The Alien Trace [Cord 01] (19 page)

    Cord dropped his battered mental barriers and reached out to sense the other. It was a grim chore: he felt the last reverberations of the man's horror and reluctance to die, but he did gain knowledge. The other was dead. Picking himself up, Cord gathered up his bag and retrieved and wiped his knife. He fitted it back into its sheath and composed his mind as he left the building. He did not wish to alarm Finola, but it was too much to hope that she might have missed the Catcher's death anguish.

    

    

    "Did you get everything you needed?" Finola greeted him. She kept her voice light, but Cord could hear the tension in it.

    "Yes."

    "You were fast."

    Since she seemed to wish to ignore the occurrence, Cord did not allude to it. To aid someone in hiding from the Council, to ignore a painful experience rather than embarrass him-well, he saluted Finola's courage. He wished Bird were more like her.

    "There's a road that cuts across the marshes north of the spaceport," Cord said. "If you leave me there, it won't be too long a walk to the boundary."

    "Why not simply walk in the front door-if you expect them to welcome you?"

    "The problem is getting there," he pointed out. "I'm not worried about getting in. The problem is getting past the Council blockade."

    "You haven't heard?" Amazed, Finola turned her head to look at him, and almost drove into the side of a building. "The Council blockade was removed shortly after you and Bird escaped. The aliens made it clear that they would not tolerate the cessation of trade. So it's back to business as usual."

    "Which means a pair of guards during the day and none at night?" Cord hazarded.

    "You've inherited your father's brains as well as his cock," said Finola approvingly.

    

    

    When they turned onto the highway leading to the spaceport, Finola cut the ground car's lights at Cord's suggestion. The road itself was slightly luminous. That and the starlight were enough for keen eyes.

    They approached the Council's gate. Finola slowed to a stop. "You won't have any difficulty getting through." It was not quite a question.

    Cord laughed. An unattended barrier would present no obstacle to him. His equipment contained half a dozen tools for opening doors.

    "We're very trusting, aren't we?" she said. "Even someone like me could climb over if there were no way to manipulate the lock."

    "Yes, but most Mehirans wouldn't. No one has, since the port was built. No one thinks of doing such a thing."

    "Except you, Cord-and me."

    "You're used to my family's way of doing things." He smiled. "But you'd never actually enter the spaceport without permission. It's different for me, because I don't fit into 'our orderly society' anymore. You're a good friend, 'Nola. My parents prized your friendship. I do, too." He pressed her hand. "I'll… I'll make a braiding in your memory."

    He unloaded his box and pack and left them by the gate.

    "Good fortune to you, Finola."

    "To you also." She saluted him and drove away.

    Once she was out of sight, he turned his attention to the gate's locking mechanism. A suction light attached to the gate supplied him with illumination. The lock was a basic mechanical closure. For anyone without tools-or the will to open it-it would be effective enough. The symbol of the Council's ban alone would keep most Mehirans from trespassing.

    Visualizing the inner workings, Cord chose a needle-thin probe. He slipped it in and manipulated it deftly until he felt the locking bar spring up. He pulled the gate open, moved his gear inside, and pulled it shut. A little more work with the probe relocked it. Really, it was too easy.

    He activated the floater on his equipment case, slung the bag over his shoulder and strode toward the spaceport. It occurred to him that he was leaving Mehira behind him for good.

    

    

    When he approached the portal, Cord was certain he was being observed, but he walked up to it without hesitation. No one was present in the guard's kiosk, but he recalled a signaling device beside the door. Presumably it was for times like this. His hand stretched out to it, but never made contact. The door panels parted-activated by those within, no doubt- and opened very slowly. Perhaps the operator was dubious about letting him in. Which, Cord told himself honestly, was hardly surprising, his last visit considered. He stepped inside and was not startled to see half a dozen armed men in the lobby.

    They crouched behind barriers; an assortment of weapons were no doubt aimed at his heart.

    Cord strode forward and stopped in front of the nearest human.

    "I've come to see Hamilton K. About trading matters," he added.

    "And Hamilton K wants to see you," the human replied, standing up. "Come this way, please."

    

    

    K's first words were: "For sheer effrontery, I don't think I've met your equal."

    Cord waited politely.

    "Well, what brings you here again?" K asked, when Cord volunteered no information.

    "As I told your staff when I arrived, trading matters. I want to make a bargain with you."

    "What do you have to offer-and in exchange for what?"

    No lowering of shields was necessary to detect the Trade Agent's interest.

    "You wanted my mother's inventions. Do you still want them?"

    "We might be interested," Hamilton K replied.

    "I thought you would be."

    "What do you want in return?"

    "The person who murdered my parents is in your spaceport. I want his life." Cord expected amazement or at least a token protest.

    Hamilton K said only, "Is that all?"

    "I may wish to leave Mehira when I am finished."

    "That could be arranged."

    "Naturally," Cord added, "I will also require money or a suitable equivalent."

    "Naturally," said Hamilton K with a wisp of a smile.

    "And now I would like to ask you a few questions, since I am here. It will save time to begin my investigation with you."

    K laughed. "I seem to have acceded to all your demands so far. Why not?"

    "Do you still believe the Speaker's daughter was guilty?" Cord asked. It would not do Bird any good, perhaps, but the record ought to be set straight.

    "No. She had the motive, but it now seems unlikely she could have had the opportunity."

    "What changed your mind?" Cord asked.

    Hamilton K frowned. "When the bomb's fragments were analyzed, it became clear that it was from our own supply. Explosives are often useful on uninhabited worlds; every trade group carries some."

