Chapter One

STEVEM KAMPACALAS felt as he had at the age of eight
seeing the St. Louis earthquake ruins . . . breathless, all
eyes and ears, trying to look everywhere at once. For the
moment. Ten forgot all about the crisis that had brought
him here. Every sense told him he stood on an alien world.
The 1.2 gravity dragged noticeably harder on him, and the
air, smelling of a faint, pleasant muskiness, touched his
skin with such a dry chill that he instantly visualized the
vast arid plains that dominated Egar's surface, landlocking
the scattered seas. D'shenegar's travelport terminal lay low
and broad around T»"^ its lines and angles subtly different
from Terran architecture, lighted through numerous sky-
lights by the large bronze sun and marked with signs bear-
ing Chinese-like characters.

And of course he saw aliens, Iregara, although fewer
than Ten bad expected to see in a facility serving the
world's third largest city. As holos of them, showed, and
like one Ten had seen in Kansas City, they stood in about
the same range of height as Terrans, but uniformly stockier
and more muscular, with four-fingered hands, short torsos,
and heads large in proportion to their height Wide violet
eyes dominated their flat faces, and intricate designs pat-
terned their velvet-textured fur. Ten saw the designs easily
because except for a few individuals in overalls, most, de-
spite a temperature that raised goosebumps on Ten, wore
only calf or thigh-high boots and multi-pocketed tabards or
pouched belts.

Behind him, a flat Terran voice said, "This is sure
mighty different from Dallas."

Another voice replied, "I'd be disappointed if it looked
anything like Earth."

Ten turned to grin at the speakers, a muscular, sandy-

2 DEADLY SH.ENTS

haired young man near his own age and a taller, older one
with the dusky skin and wiry black hair of Afro ancestry.
He had met Pol Wassom and Roban Adeyanpi in Switch'
point, where they came through sbutdeboxes from their re-
spective cities to connect with the D'shenegar shuttlebox.
Recognizing the undeunable but unmistakable stamp of
leo—law enforcement officer—on each other, the three
had drifted together and, after discovering they were all
headed for the same job at the same destination, joined
forces to wait their turn through D'shenegar's shuttlebox
with a load of computer components, ski equipment, and
bicycles.

"Does it look like home to you, though?" Ten asked.

Roban's dusky face Kghted up. "Yes, as a matter of
fact" In the process of exchanging personal histories in
Switchpoint, he had told them he was brought up on sto-
ries of Egar told by his grandfather, who was born in Lu-
shanah when Roban's great-grandparents were there as
members of the Terran trade delegation.

Pol cocked a brow. "Well, homeboy, would y'all do me
a favor, then? I know they all look alike to me now, but
isn't there really a way to tell the men from the women
here?"

Roban grinned, shaking bis head. "My grandfather
swears not . . . unless a female is pregnant or nursing, or
a male feels"—he extended his thumb, pointing it skyward—
"like loving. Don't worry about it Iregara themselves ig-
nore gender most of the time."

They walked on through the travelport. with Ten finding
delight in every new object and scent Of course, once he
and Pol knew about Roban's grandfather they had plied
the Afro with questions about Egar, but nothing he told
them in any way diminished the child's sense of wonder
Ten felt now. He was glad he bad not let his partner Avel
Siem talk him out of coming. She might recoil from living
on an alien world, but with each passing moment. Ten
looked forward to it more.

At the entrance, they hurried outside, eager for a look at
the city, but to (heir disappointment saw no sign of it In-
stead, they appeared to be in the wilds. The only habitation
visible was a couple of building complexes on the eastern
side of the valley where the travelport lay and another
small complex on the rim of hills to the south.

"That should be lion country," Pol said. "The travel in-

DEADLY S1LENTS 3

structions said the stationhouse is three klicks south of the
travelport."

Ten eyed the distant building. "Shall we hike or take the
.monorail?" Three kilometers was not far; he ran a longer
distance than that for physical qualification every month,
but carrying luggage in this gravity made it another matter.

"It's called a skyrail here," Roban said.

"And we're supposed to have a free ride, so let's us take
advantage of it." Pol headed for the skyrail platform.

Following, Ten wondered if PoFs drawl were really that
heavy, or had been acquired, like so much ^ocal color"
since the Regionalization craze swept the United States of
North America.

They boarded the next tram south, and as it climbed the
hills and followed the crest. Ten saw D'shenegar at last
Rather than a city, however, it looked like a collection of tiny
villages nestled among the hills, all separated from one an'
other by a kilometer or more of fields and woods, linked
only by narrow paths and the shining silver strands of the
skyrail. The villages stretched east to the sea and to the
horizon in all other directions, which made them a very
imposing collection. They looked peaceful, too, with noth-
ing visible to suggest a desperate people under siege.

"How big do y*all suppose it is?" Pol asked,

"Fifty klicks square," Roban replied promptly.

Twenty-five hundred square kilometers for three
hundred thousand people? Ten whistled. That was spread-
ing them tbint

"It's going to be a mighty big area to patrol," Pol said.

The happy light m Roban's eyes faded. He grimaced.
*Td planned an my life to come here some day . . . but I
never dreamed it would be to work as a police officer."

"I think everyone was surprised when the Iregara started
advertising for leos,** Ten said. "What did you think when
me notice went up in your department?"

*That it was a mistake, or a joke. I thought it was im-
possible for telepatha to have crime.'"

Maybe they never used to. Ten reflected, but that had
changed. "You applied anyway?*'

Roban gazed out the window. "The job was on Egar."
After a moment he looked around at Ten. "What about
you?"

Ten shrugged. 'Well, the salary was more than I could
hope to earn in the Shawnee County P.D. and after a close

4 DEADLY S1LEHTS

call one watch, I decided that whatever the situation, it had
to be better than street war and finding excuses to give the
high holies for not attending church.**

He still felt that way, although Devane Brooks, the de-
partment director, had explained the seriousness of the
Egarad problem when he interviewed Ten. What irony,
that people faced with a situation nothing in their history
ever prepared them to expect or handle had to appeal for
help to the only other intelligent species they had met dur-
ing interstellar colonization, even though it was on the oth-
ers' worid where the problem began.

Ten knew that part already. He had learned in school
about the discovery of a Terran colony which led to the
Iregara locating Earth four hundred years ago and estab-
lishing cautious, then gradually more friendly communica-
tions between the races, ultimately resulting in the ex-
change of trade delegations. Each delegation was to live on
the other's planet and help carry on trade through fast,
unmanned tacbyon freighters. Unfortunately, although Ter-
rans knew about Egarad telepathy and Iregara were aware
that Terrans broadcast without generally being able to re-
ceive, neither side thought to correlate that with population
densities. So when the Egarad ramjets landed in Terran
cities after a near-centuiy-long trip, Iregara who had never
been in contact with more than five hundred other minds
at once suddenly found themselves surrounded by millions
of alien thoughts. Something burned out in them and
around Earth, eight thousand trade delegates became in-
stant telepathic deaf-mutes . . . Silents.

But not until Devane Brooks told him had Ten heard of
the equally tragic sequel. After development of the Equipo-
tential Transfer Portal, me shuttiebox, provided instant star
travel and made possible the repatriation of trade delegate
descendants who wanted to return home. Silence did not
end. It perpetuated. Without a prenatal telepathic link to
her fetus, a Silent woman, even on Egar, with telepathic
neighbors, could bear only Silent children.

Ten thought about that, looking out the skyrail window.
How had both races failed to consider what might happen
to growing numbers of Silents in a society geared for telep-
athy? Why was it that only by looking back on the past
seventy-five years since repatriation anyone could see the
growing Silent frustration with the difficulty of communi-

DEADLY SILENTS 5

cation and at having so much of their own culture inacces-
sible to them . . . frustration that had eventually erupted
into uncontrollable and, for the first time in Egarad his-
tory, unpredictable violence?

"I considered it a five-year vacation from Earth," Pol
said, breaking into Ten's thoughts, "or however long it
takes to organize and teach the job to the locals. And I
reckoned they might appreciate what I was doing.**

A men to that. Ten thought

Disembarking at their station, they found themselves
with a hike after all, half a kilometer west to the station-
house. They arrived, panting, in the forecourt of the
sprawling, X-shaped building with its handsome red-gold
stone and smoky-dark windows and roof tiles, but excite-
ment buoyed Ten—they were here—and without pausing
even to catch his breath, he headed for the double doors
opening beneath a large yin-yang symbol worked in dark
green and umber. Inside, a receiving area stretched before
them, open and fun of light, like the travelport.

A woman behind the circular desk in the center raised
her brows at them. "Officers? Put your hands over the
scanner on the edge of the desk, please."

While he let the scanner read the I.D. code imprinted
invisibly into the cell structure of his hand at birth and
flash the data to the computer, verifying his identity. Ten
eyed the woman. Even nicer than the building. He particu-
larly liked her clothes. Colored like the symbol outside,
and with a patch version of it on the upper left sleeve, the
jumpsuit fit like skin rather than hanging loose and shape-
less, hiding the human form inside as fashions at home did.

"Roban Simue Adeyanju, Denver; Pol Gregory Wassom,
Dallas; Steven Jason Kampacalas, Topeka," the desk offi-
cer read from her computer screen. "Welcome to Egar. I'm
Sergeant Lores." She looked up at Ten and a corner of her
mouth quirked. "The uniform fascinates you, sweetface?"

Ten tried to ignore the Hush heating his face and studied
the jumpsuit with a more critical eye. "Uniform? What
does the patch mean?"

"It's our badge. The Iregara adopted it from Earth, I'm
told, because they like the concept it embodies, but I've
never asked how they apply the complementary coexistence
of opposites to police work.

"The three of you will be sleeping in detention room

6 DEADLY SILENTS

Twenty until you find a place to live. That's in A wing.
The exercise room is on the way. Report there for outfit-
ting."

They headed in the direction she pointed. A short way
down A wing's central corridor they found the exercise
room. The door bore an Egarad character but under it
someone had stuck a piece of tape lettered in English. In-
side, more officers in green and umber piled their arms full
of equipment and uniforms, including an equipment belt
with a sidearm sleeper and the smallest belt-buckle com-
puter tie-in Ten had ever seen.

"Do the uniforms all fit so tight?" Ten asked.

"Yes," one of the officers replied. "Our new bosses don't
like to waste fabric. It offends you?**

Ten hesitated. He rather liked it, as a matter of fact,
though he could well imagine how a high holy would con-
demn it as lewd. "I'm just wondering how I'm going to put
an undersuit beneath it."

"You don't need to. The fabric has a high enough insula-
tion quotient to keep you warm in about any weather
here."

Ten frowned. "How about alive?" He was not about to
work anywhere, even here, without the protection of a par-
agee shield, and the undersuit contained the wiring for gen-
erating the deflective field.

"Paragee circuits are woven right into the uniform.
You'll find the control plate in front under the collar.
From here you report across the corridor to the infir-
mary.**

Ten struggled across the corridor with the equipment and
his luggage. He dropped them gratefully for the few min-
utes it took the medic to plant the tiny radio button deep
in his left ear, then groaned as the medic helped load him
up again and dismissed him with the comment, "You're a
bit lightweight for this gravity. Work on building more
muscle."

He went in search of his room.

Farther down the wing a heavy metal grille lay across
the corridor. Roban eyed it with distaste as they passed
through the open gateway. "After all the playing with psy-
chological restraint and force fields, we always come bade
to bars, it seems, like barbarism we never quite outgrow,
and now we're even exporting it to the rest of the galaxy.**

"Bars survive power failures," Pol said.

DEADLY SILENTS 7

Ten groaned. "Can we find our room before my arms
break off?"

"Sixteen, Seventeen, Twenty," Pol counted, reading the
tapes under the Egarad characters. "I don't know what
happened to Eighteen and Nineteen, but here our room is,

podner."

At that point Ten did not give a damn about Eighteen
and Nineteen. He staggered into Twenty and dumped his
armload on a mat lying in one corner, then dropped onto
the end of the mat and lay back against the wall. panting.
Sunlight slanted through the window and across him,
blessedly warm.

Roban and Pol chose mats, too. Pol said, "Aside from
what looks like sleeping on the floor. I wouldn't mind
spending cage time here."

Ten looked around. The room did seem more like one to
be found in a dormitory than a jail, though the lock on the
outside of the door and the mesh embedded in the window
material stood as reminders of its function as a cell.

Two women jogged past on a track in the walled court-
yard outside. They waved.

Pol waved back. "Change into exercise clothes and let's
join them."

Leave his sunwarmed spot? Ten shook his head. "I'm
sure the brass will start us on physical training soon
enough."

"Hey, podner, unless you've managed to arrange for
something on Egar already or plan on celibacy, those she-
lions are all we'll have for female companionship the next
few years. Now is a mighty fine time to get acquainted."

"Later, maybe," Roban said.

*'WeIl, I'm going. I'll be sure to brand some fillies for
y'all, too."

Ten watched Pol rummage in his luggage for exercise
clothes and disappear into what must be the bathroom,
then closed his eyes, savoring the heat of the sunshine. "I
don't know about Texas she-lions, but even with the high
holies preaching womanly submission from the pulpit four
times a week, my partner would have broken the fingers
on any man, lion or not, who claimed to be branding her."

Roban chuckled.

Someone rapped on the edge of the open door. "Hi,
leos."

Ten opened his eyes. He looked up to see a tall, dark-

8 DEADLY Sl LENTS

haired young woman in the doorway. "I saw you come in
and thought I'd introduce myself. Jael Meadin, Chicago."

The sun and mat still felt good, but Officer Meadin
crackled with infectious energy. Ten found himself standing
up to respond, introducing himself and Roban.

They were getting acquainted when Pol came out of the
bathroom wearing exercise clothes and an expression of
disbelief. "Did you know there's just a sink and a sandbox
in there?"

Ten and Roban rushed to peer into the bathroom. As
Pol said, a sandy material instead of water filled the low,
wide commode. Roban said, "My grandfather never men-
tioned this."

Jael chuckled. "It's different, but logical when you real-
ize that on this world, water isn't something to be used
wantonly. You'll get used to it."

"You sound like the voice of experience," Ten said.

**! lived in D'shenegar for five years as a kid. My father
bought fabric from the textile mills for fashion houses on
Earth."

Roban's eyes lighted up. "My grandfather was bom on
Egar."

Soon he and Jael had become engrossed in exchanging
Egarad anecdotes, oblivious to everyone and everything
else. Rolling his eyes, Pol headed for the door. "I reckon
I'll leave these two singing their rendition of 'I'm Home,
Sweet Jesus, I'm Home' and go meet me some fellow tour-
ists." He glanced back at Ten. "Sure you don't want to
come too, podner?"

"I'm sure."

Ten sat down, listening to Roban and Jael talk, but he
only half heard them. Instead, he could not stop thinking
about the bathroom fixtures. A sandbox, but no shower or
tub. Alien, it occurred to him, meant more than a different
colored sun and more or less fingers on a hand. It meant
differences in even the simplest things, things he had never
thought to consider. He began wondering, with a touch of
uneasiness, just how alien Egar and the Iregara might
prove to be.

The intercom in the communications console on Devane
Brooks's desk chimed and flashed yellow. He passed a
coffee-colored hand over the light. "Yes?"

"They're all in, director."

DEADLY SILENTS 9

"Thank you, Sergeant Loros." Devane waved his hand
over the intercom again. "Communications."

After a moment a new voice replied. "Communications
here."

"This is Director Brooks. Ask all sworn personnel to re-
port to the reception area in fifteen minutes."

When the dispatcher acknowledged, Devane waved the
intercom off and sat back in his chair. Day One. Well, that
was not quite true, perhaps. He had been here thirty days
already and the command officers—the sergeants, lieuten-
ants, and captains—for fifteen, but they had all been work-
ing toward this day, when the field officers arrived. Now
the job would begin in earnest.

He grinned, feeling a bit like a kid on Christmas mom-
ing. He had dreamed of a job like this for all of his police
career, through sixteen years of rising from patrolman
through Investigations to Research and Planning in the San
Francisco P.D. He knew what he felt a police department
should be and had somehow managed to keep the vision
despite the bitterness of experience and the inability to try
any of his ideas, even after he should have been in a posi-
tion to do so, because of tight budgets or lack of manpower
or a workload that left no time for anything but trying to
stay alive while providing the citizenry with some measure
of security. Then like an answer to a prayer, word had
come that five cities on Egar wanted to establish police
departments, and the police board of D'shenegar had ap-
proved the plan he submitted and asked him to be director.
He had his chance now. It began today.

Devane picked up the sheet of notes outlining what he
intended to say in introduction. He had written most of the
notes in Egarad characters, determined to set an example
for the rest of the department from the beginning, but he
occasionally had cheated with an English word. The object,
after all. he rationalized, was to remind himself of various
points. He could lose complete track of his thought train
attempting to interpret the still-unfamiliar characters,
which represented concepts rather than words, with ele-
ments expressing not only tense, subjects, actions, and ob-
jects but also all the accompanying sounds, scents, and
emotions.

He ran a hand over the short, kinky thatch of his bair.
Paradise was not without its serpents, unfortunately. Not
everything he had to say would meet with approval. Lately

10 DEADLY SIIENTS

he had had periods of dismay and doubt himself, and long
hours convincing himself, as well as his command officers,
that the situation must be accepted and would work out.
He would make it work out. But, he thought with a sigh,
he would feel a hell of a lot more confident if the entire
police board was supporting him, instead of knowing that
two of the five had volunteered for their positions expressly
to limit the police.

Those two had already managed to convince me rest of
the board that they should be able to summarily cancel the
program any time within the first year if it was not pro-
ducing substantial results or it became obvious Terrans
could not work within the Egarad culture. Devane's bitter
protest had gone unheeded.

So why did he still feel as if he wece opening the biggest
and best Christinas present of his life? Meda teasingly ac-
cused him of being a hopeless romantic. Maybe she was
right.

He smiled as he always did at the thought of his wife,
visualizing her at work in the chem section of the Crimi-
nalistics lab across the building—slender, with toffee-gold
skin and hair like chocolate fleece, so glowingly beautiful
she looked even younger than her twenty-seven years. Per-
haps Meda made the difference in his determination to
make this department good, despite all that boardmembers
Gemun and Ushulir might do. Her presence had a way of
making anything more bearable. With her, he thought, he
could be bound in a nutshell and still count himself king of
infinite space. As soon as things were a bit more organized,
he must start giving her more time than he had been able
to these past few months,

A rap sounded on his door. Captain Tova Craig put her
head in. "Ready?"

Devane nodded. Taking a last look at his notes, he stood
up. "Maybe we ought to have the service department heads
here, too. Will you round them up?"

"Will do."

Devane walked through the outer office and down the
corridor to the reception area. Heads turned as he ap-
proached. Here goes, he thought, and used the desk chair
to climb up onto the desk top.

Ten stood near the warmth of the front doors with Ro-
ban, Jael, and an officer from Toronto named Jean Brous-

DEADLY SILENTS 11

sard who had appeared an hour ago to share room Twenty
with them. He could not see Pol.

Ten stopped looking for the Texan as soon as Devane
Brooks stepped onto the desk. The director looked just as
he had during Ten's interview in Kansas City, moving with
the controlled grace of a panther. Outwardly, the meeting
had been casual and chatty, with Brooks letting Ten know
the situation on Egar and then wanting to know everything
about Ten: what police work in Topeka was like; what his
interests outside his job were; what his two older sisters
were like; what his parents did; did he see them often;

whether he preferred a needier or sleeper as a sidearm;

how he would characterize his relationship with other eth-
nic groups in his jurisdiction . . . but all the while, de-
spite an easy, crooked grin and deep, rich voice, Brooks's
obsidian eyes dissected him.

From the top of the desk. Brooks looked around as
though recording each face and checking it for name and
history in a mental file. He said nothing, however, until a
female officer with salt-and-pepper hair brought two more
women and a man to join the knot of command officers to
one side of the desk. Then he glanced at some notes in his
hand and smiled out across the reception area.

"Welcome, officers. You're a very special group of men
and women, about to embark on a unique experience.
Some of you are already somewhat familiar with the planet
and its people for one reason or another, while others
know only what they've read or learned in school. By the
time you leave, however, you'll know the planet, people,
and city intimately, and you'll nave performed a great ser-
vice for them all."

'*Nice of us, considering we caused the problem in the
first place," Roban murmured.

Ten silenced him with a sharp elbow in the ribs.

The job won't be easy," Brooks said, "We have almost
twenty-five hundred square kilometers to cover, and if
you've been curious enough to count heads here, you'll
have noticed the tally is just three hundred."

Ten blinked. Three hundred! For a city of three
hundred thousand? How could Brooks expect them to pro-
duce effective law enforcement with a ratio like that?

"The number was set by the police board, who are re-
luctant to be invaded by an army of Terrans. However, I'm
not trying to pass responsibility; after some contemplation,

12 DEADLY S1LENTS

I've come to agree with the number. D'shenegar has only
about eight or ten thousand Silents, and of them, only a
small percentage are violent deviants, no more than five or
ten percent. So you see, the ratio is actually quite favor-
able."

Ten did not consider five to ten percent a small number,
despite the director's reassuring smile. From the muttering
around him, he guessed few other leos did, either.

"Our problem, because of our numbers, is one of effec-
tive patrolling. We intend to solve this in several ways.
First, the average patrol will cover a single cluster, consist-
ing of a shopping mail and its twelve surrounding ishen,
housing areas, along with several business and industrial
malls. The main patrol vehicles will be Isinhars and Che-
hashas. If you're not familiar with the local car makes,
those models are comparable to a Kyrios or Fricke-Porche
on Earth."

Around Ten, leos whistled happily. He felt his own in-
terest pick up. He loved good cars, particularly fast ones.

'These vehicles are small, precision maneuverable, and
lightning fast. They fly at a hundred thirty kilometers per
hour with no strain and considerably faster on demand.
They'll be backed up by Iraths. larger workhorse vehicles
ideal for transporting prisoners and specialized squads. Pa-
trol areas will be adjusted according to activity as mapped
by the computers. That will keep us on top of hot spots.

"Another way we'll make the most of our personnel ex-
plains why you're all cramped into detention rooms, the
exercise room, and the infirmary right now. I want you to
find living quarters all across this city."

"We won't be living in the Terran Enclave?" someone
near the front asked.

Brooks looked back steadily. "No." Above a rumble of
surprise he said, "We need you out there. You'll leam to
know the people and cluster where you live, which means
you'll know when something is wrong. You may be able to
spot potential trouble before the computer maps it There
is also the matter of cultural differences."

Ten thought of the bathroom fixtures.

"We can't teach you about the culture; your supervisors
and I don't know any more than you do. We're all going to
learn together. What we can do, though, is give you a start,
and part of that is living with Iregara and part is what we'll
be doing for these next eight days.

DEADLY SILENTS 13

"You may have noticed the strange symbols on the
doors around the station, the unalphabetical designation of
the wings, and some missing numbers. They're all Egarad."
Brooks took a breath. "We're working for these people,
and working toward training them to take our place, so in
eight days, when orientation is over, written English and
Translan will disappear from this station. From that point
on, all notices on the bulletin board will be in Isegis, the
local language. All reports will be written in the same lan-
guage, all numbers figured for base-eight, and measure-
ments expressed in local terms."

No murmur met those statements, only a dismayed si-
lence.

Devane smiled. "It won't be that bad. If you're stuck on
a measurement or number conversion, use your computer
tie-in. Your command officers and I have had the same
Quickteach sessions you'll be taking. We know what you'll
be experiencing. Practice is the important follow-up, prac-
tice to set the synaptic connections and turn short-term
memory into long-term memory."

Ten rubbed his thumb down the cleft in his chin. Learn-
ing new writing and measures might not be so bad, but
new mathematics? Counting became almost a reflex;

changing a reflex could be a struggle.

"And finally . . .*' the director said, "like rookies, we're
on probation this first year. Poor performance could result
in our dismissal at any time, so ... take your job seri-
ously. Work hard. Let's give our citizens some careful, im-
pressive work."

He motioned to the group of officers nearest the desk.
"I'd like to introduce your command officers. Captain Len-
ard Titus, Uniformed division; Captain Dane Basanites, In-
vestigations; and Captain Tova Craig, Services." He
pointed to each in turn, then introduced the lieutenants
and sergeants.

Ten lost track when Brooks went through the eight ser-
geants and .barely heard the director introduce the three
nonsworu staff members who headed the service depart-
ments of Data, Communications, and Criminalistics.

"With a few exceptions, all other clerical, laboratory,
and garage staff are locals. You'll be meeting them as you
work with them," Brooks said, "It's been a long day for
you. With a thirty-six-hour rotation period, or forty-four by
local counting, all Egarad days are long. And some of you

U DEADLY S1LENTS

may be wondering right now how tight those contracts you
all signed are. They're tight. It cost to travel around inter-
viewing you and to bring you here and outfit you. The
citizens want a return on their investments. A meal is
being served in the canteen in E wing. Eat and get a good
sleep. At least the nights are long, too. I'm not worried
about your performance; I know you'll do weB. You've
been chosen out of six thousand applicants. You're class;

you're the best"

With that, he stepped down off the desk and left the
reception area. Captain Titus raised his voice, calling,
"Orientation starts at thirteen hundred hours, Egarad
counting. Meet here for division into orientation groups."

Then the command officers were gone too, leaving
everyone else to straggle toward the canteen in a roar of

voices.

"He's wickers,'* someone near Ten said. 'We can't possi-
bly patrol this city with just three hundred officers."

"I knew the salary was too good to be true,** someone
else moaned.

Jean Broussard looked thoughtful. "The credit, she is
very good, but not, perhaps, worth this. We are allowed a
psychological discharge from the contract. I think I visit

the psyman."

"Don't panic.*' Jael said. "Give yourself a chance.**
Roban grinned. "Personally, I'm looking forward to this,
even without the incentive of the credit" He looked at
Ten. **What do you think?"

Ten smiled wryly. "I think I'll do like the man sug-
gested, eat and sleep. I'll think about tomorrow at thirteen
hundred hours."

Chapter Two

THE HOUSE followed the hillside like stairsteps, rising from
the living room and outside deck to Gerel's room at the
top. Along with its gayly colored neighbors in Blueside
Shen, named for the blue velvet-leafed, ivylike ground-
cover that grew everywhere on the hillside it was allowed
to, the house's smoky-tinted Sunsorb windows looked east
toward the sparkling waters of Rahelem Bay. With very
little effort, Devane and Meda could imagine they were
back in San Francisco—one of the reasons they had taken
the house. Devane did miss the ocean sunsets, though.
Coming down the winding steps from the skyrail stop on
top of the hill, he struggled with a nagging feeling which
insisted the sun should not be going down behind the hills
at his back but slipping away instead over the waters of me
bay and the Iseg Sea.

Watching the first of Egar*s three moons rising out of
the water, Devane said, "I hope the plumbers came in to-
day like they promised."

Behind him, Meda sighed. "I wish you'd let me stay
home. I don't like the idea of letting people wander in and
out of the house as they want with neither of us there to
watch them."

Having a front door with no lock made Devane feel un-
easy, too, but he turned to smile reassuringly back at her.
"If they tried to take anything, someone eke around would
know.'*

"I suppose."

Still, she ran past him, up the steps of the deck and in
through the front door. She glanced quickly around as she
mounted the four steps to the cooking/dining area and the
longer flight to their bedroom. Moments later Devane
heard her exclaim in delight and she reappeared grinning.

15

16 DEADLY SILENTS

"No more sponge baths. There's now a shower in the bath-
room."

"In the san," be corrected.

Her grin became impish. "Well. if you want to be picky,
the actual Egarad word is eb, but I don't care what we call
it as long as I can take a real bath there." She came down
to the dining level and waved across the phone on a central
post. Her fingers touched the colored buttons on the face.
"Runah? This is Meda Brooks. Will you please send Gerel
home now?" She disconnected with another wave. "It's
handy having a First-Level school right here in the shen,
and a teacher willing to keep Gerel until we get home."

Devane watched her take off her coat and move into the
cooking area. "AH ishen have First-Level schools." He
shed his own coat. "Well, how are you liking the lab?"

She shrugged. "It isn't quite as interesting as my job
back home, and given a choice, if I have to work with
Iregara, I think Fd rather work with Silents." She leaned
down to open one side of the counter-high refrigerator. "I
can't understand the Normals. Do you really expect us to
mix socially with these people?**

Devane frowned. "We have to try. I think—"

A high yell interrupted him. "Hi. Daddy.'* His son Gerel

charged in through the front door.

Devane scooped him up into a hug. "Hi yourself, cub.

What did you do at school today?"

While Devane helped him out of his jacket, Gerel
launched into a recitation so rapid Devane could hardly
understand half of it. Devane gathered, however, that
Gerel found his classmates somewhat strange but that they
could certainly hit the ball hard playing chanach.

-What's chanachr1

"You hit a ball against a wall and it bounces off other
walls. I'm not five years old anymore, either."

Devane grinned and raised a brow. "Just how old are

you?"

Gerel held up eight fingers. "Ten.'* He raced back to the

front door and pushed it open. Outside stood a young
Egara about Gerel's height with fur of the same toffee-gold
color as Gerel's skin. "This is D'ne. Can we play in my

roomy*

"Of course."
"Come on." Gerel ran up the long stairway past his par-

DEADLY SILENTS 17

ents' bedroom toward the small room at the top of the
house. D'ne followed.

"You see?" Devane said. "Mixing with them isn't all
that hard."

Meda continued taking out food for supper. "How do
you think your officers will do, now that you've seen them
en masse?"

"I think they'll do just fine. Of course'*—he smiled—"I
did see the two sexes eyeing each other. I expect we're
going to have a few more problems with personal entangle-
ments on the job than most departments, but mat's to be
expected under the circumstances."

"Maybe you shouldn't have insisted they all be single."
She arched a brow at him. "After all, you brought a wife
with you."

"Rank ought to have some privileges.'*
Saying it. he reached for her. She tried to duck away,
protesting. "Dee, there are no drapes on the windows and
Corel's just upstairs."

But he pinned her against the counter and wrapped his
arms around her. "This isn't Earth. No one hides love
here. It's aH in the open.**

She pushed at him. "Dee, let go. I have supper to fix."
He nuzzled her ear. "Man shall not live by bread alone.'*
She snorted, then giggled. "You're terrible." Her arms
slid around him. "Why do I let you talk me into such
shameless behavior. Director Brooks?"

Against her hair, he said, "Because Fm irresistible, Mrs.
Brooks.'*

A clapping noise startled them. "Director," a voice said
in Isegis.

Meda flung away from Devane, face flaming. Devane
turned with a frown. "Yes?"

An Egara, brown face and arm fur bleached into gold
tiger stripes, stood in the open front door. "Need."

Devane looked at the impassive face and solemn violet
eyes with their vertical oval pupils. "What kind of need?"
Behind the single word, he knew, lay images and concepts
on several thought levels, but without telepathy, he could
not begin to guess what they were. "You'll have to specify
for me." He went ahead and spoke English since the Egara
could understand his meaning no matter what words he
used.

18 DEAM.Y SILENTS

The Egara's face remained expressionless, but the eyes
narrowed with the effort of slowing thought down enough
to put more of it into words. "Neighbor Sinin needs. Tres-
pass. Come."

That part was clear enough. The leo instincts in"him
rose up, sniffing the scent of blood. He reached for his
jacket. •I'm on my way. Meda?" He glanced back at her.

She bent over the counter, face averted. "I have supper

to fix."

Devane followed the Egara out of the house and down
the hill. They circled the bath house then passed through
several communal gardens, terraced and planted with
thorny, flowering hedges and grape-scented blue flowers.

"Where are we going?" Devane asked.

*There.''
Devane saw it a moment after the Egara pointed. The

house had been dug into the side of the hill and a small
area before it filled to make a flat terrace. Some dozen
Iregara stood in a group on the terrace. They stepped back
as the tiger-striped Egara appeared and Devane saw they
had been surrounding a small, pregnant, red-furred Egara
and an Egarad child.

"Sinin," the tiger-striped Egara said.

The pregnant Egara looked up at Devane, then pointed
toward the door of the house. *Trespass."

Devane worked his way past her through the group to
the doorway. There, he looked in and swore softly. The
house had nearly been destroyed. Every piece of cushion
furniture lay slashed open, spilling its stuffing onto a black-
stained carpet Personal belongings such as book cassettes
and seashells lay smashed below the wall shelves from
which they had been swept. The kitchen cupboards stood
open and empty, their contents broken or dented on the
floor. Clothes smoldered in the middle of the kitchen's tiled

floor.

Devane stepped inside and walked around each room,
examining the damage without touching anything.
Whoever vandalized the place had made a thorough job of
it. He tried to imagine the frenzy that could have possessed

someone to do this.

Then, in the doorway of the bedroom beyond the
kitchen, he stopped short. "Oh, dear god." In the middle of
the slashed sleeping mat lay the remains of what had once
probably been a luras. Now, however, Devane could not

DEADLY SILENTS 19

even tell what color its fur was. He had the impression that
before the little animal was thrown down, it had been used
as a brush to paint the walls and floor with its own blood.

In all uie years he worked Homicide, with the needier
shootings, stabbings, and hatchet murders, in his years on
patrol pulling dismembered and eviscerated bodies from
wrecked cars, he had never seen anything that hit him
quite like the wanton slaughter of one small pet animal. He
retreated abruptly toward open air.

In the front entryway, he ran into Meda staring horrified
at the destruction. "Who could—" She broke off. looking
up at him. "Dee, what is it? You look ghastly." She peered
past him toward the sleeping area. "What's m there?"

He pushed her outside. "I thought you were cooking
supper."

"Gerel and D'ne came tearing down the stairs not a
minute after you left, Gerel yelling something about D'ne
reading trouble. I came after them."

The children outside were crying. The adults stood hug-
ging and comforting them, eyeing Devane.

"Images," the tiger-striped Egara said.

The images of what he had seen inside? So that was
what upset the children. Devane sighed. "I'm sorry, I—"
How did one turn off thought? He swung toward Sinin.
**Do you know anyone who—"

He broke that off, too, as Sinin stared unseeing at him.
"Reason?" She buried her face against the top of her
child's head.

Her helpless bewilderment moved him. This was some-
thing he and his officers would have to help these people
do, to cope with their experience. "I don't know exactly
why it happened to you, Sinin. Maybe well know when we
learn who did it" He looked around. "Did anyone read
anything here in the last couple of hours? I need a verbal
answer, please."

The tiger-striped Egara said, "No."

"Did anyone see any strangers around here?"

A burly Egara with mathematical symbols bleached into
chestnut fur stepped forward. "I."

That was luck. "Tell me what you saw."

The Egara considered. "Silent"

"Yes, but can you describe the Silent's appearance?"

The violet eyes regarded him solemnly. "Never looked."

So much for luck. Devane turned back to Sinin. "My

20 DEADLY SILENTS

Criminalistics people are working only days. I'd like you to
seal up the house. You and your child spend the night with
a friend, please. And I know you're hurt and confused, but
will you try to think of all the Silents you can remember
having recent contact with? Write the names down tonight
Tomorrow we'll examine the house for evidence and I'll
send an investigator to talk to you. We'll see if we can find
who did this."

Sinin looked up at him. "Yes."

He patted her shoulder. "I'll have my people clean up
the—"

The children whimpered.

He tried to think of something other than the luras. "I'm
terribly sorry this happened." He looked around for Meda
and found her hugging Gerel to her, as the adult Iregara
were doing with their children. Crossing to her, he picked
up Gerel. "Let's go on home."

"What made D'ne cry. Daddy?" Gerel asked.
Devane decided he could hardly tell the boy about the
luras. "Sinin is upset. When one Egara hurts, all Iregara
around him hurt."
"Why is Sinin upset?"

"Because someone whose pain Iregara can't feel did
some bad things to Sinm's house. You'd feel bad if some-
one broke all your toys, wouldn't you?"

"Why did someone do bad things to Sinin*s house?"
Devane sighed. "I don't know."

They reached the steps of their deck and Meda asked,
"Is that the kind of thing they've brought you here for?"
He opened thp door, "Yes."

She shuddered. "What kind of an—'* She broke off,
glancing at Gerel. "What are these Silents?"
"People with social circuitry gone skewers."
"People who do this kind of thing."
And worse, he thought, but did not say so aloud. "Yes."
She looked at the door. "I want a lock. Dee. I won't live
here another day without a lock."

Thinking again, unavoidably, almost compulsively, of
the luras, Devane nodded. "I'll have it installed tomorrow."

Chapter Three

THE SERGEANT who outfitted him had been right about the
uniform's insulation, Ten discovered. Sheathed in the
green-and-umber jumpsuit, he felt warm enough to believe
heating circuits had been built in along with those for the
paragee shield. The fit pleased him, too, smoothly snug
without a bind or uncomfortable crease anywhere. Looking
around the Investigations squadroom that had become his
orientation group's classroom, he decided they looked like
a prime outfit.

Seated on a desk facing them. Lieutenant Marin Hasejian
said, "Let's begin with the basic philosophy of this depart-
ment."

Ten aimed his kinecorder at her and tapped the machine
on. Around him, twenty-three other leos did the same and
sat back comfortably in their chairs.

"So, as of now, you need to delete the terms leo and lion
from your vocabulary."

Twenty-four young police officers straightened in their
chairs, staring at Hasejian.

"On Egar," she said, "we're peace keepers, not law en-
forcement officers, and we have to stop thinking of our-
selves as leos."

'That's reasonable, since there aren't any laws to en-
force," Jael murmured to Ten and Roban.

Hasejian looked at her. "Why not share your observa-
tions with the rest of us. Officer Meadin?"

Jael shrugged. "I just said we can't enforce laws that
don't exist. D'shenegar has a loose, informal city council,
but it only administers the city and passes a few traffic and
trade ordinances, mala prohibita kinds of things. The Ire-
gara are a cooperative but individually autonomous so-
ciety. There's no formal government to pass real laws."

21

22 DEADLY SILENTS

"Oh?" Hasejian almost purred. "You mean the violence
the Iregara want stopped isn't legally wrong?"

Jael eyed the lieutenant warily. "Even without legislation
there are still what we'd call mala in se offenses."

"Adroit answer. Now, have you anything else instruc-
tive to add, or may I have the floor again?" the lieutenant
asked dryly.

Jael flushed. "No, ma'am—I mean, I'm through."

'Thank you. As I was saying, our objective is keeping
the peace. If that can be accomplished without arrest and
prosecution, that's ideal. Arrest should be considered a last
resort except, perhaps, in cases of premeditated murder."

Last resort? Ten frowned. What did they do, then, make
the perpetrators promise to be good and let them go?

Hasejian smiled. "I know what you're thinking. Of
course this goes against everything we've practiced until
now, but it's our baseline . . . keeping the peace. Part of
the reason is very practical; there are no prisons aside from
our detention wing, only care facilities for the mentally ill
and incurable antisocials. Also, the Iregara don't consider
violent Silents as criminals. We're supposed to think of
them the same way, as social deviants, who are nonetheless
held responsible for their actions, and to consider their be-
havior something we want to correct, not merely punish.'*

Ten raised a hand. "I understand that, lieutenant, but
what's wrong with calling ourselves leos? It's what we do
that's important, isn't it ... not what name we give our-
selves?"

"The name is very important. Officer Kampacalas. The
name is everything. You know this is a telepathic society,
don't you?"

Ten frowned in puzzlement. "Of course."
"Do you comprehend it? Why do you suppose telepaths

bother to talk at all?"

Ten looked around for help. Jael and Roban wore know-
ing expressions but only grinned at bis discomfort. Finally,
with a helpless shrug, he said, "I don't know."

"The spoken word directs a listener's attention to the
appropriate images and thought levels. A word raises men-
tal images and the Iregara read the images. There are no
masks possible here, no 'yes, sir, no, sir, have a nice day,
sir' smiles covering thoughts like: 'I hope the high holies
catch you flatdanoing your secretary, you nago.'" While
the class grinned, she went on, "We have to think and fed

DEADLY SILENTS 23

what we say, or else say what we feel. All of which brings
me back to the matter of police nomenclature. What do
you think about when you say leo, Kampacalas?"

Ten shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Just us."

"Oh? Is that why leo and lion are interchangeable, and
why we call police stations lion dens or lion countryt'9

"Oh." Ten felt the flush heat his neck. '*! guess I do
think of the animal."

"Not a very appropriate image for a peace keeper, do
you think?"

"What do we call ourselves, then?" someone asked.
^Keepers makes me think of prison guards."

"Fortunately our employers have a solution." A smile
flickered around the comers of Hasejian's mouth. "It seems
a member of the police board has read a great deal of Ter-
ran literature, including history texts. The boardmember
discovered that back in the thirteenth century, the king of
England appointed a number of knights as Conservators of
Peace. The boardmember, reading more contemporary his-
tory, said that by the twentieth century, the position had
apparently become more commonly known by its acro-
nym." The smile tugged harder at her mouth.

Ten worked out the acronym. COP?

"But criminal justice history says cop means constable
on patrol^ Pol said.

"Or that the term comes from the copper buttons on the
early uniforms," Hasejian said. "No one really knows for
certain. Perhaps the boardmember is right. At any rate,
boys and girls, the police board has adopted the term. We
are to be known officially as Conservators of Peace.
They've tried out the name and the term cop on our fellow
Terrans in the Enclave and found satisfactory, or at least
neutral, images."

Ten tried the word. Cop. It rang flat and alien in his
head, an arcane, obsolete term from ancient history, like
teamster or squire. Cop. He could not feel it had anything
to do with him or what he did at all.

Despite the warmth of his uniform, he found himself
chilled. What were the Iregara trying to do to him? They
wanted him to work here, to protect them, but in order to
do so he had to give up his language and mathematics. He
had to forgo living with his own kind. And now they
wanted to take away his professional identity. Would they
leave him anything of himself?

24 DEADLY SILENTS

He only half listened to the lieutenant explaining depart-
ment structure and the chain of command. The kinecorder
was recording it all; he could replay it later. He groaned
with everyone else on learning each watch would last
twelve hours, but was pleased to hear that debriefings
would be group meetings, not just soul-baring with a com-
puter simulation hologram of an appropriate father figure.

"We need a give-and-take exchange of information,"
Hasejian said. "You won't all be in the same room; you'll
be participating via holocom from storefront stations, but
we hope to achieve the same result as a single group meet-
ing."

"Storefront stations?" Jean Broussard asked.

"We've established a small station in the shopping plaza
of each ishen cluster. There's a communications booth out-
side with a direct connection here for the benefit of the
public, but the stations themselves are locked and un-
staffed, intended mainly as supply depots and for briefings
and debriefings. Working out of a storefront near your
home and in your patrol will save you the time and trans-
port energy of coming into the stationhouse every watch.'*

At seventeen hundred hours, still well short of midday,
Hasejian ended the session for the morning and sent every-
one but Jael, who already knew Isegis, down to Data for a
Quackteach language lesson. In Data, Garith Hall, the de-
partment chief, led them back through the clerical and rec-
ords sections to the Quickteach booths. There he handed
them over to a black-furred Egara.

"Brithe is one of my best technicians," Hall said. "She'll
set you up in the booths and monitor your session."

Ten eyed the Egara. She? He would not have known just
by looking, though having been told her sex, he found him-
self reading femininity into her choice of bright yellow hip
boots and the matching pouched belt slung low around her
hips. He found her fur decoration feminine, too. Somehow
she had tipped the hair with reflective particles so that
each movement sent coruscating rainbows across her coat

"Sit down, please," Britbe said in Translan, pointing
them toward the booths. When they were all lying back in
the chairs, she worked her way down the line, adjusting the
helmets and damping the biofunction monitors to their
wrists. "Remember, the first series of patterns and tones
means nothing; they're merely to put you in a receptive

DEADLY SJLENTS 25

state. In any case, don't make an effort to concentrate. Just
let your senses follow the patterns and sounds.**

A series of nickering, random color patterns began play-
ing before Ten's eyes and equally random notes sounded in
his ears. Before long, however, a visual pattern developed.
The sounds became music, whose melody he could almost
identify. His pulse and breathing fell into phase with what
he saw and heard.

Then the visual patterns changed again. The rhythm re-
mained but between the colors, images flashed quickly. He
saw symbols, heard sounds for the symbols. Briefly, he
viewed a vast umber dry plain; an inland sea surrounded
by green waterland. He saw a bioomed animal, an irath,
and the symbol for irath, then a more complex symbol for
an irath used for meat, a more complex one for a female
meat irath, for a brown female meat irath, for a running
brown female. . . .

Light blinded Ten as his helmet lifted free some time
later. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his
temples. Inside his skull, his brain felt like his stomach
after a Thanksgiving feast, sluggish and stuffed to bursting.

"Stay seated."

The voice was Brithe's, but this time she spoke Isegis
and Ten understood the words. He opened his eyes and
tried to answer but could not find the words.

"Read," Brithe said. She pointed at an Egarad sign on
the wall.

Ten stared at it. After a minute some lines of the charac-
ters made sense. Gradually, more took on meaning. "It's
the operating instructions for the booths." The lesson lay in
his mind dormant, waiting for the proper stimuli to acti-
vate it.

Near Ten, Pol pushed up from his chair with a groan.
"Lordy, I surely do hate these educational hangovers."

"My advice to you all," Brithe said, switching back to
Translan, "is go read a book cassette or ask someone to
speak Isegis to you."

"How about you?" Ten asked. "Join us for lunch?'*

Brithe stared at him. "I cannot."

Ten felt like kicking himself. What was he thinking
about? Of course she would not be interested in subjecting
herself to the bombardment of all their thoughts. "I under-
stand. We're probably a shangie group of minds. I'm sorry
if I upset you by asking."

26 DEADLY S1LENTS

She stared at him a moment longer, rainbows glittering
on her throat and arms as her cutaneous muscles twitched,
then suddenly, she smiled. For the length of time the ex-
pression lasted, Brithe looked remarkably near-human, and
very amused. "Your minds don't bother me; I'm a Silent,
but I still can't join you today. I'll see you for your lesson

tomorrow."

Ten smiled back. "All right."

Jael rejoined the group in the canteen and she talked at
them in Isegis. Ten dug out meanings for most of the
words, but that did not always help make sense of what she

said.

"Come on," he pleaded. "Use whole sentences."
She switched back to English. "All I have available in
Isegis is nouns and verbs. Verbal words aren't intended to
convey ideas, only key the mental concepts."

Ten had a feeling Isegis was going to be harder to use
than he had anticipated.

After lunch the orientation group headed back to Inves-
tigations for the groundschool preparatory to checking out
in Egarad vehicles.

While they waited for their instructor, Roban said, "I
have a lot of sympathy for the Silents spending their lives
trying to communicate in that language. It makes me ap-
preciate why some of them tip off."

Jael shook her head. "I have no sympathy for any mem-
ber of this society who won't act responsibly. If they try,
the Silents can find constructive outlets for their frustra-
tion."

Roban frowned. "If humans had acted responsibly in the
beginning, there wouldn't even be Silents. I should have
thought that you, Jael, of all people would understand—"

The entrance of Lieutenant Hasejian and the flight in-
structor cut him off. Roban continued to eye Jael doubt-
fully through the groundschool session, however, and Ten
wondered if the pending argument would begin after class.
From groundschool, though, the group changed into exer-
cise clothes for physical training, and the trainer, a burly
Afro, gave none of them a chance for any kind of talking.

"Got to build you up," Ogilvie boomed at them. "Got to
help you run and climb in this gravity. We'll start easy, a
half hour of warm-up exercises and a six-iyah run."

The warm-ups, however, proved to be strenuous calis-
thenics and the run a blistering five and half kilometers

DEADLY SILENTS 27

over paths through the hills around the stationhouse. Most
of the group lasted the distance, but collapsed as soon as
they returned to the station courtyard. Ten lay flat on his
back among the others, gasping, his lungs aflame and
stomach churning. He fought not to throw up.

Next to him, Jael rolled onto her side. "I think . . .
we're finished for * . . the day," she said between breaths.

"Finished ... is right," Ten agreed. He closed his
eyes.

She managed a breathless laugh. "I have an idea what to
do with the rest of the afternoon."

"Nurse our shin splints?" Pol asked. He groaned.
"Lordy, I could sure use a tub of hot water to soak in."

"I think we ought to house hunt"

Roban said, "I'll second that."

Ten opened his eyes again and rolled his head to look at
her. "House hunt? Already?"

She sat up. "We have to do it sometime and I don't
know about you in the detention rooms, but I find the
floor of the exercise room hard and not very private. We
came to see the planet and people, didn't we?*'

"Yes," Ten had to admit. "All right, how do we do it?"

"The director's secretary has a list of vacancies around
the city and an eight-day skyrail pass for each of us. Liril
and I talked while you were down in the Quickteach
booths. We use the passes to ride out and look the various
places over. We talk to the neighbors and let them read us.
And when we find a place we want where the neighbors
want us, too, we're home.'*

Evaporating sweat cooled Ten down rapidly. Even lying
on the sun-warmed pavement, he found himself starting to
shiver. He pushed to his feet. "That sounds simple enough.
As soon as I've had a shower and warmed up, let's go."

Chapter Four

"FIND A place yet?" Jael asked.

She and Roban sat down beside Ten in the Investiga-
tions squadroom.

Ten shook his head. "I'm getting discouraged." Jael had
moved out of the station the first afternoon. She did have
the advantage of finding a vacancy next door to a child-
hood Egarad friend, and Roban had found a place in the
same cluster the next day. All along the detention wing,
rooms were gradually emptying, and here he sat, still
homeless after four days.

"Haven't you found a place you like?" Roban asked.
"A couple, but . . ." Ten shrugged. "They didn't seem
interested in me."

"Ishen are more than housing complexes," Jael said.
"It's the basic social unit, even more important than family
ties. You've probably noticed the variety in architecture.
There's the same psychological variety. Just keep looking."

He had indeed noticed the architectural variations. One
shen looked like a rabbit warren, with the buildings so
close the spaces between became mere alleys, while an-
other set each cottage in a separate garden and a third put
everything under a single dome so that it became, in effect,
a single house with several hundred rooms. One thing they
all shared in common, however, was bare rooms in the
vacant unit and Iregara who regarded him with solemn,
impassive faces when he asked about furnished vacancies.
"None," was the invariable reply.

The previous day he had finally asked why not. The
golden-furred Egara showing him the housing unit, who,
much to Ten's embarrassment, casually nursed an infant
while she walked around the unit, looked up at him and
asked, "Feel?"

28

DEADLY S1LENTS 29

He frowned m perplexity. What did she mean?

She touched her breast, then stroked the suckling baby.
"Wrong?"

Heat came up his neck and face. "I'm not used—at
home that isn't—isn't done in front of anyone."

She looked intently at him, as though reading his mind
with her eyes. "Strange."

Ten agreed. How could the high holies loudly praise the
Lord's Works and simultaneously declare the human body,
undeniably one of those Works, something shameful? That
is, he agreed intellectually with the Egara's opinion. In
practice, however, although his parents had done their best
to bring him up as free of the church as possible, he still
found himself affected by church hypocrisy.

Acutely uncomfortable, he struggled to change the sub-
ject by repeating his original question. "Why don't you
have any furnished units?"

The Egara switched the baby to her other breast. "Indi-
vidual." She paused, regarding him without expression
while Ten shrugged helplessly, not understanding her, then
she tried again. "Person is individual," she said slowly.
"Furniture equals person."

Comprehension dawned. Of course. He should have
guessed that people who decorated their fur in such highly
personal manners and lived in the great variety of housing
they did would consider their homes an expression of indi-
viduality, too.

"One thing, anyway," Ten told his friends at the station-
house with a sigh. "I'm learning the skyrail system very
thoroughly."

"Do you have possibles you're checking today?" Roban
asked.

"Oh, yes; I'm working my way down the list. Jael, what
are (he Iregara looking for m me? Someone who thinks
like—"

He broke off as Hasejian came in. "Good morning, peace
officers. How do you know where to respond to a call in
your patrol?"

An officer raised her hand. "Learn the names and loca-
tions of the ishen and malls."

"How do you know where to respond if you're called to
back up someone outside your patrol?"

Everyone waited for Hasejian to provide an answer.

She crossed to the wall map, which showed D'shenegar

30 DEADLY S1LENTS

as a U-shape around one long finger of Rahelem Bay. "We
lay a grid over the city." She pulled down a plastic sheet
marked with crosshatched lines. "Numbers on the north-
south axis and Egarad phoneme symbols on the east-west
axis. The stationhouse, for example, falls in the G-13
square. The squares are two klicks or two point two iyah
on a side. There will be copies of this grid on your patrol
vehicle control panels, so when you call in a location, give
both the shen or mall name and the grid coordinates. In
the meantime, the computer has printed out hard copies
for each of you and I suggest you begin memorizing some
of the major locations, such as the travelport, textile mills,
and copper refineries."

She passed them copies of the gridded map as she
talked. Ten identified the places she mentioned, and went
further by locating Jael's and Roban's ishen, too, at F-13
and F-12.

Hasejian had little more for them that session. She dis-
missed them early for checkout nights in the police vehi-
cles they would be operating.

"Why don't you switch turns with me?" Roban sug-
gested as they headed for the v-pool. "Then you'll have all
day to house hunt."

And with Roban's checkout time closer to Jael's, the two
of them would have most of the day at liberty together,
Ten thought, somewhat wistfully. Perhaps when he had a
place to live he could remedy the present lack of female
companionship in his life.

"Adeyanju," the flight instructor called.

Ten stepped forward. "Kampacalas substituting."

When he had checked out in all three vehicles, he
caught the skyrail north. An Egara boarded at the same
time he did. Sitting opposite on one of the seats running
lengthwise down the skyrail car. Ten recognized the bright
rainbow from the black fur visible above the collar of the
cape the Egara wore.

"Hello, Brithe," he said in Translan.

For a moment, she did not react, then she turned her
head slowly to look at him. "Kampacalas, yes?"

"Yes." He moved across the car to sit beside her. "They
give you the day off?"

"Yes." She eyed him, "And you?"

"I'm looking for a place to live. Do you have a vacancy
in your shen?"

