Since then, they had taken over the entire room.
It was comfortable, with windows on all four sides. The windows opened onto the corridors, but that didn’t matter. It made Goudkins feel like she was in the center of everything.
Apparently, the room had initially been designed for Popova, but she hadn’t been able to see the elevators from here, so she moved into what Goudkins would have called the hallway. Popova had to control everything when it came to who was on the floor and where they were going.
In the offices where Goudkins usually worked, some kind of android handled reception.
Popova was too important for reception—she was DeRicci’s right hand (and more)—but she needed to know everything happening on the floor, maybe even in Armstrong, and she felt that this room was simply too isolated.
It was a little isolated, which was why Goudkins relaxed a little here. She could get work done without being bothered.
Although after the meeting with DeRicci, Goudkins knew that her days in this particular office were numbered. She couldn’t do the kind of research that DeRicci wanted from here. It would be traced back to the Moon.
Goudkins would have to do the research from her ship, which was dicey all by itself. She had sworn she wouldn’t let Ostaka know what she was doing. They didn’t share a ship; they had arrived at different times from different places, but because they were partners on this case, they had access to each other’s ships.
And, in theory, both partners kept track of each other.
Ostaka was hunched over a screen, a steaming cup of coffee beside him. He was the only person in the building who looked like he hadn’t missed a meal or a night’s sleep. He said that was because he’d been through a lot of tight situations before, and he was used to them.
Goudkins believed he looked—and stayed—calm because he had nothing to care about here. He hadn’t lost anyone on the Moon during Anniversary Day, like she had, and he counted the Peyti Crisis as a win, even though there had been a lot of collateral damage.
He really hadn’t been that involved on the day of the crisis either, so he hadn’t seen everything in real time.
She wondered if it would have affected him; she had no idea. Even after weeks of working with him, she didn’t know what he did or didn’t feel passionate about. He had no real family anywhere, although she had no idea if he had had a family once, and he was tight-lipped about his friends.
He was one of those people who had become all about the job and, in her opinion, it showed.
“Did you find out what happened to the Peyti clones off-Moon?” she asked as she slid a screen toward her. She would probably do some preliminary set up here, then claim she needed to investigate with their secure systems…if she told him what she was doing at all.
He looked up at her, a frown on his face. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s important,” Goudkins said.
He shrugged. “The presence of those clones off Moon got reported up the food chain. I’m sure that someone took care of it. We don’t need to double-check everyone’s work.”
Her breath caught. “I think we do. Other people could die if there’s going to be a second attack with those clones, and people off the Moon don’t seem to understand how serious this all is.”
You don’t seem to understand how serious this all is, she almost added, but didn’t. It was hard to keep quiet about his attitude. She didn’t want to alienate him further.
“It’s not our job,” he said, looking down. “We’re investigating here.”
“The chief asked us—
“And we don’t work for her,” Ostaka snapped. “You might do well to remember that.”
Goudkins cheeks warmed.
“I thought we decided to work together so we wouldn’t duplicate investigations,” she said after a moment.
He shrugged again. Whatever was on the screen seemed a lot more important to him than this conversation.
“Lawrence,” she said. “We agreed—”
“You’re too emotionally involved.” He didn’t even look up as he said that. “I’ve already reported that to headquarters. You really are paying attention to the wrong things.”
She crossed her arms. “You want to tell me what you’re doing? What you’ve discovered? Because as far as I can tell, you haven’t made a single breakthrough in any of these cases.”
“I’m reviewing entry logs for the port,” he said. “I’m tracking the Frémont clones.”
“Back to where?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. She had tracked them on the way here. The ships had come from a variety of places, and the Frémont clones had met here. What he was investigating had already led Goudkins nowhere.
“I figure we look at how they paid for their transport.”
“I already did that,” she said. “So did the Port of Armstrong. We’ve come up with nothing. You’re duplicating a five-month old investigation.”
He raised his head, looking at her over the screen. “Reviewing old work for missed information is a legitimate investigation tactic. In fact, it should be done on cases like this where the initial investigators were too tired, too stressed, and too emotional to do a good job.”
She let out a small breath. “You’re serious.”
He nodded.
“The Moon’s been attacked twice, and all you can think to do is repeat investigations that are closed. You’re not following new leads and you’re not doing anything of value.”
“That’s your opinion,” he said, “and as I noted when I reported to headquarters, you’re too emotionally involved to have any clear-eyed view of any investigation.”
She remained quiet for a long moment, not trusting herself to speak. If she said anything, she would sound as emotionally off the beam as he accused her of being.
When she could trust her voice, she said, “No wonder you’re always available for the next job. You have no ability to see beyond your own ego. You’re one of those little men who are so insecure about their own abilities that the only way you can succeed is by tearing down others.”
His eyebrows went up. Had no one spoken to him like this before?
