I stopped laughing when the lights went out along with the gravity. My virtual hideaway became as black as a subterranean cave, and I instinctively anchored myself by grabbing the first couch-strap my scrabbling hands could find. I was scared and it didn't help that in utter darkness, it felt like I was falling. Something was wrong—unless the Tsf enforced a weird sort of curfew.
"Use your DTB,” I said to Diana, faking bravado, “let there be light.” And there was light, but it wasn't good.
Even in my own home, having my civilian genie light my path, say, to the bathroom at night to avoid waking my wife, direct-to-brain illumination makes me edgy. After all, when a DM uses its DTB interface to provide the illusion of seeing, it's actually replaying visual patterns that have previously entered the eyes rather than present reality. So on my way to the toilet, the floor can appear perfectly clear of obstructions and then I can trip over my wife's shoes, or the wife herself if she happens to feel her own call of the bladder. It's a character flaw, I'm sure, but invisible objects and people tend to creep me out.
But in this case, my fancy-schmancy DM was only partly relying on my senses for information. Electromagnetic eyes and ears along with more ordinary lenses studded this couch like a dog collar. Calling up this unit's DTB vision without adding particulars gave me the entire optical recording. So when my stateroom turned visible, it looked bizarre and out of focus, the former virtual landscape superimposed over a moiré pattern of fine white lines projected onto gray walls, which shimmered with hints of colors beyond my visual spectrum. Dizzying.
Then I felt myself sink into the couch again, deeper than before, and the ceiling brightened a little with genuine light, which provided yet another layer of optic stimulation. Everything seemed to vibrate. Between the sudden weight and the visual weirdness, I lay down before I had to fall down.
"Diana, shut off your DTB now. Thanks. Much better.” The cabin had become simple but was still unfamiliar. Minus the faux landscape, it was far roomier than I'd thought, a cube about fourteen feet per side, which gave it a surprisingly high ceiling. “Okay, now tell me what the hell is going on?"
"My link with the parent ship's data controller has been severed, therefore I can only report on events prior to the disconnection."
Enhanced conversational abilities, my sore ass. “So what happened?"
"Your feline client, in attenuated form, passed through the area housing the station's master CPU, generating an electromagnetic interaction. At that point, the controller went offline."
That didn't sound good. The parent ship was so huge that it seemed unlikely my tiger-lizard would've accidentally stumbled across the controller. Which suggested deliberate sabotage....
A Tsf appeared in my doorway, and it took me a moment to recognize Deal in the dimness. He wasn't carrying a translator, so I gathered that system, too, was dependent on the master. Deal made his usual noises anyway, and I told him that I couldn't understand what he was saying, which I doubted he understood.
"Do you wish for me to act as an interpreter?” Diana asked.
"What? Do you suddenly ... read clicks?"
"I have gathered sufficient information through your previous communications with the Tsf to provide adequate two-way translation."
I mentally withdrew my nasty comment about Diana's conversational skills. “Great! But how will he hear you?"
"He, too, has an internal DM, but unlike myself, his retains some autonomy even when disconnected from its controller. And while I cannot establish a conventional wireless connection because our frequencies are too disparate, our present proximity allows transmission via induction."
"I get it. No long-distance calls. What did Deal say?"
"His remark was addressed to me rather than you. He asked if I'd gathered sufficient information to provide adequate two-way translation, and if I could use induction to transmit—"
"Stop!” I partly withdrew my withdrawal. “Please just tell him—"
"Your exchange will proceed more rapidly if you simply speak, disregarding my role in the process."
The Diana personality reminded me of my first secretary. She, too, had been brusque, organized, and subtly scornful. “Fine. Deal-of-ten-lifetimes, I'm glad to see you."
"Most understandable,” he replied via Diana. “I truly apologize for how long it took us to activate emergency energies. And I apologize more deeply that we can no longer isolate this room and have been forced to apply a degree of gravity to the entire station that you surely find onerous. This is the minimum we need to maintain our physical integrity on a long-term basis."
