“Yes,” said Prilicla.
Shech-Rar showed its teeth, whether in a smile or a scowl Hewlitt could not be sure, then said, “A clear, single-syllable answer. Good. But when a vessel like Rhabwar arrives on a confidential mission that is neither important nor sensitive, that is curious and so am I. No matter, Doctor. What do you need from me?”
It took only a few minutes for Prilicla to detail its requirements, but it was obvious from Shech-Rar’s voice when it spoke that suspicion had replaced its former impatience.
“I was not assigned here until five years after these incidents took place,” said the colonel, “so I have no direct responsibility in the matter. The flyer accident to the subject’s parents, which to my mind is the only incident worthy of attention, was fully investigated. The findings were that the cause was a combination of adverse weather conditions, a power system malfunction that affected the control linkages, and pilot error, the error being in not waiting until the storm had passed. You are welcome to a copy of the report. But why is it that young people with long lives ahead of them take needless risks while the old ones, with much less time remaining, are so careful?”
The colonel made an untranslatable sound, as if irritated with itself for digressing into philosophy, and went on, “In spite of what you have told me, the arrival of Rhabwar and your team here is the true measure of the mission’s importance. However, if your investigation is likely to uncover any long-past act of negligence or other misbehavior on the part of any of my officers, I will not allow you to question them until I have satisfied myself that they have Corps legal representation before answering any charges. Is that understood, Doctor?”
The empath’s fragile body and limbs trembled for a moment, as if it was sensing Shech-Rar’s emotional radiation at extreme range; then it said, “I assure you, Colonel, it is not that kind of investigation. We require permission to explore the locality where the incidents took place and, if they are still on Etla, interview the beings concerned. We are interested in their recollections, nothing more, and will make allowances for any lapses of memory. The approximate timing of the event is known to us, but we will need your help in identifying the people concerned. At present we do not even know their names.”
“That information will be on my predecessor’s file,” said the colonel. “Wait.”
Rather than the transmission ending, when Shech-Rar’s image disappeared it was replaced by the Monitor Corps symbol on a field of deep blue, indicating that the wait was not expected to be a long one. On Rhabwar everyone remained silent, not wishing to start a discussion that was sure to be interrupted. Hewlitt watched the screen until the hairy features of the colonel reappeared.
“The names you require,” said Shech-Rar without preamble, “are Stillman, Hamilton, and Telford. Major Stillman, who was then a surgeon-lieutenant, is now retired but still attached to the base as an Etlan cultural advisor, as is Dr. Hamilton, the civilian specialist in other-species dentistry. Should you need to interview it, Surgeon-Captain Telford, the senior base medical officer at the time, was posted to Dutha three years ago. The present encumbent, Surgeon-Lieutenant Krack-Yar, will make the hospital records available and discuss them with you on request.
“The matter is not important enough to warrant going to Dutha,” said Prilicla. “In the absence of the original medical officer, a copy of its records and the flyer accident investigation report will be fine, as soon as you find it convenient, Colonel.”
Shech-Rar looked at someone offscreen, nodded, then said, “Is fifteen minutes soon enough?”
“You don’t believe in wasting time, Colonel,” said Prilicla. “Thank you, yes.”
“Rather than send you the names, locations, and a map,” said Shech-Rar, “it will waste even less of your time if Major Stillman acts as your guide and escort. He can take you over the ground and introduce you to the people concerned as well as, hopefully, telling me what you are really doing here…”
Definitely, thought Hewlitt, the colonel had spent a long time among Kelgians.
“The residence you mentioned,” it went on, “is no longer occupied by Earth-humans. Do you still need to visit it?”
For an instant the Cinrusskin’s hover became less stable. Then it recovered and said, “Yes, Colonel. If only to apologize for landing Rhabwar uninvited in their backyard.”
Being an emotion sensitive, Priicla always tried to avoid doing or saying anything that would cause an unpleasant emotional reaction in others, because the other person’s anger or distress would be shared by the empath. Even though the colonel was well beyond the range of its empathic faculty, the habit of always saying the right thing was strong. But there were times, Hewlitt had found, when the little entity could be very economical with the truth. He had the feeling that this was one of them.
“Major Stillman will meet you at your airlock in three hours,” said the colonel. “Is there anything else you need from me, Doctor?”
Before Prilicla could finish saying no and thanking it again, the transmission ended.
“I could have taken you to the site, and the house, without Stillman’s help,” said Hewlitt. “Why do you want to go to the house anyway? The real reason, I mean, not the polite, socially acceptable one that you gave the colonel.”
“If we refused the assistance of the local Monitor Corps, friend Hewlitt,” said Prilicla, “the colonel would be sure that we were trying to hide something. We are not hiding anything, because we still don’t kr~ow if there is anything to hide except, perhaps, our own future embarrassment.
“I have no good reason to visit the house,” it went on, “other than to cover old ground in the hope that a useful idea will occur to us, or to you, while we are doing so. I feel you radiating disbelief combined with disappointment. Perhaps you were expecting a more substantial reason. But the truth is that we have no clear idea of what, if anything, we will find there.
“We will proceed with the briefing now…
They might not know what they were looking for, Hewlitt thought, but Captain Fletcher and the entire medical team were going out well equipped to find it. His translator was working, but the language was too specialized and technical for him to understand and make a contribution, so he listened without speaking until there was an interruption from the wall speaker.
“Communications. The material promised by Colonel ShechRar has come in. Instructions?”
“Put it on our repeater screen, friend Haslam, and run the accident report first,” said Prilicla. It drifted closer until the downdraft from its wings stirred his hair, and went on, “You are welcome to remain, friend Hewlitt, but if at any time you find this material or our conversation distressing, please feel free to return to your bed and raise the hush field.”
“It happened a long time ago,” he said. “I was too young to be told all the details, but now I want to know. Thank you, but I feel sure that I’ll be all right.”
“I will know how you feel, friend Hewlitt,” said Prilicla. “Proceed, friend Haslam.”
The report began with the service ID pictures of his parents, which surprised him because they looked no older than he was now, and in his mind they had always been so much bigger and older than himself. They had been looking very serious for the camera, he thought as the other personal and physiological details unrolled, but that must have been one of the few times when they had not smiled at him. The memories came flooding back, sharp and clear and corroborating in every detail the reconstruction of the accident investigators.