Powers of Detection

by Dana Stabenow

  That caused a flap among the Gaspassers, who chirped and whistled at one another, then at Carter.

  “Missing? No one is missing from our delegation,” one of the Gaspassers said.

  “Now, now,” Carter said. “Do you take us for chumps? Computer, how many of this species came aboard?”

  “Twelve, just like all the other delegations,” the computer drawled.

  “And how many do you count now?”

  “Eleven.”

  The heads of the Gaspassers all bobbed as they tried to count each other. The other delegates seemed to be trying to count them, too.

  “Do you mean to say,” Clicksquawksqueal said, “that one of that species was involved in the decommissioning of Clickclickwhistle?”

  “What sort of a charge is that, you overgrown bush?” the border collie howled.

  “Who are you calling names, bitch?” the head Lambchop bleated.

  In the next instant, all of the Lambchops and Mutts were standing in their chairs snarling and snapping. The Huskers were standing and shaking their fronds at the Gaspassers, who in unison emitted loud noises and rose into the air. Clicksquawksqueal slammed a frond down on the table.

  And it cut right through the tabletop.

  “George W. Bush!” Gordon shouted, “that tabletop is high-density alloy.”

  The Gaspassers shot across the table at the Huskers. One pair of their appendages was moving so fast they looked like circular saws.

  “Tanglefoot!” yelled Carter, and every alien froze in place.

  “That’s a neat trick,” the young diplomat said. “How’d you do that?

  The ship’s officer smiled. “Oh, just a precaution,” he said. “When I went to get this exoskeleton, I took the opportunity to ask engineering to modify a couple of stasis fields so they’d work on the Xtees. Later, I got on the communicator concealed in here”—he waved his left power arm—“and ordered the stasis projectors installed in the floor of the deck above us. The computer is controlling them.”

  “Well, I hope you know that subjecting diplomats to stasis without their consent is a violation of several all-creature protocols,” Gordon said. “Not that it matters to me. I’ve lost not one but two alien diplomats. My career is over.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Carter said. “Computer, why don’t you release oh, say, the border collie-looking Mutt and the Lambchop with the biggest mouth.”

  The aliens came out of stasis yelling at one another, but when they saw what had happened to their colleagues, they stopped.

  “You can’t do this to us,” the Lambchop said. “When we report this to your Corps Diplomatique, both of you will regret it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” the ship’s officer said. “I just thawed you two to see if you want to come clean.”

  The Mutt and the Lambchop looked at one another, then back at Carter. Neither made a sound.

  “No?” Carter said. “Then why don’t you two sit quietly while I explain what happened to my young friend here? Now, then, Probationary Intern to the second assistant undersecretary Oscar Gordon, let’s pretend. Say you’re a species in toward the core of the universe, and you’re engaged in an all-planets donnybrook with another species in your neck of the stars. Let’s call you, oh, I don’t know, Lambchops, and your opponents Mutts.”

  “You and your opponents are pretty evenly matched, and each of you is always looking for an advantage. That includes sending out long-range teams, searching for new military technologies.

  “Within a few years of each other, you both encounter the Federation of Planets. They won’t sell you weapons, but you figure if you get to know your way around, you’ll find some member species that will. So you send out spies disguised as diplomats, traders, what have you.

  “Then you get word from your spies that there’s going to be a big meeting. You hear your opponents will be there, too. One of the items on the agenda will be the little tiff you’re having. You know it will take some time to make arrangements for the meeting that are satisfactory to diplomats representing more than five hundred species. And it’s taken, what, forty years to make the arrangements and get everybody together?

  “So you could use two things. Allies. And, in case things don’t go your way, weapons. You know the Federation forces won’t let you bring weapons to the conference, at least not anything they recognize as weapons.

  “But you’ve got an edge. You use mechanical weapons in your fight with the Mutts, but you also use biological weapons. And you figure that you might be able to get some of those weapons past by having them posing as diplomats from a new species.”

  “How am I doing so far?” Carter asked the Lambchop.

  “Eat dirt, you bald ape,” the Lambchop replied.

  “I must be pretty close,” Carter said. “So you need something a little more sophisticated, and, just as important, something your opponents have never seen before. So you modify some plant life you found somewhere and, voilà , you have the Unknown Origin 37s, also known as the Huskers.”

  With a snarl, the Lambchop leaped toward Carter. It hit the intervening stasis field and was knocked to the floor.

  “You mean, Clickclickwhistle wasn’t an alien diplomat, it was a weapons system?” the young diplomat asked. “How did you figure that out?”

  “I’ve had occasion to see military hardware once or twice,” Carter said, “and I didn’t like the look of those fronds the minute I saw them. But what convinced me was the explosion. Giving his biological material back to the planet, my eye. I know a fragmentation bomb when I see one.”

  “Bahhhd, bahhhd species,” the border collie taunted. “We’ll have to report these miscreants to the proper authorities.”

