Marooned in Realtime

  It was a long two hours. This meeting was supposed to be a surprise. He wouldn’t have forced things if he’d known Lu was not immediately available. Wil watched the clock; now he was stuck.

  Just short of 150 minutes later, Yelén was back. “Okay, Brierson, how may we humor you?”

  A second holo came to life, showing Della Lu. “Are you back at Town Korolev, Della?” Wil asked.

  There was no time lag to her reply. “No. I’m at my home, about two hundred klicks above you. Do you really want me on the ground?”

  “Uh, no.” You may be in the best possible position. “Okay, Della, Yelén. I have a quick question. If the answer is no, then I hope you will quickly make it yes…Are you both still providing me with heavy security?”

  “Sure.” “Yes.”

  That would have to be good enough. He leaned forward and spoke slowly. “There are some things you should know. Most important: Marta knew who murdered her.”

  Silence. Yelén’s impatience was blown away; she simply stared. But when she spoke, her voice was flat, enraged. “You stupid jerk. If she knew, why didn’t she tell us? She had forty years to tell us.” On the other bolo, Della appeared to be swapped out. Has she already imagined the consequences?

  “Because, Yelén, all through those forty years she was being watched by the murderer, or his autons. And she knew that, too.”

  Again, silence. This time it was Della who spoke. “How do you know this, Wil?” The distant look was gone. She was intent, neither accepting nor rejecting his assertions. He wondered if this were her original peace-cop personality looking out at him.

  “I don’t think Marta herself guessed the truth during the first ten years. When she did, she spent the rest of her life playing a double game with the diary—leaving clues that would not alert the murderer, yet which could be understood later.”

  Yelén bent forward, her hands clenched. “What clues?”

  “I don’t want to say just yet.”

  “Brierson, I lived with that diary for a hundred years. For a hundred years I read it, analyzed it with programs you can’t even imagine. And I lived with Marta for almost two hundred years before that. I knew every secret, every thought.” Her voice was shaking; he hadn’t seen such lethal fury in her since right after the murder. “You opportunistic slime. You say she left thoughts you could follow and I could not!”

  “Yelén!” Della’s interruption froze Korolev in midrage. For a moment, both women were silent, staring.

  Yelén’s hands went limp; she seemed to shrink in on herself. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Della nodded, and glanced at Wil. “Perhaps we should spell this out for you.” She smiled. “Though I suspect you’re way ahead of us. If the murderer had access to realtime while Marta was marooned, then there are consequences, some so radical that they caused us to dismiss the possibility.

  “The killer did more than meddle with the length of the group jump; he did not even participate in it. That means the sabotage was not a shallow manipulation of the Korolev system; the killer must have deep penetration of the system.”

  Wil nodded. And who could have deeper penetration than the owner of the system?

  “And if that is true, then everything that goes through Yelén’s db’s—including this conversation—may be known to the enemy. It’s conceivable that her own weapons might be turned against us…In your place, I’d be a bit edgy, Wil.”

  “Even granting Brierson’s claims, the rest doesn’t necessarily follow. The killer could have left an unlisted auton in realtime. That could be what Marta noticed.” But the fire was gone from Yelén’s voice. She didn’t look up from the pinkish marble of her desk.

  Wil said softly, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “…No. In forty years, Marta could have outsmarted one of those, could have left clues that even I would recognize.” She looked up at him. “Come on, Inspector. Get it over with. ‘If the murderer could get into realtime, then why did she let Marta survive there?’ That’s the next rhetorical question, isn’t it? And the obvious answer—‘It’s just the sort of irrational thing a jealous lover might do.’ So. I admit to being a jealous type. And I surely loved Marta. But no matter what either of you believes, I did not maroon her.”

