Necropath (33 page)

He looked around at the mourners, mainly Indian civilians and a few Thais: their expressions were not ones of grief, rather a stolid, expressionless acceptance of the consequences of karma accrued from life to life.

How wonderful it would be to share such a belief,
he thought. He wondered how he had gone on for so long with the knowledge of the oblivion that awaited him... though that, indeed, was probably why he had not taken his own life in the darkest days of his existence just after escaping from Canada: life was hell, but the alternative was not much better.

He moved his gaze around the mourners. A fellow police officer was standing at a microphone before the pyre, his eulogy interrupted from time to time by the static of the crackling fire. He spoke in Hindi and Vaughan understood not a word, for which he was thankful: no doubt he would have to endure platitudes in his own language soon enough.

He eased himself back through the crowd, earning looks of censure from mourners more pious than himself. The heat of the day was making him nauseous. There were rows of seats at the back of the ghat, for the elderly and infirm. He sat down gratefully and gave a passable imitation, to whomever should be looking, of someone concentrating on the eulogies.

A dozen officers in khaki uniform lifted their rifles and let off a salvo of laser fire, the crimson vectors cross-hatching the air above the ocean with a lingering tartan pattern. The gathering broke up, some mourners drifting away, others moving to where Sumita was receiving words of consolation. Vaughan thought of leaving before she saw him; he was about to get up and cross the ghat to where the bulky commander was in conversation with one of his officers, when he heard the swish of a sari nearby, caught the scent of rosewater on the hot evening air.

Sumita sat down beside him, hitching a silk sash over her shoulder with a modest, economical gesture. Vaughan was taken by the woman’s poise, her natural beauty, and the calm air of regret and resignation that emanated from her mind.

“Mr. Vaughan, I’ve read the commander’s report of the incident. It must have been a very terrible time for you. If you don’t wish to discuss it with me I will understand completely.”

“No... no, that’s okay. There must be details that Sinton didn’t go into.”

She lowered her gaze to the deck and said: “I just wish to know, in all honesty, Mr. Vaughan, whether my husband suffered before his death. Commander Sinton assured me that his end was painless, but I would like to know a little more.”

Vaughan nodded. “I think I would too, if I were you.”

“You were together in the hours before my husband passed on.”

“We were imprisoned in a natural pit. It was cold, but we... we talked. I told Jimmy more about myself than I’ve ever told anyone else. I think...” he paused, then went on, “I think in those few hours I became close to your husband.”

“And... the end?”

He looked up, into her eyes. “Jimmy just slept,” he told her. “He closed his eyes and slept, and didn’t wake up.”

‘“Death is but a sleep and a forgetting,’“ she said. She smiled at him, and it was as if their roles had been reversed: she was now consoling him. She reached out and placed long, slender fingers on his arm.

“He felt no pain,” Vaughan finished.

“I wish to thank you for being with him at the end. For him to have died alone, with no one to witness... that truly would have been intolerable.”

Vaughan watched her stand and smile in farewell, and move off to the next group of mourners.

He left his seat and walked around the smouldering mound of ashes, to where Commander Sinton was standing on the edge of the deck, looking out to sea. The stench of the cremation stung his nostrils, brought tears to his eyes. He reached Sinton and stood beside him, watching the lazy rise and fall of the waves a couple of metres below.

The Commander nodded. “I read your report, Vaughan.”

He was a big man, tall and broad, with greying hair and a humourless ruddy face. As on their first meeting, at the ‘port before he and Chandra had left for Verkerk’s World, Sinton wore a mind-shield. He turned and watched the priest brush the embers from the deck. Ash rose in a grey cloud and drifted out to sea.

“I don’t like to lose men,” Sinton said, “and I especially don’t like to lose good men.” His gaze, which he turned on Vaughan for long seconds, held more than a hint of accusation.

Vaughan detected something false in the Commander’s statement. “Don’t give me that,” he said evenly. “Chandra was just another foot soldier. There’s thousands like him on the Station, willing to give everything for a good wage and a police apartment.”

“Are all telepaths as cynical as you, Mr. Vaughan?”

“Occupational hazard. We get to read a lot of crap.”

Sinton glanced at him. “As I’m shielded, I’d kindly ask you not to guess at my thoughts and sentiments on the matter.”

“Then put your shield aside and let me read the truth,” Vaughan snapped.

“And have you privy to sensitive and classified information, Mr. Vaughan? I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could spit.”

“Is that a prejudice against all telepaths, Sinton, or just me?”

“All telepaths,” Sinton said. “But the prejudice I have against you is more specific.”

Vaughan looked up, surprised by the turn of conversation. He rarely wished to be able to look into a mind, but he would have scanned Sinton with pleasure now.

The police chief fixed his gaze on the horizon, his eyes narrowing. “It was going on information supplied by you that Chandra made his decision to request the Verkerk’s World operation.”

“And I’m as cut up about what happened to Jimmy as the next man.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sinton smiled. “Or should I be more cynical and doubt the sincerity of your sentiment, just as you doubt mine? But I won’t indulge in character assassination, Mr. Vaughan. The problem I have is with the accuracy of your information.”

