It did not seem to Pat that Pat Five had been all that lucky.
She tried to imagine what it might be like to be a laboratory specimen, with an unwanted new life growing inside her. Then she stopped trying to imagine it. It was more painful than she could bear.
CHAPTER NINE
Hilda Morrisey had a good imagination, too. She needed it in her work, but she also needed to be able to turn it off when it was troublesome. Which Vice Deputy Daisy Fennell evidently could not; the woman, listening with openmouthed horror, had completely lost control of the debriefing. Hilda quelled the uneasy stirrings in her own belly and spoke up. “Let’s get back to business. One at a time, now. Go back to when you woke up in this place with the mirrors all around you. What happened next?”-pointing to the one who called herself Patrice.
Who shook her head. “I wasn’t there. Patsy and I came along later-“
And then there was a whole confusing other story about this “Patsy”-still another copy of Dr. Adcock-and how she’d been electrocuted by some still other kind of alien monster that looked like a hippopotamus but delivered lethal electrical shocks. Only that didn’t happen in the mirrored cell, it happened later on, after they’d all been taken out of the city-or the base, or the encampment or whatever you chose to call it-where they’d first arrived, and then been dumped out in the woods somewhere, because the other guys, the other^ variety of would-be universe-conquerors they called the “Horch,” were fighting against the ones they called the Beloved Leaders-
Well, it went on like that. Hilda couldn’t keep them from interrupting and correcting each other, not even with the help of the recovered Daisy Fennell. The two of them were trying to untangle the question of Horch vs. Beloved Leaders when the deputy director came in. He waved them to go on and listened for a moment, frowning silently. He didn’t stay silent. That lasted only until one of the Pats said, “-so the Horch took over the helmets, you know, the things we could see things in, they showed us the Beloved Leaders destroying planets-“
“Hold it,” the deputy director said. “Beloved what? Who loves them?”
“It’s what the slave races call those scarecrow things,” Daisy Fennell explained. “Remember? In the first transmission from space?”
“Beloved Leaders, my ass! Can’t we just call them aliens?”
Hilda coughed. “There are a whole bunch of different aliens, sir.”
He scowled and thought for a moment. “Scarecrows, then. That’s what they look like, right? So who’s fighting who in this war?”
“Basically it’s those two, the Horch and the, ah, Scarecrows,” Hilda said. “What they want is control of this eschaton thing.”
“Which is what?”
Hilda gamely opened her mouth to try to respond, but one of the Pats saved her. “Remember what you asked us to look up, Mr. Pell? About this man Tipler? He wrote a book, back around 1995. It seems he thought at the end of the universe we’d all be born again and live forever.”
The deputy director was staring at her. “You mean the Scarecrows got hold of the book by this guy Tipler?”
“Oh, no,” one of the other Pats put in. “They thought it up by themselves. It wasn’t until Dopey told us about it that we thought of Tipler.”
“The little turkey told you?” Marcus Pell scratched his chin. “Well,” he said, “maybe we should get it from the horse’s mouth. Let’s get them in here.”
The first people in the room were a pair of armed guards. Not just armed, as everyone was these days- especially if they were in the Police Corps. These tough-looking individuals carried serious rapid-fire carbines. They took up stations beside the door just as the creatures they were guarding against came in.
Hilda smelled them before she saw them, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. One of the big, pale creatures was carrying a selection of bowls and pitchers in various arms. The other was carrying the turkey-creature, Dopey. Who was spooning granulated sugar out of a bowl and complaining about the quality of it between mouthfuls. He was addressing the guards as they herded the golems into one corner of the salon. “Why do you treat the bearers as though they were dangerous animals?” he demanded, hopping down to the floor. “They are entirely obedient; it is their natures. Make them understand, please, Dr. Adcock, Agent Dannerman.” He took one more spoonful of sugar, then handed the bowl to the Doc, dusting his hands on his belly bag. “Also make them understand that this simple sugar is not adequate for my diet. The bearer indicates it will not poison us, but why can we not have the proper food we brought from your Starlab?”
