"He is the lead suspect in your murder investigation, Special Agent Wolfson. Or has that changed?"
"Not yet, sir. Not officially. But it might at any time. And I don't think that matters so much."
"How could that not matter?" Stabmacher was obviously struggling to keep his temper. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I am not a fool--though I know perfectly well I have managed to come off looking like one in the past few days. But I know how the machine works, how an agent like Milkowski ends up at a post like this. I even know some of the specifics of his story. How can you defend him? He got here by being swept under the rug. Now you're giving him a chance to do even more damage! Incalculable damage!"
"No, sir!" Hannah said heatedly, slapping her palm down on the table. "Sir, I can't give you facts and numbers and precise explanations--not yet--but I can tell you with virtually absolute certainty that all he is guilty of is being framed. Maybe he's not the best agent in the Bureau. Maybe he never was or will be. But he's put in his time. Twenty-plus years of service--with screwups and mistakes and maybe some really serious rules badly broken, yes--but balance that against the man's service. He gives the Bureau his life, and what has he got for it? No wife, no family, no settled home, and he's out here on the edge of nowhere, with nothing left to him but the Bureau--the Bureau that might just take away everything he has left."
Hannah turned her palms upward, almost pleadingly. "He's been relieved of duty, told to stay away from his workplace, told we don't trust him. Why shouldn't he get drunk? If you want to throw the book at someone, throw it at Singh and Farrell! They were relieved of duty and told to stay away as well--and yet here they are in the BSI office briefing me. Going strictly by the book, Milkowski's the only one actually following orders. But we're not going strictly by the book because everyone involved has the sense to look the other way, bend a rule that doesn't really apply."
"If--if he was framed, then there must have been a reason he was chosen," said Stabmacher. "And that reason must be that his past actions make him by far the most plausible suspect in the murder of a Kendari agent. He's an embarrassment to the embassy. One we can't afford right now."
"Sir, by that logic, you're asking us to defer to the judgment and opinions of the real killer. Don't let the fact that Frank Milkowski was framed for a crime he didn't commit result in wrecking his career," said Hannah. "Think of the humiliation he's feeling right now. He's had punishment enough--nearly all of it self-inflicted. Sir, I know Frank Milkowski. I don't like him all that much, but I know him. Punish him more, and he'll be ruined as an agent for the remainder of his posting, and his career. Let him off with a well-phrased warning, let him apologize, let him feel that justice has been done, that you stood up for him--and he'll be the best damned senior agent the embassy has ever had."
"Slap his wrists?" Stabmacher asked. "Let him go with a warning?" He gestured toward Singh and Farrell. "What sort of signal do you think that will send to the younger agents?"
"That we take care of our own, sir," Jamie said, almost before he knew he was speaking.
"What?" Stabmacher asked sharply, looking around at Jamie, almost as if he had forgotten he was there.
Jamie swallowed hard, and leaned in across the table, toward the ambassador. "It sends the signal that the superior does not have an unquestioned right to kill the inferior at any time. That the escort is not expendable. That's what the Vixa do, sir. And the hell with not judging other cultures. There are limits. There are absolutes. That's what they do. We're better than that."
And the room was silent for a long time.
The aircar they were to fly in appeared to be the luxury version of an armored personnel carrier. It had three sections to it. Frau Groppe, the pilot, was in the nose section, and Ambassador Stabmacher chose to ride in the aft section by himself, with the door shut. That left Jamie and Hannah in the middle section--jammed in with the embassy simulants. Powered-down, rag-doll-mode copies of the ambassador, Zhen Chi, the three local BSI agents, and Jamie's simulant cluttered up the compartment. The Vixa flatly insisted that they attend the meeting but offered no explanation for it.
"I made a mistake," said Hannah.
"What? By standing up for Frank--for Milkowski?"
"Possibly, yes," said Hannah. "But certainly for doing it when I did." She gestured toward the aft section of the vehicle. "The ambassador came in to give us a pep talk--and instead I picked a fight with him. He's about to go into--well, if it's not battle, it's something close. He's about to state our case for a star system--and I tripped him up, distracted him about playing fair with one man who just barely deserves fairness, if he deserves it at all."
