Behold a Dark Mirror (8 page)

He tapped the body with the tip of his shoe.  The thing had a faint convulsion, and started ranting as if trying to say something.  Jenus overcame his revulsion and put his ears closer to the black sack, being careful not to touch it.

"M... al...n."  The body uttered.  "Am...tl... p.  Ch... ch," on and on.

Jenus moved away from the whimpering creature, to the medicine shelf where looked through the debris.  After a gulp from the tonic bottle that happened into his hands, he took an anesthetic patch, walked back to the thing, and applied it on a forearm of the body, which shivered at the contact.  He should have shot the bastard instead, ending his misery.

He walked to the lobby, where the kernels looked normal under the circumstances.  He ran a self-test on the frameposts.  In minutes the computer spit out its diagnosis.  All three kernels had been disabled using a privilege-2 security code.

Enabling them was easy.  However, a privilege-2 security code is private:  only Jenus and ConSEnt's maintenance had access to it.  In fact, he never remembered it, just kept it—in the lab's safe!

Jenus ran to his office, which was in the same condition as anything else.  He moved the polarized pane hiding the safe.  Besides some classified technical data, there was little of general interest inside, except for a gun and some cash.  The safe opened to his fingerprint and voice tag.  The other two means of access were the ID prints of Gus, or the combined prints of the lab's commercial and technical directors.

The quasi-metal door looked sound;  the inside was untouched, everything was there.  But a little card said:  "Do not play with us, Dr. Dorato."

Treason!

He yelled at the walls, his arms clamped alongside his body.  With a titanic effort he stopped, breathed once, twice more deeply.  The third time he was in charge of himself, his brewing lust for violence stowed away, hidden deep and ready for recall when vengeance could exact its toll.  He transcribed the privilege-2 security code and closed the safe.

After enabling the frameposts, Jenus picked up the phone, called Gus, told him to come, redialed.

"Hello," said the phone.  "This is the emergency response line, Civil Defense Division of the Tower, Crime Prevention and Law Enforcement.  May I help you?"

"Yes, I think so.  I want to report a break-in."

*

Gus looked at him straight in the eyes.  "Are you telling me that this card was in the safe?  Do you know what it is they want?  And how did they put it in there in the first place?"

Outside the closed doors of the office, the Civil Defense was turning Jenus's lab into an even worse mess.  Occasional crashes, loud voices—too many people were moving around with horsey grace.

Jenus, sitting with his feet on the desk, donned his best poker face.  "Good question.  I don't think
you
helped them open the safe. 
I
didn't.  I don't know about Lane and Vance.  For the rest, can you imagine what it is these criminals want from me?"

"Are you going to tell
them
about the card?"  Gus pointed with his thumb at the door behind his back.

"Should we?"

Gus shrugged, digging his head into his shoulders and raising his arms.  The puzzlement in his expression was so sincere it could have been funny.  "Why not?"  He said.

"Do you trust the Tower, Gus?"

"Not really, no, but—"

"Do you think they'll help us?"

"Well, yes, I guess.  Maybe they know what the card—"

"They know what? They know how to stick their nose in every corner and fiddle with their damn reports, without doing a thing for anybody but themselves."

"Yes, Jenus, but you've got connections.  You can pull a string here and a string there.  They'll do something for you.  Won't they?"

Jenus's face was now painted with uncertainty.  "Dunno," he answered.  "Whoever did this has better connections than I do.  I'll cash in my overdue favors and in return I'll get hot air."

"So what's your plan?"

"I guess we'll keep this at face value.  Vandals?  Thieves?  Let the CD work up their motives, round up the suspects.  We'll play dumb and watch."

"There's something pretty close to a corpse in the lab, Jenus.  What about it?"

"I didn't disfigure anybody." 
At least not personally,
he thought.

"What about the note?  What is it they're after?  These people have no scruples.  You must be scared—aren't you?"

"Scared?  And why, Gus?"

"You're the boss, Jenus.  I don't think I agree, but this is your call.  As for me, I've never heard anything about that note.  From anybody.  Never.  That includes you, from now on."

"Deal, Gus."

"What do you want me to do next?"

"Go home.  Call the insurance.  Get this place cleaned up.  Call our customers, explain the problem, keep them happy.  When you're ready, reopen shop."

