Conscience of the Beagle (5 page)

Arne tears off his mask. His thin face is drawn, his eyes are burning.

“Okay,” Szabo says quickly. “I’m sorry, Major. Milos? The major’s right. And I’ll take the casing with me. I’ll try later. I’ll try harder. I’m not getting anything right now. Sometimes it happens. Psychometry isn’t a science. Not like what Beagle does. Not like what Milos does.”

The air in the subway tunnel stinks of dust and blood and smoke. Three hours since the explosion, and the rotten smell is starting. Szabo coughs. His eyes are wet. He wipes them.

“Well, if you’re finished, let’s leave. I’m choking in here. And I can see it’s bothering you.”

I don’t expect an answer, but Szabo says, “Of course it bothers me. That’s the whole point. Every place I step has a horror story.”

“But not the right one.”

Szabo looks miserable. He puts the bomb casing down. “No,” he says. “Not the right one.”

WHEN WE
walk
out into the moist sweet air of midnight, I find Vanderslice waiting. “Marvin’s very upset,” he says.

The God’s Warrior with the large nose is standing next to Vanderslice. I wonder if they’ve been laughing at me.

“Stomach better now?” the Warrior asks me. “Still need that Nausease?”

Vanderslice turns and the cop’s smile vanishes. “Lieutenant Stuven? It might be a good idea to send your men down into the tunnel and take those EPAT readings now.”

The officer snaps to attention. In the harsh light of the floods I see the glisten of sweat across the man’s forehead and down the long slope of his nose. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. We would have been in there sooner, sir, if he hadn’t
—”

“I understand. Just get down there.”

“Yes, sir. But you’ll
—”

Vanderslice’s voice is so soft it chills me. “I’ll explain to the Chosen, Danny. Get down there.”

The cop pales. “Right away.” He hurries toward his men. Vanderslice shrugs. When he speaks again, his voice is casual. “Hope you don’t mind, Major. I know it’s late, but Marv wants to scream. It’s best to let him yell.”

“Beagle,” I call.

He steps forward.

“You don’t need sleep. Szabo and Arne can go back to the hotel. You come with me.”

I’ll need backup. I might need witnesses. Dangerous men never shout. They don’t have to. I’m suspicious of Vanderslice’s whisper and the way the cop blanched.

The limo is waiting. The interior smells of Vanderslice’s spicy aftershave.

He doesn’t offer us anything to drink. “What did you find?” he asks.

I look out the window at the sleeping town. “Nothing.”

Vanderslice’s eyes meet Beagle’s. The construct stares back, poker-faced.

“Look. When we get to the mansion, let me do all the talking.” Vanderslice leans toward Beagle. “And let’s not remind him that you’re a construct. He knows that, of course, but he conveniently forgets stuff. Marv’s upset enough, understand?”

“No robot babble. I think I understand.”

Vanderslice leans back and chews at a nail. The rest of the trip is silent.

On the third floor of the mansion we’re met by a tight-lipped woman. Her eyes are wide with alarm. Wife? She’s the right age. Or secretary? She’s certainly frightened enough. Without a word, she opens the door to Marvin’s office and ushers us in.

The Chosen of God is pacing the terra cotta tiles. In a wing-backed chair a high-ranking God’s Warrior nurses a drink.

As we enter, Marvin stops pacing. His face purples with rage. “God in Heaven!”

His shout is high-pitched and loud. The woman retreats, shutting the door behind her. The God’s Warrior spills his drink and surreptitiously mops the upholstery with his sleeve.

“You were in there over an hour!” Marvin screams. “People were waiting for news! And do you have any idea what I had to tell them?”

Before Marvin can answer the question himself
—
because it appears that he is about to
—
I take a seat.

“That the Earthers had ordered my men out. And do you know what they said?”

Across the room Beagle considers his seating decision, then opts for a chair out of Marvin’s line of sight.

“They said, ‘But my father might be in there! My wife just went shopping and isn’t home yet!’ And do you know what my answer had to be? Do you have any idea?”

I lean back and regard my steepled hands.

“I don’t know! I had to tell them I don’t know! God help me! There were people crying on the phone!”

To my astonishment, Marvin halts his tirade to check his watch. “Nine forty-five the blast went off. It was after midnight when you finally decided to get out of there so we could finish listing the dead.” Marvin has used up all stores of available anger. Now he stands depleted, his head down, his face weary. “I had to tell them we couldn’t be sure there weren’t more survivors bleeding to death in the rubble. One man was missing his wife and two children.”

