V: The Crivit Experiment

by Allen Wold

  Lunch had proved to be substantial, if totally vegetarian. He saw Edna at another table, and wanted to join her, but the guards forbade it. But after lunch there was some free time, during which he could mingle with the other prisoners in the main compound.

  Not that there was anything to do. He got a chance to talk with Cliff Upton and Chuck Lamont for a while, but they could give him little information on how the camp was run. Apparently, the Visitors gave their prisoners a different routine every day. It seemed to make no sense.

  He and Greta were watching as a skyfighter landed on the roof of the receiving building, and were wondering what new prisoners might be coming in when speakers around the compound began calling out names. Those called, including Peter but not Greta, were directed through a fenced walkway to yet another building, where they were put into individual cubicles. These were just four-by-four feet, with only a chair in the middle, bolted to the floor and facing what looked like a full-wall window. If it was transparent, he couldn't see what was on the other side, since the glass was dark and no light from the cubicle passed through to illuminate what was beyond.

  Colored lights suddenly started playing down on him from the ceiling, and after a moment he seemed to drift into a kind of confused dream, of which he could remember very little later. When he was released, he was taken back to the main compound. There he saw the new prisoners with Susan Green, Bryan Ricardo, and several others. He went over to join them.

  "What the hell did they do to me just now?" he asked the older prisoners, interrupting the conversation in progress. He briefly described his experience in the cubicle.

  "You've just had your first session at conversion," Susan told him. "Whether you get another depends on how well they liked your performance this time."

  "Is that good or bad?"

  "Depends. If you can't be converted, you stay here, they don't make you work a lot, and they feed you very well. If you can, they eventually take you somewhere else."

  "I don't know if I like the sound of that," one of the new prisoners said. "I've heard that the lizards eat people. "

  "Ridiculous," Bryan said.

  Durk Attweiler liked Arnold Rutgers immediately. The surgical veterinarian from Diger-Fairwell was a tall, craggy man in his late forties, with hands that were both strong and gentle, and he had a way with animals. JoAnn Hirakawa, on the other hand, was terse, slightly sardonic, and not easy to talk with.

  They'd met him at the Five Star right on time and with only the briefest of explanations of who they were, followed his truck to his farm. There Arnold had loosened up a bit, to say only that the people at Diger-Fairwell were very interested in the sand creature he had seen, and just wanted to get a firsthand view of it. He had surprised Durk by opening the back of their station wagon and taking out a small pig.

  "Figured you'd have only so many goats to spare," Arnold said.

  "If you can show us where you saw the creature," JoAnn said, "we'd like to see if it will take the bait."

  "You're not going to like it," Durk told her. "Neither is the pig."

  "It's sedated," Arnold said. "It's also a breed we use for a lot of our medical testing, and is very easily controlled. This kind of experiment is not one that would receive government approval, but under the circumstances, I can't think of a better way to find out if what you've got up there in the sand fields is the same as the creatures the Visitors use to guard their prison camps."

  "Let's go do it," JoAnn said, going back to the station wagon.

  "We'd better use my truck," Durk said. "The lizards fly over sometimes, and if they see that wagon, they'll wonder what the hell is going on. In fact, you'd better park it in the barn. I'll put the pig in the truck."

  He took the animal from Arnold, who went to move the station wagon, and fitted a halter around its neck. It was a very small pig, little more than a foot high at the shoulder, and quiet, but he didn't want it jumping out on their way to the sand fields. JoAnn watched silently as he lifted the pig into the back of his truck and fastened the two lead lines to either side.

  "I'll ride in back with it," Arnold offered as he came back from the barn. He climbed over the tailgate while JoAnn got into the passenger's seat.

  "You're taking this pretty seriously," Durk said to JoAnn as he started the cranky engine.

  "Aren't you?"

  "I live next to them. I have to."

  "We all live next to them these days, one way or another," she said. There was no further conversation until they got to his north acres.

