Death Sentence (36 page)

"I do not understand."

"We Metrannans often say farewell to our friends by saying 'May you live long and die quickly.' As I am sure you are aware by now, we have made only very limited progress in extending our life span." Taranarak grimaced in the Metrannan version of an ironic smile.

"Yes, I am aware of that," Hannah said, playing along.
Except for a certain longlife treatment we won't mention in public or near microphones.

"However, we have made great strides in delaying the onset of the
symptoms
of old age. Instead of spending the last few years of life in gradual decline, generally speaking, Metrannans enjoy vigorous good health--until the very end stages of life. At some point, the body stops responding to the various medications that prevent physical decline, and the subject experiences rapid, sometimes sudden, even abrupt, deterioration.

"We have learned to hold off the decline for years, but then it comes all at once. That is an oversimplification, but it is close enough. A Metrannan of advanced years will awaken one day, perfectly capable, active, and alert. By evening she might be muddleheaded, tired, and confused. That night, or the next, one organ will fail, releasing toxins that cause another to shut down, releasing another wave of toxins, and so on. Once it is set in motion, the cascade effect can proceed very quickly, normally in a day or two--sometimes much faster, half a day or so."

"From what you say, the whole process, from onset to death, takes something like three to five days. Was Hallaben exhibiting symptoms by the time Wilcox departed?" Hannah asked, trying for a tone of voice that would suggest that she offered the question for no other reason than force of habit and reflex, because investigators thought in terms of witnesses, sequences, evidence. Not because she was starting to see it, to understand.

Taranarak frowned. "No. But that in and of itself doesn't mean anything. The process doesn't take place on a rigid schedule. I was speaking in generalities. But there is at least a theory that onset can actually be triggered by the release of tension. One finishes a job, or a worry goes away, and one allows oneself to relax, to breathe easy again--and, so goes the theory, that in and of itself can trigger sudden-onset-aging syndrome if the subject is already susceptible."

"So, just to play it safe, a Metrannan should never finish all his or her work."

If Taranarak recognized that as a joke, she showed no sign of thinking it funny. "Perhaps not," she said, a touch of frost in her voice.

Hannah frowned and turned her attention to her yogurt-substitute, spooning the tasteless stuff into her mouth. Was she reaching, trying too hard, bashing together puzzle pieces that didn't really fit each other? It all
sounded
perfectly routine and ordinary--but on the other hand, Taranarak had just described a Metrannan who died of something he was too young to die of, died of it faster than usual without any of the normal early symptoms, died of it just after the discovery he had made had been successfully suppressed by sending it off-planet, and died of it alone.

Add to all that the fact that Hallaben was the most important scientist on the planet, that the Order Bureaucracy was run by a pack of borderline paranoids, and that, nonetheless, his death was apparently met with no interest all, and the alarm buzzers in Hannah's head were sounding twice as loud. There was an old rule of thumb in internal investigations: If there's a serious crime that a corrupt police official hasn't looked into, assume he is a suspect.

"Agent Wolfson, it is time to shift to our next tables."

"Huh? What? Oh!" Hannah looked up to see everyone else getting up from the table.

"I had to call to you twice," Taranarak said with a smile. "You seemed to be enjoying your food quite intently."

"Oh, yes. Absolutely," said Hannah, scanning the room to see what table Jamie was headed to this time. As far as she understood at least, this was to be the final course. All they had to do was get through it, and they would be all right. But then she saw that whoever it was pushing the pieces around the game board was not quite done with them yet.

Jamie was being seated next to Bulwark of Constancy.

From any distance away, Jamie reflected as he sat down, a being encased in a carapace that resembled a metallic lobster on ostrich legs merely looked ridiculous. From a distance of roughly eighty centimeters, the same being was absolutely terrifying. Jamie found himself understanding exactly what a jack-lighted deer felt like.

But Bulwark of Constancy declined the opportunity to lunge at Jamie, pin him to the table, and tear out his vital organs. Instead it stalked to the table, folded its legs, and remained utterly stationary. The four Metrannans at the table were obviously just as nervous as Jamie was. Having seen the behavior of the other Metrannans and Xenoatrics during the meal, it didn't take much to deduce it was Bulwark of Constancy that worried them and not Unseen Beings in general. That knowledge did nothing to comfort Jamie.

Jamie decided that the best reaction was no reaction at all. He reached for his inevitable bowl of pap and began to eat it as slowly and carefully as possible, trying to make it last as long as he could, doing his best to look straight ahead and at nothing else at all.

"We are known to each other," said a loud booming voice in his ear. Jamie jumped half out of his chair and nearly threw his bowl of flavor-free paste across the room. "We may dispense with rituals of introduction."

