CHAPTER II
CLUES. OR NOT.
Police headquarters were in downtown Selei City, a place that looked nothing like a typical urban center. I walked through parklands of ripple-grass bordered by flower beds with nodding pink and purple bells. Breathing deeply, I filled my lungs with air, then paused to let the dizziness pass. I’d adapted to the oxygen-rich atmosphere when I lived here, but after more than three years on Raylicon, my body expected a thinner atmosphere.
As my head cleared, I continued. The scent of flowers filled the air, and birds sang in trees scattered across the lawns. People sat on the grass, reading, chatting, enjoying the day. Given that the world Parthonia had almost no axial tilt, its seasons remained mild, especially with the weather machines in the mountains fine-tuning the climate. It always felt like spring. So yah, paradise.
Pah. It was too nice. Or so I tried to convince myself. When I’d lived here, sometimes I’d missed my childhood home on Raylicon, my memories softened by the mist of time. The City of Cries there existed because her citizens had enough wealth to make it livable, even stunningly beautiful in its own stark way. That didn’t change the truth. Raylicon was dying. Unless we managed some major terraforming, technology beyond our current capabilities, the world would become inhabitable in a few more centuries.
Bhaaj, Max thought, discreet now that we were in public. I’m picking up that odd signal.
What is it from?
It’s human—no, it’s not. Sorry, it’s gone.
Unease prickled my spine. Does it pose a danger?
I can’t say. It may be nothing. Even more signals cross this city center than around your co-op.
Maybe it’s someone wearing gauntlets. Mine were heavier and packed with more tech than most, but many people here wore wristbands or tech-bracelets.
Possibly. I’d stay alert. This is the second time I thought it was following us.
I looked around. Other pedestrians strolled the paths, but none looked suspicious. That didn’t mean I didn’t have a shadow, just that if I did, they had enough experience to keep me from noticing them. What makes you think they were following us?
After so many years as an investigative EI, I’ve built large databases on human behavior and tech. It allows me to extrapolate. Max paused. You might call it EI intuition.
Whatever he called it, I trusted his deductions. Let me know if you notice anything else.
Will do.
I continued walking, acutely aware of my surroundings. The tower of police HQ rose above the parks a few blocks away, its windows reflecting the sunshine. Last night, I’d looked up Chief Hadar. Big surprise, he was tall with dark hair, skin, and eyes. The more you resembled the Skolian ideal, the more likely your rise in power hierarchies of the Imperialate. Hell, I had dark hair, skin, and eyes. People only needed one look to know I didn’t come from the upper crust, but I wondered if more subtle forces worked even for a nobody like me. I couldn’t recall seeing a single person with yellow hair in a position of authority. Ironically, the only exception came from several members of the Ruby Dynasty, who had metallic skin and hair and gold or bronze hair. They belonged to a race called Metal, one created through genetic engineering to adapt colonists to a new world. With no historical precedent, people didn’t know how to label them, but since the best-known examples were the Ruby Dynasty, most considered them set apart from the rest of us.
Except.
The Traders also prized metallic skin and hair—in their providers, slaves created to please their Aristo masters in ways I had no wish to think about. I’d spent too many years in the army witnessing the horrors the Aristos inflicted on the rest of the universe. They called their empire the Eubian Concord, as if their totalitarian selves constituted some bizarre harmonious concordance. We used the word Trader because their massive economy took a significant portion of its commerce from the sale of human beings. They wanted to add us to their inventory and then the Allied Worlds of Earth, until their two thousand Aristos owned every one of the three trillion human beings that constituted the whole of humanity.
I had no desire to contemplate a universe where the Trader Aristos held sway. Their empire—exactly the right word for their so-called Concord—consisted of two trillion people spread across hundreds of worlds, moons, and space habitats, more than twice the size of Skolia. Emperor Qox ruled the Traders, a despot with supposedly perfect genetic lineage. Together, the Aristos owned every other human in their empire. Everyone.
