"That may indeed be the case," Aymi-Mastr conceded. "There was an unconfirmedreport that something may have lifted out through the cloud of debris." Shewaved a pair of antennae at the photo. "But on the other palm is the statementthat you were seen with him last night. Look closely, Captain. Are you certainyou didn't exchange even a few words?"
She was making it so easy for me. All I had to do was say, yes, he'd hired mefor a job, but that that was before I knew he was a murderer. Aymi-Mastr wouldask what I knew, I would hand over the tag Cameron had given me, they wouldpickhim up at the Icarus's landing ramp, and I could walk away free and clear.
And best of all, I wouldn't have to face Brother John about this disruption inhis precious schedule.
With a sigh, I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Director Aymi-Mastr," I said, layingthe photo back on the desk. "I wish I could help. I really do—I don't muchcare for murderers myself. But I didn't talk to him, and I don't even rememberseeinghim go by on the street. Whoever your anonymous witness thinks he saw, itwasn't me."
For a four-pack of heartbeats she just gazed at me. Then, with a shrug ashuman and as ridiculous-looking on her as the finger-steepling thing, she nodded.
"Very well, Captain, if that's your final word."
"It is," I said, deciding to ignore the sarcasm of that last comment as Istood up. "May I go now? I do have a schedule to keep."
"I understand," she said, standing up to face me. "Unfortunately, before youleave Meima we will have to perform a complete search of your ship." She heldout a hand. "Your guidance tag, please."
I frowned, suddenly acutely conscious of the Icarus tag sitting there in plainsight in my collar slot. "Excuse me?"
"Your guidance tag, please," Aymi-Mastr said; and though all the genialtrappings were still in place, I could sense the sudden hardening of her tone.
"Please don't require me to use force. I know you humans consider Ihmisits tobe laughable creatures, but I assure you we are stronger than we look."
For a long second I continued the face-off. Then, muttering under my breath, Ireached up and slid both tags from the slot. "Fine," I growled, palmingCameron's tag and slapping the Stormy Banks's onto the desk. Brother John'scargo, I knew, would be well enough disguised to weather even a seriousIhmisit customs search. "Help yourselves. Just don't leave a mess."
"We shall be quick and neat," she promised. "In the meantime, if you'd like, youcan wait in the guest room behind the striped door."
"I'd rather wait in the hospitality center," I said stiffly, snagging the handle of my bag and pulling it over to me. "If you're going to waste my time thisway, you can at least let me get some breakfast."
"As you wish," Aymi-Mastr said, giving me the Ihmis gesture of farewell. Herphone warbled, and she reached over to pick it up. "We should be finishedwithin the hour," she added as she held the handset to her neck slits.
I spun on my heel and stalked across the room toward the door, trying to putas much righteous indignation into my posture as I could. They were letting mego, and they hadn't taken my phone. Either they didn't seriously suspect me, Aymi-Mastr's accusations to the contrary, or they did seriously suspect me andwere hoping to follow me to wherever I was hiding Cameron.
"Captain McKell?" Aymi-Mastr called from behind me.
For a flickering half second, I considered making a run for it. But the doorwas too far away, and there were too many Ihmisits between me and it. Bracingmyself, I turned back around. "What?" I demanded.
Aymi-Mastr was still on the phone, beckoning me back. I thought again aboutrunning, decided it made no more sense now than it had five seconds ago, andheaded back.
By the time I reached the desk she had finished the conversation. "Myapologies, Captain," she said, putting down the phone and holding out the tag she'd takenfrom me. "You may go."
I frowned suspiciously at the tag like it was some sort of kid's practicaljokethat would snap a spring against my finger if I took it. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Aymi-Mastr said, sounding midway between embarrassed anddisgusted. "My superiors just informed me they've heard from our mysteriousinformant again. It seems the charge has now changed: that you were seeninstead in the company of the notorious armed robber Belgai Romss. He attacked astoragedepot over in Tropstick three days ago."
I frowned. What the hell sort of game were they playing? "And, what, you wantme to take a look at his photo now?"
"That won't be necessary," Aymi-Mastr said, her disgust deepening.
"Apparently, our friend missed the follow-up story of Romss's capture early yesterdaymorning, before your ship arrived."
She pushed the tag toward me. "Obviously merely a troublemaker, as yousuggested. Again, my apologies."
"That's all right," I said, cautiously taking the tag. No spring snapped outto sting my fingers. "Maybe next time you won't be so quick to jump on somethinglike this without proof."
"With a murder investigation, we must always investigate every lead," shesaid, drumming her fingers thoughtfully on the top of my file. "A safe journey toyou, Captain."
I turned again and headed for the door, sliding the Stormy Banks tag back intomy collar slot but continuing to palm the Icarus one. No one tried to stop me, no one called me back, and two minutes later I was once again out in the openair. It was all over, and I was free to go.
I didn't believe it for a minute. It was all too pat, too convenient. TheIhmisits were still looking for Cameron, and they still thought I was the onewho was going to lead them to him. And they'd turned me loose hoping I'd doexactly that.
And unless they planned to tail me all the way to the Icarus—which was, Isupposed, an option—that meant they'd planted a tracker on me.
The question was how. Molecular-chain echo transponders were useless in theradio cacophony inside a major port, so it had to be one of the larger, needle-sized trackers. But I'd watched Aymi-Mastr's flunky as he searched mybag, and would have been willing to swear in court that he hadn't plantedanything.
Which meant it had to have been planted after the search. And then, of course, it was obvious.
Carefully, I eased the tag out of my collar and took a good look; and there itwas, slid neatly and nearly invisibly lengthwise through the bottom edge ofthe tag. Getting hold of the end with finger and thumbnail, I managed to pull itfree of the plastic.
Now came the problem of how to get rid of it without the telltalemotionlessness that would occur if I simply tossed it in the nearest trash bin. Fortunately, the opportunity was already close at hand. Coming rapidly through the crowd, three seconds away from intersecting my path, was a short Bunkre with one ofthose glittering, high-collared landing jackets that always remind me ofsomething you'd see at an Elvis revival. Adjusting my step slightly, I turnedmyhead partially away to make it look accidental, and slammed full tilt intohim.
"Sorry," I apologized, grabbing his shoulders to help him regain his balance.
I straightened his collar where the impact of my shoulder had bent it, at thesame time pulling a five-commark piece out of my pocket. "My personal faultentirely," I gave the proper Bunkrel apology as I offered him the coin. "Inpartial compensation, please have a meal or drink on the labor of my arms."
He snatched the coin, grunted the proper Bunkrel wheeze of acceptance andforgiveness, and immediately changed course toward the hospitality building.
Five commarks was about ten times the compensation the accident warranted, andhe was clearly bent on spending the money before the clumsy human realized hismistake and came looking for change.
With luck, he'd also be so busy spending it he wouldn't notice that while Iwas straightening his collar I'd left him a small present. I let him get a ten- meter head start, then followed.