NINETEEN

_C

oren almost reached for her, to pull her into Wenithal’s apartment. Jeta Fromm tensed, looked left and right, then, with a harsh sigh of frustration, stepped forward.

            “Shut the damn door, gato,” she muttered.

            She stopped halfway between Coren and Wenithal, who still held his pistol in her direction. Coren closed the door, the soft snik bringing her around to face him again. Her long, almost gaunt face showed anger and fear. She blinked nervously. Coren glanced at Wenithal, who now looked away, hands clasped in his lap.

            “You’ve wrecked my life,” Jeta said suddenly. “That’s going to cost a bit more than my usual fee. “

            “Where’ve you been?” Coren asked. “I tried to find you right after--”

            “Right after you gave me away to the sanitaries? What happened, did they offer you more credits than your wildest imagination? Or did you just decide to piss on some warren rat for fun and see how long it took her to die?”

            “The ‘sanitaries’?” Ariel asked.

            Jeta glared over her shoulder. “Who are you?”

            Coren cleared his throat loudly. “Sanitaries are enforcers. They clean up things. Sanitation workers.”

            Ariel made a silent “Oh” and nodded. “How clever,” she said. “I’m Ambassador Ariel Burgess from the Auroran Embassy. Pleased to meet you, Ms....?”

            “This is Jeta Fromm,” Coren announced. “The freelance data troll who found Nyom for me...then vanished before I could thank her for doing basically what she’s accusing me of.”

            “Me?” Jeta shouted. “You vatdrip! Someone’s tried to kill me twice since I talked to you, once right after you left with the data I got you. Second time was at the Lyzig tube station, morning after I took off.”

            “Did Cobbel and Renz tell you I was looking for you?”

            Jeta frowned uncertainly, just for a moment, then looked away. “I was looking for you myself.”

            Coren caught Ariel’s eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

            “Who did you tell about the baleys?” he asked.

            “You,” Jeta said.

            “Who else?” Coren took two quick steps toward her. She backed up only one. “They were all murdered, Jeta! Fifty-two dead baleys! Someone knew they’d been found, and killed any possible witnesses! If I’m the only one you told, then how did they know?”

            “I’m asking you the same question! How did they find me?”

            “I don’t know who ‘they’ are. And if I’m one of them, why would I have to ask ‘them’? You’re not making sense.”

            Jeta glanced from Ariel to Wenithal, then back to Coren. “I didn’t tell anybody.”

            “Then you were traced. “

            She scowled. “I’m better than that, there’s no way--”

            “My system was compromised, and I can afford a hell of a lot better protection than you can.”

            Jeta shook her head. “Don’t brag on it, gato--that’s how I found you. “

            It took Coren several moments to understand her meaning. “You broke into my system?”

            She nodded. “It was hard, you’ve got a good one, but...”

            Coren looked at Ariel. “But--”

            “Someone piggybacked in with you,” Ariel said. “Your system’s still compromised.”

            “Who are they, Jeta?” Coren asked. “Who’s trying to kill you?”

            “Ask them, gato, I got my own problems!”

            “I’d love to, but it could be fatal. Who are they?”

            Jeta swallowed loudly. “All I know is, I handed over the data to you and went back to my hole! Two of ‘em were waiting for me before I got there!” She looked at him narrowly. “I thought you’d had them standing by for after you got what you wanted.”

            Coren shook his head. “Then why follow me? If I set you up, this is the surest way to get yourself killed.”

            “I said that’s what I thought. I thought it then, not now.”

            “What changed your mind?”

            “I checked you out. It’s not too often you find an honest cop.”

            “Then--”

            “Good cops go bad.”

            “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He looked at Wenithal, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring them, drinking his coffee. “If I went bad--”

            “I didn’t know where else to go! All right? I don’t trust any of my usual contacts! I thought I could make an arrangement with you. “

            “If I were still a good cop, I’d help you. If I were bad, we could do business.”

            “Something like that.”

            “I’ve been trying to find you for over three days.”

            “I know. Why?”

            “I thought you’d double-marketed the data.”

            Jeta’s face hardened. “I don’t do that.”

            “Then how did they know about the baley shipment?”

            Jeta let out her breath slowly. “I’m a good troll, Mr. Lanra, very good, but I’m not the only one. If I could find out, so could a dozen others, easy. If I was you, though, I’d ask the people running the baleys to begin with. If anyone’d know…”

            “I thought about that. I’ve been trying to find them. “

            “No luck?” A mocking smile tugged at her thin lips, even though her eyes still showed fear. “Maybe you need to hire a professional. “

            “Fine, then,” Coren said tersely. “You’re hired.”

            “My fee’s doubled,” Jeta said.

            “I don’t mind, I have an expense account.”

            “I have expenses, we’re even. What you want to know first?”

            “First? What are you doing here?”

            “Following you.”

            “So you say. You want to tell me why? The truth this time.”

            Jeta looked around. “Do you mind if I put my stash down? Thanks.” She set her pack on the end of the table by the sofa, then dropped into the cushions with a loud, relieved exhalation. “You botched my ride, gato. Then you almost got me killed. I thought that, anyway. I figured if anyone could solve my problems, it’d be the gato who caused them all to begin with.”

            “What do you mean, I botched your ride?” She gave him a guilty look. “Confession time: I found that data for you as fast as I did ‘cause I already had it. I was slated to go on that shipment. I had a berth with them. “

“I’ve been trolling for almost sixteen years,” Jeta explained. “It’s not a bad life if you don’t mind the occasional hassle from police--public and private--and planning for the very long term. Some of us get good enough that we get hired as staff somewhere, go completely legitimate. Finding lost data is a full-time industry in some quarters. Can I have something to drink?”

            Ariel went into the kitchen again and returned with a glass of water. Jeta sniffed at it, frowned, then shrugged and drank.

            “Anyway, you have to understand how much data there is on this planet. I’m talking centuries of accrual. It never entirely disappears. Overwritten, archaic storage media, just plain misplaced, misfiled, or misremembered. It sits in layers, piling up, lumping together. Whole AI systems are devoted to sifting through it all, but it occasionally takes a deft hand, intuition, a lucky guess--human qualities you just don’t find in a machine. There are specialists who do it, going through stuff that’s really old. Some of them start out legit and move into freelance, but for most of us it’s the other way around. There’s a hardcore bunch that never go legit.

            “Mostly though, it’s not much more dangerous usually than any other job. It’s been understood for a long time that the troll isn’t a target; you don’t damn well shoot the messenger. Killing us hurts everyone. And then there are the clearing houses that offer protection and anonymity, and some corporations keep their best trolls on retainer and offer defence. Worrying about sanitizers is just not a big issue. I’ve been beaten up a couple of times, but no one has ever--ever--threatened my life.

            “Till now. About three months ago I was retained to find some old minutes from a board of directors that no longer exists. This kind of thing isn’t my most common job, but I’ve done a few. It’s surprising how careless some corporations are with old data like this. I think it’s just arrogance--that was the old board, they didn’t do anything right, why bother keeping the minutes around, and if there’s no legal reason to do so, they just shove them somewhere. A new board is like a new government and anything that happened before them is by definition full of error. Nothing unusual, standard fee, I got a few leads where to start, and I went trolling. Turned about to be a real challenge. I could find traces of it, but it was obvious someone had gone to some trouble to hide it. Took me nearly a month to recover enough of it to make any kind of sense. I found it hiding in stockholder reports, maintenance logs, spread out through portfolio surveys, resumes, spread sheets. Bits of it even turned up in vacation itineraries. The program that hid it was sophisticated enough to actually reconstruct it all with the right command sequence, so it was obvious someone wanted to be able to recover it, otherwise a lot of it would have been corrupted beyond recognition.”

            Jeta grinned proudly. “But I did it. I found it all and reassembled it and put it into a package for the client. I was finishing it all up when I got a message on my comm that said, ‘If you deliver what you have, we will kill you.’ Very simple, very direct. Somehow, I didn’t think it was crank. We don’t get them often, but we do get threats, and there are procedures for dealing with them. I turned it over to my controller at the clearing house and delivered my package per our contract. When I got back to my hole I found a new message: ‘You were given fair warning.’ That’s all it said. “

            “No signature?” Ariel asked. “No source?”

            “That’s all it had to say, ‘cause it wasn’t the words that scared me, but the timing. I knew then I was being monitored--closely--and that my own system had been hacked.”

            “Did you try to trace it?” Coren asked.

            Jeta scowled. “Of course I did! It ate at me. I’ve been scared before, especially back when I started out, but this was different--this had an edge to it. After a couple of days and I was still scared, I started making plans to disappear. I did my accounts, added things up, and it looked like I could make it work. I reconfigured my system three times to purge the intruders, then made inquiries to emigrate. I always wanted to, anyway--it was one of my two or three top retirement options. This decided the issue for me.

            “No way I’d get my assets through ITE. I’d have to go baley and smuggle what I could. Meantime, I just kept on as always, living my life, doing business like I always had, making no moves I’d never made before. No flags, no warnings, nothing to tell anyone that anything had changed. The final vetting came through Baltimor for the Petrabor Egress--that’s what they called it--and I started arranging everything to be ready to transfer at a heartbeat.

            “Then you showed up with your request for data on the same baley group. I knew if I refused, you’d just use another troll and in the end it’d be the same result. I had to change my plans. I thought first maybe you were working for the gatos who’d threatened me. So I ran your profile. Imagine my surprise when I saw ‘Special Service’ pop up, then DyNan Manual Industries. What I saw, it didn’t make sense you’d be hunting down a troll for anybody.”

            “I appreciate that,” Coren said with mock sincerity.

            “That didn’t change anything. I couldn’t know what I’d find if I turned up for my ride out.”