“I’m sorry. There weren’t any survivors. Didn’t you think we’d check?”

The Chosen studies the ceiling. “You know what we are to Earth, Major Holloway? A dog on a leash. We can go just so far, and our master jerks us back. Sit up!” he snaps.

I stiffen. But Marvin isn’t looking my way. His gaze is riveted to the window and the sprinkling of blue-white lights beyond.

“Beg.” In silken fury he adds, “Play dead.” Marvin whirls. “Major. What did you find in there?”

“Nothing. Except by inference. The bombings are professional. Surgically neat acts of terrorism
—”

“Neat? Surgically neat? That bloodbath? Blessed God, Major! You’re talking in oxymorons. Nothing could be neat about it!”

Vanderslice, out of Marvin’s peripheral vision, is motioning me to keep quiet. “I meant that whoever set the bombs off knew exactly what they were doing. That’s what I meant. How are the God’s Warriors trained?”

The Chosen’s eyes turn glassy. His words emerge in a hiss. “Sweet Jesus. You’re planning to blame this on me.”

“I’ll investigate everything, but the government is the most obvious place to start.”

His fingers have started to tremble. “I ordered you to come. I can order you back.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“If you can blame this on my administration, Earth can take over Tennyson on an Article Five. And that’s what you’re planning to do. You’ll take everything from us. Our sovereignty. Our wealth. Grasping little derelicts with your greedy little hands. You have an ugly world, Major. Ticks. That’s what we call you. Did you know that? Ticks. And Earth is a crowded, scabrous hound. I want you out of here now. I want you off my planet.”

“Beagle.” I rise. Beagle gets out of his chair.

“No!” Vanderslice is suddenly on his feet. “No. Listen. It’s my fault, Marvin. I’ve made a mess of this investigation from the start. Let them stay and I’ll resign.”

The glass falls from the God’s Warrior’s hand. Shatters like a bomb against the tiles. Beagle and I flinch. Vanderslice and Marvin stand, eyes locked. Marvin is breathing hard.

“There’s no need
—”
Marvin begins.

“I can’t solve this, Marv. Don’t you understand? We’re in a box, you see? A box. And Earth played fairer than I thought they would. Marv? Are you listening? Major Holloway caught Earth’s most infamous criminal. He’s been sent to colonies before, and he comes with their highest recommendation. Dr. Taylor
—
and I know how you feel about constructs, Marv. Believe me, I do
—
but there’re only two others like him in existence. They spent a lot of money to preserve this man. Earth sent us their best. Don’t order them home. Don’t give Earth an excuse to step in. I know you’re angry. I know that. But if you want a head to roll, Marv, make it mine.”

As if the offer has catastrophically aged him, Marvin shuffles toward the chair at his desk. He collapses into it and whispers, “Don’t ask me to do this.”

“Marv?”

A lengthy silence. Marvin studies the floor. Then clears his throat. “Let them stay.”

Vanderslice nods and motions us out. We walk past the wide-eyed woman, down the plush hall and through the marble entrance. When we climb into the limo, Vanderslice orders it to the hotel.

“Old Marvin.” At my shoulder, Vanderslice sighs. “He can be excitable. I hope that
—
well, anything he said
—
I hope it hasn’t offended you.”

I don’t bother to reply. I’m wondering what happened in that room. Szabo said Vanderslice is lying. But God, have I misjudged him? What could he be lying about?

“So,” he asks, “What’d you come up with on Paulie?”

From the shadows of the opposite seat, Beagle says, “Paulie Hendrix, married to Talia Hendrix, and editor of
Godly Science,
a monthly journal. All the science that’s holy we’ll print, that sort of thing.”

Vanderslice, as if he can hold it up no longer, drops his smile. “Right. What did you find out?”

All of Beagle I can see in the strobe of the passing streetlights is a sagging cheek. The downturn at one corner of his mouth. “He was into it up to his neck. According to his DEEP files he was tired of printing the acceptable, of being governed by the Apostasy Laws. He got sick of seeing good science ruined, and joined the revolution. Whether Marv decided to off him or not remains open to question, but that’s the only question I have.”

Vanderslice is shaking his head. “There’s no revolution. It’s all a smokescreen. I knew Paulie. He was a passive sort of guy. More at home with research. There’s something else here. And you have to find out what.” He looks at me. The entreaty in his eyes is naked. “Please, Major. You have to find out what.”