Sure, many slaves had comfortable lives. Two thousand Aristos couldn’t control two trillion people if they created misery that drove their slaves to rebel. As long as their people behaved, their lives remained agreeable. If they rebelled, the Aristos got rid of them. All of them. I’d seen worlds where they committed genocide, destroying entire colonies to eradicate the “infestation of wrong thinking.” The nightmare of that devastation haunted my dreams. I’d rather die than live in a universe where the Aristos ruled.
It gave me no end of pleasure that it enraged them to know members of our ruling dynasty resembled the providers at the lowest rung of their hierarchy. The Aristos hated it. They wanted nothing more than to humiliate and enslave the Ruby Dynasty. Well, tough. We had an advantage they had never matched: a faster, more efficient war machine. The Eubian Concord might claim the largest civilization and military force in human history, but ours remained the most effective military ever known.
Fortunately today I only had to face the city police chief, who by all accounts was a hard-working, decent sort who had earned his position through talent rather than connections. Although he wasn’t the first man to run a police force, he was the first here in Selei City, a major governmental center. It impressed me that he hadn’t shied away from seeking outside help on this high-profile investigation. That took confidence.
As I approached the station, its double doors opened. I entered a lobby with robot attendants at counters with signs like, Flyer license applications or Passport renewals. None of them read Notorious serial killers, so I went to Information instead.
The info-bot nodded to me. “My greetings.” It looked humanoid, pleasant in appearance, with nondescript clothes, nothing too fancy. The rest of it gleamed bronze in an attractive manner, I guess because it was soothing, which was probably the intent, given that people who came to a police station could often do with some calming.
“My greetings,” I said. “I’m here to see Captain Hadar. I have an appointment. My name is Bhaajan.”
It paused, probably accessing the station mesh. A laser from somewhere flashed over my face and upper body. “Please come with me,” it said.
I peered at it, figuring out where the laser originated. Ah, there. The robot had a module set into its shoulder, easy to see. Privacy laws required that people or things doing ID scans make the process obvious to the person they scanned.
I went with the robot, deeper into the station. We walked along hallways, through panels of sunlight slanting in the many windows. This place felt too pleasant for a law enforcement center. I’d been on the locked-wrists side of the law too many times in my youth when cops grabbed kids from the Undercity and threw us in jail for existing. Well, also because sometimes we pinched food from merchants on the Concourse above the Undercity. So yah, we were thieves. Hungry thieves. Starving.
Fortunately, those nights I spent in a cell didn’t turn into arrests. The cops let me go with warnings because of my age, so none of that interfered with my enlisting or eventually becoming an officer. I joined the army on my sixteenth birthday, the day I turned old enough according to Skolian law to make that decision on my own. They sent me to school until I was old enough to ship out with the troops. If I hadn’t made that choice, gods only knew where I’d be now. Not that I hadn’t come close to death in the army, but the Undercity could be just as fatal. Nor did the Undercity leave you with marketable skills and a pension, or the self-respect that becoming Major Bhaajan had given my ornery, determined self.
The robot left me in a large office on the top floor of the tower, a place with wooden floors and more windows. Sunlight filled the room. It had an antiqued look, possibly from the slightly yellowed windows, but it felt as if the sunlight had served its purpose here for many ages.
Captain Hadar stood behind a desk carved from wood. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a business shirt and slacks, and tech-mech bands on his wrists. After the robot left, Hadar lifted his hand, inviting me to a window alcove at the back of the room. I joined him on a circular bench that curved under the windows. It looked out over the parks through panes of real glass rather than smart whatever. Good. I liked ordinary glass, and most buildings no longer used the old-fashioned material. Too breakable.
A squat robot the height of my hip rolled over with two steaming mugs of liquid on its flat top. “My greetings,” it said, its voice tinny. The drinks looked like tea, which I drank about as often as I jumped into fire pits. Given the choice, I might take the pit.
Hadar was watching me. He picked up one of the mugs and took a swallow. Lowering it, he said, “Could almost be ket.” He paused with the hint of a smile. “I mean tea.”
