“Welcome.”
And Lacey is left with the odd feeling that they understand each other perfectly well.
Chapter Eight
As soon as Tomaso stepped off the platform, Bates was on his feet and running, but by the time he reached the body, the assassin was already dead—broken neck, smashed chest—far beyond any Polar City hospital’s ability to resuscitate him. Bates doubts, in fact, if even the best hospitals in the Mapped Sector, those of the Confederation, could do much for this sucker, and he’s glad of it, too. Not only has Polar City been spared the expense of a long drawn-out trial, but a dead assassin causes no further political embarrassments to anyone. With their trained wolf alive and talking, the Alliance would no doubt grow self-righteous and dangerously belligerent to cover their tracks. There remains the question, however, of exactly how he died. In the light of the ebbing flare, Bates could see clearly that the mysterious alien never touched him to push or trip him. If this new species of sentient has some kind of murderous power to kill from a distance, then there’s nothing but trouble coming in the future.
He gets up, dusting off his hands in a gesture of finality, to find Sergeant Nagura standing behind him, the portable communicator in one hand. Part of the riot squad has spread out around the tower to begin making holos of the entire scene; the three members of the Vulture Detail stand ready to take care of the corpse.
“Look at that dude’s face,” Bates tells them. “You guys got plastic gloves with you? Yeah? Then use’em.”
Beside him Nagura makes a small retching noise.
“Sorry.” Bates takes the comm unit from her. “Stand by, will you, but you dunt have to look at the mess.”
“Yes sir. Thanks. One of the men is rounding up the civilians. Dunt look like the hostage is going to need an ambulance.”
“Good. Mulligan’s caused us enough damn trouble already.”
As soon as Bates makes contact with the duty desk, Parsons cuts into the line.
“Jeez, chief, this place is swarming with reporters. What the hell is all this crap about medical emergencies? When are you going to get back here?”
“When I’m damn well ready to and not a minute before. Listen, Sarge. Tell’em that when I do get there, I’ve got the story of the century for’em. Say that I told you this one thing, and quote me exactly: we may have a first contact here, but it’s not without its inherent difficulties.”
Parsons makes a gargling sound, and his image on the screen grows wide-eyed.
“Got that?” Bates says. “Now, I’m not going to tell you where I’m going to be, but I’ll comm in as soon as it’s safe.” He powers out before Parsons can say anything more. “Lacey, hey—we’re all going back to A to Z. It’ll take a while for the damn media to track us down there. Nakura, you’re going to be in charge of mopping up out here. Dunt start back to HQ for at least a standard hour. Got that? Give us a head start. Oh yeah, one more thing: get Dr. Carol on line and tell her to meet us back at Lacey’s. Tell her to bring holo shots of this damned Outworld disease with her. Got that?”
Yelling orders, Nakura nods and trots off to the nearest van. Bates turns to Mrs. Bug, hovering uncertainly behind Nunks and Mulligan. The enormous head inclines itself his way in the most regal gesture he’s ever seen.
“The sentient known as Mulligan has just allowed me access to all his memories. I now have the referents for your spoken tongue. No doubt you wish to question me.”
“Sure do. We can start with your name.”
“I have no name in your sense of that word. Call me Mrs. Bug, as the others do.”
Although Bates winces at the racist overtones of this label, she seems to find it amusing and little more.
“Okay, then, Mrs. B. How the hell did you kill the assassin up there?”
“I did nothing to him. I merely showed him a picture of his soul—psionically, of course. He looked, saw his true condition, and killed himself out of horror at the evil into which he’d fallen.”
“Jesus Christ!”
Mrs. Bug tilts her head to one side and examines him with her third eye for a moment, then nods her head in a mimicry of human-style agreement.
“The name of that deity is relevant, yes, as I understand it from Mulligan’s memory banks. Apparently he was exposed to a religion known as Neo-Catholicism as a child, and this Christ is a symbol of the soul in every human, isn’t it? The deity did fight ultimate corruption—sin, I believe it’s called—even at the cost of giving up its life. Or excuse me, not it, but he. Among my people, it is not done to burden deities with questions of gender.”