Astonishing Event!
Second Doktor-nauk R. V. Artzybachova Arrives in Kiev.
Hundreds of Ukrainians who mourned the death of the honored scientist of the Republic R. V. Artzybachova gathered outside Hospital No. 14 before dawn to welcome the return of their beloved technologist. The State Information Agency offered no explanation of how Dr. Artzybachova returned to life but stated, “There is no question. This is Dr. Artzybachova.” Although the scientist was too weak to be interviewed, the Agency released a statement from her which said: “I am gratified to return to my beloved Ukraine. I wish to thank the president of the Republic and the leaders of the Democratic Duma, who have unfailingly striven to care for every citizen.”
Vremya, Kiev, Ukraine
The deputy director looked at him with dislike, then turned to the Pats. “Please ask this, ah, person-“
“You may call me Dopey. I do not take offense.”
“-Dopey, then. Ask him about this war that’s going on.”
The tiger-faced little turkey made a sound of protest. “Address me directly, please. Please answer my question about the food as well.”
Hilda repressed a smile. She didn’t mind seeing the damn Bureau bureaucrats embarrassed, and the expression on the face of the deputy director was enough to make a cat laugh-well, not the particular cat (or cat-faced turkey) who was telling him all this. Certainly not the Docs who were simply standing where they were put, holding on to chair backs and swaying slightly in the motion of the plane. And it wasn’t making anyone else laugh.
The deputy director collected himself. “All the artifacts that came from Starlab are under seal in the cargo hold. They can’t be reached until we land, and then they’ll go directly to the Bureau technicians for analysis. Now tell us about this goddam war.”
Dopey flirted his bright-hued tail in irritation, but complied. Hilda listened, doubting every word. Eternal life. Two great races, the Scarecrows and the Horch, each determined to rule it-forever. And willing to kill or enslave every other race in the universe to make sure they were the ones who won out. And not one word of it believable to as hardheaded a woman as Hilda Morrisey … if it hadn’t been for the bizarre creature who was doing the talking
When Dopey ran dry Pell had a question. “So how did this man Tipler get onto it?”
“Yes,” the little alien acknowledged, “it is interesting that even a primitive like yourselves had some suspicion of the eschaton. Most races do not.”
The deputy director sighed. “And you expect us to believe this crap?”
Dopey looked surprised. “Expect? No. I do not care what you believe. However, it is so. We know this, because we have been told so by our Beloved Leaders.”
“Beloved Leaders,” the deputy director began, his tone derisory; but then his expression changed. As he broke off, all the others turned to look at what he was seeing. One of the golems had surprisingly moved from his statue like stance. Startled, the guards turned toward him, weapons at the ready; but all the creature did was to squat suddenly.
There was a noise as of a fountain, and a stain seeped out across the rug around him. Hilda stared in revulsion. The damn thing had pulled a little cuplike thing off its surprisingly tiny genitals, and now it was urinating on the floor! And when it had finished it stood up again, looking at the puddle in surprise.
Patrice glanced up at Dannerman with a little laugh. “You’ll have to forgive our friend, Dan-Dan. They’ve got better floors where he comes from. They just, uh, absorb waste. I guess he never heard of flush toilets.”
The deputy director stood up in disgust. “Christ,” he said. “I’m getting out of here. Corporal, clean that mess up.” And then, as he turned to leave, he took another look at the pouch Dopey wore on his belly. “And we’ll want that thing for analysis, so take it away from him.”
“No!” cried one of the Pats-no, at least two of them, and Dan Dannerman shouting something as well; but the nearest guard did as he was ordered. Or tried to. The little alien did his best to scuttle away, but the guard reached out for the reddish metal muff. And screamed. And fell back, or was thrown back, and fell to the floor.