by H M Major
There was no anger in the men. Competitiveness, yes, more than Mehirans thought proper, and excitement, but it was not a fight as Cord understood it. His mother and father seemed to have reached the same conclusion and to have dismissed any thought of intervention.
They are different, Cord realized, shaken. They play at fighting, they take actual violence for granted, they admire those who use force… To them, my parents and I would be heroes.
It was a heady thought. He almost wished he'd been born a human.
He reached out with his empath's sense to Julia, wanting a human contact for reassurance.
There was nothing there. Startled, he unwittingly transmitted his surprise to Neteel and Fyrrell. His mother glanced at him inquiringly. With the code of body signals his family used when working together on a case, he indicated that it was nothing of importance.
Cord tried again. The absence of emotion in Julia McKay was different from the way a shielded mind felt. This, he decided, was what he expected an alien to be. But why did she differ so much from the other three or four humans whose emotions he had touched? He wanted to ask her about herself and her background, but one could hardly pry.
"I would like to see more of your buildings," Neteel said, "but we don't wish to monopolize your time or keep you from your other duties."
"I don't have any other duties," Julia responded. "I am here to meet Mehirans and to learn about them." She led them out of the recreational area and into another corridor.
"Are you a scientist, then?" Neteel, coming from a scientific family, regarded that branch of study highly. "We understood this was a commercial enterprise."
Julia laughed. "I'm a missionary: I have no commercial value. But most of the worlds on which a trading company might incorporate require such enterprises to carry out other functions. Trading companies have to file planetological reports with the Allied Systems Survey, for example, to increase our knowledge of the galaxy. And if a trader wants a branch on my world, he must agree to carry a missionary if asked to do so."
"What is a missionary?" Fyrrell inquired.
A flash of surprise crossed Julia's face, but she recovered quickly. "A missionary's function is to impart knowledge of his or her religion, so that others will recognize its truth and efficacy, and adopt it as their own." She touched the emblem on her tunic and added, "When I was sent to Mehira with this expedition, no one anticipated that access to your people would be so limited. The Church assumed-everyone assumed-that we'd be able to travel freely. However, though I see only a few Mehirans this way, I am able to know them better than I could if I saw hundreds every day."
"I see. Thank you for your explanation," Fyrrell responded.
"Perhaps you will tell us about your religion sometime," Neteel said politely. "Unfortunately, if we are to return tomorrow with samples of our equipment, we must go home to check them over and pack them."
"Of course," the alien woman agreed. "I shall look forward to meeting you again." With a serene smile and a nod, she led them to the end of the hallway and opened a door, gesturing them to go through. Then she locked the glossy black door behind Cord's family.
They had learned to interpret the colored lines in the corridors. By following the green strip, they found the exit with ease. The guard at the door made a note that they had left, and at what time. Security seemed tight enough, Cord noted.
As they drove back to the city, Neteel observed thoughtfully, "Finola is right. Those humans are wealthy, and they're interested in what we have to sell them."
His parents were unusually silent for the rest of the trip. Cord himself had things to think about. It had not even crossed the minds of the humans they'd met (except Julia; he didn't know about Julia) that Cord's family were investigators. At least, they had not reacted to the knowledge, as Mehirans always did, unless they were close friends. Why should they react? Cord asked himself. The humans' own emotions and pastimes branded them as hardly better than Mehiran criminals and degenerates. Certainly they were no better than Cord and his family. Worse, if anything, he concluded. Would he want to be a "hero" among such people?
They parked their rented vehicle and walked to their door, where a Council messenger was waiting for them.
"You should leave word when you're going to be out all day," he complained.
"We were at the alien spaceport, trading," Fyrrell said smartly. That was cause for pride. "Come in."
The messenger shook his head.
"It must be urgent then," Neteel observed.
"Let us say that the Council gives it high priority. A case of deviant behavior in the Council itself," the man murmured, handing over the authorization.
