Man of Two Worlds
Page 43
Please, Wytee! Hurt them just a little.
Nishi Ryll not talk hurt. Nishi Ryll run!
They could do nothing but obey the Soother.
Around a corner from the Madison, they found a car, its driver drooling out the open door, his eyes glazed in pain.
With Nishi’s help, Ryll eased the man onto the sidewalk and appropriated his car.
As they sped toward the National Airport, cars ahead of them swerved aside, clearing a path.
The extent of Wytee’s power over Earthers astonished Ryll, who urged moderation, but the Soother would not respond until they were in the terminal,
Go big flying thing Gate Six!
Nishi saw the gate sign and led the way. They found an Air France Boeing Rocketeer at Gate Six, prepared for final boarding, but everyone in the plane, including crew, unconscious.
Ryll stared at the interior of the plane in outrage. Now what, Wytee?
Ryll not make flying thing go?
How am I supposed to do that?
Ryll know how Lutt fly plane thing.
This is no Vortraveler!
Wytee help.
And Wytee proceeded to fill his mind with knowledge appropriated from the unconscious crew.
Saying a silent prayer to Habiba, Ryll closed the plane’s doors, cleared the cockpit of its unconscious crew and made sure the dormant people were strapped into seats. Taking his place in the pilot’s seat, he looked at the instruments and controls. Nishi slipped into the copilot’s position.
Ryll Nishi do what Wytee say.
What else can we do, Wytee?
The irony of the question was lost on the Soother, who concentrated on getting them to safety.
We go France Legion make happy love cure place.
As the plane lifted from the ground, Ryll felt himself blushing but he dared hope Wytee’s promise would be kept.
***
The extraordinary phenomena occurring around President Hanson’s assassination have been traced to an alien attack on Earth. The combined military forces of our planet are repelling this infamous and underhanded viciousness. No matter how long it takes, we will overcome!
—Acting U.S. President Jahoon Clanton
“Look at this, Osey!”
Raj Dood pointed to a display in a news receiver set up in the shade of a thatched sunscreen at the end of their rickety pier. The inlet and nearby hideaway shack baked in noon glare. The shiny receiver looked out of place in the primitive setting.
Osceola, in a pink and green muu-muu, was pole fishing from the end of the pier. She concentrated on a red float bobbing suggestively in the sparkling water.
“Not now,” she said. “Think I got a bite.”
“But this is interesting. They say ‘Fashion news was made today by Nishi D’Amato, the hottest couturier in Paris, when she unveiled her new Venus Flame line.’ Calls herself D’Amato in her profession,” he added, “but privately she’s Mrs. Ryll. That was the Dreen’s name, remember?”
“So that’s what she did after she offed your nephew?” Osceola jerked the tip of her pole skyward but brought up a bare hook. “Damn! Got my bait.”
“How many times do I have to tell you it was that damn Soother killed him?”
“And you couldn’t save him?”
Raj Dood shook his head sadly. “I don’t think anyone could’ve saved him after what old L.H. did to him.”
“So the Soother killed him. But who told it to kill?”
“Nobody needed to tell it! What else could it learn there in Washington?”
Osceola spoke while rebaiting her hook. “You shoulda studied that critter more ‘fore you threw it away.”
“Hell and damnation! You are the most contrary female I ever met! I had to send it into another dimension fast as I could. The thing was wild crazy.”
She reset the line below her bobber and lowered it gently into the water. “So we still got two Dreens on Earth, that one married to this D’Amato and the one they call ‘the Basil King of Texas.’ Should you do anything about ’em?”
“They’re harmless, I tell you!”
“But Dreens can get Soothers and Soothers can kill.”
“Only if they’re shown the example. Soothers are sensitive to any madness around them. Can’t cure more’n one person at a time, so when they can’t function they go nuts.”
“Yeah? Well, I was you, I wouldn’t allow any more of those things on Earth. And I’d keep an eye on our two Dreens, ‘specially o’ Basil King. He may be the biggest grower-shipper of that stuff, but he gets high on it, too. No tellin’ what he might do when he’s high.”
Raj Dood abruptly leaned closer to the story unfolding on his display.
“Galloping gurus!” he muttered. “Know what those Dreens are planning next?”
“You’re talkin’ so much you’re scarin’ the fish,” Osceola complained. “I’m tryin’ to catch our dinner.”
He ignored her. “It says here these ‘old friends, the Subiyamas and the Rylls, are planning a daring hang glider vacation in the Himalayas.’”
Osceola set her pole in a wire holder and joined him under the sunshade. She looked at the display over his shoulder.
“Dammit all! I told you those Dreens were dangerous!” she said. “If we’re right about ’em, anything happens to those last two, this whole Earth and everything about it vanishes in a puff of smoke.”
Raj Dood turned off his receiver. “We’d better get some warm clothing,” he said. “Looks like we’re going to spend our vacation in the Himalayas this year. Hey!” He pointed at the fishpole, which was bobbing violently in its hanger. “You got something!”
“I got a pain in the ass for a lover,” she said. “But I guess you’re the best available.” She strolled into the sunlight, lifted her pole and admired the way it arched and jerked under the weight of a heavy fish. “But when you got ’em hooked, you got ’em.”
The End