The Sum of Her Parts (17 page)

Of course their incursion might have nothing to do with diamonds or mining. Since he had been deprived of anyone to interrogate, their true motive remained open to speculation. That was now a matter for SICK intelligence, not him. He made sure that his personnel recorded everything as they wandered among the sandy killing field. Otherwise no one back at the facility was going to believe them. Murderous meerkats—oh, certainly! That Het Kruger—what a joker!

But it was no joke. There was nothing funny about a septet of
corpses. He found himself wondering if the encounter that had taken place here represented an isolated incident or was a precursor to a brand-new security issue. He would have to find out what poisons were effective on meerkats. Or had these heavily maniped specimens been magified to the point where they knew enough to recognize and ignore baited traps?

All matters for speculation, he told himself as he turned back toward his waiting floater. The ethics of animal magifying, the how much and what kind, had long been hotly debated. Its practical aspects were less frequently addressed. Here was a perfect example of how such biological manipulation could get out of hand. In the old days security at the facility had just been a matter of dealing with invasive species. Now people were developing their own invasive species in labs and illegal manip centers.

It had been stated with confidence by the appropriate international regulatory bodies that the Ciudad Simiano in Central America represented the end of such thoughtless research and experimentation. His expression twisted. He would have liked to have been able to show some of those self-satisfied, overconfident politicians around this particular patch of the Namib.

Meerkats were smart, social, and adaptable. So were rats, who were even more adaptable and far more procreative. The weapons on their broken little bodies proved that the meerkats who had done battle with the intruders had been given at least a minimal intelligence boost. What if some deranged biosurge or gengineer somewhere decided to do the same for a few rats?

He shook his head at the shortsightedness of it all. You couldn’t stop the magifying of animals. Too many people wanted their “special” pets. There was far too much money to be made in the underground market, selling yodeling lemurs and cooing cats and dogs who could speak a few programmed phrases. Greed would always outweigh danger. The Sperrgebeit was proof enough of that.

Aware that Maranon was shadowing him, he turned abruptly.

“Are you following me, mister?”

“I’m watching your back, Mr. Kruger, sir.” The other man spoke with deference as he shifted his rifle from one arm to the other.

A small smile played across the security chief’s face. “No, there’s more to it than that. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

If Kruger expected a sputtering denial it was not forthcoming. “Yes sir, I’m afraid.” The Natural’s eyes darted nervously over the surrounding silent terrain. “These meerkat creatures aren’t normal. They live in burrows, in tunnels. They could be anywhere, even right under our feet right now, waiting for the right moment. Waiting for us to relax so they can pop up and fill our legs with toxic darts.”

“Well then, you can stop worrying, Maranon. I’ve seen enough here and we’ve recorded enough to prove to the others back at the facility that we’re not liars. Analyzing and trying to make sense of what happened here is a job for the bio-boys, not us. We’re pulling out.” He clapped the other man on the shoulder. “Go on, get back to the transport. And for pity’s sake, quit worrying about cousin mongoose. I haven’t seen anything alive bigger than a bug since we got here. However they did this, or why, any killer weasels are long gone.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Maranon smiled and nodded, grateful that his boss had chosen not to demean him.

After he gave the general order for departure Kruger waited while the rest of his team pulled back to the two waiting floaters. Alone once more on the desert floor he took the time to stroll slowly around the perimeter of the confrontation. Aware that the members of his team would be watching and monitoring his progress from inside the two floaters, he knew it would bolster their spirits to see their commanding officer making a final inspection of
the impossible battlefield without any immediate backup. It should settle a few nerves. That was his job, too.

Satisfied that there was nothing more to be learned unless he left a detachment behind to conduct a more in-depth study, he broke into a jog toward his floater. An explanation for what had taken place here would be forthcoming in its own good time. He looked forward to it. Unlike many of his subordinates he did not make jokes about the desert. He had a healthy respect for its vast empty spaces and the many secrets it doubtless still contained. Much as he would have liked to know exactly what had transpired in this place he felt no need to rush to judgment. Sometimes it was best not to pursue things in the Namib too closely or in too much haste lest a camouflaged sand cobra jump up to bite you in the ass.

