L. Neil Smith - North American Confederacy 02 (27 page)

“And if she’s still sane and sapient afterward, Lord.” “You’re a lotta help, buddy.” I was down t’my skivvies now an’ turnin’ my uniform inside out. The thermal linin’ was off-white an’ just might pass for Academic yellow in a darkened bam. I took my undershirt off, too.

“Bernie, what
are
you doing?” Koko seemed more amused than put off.

“Improvisin’ a disguise. You suppose Win’s got a first-aid kit in the glove box? For that matter, where
is
the glove box?”

She showed me. Back into my everted livery, I wound my T-shirt around an arm, hopin’ I was rememberin’ which was the correct one. Win had a kit, all right, an’ I plastered a big white Band-Aid across the bridge of my schnozz. I skipped doin’ anything t’my knee—no way Edna an’ the rest’d know for sure what I’d done t’Denny there.

Nervously, I pinched the slide back on my .45, checkin’ the chamber, an’ reluctantly decided t’leave the belt behind.

There was an inside pocket—now an
outside
pocket—that’d serve as a half-assed holster for the brief time required of it. I slipped the little seven-inch bowie outa Koko’s scabbard as she wheeled around the comer.

“Gonna need this, kid. Keep the motor runnin’ for a fast getaway—what am I sayin’? This ain’t no five-foot blonde I’m rescuin’! Goddamnit, I’m gettin’ all confused again!” “What
do
you want me to do, Bemie?”

I thought about it till I figured I’d run outa thinkin’ time: “If I ain’t out in five minutes, drive the hoverbuggy straight through the doors!”

I swung the gull-wing up, lighted runnin’, an’ made it through the semilit darkness toward the smaller of the two entrances. The frame’d sagged, an’ I could see the rusted shaft of a simple hook-an’-eye through the resultant halfinch crack. By Himschlag, Charm’d missed a trick, after all—I was beginnin’ t’think it was me oughta be worshippin’ the Freenies.

I pulled Koko’s bear-shaver outa the phony cast on my arm, slipped it in an’ upward, snicked off the hook, an’ crept in low.

There was my Georgie!

An’ there was the Ambassador, crouchin’ (t’whatever extent Freenies can crouch) by the gangramp, right in fronta one of the outboard snoopers. He waved a cautious tentacle at me. I skittered up on my own tentacles, one size nine at a time, an’ joined him.

“What’s the situation, ol’ Yamaguchian?” There wasn’t any hovertruck. They’d probably dropped the incriminatin’ evidence in a gully somewhere.

Silence. An’ a pain in m’ears.

“Charm, I don’t savvy dog-whistle too good. Crank it down a coupla octaves, willya?”

“Apologies, Lord,” he whispered. “Bemie, you must help her! If a human loses consciousness with shock, she regains it. I think if Georgie passes out, that may be the last we’ll hear of her!”

“You’re just fulla cheer. Where is everybody?” “Cromney is on the passenger level. Edna proved unable to assist Gregamer with the DreamCap and summoned Hep-lar who is on the control deck now, while she retired below to the engine-room. Lord, what is the matter? Why have you that dressing across your—”

“I just joined Adam an’ the Ants—never mind, just some twentieth-century trivia. Wait here for me an’ keep on hold-in’ Georgie’s hand!”

I slithered up the side of the ship, puttin’ careful toes an’ fingers in the recesses provided for same, until i got to the upstairs airlock. Charm’d been right: it was as wide open as the one below—they had good reason t’wanna air her out. I slipped inside, adjusted my disguise, such as it was, an’ stepped softly into the after lounge.

“Come on now, honey. How much more can you— owch! You little bitch, I’ll teach you to bite!”

Backin’ along the wall, I wondered if he’d get a psychosomatic bruise from that imaginary nip—too bad Georgie couldn’t carry rabies. At the hatch-frame, I cased the control-room best I could, usin’ the glass front of a gauge on the back wall, which was angled nearly right. Leavin’ the Colt in my pocket for a minute, to avoid makin’ any reinforcement-summonin’ noise, I whipped around the corner, grabbed Heplar by the scruff, an’ smashed his head against a bulkhead, left-handed.

Somethin’ squished pleasantly, an’ he settled to the floor. With a quick underhanded swipe of the bowie, I slashed the overhead line to the DreamCap. There was a spark an’ hiss. Gregamer stirred on the couch, blinkin’ stupidly as he tried t’focus; then his eyes widened as he caught sighta me.

I reversed the blade in my hand, thumb t’pommel, took a quick step forward, batted away the pistol he was grabbin’ for, an’ seized him by the lapel.

