Alien Eyes (21 page)

“But not you,” David said.

“Not me ever. But Izicho want to scare. Keep Guardian from getting strong hold, here, where the ideas most acceptable.”

“Won't that backfire, though?”

The waitress appeared with ceramic mugs of coffee. David's was rich brown, cream no sugar, Angel's black. He wondered how they knew he liked his coffee that way.

It was strong, but not bitter. A clear taste, rich, no odd notes of aftertaste. He could drink this coffee all night.

“It backfire?” Angel said.

David wiped his mouth with a black cloth napkin. “Do them more harm than good. Killing families, torturing them. What's more likely to happen is the Izicho will get thrown out.”

“They very close to human government figures. Do you not know this? Study own history, David.”

“Not if it happens in people's faces. Not like this.” He grimaced. “Enid West won't allow it. There's already been one backlash.”

“Ah, yes,” Angel said. “The experiments. The drug the Elaki have. This Black Diamond.”

“There was a lot of anti-Elaki sentiment over that.”

“You must understand mentality. It is fear reaction, these Izicho.
Fear
, not logic. If ruled by logic, would not have happened, the past … the past atrocities.” Angel leaned sideways. She had stopped eating, and she slid a fin across the side of the coffee cup. “This place, you know. It remind me. I was young Elaki, when began Guardians. Did you know I was there? Early times?”

David nodded his head.

“Yes. I be there.” She was oddly still now, the stillness David associated with Elaki meditation—the state of being one Angel scoffed at. “Full of ideas then, and excitement. I think time of much happiness. I think then it be possible to make the big change, you see, and so full then of the way it could be. We meet together for food and hot drink and … is hard to explain.”

David nodded gently. They were revolutionaries—young, excited, idealistic, changing the world to suit their vision of what was good. A moment of happiness, before the scars that would come. He glanced at the white web work on her midsection, and wondered how she had held under torture. He wondered how he would hold.

“There is much we do not know then,” Angel said. “About how scared Elaki Izicho can react. About how our own selves react.” She turned toward David. “There are betrayals,” she said. “In our own group. It is such a thing that takes my pouchlings.”

David felt a tickle of coldness at the base of his spine.

“I had little baby ones. Two pouchlings, male and female. This you knew?”

He nodded. Her voice had gone so soft he had to lean across the table to hear.

“What happened?”

“Is cho invasion,” Angel said. “I not home with them. Off. Off to make a little inconvenient mess. How childlike and pointless that now seem. And while I gone, the Izicho come. My little baby ones tortured. A chemaki male and female, there to watch and protect …” She leaned close. “Literally, David Silver. They are torn to pieces.”

David swallowed. He thought of her on television, asking for understanding for Dahmi. Did she know where Dahmi was? Did she have her safely tucked away? It was almost more than he could ask. Almost.

“Where is Dahmi?” David said.

Angel Eyes was very still. She did not have the nervous movements he knew so well. Just stillness. She turned her eye stalks and watched him. Her eyes looked moist, but he knew better. He knew Elaki did not cry.

“I do not know where Dahmi be. I worry for her, most often.”

“Angel, isn't it possible that these cho murders are the work of some fanatic, offshoot group of crazies?”

“Elaki do not have this, the mental illness crazies. We do not have such fragility of psyche. It is our luck. Be careful not to project this human trait to us. It will lead you wrong.”

David sat back. “Maybe if there—”

Her sudden, high-pitched whistle of distress brought him up out of his chair, and he was by her side in a moment. She curved over, supporting herself on the tabletop. Her cup of coffee went sideways, spilling onto her plate, a brown swirl of liquid making a mush of well-seasoned grubs and bread crumbs.

“What is it?” he said. “How can I help?”

He was aware of Elaki turning their backs, and people craning to see.

“Is pain, old pain. Physical problem.” Her voice was brittle. If she'd had teeth, she'd be gritting them. “Old problem be later okay,
must
go now.”

“I'll drive you home.”

She could barely move. He tugged gently, feeling a ripple of something—revulsion?—beneath her scales. Again, he knew she did not like to be touched. He was careful, gentle. She clamped a fin around his arm and he pulled. She was lightweight, sliding in fits and starts on the snake-belly scales of her bottom fringe.

