Hans Grustigorph sat down, abruptly and awkwardly, his feet slipping out from underneath him and jutting out at odd angles along the hard mud floor. “She's dead. She's been out in the cold too long. You can't freeze people.”
“You can't freeze humans,” Pataco corrected. “Apparently that little girl isn't entirely human.” A clever, if highly illegal way of solving the cryostasis problem. “All we have to do is find her, dig her out of the snow...” His imagination refused to take the scenario any further.
“Thaw her out?”
That was where the plan fell apart. Pataco didn't want to be responsible for attempting to thaw anyone. “We'll want to get this Dr. Wysorickovitz to do that part,” he said slowly, somewhat dubiously. If she was doing illegal genetic manipulations on a sentient species, then it was highly unlikely that she would cooperate with legal authorities. And if she wasn't, this was all a pointless fantasy.
Grusti's frosted eyebrows were pulled down over his eyes in a fierce scowl.
Pataco could see no way around involving the doctor. “What happens if you take the girl to her on your own?”
“Once Doc has her hands on the girl, she'll never allow her to cooperate with your investigation without an armored sled and a six-pack of marines to force the issue. She doens't like cops.”
Pataco sighed and asked his visor to run a cross reference between the pre-autopsy forensic analysis and the vital statistics of those two hundred and forty-three clethaci hunters. The results were discouraging. It was a rare clethaci hunter, it seemed, that wasn't big enough to break a neck or two. He still had two hundred and twenty-three suspects, and a little girl who might not be dead.
He turned to Grusti and removed his mask, trying to ignore the way the cold burned into his face and slashed at his lungs. “Do you think I'm insane? That you bringing me down to see this creature is causing me to look for miracles where they can't exist? Or do you think its possible that Stephi is really alive?”
Grusti looked away. “Anything is possible.”
“Then as soon as it's safe to leave this hole we're going to find her, and you are going to take her to this Doc of yours. We can't take any chances.”
“What about the bastard who did Turbo?”
“I can always investigate every clethaci hunter in the Archipelago. It might take six years, but it can be done. We can also wait for the pelt to show up on the black market, and hope to trace it backwards. But, I'd be obliged if you would stick to that little girl's side, and pass along anything she might happen to say. You don't have to tell Doc you are working for me.”
“You'd be obliged,” Grusti responded, clearly recognizing that his own words were being given back to him. “No, Captain, that's no favor you are asking. I want the killer found at least as much as you do. We're partners in this.”
Pataco nodded his acceptance. “Partners.”
Grustigorph turned and walked over to where the creature lay on its bier, and crouching down but a gloved hand on the creature's forehead. “Do you think I'm insane? That this poor creature would be better off awake?”
Pataco stared thoughtfully at the alien face below the gloved hand for a good long time before shaking his head. “No, I'll be your partner in this as well. It may also have a tale of death and destruction to tell, but a changing climate cannot be brought to justice. Its best revenge would be to sleep peacefully until spring.”
It took two days to find Stephi Turin sleeping beneath the snow. Grusti drove her away in the Turins' sled, and Pataco never saw either of them again. Eight days later, however, acting on an ‘anonymous’ tip, he found the missing clethari carcass buried in the snow near the residence of one Darren Maysiminko. A conviction for two counts of second degree murder was reached without any mention being made in court of frozen sentients of any kind. But a report that Dr. Iris Wyorickovitz should be kept under observation was sent through slow and secret channels, and for the next twelve years Captain Pataco had a reoccurring dream.
Each night he stood, once again, in a bubble of mud, looking down at a frozen alien. And every night, just as he turned to leave, he saw an alien eye open and close beneath its coating of ice.