L. Neil Smith - North American Confederacy 02 (24 page)

Win got his grin back. “It’s pretty obvious what’s happened. Georgie’s parked in some warehouse nearby, probably still sitting on that flatbed. Hunting Gregamer down won’t do us a lot of good; he’ll just deny—”

“In any case, it won’t be necessary!"
a voice said behind me.

“Nobody knocks anymore!” Birdflower complained. “Nobody knocks!”

“Dear me!” the voice said with sarcastic concern. Its owner rapped lightly on the frame of the kitchen door and walked into the parlor.

Norrit Gregamer stood perhaps five feet eight an’ looked damn near as simian as Birdflower. But he wasn’t. He was a short, squat, swarthy individual, almost more reptilian than human or simian, with black eyes set deeply in dark sockets. He wore mutton-chops down to the jaw-line either side of his broad face, an’ perched atop his shaggy head— beard an’ hair were dark, as well—one of those caps y’see in photographs of nineteenth-century workingmen.

He glanced at the Telecom, reached behind him for a straight-backed chair, swung it around in front of him, an’ set down on it backwards, restin’ his hairy forearms on the back rail. His voice was practically a raspy whisper.

“How nice to see all of you together. Birdflower, Tree, I hope you’re getting along all right. Professor Cromney sends his greetings. Now let me see: you would be Captain Gruenblum, wouldn’t you? And these... these must be Color, Charm, and Spin, of whom I heard on the Telecom. Edward William Bear: I believe you’re going to regret getting involved in this affair, sir. We Hamiltonians already owe you a certain retribution over the Madison incident. Captain Sanders, ladies, and, if I am not mistaken, Koko Feather-stone-Haugh.”

“Thanks for callin’ the roll, Gregamer,” I said. “Reckon y’get a lotta practice doin’ that in the classroom.”

“No, no, I do not. I’m afraid the most elementary notion of discipline is entirely missing in this benighted society we live in. Naturally, I hope to change that in the not-too-distant future.”

Win finally took his hand off his gun butt an’ asked, “So what brings you out from under your rock this fine evening, Professor?”

Gregamer bit back a retort but colored slightly under his tan. “To the point, then: we
want
that device you took from Cromney, Gruenblum. We want it
now."

I shook my head. “Seems like I had a right t’take it— on accounta it was mine t’begin with!”

“Scarcely. It belonged to your Academy. Now it has been expropriated for a higher cause, one which you have no moral right to resist. The device is
ours,
sir, and you will deliver it forthwith!”

I laughed. “An’ what’ll you do if I don’t?”

The Hamiltonian blinked slowly, lookin’ a whole lot like a homed toad. ‘“Property is theft,’ Captain. By withholding it, you’re committing an act of violence, of initiated force— which is precisely what this hypocritical culture is supposed to stand against.”

There was a small female snort from across the room.

Mary-Beth said, “It’s interesting to hear a Hamiltonian distortion of Gallatinist philosophy. Would you mind tilling me precisely what act of violence Captain Gruenblum is committing—precisely, now—and against whom?” Gregamer slowly turned his head until he could see Mary-Beth. From the look on Sanders’ face, he’d better watch what he said.

“Exactly what I’d expect from a paid mouthpiece of the established privileged class. There is no such thing as property. All things for all men is the proper order of things in this world, and by depriving your fellow man of the use of
anything,
you’re committing an act of moral violence. But enough of this: Gruenblum”—he turned t’me again—“you seem to have some regard for your ship. If you fail to deliver that device to me this instant, I will see that she is blown to microscopic fragments before this night is over!”

“Deprivin’ your fellow man—namely me—of the use of her? How unethical. Telly a what, Gregamer...” Inwardly, I gulped as I said it. "... if you can convince Cromney an’ the rest, y’got my blessin’s t’blow her up.”

He sneered. “Cromney will do as he is told, as will the rest of his ilk. The device, Gruenblum,
now!"
He reached a hand across the backa his chair, palm upward.

“Sorry, mate, it’s locked up nice an’ safe.”

“Ail the same,” said Win, “it’s an ill wind—
there!"
The detective had reached out himself and in one swift motion had snapped his handcuffs around Gregamer’s wrist. He ratcheted the other bracelet to the chair the Hamiltonian was occupyin’.

“You’re under arrest, Norrit Gregamer, for...” He looked at me suddenly, realizin’ that he couldn’t say kidnappin’, not while Cromney still had Georgie an’ Heplar could push the buttons that’d execute her.

