Judgment at Proteus

SEVEN

I’d already discovered that the security nexus upstairs had an employee snack area. Now, I learned they also had a processing room complete with a pair of holding cells.

The cells weren’t much in the way of prisoner restraint, actually, certainly not compared to some of the high-tech prisons I’d seen across the galaxy. They were composed of plain high-impact plastic bars, with simple DNA-key locks, and extremely spare accommodations, each boasting a cot and sink/toilet combo. A single monitor camera covered the doors of both cells, and probably not much else. My guess was that the whole setup had been designed more as a drunk tank than with any expectations that they would someday play host to an actual accused felon.

But whatever the cells lacked in physical security was more than made up for by the half-dozen Jumpsuits milling around the processing room, every one of them keeping a sharp eye on me. They were clearly shaken, some of them stunned at the killing, others enraged by it.

And for the first time since I’d arrived at Proteus, they were carrying sidearms. From where I was sitting I couldn’t tell what kind of weapons they were, whether they were lethal or something more humane. I wasn’t especially anxious to find out, either.

Bayta was the first visitor to arrive, but she wasn’t allowed in to see me. I could see her out in the main nexus room, Ty at her heels, gesturing as she talked inaudibly to one of the Jumpsuits. Working solely from their body language, I tentatively concluded that she was demanding to see me while the Filly was insisting she couldn’t.

The next new arrival was Usantra Wandek. Him, naturally, they let right in.

“Good evening, Usantra Wandek,” I greeted him politely, standing up as he strode across the room toward my cell, the Jumpsuits melting out of his path like butter in front of a laser scalpel. “I don’t suppose it would help for me to tell you this is all a huge mistake.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t speak at all, in fact, until he had stopped just outside the bars. “Why?” he demanded.

“Why what?” I asked. “Why was I out for a walk? Or why did I try to help someone I thought might be hurt?”

“Why did you kill him?” he snarled. His blaze was mottling like crazy, the changes coming fast and furious. Clearly, he was as shaken as any of the Jumpsuits around him.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said. “And I’d like to request a replacement guardlaw for my trial.”

He twitched oddly. Apparently, that one had caught him completely by surprise. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said. “A guardlaw who instantly jumps to conclusions regarding my guilt in one situation can’t be trusted to be impartial in his judgments in a different situation.”

For a moment he just stared at me, as if not believing an accused murderer on the wrong side of a cell door would dare lecture him on the responsibilities of his rank and position. He drew himself up—

[Say nothing more, Mr. Compton,] Minnario called from the doorway. [You’re under my guidance now. Please let me through. Let me through, please.]

Most of the Jumpsuits moved more or less promptly out of his way. A couple of them, those who seemed angriest about the murder, did just the opposite, placing themselves between Minnario’s chair and the cells. Useless spite, of course—even something as archaic as the Slisst Protocols undoubtedly allowed a prisoner free access to his attorney. Or to his second, as the Protocols probably phrased it. I waited, memorizing the uncooperative Jumpsuits’ faces for future reference, as Minnario made his way through the crowd. I also noted that Wandek made no attempt to intervene on Minnario’s behalf.

But Minnario was just as stubborn as the Fillies, and eventually he got through the obstacle course and glided to a halt beside Wandek. [What’s this about?] he asked tersely. [Bayta messaged that you were in custody. Now I hear from the patrollers that you’re accused of murder?]

“Yes, I am, and no, I didn’t do it,” I said. “But you have to admit, there’s a certain charm in this kind of consistency.”

Minnario finished reading the transcription on his display and then looked at Wandek. [I’ll speak to my client alone, if you please,] he said firmly.

“He has not yet made an official statement of his activities this night,” Wandek countered, just as firmly. “He might as well speak it to both of us together.”

[The requirements of the law—]

“That’s all right,” I interrupted. “I have nothing to say that Usantra Wandek can’t hear. Besides, it’s a long story, and I’d hate to have to tell it twice.”

Minnario’s conical mouth puckered, but he nodded. [Proceed,] he said.

“And in that same vein,” I added, “we might as well have Bayta in here, too.”

This time it was Wandek’s turn for a puckered mouth. Clearly, I wasn’t making anyone happy tonight. “She is not necessary to this conversation.”

I folded my arms across my chest and remained silent. His blaze did its mottling thing, and then he half turned toward the door. {Bring the Human,} he called.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, one of the Jumpsuits appeared in the doorway, with Bayta and Ty following close behind. The Filly led her to Minnario’s side, took one look at Wandek’s thunderous expression, and beat a hasty retreat.

