Angel of Destruction (17 page)

It was contraband in its own right, as well.

“Listen, floor manager, I appreciate the trust reposed and all that, but I really don’t know if I can be comfortable holding on to this.”

Undocumented backup release marker.

Black-market value, one full freighter load of dried confer wood, great thick fragrant bales of the stuff. A fortune for any man, let alone a disenfranchised Langsarik.

“It’ll be all right.” Dalmoss gave Hilton’s shoulder a friendly reassuring shake and turned him toward the door. “The administrative stuff is in process, it’s just a little behind, is all. I’ll make it right with the foreman when I get back. And it’s not a problem for you to have it, so long as you don’t use it, that’s all.”

Feraltz didn’t want to know about it, Dalmoss said.

Did that imply that Feraltz knew, and was politely ignoring the whole thing till the documentation was completed?

Maybe it was all right.

It wasn’t as if there was any real danger of Hilton using the chop to lay hands on unauthorized transport, after all. And what did the terms of the amnesty say? Not that Langsariks were absolutely forbidden potential access; just that they were not to take advantage.

At least that was one way to interpret it.

“Well.” If the foreman knew, Hilton felt it would be unnecessarily prudish of him to insist on the letter of the administrative regulations. “So long as the documentation is in work. I suppose.” It couldn’t be a real secret, then, not if the covering documentation was in process. A little irregular, maybe, but trade seldom ran precise to specification. “I’ll hang on to it for you till you get back. What else, floor manager?”

The whole issue of the backup release marker was apparently so negligible to Dalmoss that Hilton’s agreement was taken in stride, as only natural. Hilton felt himself relax a little bit more. Yes. It was all right. There was no cause for concern, it was just one of those administrative mismatches. That was all.

“I need you to take the floor meeting at second shift, the assignment matrix is posted to your reader, and I’m loading some notes. They’ll be ready for you by the time you get back from the floor meeting, we can do final tie-in then. You’d better hurry.”

It wouldn’t do to be late for his first official acting-floor-manager assignment. No.

Tucking the little token into a shirt pocket absent-mindedly, Hilton hurried out for his meeting, focusing his mind on the new challenges that had just been laid before him.

###

Once Cousin Stanoczk’s sleek little courier had cleared the Tyrell Yards for Port Charid, Cousin Stanoczk sent his relief pilot forward and called for Kazmer Daigule. There were two to three hours of travel time between the Shawl of Rikavie and Port Charid from the Tyrell Yards, at this time of year. Garol supposed Stanoczk wanted to talk in a secure environment.

When they were all assembled in the courier’s salon Cousin Stanoczk took a deep breath, and started to speak. “To your mother I apologize very humbly, Kazmer. And also to her mother, and her mother’s mother; to the mother of your father, and her father’s mother, as sincerely as I am able. I had no cause to suggest such a thing, but you made me angry, suggesting what you did. I tell you to explain, not to excuse the insult, for which I place myself in humility before your antecedents.”

“Suggesting what? The Angel of Destruction?” Jils asked. She’d been quiet and self-contained since Daigule’s outburst at Tyrell; Garol was surprised to hear her speak. Jils wasn’t one to open her mouth unless she had something to say, though: and it sounded like she was ahead of him on this one. “I heard horror stories from the forensics team at the Domitt Prison in Port Rudistal. They were Sarvaw, too.”

Now that she put it into context for him Garol began to make sense of it all. Sarvaw, terrorism, atrocity, the Angel of Destruction. Right,

“It is an outlaw, and has been for several lives.”

Cousin Stanoczk was clearly not at all eager to talk about it. He could hardly refuse to discuss the issue once it was raised, however, not unless he wanted to focus their attention on the subject by so doing.

“Since the time of Chuvishka Kospodar, who was the grandfather of my grandfather’s father. I have the family shame. Yet even at the time of its outlawry, there were questions, within privileged circles, about whether the monster were truly dead, or merely feigning.”

“Start at the beginning,” Garol suggested. It generally helped him make sense of things. “What’s your angle in all of this, Stanoczk?”

Stanoczk had started to pace. The Malcontent’s courier ship was considerably more commodious than Garol’s usual transport. There was much more room in which to move.

