“Bates, I have committed a grotesque indiscretion. I have invoked ambassadorial immunity to get my unworthy self past your most excellent security arrangements.”
“Ka Pral, I am honored to wipe the indiscretion away and even more honored to mock and insult my own inadequate and sniveling security arrangements.”
“Hey, man!” mutters one comp tech. “No that bad.”
The other tech hisses him into silence. Bates and Ka Pral ignore them both.
“To what do I owe the inestimable honor of your visit to our filthy, ugly, and pitifully unaesthetic police headquarters?”
“No, no, this building, this room are far more adorned and beautiful than a wretch such as I deserves to see with my own eyes.” Ka Pral hesitates, his thin blue lips quivering in the way that carlis have when they are pondering subtleties. “I am uplifted and overjoyed beyond imagining that you have allowed me to remain in your presence any longer than the time it would take to dismiss me.”
“What? How could I deprive myself of the honor of entertaining such an august personage as yourself?”
At that Ka Pral flops into the chair and runs both hands through the tufted fur on his face.
“Forgive me, Bates. I am very weary. Ceremony has become more than I can bear. The news of this peculiar disease has thrown my entire embassy into an absolutely ghastly panic. I have come to ask your honest forgiveness, not some ceremonial absolution.” His ear-flaps hang flaccid with worry. “I do not believe that this situation warrants the intolerable breach of protocol which some members of my government have seen fit to commit.”
It takes Bates some seconds before he realizes that the carli means the presence of the troop carrier in orbit.
“Ah. I too have had some twinges of regret for this ill-considered action, but never would I impugn your honor in the least degree, for what can one sentient do against the will of many?”
“Thank you, Bates. I am grateful.” For some moments he sits with his head bowed between his hands. “I know that many species throughout the Mapped Sector mock our preoccupation with elaborate codes of behavior, but perhaps now you see why we cherish correct actions so highly. Bates, somewhere I read that the chief problem facing a lizzie mother is to teach her children to face the things they fear, not instinctively hide, and the chief problem of a human mother is to teach her children to share, not grab and hoard. Do you know what the chief problem facing one of our mothers is?”
“I don’t, no.”
“To teach her children to think, not bite. We instinctively snap first and think later. It is a function, I believe, of our being carnivorous.” With a sigh, he stands, smoothing down the robe. “On my own initiative, I can do nothing. I can, however, exert certain pressures on the current President of the Council. He is my son-in-law.”
“Your Excellency! Never would I wish you to strain your bonds of obligation to such a degree on our humble behalf!”
“Indeed? I appreciate your delicacy of feeling, but do you have a better idea?”
“As it happens, I do. This bacterial epidemic? The disease is horribly disfiguring.”
“I’m well aware of that already, I’m afraid.”
“But are the soldiers on the orbiting ship aware of it?”
Ka Pral’s ear flap stiffen to full extension, and his posture changes, too, into a relaxed stance.
“Why, Bates, what a fascinating question! You know, I believe I should investigate it. Protocol, after all, is my area of expertise, and it would be only polite to give the captain and officers of that ship all the information relevant to the success of their mission. Allow my humble self to leave your presence. We shall talk again later.”
Ka Pral sweeps out, leaving Bates grinning behind him. With a polite cough, Akeli comes forward.
“I must admit to a certain admiration mixed with astonishment at your influence with the Confederation Secretary of Protocol.”
“Know something? I’m pretty damn surprised myself.”
oOo
“Very well, Mulligan unit,” Buddy says. “I have accessed a satellite link that can tell us where the Montana is. Please wait...please wait...ah, there they are! On an out-system parabolic trajectory, better known, perhaps, as a cometary orbit.”
“Hey, swell, plug-sucker, but, like, what does that mean?”
“It means they’re trying to rendezvous with the comet which encrusts the remains of the sleeper-ship, that’s what. What did you study in high school, anyway?”
“Baseball, mostly, but I was pretty good at craftshop, y’know, laser engraving and stuff like that.”
