Where the Ships Die (25 page)

Natalie, who was present against her will, nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir. I'm afraid so."

"More nonsense about the attack, I suppose."

"Maybe ... although I was summoned
prior
to our departure. Something to do with Voss Lines and my parents."

"I should have known you were too good to be true," Jord said sourly. "So tell me, are you and our ex-passengers connected?"

Natalie considered the truth, followed by a lie, and settled on a compromise.
"They
certainly thought so, which explains the visit to my cabin, but I still don't understand what they wanted."

Jord seemed to accept the explanation, because he nodded and gestured to the sturdy launch that bobbed alongside. "Well, the locals want their turn. Let me know if I can help."

Natalie promised that she would, made quick work of the ladder, and dropped into the boat. It was spotless. A Treeth, resplendent in the uniform of the Water Guards, welcomed the officer aboard and cast off. An inboard engine made short work of the trip.

Clouds had gathered by the time Natalie stepped out of the boat, and raindrops hit her skin. A second Treeth, this one clad in civilian attire, dropped out of a tree. He motioned for her to follow. It was dry under the canopy and somewhat gloomy. Birds, or the local equivalent thereof, fluttered between the trees. Leaves brushed her shoulders.

The port authority's administrative park was unlike anything Natalie had seen before. Computer stations, all of which were linked via wireless technology, and personed by members of the Treeth race, stood in leafy glades, next to babbling brooks, and, in one case, up among some tree branches. A significant number of Dromo were present as well, shoulder-deep in their various pools, working their voice-activated computers.

Natalie followed her guide across a wooden footbridge and into a generously proportioned enclosure. The surroundings consisted of dense vegetation. It reminded her of an Earth-normal hedge, and it wasn't until she sat next to it and spotted the long brown thorns that she realized how deceptive appearances could be. The pond was small by local standards and designed for the convenience of Dromos. A series of waves followed by a cheerful "Hello!" announced her hosts. Natalie recognized the Dromo and Treeth as the same individuals who had issued the summons. She stood. "Greetings. Marshals Rollo and Torx, I presume?"

"None other," Rollo assured her. "Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Do you require anything? Nourishment, perhaps? Many humans enjoy Treeth cuisine."

Natalie shook her head. "Thank you, but no. I ate aboard ship."

"Well, let us know if you need anything," Rollo said solicitously. "There's nothing worse than an empty stomach, especially one as large as mine."

Torx, safely beyond Rollo's field of vision, mimed a Dromo consuming the entire forest. Natalie laughed. Rollo was pleased with the response. "Thank you for coming, especially so soon after the ceasing-to-be of your progenitors, but the matter at hand is of the utmost importance. So much so that the outcome could affect the entire Confederacy."

Though unable to think of a way in which she, or anything she knew, could have a noticeable impact on the Confederacy, Natalie nodded gravely and waited. There was a lull as the Treeth tapped his fingers against the Dromo's neck pad. The message seemed to meet with the larger being's approval, because he nodded and cleared his throat.

"In light of the fact that you've been a cooperative witness, Torx suggests a departure from standard procedure. Rather than ask questions, and piece your answers together, let's exchange information. Agreed?"

Natalie indicated acceptance, swatted at a rather persistent insect, and listened to the briefing. What she heard both amazed and alarmed her. A natural catastrophe had killed one-third of the Traa race and left the rest psychologically crippled. So much so that they were determined to seize control of the Confederacy. A whole lot of things suddenly made sense. The trade in tools, pharmaceuticals, software, parts, food, weapons, and a thousand other items was important, all right, but not when compared to data traffic, most of which passed through wormholes. Wormholes the Traa sought to control.

Natalie told the co-marshals about Carnaby Orr, his efforts to acquire the Mescalero Gap, and the way in which the Traa had accosted her aboard ship. Finally, after Natalie had finished her recitation, Rollo spoke. "Your ship will be ready to lift soon?"

"Yes."

The Dromo delivered an excellent imitation of a human smile. "Good, because we're going with you."

