by Simon Kewin
Again, the indifferent body language. “I will. Can I also offer you some advice?”
“Please.”
“If I were you, I'd look beyond the obvious. Palianche and I despised each other, yes, but, just because I wanted him dead doesn't mean that I marched in there and sliced his brain-cavity in two. Am I not rather too obvious?”
“If you were the killer, you might say exactly that.”
“I suppose I might. Then let me try and help you in another way. I have older memories that might be of interest that I could share with you. Would you like to see them?”
“If you think they're relevant.”
“I think so. They are not mine, but an extract from an impression-recording made seven years ago by an Aranian called Glanden Ver, a special-forces soldier. The relevant section is only a few seconds long. It is, I suppose, a little gruesome for one not used to combat. Would you like to see?”
Magdi tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Show me.”
A broad-spectrum set of sensory impressions began to stream from Ro's bead into Magdi's. She ran them through a filter to check there was nothing destructive in them, then closed her eyes to watch the scene.
She was in a room excavated out of the solid rock of some planet or asteroid. A mine perhaps: rough tunnels led off at random angles, shored up with metal plates and crude props. Each passage was illuminated by a string of lights disappearing into the distance. The central room itself was dimly lit, shadows shifting about the walls from the suits worn by the two individuals who stood in the middle.
One was clearly an Aranian from the design of the armoured spacesuit. The other figure was taller and wore a suit with no insignia or identifying style. The two were circling each other, hand energy-weapons drawn. They both had blasters as well, but apparently weren't risking using them in the enclosed space. The mine workings did not look particularly well-constructed. The third person in the scene, Glanden Ver, the individual whose point of view Magdi was sharing, wasn't moving. Magdi wondered why that was. From the perspective of the scene, she had the impression Ver was slumped against a wall – or even lying on the floor.
The Aranian lunged with an energy-weapon, attempting to strike their opponent and deliver enough charge to overwhelm their suit defences and deliver an incapacitating or fatal blow. The unidentified figure dodged, leaping over the flashing weapon-strike in a way that suggested gravity was low. Most likely, Magdi surmised, an asteroid or a moonlet being mined for its mineral reserves.
The Aranian adjusted their strike, but too slowly. The leaping figure executed a perfectly-judged somersault, thrusting down mid-tumble to deliver a blow to the Aranian's head, twisting as they flew to land facing their opponent.
The Aranian slumped to the floor, powered suit fizzing with the energy discharge of the blow. The other figure stepped forwards to stand over them. The Aranian curled up on the floor as much as their bulky suit would allow, limbs shaking uncontrollably from the energy discharge that, clearly, their suit had not protected them from.
The unidentified figure crouched down and, using the energy-weapon like a saw, began to cut the Aranian's helmet from its carapace. The Aranian struggled, but without control of their limbs could do little. Finally, the task was completed. The attacker pulled the Aranian's helmet clear and stepped back to consider.
The Aranian half-rose, desperately gasping for air, mouth gulping uselessly like a fish pulled from the water. A male, Magdi thought: their down was generally darker. He reached forwards, pleading for the helmet, as if he could simply put it back in place to seal it. The unidentified assailant watched calmly, holding the helmet just out of reach. Then, as the Aranian touched it with shaking outstretched fingers, letting it drop to the ground where it rolled away.
The suffocating Aranian tried to crawl forwards, his face turning a hideous purple-blue from the hypoxia. The attacker let him creep forwards a short way, then lifted their weapon. The cutting edge sparkled with blue energy. With a carefully-aimed blow, the attacker slashed the top of the Aranian's head from the rest of his skull, slicing through his brain to inflict instant and permanent death.
The attacker watched for a moment, apparently satisfied at their work, then turned to consider Glanden Ver. Magdi watched through the Aranian's eyes as the attacker tilted their head to one side slightly, as if considering the best way to kill Ver. Behind the visor of their helmet, their features remained completely concealed.
The sensory replay ended.
“As you saw,” said Ro. “A killing very much like the one we have witnessed here today. Almost an execution. A ritualised death.”
“You have Ver's memories – he wasn't killed?”
“He was left alive. Barely alive. His arms and legs were severed from his torso and the wounds cauterized with the energy-weapon. His brain and its beads were left intact so that the sensory impressions you witnessed wouldn't be lost.”
“I couldn't make out who the killer was, but as Glanden Ver was an Aranian, I assume the killer was a Gogoni.”
“You assume incorrectly; the killer was a Sejerne. You are familiar with the Blood Knights?”
They'd come up in her researches into Sejerne social and religious structures. “They're an old religious sect: intensely militaristic, honourable to the point of obsession, but surely harmless in the wider scheme of things. Their numbers are small, and they have no ships.”
“Your knowledge is out of date, although understandably so. Sejerne does not like this to be too public; they prefer to take the moral high-ground, pretend to be the spiritual, enlightened world trapped between two warlike neighbours. The truth is, the Blood Knights have recently become much more than an historical anomaly. Their numbers have swollen, and they've formed an alliance with one of the major religious groupings on Sejerne, effectively becoming that church's military wing. Its foot-soldiers and enforcers and torturers. They're well-armed and have ships.”
