Between Times
by Philip J. Lees

Placing the point of the knife precisely at the center of Helen's curved, pale throat I felt that first frisson, so familiar and at the same time so unique, each time different. I paused, savoring the moment. Her eyes, watery blue, staring upwards at me as her life slowly drained away, seemed full of longing. I smiled. I would be her fulfillment.

"You're a woman," she had said. "I don't kiss other women."

"You'll kiss me," I said, "and more."

And of course there was more, and still more, as we traveled together along the winding path that led to this moment.

Helen's skin was like the finest vellum, silky to the touch, translucent ivory traced by veins of indigo. I caressed her cheek and watched the faint pulse flutter beneath the angle of her jaw. The slightest pressure on the blade and the rose began to bloom, the first tiny red drop appeared, welling out to fill the crater where knife touched flesh, then suddenly flowing over to trickle down the side of her slender neck. Helen's pupils contracted and her lips parted in an almost inaudible sigh.

I could contain myself no longer. I gave myself over to my feeling mind. I thrust, I drew, in a rapture of precision I traced the line that marked the boundary of Helen's fate. I dropped the knife, then reached with both hands, pulled the wound apart, bent my head and drank--drank, lapped, sucked, sated myself on her life force, intoxicated with the taste of it. She twitched once under me, then was still. I threw my head back, clenched my teeth and howled silently into the night, the last drops of blood still burning the back of my gullet. The power coursed through me, an electrifying ripple spreading from the back of my neck, down my arms, through my body, reaching my very toes. Ah! Surely there can be nothing sweeter than this.

Then, reluctantly, I handed back control to my thinking mind. "Goodbye, my love," I said. I obtained the necessary samples and left.

In the between times I am patient. I make my notes, write up my research, publish, present, propound, propose new projects. Proud in my accomplishments, I parade my findings before admiring audiences one after the other. I am not without note on my world and no one knows of my secret vice--not even my own dear Goran.

"Goran," I said, "I must return. I wish I could spend more time with you." This was true and also not true.

"There is the program," I said. "I must not deviate from it. Our research depends on my keeping to the schedule."

She smiled sadly.

I returned, I did my research, I found Helen, I fed again. When I reviewed the historical record from my previous visit it appeared that the false evidence I planted had had the desired effect--a perpetrator had been identified, though even now nobody was absolutely certain. I was clever, I was safe. There is time, I thought, time for one more.

#

Even with her hair stuffed up into the police cap, Gaines thought, and the professionally serious expression, the girl was a looker. She stiffened up as he approached, holding her arms straight down by her sides, and looked directly ahead as if waiting for an inspection. Must be fresh out of the Academy, Gaines thought.

"At ease, Officer," he said. He gave her a wink and caught a rapidly suppressed smile in response. Get her name, he made a mental note to himself

The first thing that struck him when he entered the room was the smell--a kind of mustiness as if no fresh air had entered in months. He also picked up a whiff of booze--whiskey, Gaines thought. He had noticed before that a murder scene seemed to bring everything into a different kind of focus--the odors, the lighting, even the sound seemed to have an unreal quality, an echo, like walking down a subway platform late at night when you were the only one there.

Outside a car droned along the highway, someone honked. There was the distant sound of a siren. Somebody else's business, Gaines thought. The room was yellow, dim; an office desk lamp cast most of its light on the polished wood floor, a brighter halo reflected off the brown painted ceiling.

The apartment was a shabby single room, poorly furnished, but with an attempt at a style that belonged to a previous decade. In one corner stood an art deco jukebox that made a stark contrast with the spanking new computer that occupied the desk on Gaines's right. Hessian drapes framed smeared dormer windows. A chest high louvered partition partly concealed a small kitchen unit.

On the far side of the room was a bed with crumpled sheets. The body lay on the floor in front of it, stretched out supine on a piebald throw rug, its arms by its sides. There was no sign of a struggle and if Gaines hadn't known otherwise he might have thought the woman was just sleeping. He took a breath, swallowed, and walked over to beside the corpse. He crouched down and made his inspection.

