According to the I-team, the investigation was shaping up to be a classic case of a thief caught in the act and reacting badly. Many valuable items had been taken from the home and, if it hadn't been for the termination plus one other item, they would have written it that way. Along with the valuables, all of Su's chips had been removed. No records, no music, no V-stuff, no notes—nothing. Su had been known to have the most complete library on all of Paz, yet all of it had been taken. Nothing of his collection had been left behind, not even a blank chip.
It seemed clear that the individual who had done this had a much greater interest in the chip files than the valuables, and had tried to make it appear the term was incidental to a common robbery. The I-team leader told Shan it looked like “...a clumsy attempt to make it look clumsy."
Shan was a past master at digging up information on people, sometimes embarrassing stuff. For that reason he knew people in many places important to his work who were indebted to him for his silence. Some of them were in Law Apps, and a couple of calls netted him a list of Su's known acquaintances in and around New London. It was a long list and frustration was beginning to set in until—until he noticed a common thread. Most of the names on the list were also on his list of members of the Twelfth Generation. Had Lon Su been involved in that, too?
Why not? The shagrat had his cold nose in everyone else's fuzzy, why not the Generation?
As Shan entered the office of Akker Greeley he was met head-on by an overly tall man with exceptionally pale skin who was rushing out the door. The odd appearance of the man caused Shan to respond automatically and he clicked his microcam. He didn't want to forget that face. The guy had come close to knocking Shan down as he raced past in the narrow opening.
Shan stepped up to the receptionist's desk and said, “Hello. Is Mr. Greeley in?"
“Who's askin'?"
She was much to large for her clothes in various places and wore far too much makeup. Shan chuckled inwardly. The only way he'd be able to recognize her without the paint would be thanks to a perfume that could gag a bloodworm.
“Albo Shan, from the Journal."
She pressed the com with a long, bright yellow fingernail and spoke into the set. “Mr. Greeley? I got a gaf out here from the Journal. You wanna see him?"
“Yeah,” a gruff voice answered. “Send ‘im in, Rada.
“Mr. Greeley says you can go in."
Shan didn't say anything to her about his standing there while Greeley said he would see him. She probably wouldn't understand the meaning of redundancy, anyway. As Shan entered Greeley's office he was immediately aware of the strong, pungent odor of tarsac. Illegal and a bad habit, but not why he was there. Still, it was worth a note for future reference; his suspicion of the man trafficking in the stuff was close to being confirmed. Besides, one never knew what might come in handy someday.
Shan could tell, before he'd said a word, that this was not going to be easy.
“Good day, Mr. Greeley. My name is Albo Shan, and I would like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."
“You in my office, or what?"
“Excuse me?"
“Look, gaf, Rada said you were from the Journal. The Journal's a news gatherin’ outfit, right? So, old Akker here puts two together with two and comes up with the notion that maybe you got questions or you're sellin’ subscriptions, which I don't want, or ad space, which I don't use. So, if I didn't want to answer your questions you'd still be out there in the outer office, right?"
“Right. Well ... um ... you have a man named Virgo Mills operating a boat out of your harbor, and ... um ... I'd like very much to talk to him. Do you know where I can find him?"
“You, too, huh? I don't know why he got so popular so fast, but the key word here is that he operated a boat out of my docks.” Greeley jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the docks. “You see a boat down there with a big eleven painted on its side, Mr. Shan?"
Shan moved to the window for a better look. “Um ... no,” he said. “No, I don't."
“You can go down to the pad and count ‘em if you want. It's not there. He pulled out of here ten days ago without droppin’ so much as a word to anyone. Not a word ... just started up and left."
“Do you have any idea where he went?"
“The sign out front says this is a fish brokerage. We don't read palms, massak scum, crystal balls, or nothin’ else, Shan. Like I told you, he didn't say a word to nobody but, if it'll do any good, I watched ‘im go, and he went south out of here. I heard he was seen down around Point Scoter sometime today—around fifth hour, they said."
“There was a new man hired on here—a young fellow named Niki Kaznov. Do you know where I can find him, or did he go with Mills?"
“Nik? No. He was here one day and never showed again. I don't know where that one went, either."
Greeley straightened a stack of papers on his desk and managed to give Shan the impression he was becoming bored with the conversation.
He looked up at Shan and said, “Funny, though, I figured that one would work out where most don't. Serious type. Unusual these days, eh? Thought I finally had a reliable one there, but then, what the hell do I know?"
It was obvious to Shan that he would get nowhere with Greeley, so he decided to try the hotel where Niki had been staying. He was sure Niki was no longer there, but the controller might have some idea where he could be found.
He pulled into the dock in front of the La Paz Frontier and cut the systems. Sitting there in the dock, he found himself wondering why Niki had never shown up at the boat. At the time they had talked, he'd been under the impression that Niki was excited about his new job. And what had Greeley meant by, ‘You, too?’”? Shan knew the Enforcement people hadn't made a connection between Niki and any of this group because he'd checked. They hadn't turned up the name of Mills, either. If someone was looking for Mills, he could be onto something important.
