Alien Crimes

by Mike Resnick (ed)

  The shuttle offered us a series of holographic entertainments, and by the time we’d said no to each of its offerings we had touched down.

  “Please wait,” announced the shuttle. “I am making sure my bond with the dome’s airlock is fully sealed.” A pause. “It is now safe to leave me and enter the retreat.”

  “Thanks,” I said, walking to the hatch.

  Max fell into step behind me, and a moment later we entered the dome, walked past a trio of small outbuildings, and came to an imposing structure that made the governor’s mansion on Odysseus look like a cave.

  “Isn’t it impressive?” asked Max, surveying our surroundings as we entered the building.

  “I don’t even like art, and I’m impressed.”

  “You don’t like art?” he asked, as if no one had ever said that before.

  “Well, except for naked women,” I qualified.

  We were standing in a long corridor with high ceilings. It was lined with exquisitely framed paintings and holos, any one of which probably cost ten times more than I’ll make in a lifetime. The plush carpet seemed to be in motion, anticipating our steps and thickening itself before we put our feet down. And somehow you knew that no germ would dare to show its face (or whatever it is germs show) anywhere inside the retreat or any of the outbuildings inside the dome.

  “So where are they?” I asked.

  “I told my agents to have them all assembled in one of the main rooms,” said Max. “I know you’ll want to question each one individually, but I thought you might like to meet them all first, put names with faces, see if anything about any of them strikes you as strange.”

  “Good thinking, Max,” I said, mostly to encourage him. “I assume there’s a private room where I can question each of them?”

  “There are seventy-three rooms,” he answered. “Most of them will suit your needs.” He shuffled his feet nervously, which made it look like he was about to fall over. “Could I... may I observe while you question the suspects?”

  “You’re paying for it,” I said. “You can do whatever you want.”

  “Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I’m sure there is much I can learn from an experienced interrogator like yourself.”

  “Hell, we might even do a little good cop-bad cop,” I added. “That is not a term with which I am familiar,” said Max.

  I explained it to him, and if a beachball can look shocked, then that’s what Max looked.

  “Jake,” he said, “we cannot intimidate the suspects. We are bound by ethical considerations and I am personally constrained by the tenets of my religion.”

  “What was the killer bound by?” I asked.

  “We cannot pattern our behavior on that of a killer.”

  “You know why I quit the force and went private?” I said. “It’s because I hated regulations and I hated regular hours and I hated having to salute my superiors, but mostly I quit because I hated treating criminals better than they treated their victims. If I have a credo, it’s that showing any sympathy to a killer is an insult to his victim.”

  “Jake, five of the six people we will be questioning are not killers. We must treat them all with courtesy.”

  “You’re making it harder to nail the Bad Guy,” I said.

  He was shaking like a leaf, but he wasn’t going to back down. “Nevertheless,” he said adamantly.

  “Okay, it’s your party,” I said.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I envy you.”

  “You do?” said Max, surprised. “Why?”

  “You haven’t seen enough crimes to hate the criminals. Probably you never will.” I figured I might as well be totally honest. “I also admire you.”

  It was unnerving to see a beachball do a double take. “What for?”

  “Because you’re afraid of me, but even so you stick to your guns.”

  “My guns?”

  “Figure of speech. Your principles. I admire that. Not many beings of any race are willing to meet their fears head-on and stare them down.” I gave him a pat on what passed for his shoulder. “We’re going to get along fine, Max.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he positively glowed with pride. I got the distinct impression that either he’d never heard a compliment before, or else that his race was so damned polite that he heard them all the time and didn’t believe any of them.

  We soon reached the end of the corridor and found ourselves in a room that was probably smaller than a murderball field and may have had a few less windows than the Church of the Nine Worlds on Jefferson II. There was more artwork, of course; a stone fireplace wall some sixty feet wide that was a work of art in itself; furniture that read your race and size and instantly adjusted if you got within ten feet of it; and a dozen other luxuries that were beyond the experience of private eyes or almost anyone else. Five Gaborians, a Man, and a Thrale were sitting in various chairs and couches. A dozen gleaming metallic robots were posted around the room, and I was sure there were robot chefs, robot maids, robot valets, and maybe even a robot bedmate or two; I assumed that, like the ones I could see, they were all shaped like Gaborians.

  Four members of Max’s race, all armed, stood at the four corners of the room, probably at attention though with beachballs it’s difficult to tell. A fifth approached us, held out a hand, palm up. Max waved his fist over it. I took it to be their equivalent of a salute, or maybe even a handshake.

  “Have there been any problems?” asked Max.

  “No.” The voice came out dull and unaccented through a T-pack. “But they each keep asking when they can leave.”

  “I’ll answer that,” I said, stepping forward.

  “Who are you?”

  “Ask Max,” I said, walking into the room. “May I have your attention, please?” I said, raising my voice.

  All seven of the suspects turned to me.