Jamie turned and saw that Bulwark of Constancy had shifted its body around and bent its head--if it was a head--down to be exactly level with Jamie's face, no more than ten centimeters away. "Good," said Jamie. "Yes. Right. I agree."

Bulwark of Constancy studied Jamie's face for an uncomfortably long time and spoke again. "You should be killed," Bulwark of Constancy announced, then pulled its head back and up to the vertical position and resumed its previous motionless state.

"Right," Jamie muttered in English. He realized he was gripping his bowl and his spoon almost hard enough to snap them to pieces. He relaxed his hands and tried to calm himself. "Got it," he went on, half-babbling. "Thanks for the information. And just by the way, if you're wondering why you don't get invited to more parties, I think I have a theory."

But right at that moment, it would have suited Jamie right down to the ground if
he
was never invited to another dinner party, ever again.

At long last it was over. Hannah collected her jacket and rushed to find Jamie. It wasn't hard to do, as he was searching for her. "We have to talk," she said. "Now, and fast. I found out more than I wanted to know."

"I sure hope you didn't find out more than I did, or else we're in real trouble," said Jamie, his face pale and his expression grim. "Scratch that. We're in real trouble no matter what. Let's get outside, where there's at least a chance no one will be listening."

"No argument from me," said Hannah. She grabbed him by the forearm and half dragged him outside to the area around the aircar landing pad. The night was dark, and though the landing pad itself was well lit, there was only spotty illumination around its edges. The other dinner attendees were there as well, of course, chatting among themselves and waiting for their transportation. There wasn't enough light for signing or shorthand, but that didn't matter. Between the darkness, the outdoor setting, and the ambient noise of other conversation and the aircars coming and going, they ought to be private enough. And if not, then so be it. They had to talk no matter what the risk. Keeping their voices low and using English would have to be sufficient security.

But it was obvious they both had news. Who should go first? Hannah decided that as the senior agent present, she had more of a need to know everything soonest. "All right," she said. "You get the first slot. What have you got?"

"Fallogon knows everything," said Jamie. "Or more accurately, he's
deduced
just about everything. Practically everything about our mission, down to the
Adler
taking damage when the
Sholto
did. He knows we're after either the message or the decrypt key. He was hoping
we
had the key, because they have another copy of the message. I did my damnedest to keep from confirming it all, but he barely bothered to ask me if he had figured it all out correctly. There's more, but that's a start. Oh, plus here's a real shocker. Whenever Bulwark of Constancy takes time out from being catatonic, he or she or it or whatever is certifiably, homicidally, insane--and not much of a conversationalist. What have you got?"

But Hannah didn't get the chance to answer. "You both here. Good. Both you come," said a deep-throated voice behind her, speaking in thickly accented Lesser Trade Speech. "Fallogon want you both."

Hannah resisted the temptation to curse in every language she knew. "What I've got is plenty--maybe," she said. "It might be nothing at all. But obviously it's going to have to wait." She turned to face the guard who had found them. "'Lay on, Macduff,'" she said to the guard, "'and damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!" '" It seemed unlikely that the guard's English was any better than his Lesser Trade Speech, but it did no harm to quote the classics.

Five minutes later Hannah was standing alongside Jamie, Fallogon, and Taranarak, watching the aircar that was supposed to get them back home lifting off into the sky. At least it would serve to take their guards back to base. Fallogon had announced to the guards that he would be flying the humans home, and, needless to say, no one argued with him.

Once they were aboard Fallogon's aircar, even Hannah and Jamie were willing to accept the arrangement. Two of the saddle-seats had been pulled out, and a basic but comfortable rear-facing bench seat wide enough for two humans had been installed instead. They both sat down on it gratefully.

Their host gestured with his left strongwork arm and the car took off. Hannah craned her neck around to peek into the forward driver's compartment. The guard/pilot was sitting there, watching the aircar's automatic systems do the flying for him.

"The flight is short," said Fallogon, "and there is much to discuss. For what it is worth, I can assure you that there are no listening devices or recording systems in this vehicle. Our talk will remain among the four of us."

"Forgive me, sir," said Jamie, "but that assurance is not worth a great deal precisely because
you
are one of the four--and also one of the Three, if you can forgive a very small joke."

"I can forgive it," Fallogon replied evenly. "But we all seek the same thing."

"An explanation for the loss of the
Adler
and the death of Special Agent Trevor Wilcox III?" Hannah asked sharply.

Fallogon made a small gesture of dismissal with his closework hands. "We need not concern ourselves with cover stories," he said.

"If there has ever been a law enforcement service in this galaxy that did not concern itself with the murder of its own officers or agents by a foreign power, then that service cannot have survived for long," said Hannah. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie looking at her in shock and surprise, but she paid him no mind. She had to stay focused on Fallogon.