“A splendid preparation for life, no doubt.” Buddy hums to himself for a long moment. “As far as the orbital’s comp unit can tell me, the programmer and her expedition have eighty-four standard minutes before they reach Mrs. Bug’s comrades. The Hopper ship is now sixteen minutes behind and still gaining.”
With a groan Mulligan sits down on the sofa and blinks back tears.
“There’s a replay of an off-planet ball game on Channel Eighty-seven, Mulligan unit.”
“Thanks but no thanks. I couldn’t like concentrate. Y’know?”
“The point is to distract you from your anxiety, not to absorb whatever data it is that ballgames provide.”
“Oh. Hey, like thanks. But I’d rather watch you work. Y’know?”
Since Buddy is becoming used to Mulligan’s idiom, he ignores the implicit question and returns to tracking the Montana on-screen. In spite of what he’s just said, after a moment Mulligan can’t bear to watch the colored dots that might mean Lacey’s death. He leans back into a corner cushion, covers his eyes with the crook of one elbow and tries to pretend he’s only having a nightmare. All at once he’s aware of his wrists, itching profoundly. When he automatically scratches the left one, the skin peels away under his fingernails, bringing the pale hair with it.
“Ah hell!”
“What is it now, Mulligan unit? You are distracting me.”
“Yeah? Go suck plugs. It’s, like, that Outworld bacteria crud. That assassin grabbed me, and then Mrs. Bug touched me when she was, like, untying me.”
“None of that explanation makes the least bit of sense, but shall I call Dr. Carol for you?”
“Nah. Mrs. B. showed me what to do. I just forgot that I got the lousy stuff on me.”
“There are times, Mulligan unit, when you show a peculiar deficiency of the survival instinct. Perhaps you need vitamin shots.”
“Maybe you need a spritz of soda water on your circuits, too.”
Buddy squawks, his screen blazing a rainbow of colors. With what dignity he can muster, Mulligan gets up and stalks out of the room in search of privacy, but in the hall he comes face to face with Maria.
“You want something?
“Nah.” She looks away, her lower lip trembling. “I was just worried about Nunks and Lacey. They sure done a lot for me, man.”
“Yeah, for me, too.” All at once he realizes that here is someone who actually needs his help. He can’t remember the last time that he felt in a position to do something for someone else rather than the other way around. “Uh, say, you want to learn something new? I mean, like, it’ll be a something to keep our minds off the crap coming down.”
“New what?” She glares at him, and he can feel waves of suspicion pouring from her mind. “You keep your hands off of me, panchito.”
“Not that! Jeez! I mean psionics. Like, you want to learn how to get this damn bacteria off people? I bet Dr. Carol’s going to need all the help she can get when it comes time for her to announce her ‘miracle cure.’ Once the carlis are gone, y’know.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, see what you mean. Uh, do you really think I could?”
“Sure. Nunks thinks pretty highly of your talent, y’know. It’s getting to be time for you to go to the lousy Institute, but you might as well get a jump on those stuffy bastards.”
“Mulligan, are they really awful?” Tears shakes her voice. “I dunt want to
go there, man. I never asked for this crappy talent, y’know. And I dunt want to be branded. Does it hurt?”
Mulligan has been so used to thinking of Maria as a sexy fox that he’s forgotten she’s actually a sixteen year old child. She looks it now, tears smudging her make-up, her mouth trembling, her sweaty hands twisting the hem of her long T-shirt into a moist lump.
“Nah, it dunt hurt at all. It’s just a tattoo, like, no really a brand, y’know. But I know how you feel. Jeez, all I ever wanted was to play ball. Y’know? But say, the things that’ve like come down lately, y’know? Well, they kind of made me think. I mean, seeing Mrs. Bug, and even that gonzo assassin. It’s like, well, I was thinking that having psi made me nada but a bench warmer, but it’s really a whole nother game where I can, like, be a starter. Uh, y’know?”
“No, I dunt know. Jeez, Mulligan! You sure talk lousy.”
