Pawn’s Gambit (41 page)

Winston's face had gone white. “What are—I don't know what you're talking about,” he managed.

“You got into the NanoSembler,” Gerald said, distantly aware that the whole diner had gone suddenly quiet. “You made up something, and you just now put it in Sherrie's soup. What was it?”

In a tri-vi thriller, Gerald reflected bitterly, the villain either blurted out a confession or else made some desperate move that confirmed his guilt. Real life, unfortunately, didn't play by such easy rules. Winston had had a moment to collect himself, he'd done so, and he wasn't about to go down easily. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” he insisted. “I picked up the salt—that's all. Anyway, how could I have fiddled with the NanoSembler? I'm not even coded for it.”

“You had coding left over from last semester,” Gerald said. But the moment had passed, and he knew it.

Worse, so did Winston. He might have been caught, but there was no way Gerald could prove anything. In fact, he couldn't even prove enough to get Security interested or a court order for the NanoSembler's log. Whatever Winston had done, whatever he'd created in Gerald's chem lab, he was going to get away with it.

Unless …

It was a long shot. A dangerous long shot. But it was all Gerald had left.

“Fine,” he said between clenched teeth. “So there's nothing wrong with this soup?” Before Winston could answer, Gerald picked up the bowl—

And set it on the floor beside the table.

“Rosie?” he invited, gesturing to the bowl and mentally crossing his fingers. “Here. Eat.”

Winston's eyes widened as Rosie dropped her head obediently to the bowl. “Wait a second,” he protested. “You can't—”

“Eat,” Gerald repeated.

And with a gurgling that sounded remarkably like the noise from a half-stopped drain, Rosie did.

Winston's face had recovered from the earlier shock of Gerald's unexpected entrance and accusation. Now, as he watched Rosie gobbling down Sherrie's soup, the process reversed, again draining his skin of color. Gerald watched in silence, noting out of the corner of his eye that Sherrie was doing the same.

A minute later, the slobbering sounds faded away. “Fine,” Gerald said into the fresh silence. “Whatever you put in the soup is now inside a dog. A dog who, incidentally, weighs only half as much as Sherrie. We can all sit here and see what it does to her, or you can tell me—right now—whether I need to get her to the vet for emergency treatment. Which is it going to be?”

Winston was still staring at Rosie. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Winston?” Sherrie said. To Gerald's surprise, there was no anger or outrage in her voice, but only softness and compassion. Compassion for Rosie, certainly, but also compassion for Winston.

Maybe it was her tone, and the implied forgiveness, that finally made the difference. Or maybe it was Winston's own compassion and fears for what he'd done to the beloved class pet. “GHB,” he whispered, almost too softly for Gerald to hear. “Gamma-hydroxybutyric­ acid.”

Gerald felt his stomach tighten. He should have guessed. Winston, mooning unrequitedly after the most beautiful, most desirable woman he'd probably ever known … “I see,” he said. “In that case, I guess I'd better find a vet. Come on, Rosie.”

He looked at Sherrie, watching as the compassion in her face turned to a quiet horror. She, too, knew what GHB was, and what had almost happened to her.

She also wasted no time with conversation or accusations. Even as Gerald and Rosie walked back out into the cold air she was already in her coat and heading at a fast walk for the exit. It was, Gerald knew, the last time she would ever have a friendly snack with Winston.

In fact, given the number of witnesses in the diner, it was possibly the last time any woman on campus would do so.

The NanoSembler had been designed to facilitate the building of disease-ending drugs, hunger-curing plant variants, and revolutionary fabrication materials.

Not so desperate and depraved college students could create their own supply of date-rape drugs.

Clem Chee's eyes stopped moving as the news article came to an end, and he shook his head as he tapped it away. “Whoa,” he said. “That was
not
what I was expecting when I suggested this little trial.”

“Well, that's science for you,” Gerald said philosophically. “Was Galileo looking for new wonders in the heavens? Was Einstein trying to unify time and space?”

“Actually, yes, they were,” Clem said dryly. “On the other hand, a lot of
your
field's discoveries came from trying to turn lead into gold.”

“I suppose,” Gerald said. “The point is that in science you should always expect the unexpected.” He braced himself. “I just hope you're pleased enough at the results that you're willing to overlook whatever problems came from me making Rosie eat that soup.”

