“What? Oh, I understand. You’re wondering why I am not regurgitating the remnants of my last several meals all over the forest.”
“You could say that.” As familiarity with the golden fluid did not breed acceptance, Hasa was still having to fight down a constant and all but overwhelming urge to puke.
Masurathoo returned to the work at hand. “That is easily explained. We Deyzara have a well-known tolerance for strong odors.” He held a double-digited handful of the goo up to the end of his breathing trunk, a gesture sufficiently profound in its implications that it very nearly did make the queasy Hasa throw up all over again. “To me, this substance smells only slightly sweetish.”
“And yet,” Jemunu-jah observed, “there is an internal scientific logic to this. Deyzara smell so bad naturally it not surprising they would not be bothered by essence of vatulalilu. Petal perfume would be hard to detect over own body odor.”
Masurathoo was suitably indifferent to the implied insult. “Spoken as by one with no experience or knowledge of the subtleties of fine fragrances.” Having sufficiently smeared his rapidly shredding body wrappings with the pungent plant extract, he strode serenely between them, exuding confidence (and much more) as he headed for the suddenly no longer terrifying river.
Both wobbly from the effects of repeated upchucking, his companions followed rather more shakily. They did not exchange a word but, upon reaching the river’s edge, conspired simultaneously to pick up, swing, and throw the wildly protesting Deyzara headfirst into the waiting water.
13
Matthias did not want to go back to the skimmer port. Swamped with requests for authorizations, statistics that had to be evaluated, decisions that had to be approved, subordinates who had to be coddled, and delegations of Deyzara desperately in need of reassurance, she barely had time to leave her office long enough to say hello to her family before collapsing into the cooled, dehumidified airbed alongside her husband. But the call had been both cryptic and urgent.
This time she took no chances. It was all very well and good to put on a brave front, to pretend that the official Commonwealth contingent on Fluva was neutral and favored neither side in the ongoing fight. Unfortunately, reality conflicted. She had no desire to be surrounded again by an angry mob of hungry, dispossessed Deyzara.
This time when she arrived at the port, she was accompanied by a pair of armed peaceforcers. Instead of landing some distance from her intended destination, her skimmer touched down directly opposite the main service facilities. Flanked by her guards, she moved quickly through the rain and into the building, hardly glancing at the milling crowd outside. Actually, she noted, things appeared to have settled down somewhat since her last visit. Bedara and his team seemed to be getting things under control. She chose to believe that was the case as she moved deeper into the arched structure.
Tarik Bergovoy was waiting for her. Unusual for a Commonwealth resident of Fluva, he sported a neatly trimmed white beard. The longer they stayed on Fluva, the more inclined resident humans were to engage in general depilation, since body hair offered an inviting mobile nesting site for all manner of tiny opportunistic creatures. Not Bergovoy. In addition to his beard, he flourished a full head of curly gray-black hair in hirsute defiance of potential infestation.
“Administrator.” They shook hands. His fingers were thick and rough, though the ambient humidity that softened everything made them feel more creased than calloused.
They spoke while strolling toward the rear of the main hangar. At present, several large skimmers were undergoing servicing. Flashes of actinic light like miniature thunderbolts sparked from the undersides and flanks of various craft. Half-hidden by the open panels behind which they were working, painters were laying down new circuitry. Mechanicals scurried to and fro across the bare, dry floor, ferrying equipment and supplies to preoccupied workers. More sophisticated mechs carried out automated, less sensitive repairs on their own, without human supervision. At the far end of the hangar, a solitary thranx was tuning some particularly delicate and expensive piece of apparatus recently arrived from Amropolous.
“Things going okay here, Tarik?”
He shrugged diffidently. “Every now and then we have to bring in a couple of peaceforcers to evict some shelter-seeking refugees from one corner of the facility or another. That’s supposed to be Sanderson’s job, not ours. Interrupts our work here.”
Wim Sanderson was head of port authority. “I’ll have a word with him,” she assured the chief mechanic. “That’s not why you got me out of bed to come down here. Why didn’t you just message what you had to tell me?”
Bergovoy glanced around. His manner was casual, but his eyes were not. “Didn’t trust the system. I know it’s supposed to be secure, but you never know.” He returned his attention to his guest. “In response to your requests, I had the service records on the two missing vehicles compiled. They were more interesting for what wasn’t there than for what was.”
She eyed him intently. “You want to elaborate on that?”
Bergovoy absently stroked his beard. He did not look at all, she reflected, like Saint Nick. More like one of the red-suited fat man’s assistants: the one who did the dirty work in some dim, windowless basement of the toy workshop.
“It was cleverly done, but not so perfectly that someone who knows how to read maintenance records couldn’t spot the anomalies. Of course, you’d have to be looking for something like that or you’d just gloss over them. That’s what happened until I went digging for specifics. Certain details had been altered. Others—not many, but of significance—were missing altogether. It was a good job, but not perfect. Suggests that whoever was involved was knowledgeable, but no expert.”
