Different Senses (27 page)

“
Tosser,”
I mouthed at my twin. “I
don’t want to do this.”

“I’d never have worked that
out. Good thing you’re an empath and can tell us stuff like
that.”

“Be nice, brother. You could
come along. It’s not like you’re busy.”

“Nope, sorry. I did the family
duty last week. If you’d come along then, you could have made an
excuse tonight.”

“No. Whatever it is, isn’t
about seeing their beloved son. That’s why I don’t want to go. Do
you think this scarf—?”

“Javen, go, will you? The
sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back. I’ll have some wine
cold for you.”

“Hold you to that. Okay. See
you later, if I’m not arrested.”

Visiting my parents involved
identity checks at three different points, and I was never in the
good mood by the time the system allowed me to walk into the
governor’s residence. The day my father resigned, retired or was
voted out, would be the happiest one of my life. I couldn’t
remember a time when he hadn’t been politically ambitious, even
while making a fortune with his drug company, but when he finally
became governor, we discovered that a man really could be too
successful for his own good. And his family’s. For ten years ours
had been divided into the attention-seeking press whores, and those
of us who hid from the media and any political activity. I hated
it, and made no secret of it. Just another thing driving a wedge
between my parents and me.

My mother swished into the
lobby in elegant cerise and gold, long elaborate earrings flashing
cheerfully. The colours and jewellery were too young for her, but
she carried them off with flair, as she did everything.
Acknowledged as one of my father’s main political assets, she
attracted easily as much press coverage for her fashion sense and
social activities as he did for his political activities.

“Javen, dear, you look very
smart this evening. Time for a haircut, though, don’t you
think?”

“Hello, Mum.” I kissed her
cheek. “How are you?”

“Oh, muddling along. We never
see you any more.”

And whose
fault is that?
I didn’t say it though.
There were rules to the game and one of them was not pointing out
my parents’ delusions about the family or any convenient lapse of
memory. When that rule was forgotten, things got nasty, and I’d had
enough of that.

“We’re in the family dining
room. Much cosier, don’t you think?”

I made agreeable noises and let
her lead me through the place that had been their home for so long.
I missed the one we’d grown up in. Rented now, of course. I’d have
bought it if I could have afforded it.

My father stood to greet me,
and held out his hand. “Javen, thank you for coming. Glass of wine?
Something stronger?”

“Wine’s fine, Dad. Or
chai.”

“Chai before dinner is so
very...ethnic, dear,” Mum chided. She signalled to the hovering
servant, and the guy brought a tray over with three glasses of
Kirdan wine. We settled into the luxurious armchairs with our
drinks. I wished I’d gone for the offer of something stronger.

“So, Dad. What’s the
problem?”

He nodded to the servant who
left, shutting the door. “It’s a matter of some delicacy, son.”

“Figured that. Who’s in
trouble? You?”

“Me.”

I turned to my mother, eyebrows
raised. “You? How could you be in any trouble?”

“If you’d let me explain,
Javen, you’d find out.” My father set his drink down, radiating
irritation. “Lochana made a business transaction with an individual
on Kelon. A sale, to be specific. The sale price was transferred as
agreed, and the item sent by secure transit, also as agreed. But
when the sealed packet arrived and was opened, the box inside was
empty.”

“So call the police and report
it to your insurance.”

“It wasn’t insured.” I raised
an eyebrow at that. “It wasn’t something we wanted listed on our
insurance.”

“Mum, please don’t tell me
you’re selling stolen goods.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It was a
bracelet, purchased quite legally.”

“Then call the police.
Obviously someone in the TransPlanet office stole it, or your
purchaser is lying.”

“We can’t call the police.”

I sat back in the chair. “Look,
could you stop beating around the bush? Why can’t you call the
police? Pretend I’m University educated and can follow big
words.”

My father gave me a look
at that remark. “You don’t need to be so disrespectful, Javen.
I
am
the governor.”

