Cyber Way

CHAPTER 14

The following morning the kitchen showed no evidence of nightly excursions into other worlds or dimensions. Nothing prevented Ooljee from casually disconnecting his spinner from the interrupt box, or the interrupt box from the kitchen molly. The experiences of the night before seemed as unreal to both men as memories of childhood.

The address the web had given them was real enough. Ooljee checked it out before calling his wife. Though enjoying her parents’ company and the delights of Albuquerque, she was still wary of the speed with which her husband had changed his mind and boosted her and the kids on their way. Ooljee reassured her in a calm voice, his expression neutral, his words betraying nothing of the remarkable events which had transpired so recently in her kitchen. Only when he’d convinced her all was well did he hang up and prepare to depart.

The pickup took them out of the city on a route designed to avoid both rush hour and the city center. Soon they were cruising at high speed through Ganado’s eastern suburbs, where expensive residences chipped away at tree-shrouded hillsides and people paid fortunes for unobstructed views of the offices and factories they couldn’t wait to abandon during the day.

Gradually the last homes gave way to National Forest. Altitude markers tracked their steady climb. Once, a fox darted across the two-lane highway in front of the pickup. Moody was at peace with himself. The morning was cool, crisp, clear, the contrails of hypersonic shuttles wild white etchings on the cerulean chalkboard of the sky. Cedar and scrub oak gave way to tall conifers. Patches of shade offered refuge to the last, stubborn clumps of winter. The snowpiles sagged in on themselves, pockmarked with bites inflicted by the heat of early spring.

It was late afternoon when they finally turned off the highway. Ooljee shut down the pickup’s scanner and took manual control of the vehicle. The road they’d entered was narrow but paved. Dirt tracks extended through gaps in a fence line on either side, like fingers from a hand.

Though Moody had managed to exert himself in Ganado without much difficulty, he was having some trouble catching his breath now. Not surprising when one realized that the little paved road was winding its way northward at over eight thousand feet. All he could think of was how lucky he’d been not to have had to come here first, straight from sea level.

“This ain’t gonna work,” he said without warning.

Ooljee eyed him questioningly. “Why not?”

“Too easy. It’s too damn easy. All those months of searching and theorizing and querying sources, then we just ask a strange machine a question and that’s all there is to it.”

“Leading up to the question was not easy,” the sergeant reminded him. “I do not feel like we fell into this without having to work for it.”

“Maybe so.” Moody was inhaling the rich perfume of the pines, trying to relax a little. “How much do you think he knows about this web?”

“It told us that someone, probably the man we are after, has accessed it twice—once probably from here, once probably while in Atlanta. That is not much. I think he is unlikely to be an expert.”

The locator on the dash beeped and Ooljee slowed to make a right turn onto a dirt track. They drove about a mile before crossing a small wooden bridge hand-built of huge old wooden timbers. The creek beneath was running loud and wild, snapping with spring strength and fresh snowmelt.

They climbed out of the shallow creek bed and saw the house. Though the entrance faced eastward, no attempt had been made to make it look like a traditional home. It was rectangular in shape, with a sharply raked roof lined with high-efficiency solar panels. A separate garage was attached to the back. An impressive array of non-domestic antennae protruded from the north side of the structure, clustered around a huge satellite dish whose bowl was aimed southward, just clearing the crest of the roof. The pines standing in its way had been professionally topped.

No one emerged to confront them, despite the fact that their approach had to have been both visible and audible to anyone inside. They parked and stood together in front of the truck. The metallic lump under Moody’s arm felt larger than usual.

“What do you think? I’ve spent so much time behind a desk I’ve gotten rusty at making collars.”

“No guns. As we discussed, there is no reason for him to be expecting us.”

“I’d go along with that okay, except for the fact that if this is our boy, he’s killed two people already.” His gaze swept the empty, cool woods, so different from the forests back home. The animals hereabouts were skittish, hard to see. Probably as cold as I am, he thought.

They’d passed the last house a couple of miles back down the paved road, though the sound of gunshots would travel farther than that in this high mountain air. Not that anyone was likely to call the police if they heard anything. Not in this kind of country.

Then he recalled that Kettrick and his housekeeper hadn’t been slain with traditional weapons.

Well, there was nothing traditional about this whole business, and if anyone inside harboring hostile intent wanted to cut them down without warning, they could do so just as easily from a window as in the parlor.

The front entrance was made of wood-grain metal, solid and secure. Ooljee thumbed the intercom switch. After a short delay, a voice issued from the tiny door speaker. “Yes?”

