“We would like to,” said one Wygnin.
“And we would like the original to make certain you have not tampered with this,” said the second.
“You’ll have to check on getting the original with the city attorney,” Flint said. “But I have a hunch the hotel where the Kanawa family was staying also keeps records. It’s not the most upscale place, so it probably monitors its guests.”
In fact, he knew it did. That was why the police often recommended that place to people who stayed there. It was a calculated risk telling the Wygnin about that; he had no idea whether Jamal and Dylani Kanawa had discussed the reasons for Ennis’s kidnapping.
But even if they had, it would take a lot of time before the hotel would turn over the records to the Wygnin. The family would be among the ranks of the Disappeared by then.
Flint leaned against the table. He could no longer sort out his emotions. They churned inside of him. The dizziness had grown worse, and he was having trouble concentrating on his own thoughts.
“While the recording plays,” he said, “I’m going to step outside the room for some air. I’ve been up all night and it’s beginning to catch up with me.”
He plucked the chip off his sleeve. The chip was so small, he was afraid he would lose it in between his fingers. He squeezed it, and set it down as his own voice filled the room.
May I come in?
He stepped into the hallway and closed the door, leaning on it. The emotions vanished as if they had never been, leaving his heart racing and his breathing erratic.
No wonder it took so much training to deal with the Wygnin. He hadn’t been in there more than ten minutes and he could barely separate himself from them.
He wondered how much training people who were sent to Korsve had. If they had had no preparation in dealing with the Wygnin, how could they even know that their actions had been their own? Had anyone studied Wygnin manipulation, done over time? And what about the confessions humans made in Wygnin courts to things the Wygnin believed were crimes? Why did the multicultural tribunals accept such confessions? Wouldn’t they have been given under duress, something humans stopped accepting centuries ago?
Flint shuddered. These last few days had destroyed any belief he may have had in the rightness of his job. He couldn’t continue forward, enforcing laws that he didn’t like, and solving crimes that he didn’t believe were wrong.
Disappearance Inc had been wrong in selling out its customers, but the law said such a thing was fine. The company was destroying hundreds, maybe thousands of lives, lives that were already in tatters because of a justice system that seemed to accept all cultural standards as normal except the one Flint thought best.
Was it the best? He didn’t know. But he knew that giving up an infant to pay for his father’s crimes, no matter how heinous, was wrong. He knew that forcing an eight-year-old to lose his mother because she hadn’t realized she built a house in a forbidden place was also wrong, and he knew that demanding a woman spend the rest of her life doing backbreaking work because she successfully defended a criminal was wrong too.
Someone pulled the door open. Flint turned. The interpreter stood there. She seemed to sway, just like the Wygnin. Flint wondered if she knew that of all the beings in that conference room, she was the most alien to him.
“We’ve finished listening,” she said.
He felt a momentary flash of worry that was all his own, not sure how the Wygnin would react to the words he had spoken in that hotel room. He had tried to be circumspect, but anyone familiar with human discourse might understand the message he had given to Jamal Kanawa.
Then again, maybe not. He had asked the questions first and told them they were free to go second. The two things did not seem to be related.
He nodded to the interpreter and stood up straight, no longer leaning against the wall. Already he could feel the threads of emotion, but they seemed weaker. Or perhaps he had learned how to manage them.
He stepped inside. He hadn’t realized that this room was done in light browns or that the air smelled faintly of the interpreter’s lilac perfume. All of those details had gotten lost in the stress the Wygnin emotions had put him under.
The interpreter sat down. Flint went to his place at the opposite end of the table. The Wygnin hadn’t moved, and the chip lay where he had put it.
“Your mention of Disappearance services is intriguing,” one of the Wygnin said. ““You realize such things are illegal.”
Flint’s mouth went dry. “Of course I do, which is why we’ve been so busy this week. In addition to your two cases, we’ve had a Disty vengeance killing and some problems with the Rev. It was while I was dealing with the Rev that I realized Disappearance Inc had been selling out its clients. I needed to know if anyone else was, so that our department can plan for more weeks like this, and I wouldn’t be able to find out that information on my own. People like the Kanawas attract the worst elements. It didn’t hurt to ask.”
He looked up, and met the Wygnin’s golden gaze, feeling the brush of emotions more complicated than he could express. He forced his gaze away, and wondered if he had said too much. Sometimes no explanation was better than too much explanation.
The interpreter was watching Flint. Had she understood and said something to them? Or was she so lost in Wygnin fantasy that she had forgotten her own humanity?
“It seems,” the Wygnin said, “that you are being honest with us and you have done what you can. Next time, we will know about this arbitrary twenty-four-hour law and plan for it. In the meantime, we shall document the trail we have taken to find the Kanawa family and we shall take it to the authorities in their home city of Gagarin Dome.”
Both Wygnin bowed slightly. “We appreciate the time you have taken to inform us of the changes.”
“You’re welcome,” Flint said, feeling awkward. He looked at the interpreter, silently asking if he should do anything else.
