Counting Heads

2.23

Although nust had ceased traveling down most of Heliostream’s microbeams, it still flowed to the target array outside La Paz. When Meewee reached the crash site near an outlying village, concentration of the silvery stuff was heavy enough to distinguish the blurry figures of guards cordoning off the scene. Meewee could make out trees but not individual leaves, vehicles but not their type.

It’s amazing, Meewee said. With enough nust, you could keep track of everything everywhere in real time.

A despot’s wet dream, Wee Hunk agreed. But frankly, I don’t understand how Arrow is able to read this. It exceeds my capacity, probably Cabinet’s as well. When you can truly speak Starkese, you should ask it.

They drifted through the trench that the Songbird had gouged into what looked like a soccer field. As a breeze stirred the nust, pockets of terrain moved in and out of focus.

Impressive as this is, Wee Hunk went on, I’m not sure what Arrow has in mind. To analyze Ellen’s DNA, you’d need more than nust. What do you suppose it’s looking for?

They left the trench and followed the debris trail where hundreds of blurry metallic persons and mechs were sifting and collecting bits of the Songbird. Meewee and Wee Hunk swam among them unseen.

What’s that? Meewee said.

On the ground ahead of them was a splash of sparkles, like colored sequins. Wee Hunk hovered over the spot. Aha! he said. Taggants, of course.

For explosives? Meewee said.

No, the taggants they put into batches of resin. Arrow must be looking for the outer shell of Ellen’s helmet. The helmet must have struck the ground here upon the yacht’s disintegration. Taggants are microscopic but are designed to be conspicuous, easily within the limits of nust detection.

As they examined the taggant find, an orange striped line, like an usher line, suddenly shot out from it and extended north across the countryside.

Come on! Wee Hunk said, swimming straight up.

Meewee followed and pulled himself into the sky until his vantage point was high enough to follow the orange line. It arced across South America and led back to the USNA. He used a dog paddle to swim along its length. It terminated at the Decatur canopy’s Flinn Gate. Because the nust was filtered out by the city’s canopy, Decatur and its environs appeared like a small opaque bubble.

End of the taggant trail, Wee Hunk said, and not much learned. We already knew the helmet was brought here. The Roosevelt Clinic is located down there in Decatur, where we both saw it unclench. I think the taggant trail is a false trail. They swam over the invisible city, and Wee Hunk continued. Arrow is wasting our time. I have an unimpeachable record of the helmet from the arrival of the recovery team to its unclenching at the clinic, which we both witnessed. I’m afraid we’re no closer to finding her than before.

Wee Hunk pulled himself out of the globe display. So much for Arrow’s help. I’m going to continue pursuing my other leads. Good-bye for now.

Meewee rose from the quicksilver atmosphere, and when his viewpoint again occupied his executive apartment, the mentar was gone, except for a flat portrait of himself on the wall. Meewee got out of the armchair and took a few tentative steps around the living room. Except for the light given off by the globe, the room was dark. The two household arbeitors stood in their ready nooks, and the skylight revealed the first stars of the night.

Meewee had full use of his arm again, and the lump was hard and painless under his skin. He was beyond exhaustion, and he was about to tell Arrow to fetch him a glass of the wine, when he was struck by the absurdity of using such a remarkable creature as his mentar as a common servant. He could, after all, control the kitchen and arbeitors with the apartment’s houseputer.

Arrow, he glotted, say something to me in Starkese.

Complying, said the mentar. “Myr Meewee, please unlock the trophy case so that I can prepare your awards for shipment.”

That struck Meewee as nonsensical, for he possessed only one award and no trophy case. At the same time he felt an urge to return to the global nust scape, and without questioning the impulse, he returned to the scape and was surprised to find a second taggant trail emanating from the crash site. This one, though it took a separate route, ended at the same destination—Decatur’s Flinn Gate.

“Hunk!” he said. “The switch was made right in Bolivia!”

