Bloodhype

by Alan Dean Foster

  When the full report was presented, Orvenalix ordered all shuttles grounded and those in orbit to remain there. This despite the howls and threats of merchants and citizens alike. Sure, a crash was unusual, but hardly unique. But if he’d merely lost control of his ship, the shuttle pilot should have been shouting non-stop for aid, instructions and suggestions. Or at least cursing respectably. There’d been not a squeak. The implication was obvious.

  The Vom’s second attempt at mental control after eons had proven as exhilarating as the first. Some slight hesitation in special cells, some difficulty in these first attempts would have been excusable. There had been none. The Vom was confident now. With a little more strength, it felt capable of assuming control of every intelligent mind on the planet.

  But that would be unwise. No point unless—no, until it conquered a single other mind. One not of this planet. It was a reckoning long overdue, although the Vom would never interpret it in such terms.

  Nor were its thoughts operating on a simplistic level anymore. Soon it would reach the point where it would not have to worry about anything at all.

  But for now it could not pierce the Guardian’s veil.

  Something different should be tried. Possibly piecemeal destruction of this population center, while wasteful, could provoke the Guardian to some response. The Vom began to consider how it might go about destroying the city.

  “Everything that can be done has been done,” said Peot, staring at his ancient resting place. Mal, Kitten, and Philip stood around the towering alien.

  “The Vom is now contemplating the reduction of selected portions of your central metropolitan center. This will be done in hope of forcing me to respond. It will not take place, as I plan to reveal myself to it momentarily. I regret that I have no way of predicting the eventual outcome, nor even the length of the conflict. The Machine assays anywhere from 60 to 40% chance of success. Every minute, the odds increase in the monster’s favor.” The alien shrugged in very human-like fashion, although it may have meant something else entirely. Or perhaps nothing at all.

  “To those of your kind who still place hope in the imagined power of your tiny ships . . .” Mal jerked as he realized that the alien had been reading his thoughts again, “ . . . I can only hope they are prepared to implement my final suggestion, should my own attempts end in failure. The Vom has already matured to the point where most energies are no longer a threat to it. Only by striking directly at its mind is there a chance. All, of course, is conjecture. Things may have changed. Yes, things may have changed . . . After all, the Vom itself is an indication of that.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you display anything remotely like sarcasm,” said Kitten.

  “You may be right. Final-sealing on my capsule must be concluded from outside. Young Philip has the instructions and knows what last needs be done. He has been invaluable.”

  “I’ve been called lots of things, but never that,” grinned the youngster.

  Peot entered the capsule, turning in the single couch-like affair to face outwards. The same straps and tubing and holds they had seen on his body when the container first opened were reattached. A few shining new devices and link-ups of familiar materials and unfamiliar construct had been added.

  With Philip’s help the alien began re-emplanting tubes and lines into its own body. Finished, the youth stepped back. The massive door began to swing slowly, ponderously shut. There was no click or snap. At that point Philip moved about the scaffolding which clung web-like to the capsule. He did things to hidden switches and controls, each recessed into its own concealing panel.

  He climbed down from the spidery framework.

  “Is that all?” asked Kitten.

  The young engineer nodded. “A small light has been installed—up there.” He pointed to the top of the capsule. A tiny, clear glow shone brightly, sharp against the dark metal.

  “It’s white now. When he makes contact with the Vom—joins battle, if you will—the light should go to yellow. If he wins it will begin to flash red.”

  “And if he loses?” asked Mal.

  “Then the light will go out.”

  “I hope it’s fast,” the ship-captain grunted. “Being tied down like this is costing me a small fortune commissionwise. And I can’t leave because that crazy over-bug has grounded all shuttles until this idiocy is resolved.”

  “If friend Peot doesn’t win,” Kitten shot back, “you’ll lose a damn sight more than commissions!”

  “I just don’t like sitting.” The massive hands clasped, unclasped. Knuckles popped like wood.