“I think that’s all, detective,” she said to him. “The Wygnin now have other things that they’ll have to attend to because of the inadequacies of Armstrong law.”
So she had missed it. He tried to contain his feeling of relief. He didn’t know if the emotional bleed-through went both ways.
“Thanks,” he said, and left the room.
Outside, he took a deep breath, as if clearing his lungs of the emotions he’d been feeling. He’d done all he could. Now it was up to Jamal Kanawa to protect his son.
And Flint had to focus on his own future. He hadn’t been lying to the Wygnin. With Disappearance Inc selling out its files, the job of detective had just become hideous. Rather than facing these dilemmas every once in a while, he would face them daily.
And he wasn’t willing to.
Before he went back to the detective unit, he needed to see the chief—and resign.
Thirty
The Rev seemed huge as they came toward DeRicci. The nearest took his upper arm and slammed it into the wall beside her. She could feel the vibration in her back, and plastic shattered around her, slicing her skin.
They were making a weird keening noise and the maroon of their emotion collars was working its way throughout their pale skin.
Officer in trouble, she sent through her personal link, using the nonverbal section she usually kept shut off. Hurry.
Another arm went through the wall above her, but she didn’t cringe. She wasn’t sure how to react to a Rev attack, but cringing hadn’t done the interpreter any good.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Hey! I’m early, here. There’s no reason for this.”
The Rev had crowded so close to her that she was choking on their rotted-melon stench. One of their arms brushed against her and she gagged at the cold, clammy feel of their skin.
“Back off!” she shouted again. “You’re in my Division, on my soil, and subject to my rules. This is a riot, and we will punish to the fullest extent of the law!”
She had no clue if they would do that or not. She knew nothing about
the agreements Armstrong had with the Rev, but she was willing to bluff.
The Rev did not move. They had stopped punching the walls and they had stopped advancing on her, but they hadn’t backed away either.
“Can you understand me?” she said, able to lower her voice now. “Because if you can’t, we need to get that interpreter guy out here.”
And that was probably the stupidest sentence she’d ever uttered. Because how could she direct the Rev to move so that she could fetch the interpreter when they didn’t understand her?
One of the Rev peeled away from the back of the group and vanished from her sight. A moment later, it reappeared, carrying the interpreter. The Rev’s hand was clamped to the back of the interpreter’s neck and the poor man was swinging, his feet off the ground and his face so pale he looked like he was about to be sick.
Apparently they had understood her well enough to get the interpreter, but not well enough to do without him. And she was on her own. No one had come down the hallway, no one had even tried to save her, not yet.
She wanted the damn diplomat, but she doubted he would get here on time.
“All right,” she said to the Rev. “I’m going to tell you what’s going on.”
She might as well. It was her mistake, and they were already tearing up the station. The situation couldn’t get worse—she hoped.
“We have the entire police force combing the streets of Armstrong, looking for the woman you want,” she said.
The Rev emotion collars vibrated as if they were making a sound that she couldn’t hear. The interpreter, still being held up by his neck, moaned.
“Translate it,” DeRicci said to him, even though she knew at least some of the Rev had understood her.
He did, which was pretty amazing since he barely seemed able to draw a breath.
“You did not keep her in custody?” the Rev closest to DeRicci asked. She wondered if that was the same one who’d spoken for them all before.
“We tried,” DeRicci said, deciding not to lie at all. “She escaped.”
A high-pitched whistle went through the group. They shuffled slightly, and DeRicci had to fight to keep herself from cringing. She couldn’t see through the doughy Rev bodies to know if help had arrived.
“Your partner, this Flint,” the Rev said. “Did he know this when he spoke to us?”
As the interpreter put that sentence into English, his face got red and sweat dripped off his chin. He thought Flint had lied to the Rev and that terrified him.
That was all the warning DeRicci needed.
“I don’t know,” she said, figuring her statement was somewhat true since she didn’t know when Flint had first spoken to the Rev. “I haven’t been able to talk with him much the last day or two.”
Again, truth, but probably not the kind the Rev appreciated.
“If he lied to us,” the Rev said, “you will all pay.”
“I don’t think that’s the issue here,” DeRicci said.
“I will not translate that,” the interpreter said, wheezing slightly. “Truth is always the issue with them.”
“Translate it,” DeRicci said. “I said it, not you, and besides, half of them understand anyway.”
His red face got even darker, but he translated for her. The Rev did not seem to react to her statement. They all stared at her in silence.
“The issue,” DeRicci said into that silence, “is that we can’t find this woman. Maybe you should help.”
“You’re going to send angry Rev onto the streets of Armstrong?” the interpreter’s voice squeaked.
The Rev holding him shook him and then dropped him. He landed with a thud, crying out in pain.
“What are you doing?” a human voice cried out from behind the Rev. DeRicci couldn’t tell if the voice was directed at her or at the Rev.
The Rev scuttled backwards, opening a path between DeRicci and an unenhanced man with long gray hair and a pot belly.
