The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [36]
Seated opposite the square-shaped Marula, Whispr was virtually invisible to anyone who might chance to look into the workplace. The shop owner weighed four, maybe five times as much as his guest. A number of other melded employees toiled in the vicinity with sealers and cutters, handheld analyzers, and other gear on an assortment of vehicles ranging from single-person scoots to an elaborate limo that when finished would be the perfect likeness of an oversized horse-drawn carriage, complete with robotic horses.
“I’m taking a chance just talking to you.” The lenses of Marula’s melded eye kept extending and retracting nervously. “Hellslip, I’m taking a chance just letting you into my place.”
Whispr shifted a little to his right in order to place himself more fully in the stream of cold air blowing silently from one of the air-conditioning vents. It was midafternoon and Savannah-hot and sticky, even inside the shop.
“If bluebreath is that huggy on us then I bet that prick Jiminy has gone to ground, too.”
The brows over the shop owner’s natural and melded eyes rose in concert. “Jiminy C? That’s a name you don’t have to concern yourself with. The Cricket has been squashed. He’s dead and boned, his file filleted.”
Whispr’s jaw dropped as he registered shock. “What? How?”
“Word on the flyway is ‘resisting arrest.’ ” The shop owner’s sardonic grunt rose like a whale belch from the depths of his huge frame. “That’s always the explana when someone picked up for questioning dies in police custody, ain’t it?”
A disbelieving Whispr nodded slowly. “ ‘Resisting arrest’ is a nonstarter. That’s not Jiminy’s modus. Even if he had a reason to fight being taken into custody he wouldn’t do it. He’s not that brave. He’s not that stupid.”
“He’s also apparently not that alive.” Marula sipped from a self-chilling tankard of liquid high-potency calcium. Essential to keeping his massively melded skeleton healthy and functional, a thermos of the fruit-flavored supplement was always close at hand.
Concluding repairs on the left side of an electric two-seater, a sealer hissed loudly on their right. Whispr waited for it to shut down before continuing.
“This makes no sense, N’da. Why would the police kill Jiminy? He wasn’t important.”
In the absence of knowledge the shop owner was perfectly willing to speculate. “Maybe he didn’t tell them what they wanted to know. Maybe they didn’t want him telling someone else something he did know.” One artificial and one natural lens focused on Whispr. “Do you know anything?”
“Nothing worth dying for,” Whispr replied without hesitation. “We riffled a meld hand off a dead guy, that’s all.”
“Nothing else?” Marula was watching him closely.
“Nothing else,” Whispr lied with a faculty born of much practice.
The shop owner considered. “Must have been a prodigious valuable hand. Or a mighty valuable man.”
“He didn’t look exceptional. A mild Meld. Ordinary tourist. Or so we thought. We didn’t intend to kill him.” A wan smile crossed Whispr’s newly melded face. “You know how it is. Sometimes things don’t work out as planned.”
“Bet Jiminy C would second that. Where’s this hand meld?”
“Jiminy had it.”
The shop owner looked disappointed. He could always black market a hand. “If that’s what someone wanted back, now that they’ve recovered it maybe it won’t be as bad for you as word has it. Maybe after a quick scorch around town the authorities will back off.”
Whispr blinked as he nodded. He was still getting used to his newly maniped eyes. “That’s what I’m hoping. I’d really like to stay in the area. I’m not a traveler. This is my home.”
Unable because of his mass to peer over his shoulder, Marula had to turn his whole body in order to look behind him. “Well, it’s a hot home today. For all of us.” Legs like mechanical lifts straightened and he extended the hand that still featured fingers. The visit was at an end.
Jiminy’s dead. Wandering the halls of the specialty mall that occupied the bluff overlooking