Orbit 12 - [Anthology]

by Edited by Damon Knight

  A desk and a long wooden table stood close together in the center. A powerful wave of mittlebran washed over his olfactory nerves, leaving him more awake than he wanted to be and a little lightheaded. There was a glass-fronted cupboard against one wall which the doctor was locking with a thin metal key. A few lighting panels were out, making parts of the ceiling look like a checkerboard.

  The man walked wearily to the desk, sniffling, and sat down. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. For a while he just stared at Nert wide-eyed. “So you’re a friend of Arvin’s,” he said at last.

  It sounded more like a statement than a question, but Nert said, “Actually, I just met him this evening. He said you might be able to help my friend.”

  “Good old Arvin,” the man said.

  “Can you help?” Nert began to pace around the room nervously. The mittlebran was taking effect and he hoped the doctor wouldn’t take long to decide whether or not he wanted the case.

  “Don’t rush me, boy. I’m a doctor. Never rush a doctor.” He smiled pleasantly and said, “Tell me about this ‘friend.’“

  Nert suspected from the way Dr. Billingsley spoke that he didn’t believe it was a friend who had the problem. It was fortunate Nert had been exposed to Terrans early, on his brindle’s farm, or he would have been angry that he wasn’t trusted. But he knew that with Terrans it wasn’t a matter of trust but of understanding. No matter how much contact a Terran had with other races, he could never quite believe their thought-processes and logic patterns were any different from his own. It was a bad assumption, but Nert accepted it, and told him about Herbie.

  Dr. Billingsley said, “A most interesting case. Reminds me of one similar to it that I treated out in the Sack. Most interesting. Very.” He gnawed gently on his knuckle while he thought

  Nert was beginning to turn blue. His oversensitive nerves could smell things other than mittlebran now. If he’d known their names he could have told Dr. Billingsley every drug in the medicine cabinet Dr. Billingsley himself gave off a strong armpit odor that smelled to Nert much too much like boiled greeb. He pirouetted three-legged around the room working off his excess energy, and Dr. Billingsley said, ‘‘Will you stop that, please?”

  “Sorry.” Nert stood in one place clicking his claws. “What do you think?”

  “It could be serious. I think I’d better go take a look.”

  Nert spun leg-by-leg toward the door saying, “Good. Let’s go.”

  “That’ll be twenty-five credits. For the house call. In advance.”

  Nert fumbled through his pouch with overeager claws and handed Dr. Billingsley a twenty-five-credit note, which he took and locked in a desk drawer. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” Nert ran for the door again. “Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  Dr. Billingsley led Nert through the dark labyrinth of the city with the same easy grace Arvin had displayed. They rounded a corner, and to Nert’s surprise, the Galactica Hotel stood not more than half a block away. “How’d we get here so fast?” Nert said.

  “I know a shortcut.”

  “I thought Arvin knew the city as well as anyone.”

  Dr. Billingsley said, “He knows it well enough, but the instincts of a con man aren’t sufficient for a complete knowledge of anything. You have to have intelligence, too.”

  They walked through the early morning crowd. There were not as many beings as there had been when Nert had first gone out. Nert and the doctor entered the Hotel Galactica and crossed the blue-fluff-and-chrome lobby. Creatures dressed in the height of fashion—draped moss for the lizards of Ancheschloss II, dangling plastic baubles for the low, stocky creatures from Slix, hundreds of variations of fabric, light, shimmer, smoke and skin—haughtily watched the Droshi and the Terran, neither of whom were dressed in the height of any fashion whatsoever, cross the lobby to the lift-shaft and fall upward.

  Nert tried not to scream at the roar of the passing air as they ascended, and his body remembered sharp objects thrown at it by the wind on his home world.

  The gravity flux dribbled off and held constant at the one hundred fifty-third floor. They got out of the shaft, and the plush-padded hallway seemed very quiet Nert said, “You mean Arvin does everything by instinct?”

  The doctor nodded. “You should see Arvin’s home world. There are creatures there with just enough intelligence to be fooled by a smooth talker, and vine highways whose destinations it takes instinct to remember because their weavings and criss-crossings are too complex for a rational mind to follow.”

  “You mean Arvin is crazy?”

  “Just a little. Compared to the rest of his race he’s probably as reasonable as a Granoshian.”

  Nert thought about Arvin leading him through the dark, bewildering city and was amazed that he’d come out with his carapace intact. He wondered if he’d do it again.

  They came to the room where Nert had left Herbie. Nert said, “Right in here.” He put his claw into a small recess near the door and allowed the lock to scan it The light flashed green and he pushed the “Open” button.