I'd meant that I was glad to see him, but decided to let it go. “What do you mean, ‘long-term'?"
"Several of your hours, but it should not come to that. We seek your escaped patient with full diligence now and refined technique. Once we secure her and render her harmless, we will take our data controller out of self-protective mode. It will then re-coagulate and all systems will return to functionality. I suggest you find patience and remain here where you will be safe from potential violence."
Diana's interpretations weren't nearly as colorful as those of the Tsf translator, but they'd given me a sickening premonition about what Deal intended. Evidently, I wasn't the only one to suspect sabotage, and I'd seen how Traders reacted to an actual threat. They hadn't even needed weapons to kill the thugs who'd tried to rob them in New York. Government analysts, who'd studied the massacre video in slow-motion, lucky them, had concluded that Tsf skin and certain fascial membranes could harden tremendously, turning limbs into triangular clubs or, with maximum tension, something very like knives.
My patient had become personanongrata, and soon would lose her persona status. I opened my mouth to ask Deal if his people might consider an alternative to lethal force, but the doorway was empty.
* * * *
I felt way too heavy. From the pressure on my back, I estimated my present weight at three hundred fifty pounds. Maybe more. Thanks to this and my rib woes, breathing wasn't fun. I tried shifting position to give my diaphragm a bit more freedom, but nothing helped. Then I remembered just how well stocked this couch was.
"Diana. Get me a pain pill, really strong, and some liquid to wash it down. Um, I'd better do my swallowing sitting up, so lift my back up, please."
As I was hoisted into position, smartfoam arms handed me a pill and a small, straw-pierced container. The quick-dissolving pill felt like lead going down, and the liquid nearly choked me. But after only a minute or two, the agony in my chest began to drain away.
That's when I noticed the odor: part floral, part grassy. Not at all a scent I'd associate with a large predator. So when my striped client coalesced into visibility, I wasn't exactly prepared. The tyger eyed me for a moment, then screeched so loudly, I'd thought my eardrums had had it. What was it about me that got her so agitated? She jumped upward, banging her head on the ceiling as hard as a pile driver, and then hung there, suspended by her skull-spikes, until her weight in the new gravity pulled her free. Quite comical, really, but I wasn't chortling. She landed lightly on her feet and jumped again, but only high enough to brush the holes she'd left earlier.
Her huge body seemed to take up all the space in my cabin, and for the first time in my life, I was so damn terrified that I couldn't move or even yell. Something in the back of my heart begged me to spend my last moments remembering and appreciating my wife and son while I had the chance, but the only cogent thought in my head was a terrible regret that I'd failed to share my guess about patient three with Deal.
My visitor leaped sideways. I saw that this time, she'd be landing directly on me, surely crushing me despite my cushion. But as she fell, my couch, or rather my DM controlling the couch, acted. Four thick pillars of smartfoam, two above my shoulders and two below my feet, erupted from the mattress, catching my patient in midair at her chest and thighs.
She screeched, quietly for once, and it sounded oddly like a squeal of delight. For a moment neither of
us even blinked as she gazed straight down into my eyes, her body suspended above mine but extending almost to the doorway. Then her claws slowly emerged. My body remained petrified with mortal fear, but my mind seemed to sputter, then catch, like one of those old gasoline engines; suddenly I blazed with insights, my thoughts rocketing along at an unbelievable rate.
At close range, I could see that only the final two-thirds of her claws were shiny. They seemed plated with actual metal. If this was natural, wouldn't a being with internal electroplating abilities have to be able to generate at least a mild charge? If she'd been holding any charge while drifting through the ship's master controller in some incorporeal form ... well, even the best shielding would be useless against direct penetration. And just maybe, this alien's ability to go intangible was also related to...
Lightly swinging one paw, my patient raked her claws down my torso, slicing through my smartsuit and the skin below, from my left nipple almost to my pubic bone. I didn't feel the claws sink in very deeply, but the cuts were long and the pain excruciating.
I yelled and my attacker added insult to injury by drooling onto my face; some of it fell into my open mouth.
