The Enigma Score

by Tepper, Sheri S

  ‘Poor (predestined to sorrow, condemned, doomed) creatures,’ caroled a young giligee, solo voice. ‘If the Mad One has done this thing, the next time it will kill. The Mad One always talks once, then kills the next time. The Loudsinger(s) will undoubtedly die.’ The giligee voice soared, and Bondri closed his eyes in appreciation of that voice, even as he shivered at the words.

  ‘True,’ quavered the old priest, taking a comforting bite of fruit. ‘If any Loudsingers go trying to sing to the Enigma again, undoubtedly the Enigma will kill them all.’

  10

  In his hovel on the outskirts of Splash One, Brother-minor Jeshel, whip-hand of the Society of Crystallites, Worshippers of the Holy Ones, Gods Incarnate on Jubal, finished beating his handmaid and looked around for someone else who might need admonishment. Brother Jeshel was almost certain the Gods Incarnate had spoken to him in a dream. He seemed to remember something of the kind happening, and had his handmaid not interrupted him, he would have remembered it clearly enough to tell The Three and maybe be allowed to testify to a vision in temple.

  Sister Sophron lay on the floor, half naked and weeping.

  ‘Get up,’ he snarled. ‘And don’t wake me up like that again.’

  ‘A messenger came,’ she sobbed. ‘From her. I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘The messenger could wait. Cover yourself. You’re disgusting like that.’

  Since Sister Sophron had not removed her gown, the accusation was unjust. Nonetheless, she pulled the rent fabric to cover her back and shoulders and tried to tie it in front, noting in passing that several of the ties were pulled off. Brother-minor Jeshel had wakened in a rage.

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘The messenger?’

  ‘Who else are we talking about, slut! Of course, the messenger.’

  ‘He says he’s from her, the wife.’

  ‘Ah. Tell him I’ll talk to him in a bit. Get yourself dressed. You’ll need to get yourself into town, to your job.’

  Shuffling and holding the gown together at her waist, Sister Sophron left the room. She did not meet the messenger’s eyes when she repeated Jeshel’s remarks, nor did she look back to see how they were received. At the moment she could think only of getting to the privy before she threw up. It wasn’t right of Jeshel to beat her when she was like this. She had thought it would be better on Jubal, but it was no better, not at all. Brother-minor Jeshel was no different from comrade-insurgent Jeshel. He used slightly different words, that was all. Back on Serendipity Jeshel had said ‘Revolt’ and ‘The Cause’ and ‘The-rotten-management, with all its bootlickers.’ Now he said ‘Presences’ and ‘Evangelism’ and ‘The-rotten-BDL with all its flunkeys’ – Tripsingers and Explorers included – but it still came down to yelling and burnings and killing people from behind. It still came down to Sophron earning their living while Jeshel conspired. It still came down to blood and bombs and being beaten on when you were pregnant. Vomiting copiously, Sister Sophron cursed Brother-minor Jeshel and wished for the moment she had never told him what that Explorer knight had said when Sophron had been cutting her hair.

  Behind her in the filthy hall, Rheme Gentry made a face to himself and went on humming quietly. He was very weary, having returned from Northwest only very late last evening, but he would not sit down. There was nothing clean enough to sit on. Eventually Jeshel would show up, dirty and uncombed, probably bug infested as well, though that would be difficult on this planet. There were no human parasites. Perhaps Jeshel had evaded quarantine in order to have some shipped in. Rheme had not yet met Brother-minor Jeshel, but he had heard about him: a lower level functionary in the Crystallite hierarchy, but one reputedly responsible for a good deal of general terrorism and disruption. After sending Tasmin Ferrence to find, and one hoped to assist, Don Furz, the four conspirators, Vowe and Vox, Middleton, and Gentry, had discussed various Crystallites as a possible source of information, and Brother Jeshel had been their unanimous choice. Rheme, it was decided, should put on a modest disguise and a false name to interrogate the man. Rheme amused himself by thinking what his uncle would say to all this. The director of CHAIN wouldn’t be delighted at the risk, that much was sure.

