chapter 4
Blood glanced around the Senate chamber. Where are you, Monkey? She couldn't feel him at all, today, but he could do that, if he wanted. Make himself a pane of glass. She didn't see him, either, but he might be disguised as anyone. Lai was getting his notes in order. Kevin Vacit was right. Something was up. But what? Could it be so simple as getting the media stirred up? That didn't feel right, not with Monkey involved. Monkey was better than that. For years he had been the biggest thorn in her side, there again, gone again, clever and slippery as ever. If he was here now, where she might get her hands on him, he must be playing for very high stakes indeed. And if he was here today, it would be a mistake. Ten MRA agents were planted in the crowd. Plainclothes. Good ones. The room fell silent as Lai stood. She stole a glance at Lee Crawford, who looked a little green, and at Kevin, who seemed to be searching the crowd as much as she. "I call to order," Lai said. "I would like to continue my questioning of Ms. Alexander, if it please the Senate." Blood nodded. "I'm ready. Senator." "Very well. Ms. Alexander, can you tell us where you were on August 16, 2132?" "Of course. I was on train 1116 from Amsterdam to Prague. We had information that a family of illegals was trying to reach India." "Why India?" Something was strange. She couldn't place it at first. "Ms. Alexander? Why India?" 96 "Hmm? Because they give refuge to illegals. Though an EA member state, they aren't signatories to the Crawford-Tokash act." "I see. So you were chasing this `dangerous criminal'-Didier Krijgsman, a traffic flow analyst-his wife, Mary, and their ten- year-old son, Len. Is that right?" She had it now. The minds in the room were silent. Even her own operatives. Someone-or several someones-were blanketing the proceedings. Why? "The law is very clear," she said. "They broke it. I was trying-" Who could have told Lai about Prague? There were no witnesses , only Teal and the rookie- She stabbed her eyes around the room. "Ms. Alexander? You were saying?" She saw Daria, six rows back, and sent her scan there, brutish, cutting through the film of silence like a knife through paper. Felt Daria's hand, lifting something. Then she saw it all. "Ms. Alexander-" "Senator Lai, get down." She shouted at the top of her lungs, at the same moment springing up from her seat. Daria's dismayed face settled into a mask of determination, and her hand jerked up. Blood would never get there in time. But she didn't have to. The line was drawn, two eyes triangulating , and she punched her leg against her seat, launching herself into space, just as the weapon flashed. A wind blew through her, a strange feeling, and she hung for what seemed a long time in the suddenly bright air before slapping into the seats. Pain filled her in a great rush, then, and screaming. She could not sort out the vocal from the shrieking of minds, but it didn't matter. Agony continued to uncurl. She couldn't even tell where she had been hit. Blood! It cut through everything. Got you, Monkey. Got you, damn it. Jesus, Blood. Jesus. Come against me, you lose. You're the one dying! Damn it, Blood, 1 didn't want ... "Ambulance!" Someone was screaming. Mind images of herself fell on her like rain. She was broken, lying across the seats, a hole punched through her chest. You wanted to make it look like MRA did ix The rookie here, in plainclothes, but she would be caught trying to escape, and then they would discover she was ate of our agents. They'd think we killed Lai because he really had sane evidence. But now they'll dig deeper, find out she's one of your little rebels. Just hang on, Blood They've sent for an ambulance. (laughter) You lose. You know I loved you, right? (pause. sick feeling) No. How could I? God, don't die, Blood. If only you'd said something. Skip it. We made better enemies than friends. Come here, though, I want to tell you something. Everything else was slipping away. Only Monkey remained his fee as she remembered it, young, full of laughing mischief. Come here. Let me give you a kiss. He came, closer, and when he was close enough, she seized him. Something was pulling her down-she had a weird image of herself flowing into a straw, a thirsty god sucking on the other end. Blood no! Come along, old friend Let's see this together. Let's go see the Sorcerer. Down, farther, her thoughts tearing away from her one by one. It was as if she were made of fireffies, and now they were all free, spinning out into the maelstrom. And Monkey, terrified at last, squirming in her embrace, howling. The last of her began to fall away, and Monkey went with it. Then her grip loosened. He rocketed up, out of the vortex, seeking fife. She watched him go, no longer caring. Her last remembrance as the lights vanished was of her daughter, Brenna, and her last satisfaction was in knowing that Monkey would never know he was her father. 