The Observers

  “He’s not breathing,” Bourkou said. “He’s blue and he’s not breathing.” He grabbed Lowen’s hand and pulled her down the corridor toward his berth. “He’s not breathing and I think he might be dead.”

  “He was fine when he lay down,” Bourkou said. “He and I have both been feeling tired, so we both took naps at the same time. Then he started snoring, so I turned on the white noise machine. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up I told him I was going to get him some tea and asked him if he wanted any. He didn’t respond, so I went to shake him. That’s when I saw his lips were blue.”

  All of the observers were in the Clarke’s medical bay, along with Wilson, Abumwe, Captain Coloma and Doctor Inge Stone, the Clarke’s chief medical officer. Liu was also there, on a stretcher.

  “Did he say anything other than that he was tired?” Stone asked Bourkou. “Did he complain about any other pains or ailments?”

  Bourkou shook his head. “I’ve known Cong for ten years,” he said. “He’s always been healthy. The worst that’s ever happened to him is that he broke his foot when a motorcycle ran over it while he was crossing a street.”

  “What happened to him?” Franz Meyer asked. After Liu, he was the ranking diplomat among the observers.

  “It’s hard to say,” Stone said. “It almost looks like carbon monoxide poisoning, but that doesn’t make sense. Mr. Bourkou here was unaffected, which he wouldn’t have been if it was carbon monoxide, and in any event there is nothing near those berths which generates or outputs that.”

  “What about the white noise generator?” Lowen asked. She was alert now, through a combination of caffeine, ibuprofen and nerves. “Is that something that could have done this?”

  “Of course not,” Meyer said, almost scornfully. “It has no moving parts other than the speakers. It doesn’t output anything but white noise.”

  “What about allergies or sensitivities?” Stone asked.

  Meyer shook his head this time. “He was lactose-intolerant, but that wouldn’t have done this. And other than that he was not allergic to anything. It’s as Thierry said. He’s a healthy man. Was a healthy man.”

  “Aren’t we overlooking something here?” asked Luiza Carvalho. Everyone looked to her; it was the first time she had spoken since the group gathered in the medical bay.

  “Overlooking what?” asked Coloma.

  “The possibility this isn’t a natural death,” Carvalho said. “Cong was a healthy man, with no previous health issues.”

  “With all due respect, Ms. Carvalho, that’s probably further than we need to go for an explanation,” Stone said. “It’s rather more likely Mr. Liu fell prey to a previously undiagnosed condition. It’s not uncommon, especially for people who have been superficially healthy. Their lack of obvious health issues means they don’t get in to see a doctor as often as others would. That lets not so obvious issues sneak up on them.”

  “I understand that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” Carvalho said. “Of course. But I also know that in my home country of Brazil, assassination by poisoning has made a comeback. Last year a senator from Mato Grosso was killed by arsenic.”

  “A political assassination?” Abumwe asked.

  “No,” Carvalho admitted. “He was poisoned by his wife for sleeping with one of his legislative aides.”

  “To be indelicate, may we assume such a situation is not happening here?” Abumwe asked.

  Meyer looked around at his colleagues. “It’s safe to say that none of us were sleeping with Cong,” he said, to Abumwe. “It’s also safe to say that none of us had any professional reason to want him dead, either. With the exception of Thierry, none of us knew him prior to this mission. The mission selection criteria were as much political as anything else. We all represent different political interests at home, so there was no direct competition or professional jealousy.”

  “Do all of your factions get along?” Wilson asked.

  “For the most part,” Meyer said, and then pointed at Lowen. “Doctor Lowen here represents America’s interests here, and the United States, for better or worse, still maintains a somewhat contentious primary position in global politics, especially post-Perry. The other political interests sought to minimize its influence on this mission, which is why Liu Cong was selected to head the mission, over U.S. objections, and why the U.S. representative—apologies here, Dani—is the most junior on the mission. But none of that rose to the level of skullduggery.”