And could we
ever forget that?
“Dad,
please.”

“
The bracelet is
of
banis
manufacture. With all the attention lately about them
claiming to be exploited, it’s a sensitive subject.”

“And the governor’s wife
flogging off indigenous artefacts won’t help your position,
right?”

They both scowled, but that was
it in a nutshell. “So return the money and write it off to
experience, Mum.”

“I already returned the funds
but the purchaser is threatening to sue because the bracelet was
part of a trade deal, and its loss means the deal will fall
through. He’s demanding thirty thousand dolar in compensation.”

“Can he really claim that?”

“Yes, according to our lawyer.
We could settle but we’d have to declare the payment in Rajan’s end
of year financial reports, and questions would be asked.”

“Have you dealt with this man
before? Is he honest?”

“A couple of times, and yes, I
believe so.” She sounded uncertain, and her emotions were more so.
“He contacted me because he met someone I’d sold some jewellery to
last year.”

“I checked him out,” Dad said.
“He has no criminal record, and is a respectable businessman.”

Yeah,
right.
“Well, that’s a mess. What do you
expect me to do?”

Mum waved her hands in
agitation. “Find the bracelet! Or at least find who took it, and
maybe they can be persuaded to reveal where they disposed of it.
The purchaser thinks I kept the bracelet to sell again. Horrid
man.” She shuddered delicately.

“And the bracelet came from a
perfectly nice person, I bet.” She looked away. “I’ll do what I
can, but no promises, and no approval either. You shouldn’t be
selling this stuff, Mum. How long have you been doing it?”

“
About a year, and don’t
lecture me, Javen. Just because you’re all excited about the
connection with
that
side of the family, doesn’t make you an expert
on
banis
culture, or their rights.”

“I know they’re sick and tired
of their art and culture being sent off planet, and you know it too
or you wouldn’t be trying to hide it.”

“It’s a matter of politics,
Javen. Your mother’s done nothing illegal.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not immoral.
Oh, calm down,” I said irritably as Mum pulled herself up to yell
at me. “I said I’d help. At least it’s not one of you trying to
conceal a lover or something.”

“Javen!”

“You know what I do for a
living, Dad. You’d be amazed who’s sleeping around. Can we skip
dinner? I’m not hungry. I just want to get all the details on the
bracelet, and track its movements before it left Uterden.”

An hour later I escaped
from the residence and took deep breaths of clean night air. I felt
vaguely sick, the way I used to after finding dead bodies. To think
I’d protested all this time to Shardul that no one in my family had
been directly involved in oppressing his people, and my damn
mother
was
selling precious indigenous artefacts, one of the most visible and
indefensible marks of colonial privilege and abuse, and something
which made the steam come out the ears of even gentle
Roshni-ji.

The simple thing would be to
let them wallow in their own mess. If Dad lost office as a result,
that would be the best thing to happen to our family, and the
scandal would make other traffickers thinks twice about engaging in
the trade.

