent resistance.”

  “He’d better be alive. Otherwise it’s liable to take us days to figure out how to open that thing. You can bet it’s armed or full of acid or something. We haven’t got days. What are you doing?”

  Mal had carefully edged out around the edge of the doorway. It wasn’t a long fall but the surface was sharp and inhospitable. The air cushion around the base of the raft was thoroughly shredded. There was, however, a ridge of metal running the circumference of the ship. The smooth sides of the craft made walking on the centimeters-wide strip difficult, but the captain’s bulk belied his agility. He started edging towards the bow, pressed flat against the side of the craft.

  From the bow it was only a short hop to the canted deck of the skimmer. He walked over to the motionless drugger, felt the thin wrist. The pulse was strong.

  “He’s alive, anyway! Can’t say I’m as glad as you seem to be.”

  He moved to the side of the ship. Leaning down, he extended a hand the size of a battle helmet. Kitten paused, then walked over.

  “Deck is slippery up here, too,” he said. “That little walk was tricky, but faster than trying to improvise a ladder or rope. This is quicker yet.”

  He enclosed her right hand in his while her left grasped his wrist. She practically flew onto the deck.

  “You’re as physically complete as you look,” she murmured.

  “Apelike, you mean?”

  “Let’s not, now, hmmm?” She walked over to Rose and spent a couple of minutes examining him while Mal looked on. After a bit she flipped open a small compartment in the side of a belt and selected from a small packet one of several tiny ampules. It was no bigger than the nail of her little finger, but she handled it carefully.

  There was a bare spot where the trousers had been ripped away. Gray hairs showed on the tanned leg. She jammed the ampule hard into the middle
of the quadriceps.

  “What did you shoot him with?” Mal asked.

  “Dexatrinabuline. Emergency dosage. He’ll come around and be hyperactive for about an hour, after which he’ll sleep for another fifteen and then wake up good as new—unfortunately. It works fast.”

  “Sure does,” said the drugger, sitting up. He glanced rapidly about the waveskimmer, then down at the wrecked hoveraft, finally out to sea. His eyes settled on the black reef that was the Vom.

  “Nothing expansive,” he said. “Just a little tap to inconvenience us. Maybe we . . .” He reached down and rubbed his thigh. “That was quite a jolt of whatever it was you gave me. Don’t recognize it offhand but I’ve probably sold it.”

  “It wasn’t done out of concern for your health,” Kitten said grimly. “Now, how does one open that case of yours—without getting poisoned, burned, shattered, or otherwise ‘inconvenienced’?”

  “Now why would you want to know that?”

  Mal reached down and grabbed Rose’s right shoulder. He could feel the bones and wiry muscles under the cloth. A slight pressure, so, and Rose winced.

  “Okay, okay! No need to get tough. There’s a solid gas-air pattern charge inside the shell that blows the case apart but doesn’t affect the contents. You arm it by pressing this lock button, here . . .” he indicated a slot for a magnetic key, “ . . . and then grip the handle. There’s a trigger built into the handle underside. Once the keytab has been pressed and the trigger cocked, when pressure is removed . . . wham!”

  “How long?” asked Kitten.

  “When you press the keytab down, you turn your thumb to the right as far as the tab will go before letting up. That’ll give you up to sixty seconds before the blast. More time than that wouldn’t be practical.”

  “Not much time to get away,” said Mal.

  “It wasn’t designed to be anything but a last-resort-type threat. Planning a little blackmail with it yourselves, mebbee?”

  “If it can be placed against the creature,” Kitten said, “chances are good that if detonated or absorbed the monster would take in enough to affect its system. It shouldn’t be impossible. The thing can’t be more than half a meter below the surface.”

  “There’s a small lifeboat on the back of this skimmer. There was one on the raft, too, but it’s been replaced by a hunk of reef. The draft should be shallow enough so that the Vom will ignore it.”

  Mal prodded the drugger’s leg. “What do you think? Could the drug do anything?”

  “Who can say? The Vom—that’s its name, eh?—is an unknown quality. But this amount of bloodhype,”—he indicated the case—”is a unique gathering, too. Sure be an interesting experiment. Of course, if the monster does absorb the case and the drug, it might also absently ingest the boat and boatman.”

  “An admitted complication,” said Kitten. “One that I can’t see a way around. We’ll just have to chance it. Unhook the case from that wrist chain, please.”

  “You can’t be serious, pretty-pretty! The idea’s insane! I feel duty-bound to protect you from yourself. I don’t believe I should let you have it.” He clutched the precious container possessively.

  “Unlock the chain,” said Mal quietly, “or I’ll simply detach the whole arm.”

  “You argue persuasively, Captain.” Rose bent over and did something to the connecting links. There was a sharp click and the case was free.

  Mal hefted it in one hand. “Very light, for so much death.” He turned and walked towards the rear of the skimmer. “Give me a hand with the boat, Kitten.”

  “What makes you think you’re going?”

  “For openers, I can row faster, harder, and longer than you. I might have a chance of making it far enough back to the reef to escape. You wouldn’t.”

  “What about your precious credit account, Captain? There’s neither profit nor percentage in this for you.”

  “So I’m mentally erratic, like you say. Besides, Repler’s always been a profitable stopover for the Umbra. I’d like to see the suckers live a while longer.”

  “I can accept your rationale,” she replied. “But don’t expect me to be ladylike about it.”

