Free Montezuma Strip by Alan Dean Foster Page B

long. You don’t see yourself, sitting there,
     reciting in that unbroken monotone into that damn vorec. It’s like it becomes an extension of your own mouth.”
    “It does,” he told her softly.
    “So I thought I’d do some tunneling myself. Before thepsychomorph there’s… I don’t know what you’d call it. Not a psychomorph. Subtler. Like a reciprocal program. It vacuumed the
     first thing it focused on.” Maybe he couldn’t look at the shepherd’s corpse, but she could. “If Charliebo hadn’t been where
     he was it’d be me lying there instead of him. The tunnel, the program—it vacuumed him, Angel. Sucked him right out. It was
     quick. He just whimpered once and fell over on his side. The look in his eyes—I’ve seen that look on people who’ve been vacuumed.
     But I didn’t know you could do it to an animal.
    “The crunch consumption figures went stratospheric. Maybe it was the same program Crescent and Noschek used to vacuum themselves.
     I guess they figured that’d be one way to make sure anybody who got this close to them wouldn’t bother them.”
    “Charliebo wasn’t an animal.”
    “No. Sure he wasn’t, Angel.” It was quiet for a long time. Later, “I cut power and figured out a key to get around the trap.
     I thought it was the last one. That’s when he came in.” She indicated the flashman. “But it wasn’t the last one. The psychomorph
     was. There were no warnings, no hints. I never would’ve seen it coming. Neither did he.”
    “Not surprising, really. I wonder if it would’ve made a difference if you or I had tripped it first. Because it wasn’t a psychomorph.”
    She gaped at him.
    “It wasn’t a psychomorph,” he said again. “It was a—let’s call it a manifesting resonance. A full-field projection. I asked
     you if you saw it. I asked you what it looked like. You had a ventral view. I saw it face on.” Now he found he was able to
     turn and look at the shepherd’s corpse.
    “It wasn’t a psychomorph. It was Charliebo.”
    She said nothing this time, waiting for him to continue, wondering if she’d be able to follow him. She could. It wasn’t that
     difficult to understand. Just slightly impossible. But she couldn’t find the argument to contradict him with.
    “Their last defense,” he was saying. “If you can’t lick’em, make ‘em join you. You were right when you called it a reciprocal program. Vacuum the first intruder and use him to keep
     out anybody thereafter. That way you don’t expose yourself. Co-opt the first one clever enough to make it that far down the
     tunnel. It could’ve been you. It could’ve been me. They were luckier than they could’ve dreamed. They got Charliebo.
    “Noschek and Crescent. Couple of clever boys. Too clever by half. I won’t be surprised if they’ve learned how to manipulate
     their new environment. If so, they’ll know their reciprocal’s been triggered. Maybe they’ll try to move. Somewhere more private.
     Maybe they can cut the tunnel. We’re dealing with entirely new perceptions, new notions of what is and isn’t reality, existence.
     I don’t think they’d take kindly to uninvited visitors, but now Charliebo’s in there somewhere with them, wherever ‘there’
     is. Maybe they’ll be easier on him. I don’t think he’ll be perceived as much of a threat.”
    She chose her words slowly. “I think I understand. The first key triggered the reciprocal program and Charliebo got vacuumed.
     When that bastard tried to go around it…”
    “He got Charliebo’s resonance instead of Crescent or Noschek. I hope they enjoy having him around. I always did.” He helped
     her stand on shaky legs.
    “What now?”
    As he held on to her he began to wonder who was supporting whom. “I could go back to Nogales, close the file, report it officially
     as unsolvable. Leave Noschek and Crescent to their otherwhere privacy. Or—we could dig in and try going back.”
    She whistled softly. “I’m not sure I