The Alien Trace [Cord 01] Page 2

  It seemed like a dream, a made-up story from some fanciful book, especially when the aliens were kept in isolation, as though they had some dread disease. Rumors spread instantly-not surprisingly, given Mehiran mental abilities. Some said the Terrans were misshapen monsters. Others said the Terrans were far too uncivilized and grotesque to mingle with real people.

  Within a week, though, a televised meeting, heavy with Mehiran tradition, was shown throughout the planet. The Terrans, or "humans," as they called their breed, were not unlike the Mehirans, at least superficially. They had a head in the right place, two arms, two legs, and an interesting variety of skin, hair, and eye colors-although in a different spectrum. These humans wore identical silvery uniforms and wide smiles: they were friendly, eager, and not unattractive in their way. But they did lack tails, so their sex lives were clearly deficient.

  That one news program was the only time Mehirans were allowed to view the aliens, who remained confined in the hastily built enclosure erected on the spot where they first made planetfall. Only a chosen few-the ruling Council and some scientists-made contact with the Terrans. And in the days that followed the aliens' arrival, Cord wondered if he and his parents would ever see the humans in the flesh.

  Then one of his father's lovers came to visit unexpectedly, not long after the aliens' arrival. She was a small, delicate woman, with topaz skin and blue eyes. She favored the short multicolored shifts that were now in vogue and preferred to weave stones through her hair. She was also a woman with some political connections; one of her other love-friends was a Council member.

  "I can't stay long," Finola said, when they offered her refreshments. Her excitement was palpable, and she was clearly delighted about something. After a pause for dramatic effect, Finola announced:

  "I've met the aliens."

  Cord's father, Fyrrell, sat down beside her on the soft couch and placed a muscular arm about her shoulders; his anticipation level rose. His wife, Neteel, leaned forward in her seat, her finely shaped ears swiveling toward Finola to catch every word. Cord hung back, and took a pillow seat off to one side; he sat silently, trying to control himself, until her next words:

  "And I can arrange it so you meet them too."

  Cord's sudden emotional leap of pleasure bounced off the mingled glad surprise of his parents, making the room nearly reverberate under the onslaught of feelings. Finola flushed with satisfaction at the reaction to her news.

  "The aliens have come to trade with us. Even though they are technologically more advanced than we, Mehira still has things the Terrans will accept in exchange for information and material goods. I can get you the sole license to trade crime-detection information with the aliens."

  Another emotional spike of surprise filled the room. Cord's family, and the few others in the area who were Catchers, were tolerated for their usefulness, but they were not admired. They were not even welcomed, unless they were needed. As a child, Cord was acutely aware of this isolation and ostracism, but he was also aware that nothing would be done about it. He would be a Catcher, as his parents were, and like them, he would be shunned by most Mehirans.

  His gentle mother, Neteel, an engineer, seldom saw her relatives because she could not bear their feelings of pity for her marriage to a tainted inferior and for her poverty. If it had not been for the moral support-and the more tangible aid given Cord's parents by their lovers-Cord did not know how they would have lived. Yet his parents were successful in their work. Although Mehirans were nonviolent and law-abiding, there were always some deviants and criminals. The Catchers existed to track them down. And Cord's parents were most efficient about it.

  "Meet the aliens," Fyrrell mused. "Why us? What do we, lowly Catchers that we are, have to offer these powerful starfarers? There's something you aren't telling us," he admonished.

  "We'll take it," Neteel interrupted, her topknot swinging in emphasis. "Finola wouldn't have offered it if she didn't think it was to our advantage." She and Finola smiled at each other in perfect agreement.

  When Fyrrell continued to glower at them both, his disapproval evident, Finola sighed.

  "All right, I'll explain. First, you'll receive instructional materials from the Council and be placed under formal oath."

  "We've kept many secrets in our work," Fyrrell pointed out. "You know that, Finola."

  Finola nodded. "But this is a secret that must be kept not only from other Mehirans but from the aliens themselves."

