“Peace, Sir MacAdam. Personally, I agree with you. If it were solely up to me I would be patting you on the back and calling you a public benefactor. My problem is persuading my colleagues. If you can be presented as an honest being, if hot-headed…” he chuckled, “…you do come from a backward planet, after all… who’s simply calling the shots as he sees them it could well end up to our advantage.
“Ugh, politics.”
“Not politics. Business.”
“Sounds the same thing from where I’m sitting.”
He laughed. “You may be right. You are definitely leaving, then?”
“Oh, yes. I have no choice… if you’ll permit me to keep the ship, that is.”
“It’s yours. Where will you go?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”
“So you’ve no plans?”
“None.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch.”
I was left with the feeling that I’d missed something important but didn’t know what.
Barbita was the next to call. She was bubbling over with praise, telling me how brave I was and how sad she and all the girls were that they probably would never see me again.
“I could always start a space-based harem,” I said with a laugh. “You could shuttle them up and I could attend to them.”
“Wouldn’t work,” she said as if she took my idea seriously. “Besides, I’ve no idea what’s going to happen.”
“No word from Sir Devoted-Acolyte, then?”
“None. It’s beginning to worry me. He should have been in contact before now. I miss Taragis. He’d have known what to do.”
“Hang in there, Barbita. It’ll all work itself out in the end.”
The remainder of the journey back to the ship was uninterrupted. Hermes had the small trivee on and Julian was monitoring the news channels. The main bulletins were not due yet and, other than the channel that had done the live broadcast, the airwaves were strangely silent.
“Don’t worry,” Hermes reassured me. “Right now there’s turmoil in every newsroom on Geretimal. Even if they hated every word you said, they’ll be debating whether to broadcast it or not. If they do, they could lose support but, if they don’t and others do they’ll be seen as cowards and lose support.”
“What’s happening on the channel that did the live broadcast.”
“Nothing. They’ve said they will be running a live debate on the import of your speech later.”
“Isn’t that a bit unusual?”
“Unprecedented.”
The greeting on my return to the ship was even more enthusiastic than the farewell had been earlier.
“I’m sorry. Thank you, everyone, but I feel I’ve just gone fifteen rounds with Mike Tyson.” I said with a tired smile. “I’m pooped, knackered, very tired,” I explained to their puzzled expressions.
“Of course,” Lorca said and immediately took control.
I was ensconced in the lounge. Food and drinks were fetched. My feet were massaged. My every whim was catered for. I protested feebly that it was unnecessary but was told, in no uncertain terms, that, “nothing was too good for our hero.” I bowed to the inevitable and lapped it up shamelessly. Honesty-in-Trust wanted to analyse our next moves; make a series contingency plans based on various ‘what if’ scenarios. I was too tired to care. The next moves were up to the Geretimalians. The time to make plans was after we knew the reaction to my speech. Julian announced he was turning on the trivee.
A very sober-looking presenter introduced the main evening news bulletin. There was one item… me.
“Today, the Lottery Winner, Sir Crawford MacAdam, who had been missing since just before the fire that destroyed the Bartimarm Piety Hotel with the loss of fifty three lives, called a press conference. It was hoped he would explain his mysterious disappearance and provide some answers to the events of the past week.”
“Oh, this is nasty,” Honesty-in-Trust chuckled.
“The press conference was not held, as might be expected, on Geretimal, but in a disused freighter in orbit around Hajimati.”
The vision cut to the freighter as seen from an approaching steegee. It looked very run-down and derelict. The presenter’s voice continued in the background.
“Sir MacAdam appears to have a serious concern about his safety, verging on the paranoid. Fully armed representatives from the Holy Crusade Protection Agency were on hand to escort us to Sir MacAdam’s chosen venue.”
Shots of the protectors in their space armour. Shots of the interior of the spaceship with the protectors prominently featured. The presenter re-appeared.
“What you are about to see is the full and unedited speech Sir MacAdam made. We gave long and careful consideration, Sirs and Madams, before deciding to show the speech in full, even at all. Much of what Sir MacAdam says is controversial and could even be considered inflammatory. This station wishes to put on record that it does not agree with Sir MacAdam’s assertions in any shape or form. We fully support the efforts of the Interpellators, the City Assembly and the Geretimalian government to find and bring to justice the beings who wilfully destroyed Bartimarm’s oldest and most treasured building, and we have every confidence that they will succeed without the interference of outsiders. However, we would be failing in our duty as reporters if we did not bring you the news in full, however distasteful.”
“No mention of the Commission,” Honesty-in-Trust commented. “Interesting omission.”
I should have been seething by now. The presenter had cleverly set the expectations so that the viewers would watch my speech already believing I was an enemy of the people. I should have been angry but I was just tired. Tired and dispirited and sick of the whole nasty politics of Geretimal but mostly tired.
The scene cut to me. Under the harsh lights my face took on a beetling, brutish expression. I listened to myself speak with growing concern.
“Good God. I didn’t realise I was quite so… virulent,” I said as the scene cut back to the studio without showing the scrum or my challenge.