  He set that uncomfortable thought aside and considered various names for the group that was getting itself together here on Jubal. They might name it the Quarter-nine Conspiracy. Or perhaps the Card Game Connivance. The most accurate title could be Four Against the Tide. Although according to Thyle Vowe it would be vastly more than four when the Tripsingers learned what was going on – those who didn’t already suspect.

  Besides, it was wrong to think of it as a conspiracy. A counterconspiracy, rather. A counterintelligence group. This allowed for some additional names. The Jubal Operation. He rather liked that one.

  ‘What’a you want?’ The voice was unaccommodating. Gentry turned to see the Crystallite standing behind him, as lank haired, stubble faced, and smelly as had been described.

  ‘My name is Basty Pardo,’ Gentry advised him. ‘The Governor’s lady is interested in how her little project is coming along.’ His name had been Basty Pardo once, and he was certain that the Governor’s lady was interested in a good many things. Rheme avoided lies whenever possible.

  Brother Jeshel grunted. Gentry was a type he hated instinctively. He was clean and fit looking, with good teeth. Such men couldn’t be up to any good, so far as Brother Jeshel was concerned, but he couldn’t insult the man. Not now. Not yet. He chose divagation.

  ‘I’m interested in how my own little project is coming along! Some troopers took some of my people the other day. Out toward the Great Ones we was watchin’ over. Heretics came right by the Great Ones, and when we chastised ’em, the troopers came. She told us she’d keep the troopers off us.’

  Rheme put on his voice of cold command. ‘If you’re talking about your attack on the Tripsinger and his acolytes who came through the Mad Gap, it was stupid of your people to interfere. The Governor can keep the troops off your neck so long as you don’t assault people, Jeshel, but once you start throwing things, the troopers will move. Nobody can stop them.’

  Jeshel glared at him in astonishment. The pretty boy could talk hard at any rate. ‘The Governor can command ’em.’

  ‘Not when it’s a case of public order. They have standing orders for situations like that. The Governor can keep the troopers from rounding you up – at least for a while – but he can’t give you immunity. You know that.’ It all had a fine authoritative sound, and Rheme wondered briefly if he was saying anything at all true or relevant to the situation. In most situations, sounding authoritative was good enough.

  Jeshel grunted. The assault on the Tripsinger had been a calculated risk. He hadn’t really expected to get away with it, but his people were getting restless, eager for some real confrontation. There had to be an incident soon, something major, or some of them would start to backslide.

  ‘The Governor’s lady wants to know what’s going on,’ Rheme repeated impatiently, hoping the man would respond. It would be dangerous to stay too long or to talk much more than he already had. A wrong word and the filthy fanatic would catch on to the fact that Rheme knew next to nothing and was fishing for information.

  ‘I don’t know. It was only yesterday. I sent some people, but they haven’t come back yet.’

  Nor had Donatella Furz come back yet, at least she had not by the time Rheme left Northwest City. Nor had the starkly handsome Tripsinger and his acolytes, come to that.

  ‘Did you send some of your followers?’ This seemed a safe question.

  ‘Nuh. Not real members. Some people I know.’

  ‘You think … ah … this time they’ll succeed?’

  ‘I sent enough of ’em. Four of ’em. If she got sent out yesterday, like was promised, my people should’ a caught up with her about dark.’

  ‘Heavens.’ Rheme took out his handkerchief and fastidiously wiped his hands and brow, deciding to risk it. ‘That should be enough to deal with
one Explorer, shouldn’t it? But then, we have to remember, you didn’t succeed either time before.’

  ‘What’a you mean, either time?’ Jeshel scowled at the smaller man, a suspicious snarl crossing his lips. ‘Wasn’t any other time. This is the only one.’

  ‘Is it only once? Well, it may be. The Governor’s lady uses other people as well. Well, I’ll give her your message. Meantime, tell your people to stay out of trouble, Jeshel. Burn themselves up all they like, but don’t throw rocks? Hmmm?’

  Outside in the street, Rheme unlocked his car in the face of twenty scowling Crystallites who had materialized from various hovels and alley openings, carefully not looking at any of them. They were the kind of beasts that were threatened by a direct look. When he drove off, it was to the clatter and splat of missiles hitting the car, but he felt cheered that it was nothing worse than that.

