The VMR Theory (v1.1) (6 page)

“Trusting sorts, aren’t they?” I commented. “Burglars here must use scaling ladders.”

“Homeowner’s insurance must be dirt cheap.” Catarina rested her chin against the window. “I’d swear we just passed Rapunzel’s hair.”

“Please excuse,” one of our cops interrupted, “we are about to arrived.”

Catarina took the hint. “Ken, it’s a nice night. I think we can walk from here.” We spread some banknotes on the seat and got out so the cops could tail us the rest of the way.

The mansion the Friendship Society was using appeared indistinguishable from the others—apart from a few small touches to make humans feel at home, like the cement deer and plastic flamingos on the lawn and a phony satellite dish decked out in fake ivy. High up on the wall somebody had spray-painted the inscription
SURRENDER DOROTHY.

“It looks like the Marines were here first,” I whispered to Catarina. “I won’t say anything about the decorations if you won’t.”

She winked. “Deer me. Of course not. Mum’s the bird.” She looked up at the massive iron door. “Do we ring the bell or fire siege cannon?”

Taking notice of our presence, the servants inside raised the portcullis and ushered us into the hall, where a huge banner welcoming us in two languages had Catarina’s name spelled right. As we entered, the president of the Friendship Society stood and made a speech in our honor, some of which I actually understood. Then the reception turned into a bunch of male Macdonalds in tartan ties looking bored and affected—my kind of party.

We split up and mingled. The crowd seemed to have a fair knowledge of Earth, and asked questions like, “Is tee Confederation planning to go to war wit’ us?” and “What are tee Cubs’ chances t’is season?” Someone pushed a scotch and water into my hand, and I tried a sip before I remembered that whiskey is basically distilled beer. Scots mature scotch in old sherry casks. Macdonalds apparently use old cement mixers.

After I emerged from the bathroom, a pair of Macdonalds steered me into a comer. The taller of the two, lean and saturnine with points to his ears, introduced himself as Warship-Captain Xhia and asked, “Is it true you are a vampire, Mr. MacKay?”

I nodded. “Yes, Miss Lindquist and I both suffer from McLendon’s Syndrome.”

The short one, whose name I didn’t catch, jumped into the conversation. “How very interesting. What kind of coffin do you prefer?”

Xhia gave him a hip bump which shut him up temporarily. “You are a naval officer, Mr. MacKay.”

“Just a reservist,” I assured him hastily.

“Perhaps you would like to tour one of our warships. I would consider it an honor to arrange it for you.”

Xhia had an unpleasant way of being pleasant. “It sounds like fun, but maybe not this trip. How about a rain check?”

“Another time,” Xhia agreed cordially.

Shorty suddenly realized that it was his turn. “A rain check, is t’is similar to a reindeer?” He consulted his notes. “Have you ever had measles, and if so, how many?”

Xhia elbowed his compatriot aside. “Some of us, at least, are not unaware of your exploits, Mr. MacKay. Tell me, did you enjoy fighting tee Plixxi?”

Some things don’t belong in polite conversation, assuming that was what I was engaged in. “I can take it or leave it.”

Xhia craned his ears forward in earnest. “Life is straggle, Mr. MacKay, and battle its highest culmination. It is a spirit of struggle, a force which is infinitely refined into a myriad tiny impulses, which coalesces into a collective state of mind to form a whirlwind to uproot fortresses, palaces, empires, and confederations. Where, as in nature, t’ere is no law, no judge, conflict cannot be resolved by reason and all must accept a convention t’at victory will determine who is right. In tee presence of vast forces of history which mortal beings cannot comprehend or judge, mere reason must retreat and battle must enforce its sway. Only a being who is prepared to accept tee crimes necessary for success, who understands tee irrational forces, can comprehend t’at good and bad are mixed, life and death confounded, creation and destruction inseparable, and reality and illusion inextricably entangled. It is survival of tee fittest, and it is tee fittest who are inspired to grow and extend beyond all boundaries of imagination.”

His eyes seemed to glow with the intensity of reflected light, which, because Macdonalds have a reflective tapetum in the back of the retina, was exactly what they were doing.

I said hurriedly, “Is there a water fountain here somewhere—”

Xhia lifted one lip to show me his teeth. “We understand one anot’er, Mr. MacKay. You are my twin, my opposite principle. Perhaps next time you engage in naval combat, we can ensure you have opposition of a higher caliber.”

