Spaceways - The Planet Murderer Part 6

"Carrying pa.s.sengers, though?"

"Pos."

Jesti tried a bluff: "And a pa.s.senger booked onto that s.h.i.+p, through here."

"Ah ... uh ... pos, pos!" The spike had wiggled a little. "True."

Jesti began to feel that he was pulling teeth out of a rock. Angrily he brought the marker weight down on the counter. It whacked loudly.

"Listen, twitch! Don't mix tricks with me! Volunteer words-quick! What did this pa.s.senger look like?"

"He-he-he was very . . . very handsome," the Crozer said, in an even weaker voice. And concluded by spilling almost silently to the floor in a dead faint.

It was, Jesti decided, time to move on.

Where?

To Jasbir, clearly. Either he forgot it or pretended to, or yielded to the compulsion to find the handsome man who 57.had set him up and murdered a good-looking and mighty young girl. On Jasbirstation he might stand a chance of picking up the handsome man's trail.

The only problem was that s.p.a.cing to Jasbir would cost cred-more by far than Jestikhan Churt had. Or had any hope of acquiring. To make matters worse, the mystery that engulfed him was deepening rather than clearing. His first thought had been that Eilong's Elders had gone stark, staring fobbo. That they perceived him as so important they had sent out a kill-team to set him up for murder.

That was silly. If the Elders wanted him dead, they had only to kill him. Or pay someone-and he'd seen people both last night and this afternoon who'd surely placidate a foreigner for the price of three drinks. (Orbisette, he thought with a grim sarcasm.) All this other business was too complicated. The chances of any such plot's failing couldn't help but run high.

If they tried once, logic told him, they'll try again. It was his own neck in the noose and on the block. Besides, what would such a scheme accomplish? What effect would it-could it-have on Eilong?

Paranoid means you think you're important enough to attract a big plot to Poof you, he reminded himself, and his grin wasn't pretty.

There was another aspect: So far, no link to Eilong had appeared. Handsome or hideous, the man who had apparently hired Pearl, slain Pearl, stolen her departure pa.s.s and ticket . . . clearly he wasn't an Eilan!

Yet he had set it all up. Why?

To get samples of Eilan s.e.m.e.n and Eilan blood? To what end? Jesti could find no answer and it was enough to make a miner's head ache. Except that he had no time to waste on such. The only course to take (it seemed) involved tracking down the murderer, the handsome man, and wringing some sort of answer from the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Which meant that Jesti was back where he'd started: stranded on Croz, with his neck in a noose and no funds to escape or find answers.

A fine predicament. Yet somehow, incredibly, it was not in him to feel crushed by it. An element of challenge 58.was involved, and he warmed to that. Excitement, not depression, gripped him. He paced on, thinking.

It all came down to a matter of searching out possible roads to take, and choosing the right one. The roads had to be those his adversaries (whoever they might be) would never think of. His course had to be one too mad to consider. Uh huh-so what's the least likely way for me, an Eilan miner, to escape off Croz?

And then, having escaped, get to Jasbir and hunt down his quarry?

It went without saying that he'd need help, and he pushed his clanking brain in that direction. Help. A psychist, for example. A person who knew how others' minds worked, and could second-guess them. And if that psychist had the ear and trust of the Powers That Be on Croz-so much the better. Ah-and even better, if the psychist had a personal debt to collect from its chosen aide. Vengeance, for instance, to exact for indignities inflicted.

(Jesti had stopped, thinking, and was staring at nothing. Thinking.) He began nodding. The more he thought about it, the better he liked it.

Laughing without a sign of mirth, he set off in search of Yahna Golden.

5.

An intelligence test sometimes shows a man how smart he would have been not to have taken it.

-L. J. Peter The (mi)crober named DeyMeox, biochemist/microbiologist extraordinaire, famed throughout the Galaxy, lived and worked in one of Riverview's suburbs, an enclave called Ishkuzri. A high, alabaster-white wall surrounded her establishment. The main entrance was set within a symbol-embellished lancet arch. A giant cupola-canopy both provided shade and collected solar energy.

Gelor approached boldly and punched the sounder both louder and longer than necessary. Attired in broad-shouldered, blousy white waist-length jacket and leg-moulding black pants, he waited.

. Footsteps whispered within. An eye-slot opened. Gelor glimpsed an over-large hooked nose and a dark-brown scowl.

"Yes?"

"I wish to see DeyMeox-crober-daktari."

"She sees no one." The eye-slot started to close.

"Not even if he brings a message from her old a.s.sociate, Parenji?"

The slot-lid stopped. "Parenji?"

"Uh. Parenji-crober of Ghanj." Gelor smiled blandly.

59.60."Perhaps you've heard of their work together on the sensing systems of s.h.i.+ras.h.i.+ jelly-blobs."