“Well, screw you!” Then all of a sudden he gets an idea.
Listen. You hear/ not hear me?
Maria shrieks, stuffing both hands over her mouth.
[glee] You hear mereal good. Hear/not hear? Answer!
A long pause. Then she sticks out her tongue at him.
I hear. I do thisright/not right?
Right. Just what I thought. [smugness] >Come with me/to garden >>we sit in fresh air >>>you learn.
I no want!
Too bad.
I hate you!
No you not hate/me. You hate/being different.
Again she sticks out her tongue; then she turns away with a sigh.
“Yeah, guess so. Jeez, for a loco kind of dude, you see things, dunt you.”
“I’m no loco when it counts.” Suddenly he’s amazed: he’s just said something quite true, though he’s ignored it for years. “I mean, like, I no asked for this psi stuff. But you know, you kind of start getting used to it after a while. Like, it can come in kind of handy.”
oOo
“How long before the Montana makes contact with the sleeper-ship?”
“Fifty-two standard minutes, chief.” The comm tech never looks away from her screen. “But that old Hopper ship’s only fourteen minutes behind now.”
Even though the tech’s been in the Army for years, Bates’ string of old-fashioned Marine oaths makes her wince.
“Uh, sir?” She waits briefly before daring to go on. “The orbital trackers are picking up something weird, but it dunt look like a ship.”
“What do you mean: something weird?”
“Just that. There’s something coming insystem not far from the comet and the sleeper-ship, but it’s no another ship.”
Bates can make nothing of the stream of equations that are bleeding down from the top of the screen and obscuring the three-dee system display.
“Well, for chrissakes, then tell me when you know what the damn thing is, and dunt bother me with it now!”
“Yes sir! Whatever.”
In his corner by the water cooler Akeli is busy working comm. In one hand he has a portable comm link to his own comp unit, and in the other the auxiliary mini-screen of Bates’, so he can read one message while listening to another. On the main screen of Bates’ comp, the police reports scroll by with a dreary sameness: panic all over town, but things are calmest in Porttown. All over the ghetto, small groups of civilian sentients, most likely armed although they’re being discreet about it, have appeared on street corners. Their leaders have announced that there’s going to be absolutely no rioting and no looting, not so much as one thrown rock, and the Porters are obeying them without question. Bates gets on the comm to his section head in Porttown and tells her to detail a third of her personnel to the upscale New Cloverdale neighborhood, where gangs of teenage humans are prowling the streets looking for trouble.
“Sounds to me, lieutenant,” he says, “like the Mayor of Porttown’s got things under control on his turf.”
“I’d say so, yeah. Okay, sir, I’ll have those personnel in vans and moving out on the double.”
Bates has barely powered out when Akeli’s comm link shrieks with urgent beeping. The chief drifts over to eavesdrop as the PBI head punches in. On the tiny screen they see the President’s sweat-shiny face, framed in untidy strands of a disintegrating hair-do. She is smiling as if her face might break from it.
“The carli ship is leaving orbit.”
Everyone in the room, chiefs and techs both, whoops and cheers. The President allows herself another smile.
“Good work, Bates. Akeli told me you’re the mastermind behind this scheme. I’ll see you’re rewarded for it.”
“No need, ma’am. Just doing my job.” It occurs to Bates that by surrendering the glory, Akeli also protected himself from any blame if the scheme had gone wrong. “I no could have done it without the help of a Confederation official named Ka Pral, anyway.”
“Charming modesty, charming, but I know what you Polar City boys are like.” She winks in an alarmingly flirtatious way. She obviously has no idea that Bates has only been on planet for a short time—either that, or she assumes that he’s been infected with the local larceny already. “Akeli, I want you and Bates to get down the Alliance Embassy. With the carlis gone, the asylum case might break at any minute. I’m willing to bet that the Alliance officials want this thing over with, but it’s an equally sure thing that they weren’t going to give a centimeter as long as it looked like the carlis could take some of the credit. If things do go our way, I want high officials down there to keep the Lies from changing their minds.”
oOo
“Delta Four, what the hell is that thing?” Lacey unconsciously frowns and squints, as if her physical eyes could bring into focus the peculiar signal she’s receiving through the implant in her mind.