She took a moment to scan their surroundings herself. Satisfied that they were not being watched, she looked back up at the chief mechanic. “It follows that whoever went to the trouble of manipulating official records might also have gone to the greater trouble of manipulating the related skimmer instrumentation.”
Bergovoy nodded solemnly. “Instrumentation, onboard equipment, explicit vehicular functions—that I wasn’t able to determine.” His expression darkened. “I pride myself on running a good shop here, even under Fluvan conditions. We service all Authority vehicles here as well as a goodly number of private craft. People depend on us, on the quality and reliability of our work.” Turning slightly, he gestured toward the rain-swept forest.
“No way would I let one of my people send a suspect vehicle into town, much less out into the Viisiiviisii. Nothing leaves here unless it’s had all its systems, even the noncritical ones, double–checked out. Whoever altered those service records knew they were sending people in harm’s way. I don’t know exactly what was done to those two missing skimmers, but the consequences speak for themselves.” Holding up a fist, he slowly clenched and released his powerful fingers. “When we find out who it was, I’d like to request the pleasure of a face-to-face conversation with them.”
She ignored the appeal. “Any idea who might be responsible?”
He shook his head sharply. “I’d hate to think it was any of my people. But only qualified users and technicians have access to hangared craft.”
“Authorized access,” she corrected him.
He nodded. “I always thought we had adequate security here. But this isn’t Brisbane, or Chitteranx. Of course, port security’s been stepped up since this crisis with the Deyzara and the Sakuntala, but both of the skimmers in question set out and went down before all this got really cranked up.”
He went silent then. In lieu of further questions, she waited for additional comments. When he looked up at her again, he appeared uncertain.
“Come on, Tarik,” she encouraged him. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, even if it’s no more than pure speculation, I need to know. I’m working in the dark here.”
“It’s nothing conclusive,” he muttered. “Just a possibility. There’s no proof of anything.”
She smil
ed up at him. “I’m a professional bureaucrat, Tarik. I’m used to separating suspicion from fact. I don’t jump to conclusions.”
Pursing his lips, he nodded understandingly. “All right, then: here it is. Personnel records show that among those who worked on not one, but both, of the stray skimmers were a service specialist name of Charukande and a parts tech named Dalindidretha.”
The names were sufficient identification. “I didn’t know you had Deyzara technicians working here.”
“Sure. They’re good, too. Although I don’t work directly with any of them, I made sure to check the performance stats on both of these. Nothing but good reports, high-grade evaluations. I haven’t spoken to them about this, or about anything else related to the disappearances. I figured that was your department.” His voice dropped slightly. “Or Security’s.”
As powerfully as the chief mechanic’s words resonated, she knew she had to move slowly on his observations. If word got out among the refugees that two of their own kind were being investigated for sabotage, it would only add one more layer of disruption to an already unruly state of affairs.
“Do you have any definite reason to suspect them?”
Bergovoy didn’t hesitate. “None whatsoever. Like I said, their records are clean.” His expression changed. “Changing the subject a little, I want you to know that I can understand why someone might want to get rid of this Hasselemoga person.”
Her brow furrowed. “You do? Why?”
“Never met him myself, but from what I’ve been told, he’s a pretty disagreeable character. There’s also apparently quite a bit of professional jealousy where he’s involved. Apparently, he’s as good at bioprospecting as he is at pissing people off.” The chief mechanic’s eyes bored into her own. “Two reasons someone, or several someones, might have for seeing to it that he has to try to walk out of the Viisiiviisii.”
“Nobody walks out of the Viisiiviisii,” she commented absently.
“If you follow that line of reasoning,” Bergovoy was continuing, “it makes sense that whoever wanted to see the last of this guy would do their best to make sure nobody finds him.”
She pondered the speculations. Somehow, it didn’t quite jell. Something was missing, something that lay somewhere between motive and manipulation.
“I can see the envious wanting to get rid of the competition or somebody they dislike. That’s one thing. But eliminating a rescue team means taking on the Commonwealth Authority. The first is personal; the second implies much greater concerns.”
Bergovoy was clearly interested. “What greater concerns?”
She sighed heavily. “If I knew that, we’d have a pretty good idea who’s responsible. Thank you for your help, Tarik.” She started past him.
“One more thing, Administrator.” The mechanic was smiling humorlessly. “If you do find out who’s responsible, you will at least let me know, won’t you?”
Her expression was grim. “If I find out, Tarik, everyone will know.”
Though she spent much of the rest of the day dealing with those administrative matters that absolutely, positively required her personal attention and could not possibly be put off, she was no nearer clearing her work backlog than when she had started. New data arrived faster than it could be processed. It kept her hard at work after dark. No one wanted to travel home in the dark. Under cover of the rain-swept night the stealthy inhabitants of the Viisiiviisii crept inside the town limits, only to melt away again at the first sign of cloud-masked daylight. In the dark and rain, even modern safeguard technology sometimes failed to offer sufficient protection to those who had the nerve to venture outside their cosseted homes and places of work.