A footman tapped me on the shoulder and solemnly handed me a note that read, “Telephone call for you in the study,” and I excused myself. On my way to the study I cut Catarina out of a crowd and showed it to her. She glanced at the note. “It’s probably Harry.”

“How much is bail here, I wonder? Oh, well.” I motioned to the impassive footman. “Lead on, Macduff.” He took me to a little room and gestured toward the phone. I stuffed money in his hand to get rid of him and switched the phone on.

Harry’s smiling visage filled the screen. A small Macdonald woman was clinging tenaciously to his neck. “Hey, Ken! You wouldn’t believe how much trouble I had finding a phone.”

“Have you been arrested yet, and did you leave anyone tied up in the immediate vicinity?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that! Things are going great,” Harry assured me breezily.

“I don’t hear any fire engines.”

“Oh, no. You said Rosalee and I couldn’t do that anymore. I even remembered what you said about borrowing armored fighting vehicles when the buses stop running.”

“Where did you leave Wyma Jean, Rosalee, Minnie and Mickey; and who is that clinging to your neck?”

Harry waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, they’re in a bar down the street. Or at least they were until the fight started. This here is Muffy. At least, that’s what I call her—I can’t make heads or tails out of this funny language. Remember you told us to make friends?” He used his free hand to squeeze her. “This is Ken, honey. Say hello to Ken.”

She licked her eyebrows. “ ‘Elio.”

“Muffy, is he sober?”

“ ‘Elio.”

Harry nodded vigorously. “Isn’t she cute, Ken? Can I keep her? Can I keep her?”

“Harry, it may have escaped your notice, but you already have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. That’s a problem, isn’t it?” Harry pondered this. “Well, Muffy wouldn’t be a real girlfriend because she’s a Macdonald, right?”

“Let’s backtrack a moment—did you say something about a fight?”

“Oh, yeah. That. Did you know that Mickey’s been practicing karate? At least it looks like karate. Anyway, the people around here cheat at pool—they use square tables, and they got all sorts of funny rules.”

“Harry, let’s stick to basics. Where did the fight start, how did it start, and how many casualties?”

Possibly misconstruing the question, Muffy made a passionate speech in her own language which would have sounded great on a piccolo. The dictionary caught part of it.

“Harry, does Muffy’s father, the ‘moo-yup,’ know she’s with you?” A “moo-yup” was apparently a high-ranking official.

Muffy’s English may have been fragmentary, but she made a vigorous thrusting gesture with the first two fingers of her left hand to convey what she thought her father could do about it.

“I don’t think her father will mind,” Harry said slowly, “and her husband neglects her, can you believe that?”

“Harry, listen to me—”

A loud commotion erupted in the background. “Oops, excuse me, Ken. We got to run. We’ll call you back as soon as we get the chance!”

“Harry!” I said. The phone blanked out.

I spent a few minutes playing with it to see if I could get him back. Then I heard a little Macdonald voice behind me say, “Are you free, Mr. MacKay?”

“No, but I’m usually cheap. Who are you?”

“My name is Dr. Blok.” It came out like “mbloqk.” His English was stiff but understandable.

“Uh, pleased to meet you,” I stammered.

Blok was an older Macdonald with green-gray age spots on his skin and a pronounced
aigrette,
a spiked fringe of reddish-orange bristles above the eyes. I compared him with the photograph Crenshaw had given us. He matched.

He tilted his head. “I like your human literature very much. My favorite poem is ‘Tee Owl and tee Pussycat.’ What precisely is an owl?”

“It’s a bird. It flies around at night and eats rodents— er, mice. My favorite line from the poem is ‘the cow jumped over the moon.’ “

Blok twitched as if galvanized and clutched me by the arm. “Yes, tee poet juxtaposed tee little dog laughing and tee cow jumping,” he said carefully. “It is an interesting effect.”

I sighed. Crenshaw must stay awake nights thinking up silly lines for agents to use to identify each other. “Pea green is my favorite color.”

“I prefer blue myself.” He carefully pulled out a notepad and scribbled on a sheet of paper, “Act normally. They are listening!”

I can’t act very well, so I produced a voice scrambler. “Now we can talk.”

“I presume you are here to take me off tee planet before tee Secret Police discover t’at I have been providing information to tee Confederation.”

“Nice guess.”