Climbing back into the transport he gave the order for both crafts to lift off and return to Nerens. Settling himself in one of the seats in the back he helped himself to a cold Tusker and reflected on the morning’s work. Though he was returning with a mystery in tow, at least he could assure his superiors of one thing.

The trespassers had been dealt with down to the last Meld and no other intruders were left alive in this sector.

Despite her unease, despite her fears, and despite the steady, unrelenting howl of the storm and the particles of wind-borne grit that assaulted her face like a thousand tiny biting gnats, Ingrid Seastrom had fallen asleep. Exhaustion is ever the tortoise to the hare’s pain.

She woke up choking on sand. Spitting and wiping at her mouth, she sat up and found herself staring at a sky of such untrammeled Prussian blue that it seemed a glaze on the ceramic bowl of heaven. In that perfect-toned firmament nothing moved: not a breath of cloud, not a stirring of wind, not a whisper of wings. Speaking of Whispr …

While she brushed sand off her legs she looked to her right, then to her left. Twisting her tired body, she looked behind her. No Whispr. Only eastern mountains and western plains, rills and runs and rips in the rocks that were millions of years old. Her heart started to beat faster—and in the complete and total silence she felt she could hear it.

What if he had decided he would be better off on his own and
had taken off while she’d slept? What if he had finally surrendered to his nagging paranoia and decided to return to Orangemund and thence home? He had the only functioning communicator. On the communicator was the only copy of Morgan Ouspel’s instructions on how to get to Nerens—and how to return safely to the Orange River. If he had abandoned her then she would have time enough only to contemplate her own imminent demise.

But he wouldn’t do that to her—would he? Not to the doctor who had removed the police traktacs from his back. Not to his partner in exploration. Not to the woman he childishly and transparently wanted to possess. Not to Ingrid Seastrom, M.D., beloved of all her patients and …

There was no point in shouting her frustration because there was no one to hear her.

Standing up allowed her to take in a good deal more of the barren landscape. Squinting against the harsh sun she located more mountains, more scattered brush, more dunes and cracked gravel pans. But no Whispr. No companion. No other motile living thing.

Which way to go? Which way to run? Orangemund lay far to the south now. She
might
be able to remember the way back, might be able to retrace her steps. But shorn of specific directions she was unlikely to make it. Nerens was nearer now and she knew its general direction, but without Ouspel’s map and details she might stumble right past it. Even if she found the place she would not exactly be assured of a hearty welcome. To the east lay the Kalahari, to the west the undrinkable Atlantic. She had no choice. Grim and resigned, she started off in a northwesterly direction.

A dozen steps and as many silent curses later she tripped over her companion.

Except for his sideways-turned face he lay completely buried in the sand. His pack lay nearby. Whether he had dropped it, set it
down, or flung it away in a fit of madness she had no way of knowing. It lay open to the elements, its precious contents scattered by the wind.

Carefully she brushed sand from his cheek and neck. Then she smacked him on the upturned side of his face hard enough to make her palm sting. He sat up so fast that she had to backpedal quickly to avoid being knocked down.

“Wha … huh?”

“I’ll give you ‘wah-huh’ you pathetic, insensitive bastard! I thought you’d run out on me! I thought you’d left me here to die in the desert while you bone-scooted your miserable scrawny ass back to Orangemund! I thought …!”

“Aw, you missed me,” he cooed, interrupting her tirade.

She was ready to continue, stopped, stared at him a moment, then looked away. “I felt so alone I would’ve missed a pustulant iguana. I was
scared
.”

“Okay, okay. I’m here. Wish I were elsewhere, maybe, but still here. You can relax now knowing that you won’t die alone and that you’ll have company when you do so. Sorry if that doesn’t make
me
feel any better.”

Her heart rate slowing, she looked down at him. “What happened? Why’d you move?” Her expression contorted. “Usually when we turn in for the night you can’t get close enough and I have to kick you away.”