Ah. Ket. An innocuous name for a spectacular hot ale. I picked up my mug and took a swallow. Now that was ket to write home about, full and robust. It also highlighted yet again the differences between here and the City of Cries on Raylicon. Hadar could have a glass of ale during working hours as long as he didn’t abuse that perk. If the police chief in Cries drank an alcoholic beverage on the job and got caught, the city would fire her.
I just said, “Good tea.”
Hadar became all business. “So. We’ve three dead scientists and no suspects.”
That was blunt. Good. I nodded to him. “I read the preliminary notes your people sent over, but I’ll need the full reports. I’d like to examine the evidence you’ve gathered and visit the crime scenes. I need to interview anyone who has any connection to the victims, anyone with any reason to want them dead, and anyone who happened to be around at the time of the murders. And anyone else even remotely connected.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s all? You don’t want the entire history of the city, too?”
“Well, if you’re offering—” I stopped when he raised his hand in protest. Okay, none of my dumb jokes. He didn’t know what to make of me yet any more than I did of him. “I do need to look through everything you have—so I can figure out what’s missing.”
“The killer,” he said dryly. “Whoever did this was a pro. They covered their tracks.”
“They may think so.” I met his gaze. “They’re wrong. I’ll find them.”
He had a We’ll see expression. “The strongest clue is the manner of death. Each victim was shot through the brain by a high-precision rifle. That accuracy takes practice, and those guns aren’t easy to come by for civilians. It suggests a sniper with military training.”
That had been my thought, too. “I still have an ISC clearance. I can check into snipers.”
“I’ll put you in touch with a team at the PARS military base here. They’re already doing checks.” He considered me with an appraising stare. “You’ll also need to talk to government leaders and members of the noble Houses. Without alienating them or otherwise making our work more difficult.”
It sounded like he’d heard about my working style. I spoke wryly. “It’s true, my methods are a bit unusual. But I find what ‘usual’ misses.” I thought about the preliminary report. “Your analysts believe they know the source of the shots. Have you found more clues?”
“Not exactly. Initially we thought the killer fired inside the room with the victims, because the walls have no bullet holes.” He shook his head. “Problem is, no trace exists of anyone else in the room. We can’t locate a bullet, or any residue to indicate it disintegrated. We’ve checked for bots, drones, highjacked tech from appliances, hidden code in the building mesh, smart dust, and any indications that tech was introduced or removed from the scene. Nothing. We’ve found only one anomaly. In each case, about two seconds are gone from the visual security record of the room when the killer shot the victim.”
“Is it enough time for the killer to get in, shoot, and get out?”
“Not a chance. It isn’t even close. It’s essentially just the moment when the shot took place.”
I considered his description. “The killer could have shot from outside the room. The nanobots in the walls of those buildings can repair light damage, maybe even a bullet hole.”
“Yes. But a record should exist of the repair. We’ve found none.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “However, just in case, we’re also checking possible locations for a sniper outside the room and building, based on how the bullet entered the body of the victim. We can’t find anything, no unexplained prints or DNA at the scene or anywhere else, no unusual tech signatures, no odd smells or residues, no record of an unexplained person or thing entering or leaving the building, not even dirt from a shoe or a strand of hair. Nor do any security monitors right outside the room show anything suspicious.” He held up his hand as I started to ask the obvious question. “And yes, we checked. None of them show signs of tampering.”
His description sounded incomplete. “How can you predict a location for the sniper? You can’t trace the path of a bullet when some of them can change trajectory during flight.”
Hadar held up his thumb and forefinger with a tiny space between them. “Based on the wounds in the victim, the bullet was like this, extraordinarily small. It couldn’t have incorporated much tech, certainly not a propulsion system, fuel, or anything else to allow substantial changes in trajectory. Without an external force, it can’t deviate from the path determined by the laws of physics. You might get drift if it spins, and it might have had some streamlined tech that allowed minor changes, but nothing significant.” He exhaled. “Can we get the exact location? No. We think we can come close, however. We’re also looking throughout the entire city, just in case.”
“Maybe the bullet had a wireless comm chip. They don’t add much bulk.”
He shrugged. “Any signals to, from, or within it would become part of the city network. We have invisible, floating smart dust that monitors the city. It has picked up nothing that looks like signals from a sniper to a bullet, a bullet to a sniper, or within a bullet.”
