Bloodhype (12 page)

“As to the protocol of exchange,” began Rose briskly, “I’m a reasonable man. Things will be kept simple. Oh, you might promise me the young lady’s silence in this matter. She is a government operative and will be difficult to convince. Likewise her furry friend. But I have confidence something workable can be arranged. It’s a little thing now, anyway.”

“Yeah,” said Mal. He was staring at the converted video.

“So.” Rose moved to a complex-looking desk and produced a small book with a pressure seal. He activated it with a twist, began riffling pages. “I don’t expect you to have someone deliver the stuff to my front door, as one would receive dinner at his home in the city. I’ll supply you the address of an operative of mine near the main Port, in Repler City. As soon as the case is delivered intact into his possession and he considers himself safe—you may keep the spices if you prefer, they’re quite good—you, the young lady, and her friend will be permitted to board your craft. You will call your pilot and explain the delay. My men will do nothing to make him believe things are other than normal. You may consider escape, if you wish. Quite impossible.

“You will be released, as stated, when my operative cannot be touched by the weaponry of the City. At that point he will be here before you can reach safety and/or notify patrol craft to try and intercept him. My word on this. I’ve never broken it where business is concerned. You may think me a nasty fellow, but I’m an honest nasty fellow. I won’t shoot you in the back—for at least a day. Then I will do my level best to see you exterminated.”

“How kind you are,” Mal muttered. He stood. “You’re really going to let the girl and her friend go? I can’t guarantee her silence.”

“About that, now. Just keep her from contacting her superiors for, oh, three days local time. Then I’ll consider that part of the agreement fulfilled. At that point she can babble her pretty head off. The Church will understand. No court would prosecute you. You see, I will have relocated myself by that time. The mere fact that an operative of her age was able to penetrate this far indicates that my business position here has become untenable. Apparently the local intelligence—damn that bug!—knew quite a lot, but weren’t sure what lot was what.”

“If you’ll supply me with a caster, Rose, I’ll notify my Mate and inform him of procedure. He’ll listen.”

“How will he know you’re not saying anything under the muzzle of a blaster?” Rose asked, curious.

Mal stared down at the aged drugger. “Because he knows I wouldn’t be in that situation, mister. Either the blaster-pointer or I would be dead, so it couldn’t arise. I don’t trust people with guns. They’re apt to act rashly. I’m glad you didn’t opt to employ one. I want to see that girl as soon as possible.”

“Oh, she’s all right. Kingsley’s young, but talented. He’d barely begun. I’ll see that you and she are put in the same room. In fact, I insist on it. You may find this arrangement more to your profit in the end. I would. Although I don’t believe the pretty-pretty will be in the mood for idle conversation for a while. Or anything else.” He gestured at the video. “As I said, my young friend is talented. Still, he hasn’t yet acquired the delicacy of touch long practice brings.”

Mal held up a massive fist, held it out where Rose could get a good look at it. “Let’s skip the morbid dialogue, shall we? In the interests of logic. Otherwise you may push me to the point of breaking your scrawny neck. That might throw a crimp on the whole elaborate deal, mightn’t it?” He took a step towards the drugger.

Instinctively, Rose stepped back. “Um, yes, it could complicate things if I were to prematurely pass on. This way, if you will.”

Mal sat in a chair in the single room to which they’d all been confined. Dressed now, the tall girl lay sleeping on the couch across from him. She’d been treated and given a mild sedative. He didn’t look at her. Porsupah, the Tolian, was busy at a single cabinet. He was mixing something liquid that had a faint aroma of sage. He walked over to the girl and gently shook her. Instead of talking he handed her the glass. Taking it without a question, she sipped, glanced up at the smiling Tolian, and downed the rest in a series of long swallows.

“Whew! What was in that, you offspring of a comet-cat?”

“Sorry, culinary secrets are reserved. Clan oaths, you know.”

“Clan oaths, my sweet Aunt’s grape juice!” She blinked several times. “Whoo!”