Busy shedding the rest of the diminutive dune that had accumulated atop his body, he didn’t meet her eyes. “I thought maybe if I sat upwind of you with my back to the storm I could keep some of the blowing sand off your body, help you to get some sleep. I think that I did. Then I fell asleep. And fell over.”

“I don’t remember passing out, either,” she muttered. “Fatigue will do that to a person.”

“Unfortunately,” he added as he turned and pointed, “I made
the mistake of putting my pack next to me. I should’ve put it under me, or at least remembered to secure all the straps and seals. I didn’t think the wind would be strong enough to move it, much less pick it up and dump it somewhere else.”

Together they walked over to where his pack had stopped. Some of the food was missing. The wind had probably carried it halfway to the Makgadikgadi by now, she thought regretfully. Fortunately all of the special supplements required to keep Whispr’s melded digestive system functioning properly remained. Between the two of them they had enough packaged nutrients to keep going for at least another few days. His waterpak was still in working order. And though the force of the wind had sucked it outside the backpack, they found his first-aid kit lying nearby, intact and still sealed against the weather.

Their relief at recovering so much food and drink turned to despair when they finally located his communicator. Wind-driven grit had penetrated the protective housing. No matter what command he tried to enter and irrespective of the contacts he touched, the small screen remained blank and the integrated tridee projector would not light. Nor did the battered device respond to verbal command.

“Can you fix it?” She stared hopefully at the compact glassine rectangle.

His laugh was as bitter and sardonic as any she had heard issue from his willowy throat. “I suppose I should be flattered that you think enough of me to even ask that question, doc. Much as I’d like to say yes, you got me wrong. I just steal these things.” He brandished it at her. “I don’t fix ’em.” A wave took in the distant mountains. “It’s no problem, though. We’ll just amble over to the nearest shop and buy a replacement.”

“That’s what sustains me through all this,” she growled back at him. “Your mordant wit.”

He started to bark a rejoinder, then unexpectedly broke into one of his irritatingly ingratiating grins. “Being angry’s healthier than being scared. Go ahead and bitch at me all you want. I can take it. I’m used to being a punching bag.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Why can’t you just stick to one psychological state—sarcastic or pitiable? I never know which way to jump.”

He gestured anew. She was unconscionably gratified to see that his arm was pointed in the same direction she had been preparing to go when she’d thought he had run out on her.

“Might as well jump that way. Without a map, directions, or GPS we don’t have much choice. Or we have a wealth of choices. Depends on how you want to look at it.” His eyes met hers. “Now getting to Nerens is about more than finding out what’s on the thread. Now it’s about finding food and water.” His eyes widened. “You still
have
the thread, don’t you?”

She started. In all the confusion and confliction she hadn’t … Reaching inside her shirt she felt for the small storage compartment that had been sewn into the inside of the left cup of her brassiere. After a moment’s searching, the tips of her fingers closed around an unyielding cylinder. Finding the storage capsule’s seal intact she let out a sigh of relief.

“Still here.”

He exhaled with relief. “For a moment there all I could think of was having to dig through a few dozen square meters of sand with my bare hands in search of something smaller than a finger joint.” He gestured at the debris-strewn ground. “Let’s see if there’s anything else we can salvage.” His grin returned, crooked as ever. “At least if we get hit with another sandstorm we won’t have to worry about losing all our supplies. Because you already surrendered some to the flood, and me to the storm. Heck of a way to lighten a pack.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.” She made herself smile back at him. “You can’t lose what you’ve already lost.”

They searched the immediate surroundings for nearly half an hour without finding anything. The sand had taken everything except his first-aid kit. He was glad to still have it. The sand had nearly taken her companion.

She was glad to still have him.

H
IKING THROUGH HEAVILY ERODED
hills instead of across a flat plain offered more opportunities to keep under cover and away from the prying eyes of any company searcher drones. It also offered shade from a sun burning through a cloudless sky. But it also made for slower going. Ironically, in a world awash in helpful electronics they now found themselves navigating by the light in the sky.