  “Swell. I’ve got an idea. It might help.”

  “Anything that’ll speed this up one way or another, I’m game.”

  “Ha! I’ll hold you to that! First thing, we’ve got to find a decent ship. I’m sure Kingsley’s got something better tied up than that toy we drifted in on. Then we go back to the reptiles’ enclave.”

  “What the hell do you want to go back there for?”

  “I’ve fond memories of the place . . .”

  “Bulls . . .”

  “ . . . and I want to look for something. Backing out?”

  “Oh, Deity!” The captain turned away.

  “Philip? You’re more than welcome.”

  “No thanks.” He was staring at the silent capsule. “If you can do without me I think I’d best stay around here. In case he needs me.”

  “Alright awready. Do we talk or go?” Mal asked irritably.

  “Keep your plane oriented. We go.”

  “Would it be too much to ask what we’re going for?”

  “Tell you when we get there.”

  “In that case, I propose a temporary delay.”

  “For?”

  “Dinner for two.”

  “Why Captain! How startlingly romantic of you! I thought you swore true to your cardmeter.”

  “Romantic, hell. My lower abdomen confesses to feeling decidedly cavernous. The offer to share was meant as a courtesy. No affection implied.”

  “Charmingly put. Always face Armageddon on a full stomach. Okay, let’s eat.”

  Sealed once more within the capsule which was as familiar to him as his own body, Peot cautiously opened channels to the Machine, kilometers overhead. The computer responded to the linkup with satisfaction. It had not felt comfortable with the Guardian out of phase, although it had bowed to the necessity.

  Arranging functions to comply with the reintegrated Guardian, it prepared channels, girded circuits, primed connections. Circuits in the Machine were ultimately compact. Information passed and changes were made by changes in the number of electrons in the shells of certain atoms. An unimaginable amount of highly concentrated energy, generated by a method as yet glimpsed only in theory by mathematicians of a few existing races, was placed at standby.

  Borders defining organic from inorganic levels collapsed, blended, became hypothetical. Only the Guardian Machine remained. A decision, so: The haze surrounding Peot’s consciousness, concealing, protecting him, vanished. The universe jumped into focus: fine-grained, high-resolution focus. The Guardian reached out. No longer would a policy of concealment serve. The thing must be done: now.

  The Guardian impinged lightning-like on an ocean of alien thought, instantly charting mounts and abysses, analyzed.

  Sized up.

  Leaving a reserve and a small portion of its consciousness to protect its physical self, the Vom reacted a microsecond later. It was not properly positioned for maximum response. It was, however, no longer a time for probes and feints.

  A sledge-hammer force struck the Vom, smashing cells, burning out channels, screaming along unprepared neural highways like sunfire. The vast heaviness recoiled, shook, recovered.

  Struck back.

  Within the Guardian Machine a few linkages were shut down, organic or inorganic. A few circuits burnt out, organic or inorganic. Overload. Repair procedures took over.

  There was no time for subtlety.

&
nbsp; Two pebbles on a shore contested for the same resting place in the sand. One thunderhead sought sky-domination over another. Now somewhere one saint ascended, only to be dragged back to earth; now the other. There was to be no instant resolution to the Old Contest. Both sides knew it, neither argued it.

  There were—side effects. Energy was expended and brushed aside. It had to go somewhere. It did. Things happened.

  The smaller of Repler’s two moons slowed, stopped, began to rotate counter-clockwise.

  On Parkman’s Peninsula there was a great field of Dowar flowers. In the space of a heartbeat, they turned brown and died.

  In the small village of Goodnight, a tiny herd refused to give milk. Seconds later a shoal of silvery thrad beached themselves in a frenzied rush from the sea.

  In Formantown, three things dissolved: half a pier, two crystal altarpieces, and four marriages.

  On the other side of the planet in the city of Gallagher, hundreds of cats broke into the peaceforcer station and killed a third of the local force before the alarmed cityfolk, the other peaceforcers, and the local veterinarians (there were three) could drive them out.

