The Genius Asylum: Sic Transit Terra Book 1 (12 page)

Silenced by the expression on his face, the three of them nodded agreement.

“Gouryas, keep your techs working on that device. At the moment, our prime concern is hull strength. We need them to learn how the paintbrush works and whether its effect can be reversed. Let me know the minute you have an answer to those questions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Holchuk, I’m creating a new position just for you — Alien Liaison Officer. Choose a member of your detail to take over as Chief Cargo Inspector whenever there are Nandrians aboard the Hub. If they’re testing us, that means they’re also checking up on us. We can’t suddenly become secretive, or they’ll know we’re onto them. I want you to make a point of telling Nagor about the reduction in hull integrity, and that we’ve connected it to the paintbrush. Tell him the device has been confiscated for analysis and that we’re trying to learn how to reverse the effect. Be specific about that. And don’t tell him anything else, even if he asks. They talk in riddles — you answer them in riddles.”

So, Townsend wasn’t just a liar, thought Holchuk, nodding mechanically, he was also a schemer. Once the Nandrians were off the station he’d probably order Singh to draw up plans for a ‘space weapon’, just in case the aliens already had one. Wasn’t that Humanity’s standard operating procedure?

“Singh, is there any way you could adjust the gravity field to lessen the amount of stress on these twenty-five soft spots? Even a slight reduction would help.”

The other man looked thoughtful. “Perhaps, if I were to dampen some of the field amplification relays north of H Deck. I’ll run a sim and see what happens.”

“Good idea. And if you think of anything else that might work, let me know immediately. Oh, and there mustn’t be any record of this meeting. Find and erase the shift feed from the surveillance vidcams on this deck. Better yet, find us a way to turn them off when we need privacy, without waking any watchdogs.”

Holchuk watched the engineers scatter to do Townsend’s bidding. They would have to keep an eye on this new station manager. For someone so compulsive about getting at the truth, he was awfully damned good at covering it up.

Chapter 17

“Now, what’s
this emergency waiting for us in Med Services?”

As they headed for the tube car, Holchuk felt a brief spasm of annoyance. He’d wanted the pleasure of reminding Townsend about the other matter, but the boss man was too quick. “It’s a girl we found in the forward hold of the Nandrian ship,” he replied. “Might have stowed away, might have been kidnapped. Either way, she was in pretty bad shape. She was unconscious, so couldn’t tell us who she is or where she’s from, but the Doc’s been running biotests.”

Ktumba threw them both a sharp look as they came through the door. Holchuk watched with interest as Townsend met the look, then threw it right back at her. Playing the macho game. Clearly, this man liked living dangerously.

She crossed her arms deliberately over her chest and leaned back against the edge of a vacant examining table. “He’s told you?” she asked Townsend, who nodded wearily. “All right, then. I ran the full battery on her, and this is the result: Jane Doe is one hundred percent Human, and aside from all the superficial contusions and abrasions on her skin, she’s in good physical health, with no serious pathology anywhere in her body. Your estimate of her age is a little on the high side, Gavin — I’d say she’s no more than seventeen, if that. Muscle and skin tone are near optimum, body mass is a little light but nothing to worry about. Except for her cerebral cortex, which is marinating in an alien substance I’m still trying to identify, every system checked out perfectly.”

“She’s still unconscious?” Holchuk demanded.

“She’s in a drug-induced coma. I’m willing to bet it’s reversible. And once the Nandrians are awake, I’m going to consult with Stran Dakin to find out how.

“There’s no sign of any internal injuries, but I noticed that her gastrointestinal tract scanned clean, indicating that she hadn’t eaten for at least thirty-six hours before the drug was administered.”

Anger hit Holchuk like a battering ram. “You’re saying they starved her?”

“No. I’m saying she didn’t eat. That might have been her choice, Gavin. It isn’t uncommon for prisoners to refuse food.”

“Prisoners?” Townsend echoed.

“We have reason to believe that she was kept in a cage for some time before being strung up in the hold. Teri and Robbo are delivering the evidence to your desk right now,” Holchuk told him. “Go on, Doc.”

She watched them both quietly for a moment before going on.

“There’s a naturally produced antitoxin in her bloodstream.”

“Meaning…?”

The Doc briefly pursed her lips. “I’ve seen similar antitoxins in the bodies of plague survivors. This looks to me like an immune system reaction following exposure to one of the strains of Angel of Death.”

“So her home world was probably hit by plague? That doesn’t exactly narrow the search,” Townsend pointed out.

“I’m analyzing the antitoxin right now. Give me a day or two in the lab and I should be able to tell you with reasonable certainty which strain caused it. Knowing that, we should be able to guess which planet the carrier might have come from,” the Doc added briskly. “And that in turn should point us to some possible locations for the girl’s home.”

