magnificent Catholics.” I did not believe a word of that. I knew him all too well. He was a xenoformer. That meant he altered worlds illegally, changing their atmospheres, topographies, and biospheres for large amounts of illicit cash. The Earth was his next target.
It didn’t take me long to find him. He found
“Hello, Naag,” I said.
You should have seen him spin around. The centrifugal force of it restyled his hair. I decided that it suited him.
“How are the Catholics?” I said.
He went white. “They’re wonderful,” he said. “I like the Jewish mothers, too. And most of the rest of humanity in fact. Although some of the marketing people make me nervous and I try to steer clear altogether of Los Angeles.”
I shook my head. “It’s crap,” I said. “You’re xenoforming Earth.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. What is it this time? An ocean planet for the Hyrrions? Or what about something hotter, for the Nuwa Chythicans?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, really? Then why did you break in?”
He looked down at the screwdriver he still clutched. I saw his eyes go hard.
“Don’t even think it,” I said. At the same time, I pressed a short gray cylinder up against his head. “You know what this is?”
He rolled his borrowed Earthling eyes to get a look at it. “A psychological injector?”
“Good. You know what’s in it?”
“How many guesses do I get?”
“Forty millicogs of pure, uncut forgiveness from the Monks of Xalia.”
“You didn’t even let me guess.”
“The most guilty beings in existence,” I went on. “They think everything’s their fault.”
“Even shaving?”
“Especially shaving.”
“They sound fantastic. I’ll have to visit sometime. Bring the kids. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
I shoved him up against the wall. “They train themselves for centuries in self-forgiveness. It’s painstakingly harvested and concentrated in mental collectors. Do you have any idea what this stuff does to Naags?”
He did, evidently, because he dropped the screwdriver, and he didn’t fight me when I used the cord from one of the Venetian blinds to tie him to the credenza.
“No, no,” he said. “Never mind me. I’ll be fine. You go have your fun. I
I didn’t listen, as on the one hand, this was typical behavior for a Naag and on the other I had locked myself in the bathroom, where I’d dropped a tab of standard issue, psychoactive, prepaid calling acid. It was time, in other words, to call the cavalry and I planned to do it through a telecommunicative hallucination.
The walls melted. My head became a spray of huckleberries. The huckleberries grew and morphed into an office with a few inspirational wall hangings, a potted plant from the Dehutan sector, a desk, and, sitting at it, Remsee, my superior.
I use that last term lightly. You see, Remsee was a Wiee—a form of life evolved entirely from hand puppets. It was called inanimate evolution and it was all the rage some centuries ago. Manufacturers had started it to get their products to improve themselves by natural selection. They’d introduced accelerated recombinant evolution into household objects, then let nature take its course. The craze had ended in a flurry of lawsuits when a politically active band of intelligent suppositories attacked a ladies’ historical society luncheon, but certain vestiges remained.
“Xzchsthyl!” Remsee said. “It’s great to see you!”
I stayed wary despite this pleasantry. It was said the Wiee had no innate intelligence and so derived mental nutrition from the minds of everybody they conversed with. The process was not fully understood, but every time I talked to Remsee I had the distinct impression I was getting dumber.
“Where are you?” Remsee said.
“On Earth. Remember? I was sent to catch the Naag?”
He tipped his head to one side, making his eyeballs jiggle. “Oh, right. I hear they’ve got some wonderful hands on the planet.”
“I’m a poor judge,” I admitted.
“Fantastic knuckles,” he went on. “Very good bone structure. Some of the fingernails can snag, I hear, but wonderful overall.”
“Right. Listen, Remsee, I caught the Naag.”
“An aunt of mine got a job there working with a ventriloquist. Totally freaked everybody out. What did you say?”
“I said I caught the Naag. I’ve got him in custody.”
He looked thoughtful. He managed that by scratching the red fur of his forehead. “Right, right,” he said. “Xenoformer, isn’t he?”
“One-hundred plus worlds,” I said.
He nodded. “I remember. Thing is, Xzchsthyl, you’ve got to let him go.”
I couldn’t get sense out of that comment any way I looked at it. It was like drilling for orange juice inside a goat. “Did you say, ‘let him go?’ “
“I did.”
“But he’s a known xenoformer. And he plans to xenoform the Earth. Under article six million three hundred thousand eight hundred and fifty-two, any planet hosting indigenous intelligent life—”
He was nodding like people do when they can afford to concede your point because theirs is bigger. “And the human race does not meet the criteria for intelligence.”
I was mouth breathing by then. “Come again?”
“The council held a special meeting,” Remsee said. “They cited strip malls. Overdevelopment. Pollution. And Minnesota.”
“Did you say Minnesota?”
“Mmm. The council thought Minnesota was a particularly dumb idea.”
All the strength went out of me. It was obvious enough what had happened. The Naag had bribed someone. It wouldn’t be the first time. Only a year ago, for example, I’d nailed him for xenoforming a small reddish-brown world out by the Crab Nebula, and the judge had thrown the case out, saying the witnesses for the prosecution were a bunch of no good clowns. He had a point—they were second-rate performers from the victim planet. Kept snapping the bailiffs suspenders and throwing cream pies at the jury. But the Naag had also bribed the judge, and the larger issue was, the Naag had money. In the face of that, a mere bureaucracy is helpless.
“You’re to return to base immediately, Xzchsthyl,” Remsee said. “And bring a couple of hands back with you if you get the chance.”
I tried to talk some sense into him, but he was adamant, and by the time we disconnected I could not remember how to tie my shoes.
After my talk with Remsee, I stood looking through the bathroom window. In the playground near my building, a little crowd of children played. They were singing, laughing, jumping rope. One of them pushed another’s face into a mud puddle. They reminded me of another child, on another planet, many years ago. That other child was me. Granted I’d had several limbs, an exoskeleton, and had propelled myself around by means of air expelled through one giant nostril, but I’d been just as oblivious and innocent.
The Naag had xenoformed my homeworld all those years ago. His