DEADLY S1LENTS 31

"No.'

Despite the shortness of her answer, he smiled. "Too
bad." He sighed, "I really need a place."

She toyed with her cape, pleating it in her fingers. "Per-
haps . . . you could try Meem Shen. It's in my cluster
and I overheard someone in our shopping mall mentioning
Iregara leaving there."

"Meem Shen." He checked it against his list. Yes, it had
a vacancy. "Thanks. I'll look."

She smiled, and as it had the times she smiled before,
the human gesture removed some of the alienness from her
face. Ten would have liked to continue the conversation,
but Brithe lapsed info a private daydream, leaving him to
look at the other passengers or beyond them out the win-
dow.

Trees blurred as the train passed through a belt of
woods, and were replaced quickly by a meadow with the
look of parkland and a small lake lying clean and blue in
the center. Animals grazed around it. He pulled their
names from Quickteach knowledge in his head: compact
little prong-horn, yellow-spotted ichehasha, the namesakes
of one of the vehicles the police would be using; their taller
cousins the longlegs; bicomed, three-toed irirath. Then the
train plunged through woods again and came out sliding to
a stop near a shen with low, broad houses of blue-gray
stone.

Ten followed Brithe through two train changes. He
judged they must be headed for the northeast section of the
city. Disembarking for the last time at a hilltop station, he
could see the seacoast ten or twelve kilometers to the east,
confirming his guess.

Brithe pointed down a hard-topped path. "Meem Shen is
that way one and one-half iyah. When you come to the
fork, go straight."

He set off at a jog down the path. It cut through a heavy
belt of woods and climbed a hill. His uniform boots carried
him along easily on thick, supportive soles, but when sev-
eral bicycles passed him from each direction, he longed for
one. A bicycle would be faster and easier transportation
between home, the shopping mall, and the skyrail station.

The woods ended just over the crest of the hill and he
came down across the meadow to the shen huddled in the
hollow between the hills. At the edge, he stopped, eyes
widening in delight. It looked like something out of a fan-

32 DEADLY SllENTS

tasy: duplex and triplex houses of pink, orange, blue,
green, and yellow, free-form and comeriess, with arched
doors and oval windows, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder be-
hind flower-filled gardens. The ubiquitous smoky-gray Sun-
sorb tiles covered their round, mushroomlike roofs. And
the air smelled purple.

On Earth that would have seemed a brainbowed notion,
but here, in this village, beneath the bronze sun and a day-
faded red moon, he found it believable. The air smelled
purple.

An Egarad child sat on the doorstep of one house play-
ing with a furry, sharp-muzzled creature whose eyes looked
as large and violet as the child's. Ten pulled the name
from his memory: luras. Iluras seemed to be another factor
all ishen shared. Ten had seen the little animals every-
where.

"Where is number two-twenty-seven?" Ten asked the
child.

Face buried in the luras* golden fur, the child pointed.

Ten followed a path spiraling in through the shen, con-
verging with other paths around the communal bath house.
Following the direction of the child's finger, he took an-
other path that led off to the left. Before he had gone very
far he saw the number he wanted carved into a stone post
on the left side of the entrance to a garden. Beyond it sat a
blue duplex with oval, diamond-paned windows and arched
red doors.

Ten knocked on the left-hand door. When no one an-
swered, he opened it and peered in. The barren interior
informed bim this was the unit he had come to see. Step-
ping inside, an odd feeling of d6}h vu nudged him. He
looked around the rooms, trying to decide where he might
have seen them or something like them before.

Three steps led down into a roughly oval sitting area
with a bright orange carpet, sunny yellow walls, and a
round fireplace in the center of the floor. An opening cut
in an inside wall looked up into a kitchen with a built-in
triangular eating nook. Beyond the kitchen lay the closet
and the san. Ten saw no separate bedroom, but decided he
could accept that. An efficiency-type apartment would suit
him just fine.

Then, looking out one of the oval windows, he recog-
nized the house and laughed aloud. "A hobbit hole."

"What?" asked a voice behind him.

DEADLY SILENTS 33

Ten turned. On the steps stood an Egara. Ten opened
his mouth to explain what a hobbit was but the Egara said,
"Understand. Myth. Help?"

"I'm looking at the house. I'm—"

"Cop. Feel?"

He had no idea what lay behind the query, but the word
itself made Ten aware that the Egara's silvery-gray coat,
unmarked by any design, was longer and finer than others
he had seen. It reminded him of the Persian cat his sister
Miral had had when they were children. In-fact, now that
he thought about it, the Egara's face, broad and flat with
its snubby nose and large eyes, looked remarkably similar
to a Persian's, too. He remembered how Underfoot felt to
pet, and the warm silldness of her fur against his skin when
she crawled under the covers with him on cold winter
nights. The Egara's fur looked as though it would feel just
like-
He broke off the thought in horrified embarrassment as
the Egara, expressionless, extended an arm toward him in
a clear invitation to touch it. He backed away. "No, that's
all right ... I didn't intend—I wasn't going to ask—oh,
shit!" He hated himself for blushing and wished desper*
ately that he could hide his head somewhere, although he
knew that was pointless; it would not stop his thoughts.

The Egara came after bim and before Ten realized the
intention, grabbed his wrist and started for the front door.
Ten protested, pulling back, but he might as well have
been a child for all the result bis resistance had. The Egara
hauled him relentlessly forward. He stumbled on the steps,
but the Egara only lifted him onto his feet again and kept
going, out the front door and in the door on the other side
of the duplex.

The sitting area there was larger but otherwise similar to
the vacant side. The Egara pointed Ten toward a rolled
sleeping mat/chair and when he was sitting, scooped up a
black luras from another pile of cushions and dropped it
into Ten's lap.

The luras looked up at him. "Brrrt?" it said. It rubbed
its head against his hand. Automatically, Ten began to pet
it. The luras settled into his lap.

"Siyan," the Egara said.

Ten hunted memory for the word.

"Name," the Egara said. "Siyan."

34 DEADLY SILENTS

"Steven Kampacalas. I—I hope I didn't offend you in
there."

"No. Feel?"

Again, he was unable to guess what the Egara meant.
He tried to reason it out. The language had no spoken
words for the various emotions, just the keying word feel.
Perhaps Siyan wanted to know if he felt he had been offen-
sive. No. the Egara would have already read that in him.
Was the intended question how do you feel, then?

"No . . . feel unproved?" Siyan asked.

Oh. "Yes, I feel better." Much better, in fact. Remem-
bering the way Siyan had thrust the luras at him, he looked
down at the creature. "Are you responsible?"

"Brrrt?" the luras said.

Siyan said, "Buffer."

The luras acted as a buffer? No wonder he saw so many
around. But he was not telepathic; how could the luras
affect him? He was about to ask Siyan when he saw some-
thing that made him forget all about the luras ... a table
with a stack of what he recognized as Egarad sheet music.
He set the luras on the floor and crossed the room to the
table. "Do you play a musical instrument?"

"Sing."

Ten smiled. "Sing?" How could they sing when they
lacked language enough to speak sentences?

Siyan demonstrated. The Egara used no words, simply
voiced notes as oA's and da's.

Ten did not recognize the musical passage but found it
lovely. "Once I was a music major, back before I decided I
could serve society more as a leo. I didn't sing, though; I
played the piano and synthesizer." He picked up a sheet of
music. "Do you sing professionally or for your own plea-
sure?"

"Professional." Siyan said. "City philharmonic."

Tea regarded Siyan with increased interest. "Really?
What do the other people in the shen do?"

"Artists. Musicians. Dancers."

Was it like an artist's colony? This might be a very inter-
esting place to live ... if they would have him.

"I propose," Siyan said.

Siyan would? Ten smiled gratefully. "Thank you. When
do I need to meet the others?"

"Not necessary. Read."

DEADLY SILENTS 35

He did not try to figure out the thoughts behind that
word. "When will I know about living here, then?"
"Tonight"

Jael and Roban were still at the station waiting for Ro-
ban's checkout flights when Ten returned. Jael collapsed
whooping after he told her about the shen.

"Meem? That's delightful. The imeem are the Egarad
version of the Uttle People. I hope you're accepted,"

Ten hoped so, too, and he sweated out the long hours
left in the afternoon and evening until thirty-six hundred
hours, when the radio in his ear paged him to the phone.
He took the call on the extension at the detention guard's
station, waving a tense hand over the activator cell. "Kam-
pacalas here."

"Siyan," came the reply.

Ten waited for Siyan to go on, missing the visual contact
of Terran phones. Iregara needed their phone screens for
writing, though. Idly, he wondered how advanced their
technology had been before they learned to converse be-
yond telepathy range. Then lines began appearing on the
screen, forming an Egarad character. A second and third
character appeared, crowded onto the screen. Ten frowned,
working at deciphering them. Even with Quick-teaching, his
reading skills were stin slow.

He found the symbol for meeting in the first character,
and pieced together the other elements to find they indi-
cated general mood and numbers. What was this second
character, though? He dug hard into his memory until rec-
ognition came: rfrana, whatever that concept meant. It had
no Terran translation. The elements appeared to have
something to do with variety. Shrugging, he went on to the
last character, and there it was, easily read ... a mind
reaching out, a door open . . . invitation.

"Receiving?" Siyan asked.

Ten grinned. "Receiving," he replied in Isegis, then
picked up the light scriber on the side of the phone and
pushed the clear button. On the cleared screen he wrote a
character of his own: gratitude.

Chapter Five

LITTLE HILLS Shen reminded Ten of some residential areas
back in Topeka. The roofs rose in grassy knobs across the
meadow, with only chimneys and short windows at ground
level to indicate they were underground houses. Like back
home, too, many of the houses had small vegetable gardens
beside them. Ten tried not to let his mind dwell on the
similarities, though, because that caused an uncomfortable
tightness in his throat and he refused to admit he could be
homesick already. He had been on Egar only sixteen
days—twenty by local counting—and on patrol just seven.
They had been uneventful days, though, with little excite-
ment to keep his mind off Earth, except for one incident
two days before in which a kite-glider collapsed in midair,
killing its rider, an Egara named Haritheen, in the fall. Ten
had given the case to Investigations after his examination
of the fallen craft revealed partially-sawn struts. Roban,
who had been made an inspector, was busy now trying to
find out who might have reason to want Haritheen dead.

From somewhere nearby came the high voices of chil-
dren in the First-Level school at play. Just off the path
ahead of him sat the bath house, a dome of smoky Sunsorb
material, with two adults inside. One lay face down on a
wooden bench while the other rubbed talcmnlike cleansing
powder into the velvety fur.

"Good morning," he greeted them in English from the
open doors,

They looked up. "Cop," the one lying down said.

The term still sounded odd to him, but at least he no
longer felt a mental wince hearing it. "Yes. Officer Steven
Kampacalas. I'll be patrolling this cluster most days."

As a child he had once seen a picture of a twentieth-
century police officer, a big, brawny man in a blue suit,

36

DEADLY SILENTS 37

twirling his baton on a thong as he walked his beat, smiling
at the shop proprietors and schoolchildren he passed. Ten
knew from his mirror at home that he looked nothing like
the officer in the picture, but he felt as though he should
and kept seeing his image superimposed over that of the
other.

"Walk," Lieutenant Dom Robbie reminded the Day
Watch every morning at briefing. "That comes from the
director through Captain Titus. I know you have a large
area to cover, but right now patrolling the entire cluster
each watch is less important than learning to know your
patrol, and you can*t leam much in a car fifty meters up.
So move your rears out and explore on foot. Walk the
woods, too. Meet people; talk to them; introduce your-
selves. And think friendly."

Walking and thinking friendly was easy enough. The
trouble came in talking. For example, he had introduced
himself but these two Iregara had not reciprocated. Asking
them their names would sound interrogative, so what did
he say now?

Peeling awkward. Ten sat down on another bench, in a
bronze shaft of sunlight, and pushed up his faceshield. "I'm
here to protect you and keep the peace." Lord, that sounds
clumsy, he thought.

Communications murmured in Trauslan over his ear ra-
dio, giving a time check and warning units near the S-23
area that Traffic agents would be coming to aid two
downed vehicles. Traffic control remained the responsibil-
ity of D'shenegar's already established Traffic Department

The one Egara began brushing the powder out of the
other's coat with a brush that reminded Ten of the rice-
root dandy brushes used for grooming the ponies on his
grandfather's farm. The Egara even worked with the same
short, brisk strokes Ten had been taught to use.

"Function," the Egara lying down said.

Ten did not follow the meaning but suspected the com-
ment had to refer to his thought about grooming ponies.
He rubbed the cleft in his chin, wondering if he could ever
become accustomed to having his mind read.

Before either Egara could answer that thought, too, he
stood and headed for the door. "If you have trouble, call
us. I'm only minutes away."

Oh, to have Avel here, or any partner, for that matter,
someone to talk to who would talk back. He would even

38 DEADLY SILENTS

settle for an occasional meeting with a good friend in an
adjacent patrol, but Pol worked a cluster in the south leg
of the city, Jael stood the Evening Watch, and Roban had
been put in Investigations.

"North Twenty-five," the radio murmured.
Ten tapped his ear to activate his microphone. ''North
Twenty-five."

"Assault, Gural Finesmithing, Crafter's industrial mall."
Ten raced for the car grounded at the edge of the shen.

The Crafter's mall lay on the southeast edge of the clus-
ter, four kilometers from Litde Hills Shen. Ten took ad-
vantage of the opportunity to open up the Isinhar and
made the flight in a minute and a half. He also indulged
himself by setting the car down in the middle of the mall,
normally forbidden.

Ten had made a point of walldng the mall each watch,
partially because it enabled him to meet a great number of
people in a single area and partially because the maze of
Grafter's workshops fascinated him. So Ten had a fair idea
where Gural Pinesmithing lay and quickly arrived in the
workshop to find a graying Egara sitting on a bench sur-
rounded by fellow Iregara. Blood matted the fur above the
left eye and soaked a strip down the left side of the victim's
face and neck.

**Wbat happened?" Ten asked.

The group around the victim stepped back and drifted
away toward their workbenches. The victim looked up-
^Shele."

The word meant nothing to Ten. "I'm sorry; I don't un-
derstand."

"Attacked," said a russet-furred Egara with chevron de-
signs down both arms.

Ten looked down at the victim. *'I know you were at-
tacked. Tell me about the incident."

"Du" the Egara said.

Ten looked at the chevron-marked Egara again.

"Told,"* Chevron said.

Ten sighed, "I need a detailed account."

"Ye/ore," the victim said. 'WiVmura."

"Wait a minute." Ten pulled oft his helmet and ran a
hand through his hair. What was wrong with him today?
He could not understand a word the victim said.

Chevron said, "Speaks Fasisi. Bom Yeshir."

That would be a city. Ten judged. Fasisi must be the

DEADLY SILENTS 39

local language, and the victim spoke it even though now in
D*shenegar. Well, why not? Ten still spoke his native lan-
guage. It raised a point Ten had never considered before,
however: that Iregara had no need to learn new languages
when moving from place to place, and that he might meet
hundreds of people in the course of his job here who spoke
languages he could not understand. It was something to
mention at debriefing.

"m need you to translate for me, then," he told Chev-
ron. "May I ask who you are?"

"Sunubas. Supervisor."

Ten tapped on his kinecorder and aimed it at the victim.
*'What's your name?"

"Far," the victim replied.

"Position here?"

"Artisan." Sunubas picked a length of red metal chain
off the workbench behind Far.

Ten recognized it as a section of body chain some Ire-
gara wore as jewelry. So far, so good. "What happened?"

"Working," Sunubas translated for Far.

"Then what?"

*Threen attacked." Sunubas swung the chain in demon-
stration.

Ten's eyes narrowed. "Threen? That's the name of the
assailant? You know this person?"

"Yes. Artisan."

Now they were getting somewhere. "Describe Threen."

"Silent."

Ten resisted a desire to sigh. Patiently, he asked, "What
does Threen look like?" He glanced around into one pair
of impassive violet eyes after another. "Height?" he sug-
gested. "Weight? Color? What was Threen wearing?" he
asked, beginning to feel desperate. How could these people
work with someone and not notice something about him?

"Apron," Sunubas replied, pointing at the apron the
other artisans wore.

That was not much of a description. "Where does
Threen live?"

Sunubas did not answer.

Ten raised a brow. "You don't have employment records
that list the address?"

"Records," Sunubas said. "Workingtime, work units
earned."

Ten gave in to his sigh. "Nothing else?"

40 DEADLY S1LENTS
"NO."

He stabbed off the kinecorder and slipped it back in a
thigh pocket. No, of course not. After all, they did not
have the government or regulation that demanded detailed
records. For all its faults, the government back home did
offer innumerable kinds of help to the police, be reflected.

A high electronic beeping outside announced the arrival
of an ambulance. Ten watched the attendants examine
Par's wound, then picked up his helmet and followed them
when they took the Egara out to the ambulance, which
bore the Namis Hospital insignia. Unlike on Earth, Ten
noticed, no onlookers crowded around either the ambu-
lance or the shop door, but he also saw that no one in the
workshops was working, either. He felt them all listening
hard.

As the ambulance lifted off, beeping piercingly. Ten
looked around at Sunubas standing in the workshop door-
way. "Threen must have talked to someone once in a
while. Doesn't anyone remember a shen name being men-
tioned? Does anyone know information that might help me
find Threen?"

"I." A pregnant Egara with silky dark fur stepped out of
the pottery workshop next door. "Talked."

"Did Threen mention a shen?"

"Nayan Shen." She pointed south. "Visited."

For no logical reason. Ten found his eyes slipping to her
swollen belly.

"Yes," she said.

Even in the midst of his embarrassment. Ten recognized
that he had learned one useful fact: Threen was male.

"Reason?" Sunubas asked.

Did they never stop reading thoughts? Ten turned to-
ward the supervisor. "Because description will help us
iden—"

"Misunderstand," Sunubas interrupted. "Attacked. Rea-
son?"

Damn, Ten thought. He had been distracted by getting
Threen's description and bad forgotten to ask about possi-
ble motives for the attack. "Did anyone notice an alterca-
tion before Threen hit Far with the chain? What were they
doing?"

Sunubas considered. "Consulting. No argument."

Ten sighed. "You think about it If you remember any-
thing that might have caused Threen to attack, ask head-

DEADLY S1LENTS 41

quarters to tell me. I'll come back. Meanwhile, which way
did Threen run?"

An Egara in the area outside pointed west.

Ten headed for his car, calling in the meager informa-
tion he had. Iregara usually lived close to where they
worked, so if Nayan Shen lay south, that probably meant
in the nearest cluster. He asked Communications to notify
Jone Weider, the officer in that patrol, just in case Threen
went home. Ten took the Isinhar up and headed west.
Threen had a big head start, but maybe Ten would get
lucky.

Crafter*s Shen lay closest, a bit under a kilometer to the
immediate west. Between the mail and shen grew thick
woods. Ten tried to guess Threen's mental processes.
Would he keep going west toward the skyrail, or stick to
cover and turn south for home? Would Threen even expect
pursuit? Ten had not the slightest idea. He wondered if he
would even recognize the Silent if he happened to see him.
If only he could have gotten a physical description. Why
did the Iregara spend so much effort bleaching and dying
their coats if no one ever noticed the designs? For them-
selves alone?

Ten saw nothing but treetops between the industrial mall
and Crafter*s Shen, and nothing but semiwild ichehasha
and irirath in the more open meadow immediately around
the shen. He landed and walked through the clustered geo-
desic domes. He met a fair number of people on the way
and talked to each, but none of them had noticed a Silent
passing through. He stopped at the school, too, where he
found himself the instant object of intense, unabashed curi-
osity. The children crowded around him, saying words
with a question mark at the end of each.

"I'll come back and answer all your questions another
day." Good public relations. "Right now, though, / have a
question."

"Saw," three children called simultaneously.

Anticipated again. "A Silent, wearing a metal artisan's
apron?"

"Yes."

"Where—"

They pointed northwest.

Ten raced back for the car.

He found an Egara only a short distance beyond, follow-
ing a path down through the fields toward the shopping

42 DEADLY S1LENTS

mall. Slowing the Isinhar as he passed over the Egara, Ten
tried to decide if this were Threen. The Egara did not act
guilty, but walked along at a leisurely pace, completely in
the open. The Egara wore an apron, however.

Ten set the car down ahead of the Egara and swung out
"Threen?"

"Yes," the Egara replied in Translan.

"Police," Ten said in the same language. "I'd like to talk
to you."

Threen bolted for the woods.

As Ten started after him, he mentally thanked Ogilvie
for the killing runs around the station. Ten still noticed the
heavier gravity, and wished for less, but be withstood it.
He was almost on top of Threen when they reached the
woods. Suddenly the Silent ducked and came up and
around swinging a length of dead branch.

Ten's faceshield saved his nose. He grabbed for the end
of the branch. Threen, however, did not try to pull free. He
merely withdrew a step and came back, thrusting the
branch forward end-on. Despite Ten's hold, the Egara's
greater strength drove the branch into Ten's chest The
paragee field was no protection against that kind of attack.
The force of the blow shoved him backward and off his
feet. He landed flat on his back on the ground.

Threen hurled the branch down on him and whirled away
again. This time Ten did not try to give chase. Instead, he
drew his sleeper and fired. The narcolepsy induced by the
frequency of the sleeper's beam folded Threen in his tracks.
Rubbing the sore spot on his chest. Ten made his way over
to the downed Egara. He befted Threen experimentally.
Heavy. Rather than try to carry the Silent back to the car,
then. Ten pulled Threen's wrists behind his back and se-
cured them with the wrap strap, then sat back to wait for
him to regain consciousness.

"I didn't do anything," Threen said in a flat voice.
Ten spared only a glance for his prisoner seated beside
him before returning his attention to the Isinhar's instru-
ments. "So why did you run away from me?"

"I—I misunderstood. I thought . . * you were threaten-
ing me."

"You sound like you speak Translan well enough."
"I learned it from Silents to talk to other Silents, never a
Terran before. Your accent is strange."

DEADLY SILENTS 43

Ten raised a brow. "Silents use Translan to talk? Not
Isegis?"

"Talking in Isegis is impossible."

"Why did you attack Far with that chain?"

Threen's impassive expression never flickered. "I didn't
attack Far."

Ten rubbed the sore spot on his chest. "Far's head just
started bleeding by itself, I suppose."

"I threw the chain at that insufferable fishbrain and
walked out in disgust. Maybe the chain hit somewhere; I
never looked to see."

Ten eyed Threen. Could that be possible? Sunubas said
Threen attacked and Iregara were supposedly incapable of
lying, but Ten had interviewed enough witnesses to know
how deceiving one's perception could be. Threen's story
had plausibility and he sounded sincere. He looked straight
at Ten, unblinkingly calm, with none of the subtle signs
that would have told Ten a human was lying. Threen not
being human, though. Ten doubted he could apply the
same criteria. Besides, he also knew humans who could tell
blatant lies with the serenity of an angel. Ten decided he
had no way of knowing for certain whether Threen was
honest or only an earnest liar.

He set the car down just outside the Gural building.
"Sunubas," he called, taking his prisoner into the work-
shop, "is this Threen?"

The supervisor looked up from some paperwork. "Yes.
Reason?"

"I need a positive identification. Is this the person whom
you saw—"

"Misunderstand." Sunubas looked at Threen. "Reason?"

"Misunderstand," Threen replied sullenly. "Explain."

"Far. Reason?"

Ten said, "I think Sunubas is asking why you attacked
Far"

Threen pointed at Sunubas. In Isegis, Threen said, "Rea-
son. You."

The supervisor's pupils dilated. "Me?"

"I asked, not partner Far, me. I misunderstand Far. Far
misunderstands me." Threen looked at Ten. "And despite
that," he said in Translan, "she still partnered us."

Sunubas stared hard at Threen. "Reason?"

Threen's ears flattened. "You know."

44 DEADLY SILENTS

Ten noticed Sunubas was breathing harder, though the
flat face remained impassive. "Not know. Asking."

Threen's hands clenched. "How does she expect me to
know why she made me work with Far on that project?"

Sunubas snapped, "Misunderstand Far. Reason?"

The rising tempers brought Ten between the two of
them. "To save further misunderstandings, why don't I an-
swer the question? Threen and Far can't understand each
other, supervisor, for the same reason / couldn't under-
stand Far, because Far speaks Fasisi and Threen, like me,
understands only Isegis."

Sunubas' pupils dilated. "Ah." Enlightenment filled the
word.

"You mean you never realized that before?" Ten asked
in astonishment.

"No. Understand."

Ten decided to take nothing for granted. "You under-
stand what?"

"Far."

As any Normal would. So, Sunubas disregarded
Threen's pleas -of misunderstanding and assigned the two to
the project. Ten could well imagine Threen's frustration
under the circumstances. Given the same situation. Ten
thought he might have lashed out with that chain, too. He
regarded the Silent sympathetically, regretting the necessity
of arresting him. "Let's go, Threen."

On the way back out to the car, he tapped on his radio.
"North Twenty-five requesting a backup unit for prisoner
transport."

"North Two en route," Communications replied a few
moments later.

North Two? That would be Mete Lessman, his sergeant.
Ten frowned. Why was Lessman coming? Sergeants did
not usually make prisoner pickups.

"North Two requests a meet one yah east of Crafter'a
mall," Communications added.

A yah east? In the middle of the fields? That was not
normal procedure, either. Ten flew to the meeting point
with a knot of apprehension in his stomach.

When Sergeant Lessman arrived she first locked Threen
in the back of her car, then walked Ten away from the
vehicles. "I thought you'd rather talk out of range of listen-
ing minds," she said.

Ten eyed her warily. She reminded him in many ways of

DEADLY SIIENTS 45

Avel, a battle-scarred she-lion pared down to sinew, raw-
hide, and long, sharp claws. "What did I do wrong?"

"Perhaps nothing, but Captain Titus, which means Di-
rector Brooks, wants arrest situations checked before ac-
tual booking. Give me all you have on this."

Ten told her everything, then handed her his kinecorder
to play back. Lessman listened, watching the tiny screen
thoughtfully. "You didn't record Threen's version of the
incident?"

Despite her mild tone, Ten felt hot breath on his neck.
"I was planning on taking a formal statement at the sta-
tion."

"After booking? You think Threen is lying, then?"

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I'm sure Sunubas
and Far are sincere, so I feel I have to act on that."

"You're probably correct."

Ten still did not relax.

"However, there is one thing I've noticed on this play-
back that we need to talk about."

His stomach tightened. Here it came.

"All your questions are directed toward identifying
Threen. You were anxious to start the chase, weren't you?"

"Yes," he replied slowly. "I guess so."

She sighed. The knot in Ten's stomach jerked even
tighter. He knew that sigh. It was the same one his father
always used before saying: This is going to hurt me worse
than it does you.

"What's our primary function in D'shenegar?" Lessman
asked.

He looked steadily at her. "Keeping the peace."

"And when responding to a call, to whom is our first
duty?"

Damn, he had forgotten that in his eagerness to collect
facts about the incident and assailant. "Sergeant—"

'To whom is our first duty, Officer Kampacalas?" she
repeated.

Ten looked down at his boots- "The victim."

"To alleviate the psychological trauma by giving support
and comfort."

Ten protested, "Aren't there doctors and counselors for
that kind of thing? Don't we have enough of a job just
tracking down the nagos who—"

Lessman interrupted sharply, "We have the primary
contact with the victim. That period of time immediately

46 DEADLY SILENTS

after the incident is of critical importance in the future
mental health of the victim."

Ten had heard it all before, first from Brooks during the
job interview and then repeatedly during orientation.
Somehow, though, it had sounded different then, progres-
sive and humane, and a natural function. Here and now,
Ten could only think how far Threen could have run while
the responding officer sat nursing Par's psyche.

"Personally," Lessman said, "I think you did a good—'*
She broke off. "But it doesn't matter what I think person-
ally. That's based on Terran standards of performance and
this isn't Earth. I have my orders, and when we signed
those contracts, we both agreed to play by Egarad rules,
didn't we?"

And Devane Brooks's rules. Ten studied his boots, tight-
lipped. "Yes, ma'am."

She put an arm across his shoulders. "Don't worry about
this. Well keep it off the record. 1*11 take Threen in and get
a statement without booking him, then send someone over
to—what was that hospital?"

*'Namis."

"Over to Namis Hospital to talk to Far. This doesn't
sound like a premeditated act to me. We may be able to
settle it without an arrest Since the workshop supervisor is
aware of the problem between Far and Threen. it shouldn't
happen again. You go on back to work." She patted his
shoulder.

Ten did not fin<f the gesture much of a comfort.

"I don't know how most of you deal with Normals all
your lives without going over the brainbow," Ten told
Brithe late that afternoon after he had gone off duty.

Brithe looked up from a printout. "You now pity Si-
lents?"

The barb in her voice stung. For a moment Ten won-
dered whether he had been wise coming down to Data.
Perhaps he should have gone on to the exercise room. "I
don't pity Silents," he said, "and I don't excuse the deviant
ones; I don't believe violence is ever a justifiable response
to frustration, but ... I'm beginning to sympathize with
them."

"I despise them," Brithe snapped. "Most of them are
cretins."

DEADLY SILENTS 47

Was it possible for him to slink away before she ripped
him apart? He started to back away.

"'Why are you down here so late?" she demanded.

Too late to run now. "Well ... I picked up a subject
earlier today. I was interested in knowing whether he was
charged with anything."

"Case serial number?"

He gave her the one from his call response report.

Brithe's hands touched the keyboard. "Hard copy?"

"No, thanks. That isn't necessary."

"No charge made," she read from the screen. "The vic-
tim declined on condition of payment of medical bill." She
snorted. "That's a prime example of stupidity . . . attack-
ing a coworker. Pure impulse and temper. There are
better ways of dealing with frustration.'*

"Like you do?" Ten asked.

She stared hard at him for a moment, cutaneous muscle
movement making rainbows across her fur.

"However you do it," Ten said. "You appear to cope
well."

She smiled. "I think I do. Is there anything else you
need?"

He liked her when she felt like being friendly. Could he
prolong her mood? "No, but now I'm curious why you're
working late."

"I'm developing a program to correlate complaints and
determine which perpetrators and victims are repeatedly
involved in incidents." She eyed him. "Can I answer any
more questions?"

What a perfect opening she had given him. "One more
. . . would you like to go somewhere with me this eve-
ning? I'd like to know you better."

"Go where?"

He tried to think of a place. The shen being the center of
social life, D'shenegar had no clubs or bars, and its only
restaurants served the guesting houses, small places noth-
ing like hotel restaurants on Earth.

"How about a concert? My neighbor is singing in a sym-
phony performance tonight."

"I never go to concerts," she said shortly.

He was losing her. Quickly, he suggested, "How about
gambling?"

D'shenegar boasted twelve public and a number of pri-

48 DEADLY S1LENTS

vate tracks running irirath, inege, and cars, and at least
one chance house could be found in every shopping mall.
Initially, Ten had wondered how telepaths could gamble,
but understood when he found they did not play cards.
Instead, they gambled on any race or game that was won
by pure luck or physical skill. Going gambling particularly
interested Ten. With everything similar being lion meat for
vice officers at home, indulging here carried the spice of
the illicit. "Let's go to a track."

"I can't tonight." She shut off her keyboard. Standing,
she lifted her cape from a hook by the door. "Ask me an-
other time."

"And get turned down again?" he muttered. But she was
already gone and did not hear. Ten sighed. Why did he
keep trying to be friendly? As much as he wanted to com-
ply with the director's suggestion that they mix with the
locals, was this worth it?

He trudged upstairs to the exercise room and changed
into running clothes. Maybe a few fast kilometers would
work out his frustration.

Out on the track, Pol came up alongside and fell into
step with him. "Howdy, podner. Come to run off some
mad?"

"I come because it's the one place in town I can find a
shower."

Pol laughed. "Hell of a job, isn't it? Hell of a place, too.
My folks were marines and we must have lived mighty
near everywhere on Earth one time or another, but I've
never been anywhere like this before."

"Amen!"

Pol laughed at Ten's heartfelt tone, then both fell silent,
saving their breath for running.

At the end of five kilometers, they quit and headed for
the shower. Under the steaming water, Pol said, "Running
is good for the body, but you know what we really need?
Bara Deem, that blonde from St. Paul who's South
Twenty-seven on our watch, has been telling me about this
wine she's found from the eastern Iseg waterlands. She says
it's as good as any on Earth. Why don't I invite her to
bring the wine and a friend for you over to my place this
evening?"

That sounded like the best idea Ten had heard all day.

In Ten's ear, his radio murmured, "South Eleven, sub-
ject breaking windows in the Heerus shopping mall."

DEADLY SIIENTS 49

"Have fun. South Eleven. Better you than me," Ten
said, and prodding in his ear with his little finger, deacti-
vated the implant. The radio was one part of his job he
could live without tonight.

Chapter Six

SOMEWHERE CLOSE a baby wailed. Ten fought his way up
out of warm sleep into the cold dawn. Outside his window,
the wail turned into a chorus of giggles.

"What—-
Breath tickled his chest beneath the blankets. "You don't
have any windows open, do you?"

"Lord, no." The Sunsorb roof tiles absorbed enough sun-
light to warm the house during the day and hold the heat
most of the night, but by morning the temperature had
always dropped enough to let Ten see his breath when he
talked.

The giggles turned to wails once more. Ten sat upright,
clutching at the blankets. "What the hell is out there?"

"Igelis." Phaedra Melandros flung back her side of the
blankets and ran to the nearest window. "Come and look."
She seemed unconscious of either her nakedness or the
cold.

Ten watched her with pleasure, as he shivered in the
chill air her exit had admitted and tightened the blankets
around him on the sleeping mat to plug the hole. She
looked as elegant as her name sounded.

"I thought you two might phase, both being Greek,'*
Bara Deem had said, introducing them the night before.

Only Phaedra was real Greek, a marine biologist from
the island of Kithnos, on Egar to study the adaptation of
marine-life forms to the extreme salinity of evaporating old
seas like the Iseg. Sbs spoke Translan, but no English.

"There must be fifty or sixty in the troop," she said from
the window. *'You ought to see this."

"It isn't worth freezing for."

She turned to laugh at him. "Don't be a sissy. The cold
will toughen you. Come on"

50

DEADLY SILENTS 51

Gritting his teeth. Ten threw back the blankets and as
goosebumps rose on him, dashed to the window. He
wrapped his arms around Phaedra to take advantage of her
body heat, then almost forgot the cold as he looked past
her out the window.

The garden teemed with tiny life forms some fifteen cen-
timeters high. Remembering the shen's name. Ten thought
instantly of elves, elves with russet suits and golden manes
of hair . . . only the "elves" here had long prehensile
tails. One jumped up on the outside of the window and
explored the edges with its tiny hands. A worried, wizened
old man's face peered at them.

Ten grinned. "They're cute."

"They're vermin. Look at them . . . destroying your
garden."

The flagstones lay littered with flower petals and with
the red and golden leaves from Siyan's prized hegen'shu
and medehela trees. Ten groaned. "Oh, shit; Siyan will—"

Siyan erupted from the other side of the house, bare-
furred, barefooted, and yelling, firing a sleeper in long,
swinging sweeps. Siyan's luras launched itself past the
Egara with a squeal of excitement and into the troop of
igelis. Shrieking, the igelis dodged both the luras and the
sleeper beam.

"If you'd left a window open, they would have been all
over in here this morning," Phaedra said.

Ten shuddered at the thought. "How do we get rid of
them?"

"Knock them down with a sleeper the way your neigh-
bor is, or wait for the cavalry."

Ten blinked. "Cavalry?"

"There." She pointed.

Ten saw them, five creatures of three different species,
coming up the path and across the gardens. But before he
had time to identify them, they were on top of the igelis
troop. The garden exploded into a melee of shrieking igelis
and charging predators—black-maned and black-striped,
tawny-striped, and white-spotted gray—mowing their way
through the fleeing little primates with jaws snapping. Si-
yan snatched up the luras and fled for the house.

"My god," Ten gasped.

"When igelis leave the cover of the woods, it's picnic
time," Phaedra said. "Here come iree, too."

Several species of raptors swooped down out of the sky

52 DEADLY S1LENTS

for their share of the game. In five minutes it was all over.
The iree left clutching igelis carcasses in their talons; the
dorsal-maned balach fled after gulping down several small
bodies; and the white-eyed adu settled its stocky body in
the middle of the bloodied flagstones to eat at leisure while
the three irashuneg, who looked vaguely half-tiger and
half-hyena, prowled snarling, snatching up carcasses the
smaller but fiercer adu passed over. Ten whistled.

"Quite a wake-me-up, isn't it?" Phaedra said. "That's
what comes with a city that has forest and wild animals in
it"

She started to turn away from the window. What that
did was turn her in Ten's arms to face him. He took full
advantage of the position to kiss her. "It's only eleven," he
murmured. "Day Watch doesn't start until fourteen
hundred hours. We have plenty of time to climb back into
bed and warm up."

She laughed. "I don't thinfc you need more dancing to
warm up, but all right, if you let me turn on the vid for the
early news. You do have channel subscriptions, don't
you?"

"Only two. I'm being well paid but I hate putting too
much on credit before I see that first salary statement.
Buying the house, furniture, and bicycle has me indebted
enough for me time being." He snapped his fingers in front
of the big wall screen's activator and pulled Phaedra back
toward the mat "It's on, but don't plan on having much
chance to read."

She did not manage to do so for some time, but while he
lay dozing in post-coital lassitude, she not only watched the
news but read pieces out loud to him: about the plains fire
around Anidel in the Gedin Drylands; the result of
marathon-type races being run in Idin; a new underwater
copper-mining site off the coast near D'shenegar; a city
council meeting to be broadcast on the service channel that
evening to discuss increasing donations and pledges for the
city operations fund.

"Donations. These people are incredible," Phaedra said
with a sigh. "At home they'd pass a new tax and just take
the credit from us." Then she gasped. 'Ten, lookl"

He rolled over. On the screen green-and-umber uni-
formed figures milled around something on the ground.
The picture flickered to a paragee stretcher being loaded
into an ambulance. His eyes dropped to the text band be-

DEADLY S1LENTS 53

low the picture but it rolled sideways too fast for hhn to
interpret the characters. "What is it?"

"A cop was found dead outside the Harachad Textile
Mill last night, an Officer Aaron Wofford- Found when—"

"A copi" Ten sat bolt upright. He prodded his ear with
his little finger, activating the radio, then jumped 08 the
sleeping mat. "Does it say how he died?" Ten grabbed his
uniform from the closet off the kitchen and pulled it on.

Something cold crawled up his spine. Officers died all
the time on Earth, but ... he had not expected it here.

"He was found in an pond near the mill."

Ten pressed the front seam of the jumpsuit closed. The
cold moved through his back into his stomach and sat
heavily. "Come on, get up; I have to go.**

Together they folded the sleeping mat with the blanket
inside and buckled on the long back cushion that turned
the mat into a couch. Phaedra dressed while Ten wiped off
his beard at the mirror on the san door. He listened for
any radio dispatches that might tell him more than the vid
news, but only time checks broke the air silence.

He unrolled his collar, making a hood to cover his ears
until the day warmed up, then pulled on his helmet. "If
this is high summer, thank god Egar doesn't have much
seasonal variation or I'd hate to think what winter would
be like." Opening the door, he stuck his head out and
looked born ways.

Phaedra cocked a brow. ltWhat are you doing? Making
sure the coast is clear before sneaking me out? Don't you
realize that everyone around already knows Fm here?"

Ten grinned sheepishly. "Automatic reflex."

Outside in the garden, a few bloodstains and scraps of
hair were all that remained of the igelis picnic.

Walking his bicycle. Ten escorted Phaedra to the skyrail
station. There, he pushed up his facestueld and kissed her
goodbye. "I hope we can see each other again."

"Bara being my neighbor, I'm sure we will. Call me in a
couple of days. You can ask your neighbors how much I
enjoyed dancing with you." Then she laughed. "You're
even cuter when you blush."

He jerked down his faceshield. "I'm never going to get
used to having no privacy for anything."

She sobered abruptly. *Ten, I hope you can. You have
to if you're ever going to be able to live here."

54 DEADLY SILENTS

He was beginning to wonder why any Tel-ran would
want to.

The door of the storefront station in the D'she shopping
mall scanned the code on Ten's palm and slid open to ad-
mit him. A wave of his hand activated the holocom, joining
the storefront to the stationhouse briefing room. The dais
at the front still sat empty, but uniformed officers milled
around the rest of the room, walking through the projected
images of the desks but apologizing when they accidentally
encroached on each other. Ten estimated that most of the
sixty-eight officers on the watch had arrived, including Pol,
who stood toward the back talking to Bara Deem. For
once, however, the innumerable conversations shared a
single topic: Aaron Wofford,

Before long the room was full, a medley of green and
umber, and as the chronometer above the dais registered
13:30, lieutenant Dom Robbie mounted the dais, followed
by Sergeants Mete Lessman and Benne Cathcart. Conversa-
tion died away. The officers sat down, each finding the
desk in his of her own storefront among the projected
rows.

"Good morning, peace officers," the lieutenant said. He
glanced down at the indicator lights on his lectern. "AH
storefronts are activated." His eyes moved around the
room. "I don't suppose there's any point m trying to talk
business until you've asked about Officer Wofford. So, in
the hope of making this faster, I'll anticipate those ques-
tions and give you all the information we have.'* Robbie
took a breath. Ten thought the breath trembled, but when
the lieutenant spoke, his voice emerged flat and steady.
"Last night at thirty-four-oh-seven Wofford was dispatched
to the Harachad Mill to investigate a complaint of some-
one screaming. He reported arrival at thirty-four-firteen. At
thirty-four-thirty-one, sixteen minutes after arrival. Com-
munications asked for a status check as procedure requires.
Officer Wofford failed to respond. Communications called
again and still received no response. Accordingly, Sergeant
James Gerhardt, the south leg sergeant, was notified. Ser-
geant Gerhardt and two units proceeded to the scene to
institute a search for Officer Wofford. At thirty-five-oh-two
Officer Nile Paretski found Officer Wofford floating face
down in a small pond one half kilometer east of the Hara-
chad Mill. Workers in the mill who were questioned had

DEADLY SILENTS 55

read nothing unusual. Two reported Wofford within their
perceptive range but read no fear or alarm in him. An au-
topsy is scheduled for this morning but as of now, it ap-
pears he drowned. That's all the information we have.
When we know more, the grapevine will probably inform
you long before official word reaches me," he said wryly.
"So, shaU we proceed to the business of this watch?"

Ten had a dozen questions but refrained from asking
them. The lieutenant probably had none of the answers.

Robbie read off the list of violent incidents occurring
during the night: two arsons, three assaults, and a half-
dozen cases of vandalism. "As usual, we have almost no
descriptions of even those perpetrators who were seen.
When you talk to people today, keep stressing the impor-
tance of looking at the subjects committing these offenses.
Keep trying to make people understand that we need coop-
eration if we're going to serve effectively . . . like this
case: a Silent was observed cutting the spokes of bicycles
in the Heemal Shen. That's in your patrol, Wassom. The
witness says the suspect is named Ger'mal: G gelis, E erim,
R ree, apostrophe, M meem, A adu, L luras. The suspect
has a body-chain design bleached into yellow-brown fur
and is believed to live somewhere in the area because the
witness has seen the suspect in the shopping mall on sev-
eral occasions."

"How^d we get so lucky?" Pol asked.

Robbie smiled. "If I interpret these characters in the re-
port correctly, it was the opinion of the responding officer
that sexual attraction may have caused the witness to no-
tice the suspect more than normal." He shrugged. "Of
course, we don't know which of the two is which sex. Any-
way, Wassom, ask around. There are probably a hundred
Ger'mals in D'shenegar, but see if you can locate this Si*
lent one."

Pol sighed.

"You have some objection to that, officer?" Robbie
asked sharply.

Pol stiffened. "Oh, no, sir, it's just—I know how these
people feel, what they go through. I can understand why
they tip off. Chasing them isn't much—" He broke off.

"Fun?" Sergeant Cathcart finished for him. "The vic-
tims don't find these incidents very much fun, either. Try
thinking of them if you need incentive."

Pol's jaw tightened. "Yes, sir."

56 DEADLY SIIENTS

Robbie went on, "In response to incident levels charted
by the computer, we're changing some patrols. I know," he
said as the groans went up around the room. "You just
memorized the names and locations in your cluster, right?"

But none of the changes affected Ten or other perma-
nent patrols, however, only two floating officers in the west,
who were shifted south to overlap patrols around the tex-
tile mills.

"From now on, the computer may also order impromptu
checks of particular areas, so don't be surprised if you're
suddenly sent off on a side trip in mid-watch," Robbie said.
"All right, that's all. Go to work."

Devane sensed rather than heard Meda's sigh and hesi-
tation as they stepped into the station forecourt. He glanced
from her to the entrance with its large yin-yang symbol.
"What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "Just resigning myself to another day of
routine chemistry and one-word sentences. I wish we had
more Terrans in the lab, or something more challenging
for me to do."

He tugged at an ear. "Unfortunately, we're committed to
filling all positions possible with local people. Can't you
talk to Bioni Elanca?"

"She's the chief. Dee. She doesn't have time for casual
chicha."

He eyed her as the doors opened for them and they
stepped into the reception area. Meda probably did get
bored and lonely around there in the lab; she had always
been a talented chemist and a gregarious person. He could
do little to improve the job, but perhaps he could help an-
other way. He stopped at the point they usually separated
to head for then- respective wings. "Come round to my of-
fice when you take a break and I'll have some coffee with
you."

She brightened. "Are you sure you have time?"

"I'm the boss, remember; I do what I want." He kissed
her, enjoying the feeling of defying propriety by such a
public display.

Meda stiffened but did not pull back from him. He
noted her reaction with satisfaction. Egar must be good for
her; she was relaxing, easing out from under her inhibitions.
"Just come on around."

Turning away from her, he saw the wiry form of Cap-

DEADLY S1LENTS 57

tain Dane Basanites waiting for him by the U wing corri-
dor.

"Morning, sir," the head of the Investigations division
said. "Sorry to have spoiled your evening the way we did
last night."

The warm thoughts of Meda disappeared beneath grim-
mer ones. "It's all right. Give me everything we know
about Wofford so far." He headed down the corridor for
his office.

Basanites kept pace with him. "Everything we have is
what I gave you last night."

"What about the autopsy?"

"It's this morning."

"Who's doing it?"

"A Dr. Sherur at Methim Hospital."

Devane stopped, frowning. "An Egara?"

"Dr. Sherur is an experienced pathologist with some pre-
vious work on Terrans. Dr. Goodnight from our infirmary
will be assisting, too, to help on anatomical questions."

"All right." Devane moved forward again. He passed
through his outer office, greeting his secretary Liril, and
went on into his office. "What about Criminalistics?"

"They're processing his clothes and car now."

Devane dropped into the chair behind his desk. "We
might have to put a night crew in there. But that's Tova
Craig's division; I'll speak to her about it." He ran a hand
over his hair. "What do you think, Dane? Did he get care-
less and fall in or ... was he lured out there and killed?"

Basanites shrugged. "I don't think we have enough to
even guess about that yet. No witnesses sensed anything
unusual and the preliminary medical examination didn't
find any signs of violence."

"Which means we have to wait for results from the lab
and post, I guess." Devane sighed. "Let's hope it was an
accident."

"Lord, yes," Basanites agreed.

"Let me know the minute you have anything new.**

"I will."

Instead of leaving, however, Basanites lingered by the
door. Devane eyed him. "Is there something else?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Lieutenant Hasejian brought the
matter up. It seems the inspectors resent being asked to
build a case for the defense as well as the prosecution."

Devane leaned back, sighing. "Yes, I suppose they do."

58 DEADLY SILENTS

"What do you want to do about h? You know what's
happening, of course; they're working hard to find evi-
dence of guilt and giving the; suspect's side only half-hearted
attention, if any. I can't say I blame them. None of us
trained to work for the defense."

"We have to leam to do it, though. Our cases go before
a mediator just like the civil suits,'* Devane said. "There
are no lawyers for either side. We're all the defendant has
to work for him. Try reminding them of that."

Basanites raised his brows. "You don't think that's going
to convince them, do you?"

"If ft doesn't, we'll . . . think of something else."

"Yes, sir." This rime Basanites left.

Devane stared at the closed door for several minutes.
Come to Egar and set up a police department. It had
sounded so simple. Simple was not exactly how he would
characterize the job now. On the other hand, he thought,
touching a stack of hard copy on his desk, even the most
complex machinery disassembled into simple pieces. Deal
with the pieces and perhaps the whole machine would
work. He picked up the sheets of printout and went to
work on the pieces.

Liril appeared in the doorway some time later. "Visitor.
Civilian. Dismiss?"

A secretary who knows how the boss feels and thanks
could be an advantage sometimes. He smiled. "I wish I
could let you do that, but . . . who is it?"

"James Booker Paulus."

Devane's brows rose. "Three names?" Liril usually an-
nounced people by the names they called themselves.

"Thinks," Liril said.

Devane tugged an ear. "And what is this person who
thinks of himself by three names?'*

"Deviant.'*

Devane straightened, startled. "What?"

"Zealot"

He relaxed, smiling. "Terrans can be highly emotional
without being unstable. Show the gentleman in."

Nevertheless, as James Booker Paulus entered the office,
Devane found himself thinking that Liril's assessment of
the visitor had not been far wrong, after all. As Devane's
profession stamped him indelibly for many people, so was
Paulus marked by his: churchman . . . high holy.

DEADLY SILENTS 59

Paulus held out his hand. "It's good of you to see me,
Director Brooks. I know you're a busy man."

Devane shook the hand. "So you'll understand that I
need you to be brief. What can I do for you?"

"It's more a matter of what I believe I can do for you.
Your officers have been on Egar about three weeks,
haven't they? And I haven't heard that you brought a chap-
lain. You must find this a spiritual desert."

"We've been very busy," Devane said carefully,
"Oh, I'm sure, but work and an alien world is no reason
to slip into the habit of recusancy. I serve as pastor for the
Enclave ESB church and I'll be very happy to hold a ser-
vice for your men every day, too."

Devane wanted to toss the high holy out through the
window. He kept smiling. "We have no facilities for a ser-
vice," he lied. "The officers never meet here in a group;

they're scattered across the city."

"What a pity. How desolate." Paulus sighed. "You
know, I originally came out here to bring the Word, but
Iregara refuse to listen. A most stubborn, godless race." He
looked earnestly across the desk at Devane. "You can't
leave your officers among these aliens without the armor of
the Word. Tell them that we hold services four times a
week in the Enclave, on Wednesday, Friday, and twice on
Sunday. Tomorrow is the Friday service. All of them will
be joyfully welcomed among us for any service.'*

The door opened. Meda started in, then stopped.
"You're busy," she said in disappointment.

"We're almost through," Devane said. "Come on in."

She came over to stand behind his chair.

"I'll post a notice," Devane told Paulus, "though I'm not
sure how you figure a week."

"Why, seven days is a week, of course. We keep God's
time in the Enclave even though the aliens only count sea-
sons." He smiled at Meda. "And who might you be?"

Devane introduced them perfunctorily and rose to show
Paulus to the door, but Paulus held his place, smiling at
Meda. "I was just telling your husband about the services
we hold in the Enclave. I wish you and the director would
join us tomorrow night."

"We'd love to come," Meda said.

Paulus beamed. "We'll look forward to seeing you."

When the nigh holy had gone, Devane waved his hand

60 DEADLY SILENTS

over the intercom. He needed coffee. "Liril." He looked up
at Meda, "What did you mean, we'd love to come? You
were borderline Recusant at home, just like me."

"I don't care about the service, Dee; it's the people I
want to see, real people, people I can actually carry on a
conversation with."

Liril came in with two cups of coffee, "Rotgut."

"Better than that aqua regia you call tea," Devane re-
plied,

The fur on Liril's shoulders rippled.

Meda began, "I like mine with cream and—" She broke
off as she peered into her cup. "Did you put in sugar, too?
How much?"

"Tab," Liril replied, holding up one finger. "Feel." The
secretary left the room.

Meda sipped her coffee. "How did she know how to fix
mine?"

"I probably thought about it when I called. Don't say
she, though. I'm not sure Liril is female."

"You never asked?"

"Until it matters, why should I?" He lifted a brow at
her. "And now, Mrs. Brooks, how has your morning been?
Are you working on the Wofibrd case?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I were. We aren't going to talk
business."

He pretended to cringe. "Yes, ma'am. Maybe you'd like
to sit on my lap while we think of something else to do,
then."

She frowned. "What if someone walked in?"

"They'll never get past Liril."

Even as he said it, though, Liril appeared in the door-
way and clapped hands together twice, sharply. "Dane."

Basanites came in, nodding an apology to Meda. "You
said you wanted anything new on Woffbrd right away."

Devane's whole attention fastened on him. "What do
you have?*'

"It looks like an accident. Hasejian talked to Goodnight
at the hospital. They found Wofford's lungs full of pond
water but no bruises or other marks to indicate he might
have been forcibly held under."

"Anything from CriminaUstics?"

"Just a verbal preliminary report. Wofford's boots were
covered with mud like that from the edge of the pond and
they found prints matching his boots crossing the mud."

DEADLY SILENTS 61

"That settles it, then," Meda said.

"I guess."

Something in Basanites's tone set off a warning bell in
Devane's head. "Except for what?" he asked.

"Well." Basanites rubbed the back of his neck. "That
pond wasn't very deep, less than a hundred and fifty centi-
meters even in the middle. Wofford would have had to fall
and not get up again in order to drown in it." He rubbed
harder. "I worked Crimes Against Property back in Roch-
ester, not Homicide, but I used to get this itch on certain
cases . . ."

"And you have it now?" Devane felt an itch himself.
"Put someone on it, then."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Devane sat back in his chair and sighed as the door
closed behind Basanites. Meda squeezed his hand. He
smiled up at her as he squeezed back, but inside he sighed
again, heavily, and hoped to God the captain's itch was
wrong.