Like that fellow flying out of Greeley's place today? Why didn't I ask?
“What?” the box on the gate said.
“My name is Albo Shan, and I work for the Journal. I want to talk to the controller."
“Yeah? Aw'right. Push the gate when you hear the click and come to number four,” the box droned out.
Shan walked through the dismal surroundings of one of the more typical multi-unit cubers in New London to the door of number four. Paint was peeling off the face of the all-steel security door, revealing the dull red of rust inhibitor and the even duller red of rust. He knocked lightly.
A voice he recognized from the box spoke to him from the other side. “You the guy from the Journal?"
“Yes. May I come in? I would like to talk with you."
Shan waited while several locks were disengaged. Considering the location, he could understand why. The door opened slowly, a little at a time, as if the person inside were waiting to see whether Shan would try to jump him.
A bloodshot eye appeared in the opening. “You got identification?"
Shan held up his press card to the eye.
The door swung open, and the owner of the eye said, “Hello. Mr. Shawn, was it?"
A tattered, dark green robe hung poorly from the man's emaciated frame, and the smell coming from inside caused Shan to step back a little.
“Yes, sir. The name's Shan. May I come in?"
“Sure. Aw'right. S'cuse the mess. Haven't been feeling too good last coupla days. Think I ate somethin’ putrid, you know?"
The controller pointed to a semi-clean spot on the couch against the wall with a V-screen over it and said, “Sit down, if you can find a spot to dock yer butt,” while he pushed a stack of junk off a chair by the table and took a seat himself. “So, what can I do fer you, Mr. Sham?"
“The name is Shan, sir. Anyway, I would like to have your name for the record, and the name of the owner of the hotel."
“Uh-huh. My name's Davil Sharp, and the owner's a guy named Mando Washton.” He grabbed a glass off the counter behind him and
took a swallow. “Why?"
Mando Washton was one of the names on his list. It appeared he might just make some progress here. “Just for the record, Mr. Sharp, in case the bosses want to know my sources. There was a man staying here by the name of Nikisha Kaznov. Do you have any idea where I could find him?"
“Oh, yeah, I remember that one. He was here a coupla days. Then, one day, he just flew outa here. Didn't even wanna balance the tickle. Just shoved the key card in my hand and said I could keep the overage. Weird one, that guy was."
Sharp took another swallow from the glass, then continued, “But I never knew nothin’ about ‘im, and he didn't say nothin’ about where he was goin', so I don't know where he went. Left outa here with a pretty lady in a fancy transport. Real slick lookin’ lady. Not one of the Flag ladies, I can tell you that. That's all I know. You want some water? It's filtered stuff, not that city crap."
Shan thought it was a real stab in the dark, but he believed in the idea that asking was the only way one could ever learn anything. “One more thing, Mr. Sharp. Do you, by any chance, know a man named Virgo Mills?"
“Virgo? Sure. We've been friends a long time, but he's not in town right now."
“I'm aware of that. I just came over here from the harbor. Do you know where he went?"
“Uh-huh. That's a strange one, too. You sure you don't want some water?"
Shan shook his head and Sharp went on. “Mr. Washton asked me to give Virgo a message a few days back. Said he wanted Virgo to go down to Booker's Bay to pick up a barge and take it to, uh—oh, hell, I don't remember. Down to, uh, that big city at the south end of the Continent. You know which one I mean?"
“Nutroit?"
“Yeah. Yeah, that's it."
“So, what's so odd about that?"
“The only barges we got in Booker's Bay gotta come north. Far as I know, we don't have no business at the south end."
“Thank you, Mr. Sharp. You've been very helpful, and I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me,” Shan said while extracting himself from the sagging couch.
“It's aw'right, Mr. Shanser. Any time."
It wasn't worth the effort for Shan to correct Sharp again. What the hell? Why was Niki acting so strangely? He'd seemed such a nice fellow. Why hadn't he called if he was in trouble? Shan would have been glad to help. He wondered if Niki might have become involved in some way, although he found that idea hard to swallow. As far as Mills was concerned, if he was all the way down in Nutroit, he would be gone at least until Minor Tides, unless he flew back. And the big, albino-like fellow at the brokerage? He made a mental note to look at the day's take later that night and popped the pic-chip out of the microcam.
* * * *
“I'm sorry, sir,” the receptionist said. “My boss is away on a business trip. Would you like to leave a message for him?"
Shan thought for a moment, then put on his sincerest face. “Yes—well, maybe you'll be able to help me and we won't have to bother Mr. Washton. You see, I'm looking for a friend of mine, and I was told he had come here. Niki Kaznov is his name. Has he been here?"
“Niki—Kaznov? Just a minute, Mr. Shan.” The girl, an exceptional beauty by his reckoning, brought something up on her screen. “Ah, yes, here we are. There was a Mr. Kaznov applying for a position with the company as a researcher of some kind. According to this, he was here ten days ago. Does that help?"
“Did he get the job?"
“That information isn't in the file, sir, so I would imagine he didn't. On the other hand, it isn't unusual for Mr. Washton to investigate applicants thoroughly ... and that takes time. If you'd like to speak to Mr. Washton about it, I can make an appointment for you—say, in about eight or nine days?"
