Bloodhype

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "What?" said Kitten.

  "How do you propose to find it? I doubt Peot would tell you. He seems to feel strongly that humans should stay far away from it."

  "But I don't think he'll stop us. You know how his `voice' fades as you leave the chamber. His telepathic range, on our level, anyway, can't be that great. Even if he can detect the Vom at a distance ...

  "As for locating the creature," she continued brightly, "that's simple. Poor said that the main body of his `Machine' is always positioned directly above it. I can get the beacon's location from salvage authority without Kingsley or anyone else knowing about it. Drop a line downwards; plot map, find creature."

  "You make it sound so easy," sighed Porsupah again.

  The borrowed raft sped rapidly over the calm sea. They reached Repler City ten minutes earlier than Mal had estimated. This was due at least in part to Kitten's habit of making turns around intervening islands and reefs that threatened to overturn the craft. Fortunately the hoverafts were practically incapable of capsizing.

  She almost managed it. Twice.

  Instead of docking at the City harbor, they headed straight for the auxiliary landing nearest the shuttleport itself.

  The Port was located on a long peninsula. The surface had been planed off, smoothed over, and pitted with sheds, warehouses, coking areas, launch pits, hangers, fuel balloons, and a small but growing atmosphere dock. It could handle shuttlecraft of all but the largest classes. The fine-grained paving ran a running battle with the profuse island vegetation. The flora took advantage of every crack and bare spot to press a vigorous, verdurous counterattack.

  The Port harbor area, for ships and hovercraft, wasn't designed to handle much in the way of cargo. Those activities were carried on mostly at the central city landings. But there was plenty of room for small commercial and pleasure craft. Some of the island's wealthier inhabitants had yachts and personal submarine vehicles moored there. The landing was located in a small manmade cove at the U where the peninsula met the mainland: Commercial buildings rose to the right, with private homes and hotels behind and to the left, hidden behind carefully controlled vegetation.

  There was a muted thrumming. Mal glanced briefly upwards. To their right a shuttle of medium class was descending on a tail of fire. He'd watched thousands of similar landings and equally conventional liftoffs. There'd been a time when such displays filled him with wonder. Now only a few figures passed through his mind. He could estimate the amount of thrust the shuttle was putting out, its probable mass, even the position of its mother ship. All in an unfamiliar atmosphere-. Given a visual check of the mother vessel, he could probably gauge its home port and basal cargo.

  There was a single check at the cove entrance. Kitten and Porsupah's military credentials eased them past that. Kitten docked the raft with a flair that displayed either tremendous skill or fantastic luck, sliding in and spinning between two larger craft. They were so close their cushions brushed.

  A fast walkaway brought them to the Port Control buildings. They were a humorous parody of the giant complexes maintained on major trading worlds. As was typical of such smaller ports, certain offices were often combined. This proved true of salvage and registry. The office itself was no different from dozens of others they'd passed. Once inside, they were greeted by a thirty-ish gentleman of nondescript physiognomy and few words. He was casually attired in mesh and tropical lederhosen.

  "Sit yourselves down. Be with you in a sec."

  The slightly pallid official escorted them into an even tinier inner office cluttered with charts and microfiles. A plethora of pins, tacks and variegated markers swarmed over the maps and diagrams cluttering the walls.

  "What'll I have for you, then?" he sighed, propping his feet up on the desk. On a major planet the official would have crossed his hands, not his ankles.

  "Well..." began Mal.

  "We'd like to confirm," interrupted Kitten, "the validity of a recently reported salvage claim."

  "You got the beacon number?"

  Kitten prepared to consult her vocorder. She didn't even get a chance to activate it.

  "Never mind," the man said. "It's sixty-two."

  "Yes. How the hell did you know?" asked Mal.

  The official smiled slightly. "Wasn't hard. You're all clearly extra-Replerian visitors. This is die first registry we've had reported in several years. It seemed logical enough you wouldn't be interested in any several years old ... I can tell you everything's in order. It's quite legal. Fees were paid almost immediately after the beacon was registered. Registration and claim are already recorded on Terra."