Vaughan felt his pulse quicken. “What do you mean?” He disliked the trick Sinton had of never looking him in the eye, of staring out to sea and addressing his barbed comments to no one in particular.

“I mean, Mr. Vaughan, that your reasons for going to Verkerk’s World were invalid.”

“You mean the girl, Elly Jenson? And whatever was in the container? You think I was lying?”

“Lying is perhaps too strong a phrase to use—but I certainly think you were... shall I say, misguided?”

“And what about what we found on Verkerk’s? You don’t think for a minute I was ‘misguided’ in everything I put in the report?”

Sinton shook his head. “I don’t know. I probably think that you genuinely believed what you saw and heard. But no one is infallible—”

“Just a minute, there’s evidence for every statement I made in the report. I gave names and sources for you to contact.”

“But that’s just my problem, Mr. Vaughan. You see, I have absolutely no evidence at all to suggest that what you state in your report has any basis in fact.”

Vaughan felt himself trembling. He knew the reality of what he had experienced on Verkerk’s World, and he wanted to hit out at this smug bastard for having the gall to doubt him.

“We had only your evidence that there was a girl, an Elly Jenson, abducted from Verkerk’s World and brought here—likewise the content of the crate. There were two murders of ex-spacers, both of whom happened to have explored Verkerk’s World, but that was nothing more than a coincidence—”

“And the illegal use of rhapsody?”

“Okay, so a little class-two drug was being smuggled in from a colony—we have more lethal stuff coming in from Thailand every day.”

Vaughan paced away from Sinton, along the edge of the ghat, stopped, and took half a dozen deep, mind-clearing breaths. He turned. “Let me ask you a question. I made a suggestion in the report, about how to deal with the Vaith you have on the Station. I trust you followed that suggestion?”

Sinton glanced at him. “Oh, yes—we followed it. I had a dozen officers, closely supervised, take a safe dosage of rhapsody and scour the Station, but of course we found nothing.”

Vaughan thought about that. “Okay, it’s possible that its period of feeding is over for another two years. If it’s dormant now, and not sending out the call, then even with the rhapsody you’ll pick up nothing. But that doesn’t mean we should stop looking. This thing’ll wake from dormancy in two years and the slaughter will start all over again.”

Sinton snorted in disgust. “What slaughter, Mr. Vaughan?” He almost laughed. “We have absolutely no evidence for any of the claims you make in your statement. Lieutenant Laerhaven sent me a full report of her investigations. Her people found none of this ‘evidence’ you claim Patrick Essex came up with—no vid-recordings, tapes, or written evidence—”

“Then Essex himself, he’ll provide first-hand—” Vaughan stopped when he saw Sinton shaking his head.

“He won’t,” Sinton said. “Essex died of complications from his injuries in police custody the day after you interviewed him. And in any case, in Laerhaven’s opinion Essex was a paranoid schizophrenic whose evidence could not be trusted. Laerhaven sent a team of experienced cavers into the mountain where you said these creatures had their lair, and they found nothing.”

“The Vaith have been moved,” Vaughan said. “Of course they won’t be found in the caves— they’re on Earth and three other planets.”

Sinton was shaking his head. He jabbed a stubby forefinger at Vaughan. “I want
proof,
Vaughan. I can’t act on uncorroborated evidence and hearsay.”

Vaughan stared out to sea, watching the progress of a hydrofoil bouncing across the choppy waters. He tried to look at the situation from Sinton’s point of view, work out if the commander had a case. Going on the information he had, Sinton was following a logical and rational course of deduction. Of course, Vaughan knew what he had experienced, and knew therefore that Sinton was wrong. There could be only one answer: that someone on Verkerk’s World was covering up the evidence, manipulating Lieutenant Laerhaven and the authorities to their own ends. But what chance did he have of persuading Sinton that this was so?

“I know what we experienced,” he said quietly. “Jimmy Chandra died because the Disciples didn’t want their plans known. Why else do you think they threw us into the pit?”

Sinton sighed. “Vaughan,” he said, something like pity in his tone, “my guess is that they were a drug syndicate, refining and distributing this rhapsody stuff. It’s big business, big money. Of course they didn’t want their plans known.” He poked at something with the toe of his shoe. Vaughan watched him kick what appeared to be a piece of vertebra from the ghat. It turned over and over as it fell and splashed into the sea.

“What are your plans now?” Sinton asked at last.

“I don’t know.” Vaughan shook his head. He hadn’t thought of anything beyond returning to Earth and joining in the operation to eradicate the Vaith.

“The Agency could always use a telepath,” Sinton said. “Good salary, police apartment...”

Vaughan looked at him. “I thought you didn’t trust my judgement? Now you want to employ me.”

“You’d come in useful at interrogations.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Sinton nodded. “Well, if you should change your mind...” He set off, towards a waiting flier, paused, and turned to Vaughan. “Can I offer you a lift anywhere?”

“I’ll make my own way, thanks.”

He watched Commander Sinton walk towards the flier and climb carefully inside. The vehicle rose, turned on its axis, and climbed on a long diagonal towards the upper-deck.

* * * *

Vaughan sat on the edge of the ghat and watched the sun set beyond distant India. As the indigo twilight crept over the Station, and mourners began to gather for the next funeral, he climbed to his feet and made his way to the elevator.