“What a quaint remarking!” said Porsupah. “That is a bit of terranglish slang that’s completely new to me.”

“It’s not really accepted slang, Pors. My Aunt . . . Jo, on my father’s side . . . was really sweet. She also drew produce from grapes. Only it wasn’t exactly . . . well, the vines wouldn’t have recognized the results of their efforts by the time she was finished with them. My father used to swear by it.”

She swung her long legs off the couch, wincing slightly. She breathed long and evenly. At this point she seemed to notice Hammurabi for the first time.

“Thanks . . . whoever you are.” Her gaze was direct, the feeling of thankfulness clear as quartz. It made him acutely uncomfortable. He squirmed. He’d hoped that when she sat up her evening outfit would show a little less flesh. No such luck. Gravity and the manufacturer conspired against it. Not that he’d mind, ordinarily. But whatever their situation was, it was not ordinary. He didn’t need anything taking his mind off the business at hand. Speaking of business and hands . . . there, see?

Despite the ordeal she’d just undergone, the girl was reacting calmly. This also was, not ordinary. He couldn’t rationalize it. This also made him nervous.

She was staring at him. “Well, telepathize my thighs if you must, but say
something!
I’m not asking for a biography, you know.”

“Qua? Oh, name’s Hammurabi. Malco . . . Mal Hammurabi. I’m captain and owner of the free-freighter
Umbra.
Puts you one up on me.”

“Kitten Kai-sung. And scrunching your eyebrows down like that doesn’t hide your line of sight at all.”

“Sun-father!” Mal sighed in frustration. He continued, a mite belligerently. “Does my staring at your legs make you so full-fission nervous?”

“No. Does it make
you
nervous?”

“Yes,
goddammit, and we’re not in a position where I can spare time to do proper appreciation to them, and that makes me a deal more upset!”

Kitten rubbed the edge of her right index finger slowly over her lower lip.

“What sort of alternate position did you have in mind?”

“Give it up—Captain,” advised Porsupah, drink comfortably in hand. “She’ll drive you to null-hike.”

“Meaning I’m not free-floating already?” Mal responded. The pseudo-pserious atmosphere broke like a light fog, dissolving into laughter. No one minded that it tended a little too much to the hysterical.

“Okay,” Kitten said finally, gasping. “Truce declared. Lieutenant Porsupah here and I are both in the Intelligence Arm of the United Church. If that old bugger has this place wired he’s welcome to the information, since your presence has apparently persuaded him to let us live.” She glanced at her partner, then back at Mal. “Might as well tell you that our purpose was to try and tie this creature Rose to renewed traffic in bloodhype, an especially vile drug.”

“We were discovered through one of those careless little slips that always happen to other operatives,” Porsupah continued philosophically. “It’s always the little slips. Of the myriad
jukill
ways to ruin an assignment! And we as much as had sealed proof that he was running the stuff through Repler! I don’t mind telling you, friend, you pulled us out of a whisker-thin spot.” The appendages in question gave a humorous twitch.

“Now, don’t get me started again,” said Mal, grinning. “If it’s any consolation, you were lined out the right way. I’ve seen a shipment. Several grams worth.”

“You
have?”
Kitten shouted excitedly. She shot to her feet, then hunched over suddenly. She sat down slowly, muttering. After an uncomfortable silence she looked up and continued as though nothing had happened.

“There are several things I must do when we get out of here, Captain. One of the first is to shut off—as slowly as possible—a narcissistic amalgam of fermented proteins named Russell Kingsley.”

Mal perked up more, interested. “So that
was
old man Kingsley’s boy? I’d heard about him. Appears they weren’t all rumors. Only the good things. You work for a man and you really only know him professionally.”

Now it was Porsupah’s turn to express interest. “You are friends of the family, then?”

“Only as far as the bank. I’m on Repler now because the
Umbra’s
making delivery on a major shipment for Chatham Kingsley Fisheries and Goods, Ltd. The old man’s a bit of a decadent type himself, but only healthy stuff. I really don’t think he’s aware that his itty-bitty baby boy’s a romping sadist. Mother died when the boy was a kid. I’d assume Russell’s been left to develop his own life-style since then.”

