The Fresco (32 page)

 

Chad arrived at Benita's apartment and immediately took a handgun from his pocket. He pointed out the safety, thrust the gun at Benita, and watched her drop it into the deep flapped pocket of her checked lumberman's jacket before gathering several scattered belongings into an open bag. Sasquatch moved anxiously back and forth between the living room and the bedroom like a caged wolf.

“Hurry up,” Chad urged her. “We need to get away from here.”

“I'm just getting the clothes I'll need to wear on Monday. I don't want to have to come back here.”

She moved into the living room with the open bag, set it on the couch and was suddenly conscious of a heaviness in her head and chest. Allergies. They always hit her when she was nervous. The medicine was on the TV, next to Chiddy's translator. She picked it up, wondering what it was, breaking the silence with a heartfelt, “Damn!”

“What is it?”

“Chiddy's translator. He left it here, I was supposed to turn it on so it could assimilate spoken Spanish. I forgot!”

“Bring it with you,” he said impatiently. “We'll speak Spanish to it, wherever we go.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“Spanish, German, Arabic, Urdu, Swahili. No Oriental languages yet.”

“Yet? You're going to learn what? Chinese?”

“Come on, Benita. Move it.” Then, as she went back into the bedroom, he called, “I lust for a job over at State. Besides, I like learning languages. Hurry up, will you!” He
dropped to a chair and put his head in his hands, trying to remember when he'd last had some sleep.

She turned on the device and dropped it in the left-hand pocket, along with the nail file and the gun, leaving the right-hand pocket empty for her wallet, her checkbook, and her reading glasses snatched up from the bedside table. She picked up her bag and started for the elevator, calling over her shoulder, “Okay, I'm ready, let's go.”

There was no warning of the attack. Two of the huge windows along the living room wall burst against the curtains that had been pulled across them. Something very large came through the curtains. Chad ran for the bedroom where he thought Benita was. Benita, who had been summoning the elevator on the landing, Sasquatch sniffing at her heels, heard the crash, dropped her suitcase, turned and dashed down the fire stairs, slamming the door shut behind her and barely missing Sasquatch's tail. She was on the second floor. The second floor had windows. Without stopping to think about it, she went on down another flight, dragged the dog into the supply room, and then checked both the supply room doors to be sure they were locked. The doors were steel. According to Simon, they were set in masonry walls, which might mean they'd be difficult to get through, though she wouldn't bet on it. She leaned against the heavy table in the middle of the room, panting. They must have taken Chad. There was no place to hide up there. Though, of course, maybe they didn't want him and would just let him go. Maybe. Or take him and eat him.

She gagged.

Outside the burglar alarm was ringing itself silly, a clangor one could hear blocks away. Supposedly the alarm was wired to the police department, and they should come looking.

There were sounds in the stairwell outside the door. Banging on the door itself.

“We've got your friend,” said a mechanical voice from outside. “We're not going to hurt either of you, though we might hurt him in order to get you out of there. Either that or go get your son. He's not far off. We could take him apart. Like a lobster.”

Chad's voice, half muffled, “Don't listen to them, Benita…” Then a few mrphls and snrfs, to no purpose.

She listened for the sound of sirens, hearing none, holding her breath. Of course, police didn't have to run their sirens when they were on the way to a burglary, it's just they always did on TV.

“We will now go get your son,” said the mechanical voice.

“Grumfissit, quosimik qualad digga,” said something from behind Benita. “Likkashiz.”

“Don't bother,” echoed the translator from Benita's pocket. “I followed her down here. I'll bring her out.”

Something invisible grabbed her by her neck, not strangling, just lifting, the door opened and she was thrown through it, to be caught by a bunch of tangled tentacles on the other side. The invisible something buffeted Benita, knocking her down, and a lengthened tentacle seized her and dragged her up two flights of stairs, her legs bumping on each step, then across her living room and out the broken window. Something told her to go to sleep, which she promptly did while the beings retreated, burdened with the two humans. Sasquatch, who had followed Benita up the stairs, ran to the broken windows, thrust his head through the shattered glass and howled. Across the street, a light went on. The burglar alarm continued clanging. The phone rang without stopping.