The woman was naked, in her late twenties, Gaines judged. Dark hair parted in the center fell back in two wings to frame a face that was handsome rather than pretty, with high cheekbones and a tapering chin. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she had been about to say something when it happened. Red lip gloss only served to emphasize the pallor of her skin.

The incision started near the base of the neck, about two thirds of the way down from the tip of the jaw. Some sharp tool that left no ragged edges had been inserted there and ripped downwards between her breasts all the way to below the navel, penetrating deeply into the lower chest and abdominal cavity and stopping just above the clipped pubic triangle. The wound had an almost surgical precision--it appeared to have been one brutal stroke.

Gaines felt the hatred rise within himself, as he always did on these occasions, and told himself sternly that there was no place for feeling here, he was a professional, doing his job. The corpse had a stray lock of hair hanging over one eye and, without thinking what he was doing, Gaines reached out a finger and straightened it, tidying up the face. What the hell! he thought, then rose to his feet and looked around.

Whatever Helen McDougal might have had to say she surely wasn't going to say it now, but there might be other evidence here, something to throw light on what had happened.

#

"She was drugged," Stolz said, peeling off his latex gloves. His hands were white and almost hairless. "Drugged and then eviscerated. She was still alive when it started." He dropped the gloves in a waste bin. Through the glass in the upper part of the green swing doors that led off the small ante room Gaines could see the table with the sheet that covered Helen McDougal's remains.

"You're sure?" he asked.

Stolz gave him a look of withering scorn. "Of course I'm sure. It was obvious from the blood loss." He bent over a small washbasin, pushed down the lever on the faucet with his elbow and started scrubbing his hands under the stream of water using liquid soap from a dispenser on the wall.

Stolz was a tall man with a permanent stoop, probably from spending so much of his time leaning over cadavers. His watery blue eyes peered from behind large, square-framed spectacles.

"Time of death?" Gaines asked.

"I couldn't say, exactly," Stolz said, pursing his lips in distaste at the admission. "Not within the last twenty four hours, anyway." He shook the excess water from his hands and dried them off with a fistful of paper towels. "She was partying not long before it happened. Alcohol in the blood. She probably died late Monday evening." The towels followed the gloves into the bin. "I'll tell you something else interesting, though, Detective." He smiled like someone about to give away a dark secret and paused expectantly.

"What's that," said Gaines, playing along with Stolz' little game.

"There's not nearly enough of it. Blood I mean."

Gaines thought back to the crime scene. Despite the brutal nature of the assault the rug around the corpse had been almost unstained.

"You mean in the body?"

"Where else would I mean? She'd practically bled out before her heart stopped pumping." Stolz massaged his left wrist with his right thumb, alternately flexing and clenching the fingers of his left hand. He looked at Gaines intently. "Now where did it all go? Can you tell me that, Detective?"

"I've no idea," Gaines said. Stolz was beginning to annoy him. "You said she was drugged?"

"Some kind of alkaloid, I believe. I've sent a sample for analysis. However, my guess is that it's something like curare."

"So she was unconscious?"

"Oh no, Detective. She was very much conscious. She just couldn't move a muscle. Left alone, she would have died from asphyxiation. Curare paralyzes the lungs along with all the skeletal muscles, but it doesn't stop the heart."

"But she wasn't left alone."

"No, she wasn't." Stolz slipped off his white coat and hung it on a peg. "Well, it's all in my report. Is there anything else, Detective? There's a corpse on the freeway they want me to take a look at."

#

I am always careful. I am cunning. On my last visit, halfway around the world from here, when I discovered for the first time the exquisite pleasure that could be had from its people, I planned everything down to the last detail. With Helen, I was patient, I took the time to observe her, to familiarize myself with her habits, to conclude that she would not be quickly missed. I took all necessary precautions. Perhaps I was not quite so thorough as before, but I was confident that there was no real threat from these inferior beings.

The scouts that came before me had provided a variety of means of controlling the people of this world. They had scanned their physiology, their mental patterns, exposed their many vulnerabilities. I carried with me substances that could dull the humans' perceptions, disable their function within seconds. I had superior strength and speed, I had psychological skills that could draw them to me or repel them as needed.

