Darrell Bain Read online

  He looked backward at me and his face was twisted into a cruel mask. Then I was on the ground and blood was coming from a hole in my side. Shit! He was doing it again. I fired at him and missed.

  I was on the ground and blood was coming from a hole in my side.

  Shots rang out. I looked up in time to see Ishmael exchange fire with someone down the trail, probably a guard, then he turned and ran back toward me. I tried to lift my little automatic but it was too heavy. I didn't have the strength to bring it to bear on him.

  "Goddamn bitch!” he cursed and aimed his pistol at my head and pulled the trigger. It clicked on empty. He cursed again and ducked as a bullet sang by and impacted on a tree. He changed magazines with a dexterity I could only admire while I waited for death. I tried one more time to lift my gun. It rose slowly.

  He grinned then his arm fell to his waist as a shot rang out. He stared stupidly down at the hole in his chest. I couldn't lift my arm but I had just enough strength to flex my wrist upward and fire one more time. It wasn't enough to kill him, not with his perceptive sense helping him.

  He lifted his gaze from his chest. Then his head disappeared and the rest of his body slumped to the ground with blood pumping from his neck. A disintegrator! The Crispies had chosen sides.

  That was my last coherent thought for a long while.

  * * * *

  We learned later that he had been snooping back at the Enclave and found out where the Crispies were hiding. He went there and misled the two Crispies, using his perceptive sense to prevent them from knowing how many lies he told. He wanted to get them to change into human form and the three of them gradually accumulate enough money and power to run the world and then build another spaceship. Or something along those lines. I never learned exactly what. Maybe by that time he was so far gone he didn't know himself. I doubt seriously just the three of them could have succeeded anyway.

  I guess it's a good thing Sira had changed my body so much. My wounds were much worse than I thought. I would probably have died on the mountain without the quick healing talents Sira had given my body as well as help from the two Crispies there. As it was, I was gently tranquilized by the Crispies so I wouldn't feel any pain while I was trundled down the mountain to where our guards were waiting.

  Except half of them were dead. Before entering the hideout, Ishmael had killed them by altering each of their short-term memories in turn, then cutting their throats, so silently and quickly neither the other guards nor the two Crispies inside the mountain had noticed. That was how he'd been able to get past them and confront us. If he'd bothered to kill all of them he might have gotten away but the three he bypassed held him up just long enough when he tried to run away that the Crispies had time to decide. The son of a bitch deserved to die. If he had lived and it had been up to me I'd probably have executed him myself.

  General Shelton hadn't been hurt that much. He was wearing armor and only had the breath knocked out of him. I guess Ishmael hadn't bothered to use his perceptive sense to notice it. Or maybe he'd been using it to confuse the other two Crispies and keep them out of it.

  When Shelton recovered from the impact that had knocked him down he was able to talk again. He told the Crispies that Ishmael's behavior was partly our fault. I know it must have taken a hell of a lot of restraint for him to say that after seeing the bodies of the soldiers. I think General Shelton's last act, blaming Ishmael's behavior on us for not being more perceptive, no pun intended, was inducement for them to see how different we were from Ishmael and to come with us, bringing only their survival gear from their lifeboat with them.

  "I got my ass chewed out good by both the President and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs for leading that mission myself instead of sending a subordinate along,” General Shelton said later. He was seated by my hospital bed in the Enclave infirmary, smiling at me like an insurance agent seeing a patient with a big policy on her life come back from the dead. In short, he was happy.

  "Results count, don't they?"

  "Fortunately. The Crispies were impressed that I'd come along rather than send someone of lower rank."

  "Then they did come here?” I was just getting caught up on all the news. I'd been unconscious for the last two days while my body healed. My attending physician was a nice man named Dr. William Harrison Honeywell that I'd only just consciously met about an hour before. I learned later he was an Army major, and he worked right alongside the Crispies to get me patched back together, the one stitching, the others ... well, I guess “sealing” is as good a term to use as any. Good man, that, because fuzzy, lime-green BEMs evidently don't faze him a bit. I got to know him ... er, intimately, the way a doctor/patient relationship goes, in the ensuing days.