77ie Night, the Wind... The Night. UP wire service, 3 September 2133 In a desperate move to discredit the MRA, rogue telepaths last week tried to assassinate Senator Philip Lai. The attempt was made by Daria Beaudain, a rogue telepath who had infil- trated the ranks of the MRA. A full investigation has been launched into the matter, and there is some suggestion of involvement on the part of certain members of the Senate. Senator Lai expressed his remorse over the death of Desa Alexander, who ironically sacrificed her life for his, even as he was accusing her of murder. Said Senator Lai, "A truly moral man knows when to admit he has made a mistake. I may not be truly moral, but I do strive to be, and I here, now, humbly admit a terrible error. One that cost the life of a courageous woman, and for which I can never forgive myself. "I allowed myself to be deceived by people I thought I could trust. I have scrutinized the alleged evidence they supplied me, and now judge it to be unquestionably false. I only hope the public can forgive me my haste to judge. The experience has left me wiser and much, much sadder." When asked for his comment, Senator Lee Crawford, the head of the Senate oversight committee for MRA, said, "T'he loss of Ms. Alexander was a terrible one. She was like the daughter I never had, and my grief is too private and strong to commit to public record. As for Senator Lai, I'm only happy that the MRA was able to perform its function; without her metasensory powers, Desa would never have been able to detect and react to the assassin in time. Senator Lai is as bright a young man as the Senate has seen in a long time, and his concern is evident. If he will agree, I'd like to have him on board the oversight committee-the MRA needs men like him. "Those who killed Desa, I must admit, make me very angry, but I try to control my anger. Desa Alexander would have wanted me to. What she wanted for her fellow telepaths was a life that was free of fear and violence. a productive and fulfilled life like her own. "It is truly sad when people fight with such animal violence the very things that are best for them. They deserve our pity and our compassion." Lee closed his eyes against the bright sun and savored the perfume of forest and water. The delta of the Kinabatangan River was perhaps his favorite in the world, its rickety stilt villages and dense mangroves somehow evoking the Mississippi of Mark Twain in a way that the modern Father of Waters could not. He journeyed halfway around the world to reconnect with the past of his own homeland. How odd, how myriad the ways men and women moved themselves through time. "You did a good job, son," he told Kevin. "You had it figured close to the bone, close enough for old Blood to do what she needed to do. I will miss her, damn her eyes." "Thanks, Lee. I wish I had figured it out quickly enough to save her* Lee shrugged. "Better this way, really. More dramatic. And Blood was a loose cannon, would've gotten us in more trouble down the road. This problem is just sleepin' for a while, not going away. People have short memories, that much I've learned. In a few years, they'll make another try, don't you worry. Until we have the clout to make it global and uniform, the MRA is always going to have its enemies." "Maybe now, while Blood is still a hero=' "No. She's popular, but people are still a little too leery of the Authority. The Russian and Indonesian consortiums won't let go of their own teeps until they're forced to. This won't change that, and we'd just raise issues best left under the loam for the time bein'." He paused, took a sip of his tea. "I got pretty drunk the other night. Might've said some crazy things." Kevin smiled, very slightly. "To tell you the truth, you were too drunk for me to make out anything you said. Your southern accent gets pretty thick when you drink." Lee scratched his chin. "That's a fact? You know, they used us as code speakers in the Kamchatka war, like they used the Na
vajo in W W Two." "I don't doubt it." Lee nodded, then shaded his eyes and looked directly at him. "Anyway, thanks." "You're most welcome." Lee watched the flight of a rare hornbill, at peace for the moment.