  Though his own temporary office was at Government House, he drove directly to BDL Headquarters and parked in the back, not in the courtyard. That courtyard, like that of the citadel next door, was under fairly consistent surveillance by Honeypeach herself, who liked to know who was going and coming from Splash One. Inside the building, he slipped down a flight of back stairs and into an untenanted cross hallway. At the end of it was an unmarked door, and he knocked softly in an insistent pattern.

  ‘Gentry?’ someone whispered.

  ‘Me,’ he agreed, slipping through the door as it opened a crack. ‘Good heavens, do we have to go through all this whisper and skulk?’

  Gereny Vox lifted one eyebrow. ‘There’s no eyes or ears in this room, Rheme. It’s maybe the only room in the whole BDL building you can say that about. Reason there’s no eyes is that this is the mule breeding files down here. Who the hell cares about the mule farm files, right? I’ve got a reason to be here. You don’t. Better say it quick and get gone.’

  He sighed, wiping his forehead once again. ‘Get word to Thyle that you were right. Honeypeach traded favors with Brother Jeshel to get Don Furz killed. He sent four men, but it’s the only time he has sent anyone.’ He wiped his forehead and ran his finger inside his high, tight collar. ‘Gereny, it’s hotter than the Core Stars down here.’

  ‘Keeps the files from gettin’ musty. You got anything else?’

  ‘No. How did you find out about Honeypeach anyhow?’

  She spat, ritually, without moisture. ‘Two dumb stall cleaners at the stables here in Splash One, yakkin’ about stuff while they should be shovelin’ shit. Didn’t see me in the stall fixin’ Tinkerbell’s leg. Both of ’em sort of Crystallites. Not the hard core kind, but the hangers-on. Well. One of ’em has a brother, and he says his brother’s been sent with some other guys off to Northwest. To do in some Explorer knight, so he said. They were all paid a good bit to go. Said the knight would be sent out on a mission and they could kill her when she was on her way back, because the Governor’s wife wanted her dead.’ She spat again. ‘I told Thyle and he called you and Jem for a meetin’. You were late, but you heard the rest of it. We guessed it was Don Furz, she bein’ the only one much in the public eye up there, but we didn’t know ’til I called the Priory it was all goin’ to happen so soon.’

  ‘I may be able to find out a little more, as I’m not known around here yet, and nobody but the four of us knows I work for the PEC. Are you getting anywhere?’

  ‘We’re puttin’ two and two together.’

  ‘According to Jem there seem to have been two attempts on the Explorer’s life in the past, plus the one yesterday,’ Gentry mused. ‘What made Jem suspicious that somebody tried to kill Furz before?’

  ‘Jem’s got a birdy over in BDL Exploration Division.’

  ‘Birdy?’

  ‘A little spy. Somebody low down in the ranks, somebody no one pays any attention to. Probably some data clerk or communications expediter. Jem didn’t say who, and we didn’t ask. Well, the birdy says the orders sending Furz out to Redfang the first time weren’t to standard. Somebody’s approval missin’, something not right. And Jem found out today the orders sending her out there this last time weren’t any more legitimate than the first ones. Both sets were boggled.’

  ‘Boggled?’

  ‘Faked! Some wallmouse creepin’ out at night to boggle orders. Who do you suppose? The Explorer King? I’d put my chits there. Easy enough to tell, Gentry. You’ve got the connections. Find out whether Chase Random Hall has accounts on Serendipity. If he’s got money there, it’s nine times sure he’s your wallmouse, sendin’ his own Explorer off to get killed.’ Her face writhed briefly at the thought of this betrayal.

  Rheme Gentry made a quick note. ‘Don’t count on my being able to find out anything, Gereny. Mail to Serendipity’s being censored or just lost, even the diplomatic stuff from Government House. BDL controls the ships, and except for a few odds and ends, messages aren’t getting through.’

  ‘Now how do you know that?’

  ‘I had acknowledgment signals worked out, things to be planted in the system news, outside the BDL net, and they aren’t showing up. Jubal’s getting zipped up tight, Gereny. I’ll see what I can find out about Hall, but I wouldn’t fasten on him too quickly. It could be someone else. Hall’s a little conspicuous. I’d bet on someone less noticeable.’