I had learned to make myself invisible--not literally, of course, but effectively so. When necessary, my feeling mind could project a sense of disquiet to anyone who happened to pass close to me, not strong enough to cause panic but sufficient to make them avoid looking at me and hurry on their way.

Even so, I should not have gone back. My thinking mind told me it was stupid, but my feeling mind was so insistent I let it take control for a short time. I should not have gone back. It was pointless and it was dangerous. Although I was certain that the risk was minimal, even minimal was too much.

As it happened there were few people out and about. As I walked once again down that street and stopped fleetingly to glance up at Helen's window, that glorious memory came flooding back and I could almost taste her blood in my mouth. Maybe it was worth that minimal risk, after all, for now my appetite was reawakened and I was filled with anticipation. As I hurried away and hailed a cruising cab I made my thinking mind cast aside its earlier concern and began to plan my next encounter.

#

"A witness?" Gaines asked, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "You've found a witness?"

"It's a Mrs. Leroy from the building opposite." Hardesty, the officer who had let Gaines into McDougal's apartment the day before, also sounded pleased with herself. "She's a pensioner. She saw McDougal arrive with company, around nine p.m. on Monday."

As a matter of routine all the residents of the neighborhood had been visited, but most people never seemed to look out of their windows any more and Gaines hadn't been optimistic.

"Get a description. Can you bring her in?"

"She's an old lady, sir," Hardesty's uncertainty came through her rookie formality. "I don't think she goes out much, if at all. It might be better if you could come here, sir."

"Okay. Stay with her until I get there." Gaines noted down the address. "And well done, Officer."

"Thank you sir." Hardesty hung up.

So, Gaines thought, there's still a chance. Most of these crimes went unsolved, but for some reason this one nagged at him, he couldn't let it go. On the way to interview the witness he found himself thinking about Helen McDougal, who had somehow become a person to him. There was something about the callousness of the killing that had aroused his stubborn streak. He thought of her lying there, fully aware yet unable to move, unable even to breathe, while her assailant wreaked havoc upon her body. And the blood. What had happened to the blood?

Ms. Millicent Leroy, it appeared, was one person who did look out of her window. Indeed, Gaines concluded, she seemed to do little else. Her third floor apartment was cluttered with occasional tables, small, chintz-covered chairs, standing lamps, cabinets full of ornaments--the detritus of a lifetime of hoarding. Gaines picked his way carefully across the room to sit opposite her. The atmosphere smelled sickly sweet from some kind of floral air freshener. Before he sat down Gaines glanced through the muslin drapes and was rewarded with a clear view of the entrance to McDougal's building and the streetlight that stood in front of it.

He settled himself into an armchair that was a little too narrow for his bulky hips. A cushion pressed uncomfortably into his lower back, but he ignored it.

"Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Leroy," he said. "I know you've already talked to Officer Hardesty, but could you tell me again exactly what you saw, just for the record?" He pulled out his notebook and looked at her expectantly.

"You mean the albino woman?" Millicent Leroy sniffed. "I was surprised it wasn't a man with her. It usually is." Gaines hadn't been expecting such a strong voice from the frail figure. The old woman's silver hair was neatly coiffed and she wore a long, green velvet dress with sleeves that reached to her wrists and a high lace ruff around the neck. There was no jewelry, but a small pocket watch on a chain was pinned just above her waist.

"Albino?" Gaines made a note. Take this slowly, he told himself.

"With that ... tramp. I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but that's what she was. Three or four times a week, and a different man every time."

"Really?" Gaines said neutrally. "Can you tell me more about this woman that was with Ms. McDougal?"

"She was tall. Much taller than ... Ms. McDougal. As tall as a man."

"Are you quite sure it was a woman this time?"

Millicent Leroy gave him a withering look.

"I may be old, Detective, but my eyes are as good as they ever were." Her eyes were brown and focused sharply on him as she spoke. Okay, Gaines thought.

"Mind you," she continued, "I wasn't certain until she turned and looked this way."

"So you saw her face?"

"Very clearly, I assure you." The brown eyes now became more distant. "She was quite ... beautiful." There was a wistful note in the old woman's voice. Interesting.

