Cyber Way

CHAPTER 17

The detective lumbered into the conference chamber. Ooljee was setting up his spinner while Samantha Grayhills looked on. Moody eyed her thoughtfully. Having little natural aptitude for academia, he was uncomfortable with those who did. Higher education was a tradition which was alien to his family. Everything he’d learned since leaving home he’d acquired through long hours of hard work and arduous study, poring over disks and through mollys, learning through drill what swifter minds seemed to absorb with nary a glance.

None of that, however, qualified one for promotion to the rank of detective. So he’d plowed relentlessly through every manual and text available until he’d mastered enough information to pass the requisite tests through sheer force of will, trying not to watch while college-educated candidates flipped through the questions faster than he could read them.

But Grayhills was different. She was proof one could be academically inclined without being narrow-minded. It helped that she wasn’t a cop. He could discuss weaving with her without having to bring up relevant police technique. Practical applications gave them common ground for conversation.

He was conscious of her greater intellect, but because she was patient and understanding it didn’t bother him. Whenever the conversation grew too technical for him or his partner she would back up, slow down, and explain—without being in the least patronizing. And always there was that radiant smile; the smile of one who understood, the smile of instant sympathy. The smile of someone who didn’t need coffee first thing in the morning.

Ooljee looked up tiredly as his friend approached. “Lisa’ll be back tonight, so I have to play husband again as well as cop.”

“Just so long,” Moody quipped as he shut the security door behind him, “as your kids don’t figure out how to access that web.”

“That is not funny.” Ooljee’s sense of humor had been strained by the disappearance of Yistin Gaggii. Though no one could have foreseen the hatathli’s escape, the sergeant still took it personally. As time passed without word of their quarry’s whereabouts, he had grown irritable and snappish.

The rumors circulating around the station didn’t stop until they ran a demonstration for the department’s upper echelon and a couple of government specialists. As soon as it was over and the initial shock had begun to fade, everyone was sworn to absolute secrecy under pain of penalties too numerous to mention, and all records pertaining to the discovery were sealed as if they were the lost jewels of King Solomon, before being carted off in a military molly by a team from the National Security Institute. Given the number of people Moody and Ooljee had talked to already, it was probably too late to satisfy Security, but the government representatives insisted on following procedure.

In fact, the only reason they hadn’t used the web right away to locate Gaggii a second time was the reluctance on the part of their superiors to allow them to do so. That was

Security for you. They had been compelled to demonstrate the existence of the web in order to prove its dangerous potential, and now that they’d done so they were forbidden to use it to try and prevent its possible misuse.

The longer the authorities bickered, the more time Gaggii gained to perfect his technique. Ooljee and Moody pointed out that it was vital they find him as quickly as possible, by whatever means necessary. They yelled and screamed, until finally it was allowed that they might be right. Reported sightings of their quarry had all proven false. There was no sign of him anywhere. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the Earth.

Even if that turned out to be the case, Moody and Ooljee argued, they could still locate him using the web. As more time passed, even the people from Washington began to grow nervous. Permission was finally granted to the two officers to utilize the device they had discovered.

So it was that they found themselves admitted to a quiet, sealed room on the first sublevel of police headquarters. Stores had issued them a brand-new five-by-five zenat, a lull-sized Plessevetti desk spinner, and a request to please try not to overwhelm the entire NDPS molly system in their search for one suspect.

“If we blow this one,” Ooljee muttered as he checked his spinner connections, “we are likely to wipe the database for the entire department.” The wall monitor opposite was three times the size of the one in his kitchen.

“We won’t blow it.” Moody did his best to shore up his partner’s confidence. “We know how to handle it now. We’re damn-well experienced.”

“Are we? Do we know as much about this as we think we do?”

“I hope so. I’d sure hate to know less than we think we

do.”

Ooljee grinned weakly, turned to face the screen, and activated the spinner. He began the chant almost reluctantly.

