Final Inquiries (31 page)

"Ah, yes you are." Jamie also felt as if he had to think back to the flight. So much had gone on since then that it seemed like something that had happened long ago. "Is there, ah, somewhere I could set this down?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course." Subramanian cleared books and paperwork off the cabin's tiny worktable, and Jamie set down the tray. "Ah, breakfast! So very kind of you. Will you join me?"

"Ah, no, thanks. I've already eaten. But you please go ahead."

"Oh, I will--in a moment. Please, be seated."

Jamie got himself a chair, and reflected this was the most enthusiastic interrogation subject he had ever met. "I suppose you know why I am here," he said.

"Oh, yes indeed," he said, reaching out for the teapot to pour himself a cup. "I've been here waiting like--like a child whose birthday party is about to start. I have been so eager to get my present."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My present. Well, of course not mine, really. Ours. For all of us." Subramanian suddenly looked worried, alarmed. "You do, ah,
have
something for me, don't you? That
is
why you came."

"Ah, I'm, ah, sorry, Dr. Subramanian. I really don't know what you mean. I'm here to question you about what happened two nights ago."

"What? Oh dear. This is terrible." He looked down at the table, pulled his hand back from his teacup, then looked up at Jamie. "But I have read your standard operations manual. I have looked into the history. I know what equipment is supposed to be in your Ready-To-Go duffel. The whole reason your service
has
RTG duffels is to provide a cover story for Operation Paw Washer. In fact, if you look into the history, Paw Washer is half the reason there is the BSI. The whole
Bureau
is really just there as a cover story for Paw Washer."

Jamie was starting to feel distinctly alarmed. "Ah, Dr. Subramanian," he said slowly. "I don't know anything about anybody in charge of washing paws. I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't know about Paw Washer? You didn't activate the device? I thought you were trained and trained and trained to activate it whenever you were in the vicinity of advanced xeno technology."

And then the light went on. "Oh!" Jamie said. "The gimmick. The gadget in the lining of the duffel bag."

"Yes--the Passive Wide-Spectrum Sensor Recorder. PWSSR, pronounced Paw Washer."

"I've heard that one pronounced a little differently," said Jamie.

"Which is why the program is called Paw Washer," Subramanian said primly. "There is no need for anything rude or unpleasant. But you may call it whatever you like
if you turned it on
when you went aboard the
Eminent Concordance.
Did you?"

"Now I understand you," said Jamie. "That bit about the BSI just being a cover story threw me off. Yes, I activated it. I made a big deal about needing to get rations and clothes out of my RTG bag, and punched the stud to activate the system. I
think
my partner activated hers as well. She looked at me kind of funny when I insisted on getting things from my bag--but then she did the same herself. We were being observed at the time, and I couldn't ask her about it--and we've been kind of busy since."

"Your partner? There are
two
of you here?"

"That's right."

"So we have a shot at
two
recordings. That is excellent news. You have done very well."

"Ah, Dr. Subramanian--I haven't really done anything about this case yet. We're just getting started."

"The case? Oh, yes, the murder of that Kendari woman. Most unfortunate. But we must not be distracted by side issues."

"I think I just have been," said Jamie. "Listen, there's a lot I have to do today. How about we talk about Paw Washer and get that out of the way--and then we go on to this little matter of a murder that seems to have touched off an interstellar incident, okay?"

"Very well. That seems entirely fair." Subramanian nodded, paused for a second, and then spoke again, very eagerly. "Can you give me the two PWSSR units today?"

"I doubt it," said Jamie. "As I said, we're kind of busy--and the embassy compound isn't exactly a secure area at the moment. And, ah, you seem to know all about the gadget--a lot more than I do--but there's also a whole security procedure I'm required to follow before I turn over the recording to you."

"Yes. Yes, you're quite right. That is true," said Subramanian. "Well, it's not as if I could do a full analysis of the data with the equipment I have here in this cabin. The main thing is that we have the data. It will tell us a great deal."

