F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

Held onto his wrist and started shouting at the top of my lungs. When doors started opening down the hall, I turned back to the kid and said,

"You die on me you little bastard and so help me I'll wring your skinny little neck!"

Thought he was dead or in a terminal coma at best but swore his lips curled into a tiny smile. -15-

Had a lot of explaining to do. Two neatly sliced up bodies on the floor of one's compartment tends to raise questions among officialdom. Leaving out all mention of the super NDT, told them that I'd learned about the pair's urchin-snatching activities — said I had no idea why they did it — and that they'd tried to kill me with molly wire.

Because I had an investigator's licence and had the wound to prove prior assault, and because Redhead and Paleface still had blasters clutched in the hands at the ends of their severed arms, I managed to stay out of confinement. But the incident was still under investigation while the bodies were being pieced together and posted, and I was not to leave the Megalops until all questions were answered.

Didn't matter to me. Wasn't going anywhere for some time anyway.

My arms and legs were stronger now and I could walk around and take care of myself. Even worked the window garden a little. Doc still wasn't allowing me out of the brace, though.

B.B. had come through fine — I'd guaranteed his medical expenses to make sure of that. His right hand was grafting on nicely but it was still in an immobilizing brace. He had full use of his left hand, though. Together we made one marginally competent person.

"Fine pair we are," I said as we watched the vid.

B.B. popped a cheesoid into his mouth and tossed another to Iggy.

"Lazy."

"Yeah. Lazy. Got to get back to work someday."

Work . Reminded me of my only client — Mr. Earl Khambot.

A number of local urchingangs had checked all of their females in the age range of the Khambot girl and had found no one with footprints that even came close to the infant prints the father had given me. Didn't know if I could trust their comparison skills, but had no alternative. A retinal check would have been better but that was impossible.

Time to call my client and tell him I was still looking but had come up with zero. Strange…it had been weeks and he hadn't called once to check up on my progress. Doubly strange after his generous downpayment in gold.

Called his number but the man who answered was not my client and he'd never heard of Earl Khambot. Spent the rest of the day calling every Earl Khambot in the Megalops. There weren't too many, and none of them was my client.

"What's going on?" I said as the holochamber faded after the last call.

"S'wrong?" B.B. said.

"Hired by a paying customer who doesn't exist to find a child who can't be found. That make sense to you?"

"Maybe no child."

"Maybe right."

"S'mystery, san."

" 'Mister Dreyer.' And yeah, it's that all right."

"S'okay. Got friend for life, right?" he said, pointing to himself and tossing me a cheesoid.

Laughed and winged it back at him. Maybe that was enough. For now.

"It's anytime. Do you know where your urchin is?" (datastream graffito)

After a few weeks, my head and neck rig came off. B.B.'s wrist brace came off about the same time.

And all the while I'd been thinking about the guy who had called himself Earl Khambot. What can you say about a client who didn't exist?

Further, what can you say about a client who didn't exist who paid you in hard to find someone else who also didn't exist?

Severe neuronal dysfunction, right?

But that's what appeared to have happened. Earl Khambot had lied to me about his own name yet had paid me in advance in good metal to find the fictional daughter he had supposedly given over to the urchins as a babe.

Why?

Couldn't think of a single reason.

Couldn't complain, either. Had his gold, and that was not exactly what one would call a heavy burden.

But it became clear to me after a while that I was going to have to find the guy who'd called himself Earl Khambot or go crazy. Not that I'd have a great deal of trouble squeezing the search into my busy schedule. After all, I'd been out of the business for a pair of years, and hadn't been all that terribly busy when things were in hyperdrive, relatively speaking.

So I used my copious slack time to apply my sector-renowned tracking skills to hunting down Earl Khambot. Knew it wouldn't be easy, but I was getting first-hand experience with the concept of obsession" and had to keep going. It wouldn't let up on me.

Why?

Everybody tries to gain in some way by whatever they do. Even if they give a trinket to an urchin beggar, they're getting a feelgood in return. Even crazy people have their reasons for doing things. Plenty of times they're rotten reasons, but at least you could see what they were after. With Khambot I couldn't even guess. The trail was cold but it didn't matter. I had to know. And to know, I had to find him.

Wished I could have traced him through his thumb, but that was out because he'd paid me in gold. That had impressed me at first as a gesture of trust and good will, and a sure sign that he didn't want our business relationship recorded in Central Data. Perfectly fine with me. And perfectly consistent with the job he wanted me to do: Locate a supposedly illegal child.

Who apparently didn't exist either.

Started driving me crazy.

What had been Khambot's angle? What did he get out of our little transaction?

Didn't know, but was damn sure going to find out.

Or so I thought.

Came up blank all over the Megalops. No one could recollect ever hearing his name before; and although a fair number said he looked vaguely familiar, no one could say where they'd seen him. B.B. even had a couple of urchingangs looking for traces of Earl Khambot but they came up null score.

Looked hopeless.

So imagine my surprise when I find him in my home.

Right.

I was sitting in my polyform contour chair in my cozy little compartment; the picture of modern domestic tranquility: Me, the urch, and the iguana around the vid.

That was where I found him. On the vid during good ol' Newsface Four's datacast.

It was a VersaPili commercial. The one where the guy up front starts off swaying back and forth in completely hairless holographic splendor, then grows a little moustache, then some chest hair, then a heart-shaped pubic bush, then starts with hairy designs all over his body while the back-up chorus dances and chants: It's automatic,

It's enzymatic,

So pragmatic

You'll be ecstatic!

Stimulate or numb your hairy molecules!

Hirsutize or dormatize those follicules!"

A certifiable classic. Everyone remembered it because it used real people instead of digital constructs. And guess who I spotted prancing around in the chorus?

Right.

Started shouting like a black holer: "It's him! Damn the Core, it's him!"

Scared the hell out of B.B. who was visiting again after one of his periodic sojourns home to the Lost Boys. He spilled half a cup of green FlavoPunch all over himself.

"Wha? Wha?" he said, twisting that boney body this way and that, bright brown eyes popping. "Who's him? Who?"

"That guy there in the back on the right! The one with the cubed hair! It's him! Khambot! Earl dregging Khambot!"

"Sure?" he said. He was trying to wipe the green goop off him but succeeded only in smearing it deeper into the fabric of his jump.

"Pretty sure."

Moved closer for a better look but the commercial faded from the holochamber to be replaced by Newsface Four again. Told it to retrieve the commercial and ordered it to freeze when the guy in question stepped forward for a spin. Checked him from a couple of different angles.