Dark Benediction

The phone croaked at him suddenly. “This is the record-voice of Sheriff Yates. I’ll be out from five to seven. If it’s urgent, call your constable.”

He hung up briefly, then irritably dialed the locator service. “Mnemonic register, trail calls, and official locations,” grated a mechanical voice. “Your business, please.”

“This is T. Norris, Sherman-9-4566-78B, Official rating B, Priority B, code XT-88-U-Bio. Get Sheriff Yates for me.”

“Nature of the call?”

“Offish biz.”

“I shall record the call.”

He waited. The robot found Yates on the first probability-trial attempt—in the local pool-hall.

“I’m getting to hate that infernal gadget,” Yates snapped. “Acts like it’s got me psyched. Whattaya want, Norris?”

“Cooperation. I’m mailing you three letters charging three Wylo citizens with resisting a federal official—namely me—and charging one of them with assault. I tried to pick up their neutroids for a pound inspection, and—”

Yates bellowed lusty laughter in his ear.

“Not funny,” he growled. “I’ve got to get those neutroids. It’s connected with the Delmont case.”

Yates stopped laughing. “Oh? Well… I’ll take care of it.”

“Rush order, Sheriff. Can you get the warrants tonight and pick up the animals in the morning?”

“Easy on those warrants, boy. Judge Charleman can’t be bothered just any time. I can get the newts to you by noon, I guess, provided we don’t have to get a helicopter posse to chase down the mothers.”

“Well, okay—but listen—I want the charges dropped if they cooperate with you. And don’t shake the warrants at them unless you have to. Just get those newts, that’s all I want.”

“Okay, boy. Give me the dope.”

Norris read him the names and addresses of the three unwilling owners, and a precise account of what happened in each case. As soon as he hung up, Anne muttered “Sit still,” perched on his knees, and began stroking chilly ointment across his burning cheek. He watched her cool eyes flicker from his cheek to his own eyes and down again. She was no longer angry, but only gloomy and withdrawn from him. He touched her arm. She seemed not to notice it.

“Hard day, Terry?”

“Slightly. I picked up nine newts out of thirteen, anyhow. They’re in the truck now.”

“Good thing you didn’t get them all. There are only twelve empty cages.”

“Twelve?—oh, Georges picked one up, didn’t he?”

“And sent a package,” she said, eyeing him soberly.

“Package? Where is it?”

“In the crematorium. The boy took it back there.” He swallowed a tight spot in his throat, said nothing.

“Oh, and darling—Mrs. Slade called. Why didn’t you tell me we’re going out tonight?”

“Going—out?” It sounded a little weak.

“Well, she said she hadn’t heard from you. I couldn’t very well say no, so I told her I’d be there, at least.”

“You—?”

“Oh, I didn’t say about you, Terry. I said you’d like to go, but you might have to work. I’ll go alone if you don’t want to.”

He stared at her with a puzzled frown. “You want to go to the psuedoparty?”

“Not particularly. But I’ve never been to one. I’m just curious.”

He nodded slowly, felt grim inside. She finished with the ointment, patted his cheek, managed a cheerful smile.

“Come on, Terry. Let’s go unload your nine neutroids.” He stared at her dumbly.

“Let’s forget about this morning, Terry.”

He nodded. She averted her face suddenly, and her lip quivered. “I—I know you’ve got a job that’s got to be—” She swallowed hard and turned away. “See you out in the kennels,” she choked gaily, then hurried down the hall toward the door. Norris scratched his chin unhappily as he watched her go.

After a moment, he dialed the mnemonic register again. “Keep a line on this number,” he ordered after identifying himself. “If Yates or Franklin calls, ring continuously until I can get in to answer. Otherwise, just memorize the call.”

“Instructions acknowledged,” answered the circuitry.

He went out to the kennels to help Anne unload the neutroids.

A sprawling concrete barn housed the cages, and the barn was sectioned into three large rooms, one housing the fragile, humanoid chimpanzee-mutants, and another for the lesser breeds such as cat-Qs, dog-Fs, dwarf bears, and foot-high lambs that never matured into sheep. The third room contained a small gas chamber, with a conveyor belt leading from it to the crematorium. He usually kept the third room locked, but he noticed in passing that it was open. Evidently Anne had found the keys in order to let Fred Georges dump his package.