Armor (24 page)

I laughed. “Well, I’ve been sick,” I replied pitifully and we both laughed. “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll go see him before we eat. He’s been working at it all this time?”

She nodded. “Ever since the night you got sick he’s worked on nothing else. He doesn’t even go over the departmental reports.”

“You know, Lya,” I offered, “that’s really a good sign.

Probably means he’s discovered something.”

“Or thinks he has,” she retorted bitterly.

I laughed. “Where’s your composure, all of a sudden?” She was not amused. “Where is his. Jack? What’s the hurry?”

I shrugged. “He’s on the scent.”

She shook her head, stared at the grass. “Too, too fast.”

“Too fast for us, maybe, but. ...”

“Too fast for anyone. Jack. I don’t care who it is.” I took her shoulders in my hands and turned her toward me. I looked into her eyes. “Who it is, Lya,” I said firmly, “is Hollis Ware. A genuine genius. An upper mind.” “Unhand that woman, you drunk!”

We spun around together to find the real drunk, the scream singing fisherman Lewis, standing in the grass a few steps away from the water’s edge holding a fishing pole in one band and the inevitable jug of syntho in the other. He was soaking wet. Lya and I looked at him, then at each otter, and burst into laughter. All the tension was forgotten with the sight of that idiot standing there dripping water. And the hat he wore! I couldn’t imagine where he had gotten it. I wondered idly if it was made of real straw.

He ignored our laughter, stomping up to us in a shower of droplets and peering down with mock theatrical disapproval. “While the cat’s away, hub?” he accused.

I noticed I still had my hands on Lya’s shoulders. I dropped them quickly.

“Too late. Crow!” He snarled, pointing a finger. “I have already seen enough. You!” He yelled at Lya, making her jump. “You scarlet woman, you!”

Lya tried to look penitent but couldn’t keep a straight face.

Lewis shook his head in disgust. “That’s it, laugh, you hussy. And you!” I jumped on cue. “You know what Holly Ware’s gonna do to you when I tell him what I’ve seen?” “Uh, no sir,” I replied meekly.

“He’s gonna take you into some comer somewhere and . . .”He broke off, thought a moment. “And think you to a bloody pulp.” He straightened up, tilting his hat back on his head. He noticed Karen, “Now what have you done? My God, this girl has died reading. “

I followed his gaze, saw that Karen had fallen asleep in front of her little screen. Something landed on my lap. I looked down. A wet fishing pole. Lewis plopped to the ground behind it. He eyed me narrowly. He was very drunk.

“Didn’t catch fish one,” he reported miserably. “Fell in the river to boot.”

“Maybe you’re not drinking enough,” I suggested blandly.

“Yeah. Like you.”

“Me? I protest that.” I held up my glass of wine. “What do you call this?”

Lewis snorted, unconvinced, “A smokescreen is what I call it. Or propaganda. Nope, just make that prop. That, Mr. Crow, is a stage prop. I’d take a phony beard more seriously.”

I sighed “Okay. I give. Get to your point, 0 Great Fisherman without fish.”

He took a deep breath and, taking great care to pronounce each word clearly, said: “Point is, Crow, that you’re not among the many things you’re not a serious drinker. You are a pretender.” He broke off, relaxing, and nudged Lya with his shoulder. “Didja notice how well I ‘nunciated that?” “Lovely,” replied Lya gravely.

He seemed delighted. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely, Lewis.”

He smiled broadly. “Wanna hear it again?”

That reminded me. “Lewis! You are Lewis, aren’t you?”

“Course I am. Whadja think?”

“I mean, you’re the same Lewis that runs this place?”

He shrugged. “Nobody runs this place that I know of.” He paused, took a sip from his jug. “I do, however, own this rock. Have for a long time.” He turned again to Lya. “Raised it from a pup. Boulder, to you. Yep,” he continued, patting the turf fondly beside his leg, “boulder first, then he became, uh…”

“Bigger?” Lya offered.

“Right,” he nodded. He eyed her with scrutiny. “Hey, you know an awful lot about this sort of thing for a hussy. So where was I? Oh, yeah. Boulder. Then a bigger boulder all easy so far. But next comes the toughie when he got to be an asteroid.” He shook his head. “Ugly, ugly, stage in life, let me tell you, is that adolescent asteroid period. No respect at all. No values.”

“But with a will of iron,” broke in Lya, “and the determination nation of a god. ...”