  “Not so fast,” Carter said. “I’m not finished. You see, one of the reasons you and your opponents have been at war so long is that you are pretty evenly matched. So it’s no surprise when they have exactly the same idea as you do.”

  “What?” said the Lambchop, which had shaken off the effects of its collision with the stasis field and climbed back into its chair. “They brought weapons, too?”

  “That’s right,” Carter said, “the Gaspassers. I suspect that when we check, we’ll find that their first contact was within months of the Huskers’. So when you sent Clickclickwhistle out on whatever errand it was on, it ran into one of the Gaspassers. Was it out doing some snooping, too?”

  “I’m not saying anything,” the border collie whined.

  “No matter,” Carter said to Gordon. He gestured to the aliens in stasis. “This little display here shows me everything I need to know. Maybe the Gaspasser couldn’t control its flight too well in the different gravity. The one we saw was certainly having trouble. Maybe Clickclickwhistle did something that led it to attack. Whatever happened, it struck the Husker in some vital spot with something, its beak or one of those saw-blade appendages. And Clickclickwhistle est mort.”

  “But what happened to the Gaspasser?” Gordon asked.

  “I’m guessing the Huskers are bred so that when they take a fatal hit, they fold up immediately to form a fragmentation bomb,” the ship’s officer said. “The Gaspasser couldn’t free itself in time, and ended up inside the bomb. And remember, it was full of methane.”

  “So when Clickclickwhistle exploded, the Gaspasser did, too?” the young diplomat asked.

  “Precisely, my dear Watson,” Carter said.

  â
€œWho’s Watson?” Gordon asked.

  “Never mind,” Carter said.

  Nobody said anything for a minute.

  “Interesting theory,” the border collie yapped, “but how are you going to prove it?”

  “Well, I’ve got some proof already,” Carter said. “The computer monitored shortwave communications between the Lambchops and the Huskers, and between you and the Gaspassers. Probably the Lambchops telling the Huskers what to say to us humans, and you ordering the Gaspassers to this meeting. And then there’s the fact that few species but you Mutts could put up with a weapons system that smells like that.”

  “Hardly conclusive,” the Lambchop said.

  “I know,” Carter said. “That’s why you two are going to confess.”

  That set them both to protesting, but Carter waved a power arm at them. “The jig’s up, fellas,” he said. “If you don’t confess, we’ll have Federation cruisers in your systems within a month. You won’t be able to warn your governments, because I’ll just have the computer put you back in stasis. Then Probationary Intern to the second assistant undersecretary Oscar Gordon and I will depart. We’ll block off this room, drop the stasis fields, and deal with whoever survives.”

  “Personally, I hope its a Lambchop or two. The crew hasn’t had fresh meat in a while.”

  That brought a gasp from the Lambchop.

  “But I don’t want to be speciesist about it. The Mutts aren’t really dogs, so they might taste just fine, too.”

  A snarl from the border collie.

  After their confessions had been recorded, the weapons systems moved to a safer place, and Marine guards stationed in the diplomatic area, Carter and Gordon went to visit the two subengineers in the infirmary. Harper and Scott, who were mostly encased in healing gel, had some pretty wicked-looking wounds, but didn’t seem to have learned much from their brush with death.

  “It’s like I told him,” Harper said, “we just needed slightly lower voltage and everything would have been fine.”

  Gordon and Carter left the infirmary, the former walking gingerly and the latter propelling himself along the hallway from gripfast to gripfast.

  “I guess I’d better be getting back to the diplomats,” Gordon said.

  “Yes,” said Carter, “I don’t think the destruction of a couple of alien weapons systems is going to mar your record. Particularly since my report is going to play up your role in preventing the introduction of dangerous weapons into the all-creatures conference. You might even get the ‘probationary’ taken off your title.”

  “That’d be nice,” Gordon said. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how does someone so young have so much knowledge and authority?”

  The ship’s officer laughed. “The whole idea behind the Mutts’ and Lambchops’ plans was that everyone would take things at face value,” he said. “You’re still doing that. I’ve spent much of my life in zero gee. No gravity, no wrinkles. I might look sixteen, but I’m old enough to be your father. Maybe your grandfather.”

  “And you’re not really fourth officer of the Chuck Yeager are you?” Gordon said.

  “Yes, I am,” said Carter, “but only for this trip. I’ve been fourth officer on several ships, as well as other things. But I imagine you can guess my real occupation.”

  The two humans reached the door to the diplomats’ area. Gordon stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. Carter did a backflip and sailed off down the hall.

  “Take care, mudfoot,” he called.

  “You, too, starspawn,” Gordon replied, then turned and let himself through the hatch.

  Cairene Dawn

  JAY CASELBERG

  The fog had been up again that morning, just like it was most mornings—that greasy Nile mist clinging to everything, making you wonder what strange, mystical land you might be in. Then the sound of car horns and traffic, the grind and burr of a population on the move would filter through, redolent with its own smells, none of them particularly pleasant. For a while though, you could imagine you were in another place, a place of magic and power. But then Cairo was a strange and mystical place, a melting pot of nations and cultures bound to make you wonder what was real.

