by E. M. Foner
“Why do I have to read it when you just told me the whole thing?”
“The real question is how this is going to affect the election,” Phil said slowly. “It won’t have much impact on the older Guild members, but if the majority of young traders with mortgages have been experimenting with the new platform, they’re going to be angry.”
“But they won’t be angry at Larry,” Georgia protested.
“They might feel that he represents the establishment that let them down. We’ll have to see what the opposition candidates do today—whether they try to connect Advantage with the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities. Even a rumor that humans on a CoSHC world were behind the fraud could be enough to sink us.”
“But what would the motive be?” Georgia demanded. “Independent traders are a lifeline for human communities living in space or on alien worlds.”
“I think that—” Phil’s words were cut off by a ‘whomp’ sound from somewhere off to the right, and everybody turned in time to see a column of fire ascending to the sky.
Larry knocked over his own coffee jumping up from the breakfast table. “Stay here, Georgia. I’ll find out what it is and come back as soon as I can.”
“Working press,” she retorted, brandishing her credentials at him as she scrambled to get her legs out from under the picnic table. “I’m going with you.”
“That was no propane grill going up,” Phil called after them. “More likely a fuel pack implosion or an incendiary device.”
Before Larry and Georgia reached the site of the explosion, a Vergallian emergency response floater was already overhead, spraying some kind of foam on the remains of a small ship. Larry spotted John standing with Semmi at the edge of the campsite and changed course to meet him. John pointed at his ear to let them know he was talking over his implant, and then a look of relief flooded his face.
“She wasn’t on the ship,” he said, lowering his hand.
“Who?” Larry asked.
“Ellen. She’s still on Flower.”
“This was her ship?” Georgia gaped at the foam-covered wreck. “That’s horrible. I met her on Flower and we’re working together on a follow-up story to her Advantage report. I can message her through my tab to tell her what happened, though I don’t know how soon she’ll receive it.”
“That won’t be necessary,” John said. “I just spoke to her.”
“Your implant can reach into orbit?”
“It only has to reach my ship over there,” he explained, pointing off to the side. “I have an emergency Stryxnet relay, one of the perks of my job with EarthCent Intelligence. Ellen took the news in stride, but she said something about just getting out of surgery, so she’s probably loaded with painkillers.”
“Does this sort of thing often happen at Rendezvous?” Georgia asked.
“First time in my life,” Larry told her. “Somebody must not have been happy with that Advantage article, though it’s hard to see what they gain from fire-bombing Ellen’s ship.”
“It tells me that they’re afraid of something that hasn’t been published yet,” John said, running his eyes over the remains of the two-man trader. “This was a professional job. Burning out a Sharf ship on the ground without even scorching its neighbors means a plasma incendiary device with active containment, if not something even more advanced than that.”
“Do you mean it wasn’t humans?” Georgia asked.
“The technology definitely wasn’t human, but the operator could have been. I’m going to talk to the surrounding ship owners and see if any of them had exterior cameras recording, but I doubt I’ll learn anything. Whoever did this was professional enough not to get caught.”
“I’m going to write a dispatch for the paper,” Georgia said. “I’ll start interviewing the people here to ask if there are any witnesses. Can you help, Larry?”
“Sure. If I find somebody who saw anything, I’ll point them your way.”
By the time Georgia and John finished interviewing everybody who was willing to talk, it was almost time for lunch. The job of keeping Semmi amused had fallen to Larry, who discovered that the gryphon was perfectly happy playing fetch, as long as the human did the fetching. As they left the area of the burned-out ship, they found that barriers had been set up to channel everybody to a single exit point. A polite Vergallian soldier asked if they were together and then escorted them into a temporary privacy booth. A uniformed officer sat behind a table next to an impossibly beautiful female who was obviously from the Vergallian upper caste.
“Names?” the officer demanded.
“Larry, no last name.”
“Georgia Hunt. Galactic Free Press.”
“John, and I’m with EarthCent Intelligence. You can check my programmable cred.”
The Vergallian looked at the gryphon expectantly.
“That’s Semmi, she’s with me,” John added. “A Huktra friend left her in my care.”
The gryphon snorted at this characterization of the situation, and the upper caste Vergallian who was there to serve as a truthsayer smiled.
“I’ll make this as brief as possible,” the officer said. “You aren’t suspects, but many of the people we’ve interviewed describe being questioned by a Human intelligence officer or a Galactic Free Press reporter. Did you learn anything that will help us with our investigation?”
“Nobody saw or heard anything of significance,” John said. “There must be a connection with the article Ellen just published, but you already know that.”
“Somebody who was outside with their kids when the ship went up told me that they didn’t even feel the heat, just a sudden change in the air pressure,” Georgia contributed. “I’ve already dictated the story for my paper, though I doubt I’ll get more than a couple of lines below the images I took with my implant. Can I get your names for the story?”
The Vergallians exchanged looks, and the officer said, “Not at this time. Did you have a relation to the owner of the ship?”