Chapter 5
Solar System Today, 18 January 2148 Interplanetary Expeditions spokesperson Ezinma Roberts today reported the successful completion of an eighth experimental station on Mars, near Syria Planum. The IPX station was built to explore the Martian permafrost and refine the process of creating arable soil. "This takes us another step closer to the permanent colonization of Mars," Roberts proclaimed , "but we're still a long way off. Making a home for humanity on another planet will require the sustained will of the entire world." "Kind of-as they say-a stuffed shirt, are you not?" Kevin Vacit glanced sideways at the speaker, a young woman in her midtwenties seated to the left of him on the plane. In the right frame of mind, he might have summoned a mild admiration for her bronze hair, startling jade eyes, and generous lips. At the moment, he felt instead a mild irritation. "Officer-Davion, is it?" "Elle-meme. That is absolutely correct. Ninon Davion, at your service." "Yes. Well, Ms. Nina Davion-" "Ninon. Use your nose, you know? Ninon." Suppressing a sigh, he tried another tack. "I'm attempting to read, Ms. Davion." "And I'm bothering you?" "You are-distracting me." "What you are reading-it is important?" 101 "It is entertaining." "Ah. As I am not, I suppose." She lifted the corner of his book and peered at the title. "The Demolished Man. Yes, it sounds very entertaining." She shrugged looking away. "It is true, I suppose. They told me this trip would be no fun at all. I said, no one can be no fun at all, but they said-" "Who are `they,' Ms. Davion?" "Now you ask me a question? Yet how can someone so unentertaining as I provide an amusing answer? No, no please. Go back to your book. I will sit here, silently." He blinked. "Thank you." He tried to read a few more lines, then closed the book. "Do they really say those things about me?" She hesitated a moment. "You are speaking to me?" "Ms. Davion, you know I am." She turned back to him. "Well, they say you are very efficient, very serious, very dedicated-" "Ana is there something wrong with that?" "No, no, of course not." She rolled her eyes. "But look, have you ever been to San Diego before?" "No, I can't say that I have." "Neither have I. And what do you intend to do there?" "I intend to solve the problem that you and I have been sent to solve." "And?" "And what?" "I've heard San Diego is a beautiful place. Food. Wine. Tijuana a very short trolley ride away . . ." "You do understand, Ms. Davion, that we are on a mission involving EA security? At the highest level?" "I'm afraid that the level of security is so high that I have no idea why we are going there," she replied. "I certainly hope you do. I am just-as you say---the `muscle."' "For muscle, you certainly talk a lot." "Well! I was keeping silent until you-" "Sorry. You're right. Look, I promise to debrief you when we reach San Diego." She placed her hand on her chest. "Sir! I apologize for my opinion of you. You are very forward indeed!" He actually felt his face warm. He was blushing. With a little frown he returned to his book, silently cursing Lee Crawford, who had surely done this to him on purpose. Phillip Stoddard, the head of research for Interplanetary Expeditions , fingered his rusty beard and addressed them with a sort of benign amusement. "I don't really understand what all of the fuss is about," he said. "When the incident was reported, we imagined an officer of the Authority would drop by, but to have Senator Crawford's own aide here--maybe you fellows know something I don't." Kevin smiled briefly. "That's always possible, I suppose. But the MRA always takes the death of one of its own seriously. That, coupled with the security breach in-" He stopped abruptly. "Doctor, is this a safe area?" "Hmm? Yes, of course. The security breach was in lab 16, where the artifacts are housed. But that turned out to be nothing." Davion cleared her throat, and to Kevin's vast surprise, her words came out very crisp, very professional. "Nothing? Yet it coincided so closely with Mr. Raskov's death." "Look, I know you guys are paid to be suspicious-but you aren't serious, are you?" "We would not be here otherwise," Davion said. "Well, look. The autopsy confirms Mr. Raskov died of a stroke, and as for the security breach, that must have been some sort of glitch." "I'm sure it was," Kevin soothed. "But we have to check it out, you see. Orders. Anything involving the artifacts-" "Of course. Would you like to see them?" "Very much so," Kevin replied. Lab 16 was spacious, clean, white, probably as near the platonic ideal of "lab" as could be reached in reality. Stoddard talked about security as they moved through it. "Getting into the IPX building without authorization would be a problem," he informed them. "Reaching the thirtieth floor would be essentially impossible . Entering this lab-and these vaults-would require the direct intervention of an