by H M Major
But with a smile which was clearly forced, the Speaker said: "I am sure you are delightful. And if I were able to respond, I would certainly sample all the pleasures you offer. Unfortunately that is not possible. Thank you for your hospitality. I must leave now."
The Speaker stood up with dignity. His hostess gathered her garment around herself and rose also, her tail lashing angrily. After an exchange of restrained courtesies, the Speaker picked up his cloak and departed.
By then, the golden red sun had broken through the clouds, so he did not bother to put on his mantle; the surveillance device remained concealed in it. The Speaker then went to the Lower Council building, where surveillance was not necessary-indeed, the Council forbade the making of recordings in the chambers, except during public sessions. Even in the course of an investigation for the Council, the discovery of a shadow there would have been embarrassing for Cord's family. However, since the Speaker left the mantle in his vehicle, the problem did not arise. When he came out at sunset, he returned to his home, and Cord left the monitor unattended, only switching the panel to "Alert." If the Speaker went out again, later in the evening, a tone would sound, to claim Cord's attention-or perhaps Fyrrell's or Neteel's.
Cord was very tired, so tired that he was not even hungry, but when his parents arrived at dark, their obvious happiness revived him.
"We bought something at a cookshop," Neteel said, setting a stack of leaf-baskets on the bench. "To celebrate," she explained, since such an extravagance was rare for them.
"We're selling the Terrans plans to one or two things," Fyrrell said, carrying in the cases containing their demonstrator models and samples.
"One or two things!" Neteel laughed delightedly. "Say five or six."
"And they will pay us so much for every one they manufacture. It's a very small amount of money for each- but Greffard was speaking of selling hundreds of thousands of them."
"And that would make our… royalties very great." Neteel used the human word; Mehiran lacked a term for it.
As they took their places around the low table, Neteel asked, "How was your surveillance today?"
"I don't think I got anything the Council will be able to use. Most of the day the Speaker was in the Lower Council. This morning he talked to someone about expanding trade with the aliens. It's not very interesting. No sign of anything you'd call an illegal activity." During the day, following the Speaker's movements, Cord had been able to regard him as simply another subject for investigation. Now he found himself feeling slightly defensive about Bird's father.
"That, of course, is for the Council to decide," Fyrrell gruffly told him. Cord knew that. And he was definitely uncomfortable about that monitored meeting without knowing why.
"Did you recognize the person he met?" Cord's mother inquired, helping herself to minced vegetables.
"No, but she should be identifiable from the recordings. She seemed to have widespread fishing interests."
"Perhaps, after dinner, you should take the recordings to the Council. They expect regular reports, whether there is anything to report on or not. You know where to take them?"
"Yes. I've made deliveries to the Council before."
"So you have. Sorry, Cord, I keep forgetting. Don't worry about following up tomorrow-your mother and I will keep an eye on the monitor while you catch up on your sleep. One of us would go tonight with the recordings, but we've got some work to do before our next meeting at the spaceport."
CHAPTER 4
There were few people in the streets so late, but when he came to the Council's administrative building, Cord saw that three of its six wings were still fully lit. Someone was always on duty in case the Council had to be summoned to deal with an emergency. Cord knew his parents had often come to the Council representative here at night with case reports or for instructions. Usually the attendant in the entrance hall was alone. Tonight, several Council guards and half a dozen men and women of obvious importance (though they were wearing plain mantles or hooded cloaks) were waiting there. Cord glanced around, his nerves raw. Six wings radiated from the domed entrance hall, their dim, green marble corridors echoing. By comparison, the lobby seemed a haven of light and safety.
"Your business?" the attendant demanded.
"I have an investigative report for the Council," Cord replied. He kept his empathic sense shielded. He did not want to know what all those respected and powerful people thought of his work.
The attendant beckoned to a guard.
"Take him to the Council representative."
Cord followed his escort, looking to neither side. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had involved himself in something large and complex. The guard led him to an upstairs room, not one of the usual rooms where ordinary Mehirans with ordinary business would be admitted. A stiff-backed Council representative sat waiting-and Cord quickly dampened his startled reaction.
A representative was usually in the prime of life, holding the position as a prelude to a career of public service. Bird's father had been a representative when he was young, Cord understood. But the man seated among many cushions before him was old. His scalplock had darkened almost to brown, and his skin was yellowish, but his back was still straight and his thinness only increased his dignity. Perhaps he was someone of prestige, resuming his old role temporarily. That happened, sometimes, in a time of unrest or danger. Cord wondered uneasily what was wrong.
"You may sit," he instructed Cord.
Cord did so. It was an honor.
"You have recordings of your surveillance of the Speaker of the Third District?"
"Yes, respected one." Cord passed the box to him.
"It will take some time to study these. In the meantime I want a brief report from you." The representative pressed a button in the control panel beside him, and a woman in Council dress entered almost at once. Cord wondered if she'd been waiting in the corridor.
The old one gave her the recordings, she left, and he turned his attention back to Cord.
