The Cause of Death (12 page)

There were a whole series of crash programs under way on Kendal as Kendari scientists struggled to teach themselves what they needed to know, but it would be better, far better, if it didn't come to that. The IS was doing all it could to find an Elder Race genetics and terraforming concern willing and able to do the job for a sensible price--but it hadn't happened yet, and it would be most awkward for the planet in general and Brox in particular if they failed.

However, it was not yet time to face those worries. And there were a number of surefire ways of distracting the High Thelek from all such awkward issues. "Our technical people back on Kendal are working that side of the problem, sir. Their advice--and mine--is that our time would best be spent getting ready to move in fast and take over the human-Stannlar operation as soon as Georg Hertzmann is, ah, removed from the equation, shall we say."
And let's ignore the fact that the operation would be utterly useless without the Stannlar themselves, since they are planning to serve as their own bioreactors and breed their repair organisms in their own bodies
.

Brox could see instantly from Saffeer's expression that he had gotten the Thelek's attention with that happy thought. And, more to the point, Brox had distracted him from the awkward question of finding their own genetics team.

"Yes," said the High Thelek. "Getting Hertzmann out of the way. Can't happen soon enough for my tastes."

"Nor mine," said Brox. He hesitated a moment, not wishing to admit ignorance to the High Thelek. But that was foolish. He was, after all, an alien, and if there was one area in which the High Thelek might actually have expert knowledge, rather than merely claiming such, it was regarding the laws of dynastic inheritance and ascendancy. After all, Saffeer had spent most of his adult life studying them with an eye toward how they might be used to his own advantage.

"Sir," he began, "forgive me if I walk us back down a length of road we have traveled already, but can it truly be the case that there is no way for Georg Hertzmann to resolve his problem? Does he truly have no direction of escape?"

"Only the way he has sworn not to take," said the Thelek. "And at this point, he has sworn not to take it so loudly and so often that I doubt the people or the nobles would stand for it if he reversed himself." The High Thelek smiled, but it was a cold and unpleasant expression. "
I
certainly would not stand for it," he said. "No. Herztmann's choices now are down to which way he dooms himself--and, as best I can see, he has already made that choice."

"There is no imaginable unforeseen circumstance that might save him?"

The High Thelek shrugged. "I suppose it's possible that if exactly the right forty-three impossible things happened just the right way--if
I
died, and
all
the other heirs presumptive and potential and so on died,
and
the Thelm outlived us all, that might change things. Outside of that sort of absurd situation, Hertzmann has no hope at all."

"I thank you for that reassurance," said Brox. "However, this brings me to the urgent news I received by QuickBeam last night. The Kendari Inquiries Service has intercepted some interesting messages. It seems the Thelm's office sent a message that was received by a human police agency called the Bureau of Special Investigations, or BSI. You'd call them lawkeepers. The message as received was badly translated and hopelessly garbled, and possibly misdirected. The lawkeepers saw that Hertzmann was a member of Pax Humana and asked the Paxers for information. Pax Humana headquarters included the text of the BSI query, and the message as received by the lawkeepers, on the daily update they send to all their various offices, noting that Pax Humana headquarters had decided 'not to reply to the BSI query, and to maintain policy, as per on-scene advice, of taking no action at this time regarding the Hertzmann case.' "

"Why not? I thought that crowd of busybodies lived to interfere whenever possible."

"The message noted a previous signal from Marta Hertzmann to Pax Humana, summing up the situation but warning that any action on the part of the Paxers would only make things worse. I suspect that is why."

"How do you come to know all this?"

"The Kendari Inquiries Service cracked Pax Humana's encryption years ago. We read their daily headquarters reports before some Paxer offices get them."

"Could it all be faked? Some sort of deception plan?"

"Highly unlikely."

"But I have no doubt both you and your friends back home are working to confirm it."

Brox did not reply directly. He had no desire to discuss his sources of information with High Thelek Saffeer. "It shouldn't be hard to check," he said. "The text we intercepted clearly states that two lawkeepers have been dispatched here and are on their way. If they arrive, we know the message was legitimate."

"Human lawkeepers?" the High Thelek echoed in surprise. "What in the stars would they want to come here for?"

"It would appear they were summoned here by the Thelm, apparently in connection with the Hertzmann affair. But if, as you say, there is no hope for him, I don't see what they are likely to try to do."

Thelek Saffeer frowned and folded his ears flat back against his skull. "Nor do I," he said. "Nor do I." He looked at Brox. "I have next to no experience with humans. We haven't had much reason to concern ourselves with them."

"There is no reason why you should," Brox said.
And no reason I'd want you to have any unneeded dealing with our competitors
.

"True enough," said the High Thelek, "but they have a reputation as troublemakers--and Hertzmann has certainly lived up to that reputation. I doubt they are here to do us any good."

"You have just said there is no possible way out for Hertzmann," Brox said.
In any event, I've distracted you from the problem with finding someone to decrypt the gene blocks
.

"That is far from the same as saying there are no possible problems for me--for us," Saffeer said. "Perhaps, for example, the human agents are here to
arrange
some absurd set of circumstances for the benefit of our dear Georg Hertzmann. A sudden rash of more accidents, a few assassinations, and a few nobles who suddenly decide to vacate titles by departing the planet--as a result of threats, or bribes, perhaps."

"I think that is all highly unlikely," Brox said, cursing himself. He had failed to take the Thelek's streak of paranoia into account. "That is a great deal more than two human agents working alone on a strange planet could accomplish."
Or two agents, or twenty agents, of any species.
But that was beside the point.