“Gregamer, they’re gonna hafta
castrate
you loose from that couch!”

“Denny! How did you—” I heard a voice behind me an’ turned, keepin’ one eye on Gregamer. There was Ab Cromney, momentarily fooled, but not any longer. He had a Confederate flechette gun under one arm. I pivoted, draggin’ Gregamer over across the couch-arm, an’ in one smooth motion, planted the seven-inch knife up to its cross-hilt in the left side of Cromney’s chest.

He stood there a moment, lookin’ a mite surprised, rolled his eyes up, an’ folded at the knees. When he hit the deckin’, it drove the knife-point out through his back.

Heplar stirred. I kicked him in the face.

But things’d gotten outa hand. Gregamer was on me from behind, my size but broader, with a longer reach, and
strong.

I fumbled for my pistol, punched him in the solar plexus at the same time. He didn’t even blink, but cracked me on the forehead with the ruined DreamCap. He musta liked the effect it produced, ’cause he kept on doin’ it. Somewhere about the seventeenth blow, I kinda lost tracka what was goin’ on.

There ain’t nothin’ in the known universe smells quite the same as the oily floor of an abandoned garage. Especially when your nose an’ mosta the resta your face is in intimate contact with it.

After a twenty-foot drop.

I could tell straight off my right arm was broken. Funny how y’know these things. Wasn’t altogether sure about my hip on that side or the knee. Like Charm’d pointed out, I always thought you were supposed t’faint when somethin’ hurt that bad.

Abruptly, somebody’s pointed toe became instrumental in informin’ me that I’d busted three or four ribs as well. There was a sorta gurglin’ t’my breathin’, an’ I calculated groggily that it mighta made more sense t’count the bones that
weren’t
broken.

Wouldn’ta taken near as long.

The foot eventually turned me over on my damaged side, makin’ life even more miserable, an’ I saw through the remainin’ good eye that said foot was attached to Edna Janof.

“He’s still alive,” she said with mingled disappointment that I wasn’t dead an’ welcomin’ the opportunity t’kill me all over again. I tried t’speak.

Nothin’.

“Well, Captain Bernard M. Gruenblum,” the lady said, “you meet your end at last. It’s certainly taken longer than I expected, but then 5 was handicapped with inferior assistance. Now you’ve kindly taken care of that for me by removing Cromney, and—of course I’ll have to finish the job you started on Heplar, and Denny’s out of the picture, but I-—”

“But you’d better stop your little list right there, Edna darling, and keep in mind from now on
exactly
who and what I am!”

Norrit Gregamer strode up beside her, lookin’ twenty feet tall from my pointa view, draped a negligent arm over her shoulder. She actually cuddled up into the embrace, practically purrin’.

She mighta even meant it. No accountin’ for love.

“Look at him, my dear,” Gregamer said evenly. “Observe his eyes—still confident. He’s still expecting help.”

“Not from
this,
I hope!” She laughed an’ raised the hand she’d been holdin’ behind her. Danglin’ from her fist by his little eyestalk was Charm, limp as a boiled gooseneck clam. There wasn’t any glitter in his eye.

“Or from
that
...” added Gregamer with a chortle of his own. I followed his hooked thumb t’where the garage door’d been broached by the front end of Win’s Neova. Hangin’ through the starred hole in its windshield, sprawled over the hood, was a shaggy black body.

Her blood was ruinin’ the paint job.

How the hell long had I been out?

The Hamiltonian turned back t’me. “I must apologize for having precipitated you so abruptly from the airlock door, Captain. I'm afraid I rather lost control of my temper for a short while. However, it did serve to flush this little vermin out of its hiding-place.” He indicated the inert Freenie while I mourned inside for two of the best friends who’d ever had the bad luck t’meet me.

“Very touching,” Gregamer continued, “the way it hurried to your side, too preoccupied to notice Edna right behind it. You strangle like a pro, my dear.”

“Why thank you, kind sir.” It was her turn t’gloat: “Your furry companion seems to have done
herself
in. I’m not the only one saddled with incompetents, I suppose. Still, they don’t train subhumans here the way they do at home, do they?”

I tried t’speak again, with no better results than the first time. Just as well, she woulda gone for the manicurin’ scissors, considerin’ what I had in mind t’tell her.

“Save your breath, Gruenblum,” Gregamer advised. “At least for one last prolonged scream. Edna, are you ready to go?”