  He parked the truck next to the fence, a couple of hundred feet south of where he'd gone over the day before. As Arnold untied the pig, Durk took out some shovels, fence posts, and a coil of wire which he'd stowed in back.

  "Just in case somebody comes by," he explained, "you're going to help me reset this section of fence."

  "You're awfully cautious," JoAnn said.

  "It's something you learn," he answered, "if you augment your living the way I do."

  Arnold handed him the pig. "Mountain crafts?" he asked with feigned innocence.

  "Of a sort." He met Arnold's eyes and knew that the man understood perfectly. JoAnn, on the other hand, was at a complete loss.

  "Let's go over here," Durk went on. "That way we'll have the cover of the trees, such as it is, if a flyer goes by."

  "Do they often?" JoAnn asked.

  "Every now and then. Nearly got caught with the goat."

  The fence wires at that point were so slack that they had no trouble going through. Arnold carried the pig, insisting it needed no rope or halter. Durk led them diagonally up toward the sand fields, where they paused at the edge of the more barren area.

  "It might not be here now," Arnold said. "Or it might not be hungry."

  "One way to find out," Durk said.

  Arnold put the pig down, faced its snout toward the center of the sand fields, and gave its rump a good, hard smack. The pig squealed, scampered away through the low weedy plants, and halted about a hundred feet from them. Its feet sank nearly up to its hocks in the soft sand.

  "Don't watch the pig," Durk said. "Watch the ground beyond it." He pointed off toward the east and south.

  They saw it then, like a bubble moving through the sand. It turned to bypass the roots of the few low bushes and plants, but otherwise headed straight toward the pig.

  "That's a crivit, all right," Arnold said softly. The pig seemed oblivious to the approaching danger until the last moment. Then the moving disturbance in the sand accelerated, the pig squealed as if it had been stuck, and two tentacles shot up out of the sand, wrapped themselves around the pig's struggling body, and dragged it down.

  "That's a crivit all right," Arnold said again, only this time his voice was strained.

  "Shit," JoAnn said. "Shit, shit." The sand where the pig had been churned for a moment, and then was still.

  "Let's get out of here," Durk said. "This ground's pretty firm, but I don't trust anything that can burrow like that."

  They nearly ran to the fence, and Durk and Arnold had to help JoAnn over. She was trembling, and her skin was white and clammy.

  "I've seen wolves pull down an elk," she said. "I've seen wildcats rip up rabbits. I've seen foxes and cats eat mice, and hawks eat snakes. But this, I don't think I can stand this."

  "If you've seen what you want to see," Durk said, "we'd better get back to the house." He walked back to the truck and had his stuff loaded into the back by the time the others joined him.

  "We're going to have to capture one of those monsters," Arnold said.

  "How you going to do it?" Durk asked.

  "I don't know. We'll figure something out. But right now I could sure use a good stiff drink."

  "I may have just the thing for you," Durk said.

  Freda drove the ground car into the headquarters parking lot at the Research Triangle Park. The only problem with her position as Leon's second on the project was that the hours were so long. She was ravenously hungry, and
appreciated Darin for waiting for her when he could have eaten hours ago.

  She entered the large building by the front door, to which she had a key, and found Darin waiting for her in the lobby. They greeted each other with a brief and discreet embrace, and then Darin escorted her to his suite on the second floor.

  "If he keeps on working you like this," Darin said as they went through the all but silent halls, "Leon ought to apply for a larger staff."

  "Three more people would be ideal," Freda agreed. "But I don't think we're likely to get any help until he starts showing some results."

  Darin let her into his suite, which consisted of a single large sitting room, a bedroom, and a bath.

  "This is what I really miss," Freda said, throwing herself on a couch. "You've seen those rooms we have at the farm. So small you can hardly move."

  "I guess that's not likely to change," Darin said, going to the far end of the room where tastefully decorated cages covered two full shelves next to the stainless steel personal abattoir "Something to drink before supper?"

  "I'm acquiring a taste for beer," Freda said with a wry chuckle. "Leon keeps the farm well stocked. But wine will be just fine."

