“Among my people, it is not,” Ogden said, and mentally added not always, anyway, so that she wasn’t telling a complete lie. “This is why a protocol officer should attend each meeting. Allow me to summon Mr. Jefferson. May we reschedule the meeting to a time that will allow him to attend?”
“No.” Number Fifty-six startled her with the firmness of his denial. “We have an emergency and it must be dealt with now.”
“I shall inform his people. They shall find him, wherever he is.” And he’d better not be off-site, she thought. She sent a complete message to her assistant, so that the message could get forwarded to Jefferson.
If he didn’t show, she would have him stripped of his rank. It was one of the few privileges of her office: she could strip anyone of rank for not following procedures, particularly in an emergency. It was a power she couldn’t use lightly, but in this instance, she would consider it.
“We shall continue without him,” Number Fifty-six said.
Ammer looked at Ogden with undisguised panic. So the human representative from Mars believed she was in over her head. Then Ogden had to stall as best she could.
“Forgive me,” she said again to Number Fifty-six. “I am afraid I am the human with the highest rank in the room. If you feel you must continue, then I am afraid I must act in Mr. Jefferson’s stead until he arrives.”
“You are the protocol chief,” Number Fifty-six said. “It is not allowed.”
“I am afraid it is required,” Ogden said. “Earth Alliance Protocol Code 20745. 25, governing human-Disty relations states—”
“Very well.” Number Fifty-six clasped his hands together. He had already known that code, yet he had initially denied it.
Ogden felt her heartburn flare. Yet another enhancement that she didn’t want. Her sour stomach was reflecting her moods too much these days—and this mood was barely contained fright. She knew Alliance protocols, but not the protocols for dealing with the Disty on an extreme level.
“Please,” she said, “update me on the crisis.”
“It is not a crisis,” Number Fifty-six said with that same defiant tone he had used earlier. “It is a deception.”
Ammer’s expression became even more alarmed. The three humans behind her had bowed their heads, probably so that Ogden couldn’t see their expressions.
Where the hell is Jefferson? She sent to her assistant.
We still can’t find him,, Sorensen sent back.
Then get his second here. Now!
“I am afraid I was awakened from a sound sleep and not informed about the intricacies of this,” she said. “I know that the Disty are in turmoil on Mars—”
“In turmoil?” Number Fifty-six switched to English, a language that the Disty were far more comfortable with.
If things got much worse, he might switch to his own language, and then Ogden would need an interpreter. She spoke thirty different languages, but she didn’t have the nuances down for negotiation in all of them. She didn’t trust herself in Disty.
“Your people have contaminated our lands,” he snapped. “It has been going on for decades, and has, in the past few days, cost many Disty lives. The humans and the Disty can no longer coexist. Not on Mars. Perhaps not anywhere.”
Ogden felt her breath catch. Ammer bowed her head, and Ogden felt as if she had lost her support.
“Contaminated?” Ogden asked.
“I cannot explain all of this to you,” Number Fifty-six said. “You probably know of it. We believe your kind has planned this deception since our paths crossed, and it has finally come to fruition. What we need now is a clean area for our contaminated population to resettle while we figure out how to clean them. Then we must decide what to do with the Domes. We will not abandon them to the humans.”
How could Disty-human relations have broken down so badly in the hour that she had been asleep? What had she missed?
The best thing she could do until Jefferson arrived was to keep Number Fifty-six talking.
“What do you propose to do with the Domes?” Ogden asked.
“We have limited choices. Unfortunately, we must find out from your leaders where the grave sites are before we can do anything, and we must trust your people to remove the bodies. Either that or we shall have to demolish the Domes, find someone else to dig up the land, and burn its contents. Perhaps we’ll be able to rebuild. Perhaps not. The economic loss will be devastating. The loss of life has already been horrifying, and there will be more to come if you do not cooperate with us.”
Send someone! She sent to her assistant. Now!
She did not wait for his answer.
“We shall cooperate,” she said. “I am afraid I don’t completely understand the level of disaster. May I take a short five minutes to review the emergency, consult with some human leaders, and see what we can do in this situation?”
Ammer kept her head bowed. The other humans hadn’t looked up either.
Ogden wondered if she was doing something wrong.
Number Fifty-six continued to stare at her.
“I am sorry for your understandable anger, and I realize the need for haste. I must admit that I am out of my depth here, and uncertain about what my options are. I would like—”
“We do not care what you would like,” Number Fifty-six said. “We have discovered criminal duplicity among your people. It’s causing an unprecedented crisis among mine.
We might have to abandon Mars. Have you thought of that?”
Of course she hadn’t. She had no idea what he was even talking about. How could the Disty abandon Mars? They ran Mars.
“Please,” she said.
He waved both hands upward, a Disty gesture of disgust. “Take your five minutes. A dozen Disty lives will be lost in that amount of time, but you humans have already shown that you don’t care.”
She didn’t move. She wasn’t sure if she should. His words gave her permission and took it away in the same breath.
“Go,” he said. “Do not waste time standing here or I will know that you are part of this conspiracy!”