"Perhaps," said the Thelek. "But is there even the slightest chance they are coming here for my benefit, to do me good?"

It was hard to miss that the Thelek didn't even bother to correct "me" to "us" the second time out. "Granted," said Brox. "But it is likely their reasons for coming have nothing whatever to do with us." He placed the slightest possible emphasis on the last word, but Saffeer didn't seem to notice.

"Then perhaps they will not be looking toward my people as a possible source of danger. That could be helpful."

Brox felt his hands go cold and his mouth go dry. "Helpful in what way, sir?"

The High Thelek ignored the question. "How soon are they expected?" he asked.

"It's difficult to be precise, of course, interstellar travel being what it is," said Brox. "In two or three days, I would expect. Certainly not sooner."

"Very well," said the High Thelek. He turned and looked out the great window-wall, down at Thelm's Keep, far below. "Time enough, then, to contact my friends and followers elsewhere on the planet and alert them to be careful. It would be most unfortunate if, through some misunderstanding, the human ship was prevented from landing. An overzealous subordinate might well fire on their ship, for example, thinking that was what I wanted. There might be all sorts of unexpected results."

And Brox knew there was nothing he could do. He had, quite accidentally, put an idea into High Thelek Saffeer's head--generally a quite difficult thing to do. But once an idea was lodged in there, it was all but impossible to get it back out.

The humans might cause trouble. Therefore, the humans were going to meet with an accident.

An accident as phony as the one that had killed the Thelm's sons was real, but, no doubt, just as fatal.

EIGHT
JUMP

Jamie continued his research, studying the culture, the history, the politics of Reqwar--and the language. The high-tech, high-speed language-learning systems that the BSI had were effective, but exhausting.

By their third day out, it was plain to Hannah that, left to his own devices, Jamie would do nothing but study the files, research the background of the case, and slog through the data morning, night, and noon, with as little time off as possible for eating, sleeping, and personal hygiene, until they arrived.

That was basically what he
ought
to be doing--it was basically what
she
was doing as well--but experience had taught her the value of pacing herself, of taking a break, and of getting some sort of rest.

It would do no good for him to arrive at the crime scene short on sleep and brain-fried. She needed an excuse to get Jamie to ease up for a little while--and she had one, ready-made.

She went to Jamie's cabin, knocked on the door, then slid it partway open and stuck her head in. "Time to knock off for a while, Jamie," she said. "Transit-jump in about ninety minutes. Drag yourself through the shower, get yourself into fresh clothes and meet me in the galley in fifteen minutes. We'll down a quick meal and catch the show."

"What show?" Jamie growled. He was seated, almost crouched, at the worktable in his cabin, three monitors running at once. Two backlit data tablets sat in front of him, each screen crammed with meticulous notes and diagrams plus a standard BSI issue paper notebook, also filled with notes. It was plain he didn't
want
to be dragged away. "I got up in the middle of the night for my first transit-jump, from the Solar System to Center System. I went to the party. Then I blinked, and missed it. I mean literally. I closed my eyes for a split second, and when I opened them again, the starfield was different. Nothing else had changed. I got a free glass of bad champagne because it was my first transit-jump. It gave me a headache. The other jumps I've done were all just about as exciting."

Hannah laughed. "You won't get any champagne this ride--but you might get a much worse headache. You've done
calibrated
transit-jumps, on some of the best-surveyed routes around. This ride is going to be just a little bit wilder. I doubt there have been twenty human ships to Reqwar, ever. We'll be doing prime survey work ourselves--or at least the
Hastings
will be doing it for us."

Transit-jumps were meant to be precisely targeted events, but precision was impossible when the exact mass and position of the target star was not known. Typically, a transit-jump aimed for a point 10 billion kilometers from the target star. Things could get rough if the actual arrival was farther out than that--and a
lot
rougher if arrival was significantly closer in, or if it was disrupted by some uncharted mass--perhaps a minor planet or comet--that happened to be close enough to throw the grav-gradient tuning off. Coming in at an unexpectedly high or low relative velocity could also cause problems.

Because all the stars were orbiting about Galactic Central, and moving relative to each other, the distance between any two given stars was always changing, and the distance and relative velocity between most pairs of stars was not known to anything like the precision required to ensure a smooth transit-jump.

The rule of thumb was: If the error was one one-millionth of the actual distance, the transit was survivable. If it was one-billionth, the transit would be at least relatively smooth, or at least not too violent. If the error was on the order of one-trillionth of the actual distance, the transit would be unnoticeable if you weren't looking out the porthole when it happened.

The run from Center to Reqwar had only been made a handful of times. There was enough data that they were well inside the one-in-a-million range, but it would take a lot of blind luck to get them anywhere near the one-in-a-billion. One-in-a-trillion wasn't even worth thinking about.

"Freshen yourself up," said Hannah. "Meet me on the command deck--and get ready for a bumpy ride."

* * *

Jamie felt a good deal better after a wash-up and a half-decent meal. It was pleasant to get his mind off his research for a bit. He strapped himself into his chair on the command deck, ten minutes before transition, almost looking forward to that bumpy ride--and if there were a few fireworks thrown in as well, fine. He glanced over at Hannah and grinned. "So," he said, gesturing at the starscape outside the view dome, "what's this going to be like?" he asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Hannah replied. "Transitions are like snowflakes--no two are exactly the same. On calibrated runs like Earth to Center, the differences show up in about the twelfth decimal place, but they're still there. On poorly charted routes, believe me, you
know
the differences are there. In fact, what I experience and what
you
experience might be significantly different."