  “And I was with Lieutenant Wilson here for several hours, in any event,” Lowen said. This raised eyebrows, both Meyer’s and Abumwe’s. “Cong asked me to get to know our Colonial Union liaison better so we could get a better understanding of the lay of the land. So I did.” She turned to Wilson. “No offense,” she said.

  “None taken,” Wilson said, amused.

  “So it seems like poisoning or assassination is off the table,” Stone said.

  “Unless it was someone on the Colonial Union side,” Carvalho said.

  Abumwe, Wilson and Coloma exchanged glances.

  This did not go unnoticed. “Okay, what was that?” asked Lowen.

  “You mean the sudden, significant glances,” Wilson said, before Abumwe or Coloma could say anything.

  “Yes, that would be what I’m talking about,” said Lowen.

  “We’ve had some recent incidents of sabotage,” Abumwe said, shooting an irritated glance at Wilson.

  “On this ship?” Meyer asked.

  “Not originating on this ship, no,” Coloma said. “But affecting the ship.”

  “And you think this could be another one of these?” Meyer said.

  “I doubt that it is,” Abumwe said.

  “But you can’t be one hundred percent sure,” Meyer persisted.

  “No, we can’t,” Abumwe said.

  “What am I missing here?” Stone asked, to Abumwe and Coloma.

  “Later, Inge,” Coloma said. Stone closed her mouth, unhappy.

  “I think we may have a potential issue here,” Meyer said.

  “What do you suggest we do about it?” Abumwe asked.

  “I think we need an autopsy,” Meyer said. “The sooner, the better.”

  “Doctor Stone can certainly perform one,” Coloma said. Meyer shook his head; Coloma frowned. “Is that not acceptable?”

  “Not by herself,” Meyer said. “With no offense offered to Doctor Stone, this has become a politically sensitive event. If someone from within the Colonial Union has been sabotaging your efforts, then all of the Colonial Union’s apparatus becomes suspect. I have no doubt at all that Doctor Stone will do a fine job with the autopsy. I also have no doubt at all that there are politicians back on Earth who would look at a Colonial Union doctor clearing the Colonial Union of the suspicious death of an Earth diplomat and use it for their own agendas, whatever those agendas might be.”

  “There’s a problem, then,” Stone said. “Because all of my staff are Colonial Union, too.”

  Meyer looked over to Lowen, who nodded. “I’ll do the autopsy with you,” she said, to Stone.

  Stone blinked. “Are you a medical doctor?” she asked.

  Lowen nodded. “University of Pennsylvania,” she said. “Specialized in hematology and nephrology. Practiced my specialty for about three months before I joined the State Department as an advisor.”

  “Doctor Lowen is eliding the fact that her father is United States Secretary of State Saul Lowen,” Meyer said, smiling. “And that she was more or less dragooned into this role at her father’s behest. Which is to take nothing away from her own talents.”

  “Anyway,” Lowen said, slightly embarrassed by Meyer’s commentary. “I have the degree and I have the experience. Between the two of us we can make sure no one complains about the results of the autopsy.”

  Stone looked at Coloma, who looked over to Abumwe. Abumwe gave a nod. So did Coloma. “All right,” she said. “When do you want to start?”

  “I need some sleep,” Lowen said.
“I think we could all use some sleep. We all have a busy day tomorrow.” Stone nodded her assent; the Earth observers excused themselves and headed to their berths.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Coloma asked Wilson after they had gone.

  “You mean, about letting them know about the sabotage,” Wilson said. Coloma nodded. “Look. They already caught us in the reaction. They knew something was up. We could have either lied poorly and had them distrust us, or we could tell them the truth and gain a little trust. The leader of their mission has died, and we don’t know why. We can use all the trust we can get.”

  “The next time you get the urge to make diplomatic decisions, look to me first,” Abumwe said. “You’ve done it before, so I know you can do it now. This isn’t your mission and it’s not your call to make about what we tell them and what we don’t.”

  “Yes, Ambassador,” Wilson said. “I wasn’t intentionally trying to make your job harder.”

  “Lieutenant, I don’t give a damn about your intentions,” Abumwe said. “I thought you knew that by now.”

  “I do,” Wilson said. “Sorry.”