“I have not yet determined t’at it is completely appropriate for me to leave.”

We had a problem. “Ah, why not?”

Blok slumped down on a lumpy divan. “As suspicion of me increases, I find myself beset by a moral dilemma, Mr. MacKay. Are you perhaps familiar with tee so-called ‘Vampire Master Race T’eory’? My contacts in tee Special Secret Police have given me documents which cause me to believe it is true.” He looked at me. “Your name figured prominently.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Our rulers—what is the word?” He snapped his wrist, which was apparently the Macdonald equivalent of a finger snap.

I passed my dictionary across, and he warbled a word into it. The dictionary obediently translated the word as “ephors.”

“Tee ephors are greatly concerned as am I. While I believe t’at humans are peacefully intentioned—”

“You haven’t met my crew.”

“—who knows if vampires are peacefully intentioned and what evil lurks in a vampire’s heart? What are tee motives of creatures who live eternally? Am I doing what is in tee best interests of my people? So I ponder, and miraculously, two vampires appear. But is t’is truly a miracle?”

“Never underestimate the power of coincidence,” I said awkwardly, thinking that Lydia had truly outsmarted herself this time. Catarina, who is very devout in her own way, has convinced me that there really is a God with a truly divine sense of humor, and I think He’s out to get me. “Also, let me assure you that some of the things you may have heard about vampires were greatly exaggerated.”

Blok rose and began pacing the floor with his head down and his hands folded behind him. “My people need many t’ings: reduction of our military forces, channeling of our energies into the ways of peace, reform of our healt’ care system—yet if vampires secretly rule tee Confederation, dare I to trust you?” He looked at me sternly. “I have observed tee human beings sent here, and it disturbs me, Mr. MacKay. I have not been able to dismiss from my mind tee horrendous fear t’at vampires may be secretly breeding humans to be stupid, vapid creatures.”

“You mean like cocker spaniels?”

“You represent danger, Mr. MacKay, and you feast upon blood. Blood is power. Hunters drink blood from animals t’ey kill, to absorb courage and life force from t’at which t’ey have vanquished.” Blok resumed pacing. “I ask myself what dread forces you may summon and muster.”

Catarina has been teaching me deep breathing exercises to help me remain calm in situations like this, but they didn’t seem to be working. “Look, let me make this simple. There is no Vampire Master Race. Vampires do not control the Confederation. And I don’t drink blood.”

“Tee risks are too great for me to accept your unsupported statement,” Blok said mournfully. “However fair your words, it may be t’ey merely cloak tee evil you represent in a mask of illusion. I must have proof. Forgive me, but I must be absolutely certain what I am doing is correct.” He snapped the voice scrambler off and bawled, “Guards!”

Three Special Secret Policemen appeared in the room a few seconds later.

Blok said something in Sklo’kotax and then repeated it in English, presumably for my benefit. “T’is human has attempted to bribe me to betray our planet.”

The officer in charge stiffened. “Mr. MacKay, you are under arrest,” he said in charmingly accented English while pointing his gun at my midriff. “Do not move or your intestines will gently fall like midsummer dew upon tee carpet.”

Dr. Blok also pulled a gun. “Please do not resist. My gun is loaded with silver bullets.”

Another Macdonald stepped in, dressed in a plain gray uniform. The guards who weren’t busy pointing guns at me immediately abased themselves.

“Mr. MacKay, we meet again,” he said drolly. It took me a minute or two to recognize my blind beggar from the space station.

He turned to Blok and said something in Sklo’kotax which caused Blok’s gill openings to ripple. Blok left the room.

I tried to ignore the various weapons pointed in my direction. “Ah, hello there, Wipo.”

He showed his teeth and hung his tongue in what was intended to be an imitation of a smile. “I was quite annoyed when you penetrated my remarkable disguise so easily. Still, flinging money to me was a superb gesture of disdain.”

This was shaping up as one of those days when I should have read my horoscope. “Does this mean that you won’t believe me when I tell you that I didn’t try to bribe Blok?”

“Oh, but I do believe you, Mr. MacKay. Tee good doctor has become irrational on tee subject of vampires.”

“Does that mean you’re going to let me go?”

“In time, perhaps. But, you see, Dr. Blok’s accusation gives us a perfect excuse to detain and question you. Quite a coup for me, actually.”

Since the issue had come up, I asked, “This is a touchy subject, but how will you know if I’m telling the truth?”