“Am I speaking to Mr. Yistin Gaggii?”

“Yes,” again, without hesitation or any attempt at guile. “I am Sergeant Paul Ooljee, with the NDPS office in Ganado? If you don’t mind, Mr. Gaggii, my friend and I would like to talk to you for a minute.”

“Talk to me?” Just the slightest pause this time, Moody thought. “About what?”

Ooljee glanced briefly at his partner before again directing his voice to the door.

“We’re having a little communications problem with our field spinner. We heard that you knew communications and we thought maybe you could give us a hand.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

“Does it matter? Is it true or isn’t it?”

A long pause ensued. The two officers waited tensely, did not relax when an internal lock popped to grant them entrance.

“It is too cold to discuss this outside, my friends,” the voice declared. “Summer is still a month away. Please come in.”

Ooljee took a deep breath, exchanged a look with Moody, then entered.

They found themselves in a den, or living area, that was startlingly clean. There was nothing to suggest that Gaggii was married, but even allowing for the presence and use ol modern housekeeping devices, the place was cleaner than was natural.

The sterility was muted somewhat by the pretense of traditional artwork and the by-now-familiar earthtone furniture, all pinks, reds, and yellows. The center of the room was occupied by one of the most astonishing holomages Moody had ever seen. It was a medicine yei: seven feet tall, bristling with feathers, elaborate attire, war club and axe and medicine pouch. Unlike the angular abstracts of the sandpaintings, this was a full-figured human form, a life-sculpture of unsurpassed craftsmanship.

The detective admired it as it twisted and danced for them while Ooljee searched for their host. The room was all straight lines and angles, nothing round or curved. There was no softness in it, a feeling that the profusion of sandpaintings on the walls only enhanced. They were impossible to miss, impossible to ignore despite the dominating presence of the holomaged yei. Tiny works a few inches square clustered together as if to ward off the power of larger pieces whose borders could be measured in feet.

“It’s not here,” Ooljee announced after scanning the walls carefully. Moody did not have to ask what his partner was referring to: the Kettrick painting or a copy thereof was not among the dozens that occupied the walls of the room.

Yet despite the presence of the paintings and the powerful holomage and the comfortable furniture, there was nothing in the room to suggest that a distinctive personality lived there. Everything had been laid out and arranged with near-mathematical precision, as precise as a holomask used for cutting molecular chips. It might not look like a hospital room, but it felt like one.

This wasn’t a real room in a real house, Moody abruptly decided. It was a sham, a set for a vid, designed to fool eye and mind.

They had no more time to contemplate the emotional overtones of the decor, because Gaggii emerged from a back room. Ooljee shook hands as he introduced himself, politely and with programmed professional enthusiasm.

Moody thought he detected an air of chronic impatience in their suspect. Though Gaggii looked straight at them as he spoke, the detective had the feeling that the man’s thoughts were always several steps ahead of the subject at hand, as though he were devoting only a part of his mind to the conversation. Though he tried to fake it, it was clear that he wasn’t really interested in what was being said. It was just something that had to be dealt with and disposed of, like a leaky faucet or the buying of groceries. The rest of his brain was always otherwise occupied.

It made Moody feel inadequate. He didn’t like that. But then, he didn’t much like Gaggii either. The man smiled frequently, but it was about as honest as the wood-grain in the front door. It was not a genuine smile but rather a conscious manipulation of skin and facial muscles to achieve a desired effect, much as the room had been designed and decorated to appear warm, homey, and accommodating. Like its owner, it was none of those things.

As he listened to his partner engage the suspect in casual conversation it was clear to Moody that Gaggii wanted only for them to leave. Moody did not feel slighted. That would be Gaggii’s reaction, he decided, to any visitor. And yet he sensed no hatred in the man, no outright dislike for other human beings. It was just indifference, he decided finally, as if visitors took up space and time which might otherwise be put to better use.

Moody helped himself to an unvolunteered seat, enjoying the brief look of distaste which slipped past Gaggii’s carefully crafted veneer of hospitality. His gun lay against his chest, unsecured and ready. Still Gaggii displayed neither panic nor concern. That did not induce Moody to relax. The soft-spoken, self-assured ones were the most dangerous because they offered no clue as to what they might do next.

“Actually, Mr. Gaggii, as you may have guessed by now. we are not here because we are having a problem with our communications.”

“Ah,” said Gaggii softly, regarding the sergeant as casually as he might a perambulating bee.

