Дэймон Найт - Orbit 12

He counted out the thousand credits and put away the woefully small pile of bills that were still his. He hoped the monster would crack soon. The hotel room was only rented for three more days, and after that he would have to find a berth on a ship. Nert didn’t like to leave Herbie’s murderer behind, but there would be nothing else he could do. It looked like Herbie would never get the burial in space he’d always wanted.

“Here’s your money,” Nert said. Dr. Billingsley took the bills and counted them. “Fine,” he said. “The numbies will never know.”

Nert sat down a few feet away from the pool and watched the unmoving creature. The doctor said, “Well, I must be going now. I have other patients who need me.”

Nert was silent.

The doctor said, “Well, good luck.”

Nert heard the door slide open and shut a moment later.

It was very quiet, and Nert had been up for many hours more than he was used to. The monster blurred and Nert had to fight to focus his eyes again. He found himself looking at the being with clinical detachment. As he alternately dozed and started awake, the monster became more than an evil thing—it became evil itself.

Despite all he could do, Nert rested on his tripod legs and fell asleep. He dreamed about drinking third-level glovo, but he didn’t enjoy it because it tasted like mittlebran. He wanted to ask Herbie about it, but he couldn’t because he was alone in the middle of a dark street that stretched both ways to infinity. A hurricane that went “kwish . . . kwish . . .” blew up the street and Nert had to climb a metal stairway to get away from it. But the rungs were rusty and he fell forever until he landed, kwish! on a mushy animal with a tight transparent skin that made him sick when he touched it and it smelled like boiled greeb. Dr. Billingsley threw money at him and asked, “Does it feel better now? Does it feel better now? Does it feel better now . . .”

Nert took a swipe at the doctor, but his claw went right through his face. Nert fell back onto the monster and woke up.

His three legs were sprawled around him like spokes of a wheel. The monster hadn’t moved. Nert gathered himself up and walked toward it. Either the night’s sleep had done him some good, or the field had weakened, because he could advance to within touching distance of the pool without feeling more than mild discomfort.

The thing in the pool groaned, and Nert backed off a few paces.

“Nert.” The voice was too low, but it was unmistakably Herbie’s.

“Herbie, is that you?”

When the thing spoke, there were frequent long pauses as if it was a special effort for it to say each word. “Who else would it be?”

Nert found he had no trouble getting as close to the thing as he wanted to. He said, “I thought you were dead.”

“Obviously a mistake. What’s going on?”

Nert explained what had happened to him since he’d left their room, and when he was done, Herbie said, “You mean you actually gave that sheet-mender one thousand credits?”

“Even,” Nert said sadly.

Herbie’s voice had been growing stronger as he interrupted Nert’s story with questions and explanations. It was nearly normal now, and though the being in the pool didn’t exactly look like the friend he’d left behind, Nert was sure it was Herbie.

“You had no way of knowing, of course,” Herbie said, “but the police on Spangle are chosen as much for their incorruptible natures as they are for their blank stares. If Dr. Billingsley has any connections in high places, you can bet it’s not in the police department. Criminals have been looking for a way around the numbies, without success, for at least a thousand years. If he’s found the way, he ought to bottle it.”

They sat quietly for some time, while Nert felt sorry for himself. At last he said, “One thousand credits, out the tube.”

“Maybe not”

“What?”

“Just thinking out loud.”

“Oh.” The only sound was the quiet pop, pop of bubbles as they escaped from Herbie’s underside and broke on the surface. Suddenly Nert said, “Great Frooth! I got so busy telling you what happened to me that I didn’t ask what happened to you. You tell me what’s going on.”

“I was wondering when you’d get around to that. You remember that growth on my side you were so worried about?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m it.”

Nert got off the bed and shook each leg in turn. That sometimes helped relax him. He said, “I don’t think I understand.”

“That growth, that bulge was a child. We Tramitodeans grow buds, from one to about six of them, depending on how favorable circumstances are, and when they’re mature enough they break off and eat the parent.”

“Then you’re really not Herbie.”

“Sure I am. Or I’m as good as Herbie, anyway. The children have all the memories of the parent—all the parents back to the primeval soup. Of course the recollections get a little dim after the fourth generation or so, thank Frooth. Things are complicated enough as it is.”

“So everything me and Dr. Billingsley saw was normal?”

“Right”

Then all the pain we felt must have been protection for the new being—uh, for you.”

“Right. I’m a little telepathic too, more so now I’m in this new body. But don’t worry about the pain field. When I’m awake I can control it—my mazoola, that is—pretty well.”

Nert sat back down on the bed. He said, “Why didn’t you tell me all this before it cost me one thousand credits and a night’s sleep?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You certainly did that.”

“I didn’t really expect you back so soon. I thought I’d be all done. I know about you Droshi and your wild sexual practices. Four sexes, great Frooth!”

Nert turned a pale shade of blue.

“Besides,” Herbie went on, “I certainly didn’t expect you to bring a doctor. If you thought I needed one, why didn’t you get the one the hotel keeps on call?”

Nert clicked a claw. He said, “I didn’t even think of that. Does this place have a doctor?”

“This place caters to rich people. And when rich people want something, they want it yesterday. This hotel probably provides services we never heard of.”

Nert understood their predicament wasn’t entirely his fault, and from the way Herbie spoke, he knew Herbie understood it too, and that was enough. Bickering would have been pointless.

“What do we do now?” Nert asked.

A small tremor shook Herbie and little concentric wavelets broke against the edge of the pool. He said, “There are two things we have to do.”

“Yes?”

“First, we have to find a ship that’s leaving very soon and get two berths on it. And second, we have to get our money back.”

“That second thing seems pretty impossible, and even the first is questionable. How soon will you be able to move and hold down a billet on a ship?”

“I could move now if I had to, but another day or so in the pool would be safer. And don’t give up on our money. Herbie’s changed, but he’s just as clever as he used to be—”

“We won’t talk about how clever that was—”

“Clever, I say! And I’m beginning to feel an idea tickling the back of my mind. Give me a while to work it out.”

Nert dumped his wastes and went downstairs to the restaurant to get something to eat. He smothered the memory of boiled greeb with familiar food from the home world, frigul with grammuce and proshmingles. He overpaid for everything.

When Nert got back to the apartment, Herbie said, “I have an idea,” and explained it to him. Nert agreed that it was an interesting plan, but wondered if it was necessary.