by Timothy Zahn
“So am I staying with Terese?” Bayta asked.
I’d almost forgotten the reason we’d been alone over here in the first place. “If you think it would be helpful,” I said reluctantly. “I suppose it might give you a chance to prod her for more information about the aftermath of her attack.”
“Yes, I can do that,” Bayta agreed. “What do you want to know?”
I turned around again, watching Aronobal trying to soothe the girl. “For starters, where and when exactly Aronobal and Emikai came into her story,” I said. “I want to know how fast they were on the scene, where they come from, how quickly they offered the Assembly’s aid—that sort of thing.”
“Should I also find out if she ever met Tech Yleli?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “And if she did, how much interaction did they have, and how much interaction did she see between him and Aronobal or him and Wandek.” There was a motion at the door, and I looked over to see that Emikai had returned from his conference with the receptionist and was waiting unobtrusively out in the corridor. “Looks like Emikai’s ready,” I continued. “I should be back in a couple of hours. If it looks like it’s going to take longer, I’ll call you.”
I fixed her with a stern look. “And if anything happens here—anything—you call me. Immediately.”
“I understand,” Bayta said. Her voice was solid enough, but I could see the worry in her eyes. Not for herself, but for me. “Be careful.”
“Trust me,” I said dryly. Reaching down, I took her hand. “And don’t forget what I said. You get so much as a strange shiver, you get on the comm.”
“You, too,” she said, making no attempt to withdraw her hand. “Don’t worry about me, Frank. They want the baby alive, remember? Usantra Wandek’s reaction earlier proved that much. They wouldn’t do anything to me when there was a chance that Terese or the child would be put at risk.”
“I suppose,” I said. “Stay alert anyway.” Giving her hand a final squeeze, I let go and slipped out of the room.
Emikai caught my eye with a questioning look. I gestured silently toward the exit, and he nodded and strode off. I followed, Doug as always padding along at my side. Halfway down the corridor, I slipped the purloined hypos from my sleeves into more permanent carrying places in my side jacket pockets. “Well?” I murmured.
“Ms. German is the only patient in this building,” he murmured back. “I was told she is a special case.”
I grunted. “I’m sure she is.”
We were nearly to the receptionist’s station when the outside door opened, and to my surprise Minnario floated into the building on his support chair. He started to turn to the receptionist, caught sight of me, and changed course to head instead in our direction. [Mr. Compton,] he greeted me. [The very Human I wanted to see.]
“Good morning, Minnario,” I greeted him back. “What can I do for you?”
He warbled a brief, growling laugh. [You may do for me what you may do for everyone else aboard Kuzyatru Station,] he said grimly. [Find and imprison this murderer who’s arisen among us.]
“Have you any thoughts as to who it might be?” Emikai asked.
Minnario seemed taken aback by the question. [I hardly even know my way around the station, let alone any of its people or politics. I couldn’t even begin to guess why anyone would want the late Tech Yleli dead.]
“Of course,” I said. Though the murder had occurred only two days after Minnario had come aboard. Timing like that was always a little suspicious.
But of course, that same logic could also be applied to Bayta and me. Probably better not to bring it up. “So what brings you here this morning?” I asked. “You come by to offer moral support?”
[I actually had something more practical in mind,] he said. [I’m told your murder trial is on hiatus for the moment. But of course, that moment will last only until you have captured the murderer. I know you’re busy, but I thought that if you could spare Ms. Bayta for a while, I’d like to hear her version of the events on New Tigris.]
I suppressed a grimace. So now Bayta would not only be closeted with Aronobal, whom I didn’t especially trust, but also with Minnario, whom I also didn’t especially trust. Terrific. “Well, actually—” I began.
“He did not commit the murder,” Emikai murmured.
I frowned at him. “And you know this how?”
The Filly nodded at Minnario’s chair. “His vectored thrusters would have left a ripple pattern in Tech Yleli’s spilled blood.”
I felt my face warm with embarrassment. Of course they would have. I should have spotted that one myself. “Right,” I said. “My apologies, Minnario.”
[No offense taken,] Minnario assured me. His face seemed to darken. [And no need to apologize for your concern for Bayta, either. The first test of every person, whether Nemut or Human, is how he guards and protects his friends and companions. I honor you for taking that duty so seriously.]
They were fine words, and laid on almost as thickly as Aronobal had delivered her speech a few minutes ago. Unlike hers, though, Minnario’s I actually believed, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. “She’s down the hall in Terese German’s room,” I told him. “Feel free to stay as long as you’d like.”
[Thank you,] he said, leaning over the side of his chair and patting Doug on the head. [Good hunting to you.]
Emikai and I had made it out of the building and halfway to the outbound corridor when my comm vibrated: Bayta calling to check whether I’d indeed sent Minnario to talk to her. I confirmed that I had, told her to cooperate with him as best she could while still comforting Terese, and signed off.
“An excellent assistant,” Emikai commented as we reached the end of the dome. “The ability to take on several tasks at once is rare indeed.”
“She’s definitely good at that,” I agreed. “Wait a second—I want to check out the camera.”
