“Can’t we just give them a quart of her blood or something?” Heffer asked. “I don’t think a quart of blood is an unreasonable request to make.”
“I’m pretty sure they need a whole sheep,” Javna said. “That’s the impression I got when I called over to the Nidu embassy to ask about details. I was also given the impression that they’re getting antsy about it. We’re coming up to the deadline real soon.”
“You didn’t tell them about her,” Heffer said.
“No,” Javna said. “I figured you might want to be advised first.”
“Arrrgh,” Heffer said, saying the word “arrgh” rather than grunting it. “Well, this development is pretty much par for the course, isn’t it.”
“Sorry, sir,” Javna said. Javna had been following the transcripts and reports coming back from his boss’s trip to Japan and Thailand. To say the trip had taken a bad turn would be to imply that there had been the possibility of taking the right turn somewhere along the way. Heffer had been hoping to get emigration concessions from the two countries to allow more colonists from third-world countries to jump to the front of the colonization line. But Asian countries were chronically touchy about their colonization status and quotas. Both Japan and Thailand, in their diplomatically polite way, had told Heffer to stick it. The trip had not been one of his shining moments.
“Look,” Heffer said. “At the very least we can have her come in and talk to us. We might be able to find some way to compromise with the Nidu if we can get her to agree to help out. And if nothing else, we can show the Nidu we’re making the effort. We need that. Do you think your guy can get her to cooperate?”
“He’s got a date with her in an hour or so,” Javna said. “He can ask her then.”
“A date?” Heffer said. “Christ, Ben.”
“He was sort of steamrolled into it,” Javna said. “And anyway, the woman doesn’t know that she’s part sheep. He’s got to break it to her.”
“Not the usual first date conversation, is it,” Heffer said.
“I’ve had first dates that would have been improved by it,” Javna said.
“Well, as have we all,” Heffer said. “But that doesn’t make his job any easier.”
“No, sir,” Javna said.
“Are we worried about her?” Heffer asked. “We’ve got a lot of dead sheep.”
“We’re pretty sure whoever’s knocking off the sheep aren’t aware she’s out there,” Javna said. “If they did, I think she’d probably be dead by now.”
“Ben, he needs to bring her in,” Heffer said. “For her own safety, if nothing else.”
“It’s not going to be easy,” Javna said. “At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s a lot to lay on someone in one night that she’s part sheep, her life’s in danger, and she’s needed by the government for the purposes of interplanetary peace.”
“We don’t have any options, Ben,” Heffer said. “You said it yourself.”
“All right,” Javna said. “I’ll get him to get her to come in.”
“Can he do it?” Heffer asked.
Javna laughed. “Sir, this guy breaks bad news to people for a living,” he said. “Trust me, we’ve got the best man for the job.”
“I need to tell you something,” Creek said to Robin as they walked through Arlington Mall.
“It’s not about the sweats, is it?” Robin said, glancing down at her togs and then back at Creek. “I know they’re kind of ratty, but they’re really comfortable. And being a pet shop owner doesn’t exactly leave you rolling in the dough.”
“I hadn’t noticed your sweats,” Creek said. He was wearing a jacket, t-shirt, and jeans.
“I don’t know how to take that,” Robin said. “Does that mean you’re not noticing me? If so, this date’s not going like I hoped.”
Creek grinned. “I’ve noticed you. Honest.”
“Good answer,” Robin said. “What do you do, Harry?”
“I work for the State Department,” Creek said. “I’m a Xenosapient Facilitator.”
Robin rolled that around in her head. “You help nonhuman intelligences? That sounds like you’re either a god or a gigolo. Which could be really interesting or disgusting.”
“It’s neither,” Creek said. “I go to the various alien embassies and give the people in them bad news.”
Robin scrunched up her face. “Rough gig,” she said.
“It takes a certain perspective,” Creek agreed.
“So do you have any bad news for me?” Robin asked.
“Well,” Creek began.
“Look! Here we are,” Robin said, and pointed to the 35-foot high transparent cube in the Arlington Mall atrium. Creek peered inside the cube and saw four people in it, literally bouncing off the walls.
“What is that?” Creek asked.
“That’s WallBall,” Robin said. “It’s why we’re here.”
“WallBall?” Creek said. “I played that in third grade. You threw a tennis ball against a wall and when it came back you caught it. If you dropped it, you had to make it to the wall before someone threw it. That’s wall ball.”
“Well, two things,” Robin said. “First, that game’s called ‘suicide,’ not ‘wall ball,’ and anyone who thinks otherwise is freakish and wrong. Second, you notice the banner over there has ‘Wall-Ball’ with that little ‘tm’ thingy, so I’m sure that any little kids playing suicide-but-calling-it-wall-ball will soon be served with cease-and-desist orders.”
“Seems a little harsh,” Creek said.
“You know kids,” Robin said. “If you don’t keep ’em down early, they get all uppity. Come on, the line’s short. Let’s get in there.”