“I just started working with Ellen two days ago. We interviewed a couple of traders who claimed asylum on Flower to prevent their ships from being repossessed. She stayed behind to interview more traders about their mortgage financing and have a medical procedure done while I’ve been doing more interviews down here. She was going to hitch a ride down tonight.”
“And you?” the officer asked John.
“We’re old friends.”
“He’s hiding something,” the upper-caste Vergallian said immediately.
“When did you last see her?” the officer demanded.
“She pinged me as soon as I landed on Aarden, but we only had a few minutes to talk. Ellen already had a departure ticket for your elevator ground station, and we agreed to get together when she returned.”
“That much is true, but he’s still hiding something,” the truthsayer reported.
“Are you lovers?” the officer inquired.
John hesitated. “We were, many years ago. Ellen was my apprentice but it didn’t work out.”
“Why?”
“I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”
“A ship has been firebombed on Aarden, the first such occurrence here since your species discovered how to work with copper. Any information potentially related to the incident is our business, and if I’m forced to detain you to get answers to my questions, I will.”
“I want you to make a note that I’m answering under protest,” John stated. “I’ll be filing a complaint through my superior—”
“Do whatever you want on your own time,” the officer interrupted. “I see by the yellow ribbon on your arm that you’re fond of making speeches, but I really don’t have the time.”
“My father and uncle were both alcoholics,” John said. “It skipped me for some reason, maybe because of what I’d seen, but I’ve always been one-and-done when it comes to drinks. Ellen is a social drinker.”
“He’s getting closer,” the truthsayer said.
“A heavy social drinker. I couldn’t be around it.”
“Because you cared about her,” the officer stated.
“As a friend.”
“He’s lying again,” the truthsayer reported.
“All right, I loved her, and I couldn’t stop myself from nagging her about the booze,” John said angrily. “But she didn’t believe she had a problem, and for all I know, she might have been right. I couldn’t watch her drink even though it’s not something that bothered me with anybody else—just her. Satisfied?”
“He’s telling the truth.”
“What’s your story?” the officer asked, peering at Semmi. “Are you with the Human willingly?”
“She says she is, but if she doesn’t get something to eat soon, that could change,” the upper caste Vergallian said.
“Very well. The four of you can go, but if you learn anything about today’s incident, I expect you to inform our security forces immediately.”
By the time they got to the improvised dining hall, there were fliers taped to the tent poles showing Larry making a particularly awkward catch above the caption, “Vote for Larry, Semmi’s pet.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Georgia reassured him. “Everybody loves the gryphon. It’s like an endorsement.”
“What bothers me is that our opposition is so organized,” Larry said. “How many people and how much money does it take to go from an image capture to a poster on a pole in less than two hours?”
“There’s a Vergallian instant print shop set up just outside the Rendezvous grounds,” John told him. “I considered getting my own fliers, but I don’t have any volunteers to put them up, and it would have been too pathetic to get caught doing it myself.”
“The Vergallians sure got to the fire fast,” Georgia said. “It couldn’t have taken us more than two minutes, but their emergency response ship was already there foaming down the wreckage.”
“The campgrounds are temporarily the busiest spaceport on the planet. The Vergallians probably have a full crash team in the area.”
“It’s part of the contract,” Larry informed them. “Whenever Rendezvous is on a planet, the Guild makes sure that the host world provides spaceport-level emergency services. My dad is usually the one who negotiates that stuff and he’s been coaching me to take over the responsibility. I don’t know what will happen if our opponents win all the seats and take control of Rendezvous.”
“If you ask me, the Traders Guild will split in two,” John said. “I’ve talked to more traders about the Conference of Sovereign Human Communities in the last few days than in the decade prior, and I learned that my assumptions were completely off.”
“Do you mean the traders have already formed parties without knowing it?” Georgia asked.
The EarthCent Intelligence handler shook his head. “I always thought that the older traders would be the ones against joining CoSHC but I was exactly wrong. It turns out it’s those of us who remember visiting sovereign human communities before they were members of a larger group who can really see the difference it’s made. The young traders have only heard about the complaints. Down!” John barked at Semmi, who had just plucked the hard-boiled egg out of the salad a woman was carrying back to her table. “Sorry about that.”
“You just lost my vote,” the woman replied, but her smile belied her words. “You’re the EarthCent Intelligence candidate, aren’t you?”
“I work for EarthCent Intelligence, but I’ve also been a trader for most of my adult life.”
“We all heard the news about Ellen’s ship being firebombed. I know it must have to do with her reporting for the Galactic Free Press, but she’s a trader too, and we’re taking up a collection. You should get up on the stage and say something about it.”
John looked longingly at the rapidly dwindling selection of prepared food, but then he nodded his head in agreement. “Can you grab me something, Larry?” he asked. “Better make it triple to feed Semmi or she’ll be mooching from everybody again. We’ll be back in a minute.”
