Powers of Detection

by Dana Stabenow

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Carter said as he undogged the hatch.

  The diplomats were housed near the Chuck Yeager’s center of mass, where it was easiest to maintain gravity. Each had quarters suitable to its environmental needs, but most came from planets with atmospheres and gravities not far off Earth normal. When humans first mastered interstellar travel, they were surprised by two things: the diversity of the sentient life-forms they encountered and the similarities in the planets that supported them. There were a number of theories about why this was, the dominant one being that the universe has a wicked sense of humor.

  The Chuck Yeager wasn’t a cruise ship, so the individual quarters were small. But there was one fairly large common area, and when the two humans stepped through the second hatchway door, that’s where they found themselves. It was empty.

  “Who cut the cheese?” Carter asked.

  “Excuse me?” Gordon asked.

  “It’s a piece of old Earth slang,” Carter said. “Old Earth studies are a hobby of mine. I was referring to the smell.”

  The young diplomat tapped his nose. “I’m wearing filters. But I think one of these creatures is a flier that uses methane emissions to help keep itself aloft.”

  The ship’s officer rubbed his upper lip vigorously.

  “Methane emissions,” he said. “You mean the thing . . .”

  His sentence was cut short by the arrival of an Xtee. It shot out of the entrance to a hallway at about five feet off the deck, banked sharply, and headed for the two humans. It had a vaguely human face, a long, sharp beak, and four stubby appendages on each side of its body, all of which were flapping furiously. It looked like a cross between a Leprechaun and a penguin.

  As it sank toward the deck, the creature emitted a loud noise from its rear. It immediately regained height and speed.

  “Ah, Saddam Hussein,” Carter said, “it’s a Gaspasser.”

  The creature shot toward the two humans. Gordon couldn’t tell if it was under control, but decided to take no chances. He hit the deck. The Gaspasser flew over, headed directly for the ship’s officer.

  “Screw diplomacy,” Carter said, and walloped the flying creature with a power arm. The Gaspasser tumbled beak over butt, righted itself, wobbled on, hit the far wall, and fell to the deck, where it lay with its stubby appendages still flapping feebly.

  “Adolf Hitler, Carter,” Gordon said. “What if you’ve killed it? Don’t you think one dead Xtee diplomat on my record is enough?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” the ship’s officer said, “I’ve run into things like this before. They usually aren’t that easy to hurt.”

  He strode over to where the Gaspasser lay, picked it up, and lofted it into the air. The beat of its wings picked up, it emitted an even louder noise from its rear, and shot off toward the hallway from which it had come.

  “Whew!” Carter said. “Imagine what the atmosphere on that thing’s home planet is like. You haven’t got an extra pair of nose filters, do you?”

  The young diplomat shook his head.

  “How did you encounter an Xtee on this tub?” he asked.

  “Oh, I get around,” Carter said vaguely. “Where are the Huskers, anyway?”

  Gordon decided not to push it. “They’re down here,” he said.

  The two humans walked through the common area and down the hallway, which ran in a circle around the ship. They passed a series of compartments, each with a hatchway. Some were open, some shut. The closed hatches had small windows in them. Carter and Gordon stopped to look into each compartment.

  “Enough to make you want to dig up Charles Darwin and slap him silly, isn’t it?” the ship’s officer said.

  Gordon nodded. The creatures in the compartments seemed to be living proof that there was no rhyme or reason to sentience or planetary dominance.

  The first compartment contained a group of wicked-looking lizard-like creatures with long snouts that had several eyestalks at their ends.

  “These are from Enid IV,” the young diplomat said.

  “Yeah, I know,” said Carter. “Peepers.”

  The next compartment held what might have been a coatrack covered in spiny balls that seemed to leap away from the coatrack, then snap back. No telling, Gordon thought, if that’s all one creature or a whole bunch and the coatrack is some sort of transport.

  “From somewhere in the Echo systems,” Gordon said.

  The ship’s officer nodded. “Tether balls,” he said.

  In the next were a collection of what appeared to be dogs of various types. Their door was open. Most of them were sitting around a green-topped table, playing a card game. Several seemed to be smoking cigars.

  “From Canus III,” the young diplomat said.

  “Mutts,” said Carter.

  One of the Mutts was lying on the floor, licking between its hind legs. It raised its head, and growled, “What are you looking at?”

  The pair moved on.

  “Was he doing what I think he was doing?” Carter asked.

  “That’s nothing,” Gordon said. “You should take part in their traditional greeting ceremony.”

  The next compartment contained the Gaspassers.

  Next to them were what appeared to be a herd of cuddly lambs, until they smiled and showed rows of razor-edged teeth. When they lifted their feet, the humans could see they were taloned and not hooved.

  “These are from somewhere down space, toward the core,” the young diplomat said.

