Bloodhype (32 page)

Laying the gun aside—not far enough aside—he set the keytab and tied down the trigger securely with a piece of cord.

“I can slip the knot on this fast enough if I have to. Gonna need both hands for steering. Anybody takes a potshot at me, either I’ll release the trigger manually or shoot it loose. Either way the drug will be released into the atmosphere. As soon as I get close enough to the city, rest assured I’ll do my best to stay upwind. You might as well stop staring at the gun. I’m not so feeble I wouldn’t beat you to it.”

He lowered the small air-compression motor into the shallow water.

“And now, my lovely-love, I bid you good-bye.” The sea bubbled like soda-water around the stern of the little craft. It moved slowly off along the edge of the reef, careful not to stray over the Vom.

Kitten stared for a moment, sighed deeply, and walked back to where Mal was sitting on the deck. He was rubbing the back of his neck. He did not look happy.

“Well, I’m sorry, already! I told you not to expect me to be ladylike about it.”

“Congratulations.” He looked around suddenly. “Well, where’s the case? And where’s the old man?”

“Uh, considering that you didn’t see anything, you’ve summarized the situation neatly.” She pointed out to sea. The small boat was now a good many meters off, still chugging slowly along the reef edge. Soon it would round the first spit of the island and be lost to sight.

“Well now, how did you manage that?”

“He had a gun.”

“He had a gun,”
Mal replied slowly. “Why didn’t he pull it before now?”

She turned away. “He said he was waiting for a better chance.”

“Well, he sure got one.” Mal struggled to his feet and walked forward. He looked back at her and booted the instrument console something fierce. It did not improve its shape.

“That’s not going to help anything, you know,” she said.

“Maybe not, little girl, but it does wonders for my primitive, ignorant mind!” He booted it again.

“Oh, act your age, Captain! I . . .” She paused, looked past him.

“Well, don’t stop now. What . . .?”

He turned and stared in the same direction.

A considerable distance off, a small figure standing in a boat was flailing its arms frantically at the air. Towering on two sides of the figure, like the walls of a canyon, were two night-black nightmare shapes not quite as big as a pair of good-sized shuttlecraft. Their descent was graceful, almost ballet-like. Unconsciously, Mal had slipped an arm around Kitten’s waist. This time she didn’t move it.

“Was that a scream, there?” Her voice was even, but there was the slightest tremor to it. She was remembering an earlier time on another island.

“I think so. There! An explosion?”

“Maybe. Maybe . . .”

They waited anxiously. The halcyon sea recovered. The small boat was gone.

Needless to say, the small figure was too.

Kitten let out a long breath. “Well, I guess it wasn’t a very good idea after all.” She slipped gently out of his grasp and peered over the twisted railing of the skimmer.

“I think we ought to try and wade off the reef to the island proper. We can come back for blankets and supplies. It’s bound to be warmer inland than out on these wrecks. Besides, they’re liable to be pulled off the reef when the tide comes in. I don’t fancy being dumped into the surf at 2 a.m.” She slipped easily over the edge, hung by her fingers for a moment and dropped lightly into the shallow water. Her knees bent as she took the impact.

A tiny portion of the entity that was the Vom reacted to a foreign ingestion. A minute portion of the food did something odd to a few cells. The strangeness was communicated to the Vom-mind. The reaction extended. A group of cells were suddenly disoriented. At their center, neural deracination took place. Idly, then more attentively, finally in a state of real concern, the Vom sought to isolate the farrago. Some cells were by-passed and not affected. Others were . . . not
harmed,
but disoriented on an increasingly massive scale. They became incapable of performing their proper functions.

Synaptic connections were deliberately broken in an attempt to seal off the infection. The attempt failed. Had the difficulty been enzootic, the Vom might have controlled it. But it seemed to strike at random points, unpredictably. The difficulties this caused were not irreparable, but at the height of battle they were a disaster. A small portion of the Vom-mind was forced to shut down. The creature’s power was noticeably weakened. The Guardian-Machine and the Other sensed it, pressed harder.

A whole quadrant of projection cells died before they could be shuttered down. The Vom quivered in pain, sending huge waves crashing across nearby islands, smashing through the brush and sweeping away small lives.

