Bite Marks

Pete picked up a sheaf of papers, banged them against the desk, and set them back down. He said, “As you know, the cult I’ve sent you after believes their god, Ufran, lives on one of the rings of Saturn. And they’re furious that NASA is, to quote their Web page, ‘invading the sanctity of his celestial home by peeping through his curtains.’”

“Wait,” said Cole. “There are curtains hanging from Saturn’s rings?”

“It’s a metaphor,” I said.

Pete, just a recording who didn’t expect commentary from the crowd, had moved on. “—Ufranites had convinced Bob Green, a software engineer for Odeam Security, to carry their larvae into the Canberra Deep Space Complex, at which time they were supposed to wreak havoc on the Complex’s vital systems. But while Green and his team were waiting for their plane yesterday, the larvae hatched prematurely.”

Big silence as we all imagined that scene. Human carriers were a new phenomenon. Traditionally gnomes deposited their larvae in their castoffs. Those who were born tailless, or whose noses never turned blue, were either made to incubate the larvae, or worse, act as midwives during the “birth.” But they hadn’t yet formed a coalition, or called the cops, so word hadn’t gotten around yet that Bob Green’s experience was typical. Certain death, lying twitching on the concourse carpet while slimy red worms burst through your blood vessels and out of your skin, leaving you bleeding to death like an Ebola victim.

Bergman cleared his throat. “But we’re still after the Odeam team. Which means what? That they had a backup carrier ready, just in case?”

Cole said, “They’d have to, because hatchings are notoriously unpredictable. Which you’d know if you didn’t spend all day in the lab.”

“I don’t… okay, I do spend a lot of time inside. But look at the results!” He jerked a thumb toward Astral, who currently looked like she’d swallowed a high-quality flashlight.

“Pay attention,” snapped Vayl, slanting his chin toward Pete, who’d paused to take a swig from his coffee cup. Aww. It was one I’d brought back for him from a mission to Nevada. It said killer cuppa joe on the side and had a picture of a cowboy shooting his six-guns at a snarling monster whose head was shaped like a gigantic coffee bean.

Pete said, “If the Ufranites just wanted to foul up the Complex’s software, they could use the Odeam man himself. But our analysts say that isn’t enough for them. They want to sever the connections between the satellite dishes and their computer controllers so absolutely that repair costs will force NASA to divert funds from all of their other projects, causing them to fail too. This would cause billions of dollars of damage that the American people won’t want to pay to repair. In which case, NASA will be forced to close down the complex.”

“What about the communication stations in California and Madrid?” asked Bergman.

As if he could read Bergman’s mind, Pete said, “We’ve learned that NASA’s other two complexes have been targeted as well. I’ve sent teams to each site. But yours is particularly important, because somewhere in the area the shaman who plotted this entire fiasco is pulling the strings. The name of his warren is N’Paltick. Find it, figure out how to discredit him, and we believe the Ufranites will abandon this plan for good.”

“Discredit? Or destroy?” asked Bergman dryly.

Vayl and I traded glances. “We are not in the business of creating martyrs,” he said. “If Jasmine and I find an opportunity to reveal this shaman’s true colors to his followers, we will take it.” Pete seemed to look at me again. Kinda freaky. Like the Jesus picture in Granny May’s pastor’s home.

We’d only gone once, to drop off a loaf of banana bread when his wife had died. Those eyes had followed me everywhere. And they hadn’t been happy with me. Pete, at least, seemed halfway content.

“The Oversight Committee has completely backed off, Jaz. Relax. Do your usual excellent job. You have nothing to worry about from here.” He cleared his throat. “And as long as I’m around, you never will.” His image blinked out. I blinked a couple of times too. Wow. Did he have any idea how long I’d been hoping to hear those words?

I felt a smile lift my lips as I rounded another curve. I gave the Wheezer more gas, basking in job-security glow, enjoying the fact that I got to drive on the left side of the road again. You know what would make this moment perfect? If the Clubman was a Maserati. And Vayl and I were alone on his island, rushing toward one of our who-can-get-naked-fastest evenings in his cool, shadowy bedroom, which always smelled like pine and fresh oranges.

Cole snapped me out of my daydream by asking, “Is there any way to kill the larvae while they’re still in the carrier? You know, some kind of shot or something?”

I felt the corners of my mouth drop. What kind of friend pulls a chimp move like that and throws poop all over your fantasies? One who sucks almost as bad as your life , said that nasty new voice. I sawed at my shoulder as I said, “Doctors haven’t found a way to dump the larvae from the bloodstream once they’re ingested.”

“Ugh! You mean the computer guy ate them?” asked Cassandra. She looked down at Jack. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He nodded, his expression assuring her his tastes definitely ran to gnome slugs.

Vayl said, “More likely he drank them. The eggs are tiny after all. It is only after they reach the bloodstream that they experience their first metamorphosis.” Bergman said, “So there’s no way we could save these guys?” I caught his drift. Anybody who’d made the Odeam team had to be popping the lid off the IQ container. So he kinda connected.

Vayl took off his sunglasses, his icy blue eyes pinning Bergman in place. “Bob Green was carrying the seeds of a space complex’s destruction. He died because he cared more about buying an in-ground pool than he did about his country. After a day’s delay to regroup, the team is back on track, due to arrive in Wirdilling later this evening. We do not know if Green’s replacement will be carrying the larvae, or if an original team member had already agreed to act as backup. Our sources are only certain that another has taken his place, and NASA is deeply worried that he will succeed where his predecessor failed.” Cole spoke up. “Hopefully the bug I planted on Ruvin will clear up the situation for us right away.

Maybe we’ll be able to take this guy out tonight and spend the next couple of days exploring the bush.”

“Why would we want to do that?” asked Bergman.

Cole blew a bubble, and for a second the scent of cinnamon filled the car. As soon as it popped and he’d licked up the mess he said, “Besides my professional goals, I have a couple of private ones, my man. One of those is to pet a kangaroo before I leave Australia. I understand there’s lots of Eastern Grays around this area. What do you say? Are you in?”

Bergman looked at him like he’d just made the worst financial investment of his life. “Kangaroos are wild animals. I’ve heard they claw like girl fighters and kick like jackhammers. You’re