Lewis looked delighted. “Golly, that’s pretty! Oh, yeah. With iron will and the determination of a god, I. . .” he paused, right index finger poised, “I did it.”

Lya clapped her hands. “Hooray! At last.”

“The suspense was wrecking me,” I remarked.

“Smartass!” sneered Lewis without rancor. “Smartass pretender drinker!”

I turned to Lya. “Do I feel a challenge in the air? “

She smiled. “Could be.”

“Take your hands off my air,” growled Lewis, “and accept, dammit.”

“What do I get when I win?”

He frowned. “That’s ‘if you win, I believe.”

“Whatever. What do I get? “

Lewis reached for my cigarettes, lit one. “Why, the fish, of course! What the hell else?”

I shook my head as if to clear it. “I think I’m having a relapse.”

“No excuse.”

“Then what have fish got to do with. . . We are talking about a drinking contest, aren’t we?”

“We are when you can keep up.”

“Then what have fish got to do with that?”

He exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Everything, Dummy.

That’s how you tell who won.”

“How.”

“We don’t just drink. Crow,” he said impatiently. “We drink and fish.”

“At the same time?” Lya asked.

“Hell, yes. Drink till you catch one.”

“You’ve been doing that without Jack,” Lya pointed out. “True,” Lewis admitted. “But not fish drinking. That was celebration drinking. “

“What were you celebrating?” she asked.

“My last fish.”

“How long ago was that?”

He sneered at her. “Hussy.”

He stood up abruptly, swaying. He seemed confused.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lya, concerned.

He scratched his head. “Can’t remember. . . . What was I about to do a bit ago?”

“How many guesses?” I asked.

Lewis shook his head. “No, really.”

“Uh, challenge Jack?” offered Lya.

“Did that.”

“Tell about raising the planet?” I suggested.

“Did that.”

Lya winked at me. “How about stagger around dripping water?”

“Doing that,” said he and I in unison and the three of us laughed.

Lewis cut short his laughter ahead of us with: “Aha!”

“Aha, what?” prompted Lya.

He grinned, pointed in the direction of Karen. “Aha’m gonna see what read this girl to the grave.” And he stepped awkwardly over me toward her.

I turned to Lya, getting to my feet. “Bout ready to go in?” She nodded. I started to gather up the mess around us. Her hand on my arm stopped me. I looked at her and saw that the tightness had returned to her features. I was amazed at how temporary an effect all the laughter had had on her capacity to worry. I squatted down beside her.

“Jack…” she began.

I cut her off. “Lya, would you stop fretting?”

“But you will talk to him.”

“I said I would. And I will. Relax. Holly’s a big boy.” “But Jack,” she said, her eyes pleading, “he’s taking such a terrible risk!”

I sighed, patted her arm. “Well, he hasn’t taken it yet.”

But he had. We heard Cortez’s screams a second after that. He was bounding toward us across the meadow, slipping and sliding, falling once, waving his arms. We rushed to meet him. Through his panting and hysteria he managed to get out that Holly had been discovered lying unconscious on the laboratory floor, babbling incoherently. He was clutching some sort of plastic skullcap or something with all sorts of tubes and wires running out of it. Nobody had been able to pry his fingers loose from it. A seizure, the doctors had said. Catatonic.

Lya was already running back to die Dome before hearing all that Cortez had to spout. Karen, now wide awake, sprinted athletically after her. I gave it up after about a hundred meters. Damned bug still had a piece of me. I had to slow up to wait for Sanction to stop spinning.

Lewis appeared beside me, looking benignly helpful. “Here you go. Jack,” he said and offered a shoulder. He was a good crutch, in considerably better shape than most drunks I had seen. But even with his help, it seemed to take forever to cross the field, enter the Dome, and work our way down into the lab. All the time the thought kept streaking through my mind that Holly, with his genius fried, would now be nothing more than the timid lad he had at first seemed to be.

As we stepped through the seal, I heard Holly’s voice. He was sitting up on the workbench, surrounded by nervous faces. I broke loose from Lewis and rushed ahead to see him. Hot damn! He was alive, anyway. . . .

“. . . no, really, really,” he was saying to them. “I’m fine. A little weak, but. . . .” He noticed my stumbling approach. “I’m okay. Jack,” be assured me with a smite that contained equal parts of shyness and pride.

I was still worried. “I can see that. You look great, but. . ..” How to put the next question?