“What about Nestor Quan?” asked Townsend.

“What about him?” Ktumba challenged.

“Well, he’s on the crew manifest as the Hub’s Disease Control Officer. Since this investigation focuses on the plague, isn’t he supposed to be involved in…?”

Impaled by her diamond-hard stare, Townsend dropped the subject. “Is there anything else?” His voice was taut, although his posture hadn’t changed.

“We still need to establish Jane Doe’s identity,” replied the Doc. “I’ve taken DNA samples for a database comparison. Meanwhile, if anyone has reported her missing, the Rangers on Zulu should have a copy of the file, so I’d like to—”

“If you’re about to suggest that we ask them for help, the answer is no.”

She was stunned. “I beg your pardon?”

Holchuk could only shake his head in wonderment. The boss man must be suicidal.
Nobody
ever said no to the Doc.

“Not too many days ago, I told Bonelli never to darken our doorstep again. Find another way to get the data. It’s too soon for us to be asking the Rangers for any favors. And keep me advised of the girl’s condition.” With that, Townsend pivoted and left Med Services.

All right, he wasn’t suicidal, Holchuk decided, just a little obsessive. And delusional, if he honestly believed Earth would waste a perfectly good Disease Control officer on an outpost like Daisy Hub.

Meanwhile, the Doc was fuming. “Don’t access the Rangers’ database? The only other source of DNA and Security records would be Earth’s InfoCommNet, which we can’t access anyway without going through Zulu. And if Jane Doe is a resident of our sector, the reports might not even have
made
it to Earth yet…!”

Ignoring her fussing, Holchuk punched up a channel on his wristcomm. “Lydia, patch me through to Jensen.”

A moment later, the chef was on the line: “Holchuk, I’m busy. What do you want?”

“In a short while the caf will begin filling up with Nandrians looking for a hair of the proverbial dog.”

“It already is. I repeat, what do you want?”

“Has Nagor shown up yet?”

“Half an hour ago,” growled Jensen. The channel closed with an audible click.

“What are you doing?” the Doc demanded quietly.

“What the boss man said. I’m getting the information a different way.”

“By questioning a hungover Nandrian? You must have a death wish.”

“Maybe. But I also know exactly what Jane Doe’s father is going through right now, and I’ve made myself a promise to cut that short any way I can.”

She stared at him for a moment, with sadness in her eyes. “Her father may not be alive, Gavin. The plague, remember?”

“All the more reason for someone to care what happens to her. The way you care about the rest of us,” he added softly. “Ruby’s not the den mother on this hub, Doc — you are. I’ll bet you’ve even begun worrying about Townsend.”

Every part of her seemed to stiffen. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

Holchuk grinned. “I have to get up to the caf before Nagor reaches his limit. I’ll be all right. You know how good I am at digging up facts, even from reluctant sources.”

The Doc was the first to break eye contact. “Go on,” she sighed. “Go interrogate your friend. I’ll let you know if there’s any change in the patient’s condition.”

***

There were already several of the big aliens in the caf, each one jealously guarding a table with five tall drinks on it. Ktumba’s warning hadn’t been exaggerated — however mellow citric acid made a Nandrian, withdrawal from citric acid made him several times more irritable. Fortunately, a hungover Nandrian was easy to spot: his green skin developed a yellowish cast, an unmistakable ‘stay away’ sign that not even another hungover Nandrian could miss.

Holchuk found Nagor at a table for two in the corner farthest from the entrance, noisily sipping a glass of lemonade. His skin might have been yellow when he came in earlier, but it wasn’t anymore — there were four empties in front of him, and he occasionally bobbed his head and bared his lower fangs at them, as though they were paying him compliments.

This was good, Holchuk told himself, carefully following a path to Nagor’s table that kept him as far away from the
Krronn
’s other crewmembers as possible.

As prescribed by Nandrian protocol, Holchuk stood quietly at Nagor’s left side, waiting to be noticed. He breathed shallowly, grateful that the air purification system was able to confine the strong citrus smell to D Deck during the Nandrians’ visits.

“You are late,” Nagor informed him. “I expected you—” He scanned the table with bleary orange eyes. “—ten drinks ago.”

Holchuk opened his mouth to reply and immediately shut it again.

Years ago, on Naguchi’s orders, he had worked up his courage and opened a conversation with the big alien. Now they were friends — or as close to it as any Nandrian and Human could probably be — and now, for the first time, Holchuk would be testing the strength of that relationship. He paused for a moment and prayed that he’d been right about Nagor.

Slowly he sat down, careful to keep the table between them. If this interview went south, he wanted to be able to leap out of reach of the Nandrian’s sinewy arms. “I was in Med Services,” he said, “getting a report on the condition of the young female we found in your forward hold.”