Some minutes later, Simon, the police, and the FBI, previously alerted by Chad, arrived almost simultaneously.

 

On Sunday morning, many of the usual religious broadcasts were preempted by news departments who chose to air parts of a tape received from the envoys during the night. This, so said the accompanying letter, explained the fate that had overtaken some notables in and around Washington. It was a tape so packed with scientific jargon that it was unsuitable for broadcast without extensive commentary. Even the newsmen could make little sense of it until biologists and chemists had been called in to interpret.

The experts, more than a little harried looking, appeared on the screen to comment in plain language, though with all
the references to “host animals” and “larvae” and so forth, the public was not enlightened at once. The matter became more understandable with the showing of hastily created computer animations of animals being punctured by the Inkleozese, eggs being inserted, eggs hatching into larvae, and larvae growing and ramifying until it was time to chew their way out. The only suitable animals on Earth, so the biologists conceded, were male humans. Part of the tape received from the Pistach listed the names of the hosts chosen on Earth, already impregnated public figures, legislators and media personalities who had publicly espoused the pro-life cause.

Since the larvae now deeply anchored into the torsos of these men had defense mechanisms against being removed, the Inkleozese could have chosen anyone, the tape made clear. Nonetheless, the Inkleozese preferred calm, uninterrupted development of their offspring, and they had therefore chosen only men who could be depended upon not to threaten the lives of the tiny moving, swallowing, heart-beating Inklit babies now snuggled beneath their capacious rib cages. In any case—the tape was specific—trying to remove them would be a very bad thing to do, since it might permanently destroy any chance of Earth's joining the Confederation.

The Pistach apologized for the inconvenience, saying that normally Inkleozese do not travel away from their home world during larval-transfer seasons. This, however, had been an emergency brought about by the unwarranted and unconscionable intrusions of the predators and had been thought acceptable purely because of the pro-life philosophy of the men in question and of those others like them who would be needed as hosts for the eggs of the hundreds of Inkleozese who hadn't laid yet. Since each Inkleozese produced from ten to twenty eggs, a large number of those in the pro-life camp could illustrate their faithfulness to that position.

The preferred hosts would be men of middle age, medium to large size, good health, and temperate habits. Once impregnated, the hosts would find it necessary to stay quietly at home for the following thirteen months—the period of maturation of the larvae—until the larvae began to
chew their way out, at which time the Inkleozese would supervise the process in order to minimize any risk to the hosts. The Inkleozese wished to convey their regret that no anesthetic could be used at that time, as it might adversely affect the infant Inklit, but since most Inkliti chewed their way out in from twelve to fifteen hours, the pain, though severe, would not be protracted. Classes in breathing and meditation to assist relaxed larval emergence would be offered to the men in question.

Lupé heard all this on the car radio on her way back from Baltimore, where she had spent the previous day with her mother who was in considerable discomfort but not seriously injured. The break was clean and would heal. Lupé had been greatly relieved about this, though her relief was short-lived. No sooner had she put down her worries about Mama than she had been seized with new concerns about By. Though she had called repeatedly, she had been unable to reach him. She had been trying since Friday night, and he did not answer the phone. On Saturday evening, she had gone so far as to call one of his aides and ask the aide to check the hospitals for possible accident victims. The aide had, instead, checked the house and found the car in the drive, which he had duly reported to Lupé along with his conjecture that By was probably spending the weekend with a golfing buddy.

By played golf rarely and without enthusiasm, and Lupé was unaware that he had any golfing buddies. He did, however, enjoy sailing and he had a few sailing friends. It was possible that with her gone, he might have gone to the shore for the weekend. One thing was certain: he would most annoyed if she raised a fuss trying to find him.

