Bloodhype Read online

  "Then sit down!" he shouted angrily. "Patrick O' Morion, I've never come 'cross such an obstinate woman!" He made a heretical gesture heavenward. "First I rescue you from a proverbial fate worse than death. Then I rescue you from death! Then I save your assignment. I even; Kelvin knows why, try to protect your virtue. How old are you, anyway?"

  "Twenty-four T-years. Why?"

  Porsupah interrupted sarcastically. "See, Captain, you're about twenty-three point nine years too late for that." The Tolian then found much of interest in the workings of his seat.

  "Black holes have both of you!" she yelled. "I'll treat with you later, water-rat." She turned back to Mal. "And you, baboon-that-walks-with-fundament-forward, just because your grotesque carcass isn't up to the performance of our resident sewage-dabbler ... !"

  "Watch it, little girl, I ...!"

  First mate Takaharu swiveled half-way round in his chair. He actually raised his voice slightly, a thing reserved for extraordinary occasions.

  "I am known as a patient man," he murmured in a steadily rising voice, "but if there is not some silence about this cabin immediately. I shall direct this craft onto the nearest reef and allow your souls to drift in violent converse for eternity! Please all to shut up?"

  Glaring across the tiny cabin at each other, the Lieutenant and the freighter-Captain sat.

  Philip chose that moment to fill the air with a stentorian snore.

  The Vom was aware of the Machine, orbiting directly above it. It had been aware thus for some time now. Yet it recognized that the intelligence needed to transform the Machine into a potential threat was not present. As long as this remained so the Vom had nothing to fear. The Machine could not act without the direction of the Guardian, and there was nothing to wake the Guardian.

  Yet clearly the Machine was aware of this too. Then why would it trouble to track the Vom across parsecs? Obviously it hoped somehow to activate the Guardian. The Vom sensed lack of key knowledge and this troubled it.

  However, its strength was multiplying rapidly. It was a geometrical process. Each new, reactivated facet aided in unlocking or strengthening others. Since the Vom was maturing only internally, it aroused no suspicion in its former captors. Former, because for some time now the Vom had remained in place merely as a matter of convenience.

  Regrettably, the Vom could not read thoughts. It never did have this ability. But it was regaining another talent, the ability to pick up and interpret the emotional discharges of other minds. It could sense no threats around it. A real threat would have had unshakable confidence behind it. The confidence here was purely superficial. The only ones the Vom was at all concerned with were those few who projected utter fear. Under unfavorable circumstances, these might conceivably panic the others. That would be inconvenient now.

  Soon, however, it wouldn't matter. The Vom would act as it pleased. It had already passed the point where its peculiar composition could be threatened by sudden discharges of energy. Even the arrival of the Machine did not upset it. Not with the Guardian inert, inoperative. In fact, only one thing bothered it at all.

  Was there something it had not discovered on this small planet that might conceivably activate the Guardian?

  "A thousand moltings, your Excellency."

  "What is it, sergeant?," said Parquit RAM irritably. They had finally managed to detach a section of the creature. Arris bad just brought him initial analyses, spectrographic readings, and such-and now interruptions. He'd prepared his mind for revelations, for some practical return on an already enormous investment in time, credit, and nye-power, and this under-officer had shattered the mood.

  "Ten thousand days of precipitation on my ancestor's graves if I have disturbed you, Excellence, but='

  "Oh, get on with it, nye!" That was the trouble with military protocol. Took up too much military time.

  "Excellence, a small hoveraft was just detected within the concession perimeter. It appears to be piloted by a single human."

  "Is that worthy of an interruption? Human and thranx fishermen and fortune hunters occasionally stray within our boundaries. Hold the man for half a day-just long enough for him to flow from the apoplectic to the apologetic-inform him we do not regard his person as sacrosanct, issue the standard missive of protest to the governor, and then let the fellow go."

  "Well," he said when the sergeant did not absent himself. "Do you then find my physiognomy so fascinating? Why do you still inflict your presence on us?"

