Within the egg-shaped console, the coordinator glared out of the cyan glow into the connecting monitors. Several agents bore the brunt of that glare, each alone in his data cone, reporting directly to the coordinator.
Precious little in their reports had softened his stare.
An agent assigned to gnostic investigation was the immediate target, probably to the relief of the others. Pinned in the pale glow of his cone, he appeared almost frozen, only a squint visible as the questions flew.
[What is your assessment of the GCS's behavior? Is it outside acceptable limits or not?]
The agent's face tightened. [Difficult to say.]
[That wasn't the question.]
[No.] The agent struggled. [Indications are that it is behaving more independently. Its actions are perhaps best described as . . . peculiar.]
[Just peculiar? Or treasonous?]
[Well—not treasonous that we know of.]
[All right. Dangerous, then? How about the GCS? Is it rebelling against appropriate control?]
The agent blinked, once. Even in the pale cone of light, several drops of sweat were visible on his forehead. [The danger appears to be potential, rather than present. The GCS is using logical interpretation, though perhaps of an extreme nature, to implement unorthodox activities.]
[It is harboring an alien captive and preventing normal interrogation. Is that not dangerous?]
[It . . . describes the situation as being extremely delicate. It is attempting to establish linguistic connections—]
[Without human authorization or oversight. Is that not dangerous?]
[But there are human investigators on the scene—]
[Who are being kept from observing the alien. Correct?]
Pause. [Yes.]
[Is that not dangerous?]
[It . . . may be. The gnostic investigation team is uncertain.]
The coordinator's gaze bore into the agent's, then shifted abruptly to another monitor. [Strategic security—is the GCS endangering WarOp's strategy planning?]
This agent appeared somewhat more relaxed, though his brows arched momentarily in response to the question. [There is concern—based more on possibilities than actual data. Remember that WarOp's strategy planning is mainly carried out by the GCS itself.]
[What is the government's reaction?]
The agent averted his gaze momentarily, checking facts in the flicker of the induction cone. [Concern, at this point. Watchfulness. We are aware of increased surveillance, but no official response.]
[Prediction?]
[The government will not attempt intervention unless it perceives actual danger and becomes persuaded that the Company cannot control the GCS.]
The coordinator shifted his gaze to another monitor. [Are there plans to reprogram if necessary?]
The gnostic investigator answered, [In extremis only.]
[Explain.]
Hesitation. [If it is necessary to reprogram without precise knowledge of the changes that have occurred, there will be considerable difficulty—and risk. Unless we can question the individuals who intruded into the system, and even then—]
[What steps are you taking to find the two men?]
Another agent answered. [Standard search modus. Evidently they were tipped off, and assisted in escaping.]
[By whom?]
[Unknown.]
The coordinator glared. [Government agents?]
[Possibly. They are believed to have been seen in a diner in the western quarter, but our agents did not arrive in time to detain them. The last tentative sighting was near the river. They may have crossed over.]
[That would suggest help from the underground.]
The agent agreed. [Any search in the outlying areas will be difficult without the government's cooperation. So far they have been unhelpful.]
[So,] the coordinator said, [there may be covert government complicity, and if so we are dealing not just with intrusion and sabotage, but a policy conflict. Records—prepare a report for the Council.]
[Acknowledged,] said another voice.
[Search—keep looking for those men, but keep it understated. Don't trigger a crisis with the government—yet.]
The orange-illumined agent acknowledged.
[Meeting concluded.]
* * *
Pali caught the agents' silhouettes even before they came through the shimmer-door. They looked like ComPol, they moved like ComPol, she felt that they were ComPol. She suffered a moment of fear, knowing that she had waited too long to talk to Russell, and now it was too late. She sighed, bowing to the inevitable. "Girls," she said to two assistants working in her inner office, "why don't you take a break. I need the office for a while." As the women gathered their things, Pali waited. "Gentlemen," she said as the door blinked open and two men stepped through.
The agents answered with a nod and a scowl, respectively. One was tall, with deep-set eyes, a thin, pointed nose, and bristling eyebrows; the other man was stocky and dour. Both wore dark grey suits with red and gold ComPol trim on the left cuffs. They stood in the outer office, bracketing the path to the door, and for an instant Pali imagined that they were waiting, perhaps hoping, for her to make a break. What, she wondered, would they do if she tried?
She cleared her throat. "Can I help you?"
The stocky man said, "Are you Miz Pali George?"
"I am."
"Miz George, I'm Sergeant Dorfer, and this is Mr. Derek Gleisteen."
"Pleased to meet you." Pali swallowed. If these guys are serious, there is no one I can turn to for help. Sage and Ramo: stay home.
"Might we ask you some questions in private?" Dorfer asked.
Pali nodded and led them into her private office and closed the door. She was halfway to her seat when Dorfer said, "Let's talk about the intrusion into the system."
Pali almost lost her stride. She took a deep breath and continued to her desk, gesturing to the agents to sit. "Are you talking about the gnostic system?" she asked politely.