  "Still, we want to make absolutely sure it's valid," persisted Kitten. "Not that we've any thoughts of claim jumping, or anything along those lines."

  "Perish forbid," the man grinned. "Wouldn't be my business if you did."

  "In order to be valid," she continued doggedly, "all details on the registration regarding location must coincide with the beacon's actual positioning in space, right?"

  "Naturally."

  "Well, I'd like to have a check made on it. It's pretty important to us." She purred, a semi-vocalization she was astonishingly good at, having perfected it after considerable use: "We'd be ever so grateful."

  "I'm sure you would, but I'm afraid I'm not permitted to pass around that sort of information, m'lady."

  Kitten breathed deeply and dropped her voice an octave. "Not even for special requests from special friends?"

  The official leaned close and breathed deeply. He lowered his voice an octave.

  "No."

  Mal couldn't help grinning. If Mitten was fazed, she didn't show it. Instead, she removed the vulcanite band from inside her left sleeve. On it was the embossed symbol of the United Church: an hourglass enclosed by a circle, with her name, number, and rank imprinted beneath it.

  "Of course, if you put it that way, your command is my wish." He pulled a bit of paper from a pad, swiveled, and began punching buttons on a computer console.

  "Isn't that saying the other way 'round?" queried Mal.

  "I'm inherently masochistic." The official pulled a card from the printout slot, viewed it on a small gray screen, then handed it to Mal. The freighter-captain gave it a brief glance, nodded to the man.

  "Thanks, old boy. You've been a help," said Kitten. They rose and turned to leave.

  "Curiously speaking," said the official hurriedly, "why didn't you just tell me you were Church authority in the first place?"

  "April Fool," said Kitten.

  "But it's August."

  "See?" She shut the door gently.

  It was raining out, a warm, humid drizzle. They tools a private transit car to the Port Library. Mal had informed them that it would do as well and be quicker than returning to the Umbra. He checked charts and figures while Porsupah and Kitten amused themselves by thumbing through samples of the local literature-bad shorts, mediocre novels, some good poetry and fair dream schemes.

  Mal shifted his notes to a time-renting station and did some fast figuring with the aid of the computer. After a bit he sat back, staring at the readout screen. He was still staring some time after the green light on top, indicating time-stop, had gone out.

  "Well," said Kitten finally.

  "Well, hell."

  "I'm already aware of the proverbial location for the traditional one. We're supposed to be looking for one a bit more localized."

  He looked over at her, past the anxious Porsupah. "Guess where our intergalactic boojum has chosen to hole up?"

  "The governor's mansion," offered Porsupah, almost hopefully.

  "Funny. Here." He pointed to a chart covered with rough lines and scribbling, half in and half out of the printout slot. "Somewhere right offshore the AAnn Concession."

  "So?" she said.

  "So? So?" He rose suddenly and stood glaring eye to eye with her. Hands tightly clenched on hips, he controlled his anger with an effort. "Do you have any idea what can happen to you if our peace-loving ne
ighbor lizards acquire even temporary possession of you?"

  "Captain," she said boredly, turning her head away slightly, "kindly keep in mind that I am an officer in the armed forces of the United Church. I am fully aware of the consequences of being discovered without permission within a diplomatic sanctuary. I am also more conversant than most with the oh-so-delightful hobbies and habits of our reptilian friends. Including their less savory ones. We shall avoid all potential unpleasantness through a simple expediency."

  "Oh? And what might that be?"

  "We shall endeavor not to get caught."

  "Oh lovely! Universal beauty and logic! Kurita smite me if I've ever heard such lucidity in the midst of storm. We will avoid being shot by dodging the nerve-beams. I rhapsodize!" He was so upset he spoke in pidgin Centaurian, a tongue especially suited to flights of sarcasm.

  "A poor analogy," said Kitten.

  "A poorer idea," Mal replied.

