F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

"We're in," Elmeror announced from the console.

"Can you requisition a test on one of the dead kids' CSF?"

Elmero gave a me a look that eloquently mixed disgust with annoyance.

"Sorry," I said. "Don't know what came over me. Get a nordopatriptyline level."

He told the coroner's computer to run the test, then leaned back in his chair and glided it back to the desk. Doc went out to the barroom for a fresh whiff, saying this would take awhile. His timing was perfect: The result of the NDT assay popped into view just as he returned. He stepped over and looked at it.

"Damn me!" he said.

I joined him and scanned the result: "NDT level in subject CSF = 2.7 ng./dl. Normal level in age group = 12.5 — 28 ng./dl."

"Figured that," I said.

Doc gave me a sour look. "And just how did you 'figure' that someone had sucked off this kid's NDT?"

Told them how B.B.'s "comet" had led us to NeuroNex, what the tech had said about the super synthetic NDT, about my earlier guess that NeuroNex might be testing a new substance on the urchins.

"But if that's the case, the kid's brain should have been loaded with NDT!" Doc said.

"Not if the assay doesn't pick up the synthetic," Elmero said.

Doc scowled. "Then why the depressed levels?"

Waited a few beats, then said, "Because everything the tech told me about the new synthetic super NDT was true, except the part about it being synthetic."

They stared at me uncomprehendingly. Nice to be the smart guy, the guy with all the answers for once. Allowed them to stew for awhile. Finally:

"Think about it. NDT is a normal component of the CSF. It's necessary for normal cognitive functions, and in increased concentrations it can enhance those functions. Now…at what time in your development is the brain most actively sorting, analyzing, filing, matching, compounding, linking, correlating, and so on?"

"Childhood," Doc said.

"Right! The whole world is new. The mind is relentlessly bombarded with a seemingly endless flow of new data."

Doc bit his lower lip. "I don't like where this is heading."

Elmero said nothing. He just sat there and absorbed it all.

"Bet there's an obscure piece of research somewhere that recounts the remarkable enhancing power of toddler NDT on adult cognition. Quadruple bioactivity."

Doc whiffed and exhaled slowly. "NeuroNex is a reputable company. I can't believe it would get involved — "

"It's not," Elmero said. "If this was being done on a corporate level, I'd have heard about it."

Nodded in agreement. A big operation would cause supply problems, creating a black market in toddler NDT, and there wasn't a black market in Sol System that Elmero didn't know about.

"Right. This is strictly small time. The tech and the local franchise owner are probably working it on their own, snatching the kids, siphoning off their NDT, and bartering it away as an 'unapproved synthetic' at a very stiff price per nanogram."

That explained the holosuited customers this morning — they wanted to remain anonymous.

"There's people who want it that bad?" Doc said.

"Definitely."

The effect of my test dose was fading a little now and I could see why you'd want some more. Especially if you were a businessman or analyst. Never thought so clearly, never saw so many relationships and correlations between seemingly unrelated facts in all my life. Like being terribly nearsighted since birth and then having your focal length corrected — a whole new world is suddenly available to you. Probably never feel this way again. Would miss it.

"And then they kill the kids?" Doc said. His face was drawn and tight. Real anger there.

"No. Those two were accidents. My theory is that adults can donate a unit of NDT without much after-effect, but kids really notice the difference. They're dull, dim-witted, mentally sluggish after their NDT's been siphoned off. At least that's the way B.B. described the kids that were snatched, then returned to the gang. I think the two dead kids were going to be returned like the others but got loose. They were dopey and disoriented and I think they just fell by accident."

"Sounds to me," Elmero said, "that killing them would be safest. No trace."

"There's no trace anyway," I told him. "An urch has no legal status, and besides, these kids don't remember anything about the weeks preceding and following the time they're robbed of their NDT."

Elmero was insistent. "Still safer dead."

"But don't you see, Elm? They're the Golden Geese. Put them back with their urchingang and they'll gradually replenish their super toddler NDT over a period of months, and then they'll be ripe for milking again, like a herd of cows."

This, unfortunately, elicited a smile from Elmero. "Good plan!"

"It's a monstrous plan!" Doc said, the dark skin of his face getting darker. "It's got to be exposed! They're doing untold damage to those kids! NDT deprivation at their age, even for limited spans, has to curtail their intellectual development, may even retard it permanently. And an urch needs every bit of brain he can muster to make it in this world. No, this can't go on. I've got to bring it to the attention of the medical authorities." His head snapped up, as if startled by a thought. "Why, they may even reinstate my license for this!"

"Got to invoke privilege on this, Doc," I said.

He looked crestfallen. "Really? Why?"

"Client's wishes."

In a way, that was a lie. Mr. Khambot didn't know a thing about this super NDT angle, but I was sure he wouldn't want it spread around. Publicity would only encourage open season on little urchins by NDT vultures. Had to figure out a way to settle this quietly, on my own.

Settled up with Elmero and Doc, then headed home.

That was when the molly wire beheaded me.

Had to hand it to Doc — he didn't waste any time getting to my place. My head was still on my shoulders and my fingers were still clasped around my lower neck, although I'd lost all feeling in my hands when he arrived, black bag in hand. My chin and the front of my jump were soaked with saliva. Wanted so bad to swallow something.

"Siggy, Siggy," he said in an awed whisper as he inspected me. "Who'd do this to you?"

Resisted the temptation to shake my head as I whispered, "Not sure. NeuroNex a good bet."

He nodded. "Maybe."

"Why'm I still alive?"

"I don't know," he said. His hands were trembling as he dipped into his black bag. "I've heard about cases like this, read about them, but never believed I'd ever see one. I think you're alive due to a mixture of fantastic luck and good balance, combined with more fantastic luck and surface tension."

"Surface — ?"

"Makes wet things tend to stick together. There's a natural cohesiveness between cells. I'll venture to say that your would-be assassin used pristine new molly wire. That was luck on your part. The older stuff picks up molecules of garbage on its surface that makes it relatively dull. Still sharper than anything else in Occupied Space, but nothing like the fresh stuff. Your cut is so fine and clean that all your blood vessels and neurons and other tissues have stayed in physiological alignment. The chair, the gentle pressure from your hands, the fact that you haven't turned your head or done much swallowing and, of course, surface tension, have kept things lined up where they belong."

"Can talk."

"The wire passd below your vocal cords."

"Still don't see how — "

"Look: Molly wire's only one molecule thick. Mammalian cells can pass particles much much larger right through their cell walls. It's called pinocytosis. A lot of your cell walls are probably healed up already. Why — why I'll bet most of those cells don't even know their membranes have been ruptured!"