'Real slick lady. Not one of the Flag ladies,’ Sharp had said, and this woman certainly matched that description. The name plate on her desk said she was Pasha Valdar. Shan would look up that one when he got home.
“Yes. Uh, on second thought, no ... never mind.” Shan had the feeling he was being played with like a garmouse in the claws of a particularly mean shavecat and decided to back out before he was eaten alive. “I'll check back later. When will Mr. Washton return?"
“He didn't give me a specific date, sir. He went on one of his Outlands mining trips to Nucanda and told me he would return in seven or eight days. If you like, you can check with us again in about nine or ten days. He should be here by then, but I wouldn't want to guarantee that."
On his way out of the building, Shan worried himself over what he had found—which wasn't much. If Washton had been out of town when the termination of Su had been carried out, there might not be any connection to be made, but he seriously doubted that. The connection was there, he could feel it. Sometimes reporters feel things, and he was certainly feeling something now. The coincidence of Mills's departure and Niki's applying for a job on the same day did not escape him. He decided to do some checking to see if he couldn't account for the whereabouts of one Mando Washton for the last few days. There had to be a connection—he knew it. Then, there was Niki. Where was he, and what was he doing?
* * * *
A teacher from one of the local schools was dragging a gang of ogling onners through the museum, and part of the group was up on the catwalk around twenty-three. Niki saw no way to get up to six to start the opening sequence from there without being observed crawling around on the hull and wing, so he opted to wait. After several minutes of pawing, kicking, scratching, and making greasy handprints on all the windows, the onners and their teacher returned to the main floor. As the screams and giggles subsided into the background, Niki boarded the lift.
Niki took a quick glance toward the entrance and saw the guard in pursuit of one of the boisterous onners who had something in his hands, something that must have belonged to the museum. He turned and stabbed another code sequence into the key pad.
Let's find out just how good these so-called memories are.
ENTRY SEQUENCE—REMAIN CLEAR OF DOOR
Niki checked the area to make certain the noise of the opening outer door hadn't attracted anyone's attention, then stepped into the yawning utility airlock. The outer door closed and sealed automatically. A dull red light barely gave him enough vision to make out the inner door's control handle. He grabbed it, hesitated a moment in apprehension, then twisted the handle. It resisted a little but finally turned, and he was ... inside. Niki didn't know when one of the Fathers had last been in this shuttle, but he was certain that he was the first human being who had passed through that door in over two hundred years. He stood there in the deep shadows of what little light bounced its way down the passage from the cockpit windows and shivered in the cold air, afraid to move.
He fumbled around until his hand landed on the light control. He punched at the button, and the passage filled with warm, subdued light—a little too yellow—that lessened his fear. The odor was stale, but that was to be expected. At least it didn't reek of human leavings and activities of past years like the Neathing shelters did.
Niki walked forward to the cockpit and settled into the pilot's seat. It felt terribly uncomfortable when he first made contact with it, then startled him as it began conforming to his body. In front of him, on the control panel, was the next important step in the start-up procedure. He reached forward, lifted the protective lid, and with slow, careful pushes of his finger entered the code he could see floating in his head. Nothing happened.
The screen above the pad remained black, the only sounds coming from his labored breathing and pounding heart. Maybe he didn't recall the code sequence correctly. Was his enlightenment going to fail like that of so many of the Gammas? He closed his eyes and tried to envisage the sequence more clearly. A distinct, faint click entered his ears, and his eyes popped open. The screen at the center of the panel flickered, then came to life.
MASTER DIAGNOSTIC IN PROCESS
STAND BY
By all the true Ancients, this is really happening.
Niki cou
ld hardly wait to tell Pasha. Two days had passed since he'd last seen her, and he couldn't get her out of his mind. The message on the screen changed.
FAILURES AT H21G, KG88T, ...
A huge list of failures scrolled across the screen faster that he could read them, but it didn't matter. Everything was automatic from this point on, and it would either work, or it wouldn't. There was nothing more he could do about it, the machines were running autonomously.
ALL FAILURES LOCATED—REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED
STAND BY
The failures had also been anticipated. Even though the shuttle was sealed and filled with inert gas, the mere fact of having sat idle for so long ensured both mechanical and electrical problems. Automatic maintenance had been programmed into their independent systems and, at ten year intervals, the machines checked themselves, and repairs had been made as required for the standby state. Niki had started the master system, and the shuttle was now changing from its standby to fully operational mode.
He hadn't bothered to remember when he'd started this series of events, but he was aware a lot of time had elapsed. The sky above him was dark, except for the glow of Vegamtu and Almug. A gentle, feminine voice spoke to him from the panel.
“Specify your seed lot origin code,” it said.
“Uh ... Delta three dash two-eight-one,” he said, hoping he had said it correctly. The talkway of the voice was quite strange to him. Could that be a source of trouble?
“What is the name by which you are currently known, Delta three dash two-eight-one?"
Seeds of Memory Page 13