Final Inquiries (20 page)

"The short answer is all of the above. They certainly have some sort of integral electronics, or something closely equivalent to electronics, that is part of them. They appear to be related to the main Vixan castes--but they certainly aren't full-fledged citizens, if that concept even has any meaning for the Vixa. I would suggest you discuss that area with Dr. Zhen Chi. It's far more her area of expertise than mine. I can tell you that she is of the opinion that the human and Kendari simulants are actually the same sort of creature or being or whatever term you might use. They seem to be based on the Vixan six-legger's body plan, but are capable of fusing and merging body parts to mimic whatever being they're imprinted on, and of course, altering their skin coloring and texture to mimic the skin or clothing of their imprinting target."

"That reminds me. What about the Kendari?" asked Wolfson. "We've seen that Brox has a simulant. Is it about the same pattern with them?"

"Oddly enough, no. The Vixa don't seem to be much worried about parity--they don't much worry about treating both sides exactly the same way. The Kendari certainly don't tell us everything--but so far as we are able to tell, Brox has the only Kendari simulant, and his was only assigned very recently. He does provide transit security for Flexdal, so it fits the pattern of giving them to those who have frequent contact with the Vixa, but Flexdal doesn't have one, and neither does anyone else over there.

"I don't give it much weight, but I have one theory that the Vixa expected us to view the simulants as a status symbol. A substitute for the escort Vixa. Flexdal was supposed to be jealous that I had one, perhaps, or maybe he is supposed to feel
superior
to me because simulants are only for the lower orders. Maybe they are a fashion accessory. We have no idea what, if any, meaning they have for social status, or anything else, in Vixa society."

"What do they do, exactly?" asked Wolfson. "We haven't seen them in action yet."

"I don't think I'd use the word 'action' to describe their behavior," said Stabmacher. "They stand around. They follow you from place to place. They go everywhere you go until specifically told to wait outside. They can be told to run very simple errands--carry this note to the comm office, go get my sweater from my bedroom and bring it back--but nine times out of ten, it's more trouble to get them to do the job than to do it yourself. At the close of official business hours, we herd them into their storage shed, and leave them there until the next morning, when they can start cluttering the place up again."

"I thought the Vixa signed up to the idea that an embassy was the sovereign territory of the guest government. Isn't forcing you to accept the simulants a huge violation of that principle?"

"In a word, yes, and you've just said in ten or twenty words what I have said dozens of times, in hundreds or thousands of words in letters back to the UniGov Ministry of External Affairs. They agreed that it was a violation of principle, but the chance to win the Pentam System trumped everything. And, as you pointed out, the simulants aren't the most efficient spy system going, especially for an Elder Race that has every conceivable form of technology going for it. We work on the assumption that the Vixa can hear, and probably see, everything we're doing, if they want to go to the trouble.

"The Ministry argued that the simulants wouldn't be able to do any spying that the Vixa couldn't do better some other way, and they were full of all sorts of other arguments to the effect that they weren't going to do any particular harm, so why not go against a universal precedent that was thousands of years old? The long and the short of it was that I was expressly ordered to accept the simulants for the duration of the negotiations. The Vixa seemed to be satisfied with that agreement. I insisted that it be noted in my file that I was obeying under protest, and the Ministry noted that down--and that was that."

"Very well then, we'll mark that down as your not having gotten any better an explanation than we had to start with. What about the large number of humans and Kendari that seem to be here for no apparent reason?"

The ambassador sighed. "Another bit of excessively helpful interference from our Vixa friends. Some time ago, the Preeminent Director's household got it in their heads--if they can strictly be said to have heads--that the Pentam decision was going to be very important for all concerned, and that all sides of the question must be discussed, and all points of view heard. We of course pointed out that the United Human Government, UniGov, was the sole representative of the human race in all dealing with xeno species, and all the standard arguments.