“I don’t know, programmer. I have never seen anything like it in all my years of activation. As you can see, however, it’s approaching our projected rendezvous point with the sleeper-ship at great speed.”
“Meteorite?” Sam breaks in over comm, his voice tense. “Off-course asteroid? Nother comet?”
“Oh hey, man!” Lacey snaps. “Give us a break, will you? We could recognize any of those, for chrissakes. This thing is gonzo.”
“The signal is blurred and intermittent, captain. It would appear at times that nothing’s there at all.”
“More Hoppers, maybe?” Sam says.
“Nah, I doubt it.” Lacey squints again, of course in vain. “Well, we’ll find out, and real soon now.”
“How soon?”
“Rendezvous point in thirty-one standard minutes. The Hoppers are now eleven minutes behind.”
“How soon before they hit firing range?”
“Eleven minutes. Firing range is what I’ve been calculating for all along.”
“Ten minutes now, programmer. They successfully completed that risky manoeuvre around that dead satellite astern.”
Lacey would like to swear, but words fail her.
“Okay, this is war,” Sam snarls. “Comp op, tell Delta Four to power up the mix on the fuel. We’re going to be rocking and rolling, but I bet we can squeeze a little more speed out of this baby.”
“Hey, captain, is that safe?”
“Safe? Why the hell are you worrying about that now?”
“You got a point, amigo. Okay, Delta Four, comply.”
oOo
Although there are no fold-out barriers, no columns of vans, and certainly nothing as crude as armed troops standing around, the Alliance Embassy has been cordoned off by mutual agreement. High overhead a police glider circles, as if daring any skimmer to try and get close. Just inside the zap fence the occasional pair of Hoppers bounces along, just casually, to all purposes out for a little stroll, yet passing in fairly regular intervals. Out on the Republic streets PBI agents, draped in civilian suncloaks, are loitering on the corners, maybe reading a newspaper, or talking casually about baseball, yet there to step forward whenever an unknown ground car tries to drive too near the dark monolithic building. Just inside scrollwork Emba
ssy gates, in the shade of the kiosk, four guards are sitting on the ground, playing some elaborate game by the look of it, while across the street, in the cool and cavernous entrance to the Federal Pension Fund building, a handful of Republic cops cluster behind a card table littered with papers, looking maybe like they’re selling tickets for some police charity event.
Since Bates and Akeli have come through the Pension Fund building from the other side, they know that in the hall just behind this peaceful facade stand two Army Reserve squads and one of Republic Marines; they can guess that some counterpart waits just out of sight inside the Alliance Embassy. The police officer in charge, Sergeant Maddock, ambles over to greet them.
“Been real quiet, sir. About ten minutes ago the front door opened, and this important looking dude came out, but he just looked around and went back in.”
“You got any kind of comm link set up with these people?” Bates says.
“Yes sir.” He waves an enormous hand at a small silver link box on the card table. “Right there.”
Although Bates is tempted to pick it up and simply announce the arrival of two highly-placed Republic officials, he decides to be more circumspect and merely walks out a little ways onto the sidewalk, right at the edge of the shade, where he can be seen without frying himself in the morning sun. Across the street a Hopper in a red and gold uniform gets up, shades his eyes with one hand, and stares at him. The way he stands and tilts his head is familiar, all right; Bates is willing to be that it’s Den’ah’vel’, especially when the Hopper bounds for the front door and hurries inside with no attempt at acting casual.
Then they wait, Bates standing at the edge of the shade with his hands crammed into his pockets, Akeli hovering over the comm link, while the sun travels higher and the sweat begins to seep from everyone’s faces. Bates cannot stop himself from thinking about the Montana, speeding toward the ship that may be nothing more than a drifting tomb for Mrs. Bug’s people. Maddock comes to stand next to him and yawns with a crack of his jaw.
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