Carl sat for a moment, looking out through the canopy, until he was sure their arrival had attracted no notice.
Andy had slung the autoshot across his back and was checking the charge on his hand laser for perhaps the fifth time. Carl did not comment on it; he was familiar with Andy's nervous habits, and they'd never slowed the boy down when it was important. Not like Johnny, who had a critical inability to fire until after he'd been shot at.
Well? Do we go in?
Carl blinked, and glanced at Andy. Not the way you mean, no. We're far too badly outgunned. But yes, we are going in. Do you remember the job we did in Brunei?
Yes. You made the guard think you were his brother-in-law.
Do you think you can do that?
Andy hesitated too long. Yes.
There's going to be six people in there at least, one per squad car. Probably closer to ten or twelve.
Andy looked out the window at the glowing bubble holos. I don't know for sure.
Okay, but that means you have to do the talking.
I can do that.
Give me the owner's manual from the glove compartment. Andy handed it to him, and Carl flipped it open, set the beam on his hand laser to low-intensity, wide-dispersion infra-red, and played the beam over its pages. He checked the index for color, and under color for patterns. Following the instructions, he changed the car's pale gold to silver, formed a black square along both sides of the car where the doors would have been had the MetalSmith had doors, and over the front hood. Glancing over at the real PKF vehicle, he drew stars in on the three black fields, and a blue-and-white sphere within the stars. It didn't look much like the representation of Earth on the PKF vehicle, but if anybody got close enough to the MetalSmith to look, they were lost regardless.
Ready?
Yes.
Carl turned the headlights back on and pulled away from the curb. He drove sedately down the length of the street, and parked on the opposite side of the street from Gerry's apartment. Two New York City gendarmes were standing out in front of the entrance to the apartment building, more confused than alarmed as Carl and Andy got out of the MetalSmith. One of them was reaching for his holstered laser as Carl and Andy reached the steps leading up from the motionless slidewalk.
Carl stopped him with a thought. Andy pulled his wallet from a pocket of his jumpsuit and flashed the blank expanse of pseudoleather at the cops. "Je m'appelle Inspecteur Assante. Conseiller Carson envoie moi."
The cops nodded after a moment's pause, and the senior of the two waved them through. Don't use French, Carl admonished Andy as they entered the hallway and punched for the lift to Gerry's floor. Your accent's not clearly American, but it's obvious you're not French. Speak English with a slight French accent.
Andy grinned. Oui.
The lift doors slid aside, and Carl and Andy rode up to the fifth floor. Police were stationed at the lifts; once again they were waved through, and made their way down the hallway to Gerold McKann's apartment.
The door to Gerry's apartment was open. The carpet in the hallway outside was wet with a dark fluid. Nobody stood at the entrance to prevent admission. Andy walked straight through with Carl a step behind him.
The walls, the rug, the furniture and electronics equipment that Gerry collected; there was blood everywhere.
Carl ignored the dampness he stood in, the blood that had turned the blue carpet a deep purplish black. He swept his mind across the room, let his eyes drop shut and walked through the two bedrooms. Three gendarmes, two Peaceforcers, one of whom was--
The Peaceforcer turned away from the remains on the carpet and crossed the floor to stand before Andy and Carl. He wore a huge overcoat against the night air, that made him appear larger and broader than he was. In his own right the Peaceforcer was as tall as any Peaceforcer Carl had ever met, but so perfectly proportioned that it was only when Carl found himself looking up to meet the man's gaze that he realized just how very large the man was. His face was stiff; Elite, and one Carl did not know. He was either recently become an Elite, or else recently arrived from France.
His voice was remarkably deep, with just a trace of roughness. He addressed them in French. "I do not believe I know you gentlemen."
Andy hesitated a moment too long and then answered, as instructed, in English. "I'm Inspector Assante. Councilor Carson asked me to--"
Carl became aware of a number of things happening all at once. Andy, who had seen dead men before, had caught sight of and was staring at the remains of Gerry McKann's body even as he spoke. He was about to vomit. At the surface of the huge Peaceforcer Elite's mind, suspicion blossomed in a rapid series of thoughts; know all the Inspectors and he is not one, too young, Carson sent no others tonight, that accent--
Carl extended himself through space, and with the exception of Carl and Andy and the huge Peaceforcer, every human within a forty meters dropped into unconsciousness as though poleaxed.
Carl seized control of the Peaceforcer Elite's mind just in time. The cyborg's right fist was hovering centimeters before his face, and the crystal embedded in the center knuckle was glowing pink. The crystal faded to black as Carl watched.
Andy, said Carl as soon as Andy had finished vomiting, close the door.
Who are you?
The cyborg spoke in French. "I am Elite First Sergeant Mohammed Vance."
Carl stood before him, eyes locked. What happened here?
Vance was a man of exceptional will; even under compulsion he answered only the questions put to him, as minimally as he was able. "Two PKF Elite tore Gerold McKann limb from limb."
Were you one of those?
"No."
Who ordered this?
"I believe the decision was Councilor Carson's."
Why?