“There you have it,” the presenter said almost apologetically. “It is not for us to judge the state of mind of a being who disappeared immediately before the destruction of Bartimarm’s oldest hotel and whose reason for that disappearance still remains a mystery. However, as you have heard, Sir MacAdam intends to flee, presumably in the spaceship he won as his Lottery prize, so his connection with the events of the past week will probably remain a mystery forever.
“In other news tonight…”
“That’s tantamount to slander,” I cried. “That… that being as good as accused me of setting fire to the hotel myself. How dare he? Is this what passes for reporting on this god-forsaken planet? I hope the bloody Theocracy does collapse.”
“Peace, Crawford, peace,” Hermes soothed. “I chose that channel deliberately, precisely because I suspected that’s the line they would take. They are known to have anti-Lottery sympathies. That is by far the worst you will hear but you needed to hear it.”
“Hermes is right, Crawford,” Honesty-in-Trust said. “Listen to him. You did need to hear it so you know what you’re up against. That channel has a reputation for slanting the news, but even I’ve never seen them quite so blatant. From a professional point of view it was masterly. From a personal point of view, I’m appalled. Perhaps we should see what the other side is saying.”
The trivee changed to another sober presenter, female this time.
“Good evening. Today, Sir Crawford MacAdam, the thirtieth Lottery Winner, emerged from hiding to give a news conference. Sir MacAdam has been in fear of his life since the attack on his suite at the Bartimarm Piety Hotel nine days ago, which destroyed the hotel and cost fifty three lives. Sir MacAdam’s words are harsh and controversial without doubt, but they are the words of a being who narrowly escaped being burned to death for no better reason than he won the Lottery.”
The scene cut to my speech without the shots of the freighter or the prote
ctors. The angle was slightly different, the reporter had obviously been in a different part of the audience, but the message was the same. Unlike the other channel, they didn’t cut immediately I’d finished, but showed scenes of the melee and my challenge.
“As you can see,” the presenter continued. “Sir MacAdam’s words have aroused strong feelings. He made a number of accusations about the authorities here. Are these accusations justified? Over to Madam Holy-Messenger Word-of-God.”
A rather harassed woman appeared. She was sitting on a chair that looked most uncomfortable.
“Sir MacAdam made four accusations. He first accused the Lottery Commission of hiding from their responsibilities. Is there any truth in that? We tried to contact various members of the Board and several senior managers for their comments. The Commission are refusing all calls. Attempts to contact them are met with a recorded message stating simply that no-one is available until further notice.
“We tried to visit their headquarters. The doors are shut and locked, and we could see no sign that anyone was in the building. We also tried to contact and visit the house where the Lottery Winner’s companions are housed with the similar results. The house is surrounded by protectors who, politely but firmly, discouraged us from proceeding. One interesting fact is that the protectors are employed by the same agency that provided the security at Sir MacAdam’s news conference. We attempted to contact the agency and were given the following statement; ‘The Holy Crusade Protection Agency does not discuss private contracts. The agency provides top services to a number of clients. I can confirm that among these are the Lottery Winner and the premises housing the Winner’s companions.’
“Sir MacAdam also accused the Interpellators of incompetence. Again we were unable to speak directly to anyone, but the Interpellator Extreme issued a statement that said that the force were pursuing a number of lines of enquiry and they had every confidence that the perpetrators of the attack on the Lottery Winner would be apprehended in due course.
“Thirdly, Sir MacAdam accused the City Assembly of doing nothing. He implied that they were more interested in the destruction of the Bartimarm Piety Hotel than the fifty three deaths. We were more fortunate in our attempts to speak to someone. Our reporter managed to have a few words with Exalted Member Sir Virtuous-Intentions.”
The scene cut to a corridor in a grand building and the face of a being whose expression reminded me of the proverbial deer in the headlights.
“Have you heard Sir MacAdam’s news conference?” the reporter asked.
“Who?” the Member replied.
“Sir Crawford MacAdam, the Lottery Winner whose suite at the Bartimarm Piety Hotel was attacked.”
“What has he said?”
“He accuses the Assembly of deliberately not assisting the Exigency Services and the Interpellators to catch the beings who murdered fifty three beings.”
“That is utterly untrue. The Assembly is doing everything in its power to assist. How dare this being suggest otherwise. The loss of the Bartimarm Piety Hotel has been a terrible blow to the city and the Assembly are determined to take whatever action is necessary to bring the guilty to justice.”
“Can you tell me exactly what steps the Assembly are taking?”
For a moment, the Member’s eyes flicked wildly from right to left and back as if seeking an avenue of escape, then he remembered he was a politician.
“No, I cannot. Assembly business is not a matter for public debate. We are working closely with both the Exigency Services and the Interpellators to bring this terrible matter to a head as quickly as possible. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”
“Thank you, Exalted Member Sir Virtuous-Intentions.”
“Finally, Sir MacAdam accused us, the media of not doing our job properly and he gave specific examples of things he believed we ought to be doing,” the harassed Madam Word-of-God said as she re-appeared. “If you are watching, Sir MacAdam, I hope you will agree we have refuted your accusation.