NOW (said the Guardian in a roar of triumph)

YES, NOW (came a quietly grim thought from the Other)

Hopelessly, desperately, the Vom fought back. Despite frantic repair and isolated control, the infection continued to spread. But the Vom’s resources were immense. It was beginning to slow the disaster. It might yet contain the threat, survive, hold, rebuild, counterattack. It might . . .

A double-section of power-cells suddenly collapsed, unable to supply the awesome demands on their substance. An edge, a point, a limit had been reached and passed, and the Vom went over. Slowly, then with increasing speed.

It was a new sensation for the Vom. Sections of self died around it. The mind was partly but not wholly detached from the physical process, even as it fought back. When it felt realization that finality was about to occur, when death convulsions shook the ocean floor around it, it cried out a last appeal.

STOP! : CONCESSION! : I ABJURE POWER!

(the Other did not reply. the Guardian-Machine did)

THAT IS NOT OF YOUR NATURE : THE UNIVERSE DEMANDS YOUR PASSING

(Guardian-Machine and Other struck again)

Perceptions took on strange colorings for the Vom. Another new sensation. A last new sensation.

(a final observation, brilliant light boiling away consciousness as though the soul water was)

(then . . . .)

DISSEMINATION

(long-thoughts were space-scattered)

DISSOLUTION

The great organic capsule broke into a thousand pieces. A thousand-million. And more.

(conclusion)

DISSIPATION

The trillion bits of no-vom broke down to the molecular level. Then the sub-molecular.

DEATH

(an empty conscious chaos lost the binding wire of thought. return to nothingness)

DONE! (said the Guardian, half in wonder, half in contentment)

It sought out the Other, said simply . . .

THANK YOU

NOT NECESSARY

(said the Guardian in reply . . .)

YOU PLANNED THIS : YOUR CONCEALMENT : YOUR TIMING OF ALL : YOUR MOMENT OF ENTRY : ALL PLANNED (statement of fact, not query)

YEA AND VERILY (then, curiously) WHAT WILL YOU DO NOW?

WHAT WOULD YOU SUPPOSE I WOULD DO?

(pause) I THINK YOU WILL DIE

THAT IS WHAT I SHALL DO : IT WILL TAKE A LITTLE TIME : ANY PART OF I-MACHINE CAN BE SHUT DOWN RAPIDLY ENOUGH : TO SHUT DOWN THE MACHINE-I WILL TAKE A LITTLE LONGER : I WILL SHOW YOU THINGS BEFORE THIS IS DONE

I THANK YOU FOR THAT AND THAT THANKS YOU CANNOT REJECT : I HAVE POWER : I MUST ACQUIRE WISDOM

THERE IS MUCH WISDOM ALONE IN THAT THOUGHT : SO IT SHALL BE

YOU NEVER FEARED DEFEAT

I WAS NOT CONSTRUCTED TO BE SO INCLINED : NOT TRAINED TO : NOT A RACIAL AFFECTATION : THE VOM’S FATE WAS INELUCTABLE

Mal set Kitten down gently, then dropped out of the tree to stand next to her. She drew her hair behind her with one hand, used a small piece of elastic plastic to bind the long wet strands. He was staring at her.

“Please, spare me the cracks about ‘drowned kittens,’ will you?” she said.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, mopping at his face with a sleeve. He was equally drenched. “I’m too tired. Damn lucky thing that first wave was as small as it was. Some of those later ones could have piled us into the rocks. Did you see anything?”

“Only a glimpse here and there. Mostly I was too busy holding onto that branch.”

“Quite a sight. One second it was thrashing around like a loose ship-drive, smashing
pecces
and throwing up great gouts of water and sea-bottom. Then it seemed to sort of shudder lightly. It just fell in on itself and dissolved like black sugar.” He removed a soggy boot, dumped a trickle of water out of it.

She shrugged. “Funny. I’d kind of expected something a little more spectacular after that build-up. I don’t think it made a sound the whole time we were watching it. A violent, quiet end to everything. I wonder if we’ll ever find out where it came from?” She was shaking water from the bottom of her blouse.

“Almost everything,” he said cryptically. He took a step closer and gently placed a palm between her shoulders. She had just enough time for one quick, startled look as he shoved hard sideways, at the same time sitting down on a water-soaked but serviceable log. She folded neatly across his knees.

Keeping his left arm firmly across the small of her back, he lifted his right leg and hooked it over her left thigh. The resultant pose was classic, if undignified.

