by Timothy Zahn
But I didn’t have much choice. The singing down the hall had all the earmarks of a finale, and I absolutely couldn’t be found out here in the open with a turkey-trussed Filly when the funeral broke up and people started returning to their homes. At this point, Yleli’s place was my best bet.
I stood up and got a grip on Blue One’s sleeve. “Feel free to help,” I offered, looking again at Doug.
He just looked back at me with his masked eyes. “Right,” I said, and started pulling.
Yleli’s apartment was at least three times the size of the one Bayta and I had been given, which made sense given that we were transients and techs like Yleli actually lived here. Leaving Blue One in the living room, I gave myself a quick tour, noting the nice but unpretentious furnishings, and making sure the place was, in fact, unoccupied.
I returned to the living room, and for a minute gazed down at my unconscious prisoner, the itching feeling of having just climbed on top of a tiger creeping through me. I’d beaten off this first overt attack by the Shonkla-raa, but what was I supposed to do now? Leave him here, knowing that someone would eventually come looking for him? The mood he would be in when he woke up wasn’t something I really wanted to face, certainly not with my Beretta locked away in Hchchu’s security office.
On the other hand, trying to move a Filly’s worth of deadweight across Proteus Station by myself presented its own set of challenges.
Doug padded over and nuzzled the sleeping Filly’s face. “No, no, we don’t want him awake yet,” I admonished, frowning at the watchdog. I’d always known he was the size of an adult Doberman, and I knew now that he was about as heavy as one, too. Wandek had told us they could carry light burdens, but I’d never gotten around to checking just how much weight they could handle.
Maybe it was time I did.
I glanced around the room, looking for Yleli’s computer. But even as I spotted it I realized that accessing Proteus’s network from a deceased person’s apartment would probably kick up red flags from here to Hchchu’s office and back again.
Fortunately, there was another way. Pulling out my comm, I punched in Bayta’s number.
She answered on the first ring. “What’s wrong?” she asked tautly.
“Nothing,” I assured her. “How about you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice still tense. “I’m sorry, Frank, but I’ve had a bad feeling ever since you left.”
“Well, you can give your intuition full marks,” I said. “Our friends had a go at me, but so far I’m winning. Listen, I need you to look up something for me. Is there a computer you can get to without anyone noticing?”
“Yes, I think so,” she said. “What do you need?”
“I need to know how much weight these watchdogs can carry,” I said. “I’ve got a package I need to lug, and I don’t want to risk breaking Doug’s spine. I’ve already abused him enough for one day.”
“Just a minute.”
The comm went silent. I pulled a chair up beside Blue One and sat down, watching his slow breathing and wondering how long before that punch I’d given him wore off. Not long, probably, which meant I was going to have to come up with something a little more long term.
There was a click from the comm. “I think I can get you something even better,” Bayta said. “Where are you?”
“Why?” I asked warily.
“Why do you think?” she retorted. “I’m coming to give you a hand.”
“That may not be safe,” I warned. “Our friends could be back on the warpath at any time.”
“Then we need to get you and your package out of there as quickly as possible, don’t we?” she countered. “Where are you?”
I grimaced. “In Tech Yleli’s former residence,” I said, and gave her the number. “Maybe I should meet you halfway, though. Better yet, I’ll meet you at the bullet-train station at—”
“We’ll be fine,” she cut me off. “Wait there and watch your package.”
Once again, the comm went dead. Cursing under my breath, I put it away. Should I call her back and insist on meeting her along the way? Or should I just show up at the bullet-train stop and walk her the rest of the way, whether she liked it or not?
But whenever the Shonkla-raa realized their plan had gone awry and came out in force from under their rocks, it would be me they would be looking for. Much as I hated to admit it, for the moment Bayta might actually be safer without me.
I was still trying to come up with a good reason why she wouldn’t be safer out there alone when there was a chime from the door.
Silently, I got to my feet and headed across the room, grabbing the two hypos I’d stabbed Blue One with from the end table where I’d left them. By the time I reached the door, I had the hypos arranged in a V-shape in my right fist, the plungers set firmly against my palm, the needles angled outward on either side of my middle finger. If the Shonkla-raa were here for a rematch, the first one in line, at least, was going to hurt a lot. I pressed my ear to the door …
“Compton?” Emikai’s voice came softly through the panel. “Compton, are you in there?”
Sighing, I stepped back and keyed the release. Emikai caught sight of me as the door slid open, glanced both ways down the corridor, and stepped hurriedly inside. “I thought you might have found a way into—” he began.
And broke off as he caught sight of my prisoner. “What happened?” he asked in a subtly altered tone.
“He sent a few locals to try to beat me up,” I said. “When that didn’t work, he took on the job himself. You have any idea how to keep him quiet for the next hour or two? Apart from punching him behind the ear every ten minutes, I mean?”
“Possibly,” Emikai said, still staring in a sort of fascinated repugnance at the unconscious Filly. Probably wondering why I hadn’t called the Jumpsuits, and whether he should do it himself. “Have you looked in the medicine cabinet?”
“No, I just had the quick tour,” I said. “You think Tech Yleli might have left us some sleeping tablets?”
