Final Inquiries

by Roger MacBride Allen

  It was Hannah's turn to chuckle. "Yes, but I don't see any point in discussing it."

  "Okay, you got me there."

  "Seriously though--my guess is that there was some sort of bad accident involving humans and Kendari, and maybe Vixa or some other species." She gestured toward Greveltra. "The way he drives makes that easy to believe."

  "Why do you say accident? Brox used the term 'crime scene.'"

  "A bit of sloppy phrasing. I say accident because Brox is the enemy--but Brox isn't acting hostile. He's not angry at us, at humans. If anything, he's oddly sympathetic. So something caused us and them trouble, but no one is to blame. And it happened at exactly the wrong time, just when everybody is about to sit down and sign the deal. They want a joint investigation to smooth it all over, confirm no one was at fault, and have a nice signing ceremony."

  "Hmmph. Well, maybe." The planet was getting bigger by the minute. Maybe a hundred thousand kilometers an hour was a low estimate. It looked as if they were heading for the daytime side, toward a part of the globe where it was roughly late afternoon. The cloud cover hid whatever was there. "I think that's optimistic. Really optimistic. The kind of rush they've put together here seems a little too panicky for that. And yeah, Brox seems friendly, but he's scared as well. I still get the sense not just that something bad has happened, but something even worse still might happen."

  The planet had swollen to fill the entire upper hemisphere of the command sphere. Jamie had to turn his head to one side to catch a glimpse of the Great Ring, and even that vanished as he watched.

  "Brox!" Hannah called, without getting up or taking her eyes off the terrifying view overhead. "Maybe now we're close enough that you could at least tell us where we're going. It's on the planet, not on the Great Ring. That much we've figured out. Give us something more."

  "If for no other reason than to distract us from the view a little bit," Jamie suggested.

  "Yes, certainly. We are headed toward what amounts to the planetary capital, though that's not exactly accurate. The city bears two names, which are not interchangeable, but are based on the city function to which one is referring. The correct name must be used at all times in order to avoid giving offense. The city is called Rivertide when referred to as a home, a place to live, and the Grand Warren of the Conclaves--or simply the Grand Warren--in the context of being the seat of power."

  "And where in the Grand Warren are we going?" Jamie asked. "I mean, assuming we live through atmospheric entry?"

  "I share your nervousness and discomfort. For what it is worth, Greveltra has a perfect safety record as a pilot. Our first destination is a building in the center of the city. You will submit yourself there."

  "Submit ourselves for what? Approval? Accreditation?"

  "Formally, you are submitting yourselves to the will of the Preeminent Director of Tifinda. 'Accreditation' is close enough. I have heard some of the humans refer to it as hazing or initiation--or ritual intimidation, which I gather is much the same thing in some human organizations. Think of it as a welcoming ceremony--though perhaps not the most enjoyable one you have ever attended.

  "Once that formality is complete, we will travel in a smaller vehicle to the diplomatic quarter of the city--I should say a diplomatic quarter. It is an isolated section where the representatives of lower-ranking races are invited to house themselves. Perhaps 'diplomatic ghetto' would be a more descriptive term."

  "Let me guess. The human and Kendari embassies are in that zone."

  "Right next to each other," said Brox. "Each diplomatic mission has an assigned piece of land, in adjoining walled compounds."

  "Why did they put us right next to each other?" Hannah asked. "They'd have to know your government and mine don't get along."

  "You would have to ask the Vixa that question. For what it is worth, we do not inconvenience each other as much as you might think. The walls are high."

  "How big are these compounds?" Hannah asked.

  "I'm told the human compound is about the size of a city block in Center City. The Kendari compound is slightly larger."

  "A city block is a pretty fair size," said Jamie.

  "Not so large when you consider that both embassies have fairly large staffs, and that all personnel must be housed in that space, along with all provisions, equipment, and so on. And also consider that our hosts often confine the staffs of the embassies to their respective compounds for security reasons, or for no specified reason at all."

  "And you've been posted to the Kendari embassy, right?" Jamie asked. It wasn't exactly much of a deductive leap, given the circumstances, and how much Brox knew about the situation on the ground.