  Dr. Billingsley followed Nert into the room and nearly ran into him. They stood transfixed. It took Nert a moment to comprehend what was happening; then suddenly it was clear. A strange creature that looked a lot like Herbie, but had a much lighter color and a shiny skin stretched tightly over its cytoplasm, was in the pool engulfing the last of Herbie with a bloated pseudopod. Even as they watched, the swelling thing finished sucking Herbie in, and when its pseudopod had relaxed back into its body it sat motionless in the center of the pool like a great implacable scoop of dirty glass.

  Nert ran toward it screaming, but reeled back when he was a few feet away, suddenly feeling nauseous; a fire ignited in all his muscles. He staggered back to where Dr. Billingsley stood, and the pain went away.

  “What is it?” Dr. Billingsley whispered hoarsely.

  “It got Herbie,” Nert whimpered. “I knew if I went away something horrible would happen. It got Herbie!” The last word was a whoop such as members of Nert’s race make when a situation is almost hopeless and the only choice left is to throw themselves in a rage at their enemy. Nert ran toward the pool, claws raised and snapping frantically. When he began to feel the nausea and the fire, he leaped forward, hoping to do some damage before he was forced to retreat. He splashed into the pool claws first, and immediately curled up in agony as cramps gripped and twisted his insides.

  “Help!”

  “I—” Dr. Billingsley didn’t move.

  “Help me, dammit!”

  The doctor ran forward and dragged Nert back to the door, clutching his own stomach. They lay on the floor panting; Dr. Billingsley took great mouthfuls of air, while the breathing slits on Nert’s chest flapped madly.

  “What was that?” Dr. Billingsley asked.

  “Frooth knows. You’re the doctor.” Nert crawled forward until he just began to feel the ill effects of Herbie’s murderer and stared at it as he rocked up and back.

  “I can’t examine it if I can’t get close to it.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Nert cried. “Don’t you understand? Herbie’s dead. He’s . . .” Nert’s eyes flattened until they looked like two saucers embedded in his head. More quietly, he added, “Thank you for coming. You can keep the money. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He never took his eyes off the thing in the pool.

  Dr. Billingsley was at the door when Nert said, “Please don’t report this to the police.”

  The doctor turned. “Why not?”

  “Herbie...“ Nert swallowed. “Herbie told me that sometimes a policeman who’s used to rich beings will give a spacer a bad time just for the fun of it. But even if there’s no trouble they’ll want me to stay until they’re done with the investigation. I want to get away from here as soon as possible. Besides, I want to take care of this in my own way.”

  Dr. Billingsley said, “Murder is permissible for some creatures, but even then it m
ust be reported.” He sat down on one of the all-purpose benches and crossed his legs casually. “Not reporting a murder can mean a lot of trouble, especially for a doctor.”

  “It can’t keep up that barrage forever. When it stops I’ll be sitting here ready for it. If you tell the police, they’ll get in the way.”

  “There is a way to keep them from finding out.”

  Nert turned to look at the doctor. “What’s that?”

  “For a small extra fee, I might be persuaded to keep this to myself.”

  Nert turned back to the creature in the pool and said, “And if there is an investigation, the numbies might possibly find out a thing or two about you.”

  The Terran stiffened. “Oh? What’s that?”

  “You stink of mittlebran.”

  “Oh, that.” He smiled. “How did you find out?” He paused and said, “No matter. You’ll have to do better than that. There are any of a dozen ways I could fight a possession charge.”

  Nert took a long time answering. “How much?”

  “One thousand credits, even.”

  Nert thought it over. A thousand credits was almost all the money he had set aside for his gerbis farm. Even so, it was worth any amount to be able to pay the creature back for Herbie’s death. He wondered, though, if Dr. Billingsley’s unconcern about the police was real. Though he’d learned a great deal about the city that evening, he knew nothing about the corruptibility of its police. But he did know from his childhood that it was almost impossible for anyone, sometimes even another Terran, to tell when a Terran was lying. Nert didn’t want to take a chance of guessing wrong.

  He counted out the thousand credits and put away the woefully small pile of bills that were still his. He hoped the monster would crack soon. The hotel room was only rented for three more days, and after that he would have to find a berth on a ship. Nert didn’t like to leave Herbie’s murderer behind, but there would be nothing else he could do. It looked like Herbie would never get the burial in space he’d always wanted.

  “Here’s your money,” Nert said. Dr. Billingsley took the bills and counted them. “Fine,” he said. “The numbies will never know.”

  Nert sat down a few feet away from the pool and watched the unmoving creature. The doctor said, “Well, I must be going now. I have other patients who need me.”

  Nert was silent.

  The doctor said, “Well, good luck.”

  Nert heard the door slide open and shut a moment later.

  It was very quiet, and Nert had been up for many hours more than he was used to. The monster blurred and Nert had to fight to focus his eyes again. He found himself looking at the being with clinical detachment. As he alternately dozed and started awake, the monster became more than an evil thing—it became evil itself.

