The LEM—for it could be nothing else—made an odd throaty sound that resembled a small motor.
“You have a device,” Ylsa said with a frown. “In your head. It makes it like you aren’t there. The same with the bird person.”
“Tolian,” Bowman said. “I’m Commander Lydis Bowman and this is Constable P’tr wit ’Whix. We’re Trade Pact Enforcers.”
She nodded. “Yeah, got that.”
“You’re a telepath,” Bowman said.
“No. Doesn’t take a telepath to tell what you are. The uniforms are a dead giveaway.”
“But you can tell we have dampeners, which means you’re trying to read our thoughts. You can’t, you know. We’re protected.”
“I don’t know about protection,” Ylsa said, “but it makes you unreal. Like a hologram. Or a ghost.”
She had to be a telepath. Was she also an assassin? Bowman wasn’t convinced. Something in those eyes, so deep and intelligent, yet hurt and lonely.
“Are you Clan, then?” she asked. The Clan lived separate from each other, spread over countless worlds, hidden among Humans, appearing like Humans, but being far more.
Confusion lined Ylsa’s brow. “‘Clan?’” She glanced at Ansel, as though searching his face for an answer. “I don’t know what that is.” She looked at the LEM on her shoulder. “Do you, Gemma?”
The animal gave a throaty warble.
“No, Gemma doesn’t either.”
“Okay, but you are a telepath,” Bowman said, ignoring her talking to the animal.
The Human sighed and rolled her eyes. “I already told you I’m not. Gemma is, though.”
Game, belief, or trick? Regardless, Bowman chose to dismiss the assertion. There were empathic plants and more than a few predators who could lure their prey close. None were sentient or true telepaths. What she needed was information. If this Ylsa was not the killer, she was still tied to the death in some way.
“What do you do, Ylsa?” she asked. “Are you Plexis maintenance?”
The corner of the her mouth twisted into a smirk. “What gave it away?”
“Does the LEM always accompany you?”
Ylsa scowled. “That’s a derogatory term. I don’t like it, calling them monsters. They’re not, you know.”
Bowman nodded toward the animal. “What is it, then?”
“She’s Gemma. I don’t know what you’d call her kind. I work ship maintenance sometimes. Whatever breaks down, I can fix it. Engines, air conditioners, garbage digesters. I met Gemma a long time ago, in one of the landing bays. She’s my guardian. She lets me know who to stay away from and who is safe. With you, she can’t tell, but she’s very curious.”
“Please, Commander Bowman,” Ansel said. “Ylsa has nothing to do with Commissioner Chesterton’s death. I’ll confess. Take me into custody, just leave Ylsa alone.”
Bowman looked at Ylsa. “Should I do that, Ylsa? Should I arrest Hom Ansel?”
“For murder?” Ylsa gave a short laugh. “He’s innocent. That’s obvious to anyone, and I’m pretty sure you’re intelligent enough to know that. About the only thing he’s guilty of is taking in strays.”
“What about you? Did you kill Chesterton?”
“No. He fell over before I even met him.”
“So you were here,” Bowman said.
“You already know I was. Gemma can tell that from Ansel, even if she can’t see into your mind. You saw her footprint on the deck from the time Chesteron died, before I repaired the digester and cleaned up the mess.”
“Do you know who killed him?” Bowman asked.
“No one. He just fell over.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He came out of the Claws & Jaws and fell over dead.”
“No. Gemma and I came, and he was waiting. He turned to greet us, then made a face and fell over.”
“As if having heart failure?”
“I’m no med-tech.” Ylsa paused, then said, “He reached both hands to his throat, like he couldn’t breathe, looked like he was in pain, and collapsed. He was dead before we got to him. Ansel told me to leave, then he called the meds.”
“Commissioner Chesterton was an important figure in the Trade Pact. A busy one. No offense, Fem Ylsa, but why were you going to meet him?”
“Ansel wanted him to meet me,” Ylsa said.
Bowman turned to the Human, who seemed to shrink under her gaze. “Well?”
Ansel looked around anxiously. “Do you mind returning to my office, Commander? This is rather . . . sensitive.”
* * *
• • •
Once everyone squeezed into the small office, Ansel paced the few feet behind his desk.
Bowman waited patiently while ’Whix moved nervously from one foot to another. The LEM sat on its haunches on the desk, its tail lashing back and forth, its eyes studying the Tolian.
“I knew Commissioner Chesterton,” Ansel finally said, stopping to rest his hands on the back of his chair and looking sheepishly at Bowman. “I’m from Imesh 27. We had never met before, but our families knew each other. He was aware I was on Plexis. You see, his cousin Denyl Constantine died on Plexis.”
“The previous administrator,” Bowman prompted.
“Yes. He and his wife were visiting Plexis and were killed by thieves. Their ten-year-old daughter was never found, but presumed dead or sold to Recruiters. Jak Chesterton was convinced she was still alive. He reached out to me, but I already had my suspicions.” He glanced at the figure in the grimy coveralls, arms folded, leaning against the wall.
“Ylsa?”
Ansel nodded.
Blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. “I’ve told Ansel I don’t remember my parents. All I remember is growing up on the station. Plexis fed me, raised me, taught me. I’m pretty good at taking things apart and putting them back together, so they trained me for maintenance. If they didn’t have a use for me, they would have had me shipped to some dirt world. After I met Gemma, she urged me to find Ansel because we talk the same. He thinks I’m this Ylsa Constantine.” A shrug. “We have the same first name. So what?”
“And your last name?”’Whix asked.
“I couldn’t remember. Someone called me Peregrine and I liked it.”
Bowman nodded to herself. “You can’t remember where you came from? Was there trauma? An injury?”
Ylsa shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I don’t remember and no one ever explained it to me. Look, I just do my job and don’t get involved. No family ever came looking for me, so I figured they abandoned me. No big deal.”
“When did you suspect she could be Denyl Constantine’s daughter?” Bowman asked Ansel.
“Not at first. I had no idea. She just sounded like someone from my homeworld when she came to me with that animal.”
“Gemma isn’t an animal,” Ylsa insisted in a weary tone as if this was an old argument. “Commander Bowman, Ansel and Hom Huido are nice enough to give me food now and then. I could never afford a meal at the Claws & Jaws on my salary. He’s been nice and just wanted to help. We’ve been sort of friends.” A frown. “Until he wanted me to meet this Chesterton.”
“Who had access to the planetary database. Jak would have been able to prove if she actually was his cousin’s daughter,” Ansel said, then sighed. “But he died before he could.”
“I can,” Bowman said. A simple test, using Chesterton’s genetic makeup as a baseline for family relationship if Constantine’s wasn’t on record on Plexis. As for Imesh records? She’d get access.
“If this relationship is the case,”’Whix said, “Fem Peregrine stands to inherit a sizable estate.”
* * *
• • •
Motive was one thing. It left the question of how Chesterton died. Perhaps he had suffered heart failure after all, brought on by the stress of meeting his only living r
elative, one presumed dead. Ylsa might be a liar, shifting her telepathic talents conveniently to her pet, but Bowman did not see her as a murderer.
Leaving ’Whix to escort Ylsa to her home quarters to freshen and change, Bowman headed to the security office for a quick chat with Wallace concerning tests for Ylsa’s heritage. When she entered the office, Inspector Wallace gave her a suspicious look.
“How did you hear so quickly?” he demanded. “I just got the results myself. Did your people plug into our com system?”
“What are you talking about?”
He handed her a reader with the results of the second set of scans on Chesterton’s corpse. The cranial scans showed nothing unusual. No damage, so he had not been killed by a telepath.
“Go to the bottom,” Wallace snapped, twirling his finger to urge her to scroll faster.
She refrained from comment, methodically reading chemical analyses and toxicology screens to the concluding paragraph, then looked up at Wallace. “Poison?”
He nodded grudgingly. “You were . . . right. It was murder.”
If not the type of murder she’d originally thought. “How did your people miss this the first time?” Bowman demanded.
“They didn’t,” he said. He was irritated, but not with her. Well, at least not entirely with her. “The results had been deleted.”
“Who had access—”
The room’s doors slid open and in staggered a ruffled Tolian cradling a limp bundle of black fur. ’Whix caught himself with one hand on the desk before he toppled over, making Wallace leap back.
His eyes tried to focus. Gingerly, he laid the inert form of the LEM on the desk, then sank into a chair in front of it. He made a series of chirps that weren’t translated, then, “Two Humans,” he began. “A Plexis Security team, claimed they were sent to take Ylsa into custody. Of course, I refused. The animal immediately had a fit and tried to attack them. They stunned it, then stunned me. When I became coherent, Ylsa was gone.”
Bowman glared at Wallace, but before she could make demands or accusations, he shook his head.
“I didn’t send anyone, Commander. I know we don’t see eye to eye on most issues, but this was not my doing. The same with the deleted data. Constable ’Whix, did they identify themselves?”
’Whix began preening his feathers back into shape. “I caught a name. Reyes.”
Wallace nodded grimly. He tapped some keys on his terminal and watched the results appear on the monitor. “Reyes and Foard. Either of them had access to the autopsy results and could have deleted or doctored them. They’re both logged off duty.”
“And who are they working for,” Bowman asked coldly, “if not for you?”
“It’s hard to keep track anymore,” Wallace said with a shrug.
“Commissioner Chesterton was poisoned,” she said, looking quickly at the report again. “He had to ingest the toxin within a half hour of dying.”
“That is when he was dining with his associate, Hom Kessler,”’Whix supplied.
“I think we need to talk again to the Hom, and quickly.”
Wallace tapped on his keypad again. “You’re too late. Kessler has already checked out of his hotel room and boarded his yacht. It’s left—”
’Whix had already been using the com. “Commander, the Conciliator is prepping the pursuit craft.”
Because moving the great cruiser would take time they didn’t have. Bowman snatched up the sleeping animal—evidence—and headed for the door. “Tell them we’re on the way. ’Whix!”