  In Repler City, every inhabitant, from Orvenalix to the Governor to Porsupah, experienced several seconds of vertigo. This continued at irregular intervals. It had a disconcerting effect on the population.

  In Haven, all fell into a deep sleep. All except a small monkey-like primate from Carson’s World, name of Ev Taars. A mechanic, Taars continued to work for several minutes, unaware that his six-toed feet floated four millimeters off the ground.

  On the other side of the universe, a tiny intelligence suddenly expired violently, screaming. Its companion observed and commenced thoughts that would change the destiny of a hundred worlds.

  The operator of the single interspace weapon on board the customs’ korvette panicked and would have started shooting. Fortunately, the tracker had enough presence of mind to cut power to the lethal laser. When the gunner saw what was following behind the ship he’d nearly taken a shot at, he fainted.

  The AAnn battle fleet, sixty ships strong, moved with precision into synchronous orbit about Repler. There were few commercial vessels floating in the section of space Baron Riidi WW selected. Those that were there elected to move rapidly elsewhere. The intruders made no hostile gestures. Yet it was apparent to experienced merchantmen that the AAnn warships were not there for pleasure. Formation told them that, formation and the fact that this many AAnn vessels had not been seen together since the last humanx-AAnn conflict.

  The special shuttle bearing the Baron and a select company of scientists and commandos entered atmosphere, dropping slowly towards the planet circling below. The inhospitableness of the globe was clearly illustrated by incredible bodies of water, thick masses of moist air, and tropical vegetation. The Baron felt unusual sympathy for the local commander. Under the best of circumstances this would not be a pleasant place to be stationed. Put conservatively, it was a hell-hole.

  Yes, any questions of failure or incompetence here would have to take into account the horrible climatic conditions.

  A Communicator Second entered the luxurious main cabin, saluted.

  “Sir, the flagship gives word that the Governor of the humanx colony has attempted another communication.”

  “I believe I instructed Captain Elbraack to relay the standard message about indisposition of forces, technical difficulties, and the like.”

  “Your pardon, sir, but Captain Elbraack advises that he has been doing precisely that. He informs that the Governor declines to acknowledge all such attempts.”

  “Then what is he complaining about? We have a standoff. I told the Captain that I do not wish to be bothered until I have had time to evaluate the situation on the ground. I suggested one method of doing this. Inform the Captain that if he feels he is incapable of handling the situation without running to the communicator like a newborn hatchling at every small difficulty, I will be happy to replace him with someone who feels otherwise.”

  “Yes, Baron.” The communicator hastily backed out of the room, forgetting to salute.

  Riidi did not call the nye back. On some ships in the Imperial Navy, forgetting to do proper obeisance to a personage of Baronial rank would result in a short session at the hands of the paingivers, or reduction in class. The Baron was notorious among his equals for disciplinary laxity. This and other idiosyncrasies should have seen him ridden out of the Navy long ago. There were, however, a number of ameliorating factors, not the least of which was the fact that the Baron was brilliant.

  Not particularly genius-brilliant, but natural-smart brilliant. He had the ability to absorb a great deal of information, reduce cogent facts to pithy solutions, examine and evaluate all alternatives, and do the Right Thing.

  He was a good reptile to have in a tight spot. This made him valuable enough to survive most of the petty jealousies which some claimed had held the AAnn back more seriously than all the actions of enemy races.

  The landing was made with practically no help from the ground, since the Enclave’s survivors hadn’t been able to scrounge much of the proper equipment from the wreckage. Despite intensive battle training, the pilot wasn’t prepared for so much mist and moist fog. Moreover, the island was a tiny enough target in clear weather. The landing was thus predictably rough, but Riidi said nothing. He was content to have landed on dry land. Although on this planet, he reflected, there really wasn’t any such.

