“Precisely,” said Drake. “They were under the spell of those mad leaders.”
“The Ash Ock,” Artwhiler clarified. “And your own records show that those of the Royal Caste were destroyed.”
Artwhiler turned to Drake. “I propose that the Council officially relegate this problem to my Guardians. I truly believe we can deal with this anachronism in short order.”
Rome clenched his fists. “E-Tech must handle this investigation. We have the most extensive records on these assassins and we are best equipped to deal with them. Past experience...”
“This is not a twenty-first-century problem,” Drake pointed out. “I see no advantage in having an E-Tech-controlled investigation.”
“I must raise another objection, then. Councilor Artwhiler’s frequent public support of La Gloria de la Ciencia should preclude the Guardians from this investigation.”
Nu-Lin frowned. “Do you have rea-son to sus-pect that La Glo-ri-a de la Ci-en-ci-a is in-volved with this crea-ture?”
Rome hesitated. There was no sense in lying. “We have no evidence indicating that. I wish to point out, however, that on several recent occasions, La Gloria de la Ciencia has suggested that Paratwa research be reinstituted.”
Artwhiler reddened. “Come now, Franco! They were speaking only of a general research project that would examine the binary interlink phenomenon in a more positive light. They were certainly not advocating the awakening of a Paratwa assassin from two centuries ago!”
“You’re reaching,” Drake said quietly.
Rome looked at Nu-Lin for support. There was something akin to sympathy in her deep blue eyes, but she remained silent. She did not join lost causes.
Drake called for a vote. It was a quick show of hands—two to one, with Nu-Lin abstaining. Artwhiler was placed in charge of the Paratwa investigation.
Rome swallowed his bitterness. “Should the Guardians desire any assistance, E-Tech will naturally make every effort.”
Artwhiler basked in his victory. “Very generous, Rome, very generous. I’ll have a liaison sent to your headquarters.”
Rome knew that the Guardian commander would fulfill that promise. He also knew that the effort would be a token one. He doubted if Artwhiler’s people would even be interested in accessing the Paratwa archives.
“The matter is closed,” announced Drake. “Councilor Artwhiler, do you have any other new business?”
“Indeed I do. Some information has just fallen into Guardian hands, which suggests that we should begin a concerted effort to bolster our perimeter warning system. An independent study has recently been completed and the results strongly indicate that the Colonies are grossly unprepared for the possibility of invasion. I have keyed this study into your monitors. Please refer to item fourteen on the agenda.”
Rome sighed and caught Nu-Lin’s subtle frown. She had obviously not come up with a way to defuse Artwhiler on this issue.
It was going to be a long meeting.
O}o{O
Paula and Jerem were detained at E-Tech’s Lamalan headquarters in New Armstrong for nearly eighteen hours. They were questioned, probed, and badgered to exhaustion by an endless parade of solemn men and women who trickled through the utilitarian room where they were being held. Most of the inquisitors seemed to be professional bureaucrats. They were impossible to communicate with.
“Are we prisoners?” Paula had asked several times. Words varied slightly but the response was inevitably the same. “Of course not, Ms. Marth. We are merely trying to assure a condition of safety prior to your release from our protective custody.” Then they would smile and offer her and her son something to eat. Jerem ordered boysenberry pancakes three times in the space of five hours. He threw up at eleven o’clock Sunday morning.
They only managed six hours sleep, side by side on a small sofa bed in the corner of the room. On Saturday night, with the killing still fresh in her mind, Paula was too tired to be angry about the way they were being treated. But by morning she was ready for a fight.
She accused E-Tech of harassment and threatened to expose their actions to the freelancers. These unofficial news reporters had their own Intercolonial channels and were always eager for stories hinting at official incompetence. The freelancers provided an alternative to the organizational channels—the huge networks run by E-Tech, the Guardians, the Profarmers, the Commerce League, and whoever else had enough money to sponsor their own telecasts. It was frequently suggested that the freelancers disliked all organizations equally and thereby managed to paint a fairer picture of colonial life.
Paula demanded that she and Jerem be freed, promising the most dire consequences if they were not. At one point she threatened to kick a grinning little bureaucrat in the crotch after he slyly suggested that they were perhaps in league with the Paratwa killer. He had backed away from her, smirking: “Now, now, Ms. Marth. We mustn’t get excited.”
At two o’clock Sunday afternoon, a bald man with a lean dark face entered the room. Paula recognized him from E-Tech telecasts.
“I’m Pasha Haddad. I am prepared to give the order for your release. All I require from you is one small bit of information.”
“What do you want?”
He sat down facing them. “I must learn who it is you contacted prior to calling us last night.”
She shook her head wearily. “No one.”
“Come now, Ms. Marth. We know you called someone. Was it the Guardians? Or perhaps the local police?”
What was left of her calm veneer began to splinter. “Listen, I don’t care who the hell you are, but I’m sick and tired of this room and these damned questions. I’ve tried to help you and all I get is a runaround and more questions.”
Cold eyes appraised her. “Maybe you would like to talk with me alone. We can take your son to another room...”