Chapter Seven

TEN FELT strange walking around the shopping mall out of
uniform, carrying a shopping bag like everyone else. The
mall felt colder than usual, somehow, though the shop-
keepers greeted him exactly as they did when he was on
duty. He was halfway through ha grocery shopping, picking
over fruits whose tough green rind had the texture of or-
ange peel, when he realized why he felt colder; he had
simply grown used to the snug warmth of his uniform in
this setting. His jacket felt warm enough, but beneath it his
civilian clothes, woven for Terran wear, let the chill
through to his body.

He dropped four of the green fruits into his bag and
thought of his clothes with a frown of displeasure. When
his sister Miral gave him this jumpsuit last Christmas, he
had considered the blue color and clinging African styling
rather daring. After his uniform here, however, and the
bright tabards of the Iregara around him, the jumpsuit felt
like a drab sack. That stung his vanity; he had always taken
pride in dressing modishly.

He moved down the row of fruit bins, picking out two
blue fruits and two red ones he had found to be very much
like large Terran plums. He dropped them in the shopping
bag. Was there anywhere he could buy clothes similar to
his uniform? Not in this mall, he knew, and probably not
even in the Terran Enclave,

Ten showed the fruit he had chosen to the shopkeeper
and reached into his jacket pocket for a handful of the
colored plastic disks that represented fractions and multi-
ples of work units he was entitled to claim.

Picking out the correct number to pay for the fruit, the
shopkeeper said, "Tailor."

Ten bunked at the Egara, forgetting for once to be fius-

62

DEADLY SILENTS 63

tered about having his thoughts read. Of course. The mail
had a tailor and D'shenegar, of all places, had countless
fabrics to choose from. Grinning, he shook the shop-
keeper's hand. "Thank you very much."
The Egara's arm fur rippled. "Yes."
Ten left the shop humming.

Presently he became aware of the same tune coming
from somewhere around him. He sighed. Did Iregara carry
this mind reading even as far as echoing the music in an-
other person's head? But moments later he realized that
in fact the opposite was true; he had heard the music and
unconsciously begun echoing it. He knew the piece, the
Chorale Prelude "Wachet Auf" from Bach's Cantata No.
140. But who could be playing Bach in the middle of an
Egarad city?

Coming around a block of shops, be found the source.
Twelve Iregara stood before a small pond in the middle of
the mall, singing. Ten recognized Siyan and several other
neighbors among the group. They sang without words, vocal-
izing only notes, using their voices as instruments. Exactly
as Bach intended, Ten thought. The old Master's work,
which had already translated so well to countless instru-
ments and arrangements across the centuries, now made a
new transition, and remained just as vigorous, just as beau-
tifully intricate even in the throats of nonhumans singing it
beneath an alien sun. And even here, while he listened,
Ten could not help but visualize the great European cathe-
drals Bach had written the music for, and feel the irony in
his great enjoyment of music the devotedly religious Bach
had written to glorify a god Ten himself assiduously
avoided. But also as usual, he quickly forgot the irony, and
the twinge of guilt it engendered, in giving himself up to
the music.

He noticed other bystanders glancing at him, but did
not wonder at it. He was, after all, the single Terran
among them. After a few minutes, however, one of them
with arabesque fur designs edged over beside him and mur-
mured, "Stop."

Ten blinked. What?
"Interfering."

Ten frowned, holding his finger to his lips. It was Ara-
besque who was interfering, talking when Ten wanted to
listen to the music.

"Images," Arabesque persisted.

64 DEADLY SILENTS

He shook his head, not understanding, wishing the
Egara would shut up. By this time everyone in the area
had turned to stare at them. Then "Wachet Auf" ended
and the members of the chorus came toward him.

"Ten," Siyan called.

Ten smiled hello. "Is this part of philharmonic work?"

"Fun," Siyan said. "Thank you."

Ten started to ask what for when Arabesque said, "In-
terfered."

Siyan looked back impassively. "Drana"

"Imbalance," Arabesque said. Although the voice re-
mained flat and the face expressionless, Ten received an
impression of annoyance from the Egara,

The fur on the arms and shoulders of the singers rippled.
Siyan said, "Yes."

Ten wished someone would explain this to him.

"Images," Siyan said. "Imbalance." The Egara's fur rip-
pled again. "Strength."

Some explanation. Ten still did not understand. "Can
you put two or even three words together at a time?"

He immediately regretted the sarcasm but to his relief
Siyan did not appear offended. The Egara began, "Your
images—"

Behind Ten someone said in Translan, "You interfered
with the performance by upsetting the image balance. I ex-
pect that's what your neighbors find amusing, that one
non-Egarad mind can produce images stronger than four-
teen blended Egarad minds."

Ten turned around to find Brithe among the spectators.
He looked quizzically at her. "Image balance?"

"Come with me; 111 explain."

He worked his way out of the group after her. She led
him away from the pond area, toward the edge of the mall.

"You thought they were just singing, didn't you?"

He nodded. "And doing a beautiful interpretation of
Bach, too."

Brithe stared off ahead of her. "The sound is only half
the performance. What the performers think and feel, and
the images the music produces for them, are the rest of it,
the part people like you and me can never experience or
appreciate. I've been told they try to blend their individual
images into a single aesthetically pleasing combination.
Whatever you thought while listening probably discorded."

DEADLY SILENTS 65

"Siyan mentioned drana. That's something like counter-
point, isn't it?"

"Drana, the different one. I suppose Siyan saw your im-
ages as the drana for their performance. After all, you're
the drana for their shen, aren't you?"

Tea frowned at her, remembering the symbol on the
phone screen the evening Siyan informed him he had been
accepted into Meem Shen. "I don't know that I under-
stand."

She glanced sideways at him. "Every shen likes to have
at least one member different from all the rest, to add con-
trast . . . like eating something bland with spicy foods or
something sour with sweet ones."

Ten bit his lip. "Something to prevent monotony." He
had encountered a similar attitude before, on Earth: /
know the most fascinating people, my dears; why, I even
know a police officer. Doesn't he look human? You'd never
guess what he was out of his uniform. As though he were a
freak.

Brithe eyed him with concern. "You look upset. Did I
say something wrong? I'm sorry. I never intended to hurt
your feelings."

"You haven't hurt my feelings." Ten kept his voice level.
Her forehead furrowed. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."

But he was glad to be distracted by someone shouting.
"Helpl" A golden Egara with dark raindrop spots across
head and shoulders ran into the mall. "Attack."

Ten forgot his wounded ego. "You were attacked?"
"No." Spots pointed beyond the mall. "Nadathin."
"Show me where."

The Egara ran back out of the mall and across the
meadow into the woods, up a path Ten thought led toward
either Chalu or Sunstone Shen. About half a kilometer
away from the mall, Spots suddenly left the path. Follow-
ing, Ten found himself in a small, stone-flagged clearing.
An Egara in a bloodstained tabard sprawled groaning
across a single wooden bench in the center.

"Nadathin?" Ten eased the Egara to the paving and
swore softly. The attack had obviously been made by
someone with a knife, slashing repeatedly. The Egara bled
from at least a dozen wounds.

Ten prodded his radio on and tapped his ear. "Off-duty
Officer Kampacalas requesting an ambulance and assis-

66 DEADLY SILENTS

taoce at Sh-6." He looked up at Spots. "You get out in the
open and watch for the ambulance and police. Before you
go, though . . . did you see anyone around here?"

"No. Read."

The radio murmured, requesting North Twenty-five to
proceed to grid coordinate Sh-6.

"I saw someone running just as we came up," Brithe
said. "That way." She pointed north.

Ten jumped to his feet. "You wait with the victim.
I'll—" But in his head Sergeant Lessman's voice cut
through his words. To whom is our first duty, officeri He
sighed, swearing silently, and knelt beside the victim again.
"Tell me what the person looked like, Brithe, sol can have
the description broadcast."

"I'll follow." Brithe ran for the path.

"No!" Ten shouted after her. "You don't know if the
person you saw is the assailant, but if it is, that nago has a
knife! You could be—"

She did not even slow down to listen. Short of going
after her. Ten saw no way to stop her, and the Egara be-
side him was moving, holding arms up as if still fending off
the attacker. "No. No."

"Watch for the ambulance," Ten ordered Spots. He took.
the wounded Egara's hand. "You're safe, Nadathin. A
healer is coming. What can you tell me about what hap-
pened?"

Nadathin's head rolled in pain. The fingers closed hard
around Ten's, almost crushing his hand. "Reason? Listen-
ing. Listening. Attacked." The Egara breathed with a
liquid sound that suggested at least one wound had pene-
trated a lung. A bloody cough confirmed Ten's guess.
"Reason?" Nadathin repeated.

Every muscle and nerve in Ten's body wanted to be
chasing the assailant. He felt useless sitting there. There
was no way to stop the bleeding, and what did he know
about why Nadathin had been attacked? This was not like
the incident between Far and Threen, and now was cer-
tainly no time for a discussion on the sociopsychological
results of disenfranchisement. Maybe it had been a Silent
Nadathin antagonized, or maybe it had nothing to do with
this Egara personally; maybe Nadathin just happened to be
in the way at the wrong time. "Don't worry about the rea-
sons now. Just rest and wait for the healer."

He wondered if Nadathin even heard him. "No," the

DEADLY SILENTS 67

Egara kept groaning, and between coughs, "Listening. Rea-
son?" The grip on Ten's hand weakened steadily with ev-
ery cough.

Ten shook the hand. "Help's coming. Don't give up.
Everything will be all right; just hang OD."

But the grip slackened and the coughing grew weaker
until, with a final paroxysm, it and the liquid breathing
stopped altogether. Ten swore, loudly and bitterly this
time. A computer technician was chasing the murderer while
the cop sat holding a corpse's hand. He put it down. Much
good staying had done this victim; Ten had not even been
able to keep the Egara alive. Sighing, he tapped on his
radio and called for a Criminalistics unit.

He was sitting back on his heels brooding when Tom
Duer, North Twenty-five for today, appeared in the clear-
ing entrance with Spots and the ambulance attendants tow-
ing their paragee stretcher. Ten stood hurriedly. "Everyone
keep back. A C-unit is on the way." On the woods path,
out of the clearing, he told Duer everything he knew. "The
victim died before I could leam how the attack happened.
Maybe Spots can tell us."

"I asked a few questions on the way from the meadow,"
Duer said, then lowered Ids voice. "But I don't know if I
understand the answers."

"What do you think you got?"

"A Silent came out of the woods with a knife and at-
tacked without warning or apparent provocation while the
victim sat listening."

Ten raised a brow. Nadathin had repeated that word a
number of times. "Listening to what?"

Duer shrugged.

"Universe," Spots said.

The two officers looked briefly at the Egara, then at
each other. Universel Ten thought. He said, "Maybe we'd
better hunt for Britbe, in case she caught that nago."

"You don't have to hunt her." Duer looked past Ten.
"She brought the nago back to you."

Ten turned. Brithe came up the path behind him with an
unconscious Egara slung over her shoulder. She dumped
her burden at Ten's feet and handed him a dagger with a
short, wide blade. "The cretin not only still had this, but
tried to use it on me. I hit back with a much longer tree
branch."

68 DEADLY SILENTS

Duer looked up from feeling the Egara's head. "You hit
pretty hard."

Brithe's forehead furrowed. "I'm sorry, but I didn't
know what else to do." In a worried voice, she asked,
"Will I get in trouble?"

The Egara groaned, Duer put a wrap strap on the limp
wrists before the suspect could regain consciousness. "I'd
give you a medal, sweetheart."

After all was said and done, Criminalistics come and
gone, statements taken, body removed, the consensus ap-
peared to be with Duer . . . Brithe had done a nice piece
of work and she ought to apply for the department when
they began training Egarad officers.

Sergeant Lessman said, "If there's any question, you
struck in self-defense."

Which appeared to settle the matter. Ten and Brithe
headed back for the shopping mall to find the groceries
Ten left behind when Spots came for help. The bag still sat
where he had put it. Checking the contents, Ten found
them undisturbed.

"Theft isn't one of our problems," Brithe said.

Ten smiled. "I can't fight twenty-four—I mean'*—he
thought fast, converting Terran to Egarad years and
Egarad numbers—"forty-six years worth of reflexes.'* He
searched for something more to say, to prolong the conver-
sation. He hated to go home. The shen had something
planned for the evening but after hearing about drana, he
no longer looked forward to mixing with his neighbors. Let
them break their monotony with another freak. "What was
that place in the woods? The Egara who took us out there
said something about the victim listening to the . . . uni-
verse?"

"Yes," Brithe said. "The Tharshanists consider that ev-
ery person and rock and tree is simultaneously a separate
individual and an integral part of the One, the universe.
We're all supposedly vital to some vast pattern. They build
their retreats outside the range of other people's minds and
try to hear the collective mind of the One. They think that
by doing that, they can sense the Great Pattern and learn
their place in it."

So even Iregara asked the question: why am I beret "So
a Silent wanting to kill someone could be reasonably sure

DEADLY SILENTS 69

no one would hear the mind of someone attacked out
there?"

"Reasonably."

Ten ran a hand through his hair. The police had been
lucky, then. The victim might have died alone and laid out
there until another Tharshanist came to meditate. The
murderer might never have been caught. "How many of
those retreats exist?"

She looked at him. "I cannot guess . . . several in each
cluster, probably. Tharshan and Lesed are the largest phil-
osophical followings on Egar."

So now they had more places they needed to check out
regularly. He would mention it at the next briefing.

She started to turn away. He reached out to stop her.
"Brithe, don't go. I really would like to know you better."

For a minute he thought she was about to refuse his
company again, then the fur on her arms and neck rippled,
shooting light and color at him. "All right," she said.

At her insistence, however, they moved to her house to
talk, where she could, she explained, introduce him to gen-
uine Egarad food. That turned out to consist of a local tea
brewed strong enough to dissolve the table, a salad mixing
fruits and vegetables, and poultry baked with something
that smelled and tasted much like sauerkraut ... all of it
eaten with the prong-ended spoon that seemed to be Egar's
chief table utensil. To Ten's surprise, the poultry/sauer-
kraut combination tasted quite good.

He found her house even more interesting than the
meal, though. Outside, it looked like the others in Sunstone
Shen, low and broad, thick-walled and small-windowed, a
miniature fortress in buff-colored stone. Inside, chairs of
red and black leather woven across heavy frames of red
wood furnished it and the walls blazed red or orange where
not obscured by shelves. Brithe had many shelves, all filled
with book cassettes. Looking them over after dinner. Ten
found an entire section of Terran mystery novels in Trans-
lan, and even some bound-page facsimilie reproductions of
classic twentieth- and twenty-first-century suspense fiction.

"I didn't know you knew English."

"Only to read," she said.

He smiled. "You like that old literature?"

She regarded him impassively, "I find it much more . . .
imaginative than the work of modern writers."

70 DEADLY SILENTS

"Is being a mystery buff why you came to work for the
department?"

She thought a minute before answering. "Perhaps."
Rainbows played along her arms.

Ten had read very little mystery fiction. In fact, he
found he knew almost none of the mystery and speculative
fiction she had. He remembered others only as names from
some long-ago literature class.

"You ought to read them. I'll pick out some books for
you," Brithe said. "If you don't read, what do you do in
your idle time?"

"I read, but mostly professional literature, and I attend
exchanges and workshops. I also exercise and practice fire-
arm, baton, gas, and open-hand techniques so I can keep
qualified. Back on Earth I practiced the piano regularly,
too."

Brithe froze. She stared at him. "You like music?"

"I love it." He grinned. "I almost became a professional
musician."

She looked blindly through him. "What prevented you?"

He cocked a brow, puzzled by her intense tone. "Noth-
ing. I took a night watchman's job to earn money for col-
lege and that hooked me on law enforcement, so I switched
my maJor from music to criminal justice. What makes you
think something prevented me from going into music?"

She did not answer for a moment, but then said ab-
ruptly, "Come with me."

She led the way up a short flight of stairs to the bed-
room. On a chest against one wall sat a Sweeny synthe-
sizer with small, model-P amplifiers. Ten looked at it with
delight. "May I try it?"

"Yes."

He touched the keys. They responded with the clear,
clean notes of a flute. Almost without conscious volition,
his fingers found the haunting theme from the "Virgo"
movement of Leitner's Zodiac Suite.

"You play well," Brithe said without inflection.

He shrugged self-consciously and backed away from the
keyboard. "I'm rusty. Let me hear you."

"I play for no one."

He eyed her. "You can't possibly be as bad as some of
the alleged musicians I've heard. Please play."

How alien she looked, he thought, how Egarad, her face

DEADLY SILENTS 71

impassive as a Normal's, revealing nothing of what might
be happening inside her head.

"Please," he repeated.

Slimy, she stepped up to the keyboard. The first selec-
tion was Egarad and unfamiliar, but he recognized the ex-
pert performance of it; then, as she finished it and moved
into Bach's Two-part Invention in B Flat Major, something
as electric as the Sweeny jolted his nervous system. Goose-
bumps rose all over his body and he listened breathlessly.
Brithe made his playing sound like the fumbling of a tone-
deaf novice.

After she finished he could only stare at her until he had
worked the knots out of ha throat. "Why in god's name
are you running computers?" he asked hoarsely. "You
should be giving concerts."

Now her face and voice carried emotion . . . bitterness.
"Who would come? I might execute with technical bril-
liance, but my performance has no soul."

"No soul\ What idiot ever told you that?" Ten de-
manded. "You're great!"

"I'm Silent."

"So?" he began, then remembered the chorus in the
mall. He stared at her in disbelief. "You can't mean you
aren't allowed to perform just because no one can read
your mind?"

She looked down at the Sweeny. "Yes."

Outrage welled up through him. "That's a stupid atti-
tude!"

She touched the keys again, producing a last, sad chord,
then spun away. "It dominates this society," she said flatly.

He bit his lip. "Are many jobs closed to Silents?"

"All the performing arts, all teaching positions and most
in business, anything dealing with communication . . .
roughly two-thirds of the possible jobs. But computers need
no telepathy and they have a keyboard."

Despite the lack of expression in her voice. Ten felt the
acid burn of her bitterness. "Why do you tolerate it?" he
asked. "You could emigrate, join a colony on a new world
where the society could meet Silent needs."

She came around on him with eyes of purple flame.
"You insufferable cretin! This is my world' I refuse to be
exiled, to be driven away from what's mine, just because
I'm different!"

72 DEADIY S1LENTS

Talk about insensitivity and thoughtlessness, Ten re-
flected, cursing himself; he had demonstrated shameful ex-
amples of both. "I'm sony, Brithe," he said in apology. "It
was a stupid thing for me to say."

Her face went blank. She looked through him. "Yes."

Feeling about a centimeter tall, he edged toward the
stairs. "I think I'd better crawl out of here. Thank you for
dinner. I'm sorry I ruined the evening."

He had his foot on the first step when she suddenly said,
"No, don't go. You haven't ruined the evening. I'm as fool-
ish as you, overreacting that way. The idea of emigration
upsets me. The Normals keep hinting and sometimes out-
right demanding that Silents should leave Egar. They want
to be rid of us. No matter that we served Egar well on
Earth for centuries; now they want us to go away rather
than make the effort to live with us." She smiled. "Please
stay."

The gesture, so human on the inhuman, Persian-cat face.
touched him as always. He let himself be dissuaded from
going, and acquiesced when she refused to hear further
apologies. Still, he felt it was high time to change the sub-
ject. "Let's talk about music. Better yet, will you play for
me some more? Ill beg if necessary."

That touched a responsive nerve m her. "You don't have
to beg. I'll play."

Chapter Eight

"I DON'T know why I let myself be talked into this."

Meda guided her bicycle around a bole in the path.
"Think of it as a social occasion rather than a church
service."

"It's a social occasion," Devane repeated dutifully, then
sighed. "But it's still a church service."

Meda laughed at him. "Listen to that pout. Times like
this I think I have two sons instead of just one. Speaking of
which, I wish you'd let Gerel come, too. It would be good
for him to see other human children."

"He didn't want to come. You heard him; I gave him a
choice and he said he'd rather do homework with D'ne this
evening." Which secretly pleased Devane, because if Gerel
had not chosen that, Devane would have had to order him
to remain at home, which might have initiated unpleasan-
tries with Meda.

Devane watched the headlights of their bicycles bobbing
on the path ahead of them. Going anywhere else, for any
other reason, he could have enjoyed the ride. Though cool,
the twilight temperature remained comfortable. Most of the
four-kilometer path from Blueside to the Enclave followed
the hilltops, giving them a fine view of the bay and the
half-disks of the moons Adayan and Chabed rising from
the sea. In the west, the third moon, red Nishim, was al-
ready well above the horizon, heading east to meet its sis-
ters. Devane wondered absently if the ancient Iregara had
found religious significance in the moons' crossing. Had
there once been Egarad priests saying: "Be sure to be at
the ceremony for the midsummer conjunction of moons, or
your crops will surely fail and your hunters return empty-
handed."

". . . for homework," Meda said. "He's only five."

73

74 DEADLY S1LENTS

Devane pretended he had been listening. "The Iregara
might have the right idea, starting children learning early,
when their minds are most receptive and they're eager to
learn." Maybe early training in an Egarad atmosphere
could save Gerel the nagging guilt and hypocrisy the high
holies had impressed on Meda and him so long ago.

The path left the hilltop and turned down. Below them,
just above the land's final plunge into the bay, rose the
Terran Enclave.

Rose. Looking down on the Enclave, the humanness of
that description struck Devane. Egarad structures charac-
teristically sprawled. They reached outward, spreading
across the land. Terrans built up, piling on top of one an-
other, huddling together. Anthropologists and psychologists
no doubt found in that some profound statement about the
nature of the two species.

At the gate, he swung off his bicycle and tapped the call
button. Meda eyed the silver shimmer between posts set at
three-meter intervals around the perimeter of the Enclave.
"A barrier field?"

"I've been told it's to keep the children in and the wild
animals, particularly igelis, out." Privately, however, he
wondered if it was to keep all of Egar out.

A security guard peered out of the gatehouse. A moment
later the silver shimmer disappeared across the path. While
Devane and Meda walked in and parked their bicycles, the
guard directed them where to find the Reverend Paulus.
The barrier shimmered again behind them as they started
into the Enclave.

Meda pivoted while they walked, staring around in
amazement. "It looks just like home!"

Eerily so, in fact, Devane reflected. He had been in the
Enclave only twice before, but each time it struck him as
somehow profane. Except for the heavier gravity, which he
scarcely noticed now, and the presence of the bronze sun
or the three moons overhead, he found almost no signs that
he stood on an alien world. He might have been on the
edge of almost any large Terran city, albeit one built in
four-hundred-year-old architecture. From the street to the
apartment towers to the plants, everything was Terran.
Even the air failed to smell Egarad, the normal faint, pleas-
ant muskiness overpowered by the scents of Terran plants
and the sharp, acidic odor of humanity.

In the center stood a shopping area of more contempo-

DEADLY S1LENTS 75

rary vintage and the Enclave's two churches, the Ecumeni-
cal Southern Baptist church and a small all-faith chape!/
synagogue/mosque. Paulus met them at the door of the
ESB church with an effusive welcome. "I'm so glad you
could come. A number of your officers are attending, too.
It supports my belief they're suffering from spiritual thirst."

Or homesickness, Devane thought. He shrugged out of
his jacket. The Terrans certainly kept their church warm.
Or did it only seem that way after solar-heated Egarad
buildings?

"Be sure to stay after the service and meet the other
members of our congregation."

"We will," Meda promised. "Otherwise it's a wasted
trip," she added in a whisper as she and Devane moved on
into the church.
Devane grinned.

They found seats. Up front a board bore a date, Friday,
Summerday Nineteen. Devane grimaced. Today was ac-
tually the Twenty-third. The Enclave not only imposed
weeks on the Egarad calendar but used Terran numbers as
well. He switched his body to automatic and retreated
from the service into his head.

What was he going to do about the inspectors? He had
shamelessly used Liril to eavesdrop in the squadroom and
his secretary confirmed Basanites's report of deep resent-
ment at having to act as defense investigators. There must
be some method of convincing them of the necessity of it,
and persuading them to accept it, however contrary to pre-
vious training.

A series of random visits to Communications had also
revealed another problem, a pattern of frequent meets be-
tween certain officers of the opposite sex in adjacent pa-
trols. Each meet was always properly called in, but check-
ing the dispatch logs and car and radio transponder
positions on the map, Devane found the "meets" overly
long, up to an hour each, and all held in secluded sites like
the meditation retreats. He decided to have their lieuten-
ants warn the officers to conduct their sex life off-duty, and
if that did not work, he would resort to imposing days off
without pay and/or switching them to new patrols far
enough apart to make meeting impractical.

Statistics. He hardly wanted to think about those; doing
so gave him a headache. Clearance rates on complaints ran
only about ten percent so far. Lack of suspect description

76 DEADLY SILENTS

was probably the largest factor in that, followed by the dif-
ficulty of developing definitive associative physical evi-
dence. Criroinaustics could use laser diffraction to identify
hair, and could type dust and cast footprints, but the papil-
lae on Egarad fingertips varied too much throughout life to
make any kind of fingerprinting possible.

Fortunately they had a few successes. The Silent who
probably vandalized Sinin's house and killed her luras in
Blueside had been found and was waiting for a court ap-
pearance. They had bad news, too, though. Checking out
the pond where Wofford drowned, Criminalistics had
found prints leading into and out of the water . . .
probable footprints, but they were so blurred as to be un-
identifiable, even to the extent of determining how the foot
was shod and whether it was Terran or Egarad. That made
both Basanites and Devane itch.

Meda elbowed him. He came out of his reverie to find
me service over and everyone filing down a corridor to-
ward the fellowship hall. There, while they drank coffee,
Paulus introduced Meda and him to the Enclave's ESB in-
habitants. Devane acknowledged each with a nod and a
smile, but his eyes kept moving beyond the Terrans,
searching for his own people. They would have been easy
to identify, even if he had not known them by sight al-
ready. Little by little, as Terrans met them and drew
back—"Leos? How . . . interesting"—the dozen or so of-
ficers sifted out into a small group apart.

"What is it like directing an alien police department?"
one woman asked.

Devane raised a brow. "It isn't alien. My sworn person-
nel are all Terrans." He had better talk to the ones here,
too, he decided. They had begun eyeing the other Terrans
with increasing resentment.

However, his inquisitor persisted. "But I understand you
have furries in clerical positions, and even a furry secre-
tary. How in the world can you understand what they
mean when they talk?"

Furriest Anger flashed through Devane. So they had
found a pejorative for Iregara, too. "I don't employ fur-
ries," he said with a smile, "just as I'm not a dusky, nor
any of my officers facos, slants, sand rats, or pastas."

The woman blinked. "I beg your pardon? Of course I'd
never call another person one of those despicable names."

DEADLY SILENTS 77

His smile and easy voice never changed. "I wonder if
Iregara think of us as baldies."

Meda touched his arm. "Dee, please don't."
The woman finally realized she had been reprimanded.
Red flared In her cheeks.

Paulus realized it, too. "Really, director," he said in a
conciliatory tone, "there's no need to insult Mrs. Hanke
over a group of aliens."

Devane turned his smile on the churchman. "Mr. Pau-
lus, here we are the aliens."

Spinning on his toe, he strode out of the church. On the
steps he stopped to suck in long, slow breaths and debate
how foolish he might have been. Was one word worth an-
ger, worth risking the displeasure of a churchman?

He could not be sure whether he regretted walking out,
but he did regret leaving without his jacket. After the stuffy
heat of the church, the outside air seemed colder than ever.
With sundown, the temperature had begun falling. He
leaned against the stone wall of the church to take advan-
tage of the warmth it still radiated.

Footsteps clicked over the floor inside. Meda, he
thought, but rather than his wife, he found himself sur-
rounded by his officers.

"I never heard anyone tell off a high holy before," one
of them said.

Devane smiled wryly. "You may never hear it again, but
let me find out that any of you have called an Egara a
furry and I won't hesitate to turn you inside out. Is that
clear?"

"Yes, sir."

No one said anything for several minutes. Devane finally
broke the silence. "Well, did you slake your spiritual
thirst?"

A round of profanity answered him,

"Nagos," one young woman spat. "I thought that maybe
here, away from Earth, people would be different—you
know, everyone standing together in the midst of strange-
ness—but . . . they're just like back home."

"Cnurchgoing isn't mandatory here," Devane said. "You
don't have to subject yourselves to this again if you don't
want to. I'd rather have you involved in activities that are
part of the local culture, anyway."

A young man stared broodingly past Devane- "We don't
belong there, either,"

78 DEADLY SILENTS

Devane watched them leave, then looked up with a sigh
at the three bright half-disks overhead, two silver, one red.
More steps sounded inside and this time it was Meda. He
heard her voice and those of other women as they ap-
proached the door.

"I admire your presence of mind," one said. "Personally,
I could never live out there among them. How can you
bear having your neighbors know everything you're think-
ing and doing?"

Meda replied hesitantly, "I ... don't think about it."

"But what about ... at' night? Doesn't it bother you
knowing they're listening to your and your husband—you
know."

Devane stepped into the doorway. Meda's color had
darkened with embarrassment "Did you bring my jacket?"
he asked.

She seemed relieved by the question. Her normal toffee
color returned. With a nod, she handed him the jacket.

He lost no time bidding the women goodnight and tow-
ing Meda down the street toward the gate. She came read-
ily, but silently. For most of the ride home, too, only their
breathing, turning to panting on the hills, broke the silence.

She did not speak until they neared Blueside. "You
didn't need to attack Mrs. Hanke that way. Dee."

"I think so," he replied easily.

"Everyone was very understanding, though. They don't
hold it against you."

Save him from righteous understanding! Aloud, how-
ever, he said only, "Good."

"You know, they have everything in there, including
schools at all levels. Don't you think it would be a good
idea if Gerel—"

"No, I don't. Aside from the fact that we've already paid
his tuition, one change of friends in a year is enough."

"But he isn't going to live on Egar all his life. He ought
to mix with some humans."

"Would you like to have him come home calling our
neighbors fumes'!"

She sighed. "No."

"You can visit the Enclave if you want, and there's no
reason Gerel can't go occasionally, too, as long as it isn't to
church, but he will continue to attend school where he is.
Understood?"

DEADLY StLENTS 79

For a moment, Meda did not reply.
"Is that understood?" he repeated.
Slowly, she replied, "Yes, sir."

Chapter Nine

TEN ASKED the question several times. "Do I look all
right?" He did not want to give the judge, or rather, me-
diator, cause to fault him on personal appearance his first
time in court here. Maybe appearance was not as impor-
tant as on Earth, but like there, he had had to turn his
patrol over to a relief officer and use up a day off for court,
so he preferred not to take chances on other details, either.

Roban eyed him, "You look good. Where did you man-
age to find a jumpsuit that fits like our uniform?"

Ten checked a sleeve to be sure the yellow-striped seam
ran straight down his arm. "I'm having a tailor make them
for me. The material is the same as our uniform, too.
What's a little more debt on top of the rest?" He tried to
see his reflection in the smoky windows they passed on the
way through the Ubre business mall to the courts of Me-
diator Nafee. "Do you think yellow and orange are too
bright?"

Jael, along officially to help Ten keep charge of the pris-
oner but privately to lend moral support, grinned. "Well,
you'll never be able to wear it in Topeka." She switched to
Translan and asked their prisoner, "Are we going too fast
for you, Ladras?"

"No." The shorter-legged Egara stopped dragging
against Jael's and Ten's grip and speeded up.

Jael returned to English. "Personally, though, I love the
style. If you didn't have a fur fetish, I might ask you mid-
night dancing."

Ten eyed her. "Fur fetish?"

"Your buddy Brithe."

"What's wrong with being friends with Brithe? The di-
rector says to mix with the locals."

80

DEADLY SILENTS 81

"But three out of the last six evenings?" Roban asked.
"That's a lot of mixing."

Jael winked at Roban. "Brooks hasn't asked for misce-
genation."

Ten felt his face heat. "We just talk!"

Jael raised a brow. "What about?"

"Our jobs, and the differences between Terran and
Egarad culture."

They exchanged personal histories, too, though he had
learned little about Brithe beyond the fact that she grew up
in Subath, a fishing-industry city in the fresh-water Racbad
Seas area, and that she had studied music, then computers,
in the Lesed-supported university city of Hadaya before
coming to D'shenegar. The reluctance with which she
spoke of her childhood made him suspect that as a Silent,
she had found it painful beyond his imagining.

Mostly, though, they talked about music, both Terran
and Egarad, and they played her Sweeny. He had not real-
ized how much he missed music until he met Brithe.

"What differences between the cultures?" Jael persisted.

Ten shrugged. "Oh, like the fact they have no marriage,
nor even much cohabitation. Women have never been de-
pendent on men here. Egarad society evolved from women
banding together for hunting advantage and mutual protec-
tion. The males didn't join on a permanent basis until
later."

Roban rolled his eyes. "Fascinating."

"But not perverted." Jael sighed. "Damn."

Ten was profoundly relieved when their arrival at the
courtroom stopped the conversation.

An Egara in a small outer office, acting in a kind of
bailiff/receptionist capacity, inquired their names and
checked them against an appointment list. "D'shenegar/
Ladras. Wait."

They sat down in chairs against the walls- Ten had
trouble feeling that this was a court appearance. It felt and
looked more like a doctor's appointment. At intervals the
bailiff spoke to a group of the other people waiting, all
Iregara, and showed them into the inner room. When they
came out, another group entered.

"I didn't kill Haritheen," Ladras said. "You can't find
anyone who ever saw me near that kite-glider."

Iregara around the room slid glances at them.

82 DEADLY SILENTS

•

Roban rolled his eyes. "Tell the judge."

"What?"

"Mediator," Roban corrected himself.

"But the mediator can't read my mind, only yours, and
you believe I'm guilty."

"Yes," Roban said.

In English, Jael murmured, "You don't sound much like
a defendant's investigator."

"Would you like to know what I think our glorious di-
rector ought to do with his defendant's investigator direc-
tive?"

Ten waited with amusement to see how the Iregara
would react to that image, but surprisingly, only a few
looked in Roban's direction, and those with only mild sur-
prise. Thinking about it, though, he recalled that in all in-
teraction he had seen between Roban and Iregara, none of
the locals ever reacted as strongly to Roban as to most
other Terrans. For the first time, it struck Ten as odd.

"What are you people talking about?" Ladras asked. "I
didn't kill Haritheen."

Roban went back to Translan. "You threatened her.
You even attacked her once."

"Slapped. I admit that. I told you that before. Slapping
is not killing.**

The bailiff pointed at them. "D'shenegar/Ladras."

The inner room looked nothing like a courtroom, nor
even like a judge's chambers. A woodland mural covering
every wall of the small room, including the door through
which they had entered, gave it the look of a Tharshan
retreat. In the center of the shaggy green carpet sat a ring
of pillow chairs, one occupied by an Egara with a lap
board and writing tablet and another by an Egara whose
liver-colored fur had been decorated with blond and bright
auburn flame designs spreading out across the chest and
shoulders and down the arms.

"D'sbenegar opposing Ladras," Flame said. "Summer-
day Thirty-one; year 10,150."

The Egara with the lap board and tablet wrote. Ten
craned his neck to watch, fascinated by the speed with
which the recorder drew the characters.

"Sit," Flame said.

Flame must be Mediator Nafee, Ten decided. He sank
down into one of the pillow chairs.

"Yes," Nafee said. "Identities?"

DEADLY SILENTS 83

They dutifully gave their names and roles in relation to
the case. For Ladras' benefit, they spoke Translan.

"You know court procedure?" Nafee asked. The media-
tor spoke slowly, making an obvious effort to use sen-
tences, and kept his eyes fixed intently on Roban. "Say
charge. Say D'shenegar's facts. Say Ladras's facts. Answer
questions. Understand?'*

"Yes, mediator," Roban said. "The charge is murder.
On Summerday Seventeen, a professional proxy named
Haritheen was killed in a kite-glider fall. Evidence indi-
cates that the defendant Ladras engineered that fatal fall.
Officer Kampacalas responded to the initial call and re-
ferred the case for investigation. Ten, tell the mediator
why."

Nafee sat back in the pillow chair in a relaxed attitude.
Ten shifted uneasily in his. Without lawyers to question
him, he felt unsure of himself. "At twenty-four seventy-two
hours on Summerday Seventeen, I received a call directing
me to city grid coordinate H-5, I was advised there had
been an accident of an unspecified nature resulting in two
injuries. I arrived—"

"No," Nafee said. "Details unnecessary. Be general."

Now he felt on even more unfamiliar ground. "I ...
arrived in an area between Chalu and Sealight Shen. I
found a kite-glider on the ground in a very damaged con-
dition and one person under it, dead. I found several people
around a second, unconscious person nearby. Several by-
standers who read the accident and came out to it identi-
fied the dead Egara as Haritheen and the unconscious one
as Shumar. Shumar came to before an ambulance arrived
and I managed to conduct a short interview." Lord, what a
job that had been, between Shumar's fragmentary, dazed
replies and the confusing "explanations" of the bystanders.

"Results?" Nafee asked.

"As I understood it, Shumar was watching Haritheen fly
the glider. Shumar saw it collapse in midair and fall. The
shock of experiencing Haritheen's death caused Shumar to
faint.

"After the ambulance took Shumar to the hospital, I ex-
amined the glider."

Ten remembered the meadow clearly, the golden sun-
light, the pleasant muskiness of the chilly air, the dark
green of the grass underfoot. Most particularly, though, he
remembered the gay blue-and-gold kite-glider lying in the

84 DEADLY S1LENTS

middle of the meadow, crumpled as if wadded up by some
giant hand, with the still, equally broken body of Haritheen
beneath it. In his memory, he turned over an edge of the
wing and once more saw the sabotaged metal strut.

"I found that in no less than eight—I mean, ten places,
the struts had been sawn halfway through. It was at each
of these points the frame had folded. I immediately notified
Communications and referred the case to Investigations."

Nafee sat up and looked intently at Roban, as though
trying to read his thoughts visually. "Investigated?"

"Yes, mediator. If you agree to hear this case, some of
the witnesses will be experts from Criminalistics but I'll
just summarize their findings for now. They determined
that a fine-bladed metal saw had been used to cut the
struts, and from residue found on the cut edges, concluded
that wax had been used to fill in the cuts and hide them.
They identified the wax as ski wax, an imported Terran
brand named Genet.

"Interviews with friends and neighbors of Haritheen re-
vealed that the defendant Ladras, who works as a me-
chanic and services the race cars Haritheen flew for var-
ious clients, had disagreed and argued with Haritheen on
several occasions, had threatened her, and had once, in
fact, slapped her in the presence of her two children. She
had no other disagreements of a violent nature with either
Silents or Normals.

"On the basis of that, we visited Ladras and asked per-
mission to search the house. We found a tool box with a
metal saw of the type used on the struts and a container of
Genet ski wax. When not in use, the glider had been kept
in a shed adjacent to Shumar's house in Sealight Shen. The
shed was freely accessible to anyone, with no lock or
other security device on it."

"Not sabotaged car?" Nafee asked.

"A sabotaged car would have pointed directly to Lad-
ras."

All of which. Ten thought, made a prima facie case
against Ladras, and, except for the lack of witnesses to the
Silent's ever being in Sealight Shen, a fairly strong case,
too.

Nafee glanced briefly at Ten, then returned gaze and
attention to Roban. "Continue."

Roban turned palms up. "That's all."

"Ladras's facts?"

DEADLY SILENTS 85

The dusky color of Roban's skin deepened. He cleared
his throat. "Ladras claims to be innocent."

"Blameless," Ladras said in Isegis.

"No alibi can be established, though. The glider could
have been sabotaged at any time since its last use eleven
days before the accident. On the other hand, the evidence
is only circumstantial. Criminalistics cannot establish that
Ladras's metal saw was the one used on the glider, just that
it is of the same type. Also, skiing is a popular sport. I
understand that Remer, a city several hundred iyah north
in the Iseg Mountains, is one of the largest ski resorts in
this hemisphere. Investigations of the sporting goods shops
reveals that Terran ski waxes are in demand, and Genet
wax is the most common of the imported brands."

What a hell of a job. Ten thought sympathetically. He
would hate to have to testify for both sides and oppose
himself.

Nafee's eyes flickered toward Ten, then fastened hard
back on Roban. "No witnesses."

"That's true," Roban agreed reluctantly. "There are no
witnesses who can place Ladras in Sealight Shen at any
time during the period when the glider would have been
tampered with." He shrugged. "That's absolutely all the ev-
idence we have for the defendant."

"Poor," Nafee said.

Roban flushed again.

"You . . . restricted." The mediator's ears twitched
with the effort of putting into words ideas that could no
doubt have been so quickly and easily communicated to
another Egara. "Questions. Alternatives."

Roban looked at the mediator helplessly. "I don't under-
stand."

Nafee sighed. "Recorder . . . transcribe."

The recorder drew rapidly, then handed the tablet to
Roban. Looking over his shoulder Ten and Jael read along
with him. The characters for mistake and possibility, ex-
pressed as queries, combined with elements indicating
color, scent, and sight to communicate a picture of the
meadow as Ten remembered it, only with Shumar beneath
the fallen glider.

"No," Roban said, shaking his head. "Shumar could not
have been intended to die instead. The neighbors in Sea-
light told me that Shumar never flew the glider, only hired

86 DEADLY SIIENTS

Haritheen to do so, then experienced the flight through' the
proxy from the safety of the ground."

"Possibility . . . Shumar victim?"

Roban sighed. "I just told you that couldn't be."

"Intent not death; intent, injury."

"Injury? How?" Roban asked.

Jael started. "My god," she exclaimed. "As much as you
discussed the case with me, I never thought of that, and I
should have."

Roban turned toward her. "Thought of what?"

"The whole idea of employing a proxy is to experience
what a person can't do himself for fear of it or lack of
enough skill, something like that. During the episode, the
vicarist's mind virtually merges with that of the proxy.
Whatever happens to the one becomes the experience of
the other, too."

Ten stared at her. "Shumar fainted from the shock of
Haritheen's death and is still in the hospital!" He looked at
the mediator. "Could someone count on a person suffering
a severe psychological injury from an experience like
that?"

"Yes."

The three officers exchanged chagrined looks. Here lay
an entirely new possibility, a whole avenue of investigation
left unexplored. But who would have thought to consider
such a thing?

"Iregara," Nafee said.

But Terrans, Ten thought, whose society -did not include
professional proxies, would not. How many other motives
might escape notice because they lay hidden in Egarad cul-
ture? How could the police conduct satisfactory investiga-
tions until they had learned all those cultural differences?

"Experience . , . leam," Nafee said. "No bearing. In-
vestigate alternatives, possibilities."

They filed out in silence. Wheels turned slowly and
thoughtfully in Ten's head. As distasteful and strange as
was the idea of investigating for both sides, he saw the
sense of it. The adversary system of the USNA could not
possibly work in these courts.

When they were in the car, headed back to the station,
Ladras asked, "What happens to me now?"

"We'll ask," Roban said.

"I don't envy you reporting to Hasejian," Jael said in
English.

DEADLY SIIENTS 87

"She's going to tear me apart," Roban agreed gloomily.

Ten turned the Irath west to avoid two private cars
flying abreast at treetop height, well below the required
seventy-meter altitude for northbound vehicles. He asked
communications to advise the Traffic Department of the
location and description of the cars, then told Roban, "We
could be worse off."

"How?"

"We could have been caught trying to suppress minor
evidence that hurt our case against Ladras here."

"If you talk about me, use a language I can under-
stand," Ladras demanded.

No one paid any attention. Jael's eyes widened in under-
standing, but Roban's forehead creased in a puzzled frown.

Ten asked, "Remember how Nafee picked up the fact
that we have no witnesses placing Ladras in Sealigbt? We
can't choose the evidence we want to present. With a tele-
pathic Judge, everything we know is before the court."

Roban stared, "I'll be damned. Of course . . . and that
means that any fiaws in the investigation benefit the de-
fendant. Why the hell didn't Basanites tell us that? Working
for this nago is the only way we're going to make a tight
enough case to get a conviction." Unexpectedly, he
laughed. "What a wild blue yonder job this is turning out
to be. If it doesn't drive me over the brainbow, I'm going
to love it."

"Let's hope Hasejian and Basanites are also amused,"
Jael said.

The lieutenant and captain were not, nor was Devane,
receiving a report on the hearing from Basanites. "Get In-
spector Adeyanju in here."

"Sir," Basanites began.

Devane smiled. "I don't want excuses from him, captain;

I want him here in front of my desk in five minutes."

The mild, almost absent tone did not deceive Basanites
into underestimating Devane's seriousness. "Yes, sir." He
left quickly.

Devane leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Damn.
He could have gone all day without this. The sound of feet
on the carpet brought his eyes open again to catch Liril
setting a cup of tea before him. "I don't remember asking
for that poison."

"Calming," LirU said, but removed the cup.

88 DEADLY SILENTS

"I'm calm. Do you hear me raising my voice? I have
nothing to excite me except an officer whose cause of
death is still inconclusive, police board members like Ge-
mun and Lishulir wondering if we're worth our generous
salaries and threatening to pack us back to Earth because
we haven't put a dent in the violence statistics yet, and
asynaptics who claim to be investigators turning loose the
few deviants we do manage to catch."

Liril stared solemnly at him, sipping the tea.

Devan let acid etch his voice. "Anything interesting in
my head?"

"Meda."

He stiffened. "Did I hire you as a secretary or psyman?"
He constructed a deliberate image of Liril chained to the
desk in the outer office, buried beneath mountains of pa-
perwork.

Liril regarded him impassively for a moment, then with
fur rippling, left the room.

Devane sighed. Unfortunately, Liril was right. His irrita-
tion this afternoon did not stem from having a case thrown
back at them, but had begun much earlier, with Meda. Or
perhaps the original fault lay in attending that damned
church service in the Enclave. Ever since, Meda had been
quiet, tense, and untouchable. At first he had attributed it
to anger at him for refusing to let Gerel attend the Enclave
school, but Meda did not usually stay mad long and when
after five days she still held him at arm's length, he started
to worry. When she retreated to her side of the bed again
last night, he had asked what the matter was.

"Nighttimes are cold enough without having the tem-
perature as frigid in bed as out."

She huddled deep under the blankets. "Is that your chief
concern, what happens after bedtime?"

He recognized quicksand when he saw it. "No. I hate
seeing you unhappy . . . though I have to admit, I don't
like solo dancing, either."

She moaned in the dark. "Please don't be vulgar. The
neighbors will hear."

So that was it. Those Enclave women had infected her
with their damn paranoia.

"I feel the minds out there, listening to me all the time,
knowing everything I say and think and feel . . . and
what we do together." She sat up, clutching the blankets

DEADLY SILENTS 89

around her- "I want to live in the Enclave, where we can
have some privacy."

He frowned. "We've never had privacy before. The
apartment walls in San Francisco were thin enough for us
to hear the neighbors snoring, so you know they heard us,
too, but that didn't stop us from making love and a son
there."

"That was different'*

"Why? Because everyone pretended not to listen? What
makes you think anyone here reads us in particular? We're
just two of almost five hundred people in Blueside."

"But we're different from the others. We're Terrans," she
said. "Of course they listen to us in particular."

"And what if they do?" he asked in exasperation.
"What's wrong with them knowing two people love and
enjoy each other?"

He should never have said it. He realized that Just one
second too late as she came back furiously, "Oh? You like
the idea of performing for a crowd?"

The fight had lasted the rest of the night, no less bitter
for being held in low hisses to keep from waking Gerel.

Devane rubbed his eyes. So now after a sleepless night,
he had to deal with a cop whose reluctance to accept a
new system had resulted in having another case thrown out
of court.

From the doorway, Liril clapped twice. "Dane."

Basanites brought in a tall, dusky-skinned officer. "In-
spector Adeyanju, director."

Devane reached into his memory. 'T. remember inter-
viewing you," he began with a smile. "Denver, wasn't it?
You worked Juvenile. You have a grandfather who was
born on Egar."

"That's right," Adeyanju replied with caution.

"And today," Devan went on, still smiling, "your case
against a killer came flying back in your face."

Adeyanju stiffened to attention. "Yes, sir."

"Do you have an excuse?"

The investigator appeared to debate with himself, then
said tentatively, "Sir, I don't see how we could have
thought of the motive the mediator proposed."

"Aren't you an Egaraphile, inspector?"

Adeyanju bit his lip. "Yes, sir."

"Grew up on stories about Egar, you told me, but . . .

90 DEADIY SILENTS

it seems you don't know that much about the culture after
all."

"I—it takes—" He broke off with a sigh. "No, sir."

"And are having to leam about it the hard way, appar-
ently. Why haven't you taken Captain Basanites and Lieu-
tenant Hasejian seriously when they urged the inspectors to
act for the defense, too?"

"I didn't understand—"

"Apparently not," Devane agreed mildly.

"It won't—"

"Are you aware of our present clearance rate?"

"Yes, sir."

"Not many cases reach court. Yours was the fourth to
go before a mediator, only the fourth, and was the fourth
thrown out." Beyond Adeyanju, Basanites frowned. De-
vane saw but ignored the Investigations chief. "One or two
I could accept, but four7 I would have thought that by this
time you would be giving your investigation methods some
serious re-evaluation."

"I thinic Officer Kampacalas was the first to realize what
court is here. I promise you, sir, the next case will be tight.
I realize the—"

Devane leaned forward. "Oh, I think we can do better
than tight, inspector; I think we can bring these cases in
hermetically sealed."

Adeyanju's jaw tightened. "Yes, sir," he said through
clenched teeth.

"The police board hasn't been too impressed with our
performance so far. I'd hate for our department to be de-
clared a failure and disbanded. I can't tell you how bitterly
that would disappoint me, not to mention the adverse ef-
fect it might have on our future careers. I hope you spread
the word about your court experience among your col-
leagues, inspector, because the next officer who slops
through the case and doesn't investigate it completely
won't be just ass-kicked in court; I'll personally preside
over the drawing and quartering." He smiled. "That's all."

Adeyanju looked as if he had something more he wanted
to say, but he turned and marched out.

Basanites looked after him. "Do you think he deserved
that? He learned his lesson m court today, I think."

"Knowledge is like a nail, my father used to say, not
worth much until it's driven home with a few hard
knocks."

DEADLY SILENTS ?]

"But a sledgehammer?"

Devane eyed Basanites. "Maybe I should start the may-
hem with the head of the division."

Basanites slid toward the door. "I think I'll go back to

work."

Guilt stabbed Devane. What was he doing taking out his
irritation on everyone in sight? He sighed. "Dane, forget
what I just said." He rubbed his eyes, grimacing. "Want to

trade jobs?"

Basanites shook his head. "Do I look wickers? No,

thank you,"

The sun balanced on the western hills, reddened and
bloated, casting dusky shadows across the path where Ten
and Roban ran. Ten still remembered the agony of running
those first days on Egar, but now he moved in relative
comfort, his breathing measured, his feet light on the path
that would take them north up the valley, around the trav-
elport, and back to the station. He hardly noticed the cold,
either, even though he wore only a running suit. Roban,
however, ran with effort, fists clenched and jaw set.

"Would you rather have played a few rounds of chart'

achT Ten asked.

The Egarad game, faster and more complex than hand-
ball, which it resembled, had become increasingly popular
for physical training.

"No," Roban said.

Ten glanced sideways at him. Since coming out of the
director's office several hours ago, Roban had said almost
nothing, and then only monosyllables. It bothered Ten.
Anything, even profanity, would be better than silence.
Destructive things happened to officers who stayed locked
up in their own heads. "Want to talk about it?"

Roban ran a minute before answering, then he began
with a snort. "One thing hasn't changed from Earth. The
brass are still bastards."

Ten welcomed the bitterness. At least it came in full
sentences. "Did Brooks sharpen his claws on you?"

"And took a few practice swipes for good measure. Re-
member what he was like during your interview with him

on Earth?"

How could Ten forget that casual dissection? "Yes."
"This was more of the same ... the smile, the friendly

92 DEADLY 51 LENTS

f

voice, but he hardly let me finish a sentence and he sure as
hell never let me tell him anything I'd learned!"

Roban relapsed into silence. Ten became too busy think-
ing to push conversation. In moods like this, his partner
Avel had gone looking for heads to break. Earth had
enough vulnerable heads for her to get away with it, but
here that could only cause trouble. The question was: how
did he pull Roban out of his hole?

"Don't try telling him," Ten suggested, "We'll show him.
Sealight Shen is in my patrol. I'll talk to everyone in it,
check out all Shumar's neighbors, friends, and acquain-
tances. We'll sift this case so fine it'll pass through a semi-
permeable membrane. We can start tonight"

"Tomorrow, maybe. Tonight I don't want to show any-
one anything. I'm not interested in working for Brooks or
any other Terran cop."

"Shall we go somewhere and do something then? The
track? A chance house?"

"I'm not in the mood for company."

Ten eyed him. "You ought to talk to someone."

Roban stretched his stride. They passed other runners.
"Don't use psyman cant on me."

Ten thought again of Avel. "I want to help, Ro."

"Being mother-hened by a green kid isn't going to help
me a bit," Roban said venomously. "I want to be alone.
You glim?"

He sprinted ahead. Ten stretched to catch him, then
slowed again. Forcing himself on Roban would accomplish
nothing. Maybe Roban knew what he was doing. Everyone
did not necessarily react like Avel.

By the time Ten reached the exercise room at the sta-
tion, Roban had showered and left. Pol, Bara Deem, and
two other officers, all drenched with sweat from playing
chanach doubles or working on baton and open-hand fight
techniques, had seen him go.

"Mighty riled about something," Pol said. "He made an
Egara seem plumb garrulous by comparison."

Ten told them why.

Bara grimaced in sympathy. "I wish I'd known when he
was here." She headed around the partition separating the
men's and women's showers and shouted over it at Ten.
"I'd have invited him to come with us tonight. Would you
like to? I'll call Phaedra and ask her to join us, too."

