by Pati Nagle
The door slid open and a pair of medics came roaring through so abruptly I instinctively dived under the bed. Devin was unconscious by that time and barely breathing at all. The medics went to work on him at once, plunking heavy boxes of gear down on the floor, hauling out equipment and shouting instructions at each other. I retreated to the far corner under the bed.
“Leon?” called the chief. “Where are you?”
“Yowr.”
“Come on out.”
The chief’s face appeared at the foot of the bed, looking worried. I slunk along the back wall toward him. The bed was jouncing anyway, with the medics working on Devin. I came out and the chief actually picked me up, something he hadn’t done very often.
“Are you all right?”
His hand petted my head and he peered at my face. I glanced toward the medics and said, “Mew.”
He took the hint and carried me out into the hall. One of the neighbors stood in her doorway, staring at Devin’s open door in frank curiosity. The chief frowned her down and she went inside.
“What happened?” he asked me quietly.
“We got take out from Ling-Ling’s Lightspeed. Shrimp in lobster sauce. We shared it, and a few minutes later Devin started feeling bad.”
“What about you?”
“I feel fine.”
“You shared everything? Rice and everything?”
“Yeah. Except the fortune cookie. Devin ate that.”
The chief’s mouth flattened into a hard, thin line. He went back into Devin’s apartment. The techs were strapping Devin to an antigrav stretcher. An oxygen mask covered his face.
That was the first time it really hit me. I’d been running on adrenaline, just trying to get through each moment. Now the truth of what was happening struck home. Devin might die.
I let out a low, unhappy yowl as the medics took him away on the stretcher. The chief exchanged a few words with them, then carried me back into the apartment and put me down.
“OK, I want all the food wrappers,” he said, rummaging in Devin’s cupboards. “Everything. Does he keep shopping bags?”
I was sitting on the floor, feeling stunned. Took a second to realize I’d been asked a question. “Nah, recycles them. There’s the takeout bag, though. It’s under the table here.”
The chief grabbed the bag and started shoving the food cartons into it. I spotted the balled-up fortune next to my food dish and remembered the cookie. Devin had dropped the wrapper on the floor. I found it next to the bed, and was about to pick it up when the chief snatched it away from me.
“Don’t put that in your mouth! It could be poisoned!”
He stuffed it in the top of the bag, then stood up. “Is that everything?”
“Yeah, except for this.” I batted the fortune out from beside my bowl. The chief picked it up and dropped it into the bag.
“OK, let’s get to the lab.”
~
Phil Kramer met us at Security and took the bag of food wrappers from the chief. We followed him into the lab and watched him scan things with a rapidity only a four-armed tech could achieve.
Phil’s engineered and originally worked in the mines out on the Fringe. He hated it, and quit the minute he was clear of his contract. Mining’s loss was our gain; he’s a whiz in the lab. A nice guy, too, and pretty good looking, perfectly human except for the extra arms.
“Bingo,” he said as the scanner lit up and let out an urgent bleep.
It was the fortune cookie wrapper. Phil zoomed the scanner in on it and threw an ultra-magnified image up on the wall. A small, round hole in the wrapper was edged with blinking green.
“There’s your tetrodotoxin. Looks like someone put a hypodermic needle through the wrapper.”
“Thank God,” said the chief.
Phil gave him a funny look. The chief picked me up from the chair where I’d been watching.
“I mean, thank God it wasn’t the shrimp. Leon ate some of that.”
Phil raised an eyebrow. “Leon’s a nice cat, boss, but come on. Who would you rather lose, him or Devin?”
The chief didn’t say anything. Truth was, he had a lot more invested in me, financially anyway.
He cleared his throat. “You’re right, of course. Speaking of Devin, I’d better go check on him. Thanks, Phil.”
“Sure thing.”
The chief carried me out into the corridor and then out into the rotunda. I stuck my face in his armpit and whispered angrily.
“What do you mean, ‘You’re right of course’?”