  Neteel raised an eyebrow at this remark. Cord sat up straighter, tail twitching.

  "The aliens," she continued, "are under permanent quarantine by order of the Council. They keep to their compound because we won't let them out, and the aliens are still unsure of our power to keep them in. Besides, they say their primary reason for traveling between the stars is to gain knowledge. They've come to trade!"

  "And the Council…?" prompted Neteel.

  "The Council is allowing trade with authorized persons only, as few of them as possible. Neteel, Fyr, it's going to be very lucrative for those chosen few!"

  "But why aren't the Terrans allowed to travel freely-and why us?" Cord finally spoke up, and all heads turned toward him.

  "I was coming to that point," said Finola. "When the aliens first communicated with us, it was quite a shock. Not the appearance of another sentient race-but the terrible diffferences between us and the Terrans."

  "There were rumors," said Fyrrell.

  "It's not their physical appearance. Our scientists have discovered that they can't 'feel' us. They have the other basic senses, but they are not empaths. They're hardly better than beasts in some ways," she added frankly, "but they are technologically superior, and therefore stronger."

  "I'm stronger than most of my neighbors," said Fyrrell logically, "but they have nothing to fear from me."

  Finola squeezed a muscular thigh in appreciation. "I know it, and among our people that would be a reasonable argument. But there's more I haven't told you."

  They all felt her reluctance and embarrassment quite clearly.

  "We're peaceful because it's too painful to live around those who are in pain, or dying, or even terribly unhappy. The more a mind can feel anguish, the worse it is for everyone. Over thousands of years, we have been forced to evolve a society governed by strict laws as well as etiquette. We 'listen' for others' feelings, so as to avoid causing them anguish or embarrassment. And we let them feel our emotions for the same reason. The only time it's permissible to mask emotion or to refuse to receive it is when the sender is in terrible distress. Even then, it's not possible to block it out completely. Our being able to feel the suffering of others makes us unwilling to cause unhappiness. We have had peace on Mehira for generations. We've had to. But have you ever thought how things would have turned out if we hadn't been empaths?"

  She gently disengaged Fyrrell's arm and stood up. She paced in front of the pillowed couch, her tail jerking spasmodically in agitation.

  "If we had never been empaths…" Neteel began. Her emotional signal wavered doubtfully. "Then we might not have evolved away from aggressive behavior."

  They read Finola's answer in her feelings. "Let's not use euphemisms," she said at last. "For 'aggressive behavior,' we should say 'violence.' The aliens are violent. And they are strong. They know we are weaker technologically-but that's all they know. Right now they are not in a position for conquest; there are too few of them and they are too far from their home worlds. Perhaps it's not even politically or materially expedient for them to expand their empire right now; we don't know. But if they learned the true extent of our abilities, not only would they become our masters, but we could become their slaves, their pawns in other interstellar wars."

  Her words were as stunning as any blow made by a fist. Cord's parents were deep in thought over the ramifications; they did not notice his reaction of near-lust, a craving for excitement such as often came unbidden during a hunt, which he damped down quickly. Finola did not appear to notice either, th
ough she had paused in her tirade to eye his father speculatively.

  "The important thing," Finola concluded, "is that the humans are incredibly wealthy and eager to trade. You, my beloved friends, are among the best Catchers on Mehira, and you're close to the port. It's time for you to profit from your talents."

  Fyrrell rose gracefully and embraced her, his fingers gently stroking her golden skin; they stood quietly, entwined. Neteel rose and embraced them both.

  "With extra income we could move to larger quarters," Neteel said slowly. "If we had a larger workshop, we could complete the… project we've been working on."

  She and Fyrrell exchanged nervous but excited glances.

  "What is this project, anyway?" Finola asked. "Fyrrell has spoken of it, but he's always made a mystery of it."