Moody kept a wary eye on his friend. Samantha Grayhills stood nearby and watched silently. She was trying to divide her time between the zenat and her own spinner as she frenziedly took notes.

On strict orders from the NSI they were alone in the room. It had been hell obtaining the agency’s permission to proceed. Ooljee had convinced them by insisting that if they were not allowed to proceed, Gaggii was sure to find a way to use the web in some unimaginable but highly damaging fashion that was certain to compromise national security. His claim was more speculation than certainty, but like any other government agency, the NSI thrived on speculation. Its worried representatives gave the two officers the go-ahead.

Out of deference to departmental concerns, the room had been smothered in interrupts and fail-safes so that in the event of another program runaway the web could be isolated from the rest of the building. Hopefully. It was one thing to have a precinct station bum, another to watch Reservation HQ go up in flames.

No, there could be no mistakes, Moody knew. He wasn’t worried. Hadn’t they successfully accessed the web several times since that incident? They knew what they were about.

As the strains of the chant echoed around the room, Grayhills beckoned Moody close and whispered in his ear.

“I was just thinking. We might be overlooking a potential problem. If this Gaggii has learned how to manipulate the web, and he knows that you located him before by using it, he might plant something to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Fine time to bring that up.” Moody joked to cover his unease. “Y’all are assuming he’s learned enough to pretty much do what he wants with it. I don’t buy that. If that was the case, we’d have heard something by now, because he as much as told us that he’s got it in his mind to do something noticeable.”

“You don’t call the conjuring up endless snake noticeable?”

“He did that to deal with a real threat in real time. Maybe he’s learned enough to use the web a little bit, but I don’t think he’s had time enough to learn how to prevent others from doing the same. Until Paul and I dropped in on him, he didn’t even suspect anyone else knew of its existence.”

She considered, still watching Ooljee at work. “I hope you are right.”

Moody straightened, watching his partner carefully. “Well, we’ll know in a couple of minutes, won’t we?”

The access sandpainting appeared on the zenat. Ooljee approached, made the necessary adjustment with his right hand, and stepped back as the image gave way to the coruscating infinity that was the web. Nothing leaped out of it to attack him. Nothing suggested that access was now in any way restricted or forbidden.

Ooljee didn’t hesitate. “Have you recently been accessed by the individual Yistin Gaggii?”

“Yes,” came the prompt reply.

The sergeant glanced with relief at his companions, addressed the zenat again. “Where did this occur?”

“Near the place Shungopavi.”

Samantha Grayhills was puzzled. “That’s on Hopi lands. What’s he doing there?” Seeing the confusion on Moody’s face, she explained, “The Hopi lands sit in the middle of the Navaho territories, like a square hole in a square doughnut.”

Ooljee queried the web anew. “Does he have a destination?”

“He is going to the place Cameron.”

Grayhills’ confusion deepened. “I wonder why Cameron? As I remember it, there is nothing there except a few tourist facilities and a Northern Arizona University science

extension.”

But Moody saw the possibilities immediately. “Mollys!

Webwork. He’s looking to replace the equipment we’ve denied him.”

She sounded dubious. “Not unless he’s easily satisfied. There’s nothing fancy up there. It’s all typical university facilities. Pure research stuff, no heavy-duty analytic equipment. ”

Moody looked disappointed. “Nothing else?”

“Just administrative offices and labs. Mostly geology and high-energy physics. Not my department, really. I saw a short vidpiece on NAU last year. It mentioned the extension.”

“But no intense molly ware?”

“Sorry. Nothing more than they need for local support. Cameron itself is a tiny town, an academic outpost.”

“Maybe that’s not his final destination. ” Moody regarded the compliant zenat. “Maybe he’s just going to be passing through. What else is in the area?”

“There’s the main NAU campus down in Flagstaff. It’s home to the biggest network between L.A. and Albuquerque.”

“Now, that makes sense. We need to alert the security people there, and get the local police to organize a cordon.”

‘‘Maybe we can find out what he is up to.” Ooljee looked back at the screen.