  "No, I have some beer, I think," Darin said. He opened the refrigerator and took out two cans with different labels. "Can you tell the difference?" he asked, holding them up so she could see them.

  "Not really. You know, I'm getting a rather funny feeling about this whole project."

  "You mean," Darin said, handing her one of the cans, "lack of proper facilities, inadequate staff, and no direct link with any Mother Ship, let alone Diana's?" His tone was lightly sarcastic.

  "That's it exactly. On the one hand, we're supposed to be doing something important enough to warrant a separate laboratory; on the other hand it's just not enough of a laboratory to do much."

  "That fact has not escaped Chang's notice," Darin said. He took a long pull at his beer, then went back to the cages. "At the same time," he went on, "there's no doubt that Diana has personally approved the project. Verlog tonight?"

  "Anything, I'm starved. Yes, verlog will be fine." She drank her beer, slouched down on the couch, and closed her eyes. "You know what I think?" she asked rhetorically. "I think Leon's taking advantage of being allowed to do a small project to do more than he has been authorized. I think he's trying to prove himself to Diana by doing more than he was asked, working beyond the call of duty."

  "Makes sense," Darin said. He reached into a cage and took out an animal the size of a very large house cat. It had short fur, and face like a rabbit's, but with small, round ears. Its feet had short but strong black claws like a squirrel's, and its legs seemed as adapted to tree climbing as to ground walking. The animal did not resist, but hung limply in his grasp. He carried it over to the stainless steel counter of the abattoir.

  There, holding it by the back of the neck so that its head was over the recessed bowl, he took down a knife like a large scalpel and slit the creature's throat. The animal kicked ineffectively as its blood poured into the bowl. When its movement stilled, Darin removed the head completely and took an elastic tie and wrapped it around the animal's hind legs. Then he hung it up from the hook above the bowl so that it could continue to drain.

  "At least I'm covered," Freda said, getting up from the couch. The smell of hot blood was making her stomach growl. "I've documented everything I've done, every order I've received; it's a model of record keeping. If Leon gets into trouble by overreaching himself, I can prove that I was just following orders, and on occasion did so under protest. But if he succeeds, there's nothing in the file to discredit me with Leon either"

  "There's nothing more dangerous," Darin said, leaning back against the counter while the verlog dripped, "than an ambitious superior."

  "Ambition's not so bad," Freda said, "but when it's coupled with behind-the-back political maneuvering—"

  "Well, that's what I meant." Darin took down the verlog and with the scalpel-like knife quickly skinned it. Then, just to be fancy, he removed all the flesh from the bones and arranged the strips of still-warm meat on a platter. He put the skelton with viscera, the skin, and the head into the disposal unit at the back of the abattoir while Freda got glass mugs from a cabinet into which she poured the still-fresh blood.

  They carried their repast over to the table in the middle of the room and sat down. Darin picked up one of the mugs and raised it in toast.

  "Here's to Leon," he said. "May he get away with whatever he's up to, to everybody's profit."

  "I'll drink to that," Freda said, and took a sip of the blood. "Needs a little salt," she said.

  It was a week later, late enough in the evening by now that the staff cafeteria at Diger-Fairwell was nearly empty. Only a few snackers taking a moment off from the night shift sat at the round tables. Arnold Rutgers, with his two guests, Anne Marino and Mark Casey, were the only group and were seated right in the middle of the large room.

  "We seem to have an interesting situation down there," Mark said, working his way through his third piece of cherry pie. "We ran a global search on every communication we've recorded so far, both in-house and outside, trying to find references to crivits, breeding, Leon, and so forth. There were a lot fewer than we expected."

  "We've confirmed," Anne expanded, "that Leon is here at Diana's request, and that he is in fact supposed to be working with crivits, but the reports he's sent to her so far talk only about metabolic adaptation to Earth's environment."

  "Nothing about breeding at all?" Arnold asked. He swirled the rest of the cold coffee in his cup.

