The Human Blend (33 page)

“I’ll say,” murmured the admiring Gator.

Whispr hurried to change the thrust of the discussion. “How’d you lose the police?”

“The same way you did. By making use of my knowledge of the Savannah wetlands and the submarine abilities of my maniped aquatic companions. Give me a live being every time that actually lives in a difficult environment over mechanical devices supposedly built to cope with it.”
He turned back to Ingrid. “Tell me what you know about the material and the thread and then I’ll tell you what I’ve learned since your friend Whispr-man and I were compelled to part ways.”

She found herself hesitating and looking over at Wizwang. “Maybe this Meld knows Whispr and maybe Whispr’s had contact with him, but he’s new to me. How do I know he won’t suck up everything we’ve learned and then just hop in his boat and waft on us?”

Whispr struggled to repress a pleased smile. “You’ve learned a lot in a short time, Ingrid.”

She flashed him a look. She was still angry at him because of the zoe, but her initial white-hot outrage was starting to dim. For one thing, try as she would she could not get the memory out of her mind of the utterly devastated look on his face when his ruse had been discovered.

Their host spoke up. “I told you last night that I take suitable precautions. I’ve delved into Mr. Gator’s background and reputation, and I’ll vouch for him.”

Ingrid peered across at the wizened ten-year-old Meld. “And who vouches for you, short stick?”

Whispr whistled tellingly while Gator contributed a knowing snigger.

To his credit Wizwang showed no annoyance. “If you don’t feel that you can trust me by now, then why are you even here?”

Ingrid hesitated. Aware that the resulting silence was of her own doing, she realized it was up to her to break it.

“All right, then.”

After a confirming nod from Whispr, whose judgment she had after all agreed to rely on in such matters, she proceeded to detail in layman’s terms everything she and her slender companion had managed to learn, separately and together, about the thread. Much of this was already known to the Alligator Man from his own hastily performed research in his own lab. The details concerning the inscrutable cerebral implants—their nature, the fact that they had thus far been reported only in those of a certain age who had undergone bad melds, and all the rest—were however entirely new to him. Noting that he was recording everything, Ingrid concluded uneasily but with resignation.

“You’re up-to-date now on everything we know. Now tell us what
you
know. What, if anything worthwhile, you’ve learned since you and Whispr—parted.”

“I think you’ll find something to interest you, doctor.” Gator’s tone had changed from jovial to somber. “Not that I know anything about the contents of your storage thread—if there are any. I don’t. What I
did
succeed in finding out, after casting my head upon the waters in the form of a great many exceedingly covert inquiries, is that there actually is
one
company that is rumored—and I have to emphasize rumored—to be working on a manufacturing process that would allow for the utilization of metastable metallic hydrogen.”

Whispr spoke up. “For storage? Or for the kind of implants Ingrid just told you about? Did you find out anything that might explain how these implanted devices disappear when someone starts to examine them?”

“The business of entanglement? Nothing on how that might be accomplished, no. Sounds like magic to me.” He eyed Ingrid meaningfully. “But then, so does the ability to make MSMH under terrestrial conditions, much less build something out of it. As I say, there are just these rumors. Nothing at all conclusive.”

“We give you facts, you give us gossip,” Ingrid grumbled.

The Alligator Man was impassive in the face of her displeasure. “That’s more than you had before I gave it to you.”

“What’s the name of the company?” Whispr demanded to know. Picking at a downward protruding tooth, Gator looked over to him.

“It’s Sick.”

Ingrid’s expression contorted. “I’m not surprised, but what about the company?”

“Allow me to elucidate.” Wizwang was relaxing in his special chair. “I believe your nobby-skinned acquaintance is referring to the South African Economic Combine. Though its acronym is SAEC, it’s commonly pronounced ‘Sick.’ Or sometimes ‘SICK, Inc.’ among those with an economically inclined humorous bent.”

“Oh,” a chastised Ingrid murmured, “
that
SICK. I know the name, of course, though I’ve never had any dealings with them.”