Pierre watched them, eyes sharp and knowing.

“I'll drive you to a hospital,” David said.

“
No
. Not necessary. Old problem, need rest and must have Elaki vehicle. Cannot afford pleasure of police car.”

“Of course,” David said. His face was red. He should have known without being told.

Pierre nodded when David asked for a car. The man moved quickly, with grace, no panic, and little real interest. Just competence. David and Angel moved out to the front stoop to wait, to avoid the eyes of the humans, and the backsides of the Elaki.

The car came quickly. A red van.

“You sure you'll be okay? I hate to send you off like this.”

She was shedding scales. “It is old problem. From bad old days—”

David was embarrassed. It seemed bad form somehow, to bring up torture. Socially unacceptable.

“Is not offshoot group doing cho, my David.”

My David, he thought.

“I know these Izicho, I better than anyone. The cho killers are Izicho. I have not the hesitation of knowledge. My own hopes are stone. Have been too long in the years. For so long, I do not have the
care
, only now … now … I feel the care, again. I do not like it. It feels like being afraid.” She went rigid under her scales. “I know the smell and the feel and the taste of it.” She hissed. “I know the habits of the beasts.”

THIRTY-FOUR

David peered into the elaki documentation center. It was a clean, tunnellike building that consisted mainly of a narrow walkway bordered by crushed red rock. Elaki design. Elaki milled in what passed for a line, skittering on their fringe scales, some of them hissing.

Waiting in line, David decided, was a new and unappreciated concept.

He moved away from the window slit, stuck his hands in his pockets, and staggered off. The market cacophony of noise and color would hit hard after the cocoonlike confines of the documentation center. David scratched the heavy growth of beard on his cheek. He smelled bad. The nano odors he'd acquired made him nauseous, but God knows he was a convincing drunk. Nobody would smell this bad on purpose.

He wandered down the crushed gravel walkway that led from the EDC to the market. Long narrow stalls, painted translucent colors, emitted spicy cinnamon food smells—cinnamon coffee, cinnamon tacos. The walkways were narrow and people bent backward to stay out of his way. Most stalls had a flag out front, so the Elaki could judge the strength of the wind. Newly arriving Elaki were hyper on the subject of Earth's killer winds.

The stalls sold junk. Large belts, vests, real human artifacts that could be worn. Earth vids were everywhere, claiming to explain humans and human behavior. The stall proprietors were Elaki, but they used people for the scut work. Teenagers roamed the street, ignoring each other and waiting.

Mel stopped at a window and looked in.

“Here, David, you should look at this.” Mel's voice was loud in David's earpiece. “Be sure and stand downwind, okay?”

David looked around the marketplace, saw Mel standing in front of a stall several yards away. He waited for Mel to leave before he worked his way over. The star display was a harness and anchor, dangling from a metal hook. A tiny screen showed an Elaki wearing the harness as he slid down a “typical” Earth street. A sudden wind took hold of the Elaki, who quickly pulled a ripcord and “dropped anchor.” The wind became fierce. Another, unluckier Elaki was picked up and carried away, hissing and squirming.

“See the vid?” Mel was saying. “Our hero in harness. Stays put while his buddy gets the mother of all blow jobs.”

“Does not work,” String said. He bent close to a water fountain—something he could never resist. The water arced high in a cold, steady stream, splattering drops on the Elaki's eye prongs. David realized that he would have to stand on his tiptoes to get a drink. None of the newer fountains were made for people.

David heard String mutter to a wall clock, asking for the time. He checked his watch. Two minutes after the hour.

“Biachi to arrive in seven of the minutes,” String said. “Rose is here? I do not see her.”

“Said she'd be here, she's here,” Mel said.

David frowned. He hadn't seen her either.

“What of the pouchlings?”

“They'll look after themselves awhile.” David was muttering the way he'd seen drunks mutter, as they wandered the streets alone. “Big sister in charge. We got a friend coming over around dinnertime. He'll see they get fed and looked after till one of us gets back.”

“It is time for the scatter,” String said. He flashed a signal to Walker, who signaled Ash and Thinker. The Elaki-Three fanned out.