omnipotent deity." As he spoke, the vault in question sighed open. What was within reminded Kevin vaguely of a reptile house; a dark, cool corridor faced by brightly lit windows for the first thirty feet or so. "When we aren't studying them, the artifacts are kept in the vacuum vaults," Stoddard said, gesturing toward the end of the corridor and a series of sealed lockers. "But you can see some on the tables, the ones we're working on now." Kevin peered through the nearest window. On the table rested a rough torus mottled by raised bumps. In the next window there was an essentially cylindrical object exhibiting several knoblike protrusions. "And these were found on Mars?" Davion asked. "Yes, buried in Syria Planum." "What have you discovered about them?" "Nothing new, I'm afraid. They are clearly manufactured, though the method of manufacture isn't obvious. They don't seem to be cast, or riveted, or welded together. They are made of highly organized alloys, some unknown. Some pieces, despite their appearance , are permeable to visible light, while others are almost opaque even to neutrinos." He smiled broadly. "In other words, we still don't know a damn thing about them except that they are of alien manufacture." Kevin nodded, still staring. He was struck by an odd and impossible sense of familiarity. "And the breach-" "As I said, it must have been a glitch. None of the artifacts are missing-EA security cataloged them independently and prior to us, so I can prove that-nor have they been disturbed in any way." "Yet the security system registers that there was a break-in." "A ghost, perhaps. Nothing the cameras recorded." "Well." With a growing sense of disquiet, Kevin surveyed the rest of the artifacts on display. "I think 1 would like to see Mr. Raskov's quarters, now." They broke the security seal and entered Raskov's room. It was a jumbled mess, clearly the product of a disorganized mind. "The quarters have been sealed since his death?" "Other than to remove the body, yes." Kevin paced about as Davion conducted her inspection, taking photographs from various angles, opening drawers. "Do you have any idea what you're looking for?" Stoddard asked, mildly. "Dr. Stoddard," Davion replied, "I wonder if you don't have more important things to do?" He colored slightly and drew himself up. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. Buzz my link if you need me." He left. When he was gone, Davion smiled. "He is hiding something, you know." "Did you scan him?" "Not a deep scan, no. But his surface thoughts showed some agitation and nervousness. Especially when he was talking about the artifacts. Most especially when he said that they had discovered nothing new." "That's interesting." He shuffled though some papers on the desk. Among them there was a sketch pad, which he flipped open. The first ten pages or so were landscapes, impressionistic, drawn with pencils and pastels. Halfway through the book, however, the theme abruptly changed. First came numerous sketches of insects-a dragonfly, several beetles, many others Kevin did not recognize. On the second page was a beetle done in pastels-a species he did recognize, though he didn't know its name-one of those iridescent green bugs that looked almost as if it were made of colored chrome. It was very well rendered. The rest of the notebook was filled with similar drawings. Pushing through the loose papers on the desk, he found a few more. And then another notebook full. "Was Mr. Raskov an entomologist, professional or otherwise?" he asked. Davion shrugged. "I still have my briefs on, when it comes to that. There was nothing in the record you gave me to indicate it." She peered over his shoulder, her body just touching his. "It seems a recent interest. You see? He has dated his drawings." Kevin flipped back through. Wh
ile the landscapes had been done over a three-month period, the bug sketches had all been done in three days-May 3 through May 5. "He must have drawn almost nonstop, those three days." "The security breach in the lab was May 5. Raskov died on May 5." "So you think he became so obsessed with bugs that he had a stroke?" Davion said. "I don't know. A stroke is one of the easiest things to fake." "You think he was murdered for an abrupt interest in bugs?" Kevin tapped his finger in the pad. "Let's finish up here. I want to interview Mr. Raskov's supervisor." "He was one of our most professional business telepaths," Freda Noy said. Her nearly round face pinched into a broad suggestion of sorrow. "It was such a terrible thing. Did you know him?" "I did not," Kevin replied. "Nor I," Davion added. "But can you tell us what friends he might have had here?" "Not many, the poor man. He kept largely to himself. Telepath, you know." Her olive skin darkened a shade. "Oh, dear. I didn't mean-well, of course you know." "Actually," Davion said, "Mr. Vacit is, of course, not a telepath. I am, but I take