* * *
• • •
Despite their differences, Inspector Wallace had Plexis Control clear the lanes in time for Bowman’s launch.
Rykard Kessler had filed a flight plan upon leaving. The Conciliator’s pursuit craft was smaller, with a more powerful drive. They should have no difficulty overtaking the yacht.
In the cramped control room, Bowman strapped into the copilot seat, cradling the groggy LEM on her lap. She found herself idly stroking the sleek black fur while it made that throaty motor sound. ’Whix, an able pilot, ran through the preflight checklist, then sent the craft streaking from Plexis. “I’ve input Kessler’s course, Commander.”
Gemma was immediately awake and a ball of angry, hissing fur.
Bowman grabbed for the LEM, too late. The creature launched herself at the controls ’Whix was attempting to set. The Tolian’s hands flew back to avoid being raked by claws.
“I believe the animal wants to eat me.” He drew away from the console as Gemma squatted on the slope of the controls and hissed at him.
“Nonsense,” Bowman said. “She’s startled. Probably frightened Ylsa isn’t here. I’ll put her in a locker.” When she reached for the animal, Gemma turned and glared at her, baring her sharp teeth.
“Perhaps,”’Whix said, “we should explain to the beast that we are attempting a rescue of her Human.”
Bowman rolled her eyes. “It’s nonsentient. It can’t understand—”
At which the creature sat and tilted her head at Bowman, one side of her muzzle curling up, whiskers tilted.
“Perhaps it does,”’Whix suggested.
“Ridiculous.”
Gemma scooted back and lay down on the console. Between her paws were the very controls ’Whix had been attempting to set. One digit tapped a claw on the display. She looked from Bowman to ’Whix.
“Gemma does not want us to set that particular course, Commander,”’Whix said.
“Don’t you start, Constable. Bad enough Ylsa has delusions about this animal, I don’t need you doing it, too.”
The animal stopped tapping the display and sat up, looking at ’Whix.
“Commander?”
“We’re following Ylsa. She’s on that yacht,” Bowman told the LEM, then shook her head and scowled at ’Whix. “If the animal’s intelligent enough to understand that, and I don’t for an instant believe it is, why doesn’t she want us to set the course?”
“Because . . . that isn’t the course Kessler took?”
Gemma looked up at ’Whix and gave a short warble.
Bowman pinched the top of her nose, regarding the Tolian ominously over her fingers. It was that, or draw a weapon. “We’re wasting time, Constable.”
’Whix waved his hands in excitement. “Ylsa said the creature was telepathic. If the two are linked mentally, perhaps the animal can sense which direction she was taken.”
“And I suppose it can read nav settings and tell what our destination is?”
Gemma turned on Bowman and gave a sharp “Arrh!”
“Fine!” Bowman snapped at the animal. “You set the course!”
“With all due respect, Commander,”’Whix said, “I don’t believe she can. However, she might be of assistance. If I may, Gemma?” he said to the animal.
The LEM eased to the side, allowing the Tolian to access the controls. “How about . . .”
A growl.
“Okay, then . . .”
“They’re getting away,” Bowman pointed out.
“Ah!”’Whix said. “The nearest system. A collection of uninhabited planetoids and asteroids. Perhaps . . . ?”
The LEM jumped off the console and onto the deck while ’Whix reset their course.
Gambling on a LEM. Bowman allowed it, having no better option. And there was the nagging sensation she had when looking into the animal’s large green eyes.
Soon, the animal stretched up with its forepaws gripping the edge of the console between the two seats, her head tilting to one side, as though waiting for something to happen.
“There’s a ship ahead,”’Whix announced, giving the animal a curious glance.
Even if they were following the correct course, they couldn’t possibly have overtaken the yacht so soon.
“Ident?” Bowman asked.
/> “Not receiving, but the configuration matches Kessler’s yacht.” Without waiting for orders, ’Whix dropped their craft out of subspace. “Scanning.”
“Well?”
’Whix brought up a magnified image. “It’s drifting. The engines appear to be offline.”
“Life support?” Bowman asked, her heart pounding. There were no external lights, nothing to indicate that the ship had any power at all. From what little she could make out, there appeared to be no damage or sign of attack.
“Still functioning,”’Whix said. “Emergency power.”
The pursuit craft had certain design features of use now, including a clamping mechanism with one purpose. Bowman smiled grimly. “Dock against her air lock.”
“Should we radio our intention?”
Protocol was for fools. “Let’s not.”
* * *
• • •
Gemma followed Bowman and ’Whix to the air lock and stood on hind legs in front of the hatch while the pursuit craft’s capture ring pressurized, the tip of her tail twitching back and forth. Bowman considered leaving the creature behind, but the LEM was small enough that she should not get in the way, and she might even prove useful in their search for Ylsa, provided she didn’t get trampled in the chaos about to take place.
They crossed the short ring and overrode the controls to the yacht’s air lock. When they cycled open the inner door, both enforcers had their weapons out and ready. Gemma dashed through as soon as the opening was wide enough. Good, Bowman thought. The animal could act as a distraction for anyone waiting on the other side.
The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis Page 19