  “Cute little devils, aren’t they?” Carter said. “You can see why they’re called Lambchops.”

  The Huskers were in the next compartment. Their door was closed. Gordon rang the doorbell with great reluctance.

  The door flew open, and a Husker stood in the doorway. It gave off a series of squeaks and squawks.

  “What the hell do you want?” the human’s translation program asked. The translation program was wired into each of the Xtee compartments, and was supposed to be able to translate among the aliens as well as between alien and human. Gordon had his doubts.

  “Not exactly the most diplomatic opening, is it?” the ship’s officer said.

  “It’s probably the program,” Gordon said. “We haven’t got all of the bugs worked out of it.”

  “Oh, sure, say it’s my fault,” the program said. “Shoot the messenger.”

  “We were wondering if all the members of your delegation are accounted for,” Gordon asked the Husker.

  The Husker listened to the squeaks and clicks that came from the translation program. The middle of its body rotated away, then rotated back.

  “We’re all here,” it said.

  This wasn’t the answer Gordon was expecting. He didn’t know what to say next.

  “Ship’s fourth officer John Carter,” Carter said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to come in and take a census.”

  The Husker’s midsection swiveled away, then back again.

  “Under the rules of diplomacy, this is our sovereign territory,” it said. “I’m afraid I can’t let you pass.”

  “I’m desolated to have to tell you that the safety of the ship is involved,” Carter said, “and that takes precedence over protocol.”

  The Husker went into its swivel routine again.

  Gordon opened his mouth, but closed it without saying anything. The ship’s officer was a bold and smooth liar. He could have a real future in the Corps Diplomatique.

  The Husk
er stepped back without speaking. The two men entered the compartment. The ship’s officer made a show of counting the inhabitants. “We brought twelve of you on board,” he said, “but there are only eleven here.”

  “I am John Smith, the leader of this delegation,” the biggest Husker said. “You are correct. John Doe is missing.”

  “John Smith?” Gordon said. “John Doe? Is that the best you can do?”

  “It’s not my fault,” the translation program said. “These are common names on this species’ home planet, and that’s the way they translate.”

  “Why don’t you just leave the names in their language?” the young diplomat said. “Fewer distractions.”

  Which was how the two humans learned that it was Clickclickwhistle who was missing, according to Clicksquawksqueal.

  “We think we know where Clickclickwhistle is,” Carter said. “Computer, would you show us the Unknown Origin 37 we removed from the deck?”

  The computer threw up a scene on the opposite wall. The Huskers seemed to see in the same spectrum as humans, so Gordon figured they should be able to follow what was going on. Unfortunately, what was going on was that the two subengineers had the Unknown Origin 37 on the shuttle deck, the section that was open to space. There were wires running from it to a console some distance away where the subengineers stood in space suits.

  “Computer!” the ship’s officer yelled. “Stop whatever they are doing immediately!”

  Too late. One of the space-suited figures threw a switch, and there was a tremendous explosion. Pieces of Unknown Species 37 flew everywhere. The two subengineers were blown backward and dangled at the end of tethers, their suits leaking air in dozens of places. Other space-suited figures began moving their way.

  Carter began whispering into the left forearm of his powered exoskeleton.

  “Is this the way you treat visiting diplomats?” Clicksquawksqueal demanded. “You blow them up?”

  Gordon moved closer to the ship’s officer, who seemed to have finished whispering. For a reason Gordon couldn’t quite name, the Huskers suddenly seemed much more dangerous.

  “We didn’t blow up Clickclickwhistle,” he said. “We found him all folded in the hallway outside the diplomats’ area and his temperature was rising. Our computer told us he would explode on his own. Why is that?”

  “All folded up?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What do you mean?”

  “Show him, Computer,” Gordon said.

  The computer projected a photograph of the Unknown Origin 37—or, rather, the late, lamented Clickclickwhistle—in front of Clicksquawksqueal. The creature did the same swiveling routine as the doorman and was silent for several minutes.

  “Clickclickwhistle was in decommissioned pose,” Clicksquawksqueal said. “He would have expanded to the universe on his own.”

  “Decommissioned pose?” Gordon said.

  “Hey, I’m doing the best that I can,” the translation program said.

  “Is that how your species disposes of its dead? Explosion?” the young diplomat asked.

  Clicksquawksqueal swiveled and was silent again.

  “It is,” it said at last, “it is our way of returning our biological material to the planet.”

  “Well, I’d hate to walk through one of your graveyards,” Gordon said.

  “Graveyards?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What are graveyards?”

  “Perhaps we should turn our attention to what happened to Clickclickwhistle,” the ship’s officer suggested. “When did you see him last?”

  Gordon thought about strangling the starspawn. The demise of an alien diplomat in his keeping was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

  Clicksquawksqueal seemed to share that sentiment. It swiveled and was silent for so long that Gordon thought perhaps it’d gone to sleep.