  "Well, we're going anyway. Aren't we, Pots?"

  The Tolian sighed. "I suppose so, soft-and-warm. I know that tone too we'll to try mere reason on you."

  "Marvelous, fine, delightful. I hope you have a charming tour, and that when the AAnn prepare you. they use plenty of hot pepper!" He turned away from them and began refiling the charts and maps.

  Kitten turned as if to leave, stopped short, and turned again, smiling. She performed one of the many small things she was adept at, that of relaxing her body in certain specific places.

  "Mal? Mister Hammu-rabi? I ... I'd really feel better if you'd come along. Even if only as a gesture. To sort of, well, stay on top of things, you know."

  "That won't work with me," he mumbled. "And stop blowing in my ear. It only gives me a headache."

  "Oh, I don't really believe that. Besides, if you don't come ...' she did something educated with her tongue, "... I'll inform the Major that you're withholding information and material evidence concerning the transfer of bloodhype. Specifically, the drug itself."

  "That's my word against yours. And the stuff can, and will, be obliterated if anyone, anyone at all, tries to grab it."

  "Of course you can do that," she whispered, "but the charges and resultant official actions during investigation would tie you up in orbit for the longest time. Wouldn't that be awkward? You wouldn't be able to perform your primary function, that of moving things from here to there in a reasonable amount of time, like. your customers like you to."

  The freighter-captain wheeled slowly, like a tank, to face her.

  "All right. Have done, then." To her surprise, he smiled back. "You've acquired a companion candidate for suicide, I promise. And I'll add another promise. If we get out of this with neural networks intact, I shall, despite whatever obstacles, writs, legislation, weaponry and so forth you try to put in my path, despite arguments, questionings, philosophy and couth, whale the tar out of yon."

  "I knew you'd agree with me," she said briskly. "Most people do, sooner or later. And I might add that my body contains no petroleum extracts. or by-products of any kind. Nor am I affected by archaic threats which invoke the cetacea as a verb." She stared hard.

  "That's good," he said, deactivating the computer terminal. "You keep telling yourself that."

  It had been a difficult day, but the AAnn officer was too tired to be more than moderately upset. First, an unchecked circuit had accidentally tripped, setting off the alarm at one of the new, hastily installed subsurface warning points scattered about the island. This automatically activated two remote underwater defense stations and a whole subsection of personnel directly attached to his command. The result being that a large school of corvat, a medium-sized skate-like fish, had been incinerated before he could bring things under control.

  But Tivven hadn't been punished. He hadn't even received a dressing down. His superior, with unusual restraint, recognized that the result was entirely due to the haste with which the alarm unit bad been installed. And he'd shared Tivven's disgust at the hysteria which attended the absurdly complex system's installation, secret project or no.

  Besides, his superior had problems of his own, equally upsetting to the liver.

  And now this.

  He stared again at the assemblage before him, debating again whether or not to trouble the base commander with it. According to Colonel Korpt's dictates, it shouldn't be necessary. Tivven saw no real reason to argue with an easy way out.

  True, two violations of the Concession boundary in as many days was unusual. Still, there was nothing to distinguish the antics of this particular group from any other, nor to ascribe hidden purposes to their arrival. They were nothing as extraordinary as the single crazy human who'd sauntered in deliberately the other day, as though he owned the place. What Tivven and the others couldn't understand was why the Commander hadn't ordered the arrogant primate dressed and potted immediately.

  So here he was, stuck with an obnoxious Terran female, an impatient, gaudily dressed Tolian, and a stolid Terran male of dull aspect and rather formidable size and strength.

  The Terran female had been, rambling non-stop for a good twenty time-parts now .

  . . . and rest assured that once the governor hears my complaint, this is going to be brought to the attention of the highest authorities ... !"

  "Madame, silence!" Tivven tried to substitute belligerence for boredom, partially succeeded. "I shall explain one more time. You are guilty of territorial incursion into a restricted area. As such, by law you are now in Imperial Territory. This places you under my jurisdiction: not that of this planet, not that of the Commonwealth. Whatsoever I decide should be done with you, will be done."