“I’m touched,” said Kitten in a voice that would chill molten copper.

“He does dote on the kid,” Mal added.

“I am sorry for that,” she continued in the same tones. “I had hoped his imminent extinction wouldn’t inconvenience anyone else. I still can’t really believe it would. Still,” she continued a little easier, “to know that you’ve actually seen the stuff . . .”

“About that. Appears that Rose’s latest shipment accidentally got mixed in with Kingsley’s cargo. Mixup was discovered accidentally by Rose, intentionally by two of his operatives, and accidentally by me. I came here with the idea of striking a bargain: In return for him halting traffic in the jaster, I wouldn’t go to the authorities with enough warrant for a mindwipe. Don’t get me wrong. Most drugs I could care less about—let the idiots who need them have ’em. May they kill themselves off quickly and quietly. Bloodhype is something else. It sheds filth on everyone who’s seen what it does. I’ve seen . . . but instead, I had to use it to bargain you two out. He fully intended to kill you, you know.”

“You still shouldn’t have agreed to it,” Kitten said.

“You had no say in the matter,” replied Mal.

“Suppose I kill myself now and Porsupah does likewise?”

“Fine. Then he threatens to kill
me
unless I have the drug turned over to him. If you take away his major bargaining point he’ll forget niceties and try something like that. And I’d give him the drug to save myself, selfish fella that I am.”

“I see.” She sighed deeply. “I apologize for the difficulty we’ve caused you, Captain Hammurabi.”

“Mal,” he said.

“All right . . . Captain Mal.” She grinned, frowned, got confused. “I can’t let you do it. Do you really know what that stuff does to people?”

“A good deal better than you, I suspect, infant.”

“Call me that again and I’ll break your arm.”

Mal smiled. “Might be you could at that. Point remains, however, that I’ve already made arrangements for the exchange to be carried out.”

“There’s no way to cancel it?” Porsupah interrupted.

“Oh, if I could get to a transceiver—say, the one on the raft that brought me—before Rose’s contact receives the drugs, it could be done. I’d consider that a very unlikely possibility, however—even if I wanted to do it, which I don’t. See, I intend not only to save my own life but yours too. Even if you don’t appear to value it too highly.”

“It remains a question of proportion, Captain,” began the Tolian philosophically. “The number of lives at stake here far exceeds three. And despite what you may think, I happen to have become quite attached to mine.”

“Right on both counts,” Kitten added.

Mal was getting a bit exasperated. This damsel-in-distress was not reacting properly at the prospect of salvation.

“Listen, you altruistic femin . . .!” he began heatedly.

She glared back at him, and seemed quite willing to shift the argument to a physical level.

Auspiciously, the door chimed. Porsupah threw them both a look that was more wilting than any words could have been, and they relaxed—somewhat. The Tolian spoke towards the door pickup.

“We can’t lock ourselves in, you know.”

The panel slid back to reveal the tall figure of Mal’s young guide. The youth carried a tray filled with a multitude of small dishes: white-brown shellfish, bread, several kinds of butter and other condiments, cinammon bark, steamed tubers, smoked snails . . .

“They called me to the kitchen,” he said as he set down the tray, “and ordered me to bring this to you.”

Porsupah and Kitten saw the flying snake at the same time. They froze.

“Don’t worry,” said Mal easily. “It seems pretty tame.”

“I know what one of those things can do,” replied Kitten as she edged over towards Mal. “Victims don’t die easily.” He resisted an impulse to put an arm around her. She might decide to break it.

The youth straightened and turned to leave, then paused and looked back at Mal.

“You’re being restrained against your will, aren’t you?”

“I’d sort of think it was obvious,” said Kitten.

“Not necessarily. His Lordship often has guests whose status is not what it seems.” He rubbed the scales at the back of his pet’s head. The snake looked up, then relaxed on the lanky shoulder.

