Janice Poole returned to the bedroom, wrapped in a purple silk robe and toweling her gray-threaded dark hair. She saw what he was watching as he still lay nude on her bed, but with the skin sheet pulled up to his chest. “Oh, this guy is so funny,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “I saw him interviewed on VT a few weeks ago and he really is funny in real life, too.”
“The indomitable human spirit,” Stake said drily.
Janice looked around at him. “I missed you in the shower, lazybones. We could have had fun in there.” She leaned down over him and pressed the side of her face to his crotch, the living flesh of her bed sheet forming a thin barrier between his flesh and hers. She pretended to be listening to a baby inside the womb of its mother. “I hear something kicking in there.”
Stake ruffled a hand through her hair in a gesture more obligatory than affectionate. He had not been too lazy to shower with her. He had needed the few minutes alone, after the hours they had spent in bed together tonight. They had been watching movies on the entertainment system opposite the foot of her bed. Some of her favorite movies, starring some of her favorite actors.
She had instructed Stake to keep his eyes on the screen. Occasionally she had even touched her remote in order to freeze a huge close-up, so that he could focus on his subject all the better. Like a sniper, keeping her target in her sights. In this way, Janice Poole had at first made love to the hot new actor, Crow Tidwell. And after she had had her fill of Crow, she had exchanged him for the leading man Harris Docker, but in a movie a few decades old, from when he’d first become popular. Stake had not objected. He had complied, passive beneath her, or even behind her. Once in a while stealing a look at her skin, instead, to keep himself aroused.
She raised her head to smile up at his face. “My toy,” she said. She was so honest about it; how could he hate her for it? “Back to your ‘default’ mode, I see.”
“Sorry.”
She narrowed her eyes perceptively, but didn’t say anything. She followed his gaze back to the screen, watched Buddy Vrolik for a few moments. In a slapstick scene, his rascally sitcom nephews were trying to roll him down a bowling lane in the hopes of winning a competition. It was VT; of course they’d get the trophy. Janice said, “How come your face isn’t turning all blank right now? What keeps it from trying to copy him?”
“My subconscious seems to know when it’s something beyond my reach. I don’t try to turn into a Bedbug,” he said, referring to the bipedal insectoid race, from an alternate dimension like the Ha Jiin. “I won’t even try to mimic a Tikkihotto.” This of course was one of the handful of alien races that were truly humanoid, but whose “eyes” were squirming nests of clear ocular filaments. “I could reproduce their faces in general, but because their eyes are so different my gift shuts down and refuses to try.”
“Okay, so if your gift is controlled by your subconscious, can’t your subconscious be controlled by drugs? Or a chip? Or even therapy?”
Stake met her eyes. “Why? Are you anxious to lose your toy?”
She arched a brow at him. “I’m only saying, why didn’t you ever do that?”
“I guess I feel this is who I am, now. It came in handy during the war. Comes in handy in my job. And, I suppose it makes me feel a bond with my mother. She was a mutant, too.”
“You don’t think there’s something masochistic about not dealing with it?”
“What do you mean?”
She held up her hands to ward off potential anger. “Never mind. I’m being too personal, maybe. Things always deteriorate when men and women stop fucking and start talking instead.” She sighed. “I’m not good with long-term relationships.”
“Me neither,” he muttered. Though he resented the way she had used him tonight, at least she had wanted him in some way. He had found it difficult to meet a woman who wanted anything from him at all. If she wanted his money, that made it easy enough, in a brief and barely satisfying way.
“Has anyone ever played these games with you before?”
“Well, I once had a woman hire me to find her missing husband. It turned out he’d been murdered by a business associate. She was devastated; especially because she’d doubted him by thinking he’d run off with another woman. A few months after I found him, she contacted me again. She, ah, paid me to take on her husband’s appearance. We met a few times for sex.” He shrugged. “Then, about a month after we stopped that, I heard she committed suicide.”
“Wow.”
“I wondered, for a while, if I made her problem even worse, by doing what I did.”