She threw her arm around Jerem and clutched him. “He stays here.” She was prepared to physically fight if they attempted to touch her son. Haddad had no trouble reading her intentions.
He spoke calmly. “We do not want to harm you, Ms. Marth. Believe me, I truly understand your anger. But you must be aware that you have involved yourself in a very grave situation. If necessary, we must err on the side of caution.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“Maybe you’ve overlooked some minor detail. Another phone call, perhaps?”
Paula sighed. “After the killing, I made one call—to your people, here in New Armstrong. And I’m beginning to think that that call was a mistake.”
Haddad gave her a tight smile, then turned to Jerem. “Son, your mother is telling the truth, isn’t she?”
Jerem nodded vigorously.
“And if she was lying, you’d tell me the truth, wouldn’t you?”
“She never lies!” he said indignantly.
Haddad reached over and patted Jerem on the shoulder. “Of course she doesn’t.”
Paula gripped her son’s hand. “We’ve told you everything.”
“Of course you have. But in going through our records, Ms. Marth, it turns out that we have a bit of a file on you. You are known to have had dealings with some major black marketers here in New Armstrong.”
“Prove it.” If they had evidence implicating her in black-market referrals, they would not have waited this long to threaten her with it.
Haddad smiled grimly. “It is doubtful that we can prove your involvement. You know that. But perhaps now, Ms. Marth, you can begin to see our dilemma. On the one hand, you claim to be telling us the truth about this incident. Yet we know that Marth Antiques has done illegal trading and we know that your neighbor, Bob Max, was a major conduit to the black market and that he dealt directly with Costeaus. Which truth would you have us believe, Ms. Marth?”
Paula seethed. “Bob Max was a neighbor—nothing more. He was hardly ever at home and when he was, we didn’t associate with him. If he knew Costeaus, that was his business.”
“Then you did not know any of Max’s
Costeau friends?”
“No.”
Haddad pretended to look puzzled. “But you do know some Costeaus?”
She hesitated. “Yes, I’ve met a few. That’s not illegal, nor unusual for someone in the antique business.”
“No, it is not. But, Ms. Marth, judging by this file, I would say that you’ve done a bit more than simply meet a few Costeaus.”
Paula felt herself tense. “This has absolutely nothing to do with Bob Max’s murder. You should be out hunting for this creature rather than persecuting me and my son!”
Haddad smiled. “E-Tech is a large organization. We are not all in this room ... persecuting you.”
“For the last time, we’ve told you the truth.”
“Have you?” Haddad gazed at Jerem. “Son, did you know your father?”
“His father,” Paula snapped, “died ten years ago, when Jerem was only two years old. Jerem never knew his father, nor anything about him, other than what I’ve told him.” And I wish to keep it that way!
Paula caught Jerem staring at her. She avoided his eyes.
Haddad nodded with understanding. “All right, Ms. Marth, we will not go into certain matters. Not now, at any rate. But if we discover that you’ve been lying to us, I’m afraid we’ll have to openly discuss some of your ... Costeau relationships. Understood?”
She nodded. “You’ve made yourself very clear.” A feeling of relief washed over her.
Jerem’s vision of his father was a fabrication. Over the years, Paula had carefully cultivated an image of a strong workingman whose life had been cut short by a freak accident. Jerem was better off with the lie, although Paula knew someday he would have to learn the truth.
“All we need, Ms. Marth, is the name of the person or organization that you contacted last night. We are not interested in any other aspects of your personal dealings.”
She shook her head wearily. “For the last time, I called no one.”
A woman stepped into the room. “Sir, there’s a call for you.”
“Not now.”
“Sir, it’s Director Franco. The Council meeting is over and he wishes to speak with you immediately.”
Haddad stood up and stared down at them. He spoke like a stern father, addressing errant children. “When I return, I expect some straight answers. The seriousness of this situation demands it.” He marched out, leaving them alone in the room.
Jerem scratched at his cheek. “Mom, I don’t think he believes us.”
“He doesn’t.”
“How come he’s asking all that stuff about Costeaus? Do you really know Costeaus?”
Paula glanced at the far corner, where earlier she had spotted one of the hidden microcams. “In the past, I knew some Costeaus. Not anymore.” No doubt their words were also being recorded.
Jerem folded his hands tightly across his chest. “Do ya think they’re going to let us go soon?”
She rumpled his hair. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
He frowned. “Do ya think maybe they’re making us stay here ’cause they don’t want us to get hurt?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know—like the kind of stuff we learned about at school. Like the Paratwa.”
She put her arm around him. He did not resist her affection. “Oh, Jerem! No one’s going to hurt us! And that Paratwa is probably in another colony by now.” She squeezed him tighter. “Hey, Mom says it’ll be all right! I guess that’s ‘Ma sa fine’ in Quikie, huh?”
He pouted. “That’s not Quikie.”
She smiled. “You could teach me?”
“It’s private. Do ya think that the Paratwa saw us last night on the porch and is just waiting for us to be released?”
There was no use in trying to deter him from this line of questioning. “Jerem, we’re going to be okay. I promise. Even if that creature did see us, I really don’t think it cared one way or another. They’re supposed to be able to disguise themselves so well that we probably wouldn’t even recognize it if we saw it again. We couldn’t identify it so we’re no threat to it.”