“Why should you?” their host observed. “You don’t buy medical technology directly from them. You use what is purchased by secondary companies and then moved along the supply chain to local dealers and related establishments. SICK makes a great many products, of course, as well as dealing in raw materials. A consortium of that size and power would be interested in dealing in a substance like MSMH in its raw state as well as in
the form of finished manufactured goods.” He bowed theatrically in Gator’s direction.

“I congratulate you, master of a maxillofacialist’s reverie. Only a rumor it may be, but one with some perceptible grounding in economic reality and likely worth pursuing.” His gaze crossed back to Ingrid. “As for you, mistress of elegance and knowledge, not to mention a fine set of—”

“We’ll follow up on it,” she said quickly. “It’s the only real lead we’ve come across.” She eyed the self-satisfied Gator. “However nebulous the facts supporting it. Right, Whispr?”

Her companion’s reaction was distinguished by a notable lack of eagerness. “Ingrid, I don’t know.” His gaze flicked from her to Gator to Wizwang to finally settle on his own nervously shifting feet. “If Gator’s infoup is right and it’s SICK, Inc. that’s really behind all this, it would go a long way toward explaining a lot of things. Why the police didn’t hesitate to vanish my friend Jiminy, how they latched on to Gator so fast.…” His voice rose along with his gaze as he met her eyes. “I’m not like you, doc. I don’t care what’s on that thread except how it can be translated into subsist. But there are more important things than money.”

“Why, Mr. Whispr, sir,” a mocking Wizwang declared from his chair, “you are in truth bulging with surprises for someone so slight in both substance and stature. I would never have expected to hear such a noble if clichéd assertion fall from what remains of your lips.”

By way of reply Whispr offered up an obscenity that relied for its effectiveness more on tradition than originality.

“It’s still our only lead,” Ingrid pointed out plaintively.

“You don’t get it.” Whispr fought to make her understand. “You don’t mess around with a consortium like the SAEC. There are Western rules, and Asian rules, and then the rules of companies that make them up as they go along. That holds especially true for most of the big companies that have risen up south of the equator.”

A somber Gator was nodding knowingly. “When it comes to the uninvited poking around their business, these big multinationals can be—impolite, doctor. Behind the smiling suits and flash melds are ugly little men making big subsist from nasty machines. The kind of people who inhabit the darker corners of urburgs like Karachi and Macao, Saopan Paulo and Joburg. They don’t play nice. Owning a professional degree wouldn’t impress them. Or restrain them.”

Ingrid refused to be dissuaded. “We
have
to pursue it. We’ve come this far. I once told Whispr I couldn’t rest until I found out what was on the thread—even if it turns out to be nothing.” She took a deep breath. “Despite everything that’s happened and despite what you’re telling me now, I still feel that way.”

“Actually, you can. Rest, that is.”

Holding the blunt and brutal short-barreled twin-triggered flurry out in front of him, Napun Molé descended soundlessly from the accessway’s last step and into the cabin.

“Please keep your hands where I can see them. Please do not move any more than is necessary to breathe.” Molé gestured with the flurry. The weapon was lightweight, big-mouthed, and lethal. “I would just as soon not kill anybody.”

“We are in agreement.” Sitting up stiffly in his enveloping chair, Wizwang stared fixedly at the newcomer. “Who are you, old man, and how did you get past my security?”

“My name is not important and often confusing to those who do not know me. Since you will not have the opportunity to know me, you will not be unnecessarily confused. As to your security—what a funny-looking little Meld you are!—I suppose it qualifies as sophisticated for this backwater blackwater segment of a submerged state. I am used to dealing with far more elaborate defensive measures. I assure you I have on my person enough equipment to defeat everything up to and including the surveillance facilities of a small military base. That which was emplaced to safeguard one houseboat did not delay me more than a few minutes.” His attention shifted to the openmouthed Ingrid.

“Your activities, on the other hand, Dr. Seastrom, have been grounds
for a good deal of irritation on my part.” With the muzzle of the weapon he gestured at Whispr, who had been looking frantically and unsuccessfully for a hatch to bolt through ever since the heavily armed oldster had entered the cabin. “Why couldn’t you simply have left this sorry individual alone, or treated him and sent him on his way? Had you done that you could now be back home in your comfortable codo in Savannah relaxing in the midst of a mindless entertainment vit while, as most women of your age, pondering whether or not you are teetering on the biological cusp of sacrificing family for career.” He shook his head sadly. “Instead you are here, where I may unwillingly resolve that conundrum for you by blowing your head off.”