"Oh…" Fyrrell said, reading it over, his fine features grave and intent.
Cord felt revulsion at the word "deviant." It was used to cover so many things now. When he was a child, deviancy meant killing or hurting for pleasure, but now it seemed to be applied to conduct that once would only have been considered eccentric. Or even, he added to himself, to disagreement with the Council.
"Well, do you accept?" the messenger asked sharply, making no effort to conceal his feeling of irritation.
"Yes, of course." Fyrrell signed the receipt and handed it back to the man. Neteel, who had been waiting by the door, clearly impatient for him to leave, shut it firmly behind him and secured it.
"Bad news, Fyr?" Fyrrell's emanations of distress were unmistakable.
"I wish we could have turned this one down," he muttered.
They almost never refused an assignment. They could not afford to, and when the Council was the client, it was unwise to do so. Cord recalled that they'd last declined an assignment two wet seasons ago, when his mother was ill with the dry-lung infection.
"We are to secure evidence of crime, so that the object of the investigation can be charged."
"But don't they know whether he's committed one?" Cord asked. Usually they were called in when there was a known crime and an unknown perpetrator. This case seemed backward.
"The Council feels it likely the subject is engaged in criminal activity, in view of his… ah… 'deviant' behavior."
"Which is?" Neteel prompted.
"He has no lovers, as far as is known, has turned down invitations to have sex, and keeps his feelings to himself."
"Discourteous to refuse an offer, certainly," Cord's mother remarked, "especially if he should be so clumsy about it as to give offense. But that's not a crime."
"Who is our subject?" Cord asked, with growing apprehension.
Fyrrell raised his golden-brown eyes from the authorization and report to Cord's face.
"I'm sorry, Cord. It's the Speaker for the Third District."
Neteel looked stricken, but Cord did not feel much surprise. He'd thought for a long time that his friendship with Bird was too good to last.
His parents felt sorry for him. To make them feel better, he said, "Well, it isn't as though they knew he'd done something. Maybe there won't be any evidence to gather."
Fyrrell and Neteel were not noticeably cheered. Cord knew what that meant: the Council-even if they did not say so explicitly-wanted results. Still, one could not fabricate proof of crime. If the Speaker was doing nothing wrong, all the Council could do would be to expose his allegedly deviant habits, which might well be enough to remove him from the Council. But if that was all they desired, why not do it, instead of hiring investigators?
"We needn't all go to the spaceport," he replied. "You must, because you invented most of our tools. If the humans have technical questions, you must be there to answer them."
Cord saw the difficulty at once. Someone had to initiate the Council assignment tomorrow. His mother could not go to the spaceport alone; some of the devices required two to operate, or two to carry, at least. He, Cord, could accompany her, but he'd been assisting in investigations for only about three years-some of that part-time, while he finished his specialist courses. His father was the one who should go to the spaceport with
Neteel.
"I can watch the Speaker," Cord said. "It doesn't sound like a very complicated case. The day after tomorrow, if I haven't made any progress, we can talk it over and see what I'm doing wrong. But I think I can handle it. All I'll need is an audiovisual shadow."
"I wish you didn't have to, Cord. It will be hard enough for you if Bird finds out that your family is involved. But you understand how it is. We can't afford to miss this chance at the spaceport, and we can't risk the Council's displeasure."
"I know, Father."
CHAPTER 3
In the very early morning, Neteel and Fyrrell began packing up the equipment they intended to demonstrate to the humans. No one said anything further about the assignment given them by the Council.
Cord, feeling unusually serious, took their best mechanical shadow. The second-best was really good only for night work, as it was bulkier.
"We'd better be starting," he told his parents. "I can place the shadow and be back before the Speaker leaves home, and then monitor it from here."
It was not difficult. His parents dropped him off within walking distance of Bird's home. Cord knew where the Speaker's vehicle-a sign of his importance and wealth-was kept. There were some advantages to investigating acquaintances, he thought bitterly. At the back of the house, in a service courtyard not overlooked by windows, Cord could do his work with no likelihood of being spotted. Setting the mechanism took only moments.