An avalanche of nastiness. As I choked on hot coppery saliva and blood gushed from my wounds, sparks shot up from my torn smartsuit and its heating units failed. Some detached, observing part of my mind speculated on exactly what would win the race to kill me: bleeding out, getting my head bitten off, poison if tyger spit was toxic, or simply freezing to death.
Maybe the sparks scared her or she hated the scent of human blood. Whatever the reason, my patient stared at me for a second longer while doing her intensifying trick, burning bright despite the surrounding dimness. Then she jumped away, yowling, and leaped out of the room.
Feeling tremendous relief and damn uncomfortable, I swiped a hand across my chin before the alien saliva could freeze on. I glanced at my soggy hand, and just like that, I knew. None of the many tiger-lizards I'd seen in the videos had drooled. That's what I'd seen without seeing. And I knew precisely what it meant. I should've figured it out hours ago.
* * * *
Bleeding, chilled to the marrow, and crushed by my own nearly doubled weight, I desperately wanted to stay put and try to patch myself up. But I couldn't wait this out. The Traders were about to make a grotesque mistake, one that could never be undone. I pulled the torn ends of my clothing together, doing some weightlifting just moving my arms, and pressed the material down over as much of my wound as possible.
"Deal!” Squished by my own bodyweight, I couldn't manage much of shout. “Best-offer? Anyone? I need to talk to someone!” I listened and didn't hear the tap-tapping sounds of approaching Traders. No good.
"Diana, reshape this mattress so it covers me, neck to toes.” That should hold in my body heat. “Meanwhile, get this crate rolling down the hall toward the hospital corridor. Now!"
The were-foam neglected to shape-shift and my carriage didn't budge an inch. “Diana? Diana, Diana, Diana. Damn it, what's up? Get this bastard moving."
"I cannot at this time. My CPU regulates your protective garment; the two form a unitary system."
"So?"
"The damage to your smartsuit has evoked a safety protocol requiring a full diagnostic assessment, which will be complete in ten minutes and twelve seconds. Meanwhile, as a further safety measure, some of my functions have been disabled including control of your couch. I am currently seeking a workaround."
"Oh, shit. Ten minutes?"
"And four seconds now. I may find a workaround earlier."
"I can't wait that long. Don't suppose someone packed crutches or a walker in this stupid loveseat?"
"That would have been redundant since the couch itself possesses mobility."
I kept my response to myself and levered myself upright as carefully as possible, but my wounds reopened, giving my belly and legs a fresh coat of blood. Just standing was a massive effort and as for getting enough oxygen, forget about it. I tried to use techniques I'd learned at NASA's training center, taking in only a modest amount of air at a time, and expanding my lower ribs in all directions at once, “three-dimensional” breathing. Thanks to my former injury, happy day, knives seemed to stab into my chest every time I inhaled.
I fought down panic and a growing urge to hyperventilate, which would only make matters worse.
Taking tiny, shuffling steps and leaving a little river of blood to mark my trail, I made it to the hallway. By then, my legs shook with exhaustion and I had to support myself against the walls to keep moving. I kept telling myself, just one more step, just one more...
The dim lighting to either side appeared to pulse in sync with my heartbeat. I glanced back and was horrified by how short a distance I'd come. And fuming because all this effort shouldn't have been necessary. Why in God's name didn't the Traders post a guard for me?
Maybe they had. In my mind's eye, I saw the tyger arrive as something less than a mist and drift through my wall while two oblivious soldiers played the Tsf equivalent of gin rummy outside my room. I saw my patient dashing past them, her claws dripping and red, and the guards chasing her until she faded from visibility.
It all seemed so real until I felt an extra coldness on my spine and realized that my eyes were closed and I was sitting, feet splayed out in front of me, back supported by the wall behind me. Scared alert, I forced my eyes open. I'd slipped into a dream without knowing it. How strong had that pill been? Or was the effect due to blood loss?