“We were as skeptical of the Langsarik settlement as any, Garol Aphon.” Stanoczk used two of his three names, Garol noted. Showing off that he knew them, perhaps? Stanoczk was obviously upset; maybe he was just reverting unconsciously to his natal syntax. Garol hoped Stanoczk regained control of his emotions soon. He’d never cared for his middle name.

“Therefore, someone was tagged to keep a watch on the progress of the experiment. The Langsariks were efficient predators, you may remember. We had no desire to see them continue to feed off Combine shipping.”

Old news. Garol settled himself back in his chair, resigned to a long siege. Comfortable chair. The pilot didn’t look very comfortable, though. Pity.

“Then there were problems, and it could have been youthful high spirits. Perhaps it was at first. The first of the raids where there was killing concerned us.”

Hit-and-run raids were one thing, characteristic of Langsarik battle tactics. Warehouse invasion was not, nor had killing ever characterized a Langsarik operation. So far, so good.

“The Combine is in contention with other local interests for commercial ascendancy, here at Port Charid. Was it too convenient that the Combine’s competition has been raided in series? And yet if there was a secret plot on the part of my government, I would know about it. I wouldn’t tell you, of course. But I would know about it.”

Interesting. Cousin Stanoczk might be a more highly placed player than Garol had realized; or he might be making this part up.

“Thus if there was no plan that we knew of, and yet events did seem to follow a plan to strengthen Combine interests at the expense of any others, who could be responsible? Raiding takes organization. And in this case murder.”

“The Bench likes to consider itself responsible for that sort of problem,” Jils noted, in a mild and dispassionate tone of voice. As if she was simply making an abstract and objective observation, not pointing out that the Bench saw no functional difference between lawbreaking and the unauthorized upholding of the Law, the upholding of the Law by persons not properly deputized to do so. “It has Bench intelligence specialists to work issues like raiding at Port Charid.”

Cousin Stanoczk seemed to be trying to nod and shake his head at the same time, and ended up describing a sort of a figure eight with his chin. “But if this was Combine business, Bench specialist, it is our responsibility. We can’t ask the Bench to intervene in family discipline.”

Begging the question rather neatly. “Go on,” Garol said. Maybe Jils had drawn her conclusions and filed her mental report, but he still wanted to hear Stanoczk’s take. “Responsible.”

“We are not so familiar as you with the Langsariks, Specialist Vogel. It could be that their styles had changed. What reason could Langsariks have to promote Combine interests, though, especially at the risk of their own lives and freedom? And then there were more raids. We began to see a pattern. One with potential historical precedent.”

At that the pilot raised his head, staring at Cousin Stanoczk with black despair in his brown eyes.

“You knew all along it wasn’t Langsariks.” Daigule’s claim was not so much an accusation as a flat statement. “And you let me give it all away. Knowing all along.”

He seemed to hit a nerve with Cousin Stanoczk, even so. “We knew no such thing. I still don’t know. There is potential evidence. Is it good enough for the Bench? Certainly not. What would have happened had I denied you, in violation of my sacred duty?”

Good question
, Garol thought. “That’s what I’d like to know.” With Stanoczk here, it couldn’t be said that he was going behind anyone’s back. “If your evidence could divert suspicion, pilot, you logically would have wanted to give it.” Which could presumably be exactly what Kazmer Daigule was doing even now, his utmost to divert attention from the Langsariks. “Apart from any personal vulnerability, your only likely reason for bolting has to be that your evidence would have indicted Langsariks.”

“Because I thought it was Langsariks,” Daigule said flatly.

Cousin Stanoczk started to raise his hand, as if to silence Daigule.

Lowering his head — so that he would be unable to see any such signal, Garol supposed — Daigule forged on. “I didn’t know what to make of the rumors of killing; but I knew that if anyone got serious with questions, I was bound to mention Langsariks sooner or later. And I’d seen a friend of mine in the street the day I arrived to meet with the rest of the crew. If it really was a Langsarik raid, he almost had to be part of it, whether or not I ever saw him after that. If it wasn’t a Langsarik raid, it was that much more vital to keep his name out of it. His, and that of any other Langsarik, including the name ‘Langsarik.’ ”

Hilton Shires had known that Daigule had been in Port Charid, though he’d not wanted to say so. Garol understood. “And now you’re sure it wasn’t. Your evidence, please. If Cousin Stanoczk permits, of course.”