The Wee Hunk portrait filled out into three dimensions, and without waiting for Meewee, the apeman dove into the globe. Meewee dove in after him and paddled down to Decatur where he found the mentar floating over the city. Its canopy still appeared as a shiny opaque bubble. How do we look inside a canopy? Meewee said.

We can’t, Wee Hunk replied. There are about a thousand international bans against releasing microagents inside canopied space. But I’m increasing my assets on the ground there; I’ll use bees to search every cubic centimeter of the city if I have to.

But as they hovered over the city, its canopy was gradually becoming transparent.

Hello? Wee Hunk said, pulling himself closer. It looks like Arrow is releasing nust inside the canopy. I sure hope it knows what it’s doing, or you’re going to prison.

Me?

It’s your mentar, isn’t it? You ordered it to find Ellen.

As the nust density within the canopy increased, the city skyline emerged from a silvery miasma, and usher lines snapped from Flinn Gate to two distinct parts of town.

That one leads to the clinic, Wee Hunk said, swimming toward the other, which led to a neighborhood on the west side. The taggant trail ended at a single sparkle in a two-story residence. The nust resolution wasn’t heavy enough to render the house as more than a blur.

Wee Hunk said, My resources identify it as belonging to the Sitrun Foundation. Ever hear of it?

No, what is it?

I’m researching.

Meewee paddled down into the house. The nust density was even lighter indoors, and the rooms were barely discernible. Nothing moved. Maybe one of the surgeons from the clinic lives here, he said, and brought home a stray fleck of helmet resin on her sleeve.

Possible, but so far I’ve found no connection to any clinic personnel.

What do we do now? Send in the Command?

Wee Hunk snorted. You’ve got to be kidding.

Then let’s hire some russes.

I don’t trust ’em.

You don’t trust russes?

As they watched, the canopy pumped out the nust, and Decatur disappeared again. The house and its neighborhood dissolved. Meewee and Wee Hunk returned to the living room where the apeman began to pace in a circle.

Russes I trust, he said, swinging a step on his knuckles, but not their employer.

Zoranna? She’s the only one of that crowd that I do trust.

Which only goes to show how ill-informed you are, Bishop.

Wee Hunk’s rented witness bees were arriving in the west end neighborhood in force, and he opened a new diorama in the room to render the pictures they began to send. Soon the house appeared in full color and rich detail. It sat inconspicuously on a quiet residential street. The house itself was a Tudor style brick structure with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flower beds. But the bees were only able to project them an exterior view.

Somebody’s got to go there, Meewee said. I guess that’ll have to be me.

You? Wee Hunk snorted again. And do what? Knock on the door and ask if Ellen Starke can come out to play?

Then what do you suggest? Meewee snapped. You don’t trust the authorities. You don’t trust russes. You don’t trust Zoranna. Who do you trust?

Wee Hunk shook his shaggy head. Excuse my metaphor, Merrill, but you’re talking through your ass. You are so far out of the loop you’re in a separate reality. Allow me to catch you up on recent events since apparently either Arrow doesn’t know how to keep you informed or you never asked it to. In brief then: an hour ago, Saul Jaspersen’s compound in Alaska was attacked by a missile and completely destroyed. As luck would have it, Myr Jaspersen, himself, was inside his mountain redoubt and escaped harm.

Meanwhile, Andie Tiekel in her Oakland hillside home was not so lucky. A laser pulse, probably from a suborbital drone, pierced the top of her skull. Her hair and makeup were hardly mussed, but inside her skull, the yolk was poached, so to speak.

This is my Ellen’s life we’re dealing with, Merrill, not your position on the GEP board, not the launch schedule of your Oships. I don’t have Cabinet’s resources. I don’t have the luxury of error. But I’m not completely helpless.

Meewee said, So, who are you sending?

The caveman grinned. Why, the same folks who are going to move your stuff out of here tomorrow.

At first Meewee didn’t follow, and then it made no sense. You’re sending a moving company?