“Which denomination?”
“Take your pick from any of the literalist churches, but mainly it's the One World Brotherhood.”
“You know as well as I do that Ambassador Vol Velle is a key member of the One Worlders.”
“Don't be taken in by his lovable old fool act, his pretence of religious liberalism. In his own way, he's as brutal and ruthless as Palianche was. The killing here today has all the hallmarks of an execution by the Blood Knights.”
“Are you suggesting Vol Velle is a literalist fundamentalist?”
“He was once, that we know. He claims not to be any more, but in my view, it's a façade. His sympathies certainly tend that way. Either that, or his intentions are ruthlessly political, and his faction seek to achieve some gain by weaponizing the Knights.”
Was it possible, even, that Vol Velle was a Knight? Perhaps. If not him, someone within his delegation might be. She didn't know if other Sejerne had come down to the surface, but perhaps one of them had seen a chance to rid the system of a hated Gogoni heretic.
Ro said, “Have you spoken to the esteemed Ambassador yet?”
“No.”
“Ah. How pleasing, you chose to speak to Arianas first for once. Well, when you do interview Vol Velle, give some thought to what I've shown you. And consider, also, the trust I have placed in you by revealing the truth of my world's ancient visit to Penanda. If the Knights knew what we'd done, it's very likely they'd come for me, too.”
Magdi made a mental note to check the truth of Ro's story. The scene she'd been shown certainly seemed real – the horrified, panicky look on the Aranian's face as he asphyxiated would stay with her for some time – but it was also possible that the whole thing was a construct, and all of Ro's speech had been carefully prepared to shift the focus of blame elsewhere.
“I'll keep that in mind,” said Magdi. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and visit the other delegations before I freeze to death in here.”
“Do that,” said Ro, turning back to the window. “It would be such a shame if you died h
ere today as well.”
Four
Magdi was met outside the room by the phalanx of City Marshals, awaiting her instructions. Conscious that they knew far more about carrying out a criminal enquiry than she did, and not wishing to make a fool of herself, she told them to perform whatever investigations into the murder scene they thought best and get back to her. The forensics expert in the group appeared to be in charge: she caught the other Marshals looking to him for approval of her orders.
He was half a metre taller than her and stick-thin: the product, most likely, of some low-g world. At her brain-to-brain request, he sent her all the usual public personal data required for polite social interaction: name, position, preferred pronouns. He was Temen Zeb, in fact a native of one of the platforms in orbit around the abandoned world of Hesion Alpha. Magdi thanked him for his help and explained everything she knew about the killing – which was very little.
She also instructed the Marshals to trace the movements of anyone inside the Congress Hall that morning, and to search the whole area for a discarded energy-weapon. One Marshal was despatched to carry out a thorough search of Pannax Ro's quarters, although Magdi doubted the Aranian would have had time to commit the murder, get back there to conceal a weapon and then return. Either the weapon was nearby, or someone else had taken it away.
She also instructed one of the Marshals to stay on guard outside Ro's quarters.
“Am I preventing her leaving, or stopping others getting in?” the Marshal asked.
“Ideally both, but we can't detain her if she wishes to go. We are still trying very hard to observe the diplomatic niceties and keep everyone friendly. Mainly, I want to be very sure that no one … unwelcome is able to get into her room and do what they did to Delegate Palianche.”
“Is General Ro the prime suspect?”
“Whether she is or not, it's possible she's at significant risk of being attacked. I'm sure she's perfectly capable of defending herself – but then I'd have said the same about Palianche. I want to know immediately if she leaves or if anyone tries to gain access.”
Magdi took the final Marshal with her as she headed for Ambassador Vol Velle's allocated room in the Congress Hall. There could surely be no personal danger to her, but it was best not to take any chances. She intended to talk to Vol Velle about his beliefs, and she imagined that this time he might not be quite so easy-going. Especially when she asked him about his attitude to the Blood Knights.
But, when she got to the Ambassador's rooms, it became apparent that she needn't have worried. Vol Velle wasn't there.
Although the Coronade Mind didn't pervade the Congress Hall, people could still converse with it by visiting one of the public access points set aside throughout the building. In a nearby atrium, a ring of opalescent globes upon stalks provided access to anyone needing to communicate with the Mind or, through it, the wider galaxy.
She placed her hand upon one and spoke. “Please locate Vol Velle for me.”
“The Ambassador has returned to his ship.”
Damn. She should have been alive to that possibility. “You didn't prevent him leaving until I could talk to him?”
“I wasn't aware you needed him to stay, and I have no means of corralling him on the planet in any case,” said Coronade. “My apologies; I assumed his departure was with your agreement.”
“Is the ship still in orbit?”
“It is.”
“I need to speak to him urgently.”
“I have been attempting to converse with him myself but have so far had no response.”
“What does the Sejerne Mind say about this?”
“Only that it has noted my request and will inform the Ambassador. Communication between us has become rather terse in the last hour or so. The Sejerne Mind can be aloof.”