  Perhaps it was that inability to pin things down that first drew me to that seedy, smelly city, heavy with its own exotic sounds and sensations. Nobody belonged in Cairo, not even the Cairenes, but it had been like that since the dawn of history. You see, the dirty and the grubby have their own particular tang. Some people like it.

  Me? I’m Agamemnon Jacques. I can curse my parents for that one. Most people just called me Jacques. I prefer it that way.

  That afternoon, I was sitting in a bar, waiting for a client. Not so unusual, but this was no ordinary bar. This was Harry’s Pub, nestled in the heart of the Marriott, way up on the eastern side of Zamalek, playground of the well-to-do. Next door lay the grounds of the Gizera Sporting Club and all around the marks of the wealthy. The hotel might have been a part of a chain now, but the marks of its past opulence were all around me. It had been a palace once. It was still full of liveried staff, still spoke swank, and in my dusty, pale street suit, I felt somewhat out of place. Still, Cairo’s pretty forgiving if you’ve got the money. So, I sat there in one corner of Harry’s Pub, listening to the voices, Arabic, German, French, trying to pick who it was I was here to meet. I needn’t really have bothered.

  The woman walked into the place and owned it with her presence. She wore a pale green-blue tailored suit that shimmered as she moved. Dark hair framed a pale, high-cheekboned face, sharp and soft at the same time. There was no hesitation. She scanned the room, spied me sitting at my solitary table, and headed straight for me. As she stood across the table from me, looking down with an assessing gaze, I looked back, knowing right away that this woman was really someone.

  “Mr. Jacques?” she said. Her voice was deep and rich, a slight accent tingeing those couple of words. It wasn’t anything I could identify right off. Something exotic.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” I told her. “But just call me Jacques.”

  She nodded, pulled out a chair, and flowed into it—there was no other word—all smooth and fluid in a single movement. She crossed her legs and folded her hands neatly in front of her. A drinks waiter appeared a mere breath later. I’d had to wait.

  “Tea,” she told the waiter. “And whatever Mr. . . . um . . . Jacques’s pleasure is.”

  I lifted my glass, and the waiter nodded, turning away with his tray clutched to his chest. The quick backward glance at my companion didn’t go unnoticed. So, I was not alone. She was some woman all right.

  “Madame Fouad,” I started. “You said something in your call about a matter of grave importance . . .”

  She lifted a finger to still me. “Be patient, Jacques,” she said.

  This was a woman used to commanding people. I went back to my scotch, watching her over the rim of my glass. The waiter came and went, fussing for a moment with the pot and glass of tea, until she waved him away with a brief word of thanks. She lifted her glass, holding it between thumb and forefinger, took a delicate sip, and set the glass back down. Her nails were painted the same lapis as her suit.

  She gave a brief smile. “It is amusing that we should use the word ‘grave’ I think,” she said. “It is my husband, Ossie, Mr. Jacques.”

  “Just Jacques,” I repeated. “What about him?”

  She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “I fear something has happened to h
im. He has not been seen for several days.”

  “And what makes you think something has happened?” People went missing all the time in Cairo. Often, they just showed up again a few days later. There were plenty of diversions if you went looking for them and you had the cash, but then you’d kind of expect that from the playground of the Middle East. There was Dubai of course, but Dubai wasn’t Cairo. Sitting there, looking at her, I couldn’t imagine what could make her husband want to stray.

  Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet mine. “This has happened before,” she said slowly. “I speak from experience. It’s the family business you see. Ra Industries. My brother-in-law has always been jealous. He has always wanted the greater share of what we do. Ossie has always been the one in the way of his plans. The last time it happened, it got so bad that he killed Ossie. Murdered him. It was months before we found his body and had him resurrected. I don’t think Seth has learned. His ambition drives him too much. Of course Ossie forgave him, but I think that it is not enough.”

  She caught me in the process of pouring the remaining contents of my old glass into the new, and I managed to slosh some scotch over the table. Slowly, I put the glass back down, not really believing that I’d really heard what Madame Fouad had just said.

  “He killed your husband?” I stared at her.

  “Yes. Locked him in a coffin and threw him in the river. It was a very nice coffin, but it’s the principle of the thing. I have no doubt something similar has happened again.”

  I stared down at my glass, toying with it as I worked out what I was going to say. “I see,” I said slowly.

  Great line, Jacques. Now, you get all sorts in my business, and you hear some things, but I just wasn’t ready for this. I thought I did a pretty good job of covering what was going through my head. She was an attractive woman, seemed to be in control, someone who looked like she was used to having a handle on a situation. I was prepared to listen. Like I said, you hear all sorts in my line of work, particularly in a place like Cairo. The Egyptians are generally a superstitious lot, and you can use that. But I just couldn’t swallow a lot of the stuff they believed.