“Oh no, don’t say that. She was badly messed up already. You take on people’s faces, Jeremy, but I think you take on their pain a lot, too.”
Again, he met her eyes. It was a more insightful and sensitive observation than he would have expected from her.
In a moment, however, she was back to being the playful Janice, smirking and asking, “Did a man ever pay you to impersonate a lost female lover?”
Stake confessed, “I guess the last time I met with John Fukuda, when I was leaving him, I was kind of afraid of that. Afraid he might ask me to take on his dead wife’s form. He’d been looking at me very strangely through lunch. Especially after he’d had a few drinks. I thought I saw tears in his eyes. Then again, he’d talked a little about his twin brother, earlier.”
“Mr. Fukuda did adore his wife, from what I hear. But I don’t think he’d accept a man as a substitute. He’s very much a fan of the ladies.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.” Stake had finally come out with it.
Again, the smirk. “Jealous?”
“Curious. It didn’t develop into anything major?”
“I guess we’re both too restless, he and I. Restless in here,” she tapped her chest, “instead of here.” She reached over to touch his cheek.
Stake thought of the Ha Jiin clerical caste, with their vortex faces and the smaller vortex in the center of their chests. “I’m restless in both places.”
She slipped under the sheet with him, but thankfully kept on her robe, content to lie on her back and stare absently at the VT screen. “How is the Fukuda case coming along?”
“I brought up Tableau Meats to him. The possibility that Adrian Tableau’s daughter might have stolen Yuki’s doll out of hatred, because their fathers are rivals. I’m going to follow that angle for now. In fact, I think I’m going to try to meet with Tableau in person.”
“Who knows, maybe he’ll even hire you to look for Krimson. Or would that be a conflict of interest?”
“Technically, maybe not, but I think I’d have to decline at this point if he asked.”
“So, how much do you know about John’s meat company? The former Alvine Products? It has quite a history behind it.”
“I know the basics of the scandal.”
“Oh, I was fascinated with the whole thing when it came out.”
Like Tableau Meats, Punktown’s other large meat supplier, Alvine had been in the business of manufacturing livestock – or deadstock, as Fukuda had told Stake they were nicknamed. Battery animals, as they were more formally referred to by bio-engineers. Chickens without pesky heads or feathers, rapidly grown by the thousands in great tanks of nutrient solution. Headless cattle with rudimentary limbs. Hogs that were little more than pink blobs of meat for the harvesting. Tikkihotto hetreki, which were like giant sloths, and llama-like reptiles called glebbi, from the planet Kali. In fact, the top executives of Alvine Products had been Kalian; apparently the leaders of a bizarre religious cult.
“They were growing an army of monsters, right there along with the meat,” Janice related. “Spawn of Ugghiutu, they called them. Ugghiutu is sort of the Kalian God and Satan in one body. Supposedly, Ugghiutu is one of a whole race of god-like beings called the Outsiders, who once ruled the universe but got shut out of our dimension and put into a sort of suspended animation. So there are these really fanatical schism groups of Ugghiutu worshipers who tr
y to call Ugghiutu out of his sleep. They want to bring about an apocalypse to end our reign, and return Ugghiutu and I guess the other Outsiders to power.”
“So what kind of monsters were these things, anyway? The place was so badly damaged in the big quake.”
“Yeah, that’s how it all came to light with Alvine, because of the fire fighters and rescue teams going in there. Anyway, who can tell what would have happened if they’d unleashed all those creatures. No one seems to know just what they would have been like when they were fully grown. The leaders of the cult were either killed in the earthquake themselves, or hunted down by another sort of cult called the Children of the Elders, that seems to be at war with the Outsiders cult.”
“Jeesh. So strange,” Stake mused. “But why would Fukuda go to the trouble of rebuilding the same structure and assimilating their business, instead of just starting up another similar company elsewhere? I should think that he’d want to distance himself from all that. Controversy can be good publicity, but we’re talking about something people put in their bellies, here.”
