The Alien Trace [Cord 01] (4 page)

    Drawn back from his memories, Cord said, "No, I'd better leave now. I've got to be there if my parents have a project on for tomorrow." He wished he could recapture the happiness he'd felt earlier in the evening.

    "Oh, that's too bad. I'd thought we might sleep for a while, and then…" Her tail snaked over to curl around his. "That's all right, Cord, I know you have to make a living. There's always another opportunity, anyway." She ran her fingers down Cord's spine, caressing the velvety strip there, down to the base of his tail. "I didn't tell you
my
news, did I?"

    "What news?" His hands toyed with her golden breasts and began to roam downward. Not a smart move if he really did plan to leave soon…

    "Maybe you'll see me at the spaceport too."

    Her words startled him. "You? How? We're going to trade, but you-"

    "The spaceport is in the Third District. Who's Speaker of the Third District? My father suggested that he should receive clearance to visit the humans so he could assess their impact on the region and reassure his constituents if necessary. A District Speaker has the right to have an aide-even when inspecting dangerous or restricted areas-so I can have a pass, too."

    Cord hugged her. He did not need to say anything. She would be able to feel how happy he was for her, for both of them. Regretfully, after a few more caresses and tongue thrusts, they washed and dressed.

    It was a pity, the way working for a living cut into one's sex life.

    It was late when he entered his parents' unit of the multi-residence. Most of the tenants were asleep, their emotional signals muted. But strong psychic impulses came from Neetel, Fyrrell, and Finola.

    Cord grinned. Obviously he had returned too soon. He checked his shielding; why distract them from their pleasures by letting them know he was home? Their mental output showed no sign that they had heard or felt him come in, so he moved silently to his own room.

    It was surprising that they hadn't aroused the entire building with their, ah, activities. And Cord could hear, as well as sense with his mind. Their unit was minimal housing; the walls were not as soundproof as they might be. A soft moan… an arpeggio of desire… a murmur of laughter…

    Cord wondered how his father was able to keep two playful women entertained. It was, perhaps, an ability gained with practice and wide experience. Cord looked forward to the learning process…

    There was an explosion of passion, sustained for what seemed like eternity. Caught in the backwash from three orgasms, Cord lay gasping on his bed, hands pressed between his legs, loins aching, until all that remained was a feeling of satiation and drowsy contentment.

    Cord gave in to it and fell asleep, dreaming of sexual prowess and a lengthy education.

    

    

    The data Finola had promised arrived next morning by messenger. Fyrrell, Neteel, and Cord were all sworn not to show or reveal the material to any person not authorized to deal with the aliens. Then they were issued passes admitting them to the spaceport, and the formalities were complete.

    "Let's get to work," Neteel said, securing the entrance to their unit. "The sooner we can communicate with them, the sooner we can sell them some technology."

    The furnishings of their quarters were sparse, but they all had quick-study headsets. Fortunately, there was no case in progress at the moment; that left them free to absorb the alien language and the background materials. The quick-study headsets permitted information to be stored in the brain faster than it could be taken in by eye or ear. It would not make them fluent linguists, but would provide the vocabulary and grammar to understand the language. Speaking it would require some practice. Still, it would be enough for their needs.

    By early evening, when they laid aside their headsets, they were all ready for a well-deserved rest.

    "Here's a 'drama,' " Fyrrell announced, rummaging in the box of Terran material they'd been supplied. He passed the cylinder to Neteel.

    "This will be a treat," she remarked, inserting the cylinder in the viewer. They seldom had the time to watch entertainments, even if their budget had permitted. Their viewer was used mostly for business.

    "Are you sure this is fiction? 'The Theft of the Imperial Treasure' sounds more like a documentary…"

    Fyrrell shrugged and opened his mouth to reply-it stayed open as the first scene unfolded and skin-clad savages appeared, swinging swords.

    No one said a word until the adventure had played itself out.