“Well,” she said, “a person like you might do well in standard investigations. But this one isn’t standard. It involves millions of lost lives, and a lot of work to prevent another attack. You pride yourself on being the only one who sees everything clearly, but you see nothing. You only want the next promotion.”
His mouth twisted into a condescending smile. “You have no control over my career. We’re colleagues. You’re not my boss.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not, so I’m not going to worry about the way you waste your time. I’ll just request another partner. Excuse me.”
She left the room and made herself breathe deeply. And then she smiled.
A real smile.
She had recorded their entire conversation, which would help in her request to replace him. Even if he had been reporting bad things on her, it didn’t matter. His contempt would get him taken off this job.
But all of that mattered even less than the gift he had just given her. His ego had just enabled her to work on her ship with the secure connection, and not explain why she needed to.
He would think she was doing it just to tattle on him—and, truth be told, she was. But she would stay there and investigate all the things that DeRicci had asked for, because, unlike Ostaka, Goudkins believed in cooperation.
She and DeRicci wanted the same thing.
They wanted to solve these attacks on the Moon.
They wanted to prevent another attack on the Moon.
And they wanted to keep the Alliance stable.
Ostaka might say he wanted those things, but it would only be lip service. He really wanted to keep moving up in the bureaucracy—and he didn’t care who he stepped on to do it.
He might have stepped on her these last few weeks, but he had picked the wrong target.
She would ge
t him out of this investigation, and she would figure out what was going on here, if that were the last thing she ever did.
THIRTY-TWO
SENG DIDN’T KNOW what to think of the rumpled detective standing before her. Bartholomew Nyquist’s clothing needed tailoring, and his face seemed mismatched.
Halfway through their conversation, Seng realized that Nyquist’s face was horribly scarred, and he hadn’t used any enhancements to fix it. Which meant that the grey threading his hair was probably natural as well.
He looked tired and sadder than anyone had a right to. But he seemed sincere.
She had watched him from the moment he arrived. After she had shouted at him through the building’s security system, he had paced the area where Zhu had died, picking up little things, and putting them in evidence bags. She made sure that the guard had recorded all of his actions, although she knew everything was on the security feed as well.
When Salehi got here, he would have to deal with the guard and the security firm he had hired. The guard had said that the crime scene lasers were no longer necessary, that they interfered with his work, and that they needed to be taken down.
If Nyquist was to be believed, then the guard had made a huge error, one that could have an impact on Zhu’s murder case. If there ever was a murder case.
She wasn’t sure she believed Nyquist on that.
She wasn’t sure she believed him on anything.
Still, he had come here—alone—and he seemed sincere. She particularly liked his answer to the question about justice for the Peyti clones. He had delineated between an intellectual response and an emotional one.
She was having the same sort of response to Zhu’s death.
She had a hunch that Nyquist knew it.
“I’ll send you the footage,” she said, her heart hammering against her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was reacting that way because she was afraid of Nyquist, afraid of what he would do with the information, or afraid of what might happen to her if Salehi found out she was cooperating with the local police. “Do you have a secure link?”
This is it, he sent her. Send the footage on this link.
She had about a half a second in which to back out. She ignored that half second and sent the footage—all of the footage—from the entire day.
Her mouth had gone dry.
Thank you, Nyquist sent.
She nodded.
“Now,” he said aloud. “Can I ask you some questions?”
She glanced at the guard. She didn’t want him to hear anything.
“We probably should go inside,” Nyquist said.
“No,” she said firmly. She knew Salehi wouldn’t approve of that. Zhu wouldn’t have either. Neither of them would want the police to know how very new this law firm was. Nor would they want the police to know how inexperienced the lawyers were—at least with Armstrong law.
“It looks like you want to talk in private,” Nyquist said. “I just thought…”
“Here’s fine,” she said, arms still crossed.
“All right,” he said quietly. He glanced at the guard too, as if the guard’s presence bothered him as well. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
She almost said, “You have the footage. You’ve seen the beginning.”
But she didn’t. Instead she waited, trying to keep her legal mind alert to any traps that Nyquist might be setting.
“First I need some background,” Nyquist said. “I need a sense of Zhu. All I know about him is the legal connection to the Peyti clones. How long have you known him?”
Here it was: the beginning of the trial of Torkild Zhu. Maybe it hadn’t been police officers, someone might say. Maybe it had been a disgruntled client, or an old friend with some tougher friends brought along for assistance.
“Ms. Seng?” Nyquist asked a little more pointedly. “How long have you known Zhu?”
She swallowed hard.
“Twenty-four hours,” she said. “I just met him yesterday.”
THIRTY-THREE
GOUDKINS USED HER palm to open the last lock on the small ship the Earth Alliance had assigned her. She stepped inside. The air smelled slightly stale.