"You were right to do it," Jamie said. "And you treat everyone right for the benefit of the society as much as for the individual."
"Yeah, but this isn't a civics lesson," said Hannah.
Jamie looked out the window. "And it's not the time to distract us from our game, either. It looks like the party started without us. And they didn't bother to tell us who else was invited."
Hannah joined him at the window. They were already inside the main city dome, and were just entering either the same inner cluster of domes they had been in before, or one just like it. They weren't coming in through the lower-level cargo entrance this time, but straight through a hatch in the upper-level dome. They came to a halt in midair in preparation for a vertical landing.
But they weren't going to be making that landing just yet. The part of the dome floor directly beneath them was swarming with humans. Shouting, chanting, angry-looking humans. Farther off, Jamie could see that a large and much more orderly contingent of Kendari was surrounding an aircar there.
"Why the devil did the Vixa bus all of them in?" Hannah asked. "There wasn't anything like this at other meetings, was there?"
"No," said Jamie, having to raise his voice a little. "If there had been, Singh and Farrell would have mentioned it."
"I would have mentioned it," said Ambassador Stabmacher as he emerged from the rear compartment. "This is new," he said to no one in particular. "This is unprecedented, and not part of the arrangements. We have been tricked. Again." He turned and looked at Hannah. "Should we abort? Cancel the meeting and head back?"
Hannah nodded to Jamie. "Ask him. He's the tactical expert."
"Well, Mendez?"
"Sir, I can't answer that. I can see the Vixa security guards clearing the landing zone. That tells us they can control the mob--if they want to. But will they want to? Special Agent Wolfson and I are packing lots of firepower. We could defend you, and ourselves, from a mob if we had to. Probably a warning shot or two would do it. But that puts us in the position of shooting at humans on the way to a meeting with xeno diplomats."
"But that mob is there because the Vixa want it there," Stabmacher said, still talking mainly to himself. "Are they using it to send us a message? We've never been able to do any good vetting of who, exactly, they brought in. That could be a rent-a-mob hired by the Vixa. Or it could be human beings expressing their sincere opinions."
"Sir, that's a fine democratic sentiment. But it won't really matter if they're sincere or not if they tear you limb from limb."
Jamie was startled to see a broad grin suddenly appear on Stabmacher's face. "Ah! But if they tear us limb from limb, the Vixa won't have anyone to negotiate with. They'll have to send for another human ambassador--and that would be very inconvenient for them, and therefore they won't allow us to be harmed." He went to the comm panel and pushed a stud. "Take us down, Frau Groppe. Take it nice and easy, be careful, but take us in."
The armored aircar moved slowly toward the ground. They heard the humming and the clunking of its landing gear deploying and locking into place.
The sound of the mob grew louder as they descended. When they were about twenty meters off the ground, the simulants came to life just as disconcertingly as ever, standing up and looking about.
"Escorts," said Jamie. "That's got to be it. You and I, or the thr
ee local BSI agents, weren't escort and status enough. The simulants have been hanging around to copy us, so they can serve as proper extra escorts."
The ambassador looked at the simulants thoughtfully. "I think you've got hold of part of it, Agent Mendez. Maybe a big part. But I have a feeling they're with us for lots of reasons. Some we might never learn."
The aircar landed with a thump and a bump. The ambassador pushed the comm key again. "Frau Groppe, you are to stay with the vehicle and listen in on the audio from my commlink. Activating commlink now. Button up as soon as we're outside. Stay on the ground if it makes sense, but you're authorized to go to hover if you see fit."
"I want her ready to do a dustoff and pickup and immediate takeoff," said Hannah. "You should be able to vector in on our commlinks. She should have trackable signals from all three of us. Use the ambassador's commlink for location, and we'll home in on him."
"You get that, Frau Groppe?"
