"Look," Heffer said. "At the very least we can have her come in and talk to us. We might be able to find some way to compromise with the Nidu if we can get her to agree to help out. And if nothing else, we can show the Nidu we're making the effort. We need that. Do you think your guy can get her to cooperate?"
"He's got a date with her in an hour or so," Javna said. "He can ask her then."
"A date?" Heffer said. "Christ, Ben."
"He was sort of steamrolled into it," Javna said. "And anyway, the woman doesn't know that she's part sheep. He's got to break it to her."
"Not the usual first date conversation, is it," Heffer said.
"I've had first dates that would have been improved by it," Javna said.
"Well, as have we all," Heffer said. "But that doesn't make his job any easier."
"No, sir," Javna said.
"Are we worried about her?" Heffer asked. "We've got a lot of dead sheep."
"We're pretty sure whoever's knocking off the sheep aren't aware she's out there," Javna said. "If they did, I think she'd probably be dead by now."
"Ben, he needs to bring her in," Heffer said. "For her own safety, if nothing else."
"It's not going to be easy," Javna said. "At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it's a lot to lay on someone in one night that she's part sheep, her life's in danger, and she's needed by the government for the purposes of interplanetary peace."
"We don't have any options, Ben," Heffer said. "You said it yourself."
"All right," Javna said. "I'll get him to get her to come in."
"Can he do it?" Heffer asked.
Javna laughed. "Sir, this guy breaks bad news to people for a living," he said. "Trust me, we've got the best man for the job."
"I need to tell you something," Creek said to Robin as they walked through Arlington Mall.
"It's not about the sweats, is it?" Robin said, glancing down at her togs and then back at Creek. "I know they're kind of ratty, but they're really comfortable. And being a pet shop owner doesn't exactly leave you rolling in the dough."
"I hadn't noticed your sweats," Creek said. He was wearing a jacket, t-shirt, and jeans.
"I don't know how to take that," Robin said. "Does that mean you're not noticing me? If so, this date's not going like I hoped."
Creek grinned. "I've noticed you. Honest."
"Good answer," Robin said. "What do you do, Harry?"
"I work for the State Department," Creek said. "I'm a Xeno-sapient Facilitator."
Robin rolled that around in her head. "You help nonhuman intelligences? That sounds like you're either a god or a gigolo. Which could be really interesting or disgusting."
"It's neither," Creek said. "I go to the various alien embassies and give the people in them bad news."
Robin scrunched up her face. "Rough gig," she said.
"It takes a certain perspective," Creek agreed.
"So do you have any bad news for me?" Robin asked.
"Well," Creek began.
"Look! Here we are," Robin said, and pointed to the 35-foot high transparent cube in the Arlington Mall atrium. Creek peered inside the cube and saw four people in it, literally bouncing off the walls.
"What is that?" Creek asked.
"That's WallBall," Robin said. "It's why we're here."
"WallBall?" Creek said. "I played that in third grade. You threw a tennis ball against a wall and when it came back you caught it. If you dropped it, you had to make it to the wall before someone threw it. That's wall ball."
"Well, two things," Robin said. "First, that game's called 'suicide,' not 'wall ball,' and anyone who thinks otherwise is freakish and wrong. Second, you notice the banner over there has "Wall-Ball' with that little 'tm' thingy, so I'm sure that any time kids playing suicide-but-calling-it-wall-ball will soon be served with cease-and-desist orders."
"Seems a little harsh," Creek said.
"You know kids," Robin said. "If you don't keep 'em down early, they get all uppity. Come on, the line's short. Let's get in there."
Robin explained the game while they waited. The game was played similarly to basketball in that you had to get the ball through a hoop in order to score. The catch was that the hoop was 28 feet up on the wall of the cube, high enough to make any ground-based shot at the hoop dubious at best. So the players literally climbed the walls of the playing field to get at the hoop, through the use of specially equipped sneakers with kinetic movement enhancers in the soles. As Robin was mentioning this, Creek was watching one of the players hurl himself at a wall, squarely plant a shoe, and then push off, hurling himself up an adjoining wall. When he hit that he launched himself again, landed next to the hoop, and stuffed the ball down its gullet before doing a flip in the air and falling, back first, toward the flooring surface below. The surface gave under the speed of the impact and then bounced him back up; he put himself in standing position and landed on his feet.
"That's why people don't get killed," Robin said. "The flooring is velocity sensitive and it dampens impacts. It's also why you have to kick off from the wall to get any speed out of the shoes."
"Been reading up on this?" Creek said.
"You bet," Robin said. "That guy who just stuffed the ball used to be with the Terrapins. The guys who invented the sport are going all over the U.S. with former college and pro players and letting people play five minutes of two-on-twos with them. They're trying to generate some excitement for the pro league they're starting next year."
There was a loud smack as one of the players rammed into the wall, the ball squirting out from between him and the glass. He fell to the floor in obvious pain.
"I'm guessing that guy wasn't a former Maryland star," Creek said. Another player grabbed the ball and began hiking up toward the basket.
"Watching the amateurs hurt themselves is half the fun," Robin said.
"You're forgetting we're the amateurs," Creek said.
"Look at it this way," Robin said. "We can't possibly do any worse."
The two men in front of Creek and Robin in the fine stepped aside. Creek and Robin stepped forward to the attendant. "Welcome to WallBall, the world's most exciting new sport. I'm Chet." Chet, despite being at the vanguard of the world's most exciting new sport, sounded suspiciously bored. "Do you want to challenge the sport's best pro players in two-on-two combat?" he asked, in the same near-monotone.
"Are those guys in there really the sport's best pro players?" Robin asked.
"Lady, at this point they're pretty much the only pro players," Chet said. "So technically speaking, yeah, they're the best."
"I don't see how we could resist a pitch like that," Robin said to Creek. She turned back to Chet. "Okay, we're in."
Chet handed both of them disclaimer sheets. "Please read and sign," he said. "What are your shoe sizes?" They told him; he went over to a small storage kiosk to get their game shoes.
"It says here that by playing we waive our right to sue for any injury, 'including but not limited to contusions, broken bones, lost teeth, paralysis, impacted spinal columns, and accidental removal of fingers,'" Creek said.
"No wonder they think it's going to be popular with the kids," Robin said. "You got a pen?"
"You're going to sign this?" Creek said.