“Ship,” she said. “Refresh.”
A wisp of air touched her black hair, and sent a shiver through her. The air felt cool. It probably was colder in here than it was in the conference room in the Moon’s security offices. She had forgotten how warm she had felt when she first arrived, only weeks ago.
It seemed like she’d been involved in these investigations for a hundred years.
The ship had narrow corridors that led to the small pilot’s bay, the three private rooms, and the large investigative area. The ship wasn’t really designed for travel; it was designed for an on-site investigation, with set results.
The ship’s cargo level, underneath this one, had a small cargo bay and two large cells, complete with android guards. Right now, the android guards were off and stored in the bay, but should Goudkins need them, she could activate them with three very simple codes.
Ostaka didn’t know she was here. She had shut off the protocols that notified him of any entry into the ship before she left the Security Office. That way, if Ostaka investigated the change in ship’s status, he would find nothing.
But the records of Space Traffic Control here in the Port of Armstrong confirmed what Goudkins’ investigation told her as well: Ostaka hadn’t responded to the notification of the change in the protocols. She doubted he had noticed.
Goudkins sighed, then changed the access passwords on the ship. Not to bar his entry: he could get in if he believed that she was injured, but only if he got clearance from headquarters.
She made sure the alarms were activated so she would hear if anyone entered the ship. Then she went into the investigation room.
The networks here had fifteen levels of security built in, not counting the security tied to the ship itself. The ship created its own system wherever it went, so that it never used the systems developed by local governments.
So many of Goudkins’ colleagues spent their entire careers investigating local governments within the Earth Alliance that trusting those governmental systems was foolhardy in the extreme.
She slipped into the chair in front of the system she always used for investigations. That way, if there were any questions about the conduct of the investigators, the trail would be easy to retrace. The ship itself backed up every keystroke, every vocal command, every thought-link connection, so that no one could change the information on the various systems—at least, not without some serious skills.
Neither she nor Ostaka had those skills.
She ran a hand through her hair.
This was the moment at which she took control of the investigation.
She opened a secure channel to Ava Huỳnh, her immediate supervisor. Then she used a special encrypted link.
It would take a moment for the contact to reach Huỳnh.
Goudkins pulled another console toward her. She would investigate while she waited. She had a lot to look into, and she would do it whether Huỳnh approved or not.
As if summoned by that thought, a hologram of Huỳnh appeared on top of the second console. She was wearing all pink, including a touch in her bangs, and the outfit only made her seem ridiculous.
Huỳnh was a tiny woman anyway, and for that reason people often underestimated her. Her clothing didn’t help.
What she lacked in fashion sense, however, she had in brains. She was the most intelligent investigator Goudkins had ever worked with. And she was a compassionate boss.
“I was wondering if I’d hear from you,” Huỳnh said.
Goudkins decided to play coy. “Why?”
“Because Ostaka says you’ve been co-opted by the natives. He’s filed a detailed report about all the stuff you’re doing to help them.” Huỳnh appeared to be standing in her office, but her image was so tiny that Goudkins couldn’t tell.
She thought of expanding the
image, but that would make Huỳnh too real. Goudkins wanted to keep some measure of control, at least in her own mind.
“We’re not getting along,” Goudkins said.
“Obviously,” Huỳnh replied dryly.
“He’s not investigating,” Goudkins said. “He’s just double-checking everyone’s work. I don’t think he’s left the Security Office for the United Domes of the Moon except to sleep for days.”
“Because of his investigation?” Huỳnh asked.
“Because—I don’t know. He doesn’t interact with anyone there, and he is pretty hostile to me. I recorded our last interaction, if you want to see it.”
“I do,” Huỳnh said. “Send it to me.”
She didn’t ask Goudkins if he had done the same. On the way to the port, Goudkins had gone over every recent interaction she’d had with Ostaka. She couldn’t think of anything a supervisor would find amiss in her behavior with Ostaka.
But then, she wasn’t a supervisor.
Still, she sent the last conversation to Huỳnh. Goudkins knew that Huỳnh wouldn’t go over it until this meeting ended.
“Was that it?” Huỳnh asked.
“No,” Goudkins said with surprise. “Not at all. I planned to contact you before I had that little altercation with Ostaka.”
“All right.” Huỳnh shifted slightly as if her feet hurt. And if she wore the pointed, high-heeled shoes that she often wore when she was trying out new fashion, then her feet probably did hurt. “What’s up?”
“A couple things,” Goudkins said. “First, I’ve been working closely with the Chief of Moon Security, Noelle DeRicci. She’s the closest thing the Moon has to a leader right now.”
“Closely?” Huỳnh asked.
“She would like me to investigate a few things through the Alliance servers rather than the Moon servers. She’s worried that someone might monitor Moon investigations and block them.”
Vigilantes Page 18