“Hush. I just said that for Phil’s sake. You know I wouldn’t want to lose either of you.”
The chief carried me all the way to the clinic, a couple of levels down from the rotunda. It wasn’t like him to be cuddly, but I guess he was upset, too. Sure, the attack on Judge Callahan had been disturbing, but this one struck home.
Devin was in a high-priority unit, with a monitor array hooked up to him and a respirator helping him breathe. Still unconscious.
“I’m sorry, sir, no pets are allowed in here,” said a thin, freckled medic who paused as she passed us.
“Oh, of course.” The chief put me down. “Could you wait outside, Leon?”
“Mrow,” I said in a tone indicating we needed to have a private talk.
“Sir?”
“I’ll be right out,” the chief said to me.
I strolled past the medic and down the hall to the entrance. Glancing back from the waiting room I saw her staring after me, wearing a funny expression.
Tough, I decided. The chief was the one who had told me to wait outside. Who was I to argue with my boss?
Truth was, I was in a bad mood. I don’t like radical changes in my living conditions. Devin might not be the ideal roommate, but his absence was unsettling. Who was going to give me my kibble, and make sure the litter box cycled? I wasn’t sure I could sleep without Devin snoring in the room. And I guess I sort of missed his company.
I jumped onto a waiting room chair and curled up, thinking a nap might help. Couldn’t get comfortable, though, even after getting up and turning a few circles. The chair was fiberfoam and had no cushion to knead. I sighed and lay down with my head on my forepaws.
Someone had tried to kill Devin. Probably the same person who had killed Judge Callahan. What did Devin and the judge have in common? A bunch of busts and convictions here on Gamma. The killer was definitely a local.
I could double-check the list of suspects and narrow it down a lot by adding Devin as a parameter, but I had a hunch what the result would be. Our friend working down in the warehouses, Reuter Galloway. Roy to his buds.
He was a typical thug. Devin had busted him in the enhancer sting, and he’d gone to the pokey with the rest of them. He wasn’t a major player, but those big, strong, dumb types could get vindictive. Now he was back, working for Tristar, and probably feeling none too charitable toward Devin. Judge Callahan had convicted him, of course. She handled most of the cases that came up out here, anything that couldn’t be autoadjudicated.
The chief came out, looking grim. I raised my head and he met my gaze, then glanced toward the receptionist. I hopped down and headed for the door, and the chief followed.
There were a few people out in the hall. We headed for the lifts, and lucked out to find an empty one waiting.
“Rotunda,” the chief said as we got in.
“Excuse me, Chief,” I said after the doors slid shut, “but ah—where am I going to stay while Devin’s out of commission?”
“Oh.” He looked at me. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I’d rather not stay at Devin’s place by myself. Unless maybe you unlocked the kibble cupboard?”
“No, no,” he said hastily. Apparently Devin had told him about the kibble incident. “I guess you’d better come stay with me for a few days.”
“OK.”
The lift doors opened on the rotunda. It was well into the evening by now and the partiers were out. We walked along the
parkway, passing laughing couples (some dressed up fancy for Steakmeister and the Gardens, others in casuals), knots of pretty women in colorful clings set on tight, and packs of beer-toting guys who watched the femmes with hungry eyes. A typical night in the rotunda.
My gaze automatically went to the dark corners and service hallways. I saw a ball of orange fur crouched under a potted ficus beside one of the ornamental fish ponds, and detoured to say hello to Butch.
“Leon?” the chief called.
“Mrow,” I answered, glancing back at him and flicking my tail. Devin would have understood that I’d catch up with him, but the chief frowned and followed me.
“Butch,” I said, joining my pal by the pond.
He looked up and his round, orange face brightened in a grin. “Hey, Leon, buddy! I’m waiting for Spats. We’re going to go cruising. Wanna join us?”
“Not tonight, thanks. Tell Spats I want to talk to him.”
“OK. He won’t remember, though.”
“I know. I’ll be up his way tomorrow.”
