The Alien Trace [Cord 01] (22 page)

    Cord went into the washroom to clean up. When he rejoined the party, Tanna came back to him leading two of her friends. They were two red-headed women who looked exactly alike.

    At his puzzled expression, Tanna said, "These are May and Mary. They're twins." She gave the word an odd emphasis.

    Tanna turned and left them alone. The definition of "twin" flashed across his mind, but there didn't seem to be an erotic significance attached to it. He smiled politely at the two women.

    "Tanna's just been telling us
all
about you," May said. To distinguish herself from her twin, she wore a green dress; Mary wore the identical dress in red. Both were low-cut in front and had slits up the sides, revealing identical pairs of shapely legs.

    "But of course you'd like to find out firsthand," Cord said.

    They all laughed. "Are you up to it?" asked Mary.

    "Not right now, but I will be."

    He followed them into a side room and then into another washroom. They turned on the lights and locked the door. They'd brought their drinks in with them, and carefully put the cups down on a countertop. These drinks were pink-colored, not like the green one he'd drunk earlier. May explained this was an aphrodisiac, so the three of them drained all the glasses before starting. Cord didn't think he needed it, but it couldn't hurt. Unfortunately, the first drink- and perhaps the first bout of lovemaking in a stuffy closet- was affecting him. He hoped the unfamiliar aphrodisiac would make him feel better. And if the drink couldn't, the women would.

    He discovered that among humans, making love to twins was considered a special treat. They made love separately, in pairs, and then all together. May and Mary shared everything… no body part was left untouched, no orifice left unfilled. And though he summoned every ounce of stamina he possessed, he felt himself flagging well before they finished. His head ached and his stomach was queasy. Even the intense pleasure the excited and energetic women brought him lost its appeal.

    When it was over, he decided to leave the party. He passed into the main living area, in search of his hostess. Along the way he had to decline several obliging offers from female guests. Tanna had certainly spread tales of her satisfaction, and no doubt the twins would do the same. In fact, he seemed the only uncomfortable guest at the party. He wanted water, not any of the alcoholic, sweet, and spiced beverages available.

    At last he found her, and managed to thank her for inviting him, and to make his excuses for leaving at such an early hour. It was not the most adroit speech he had ever made, but she accepted it at face value. Perhaps she ascribed its awkwardness to unfamiliarity with Multi-Lang.

    He made his escape into the passage and found it no cooler. Cord headed for the nearest tube on foot. Ordinarily he would have used the speedwalk, but he was in no condition to risk a fall, which could be dangerous at even the moderate speeds involved. Threading his way among the people on their way to or from parties or simply standing and talking with chance-met acquaintances, only the thought of his room's peace and quiet kept him going. Once away from the bustle and the pressure of so many uncontrolled minds, he would feel better.

    He made it to the trans tube, mercifully empty, and dialed for his floor. Its rapid surge made his stomach lurch. The sensation of heat had given way to chill. Leaning against the elevator's back wall, Cord shivered and wondered if he could have caught some human illness.

    On his own level he stumbled blindly along the corridor, more by instinct than by reason. There was no one to notice him, for which he was grateful. His throbbing head and burning stomach drove all thought of caution from him. If anyone had attacked him then, he would have died.

    It took several attempts to fit his palm to the door lock. Finally it admitted him. Cord groped his way into the bathroom. His body, at least, knew what was necessary.

    When there was nothing left in his stomach, Cord rinsed his mouth and then drank a little water. He dismissed the idea of taking a painkiller for the headache. His digestive system was in no condition to deal with anything at present. He lay down, fully clothed. The fever arid chills seemed to have abated.

    His mind began to operate at nearer its usual level of efficiency. Before, he had half concluded that it was some alien ailment against which he had no immunity. Now he thought of another explanation, one which might explain the abrupt onset of symptoms and the lingering aftertaste in his mouth.

    Poison.

    Though his food and drink had come from the automated robo-chef, Cord had no doubt that the food had been tampered with before it reached the table. He would willingly stake his life that no one could succeed in slipping something into his food in front of him. And no one could guarantee that a portion of food in the automated kitchen would be eaten by a particular person-unless it was a dish that only one person would order. The mechanics of his near-murder stood revealed. The murderer's plan was both subtle and obvious.

    Cord was the only Mehiran living in the port. For the next few days, while the holiday lasted, there would not even be Mehiran visitors who might stop for a snack. So until the vacation was over, Cord would be the only one likely to sample the recently added Mehiran food on the menu. And the danger to innocent bystanders could be reduced still further: a few humans might sample this world's foods out of curiosity, but none was likely to try the fish jelly. Humans seemed to find robustly flavored foods unpleasant.

    The murderer had planned well. How long would he have survived if he'd eaten the entire block of fish jelly? Or if he'd eaten it first? The chances were he'd escaped a quick death only because he had eaten too small an amount of the toxin. And perhaps because his stomach had contained a quantity of harmless food as well.

    

    

    Cord rose and stripped off his sweat-damp clothing. The garments were Dispoz-a-Cloz, so he stuffed them into the disposal unit. After showering, he felt better physically, but another disturbing thought had come to him.

    In all the criminal cases he had studied, criminals who committed a series of crimes followed the same pattern-what the humans called a
modus operandi
. This one used no special method Cord could detect. First a bombing, then a simple assault, then a poisoning. What kind of attack could he expect now?

    At home, Catching resembled a hunt, with most of the skill and odds on the hunter's side. This was more like an intricate dance, in which either of them might make an error and bring the pattern to a fatal halt.