“What are you doing?” he said again, and apparently he was speaking to her. “There was a request for a diplomat. And I just got here. You’re not licensed to negotiate with the Rev.”
“I requested you,” DeRicci snapped, “and you’re late. The problems I anticipated have already started. The chief wanted me to handle this, and I am, so butt out.”
“She just told them truth doesn’t matter,” the interpreter said from the floor. He had a hand on the side of his leg. His knee was twisted at an odd angle.
“Did you?”
“I said it wasn’t the issue,” DeRicci said.
One of the Rev spoke. Its high-pitched growl went on for several minutes, during which the diplomat kept glancing at DeRicci. Then he answered in Rev, his hands clamped at his side.
When the interchange was done, he said, “Apparently they think this matter is already resolved. You have told them the truth. They say they can tell. They believe you’re the only one who has understood them here, and they’re grateful for all you’ve done.”
He sounded like he disapproved of all that he was telling her.
DeRicci let out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. She had stopped them. She couldn’t believe it.
The diplomat said, “In deference to your wishes, they’ll return to their ship and await word of the fugitive. And if we need their help searching for her, they will assist in any way they can. They learned when she commandeered the yacht that she was a treacherous person, and they believe it might take some time to capture her.”
DeRicci leaned her head against the wall. Some of the plastic crumbled, and she stood up suddenly.
“They want to thank you again for all you’ve done, and for being the only human in this Division to take their desire for honesty seriously.”
DeRicci felt like she had walked into someone else’s life. “Thank them for me.”
He spoke Rev for a moment. The Rev all looked at her and, in unison, their emotion collars faded. One by one, the collars absorbed back into the skin. They waddled their way down the hall, apparently going back the way they had come.
DeRicci called down her link for a medic. The interpreter moaned and lay back on the floor.
The diplomat glared at her. “So you’ve learned something about the Rev, have you?” he said when the Rev were out of sight.
She shook her head. “I thought they were going to kill me.”
“They might have. Someone should have told them about the missing girl earlier.”
“I wasn’t here earlier.”
“Well, you lucked into the only way of appeasing them. I’d say good job, but I see you neglected to tell them who lost the girl in the first place.”
He glared at her one final time, apparently for emphasis, and then he walked away. DeRicci let out another long breath. What an awful hour. It was amazing. When she did the right thing, she got a reprimand and when she did the wrong thing, she saved the day—and got a reprimand.
She wondered if she would ever be in anyone’s good graces again.
“Don’t worry about him,” the interpreter said, surprising her. She had thought he disliked her, and now he was comforting her. Maybe he was relieved the Rev were gone. “He’s just mad that you did something he wouldn’t have even considered.”
DeRicci went over to him. “I sent for medics.”
“So did I,” the interpreter said. “They’ll wait until the Rev are back in the Port before they come. I’m sure word of angry Rev has been all over Armstrong by now.”
“You’re sure he wouldn’t have told the Rev the truth?” She couldn’t believe it, not if the truth was the best way of dealing with the Rev.
The interpreter nodded. “He’s a politician. A human politician. We’re not the most honest species anyway, and diplomats have secrets to protect. Most of the ones assigned to the Rev know that the job could be their death warrant. That’s probably why he was late.”
“Why do you translate, then?” DeRicci asked.
The interpreter grimaced and
shifted, obviously in pain. “Usually I deal with written Rev and tapes of meetings conducted in Rev. I don’t remember the last time I did a real-time translation.”
That explained a lot, DeRicci thought, but said nothing. “Will they get angry like that again?”
“No,” the interpreter said. “Not unless they believe they’re being lied to again. They can sense it, and it makes them crazy. You did a courageous thing back there.”
DeRicci studied him for a moment. He’d been a loyal translator even though he had thought the situation was mishandled. She could respect that.
“You did a courageous thing too,” she said, and then she sat down beside him, so that he wouldn’t have to wait for the medics alone.
Thirty-one
Flint was no longer a detective.
The chief hadn’t been in, so he tendered his verbal resignation to one of her assistants who really didn’t seem to care. She had handed him a special hand-held with a standard resignation form on it. He had filled out the proper dates and times and then signed it. A note on the top of the form said that it would be sent to everyone who needed the file.
In other words, it would go everywhere within the city—and maybe beyond. Since he had asked to be terminated immediately, he needed a special pass to get into the detective unit so that he could clean out his desk and take his personal files off his computer.
He sat in his office now, his hands shaking slightly. This was his last chance to get information from the department’s system and he planned to use it.
Disappearance Inc’s new file system was as easy to hack as he had thought it would be. It was clear the files had been transferred from a more complicated system. There were thousands of names, dating back decades.
All of that would have overwhelmed him if he had remained a detective. But he wasn’t one any more.
He was downloading to his personal hand-held. It was going to take some time to complete the transfer because the department’s system was old, and because there was a lot of information. He left the hand-held on the desk and kept the desk screen dark so no one passing by could see what he was doing.
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