She had thought herself inured to the imagined dangers presented by possession of the thread. Proof that she was wrong was doubly confirmed; by the shaking of her body that began in the pit of her stomach and spread to her arms, and by the trickle of warm liquid that had commenced running down her left leg. Trembling visibly, she looked to her left. Her partner, her companion, her advisor, Whispr was paying no attention to her. If she expected him to leap to her defense, either physically or verbally, she was plainly badly mistaken.

Only Gator’s voice remained unshaken. “There’s no need for slaughter. You yourself just said you’d rather not kill anybody. Tell us what you want and we’ll give it to you. If it’s money I can …”

The old man almost came close to smiling, though the eventual expression was far less pleasant. “Oh please, don’t insult me. Would anyone, especially someone my age, go to all this trouble and come to this stinky hot place in search of mere lucre? If robbery is what was on my mind I would have set to work in Miavana, where there are actually things worth stealing.”

“If not money, then what?” Whispr felt he had to ask the question even though he was sure he already knew the answer.

“I don’t mind heat, but the humidity in this part of the world really is appalling.” The intruder returned his unblinking gaze to the shivering Ingrid. “In concert with another revolting Meld, the stick-insect standing alongside you killed a courier and stole from him something that belongs to my employers. The courier’s death is of no consequence. What was taken is very much of consequence. He brought the stolen item to you. My employers want it back.” Once again he gestured with the murderous
flurry. “This will conclude much more pleasantly for everyone if you simply hand it over to me.”

Ingrid swallowed. Quite to her surprise she heard herself saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Molé rolled his eyes. This time, he did laugh. It was a subdued, soft sound, almost like a muffled cough. “Come, come, woman. When I was in my youth I played this game and enjoyed it. I used to play many games in which I no longer indulge. Not because I have lost my delight in them but because my time has become more precious than the transitory amusements they once afforded. You have the thread. This is known. You lent it to a colleague of yours and he subsequently returned it. That is also known. Therefore you have it now.”

Her eyes widened. “You—your people are the ones who beat up poor Rudy!”

Molé’s weary sigh reflected his boredom. “If you are referring to the assault that was perpetrated on the person of a certain Dr. Rudolf Sverdlosk, your accusation and your anger are misplaced. That involved neither myself nor those for whose satisfaction I am engaged.”

A surprised Whispr spoke up. “Another outfit besides the one you’re working for knows about the thread?”

“Too many know about it, my angular friend. Not what it is, not what it contains, only that it is valuable. Especially to certain concerned parties, my employers being foremost among them. Knowledge of this matter has already spread too wide and is renowned, even if only as hearsay, by far too many. All disquiet will be resolved, however, and everything returned to normal when the article in question is returned to its rightful owners. Which shall be directly.”

Even though it might reveal knowledge that could potentially seal her fate she could not help herself from asking questions. This is a condition that afflicts the majority of hopeless addicts. In the case of Dr. Ingrid Seastrom, her drug of choice was science.

“What about the juvenile nanodevice implants that are also made of MSMH? How does the thread relate to those?”

“Nanodevices? Implants?” Demonstrating yet another of his artfully veiled talents, Molé managed a passable imitation of her voice. “ ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ ” For a final time he gestured with the
flurry. “Please give me the thread. Since I know it’s not in your boatel room.…”

“How do you … oh.” She caught herself. If this strange little old man could get past Yabby Wizwang’s sophisticated residential security he surely would have no trouble breaking into and searching the contents of an ordinary commercial dwelling.

“Unless,” Molé continued, his unblinking eyes flicking in Whispr’s direction, “your companion is currently holding it. Whoever has it please just give it to me. I don’t search live bodies.”

“We—we don’t have it, really,” she stammered. “It’s back in Savannah, in a safety deposit. You don’t think we’d actually bring it down here with us, do you?”