"We also pointed out that we were trying to keep the Pentam discussions secret from the general population, for fear of complicating matters even further, and that inviting some unspecified but large number of people from organizations that thrived on publicity wasn't going to help matters. The Vixa insisted that they could manage to keep the Pentam story from leaking out, and just told the delegates--that's what the Vixa called them--that they were to attend a general meeting regarding outstanding issues between humans and Kendari, and would be transported and housed at Vixa expense--but kept here for the duration of the meeting."

"Which groups are they, exactly?" Mendez asked.

"There are any number of them," said the ambassador. "And they certainly represent a wide range of views. Pax Humana, the Refusalists, Xeno-Deniers, the Human Supremacy League--that's Tancredo Zamprohna and Helga Zamprohna-Weldon's group--the Alien Friendship Council, the Society for Total Amalgamation of Humans into Galactic Society, and on and on. They are all housed together, about two kilometers from here, in really a quite pleasant group of compounds, and are well taken care of. But you can just imagine what the arguments are like with Refusalists and Amalgamationists living more or less right next door to each other."

"They should have put the Pax Humana people in between," said Wolfson.

"They did. The Paxers insisted on being moved to other accommodations."

"The groups you've just rattled off are all way off on the fringes, either extreme pro-xeno or extreme anti-xeno," said Mendez. "I know we're not supposed to get involved in human politics, but those are all either nut groups, or close to it. Everybody but the League of Irresponsible People."

"The one thing they all have in common is that none of those organizations have much love for the Kendari," said Hannah. "Anyone from the rational middle ground?"

"What few there were left some time ago," said the ambassador. "They weren't allowed to go home, in order to keep the Pentam negotiations quiet. Instead the Vixa put them up in what amounts to a custom-built luxury resort in the tropical regions of this planet. I've visited it--and I have to admit I was tempted to stay. All the finest food and wine and books and films and what have you imported from Earth, very comfortable accommodations and a magnificent beach right outside your front door. Imagine being forced to choose between staying at the finest hotel on Hawaii free of charge, with no duties, and living between the Xeno-Deniers and the Alien Friendship Council. I can't blame them for leaving."

"We saw what appeared to be a good-sized Kendari mob as well," said Mendez. "Is it more or less the same story with them?"

"In broad strokes. Kendari political groups tend to be more clan-based--almost as if you inherited the family politics along with the family number. If Zogham 43139 is a strict antineofeualdist, or whatever, you can bet that every other 43139 feels the same way. But yes, the Vixa did invite their various political factions, and it seems to be mainly the extremists on both sides who have stuck around."

"Do you know why, exactly, the various groups are protesting outside the two compounds?"

The ambassador laughed. "You mean, today? I have no idea. There have been so many protests, on so many subjects that are and are not related to the Pentam conference that I have completely lost track. Besides which, today I was rather too busy to receive a delegation--especially from a group that has a habit of hanging me in effigy."

"Very well, Ambassador," said Wolfson, closing her notepad. Mendez took that as a cue and started putting away his own gear. "That will do it, I think," Wolfson said as she stood up. "At least for now. We're going to have a lot to talk about in the days to come. You can count on it."

"I know I can count on it," the ambassador said, rising to see his guests or subordinates or inquisitors or whatever they were, out of his office. He smiled one last time and gave himself the luxury of allowing the smile to be utterly, transparently, false, of allowing all his fear, his weariness, his anger shine right through. "I just don't think I'm likely to enjoy it."

Jamie and Hannah left the ambassador's office and went down the stairs to the ground floor, then outside to the scruffy, dusty grounds of the compound. Night was coming on, and it was cool and quiet. Glowlamps were hung here and there and gave a fair amount of illumination, but not so much that the comforting darkness was chased away. There was a park bench set up just outside the building, and Jamie dropped down wearily onto it. "Boy oh boy oh boy," he said, shifting over to make room for Hannah. "
That
was a hell of a session."