Arrangements had been made and the clinic was open when the limo arrived. Melanie had thought of everything, it seemed—a realization that surprised Orr, but shouldn't have, given the efficiency with which she managed his estate, three vacation retreats, and any number of critical social relationships. All while partially stoned.

Luther and Munalo hustled Orr into the clinic. Jason, who recognized the smell, started to cry. Orr had just turned toward his son, and was about to offer words of comfort, when a needle stung his arm. He tried to react but felt his knees buckle. Luther grabbed Orr under the armpits, and with help from Munalo loaded him on a gurney. Though too weak to move, the industrialist could see and hear. People in OR greens came and went. A voice said, "Prep him." Another voice said, "Yes, doctor," and the ceiling began to move, or that's the way it appeared from his position on the stretcher. He wondered where were they taking him. Then it hit. The surgeons planned to remove the organism from his son and transplant it to him!

The horror of it sent adrenaline into Orr's bloodstream and enabled him to raise the upper part of his body. The industrialist yelled incoherently and fumbled with the safety strap. That's when a voice said, "Take him down," and Orr felt a second needle penetrate muscle. The businessman struggled, felt tired, and gave up. Melanie appeared and peered into his face. "So, lover, how does it feel? To know they're going to cut your belly open? But wait, I nearly forgot! The symbiote will
help
you. No need to thank me, it's the least I could do."

The face vanished, then reappeared a moment later. "Oh, one more thing. You know the empire you built? The one you were willing to sacrifice our son to? Well, my lawyers say half belongs to me, so kiss it good-bye."

The face disappeared, and half of Orr's life vanished with it. He was still absorbing that, still dealing with it, when they lifted him onto the table. The prep felt cold.

As with most medical facilities, the clinic had drugs and a system designed to protect them. It was a good system, and Riley spent twenty minutes finding his way through it. He eventually entered through a side door. He produced a semiautomatic handgun, chambered the first of fifteen hollow-point rounds, and reholstered it.

Then, hoping he wouldn't have to kill anyone, Riley drew a space-certified dart thrower, checked to make sure it was loaded with nonlethal flechettes, and held it ready. His client might be in trouble ... but so were the people who controlled him. They just didn't know it yet.

The surgeons, three in all, had opened Jason's abdomen and were cauterizing bleeders when Melanie entered the room. Nearly all of them had attempted to talk her out of it, but she wanted to see with her own eyes. She saw the incision, fought the dizziness, and moved closer. Electrodes buzzed, and the odor of burnt tissue filled the air.

Whatever the creature was, it had grown over the last few months and established connections with Jason's circulatory, respiratory, and digestive systems via slowly pulsating tubes. Melanie gagged and turned away. A nurse took her elbow. "Come with me, Mrs. Orr... there's a chair over here."

The doctors started to sweat. The symbiote liked the boy's body and didn't want to leave. Every time a tube was severed, the symbiote lowered the child's blood pressure or slowed his respirations. The message was clear: "Stop or I'll kill him." The surgical team countered with drugs, but were doomed to failure. Much as they hated to admit it, the Traa had played a significant role in the initial operation, and the aliens were badly missed.

Finally, in what amounted to an act of desperation, the lead surgeon left for the neighboring suite. Consistent with Melanie Orr's instructions, her husband had been prepped for surgery. The medical team opposed the plan, but had performed one unethical operation and couldn't refuse another. Not if they wanted to maintain their extravagant lifestyles, that is. That being the case, the surgeon saw one last chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Orders were given, the staff obeyed, and the self-propelled table was guided through the doors.

Riley had no difficulty slipping up on Luther and Munalo. With Orr under sedation and strapped to a table, they were taking a break. Had Ari been present, she would have made provisions for a security zone, a primary escape plan, a backup escape plan, and a shitload of firepower. Luther, who was nominally in charge, hadn't even considered the possibility of an external threat, so he was hardly prepared for it.

The big man was halfway through one of his favorite wrestling stories when Riley pushed a cart full of medical supplies down the hall, approached the place where they were standing, flipped a towel off the dart gun, aimed and fired. Munalo jerked as the flechette entered his unprotected thigh, looked surprised, and collapsed on the floor. Luther started into motion but stopped when the semiauto appeared in Riley's left hand. "That's better... now tell me what's going on in there. And make it good."