“It is likely,” Emikai said, finally tearing his eyes away from Blue One and heading toward the rear of the apartment. “He might have needed them himself, or kept some to sell to others.”
“To sell?” I echoed. “You mean he was dealing?”
“Not at all,” Emikai said huffily. “Filiaelian medical techs are often tasked with providing minor health care to neighborhood residents. It relieves some of the strain on doctors and other care providers.”
“Ah,” I said, wondering if I should take that explanation at face value or press the issue further. Still, I knew Filly warriors and cops had been genetically engineered for loyalty and professional ethics. Why not medical techs, too?
If Yleli had been a dealer, he was either very good at it or very bad. The medicine cabinet was nearly empty, with no more than a dozen vials and bottles of various sorts lined up on the shelves. “Not looking good,” I commented.
“On the contrary,” Emikai said as he lifted out one of the bottles. “Though primarily designed for relieving the symptoms of a vision disorder, this medication also carries powerful soporific qualities.”
“And you’d know that how?” I asked, taking the bottle from him and peering at the label. A complete waste of time—I could read the Filly characters, all right, but the words they spelled out were technical terms my Westali courses had never covered.
“Even enforcement officers must occasionally improvise,” Emikai said with a hint of dry humor.
“Ah.” I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to.
“But this form is a liquid that must be injected,” he continued. “Are the hypodermics you met me with at the door still functional?”
“Yes, but the needles have been bent a little,” I said, digging into my pocket. “Fortunately, I happen to have a spare.”
I pulled out my third hypo, the one with the pale amber liquid in it, feeling a twinge of regret as I got my finger
s around the rests and my thumb on the plunger. So much for doing my own analysis of Terese’s condition. But it couldn’t be helped. Aiming the needle into the sink, I pressed the plunger.
Nothing happened.
I frowned, pressing the plunger a little harder. But it didn’t move. The fluid level stubbornly remained right where it was, without so much as a drop seeping out the end of the needle.
“Is there trouble?” Emikai asked.
“Yes, but I don’t know what,” I said, peering closely at the hypo. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. “I can’t get the fluid to expel.”
“Let me see.”
I handed it over, and for a few seconds he carefully turned it over in his hands as he studied it. “Well?” I asked.
“I do not see any problem,” he said. “But it seems bulkier, somehow, than the hypos I have used in the past.”
“Interesting,” I said. “With Human equipment of this sort, the goal is usually to make things lighter and simpler rather than bulkier.”
“That is generally the same with us, as well,” Emikai said. “Can you tell me what fluid this is?”
I shook my head. “I can identify Human blood and a couple of other fluids by sight. But I don’t know this one.”
“But you did see it being withdrawn from Ms. German?”
“I—” I broke off, a strange thought tugging suddenly at the base of my skull. “I saw a tech stick the needle into one of the access tubes they’ve got plugged into her,” I said slowly. “I also saw him pull on the plunger. But that’s not what you asked, is it?”
“No, it is not,” Emikai said, and from the tone of his voice I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was. “Shall we perform an experiment?”
I gestured. “Go for it.”
He shifted the hypo to a two-handed grip, shot me a final look, and carefully pulled on the plunger.
The level of the amber fluid didn’t change, as it should have if there were a little of the stuff still inside the needle itself. Nor did bubbles appear in the fluid, as there should have if the needle was instead empty and Emikai was merely sucking air.
And then, as we watched, something did happen. A small droplet of a clear liquid oozed from the end of the needle.
I eyed the droplet a moment, then shifted my gaze back to Emikai. “Well, well,” I said. “Isn’t that interesting?”
“A reverse-valved hypo,” Emikai rumbled, still staring at the droplet. “But this makes no sense. She is in a hospital facility, where injections and medications are both expected and commonplace. Why use deception of this sort?”
“Precisely because she is in a hospital facility,” I said darkly. “Everything she’s officially given has to be identified, double-checked, and recorded. But with these, they can pump her full of stuff that’s completely off the radar, all under the guise of taking samples.”
I nodded toward the living room. “That also explains why there were two blood-sample hypos instead of just one. The first was a regular hypo, with a genuine blood sample, while the other was one of these tricked-out jobs.”
“Two reverse-valved hypos,” Emikai murmured thoughtfully. “One injection going to her and the other to her unborn child?”
“Or one intramuscular and one intravenous,” I said. “Or one into the bloodstream and the other into the intestines or liver. Take your pick.”
Emikai turned his gaze in the direction of the living room. “The santra you have taken prisoner. Is he one of those involved?”
“I think so,” I said. “If not directly, then at least peripherally. Who is he?”
Emikai shook his head. “I do not yet know.”
“You just said he’s a santra,” I said, frowning. “If you don’t know who he is, how do you know that?”
“It is obvious he has had a great deal of genetic work done,” Emikai said, gesturing toward his own throat. “From that it follows that he is a santra.”
“I thought santra was a social or political title,” I said. “It means exalted one, doesn’t it?”