  "I haven't meant to," Fyrrell replied. He raised her hand, palm upward, and nuzzled it with his lips. They all could feel a tremor pass through her body. "It's too soon to talk about it, that's all. It's based on a wholly new approach to the problem of detecting criminal tendencies-"

  "And we're still afraid we've made some enormous miscalculation, that it will be worthless," Neteel finished. She stroked Finola's arm and then rested her hand on her husband's forearm.

  The mood in the room was shifting. Their words were now tinged with desire and need for a generous friend. For a moment Cord thought of the warm, soft body of Bird, quick and light as her name. He also thought that the three of them had forgotten he was there, and now their foreplay was bathing him with fiery caresses. He groaned, and an obvious bulge appeared in the front of his tunic.

  They turned to him in amusement. "Why don't you pay Bird a visit?" his mother suggested. "You can tell her the news-if it's all right to speak of it," she added to Finola.

  "Only if he speaks of trade-and love." Finola smiled, a sly, secretive smile that was one of her most attractive characteristics.

  "Bird is the daughter of the Third District Speaker."

  "That's all right. Fyrrell told me as much. My love-friend on the Council is a bit more powerful than the Speaker."

  Fyrrell and Neteel laughed a little. Even Cord knew that Finola's friend was the Council's head. Thanking her, Cord took his leave. Not only was he anxious to see Bird, but he could tell from the heightened emotional coloration in the room that his parents and Finola were interested in being alone to pursue their own amorous bent.

  As he left the dwelling, their rising tide of lust caught him in a backlash, making his blood pound and his loins ache. His tail whipped in anticipation.

  Before he boarded the intercity transport, he took care to close down his mind to those he would be encountering. Probably none would recognize him for what he was, but if they did, he preferred not to feel their contempt. He recited a brief but calming ancient hymn.

  The jointed, wheeled bus came quickly, and he joined the throng boarding. It was crowded but cheap.

  He spent the journey to Bird's suburb watching the other passengers. There were many lovely young women, he noticed. All had long, slim legs and soft, tinted skin. They favored short, colorful shifts that came close to revealing ail their assets. And many returned his appraising stare frankly. He'd already learned that his smooth, muscular chest and bulging arms excited many women. He had kept in top physical condition; he had to, to be ready to hunt at any time. Women found him quite attractive-until they learned of his profession.

  He closed down his mind even further. Eventually the few women who had returned his stare turned their attention elsewhere. If he maintained such control, as well as his posture and mannerisms, then he would remain invisible to notice. Being completely inconspicuous was part of his work, and, like his parents, he was very good at what he did. Besides, Bird was waiting at the end of the trip. And while she was no more fond of his work than most Mehirans, she was more understanding and certainly more loving.

  She and her father lived outside the main part of town, in an area consisting of single-family houses, not like his family's teeming building. Many of the single houses were built around garden courtyards, with beautiful sculptures, fish ponds, elaborate garden furniture. The Third District Speaker's home was less rich than some, as he made no effort to compete with those in the medical or entertainment arts. He was said to have simple tastes. All the same, Cord envied the ease of Bird's existence.

  She was still in school, studying speech and history, intending to take up politics. At present she acted as her father's aide. It was only the luxury Cord admired, however. He would not want to be a Speaker; the job entailed not only presenting his constituency's desires to the Council but also determining them by being available to the people of his district. That meant a great deal of emotional sharing. Cord was afraid to share his feelings completely. Not even his parents really knew of the forbidden delight that gripped him during a hunt.

  "Cord, I'm so glad you came this evening," Bird said, greeting him warmly. She had opened the door even before he knocked; his desire had certainly alerted her in advance. He could feel the surge of her gladness underlaid with a yearning as great as his own.

  She put her arms around his neck and whispered into his left ear, tickling it. "My father's out tonight." There was a throb of relief behind the words.

  Cord was surprised. He'd felt no other emotional signal in the house, but he'd assumed the Speaker was at home; he often veiled his feelings. Cord shared Bird's relief. He was uncomfortable with her father. The Speaker was courteous, of course. He had never shown by the least sign that he disapproved of Cord. But Cord did not think he viewed his daughter's attachment to a criminal catcher with pleasure.