“Just about,” she answered with what approached docility. I guess some guys have it an’ some guys don’t. In this case, I hoped it wasn’t catchin’. “You see, Captain, we’re ignoring an old maxim and giving up the ship. Norrit has convinced me that there’s plenty we can accomplish in the Confederacy without it—did you know they have atomic explosives here, for construction work, but have never thought of using them as weapons?—especially as we don’t intend to leave it intact for anybody else to use.”

“Now, now, dear, you’re giving away the good part!” He lifted a flechette gun—Cromney’s, t’judge by the Type O all over it. But then, just about everything seemed t’be covered with slippery carmine these days.

“I really wish you could speak, Captain, although I’d guess you’ve lost your speech center from the way that side of your head is flattened onjhe concrete. Messy, messy. Still, I suppose I’ll always wonder:
was
she sapient or not? Ah, well, there are some things, I’ve been told, that mankind was never meant to know. Nineteen rounds of
this
"—he slapped the receiver of the shotgun—“right into the computer banks, and it’ll all be academic. I’m saving the last one for you, Captain”—he peered closely into my face— “that is, if you still require it by the time I get back.”

This was turnin’ out t’be almost the worst mission I’d ever volunteered for. I sure hoped it’d be a lesson to me.

“And by the way, the help you’re
still
expecting—thought you’d fooled me, didn’t you—can’t possibly be on time. We’ll be out of here in another minute; tell me, Captain, did you get your directions to the coach-bam
before
you left or
en route?"

My heart sank the final millimeter it had left t’go. He put a foot on the gangplank, chucklin’ softly to himself.

“Use all twenty rounds, Norrit dear,” Edna called after him cheerfully. “I’m sure I saw a shovel around here somewhere, and I’ve always wanted to just sort of
chunk!,
you know, right above the eyebrows?”

Indulgently: “All right, my dear, if you insist. By all means enjoy yourself.” He started up the ramp, the Thane of Cawdor t’her Lady MacBeth. What a couple—is that a dagger that I see b’fore me?

Edna flung little Charm away like a dirty rag an’ headed for the back of the garage. Even if I coulda talked, I wouldn’ta had the heart t’spoil Gregamer’s fun. My skull wasn’t crushed; it just/e/r that way, probably from lyin’ all this time in a hole eroded in the concrete floor.

An’ speakin’ of daggers, while I’d left mine screwed into a well-deservin’ recipient upstairs, my
left
arm still worked. I twisted an’ bent it, scrabblin’ across m’chest, gropin’, gropin’...

Yes! They hadn’t taken my Colt. I’d been layin’ on it all this time—it’d probably broken those ribs, in fact—an’ they hadn’t noticed or thought of it in all their newlywed excitement. Leverin’ it outa the pocket nearly cost me my grip on consciousness, broken up as bad as I was, but I finally got it free.

Thumbed the ambidextrous safety down.

Drew a shaky left-hand bead, an’—

WHAMMM!

Norrit Gregamer’s head exploded like a balloon fulla Sherwin Williams’ best firetruck enamel, splatterin’ all over Georgie’s hull. The decapitated body took one last step toward the airlock, kinda slumped off t’one side, missed the edge of the gangplank, an’ dropped onto the same floor that’d ruined me.

“Norrit!"
Edna shrieked. “
Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard!”

I kinda figured this last was directed my way, especially when she loomed up outa the darkness with that shovel vertical in her hands.

I waved my .45 in her general direction, but it was gettin’ a mite heavy by now, an’ like everything else in this place, my hands were sorta slippery-feelin’. One moment the Colt was there between m’fingers, an’ the next my mitt was empty, the automatic lyin’ there on the cement, its big ugly eye lookin’ straight at my belly-button.

“You
...bastard!
The only man I’ve ever met in my entire life who wasn’t a
wimp,
and you had to shoot him!”

She held the shovel before her, half-raised.

“I’m going to chop you into so many little—”

SPANNGG!

Somethin’ caught the rusty blade an’ smacked it flat into Edna’s rage-filled face. She staggered backward, tripped over an abandoned crate, an’ fell. I got the .45 in hand again, breathin’ two sighs of relief at once, twisted around painfully, an’ there was Miss Koko Featherstone-Haugh, sittin’ up an’ aimin’ her .11-caliber Webley Electric at the place where Edna’d
been.

I tried t’shout at her an’ couldn’t. She untangled herself from the remains of Win’s car, dried blood all over clothes an’ pelt, an’ shambled over t’where I lay, keepin’ that pistol of hers pointed toward the shadows at the backa the garage. She picked up the badly-dented—but unpunctured—shovel and examined it with disgust.