  "Yes. Thanks to you two."

  "What?" That was a surprise. "How do you mean?"

  "After I collaborated with the two of you on Reqwar, it was noted in my file that I had demonstrated a capacity--even an aptitude--for working with humans. And so when the Inquiries Service established a sort of Kendari-human security liaison office at this embassy, I was assigned to it."

  "Kendari-human liaison office? To do what?"

  "It is a joint office, staffed by Kendari Inquiries Service Inquirists and human Bureau of Special Investigations agents, who work together so as to prevent undesirable incidents."

  "Hold it!" Hannah protested. She stabbed a finger up at the swelling bulk of the planet. "There are BSI agents at the human embassy already?"

  "Yes," said Brox. "Three of them."

  "Then why did you send for us?" Hannah demanded.

  But Jamie knew. "Because they're all suspects," he said. "Or because they're all dead. Whatever happened killed them all."

  Brox was silent for a moment before he answered, in a flat, careful, neutral voice. "They are not dead," he said.

  "This just got worse, Brox," said Hannah. "Much, much worse."

  "I agree," said Brox.

  Jamie looked at Brox, at Hannah, at the planet looming ever larger overhead, and knew the question he had to ask. "But it's going to get even worse than this, isn't it, Brox? How much worse will it get?"

  Brox said nothing, did nothing, showed nothing.

  It was the loudest silence Jamie had ever heard.

  FIVE

  ESCORTS

  Ambassador Berndt Stabmacher peered out the window--or more accurately the porthole--of his living quarters aboard the grounded United Human Government Embassy Ship Kofi Annan. Of course, "living quarters" wasn't quite accurate, either. What the devil did you call it when you ordered your entire staff--and yourself--into solitary confinement in the various small and impossibly cramped compartments aboard a grounded spacecraft that served as your embassy's emergency evacuation system?

  Ignoring the spectacular view of the Grand Warren on the horizon, he scanned the skies instead. There wasn't any way to know from which direction they would come, or even if they would come at all--but what else was there to hope for? There wasn't any, couldn't be any, Plan B. He had barely been able to convince Diplomatic Xenologist Flexdal 2092 to accept the current proposal--or, as he had no doubt Senior Special Agent Milkowski would put it, the current humiliation.

  Never mind. Stabmacher was more than willing to risk his career and his life--all their careers, all their lives--in exchange for preventing a war. To stop such wars was the very essence, the core purpose of diplomacy. Especially a needless and pointless war that would likely have no winners and many losers.

  No winners? Maybe that wasn't quite true, if you took into account the groups that sat back and watched the opposing sides cripple each other, possibly even destroy each other. No one could stop them from scooping up everything the combatants hadn't managed to destroy.

  He turned from the porthole, sat down at the tiny foldout desk, and blinked vacantly. He was tired. Exhausted. Worn to a nub. He yawned mightily and scratched at his bristly chin. There were a fold-down sink, a fold-down couch, and some amazingly awkward sanitary arrangements in the compartment, none of them anywhere near satisfactory. H
e longed for a proper night's sleep, or even just a nap. He wanted a meal, a shower, and a shave, and not necessarily in that order. But such things were trivial. A day or two of confinement and discomfort would be a remarkably small price to pay, a real bargain, if it stopped a war before it started. A very small price indeed, Ambassador Stabmacher told himself.

  But someone had already paid a far higher price.

  The command sphere broke through the bottom of the highest cloud deck and flew into clear air at about ten thousand meters, though a lower layer of clouds hid the ground from view.

  At Brox's suggestion the three of them had moved out to the perimeter of the sphere, where their view of the horizon would not be blocked by the banks of nameless machines. With the outer hull of the ship turned transparent, the world was on display at their feet. They could see everything--but at the moment, all "everything" amounted to was the layers of cloud above and below.

