Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [97]
He nodded. “I’ll handle my end of things. How long before you think you can have one or more of them here?”
“One should do, I think. If we make too much of a show of it they may become suspicious. We want them to react, not anticipate. I will discuss with Dr. Chimbu a means of monitoring Mr. Mallory’s reactions even more effectively than we do now. We will need to record everything that happens in the finest detail for study later.”
“In case he locks up, or blanks out again, or dies?” Resigned to the turn of events Rothenburg might be, but he was not happy about them.
Nadurovina ignored the sarcasm. “Yes. In case any of those eventualities unfortunately come to pass. I hope they will not.”
“What about having the nurse present—Tsue or Tsoy or whatever her name is?”
“Irene Tse. She should be there. She is good for him. She does a lot of little things.”
Rothenburg was moved to reluctant admiration. “You don’t miss much, do you, Colonel?”
“No, Major. It is my job not to.”
15
He was tall and bronzed, regal of posture and sleek of muscle, faultless of demeanor and enchanting of smile. Wherever they went, heads turned; men out of admiration, women from a plethora of confused but animated emotion. In other words, he was a typical Pitarian male, no more or less spectacular than any other of his kind. Walking alongside him Nadurovina felt slighted, but not overawed.
His name was Dmis-Atel. A tertiary assistant from the southwest branch of his embassy, he had flown to New Ireland at the request of the authorities there to pay his respects, it was said, to a survivor of the Treetrunk bloodbath. Protesting that no such survivors were known to exist, the Pitar had been informed through the most secret channels that this was most probably the case, but in the event it was not, it would be gracious of them to bestow their guileless commiserations in person. And in the far more likely event that it was a clever falsehood being perpetrated by certain unscrupulous individuals for amoral reasons of their own, perhaps a perceptive Pitar could shed some light on the matter by examining it from a nonhuman perspective.
Once the situation had been explained to them thus, the Pitar did not hesitate. Representative Dmis was placed by his embassy on the first available aerial transport and charged with rendering whatever sympathy or service he could in the matter, as the occasion might demand. Rothenburg had met him at the airport and escorted him to the hospital, where he had been taken in hand by a calm, unruffled Nadurovina.
“I am anxious to see this person.”
The Pitar moved with effortless, graceful strides that gave him the appearance of flowing over the floor. One was tempted to bend low for a look at the bottoms of his feet to see if they were actually touching the ground. The Pitar did everything effortlessly and well. Nadurovina was no more immune than her friends to the spell they cast. Only her innate professionalism allowed her to maintain a greater degree of detachment. Did they also slaughter the innocent effortlessly and without strain?
“He does not know that you are coming.” They turned into a corridor through double doors that shouted Restricted Entry—Authorized Personnel Only and headed for the lift. Every step of the way, hidden scanners were examining every aspect of their bodies, from the material of their clothing to the contents of their digestive systems. Specific instruments searched for explosive components in their bloodstreams and toxins in their saliva. By the time they reached the corner room on the northwest end of the fifth floor they had been subjected to as thorough a noninvasive analysis as contemporary technology could contrive. This despite the fact that Nadurovina and her associates were fairly certain that the Pitar would not make an attempt on the patient’s person. To do so would amount to an admission of guilt or, at the very least, a stain on their saintly mien that would be difficult to wash