            “You might have asked me for help. “

            Jeta shrugged. “Couldn’t. Not then.”

            Coren nodded. “I understand.”

            “Yes, well. So I left everything as it was, kept the arrangements intact, and made different plans. I did your job, handed over the data, and headed home to disappear. That’s when I was attacked. I got away by being just small enough for some crannies others can’t use.

            “No one waited for me at my hole, so I cleaned up, packed my stash, and ran. I made plans to go to the Bering port. I don’t know how they figured that one, but the same gato found me at the tube in Lyzig.”

            “How did you escape that time?” Ariel asked after a long silence.

            “Screamed.” Jeta gave them a wan smile. “Too many people, too much attention. He walked away. I felt like a fool standing there in the middle of the platform yelling at the top of my lungs. But not so foolish I wouldn’t do it again if I had to. That’s when I decided to find Mr. Lanra here. I thought to myself, ‘He started all this, he can fix it: “

            “I wish I could, Jeta,” Coren said. “I had no idea.”

            “I saw that pretty quick--you weren’t part of those gatos trying to kill me. But you fouled up my egress. You drew attention to it. For all I knew, you were going to show up with immigration cops and arrest them all. I couldn’t take the chance. Now...” She swallowed loudly. “I want out, Mr. Lanra. I want away from Earth. I want my life. I’ll work for you till you can do all that for me. “

            “I’ll try, Jeta. I can’t promise. I don’t even know who these people are. They hacked my system, too.”

            Jeta blinked, her eyes moist. She nodded calmly and looked at Wenithal. “Who are you?”

            “Forgive me, I’ve been remiss. I’m Ree Wenithal. This is my apartment.”

            “Ah. Nice place.”

            “Thank you. “

            “Jeta.” Ariel leaned on the back of the sofa. “That job you did, the minutes...who was it for?”

            “Umm...there’s a small matter of confidentiality involved. I’m not sure--”

            “Someone is trying to kill you over those minutes,” Ariel said, her voice intensely reasonable. “I think it would be understandable for you to set confidentiality aside in this instance.”

            Jeta nodded. “Yeah, well...it was an intermediary, you understand, but I checked into him before I accepted. The contract was from Myler Towne of Imbitek.”

Jeta claimed to be dead tired. Wenithal showed her into his bedroom and let her sleep. He went into the kitchen and returned with another cup of coffee. His hand shook slightly as he poured it.

            Coren said nothing. He joined Ariel on the sofa and spoke quietly.

            “That’s not Jeta,” he said.

            “Then who is she?”

            Coren shrugged. “Maybe we’ll find out. It’s interesting, though--Towne tried to hire me away from Looms. Someone tried to assassinate Towne. He doesn’t trust his own security anymore.”

            Wenithal came back into the room and, cup in hand, sat down in a chair.

            “Alda Mikels is being released from prison in a couple of days, “ Ariel said.

            “If you’re wondering if there’s a connection, I’ve been wondering that, too. But what would a disagreement between Mikels and Towne have to do with a bunch of baleys?”

            “Perhaps,” Wenithal said ponderously, “the connection is sleeping in the next room.”

            “Seems rather heavy-handed,” Ariel said, “to murder fifty innocent people just to get one. Especially after the thing you’re trying to prevent has already occurred.”

            “You mean the delivery of the data she found?” Coren asked. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but...we have more murders to explain, though.”

            “Brun’s,” Wenithal said. “Ms. Fromm said she went through the Baltimor District to set up her egress?”

            “She said that, yes,” Ariel confirmed.

            “Brun headed the ITE customs office in Baltimor, “ Coren said. “But...”

            “Ghost connections,” Wenithal said. “Implications, suggestions, hints--nothing solid. Except that Brun is dead.” He stared down at his coffee, eyes narrowed.

            “Nyom had nothing to do with any of them,” Coren said.

            “But her father did,” Ariel said. “Maybe Nyom’s mystery brother did, too.”

            “Oh, definitely,” Wenithal said.

            Coren looked at him. “When I told you Nyom had died, you said something about ‘both of them now: What did you mean?”

            Wenithal scowled. “You heard that?”

            “I cheat a lot,” Coren said. “You’re not denying it. What did you mean?”

            “Rega Looms did have a child before Nyom. A son. A very sick son. A UPD.”

            “I’ve heard that abbreviation before,” Ariel said, “but I’ve never been clear on what it means.”

            “Untreatable Physiological Dysfunction,” Coren said.

            “I know what it stands for. But what’s untreatable? Even if Terran medicine can’t deal with something, we have some agreements covering humanitarian aid. Spacer medicine is--”

            “Unable to deal with these,” Wenithal said. “I’m not clear myself on what they are, but some of them are horrible. Most are just chronically debilitating illnesses; a good portion of them are transmissible. The only recourse is quarantine. Looms’ first child contracted one when he was barely a year old.”

            “So it was institutionalized?”

            “Had to be. The law. And it died shortly thereafter. I imagine it crushed him. It would me.”

            “How did you come to know about it?” Coren asked.

            “Rega Looms was one of the principle investors in Nova Levis,” Wenithal explained. “A research firm established to take advantage of some of the first influxes of Spacer med tech. Everyone thought it would take off on the market, but it didn’t do well the first couple of years. Then, suddenly, it had almost unlimited cash flow.”

            “Black market?” Ariel asked.

            “Worse. It turned out to be the main channel for all those missing babies. We shut it down.”

            “That’s not what the record says,” Coren pointed out. “Nova Levis was cleared and operated long after your investigation. “

            “The record often disagrees with reality,” Wenithal said. “The truth was that too many important people had invested in it and too many of them had embarrassing connections with it. Very simple: We turned off the pipeline, told the public it was clear, and then put it on the market. We disassembled it without harming any of the major shareholders.”

            “That must have been an impressive list of shareholders, “ Ariel said.

            “Oh, it was! You’d be shocked.”

            “Looms divested early, though,” Coren said. “Quite some time before it closed.”

            “I think he did it out of extreme disappointment. They couldn’t cure his child, so he wanted nothing to do with it. I can’t imagine how he must feel right now.”

            “Why did you retire after all that?” Coren asked.

            “Because I wasn’t finished and they weren’t going to let me finish. I traced the kidnappings to Nova Levis, but they were going somewhere. I thought it had to be offworld. To save those prominent citizens’ reputations, I was not allowed to follow the leads. I was feted, medaled, and promoted--and basically told to drop it. It ate at me till I couldn’t stand it anymore. I presented an ultimatum: either I’m allowed to pursue the case or I quit.” He raised his hands, palms up, and let them fall.

            “You didn’t try to look into it yourself?”

            “Not very aggressively. I was already known to those involved. I knew I wouldn’t be very effective.” Wenithal shook his head. “No, this was the only way: wait for someone new, with no attachments to the old case. We couldn’t go looking for anyone because that might set off alarms in all the wrong places. “

            Coren turned all this over in his mind. It sounded just a bit glib, rehearsed, but that did not make it less true. To be sure, Ree Wenithal had been living with this for a long time. In his place, Coren believed he might have it well worked out by now.

            But Coren found it unconvincing. It did not explain Wenithal’s connection to Brun Damik, or why Damik would go to Wenithal after Coren confronted him.

            “Where was Nova Levis?” he asked.

            “Hmm? Somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, one of the undine enclaves. Um...Teluk Tolo, Indones Sector.”

            “Maybe it would be worthwhile to take another look at it,” Coren said.

            “It’s gone. There’s nothing there anymore, just a shell. It was all sold off. I think it was converted to a processing plant for raw materials or something.”

            “You won’t mind if we try, will you?”

            Wenithal sneered. “Don’t be sarcastic. I’m doing you a favor telling you any of this.”

            “Of course,” Coren said. “You’re such a model citizen. If I had more time I’d be more polite about it.”

            “Mr. Wenithal, “ Ariel cut in, frowning at Coren, “you’re expecting trouble. Have you been followed?”

            “Not that I know of, but they killed Brun. I’m next, logically. What would you think?”

            “I think you should move somewhere safer.”

            “And where might that be?”

            “The Auroran embassy. I don’t think you can be gotten to there.”

            “You think?”

            “I don’t know what exactly we’re up against. Do you want me to lie and guarantee your safety?”

            “We wouldn’t want you to do that. “ Wenithal shook his head. “I’ve never run from a fight. Besides, it might look odd.”

            “You’d look very odd crushed to death,” Coren said.

            “Crushed?”

            “Judging from the victims we’ve seen, it looks like crushing is the favored method.”

            Wenithal considered that and shuddered. “I’ve never been to the Auroran embassy.” He shrugged. “If it would put your minds at ease...”

            “I could always leave you here with Jeta,” Coren said then.

            Wenithal frowned at him.

            “How long have you known her?” Coren asked.

            “I don’t--”

            “Stop it. She didn’t follow me here. She came to see you.”

            Wenithal laughed. “Why would a data troll want to see me?”

            “I can’t think of a single reason. But she’s not a data troll. You were waiting for someone to show up tonight, someone you thought might kill you. So far, we’ve shown up, and Jeta Fromm has shown up. “ Coren held up his hands. “Is there a mistake in my logic?”

            “You’re guessing,” Wenithal said.

            “So, do you stay here, or do we go to the Auroran Embassy?”

            Wenithal sighed. “All of us?”

            “I’m not letting Jeta--or whatever her name is--get away from us.”

            “If she’s not Jeta,” Ariel said, “then who--?”

            “I’m guessing a woman named Tresha,” Coren said. “You‘ve done business with her before, Mr. Wenithal. but I imagine you’ve never done any with her partner--Gamelin. “

            Wenithal stared at Coren now with undisguised resentment. “Like I said, I’ve never been to the Auroran Embassy before. “

            “If I’m right, getting there might be an interesting problem,” Coren said.

