It was a fine lunch.
Around three that afternoon Bertha announced that there was a taxi sitting at the driveway gate. A moment later the intercom squawked. “Hello? This is Mohammed Jackson with Yellow Cab Company. I have a Yularian passenger requesting permission to enter!”
A Yularian passenger---requesting permission to enter! What incredible gall! I was just about to blast the driver with some choice New York cabbie “dialect” when L’raan said, “Tom---wait. Let’s see who this Yularian is.” Hmmmm. Girl has a good, level head on those fur-covered shoulders.
“Who is your passenger?” I snarled.
A mumbled exchange of words ensued, then, “She is saying her name is Dr. N’looma. She is saying she has arrived today on a Yularian shipstar.” Mumble-mumble. “My apologies---starship!”
Crap. One person I didn’t need right now was the architect of much of my misery, but I couldn’t very well turn her away---not just yet, anyway. Sighing, I said, “Open the gate, Bertha,” and then to the driver I said, “Bring your passenger up to the front door.” L’raan had that unreadable expression on her face again, but I didn’t have time to concern myself with it; our security was my primary concern. “Bertha, I want spiders scanning and observing that taxi and its driver the whole time it’s here, and I also want a spider keeping watch over Dr. N’looma at all times. Right now I trust her about as far as I can throw her.”
The cab, a big Ford sedan, grumbled to a stop where it had been directed, and the driver bounced out, opened a back door and then hoisted a medium-sized wheeled suitcase from the car’s trunk and deposited it on the pavement. Apparently Dr. N’looma had already paid him (probably charged the Yularian embassy for the expensive hour’s ride down from Jacksonville) since he quickly jumped back in his car and left before I could tell him to wait. Double crap! I didn’t want the elderly Yularian physician here in the first place, and I certainly didn’t plan for her to hang around.
She glanced at the cab as it hurried out the gate, then looked up at us standing on the porch. “Apparently that human has stronger negative feelings about Yularians than you do, Thomas Barnes. And at my age I don’t believe I ‘stank up’ his vehicle the way you claim L’raan did your home.” The abrasive old vixen actually looked rather forlorn standing in the driveway next to her solitary rolling suitcase.
“According to our custom,” L’raan whispered to me, “she may not cross your threshold without a direct invitation.” Really? It was sorely tempting---though only for one delicious moment---to simply turn and go inside, leaving the crotchety old female stranded in the driveway, but ultimately I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Dammit.
“Dr. N’looma,” I diplomatically began as I stepped off the porch, “while your presence here is a surprise, (ya think?) you are certainly welcome in my house.” She looked at me like I’d just grown horns and a forked tail. “If you will follow L’raan inside, I’ll see to your bag.”
“I can carry my bag myself, Mr. Barnes,” she almost snarled, but I quickly countered with a statement that seemed to rock her back a step or two.
“I’m sorry, Dr. N’looma, but due to security issues that transpired after I first contacted you---which we will explain later---your bag cannot enter the house without first being examined by my security AI.” At that point she took notice of Bertha’s spiders, which had been quietly monitoring the activity from the porch shadows.
“You accuse me of bringing threats---!” she indignantly began.
Interrupting what was no doubt the beginnings of a heated rant, I firmly stated, “After what took place a few days ago, and after finding an assortment of potentially lethal devices hidden in L’raan’s luggage---no doubt included as back-up devices to murder us should the primary devices fail---I’m suspicious of any materials transported by Yularian ships, or even handled by various Yularian personnel. You have no idea, and no control, over what may have been inserted into that bag while you were unconscious.” So there, bitch!
A pregnant pause later the doctor tilted her head, quietly saying, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. Based on what my security AI found in L’raan’s luggage---I’ll show you the recordings later---I dare not let our guard down. Doing so could be fatal to us all---including you.”
She chewed on that thought for a moment, sighed, then quietly said, “Very well. I must however ask that your AI treat my equipment with care. Several medical items in there are somewhat fragile.”