"Got it, sir. Sit tight here, go to hover on own judgment, be ready for dustoff extraction at real-time track of location Stabmacher."
"Very good. All right then. Opening hatch. Wish us luck."
The side up-and-over door swung open, and the noise of the mob was instantly overwhelming. The demonstrators were behind a solid line of Vixan security Twelves, and it looked like they had already received a couple of lessons in staying back from Vixan stingers. Hannah could see two or three demonstrators half-collapsed on the ground, obviously in pain. Farrell and Singh had told them that the security-caste Vixa could generate any number of toxins--including one that was the rough equivalent of a severe bee sting. It looked as if they had used it.
Hannah and Jamie stepped out first, hands near their holsters but weapons undrawn. The ambassador came out next, and Hannah and Jamie moved in to stand to either side, and just behind him. The ambassador was followed, uninvited, by the six simulants. They instantly formed up on Hannah and Jamie, three of them in line behind each of them. But were they additional protection or additional threats? It didn't matter. The humans were stuck with them.
The demonstrators were shouting, and some of them were chanting, but Hannah couldn't make out the words. She spotted a couple of handwritten signs, written in English, reading FREE FRANK NOW! and MILKOWSKI WAS FRAMED! and HUMAN SUPREMACY LEAGUE SAYS FREE FRANK NOW!
And where the devil were they getting their information? Hannah asked herself. But she knew the answer. She glanced at the simulants. It had to be them, and whatever more conventional snooper systems the Vixa were using. But why were the Vixa feeding information to Zamprohna's group? How many sides were the Vixa playing on?
The Vixan cops had formed a cordon around either side of the delegation's path to the conference dome. The ambassador started walking away from the ship and toward the designated meeting place. Hannah and Jamie kept pace, watching the crowd, watching the simulants, trying to watch everything.
"Something's changed!" Stabmacher called out. "The building for the meeting has been altered somehow."
But did it matter? The Vixan cops were starting to herd the crowd of humans toward the same low dome that they were headed for. It was off by itself, pale blue in color--but beyond that, not much different from the one Jamie and she had visited on their way in.
Hannah could see a crowd of Kendari forming up on the opposite side of the dome, with the Vixan cops keeping the two groups very thoroughly separated. As they walked closer, she saw that large video displays had been set up outside it, and seemed to be showing a view of the interior. She could see two Grand Vixa, and two Kendari, seated and facing each other across two sides of a triangular table. It looked like Flexdal and Brox. It looked as if they had just gotten there and were still settling themselves in.
She spotted Tancredo Zamprohna just by the entrance to the conference dome. That wasn't really surprising, under the circumstances--but his appearance was. The smug, cocky wheeler-dealer pose was gone. He looked gaunt, and worried. That famous mop of red hair was disheveled. He caught her eye, and shouted something at her, but she couldn't hear it--and she had other fish to fry. She pointed to her ear, shook her head, and shrugged. I can't hear you, but it's not my problem. They were nearly at the entrance, walking straight down the corridor formed by the lines of Vixan security. They import a riot, and then protect us from it, Hannah thought.
When they were about ten meters away, the door opened. Hannah paused, and judged their surroundings. "Hold here just a minute, sir," she shouted in Stabmacher's ear. She lifted her commlink to her face. "Wolfson to Groppe. Capture my present location coordinates under name Static Dustoff One. Confirm."
"Present location captured as Static Dustoff One. Coordinates captured and confirmed."
Hannah nodded, then gestured for Stabmacher to stay put a moment longer. She went in through the door, saw no immediate threats, and gestured for him to come inside. He did so, Jamie at his back, and the simulants trooping in, single file. The door shut itself behind them, and suddenly they were in silence.
The interior of the dome was much the same as the one Jamie and she had visited on arrival--a shallow bowl-shaped floor and a raised dais in the center. There was even the blast of heat, and the same rotting-meat smell. There were differences. The dome color was blue, and the lighting was more or less of normal color and brightness.