    Useful, too, as a weapon on inhabited worlds, if peaceful trading proved impossible.

    "It seems unlikely," K continued, "that the girl had access to the storeroom, even if she had known where it was and that the explosive was there. According to the door guard's sign-in sheet, she arrived almost immediately before the demonstration was to begin. Assuming she could get to the table unnoticed by the security team, she might have had time to plant a device, but not to steal it."

    "So you now believe someone here was responsible?" Cord inquired.

    "I must assume so," K admitted. "Unfortunately, I am not a criminal investigator and neither is anyone on my staff. Frankly, I would have reservations about dealing with you, but you are a professional, and I want your aid. Even more than the devices you can sell me. If there's an unstable personality in this port, he must be found."

    "I'll find him," Cord said. "Now, I will need living quarters. The use of a private laboratory would be convenient, too."

    "Do you know how many of my people you killed when you left here?" Hamilton inquired.

    Cord knew well enough but replied casually, "Three or four."

    "And it did occur to you that it might be dangerous for you to come back?"

    Cord forced himself to smile.

    "You are a pragmatist, Trade Agent K. You want my help and my family's inventions. To secure those things you must deal with me. I think, for the sake of profitable trading, you will overlook our past misunderstandings."

    "As it happens," K said, grinning, "you're right."

    

    

    His room assignment was in the same section as Julia McKay's, which gladdened him. It would be good to have a friend nearby,' but he didn't want to see Julia right now. He was exhausted, and there were still a few hours left for sleep. That he did not seek her out immediately was something she would understand. Besides, news of his arrival would no doubt spread among the humans, since no Mehiran-especially a rogue one-had stayed at the spaceport before.

    The room was sparse: a built-in closet, a square piece of furniture with drawers, a place to sleep, and a hard chair- which Cord could not sit in. Tiredly he stowed away the equipment and then set alarms to ensure the room's security. Then he wrapped himself in a blanket and tried to get some rest.

    

    

    The following morning Cord set up his workroom and requisitioned supplies. To Hamilton K's inquiry he explained that he would need to build prototypes of the devices, as many of the plans would not be intelligible to the spaceport technicians.

    "Fine." K shrugged. "It will save my staff work. What do you intend to work on first?"

    "My parents died before demonstrating their greatest achievement. As a memorial to them, I will recreate the device." Cord had not intended to offer this bait so soon, but why not? The opportunity was present.

    "If I may ask, what was their invention? I had assumed it was some sort of crowd-control mechanism-a confusion generator, perhaps, judging by the reaction of the Mehirans present. But you said just now, 'before demonstrating,' which suggests it may have been something else."

    K was smart, Cord gave him full credit. In the future he would remember he was dealing with a first-order intelligence.

    "The crowd reaction was an undesired by-product," Cord replied. "The full demonstration had not yet begun. There should be no such problem next time. I believe I know what caused it and how to correct it. The full use of the device was as a mind reader;" Cord opened his mental barriers to feel K's reaction. A ripple of disquiet transmuted into strong curiosity. Cord shut himself up again, having learned nothing conclusive.

    "Was it? No wonder Greffard felt he'd carried out a coup. No wonder he was so excited and secretive about it. Or that someone thought it worthwhile to suppress it."

    Cord objected, "But if you knew what it was…"

    "I did not say that. Stev Greffard was a man who enjoyed creating mystery for its own sake. If he knew a secret, he dropped hints about it, to tantalize. I did not know the nature of the demonstration, but someone else might have. Someone with something to hide."

    "On your own staff?" Cord asked pointedly.

    K shrugged. "It's not possible. My people have all been screened, but the system's not infallible. Almost anyone here might murder under certain circumstances, and I wouldn't swear that none of them are engaged in illicit activity in one form or an other."

    

    

    Reconstructing the blueprint was not going to be easy. Cord had seen the components and his mother's notes, but he did not know how to put them together. Not consciously.

    In his workroom, Cord sat at a table and forced his muscles to relax. The room and its contents created a harmonious whole, down to the arrangement of noteboard and stylus in front of him. His mind went through the necessary exercises easily, blocking out the external world and turning inward. The alien chamber seemed to fade around him, to be replaced by the small, shabby place where Neteel, Fyrrell, and he had worked.

    … His mother bent over the drawing table, laughing. Fyrrell said something… what?

    "If this works, 'Teel, maybe we can concentrate on the hardware aspect."

    Because building security devices was more respectable than manhunting. It did not matter now, Cord thought.

    "It will work," he heard his mother's voice say. Cord stared at the sheet under Neteel's hand. He did nor realize that he had begun to draw, copying the sketch.

    The vision out of his past dimmed. Cord examined the drawing and clicked his tongue in exasperation. The plan was good-as far as it went. But one section was incomplete.

    Well, his own lack of skill at recall was to blame. His mother had been able to slip into a trance in moments, to recapture almost any event. He himself had seldom made use of the skill. Now, when he needed it, he was handicapped.

    He rose and paced around the room to stretch his muscles. A second or third attempt should fill in the gaps. The chief thing was not to force recollection and not to worry about it. Let the memory lie for a day.

    In the meantime, he had other projects to work on.

    When he left his workroom in early evening, Cord had finished assembling one of his mother's least successful gadgets-among Mehirans, anyway. But among humans, Cord supposed, it might be useful. His family had used it once or twice in subduing extremely violent criminals. In Multi-Lang it might be called a calmator, since it acted upon the target brain to induce calm, lassitude, or sleep, depending upon the tuning. Tomorrow he would see if he could get a few laboratory animals on which to test it.