There was always a hope of finding something useful on his quarry. He had a fairly complete dossier on Nomik Ciety, including the supposedly sealed files on his dreamdust detox with its sensitive psych counseling.
"Amazing how everything just happened to get wiped when Ciety was released," he muttered to himself.
The psych file really had been sealed; physically disconnected from the system. Even the best worm program would have problems with that-although there was something still lurking in the far reaches of the net, waiting to pounce on any mention of Ciety's name.
Sperin smiled. He liked an agile opponent; it made the game more interesting. Ciety seemed to be agile enough to fool a prison shrink, certainly. He might have kicked the dust, but that just made him more efficient at his sociopathic games.
Outstanding warrants:
The screen blinked live and began scrolling. Sperin's eyebrows stretched skyward. This was just the new stuff, the offenses since his release, supposedly "reformed." It was his first concentrated effort to gain a true picture of Nomik Ciety, the man and his methods, not just the haphazard files of those trying to catch the man.
From behind him one of the agents manning a security terminal made a strangled sound.
"Good grief!"
Bros turned: "What is it?'
The man gestured at the screen, speechless. Bros walked to the agent's station and leaned over his shoulder to look into the monitor.
An extremely elderly Sondee had entered the bar.
To other species male and female Sondee looked exactly alike, so it was impossible to guess the oldster's gender. Though in the ultraviolet range the sex difference between male and female Sondee was glaringly obvious.
The fact that most other species couldn't appreciate this was unfortunate, the Sondee agreed, but they still found it appalling, embarrassing, and gauche that anyone would ask such a personal and irrelevant question as What gender are you? Which they interpreted as being asked-essentially-What is the shape, color, and texture of your genitals?
To accommodate their androgynous appearance linguistically, individual Sondee were "et," the term having been coined because "it" was deemed derogatory. The problem with that was that in most Sondee languages not specifying an addressee's gender was a gross insult.
Fortunately for everyone else's peace of mind Sondee who dealt with other species on a regular basis were gracious enough to make an admission of gender part of their introduction.
The ancient Sondee standing just inside the doorway of The Anvil cupped ets withered hands protectively over the delicate whorled ridges that served as ears, and looked slowly around as though seeking someone. Ets two main eyes, though bright and golden, seemed sunken in pale, loose flesh. The upper eyes, which saw into the ultraviolet ranges, were actually closed, as though their owner was too weary to deal with the extra layer of information they would provide. The small, suckerlike mouth was pinched closed, as though in disapproval. It would suddenly expand to gasp in air, then pinch closed again.
The Sondee slowly blinked. Then, with tottering steps, et began to struggle across the club towards the bar.
Clearly, no one in The Anvil had ever seen a Sondee of such antiquity. Conversations stopped and even the band faltered for a beat as everyone watched et pass.
Using the backs of chairs and the edges of tables to keep etself upright on the journey, the old Sondee nodded politely to the owner of the occasional shoulder et leaned on.
When at last et reached ets destination, the bartender was waiting to take the Sondee's order. An unusual event in itself.
"Sakurian," the Sondee ordered in a voice like a creaking hinge.
Jaws dropped all around.
The Sondee were held to have the most beautiful voices in Central Worlds. Every one of them might have been a professional opera singer if it pleased them, and musically they'd easily overshadow most humans, however talented.
I don't believe it, Sperin thought. I don't believe that sound came from a Sondee throat-sac. Nobody who saw this was ever likely to forget it.
"You were… expecting a Sondee?" the security op asked Bros tentatively. "Right?"
"Yes," Bros growled. "A male. But I thought they were sending a live one."
When the Sondee at last tottered in on the arm of the young woman Bros had sent to fetch et, et instantly reverted to bouncing youth. And before their fascinated eyes began peeling off wattles, warts, and ridges until, with a dramatic gesture, et stood before them, glue-splotched but handsome.
For a Sondee…
"Seg!T'sel," et announced in a rich and vibrant voice. "Male, of the Clenst Defense Group. At your service!"
Bros stood looking at Seg with his arms crossed, hands clutching his arms. I will not try to strangle him, he thought, mastering his emotions with a wrenching effort. I will not.
"Mr.!T'sel," he said. "This was supposed to be a confidential meeting. Would you care to explain yourself?"
"Ah. Well," somewhat crestfallen, the young Sondee shrugged. "My, ah, my hobby…" He colored gently: first the ear whorls and then, slowly, the rest of his face flushed a delicate blue. "My hobby is disguise," Seg murmured. "I couldn't resist the opportunity."
"Well," Bros said with a bright, toothy smile. "As long as no one happens to be looking for a Sondee behaving in an unusual manner, there shouldn't be a problem."
Bros indicated a conference room and with a gesture invited Seg to precede him into it.
"But now that you've removed your makeup," he said, "how are we going to explain your present appearance? I'll tell you this, Mr.!T'sel, if I were sitting out there and watched you come in old and go out young, I'd be beating down the door, demanding some of whatever we gave you."
Seg chuckled nervously and sat down, folding his long, four-fingered hands before him on the table.
"Shall we proceed to the purpose of this meeting?" the young Sondee asked, somewhat desperately.
"One moment," Bros murmured, settling his long muscular form in the chair opposite. He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a small oval antieavesdropping device. He pushed a red button to activate it and placed it on the table before him. "Proceed," he said.
In his element,!T'sel launched into lecture mode and seemed immediately older and more confident.
"As you know, Mr. Sperin, The Clenst Defense Group works closely with the Central Worlds Navy research divisions. Recently, the Navy presented us with a range of biological weapons developed by a rogue group of Phelobites for the illegal arms market."
"Rogue Phelobite is a little redundant, isn't it Mr.!T'sel?" Bros murmured.
"Ah…," Seg shrugged and looked uncomfortable.
The Clenst Defense Group by its very nature was called upon to work closely with weapons manufacturers. Phelobites were unquestionably the premier arms manufacturers for Central Worlds. Officially, they adhered to all of the regulations and accords that being a member of Central Worlds called for, including those that banned the manufacture and sale of certain classes of armament. Unofficially, they would make and sell anything to anybody for the right price if they thought there was a good chance of getting away with it.
In most Phelobite languages, the word for altruism translated roughly as "sucker."
It was an open secret that did little to endear them to most of Central Worlds, including the Clenst Defense Group. Who nonetheless felt compelled to maintain a diplomatic silence regarding the Phelobites' less socially acceptable business practices.
Seg stretched his fingers and then folded his hands again.