Bloodhype (2 page)

“You plan to transport the thing, then?”

“If we can induce it to assume manageable proportions, yes. From hindsight-clever Paayton’s description of the station we have at this Repler place, we should have facilities which can at least be expanded to provide a place where this thing can be properly handled and analyzed.”

“Won’t that be rather risky?” put in Paayton. “Attempting to work in secret right under the sensors of the humans and thranx?”

“Quite likely,” replied Carmot. “However, until we know a great deal more about it, I do not wish this thing trans-shipped to a nesting planet. It is an unknown quantity of awesome possibilities.”

“Another feeling?” said Laccota.

“That as well. I am suspicious of anything that can survive on several thousand
cluvits
of bare rock, on a planet on which nothing else lives, yet clearly could support other life. I’m suspicious of anything organic that’s thinner in places than my claw-tips, yet can take the continuous application of high-intensity beaming. Yes, another feeling.”

“Your imaginings begin to approach those you ascribe to your fifth-grade assistants, Observer. Still, I see no reason to deny any of your requests. I’ll leave that to higher authority.”

“I think that’s very just of you, Exalted Captain. And very wise.”

The Vom had restored facilities sufficient to assess the beings who had happened upon it. The minds were simple, yet far from primitive. In its weakened state the Vom doubted its ability to control even a single one of the species, let alone the shipful. Now was the time to move, oh, so very carefully!

P-a-t-i-e-n-c-e. It had waited half a million years now, give or take a few millennia. It was aware of itself, and that gave it strength.

It could wait a few days more.

Russ Kingsley was in the mood for it.

And when Russ Kingsley was in the mood for it, he usually made out quite well. First off, he was almost classically handsome. He knew he was. It said so on his guarantee from the cosmeticians. They’d done an excellent job. It was one that few folk could afford. Kingsley’s father, who was one of the five richest men on Repler, had given Russ the new face for his eighteenth birthday.

He was satisfied with his present 180 cms., although he wished the surgeons could have added another 10 or so. Still, no need to be greedy. The face was perfectly proportioned—inclined plane of a jaw, no-nonsense nose, sensuous thin lips, red hair with just the right amount of casual wave. He cut an exotic figure in sea-green foxfire fur vest over matching turquoise silks. His appearance was as good as money could buy. As good, he reflected, as any tridee star.

Honed in Repler’s most exclusive gyms, the body was muscular without running to extremes. Though his appetite for gourmet meals kept the physiological techs at constant war with an incipient pot.

A pity they hadn’t been able to do anything with his personality.

At the moment he was lolling in the main debarkation lounge of Replerport, eyeing the recent off-planet arrivals. A ventilator pulled the smoke from the Jimson Kelp in his pipe roofward.

Kingsley was a chap who liked variety. He’d already gone through most of the country beauties in Repler City. Some willingly, when his looks and money served; some unwillingly, where his father’s name served.

The back-country types held little attraction for him. Too much trouble attendant to bouncing from small town to small town. And the food! Ghastly! Besides, the back-woodsmen were too remote to be impressed by the Kingsley name. They were apt to shoot despite thundering threats of retribution.

The passengers off the first ship had been disappointing. Thus far, the second hadn’t provided anything better, with the possible exception of that blonde stew. Well, better than nothing. He felt in his jacket pocket to make sure the slip of paper with the number on it was still there.

A flash of color near the end of the first-class line caught his eye. He straightened, smiling. Well now, this was more like it!

The girl had paused at the gate to talk to the debarkation officer. That’s why he hadn’t spotted her till now. An off-planet citizen, obviously. Even better.

She was dressed in a bright yellow jumpsuit that clung to her like lemon icing. A simple band of some silvery metal on one wrist was the only jewelry. Not that a ring would have made a difference to Kingsley, but he preferred things simple to complex. A dun-colored bag was fabricatched to her right thigh. Jet-black hair was gathered together by a yellow band. It fell in a single thick braid to just above her waist, where it was held in place by another band and knotted. Kingsley pursed his lips disapprovingly. Minoan had gone out months ago.