  "Commander, Excellence, your indulgence. I do not make a standard intrusion. I would never bother you with such trivia. It is that the human ... sir, he desires diplomatic sanctuary ... with us!"

  Parquit pushed the folder of spectrographs aside. "That is truly different, sergeant. I applaud your evaluation of the situation. My curiosity is piqued. Does the creature appear sane?"

  "He does, sir."

  "What sort of man is he? No, bring him here. I want to see this for myself."

  The sergeant bowed, clasped his throat in salute, and left.

  "Shall I go too, Commander?" said Arris, moving to gather up his papers.

  "No. Stay, xenobiologist. This should amuse and possibly interest you."

  The sergeant returned, along with two other soldiers. A single human walked between them. He clearly came under his own will, walking as briskly as his evident age permitted. Parquit raised a clawed hand and the sergeant returned the salute. He left, taking the escort with him. The human was left standing alone before the Commander's desk.

  He wasn't a particularly impressive specimen, as humans went. Clearly of advanced age, if Parquit's eye was any judge. Yet the body appeared fairly healthy. The man was dressed well if not luxuriously. He carried a single small metal case, half a meter square and thin. He was unarmed, of course.

  After a cursory examination of the room, the mammal stared back at the Commander. If he was nervous, he concealed it with the poise of one used to such elementary psychological ploys. A bold type, certainly. He'd have to be, to come here seeking asylum. Parquit could conceive of only one reason for a human or thranx to do such. He must be desired by his authorities-strongly enough to throw himself on the mercy of those controlling the only autonomous bit of surface on the planet. As mercy was not a trait the AAnn were famed for, the human would have to be desperate indeed.

  "I believe I have you evaluated sufficient for my needs," Parquit began. "In any case, I most surely will not waste you by returning you to the authorities who doubtless are seeking you. That need not concern you. I will at least have the pleasure of denying them that. In this way you will perform some small service for me. If you can somehow convince me that you may be useful in ways other than by denying your person to the government, d may consider not turning you over to the officer's chef for this evening's sun-down meal. Scrawny as you are. As you no doubt well know, we regard human flesh as something of a delicacy, the more so because of its unavailability. Admittedly a sore point between our races. Your justification for continued existence on a plane other than as dinner better be substantial."

  The human made a recognizable gesture of affirmation: He nodded his head. "That's about the kind of greeting I expected. Now I will tell you who I am. I am Lord Dominic Estes Rose."

  "A natural or acquired title?"

  "I bought it, if that's what you mean."

  Parquit did not congratulate himself for this bit of insight. The creature had neither the bearing nor appearance of the nobIeborn. Not that this bothered him. Even today among the AAnn there were those -who had purchased their nest in the aristocracy. It was necessary to adapt to change, needed to preserve the monarchy and the succession. Parquit himself had a near-nest relative who...

  "Your business, man?"

  "I am a simple merchant."

  "No merchant is simple who remains one. For that you find reason to flee to us?" Parquit added sarcastically.

  "I also run illegal drugs."

  "Ah! That explains a good deal. Do you specialize?"<
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  "I'm what you might call a high-class general retailer." The human chuckled. "I'm not particularly particular. If it'll bring a profit, I'll broker anything. What I want, Commander ... um. ..."

  "Commander is proper."

  The man shrugged. "If you want it that way. What I want is help in getting off-planet. I'll handle the reopening of my lines of supply myself. In return for this I can be of some help to you. I have contacts all over the Commonwealth."

  "You'd .sell yourself away from your own race?" Arris spoke for the first time.

  Rose responded. He laughed.

  "Do you believe in souls, friend?"

  "Naturally," said Arris.

  "Well, as far as forty Terran years ago, mine had been mortgaged several times over. Many races own a piece of me. A number have been trying to collect for years. I always stay one jump ahead of my un-friends. And my credit is excellent, which helps. I'm for bartering with anything that holds a convertible credit slip. That's the only race I owe allegiance to, the race of figures in my account with the Bank of ... but that needn't concern you."

  "I believe it all, man. Suppose, though, that I still decide you are more valuable to me as this evening's entree than a man of business?"