Robin explained the game while they waited. The game was played similarly to basketball in that you had to get the ball through a hoop in order to score. The catch was that the hoop was 28 feet up on the wall of the cube, high enough to make any ground-based shot at the hoop dubious at best. So the players literally climbed the walls of the playing field to get at the hoop, through the use of specially equipped sneakers with kinetic movement enhancers in the soles. As Robin was mentioning this, Creek was watching one of the players hurl himself at a wall, squarely plant a shoe, and then push off, hurling himself up an adjoining wall. When he hit that he launched himself again, landed next to the hoop, and stuffed the ball down its gullet before doing a flip in the air and falling, back first, toward the flooring surface below. The surface gave under the speed of the impact and then bounced him back up; he put himself in standing position and landed on his feet.
“That’s why people don’t get killed,” Robin said. “The flooring is velocity sensitive and it dampens impacts. It’s also why you have to kick off from the wall to get any speed out of the shoes.”
“Been reading up on this?” Creek said.
“You bet,” Robin said. “That guy who just stuffed the ball used to be with the Terrapins. The guys who invented the sport are going all over the U.S. with former college and pro players and letting people play five minutes of two-on-twos with them. They’re trying to generate some excitement for the pro league they’re starting next year.”
There was a loud smack as one of the players rammed into the wall, the ball squirting out from between him and the glass. He fell to the floor in obvious pain.
“I’m guessing that guy wasn’t a former Maryland star,” Creek said. Another player grabbed the ball and began hiking up toward the basket.
“Watching the amateurs hurt themselves is half the fun,” Robin said.
“You’re forgetting we’re the amateurs,” Creek said.
“Look at it this way,” Robin said. “We can’t possibly do any worse.”
The two men in front of Creek and Robin in the line stepped aside. Creek and Robin stepped forward to the attendant. “Welcome to WallBall, the world’s most exciting new sport. I’m Chet.” Chet, despite being at the vanguard of the world’s most exciting new sport, sounded suspiciously bored. “Do you want to challenge the
sport’s best pro players in two-on-two combat?” he asked, in the same near-monotone.
“Are those guys in there really the sport’s best pro players?” Robin asked.
“Lady, at this point they’re pretty much the only pro players,” Chet said. “So technically speaking, yeah, they’re the best.”
“I don’t see how we could resist a pitch like that,” Robin said to Creek. She turned back to Chet. “Okay, we’re in.”
Chet handed both of them disclaimer sheets. “Please read and sign,” he said. “What are your shoe sizes?” They told him; he went over to a small storage kiosk to get their game shoes.
“It says here that by playing we waive our right to sue for any injury, ‘including but not limited to contusions, broken bones, lost teeth, paralysis, impacted spinal columns, and accidental removal of fingers,’” Creek said.
“No wonder they think it’s going to be popular with the kids,” Robin said. “You got a pen?”
“You’re going to sign this?” Creek said.
“Sure,” Robin said. “I’m not really worried about it. I’m pretty athletic, and if worse comes to worst, I know some good lawyers who will be all over this document.”
“I don’t have a pen on me,” Creek said.
Robin peered at Chet’s stand to look for a pen; there wasn’t one. Then she crossed her eyes in annoyance. “Jeez, that’s right,” she said, and fished through her purse, eventually pulling out a pen. “Here we go. It’s the pen that guy left at the store today. I forgot I had it.” She signed the disclaimer and handed the pen to Creek. “Live a little,” she said. Creek signed the disclaimer and handed the paper and the pen back to Robin. She gave the papers back to Chet, who had returned with the shoes.
“Okay, I need to explain to you how these shoes work,” Chet said. He held up one of the shoes. “Inside the shoe, near the tip, is a small patch at the top of the shoe. What you do is lift your big toe to come into contact with that patch. When you do that, you activate the jumping mechanism. The jumping mechanism only stays active for a second—that’s for your safety—so you’ll need to touch the patch each time you want to jump. There are patches in both shoes, but each activation works for both shoes at the same time, so use whichever big toe you’re most comfortable with. Depending on how hard you push off, you can get about twenty feet into the air. The floor is designed to cushion a descent from any height, but you can still land awkwardly or collide with a wall. So before the game starts, you’ll get a couple of minutes to work with the shoes and get comfortable with them. Do you have any questions?”
“If we win, do we get anything?” Robin asked.
“You get two tickets to a regular season game,” Chet said.
“Cool. Second date for free,” Robin said to Creek.
Chet looked at the two of them. “You look like responsible adults instead of the brain-dead teenagers I’ve been dealing with, so I’m going to let you have these shoes now rather than wait until you’re in the cube. But on the off chance you’re tempted to run off with them, you should know that their jumping mechanism cuts off fifty yards from this station. So don’t think you’re going to be able to bounce all the way home.”
“Do kids really take off in them?” Robin asked.
“Two attempts today,” Chet said. “The mall security people hate us.”
“We promise not to run off,” Creek said.
“I appreciate that,” Chet said. “Okay, let me get this other pair set up and then you’ll be up after them. Another ten minutes or so. You can take your own shoes and put them next to this stand.” Chet walked off to deal with his other customers. Robin sat to put on her shoes; Creek leaned against a decorative light pole, slipped off his loafers, and slipped on the WallBall sneakers. As he put one on he lifted up his big toe to feel for the patch; it was there, a small slick circle he could register through his sock. He pressed his big toe into it and felt both of his shoes vibrate. He held still so as not to trigger a jump; a little less than a second later the vibrating stopped.