Eyes deep blue, complexion deep tan, little makeup. The eyes were sharply slanted, cheekbones high, and prominent. At least half chinee or mongolian ancestry, he thought. What he could see of the body was exquisitely proportioned, if not voluptuous. It deviated from the perpendicular in all the appropriate places.

The only thing that made him a little uncomfortable was that she appeared to stand a good five centimeters taller than he. He left the counter and moved to intercept her as she headed for the public transport park.

Subtlety was not Kingsley’s forte. He grinned his best grin, every bicuspid and molar perfect (he had guarantees for that, too), and said, “Hello, stranger!”

The gaze she offered in return was faintly amused, otherwise noncommittal.

“Hello yourself, natives.” The voice was a husky soprano, with just a trace of terran accent.

Better and better! Everyone knew about terran girls, didn’t they?

“Russell Kingsley, but you can call me Russ. Can I give you a lift? My rates are reasonable.”

“Kitten Kai-sung. Sure. Are you passing anywhere near the . . .” she paused, “the Green Island Hostelry?”

“Green Island.” (Not filthy rich, but well-off—not that it mattered much.) “I am now. Got any luggage?”

“It’s being delivered.”

“Well, then. Come along!” He tried to put an arm across her shoulders. She shrugged it off.

Uppity bitch, he thought. He’d change that quickly enough, as soon as he got her back to the Tower.

His hoveraft was a Phaeton Mark IV, the latest. He was just a bit put off when she didn’t acknowledge the gleaming hunk of machinery. Not even a little oooh! or aaah! Let her play it cool, then. He’d change that, too.

As soon as he was sure all doors were secure, he gunned the powerful engine and blasted away from the station, scattering grit and sand over several pedestrians.

The cloud cover was still fairly heavy, the air typically warm and damp. Now and then a light mist would not so much fall as simply appear in the air. Wood was utilized to a great extent on Repler, not only because the planet was blessed with tremendous softwood jungles, but because wood had a natural advantage over many metals. It wouldn’t rust.

“You plan to be with us long?”

“Depends. My time is flexible.”

“Business?”

“Very little. Vacation, mostly.”

“Wise decision. Pleasure before business, I always say.” He made a hard left and swung out of the downtown section, heading towards the harbor.

She didn’t say anything for several minutes, but did take a long look out the back of the plastic bubble cabin. Getting a little worried, luv?

“The Tower’s only an hour off,” he said easily. “We’ve got our own island. Not so extraordinary when you consider that Repler is mostly islands, with very few open oceans; but Wetplace is unusual.”

“Tower? Wetplace? We’re supposed to be going to the Green Island Hostelry.”

“Only theoretically, luv. Take my word for it, you’ll prefer the Tower. It’s got some interesting extras that would startle the management of a common tourist trap like the Green Island. Magnificent view from the top, and the privacy can’t be beat. Can’t even be broken, in fact.” He giggled (that was one thing the cosmeticians hadn’t been able to correct). “Oh,
everyone
who visits the Tower enjoys it!”

“I’m sure,” she said drily.

“Especially some of the interesting devices I’ve had installed in my own quarters. Many of them custom-built, you know.”

“I can imagine.” There was a pause. “You don’t intend to turn around, I take it?” she said finally.

He sniggered. “Not while I’m still vertical, sister!” He kicked over the autopilot and reached out. Not voluptuous, no, but the breast that filled his left hand was more than satisfying. Expecting at least a mild protest, he was surprised (and a bit disappointed) when she continued to allow him to fondle her.

“All right. That little island coming up on our left . . . the one with the climax vegetation.”

“Clever, too,” he grinned. Inwardly he was upset. Sine needles and bugs! Oh well, if she wanted to start that way . . .

“Your wish is my command.” He drew away and swung the hoveraft in a tight arc, slowing.

“Your snappy repartee stuns me,” she said, but he chose to ignore the sarcasm. Plenty of time to wipe that out.

He pulled into a small cove, dodging one floating log, and cut the engine at the proper moment. The Phaeton sank gently into the sand. He released the doors, letting her exit first so he could watch the tight suit tauten over her perfect backside as she stepped out. He followed.

Passing her, he unlocked a side storage compartment in the lee of the ship, started to pull out a large package.