“Oh, there weren't any problems,” Clem said casually. “Actually, she was designed so that she could follow up olfactory data with taste samples. Eating is fine—I just haven't put the sensors in there yet.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Gerald growled. Two days of worrying, for nothing. “That would have been nice to know. I was afraid she would short out and collapse halfway to the door.”

“Not at all,” Clem said. “But after this, I'm definitely putting those sensors on the fast track.”

“They could be useful,” Gerald agreed. “So will you be changing her name?”

“What, from Rosie?” Clem asked. “No way. Besides, what would I change it to?”

“Rotsie, of course,” Gerald said. “Robotic Olfactory
and Taste
Sensor and Integrator, Experimental.”

“That only makes sense if I build her into a Rottweiler design,” Clem pointed out. “Besides, the technical term for sense of taste is gustation. Rogsie? Ugh.”

“I suppose you're right,” Gerald said. “Anyway, congratulations. Chemical Labrador Model 301 was a resounding success.”

He smiled. “I can hardly wait to see what you've got planned for Chem Lab 30
2
.”

Pawn's Gambit

To:
Office of
Director Rodau 248700, Alien Research Bureau, Clars

From:
Office of Director Eftis 379214, Games Studies, Var-4

Subject:
30th annual report, submitted 12 Tai 3829.

Date:
4 Mras 3829

Dear Rodau,

I know how you hate getting addenda after a report has been processed, but I hope you will make an exception in this case. Our most recently discovered race—the Humans—was mentioned only briefly in our last annual report, but I feel that the data we have since obtained is important enough to bring to your attention right away.

The complete results are given in the enclosed film, but the crux of the problem is a disturbing lack of con­sistency with standard patterns. In many ways they are un­sophisticated, even primitive; most of the subjects reacted with terror and even hysteria when first brought here via Transphere. And yet, unlike most primitives, there is a mental and emotional resilience to the species which frankly surprises me. Nearly all of them re­covered from their fear and went on to play the Stage-I game against their fellows. And the imagination, skill, and sheer aggressive­ness used in the playing have been inordinately high for such a young species, prompting more than one off-the-record comparison between Humans and the Chanis. I suppose it's that, more than anything else, that made me unwilling to let this data ride until our next report. Confined as they are to their home planet, the Humans are certainly no threat now; but if they prove to be even a twelfth as dangerous as the Chanis they will need to be dealt with swiftly.

Accordingly, I am asking permission to take the extraordinary step of moving immediately to Phase III (the complete proposal is attached to my report). I know this is generally forbidden with non-spacing races, but I feel it is vital that we test Humans against races of es­tablished ability. Please give me a decision on this as soon as possible.

Regards,

Eftis

To:
Office of Director Eftis 379214, Game Studies, Var-4

From:
Office of Director Rodau 248700, A.R.B., Clars

Subject:
Addendum to 30th annual report.

Date:
34 Forma 3829

Dear Eftis,

Thank you for your recent addenda. You were quite right to bring these Humans to our attention; that is, after all, what you're out there for.

I find myself, as do you, both interested and alarmed by this race, and I agree totally with your proposal to initiate Phase III. As usual, the authorization tapes will be a few more weeks in coming, but—unofficially—I'm giving you the go-ahead to start your preparations. I also agree with your suggestion that a star-going race be pitted against your Human: an Olyt or Fiwalic, perhaps. I see by your reports that the Olyts are beginning to resent our testing, but don't let that bother you; your results clearly show they are no threat to us.

Do keep us informed, especially if you uncover more evidence of Chani-like qualities in these aliens.

Sincerely,

Rodau

The glowing, impenetrable sphere of white mist that had surrounded him for the last five minutes dissolved as suddenly as it had formed, and Kelly McClain found himself in a room he had never seen in his life.

Slowly, carefully, he looked around him, heart pounding painfully in his ears. He'd screamed most of the panic out of his system within the first three minutes of his imprisonment, but he could feel the terror welling up into his throat again. He forced it down as best he could. He was clearly no longer in his office at the university's reactor lab, but losing his head wasn't going to get him back again.