“I might say that I know about the drug, sir.” Three faces looked up in surprise. “Your arrival has made it easier for me to find out some things I’d been curious about for a long time. It’s not very pretty.” There was a long pause, then the youngster stared sharply at Mal. “If I help you escape, will you promise to see that something’s done about it? The drug, I mean.”

Kitten leaned forward eagerly. “You really think you can get us out of here?”

Philip smiled at her most unyouthfully. “If you don’t fear a fair chance of getting shot, electrocuted, or drowned, yes.”

“You know a way out of this maze, we’ll try it,” Mal replied.

“Not only will we see about the drug,” added Kitten coaxingly, “but I’m sure the government will arrange something material in the way of gratitude.”

“And protection from whatever is left of Rose’s petty empire when the Church finishes with it,” added Porsupah.

The youngster looked over at the much smaller alien. When he spoke again, his voice was a good octave higher and the words momentarily unrecognizable. Mal knew a little Tolian, as he did about half a hundred languages. Only enough to trade by, though. The musical syllables rolled off the youth’s palate fluidly and without hesitation.

Philip broke off in what seemed an abrupt manner but probably wasn’t. He left, the panel sliding shut quietly behind him.

“Well,” said Kitten, “what was that all about?”

“His High Tolite is excellent, really remarkable. He even has the diphthongs down, the epiglottal stops, everything.”

“I’m sure he can rattle off the local equivalents of c-a-t and d-o-g without a second breath,” said Kitten, “but what did he say?”

Mal was looking at the closed portal. “Rather surprising talent to find in an apprentice sanitation engineer, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is that what he is?” asked Porsupah. “Well, besides exchanging a regional prayer with me—nice to hear the amenities again—he just asked us to wait. Said he’d return soon and to be ready. He reiterated his feelings about the drug traffic and disclaimed any need for protection. Said he would take care of himself.”

“Also pretty cocky for an apprentice sanitation engineer,” Kitten said. “No matter, if he can slip us out.”

“He added that he hoped both of you were strong swimmers.” Porsupah sat down and began to remove his flexible mukluks. He wiggled each webbed hind foot as it appeared. “The question, of course, did not arise in respect to myself.”

“Really think he can get us out?” Mal queried. He was interested in the little alien’s opinion of their youthful benefactor.

“Why ask me?” Naked, the furry Tolian walked over to the table where the tray of delicacies had been set. He commenced a serious study of the smoked escargot.

“I can say with assurance, however, that I intend to do nothing for the next several minutes, barring earthquake or Redemption, but eat. I’ve had nothing in my belly since we arrived here save memories.”

“Just don’t overdo it,” said Kitten, moving to join him. “It seems we’re in for an extensive journey by water. And if you get a cramp out there, I’m sure as hell not towing you.”

They were down to the last pair of hors d’ oeuvres and Mal was dreaming of distant steaks when the youngster returned. His clothes were dirty, with patches of grime and oil staining the coveralls. The flying snake was perched on its same shoulder. It was coiled tight, the triangular head holding steady and unwinking a foot in the air. The pleated wings were only half furled, ready for instant flight. The snake gave them a soulless once-over, decided that no one in the room was a candidate for instant destruction, and relaxed somewhat.

Philip’s voice was low and he was panting hard but evenly.

“After me now, quickly!” Without looking back he turned and left.

They followed. In the lead, Mal saw that the youth was already at the end of one hallway, waiting where it intersected another. As soon as he spotted Mal, the youngster disappeared around the corner. He reappeared a moment later and beckoned urgently. They ran to join him.

“Stay low and quiet, and along the far side,” he whispered. “And watch out for the bodies.”

He turned and led them up a corridor.

They passed several doors, all unopened. Once their guide gestured for a halt and they all froze while voices got louder somewhere up ahead, then faded. They continued forward. The only sound was of controlled breathing. They came to a door set in a low recess, which was slightly ajar. Philip disappeared inside, returned almost immediately. Kitten and Mal both had to stoop to get through the sub-two-meter overhead. Mal noticed the metal engraving in the door.