“I need you to stop Vol Velle breaking orbit for metaspace.”
“Since I have no executive control over the ship, I assume you're asking me to open fire on it?”
“I was hoping you might have some more subtle way of making them stay.”
“I can delay their departure for a few minutes claiming the need to wait for a safe egress vector, but little more. Coronade is not a militarized world, as you are obviously aware.”
“Keep trying to reach him. Be polite, threaten him, I don't care, but I do not want him to fly off and leave.”
“What did you learn from Pannax Ro?”
“She claims to be innocent. For the time being, at least, it appears she is remaining on Coronade, so at least we have one of our three delegates alive and on the planet. Tell me, what happens if Ro, or any of them, is found guilty of committing a murder? They can't simply be allowed to walk away.”
“An interesting legal question,” said Coronade, “and one I don't have an answer to. The situation has never previously arisen.”
“We must have had emissaries committing some crimes.”
“Surprisingly often, but rarely anything so severe as murder. Generally, there is a punishment under the perpetrator's local legal system when someone transgresses, but obviously in war situations that does not always happen. Legally speaking, any such killings can be considered a mere extension of hostilities: war by another means, and war is not a crime.”
A fact she had never even begun to understand; it seemed to her to be the crime. “And, we allow that?”
“We try to keep Coronade as open and unjudgmental as possible.”
“Then if Ro – or any of the delegates – is found to be the culprit, they can remain and take part in the talks?”
“That's mainly a political question. If the other parties would tolerate them, then yes,” said Coronade. “Although I'd say it seems unlikely.”
“Which may have been the killer's intent. To disrupt the talks.”
“You're convinced Palianche's death is tied up with the summit?”
“I suppose it's conceivable that someone else on Coronade wanted him dead. Can you identify any other party or race who may have had reason to hate him?”
“I have searched and found none. The three worlds in this dispute have only recently been given metaspace translation technology and few of their existing ships have been adapted. It's rare for any of them to leave their system. They've all been so locked-up in their conflict that they have tended to ignore wider events.”
Which was certainly true. That was a large part of the problem, right there. “One of the reasons I insisted on bringing them here,” she said. “They need to see that their dispute is really only a small thing.”
“What will you do now?” asked Coronade.
“I assume Palianche's advisors are still on the planet?”
“Yes.”
She'd wanted to talk to Ro and Vol Velle before getting the Gogonians' side of the story, but it didn't appear that was going to be possible.
“I'll order a search of Vol Velle's quarters,” she said, “and then I'll pay a visit to the Gogoni. Perhaps I can persuade them to stay on and await the arrival of another Delegate from their world.”
She didn't sound convincing even to herself.
Two minutes later, she stood outside the chambers set aside for the Gogoni delegation. As before, she reached out with her empathic senses before making her presence known. She was immediately engulfed in a whirlwind of anger and loathing from the room beyond. Faintly, through the heavy door, she could hear raised voices, two people arguing bitterly, although she couldn't pick up any words.
She instructed her bead to announce that she was waiting outside. Immediately, the shouting cut out, although the swirl of furious emotion remained. The door opened, and she stepped inside before anyone could invite her in – or block her way. Emchek and Sorabai, Palianche's advisors, stood in the centre of the room, very close together, face-to-face. It was either a position of fond intimacy or open aggression. It was perfectly clear to Magdi which of the two it was. The green, shimmering flesh of both Gogoni was flushed with red and purple, a clear indication of
an attack response kicking in.
As before, she kept her voice low and slow, wary of doing anything to escalate the situation. “Delegate Emchek. Delegate Sorabai. My thanks for agreeing to talk to me at this difficult time.”
Of course, they hadn't agreed, and she'd also deliberately elevated their importance by giving them the Delegate title. Perhaps it helped: neither spoke, but nor did they turn their anger on her. Magdi knew little about the two advisors beyond their spheres of expertise, but their argument was doubtlessly rooted in their political differences. In theory, the two had been chosen to provide a balance between a diplomatic and a scientific viewpoint, but Magdi knew well that the two had also been selected to represent the two major factions within the Gogoni government. Emchek's Evening Star Rising were expansionist, aggressive, openly advocating the creation of the so-called Greater Gogon – code for engaging Sejerne and Arianas in military conflict and annexing their worlds. Sorabai's White Peak grouping were, by most worlds' standards, also expansionist and aggressive, but they were much less overtly militaristic, preferring to use diplomacy and legal argument. Gogon vacillated between the two positions, with Evening Star Rising currently dominant.
Sorabai eventually spoke. “Conciliator Magdi, what is going on? What has happened to the remains of our esteemed Delegate? We were told we could not attend to his body to carry out the necessary procedures.”
“I assure you that you will be allowed to do so as soon as the City Marshals have completed their investigations,” said Magdi.
Emchek could hold himself back no longer. He stepped forwards, fury display blazing. “Coronade's Marshals have no jurisdiction over us, as you are aware. They also do not need to carry out their sham investigation. It is perfectly to clear to anyone what has happened here.”
“What do you believe has happened here?” she asked.