He was sitting in a semicircular alcove facing into a small room, his chair and about three-quarters of his desk having made the trip with him. The room's walls, ceiling, and floor were made of a bronze-colored metal and were devoid of any ornamentation. At the right and left ends of the room he could see panels that looked like sliding doors.

There didn't seem to be a lot to be gained by sitting quietly and hoping everything out there would go away. His legs felt like they might be ready to hold him up again, so he stood up and squeezed his way through the six-inch gap between his desk and the alcove wall. The desk, he noted, had been sheared smoothly, presumably by the white mist or something in it. He went first to the panel in the right-hand wall; but if it
was,
in fact, a door, he could find no way to open it. The left-hand panel yielded identical results. “Hello?” he called tentatively into the air around him. “Can anyone hear me?”

The flat voice came back at him so suddenly it made him jump. “Good day to you, Human,” it said. “Welcome to the Stryfkar Game Studies Center on Var-4. I trust you suffered no ill effects from your journey?”

A
game
studies center?

Memories flashed across Kelly's mind, bits of articles he'd seen in various magazines and tabloids over the past few months telling of people kidnapped to a game center by extraterrestrial beings. He'd skimmed some of them for amusement, and had noted the similarity between the stories; humans taken two at a time and made to play a strange board game against one another before being sent home. Typical tabloid tripe, Kelly had thought at the time.

Which made this an elaborate practical joke, obviously.

So how had they made that white mist?

For the moment, it seemed best to play along. “Oh, the trip was fine. A little boring, though.”

“You have adjusted to your situation very quickly,” the voice said, and Kelly thought he could detect a touch of surprise in it. “My name is Slaich; what is yours?”

“Kelly McClain. You speak English pretty well for an alien—what kind are you, again?'

“I am a Stryf. Our computer-translator is very efficient, and we have had data from several of your fellow Humans.”

“Yes, I've heard about them. How come you drag them all the way out here—wherever
here
is—just to play games? Or is it a state secret?”

“Not really. We wish to learn about your race. Games are one of the psychological tools we use.”

“Why can't you just talk to us? Or, better still, why not drop in for a visit?” Much as he still wanted to believe this was a practical joke, Kelly was finding that theory harder and harder to support. That voice—like no computer speech he'd ever heard, but nothing like a human voice, either—had an uncomfortable ring of casual truth to it. He could feel sweat gathering on his forehead.

“Talking is inefficient for the factors we wish to study,” Slaich explained offhandedly. “As to visiting Earth, the Transphere has only limited capacity and we have no long-range ships at our disposal. I would not like to go to Earth alone.”

“Why not?” The tension had risen within Kelly to the breaking point, generating a reckless courage. “You can't look
that
bad.
Show yourself to me—
right now
.”

There was no hesitation. “Very well, the voice said, and a section of the shiny wall in front of Kelly faded to black. Abruptly, a three-dimensional­ image appeared in front of it—an image of a two-legged, two-armed nightmare. Kelly gasped, head spinning, as the misshapen head turned to face him. An x-shaped opening began to move. “What do you think, Kelly? Would I pass as a Human?”

“I—I—I—” Kelly was stuttering, but he couldn't help it; all his strength was going to control his suddenly rebellious stomach. The creature before him was
real
—no make-up job in the world could turn a man into
that.
And multicolor hologram movies of such size and clarity were years or decades away … on Earth.

“I am sorry; I seem to have startled you,” Slaich said, reaching for a small control panel Kelly hadn't noticed. The muscles moved visibly under his six-fingered hand as he touched a button. The image vanished and the wall regained its color. “Perhaps you would like to rest and eat,” the flat voice went on. The door at Kelly's left slid open, revealing a furnished room about the size of an efficiency apartment. “It will be several hours before we will be ready to begin. You will be called.”

Kelly nodded, not trusting his voice, and walked into the room. The door closed behind him. A normal-looking bed sat next to the wall halfway across the room, and Kelly managed to get there before his knees gave out.

He lay face-downward for a long time, his whole body trembling as he cried silently into his pillow. The emotional outburst was embarrassing—he'd always tried to be the
strong, unflappable type—but efforts to choke off the display only made it worse. Eventually, he gave up and let it run its course.

