Timothy Zahn - Judgment at Proteus

“No one,” I protested, leaning as far away from her as I could. Beside me Doug gave a low warning growl, no doubt assuming that I was the aggressor.

“He must live,” Aronobal insisted. Abruptly, she seemed to realize what she was doing and hastily released her grip. “My apologies,” she said stiffly as she took a step back. “Do you have new information on the child’s welfare?”

“No, that’s why I asked you about him,” I said. “But I apologize in turn for my comment. It’s what Humans call hyperbole, the deliberate stretching of a situation to its worst possible conclusion in order to make a point. Let me rephrase: there may be things about the child’s condition you wouldn’t want to say in Ms. German’s presence.”

“If that was what you meant, that was what you should have said,” Aronobal said severely. “And my answer is that there has been no such worsening of the child’s condition.”

“And Ms. German herself?”

Aronobal hesitated. “We do not understand what is happening to her,” she admitted. “But her health index is definitely deteriorating.”

“Could whatever you’re doing to the baby be affecting her?”

“We are doing nothing to the baby,” Aronobal said. “We are simply taking fluid and tissue samples and studying his brainwave and metabolic patterns. No genetic work is being performed.”

“Maybe not, but tests themselves can sometimes adversely affect people,” I pointed out. “And you can’t have much experience with treating Humans here.”

The words were barely out of my mouth when I suddenly realized what it was that had been nagging at me.

I looked around the dome again, at the charming EuroUnion Alpine village the Fillies had created. Only this time, I looked at it all with new eyes.

And with new understanding.

Damn them, anyway.

“You forget our consultation work with Pellorian Medical Systems,” Aronobal reminded me. “We have had enough experience with Humans to know what cannot and must not be done.”

“I hope so,” I said, my voice sounding distant in my ears. “I wonder if I could get a full update on Ms. German’s condition, her treatment, and any prognosis you might have.”

Aronobal snorted gently. “Could you read such a document?”

“The computer in my quarters can translate it for me,” I said. “I swore an oath to Asantra Muzzfor—”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Aronobal interrupted. Apparently, she was as tired of hearing Muzzfor’s name as I was of invoking it. “I will have the appropriate documents sent to you.”

“And similar documents concerning the treatment of Ms. German’s unborn child, too, if you would,” I said. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time. When you get back to Ms. German’s room, will you ask Bayta to join me out here?”

Aronobal gave me an odd look, and I had the feeling that she was surprised by the brevity of the conversation. Apparently, she’d been expecting something longer and more drawn-out. But she merely nodded. “I will,” she said, and went back inside.

I stepped around the corner of the building and sat down with my back to the wall, massaging my calves as if the morning’s travel had left me with tired muscles. As I did so, I once again looked casually around the dome, watching the meager flow of Fillies back and forth. This time, I paid special attention to which buildings seemed to be the centers of attention.

“Frank?” Bayta’s voice came from somewhere near the door.

“Over here,” I called.

Bayta appeared around the corner. Once again, Ty seemed to have inexplicably stayed with her instead of coming outside with Doug and me. “You get anything?” I asked her.

“You didn’t give me much time,” she countered, a little crossly. “Was Dr. Aronobal that anxious to get back?”

“I was that anxious to get rid of her,” I said. “First things first. Come sit down and tell me what you found out from Terese about her attack.”

Bayta frowned, but obediently walked over and sat down beside me. “It happened outside her apartment building as she was coming home from a late party,” she said. “She never saw—”

“Do you have a nail file with you?” I interrupted. “Or anything you can cut or poke with?”

She gave me an odd look. “I have a set of tweezers.”

“No good,” I said. “I need something that can dig into wood or plastic.”

“ Chinzro Hchchu already took everything I had like that.” She pointed at Doug, who had settled down a couple of meters away. “If what you want isn’t too complicated, maybe Doug or Ty would let you use their claws.”

I frowned at Doug’s feet. They looked to me like clawless dog feet. “What makes you think they have claws?”

“Because I saw them,” Bayta said. “I woke up last night while Ty was shuddering against the headboard—probably having a dream—and saw them sliding in and out of his paws.”

“Lovely,” I said, wincing at the thought of something with sharp teeth and claws having nightmares that close to Bayta. “Any idea how I would go about asking?”

“I don’t even know what it is you want,” Bayta said. “But I would recommend saying please .”

“Thanks.” I lifted up a hand and beckoned. “Here, Doug. Come here, boy.”

For a moment he just looked at me, displaying all the semi-sentience of a Chesapeake Bay mollusk. Then, he heaved himself to his feet and trotted over. “Right here,” I went on, patting the ground beside me. “Come stand over here.”

Again, he took a moment to think it over before obeying. “I just need to borrow this paw a minute,” I said soothingly, getting a light grip on his front paw. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

To my surprise, he not only didn’t fight me, but readily shifted his weight onto his other three legs and raised the paw I was holding. Maybe his last owner had taught him how to shake hands. “They just slide out, you said?”

“Like cat’s claws, yes,” Bayta said. “Try squeezing the foot just behind the toes.”

“And maybe get my face clawed off,” I muttered. Shifting my hand to the spot Bayta had suggested, I gently squeezed Doug’s foot.

The watchdogs had claws, all right. Big, long, sharp, nasty things. Scary, but exactly what I needed. “Easy, now,” I soothed as I pressed the lifted foot against the wall beside me and began carefully scratching with the extended claws. “Okay, so Terese was heading home from a party and never saw anything?”

“She never saw her attacker,” Bayta said, picking back up on the story. “He hit her from behind and dragged her down off the street into a stairwell. There he must have hit her again, maybe more than once—her memories are pretty foggy. When she came to she was alone, half dressed—” She grimaced. “And, as she found out later, pregnant.”

“Mm,” I murmured, half my attention on Bayta, half on the gouges I was making in the wall with Doug’s claws. “Anything else?”

“Isn’t that enough?” Bayta asked. “I’m surprised she was willing to give me that much.”

“She’s sick, she’s a long way from home, and as much as she probably hates it you and I are the most familiar faces around,” I pointed out. “On top of that, I get the impression she’s never been exactly flush with close friends. This thing’s probably been bottled up inside her for a long time.”

“And I’m a fellow woman?”

“With this sort of thing, that’s usually the way it works,” I said. “So she never saw her attacker. Interesting.”

“Why is it interesting?”

“Not sure yet.” I nodded across the dome. “New subject. Remember what Wandek said when I asked him why all these buildings were Human design?”