"The murders are to be blamed upon a telepath whose name I do not know."
Is this telepath supposed to have been strong enough to have done this?
"Councilor Carson thinks that it will not be difficult for a court to believe."
What was his motive to have been?
"A psychotic rage. The man is known to indulge in them."
What of the police here?
"They know nothing. They will simply find the telepath's fingerprints upon the clothing of the dead man."
Those are not the clothes he was wearing when he died.
"They are. He was forced to strip and don this clothing before he was killed."
Remove them. You will report that you found the body unclothed.
There was a brief and savage struggle of wills between the two men, and then Mohammed Vance said with a terrible hatred, "Yes." He turned and stripped the bloody clothing away from the chunks of sundered flesh that were all that remained of Gerold McKann, and placed them in a leakproof bag from Gerry's kitchen. Carl watched the man, an emptiness inside him, and took the bag from Vance when he was done. Wash your hands. Have holographs been taken of the body's position?
"Yes."
With which holocam?
"Those two." Vance pointed at a pair of holocams resting on the floor next to two of the gendarmes.
Andy, examine those holocams and erase any holos of Gerry's body. Be careful what you touch and wipe the surfaces when you're done. Carl returned his attention to Vance, who was just finishing at the sink, hands still wet. I will cause you to forget that I have been here. The same with these others. I will take the clothing with me when I leave, and you will report that the remains were found unclothed. We have erased the holos of Gerry with the clothing that bears my fingerprints. Is there anything I'm missing that will betray our presence tonight?
Water dripped from Vance's hands. His glare neared insanity. "The gendarmes near the lifts have seen the body."
What of those at the street entrance?
"They have not."
Is there anything else I'm missing?
"I can think of nothing."
Andy? Can you think of anything?
Andy had to tear his gaze
away from Gerry's remains. He spoke aloud, and even so his horror was plain. "No. No, I can't."
Good. In an instant, Carl made the changes to the sleeping minds and brought them awake again. Several of them had blood stains upon their clothing that they would not be able to explain. Carl watched as they rose from the floor and silently went through the task of holographing the body again. It took him nearly half a minute to section off Mohammed Vance's memory of the incident--he could not simply erase it--and replace what had happened with a sequence of events that Vance, like the others, would swear to his dying day was the truth of the night, that Gerold McKann's remains had been found unclothed.
Minutes later they were down on the street again, and twenty minutes had been sliced from the memories of nine human beings. Shortly thereafter they were headed home.
Their conversation in the car was brief.
"He was your best friend," said Andy. "It hardly seems to have bothered you."
Almost absently Carl said, "You win some and you lose some." He took the car out onto the highway and plugged it into TransCon. He turned in his seat to face Andy. "Sometimes the good guys lose."
Without moving Andy seemed to pull away from Carl, to grow more distant as he sat there. "They're going to know we did something."
For the first time that night, a flicker of pain touched Carl's face. He turned away from Andy and looked out the canopy at the lights of the city. "There's a distinction," said Carl distantly. "They're going to know something happened. But they won't know what."
Halfway home, the car phone began beeping. Carl kept the holocam turned off and let the call through.
Malko's image glowed in blue monovideo on the MetalSmith's control panel. "Carl?"
Carl turned on the video and answered. "Hi, Malko. How are you?"
"What?" The question seemed to mean nothing to the old man. "Oh, that. I'm fine. Is Gerry dead?"
"Yes."
Carl noticed for the first time that Malko's voice was shaking. With anger? "We just received a call from Brazil. From Tomâs."
"What's wrong?"
"Althea is dead."
In the seat beside Carl, Andy whispered, "Oh."
Carl said in a monotone, "How?"
"We don't know yet. They were on a job for Sandoval BioChemical--fine manipulation work, I think. Tomâs and Allie were sharing a cabin and he woke up tonight and found she wasn't in bed with him. Both the Double-S guards were asleep. He found her on the lawns outside his cabin. They're saying snakebite."
"Two hours ago."
"Pretty near."
"Bring everybody who's on a job, home."
"Carl?"
"Yes?"
"Don't go on me, son. We need you too much."
"I'm going to kill Sandoval," said Carl, "and I'm going to kill Carson."
"Carl, please."
Carl stared through the canopy at the nighttime city. "Should have killed Carson a long time ago."
Carson screamed it. "What?"
Mohammed Vance stood in full dress uniform, at attention in Carson's office, in the midst of the vast stretch of carpet in front of Carson's desk. Three of Carson's aides sat in chairs before the bay window at the office's east side. Early morning sunlight silhouetted them, made their features indistinct. The sunlight washed through the room and lost itself in Mohammed Vance's formal black uniform.
Vance spoke English with little accent. "In what way is my report unclear, sir?"
Carson's features were red with rage, but the words brought him up cold. The chain of thoughts running through his mind was almost visible. He brought his temper under control with an effort that was visible. "The problem is not that the report is not clear," he said, speaking as though to an idiot. "The problem is that you were brought from France to aid me because of a remarkable reputation, in one so young, for competence and reliability."
Vance inclined his head. "Indeed."