  "For a lizard, your symbospeech ain't bad. I might choose to blackmail you into a formal promise. How sounds that?"

  "Illogical. To blackmail one must be able to threaten. Prospective dinners rarely possess anything to threaten the diner with."

  "Well, I have what's in this case." Rose shifted the container in front of him.

  Parquit sighed. This man was going to turn out to be a disappointment after all.

  "Man, that case contains nothing of metal other than what is embodied in its basic construction. Nor anything of plastic, glass, wood, ceramic, nor any object of artificial construct greater than a few millimeters of your measurement. If it had, you'd never have been permitted past the landing point. Let alone into my personal presence. All you might do is throw it in my direction. You would be incinerated along with it before you could half complete the motion."

  "Don't doubt it. See Commander, what this case contains is a number of kuysters -your measurement- of the pure drug bloodhype, in powder form and under pressure. If I let go of this handle, this case will fairly explode from internal pressure. I think I'm too close to you for any destructive beam to be certain of destroying all the powder without killing you too. If the least of it, however tiny an amount, reaches you, you'll be as hooked as the worst addict in the filthiest dive on Terra or Dust Dune. Since I currently control the only supply in the known galaxy, you'll die later than I will, but a good deal more uncomfortably. As will your companion," Arris stiffened, "and anyone else who breathes it... I presume your air circulating system is efficient. You might consider your men. I might also remind you that if my intentions had been basically antagonistic, I could have safely released the dust at any time, if my object in coming here was to do you harm."

  "You are bluffing. You are not the type to welcome suicide."

  "Commander, I invited it by comming here! If you want other proof, you can find out real quick."

  Parquit did not make Commander by hesitating in awkward situations. "All right. I grant your sanctuary."

  "Swear by your Shell and The-Sand-That-Shelters-Life."

  Parquit made the AAnn equivalent of a smile. Naturally he did not bare his teeth. "You are a knowledgeable rogue, soulless Lord." The Commander lowered his voice, rumbled through the archaic hisses and croaks of the ancient oath.

  "There. Are you satisfied?"

  "You forgot the sealing of the membrane and the last three wind atonings."

  "A simple test, man. Compliments." This time Par. quit did it properly. It was impressive.

  Rose nodded when the AAnn had finished. He turned, set the case down on the floor. Arris winced involuntarily when the man took his hand from the handle. Rose turned back to face them.

  "You were bluffing, of course," said Parquit.

  "Don't let the either-or keep you awake nights, Commander." Rose looked around, helped himself to an awkwardly shaped chair.

  "I might say that any being who deals in bloodhype is a living scab to all AAnn as well as to your own race."

  "Insults are a sad way to begin a long relationship, Commander. Besides, I've heard them all already."

  Chatham Kingsley's island-home, Wetplace, reflected wealth-new wealth, as opposed to traditional inherited types. Kingsley could have built an old-Terra type baronial mansion (they were currently in style). But he eschewed the false reproduction and opted instead for the maximum in modern convenience. This left a good portion of the island's interior for a wilderness garden. Most of the necessary business edifices, such as warehousing, were built offshore on a complex of struts, pylons, and floating platforms.

  The central residence consisted of a single tower, which rose some 50 meters into the air while plunging an equal distance into sea and bedrock, on the side where the island fell off steeply into the shallow sea.

  The island thus remained almost entirely in a virgin state. The natural profusion of greenery was encouraged by judicious additions of organic fertilizers, powerful plant foods, and professional verdurement. Thick cycads, ferns, sporophytes and horsetails grew to the waterline, dipping graceful fronds into the slightly salty tideflow. In some places they even mingled with the sea-plants which grew sunwards from the seabottom, forming an unbroken wall of green against which water lapped viscously.

  The Tower itself was constructed of parallel vertical bands of a coppery bronze alloy and panes of opaque black glass.

  Takaharu guided the raft among the few small commercial craft which plied the artificial harbor. They beaded towards a single long, floating dock. An anchored walkway led towards the Tower.