Kitten made a firm, sudden shove upwards, frowned when no give was forthcoming. Bracing her hands on the damp ground she pushed harder. She might as well have been trying to push her way out of an armored hunting cage.

“All right, Captain Hammurabi. My sense of humor is departing swiftly. If you wouldn’t mind letting me up . . .?”

“If you’ll think back a moment,” he went on easily, “you’ll recall that just prior to agreeing to make a certain jaunt with you to a certain Enclave, with certain suicidal desires in mind, I made you a promise. You may remember the substance . . .” She struggled harder and much less scientifically now.

“Striking an officer of the Church can be ruled a capital offense!”

“I’ll take that chance, Lieutenant. But I keep my word and my promises. It’s good business practice. I’ll risk a restraining term. This won’t take long. I suggest you strive to consider the philosophical aspects of the situation. You’re good at that.”

The ship-captain’s palm had the seeming consistency of solid duralloy. The Lieutenant’s often violent protests for the next several minutes of measured activity were of a nature far removed from anything philosophical.

Mal sighed and looked over to where Kitten was leaning against a tree. He made an adjustment on the small communit he’d salvaged from the ruins of the waveskimmer. He’d modified it to throw off a long-range homing signal on a widely used distress frequency. It would continue to cast for about an hour before the powerful little battery would burn out.

“Will you sit down? I didn’t hit you that hard.” He smiled. That produced several minutes of withering silence. “Suit yourself. You deserved it. It’s been said, Book III Chapter 21, ‘Maturity is not a function of age.’ If you’re bent on proving otherwise . . .”

Kitten looked down at her feet. She’d been scratching abstracts in the still-damp island soil.

“It is possible” she began hesitantly, “that a certain small amount of that . . . that . . .”

“Eleemosynary chastisement,” Mal offered.

“Whatever you choose to call it.” She strolled over. “A certain amount may, just may, have been justifiable.”

“If I’d given you what you deserved,” he said, “I’d still be at it. But I decided to be charitable. And besides, my arm was getting tired.”

“I can imagine,” said Kitten, smiling slightly. “This one, wasn’t it?” She touched his right shoulder.

He looked at her curiously—until she leaned forward and bit him good and hard above the right bicep.

He tried gently to detach her. She wouldn’t let loose. Hammurabi’s grandfather had spent his childhood in the slums of Bajallsa Port, one of Terra’s greatest and dirtiest shuttleports. The teachings he’d passed on to his grandson were effective and unconventional.

Mal leaned over and bit her back.

She broke away in surprise and shock, rubbing her injured shoulder.

“Damn you, Hammurabi! You’re no gentleman!” She lunged at him, her right arm coming around in a side chop. He caught it in one hand, did the same when she tried to counter with the left. She tried to bring up a knee but he spun her around and pinned her tightly against the tree.

“You’re hardly a lady, Kai-sung.”

She kissed him. After a moment’s hesitation, and after she laughed at him, he relaxed enough to kiss her back. But he didn’t let go of her hands.

When Porsupah arrived with a harbor launch, his cogent evaluation of the situation caused Kitten to chase him three times around the island. The diminutive Tolian was still laughing as they pulled away from the reef-free side.

On board two very different flagships, both commanders and many crewmen (or crewnye) turned from a discussion of their sudden return of power to view a tiny nova. It had appeared just around the planetary horizon. An omphalos of thermonuclear fire, it outshone even Repler’s sun for a few seconds before dimming out. In its brilliance, the small flare on the planet’s surface went unnoticed.

Fully aware that a confession of impotence in the face of probable bellicosity was not conducive to advancing one’s career, both commanders agreed to keep the whole incident as quiet as possible.

Both moons were down as Porsupah reeled along the docks that edged the section of Repler City favored by visiting non-humanx.

His reflections were colorful if not clear. For such a small mammal, his capacity for fermented spirits was remarkable enough to draw comment from the uninitiated. He’d been granted a month’s leave, local time, and was concluding the third day of a spectacular drunk. It was unmilitary and unChurchlike. But after hearing details, Ashvenarya himself had given the three of them leave to commit anything short of murder, and maybe that too, if they were discreet about it.

He gleefully recalled Chatham’s face when the old miser had seen the crater that had replaced his precious island. Their crazy alien ally had done everything in an expansive way, including committing suicide. What a fantastic succession of facial changes when Ashvenarya had authorized complete rebuilding at Church expense!