“Well, John’s a bit on the mysterious side; do I need to tell you that? Mainly, I think he was just fascinated by the whole thing with Alvine Products himself, given his profession. They were obviously doing some very strange experimental stuff behind the scenes in Alvine.” She turned toward Stake meaningfully. “I’ve been thinking of that a lot since you and I first talked about Tableau Meats.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Yuki’s doll. It’s a belf. A primitive life form John created for her.”
“Yes.”
“And his name, Dai-oo-ika. In Japanese it means – ”
“‘Great king of squid,’” Stake cut in.
“Yeah. Well, like I said, they didn’t find out much about what the cult was growing at Alvine; what the things would have ultimately developed into. But some rescue workers were killed inside by a couple of these monsters. They were on fire and all crazed.”
“One guy was eaten,” Stake said. “I read an interview with a rescue worker who saw it happen.”
“I read that, too. It sounds like he wasn’t eaten so much as absorbed, in something like phagocytosis.”
“Which is?”
“The way an ameba eats. Hell of a way to die, huh?”
“Right. I hate when that happens.”
“So anyway, these eyewitnesses said the things were very big, and that they didn’t have faces. Just tentacles instead, like those of a mollusk.”
“‘Great king of squid,’” Stake mumbled again, remembering the pictures of Dai-oo-ika that Yuki had shown him on her wrist comp. “My God, Janice.”
“Yeah,” she said. “So, what I was thinking is, was John able to salvage some of the research or technology at Alvine? And did he use that when he designed Dai-oo-ika for his daughter?”
“Janice,” Stake said, “if I ever need to hire a partner, you’re in the front running.” He sat up in her bed, the gears in his mind fully lubricated now. “So what if that were true, and Tableau suspected it, too? Put it together like you did? Would he want to steal Dai-oo-ika from his rival not so much out of spite, but because he wants access to that research himself?”
“Hard to do a job for John when he keeps you in the dark, isn’t it?”
“I’d like to know just how much dark there is. The first time he told me he bought up Alvine Products, he admitted that he did a lot to cover up the situation there himself.”
“Can you come right out and ask him about this stuff?”
“He’d have told me if he wanted me to know. He might feel it’s not relevant to the task he’s given me. He might not trust me with knowledge like that. But if I need to confront him, then I will.”
“Still, you’re not a forcer solving a crime, you’re a private dick collecting a paycheck.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re my private dick, too.” She squeezed his groin beneath the skin sheet.
“You mean Crow Tidwell’s dick,” Stake remarked.
“Ohh, jealous of your own face now, huh?” She rolled on top of him. “It’s still you, isn’t it? Always you.” She kissed his bland, android-like visage. “My little plaything.”
***
He awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep beside her. She might have killed him while he was vulnerable. But she hadn’t.
A pounding at the thick wooden door, glazed a glossy blue. Stake sat up, heart thudding, then looked down at the woman beside him on the mattress. She lay on her back staring up at him. The way the light touched her black eyes at this angle, they glowed at him a laser red.
How long had he been asleep? And had she dozed off, too? Or been watching him all this time?
“Sir?” a voice called through the door. Private Henderson. Now, when Stake came in here, he posted only Henderson outside the door. He trusted him the most.
Corporal Jeremy Stake jumped to his feet and struggled into his blue-camouflaged uniform as swiftly as he could, but with his nerves singing it was an awkward enterprise. “Right there, Henderson,” he said. He fastened his belt. There were no weapons holstered on it. He didn’t bring them into the Earth Killer’s room.
Still, she could have found another way to kill him while he slept. Had she spared him out of a sense of humanity, or was it only that she felt killing him would gain her nothing except her own death?
Hearing her move, he turned to see her pulling her own clothes toward her, more peasant attire than anything like a uniform: a sleeveless top that fastened down the front and pants that ended at the calf, in a darker shade of blue than her skin; her lovely, sky blue skin. Even as he rushed to get his boots on, he could barely take his eyes off her small, lithe body while she dressed. Her hips only subtly flared, but the thick mat of black hair below her smooth belly belied her body’s child-like appearance. In leaning forward to step into her pants, her long, long hair spilled down like ink to hide her little breasts with their nipples the same soft pink as her lips against that cool blue skin.