“Legitimate devices will not be damaged, Dr. N’looma,” Bertha stated through the nearest spider, startling the old Yularian. “If I find anything I cannot identify or should I have any questions, I will notify you, and when my examination is finished I will bring your bag inside where it will be safe from the approaching rain.” Yep, the usual Florida afternoon showers were building in the west. I figured we’d get a soaker in about an hour.
The elderly alien physician gingerly made her way up the few steps and onto the porch, and L’raan took her into the house while I brought her bag up under the overhang. Two of Bertha’s spiders had brought out a white bed sheet and were quickly spreading it on the porch floor to keep the bag’s contents from being soiled. I left four of the small machines to their work and went in out of the heat---to what I feared would be an even hotter visit.
Both females were standing in the den (the silly thought “foxes in my den” flashed through my mind) when I walked in, and I quickly said, “Please make yourself comfortable, Dr. N’looma. I have chilled, filtered water available, as well as a selection of Yularian-safe juices and small fruits for refreshments. I also have a light, pleasant sports beverage that L’raan drank extensively to restore her electrolytes after she’d been poisoned.” The old physician blinked at the apparently-unexpected hospitality, then she muttered something to the young vixen, who took the doctor by the arm and led her down the hall. Ah! Of course! Females and bathrooms, a universal attraction.
“When I return, Mr. Barnes, I would like to sample some of that ‘sports beverage’,” she stated, exhaustion evident in her voice. Watching the two aliens move down the hallway toward the back of the house I realized that the elderly Yularian was none too steady on her feet. She also looked haggard, and smelled sour, something I’d never noticed while on her home world. Great. All I needed was for the head of the project to become ill---or die---in my house.
The females were gone for nearly half an hour, and at one time I asked Bertha if the two were OK. “Dr. N’looma has taken a shower,” the AI stated, “and is in the process of drying her fur.” Well, she had looked a bit rough, so I certainly couldn’t begrudge the old gal a bath. Also during that time, Bertha’s spiders brought the doctor’s suitcase in and left it in one corner of the room, and reported on what they’d found.
In time I heard non-human voices coming up the hall, and moments later they entered the den. What a difference! Dr. N’looma looked a hundred percent better, smelled better---that jasmine fur shampoo was originally intended for her anyway---and she seemed to be in better spirits, too. I had chilled glasses of grape-flavored Gatorade, with straws, set out on the coffee table, along with a bowl of mixed-variety grapes. L’raan pointed out the Gatorade and the old physician immediately took a glass and, after sampling it, quickly drained the whole thing, then asked for more. L’raan handed the other untouched glass to her mentor, and after draining about half of it, the doctor looked very pleased as she sat it back on the table.
“That ‘sports drink’ is amazing, Mr. Barnes. I could literally feel it having a positive effect on my body.”
“That product’s been around for a long time,” I explained, “and is one of the best things to counter dehydration, especially if it’s caused by illness or stress.” I hesitated, then finished with, “If you’ll forgive me for saying, Doctor, you looked a bit grim when you got out of that taxi.”
The old vixen looked at me for a moment with an expression I couldn’t decipher, then she yipped a s
eemingly-humorless laugh. “You’re quite perceptive, Mr. Barnes. In fact I was feeling quite ill after my trip, but the illness was not all due to the effects of the journey. You see, our unknown assailants had tried to poison me just like they did L’raan; only unlike her, I caught them before they could administer more than a single dose.”
“W-what!” I exclaimed. “When did they---? Are you OK? What can I do to help?”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Barnes,” she said as L’raan stood next to her, ears and tail drooping. “I feel much better now since I was able to clean myself, and L’raan was kind enough to provide me with fresh clothing.” Well, canary-yellow shorts anyway, since neither female was wearing a halter top. “But now…there are several things I must do before additional time has passed.” She spied her bag in the corner, and asked, “May I assume that nothing ‘bad’ was found hidden in my belongings?”