  "Oh, yes!” Shelton nodded emphatically. “They're here, and happy, by all indications. And they're very impressed with the way Sira has turned out despite her initial difficulties. They were wondering if you could be their mentor when they decide to change."

  "No! I want to go on the ship!” I struggled to sit up and noticed for the first time my wrists were restrained. “Get those damn things off me!” I said, jerking with my arms.

  He laughed and began unbuckling the padded straps. “They wanted to make sure you didn't move around on ‘em while they worked on you. I guess the nurses forgot to take them off."

  "Did you hear me, sir? I don't want to stay here. I want to go on the ship."

  "That's what I told the Crispies you'd say. However, they will accept your recommendation for mentors if you won't stay for them."

  "Sorry, sir. I've dreamed all my life about going into space. I'm scared if I put it off something will happen and I won't get to go at all."

  He nodded sadly. “Yeah. That's how I'm feeling. I'm not going to be allowed to go exploring for a while yet, damn it. Anyway, we need you on the ship because of your knowledge and I have to stay here."

  "Penalty for doing a good job running this place, sir."

  "Carol runs it as much as I do these days. Be that as it may, I just wanted to stop by and see you for a few minutes and thank you for a job well done. You're going to receive a medal, by the way, but of course it can't be presented publicly."

  "No biggie. I don't deserve one anyway."

  We talked for a few more minutes before he said he had to get back to work. I was left lying in bed, going back over the mission and wondering if there was anything I could have done to make it come out better. The next day when the medal was pinned to the breast of my gown, General Shelton saw my expression and took the time to have some encouraging words with me.

  "Mai, every soldier who's ever been in combat and lost friends always wonders the same thing as you. Could I have saved them? Did I do something wrong that led to their deaths? And it's even worse for commanders, like me. I'm the one who has those boys’ deaths to live with. I had my mind on the new Crispies and never considered Ishmael might have been involved, even after seeing that room set up for humans. I should have known then. And not to scare you, but you're going exploring and something like that will happen again. God knows what we'll meet out there. The Crispies have told us some of the things they ran into but with their perceptive senses they were able to avoid situations that would get us killed."

  "I guess so. Thank you, sir."

  "No thanks needed. You did fine. I wish I was going with you.” His eyes looked off into the distance for a moment and then he was gone.

  * * * *

  Sira was there to help when I took my first shaky steps a couple of days later. I wouldn't have been walking near that soon with a normal body. The high-powered bullet had shattered my hip and the other had torn me up inside, but other than some residual soreness I felt okay. Not a hundred percent but ready to leave the infirmary and get back to work. The Galactic was going to be leaving before long and there was still a lot to do.

  "It would be great if you could come along, too, Sira,” I told her.

  "I'd love to, but you know as well as I do it's not poss
ible now. What I have to count on is one of our ships finding the home planet. In that case, not only could I go home if I liked but a lot of Crispies could come here!"

  "Would you go home if you could?"

  "Maybe for a while, to help others who wanted to convert to human form, but I think I could do more useful work right here on Earth. The planet is not in good condition, as I'm sure you're aware, neither environmentally nor politically."

  "Once space travel becomes routine I think some problems will be solved,” I said defensively. “That's if we find good planets to colonize. Even if we don't, we can begin moving heavy industry off Earth."

  "Oh there's bound to be lots of them, Cherry! We found one Earth-like planet just on our voyage before it went wrong and previous voyages had found several as well."

  "Did you colonize any of them?” The answer popped into my mind before she said anything. The Crispies in their original form weren't that interested in colonizing and only minimally interested in exploring. They were very nearly a static culture insofar as the urge to go other places went. They were neither territorial nor warlike, which when you think about it are two big reasons for exploration. Just think back to when the Americas were discovered if you want some historical perspective.