"Can you be more specific? A round face? Long? Hair color and style?" Those last features were easily changed, but Gaines had to ask anyway.

"Her hair was white, of course, I mean very pale blonde, ash blonde. She had it tied back in a ponytail. Her face was unusual, I would have to say classical--like a sculpture of a Greek goddess. Have you ever been to Europe, Detective?"

The question was a surprise, but Gaines just nodded.

"Then perhaps you know what I mean. I went there when I was eighteen. It was considered a necessary part of my education."

"Very good," Gaines murmured. Millicent Leroy's life might have been interesting, but he had to focus on the matter at hand. She gave him a penetrating look, then seemed to realize what he was thinking.

"Anyway, this was a face that belonged to a different age," she continued. "I don't know how else to explain it."

It had clearly made quite an impression on her.

"And her eyes," Millicent Leroy said, "they were very large and very pale. That's why I said she was an albino."

Albinos had pink eyes, Gaines knew, but he refrained from commenting.

"What about her figure?" he asked.

"I couldn't tell you. She was wearing a long, dark overcoat, so I couldn't see."

That was encouraging, Gaines thought. If Ms. Leroy had been making this up, or even embroidering detail, she would hardly have admitted her ignorance on that point so bluntly. He snapped his notebook shut and replaced it in his pocket.

"Ms. Leroy," he said, "would it be possible for you to come to the precinct and look through some photographs, see if you can find your albino there?"

She sniffed again.

"I doubt this person is in your files," she said. "But I'll come if you like."

"Thank you." Gaines doubted it too, for some reason. He released himself from his chair and stood up.

"What was I thinking?" Millicent Leroy said suddenly. "I haven't offered you anything. How rude of me. Would you like some tea, coffee?"

The timing of the offer suggested a conflict between courtesy and financial hardship, so Gaines declined.

"Another time, perhaps," he said. "But right now I'm on duty."

She nodded, then stood up herself, pushing down on the arms of the chair for support. She walked stiffly over to the window and adjusted the drapes. Then she froze.

"Detective Gaines," she said breathlessly, her back still to him. "Come here, quickly!"

Gaines stepped around another table or two and bent to look where she was looking.

"That's her," Millicent Leroy hissed. "She's come back."

Outside the sky had clouded over again and the afternoon light was already fading, but there was still plenty to see by. Across the street a figure had paused on the sidewalk and was looking up in the direction of McDougal's window. It held the pose for a heartbeat, then turned and walked on. The face was in profile, but as far as Gaines could tell it matched Ms. Leroy's description perfectly.

Gaines turned. Hardesty had been standing inconspicuously in a corner throughout the interview.

"Stay here," Gaines said. "Call it in." Hardesty nodded and pulled out her radio, crossing to the window as Gaines got to the door as quickly as he could. Outside, he raced down six flights of stairs and out to the street.

But by the time he got there and stood panting, looking this way and that, the mystery woman was gone.

#

On my last visit to this world the most sophisticated form of transportation consisted of vehicles drawn by large quadrupeds. Things have moved on since then, but in spite of their technological progress the savagery of this species continues unabated, it seems--hardly a day goes by without a report of some butchery or other. My own small contribution to the body count will scarcely be noticed.

Now, as before, the purchase of a sharp blade presented no problem. I would not use the same weapon twice--that would be to despoil it, to betray a memory. The other knife--Helen's knife--I disposed of reverently, as befits a sacred relic. I chose the new one with care, the blood roared in my ears as I examined it. The man in the shop offered to demonstrate its cutting ability--he would slice through a piece of wood, he said--but I declined. I wanted it to be pristine, its first and only task the ending of a life. No wood for this blade! The man was looking at me strangely, but I smiled and he was instantly disarmed, as I knew he would be, the fool.

This new venture was not strictly necessary, you understand. I already had the tissue samples I needed for my research, ample for plotting a century's genome developments on a graph. But somehow I could not countenance leaving before I had tasted the experience once more. The wormhole through which I traveled could be aimed in time, as well as in space, and the differential meant that a day here more or less would pass unnoticed back home. Goran would not miss me.

