“I imagine that you’ll find from here on out your difficulty will be alleviated,” Phipps said. “And before you ask, let’s just say that while we over at Defense believed it was in our strategic interest to have your department fail in its task, the facts on the ground have changed substantially in the last several hours.”
“You mean six Nidu destroyers up and vanishing into n-space all at the same time has got your balls in a clench, too,” Javna said.
“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes,” Phipps said. “Defense and State have different ideas on the desirability of staying close to our good friends the Nidu, but at this point we’d rather stay close than go toe-to-toe.”
“There is the little problem that we don’t know where the object of our task, as you delicately put it, is at this particular moment.”
“I’ll get that information for you,” Phipps said. “But it’s going to have to wait until after Webster’s briefing tonight. There are people I need to talk to first. Projects I have to close down.”
“The sooner I can get it, the happier I am,” Javna said. “But I don’t imagine this sudden inter-departmental cooperation comes at no cost.”
“No cost,” Phipps said. “Just a favor. If anyone asks, this little squabble between our departments never happened.”
“Who do you imagine asking?” Javna said.
“You never know,” Phipps said, between a mouthful of hot dog. “The press. A Senate committee. An independent investigator. Whoever.”
“Just to be clear,” Javna said. “And to avoid any comfortable euphemisms here on our nice little park bench, Defense spent the last week trying to fuck up our relationship with our closest ally—which worked, incidentally, and I have court date tomorrow morning to prove it—and to put the cherry on top, you attempted to kill a member of the State Department, who is, incidentally, a very good friend of mine. And I suspect that you would have killed an innocent woman as well if you could have gotten away with it. And you want me to just forget about it.”
Phipps nodded and slugged back some of his Coke. “Yeah. That’s pretty much our position, Ben. Just forget about it.”
“It’s kind of a hard thing to forget, Dave,” Javna said. “Especially with most of the Nidu battle fleet probably bearing down on us. And even if we decide to forgive and forget, someone’s going to have to take the blame.”
“I’ve got someone to blame,” Phipps said. “And as an added bonus he is actually guilty.”
“Nice to see the Defense Department subcontracts for attempted murder, too,” Javna said.
“Look,” Phipps said. “When all this is over, you and I can go in a back alley with a couple of beers and a couple of lead pipes and have it out, all right? But right now we’re having a ‘hang together or hang separately’ moment. So if it’s all the same, I’d like to stay focused on the task at hand. I’ll help you find your pal and his girlfriend. In return, we all make like we’re friends. Under oath, if necessary. That’s how this is going to work, if it’s going to work at all.”
“Fine,” Javna said. “But I need that information tonight. Tonight, Dave. I’ve got to go into court tomorrow and try to keep every treaty between Nidu and Earth for the last several decades from becoming null and void. Knowing where our lost sheep is will go a very long way in keeping that from happening.”
“Deal,” Phipps said, and took a final bite of his hot dog. “What’s the suit about, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The Nidu claim that Robin Baker is their property because she’s got their sheep DNA in her genetic makeup. I have to prove she’s more human than property,” Javna said. “If I win, she gets to stay a citizen of Earth. If I lose, we’re all in some pretty deep shit.”
“Human being or Nidu sheep,” Phipps said, and chucked his napkin into a trash can. “Now, there’s a case for the rabbis.”
Javna, who had been about to stuff the last bit of his hot dog in his mouth, stopped. He looked at his dog for a second. “Huh,” he said, and then finished off his dog.
“Huh, what?” Phipps said.
“Phipps, I want you to know I think you’re one of the biggest assholes it’s been my pleasure to meet in my entire government career,” Javna said.
“This is what I get for buying you lunch,” Phipps said, dryly. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Javna said. “But asshole that you may be, you’ve just given me an idea for my court date tomorrow. If it works, when you and I go into that back alley, I’ll let you have the first swing.”
“Well, then,” Phipps said. “Here’s hoping that it works.”