"That will take a couple of weeks or so.  Where will you—"

"And fire Lane and Vance."

"OK, but how can I trace you, if I need you?"

"I've other business to take care of.  I'll be out of town for a while."

"What?"  Gus said.  "Other business?  After this?"  He waved his arm around.  "Jenus, what kind of trouble are you in?"

"I'm taking a vacation, Gus.  I can't stay here."

"Sure."  He looked at him.  "This must be the end of our conversation now, Jenus.  Say hi to Janet for me."  Gus rose and went out.  The commotion in the lab spilled into the office through the open door, then subsided again when it closed.

Janet.  Jenus's heart stopped for an instant.

The door opened to let through a wave of noise and a captain of the CD.

"Sir, the burn victim hasn't got much longer to live.  The doctor says he's a man, and the anesthetic you gave him didn't hurt.  The victim continues to repeat meaningless phonemes.  The doctor says he may be delirious.  Did he say anything to you before we arrived?"

"Yes and no.  He..."  Jenus shook his head.  "Just meaningless phonemes, as you very well put it.

"Do you have any idea about his identity?  The doctor will find out who he is, but it will take time to get a match.  If you could help, our search will be faster."

"No, I'm sorry, I have no idea."

"The doctor noted the fourth finger of the victim's left hand was amputated..."

Jenus's heart jumped.

"...before the chemical defacement.  We haven't found the missing finger yet.  Do you have any insight on this, or other useful information for the Civil Defense?"

With an effort Jenus kept his poker face.  "No, not a clue."

Part II: Mosso

Being wrong in a bizarre manner is more entertaining that being wrong plainly

Dr. Lucretia Ponti

CHAPTER 8

Bologna was a delightful city:  Ayin Najjar gazed at the sprawl beyond the windows of her corner office.  From the top floor of the Kenzo Tower, the city looked remote;  yet, in its streets was the good life—if she only had more time to enjoy it.

Ayin's mousey hair was carefully arranged, the styling a good match for the tailored clothing befitting her rank and status.  Elaborate makeup tried to sculpt puffy cheeks and a prominent double chin into the appearance of beauty.  Her eyes, however, needed no help.  Ayin's eyes glowed with brilliance, and a dark shadow of vengeful intent.  She had to live with merciless teasing through too many growing years, and her appearance still collected sophisticated disapproval;  but at forty-five, she was now the financial officer of the Tower and she had decided that her looks needed appreciation rather than correction.  And yet she didn’t look forward to her next appointment. 

A soft knock announced her secretary creeping in;  Ayin turned to face him.  He bowed:  "Ms. Najjar, Mr. Eugene Galt is here."

"Bring him in, I've been waiting for the last ten minutes." Her secretary bowed once more;  behind him thick wooden doors opened to admit a slender man in elegant street clothes.  Galt's presence was impressive:  straight nose, expressive jaw, firm eyebrows, and dark eyes that would not expose the soul behind them.  Not one brown hair on his head was out of place.

"Please have my apology, Your Excellence.  I insisted that your secretary announce me;  I wasn't aware you'd been
waiting
."  The Xenoinvestigation section chief walked smiling to her desk;  her secretary slipped out of the room.  Galt grabbed the back of a chair and leaned against it, waiting for an invitation to sit.

It did not come.  Ayin looked at him like a hungry cat at a rotten piece of meat.  "What's the situation, Galt?  Spare me the smoke and mirrors."  She sat at her desk, accommodating herself in a padded brocade chair behind an expanse of mirror-polished hardwood.

"Your Excellence, we are still probing."

"Intelligence is staffed by a bunch of idiots, and you're the greatest."

"I'm sorry, Your Excellence.  This situation has spawned unprecedented circumstances."

"Any leaks yet?"

"Not to the general public.  But if I theorize correctly, we've been betrayed.  Nothing short of it could have wrecked our plan.  Under this premise, we expect indiscretions."

"Who's behind it?"

"No hard evidence yet.  ConSEnt may be involved."

"No grounds for formal action, then."

"I'm afraid not, Your Excellence."

"I believe you've been taken for a ride.  Keep your pretty opinions to yourself, and tell me once more what is going on."

