Nadurovina did not smile. Her posture was as regimented as her thinking. “Tell me true, Erhard: Haven’t you ever, watching such happenings on the tridee, had the desire one time in your life to gamble a million credits or so on a single throw of the dice, or spin of the futures’ globe?”
They stepped out of the lift and into a main hallway, busy with nurses and medtechs, doctors and support personnel. The two by now familiar uniformed officers hardly rated a glance.
“We could lose him,” Rothenburg warned her. “The shock might be too much, even if the Pitar are involved only in his imagination. Fantasy can kill as readily as reality.”
“I’ll speak to Chimbu about it. Medication and specialists will be standing by at all times in the next room, ready to intervene.”
“What about the Pitar? What makes you think one of them will agree to see him?”
The colonel’s mouth twitched. “How could they refuse? Compassionate and neighborly as they are, it would look funny if they declined to offer their deepest sympathies to the sole survivor of the Treetrunk holocaust. Anyone who agrees to pay their respects will be intimately screened for the carrying of anything even potentially inimical, of course, before being allowed to come within a hundred kilometers of this island, much less this hospital. Much less Mr. Alwyn Mallory’s presence.”
“Even so,” Rothenburg felt compelled to point out as they turned a corner, “determined assassins invariably find a way.”
Nadurovina nodded thoughtfully. “In that event we would have something of an answer by roundabout means, wouldn’t we?” Rothenburg did not know what to say in response to this cool, detached calculation. “But I do not think that will be a problem. The Pitar may very well believe that we are testing them with words. If they are the responsible party, as Mallory continues to insist, then they will gladly go along with any test they believe will help to remove them from the list of suspected peoples. If they are not responsible and their participation in the atrocity is nothing more than a figment of Mr. Mallory’s addled imagination, no harm will have been done.”
“Not to human-Pitar relations, maybe,” Rothenburg objected, “but what about to the patient?”
“Time to roll the dice, Erhard.”
He smiled thinly at his colleague. “Easy to say when it’s not your sanity that’s at stake.”
His retort clearly troubled her. “In spite of what you may think, I don’t recommend this course of action easily or without qualms, Major. However inchoate, I am quite aware that Mr. Mallory is our only connection with whatever happened on Treetrunk. I have no more desire to see him lose his strengthening grasp on reality than you or anyone else. But I am the senior officer here, and I am the one being pressured for answers. Not informed speculation, not reasoned hypotheses, but answers. Whatever happens if we confront Mr. Mallory with his terrors, whatever the consequences, I am the one who will have to answer for them. I am prepared to take that risk.”
“Again, with somebody else’s dice.” Rothenburg refused to let his colleague and superior off the hook. “In spite of initial impressions I find myself liking this Mallory.”
“It is not his likability that is at stake here. For what it is worth, I like him, too. But in the resolution of this frightful mystery, neither his life, nor mine, nor yours, means anything.”
“All right. I’ll cosign on the requisite directives so long as you accept ultimate responsibility.”
She found herself walking toward the exit. Outside were languid breezes and the scent of orchids, the warm, moist aroma of mother Earth. Upstairs lay a lonely, frightened man who might hold the key to cataclysm, if only they could drag the proof or denial of it out of him.
“As senior officer on site, I have no choice. So I might as well do it willingly. You will commence the necessary arrangements?”
He nodded. “I’ll handle my end of things. How long before you think you can have one or more of them here?”
“One should do, I think. If we make too much of a show of it they may become suspicious. We want them to react, not anticipate. I will discuss with Dr. Chimbu a means of monitoring Mr. Mallory’s reactions even more effectively than we do now. We will need to record everything that happens in the finest detail for study later.”
“In case he locks up, or blanks out again, or dies?” Resigned to the turn of events Rothenburg might be, but he was not happy about them.
Nadurovina ignored the sarcasm. “Yes. In case any of those eventualities unfortunately come to pass. I hope they will not.”