no offense. Many who work outside tend to be introverted. It becomes tiring, trying to avoid learning other people's secrets." Kevin felt a certain inward appreciation. Davion played her bad cop part very well; she kept their interviewees off-balance with consummate skill. People were worried by teeps, anyway, and by making certain her role was clear, she cast Kevin, by contrast, as the one the normals could identify with, perhaps even confide in. Now if only he could play his part better ... "Ms. Noy," he said, softly. "I have here a record of the transactions Mr. Raskov monitored from the early part of May, and I thank you very much for providing it. There is only one I don't really understand-Kuchinsky-Behn?" "Oh. It's a small biotech firm out of Canada." "Part of the larger Tangent conglomerate?" "I believe so, yes." "The principals of the meeting-Kuchinsky of KuchinskyBabylon Behn, and Roland Hammerstein from this firm? Is Mr. Hammerstein available?" "Oh-no, I'm sorry. Mr. Hammerstein has been reassigned to the Sandakan office." "Perhaps later, then. But you have a transcript of the meeting." "Oh, of course. Would you like a copy?" "Please." Turning to her computer, she called up the file, printed it out, and handed it to him. "Thank you, Ms. Noy. That will be all for now. I'll probably want to speak to you again." "And of course, I'll be happy to be of what help I can." "We'll show ourselves out." Back in the hall, with no one around, Davion put her smile back on. "I have decided you will take me to get something to eat, Mr. Vacit," she informed him. "Ms. Davion, we have much to do. If you need something, I'm sure they have a dining room here, or you can order room service-" "Look at the time, Mr. Vacit. Six o'clock. Work time is over, I believe, and you will find no one else here to interrogate. Now, please, you don't want me to confirm those rumors about you, do you? I had hoped to be able to laugh in their faces-tell everyone that it only took a French key to unlock the wit lurking inside of you." "Ms. Davion, I'm working on what is proving to be a difficult matter. I am not, by training, a detective, and yet I am being asked to do the job of one. l-" "You are frustrated. Your mind is as tightly wound as your ass. Unwind the one, and the other will uncoil as well. So said my grandfather, a very wise Andorran man. Really, I must insist for the good of the investigation." He nodded in sudden understanding. "For the good of the investigation." Outside, strolling down a sunlit walkway, he glanced at her. "Okay. What didn't you want to say in the building?" "You can be a bit thick at times, can't you, Mr. Vacit?" "I suppose. I'm sorry it took me so long to catch on. So what was it?" "I don't feel in the mood for conversation just yet. As I remember it, you've agreed to take me to dinner." "I thought we'd just established that that was only to get us out of the building." "Oh, no, I meant everything I said. And I think Italian will do quite nicely." "Ms. Davion, I have no idea why you've become so fixated on this quest to `unstuff' my shirt, but I assure you-it isn't at all appropriate." Davion showed her dimples. "Not bad, for Italian wine. It has a certain primitive vitality." "We could have found a French restaurant, I suppose," Kevin replied, steadily. She made a face. "I do not eat `French' food when I am abroad. It is too brutally disappointing. With Italian, the potential for disappointment is so much smaller." "You do not like food, do you?" "I eat it. It keeps me alive." "As I said. You do not like it." In response he took another bite of his cannelloni. "Oh, my God," he said. "Delicious. It makes me want to sing." He put his fork back on the plate. "Now, will you please tell me what you discovered back there?" She rolled her eyes-yet again-and set her glass down. "You are so determined not to enjoy yourself. Here you have the company of a very beautiful woman-" "Yes, I do." She stopped, clearly surprised. "Really? You find me beautiful?" "Of course. But you work for me, and-" "Ah. And I am like the food, nest-ce pas? Very well. Two things. First-do not bother to read the transcript of the transaction Raskov monitored-it is a fake." "Really." "Really. The second thing is this what's-his-name-Hammerstein -wasn't really assigned to the Sandakan office. She doesn't know what happened to him, and she's more than a little worried about herself." "About her job?" "Her life, I think." He picked at his food, avoiding Davion's challenging eyes. "So we have a teep who monitors a business deal. It was a secret transaction , probably ... illegal, and they killed him." "I think so. But we cannot prove any of it. We cannot prove the transaction is a fake. We likely will be unable to find either of the principals to subpoena, but if we do they will simply quote the forged transcript. A simple scan will show they are lying, but of course such information