Nagor nodded sagely. “She is yours. We are not fit to keep her.”

Holchuk sighed, recognizing the speech as part of a ritual — the property-relinquishment script. Now Holchuk was supposed to reply that Nagor was, indeed, fit to own and use her and that it was an unprecedented act of generosity for him to give her up — and it was making his stomach churn just thinking about having to form those words inside his mouth.

“That’s very generous of you, Nagor,” he managed. “We accept her. And now we have some questions that need answering.”

The Nandrian’s eyes briefly widened, then narrowed again. Holchuk could practically hear the gears grinding inside his head.

“The female is Human. We bring you the female. She lives. What questions can you have?”

“The female’s body appears to have been beaten.”

Nagor shook his massive head. “No one beat the female.”

“Drew, son of…
Dammit!
is not pleased with her condition. He demands an explanation from me. I request one from you.”

Nagor inhaled and exhaled noisily, his features darkening. The lemonade on his breath was overpowering. Holchuk leaned as far back in his chair as he could without openly insulting the big alien.

“He demands?” growled the Nandrian.

“From me.”

“And what do you wish?”

Holchuk paused. He would have to be careful now. As expected, Nagor was asserting his own right to honor by choosing to favor a request from a friend over the official claim of a higher-ranked stranger. In Nandrian society, a friend did not ask to be given anything specific; he stated his need and allowed the one granting the favor to decide how best to meet that need. Honor accrued to both sides that way.

Nagor waited patiently as Holchuk searched his mind for the correct words. At last, he was able to put them together: “I wish truth and justice. Truth to help you. Justice for the female.”

Nagor slumped a little in his seat. “Wishing cannot bring back the dead.”

“The female isn’t dead, Nagor, just unconscious.”

The alien made a sound between a snort and a wheeze. “She grieves for her animal.”

After years of conversing with Nandrians, Holchuk knew he should be accustomed to this by now. Non sequiturs, leaps of logic… The more they talked, the worse his confusion generally became.

“Her animal is dead?”

“Eaten.”

“So you’re saying that justice for the female is impossible, because her animal can never be returned to her?”

Nagor nodded with ponderous finality.

“And what of truth, Nagor ban Nagoram?” Holchuk persisted.

“I have shared my truth.”

“By itself, it does not help you or me,” Holchuk pointed out.

Nagor sighed sonorously. “You wish us to wake the female.”

“So your truth can be confirmed.”

“This would be unwise. She is
hartoon
.”

A new word. Great. “Can you translate that?” Holchuk asked.

Nagor was silent for a moment. “No.”

“Then can you give me another example of someone who is
hartoon
?”

The alien tilted his head in surprise. “I know of no one else who is
hartoon
,” he pointed out reasonably.

Holchuk forced himself to sit absolutely still. He counted slowly to five. Then he gave it one more try.

“Nagor, what would have to happen to me to make me
hartoon
?”

He thought for a second. “If your mate were tortured to death by an escaped criminal who then took his own life, then perhaps…”

“…I would become
hartoon
?”

“Perhaps.”

“And what would I do, being
hartoon
?”

“You might attack the prison, killing every creature you found there.”

Suddenly, pieces of meaning began to fall into place. “Because the criminal I really wanted to kill would already be dead,” Holchuk mused aloud, “so I would shift the blame to those who had let him escape, and take my revenge on them.”

“You understand.”

“Was she
hartoon
when you brought her aboard your ship?”

He shook his head. “She came aboard. No one brought her.”

“She stowed away.” Nagor nodded. Encouraged, Holchuk continued, “To avenge the death of her animal?”

“To retrieve it.”

“She didn’t know it was dead?”

“Only the
mishta
knew.”

Another new word. And they’d been doing so well!

“Who or what is the
mishta
?” Holchuk asked wearily.

“Spaced. It died.”

Conversing with a Nandrian was hard work. Holchuk could feel sweat beginning to trickle down his back and sides.

“Died of what, Nagor? What killed the
mishta
?”

The alien did something with his shoulders that vaguely resembled a shrug. “Her animal.”

“But you said her animal was dead.”

“The
mishta
ate it,” Nagor said patiently. “The female saw…”

“…and became
hartoon
.” Holchuk sighed, feeling as though the Nandrian were leading him in circles, ignoring his larger questions. “Nagor, how did the female’s animal come to be aboard your ship? Did you trade for it?”

Nagor nodded. “With her nestbrother. He was glad to see it gone.”

“So, her brother trades away her pet behind her back. She stows away to try to retrieve it, but by the time she reaches the aft hold, one of the other animals has already killed and eaten her pet. She sees… what? Little hind legs sticking out of the
mishta
’s mouth? A little carcass lying on the floor of its cage?” Nagor nodded. “She goes berserk. She kills the
mishta
?”