  “You’re dismissed, Wilson,” Abumwe said. “The grown-ups need to talk in private.” She turned to Coloma and Stone. Wilson took the hint and left.

  Lowen was waiting in the corridor for him.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep,” Wilson said.

  “I wanted to apologize to you,” Lowen said. “I’m pretty sure what I said in there about spending time with you came out wrong.”

  “That part where you said that you were spending time with me on Liu’s orders,” Wilson said.

  “Yeah, that,” Lowen said.

  “Would it make you feel better to know that my boss told me to spend time with you?” Wilson said.

  “Not really,” Lowen said.

  “I won’t admit it to you, then,” Wilson said. “At least not until you’ve had time to collect yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Lowen said, wryly.

  Wilson reached out and touched Lowen’s arm in sympathy. “Okay, seriously,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Oh, you know,” Lowen said. “My boss is dead and he was a really nice man, and tomorrow I have to cut into him to see if someone murdered him. I’m just great.”

  “Come on,” Wilson said, and put his arm around her. “I’ll walk you back to your berth.”

  “Did your boss tell you to do that?” Lowen asked, jokingly.

  “No,” Wilson said, seriously. “This one’s on me.”

  Abumwe’s supreme irritation, first at the disposition of the trade negotiations at the end of the first day, and then at the death of Liu Cong and the possible implication thereof, was evident in the second day of negotiations. Abumwe began by tearing Doodoodo a new one, in as brilliant a show of venomous politeness as Wilson had ever seen in his life. Doodoodo and his fellow negotiators actually began to cringe, in the Burfinor fashion, which Wilson decided was more of a scrotal-like contraction than anything else.

  Watching the ambassador do her work, and doing it with something approaching vengeful joy, Wilson realized his long-held wish that Abumwe would actually relax from time to time was clearly in error. This was a person who operated best and most efficiently when she was truly and genuinely pissed off; wishing for her to mellow out was like wishing an alpha predator would switch to grains. It was missing the point.

  Wilson’s BrainPal pinged, internally and unseen by the others in the negotiating parties. It was Lowen. Can you talk? the message said.

  No, but you can, Wilson sent. You’re coming through my BrainPal. No one else will be bothered.

  Hold on, switching to voice, Lowen sent, and then her voice came through. “I think we have a big problem,” she said.

  Define “problem,” Wilson sent.

  “We’ve finished the autopsy,” Lowen sent. “Physically there was nothing wrong with Cong. Everything looked healthy and as close to perfect as a man his age could be. There are no ruptures or aneurysms, no organ damage or scarring. Nothing. There is no reason he should be dead.”

  That indicates foul play to you? Wilson sent.

  “Yes,” Lowen said. “And there’s another thing, which is the reason I’m talking to you. I took some of his blood for testing and I’m seeing a lot of anomalies in it. There’s a concentration of foreign particles in it that I haven’t seen before.”

  Poison compounds? Wilson asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Lowen said.

  Have you shown them to Stone? Wilson asked.

  “Not yet,” Lowen said. “I thought you actually might be more help for this. Can you receive images?”

  Sure, Wilson sent.

  “Okay, sending now,” Lowen said. A notice of a received image flashed in Wilson’s peripheral vision; he pulled it up.

  It’s blood cells, Wilson sent.

  “It’s not just blood cells,” Lowen said.

  Wilson paid closer attention and saw specks amid the cells. He zoomed in. The specks gained in size and detail. Wilson frowned and called up a separate image and compared the two.

  They look like SmartBlood nanobots, Wilson finally sent.

  “That’s what I thought they might be,” Lowen said. “And that’s bad. Because they’re not supposed to be there. Just like Cong isn’t supposed to be dead. If you have someone who isn’t supposed to be dead and no physical reason that he should have died, and you also have a high concentration of foreign material in his blood, it’s not hard deduction that the one has to do with the other.”

  So you think a Colonial did this, Wilson sent.

  “I have no idea who did this,” Lowen said. “I just know what it looks like.”

  Wilson had nothing to say to this.