  She was on the far side of anger. It was not quite the reaction Wil had expected. It really affected Yelén that her two closest colleagues—“friends” was still too strong a word—might think she had killed Marta. Given her general insensitivity to the perceptions of others, he doubted her performance was an act. Finally he said, “I’m not accusing you, Yelén…You’re capable of violence, but you have honor. I trust you.” That last was a necessary exaggeration. “I would like some trust in return. Believe me when I say that Marta knew, that she left clues that you would not notice. Hell, she probably did it to protect you. The moment you got suspicious, the murderer would also be alerted. Instead, Marta tried to talk to me. I’m totally disconnected from your system, an inconsequential low-tech. I’ve had a week to think on the problem, to figure how to get this news to you with minimum risk of an ambush.”

  “Yet, for all the clues, you don’t really know who the killer is.”

  Wil smiled. “That’s right, Della. If I did, it would have been the first thing I said.”

  “You would have been safer to keep quiet, then, till you had her whole message figured out.”

  He shook his head. “Unfortunately, Marta could never risk putting solid information in her diary. There’s nothing in any of the four cairns that will tell us the killer’s name.”

  “So you’ve told us this just to raise our blood pressure? If she could communicate all you say, she sure as hell would tell us the enemy’s name.” Yelén was clearly recovering.

  “She did, but not in any of the four cairns. She knew those would be ‘inspected’ before you ever saw them; only the subtlest clues would escape detection. What I’ve discovered is that there’s a fifth cairn that no one, not even the murderer, knew about. That’s where she wrote the clear truth.”

  “Even if you’re right, that’s fifty thousand years ago now. Whatever she left would be completely destroyed.”

  Wil put on his most sober expression. “I know that, Yelén, and Marta must have known it could be that long, too. I think she took that into account.”

  “So you know where it is, Wil?”

  “Yes. At least to within a few kilometers. I don’t want to say exactly where; I assume we have a silent partner in this conversation.”

  Della shrugged. “It’s conceivable the enemy doesn’t have direct bugs. He may have access only when certain tasks are executing.”

  “In any case, I suggest you keep a close watch on the airspace above all the places Marta visited. The murderer may have some guesses of his own now. We don’t want to be scooped.”

  There was silence as Della and Yelén retreated into their systems. Then: “Okay, Brierson. We’re set. We have heavy monitoring of the south shore, the pass Marta used through the Alps, and the whole area around Peacer Lake. I’ve given Della observer status on my system. She’ll be running critical subsystems in parallel. If anybody starts playing games there, she should notice.

  “Now. The important thing. Della is bringing in fighters from the Lagrange zones. I have a fleet I’ve been keeping in stasis; its next lookabout is in three hours. All together that should be enough to face down any opposition when we go treasure hunting. All you have to do is lie low for another three hours. Then tell us the cairn’s location and we’ll—”

  Wil held up a hand. “Yes. Get your guns. But I’m going along.”

  “What? Okay, okay. You can come along.”

  “And I don’t want to leave till tomorrow morning. I need a few more hours with the diary; some final things to check out.”

  Yelén opened her mouth, but no sound came. Della was more articulate. “Wil. Surely you understand the situation. We’re bringing everything out to protect you. We’ll be
burning a normal year’s worth of consumables every hour we stay on station around you. We can’t do that for long; yet every minute you keep this secret, you stay at the top of someone’s hit list—and we lose what little surprise we might have had. You’ve got to hustle.”

  “There are things I have to figure first. Tomorrow morning. It’s the fastest I can make it. I’m sorry, Della.”

  Yelén muttered an obscenity and cut her connection. Even Della seemed startled by the abruptness of her departure. She looked back at Wil. “She’s still cooperating, but she’s mad as hell…Okay. So we wait till tomorrow. But believe me, Wil. An active defense is expensive. Yelén and I are willing to spend most of what we have to get the killer, but waiting till tomorrow cuts the protection per unit time…It would help if you could say how long things might drag out beyond that.”

  He pretended to think on the question. “We’ll have the secret diary by tomorrow afternoon. If things don’t blow up by then, I doubt they ever will.”

  “I’ll be going, then.” She paused. “You know, Wil, once upon a time I was a government cop. I think I was pretty good at power games. So. Advice from an old pro: Don’t get in over your head.”