“Are you all right?” Bayta asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “Okay, here’s how it went down. I was awakened about twelve o’clock by the message light on my computer. The message said only that the way was clear and that I needed to go.”

“What does that mean, the way is clear?” Wandek asked.

“Good question,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, I really don’t know. Even more unfortunately, since the message was unsigned, I didn’t have any way to write or call back and see what it was all about.”

“You should have called the patrollers,” Wandek said severely.

“What, to report a confusing message?” I scoffed. “Because at the time I thought that was all it was. Since it was in English, and since I gather not a whole lot of people aboard Proteus are fluent in the language, I just assumed the sender had garbled the translation.”

“The computers aboard Kuzyatru Station do not make translation errors,” Wandek said stiffly.

“I’m sure they don’t,” I said. “But the station’s computers weren’t involved. Computer translations are always tagged, and I know what the Proteus mark looks like—I saw it when I was looking up restaurant listings. No, whoever sent the message typed it in just the way I got it.”

[So if the message was mistranslated, what did you think it was supposed to say?] Minnario asked.

“I didn’t know then, and I really don’t know now,” I told him. “But since the reason I came to Proteus was to watch over Ms. German, I assumed it had something to do with her. So I got dressed and headed for the medical dome to see if something was going on that I should know about.”

[Did you speak to her doctors?] Minnario asked. [What did they say?]

“Nothing, because I never got to any of them,” I said. “The building was completely dark, so I figured everyone was down for the night. I was heading toward one of the other buildings, one of the ones that was showing lights, to see if someone there might have sent me the message, when I saw the body.”

“Why did you not use your comm to signal an emergency?” Wandek asked.

“Because my trained response to such things is to first check them out myself,” I said. “Who was he, anyway?”

“One of the techs from Building Eight.” Wandek cocked his head. “The building in which Terese German is being treated.”

I felt a shiver run up my back. So this hadn’t been just some random killing of some random person. Whoever had set me up had done a good job of paying attention to the details. “Was he on the night shift?” I asked.

“His position and rank are irrelevant,” Wandek said. “So you then approached the body—”

“Excuse me, but the victim’s life and particulars are very much not irrelevant,” I put in. “If he was night shift, he must have gone to Building Twelve for some reason. What reason? If, on the other hand, he was day shift, what was he doing in the dome at night? Was he lured there the same way I was?”

For once, Wandek seemed at a loss for words. He looked at Minnario, then at Bayta, and finally back at me. “Yes,” he said, his voice subdued. “Yes, I see what you mean. Perhaps…” He trailed off, and did another glance around at Minnario and Bayta. “Please continue.”

“That’s basically it,” I said. “I went over to see what had happened, but before I could do more than confirm he was dead and start to call for help, the door opened and someone started screaming. Ninety seconds later the place was crawling with Jumpsuits, half of them trampling the crime scene while the other half hauled me up here.”

“They did not trample the crime scene,” Wandek growled, the momentary introspective mood having apparently passed. “They were attempting to resuscitate the victim.”

“Well, whatever they were doing, the scene looked to be pretty well demolished,” I said. “So that’s how I spent my evening. Where do we go from here?”

Wandek seemed to brace himself. “You were found at the scene of a killing,” he said. “You must be processed and formally charged with that crime.”

For a moment I considered asking how he thought I could have pulled off a cold-blooded murder with my station-issue conscience Doug at my side. But given that both Doug and Ty were presumably supposed to be sticking close to me, and given the fact that only one of them was actually there with me in my cell, I decided it might not be the wisest thing to bring that up. I still didn’t know what this tag-team game was that the watchdogs were playing, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to it until I had a few answers of my own. “Understood,” I said instead. “What about the rest?”

Wandek frowned. “The rest of what?”

“The rest of the suspects,” I said. “I figure the list includes everyone who works in Buildings Twelve and Eight, plus the night crews in the other buildings—oh, hell, let’s just make it everyone in the medical dome and be done with it. Plus all the victim’s friends and enemies, of course.”

“Do not mock me,” Wandek warned darkly. “You are the one who was found with the body.”

“Which either makes me the dumbest murderer in this half of the galaxy or else makes my story true,” I countered. “But suit yourself. If I were you, though, I’d get that autopsy up and running as soon as possible. There’s this thing we Humans call the 24/24 rule: the most important part of a murder investigation are the twenty-four hours immediately before the crime, and the twenty-four hours immediately afterward.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Wandek said with an edge of sarcasm. “In the meantime, you will stay here.” He turned a glare onto Minnario and Bayta. “The discussion is over. Return to your quarters.”