Ten stripped off his running suit and turned on a

DEADLY S1LENTS 93

shower. The water scalded him at first, but as he became
accustomed to the temperature, he stood blissfully in the
jet, letting it stream over him. He called back to Bara.
"Phaedra left two days ago for some sea up north on the
equator and won't be back until mid-autumn." He peered
through the steam at Pol under the water of the next
showerhead. "Where are you going?"

Pol, looking past Ten, forehead creased in thought, did
not answer. Ten repeated the question in a louder voice.

From the other side of the partition, Bara replied, "Nar-
amim Concert Hall. I found out today they have holo
showings of Terran plays there."

"Holos of plays?" What, Ten wondered, did Iregara get
out of those?

"Recorded during performances in the best theaters on
Earth and shown with Egarad subtitles. I'm advised that
fiction fascinates the locals . . . because it's an alien con-
cept, do you think?" Bara called.

Ten washed thoughtfully. Fiction would be alien to
them. Being essentially untruth, it could not exist here. An
idea might be presented as speculation, as a possibility, but
not as "reality." He imagined that plays, and actors in par-
ticular, people pretending to be other people, must seem
very exotic and puzzling. As exotic as proxies were to him,
perhaps?

"Will you come?" Bara called.

It tempted him, for the opportunity to see Egarad reac-
tions if nothing else, but thinking about proxies reminded
him of Haritheen and Roban's case. "I can't; I have to
work."

Pol's eyes focused on Ten. 'The mediator reads every-
thing you know?" He asked the question without bis usual

drawl.

"More than the average Egara, anyway." Ten enjoyed
the hot water a few moments longer, then turned it off with
regret and grabbed fast for a towel. "Coming back, Ladras
told us mediators are deep-readers, like healers."

Pol closed his eyes and let the water stream over his
head. "Then we'uns all better think mighty clean thoughts
when we go to court, podners."

"Don't try to hide evidence, at least," Ten said.

Dressing and leaving the exercise room, he began con-
sidering how to go about reaching everyone in Sealight. If
it was like Meem, people lived on all possible schedules.

94 DEADLY SILENTS

D'shenegar ran forty-four hours a day. Well, he would just
have to keep going back until he finally caught everyone.

It occurred to him that in light of the fact that cultural
ignorance had made him extra work, a native might pro-
vide useful insights into what questions to ask. Brithe had
been working late the past two or three nights. Maybe he
could catch her here again. He headed down to Data.

He found Brithe at a keyboard of the computer with
eyes fixed on the screen. Only her hands moved, dancing
across the keys.

"No time," she said in response to his plea for her help.

"You can keep me from overlooking obvious questions I
don't know enough to ask."

She looked up. Her impassive expression told him he
had come the wrong day to ask favors. He started a re-
treat. "But perhaps I can handle it by myself. See you an-
other time." He lifted his chin in greeting to the Normal
Evening Watch technician and escaped.

Brithe certainly had her moods. Climbing the stairs. Ten
congratulated himself on an unbloodied withdrawal. What
was it with her? Hormones? He had had a girlfriend in
college who spent one week a month snapping or crying at
the least thing. Perhaps, he thought wryly, Egar's three
moons made Egarad females three times as moody as Ter-
ran women.

He checked his chron. If he left the station now, he
would have a twenty-minute wait on the skyrail platform
for the train, twenty minutes in the chilly night Better to
wait and leave at the last possible minute. He passed the
time talking to the desk officer and flirting lightly with
her . . . lightly because Jenann Eads kept company with
Lieutenant Trey La Flore, the Evening Watch supervisor.

He had been talking to her for about five minutes, let-
ting her wheedle him into giving her the name of his tailor,
when Brithe hurried up the stairs and across the receiving
area with cape billowing about her.

"Brithe," he called.

"Late." She sailed out through the doors.

Ten checked the desk chron against his. Both read the
same. If Brithe intended to take the skyrail north, she had
plenty of time. Perhaps she just wanted an excuse to avoid
him. He sighed. She did not have to make up excuses. He
could accept that she preferred to be left alone for the time

DEADLY SILENTS 95

being, although he found it rather discouraging to be told
that by two different people in the same evening.

In the end, he was the late one. He had to run all the
way to the skyrail station, arriving sweating and out of
breath just as the train slid to a stop. He did not look for
Brithe but sat catching his breath and listening to the
traffic coming over his ear radio: broken windows and
trampled flowers in Ramun Shen, arson in the Filid busi-
ness mall, a fight in Hillrock Shen. He did not look for
Brithe at any of the transfer points, either. By the time he
left the train at its stop by his cluster, he had forgotten her
in thinking about Ladras, Shumar, and Sealight Shen.

He backed his bicycle out of the station rack and took
the path east past Sunstone and Chalu to Sealight. There,
music attracted him to the center of the shen, where a party
appeared to be in progress around the bath house. While
some neighbors groomed each other, others danced to mu-
sic provided by a bowharp, drum, and Y-shaped twohom-
Thanks to his exposure to Egarad music through Brithe,
the alien rhythm and scales sounded less dissonant than
they once might have. Thanks to the Silent, too, he was
able to identify the music as the folk type rather than the
more formal symphonic music Brithe preferred.

Then the music dwindled into silence and the dancing
stopped. All eyes turned on him. Ten was pleasantly sur-
prised at the number of individuals he recognized, by sight
if not by name. It reduced his feeling of self-consciousness.

He picked out an Egara whose name he did remember.
"Good evening, Gubir. Sorry to interrupt your Gathering,
but I need to ask some questions about Shumar."

Now not just eyes but attention focused on him. He al-
most felt their minds crowding his, peering in.

"Ask," Gubir said.

"It's been suggested that the person who caused Hari-
theen's death might have really—"

"Understand."

Ten tried not to feel flustered. "Then you understand I
need to know of any disagreements or—"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Since you understand what I want, I don't
need to ask the questions. Can anyone give me some an-
swers?"

"Complainant?" one asked.

96 DEADLY SILENTS

Ten blinked, nonplussed. What did the Egara mean?
Then the radio murmured in his ear and he understood.
The Egara had read the radio traffic from Ten's mind and
confused it with what Ten actually wanted to know.

"Overlap," the Egara said, fur rippling.

"I'll shut the radio off."

He reached for his ear . . . and froze in the act. Over it
came a new message. "North Five, patrol unit South Four
down, NN-11 coordinates. Investigate and report status."

A car downl Ten forgot all about asking questions. He
listened intently to the radio instead,

Minutes later, the dispatcher said, "Go ahead. North
Five." Static crackled in the dead air while North Five
spoke, unheard. Communications said, "North Two, meet
North Five at NN-11," and a short time later, "North
Five, ambulance dispatched."

Ten rubbed his thumb down the cleft in his chin. South
Four must be injured. Who was South Four on Evening?
Ten could not remember. He wished he could hear North
Five's end of the conversation.

He heard nothing more for a while and started to talk to
Sealight neighbors, but then Communications spoke again.
"South Two, meet North Two at NN-11. North Two,
South Two, the supervisor, and a C-unit have been dis-
patched."

A knot of apprehension tied in Ten's gut. The lieutenant,
the south sergeant, and Criminalistics going to the site,
too? What the hell had happened?

Chapter Ten

THE MUTTERING brought Devane's head up from the re-
ports spread across the table. He smiled at bis son
sprawled stomach-down on the sitting-area carpet. "What's
the homework tonight?"

Gerel frowned at a printed list. "Solar system. Listen."
Crossing his hands, he looked up at Devane and rapidly
recited the names of the system's nine planets, indicating
which were small planets, which gas giants, and which

ringed.

Devane nodded approval. "That's very good."

"Moons, too. Hamun's:—"

Devane glanced at his chron. "Not tonight. It's almost
thirty-five hours, cub, and I promised your mother to have
you in bed on time."

Gerel regarded him solemnly. "Moons first?"

Devane pointed toward the stairs. "Now."

•Take me?"

Devane hesitated. Meda usually insisted that Gerel un-
dress himself. "You carry him around and baby him too
much," she would tell Devane. However, Meda was not
here to object tonight. He pushed away from the table and
went down the steps into the sitting area to scoop up the

boy.

Getting ready for bed took much longer than Meda
would have approved of. The process became a wrestling
match that had the two of them rolling on the floor to-
gether, Devane laughing; and Gerel squealing in delight. In
the midst of the romp, however, the triple-note chime of
the phone sounded downstairs. With a sigh, Devane left the
boy to finish changing and went to. answer it.

He waved his hand over it. "Brooks."

97

98 DEADLY SILENTS

A dispatcher's voice came back at him. "Captain Basa-
nites has ordered a car sent for you, sir.'*

The lightbearted warmth left over from playing with his
son evaporated abruptly. Devane's jaw tensed. "What's
happened?"

"A patrol unit went down. The officer may be dead."

Cold apprehension spread through him. Another one?
He swore. "Tell that car coming for me to bum sky."

Waving off, though, he looked up the stairs and ran a
hand over the woolly cap of his hair. What could he do
with Gerel? Meda was not due back from the Bnclave for
several hours and he could hardly take the boy with him.

The sharp report of clapped hands sounded at the door.
"Devane."

He opened the door to find the brown-furred Runah,
Gerel's teacher, who lived just below them on the hill.
Runah said, "I," then when Devane blinked, puzzled,
added, 'Tend Gerel."

He gratefully stepped back to let Runah in. "Thank you.
I'm sorry to impose, but . . . you understand it's an
emergency."

"No imposition. Parent."

Devane blinked. What was Runah talking about? He did
not understand. However, he bad no time to work through
an explanation just now, so he merely nodded and hurried
back upstairs to Gerel. He explained briefly that he had to
leave for a while. "But Runah is downstairs if you need
anything."

Gerel frowned. "Come?"

Devane lifted a brow. "What kind of question is that? Of
course you can't come. You don't mind staying with
Runah, do you? You like Runah."

The boy nodded. "Parent"

Devane kissed the boy good night. When he had time,
he would have to find out what they meant.

Lem Cole, the officer who came after Devane, knew
nothing except what he had heard over the radio, and that
he dutifully repeated to Devaae. It set the skin on Devane's
spine crawling, generating more questions than answers.
Devane chewed a knuckle and speculated while he looked
down at the city slipping beneath them, the ishen glowing
in scattered patches of light amid the dark of the woods
and hills. Just one moon shone in the night sky, red

DEADLY SILENTS 99

NishEm. Eyeing it, Devane wondered wryly if it were an
omen.

Transponder lights blinked on the control-panel grid, di-
recting them toward the correct site, but as they came
down, the car settled not onto a meadow or near a shen
but into a hole nearly half a kilometer wide, down past
irregular rock cliffs to rest on a grassy floor. Devane
pushed up the door and ducked out under it to find himself
in the middle of a small Officers' Exchange. Following Bas-
anites to meet him came Captain Lenard Titus, Lieutenant
Trey La Flore, and Sergeants Green Brynche and James
Gerhardt.

Devane looked from them up the rock walls. "What's
this place?"

"An old quarry,'* Titus said.
"What the hell happened?"
Basanites pointed. "This way."

In the middle of the quarry floor, surrounded by the
glare of field lights, sat a patrol car, its body crumpled and
splintered around the bottom. Devane stepped into the cir-
cle of light Criminalistics technicians at the car backed off
so he could peer inside. An officer sagged in the flight har-
ness . . . silent, motionless, unbreathing.

Devane walked back to his command officers and let the
technicians return to work. "Forget all the official lan-
guage; tell me fast and simple."

Titus talked. "The officer is Karal Ashe, South Four.
Communications saw him leave his assigned patrol, then
his car transponder went out at this coordinate. Twelve
minutes later a citizen reported a downed car to Traffic,
who called us since it was one of ours. North Five, Officer
Mirre Howe, was dispatched to investigate. She asked for
Sergeant Brynche, who sent for Gerhardt, because Ashe
is—was one of his squad, and for La Flore. La Flore called
me and I called Basanites."
"Why?"

"I thought Ashe's neck looked broken," Brynche said,
"but you can see from the damage to the car that it proba-
bly didn't fall much farther than from the height of the
quarry walls. Ashe should have walked away. Also, the cit-
izen who called came back to wait until Officer Howe ar-
rived because of an observation the citizen thought worth
reporting. After listening, I wanted backup."

At the edge of the lighted area on the far side of the car

TOO DEADLY SILENTS

Devane saw a dun-colored Egara with the heavy breasts of
a lactating female standing beside a slim, fair-haired female
officer. "What did the citizen have to say?"

"There's one of those meditation sites down at the far
end of the quarry," Titus said.

Devane could not see the end in the dark so he took
Titus's word for it. "A Lesed retreat, you mean?"

"Tharshan retreat, sir," La FIore corrected. "Lesed is
the group that builds schools and laboratories and funds
athletic events."

"A retreat, anyway," Devane said. "I presume our citi-
zen was there?"

Titus nodded. "The name is Duma. Duma heard the
crash. Ashe didn't die instantly. Duma felt Ashe's mind
still functioning after the car came down, but at a reduced
level indicating marginal consciousness. We're about a
quarter of a kilometer from the retreat and by the time
Duma arrived here, Ashe was dead. According to Duma,
the mind didn't fade as it should have done with coma and
then death, though; it stopped suddenly,"

Basanites, who had been shifting with nervous impa-
tience, broke in. "Duma saw someone run away from the
car."

That was not cause for just an itch; it could lead to a
full-blown case of the hives. Devane's eyes narrowed. "Any
readings from the subject, or was it a Silent?"

"Duma couldn't be sure," Basanites said. "There's some
psychological trauma in experiencing another person's
death, I gather. It can distort perceptions for a few minutes
afterward."

"We didn't get a description, either, I suppose."

"In the dark and at the distance Duma saw the subject
. . . no, sir," Brynche said.

"It doesn't prove anything, of course," Basanites ob-
served. "The subject may have been no more than another
witness who decided to leave when Ashe died, but ... it
makes me think of Wofford."

Devane understood the reasoning. Both officers had died
about the same time of evening, out away from the popula-
tion in relative isolation, and in circumstances that did not
look completely accidental. To proceed on the assumption
that the deaths were not accidental, however, perhaps even
linked in some way and part of a pattern, would initiate
something Devane hoped to keep off Egar . . . the fear

DEADLY SILENTS 101

they had all lived with on Earth ... the constant looking
over the shoulder, the suspicion of hands out of sight near
them, the automatic distrust of anyone beyond the police
family circle. Just thinking about it made his back feel na-
ked and vulnerable, made his hand want to reach for the
place over his collarbone where the paragee field controls
of a uniform would have been located.

He looked back steadily at Basanites. "I find it hard to
believe anyone could have known in advance that Ashe
would be here, out of his patrol, at just this time, or that
someone could force the car down."

"A meeting could have been arranged."

"Get his log out of the car and see what excuse he gives
for the trip." As Basanites went to the car, Devane eyed
the lithe officer, Howe, still standing beside the Egara on
the far side of the accident site but deep in conversation
with Officer Cole. "Could she have been the reason he
came?"

"I don't think so," Gerhardt said. "I've noticed that in-
volved officers pair up at briefings and debriefings, but
while Howe's interests are widespread, none of the men
with her has ever been Ashe. Besides, Communications lo-
cated her on the far side of her patrol until dispatched
here."

The Criminalistics technicians began packing their
equipment. Devane wandered over to where the police
doctor knelt examining Ashe's body. "What do you think?"

Goodnight looked up. "He broke his neck."

"Any odd bruises in the area?"

"No." The doctor lifted a brow. "You expecting some?"

Devane shrugged. "When can you post him?"

"I'll see if Dr. Sherur can do it in the morning." He
smiled. "A few more of these and I'll be able to claim ex-
pertise in pathology, too."

Devane stared down grimly at Goodnight. "Don't say
that even in fun, doctor." He looked over at Basanites
reading through Ashe's log. "Do you have anything?"

"Maybe."

Basanites handed the log to Devane. Devane skimmed
down the entries, which had times and notations written in
precise Egarad characters. At the last line, he frowned. Ac-
cording to the log, the computer had ordered Ashe out of
his regular patrol for an impromptu check of the quarry.

102 DEADLY SIIENTS

"The computer didn't notify Communications of any im-
promptu for this area," Basanites said.

"Double-check it"

Basanites called Communications. The answer came
back promptly. The computer denied having ordered any
impromptu.

Titus frowned. "A false entry, do you suppose, to cover
the real reason?"

If so, it was careless of Ashe. Such a lie would be caught
as soon as the log was checked against Communication's
log after the end of the watch. The possibility existed, of
course, that the computer had glitched. Devane looked at
Basanites. 'Talk to Data in the morning. Get that com-
puter fundi of Hall's to help you, the Silent with the rain-
bow fur, Brithe. Let me know what you find out, and bring
me the path and criimnalistics reports as soon as you have
those, too. And now," he went on, raising his voice, "if
Officer Cole will fly me home, I'll let him return to his
patrol and leave the rest of you to your job here."

Cole headed back for his car. After lifting off, he said
tentatively, "Howe and I were talking down there. We've
been on patrol just fifteen days and lost two officers al-
ready."

Devane heard the questions running around in Cole's
head as clearly as if both men were telepaths. He replied,
"It could be coincidence. We'll conduct an inquiry to de-
termine whether deaths were due to human error or, in
Ashe's case, to equipment failure."

Cole said nothing, but Devane sensed the officer did not
accept any theory of coincidence. He looked sharply at
Cole. "Let's not jump to unfounded conclusions."

After the words were out, Devane cursed himself. One of
his objectives in setting this department up had been to
encourage freer communication between field and com-
mand officers. The habits learned over sixteen years were
difficult to break, though. This was two good opportunities
those habits had ruined today, Adeyanju this afternoon and
now Cole. He sighed. Ordering Cole not to be paranoid
was futile, too. If anything, it had only convinced him the
brass were hiding something.

Devane tried to repair some of the damage. "I think the
biggest danger we face here isn't from people, or even from
the planet and wild animals down there. It's inexperience,
our own ignorance. Ashe could have crashed because the

DEADLY SILENTS 103

gravity makes these cars handle differently from Terran
cars."

"Yes, sir."

The scrupulously respectful reply indicated to Devane
that he had accomplished nothing. With an inward sigh,
Devane let the rest of the flight pass in uncomfortable si-
lence.

As Cole let Devane out on the hilltop above Blueside,
however, Devane paused to look back into the car. "Be
careful. Before you do anything—leave the car, respond to
a call, interview a subject, or even take a personal—let
Communications know."

Cole looked back with a slightly startled expression.
After a moment, he said in solemn sincerity, "I will. Thank
you, sir."

Devane stood watching the car lift off. He ran a hand
over his hair. They were so alone out on patrol. All of
them were, here . . . even more so than they had been
while being feared and hated and shunned on Earth. At
least they had known and understood their enemies there.

He shook himself angrily. He had told Cole not to jump
to conclusions, but look what he was doing. Maybe Wof-
ford and Ashe had died accidentally; the evidence did not
rule that out. The wise course was to wait for Basanites to
give him the path and lab reports. Then he could decide
whether to panic.

Chapter Eleven

THE REAL estate agency, run by a Sealighter named Re-
fenal, had broad windows looking out across a plaza por-
tion of the Neer business mall. Ten stood with his back to
them, soaking up the morning sunlight while he talked to
Refenal. The process was an unusually slow one. marked
not only by numerous backtracks but also complicated by
the red-furred Egara's apparent reluctance to talk to Ten.
Refenal answered slowly and even more tersely than most
Iregara, making no effort to help Ten understand those re-
plies.

Ten stifled a sigh of impatience. "You don't know of any
disagreements Shumar might have had that would cause
someone to strike through Haritheen?"
After a long pause, Refenal replied, "No."
*There are three Silents living in Sealight. Do you know
of a disagreement of any degree Shumar might have had
with one of them?"

Again Refenal paused before answering. Ten counted
the seconds: one, two, three. "No," Refenal said.

Everyone Ten had talked to said the same thing. He had
trouble believing it, though. Even Normal Iregara became
angry at each other on occasion. Normal/Silent exchanges
almost always resulted in some irritation on one side or the
other.

Ten saw Refenal glance at a table chron. "I'm sorry this
is taking so long," he said in apology, "but it's important."
This time Refenal answered promptly. "Unimportant."
Ten stared at the real estate agent. "Refenal, Shumar is
still in psychological shock because of Haritheen's death.
You don't believe it's important to find the person respon-
sible for that?"

"No." Refenal looked pointedly at the chron again.

104

DEADLY SILENTS 105

Ten ignored the hint and let his thoughts run the direc-
tion Refenal's last answer sent them. If Refenal did not
care about finding the person who injured Shumar, per-
haps Refenal had cause for wanting Shumar injured.

Refenal's eyes snapped back to Ten. As he hoped, the
unspoken accusation stung the Egara into volunteering in-
formation. "Indifferent."

That gave Ten something more, anyway. He regarded
Refenal grimly. "How can you not care what happened?
Shumar is your neighbor."

The Egara looked back without expression. "Price."

"What price?" Ten's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying the
injury was the price of something Shumar did? That it was
deserved?"

"Yes."

The idea, and the calmness with which Refenal delivered
the judgment, outraged Ten. "Did Haritheen deserve to
die, too?" He heard his voice rising but made no effort to
lower it. "Do Haritheen's children deserve to be or-
phaned?"

Refenal paused, then said, "Neighbors parenting."

As though nothing beyond the care of Haritheen*s chil-
dren mattered. Ten scowled. What about Haritheen herself,
and Shumar? What had they done to bring such condem-
nation on themselves?

"Incomprehensible," Refenal said.

'Try me," Ten suggested.

But Refenal looked at the chron again. "Good-bye."

For a moment Ten wished that the ploys Avel had used
to wring cooperation from reluctant witnesses could be ap-
plied here. He spent the walk out of the office resenting his
impotence. Once in the plaza, however, pulling on his hel-
met, anger gave way to wry amusement. As often as he
had criticized Avel's methods while working with her, he
should not be longing for their leverage now. He had no
real desire, he knew, to see power used here as police at
home were pushed into using it by the general public's
frenzied demands for security above all else and the high
holies' righteous crusade against Sin and EviL

Ten sucked on his lower lip. What Refenal would not
tell him, perhaps he could learn from someone else. He
pulled his list of Sealighters out of his thigh pocket and ran
a finger down the names. Four others from Sealight

106 DEADLY SILENTS

worked in Neer during the day. He would find out what
they had to say.

Two hours later he came out of the last office trying to
evaluate all the answers. Like Refenal and the Sealighters
he had talked to last night, the latest four said Shumar had
only minor conflicts with Silents or other Normals, nothing
of a great degree, nothing beyond normal disagreements.
"Were any of those with Refenal?" he asked.

There the answers became ambiguous, even the one that
had to be written because the Egara came from a city in
the Sith Lir Mountains and spoke a language Ten could
not understand. Yes, they said, no ... m a matter of
speaking. But when Ten asked for clarification, nothing
they offered resolved the confusion.

Still looking for a question that could be answered
clearly, he had said to one, "Refenal seems to think Shu-
mar deserved what happened. Do you have any idea why?"
"Vicarist."

Ten noted that it was the same word that Jael had used
for Shumar. However, that still did not explain Refenal's
disapproval.

"An'nafus," the Egara said.
Which answer did not help, either. Ten sighed.
The Egara echoed it with almost human impatience in
the sound. "Good-bye."

So now Ten stood with his helmet tucked under his arm,
wondering what he had accomplished, and what he ought
to do next. By rights, he should walk through several ishen.
He had not been through the Thelis industrial complex to-
day or checked the Third-Level school down near Lus and
Skyline Shen. But he felt he ought to pursue this disapproval
of Shumar, too. Whatever the cause, it might be reason
enough for murder in someone's mind.

He touched the computer tie-in on his belt buckle and
tapped his ear to activate his radio transmitter. "Com-
puter."

The computer's voice came back promptly in his ear.
"ID."

He passed the palm of his hand over the tiny scanning
cell on the buckle.

"Proceed," the computer said.

"What's the meaning of the word 'an'nafus'?" He spelled
it.

"An'nafus, proper name, twenty-seventh-century teacher

DEADLY SILENTS 107

and philosopher, originator of the An'nafus Principle: Alt
necessary work is honorable work."

Ten walked slowly back toward his car. Now how did
that apply to Shumar? Shumar worked as a sandman,
cleaning and replacing the filler in saa commodes. Accord-
ing to the An'nafus Principle, Shumar should be well
thought of for performing such a necessary job, not killed
over it.

A shout broke into his thought. Moments later he real-
ized he actually heard no sound, but the several Iregara in
his vicinity had all paused and looked one direction, and
Ten's perceptions interpreted the action as a response to a
cry. He reacted nonetheless, pulling on his helmet as he
ran in the direction the Iregara looked.

The business mall had been constructed in a figure-eight,
with an arcade through the central row of offices connect-
ing the two plazas. Coming out of the arcade into the other
plaza. Ten saw an Egara sprawled coughing on the paving
and another nearing the edge of the business mail on the
far side of the plaza. He looked helplessly after the fleeing
Egara. He doubted he could run fast enough to catch the
Egara before the fugitive disappeared into the woods, but
several people near the Egara right now could probably
make a capture, if only they would, instead of coming in to
the injured Egara.

Abruptly, three Iregara whirled and raced after the
fleeing Egara.

Ten stared, then shouted, "Be careful," and hurried to
kneel beside the injured Egara. "Let me help you."

The victim wore a bright purple tabard with a neckline
twisted tight at the throat Ten loosened the tabard and
with the help of an auburn Egara who wore a white star
design above each eye, sat the Egara up. The victim's
coughing eased.

"That one try to strangle you?" Ten asked.

"Yes." The Egara's voice emerged as a thin wheeze.

"Do you want a healer?"

"No."

"Then if you feel up to it, I'd like to ask you some ques-
tions. Maybe we can learn why this happened. Don't try to
talk, though; just nod for yes and shake your head for no.
If you need to use a word, let someone else answer for
you." He looked up at the starred bystander. "You?"

Star squatted beside them. "Yes."

108 DEADLY S1LENTS

/

The story emerged slowly and circuituously. The victim,
named Beem, was an assistant to the real estate agent Re-
fenal who owned the business mail. Beem had been telling
the assailant, a Silent gardener from the greenhouse in
charge of the business mall's landscaping, about some de-
sired changes in planting. In the midst of telling the gar-
dener what new flowers to put in, the gardener suddenly
grabbed the neckline of Beem's tabard and began choking
Beem with it.

"You had no warning the gardener might attack you?'*

"No."

"Was the gardener shouting at you?"

Beem nodded.

Ten sighed. And despite being yelled at, Beem never an-
ticipated violence.

"Caught," a bystander said.

Ten looked up to see three Iregara coming across the
plaza with a fourth who wore a gardener's coverall, knee
pads, and tool belt,

Ten waited until the group reached him, looked the sus-
pect over for a minute, then asked, "Was the problem
something Beem couldn't make you understand or some-
thing you couldn't communicate to Beem?"

The Silent's eyes fixed on Beem, but the gardener said
nothing.

A crisp voice behind Ten said, "Tell."

He looked around to find Refenal there. "Please let me
handle this," he told the real estate agent

Refenal glanced at Ten. "Alien." The violet gaze went
back to the Silent. "Our problem. We tend."

Now Ten understood Refenal. Only part of the earlier
interview's difficulty had been caused by Refenal's disap-
proval of Shumar. The rest resulted from a dislike of Ter-
rans, and perhaps a belief they should not be serving a
police function.

As Refenal approached the Silent, Ten stepped between
the two. Defensive reaction to Refenal's hostility put an
edge on Ten's voice. "I said, let me handle this. You peo-
ple haven't tended to your problem so far or I wouldn't
have to be here."

Refenal stopped short.

Ten's anger faded. Pulling off his helmet, he ran a hand
through his hair and said more mildly, "You won't contri-

DEADlY S1LENTS 109

bute anything to bringing peace by being here, so please, go
back to your office and let me do my job."

Refenal stared impassively at Ten for a long minute,
then backed away and left the plaza.

Ten turned to the Silent. "What's your name?"

After a pause, me gardener replied, "Sihithe."

"All right, Sihithe, tell me what made you so mad you
attacked Beem."

"I was supposed to put in new flowers there." Sihithe
pointed at a planter area. "But the fool didn't know the
name of the flowers to ask for."

"Did you ask for a description?"

"Oh, yes, but the only way Beem could describe them
made them sound like either the hisisith or the nus sahi-
gan. The trouble is, that spot needs low, sunlight flowers
and the hisisith is a shade plant and the nus sahigan is a
flowering hedge, not a ground plant. I told Beem that and
suggested using a miminithe planting—that's a flowering
ivy—but that . . . that fishbrain wouldn't listen and
wouldn't understand!"

Ten looked at Beem. "Did you read that in my head all
right?"

Beem stared at Sihithe. "Yes."

"Maybe you two should try looking at pictures of flow-
ers. Beem can pick some likely ones from there and Sihithe
can say whether they're appropriate. And why don't you
try writing when you have trouble understanding each
other, as if you were on the phone?"

They discussed that for a while, through Ten, and the
matter was almost settled before Ten thought to ask if
Beem wanted to make a forma! charge and take Sihithe to
court. Beem declined. Which did end it as far as Ten was
concerned. He left them with a sigh made up of equal parts
weariness and relief and headed for his car a second time.

"Well done, supercop."

He looked up to find Roban beside him. "How long
have you been here?"

"Since you dismissed Red. That was clever, having the
Silent talk to the Normal through you. You ought to men-
tion it at debriefing."

"I will." They walked back through the arcade and
across the other plaza toward the cars. "Do you want to
know what I've learned about Shumar?"

110 DEADLY SILENTS

Roban nodded. "And I hope it's something useful. I
checked the employer, Remech San Services. Shumar was
a good worker, by all reports. No trouble of any conse-
quence. Sandmen work in pairs and part of the time Shu-
mar's partner was a Silent. As far as I could leam, the
Silent was being truthful about getting along with Shumar.
Everyone else says the two of them worked peacefully."

Ten twirled his helmet by the chinstrap. "Did you feel
any kind of general disapproval of Shumar?"

"No. Why?"

"Your grandfather ever tell you about something called
the An'nafus Principle?"

Roban thought. "I can't remember that he did. Again,
why?"

Ten told him about the conversations with Refenal and
the other SeaUghters and about his query to the computer.
Roban listened with lips pursed in thought, but at the end,
he could only shake his head. "It doesn't make sense to
me. You think it's significant?"

"If we don't check it out, we'll just be kicked out of
court again."

Roban had to agree that that possibility existed. "Do you
have any idea how to find out more about this An'nafus
Principle?"

Ten considered. "Go to an expert on Egarad culture
. . . Brithe."

Roban grinned. "Not bad thinking for a green kid."

"Green kid reminds me," Ten said, thinking back to the
evening before. "You must have gotten your mad all
worked out last night."

Roban's grin faded. His eyes nickered away from Ten's.
"Yes. When do you plan to talk to Brithe?"

Ten eyed him in sudden concern. That sounded like an
evasion. Anxiously, he asked, "You didn't go break some-
one's head, did you?"

Roban stiffened. "What business—no, of course not."
His dusky color deepened. "I ... went home and . * .
got drunk. Why don't you call Brithe right now?"

Ten still studied Roban. That sounded like a lie. What
had Roban really done last night? And, he asked himself,
turning away toward a public phone, was it any of Steven
Kampacalas's business? He debated the question while the
station answered and transferred the call to Data, and dur-
ing the long wait for Brithe to come on the line. He had

DEADLY SILENTS 111

just decided not to pry when he heard Brithe's voice. To
his relief, last night's bad mood seemed to have passed.

"Hello, Ten. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to do
some work for Captain Basanites. That officer who died
last night logged an impromptu and I had to see if the
computer ordered it."

"Did it?" Ten's nerves twitched. He had almost forgotten
Ashe in the press of his own work.

Her voice lowered. "Don't tell anyone I told you, but
no, it didn't. He must have gone to that quarry for his own
reasons. Now, since you've never called me in the middle
of the day before, this must be business. How can I help
you?"

He told her about the problem with Shumar and Hari-
theen and the An'nafus Principle. As he reached the end of
the recitation, Brithe snorted. "Stupid Normals. There are
single words that can explain volumes, but they never use
them. If that Normal had called Shumar a parasite,
wouldn't that have meant much more?"

"It certainly would have!" The Iregara took great pride
in their individuality, in developing that in each of them
which was unique. By living vicariously, Shumar negated
individuality. "I'm overwhelmed by enlightenment. What
about Haritheen?"

"That's the application of An'nafus's philosophy. Proxy-
ing is not a necessary occupation, even though a number of
people practice it because it can be very lucrative. I don't
know if I can make you understand why it's considered
dishonorable. Normals experience many things through the
other minds around them, but . . . normally they don't
pay to share the experience."

Ten could think of a very good parallel on Earth—
prostitution. If Iregara considered proxies as humans did
prostitutes, could that be a motive for murder, or for want-
ing to injure the vicarist who used a proxy? "How strongly
do Iregara disapprove of proxies?"

"Normals don't disapprove strongly of anything. Strong
emotions cause pain, so Normals avoid them. If they don't,
other Normals avoid them."

What about Silents? Ten wondered. Or would the disap-
proval of proxies and vicarists be felt by people to whom
the relationship was impossible? He supposed it had to be
checked.

"Is there anything else?" Brithe asked.

112 DEADLY SIIENTS

There was still Ashe. "Did Basanites say anything about
how Ashe died or what the lab found when they processed
the car and crash site?"

"No. He just asked if the computer could have ordered
an impromptu and not notified Communications, too. All I
know about Officer Ashe is station rumor. I'll try to find
out more if you like." She paused. "I can tell you what I've
learned tonight if you'd like to get together."

It was the first time she had ever extended an invitation.
He accepted quickly. "Let's meet at my place."

Then he went back to Roban and passed on what he had
learned.

Roban pursed his lips. "Egarad prostitution. Sounds
more like a motive for killing Haritheen than slagging Shu-
mar's mind. If we were home, I'd start dragging in the holy
abers and brainbows, but there's no such things as Leagues
of Decency here."

"Thank god. So I think that means we need to check out
Silents both of them knew." Ten pulied his Sealight list out
of his thigh pocket. "Here are the three in Sealight and
where they work. They're yours. If you need help, call me,
but better give me a chance to walk through a few ishen
and malls first so my people won't think I've abandoned
them. And be careful, will you? Don't walk into any Thar-
shan retreats without looking first. I don't want you ending
up like Wofford and Ashe."

Roban snorted. "You mean you believe those rumors
that they were killed?"

"You don't think they were?" Ten eyed him in surprise.

"I think they got careless and killed themselves."

Watching Roban climb into his car, Ten pensively
twirled his helmet by its chinstrap. Now that was cold kel-
vin, throwing rocks at brothers' graves. Roban must still be
feeling a bit anti-Terran, anticop today—or could some-
thing else be happening to him? He was certainly evasive
about last night. Feeling a vague but disturbing uneasiness,
Ten watched Roban's car lift off and disappear west,

Chapter Twelve

"No GLITCHES in the computer?"

"No glitches." Basanites shrugged at Devane. "Brithe
and another tech checked everything. On the basis of plot-
ted activity alone, the computer wouldn't have ordered' that
impromptu; the cluster is one of the quietest in the city."

"So we still don't know what Ashe was doing at that
quarry." Devane raised a brow. "What do we know?"

Basanites unfolded notes from the autopsy he had at-
tended earlier. "It was one hell of a way to start the day. I
fainted at the first three autopsies I ever saw and I've never
liked them since—one reason I chose Crimes Against
Property when I went into Investigations." He frowned at
the notes. 'There's a lot of technical jargon but what it
amounts to is Ashe died because his head was twisted so
hard it dislocated several vertebrae and severed his spinal
cord."

"His head was twistecH" Devane leaned forward in his
chair. "What do the doctors have to say about possible
causes? Could it have happened naturally?"

Basanites rolled his eyes. "You know doctors. To use
Sherur's word, it's 'atypical.' Goodnight says the common
injury in crashes is a compression fracture, which may par-
alyze but usually doesn't result in immediate death."

The noncommittal adverbs and adjectives did not rule
out the possibility of accident Devane ran a hand over his
hair. Would the cause of Ashe's death remain inconclusive,
too? ''What else do you have?"

Basanites had reports from Criminalistics and the vehicle
pool. All fingerprints on the car had been identified as ei-
ther Ashe's or those of other officers using that vehicle. A
few other smudges found were of undefinable origin. The
grass-covered ground around the car yielded no footprints

113

1U DEADLY S1LENTS

of any kind. However, a wider search discovered one inter-
esting bit of possible evidence. The quarry wall directly
east of the crash site showed skid marks and freshly dis-
lodged stones, indicating that someone had made a recent
rapid descent at that point. The ground at the top bore
several blurred prints that in the lab's opinion had been
made by soft-soled boots.

Devane's nerves crackled. Someone on the quarry wall?
It fit He almost expected it. Aloud he said, "I don't sup-
pose we'll be able to use the footprints for identification.
Half the population wears footwear with soles like that,"
and looking at Basanites's uniform boots, added, "includ-
ing our own officers."

"It could have been the person the witness saw running
away."

"That still doesn't give us a killer. The person could
have seen the crash and gone down to help."

"And helped by breaking Ashe's neck?"

Devane's mouth tightened. "Maybe it was a deviant Si-
lent who took advantage of the situation to vent his anger."

"Instead of attacking whoever happened to be in the re-
treat?" Basanites frowned. "It's possible, I suppose." He
paused before going on. "The mechanics are still examin-
ing Ashe's car, but so far they haven't found any signs of
mechanical failure to explain the crash." He looked at De-
vane. "You want to bet they don't?"

A diplomatic man, Dane Basanites, Devane thought. In-
stead of saying, "You don't expect me to buy that bullshit
about a passing deviant Silent or an accident, do you?" he
carefully demonstrated all the suspicious aspects of the in-
cident.

"No bets." He could certainly use something strong to
drink—Liril's tea, even. "I thought about this case for a
long time last night Want to hear my midnight paranoia?"

Tension rippled along Basanites's jaw. "Go ahead."

Devane had not intended to think about Ashe. He had
enough to do as director without playing investigator, too,
but he had not been able to sleep. He lay awake, watching
double shafts of silver moonlight slant down through the
windows high under the roof to Meda's head on the far
pillow, listening to his wife's soft breathing as she pre-
tended to sleep. Anger at her and desire for her warred in
him. He said nothing, however; arguing that she should
accept the Iregara for what they were and let herself go

DEADLY S1LENTS 115

had already proven useless. So when the ache of wanting
her grew too painful, he bad tried thinking of his job in-
stead, and eventually, that had led to Ashe. While moon-
light moved slowly across the room, he turned what he
knew of Ashe's death forward, backward, and inside out.
He compared it to Wofford's death at every point, asking
himself how anyone could drown a physically fit adult
male without a struggle and cause a patrol car to crash.
Who would want to? He still had no idea wfto, but he had
thought of a possible how.

"If someone wanted to shoot down a car, without having
a weapon large or powerful enough to disable the car itself,
the solution would be to disable the driver. Someone stand-
ing on the rim of the quarry could reach the driver with a
sleeper beam as the car came down even with the rim on its
way to check the quarry floor."

Basanites stared at him. "A sleeper. Wofford, too?"

Liril came in and set a steaming cup of tea before De-
vane.

He sipped it and grimaced. "That's certainly strong
enough. Wofford," he said to Basanites. "Drop him in the
middle of the pond and he'd drown without ever knowing
what happened to him. Send someone to ask that witness if
Ashe was unconscious before or after the crash."

"There's still the problem you mentioned of how anyone
knew Ashe would be there."

Devane looked at Basanites over the rim of the cup.
"When you were on patrol and bucking for rank or promo-
tion to Investigations, how many meets did you set up with
linnies, hoping one would tongue up something to give you
a big, impressive wrap?"

Basanites frowned dubiously. "I can't see an informer
system here."

"But maybe Ashe did ... or someone made him think
so."

"I'll check it out." Basanites stood and headed for the
door.

After the Investigations chief had left, Liril remained,
lingering by the door. "Patience."

Devane waited for an explanation.

"Meda," Liril said.

"I still haven't made you my psyman." But he said it
without irritation and added, smiling, "Thank you for your
concern."

116 DEADLY S1LENTS

Liril regarded him impassively. "Necessary. Pain reduc-
tion."

Devane had a quick vision of an Egara holding an ach-
ing head while hurrying to give analgesic to another Egara
who actually had the headache.

"Yes," Uril said.

He considered his secretary thoughtfully. "Maybe one of
your compatriots in the lab should treat Meda."

"Trying."

Although he felt sure Liril used the word to mean at-
tempting, its other meaning, aggravating, sounded simulta-
neously in Devane's head. He said wryly, "Yes, she can
be."

Liril's fur rippled with several waves of muscle contrac-
tions. Repeating, "Patience," the secretary left the room.

Oddly enough, Devane felt better about Meda. He
smiled. Liril the luras. Now if only be could as easily stop
worrying about the police board breathing down his neck,
and settle the questions about Wofford and Ashe.

One by one, officers straggled into the storefronts for
debriefing. Some struck up conversations with other offi-
cers but others walked straight to their desks, through the
projected images of fellow officers, if necessary, and
slumped tiredly in their chairs. The sitters almost equated
the talkers today, Ten observed, and even among those
talking, the noise level remained low enough that for a
change, no one needed to shout to be heard.

Ten debated whether to sit or to talk. He had no partic-
ular desire to take part; he would rather find Roban and
hear how the interviews with the Sealight Silents had gone.
Had Roban decided yet whether the killer was after Hari-
theen or Shumar?

Then Ashe's name drew his attention to a conversation
between two officers near him. ". . . he was unconscious
before he crashed," Mab Heier, a tall Afro woman, fin-
ished saying.

The words rang loud. Everyone dropped their own con-
versations and turned in Heier's direction.

"Who told you?" Ten asked.

"Barbara, from Investigations." She looked around at
everyone. "A transponder blip came on my control panel
screen this afternoon, and since I like to know what other
officers are doing when they come in my patrol, I went for

DEADLY SILENTS 117

a look. It was Sergeant Barbara. He told me he'd been sent
to ask that Egarad witness exactly when Ashe lost con-
sciousness."

"And the witness said he was out before the car went
down?"

Mental wheels ground audibly around the room and ten-
sion ran like electricity, jumping the spaces between them
with a deadly hiss. Ten fingered his paragee controls.

At that moment Lieutenant Robbie came into the room
with Sergeants Lessman and Cathcart. "If I can have your
attention before we begin, I have some information on the
investigation into Karal Ashe's death."

Ten knew that somewhere Andea Deathrage, the police
psychiatrist, watched and listened, or let the computer re-
cord the debriefing for her to play back later and evaluate
their every word and expression, but now he wondered if
the lieutenant and sergeants listened too, making evalua-
tions of their own, perhaps to choose a strategic psycholog-
ical moment to join the group. No entrance could have
been better calculated than this one. Robbie had the
watch's instant and complete attention, and all speculation
about Ashe waited while they listened. He effectively
smothered any panic, even though he had little of real
value to say, only the results of the autopsy and the infor-
mation that no mechanical failure caused the crash.

"I'm North Five, too," Mab Heier said, "and I know
that quarry. Has anyone considered that someone might
have used a sleeper on Ashe?"

Robbie did not answer immediately. Instead, he looked
around the room, studying each officer. He felt along the
front row of desks undl he found one that was solid to his
touch. Sitting on it, he pulled his legs up and crossed them.
"Why don't you all make yourselves comfortable?"

While everyone sat down he waited, concentrating hard
on the boot top and pant inseam of one knee. Ten sat in
the chair at his storefront's desk. The sergeants found
places on the edge of the dais.

Robbie looked up again after the rustle of movement
died away. "I know you're all very concerned about what
happened to Ashe, and probably a little scared. I know I
am. Given the nature of his neck injury and the lack of
mechanical problem in the car, chances are high that
someone deliberately killed him."

118 DEADLY SILENTS

Ten felt cold, despite the insulation of his uniform. He
pulled his arms tight against him to stop a shiver.

"So you're jumpy and you can't think about anything
else. To answer your question, Heier, the idea of a sleeper
is being considered. So is the possibility that a Silent on the
way to attack someone in the retreat took advantage of
Ashe's accident. And there are other theories, too, I'm
sure. Right now, though, that's all they are. We don't know
what happened, and we can spend hours here talking about
it and we still won't know a damn thing more, so why
don't we table the subject? Leave it to the investigators. I'll
keep you posted on their progress. Meanwhile, we still
have a job to do no matter what else is happening and we
need to talk about that. I know it was a fairly active day.
Kampacalas handled an assault in the Neer business mail
very commendably. I understand you managed to enlist the
aid of some citizens in capturing a suspect?"

Ten still wanted to talk about Ashe, to ask if that could
be connected in any way with Aaron Woffbrd's drowning.
A sleeper might account for the puzzling circumstances
there, too. However, he saw reason m what Robbie said,
and he felt the lieutenant was being honest. So he nodded.
"Yes, I did."

"Normals helped wrap a Silent?" burly Nies Anders
asked. "How the sweet jesus did you manage that? I've
watched them let Silents go past them like they were invisi-
ble or something."

Ten related the incident in detail. Responding to nods of
encouragement and approval from Robbie, he also told
them about acting as a relay to help the Silent Sihithe com-
municate with the Normal Beem.

"That's good thinking," Robbie said. "That's adapta-
tion." He looked around at the rest of the group. "As long
as we're dealing with telepatbic people, we ought to find
ways to use their ability to help us where possible.'* He
looked toward the back of the room with a sudden frown
of concern- "What's the matter, Wassom?"

Ten turned around to see Pol at his desk, drawn and
gray. But Pol drawled, "Nothing's the matter. I'm just fine,
lieutenant."

He looked anything but fine. Robbie said, "If there's a
problem, this is the place to talk about it."

"There's no probleml" With a quick look around, Pol

DEADLY SILENTS 119

went on in a lowered voice, "I'm just tired." But this time,
Ten noticed, the Texan spoke without his drawl.

Robbie eyed him, but said, "Very well," and turned to
look at another officer. "Bridewell, what was your problem
with that arson report?"

Ten did not think the lieutenant had dismissed Pol from
his mind, however, nor believed Pol's self-evaluation. To-
morrow Pol would probably find a note in his storefront
requesting him to report to Andea Deathrage as soon as
possible, before his regularly scheduled visit.

Ten sighed, cursing the holocom and the storefronts that
let them seem to be together but actually separated them.
He could not pull Pol off into a comer for a private talk,
where the Texan might mention what was bothering him.
Ten could hardly talk to Pol at all until debriefing was
over.

The session seemed to last interminably, but at last the
talking slowed, and with a stretch, Robbie stood and dis-
missed them.

Ten headed straight for Pol. "You doing anything to-
night? Come on over to my place. Bring Bara, too."

"I don't know." Pol frowned. "Bara and I ... had a
fight."

"Then bring someone else or come alone. All right?"

Pol shrugged. "All right." His hand reached out and he
vanished.

The room emptied as one officer after another deacti-
vated the holocom. Robbie and the sergeants winked out of
existence, too, as Ten switched out of the network. It was
then he heard someone breathing behind him.

He tensed. Debating whether he should go for his baton
or sleeper. Ten slowly turned.

Roban grinned at him.

Ten sagged against the wall, limp with relief. "Damn
you, Ro; don't do things like that. When did you come in?"

"Near the beginning of debriefing. I guess you didn't no-
tice me in the crowd." He regarded Ten narrowly. "You
seem a bit nervous."

"Aren't you, considering what happened to Ashe?"

"Or what everyone has convinced themselves happened?
Why is everyone so instantly certain he died because of the
uniform he wears?"

Ten frowned at him in disbelief. "Who are you trying to

120 DEADLY StLENTS

jook? You've been in this business long enough to leam
that everyone is out to slag us."

Roban's jaw set. "That's on Earth, Here we're cops, not
leos, and the Iregara are a nonpredatory people."

Ten snorted. "Nonpredatory? What about the Silents?
What about the person who killed Haritheen?"

"The Silents aren't home-grown, though; in a sense,
they're a Terran import. As for who killed Haritheen—I
still have people to talk to but I haven't found anyone yet
who looks as good for it as Ladras. I think I'll ask to take
that nago back to court if nothing better turns up in a day
or two. Of course, maybe I'm not learning everything pos-
sible." Roban sighed. "I don't seem to be able to make
myself as clear to people as you can. You say something
and Normals come back with an answer that relates to
some underlying thought. With me, it seems to be all I can
do to get across subjects I'm concentrating on." He paused.
"Maybe you have some telepathic talent you aren't aware
of."

"Me?" Ten grinned wryly. *T only wish I could tell what
Iregara think. And speaking of what people think ... do
you have any idea what's going on inside Pol's head?"

"No." Roban scratched at his wiry hair. "But I don't
think it's good."

"Come home with me. Maybe the two of us can per-
suade him to talk about it."

They left the storefront. Ten picked up his bicycle from
where it stood parked beside the door and they started
through the shopping mall. Roban began telling him about
the interviews with the Sealight Silents.

Ten noticed two young Iregara strolling ahead of them.
The juveniles stopped at a fruit stand and one picked up a
red fruit. A moment later the shopkeeper appeared in the
doorway and several other adults in the area stopped to
turn around, too. None of them said a word, but the juve-
nile returned the fruit to the bin.

Ten blinked. Had he seen what he thought? Could that
be crime prevention, Egarad style?

The juveniles glanced back at him. Their fur rippled,
then they broke into a run and raced off, shouting at each
other in play.

Ten grinned. "Now that was very interesting."

"Frustrating, actually," Roban said.

Ten stared at him a moment before realizing that Roban

DEADLY SILENTS 12T

thought Ten's remark referred to something Roban had
said about the day's interviews. Roban's preoccupation
with recalling those interviews had made him miss the inci-
dent involving the juveniles.

Roban talked most of the way to Ten's place. Ten found
listening difficult, however, despite his interest. The beauty
of the late afternoon kept distracting him with details like
the moisture beaded in the bottom of the funnel-shaped
leaves of ganayaha trees they passed on the woods path, or
the webs of the spideriike shen fere shrouding low brush
like bridal veils and the red-and-yellow bodies of sugar idi
hovering above wild, purple-smelling ishasama in the
meadows.

As they came in sight of Meem Shen, Roban stopped
talking business and said, "I wonder why our people let
themselves be shut away in stone and steel canyons."

Ten shrugged, smiling. "Different needs?"

"These people know quality of life. We should tear down
Earth's cities and rebuild them like this."

Complete with igelis? Ten wondered. He also thought of
the lost child he had helped hunt several days before, and
finally found dead in the woods with adu tracks around the
small, mauled body. "Egarad cities aren't quite paradise."

"Lushanah looks like the outskirts of hell, my grand-
father used to tell me," Roban said. His voice carried a
dreaming note. "He said that from the city you could look
out across the dryland, fiat and featureless as a plate, and
the grass wasn't just brown but a golden brown, so it
looked like it reflected the sun. He said you could think
you were looking across a sheet of brass to a horizon that
seemed a thousand klicks away." He stopped short.
"There's someone in your house. Ten."

Ten saw the movement inside, too. His initial alarm dis-
appeared a heartbeat later, though. "It's probably Brithe."

"Britbe?"

"You remember." He grinned. "The object of my fur
fetish?"

To his surprise, Roban's color deepened in a sudden
flush. "I remember. What's she doing here?"

*T forgot I asked her over for the evening."

"What about Pol now?"

"That's still all right. She can help. Who better to an-
swer questions about the culture?"

Brithe was equally surprised to see Roban. She regarded

122 DEADLY SILENTS

him with a still-eyed impassiveness that Ten suspected
masked displeasure. "You didn't say there would be other
people, too." But when Ten explained about Pol, she be-
came immediately sympathetic. "I'll be glad to help if I
can. Is he upset about the officer who was killed? I heard
Ashe's head was almost twisted off."

Ten swallowed. He had not thought of the broken neck
in quite those terms before. It sent a queasy wave through
his stomach.

Brithe peered at him. "Are you upset, too?"

"We all are."

Ten pulled a new black-and-scarlet jumpsuit out of the
closet and headed for the san to change, though he found
himself reluctant to peel out of the uniform and give up its
paragee shield.

Through the closed door he heard the phone chime, and
Roban call, "It's for you, Ten."

It was Pol. "I'm mighty sorry, podner, but I can't make
it tonight after all."

Ten wished again that the phone screen here showed
faces. Pol's voice sounded unnaturally controlled. "I wish
you'd try." He hunted for something that might persuade
Pol. "You know you're going to have to talk to someone,
and I thought you'd prefer us to Deathrage."

"Now, don't you fret, son." Pol laughed, but it sounded
tight and forced in Ten's ears. "ITl just tell her the same
thing I did the lieutenant . . . I'm just wore out. I'll be
right as rain soon as I've had me a good night's sleep. Y'all
have a nice evening, hear? Hasta manana."

Ten waved off and turned to look helplessly at Roban.
"What do we do now?"

Roban shrugged. "Let him alone, I guess,"

"But—" Ten began.

Roban patted his shoulder. "He'll be all right. You take
the mental health propaganda too seriously." He headed
for the door. "Well, since Pol isn't coming, there's no rea-
son for me to stay."

"Why not? The three of us can do something together."

"Three's make triangles and crowds."

"But we aren't—damn." Ten sighed as the door closed
behind Roban. He looked up in mute appeal to the heav-
ens. "I don't know what's happening to everyone."

"Me," Brithe said. "He wouldn't have left if I were a
Terran woman."

DEADLY SiLENTS T23

"It isn't you," Ten quickly reassured her.

She looked at him. "It is. I don't mean to come between
you and your other friends."

Now Brithe was going martyr on him? What was this?
"It has nothing to do with you," he said through clenched
teeth.

She flinched. "You don't have to shout."

For god's sake. "I'm not shouting!"

The dap of hands sounded outside the door. Ten jerked
it open. Siyan held a luras out to Ten.