"Why are you withholding your emotions?" he asked unexpectedly. "Open your mind."
Reluctantly, Cord let down his defenses.
"In my family," he said, "it is often necessary. How could we trap criminals if they could feel our impulses?"
"Very sensible, but don't do it here. In the future when you are with decent people you had better permit your emotions to be known."
"May I ask why, sir?" Cord realized he was presuming upon the Councilman's good humor, but he was curious.
"Anyone whose feelings are not open to inspection by all must be hiding something: thoughts of violence or dishonesty. To withhold yourself is a form of deviancy which will not be tolerated much longer."
Cord said nothing. He was puzzled and a little frightened of the powerful man before him. He'd never been particularly afraid even of the most savage criminals he helped trap, only excited and tense. This was different. There was no excitement, only apprehension. And it was not good to come to the attention of the great-not in his parents' experience. For others, it was all right-an artist, a craftsman, or a cook might find himself with a wealthy patron. But no one took notice of investigators except to be offended by the brutality of their behavior and profession.
"Tell me about the Speaker of the Third District," the councilman said.
Cord obeyed. Condensed, it seemed little enough-but Cord could feel that his interrogator was pleased. He hoped he would be dismissed soon.
Without prelude, the woman who had come in earlier reentered. There was an aura of suppressed excitement about her, and the representative turned toward her.
"Yes?" The man's face, seen in three-quarter profile, finally triggered a memory. Cord realized that the official was a former Council head who had left office long before.
"I have cycled the recording," she announced, placing a sheaf of papers before the one-time Council leader. "The relevant sections are marked."
Cord understood. By playing it at far greater than norma
l speed, a computer could print it out in minutes-a fraction of the time it would take to listen to it at regular speed.
"Thank you." The official had been noted for his courtesy, Cord remembered.
She took it as a dismissal. The official turned back to Cord. "You've done very well."
"There is one other little matter you might handle for the Council," the old one said, as Cord began to bow in farewell. "It does not take precedence over your investigation of the Speaker, but it is a matter which interests the Council because it occurred near-very near-the spaceport. A solution will be rewarded at the usual rate for a… murder.''
The word was tinged with distaste, understandable but perplexing. The Council paid for the solving of crimes only if they concerned the Council in some way. Otherwise the relatives and friends of a victim paid for the capture of his killer. The only exception would be in the case of an infamous crime or crimes which threatened to disrupt society.
"May I ask for details now, respected one?" Cord requested cautiously. The other might not care to discuss it.
"It is late to begin now. However, I will tell you what is known and the remains will be kept in stasis until you or your parents are able to examine them. No witnesses were present. The body was discovered by those on duty at the checkpoint outside the spaceport-where the wall encircles it."
The old one summed up concisely. A lifetime in the Council's service had taught him that skill. He went on.
"Indications were that he intended to attempt to enter the spaceport without authority."
"He was killed in the commission of a crime, then?"
"So it must be supposed. We wish to know who killed him, however. If the aliens did it, they must have come out of the spaceport, and that is a violation of the treaty. If a Mehiran was responsible, then a very vicious murderer is at large."
Cord raised his eyebrows questioningly.
The old one inclined his head deferentially toward Cord and said, a shade sarcastically, "We are not experts in the methods of death, but there were bruises on the throat and the neck was broken. And-and there was one peculiar circumstance," the Councilman finally said. A fleeting expression of extreme distaste crossed the wrinkled face, and a shudder rippled the air between them.
"Yes, sir?"
"Parts of the victim had been eaten. It was obvious to anyone who saw the remains, but the Council physician confirmed our suspicions."
"Eaten-but not by scavengers?"
"Scavengers had begun to feast, but it was no night prowler that broke open the skull and devoured sections of the brain. And then replaced the top of the skull very neatly. It fell off when the body was moved."
Disgust boiled up in Cord, then curiosity, then resolve.
"Good," said the old man. "You seem likely to have a long and successful career before you."
Cord felt the radiation of his approval-a rare sensation for a Catcher. The other's psychic emission shifted to one of command.
"Since you are intelligent and perceptive, I am sure you will not speak of anything that you have heard or seen here."
"Not even to my father and mother, sir?"
"You may tell them, on the understanding that they will hold it in confidence also. No doubt they will understand: they have often served the Council. Besides, your mother comes of an honorable family, and your father is a man of discretion."
Cord bowed his head to signify agreement and comprehension.
"Have you further instructions for the surveillance?" he asked.
"Continue it. You may report again tomorrow evening, if you have not received other orders in the interim."
"May I go, then?"
"You may."
As Cord rose to leave, the old Council chief picked up the printed report and studied it intently. It began to appear that Bird's father had given serious offense to the Council.
***
Cord trudged home, his thoughts as black as the night. The public transport had ceased its evening operation, and a warm rain was falling. His clothing was soon saturated, but being thin, did not inconvenience him.