“You know, these look like the coolest bowling shoes ever,” Robin said, standing up. “I don’t think I’d wear them for social occasions—I mean, besides this one—but they have their kitsch appeal. So, what do you want to do for dinner?”
“I thought you were the cruise director for this date,” Creek said.
“Oh. No, I’m really bad at that,” Robin said. “I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, but I’m sort of both spontaneous and disorganized.”
“And yet you own your own business,” Creek said.
“Well, Dad’s a CPA,” Robin said. “He helped get me organized and keeps me on an even keel. I don’t know what I’d do without him. I wish I could have inherited his organizational mind, but I’m adopted. So I just have to borrow it straight from the source. I’d have to guess one of my biological parents was sort of scatterbrained.”
“Have you ever tried to find out anything about your biological parents?” Creek asked.
Robin shrugged. “My parents—my adoptive parents—told me that they had died,” she said. “And aside from a bad moment with Santa when I was eight, they’ve never lied to me about anything big. So I never went looking. There were a couple of times when I was a teenager when I thought about what it would be like to meet my ‘other’ family, though. You know how teenagers are.”
“I was one once,” Creek said.
“I’m sorry,” Robin said. “I suddenly got very personal for a first date. I don’t want you to think I’m one of those people who unloads their entire history over appetizers. I’m really not that co-dependent.”
“It’s okay,” Creek said. “I don’t mind. Anyway, I think we’ll have a lot to talk about at dinner.”
Robin opened her mouth to follow up on that, but before she could a man in a sports coat walked over. “Robin Baker?” he said.
“Yes?” she said.
The man reached into his coat and pulled out a wallet containing an ID card. “Agent Dwight, FBI. Miss Baker, I need you to come with me. You’re in danger here.”
“In danger?” Robin said. “In danger from what?”
“Not from what. From who,” Agent Dwight said, and glanced over at Creek. “You’re in danger from him. He’s going to kill you, Miss Baker. At least he is going to try.”
chapter 7
Robin turned to Creek. “You bastard,” she said. “You never said anything about killing me when we made the date.”
Agent Dwight grimaced. “This is serious, Miss Baker. You need to come with me right now.”
“Robin, I wouldn’t go anywhere with that guy,” Creek said.
“I’m not going anywhere with anyone,” Robin said.
“You’re making a mistake, Miss Baker,” Agent Dwight said. “This man is a danger to you.”
“Yeah, fine,” Robin said. “I’m in a public place with surveillance cameras all around, and you’re here to protect me, right? It’s doubtful he’s going to murder me right here and now. So before I do anything else, I want to know what this is about.”
Creek and Dwight started speaking at the same time; Robin held her hand up. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “One at a time.” She pointed at Dwight. “You. Go.”
“You’re in danger,” Dwight said. “From him.”
“I got that already,” Robin said. “Why?”
“He’s going to try to kill you,” Dwight said.
“Any reason?” Robin asked.
“What?” said Dwight.
“Is there any reason he’s going to kill me?” Robin asked. “You know, like I killed his father or stole his land? Or is he just your garden-variety axe murderer? What?”
“Well, he’s done it before,” Dwight said.
“Killed people,” Robin said.
“Yeah,” said Dwight. “And he’s planning to do it to you. That’s why—”
“I need to come with you. Right. Okay, you stop now.” She turned to Creek. “You go now.”
&nbs
p; “It’s complicated,” Creek said.
“Complicated would be good after this guy’s story,” Robin said.
“You have a particular sort of DNA in your genetic makeup,” Creek said. “Someone with this DNA is needed for a diplomatic mission. Others with this DNA have been turning up dead; as far as I know you’re the only one on the planet with this DNA who is still alive. I’m supposed to talk to you about the situation and try to get you to agree to come in to the State Department. We want to discuss options with you and see if you can help us.”
“Options that don’t include killing me,” Robin said.
“Right,” Creek said.
“But you didn’t get around to telling me any of this,” Robin said.
“I tried,” Creek said. “I don’t know if you know this about yourself, but you’re not the easiest person in the world to have a linear conversation with.”
“What happens if I don’t go to the State Department with you?” Robin said.
“There might be a war,” Creek said.
“I meant to me,” Robin said.
“Nothing,” Creek said. “You’re an American and a UNE citizen. We can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Although given the presence of the so-called Agent Dwight here, I would suggest you let the State Department give you protection until this thing gets sorted out.”
Robin turned to Agent Dwight. “It’s just me,” she said, pointing at Creek, “but he seems more believable.”
“He’s lying,” Agent Dwight said. “He’s a dangerous man.”
“Robin, I have my communicator with me. Use it and get the number of the State Department from information,” Creek said. “Ask for Ben Javna. He’s the Special Assistant to the Secretary of State. He should still be in his office. Tell him who you are and he’ll confirm everything I’ve just told you. He can even arrange to have someone else come and get you. You don’t have to go anywhere with me.”