"It's been a hell of a day," said Hannah. "If it has only been a day. It seems more like a year." She looked around thoughtfully at the compound. "I guess our gear is still where we dumped it after we brought it through the human side of the joint ops center--and with everyone but the ambassador and Dr. Zhen Chi still confined, I guess there isn't going to be anyone around to tuck us in--or tell us where to sleep, or whatever. I'm all of a sudden really glad that Commander Kelly thought to have us bring sleeping bags and ground cushions. We could probably commandeer somebody or other's bedroom, but that seems pretty pushy. Sleeping bags and ground cushions in the main level of the embassy ship?"

"And if it just so happens we're sleeping in front of the main hatch if any of our little confinee friends tries sneaking out during the night? Sure." Jamie shifted as if to get up and get started, but he didn't quite make it. "Three more minutes," he said. "Then I'll get moving."

"Fine. I don't have to until you do."

They sat in silence for a moment, looking out over the scruffy little compound and the magnificent city of glorious towers and triumphant architecture, glittering and gleaming with a million lights aglow, all visible from where they sat.

"I was just thinking about what you said this morning, however long ago that was," said Hannah. "About whether or not you ever got used to being disoriented. I think maybe part of the answer is that right now I'm too tired to feel anything--disoriented, happy, sad, scared--anything. It helps, in a weird way."

They were both quiet for a moment, looking at the strange and alien night that surrounded the scruffy little human enclave. "Did you see anything much wrong with the physical evidence?" Jamie asked.

"Plenty. And so did you," said Hannah. "Nice try on the innocent-sounding leading question. But we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Fair enough. But there's one thing I sorta feel I've gotta hear about tonight--partner-to-partner stuff, not BSI Special Agent stuff, strictly speaking."

"You noticed my reaction to hearing Milkowski's name." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah. I think I need to know the backstory there, before I talk to him."

Hannah sighed and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. "You're right. You do. Frank Milkowski. Frank Milkowski is--well, let me put it this way. Before I saw her, I pictured Zhen Chi as being the sort of doctor that usually ends up being posted to a small remote embassy or a small, semiobsolete warship that's given really routine patrol assignments so the
real
UniGov Navy is freed up for real work. Old, tired, last-tour-before-retirement, maybe with one or two reprimands more than usual in her personnel file, marking the days on the calendar before she's posted home. That's
not
Zhen Chi, obviously. But it
is
Frank Milkowski. Old-school guy, middling-good-enough agent, did what he needed to do to do the job, but no more. But Frank's maybe just a bit worse than that.

"We call ourselves Special Agents and tell ourselves we really
are
something special. But really, we're just another kind of cop--and sometimes cops turn sour. Maybe they start out telling themselves they're entitled just this once to bend the rules because of all the hard work, all the sacrifices, all the effort that came to nothing when the case fell apart or the jury let the creep go. Then they're entitled to bend the rules more often, just because they work so hard. And then maybe they bend them just because they can, because cops have a certain kind of power.

"They bend the rules so hard the rules stay bent. Sooner or later, some captain or watch commander or Commandant is pretty much forced to take notice. Maybe a few free doughnuts has turned into grand larceny out of the evidence room, or you go from fixing a traffic ticket for your brother-in-law to getting half your family jobs they never show up for. Or maybe you're a BSI Special Agent who never did like aliens much and tends to give human suspects a break when he can, even if it takes manufacturing this evidence and suppressing that evidence--and it turns out one of those suspects--a murder suspect--didn't deserve that break when some Kendari merchant wound up dead."

"Oh," said Jamie. "That's not good."

"It's all rumors--the sort of stuff everyone knows for sure is true but can't actually be proven. Dig too deep, and you know you'll do a lot of harm without doing much good. Maybe get a hundred perfectly legitimate convictions thrown out and let some really bad guys go free because the same cop who nailed them bent the rules a little on their cases too, before he broke them all the way. And the guy has put in his time and done some good before he screwed up. You can't fire him, you can't prosecute him, and you can't just set him loose to do more, and worse." She gestured toward the compound. "So you dump him on some out-of-the-way embassy as security liaison or whatever, because nothing will ever happen there and he can't do any harm--and three months after he's posted there, all of a sudden the embassy is in the middle of a huge interstellar conference."