“I see. Now, please don’t misunderstand me. I’m damn glad the bastard’s dead, and there’s absolutely no question of any criminal intent, but we’re going to have to hold some kind of legal hearing on his death. Just to clean up all the loose ends.”
She nods, considering, and turns away to lean down to put her head near Nunks and Mulligan. For a moment the three of them stand together, unmoving, silent, yet locked in an intense communion of mind.
“Body shapes really dunt matter that much, do they, chief?” Lacey sounds oddly solemn. “I dunt think I ever really noticed before. Maybe the One-Galatic-Mind-ers are right after all, huh?”
“Maybe, but they can damn well stop scribbling on the walls and throwing bombs to prove their point. Come on, we got to get this show on the road.”
To avoid attracting attention once they get to Porttown, Bates leaves his police skimmer with Nagura and crams himself into the back seat of the Bentley—which fortunately was built big for luxury’s sake—between Mulligan and Mrs. Bug while Nunks squeezes in between Lacey and Sam in front. Although he does his best to avoid thinking about it, the smell of vinegar hangs heavy in the air; not only does Mrs. Bug reek of it, but Mulligan too has acquired the tell-tale scent wherever the infected assassin touched him. Lacey, it seems, isn’t worrying about whether or not she offends the alien’s feelings. She slews around in her seat and leans over.
“Mrs. B., what in hell is this damn bacteria you brought with you? It dunt seem to bother you any, but it’s making a mess out of us.”
“So I have observed.” The alien’s voice sounds dryly humorous. “Do not worry. It will be easy to remove, and I will help in all possible ways.”
“Thank God.”
Bates mentally echoes the phrase as Sam snaps at Lacey, telling her to sit down and strap in so they can get in the air and home. As the skimmer lifts off, Mrs. B. sits silently, her multitude of arms wrapped tight and spiraling around her torso, her petalled mouth pursed in an expression that would mean hard thought on a human. Once they are well away from the Rat Yard, she turns to Bates.
“You do not seem like the sort of man to let sentients die unnecessarily.”
“Hey, it’s my job to make sure they dunt.”
“I have no choice but to trust you, anyway.” She hesitates, thinking again. “I did not come here alone. You know, of course, of the death of my...” A long pause, here. “The other who came to the planet with me. But we came in what you call a colony ship, many years ago, long before your people settled this world.”
“I was beginning to suspect that, yeah. Are there any other survivors?”
“I do not know how many are still alive. They’re still in cold berth.”
“What!? I mean, jeezus, are you telling me they’re still in the ship?”
“Just that, and the ship is still in a cometary orbit around this sun. There was an accident. I do not truly understand what it was, only that it occurred when my...companion and I were in our own...what would you people call it...our pod will do for now. In the emergency the entire ship went cold berth. There were over four hundred sentients aboard at the time. The accident must have killed many of them for the ship to go to emergency status, but if we survived, surely others did, too.” Her arms wrap more and more tightly around her. “I am afraid for my people if any still live. Why are your engineers blowing apart comets with explosive devices?”
“T
o bring them down here for the water, but there’s something you’ve got to know. Your people are in a lot worse danger than that. If I’m putting everything together right, the assassin we just killed was sent here by his government to murder you and anybody else from your ship who managed to get on-planet. I’m willing to bet that government’s next move would have been taking over the ship.”
“What?” Mrs. Bug sounds utterly confused. “Why?”
“To figure out where it came from and follow your trail back. That way they could conquer your home-world before anyone else in the Mapped Sector even knew it existed.”
With a sharp hiss of breath, Lacey slews round again to join in the conversation.
“That sounds like the Alliance, dunt it, chief? Think you can ever prove it?”
“Hell, no, but maybe we can stop’em from going any further. Now shut up, all of you, and let me do some hard thinking.”
And Bates spends the rest of the fast ride into town making some of the most potentially dangerous choices of his career.
oOo
As they park the skimmer, Lacey sees the red medical van hurtling through the air and heading for them. It makes a violent landing even for Carol and quivers to a stop on the loading dock. In a flurry of dreadlocks Carol jumps out.