  Brierson summoned his most confident, professional look. “Everything will work out, Della.”

  After Della signed off, Wil went into the kitchen. He started to mix himself a drink, realized he had no business drinking just now, and scarfed some cake instead. Under all this pressure, it’s just one bad habit or another, he told himself. He wandered back into the living room and looked out. In his era, letting a protected witness parade in front of a window would be insanity. It didn’t matter much here, with the weapons and countermeasures the high-techs had.

  The afternoon was clear, dry. He could hear dry rustling in the trees. Only a short stretch of road was visible. All the greenery didn’t leave much to see. The only nice views were from the second floor. Still, he was getting fond of the place. It was a bit like the lower-class digs he and Virginia had started in.

  He leaned out the window, looked straight up. The two autons were floating lower than usual. Farther up, almost lost in the haze, was something big. He tried to imagine the forces that must be piled up in the first few hundred klicks above him. He knew the firepower Della and Yelén admitted to. It far exceeded the combined might of all the nations in history; it was probably greater than that of any police service up to the mid-twenty-second. All that force was poised for the protection of one house, one man…more precisely, the information in one man’s head. All things considered, it wasn’t something he took much comfort in.

  Wil reviewed the scenarios once more; what could happen in the next twenty-four hours? It would all be over by then, most likely. He was barely conscious of pacing into the kitchen, through the pantry, the laundry, the guest room, and back into the living room. He looked out the window, then repeated the traversal in reverse order. It was a habit that had not been popular with Virginia and the kids: When he was really into a case, he would wander all through the house, cogitating. Ninety kilos of semiconscious cop lumbering down halls and through doorways was a definite safety hazard. They had threatened to hang a cowbell around his neck.

  Something brought Brierson out of the depths. He looked around the laundry, trying to identify the strangeness. Then he realized: He’d been humming, and there was a silly grin on his face. He was back in his element. This was the biggest, most dangerous case of his life. But it was a case. And he finally had a handle on it. For the first time since he had been shanghaied, the doubts and dangers were ones he could deal with professionally. His smile widened. Back in the living room, he grabbed his data set and sat down. Just in case they were listening, he should pretend to do some research.

  22

  Yelén was back late that evening. “Kim Tioulang is dead.”

  Wil’s head snapped up. Is this how it begins? “When? How?”

  “Less than ten minutes ago. Three bullets in the head…I’m sending you the details.”

  “Any evidence who—”

  She grimaced, but by now she accepted that what she sent was not immediately part of his memory. “Nothing definite. My security at North Shore has been thin since we switched things around this afternoon. He sneaked out of the Peacer base; not even his own people noticed. It looks like he was trying to board a trans-sea shuttle.” The only place that would take him was Town Korolev. “There are no witnesses. In fact, I suspect that no one was on the ground where he was shot. The slugs were dumb exploders, New Mexico five-millimeters.” Normally those were pistol-fired, with a max accurate range of thirty meters; who did the killer think he was fooling? “The coincidence is too much to ignore, Brierson. You’re right; the enemy must have bugs in my system.”

  “Yeah.” For a second he wasn’t listening. He was remembering the North Shore picnic, the withered man that had been Kim Tioulang. He was as tough as anyone Wil had ever met, but his wistfulness about the future had seemed real. The most ancient man in the world…and now he was dead. Why? What had he been trying to tell them? He looked up at Yelén. “Since this afternoon, have you noticed anything special with the Peacers? Any evidence of high-tech interference?”

  “No. As I said, I can’t watch as closely as before. I talked to Phil Genet about it. He hasn’t noticed anything with the Peacers, but he says NM radio traffic has changed during the last few hours. I’m looking into that.” She paused. For the first time, he saw fear in her face. “These next few hours we could lose it all, Wil. Everything Marta ever hoped for.”

  “Yes. Or we could nail the enemy cold, and save her plan…How are things set for tomorrow?”

