Masters of the Galaxy

by Mike Resnick (ed)

  “Got a question,” I said.

  “I know,” he replied. “Who killed Mglais?”

  “That, too—but I’ve got another one.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Is it possible to override the security system from some other place in the embassy?”

  “I’m not sure I follow you,” he said.

  “The likelihood is that someone on your team killed the security in Mglais’s room and the corridor just outside it, at a prearranged moment. I want to know if it’s possible someone could have done that from beyond the basement?”

  “Jesus, I hope not!”

  I stared at him curiously.

  “I don’t want one of my men to have been an accomplice,” he continued. “But if he wasn’t, that means no one is safe here, that our system can’t protect the Ambassador or anyone else.”

  “If it could happen, would there be any electronic footprints?”

  “The guy who could do that wouldn’t leave any,” he said. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Have you cleared my staff, then?”

  “It’s a hundred-to-one that someone on your staff is working for or with the killer,” I said. “I just have to consider all the possibilities.”

  I re-joined Jimbo and Blaish in the room where Roberts was awaiting questioning.

  “Learn anything?” asked Jimbo.

  I shook my head. “I didn’t really expect to. Shall we begin?”

  Roberts answered all our questions, didn’t duck any, and was adamant that no one on his shift had rigged the system.

  “May I question Mr. Roberts for a moment?” said Blaish politely.

  He was quiet and well-mannered, but he tended to ask damned good questions, so we turned it over to him.

  “Mr. Roberts, if you knew in advance that you would be deactivating the security system in Mglais’s room at a given point in time, if you had days to prepare for it and study the system, exactly how long would it take you when the time came?”

  Roberts lowered his head in thought, then looked up. “Almost a minute, if you started from scratch.”

  “Could you explain that, please?” continued Blaish.

  “If you came to the machine cold, knowing what you had to program, it would take you close to sixty seconds to feed in the commands,” said Roberts. “But if you had pre-programmed it to shut down at one time and start up at another, and all you had to do was activate that program, you could do it in five seconds.”

  “And could you pre-program the corridor just as easily?”

  “Yes,” answered Roberts. “In fact, if you had enough time to rig it without being watched, you could have one command deactivate the system in both places.”

  It made a lot more sense than some super computer genius manipulating the system from the second floor, or even outside the building.

  “Would you have noticed someone standing in front of the computer for five or ten seconds?” I asked.

  “Five seconds?” he repeated. “Probably not. But it wouldn’t make any difference.”

  “Oh?” I said. “Why not?”

  “He would probably have programmed it to initiate with a code word,” replied Roberts. “For example, all he’d have to do is ask if anyone has heard who won the Tennebaum-Morella fight—and the code word would be Tennebaum, or Morella, or Greenbriar…or if he was afraid someone else might inadvertently mention it before the appointed instant, he could make the entire question the code word, so that just saying ‘Tennebaum’ or ‘Tennebaum-Morella’ wouldn’t activate the problem. You’d have to say ‘Who won the Tennebaum-Morilla fight on Greenbriar III?’”

  We questioned him for another five minutes, then thanked him and let him go.

  “What do you think?” asked Jimbo when the three of us were alone in the room again.

  “I think I prefer mean streets and dark alleys,” I said. “I like being smarter than the bad guys.”

  “You know what I mean: are we looking for a computer genuis?”

  I shook my head. “Not a chance. Why look for someone who should be winning Sector Prizes in computer science? Roberts told us how it was done. All we have to do is find out which of them did it.”

  “Their stories are remarkably consistent,” offered Blaish. “I couldn’t spot a single change in any detail from your first session with them.”

  “Then we’ll need a little help, won’t we?” I said.

  He looked at me questioningly.

  “You ever see a Neverlie Machine?” I said.

  “No,” said Blaish. “I’ve heard of them, though.”

  “It’s like a lie detector,” I explained, “but every time the subject lies, it gives him a little electrical correction—which can be turned into a big correction if need be.”

  “It sounds brutal,” said Blaish.

  “It is,” I agreed. “But it’s efficient.”

  “They’ve been outlawed on Tjant,” noted Jimbo.

  “They’ve been outlawed on about half the Democracy worlds too,” I said.

  “I can’t believe they haven’t been outlawed on Keladroon,” said Blaish.

  “Probably have,” I said.

  “Then you can’t use one here,” he said.

  “We’re not on Keladroon,” I said. “This embassy is sovereign Democracy territory.”

  They didn’t like it. Hell, I didn’t like it, but we still had a killer on the loose. And if the machine could nail the accomplice, it could also encourage him to name the killer.

  I suggested they grab something to eat in the dining hall, which unlike Security’s kitchen could accommodate aliens, while I spoke to Ambassador Ruskin. I had to cool my heels in his outer office for about ten minutes, but finally the door opened and an assistant escorted me in.

  “How is your investigation going?” asked Ruskin, who was seated at his desk, putting his electronic signature on some document before sending it off.

  “We’re pretty sure the killer had an accomplice in the security section,” I said.

  “A Man?” he said, frowning.