            Ariel smiled at him. “Leave that part to me.”

            Coren turned away, muttering under his breath, “I knew you were going to say that...”

TWENTY

_T

he morgue was a bit cooler, though Derec wondered how much of that was simply psychosomatic illusion. He stood to one side, near the big entrance, while Sipha Palen and her chief forensic specialist, Baxin, went through the logs.

            “Fifty-one,” Baxin said finally. He looked at Palen. “There were fifty-two when we brought them in here.”

            “So a corpse got up when you weren’t looking and walked out?” Palen’s voice made everyone cringe.

            Baxin shook his head, less intimidated than bewildered.

            “Not only that,” Palen went on, “but it cleaned up its container and put it back in storage!” She wheeled around at the pair of security men nearby. “Didn’t anybody pay attention to the monitors? Nobody saw a thing out of the ordinary?”

            Derec leaned back against the wall. The TBI agents stood nearby, looking slightly embarrassed on Palen’s behalf. But Derec could see the impatience in their faces.

            Palen stopped herself before she continued her rant. With sudden and surprising calm, she said, “I want the monitor records gone over. I want to know when the dead got up and walked out.”

            Her two officers, with evident relief, left quickly. Palen came up to the TBI agents.

            “I’m disinclined to turn anything over to you,” she said, “but under the circumstances, maybe we can share resources. Avery here has been working on recovering the memory from that robot. If he succeeds, we’ll all know what happened. If you remove it now, all his work will be lost and you’ll be starting from scratch. “

            “That’s not--” one of the agents began.

            Halwor raised his hand and cut her off. “As you say, Chief Palen, ‘under the circumstances.’ “ He looked at Derec. “How soon, Mr. Avery?”

            “We were less than an hour away from the first recoveries when you showed up. “

            “Then, let’s go see what you have.”

Rana was waiting for them when they arrived in the lab. She frowned upon seeing the TBI agents trailing behind Derec and Palen. She came forward, stopping right in front of Derec.

            “Boss, we have a problem,” she said.

            “Yes, I know. There’s a discrepancy in the bodycount.”

            “Yes, there is. The robot is gone.”

            It seemed to take a long time for the information to register. Derec stared at Rana. “What?”

            “The DW-12...left.”

            Derec pushed past her and entered the workstation. The pallet was empty, the cables all neatly removed and retracted into the diagnostic link.

            “When--?”

            “What happened, Avery?” Harwol asked. “What did you do with the robot?”

            “Nothing. Obviously, I’ve been with you. Rana?”

            Rana looked embarrassed. “I had some personal business to attend. When I came back, the unit was gone. “

            “Thales?” Derec asked.

            “Yes, Derec?”

            “Where’s the DW-12?”

            “At this precise moment, I do not know.”

            “Did someone remove it?” Harwol demanded.

            “No,” Thales said. “However, I have everything requested from it. I have organized the recovered memories and prepared them in a linear scroll for viewing.”

            Derec, uncertain and nervous, sat down at the console. “The excavation is complete, then?”

            “I have a complete document of the robot’s memory, Derec. “

            The TBI agents looked uneasy.

            “Um...any preferred mode of replay?”

            “All options available, Derec.”

            “Flatscreen and full auditory will be fine, Thales. “ Derec turned to the gathered audience. “If you’ll all spread out along the blind, please, we can put this on a few screens and you can all see.”

            “I want an explanation, Avery,” Harwol said. “That robot is evidence--”

            “Maybe we should pay attention to the main question, “ Palen said, “of what happened to those people.”

            Harwol frowned, unmollifled, but he nodded curtly. “Very well.”

            While they arranged themselves, Derec made sure the link was feeding to Ariel through Thales. He glanced back to see that everyone was ready.

            “Okay, Thales,” he said, “let’s see what you have.”

            Four screens above the console cleared simultaneously. A few seconds later, a single view filled them all.

The group of baleys gathered around the two people facing each other in their midst. The woman--Nyom Looms--looked angry, impatient. The man, dressed in dockworker’s dull yellow togs, faced her stoically, arms folded, waiting for her to finish.

            (“Is there audio?” one of the TBI agents asked. “Thales,” Derec prompted. “Incomplete. I am working on filling gaps.”)

            Nyom Looms raised one hand, finger aimed at the dockworker, and almost jabbed him. He dropped his arms and said something.

            (“Pocivil,” Palen mused. “What’s that?” Harwol asked. “Nothing,” Palen said.)

            “--forming you now--have backup--prepared. It’s the same as it was, only different. A new canister. We are professionals. “

            The robot turned toward the group. Someone was working his way forward and had come to a halt at the very edge of the half-circle.

            A window appeared at the lower right corner of the screen, and a series of faces scrolled quickly by, matching text on the left. The words NO MATCH appeared in place of the faces. The robot moved toward the stranger.

            (“That’s Coren,” Palen said. “Who?” one of the TBI agents asked. “Later; “ Palen said.)

            “All right,” Nyom said. “But if this turns out to be anything but copasetic, I’ll peel your skin off with pliers. Tell your people we’re ready.”

            Suddenly, Coren stepped forward, a half-smile on his face. The robot reached him at that point and gripped his right arm. Coren looked up angrily, but his expression changed quickly to fear.

            “I apologize, sir, but I must ask that you come with me.” The robot walked him back through the crowd of baleys, who looked frightened and angry themselves.

            They emerged from the crowd and continued on to the next bay. The robot stopped. Coren gave it another nervous glance, then turned abruptly.

            “Damnit, Coren!”

            Coren smiled wanly. “Good to see you, too, Nyom.”

            She hissed through clenched teeth.

            “Don’t tell me you’re surprised to see me,” Coren said.

            “I’m not. That’s what bothers me.”

            Coren nodded toward the robot. “Umm...”

            “Coffee, go see to our arrangements.”

            “Yes, Nyom,” the robot said.

            The robot--Coffee--released Coren and returned to the group of baleys. It worked its way through them. Some cringed from it, but most stood their ground with stolid expressions, afraid but unwilling to show it.

            Coffee emerged from the huddled refugees just as the dockworker returned, followed by four individuals. The window appeared at the lower left again as Coffee attempted to find matches.

            One of the four was another robot.

            (“Looks like a DM-70,” Rana whispered. “But what’s that?”)

            One of the four looked distinctly artificial, surface a smooth, dull gray, but it was far more humaniform than either of the other two robots. Coffee gave this one a close examination. The view zoomed in on its head. Human-imitation eyes peered back. It wore close-fitting black: shirt, pants, and soft boots, which seemed silly for a robot.

            (“Look at the way it moves,” Derec said.)

            “Everybody ready?” the dockworker called out. He turned to Coffee. “Where’s your boss?”

            “One moment.”

            Coffee made his way back to where Nyom and Coren stood talking. It stopped a short distance from them. “Nyom.”

            Coren started and Nyom laughed. She began to reach toward him. “Coffee won’t hurt you. What is it, Coffee?”

            “Time.”

            “I’ll be right there.”

            Coffee returned once more to the group of baleys. “She is on her way, “ it told the dockworker.

            “All right,” Nyom’s voice snapped. “Let’s get this boat sailing, shall we?” She stopped upon seeing the newcomers, frowning. “Who are these?”

            “My dock crew,” the first dockworker informed her. “It wasn’t hard to get everybody else to go out for a drink, but I think they’d draw the line at longshoring an illicit bin and loading up a bunch of baleys, don’t you think?”

            Nervous laughter came from the group of baleys. Nyom nodded, her eyes on the strange robot.

            “This way,” the dockworker said, leading them through the open bay.

            They passed through the huge doorway. The baleys stopped on the broad apron between the warehouse doors and the maze of tracks upon which cargo bins scurried en route to and from the shuttle fields of Petrabor port. One bin came almost directly at them, stopping abruptly on its magnetic rails less than five meters away. Its door folded down.

            “Okay, folks,” the dockworker said, clapping his hands. “Here’s the drill. Inside you will find an array of bunks--acceleration couches--each one with a breather mask attached to a rebreather. There’s enough air in the bin for the ride up to Kopernik and the transfer to the ship that’ll take you on to Nova Levis, as long as you use the rebreather. One of my associates here will ride up with you and make sure you know how to use the masks and will stay as security till you make the transfer to the ship. Once aboard ship, you will be released from the bin and provided regular berths for the main leg of the voyage. Once you are secured in your couches, do not--I repeat, do not--get out of them. There isn’t enough room for floating around, and you could injure yourselves. Any questions?”

            He looked around. Coffee was paying attention mainly to the unusual robot.

            Abruptly, that robot stepped forward, approached Coffee, and made a show of examining it. It moved with a sinuous fluidity that belied its artificial nature, making one slow circuit around Coffee and coming to a halt directly before it.

            The skin seemed to ripple briefly. Suddenly, it looked to its left. As Coffee watched, the skin changed hue and texture, dappling and darkening.

            “Nyom,” Coffee said, “I recommend against this. We should abort and try another avenue.”

            “Why, Coffee?”

            The strange robot regarded Coffee with an attitude of almost human curiosity, as if to say Yes, Coffee, why?

            “I am unable to define my reasons, “ Coffee said. “The situation has too many unexpected variables. For instance, I do not know what this is.” Coffee aimed a digit at the robot before it.

            “Come on, “ the dockworker said, exasperated. “We don’t have time for this shit! The crew will be back any minute--you take it or leave it. You drop this ride, your chances of getting another one go way down.”

            Nyom turned to her group. “It’s up to you,” she said. “Do we go?”

            The refugees murmured among themselves briefly, then hands went up. “We go,” most of them said.

            Nyom frowned as she turned to the dockworker. “I repeat: anything goes wrong on this, I’ll have parts of you as souvenirs. “

            “What, you think we’re going to ruin our reputation? Come on, we’re professionals--we do this all the time. Now, can be get a move on?”