“Unfortunately that is not correct, Dr. N’looma,” Bertha quickly replied through a spider crouched near the bag, “I regret to inform you that I found one item of potentially hostile intent, but since it appeared to be a recording/transmission-only device of similar type to the lethal ones found in L’raan’s luggage, I removed it and have it under electronic quarantine well away from the house where it can neither record nor transmit any information. A truck with a special containment box will be here later tonight to take the device away for analysis. The rest of your property was returned to your bag, undamaged.”
The good doctor looked horrified. Not only had her person been assaulted, but her private property had been compromised, evidently as grievous a sin to her as trying to poison her body. “I…I am…without words, Mr. Barnes,” she stammered after several long moments. “You welcomed me, an uninvited interloper, as an honored guest into your home, and…and I nearly compromised your security---and I had the arrogance to think ill of you for simply questioning the contents of my luggage!” For a moment it looked like she would break into tears.
“This whole assault and security business has strained everyone’s comprehension and credulity, Dr. N’looma,” I gently stated. “L’raan’s horrific near-death experience from poisoning, hers and my survival of the military-grade killing machines---and that only due to Bertha’s amazing offensive/defensive abilities---and our most fortunate discovery of the lethal devices in L’raan’s luggage, placed there no doubt by the same parties who wanted to kill you and record/transmit whatever information they could glean via the device hidden in your luggage. Also, while you were in the shower Bertha told me that her spiders detected the energy signature from some sort of alien device in the area of the back seat cushion of the taxi. No doubt it crawled out of your luggage, and I’ll hazard a guess that, given a bit more time, it would have succeeded in reaching you---possibly with the intent of poisoning you afresh.” The old vixen looked at me with new understanding, and a renewed sense of horror. “Whoever these people are, they’re deadly serious in wanting to stop this enterprise from succeeding, and they don’t seem to care who they kill in doing so---even if it means killing the medical head of the project.”
Dr. N’looma’s ears drooped and her tail almost dragged the floor as she approached her suitcase, and she didn’t appear to cheer up as she opened it and selected a piece of equipment. Turning to me I saw that she held a conventional hypo kit---the small-needle version!---and she said, “This…is to correct a terrible sin, Mr. Barnes, something that sounded so good, so useful in planning…but turned out to be both an ugly blot on my professional career as well as a stain on my soul for…for more reasons than you may ever understand.”
“Are you planning to stab me in the heart with a poisoned ‘medical dagger’, to put me out of your misery, Dr. N’looma?” I quipped, although I thought---and hoped!---it was something far different. She paused, looking at me in momentary confusion before sputtering a reply.
“What? How…how could you even joke about…about such a horrible thing!” she barked. “This is a targeted, engineered virus to reverse the terrible thing we did to your sense of smell as…as relating to Yularian female estrus pheromones. Two days after receiving this your sensitivity to them will revert to human norms, and never again will you be assaulted by our…our sexual stench.”
As she approached me I said, “The funny thing is, right now L’raan is several days past her estrus, and after she showered and changed clothes this morning I could smell nothing beyond her natural musk and your jasmine-scented fur shampoo.” The elderly Yularian took my right arm in a firm grasp, rubbed a spot on my bicep with a small antiseptic swatch, then expertly jabbed me with the hypo. A moment later I had my dose of stink relief, and she returned the now-empty hypo kit to her bag.
Then she turned to L’raan, who for some reason was looking even more unhappy. Hesitantly stepping up to the young Yularian, the doctor switched from English to Yularian---which, unbeknownst to both of my guests, I could passably understand. Couldn’t speak it worth a damn, but that wasn’t an issue at the moment. What I heard, however, was both a shock and a revelation.
“Granddaughter,” she began, “my plans, my arrogance and my pride almost cost you your…your life.” The old vixen’s head bowed, her tail and ears drooping, she painfully folded herself down to the floor and rolled over onto her back. “I deceived you, I…I lied to you and used you to further an ill-conceived plan, and for that most terrible sin I can only offer you my heartfelt apology---and my life in exchange.” With that she rolled her head back and to the side, exposing her throat in a canid-like gesture I’d seen submissive dogs perform time and time again. But this was no “submissive dog”, for pity’s sake; this was an elderly doctor-scientist! This was the person who’d given me back my youth (relatively speaking), and while she could certainly be quite obnoxious, she most definitely wasn’t a brutish beast!