“Do you know what Yistin Gaggii is going to do in Cameron? Is that his final destination or only a stop on his journey to somewhere else?”

“I do not know,” replied the vocomposite, “because he does not know himself.”

“That makes no sense,” said Moody. “Ask it again.” Ooljee complied, the web replied. “I cannot divine purpose.”

“Well, that’s real helpful.”

“Unless one of you can think of a better question, I am going to turn it off,” Ooljee told them.

Moody had no new ideas. He watched while his partner ran through the shutdown procedure, relaxed when Onscreen was once more dominated by the familiar harmless lines of the Kettrick sandpainting.

The security door was unsealed and a lieutenant stuck his head through the opening. He did not look especially happy. Moody sensed other bodies crowding close behind, trying to see inside.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Everything is fine,” Ooljee assured him.

“The lights and work stations upstairs have been going nuts. What are you working with, anyway?”

“This.” Ooljee picked up his machine. “Department spinner. Mine, as a matter of fact. You can see that.”

“Yeah, I can see that. I just do not want to see the department’s electric bill for the month.” He backed out. As he shut the door behind him, Moody could hear him arguing with unseen people out in the hall.

Ooljee moved to cut the power, paused at Grayhills’ gesture. “Leave it on. It’s pretty, and it’s nice to be able to study it on a big screen. You can see the details better.” The sergeant shrugged, clipped his spinner to his belt.

“I don’t know much about sandpaintings.” She stared at the monitor. “Just what every kid on the Rez grows up hearing, along with whatever other traditional lore your parents decide you should know about.”

“That’s more than me,” Moody reminded her.

“I know more about them than I want to.” Ooljee took a seat with his back to the monitor.

“What’s that part there, left of center?” She pointed at the painting. “The part with all the birds.”

Ooljee gave his partner a look, turned resignedly.

“That is one portion we have been able to identify. Its full name is ‘Scavenger Being Carried Through the Sky hole by Eagles and Hawks Assisted by Snakes with Bird Power. ’ As you can see, it is very complex even for a sandpainting. It comes from the Bead Chant.

“Now over there,” he said, pointing, “you might expect to find something related, but as near as I have been able to determine, that has something to do with the Red Ant Way. Up near the top of the painting is an excerpt from the House of Moving Points. It is as if a painter decided to take bits and pieces of different Ways and slap them all together in one place, linked by devices of his own design, without rhyme or reason. Except that in this case the use of yellow sand is just such a hidden device.”

Grayhills rose and approached the monitor. Moody followed, curious; watched as she traced a portion of the image with a finger.

“What is this House of Moving Points?”

Ooljee scratched the back of his head. “Remember, I am a cop, not an academic. This is just a hobby of mine. As I recall, within the chant it is used to invoke the aid of Nayenezgani, or Monster Slayer, in relation to…”

“It makes me think of Cameron,” she said, interrupting him.

“You think there’s some guy named Nayenez Gani working in Cameron?” Moody asked sharply.

“No, no.” Her irritation could not completely subdue her smile. “I thought of Cameron because of the high-energy physics research facility there. According to the vid-piece I saw, the university had just finished installing a Moebial toroid particle accelerator on the north end of the campus. The piece talked about what an ideal location it was, since the entire installation had to be underground and the rock around Cameron is totally devoid of moisture.” Moody thought hard. Particle accelerator? House of Moving Points?

“C’mon, not you too. It’s bad enough part of this damn painting tells you how to access some kind of alien web-work. Now you’re trying to tell me another part describes a particle accelerator!’ ’

“I didn’t say that,” she told him. “But maybe your man Gaggii believes that it does.”

“It is something. It makes sense. Perhaps he is after information he cannot get from the web.” Ooljee oozed optimism. “He won’t get there quickly. The roads between Shungopavi and Cameron are not the best, and there is good reason to believe he is keeping to the back country.”

I thought this whole part of the state was back country, Moody thought to himself. “Even so, he’s got one helluva start on us.”