  “Unless you have some aliens working there that I don’t know about.”

  “Don’t be flippant, Mr. Masters,” he said. “This is a serious charge.”

  “It’s an observation,” I replied. “I was hoping you might help me turn it into a charge.”

  He stared at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I want to send for a Neverlie Machine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if we only use it on Men, when word gets out it’s going to cost us a lot of goodwill in this sector.”

  “How much goodwill will it cost of if whoever killed an alien negotiator inside our embassy gets away with it?” I shot back.

  He seemed lost in thought for a few minutes. Finally he sighed. “I can’t make this decision myself. Please wait in the reception area while I check with my superiors.”

  “I didn’t think you had any superiors on Keladroon II,” I said.

  “This will have repercussions far beyond the Keladroon system,” he replied. He must have touched some hidden button on his desk, because the door opened and he waited for me to walk through.

  I sat in a leather chair under the watchful eye of a couple of his assistants. I wished there was a screen handy, so I could call up the latest sports results from Odysseus, but despite all the money they had poured into the embassy they’d forgotten that little convenience. As I waited my stomach began rumbling, and I realized I’d eaten a very small sandwich, and it was dinnertime. The more I tried to think about anything else, the more I thought about how hungry I was.

  Finally, after what seemed an hour, but my watch told me was seventeen minutes, the door opened again and I was told to enter the office.

  “Are we in business?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. Masters,” said Ruskin. “I truly did argue on your behalf, but it was decided that the attendant p
ublicity was unacceptable. About three-quarters of the worlds in this Sector are not members of the Democracy. The Canphor Coalition and the Tolio Federation have been making inroads among the uncommitted planets, and the Democracy won’t risk losing any of them, even to apprehend a killer.” He looked at me. “I hope this doesn’t hinder you too greatly in your investigation.”

  “Oh, I’ll catch him,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “But this would have made my job a lot easier.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Masters.”

  I got up to leave. “Do we have anything else to discuss?”

  “That would be up to you,” said Ruskin.

  “Not just now,” I said, and headed toward the door, which seemed to see me coming and opened to let me pass.

  I went to the dining hall, where I found Jimbo and Blaish isolated at a table in the far corner. Whatever they were eating, it wasn’t as disgusting as watching Baro the Grub consume his dinner, but it didn’t make the most appetizing picture either.

  “Did you get it?” asked Jimbo.

  I shook my head. “No. Too politically volatile.”

  “I thought they’d turn it down,” he said.

  “Well, what the hell,” I said, trying to look on the bright side. “If you don’t make the charge strong enough, I suppose some men can beat it, and if you make it too strong, they can’t survive it.”

  “I find it very uncomfortable just knowing a machine exists that can read my mind,” said Braish.

  “It can’t,” I said.

  “But—”

  “It can read your reactions,” I explained. “It can analyze your pulse, your heartbeat, your blood pressure, your pupil dilation, half a hundred other things, and determine if you’re lying. But it’s not foolproof.”

  “Why not?” asked Braish. “I would imagine that even a minimal correction produces the required result.”

  “That presupposes you grew up with some slight sense of right and wrong,” I said. “If not, if you have no compunction about lying, if ethics has absolutely no meaning to you, if it’s something that doesn’t exist rather than something you overcome, then you can beat the Neverlie Machine.” I lit my fourth cigar of the day. “Fortunately, ninety-nine and a half percent of all sentient beings can’t beat it.”

  “So there is no foolproof way to tell if someone is lying,” said Blaish.

  “Not with a machine,” I agreed.

  “Or with physical force,” added Jimbo.

  “Or with physical force,” I said.

  “Then there’s no way,” said Blaish.

  “Yes there is,” I said, and suddenly I smiled, because I had just realized that there was one way.

  I had McKay gather his staff in the basement just before midnight, local time. Jimbo and Blaish were with me, but I hadn’t told them what I had in mind. I wanted to see reactions, and I didn’t want anyone finding out what I had to say before I announced it.

  When they were all assembled I faced them and began speaking.

  “You’ve all been interviewed today, so I don’t have to tell you who I am or why I’m here. Let me lay my cards on the table: one of you is an accomplice to a killer. Under the laws of the Democracy—and you’re all Democracy employees and citizens—you’re equally guilty under the law. You’ve not only helped to commit a murder, but by killing a Tjanti who was here to negotiate an end to the conflict with Odysseus, you have disgraced your race and your government, a fact that will not be lost on the media and the court when you are exposed. And you will be exposed.”

  I paused and looked them over. If anyone looked nervous or guilty, I missed it.

  “My initial thought, after the killer’s accomplice stonewalled during today’s interviews, was to import a Neverlie Machine. That request has been vetoed.” I allowed a grim smile to play across my face. “That is the last piece of good news one of you is going to get.”

  I paused again, and this time there was some nervous shuffling, probably because no one could see where this was heading.