Ogden fled the room, forgetting the dismissal bow until she was already in the hallway. She put her hands to her too-warm face. Sorensen stood there, his eyes wide. He was chewing on his lower lip.
He had obviously monitored the meeting through her links. She didn’t care.
“Did you find Jefferson?” she asked.
Sorensen shook his head. He sent, rather than said, I think he’s in hiding.
“Son of a bitch.” She had to think. Protocol. A grievance of one member of the Alliance against another. A serious grievance. Some groups liked to settle in public, but this sounded too extreme. If Jefferson wasn’t here to deal with it, then she would need someone else to take over. “What about his second?”
“Not answering.”
She sighed. She couldn’t do much without them, and the Disty wanted immediate redress.
“All right,” she said. “I need everyone from the delegation of the Allied Human Worlds. Get me Earth’s ambassador as well. Mars’s human representative is already inside. We’ll need everyone we can get.”
“They won’t fit into that room.”
“I know,” she snapped. “Open a council chamber. And send security to find Jefferson. If he or his second are anywhere in the compound, I want them seized and brought to the chamber immediately. Do you understand?”
“It’ll create an incident,” Sorenson said.
Ogden nodded. “That’s the least of our problems.”
Thirty-five
By the time Flint returned to his office, the news was all over the nets: something serious had happened in Sahara Dome and the Disty were fleeing. The news reports were confused. No one knew what had upset the Disty, nor did anyone entirely understand why even more Disty fled after a bullet train went through Wells. Someone had called the problem a cascade, and it certainly seemed like one.
Flint locked down his office, muted the wall screen, but kept it running
news in several windows—all of them with text scrolling along the bottom. He let his desk screens rise, and had two of them run dummy files, filled with names and crises long past. He configured the third so that it was no longer attached to his internal network. Then he ran the most sophisticated debugging program he had. He had to make certain no one was listening before he made his next few calls.
The work took him five minutes longer than he wanted it to. He sat at his desk, a little sloshy from all the coffee he’d had, and jittery as well. He wasn’t sure if the jitters came from the caffeine or the news he’d had: first, Costard’s death, and then the Martian crisis. Something was very wrong here.
Finally, the debugging program finished and he locked in the new security protocols he’d designed. Then he sent queries to the Human Police Department in Sahara Dome, using Costard’s name, and reminding them that they had asked for a Retrieval Artist.
The queries bounced back to him instantly with this message:
The human officials in Sahara Dome are dealing with a Dome-wide emergency. Please monitor the nets and resend your message when the emergency has cleared. If you are trying to reach a loved one, send your query to Sahara Dome Human Emergency Services, and someone will contact you as soon as possible.
Flint had been afraid of something like that. He had waited too long. Still, he went through every name in the police department. He kept his system cycling, then opened another window and checked the notes he had written in his own personal code after he had agreed to take the case.
He found names in there of the people Costard had worked with directly. Most of them belonged to the Medical Examiner’s office. Generally, in a Dome-wide emergency in Armstrong, the medical examiner and his staff would be in their lab. Flint might be able to get through there.
He double-checked his information, then sent his message through to the medical examiner herself, a Sharyn Scott-Olson.
To his surprise, she picked up. An image formed on his screen: a too-thin woman with age lines around her mouth and deep circles under her eyes. Behind her, shiny tables were barely visible, along with sinks.
Flint turned his own camera on visual. However, his was trained only on his face. No background views allowed. The camera’s controls couldn’t be changed through outside links. The person on the other end saw Flint’s face against a black background. If that person tried to tinker with the view, the background absorbed the entire image.
“You’re the Retrieval Artist that Aisha hired,” Scott-Olson said. It was not a question, but Flint answered as if it were.
“Yes.”
“You realize we’re in hell here,” Scott-Olson said. “I might lose contact with you at any time.”
“Then I’ll get right to it,” Flint said.
“First, is Aisha all right? I haven’t heard from her since she let us know about your hire and put the requisitions through for that rather exorbitant payment.”
Normally, Flint would have explained the payment, but he felt the time pressure as well. “I’m sorry. Apparently, the authorities here haven’t contacted you.”
Scott-Olson seemed to lean in closer to her camera. “About what?”
“Aisha Costard,” Flint said. “She’s dead.”
Scott-Olson closed her eyes. They remained closed for a good minute, as if she couldn’t quite absorb the blow. Finally, she squared her shoulders, then opened her eyes again.
“How?” she asked.
“It looks like a Disty vengeance killing,” Flint said.
“Looks like?”
He nodded. “From what she told me, the Disty wouldn’t get near her, and the detective in charge says that the work on the killing was sloppy.”
“Sloppy?” Scott-Olson sounded as if she couldn’t comprehend the word. “You don’t believe it’s a vengeance killing.”
“I don’t know,” Flint said. “Would the Disty hire out the killing if they couldn’t do it themselves?”
“Normally, I would say no,” Scott-Olson said. “But nothing is normal right now. You know what’s going on here?”
“I know that the Disty are fleeing your Dome. I know nothing else,” Flint said. “I’m not even sure of the cause.”