  His question brought back the normal Yelén. “This delay cost us the advantage of surprise, but it also means we’re better prepared. Della has an incredible amount of equipment. I knew her expedition to the Dark Companion made money, but I never imagined she could afford all this. Almost all of it will be in position by tomorrow. She’ll land by your place at sunup. It’s all your show then.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “No. In fact, I’m out of your inner-security zone. My equipment will handle peripheral issues, but…Della and I talked it over. If I—my system—is deeply perverted, the enemy could turn it on you.”

  “Hmm.” He’d been counting on the dual protection; if he’d guessed wrong about one of them, the other would still be there. But if Yelén herself thought she might lose control…“Okay. Della seemed in pretty good form this afternoon.”

  “Yes. I have a theory that under stress the appropriate personality comes to the surface. She’s driftiest after she’s been by herself for a while. I’m talking to her right now, and she seems okay. With any luck, she’ll still be wearing her cop personality tomorrow.”

  After Yelén signed off, Wil looked at the stuff she was sending over. It grew much faster than he could read it, and there were new developments all the time. Genet was right about the NMs. They were using a new encryption scheme, one that Yelén couldn’t break. That in itself was more of an anachronism than polka-dot paint or antigrav volleyballs. Under other circumstances, she would have raided them for it, and diplomacy be damned…Now she was stretched so thin that all she could do was watch.

  Tioulang’s murder. The high-tech manipulation of Fraley. There was some fundamental aspect of the killer’s motivation that Wil didn’t understand. If he wanted to destroy the colony, he could have done that long ago. So Wil had concluded that the enemy wanted to rule. Now he wondered. Was the low-techs’ survival simply a bargaining chip to the killer?

  It was a long night.

  Brierson was standing by his window when Della’s flier came down. It was still twilight at ground level, but he could see sunlight on the treetops. He grabbed his data set and walked out of the house. His step was brisk, adrenaline-fueled.

  “Wait, Wil!” The Dasguptas were on their front porch. He stopped, and they ran down the street toward him. He hoped his guardians weren’t trig
ger-happy.

  “Did you know?” Rohan began, and his brother continued. “The Peacer boss was murdered last night. It looks like the NMs did it.”

  “Where did you hear?” He couldn’t imagine Yelén spreading the news.

  “The Peacer news service. Is it true, Wil?”

  Brierson nodded. “We don’t know who did it, though.”

  “Damn!” Dilip was as upset as Wil had ever seen him. “After all the talk about peaceful competition, I thought the NMs and Peacers had changed their ways. If they start shooting, the rest of us are…Look, Wil, back in civilization this couldn’t happen. They’d have every police service in Asia down on them. Can—can we count on Yelén to keep these guys out of our way?”

  Wil knew that Yelén would die before she’d let the NMs and Peacers fight. But today, dying might not be enough. The Dasguptas saw the tip of a game that extended beyond their knowing—and Wil’s. He looked at the brothers, saw unmerited trust in their faces. What could he do?…Maybe the truth would help. “We think this is tied up with Marta’s murder, Dilip.” He jerked a thumb at Della’s flier. “That’s what I’m checking out now. If there’s shooting, I’ll bet you see more than low-techs involved. Look. I’ll get Yelén to lower her suppressor field; you could bobble up for the next couple of days.”

  “Our equipment, too.”

  “Right. In any case, get people spread out and under cover.” There was nothing more he could say, and the brothers seemed to know it.

  “Okay, Wil,” Rohan said quietly. “Luck to us all.”

  Della’s flier was bigger than usual, and there were five pods strapped around its midsection.

  But the crew area didn’t have the feel of a combat vehicle. It wasn’t the lack of control and display panels. When Wil left civilization, those were vanishing items. Even the older models had provided command helmets that allowed the pilot to see the outside world in terms of what was important to the mission. The newer ones didn’t need the helmets; the windows themselves were holo panels on artificial reality. But there were no command helmets in Della’s flier, and the windows showed the same version of reality that clear glass would. The floor was carpeted. Unwindowed sections of the wall were decorated with Della’s strange watercolors.