“One of you suited Tamers grab the thing and restrain it. Who’s got the bridge?”
“Lefavre’s coming around,” the medic said.
“Well, get him over there. How much time we have?”
Bates was back in his chair. “Seventeen minutes, fifty seconds. Then you have five minutes to get out. I have to steam and bake and dump the air. And stay away from my crystal. You’ve got it filthy already.”
The loading crew came through a door carrying and pushing a new window and two ladders on rollers. They moved fast and stared straight ahead.
Carol got to the creature and grabbed its tentacle, pinning it under her arm. The alien tried to bite her on the wrist; she pulled its head back by the hair.
One of the Psych Group had the bridge. He approached rather timidly and touched it to the alien’s chest.
“Not much,” he said. “There’s a sound, a word, that it repeats over and over. ‘Liv . . . liver eye.’”
Jacque came over, stumbling, holding the side of his head. “Here, let me try.” A creature had slugged him between the temple and eye; it was already swelling.
He bridged with the creature and instantly recoiled. “Jesus!” His face grew even paler. He hesitated and then made contact again.
“It . . . it’s dying, I can tell that. I’ve never felt, never felt-there’s so much hate here. Contempt. Disgust . . . It sees me as a, as a soft . . . squishy thing, ugly. It would rather kill me than live, I think.
“There is one word. ‘L’vrai.’ Maybe that’s its name. Maybe the name of its race.”
Jacque was silent for a minute. Then he set the bridge on the floor and sat back on his heels. “It’s dead now.” The creature continued to stare but had stopped growling.
“I made a kind of contact with the thing, just before it faded out. Nonverbal.” He closed his eyes. “See if I can get it straight.
“If L’vrai is its name, it’s also the name of the other two. It was checking, seeing whether the others were still alive. It’s telepathic, at least in some limited way.
“I came closest to communicating when I allowed myself to . . . hate it back. When I couldn’t control my revulsion. It understood that.
“There’s more. It’s hard to put into words.”
“That’s all right,” Riley said. “We’ll see what we can get with hypnotics. Either of the other ones alive?”
Jacque was glad they weren’t.
40 – Autobiography 2053 (continued)
(From Peacemaker: The Diaries of Jacque Lefavre, copyright © St. Martin’s TFX 2151:)
24 Jan 2053.
Spent most of today under hypnosis, the Psych group trampling around in my brain, trying to find out what that L’vrai said to me. They didn’t seem too happy when they released me.
They have Carol now. She’ll be home in an hour or so. We can sit and groan at each other. It’s no fun to do it alone. They wouldn’t give me anything stronger than APQ’s-and an admonition not to drink any alcohol for eight hours, unless I wanted my stomach pumped. Couldn’t be any worse than having your mind pumped.
I don’t remember much of what I said to them; I was conscious and could hear myself talking, but the words didn’t register. Guess I’ll have to read the report.
Speaking of reports. Somebody put a clipping from Midnight TFX on the bulletin board outside the ready room; an exposé of the AED. Says there’s no such thing as the Levant-Meyer Translation, men have never been to other planets, the holos and pictures are all faked (and Hollywood does a better job), the reams of official reports are all fiction. The AED is a hoax perpetrated by World Order members to maintain an expanding economy without allowing cash flow to non-member enterprises in proportion to their contributions to the GWP. I suppose Midnight is owned by an Independent.
The article explains everything except this fucking bruise on my face. If those L’vrai were actors I hope they got paid well.
I was lucky, though. The same one who cuffed me killed two scientists by cracking their heads together.