“Jeezus, Lacey, from what I’ve been seeing on the three-dee I thought you’d get killed for sure.”
“Oh shit,” Bates says. “How much has gotten on the news?”
“Channel 19 started one of their RumorWatch features just at sunset, so plenty. Speculation, most of it, about this lousy plague we got going here, but the latest is some garbage about a first contact. Jeez! Dunt know how they make this crap up!” Carol strides over to look at Mulligan, who is perched sidewise on the edge of his seat, his legs stuck out the open door, as if he’s afraid to come out any further with her there. “So they rescued you, huh? Pity.”
“Somehow I knew you was going to, like, say that.” He sounds completely exhausted. “Hey man, just get out of my way? We got someone here we got to get inside and, like, fast.”
As Carol steps back, Mulligan slides out. Round the other side, Bates gallantly opens the door and holds it for Mrs. Bug, who uncoils herself from the cramped space and stands, towering over Bates, towering over the skimmer, stretching in a shimmer of arms and glistening skin. For the first time in their long friendship, Lacey sees Carol speechless, her mouth slack as she tips her head back to look up and up to Mrs. Bug’s golden-eyed face.
“Hello,” Mrs. Bug flutes. “You are the doctor? I have borrowed Mulligan’s memories, you see. The ones he has of you are particularly vivid.”
“Let’s not get into that now,” Lacey breaks in. “Carol! Ask her about the bacteria. She says she can help us.”
“Thank God.” With a shake of her head Carol is all business again. “You know how to cure this disease?”
“It is not a disease for us, though I can see how it would be for you. It is a symbiote, part of us from birth. It both keeps us clean and helps feed us in return for a share of our food, and in death it claims us.”
“Jeezuz,” Carol whispers. “No wonder I was getting nowhere.”
“Come on, let’s get inside!” Lacey glances nervously down the alley. “Our luck no going to hold forever. We got to get inside before someone sees us.”
As they hurry through the garden, the door to her upstairs office opens, and Rick stomps out, laser pistol drawn and ready until he sees them.
“Lacey, man, am I fucking glad to see you. There was this killer prowling round here a couple hours ago now. Maria says she felt him or something.”
“Yeah? Well, the bastard’s dead now. Put that gun away, amigo. Makes me nervous, watching you wave it around.”
As they clatter up the stairs, Rick notices Mrs. Bug for the first time, but he merely gives her a polite nod and stands aside to let them all past. In the office Maria is waiting by the wet bar and drinking a bottle of home-made beer. Buddy’s sensors flick their way, and his screen brightens in greeting.
“My housecomp sub-function has prepared a triple quantity of coffee, and Maria has brought milk and put some sort of edible objects on the table.”
“Cookies,” Maria says. “Only thing I know how to make, man. Rick picked some carrots and stuff.”
Although Lacey is far too nervous to eat, every one else in the room rushes for this improbable buffet. Watching Mrs. Bug eat explains more about the bacterial symbiote than a small monograph could. She picks up a soggy brownie with one pair of pincers and cradles it close to her petalled mouth. Almost at once long tendrils of gray sugar crystal begin to form, which she sucks delicately through the tube. Carol watches her closely, her cup of coffee forgotten in one hand.
“What I want to know is how we’re going to get it off the sentients who can’t use it.”
“Very simple.” Mrs. Bug picks up a napkin with a lower pincer and flips it deftly up her spiral of arms until she can dab at her mouth as delicately as a dowager. “I will ask them to leave.”
“Ask...”
“Ask. Although we may need to use some chemical persuasion as well, because they are not truly intelligent in any sense of this word, it is more a communication problem than a medical one. Actually, I had best teach Mulligan and Nunks how to communicate with them, too. It will speed the process. The bacteria cannot understand normal language, whether mental or mouth-spoken.”
Carol sounds as if she might strangle.
“Well, I oversimplify, of course,” Mrs. Bug says hurriedly. “Ask is no doubt the wrong word.”