  ‘Poor Donatella,’ Gereny mused. ‘Nice gal. Met her three or four times, always pleasant. No snoot to her, like some of those Explorers. Hope she’s all right.’

  ‘Well, we’ll hope Tasmin Ferrence got there in time to help her out. Jeshel said he sent four ruffians, but if they were the quality I saw hanging around in the Crystallite quarter, the stun rifle should have increased the odds in our favor. Those two attempts before bother me, though. Brother Jeshel claims no part in those …’

  ‘Even if it is the Explorer King, I’ll bet he’s not acting on his own. I’d like to know who’s giving the orders.’

  Price Zimble sat at the feet of the Explorer King, gently stroking the King’s knees and calves. Chase Random Hall, while relishing the sensation, affected not to notice this intimacy.

  ‘Then what did you do?’ the King asked. ‘After Donatella got back from Splash One?’

  ‘I hung around,’ said Zimmy. ‘I’ve been hanging around for days.’

  ‘She hasn’t asked for you since?’

  ‘Not once.’

  ‘You’ve been through her room?’

  ‘Over and over again. There’s nothing there, Chase. A few odds and ends of papers and things she’s working on, and her own things. That’s all.’

  ‘No messages?’

  ‘None that aren’t ordinary. You know. Ralth asking her to have dinner, or Martin inviting her for a drink, or something like that. A thank you note from her old cousin down in Splash One.’

  ‘It could be code.’

  ‘Code! For heaven’s sake, Randy. It said, “Dearest Donatella, thank you so much for the nice lunch. Do give my best to your mother. Love, Cousin Cyndal.” If you can make code out of that….’

  The King made an irritated moue, his mouth twisting unattractively. ‘Nothing more about the man down in Splash One, the one that died in the Chapter House?’

  ‘Nothing. No one knows who he is or who sent him. Unless you do.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Zimmy. Justin sent him. Who else?’ His voice was not as sure as the words.

  ‘What do you want me to do now?’

  ‘In the unlikely event she comes back from this Redfang trip….’

  ‘Unlikely event?’ Zimmy opened his eyes very wide in ingenuous surprise.

  ‘Somebody saw to it she got sent, idiot, and it wasn’t me. I saw the orders! They were boggled. Why did the powers that be send her off into the Redfang anyhow? There’s nothing there that really needed doing.’

  ‘Powers that be?’ Zimmy was all innocence.

  The Explorer King sounded irritated. Parts of the puzzle didn’t fit. He, the King, had been told not to do anything to Don Furz. But someone was doing something to Don Furz. Who? And why? He didn’t lo
ok closely at Zimmy. If he had, he might have surprised a glimmer of amusement in Zimmy’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t ask questions, Zimmy. The less you know the better off you are. And if she does come back, be there and don’t look surprised.’

  ‘Well, of course, Randy,’ said Zimmy with a hurt expression. ‘I have better sense than that.’

  Maybelle Thonks listened to her stepmother singing and cringed inside. Honeypeach only sang when in the ascendency, and Maybelle hated to guess whose bloody and recumbent bodies her father’s wife must be currently and unmelodically stomping over.

  ‘Problem?’ asked Rheme Gentry. He had just come out of the Governor’s office with a stack of papers, which he placed on his desk. ‘Anything the Governor’s aide can do to help?’

  ‘Honeypeach is singing.’

  ‘Ah?’

  ‘It probably means she’s just killed somebody.’

  ‘May Bee.’ It was said softly, but unmistakably as a warning.

  ‘Well, it does.’

  He whispered. ‘It may, but we are not going to say so. Not inside Government House. Not anywhere where we might be overheard. Are we?’ He took her hand and led her out onto the wide terrace, which extended along two sides of the house, well away from concealing shrubbery or roof overhangs.

  When they were clear of the building, she said, ‘Rheme, how do you stand it?’

  ‘Well, I confess I was somewhat dismayed when I arrived to take the job as your father’s aide and learned exactly what his wife thought that entailed.’

  ‘How did you keep out of her clutches?’

  ‘I told her I had picked up a virulent and sexually transmitted infection on Rentree Four, that it was currently in remission but still quite communicable, and that the symptoms of the disease in women included complete atrophy of the breasts and other genitalia.’