On the dais, as they had seen on the video displays outside, were two Grand Vixa. One of them was Zeeraum. The other was nearly twice Zeeraum's size. His dorsal surface was bright orange, and his underside a pale pink. She saw Brox and Flexdal, already at the table and waiting for them. There were two unoccupied human-style chairs placed at the empty side of the triangular table. There was a ramp in front of them that led from about halfway down the bowl-shaped floor up onto the dais. She saw two other Vixa, security-caste, stationed at either side of the bottom of the ramp. They stood with their backs to the dais, facing Hannah.
She noted more details. There were two rows of six human-style theater seats, set facing the dais. A small table, with a table-chair identical to the ones set before the table on the dais, stood in front of the theater seating. The floor under that table had been slightly raised and leveled, so it didn't follow the slope of the rest of the floor. A transparent dome covered the dais itself. She glanced at Stabmacher's face, and saw at once that something was wrong. This was not the way he expected to find things.
Hannah half expected the simulants to slump over into rag dolls, or to break ranks and hustle over to the feeding trough that was, sure enough, right by the door, but neither of those things happened. Instead, five of them moved forward and sat in the back row of human-style seating. The sixth one--Stabmacher's simulant--trooped forward on his own, straight toward the stairs leading to the dais.
"What's going on?" Stabmacher asked himself under his breath. "Something's very wrong," he said in a slightly louder voice, so Hannah and Jamie could hear it. "The crowds outside, the video displays, the dome over the central dais, the chairs for the simulants--all the arrangements have been altered."
The Stabmacher simulant moved forward, stepped onto the ramp, and walked up and forward. A section of the dome over the dais shimmered out of existence for a moment, and the simulant moved through, the dome closing after it.
And then, suddenly, as abruptly as a switch being thrown, the simulant twitched, shifted its stance--and took on precisely the same pose as Stabmacher himself. Stabmacher jerked his head back in surprise. The simulant's head jerked back the same way. Stabmacher raised his arm, as if to ward off an attack--and the simulant did the same. "What is the meaning of this?" Stabmacher demanded--and his voice echoed down, reproduced perfectly, a split second behind the original.
"I am Kragshmal, foremost Subhouseholder of the Preeminent Director, who shall be forever nameless," said the larger Grand Vixan. "Things have come to the point where I saw fit to involve myself directly in these negotiations. I have made changes and improvements to the process. First of these is, of course, a step
that relieves Grand Vixa from the necessity of encountering humans directly. Our laws require us to be in the same space at the same time with those with whom we bargain in situations such as these. But all those who have dealt with your kind have complained of the same thing--the dreadful odor that emanates from your people. We have consulted our laws, and found that this solution is permissible."
"What solution?" the ambassador demanded. Once again, the simulant echoed the words with uncanny speed. Stabmacher started to move toward the ramp, toward the dais. The simulant copied his body movements, modifying them just enough to remain in one place instead of actually walking. The two Vixan security guards stepped forward toward Stabmacher. Both of them extended all three manipulator arms, the sheaths around their stingers retracted, the stingers themselves glistening with venom.
"No farther!" shouted Kragshmal. "Remain where you are. Do not make any further attempt to approach the platform!" He paused, then spoke again, in a warm and kindly voice. "We mean you no harm," he said, "but we must protect ourselves from your presence. After much thought and long effort, we have found this just, equitable, and civilized way of resolving the issue." He gestured toward the Stabmacher simulant. "Turn it around so they can see it better," he said to no one in particular. The simulant wheeled around to face the audience area.
And the audience outside, thought Hannah. They're seeing all this. This is for their benefit. All of it arranged to humiliate Stabmacher. No. To humiliate us. All of us. All humans.
"This modified escort drone has re-formed itself into a splendid simulacrum of you, Ambassador Stabmacher. We have arranged matters so that everything you say and do, it will say and do. You may observe from your place there." Kragshmal gestured toward the small table between the theater chairs and the ramp. "Speak as you wish to speak, gesture as you wish to gesture, and your simulacrum will do the same."
Final Inquiries Page 27