“Yeah? Good. Suppose you try finding the right one.”
“It is a question of generating a field of...psychic force? Is that what I mean?” She pauses, her mouth petaling into a tight iris, then loosening again. “A situation of extreme request to leave? No no no, I lose my command of your language when I try to express...you do not understand symbiosis, you see, the...um, well...the mutuality of it...”
Wrapped in silence she wanders away to Nunks and Mulligan, who turn just as silently to greet her.
“Ask.” Carol seems to be addressing God or at least the far wall. “Just ask. I have run up God knows how many bucks worth of a bill on the Quaker Hospital comp doing tests and data searches, and all she needs to do is ask. I think I’m going to cry. Just quietly. To myself.”
oOo
When Bates sees Carol standing alone, he hurries over, starts to catch her arm, then holds back, wondering if she’s been touching some patient with the Outworld disease.
“Say, Doc, did you bring those holos I asked for?”
“Sure did.” Carol pats her pocket. “What did you want them for?”
“You’ll see in a minute. I got one or two things to...”
“Chief Bates?” Buddy’s voice is smoothly urgent. “I hate to interrupt, sir, but you have an urgent comm call from Akeli of the PBI.”
“Hell.” Bates sits down in the chair at the comm link on the left side of Buddy’s casing. “Go ahead.”
Akeli’s face, polished with nervous sweat, appears on the screen. His maroon tie hangs loosened and limp at an odd angle.
“Bates, the carlis have overridden the protests of Space Dock and are positioning a personnel carrier in orbit for planetary access. At an earlier point in time you made reference to a ‘last-ditch’ strategy. It would be advisable to implement it immediately.”
“Ah shee-it! This is all coming down too fast, man.”
“Bates, for God’s sake! You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“Sure do. Listen up, man. As soon as you get off the comm with me, you get your duty officer to call in every agent you can get your hands on. I’m going to need help with crowd control as well as an information campaign.”
“Very well. I’ll see about recalling off-duty secretaries and comp-ops, too.”
“Do that.” Bates powers out with a vengeance. “Buddy, get me Channel 137’s news department. Tell’em it’s Chief of Police
Al Bates calling for Luisa Jiminez y Ibarra on an urgent matter of public safety.” He turns to look over his shoulder. “Dr. Carol, bring me those pix, will you? Buddy’s going to transmit them to the three-dee people, and when it’s your turn to talk, you got to lie. Tell them you still no got a cure. You just made a promising break-through, and that’s all.”
“What?” Carol squawks. “What are you trying to do, start a public panic?”
“Can’t be helped. I’ve got to put the fear of God into the carlis, and I’ve got maybe an hour to do it in.”
Carol hesitates on the edge of a scowl, then suddenly barks one short burst of laughter.
“Bald carlis,” she says. “Oh lord, can’t you just see a bunch of bald carlis? And them the sentients who just always got to have everything as beautiful as they can make it. You’re right, el jefe. Should work like a charm.”
“A splendid scheme, indeed.” Buddy’s voice purrs approval. “Doctor Carol? If you will hand me the cubes, I will start transmitting immediately. Señora Jimenez y Ibarra is now online.”
oOo
While Bates describes the effects of the Outworld bacteria in great and disgusting detail, Carol hovers nearby, practicing solemn faces while she waits for her chance to discuss some imaginary research with the most popular talk-show host in Polar City. As much as she wants a drink, Lacey pours herself cold coffee instead. Mrs. Bug sits gracefully on the floor near Nunks and Mulligan, both slumped on the couch in identical poses. Lacey suspects that the three of them are talking among themselves. Sam, however, is pacing back and forth down by the wet bar.
“Will you sit down or something?” she snaps. “Jeez, it’s making me nervous just to look at you.”
“You damn well should be nervous, and no just because of me, amiga. There could be over three hundred sentients up there in the ice. For all we know the fucking Alliance is planning on blasting them into little tiny bits. Look, they must know that their scheme’s falling apart. Think they’re going to let the Republic just rescue these people nice and friendly like?”
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