The morning had been pleasantly gloomy, but by the time I left the shop the vicious sun that baked this world had lost its screen of cloud and I could almost feel the scorch of its ultraviolet radiation. Squinting against the glare, keeping to the shadows where I could, I hurried back to my hotel and fell thankfully on the bed, my skin still tingling.

My people are accustomed to living in twilight. Our star is benign, gentle in its illumination, laying down a warm wash of green and gold. The violent colors of Earth were almost shocking at first, until I learned to appreciate its own strange kind of beauty.

As with the world, so with its inhabitants. I had a suspicion that I was not the only one of our team to have become fascinated by the Earth people. On my last visit home I had met with Sanja, a breeder from Second City, but quite smart for all that. He, too, was gathering genetic data.

"These humans ... " Sanja said, "they ... have you ever ... ?"

"No," I said shortly. I am not foolish enough to share my thoughts. From then on I strongly discouraged any familiar talk from Sanja.

#

"Wow!" Hardesty said thoughtfully, then collected herself. "Sorry sir."

"No," Gaines said absently. "'Wow' is the word."

They had thanked Ms. Leroy again and said goodbye. Now that both he and Hardesty had seen the suspect there was little point in bringing the old woman along to look at mug shots. An APB had been issued and the description was being circulated to any store that sold knives.

"Do you think she'll do it again?" Hardesty asked.

"I don't know. I'm afraid so."

They sat in Gaines's car. It was almost dark now and a light rain was falling. The details of the crime had not been released officially, but word always got around. Hardesty's face looked grim in the glow of the courtesy light.

"You did well," Gaines said. "Buy you a drink? I reckon we're off duty now." Without waiting for an answer he started the engine.

#

I had my thinking mind analyze the possibilities thoroughly before I made my decision. Returning to the same establishment where I had met Helen had its risks, but against that I weighed its convenience--its proximity to my hotel meant that I could keep my time on the streets to a minimum. It was also familiar. Finally I considered that in a society where breeders were allowed to hold positions of power I would have little trouble outwitting any opposition, in the unlikely event that such a problem presented itself.

I secreted my weapon in an inside pocket and set forth. A few minutes' walk brought me to my destination. I entered and made my way to my target location, my thinking mind alert for any warning signs while my feeling mind scanned the customers for likely prospects.

I was in luck! The stool I was approaching, the same bar stool on which I was sitting when I met Helen, had just become free. An auspicious sign, I thought. I sat down, ordered myself a Margarita and made as if to sip at it, wincing as the chilled, salty rim of the glass touched my lips.

#

Gaines sipped his bourbon. Anne Hardesty had ordered a club soda. They had stopped back at the precinct for her to change out of uniform and she now wore beige slacks and a white roll neck pullover. With her brown hair brushed loose to her shoulders she was even more attractive.

The bar was done out in synthetic Western--fake wooden beams and the occasional saddle and bridle hung up for effect. Country music blared through oversized speakers and the bar staff wore check shirts and Stetsons. Gaines hated it. They found a booth in a corner, well away from the pool table and the beer-swilling crowd around it, and sat down. Hardesty looked around curiously, sizing up his choice of venue.

"She came here, didn't she?"

"What? Who?"

"McDougal. The victim. She used to come here."

Gaines sighed. "Very good, Officer Hardesty," he said.

She gave him a look. "So we're not really off duty."

"I don't know. It's a long shot. We were lucky today and I thought I'd give it the chance to run a while longer."

"I see."

"That's not why I invited you. I could have come by myself."

"This damn job."

"Yeah," Gaines said. "It never lets you alone."

She smiled out of one side of her mouth, at the same time pulling her dark eyebrows together over green eyes. Gaines had never seen a smile quite like that and he wondered what it meant.

"Well," she said, "I'm glad you did bring me along. Sir." This time the 'sir' had the smile in it.

"Bill," Gaines said. "Let's stay off duty as long as we can, shall we?"

"Bill." She lifted her glass. "I'll drink to that."

They clinked glasses, drank. Gaines's glass was almost empty.

