Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [99]
“I’ll bet they are.”
“What did you see happen there, man?”
Seated next to Mallory, Tse listened quietly to the conversation, one hand resting on the patient’s forearm. Reaching up, Mallory affected an air of mock forgetfulness.
“I’m not sure…Oh yeah, it’s coming back to me now. Let’s see. Your people were there.” Once more the mocking smile. Did the Pitar stiffen? Again, the psychiatrist couldn’t be certain. Being in the room, standing to one side and observing, was like watching a chess match with living pieces.
“Yes, that’s right. Your people. I recall it quite clearly. They were killing everybody. Destroying anything and everything that might record or otherwise indicate what they were doing. Your people are real thorough. Real thorough motherfuckers.”
Nadurovina felt compelled to play the role she had assigned herself. “Please, Mr. Mallory. Dmis is a diplomatic representative.”
“That’s kind of a contradiction, Doc. There’s nothing diplomatic about the Pitar.”
The alien’s expression did not change. He seemed more fascinated than upset by the patient. “You are a very imaginative person, Mr. Mallory. Very inventive. The Pitar do not kill except in self-defense. I am no physician, but I think the dreadful experience you have obviously suffered must have at least temporarily unhinged your mind. Why my people should figure prominently in your delusions I cannot think, but it is not very flattering.”
“I’m not delusional. It wasn’t delusion. I know what I saw. Your people attacked without warning, trading on friendship acquired through five years of joyful, kindly contact to achieve complete surprise. You slaughtered anything on two legs. It didn’t make any sense to me then, and it doesn’t make any sense to me now.”
“Ah,” Dmis murmured, “an admission that confirms the diagnosis.”
“No, you don’t understand. What doesn’t make any sense to me is what you needed with the reproductive organs of human females. I saw them being removed with surgical precision from one woman after another and carefully packed away in what I believe now to be cryogenic containers. What do you do with them? Eat ’em? Venerate them? Use them in some kind of unimaginably barbaric conceptual art? Tell me, diplomat Dmis. I’m really curious to know.”
“As am I,” the Pitar replied. “Curious to know what sort of human mind can invent such absurdities.”
Nadurovina interrupted. “If this is upsetting you too much, Dmis, we can leave.”
“No, no.” The alien did not appear in the least perturbed by the accusations that were coming from the bed. “It is interesting. As do all of my kind, I want to know as much as possible about humans. Even their mental aberrations. This is a useful occasion.”
Mallory nodded agreeably. “Useful for me, too. See, I want to know all about the Pitar, because it will help me to understand how better to kill you.”
“I have to tell you, Mr. Mallory, that I understand what is happening here and that I truly sympathize. With ongoing care of the quality you are obviously receiving I am certain that your condition will improve. Meanwhile, I am intrigued by your misconceptions.” He smiled over at Nadurovina. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah,” Mallory declared without hesitation. He proceeded to describe an act that was an anatomical impossibility, even for the limber Pitar. Nadurovina choked slightly, but the alien took no apparent offense.
“Another elaborate fantasy. Naturally, Mr. Mallory, you have proof to underline and support your fantasies. Images of this imaginary assault, perhaps, or voice records, or a corroborating witness.”
“No,” the man in the bed muttered. “You know damn well that I don’t. If I did, you wouldn’t be standing there grinning like an underfed Buddha. You wouldn’t even have been brought here. Somebody would’ve shot you on sight.” His smile widened. “I’d gladly do that myself except that where my mental state is concerned plenty of these ‘specialists’ happen to agree with you, or at least are willing to consider the possibility. I could get up from this bed, right now, and put my hands