“Beagle. Send the Hendrix files to my net.”

A rustle. Beagle shifts his weight in the seat. “I’ll send you a summary.”

“I want the whole thing.”

“Double work. Senseless. A time-waster.”

I can feel the scrutiny of Vanderslice, his breathless anticipation. I take a deep breath. The air in the limo smells of aftershave. Of nervous sweat.

I wipe my hand down my face. It comes away greasy. “I want to see all of it. Maybe I’ll find something you missed.”

“I doubt that. I doubt that very much. Remember, I’m the expert here, not you. If there was a Hendrix pattern, I would have found it by now. I simply don’t see the point.”

“The point is,” I say quietly, “that you’re just a robot.”

THE SIDEWALK
of the
hotel is empty but for an automated luggage carrier. From the pine forest landscape lighting gleams. The gazebo seems to be sitting in a pool of moonlight.

When the limo drives off, Beagle doesn’t move.

“Don’t take the robot remark personally,” I tell him.

Across the early morning air comes his hoarse bass. “Do you work at being a shit? Or has shittiness simply been thrust upon you?”

My laugh is inappropriate. Certainly impolitic.

“You need me, Major. Don’t push me. Don’t question my work like that.”

“Look, I know you’re M-8. I know your reputation. And I know there’s nothing in the Hendrix files you missed. But you saw what happened between Vanderslice and Marvin. You may be smarter than I am, but I’m the better people-watcher. I’m trained that way. And when we’re with off-worlders don’t question my orders, you understand? They’ll see a weakness in the team.”

Beagle looks speculatively toward the hotel. “Sorry.” A pause. “You’re right.”

The apology is a surprise. An unexpected peace offering. Since he’s given in, I push him more. “What did you do to HF that makes you think they’ll demote you?”

The famous Beagle as troublemaker? A construct as iconoclast? I doubt it.

He stiffens.

“I’m not the spy,” I tell him. His face is held in such tight check that he looks more statue than man. I realize he doesn’t believe me.

There’s no point in arguing. I walk to a bench and sit. Beagle must not see the point, either. He sits at my side. “So what happened with Talia Hendrix?” I ask.

“She was banished out of bosom. She’s living someplace on the south side now.”

I stretch out my legs. Consider the tips of my boots. “South side. You know where?”

“Fifteen-forty Divine Mercy. Why?”

“Divine Mercy. Christ on a crutch. Where do they get these names? Did Vanderslice ever try to help her?”

Beagle shrugs. “Not that I can tell.”

“If Hendrix was his best friend, why wouldn’t he have helped his wife?”

“Maybe Talia Hendrix had become a political liability.”

“Maybe. Is Vanderslice married?”

Beagle chuckles. “All the ministers have a wifey at home. It’s expected with the job. Wifey’s name is Jenny. Jenny and John. Has a precious sort of ring, don’t you think? They have a one-year-old kid.”

Did Lila ever want children? I don’t know. We never discussed it. But she was realistic. The gardens on M-6 would have been enough. The flowers. The lighted walkways. And a small white dog.

From the pines an owl hoots. We both turn to look. Given Beagle’s nightvision, it’s probable he actually sees it.

The hoot sounds so lonely. “I wonder if they have mice. It would be pitiful to have owls and not have any mice.”

Beagle, bored with the owl, swivels back. “Our boy Vanderslice may not have gotten along with Talia. That’s possible.” He gets to his feet. “Shouldn’t we go in? It’s probably getting cold for you out here.”

Only then do I notice the chill. “Something in this Paulie Hendrix story doesn’t fit, and Talia Hendrix has the missing puzzle piece. Maybe Vanderslice wanted her to disappear. Or maybe the south side’s not as bad as the briefing reports say. I’d better take a cab to Divine Mercy.”

“Isn’t it a little late in the evening for that?”

I look toward the cabcall. Between the front of the hotel and the corner the sidewalk is dark. Why did I tell Beagle I would go? How could I trap myself like this? Now I’ll have to walk through the shadows. I’ll have to get in the cab alone.

I rise. Take a few self-assured steps before fear lames me.

“Hey!”

My terror is a room-sized weight I carry on my back. There are times it crushes me. Mornings I’m too tired to pick it up. At Beagle’s call I turn.

“Sure you don’t want me with you?”

If he goes with me, he’ll see how my hands shake. How I jump at every noise. “No.”

“Major? I’m not the spy, either.”

I don’t believe him.