  “My name is Jake Masters. I am not an employee of any department of the Democracy. I am a freelance investigator who has been hired to solve the murder of your late chairman. If you have any questions regarding my authority, check with my friend here,” I said, gesturing to Max.

  “Mr. Masters has been employed by the government of Alpha Gillespie to take charge of the investigation,” he confirmed. “Jake, these are the executives of the Braaglmich Cartel, and the late chairman’s personal physician.” He introduced each by name. The Thrale, tall, angular, and covered with brown fur, glared at me with open hostility, either because I was a Man or because I was investigating a murder. Malcolm Shea was pudgy, nervous, and apprehensive. I couldn’t tell the squat tripodal Gaborians apart except for their clothing.

  “I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other better very shortly,” I said when Max was finished. “I understand that some of you have asked how long your presence here will be required. The answer is simple enough: you will be free to leave when we have identified and arrested the killer.”

  The six executives leaped to their feet and began protesting, while the doctor sat where he was and looked bored. I was actually grateful that five of them wore T-packs; it cut down on the volume and the vitriol.

  “Max,” I said, “do I have the right to detain them?”

  “For a reasonable period of time,” he confirmed.

  “Good,” I said. I turned back to the executives. “How I define ‘reasonable’ will depend on the level of cooperation I receive. In the meantime, let me remind you that one of you is a murderer, and far from resenting our presence you should be grateful for it.”

  “What makes you think any of us is in any danger?” demanded Malcolm Shea, who was so overdressed and coiffed that he looked like he was planning to pose for a fashion holo.

  “I can answer that,” said Max. “Kdin had already named Ktamborit as his successor—so we know this murder wasn’t committed to create an opening at the top of the corporate ladder, an opening the killer might hope to fill. That was the most likely motive, and barring that, we
not only do not know who the killer is, but why the murder was committed. And until we do know, you are all at risk.”

  “Nice answer,” I whispered to him, then turned back to the execs. “I’ll be questioning each of you individually. I see all of you except Mr. Shea are wearing T-packs. Even if you speak Ter-ran, I want you to keep them on; I don’t want anything anyone says or hears to be subject to misinterpretation. We’ll start in a few minutes.”

  “Why not now?” demanded Ktamborit.

  “Because there are other things I need to check first,” I said. “Max, come back into the corridor with me. I need to consult with you.” I turned to the agent who had approached us before. “Nobody leaves this room until I get back.”

  “But what if... ?”

  “If they have to answer a call of Nature, one of your people goes with them.”

  “Understood.”

  We left the room and walked down the corridor past dozens of priceless paintings, Max at my side, until I was sure we were out of earshot, then stopped.

  “Where do they keep the protective suits?” I asked. “The ones you wear when you’re going outside the dome?”

  He described what sounded like a luxurious locker room— actually a locker building—right next to an airlock that led to the dome’s exterior.

  “Fine. Now, if the suit was tampered with, it wasn’t done outside, in front of five witnesses, no matter how poor the visibility was. So it stands to reason it was rigged right where the suits are stored.”

  “I agree.”

  “A luxury retreat like this has got to have a state-of-the-art security system.”

  “We checked, Jake,” he said. “But the system—”

  “—was disabled in the building that houses the protective suits,” I concluded for him.

  “How did you know?”

  “If it hadn’t been, you wouldn’t have come all the way to the Iliad system looking for a homicide cop,” I said with a smile. “Also, we’re not dealing with a spur-of-the-moment killing here. Someone planned this very carefully, and if you’re bright enough to be a vice president in charge of a fifth of the galaxy, you’re bright enough to know you have to disable the security system while you’re doing your dirty work.”

  “Would you like me to show you the building, Jake?”

  I shook my head. “There won’t be anything for me to see. But when my forensics guy shows up tomorrow, that’s the first place I want you to send him.”

  He nodded his agreement—as much as a beachball can nod, anyway. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” I said. “We might as well go to work.” I turned and headed back the way we’d come. “Let’s start with the new boss.” “Ktamborit?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Is there some reason you chose her?”

  “Since she’d already been announced as the new chairman, she figures to be less likely than the others to be carrying a grudge,” I answered. “Let’s get her interview over with and concentrate on the others.”

  “All right,” he said. “Where do you wish to conduct your interrogations?”

  “How many floors in this palace?”

  “There are three levels.”

  “Are all the executives housed on the second floor?”

  “The first and the second, yes.”

  “The top level, then,” I said, stopping at one of the half-dozen airlifts. “I’ll find a room; you bring her along in a few minutes.” “Is there a reason why you wish to be so far from the others?” asked Max.

  “There is.”

  “May I ask what it is?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He lowered his head in thought, then looked up. “It will prevent the others from overhearing.”

  “Closing the door would do that. Come on, Max—why would I want to get a suspect so far from his comfort zone?”

  He smiled. “You have just said it: you want the suspects to be on unfamiliar terrain, so to speak. If you question them down here, you are the intruder. On the third level, they are the intruders.” “Good for you,” I said. “It’s a tiny advantage, microscopic really, but we need any edge we can get. After all, the murderer knows who we are; we don’t know who he is.”