Then he sprinted for the public transport station. He wished now that he'd gone out the previous night to place the tracking device, but he'd been tired then and upset at the prospect of investigating Bird's father. Well, no point in worrying about that now; and it was still early. People like the Speaker did not rise as early as Cord's family did. If only this did not prove to be the morning he'd make an exception!
Cord was breathing more rapidly than usual when he reached the station, but his mind was calm. There had been no indication from the audio transmitter yet. The coach came, and Cord made himself comfortable, regulated his breathing, and watched the city go by: first the pink and yellow homes of the well-to-do, with the phalluslike towers of the hillside mansions in the distance. The hillside was the most desirable section of town, as the riverside was the poorest. Fine houses, mauve and pale green, a park, businesses ranging from genteel to merely necessary, then dingy white multi-residences.
The day's being gray and chill worked to his advantage in two ways. Few were out yet, so the public vehicles were running on schedule and without too many stops. Also, such cool, damp weather guaranteed that the Speaker would be wearing bulky clothing-trousers, perhaps, and surely a mantle.
By the time he reached the station nearest his home, he was less apprehensive. Evidently today would be no different from any other for the Speaker. It had been Cord's chief fear that Bird's father would alter his routine and leave earlier than usual, which would have destroyed Cord's chances of watching him for the day. Entering his parents' unit, he went straight to the monitor. It was recording and transmitting a good picture, which relieved another anxiety. Sometimes it was unreliable. Fortunately all it showed was the underside of the Speaker's vehicle and a restricted view of the courtyard's paving. If the Speaker had left before Cord got back to the monitor, the shadow's microphone would have picked up the sound of the engine-but that would have been little use, if he was not back at the monitor.
Well, here he was, and now he had to wait.
Invisible footsteps, eerily clear in the receiver, clipped in his ear. Dress shoes, lacing halfway up the calf, came into view-though from the shadow's vantage point, Cord could see no higher than the ankles.
Now, he thought, quickly. The Speaker was sliding open the door. Cord manipulated the controls. The shadow detached itself from the vehicle, hovered, and moved out toward the Speaker's feet. This was the tricky part. If the Speaker glanced down, or felt the shadow when it attached itself…
It moved quietly and without disturbing the air in its passage. Forward, rise, elevate lens…
Cord made a quick decision. He wouldn't attach it until the Speaker left the vehicle. But when the Speaker slid the door shut, the shadow was in the car with him.
The Speaker's car did not travel far. Cord estimated that the direction was west, which would mean toward the hillside section. It came to a halt, and Cord heard stirrings as the Speaker prepared to get out. The painstaking work was ahead.
Cord searched until the Speaker was in the viewscreen.
Then he detached the pursuit capsule from the main unit. The entire assembly was too large to use in daylight without cover; certainly it would not be possible for it to follow the Speaker through the streets or into a building. The capsule by itself might pass unnoticed, but it did not have the range to send its data back to the monitor. Instead, it transmitted to its carrier, which would remain with the Speaker's vehicle, and the carrier would relay the signal back to the monitor. It was not an ideal arrangement, since if the Speaker moved beyond the capsule's limited range, Cord would lose contact until the Speaker returned to his vehicle-and the carrier unit.
The capsule, hardly larger than an insect (in fact, it was disguised to look much like one of the larger insect species), attached itself to the Speaker's mantle. The garment's fullness and rich embroidery reflected its wearer's position in society-and provided concealment for the surveillance device. Once the Speaker was inside, it should be possible to manipulate the capsule to get a visual broadcast as well as sound.