“What about having the nurse present—Tsue or Tsoy or whatever her name is?”
“Irene Tse. She should be there. She is good for him. She does a lot of little things.”
Rothenburg was moved to reluctant admiration. “You don’t miss much, do you, Colonel?”
“No, Major. It is my job not to.”
15
He was tall and bronzed, regal of posture and sleek of muscle, faultless of demeanor and enchanting of smile. Wherever they went, heads turned; men out of admiration, women from a plethora of confused but animated emotion. In other words, he was a typical Pitarian male, no more or less spectacular than any other of his kind. Walking alongside him Nadurovina felt slighted, but not overawed.
His name was Dmis-Atel. A tertiary assistant from the southwest branch of his embassy, he had flown to New Ireland at the request of the authorities there to pay his respects, it was said, to a survivor of the Treetrunk bloodbath. Protesting that no such survivors were known to exist, the Pitar had been informed through the most secret channels that this was most probably the case, but in the event it was not, it would be gracious of them to bestow their guileless commiserations in person. And in the far more likely event that it was a clever falsehood being perpetrated by certain unscrupulous individuals for amoral reasons of their own, perhaps a perceptive Pitar could shed some light on the matter by examining it from a nonhuman perspective.
Once the situation had been explained to them thus, the Pitar did not hesitate. Representative Dmis was placed by his embassy on the first available aerial transport and charged with rendering whatever sympathy or service he could in the matter, as the occasion might demand. Rothenburg had met him at the airport and escorted him to the hospital, where he had been taken in hand by a calm, unruffled Nadurovina.
“I am anxious to see this person.”
The Pitar moved with effortless, graceful strides that gave him the appearance of flowing over the floor. One was tempted to bend low for a look at the bottoms of his feet to see if they were actually touching the ground. The Pitar did everything effortlessly and well. Nadurovina was no more immune than her friends to the spell they cast. Only her innate professionalism allowed her to maintain a greater degree of detachment. Did they also slaughter the innocent effortlessly and without strain?
“He does not know that you are coming.” They turned into a corridor through double doors that shouted Restricted Entry—Authorized Personnel Only and headed for the lift. Every step of the way, hidden scanners were examining every aspect of their bodies, from the material of their clothing to the contents of their digestive systems. Specific instruments searched for explosive components in their bloodstreams and toxins in their saliva. By the time they reached the corner room on the northwest end of the fifth floor they had been subjected to as thorough a noninvasive analysis as contemporary technology could contrive. This despite the fact that Nadurovina and her associates were fairly certain that the Pitar would not make an attempt on the patient’s person. To do so would amount to an admission of guilt or, at the very least, a stain on their saintly mien that would be difficult to wash away. Armed and highly trained personnel would be close at hand in any case, ready to intervene at the slightest provocation.
The Pitar did not give indication of being under any unusual stress, but then, the Pitar never did. It was difficult for the most perceptive at the best of times to tell what they were thinking. They never lost their temper or bur
st out in uncontrolled laughter. Like their physical appearance, their demeanor was always perfect.
They were alone in the lift. Nadurovina knew that a battery of observers was waiting in the room next to the patient’s, with dozens more cemented to remote monitors and pickups. Every movement of the visiting Pitar would be scrutinized, every word deconstructed, every shift in expression analyzed.
The door loomed ahead. The Pitar looked over and down to smile gently at her. “Are the guards for us or for this individual?”
“For him. As you can imagine we’ve been very interested in what he’s had to say about the destruction of his adopted homeworld.”
“And what has he said?” The Hellenically perfect countenance betrayed no concern, the body movements no agitation.
The military psychiatrist smiled back. “You can ask him yourself.” After identifying herself and her guest to the guards, they were allowed to pass. “I think you’ll find him an interesting subject.”
Still no visible reaction. Why should she have expected anything different? Opening the door, she entered first.