“How about for willful destruction of crops—and coun terfeiting?” offered Birdflower.

“How about it, Gregamer?” Win asked. “I
knew
there was a reason I never threw my old handcuffs away—they’re probably the only pair in all of Greater Laporte!”

“Yes!” the apelike Hamiltonian snarled. “And by tomorrow I’ll have them and everything else you own! Let me go! You’re wrongly depriving me of my liberty!”

I laughed as he jerked at the cuffs. “How d’ya figger that, Gregamer? Lookit these pot-metal trinkets of yours— you deny givin’ ’em t’Birdflower here for wreckin’ his chair-garden?”

Gregamer calmed down, an evil sneer slowly bloomin’ on his puss. “Why no. They’re nothing more than tokens, and I said as much, vowing to redeem them as I could. There seemed little objection at the time.”

“When i thought they were gold,” Birdflower retorted. “Am I responsible for your gullibility? Did I ever
say
they were gold, you miserable creature? But—look in my vest here. I
have
come to redeem them, and the proof is in my pocket.”

Win searched carefully through the Hamiltonian’s clothing, expressing amazement at the professor’s gun, an odd, long-barreled number apparently powered by nothin’ more’n compressed air, but of a large caliber, unlike a kid’s air-pistol. Rang a bell in my head somewhere, but there wasn’t anybody home t’answer it.

The search also produced several dullish silvery-colored coins.

“Take them!” Gregamer snarled. “They’re platinum. I guarantee it.
More
than enough to pay for any alleged damages. And now release me—I demand it!”

Win looked to Mary-Beth. “Isn’t there
anything
we can hold him on?”

“What about my... flyin’ saucer?”

‘‘What
flying saucer?” said Gregamer nastily before the ethicist could reply. “In the first place, no disinterested party can testify that I ever saw or heard of it. Where is it? Where’s the evidence of your rectitude to match that which I have just produced? In the second place, who says this hypothetical vehicle is yours? I know at least four other people, immigrants, just like yourself, with as solid a claim to the machine as you have. And in the last place, by this time tomorrow, there won’t
be
any flying saucer to squabble over!”

Reluctantly, Win turned the tiny, funny-shaped key in the handcuffs. Gregamer rubbed his wrist angrily. “You’ll all pay for this indignity,” he warned, “and for now, we appear to be at an impasse. You can’t touch me legally, nor can I get the device I want. I propose that you think of something to do about it.”

“Up your aesthetic, Mr. Philosopher,” I shouted. I looked at my friends: “Okay, we can’t arrest him, that’s out. How about we just shoot him?”

This produced a mixture of sentiments, rangin’ from bloodthirsty enthusiasm on Fran Sanders’ part to reluctant negativisim on Mary-Beth’s. The consensus was that it’d be unethical.

“That’s what I love about this civilization,” Gregamer said almost civilly. “It binds itself by beliefs and codes it won’t enforce on those who don’t accept them. I, on the other hand, am not bound in this manner.”

“We’ll take that as a warning, Professor,” Birdflower said levelly. “Now get out of my house, and if you ever come back again, I’ll shoot you down like the lizard you are. You may take
that
as a warning, too!”

The trouble with real life is that there isn’t any background music. What I mean is, that way nobody’d ever sneak up on you—you’d hear the sneakin’ up music, right? An’ you’d always know the moment that you met your one, true love—hell,
you
can probably whistle
that
theme. Right now it woulda been nice t’have appropriate scorin’ to accompany the boos an’ hisses we were ail thinkin’ at Gregamer as he made his exit.

“I’ll give you all twenty-four hours to reconsider. After that, Gruenblum’s stranded here, and his ship will be incandescent dust!”

The front porch screen door slammed, an’ that was that. “Funny,” I got t’thinkin’, “he shouldn’ta been able t’do that.”

“Do what?” said Fran, watchin’ t’make sure Gregamer was really gone.

“Well, I was thinkin’ a thought about how there oughta be background music in real life, an’—aw, skip it, it’s too complicated. What I want t’know is, how’d he sneak in the back door without at least Howell hearin’ or smellin’ him? And for that matter, where
is
the little cuss?”

Fran’s eyes got big, an’ she practically flew out the front door. I got up to follow, bumpin’ shoulders with everybody else in the room ’ceptin’ the Freenies, on accounta they don’t
have
shoulders, but by the time we all got protocol sorted out an’ were startin’ after the little blonde, she was back.

With what looked like a fur stole bundled up in her arms.

