Beastchild Dean R. Koontz

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The last traces of the sweet-drugs had left him an hour earlier, though he had
decided to wait as long as possible before giving the alarm that would wake
the Hunter and send him stalking Hulann and the boy. At first, he thought this
alert had nothing to do with Hulann. It was being given by a woman named
Fiala, an archaeologist and moderately well-known essayist in certain
technical circles. When he ascertained, after the first few words, that she
too was now tied and gagged by Hulann, he waited no longer. He added his voice
to hers.Moments after they had finished, there were naoli in his office to
untie him, to take the gag from his mouth. One of them was a military officer
named Zenolan, an ex-tremely large person, a foot taller than Banalog, a super
lizard with a head half again as large as a head should be. He took the empty
hypo with the traces of sweet-drugs in it from the hands of one of the other
naoli. Sweet-drugs? he asked Banalog unnecessarily. Yes. When? Last
evening, Banalog lied. Why was he here? A session under the
machines. Zenolan looked at the equipment hanging in the re-cessed section of
the office ceiling. A session? At night? Early evening,'' Banalog said. And
it was because he had forgotten his appointment for this afternoon. Or so he
said. I contacted him to get him in after hours. He was reluctant even then.
Tried to make excuses. I wouldn't have any of it. He looked at Zenolan to see
what effect the story was having.The big man seemed to believe it. Go on, he
said. Then, when he was here, he tried to outwit the ma-chines. Which is
impossible, of course. Of course. When I found his secret, that he was
harboring a boy well, he overpowered me, smashed my head against the floor,
knocked me out before I thought to use my Phaser contact. When I woke, he had
me tied and drugged. You're sure it was not any earlier than last
evening? Banalog looked perplexed. If it had been, the sweet-drugs would have
worn off. I would have contacted you sooner. That's what I mean. Are you
suggesting No, Zenolan said, shaking his huge head. Forget it. I'm just
upset. Banalog snorted to show his contempt. He knew better than to get too
irate. Too much anger would make them suspect he really did have something to
cover. He was pondering his next move when his desk phone buzzed. He wondered
what private message he was receiving that could not be sent over the
Phasersystem. He picked up the receiver and said hello. You will come to see
me in ten minutes, the smooth, cold voice on the other end said. I will want
your full story. It was the Hunter Docanil . . .The Hunter Relemar stepped out
of the thousand-gallon storage tank in the foundry yards in the city that had
been Atlanta. He opened his Phasersystem contact and informed the military
officials who assigned his mis-sions (and, incidentally, everyone else linked
to the Atlanta area system and the Fourth Division system) that he had
completed his assignment. Then he broke contact.He did not look back at what
had been Sara Laramie.He stuffed his clawed hands into the pockets of his
greatcoat and walked across the yards toward the exit gate.There was only a
slight chill in the air, yet he could not go without clothes, as other naoli
could.He was a Hunter.He was different.Elsewhere at that time:Fiala finished
the necessary tapeforms for application for director of her archaeological
team. The job that should have been hers in the first place. There was no
problem now. She could not help but get it. Hulann had cracked without her
help. She felt terribly pleased with things.David watched the dawn from the
viewglass of the en-gineer's room in front of the plummeting Bluebolt as it
streaked down a two-mile incline toward a flat plain where speed could be
safely raised. It was one of the nicest dawns he had seen in some time. When
it was over and day had insinuated itself on the world, he planned to go back
to the sleeping car for a nap.The body of the dead naoli guard who had fallen
under Hulann's shuttlecraft was annointed with sweet-drugs, wrapped in a
purple shroud, and burned . . .The edges of the conversion cannister crater
near the Great Lakes continued to crawl forward, hissing and spitting green
light . . .
Chapter SevenAttention: it struck Hulann with the force of a piledri-ver,
mentally and emotionally, not physically. He stood very still, receiving the
alert until there was nothing more to be heard except official messages and
directions which could do him little or no good now. What is it? the boy
asked. They have discovered my absence and know its reason. How? They found
the traumatist I tied and gagged. And the woman from whom I stole the
shuttle. But how do you know this? The Phasersystem. Leo looked perplexed,
screwed his face up until his eyes and mouth seemed to be sucked in towards
his nose. What's that? You you haven't such a thing. We do. A means of
talking together without talking. For intercommunica-tion. Mind
reading? Sort of. Only it's all mechanical. A little thing they implant in
your skull when you've just grown big enough to come out of the brood
hole. Brood hole? Every house has a brood hole near its warren where
Hulann paused, blinked his big eyes. Forget it. For now, anyway. It just gets
more complicated to explain. Leo shrugged. You want the heat? You keep it a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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