  Sira saw from my expression she needn't bother answering. She did have something to say, though; she hadn't come by just to visit.

  "Mai, I think one of my compatriots is ready to convert to human but she's a little scared after what happened to Lau and Ishmael. Have you come up with any acceptable mentors yet?"

  I had been thinking about it and I knew she was really serious by her use of my real name rather than calling me Cherry. “Have you met Robert and Martha E. Lee?” I asked.

  "I've met them, but don't really know them well."

  "Jeri thought highly of them. They were trapped in the place where Ishmael was being held captive and risked their lives to help him stay alive. I've gotten to know them pretty well. They're good people. I think if you and I took a week or so to work with them and show them what they have to do and what they have to look for during the conversion—the danger points so to speak—then I could leave them in your hands. With you helping them and doing only one conversion at a time the three of you would make great mentors."

  "Good. I was scared the whole load would fall on me, and I don't think I've cured all the ills that befell me from too fast a conversion yet."

  "You're doing great, Sira. I can tell the difference, for sure. You don't look or act nearly as unsure of yourself any more, nor as unhappy, either.” I raised my brows.

  She smiled sweetly. “You know me too well. John is a really nice guy. No problems there. But you're right. I am doing fine and I feel much better as a person now. When do you leave, by the way?"

  "Soon is all I know. It can't be much longer, though. Have you noticed how many people went missing while I was off playing soldier? They were all slated for the ship so I suspect they're already living in it, getting the systems they have to work with checked out and the ship stocked and so on."

  "Yes, I've noticed. Or rather now that you mention it, I have. I'll miss you."

  "I'll miss you, too, Sira. And thank you again for what you did for me. It almost certainly saved my life during that encounter with Ishmael."

  "Oh, poo! The Crispies would have saved you."

  "Maybe. But remember, they were still making up their minds. Oh well, that's over and done with. How's your work coming now that you switched jobs?"

  "Wonderful. In another six months I think I can call myself a geneticist and can really begin working on methods of helping humans enhance their bodies without our help. That's one of the things I believe accounts for a lot of strife in human affairs. The short lifespans and susceptibility to illness."

  "I agree.” In fact, I couldn't agree more. I just hoped the public wouldn't find out about the few of us who had already been changed. The first thing we'd hear would be favoritism, cronyism and all the other epithets they could throw at us. And that would just be the preliminaries. After that they'd get physical.

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  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I began getting antsy after I was told to pack my bags. Each person was allowed 30 kilos of personal luggage. That sounded like a lot, but suppose the ship was gone for two years? It's not much, then. In fact, it's hardly anything at all. I tried to pick for the long term. Fortunately, we weren't like the old pioneers in one aspect. By storing them digitally we could take as many books and movies as we liked and we'd have entertainment for as long as the ship supplied power and the computers worked. So far as that goes, readers that had a solar power adjunct would last practically forever.

  Clothes were something else. Exploratory gear was furnished, which meant anything we'd wear on another planet outside the confines of the ship, and that meant two sets of chameleon fatigues each. We were told we could also wear them in the ship if we liked but frankly, they don't do much for a girl's figure, so I doubted I would. Other than cammies we had to pick and choose. I selected a couple of dressy outfits and the rest in lightweight jeans and pullovers, blouses, slacks, undies and a couple of jackets. And good shoes, a couple of pair. One pair of slippers for dress. My personal weapons. The ship's arsenal would furnish those for us if necessary, but if we had a preference we had to bring our own, complete with ammo. I packed my big automatic with plenty of cartridges and very reluctantly put my small pistol into storage. Then I thought about it again. I removed a few trinkets I could get along without and replaced them with the .40 caliber pistol, two clips and a box of ammo. Twice that little gun had saved my life, whereas I'd never shot the .45 except at a firing range.