Nocturnal travel was safer for her than for others. Her skimmer’s programming transported her to the residency compound without any need for human input or guidance. Like those of the other Commonwealth residents, her home was suspended from strong strilk cables attached to an intricate support network of composite pylons. In addition to windows in the roof and walls, there were two in the floor: one in the living room and another in Andrea’s. Standing on one of the transparencies, one could look straight down at other residences or to the water far below. A terrestrial spider would have felt right at home with the layout.
Jack was waiting for her. She reflected on how things had changed. When they had first settled in on Fluva, she had often arrived home before him, since he’d needed to spend a lot of overtime familiarizing himself with the lab. Now she was the one trundling home after dark.
Though perfunctory, their kiss was enough to lift her spirits, if not her energy level.
“I’ve made you some supper. You haven’t eaten?”
She shook her head, mustered a weary smile. “Are you kidding?” In the small combination kitchen/dining room, she settled in behind the table and dug into the meal he had prepared. She was almost too tired to eat. Skimmers and supervisors, she reminded herself: all need fuel.
Sitting down across the table, he watched her for a while, leaving her alone until she’d downed some of the food. “Another bad day?”
“Here, lately, they’re all bad.” While it might be an odd shade of indigo, faux pasta made from a local fungus slid easily down her welcoming throat. “Today was special, though.”
“Uh-oh.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked sympathetic. He was very good at that, she realized gratefully. “What now?”
“Those two skimmers that went down in the south? The bioprospector nobody seems to like and the rescue team that was sent after him? Bergovoy, the chief mechanic out at the port, says their maintenance records were tampered with. More than a hint of funny business there.”
Her husband’s expression turned solemn. “That’s not good.”
“There’s more.” She gestured with a utensil. “Two of the last techs to work on both craft are Deyzara.”
He let out a soft whistle. “Bergovoy implicated them?”
“Only by inference.” She took a long swallow of cold fruit juice. She could never pronounce the Sakuntala name for the fruit from which it came, but the juice was delectable. “I can envision why somebody might want this bioprospector out of the way and, to a certain extent, anyone who might try to rescue him. What I can’t imagine is why this might involve the Deyzara.”
Slumping in his chair, one foot fiddling idly with her right leg under the table, he contemplated the ceiling. “Maybe it’s not so different from trying to ascribe cause and effect to predator and prey in the lab. A xerexl wants a puorot dead so it can have it for lunch. Okay. Why would the Deyzara want a bioprospector dead? Furthermore, why would they not want him found and brought back alive?” He lowered his gaze. “To the xerexl, food is the most important thing. What’s the most important thing to the Deyzara?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Money. Commercial success.”
Picking up the pitcher, he refilled her empty glass. “When you get back to the office tomorrow, try to connect predator with prey.”
She frowned. “You think money’s behind this?”
“Money, or some kind of business advantage. If the Deyzara are involved. Don’t you think it’s worth checking out?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I do. You know, Jack, sometimes I think you’re a little bit of a genius.”
His face creased in mock outrage. Outside, something on the fringe of the deep forest howled plaintively. “What do you mean, ‘little bit’?”
It was two hours before she could find time for Pandusky to even begin to run a search of relevant records. It was mid-afternoon when he finally transferred what he had been able to unearth to her office. Sitting straight in her chair, she deactivated all communications, including the emergency line, as she contemplated the information floating in the air above her desk.
There was no attempt to conceal the data that jumped out at her. Why would there be? By itself, it was the perfect image of innocuousness. There was no need to mask straightforward business dealings. The fact that
several firms were involved in exploring a certain section of the great southern Viisiiviisii was to be expected. Companies as well as individuals were busily engaged in seeking out useful, exploitable resources throughout both varzea-covered continents.
However, the search she’d had Pandusky run focused on one small portion of the southern part of the northern continent: the general region where Shadrach Hasselemoga and the rescue team sent to find him had both gone missing. It turned out that only three companies were working in that same general vicinity. Two had their own teams in the area, while the third was an umbrella support group for individual prospectors. Besides their mutual interests, the three companies had one other thing in common.
All were owned and run by Deyzara.
Sitting back in her seat, she contemplated the hovering words. Circumstantial evidence to be sure, but right now it was all she had to go on. At best it was mere coincidence. But at the other end of the speculative spectrum, it was more than a little suggestive.
Three Deyzara outfits all prospecting in the same region. A disagreeable but highly competent outsider starts sniffing around the same area. Inexplicably, he vanishes. So does the team sent out to find him. Deyzara technicians are reported to have worked on both downed craft.
The Deyzara were known to all but worship commercial achievement and to strive for financial gain. That was a truism and not a generalization. The Deyzara themselves made no apology for it. But they had limits. Although she was not intimately familiar with its often arcane details, Matthias did not think the modern Deyzara code of business ethics extended to sanctioning the murder of rivals, much less that of individuals incidentally involved on the periphery of competition, like the missing rescue team. Besides, the lost crew included one of their own. Suffused with curiosity as well as information, she now began to run a few database searches of her own.