As shocked as I was upon seeing her gesture, I was even more shocked---and momentarily paralyzed---to see L’raan, her medical student/granddaughter, who looked about as miserable as any intelligent creature could be, drop to her hands and knees and take the old vixen’s exposed throat in her jaws, her long, sharp fangs sinking into the still-creamy but age-thinned fur of the elderly Yularian’s neck.
Before I could manage to break my shock-paralysis and scream/jump/do something---L’raan gave the old vixen’s throat a gentle shake, then removed her jaws from the doctor’s neck and rocked back onto her haunches, tears streaming down her cheeks. As I started to lurch toward the horrible scene my eyes and brain registered the reality of no blood on the elderly Yularian’s throat; she was unharmed! L’raan, however, was beginning to wail as if she’d just executed her grandmother, so apparently this symbolic death held a deeper meaning to the vulpine aliens than a mere human could understand.
But the fact that L’raan was the old doctor’s granddaughter was an element that, although I’d probably seen clues, simply hadn’t registered on me. It certainly helped explain why the old female was so terribly upset, and I’m sure L’raan having her beloved---and probably feared---grandmother piously grovel at her feet didn’t help matters, either. What a mess!
The elderly vixen slowly, painfully rolled onto her side, then levered herself to a sitting position. I kept my distance, not knowing exactly what to do but sensing that this was not a good time for an alien---me---to insert myself into the equation. L’raan was sitting on her haunches, her face buried in her hands and keening her misery. Her grandmother leaned over and gently took the young female into her arms in a scene like a mother comforting a heartbroken child, and I took that as my cue to slide out of the picture. Beating a hasty retreat I adjourned to the kitchen where I powered up my fancy coffee maker and dropped in a cartridge of eye-popping, extra-bold French roast. Moments later, with the keening and wailing emanating from the den now coming in stereo, I took a scalding hot slurp of coffee while wondering just what in hairy Hell I’d gotten myself into.
Long about the time I was reaching the bottom of the coffee mug the canid racket in
the den quieted, then the two Yularians slowly entered the kitchen. “We regret disturbing you with an unpleasant…situation, Mr. Barnes,” the old vixen began, “but---”
“Granddaughter, huh,” I interrupted, matter-of-factly.
Oh, that was a cold, wet towel in the face!
“What---what do you mean?” L’raan yelped, a split instant before her grandmother echoed her question.
I peered at them over the rim of my nearly empty coffee mug. “Exactly what I said: Granddaughter, and conversely, grandmother. Since there are no other biological females in the house I guess it narrows it down to you two.” I sucked the final drops of coffee from the mug.
“But---! How---? When---?” L’raan sputtered. Her grandmother simply stood there with her mouth open in shock.
“Remember, L’raan, when I told you there were some things about me you didn’t know?” She nodded, eyes still wide with shock. “Understanding enough of your native speech to generally follow conversations is one of them. Most humans can’t speak it---I know I can’t---but it sure came in handy during my rejuvenation process.” The old physician looked embarrassed, as well she should be. “It was quite…enlightening…to discover that we humans don’t have a monopoly on racism, or more accurately in this case: Speciesism.” Now it was L’raan’s turn to be embarrassed. “The Yularian attitude toward all non-Yularians is very close to that of our own German Nazis, who felt Art Goldman’s people were a much lower form of life.
“One that needed to be exterminated.”
It took a few moments for the females to put it all together, but when they did--- Oh, it was priceless! Ugly, too.
“Tom! No!” L’raan cried. “We would never---!”
Dr. N’looma managed to out-shout her granddaughter with, “Preposterous! Such an obscene idea is---!”
“---Is not only feasible,” I loudly interrupted, “but appears to have been given legs.” I set my empty coffee mug on the drain board and leaned against the refrigerator, my newly-remuscled arms crossed. “The only joker in the game is, while at least some of your people are involved in this, we're not convinced that the Yularians as a species are behind it.”
Last Dance of the Phoenix Page 9