I thought back to my years working here. “The city environment is incredibly noisy. Don’t your detection systems screen out signals considered ordinary?”
“Of course. But we have the records. Since the killings started, we’ve deleted nothing.” He looked like he’d eaten a sour fruit. “And yeah, we’re going through it all. We have been for months. It’s tedious as all hell.”
It sounded excruciating. I could also see another problem. “The walls of those buildings are designed to be opaque to targeting systems, even military grade. So how would a sniper outside know where to shoot?”
Hadar didn’t look surprised by my question. “We thought maybe they planted a monitor inside the room. We’ve looked. Nothing.” He paused. “My instincts say a person fired the shot rather than a drone or a bot. Humans have more intellectual flexibility, which makes them better at adapting to unusual situations so they can hide clues.”
He could have a point. “What about the messages claiming responsibility for the murders?”
His voice tightened. “Our trace on them points to a digital marketplace used exclusively by the Royalist Party.”
I snorted. “That’s a given, if the killers are trying to frame the Royalists.”
He studied me, doing that analyzing thing people did when they wanted to figure out your motives. “You don’t think the Royalists are responsible?
“Well, they say they aren’t.”
“That’s your brilliant conclusion?” he asked. “They say they didn’t do it, so they didn’t?”
I stiffened, then thought, Get over yourself, Bhaaj. In his position, I’d have considered my comment naive, too. So I clarified. “Why would an unknown faction of the Royalist Party, one the rest of them can’t identify, claim responsibility for crimes the Royalists immediately denounced? It doesn’t make the point the killers supposedly want, that the Royalists believe technocrats are dangerous. It’s too obviously a setup.”
“That’s probably the point,” Hadar said. “Make it look so obvious, no one believes it.”
“That would be out of character.”
“For whom?” he demanded. “The noble Houses, because of their supposed discretion? Even if they’re all like that, which I doubt, the Royalists aren’t just nobles. Many commoners also believe we should return to dynastic rule.” He paused. “Though I imagine you wouldn’t be familiar with anything to do with the upper classes.”
“Why do you say that?”
He lifted his chin, and I could have sworn he was actually looking down his nose at me. “Given your background, I can’t imagine you have experience with higher levels of society.”
Not this again. I’d had to deal with this attitude all the time after I enlisted, given my Undercity roots. It had eased over the decades as I rose in social position, but it never went away and it still pissed me off.
Then again, his crack sounded out of character. Hadar had asked me to come here. He wouldn’t do that if he considered me unqualified. Given that I lived on another planet, he had to go out of his way to find out about me. The House of Majda also made no secret that they kept me on retainer, which meant the chief knew I worked for them.
I met his gaze, more curious now than irked. “I’m sure you know that statement of yours is bullshit. Why are you trying to bait me?”
Hadar gave a startled laugh. “You’re as blunt as your reputation claims.”
“Yah. How about a blunt answer?”
He considered me. “I wanted to know if you’d use your Majda connection to put me ‘in my place.’ Or if you’d lose your cool when reminded of what people think of your roots.”
I scowled at him. “What, you’re testing me to see if I fit your stereotypes?”
“Or maybe the opposite.” His voice tightened. “The Royalists claim responsibility for the technocrat murders. With this last one, the killer has also admitted they’re targeting Technologists.”
Ho! Now I saw. “And you’re a Tech.”
“That’s right.”
“You think my Majda link will make me favor a Royalist version of events.”
“Will it?”
“No.”
“Yet you don’t believe they have a connection to the murders.”
I gave him an honest answer. “I can’t be certain, and I won’t assume they don’t. But it makes no sense. What would these killings achieve? Sure, that latest bit about the Technologists could sour relations between the two parties, but given how much it looks like a setup, it’s just as likely to make the Techs join forces with the Royalists against a common enemy.”
Hadar let out a breath and his tension seemed to ease. “So my other detectives tell me. They believe the Progressives set it up, to upset the status quo.”