Luther talked. Riley listened, nodded sympathetically, and shot him in the leg. That made the big man angry. He charged, took a dart in the neck, and dropped like a rock. Riley checked Luther's pulse, placed snake cuffs on his extremities, and donned some OR greens.

The medical team went to work. The first task was to notify the alien organism that a new host was available. Nobody knew what to do, but the lead surgeon had a hunch. In addition to the tubes connected to Jason's blood supply, a multitude of delicate white filaments had invaded his nervous system. By freeing one of the longer connectors, and pushing the patients together, the doctors were able to drop the filament into the father's recently opened incision.

What happened next was both frightening and disgusting. The connector, because the doctors couldn't think of a better name to describe its function, acquired a life of its own. The filament touched, recoiled, and touched again. It seemed more interested the second time, excited even, as it snaked here and there, felt around, and dived out of sight. Then, as if pleased with the reports it had received, the organism shivered and started to vibrate. Tubes popped loose, connectors broke free, and the organism prepared to move. A doctor scooped the creature up, dropped the organism into Orr's abdominal cavity, and watched as it took up residence.

The doctors, all of whom wished they had never agreed to work for Orr Enterprises, heaved sighs of relief, redivided themselves into separate teams, ordered that their patients be removed to their respective tables, and started to close.

Melanie felt better, elated even, and was about to speak with the doctors, when an orderly pushed a supply cart into the room. He seemed to recognize her. "Mrs. Orr?"

"Yes?"

"I work for your husband. I function as a backup for his regular security team, and, judging from the idiots out in the hall, a sorely needed one. What's Mr. Orr's status? And please, no histrionics."

The man produced a weapon and Melanie felt her knees go weak. She should have known that a first-class bastard would have a first-class backup plan. "Kill me if you must, but leave the boy alone."

Most of the security man's face was hidden by his surgical mask, but she saw his eyebrows rise, and realized he was surprised. "There's no need for that sort of thing. My only interest is in extricating my client from the present circumstances. Revenge is his concern. Now, if you would be so kind as to instruct your medical staff to close Mr. Orr's incision, I will arrange for transportation to a real hospital. The doctors will fabricate some sort of reason. Understood?"

Melanie gulped. "Understood."

"Excellent," Riley replied wearily. "Because I'm retired ... and it's past my bedtime."

17

 

Take care where your footprints appear... lest the innocent follow.

Author unknown

Temple inscription Reon IV

Circa 1000

The Planet New Hope

Ari's mother had liked to dispense motherly advice. This in spite of the fact that she saw motherhood as a part-time job. Mom had some things right, though, like when she said that no matter how horrible things were, they could always get worse.

Maybe that explained why Dorn Voss wasn't where he was supposed to be, and why Ari, who had passed herself off as the boy's sister, was confronted by a clearly distraught headmaster. His name was Tull, and he rose from behind the desk like an iceberg rising to the surface of the sea. He circled the massive chunk of hardwood and perched on a well-worn corner.

"I'm sorry, Miss Voss, but my hands were tied. I waited for a considerable length of time, and, having received no word, and no money for tuition, was forced to let the boy go. He disappeared within one local day of leaving the academy. We traced his movements to a local gambling establishment where he won a small amount of money and left. The kitchen staff thought they heard a scuffle, and that raises the possibility that someone followed the lad and knocked him over the head. The casino is perched over the river, which was in flood at the time. The police believe he drowned, and I see no reason to disagree with them. We recovered your brother's belongings and left them in his room. There's some money too... left after you paid his bills."

"Thank you," Ari said with what she hoped was the right mix of sadness and resignation."You've been very kind. It's all so terribly sad. First my parents, now this. There's no hope that my brother's alive?"

Tull looked at his feet. He wanted to say yes, wanted to be positive, but hated to lead her on. She seemed like such a nice young woman. "Anything's possible, Miss Voss... but it seems unlikely."