  “There are three species of legitimate telepaths in the galaxy,” I continued. “It’s a very rare trait. Two of those species live far out on the Rim, are allied to no government or federation of planets, and are currently considered inimical to Man. The third is Korbell IV, and while it is not a member of the Democracy, it is a trading partner which has a good working relationship with us. I have requested the presence of a Korbellian. He’ll be here within two Standard days, and then we will know for sure which of you will be standing trial for murder.”

  “Will his testimony be permitted?” asked McKay. “After all, there is no way to verify what he says he sees in someone’s mind.”

  “He won’t have to testify,” I said. “Once we know the guilty party, we’ll just ask him a number of pertinent questions with the Korbellian sitting in, and it should point us to all the evidence we need. Thank your staff for their attention, Mr. McKay. I’m through with them until the Korbellian arrives.”

  I didn’t wait for him to dismiss them, but walked over to the airlift, accompanied by Jimbo and Blaish.

  “I have never heard of Korbell IV,” admitted the Droon.

  “It’s a very small world,” I replied, “and as I said, they’re not officially part of the Democracy.”

  “And you say he’ll be here in two days?” said Jimbo.

  “He, she, it, whatever they are,” I said. “All we have to do until then is make sure no one leaves.” I turned to Blaish. “Jimbo and I already have rooms. I think we’d better make sure you’ve got a place to sleep that suits your particular needs.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  The airlift stopped at the main floor.

  “Jimbo, you go on up to bed,” I said. “I’ll get Blaish settled first. Breakfast at sunrise.”

  “Right,” he said, continuing on to the third floor.

  I took Blaish to the Hospitality Department and left him in their care, then went to Ambassador Ruskin’s office.

  “I was hoping to see you tonight,” he said when I was ushered in.

  “I was hoping you’d still be awake,” I responded.

  “McKay told me about your little plan,” he said. “We’re going to have a hell of a time accommodating a Korbellian. Did you know they’re methane breathers who live at a negative hundred degrees Celsius?”

  “Yeah, I’d heard something about that.”

  “Can something that different read a human mind?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” I said.

  He frowned. “Was this a bluff?”

  “Probably,” I said.

  “What the hell do you mean: probably?“ he demanded.

  “If someone calls the bluff, which is to say if my little speech doesn’t precipitate any action, I’ll actually send for a Korbellian,” I said. “But I don’t think I’ll have to.”

  “You’re dealing with a computer expert,” said Ruskin. “If I could find out they’re methane breathers who melt at minus-seventy Celsius, so can he.”

  “He’ll also find out that they are telepaths, and that they’re on good terms with the Democracy,” I said. “You have your doubts about whether we can accommodate them, and whether they can read a human mind, but you don’t know, and neither will the man we’re after. I don’t think he can afford to take the chance. We’ll let him sweat tonight, and tomorrow, if we catch him making a break for it, we’ll let him plea bargain in exchange for naming the killer.”

  “Why didn’t you make the offer tonight?” asked Ruskin.

  “Because he’s probably never heard of Korbell before. He’s going to need time to get to his room and verify what I said on his own computer.”

  “All right,” said Ruskin. “But if it turns out that you do import a Korbellian, we’re going to need at least a day’s warning to prepare for him.”

  “You’ll have it,” I said, turning and walking out of his office.

  I rode the airlift up to my third-floor room, took a Dryshower, and
then, since I wasn’t sure our man would wait until tomorrow, I went back down to the security area in the basement. As far as I could tell, the only rooms in the whole damned embassy that weren’t being monitored were the security storage rooms. I made a production of moving a computer and cot into one, set the computer on a stack of boxes, went out to get a chair, brought it back, and closed the door behind me, hoping there was a chance that the thought of an unmonitored, unprotected detective could flush out our man before morning.

  As it turned out, it took exactly four hours and seventeen minutes.

  The door opened silently, then closed a couple of seconds later. I’d turned the light out, so I assumed my visitor was wearing infra-red lenses. I could hear him padding over to the cot, where I’d bunched some pillows under the blanket to look like a body. Since he didn’t just shoot from the door, I figured he had a knife or planned to do the job with his hands. That made me feel a little more secure.

  When the footsteps stopped, I said “Light” and suddenly the room was bathed in lights. Then I ordered the door to close.

  The figure hovering over the cot turned to me, a stunned expression on his face. He had a knife in his hand.

  “Have a seat,” I said, pointing my laser pistol at him.

  He sat down on the cot, facing me. He was still too surprised to speak.

  “Put the blade on the nightstand next to the bed,” I said. I didn’t want him kicking it across the room to me; I’d seen too many remarkable feats of dexterity involving kicking weapons toward cops.

  He did as I said. “You were sitting there all along, weren’t you?” he said bitterly.

  “It’s a nice, comfortable chair,” I replied, trying to place his face with his name. “You’re Blair, aren’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “You want to tell me about it?”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Blair asked nervously.

  “That depends on the next few minutes,” I told him.

  “I never killed anyone,” he said.

  “Only because I was sitting in the corner.”

  “I wasn’t going to use the knife.”

  “I know,” I said sardonically. “You just wanted to invite me to play a game of mumblety-peg.”