And I was mostly right. The friendly lighting, extremely casual furniture, andsmiling faces were hallmarks of the Ihmis style, all designed to put visitorsat their ease.
From what I'd heard, all those same friendly touches remained cheerfully inplace right up to the point when they strapped you to the rack and startedcranking.
"Ah—Captain McKell," a deep voice called as I was led across the bustling mainroom to a large and cluttered desk in the corner. Director Aymi-Mastr wastypical of the species, with bulging, froglike eyes, four short insectoidantennae coming up from just above those eyes, and costal ridges around thesides of the face and neck. A female, of course; with Ihmisits the females were generally the ones with the organizational skills necessary to run a zoo likethis. "Good of you to drop by. Please sit down."
"My pleasure, Director," I said, sitting down in the chair at the side of thedesk, deciding to pass over the fact that I hadn't had much choice in thematter. One of the other Ihmisits set my bag on the desk and started riflingthrough it; I thought about complaining, decided against it. "What's thisabout?"
"To be perfectly honest, Captain, I'm not entirely certain myself," she said, selecting a photo from the top of a stack of report files and handing it tome.
"A message has come down from my superiors to ask you about this person."
It was a picture of Arno Cameron.
"Well, he's a human," I offered helpfully. So it wasn't Brother John's cargothey wanted after all. At the moment I couldn't decide whether that was goodor bad. "Aside from that, I don't think I've ever seen him before."
"Really," Aymi-Mastr said, dropping the pitch of her voice melodramatically.
She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers in front of her—like themelodramatic tone, an annoying habit many Ihmisits had picked up from the oldEarth movies they consumed by the truckload. "That's very interesting.
Particularly given that we heard from a witness not fifteen minutes ago whoclaims you were talking to him last night in a Vyssiluyan taverno."
A family of Kalixiri ferrets with very cold feet began running up and down myspine. "I hate to impugn the integrity of your witness," I said flatly, tossingthe photo back onto the desk. "But he's wrong."
The frog eyes narrowed. "The witness was very specific about your name."
"Your witness was either drunk or a troublemaker," I said, standing up. Thattaverno had been crowded, and after my grandstand play against the threeYavanni there would be a dozen beings who would remember me, at least half of whomwould probably also remember me talking with Cameron. I had to bluff my way out ofhere, and fast, before they started digging deeper.
"Sit down, Captain," Aymi-Mastr said sternly. "Are you telling me you weren'tout last night?"
"Of course I was out," I said, putting some huffiness into my voice as Ireluctantly sat down again. "You don't expect anyone to spend any more timethan they have to in one of those Vyssiluyan hotel bug-traps, do you?"
She gave me the Ihmis equivalent of a wry smile, which just made her face thatmuch more froglike. "A point," she conceded. "Did you visit any tavernos?"
I shrugged. "Sure, I hit some of them. What else is there for a spacer to doaround here? But I didn't talk to anyone."
She sighed theatrically. "So you say. And therein lies the trouble." Shepickedup a report file and opened it. "Your word, against that of an unidentifiedand unknown informant. Which of you should we believe?"
"Wait a minute—you don't even know who he is?" I demanded, feeling sweatstarting to gather under my collar. I wasn't particularly good with Ihmislettering, but I'd made it a point to learn what my name looked like in mostof the major scripts in the Spiral. That was my Commonwealth Mercantile Authorityfile she was holding; and nothing in there was likely to make my word comparefavorably against anyone else's. "What kind of scam is this, anyway?"
"That is what we're trying to find out," Aymi-Mastr said, frowning at the fileand then up at me. "This photo doesn't do you justice at all. When was ittaken?"
"About seven years ago," I told her. "Back when I started doing independentshipping."
"No, no justice at all," she repeated, peering closely at me. "You shouldarrange to have a new one taken."
"I'll do that," I promised, though offhand I couldn't think of anything thatwas lower on my priority list at the moment. For someone on Brother John'spayroll, it could be a distinct advantage to not look like your official photos. "I'vebeen through a lot since then."
"Indeed you have," she agreed, leafing through the pages. "To be honest, Captain, your record hardly encourages us to take your word for this. Or foranything else, for that matter."
"There's no need to be insulting," I growled. "Anyway, all that happened alongtime ago."
"Five years in the EarthGuard Auxiliary," Aymi-Mastr went on. "Apparently areasonably promising career that went steeply downhill during the last ofthose years. Court-martialed and summarily drummed out for severe insubordination."
"He was an idiot," I muttered. "Everyone else knew it, too. I was just theonlyone who had the guts to tell him that to his face."
"In most colorful detail, I see," Aymi-Mastr said, flipping over another page.
"Even knowing only a fraction of these Earth words, it's an impressive list."
She flipped over another two pages—highlights of the court-martial, no doubt—
and again paused. "After that was a four-year stint with the Earth CustomsService.
Another potential career ended with another sudden dismissal. This one fortaking bribes."
"I was framed," I insisted. Even to my own ears the protest sounded flat.
"Protests of that sort begin to sound weaker after the first one," Aymi-Mastrsaid. "I see you managed to avoid jail rime. The note here suggests theCustoms Service decided you were too embarrassing for a proper trial."
"That was their excuse," I said. "It also conveniently robbed me of any chanceto clear my name."
"Then there were six months with the small firm of Rolvaag Brothers Shipping," she continued, flipping more pages. "This time you actually struck someone.
The younger Mr. Rolvaag, I see—"
"Look, I don't need a complete quarterly review of my life," I cut her offbrusquely. "I was there, remember? If there's a point to this, get to it."
The Ihmisit who'd been quietly searching my bag sealed it and straightened up.
He exchanged a couple of words with Aymi-Mastr, then walked away, leaving thebag behind. I wasn't surprised; there was nothing in there that could possiblybe construed as improper. I hoped Aymi-Mastr wasn't too disappointed. "Thepointis that you hardly qualify as an upstanding, law-abiding citizen," Aymi-Mastrsaid, returning her attention to me. "Not to file too sharp a point onto it, but you are the sort of person who might indeed give aid and assistance to amurderer."
The word was so completely unexpected that it took a couple of turns around mybrain before finally coming to a stop. Murderer? "Murderer?" I askedcarefully.
"This guy killed someone?"
"So says the report," Aymi-Mastr said, watching me closely. "Do you find thatso difficult to believe?"
"Well, frankly, yes," I said, feigning confusion. I didn't have to feign toohard. "He looks like such a solid citizen in that picture. What happened? Whodid he kill?"
"The director of an archaeological dig out in the Great Wasteland," Aymi-Mastrsaid, setting my file aside and steepling her fingers again. "There was amassive explosion out there early yesterday morning—you didn't hear aboutthat?"