It was bright out, sunny. Wind chimes made of doll-like people clanked and tinged at every slap of breeze. The wind wasn't strong—just enough to make String falter now and then, before it died down.

A boy walked the top ledge of the brick wall. He held a basket of popcorn balls, strung together with edible plastic. He jumped down and moved to the center of the sidewalk, two feet from the mouth of the tunnel that would disgorge newly arrived Elaki into Earth society.

Thirty-seven Elaki were due in at 1:07. Elaki proprietors kept an eye prong on the streets, and their human employees edged ever closer to the documentation center. Everyone was waiting—stall keepers, guides. Cops.

In the last thirteen months, twenty-seven Izicho officers had left the Elaki home planet. All had been seen leaving. Each one had supposedly been processed through the EDC. None had been seen since, including Calii, Yahray's long-lost son.

David wanted an overview. He wanted to know how much involvement there was on the street, how thoroughly orchestrated the action.

Walker and Ash and Thinker were stationed inside the EDC where they could blend with other Elaki, stay out of trouble, and watch. They would see that Biachi, code-named the Little Nipper (by Mel), made it through. All three were under orders to stay out of the way under any and all circumstances. Rose would pick Biachi up on his way out of the tunnel. The rest of the team had a section of the market to watch.

Rose would stay with Biachi. No one else was supposed to get close.

“Heads up.” David heard the captain's voice in his earpiece. “Little Nipper's coming through.”

David shoved the sleeves up on the ratty sweater he wore, and took a swig of tea from the box of alcohol. He let some of the liquid dribble down his unshaven chin.

Mel paused by a fountain of water that cascaded into a pool. He climbed up on the stone wall at the water's edge and held up his arms. He wore a rumpled plaid suit, and David knew from riding over with him that he smelled like onions.

“Sinners!” he shouted. None of the humans paid any attention, but several Elaki looked up. “Fornicators! Elaki abominations! Chemaki boffing adulterers! Let the one true God show you the way.”

A very small Elaki male pouchling slid close and gazed raptly up at Mel. The young one waved a fin, demanding one of the vid cards Mel held.

“Beat it, kid,” David heard Mel say, sotto voce in the mike. “This stuff'll warp your mind.”

The Elaki skittered backward and away. David ducked his head, swigging warm tea. The nano odors were getting stronger in the sun. He noticed one of the Elaki stall owners watching him. The owner moved back and forth on his bottom fringe. Unlike everyone else, he did not watch the EDC. He watched the crowd. He watched David.

David wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He belched. The Elaki hissed and turned away.

The first swell of Elaki newcomers swarmed out of the tunnel. David watched from the corner of his eye. He spotted String's nephew immediately. He hadn't expected to see a family resemblance—the Little Nipper wasn't direct lineage—but he was the image of String. His left eye prong was crumpled and drooping and there were bald patches on his scales. He was small, slight, and hesitant as he rolled into the marketplace.

He was immediately approached by three teenage boys, who smiled and ducked their heads ingratiatingly, like bashful sharks.

“Got him,” David said. “Proceeding southwest toward the harness—”

“Got him, no,” String said. “Ah, here. This one.”

This one was a surprise. Tall, even for an Elaki, jet-black. Thickset, symmetrical. Handsome devil, David thought. For an Elaki.

“Spitting image of you, String.” Mel's voice was loud in David's ear.

The Little Nipper looked around carefully. Young, David decided. He held a satchel, and his eye stalks moved back and forth, focusing over David's head, then looking back.

“Smart kid,” Mel said in his ear. “Be a good cop when he gets some subtlety.”

“Here it comes.” The captain this time. David paid attention.

A thin girl, dark hair cut short and teased into a ruff from forehead to neckline, stood close to String's nephew. She moved her hands, pointing toward the stall where the Elaki owner had been out watching the crowd. Then she pointed to the stall next door.

The Elaki slid backward, but stopped, flanked suddenly by two other Elaki who seemed to come from nowhere. They all spoke—David hoped Della was picking it up on the mikes. The Little Nipper followed the girl, an Elaki on either side. Firm and friendly persuasion.