  Mal glanced at the console. "All right, Maijib. You can acknowledge their calls now." Since Kingsley was overtly legitimate, they could expect to approach his property closely without fearing the gift of a missile or mine. But now at least a cursory greeting was in order.

  The first mate flipped on the comm. Immediately a harried voice filled the cabin. It was also officious and slightly bellicose.

  "... a private residence! Identify yourselves, pleasel This area is defined as ..."

  Hammurabi leaned over the mike for the second time in two days. "Malcolm Hammurabi, Captain-owner of the free freighter Umbra, and First Mate, along with Lieutenants United Church Kitten Kai-sung and Porsupah, and engineer Philip ... Philip ..." Mal glanced back at the lanky youngster. In all this time he hadn't thought to ask the fellow's last name.

  "Lynx," the engineer replied.

  . Philip Lynx to see merchant-trader Chatham Kingsley, and is the old S.O.B. at home or not?"

  "I beg your modification, Captain! I might inform you that...

  "Never mind, Hulen," a cultured, even voice broke in.

  "Yes sir," the unlucky Hulen replied. He sounded subdued. The voice returned.

  "Is that you, Hammurabi? This is the old S.O.B. himself. What brings you down from orbit? I thought you hated anything over half a gee. Your credit, in full, has already been transceived to your ship's account on Terra. I'd have thought you'd have checked on that long ago."

  "I did. That's not why I'm here."

  "Well, then?"

  "I'm peeved, Kingsley, peeved."

  "And presumably I'm the one who's peeved you, eh? All right, come on up. Or down, rather. And bring your friends with you. We'll see if we can't unpeeve you."

  Firm as ,its footing in the sloping Pecces was, the wide delivery-way shifted slightly under their feet with the action of the tide. A human butler met them at the entrance to the black and gold structure.

  "The master awaits you in the viewing room, sirs and lady. The sixteenth level." The elegantly appointed servant directed them to a room-sized elevator. It was more than,. large enough to hold them all comfortably. Kitten depressed the stud marked 16 and the lift started to move.
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  "Feels like we're moving downwards," said Porsupah.

  "I sense so too," Philip added.

  "The building is half below sea level," Mal informed them. "I've never been here myself, but I'm acquainted with the schematics for storage reasons." He indicated the lights over the front door. Number 18 had just winked out and 17 on.

  "We entered at midpoint-about the 20th floor." The door slid back silently. He stepped out into an enormous, unfamiliar room. It had a concave ceiling and was crescent shaped. The elevator shaft formed its apex.

  The far wall was entirely glass. It revealed a breathtaking panorama of the sea floor that disappeared in a turquoise haze. Fish and sea mammals swam lazily back and forth in front of the glass, catching the sunlight which filtered down through the clear water. Some clustered around feeding platforms. A number differed sufficiently from the familiar vertebrates to be classed as eye-catching, if not exotic.

  No, it was the room's decor that deserved the latter label. There was no individual furniture. Seats, fables and chairs were formed by rises and depressions in the floor of the room. The entire compartment was covered in a rich, reddish-brown fur. Artificial, but still exorbitantly expensive. The hairs tan as long as five centimeters. The lining-it couldn't be called a carpet-covered every space: floor, ceiling, walls, everything but that single panoramic window. Like the skin of some misshapen behemoth turned inside out. They were in the belly of a dream.

  "Fascinating concept," Kitten whispered. "Kind of like being inside a marsupial's pouch."

  "A fine analogy, Miss Kai-sung," boomed a voice from near the window.

  Chatham Kingsley reclined on a low, fur-covered platform. He was shorter than any of them, with the exception, of course, of Porsupah. A good three centimeters shorter than Mal or Kitten. He affected a blond crewcut, a short, thick brush mustache, and a gold and topaz ring in one ear. Angular cheekbones, a pointed chin, Roman nose, and falsely innocent china-blue eyes completed the face. A curious mixture of putty and flint. The mind behind the baby-eyes was at least that hard-a fact which Kingsley's ever-polite chatter strove to obscure.