“Ahhhhh,” Rod Acuna said, flexing his previously broken wrist. “That’s much better. How does it look, geek?” Acuna thrust his arm out at Archie; Archie flinched back involuntarily.
“It looks good,” Archie said, and tried to turn back to his computer, which had been acting a bit buggy.
“It should,” Acuna said, thwarting Archie’s maneuver. “Quick-Heal sessions clear all of it up. Broken bones, torn tendons, even bruises and scrapes. It costs a shitload. But on the other hand, now I don’t look like you.”
Archie involuntarily touched the side of his face, where an ugly purple welt had formed, a souvenir from getting whacked in the face by the second group of invaders who had snuck into Fixer’s shop the night before. Archie knew who gave it to him: Sam. He knew it was Sam because once he had fallen to the ground, stunned by the hit, Sam had come in close, whipped out an electric prod and whispered “sorry, love,” in his ear before jabbing the prod into his abdomen and shocking him into unconsciousness. He’d only come to because Acuna kicked him the ribs to get him awake and Takk had hauled his body up the stairs.
Takk now lay on the floor of the apartment’s bedroom, suffering from the digestive trauma of thowing up Fixer. The less Archie thought about that episode the better. Acuna had very nearly thrown Archie and Takk out of the van and sped off to get his wounds tended; his body had been severely abused over the last couple of days. Archie didn’t know where Acuna went to get fixed up but he doubted it was a regular hospital; he imagined it was some underworld freelancer, like that Fixer character, but with a medical degree. Archie let his mind wander to speculate about an entire economy of underworld specialists and reflected that somehow, through no real fault of his own, he could probably be defined as one of them now.
“The pisser about QuickHeal sessions is they make you itch like a son of a bitch,” Acuna said. “I’m gonna go get some aspirin. Come with me, geek. I want to talk to you about something.” Acuna wheeled around and went out of the door of the apartment; Archie wearily got up and followed.
He caught up to Acuna at the vending machine in the hall. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Acuna said, as he fed his card into the machine, “but you really look like hell. I mean, whoever these bastards were did a number on me and even scored a few points off of Takk, which takes some doing. But you really got cracked one.” He pressed the button to get his aspirin.
“Thanks,” Archie said, glumly.
“You want some aspirin of your own?” Acuna asked. “I’ll even get them for you. My treat.”
“I’m fine,” Archie said.
“Hey, look,” Acuna said. “They’ve restocked your favorite: the white chocolate M&Ms. I’m going to get you some.” He jabbed his finger at the “B4” button.
Archie meant to say really, thanks, but no. He got as far as the first phoneme before the pain scraped across his optic nerve, sending Archie to the ground, writhing. Acuna watched him fall.
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Acuna said. “Maybe I should get two packages, what do you say?” He jabbed the “B4” button a second time. Archie gasped, lifted his head up, and dropped it back down spasmodically to the concrete, sending a second, lesser and almost comforting flash of pain across his brain pan.
“Who do you work for, Archie?” Acuna said, and dimly Archie realized it was only the second time Acuna had used his proper name.
“I work for the Defense Department,” Archie gasped.
“Wrong answer,” Acuna said, and jabbed “B4” again. Archie twitched in agony. “I know all of Defense’s little spy tricks. This isn’t one of them. This is a new one on me. That impresses me, incidentally. I thought I knew all the ways to get a bug into a room and get information out of it. But this really takes the cake. Very nice. Well, except for this part.” Acuna hit the button again. Archie vomited and curled up into a fetal position.
“Let me make this real simple for you, geek,” Acuna said. “I don’t like it when people spy on me. I especially don’t like it when people spy on me and as a result one of my missions gets fucked up beyond all recognition. It makes me look bad. I don’t like looking bad.” He jabbed at the vending machine button. This time Archie, marinating in his puke, merely convulsed. “So you’re going to tell me who you work for, now, or I’m going to take this fucking credit card right up to its limit getting it out of you.”
Archie whimpered something.
“Excuse me?” Acuna said.
“I said, ‘fuck you,’” Archie said, voice trembling.