Mallory was sitting up in the bed with Tse in a chair at his side. It was a tableau that had become intimately familiar to Nadurovina over the past week. In that time the patient had put on weight and regained lost muscle tone. Much could be attributed to the attention he had received from the nurse, whose devotion to the single patient whose care she had been charged with looking after exceeded anything that could reasonably have been expected.
Here it was. The moment of confrontation. She could feel the eyes behind the multiple pickups glued to their screens, watching, waiting.
“Good morning, Mr. Mallory, Ms. Tse. I hope you do not mind, but I have brought a guest.” Stepping aside, she bequeathed to the man in the bed an unobstructed view of the visitor.
Mallory’s eyes shifted. He saw the Pitar. As importantly, the Pitar saw him. Nadurovina was not above holding her breath, ready to intervene, spring aside, or call for help as the occasion should demand. She did not know exactly what to expect. No one did. In their intense discussions prior to this moment she believed that she and her colleagues had imagined and discussed every possible scenario.
They were wrong.
“A Pitar.” Mallory’s voice was calm, controlled, absolutely devoid of fear or panic. “Here.” His gaze shifted to the psychiatrist, and he did something even more remarkable. He smiled. “Another of your tests? A little experiment, maybe?”
“Dmis is a member of the delegation that is headquartered on Lombok,” she explained. “He is a real Pitar, not an actor made up to look like one.”
“I can see that.” Did his tone darken ever so slightly, or was Nadurovina reading into it one of the things for which she and her associates were searching? “I know what a Pitar looks like.”
She tensed but made no move to interfere when the alien moved toward the bed. Outside, beyond the wall, she knew that the strike team of armed commandos would have reacted to the alien’s approach by automatically advancing to another level of readiness. To her relief he halted at the foot of the bed.
“So. You survived the disturbing incident that overwhelmed Argus Five.”
“That’s right. I did.” Mallory met the alien’s inscrutable gaze without flinching. “I saw what happened there.”
The Pitar made a small, almost imperceptible gesture whose meaning no one in the room comprehended. “My people are very concerned about what took place.”
Mallory’s mouth set in a tight line. There was no trembling, no quivering that Nadurovina could see. A glance at the readouts of the instruments that monitored the patient’s vitals showed little change, certainly not enough to be considered significant.
“I’ll bet they are.”
“What did you see happen there, man?”
Seated next to Mallory, Tse listened quietly to the conversation, one hand resting on the patient’s forearm. Reaching up, Mallory affected an air of mock forgetfulness.
“I’m not sure…Oh yeah, it’s coming back to me now. Let’s see. Your people were there.” Once more the mocking smile. Did the Pitar stiffen? Again, the psychiatrist couldn’t be certain. Being in the room, standing to one side and observing, was like watching a chess match with living pieces.
“Yes, that’s right. Your people. I recall it quite clearly. They were killing everybody. Destroying anything and everything that might record or otherwise indicate what they were doing. Your people are real thorough. Real thorough motherfuckers.”
Nadurovina felt compelled to play the role she had assigned herself. “Please, Mr. Mallory. Dmis is a diplomatic representative.”
“That’s kind of a contradiction, Doc. There’s nothing diplomatic about the Pitar.”
The alien’s expression did not change. He seemed more fascinated than upset by the patient. “You are a very imaginative person, Mr. Mallory. Very inventive. The Pitar do not kill except in self-defense. I am no physician, but I think the dreadful experience you have obviously suffered must have at least temporarily unhinged your mind. Why my people should figure prominently in your delusions I cannot think, but it is not very flattering.”
“I’m not delusional. It wasn’t delusion. I know what I saw. Your people attacked without warning, trading on friendship acquired through five years of joyful, kindly contact to achieve complete surprise. You slaughtered anything on two legs. It didn’t make any sense to me then, and it doesn’t make any sense to me now.”
“Ah,” Dmis murmured, “an admission that confirms the diagnosis.”
