We knew the names on their travel documents. The Porrinyards had saved me from Veys Naaiaa, and I’d taken down one Shaarpas Tharr. Even with their every move in the terminal recorded by security monitors, it would likely take months to collate their movements to those of every other civilian passing through at the same time. By then the potential suspect pool, both potential assassin and potential target, would be distributed across the length and breadth of Xana’s two habitable continents, as well as occupying berths on more than a dozen vessels headed for destinations throughout civilized space.
None of the searches turned up any more Claws of God, or any more Bocaians. Travelers passing through Layabout at the time did include races from Humanity to Tchi, Bursteeni, Riirgaan, K’cenhowten, Cid, and Mundt, only some of those who might have harbored high moral dudgeon over a crime committed against the relatively obscure Bocaians. Special attention was paid to K’cenhowten, whose race had provided the exotic weapon, and the Bursteeni, since it was one of their vessels responsible for carrying the two acknowledged assassins here. But even that felt like a formality undertaken for due diligence and no other reason. Pescziuwicz wasn’t about to prove anything in the minimal time his people had to clear and release hundreds of travelers and almost as many station employees.
At one point during the two hours it took Pescziuwicz to surrender to the increasing pressure from the surface and release us as the first group of travelers cleared for transport, I broke down and asked, You wouldn’t be in the mood to just break down and tell me, would you?
The AIsource interface in my head didn’t always respond to direct questions, but was voluble today. We’re sorry, Andrea. Your usefulness to us is limited if we hand-walk you through every dangerous situation. Just warning you about the attack from behind was controversial enough among our kind. Those handling your case debated it at length and with considerable rancor over a period equivalent to several years to our perception before deciding to err on the side of good employee relations.
Since their thought processes were more or less instantaneous, on human terms, that controversy may have occupied as much as a fraction of a second, real time. Is it safe to assume that I’m not done with this business?
We can neither confirm nor deny.
Can you at least tell me whether the Unseen Demons are involved?
They are always nearby, much as we are always nearby. But of their input into the current business, the present rules of engagement prohibit the release of that information. We can neither confirm nor deny.
Once again, my part in the war between the AIsource majority and the so-called Unseen Demons felt too capricious for any facile comparisons to a pawn in a game of chess. You’re the ones who urged me to accept this bullshit invitation. What can you tell me?
A moment’s hesitation. I knew it was meaningless, given their computation speed, but such pauses seemed to be built into their communication paradigm, indicating for my benefit those moments when my questions had required special consideration. Your next few days will be very difficult.
How?
You will soon find yourself faced with the most contradictory impulses of sentient behavior: treason in the name of loyalty, betrayal in the name of love, tyranny in the name of freedom, corruption in the hearts of those who believe themselves driven by the purest motives. This assassination attempt should be taken as no more than a side issue, but we can warn you that it will not be the last you experience before we are done with this business. Nor will it be the last development that involves you, personally. Some of us feel we should fear for your capacity to absorb trauma. We hope you’ll survive the shock.
Thanks a lot.
I was really looking forward to fulfilling the terms of my contract with them, which happened to be finding a way to put all of them, AIsource and Unseen Demon alike, out of their immortal misery.
This was the essential nature of the war between the two factions. The AIsource had lost all interest in life and wanted to die. The Unseen Demons among their collective wanted no part of their planned mass suicide. I’d joined the AIsource side because the Unseen Demons had admitted causing the massacre at Bocai. I still didn’t know what subtle switch they’d pulled or what advantage they thought they’d gained in doing such a terrible thing to us. But I wanted both sides gone and humanity freed from their machinations.
I wanted it so much that I’d come here, to this place run by merchants of death.
I hytexed my liaison Artis Bringen for information about the missing Bard Daiken, and was just finishing that when Pescziuwicz returned, looking like a man whose birthday party had ended with too many tears and not enough cake. “Your hypothetical third assassin hasn’t materialized. Nor have any additional Claws of God. We’re left with hundreds of angry travelers and no reason to suspect a deeper conspiracy.”
“You’re missing something.”
“Maybe. But if so, it’s something I haven’t found by turning this entire station into a transportation bottleneck that’s going to play hell with our arrival and departure schedules for days. You’ll forgive me if I refrain from trying to make that ‘weeks.’ It’s gonna take another couple of hours before anybody gets out of here as it is.”
I nodded. “I understand, sir. Just as I hope you’ll understand that I’m stating hard truth, not giving you a hard time, when I point out that this matter will likely end some time very soon with one of those Claws of God being used on its intended victim, and the blame falling back on you for not doubling or tripling your investigation time.”
The tightening of his jaw muscles confirmed that this possibility had already been weighing on him. “My career will just have to survive it. In the meantime, the Boss has ordered me to make sure that the three of you get wherever you’re going.”
“Thank you.”
“By that he meant down to Xana. But he left that unspoken, so I have room to ask you if that’s what you really want. I won’t stop you from returning to your transport and heading back home, or to any other out-system destination, if that’s what it takes to get you out of danger.” He hesitated. “Your business aside, that happens to be what I recommend. Nobody’s personal security can protect you from an assassin who doesn’t mind giving up his own life, or the lives of innocents, in the attempt.”
It was well-meaning advice. Too bad I couldn’t follow it. “We didn’t travel this far just to leave without finding out what Mr. Bettelhine wants from me.”
He nodded. “I know. Your escort should arrive in a moment.”
He subvocalized again, admitting to his office four of his security men and a fifth individual impossible to mistake for one of them. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with shiny black hair, a twig of a mustache, and big brown eyes that so dominated the rest of his face that they might not have changed proportion since his last stages in utero. His own uniform included among its many jarring elements fringed epaulets, a red-ribbon sash bisecting his ramrod-straight posture from right shoulder to left hip, and shoes so polished that they qualified as an additional light source. One look at him and I knew he had to be a servant of some kind. Only rich assholes would force employees to wear anything that ridiculous.