By and by, the sobs stopped coming and he found himself more or less rational once more. Rolling onto his side, unconsciously curling into a fetal position, he stared at the bronze wall and tried to think.

For the moment, at least, he seemed to be in no immediate physical danger. From what he remembered of the tabloid articles, the aliens here seemed truly intent on simply doing their psychological study and then sending the participants home. Everything they'd done so far could certainly be seen in that light; no doubt they had monitored his reactions to both their words and Slaich's abrupt appearance. He shuddered at the memory of that alien face, feeling a touch of anger. Psychological test or not, he wasn't going to forgive Slaich very quickly for not giving him some kind of warning before showing himself like that.

The important thing, then, was for him to stay calm and be a good little test subject so he could get home with a minimum of trouble. And if he could do it with a little dignity, so much the better.

He didn't realize he'd dozed off until a soft tone startled him awake. “Yes?”

“It is time,” the computerized voice told him. “Please leave your rest chamber and proceed to the test chamber.”

Kelly sat up, glancing around him. The room's only door was the one he'd entered by; the test chamber must be out the other door of the room with the alcove. “Where's the other player from?” he asked, swinging his feet onto the floor and heading for the exit. “Or do you just snatch people from Earth at random?”

“We generally set the Transphere to take from the vicinity of concentrated energy sources, preferably fission or fusion reactors when such exist,” Slaich said. “However, you have made one false assumption. Your opponent is not a Human.”

Kelly's feet froze halfway through the door, and he had to grab the jamb to keep his balance. This was a new twist. “I see. Thanks for the warning, anyway. Uh … what
is
he?”

“An Olyt. His race is somewhat more advanced than yours; the Olyts have already built an empire of eight planets in seven stellar systems. They have been studied extensively by us, though their closest world is nearly thirty light-years from here.”

Kelly forced his legs to start walking again. “Does that make us neighbors? You never said how far Earth is from here.”

“You are approximately forty-eight light-years from here and thirty-six from the Olyt home world. Not very far, as distances go.”

The door on the far side of the room opened as Kelly approached. Getting a firm grip on his nerves, he stepped through.

The game room was small and relatively dark, the only illumination coming from a set of dimly glowing red panels. In the center of the room, and taking up a good deal of its floor space, was a complex-looking­ gameboard on a table. Two chairs—one strangely contoured—completed the furnishings. Across the room was another door, and standing in front of it was an alien.

Kelly was better prepared for the shock this time, and as he stepped toward the table he found his predominant feeling was curiosity. The Olyt was half a head shorter than he, his slender body covered by what looked like large white scales. He was bipedal with two arms, each of his limbs ending in four clawed digits. His snout was long and seemed to have lots of teeth; his eyes were black and set back in a bettle-browed skull. Picture a tailless albino alligator wearing a wide sporran, Sam Browne belt, and a beret. …

Kelly and the Olyt reached their respective sides of the game table at about the same time. The board was smaller than it had first looked; the alien was little more than a double arm-length away: Carefully, Kelly raised his open hand, hoping the gesture would be properly interpreted. “Hello. I'm Kelly McClain; human.”

The alien didn't flinch or dive down Kelly's throat. He extended both arms, crossed at the wrists, and Kelly discovered the claws were retractable. His mouth moved, generating strange noises; seconds later the computer's translation came over an invisible speaker. “I greet you. I am Tlaymasy of the Olyt race.”

“Please sit down,” Slaich's disembodied voice instructed. “You may begin when you have decided on the rules.”

Kelly blinked. “How's that?”

“This game has no fixed rules. You must decide between you as to the objective and method of play before you begin.”

Tlaymasy was speaking again. “What is the purpose of this?”

“The purpose is to study an interaction between Olyt and Human,” Slaich said. “Surely you have heard of this experiment from others of your race.”

Kelly frowned across the table. “You've been through this before?”

“Over one hundred twenty-eight members of my race have been temporarily taken over the last sixteen years,” the Olyt said. Kelly wished he could read the alien's expression. The computer's tone was neutral, but the words themselves sounded a little resentful. “Some have spoken of this game with no rules. However, my question referred to the stakes.”

“Oh. They are as usual for this study: the winner is allowed to return home.”

Kelly's heart skipped a beat. “
Wait
a minute. Where did
that
rule come from?”