The scowl beyond the eye-slot deepened. On the other hand, a touch of uncertainty shaded the voice. "Perhaps . . . well ... all right, I'll take the message."

It was a ploy Gelor had antic.i.p.ated. "I fear that's not quite practical." He hefted a flat portacase half as tall as he was into the eye's view. "You see, there are diagrams, printouts, worksheets."

He heard a small, hacking sound of irritation. The eye-slot closed. The gate itself opened, a half-dozen sems. A hand appeared.

With one hand, Gelor slid the portacase close to the opening and the reaching hand. With the other, he drew the late Quong's slender spring-thing from within his snowy jacket.

The gate opened wider, wide enough for a sour-faced 'Vocker servant to step into view. He was still mumbling testily when Gelor triggered the spring-thing. The tip leaped out to drive into the pit of the man's stomach. Paralyzed and fighting frantically for air, he stumbled back.

Gelor followed rapidly, closing the gate behind him.

The world inside the compound was nothing less than lovely. Fountains bubbled and glittered prismatically. A backdrop of Panis.h.i.+ greenery set off bright cl.u.s.ters of Franjese flowers. The sheer beauty of the (austere?) scientist's layout left Gelor speechless. It was, he decided, just the kind of place he would have, once he'd carried his coup through to fruition.

Meanwhile the servant was recovering his breath, after a fas.h.i.+on.

Gelor gestured with the "reloaded" spring-thing. "Your employer, fobber. DeyMeox. Now!"

The man from Havoc choked, retched briefly. Choking and stumbling, he led Gelor back along a walkway, then through a portico to a metal door all covered with arabesquerie. A second door lay just beyond. The servant closed the outer after them and pressed a b.u.t.ton set into the "airlock" wall. When the inner door opened, Gelor pushed the man through and followed closely.

61.The room they entered was of the stuff of nightmares.

One whole wall was taken up by recordack units of the type used to store raw scientific data. Another featured cabinex isolator cages in blue and green, all occupied by creatures he couldn't even recognize. Nameless equipment stood everywhere, uncoordinated-fantastic devices whose function Gelor didn't bother trying to guess.

In the midst of it all a woman sat at a workbench, nearly shapeless in protective ''clothing.''

She hunched over a machine that clicked and spun lens-fields while she punched touch-b.u.t.tons unnecessarily hard. In addition to the standard crober s.h.i.+elding, she wore a micromask.

Gelor put on his most flas.h.i.+ng-das.h.i.+ng smile. "Forgive me, Microber. It is, I know, unforgivable for me to intrude on your work."

The woman looked up, clearly startled. "Who are you! What are you doing in my quarters?" She sounded more baffled than angry or even questioning.

"Sahibah, forgive me!" the cringing servant blurted before Gelor could reply. "He forced me, Sahibah. He hit me! He-"

"Silence, bug!" Gelor bowed politely to the woman. "My name is of no importance. I am here to propose a project. I believe you will agree that it holds advantages for both of us, Microber."

For a moment she leaned back, studying him. Her hand came up in an abrupt gesture. It signaled dismissal.

"I have more projects than I can complete in a lifetime. Go."

Gelor's smile didn't falter. "No."

"What-?!" The micromask jerked up. "What did you say?"

"I said no," Gelor told her equably. "The project I have in mind-"

"How dare you!"

She was on her feet now, tearing off the micromask to show blazing eyes. Hardly a beauty, but to Gelor's surprise her appearance was neither old nor unattractive. Solid and stocky, she was distinguished chiefly by shadow- 62.colored hair cropped short enough to show her ears and nape and high, broad forehead, and an obvious clear-eyed intelligence of expression. He knew the apparent-age thirty-six or so did not match her birthdate.

"How dare I?" Gelor chuckled. He moved forward as he spoke. "This is how."

He slapped her across the face.

As if the blow were a signal, the servant released a choked cry and leaped at the intruder-who let him have the spring-thing's weighted end in the groin. The 'Vocker collapsed in a groaning heap.

Again, DeyMeox's (green-dyed) eyes distended, as if she couldn't quite believe that all this was happening. Her hand rose to her cheek. After a glance down at her servant, she stared wordlessly at Gelor.

"You may sit down," he said politely.

Still wordless, Crober DeyMeox sank back into her seat.

Gelor said, "My proposal is to our mutual advantage. It rests on work you've already done: your isolating a previously unidentified mycotoxin. A strain that the Annals edutapes say you prefer to Teratogenesis Six.''

His captive continued speechless. Her hand remained pressed to her darker cheek, almost as if she had forgotten its presence there.

"Teratogenesis," Gelor repeated. ''A fascinating word. It refers of course to the bringing into being of gross deformities and malformations of a given life-form- monsters." He studied DeyMeox. "Is the edutape correct, DeyMeox-crober? Is it true that you've isolated a strain of fungus that creates such?"