I looked at Bayta, noting the fresh tightness in her expression. “Bayta will be staying here,” I said quickly.

“What do you say?” Wandek demanded.

“I want her here with me,” I told him. “Which part of that didn’t you get?”

Wandek turned to Bayta, his blaze going into full mottle mode again. “That is ridiculous,” he insisted. “She is charged with no crime.”

“No, but since you haven’t yet charged the real suspects with the crime, it’s got a sort of weird yin/yang to it,” I said. “She can bunk down in the other cell.”

“No,” Wandek said firmly. “Keeping her here could be construed as an unstated charge, permitting the possibility of counteraction against Kuzyatru Station. I cannot permit it.”

[There would be no such liabilities if the cell door was left open,] Minnario spoke up. [If her actions aren’t hindered, there would be no construing that she was under charges.]

“She could even sign a contract waiving her right to counteraction if those parameters are met,” I added.

Wandek bit out a phrase that had somehow been missed in the Westali language classes. But contracts were king, queen, and the whole royal flush in the Filiaelian Assembly, and now that I’d invoked that magic word he would have a hard time turning down my request. “I will prepare the contract,” he said reluctantly. He turned a baleful eye on Bayta and raised his voice. {Lieutenant of the Guard? Come at once and open this cell.}

One of the Jumpsuits hurried forward. He reached for my cell door—{The other one, fool,} Wandek gritted.

The Jumpsuit frowned in obvious confusion. But an usantra had spoken. Dutifully, he touched the pad of the unoccupied cell. The door gave a snick, and he pulled it open. {Is the Human female also to be charged with murder?} he asked.

{She merely wishes lodging for the night,} Wandek growled. {She may come and go as she pleases. See that she and the prisoner are fed in the morning.}

{I obey, Usantra Wandek,} the Jumpsuit said.

Without another word, Wandek spun around and strode from the room. Once again, the loitering Jumpsuits made sure to get out of his way.

[I take my leave, as well,] Minnario said. He looked around and leaned in close to me. [Whatever speech you wish to share, remember there’s a camera pointed at you,] he added quietly. Getting a grip on his chair’s controls, he swiveled around and headed out in Wandek’s wake. This time, none of the Jumpsuits bothered to interfere.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Bayta asked softly.

I looked behind me. The two cells were set up as mirror images of each other, with the cots pressed end to end against the dividing set of bars. “Later,” I said, giving an elaborate yawn that required no acting whatsoever. “Let’s get to bed, shall we?”

Bayta’s eyes flicked past me to the cot arrangement. “Good idea,” she said.

She stepped through the door of her new quarters and walked to her bed, lying down with her head to the bars. Ty, for once, didn’t try to hog the headboard position, but merely curled up on the floor beside her. I lay down, too, my head toward Bayta’s, then gave the three remaining Jumpsuits in the room a baleful look. “Do you mind?” I asked. “A little privacy, if you please. You can also turn off the lights while you’re at it.”

Taking their own sweet time about it, the three Fillies strolled from the room. The lights, naturally, stayed on.

“Are you all right,” Bayta whispered. “I mean, really all right?”

“As all right as someone can be who’s being framed for yet another murder,” I told her sourly. “They’re doing an especially terrific job on this one, too. Did I mention that the two cameras in the dome had already been taken out when I got there?”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “How was it done?”

“One of them was twisted up on its gimbals where it couldn’t see anything but the top of the dome,” I said. “The other isn’t even there anymore. No idea when it was done, but certainly sometime before the murderer got busy.”

“So that no one would see the killing,” Bayta murmured.

“And so that I couldn’t prove when in the timeline I arrived on the scene,” I said. “Fortunately, I have an ace in the hole that so far no one seems to have noticed.”

“The msikai-dorosli?”

“Exactly,” I said. “I didn’t see much of the victim before I was hauled away, but I saw enough to know that he’d been stabbed at least twice. They looked a lot like the wounds Muzzfor inflicted on our allies aboard the super-express.”

“Allies.” Even in a whisper, I could sense the odd flatness to the word. “I’m sorry, but it still sounds wrong to talk about the Modhri that way.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to get used to it,” I assured her. “That was a specific mind segment, in a specific situation, and the truce we had died when he did. So just forget it.”

“I’m trying,” Bayta said. “So you’re saying one of the Shonkla-raa was the killer?”

