It was all done quickly and silently, with the ease of long experience. The crowd behind the truck took on some of their silence—a charged waiting. Only the faintest murmuring of conversation surrounded the truck.
“It is still there on the fountain, Jefe,” Vierho said.
He took the control handle of the shield, moved it out onto the mosaic tiles. The right wheel stopped on the patterned blue-scale neck of a condor worked into the tiles. Martinho rested his sprayrifle in its slot, said, “This’d be easier if we only had to kill it.”
“Those things are quick as O Diablo,” Vierho said. “I do not like this, Jefe. If that thing should get around our shield…” He fingered the sleeve of his protective suit. “This would be like a piece of gauze trying to stop the river.”
“So don’t let it get around the shield.”
“I will do my best, Jefe.”
Martinho studied the creature waiting behind the water curtain at the rim of the fountain, said, “Bring a handlight. Perhaps we can dazzle it.”
Vierho set the shield stand, returned to the truck. He was back in a moment with the light hanging from his belt.
“Let’s go,” Martinho said.
Vierho released the handtruck stand, activated its motors. A faint humming issued from it. He turned the driver handle two notches. The shield crept forward, levered its way over the raised ring of the Plaza onto the lawn.
A stream of acid arched outward from the creature at the fountain, splashed onto the grass ten meters in front of them. Oily white smoke boiled from the lawn, was dispersed to their left by a light breeze. Martinho noted the direction of the breeze, signaled for the shield to be turned upwind. They circled right.
Another stream of acid arched toward them, fell short about the same distance.
“It is trying to tell us something, Jefe,” Vierho joked.
Slowly they approached it, crossed one of the yellowed patches of grass.
Again the stream lifted from the fountain rim. Vierho leaned the shield backward. Acid splashed onto the glass, ran down the front. A biting smell filled their nostrils.
A murmurous “Ahhhhhhhh” lifted from the crowd around the Plaza.
“They are fools to stand that close, you know,” Vierho said. “If that thing should charge…”
“Someone would shoot it with a hard-pellet,” Martinho said. “Fini a’chigua.”
“Fini Dr. Chen-Lhu’s specimen,” Vierho said. “Fini ten thousand cruzados.”
“Yes,” Martinho said. “We must not forget why we run this risk.”
“I hope you don’t believe I’d do this for love,” Vierho said. He inched the shield forward another meter.
A foggy area began to form where the acid had hit.
“Etched the magna-glass!” Vierho said, astonishment filling his voice.
“Smelled something like Oxalic,” Martinho said. “Must be stronger, though. Take it slow now. I want a sure shot.”
“Why don’t you try a foam bomb?”
“Vierho!”
“Ahhh, yes: the water.”
The creature began sliding to their right along the fountain. Vierho turned the shield to cover this new approach. The creature stopped, retraced its steps.
“Wait a bit,” Martinho said. He found a clear place in the glass, studied the thing.
The creature shifted back and forth, plainly visible on the fountain rim. It resembled its tiny namesake the way a caricature might. Its sectioned body appeared to be supported on ribbed legs that bowed outward to terminate in strong, gripping hairs. The antennae were stubby and glistened wetly at the ends.
Abruptly, it lifted a tubular nose, squirted a hard stream directly at the shield.
Martinho ducked involuntarily. “We must get closer,” he said. “It must not have time to recover after I stun it.”
“With what have you charged the rifle, Jefe?”
“Our special mix—dilute sulphur and corrosive sublimate in air-coagulating butyl carrier. I want to tangle its legs.”
“I wish you had also brought something to plug its nose.”
“Come along, old gray head,” Joao said.
Vierho urged the shield closer, bent to peer past the acid fogging.
The giant chigger danced sideways, turned, darted off to the right along the fountain rim. Abruptly, it whirled, arched a stream of acid at them. The liquid glistened under the searchlights like a high curve of jewels. Vierho barely had time to swerve the shield into the new attack.
“By the blood of ten thousand saints,” Vierho muttered. “I do not like working in this close to such a thing, Jefe. We are not fighters of bulls.”
“This is no bull, my brother. It hasn’t the horns.”
“I think I would prefer the horns.”
“We talk too much,” Martinho said. “Closer, eh?”
Vierho urged the shield ahead until a bare two meters separated them from the creature on the fountain. “Shoot it,” he hissed.
“We will get only one shot,” Martinho said. “I must not damage the specimen. The Doctor wishes a whole specimen.”
And he thought: So do I.
He swung the rifle toward the creature, but the chigger leaped to the lawn, back to the fountain rim. A scream lifted from the crowd.
Martinho and Vierho crouched, watching as their prey danced back and forth.
“Why doesn’t it stand still for just a second?” Martinho asked.
“Jefe, if it comes under the shield, we are cooked. Why do you wait? Pick it off.”
“I must be certain of it,” Martinho said.
He swung the sprayrifle back and forth with the motions of the darting, dancing insect. It dodged away from the line of sight each time, moving farther and farther to the right. Suddenly, it turned, scuttled on around the fountain’s rim to the opposite side. Now the entire water curtain separated them from it, but the searchlights had followed the retreat and they could still see it there.
Martinho entertained the odd suspicion then that the thing was trying to maneuver them into some special position. He lifted his suit’s face shield, wiped his forehead with his left hand. He was perspiring heavily. It was a hot night, but here by the fountain there was cool mist in the air—and the bitter smell of the acid.
“I think we are in trouble,” Vierho said. “If it keeps the fountain between us, how will we capture it?”
“Come along,” Martinho said. “If it stays across the fountain from us, I’ll order out another team. It cannot dodge two teams.”
Vierho began maneuvering the shield sideways around the fountain. “I still think we should’ve used the truck,” he said.
“Too big and clumsy,” Martinho said. “Besides, I think the truck might frighten it into attempting a break through the crowd. This way, it may feel it has a chance against us.”
“Jefe, I feel that same thing.”
The giant chigger took this moment to dart toward them, stop and crawl backwards. It kept its nose aimed at the shield and presented a steady target, but too much of the water curtain fell between it and Martinho for a safe shot.
“The wind is at our backs, Jefe,” Vierho said.
“I know. Let’s hope that thing hasn’t the wit to shoot over our heads. The wind’d drop acid onto our backs.”
The chigger backed into an area where the fountain’s upper structure shadowed it from the searchlights. It shifted back and forth in the shadow area, a dark wet movement.
“Jefe, that thing is not going to stay there for long. I can feel it.”
“Hold the shield here a moment,” Martinho said. “I think you’re right. We ought to clear the Plaza. If it took it into its mind to rush the crowd, people would be hurt.”
“You say a true thing, Jefe.”
“Vierho, use the handlight. Try to dazzle its eyes. I’ll break away from the shield to our right and try a long shot.”