“They’re not just fleeing,” Scott-Olson said, “they’re dying. They’re trampling each other and taking air-cars outside the Dome—anything to get out of here.”
Flint frowned. “I’ve never known the Disty to be irrational, at least not within the confines of their rules and culture.”
“Me, either,” Scott-Olson said, “but they’re overwhelmed.”
“By?”
“The corpses. We found a mass grave that dates to long before the Disty came here. The Disty can’t deal with the contamination. It’s so bad, in their view, that they’d rather die themselves than stay here.”
Flint rubbed his palms on his knees, feeling the dampness from his skin. He was suddenly nervous. “A mass grave?”
“You know of it?” she asked.
“I was contacting you because of Lagrima Jørgen,” he said. “She’s connected to a massacre in Sahara Dome.”
“A massacre?” Scott-Olson asked.
So Flint told her what he knew about the massacre and about the scheme Jørgen pulled. “I figure her death might be connected.”
“That explains it,” Scott-Olson said.
“What?” Flint asked.
“We found the mass grave beneath the spot where we found her,” Scott-Olson said. “I was going to tell Aisha, but I never got the chance. I didn’t want to do it on an open link because—”
Her voice broke, then she shook her head.
“Because?” Flint prompted.
Scott-Olson gave him a rueful smile. “Because I didn’t want the Disty to find out. I had no idea what they’d do.”
“But they did find out,” Flint said.
“Yeah.” There was a lot of regret in that word. “Can you tell me who died in this massacre? Maybe we can find their relatives and get this place decontaminated.”
“I can’t tell you much. I just wanted to pass along this information. In fact, I was hoping you could tell me about it. My sources are pretty slim.”
“I hadn’t heard anything,” Scott-Olson said, “but then, I didn’t know where to look. The bodies were mummified, and we hadn’t had a chance to date them before the craziness started here.”
“I can tell you when they died,” Flint said. “And I can research where the survivors are. I have their names from Jørgen’s scam. I have to warn you, though. Most of them were in the Outlying Colonies when she found them.”
“Great,” Scott-Olson said softly. “We’re never going to find a solution to this.”
“You’re closer now,” Flint said.
“Send me what information you have,” Scott-Olson said. “I’m trapped in this building until…until everything slows down here. I won’t have a lot to do until the first bodies get brought in. Maybe I can see what we have in the official records.”
“I’d try some unofficial records as well,” Flint said.
Scott-Olson nodded. “It’s not a coincidence that Jørgen’s body was on that spot, you know.”
“I know,” Flint said. “That means someone in Sahara Dome recognized her, knew what she did, and killed her.”
“Someone who truly hated her, I’d think,” Scott-Olson said. “Perhaps a survivor?”
“Again, it might be easier for you to investigate that than me,” Flint said.
Scott-Olson shrugged. “I’ll do what I can. That building had been up for thirty years. Whoever killed Jørgen did so a long time ago, and might be long gone.”
“Or long dead.” Flint leaned forward and placed an elbow on his desktop, intrigued despite himself. “If we find the killer, will that be enough to stop the Disty?”
Scott-Olson’s expression grew serious. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one else seemed to be listening.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe it would
have if we were only dealing with Jørgen, which was bad enough. But you have no idea how crazy it is here. We’re not sure what’s going to happen from one minute to the next.”
“You’re not in danger from the Disty, are you?” Flint asked.
She shrugged. “There’s talk among some of the senior officials that the Disty might just destroy the Domes. They won’t care if humans are inside when they do it. As far as the Disty are concerned, we’re contaminated too.”
Her voice shook at the end of that. She was obviously frightened, but trying to stay busy so that she couldn’t think about it.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Flint asked.
“Have you ever gone up against the Disty, Mr. Flint?”
“Yes,” he said. And it hadn’t been pleasant, not any single time it happened. Mostly because the Disty were so attentive to detail that they never committed any crimes. The Disty only prosecuted them, according to their laws.
Their very vicious laws.
“Then you understand,” Scott-Olson said. “If I survive the next week, I’ll consider myself lucky.”
Flint nodded. He was about to sign off when Scott-Olson leaned even closer to her camera and lowered her voice.
“Do you have any idea why the Disty killed Aisha? They seemed to be cooperating with her when she left Mars.”
“She was killed in the office of a Disappearance Service,” he said, leaving out the fact that he had recommended she go there.
“Oh,” Scott-Olson said. Her cheeks flushed. “I do understand. If I could, I’d hire one right now.”
Flint wondered about the wisdom of saying that on a government channel. His side was secure, but he doubted hers was.
“Surely you don’t mean that,” he said, trying to cover for her.
She smiled, obviously understanding what he was doing. “It’s all right, Mr. Flint. The Disty aren’t listening, and even if they were, they wouldn’t care. Right now, we’re trapped here as effectively as if the Disty had designed it. They’ve taken all the trains, stolen aircars, and jammed the exits from the Dome. Even the port is overrun. There’s no leaving Sahara Dome, even if I were courageous enough to wander out of this building.”
Buried Deep Page 21