Finally Stake could go to the door and crack it open. Henderson was a good man, didn’t try to peek in past him. “I’m okay,” Stake told him. “Just, uh, trying to get her to talk to me.”
In a lowered voice, Henderson said, “Yes sir; sorry, sir. But I thought you’d want to hear what the other prisoner was telling Private Martin. She just came and told me. It’s about the Earth Killer.”
As he left the room, Stake threw a glance back at the woman named Thi Gonh. Now that she had dressed again, she sat cross-legged on her mattress on the floor. She gazed at him in return, her face unreadable. Stake shut and locked the door between them.
Private Martin was the only female in their unit, and as they walked (another Colonial soldier had come to guard Thi Gonh in Henderson’s place), Henderson suggested that this was the reason the male prisoner had opened up to her.
They came to the room – one of those the clerics had utilized as their quarters before the Earth soldiers captured their monastery – that was being used as the young prisoner’s cell. The guard posted at the door was Private Cortez, and he smiled as Stake approached him.
“Hey,” he said, “when can I have my turn, ah, interrogating that little blue bitch?”
Stake stopped in front of the man. “Shut your mouth, Cortez. You aren’t to touch her.”
“I see. Want her all to yourself, huh?”
“I said shut your blasting mouth. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
“Yes...sir.” Cortez stepped aside, and Stake unlocked the door to let himself and Henderson into the male Ha Jiin’s tiny cell.
The male prisoner, who had not given his name, looked better off now that the medic had seen to his wound. He was as small and light in frame as the woman, with a short bristling haircut. The light made his eyes flash red when it refracted off them, too. He lay on his thin mattress, the end of it doubled over to prop up his back.
“I hear you’ve been conversing with our Privat
e Martin,” Stake said to the young man, who had to be less than twenty. He wanted this information straight from the source. If the youth wouldn’t talk as readily to him as he had to an attractive young Earth woman, then he’d get the story from her instead. “You said something to her about your partner, the Earth Killer?”
“Earth Killer.” A grin spread open in his face; it seemed to flash back the light itself. “How could that traitor ever be known as Earth Killer again?”
His English was very good; this was the most Stake had heard him say. He stepped closer. “Why do you call her a traitor?”
“She let us be caught, with no fight. There are not many of you now. Maybe in here we could have beat you, or pushed you back.”
Henderson couldn’t stop himself from speaking up. “I seriously doubt that, partner.”
“You did the right thing, surrendering,” Stake told him. “Now maybe you’ll make it out of this war alive. A smart choice doesn’t make you a traitor.”
“She is a traitor. Letting you take us – that is not her true crime.” Now he turned his smile to Henderson. “You were one of the soldiers in the clearing. Reading your friends’ letters. I remember your face.”
Stake looked to Henderson. “What’s he talking about?”
Henderson dropped his eyes. “It was a few hours before we came to the monastery, the day after Lindy and Lieutenant Babouris were killed by the sniper. Me and Privates LeDuc and Devereux were...well, we were all on the move, sir, but it was when the unit stopped to take a rest. The three of us crept aside into a tiny clearing. We had the personal belongings we’d taken off Lindy, and Privates Nguyen and Howland. We found some mail they’d printed out. We began to read the messages to each other, quietly. I don’t know why. Maybe to pay tribute to them. LeDuc began it, by reading a letter Lindy’s wife sent him. There were pictures in there of his children. And then I read a letter Howland’s mother sent him, and there were even a few cookies in a little bag. I don’t know if she shipped them to him or if he brought them with him. It looked like maybe he was just saving them, to have them. We each ate one of the cookies. And LeDuc was the first to start crying.”
Deadstock: A Punktown Novel Page 11