Heat came up Ten's neck and face. Ruefully, he took the
luras and stepped back to let Siyan in. "I'm sorry. I guess
I'm disturbing you."

"Yes," Siyan said. "Loud."

Ten petted the luras. "I know. TU keep my voice down."

"Misunderstand," Siyan said. "Scale. Loud . . . medi-
um ... quiet . . . Silent. Loud." Siyan pointed at him,

He sighed. A telepathic shouter. Wonderful. What could
he do about that?

"Nothing." Siyan paused. "Gathering. Join?"

Ten shook his head. "Not tonight. I'm spending the eve-
ning with my friend."

"If you want to go, I'll understand," Brithe said. "Neigh-
bors come before outsiders."

"Drana," Siyan said.

Ten stiffened. Before he could say anything, however,
Siyan said, "Misunderstand."

Ten rubbed his cheek across the top of the luras's head.
"I understand. Isn't the drana the different one, the odd
man?"

Siyan hesitated before answering. "Yes. No. More."

Brithe put on her cape and started for the door. "Good-
night. Enjoy the Gathering."

"Wait a minute." He blocked her path. "I accepted your
invitation and my father always taught me it's ill-mannered
to stand up a lady."

"Shen bonds are very important. Ten."

"Important," Siyan confirmed.

"For Iregara maybe." Ten handed the luras back to Si-
yan. "I'll—"

"Drana important."

'Ten, I'd better go."

"No, damn it!" In a minute he was going to lose his

124 DEADLY SIIENTS

temper. "Quit being noble and sit down! Siyan, I can't
come to the Gathering tonight."

Siyan stroked the luras, looking hard at Ten. "Misunder-
stand. Explain."

Did Siyan intend to explain something, or expect Ten
to? At the moment, he neither knew nor cared. "Another
time. Goodnight."

Siyan regarded Ten intently for a few moments, then
slowly left.

Ten turned to Brithe. "So, what would you like to do
this evening?"

She thought. "I know of a chorale performance. Some
Terran music is on the program, including Bach."

Bach? That sounded wonderful. However, he arched a
brow at her. "I thought you didn't like concerts."

"Not alone, but now there's someone to experience the
music and talk about it afterward in the same terms I do."

Ten grinned, "You let me start talking about Bach and
you may not have a chance to say anything in any terms."
He thought briefly of Pol, worriedly, then decided that per-
haps Roban was right. He would leave the Texan alone.
He could see him tomorrow at briefing.

Chapter Thirteen

POL DID not appear at briefing in the morning until after
Robbie and the sergeants had arrived. Ten studied him
critically. The Texan looked better than he had yesterday,
though Ten thought he still detected a slight ripple of ten-
sion along Pol's jaw. All through the recitation of the inci-
dent list, floating patrol assignments, and suggestions
passed on from other watches for handling typical Egarad
situations. Ten repeatedly tried to catch Pol's eye. The
other man's attention, however, remained riveted on Rob-
bie. Ten had to wait until the briefing ended to catch him.

"Howdy, podner," Pol said. "Sorry I couldn't make it
last night."

"How do you feel today?"

"Frisky as a new baby calf. I hit my bunk right after I
talked to you and slept like a log to twelve hundred this
morning. I'm a new man."

Was the heartiness genuine or forced? Ten could not de-
cide.

"Of course, I've got this." Pol pulled a piece of paper out
of a thigh pocket. Ten recognized the psyman's memo
form, "She wants to see me right after the watch. I'm not
even supposed to come to debriefing first."

Ten bit his lip.

"Psymen have to do something to earn their work units,
I guess," Pol said. "I'll do my best to entertain her." He
winked. "Auf Wiedersehen, podner."

Pol's image vanished. Ten stared at the empty space
where he had stood, hoping Pol took the visit seriously and
cooperated.

However, he did not have long to worry about Pol- Iryl
Consign, who worked the Morning Watch, came in from
the garage, pulling off her helmet with a tired stretch.

125

126 DEADLY SILENTS

"New car this morning, Ten. The paragee started acting up
in the Isinhar and the v-pool sent up a Chehasha as re-
placement. In a Hat-out run, it isn't quite as fast, but it
maneuvers faster. I almost put myself in the middle of the
Rabala Shen bath house going down too fast, so take it
easy until you get the feel of it."

'Thanks for the warning. You have a quiet watch?"

"Except for keeping an eye on a Gathering in Rabala
until six hundred this morning ... a celebration in honor
of newbom twins." She grinned- "I've heard loud parties
before, but the sheer decibel level of the singing and music
of this one puts Terran parties to shame. Luckily, with the
city built the way it is, they couldn't disturb anyone outside
Rabala. The neighbors are really proud of those babies.
You'd think every adult in the shen was the mother. It
might be good P.R. to stop for a visit. Have a good watch."

Ten did not take the car out immediately. Instead, he
started to walk through the shopping mall first, but almost
before he left the storefront, the radio in his ear murmured,
"North Twenty-five. Assault, Tbelis industrial mall, Nuba-
sar Printing."

He raced for the car, acknowledging the call as he ran.

Arriving at Nubasar Printing in Thelis, he found the vic-
tim, a calligrapher named Ru, groaning in the middle of
the printshop. Other employees had offered what comfort
they could, a blanket to wrap in and a rolled cape under
the bloodied head. Ru was only marginally conscious, un-
able to talk, so Ten patted one furred shoulder com-
fortingly and examined the wound on the back of the
Egara's head. The clean line of the laceration suggested it
had been inflicted by something with a sharp edge. He
looked around for a candidate. Before long, an Egara
pointed out a metal stool with blood on the edge of the
seat. Ten peered at it, but left it sitting where it had been
found, before a printer computer whose large tracing
screen had been smashed.

"Don't anyone touch anything," he said. "I'm bringing
up a Criminalistics unit to examine the shop for possible
personal traces left by the assailant."

The question was, of course, what had happened. The
ambulance had taken Ru to the hospital and the C-unit
arrived and started processing the shop before the ques-
tioning of the other shop employees produced a possible
answer.

DEADLY S1LENTS 127

Ru had been scheduled to set up a long job on the
printer. It was the consensus that being a conscientious
person, the calligrapher had probably come early to get
started. No other employees had been in the printshop at
the time. Despite its size and work volume, the printshop
ran only thirty-four hours a day—by Egarad counting. It
shut down ten hours for cleaning and equipment mainte-
nance. However, that rarely took the whole ten hours,
usually no more than five or six.

"So someone familiar with the routine could expect to
find it empty for at least two hours?"

"Yes."

It looked to Ten as though someone intending to vandal-
ize the printshop started to make use of those hours . . .
and was interrupted by Ru. The vandal hit Ru from behind
and fled.

"Who would know your routine?" Ten asked.

Any number of people, it turned out: employees, clients,
and employees in surrounding workshops. Ten sighed. He
might have known. And of course, except for a hook high
on the door to keep out children and igelis, and remind
adults not to trespass, the printshop was never locked.

"I'd like a list of your employees, particularly Silents,
working here now or who left or were fired for any reason
in the past year."

"North Twenty-five," his radio murmured. "Vandalism,
B'gen Antiquities, D'she shopping mall."

He grimaced. Another one? "En route," he replied. He
looked at the shop foreman. "If you'll make up that list for
me, I'll come back later after it." He headed for the car.

The vandal in the printshop had been interrupted, but
the one who went through the antique shop had had time to
do a thorough job and used every minute. From the door
of the shop. Ten surveyed piles of broken glass and pot-
tery, splintered wood, and twisted metal. He made his way
carefully through them to a small salt-and-pepper-furred
Egara sitting with a black luras on a stool in the center of
the devastation.

"B'gen?" Ten asked.

"Ruined," B'gen said, face buried against the luras.
Ten pulled off his helmet. "Yes." His eyes moved from
the shredded remains of a tapestry on one wall to pieces of
translucent white stone at his feet, so smashed he could

128 DEADLY S1LENTS

not begin to guess what they had once been part of. "You
found the shop like this when you came in to open?"

B'gen looked around. "Irreplaceable." The shopkeeper
slid off the stool and wandered through the shop, still
holding the luras.

"Please don't touch anything," Ten warned. "What are
some of these things?"

"Sen Nuraled, seventy-fifth century," B'gen said. stop-
ping before the tapestry. A scarlet-booted toe touched a
copper platter bent almost double. "Twentieth-century
Shubenad." And with a groan, the shopkeeper squatted by
the translucent shards at Ten's feet. "Sith Marad um, sixty-
second century."

Ten squatted on his heels, too, feeling the other's pain.
"I'm so very sorry. I've passed this shop many times and
always admired the items on display in the windows. If
you'll help me, maybe I can find the person who did this.
Have you had any recent disagreements with anyone, par-
ticularly a Silent?"

"Brrrt?" the luras said.

Ten reached out to stroke the animal's head.

"Reason?" B'gen asked, looking up at Ten. "Reason?"

"Revenge, perhaps. We're beginning to see a pattern in
these incidents. Please try to remember anyone you might
have offended."

B'gen touched a delicate fragment. "Unique."

Ten sighed. B'gen appeared as incapable of answering
questions as Ru. Still petting the luras. Ten lapped his ear.
"North Twenty-five, Communications. Advise the C-unit
at Nubasar Printing that when they've finished there, I
need them at B'gen Antiquities m the D'she shopping
mall."

When Communications acknowledged, he stood and
walked around the shop, scanning it with his kinecorder.
The destruction was not quite complete, he discovered. A
few items had escaped damage. How? This puzzled him.
Why should a fragile piece of glassware sit untouched
while a metal goblet next to it had been pounded flat?
Surely the glassware would have been easier to destroy.

B'gen's eyes lifted from the floor to focus on the glass-
ware, then flicked toward the flattened goblet- "Shubish
dynasty. Forty-two extant."

B'gen cared nothing that a piece remained untouched?

The shopkeeper looked at him. "Minor."

DEADLY S1LENTS 129

Ten frowned thoughtfully. He eyed the other untouched
pieces. "What about that stool? How valuable is it?"

"Minor."

"And that ceramic statue of an irath?"

"Minor."

Ten rubbed his thumb down the cleft in his chin. "Have
only the really valuable pieces been destroyed?"

"Yes," B'gen said with a groan.

Ten sucked on his lower lip. Then whoever did this
knew antiques. That should narrow the field a little. "Do
you have a bitter competitor, say one who is a Silent?"

"No."

Which left him, probably, with a choice of employees
and customers. With patient persuasion. Ten pulled B'gen's
attention away from the broken items and put the shop-
keeper to work listing people with whom B'gen re-
membered disagreeing. Through questions asked so they
could be answered with a simple yes or no. Ten confirmed
what he had observed coming through the shopping mall
on the way to briefing every morning, that the shops near
B'gen's all closed during the night. Probably no open shop
lay near enough for the people in it to have heard noise
during the time the vandalism must have occurred. Still,
he wrote a note to post in the storefront, asking Dal Kiefer,
the Evening Watch officer, and Iryl Consigli to talk to
people in the shops on their watches and see if anyone
heard or read anything.

Ten took B'gen's completed list and, after me C-unit ar-
rived, headed back for the printshop to pick up the fore-
man's list. He phoned the names to Investigations, volun-
teering to check out the local ones and possible witnesses.
That gave him plenty to do while walking through the
mails and ishen. He also made a point of visiting Rabala
Shen to congratulate everyone on the new babies, though
he declined their mother's offer to let him hold the twins.
Egarad babies, still hairless, did not look so very different
from Terran ones, he discovered.

Most of the talking brought him no useful information,
but in the upholstery shop across from Nubasar Printing, he
found a witness.

"Saw," the witness said, casually tossing huge bolts of
upholstery fabric from a paragee platform onto shop
shelves.

Ten could hardly believe his luck. He stared at the

130 DEADLY SH.ENTS

blue-gray Egara, who wore a white fan design on the fore-
head and another over each shoulder like epaulets. "You
saw someone in the printshop or leaving it?"

"There." Fan pointed toward a small plaza area near the
edge of the mall. "Read. Remembered. Looked. Saw."

Ten passionately wished he could read the thought
streams and concept images behind each word. He tried
for an explanation one word at a time. "You read another
mind? The assailant's?"

"Ru."

"During the attack?"

"Yes." Fan never stopped working.

"Did Ru see the assailant?"

"No."

"What was it you remembered?"

"You."

"Ate?" He may well have talked to this particular Egara
before; he talked to as many people as possible in his pa-
trol, but he could not remember what he might have said.

"Said look." Fan pointed to an eye. "Said see. Looked.
Saw."

"You saw what this fleeing person looked like?"

"Yes."

A question at a time, the description emerged, a Silent
wearing yellow hip boots and a red tabard, approximately
three hundred twelve hin tall—which worked out to a
hundred sixty centimeters—of medium Egarad build, red
roan in color, decorated with white and black crescents,

"You saw this person that clearly?" Ten asked with
some skepticism. The light could not have been very good
at that hour.

"No. Recognized. Worked." Fan pointed toward the

printshop.

The old familiar pattern. "The person you saw once
worked in the printshop?"

"Yes."

Which did not necessarily mean the person Fan had
seen was the guilty party; Ten refused to fall into the trap
they had with Ladras over Haritheen's death, but the odds
made that person a fine candidate for investigation, and
that made him feel so good that when he passed Dal Kiefer
in the storefront at the end of the watch, Kiefer eyed him

suspiciously.

"You aren't on anything, are you?"

DEADLY S1LENTS 131

"Satisfaction," Ten came back, and told nun about it.
Kiefer listened enviously. "I'm glad you had a good
watch."

Ten regarded Kiefer with concern. The other officer
looked tired and tense, as though he had already served a
full watch, and a bad one. Was it related to Ashe's death?
Ten wondered. Evening Watch officers must be hit particu-
larly hard by that.

After debriefing and filling out reports. Ten caught the
skyrail south to the stationhouse without bothering to
change out of his uniform. His haste did not help him catch
the day Criminalistics technicians before they left, but he
found Bioni Elanca, the section chief, still there. He put on
his most persuasive smile as he begged her for the print
and antique shop findings.

Elanca had the pouter-pigeon plumpness of a middle-
class matron, but her eyes gleamed hard and sharp as flint
"Don't oil me, officer. I have a son on Earth about your
age who inoculated me against beautiful boys by practic-
ing his charm on me while he was growing up. We haven't
finished all the analyses yet, but if you can restrain your
eagerness for a few minutes, 1*11 see what we do have."

She led him through tfae laboratory. Little of value had
been found in the printshop except to confirm through
blood and hair matching that the stool had been used as
the weapon to strike Ru.

"But we had some luck in the antique shop," Elanca
said. She showed him a holo and cast of a footprint found
in some plaster dust. "There are several distinctive scars
there that will help us match the boot if you find us a
suspect sole."

She moved on to the micro section. "And it appears
your vandal put a fist through a glass case. Left a piece of
hide behind. You're looking for a suspect with a cut on one
arm, a mature individual with liver-chestnut fur with a
bright red design. Hair analyses show some of the hair
dark and some bleached and dyed red. Meda, do you have
the dye identified yet?"

A young woman with toffee-gold skin looked up from
dropping reagents into shallow dishes, "Yes. I'm just trying
to match it to local products. I'm pretty sure it's an Egarad
dye."

That must be the director's wife. Ten thought. He had

132 DEADLY SILENTS

heard she worked in the lab. He had not expected her to
be so young, though, or so beautiful. She appeared to be
tense, however, rather like Pol. He wondered how Pol's
talk with the psyman was going.

"Call us tomorrow," Elanca said. "We'll have more an-
swers for you then."

Ten left, heading for the firing range. Although they
were no longer expected to fire anything more lethal than a
sleeper, shooting qualification remained a requirement and
he practiced frequently. He found himself at the barrier
beside Bara Deem and nodded a greeting to her. The range
master handed him a needier sidearm.

Ten concentrated on the circle in the middle of the tar-
get silhouette, staring at it until nothing else in the world
existed. He was hardly conscious of raising and firing the
needier. Each needle marked the target with a splash of
ink. After ten shots, he lowered the needier. AH the ink
spots lay within the fifteen-centimeter circle. Not bad, he
decided. He fired four more groups of ten, with each
grouping tighter than the last, and the final round, fired
with his eyes closed, all lay within the seven-centimeter
circle.

"Very nice," Bara said. "You'll score well come qualifi-
cation."

He glanced over at her target. "No better than you.
Hand/eye coordination works again- Would you like some
coffee?"

They walked around to the canteen. Ten chucked two
red work unit disks into the tube beside the coffee urn and
filled two cups. "I wonder how Pol and Deathrage are
doing," he said.

Bara accepted a cup and sipped the steaming liquid. "I
hope she can help him."

"What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "He won't talk about it. I'm sure it has to
do with the Iregara; he's been tense and withdrawn ever
since we went on patrol, though he tries to hide it. He has
nightmares . . . sweats and twitches and groans all night.
I've begged him to talk to me, but he won't. I think stub-
born pride must be part of the Neo-Texan image." She
paused to take janother swallow of coffee. "I haven't seen
him off-duty for two days now, not since you told us about
Roban's case being thrown out of court. He played the
jolly cowboy at the holo showing but I could tell he was

DEADLY SILENTS 133

upset about something. Later . . ." She grimaced. "Well,
nothing went right in bed and he blamed me . . . said
nothing like that ever happened to him with any other
woman. He was so vicious about it, I left. Maybe I
shouldn't have done that, do you think?"

"I don't know." Ten sucked on bis lower lip. "I guess
we'll know how it went when we see him tomorrow at
briefing."

"He's off for the next two days." Bara glanced sideways
at Ten. "Would you like to come over for supper? I have
more Egarad wine and I feel like company tonight."

So did Ten. He accepted her invitation. For a moment,
though, seeing her house for the first time, he almost re-
gretted doing so. He had heard her say she lived in a geo-
desic dome. He had not expected it to be built almost en-
tirely of Sunsorb window material and uncurtained, open
to the view of the entire shen. The fact that so was every
other house did nothing to lessen his self-consciousness.

"Talk about living in glass houses."

Bara frowned. "Do you hate it, too? Pol saw it once
from the outside and refused to come in. He always in-
sisted we go to his place."

"I don't insist." Ten grinned. "If Billy Pilgrim could do
it, so can I."

She blinked. "Who? What watch does he work?"

His grin broadened. "He's a character in an old novel
Brithe loaned me to read. Part of the time he lived on
exhibit on the planet Tralfamadore."

Bara looked thoughtful. "I think I have an uncle who
emigrated to there."

"This is a fictional Tralfamadore." He told her the story
over supper.

Listening, she smiled. "Brithe loaned you this book?
She's teaching you almost as much about your own cul-
tural heritage as Egar's, it sounds like."

Somewhat sheepishly. Ten had to agree.

They moved into the sitting area after supper and
stretched out on piles of cushions. As the light faded, the
walls became more mirror and less window. Distorted re-
flections of the room and themselves looked back from
each triangular pane.

Sipping her wine, Bara said, "I find these people a won-
derful relief. Once you accept the fact that your head is as
transparent as these walls, you can quit pretending. You

134 DEADLY SllENTS

can tear up all the masks and be what you are, say what
you feel."

Ten swirled his wine in its glass. "Very nice in theory,
but . . . maybe you don't have thoughts you'd just as
soon no one around you knew about."

She laughed, "Oh, I have them, and I'm just as embar-
rassed as anyone being caught thinking them, but there are
compensations. For example, today I was trying to ask this
Egara some questions. The citizen had information I
needed to know, but I couldn't understand the answers at
all. I got madder and madder until I wanted to dent the
good citizen's skull with my baton. Finally I came out and
expressed my opinion of the citizen's ancestry. What would
that have gotten me back home?"

"If you did it to a so-called upstanding citizen or a high
holy?" Ten grimaced. "A complaint to Internal Affairs at
the very least."

"Well, this Egara just looked at me with those big, un-
readable purple eyes and said, in essence, that I could
think what I liked, however wrong I was." She laughed. "It
didn't answer my questions, but it did clear my head, and
eventually we started to communicate." She paused. "You
can't tell me you object very much to being read; you're
the one exploiting telepathy to direct Normals how to
catch suspects for you and inviting them into your head to
communicate with SUents."
"But that's business."

"Wouldn't you like to be able to say exactly what you
think all the time?"
She had an attractive argument.

"And since I've been preaching saying what one feels,"
she went on, "I'll admit I don't feel like throwing you out
into the cold night. I can't offer a canopy over the dome,
but with the lights out, the effect is almost the same."
He looked at her over his wine glass. "What about Pol?"
"Like my mother, despite the efforts of the high holies to
enslave women to men, I'm my own person. I owe Pol
only loyalty as a friend, not sexual fidelity. Do you want to
stay?"

Ten considered, then held out his glass for more wine.
"Yes."

Chapter Fourteen

THE TROUBLE with spending the night at Bara's house. Ten
decided, was morning. He hated crawling out of bed into
the frigid dawn to catch me skyrail home in time to clean
up and reach the storefront for briefing. All the way from
the east end of the city's south leg, back around the west-
ern end of Rahelem Bay and north to Meem Shen made a
long, chilly ride. However, one benefit emerged; in the
hurry to avoid being late, he actually arrived at the store-
front early. It left him time enough to call the station and
learn that the lab had identified the dye found on the an-
tique shop vandal's hair. Before the character forming on
the phone screen could be completed, however, a Terran
voice came on the line.

"This is Inspector Corine Paget. I've been assigned to
the case. You have special interest in this?" She did not
sound hostile, just briskly efficient.

Ten remembered her from orientation, small and com-
pact, with the grace of a gymnast. He told her, "I'm inter-
ested in clearing anything that happens in my patrol."

"You can be a big help to me if you want, then. The dye
is a local one, brand name Sushan, color name Copper
Flame. It's distributed solely to those shops where the Ire-
gara have their fur decorated."

"Decco shops."

"Right Now, I've called the decco suppliers and ob-
tained the names of the shops buying Sushan dyes. Would
you visit those in your patrol and find out which ones have
used Copper Flame on an adult with liver-chestnut fur?
This vandal might very well live in your cluster."

"Give me the shop names."

In the first few shops Ten became so fascinated watching
the decco artists work, he almost forgot to ask his ques-

135

136 DEADLY SiLENTS

tions. With the customer lying on a workbench, the artist
laid out the design, outlining it first by applying dye or
bleach a few drops at a time, then filling in. Soap-and-
water-soluble paints could also be applied if the customer
wanted only a temporary design. Beading like Brithe's was
sprayed on. The average design, he learned, needed to be
renewed at least once a year . . . more often if the indi-
vidual shed a great deal.

Watching one artist. Ten asked, "Wouldn't it be easier if
you used a mask, something like a sheet of static plastic
with the design cut out of the middle of it?"

The artist looked up, regarding Ten with a stare that,
however impassive, made him feel as he had when his
mother caught him tracking mud across a clean floor.
"Basier," the artist agreed, and without further commfcnt

returned to work.

But decco artists, he discovered, were one group who

remembered what other people looked like. They remem-
bered colors and designs applied as long as two years be-
fore. In fact,, unlike other Iregara, colors and designs were
almost all they remembered. They had difficulty recalling
whether specific individuals were Normal or Silent.

"Do you remember decorating a liver chestnut with

Copper Flame?" Ten asked.

Those that had, did, and eventually one shop in the
Neer business mall produced a name, Anubas, which Ten
also found on B'gen's list as an employee discharged just
three days before the vandalism. He called Inspector Paget.
Paget, however, was out. After a short debate. Ten decided

to call on Anubas himself.

Ten found the Egara in Little Hills Shen. Looking at a
strip of fur and hide missing from the right forearm. Ten
asked, "May I look at your boots?*'

Anubas appeared dazed. Mechanically, the Egara pulled
off the boots and handed them to Ten, then stood back
with arms wrapped tightly around a young child. On the
sole of one boot Ten found scars bearing a strong resem-
blance to those on the print found in B'gen's shop.

"I think we ought to take your child to one of your

neighbors," Ten said.

Anubas hugged the child tighter. "It wasn't my fault."
Ten's mouth thinned. "No one forced you to vandalize

the shop."

"It wasn't my fault about the customers. I tried to work

DEADLY SILENTS 137

with them. I tried hard, but . . ." Around the child's
back, both fists clenched. "I hate them."

Ten sighed. "Let's find someone to take care of the
child."

Anubas led the way to a house across the lane. The
Egara who answered the door looked at Anubas, then Ten.
"Understand."

Ten turned away unhappily while Anubas said good-bye
to the child. He wished the vandal could have been male
or a childless female. He did not like doing this to a child.

When the child had gone inside. Ten pulled Anubas's
wrists behind her back and wrapped them. "Let's go."

"I don't know why I destroyed those things," Anubas
said in a flat voice. "It's B'gen I hate. It's B'gen I wanted to
kill. I love treasures like those. They're beautiful and
unique. They can't be replaced. But I was so furious . . .
it was like I stood a long way off watching myself; I
couldn't interfere, no matter how much I wanted to stop
what was happening."

Ten carefully recorded it all with his kinecorder and
called for prisoner transport.

A few hours later he learned that the printshop foreman
had identified a former employee from the description
Ten's witness gave. Nevel Roche, North Twenty-four, lo-
cated the suspect in his cluster and made an arrest.

Ten found himself in for congratulations and good-
natured kidding both that day at debriefing and again late
the next afternoon in the rear of the stationhouse after
marksmanship, baton, and open-hand qualification, while
waiting for their physical test.

"Lucky leo," Bara said. "Two complaints from your pa-
trol cleared in three days and then you wrapped that proxy
killer in court today."

*The Haritheen case is Roban's," Ten said, "and it isn't
finished yet; the mediator only agreed to examine the evi-
dence. We go back for formal hearing Autumnday 4. How-
. ever"—he grinned—'^e have high hopes."

Bara grinned back. "Why don't we celebrate your suc-
cess tonight?"

"Not yet." He did not feel at all like celebrating Anu-
bas's arrest. The recorded confession bothered him. Could
it be used? How did one handle self-incrimination in a so-
ciety where it could not be avoided by most of the popula-
tion?

138 DEADLY SILENTS

He found himself disturbed by B'gen's attitude, too. The
antique dealer wanted Anubas confined to a care facility as
an incurable antisocial. On Earth Ten had never ques-
tioned prison as a solution, but care facilities, he knew
from orientation, were not like prisons. They had more in
common with psychiatric hospitals, except that they did
not extend lifelong care. No sentence lasted longer than.
five years. If, at the end of that time, an inmate was judged
incurable, a nonproductive citizen who only caused himself
and others pain, he was euthanized.

"I think the antique shop vandal regrets what happened
there. I'm trying to convince the shopkeeper to drop the
antisocial charge and be content with suing for repara-
tions."

Bara met his eyes solemnly. "Ill keep my fingers
crossed."

"What is this, a Gathering or physical qualification?" the
trainer cried, "Come on, who's next?" Ogilvie looked at
Ten. "How about you, Kampacalas? You look full of en-
ergy. The course is down the valley past the travelport ter-
minal to the flag and back, then over the obstacle course."

"Sadist," Ten said.

"Save your breath, boy; that's eight iyah ahead of you."

"Ten. There's no such number as eight here."

The trainer rolled his eyes. "A right fly kid, aren't you?
Go!"

It was a shorter distance than many of the training runs
be had made, but the pace had to be faster to meet the
time limit. Even that might not have been so bad, except
for jumping barriers and climbing walls at the end, in pur-
suit of an imaginary suspect. Ten tried not to gasp too hard
while Doctor Goodnight recorded his heart rate, respira-
tion, and blood pressure afterward.

"I'd still like to see more muscle on you, officer," Good-
night said, "but you seem fit enough otherwise." He
marked Ten's form: passed.

Ten staggered to the locker room and collapsed on a
bench.

Bara came in a few minutes later. "Thank god that's
over for a while," she sighed, dropping down beside Ten.
She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out again. "I just
passed Pol coming from the range."

Ten forgot his pain. "How does he look?**

She bit her lip. "He looks fine, but Trini Van Swaay was

DEADLY SH.ENTS 139

right behind him and she says his hands shook so bad on
the range he didn't have anything close to a grouping. He
couldn't qualify.*'

Ten ran both hands through his sweat-soaked hair. "I
think I'll wait for him before I shower."

"Me, too."

While they waited, officers flowed through the locker
room, into the showers sweaty and groaning, out again
cleaner but still complaining. Finally Pol arrived. He
moved more easily than most, his breathing almost normal.

Bara and Ten exchanged glances. Whatever else might
be wrong with the Texan, he obviously remained in supe-
rior physical condition.

"How are you doing?" Ten asked him. "How did the
visit with Deathrage go?"

Pol turned. "Why should you care?" He spoke without
his drawl.

Ten bunked, taken aback, then smiled tentatively. "Be-
cause I'm your friend."

"Friend." Pol spat the word. "Is that why the minute my
back is turned you're flatdancing my woman?"

And before Ten could react, Pol grabbed him by the
throat and threw him backward into a wall. The Big Bang
went off in Ten's head. Through the thunder and lights of
spreading galaxies, he dimly heard people yelling, heard
Bara's voice lashing angrily: ". . . no brand on me, cow-
boy," and then, full of concern: "Ten, can you hear me?
Are you all right? Talk to me."

"I'm all right." He groped for a bench and sat down
holding his head. The back of it throbbed with a pain he
felt all the way to his fingers and toes.

The rest of the group present had dragged Pol across the
room and were holding him against the far wall, yelling at
him to take it easy, but Pol still struggled, cursing Ten.

"Stop that\ All of you calm down right now/" Everyone
looked up to find Sergeant Brynche in the doorway. She
took in both Ten and Pol with one sweeping glance around
the room. "I won't even ask what this is about. If you were
on my watch, you'd both lose a day!"

Ten peered up at her. Granted he did not see much of
her, but did she usually react this strongly? He thought she
looked unusually pale.

"While you're brawling like gutter rats, Martine Her-
Many-Horses—" She broke off to swallow.

140 DEADLY S1LENTS

In the sudden silence, Ten heard his heart hammering.
Brynche went on in a tight voice, "We just found Officer
Her-Many-Horses with her throat cut on a neck wire."

Chapter Fifteen

"I NEED more personnel," Devane said. He looked around
the grouped briefing-room desks at the members of the po-
lice board, aiming urgency at each of them. "I need two-
officer cars on the Evening Watch."

After all the times he had met with them, Devane still
found their faces unreadable, but experience had taught
him roughly how each might be reacting, Lisbulir and Ge-
mun were undoubtedly thinking no and if they can't handle
the job, send them home. Anaya and Seche might be con-
sidering a yes vote. Ibal would be using deep-reading to
probe into Devane and read underlying thought streams.

"Need?" Ibal asked softly.

Devane liked Ibal, but his feeling rode a fine line be-
tween admiration and irritation at the effect the healer's
comments invariably had, that of making Devane re-
examine his words and feelings.

"Need. It isn't that we can't work with the personnel we
have, but I have sixty-five officers on the Evening Watch—
that's a hundred and one to you—in a state of panic, afraid
for their lives. With two officers in a car, they can protect
each other, but I don't have enough people now to double
them up. That makes more personnel a want that equals
need."

"Have," Gemun said. "Reliefs."

"I need the relief officers in that capacity. I can't ask
everyone to work without time off. They work more hours
and days now than they ever did on Earth."

"Reallocate," Lishulir said, and began tapping numbers
into the cal-chron on one wrist. The Sebigeth Textile Mill's
personnel director jotted the resulting figures down on a
notepad and pushed it up the line of desks to Devane.

Devane read the calculation with a frown. "No," he said

14)

142 DEADLY S1LENTS

emphatically. "This strips the other watches down to just
the permanent patrol in each cluster. It doesn't leave us
with any floating patrols to cover hot spots."

Temporary," Lisbulir pointed out.

"Recorders," Anaya, their lawyer member, said.

Gemun came back, "Expensive."

"Not preventative," Ibal said.

Devane strained to follow the meaning of the exchange.
"Are you talking about recorders in the cars?"

Ibal said, "Rejected."

The recorders would have been better than nothing,
though as Ibal pointed out, their only value came after
something had already happened to the officer in the car.
They hardly constituted a deterrent.

"Reallocation," Lishulir repeated.

Devane shook his head, still disagreeing- "We're finally
starting to have an effect. The clearance rate is slowly in-
creasing and the incident rate decreasing. The floating pa-
trols and impromptus are important factors in that de-
crease by keeping perpetrators uncertain when a cop will
appear in a particular area. Don't destroy the little prog-
ress we've made."

Gemun murmured, "Insignificant."

Seche looked up from doodling textile designs on a note-
pad and said in careful Translan, "I read historic police
had . . .'* Seche searched for the term and came up with
two English words. "Ride-alongs."

Devane regarded the textile designer with delight. Seche,
whose Terraphilia had led to learning Translan and pro-
ducing the name cops for D'shenegar's police offfcers, kept
surprising him. He could not recall ever having heard of
such a thing. "Who rode along?"

Seche went back to Isegis. "Citizens. Cadets. Reserves."

Civilians? What a good opportunity to improve public
relations that must have been. A pity it had been aban-
doned, though Devane could understand why. Few officers
these days would agree to civilians in the car except as
prisoners or emergency passengers. Even if they could be
reassured that the citizen did not intend to back-shoot
them. they would rebel at accepting the added anxiety of
maintaining a passenger's safety while answering calls.

But the idea of cadets and reserves, now . . . that of-
fered possibilities. Perhaps he could initiate a prerecruit-
ment program, offering rides to citizens who might con-

DEADLY SllENTS T43

sider applying for appointment to the department later.
That would not only give the Evening Watch officers some
friendly, interested company, but would present the oppor-
tunity to leam advantages and possible problems presented
by Egarad officers, suggesting how the future police train-
ing must be tailored for them.

Which brought up the question of what kind of training
to give the ride-alongs. He did not want to add to his offi-
cers' worries. He would have preferred an abbreviated po-
lice course, but at this point, they had no time for that. In
order to put another body in each car as soon as possible,
they might have to settle for a Quickteach orientation ses-
sion that outlined police duties and methods and included
emphatic orders to obey the officers they rode with.

"I'll agree to ride-alongs," Devane said.

"Yes," Anaya said.

The vote went around the desks, spoken aloud princi-
pally for his benefit, Devane knew, and to his astonish-
ment, for the first time since he had known them, the board
voted unanimously. But why not? Even Gemun and lishu-
lir could have few objections to a program that avoided
bringing more Terrans to Egar and cost the citizenry very
little but their time.

Once the ride-along proposal had passed, the remainder
of the meeting consisted of planning publicity and imple-
mentation.

For the second day in a row, Martine Her-Many-Horses*
murder dominated debriefing. As Robbie's relief and not
their regular watch supervisor. Lieutenant Jaia Dryden
made no attempt to restrain them, just sat back with Cath-
cart and Vasja Hershey, a relief sergeant, and let them
talk.

"I thought we left neck wires and other lion traps behind
on Earth," Finn Hildebrand said.

"It looks like they followed us."

Ten could not see who spoke, but he joined the shudder
that swept across the room like a wave. The thin, nearly-
invisible monofilament wires had menaced law officers for
five hundred years. They could be strung anywhere and if
hit, cut through skin and muscle to bone in a fraction of a
second. Defenses had been developed, the most satisfactory
so far being a shield with a serpentine strand of monofila-
ment embedded in a clear plastic matrix. A paragee field

144 DEADLY S1LENTS

helped, too. Set at full strength, it resisted wire with detect-
able pressure. However, there were always a few cases ev-
ery year where officers were caught without a shield,
through carelessness, haste, or failure to expect trouble,
and were traveling too fast to stop when the telltale re-
bound warned them of the paragee field meeting wire-
Ten would never forget the weed-tangled lot where he
and another rookie had cornered a man suspected of beat-
ing two prostitutes to death. Crossing the lot. Ten turned
his anide in a hole and fell. That accident probably saved
his life, because several strides later, crossing between two
trees, the other rookie hit a waist-high wire. It sliced to his
backbone and then, horribly, as he started to fall, caught
up under his ribs. He hung there suspended, screaming,
flailing like a spastic marionette . . . spilling entrails and
what seemed to Ten like gallons of blood out onto the
ground. The rookie had not lived long, not more than a
minute, probably, until the aorta pumped itself dry, but
Ten remembered it as hours, and hours more that he had
lain on the ground retching until he found control enough
to activate his radio and call for help.

And now that kind of horror had come to Egar, too,
where they had no antiwire shields yet? How soon could
the department purchase some? he wondered.

"Well, that must mean our killer can't be Egarad,"
someone said. "How would they know about monofila-
mentr*

"Any Silent who's been to Earth could have heard about
it."

"Or any Normal could read about it in our own minds,"
Pol said, with no trace of a drawl.

Ten watched the Texan on the far side of the room un-
happily. He had been trying for two days to speak to him,
either at briefing or debriefing, but since the fight in the
locker room, Pol had avoided him, only glaring at Bara
and him from a distance.

Mab Heier said, "Maybe, but what does that have to do
with using a monofilament on Many-Horses? No Normal
killed her."

"How can we be sure?" Pol asked.

Several people came back at once. "Other Normals
would know. The witnesses around when she died didn't
read any Normal minds with knowledge of what would
happen to her."

DEADLY S1LENTS 145

"We have only their word for that."

Neval Roche stared at Pol. "Normals don't lie."

Pol looked back steadily. "How do we know? We can't
read their minds to tell, though they can read anything
they want in ours. They could all be in a conspiracy against
us."

That had to be Pol's problem. Ten decided. He caught
Bara's eye. Pol could not accept the telepathy. It was why
he refused to enter Bara's house, and why be had gone
impotent after hearing about the deep-reading talent of me-
diators.

"I don't think we can trust anything the furries tell us,'*
Pol went on.

Lieutenant Dryden reacted to that. "Wassom, the direc-
tor has forbidden the use of that term! And I think you're
being rather free with unfounded accusations."

Pol's mouth set in a thin line. "I don't think it's un-
founded. There were dozens of Normals around when
Many-Horses went up the passage and hit the wire, yet
all of them swear they read no other minds and didn't see
whomever it was she chased. How is that possible? One of
them must have seen something. If they all claim they
didn't, they're lying."

Normals lie? Normals in a giant organized plot against
Terran police? Ridiculous, Ten thought. Pol had gone rav-
ing paranoid. And yet . . . what did they have besides the
word of the Iregara what Iregara were like? How many
human telepaths existed to verify the truth? And even if
what the Iregara claimed was generally true, did that rule
out the possibility that the people of D'shenegar had gone
anti-Terran/antipolice enough to slag cops?

Ten shook himself. What was he doing? He sounded as
brainbowed as Pol. Looking around, though, he saw his
new doubts reflected in sixty-eight other faces, including
those of the lieutenant and sergeants. Only Bara's carried a
refusal to believe such a thing.

"You're wickers, Pol," she snapped. "There's no conspir-
acy. There's only some vicious Silent."

"You'll probably be the next victim," Pol said, "and
you'll deserve it."

If they had occupied the same room. Ten would have
bounced Pol off the nearest wall. No matter how troubled
in mind, Pol had no right to talk like that. Bara went
white, and around the room uniformed bodies stiffened and

146 DEADLY SILENTS

eyes flashed in anger, informing Ten that others shared his
opinion. A few started to express themselves vocally.

Dryden stopped being passive. "All right, everyone back
off. Calm down. Wassom, expressing feelings doesn't in-
clude the right to gut-kick."

"I'm just trying to warn you. You all wait. The minute
this ride-along program starts, the rest of the Evening
Watch will be dead, too. They're all after us, prying into
our heads to find weapons to use against us. You wouldn't
find me taking one of them as a passenger, even if I
worked Evening Watch."

The sergeants exchanged quick glances. Lieutenant Dry-
den looked at Pol for a moment, then said quietly, "Per-
haps we can arrange that you never have to worry about
that, Officer Wassom."

"He isn't responsible for what he's saying. Ten," Bara
said. "He isn't rational any longer."

Ten ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe."

They walked together in the woods outside Meem Shen,
through the deepening shadows under the trees. This eve-
ning, with Pol's words echoing and reechoing in his head,
Ten wanted to stay away from Iregara. He did not want
them knowing anything he thought or felt If Pol was right,
then he would be in danger because the plot had been dis-
covered. If Pol was wrong . . . how could normal rela-
tions ever exist again between the police and the citizens of
D'shenegar? Trust would have been destroyed. He had
asked Bara to join him and headed here as soon as debrief-
ing ended, hoping no one in the shopping mall was read-
ing him.

He watched a thilis dart from branch to branch over-
head, a red flutter of wings and a bright, trilling song. "As
Pol says, how do we know?"

"/ know."

He looked sideways at her. "How? Telepathy? Intuition?
Wishful thinking?"

"You can't actually believe that three hundred thousand
people are all plotting to kill us, or hiding someone who is!
That's brainbowed! If they want to be rid of us, all they
have to do is kick us off the planet. If they want to kill
Terrans, they have plenty in the Enclave; they don't need
to import any more." Her voice lowered as it increased in
intensity. "If you're hostile or suspicious, everyone will

DEADLY SILENTS 147

know it. Don't let Pol's nightmares jeopardize your per-
formance and usefulness here."

"I know they'll know it," he snapped. 'That's why I'm
out here, away from them ... to try to work it out." He
sighed heavily, unhappily. "I know Pol's probably talking
out of the wild blue yonder. At least, part of me knows it,
but the rest . . . What he says resonates."

It rang in his very bones, echoing old fears learned on
Earth. It called up memories of that other rookie hanging
on the monofilament, and of Oakland division citizens set-
ting traps or waiting to attack officers coming to answer
simple domestic disturbance calls.

"I know," Bara said, "but you can't listen to it. Ten, we
have a chance to be something else here, not lions, not
feared and hated all the time. We can be friends with these
people."

He eyed her. She really believed that. He had thought
80, too, when he signed up for Egar. Now—now he no
longer knew. Somehow he doubted it. The gulf between the
races was too wide. "I think you're dreaming, Bara. Direc-
tor Brooks can call us Conservators of Peace or anything
else he wants, but we still represent the *thou shall not'
voice of society. Whatever we do infringes on someone's
freedom."

She came back, "Are you saying 'thou shaft not* when
you try to convince a shopkeeper to sue for restitution in-
stead of having the vandal locked up? Aren't you saying,
There's a better way'? By stopping to deal with a victim
instead of instantly racing off after a perpetrator, aren't we
saying, *Let us help'?"

He smiled down at her. "What ever made you go into
police work?"

"My father was a leo. He died saving three kids from a
sniper when I was four years old ... a hero's death. I
grew up wanting to be just like him."

"I assume you were less outspoken in St. Paul?'*

She laughed wryly. "Not outspoken at all. My mother
was; she'd say exactly what she thought, everyone else be
damned, even high holies, but I never had the nerve to do
that ... not until I came here. And now that I feel like
I'm breathing free for the first time in my life"—she
looked fiercely up at him—"I'm not going to let Pol turn
the rest of you into raving paranoias and spoil it all for
me."

148 DEADLY SILENTS

Ten might have laughed if the knots in his chest and gut
had been looser. "I wish there were some way to know for
certain the Iregara are what they say."

"There are a few human telepaths. They've never re-
ported inconsistencies, have they?"

"No . . ." He stood thinking for a minute, then turned
and broke into a jog.

Bara fell into stride beside him. "Where are we going?"

"To talk -to Brithe. I hope she's home."

She was. From the doorway she eyed the two of them
without expression. "I didn't expect you tonight . . .
certainly not with anyone else."

"I have a question and you're the only person I know
who might be able to answer it," Ten said.

She considered for a moment, then backed out of the
doorway to let them in. "What question?"

He told her about Pol's accusation. "Can he be right?"

She curled in a chair, one finger tracing the carving on a
heavy wooden arm. "How can I know? I don't read minds
either, remember."

"But they're your people. Have you ever seen any be-
havior that differed from something they told you, behav-
ior that might suggest they lied?"

She absently brushed one hand down the fur of the other
forearm, making iridescent rainbows. "No," she replied
slowly. "I don't think so. In my experience, the words of
Normals have always been matched by their actions.

"I don't think there can possibly be a conspiracy against
you, and I'm sure no one would protect a person who had
become—what's your word?—masochistic, someone who
would kill for the pleasure of feeling the dying one's pain.
Those deviants are always confined in care facilities as
soon as they're identified."

The knots inside Ten loosened. Leather creaked as he
relaxed in his chair. "You can't know how relieved I am to

hear that.'*

Brithe's fur rippled, sending more rainbows at them.
"There's only one instance I know when a Normal can lie
and not be detected."

Tension tightened Ten again. "What instance?"

"If the Normal is a haban."

"A what?" Bara asked.

"Haban. It's a—" Brithe sighed, hunting for words. "It's
a psychotic condition. People build model realities in their

DEADLY SILENTS 149

beads. Sane people have model realities that almost match
outside reality, but psychotics' models match little or noth-
ing at all. I'm told that Normals identify deviant minds by
that difference. Am I comprehensible?"

Ten nodded.

She went on, "There are Normals who can impose bits
of their reality on someone else. A healer does it. She
builds an image of health in her own mind and convinces
the patient that it is also her reality, and so the patient
becomes cured. Now if a mind with that kind of power
becomes psychotic, no one can detect the disparity between
internal and external realities because anyone reading the
haban mind has that reality imposed on her, too."

Ten stared at her. "Then one of them could kill and
pretend the victim felt no alarm or didn't notice the
killer?"

"Not pretend . . . believe. The baban has to believe
her actions are something else. Even insane Iregara can't
fabricate a lie."

"Could the haban imagine he couldn't be read and con-
vince witnesses of that?" Bara asked.

Brithe considered. "I don't know. Perhaps."

Ten and Bara looked at each other. Ten felt his grimace
echo hers. A Normal whose deviance could be just as im-
possible to detect as a Silent's. That fit. Such a Normal
could read whatever information he needed from their
heads, kill them, and believing he could not be read, im-
press his mental invisibility on any Egarad witnesses. And
that meant that instead of a few hundred possible suspects,
they had three hundred thousand.

"A haban," Ten sighed.

*'They*re named after one of our more infamous histori-
cal personalities, Haban the Butcher, who in the fifth cen-
tury led the people of Yadishin against the people of Efe-
gan. Haban so dominated the lyadishined minds that seven
hundred people died before someone in Efegan realized
where the distorted vision was coming from and killed Ha-
ban."

"And there's no way to detect one of them?'* Ten asked.

"A deep-reader usually can, but perhaps not always.
Fortunately, it's a rare condition."

But one could very well be out there in D'shenegar now,
and one was enough when the one hated police for being
invaders, for interfering with personal liberty, for being

150 DEADIY SILENTS

members of a race whose world Silenced so many of his
people . . . for whatever reason. "Why didn't anyone
mention ihaban before now?"

Brithe regarded him impassively. "Perhaps everyone has
been too busy blaming Silents to consider another possibil-
ity."

That stung, but Ten recognized the point as one well
taken. He flushed guiltily. "Well, now that they have been
mentioned, I think I ought to inform someone in Investiga-
tions. May I use your phone?"

Chapter Sixteen

^HAT ABOUT these ihaban, doc? Are they real?" Devane
asked.

Andea Deathrage looked up from her desk to Devane
standing in the doorway. She pushed a straying lock of
gray hair off her forehead. " they're very real. I've checked
with several healers and they confirm Brithe's informa-
tion."

"So we might have one running loose around here?"

"Estimations—why don't you come in and sit down, di-
rector?—estimations I've obtained put the possibility rather
higher, to as many, perhaps, as fifty. That's fifty by our
counting."

"Fiftyl" Devane came in and sat down.

Deathrage shrugged. "Actually, it's a very small percent-
age of the population when you consider that the healing
talent occurs in about one individual in seventy-five. That
fifty also includes several who are confined to care
facilities and those whose psychoses aren't severe enough to
warrant confinement. So if we want to talk about just the
undetected, severely psychotic individuals who might be
capable of these killings—"

"Yes," Devane said pleasantly, "let's talk about them.'*

A corner of Deathrage's mouth twitched in amusement.
"Then we're talking about no more than five, according to
the Iregara I've consulted, which is considerably fewer la-
tently homicidal individuals than you'd find in a compara-
ble Terran city."

"That's five too many." Devane ran a hand over the
kinky cap of his hair and sighed, "For my people's peace
of mind a psychotic telepath isn't much better than a con-
spiring populace. Both can read our weaknesses and strike

151

152 DEADLY SILENTS

where we're most vulnerable. I don't need to fell you
what's happening to morale, especially on Evening Watch."

"No." Deathrage pushed at the straying lock again.
"Some of the psychological profiles are slipping badly. You
have a few officers close to tipping off."

Devane sucked in his breath. "How close? Can we help
them before we lose them?"

"Oh, yes. They're still functional. I think switching them
to a different watch, preferably Day, would help pro-
foundly."

"Put someone else on Evening? Wonderful. Then I'll
have a new set of officers going over the brainbow."

The psyman did not bother responding to that, only
raised a brow- Devane pushed abruptly up out of his chair
and began pacing. The change was inevitable, of course.
The question was only when . . . now, while the officers
were still useful, whole personalities, or after they became
jacket cases.

Still pacing, he ,asked, "Do you have any suggestions
how to choose who takes their places?"

She pushed a paper across the desk toward him. "I've
made a list. The first column is the officers who must, in
my opinion, be taken off Evening Watch. The second col-
umn is officers who should not be put on Evenings. Be-
yond that, the choice is yours. Take Dal Kiefer, for exam-
ple. Both Consigli and Kampacalas on the other watches in
his patrol are psychologically healthy individuals with good
anxiety tolerance. Switching with Kiefer, their stability will
hold them until the ride-alongs begin, after which they
should feel less vulnerable."

Maybe, Devane thought. What they really needed to
cure the problem, of course, was to catch this bastard
killer. Everything else fell into the class of panaceas and
stop-gap measures, a treating of mere symptoms.

"Speaking of officers tipping off, have you finished your
evaluation of Pol Wassom?" he asked.

Deathrage sighed. "Yes. We might as well ship him back
to Earth. He isn't the only officer seriously disturbed by
the lack of mental privacy, god knows. There are about
twenty-five or thirty, but in most cases I'm having good
luck using hypnotherapy to convince them how desirable it
is to have people around who understand exactly how one
feels, that in understanding, they accept the dark comers
we're afraid to show our fellow humans. In fact"—

DEADLY SILENTS 153

unexpectedly, she grinned, bringing a youthful shine to her
face and eyes—*T almost have myself convinced of the joys
of baring my soul."

Devane pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Could you work
with my wife, too?"

"I'll be happy to. Have her set up an appointment with
me." Deathrage frowned. "Returning to Wassom . . .
unfortunately, during that ridiculous Regionalization
craze, the Texans adopted an image of their concept of the
old cowboy, which calls for a man to be strongly self-
sufficient, admitting no weakness or pain. Wassom is
caught in that image. Put that together with the fact that
he lies near the bottom end of the hypnosis-susceptible
curve and what I end up with is someone almost impossi-
ble to reach in any practical length of time. He can proba-
bly still function as a police officer on Earth, but he's use-
less here."

Devane stopped pacing at the window. It looked out into
the exercise court, where three officers jogged around the
track and four more played chanach. He watched them
broodingly. "They're dying here, aren't they . . . one way
or another? The board may not have to shut down the
department; it'll die of attrition." The thought dropped the
bottom out of his stomach.

Deathrage said, "Some are being injured- On the other
hand, we have many individuals adjusting well to the cul-
ture and a number who embrace it with enthusiasm." She
paused. "We talked about this in the beginning, remember?
We knew there would be casualties."

"That doesn't make me any happier to see fine young
officers destroyed." And depression threatened at even the
thought of losing his department. He spun away from the
window. "Let's see the list."

He took the list to Captain Titus and caught the Uni-
formed division chief just leaving. He glanced at his wrist
chron in surprise. "Is it that late already?"

"Later," Titus said. "I'm already overtime." But he
opened the door of his office again. "Come on in."

Titus was no more pleased than Devane had been to
learn about the watch switches, but he accepted the neces-
sity. Together, the two of them went down the list and
made the changes, trading assignments with Day officers in
most cases and, in one, with a Morning officer. Then while
Titus took the list down to Lieutenant Robbie to break the

154 DEADLY S1LENTS

news to his officers, still in debriefing, Devane saw Lieu-
tenant La Flore and made sure Lieutenant Scott would be
notified when he came on at midnight. He came back to
his office to find Meda pacing impatiently around Liril's
empty desk.

"I've done everything possible I can in the lab. Aren't
we ever going home? You work later every night."

Would it help to point out the worsening situation? He
decided, somewhat wearily, that it would not. "I know. I'm
sorry."

"If you're going to be much longer, I can go on home
without you."

"Please wait. I'm almost through. There's only a few
more things to take care of. Don't worry; Runah is always
willing to look after Gerel."

She followed him into his office. *Too willing. He
spends more time with Iregara than he does with us. Have
you actually stopped and listened to him talk recently?
He's starting to sound just like them."

Devane knew better than to admit he had not noticed. "I
don't think it's anything to be alarmed about"

"Nothing to be alarmed about! That he won't be able to
communicate with other human beings?" Meda whirled
and started for the door. "Stay as long as you like- I'm
going home, and when it comes time for me to leave for
the Enclave, if you're not there, I'll take Gerel with me."

Devane looked up in alarm, "I'm through now." He
shoved a stack of hard copy into his briefcase and hur-
riedly followed her.

They walked to the skyrail station and waited for the
train in silence. Devane used the opportunity to pull some
work out of the briefcase and go over the printouts. A few
items made him wince. The Quickteach session for the ride-
alongs would cost more than he had anticipated; the board
was going to complain about that unless the program pro-
duced good results . . . Did the cars require that much
maintenance in an average ten-day period? And he won-
dered if a way could be found to trim cost on the Deviant
Information Exchange System that Brithe in Data was set-
ting up to facilitate data exchange between cities with police
programs. On the train, he kept working.

"We impose on Runah too much," Meda said. She
spoke normally, the impatience and edge gone from her
voice.

DEADLY S1LENTS T55

Devane stopped working to listen.