"I wonder," said Carson bluntly, "whose employ you're actually in."
Mohammed Vance said without expression, "I serve the Unification, sir. No more and no less."
"Ideologs," whispered Carson half to himself. He looked up at Vance. "You're dismissed. Get out and don't ever let me see you again--not ever."
Vance did not salute. He turned and strode steadily from the office.
Darryl Amnier paced restlessly across the gray rugs that covered the floor of the offices of the Secretary General in Capital City, New York. The flag of the United Nations hung limply in the corner of his vision as he paced.
Just after 7 a.m. Charles Eddore was admitted to his presence. "Sir?"
"Yes, Charles?"
"I received a message this morning from Malko Kalharri and Carl Castanaveras. I regret that I did not think to tape it."
"Of course you didn't," said Amnier without heat. "One wonders why they did not direct the call to me instead."
"I don't know, sir. The call came to my office."
"I know. They told me. What had Kalharri to say?"
Charles Eddore licked his lips. " 'Greg was right. I won't make the same mistake again.' "
Amnier's closed his eyes. "Charles, have you ever felt ashamed of something you've done?"
"No. No, sir, I can't say I have."
"Hadn't thought so. What did Castanaveras say?"
"It was not important, sir."
"Charles."
"Sir, 'And your little dog Toto, too.' "
* * *
8.
Gerold McKann's parents and ex-wife buried him on Saturday, June 24, 2062, with the staff and editors of the Electronic Times in attendance.
Elsewhere in the world, on the same day, the telepaths buried Althea Castanaveras, lowered her coffin into the damp ground at the center of the garden at the center of the Complex. A rain so fine it was almost mist fell steadily. The children covered every centimeter of the garden, and still there was not enough space for all of them; many of them were forced to watch from the suites that ringed the garden. There were no tears; their grief was too profound.
Even with the cold rage that kept the world away from him, Carl found room to be touched by the memorial the children had prepared. Wordlessly, their memories of Allie flowed through and among them, her words and deeds, the looks and smell and feel of her. A maturity that had no place in children touched their awareness; Althea was loved, and was missed, and was dead.
Carl suppressed any desire to address them; the Person whom they composed included Jany and Johann and Andy and Willi and Ary, all of the elder telepaths and all of the children except for those few who had not reached puberty, and it excluded him. The only human there who would hear and understand his words was Malko, and Malko already knew.
Allie is dead, and Gerry is dead, and they are not going to be the only ones.
In an old home in Massapequa Park, a cool blue holocube appeared over Suzanne Montignet's desk.
A handsome middle-aged man with a mustache whose name Suzanne did not know appeared from the shoulders up within the field. His background was indistinct. His temple did not bear the mark of an inskin data link. Though it was the middle of the night he had answered the call before Suzanne's systerm had even begun counting out courtesy rings for her.
"The Tree is alive," said Suzanne quietly.
"But the branches need pruning," the man responded. "I've heard about your troubles. Is that why you are calling?"
"Yes."
The man nodded. "Our friends thought you might be in touch. How can we help you?"
"The problems we have had here are caused by two people in particular. If you could arrange for them to 'leave town' I think you would engender considerable sympathy for our mutual goals. You might gain some leverage with the younger one."
"And the elder?"
"I believe his position would remain unchanged." Believe, thought Suzanne Montignet as she waited for the man's reply, is probably not a strong enough term. Malko's contempt for the Johnny Rebs was plain enough that Suzanne ha
d only once attempted to broach the subject to him. "I am not," she said after a moment's silence, "certain whether his position on this subject is personal or simply a matter of policy; he is still watched quite closely."
The man nodded. "Regrettable, but we act where we may. It may be that he would always be a greater liability than asset. Have you discussed this subject with the younger one?"
"I have not. He may know of it regardless. He has not indicated that he knows of this option. Still, the difficulty in keeping information confidential..."
"I understand. I will look into the subject of persuading these two persons to 'leave town.' If it seems feasible, we will, before arranging the trip, take the step of meeting with the younger one and arriving at an agreement."
Suzanne Montignet nodded. "That would be appropriate."
"I will be in touch. Liberty."
"Liberty," responded Suzanne, as the man's image faded into the background blue.
Later that night:
Carl?
Yes, Jany?
What are you going to do?
Kill Carson.
How?
I don't know yet. He's protected so well.
And what of Sandoval?
I'll kill him too.
Of course.
You sound as though you disapprove.
How do you know he's guilty?
...I beg your pardon.
Carl, you don't know. You can't kill a man without knowing.
Oh, that.
Carl?
I'll know.
The face that appeared in the holofield was not human. Cat's eyes, and the delicate whiskers, and the fine high cheekbones; once Carl could have loved her, but that she reminded him too strongly of Shana. Jacqueline de Nostri's expression was grave. "I grieve with you, Carl. Ask what you will of me."
"Chris said something that led me to think you can get in touch with him."
"Of course."
"I need your help, and his."
"Carson and the Secretary General? They are well protected." Her ears twitched slightly. "Or Sandoval?"
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