Read Online The VMR Theory (v1.1) by Robert Frezza - Free Book Online Page A

fat.” She tittered. “I was kidding about tee kumquats.”
    I got the impression that even by admittedly lax local standards, she was one sick puppy.
    She tweaked my nose. “Naughty, naughty! Now you are t’inking I am crazy.”
    “Would you watch where you’re putting your other hand—thank you!—and, ah, how does this mind-reading thing work?”
    “Are you sure you want to know?” she asked coyly. “Absolutely.”
    “It’s something only females can do.”
    “That figures.”
    “We can only read men’s minds.”
    “That also figures.”
    She stroked my brow. “Our lateral line can detect slight changes in bioelectrical fields. By interpreting t’ese changes and scenting pheromones, t’ose of us who possess tee gift can understand t’oughts.”
    “And some of you can do this with humans?”
    “Just little me,” she said proudly.
    “Do you have to sit in my lap?”
    Little Miss Mental Health and Hygiene giggled and crooned, “The bioelectrical currents are so weak. I have to be very, very close to detect t’em. Poor little vampire, don’t you want to bite my neck?”
    “To be truthful, no.”
    She sat up and clapped her hands together. “Well, we will just have to t’ink of somet’ing else fun to do!” She snapped the waistband on my underpants. “And what are t’ese cute little animals on your clot’ing?”
    “Those are baby bunnies, and I would rather not discuss them.” I crossed my eyes. “While I’m thinking of it, what do Wipo’s boys have me tied up with?”
    “It is called kwisti. It is made from a plant.”
    One of the real pleasures in being a vamp is the allergies, which included, as I was rapidly beginning to discover, kwisti fiber. It was causing me to break out in a body rash. I sneezed, and Trixie delicately wiped my nose.
    “I guess the first question you’ll want to ask is whether I’m a secret agent,” I said, thinking the words “NO. NO. NO.”
    She tittered again. “Don’t be silly. We already know t’at.” She pulled a lever on the control panel beside the chair so that I could listen to a taped recording of Bobby Stemm’s voice saying, “I just can’t believe that the Powers That Be would send someone as inept as MacKay to spy on the greasers.”
    “We have his office beetled,” she announced triumphantly.
    “You mean bugged.”
    “Oh. Yes. Bugged. How cute.” She tittered again, which was becoming monotonous. “Now let us see what our silly security people want to know from you. Here is a nice question: Are you working for Navy Intelligence?”
    “No!”
    “T’at means yes! T’is is so much fun. Next, does your mission here have anyt’ing to do wit’ warships? Anot’er yes! Of course it does! Oh, you are squirming so!”
    “This stupid rope itches like crazy.”
    The next half-dozen questions on her list were about Earth’s politics, which required yes or no answers. She ran through them impersonally and came up with one yes, one no, and a bunch of darned-if-I-knows.
    “Here are some vampire questions! Do you drink blood?”
    “No.”
    She gave me a startled look, but wrote it down anyway. “How long do vampires live?”
    “That’s a silly question. Even people who write life insurance sometimes miscalculate how long someone will live, and Fm making a mental note to add to my policy.”
    “Have you used names other t’an Ken MacKay?”
    “No,” I said hastily. Until I was five, my great-aunts used to call me things like “Binky.” Apparently, my subconscious gave me away.
    “Ha!” she said.
    Her questions were beginning to get a little too close to sensitive subjects for comfort, and so was her left hand, so I tried thinking about mathematical tables.
    “How many names have— Ah! Naughty, naughty! You’re not concentrating!” She pinched me in a rather private place.
    “Excuse me. Do you have to do that?”
    “Aren’t you getting your money’s worth, sailor?” she coaxed slyly. “Come tell Auntie Trixie what you