"We can't expect a neighbor to go on indefinitely being
a private child care service as a favor to us."

That touched a guilty nerve in him. He sighed. "Maybe
you're right."

He thought about that the rest of the way home, and
when they stopped at Runah's house to pick up Gerel, he
apologized for the inconvenience of their lateness. "1*11 try
not to let it happen again, or else we'll work out some way
to compensate you."

Runah looked impassively at him. "Not inconvenient.
No imposition."

"It certainly is," Meda said, "though it's good of you to
think not. Gerel, put down that creature and get your
jacket."

Gerel stood holding a tiny ball of black fuzz. "Mine," he
said.

"Later," Runah said. "Weaned."

Meda glanced sharply at Devane. Hear him? her look
said. "Gerel, iluras are for Iregara, not people. I'm afraid
we can't accept the cub, Runah."

Gerel's eyes filled with tears. As he returned the cub to
the box where Runah's luras tended the litter, he looked up
at the Egarad teacher. "Parent, please."

Meda stiffened. "Runah isn't your parent, Gerel."

"Parent," Runah said. The teacher pointed to Meda.
"First-parent," then waved toward the walls. "Neighbors
parents."

Devane remembered when Runah and Gerel had used
the term the night Ashe died. So that was what they had
meant, and why Runah kept Gerel so willingly. Meda
might be the first parent, the progenitor, but all the neigh-
bors also considered themselves parents, responsible for
caring, too.

Meda paled. She pushed Gerel into his jacket and to-
ward the door. "Goodnight, Runah."

Runah looked after her. "Feels."

Devane sighed. "I know. I'm sorry if we disturb you."

The teacher looked back to him and touched his arm.
"Yes."

He slowly followed his wife and son. In the house, he
found Meda alone in the kitchen area, pacing.

"I've sent Gerel to his room. We have to talk. Dee. I
won't have one of those luras creatures in this house."

156 DEADLY SILENTS

"Meda," he began, "they're harmless—" •

"I won't have Gerel going native. And 1 won't have
aliens claiming my son!"

He sighed. "There are any number of cultures on Earth
where group parenting—"

"But these are aliens'" she snapped at him, never stop-
ping her quick, nervous pacing. "You'd give your child to
them, wouldn't you? You would. You'd let aliens raise
your son. You don't care."

He frowned. "Certainly I care; I'm just not bothered by
the fact that they're different from us. What matters is how
concerned they are about Gerel's welfare, and they're con-
cerned. If you could look at them objectively for a mo-
ment, you'd see that." He took a deep breath. This seemed
like as good a time as any to broach the subject of visiting
Deathrage. "Meda, Andea Deathrage has been working
with officers who feel about the Iregara's telepathy as you
do and she's having good success helping them—"

"Brainbending them, you mean?" she interrupted in a
tight voice. "And you want me to let her stir around in my
head, rearranging my personality? No." She shook her
head. "I'm not interested."

For an intelligent woman, Meda could certainly be stub-
born, Devane reflected. He put on an easy smile and shook
his head, "She doesn't want to change your personality.
She'd only be helping you see other aspects of telepathy,
comforting aspects, so you won't be afraid of it any
longer."

Meda backed away from him. "She'd turn me into. some-
one who doesn't care if she's doing something in public
or at home in privacy. You know how exhibitionists em-
barrass me; I couldn't bear to be one of theml"

"Meda, that's ridiculous," he said mildly. "She'd do
nothing of the kind. Look, you don't have to agree to any
therapy sessions. All I ask is that you go talk to her. Talk
to her just once and if you don't like what she has to offer,
I'll never mention the subject again. For your sake, and
mine and Gerel's, go the one time, though."

Meda bit her lip.

"Please."

She frowned uncertainly. "Just once, and I never have to
go back?"

"That's right."

DEADLY SILENTS 157

She took a breath and let it out slowly. "All right. Make
an appointment for me."

Grinning, he grabbed her and hugged her. "Right. I'm
sure you'll be glad afterward. All you really need is to give
yourself a chance to know the Iregara and—"

She pulled away from him. "Like you do, you mean?
You don't know them a bit better than I do! You just ac-
cept them blindly, without understanding a thing, not how
or why they do the things they do, nor whether any of it is
good or bad. Of course they aren't aliens to you. Terrans
aren't human, either. Everyone outside the police is Just a
victim, perpetrator, suspect, or witness. You don't care
how these people feel about Gerel, not really; you love
them because they gave you that damn job. The depart-
ment is all that matters to you. If they all turned into giant
spiders tomorrow, you'd go on working for them without
thinking twice. I think you'd live in Hell and work for Sa-
tan himself, Devane Olin Brooks, if he'd give you a police
department to play withi"

She raced up the stairs and the slam of the bedroom
door shivered every window in the house.

Devane sat down on the steps into the sitting area. He
rubbed wearily at bis temples. She made defending himself
very difficult when she threw accusations that came so
close to the truth. He probably would work for the Devil,
giant spiders, or anyone else who wanted him to set up and
run a department.

"Daddy?" said a small voice behind him.

He looked around to see Gerel creeping down the stairs.
He smiled. Gerel ran to him and threw himself into De-
vane's lap. "Mommy's afraid. Why?"

Devane hugged the boy. The perceptiveness of children
sometimes awed him. To most people, Meda would have
sounded merely angry. How could Gerel recognize that the
emotion covered fear? And how could Devane explain the
why of that fear to the boy?

"On Earth people are alone in their heads. You remem-
ber that, don't you? It wasn't that long ago we left there."

"Remember," Gerel agreed.

"They get used to being alone, to thinking thoughts and
having feelings they're afraid other people may not approve
of. It's like . . . using the san. You wouldn't like having
to use one that sat open in the middle of the shen."

158 DEADLY SILENTS

Gerel sat quiet for a minute. "Could," he said at last.

Devane smiled. "Well, your mother couldn't I don't
think I'd like it, either. She's also afraid of losing you. You
don't act like the little boy who came to Egar with us." He
paused and held the boy off so he could look him in the
eyes. "Gerel, I know you don't need to use whole sentences
with your teachers or schoolmates, but other Terrans aren't
telepathic. Neither your mother nor I can understand what
you mean when you say j'ust one word. When you're with
Terrans, you have to talk like Terrans do. You have to use
sentences, even though it's slower than just thinking. Prom-
ise me you'll do that. If you do, your mother might not get
so upset. And maybe, if she stops being upset, one day we
can talk about getting a luras,"

Gerel brightened, "Tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow. Not until I say so. Now, promise me
you'll talk like a Terran around other Terrans, and espe-
cially around your mother."

"Promise," Gerel said. He looked up the stairs.
"Crying."

"What's that?"

Gere! smiled sheepishly. "Mommy is crying.'*

The boy's ears were certainly sharp. Devane could hear
nothing. He set the boy down, stood, and took Gerel's
hand. "She needs some comforting. Let's go up and talk to
her. You talk to her, too. It'll make her feel better." He
could cross his fingers and hope, anyway.

Gerel looked up at him and smiled. "I hope, too."

Devane smiled back. "Good boy."

Chapter Seventeen

How QUICKLY the old habits came back . . . walking cat-
light, nerves stretched to their taut, humming maximum,
ears alert for even a whisper of sound out of the ordinary.
Ten unhooked the door of a closed shop and stepped in-
side. He glanced around. Even in here the light augmenta-
tion of his night goggles worked well enough to turn the
darkened interior into a gray twilight. Finding nothing sus-
picious, he backed out and rehooked the door.

How quickly he had lost the tolerance for working under
such tension, however. On his third night of Evening
Watch, he felt more exhausted than he had after a full
week in the Oakland division of Topeka. There, at least, he
had had respites, and Avel to guard his back. He had
known which shadows most likely contained danger. Here
. . . death might come from anywhere. Thank god the
ride-alongs began in two days. He would welcome the
company. Now if the police board would just authorize
purchase of antiwire shields instead of insisting that monofil-
ament was only a temporary problem here, not worth an
expenditure for shields, he might be able to start breathing
easily again.

Ten moved carefully down an arcade between mall sec-
tions. He kept his baton ahead of him, swinging from
ground to helmet level and back down with a rhythm regu-
lar as a metronome, alert for any vibrations along it, for
any resistance that might mean a monofilament wire.

The patrol looked different at night, unfamiliar, filled
with strange faces and new fur patterns. D'shenegar ran
around the clock, but not with the activity of the daylight
hours. Where he had grown used to activity, shops sat dark
and silent, and where he would have preferred to find peo-
ple, even unfamiliar ones, the mails lay empty. None of

159

160 DEADLY SILENTS

them, however, neither shopping mall nor business and in-
dustrial malls, emptied completely, and with relief he
checked the last closed shop and moved into the still-active
section of the shopping mall. He pushed up his faceshield
long enough to remove his night goggles.

Even there, though, he felt like something of a stranger.
Eventually he would know these people, but for the pres-
ent, he felt as he had his first days on patrol, having to
introduce himself everywhere, explaining who he was to
faces with no recognition in them.

Most of the shops had fewer customers so late at night,
but one business increased . . . gambling. Mornings he
had found the chance house a quiet place of desultory ac-
tivity. Patronage picked up after midday, but by dark the
chance house had so filled that the gamblers even took
their games to tables outside. Filled by Egarad standards,
that is, but certainly nothing like the deafening cacophony
and buttocks-to-buttocks crowd of the smoke-filled, sweat-
reeking gambling hides he had helped Vice officers wrap in
Topeka.

Some of the games he knew, Terran roulette and dice or
Egarad versions of them. Others, however, he still did not
understand: a pile of flat, colored oval disks to be moved
with the aid of only another disk, small stars tossed in a
wire basket; a ring dropped down a clear plastic chimney
filled with movable pins protruding horizontally into it.

Ten spoke to a few people there. He lifted his chin in
greeting to one patron he recognized from his shen. Then
he moved on, watching every shadow.                '

He still felt dazed from the shock of the transfer. It had
caught him unprepared even though everyone on the Day
Watch had known something unpleasant must be coming
when Titus called Robbie out of debriefing. Speculation
had swept the room.

"Someone else killed, do you suppose?" Josh Bridewell
asked.

That typified the consensus and they fell silent, waiting
to learn the name of the latest victim.

Robbie's face told them nothing when he came back in.
Impassive as an Egara, the lieutenant swung onto a desk
and pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged. "There's good
news and bad," he said.

The room went so still they might all have turned to
stone. Ten's chest tightened.

DEADLY SILENTS 161

"The good news is, no, there isn't another dead cop. The
bad news—" Robbie paused to take a deep breath. "The
bad news is that the psyman wants six officers taken off
Evening before they become jacket cases."

Ten stopped breathing altogether. Who would take their
places?

"These five officers will report for Evening Watch to-
morrow," Robbie went on. "Amaro, Flood, Jemigan,
Kampacalas, and Reiss."

Kampacalas! The icy fire of fear flooded out through
Ten, into his toes and fingers, then rushed back to solidify
in his stomach as a petrified lump just under his heart.

Robbie sent a sympathetic glance at each of the five. "If
you want to swear, go ahead. This is the place for it."

Ten had wondered if he looked as pale as Calvin Reiss.
Reiss asked bitterly, "Who will our glorious leader put on
the watch after we go over the brainbow?"

*'0r get slagged," Lara Flood added.

Brandon Amaro regarded Robbie thoughtfully. "What
happens if I won't do it? What if I just refuse to report for
briefing?"

Sergeant Lessman shifted position restlessly. Robbie
nodded at her. "Go ahead. Mete."

Rather than answer Amaro's question, though, Lessman
asked two of her own. "You mean you'd refuse to do your
job? You'd let a brother tip off, or leave part of this city
unprotected, out of fear for your own skin?"

A flush darkened Amaro's face. "No ... of course I
wouldn't."

He might want to, they might all want to. Ten thought,
but they would not. No matter how frightened, they would
still report for briefing.

After the watch. Ten spent the evening with Bara, con-
scious that it might be the last time they would see each
other for some time, and in the morning, he took his uni-
forms in to the station to have the paragee fields checked
for operating condition. The technician pronounced their
operation perfect. Even so. Ten reported for briefing that
afternoon with his stomach knotted tightly and a cold
prickle of sweat under his arms.

The first person he saw after switching on the holocom
was Jael. She regarded him in silence for a moment, then
smiled wryly. "Hi, Ten. I never thought I'd be sorry to see
a friend join my watch."

T62 DEADLY SILENTS

He wished he could touch her. The solid warmth of an-
other being would have felt comforting, even if the touch
were no more than a playful punch or a pat on the shoul-
der. Instead, he stood alone, surrounded by only ghosts,
shadows wearing the faces and uniforms of colleagues.

He pushed back the depression that thought threatened
to bring by matching his tone to hers. "Well, I'm not over-
joyed about coming in, either; it shoots the hell out of my
social relationships."

"Oh, I think you'll find friends on this watch easily
enough," a voice said.

Ten looked around for the speaker, and found her di-
rectly behind him, tall and fair-haired, her eyes almost on a
level with his.

"Purely on the basis of appearance, you're an improve-
ment over Kiefer," the woman said. "I think we've passed
each other at the station. I'm Mine Howe." Her frankly
evaluating gaze made Ten feel like an entry in a livestock
show. "A pity our patrols are so far apart. Welcome to the
Death Watch."

Only then did Ten notice the tightness in her voice and
body that betrayed the fear beneath her facade of preda-
tory sensuality. He almost smelled the sharp, acid reek of
it. It made him think of Bara's belief that here on Egar,
masks became unnecessary. Might it be a relief for Mirre
Howe and all the others here, himself included, to discard
bravado and pretense, to wear their fear openly? Or would
it destroy them? Would admitting fear be giving in to it,
and make it impossible to leave the safety of their store-
fronts for whatever awaited them outside?

He was still turning the question over in his mind when
Lieutenant La Flore came in with Sergeants Brynche and
Gerhardt. La Flore checked the holocom network indica-
tors on the lectern, then glanced around the room. "I want
to welcome our new members of the watch: Brandon
Amaro, Lara Flood, Hal Jemigan, Steven Kampacalas,
Kyle Roman, and Calvin Reiss. I'm sure none of you are
pleased by this transfer, but I hope you'll continue to per-
form as well here as your records indicate you have on
your previous watch. I won't minimize the danger we're
facing, but I don't think it warrants the panic I see in some
of you, either. Despite everything, you're still safer than
you were on Earth. We've got just one nago after us. Keep
sharp, keep in communication, and you'll probably be all

DEADLY S1LENTS 163

right. On the other hand," he went on, raising his voice,
"don't take the matter as casually as Officer Casebier.
Wake up, Casebieri I think you ought to hear the incident
list along with the rest of us."

La Flore had a point. Ten realized, but even one killer
became a serious matter when that one had managed to
kill three survival-trained members of such a small depart-
ment in fourteen days and to leave no real lead to his
identity.

Ten pulled his mind back to the present as he finished
his walk through the shopping mall and swung into his car
to lift for Glade Shen. The patrol looked new from the air,
too. Instead of the bright, hard glitter of a Terran city, or
the familiar daytime mixture of woods and meadows, black
velvet spread beneath the bright crescents of the moons,
scattered with subdued patches of light. He had seen pic-
tures of Earth's nightside from orbit and the Moon, aglow
with the light of its megapolises- What would Egar look
like? The lights might be hard to see from very far up; they
might appear as no more than misty patches, like ghost
fire.

A chime rang twice in his ear.

Ten came alert The computer's signal. He waited for
the instructions sure to follow.

"North Twenty-five, impromptu, Tharshan retreat, Sh-
6," came the precise voice of the computer. A light flashed
on the city grid on his control panel.

Tharshan retreat ... a place of dark isolation. Ten's
mouth went dry. He tapped his ear. "North Twenty-five,
Communications. Confirm impromptu for Tharshan re-
treat, Sh-6."

"Impromptu confirmed," the dispatcher replied.
His hands tightened on the Chehasha's controls. "En
route to impromptu now."

He landed the car in a meadow as close to the retreat as
possible and climbed out cautiously. With sleeper drawn
and ready in his right hand and night goggles on, he
moved from the moonlit meadow into the darkness of the
woods. He had walked lightly through the mail, but he
tried to move like a phantom now, testing each step before
moving forward. The thick, soft soles of his boots made no
sound on the hard ground of the path.

His nerves sang. Through the thunder of blood in his
ears, he stretched his hearing across infinity—collecting,

164 DEADLY SILENTS

sorting, identifying every sound he heard: wings of a bird
in flight; the snuffling of an animal, probably an adu; the
distant wail of a balach; the high wingsongs of moonflies;

the rasping buzz of another insect in the leaves near his
feet. He heard the squeak of a rodentlike ibus and the hys-
terical giggle of a gelis ... all woodland sounds, all nor-
mal. From the meadow came the grunt of a grazing animal
and the dry swish of grass bending to its passing. Some-
where west, a skyrail train whined past.

He had used this path often on the way to Brithe's
house, but the shadows had never seemed this dark or
threatening before, even when brightened to gray twilight
by the wide-angle lenses of his night goggles. He turned his
head constantly, piercing each shadow in turn. In particu-
lar, he peered ahead, watching every centimeter of the path
and air before him, alert for any reflecting gleam in the air.
He used the sleeper as he had the baton earlier, sweeping
the barrel in a ceaseless check for wires. He waited, too,
for any change in the feel of the paragee field around him.

He reached the retreat- Nothing so far. He stopped to
push up his faceshield and wipe away the sweat that trick-
led down his face and neck despite the chill of this last
night of summer. He took some deep breaths. Had he
breathed on the way up the path? He could not remember.

Before stepping into the retreat, he squinted at the tree
on either side of the entrance. And there, exactly at throat
height, light reflected back at him.

Monofilamenti

Now he did hold his breath. Moving to one side, he
stared at the entrance again from a different angle. This
time he saw the entire length of the turn, pale strand cross-
ing the space between the trees.

Ten reached up to touch the wire with tfae barrel of his
sleeper. No one wanting to keep fingers ever used a bare
hand on monofilament. He started to draw the sleeper
along the wire, to find its point of attachment to the tree,
when to his astonishment the strand fell loose, adhering to
the sleeper's barrel.

He stared for a moment, swearing in surprise, then
jammed the sleeper into his holster and dared to touch the
strand bare-handed. It glued to his fingers. A cobweb! Ten
slumped against the tree, laughing weakly with relief. He
had run into nothing more lethal than the first strand of a
web some fere was building to catch supper.

DEADLY SILENTS 165

Ten hurriedly checked the retreat, found nothing, and
after reporting to Communications, returned shaking to the
car. If he was like this after just three nights on Evening
Watch, he thought, he would be a jacket case by mid-
autumn.

Flying the car to Glade Shen, he walked through hoping
to god the ride-alongs helped relieve some of the tension. If
they did not» he had better find some way of coping or he
would end up being shipped back to Earth like Pol.
Though right now, that seemed almost an enviable fate.

Pol had left this afternoon. On the pretense of conduct-
ing interviews, Roban had checked out a car, then picked
up Ten and Jael, and the three of them took Pol and his
luggage to the shuttlebox in the travelport. Pol looked bet-
ter than he had for many days, relaxed and almost happy.

"It's back to Dallas and the wide open spaces for me,"
he said.

Ten tried to find something to say. "I'm sorry,"

"Sorry? Not me, podner." Pol punched Ten's shoulder
playfully. "Irirath just don't look nothin' like longhorns.
Besides, it isn't your fault I've got this high-level need for
privacy that makes me 'psychologically unsuitable for duty
among telepaths.' I'm only sorry I went after you about
cutting between Bara and me. I think I knew even then
you hadn't, but I was out of my head."

Ten shrugged off the apology. "I know. It's all right
You're looking forward to going home, then?"

He laughed, "I sure am. This place is going to make
good story material to impress the fillies."

Jael said, "Don't forget to telscribe those letters for me."

"Rest easy, little lady; I'll send them off, and Roban's
and Ten's. Hey, Ten, what's this sister Miral of yours
like?"

Ten smiled. "Eight years older than I am and not easily
impressed, but I'm her adored baby brother, so one way to
make stock with her might be to call and talk to her about
me.'*

Roban sighed. 'Too bad I don't have a sister near his
age, because I know my folks would like to hear first-hand
how I am."

"And my parents," Jael said.

Soon they had him promising to make half a dozen calls
in addition to telscribing the letters, and Ten was begin-
ning to feel homesick. Living there in Topeka near his fam-

166 DEADLY S1LENTS

ily, he had never gone this long before without seeing
them.

"Soon," the gate attendant told Pol.

Cargo handlers began loading the outgoing box with
crates of fabric and hand-crafted jewelry. Watching them,
the smile faded from Pol's face. He bit his lip.

"Sorry to be going, after all?" Jael asked softly.

He toyed with the call and telscribe list in his hand. "I
guess I am." The drawl had disappeared from his voice.
"Neither of my folks were ever shipped back from any of
the strange places the marines stationed them. I don't know
what their reaction is going to be to this. But, it isn't just
what my family might think. I wanted so much to have this
job, and to do it well." He looked around the broad ex-
panse of the travelport until he focused on Ten. "I envy
you, being able to tolerate Normals peeking into your
head."

"I'm not sure I tolerate them yet," Ten said, "I'm not at
all happy about my neighbors regarding me as a pet
freak."

He saw Jael give him a sharply puzzled glance, but be-
fore she could ask the question he saw forming in her eyes,
the gate attendant said, "Ready."

They looked at each other, trying to find quick last
things to say. Pol put out a hand to Jael and she reached
past it to hug him. "Good luck."

Life is full of comings and goings. Had some poet said
that? Ten wondered. He hated the goings, the feeling of
seeing someone he liked for the last time. In his turn, he
hugged Pol, too, a knot in his throat.

"Time," the attendant said.

Pol peeled loose. "Y'all take care, hear?" he said huskily.

He stepped into the shuttlebox and the vaultlike door
closed behind him.

Remembering the scene as he walked through Glade,
the lump came back into Ten's throat. He swallowed to rid
himself of it. He should not be thinking of that now. Offi-
cers died of such distractions.

Sunstone Shen came next on the patrol. Almost without
conscious volition Ten headed for Brithe's house.

"Good evening, citizen," he said when she answered the
door. "Have you seen any suspicious strangers tonight?"

She regarded him impassively for a moment, then
smiled. "Come in while I try to think."

DEADLY S1LENTS 167

He accepted the invitation gladly, even while saying, "I
can't stay long, just a minute or two, but as long as I was
in the neighborhood, I thought—" He broke off with a gri-
mace. "This new schedule is going to make our evenings
together few and far between."

"Yes."

"I thought I heard the Sweeny as I came up. Did I inter-
rupt your practice?"

"Yes. Do you want to listen for a while?"

He did. Following her up to her bedroom, be pulled off
his helmet and lay back on the bed. As he sank into the
pile of bedding, he felt the tension flow out of him. This
was what he needed to help cope. "Sanctuary."

"What?"

He closed his eyes. "Your house has just been elected a
sanctuary, someplace I can relax and feel really safe. What
was it you were playing? I haven't heard it before."

She did not answer immediately. After a moment, he
opened his eyes to find her staring intently at him. Before
he could ask if he had offended her, however, she smiled
and turned away toward the synthesizer. "The title is Ri-
mamin. The great Manithis wrote it two thousand years
ago."

She began playing. Soon not only had the last of Ten's
tension gone, but the music had picked him up and carried
him soaring with it, away from D'shenegar and devianfs
and killers. He listened with eyes closed, letting images flow
through his head. As so often happened now, he saw
Egarad landscapes, this time the dryland as Roban's grand-
father described it around Lushanah . . . endless rolling
vistas of brassy plains, stretching to an infinite horizon be"
neath a vault of brassy sky. But what did that crashing
sequence of sound mean?

"How do you translate RimammV1 he asked.

She never missed a note. "The Rimamin is the most fa-
mous canyon in the world, the canyon of the Ayah Rasar,
the Golden River. From the Great Falls it's two thousand
iyah long and a yah deep, cutting down through both the
Heshem and N'shan Bscarpments."

Two thousand iyah? Ten translated that into kilometers
and Terran numbers and whistled soundlessly. Over a
thousand kilometers. And a yah deep? Almost a kilometer.
Some canyon! He listened to the music with new aware-
ness. Yes, he could see it now, another Grand Canyon but

168 DEADLY SllENTS

with waterfalls. He thought he could listen to Brithe play all
night.

Dreamily, he said, "I'll have to see this wonder some-
time while I'm here."

The music stopped. He opened his eyes. Brithe stood
with fingers slack on the Sweeny's keys, staring blankly at
the wall before her. After a minute, she turned around.

"You should. When is your next time off?"

He knew without stopping to think. "I have two days
starting day after tomorrow . . . provided they aren't can-
celed because I have to work on some investigation or have
to go to court."

"We could go then."

He sat up. "How far away is it?"

*'Fourteen thousand iyah, but if we leave right after you
come off duty tomorrow night, a highliner can have
us there by morning. We can spend two days walking and
flying the canyon. It would give you a change from
D'shenegar."

He could certainly use that! "I wonder if Roban and Jael
would like to go."

"I hadn't thought of them, but ... all right, if you
want."

"Let me call Roban right now."

Roban, still at the stationhouse when Ten reached him,
greeted the idea enthusiastically. "I don't have time off;

they have me talking to every Egara within five Uicks of
the mall where Many-Horses died, but I'll come anyway.
I'll develop some exotic two-day disease. Will you ask
Jael?"

"At debriefing."

"North Twenty-five," his radio whispered. "Status re-
port."

He glanced at his chron in horror. Oh, lord, had he been
here that long? With his transponder signal indicating no
movement after this length of time, no wonder Communi-
cations wanted a status report.

"Status normal," he replied. "Concluding interview and
proceeding on through the shen."

"Received. Thirty-seven forty-three hours."

Ten told Brithe, "I'll contact you tomorrow at the sta-
tion," and hastily returned to patrol.

Chapter Eighteen

THE HIGHLINER came down out of Egar*s upper atmo-
sphere at dawn and broke through a thin sheet of cloud.
"Rimamin," an amplified voice said.

Ten pressed eagerly against the port. It angled outward,
following the curve of the bulkhead, providing a clear view
of the ground. Below, the Golden River, looking gold in-
deed in the light of the rising sun, flowed across the dry-
lands in a broad ribbon to disappear abruptly through a
boiling cloud of vapor into a huge rent in the earth that
snaked westward to the edge of the world.

"There it is, Ro," Ten said. When Roban did not an-
swer, he looked around and shook his head. Though sitting
bolt upright in one of the two seats facing Ten and
Brithe*s, Roban was sound asleep. Ten shook one knee.
"Ro, we're here. Wake up."

"You have to apply the proper stimulus," Jael said. "Ad-
eyanju, the sergeant's coming!"

Roban's eyes opened instantly, a smooth awakening that
could only have come from long practice napping in patrol
cars. "Hi, sarge," he began, then looked around, realized
where he was, and frowned balefully at Jael. "Fly leo,
aren't you?"

She grinned and pointed out the port. "Rimamin, sleep-
ing beauty." She assumed a tour-guide voice. "The canyon
was discovered in 2017 by the mother/daughter exploring
team of Rimamin and Gira as they followed the Golden
River west. Beginning with the Great Golden Falls, visible
below you now, which plunge nine hundred and—ah—"
She groped for the figure and failing to remember it, gave
up with a grin, "It impressed the hell out of me as a twelve-
year-old, I remember."

169

170 DEADLY SILENTS

Roban winked at Ten, "The Grand Canyon is wider and
deeper."

Jael sniffed. "Not by much, but it's a damn sight shorter
and minus the falls and Golden River. If it's pure size you
want, go visit the Valles Marineris on Mars."

Brithe eyed them. "Are they playing a game?"

Tea nodded, and peered out the port again. The shad-
ows in the canyon made seeing into it impossible, but as
the highliner settled earthward and Rimamin yawned
wider and wider, giving the town on its south rim the ap-
pearance of a collector's miniature, he no longer cared that
he could not see into the canyon yet, or that it was nar-
rower than Earth's most famous canyon; it still awed him,
particularly the triple horseshoe Falls with water pouring
over them like molten gold.

With a happy sigh, Ten sat back for the landing. "I
think I'm going to be glad we came."

Half an hour later, he was sure of it. Brithe had made
reservations for them in one of the guesting houses along
the rim and their room opened onto a terrace lying directly
on the edge. Holding tightly to the heavy red stone para-
pet, Ten peered over into the bottomless shadows of Ri-
mamin, then looked up the canyon toward the thunderous
falls and the triple and quadruple rainbows shining above
them.

Roban leaned on the parapet beside him. "What now?
Surely we don't just stare at it from here."

'There are thousands of iyah of hiking and climbing
trails," Brithe said, "but since we have just two days, we'd
probably do better to rent a skimmer from the guesting
house and fly the canyon."

Ten headed for the door. "Let's go."

They had a choice, they found ... fly themselves or
take one of the chauffeured group flights.

"Group tours?" Roban grimaced. "I think we can fly
ourselves."

Ten laughed. If universal situations really existed, then
tourism must surely be one of them. Though like Roban,
he preferred to fly himself, while watching a group of some
dozen Iregara climb into a clear-domed hovercraft, each
carrying a kinecorder, curiosity tempted him to join, just
to see how similar, or different, the tour might be from its
counterparts back on Earth. In the end, however, he fol-

DEADLY SILENTS 171

lowed his friends to the guesting-house official in charge of
skimmer rentals-

The official asked if they were qualified to pilot a skim-
mer, but before any of them answered aloud, the Egara
looked impassively from Ten to Jael and said, "Cops?
What?"

The query must have produced a very mixed collection
of image replies in the three of them because the Egara
stared hard at each in turn, an ear flicking as though to
ward off a worrisome fiy, before finally assigning a skim-
mer.

"I don't think that poor soul could understand what we
are," Jael said. She climbed into the pilot's seat. "Because
it's my second trip, I'll fly and let the rest of you look."

Buckling himself into his seat, Ten thought about her
first comment. Someone who did not know what a police
officer was? Ten felt a strange mixed sensation of insecu-
rity, loss of identity, and profound relief. Then a thought
struck him and he had to laugh. "If we just passed the oar
test, this is definitely the right holiday site for us."

Brithe stared. "Ore? Raw mineral? I don't understand."

"Oar as in rowing a boat," Ten told her. "The Greek
classics must be some Terran books you've missed."

"What do Greek classics have to do with us?" Roban
asked.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but I think the story goes that this
Greek Ulysses—maybe one of my ancestors, who
knows?—wanted to find a new life. He'd been on the sea,
so he put an oar over his shoulder and walked inland with
it. When he came to a place where the locals had to ask
what the oar was, he stopped and settled down. We've just
brought our badges where they're unknown objects." Lean-
ing back in the seat. Ten stretched, feeling giddy and glo-
riously free. Here he was just another Terran. "All right,
Jael, fly on. Show us this wonder."

Ten found Rimamin every bit the wonder promised. As
the bronze sun rose higher, shadows retreated deeper and
deeper until they vanished altogether. This close to the
equator, the sun shone almost directly down into the can-
yon for most of its passage- Jael followed one of the pre-
scribed flight paths down the canyon, flying high and then
low, letting them see the walls in all their variety. Rimamin

172 DEADLY SILENTS

had fewer different types of rock formations than Ten had
seen in pictures of the Grand Canyon, but in compensation
it offered the awesome rise of its walls and vivid colors.
Most of the rock seemed to be sandstone of either yellow
or red, and with the sun shining on it, the stone looked
gold or scarlet. The rock lay in layers . . . horizontal,
tilted crazily sideways, or rippling and sagging like mate-
rial stretched so far it was unable to snap back to its origi-
nal tautness. When the skimmer flew near the floor, along
the river, the walls towered above them toward heaven it-
self. Ten found the river interesting, too. Even down here,
away from the sun, the water still looked gold.

By midday they had reached the end of the upper can-
yon. Brithe suggested, "Let's go back to the falls. The
lower canyon is just more of the same."

Jael turned the skimmer around just outside the upper
canyon, giving them all a view of the Heshem Escarpment
before plunging back into Rimamin. The escarpment was a
bit overwhelming, too, eleven hundred meters of weathered
rock, left when the ground fell toward the Sirithamir Sea.
And the N'shan Escarpment lay only a bit over another
thousand kilometers west? Ten thought. What must early
explorers have thought, following the Golden Rive? and
finding these two giant steps leading down to the bottom of
the world?

But he soon forgot explorers and escarpments. The
Golden Falls lay ahead, and nothing in Ten's experience
matched, or even approached, their impressiveness. Small
at a distance, they grew as the skimmer flew up the canyon
toward them, rising even higher into the sky and stretching
out wider with each passing minute. Their sound grew
from a low, distant murmur through a gradually increasing
roar to a sound so great that when Jael grounded the skim-
mer at the foot of the falls at mid-aftemoon, it had become
so tremendous, so overwhelming, that it swallowed even
itself, leaving only a numbing void in the ears. Ten stared
breathlessly up at the seven-hundred-meter-wide curtain of
molten gold plunging down toward him from the rim
nearly a kilometer above. The world disappeared, lost in
the assault the falling tonnes of water made on his senses, in
the boiling vapor that stung exposed skin on his face and
hands like countless icy needles, and in the all-consuming
sound.

Then, suddenly, the falls spun bottom-end up. Ten found

DEADLY SILENTS 173

himself head down, looking past a bright green tabard to
the ground moving backward past yellow-booted feet. He
blinked in astonishment. What was he doing slung over
Brithe's shoulder?

Trying to ask was out of the question this close to the
falls; Brithe could not possibly hear him. Instead, he
rapped on her back to attract her attention and arched his
back to bring himself upright, thinking to slip off her
shoulder. However, she held him fast with a grip on his
hips and legs. All he accomplished was a vantage point
that allowed him to see the few Iregara in the area turning
to stare at him. He felt like a fool.

Then he saw Roban and Jael walking off to the side. Jael
grinned wickedly at him.

"You!" he yelled at her, and was just able to hear himself.
"You're responsible for this, aren't you? Put me down,
Brithe!" He thrashed around on her shoulder. "Put me
down\"

Brithe dumped him unceremoniously on the ground.
Ten rolled to his feet and charged Jael, who jumped behind
Roban. "Protect me, officer!"

Roban stepped aside, shaking his head. "This was your
idea."

She shrieked and evaded Ten by dodging around a large
boulder.

"What the hell were you trying to do?" Ten yelled over
the roar of the falls. He went around the boulder after her.

She laughed, moving to keep the rock between them.
"You have to be the world's easiest hypnosis subject!" she
shouted back. "You were so mindwarped Just watching the
water you didn't feel me tap your arm or anything! So I
thought we'd better save you from yourself!"

"By having me carried away like a sack of grain? I'm
going to get you, Meadin! I'm going to get you and throw
you in the river!"

"You'll have to catch me first!" With a whoop of laugh-
ter, she leaped a low thicket of brush and raced down the
riverbank.

Ten went after her.

She ran like a hare. If they had not both run the same
courses at home under Ogilvie's training whip, he would
have had no chance of catching her. As it was, the chase
became less a matter of speed than endurance, endurance
well-tried by the deep sand along the riverbank and the

174 DEADLY SILENTS

obstacles presented by frequent rock outcroppings and
brush. As a course. Ten reflected when his breath began
burning like fire in his lungs, it would have warmed Ogil-
vie to the core of his remorseless soul. Then Ten found his
second wind and forgot everything but the woman fleeing
ahead of him and the exhilaration of the chase.

It ended abruptly. Jael stepped wrong, turned her ankle,
and fell face-first into the sand. Ten dived on her.

"Default, default," she gasped, rolling away kicking at
him. "Help, rape!"

He scrambled after her. "No fair asking aid," he told her,
gasping too. "If you want to rape me, you'll have to do it
by yourself."

She kicked at him again, but this time feebly, laughing,
then gave up altogether and went limp. "Surrender. I'll
leave your virtue intact if you forget to throw me in the
river."

"Agreed." Ten flopped on his back and for a while they
did nothing but lie panting side-by-side on the sand. After
several minutes, however, Ten sat up. His gaze traveled
across the sand, down the riverbank to the waters of the
Golden River itself.

"It's really gold. I thought the color was just due to the
sun shining on it this morning, but it's really gold water,
isn't it?"

Jael sat up, brushing the sand off her jumpsuit and
jacket. "Amber, anyway. When I came here as a kid, they
told me the water is stained by mosses and other plants it
flows over crossing the drylands."

His eyes came back to the sand, red and yellow like the
rock of the canyon walls. He dipped into it and let the
damp grains run through his fingers. "Nice beach, too." He
heaped up a little mound and patted it into a firm pyramid.
"I've never been on one like this before. The beaches
around lakes in Kansas are either pebbles or mud."

Two Iregara passing on the hiking trail just off the beach
regarded them expressionlessly. Jael waved. Ten went on
playing with the pyramid. With a little coaxing, and more
sand, it became a square tower. He pressed his finger into
the sand at intervals around the top, making rough crenel-
ladons. "A person could build a nice sand castle out of
this."

Jael grinned. "Or two persons could."

By the time Roban and Brithe arrived. Ten and Jael had

DEADLY SILENTS 175

two sections of wall built and were working on a corner
tower.

"Hello, children," Roban said. "Are your mommy and
daddy around?"

Ten grinned sheepishly but went on smoothing the tower

wall.

"Don't act so disgustingly adult and professional, Ro,"
Jael said. "Come down here and help us."

"I'm afraid I don't have much experience in castle build-
ing, but I'll watch here with Brithe while you two finish
your therapeutic sandbox session."

"Is this another game?" Brithe asked.

"Yes," Roban said. "The human is the only known spe-
cies that continues to play after it ostensibly becomes
adult."

Jael grimaced. "Listen to Grandpa. Ignore him. Ten."

"I am."

"What is the structure?" Brithe persisted.

So while she and Ten worked, Jael launched into a lec-
ture on medieval fortifications. Brithe asked a question
from time to time, but for the most part listened in silence
. . . amazed silence. Ten assumed, or perhaps puzzled si-
lence, because one of her remarks was: "I can understand
physical exercise; that strengthens and tones the body.
Mental games supple the mind, but this . . ." She came
over to walk around the castle, studying it.

They had it almost finished. Ten sat back on his calves
for a moment to admire their handiwork. For his first ef-
fort, he thought it had turned out very well. He sighed
happily and leaned forward again for the last smoothing.

"Why are you doing this?" Brithe asked.

Ten shrugged. "I don't know. I never have before and
the sand was here and I had the time . . ." He laughed.
"It's a human kind of thing to do."

"It's a change," Jael said. "It's something different,
something to exercise different skills than usual, to add a
new and interesting flavor to life. It's—it's drana."

The word caught Ten like an electric shock. He stared
at her. "What?"

Brithe, leaning down to study the castle more closely,
bumped against Ten and lost her balance. She clutched at
him to save herself but succeeded only in taking him with
her and they both fell full length across the top of the cas-
tle. Ten yelped in dismay as the walls and towers, built

176 DEADLY SIIENTS

with such careful, loving labor, crumbled under their
weight. In the process of trying to find her feet again,
Brithe rolled over and knocked down the one tower the fall
had not demolished.

She scrambled up full of apologies. "Oh, I'm so sorry.
Your castle . . . This is terrible." She helped Ten to his
feet. "I should have been more careful."

'"Yes," Jael said.

Ten exchanged a helpless glance with Jael, then stared
sadly down at the ruin. He shrugged. "It's only sand. Don't
worry about it."

He brushed sand off his clothes. What a lot of it clung to
him. It seemed to be everywhere, all over his jumpsuit and
hands. He even felt it on his nose and one cheek.

"Let me help you," Brithe said. She brushed at him.

Ten winced. "Not so hard," he protested. Her pats came
with almost enough force to knock him down.

She eased up immediately with another apology.

Cleaned off, the four of them headed back up the can-
yon . . . taking the hiking path this time. Jael and Roban
walked ahead, arms around each other, and Brithe fol-
lowed. Ten trailed behind, looking back toward the beach.

The sand lay in a shapeless heap, bearing no resem-
blance to the proud form it had held so briefly. Mere sand
or not, losing it hurt, he had to admit. He did not blame
Brithe, but somewhere inside him, he felt a sharp pang of
loss. The castle had not even had the chance to be finished
and admired properly, and now it was gone. The accident
cast a small shadow on what had otherwise been a perfect
day.

•Ten? Coming?" Brithe called.

With a sigh, he turned away and followed the others
back toward the falls and the skimmer.

Like their room, the guesting house dining room over-
looked the canyon. In addition, the projecting section of
rim on which it was built provided an unobstructed view of
the falls. The Sunsorb ceiling and walls blocked out some
of the sound, however, reducing it to a muffled rumble that
Ten barely noticed. After the hours they had spent much
closer to the falls, he had trouble hearing any sounds. He
felt as though the noises and voices around him came
through a thick layer of cotton.

At the moment, though, he had no interest in the scen-

DEADLY SILENTS 177

ery nor concern about his hearing. A ravenous appetite
had focused his entire attention on the dishes of food being
placed in the center of the table. He recognized the plate of
bread for what it was, even though this loaf came heavy
and black where the bread in D'shenegar was brown, and
the vegetables looked distinctly mushroomlike, but he had
no idea what the main dish might be. The dining room
provided no menu. The attendant simply counted heads
and brought out the food. Ten sniffed the dish as Brithe
passed it to him. It smelled good, though at this point al-
most anything would have appealed to him.

He helped himself and passed the dish on to Jael. "Ah,
food like Mama used to make."

Jael snorted. "I'll bet your mother never cooked duseri-
hach."

Ten speared a piece of food with ha prong-ended spoon.
"No, but the philosophy is the same: 'Here it is; eat it or
go hungry.* What is it?"

"Shredded fish baked with fruit and nuts," Brithe said.
She pushed at her portion. "My mother used to cook a
great deal of it."

In a fishing industry city like Subath, Ten imagined so.
"Well, Iregara may not be gourmets, but what they cook,
they cook well." His stomach welcomed the fish and fruit.
Then he sipped his tea. "Except tea. I think I need water to
thin this enough to make it drinkable."

The attendant appeared with small pots of hot water and
set them down in front of Ten and Jael.

"Me, too," Roban said, but the attendant did not appear
to hear. Roban had to repeat his request. He sighed as the
water finally arrived. "It keeps happening. The slightest
thought and Normals react to everyone else, but I have to
concentrate."

Brithe said, "Some Normals broadcast faintly. You must
be a Terran Quiet."

"I wonder if that's good or bad."

"Better, maybe, than being a Loud and having everyone
in the area grabbing a luras whenever you happen to get
excited," Ten said.

Jael suddenly gasped in delight. "Look, everyone."

They turned to follow her pointing finger. The rays of
the setting sun shone up the canyon to the falls, picking
out every subtle shade of red and yellow in Rimamin's
walls, lighting them until the rocks seemed to glow from

178 DEADLY SILENTS

within. At the head of Rimamm, the sun's rays fell full on
the Great Golden Falls. The water drank the fiery light
. . . captured it, held it, reflected it, until the falls ceased
to look like water at all and became, instead, a sheet of
shimmering, blazing incandescence, blinding in its glory.
The portion of Rimamin Brithe had played on the Sweeny
replayed in Ten's head.

Food forgotten, they stared at the sight. As the sun sank
lower, shadow crept up the walls, its darkness slowly de-
vouring the color and fire. Finally only a thin line of bril-
liant light remained across the top of the falls, then even
that disappeared.

They returned to their meal, now cold. No one spoke for
several minutes.

Jael finally broke the silence. "There are times I wish I
was a painter or something, so I could take that away with
me to show others."

"We need to be poets," Ten said. "Can you think what a
good poet could do with a golden river and an incandes-
cent waterfall? We'll just have to suggest that the rest of
the department visit here and see it for themselves."

Jael nodded.

Roban, however, scowled. "You let a bunch of Terrans
come trooping around here and soon it won't be worth
visiting any longer."

Ten sat up indignantly. "What? What do you think is
going to happen . . . that they'll kick in the side of the
canyon? We're Terrans and we didn't hurt anything, did
we, just built a sand castle?"

"Sooner or later Terrans always destroy what they
touch," Roban said sourly. "Look what we did to Egar
before we ever put a foot on it. The three of us are here
now because of what our ancestors did to the Iregara.
Much as I'm enjoying being on Egar, I can't help but think
how much better it would be if Iregara and Terrans had
never met"

"You meant if they hadn't, I wouldn't exist?" Brithe
asked.

"Exactly. Terra Silenced your trade delegation and
started the whole problem we're dealing with now."

Jael sighed, "Roban, can we not—"

"What is it with you?" Ten demanded. "Why are you so
anxious to make us the bad guys? I think the fault for what
happened to the trade delegation can be divided. Neither

DEADLY S1LENTS 179

side thought to learn enough about the other. And Terrans
haven't created the problem here now. No Terran is stop-
ping Brithe from receiving the professional recognition in
music she deserves to have!"

"Ten!" Brithe cried angrily.

Ten flushed guiltily. He knew how personal she consid-
ered her music. "I'm sorry; it just slipped out." He looked
back at Roban. "Terrans aren't shutting Silents out of so-
ciety, Normals are. In seventy-five years the Normals
haven't made any significant concessions to Silent limita-
tions."

"There would be no need for concessions if we—"

Jael interrupted. "Stop it! Stop it, both of you! I came
on this holiday to forget my job- If you two want to argue,
you can find another place to sleep. If you stay here, I'll
break the jaw of the first person who mentions one more
word connected with work."

Her vehemence startled Ten. He shrank down in his
chair. "Yes, ma'am."

She stared hard at Roban. "Will you agree to that, too?"
she demanded.

Roban scowled, but nodded.

*'Very well, then. Brithe, would you like to hear a theory
I have about Silent destiny?"

Brithe regarded her solemnly. "Very well."

"I think Silents are an evolutionary necessity."

Brithe bunked. "Evolutionary necessity?"

"For racial survival in an interstellar civilization. Nor-
mals can't go charging out to the planets of newly-met
races. Look what happened to them on Earth. Also, Nor-
mals might be too candid for their own good when dealing
with strangers. Silents, however, can't have their brains
picked and they can keep their minds intact when dealing
with aliens. I believe Silents are the Egarad diplomats of
the future." Jael grinned. "You who are downtrodden now
may yet be the saviors of your planet."

Brithe stared at her. "That is a very interesting theory."

"I'll entertain other opinions on the subject." But no one
seemed moved to debate and Jael sighed. "Well, I tried.
Brithe, you suggest something for us to talk about."

Brithe looked past Ten at the red moon Nishim rising in
the west. Her coat rippled, throwing off rainbows. "Would
you like to hear the old legend speculating why the moons
travel in different directions?"

T80 DEADLY SILENTS

"Yes," Jael replied quickly, before anyone could say oth-
erwise.

Brithe's eyes looked through everyone into the distance.
"In ancient times in the Seyehna Dryland, which is the
birthplace of the People, there may once have lived a
hunter named Sh'har who used the thi with such skill that
her fame was known throughout the world."

"What's a thH" Ten asked.

"A hunting tool," Brithe said.

"Like a bolas, thongs with three weights," Jael added.

^Sh'har would have been so proud of her skill that she
would let it be known she thought she could out-throw any
other hunter in the world, and even Husagir." Brithe
paused. "Do you know Husagir?"

"No," Ten said.

The last of the Giants," Jael said. "Legend says that
once there were—excuse me, Brithe; I'll keep it in your
style—once there might have lived a race of Giants called
ihusagir. It was once thought they built the world, piled up
the mountains and scooped out the seas. If they lived,
they're all gone now, all but one, and the sometime trem-
bling of the earth might be from when she walks. Thunder
might be the sound of those footsteps. The seas might be
Husagir's footsteps, filled with her tears of loneliness."

Brithe regarded her impassively. "Then you know the
story of the moons."

"But they don't." Jael pointed at Ten and Roban.
"Please go on."

"If Husagir truly lived, she would have heard of the
brag, and she would have come in rage to challenge
Sh'har. The two would have gone out and hunted all day
long. If Husagir won, Sh'har would have been destroyed,
smashed by the Giant, but if, after throwing their ithi all
day, Sh'har brought down more game than Husagir, then
she would have won, and Husagir might have become so
enraged that she threw her thi at the hunter. Sh'har, being
very agile, would have ducked, and the thi broken apart
from the force of the throw, the stones flying away, two in
one direction, the third in the opposite direction. The
moons we see every night might be the stones of Husagir's
thi, thrown so hard they are flying yet"

It was the first time Ten had never heard a legend told
that way, as mere possibility, in no way claiming to be
truth. "Is Husagir a figure in many legends?"

DEADLY SILENTS 181

"Many."

They moved from the dining room to their sleeping
room and Brithe told them a dozen more stories about the
last Giant. Like legends on Earth, they dealt with explana-
tions of why various aspects of the world existed the way
they did, but unlike Earth, every story was presented as
speculation only. Still, that destroyed none of their interest
nor dimmed the vivid detail with which Brithe could tell
the stories. When they finally went to bed, unfolding chairs
into sleeping mats. Ten dreamed of a Brithe tall as a Colos-
sus, the rainbows from her coat making the aurora bo-
realis. She strode across the face of Egar, leaving seas
where she walked, stepping down the escarpments like
stairsteps, and building mountains as lesser beings played
with sand castles.

Chapter Nineteen

THE mcHLiNER did not leave until twenty-four-forty, which
gave them over half a day yet at Rimamin. Rather than
rent another skimmer, they decided to hike, taking one of
the trails down the canyon wall.

Brithe cautioned them, however. "Well need to be care-
ful. People are hurt and killed on those trails every year."

Ten blinked. "And people are still allowed to use them?"

She regarded him solemnly. "Of course. If people under-
stand the danger and still want to go, why should anyone
try to stop them?"

Ten grinned. "Not me, but it's certainly a different
philosophy than I'm used to."

"A much saner one, I must say, than outlawing anything
with a shred of risk in it," Roban said. "It forces people to
accept responsibility for their actions and the conse-
quences."

Ten bit his lip to keep from saying that he had noticed
Iregara were able to find as many excuses as Terrans did
for their behavior, and most of the excuses put the blame
on someone or something else. The grim set of Jael's
mouth warned him she would still make good her threat to
break jaws at any mention of police work.

The trail started at the guesting house, an easy walk at
first. It followed a path cut just below the rim. As it neared
the falls, however, and began to angle downward, the path
grew harder. Or perhaps treacherous would have been a
more descriptive word. Ten thought Moisture from the
falls coated everything and at this hour of the morning,
with the sun just starting to shine into Rimamin, that mois-
ture still remained frozen from the nighttime temperatures.
Jael and Brithe each slipped once on patches of ice. Ten
moved with increased caution. There were, he noticed, no

182

DEADLY SILENTS 183

handrails, only notches cut into the rock at steep and
tricky points.

"Can you imagine what this would be like on Earth?"
Roban asked. "It would be stepped, paved with waterproof,
nonskid footing. We'd have a plastic railing every centime-
ter of the way, molded and colored like wooden poles, of
course, and there would be chain and wire mesh to keep us
away from the edge. And of course there would be perma-
plast placards to inform us when we'd reached a 'sceneview
area' or inform us that this is a rock and that a patch of
moss and that a rodent hole." He shook his head, "It
would be spoiled."

Keeping his voice carefully neutral. Ten said, "I don't
think a few safety precautions would spoil anything."

Roban turned on him. "I suppose you'd rather have it
government sanitized, inspected, and watchdogged?"

Ten's mouth thinned. "I didn't say that. How I'd rather
have it, though, now that you bring it up, is without the
anti-Terran commentary."

The skin across Roban's cheekbones darkened. He
opened his mouth to say something, but Ten, with a quick
glance at an icy-eyed Jael, quickly apologized. "I'm sorry.
That was unnecessary. Let's just enjoy the hike, shall we?"
He went on around Roban and down the trail.

Next to the falls, the path gave up all pretense of being a
trail and became a blatant climb, nearly vertical in many
places and all damp. Still, Ten enjoyed it. The falls shone
golden ahead of him and the air tasted moistly clean . . .
and the roar of the falls made any conversation or
commentary impossible.

The trail snaked its way down and around rocks, paral-
lel to the edge of the falls. About midway down the wall,
though, it suddenly flattened horizontally to dive behind
the water. Following it, they found a grotto cut into the
rock, dim in the dusky gold light filtering through the wa-
ter, with stone benches offering a place to sit and rest.

They sat down, but not for long. Jael held out her wrist
and pointed to her chron. The morning was half gone; they
needed to start back soon if they were to reach the travel-
port in time to catch their highliner flight.

The climb back had one saving grace—that looking up
kept the glory of the falls almost constantly in view. With
the sun shining down into Rimamin, the rocks had
warmed, making the contact with them a bit less chilly.

184 DEADLY S1LENTS

Tomorrow he might pay for this climb with sore muscles,
Ten suspected, but today it seemed worth the price. With
the one section of Rimamin he knew playing in his head,
he scrambled up a piece of trail so steep it seemed more a
ladder than a path. This was the last of the difficult sec-
tions. Beyond here, the way grew easier, natter.

He reached the ledge, panting, and grinned at the oth-
ers, then turned to look up and down at the golden cata-
ract, committing it to memory. He would not be seeing it
again mis close before he left.

Someone bumped against him- He hastily stepped back
to put more distance between him and the edge, but in the
process, he bumped again and this time lost his balance.
His feet slipped on the damp stone. Something hit him on
the shoulder. The next second the edge went by and he was
falling, sliding down the water-slimed wall with nothing be-
tween him and the canyon floor below but seven hundred
meters of sheer rock. He twisted desperately, clawing at
the rock for purchase somewhere . . . anywhere.

One hand caught, then the other, but he felt the precar"
iousness of the bold. His fingers would not be able to grip
the wet stone for long unless he managed somehow to take
the bulk of his weight off them. That meant finding a foot-
hold, but the stone around his feet afforded nothing. His
searching boot toes found only a smooth, slick surface.
Gritting his teeth, he dug into the stone with his fingers
and looked back up the way he had fallen.