“I’d recognize it.”
Maybe he would. Paula certainly felt that way in the back of her own mind. Smiler and Sad-eyes were imprinted onto her consciousness.
Haddad returned, wearing an angry expression. “You are to be released. I’ll have one of my people drive you to wherever you desire.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“This investigation has been officially turned over to the Intercolonial Guardians.”
Paula felt no sympathy for him, but she did feel obligated that he know the truth. “I want to say this one more time. Neither my son nor I contacted anyone but E-Tech last night. I have no reason to lie about this.”
Haddad looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you are being honest.” He hesitated. “I must warn you... I would not return to your home just yet.”
“Why not?” Jerem asked abruptly.
The answer was not the one they expected to hear.
“The Guardians will probably take you into custody. I can assure you that no matter how badly you feel you’ve been treated by us, it will go worse for you with them.”
She stared into the dark eyes. “Thank you.”
They were escorted from the building and driven by ground car to Paula’s chosen destination—the New Armstrong West shuttle port. She wished that they could have gone home first, at least to pack some clothes, but Haddad’s warning sounded sincere. There was no way Paula was going to spend another day locked up and grilled by the authorities.
Her first thought was to get a shuttle ride to the Slavik colony of Kikinda. She had friends living there and it would be no problem to drop in on them unexpectedly and sleep over for a few days, until things calmed down.
She abandoned that idea when they reached the elevator terminal leading to the docks. Her experience with Costeaus was indeed limited, but she had learned enough from them to know when she was being followed. The short brunette standing two pillars away was an obvious tail—the woman watched too closely, turned away too quickly when Paula glanced in her direction.
Spotting a tail was not the only skill Paula had learned from the Costeaus. They had also taught her how to lose one.
Jerem complained when she took him by the hand and marched across the crowded terminal.
“Mom!”
“Now listen carefully. Do you see those patrollers?” She pointed to the pair of large and somber police officers who were leaning against a railing next to the departure-arrival grids.
He nodded, tried to break her grip. “I see ’em,” he whined.
“We’re going to play a little game. Now I believe that E-Tech has sent someone to follow us. I’m going to try and shake them but I need your help.”
“Can you let go of my hand?” he pleaded.
“Just listen. I’m going to speak to those patrollers and I want you to agree with everything I say. Okay?”
“Okay, but can you...”
“It’ll look more real if I’m holding onto you. Please?”
He gave a loud sigh. “All right.”
They walked quickly over to where the two officers stood. Paula kept her voice low and full of fear.
“Sir,” she whispered, “please listen carefully. Pretend that you don’t see me.”
The patrollers grimaced, probably assuming that she was just another crazy who loitered in terminals.
“Sir, my boy and I saw it! There’s a woman by a pillar behind us and she has a thruster gun in her handbag! And she threatened my son!”
Jerem nodded vehemently. The patrollers were suddenly interested.
“A short brunette,” Paula continued. “Can you see her?”
One of the patrollers glanced over Jerem’s head and nodded.
Paula feigned terror. “We were just walking past her and she pulled out this thruster gun and grabbed my boy’s arm...”
“... and she stuck the gun right in my f
ace!” Jerem added with a low shout.
That did it. The patrollers headed toward the brunette. When they were far enough away, Paula whispered to Jerem: “Run!”
They dashed for one of the street exits. Behind them, a commotion erupted. Paula glanced over her shoulder.
The brunette could not have acted more suspiciously if she had tried. When Paula and Jerem began to run, the woman reached into her purse, probably to send a com signal asking for backup. Then she began to jog in Paula’s direction.
The two officers yanked thrusters from their belts. “Freeze!” they shouted in unison.
A trio of arriving passengers dove to the floor. Screams filled the terminal. Paula caught a final view of the brunette, desperately arguing with the patrollers. Then she and Jerem were out of the terminal and racing onto a crowded boulevard. She flagged down a taxi and did not breathe easily until they were a half a mile away.
“Where to now, Mom?”
“You’re on-line, woman,” the taxi driver added. “I need a destination.”
Paula stared at him through the mirror. “Take us to the trader district.”
O}o{O
Artwhiler was screaming. “This is outrageous, Franco! You promised that E-Tech would cooperate fully. Yet your first action was to order the murder witnesses released! And then you claim that your people lost them!”
The standard video-conference setup for a two-person interact featured a head-and-shoulders shot of the other participant. Artwhiler had zoomed his own camera into a tight close-up; his blocky face looked ready to leap out of Rome’s office monitor. And the color appeared to be misaligned. No one’s face could be that red.
“A mistake was made,” Rome said calmly. “My people suspected that the woman might have known more about the murder than she was letting on, so they released her and had her followed. Unfortunately, she gave us the slip.”
There was venom in Artwhiler’s words. “And you tell me that your security people did not even bother to plant surveillance transmitters on the woman? I find that difficult to believe! Perhaps you know where this woman and her son are hiding and have decided to violate the edict of the Council!”
Liege-Killer Page 8