            “Coffee,” Nyom said, “you just pay close attention to everything. “

            “Yes, Nyom.”

            The robot facing it spun gracefully and walked up the ramp, into the bin. The baleys filed in, one by one.

            Nyom hung back, close to Coffee. “What’s wrong, Coffee?”

            “That robot--” Coffee began.

            “The tally doesn’t add up,” the dockworker interrupted. He held up a pad. “I did a head count. We’re missing one.”

            “I know,” Nyom said. “It happens. Someone gets cold feet at the last minute; they don’t show. Can’t call it off on account of one or two who change their minds, can you?”

            “No, I suppose not. But my people don’t like it.”

            “I don’t care what they don’t like.”

            The dockworker shrugged. “So we have one extra couch. Everyone else showed, though?”

            “Everyone else did.” Nyom gestured. “Where’d you get that robot?”

            “Gamelin? Didn’t get him anywhere. He’s part of the connection on the other end.”

            “He’s...different.”

            “He is that. Well, you ready? Everyone else is on board.”

            Nyom nodded and walked up the ramp. Coffee followed.

            Within, the light was dim, provided mainly by a single flash held by the robot, Gamelin, and the readylights on the hulking rebreather unit in the middle of the deck. Gamelin was helping people settle into the couches that were stacked to the ceiling, and answering questions in a quiet, raspy voice. Coffee began checking those already settled in.

            The hatch came up, then, and Gamelin activated the internal seals. Coffee squatted by the control panel of the rebreather and began running a diagnostic.

            “Don’t you trust me?” Gamelin asked.

            “What model are you?” Nyom asked. “I’ve never seen one like you. “

            “You won’t again,” Gamelin said, turning toward her. “Better get into your couch. “

            The bin lurched and Nyom nearly fell. Gamelin caught her arm and steadied her.

            “No talking,” Gamelin announced. “Uses too much air.”

            Coffee did a second check on the rebreather. Everything read optimal. It straightened and watched Gamelin help Nyom with her straps.

            “And the mask--”

            “I have my own,” Nyom said.

            Gamelin hesitated. “Very efficient.”

            Coffee approached Gamelin. “You did not answer Nyom’s question. What model are you?”

            “I’m a prototype. I don’t have a model designation. “

            “Are you Solarian? I am unfamiliar with any Auroran design even in the planning stage from which you might be derived. “

            “How long’s it been since you were on Aurora?”

            “Thirty-six years.”

            “Things might’ve changed, don’t you think?”

            “Very probably. That is why I ask.”

            “Solarian. Now get to your ready station. We’ve got ten minutes before the shuttle lifts.”

            Coffee returned to a place beside the rebreather. Gamelin climbed lithely into one of the couches.

            (“What happened? The scene shifted...” one of the agents complained. “Coffee shifted briefly to standby,” Derec explained. “Nothing recorded during an essentially uneventful period. All telemetry is on, but...”)

            The cargo bin was in freefall, on a trajectory to Kopernik on board a shuttle. Two or three people groaned. Coffee bent to the rebreather control panel and checked the readings on individual respiration.

            “There is a problem,” it said.

            “What?” Nyom asked. She pulled herself out of the couch and swam quickly to Coffee.

            (“Where’d she learn to do that?” Rana wondered.)

            “The monitor indicates distress,” Coffee said. “Breathing is becoming impaired.”

            “What the--we have a defective rebreather?”

            “Nothing’s defective,” Gamelin said, sliding across the bin. “Everything’s working fine.”

            “I disagree,” Coffee said. “According to this--”

            “Shut up, tinhead. Time to put on a standard mask, Ms. Looms.”

            Nyom shot a look at Gamelin. “What are you--”

            Gamelin reached for her. She writhed in mid-air and slammed a foot against its chest, launching herself backward. Her shoulders banged into the strutwork supporting a bank of couches.

            Gamelin pursued, one arm extended, reaching.

            “Stop,” Coffee said. “You will cause injury.”

            “Exactly, “ Gamelin said.

            Coffee twisted around and grabbed Gamelin’s shoulder. Coffee’s grip closed on softer material than expected. Gamelin jerked around beneath the grip and pulled free, hissing in clear pain.

            Coffee opened its hand and saw, in its enhanced vision, a mass of fabric and dermis mingled thickly with blood.

            The scene lurched. Coffee watched, immobile, as Gamelin chased Nyom Looms around the bin, while all around people were moaning louder. Several had ripped off their masks, gasping. Coffee looked down at the rebreather.

            (“Why doesn’t it do something?” one of the agents asked. “It’s caught in a dilemma,” Rana said. “It just hurt something that might be human. It doesn’t know what to do.” “Human!”)

            Suddenly, Gamelin caught Nyom. Coffee looked up to see her struggle briefly while Gamelin got a grip on her head and gave a short, sharp yank. The snap of bone sounded horribly loud.

            Gamelin let Nyom’s body go and pulled something from its belt. It went to one of the clear surfaces and aimed the tool. A brilliant spark leapt at the bulkhead.

            “Stop,” Coffee ordered. “You will breach the integrity of the container.”

            “Stop me, tinhead,” Gamelin said. “If you can.”

            “I--”

            Suddenly, Gamelin drew back and punched up. The loud bang filled the chamber. A moment later, he pushed both hands through the crack he had made and heaved. Blood oozed from the wound on his shoulder. Air whistled through the hole.

            Gamelin swam back to the robot and came close to its face.

            “They’ll suffocate if they don’t put their masks back on,” he said. Then he returned to his couch.

            Coffee went from person to person, urging them to replace their masks. Some were already dead, though. coffee seemed to realize then that the rebreather was poisoning them.

            It knelt by the unit and tried to run a systems purge. That did not work, so it began stabbing the DISCONNECT; all the while the air inexorably leaked from the small chamber.

Everyone stared at the now blank screens, mute, the shock clear on their faces. Derec let out his breath slowly. He looked at Rana.

            “What--?”

            “So where did that thing go?” Agent Harwol demanded explosively. “Obviously, that’s what walked out of your morgue, Chief Palen, right under the noses of your staff and your surveillance.”

            “Coren said it was invisible to his optam,” she said.

            “Invisible to your security systems, too?” Derec asked.

            She looked frightened. “What is it, Mr. Avery? You’re the roboticist. Tell us.”

            “I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it. Coffee couldn’t stop it because it was human. Or seemed human. “

            “That?” Harwol exclaimed.

            “It bled, Agent Harwol. It was--is--organic. Up to that point, Coffee assumed, as did everyone, that it was a robot...” He blinked. “A cyborg.”

            “A what?” Rana asked. “I didn’t think those were possible.”

            “Aurora stopped research on them a long time ago. Not because they aren’t possible--on the contrary, they are very possible. And much too unpredictable. “

            “We’re impounding all this material,” Agent Harwol declared. “I want every bit of it turned over to us before any more of it goes missing. “

            “To do what with?” Derec demanded. “You don’t have the first idea what any of this means. “

            “And you do? No arguments, Mr. Avery--this material is, now under TBI jurisdiction, and you are under arrest.”

            “For what?”

            “Criminal negligence, for a start. Until we find that robot, I’m holding you responsible. You were working for us on this and an important piece of evidence is missing.”

            “For the sake of--” Palen said. “Stop it. Just what do you think you’re accomplishing by all this?”

            “I’m putting the lid on a bad situation on its way to becoming worse, Chief Palen,” Harwol barked. “You’re suspended, pending an investigation into abuse of authority. You had no mandate to indulge in this sort of an investigation--”

            “You’re going to make a mess of this whole thing--”

            “Enough! I want this lab quarantined and everything in it held in stasis till I decide what to do with it. You have overstepped your authority in this matter, and the TBI is now taking over the investigation.”

            “Damn it--!” Palen began.

            Harwol aimed a finger at her as if it were a weapon.

            “Another word, Chief Palen,” he said. “One more.”

            She restrained herself with a visible effort.

            “You’re an idiot,” Derec said. “You could’ve just asked.”

            “I’m afraid, Agent Harwol, “ Hofton said then, “that you lack the authority to make arrests on Auroran territory.”

            “Kopernik Station is an Earth Incorporated Zone,” Harwol said. “Security is handled by Terran authority under specific treaty, which is why Chief Palen here has the authority to police even the Spacer and Settler areas. I am relieving her of that position and assuming that authority.”

            “That’s thin, Harwol,” Palen said. “Really, really thin.”

            “Maybe, but that’s what I’m doing. I can damn well make arrests here, and I damn well will. You may file a complaint through proper channels and it will be considered at that time, but till then I am in charge of station security and you--” he pointed at Derec “--are under arrest.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know. I was under the impression that Auroran embassy grounds were accorded the same privileges as the main mission. “

            Hofton looked agonized. Derec had never seen the man so distraught. He sat on the other side of the narrow holding cell, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched, his face stretched by internal doubt and self-loathing.

            “You can’t be expected to know everything, Hofton,” Derec said.

            “I don’t,” Hofton said. “But I should know everything about my job.”

            Derec looked across, through the mesh of his cell door, to the cell opposite his. The Spacer who had been arrested the day Derec had arrived still waited within it. In all the confusion, he had been forgotten.

            “It’s understandable,” Derec said. “Harwol and the others saw something they don’t understand. Naturally, their reaction is to put anything they don’t understand in a cell.”

            “All expectations for rational action and maturity notwithstanding,” Hofton said gloomily.

            “Doesn’t matter. The relevant point is, you still have a job. I accept your apology. Now, let’s figure out how to solve our problems.”

            Hofton continued to stare at a spot on the floor for several seconds. Then he drew a deep breath, straightened, and nodded.