“There you have it. Sir MacAdam’s words have taken many by surprise so it is, perhaps, not surprising that official comment is guarded. To help us understand better exactly what is happening we have, in the studio….”
“Does anyone want the talking heads?” Hermes asked.
“For sheer novelty value, yes,” Honesty-in-Trust said.
“What are talking heads?” Jarmasin asked.
“Experts, either real or self-appointed,” I said. “They’re primary drive is the pleasure of hearing themselves speak. Sometimes they actually say something meaningful.”
“But why talking heads?”
I nodded at the trivee where a very earnest being, with a shock of red hair and a complexion so florid it was almost scarlet, was talking in close-up.
“Oh. I see,” she said with a grin.
“I don’t want to see them.” I said. “If anyone does, they can give me a synopsis later. However, that’s what I hoped would happen.”
“I’m going to the trivee room,” Honesty-in-Trust said. “I think it’s important to hear what they’re saying.”
“Interesting they didn’t mention your fourth accusation,” Hermes said with a grin.
“Don’t care,” I replied. “They’ve acted on it and that's what counts. I’m sorry people, I’m going to bed before I collapse.”
Chapter 31
I met Honesty-in-Trust in the kitchen.
“You look terrible,” I said. “Like you’ve been up all night.”
“I have. Crawford, it’s unbelievable. It’s incredible. It’s unprecedented. It’s… words fail me.”
“That must be a first,” I said with a grin.
“I’m serious. That news bulletin we saw was only the beginning. They’ve been at it all night. I’ve never seen so many professors, and media beings, and ex-Interpellators before.” He gave a shout of laughter. “It worked. Crawford it worked. What you hoped might happen really has. The whole place is buzzing. And it’s not just on the trivee. I’ve had calls all night from beings wanting to know what was really going on, and did you really mean what you said and what you were going to do now.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Don’t know, yes and what you said.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know what’s going on. You meant every word and you’re leaving as you announced. I need to get back to Bartimarm. I’m too out of touch up here.”
“I’ll see if Sir Simpission can oblige, or perhaps we could just sneak you down. Drop you off in the middle of a desert somewhere.”
“That isn’t even remotely funny.”
“It’s not. I’ll talk to Hermes.”
“Oh, and the Interpellator Extreme is due to make a statement at lunchtime and the Member Supreme of the City Assembly has promised a full statement ‘soon’.”
“I feel a bit guilty about the Interpellators. I was a bit harsh on them. D’you think I should try to talk to the Interpellator Extreme?”
He thought for a moment. “Couldn’t hurt. Be careful what you say, though, admit nothing if I’m not there.”
“I gave a brief laugh. “It’d be a bit difficult to arrest me in mid-space.”
“They have an intra-system branch, you know.”
“Shit. Thanks for telling me.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Ships’ logs can’t be faked.”
“I didn’t know there was a ship’s log.”
“Oh, yes. All ibics manufactured on recognised worlds have a secure log built into them.”
“Who can access them?”
“The security forces, but only if they have prior permission. Accessing an ibic’s log is very serious matter. They only do it for things like treason and piracy and grand larceny.”
“Hi-jacking and kidnapping don’t count?”
“Legally you can’t hi-jack your own ship. If it came to a court case, I’d bet my last shirt that those women of yours would swear that you asked th
em and they volunteered.”
“They wouldn’t.”
“They would. They think a lot of you, you know.”
I couldn’t think of an intelligent response to that.
Somewhat to my surprise Madam Devout-Servant Moral-Certitude, the Interpellator Extreme, was willing to speak to me.
“I won’t say it’s a pleasure,” she began. “But, unlike you, I don’t condemn until I know the full facts.”
“I regret if you’ve taken my words as condemnation,” I replied. “Censure, perhaps, or criticism but not condemnation. As it happens I have a high regard for the Interpellators as individuals.”
“But not for the organisation.”
“Possibly for the organisation, too, but not for your… methods.”
“Despite my reservations, you are interesting me. Go on.”
I felt I was being fed sufficient rope to hang myself. I needed to choose my words carefully.
“I meant what I said literally though I accept the tone was a bit harsh. The situation you are facing is, as far as I know, without precedent in Bartimarm’s history. You are faced with something new and tragic. It is my opinion, based on my knowledge of my home planet, that this is hindering you in your investigations. I was simply suggesting that what you should be doing is going back to the basics of detection rather than trying to fit this crime into some familiar category with which you have experience.”
“That’s hardly what you said.”
“With all due respect, Madam, that’s exactly what I said.”
“No matter. You claimed that investigative organisations on your world would know, by now, who had manufactured the bomb. I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true nonetheless. From what I have read, it appears that different groups of criminals have different ways of making bombs. From the remains after the explosion, forensic teams can work out what the bomb was made of, how it was triggered and so on. If they have information from previous bombs attributed to certain groups, they can match the pattern and be fairly certain who the culprits were.”
“I follow that in theory. We have no past experience to go on.”
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