  The female threw him a sharp expression. Tivven was good at primate expressions. He could recognize a sneer. It suggested several things, among them that his threats had been somewhat less than intimidating.

  "Confine them to their vessel and secure them for the usual day-period." Those were the suggestions of Colonel Korpt. "And issue the standard protest to the governor win our representative in the capitol. Yolk, it's damp in here! Now get out."

  A check with Commander Parquit had produced similar action. "Do whatever Korpt says. I'll sign the orders later- whenever. I'm busy now. Oh, and make certain, Lieutenant, that they stay on board their caft ... I assume they came by hoveraft?"

  "Yes, Excellency."

  "I don't want them wandering around, They sound like a typical tourist hunch, and so I don't expect-otherwise from them. But if one is found strolling about loose, front canines will be lost. Understand?"

  Tivven understood.

  He looked up at the group, tired, .

  "You are hereby confined to your ship until further notice..."'

  "Just who do you think you are, ordering us around, mister luggage-covers?" piped the Tolian. His whiskers bristled angrily. "Such an insulting attitude is here perpetrated! By a scaly underling, no less, who ... !"

  " ... where you will be placed under guard. You are not to leave the vessel under any circumstances under penalty of. a swift death," Tivven concluded doggedly. He gestured to the guard at the door.

  "Escort them back to their vessel, sergeant, and post guard on it. They are not to depart until ordered. If ordered:"

  The sergeant, who had played this game before, saluted snappily-he was a fifteen-year veteran of this egg-forsaken post. He gestured towards the door with his stungun.

  Tivven could hear the shrill voice of the Terran female echoing back up the corridor long after the three had departed. Swiveling in his chair, he activated the autolog and commenced dictating the ponderous official report. He wondered if anyone ever read the things. He doubted it. This particular time he would be right. But not for the reasons he suspected.

  The guard, like all guards since the beginning of time assigned to boring, monotonous, unrelieved, insipid night duty when most sensible beings were asleep, was wishing he was. Perhaps the wishes were effective. More likely it was just coincidence. Certainly, if he'd been questioned about it later, it was
n't likely he'd recall the small sting at the back of his neck immediately prior to his lapsing into a period of extended sleep.

  He probably would have wished to observe the being responsible for inviting Morpheus. Likely, though, he would have argued the method.

  Kitten approached quietly after spotting the all-well Signal from Porsupah. The Tolian stood by the body, searching the surrounding darkness. She ran lightly over to him. Her goggles picked up and intensified the starlight to the point where it seemed bright as day. Porsupah didn't wear them. He didn't need any.

  She joined him in scanning the grounds, paying special attention to the three big crates stacked on the pier. That was one of their prearranged ambush points. She bent over the inert reptile, felt for its pulse. The tiny puncture made by the drug-carrying dart had already closed. There was practically no blood. After a moment's consideration she put a second dart next to the first, just to the left of the armored spine.

  A larger, blocky figure joined the two.

  "Other one's taken care of," Mal murmured. "No sign of activity from the building we were herded out of. I'm a bit surprised its been so easy."

  "They weren't exactly expecting it," she replied.

  "Witherest fly we now; and how, princess?"

  "If that's poetry, it's execrable."

  "No, as a matter of fact, it's Whalen."

  "Buffon. I thought you were the one afraid of being soup."

  "I still am," he whispered tightly. "So I make jokes. So get your ass moving and I'll follow quietly."

  "I could use a little more information first."

  "Why don't you ask our somnolent companion here." Mal nudged the sleeping guard, who didn't stir.

  "You're the one who did the map plotting on the creature. Didn't you pinpoint it?"

  "At that range? With a library 'puter?"

  The first moon was climbing rapidly. In a while the second would be in the sky, brightening the island considerably. Kitten turned and scanned the area again. A few lights glimmered in buildings half-glimpsed through thick vegetation. Nothing moved but branches.