  "Only in the sense of providing subjects for study, not in the sense of enhancing or developing physical characteristics," Anne said. "Of course, we may have missed some implications, and your own people will be able to interpret those messages better. We didn't dare bring the printouts with us, but they're at the drop right now."

  "So how do we know Leon is up to any more than what he says?" Arnold asked.

  "Just a few casual communications," Mark said, "between Leon's assistant and someone at headquarters named Darin. Even Chang is not being told the whole story."

  "You could be misinterpreting," Arnold said. "Biological jargon can be just as opaque as that used by computer scientists."

  "There's nothing opaque," Anne said, "about Freda telling Darin, just in passing as they're arranging to meet this evening, that Leon won't have to cull the weak crivits from his stock, since the strong ones are doing it for him, and that they'll need to bring in some more to keep their numbers up."

  "I don't want to argue with you," Arnold said, "but I'll reserve judgment until after I've looked over those printouts myself. Be that as it may, whatever Leon is up to, it can't be to our benefit. That the lizards have a crivit ranch at all is bad enough, without regard to what they intend it for."

  "I agree," Mark said. "Even if our interpretation is wrong, I'd like to spoil their project. And I don't think we need to worry about Leon missing one of his animals. He'll just think it was a weakling the others killed off."

  "His success is working in our favor," Arnold agreed. He looked up over Mark's shoulder, and the two computer scientists turned to see three people coming toward their table. One of the newcomers was Penny Carmichal. The other two were men in their middle forties, looking somehow out of place and uncomfortable in suits and ties.

  Mark and Arnold rose to greet the newcomers, whom Penny introduced as Jack Corey and Wendel Fenister.

  "We had a little trouble at the checkpoint," she said, "trying to get the lizards to believe we'd be interviewing animal handlers at this time of night, but the guards were pretty ignorant, and we threw jargon at them until they got tired and let us through."

  "I just explained to them," Jack Corey said with a broad grin, "that you can't do anything with laboratory pigs during the day, at least not until they get to know you."

  "Those guys must be late for their supper," Wendel Fenister said, "because they thought we meant
guinea pigs, and their mouths started watering. That's what they didn't buy, since they know guinea pigs, but this lizard had never seen a real pig, and we spent a good while describing one to him. Got into razorbacks and black boars too. Pretended the lab pigs were like those instead of like farm breeds."

  "It was really rather fun," Penny said.

  "You gentlemen want any coffee, doughnuts while we talk?"

  "You got any milk?" Corey asked as he and Fenister pulled chairs up to the table.

  "Sure." Arnold went off to get it while Penny explained what was going on to Mark and Anne.

  "Jack and Wendel," she said, "are going to get us our crivit."

  "We're going to try anyway," Fenister said. "Jack's caught big cats, and he thinks he might have a way to do it."

  "That's catfish," Corey said, responding to Mark's questioning glance. "Biggest one I ever caught weighed over two hundred pounds, a real monster."

  "You mean you're going to fish for crivits?" Anne asked as Arnold came back with Corey's milk and a fresh cup of coffee.

  "Makes sense, don't it?" Corey responded. "You can't shoot through sand any better than you can through water, and you can't get an animal like that to come up out into the air to get into a trap."

  "Who-all's going on this expedition?" Mark asked.

  "Just me," Arnold said. "If the three of us can't handle one crivit, then it's too big to bring in at all."

  "Besides," Penny went on, "we don't want to attract too much attention. The fewer people involved, the more likely we are to go unnoticed by the lizards."

  "It sounds," Anne said, "like you've already gotten it figured out. Why the meeting here tonight?"

  "To figure out what kind of equipment we'll need," Corey said, "and what Arnold here can supply. It gets kind of inconvenient trying to talk about it on the phone without ever actually saying what you mean."

  "We actually figured most of the stuff out on the way over here," Fenister said. "Goddamn, when Miss Carmichal told us what we were going after, I couldn't believe her at first. I mean, a monster that burrows in the sand?"