The Alien Trace [Cord 01] (6 page)

    The Speaker's car did not travel far. Cord estimated that the direction was west, which would mean toward the hillside section. It came to a halt, and Cord heard stirrings as the Speaker prepared to get out. The painstaking work was ahead.

    Cord searched until the Speaker was in the viewscreen.

    Then he detached the pursuit capsule from the main unit. The entire assembly was too large to use in daylight without cover; certainly it would not be possible for it to follow the Speaker through the streets or into a building. The capsule by itself might pass unnoticed, but it did not have the range to send its data back to the monitor. Instead, it transmitted to its carrier, which would remain with the Speaker's vehicle, and the carrier would relay the signal back to the monitor. It was not an ideal arrangement, since if the Speaker moved beyond the capsule's limited range, Cord would lose contact until the Speaker returned to his vehicle-and the carrier unit.

    The capsule, hardly larger than an insect (in fact, it was disguised to look much like one of the larger insect species), attached itself to the Speaker's mantle. The garment's fullness and rich embroidery reflected its wearer's position in society-and provided concealment for the surveillance device. Once the Speaker was inside, it should be possible to manipulate the capsule to get a visual broadcast as well as sound.

    From the glance Cord caught of the area in which the Speaker had parked, he was sure that it was the wealthy section. He had no time to study the scene in detail, as his attention was taken up with maneuvering the bug. Its tiny grips opened and closed upon the fabric until it had a stronger hold. Then he had a few minutes in which to untense his muscles, and to consider possible courses of action. There was a moment's anxiety when the Speaker removed the mantle, letting it fall into disarray on the floor. Cord guided the shadow out of the enshrouding cloth, bringing it to a halt under the edge of the material. Working blind, it was a delicate operation. But it resulted in his being able to see again, as well as hear.

    Swiveling the camera, Cord focused on the Speaker and his hostess-a person Cord did not recognize-who were crouching before a refreshment table.

    If the Council could make anything of a conversation revolving around fisheries and the production of fish jelly, Cord thought, they were welcome to do so.

    'I hope you will consider petitioning the Upper Council for more trade with the humans," the Speaker said. "While you may not sell much to them directly, you will profit from others' trade. People from all over Mehira will come to transact business with the offworlders, and virtually everyone in my district will prosper in some way. The visitors will buy fish, the residents will have more money, so they will buy more fish-and your business will grow."

    "The prospect is beguiling," the woman admitted. "That was why I asked you here to discuss your views on the alien trade. Still, there is some risk, is there not? And my profits have always been adequate."

    "And they are no bigger than your parents' profits were when you were an infant. The aliens travel from star to star more easily than we go around Mehira. They did not gain interstellar travel by living in a static system. We are more civilized, yet less advanced. If we wish to equal and exceed their accomplishments, we must break out of our period of stagnation. Besides," he added with a slight smile, "at present the trade is benefiting only a few persons-those chosen by the Upper Council."

    The businesswoman muttered agreement, evidently impressed by the last point. There was no further conversation for some moments. The Speaker sampled a dried fish roll filled with vegetable paste, and the fisheries owner sipped from a bowl. Sweetened fruit vinegar and water, Cord guessed; that would be the appropriate beverage for a morning business conference. Then she picked up a ripe, succulent berry and rolled it between well-manicured fingers, bruising its flesh, before a moist, pink tongue tasted it. The act of eating the fruit was decidedly sensual.

    "I have heard a rumor that the Council has restricted contact because the humans are savages." She smiled slyly. Though the shadow could not transmit emotions, Cord was sure savage lovemaking appealed to her.

    "There are always rumors of some sort," replied the Speaker. "The Council is overcautious and naturally does not wish to upset the status quo. I have met the aliens, and I do not believe they desire anything beyond expanded trade opportunities and profit. As what reasonable person does not?"

    The woman agreed with a laugh. Setting her cup carefully on the table, she rested her hand on the Speaker's arm and said, so softly that Cord almost did not catch the words:

    "I did not ask you to come here only to discuss business. Life does not revolve around work alone. I have admired you for a long time, although we have not known each other well. Please consider me your friend."

    "I am honored," the Speaker said. He sounded more apprehensive than flattered. Common courtesy forced him to add, "Please consider me your friend."

    Cord was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment for the Speaker. He could see where the conversation was leading.

    "Then let us seal our friendship," the woman breathed. "We won't be disturbed here."

    Cord sat up straighter. He had been to parties with other young people, of course, at which no one worried too much about being observed in sex. But everyone doing it together was different from spying on someone in the act-particularly when the someone was much older and an honored leader. Cord hoped the Speaker could find some way to excuse himself from a duty which he seemed unlikely to desire, but doubted he could do it. It would be so very rude.

    "I am sorry," the Speaker replied after a noticeable hesitation. "For many years I have been incapable in that way."

    "Are you certain it isn't for lack of trying? I'm very good."

    The fisheries owner's gown slid down on her shoulders to pool around hips. Although she was older than Neteel, Cord thought she was still extremely desirable. She had large, well-shaped breasts and inviting, firm flesh; her arousal was evident. Cord sympathized with the Speaker. There was really no way now that he could extricate himself… but no normal person would want to turn down such an attractive offer anyway. Certainly the Speaker had been maneuvered into this position so that he could not withdraw without insulting his hostess-and losing her political support.

    But with a smile which was clearly forced, the Speaker said: "I am sure you are delightful. And if I were able to respond, I would certainly sample all the pleasures you offer. Unfortunately that is not possible. Thank you for your hospitality. I must leave now."

    The Speaker stood up with dignity. His hostess gathered her garment around herself and rose also, her tail lashing angrily. After an exchange of restrained courtesies, the Speaker picked up his cloak and departed.

