A Talent for War (10 page)

I cut the description short.

"History," I said, "of most recent mission."

The ship floated in the dark.

"I am sorry. That information is not available."

"Why not?"

"Ship's log has been impounded pending outcome of judicial matters arising from alleged
Page 36

irregularities in equipment. Liability considerations preclude further release of data at this time."

"What sort of alleged irregularities?"

"That information is not currently available."

"Was the mission cut short?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"That information is not currently available."

"When will further information be available?"

"I regret that I do not have data to answer that question."

"Can you tell me what the planned itinerary of Tenandrome was?"

"No," it said after a moment.

"But wouldn't the itinerary be a matter of public record?"

"Not anymore. It has been removed."

"There must be a copy somewhere."

"I do not have that information."

Schematics of the Tenandrome were flickering across the monitor, as though the system had become distracted. "Where is the Tenandrome now?"

"It is in the second year of a six-year mission in the Moira Deeps."

"Can you give me a list of crew and research team members from Tenandrome?"

"For which voyage?"

"For any of the last four."

"I can supply the information for missions XV and XVI, and also the current voyage."

"What about XVII?"

"Not available."

"Why not?"

"It is classified."

I pulled off the headband, and squinted out through the windows at an illuminated park. In the distance, lights reflected off the ocean wall.

What the hell were they hiding? What could they possibly be hiding?

Somebody knew.

Somewhere, somebody knew.

I took to stalking Survey bureaucrats and researchers. I hunted them in bars, at the Field Museum, on benches in the malls, on the beaches, in the gleaming corridors of the Operational Headquarters, in the city's theaters and restaurants, and in its athletic and chess clubs.

Approached obliquely, almost everyone was willing to speculate on the Tenandrome. The most widespread theory, one that amounted among many to a conviction, was Chase Kolpath's notion that the ship had found aliens. Some claimed to know for certain that naval vessels had been dispatched to the discovery site, and almost everyone had heard that several young crewmembers had returned with white hair.

There was a variation of this story: Tenandrome had found an ancient fleet adrift, and had attempted to investigate. But there was something among the encrusted ships that had discouraged further examination, forcing the captain to break off the mission and return home.

One bearded endocrinologist told me, in dead earnestness, that the vessel had found a ghost.

But he could not, or would not, elaborate.

An elderly systems analyst with whom I fell in one evening on a ramp overlooking the sea told me she'd heard there was an alien enclave out there, a cluster of turrets on an airless moon.

But the aliens were long dead, she said, perfectly preserved within their shelters. "What I heard,"

she added, "is that all the turrets had been opened to the void. From the inside."

The wildest account came from a skimmer rental agent who said the ship had found a vehicle full
Page 37

of humans who spoke no known language, who could not be identified, who were identical with us in every fundamental way—which was to say, he whispered, that their sexual organs complemented ours—but that they were not of common origin.

There was a young woman who had known Scott: there always is, I suppose, if you look long enough. She was a sculptor, slim and attractive, with a good smile.

She had just broken off with someone (or he with her: it's often hard to tell), and we ended in a small bar on one of the piers. Her name was Ivana, and she was vulnerable that night. I could have taken her to bed, but she seemed so desolated that I could not bring myself to take advantage of her.

"Where is he?" I asked. "Do you know where he went?"

She was drinking too much, but it didn't seem to affect her.

"Off-world," she said. "Somewhere. But he'll be back."

"How do you know?"

"He always comes back." There was a trace of venom in her voice.

"He's taken these trips before?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "He's not one for hanging around."

"Why? Where does he go?"

"He gets bored, I guess. And where he goes is battle sites, from the Resistance. Or memorials, I'm not sure which."

It was getting loud in the bar, so I steered her outside, where I thought the fresh air might help us both. "Ivana, what does he tell you when he comes back? About what he's seen?"

"He doesn't really talk about it, Alex. I never really thought to ask him."

"Have you ever heard of Leisha Tanner?"

She started to say no, and changed her mind. "Yes," she said, lighting up. "He's mentioned her a couple of times."

"What did he say about her?"

"That he was trying to find out things about her. She's an historical character of some sort."

The ocean crouched out there beneath us like a dark beast. "He's a strange one. Makes me feel uncomfortable sometimes."

"How did you meet him?"

"I don't remember anymore. At a party, I think. Why? Why do you care?"

"No reason," I said.

That brought a lovely, rueful smile. And then she surprised me: "I mean, why do you care about Scott?"

I told my cover story, and she sympathized that I'd missed him. "When I see him again," she said, "I'll tell him you were here."

We drank some more, and walked some more. The night had a bite to it, and I was conscious of her hips as we strolled along the skyway. "He's become very strange," she said again. It was an observation she made several times during the evening. "You wouldn't know him."

"Since the Tenandrome?"

"Yes." We stopped, and she leaned against the rail, looking out to sea. She looked lost. The wind whipped at her jacket, and she pulled it tightly about herself. "It's lovely out here."

Fishbowl has no satellite; but on clear nights the sky is dominated by the Veiled Lady, which is far more luminous—and intoxicating—than Rimway's full moon. "They brought something back. The Tenandrome. Did you know that?"

"No," I said.

"Nobody seems to know what it was. But there was something. Nobody wanted to talk about it.

Not even McIras."

"The captain?"

Page 38

"Yes. A cold-blooded bitch if I've ever seen one." Her eyes hardened. "They were in, and then they were gone again. Out on another long mission. The crew was gone almost before anyone knew they were here."

"How about the research team?"

"They went home. Usually they go home and then come back here for a debriefing. Not this time. We never saw any of them again. Except, of course, Hugh."

We were walking again. Pellinor's waterfront was brilliant and inviting, its dazzling lights floating on the water. "In a sense, he never really came home. At least not to stay. He's always away somewhere. Like now."