  Bird took him up a polished wooden staircase to her room on the second floor. The walls were tinted in pastels, the floors covered with thick carpets. Her bedroom was strewn with beautifully hand-painted cushions. She pushed him down onto a cushion and poured something from a small jug into crystal cups.

  "I know you'll like this," she said, offering him one. It was a spiced fruit drink laced with the aphrodisiac sap of a cold-climate tree. Cord stirred it idly; the beverage was the color of Bird's skin: a rich gold. He liked the way she wore her scalplock braided down her back. The velvet on her ears and spine, which ran nearly halfway down her back, was the same color as her hair, a deeper gold.

  It was easy to forget the difficulties between them at times like this. He could even convince himself that it would all work out. After all, his mother and father had married in spite of similar obstacles. And at the very least, Bird would continue to be his love-friend, surely. And now that things were looking better for his family…

  He wanted to tell her, but she had other things on her mind. When he felt her sensations, all thought of talk left him.

  "It's warm in here tonight. And getting warmer." She smiled and undipped the jeweled fastening at the breast of her downy wrap-gown. Her nipples were like topazes. Rising from her own cushion, she pulled him to her. Caught up in the flow of her passion, Cord cupped her thrusting breasts and kissed each one in turn, too preoccupied to think about undressing. That was no bar to Bird, who stripped him enthusiastically of his tunic and pants.

  The tip of her tail stroked his loins, causing his tail to twitch uncontrollably. He didn't know why she bothered with an expensive aphrodisiac; with her it was quite unnecessary.

  She kissed him, thrusting her fruit-stained tongue into his willing mouth, while her hands never stopped moving over his body. He stroked her roughly, while his tail curved up between them and caressed the soft, tender area between her legs. Slowly the furry tip intruded farther, as Bird relaxed her interior muscles. The farther the tip explored, the more she writhed in pleasure.

  She pushed him away, the tail withdrawing, and then she knelt before him. Using mouth, hands, and tail, she teased the pouch hanging there. Slowly, his organ snaked out from the protective pouch and uncurled.

  Cord drew her down on top of him, entering her carefully as she straddled him. Bird arched her spine and th
rew back her head, scalplock swinging. Her pleasure coursed through him, engorging his organ even more. He grabbed her, twined his legs around her, and flipped her on her back. The aphrodisiac flowed to every sensitive part of their bodies. Using the strength she so much admired, Cord took her legs and spread them apart in the air while he began thrusting in earnest.

  His tail curled up under him and probed her anus while hers did the same to him. He felt the ache in her loins, the contractions of delicate muscles. She felt the moist, hot friction and his delight in piercing her soft flesh. His tail began thrusting in matching rhythm while her tail pressed incessantly upon a most important gland, the pressure driving him to frenzy.

  The reverberation of emotion peaked as they reached fulfillment together. They lay there gasping, while their spiking ecstasy subsided.

  "I wish you would come to a passion party sometime," Bird murmured later, when they lay close, unmoving.

  "You know how it is," he answered. As a sex partner, he was not desirable to many because of his occupation.

  "I went to one last week where one of the guests filled eight girls, one right after the other. He had fortified himself with several cups of that"-nodded at the jug-"before he arrived-or should I say 'came'?-and drank more afterward. Someone told me today that he's still out of commission. Serves him right for showing off. He wasn't the only one. The award for the most acrobatic performance must go to the young lady who contrived to have herself plugged front and back, while stimulating a third with her tail and a fourth to greater heights with the only available orifice. Though, I suppose if she hadn't needed her nose to breathe…"

  Cord shook with laughter. "Oh, stop it, Bird! Tell me how she did it."

  With unexpected swiftness, Bird sprang to her knees and leaned over Cord. His sexual apparatus had retreated into his pouch, but Bird's tongue found the opening and obligingly followed it in. After an interval during which Bird demonstrated some rather advanced techniques, she stopped and said suddenly: