Final Inquiries (35 page)

"Hmm? What?" she said distractedly. "Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn't miss it." Either Zhen Chi was starting to put the pieces together for herself, or else she was plenty smart enough to recognize an order disguised as a question.

"Thank you both," said Hannah. "One last small point. The cups and mugs aren't really evidence in this case. It is the residues left on the mugs that we're interested in--and even that is only to provide a sort of statistical base, a general sampling. Once the analyses are complete, I would ask that the various beverage containers be returned. Many of them are personal property, and the owners likely have strong sentimental attachments to them."

"Definitely," said Zhen Chi. "I sure want mine back. It'll make a hell of a souvenir after this."

"All right, my fearless leader," said Jamie as they left the joint ops center. "Now what?"

Hannah checked the time. "Now we hope and pray they get that analysis done fast--miracle-level fast."

"You want to walk me through that?"

"From what we've been told by the BSI agents and the ambassador, everyone is expecting the Vixa to convene an important meeting with Flexdal and Stabmacher some time today. The local BSI agents are supposed to provide escort service--but they can't while under suspicion of murder, so you and I have to do it. If that analysis does what I think it will, it ought to clear the BSI agents of all charges. Then they could do their own jobs--or at least come along with us."

"Not all of them," said Jamie. "Milkowski's out of it."

"But--"

"But what?" Jamie asked. "He's only been
slightly
deceitful? He only told two or three lies meant to protect himself in his statement? And he only looked
somewhat
hungover when I saw him at breakfast?"

Hannah paused and looked around the compound. It was still strange to see people in it--and just at the moment, she'd just as soon it was deserted. But at least there was no one in earshot. "All right," she said. "Point taken. He's screwed up. He's dug himself deeper into a hole that he never needed to dig in the first place. And it's probably not smart to tempt fate and let him near the Kendari or the Vixa in the state he's in. I'll go that far. But no further."

"He's no prize," Jamie said brutally. "Why defend him?"

Hannah felt her temper flare, and fought to tamp it down. Jamie could be so
young
at times. "I'll tell you why--partner. Because
I've
had
good
luck. I got good assignments, and I made career decisions that turned out to lead to good things. Because maybe, just maybe, that's the
only
difference between Frank and me. My luck has been better. Maybe I'm scared my luck could
change,
and
I'll
be blamed for something I couldn't control--like this case going bad, everything falling apart, and the whole human race pointing to
me
as the woman who lost Pentam. Maybe I'm scared that five years from now I might look in the mirror and see someone a lot like Frank Milkowski looking back at me. And I'm hoping that someone will give me a break when I need one. That reason enough?"

Jamie was taken aback. "Yeah. Yeah, Hannah, okay. Okay. We lay off."

"Good," Hannah said sharply. "Then let's go find the baby agents and pick their brains. You'll enjoy it. They're even younger than you are."

Jamie was distinctly relieved that Hannah managed to calm herself down by the time they were settled into the BSI office with Singh and Farrell, and getting briefed on procedure. She must be a lot more on edge than he had realized. Were they that close to losing the Pentam System for humanity? Suppose they found the killer, and the killer
was
human, despite all their logic? Would history, or worse, the Bureau's Office of Personnel, somehow find a way to blame Hannah--blame
both
of them--for losing Pentam, instead of blaming the killer? He had never really thought over the huge career advantage he had gotten from being partnered with Hannah. Singh and Farrell hadn't seen a tenth of the action he had seen. Were Hannah and he one misstep away from the partnership being broken up?
Three months from now, I could be the resident agent on Cinder, with nothing to do for entertainment but watching the crops die.

And staring into space during a vital briefing would be a great start toward making that happen. He blinked and forced himself to focus on what Farrell was saying.

"The first time you went into the Grand Warren, you were going in for yourself," she was saying. "Not this time. This time you have no status--you
are
the status. You're not going to be escorted. You're going to
be
the escort. Go armed. Loaded weapons, prominently displayed."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Hannah asked.

"No," said Singh. "We're not at all sure. But it is necessary. All the other escorts will be carrying deadly-force weapons--their stingers. You should do the same. The surest way to avoid attacks is to be prepared to repel them. You will be at a considerable disadvantage as it is. Any escort Vixa you encounter will be controlled by a higher-caste Vixan who regards the escort as expendable--and the escorts themselves regard themselves in that way. They will not hesitate to get themselves killed if it is to the slightest benefit of their superior. You, I assume, won't feel quite the same way about it."

"No, we won't," said Jamie.

"So a Grand Vixa could and would send twenty escort-caste Vixa to attack you, forcing you to kill them all, just in order to empty your weapons. You would be of no account, but that would leave the
ambassador
defenseless, and thus more likely to agree to their proposals in the negotiations."

"So maybe we pack some extra ammo and a backup gun or two," said Jamie.

"I'd advise it," said Singh. "And carry it all where it can be seen."

"Let's get back to routes and locations," said Hannah. "The more we know about where we're going, the better I'll like it."

They were still at it a few minutes later when Ambassador Stabmacher walked in, dressed in an immaculate business suit of absolutely conservative cut. Farrell and Singh instantly got to their feet, and Hannah and Jamie did as well.
We never did that before for him,
Jamie thought.
Should we have?

The ambassador smiled at them all, and gestured for them to take their seats again. "Just checking in," he said, standing at the head of the meeting-room table. "We don't know for sure when--or if--we'll be summoned today, but we believe we will be. And we
think
this is going to be a significant meeting. It seemed very much like all the pieces were in place--at least, before the, ah, incident. We were on the verge of getting a settled framework for an agreement. So this could be big. Special Agents Mendez and Wolfson, I know you'll do your best, and I know our local agents will give you the fullest and best briefing possible."

"We will, sir," said Singh.

"I know," said Stabmacher. There was something sad about him in that moment. Somehow the small pomposities of the man, the fumbling good intentions, all seemed to melt away. Jamie suddenly understood Stabmacher, and the airs he had seemed to put on. On Tifinda, to the Vixa, he stood for Earth, for humans, for Humanity with a capital H. He suddenly regretted yelling at the man, and felt shocked and ashamed that he could have done such a thing. Berndt Stabmacher was about to stand up and speak for them all, speak to the Vixa, speak whatever truth he had to more power than any of them could imagine. They owed him their respect, and much more besides.

"Speaking of the local agents, however, I only see two of you," said Stabmacher. "The senior local agent should be present. Where is he?"

Singh and Farrell exchanged looks, Hannah frowned and looked down at the table, and Jamie winced inside. "He's, ah, not feeling well, sir," said Singh.
You don't lie to the ambassador,
thought Jamie,
but sometimes it is wisest to let the truth out in gradual stages.

"I see," said the ambassador, his face hardening. "He's drunk again. Or still. Passed out in his room?"

Singh and Farrell both muttered something inaudible, but they might as well have shouted out loud.

"I see. Special Agent Farrell, I believe you are the more senior. As soon as possible, I would ask you to draw up a list of charges against him for my signature. I think it's time we put an end to that man's troublemaking--and his career."

"No, sir," said Hannah.

"I beg your pardon?" said the ambassador.

"No, sir," said Hannah. "Forgive me, sir, but
I
am the most senior agent present--and I am senior in rank to Milkowski as well. I should be the one to draw up that list of charges. But I would respectfully request that you withdraw your order."

"He is the lead suspect in your murder investigation, Special Agent Wolfson. Or has that changed?"

"Not yet, sir. Not officially. But it might at any time. And I don't think that matters so much."

"How could that not matter?" Stabmacher was obviously struggling to keep his temper. He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I am not a fool--though I know perfectly well I have managed to come off looking like one in the past few days. But I know how the machine works, how an agent like Milkowski ends up at a post like this. I even know some of the specifics of his story. How can you defend him? He got here by being swept under the rug. Now you're giving him a chance to do even more damage! Incalculable damage!"

"No, sir!" Hannah said heatedly, slapping her palm down on the table. "Sir, I can't give you facts and numbers and precise explanations--not yet--but I can tell you with virtually absolute certainty that all he is guilty of is being framed. Maybe he's not the best agent in the Bureau. Maybe he never was or will be. But he's
put in his time.
Twenty-plus years of service--with screwups and mistakes and maybe some really serious rules badly broken, yes--but balance that against the man's service. He gives the Bureau his life, and what has he got for it? No wife, no family, no settled home, and he's out here on the edge of nowhere, with nothing left to him but the Bureau--the Bureau that might just take away everything he has left."

Hannah turned her palms upward, almost pleadingly. "He's been relieved of duty, told to stay away from his workplace, told we don't trust him. Why
shouldn't
he get drunk? If you want to throw the book at someone, throw it at Singh and Farrell!
They
were relieved of duty and told to stay away as well--and yet here they are in the BSI office briefing me. Going strictly by the book, Milkowski's the only one actually following orders. But we're
not
going strictly by the book because everyone involved has the sense to look the other way, bend a rule that doesn't really apply."

"If--
if
he
was
framed, then there must have been a reason he was chosen," said Stabmacher. "And that reason must be that his past actions make him by far the most plausible suspect in the murder of a Kendari agent. He's an embarrassment to the embassy. One we can't afford right now."

"Sir, by that logic, you're asking us to defer to the judgment and opinions of the real killer. Don't let the fact that Frank Milkowski was framed for a crime he didn't commit result in wrecking his career," said Hannah. "Think of the humiliation he's feeling right now. He's had punishment enough--nearly all of it self-inflicted. Sir, I know Frank Milkowski. I don't
like
him all that much, but I know him. Punish him more, and he'll be ruined as an agent for the remainder of his posting, and his career. Let him off with a well-phrased warning, let him apologize, let him feel that justice has been done, that you stood up for him--and he'll be the best damned senior agent the embassy has ever had."

"Slap his wrists?" Stabmacher asked. "Let him go with a warning?" He gestured toward Singh and Farrell. "What sort of signal do you think that will send to the younger agents?"

"That we take care of our own, sir," Jamie said, almost before he knew he was speaking.

"What?" Stabmacher asked sharply, looking around at Jamie, almost as if he had forgotten he was there.

Jamie swallowed hard, and leaned in across the table, toward the ambassador. "It sends the signal that the superior does not have an unquestioned right to kill the inferior at any time. That the escort is not expendable. That's what the
Vixa
do, sir. And the hell with not judging other cultures. There
are
limits. There
are
absolutes. That's what
they
do. We're
better
than that."

And the room was silent for a long time.

The aircar they were to fly in appeared to be the luxury version of an armored personnel carrier. It had three sections to it. Frau Groppe, the pilot, was in the nose section, and Ambassador Stabmacher chose to ride in the aft section by himself, with the door shut. That left Jamie and Hannah in the middle section--jammed in with the embassy simulants. Powered-down, rag-doll-mode copies of the ambassador, Zhen Chi, the three local BSI agents, and Jamie's simulant cluttered up the compartment. The Vixa flatly insisted that they attend the meeting but offered no explanation for it.

"I made a mistake," said Hannah.

"What? By standing up for Frank--for Milkowski?"

"Possibly, yes," said Hannah. "But certainly for doing it when I did." She gestured toward the aft section of the vehicle. "The ambassador came in to give us a pep talk--and instead I picked a fight with him. He's about to go into--well, if it's not battle, it's something close. He's about to state our case for a star system--and I tripped him up, distracted him about playing fair with one man who just barely deserves fairness, if he deserves it at all."

"You were right to do it," Jamie said. "And you treat everyone right for the benefit of the society as much as for the individual."

"Yeah, but this isn't a civics lesson," said Hannah.