We Install by Harry Turtledove

the OB told her to go ahead.
    â€œWon’t be much longer,” the woman said cheerfully from behind her mask. Bev made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal—she might have been trying to lift a building off her toe. The OB nodded approval. “That’s good! Do it again!”
    Jack thought his wife would explode if she did it again. But then, that was the point.
    Bev bore down once more. Her face turned a mottled purple. That couldn’t be good for her … could it? The obstetrician seemed to think so. “The baby’s crowning,” she said. “I can see the top of its head. Push hard. One more time!”
    And Beverly did, and the baby came out, and that was when the screams in the delivery room started.
    Sergeant John Paul Kling was in the shower when the telephone rang. Swearing under his breath, he turned off the water and plucked the phone out of the soap dish. “Exotic Crimes Unit, Kling here,” he said.
    â€œThis is Dr. Romanova. I’m at Tristar Hospital.” The woman on the other end of the line sounded like someone biting down hard on hysteria. And she’s a doctor , Kling thought. Whatever this is, it isn’t good .
    â€œGo ahead,” he said out loud, while water dripped from the end of his nose and trickled through the mat of graying hair on his chest.
    â€œI think …” Dr. Romanova had to pause and gather herself. “I think we’ve had a hoxbomb here.” There. She’d said it.
    â€œGood Lord!” Kling didn’t know what he’d expected, but that wasn’t it. “Are you sure?”
    â€œI’ll send you the image,” she said, and she did.
    For a few seconds, Kling thought he was seeing what he was seeing because his phone screen had drops of water on it. He wiped it clear with his thumb, and what he saw then was even worse.
    It was a newborn baby. Well, it couldn’t be anything else, but whoever’d put it together hadn’t looked at the manual often enough. Parts sprouted from places where they had no business being. He’d heard of sticking your foot in your mouth. Now he saw it—either that or the kid’s tongue had toes. Which would be worse? He had no idea.
    â€œSergeant? Are you there, Sergeant?” Dr. Romanova asked. “They put me through to you, and—”
    â€œI’m here.” Kling got rid of the photo, but it would haunt him forever. And he was going to have to see the model in a few minutes. “Tristar Hospital, you said? I’m on my way. Shall I notify the Snarre’t, or do you want to do it?”
    â€œYou’re the police office in charge,” she answered, which was a polite way of saying, You’re stuck with it, buddy . “A hoxbomb could be purely human, of course.”
    â€œYeah. Right,” John Paul Kling said tightly. He was a cop. Like any cop with two brain cells to rub against each other, he went with the odds, not against them. A hoxbomb didn’t have to mean the Furballs were involved, but that was sure as hell the way to bet. They were the ones who really knew how to do that stuff: a lot better than humans did, anyhow.
    He got out of the shower, put on his clothes, and called headquarters. He would have to show them visuals, and naked just didn’t cut it. Lieutenant Reiko Kelly took the call. “I thought it would be you, John Paul,” she said. “A hoxbomb, the doctor told me.”
    â€œUh-huh. I’m about to head for Tristar now. Reason I’m checking in is, I want to involve the Snarre’t.” He was doing things by the book. Being only a sergeant, he needed formal permission before taking care of what everybody—even the doctor, or maybe especially the doctor—could see he had to take care of.
    Lieutenant Kelly sighed, but she nodded. “Yes, go ahead. With a hoxbomb in the picture, you don’t have much choice. If it turns out they aren’t involved, we