“You think? I mean, it’s possible they have a fringe edge. But the Progressive Party as a whole doesn’t operate that way. They seek peaceful change, not violence.” I shrugged. “Sure, they taunt the more traditional parties, but it’s verbal and visual, not physical.”
Hadar nodded to me. “Although we get far more complaints against members of the Progressive Party than any other, it’s true they rarely break the law, unless you count peaceful civil disobedience.”
Interesting. “Which political party tops the list of lawbreakers?”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Technologists.”
Ho! I hadn’t expected that. “Whatever for?”
“Cybercrime.” He sighed. “It’s a constant battle to protect the meshes. Part of the reason I got this position is because I’m known as an expert in catching mesh crackers.”
It sounded like he walked a tightrope of opposed loyalties. “That probably doesn’t sit well with Techs who don’t want limits on their ability to access information.” Like me.
He spoke dryly. “It makes life interesting.”
“What about violent crime? Cybernauts break the law with their brains, not their fists.”
“Modernists top the list.”
“The Mods?” The blandest party in the cosmos? “How could that be?”
“They’re the biggest party, Major. There’s just plain more of them.” He shrugged. “Their members aren’t angels any more than the rest of us. Progressives are actually at the bottom of the list. They know they’re targets. They avoid trouble.”
It actually fit, now that I thought about it. “They get the most press by far, though.”
“That’s because they offend the most people.”
I knew that game all too well. My reputation had spread fast in the army when I started my climb out of the enlisted ranks into officer training, a feat purportedly impossible for a dust rat from the Undercity. I avoided stirring up waves, but it happened anyway, as I scandalized, impressed, or offended people just by doing what seemed—to me—perfectly normal. I wanted to be an officer. I had the ability. Why not do it? The rest of the universe had other ideas, but tough. They could eat it. My attitude, unfortunately, hadn’t won me friends.
Hadar was watching me. He spoke carefully. “When I became chief here, there were those who had, shall we say, strong opinions against the idea.”
“They accuse you of making trouble?” I’d constantly run into that assumption, as if the mere fact that my existence countered stereotypes acted as a form of protest.
“Not exactly,” he said. “Critics claim I’m emotional, likely to lose my cool, unable to lead.”
It surprised me to hear him reveal that juicy factoid. Although I could believe people talked him down that way, he wouldn’t have attained his position unless he’d learned how to counter those perceptions and operate within the system, never making waves, especially not to someone he had just met. “How do you know I won’t think that as well?”
“I’ve looked at your record, Major. I suspect you know exactly what I mean.” He spoke thoughtfully. “That’s why I doubt the Progressives are behind this. I’m not convinced these crimes are politically motivated, but if they are, and it isn’t Progs, Techs, or Royalists, that leaves the Modernists and Traditionalists.”
“The Mods did form as a reaction against the Royalists.” I didn’t believe they did it, though. “I just don’t see any motive. Traditionalists don’t make sense, either. They’re the most closely allied with the Royalists. They and the Royalists both want to return to an earlier age.”
The chief lifted his hands, then dropped them. “Maybe the killer just hates politics.”
I grimaced. “That leaves about ninety-nine percent of the human race.”
He smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”
I regarded him. “I’ll get your killer.” No one, no matter how clever, could hide forever. They always left clues.
I just needed to find them.
“Nothing like this has happened in the history of the university.” Dean Elizia Jaan stood with me on a balcony outside her fourth-story office overlooking the college. It spread out below, classic buildings with arched doorways and antique towers surrounded by parks with nary a parking lot or store anywhere. Those all lay underground, part of a trendy mall. Parthonia University was large and well respected, with a strong reputation among publicly funded institutes.
“This school is more than three centuries old,” Jaan said. “In all that time, it’s only seen two other murders in the faculty. Now three in less than a year?” She turned to me, her face drawn with fatigue. Her black hair curled around her shoulders, and lines showed around her eyes. “I knew all three professors who died. I can’t believe they’re gone.”
“I’m sorry.” I meant it. I’d never become inured to death, not after twenty years in the army and all the death I’d seen as a child in the Undercity. “What can you tell me about them? I have the police files, but any insights you can offer might help.”