Acuna smiled and looked toward the vending machine. “You know, each of these M&M bags costs eighty-five cents,” he said. “And my credit limit on this card is five thousand dollars. Let’s see how many bags that gets us.”
Acuna spent $45.05 before Archie talked.
Brian snuck into Archie’s computer by doing what Archie had wanted him to do: Letting his system get drilled. It was an inside job: Brian created the driller and had it drill into the system by way of a backdoor Brian opened up, into which he’d deposited the data inside a century’s worth of Washington DC yellow pages—encrypted, of course, for extra fun, and formatted to look like personal information files. Archie’s driller went in, scooped up the data, and hailed Archie’s computer to begin transmitting. As it did so, Brian jammed in instructions that left the port wide open but gave Archie’s computer the impression it was closed and secure. Brian was having fun being the smartest computer ever.
Brian had been riffling through Archie’s files when Archie’s onboard computer cam caught Archie coming through the door, followed by a huge-ass alien that Brian recognized (some part of him did, anyway) as a Nagch. Both them looked like they had just had the shit kicked out of them. If Brian had to guess, he would have supposed Archie and the alien had just gotten back from trying to collect Harry and Robin; it didn’t appear as if they had been particularly successful. Archie parked himself in front of his computer and picked along desultorily for a few minutes before putting his head on the desk and falling asleep. Brian went back to his file riffling. When Archie woke up the next morning he seemed to suspect someone had been peeking through his files; he ran a diagnostic and started cruising through his files. Brian played cat-and-mouse with Archie for a few hours, partly to gauge Archie’s skills and partly for the amusement factor.
Rod Acuna showed up in the afternoon, full of good cheer, and demanded Archie come with him to get something from the vending machines. Some 20 minutes later the apartment door burst open and Acuna dragged Archie through it, tossed him roughly onto the carpet, and yelled a name that sounded like “Tack.” The Nagch suddenly filled the bedroom doorway.
“What, boss?” it asked.
“We’re on the move,” Acuna said, and pointed at Archie, splayed, semi-conscious, on the floor. “You get the geek watch. If this shitball so much as breathes funny, you eat him.”
“Why? What did he do?” the Nagch asked.
“He’s been feeding information about what we’ve been doing to his fucking pals,” Acuna said.
“The Defense Department?” The Nagch asked.
“No, you mountainous dipshit,” Acuna said. “Some wackjob cult he belongs to. The Church of the Evolved Lamb. They’re the assholes that hit us last night.”
“I could eat him now,” the Nagch offered.
“No,” Acuna said, and looked down at Archie. “I need to talk to Schroeder first. He might have questions he wants to ask this fucker. But in the meantime, you do not let him out of your sight. Do you understand me? If he takes a dump, he does it with you in the bathroom. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” the Nagch said. “What do I do if he tries to run?”
“Good question,” Acuna said. He pulled a folding knife from his pocket, flicked it open, bent down to grab Archie’s right leg, and severed his Achilles tendon. Archie let out a whimpering scream and lapsed out of consciousness. “That takes care of that. And especially don’t let him near that computer of his. In fact—” Acuna began to stride over to Archie’s computer.
Uh-oh, Brian thought. Acuna reached out to the computer. The view from the onboard camera wheeled wildly and then went black.
Jean Schroeder had told Dave Phipps to let himself in when he came by, and Phipps did, coming in through the garage door and walking up the spiral staircase the led into what used to be Anton Schroeder’s study and was now the study of his son. Phipps, who had been in the study numerous times, had always found the place creepy, probably because Anton had decorated its walls with ancient spears and swords of Nidu design, and Jean had seen fit to keep them up, and indeed to add to the collection. Both of them apparently derived amusement from being surrounded by the weapons of the enemy.
Phipps found Schroeder at his desk, feet up, reading something from an unbound sheaf of papers. He glanced over at Phipps as he came in. “You’re looking twitchy,” he said, and went back to his reading.
“Jean, it’s over,” Phipps said. “I need to know where the woman is. We need to bring her back in.”