Moody rested his right hand casually on his sternum, close to the butt of his gun, while his partner related some of the events which had brought them to this particular house. Ooljee concluded by declaring that while the evidence they had gathered was not conclusive, it was sufficient to arouse more than a little suspicion, and if he, Gaggii, had nothing to hide, he should be more than willing to accompany them down into Ganado to clear himself by answering a few simple, detailed questions. It would not take much time and it would be of great assistance to the department.

Gaggii listened silently to Ooljee’s words, standing quite still and relaxed except, Moody noted, for his hands. All of his fingers curled back and upwards, so that he appeared to have a fleshy hook attached to each wrist. When the sergeant had finished, Gaggii responded, displaying more interest than at any time since their arrival.

“I think I can answer most of your questions right here, my friends. How did you finally find me?”

Ooljee glanced at his partner. Moody’s fingers slipped inside his jacket to close around his pistol. But Gaggii gave no indication that he knew, made no sudden moves, just stood and waited.

“We used the Kettrick template, got into the web or whatever it is, and asked it,” Ooljee told him.

It had to be a shock, but remarkably, Gaggii’s expression didn’t change. “I had not thought of that, because I didn’t imagine anyone, least of all the police, could figure out what this was about, much less find their way in. For nonspecialists, my friends, you have done astonishingly well. I have only myself to blame. But then, the web was designed to be used by nonspecialists, so I suppose I shouldn’t compliment you too highly. Its simplicity of operation is exceeded only by its capabilities, of which I am every day in awe. How did you happen upon the secret of the template? I thought that when I destroyed the original and the insurance company’s archival copies, I had left nothing behind.”

“Kettrick had his own file.” Moody spoke from his seat on the couch, watching every twitch of Gaggii’s eyes and fingers. “His wife showed us. That’s where we got our copy.”

“Of course.” Evidently Gaggii was not one to indulge in self-recrimination. “I thought of that possibility, but had only enough time for a rapid, unrevealing search. One can only do so many things so fast. It is when things are rushed that people get hurt.” He moved and Moody started to reach for his gun, stopped himself when he saw that Gaggii was only taking a chair opposite the couch. Ooljee remained standing, alert.

“All I wanted was the sandpainting, or a copy thereof. It took me a long time to track it down. Even then, all was still supposition.”

“You are saying that you didn’t know if there was anything to it, and still you killed the two people?”

“He would not let me have a copy of the painting.” Gaggii spoke quietly, as if that explained everything. “When every other method failed, I tried to get it without disturbing anyone, but burglary was not something at which I was experienced. Mr. Kettrick was in a place where I did not think he would be, as was his servant. I tried to discuss the situation with him but he became abusive and irrational. When he started to call the police, I was forced to react.

“Understand that I would not have minded going to jail for breaking and entering. I tried to explain this to him. But he would have forced me to give up the holomage of the sandpainting, which I was making at the time he interrupted me. Like so many wealthy people, he kept confusing arrogance with power. I regret the death of the servant more.

“Much of my life has been spent seeking this sandpainting.” He was watching Ooljee as he spoke. “You have no idea how seminal it is to the history and culture of the People.”

“I’m starting to get the idea,” the sergeant told him brusquely.

“Then you have progressed. That is gratifying.”

“Boom the oil,” Moody snapped. “What exactly is the damn thing, and where’d it come from?”

“What is it…?” Gaggii smiled, an unexpected inner contentment radiating from his lanky form. “I think it is a database of extraterrestrial origin, which can be accessed with remarkable ease. As to where it is from, I believe it was put here by the Holy People.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen that name advertised under Databases in the usual catalogs,” Moody replied.

“I use it for lack of a better local reference.” Gaggii crossed one leg over the other, at ease, enjoying himself. He’s playing a damn game with us, Moody thought suddenly. Well, let him. He and his partner would have the last move.

“That is the reference our ancestors employed. If I had a better name I would use it, but I have been unable to find out anything about them. It is a subject for future study.”

“We got some idea of what it’s like.” Moody’s fingers caressed the butt of his pistol. “One thing’s for sure: it’s dangerous. People a lot more knowledgeable about this sort of thing than you or I need to be studying it.

“Ah, but there are no people knowledgeable about ‘this sort of thing,’ my friend. So why should I not be the one to study it, or you? True, it may be capable of actions our feeble imaginations cannot grasp, but we will not know that until we reach out to it. As for myself, I have a good imagination. It has already given me one idea worth further examination. As you have discovered for yourselves, once

accessed it can be activated by simple voice command.”