“I knew Dezi Marchland the best. We used to meet for lunch.” Her voice caught. “Dezi joined our Cybernetics Department about twenty years ago. It didn’t take long for her to become a leading neurologist in the development of cybernetic pathways in human bodies.”
I spoke gently. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Jaan pushed her hand through her hair. “The second victim, Subida Habil, was an engineer. She worked with starship drives. Tejas Akarya was a physicist, an experimentalist who studied quantum systems.”
Marchland’s work had contributed to my own biomech. I was less familiar with Habil or Akarya, but they each had a long list of awards and distinctions. “The police reports describe all three as leaders in their fields.”
She spoke bitterly. “If a fringe Royalist group wanted to take out the top scientists whose work had military applications, they couldn’t have chosen better.”
“You still believe the Royalists are responsible?” I could see now why the Traders might target the professors. I had thought of the victims as teachers, but it sounded like their research played a large role in their jobs. “These crimes work more to the advantage of the Traders.”
Jaan didn’t look surprised. “Their deaths impact several secured military projects, especially with the J-Force.”
I wondered how she knew about “secured military projects.” She had no link to Imperial Space Command, at least not publicly. “Why do you mention the Jagernaut Force in particular?”
“Marchland’s work applies to Jagernaut pilots. You probably aren’t familiar with that aspect.” She spoke as if explaining a concept to someone with less education. “The pilots make cybernetic links with their starfighters. They also have internal biomech webs, enhancements that augment their speed and reflexes, and implanted EI nodes.” She hesitated. “I realize that with your background, these may be new ideas.”
For flaming sake. “And what background might that be?” I asked, all fake innocence.
Bhaaj, don’t, Max thought.
I can’t listen to you, I answered. With my background, I don’t know you exist.
“Your upbringing.” Jaan spoke awkwardly. “I mean, that you came from a place with so little—” She stopped as if she didn’t know the right word.
“Max,” I said. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”
Stop it, Max told me. Aloud, he spoke in his most diplomatic voice. “I believe Dean Jaan means that with your military background, including your many decades operating with a biomech web, in the army and now as a private investigator, you are in an ideal position to understand the loss to the scientific community due to these deaths.”
The dean had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Major. I meant no offense.”
I hadn’t expected an apology. I gave myself a moment to stop being pissed, then said, “It’s no problem. I understand.” I even did, sort of. That didn’t explain why she would agree with Chief Hadar to bring me here if she questioned my experience. You didn’t succeed as the dean of a major university by insulting your appointed experts.
It does seem odd for someone in her position, Max said.
Did you just get my thoughts? He didn’t usually pick up anything unless I thought it with force and clarity, directed specifically at him.
A bit, Max answered. You were angry enough to add force.
I shouldn’t let it get to me. But twice in one day, both from people who should know better?
I don’t think her reaction is anything like with Chief Hadar. She seems agitated.
Ho! She’s trying to distract me. I’ll bet I asked a question she doesn’t want to answer. I considered Jaan. “How do you have knowledge of secured ISC projects worked on by the victims?”
She met my gaze, saying nothing, the panorama of her university in the background. That view would make a compelling image for an ad. I wondered if that was why she invited me out to this balcony to talk. It made her look impressive while she tried to wait me out, perhaps hoping the silence would start me talking again. No matter. I could play this waiting game.
After a moment, she said, “I’m not at liberty to discuss details of that research.”
That was a stock answer if I’d ever heard one. “I’ve a grade three ISC clearance.”
Jaan started. “I hadn’t realized.”
That seemed more genuine, unlike her previous statements. It was unusual for a civilian to have a clearance like mine, but Vaj Majda wanted her PI armed with every possible tool. It wasn’t like anyone planned to argue with the General of the Pharaoh’s Army.
“Why would the dean of a university have that kind of clearance?” I asked. “You’ve no connection to ISC, at least none the public can find.” The public in this case being me, in law-abiding mode. I’d have Max do a hidden dive into the dark mesh tonight.
She tapped the slender wristband she wore. A woman’s voice rose into the air, sounding like an EI. “My greetings, Dean Jaan. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to verify the clearance status of Major Bhaajan, army, retired.”