            “You’re right, of course,” he said. “What do you propose?”

            “Thales withheld information for some reason. There’s no way that robot could have done anything with Thales knowing.” Derec thought about that. “Scratch that. Without Thales instigating it. Assuming for the moment Thales won’t say anything to anyone but us, then the first opportunity we get to question it alone--”

            “That may be very difficult. Harwol has an agent in the lab at all times.”

            “Hmm. All right, then the first thing we have to do is get some idea of what that thing is we saw in the recovered memories. They all saw that, there’s nothing left to hide from the TBI. Contact Ariel, go over it with her.”

            “You said it’s a cyborg.”

            “That’s my best guess, but I wouldn’t mind being contradicted. If somebody has a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”

            “Assuming you’re correct, though, what then?”

            “Then we have a real problem. Harwol and his people have no idea. If it’s a cyborg, it was certainly not created out of thin air. There’s infrastructure behind it--industry, an impressive application of technology. Which means money. More than likely, if there’s one, there are more.”

            “Whose money?”

            “That’s one good question. The other is, what do they have to do with baleys?”

            “Baleys in general, or those going to Nova Levis specifically?”

            “Right now it could be either one. When you talk to Ariel, find out if Lanra has any statistics on the number of baleys going out each year that arrive dead. Or just disappear.”

            “With all due respect to Mr. Lanra, how would he get such statistics? The Settler colonies are not all willing to provide Earth with data. Census figures alone represent a major problem.”

            “Mmm. Well, maybe he knows someone who can get those numbers. I just need to know if one colony above any other is having a problem with this.”

            Hofton nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out. Anything else?”

            “Can you go in and out of the lab?”

            “For the time being.” He grinned wryly. “I’m a bit of a gray area for them. They don’t quite know how to handle me. I’ve threatened them with Ambassador Setaris.”

            “Then get me an update from Thales.”

            “Yes, sir. Shall I see about getting you out of here?”

            “Eventually, yes. For now, though, I’ve got some thinking to do, and this is as good a place as any. “

            “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

            “Call me Derec.”

            Hofton stood. “I’ll see what I can do. Sir.”

            Hofton placed his hand against the lock pad. The door opened for him; after he passed through, the mesh slid back into place. If Derec had tried to follow Hofton a stunner would have knocked him back very firmly.

            A few minutes later, the main door opened again and two of Palen’s uniforms brought a man into the block. They escorted him into a cell at the opposite end from the main door, locked him in, and left without glancing at Derec or the other prisoner.

            Derec strained to see into the cell of the new inmate, but the man had flopped onto his cot.

            Derec looked across the concourse at the other Spacer.

            “So what did you do that got you thrown in here?” Derec called.

            The Spacer sat up. After a few seconds of contemplation, the man went to his cell door, placed his hand on the lock, and walked out. With a glance in the direction of the newcomer, he came quietly up to Derec’s door, opened it, and entered the cell. The door slid shut and the Spacer sat down where Hofton had been sitting.

            Derec stared at him. “You’re one of Palen’s people.”

            He grinned. “Right on the first guess. They didn’t lie when they said you were bright.” He extended his hand. “Masid Vorian, station security.”

            Derec shook Masid’s hand. “So I suppose you heard everything we discussed?”

            “Most of it. Don’t worry about the TBI, though. The cell monitoring system is keyed to Sipha’s password. She shut it down after Harwol and his eager fools showed up. So they’ll never know what you discussed with your man, or what you and I talk about now.”

            Derec nodded toward the door. “What about the new prisoner?”

            “Must be a legitimate arrest. His escorts would’ve given me some kind of warning if he was a plant or something. Don’t worry--I doubt he can hear our conversation, either.”

            “And what are we talking about now?”

            “The same thing.” Masid leaned forward earnestly. “You need to understand one thing: Sipha Palen is a good cop. She’s honest, dedicated, and a magnificent pain in the ass to work for as a result, but she’s sincere about the job.”

            “I never doubted it.”

            Masid nodded once. “But it gets her in trouble. That’s the reason she’s up here and not running a department on the ground. “

            “Honest to a fault.”

            “She doesn’t always know when to shut up.” He grinned. “In certain circles, it can be a real deficit.”

            “She planted you in the lab.”

            “No, I was already there. I’m a turned agent. I used to work for Settler security. Sipha found out and made a deal with me: work for her, at least part-time, or she’d expose me.”

            “Forgive me, but you look like a Spacer.”

            Masid made a mock bow. “Native of Proclas.”

            “Then how--?”

            “It’s a long story. The short version is, I was trained as an information specialist, but, frankly, it’s boring work. Proclans are agrarian by temperament, but you can’t maintain much of a civilization growing vegetables. I started freelancing. The government called it treason and I had to leave. I ran an independent merchant ship for a while, then went to work for the Theian intelligence service on Pax Commari--”

            “That’s a Settler colony.”

            “Yes, it is. Theia sponsored it. Anyway, I decided that what I was doing was crass and unethical, so I turned myself in to the local intelligence people. They had absolutely no use for me, but--lucky me--,..they knew someone who did. I ended up working for the Settler Coalition. “

            “I didn’t know they had an intelligence arm. “

            “Not very many people do. Their biggest concern is smuggling. Post to post to post, I ended up here. “ He raised his arms. “That’s the short version. Some day when we have time and a good deal to drink, I’ll give you the full version, which is a lot more interesting. “

            “So you work for Palen part of the time.”

            “At this point, I’d have to say I work for Palen all of the time. She made me a good deal. Over the last few years, I’ve found myself with a growing case of loyalty to her. “

            “That impressive?”

            “I respect her,” Masid said.

            The way he said it, Derec got the immediate sense of a vast and profound commitment; that respect was something Masid Vorian esteemed above all else.

            “All right,” Derec said slowly. “I presume that the arrangement is, you work with the Aurorans for a time and when you have something to report you get yourself arrested.”

            “Basically. Most of the time information is easily sent through a secured comm channel. But sometimes something comes up that requires a personal meet.”

            “What prompted this one?”

            “Baleys. Lots of very dead baleys.”

“There’s a regular route, always has been,” Masid explained. “The bays change, but usually they’re Settler. Baleys have been leaving Kopernik for years via the same avenues--fifty, a hundred years. We estimated that on an average year maybe five, six thousand people leave Earth through clandestine channels. Occasionally, the number goes as high as ten or twelve thousand. ITE cracks down periodically, the numbers drop to less than a thousand, then pick back up.

            “A couple of years ago we started seeing a massive surge: twelve, thirteen, fifteen thousand a year. I think this had to do with the politics, Eliton’s whole Concessionism kick, and then the collapse of talks last year. I think a lot of baleys are afraid all the avenues are about to be shut down.

            “In the middle of this frantic running, though, we started hearing rumors from some of the Settler crews that a number of shipments went missing. I started doing a little digging among my old Settler contacts. I found out that transfers were being made mid-journey by certain ships--destinations changed, baleys offloaded and sent somewhere else. Too many claims to ignore. “

            “Pirates?” Derec asked.

            “That’s an easy accusation to make. Tell me, what is pirate? Black market, certainly. But fine, let’s assume for the sake of this discussion we’re talking about pirates. Then what are they doing? A lot of so-called pirate ships are already dealing in baley running. A lot of them have quasilegal status and come into port regularly. No warrants, no evidence to hold them, we let them go. The ships offloading the baleys aren’t doing so under duress, so it’s a business deal. But for who? The money being paid by baleys and some of the recipient colonies is a lot, but I don’t see how the margin makes it worthwhile stealing the baleys after they’re already en route. So where are they being taken?”

            “You found out?”

            Masid shook his head. “Not exactly. A lot of talk has them going to Nova Levis. Of course, that’s quarantined, so it’s not likely we’re going to find any ship’s owners willing to admit they’re making runs there. The pirate ships taking the baleys on never come to Kopernik. But let’s assume that one or two colonies have hired mercenary shippers and are paying premiums to steal baleys. Why? What do baleys have that could be marketable under illicit conditions?”

            “Labor. Possibly blackmail of family.”

            “No blackmail, not a single demand. Labor, sure. But you can buy cheap labor from companies like Imbitek and Morris and some of the others. There are some colonies buying robots from Spacers. So, if it’s not labor, what is it?”

            Derec shook his head.

            “Bodies.”

            “Organs?”

            “What else? On spec I recommended that a shipload of baleys be traced and intercepted en route. A joint Auroran-Terran venture was set up. It took four tries to find a transfer, but we found one and the ship was taken. The baleys were already dead, in stasis. Medical quality stasis. Eighty-three of them. We had a few arriving shipments intercepted here and at least three of them contained already dead baleys.”

            “Why didn’t you shut it all down if you knew about the shipments?”

            “Two reasons: we don’t know about all the shipments, and we still don’t know who’s killing them and selling the corpses. Ongoing investigation; we need to keep it quiet till we can shut down the source. I know, it’s terrible. People are dying. But that’s the way it is.”

            “How many?” Derec asked.

            “So far, three hundred plus. We’ve been trying to infiltrate baley groups, see where they’re going. Our agents have been turning up dead, too. Some of them in very unpleasant ways. The worst was Chiava.”

            “Chiava?”

            “The Brethe dealer you heard about. Right here, in her holding cell. “

            “Chief Palen worked her the same way she works you?”

            Masid nodded. “She worked dockside vice mostly, not this. She found something related to my investigation. “

            “Did she have time to tell Palen?”

            “No. She was brought in while Sipha was away. By the time Sipha returned...”

            “What I don’t understand,” Derec said, “is where the market for this is. Organs can be grown--you don’t have to do gross transplants. “

            “Spacer medical tech is expensive. “

            “That’s facile. It’s also safer. The only reason...” Derec caught his breath. “The baleys in question. You identified them?”

            “As many as we could. Some had bought very expensive privacy locks on their pasts.”

            “How many of them were orphans?”

            “Orphans?”

            “Yes, orphans.”

            Masid blinked and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            “Find out.”

            “You have an idea what’s going on?”

            “Just an idea. A very tenuous idea. “

            Masid nodded. “You look like you hope you’re wrong. “

            “That, too.” Derec studied Masid for a time. “So what are you still doing in here?”

            “Oh, that. Well.” Masid smiled sheepishly. “I’m bait.”

TWENTY-ONE

_I

’ve called for an embassy limousine,” Ariel said. “It should be here shortly.”

            Ree Wenithal gave her a gloomy look, as if now regretting to go along with them. He had drunk four cups of coffee and swallowed a stimulant pill, and his mood had grown ever more somber.

            Coren scowled at him. “Don’t tell us you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to go. Would you rather wait for Tresha and Gamelin?”

            Wenithal looked startled. “Who?”

            Coren almost smiled. “Your collectors. The ones you’ve been waiting for.”

            Ariel watched them regard each other, Ree Wenithal clearly unsettled and Coren smugly observant.

            “We standing around playing Who Knows,” Jeta Fromm asked, “or moving somewhere safer?”

            Coren laughed. “Come on. Is there anything else you want to bring?”

            “No,” Wenithal said grudgingly, and stepped to the door.

            Ariel touched Coren’s elbow. When he looked at her, she pointed to his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

            “I could use some painblock and a stimulant right now,” he said, “but I can move. “

            They exited onto the balcony warily, Ariel coming out last. Third shift was still a few hours from ending and the quiet made the warren seem deserted. Coren led the way down the steps to the courtyard and out to the avenue. Ariel went last, glancing anxiously over her shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to see into the shadows. She gripped the stunner in her pocket, knowing it would be next to useless against the thing that attacked them earlier, but unwilling to release its illusion of effectiveness.

            Far to the right, at the end of the avenue, music and laughter reached them from a bar; otherwise, the area was still. They pressed back against the wall and waited in silence.

            Ariel jumped when the limousine pulled onto the avenue. The long black vehicle stopped and the rear door slid open. As they neared the vehicle, two men emerged and quickly flanked Wenithal and Jeta. Wenithal stopped short, but Jeta whirled around, glaring.

            “What is this, gato?” she demanded.

            Coren stopped before her. “It’s for everyone’s piece of mind...Tresha.”

            She frowned at him. “My name is Jeta Fromm.”

            “I doubt it,” Coren said. “But we can sort it out later, when we’re in comfort and security.” He looked at Ariel. “Is this going to cause problems?”

            “Nothing I’m not used to,” Ariel said. She addressed the guards. “Screen them.”

            One of the men took out a pad and walked around the pair. He reached inside Jeta/Tresha’s jacket and removed a pistol. “That’s all, Ambassador.”

            “Good. In the limousine, please. “

            The guard took Tresha’s pack, then Wenithal and Tresha were ushered into the capacious backseat. The guards watched them from the facing seat. Ariel went around to the passenger side front and got in.

            Coren closed the door and leaned against the jamb.

            “I’m going somewhere else,” he said.

            Ariel wanted to protest, but held back. “I see. I’ll stay with these people, then, and set them up at the embassy.”

            He nodded. His eyes shut briefly. “When I get there, I think I’d better sleep.”

            “You wouldn’t want to tell me where you’re going, would you?”

            “Not now.” He smiled wearily. “Deniability and all that. Besides, I really don’t know just exactly where...” He shook his head. “Get them to the embassy and safe. I’ll comm when I’m finished. “

            He pushed away from the limo. The door closed. Ariel watched him walk wearily away. She felt a sharp reluctance to let him out of her sight. For a moment she wanted to get out of the limousine and go with him, trusting the limo and the guards to get her passengers to the embassy.

            Not very responsible, she thought peevishly.

            Coren rounded a distant comer, disappearing from sight. Ariel leaned back in the seat, wondering at her uneasy mix of emotions.

            “Embassy,” Ariel said. She glanced over her shoulder at Tresha and Wenithal, and wondered idly how much of a diplomatic mess she had just created. Only i/they complain, she thought.

            “Yes, Ambassador,” the car replied and rolled on.

            “This is nonsense,” Wenithal said.

            “What’s changed?” Ariel asked. “You were prepared to shoot whoever came through your door earlier.”

            He glowered, then let his head fall back. Within a couple of minutes his eyes closed and his breathing deepened. Ariel wondered just how much alcohol he had drunk before they had arrived. Then she wondered how often people had thought that about her.

            Tresha glared at Ariel, straight-backed and on edge, hands pressed against her thighs. Her backpack lay on the seat between the guards.

            “That looks heavy,” Ariel said. “What do you have in there?”

            “Why?”

            “Just curious. “

            Tresha frowned. “My chops. Code bummer, datum, decrypter. Some clothes.”

            Ariel waited to see if Tresha would volunteer more. When she remained silent, Ariel asked, “Why Nova Levis?”

            “Time. There’s a list and a schedule. Nova Levis had the earliest opening. Besides, you hear there’s a lot of tech there.”

            “You do?”

            “They say, sure.”

            “It was an agrarian colony, started up by the Church of Organic Sapiens.”

            Tresha blinked at her. “They changed, then.” She shrugged. “So, do you believe Mr. Lanra? That I’m not who I say I am?”

            “Does it matter? Either you are and you need our help, or you aren’t and we need to keep you under guard. “

            Tresha shook her head. “Meddling. Spacers are always meddling. Why is that? What’s all this to you?”

            Ariel considered giving Tresha a glib answer, predigested and politic. It’s my job, I was ordered to help. True as far as it went, but Ariel had never done anything purely for surface reasons. In this case, she felt she would have been justified to tell Setaris no and let herself be rotated back to Aurora as she expected to be.

            She understood Derec’s motives--he wanted to get his hands on a positronics lab one more time. The ground mission’s lab was denied him and, though he still retained Thales, he simply could not do the research he wanted. And he wanted to stay on Earth, a desire about which she had grown ambivalent in the last year.

            She understood Coren Lanra’s motives, though she suspected there was more than he had admitted.

            Ariel even understood Sen Setaris and the policy under which she had delegated the assignment.

            But her own motives for going along with it?

            “Until two hours ago I didn’t know,” she said. “Then I saw the enemy. “

When they arrived at the embassy, Ariel summoned an extra security team to escort Wenithal and Tresha to separate apartments. “I want someone watching them full-time, highest level surveillance.”

            She went directly to her own apartment, then.

            “Any messages, Jennie?” Ariel asked.

            “Thales requests that you check in as soon as possible. “

            “Thank you, Jennie.” She tapped a code for the embassy security office. “I want an ID run, please. There is a woman just installed in the secure apartments calling herself Jeta Fromm. Verify. Check against records for a woman named Tresha, last name unknown.”

            As she stepped into the corridor, she felt a brief wave of weariness. She had been going for too long a stretch without more than ten minutes’ sleep. Ariel shrugged it off and headed to Derec’s apartment.

            “Thales, do you have something for me?” she asked as she entered Derec’s workspace.

            “A number of items, Ariel. I have completed the recovery from the subject. Derec and Hofton have already viewed the relevant memories.”

            Ariel’s pulse quickened. She sat down. “Then show me.”

            Ariel watched the entire episode, from the point where Nyom Looms confronted the dockworker to the point when collapse occurred after the murders of all the baleys. She did not move when it was done, staring at the screen. She felt warm, and a distant anger she knew would only grow with time.

            “Do you wish to review any part of the material, Ariel?” Thales finally asked.

            “No. Where’s Derec?”

            “In custody. The TBI have intervened and assumed authority over the investigation on Kopernik.”

            Ariel stood. “Wait.” She went to Derec’s bathroom and found a container of stim pills. She swallowed two and returned to Thales. “All right, Thales, tell me what’s happened. “

She took the embassy shunt to Setaris’s offices.

            Unexpectedly, Ambassador Setaris was in.

            “Come in, Ariel, come in,” Setaris said as Ariel walked in. “My door is always open for interesting people, and you’ve been so very interesting lately. “

            Setaris sat behind her desk, gazing at the subetheric. Ariel glanced at it and saw Jonis Taprin speaking to a reporter in a formal interview setting. The sound was off.

            “Derec Avery is in custody,” Setaris said. “The TBI have seized control of Kopernik security from Chief Sipha Palen and are making very loud noises about security leaks and subversion. I have a protest filed from Ambassador Chassik demanding you be censured and dismissed from all embassy duties, pending an investigation of your fitness for executive responsibilities.” She gestured at the subetheric. “Senator Taprin has been making very obnoxious noises about the treaties concerning our embassy missions. What did you do to him, Ariel? He’s been almost shrill about reviewing Spacer presence on Earth.”

            “Nothing recently.”

            Setaris smiled wanly. “It’s been a very long day. You’ve been excessively diligent in your assignment.”

            “Why is Derec in custody?”

            “The TBI said something about evidence tampering and hindering an investigation. It’s the sort of charge they make when they don’t know what really has them angry. You two have stirred up a lot of trouble.”

            “I don’t see how. We haven’t done all that much yet.”

            “Yes, but you’ve done it in all the right places. You two have the damnedest luck. Gale basically wants you to stop looking into Nova Levis.” Setaris frowned. “You didn’t know Derec Avery was under arrest?”

            “I just got back in,” Ariel said evasively.

            “Then why did you come here? I expected a barrage of protest and a demand to have him released.”

            “Maybe later.” She leaned on Setaris’s desk. “Why are we hiding a Solarian national?”

            Setaris frowned. “I’m sorry, would you repeat that?”

            “Rotij Polifos.”

            Setaris nodded slowly. “What do you know about him?”