  “I’m going to go tell Stone what I found and then I’ll have to tell Franz,” Lowen said. “I’m sure Stone will tell Coloma and Abumwe. I think we have about an hour before this all gets bad.”

  Okay, Wilson sent.

  “If you can think of something between now and then that will keep this from going to hell, I wouldn’t mind,” Lowen said.

  I’ll see what I can do, Wilson sent.

  “Sorry, Harry,” Lowen said, and disconnected.

  Wilson sat silently for a moment, watching Abumwe and Doodoodo as the two of them danced their verbal diplomatic dance about what was the correct balance of trade between starships and biomedical scanners. Then he sent a priority message to Abumwe’s PDA.

  Take a ten-minute break, it said. Trust me.

  Abumwe didn’t acknowledge the priority message for a few minutes; she was too busy hammering on Doodoodo. When the Burfinor representative finally managed to get a word in edgewise, she glanced down at her PDA and then glanced over at Wilson with a nearly unnoticeable expression that no one else would register as, You have got to be fucking kidding me. Wilson acknowledged this with an equally subtle expression that he hoped would read, I am so very not fucking kidding you. Abumwe stared at him for a second longer, then interrupted Doodoodo to ask for a quick recess. Doodoodo, flustered because he thought he was on a roll, agreed. Abumwe motioned to Wilson to join her in the hall.

  “You don’t seem to be remembering our discussion from last night,” Abumwe said.

  “Lowen found what looks like SmartBlood nanobots in Liu’s blood,” Wilson said, ignoring Abumwe’s statement. “If Stone hasn’t updated you about it yet, you’ll get the message soon. And so will Meyer and the rest of the observers.”

  “And?” Abumwe said. “Not that I don’t care, but Liu is dead and these negotiations are not, and you didn’t need to interrupt them to give me an update I would be receiving anyway.”

  “I didn’t interrupt you for that,” Wilson said. “I interrupted you because I need you to have them give me that scanner test unit back. Immediately.”

  “Why?” Abumwe said.

  “Because I think there’s something very fishy about SmartBlood nanobots being found in Liu’s bloodstream, and I want to
get a much better look at them,” Wilson said. “The equipment in the medical bay came standard issue with the Clarke when it rolled off the line fifty years ago. We need better tools.”

  “And you need it now why?” Abumwe said.

  “Because when today’s negotiations are done, the shit is going to hit the fan,” Wilson said. “Ambassador, a diplomat from Earth is dead and it looks like the Colonial Union did it. When Meyer and the rest of the observers get back to the Clarke, they’re going to send a drone back to Phoenix Station and to the Earth’s mission there. They’re going to be recalled and we’re going to be obliged to take them back immediately. So you’re going to fail this negotiation, there’s going to be a deeper division between Earth and the Colonial Union and all the blame is going to come back to us. Again.”

  “Unless you can figure this out between now and then,” Abumwe said.

  “Yes,” Wilson said. “SmartBlood is tech, Ambassador. Tech is what I do. And I already know how to operate these machines because I worked with them while I was evaluating them. But I need one now. And you need to get it for me.”

  “You think this will work?” Abumwe asked.

  Wilson held his hands out in a maybe? motion. “I know if we don’t try this, then we’re screwed. If this is a shot in the dark, it’s still a shot.”

  Abumwe took out her PDA and opened a line to Hillary Drolet, her assistant. “Tell Doodoodo I need to see him in the hall. Now.” She cut the connection and looked back to Wilson. “Anything else you want? As long as I am taking requests.”

  “I need to borrow the shuttle to go back to the Clarke,” Wilson said. “I want both Lowen and Stone to watch me so there’s no doubt what I find.”

  “Fine,” Abumwe said.

  “I’d also like for you to drag on negotiations today as long as you can,” Wilson said.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Abumwe said.

  Doodoodo appeared in the hallway, eyestalks waggling apologetically.

  “And if at all possible, you might want to get that deal done today,” Wilson said, looking at Doodoodo. “Just in case.”

  “Lieutenant Wilson, I am already far ahead of you on this one,” Abumwe said.