“Anything that can override a police department security system and bum down the building it’s housed in isn’t simple, or safe,” Moody argued.

“I do make time for the news,” Gaggii replied with interest. “I heard about the fire in Ganado, but of course had no reason to connect it to my own work. So that was you two toying with the template. You are lucky all you lost was the building. A system simple to direct is also easy to misdirect. One must progress carefully, in modest increments.”

“We won’t make that mistake again,” Moody assured him. “Nor will you. Maybe you have some idea of what it is, but you still don’t have the vaguest notion of what it’s for.”

Gaggii waxed philosophical. “Perhaps it was emplaced to help the Anasazi and later the Navaho, only the Way was forgotten or deliberately obscured by superstitious medicine men. Or maybe the Anasazi did make use of it. Sometime around 1300 A.D. they simply disappeared. Nobody knows why. Nobody knows where they went. Maybe they used the Way to go someplace where the soil and climate were better. Maybe they went into the web. I do not believe that myself, but when one considers the implications of this discovery, many things suddenly become possible.”

“If you do not think that, what do you think it was put here for?” Ooljee asked him, caught up in contemplation of the mystery.

“I do not think it was put here for any purpose at all. It is just a tool, a device. Like any good tool, it waits to be instructed, to be told what to do.” His smile widened slightly. “Unless information to the contrary presents itself, I see no reason not to assume that the beings who built it just left it here.”

Moody frowned. “Nobody would just ‘leave’ something of this magnitude.”

Gaggii turned to face him. “You apply your values to the immense unknown.” He laughed softly, full of self-contained amusement. “Perhaps they were just passing through and paused only long enough to, say, change a flat tire. We cannot imagine what they came for any more than we can imagine them. It is said that one cannot envision a real alien because a truly alien alien would by its very definition be incomprehensible to us. So might it be with their devices, their tools.

“I think the template design is a tool, the web it accesses a greater one. There may be others lying about whose existence we do not even suspect, devices we cannot see or sense.

“Picture it, my friends. You are traveling in your truck through the high desert. You have a flat and stop to change the tire. In your rush to depart you forget some of your tools; the power jack, the lug seal, perhaps some paper clips and an empty beer can. Accelerating to eighty, you vanish rapidly from the scene without anyone witness to your activities.

“A little time passes. Can you imagine what happens then?”

“Enlighten me.” Moody strove to sound bored, knew his obvious interest belied the attempt.

“The ants come out, my friends. The ants come out for a look around.

“They clamber all over and around the forgotten tools, not realizing what they are because of their own ignorance and the sheer size of the devices. But one ant acquires a key. Perhaps he stumbles across a diagram rendered somehow ant-comprehensible. Or possibly he is present when the tools are being used. Perhaps he is even given instruction, much as children playing by a creek will offer ants leaves and twigs so they can make a tiny bridge with which to cross a rivulet. They do this because they find it amusing to watch the ants at work. Ants that do not understand the

concept of a bridge will still make effective use of one. So it might have been with whoever painted that first template.

“Somehow this one perceptive insect learns how to activate the previously invisible tools, only the tools were not invisible: they were simply too massive for the ants to comprehend. They seemed a part of the natural order, of the everyday terrain.

“The hard part is not making use of the tools, my friends. It is recognizing that they exist at all. The sandpainting holds the diagram recognized by the ant who preceded the rest of us, a thousand years ago. No, gentlemen, if the web was placed here for a defined purpose it would have announced itself long ago. It is just something that was left behind, forgotten.

“I am only just beginning to learn how it might be used. The possibilities are impressive. After all, if a colony of ants discovered a power jack next to their anthill and found a way to activate it, consider what they might accomplish. Lizards eat ants. A power jack would smash a hungry lizard to pulp. It could crush huge pebbles to provide easier access to food, or for building stronger shelter. It might even offer a way for ants to advance themselves mentally. I know my analogy is weak but—”

Moody cut him off. “So basically what y’all are saying is that this web is somebody else’s garbage?”

“Only that it is one possibility among many,” Gaggii replied reprovingly. “It may in fact be of value to its original owners, but not of sufficient value to be worth the cost of recovery over time and distances we cannot imagine. You might, for example, leave an expensive holomager in Paris. While you would regret its loss, you would not travel all the way back to France to recover it.”

If it had not been evident before, it was clear enough now that whatever else he might be, Yistin Gaggii was no madman. He had yet to raise his voice. While unusual, the ability to maintain control of one’s emotions under abnormally tense conditions was not generally an indication of mental instability. Now that he’d been found out, he actually appeared to be enjoying the sharing of his discoveries with someone else.