“An effective bit of sabotage, was it not?” Emikai asked, pointing up at the monitor camera still angled toward the top of the dome. “I have only had a moment to study it, and insufficient time for a full examination.”
“We’ll want to find a ladder and do that sometime,” I said, craning my neck. “Any idea what was used to push it?”
“I do not see any obvious marks that would indicate the method,” Emikai said. “But from the stress lines on the metal gimbals, I believe it was done in a single, solid thrust instead of via several smaller ones.”
“That would make sense,” I said. “Standing here nudging the thing would be a little obvious.” I turned around to look at the far side of the dome and the corridor that led toward my quarters. “What about the other one?”
“It was removed completely,” Emikai said.
“That much I know,” I said. “I meant, why it was removed instead of simply pushed up like this one?”
Emikai shook his head. “That I cannot say. Though it surely would have been more difficult to remove than simply push out of line.”
“Unless the plan was to remove both of them, only some of their equipment failed,” I said. “And no one up in the security nexus monitor room noticed any of this?”
“As you must have noticed last night, the images on the displays rotate among many cameras and status boards,” Emikai said. “The patroller on duty would have first had to notice that the dome camera was misaligned.”
“Which he obviously didn’t.”
“Or he noticed and was unable to fix it,” Emikai went on. “It is likely the twisted gimbals would not permit a remote adjustment. In that case, a repair order would automatically be logged.”
“As I assume would also be the case with the camera that was suddenly missing,” I said, eyeing the remaining camera closely. “How soon after the orders were logged would there have been someone on the scene?”
“Normally within thirty minutes,” Emikai said. “In this case, of course, the murder of Tech Yleli intervened.”
I looked across the dome at Building Eight. “And now tha
t the whole place has become a crime scene, I assume they’ll be left just the way they are. Conveniently leaving the whole dome unwatched.”
“Hardly that,” Emikai said. “I am told there have been extra patrollers assigned to the area.”
“Really?” I made a show of looking around. “Where?”
“I presume they are stationed inside the buildings,” Emikai said. But he was looking around, too, and he didn’t sound so sure anymore.
“I didn’t see any hanging around Building Eight,” I pointed out.
“Nor did I,” he conceded. “Perhaps I should call the security nexus and inquire.”
“That’ll only help if it’s an honest oversight,” I said. “Otherwise, all you’ll get will be more empty promises.”
“Let us see which,” he said, pulling out his comm.
I listened with half an ear while Emikai spoke to the controller, studying the twisted camera mount as I did so. A single, solid punch, Emikai and I had both concluded. But as Emikai had said, there was no sign of denting in any part of the mounting hardware. Whatever the tool was that our mystery man had used, he’d made sure its business end was well padded.
I looked back as Emikai put his comm away. “The controller agrees that the assigned patrollers have not taken their posts,” he said. “Other security matters took priority.”
“What other security matters?” I asked.
“He did not list them,” Emikai said. “But he has promised they will be here as quickly as possible.”
“Of course they will,” I growled.
Emikai eyed me closely. “We could examine the cameras and mounts now,” he suggested. “By the time we finish, the patrollers might be ready to return to their posts. Regardless, we could then allow the maintainers to replace the cameras and thus restore monitor service to the area.
“And Tech Yleli’s acquaintances?” I asked.
“We would speak with them after that.”
I chewed at my lip. I would definitely feel safer with Bayta in the middle of a milling group of genetically engineered Filly cops. But we also had a murder to investigate, and the sand was rapidly running out of our 24/24 hourglass. “No,” I said, coming abruptly to a decision. “Our first priority is to nail down the victim’s movements as quickly as we can, before anyone’s memory starts to fog up. Let’s go.”
Besides, I reminded myself firmly as we left the dome and headed down the corridor, the Shonkla-raa wanted Terese’s baby alive and unharmed. They wouldn’t try anything against Bayta here.
Surely they wouldn’t.
* * *
The foot traffic in the area around our quarters and Terese’s medical dome had always been rather on the sparse side. Not so elsewhere in the station. As Emikai and I took the elevator to the bullet train deck and headed outward, we found ourselves traveling amid Manhattan-level crowds of Fillies. Most of them gave us a quick glance as we passed, apparently impressed by the novelty of having a Human aboard Proteus, while other no doubt more cosmopolitan residents ignored us completely. In contrast, there was one couple aboard the bullet train who stared at me the entire time, whispering back and forth to each other. I felt more than a little relieved when we left the train and they went off in one direction while Emikai and I headed off the other.
Twenty decks down, we finally reached the late Tech Yleli’s neighborhood.
Up to now all my time on Proteus had been spent in the official and medical sections of the station, which also turned out to be the areas that had been photographed for the professionally prepared pamphlets and brochures I’d seen. Nowhere in any of those publications had I seen pictures of what the staff and worker residence areas looked like.
As we walked into Yleli’s community-center dome, I finally understood why.
It wasn’t that the center was squalid, or unkempt, or even unphotogenic. It was that it was so utterly alien.
For a long moment I just stood there at the archway leading into the dome, my mind spinning as I tried to take it all in. The curved dome surface caught my eye first: patterned with odd splotches of subtle color and an asymmetric pattern of clinging vines that climbed nearly to the top. Birds of some sort perched on the vines, and small creatures, half caterpillar and half slug, crawled slowly along both the vine network and the dome surface itself. Where Terese’s medical dome featured a calmness of blue sky and white clouds, the top of this dome was done in brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges, an image of flaming death that could have been either a representation of a volcanic explosion about to rain down on the landscape below or else a Filly interpretation of Dante’s hell.
The stores and parkland lying beneath the frozen waves of fire were no better. Buildings were buildings, I’d always assumed, with form following function and all that. But even given that purely practical basis, there was still something about the shops, community buildings, and meeting clusters that took me a long moment to wrap my mind around. The angles, textures, and perspective seemed to be at war with one another, leaving the sort of feeling I always got looking at an optical illusion and watching it go from a pair of faces to a vase and back again. Above the buildings were probably thirty helium-filled balloons of various sizes, shapes, and colors, arranged in three separate vertical levels as they circled the dome slowly in the air currents. Arranged on the ground outside their three-level circle was a ring of blazing torches, whose updrafts were apparently designed to keep the balloons contained within their proper flight area.
And then, as my brain finally got all the rest of it more or less sorted out, I focused for the first time on the Fillies themselves.
I’d seen Fillies hundreds of times before, in person, in holos, or in recordings. And yet, suddenly I felt as if I was seeing them for the very first time. There were at least two hundred of them in the dome, dressed in brightly colored clothing, walking stolidly among the dome’s structures. At first glance it looked like just random pedestrian milling, but as I studied it I saw that the crowd was divided into linear groups, rather like hands-free conga lines. Each line was making its own version of a solemn procession across the dome floor, curving and weaving like a Chinese New Year dragon, each group moving in a different direction and with a different flow pattern. As two lines met they might combine, or pass through one another, or simultaneously veer off in brand-new directions. It was like a huge field-show marching squad pageant, mixed with a dit-rec costume drama of an eighteenth-century royal ball, with a bit of Japanese kabuki tossed in. Another couple of hundred Fillies were standing around the dome’s perimeter watching the performance, most of them in pairs or small clumps set in between the six corridors leading into the dome.
And the whole group of them were doing everything in perfect silence. “Tech Yleli’s funeral service?” I murmured.
“His remembrance processional, yes,” Emikai answered. “I believe the movements are designed to represent various aspects of his journey, as well as the people whose lives he touched. This particular cultural form is one I am not very familiar with.” He paused, and I could feel his eyes on me. “You probably find it quaint.”
With a supreme effort, I forced back the chilling alienness of the scene. “Not at all,” I assured him. “I’ve just never seen anything like this before. From Filiaelians or anyone else.”
“Our private cultural lives are not to be set out for strangers to witness,” Emikai said grimly. “My error. I should have called before we came.”
“If it helps any, I promise not to tell anyone about it,” I offered. “Actually, I doubt I could do it proper justice even if I wanted to.”
“Thank you,” he said. “That would be appreciated.”
I nodded, a tightness forming in the pit of my stomach. Cops were supposed to try to put aside any emotions they might feel for the victims in their investigations. But nevertheless I could feel anger-tinged sadness as I gazed at the spectacle before me. From the number of people who’d showed up to act out his life, it was clear that he’d bee
n a well-liked member of his community.
And yet, someone had killed him. Possibly because of Terese, and whatever the hell the Shonkla-raa wanted with her and her baby.
Or maybe he’d been murdered because of me.
“They have noticed us,” Emikai murmured.
I snapped out of my gloomy thoughts. Sure enough, a handful of the spectators, mostly the ones nearest us, had turned in our direction and were staring at us, still in eerie silence. “We should go,” Emikai continued, taking a tentative step backward. “We can come back later and ask the necessary questions.”
I was opening my mouth to agree when one of the Fillies who had spotted us turned and sidled casually to the next corridor clockwise from us around the dome’s perimeter. As he reached it, he threw one last look at us and disappeared around the corner.
And though I couldn’t be positive at that distance, it had sure looked like he had an enlarged throat. The kind favored by professional singers and Shonkla-raa.
“Better idea,” I murmured to Emikai, taking a couple of backward steps of my own. “I’ll go. You can stay until the end of the performance and then talk to them about Tech Yleli.”
He frowned at me. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely,” I assured him, backing up a couple more steps and then turning around and heading at a fast walk down the corridor. “I’ll talk to you later,” I added over my shoulder.
The corridors in this particular part of Proteus had a slight bend to them, and by the time I was halfway to the next major intersection the dome itself was no longer visible around the curve. Now that I was out of view, I picked up my pace. The whole area seemed to be deserted, with everyone in the neighborhood apparently in the dome at Yleli’s funeral performance.
The silent part of the proceedings had apparently ended. Wafting down the corridor from behind me was the sound of someone giving a speech or eulogy or something of the sort, his voice rising and falling in an odd singsong pattern. I wondered if it was their particular cultural form, or something out of the Slisst Protocols, or neither.