  I didn't plan on bringing any food for myself like some people did, so that left room for a few cosmetics. Very few. I had no idea if there'd even be an eligible man on board. I certainly hadn't had any luck where I was, but a little planning to go along with some wishful thinking wouldn't hurt a thing. When I was finished I still had a bit of mass allowance, and filled it with a liter of Jack Daniels Black Label. Indulgent? Yeah, but I couldn't think of anything else to take.

  The two new Crispies were a godsend. General Shelton very reluctantly granted the wish of one of them to go along and at that, he had to get permission all the way up to the President, I think. We really did need one, though. Suppose we never found the first ship but did find the Cresperian home planet? We'd have to have an interpreter and go-between. And guess what? It wanted to convert to a human male and wanted me as his mentor! It gave me goose bumps, remembering how Ishmael came out and having heard the stories about Lau, the Crispy who'd been in China and converted to a human male, then went completely around the bend.

  Well, at least I knew now what had gone wrong but we still hadn't had a successful transition from Crispy to human male, not unless the U.K. or India or the one still in the hands of the Islamic Confederation had managed it.

  I talked with the Crispy—he was already a male, not that it made much difference with them—and we decided to wait until we were on the way and start the conversion then. That decision had to be bucked way on up the chain of command. Suppose something went wrong during his conversion? We'd be one hell of a long way from help! Regardless, we really needed a Crispy aboard and my research showed plainly that the transition from Crispy to human needed to go slow, so that did it.

  Gordon seemed pretty likable. That was the name he picked for himself. Gordon Stuart. I asked him why that particular name and it turned out that he'd run across an old song by Gordon Lightfoot, a folk singer I'd never heard of. Whatever rings his bell, I decided. Then I gave it another thought. The name did seem to fit him somehow, even though he still was in his original Crispy form. I think it was his voice. It was a nice resonant baritone. Even coming from something you'd run from if you weren't aware of what it was, speaking to him almost made you forget about it.

  * * * *

  About that time I got called in to the i
nfirmary. Seems it was time for my flight physical. A mixed blessing, that. I got to be poked and prodded in every conceivable way, and every orifice examined; but then I got to go into space if it all checked out. And I knew it would. Sira had already verified that.

  I undressed and put on the lovely disposable paper gown just before the nurse and Dr. Honeywell came in. “Well, hi there,” he said in a friendly tone. “How are you doing?"

  "Pretty well, all things considering,” I decided. “No after-effects."

  "That's good.” Honeywell smiled. “Gotta love the Crispies. They're a real godsend.” He grew solemn. “I don't think I could have saved you without them, or a miracle, otherwise."

  I winced. “That bad, huh?"

  "Yep.” He and the nurse eased me back onto the exam table and commenced poking and prodding.

  "I hope you don't have too many more of these exams to do,” I noted, shooting for small talk as areas that I normally didn't expose to strangers got poked and prodded. “It's getting kind of close, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but you're my last physical,” Honeywell observed, jotting notes on his Blackberry. “We saved you for last because of your injuries. We wanted to give you plenty of time to heal first. The general made it clear that flunking your pre-flight physical wasn't an option, or you might turn the infirmary into Pamplona during the running of the bulls.” He grinned as he leaned back over me to use his stethoscope, considerately warming it in the palms of his hands first.

  "Thank you,” I said gratefully, both to the thoughtfulness of the scheduling and to the comfort of a warm stethoscope. Just then something swung out of the neckline of his scrubs, and he tucked it back inside, but not before I'd had a chance to see that it was a gold cross pendant. That caught me by surprise.

  "Pretty necklace,” I said. It was, but okay, I admit it, I was fishing. It wasn't too often that I saw people in his profession, or at his level, displaying a symbol of religious belief. He was, after all, a highly experienced surgeon and internist, having seen the insides of more MASH units than the television show. That might be an exaggeration, but not by much, from what the general had told me.