    He must be prepared for the next move. Clad in a blue-and-green tunic and thigh-high boots, Cord slipped a blade into his right boot top-it was long, slender, and needle-sharp. He was ready. He was also utterly calm, he found. The attacks had something cold-blooded about them, something calculating. They were different from what he had encountered as a Catcher, and so he responded to them differently. There was no excitement in this, only determination to find his enemy.

    Cord slipped out into the hall as though in leaving his room he was leaving any doubt behind. A flash of movement caught his eye: something disappeared around the corner into the main hall. Someone watching his door and retreating so as not to be seen?

    He bounded down the corridor on swift, silent feet, and rounded the turn with blade drawn and murder in his eyes…

    To see O'as Garatua thoughtfully inspecting the selections in the clothing dispenser. Cord stopped short, poised on the balls of his feet, ready for any hint of attack.

    "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

    She looked at him with incurious black eyes. "I'm picking something to wear. Why? What business is it of yours?"

    "Why here?… almost in sight of my door?"

    "Where else? I live in this wing. Why am I letting you threaten me?" She looked at the knife.

    Cord relaxed his stance slightly, but kept his knife in his hand.

    "You came into the hall"-he jerked his head toward it-"and watched my door, didn't you?"

    "I looked at your damned door," the woman said, and laughed brusquely. "I wondered if you were there or at a party, and whether you were taking adequate precautions. Apparently you were."

    "Then you believe someone is trying to kill me? You didn't, when we last spoke."

    O'as held her identification card to the machine's eye and placed her right palm against the plate. Having registered her account number and verified that she was the person to whom it was assigned, the machine flashed a green light. She pressed a button to signify her choice, and another to obtain the correct size. A neatly folded and packaged garment slid into the bin. Garatua took it out before answering.

    "I still think there's something very peculiar about your account of your alleged attack, but Hamilton K thinks you're the greatest thing since FTL travel. He wants every measure taken to ensure you stay alive."

    "Why did you try to hide when you saw me open the door?" Apart from that point, her story carried the earmarks of truth.

    "If it was you, I didn't think you'd care to have me checking on you," she replied candidly. "If it wasn't you, it would be too late to save you, but there was still time to catch your killer."

    It made irritatingly good sense. Sourly Cord sheathed his knife. He neither liked her nor trusted her, but he could not quite imagine that she would try to kill him. He was about to apologize, but she grated, "And if you ever pull a knife on me again I'll break your arm."

    With a curt nod, Garatua walked away, bundle under one arm. Her walk was not graceful, but it was assured. She made Cord feel that he'd made a fool of himself.

    He waited until the sound of her footsteps died away before going on to Julia's room.

    

    

    He was disappointed. The notice board on her door read: "In chapel. Now hearing confession."

    Cord's first impulse was to return to his room. Then it occurred to him that he could seek Julia in the chapel. It was a place of spiritual healing and meditation, she had told him, and that was what he needed most right now. Muscles taut for trouble, Cord guardedly passed through the halls.

    At the port entrance, Cord noted that the obelisk he'd destroyed had been replaced by a statue. The chapel was nearby. It was an undistinguished room, not very large and slightly overdecorated. There were panels of colored glass, various ornaments or symbols on the walls, and plastic that had been colored and molded to look like carved wood. Cord gazed around, taking it all in, until he spotted a panel to his left, marked "Confessional-Unoccupied."

    With a caution born of experience, he slid the door open. Julia, seated in a high-backed chair, looked up. Seeing who it was, she jumped to her feet, her book falling to the floor.

    "Cord! I didn't expect to see you here."

    "I needed to talk to you." He gave her a quick embrace that became a lingering one.

    "It's been too long," Julia whispered. Her body molded itself to his.

    Cord found himself responding in spite of his earlier adventures. As he stared into her eyes, the world seemed to vanish around him. How could he find any other woman attractive?

    "Do you need me?" she asked.

    "Yes," he said, holding her tighter.

    "Not in that way. Not here." She pushed him away.

    Disappointed, he said, "You people forbid so much."

    "Would you make love at a religious shrine?" She sat down and primly smoothed her clothes.

    "You're right. I apologize." The fact that he was disturbed was no reason to insult her ancestors. When another person entered the chapel, Cord sat down next to Julia, and she closed the panel.

    "What you need is to talk to me. Tell me what is happening. You know," she remarked, "your arrival was certainly no secret. But after that bloody escape, I'm surprised they took you back."

    "Hamilton K and I have come to an agreement. I can stay in the spaceport and hunt for my parents' killer. In exchange he can have my mother's inventions-for a price, though." Cord, shifting his position, leaned to one side; the humans' chairs wouldn't accommodate his tail.

    Julia was surprised. "Including the one that blew up?"

    "I think I can reconstruct it. In any case, it's just a means to an end. I mean to find the killer."

    "Unless he finds you. Oh, Cord, this is so dangerous."

    "I've survived two attempts on my life. I intend to survive any more that follow.

    "Two?" she exclaimed. "I heard about one attack. As I said, news spreads quickly here."

    "Julia… do you think Hamilton K would try to kill me?"

    "I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "Why?"

    He described the previous events, editing out bis several liaisons at the party and downplaying the seriousness of his illness.

    "Hamilton was the one who told me about the cafeteria's having Mehiran dishes," Cord concluded. "If I hadn't been with him, I might not have noticed the additions to the menu-I might not have gone to the cafeteria at all. After all, there's perfectly good food in the machines on the dwelling floors."

    "It isn't as though he were the only one who knew about the Mehiran food," Julia said. "Quite a lot of people knew about it, probably. I did."

    "Who would have access to the robo-chef?"

    "I don't know much about how it works, Cord, but I suppose it's like most parts of the port. Almost anyone could get in if he chose the right time. After all, the personnel at spaceports like this are carefully screened. The trading companies don't want to find they've got a psychopath loose at an isolated trading station."