"My round," Anne said. "But first, the ladies' room. I'll only be a minute."

It wasn't even that long.

"She's here!" Anne hissed urgently, bending over the table and keeping her back to the bar.

Gaines let his eyes explore the room casually, as if looking for an overdue friend. He could see nothing of interest.

"Around the other side. Listen, if anything happens we'll go to my place."

"What?" He hadn't expected an invitation like this. Not so soon, anyway. Anne was fumbling in her purse, though, and a suspicion grew as to what she really meant.

"No," he said.

But she was scribbling on a scrap of paper and then she pushed it across the table to him.

"Here's the address. Spare keys. Just in case." The key ring followed.

"No," Gaines said again. "That's an order."

"Just running with that luck. We're off duty, Bill, remember?" There was that smile again. "But call for backup anyway."

Before he could say anything more she was off, making her way through the tables, disappearing behind the central bar.

Damn, Gaines thought. This damn job. He put his glass down on the table, then quickly got to his feet. At least the bar only had one exit for him to watch. Nothing could happen inside a place this public. With any luck the backup would arrive before the situation changed.

#

I did not have to wait long. A young woman came up to the bar close beside where I sat and leaned her elbows on it, waiting to be served. She turned and glanced at me, smiling crookedly.

"Busy tonight," she said.

The people of this world exhibited an astonishing variety of physical types. This one had skin much darker than Helen's, as dark as the wood from which the bar was constructed. I imagined touching it. I smiled back, and as I did so I felt the bond form between us, as it always did when my feeling mind reached out to theirs. I allowed it a degree of control. From now until the climax of the encounter I would have to maintain a fine balance.

"Indeed," I said. "Do you come here often?"

I knew it was a stereotypical question in this situation, but it would serve to distract her while I took charge. She looked at me directly, seemed about to say something else, then shrugged.

"Now and again."

I held her gaze with my own, maintaining the smile until I felt her resistance begin to weaken. She was strong willed, so I diverted a little more power to my feeling mind. The game was under way.

"It's better if we leave right now," I said. "I can take you to places you've never dreamed of." I placed my hand on her shoulder and as I did so I could sense her last reluctance melt away. "Much better than this." There was something else, something I could not quite see, but my feeling mind was taking over now and would delay no longer.

"Yes," she said, as if acknowledging something she had always known to be true. "Let's go."

#

Gaines cursed under his breath as he saw Anne leave the bar with the suspect. The tall blonde woman had her hand at Anne's elbow and leaned over her as if sharing a secret, keeping him from seeing Anne's expression. A minicab pulled up at the curb--they must have ordered it from inside. It drove off, so Gaines started his engine and followed.

A backup car was on the way, but Anne's apartment lay in a direction away from the precinct and it would be behind him. If that was where they were going. He could have taken an alternate route, reached there before them, but what if they never turned up? No, it was safer to stay on their tail. He notified the backup of the change of plan and concentrated on keeping the cab in view while not getting too close.

The third set of traffic lights changed to red just as the cab went through. The cross traffic blocked the intersection and Gaines had to stop. He beat out the seconds on the steering wheel as the cab's tail lights shrunk in the distance. He saw it pass the next junction. From now on he would be at least a block behind. The luck was not holding any more. The only good thing was that, from the way they were going, it looked as if their destination would be as expected.

Once off the main avenue Gaines made a wrong turn, which cost him another couple of minutes. The minicab pulled out of Anne's street as Gaines turned in. He maneuvered his car into a space by a hydrant.

"I've arrived," he said into the radio. "Get here as quick as you can."

"Five minutes," the radio crackled back. "Maybe less."

The first key that Gaines tried in the downstairs door was the wrong one. It stuck as he tried to pull it out. Finally the door opened. Anne lived on the third floor, but an open elevator car was waiting. No more stairs, thank God.

When the elevator doors opened, Gaines stepped out and scanned the doors--eight, nine, ten, Anne's was apartment fifteen. It must be around the corner to the right. He pulled his gun from his shoulder holster as he strode along the corridor.