There was no way I could get back on my feet, but I kept trying and kept slipping back down. I had no breath left for even a groan let alone a yell and kept hoping someone would show up. No one appeared. I suppose they were all searching for my patient, minds fixed entirely on killing her.
Then I had as much inspiration as a dying man could hope for. I snapped my fingers.
Back in my intern days, I'd flirted with becoming a neurosurgeon and my resident advisor had me practicing surgical techniques on cadavers daily for a year, even after my most grueling shifts. The experience turned me off to anything involving sutures, but all that gripping gave me strong hands. So while I felt weak as a newborn possum, my snap was loud and clear. And it must've carried just fine because from a great distance, I heard what sounded like a million snaps in return.
I closed my eyes and when I opened them, Deal was bounding toward me with one of the medicos, Trader-joe, coming in a close second. In my fuzzy state, they seemed more like cartoons than living creatures, and I giggled upon imagining a screech of brakes when they came to a stop. My analgesic had kicked into fourth gear.
Deal splayed out his legs to lower himself to my level. “Doctor, you are impaired.” Impaired. Right. “You must allow Trader-joe to evaluate the damage.” He shifted aside and my new personal physician took over.
Should be Trader-josephina, I told myself, and the thought struck me as infinitely witty.
I have to admit she was competent, precise, and gentle, but her sensory cilia tickled when she pressed them against various parts of my anatomy. I got the impression she had built-in stethoscopes.
"You have the following injuries,” she reported. “Three shallow, parallel cuts traversing from your thorax to your abdomen.” I raised a mental eyebrow, in a humorous way, at Diana's fussy syntax. “Also two cracked thoracic bones, many exhausted muscles, and an increasing degree of hypothermia.” Shouldn't that be a decreasing degree? I snickered again at my cleverness.
She continued. “The hypothermia must be addressed, but none of your injuries are intrinsically life-threatening. Still, you have lost and continue to lose your vital nutrient-carrying liquid at a fatal rate."
Deal started clicking, but he wasn't talking to me; maybe he'd noticed just how impaired I'd become. “How could the doctor have sustained such damage?"
"From the size and spacing of his cuts, I am certain our furred guest was responsible."
Deal shook three limbs at the medic. “You are mistaken. When I
left the human previously, the furred one had already been discovered in section three. Since then, our entire security staff formed a wide perimeter and has been gradually closing in, posting sentries with sensitive detectors in every room should she attempt evasion through walls."
"I state the facts and have no responsibility to explain them. But you must have suspected my services could be needed when we heard the doctor's distress signal, or you would not have brought me here."
"The cuts are facts, your conclusions otherwise."
Trader-joe rose up. “If you feel better qualified than—"
"Stop,” I said as forcefully as I could, barely a whisper, which was as good as a shout with Diana doing the translating. The argument seized up nicely. “Maybe my patient can ... throw her magnetism or something. The doctor's right, she sliced me.” I smiled to show that I bore no one in the universe any ill will.
Deal had gone very still. “I fail to understand how that is possible, but she will do no more slicing. We do not permit one guest to harm another. And her life was already forfeited by the previous damage she caused."
"You really don't understand. She isn't—oh, shit, she's rightbehindyou!"
My pill-induced euphoria popped like a bubble. My tyger stood, growling quietly, shifting her weight from side to side, turning her golden gaze on each of us in turn. Deal leaped at her so fast, it should've made a sonic boom.
She reacted almost instantly but still too late. Deal latched onto one of her arms by wrapping the end of a single leg around her wrist. I hadn't realized his limbs were so flexible.
The scene turned surreal. The tiger-lizard towered over the Tsf and looked to be twice as massive and ten times as powerful. But though she desperately tugged on her trapped arm and flailed at her captor with her three others and one leg, she couldn't budge him, lift him, hurt him, or get away. What I saw appeared physically impossible, even with Tsf muscles, until I looked down and saw three of Deal's legs splayed out and sunk far into the rubbery flooring material. He'd evidently turned his feet into stakes and anchored himself solidly. But damn, he only needed one limb to hold her.
Analog SFF, January-February 2009 Page 6