“I’ll know better if and when I get a look at the autopsy,” I said. “Those fancy self-locking stabbing fingers Muzzfor had aren’t likely to be mistaken for a knife or any other kind of weapon. It’s probably too much to hope that we’ll be able to match the wounds to any specific fingers, but we should at least be able to prove they were fingers.”

“Though a specific match may not be impossible,” Bayta said thoughtfully. “The Proteus computer system is quite extensive.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I said. “Speaking of which, what exactly were you doing on the computer when I went to bed?”

There was just the briefest hesitation. “I was mostly just looking around,” she said.

“Mostly?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone warning me to drop it. “We’ve talked about how those enhanced Shonkla-raa throats look like the ones Filiaelian opera singers sometimes get to extend their range and volume.”

Whereas the Shonkla-raa used their additional vocal capacity to send out an ultrasonic tone that could paralyze Spiders and take control of Modhran walkers. All things considered, I’d rather have opera. “So what were you were looking for, the headquarters of the Proteus Operatic Society?”

“Actually, yes, I was,” she said, sounding a little miffed at my tone. “And every other musical and singing group aboard.”

I grimaced. “Sorry,” I apologized. “Actually, that’s a very good idea.”

“Not really,” she said with a sigh. “It turns out that there are dozens of groups devoted to songs and singing, scattered all across the station. Not to mention at least five operatic associations. Dead end.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Maybe we can figure out a way to refine the search. Were any of the operatic societies in this sector?”

“No, the nearest was in Sector 25-C.”

Three sectors away from us in the direction of the station’s rim. On a station this size, that was a long walk and a hell of a lot of Fillies away. “It’s still a good idea,” I said. “Let’s think about it some more and see what we come up with.” I yawned again. “Or rather, let’s sleep on it. I don’t know about you, but I’m about half dead.”

“You think we’re safe here?” Bayta asked quietly.

So she’d figured out why I’d insisted on her staying with me tonight. “What, surrounded by Proteus patrollers?” I countered, trying for a cheerfulness that I didn’t really feel.

“Most of whom think you’re a murderer.”

“Most of whom have had one murder on their watch and want to make damned sure they don’t have a second one,” I pointed out. “I was a cop, Bayta. I know how cops think and feel. Besides, Filly cops are designed with very specific behavioral boundaries. I doubt they could get up a good lynch mob even if they wanted to.”

She didn’t answer, and it wasn’t hard for me to guess what she was thinking. That was all well and good for your run-of-the-mill Filly cops, but these cops were on Proteus Station, under the authority of the ancient Slisst Protocols. Neither of us had a clue what the Protocols had to say about lynch mobs.

“It’ll be all right,” I said into the silence. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“All right.” Bayta paused. “It’s almost like being in the middle of a dit-rec drama, isn’t it?”

“That does seem to be the way our lives have been going these days,” I agreed. “Any one in particular springing to mind?”

“I was just thinking tonight about the one you showed me last week,” she said. “The Hitchcock dit-rec where the man was framed for murder and found himself caught up in a huge conspiracy.”

“Right—The 39 Steps,” I said, making a face. “That one’s definitely hitting a little too close to home tonight. I don’t think Proteus’s bullet trains go anywhere near Scotland, though.”

“Too bad,” she said. “The landscape looked very pleasant.”

“I’ll take you there someday,” I promised. “Your choice as to with or without the handcuffs.”

She exhaled, just loudly enough for me to hear. “If we ever make it there, I think we’ll have had enough of handcuffs.”

“I suppose,” I conceded. “Joking aside, try not to let any of this worry you. We’ve gotten out of much worse situations. We’ll get out of this one, too.”

“I know,” she said. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, Bayta.”

There were some soft creakings as she resettled herself on her cot, and with a grimace I did the same. Maybe she was right. Maybe we would be murdered in our beds. If we were, I’d never forgive myself.

There was a little woof from across my cell. I opened my eyes to see that Doug had once again settled himself in front of my door, once again keeping me from sneaking out alone. The fact that the lock on this particular door was on the other side had apparently escaped him.

Still, even a Jumpsuit lynch mob wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill me in their own security nexus. And if Doug was keeping me from getting out, he was also keeping anyone else from getting in. It was, I decided, a fair enough trade.

