“Tell us what you said.”
“Tell mommie everything.”
“Didn’t you remember we sold the Statue of Liberty for scrap years ago?”
“We sold Bedloe’s Island, too.”
“What were you really doing?”
“Tell mommie.”
“Did you actually want a skin-join?”
“With ink?”
“What did you really want?”
“Of course you know what naked girls look like.”
“Everybody does.”
“So what did you really want from that dead one?”
“Tell us.”
“Is it because you like girls?”
“Then why try to paint them black?”
“And do you hate your job that much?”
“Or do you hate CCC?”
“Maybe you hate science. Tell us, baby.”
“Maybe he hates himself.”
“Is that why you tried to take off into space, baby?”
“Tell mommie. You don’t have to be afraid. You won’t be punished for anything.”
“That was a fun musical show you put on.”
“But you’re not only color-blind, baby, you’re tone-deaf.”
“Mommie’s proud of you anyway.”
“So tell us why you did it.”
“Baby, you really shouldn’t try to bang a broad in a supermarket.”
“Everybody loves you, but not that much.”
“Or was it a secret message?”
“Tell us.”
“And how could an elephant get into your Oasis?”
“Let alone your bed.”
“Silly baby!”
“You didn’t really think you could push that rain tank over all by yourself, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“So what were you really trying to do? Was it a signal to the P.L.O.?”
“Tell us, baby.”
“Tell mommie.”
“Tell us.”
Shima never responded. He floated in the womb with his head between his knees and his arms wrapped around himself, never moving a muscle. Subadar Ind’dni sighed, turned, and left as quietly as he had entered. He visited Interrogation Room Two. It was identical to Room One with the exception of the paternal voices and the occupant of the plastic womb, Gretchen Nunn.
“We love you, baby.”
“The whole world loves you.”
“So you’re nice and warm and safe.”
“And you can tell us.”
“You can tell daddy.”
“You know we love toys, don’t you?”
“And they love us.”
“So what were you really trying to do in that toy store?”
“Is there a squeam scam we don’t know about?”
“Tell us, baby.”
“Tell daddy.”
“You were naughty in the art museum.”
“Daddy’s told you a hundred times not to touch things that don’t belong to you.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Little girl, you know you’re the wrong color for a tattoo.”
“So what were you really after? Is that man a pusher?”
“And you ought to know that you can’t give the hots to a poster.”
“It didn’t need it anyway.”
“So why try?”
“Or was it an undercover signal to some person or persons unknown?”
“Tell daddy.”
“What made you think you could star in that opera?”
“Or are you sore at the Glacial Army?”
“And you ought to know we need all the perfume we can get these days.”
“So why crunch the source?”
“Or are you sore at CCC? Tell us why.”
“That was our good, sweet little girl to spray Christmas all over the launch pad.”
“But Christmas colors aren’t red and green anymore.”
“They’re black and white. What have you got against black, baby?”
“You’re black yourself. Are you ashamed?”
“Why didn’t you let that funny man catch up with you in the supermarket?”
“You let him catch up with you before.”
“Why not this time? Tell us.”
“Tell daddy,”
“Tell us what you have against star sapphires.”
“Is it because you hate all stars?”
“Or is it a code?”
“Tell us.”
“And wherever did you learn dirty Latin?”
“Or was that code, too?”
“Tell us, baby.”
“Tell daddy.”
“Tell us.”
No response from Gretchen Nunn. Subadar Ind’dni sighed again, turned, left, and sauntered to his office in the Precinct Complex.
It was hardly the conventional business office of a high-level executive. Ind’dni had withdrawn from the fevers of the Guff nightmare into Japanese simplicity; uncovered polished teak floor, neutral screens, unobtrusive ebony furniture. There was no conventional conference table; instead there was a tile charcoal firepit in the center of the office. Around this Ind’dni and his conferees sat on the rim with their legs dangling down in the warmth. Quite naturally, the Subadar’s staff loved even the most abrasive sessions with their chief.
Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the Japanese mystique was the single decoration standing before the screened windows; a four-foot weathered, gnarled and twisted cedar trunk. Its ivory-smooth surface was almost hypnotic. Even Ind’dni could not resist the impulsion to stroke it, which he was doing now.
At last he spoke. “And so, please? Response, if any?”
His office was empty but a disembodied voice answered, “None, sir.”
“Not even customary denials?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what, if anything?”
“Nothing, sir. A complete blank. Both seem to be spacing out.”
“Most strange. You have pursued standard operational procedure in questioning?”
“We’ve not limited it to that, Subadar. We’ve tried every innovation we could invent.”
“And still negative time-lapse?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“No, no, not to regret. Most interesting and unusual challenge compounding excruciating perplexity of Hundred-Hander beast. Please to dress—Do I hear laughter?”
“Sorry, sir. I was remembering their appearance here at the precinct.”
“Yes. To be agreed. Most unexpected and amusing advent. To some. So. Please to dress them, restore to contemporary consciousness, and bring to me.”
Blaise and Gretchen weren’t tottering when they entered Ind’dni’s office but they weren’t exactly jaunty-jolly. They displayed the confusion of someone who has awakened in an alien room without the vaguest recall of who, what, when, where, why.
“Most welcome.” Ind’dni said. “You have led the wicked sheriff a merry chase through the forest of Mr. Sherwood. So kind of you to drop in on me at eventual last.”
They stared at him.
Ind’dni indicated the tiled firepit. “Shall we seat and warm ourselves and confer?”
“Listen—” Shima began.
“Or would refreshment be preferred first? You have both had a busy night.”
“Listen—” Shima tried again, but this time Gretchen cut him off.
“Busy night, Subadar?” she asked. “It isn’t even night yet. It can’t be later than five or six in the afternoon.”
“You think so, madame?”
“I know so.”
“And this is your construct of situation?”
“Of course.”
“Listen,” Shima began for the third time. “I want to know how in hell we got from my lab to the Guff precinct and why. Is this another Ind’dni ploy?”
“Or brutality of police?” Ind’dni smiled. “Most interesting state of confusion. Come, sit down in warmth and tell me why it can’t be later than five or six o’clock post meridian.”
“Because we went to Blaise’s lab not more than an hour ago.”
“Ah yes. At CCC complex. It is permitted to ask where you located Dr. Shima, madame? You will recall that you reported his disappearance to me.”
“I did. Just a few hours ago. And you broadcast an A.P.B. on your quote secret unquote Code Nemo, over my protest.”
“What else could I do? Yet you found him before my staff did. Where?”
“In my apartment.”
“Safe and of sound mind?”
“Why ask that?” Gretchen snapped.
“Is it not conventional condition in which missing persons are hoped to be found?” Again Ind’dni sounded smoothly dangerous. “Safe and sound. No?”