is not admissible in court." "Spectral evidence," he murmured. "Say again, please?" "Nothing. But what has this to do with the security breach in lab 16?" "Perhaps nothing. A coincidence." "I have very little faith in coincidence." "Or anything else, it seems," she mused. Her green eyes flickered devilishly. "I believe after dinner I should like to have a walk on the shore." "Fine. I hope you enjoy yourself. I'll be in my room, trying to work this out." "Take your shoes off," Davion said. "Get your feet wet in the surf." She was doing just that, playing tag with the edges of the breakers, shoes in hand, slacks rolled to her knees. "I'm allergic to seawater." "Yes, I'm sure you are." She came back to him, and to his alarm and discomfort, took his arm. "You have an interesting mind, Mr. Vacit. Did you know that?" "So I've been told." "Oh, really? What was her name? Should I be jealous?" When he didn't answer, she squeezed his arm. "Ah. A secret. Another secret. You are a man of secrets, Kevin Vacit. You are made of them. I do not even think a telepath could pry them out of you." "Have you tried?" She laughed. "Yes, of course, I'm trying right now. But I haven't scanned you. That's what I mean-I don't think I could. Certain normals have the equivalent of blocks-nothing telepathic , just a kind of order, of discipline. Your mind hums like a clock, Mr. Vacit. I would not dare try to scan it for fear of being pinched by a gear." "Aside from the fact that such would be illegal," he reminded her. "Besides that, yes. I like my job, and would not care to lose it." "You do, don't you? And you do it well. I hardly recognize you when you are working." She laughed and kicked at the spray. "I'll take that as a compliment . Two compliments from Mr. Kevin Vacit in a single day. Quite an accomplishment, you know." She let go his arm and ran back out into the surf. "I love the sea. It is very alive. I love the feel of it. All the little voices." "Voices?" "Well, not voices, actually, just a sort of-something. I suppose only a telepath would notice it. There's nothing to read there, of course, nothing intelligent-though I should like to scan a dolphin someday. No, it's just a kind of-loud quietness." "But telepathic? You get impressions from non-Human life?" He knelt and ran his fingers in the water. "I do not think it is my imagination. I suppose everything living must have a mind, in a way. I can sense animals, of course. Not understand them, really, unless it's something simple like hunger or fear. The ocean I don't understand at all, though I touch it and listen very hard, but something is there. It is." She considered him. "Poor normals. It must be like missing a sense of smell, or something." "Yes," Kevin said absently. "Yes, it must. Thank you, Ms. Davion." "What for?" "Me evening. And perhaps the solution to our puzzle." "I don't understand," Dr. Stoddard said. "You've already seen them." "I have. I wish to see t
hem again. It's about the security breach." "I've explained about that." "Oh, yes, I know. Would you care to explain why the records of the hour during the breach ware erased?" "What? They weren't erased" "Oh, yes, they were. Very professionally done, but when I had my own people go over them again, with finer analysis, we found evidence of it." "But nothing's missing. Nothing was disturbed." "No. No, I think that's correct Tell me, Dr. Stoddard, what does one need to enter these vaults?" "DEGf he right key codes. The right retinal prints." "If someone entered the right key codes-but without the retinal prints-what would happen?" "An alarm would go out" "And that would register as a security breach." "I--yes." Kevin nodded distractedly. "Let me tell you what happened, Dr. Stoddard. On May I or thereabouts, you asked Mr. Raskov to do you a favor, one somewhat outside his function as a business telepath. You had developed a suspicion about the Syria Plenum artifacts, and on a lark you decided to test your hypothesis. You brought him in here, and he touched one of the artifacts." "Why? Absurd." Kevin ignored him. `Two days later, Mr. Raskov was contacted again, this time to monitor a business deal. He was chosen because the deal concerned the artifacts, and what he himself had discovered about them. Rather than expose another telepath to that discovery, you chose to use the one you had ah-eady tainted. This meeting was a secret negotiation-perhaps to sell technologies , perhaps to position certain stocks for what you think may be coming soon-and by `you,' I mean both yourself and 1PX, Dr. Stoddard." Stoddard was turning pale. He wasn't good at this. "In any event, it wasn't easy, but knowing what to look for, I was able to trace a flow of funds, so I can prove this part of my story, too. "When Mr. Raskov conducted his monitoring task, perhaps someone grew concerned He may have looked-drawn, fatigued , as if he hadn't slept in several nights. He may