Грегори Бенфорд - Not One of Us - Stories of Aliens on Earth

There was no reason why a devil shouldn’t come into our building, no law against having one for a client. But there was an accusation in Martha’s look that I couldn’t deny. Had I betrayed us all by taking the case? She said, “Hate. Devils.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

Iopened my door and saw that it was Sharifa who was waiting for me. She was trying on a smile that didn’t fit. “Hi Fay,” she said. She looked as elegant as always and as weary as I had ever seen her. She was wearing a peppered black linen dress and black dress sandals with thin crossover straps. Those weren’t doctor shoes—they were pull down the shades and turn up the music shoes. They made me very sad.

As I turned to close the door, she must have spotted the patch of blood that had dried in my hair. “You’re hurt!” I had almost forgotten about it—there was no percentage in remembering that I was in pain. She shot out of her chair. “What happened?”

“I slipped in the shower,” I said.

“Let me look.”

I tilted my head toward her and she probed the lump gently. “You could have a concussion.”

“PIs don’t get concussions. Says so right on the license.”

“Sit,” she said. “Let me clean this up. I’ll just run to the bathroom for some water.”

I sat and watched her go. I thought about locking the door behind her but I deserved whatever I had coming. I opened the bottom drawer of the desk, slipped two plastic cups off the stack and brought Johnnie Walker in for a consultation.

Sharifa bustled through the doorway with a cup of water in one hand and a fistful of paper towels in the other but caught herself when she saw the bottle. “When did this start?”

“Just now.” I picked up my cup and slugged two fingers of Black Label Scotch. “Want some?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Are we having fun or are we self-medicating?”

I let that pass. She dabbed at the lump with a damp paper towel. I could smell her perfume, lemon blossoms on a summer breeze and just the smallest bead of sweat. Her scent got along nicely with the liquid smoke of the scotch. She brushed against me and I could feel her body beneath her dress. At that moment I wanted her more than I wanted to breathe.

“Sit down,” I said.

“I’m not done yet,” she said.

I pointed at a chair. “Sit, damn it.”

She dropped the paper towel in my trash as she went by.

“You asked me a question this morning,” I said. “I should’ve given you the answer. I had the abortion last week.”

She studied her hands. I don’t know why; they weren’t doing anything. They were just sitting in her lap, minding their own business.

“I told you when we first got together, that’s what I’d do when I got seeded,” I said.

“I know.”

“I just didn’t see any good choices,” I said. “I know the world needs children, but I have a life to lead. Maybe it’s a rude, pointless, dirty life but it’s what I have. Being a mother… that’s someone else’s life.”

“I understand,” said Sharifa. Her voice was so small it could have crawled under a thimble. “It’s just… it was all so sudden. You told me and then we were fighting and I didn’t have time to think things through.”

“I got tested in the morning. I told you that afternoon. I wasn’t keeping anything a secret.”

She folded her arms against her chest as if she were cold. “And when I get seeded, what then?”

“You’ll do what’s best for you.”

She sighed. “Pour me some medication, would you?”

I poured scotch into both cups, came around the desk, and handed Sharifa hers. She drank, held the whiskey in her mouth for a moment and then swallowed.

“Fay, I…” The corners of her mouth were twitchy and she bit her lip. “Your mother told me once that when she realized she was pregnant with you, she was so happy. So happy. It was when everything was crashing around everyone. She said you were the gift she needed to… not to…”

“I got the gift lecture, Sharifa. Too many times. She made the devils sound like Santa Claus. Or the stork.”

She glanced down as if surprised to discover that she was still holding the cup. She drained it at a gulp and set it on my desk. “I’m a doctor. I know they do this to us; I just wish I knew how. But it isn’t a bad thing. Having you in the world can’t be a bad thing.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I kept my opinion to myself.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to carry water in my hands but it’s all leaking out and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” She started rubbing her right hand up and down her left forearm. “People keep killing themselves. Maybe it’s not as bad as it used to be, but still. The birth rate is barely at replacement levels. Maybe we’re doomed. Did you ever think that? That we might go extinct?”

“No.”

Sharifa was silent for a long time. She kept rubbing her arm. “It should’ve been me doing your abortion,” she said at last. “Then we’d both have to live with it.”

I was one tough PI. I kept a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer and had a devil for a client. Tommys whacked me with nightsticks and pumped knockout spray into my face. But even I had a breaking point, and Dr. Sharifa Ramirez was pushing me up against it hard. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her graceful neck. But I couldn’t give in to her that way—not now anyway. Maybe never again. I had a case, and I needed to hold the best part of myself in reserve until it was finished. “I’ll be in charge of the guilt, Sharifa,” I said. “You be in charge of saving lives.” I came around the desk. “I’ve got work to do, so you go home now, sweetheart.” I kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you there.”

Easier to say than to believe.

Sharifa was long gone by the time Father Elaine arrived at ten minutes to six. She brought muscle with her; Gratiana loitered in the hallway surveying my office with sullen calculation, as if estimating how long it would take to break down the door, leap over the desk, and wring somebody’s neck. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Father Elaine’s faith in me had wavered—hell, I didn’t have much faith in me either. However, I thought she showed poor judgment in bringing this particular thug along. I invited Gratiana to remove herself from my building. Perhaps she might perform an autoerotic act in front of a speeding bus? Father Elaine dismissed her, and she slunk off.

Father Elaine appeared calm, but I could tell that she was as nervous as two mice and a gerbil. I hadn’t really had a good look at her in the dim church, but now I studied her in case I had to write her up for the Missing Persons Index. She was a tallish woman with round shoulders and a bit of a stoop. Her eyes were the brown of wet sand; her cheeks were bloodless. Her smile was not quite as convincing in good light as it had been in gloom. She made some trifling small talk, which I did nothing to help with. Then she stood at the window, watching. A wingtip loafer tapped against bare floor.

It was about ten after when my desktop chirped. I waved open the icon and accepted the transfer of a thousand dollars. Seeren had a hell of a calling card. “I think they’re coming,” I said. I opened the door and stepped into the hall to wait for them.

“It gives Seeren the bright pleasure to meet you, Father Elaine Horváth,” said George as they shuffled into the office.

She focused everything she had on the devil. “Just Father, if you don’t mind.” The bot was nothing but furniture to her.

“It’s kind of crowded in here,” I said. “If you want, I can wait outside…”