“No, you don’t understand. What doesn’t make any sense to me is what you needed with the reproductive organs of human females. I saw them being removed with surgical precision from one woman after another and carefully packed away in what I believe now to be cryogenic containers. What do you do with them? Eat ’em? Venerate them? Use them in some kind of unimaginably barbaric conceptual art? Tell me, diplomat Dmis. I’m really curious to know.”
“As am I,” the Pitar replied. “Curious to know what sort of human mind can invent such absurdities.”
Nadurovina interrupted. “If this is upsetting you too much, Dmis, we can leave.”
“No, no.” The alien did not appear in the least perturbed by the accusations that were coming from the bed. “It is interesting. As do all of my kind, I want to know as much as possible about humans. Even their mental aberrations. This is a useful occasion.”
Mallory nodded agreeably. “Useful for me, too. See, I want to know all about the Pitar, because it will help me to understand how better to kill you.”
“I have to tell you, Mr. Mallory, that I understand what is happening here and that I truly sympathize. With ongoing care of the quality you are obviously receiving I am certain that your condition will improve. Meanwhile, I am intrigued by your misconceptions.” He smiled over at Nadurovina. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah,” Mallory declared without hesitation. He proceeded to describe an act that was an anatomical impossibility, even for the limber Pitar. Nadurovina choked slightly, but the alien took no apparent offense.
“Another elaborate fantasy. Naturally, Mr. Mallory, you have proof to underline and support your fantasies. Images of this imaginary assault, perhaps, or voice records, or a corroborating witness.”
“No,” the man in the bed muttered. “You know damn well that I don’t. If I did, you wouldn’t be standing there grinning like an underfed Buddha. You wouldn’t even have been brought here. Somebody would’ve shot you on sight.” His smile widened. “I’d gladly do that myself except that where my mental state is concerned plenty of these ‘specialists’ happen to agree with you, or at least are willing to consider the possibility. I could get up from this bed, right now, and put my hands around your blemish-free throat and squeeze until all the life leaked out of you.” For the second time, Nadurovina tensed.
“I do not think even if you were healthy you would be physically capable of such a feat,” th
e much taller Dmis replied calmly. “As it is, you are weakened from your misfortune, and I am considerably larger and stronger than you.”
“I can see that, but you’ve never experienced the kind of strength that uncontrolled fury can give a human being.” He glanced at the anxious psychiatrist. “Don’t worry, Doc. Much as I’d like to I’m not planning on leaving this bed for a while. Not even for the sheer pleasure of feeling a Pitarian neck under my fingers.” He turned his attention back to the alien. “I’m saving myself, you see. I want to kill many more than just one of you.”
Dmis looked to his escort. “I hope Mr. Mallory is receiving appropriate medication for his condition. It would distress me to think that he might one day attack someone else, perhaps believing that they were Pitar.”
“I can assure you that his treatment regimen takes all possibilities into account,” Nadurovina told the alien, succeeding in answering him truthfully without committing herself to any specifics.
“This has been most interesting.” The Pitar leaned slightly over the foot of the bed in Mallory’s direction and beamed benignly. “When you have invented some proof to give support to your expressive delusions, you must see to it that I am notified. It would be educational to continue this discussion. In the absence of anything additional, however, I must return to my mission and make a report.” Stepping back, he turned his full attention to the psychiatrist.
“I would like to be kept informed of Mr. Mallory’s progress, as a matter of personal interest. It is distressing to see any sentient being slide so far into fantasy. But it is quite understandable. Among my kind it is also common to build a mental wall around a terrible experience as a way of dealing with the consequences. In the absence of truth, the patient has invented elaborate imaginings to avoid having to deal with a large, threatening blank spot in his memory. I am sure that with time and your good offices these delusions will gradually begin to fade away.”
“I’m sure he will continue to improve,” she replied noncommittally as she gestured toward the doorway. The Pitar preceded her into the hall.
Dirge Page 22