  “Clickclickwhistle was an adventurous sort,” the Husker said, when it had swiveled back. “He went out exploring and never came back.”

  “Weren’t you worried?” Gordon asked.

  The swiveling was shorter this time.

  “Define worried,” Clicksquawksqueal said.

  “Never mind,” Carter said. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in more comfortable surroundings. Will you and your colleagues follow me?”

  He turned his exoskeleton and walked out the hatch into the hall. Gordon was right behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at Carter.

  “Solving a mystery,” the ship’s officer said. “Watch and learn.”

  After a few minutes of what had no doubt been furious swiveling in the compartment, Clicksquawksqueal emerged, followed by the rest of the Huskers.

  The two humans led them down the hall. When they reached the Lambchops’ quarters, one of the creatures was standing in the hatchway.

  “Where’s the party?” it asked.

  “No party,” Carter said. “We are simply going somewhere more comfortable to continue our discussion with the Unknown Origin 37 delegation about the demise of one of its members.”

  “Cool,” the Lambchop said. “Mind if we tag along?”

  Gordon opened his mouth to tell the Lambchop, as diplomatically as possible, to mind his own beeswax, but the ship’s officer beat him to the punch. “Not at all,” he said. “The more the merrier.”

  “What are you doing?” the young diplomat demanded in a fierce whisper. “Do you think I want the whole galaxy knowing about the blot on my record?”

  “I said watch,” Carter said. “I didn’t say talk.”

  He stopped his exoskeleton opposite the hatchway to the Gaspassers’ quarters. He pressed the doorbell. No response. He tried the handle. Locked.

  “Computer,” he said.

  The hatchway popped open. The Gaspassers were all huddled in one corner.

  “We’re having a meeting,” Carter said cheerfully. “Diplomats love meetings. Come along.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he moved on. When he reached the door to the Mutts’ compartment, he stopped again. “If you creatures can tear yourselves away from your card game for a minute, there’s a discussion in the common room you won’t want to miss.”

  “Says who?” one of the Mutts growled.

  “Believe me, you’ll want to be there,” Carter said pleasantly, “and so will the Unknown Origins next door.”

  “Josef Stalin!” Gordon said. “Are you going to invite the entire diplomatic corps to this meeting?”

  “Nope,” Carter said. “That’s it.”

  With that, he led his group down the rest of the hallway and into the common room.

  “Table,” he said, and a long, rectangular table rose out of the floor.

  “Chairs,” he said, and chairs rose to line the table.

  “This is normally the ship’s conference room,” he explained, striding to the head of the table. “Please, take a seat.”

  The Lambchops and Huskers all sat on one side of the table. As they sat, the chairs shaped themselves to fit their anatomies.

  “Now,” Clicksquawksqueal said, “perhaps you can explain what we’re doing here.”

  “Not just yet,” Carter said. “Let’s wait for the other delegations to arrive.”

  “You’re pretty confident they’re coming,” said Gordon, who’d taken a seat next to the ship’s officer.
/>   “It’s my winning personality,” Carter said. “It’s irresistible.”

  Sure enough, a minute later the Gaspassers came into the room, trailed by the Mutts. They took seats facing the Lambchops and Huskers.

  “Thank you for coming, gentle creatures,” Carter said. “In the interests of universal harmony, it is truly an honor to welcome you to this historic meeting aboard . . .”

  “Get on with it,” a Mutt that looked like a border collie snapped, “I’ve got a full house waiting back at the game.”

  “Yes,” said one of the Lambchops, “you said you had something to reveal about the death of one of the Unknown 37 diplomats. Let’s not spend more time than we have to in such odiferous surroundings.”

  “Who you calling odiferous, you cotton-covered assassin?” the collie barked.

  This started all the Lambchops and Mutts bleating and barking. The Huskers rustled their fronds, and the Gaspassers emitted noises that indicated that they were about to become airborne.

  “Oh, great,” Gordon said to Carter, “you’re starting a riot. Well, why not? They can’t drum me out of the Corps Diplomatique twice.”

  “Silence,” the ship’s officer thundered, his voice enhanced by speakers in the exoskeleton. “I can have the walls lined with Federation Marines in a heartbeat.”

  That seemed to make an impression. “Now,” Carter said, “we know that the unfortunate Clickclickwhistle left the Unknown Origin 37s’ compartment and never came back. We know that he was, what was the word, decommissioned inside diplomat country and was rolled through the hatchway into the outside hall. So we know that the culprit is a member of one of the diplomatic missions.”

  “What?” the border collie snarled. “You’re accusing one of us of murder? I won’t stand for that.”

  “If you don’t calm down,” Carter said, “I’ll send for a rolled-up newspaper. Now, before we go any further, perhaps the leader of the other Unknown Origin delegation can explain why one of its members is missing.”