He felt guilty about the Speaker of the Third District. Or about his own feelings about the Speaker, which was not the same thing. While he was operating the monitor, he forgot that the subject of the investigation was the father of his love-friend. Now he was glad to have earned the Council official's praise-perhaps it would mean a large gift as well. But it would mean the end of Bird's love and friendship.
He wished his work were regarded as highly on Mehira as it seemed to be among the humans. Cord spun himself a brief fantasy of life on exotic worlds, admired, richly rewarded- and fulfilled.
When he arrived at home, his father was up. Or still up, Cord did not know which. All of them were accustomed to unusual hours. Fyrrell was making a list of electronic components.
"You ought to sleep," he remarked, glancing up at Cord's wet clothing and slicked-down scalplock. "You were long at the Council."
"Yes. Something was going on there, I think-it was unusually busy. And a retired Council leader was there; he spoke with me about this case-and a new one they want to assign us."
Fyrrell stopped writing. "I see."
"That's more than I do, Father. He swore me to silence, and told me to warn you and Mother. Is she asleep?" he asked.
"No, she went to spend the night with her love-friend, Lanim. She wanted to share our good news."
Lanim had been his mother's friend for as long as Cord could remember. When Neteel had been recuperating from her illness two years before, he'd even taken her to stay in a better climate for four hands of days. Good friends, especially for Catchers, were rare.
"Good friends," Cord said aloud, thinking of Lanim and Finola, and of Bird, who might not be his friend much longer, if she learned of his Council assignment.
His father seemed to follow his thoughts. "I think, if it is a matter of such delicacy, that I had better take over tomorrow. It's nearly dawn, and you've had no sleep, but I napped earlier. If we both sleep now, I can wake in time to watch the Speaker."
"What about trading with the humans?"
"In that, Neteel is the important one. Besides, we are not due to go back to the spaceport for several days. In the morning you must go and get these." Fyrrell tapped the list. "It may be expensive, but we've decided to sacrifice our surplus. Neteel is certain that the special invention we've been working on will greatly interest the humans. And with money coming from them for the other devices, and what we'll receive from the Council, we can afford to gamble."
"And the new case?"
"It will have to wait its turn."
CHAPTER 5
"Today you are free to do as you like," Neteel announced as they passed through the portal into the alien building. The humans had given them identification badges, so the one on duty merely waved them through without the formalities of the first visit.
"Is it permitted?" Cord asked.
"They don't mind," she replied. "They are as open in their conduct as in their minds. I am to speak with scientists this morning: Stev Greffard knows only a little practical science, himself."
"Shall I meet you here at a certain time?"
"No, it may take me longer than I guess. When I am finished, I will have them page you. Then come."
Cord marveled at his mother's composure in such a foreign environment. This was his second visit, and he still felt awkward. He went with Neteel as far as the office where they had first met Stev Greffard. The alien greeted her with every sign of respect. Cord, deciding he had done his duty, went looking for the amusement area.
He found it without difficulty: the complex of buildings was well-marked with maps. Once there, however, he wandered aimlessly, watching the humans at their sports and entertainments, but too shy to join in without an invitation. Well, he did not want to wrestle or practice hand-to-hand combat-their martial arts were too different, and none of those Cord practiced was meant for anything but killing or disabling. After
all, if he had to subdue a criminal physically, the situation was too desperate for half-measures.
But he would have liked to try some of the games of chance, if he'd known the rules. The cubicles where one could view recorded entertainments interested him, too, although it was strange to think of seeing and hearing a drama without feeling the characters' emotions.
"Hello," a human voice said behind him. "You are called Cord, aren't you? We met once before."
Abruptly turning around, Cord saw the woman with coppery hair. It was still pulled back in a severe bun.
"Yes," he concurred. "Your name is Julia McKay." He stumbled over the first sounds, it was so un-Mehiran. The second name was closer to what he knew.
"Were you looking for someone?" she inquired.
"No. Is it permissible for me to be here? Neteel was occupied with technical matters and did not require my presence. We thought it was acceptable to observe."
"It's perfectly all right," Julia McKay assured him. "You looked as though you might be lost, so I thought I'd see if you needed directions."
"Only a friend," Cord responded candidly.
"I am available." She smiled. "Would you like something to eat or drink? The restaurant is quiet, and we could talk there, perhaps learn more about each other's culture. Will you be my guest?"
"Thank you. I am in your debt. Perhaps you will tell me about your 'religion.' "
Cord used the word hesitantly. No Mehiran spoke of religion, but if he understood the concept, it was similar to the reverence and affection one felt for one's ancestors. One spoke of them-Mother's fathers's father, who designed the Inlet Bridge, or Father's father, who was given an armful of golden bracelets for finding the kidnapped child of a great merchant. One spoke of their successes, of the good actions they'd performed, even of the clever things they'd said or done. And when one needed help, sometimes they would give it. Fyrrell always invoked his most illustrious criminal catcher ancestors before beginning a hazardous operation. And heirlooms and mementos of the deceased were important, preserved carefully as aids to remembrance.