“This is a Hunt,” reminded Val.
“But that is my Dee Pen—little Jolly body,” objected Walter.
“You are a Sagittarius,” Val retorted. “Remember your duty to the hive. Dee Pen has broken the law by going Outside. Now she crushes crops. If you can talk her back inside—fine. The psych team can handle her. If not—” Val made a wicked gesture with his trophy knife.
Walter nodded and lowered his old head. “I’ll—come—along.”
Their search of the plankton towers proved fruitless. In the weeks that followed, Val doggedly reviewed optic records from hundreds of Agromecks—charting the sightings of Dee Pen. He hunted on foot in his spare time.
Almost three years after the Big Hunt at 50:00, the Big ES awarded class five birth permits to all the squadron leaders.
“Class five,” commented Josephson. “Human uterus, mate of choice—a hybrid!”
Val stood beside him at the ceremony. He leaned over and whispered to Josephson.
“After all, we did rid the planet of a very undesirable life form—the dreaded buckeye. For such service the hive should allow us to mate with whomever we choose. Being such loyal citizens, our judgment on genes would be very pro-hive. We’re the best.” He smiled.
After the awards Val and Josephson retired to a Rec Center to enjoy a fifteen-layer pousse-café. Val strawed off the top layer of Kirsch and then dove for number eleven—the maraschino.
Watcher interrupted.
“Sighting in Garage—sector nine-oh-three—city forty-five-Vee-seven.”
Val turned to the screen to adjust the incoming optic records. “Probably that crazy guitar, again. It has been luring citizens Outside with some primitive Pied Piper songs.”
As the screen focused they saw a group of swaying citizens crowded around the wheels of a recharging Tiller. The bay also contained Gitar. But the dull-witted citizens had formed a circle around a naked female—long-haired and polarized. She danced the same hip-rocking dance Val had seen Dee Pen do before her rape. The pelvic gyrations reminded him of Dee Pen, but the image was not clear enough for positive identification. There was no sign of the infant.
Val tossed his head back—downing his tall, layered drink. Choking and spitting, he explained that he had to leave.
“Check out the sighting. I’ve been tracking a fugitive female for a long time now. Looks like she has linked up with that renegade guitar. I’ll tube over and try to catch them in the garage.”
Josephson looked concerned. He had heard of Gitar’s exploits. Val was unarmed.
“The archery gear?” asked Josephson.
“No time to pick it up,” said Val. “Besides, they are inside. I can use the manual Door controls and get a platoon of Security guards to assist me. But there should be no problem. Dee Pen is a frail, weak little thing. I can handle her.”
Josephson put a restraining hand on Val’s arm.
“Just the same,” he began, “I’d feel a lot safer if you wore an autonomic depolarizing collar. We can pick one up at the Watcher Clinic on the way over.”
“We?”
“I’ll go with you,” said Josephson. “I can monitor your autonomic response if the Pied Piper tune is focused on you. You’ll be safer—I can depolarize by remote. I’ll stay out of sight in one of the lower cubicles so my own autonomies will be safe.”
“Come along,” scoffed Val. “But you don’t have to be so serious. I’m not going up against a bewitching siren, you know—just a meck and a Howell-Jolly body.”
The collar was heavy and irregular—with all the pickups. Val was satisfied with his biolectricals as they danced across Josephson’s screen. The depolarizing current wasn’t painful; however, it did cause the discomfort of extra systole when it tugged on his heart beat. Val stalked upspiral and through an open door into the garage. The crowd of Nebishes had grown. The music was pleasant—but not particularly hypnotic. He was disappointed; but, then, he didn’t think he would be susceptible anyway.
Garage’s outer doors were closed. Lights had been turned low. The dancing form moved among the shadowy Agromecks—movements which seemed to be too vigorous for a Nebish. Val edged forward through the dull crowd. An occasional citizen tapped his toe. The dancer was not Dee Pen—she was a coweye.
Val recoiled at the sight of the stained and pigmented body. Calloused feet clicked across the composition floor as she kept time with the music. Val felt no magic. She was just an average coweye—ugly to him—with the nostrils and high cheek bones of an animal. She clapped her hands and shook her head. The tempo edged upward as Gitar sought a frequency that would resonate Val’s thoracic autonomies. Val felt a 200-hertz drumbeat tug on his diaphragm.
Her hard soles scuffed as her iliopsoas muscle tightened—the fist-sized muscle that ran through her pelvis like a female filet mignon from lumbar vertibrae to femurs—entraining her pelvic motion to the rhythm of the music. Val’s eyes followed her hip gyrations, adding visual stimulation to auditory. His cortex struggled to remain free from entrainment.
She showed her gleaming teeth, eyes wide, and tossed her head about—long hair lashed like shocks of wheat being threshed. Sweat. The salty eccrine beaded up on her forehead and upper lip—then began to trickle—streaking the gyrating muscular form. Myotonia enhanced sternocleidomastoid and rectus.
Gitar added a pounding surf to match Val’s respirations, drums matched his pulse, and guitar strings matched his cephalic waves. Val’s cortex saw the coweye through responding sacral autonomies—she became a female—no longer alien. Her chants of love and freedom made sense to him. He relaxed and smiled—clapping his hands.
Josephson watched the biolectricals entrain on the sound waves. He was amazed at the Pied Piper’s efficiency. Pressing the button, he activated Val’s collar—scrambling the biolectricals. Val coughed and stumbled. The crowd eyed him nervously—Sagittarius emblem! A hunter! Gitar ordered Door to open. The bright sunlight sent the Nebishes back downspiral. When Door shut again Val was alone—blinking around an empty garage.
Josephson returned to Green Country. His birth permit was changed to a class one when it was discovered that he could not be polarized. He had two male chromosomes and one female—an XYY.
Val and Walter reviewed the optics on the garage scene.
“Coweye looks a little like the one I wounded on the Dark Continent,” said Val. “But the Class Two has assured me that it isn’t. Sightings of that coweye indicated that she was still over there—nearly ten thousand miles away—as recently as last week.”
“A new one then,” said Walter. “But where has she been hiding? Three years is a long time to avoid what few detectors we have—not even an Agromeck sighting.”
“How many Agromeck memories have you processed?” asked Val.
Old Walter shrugged. “My dispenser has been doing it—using my credits. I was just curious to see if Dee Pen was still alive. Looks like she might be dead by now.”
Walter assembled optics of Dee Pen and Little Kaia.
“These won’t help us find her,” said Walter. “They are old sightings. But notice how her hair is bleaching. She must stay hidden when the sun is high. These are optics taken at dusk by returning mecks. Her pale skin has darkened—not with tan—but with blood blisters and ulcers. The wounds don’t seem to be healing, from day to day. This last one is really bad—see the dark hollows around her eyes—the scabby nose.”
Val stood up eagerly. “She can’t get far in that condition. Let’s take a walk through that garden. We might find her—or her body.”
Dee Pen huddled in her nest to avoid the actinics. Her vigorous son swam in the canal to wash off grit accumulated while grubbing for tubers. His dark eyes reminded her of his father. She marveled at the strength and speed of the youngster as he took to climbing leafy things for fruits or swimming for shells. She taught him what she could, smiling at each new accomplishment. He would survive Outside.