Again Grayhills directed their attention to the image on the monitor. “And this part here is Scavenger being lifted through a skyhole?”

“Assisted by eagles and snakes with bird power, yes.” Ooljee traced the image with a finger. “Sometimes twenty-four eagles and hawks, usually forty-eight. I’ve never seen a sandpainting this complicated. Maybe that was what attracted Mr. Kettrick to it. Notice the lightning guardian, here.” He pointed.

“And over there,” she continued, “is the House of Moving Points. A particle accelerator? Or something else?” She took a deep breath. “Tell me about Scavenger.”

“Legend says he goes around picking up discarded things.”

Moody looked sharply at his partner, recalling Gaggii’s alien garbage analogy.

Grayhills was drawing metaphors and analogies like an artist, all of them rife with impossibilities. What kind of scenario was she trying to sketch in their imaginations? He stared at the sandpainting, striving to comprehend its mysteries. Each grain of sand was a dot that had to be connected to another dot to form a complete picture. They only had bits and pieces to work with. It was akin to building a plane without the engines. It looked like something, but when it was finished it just sat there and wouldn’t go.

Ooljee went for the phone. “I am calling a cutter. We

will get to Cameron before Gaggii. As to what he is after, we’ll ask him—as soon as we take him into custody.”

“What,” Moody wondered aloud, “would this guy want with a particle accelerator? It ain’t like he’s after a plane or a free-state mollyblank.”

Grayhills looked thoughtful. “Maybe it has something to do with this Skyhole legend.”

“You can’t shoot holes in anything with a particle accelerator.” Moody hesitated. “At least I don’t think you can. I don’t know kudzu about physics, but I follow the news. All an accelerator does is throw particles you can’t see against other particles you can’t see, to make more particles you can’t see half as well as the original ones, right?”

“I’m no physicist, either. But then, what you usually do with a sandpainting is look at it, not use an extract from it to access some incomprehensible alien web. If you can do something out of the ordinary with one device, why not with another?”

Moody found himself hoping that Gaggii was simply insane. If he was working with real purpose, with a specific goal in mind, it raised a specter far more chilling than that of an ordinary madman running amok.

Ooljee hung up, looking satisfied. “Skycutter is on its way. It’s a Flex, the fastest transportation I could wheedle out of the department. They balked at first, but gave in when I invoked the NSI’s good name on our behalf.”

“We taking backup this time?”

Ooljee shook his head impatiently. “No room on the Flex and we want to get there well before Gaggii. Any help we need we can recruit in Cameron. There is an NDPS office there and the university’s own security people can help. Gaggii’s description will be all over the town and campus in ten minutes.”

Grayhills was apologizing as they entered the elevator that would carry them to the VTOL pad on the roof. “I should know more about my own heritage, but wlu-n you’ie trying to keep pace with the latest advances in interlacing spherical database security, it’s hard to find time to study what you learned as a kid. Is there anything else you can tell us about this Skyhole legend, or the House of Moving Points? Anything that might give us a hint about Gaggii’s plans?”

The sergeant muttered a mix of English and Navaho as the lift ascended. “If I think of anything, you will be the first to know. I keep trying to tell you I am no expert in these matters. It’s only a hobby with me.”

“Don’t keep selling yourself short,” said Moody reprovingly. “I don’t think there are any hatathlis running around with degrees in criminology, either. Thanks to you, we’ve made some connections. We’ll make more.”

I’m just not sure I want to, he thought worriedly. He felt as if he’d stepped off a hyperatmospheric shuttle into a deep, dark well. Now he’d been falling for so long, he was afraid of what would happen when he finally hit bottom.

He glanced surreptitiously at his partner. It must be a lot harder on him, the detective mused. Assisting on a murder investigation, only to end up haunted by his own heritage. At least I don’t relate to a lot of this. So it doesn’t scare me.

Then he remembered the mutaphysical projection Ooljee had called Endless Snake and decided it was all right to be scared.