A spark of interest joined the indignation lighting DeyMeox's olivine eyes. "You have the impudence, the audacity to question my researches? Of course it's true!"

Her hand dropped from her cheek as she leaned forward. Ruled by pride and interest, he thought-and impatience. He made his face bland, interested.

"Teratogens have been known to science for generations-centuries!" she said. "Most often they were chemicals. An ancient stuff called Thaladomide, for example. Physicians thought it a harmless tranq, a sleeping 63.potion. They gave it to women-pregnant women. Only later was it discovered that it attacked the genes. Infants by the hundreds were born deformed or crippled. Without arms, without legs, with mere flippers."

"And," Gelor prodded, "your work?"

DeyMeox spread her hands. "Mycosis, fungal infestations, can have the same effect. The strain I call Teratogene-sis Six is the most deadly of all. It induces deformity, crippling in virtually every known species." She broke off, her eyes narrowing. Large green eyes searched his face. "Such an obscure subject . . . why does it interest you so strongly? You're not a crober, that's obvious. Yet you come alive as I speak. Your face lights up and your eyes are positively glowing. What is it that sparks you, aside from bullying?"

An uneasiness touched Gelor to induce a vague inner tightening. Not truly fear; certainly not panic ... It was a feeling that reminded him too sharply of the torment that had churned in him so violently before his slaying of Pearl and Quong and the Res.h.i.+ (probably Amera) had given him self-confidence . . . control. He swallowed.

This woman. So bright, so sharp-some said she cla.s.sed as genius. Could hers be a brain too much for his to cope with? Might her insight, her discernment prove his downfall?

Almost, he shuddered at the thought. Perhaps he did inside. This was the kind of concept he dared not let himself consider.

He spoke harshly: "What moves me need not concern you. It is enough that I am here and in command. You will do as I direct. That is all of it."

"But how can I?" Again she spread her hands and now, ever so slightly, she was smiling. "If I don't know what it is you seek, I am helpless to a.s.sist you with any real competence."

It was true. Horrifyingly, devastatingly true. In his heart Gelor knew. It infuriated him. He had a sudden, surging impulse to strike out, to slay this woman-to wipe that taunting microsmile from her face forever.

And he dared not. That would mean the end of him as well as her. Without the wealth and power that success 64.would bring, he'd well nigh automatically fall prey to the ravening human wolves CongCorp would loose on him.

"Right, then," he said tightly between clenched teeth. "I have with me pods of a certain life-form's blood and s.e.m.e.n. I wish you to test them to see how well that species will serve as host for the mycotoxin you've isolated."

His prisoner lifted a charcoal-gray eyebrow. "In other words, you wish me to ascertain whether my mycotoxin will attack pregnant females of that species in such a manner as to turn the young they bear into monsters?"

He nodded. "Pos. Firm."

"You rouse my curiosity." Face serene, she extended a hand. "Let me have the containers. I'll check them."

Gelor fumbled them from his jacket. Despite all efforts at self-control, he was breathing hard. This moment . . . this moment could make him. Or break me. It was almost more than he could do to face it.

DeyMeox-crober took the pods and looked into his eyes. "This will take time. Zhing," she said to her fallen, stirring servant "Do nothing. No alarms."

It took time. Silent and efficient, DeyMeox moved from one nameless testing unit to another. Centrifuges whirled. Lens-fields pulsed. Data danced across several screens, in colors. Light-rays danced rainbow-like across xaniho-phyllic screens. Spore colonies came into being and faded in growth-acceleration flats and on 'puter simulations.

Zhing did nothing-save shoot dark glances at the handsome man who had burst in and hurt him. That individual also did nothing. He waited.

At last DeyMeox stripped off her micromask. As earlier, she studied Gelor with large, wide-open and almost unbearably intelligent eyes.

"The blood and s.e.m.e.n, as I am sure you know," she said coolly, "are from a human being. A native of Eilong. They const.i.tute what I should judge to be a well-nigh ideal medium for the ravages of T-Six. Perhaps eighty-five per cent of the pregnant women of Eilong infected by it would produce grossly malformed offspring."

65.Excitement raced through Gelor and he tried to mask it. He didn't dare trust himself to speak.

"Your next question," the crober said, "will be: Can I produce the mycotoxin Teratogenesis Six in quant.i.ty sufficient to contaminate an entire planet?"

Gelor rocked with shock. A moment before he had been afraid to speak lest his voice shake. Now he could not have spoken had he tried. s.h.i.+va! What a woman!

"It is, of course, a dreadful thought for anyone to harbor," DeyMeox said equably. "A being even remotely human-normal-could not help but deem it more monstrous than even the monsters my mycotoxin would create. The only issue is why? Why would you wreak such horror on any planet, let alone one so ... innocuous as Eilong?"

Again, Gelor said nothing. Just not looking away from her eyes and a brain he could practically hear purring was an effort.