“I think you’ll find that for an inflatable setup this is rather exotic, including as it does a—”

“Don’t bother.”

He paused in his unwrapping, looked up at her. She was grinning right back.

“I hope you’ll understand, but while you’re not bad looking, something about obvious cosmetic jobs puts me off my tick. More importantly, initial psycho-emotional analysis indicates mental discrepancies confluent with your successive immature oeillades.”

“Huh?”

“To summarize, you don’t turn me on, buster. And besides,” she said as she turned to re-enter the cab of the raft, “it’s way past my check-in time.”

“Just a second, pretty bitch. You know what this is?” All pretense at politeness had been dropped. A small object sat in his palm. She glanced down at it.

“It appears to be a Secun vibraknife, battery powered. Very efficient. It will cut many metals, most plastics, but not ceramic alloy and a few other things. Do I pass?” She was facing him now, hands on hips.

“Oh you are funny. But we’ll change that. Since your face is not composed of ceramic alloy, or ‘a few other things,’ this toy is sufficient to make a very unpretty mess of it. I’d rather do this nicely, but if you’d rather be persuaded—”

“Okay, okay. I was only kidding, luv! I’m convinced.” She came towards him, biting her lower lip uncertainly, and put both hands around his neck. Trembling, her lips moved towards his.

Kingsley was puzzled. He couldn’t remember lying down. That blueness above him was unquestionably the sky, so he knew he was lying down. Yes, it was very blue and had fluffy white clouds in it.

The back of his neck hurt.

He sat up and rubbed it. The Phaeton floated a few meters offshore. The tall girl was leaning out of the cabin, staring back at him.

“Sorry, Mr. Kingsley! The tag next to the ignition here lists several private comm numbers. I’ll see that someone comes out to pick you up before it gets too cold!”

Maybe he could make it to the craft before she could swing away. He got to his feet and started a mad dash for the beach. He got four steps before an excruciating twinge at the back of his neck crumpled him to the sand.

“Goddamn you!” he moaned. “What did you do to me?”

“Cooled your ardor!” she yelled back over the dull whine of the idling fans. “Nothing permanent. Ask next time before you reach!” She closed the door and pivoted the ship expertly, flinging small wavelets onto the beach.

He sat staring after her long after the hoveraft had disappeared over the horizon. Curses did equal time with moans.

His sea-green foxfire vest was full of sand.

“Miss Kitten Kai-sung?” The clerk tried hard to keep from goggling at her. She nodded. The gangling adolescent was trying to shift his eyes from the computerized registry to her face without lingering on any of the intervening territory. He was failing miserably. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. Only a few years younger than she. But the way he was staring at her you’d think he’d never
seen . . .!

She sighed. She ought to be used to this by now. The smile she gave him was seductive.

“And you say the room has a
nice
view?”

“Oh yes, ma’m! Best in the hotel! You can see most of the harbor. It’s nice here. You’re away from the noise of the shuttleport and docks.” He hesitated, stared statue-like at the register. “Uh, if there’s anything, uh, you need, Miss Kai-sung . . . ask for Roy. That’s I. Me.” He didn’t have enough room in the tiny clerk’s cubby for an honest swagger, but he tried.

She reached out and touched the tip of his nose with a finger, dropping her voice another octave.

“I
shall
keep that in mind . . . Roy.” She turned to leave.

“Oh, Miss Kai-sung!”

“Call me Kitten, Roy.”

The youth grew ten centimeters. Hate yourself, hussy, half of her thought! Love it, came the other half’s reply!

“There’s someone been waiting up for you in your room. He has diplomatic credentials, so I couldn’t keep him out. Says he’s an old friend. He’s not human.”

“That’s all right. I’m expecting him. His name’s Porsupah, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the boy said in surprise. “You know him, then?”

“I’ve been his mistress for five years. Those Tolians . . .” She rolled her eyes as the door to the lift closed, leaving a fish-eyed clerk below. Somehow she contained her laughter. By eventide 90 percent of the hotel staff would know about the “stranger” in room 36.

Her apartments were at the end of the hallway. She inserted her right thumb into the small recess at the left of the room number. The door registered her with the central computer and it slid back with the slightest hiss from the pneumatic guiderail.