Cousin Stanoczk had ceased his pacing to lean up against the bulkhead behind Daigule, folding his arms. Stanoczk said nothing, so Daigule answered, with evident eagerness.

“Everything points to Langsariks, don’t you see? I was recruited anonymously, but there were hints. At every step, clues and indications. The raid party all wore pieces of Langsarik colors, nothing too obvious or overdone, just what you would expect. The Langsarik body is missing. But so is another body, and there’s no sense in the murders. Especially not in torture.”

Daigule’s point presumably being that nobody could have so consistently given signs of being Langsarik and not been Langsarik unless they had been deliberately intent on presenting the impression that they were Langsariks.

First Secretary Verlaine was not likely to be convinced.

“It isn’t evidence.” Jils said the unpleasant truth for him, and Garol thanked her with a grateful glance. “As it stands it’s just a coincidence. We can’t even say if it’s a real coincidence. The missing Dolgorukij may turn up somewhere alive and healthy. We need more to go on.”

Garol didn’t know exactly what would do it. But he agreed with Jils that what they had was not enough.

“If you blame Langsariks for these raids, the public may be appeased.” Straightening, Cousin Stanoczk stood with his hands on his hips and a very determined expression on his face. “But it will neither effect the punishment of the guilty nor necessarily put a stop to the criminal activity if we do not correctly identify the criminals.”

All right, they could all agree on that. “So what’s your plan?” Garol asked. There had to be a plan. This Cousin Stanoczk was too devious not to have something already up his sleeve; so Garol wasn’t surprised at Stanoczk’s response.

“Work with me, Bench specialist, and every resource I command is at your disposal. It cannot be the Angel of Destruction. It must not be the Angel of Destruction. But if it is the Angel of Destruction, it must be stopped, and decisively.”

Whether or not such action would place Cousin Stanoczk in violation of Bench direction.

Maybe the rule of Law could be stretched to cover an extrajudicial punitive transaction on neutral ground, in light of the fact that it was to be Combine against Combine . . . maybe.

“Can I get Daigule?”

Garol put his question to Cousin Stanoczk, careful to observe the appropriate protocol. “Bearing in mind that so far as I know this is still all just an elaborate ruse to protect Langsariks. Making no promises.”

He had to be careful.

He wanted it not to be Langsariks.

He wanted it not to be Langsariks so badly that he could halfway convince himself that Cousin Stanoczk’s wild talk about Dolgorukij terrorists made sense. It would comprise an explanation of sorts; but he’d have to review the elements with Jils in private before he could be sure that his own personal investment in the success of the Langsarik settlement wasn’t adversely affecting his ability to weigh and judge.

Daigule started to speak, but Cousin Stanoczk spoke over him. Daigule shut up, looking surprised and a little sheepish.

“Daigule will offer you every cooperation at his command, so long as you respect his confidence. You may not ask him to name names. You must not use any part of his effort to incriminate the Langsariks. If the Langsariks are to be incriminated, you must find other means than Kazmer Daigule through which to do so. Kazmer, you will answer to these conditions, and say yes or no.”

Who did Cousin Stanoczk think he was, to set limits on the rules of evidence?

A Malcontent.

It was galling to have to operate under such constraints, offensive in principle even if they made no functional difference.

Daigule nodded, looking first to Cousin Stanoczk and then to Garol. “If it’s Langsariks, they know what they’re risking,” Daigule agreed, firmly. “But if it isn’t, I’m not going to be the man who makes the case, just to cover the Bench. Yes, Cousin Stanoczk.”

If they’d had this conversation at Anglace, they could have gotten Kazmer to do an interrogatory, saving themselves several awkward and unproductive days in transit.

But if they hadn’t come to Tyrell Yards, he would still be struggling to gain access to Daigule, and Daigule’s cooperation.

Maybe he didn’t need an interrogatory.

Garol had a notion that he was going to want to stick close to Port Charid until he had an answer that he could be satisfied with.

“We’ll start by retracing your steps in Port Charid, then.” Now that Daigule had agreed, Garol didn’t have to worry about going through Stanoczk, and addressed himself to Daigule directly. “Where you met with the rest of the crew, where you got transport, how you found your freighter. Be thinking about those things. Do your best to remember every detail.”