    The aliens obviously were different, to judge by the casual violence of the main character's encounters. He was threatened with death half a dozen times, was beaten, inflicted assorted injuries upon the gang of thieves, and finally was rewarded by the alien equivalent of the Council.

    "They really can't feel each other, can they?" Neteel marveled. "I thought Finola was exaggerating."

    "You know," Fyrrell observed dispassionately, "I don't think I've seen that much violence in my life."

    "I thought it was disgusting-deviant, in fact," Neteel said. "But it's clear that those people need our skills."

    Cord said nothing. He was shocked, of course: the Third District didn't see that much crime even spread over many years. And he was glad that the alien drama did not have an emotion channel, as a Mehiran recorded play would. The assault of violent emotions and the anguish of many deaths would have prostrated a Mehiran. His parents, hardened to aggression, looked pale, and Cord was sure he did, too. At the same time, he could sense that they also felt exhilarated- not by the contents of the cylinder, but by its implications. Criminal catchers were highly regarded among the aliens.

    "Technically speaking, he didn't have much equipment," Fyrrell said. "His hands and feet, a knife, and that gun. No means of detecting the criminal."

    "I'm not sure we can draw too many conclusions about their technical ability from that." Neteel gestured toward the cylinder. "Probably it's like some of the entertainments I used to watch-more for enjoyment than edification."

    "Well, parts of it looked enjoyable," Fyrrell replied. "What particularly well-shaped breasts the hero's lady friend had."

    "I thought they amounted to a deformity," Neteel retorted. "No, make that two deformities. I'm surprised he was able to get close enough to do her any good."

    Cord laughed at the repartee and kept silent. He did not think it was the time to point out the complete strangeness of the human society as depicted by the adventure.

    The spaceport was located in an area which had been low-lying marsh; the enterprising humans had efficiently drained, filled, and paved it-and made room for more of themselves. The Council had erected a high, molded-stone wall around the complete installation. At the gate, a Council guard asked to see their passes and inspected their vehicle for contraband.

    Beyond the wall loomed a black, glassy-looking building like nothing Cord had ever seen or imagined. It was set well back from the Council's barrier, but its sheer size made it loom over them.

    From the material which the Council had given them, Cord knew that the domed black monolith contained all the alien enclave's offices and living quarters. It housed almost a thousand humans, yet it occupied only a small area of the port compound. Beyond it was the paved field where the interstellar ships and their shuttles landed: a great gray cicatrix surrounded by service buildings and the apparatus which controlled landings.

    They left the rented float car-not new but large, its teardrop shape brightly painted in red and yellow-not far from the port facility's door. The entrance looked virtually impregnable; there were no windows. Cord filed it away as an item of interest.

    The door parted at their approach. Within, the first alien Cord had seen stopped them. He greeted them in good Mehiran and requested their passes. This must be a security guard, thought Cord: the human wore some sort of dark-colored uniform with shiny badges.

    The human was close to the Mehiran norm in size and features. The most notable differences were his lack of a tail and his round ears, set low and flat against the sides of his head. Cord wondered how acute his hearing could be with such an arrangement.

    His emotional output was alien, too, but not as much so as Cord had expected. The man was bored and a little hungry. His emanations were obviously not Mehiran, but they were easy enough to interpret.

    Having scrutinized their passes, the Terran instructed them to follow a yellow line inset in the floor, and wished them good trading.

    

    

    In a room richly furnished with carpets, cushions, tables, and heavily padded seats and benches, another human met them. He was older than the guard, dark-complected and stocky. His clothing looked nothing like the guard's, but perhaps it was a uniform too, since other badges were affixed to it.

    The human spoke what the aliens called Multi-Lang, with which Fyrrell, Neteel, and Cord were now reasonably comfortable.

    "My name is Stev Greffard," he said. "I'm a specialist in technology trade. We've been informed that you are licensed to offer us law-enforcement technology. What do you have that we might be interested in?"