The chief stopped next to us. “Oh. Hello, Cuddles,” he said, bending down to give Butch a scratch on the head.
“Haven’t seen you hanging out with this guy in a while,” Butch said. “Where’s your usual human?”
“He’s sick.”
“Bummer. Hope this guy feeds you.”
“He will.”
I didn’t really have anything to say to Butch. I just wanted his company—it was reassuring. He was the one who had shown me the ropes on Gamma. He’d been a substitute for Ma, sort of, when I’d first come to the station.
I realized I hadn’t thought about Ma in a long time. Life, and work, had kept me occupied. I still missed her, but it had been so long. She’d probably forgotten about me.
I stood up and shook myself, trying to throw off the gloom. “Well, seeya Butch,” I said. “Happy hunting.”
“Right. Catch you later.”
I glanced at the chief, then headed for Security. We could talk in his office.
He let out a sigh as he sat down in his big, executive chair, actually slumped in it. Very unlike him.
“What’s the word on Devin?” I asked.
“Amy said it’s touch and go. They’ll keep a close watch on him. If he makes it through the night he should be OK.” He leaned back in the chair and looked at me. “You saved his life.”
“Maybe.”
“He’d be dead for sure if you hadn’t called for help.”
I licked my forepaw, feeling embarrassed. The whole situation was uncomfortable. I just wanted things to go back to normal, but they wouldn’t. Not while someone was killing judges and trying to kill my partner.
“Mind if I use your com station?” I asked.
The chief waved a hand toward the controls. “Be my guest.”
His com setup was top drawer, of course. Miles better than Devin’s and Sheila’s and Ralph’s. The holopad was half a meter in diameter.
I brought up the list of recent releases and pulled a subset of cases Devin had worked. Big surprise, our boy Roy was the only name on the list.
“This is our prime suspect,” I said, pulling Roy’s ID up on the holo. His big, dumb face looked slightly belligerent as it rotated above the pad.
The chief leaned forward. “Reuter Galloway?”
“Devin busted him, and Judge Calloway sent him to jail. He got out a month ago and came back to work on Gamma. Works for Tristar up in the warehouses. Only one problem. He wasn’t anywhere near the rotunda today.”
“Not even in his off hours?”
“Not during the day shift, and that’s when the judge was poisoned. He would have to have paid someone to deliver the poison, and he doesn’t look like the type who could sweet-talk a waitress into committing a crime.”
“No, he doesn’t.” The chief frowned. “It wouldn’t have to be the waitress, though. Could be a cook.”
“Or Ling2,” I said. A sudden shiver crossed my shoulders as I remembered Ling2 handing Devin our takeout.
“Ling2 wouldn’t do it. What reason would she have?”
“None that I know of.” I got up and paced on the desk, trying to remember her conversation with Devin. “Are her finances OK?”
The chief called up the Imperial Gardens’ most recent quarterly report. “Booming,” he said. “She’s in great shape.”
“If she doesn’t need money I don’t know why she’d get involved. She likes Devin.”
But she’d been cold to him tonight. He’d even noticed it, and Devin can be pretty obtuse where women are concerned.
“Something’s going on with her.” I realized as I said it that I was echoing Devin’s words.
“I’ll pay her a call in the morning,” said the chief.
“And I’ll check out Roy, I guess.”
“Can you get around the warehouses all right?”
“Sure. Haven’t had any trouble since I got tall enough to reach the access pads.”
A funny look crossed the chief’s face. It was gone the next second, and he looked his usual, stern self as he shut down the com and stood up.
“Let’s call it a night,” he said.
~
We went by Devin’s place to pick up my bowls and my kibble. The chief piled them in Devin’s laundry basket along with the litterbox, and carried it all down to his place down on Starview Terrace.
This was the most expensive, most exclusive tier of living accommodations on Gamma. I wondered how a Security employee, even the top guy, could afford it. Independent means, I decided. His salary probably barely covered his suits, come to think of it.