When Lupé heard about the Inkleozese, however, she knew at once that Byron was exactly the kind of person the ETs were selecting. Outspokenly opposed to reproductive choice. Healthy. Of a good size. Of middle age, not too young (too many hormones) or too old (insufficient hormones). She knew in her heart that Byron was one of the selectees, he had to be, and that's why she hadn't been able to reach him!

She also knew, as probably the Inkleozese did not, that Byron was almost psychotic on the subject of pregnancy. If anyone could be said to be phobic about anything, By Morse was phobic about parturition. Not just his bad experiences with Janet, but something that had happened to him in childhood, something he would not talk about.

She got home around noon. Normally By would have been up by now, maybe even have left to have lunch. He wasn't downstairs, however, and his car was still in the drive. She found him still in bed, very soundly asleep. She shook him, and he came groggily out of his doze.

“Ah, Lupé. You back already?”

“It's Sunday noon. I said I'd be back today.”

“Sunday? Can't be. What happened to Saturday?”

“It was yesterday. What's…what's the matter? What time did you get to bed Friday night? Did you have…ah, bad dreams? Something like that?”

“Had a hell of a nightmare,” he responded. “That's probably why I overslept. Hey, be a sweetheart and bring me a cup of coffee, will you? I can't get the cobwebs out!”

He went to the shower, pausing to glance at himself in the mirror. He seemed to remember…some kind of an injury? No, no injury. A tiny little bruise next to his ribs, with a pimple of scab at its middle. He had probably bumped into something, the car door maybe. He turned on the shower, letting the hot water pour soothingly over him. The bathroom door opened, and Lupé brought him coffee, setting it on the vanity while he dried himself off. The towel wrapped around him, he turned to pick up the cup. She was watching him warily, her eyes roving over him, settling on the little bruise.

“What's that?” she asked, leaning forward to touch it.

The ceiling fell on him. He screamed, threw the coffee cup at her and cowered away from her as though she had been a monster. Scalded, she shrieked back at him as she turned on the cold water and thrust her reddened arms into the flow. Luckily, he'd missed her face.

“What in the hell is the matter with you?” she cried, knowing with sick certainly what was the matter with him.

“I don't know, I don't know, I don't know,” he gabbled, slowly pulling himself upright. “When you touched me, the pain went through me like…like a knife.”

She took a deep breath. “By, sweetie, I think you'd better put your robe on and come watch TV for a little bit.”

“My God, woman, you know how I feel about Sunday TV!”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know. But you'd still better catch up on what's been happening before you leave the house.”

 

The president appeared on the screen late Sunday afternoon to verify what the ETs had said on their tape.

“Yes, it's true that a number of men have been impregnated. This may be inconvenient for them, but all the men in question have asserted year after year that convenience really isn't the issue. They have told us that the issue is reverence for life, and since these men have gone on record as supporting such reverence, we agree with the Pistach that now is the time for them to put their careers on hold and their bodies on the line, just as they have expected others to do.”

“Mr. President, Mr. President.” Hands waved. One was selected. “Mr. President, is it mere coincidence that none of the men selected are Democrats?”

The president looked at the ceiling. “Yes. I should think it is purely coincidence.”

He got through this without smiling, but some of the reporters in the audience kept holding up their notebooks to hide the fact they were cracking up. In the evening, one of the doctors who'd been involved in treating the pregnant men appeared on a special
Larry King Live
and told why the larvae couldn't be removed. Each growing creature sent extensions of itself into the vital organs, and any attempt to remove them ended up killing the host. These extensions withdrew in the days preceding emergence.

“The Inkleozese furnished us with information regarding the care of the men who are carrying the larvae,” the doctor said. “They will need to avoid stress, to get regular exercise, plenty of sleep, plenty of liquids, plus calcium and iron supplements. They must avoid alcohol and tobacco and all
drugs except vitamins. We're assured the condition will last for only thirteen months, as with elephants.”