  “Kitten, I wouldn’t expect you to be ladylike about anything.” He turned to unfasten the braces holding the tiny boat. The blow that hit the back of his neck was very clean and carefully judged.

  “Well struck!” applauded Rose. “I admire your work. Can I give you a hand with the boat?”

  “The day I need to ask for your help I’ll just sell my soul outright. Mortgage and all.”

  “As you wish. I will need yours, then.”

  She turned and straightened slowly, staring at the object in his hand.

  “That’s interesting,” she said evenly. “You have a gun.”

  “Yes. It’s not much of a gun, of course, but it’ll handle one person. I didn’t think it would take the both of you. Not, the way the Captain moves. So I decided to wait a bit in hopes of a better opportunity. I never expected you quite this obliging. Just goes to show. If you live right . . .”

  The small boat rocked gently in the blue-green water.

  “Where do you think you’re going in this teacup?” she asked. Her eyes never left the muzzle of the tiny pistol.

  “I’m going to try and skirt the edge of that thing. That should allow me to try out a crazy idea I might as well have a crack at. If it doesn’t shift out, I ought to be able to slip into the city without being noticed. Current’ll help with the rough work. At that point I’ll have a number of options open. You’ll excuse me if I don’t elaborate. I don’t think you’d be sympathetic. Right now, I’m arming this toy.”

  Laying the gun aside—not far enough aside—he set the keytab and tied down the trigger securely with a piece of cord.

  “I can slip the knot on this fast enough if I have to. Gonna need both hands for steering. Anybody takes a potshot at me, either I’ll release the trigger manually or shoot it loose. Either way the drug will be released into the atmosphere. As soon as I get close enough to the city, rest assured I’ll do my best to stay upwind. You might as well stop staring at the gun. I’m not so feeble I wouldn’t beat you to it.”

  He lowered the small air-compression motor into the shallow water.

  “And now, my lovely-love, I bid you good-bye.” The sea bubbled like soda-water around the stern of the little craft. It moved slowly off along the edge of the reef, careful not to stray over the Vom.

  Kitten stared for a moment, sighed deeply, and walked back to where Mal was sitting on the deck. He was rubbing the back of his neck. He did not look happy.

  “Well, I’m sorry, already! I told you not to expect me to be ladylike about it.”

  “Congratulations.” He looked around suddenly. “Well, where’s the case? And where’s the old man?”

  “Uh, considering that you didn’t see anything, you’ve summarized the situation neatly.” She pointed out to sea. The small boat was now a good many meters off, still chugging slowly along the reef edge. Soon it would round the first spit of the island and be lost to sight.

  “Well now, how did you manage that?”

  “He had a gun.”

  “He had a gun,” Mal replied slowly. “Why didn’t he pull it before now?”

  She turned away. “He said he was waiting for a better chance.”

  “Well, he sure got one.” Mal struggled to his feet and walked forward. He looked back at her and booted the instrument console something fierce. It did not improve its shape.

  “That’s not going to help anything, you know,” she said.

  “Maybe not, little girl, but it does wonders for my primitive, ignorant mind!” He booted it again.

  “Oh, act your age, Captain! I . . .” She paused, looked past him.

  “Well, don’t stop now. What . . .?”

  He turned and stared in the same direction.

  A considerable distance off, a small figure standing in a boat was flailing its arms frantically at the air. T
owering on two sides of the figure, like the walls of a canyon, were two night-black nightmare shapes not quite as big as a pair of good-sized shuttlecraft. Their descent was graceful, almost ballet-like. Unconsciously, Mal had slipped an arm around Kitten’s waist. This time she didn’t move it.

  “Was that a scream, there?” Her voice was even, but there was the slightest tremor to it. She was remembering an earlier time on another island.

  “I think so. There! An explosion?”

  “Maybe. Maybe . . .”

  They waited anxiously. The halcyon sea recovered. The small boat was gone.

  Needless to say, the small figure was too.

  Kitten let out a long breath. “Well, I guess it wasn’t a very good idea after all.” She slipped gently out of his grasp and peered over the twisted railing of the skimmer.

  “I think we ought to try and wade off the reef to the island proper. We can come back for blankets and supplies. It’s bound to be warmer inland than out on these wrecks. Besides, they’re liable to be pulled off the reef when the tide comes in. I don’t fancy being dumped into the surf at 2 a.m.” She slipped easily over the edge, hung by her fingers for a moment and dropped lightly into the shallow water. Her knees bent as she took the impact.

  A tiny portion of the entity that was the Vom reacted to a foreign ingestion. A minute portion of the food did something odd to a few cells. The strangeness was communicated to the Vom-mind. The reaction extended. A group of cells were suddenly disoriented. At their center, neural deracination took place. Idly, then more attentively, finally in a state of real concern, the Vom sought to isolate the farrago. Some cells were by-passed and not affected. Others were . . . not harmed, but disoriented on an increasingly massive scale. They became incapable of performing their proper functions.

  Synaptic connections were deliberately broken in an attempt to seal off the infection. The attempt failed. Had the difficulty been enzootic, the Vom might have controlled it. But it seemed to strike at random points, unpredictably. The difficulties this caused were not irreparable, but at the height of battle they were a disaster. A small portion of the Vom-mind was forced to shut down. The creature’s power was noticeably weakened. The Guardian-Machine and the Other sensed it, pressed harder.