From the glance Cord caught of the area in which the Speaker had parked, he was sure that it was the wealthy section. He had no time to study the scene in detail, as his attention was taken up with maneuvering the bug. Its tiny grips opened and closed upon the fabric until it had a stronger hold. Then he had a few minutes in which to untense his muscles, and to consider possible courses of action. There was a moment's anxiety when the Speaker removed the mantle, letting it fall into disarray on the floor. Cord guided the shadow out of the enshrouding cloth, bringing it to a halt under the edge of the material. Working blind, it was a delicate operation. But it resulted in his being able to see again, as well as hear.
Swiveling the camera, Cord focused on the Speaker and his hostess-a person Cord did not recognize-who were crouching before a refreshment table.
If the Council could make anything of a conversation revolving around fisheries and the production of fish jelly, Cord thought, they were welcome to do so.
'I hope you will consider petitioning the Upper Council for more trade with the humans," the Speaker said. "While you may not sell much to them directly, you will profit from others' trade. People from all over Mehira will come to transact business with the offworlders, and virtually everyone in my district will prosper in some way. The visitors will buy fish, the residents will have more money, so they will buy more fish-and your business will grow."
"The prospect is beguiling," the woman admitted. "That was why I asked you here to discuss your views on the alien trade. Still, there is some risk, is there not? And my profits have always been adequate."
"And they are no bigger than your parents' profits were when you were an infant. The aliens travel from star to star more easily than we go around Mehira. They did not gain interstellar travel by living in a static system. We are more civilized, yet less advanced. If we wish to equal and exceed their accomplishments, we must break out of our period of stagnation. Besides," he added with a slight smile, "at present the trade is benefiting only a few persons-those chosen by the Upper Council."
The businesswoman muttered agreement, evidently impressed by the last point. There was no further conversation for some moments. The Speaker sampled a dried fish roll filled with vegetable paste, and the fisheries owner sipped from a bowl. Sweetened fruit vinegar and water, Cord guessed; that would be the appropriate beverage for a morning business conference. Then she picked up a ripe, succulent berry and rolled it between well-manicured fingers, bruising its flesh, before a moist, pink tongue tas
ted it. The act of eating the fruit was decidedly sensual.
"I have heard a rumor that the Council has restricted contact because the humans are savages." She smiled slyly. Though the shadow could not transmit emotions, Cord was sure savage lovemaking appealed to her.
"There are always rumors of some sort," replied the Speaker. "The Council is overcautious and naturally does not wish to upset the status quo. I have met the aliens, and I do not believe they desire anything beyond expanded trade opportunities and profit. As what reasonable person does not?"
The woman agreed with a laugh. Setting her cup carefully on the table, she rested her hand on the Speaker's arm and said, so softly that Cord almost did not catch the words:
"I did not ask you to come here only to discuss business. Life does not revolve around work alone. I have admired you for a long time, although we have not known each other well. Please consider me your friend."
"I am honored," the Speaker said. He sounded more apprehensive than flattered. Common courtesy forced him to add, "Please consider me your friend."
Cord was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment for the Speaker. He could see where the conversation was leading.
"Then let us seal our friendship," the woman breathed. "We won't be disturbed here."
Cord sat up straighter. He had been to parties with other young people, of course, at which no one worried too much about being observed in sex. But everyone doing it together was different from spying on someone in the act-particularly when the someone was much older and an honored leader. Cord hoped the Speaker could find some way to excuse himself from a duty which he seemed unlikely to desire, but doubted he could do it. It would be so very rude.
"I am sorry," the Speaker replied after a noticeable hesitation. "For many years I have been incapable in that way."
"Are you certain it isn't for lack of trying? I'm very good."
The fisheries owner's gown slid down on her shoulders to pool around hips. Although she was older than Neteel, Cord thought she was still extremely desirable. She had large, well-shaped breasts and inviting, firm flesh; her arousal was evident. Cord sympathized with the Speaker. There was really no way now that he could extricate himself… but no normal person would want to turn down such an attractive offer anyway. Certainly the Speaker had been maneuvered into this position so that he could not withdraw without insulting his hostess-and losing her political support.
