The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [107]
Ingrid automatically took the chair opposite him while Whispr sat between, facing the water instead of their host. While the establishment’s surprisingly advanced misting system did its best to cool the air it could not entirely bring the nighttime heat and humidity into the realm of the comfortable.
Setting down his beer, Wizwang stared across the wooden table at the doctor. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t say that I love you for your mind. Mind I’ve got.” His deceptive ten-year-old eyes roved.
She proceeded to do her best to support the contention that it is possible to ignore someone and engage with them at the same time. “We’re here, you’re here. Have you learned anything?”
“Yes.” Leaning back in his chair he turned his head to his right to drink in the dark horizon. Out in the Everglades a few specks of light marked the locations of isolated stilt homes and commuting watercraft. “I’ve learned that there are drawbacks to confining oneself to the body of a prepubescent.”
“We’d really like to socialize,” Whispr commented dryly, “but you know how it is when people are trying to kill you. Especially for what you don’t know.”
Their host looked over at him. “Try as I might, I can’t decide which of you two is more likely to be voted the life of the party.” Digging into a pocket he brought out the capsule containing the storage thread and passed it back to Ingrid. Despite the guarantees he had given she was more than a little relieved to have it once more in her possession. Whispr’s expression showed that he felt exactly the same. She hurried to tuck it away.
“Maybe there’s instrumentation in the bowels of the Septagon that can crack the contents of that sliver, but I don’t have access to it.” Wizwang had turned deeply serious. “Until you showed up with it I’d never met a piece of hairware my gear couldn’t unlock. This failure is a first for me. However,” he added encouragingly, “the time I spent working with it and attempting to learn about it was not a complete failure. Serendipity is a wonderful thing, especially when one starts digging into continental police records.”
Instantly on guard, Whispr started to rise. “You’ve been researching us.”
Small boyish hands made placating gestures. “Easy, easy, scarecrow! Everything is connected, everything is linked. I am very fond of links and, I flatter myself, enormously skilled at following them. What I did manage to discover should be all to your advantage and to the benefit of your searching. If a butterfly dies on the other side of the planet, what does it mean for us here?”
Only partly mollified, Whispr continued to glare at him. “That we know there’s one more dead butterfly in the world.”
“Not a man who likes to take in the big picture, I see.”
“Spend too much time looking at the big picture and you’re liable to miss the gun aimed at your head,” Whispr shot back.
Ingrid intervened hastily. “What have you found out?”
Pressing one among the many assorted images that were embedded in the tabletop, Wizwang ordered another beer. “That you’re not the only ones in this part of the world interested in storage devices made of MSMH.”
Ingrid’s thoughts flashed immediately to the trio of Meld miscreants who had nearly killed Dr. Sverdlosk while trying to extract information from him about the mysterious thread. “By chance are any of them melded women?”
Wizwang looked uncertain. “No, no women. I just happened to come across one, and it’s a man.”
“You’re sure?” she pressed him.
“If you doubt my ability to tell the difference, come over to my side of the table and sit on my lap.”
She kept her seat. “I’ll take your word for it, Yabby. You say this person knows about MSMH storage threads?”
“I don’t know if he knows about them, but it seems that he’s interested in them. I came across him because he’s been making comparable inquiries in parallel places. Nothing