  The officer who greeted him had a haunted look about the eyes. But his bearing was still straight, his tattered uniform correctly aligned, and natural dignity subsituted for a lack of pomp and ceremony. He was flanked by two junior officers, each of whom had that same haunted, distant look. There was also a single elderly human.

  Riidi was not surprised. The Commander had informed him via transceiver to expect the mammal.

  Parquit saluted smartly. “Glory to the Emperor’s line. His servant awaits you.” The Baron returned the salute, muttered, “Glory.” His salute was sloppy and brief. Already his eyes were taking in what was left of the Enclave. Taking in the twisted metal, the shattered foundations, not missing even the pulped vegetation, massive tree-trunks snapped off at the base.

  “One creature did all this.” It was not a question.

  “One creature,” said Parquit, staring at the Baron. The noble’s gaze returned to the Commander.

  “And you had nothing to stop it?”

  “Baron, we tried everything, following the initial surprise. All our weaponry had no effect on it whatsoever. Nor did some small but powerful humanx devices.”

  “Ah! The locals have had belligerent contact with it also, then?”

  “On a small scale, as far as I know. Yes. The contact was brief.” Parquit made an effort to change the subject. “How soon can the nye be taken off? There are some in need of extensive medical care. I could have submitted them to a humanx infirmary center, but such was unthinkable, of course. The wounded concurred.”

  “Of course. What of your personnel elsewhere on the planet at the time of the attack?”

  “There were not many. Away from the Enclave they were forced often to experience the local weather. A punishing duty for even a short while.”

  “I can well imagine.” Riidi sniffed the moist, sticky air with distaste.

  “The last returned this morning. They were recalled gradually, so as not to provoke awareness of anything unusual among the humanx populace. Such precautions are no longer necessary since you have arrived. The Consul himself, of course, will remain in the capital until the situation has been clarified.”

  Riidi noticed the human smiling at him, paused.

  “And what of this grinning primate, who finds the occasion so amusing?”

  “A local. A drugger and trafficker in many things. Bloodhype, for one.”

  “I am that,” said Rose, feeling it was time he said something. “Got a goodly sample of my wares with me, too.” He held up the lethal case.

&n
bsp; “What interest have you,” asked Riidi, “with such as this?”

  “Ploy and counter-ploy, sir. With the result that he has my word of safe conduct off-planet to a point of his choosing. Like all vermin with a talent for survival, he is basely intelligent.”

  “I think I understand, Commander. I prefer thinking of the situation that way, rather than trying to envision you making a voluntary agreement with such. Where is this monster now?”

  “When it became clear we could not resist the creature, an ultra-high-frequency emergency signal was transceived to our scattered personnel. This drew them back to us. Until they arrived with their ships, we had no proper receiving equipment for local castings. Judging from what we have been able to intercept since then from the Rectory and receive from the Consulate, the creature appears to be lying just offshore the capital city itself.”

  “Which could complicate the procedure of bombardment,” said the Baron.

  Parquit glanced at Rose. “Yes, Baron. The prospect does not bother you, human?”

  “Nothing to endear me to this clump of earth.” The old drugger shrugged. “Unless . . . maybe I shouldn’t leave here after all.” He looked thoughtful.

  Parquit was so surprised by this announcement that he momentarily forgot the Baron. “You have changed your mind, after all you have gone through to assure your safe leaving?”

  “Naw. Just a crazy thought. From what I’ve been able to worm out, it just might be possible to communicate with the thing, somehow.”

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “Well, it seems pretty clear to me that it can detect thoughts of other intelligent beings. It sure knew what you were up to. All your fancy equipment and all probably wasn’t even necessary. Bet it would understand you if you just thought at it. Seems to be practically invulnerable. Sure, the thing turned on you once. Doesn’t mean it’s all-over evil. Might just have been defending itself, frightened, or uncertain, or who knows what? Properly approached in an unconfined situation, like now, it might prove docile enough to handle.”