He didn't bother to knock on the door, just thrust the key into the lock, turned it and stepped inside. There was that musty smell again, the same as in McDougal's apartment but even stronger than before. Anne was sprawled in a low chair to the left of the room, her arms hanging loosely over the sides. Her pullover had been removed to reveal a white bra. Gaines could see terror in her eyes. The blonde woman was kneeling at Anne's feet, fiddling with something at her waist. When she heard his entrance she whirled to her feet and faced him with a snarl. She was as tall as he was, and those unearthly features were as striking as he remembered from the earlier brief glimpse, but now it was the eyes that seized his attention. The woman's eyes had no whites, but were a uniform gray. The pupils were little more than black dots in their centers, oval dots that pulsed in an irregular rhythm. Gaines shuddered. For a second it was as if he was inside the woman's mind, feeling a rage and a hatred and a fear that flowed towards him and tried to engulf him. It was so powerful he almost turned and ran. Then he forced himself to take another step forward and raised his weapon. Some part of his brain registered the sound of another car pulling up outside. The backup team.

"You're under arrest," he said, the routine words helping to restore his confidence. The woman stared at him for a second, then glanced back at Anne, then seemed to reach a decision.

"Breeder!" she hissed. Then before he could react she charged straight at him, pushing his gun arm to the side as if it were made of paper. She was faster and stronger than he could have imagined and Gaines was taken of balance and thrown to the floor. As he climbed to his feet he heard running footsteps descending the stairs. The officers outside would have to deal with her. Anne needed help.

She had a pulse, but was not breathing. Gaines could hear Stolz' voice in his head: "It paralyzes the lungs, but doesn't stop the heart." He pushed one hand behind Anne's neck, the other under her knees, and lowered her to the floor. Her eyes were blank, but open. Rescue breaths, he thought--if he could just give her enough oxygen he might buy some time. Her lips already had the bluish tinge of cyanosis. He opened her mouth gently, checked her airway, then bent over to place his lips on hers. Not the way he would have imagined their first kiss. He breathed into her, watching her chest rise in response. Good.

"Detective Gaines?"

Gaines finished a second deep exhalation before raising his head. It was a uniformed officer named Parker--reliable, Gaines remembered, but not too imaginative.

"The other woman?"

"Ramirez has gone after her." That was Parker's partner.

"He'll need your help. Call for paramedics. Code Red."

Parker nodded and was gone. Gaines turned back to Anne and gave another three rescue breaths. Her eyes were still expressionless, but her lips had started to pink up.

"Hold on," Gaines muttered into her ear. "I'll get you through this." Then he added, "That's an order, Officer Hardesty."

#

They found Ramirez' body in an alley not far away. It was badly cut but there was almost no blood. Nor was there any sign of the killer. By the next morning Anne Hardesty was breathing for herself again.

"Thank you," she said. There were dark circles under her eyes and she pressed Gaines's hand so tightly against the rail of the hospital bed that it hurt, but he made no complaint.

"That's okay," Gaines said. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Anne said. "I don't understand it. It was like a kind of hypnosis. I tried to fight it, but she was too strong. Then she pricked me with something and after that I couldn't move." Her voice was level but the pressure on Gaines's hand increased still more.

"We'll get her," Gaines said softly. "She'll never hurt anyone again."

"Do that," she said fiercely. "You just do that." Then for the first time Gaines saw a flicker of that special smile.

"That's an order, Detective Gaines," Officer Hardesty said.

#

I had to return home immediately. Time was short and to delay further would have been too dangerous. I had clearly underestimated that breeder. At such a vulnerable moment it was difficult for my thinking mind to regain control, to formulate a plan, to act upon it, and for those few seconds my freedom, my very existence, was threatened. When I revisit Earth in a century or so, as they perceive it, I will be even more cunning. I will take not even the smallest risk.

In the meantime, the between time, I have Goran for comfort. The simpler, milder pleasures we share will have to suffice for now, but already I can feel my palate demanding more piquant fare.

The other breeder was a poor substitute for my Anne. It was a fast kill. I had no time to relish the experience. I fed, but my hunger was not fully satisfied. And as I expected, the males are much less tasty.

END