    Terrans certainly got straight to the point. It was difficult to concentrate on a new language and on the man's emotional state at the same time, so Cord opted for the latter. His mother and father would be responsible for the trading; he was there as a backup, to observe.

    The Terran was curious but not eager, hopeful but not expectant. It was, Cord analyzed, simply another potential business transaction. There was no novelty in it for Stev Greffard. He was much like any shopkeeper on Mehira. As a contact with the alien mind, it was disappointing. Cord transferred his attention back to the conversation.

    Stev Greffard invited them to sit, and he sank down in an uncomfortable-appearing cross-legged position. Fyrrell, Neteel, and Cord squatted among the pillows, bracing themselves slightly with their tails.

    "We have small pursuit mechanisms for trailing. In places where a person would be seen, a robot no larger than this"-Fyrrell pantomimed with thumb and forefinger barely apart-"can pass unnoticed."

    "We also have robot shadows," Stev Greffard said.

    "Do you have sensors which detect a lawbreaker in a crowd by his body odor?"

    Cord caught a flash of interest in Stev Greffard's mind, followed by caution.

    "No," the human replied slowly. "But would it work with those not of your race? There are dozens of humanoid species. Surely metabolic differences would render your detector useless."

    "With adjustment," Neteel answered, "I am certain it would function with any humanoid. Granted, you would have to establish criteria for each species you wished to check, but the principle should be the same in all cases. With non-humanoids, I could not say whether it would work. I don't know enough-yet."

    "You are very confident," the Terran observed wryly.

    Which only proved that the aliens were incapable of detecting emotion.

    They discussed several other devices; most of them elicited a positive response from the trader-emotionally if not verbally.

    "Can you return tomorrow with some of your devices and demonstrate them?" Stev Greffard asked.

    "Yes, we can arrange to do so. Though our schedule is tight," Fyrrell added.

    Cord and Neteel experienced amusement. Fyrrell was not going to sound too anxious.

    Their host rose. "Thank you for your time," he said. "Perhaps you will take a tour of our port facilities-we would like you to have a better idea of what we have to offer. And perhaps by learning about us, you will think of things we might wish to buy from you."

    His mother accepted promptly-Cord could feel that she was fascinated by the humans' technology.

    Greffard summoned another human, a female, this time.

    "This is Julia McKay," he said. "She has been conducting the tours, since she has no regularly assigned work." He bowed to the Mehirans. "I will expect you tomorrow at the fifth hour."

    "That is agreeable to us."

    Cord studied their guide with interest. She was about his own age, he thought, possibly a little older, although with an alien it might be difficult to interpret age. She was as slim as Bird, but her skin was pale-whitish rather than golden or leathery brown like Greffard's. Her coppery hair was severely tied back and lay at the base of her neck in a roll. While she did not appear to wear a uniform, she did have a single, large emblem pinned to her white tunic-a cross with arms of equal length inside a rayed circle. The plain garment did not do justice to her slim elegance, Cord thought. She reminded him of the blade of some well-wrought, perfectly honed knife.

    "What shall we call you, Julia McKay?" Neteel inquired, still puzzled by the use of two names.

    "Just Julia, if you please," the human woman replied. "We are not formal here. We'll skip the office section," she continued, leading them down a corridor to a door marked "Trans Tube." A panel slid open and a small cubicle lay beyond. The seats were designed for humans, with no accommodation for tails, so Cord's family stood as the tube shot up. Cord gave up trying to calculate how many levels the building contained, and how fast the trans tube was rising.

    The complex was a self-contained city, as it needed to be, isolated from the world on which it was located. The tour took them through storerooms, entertainment areas, housing for transients, laboratories, a hospital, even a shrine of some sort. But it contained no ancestral relics, so Cord could not understand how it could be meaningful. Of course, it was new: Perhaps in a few years, when it had acquired some mementos…