“A more accurate translation would be distinguished one, and as such can also be applied to those with extensive genetic alterations,” Emikai said. “In actual practice, of course, those two populations largely coincide.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I said, though the idea of getting your DNA remodeled just because you had the money and status to do it sounded slightly ridiculous. Still, it wasn’t any crazier than getting elaborate tattoos or jewelry implants, each of which had been fashionable for a time in various upper-class Human societies. “So what exactly does his status mean to all this?”
Emikai cocked his head. “I do not understand.”
“Back on the super-express you said that as an ex-cop you were still required to obey orders given to you by Filiaelian santras,” I reminded him. “Does that mean you have to take orders from him once he wakes up?”
I’d been hoping for a quick answer, a firm and automatic assurance that even santras weren’t above the law. The lengthening silence wasn’t a good sign. “Well?” I prompted.
“I can certainly restrain any Filiaelian who has clearly broken the law, santra or otherwise,” he said. “I also would have no difficulty in turning over a suspected lawbreaker to currently active enforcement officers.” He hesitated. “But I have as yet seen no evidence that this santra has committed any crime. I also infer that you do not wish to turn him over to the Kuzyatru Station patrollers at this time.”
“He did assault me,” I pointed out.
“A crime for which I have no proof other than your statement,” Emikai countered. “Proper protocol would call for an interrogation of both parties in an attempt to determine the truth.”
I grimaced. This was starting to get awkward. “If we turn him over to the patrollers, his friends will know he’s been taken,” I said. “They’ll also find out what happened between him and me, which they’ll then try to twist against me.”
“We could arrange to keep him incommunicado.”
“Trust me, they’d get around that,” I said grimly. “Once they’ve figured out what we know—which isn’t much, but they don’t know that it isn’t much—they would have two options. Either they would step up whatever they’re doing to Ms. German, or else they would shut down completely and go to ground. At this point, we aren’t ready for either option.”
“But there are legal requirements at play,” Emikai said. “You have no proof that this person has committed a crime.”
“We have that hypo,” I pointed out. “That proves some kind of crime is under way.” I snapped my fingers. “He also has a passkey that lets him into other people’s apartments. That can’t be legal for him to have, can it?”
For a long moment Emikai gazed down at the gimmicked hypo in his hand. “What do you wish from me?” he asked at last.
“Let me find a place where I can stash him for a few days,” I said. “Bayta’s on her way to help with the move, so you don’t have to be involved with that if it makes you uncomfortable. A couple of days will hopefully buy us enough time to figure out what they’re up to.”
“If he is allied with others, his disappearance will not go unnoticed,” Emikai pointed out.
“True, but a complete disappearance is a lot more enigmatic and disconcerting than having him pop up in the local nexus lockup,” I said. “Any uncertainty and hesitation on their part is to our advantage.”
“And if they counter by attacking Ms. German?” he asked, his voice dark and ominous. “My contract requires me to protect her.”
“It’s a calculated risk,” I admitted. “But right now, it’s our best option.” I hesitated. “If it helps any, I think they’re more likely to come after me than they are to go after Ms. German. After all, I was apparently the one on today’s menu.”
“Perhaps.” Carefully, Emikai laid the hypo down on the sink. “You ask for several days. I will give you one. If at the end of that time you have no further leads or proof
of criminal actions, I must turn him over to the patrollers.”
“It’s a deal,” I said. One day wasn’t much, but it was better than I’d hoped for. “We should have one blood-filled hypo out there in the living room that’s actually real. Let’s go get it and see about sending our friend off to dreamland.”
TEN
It took us a few minutes to figure out which hypo was the useful one, get the needle straightened enough to be functional, dump Terese’s blood, and load the drug from Yleli’s medicine cabinet into it. By then, Blue One was starting to show the first signs of returning consciousness.
Fortunately, the sleeping potion was a potent one, and the twitchings and random grunts faded quickly away as the drug did its magic.
Our next task was a quick search of the apartment. From the way Blue One had been talking before our fight, I was beginning to wonder if there had been an actual purpose to Yleli’s murder. But I wasn’t ready yet to give up on my inferior Human way of seeing the universe in terms of cause and effect, and so Emikai and I went through the papers in his file cabinet and sifted through drawers and closets in the hope of finding something that would explain why a lowly Proteus Station medical tech had been worth killing.
We had finished our first search, and Emikai had started on a more detailed one, when Bayta and Ty arrived.
To my annoyed surprise, they weren’t alone.
“What is this, a party?” I demanded, glaring at Minnario as he floated through the doorway into the apartment. “Bayta, what in hell’s name—?”
“He wanted to help,” Bayta said, her tone just barely on the civil side of snappish. “I asked him to look up on his encyclopedia if msikai-dorosli could be used to carry things, and he said he could do better than that.”
I took a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. Bayta’s edgy defiance was a sure sign that she’d done what she’d thought to be right, knowing full well that I would probably be furious about it when I found out. The tension in her face also showed she’d continued to worry about my reaction the entire way here. “I appreciate his willingness to help,” I said in as controlled a voice as I could manage. “The problem is that even though he’s my attorney, he’s also an officer of the Filiaelian court. That means he can’t just sit back and watch a crime being committed. He has to report it.”