"Um, it will--if it worked. I pushed the stud and pulled back the tab twice, just the way the training said to do--but I have no idea at all if it worked. It didn't beep or light up an indicator or anything."

"Of course it didn't! It's a passive system. That's the whole and entire point. And you needn't worry. Those units are built to the maximum possible standards of reliability. If you did the activation sequence properly--and it certainly sounds as if you did--then there is nothing to worry about. We'll have one--perhaps two--complete wide-spectrum recordings of a complete flight sequence of the
Eminent Concordance.
"

Jamie had a feeling that Hannah and Commander Kelly would be surprised to learn that the Bureau of Special Investigations existed for the sole purpose of providing a plausible excuse for humans to carry around duffel bags with concealed recording equipment, but he did have at least a sketchy understanding of Operation Paw Washer, even if he had never heard of it by that name. The idea was simple: to record all the changes in various local field strengths and power levels produced by advanced xeno technology: everything from simple electromagnetic field strengths to the really esoteric stuff involved in transit-jump technology, in the hopes of using that data to help humans reverse-engineer some advanced gear of their own.

Jamie had the impression that more than BSI agents and their RTG duffel bags were involved in the program. He also had not the faintest idea if the program had produced any results at all. It wasn't the sort of thing you were supposed to ask too many questions about. But, on the other hand, his job was to ask questions. "Does this sort of thing do any good?" he asked.

"Oh, my, yes. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the data you and your partner collected shaves a solid year off our efforts to catch up with Vixa shipbuilding technology."

"Gee, great. So we'll get there in ninety-nine hundred and ninety-nine years instead."

"What? Goodness no. Our projections are that there will be a human-built ship of comparable speed and power within forty years--at the very worst case, within our lifetimes."

"Are you crazy? Do you know the
size
of that ship?" Jamie asked.

"Deadweight, ninety-five percent of it," Subramanian said dismissively. "More than ninety-five. You are assuming that you need something that size in order to go that fast. Quite the opposite. Nearly all of the structure of that vehicle consists of excessive shielding, hyperredundant safety systems, and so on. And that whole business of shunting the command sphere about--none of that actually contributes to the power or speed of the ship. It just adds mass that requires bigger engines and more power. Eliminate all that nonsense, and you can get the same payload and the same performance in a vehicle that's only a small fraction of the size."

"So why did the Vixa build the
Eminent Concordance
so big?"

"Oh, several reasons, I think. One, to impress the neighbors. Two, because they've done it that way for the last few thousand years. I'm certain the
Concordance
was based on plans that are older than, say, the human invention of writing. If it's not broken, why fix it? Three, I am not sure their specialists fully understand their own technology anymore--and they are intensely conservative. They would not be confident of any modification. Four, what they have does what they want it to do. Why would they need anything better? But those points are all almost side issues. The primary reason is their absolutely overwhelming demand for safety."

"What's wrong with being safe?"

"When it rains, you might hold an umbrella over your head. But would you carry a lightning rod, and work out some complex scheme to see to it that it was continuously grounded? A Vixan spacecraft designer would think you should. He might want you to do it even when it wasn't raining. Except he'd prefer to encapsulate you fully for further protection, and I expect he'd want to put some armor plate around you in case the wind blew down some sort of debris. He'd develop a sort of armored car for you--and he might decide to make it an aircar, so you could fly above the weather. And of course, that would mean you'd need acceleration compensators and a pressurized cabin.

"But the whole point was to let you take a walk--so the Vixan engineer would include a treadmill, and, in order to provide you with the visual experience of the walk, he'd provide wraparound video screens, receiving real-time feeds sent from a remote robotic unit that was following the route on the ground you
would
have taken if you had walked. I am barely exaggerating. That is the sort of approach the Vixa take. The goal of a Vixan spacecraft engineer is to keep the occupants safer than they would be staying at home. So where you and I might use an umbrella--which is really for comfort rather than safety--they would likely build an armored aircar."

"I hate umbrellas. I wear a hat when it rains--if it's raining really hard."

