F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

Took a halfhearted swing at his head. He ducked easily, laughing.

"An urch search, ay?" Elmero said, smiling horribly after I'd explained Khambot case. He repeated the phrase. Seemed to like the sound of it.

Doc was there, wiffing a pale yellow gimlet. He had a round black face, a portly body, and owlish eyes. He still had a year to go before his license suspension ran out and tended to spend a lot of time here.

"Where do I come in?" he said.

"Need an opinion on the autopsies of those dead kids. What's your consultation fee?"

Doc snorted a laugh. "I believe it would approximate my tab at this establishment."

Glanced at Elmero who shrugged his narrow shoulders.

"Not unreasonable," he said.

"But I don't have access to those data," Doc said. "Can't tell you anything without data."

"That's okay. Elmero can jack into — "

"Elmero can't jack anywhere!" Elmero said, his face a stoney mask. He was looking past me at the urch.

"He's secure," I said quickly, placing a hand on the kid's shoulder. He'd been good. Hadn't said more than one hello since he came in. "B.B. is tight. Tight as can be."

Elmero arched his eyebrows and cocked his head. "You guarantee that?"

"To the Core." Knew I was safe saying that. Not being Realpeople, urches couldn't testify in court.

"Good enough."

Elmero rode his chair over to his comm chassis and began his jacking procedure. He broke into the coroner's datafile and then we began to search. In the under age five category, we found one John Doe and one Jane Doe, each with an unregistered genotype, deceased on the date in question. Doc took over then and scanned the data. Twice.

"Nothing here but trauma, all simultaneous, consistent with a fall. No biological or chemical toxins or contaminants, no molestations. Generic foodstuff in the intestines. What we have here are two otherwise healthy kids dead as a result of a fall from a height consistent with the middle sixty floors of the tower complex they were found next to."

B.B. piped in. "No drug? No sex?"

It was the most he had said since we'd entered Elmero's.

"I believe I covered those fields," Doc said.

"Has to be drug!"

Looked at him. "Why does there 'has' to?"

He glared at me, then turned and stalked out.

"'B.B.' is an urchin name," Elmero said.

"Really?" Hadn't known that.

"Common one. The other most common is 'B.G.'"

"That's all very interesting, "Doc said, "but what I'd like to know is why a couple of toddler urchins were up on the middle level of the Boeddeker North building in the first place."

"Something nasty, I'll bet," Elmero said with a sour grin. "Something very nasty."

This was getting interesting. Intriguing, even. But it was time to settle up accounts: Elmero canceled Doc's balance, then deducted that amount plus his jacking fee from the big store of credit I had with him from the gold he'd fenced for me after the Dydeetown girl job.

Then I hurried out, looking for B.B. Found him watching somebody playing the new zap game. Procyon Patrol was passe now. Bug Wars was the current rage. Grabbed his arm and pulled him outside where we stood in the midst of Elmero's latest holo envelope — a classic Paris sidewalk cafe. Nice, but don't try to sit on one of the chairs.

"We've got to talk, urch. You're not telling me everything you should be tellng me."

"S'n'true, san — " he began, then stopped himself. "That not true."

Caught and held his eyes with my own.

"Why were you so sure of drugs? Truth now, or I walk."

He looked away and took a deep breath. He spoke carefully.

"Beggee kids be snatched."

"Snatched?" It was the first I'd heard of it. "By who?"

"D'know."

"How many?"

"Lots."

"Why?"

"D'know."

Was almost glad he didn't know. Wasn't sure I wanted the details on why someone was kidnapping little urchin beggars. Was sure it wasn't for ransom. But now I knew why there had been six urchin guards for that little blonde beggargirl down by the Battery yesterday.

"Were the two dead ones snatched?"

He nodded.

"Have any others been found dead besides the ones at Beodekker North?"

He shook his head. "Jus' th'two. Get others back."

"You mean they're snatched and then returned to you?"

"Drop off where snatchee."

This was making less and less sense.

"Unhurt?"

B.B. shook his head vehemently. "No! N'same. Eve af back, still gone. Dull, dumb, stupee, bent."

Now I understood. Whoever was snatching the little urches was returning damaged goods. That was why B.B. had been so sure we'd find drugs in the post-mortem report.

"So you think they're being dosed up and — what?"

He shrugged. "D'know. Can't tell. N'good sure."

"No signs of…abuse?"

Thought of my own daughter. For perhaps the first time since Maggs had spirited her away, I was glad Lynnie was out among the Outworlds.

"Nup," he said, shaking his head. "Checked by Wendy. Sh'say bods okay, b'heads f'blungit."

"Who 'round Sol is this Wendy? She a doctor or something?"

B.B. was suddenly flustered. "Sh'Mom. D'worry. Sh'know. An'way, kids get better, b'ver' slow. Weeks."

They're returned slow and stupid but get better with time. Sure sounded like a drug to me. This was getting stranger and stranger. Little urches snatched and returned, physically okay, but dosed up on something. To what end? Maybe just dosed up and posed? Or maybe overdosed on purpose so they couldn't talk afterwards? But why bother with such elaborate precautions? Urchins had no legal existence. They couldn't bring charges or testify against anyone. So why coagulate their minds before returning them?

Why return them at all?

"How many days were the two dead kids missing?"

He thought a moment, then said, "Oldee three, youngee four."

Missing three to four days — were they so gelled on something that they walked right off the outer walkway? No, wait: No trace of foreign chemicals or toxins in their systems.

My own mind was beginning to feel a bit gelled.

"Post-mort said they were clean."

He looked at me as if I were stupid. "Druggee-druggee!"

Maybe he was right. Suddenly had an idea.

"Come on," I said, pulling him toward the chute up to the tube level. "We're heading uptown."

Boedekker North was the biggest thing in the Danbury borough — too big for a holographic dress-up. It towered above everything around it like a giant stack of rice cakes on an empty table. We tubed into the midsection and hunted up a directory.

"Lookee, san?" When I glared at him, he sighed and said, "What we looking for?"

"A pharmaceutical company."

"Farmers — ?"

"No. Pharmaceutical. As in 'pharmacy.' They make drugs. You know — medicines?" He gave me a puzzled look. "Wait," I told him. "You'll see."

Had a brainstorm. Suppose somebody was using the kids as lab specimens to give some new drug a clinical trial? Something so new and unique that the coroner's analyzers wouldn't spot it? Suppose this new drug backfired? And suppose the testers weren't prepared to house the damaged kids? What would they do with them?

Send them back where they came from, of course. That would take the kids off their hands and allow the researcher to observe the longterm effects of their botched trial.

Urchins as human lab rats. What a wonderful world.

There were a few bugs in my scenario but it fit most of the facts. A little more information and I was sure I could fill in the empty spaces.

"Sh'tell more," B.B. said as we sorted through the midlevel directory's stores and services.

Gave him a sidelong look. "What else you been holding out on me?"

"N'hold, san — " He stopped and cleared his throat. "Not hold out. Jus' membered. Saw comet side of flit snatchee lil Jo."