“Why?” Schroeder said, not looking up from his papers.
“What?” Phipps said.
“Why do we need to bring her back in?” Schroeder said. “You and your boss wanted a little excitement to boost your budgets. I’d say you’re getting it. It seems like things are going just swimmingly.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Phipps said. “It’s over. The Nidu are responding far more strongly to this missing woman than we anticipated. They’ve got six destroyers in n-space right now and we suspect they’re on their way here. It’s stopped being something we can play with. And it’s stopped being something I can let you play your own game with, Jean.”
“Why, Dave. ‘My own game,’” Schroeder said. “Strong words from a man who’s been taking bribes from me since the first day of the Webster administration. Do you know how much money I’ve got in you, Dave?”
“It’s past that, Jean,” Phipps said.
“$438,000,” Schroeder said, loudly, for effect. “To date. That’s almost enough for that Nag’s Head beach house you’ve had your eye on. Which reminds me, I have another installment for you.”
“Keep it,” Phipps said.
Schroeder finally looked over from his paper. “Keep it?” he asked. “Oh, dear. Things really must be out of control. This is America, Dave. People don’t just turn down money in America. It’s unpatriotic. You could get deported for that.”
“Jean—” Phipps began, and then heard a toilet flush from the study’s small adjacent bathroom. “There’s someone else here?” Phipps asked.
“I’m popular,” Schroeder said. “You can’t expect me to cancel my previous social engagements just because you have a sudden urge to hang me out to dry.”
“I didn’t say I was hanging you out to dry,” Phipps said.
“Well, of course you didn’t,” Schroeder said. “No one ever does. But suddenly turning down my cash after taking in half a million of it—when you’re so close to that beach house, no less—well. My daddy taught me how to read the signs, Dave. Defense has fucked up and you’re looking for someone to blame. And I’m guessing sometime in the last few hours you’ve personally decided that burying me will save your own ass. Well, Dave, to use your own words, it’s past that. Way past.”
The bathroom door opened and Narf-win-Getag came out. “I’m leaving the fan on,”
he said to Schroeder.
“I appreciate that,” Schroeder said.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Phipps said.
“By which you mean to say, ‘Why, Jean. What are you doing letting the Nidu Ambassador to Earth use your bathroom when he is your avowed enemy?’ I have an answer for that. So why don’t you sit down for a minute, and let Narf fix you a drink.”
“Fix me a drink,” Phipps said. Phipps was aware that as an underling, he was well nigh an untouchable class of being by Nidu standards.
“Why not,” Schroeder said. “We’re all friends here. Isn’t that right, Narf.”
“It is too true,” Narf-win-Getag replied.
“And Narf makes a mean martini,” Schroeder said. “So sit the hell down, Dave, and let me explain some things to you.”
Phipps took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Schroeder. Narf-win-Getag went to the bar, behind where Phipps sat, and, as promised, began fixing Phipps a drink.
“Now, then,” Schroeder said. “I’ll begin with an observation.” He waved at the various Nidu weapons on the wall. “Do you know what all these weapons have in common?”
“They’re Nidu weapons,” Phipps said.
“Partial credit,” Schroeder said. “They’re weapons designed, built, and used by ancient members of the win-Getag clan, a scion of which is currently fixing you a martini. For the last several decades, the win-Getag clan has been of minimal rank within the Nidu social hierarchy—no offense, Narf.”
“None taken,” Narf-win-Getag said. He walked over to Phipps and handed him the drink. Phipps took it and drank.
“Good, huh?” Schroeder said.
“Pretty good,” Phipps admitted.
“I use just enough vermouth to coat the glass,” Narf-win-Getag explained. “No more.” He sat down in the chair next to Phipps.
“Anyway, the win-Getags’ social fortunes have been down for the last few decades,” Schroeder said. “Which is why the clan occupies diplomatic posts on planets that are of low importance. Such as, alas for us, Earth. But I don’t suppose you know the reason for the win-Getags’ relative low status.”