Closing my eyes again, I rolled over to face the wall, where the glaring light was the least intrusive, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I slept straight through the night, without any of the disturbances or interruptions that might have been caused by on-duty Jumpsuits “accidentally” dropping tools or equipment where the clatter might startle a prisoner awake. There were no such incidents, I wasn’t murdered in my bed, and when I did wake up it was to the delectable aroma of a hot breakfast on a tray just inside my cell.

The Jumpsuits might think I was a murderer, but that clearly wasn’t interfering with their professionalism. Genetic engineering, I thought as I ate, could be a wonderful thing.

I had finished my breakfast, and Bayta was just starting to stir in her cell, when we had a visitor.

“Good morning,” Logra Emikai said gravely, glancing around the processing room as he walked across to our cells. “I trust your treatment has been proper?”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” I assured him, waving around the room. “What do you think? Professionally, I mean.”

“Very nice,” he said. “More compact than other processing areas I have seen, but well and properly equipped.” He gave my cell a quick once-over. “Though the holding facilities are not as secure as I would prefer.”

“I doubt they usually have to deal with anything more dangerous than the occasional rowdy,” I pointed out. “I hope you didn’t come here to escort me to my morning court appearance. It looks like I’m going to be tied up for a while.”

“Indeed,” Emikai agreed. “But not in the way you think.” He half turned. {Lieutenant of the Guard?} he called.

A Jumpsuit appeared in the doorway, striding toward me with a darkened blaze and a decidedly unhappy expression on his face. He reached the cell and touched the pad, and the door popped open. Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

Emikai beckoned to me. “Come.”

“Come where?” I asked, not moving. “Chinzro Hchchu’s court?”

“That proceeding has been put on indefinite suspension,” Emikai said. “You have been assigned to investigate last night’s murder.”

I felt my jaw drop. “I’ve been what?”

“An unexpected turn of events, to be sure,” Emikai agreed. “But as you yourself already stated, the experience of the Kuzyatru Station patrollers is largely limited to overenthusiastic revelers and threats to property. As it happens, there are only two trained investigators aboard.” He barked a small laugh. “You, and I.”

“And they’re desperate enough to actually put me in the game?” I asked, still not believing it. “The chief suspect in the case?”

“You are no longer a suspect,” Emikai said. “Chinzro Hchchu has so ruled.”

I glanced at Bayta, who was now sitting up on her cot listening to us. “You’re kidding,” I said. “A prosecutor declaring his very own defendant innocent? That’s one for the books.”

“Only for this particular crime,” Emikai clarified. “The events surrounding the other six murders must still be examined, because at that time you did not have msikai-dorosli observing your actions.” He looked down at Doug, then across to where Ty was still dozing beside Bayta. “Chinzro Hchchu realizes you could not possibly have committed such a crime in their presence.”

“Glad someone agrees with me, for whatever reason,” I said, turning to Bayta. “You ready to play detective?”

“Of course,” she said, looking over at her breakfast tray. “Do I have time to eat first?”

“She can remain here and join us after her meal,” Emikai offered. “Or she could simply stay here. She is not a trained investigator, is she?”

“No, but she’s terrific at holding the flashlight,” I said. “Just take the tray along, Bayta—you can eat on the way down.” I cocked an eyebrow at Emikai as something suddenly occurred to me. “And I’ll also need my reader, data chips, and the rest of the gear the patrollers took away from me.”

Emikai’s blaze darkened a bit. He’d seen that reader in action, back on the super-express train, and he knew all about the sensor/analyzer hidden inside its innocent-looking exterior. “I do not know if Chinzro Hchchu will agree to that,” he warned.

“Then Chinzro Hchchu had better find himself another investigator,” I said bluntly. “I need my data files, investigative templates, pattern dissectors—all the stuff a modern detective relies on.”

“I shall make that point,” Emikai said. He hesitated. “Do you also demand your weapon be returned?”

“That would be awfully nice, what with a murderer running around Proteus and all,” I said. “But I doubt even under these circumstances that Chinzro Hchchu would be willing to go that far. If you can get me everything else, we’ll call it even.”

“I shall do what I can,” he promised. “Are you ready?”

I looked at Bayta. She was crouching on the floor beside her breakfast tray, feeding one of the fried giggra strips to Ty. I winced—I’d completely forgotten about Doug when I’d eaten my own meal. “Yes, we’re ready,” I said. “Let’s stop by the duty station on our way out and see if there’s something more convenient for Bayta to carry her breakfast in than that tray.”

I looked down at Doug. He was looking back at me, his mouth open just far enough for me to see the sharp points of his front teeth. “And,” I added, “we should also probably pick up a few more of those giggra strips.”