She laid it gently on the old-fashioned skirted sofa, an’ it unrolled into a coyote, smaller an’ lighter in repose, as they always turn out t’be, than when he was up an’ around.

The pistols on his little combat helmet’d been rudely tom away, leavin’ danglin’ wires, frayed fabric, an’ not a small amount of superficial cuts an’ abrasions.

An’ stickin’ outa the side of his neck was a big fat plastic yellow dart, the same diameter as Gregamer’s pistol-bore.

19 Waiting for the Veterinarian (Or Someone like Him)

T
HING ABOUT ANAESTHETIC DARTS IS THAT IT S
hard t’control the dosage an’ the distance—an’ they’re both critical. Guess I’ve used the things m’self on every species from dinosaurs t’dung-beetles, an’ I usually lose about half the critters ’cause they were too close, the dart acted just like a giant economy-size bullet an’ went right through ’em, or I’d misjudged their tolerance for sleepy-juice an’ they’d taken their last eternal snooze.

Either that or they’d gotten away.

Howell hadn’t gotten away. I dunno why Gregamer’d chosen that particular kinda gun. He couldn’ta known he’d be up against a four-legged detective, an’ anyway, a real bullet or laser-blast woulda done as well for his purposes.
You
go an’ figure out what motivates a Hamiltonian. Shucks, there were fightin’ priests in the Middle Ages wouldn’t carry a sword on accounta they didn’t wanna spill the blood of another Christian—-so they carried a club instead.

My guess is that Gregamer was a natural-born sneak an’ chose an air-gun for its quietness. Quietude? Quietidity.

Well, that was neither here nor there, as the sayin’ goes. Fran an’ Mary-Beth were kneelin’ in fronta the couch while Tree’d run off to the kitchen lookin’ like she knew what she was doin’. I’d plucked the dart outa Howell’s neck— there’d only been a little blood—an’ Win had both his big hands clamped around the wild doggy’s muzzle, puffin’ up his cheeks an’ tryin’t’breathe into his nostrils.

“His heart’s still beating,” Mary-Beth said anxiously, one ear on the coyote’s chest an’ tears wellin’ in her eyes, “but I don’t have the slightest idea—”

“I do!” her sister said grimly. “Go warm up the Tucker— better yet, take Win’s Neova. It’s faster.”

The detective looked up, nodded.

“Start for Cheyenne right now,” the blonde continued. “We’ll follow in the big car, ’com a vet and direct you in. Go! I don’t think there’s any time to lose. His pulse is getting weaker.”

Win tossed Mary-Beth his keys. “Just you and Howell,” he said. “You can make 350 or 400 without extra passengers. I’ll carry him out.”

They were out the door an’ gone before I made it to the porch. I stood there as Neova-dust settled on my shoulders. Will, Win, Fran, an’ assorted Freenies piled into the big blue Tucker. Koko’d blasted off in her bright pink single-seater, a Ruger Sturmatic, somebody’d called it, right behind Will Sanders’ elder spouse.

“I hate t’eat an’ run,” I said t’Birdflower, rememberin’ a joke about some fast-food place, “but we’ll letcha know how things turn out. Sorry about your crops, but I’m that glad you folks’re on our side.”

The big gorilloid nodded.

“But what am I supposed to do with this?” Tree asked, holdin’ out a pan.

“What’s that?” her husband inquired. I was curious, too. “I boiled some water. In an emergency, they always say—”

“Well,” said Birdflower, “I guess we’ll have some tea now. Take care of yourself, Bemie, and luck to Howell.” The horn was honkin’ from the Tucker, an’ its fans were stirrin’ up a small tornado.

“You, too, you two.” I waved, squinted m’eyes against the dust, an’ dashed to the car, bangin’ m’seif painfully against the frame as it accelerated before I’d got m’seif halfway through the door.

The fields were a blur around us. Win punched Com buttons as Will manhandled the wheel. In the back, Fran had another circuit goin’, lettin’ Georgie know what was goin’ on. Between Gregamer poppin’ in on us an’ Howell gettin’ shot, the badguys had the jump on us again. I was ashamed t’discuss it with m’best girl.

Instead, I thought as hard an’ furious as I could, all the way into the city. Gimme a pain, right in the shorts.

“City” wasn’t quite the word unless y’count a giant collection of saloons an’, shall we gingerly say “associated businesses,” a city. This place’d been a major junction for the steamcoach lines a century an’ a half ago, vehicles which, in their own peculiar way, had done for the Confederate west what railroads’d done back in my history.

Only with shorter passenger-lists.