But...damn it. Family. And a
thief ripping them off, and maybe other people too. Mum might be
morally suspect for selling the artefacts, but if I walked away
without at least trying, that would make me scum. Protect and
serve. That was my code, even for my own incredibly confusing and
annoying relatives.

~~~~~~~~

The local TransPlanet
management took a bit of sweet-talking before they accepted that I
didn’t necessarily think any of its employees were behind the
theft. Once they explained the security system to me, I couldn’t
see how they could be. For small items such as Mum had sent, the
procedure looked as airtight as anyone could design. The object was
placed in a thick plastic bag and sealed in such a way that it
could only be opened by destroying the bag—so no chance,
apparently, of opening it and extracting the item. More than that,
the seal was covered by a flimsy tape signed in three places by the
customer. The tape would withstand no stress at all, disintegrating
as soon as any pressure or strain was put on it. Another tamper
detector.

The customer themselves placed
the bag in a box with an electronic lock, sealed and labelled in
the same way as the inner packet. The customer was handed a data
card, and once this was inserted, software in the box lock
generated a unique pass code, which could only be read by the
customer once they put it in their home comm or reader. The
customer sent this code to the recipient, and only with that code
could the box be opened. The code went nowhere near the company’s
main servers, was not recorded anywhere but on the card, and could
not be retrieved in any way if the card was lost. It was a system
used widely on Kelon and elsewhere, and I knew it to be foolproof.
So which fool had managed to crack it?

With more sweet-talking, the
company manager gave me a box, several unused packets and labels
for testing. That in itself told me they were confident of their
procedures. But someone had managed to circumvent them, and I had
to find out how. Which meant Kirin and his lab full of extremely
clever people.

After two years and dozens of
friendly, non-stressful interactions, the agony of seeing Kirin had
faded to a mild regret, like a bruise that had nearly but not quite
healed. From time to time, I sensed sorrow from him over what had
happened, but nothing crippling. We’d moved on from each other and
the anger, and were now friends. Friends who would probably fuck
given the right circumstances and enough booze, but that was it. I
carefully avoided those circumstances and the booze, because I
might be nearly healed, but the memory of pain lingered.

He grinned as he came to
reception to meet me, and kissed my cheek. “Javen, I wasn’t
expecting you today.”

“Rush job, and um, a pretty
sensitive one. Any chance we could talk in your office?”

“Of course.”

He asked me to sit and closed
the door. “Haven’t seen you look this cranky in a while.”

“I haven’t been this cranky for
years. Look, what I’m about to tell you, I haven’t even told Yashi,
so keep it to yourself, please. It’s about Mum.”

He listened, eyebrows raised,
as I explained the problem. When I finished, he steepled his hands.
“Your mother’s the very last person I’d expect to be involved in
artefact trading. I’m disappointed.”

“Me too. More than. Anyway,
what I need is for you to see if there’s any way the strongbox or
internal packet can be breached and resealed without it being
obvious. Can you do that?”

“Of course. But why are you so
sure the purchaser isn’t lying?”

“I’m not sure, but the guy
provided video of him opening the box and packet in front of
witnesses. It’s suspicious that he had witnesses and camera on
hand, but the video is conclusive. Not tampered with, so far as
Dad’s experts have been able to determine. So at this point I’m
looking at the period of time between Mum sealing the packet and
leaving it in her desk and the following morning when she
personally delivered it to the TransPlanet office. If the company
didn’t steal it, the bracelet had to have been taken before she put
the packet in the strong box.”

“It’s like a magician’s trick,
isn’t it?”

I gave him a thin smile. “Yeah,
I guess it is. So I need you to tell me how the trick was done.
Take your time. We’ve lost over a week already. The bracelet’s long
gone, I suspect.”

“You could be right. By the
way, did you ask your committee about the school trainees?”

“The trustees are enthusiastic.
So prepare a programme, and I’ll deliver the bodies.”

“I look forward to it, and so’s
Jyoti. It was her idea, you know.”

I did, in fact, but I didn’t
tell him that. “It’s a good idea whoever came up with it. Thanks,
Kirin.”

“Want to have lunch soon?”

My breath caught. I made myself
exhale and smile. “Sure. When?”

“End of this week?”

I took out my organiser and
entered it. “Done. Twelve okay with you?”

“Sure is. Swing by here and
I’ll let you know where I’ve booked.”

I waved goodbye and kept
smiling, even though my heart had just flip-flopped inside my
chest. Another milestone on the path to recovery, an inevitable
one, perhaps, but yet I hadn’t expected it. Kirin had been
completely calm as he issued the invitation. In the next five days,
I had to find a way to see this as just a lunch between friends,
and not a date. That was behind both of us. Really, it was.

My fingers worked on autopilot,
calling Shardul’s number before I had even worked out why. “Javen.
Is this where you drop me in your father’s mess?”

I laughed. “Maybe. Free for
lunch?”