Roban and Jael peered over the edge of the ledge above,
mouthing words he could not understand. Where was
Brithe? Then he saw her. She had shed boots and tabard
and was climbing down the wall a few meters to his right.
As she came even with him, she braced her feet, took a
hard grip on the stone with her right hand, and extended
her left hand to him.

Ten fought panic. Surely she did not mean he should let
go with one hand and reach for her? If he missed, he
would almost certainly fall, and even if he did not miss,
what chance did she have to keep hold of him, and what
were the odds of his weight pulling her loose so that both
of them fell to their deaths?

Brithe beckoned to him.

He felt his grip slipping and thought fast. Not to try
reaching her meant certain death, and in the next minute
or so. Swallowing, gripping so hard with his left hand he

DEADLY SILENTS 185

felt as though the bones of his fingers were coming through
the skin, he eased his right hand loose and down across the
rock face toward Brithe's extended hand. Their fingers
touched, then fingers touched palms, and finally her fingers
locked around his wrist . . . just as his left hand tore
loose.

With a gasp, he dropped, but Brithe's grip held. She-
pulled him across the rock face toward her and rougher
stone. When he found holds of his own and his feet and
hands were all well-placed, she released his wrist She
climbed ahead of him, frequently glancing back to be sure
he still followed, and after they reached the ledge, she
reached over to grasp both his hands and pull him up to
safety.

No one tried to talk into the roar of the falls, but Roban
and Jael raised brows inquiringly at him. He shrugged in
reply and leaned his head against Brithe's shoulder, not
caring that the beading on her fur scratched his face. When
his knees felt strong enough to support him again, he
stood, and they all made their way back up to the rim as
fast as caution would let them.

Ten found himself the center of a concerned group at
the guesting house.

"Fell. Read," Iregara said. They looked at Brithe.
"Brave."

"We're lucky she was along," Roban said. "Jael and I
could never have done what she did. Without her, we'd
have lost him."

Ten nodded. "Thank you, Brithe."

She stared at him without expression, only an ear
twitching, but eventually she smiled faintly.

In response to everyone's queries. Ten insisted he was all
right, just fine. He did feel all right, at least until they
boarded the highliner; then, watching Rimamin and the
falls drop away below them, weakness swept through him.
He began shaking uncontrollably.

"I'm going to be in some condition for patrolling tomor-
row," he said wryly.

"Why don't I bring you some tea from the galley?" Jael
suggested. "Are you sore any particular place? Would you
like your neck rubbed?"

"Don't smother him," Roban said. "All he needs is rest.
You sleep and you'll be fine by the time we get home,
Ten."

T86 DEADLY SILENTS

"I'll be fine," Ten repeated, like a child reciting a lesson.
Lying back in his seat, he closed his eyes.

For a while, he listened to the three of them talk, then-
voices distant and echoing, as though coming to him down
a long tunnel- Presently Brithe's voice stopped and he
heard only Roban and Jael, speaking English.

"For someone who claims to have enjoyed this trip, you
were certainly unfriendly last night," Roban said in a petu-
lant voice.

"We weren't alone, Ro. I can accept my neighbors being
aware of what I'm doing, but I'm not ready to flatdance in
front of eyewitnesses yet."

"Ten and Brithe were both asleep. They wouldn't have
witnessed anything. I know you by this time, Jael; you
were mad at me for some reason. Why?"

Her sigh echoed down the tunnel to Ten. "If you must
know, I'm sick of hearing you worship the Iregara and
blame the Terrans for every problem on Egar."

"What? I thought you were as much an Egaraphile-as I
am."

"I am; however, I don't consider them saints the way
you do. They're people, ordinary organisms, imperfect just
like we are. They're just as fallible and thoughtless. Only
you won't see that."

"I can see that you've become very cynical. When did
this happen?"

"During my adolescence 'here. I learned to know the
people very well then."

"My grandfather—'* he began, voice rising.

"Your grandfather is your whole problem," she inter-
rupted. "How old is he?"

"Eighty-three, but what—"

"The trade delegations were repatriated seventy-five
years ago. That means your grandfather couldn't have been
more than eight years old when he left Egar. You've spent
your life hearing about Egar as remembered through the
eyes of a child. You see it as innocent, idealized, and un-
realistic."

Ten heard Roban's angry intake of breath. "You've
never said anything about it to me before."

"I kept hoping experience would override the stories and
mature your viewpoint, but it hasn't."

"You're calling me immature? Thank you so much."

"I'm not—" she began in protest.

DEADLY SHENTS 187

He interrupted her. "Maybe we'd better reconsider our
sleeping arrangements. I don't want you to feel you're com-
mitting statutory rape," he said acidly.

Her breath hissed through her nose. "And maybe you'd
be happier dancing one of your precious Egara, if it can be
done!"

Roban's voice went glacial. "I think I'll follow Ten's ex-
ample and sleep all the way back to D'shenegar."

"Ro." She said his name with a note of apology, then
muttered, "Bastard," and fell silent.

Ten opened his eyes. He saw them both lying back in
their seats, eyes closed. Brithe had gone. He closed his eyes
again but even without his friends arguing, he could not
sleep. In memory, he fell again, over and over again. He
felt his feet skid from under him and gravity pull him
down the rock face. He hung on the rock, fingers slipping
while Brithe strained to reach him.

Sweating, Ten gave up trying to sleep. At least with his
eyes open he did not keep seeing the side of Runamin.
What he needed, he decided, was a tall glass of something
highly alcoholic. He doubted any existed on the highliner,
however. Lacking that, tea—full strength—might do. He
stood up and climbed the ramp to the observation level.

He found Brithe there, staring out at the white sea of
clouds below them. She glanced up, then away again, lost
in some private world.

He sat down in a chair next to her. "I couldn't sleep."

She said nothing.

Another of her moods? If so, he would do best to leave
her alone, but he could not make himself leave, nor sit
silent. He recognized the sign; he had seen it time and time
again in people following some harrowing experience . . .
an uncontrollable compulsion to talk. "Ironic, isn't it? I
come on holiday to escape from danger and I almost get
myself killed. Thank you again for being there."

"Yes," she said, without looking away from the clouds.

"Any Normals around me the next time I hear Rimamin
are going to read some very different images than the com-
poser meant to evoke, I'm afraid."

She said nothing.

He sighed. "What's the matter? Why do you go on and
dose the doors between you and other people?"

Brithe looked around slowly. "When you spend your life
alone, sometimes you come to like and need solitude."

188 DEADLY SILENTS

"You want me to leave?"

"Not this time. This time I was thinking." She looked
out at the clouds again, but he felt a difference in the ac-
tion. It no longer shut him out. "I had a thought when I
was climbing down after you. You bumped against Roban
and slipped. It was an accident, but I thought, what if it
weren't?"

Something cold crawled up his spine. "What?"

She looked into his eyes. "The second bump, when you
slipped, he made a grab for your jacket, but if he wanted,
he could have been pushing you instead."

Ten could not even begin to imagine what she was talk-
ing about "Push me? WhyT

"Not him ... the killer. I thought, someone like Ro-
ban, a Quiet, who thinks Terrans have harmed my people,
someone like that who's gone deviant could be killing the
officers."

He stared at her incredulously. "You think the killer
might be a TerranT

Her violet eyes remained fastened on his. "It could be."

"But—" He shook his head. "That won't work. It has to
be someone who knows police, and in particular, this de-
partment. The other Terrans in D'shenegar have almost no
contact with us. The only way it could be a brainbowed
human is if—" Somewhere in his chest, a knot interfered
with his breathing. He fought to ease air past it. The one
condition under which a Terran could fit their killer's role
was if the person worked in the department. Ten shied
from that possibility. "It can't be anyone in the department
itself."

"You're probably right," Brithe said. "The/re your peo-
ple and you know them better than I do. Still, Pol Wassom
had to leave because he unbalanced, didn't he? Why
couldn't there be someone else unbalanced, but not seem-
ing so because she has adopted Egarad ways, which is what
Director Brooks wants?"

"She?"

She looked at him. "You have three pronouns; I choose
to use she. Is it impossible for a Terran to be homicidal?
The old mystery novels are full of such people."

"It does happen," Ten admitted. All the time on Earth,
he added silently.

"Then your killer could be Terran. You could have
brought her with you."

DEADLY SILENTS 189

Ten eyed her. "You'd rather the bad guy be one of my
people than one of yours, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

And she could be right. Unfortunately, she could be
very right A Terran, who knew human psychology; a
member of the department, who knew police; a Quiet,
someone who could not be read or not be read clearly by
any possible witnesses; and an Egarad sympathizer, who
blamed Terrans for Egarad ills. He thought her theory un-
likely—bis vote still went for a haban—-but he knew he
would have to mention it to someone when they reached

home.

Where was the attendant? He needed that tea more than

ever now.

Chapter Twenty

"DEATHRAOE," DEVANE said, "tell me about Kampacalas."

The psychiatrist leaned back in her chair and regarded
him across her desk. "You want a thumbnail sketch, or an
account of his sexual habits and partners, his intelligence
and adaptability index, his current frustration threshold?
What?"

"What goes on in his head? This is the second time he's
offered us an alternative identity for our cop killer and this
time he*s proposing that we're harboring the nago right
here in the department. What's he trying to do, make us
afraid of each other? Does he want to destroy morale so
we'll aH be sent back to Earth?"

"Oh, come now, director. Kampacalas is very much the
type of officer you wanted to bring to Egar: young, bright,
idealistic, and conscientious. He's exercising that last trait
by passing on what was suggested to him. He very properly
brought the information to Mete Lessman, who passed it
up the line to you. I talked with him just recently when he
came in for his routine visit. At that time he*d just been
transferred to the Evening Watch and was somewhat
frightened and distressed. Also, one of his best friends was
Pol Wassom, and we were preparing to ship Wassom back
to Earth. Still, every answer he gave me indicated a bal-
anced, stable personality. I had Abin reading from the
other room, too, and deep-reading verified my findings."

Devane tugged at an ear. "How is having an Egarad as-
sistant working out?"

"It's certainly the answer to overcoming reticence like
Wassom's, but I think we ought to be open about having a
deep reader .present during the interviews ... as I've al-
ready mentioned a time or two. If we're caught at being
covert, I believe we'll pay a heavy price in lost trust."

T90

DEADLY S1LENTS 191

Devane shrugged. "All right. From now on, keep Abin
in the room and let everyone know the reason. What about
this idea of a psycho Quiet in the department bong in-
volved in the killings?"

"It's a valid possibility. Abin tells me the broadcast
power percentages follow our old familiar friend, the bell
curve, with a few Louds, a great number of individuals in
the Medium range, and a few Quiets. The human curve is
probably about the same, with the addition of some natural
Silents below the Quiets."

"Then let's look into this quickly and quietly. Use Abin
to screen our personnel—call all of them in on some ex-
cuse or other—and let me know how many fall in that
Quiet range. We can check those officers out and maybe
well never have to let anyone know we ever suspected our
own people."

Deathrage sighed. *That's wishful thinking, surely. You
don't for a moment thinic there's any way to keep the grape-
vine from learning about this and spreading it, do you?
Director, do I have to remind you that this isn't Earth?
D'shenegar isn't a place to keep secrets, so why don't you
get in practice for the time you have Egarad personnel and
not even try?"

"Because these aren't Egarad officers," Devane said. "I
don't want to spread panic. If we don't feel we can trust
each other, we're mushed as a department"

Deathrage just looked at him. For a moment, Devane
felt disoriented. He knew that expression, but with violet
eyes, not blue ones. When he realized why, he caught his
breath. Ibal, the healer on the police board, looked at him
that way from time to time. He found himself reacting to
Deathrage as he reacted to Ibal, too, listening more care-
fully to his own words and rethinking what he had just
said. And what would happen if the field officers did not
feel they could trust their command officers? he thought.

"On the other hand," he said aloud, "if we go ahead and
check everyone's broadcasting power, and deep-read the
individuals in the Quiet category, we don't have to wonder
if we can trust each other because we'll know if anyone is
guilty or not"

Deathrage beamed at him like a mother taking pride in
a particularly clever child. "We can have this question an-
swered in less than two days."

Devane eyed her. "Sometime I'll have to introduce you

192 DEADLY SILENTS

to a certain member of the police board. I think youll find
yourselves kinfolk under the skin."

She chuckled.

They went to work on the logistics of the screening and
were just finishing when the intercom chimed. In response
to the psyman's activating wave of one hand and brisk,
"Yes?" Liril's voice said, "Devane, tour."

Devane sat up. "My son's school I almost forgot I'll be
right there, Liril." Waving the intercom off, he stood and
started to leave the room, then paused at the door. "Oh,
make another appointment for my wife, will you?" He said
it with some embarrassment. His own wife, and he had less
influence over her than he did over the other three
hundred and some Terrans in the department. "This time
I'll see that she keeps it."

Deathrage shook her head. "Don't do that. Missing two
appointments tells me she doesn't really want to talk to me.
You might force her to come, but you can't force her to
listen, and if she's here under duress, she's less likely than
ever to be receptive to anything I might have to offer."

Devane frowned. If Meda would only come, be felt sure
she would stop being afraid of the psyman.

"She has to come on her own or it's a waste of both our
time," Deathrage said.

Devane eyed her, then grinned. "Now Fm convinced you
and Ibal are related."

Still grinning, he hurried to the reception area. There,
Runah and Didin, the First-Level school's other teacher,
waited with two dozen children ranging in age from what
on Earth would have been three to seven years old. Gerel
and D'ne charged out of the group toward him, Gerel
shouting happily, "Daddyl"

D'ne said, "Parent."

Bending down, Devane included both in his hug. He
straightened again, taking each child by a hand. "I'm glad
you could bring them this afternoon, Runah. While we're
going through the station, all of you keep in a close group.
You're so much smaller than everyone else here, I don't
want someone stepping on you, thinking you're igelis."

Gerel giggled and the visible fur of the children and two
teachers rippled,

Devane found it one of the easiest tours he had ever
conducted. At each point, he needed only a few words of

DEADLY Sl LENTS 193

explanation, and from the expressions and comments of the
young Iregara, he gathered that they understood most of
what he meant. Which was better than some of the VIPs
did whom he had had the dubious privilege of showing
around the Bryant Street station back in San Francisco.
Here he had trouble only when Terran and Egarad con-
cepts differed radically.

Gerel, who had been to the station before but never ac-
tually gone through it, reacted with as much excitement as
the other children, especially in the exercise room. Only
Devane's firm grip on their hands kept Gerel and D'ne
from swarming over the exercise equipment.

Ogilvie, the trainer, watched the children, grinning.
"Have I been invaded by Little People?"

^es." several of the children replied in unison, fur rip-
pling.

The dozen or so officers working out laughed. With pa-
tient good humor, they lilted the children onto and down
from the equipment and showed them how it all worked.
Then the children discovered the track and chanach courts
outside.

"Play?" Gerel asked.

"No," Devane replied firmly.

Someone behind him murmured, "Good. I've seen the
kids play in my shen and those little bastards are damn
fast. I'd hate to be shamed in front of brothers by a bunch
of kids."

A howl of outrage from inside the building sent Devane
running for the locker room. There he found one furious,
wet, soap-covered female officer clutching a towel about
her and chasing wide-eyed children out of the shower.

"Well, soap and water don't destroy my weatherproof-
ing. What the hell is going on? What asynaptic let this
damn rat pack in here!"

"Me, Officer King," Devane said, "but we're leaving
now." And he herded the children out, leaving the officer
staring open-mouthed.

After that, the rest of the tour seemed anticlimactic. As
far as the children were concerned, at least, the exercise
room had been the high point Devane did not bother tak-
ing them down to Data. He did stop in the lab, however,
and he held his breath until Gerel, seeing his mother, burst
into a voluble stream of chatter, telling Meda about all

194 DEADLY SILENTS

they had seen and done. His monologue hardly slowed, let
alone stopped, from the time Meda joined them until the
group left the station.

Standing at the door with Devane, watching them
scamper across the court and down the path toward the
skyrail, Meda laughed. "You can certainly tell which one
is our son."

At least until Gerel left Meda's hearing distance, Devaoe
thought. The boy had taken his father's advice to heart.
What chameleons children could be. "I guess we can stop
worrying about him going native."

She glanced at him. then turned away from the door.
"May I buy you coffee. Director Brooks?"

"I never decline a lady*s invitation."

They had it in the canteen, looking out into the little
courtyard garden between the E and I wings. Meda sipped
hers nervously. "Did you make another appointment for
me with Deathrage?"

Devane shook his head.

She sat back in relief. Something continued to disturb
her, however. She toyed endlessly with her coffee mug.
"Dee," she said at last, "can we talk?"

Now7 He thought of the work waiting on his desk, work
he had already delayed in order to play guide for Gerel's
school. "Do you want to go to my office?"

She looked around. "I thought . . . maybe here would
be better. Being in public will help keep us calm and ra-
tional."

He dreaded conversations she started that way. He
sighed. "All right, what do you want to talk about?"

She sipped her coffee. "Gerel. I don't know what's hap-
pening to him."

Cautiously, Devane said, *'He seems happy and normal
to me. First you were upset because you thought he wasn't
talking enough. Now he's talking. What's bothering you
this time?"

"He talks, but only around me or other Terrans—most
other Terrans. When he thinks he's alone with you or with
D'ne or other Iregara, he's an entirely different boy. I've
watched him. Maybe you're so used to Iregara you don't
notice that he talks like they do. I think he's trying to be a
different person to fit each group he's with. What kind of
psychological damage must that be doing to him? He must
have trouble knowing what and who he's supposed to be."

DEADLY SILENTS 195

Was that all? Devane smiled. "You don't have to worry
about that. Working the streets I saw children from His-
panic and Chinese families doing it all the time. At home
they spoke their ancestral language and followed ancestral
customs, but they looked and acted like the rest of their
peer group the minute they left the house. They weren't
confused; they could live in both worlds."

**But"—a frown creased Meda's forehead—"Iregara
aren't Gerel's peer group. Terrans should be." She leaned
toward him. "Dee, let's go home. This world will destroy
us if we stay here. Look what it's already done."

He forced himself to breathe slowly. What could he say
to her? That he had a contract and moral obligations to
fulfill? That having waited so long for this kind of chance,
leaving the job would kill something in him? No, he could
not say that. Above all eke, he had to avoid the issue of
choosing between Meda and the job. He wanted and
needed them both.

"The world won't destroy us, Meda. It's a good world.
These are fine people. You've been visiting the Enclave
every few nights for most of the summer, riding your bicy-
cle back and forth alone at night. Where on Earth would
you dare do that? Certainly not in San Francisco. You
worry about Gerel going native, but you've never had to
worry about him being molested. We have a lock on the
door that we don't really need. Think about that," he said
softly. "We can be safe here. While Gerel's still young and
impressionable, he can be secure, and grow free of people
trying to force him into a system of religion and behavior
just because they believe that way. The only high holies
here are in the Enclave."

She bit her lip. "I—yes, I guess it's true. I hadn't
thought of that before."

He reached out to take her hand. "Then please do.
Think about it, and then if you'd still rather live on Earth,
we'll . . . talk about going back. Agreed?" He made him-
self smile at her.

She squeezed his hand. "Agreed."

"And now," he said, standing up, "Director Brooks had
better apply himself to his desk chair and get some work
done."

He leaned down to kiss her but she evaded him. Rather
than press the issue, he touched her cheek and headed for
the door. There he paused to look back. Meda sat with

196 DEADLY SILENTS

hands pressed to her cheeks, staring thoughtfully off across
the canteen. What was going on in her head? He could ask
Liril, of course, but watching Meda, he rejected the idea.
Give her her privacy. Let her tell him her thoughts in her
own time. He only hoped he had given her something posi-
tive to consider.

Chapter Twenty-one

A CHEERFULLY insulting chorus greeted Ten and Jael at
briefing. "They're back. That proves they aren't so bright;

if they were, they would have kept on going."

"How was the trial today?" Nile Paretski asked.

Ten and Jael looked at each other. "You tell him," Ten
said.

"Well, as a trial,** Jael said, ^garad appearances have
to rank as the most boring in the galaxy. They consist
mainly of the mediator staring at the witnesses. The one
time we actually bad any kind of extended question-and-
answer series was when Roban examined Ladras for the
mediator. And even that turned out dull. The only excite-
ment," she said with a wicked grin, "came when Kampaca-
las went to sleep and fell out of his chair."

Ten stared at her indignantly. **I never—" He broke off,
glaring. "Next time I will throw you in the river."

"The important question is, did we win?" Delores Kirsch-
ner asked.

Ten shrugged. "When we*re investigating for both city
and defendant, how can we say? It's yes and no, whatever
the decision. Society won, I suppose. Nafee ordered Ladras
to a care facility for observation and prognosis, and when
and if released from there, Ladras will owe reparations to
Shumar and Haritheen's children."

"So now the fun's over and it's back to work," Paretski
said.

"Ifs been very quiet the two nights you were gone,"
Lara Flood remarked. "I don't know if that means any-
thing significant or not"

Ten shook his head, grinning. "Everyone on this watch
thinks he's a comedian." A buzzer sounded somewhere.
Ten raised his brows at the others. "What's that?"

197

198 DEADLY S1LENTS

"One of us has someone at the door of the storefront It's
probably a ride-along."

More buzzers sounded. Ten crossed to his door and
checked the observation screen. Outside stood a dun-
colored Egara with face marked by red and blue streaks
like ancient Terran Indian waipainL

"Identity?" Ten asked.

"Darith. Rider," the Egara replied, and stretched out the
left arm, exhibiting an armband bearing the police yin-
yang insignia.

Ten let Darith in. Around the room, he watched the im-
ages of other Iregara appear among those of the uniformed
Terrans. "Welcome," Ten told Darith. "I'm Ten Kampaca-
las, your officer." He eyed the facial design. "That looks
like temporary paint. Did you mean to come dressed for
battle?"

Darith stared at him, reading. Ten felt sure, the images
of old Terran Indians in his mind. Darith's fur rippled
slightly. "Coincidence." The Egara reached up to touch the
warpaint designs. "Appropriate?"

Around the room. other Iregara asked, "What?"

Ten glanced toward them. "Is there a problem?"

His colleagues grinned, <t0ne of communication. The
ride-alongs can't understand you or what your ride-along is
talking about directly. They have to read it out of our
heads, and sometimes if we don't understand, either, that
can be confusing."

Yes, a broadcast conference would provide definite
problems for the Iregara, Ten decided, like vid without the
text strip. With that thought came an idea. Broadcasts
might be utilized to demonstrate a Silent's viewpoint of
Normal conversations. It could prove enlightening and in-
structive to Normals.

"Is," Darith said.

Ten raised a brow. "You've had two nights of it already,
so I expect so."

Lieutenant Dryden mounted the dais with Brynche and
Gerhardt. She checked the holocom network indicators on
the lectern. "It looks like all the storefronts are on the net-
work. Has everyone's ride-along shown up?" When no one
indicated a negative, she shuffled through her notes. "Be-
fore we start, I have a small task for the ride-alongs. It
seems someone has suggested that our killer might be a

DEADLY S1LENTS 199

Terran with a minimal broadcast level, working in this de-
partment."

Ten felt his face heat up. He glanced around to see if
anyone showed signs of knowing who made the suggestion.
The the room erupted into angry and profane protest, but
only Darilh reacted to Ten. turning impassive eyes on him.

Dryden rapped a fist on the lectern. "All right. That's
enough. Director Brooks feels the possibility is so remote
as to be ridiculous, but in order to settle the question, so
we can all go back to hunting the Silent or haban who's the
real killer, the director has asked me to classify the broad-
cast level of all officers. As I go down the role. will the
ride-along tell me whether that officer is a Loud, Medium.
Quiet, or Silent? Officers in the last two categories are
asked—that's asked^ not ordered—to submit to a deep
reading at the station tomorrow.'* She looked around the
room. "According to the director, there's no penalty for
refusing the reading, but I think we all understand that any
officer who declines had better have good reasons for
doing so. All right . . . Amaro."

The roll call produced just one Quiet, but Dene Baker
did not appear alarmed at being a potential suspect "Cer-
tainly I'll take the deep reading. I had to stretch to meet
the minimum height requirement in Winnipeg. I'm almost
flattered to have the brass or anyone else thinking I'm able
to break Ashe's neck that way." She held up her hands,
hardly larger than a child's. "Besides, I was on duty during
every one of those killings and Communications can testify
to my location."

Everyone sat back. The tension that had gripped the
room since Dryden*s announcement faded. The lieutenant
quickly read the incident list, then had Sergeant Brynche
pass on some procedure suggestions before dismissing the
watch.

Ten caught JaeFs eye. "Round up Roban after the watch
and meet at my place for food,"

She grimaced. "We've had a fight and he's still sulking.
I'll try to talk him into it, though."

Outside the door. Ten and Darith met Dal Kiefer com-
ing in. During the few words of greeting and patrol infor-
mation they exchanged. Ten noticed that Kiefer no longer
looked exhausted or tense. The change in watches had ob-
viously helped him,

200 DEADLY SIlENTS

"Be careful. Keep sharp," Kiefer said in parting.

Ten smiled. "I'm not worried; I have my trusty shotgun
rider to watch my back."

Darith assumed a posture of someone holding a long
weapon and peering around watchfully. Ten's smile broad-
ened to a grin. The Egara had copied the image in Ten's
head. Darith glanced at him and the Egara's fur rippled.

They were off to an auspicious start. Ten thought. Aloud
he said, "Let's go to work."

They started a walk through the shopping mall. As they
walked, they both talked to shop employees and mail pa-
trons. Here in the remaining hours of daylight, the shops
were still open and populated. Ten stopped at B'gen's
Antiquities, too.

The shop still had an empty look, but some new items
filled the space left by the destroyed antiques. B'gen put-
tered among the new acquisitions, arranging and rearranging
them. As Ten came in, B'gen turned and stared hard at
him. "No."

Ten sighed. "Please reconsider. Reparations should be
penalty enough. You know confinement in a care facility
can be the same as a death sentence."

"Yes." B'gen said.

Ten regarded the shopkeeper with a frown. "You're
being very vindictive."

"Yes."

"Don't your neighbors find your emotion painful?"

B'gen paused only a moment before replying shortly,
"Justified."

Ten stared at the graying Egara a minute longer. What
now? Maybe the shopkeeper would relent in court. "Very
well. m see you before Mediator Huthe day after tomor-
row. Don't forget you have to appear to testify about your
disagreement with Anubas."

He left the shop. At his shoulder, Darith said, "Change
doubtful."

Ten smiled thinly. **B'gen is obstinate, but don't be so
sure seeing Anubas won't bring a change of heart. Even if
it doesn't, I can always hope the mediator will consider my
opinion before making a judgment"

"Reason?"

"Aside from the fact that I feel euthanasia is too severe a
penalty for vandalism, I don't think Anubas is an incurable,
or even very antisocial. She regrets what happened,

DEADLY SILENTS 201

and I saw her love for her child. I hate to see the two of
them separated."

"Parents."

Ten glanced toward Darith. "Intellect tells me, yes, the
neighbors care just as much and can parent just as well,
but"—he shrugged—"my Terran-raised heart doesn't ac-
cept it. I believe in families."

Flying from mall to shen to other malls, and walking
through each, the two of them talked. Ten did most of it,
carrying on a monologue about Earth and Topeka, about
working there, comparing it to D'shenegar. He knew he
was talking too much, but he seemed unable to stop, as
though a plug had been pulled in him, compelling him to
empty himself out. He had missed having a partner, he
knew, but not until now had he realized how much.

They walked the Crafter's industrial mall. Darith moved
as Ten's shadow, pacing him and listening patiently. Then
they checked the Third-Level school and several more
ishen before moving on to the Thelis industrial mall.
There, with the evening faded into the blackness of night,
Ten slipped on his night goggles under his helmet. Without
being told to do so, Darith dropped back half a step, letting
Ten check passages and openings with his baton for wires
before they moved through. Ten nodded approval. This
telepath learned fast They might have been working to-
gether for months or years instead of merely hours. If not
quite safe. Ten felt at least less vulnerable.

"I've talked enough," he said as they checked the closed
shops. "Now it's your turn." He grinned. 'Tell me all
about yourself in one word or less."

In the gray twilight of the goggles. Ten saw Darith's fur
ripple.

"What kind of work do you do? Why are you interested
in playing cop?"

Before the Egara could answer, however. Ten waved a
hand for silence and held his breath, listening. Something
or someone moved around the side of a carpetmaker's
workshop. "Read anything?" he whispered to Darith.

"No," came the reply, so soft as to be almost inaudible.

Animal minds broadcast, too, so if something live occu-
pied those shadows, the mind must be a Silent one. What
Ten would like was for Darith to make vocal noise, as
though the two men had stopped for a bit, while Ten him-
self slid up to the corner.

202 DEADLY S1LENTS

Darith waited for Ten to flatten against the front of the
shop, then shuffled around, muttering. Ten drew his
sleeper and eased along the wall cat-silent At the comer,
he stopped, then dived around the edge.

An Egara with a black-spotted face jumped away from
an open window.

"Cops," Ten called. "Come here.'*

The Silent bolted backward.

Ten ducked under the lower edge of the open window to
give chase, but the Suent ran toward a passage between
buadings, and Ten thought with sudden fear of Martine
Her-Many-Horses' last chase. Instead of running after the
Silent, he pointed the sleeper and fired. The Silent went
down, skidding forward on momentum before coming to a
stop in a crumpled heap.

Ten tossed Darith the wrap strap, picturing its use in his
mind. "Wrap Spotted-face there, hands behind the back.
I'll check to see whether we interrupted an entrance or an
exit"

The front door had the usual hook set high enough to
keep igelis from reaching it Nothing had disturbed the
hook. Ten flipped it open and stepped inside, looking
around the workshop. As far as he could determine, every-
thing seemed in order, but he decided the owner or super-
visor should verify that

He tapped on his radio. ''North Twenty-five, Communi-
cations."

After a short delay, the reply came. "Go ahead. North
Twenty-five."

"Data should have a record of who owns Ananad Car-
pets in the Thelis industrial mall. Find out who it is and
ask that person to meet me at the shop. We have a possible
break-in,"

"Will do. Thirty-six fifty-three."

Ten glanced at his wrist chron. That late already? Only
five hours until midnight. The ride-along's presence was
shortening the watch.

While he waited, he continued checking the workshop,
looking over the looms and finished rolls of carpet, but
carefully touching nothing. He examined the open window,
too. It had not been forced, of course; it had no lock to
need forcing. It simply lilted up and swung out, a combina-
tion of movement that could be accomplished just as well
from the outside as inside but was complex enough to de-

DEADLY S1LENTS 203

feat igelis. The radio in his ear murmured a constant
stream of acknowledgments from Communications as offi-
cers all over the city notified the dispatcher of each new
location and activity.

Hands clapped twice outside the front door. Ten went to
open it. Outside stood Darith, carrying the Silent. Darith
laid the Silent on the ground and handed Ten a short
Egarad knife.

Ten clucked his tongue. "Where did you find this?"

"Cape."

•'Wonderful." He knelt to search the Silent thoroughly.

A familiar number brought his attention to the radio.
"Cleared for a personal. North Seven." That would be Jael.
He wondered what she was up to.

"Personal?" Darith asked.

Ten felt every centimeter of the Silent, running fingers
through the fur, checking the cape and tabard, pulling off
the boots to search them, too. "It's time out from duty for
a personal errand, usually a trip to the san or a stop some-
where to pay a bill, though I've known officers who used
them to visit women or make sure a wife wasn't entertain-
ing visitors."

Darith regarded him impassively. "What?"

Before Ten could try explaining marriage and infidelity,
the Silent regained consciousness. As Spotted-face's eyes
opened. Ten asked, in Translan, "What's your name?"

"I want to sit up."

Ten helped the Silent into a sitting position. "Did you
open the window of the workshop?"

Spotted-face tested the wrap strap. "This is tight."

"What were you doing at that window? Why did you
run when I told you who we were?" Ten held up the knife.
"We found this in your cape. Why were you carrying it?
Were you planning to vandalize the carpet shop?"

Spotted-face replied with a suggestion that widened Dar-
ith's eyes and left Ten wondering whether the physically
improbable but entertaining idea had been invented by
Spotted-face or adapted from Terran profanity.

Ananad, the shop owner, arrived shortly. Hurrying up to
them, the Egara looked at the Silent and answered several
of Ten's questions in one word. "Yathi"

"You know this person?" Ten asked.

^es."

Questioning produced a now-familiar story. Yath had

204 DEADLY SILENTS

been employed by the shop but dismissed a short time be-
fore for fighting with other employees. In this case, the Si-
lent had actually struck one of the loom technicians.

At Ten's insistence, Ananad checked the shop. Nothing
had been disturbed or damaged, which meant they had
probably caught Yath on the way in. That presented a
problem. If the Silent had not actually entered the shop, no
offense had been committed. Carrying a weapon was not
forbidden, nor was walking around the mall at night. Run-
ning when ordered to come forward by a cop might be
suspicious, but not grounds for arrest Ten could think of
no valid reason for holding the Silent, however positive he
felt that Yath had been about to vandalize the shop.

With a sigh, he slid the depolarizer from its case on his
equipment belt and ran it over the wrap strap. The strap
dropped off Yath's wrists. Recharging the strap and coiling
it to put it in its case. Ten said, "I'm letting you go."

Yath regarded him without expression.

"But only because nothing has been damaged. I'm filing
a report on this incident, though. Your name, description,
and address will be in our computer, and if there should be
any vandalism connected with this shop in the future,
you'll be me first person we come looking for."

Staring after the departing caped form. Ten hoped the
experience had cooled the Silent's anger, but thinking of
the difference between Yarn's—sullen?—silence and the
stunned, sleepwalking reaction exhibited by Anubas after
the antique shop incident. Ten suspected not. They would
hear more from citizen Yath. He made a mental note to
warn ConsigU and Kiefer that the shop should be given
extra attention for a while.

He bid Ananad goodnight and resumed the patrol with
Darith. "That's a situation I hate even on Earth, and there
we can find all kinds of excuses to bold a subject if we
want to. We can be positive about what the subject in-
tended to do, but . . . intent is criminal only after the
crime has been committed. We—"

In his ear, a flat voice in Communications said, "Repeat
Unable to read you." After a pause, the dispatcher went
on, "Identify yourself, please."

Ten stopped to listen.

"All units, hold traffic. Will the unidentified unit please
repeat your transmission? I'm unable to understand you."
The voice remained without expression.

DEADLY SILENTS 205

*<What?" Darith asked.

Ten shook his head, "I don't know. Trouble.**
The voice on the radio switched to Isegis. "Name? Iden-
tify."

Ten wished passionately that he could hear the other's
transmission. Speaking Isegis could only mean Communi-
cations was talking to an Egara, a Normal, and Ten could
think of only one group of Egara with access to a police
radio, and one reason to be using it He waited anxiously
for the dispatcher to go on.

"Say problem, Hedee," Communications said.
Another long pause dragged on while Ten bit his lip in
an agony of fearful impatience.

**Wait, Hedee." The dispatcher switched back to English.
•'Communications, North Seven. What is your location?"

Jael's location? What was wrong with looking at the
board?

"North Seven," Communications said again, the voice
never losing its flat precison. "Communications to North
Seven."

Fear leaped in Ten. Answer, Joel, he prayed. Roger the

call, damn it.

"North Seven, please respond." After another pause:

"North Seventeen, proceed to F-12. Meet ride-along Hedee
and attempt to locate North Seven. I have no signal from
the personal transponder."

"Come on, Darith!" Ten ran for the car, tapping on his
radio. "North Twenty-five. Request permission to assist
North Seventeen."

Communications did not answer immediately. Ten
clenched his fists. Come on, you bitch, he thought, and
don't you dare tell me to stay on patrol. The hell he would
keep shaking doors and wait for someone else to find out
what had happened to Jael. He would go even if it meant
disobeying orders.

"North Twenty-five," Communications said at last "Per-
mission granted."

With a sigh of relief. Ten ducked under the door of the
car and pulled it down tight behind him. Darith dived into
the other side. Ten lifted the car and sent it south at a
speed that red-lined the panel gauges and rammed both
him and Darith deep in their seats.

In less than three minutes he had covered the ten kilo-
meters to the location where the signals on his panel's city

206 DEADLY S1LENTS

grid indicated the location of Jael's and North Seventeen's
cars. He grounded the Chehasha in a meadow beside the
other vehicles and swinging out, raced toward the woods,
startled ichehasha scattering before him and leaping high
toward the silver moons.

"Casebieri" he shouted. "Casebier, it's Ten Kampacalas!
Where are you?"

Rudi Casebier, North Seventeen, appeared out of the
shadows at the wood's edge. "I haven't found her yet."

Ten Sashed his hand lamp past Casebier, onto two Ire-
gara standing among the trees. "Which of you is Hedee?"
be demanded. "Why the hell weren't you with her like
you're supposed to be?"

Casebier caught Ten's aim. "Hedee isn't a bodyguard
and you know it. Calm down."

Ten shook off Casebier's hand but dragged in some long
breaths. "All right" More reasonably, he asked, "What
happened?"

"Hedee was just telling me that Jael asked for and re-
ceived permission to take a personal."

"I heard that on the radio. She was taking it here?"

"Retreat," Hedee said, pointing into the woods.

"What for?" Casebier asked.

"Meeting."

"Whom was she meeting?"

"For god's sake, details can wait,** Ten snapped. "So she
was going to take a personal. She went to the retreat. Then
whatr*

"We," Hedee said. "Both. Walked." Hedee headed along
a path into the woods, showing them, then stopped. "Here.
Sleeper."

Ten caught his breath, "Jael went down?"

"I. Woke. Gone."

"Did you hunt for her?"

''No reading. Radioed."

Ten shined his light into the woods, first on one side of
the path, then the other, fear running like icy fire in him.
"No reading at all? Could she be unconscious, with her
reading covered by animal minds?'*

The Iregara looked at him. Darith said, "Possible.**

Then let's look for her. She might be close. Be careful.
Check for wires."

The five of them fanned out through the trees in serpen-
tine paths. Ten moved cautiously, alert for any glint in the

DEADLY S1LENTS 207

air as well as for tracks on the woods floor or broken
branches that might indicate someone's hurried passage.
Jael's abductor might well have left traps for anyone fol-
lowing.

"North Seventeen, North Twenty-five, status check,"
Communications said.

"This is Twenty-five. We haven't located North Seven
yet"

"Do you need assistance?"

They would need an army to search these woods, or
good old-fashioned woodsmen. Trying to pick out a track
in the jumble of dead and live vegetation on the woods
floor was more than he could do. Where could Jael have
been taken? Suddenly, a thought struck him, an idea where
she might be.

"Respond, North Twenty-five," came the voice from his
radio. "Do you need assistance?"

"No," he replied.

He wanted to run, but he forced himself to walk, still
checking for wires, straining to detect that telltale rebound
of his paragee field. Why had he thought of the retreat? A
hunch? It was easy to reach by the path . . . though why
she should have been taken there or anywhere else puzzled
him- It was not the killer's previous pattern.

He checked the entrance to the retreat and found it free
of wires. Stepping into the clearing, he glanced around
, . . and froze, staring at the bench in the center.

For the first moments, he felt nothing but a sense of
unreality. Medieval images and the strains of "Green-
sleeves" clashed in Ten's mind. Stripped naked and laid
out on the bench with hands folded across her chest, Jael
looked like a marble effigy on top of some ancient tomb.
In the twilight of his goggles* vision, her skin shone pale
gray and flawless.

"Jael?" he said.

Slowly, he crossed the retreat toward the bench. He felt
as though he were watching himself through a telescope
. . . remote, detached, insulated from all feeling by that
sense of watching a play or dream.

He said again, softly, as though not to startle her, "Jael."

Then he stood beside her, looking down, and the dream-
like quality shattered. Her hands, crossed so decorously,
had been bound at the wrists by a wrap strap, and the left
side of her head, which he had not been able to see until

208 DEADLY SILENTS

now, showed as black pulp, the blood robbed of its color
by the night. Small wonder her transponder did not function.
It must have been destroyed by the blow that killed her.

He tapped on his radio. "North Twenty-five, Communi-
cations." The words, calm and measured, reached him as
though spoken by someone else. "I've found Officer
Meadin. I need a supervisor and C-unit"

"Supervisor and C-unit dispatched."

"Oh, my god," came a whisper from behind Ten. He
turned to find Casebier and the three Iregara in the retreat
entrance. They said they heard you screaming," Casebier
said, goggle-covered eyes on Jael's body. •

Screaming? Ten blinked at them. Not aloud, he knew. It
must have been in his mind.

With that thought, the distance between himself and the
scene collapsed. He catapulted headlong into the middle of
it. As the landing shattered his insulation, anger ignited
deep in him. He walked out of the retreat, onto the path,
pushing the others ahead of him. Sofdy, he asked, "Who
was she meeting here?"

Hedee regarded him with pupils dilated. "Person."

"People have names. Didn't she think about it?"

"Not name. Image."

"Describe the image."

Hedee stared hard at him. "Thin. Fur, eyes color." The
Egara pointed at Ten's black equipment belt. "Skin color."
The Egara touched Darith's dun-colored fur.

"Height?" Ten prompted. "Was the shape like Jael's or

mine?"

Hedee held up a hand higher than the top of Ten's head.
"Shape . . . you."

A male, then, about a hundred eighty centimeters, with
black hair and eyes and light brown skin. The familiarity
of the description hit Ten. "Was the hair wiry, like an Af-
ro's?"

"Image," Hedee said. "Same."

Casebier looked questioningly at Ten.

Ten took a breath. "I just thought of Roban Adeyanju.
That's who she expected to see. The killer lured her here
by making her think she was going to meet Roban." He
looked back at Hedee. "When did she receive word to
meet him?"

"Briefing."

Ten frowned. "Someone at the briefing told her—

DEADLY SILENTS 209

"Note."

Ten blinked in disbelief. Someone at briefing gave her a
note? That was impossible!

Hedee sighed. "Found. Bulletin board."

Ten heard Casebier exclaim sharply. His own chest felt
suddenly tight "She found it on the bulletin board? Inside
the storefront?"

"Yes."

"That can't be," Ten said. "The door only opens for peo-
ple with authorized palm codes."

In a tight voice, Casebier said, "Maybe the person who
left the note had a palm code."

Ten bit his lip. Could Brithe be right after all? He did
not want to think so. "Maybe the killer persuaded the Day
Watch officer to post the note."

Noise sounded down the path. Sergeant Brynche and
Lieutenant Dryden came toward them, followed by a
Criminalistics team. At the retreat entrance, Brynche shone
her hand lamp in and drew a sharp breath. After a quick
look toward Jael's body, Dryden said, "All right, what hap-
pened?"

Ten looked back into the retreat, where the C-unit team
were setting up their field lights, making the clearing an
oasis of brilliant light. In the glare, Jael no longer looked
like a marble effigy. Now she could be seen for exactly
what she was, a naked young woman, flesh bleached by
death, nothing at all like the friend who led him on that
chase down the beach of the Golden River just two days
ago, or who laughed up at Roban from the other side of
their sand castle.

Ten's breath caught, stuck at a tight constriction in his
throat He gasped, struggling to breathe.

"Kampacalas!" Dryden snapped.

Ten dragged his eyes around to her.

"You tell me about this. How did it happen? Come on,
Kampacalas, report!"

Ten reported, somehow, forcing the words out. He
paused frequently, but at each stop, Dryden nodded en-
couragement, and he went on. Eventually, she knew every-
thing Ten did and he smiled a faint thank you at her. Her
insistence on his reporting had kept him from falling apart.

*tWe can ask Bill Chen if an Egara asked him to post
that note for Jaei," Casebier said.

2TO DEADLY SILENTS

"We will." Dryden turned toward Hedee. "Did you ac-
tually see the writing on the note?"

"Yes."

"How were the characters drawn? Were they the com-
plex ones a Normal would use, incorporating thought-
stream elements, or a Silent or Terran's simpler forms?"

"Simple," Hedee said.

"Was the note signed?"

"Yes. Alien." Hedee squatted down and used a forefin-
ger to trace lines in the dust of the path. The two resulting
letters were not perfect Rather, they looked distorted in
the same way Ten thought he might reproduce a word in
Arabic that he bad seen only briefly. Still, the forms were
recognizable: Ro.

"Whoever forged his name knew his signature and nick-
name," Ten said.

Dryden eyed him thoughtfully. "Maybe it wasn't
forged."

Ten gave her a puzzled frown. "It was a genuine meet
that the killer knew about and intercepted Jael on the way?
Then where's Roban?"

Brynche said, "Your psychological profile says you're
very loyal to friends. Are you blindly loyal as well?
Adeyanju is a Quiet. We classified him this afternoon."

Ten's frown changed to one of uncertainty. He tried to
read Brynche's and Dryden's expressions, only dimly visi-
ble in the light shining out of the retreat. "I know he's a
Quiet. What are you trying to say, that Roban killed her?
That's wickers!" His voice rose.

The conversation with Brithe in the highliner came back
to him abruptly. Someone like Roban, Brithe had said, a
Quiet Egarad sympathizer, but even she had not suggested
that Roban himself might be guilty. Roban had attempted
to grab him when he fell at Rimamin.

Then without wanting to, Ten remembered other words
of Brithe's: // he wanted, he could have been pushing you
instead. Could Roban have pushed while appearing to try
to save him? Guilt stabbed Ten instantly, but the question
lingered. They had had a near fight the night before, and a
few words that morning.

Suddenly, he remembered the fight Roban and Jael had
had on the highliner. His breath caught. The two of them
fought one day and Jael died the next evening. No. No, he

DEADLY SIIENTS 211

would still not believe Roban could have had anything to
do with—he glanced back into the retreat—with that.

"Fights?" Darith said. "Fall?"

"What?" Dryden asked.

"It's nothing," Ten said, silently swearing. Never any
privacy. "Roban may be a Quiet, but he isn't guilty of kill-
ing any cops, let alone Jael. The deep reading will prove
that'*

Dryden sighed. "The trouble is, you see, Adeyanju won't
be having a deep reading. When asked to submit to one
this afternoon, be refused."

Chapter Twenty-two

No MATTER how long he worked, the stack of hard copy
demanding his attention never seemed to dimmish, Devane
reflected. He had never dreamed running a department
would be this much work. Still, even with paper piled up to
his ears, he normally enjoyed it. Tonight, however, he
could not concentrate. After reading a column of figures
for the fifteenth time and still not understanding what he
had read, he leaned back from the dining table, groaning
and rubbing his eyes.

Meda looked up from where she curled in a pillow chair
with a book viewer in her lap. "Why don't you stop for the
night?"

He shook his head wearily. "I have to have these statis-
tics ready for my meeting with the board tomorrow after-
noon."

But he could not make himself care about it. Instead, his
mind supped back to a period earlier in the evening, when
he and Gerel had taken a break from their respective
homework for a walk around the shen together before Ger-
el's bedtime. They had not talked much. Occasionally they
broke into a jog, racing up the steps with Gerel's short legs
pumping hard to match his father's stride, but for the most
part they just walked, enjoying each other's company. A
last run took them most of the way up the hill and they sat
on the steps to catch their breath, blowing thick steam that
swirled around their heads before dissolving in the chilly
autumn air.

Devane looked out over the sunset-reddened waters of
Rahelem Bay. What a beautiful world, he thought He
rarely found himself comparing D'shenegar to San Fran-
cisco these days. It was so very different, in architecture,
feel, smell, and general atmosphere. Only the similarity in

212

DEADLY SILENTS 213

landscape really linked the two, and the temperature, De-
vane added wryly. He wondered if some Egarad writer or
visiting Terran had ever paraphrased the sentiment that
Earth's classic humorist Mark Twain expressed about San
Francisco and said, 'The coldest winter I ever spent was a
summer in D'shenegar."
Gerel giggled. "Funny."

Devane cocked a brow at him. "What's funny, cub?'*
" The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in
D'shenegar.*"

Shock jolted Devane. He stared at the boy in breathless
astonishment "Gerel ... did you read that from my
mind?"

Gerel's eyes widened fearfully. He started to back away,
but Devane pulled the boy to him, hugging him hard. "It's
all right, cub; it's all right. I'm not angry at you, just sur-
prised. Did you read me?"
Gerel's voice came muffled. "Yes."
"How long have you been able to do it?"
"A little while."

Tins was something Devane had never expected. Could
people learn telepathy? He needed expert advice.

So he took Gerel's hand and they had gone to visit
Runah,

The teacher had few answers for Devane except that no,
telepathy could not be learned. One had to be bom with
the capacity. Gerel apparently bad been. There was no
way of knowing when or if he might have ever developed
that rare human capacity to receive if he had remained on
Earth, where communication did not require it, but here
the boy had quickly learned to use his talent. How much
more it might develop and in what directions, Runah did
not know, either. His perceptive range had not quite
reached that of the ordinary Egarad mind, but Gerel ap-
peared to have the surprising ability to read selectively,
blocking out what he did not want to hear.
''Wish." Runah said.

Devane nodded. Yes, he imagined Iregara would like to
be able to do that, too. It occurred to him that if Gerel
could find a way to teach Iregara to block. Earth would no
longer be closed to Normals.

And now all the questions about Gerel and his unex-
pected talent Jostled together in Devane's mind, coming be-
tween him and the column of statistics. The foremost ques-

214 DEADLY SILENTS

tion, of course, was when and how should he let Meda
know? Glancing at her reading her book, he sighed.

She laid aside the viewer and came up the steps to mas-
sage his neck. "Why don't you read something recreational
for a change?"

Warmth spread through him. She had not done this for a
long time. This was almost the old Meda. He bent his
head, happily submitting to her kneading fingers. Had their
conversation this afternoon started a turnaround? He pas»
sionately hoped so.

"All right What are you reading?"

Her fingers worked out along his shoulders, smoothing
the knots from his muscles. "Not something recreational.
It's a history text Runah loaned me. I thought—I thought
I'd try to leam more about the planet."

He spun in his chair to regard her with surprised delight
Grabbing her hands, he kissed both of them. "Thank you.*'

Perhaps this was a turnaround. If so, GereTs talent
might be just what they needed. Meda could hardly fear
telepaths when her own son was one of them.

''Meda," he began.

The phone chimed, interrupting him. Answering if he
forgot all about Gerel. He listened bleakly to the voice
from Communications delivering news he had come to
dread hearing.

Meda read his face as he waved off. *'0h, nol Not an-
other officer dead!"

He nodded wordlessly. **A car is coming after me." He
went for a jacket and kissed her. "I don't know when I'll
be home."

From the entrance to the retreat, Devane watched the
Criminalistics technicians work around Jael Meadin's
body. Helpless anger filled him. She looked so young
stretched out there. They all looked so young—Meadin,
Cole, Casebier, and Kampacalas—hardly more than chil-
dren. What he done to them, bringing them out here to die
on an alien planet?

He turned to look at Kampacalas. The officer slumped
against a tree on the edge of the path, eyes fixed on the
helmet dangling from Us hand by its chinstrap, guilt and
misery etched into his face. "Come on," Devane told him.
"If Adeyanju killed Meadin and the others, he's no friend
and you haven't betrayed him by talking."

DEADLY SILENTS 2T5

Kampacalas watched the helmet, spuming first one di-
rection, then back the other. "If,"

"We have enough against him to make him a good sus-
pect," Captain Titus said. "He refused the deep reading; he
fought with Meadin; and he has access to the storefronts
to put up that note. Chen's told us no one asked him to
post the note. Do you know any more than what you've
told us about Rimamin and the flight back?"

The trouble with trying not to think. Ten reflected, was
that more memories came bubbling up out of his mind, all
the anti-Terran sentiments Roban ever expressed, about Si-
lencing Iregara and importing the barbarity of bars and
cages to Egar. And seeing the director, another incident
surfaced, too.

"Ashe," Darith said.

Devane did not miss the angry glance Kampacalas sent
the Egara. With obvious reluctance, Kampacalas said,
"The night Ashe died Roban was furious about being
clawed over by Director Brooks because our case against
Ladras was kicked out of court. He even turned on me,
wouldn't talk to me or go anywhere with me that evening,
Just wanted to be left alone, he said. The next day he ...
evaded when I asked what he'd done with the evening. In
the same conversation he told me he didn't believe anyone
had killed Ashe or Wofford, but that they'd killed them-
selves by being careless." He watched the spinning helmet.
•That's all I know."

Devane pursed his lips. "I guess we'll have to force a
deep reading on the inspector. Find Adeyanju, Titus."

Titus glanced at Lieutenant Dryden, who tapped on her
radio and asked Communications for Inspector Adeynaju's
transponder coordinates. Presently she reported, "He's in
the south leg of the city, director. Communications, contact
the inspector and have him meet me at this coordinate."

Ten listened to Communications call Roban. He spun
his helmet harder on its chinstrap, torn by conflicting emo-
tions. It seemed like a dirty trick, having someone report
to be arrested, and he. Ten, had helped do this to Roban.
But, a voice in him whispered, what if Roban had killed
Jael?

*'Why do you suppose he laid her out like that?" Ten
heard Casebier ask. "None of the others were."

"Communications, supervisor," the radio murmured.

216 DEADLY SILENTS

"Be advised Captain Basanites is en route to your loca-
tion."

"Officer's night again," Titus said, then frowned. "Direc-
tor, this is a. break in the pattern. I hope it doesn't mean
we're dealing with two different killers."

"You mean, maybe Adeyanju killed Meadin but not the
others?" Brooks asked.

"It's happened before, one killer imitating another. Then
again, maybe the difference is his relationship with her.
This might be a kind of bizarre expression of grief. Some-
times killers do contradictory things."

"It isn't something an Egara would do." Brynche said.
*They don't lay out their dead; they cremate them and
spread the ashes around the shen."

"May I go back to my patrol?" Ten asked. If he had to"
stay much longer, he would either burst into tears or start
breaking heads. They sounded like they had already tried
and convicted Roban.

"Don't leave yet," Titus said. "We want you to repeat
what you know for Captain Basanites."