have said strange things, acted a bit unstable. Maybe he even demanded to touch the artifact again. Our records show he had a strong artistic-and somewhat romantic-streak. You probably refused. He lifted your key code from your mind and tried to break into the tab the night of May 5. He didn't succeed, of course, but that was alarming enough that someone here-perhaps you, perhaps a superior-thought it best that he quietly expire. And so he did." Stoddard was still pale, but managed an insincere smile. "I don't believe you can prove any of that." "I don't care if I can. Open this door. I want to see one of the artifacts." "You don't have clearance=' "Of course I do. I have presidential clearance. I've shown it you once. Do you want to see it again?" "No." "Then open the vault." With obvious reluctance, he did so, and gestured for them to enter. "No, you first, please." Stoddard stepped in, and they followed behind him. At his nod, Davion removed her gloves. She went to the strange torus, hesitated for an instant, then touched it lightly with her fingertips. She jumped back as if stung. "Oh, my God, yes!" Her green eyes were the size of coins. She stepped forward again, tentatively , and touched it again. Her face worked through a variety of strange expressions before she removed her hands. "It is.-it's very faint, you understand. My reaction was from the strangeness, not the intensity. But yes. This thing-I can feel it, as if it might be alive." Stoddard looked as if he were very close to tears. "Some men are coming up, with guns," Davion said, suddenly. "He signaled them with some kind of silent alarm on his link." "How far do they have to come?" She stared at Stoddard until a sweat broke out on her forehead. "A few floors." "Five minutes or so?" He shrugged. "Dr. Stoddard, by that time our own team will have the building secured. You didn't think I would accuse you, here, without adequate preparation? You've played a violent card for no good reason." Now Stoddard started to cry in earnest. Tears ran down his face. "There, there," Kevin said, without any actual sympathy in his voice. "It isn't as bad as you think. Stand your troops down so we can avoid any unpleasant little firefights, and I'm going to explain to you how you're not only going to avoid prosecution, but retain your position, as well. Do you understand? Is this getting through? The only difference is that you will no longer be dealing with Kuchinsky-Behn, or anyone outside IPX. Anyone, that is, save us." Stoddard's eyes were beginning to clear. "But Raskov-" "Died of natural causes. Though I will insist that the Authority receive very high compensation for what was obviously a work- related accident. Am I clear on this?" "Yes." "Stand them down." Stoddard went to a wall phone, punched in a number. "Code 4. Cancel," he said. "There," Kevin said. "You see what happens when you jump to conclusions?" He looked back at the artifact. "Organic technology . It's been tinkered at for centuries, with no results. Do you really think you can reproduce it?" 1-1 honestly don't know." "But it seemed worth the risk." "Yes." "Next time-when you want to take a risk-come to us. I think you will find it much less dangerous-and much more profitable-than any alternative. Do you understand this?" "Yes, Mr. Vacit." "Ms. Davion, will you walk Dr. Stoddard outside?" "My pleasure, Mr. Vacit." When they were gone, he regarded the artifact for a long moment. "Who made you?" he murmured quietly. He reached his fingers out and touched the surface. For a moment he felt the most profound wonderment he had ever known, a surge, accompanied by that nagging feeling of familiarity. And insects, beautiful, creatures of starlight and mist, seemed to dart behind his eyes. He withdrew his fingers and went to join the others. He had just removed his shoes when the knock came at his door. It was Davion, of course. "Ms. Davioo-" "Now, now, Mr. Vacit. I have come to congratulate you." "No need. It was you who gave me the solution." "Ah, oui, but you put it all together so prettily. The biotech firm. The drawings. Wonderfully done--and I had begun to suspect you had no imagination. And your bluff about our forces already being in the building-magnificent." Somehow, as she was talking, she had slipped in the door, was standing very close. He could feel her breath on his face. "Ms. Davion," he said, gently, "I really-* But she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, very lightly, and it felt like lightning jolting though him. "Really what?" "I really don't think you know what you're getting into, with me." Her smile went away, and her gaze crystallized on his. "I'm very good with secrets, Mr. Vacit," she whispered. "Very, very good with secrets." "You'd better be," he murmured, drawing her near, and gently pushing shut the door.
Babylon 5 10 - Psi Corps 01 - Dark Genesis - Birth Of Psi Corpus (Keyes, Gregory) Page 9