“What’s your interest in this?” Moody found himself asking. “I mean, what do y’all want with it, personally?”

“Goodness.” Gaggii eyed him with mock surprise. “A really perceptive question that deviates from the strict guidelines of police procedure.” His sarcasm did not affect Moody, who’d suffered it a thousand times before. It was standard prisoner modus for trying to reassert rapidly disappearing independence.

“Let’s just say that I have my own desires, as do all of us. Recall the analogy of the power jack. Suppose that instead of that, our imaginary travelers leave behind among their debris a can of bug spray. What might the ants make of that?”

“I liked the power jack analogy better,” Moody snapped.

“Such a device could be devastatingly employed against enemy ants.”

“Or against its discoverers, if they did not properly understand how to use it,” Ooljee pointed out meaningfully.

Gaggii nodded agreement. “In any event it would be of no use to those who had departed.”

“We asked it how big it was,” Moody said. “It replied, ‘big enough.’”

“Yes. It can be responsive without being specific. I do not think there is a deliberate intent to be evasive. I suspect instead that we simply do not possess the terminology necessary to ask the right questions. So it provides answers in the form it thinks our simple brains can most easily comprehend.”

“One last thing.” Gaggii waited patiently while Moody framed his question, as though he had all the time in the world. “You say you have your own desires, your own idea how to make use of this whatever it is. What might that be?”

Gaggii looked straight at the detective and pursed his lips. “I am sorry, my friend, but that is none of your business.”

Moody sniffed. It was no more than he’d expected. He started to rise from the couch. “Well, we’re real sorry to have to put a crimp in y’all’s hobby, but there’s still this lousy business of you killing two people in cold blood.”

“I am very close to answering my own questions.” Gaggii made no attempt to rise.

If he’s trying to put us off guard, Moody thought, he’s damn sure taking his time about it.

“I don’t suppose I could appeal to your higher senses, though it is clear that you are both unusually intelligent individuals—for policemen.”

“Sorry,” Moody replied. “I’m afraid my higher sense tells me it ain’t a good idea to let murderers run around unpunished.”

“I see your point of view.”

Gaggii rose. Both officers tensed, but still their prisoner made no move toward hidden switches or concealed devices. Instead he extended both arms out in front of him.

“Do you wish to cuff me?”

Ooljee glanced at his partner, who shrugged. “I do not think that will be necessary. The back seat of my truck is equipped with a restraining mesh. That will be sufficient. Cuffs can chafe and it is a long ride down to Ganado. I would not want injured wrists or hands to delay your arraignment.”

“I appreciate your concern. Bearing that in mind, may I get a coat? It is quite cold outside.”

“What coat?” Moody asked warily.

Gaggii smiled at him. “The one with the explosives sewn into the lining, of course.” He pointed. “In the closet over there.”

Moody nodded tersely, went to the closet and looked inside. “Which one?”

“The false wolf, with the low collar.”

Moody checked the coat over minutely. Gaggii’s composure troubled him more than anything he expected to find. But the coat was clean. After patting him down, he handed it to the prisoner, who chatted easily as he put it on.

“I guess I have to go with you, my friends.”

“I guess you do.” Moody opened the door while Ooljee remained behind. Now that the moment of departure had arrived, neither officer was taking any chances, no matter how cooperative their man seemed to be. They both had their guns out. “And do us a favor, will you?”

“If I can,” said Gaggii graciously.

“Don’t call us your friends.”

Gaggii’s only visible reaction took the form of still another tight-lipped, impenetrable smile.

Moody was relieved to be outside again, in the cool evening air, away from the sterile mask that was Gaggii’s house. It was as devoid of genuine human warmth as a tomb, the furnishings frozen skeletons pinned to the walls and floor like specimen moths.

He wanted to see Gaggii’s workshop. Plenty of time for that once the prisoner was safely incarcerated in Ganado. Ample time to return for a leisurely examination of his notes and files.

“I have to admire you, gentlemen.” Gaggii had to turn sideways to fit into the truck’s narrow back seat. Ooljee locked the restraint net in place. The carbon composite mesh would prevent anyone in the back from reaching through to the front.

“Thanks,” Moody replied flatly as he climbed in on the passenger side. “We’re doin’ the best we can.”

