"And then they kill the kids?" Doc said. His face was drawn and tight. Real anger there.
"No. Those two were accidents. My theory is that adults can donate a unit of NDT without much after-effect, but kids really notice the difference. They're dull, dim-witted, mentally sluggish after their NDT's been siphoned off. At least that's the way B.B. described the kids that were snatched, then returned to the gang. I think the two dead kids were going to be returned like the others but got loose. They were dopey and disoriented and I think they just fell by accident."
"Sounds to me," Elmero said, "that killing them would be safest. No trace."
"There's no trace anyway," I told him. "An urch has no legal status, and besides, these kids don't remember anything about the weeks preceding and following the time they're robbed of their NDT."
Elmero was insistent. "Still safer dead."
"But don't you see, Elm? They're the Golden Geese. Put them back with their urchingang and they'll gradually replenish their super toddler NDT over a period of months, and then they'll be ripe for milking again, like a herd of cows."
This, unfortunately, elicited a smile from Elmero. "Good plan!"
"It's a monstrous plan!" Doc said, the dark skin of his face getting darker. "It's got to be exposed! They're doing untold damage to those kids! NDT deprivation at their age, even for limited spans, has to curtail their intellectual development, may even retard it permanently. And an urch needs every bit of brain he can muster to make it in this world. No, this can't go on. I've got to bring it to the attention of the medical authorities." His head snapped up, as if startled by a thought. "Why, they may even reinstate my license for this!"
"Got to invoke privilege on this, Doc," I said.
He looked crestfallen. "Really? Why?"
"Client's wishes."
In a way, that was a lie. Mr. Khambot didn't know a thing about this super NDT angle, but I was sure he wouldn't want it spread around. Publicity would only encourage open season on little urchins by NDT vultures. Had to figure out a way to settle this quietly, on my own.
Settled up with Elmero and Doc, then headed home.
That was when the molly wire beheaded me.
— 12-
Had to hand it to Doc — he didn't waste any time getting to my place. My head was still on my shoulders and my fingers were still clasped around my lower neck, although I'd lost all feeling in my hands when he arrived, black bag in hand. My chin and the front of my jump were soaked with saliva. Wanted so bad to swallow something.
"Siggy, Siggy," he said in an awed whisper as he inspected me. "Who'd do this to you?"
Resisted the temptation to shake my head as I whispered, "Not sure. NeuroNex a good bet."
He nodded. "Maybe."
"Why'm I still alive?"
"I don't know," he said. His hands were trembling as he dipped into his black bag. "I've heard about cases like this, read about them, but never believed I'd ever see one. I think you're alive due to a mixture of fantastic luck and good balance, combined with more fantastic luck and surface tension."
"Surface — ?"
"Makes wet things tend to stick together. There's a natural cohesiveness between cells. I'll venture to say that your would-be assassin used pristine new molly wire. That was luck on your part. The older stuff picks up molecules of garbage on its surface that makes it relatively dull. Still sharper than anything else in Occupied Space, but nothing like the fresh stuff. Your cut is so fine and clean that all your blood vessels and neurons and other tissues have stayed in physiological alignment. The chair, the gentle pressure from your hands, the fact that you haven't turned your head or done much swallowing and, of course, surface tension, have kept things lined up where they belong."
"Can talk."
"The wire passd below your vocal cords."
"Still don't see how — "
"Look: Molly wire's only one molecule thick. Mammalian cells can pass particles much much larger right through their cell walls. It's called pinocytosis. A lot of your cell walls are probably healed up already. Why — why I'll bet most of those cells don't even know their membranes have been ruptured!"
He was babbling. "Doc — "
"Do you realize that your neurons are still sending impulses from the brain to your arms. Oh, this is amazing, simply amazing! There's a little hematoma by the right jugular, but in general this is — "
Wanted to kick him but didn't have the strength. "Doc. Help. Please."
"I am helping."
He pulled out some gauzy stuff and started wrapping it around my throat, working it under my fingers and finally pushing them out of the way. Reluctant as hell to take my hands away, but it was an immense relief to finally let them drop to my sides.
Doc continued to babble as he worked.
"Amazing! Just amazing. I've got to hand it to you, Siggy. You showed real presence of mind. I mean, to know what had happened to you and assess the situation and do just what you had to do to keep your head on straight. Took real guts and a computer mind. Never knew you had it in you. I'm proud of you."
Thought about that and realized it must have been the residual effects of the super NDT that helped me zero in on what had happened and what to do about it so quickly. Doubt very much I could have done it purely on my own. Kind of liked the irony in that.
Doc looped the gauze under my arms and over the top of my head, then sprayed the whole mess with a pungent liquid. It hardened.
"What — ?"
"It's a cast of sorts for your neck. It'll hold everything in place until I can get you to a hospital."
"No hospital."
"No choice, my friend."
"They think I'm dead."
Wanted to keep it that way until I was fully recovered.
"They'll think right if I don't get you to a facility where somebody can staple that split vertebra together, reanastomose your major blood vessels and nerve trunks, and repair the damaged musculature. Even if you live, your spinal cord could start demyelinating and leave you a paraplegic, or a best a paraparetic."
"They'll come to finish me."
"I know a small private hospital where we can hide you away indefinitely. They'll — "
There was a thump on the door. I glanced over — with eyes only — and saw B.B. the urch slumped against my door, halfheartedly pounding on it. He was sobbing.
"Open it," I told Doc.
The door slid open and dropped one surprised urchin into my compartment. He looked at me and his reddened eyes fairly bulged out of his tearstreaked face.
"Dreyer-san! You…you're…"
"Alive?" I said.
"B'see'm spray, see'm smilee — "
"You were out there?" And then I remembered the blur I'd seen behind the guy who mollied me. Must have been B.B.
"Foll you fr'Elmero's, see'm spray, den foll'm all way back."
Wanted to cheer. "Back where?"
"Boed North. NeuroNex."
All right. That clinched it. My slip about urchins in front of the tech had put me on a hit list. Would have to risk Doc's private hospital. And when well enough — if I ever got well enough — I'd have a score to settle.
B.B. came over and gabbed my hand. Could barely feel it. There were fresh tears in his eyes.
"S'glad y'live, Dreyer-san."
"Mister Dreyer, urch."
— 13-
A week later I was home. They hadn't wanted to let me go but I didn't care. Enough was enough. Would've had me living there for months if I'd allowed it but was more than ready after a week. They'd put everything back together the first day, then started electrostim treatments to make the bones and nerves heal faster. Felt like a lab rat after a while. They all wanted to talk to me, examine me. Sickening.