  Despite all he could do, Nert rested on his tripod legs and fell asleep. He dreamed about drinking third-level glovo, but he didn’t enjoy it because it tasted like mittlebran. He wanted to ask Herbie about it, but he couldn’t because he was alone in the middle of a dark street that stretched both ways to infinity. A hurricane that went “kwish . . . kwish . . .” blew up the street and Nert had to climb a metal stairway to get away from it. But the rungs were rusty and he fell forever until he landed,kwish! on a mushy animal with a tight transparent skin that made him sick when he touched it and it smelled like boiled greeb. Dr. Billingsley threw money at him and asked, “Does it feel better now? Does it feel better now? Does it feel better now . . .”

  Nert took a swipe at the doctor, but his claw went right through his face. Nert fell back onto the monster and woke up.

  His three legs were sprawled around him like spokes ofa wheel. The monster hadn’t moved. Nert gathered himself up and walked toward it. Either the night’s sleep had done him some good, or the field had weakened, because he could advance to within touching distance of the pool without feeling more than mild discomfort.

  The thing in the pool groaned, and Nert backed off a few paces.

  “Nert.” The voice was too low, but it was unmistakably Herbie’s.

  “Herbie, is that you?”

  When the thing spoke, there were frequent long pauses as if it was a special effort for it to say each word. “Who else would it be?”

  Nert found he had no trouble getting as close to the thing as he wanted to. He said, “I thought you were dead.”

  “Obviously a mistake. What’s going on?”

  Nert explained what had happened to him since he’d left their room, and when he was done, Herbie said, “You mean you actually gave that sheet-mender one thousand credits?”

  “Even,” Nert said sadly.

  Herbie’s voice had been growing stronger as he interrupted Nert’s story with questions and explanations. It was nearly normal now, and though the being in the pool didn’t exactly look like the friend he’d left behind, Nert was sure it was Herbie.

  “You had no way of knowing, of course,” Herbie said, “but the police on Spangle are chosen as much for their incorruptible natures as they are for their blank stares. If Dr. Billingsley has any connections in high places, you can bet it’s not in the police department. Criminals have been looking for a way around the numbies, without success, for at least a thousand years. If he’s found the way, he ought to bottle it.”

  They sat quietly for some time, while Nert felt sorry for himself. At last he said, “One thousand credits, out the tube.”

  “Maybe not”

  “What?”

  “Just thinking out loud.”

  “Oh.” The only sound was the quiet pop, pop of bubbles as they escaped from Herbie’s underside and broke on the surface. Suddenly Nert said, “Great Frooth! I got so busy telling you what happened to me that I didn’t ask what happened to you. You tell me what’s going on.”

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to that. You remember that growth on my side you were so worried about?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I’m it.”

  Nert got off the bed and shook each leg in turn. That sometimes helped relax him. He said, “I don’t think I understand.”

  “That growth, that bulge was a child. We Tramitodeans grow buds, from one to about six of them, depending on how favorable circumstances are, and when they’re mature enough they break off and eat the parent.”

  “Then you’re really not Herbie.”

  “Sure I am. Or I’m as good as Herbie, anyway. The children have all the memories of the parent—all the parents back to the primeval soup. Of course the recollections get a little dim after the fourth generation or so, thank Frooth. Things are complicated enough as it is.”

  “So everything me and Dr. Billingsley saw was normal?”

  “Right”

  Then all the pain we felt must have been protection for the new being—uh, for you.”

  “Right. I’m a little telepathic too, more so now I’m in this new body. But don’t worry about the pain field. When I’m awake I can control it—my mazoola, that is—pretty well.”

  Nert sat back down on the bed. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me all this before it cost me one thousand credits and a night’s sleep?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You certainly did that.”

  “I didn’t really expect you back so soon. I thought I’d be all done. I know about you Droshi and your wild sexual practices. Four sexes, great Frooth!”

  Nert turned a pale shade of blue.

  “Besides,” Herbie went on, “I certainly didn’t expect you to bring a doctor. If you thought I needed one, why didn’t you get the one the hotel keeps on call?”

  Nert clicked a claw. He said, “I didn’t even think of that. Does this place have a doctor?”

  “This place caters to rich people. And when rich people want something, they want it yesterday. This hotel probably provides services we never heard of.”

  Nert understood their predicament wasn’t entirely his fault, and from the way Herbie spoke, he knew Herbie unde
rstood it too, and that was enough. Bickering would have been pointless.

  “What do we do now?” Nert asked.

  A small tremor shook Herbie and little concentric wavelets broke against the edge of the pool. He said, “There are two things we have to do.”

  “Yes?”

  “First, we have to find a ship that’s leaving very soon and get two berths on it. And second, we have to get our money back.”

  “That second thing seems pretty impossible, and even the first is questionable. How soon will you be able to move and hold down a billet on a ship?”

  “I could move now if I had to, but another day or so in the pool would be safer. And don’t give up on our money. Herbie’s changed, but he’s just as clever as he used to be—”