"Don't tell the Vixa. You'd scare them to death."

"I sure wouldn't want to do that. They've been so neighborly and everything. But you've just told me why they overbuild. That doesn't mean we can catch up with them any time soon."

"True enough. One is not directly connected to the other. There is a
psychological
element, which you have just demonstrated. You assume that we could never catch up with them in any reasonable amount of time. Let us just say that sort of attitude doesn't make us catch up faster." Subramanian shrugged. "On the other hand, there are many who believe that the survival of the human race requires us to keep very, very quiet about any advances we might make. The last thing we want to do is appear to be a threat before we are able to defend ourselves."

"Yeah," said Jamie with feeling. "I've been deep inside that argument, believe me. So what you're saying is that we're making a great deal more progress than we let on?"

"Oh, I would never suggest such a thing directly," Subramanian said with a smile. "You must draw your own conclusions. But Paw Washer is part of a larger whole. We are learning. And there does not seem to be any fundamental reason why we must settle for merely pulling even with the Elder Races. It would appear that there are technologies far beyond what they have, and not so far out of reach.

"And I will make one other suggestion. There are two circumstances that make our situation unusual, if not unique. One is that we emerged into interstellar civilization more or less at the same moment as the Kendari, giving us someone to compete against. Competition also speeds up technical progress. As does the other circumstance. For various reasons, both we and the Kendari have come to know that other 'Younger Races' have popped up from time to time--and then been wiped out--apparently, because one or more of the Elder Races did feel threatened. Fear is also an excellent motivator."

Jamie nodded absently. Strange for a man who was full of such enthusiasms to scare you to death. But perhaps more to the point, Subramanian had completely derailed what was supposed to be an interrogation--or at least supposed to look like one. "All very interesting," he said. And it occurred to him too late that they were going to have to suppress the sound on the pocket camera's recording and blur Subramanian's voice enough to prevent lip-reading before they shared it with the Kendari. "But I came here to discuss a different subject--your movements two nights ago."

"Ah. Yes. Of course. Quite simple, really. I ate an early dinner at the Snack Shack--where else is there to eat? I got there just about at 1900 hours, then walked across the compound with the ambassador. We went straight to his office to discuss repair and upgrade schedules. We were still there when the call from Milkowski came in."

Jamie worked through times in his head as fast as he could. If Subramanian arrived at about 1900, and you stretched "about" to mean, say, 1910 or 1915 hours, he might have a problem. Medical Technist Remdex had given forty-four minutes before 1950, or 1906 hours, as the earliest plausible time for the murder. Time enough to do the deed, then hurry across the compound and make an appearance at the Snack Shack, if need be. In short, Subramanian didn't have an alibi for the entire period of interest. "You heard the call?" he asked. "You heard what was said?"

"N-n-no, not exactly," Subramanian replied. "I heard the ambassador's words of course, and I could recognize Milkowski's
voice,
but I couldn't quite catch the words he was speaking."

"You couldn't understand the words but you recognized the voice?" It was a commonplace occurrence, of course, but Jamie put a tone of disbelief in his voice. Better to see now how confident Subramanian's identification was rather than find him backpedaling later.

"Oh, yes, I'm quite sure. And the ambassador addressed him by name. No doubt about it."

"Then what?"

"The ambassador spoke with Milkowski for about a minute or so, and became more and more agitated. He said something like 'that's terrible. Are you sure?' He listened, then said 'get out of there and meet me at the entrance' or something close to that and cut the connection. The ambassador stood up, apologized, excused himself rather hurriedly, and left me alone in his office."

"What did you do?"

"I wasn't sure what to do. I decided I didn't feel comfortable alone in his office--it's supposed to be a secure location--so I got up and left, making sure that all the doors locked after me. I went downstairs and saw there was a crowd starting to gather outside the joint ops center, so I went over there. The rumors were already flying. One Kendari was dead, they were all dead, they were sealing the joint ops center because there was poison gas in it, all sorts of things. It was plain only the ambassador and Milkowski really knew anything."