The volunteers working the chow line had been watching the gryphon, and they looked disappointed when she followed John off towards the front of the tent. Georgia noticed their eyes trailing the gorgeous beast and decided to do some mooching of her own.
“You guys wouldn’t have any scraps for the gryphon, would you?” she asked. “You know, like something that fell on the ground? From what I’ve seen, she’s not a picky eater.”
“There’s a half a roast chicken that’s about to slide off the tray,” the young grill chef insinuated with a wink and pointed at a display of barbequed chickens with his tongs. “It’s the one on the end.”
“Put it on top of these quality control rejects,” the woman working the deep fryer said, and passed Georgia a large box of fries.
“Two more just like that should cover you, me, and John if we share,” Larry said to Georgia. “Can you carry a large salad with that? I’ll pay the cashier.”
“Barb,” the grill chef called to the cashier. “A large salad and three chickens in bed, but one of them is a quality control reject for the gryphon.”
While Larry was paying at the mini-register with his programmable cred, John reached the event table at the front of the tent and asked if it was possible to patch into the sound system for an announcement about the fundraiser.
“That wouldn’t be fair to the other candidates,” the woman in charge said. “Couldn’t it wait until the regular speeches tonight?”
“There might be a completely different crowd in here by then,” John argued. “Besides, I thought there were no rules.”
“He’s got a point,” a younger trader at the table said, and after a further discussion, they decided to allow him to speak.
The woman in charge had to call for technical support, and by the time a kid arrived and pointed out the menu option on a tab, John was beginning to regret he hadn’t stopped to get something to wet his throat. As he began to mount the stage, somebody reached out and handed him a cup of water, making him feel like a marathon runner passing a refreshment station on the racecourse.
A winged blur knocked him off his feet just as he tilted back the cup, and from there, everything got progressively weirder as his vision blurred and went dark. John couldn’t feel his limbs, and he wondered for a moment if Semmi had finally let her appetite get the better of her and was gnawing off his legs. There was a strange roaring in his ears that seemed to go on forever, but then he made out Larry shouting something about a stasis pod. The last thing he remembered was a voice talking about somebody’s lips turning blue, and then, nothing.
Nineteen
“I quit,” Ellen declared, throwing down her cards. “One of you is cheating.”
“We’re playing for tongue depressors,” the giant beetle rubbed out on his speaking legs. “Don’t act the spoilsport.”
“If you’re going to make accusations, be specific,” Flower chipped in via the speaker grille of the maintenance bot she had sent to handle the cards for her.
“I didn’t want to say anything, but j’accuse,” Ellen proclaimed dramatically, pointing at the large pile of tongue depressors in front of the gryphon.
Semmi snorted and motioned with her beak for the Farling doctor to continue the deal.
“Where am I?” John groaned from the operating table.
“He’s awake,” Ellen cried, leaping up and artistically jarring the wheeled stainless steel medical-instruments table hard enough to scramble the piles of tongue depressors. “Are you all right, John? Can you see me?”
“Of course he’s all right,” M793qK rubbed out irritably. “He’s my patient.”
“What happened?” John asked.
“You were poisoned,” Ellen told him. “Luckily, there was a group of retirees from the independent living cooperative on Flower visiting Rendezvous and they were eating lunch when it happened. They offered the use of the stasis pod in their shuttle.”
“I remember Semmi knocking m
e down.”
“The gryphon saved your life by keeping you from more than wetting your lips. She’s hardly left your side since.”
“No accounting for taste,” the Farling doctor commented. Then he rubbed out something else that John and Ellen’s implants failed to translate, but Semmi got up and playfully nipped one of John’s toes right through the boot.
“Ouch!”
The Farling buzzed his speaking legs again, and Semmi gently tapped the toe section of John’s other boot with the point of her beak.
“Feel that?” M793qK demanded.
“Yes. And I can move everything too. Can I sit up?”
“I don’t know. Are you requesting a treat?”
“Play nice, doctor,” Flower remonstrated. “The poor man was dead a few hours ago.”
“I was dead?” John asked.
“Only in the biological sense—I make no theological assertions,” the Farling told him. “Normally I’d charge a thousand creds for detoxification and reanimation, but Captain Pyun was here earlier and told me that EarthCent Intelligence is footing the bill. I’m applying my thirty percent ‘friends and foes’ discount.”
“I remember a guy giving me a cup of water. Did they catch him?”
“Semmi caught him,” Ellen said. “I got a message from Georgia that Vergallian security was eventually able to stop the bleeding and they’ll move on to interrogation as soon as he’s healthy enough. The only thing she knows for certain is that the assassin was a human.”
“I could have told you that,” John said, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Nobody I recognized, though. What’s this?” he continued, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. “Twenty percent discount on hip-joint replacements?”
“One of the independent living cooperative members must have thought you might have a use for that,” Flower commented via the bot’s speaker. “Probably Dave. He’s always promoting the good doctor’s services.”
The giant beetle buzzed his speaking legs again, and Semmi pecked John just below the kneecap. His foot flew up and barely missed Ellen.