  “It seems so simple when you explain it,” said Max. “I suppose you will adjust the heat and light, too?”

  “Not bad,” I said approvingly. “Yeah, I noticed those big eyes on the Gaborians. We’ll make the room a little too bright for them. Not blindingly so, just uncomfortable. The Man will be wise to that, and besides, human pupils adjust very fast, so we’ll make him either too hot or too cold, so he becomes increasingly anxious to leave the room. I’m sure you’ve had more experience with Thrales than I have, so before I question our Thrale, let me know what you think might put him on edge.”

  “On edge?”

  “Make him uncomfortable.”

  “A very interesting term,” opined Max. “Shall I get Ktamborit now?”

  “Give me a minute to find an office,” I said. Then: “Make it five minutes. I want to set it up to be as uncomfortable as possible.”

  Max smiled. I had a feeling he’d call me a devious son of a bitch if he wasn’t afraid I’d get offended and take a poke at him.

  I stepped into the airlift, rode a cushion of air up to the third level, stepped out, and found myself at the juncture of four corridors, with half a dozen robots standing by, waiting to cater to my needs. I’d have liked to take a room at the far end of the longest corridor, but I wasn’t sure Max would be able to find me, so I picked one right next to the airlift. It was an elegant little parlor with a few chairs, a couch, and a phony fireplace.

  “Hey, you!” I said.

  “Yes, sir?” said the robots in unison, responding in the same language they’d been addressed in.

  “Move all this furniture except for one chair into some other room,” I said. “Then find me a desk and move it in here as fast as you can.”

  The robots fell to work instantly, and had the room set up the way I wanted it in less than three minutes, while I busied myself adjusting the light and the temperature.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Now go back to your stations.”

  They silently walked out of the room and returned to where I’d first encountered them. A moment later Max appeared in the doorway with Ktamborit in tow.

  “Are you ready for us, Mr. Masters?” he asked politely.

  “Yeah, come on in.” I nodded to Ktamborit. “I’m sorry, but there was only this one chair in the room. I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable.”

  She gave me a look that said it was beneath her dignity to respond to such a transparent lie. “I will stand.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Max, if you want to sit down, go right ahead.”

  He lowered himself to the floor, as he had done in my office back on Odysseus, and I turned back to Ktamborit. “What can you tell me about Kdin’s death?”

  “You already know how he died,” she said through her T-pack.

  “That’s true,” I acknowledged. “But I don’t know why he died. I thought you might be able to help me out with that.” “You thought incorrectly. I have no idea why anyone would want to kill him.”

  “That’s odd,” I said. “I can think of four or five reasons, and I never even met him.”

  She stared at me and made no reply.

  “Let’s try again,” I said. “Can you tell me why one of the vice presidents would want to kill him?”

  “No. I had already been named chairman. The position was not open, so why should they kill him?”

  “Anger,” I suggested. “Bitterness. Hatred. I’m sure every one of them thinks he’s more qualified to run the cartel than you are.”

  “That is not so,” she replied. “My record is unsurpassed. I was promoted over all the others for valid reasons.”

  “Let’s get back to the morning Kdin died. All seven of you went outside the dome, right?”

  “That is correct.”<
br />
  “He led you to a spot about three hundred meters away?” “Farther than that,” she said. “Perhaps five hundred.”

  “To look at rocks?”

  “To look at a unique rock formation, towering some sixty meters high on an incredibly narrow base.”

  “All right, you all went there and looked. What happened then?”

  “Then he died.”

  “Right away?”

  “Within a few seconds of reaching the formation.”

  “He just keeled over?” I persisted.

  “He collapsed and died.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No.”

  “Did he try?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “I was standing behind him.” “And then the six of you carried him back to the dome?” “Malcolm Shea and Toblinda carried him,” she replied. “They are larger and stronger than we Gaborians, and speed was of the essence. We were not sure he was dead, and even if he was, we felt if we got him back inside the dome quickly enough there might be a chance of reviving him.” She paused. “It was too late.”

  “When did Kdin announce that he had chosen you as his successor?” I asked.

  “Twenty-two . . . no, twenty-three Standard days ago.”

  “And when did he ask you and the five vice presidents to come here to Graydawn?”

  “Last week.”

  “I guess that’ll be all for now,” I said. “I’ll want to speak to you again later, and if you should need any help or have anything to tell me, however trivial, please feel free to come to me with it.” “I require no help,” she said coldly. “I just want to get back to work.”

  She turned and left the room.

  “Well?” I said to Max.

  “She was remarkably uncommunicative.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said. “She’s anxious to get out of here and start running her empire. Did you learn anything else?” “You seem to think I should have,” he said.

  We were silent for long moment.

  “It’s not fair,” I said at last. “You don’t have the experience to see it.”

  “To see what?”

  “Look,” I said. “She told us that she was promoted three weeks ago.”