He anticipated me. “It’s still me. Jack.” He turned to Lya, putting a weary arm around her shoulders. “Really. It’s still me. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

The doctor was reading a gauge off a medigrip attached to

Holly’s other arm. “You’re considerably more tired than that. Dr. You’re near physical exhaustion.” He pulled one of

Holly’s eyelids up with a thumb and scanned the pupil underneath. “And emotionally drained as well. I’d say.”

Holly nodded vaguely. “Well, maybe a. . . .” he began before pitching forward into Lya’s arms, out cold.

The doctor was quickly reassuring. “He’s all right,” he said to Lya.

She looked about to faint herself. “Are you sure?”

The doctor nodded, gestured toward his gauges. “I’m sure. Just worn out, like I said. He’ll be all right with plenty of rest and care.”

“He’ll get that,” asserted Cortez importantly. “I’ll see to it.”

Lya smiled at him. “Thank you, Cortez. That’s very sweet of you. Why don’t you start right now.” She nodded at Holly’s still form, still crumpled between her and the tabletop. Cortez stepped to her side and the bunch of them managed him into a prone position. Lya stepped back. “Thank you, everybody,” she said to us, “for showing such. . . .” She froze at the sight of something over my shoulder.

We all turned around. Lewis was still standing at the entrance of the seal. His face was hard as stone, his muscles drum tight. He was staring at the black scout suit which had been propped into a sitting position in a chair beside the workbench, wires and tubes streaming outward.

Lya took a step toward Lewis. “Lewis? Are you all right?” He turned slowly at the sound of her voice. He raised a trembling arm and pointed at the suit. “What. . . is. . . that??”

“That’s a scout suit, Lewis. Holly’s been using. . . .” “That, that’s. . .
WAR
SHIT!” he shouted, livid with rage. “What’ sit doing here?”

“But Lewis,” protested Lya meekly, clearly unnerved by the incredible transformation of personality, “you knew this was a Fleet Proj. . . .”

“I knew you were in Fleet! I didn’t know you were Fleet, godammit!”

He turned and stared at us, fury and disgust rippling his features into a fist. Then he walked out.

Nobody moved for several seconds. Then came the collective sighs and all was activity again. Lya hovered over Holly mumbling rapid-fire questions the doctor gamely answered. Karen strode to the intercom and ordered a springer team to the lab and intensive hookups for Holly’s sleeping quarters. Cortez and a couple of techs began clearing a path through the electronics for the springers to better reach the bench. I sat down heavily in a chair and lit a cigarette and pondered.

I took the opportunity moments later to add my superfluous assurances to those Lya had already heard while Holly was being loaded. Then I managed to evade questions put to me by the curious and morbid stopping by out of rumor. When Holly and most of the rest had gone, I stayed and talked briefly with the doctor, learning nothing new. Then, when he was gone, I helped the techs guess what should and should not be keyed off in the lab during Holly’s absence.

When they left, I was alone. And so, with Holly safe in his bed and surrounded by professional concern and laymen’s good intentions, I found the chance to betray him. In all the confusion I was sure to have several minutes alone with the security systems. It was a rotten act, to take advantage of him that way, but perhaps no worse than the act of sabotage itself which took a surprisingly short time.

A half hour later, only I knew how helpless Holly really was….

More still. She was waiting in my suite when I got back, flushed still with the excitement and the running and. . . the point of being there.

“How dare you leave me in there the other night …” she began, clutching my arm furiously.

Mad, guilty, upset too much, I clamped my fist around her upper arm to jerk her away, clamped too hard, and she moaned with the sudden pain and our eyes met and her lips parted and I knew what our point really was. As I had known for some time.

This was it. Strength on her. The clamping fist, anger and muscles together. Brute, from me. And she screamed when I threw her down and was upon her, ripping at the spotlessly white Crewjumpsuit and she struggled and kicked but writhed too. She surged into it. Maybe I did too. But both of us fell toward it, scratching and clutching and it got very, very, rough. Perfectly awfulIawfully perfect. . .

And then laid flat out, pinned and twisting. Blood seeping from her nose and a shiner coming on and screaming at me for. . . begging me to make her beg and pleaseIohIpleaseYES,
YES
, tell her over and over what she really was! She loved to hear me tell her what she really was.

And I did. But damned if I really knew. Either of us. It was spectacular and allencompassing and it racked through me, shocking, stunning bolts of pleasure and pain. Both of us beating on her, abusing her, degrading the angel’s exquisite form and yes, the angel herself and, of course, whatever was left of both of us and always, always, so damn rich with rippling ecstasy. So damn good, somehow. So damn rich. So horrible.