His apartment was masculine and cool—lots of brushed chrome and glass, shadowy and austere with striking touches of color like the blood red art glass vase that stood empty on the coffee table. The whole place looked like one big, walk-in piece of modern art.
I felt awkward and tried not to shed. For all my carping at Devin about being a slob, at least his apartment was comfortable.
The chief cycled the outer wall from opaque to starview, and I wandered over to gaze out at the universe. The stars burned white and cold in the black velvet of space. They were beautiful, but they offered no comfort.
Thumping noises drew my attention and I followed them to the laundry room, where the chief was setting up my litterbox. He looked up at me, his face slightly red with exertion.
“How does this connect to the recycler?”
I directed him and we got it hooked up and running. The chief stood up, brushing his hands.
“Want some kibble?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically, though in fact I wasn’t feeling hungry at the moment. I make it a rule never to pass up an offer of food.
A shiver went through me. Would I accept a handout from Ling2? Probably not, after today.
Maybe someone was trying to set her up, like she’d suggested. Or maybe she was poisoning people. She certainly had access to the fugu, and both times the poisoned food had come from her kitchen.
But why? Why would Ling2 want to kill people?
That was the problem. She was a suspect without motive. Roy was a suspect with motive but without means. Put them together and you had a killer, but I couldn’t see any connection.
The chief put my bowls down on the kitchen floor. He’d put the kibble in my water dish and the water in my food dish, but I didn’t complain. It was nice of him to put me up.
I nosed the kibble around and ate a couple of pieces, then decided to save the rest for later. I yawned and thought about catching some shut-eye, which was when I realized that we’d forgotten my bed.
I wandered out of the kitchen, looking for the chief. He was standing in his bathroom, brushing his teeth, already dressed in silk pajamas. I couldn’t work up the nerve to ask him to go back to Devin’s place for my bed. Finally I crawled underneath the chief’s bed and curled up on the carpet, the vast expanse of box springs overhead offering shelter of a kind, even if it was too big and too austere.
In the morning we both took the lift, stopping by to see Devin on the way up. He was pretty much the same. The medic on duty promised to call the chief the minute he regained consciousness. We left, the chief getting out at the rotunda while I continued up to the warehouses.
Roy was working in sector 217, not far from the place I’d been undercover with Devin when I first came to Gamma. Not wanting to be too obvious, I didn’t head straight for Roy’s place of employment. Instead I hung around in the corridor pretending to chase mice until someone went into one of the adjoining warehouses, then slipped in behind them.
I’d been back up here a few times to hang out with Spats. The warehouses no longer intimidated me, and I could get around fine in low gee. I slipped back between the cargo bays and bounced my way to the airlock, and lucked out to find it open all around to the adjoining warehouses. I strolled into Roy’s and made my way up to the desk.
Roy was sitting there munching a triple-decker breakfast sandwich from Zip Fix, not a care in the world. I realized belatedly that I couldn’t just go up and talk to him. Devin usually handled that end of things.
I decided to use my com to call him. I could pretend to be the boyfriend of the waitress at the dim sum place and threaten to blackmail Roy. If he was guilty, that ought to light a fire under him.
I eased away from the desk and worked my way deep into the cargo area, looking for an out-of-the-way place from which to make the call. As I rounded a stack of boxes I beheld a sight that froze my blood.
“Spats!”
He was lying on his side with his legs awkwardly splayed, as if he’d fallen and been unable to get up again. His eyes were wide open, jaws open too in a final silent yowl, tongue swollen and white. He wasn’t breathing.
I felt a stab of terror, followed by remorse. I took a step closer, sniffing. He smelled foul—smelled like puke—and I saw that he was lying in a pool of his own vomit. I caught sight of a fish fin and anger blossomed.
“Aw, Spats. God dammit.”
He’d gone cruising in the rotunda last night, and fish was his favorite. I doubted the killer had meant to poison Spats. It was probably meant for me. If only I’d gone along with them last night, I could have warned them off the fish.