Camouflage

bandaged hand. “Uncle Sam will buy you a beer.”
    One of the few tables in the small bar was unoccupied. The bartender came over and took their order. The window that looked out over the park and the harbor showed a growing crowd of curious people, held back by two policemen in incongruous parade uniforms.
    “Just for a minute, try to think of Rae as a spy,” Swanwick said. “Did you ever get the feeling she was pumping you for information?”
    That had an annoying alternate interpretation. “Not really,” Russell said with some asperity. “We’re both working on the same thing. We talked about it all the time. So does everyone else on the project.”
    “Think about it this way—ow!” Gesturing, she had bumped her bandaged knuckle. “She’s supposed to be an astronomer. Did she seem like one to you?”
    “No doubt about that. You’d have to ask Dr. Dagmar to be absolutely sure; she’s our top astronomer. But Rae seems to really know her stuff, a lot more than me. I’m just a marine engineer, but I’ve been into astronomy all my life.”
    Swanwick nodded. “Did she show any special interest in defense or military applications of this thing? The artifact?”
    He thought about that for a moment. “Defense? I can say no almost without exception, since that’s an angle I’m not interested in. I’d remember if she tried to ‘pump’ me on that.”
    A policeman came into the bar, holding a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun in a heavy plastic bag. Swanwick stood up.
    “Did you shoot that woman with this?”
    “In self-defense. She was—”
    “Ya, ya.” He gestured to a big officer behind him, who came around quickly with handcuffs.
    “That won’t be necessary,” Swanwick said, but the big man spun him around roughly and snapped them on. “She had a gun,” he said.
    “And you had this in your room for the little mice,” the first policeman said. He turned to Russell. “Dr. Sutton, please wait here with your lady. A man will take your statement soon.”
    They watched the three of them leave. “He shot her . . . with that? ”
    “Hit her, too. Blew off her arm.” There was a moment of dead silence. The people at the other tables were looking at them. She let a breath out in a puff. “Speaking of ‘ladies’?”
    He pointed. “Behind the gift counter, down the hall to the left.”
    She picked up her purse. “I’ll be right back.”
    Unsurprisingly, he never saw her again.

- 40 -
faleolo, samoa, 15 july 2021
    O nce on the other side of the reef, the changeling stayed in the relatively deep water, plying west slowly toward the airport at Faleolo. There was a plane out the next day, to Honolulu.
    It would take human form and come ashore after dark. Hide for awhile and then walk into the airport. Then go about the problem of getting a ticket, without passport or credit cards. It could create counterfeit cash, but even under normal circumstances, it would look suspicious to try to purchase an expensive ticket with cash. Maybe a Samoan could get away with it, but it didn’t know the language well enough to pass among Samoans.
    Eighty or ninety years ago, it would have just isolated someone, killed him, and used his identity and ticket. That was repugnant now. Maybe the man who shot Rae’s arm off. The world might be a better place without him.
    By the time it got to Faleolo, it had a better plan. Not without risk, but it could always escape into the wateragain. They’d eventually catch on to that. But it had escaped from a few jails in its time, too.
    It went a half mile past Faleolo, to get away from the light. The moon, not yet first quarter, was no problem. The changeling sat in the shallows and changed.
    About a pound of its substance became a plastic bag full of circulated fifty- and hundred-dollar bills. Another twelve pounds, a light knapsack with a change of dirty clothing and a wallet that had enough Samoan tala for a few cab rides and a night of drinking, with an American Universal ID and a California driver’s license, matching the persona it painfully built. Newt Martin, a common type of denizen in this corner of the world. Young, restless; escaping from something. Money enough for food and drugs and a flop, and maybe a little more. Maybe a lot.
    It made a passport that would pass visual inspection. The computer at passport control wouldn’t be fooled.
    At about eight thirty it crept ashore, squeezed the water out of its long blond hair, and walked down to the