    By then, the golden red sun had broken through the clouds, so he did not bother to put on his mantle; the surveillance device remained concealed in it. The Speaker then went to the Lower Council building, where surveillance was not necessary-indeed, the Council forbade the making of recordings in the chambers, except during public sessions. Even in the course of an investigation for the Council, the discovery of a shadow there would have been embarrassing for Cord's family. However, since the Speaker left the mantle in his vehicle, the problem did not arise. When he came out at sunset, he returned to his home, and Cord left the monitor unattended, only switching the panel to "Alert." If the Speaker went out again, later in the evening, a tone would sound, to claim Cord's attention-or perhaps Fyrrell's or Neteel's.

    Cord was very tired, so tired that he was not even hungry, but when his parents arrived at dark, their obvious happiness revived him.

    "We bought something at a cookshop," Neteel said, setting a stack of leaf-baskets on the bench. "To celebrate," she explained, since such an extravagance was rare for them.

    "We're selling the Terrans plans to one or two things," Fyrrell said, carrying in the cases containing their demonstrator models and samples.

    "One or two things!" Neteel laughed delightedly. "Say five or six."

    "And they will pay us so much for every one they manufacture. It's a very small amount of money for each- but Greffard was speaking of selling hundreds of thousands of them."

    "And that would make our…
royalties
very great." Neteel used the human word; Mehiran lacked a term for it.

    As they took their places around the low table, Neteel asked, "How was your surveillance today?"

    "I don't think I got anything the Council will be able to use. Most of the day the Speaker was in the Lower Council. This morning he talked to someone about expanding trade with the aliens. It's not very interesting. No sign of anything you'd call an illegal activity." During the day, following the Speaker's movements, Cord had been able to regard him as simply another subject for investigation. Now he found himself feeling slightly defensive about Bird's father.

    "That, of course, is for the Council to decide," Fyrrell gruffly told him. Cord knew that. And he was definitely uncomfortable about that monitored meeting without knowing why.

    "Did you recognize the person he met?" Cord's mother inquired, helping herself to minced vegetables.

    "No, but she should be identifiable from the recordings. She seemed to have widespread fishing interests."

    "Perhaps, after dinner, you should take the recordings to the Council. They expect regular reports, whether there is anything to report on or not. You know where to take them?"

    "Yes. I've made deliveries to the Council before."

    "So you have. Sorry, Cord, I keep forgetting. Don't worry about following up tomorrow-your mother and I will keep an eye on the monitor while you catch up on your sleep. One of us would go tonight with the recordings, but we've got some work to do before our next meeting at the spaceport."

    

    

    There were few people in the streets so late, but when he came to the Council's administrative building, Cord saw that three of its six wings were still fully lit. Someone was always on duty in case the Council had to be summoned to deal with an emergency. Cord knew his parents had often come to the Council representative here at night with case reports or for instructions. Usually the attendant in the entrance hall was alone. Tonight, several Council guards and half a dozen men and women of obvious importance (though they were wearing plain mantles or hooded cloaks) were waiting there. Cord glanced around, his nerves raw. Six wings radiated from the domed entrance hall, their dim, green marble corridors echoing. By comparison, the lobby seemed a haven of light and safety.

    "Your business?" the attendant demanded.

    "I have an investigative report for the Council," Cord replied. He kept his empathic sense shielded. He did not want to know what all those respected and powerful people thought of his work.

    The attendant beckoned to a guard.

    "Take him to the Council representative."

    Cord followed his escort, looking to neither side. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had involved himself in something large and complex. The guard led him to an upstairs room, not one of the usual rooms where ordinary Mehirans with ordinary business would be admitted. A stiff-backed Council representative sat waiting-and Cord quickly dampened his startled reaction.

    A representative was usually in the prime of life, holding the position as a prelude to a career of public service. Bird's father had been a representative when he was young, Cord understood. But the man seated among many cushions before him was old. His scalplock had darkened almost to brown, and his skin was yellowish, but his back was still straight and his thinness only increased his dignity. Perhaps he was someone of prestige, resuming his old role temporarily. That happened, sometimes, in a time of unrest or danger. Cord wondered uneasily what was wrong.

    "You may sit," he instructed Cord.

    Cord did so. It was an honor.

    "You have recordings of your surveillance of the Speaker of the Third District?"

    "Yes, respected one." Cord passed the box to him.

    "It will take some time to study these. In the meantime I want a brief report from you." The representative pressed a button in the control panel beside him, and a woman in Council dress entered almost at once. Cord wondered if she'd been waiting in the corridor.

    The old one gave her the recordings, she left, and he turned his attention back to Cord.

    "Why are you withholding your emotions?" he asked unexpectedly. "Open your mind."

    Reluctantly, Cord let down his defenses.

    "In my family," he said, "it is often necessary. How could we trap criminals if they could feel our impulses?"

    "Very sensible, but don't do it here. In the future when you are with decent people you had better permit your emotions to be known."

    "May I ask why, sir?" Cord realized he was presuming upon the Councilman's good humor, but he was curious.

    "Anyone whose feelings are not open to inspection by all must be hiding something: thoughts of violence or dishonesty. To withhold yourself is a form of deviancy which will not be tolerated much longer."

    Cord said nothing. He was puzzled and a little frightened of the powerful man before him. He'd never been particularly afraid even of the most savage criminals he helped trap, only excited and tense. This was different. There was no excitement, only apprehension. And it was not good to come to the attention of the great-not in his parents' experience. For others, it was all right-an artist, a craftsman, or a cook might find himself with a wealthy patron. But no one took notice of investigators except to be offended by the brutality of their behavior and profession.