"But my patrol—"

"Dene Baker is covering it Maybe you didn't hear her
ordered up there while you were telling us about Ade-
yanju."

"Disassociate," Darith said. "Arrest'*

For once. Ten understood immediately. Yes, he sup-
posed he wanted to be gone when Roban arrived, in order
to disassociate himself from the arrest, though Roban could
probably guess who told the brass about his fight with JaeL

Everyone went on talking while they waited for the in-
vestigations chief and Roban, the Terrans in one voluble
group and the Iregara. outwardly laconic, in another. Ten
joined neither.

When Basanites arrived. Ten resignedly repeated every-
thing, quote by quote and detail by detail. Then Titus said,
"Shouldn't Adeyanju be here by now?"

Dryden called Communications.

"Our map snowed him at your location, but he's now
moving south, away from you," Communications reported,

Brynche swore. "He must have been coming in and
heard us talking. I told you to watch the path, Casebier."

"I was, sarge. I swear he didn't come up it."

Dryden looked at the Iregara. "Didn't any of you read
him?"

DEADLY SILENTS 217

Hedee pointed at Ten. "Blocks."

"Well, no matter," Brooks said. "He's running, and
that's as good as a confession, I'd say. Ask Communica-
tions to track him, Dryden, and let's go after him. Kampa-
catas, you can remain here to secure the area until the
C-uoit is finished."

Ten bit his lip. Running did not suggest innocence, cer-
tainly. His mouth thinned. "Sir, I'd like to come along, if I
may. If he's headed south, he may be going home."

Leaving Casebier and his ride-along behind, the rest of
them hurried for the cars. Communications posted them on
Roban's movements. He did appear headed for home. He
kept going south until Communications reported that the
transponder signal came from the coordinates of Seba
Shen. They landed the cars around the perimeter of the
sben and converged on Roban's house on foot, sleepers
drawn.

Almost at the house, however, an Egara intercepted
Ten. "Gone."

Ten quickly checked with Communications. Roban's car
remained parked on the edge of the shen and his personal
transponder still broadcast from inside the area.

"Gone," the Egara insisted.

Ten abandoned stealth and charged the house. "Roban?"
he called. Battening against the wall outside the door. "Ro.
if you're in there, better come out."

Silence answered him. With the others covering him and
Lem Cole backing him up, he pushed open the door and
leaped in through the opening. The sitting area was empty.

Searching the house took only a minute and as the
Egara had predicted, Roban was nowhere to be found.
However, Ten did find a tiny radio lying on the kitchen
table. He regarded it unhappily. By removing the radio,
Roban had made it impossible to track him electronically.
A further admission of guilt?

A grim Cole appeared in the bedroom door. "Get the
lieutenant" he said.

A few minutes later he showed them what he had found,
Hanging among the other uniforms in the closet was one
that was dusty, stained, and demonstrably smaller than the
others. A pair of boots on the closet floor did not match
the size of the civilian-style boots alongside them, either.
Ten sighed. He could have accepted the possibility that
Jael might keep an extra, uniform here at Roban's house,

2T8 DEADLY S1LENTS

but not a dirty one, and like the rest of them, she owned
only one pair of uniform boots.

"Get the C-unit down here when they're finished at the
retreat," Brooks told Brynche. "Have them package these
boots and this uniform for processing. And broadcast a
pickup on Adeyanju."

Overhead all three moons shone, lighting the meadow
with their multiple splendor and surrounding Ten with
shadows as he rode his bicycle along the path toward
home. Surrounded by shadows. That characterized exactly
how he felt. He glanced at his chron. The glowing Egarad
numerals read: 0306. Late. He felt reluctant to go home,
however. Despite exhaustion, he knew he could not sleep.

What a count for the night: one friend dead and another
wanted for me murder, both fellow officers. No Silent was
involved in the cop deaths, it appeared, no haban, just a
Terran preying on other Terrans. Maybe Roban was right,
and speaking from experience . . . Terrans destroyed
whatever they touched . . . planets, aliens, each other. He
was glad making out reports and a formal statement had
taken so long that he missed debriefing and escaped the
questions the rest of the watch were sure to have asked.

He stopped the bicycle and stood leaning on the handle-
bars, wracked by homesickness. In Topeka, he could have
sat down for a long, comforting talk with his father, or
cried on MiraTs shoulder. God, he missed his family. He
even missed Avel. He could just hear what she would say
in his situation: *Trade me a sidearm needier and clip of
explosive needles for this damn sleeper and FU bring the
bastard inl"

Ten would like to bring Roban in, too. Where could the
Afro be? In a city where news of his crime and the hunt
for him could leap from mind to mind, spreading far raster
than a man could travel on foot, where every Normal
would know who and what the fugitive was, where could
Roban expect to hide?

Ten started forward again, sorting through the possibili-
ties. The path entered a band of woods that blocked out
the moonlight. Ten switched on his bicycle light. As the
beam leaped out, a sound caught his attention. He looked
around quickly, attempting to locate and identify the
source, and when his eyes came back to the path, Roban
stood squarely in the middle.

DEADLY SH.ENTS 219

Ten froze but made his voice casual. "Hello, Ro. What
are you doing here?" He reached for his collar, as though
to touch his paragee control plate. From there, he eased
his hand up to scratch his throat, moving toward his ear.

Roban brought up the sleeper he held. "Put both hands
on your handlebars."

Ten did as ordered. His chest tightened. "What are you
planning to do, knock me down and smash in my head,

too?"

The beam of the bicycle light did not reach Roban's
face. Ten could not see the Afro's expression, but he heard
a sharp intake of breath. 'Too? Is that how Jael died?"

"As if you didn't know."

"I didn't. How could I? I heard Basanites talking on the
path, but I never saw Jael. Ten, I didn't kill her. I swear."

Ten bit bis Up. Roban sounded sincere. "Then why did
you run?"

"Because to prove I'm innocent, I'd have to take a deep
reading."

"So?"

Roban groaned. "I—I can't do that,"

Ten frowned. "Why not? What are you guilty of?'*

"Nothing criminal, believe me."

Ten wished he could see Roban's face, but it was only a
blur above the bicycle beam. "Then it can't possibly be as
serious as looking guilty of killing cops."

"Oh, yes it can."

The bitterness startled Ten. He eyed Roban. "Why come
to me?"

"I wanted you to know I didn't kill her. I need help, too.
In one way, being a fugitive in this city is easy, but only as
long as I stick to the woods and meadows. I don't dare go
in anywhere. You can."

"How?" Ten asked. "I'm a Loud. Every Normal in
range would know I've seen you."

Roban said desperately, "I don't have anyone else. Ten,
I need proof, physical evidence, that will eliminate me as a
suspect without having to resort to a deep reading."

Ten hesitated. "It might be hard. Your movements can't
be accounted for. As an investigator, your location on
watch isn't monitored like mine is."

"I swear I wasn't anywhere near any of them when they
died. Tonight I was in the far southern leg. You heard
Communications say so."

220 DEADLY S1LENTS

Ten shook his head. "That's no alibi. At top speed, a car
can make that trip in ten minutes, fifteen max, and it was
longer than that between the time Jael died and you were
called."

Roban jammed his sleeper into his holster. "/ didn't do
it! I cared about Jael."

"Except when you fought."

"Everyone fights once in a while. Fights don't have to
end in murder."

"Sometimes they do, though, don't they?" Ten took a
breath. "There's physical evidence against you. She was
stripped naked and we found her uniform in your closet."

"Stripped—" Roban's voice sounded like that of some-
one going pale. "Oh, god. But that doesn't mean anything.
I have no lock on my door. Anyone could have put it in
the closet."

How many times. Ten wondered, had he heard the com-
plaint: *'/( was planted on me, officer," told with a straight
face and earnest voice? He sighed. "Ro, why don't you just
turn yourself in and take the reading? Once ifs over, you'll
be cleared."

"I con'f!" Roban exclaimed in an agonized voice.

Patiently, Ten tried again. "Look, you went to court to-
day, or rather, yesterday. The mediator is a deep-reader.
You didn't object to that."

"The mediator passed over everything irrelevant to the
case.'*

"So will the deep-reader at the station.**

Roban hissed. "Oh, god, can't you understand? This is
relevant. It's my alibi for Ashe's death . . . but I don't
dare tell anyone."

"Why not?'* Ten demanded in exasperation. "What were
you doing, dancing some high holy's wife?"

Ten meant it sarcastically, but Roban reacted with a
start. "Not . . . exactly," be muttered. He shifted posi-
tion, breathing hard. 'Ten, if I—if I show you I had noth-
ing to do with Ashe's death, will it help you believe I didn't
kill Jael, and do you think you can bury the information
somewhere very deep- in your mind? My neighbors know
already, and none of them has said anything, so maybe
they have no judgments on it, but ... I don't want any
other Terrans to know."

Although itching with curiosity. Ten began to wonder if

DEADLY S1LENTS 221

he wanted the responsibility of a secret Roban feared that
much. "If you come in for the reading, maybe the reader
won't give details, just say yes, you did it, or no, you
didn't."

"You can't guarantee that." He kicked at a pebble on
the path. "It only happened because I was drunk. I was so
chapped about Brooks clawing me that I came home and
started drinking, hating every command officer and every
Terran in existence. I was going down fast when—" He
took a breath, "A neighbor came over with a luras."

Ten knew that pattern.

"I invited her in—I know she's female because she has
three kids. We started talking and I babbled on and on
about how much I love Egar and despise what Terrans
have done to Iregara. Understand how far gone I was. Ten,
almost obliterated. I was drunk, and she understood ex-
actly how I felt. Maybe she was a bit curious, too; I don't
know. Anyway . . ." His voice trailed off.

Ten waited for him to go on. When he did not. Ten
prompted, "Anyway what?"

Roban groaned. "Do I have to draw you a picture?"

"Yes. I'm not a telepath."

"I wasn't dancing a high boly's wife that night, but I
was . . .'*

This time his meaning sank in. Ten felt his jaw drop.
"You mean that you and she—they're another species, Ro.
Is it physically possible?"

"No . . . well, yes, sort of." He swallowed audibly.
"Now do you understand why I can't tell anyone?"

Ten tried to imagine a Terran/Egarad coupling, but his
imagination failed him. Then he began examining his own
reactions. He found surprise but no shock. He was not re-
pelled by the idea. Iregara were people, after all; it was not
in quite the same class of behavior as a prostitute he had
known in Topeka who was fond of saying, and demonstrat-
ing, that the more she knew of men, the more she loved
her dog.

'We've been on Egar over three hundred years. People
being people, this probably isn't the first experimentation,
Ro, and I don't suppose it'll be the last. And don't you
think the brass have seen just about everything? You won't
shock them."

"But what a locker-room item it'd make, and a nice

222 DEADLY S1LENTS

note, too, in my personnel jacket and psych records. Can
you imagine what that would do to me when I want an-
other job on Earth?"

The high holies would be screaming abomination. Ten
sighed. "I'll try to help you."

Even as he said it, though, he wondered what he could
do. How did one prove a negative, a lack of guilt? Maybe
the lab would turn up something that might give him a
lead.

"Where were you planning to spend the night?" he
asked.

Roban shrugged. "Out here."

In the cold? With wild animals for company? Ten shiv-
ered. "Go to my place. Almost everyone is asleep now.
Since you're a Quiet, you won't disturb anyone, and they
may not even notice you tomorrow."

"Go?" Roban asked. "Where will you be?"

"Running against the clock, doing my best to help you
before you're caught."

Roban reached out to put a hand on Ten's arm. "You
don't have to do it all. I'll come with you."

"No." Ten shook his head, smiling wryly. "You remem-
ber that old saying about walking into the lion's den?
That's exactly where I'm going, I'll call you when I have
anything."

Chapter Twenty-three

TEN HAD never come into the stationhouse at this hour be-
fore. Except for fewer personnel, it seemed little different
than it did on other watches, but he found no comparison
to the same watch in a stAtion on Earth. Instead of the
flotsam and jetsam of night people cluttering the reception
area, seedy, disreputable, often drug- or liquor-intoxicated,
space stretched clean and empty before him. Personnel,
sworn and nonswom, moved with measured efficiency, and
although nearly empty, the laboratory in Criminalistics
blazed with light. Walking in. Ten nearly ran head-on into
Bioni Elanca and Lieutenant Hasejian.

He started. He had not expected to find either of them
here. "You're here late," he said in surprise.

"Yes," Elanca replied wryly. "Something I can do for
you? Karopacalas, isn't it ... antique shop vandalism
and printing shop assault?"

Ten wondered fleetingly if one of Brooks's requirements
for supervisory personnel was instant and total recall.
"Yes, ma'am. I was curious about what you found process-
ing Jael Meadin's uniform."

"Too impatient to wait for the grapevine?" Hasejian

asked.

Ten put on his most boyish grin. "Yes, ma'am."
Elanca exchanged a glance with Hasejian. "I love beau-
tiful, polite boys . . . even when they're jooking me. All
right, whatever your real reason for having to know right
now, we've matched dirt on the uniform to the woods path
and retreat but haven't found anything else, no hair or
other dust that might tie it in to whoever took it off
Meadin. The killer must have been very careful, obviously
familiar with Criminalistics and what we look for."

Ten took a breath. Like Roban, they must mean. "I

323

224 DEADLY S1LENTS

wonder why he carelessly hung the uniform in his closet.**

The two women glanced at each other again. "Are you
hinting that maybe someone else hung it there?" Hasejian
asked. "Don't you give me credit for considering that pos-
sibility myself?"

Ten flushed. "Yes, ma'am, I just—"

"I remember you from orientation. You, Meadin, and
Adeyanju were all part of a little group. Are you here to
play defendant's investigator because you're afraid we
won't?"

Ten felt his flush deepen under the sting of her sarcasm.
"Like you said, Meadin was part of our group. I have to
know in my own mind whether Adeyanju killed her or not.
Please, if you've asked his neighbors whether anyone could
have planted that uniform, I'd like to know the answers
they gave."

Hasejian's expression softened. "So far, the answers have
all been negative." She paused. "I know how you feel, but
why don't you let me handle the investigation? Believe it or
not, I'm just as anxious to find evidence that someone else
did the killing, and as much as I detest a lion killer, or a
leo—cop turned killer, if Adeyanju looks guilty, he'll still
have the benefit of defense investigation . . . like any sus-
pect."

Ten looked at Elanca. "Did you find anything useful in
the retreat? Did you find the murder weapon?"

"No murder weapon. As for the rest"—she shrugged—
"we don't know if it's useful yet. What we've found is
mostly hair." She rolled her eyes. "Lots of hair. It's dawn-
ing on me more forcibly all the time how much hair a furry
race leaves behind. Come here." She led him to a work-
bench where an Egarad technician sat placing sample after
sample under a small laser. "Aburin has been checking
hair with laser diffraction for the past three hours. I think
half the population of that cluster must have come through
the retreat at one time or another. We have almost any
type of hair you care to name, short or long, silky or wiry,
all colors plain or dyed. We even have beaded hairs." She
pointed to a transparent sample envelope containing some
black hairs tipped by tiny glittering beads. "This is a case
of find us a suspect and maybe we can tell you if there is a
reasonable chance he helped contribute to the collection.
The only bright ray is, the laser hasn't identified any hu-

DEADLY S1LENTS 225

man hair yet ... if a negative can be said to prove any-
thing."

"You didn't find the note? Hedee said she put it in a
thigh pocket."

Elanca shook her head. "No note." She pushed a stray-
ing gray lock off her forehead. "Now, be a good boy, will
you, and get out from under our feet?"

Resentment flared in him. She had no right to treat him
like a child crashing an adult party. "I'd just like—"

"We're the ones under orders to work around the clock
until this thing is wrapped, not you. No sense in all of us
missing our beauty sleep,"

Hasejian snickered. "Even though she needs it more
than you do."

Elanca eyed her. "I love you like a daughter, lieutenant.
I used to put a foot in my Caerin's rear for remarks like
that."

The Egarad technician looked around at them, eyes
wide. Puzzled at the Terran play? Ten wondered as he left.

In the corridor outside he stood looking around him.
What now? His eyes fell on the U wing roster on the far
side of the reception area. Maybe that was something to
try. He crossed the reception area and walked down the
corridor to Communications.

Two dispatchers staffed it, a sloe-eyed Oriental-looking
young woman Ten vaguely remembered having met once
during orientation and an Egara with silky, golden chest-
nut fur. Seeing the Egara, Ten's breath caught, then eased.
Any Egara in Communications must be a Silent. His
thoughts were safe.

The city map filled the entire wall above their consoles,
glittering with indicator lights in half a dozen colors. Ten
found his own cluster and watched Consigli's red light
move away from the car's blue indicator into the circle
representing Lus Shen.

"Good morning," the young woman said in Translan.
"May I help you?"

Ten looked at the map. "That isn't everyone in the de-
partment.*'

The sloe eyes widened. "Of course not. Can you imagine
the confusion that over three hundred indicators would
make? That's just the Morning Watch."

He had dated a dispatcher his probationary year. What
was it she had told him about map operation? He had only

226 DEADLY SILENTS

half listened then, and in class when Communications op-
erations was covered as well. How it worked had never
seemed important as long as it worked. "The computer
runs the map, doesn't it? Does it automatically show the
present watch?"

"No. We have to ask." She pointed to a keyboard. "Ev-
ery transponder has a code number. We can punch in indi-
vidual code numbers or feed in a rollcall card, but until we
do, the map won't display the indicators."

Ten rubbed a thumb down the cleft in his chin. "A few
hours ago we wanted to locate a certain investigator. Are
investigators on the board, too?'*

The Silent said, "Not usually, unless they ask us to keep
track of them."

"What is it you need to know?" the woman asked.
"Maybe I can save you some questions."

"I'm not quite sure what I want. The map displays only
the transponder signals you want Does the computer re-
ceive all the signals; that is, is the potential for display al-
ways there, or does it ignore some signals until they're
asked for?"

The dispatchers looked thoughtful. *The computer re-
ceives all the signals all the time," the woman said.

Hope stirred in Ten. Maybe he had found something
helpful. "All right. I know the computer records the dis-
played signals. If I want to see the display for the Morning
Watch yesterday, it can be recalled and played on a com-
puter screen. What I need to know is, does the computer
record all the signals it receives or only those actually dis-
played? If I replayed a section of a watch, could I punch in
the codes for transponders not displayed aad put them on
the map, too?"

Now the sloe eyes went blank. "I really don't know. I've
never tried it before. I don't have a screen here for play-
back, but there should be someone down in Data who can
help you."

Ten manufactured a smile for her. 'Thank you very
much."

He left, but did not go to Data. He knew from Brithe
that all Egarad computer technicians aside from her were
Normals. Asking about the map recordings might betray
why Ten wanted to know, and even give away Roban's
present location. Ten bad no desire to spoil his record with
a charge of harboring a fugitive. He only hoped no Normal

DEADLY SILENTS 227

in the station now was paying particular attention to his
mind. He left before he attracted any attention.

Walking toward the skyrail station, he wondered whom
he could go to. He needed that information. A moment
later the obvious solution struck him. Brithe. She knew
more about the police computer than anyone else. She
might even be able to make it perform a function it had
never been intended to-

The problem, of course, was: what kind of reception
would she give him at this hour? He could well imagine
himself slashed and bleeding on her doorstep, psychologi-
cally if not physically. Waiting until morning would be saf-
est, but did he have that much time? How much informa-
tion about Roban had leaked out of him to Iregara in the
station? By morning, Roban might be in detention, being
forced to undergo a deep reading.

Ten took a breath. For Roban's sake, he would just have
to take a chance on waking Brithe.

His knock on her door produced no results. Ten consid-
ered knocking louder, but he did not want to wake anyone
else. If he stepped inside the door and clapped, Egarad<
style, would that have more effect? In the end, though,
after consideration, he decided against even that little bit of
trespass. He walked around the house, up the slight slope,
and rapped on her bedroom window.

Brithe responded the third time he tapped, pushing the
window open so suddenly it almost hit him in the face.
Through the narrow opening, she blinked at him. Ten?"

"Yes. I have to talk to you."

"What about?" She sounded groggy but not hostile,
which encouraged him.

"Jael was killed tonight. Roban is the chief suspect."

She seemed to have trouble absorbing that news. Five or
six seconds passed before she said anything. "Roban
killed Jael? How terrible."

"I don't think he did it. That's what I want to talk to
you about. May I come in? It's cold out here."

"Oh, of course.** All trace of sleepiness had disappeared
from her voice. "Go on around. I'll be right down."

Before long he sat m her sitting area in a chair of woven
leather straps with his hands wrapped around a mug of hot
tea. Brithe curled m a chair opposite him, her coat throw-
ing rainbows at him. *Tell me everything," she said.

228 DEADLY S1LENTS

Between sips of tea, he gave her a detailed account of
the entire night, including meeting Roban, Brithe listened
intently, saying nothing, with only an occasional coruscat-
ing play of light to indicate that she even moved.

At the end of his recital she asked, "Then what you
want to do is replay the map at the time of the murder and
display Roban's signal to show where he is?"

He nodded. "Can we do it?"

She sighed. "No. We can program the computer to do
that, and we may, after this, but the present program re-
cords only the actual display."

Of course. If the computer could be used to locate every-
one at a particular time, it would have been done before
now. "Well," he said with a shrug, "it was a thought"

"I'm sorry."

He sipped the tea. "So we can't prove he was somewhere
else during the killings. Maybe we can think it through
from a different direction. Someone lured Wofibrd out to
the textile mill with a phony complaint Anyone could
have done that. Almost anyone could have set up a meet
with Ashe. How about Many-Horses, though? That mono-
filament had to be strung up just before she came running
down the passage. Put it up too soon and someone else
might have walked into it. How could anyone know she
was going to be in the mall at just that time? We don't
follow a schedule."

Brithe yawned. "The killer waited, perhaps. Many--
Horses would have had to come through that mall sooner
or later."

Ten frowned. There must be a better answer than that.
The simplest, of course, was for someone to contact Com-
munications and ask for Many-Horses' location, but the
dispatchers would remember if anyone had done that. On
the other hand . . . "The computer knows where every-
one is. Could someone query the computer through one of
the remotes and receive an answer?"

Brithe stopped yawning and sat up straight, making
rainbows between them. "If the person knew the code for
Many-Horses' signal, yes."

'Try this, then. The person queries the computer, per-
haps from Many-Horses' own storefront remote."

"Or her own tie-in," Brithe suggested, looking at Ten's
belt buckle.

He glanced down. "Or that," he agreed. "Then the killer

DEADLY S1LENTS 229

goes to Many-Horses' location and kills her. My question
is: would the computer remember being asked?"

Brithe considered. "It should."

"Can I ask it through my tie-in?"

Her ear twitched. "It's too complex a question. Well
have to use the remote in a storefront."

"Then let's go." He set aside his tea and pulled on his
gloves and helmet, then smiled. "As long as we're both
already awake."

She smiled back. "Terrans are—how do you say it?—

wickers."

Still, she put on a tabard and her hip boots aad wrapped
up in a cape. In minutes they were riding their bicycles
south toward the D'she shopping mall, their breath white
clouds on the night air.

"I appreciate this, Brithe."

"You aren't counting too much on it, I hope."

"No. If the computer says no, or it doesn't remember,
Roban may just have to submit to a deep reading, no mat-
ter how much he hates the idea,"

"I—" Brithe began, and broke off.

Ten glanced toward her. Despite moonlight filtering
down through the trees, he saw only a shadow behind her
bicycle headlamp. "What?'*

"Nothing.'*

They came out of the woods, crossed a meadow between
Namarad and Chalu Shen, and entered another band of
woods. Nothing moved around them but leaves whispering
in the night breeze. Distantly, a cheneg screamed a hunting
call. Ten sensed something bothering Brithe. Half a dozen
times he heard an intake of breath, as though she were
about to speak, but each time, she let it out again.

Finally Ten braked his bicycle and grabbed her handle-
bars, halting her, too. "What's the matter? Tell me."

She sighed. 'Ten, I don't understand why anyone would
refuse a deep reading that would prove him innocent just
because he's afraid of people knowing he tried to couple
with an Egara. There's nothing shameful in that. Since I've
known you, I've been curious about it, too."

Ten choked. With embarrassment heating his ears, he
tried to explain his society's viewpoint, but failed. The cul-
tural gap yawned like a chasm between them. Finally, he
said, "Mistakenly or not, some of my people, the ones in
power, unfortunately, believe it's wrong, no better than

230 DEADLY SHENTS

bestiality. With miscegenation on his record, Roban could
never find a decent job on Earth again, or at least, not in
North America."

"Still, have you considered the possibility that the real
reason be doesn't want a deep reading might be because it
would not prove him innocent?"

"No." Ten shook his head emphatically. "He told me
he's innocent. I believe him. I think I can tell when some-
one is lying."

In a shaft of moonlight, her arm shot sparks at him. "But
so much fits him."

"Except the uniform," Ten said. "Don't you think he
would be smart enough not to hang it in his own closet?"

She shifted position restlessly. "Maybe he's smart
enough to do exactly that."

He blinked. "You just confused me."

"It's simple. Evidence exists. Trying to destroy it is
usually futile. Instead, why not dispose of it by leaving it in
such a way that it looks as though someone else left it to
place the blame falsely?"

Ten felt his jaw hanging and closed his mouth with a
snap. "Where do you find ideas like that? In those Terran
mysteries you're so fond of?"

Her arm moved again in the shaft of moonlight, shooting
sparks at him. "Is it impossible?"

It was complex, and in Ten's experience, simple strata-
gems worked better than complex ones. A better question
might be: did Roban's mind work in such convolutions?
Could he have lied so convincingly, and made such a fool
of Steven Kampacalas?

"If the killer isn't Roban, she has to be another officer.
No one else has access to the storefronts," Brithe said.

"Wait." Ten started pedaling again. "Someone else has
to have access. The supplies and report forms don't appear
by magic, and someone must service the computer remote
and holocom. How do service personnel get in?"

"Any Terran could do it, anyone with a palm code for
the computer to read."

"An even simpler method would be to program the com-
puter to open the doors for any individual meeting some
predetermined criterion, like carrying an electronic device
radiating on a specific frequency."

"But none of the service personnel would know Roban's
signature."

DEADLY S1LENTS 231

A good point. How could someone learn Roban's signa-
ture? Well, for one thing, it appeared on every report he
ever wrote. Anyone with access to the computer could
learn it just by asking for a hard copy reproduction of one
of those reports. But that would be a full signature, not the
nickname. It came back to someone who knew Roban well
enough to know the shortened name.

It also came back to the computer, he reflected. The use
of it ran like a thread though this thing. The computer
could tell a killer where Many-Horses was. It could give
the killer Roban's signature and let the killer into a store-
front. It could even, he thought suddenly, order Ashe on
an impromptu and then, if told to do so, forget its order.
Ashe's log could have been accurate after all! He bit his
lip. Could their killer be a haban working in Data?

"Brithe, have you noticed bow often our killer uses the
computer?" he asked. "What if it's someone in Data? Is
that—"

He never finished the sentence. A hard blow from the
side knocked over his bicycle and sent him flying from it
into a tree along the path. His helmet saved his head and
face, but pain lanced through his left shoulder.

What the hell?

Then something tugged at his right hip. He felt his
sleeper pulling loose, and suddenly, sickeningly, he knew
what the hell was happening. He rolled onto his back, grim-
acing, holding his injured arm, and stared up at Brithe.
A shaft of moonlight coming through the trees lighted the
barrel of the sleeper pointed at him.

He groaned. "You? It's been you all along?"

In reply, something tickled his brain, and blackness blot-
ted out all sound and sight

Consciousness returned suddenly, without any interme-
diate borderland between sleep and awareness, nothing to
cushion the shock or prepare him for the pain. He opened
his eyes to find himself propped in a sitting position against
a tree—the same one he hit? he wondered—his hands se-
cured behind his back with his wrap strap. The pain in bis
shoulder came in stabbing thrusts that echoed through the
rest of his body and turned his stomach, threatened to
make him vomit He fought the nausea, but it was only a
minor annoyance compared to a sharper pain in his head
and the greater sickness of shame. He had worried that

232 DEADLY SILENTS

Roban might have made a fool of him. What did he call
what he had let Brithe do to him?

He looked around for her. He found a large, sitting
shadow among the other shadows on the path, a specter
without face or definite form. "Why did you do it, Brithe?
Do you blame Terrans for your Silence?"

The specter spoke. "I blame everyone." He would never
have recognized the flat, toneless voice as Brithe's.

"So you take it out on cops?'*

"Them, too."

Too? He tested the wrap strap. It had been applied prop-
erly and held his hands securely at the wrist. The effort,
however, sent new pain through his shoulder. He bit his lip
until the spasm passed, wishing he could activate his radio.
"I think I've broken my collarbone."

"It won't hurt long."

He could guess why not A chill creeped up his spine.
He swallowed. "I'm surprised you haven't killed me yet."

"I'll do it in Meem, where Roban can take the blame for
it, too."

"Wrapping the case . . . until the next time you kill."

"That won't be here. 1*11 quit the job, grief-stricken, after
my best friend is killed,"

Anger vied with fear and shame. 'I guess you have
found some ideas in those Terran mysteries. I suppose they
told you about Criminalistics and monofilament."

She did not reply.

Knowing about her explained some of her previously
mystifying behavior, like the days of sharp irritability fol-
lowed by days when she almost purred with friendliness.
Several of those changes, he recalled, had occurred over
nights when officers died. Her hidden hatred explained,
too, the remarks She made, the things she did, that
wounded feelings or set people around her arguing. Divide
and injure. Knowing did not explain everything, though.

"You smashed my sand castle, then turned around and
saved my life at Rimamin,** he said. "You risked your own
life to do that. Why didn*t you just let me fall?"

She did not reply for a minute, then she said softly, "I
don't bate you. You're the first person I've ever been able
to share my music with." She paused. "I've been killing
since adolescence. The first time was in Third-Level
school, an accident. A student broke her neck falling down
a ramp where I'd spilled a chemical, but it made me feel so

DEADLY SILENTS 233

good I started constructing other accidents whenever I
could. Your death is the only one I won't enjoy.'* She stood
up. "Enough rest We're almost at Meem." Grabbing him
by the front of his collar, she pulled him to his feet, "You
can walk the rest of the way, or until we're close enough
that I'll have to knock you down again. Why did you have
to be the one to put all the pieces together?"

He laughed wryly. "I had the pieces, but I didn't know
what they meant I was thinking in terms of a haban. I
didn't know they meant you until you hit me."

She made a sound like a stifled groan. Taking his good
shoulder, she pushed him up the path. Ten moved obedi-
ently, then as her pressure on his shoulder eased, he spun
on his left foot, swinging the right leg high and hard. He
kicked her square in the middle of her torso. Brithe dou-
bled with an explosion of escaping breath, and Ten bolted.

During school and his probationary year on the force, he
had heard continuously how impossible it was for a pris-
oner to run with his hands wrapped behind his back. From
observation, it appeared true; the two attempted escapees
he had helped run down had been caught with little diffi-
culty. Now he had the opportunity to discover how it felt
to be on the other side.

His instructors had been half right; running was difficult,
but not impossible. Fear helped keep him going even when
not having his arms for balance threatened to send him
headlong onto his face. He could never out-run her, he felt
sure, but he hoped he did not have to; he should only need
to keep away from her long enough to come within telep-
athy range of someone.

Ten left the path to plunge straight through the woods,
taking a straight line toward the nearest habitation. That
would be the shopping mall. He could count on finding
people awake there.

Behind him, he heard Brithe call, and then the sound of
her crashing through the brush. He strained to run faster
but quietly, giving himself every advantage possible.

His toe caught on something. He fell rolling. As his
weight came down on the injured shoulder, new agony
burned through him. He clenched his jaws to keep from
crying out. Despite the pain, as soon as he stopped rolling,
he struggled to his knees, then his feet, and ran on.

He heard her after him. She did not call to him again.
but he followed the sound of her passage. She, undoubt-

234 DEADLY SILENTS

ediy, was doing the same to him. And from the sound of
her, she had shortened the distance between them.

How much further to the edge of the woods? Not far,
surely. From there, it was a dear run across the meadow, a
matter of just keeping ahead of her until the cavalry ar-
rived.

Come and get me, citizens. Officer in trouble.

A high, hysterical giggle sounded to his right He
dodged left automatically, but an instant later identified the
call of a gelis. By that time, however, he had lost his bal-
ance again. He did not fall this time, but he did bounce off
a tree, striking his injured shoulder and staggering half a
dozen steps before steadying.

Behind him, Brithe sounded still closer. Ahead lay the
meadow, only a few meters away, and at the bottom of the
meadow, the shopping mail. He kept running.

He passed the last tree and broke into the open. Glanc-
ing back, though, he saw Brithe coming into the meadow
off to his left. She angled to intercept him. He was not
going to make it, he thought bleakly. Once she had her
hands on him, he stood no chance of fighting her greater
strength. She would toll him out here, alone and unheard.

"ConsigUr he yelled, calling the Morning Watch officer
in one last, hopeless, defiant plea for help.

Brithe's hand smashed hard between his shoulder blades,
sending Ten onto his face. As he skidded to a stop in the
sweet-smelling grass, her knee came down in the middle of
his back, just below his hands. Reaching up to his head,
she released his chinstrap and pulled off his helmet. She
grasped him by the chin and back of the head.

"I'll make it quick," she promised.

"I won't," he came back through clenched teeth.

She was going to have to fight to tear his head off . . •
if he could find a way to fight He could not resist the grip
she had on his head and was in no position to reach any-
where vital on her with either his hands or feet Then he
remembered an attempted suicide he had once pulled out
of the Kansas River. He had had a similar hold on her chin,
keeping it above water as he swam them both toward
shore, when she decided to resist being saved. She had very
nearly gotten her wish to die. What worked for her, he
decided, could work for him. As Brithe's hands tightened
to snap his neck, he opened his mouth and sank his teeth
into her hand. He tasted the bitter salt of her blood.

DEADLY SILENTS 235

Yelping, she let go. Her weight lifted slightly off his
back. Before she came down on him again, he rolled away
from her and lunged, somehow, to bis feet.

She pawed in her cape for his sleeper. "You can't es-
cape."

He had no intention of running. Instead, Ten charged at
her, head down. When he butted into her, they both fell,
but he managed to land on his knees and while she was
still fighting to take a breath, he brought one knee up un-
der her chin with every gram of strength he still had. Her
teeth cracked together and she went limp.

Ten sat down on his lower legs. Closing his eyes, he
threw back his head and gulped air in great sobbing gasps.

"TenI"

He opened his eyes. Iregara were running up the
meadow toward him and a police car settled to the ground
near him. Consigli vaulted out under the door and raced to
him.

"Kampacalas, are you all right? Someone in the shop-
ping mall called the station. They said they read you yell-
ing for help all the way in the woods."

He wished they had responded faster, but then realized
that they had probably come as fast as they could. Only his
subjective viewpoint turned the few minutes of the chase
into an eternity. That was not important any longer,
though. He had survived. He was alive. Right now, nothing
else mattered.

He carefully avoided looking at Brithe.

Chapter Twenty-four

FROM THE moment he entered the briefing room, Devane
felt something different about the police board. Their faces
never showed expression but this time, somehow, the lack
of expression seemed all the same, on Friendlies and Un-
friendlies alike. The printouts of the summer statistics lay
before each. Sitting down at one end of the grouped desks,
a prickle of apprehension touched Devane. Did they disap-
prove? Were they about to issue termination orders?

Something flowed between Iregara. Devane felt it in a
way he' could not accurately identify or describe. Then
Seche's fur rippled. Devane's brows rose. What amused the
textile designer?

"You have something to say to me?" he asked.

Seche's fur rippled again, and in careful English, the
Egara said, "Attaboy."

Devane stared for the full minute it took for the meaning
of the word to sink in. "You're commending me for catch-
ing our killer?"

He would have liked to accept it; he could use a pat on
the back. No one around the station had back-patted much
today. The prevailing mood had been one of mixed relief
and chagrin rather than jubilation, subdued because al-
though the killer had turned out to be a Silent rather than
a cop, she was still too close for comfort, a peripheral
member of the family they all knew and trusted. He felt
sony for Kampacalas over in the infirmary, to whom she
had been even more.

Devane shook his bead in regret 'Thank you, but we
were slow. Ashe's death should have put us on the right
track. Logging an impromptu as a cover would have been
such a foolish lie that we should have at least tried working

236

DEADLY S1LENTS 237

on the assumption that his log was accurate and extended
our investigation from there."

"Misunderstand," Anaya said. "This." The lawyer
tapped the printout

Seche*s comment referred to the statistics? He had not
expected that. He leaned forward, "You find those figures
satisfactory?"

"Good," Ushulir said.

Devane sat upright Coming from an Unfriendly, that
was high praise indeed. "Well, we're gradually learning
how to handle your people, and they're learning how to
help us. Both are important factors." He paused. "I hope
you've noticed that of those incidents cleared, an increasing
number have been mediated on the spot by the responding
officer, without an arrest and formal charges, and that of
those sent to adjudication, the final judgment is rarely con-
finement to a care facility. The usual outcome is a require-
ment that the defendant make restitution to the victim or
pay reparation."
"Yes," Ibal said.

Gemun shifted position with a jingle of the body chains
the jewelry crafter wore. "Sufficient."

The comment did not quite fit with Ibal's, so Devane
waited for Gemun to explain.

"Personnel," Gemun said. "Number."
Devane smiled wryly. "Yes, we did manage to make do
with three hundred ofiicers. Somehow we have always
managed to make do with what city administrations dole
out to us. You want to be careful, though, Gemun. There's
a limit somewhere. It could be like the Terran peasant who
came on hard times and thought he'd save credit by feed-
ing less hay to his donkey. He cut the ration in half. The
donkey went right on pulling his cart and plow, so the
peasant cut the hay ration in half again. When the donkey
still worked, the peasant stopped feeding it altogether.
Then one morning the peasant found the donkey dead. He
swore and grumbled to his wife, 'Of all the rotten luck. It
was just learning to work without food, too.'"

Ibal and Seche's fur rippled, but Gemun looked back in-
scrutably and said nothing. Devane reflected that as dis-
gusted as he became with the board sometimes, he did not
know a single counterpart in his position on Earth able to
be so candid'with an unfriendly superior.

238 DEADLY SILENTS

"No cuts," Lishulir said, and handed Devane a sheet of
paper.

Devane scanned the characters quickly, then went back
to the beginning and studied each more closely, his eyes
widening. No cuts, indeed. Instead, the memo covered a
discussion between the police board and the Traffic De-
partment on the possibility of consolidating the two at the
end of the year, if Devane's group continued to perform
well and passed their probation. An estimation of credit
saved by the consolidation would permit the hiring of
thirty additional officers besides allowing Devane to use or
replace Traffic's present agents.

Devane sucked on his lower lip. It depended on some
ifs, but the mere fact that consolidation was under discus-
sion indicated a favorable attitude toward the department
He looked up. "I apologize, Gemun."

"Yes." Although the single syllable carried no inflection,
Devane felt a shrug in it, typifying the ease and brevity of
apologies here.

"More," Anaya said.

Devane went on reading. Also under discussion was a
change in the service contracts, to be instrumented at the
end of probation as well. When renewal came up in ten
years—five Terran years—all personnel, Devane in partic-
ular, would be given the option of remaining another ten
years or taking an indefinite contract He looked up. "You
mean you'll offer us lifetime service, if we want?"

"Yes," Ibal said.

In Translan, Secbe said carefully, "You show we can-
not ... communicate to Silents. You are ... capable
to communicate to Normals, to Silents. You are ...
bridge."

"Bridge," Lishulir echoed in Isegis.

Devane read through the section again. This did not
have to be a temporary job. It could be permanent. He
might never have to return to Earth.

He considered the implications of that after the meeting,
while walking the boardmembers to the skyrail path. Never
have to go back to Earth, never fight administration to
keep police officers human instead of allowing them to be
turned into repressive robots . . . never subject Gerel to
USNA society.

He lost no time visiting the lab and inviting Meda for a
cup of coffee. They drank it at a table out in the garden,

DEADLY SIIENTS 239

with the cool, golden afternoon sunlight filtering down
through the bronze leaves of a medehela tree. How well
matched they all were, Devane mused, sunlight, medehela
leaves, and Meda's toffee-gold skin.

Her face took on some of the glow of Egar's sun, too,
when he told her about the "ataboy." "Dee, that's wonder-
ful. It'll look very good on your record when you go back
to the SFPD or apply for a position in some other depart-
ment on Earth."

He grinned. "If I can keep collecting them, I won't have
to worry about finding a job on Earth."

Her glow faded into a wary frown. "Why not?" she
asked, and looked horrified as he told her. "Oh, no, Dee!
Live here all our lives? Never see Earth again?"

"Of course we can see Earth. We can visit any tune."
"I don't want to visit; I want to live there." She reached
across the table to cover his hand with hers. Her hand felt
cold. "I can live here for a few years, I think, but ... not
a lifetime."

He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers.
"It's a good world. It's good for us, and good for Gerel."

She frowned. "Other children manage to grow into de-
cent human beings on Earth; Gerel can, too."

"Most Terran children don't have Gerel's needs.'* Now
was the time to tell her about Gerel. He did, finishing with,
"So we can't take him back to Earth. Can you imagine
what his life would be like?"

She jerked her hand loose. "It isn't true! You're lying to
me just because you want to stay here playing police direc-
torl"

He looked her in the eyes. "I'm not lying."
"Then that's all the more reason for leaving, and leaving
right now, before he learns it any better." Her voice rose,
shrill. "I won't have my son prying into people's minds,
Dee, violating privacy. I won't have him like these people."

This was not the reaction he had anticipated. Keeping
his voice calm, he said, "Telepathy isn't learned. Gerel was
bom with the ability. Whether we stay or go, his ability
will continue developing now, Runah says."

"Oh, no." She covered her face with her hands. "And
I've been around him day after day. He knows what I
think, and everything I feel. Oh, no!"

Devane forcibly pulled her hands down. "What are you
saying? You talk like he's some kind of monster. He isn't."

240 DEADLY SILENTS

He had to talk her out of this. She could not go around
Gerel feeling this way. It would destroy the boy. "Meda,
he's our son, just as he's always been. He's the same little
boy you brought into the world and nursed and changed
diapers for. This talent doesn't change that. It doesn't
change the fact that he needs us to love and care for him,
that he needs his mother."

But she did not appear to have heard. She stared
through him, eyes blind. "He knows everything I think."
She pushed to her feet "I have to think about this. I have
to get away somewhere and think."

He stared up at her in disbelief. "You can't leave. We
need you."

Her eyes focused on him. "I wonder. You have your job
and Gerel has a shen full of parents. I don't know what
you need me for," she said bitterly, and turned for the
building.

He ran after her. "Meda, don't be ridiculous. The job
has preoccupied me up until now, but with this killer fi-
nally caught, everything will settle down. We'll have some
tune together. We can take a holiday, maybe visit that
Grand Canyon/Niagara Falls place people have been talk-
ing about"

She kept on walking, showing no sign of having heard a
word he said. In the lab, she collected her coat, then
walked down the corridor and across the reception area
toward the front door.

Devane stayed at her shoulder, pleading. "Meda, he's
your son. You can't abandon him."

A tear gathered in the comer of the eye closest to him
and spilled down the golden cheek. "And I can't live with
him." She looked around. "I can't bear the thought of him
knowing what's in my mind. I won't hurt him the way I
would if he reads me feeling this way, either. Maybe after
I've had time to think, I'll feel differently."

Devane grasped at the straw. "That's right. You'll feel
differently after you've gotten used to the idea. Why don't
you go back to Earth and visit your parents? Stay in the
Enclave until you leave. We'll be waiting for you to come
back."

She nodded.

He watched her cross the courtyard and take the path
into the woods toward the skyrail. She would change her
mind, of course. Thinking would change it. No woman as

DEADLY SILENTS 241

intelligent as Meda could abandon a husband and child
who loved and needed her. A trip to Earth ought to help
her see how much better Egar was, too. Meda would be
back.

"No."

He turned to find Liril behind him. "What?"

But Liril did not answer his question, only said,
"Officers' meeting."

Devane ran a band over his hair. He had almost forgot-
ten. Thanking the secretary, he hurried back across the re-
ception area to the U wing and down its corridor to the
briefing room, which this time was filled with his division
captains and lieutenants. He found them in the middle of a
thoughtful discussion.

"But are they capable of learning another language?"
Captain Titus asked.

La FIore said, "I don't know why not. AH of us are mul-
tilingual."

Hasejian put in, "I had a partner who even knew sign
language for talking with deaf-mutes. This is a comparable
situation."

"Exactly," La FIore said. "M Egarad officers are ever
going to take over the job we're doing, they must leam to
communicate with Silents, and they should be able to use
the radio as well. It's much faster than writing on a tel-
screen."

Devane looked at him. "What is it you're proposing?"

La FIore looked up. "That we ask ride-alongs to volun-
teer for Quickteach lessons in Translan and that for the
remainder of the current ride-along program they use
Translan during the watch, to talk to their partners and to
talk to Silents. Then I think we'll have a better idea about
the abilities and difficulties of Egarad officers, and even if
Normals can become useful officers."

"I think it's a good idea,'* Basanites said.

"Me, too," Devane said. "Ask for volunteers tonight and
have them report to Data for Quickteaching. tomorrow. All
right, the meeting appears to have opened without me, so
we'll go on from here. I think you'll like what the board
had to say today."

But while he went over the business of that meeting and
watched pleasure light their faces, he thought of Meda. She
would come back. She must. Would it help to visit her in
the Enclave and plead his and Corel's case some more? He

242 DEADLY SILENTS

would try. He had to, because—for the first time, he
thought of Liril's remark in the reception area and allowed
himself to consider the possibility that Meda might not
come back—what would he do without her?
"Director?" Tova Craig said. "Did you hear?"
He pulled his attention back to the meeting. "I'm sorry.
Please repeat that" And Meda slipped from his mind as he
became engrossed in the problem of transferring officers
from other watches to even the shortage the deaths had
left

Ten insisted on being discharged from the infirmary.
"It's pist a minor shoulder separation. There's no point in
lying here like an invalid. I want to go home."

Or maybe, he thought, as Bara and Roban flew him
home in an Investigations car, what he really wanted was
to go home, back to Earth and Topeka and his family. He
could not sort through the mixture of emotions seething in
him, battling for expression.

He was only dimly aware of Roban saying, "I'm trans-
ferring from Investigations back to patrol. I spent most of
last night while you were gone thinking about Jael. I real-
ize now that she was right about my viewpoint of Bgar. I
think I can leam some truth and perspective on patrol, and
I'm in just the right location to take Jael's place. On the
other hand, son, you did pretty good for a green kid.
Maybe you ought to ask to be considered for Investiga-
tions."

"Good?" Ten said bitterly. "I nearly got myself slagged
because I couldn't read a Silent correctly. I don't deserve
to be an inspector. I wonder if I even deserve to be a cop."

Bara came around on him. "Don't be so hard on your-
self. None of us read her, either.*'

Ten looked down at the woods and hills passing below
them. "I wonder what's going to happen to her. A care
facility? A diagnosis of incurable antisocial? Euthanasia?"
He leaned his head back against the seat and hugged his
slung arm to him. "I can still hardly believe that anyone
who can play a synthesizer like she can could—" His voice
caught He swallowed and said wistfully, "On Earth, she
could have been one of the best in the business."

Bara said, "Phaedra will be back from the Ginim Sea in
a few days. Why don't the four of us plan on doing some-
thing together then?"

DEADLY SIIENTS 243

Ten shrugged his good shoulder. "We'll see."

Roban landed the Isinhar at the edge of Meem and he
and Bara walked Ten to his door. "You get some rest
Don't forget you have a court date tomorrow. I'll pick you
up. It's your last chance to keep Anubas out of a care facil-
ity."

Anubas? Ten had trouble remembering who that was.
"Yeah," he said indifferently.

Roban eyed him with concern. "I wish I could stay a
while, but I have to get into uniform and report for the
Evening Watch briefing. Bara, why don't you spend the
night?"

"I won't be any kind of company," Ten said, "but stay if
you want. I don't particularly like the idea of being alone."
He pushed open his door and walked inside.

Bara followed, but only to kiss him lightly. "I don't think
I need to stay. I'll see you tomorrow." She waved as she
left.

He stared after her in bewilderment and pain. She was
abandoning him when he needed someone most? How
could she do that?

Hands clapped from the doorway.

Ten groaned. What he did not need—

But Siyan came in. "Need. Bara thought."

For a moment, anger rose. How dare she sic an Egara
on him? Then he sighed and shrugged with his good shoul-
der. Chances were his neighbor would have shown up even
without Bara's prompting. He looked at Siyan's empty
hands. "No luras?"

"Share," Siyan said. The Egara came down into the sit-
ting area and steered Ten to the couch. "Sit."

Ten lowered himself carefully to avoid jarring his shoul-
der and lay back. Siyan disappeared up the steps into the
kitchen and came back a short time later with two steam-
ing mugs of tea.

"Feel.'* Siyan handed Ten one mug and sat down in an-
other cushioned chair with the other.

Tea, the omnipresent cure-all. Ten sipped. The acid bit
at his tongue. "I don't know what I feel."

"All."

He considered. Yes, he did feel everything at once: an-
gry, sad, foolish, used, betrayed. He hated the killer and
grieved for his lost friend. While all his professional train-
ing told him that someone who had been killing in cold

244 DEADIY SllENTS

blood since adolescence must be incurable, the musician in
him cried out against destroying Brithe's talent. A part of
him raged at her for creating pain and death when instead
it could have been musical beauty, when her genius could
have moved an entire population and generations of people

to come.

"Waste," Siyan agreed. "Tragic."

Ten's eyes met Siyan's violet ones, startled. For the first
time since his arrival on Egar, he felt what it was to have
someone knowing his exact feelings, understanding as no
other Terran, not even a brother officer, could . . .
understanding even when the reasons for Ten's feelings lay
outside of Egarad experience and perhaps outside of
Egarad comprehension. For the first time, too, he won-
dered why Siyan chose to share Ten's feelings rather than
avoid the distress of them by avoiding him.

"Aren't my emotions painfully intense for you?"
"Accustoming," Siyan replied. "Need . . . share."
Ten stared. "You need to share my emotions? Why?"
"Drana." Then quickly, as Ten stiffened, "Misunder-
stand. Not freak. Counterpoint. Variety. Spice. Harmony."

Siyan's ears twitched. "Capstone."

Ten struggled to understand. "You mean drana is some-
thing special to you, something necessary?"

"Yes." Siyan's ears twitched again. "Outcross. Hybrid.

Infusion."

Ten's mind churned. He was necessary to the shen? He
was—what?—a new viewpoint, a fresh set of impressions
and experiences to stimulate thought and creativity in the
homogenizing blend of their minds?

"Yes," Siyan said. "Yes."

He shook his head. "All this time I thought—" He

sighed. "Brithe twisted that, too."

But she had only helped, he realized. As with so much
she said, her remarks on the subject could be interpreted
several ways. They were all half-truths. He had chosen the
meaning most uncomplimentary to him. Fault for the
alienation lay as much with him as with her.

"Past," Siyan said. "Join?"

He tried to imagine what being a true member of the
shen would be like, being part of a group other than the
fellow officers who lived his daily experiences with him yet
who nonetheless understood perfectly, who accepted and

DEADLY SILENTS 243

wanted his differences and all that he was. It would be like
a family, perhaps, only bigger.

Thinking of family made him think of his own, and won-
der how much it might cost to bring them out for a visit.
Miral would love his hobbit hole.

Suddenly Siyan sat up, head tilted, then stood, reaching
for Ten's good hand. "Need."

Siyan led him outside and across the shen. He soon saw
who needed him, and why. Two Iregara stood amid car-
penter tools, one yelling at the other. The one yelling
stopped, seeing Ten.

"A cop. Just what I need," the Egara said in Translan.
"Will you explain to this . . . individual that I'll be happy
to install any new cabinet desired, if only it's made clear to
me exactly what's wrong with my proposed design?"

Ten looked around. "I need an artist with paper and a
scriber, please.'*

One of the gathered neighbors stepped forward with a
sketchbook.

"Gee," Ten told the artist, "you draw what Senehar pic-
tures. Senehar, show Gee what you want."

The artist sat a moment, then began sketching. Peering
over Gee's shoulder, the Silent carpenter nodded. "Yes.
Understand. Yes."

Ten stood watching them, making sure the exchange
proceeded peacefully and fruitfully. He wished that all sim-
ilar disputes could be resolved as easily. Perhaps, one day,
they would, he mused. The time might come when instead
of reaching for a blunt instrument or plotting revenge, a
frustrated Silent would automatically call for a cop. And
when that happened, the department would really be wor-
thy of the title Conservators of Peace. Would it ever come,
people—even Iregara—being people, unpredictable and
imperfect?

"Hope," Siyan said.
Ten smiled at his neighbor. "Oh, yes, we can always

hope."

In the meantime, he watched with contentment the bit of
restored peace in his part of this world.

About the Author

LEE KILLOUGH is a tall redhead who sometimes feels
that it was inevitable that she write science fiction. As
the daughter of a newspaperwoman and a high school
Spanish/English teacher, she grew up with words and
the fascination of creating stories. As chief technolo-
gist in the Department of Radiology of the Kansas
State University College of Veterinary Medicine, hei
days are filled with the problems of strange and non-
human species.

She had never considered writing professionally,
however, until meeting Pat Killough while in school
at Fort Hays Kansas State College. He encouraged
her to begin submitting for publication and, since the
appearance of her first short story "Caveat Emptor''
in Analog in 1970, he has been not only chief critic
and cheerleader for her writing efforts but also hei
live-in lawyer and business manager. Her first novel,
A Voice Out of Ramah, was published in 1979. Pal
also first introduced her to the science-fiction conven-
tions and fandom. Lee and Pat attend convention;

when their work schedules permit. At home in Man-
hattan, Kansas, they share a hillside redwood house
with a proliferating library and a highly autonomous
Burmese cat named Phaedra.