  The sphere began to slow down as it approached the lower cloud deck, then, in the blink of an eye, they were in the clouds, and the universe outside was a formless grey nothing. A heartbeat later, and they had broken through the last of the overcast, and the city of the Grand Warren, of Rivertide, was laid out before them. The command sphere paused where it was, about two thousand meters up, affording them a long and admiring look at the city.

  It was Oz, Oz inside a three-quarters-sphere dome, a dome so graceful, transparent, and ethereal it barely seemed to be there at all. It was gleaming towers, lofty spires, broad avenues, elevated travelways linking the buildings, shimmering lights, the bustle of aircars and groundcars in purposeful motion--a full-scale, brought-to-life, all-expectations-met rendition of a city of the Elder Races, the archetype of what every schoolchild on every human world was convinced that every city on every xeno planet should be like, must be like.

  Plenty of the Elder Race cities Hannah had seen were run-down affairs, almost as much partially-occupied archeological sites as they were functioning settlements. But the Grand Warren showed no signs of decrepitude. It was the very embodiment of vigor, confidence, power, and purpose.

  "This is their capital city," said Brox. Then he pointed south toward a dusty quarter of low, flat buildings. "And that is our capital city. Or more accurately, that is the zone of their capital that we are allowed to move about in without excessive restrictions. But you will see more than enough of it soon enough."

  The command sphere flew on toward the city. It entered the central-city dome through a portal midway up. Looking down from inside the dome, the Grand Warren reminded Hannah irresistibly of the canyoned streets of midtown Manhattan, with swooping ramps and elevated roadways and buzzing, darting aircars thrown into the mix. Everything about what she saw spoke of grandeur and power. The streets were full of life and activity, hustle and bustle--but all of it was strictly ordered. All the ground vehicles moved at precisely the same speed. The Vixa she could see walking along moved in packs, in groups, that marched along in more perfect unison than any precision drill team back on Earth.

  But there was more to it than that. The groups--packs--swarms--none of the words seemed quite right--were sorted by color and size--and, as well as Hannah could judge from this distance, number of legs.

  "If you view each cluster of Vixa as an aggregate individual, what you are seeing will make more sense--and, I expect, be less disturbing," said Brox. "At least it's less disturbing for me."

  It did help, in a number of ways. Once Hannah starting thinking of each cluster as a unit, patterns jumped out at her. Clusters made up of larger, brighter-colored, and fewer-legged individuals seemed to take precedence over clusters of smaller, darker-colored, many-legged Vixa, which gave way to them whenever a group of one type encountered the other. The higher-ranking clusters also seemed to have fewer individual Vixa in them.

  Hannah didn't have time to make any further sense of what she saw before the command sphere swept forward to a large building--or possibly a collection of buildings--that looked like a collection of giant, opaque, milky-white soap bubbles clustered together. Part of one bubble drew back somehow, and the command sphere flew inside.

  "We have arrived," said Brox. "The hatch will open in a few moments, and we will disembark. You will see things that I have not the slightest doubt will disturb you greatly. As your Commander Kelly conceded, you are about to be in violation of standing orders against dealing directly with Vixa of these castes and ranks. All I can ask is that you make the best possible use of your training as to how to deal with surprises and unexpected situations--particularly unpleasant ones."

  "Great," said Jamie. "That sounds just great."

  The hatch irised open before anyone could say anything more. Brox led the way out into a large, utilitarian-looking room about the size and shape of a small airplane hangar. All was neat, all was orderly. Everything they could see was a tool, a machine, a device. There was no decoration, nothing done to indicate status or demonstrate wealth or taste or any sense of individual choice. There was a faint, slightly unpleasant smell in the air, just a whisper of something somewhere between overripe fruit and rotting meat.

  A contingent of nine midsized, mauve-colored, nine-legged Vixa were lined up facing the command sphere. At a guess each had about the body mass of a smallish Saint Bernard. Hannah was doing her best to get used to the Vixa. She could more or less handle dealing with giant spiders, but she still found herself very much thrown off stride by the absence of anything that could serve as a face. There was no point on the Vixan anatomy that could serve as a focus point in conversation, nothing that provided any sort of cue or clue to the being's mood or reactions.