“One moment,” the EI said.
If her EI could verify my clearance, it gave another indication that this dean had tendrils of influence extending into unexpected places. We stood there awkwardly while her EI did its thing.
The EI finally said, “Major Bhaajan has a grade three clearance with the Pharaoh’s Army.”
“Huh,” Jann said. “Double-check the security of this balcony.”
“The security protocols remain in effect,” her EI said. “You have privacy.”
Jaan nodded, more to herself than anyone else, I suspected. Then she focused on me. “Dezi Marchland was studying the link fighter pilots make from the neural chip in their brain to their ship’s EI. Her work would make it easier for the pilot and ship to share minds. Subida Habil was working to streamline the inversion process that takes starships out of our space-time universe into complex space. Right now, ships have to accelerate close to the speed of light to invert. She was trying to make it feasible at slower speeds. Tejas Akarya spearheaded a project to develop quantum stasis coils for starships to shield humans against high accelerations, more than the crude coils currently used, but full quasis that could protect ships from weapons fire.”
Saints almighty, that made one hell of a difference. “Did you tell Chief Hadar any of this?”
“Not details. I can’t. However, he does know all three scientists had ISC funding.”
I regarded her steadily. “That obviously makes them targets for the Trader military.”
“Yes. The army is looking into it.” She shook her head. “They’ve found nothing.”
“Well, no, but so far no one has found anything for anyone.”
“Except Royalists.” She paused. “It isn’t unusual for members of the Houses to serve in the military. And many Royalists are from the Houses.”
Yah, okay, now I got her point. “That’s why you agreed with Chief Hadar to bring me here. I’m from the Undercity, so you see me as the antithesis of the aristocracy. You think that makes me unlikely to participate in a cover-up if they’re responsible for the killings.”
“I wanted you here because you’re damn good at what you do.” She exhaled. “But yes, I hoped your distance from the Houses would give you objectivity.”
Distance. It wasn’t how I’d describe the difference between extreme poverty and exorbitant wealth, but what the hell. “You do know I work for the House of Majda, yes?”
“I am aware.” She met my gaze. “I am also aware, like the rest of the empire, that the Matriarch of the House of Majda is a Joint Commander in Imperial Space Command. These three deaths impact the ability of ISC to develop military advances. If anyone has a vested interest in seeing this case solved, it’s Majda.”
“True. But they don’t believe the Royalists planned the murders.”
“Of course they don’t.” Jaan lifted her hands, then dropped them. “Hell if I know. Maybe it is the Traders. But if they got into this city, you’d think they’d hide their operation.”
My thoughts, also. To infiltrate a major center well enough to set up an assassination squad would take a complex and involved operation, one probably years in the making. Why waste all of that by turning a spotlight on the killings? The assassins would more likely act behind the scenes, disguising the murders as accidents. Also, given the protections in the city, on the planet, and in the star system, the possibility of such an infiltration was tiny.
“Do the three victims have any friends in common?” I asked. “Any clubs or sports?”
“They had mutual acquaintances at the university. None of them moved in the same circles, though.” She paused. “Well, except that game, Power Meld. You know, the one where you combine numbers. I think they all played it.”
I gave her a rueful smile. “It’s addicting.” I’d wasted far too many hours swiping number cubes in that game. Everyone played the blasted thing. Even the Earthers had imported it from us.
And the Traders.
“Can you get me access to their accounts where they played the game?” I asked. “I’d like to see if they had any chats with each other or anyone else during any session.”
“That’s an invasion of privacy laws.” When I started to respond, she held up her hand. “I know. They’re dead. You’ll still need a warrant or permission from their heirs.” She spoke quietly. “Major, their families are grieving. You must walk carefully.”
I understood her concern. “Let’s ask their permission. Gently. That would be better than my just showing up with a warrant.”
She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t want to hurt the families; I knew all too well the agony of losing someone you loved. I’d lost too many people I cared about in my youth, and the war had taken many others. If the Traders had a part in this, I’d make sure they regretted attacking our city.