            “Derec got suspicious of him. Neither of us knew much about him, except that he’s been director of the lab on Kopernik for six, almost seven years. That’s a long time for an Auroran to hold a post here. “

            “I’ve been here nearly twelve years, Ariel.”

            “We’re diplomats; we’re different. For someone like Polifos, it’s an eternity. When I checked, I discovered that he had never once requested rotation to another post. No one from any office has questioned his long residency on Kopernik. Nothing you’d expect to happen in his position has happened. His stipend hasn’t even changed in six years. “

            “And why did you conclude he’s a Solarian national?”

            “A couple of things. A background check on his name came up with an old Solarian family, for one, but there are no birth records or citizenship papers for him. The family itself has only two remaining members and, like most Solarians, they’re recluses. The other thing is that all his Auroran documentation originated here.”

            “How did you manage to learn that?”

            “I’m very good at my job. The third detail is precedent. We’ve done this before with defectors who may be subject to extradition under the Fifty Worlds Mutual Accords. Did I guess wrong?”

            “No. But--”

            “I’m not finished. I did another search then, one I wouldn’t have thought to do. We’ve been so busy tracking down who used to own Nova Levis we never thought to find out who worked there. Five researchers were senior staff they ran the research protocols. It was their lab. Four of them are dead.”

            Setaris regarded her quietly. “And the fifth?”

            “Was a Solarian. He vanished. Interestingly enough, the document trail for Rotij Polifos begins shortly before Nova Levis was closed down. The Solarian presumably returned to Solaria, but I could find no evidence that he ever got there. A couple years later, Polifos assumes directorship of the positronics lab on Kopernik. “

            Setaris nodded. “As you say, you’re very good at what you do. Though this isn’t exactly your job.”

            “It has become my job,” Ariel said.

            “Point taken. Anything else?”

            Ariel felt herself get angry then. Setaris was being “diplomatic” and neutral, superficially uninvolved--”professional,” she would say. Ariel decided to thoroughly ruin her day. “Did you know about the cyborgs?”

            Setaris’s face lost all expression for a moment. Her skin paled then. “You’re joking.”

            “I wish I were. “

            Setaris’s face flexed with comprehension, brow furrowing deeply, mouth opening and closing wordlessly, eyes scanning the surface of the desk as if for something lost. It took less than a minute for her to regain composure. When she did, though, all the casual annoyance and alloyed humor were gone, replaced by pragmatic professionalism.

            “Tell me what you know,” she said.

            “What I know isn’t much. What I saw...Coren Lanra claimed he saw a robot with masking capabilities. What I saw tonight could only be a cyborg. It’s entirely probable that it’s what he saw as well. The blood sample Derec took from the collapsed robot’s hand is more than likely a close relative of Nyom Looms. The material mixed with the sample--myralar--suggests robotics, but until tonight it made no sense to me. “

            She blew out a breath. “Nova Levis is still technically owned by Solaria. It was renamed after a Settler colony leased it from them, but the original title never transferred. There is also an old research lab--here on Earth--called Nova Levis, among which I found Gale Chassik listed as an original shareholder. Plus Rega Looms and Alda Mikels. Tonight I met a retired policeman who was investigating kidnappings twenty-some years ago who says that, among other things, a number of infants were taken from orphanages here and transported offworld. He suspected a slave trade. But several of these infants were hopelessly handicapped...UPDs, he called them. Nova Levis was one of the labs he’d investigated, but he claims that it was clear of any culpability.”

            Setaris shook her head. “What did the lab do? And what does all this have to do with cyborgs?”

            “I don’t know. Nova Levis the lab was involved in prosthetics research, though. “

            “Why did it fail? Prosthetics is a fairly lucrative field on Earth. “

            “I don’t know that, either, “ Ariel replied. “What I want to know is if this blockade around Nova Levis has anything to do with it. With cyborgs. I want to know if you knew. “

            “Why would I have known?”

            “Because you gave me some pathetic reasons to start this investigation. “

            Setaris raised an eyebrow. “Assuming I did, why wouldn’t I tell you?”

            “Oh, some sort of attempt at objectification. Maybe, though, you knew but had no proof. You wanted me to verify your suspicions.”

            “Rather shabby use of my people, wouldn’t you think?”

            “It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

            Setaris narrowed her eyes. “When this is over, Ariel, I will sit you down and give you a lesson in the realities of the diplomat’s life. You’ve been able to function largely unaffected by them since you’ve been here. In the meantime--”

            “In the meantime,” Ariel interjected, “I need Derec out of jail, and I want a little cooperation from the TBI. I don’t think diplomacy will solve this particular problem.”

            Setaris frowned, and gestured toward the guest chairs. “Sit down, Ariel. Shut your mouth while I tell you what the situation actually is. Then, if you want to make demands, I’ll listen.”

TWENTY-TWO

_C

oren leaned against the wall and gently kneaded his neck and shoulder. The pain was growing worse; on top of his lack of sleep, he wondered if he could manage what he intended to do. He pulled his comm out and stared at the keypad, trying to think. He still lacked necessary information.

            He tapped in Kelvy Torans’ code. He almost gave up just as she finally answered.

            “Kelvy, it’s Coren.”

            “Please tell me you’re near my apartment,” she said brightly.

            “Actually, no. I’m sorry to bother you so late--”

            “I wasn’t sleeping, anyway. Something it sounds like you should be doing. Are you all right?”

            “Just tired. Long hours. I’m never letting Rega run for office again.”

            She laughed. “In that case, I suppose you’re calling to see if I have that information you wanted.”

            “Do you?”

            “As a matter of fact...hold on a moment...”

            Coren listened to indistinct noises for a few seconds. Then:

            “Okay, we have lots of good stuff,” Kelvy said. “Once I started looking into this, I found all kinds of things I can use, so I suppose I owe you part of my commission. Captras Biomed: bought by the Hunter Group. It wasn’t exactly a voluntary sale; Myler Towne and his faction actually tried to block it. He nearly lost the chairmanship over it. Now, Hunter bought it through one of its subsidiaries--Kysler Diversified--who also bought that research lab you mentioned, Nova Levis. One very interesting detail I found was that Towne’s mother was on the original shareholders board of Nova Levis; she’s since deceased. What makes a lot of this interesting is in the dispersal of the company assets. A good portion of the research documentation went to Captras Biomed, which was a small start-up back then, and later was bought out by Imbitek. It was Alda Mikels’ first acquisition upon becoming a board member of Imbitek.”

            “Mikels was an original shareholder of Nova Levis.”

            “Very good. Indeed he was. As was Rega Looms. In fact, there was a bidding war over Captras between Looms and Mikels.”

            “Why would Rega have wanted it?”

            “You’d have to ask him. Very uncharacteristic of him.” Coren mentally added it to the list of things he intended to ask Rega. “All right, so Myler Towne got rid of Captras, but he didn’t want Hunter to have it. Why not?”

            “Alda Mikels is--was--a board member of Kysler Diversified.”

            “Is there any other connection between Kysler and Imbitek?”

            “Kysler once made an offer to acquire controlling ownership of Imbitek, but it failed.”

            “And when did Mikels buy into Kysler?”

            “About two years after that attempt.”

            “So Mikels bought the company that bought Nova Levis’s research material, and now is trying to reacquire that material through a competitor to his own company.”

            “My guess? This is insurance, in case Mikels can’t defeat Towne in a shareholder vote.”

            “Was Captras that lucrative?”

            “As a percentage of Imbitek?” Kelvy replied. “It performed a few points better than most Imbitek holdings, but not spectacularly so. However, the Hunter Group owns a number of other biomed companies on Settler colonies. Recently, they consolidated some of them under Kysler management. Add what Captras could bring to the fold, you have a very large and progressive biotech industry with established markets on several worlds. What all those companies lacked till now was a licensed vendor on Earth. Captras gives them that.”

            “So that’s what made you so happy.”

            “I’m already moving on Kysler stock.”

            “Assuming Mikels loses to Towne, he has a ready-made position with this new company.”

            “New company? What new company?”

            “At a guess, he’ll call it Nova Levis,” Coren said.

            “Maybe...which brings up another thing. Nova Levis was not unprofitable. There was no reason for it to shut down.”

            “I thought it had been under suspicion in a police investigation. “

            Kelvy made a harsh sound. “Companies get investigated all the time, they don’t close up shop and sell their assets over it. Often such an investigation benefits them. When they’re cleared of any charges, it’s like getting a recommendation from the police. Their market value rises. “

            “Nova Levis...?”

            “Increased in value. The investigation did not shut it down. A year afterward, the board began buying up out standing shares. It took six months for them to gain the necessary control to sell, over the loud protests of a number of shareholders.”

            “What happened to the rest of the shares?”

            “Over time Kysler bought them all out. Even after Nova Levis ceased to be a corporate entity, Kysler paid options and bought off the last few until no outstanding stock remained. But now here’s the thing. When Captras Biomed sold to Kysler, it did so through a blind. At least a dozen former Nova Levis shareholders made up that blind, all of whom were shareholders in Imbitek, all of whom sold their shares in Imbitek and bought shares in Kysler.”

            “So they bought their own company.”

            “In essence. “

            “One thing...what was the primary focus of Nova Levis?”

            “Ah, now that took some digging. You know me, I’m not the most tech-literate. Primarily, they were doing research and development on chronic inorganic infectious syndromes.”

            Coren wrestled with the term for a few moment. “What?”

            Kelvy chuckled. “My words exactly. I’m not sure exactly what they are, but I get the impression that these are diseases caused by allergic reactions to certain technologies--old nanotech, specifically. You don’t hear about them much anymore because we pretty much beat them, but once in a while some poor child is born with a dysfunction that’s basically untreatable.”

            “UPDs...”