  The two simulants immediately trotted off the ship and took their places at each end of the line. A voice came from somewhere--possibly from the Vixan at the center of the line, but there was no way to judge for sure. "You are now welcomed to the household of Zeeraum, Subhouseholder to the Preeminent Director, now and forever nameless," it said in flat-toned, nasal Lesser Trade Speech, if one could use that term in connection with a being with no nose. "This will be your only welcome. This guard will lead and escort you to the ceremony of submission. Be fearful in the presence of your superiors."

  "Hello to you too," Jamie muttered.

  "That's the last wisecrack out of you, Agent Mendez," said Hannah in a harsh whisper through clenched teeth. "Jokes could get us killed."

  "Very true," said Brox. "Telling you--us--to be fearful was sound advice. Any Vixan superior to any other Vixan has the unquestioned right to destroy the inferior for any reason--or no reason. Occasionally, compensation must be paid to the victim's household, but that is rare--and it wouldn't do us much good."

  "Ah, right," said Jamie. "Sorry."

  The Vixan in the center of the formation pulled in its three forward manipulation arms and folded them out of the way, spun about on its six walking legs and started to move away from the ship. At a cue from Brox, Hannah and Jamie formed up directly behind the lead Vixan, with Brox bringing up the rear. The four Vixa on either side, and the two simulants, dropped in alongside to the left and the right, so their unit was marching along three abreast. The Nines walked in perfect synchronization with each other, moving their walking legs in double-ripple fashion from back to front, so that two pair of legs at a time were touching the floor. The procession moved forward at a speed that was almost, but not quite, too fast for the humans.

  They moved out of the hangar, into an equally utilitarian walkway, its floor made of something resembling bare concrete, with bundles of cable and conduit strapped to the barrel-vaulted ceiling. The lead Vixan turned this way and that when the corridor they were on intersected others, never varying its pace, never pausing to confirm that the visitors were still behind him.

  Of course not, thought Hannah. He's got eyes in the back of his head--if his central core counts as a head--plus the ones on his elbows and wrists.

  The lead Vixan made one last turn, and marched them down what seemed to be a dead end, with a
blank wall directly ahead. It made no attempt to slacken its pace or prepare to stop, and neither did any of the other Vixa or the simulants. Then the entire unit--except for the humans and Brox--halted abruptly, with the leader's forward manipulator arms no more than a half meter from the wall in front. Hannah nearly crashed into the leader, and Jamie bumped into Hannah. Brox skidded to a halt a millimeter or two short of crashing into both of them.

  A heartbeat or two after they had halted, there was a sudden faint vibration, and the blank wall in front of them started to move downward. It took Hannah a moment or two to realize that couldn't be right. They were moving upward. The section of dead-end corridor was in fact a long, wide, open-ended elevator car.

  Either the Vixa expended the huge time and effort required to install acceleration compensators on interior elevators, or else they were merely superb engineers, but there was virtually no sense of motion or acceleration. Why couldn't they do it that way on the Eminent Concordance? Hannah had to watch the nearly featureless wall before her slide downward to be sure they were still moving. They passed one, two, three openings that gave them the briefest of glimpses of other levels, each seeming just a trifle more elegant, more decorated, and less like a factory floor, than the one below it.

  At last they emerged at what had to be the top level of the structure. At least, when they started moving again and exited the elevator car, they were done with corridors of any sort--and walls too, for that matter. A vast, translucent, milky-white dome at least a hundred meters high formed the roof of the chamber they were in. The city outside could be dimly seen through the dome. It would appear that this one vast room took up the upper third or so of one of the soap-bubble structures they had seen on approach. A larger and higher dome was faintly visible outside. Perhaps that meant that this subhousehold was subordinate to that one--or perhaps not.

  Their escort was immediately back on the move, making a beeline for the center of the vast chamber. But, as abruptly as it had done so for a solid wall, they stopped again after only about twenty meters. There was another cluster of Vixa moving toward them, apparently heading for the same elevator. Hannah instantly noted that this escort consisted of six, not nine, brighter-colored, larger nine-legged Vixa.