"You say he goes to battle sites. Where, for example?"

"The City on the Crag last time. Ilyanda. Randin'hal. Grand Salinas."

It was a roll call of celebrated names from the Resistance.

"Yes," she said, reading my reaction. "He's got a fixation about the Sims. I don't know what it is, but he's looking for something. He comes home after weeks or months away somewhere, and he comes back to Survey for a couple of days, and then next thing we know he's gone again. He was never like that before." Her voice shook. "I don't understand it."

Lest anyone think I wasn't making a serious effort, I have to tell you I also tried a direct approach. Toward the end, after my informal inquiries had taken me as far as they could, I walked through the front doors of the administration building, which they call the Annex, and asked to see the Director of Special Operations. His name was Jemumba.

I was referred to a secretary. State your business please, we'll get back to you, maybe six months.

I was eventually able to talk to one of his flunkies, who denied that anything unusual had happened. Yes, he'd heard the rumors, but in this business there were always rumors. He could assure me, unequivocally, that no aliens existed out there, at least not on or around any of the worlds Survey had visited. Also, the notion that there had been any casualties of any sort on the Tenandrome was simply untrue.

He explained that withholding the log and other information regarding the flight was standard operating procedure when litigation was involved. And there was a great deal of litigation over Tenandrome XVII. "The failure of a major drive unit is no small matter, Mr. Benedict," he explained pointedly, and not without passion. "The Service has incurred considerable expense, and the liability position is quite tangled. Nevertheless, we anticipate that everything will be settled within a year or so. When that happens, you may have access to whatever information on the flight you wish, other than crew and research team data, which of course is never made public. Privacy considerations, you understand.

"Please leave your name and code. We'll get back to you."

So I had no choice but to go to Hrinwhar. There are no regular flights, of course. I leased a Centaur and hired Chase to pilot the damned thing. The jump is even tougher in a small craft, and I got sicker than usual going out and coming back, and I swore again that that was the end.

There was no need to land. Hrinwhar was a cratered, airless, nickel-iron rock located just inside the rings of a gas giant, which I suppose is why the

Ashiyyur thought it would make a good naval base. Some say the assault against it was Sim's finest moment. The Dellacondans lured off the defenders, and literally took the base apart. They left here with some of the enemy's most closely guarded secrets.

The physical evidence of the raid remains: a few holed domes, a gaping shaft which had once been a recovery area for warships, and chunks of metal and plastic strewn across the surface.

Probably exactly as it looked when Christopher Sim and his men withdrew two centuries ago.

Chase didn't say much. I got the impression she was watching me more than the moonscape.

"Enough?" she asked after we'd made several passes.

"He couldn't be down there," I said.

Page 39

"No. There's no one here."

"Why would he come out to this barren place?"

VI.

Call forth the fire—!

—The Condorni, II, 1

Sim is a son of a bitch: fourteen thousand years of history to learn from, and it's still the same old blood and bluster.

—Leisha Tanner, Notebooks

WHO HAD GABE'S traveling companion been on the Capella?

Sixty-three others had boarded the vessel from the Rimway shuttle, of whom twenty were bound for Saraglia Station. (The big interstellars, of course, never actually stop at ports of call.

Too much time and energy would be wasted fighting inertia, so they skim planetary systems at high velocity. Passengers and cargo are transferred in flight from local vehicles.) It seemed likely that his companion had been among the twenty.

I scanned their death notices looking for a likely prospect. The group included elderly vacationers, naval personnel on leave, three sets of newlyweds, a sprinkling of businessmen.

Four were from Andiquar: a pair of importIexport brokers, a child being shuttled between relatives, and a retired law enforcement officer. Nothing very promising, but I got lucky right away with John Khyber, the law enforcement guy.

I secured the code of his next of kin from the announcement, and linked in. "I'm Alex Benedict," I said. "May I speak with Mrs. Khyber?"

"I'm Jana Khyber." I waited for her to materialize, but nothing happened.

"I'm sorry to bother you. My uncle was on the Capella. I believe he was traveling with your husband."

"Oh?" There was a sea change in the voice: softer, interested, pained. "I'm sorry about your uncle." I heard Jacob's projector switch on. There was a flutter of color in the air, and she appeared: dignified, a trifle matronly, attentive. Perhaps irritated, though with me, or Gabe, or her husband, I could not tell. "I'm glad to have a chance to talk to someone about it. Where were they going?"

"You don't know, Jana?"

"How would I know? Trust me, he said."

Son of a bitch. "Did you know Gabe Benedict?"

"No," she said, after a pause. "I didn't know my husband was traveling with anybody." She frowned, and her bosom, which was substantial, rose and fell. "I didn't know he was traveling at all. I mean off-world."

"Had he ever been to Saraglia before?"

"No." She crossed her arms. "He'd never been off Rimway before. At least not that I know of.

Now I'm not so sure."

"But you knew he was going to be away for a while?"

"Yes. I knew."

"No explanation?"

"None," she said, biting off a sob. "My God, we've never had a problem of any kind, Mr.

Benedict. Not really. He told me he was sorry, that he couldn't explain, that he'd be away six months."

"Six months? You must have questioned him."

"Of course I did. They've called me back he said. They need me, and I've got to go."

"Who were they?"

Page 40

"The Agency. He was a security officer. Retired, but it didn't really make any difference. He's still a consultant." She hesitated over the statement, but didn't correct herself. "He specialized in commercial fraud, and you know how much of that there is these days." She sounded close to tears. "I just don't know what it was about, and that's what hurts so much. He's dead and I don't know why."

"Did you check with his agency?"

"They claim they don't know anything about it." She stared at me. "Mr. Benedict, he never gave me any reason to distrust him. We had a lot of years together, and it's the only time he's ever lied to me."