Part 23 (1/2)

”You will tell me!” The Chem female's face was a round mask of fury, the bald head glistening wetly silver.

”I . . . don't . . . know,” Ruth whispered.

”He was a fool to give you an unrestricted pantovive and we were fools to go along with it,” Ynvic said. She pa.s.sed a hand across her thick lips. ”What do you understand of such things?”

Ruth felt the pressure relaxing, took a deep breath. The core place of retreat was still there. ”It was my mother, my mother you killed,” she muttered.

”We killed?”

”You make people do what you want them to do,” Ruth said.

”People!” Ynvic sneered. Ruth's answers betrayed only the shallowest knowledge of Chem affairs. There was danger in the creature, though. She might yet excite Kelexel's interests into the wrong paths too soon.

Ynvic put a hand on Ruth's abdomen, glanced at the manipulator over the bed. The pattern of the lambent blue glow s.h.i.+fted in a way that made her smile. This poor creature already was impregnated. What a strange way to bear offspring! But how lovely and subtle a way to trap a snooper from the Primacy.

The fact of Ruth's pregnancy imparted an odd feeling of disquiet to Ynvic. She withdrew her hand, grew aware of the characteristic musky scent of the native female. What gross mammary glands the creature had! Yet, her cheeks were indrawn as though from undernourishment. She wore a loose flowing gown that reminded Ynvic of Grecian garments. Now there'd been an interesting culture, but brief, so brief . . . everything so brief.

But she's pregnant, Ynvic thought, I should be delighted. Why does it bother me? What have I overlooked?

For no reason she could explain, four lines from a Chem drinking song poured through Ynvic's mind then.

”In the long-long-long ago

When each of us was young,

We heard the music of the flesh

And the singing of a sun . . .”

Ynvic shook her head sharply. The song was meaningless. It was good only for its rhythms, a plaything series of noises, another toy.

But what had it meant . . . once?

Over the bed, the manipulator's lenses sank back through green and stopped in a soft pastel red.

”Rest, little innocent,” Ynvic said. She placed a strangely gentle hand on Ruth's bare arm. ”Rest and be attractive for Kelexel's return.”

13.

”The simple truth of the matter is that things got too much for her and she ran away,” Bondelli said. He stared across at Andy Thurlow, wondering at the odd, haggard look of the man.

They sat in Bondelli's law office, a place of polished wood and leather-bound books aligned precisely behind gla.s.s covers, a place of framed diplomas and autographed photos of important people. It was early afternoon, a sunny day.

Thurlow was bent over, elbows on knees, hands clasped tightly together. I don't dare tell him my real suspicions, he thought. I don't dare . . . I don't dare.

”Who'd want to harm her or take her away?” Bondelli asked. ”She's gone to friends, perhaps up in 'Frisco. It's something simple as that. We'll hear from her when she's gotten over her funk.”

”That's what the police think,” Thurlow said. ”They've completely cleared her of any complicity in Nev's death . . . the physical evidence . . .”