Galt ground his teeth:  "Well, Your Excellence, as you may be aware..."

"Don't assume I know anything!  Go through the whole mess in baby steps, pretend that
I
am the moron.  Let me hear this with a fresh mind."

Still standing, but clear of the chair, Galt repeated a story that had embarrassed him too many times already:  "Following an excessive number of fatal incidents on a recently opened virgin planet, the Tower decided to inv—"

"What's the name of that planet, again?"  She enjoyed irritating Galt.  He was handsome, young, smart, and a few ranks her subordinate.

"Virgil, Your Excellence.  It was opened under license from Far Lands Mining Ventures after the commercial agreement was approved, that is—"

"OK, OK, go ahead."

"Because there were so many fatalities, we—the Tower decided to investigate.  There are significant interests at stake for the Tower that—"

"Do you know how much we have at stake on this, Mr. Galt?  I bet you're clueless.  I wonder if Far Lands was involved.  Check them out, see if they come clean."  Ayin Najjar knew Xee Eye had people on the job.  If she could only get the section chief to lose his cool...

"Your Excellence, we'll do so."  He nodded, and continued:  "So as not to compromise operations on Virgil, secrecy had the highest priority.  We pursued several paths without results from any of them, except one, which—"

"Meaning, we don't have a clue why people keep dying."

"That is correct, Your Excellence."

"How long can we keep it secret?"

"Virgil is well guarded, all personnel are screened.  We suspect foul play, however, and we are not as safe as desirable."

"What do you mean?

"Your Excellence, we let only desperate people go there, those nobody will miss or care about.  All current staffing of Virgil is expendable.  But we suspect the presence of a mole in our organization."

"You mean a traitor.  Your incompetence is abysmal:  besides hiring double agents, you let them operate at will.  Are you at least trying to figure out who the bastard is?"

"Ma'am, I assure you that—"

"Don't call me madam!"  She yelled.  "Your assurance isn't worth a bucket of muck to a pig, Galt.  How is the investigation proceeding?"

"Your Excellence, as privately as possible."

"Well?"

"One of our subcontracting operations went awry.  Material was removed from our possession, and our contact was thwarted."

"Tell me what happened."

The section chief cleared his throat before going on:  "Our lines of communications have been bypassed."

"What the hell does that mean?"  Ayin leaned forward on the desk, staring at the man.  "Can you put it in plain words, or not?"

A droplet of sweat appeared on Galt's temple.  "We shipped our material, but could not recover the results."

"Material?  What material?  Shipped to whom?  What results?"

"A sample of Virgil's surface soil, Your Excellence.  Our contact was a member of the Guild of Chemists from whom we coerced collaboration.  We shipped this sample to him for analysis to screen for environmental poisons."

"You're an imbecile.  Now the Guild will have a record."

Galt grinned, tiny sweat beads trickling.  "No it won't.  Our contact agreed to proceed without informing the Guild."

Ayin sank back to her chair, wondering how Galt had arranged
that
part.  "Go on.  Why and how did you lose the data?"

"We delivered the sample to our contact, but we couldn't provide him information on how to return the results to us."

"I'm not sure I follow:  You forgot to use a return address?"

"Not exactly."  Galt's knuckles were white, his hands tight, gripping the back of the antique chair again.

"Not exactly what?  Are you going to talk, or do I need to call for help?  You'll be on your way to Virgil next, if you irritate me on purpose."

"Well," Galt cleared his throat.  "After our contact received the sample—and we are sure he received it—all communications were lost.  Even three frameposts were disabled."

"ConSEnt?"

"We suspect that ConSEnt was involved, Your Excellence.  This would have been impossible without them."

"How did the bastards found out about this?"

"Considering their timing, by treason.  Some two dozen suspects are under investigation."

"You still had some time available after your delivery.  Why didn't anyone act?  Were your men all drunk?"

"The chief of operations underestimated the outside interest in our affairs, Your Excellence.  The officer in charge was too junior to understand or make a decision.  It was a weekend, and he refrained from seeking help for what he thought was a technical malfunction.  By the time he consulted senior authority, it was too late."

To Ayin, Galt's body language revealed fear, but not humiliation.  Not yet.  She rested her palms on the desk, stood up and walked to the window, turning her back to the man.