Part 28 (1/2)

41.

DeRicci sat at her desk, marshalling information as if she were the governor-general instead of an ex-cop who had been promoted above her competence level. She had one of her a.s.sistants searching for those backdoor links Flint had talked about, the ones that would let her talk to someone in Sahara Dome. And she'd a.s.signed Popova to organize a meeting with the governor-general and the council for the United Domes of the Moon, stressing the importance of having that meeting within the hour.

Popova doubted everyone could make it, and DeRicci had told her in no uncertain terms that everyone had to be there, even if it was on vid link on a secured channel.

So far, no one had mentioned that DeRicci lacked the authority to do any of this. But, she supposed, before the day was out, someone would remember. She only hoped they would already know what the plan was.

She certainly didn't. Flint had spooked her. A cursory search of the Disty on Mars had never shown behavior like this before. The Disty ritual list was so long that Disty would never have time to go through it, and she found nothing about contamination, but she really didn't know where to look.

What she needed was some kind of Disty guide or an authority on the Disty. She didn't know any Disty personally- not that she'd ever wanted to; the creepy little creatures bothered her on an almost instinctual level-and she had never cultivated authority on anything.

She only had two a.s.sistants, and she felt they were already doing important tasks. So she'd gone blindly through Dome University records until she found someone home in alien studies. Then she'd asked who specialized in the Disty.

The name she got was Coral Menodi, along with a private link. When DeRicci tried the link, she initially got no response. She was going to look for someone else when she remembered how people used to get through to her when she kept her links off. She turned on every alarm and red light and flasher available through the links, and sent those along with a request for contact to Menodi.

Menodi picked up with both audio and visual. DeRicci downloaded the image from her links to her desk screen.

Menodi was tiny, with black hair and skin the color of Flint's. DeRicci had never seen that combination before.

”Forgive me, Professor,” DeRicci said after introducing herself. ”I understand you specialize in the Disty.”

”No one specializes in them,” Menodi said. Behind her, someone moved. There was a lot of flesh, and a rumpled bed. DeRicci had clearly interrupted something. ”They're too private for that.”

”But you understand them.”

”No, sir. I try to. I figure this will be my life's work.”

”Have you caught the news today?”

Menodi glanced over her shoulder, made some sort of gesture that her visual link didn't pick up, and then turned back. ”No. Should I?”

DeRicci suppressed a sigh, beginning to understand people's old irritations with her. Willful ignorance made things difficult all the way around.

As quickly as she could, she explained what was happening on Mars, and then she mentioned Flint's theory, not using his name but letting Menodi know the idea had come from Sahara Dome.

”First,” DeRicci said, ”is this idea of contamination correct?”

Menodi's skin had turned even whiter. ”Oh yes. I don't know how severe the Disty believe this contamination is-obviously they think it drastic or they wouldn't be doing this-but the situation could be so out of hand that our own Disty population, which is quite large, you know . . .”

DeRicci didn't know. She knew that there was a Disty section in Armstrong, and she had avoided it ever since her first run-in with the Disty. She'd tried to avoid them as well.

”. . . Our Disty might think that having the Contaminated Ones in our ports might be enough to contaminate the Moon. I don't know without knowing the exact nature of the contamination.”

”If I get that information for you, will you be able to help me?” DeRicci asked.

”It would be guesswork,” Menodi said. ”Normally, I'd contact some friends of mine in the Disty community, but I don't think that would be wise in this instance.”

DeRicci thought this would be the perfect time. She would be calling Disty if she knew them. ”Why not? Don't we need their advice?”

”Have you had contact with any of these fleeing Disty?” Menodi asked.

”No,” DeRicci said.

”Have you had contact with anyone who has had contact with those Disty?”

DeRicci felt like she was suddenly on trial here. ”No.”

”How about contact with anyone in Sahara Dome?”

”Human or Disty?”

”Yes.”

”No,” DeRicci said. ”I haven't.”

”Have you had contact with anyone who has talked with someone in Sahara Dome during this crisis?”

DeRicci almost said no, and then she remembered Flint. ”A colleague of mine. He's the one who warned me about this entire situation.”

Menodi cursed softly.

”I'm only guessing here,” she said, ”but considering the Disty's reaction to whatever this crisis is, they would consider you contaminated.”

DeRicci leaned away from her screen. ”How could I be contaminated? I haven't gone near a Disty, and my friend told me via link.”

”Doesn't matter,” Menodi said. ”The Disty react to severe contamination as if it's virus spread from brain to brain, not just by physical contact, but by breathing the same air, inhabiting the same environment, or sharing the same conversation. My understanding is that this is an old ritual, one that predates science, in which the Disty-trying to avoid real-life contagions, especially lethal ones that caused horrible deaths-set up this system, based it in their religion, and have not departed from it. Ever. It's one of the rituals that they take the most seriously. And believe me, the Disty take all of their rituals seriously.”

DeRicci didn't like it. She didn't even really understand it, but she had learned in previous interactions with aliens that understanding wasn't necessary. In some cases, it wasn't even possible. All she could do was deal with the problems created by those beliefs.

”What do you suggest I do?” she asked.

”First,” Menodi said, ”don't tell anyone else about your conversation with a Contaminated One. Human or Disty. Don't let that information out. I certainly won't.”

Menodi twirled a strand of hair around her forefinger. She didn't even seem to be aware she was doing it. She hadn't fidgeted before. Before she had been merely curious, not quite as nervous as she was now.

”Second,” Menodi said, ”don't let those contaminated Disty anywhere near Armstrong. We'll have the same kind of riot on our hands that Sahara Dome is having. It'll be a mess. The more contaminated Disty, the more they'll try to flee, and the more they try to flee . . .”

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. DeRicci was already aware of that problem.

”Is there any solution for this? I mean, the Disty can't always run from death,” DeRicci said. ”They wouldn't be able to have a society.”

”They have cleansing rituals, involving family members of the deceased. If there is no family, there are other rituals, often involving the Contaminated Ones themselves. Those rituals are conducted by a Disty Death Squad, and often-usually-the cure is worse than the actual problem. Few contaminated Disty survive that ritual. Humans never do.”

”Wonderful,” DeRicci muttered.

”And that doesn't solve the problem of place,” Menodi said. ”If a place is contamined, like Sahara Dome, the Disty do their ritual thing with the families-something I have never seen written up or filmed. We have no records of how this works, so I can't tell you what they do. Only that there is no death rate with the family rituals.”