Ooljee started up, turned and headed for the dirt track that led to the little bridge. They’d acquired a lot of information at the expense of the rest of the afternoon. Twilight was creeping through the pine trees as the truck bounced down the slope, over the bridge, and climbed into the woods on the other side.

“No, honestly. I did not think anyone would ever find out. Certainly not so soon. And to think you have even accessed the web.”

“Everybody thinks cops are dumb.” Moody settled himself deeper into the seat. “It’s the shows. Cops on the vid are always overlooking the obvious and then they have to compensate by shooting all their suspects. That’s not police work any more than trials are lawyers making big speeches in court all the time. It’s mostly legwork, dull and plodding. Me, I’m weird. I happen to like research. That’s how you really catch people.”

“But not how you keep them,” Gaggii responded. “You realize that you cannot tie me to Kettrick’s death. I know that you were not recording any of our conversation in the house. I would have been warned if you had been and would have comported myself accordingly. Since you were not, I felt free to talk. I enjoy talking.”

Ooljee shook his head sadly. “You may know a lot about mollys and webs, but you do not know shit about legal procedure. At least one secretary and two security guards witnessed you arguing with Kettrick in his Tampa office. Also, as an important businessman, Kettrick recorded all his conversations. Voiceprinting will identify you easily.”

“Arguments supply a possible motive, but they are not grounds for a murder conviction.” Gaggii was confident. “Nor can you connect me to the wiping of the insurance company files in Atlanta.”

“We’ll see,” said Moody, adding offhandedly, “then there’s our eyewitness, the one who saw you enter Kettrick’s house the night of the killings.”

This time it took their prisoner a while to reply. Moody was pleased at having finally gotten under his skin, howevei minutely.

“You are bluffing,” Gaggii said finally. “You may be a good card player, detective, but I know I entered unobserved. There is no such witness.”

“Oh, good.” Moody shrugged indifferently. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about, right? Shoot, I’m just a big oF fat liar from the sticks. There’s no witness, so you can just relax in your holding cell until the time comes for you to appear before a magistrate. Be tough for the local D.A. to prove anything because there’s no such witness. See, I just made it all up, just to bug you.”

Out of the comer of his eye Moody could see that his partner was fighting to keep from smiling. When Gaggii spoke again there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying hard to maintain his former aplomb.

“It will not work, this bluff. You can prove nothing. Search my house all you wish. You’ll find nothing to confirm your suspicions. If you attempt to access my molly, the database will self-destruct.”

“Hell, why would we bother with your work?” Moody was enjoying himself now, knowing that he shouldn’t be. “It don’t mean shit. All we want to do is tie you to Kettrick’s murder. Don’t y’all worry none about that. We’ll manage.”

“I see. Then, if I’m to be put away you don’t mind if I amuse myself while I have the time?” He began to sing, softly and liltingly, to himself.

They were coming up on the main road. Moody looked back over his shoulder. “Amuse yourself another way. I don’t want to have to listen to that all the way back to Ganado.”

Gaggii paused momentarily. “Why, detective, it is only a song. A little something to pass the time. As you point out, it is a long drive down the mountain.” He resumed singing.

“It would not be so bad if you could carry a tune.”

Ooljee was concentrating on the track ahead. “So do as my friend says and—He broke off abruptly, staring into the rearview mirror.

Moody tensed. “What is it?” Gaggii ignored them both, concentrating on his song.

“Bracelet. Left wrist.”

Moody whirled, the seat complaining beneath him. His gaze went straight to the specified piece of jewelry, a thick band of traditional turquoise and silver. Except that the turquoise wasn’t copper ore and the silver was an alloy of something else.

There was more than enough metal in the bracelet to form a strong receiver-transmitter, just as the chunks of blue which Gaggii was toying with moved too freely in their bezels for stones that should have been firmly epoxied in place. Several of them shone with a faint inner light.

Moody drew his service pistol and aimed it through the mesh. “Put a clamp on it right now, Jack, or you won’t have to worry about a trial.”

“Easy now, detective.” Gaggii cautiously moved his right hand away from the bracelet. “What are you worried about? That 1 might be signaling friends? I have no friends. That I might be calling up the gods? That is superstition, suitable only for troubling the sleep of children. ” The bracelet continued to glow.

“I don’t care if you’re trying to pick up local radio,” said Moody threateningly. “Stop it.”

“Ah, it doesn’t matter, does it? You have your witness, sergeant. So I think it only fair that I invoke mine.” Ooljee uttered a violent curse. The pickup swerved wildly as something immense filled the windshield. Its surface was as yellow as the sun and its eyes boiled crimson.