            “That’s one term, yes. Do you know something about this?”

            “No, not really. I’ve just heard about it--I don’t know what it is. How many children?”

            “It varies. Between ten and a hundred a year. Most of them don’t live very long. Quarantine is about the only thing to do.”

            Coren thought about that. “You said we beat them. How?”

            “That would take a little more research than I thought you wanted.” She paused. “What do you think?”

            “I think...dinner at Rhiomay’s and a foot massage afterward.”

            “That good? I hope you don’t stop at the feet.”

            Coren grunted. “How long have you known me?”

            “Not long enough, Coren, love. Not nearly long enough.”

            “Thanks, Kelvy, this has been a great help. Um...by the way, have you ever heard of something called a ‘decompiler’?”

            “Sure. Curiously enough, given what we’ve been talking about, they’re a class molecular reagent. Nanotech, used mainly for terraforming on colonies.”

            Coren blinked. “You knew that off the top of your head?”

            “I didn’t two days ago. It’s one of Captras Biomed’s main exports. They’re banned on Earth.”

            “I see. Well. This definitely extends things to the calves and thighs, too.”

            Kelvy laughed languorously. “Can’t wait. Call me when you’re done doing whatever it is you’re doing. I’m dying to hear the details. “

            “No doubt. Talk to you soon.”

            Coren broke the connection and pocketed the comm.

            All the lists began to make sense now. Shareholders. Follow the credits. Coren had always relied on the money trail to tell him which way to turn, who to look at. This one was nearly a maze, an ouroboros swallowing its own tail.

            Rega...how deeply into all this are you...?

            One or two questions remained, besides the big one. Who had killed Nyom? And why?

            Coren Lanra shuddered, from weariness and despair.

            Nyom...

            The Hunter Group owned the warehouses. They owned Kysler Diversified, which now owned Nova Levis. Apparently they also owned the colony Nova Levis--or Cassus Thole, whichever name it went by. Alda Mikels owned a good piece of that.

            Coren rubbed his eyes and looked down the avenue to the innocuous entrance at the T-crossing. Myler Towne lived behind that door. Coren fished a pill from another pocket and popped it into his mouth. He had waited till he knew what he wanted from Towne before taking the stim. Now he was ready. He waited for the clarity and temporary strength and the illusion of rested power.

            It came like a coolness over his skin, a slight increase in hearing sensitivity, and an internal rush in his muscles. He pushed away from the wall and started down the street.

Towne wore a deep green dressing gown and sat in an enormous wingbacked chair that he still managed to dwarf.

            Del Socras stood within arm’s length of Coren. He had supervised a very thorough search of Coren before bringing him to see Towne. Coren felt uneasy without any weapons.

            “Unusual hour for you, Mr. Lanra,” Towne said. “Or maybe not. It is for me, certainly. “

            “Sorry if this is inconvenient for you,” Coren said. “But I think we need to talk. “

            “I agree. Have you given my proposal further consideration?”

            “Some. I’m afraid I have to turn you down for the most part.”

            Towne raised his eyebrows. “ ‘The most part’? Intriguing choice of words.”

            “I find that I’ve done work for you in the course of doing my job. I need to know a few things, though, to be sure.”

            “Are you suggesting I owe you compensation?”

            “I may send you a bill. But for now, let’s just see how much what I’ve done is worth to you.”

            Towne waved his hand as if to say “continue” and eased further back in his chair.

            “Alda Mikels is trying to oust you from the chairmanship of Imbitek. He may also be trying to kill you, but he’s certainly trying to frighten you.”

            Towne frowned and glanced at Socras. Coren felt the bodyguard’s presence fade. When he glanced back, Socras was gone.

            “How did you arrive at this conclusion?”

            “Circuitously. Someone killed Rega Looms’ daughter. I’m trying to find out who.”

            “Do you think Mikels is involved in that?”

            “Directly? No. But it was his people.”

            “And who are they?”

            “I don’t have names...yet. But they all work for the Hunter Group, in one way or another. So does Mikels.”

            Towne steepled his fingers below his chin and stared at Coren for a long time. “You are either very diligent or very lucky, Mr. Lanra. The Hunter Group wants to buy Imbitek. I’ve no doubt Alda is behind the attempt. Even for them, we’re a bit too large and perhaps too dangerous.”

            “Who are they?”

            “On Earth? They own shipping companies and warehouses, that’s about it. Off Earth, however, they are one of the largest consortiums in the Settlers’ worlds. Fewer rules, more places to move things when the law tries to compensate for the newness of the colonies. They own a little of every kind of industry. No one worried about it two or three centuries ago, before Terrans began to go out to space once more, and only Spacers existed away from the homeworld. It’s fairly brutal business out there now. Mind you, I don’t quite understand why Hunter wants us--they own comparable firms on several worlds. Maybe it was a prize for Alda.”

            “He got them Captras Biomed. “

            Towne sighed and dropped his hands. “You are very well informed. That’s disappointing. I spent a lot of money trying to keep that news from spreading.”

            “Why did you want to get rid of Captras in the first place?”

            “No real applications. I’m trying to consolidate Imbitek, streamline the company, get us back to our base product. Most of the things Captras produces have no use here--they’re all exports.”

            “There’s money in that.”

            “There was money in it for Alda, he had the connections. We’ve been running into higher and higher losses.”

            “Hunter?” Coren asked.

            “It’s my opinion that Hunter is the legitimate face of the pirate consortiums. Alda has been doing business with them for years, perhaps decades. Alda wants the chair back, but I won’t give it to him. I have the shareholders on my side.”

            “But he has Hunter.”

            “Exactly. So I thought, just to irritate him and give us a better position in the field, it would be smart to get rid of our albatrosses. I set up a sale for the company with what I had thought was an independent group of investors. Too late I found out that Hunter was backing them.” He shrugged. “I still got my price, Imbitek shares increased in value, and the last poll among shareholders showed a higher degree of confidence in my leadership.”

            “So now he’s trying to kill you.”

            “It appears that way.” Towne narrowed his eyes. “What did Nyom Looms have to do with all this?”

            “She was running baleys. “

            Towne’s face went slack. “I see. That’s unfortunate.”

            “You hired a data troll to find some minutes of old board meetings Mikels chaired. She was threatened when she started looking, so she planned to leave Earth. The group of baleys she intended going with was murdered--including Nyom.”

            “Then I can only say that she was collateral damage. I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill her. Not anyone involved in all this.”

            “No? Did you know Rega Looms was an initial investor in Nova Levis?”

            Another shock registered on Towne’s face. “No, I did not. I know almost nothing about Nova Levis.”

            “But you know which one I’m talking about. “

            Towne shrugged. “The colony holds no interest for me.”

            “It’s interesting that you don’t have more concern for Nova Levis, though. Your mother was also a primary shareholder.”

            “So? That doesn’t mean I was ever privy to the company’s workings.”

            “The company’s material became Captras Biomed.”

            Towne pursed his lips. “A little knowledge...The minutes I hired the troll to find concerned exactly that transaction. I know what products Captras started out with, but there was more to Nova Levis than that, and those records were missing by the time I joined Imbitek. Captras was Alda’s pet project, and apparently it has returned to its owner.”

            “The minutes?”

            “Concerned several topics of a clandestine nature, but none of them Nova Levis. Quite a bit concerned Hunter.”

            “Oh? What connection was that?”

            “Weapons, apparently. Hunter deals in arms among the colonies.”

            Coren nodded. “And now they have a very good bioweapons company. “

            “They already had one.”

            “Decompilers. “

            “You saw the results of one such misapplication the other day.” Towne heaved himself out of his chair. “So. Are you working for me now or not?”

            “I’m working for myself at the moment. When I’ve finished, maybe we can talk. “

            “Good. What changed your mind about Mr. Looms?”

            “I don’t take well to being lied to,” Coren said.

            “I see. Then, with that in mind, let me tell you this: One of Imbitek’s many...subsidiary interests...is in baleys. I learned upon assuming the chairmanship that we--plus two or three other firms--run illicit trade through a variety of avenues. Nothing direct, purely through ancillary personnel, many of whom do not even know they work for us. I’ve been looking into shutting all this down, but not fast enough. Alda’s people have been attacking several of our illicit ventures, including the baley running. In the last ten months we’ve lost eighteen shipments of baleys. We recovered three of them. They were all dead.”

            He stepped closer to Coren. “Your Mr. Looms’ daughter was apparently using one of our egresses. The murderers were attacking me, Mr. Lanra.” He blinked furiously. “I’m...sorry.”

            For a few seconds, Coren felt something like pity for Towne. He believed that the man truly was sorry. “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Towne.”

            “One more thing, then. I didn’t acquire those minutes through the data troll I hired--she never returned to me with the requested information. I used another source to obtain them. I have no idea where that troll went.”

            “Her name was Jeta Fromm.”

            “Yes.”

            “How long ago did you hire her?”

            “Almost four months ago.”

            Coren nodded. “That’s useful to know, too.”

            “I hope we can do business soon, Mr. Lanra.”

Coren walked away from the warren, hands in his pockets, unsatisfied. He knew more now, but, though it made sense on the surface, he felt he still did not know enough.

            Where did Nyom’s brother come into all this?

            He stopped across from a walkway access and looked around at the nearly-deserted plaza. Third shift would be ending soon and people would be filling the moving walks and the corridors and their way home or to work.

            His comm chirped.

            “Lanra.”

            “Ariel, Coren. Where are you?”

            “Um...”

            “You need to come here. Things have changed. Your friend Palen is no longer in charge, and the TBI have assumed command of the investigation on Kopernik. Derec’s in detention.”

            Coren sighed. “I need sleep. Do you think that can be arranged?”

            “As long as you do it quickly.”

            “I’ll do what I can. I’ll be there soon. “