Dorfer's scowl deepened. He took a paper notepad out of his inner coat pocket, licked his thumb, and flipped through the pages. "Let's not beat around the bush," he said. "Two days ago, there was an unauthorized penetration into the Company's gnostic system. Prior to that, there were two other possibly unauthorized intrusions. Miz George, those activities were traced to your account, and to two men contracted to your department."
"We used the system, yes," Pali said. "But we had authorization." She hesitated. She could hardly explain away the night-time episode as "authorized," even if it was initiated by the system itself.
Dorfer was compressing his lips in evident distaste. Pali shifted her gaze to the other man, Derek-somebody, who was sitting in silent concentration. What was his job? she wondered. Psych-scan? She felt no intrusion in her thoughts, but she shivered nonetheless.
"Miz George," Dorfer said suddenly. "What were you doing in the system? What was your purpose?"
She felt a tightness in her chest. "Theoretical modeling. For a possible cultural entitlements project. That's what we do here in my department."
Dorfer flipped a page. "It was my impression that your job is to screen proposals from the outside, not research them."
"That's usually true." The tightness wouldn't go away. "On this occasion, I was investigating an idea of my own. For a possible quark-matrix sculpture."
He squinted. "A quartz what?"
"A quark-matrix sculpture."
"Uh-huh. And did this require you to exceed your authorized usage, Miz George?"
Pali's eyes flicked to the other agent for an instant. She felt his gaze upon her like a weight. What was behind that gaze? She looked back at Dorfer, who was still waiting for an answer. "No," she said. She hesitated, and decided not to add anything.
"Miz George," Dorfer said impatiently, "an unauthorized penetration was made by your employees. If it was not required, why was it made?"
"I . . . am not sure . . . that it was," she stammered, flushing. "There was some unusual activity, which was initiated by the system itself."
"Explain that," said Dorfer.
"I can't," she admitted. "Even my designers didn't understand it."
"Is that why your designers have left the city?" Dorfer snapped. "They're not here and they're not at their homes, interestingly enough. Can you tell me where they went?"
Pali drew a startled breath. "No," she said softly, mystified. "I didn't know they were gone." Nor had she known that the ComPol had already gone looking for them.
"Miz George, it would gratify me no end if you would please just cooperate."
"I . . . am trying . . . to cooperate," she said, feeling suddenly as though she were talking through a thick liquid. She was painfully aware of the tall agent, Derek, gazing at her out of those shadowed, deep-socketed eyes. What was he doing to her?
"I see," Dorfer said, glancing at his partner. "Well, if you don't know where your people are, who would?"
Pali closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Would Kyd know? Had Sage and Ramo really fled from the city? Or was she being manipulated? "I don't know," she whispered.
"I beg your pardon?"
She cleared her throat and raised her voice. "I could try to reach them by phone. But I don't know where they've gone or who would know."
The sour expression on Dorfer's face was unchanged. "You don't seem to know much, do you?"
Pali's mouth opened. She felt a sudden rush of guilt, and fear, and shame. Before she could think of a word to say, the two agents had nodded to each other and were rising to leave. She heard Dorfer, through a roaring in her ears, saying, "I think we will be speaking again. And it would be wise of you to gain some of this information that you lack, and to refrain from further activities in the gnostic system." And then they were walking out the door.
She felt the shame and the other tensions slowly evaporate, and only then did she know for certain that they had come from, or at least been awakened by, Derek. She stared at the closed door of her office for a long time, wondering what she had given them. And what would they take the next time?
* * *
"Russell, dammit, I need to talk!"
"What is it, Pali? I have a meeting coming up, and it could run late." Russell's face looked haggard in the screen.
"Let me see you before the meeting."
"It's in fifteen minutes—"
"I'll be there in two."
Russell's mouth opened and closed. "I need time to prepare. But I suppose—"
"I'm on my way." Pali snapped off the phone and hurried out. She commandeered a lift unit, closing the door in the face of a puffing, overweight man who was hurrying to catch the same lift, and she emerged and swept past a knot of people on Russell's floor. "You might have to be late," she said, striding into his office.
"Pali, what's going on?" Russell rose from his desk, exhaling smoke. "I have to leave in ten minutes."
"I need your help. I wouldn't ask if anyone else could do it."
Russell scowled. "Sit down." He took another drag from his cigarette, then gazed at it longingly before popping it into his sealed ashtray. He exhaled the smoke in a long, thin stream. "Shoot," he said, clearing his throat.
"I hardly know where to start." She let her breath out in a prolonged sigh. She didn't want to play cat and mouse with him. But she also didn't know how much she wanted to tell him. "I have a problem with the ComPol."
Russell's eyebrows shot up.
"They're investigating some anomaly in the gnostic system, and they think it's related to something that happened in connection with my project."
"And is it?"
"I don't know, really. They weren't very clear about what they wanted." She hesitated. Stop it, she thought. You didn't come up here to lie. She swallowed. "Well, that's not entirely true. They're after two people who were working for me—who didn't do anything wrong, at least not intentionally—"
"So what's the problem?"
"Russell, you know the ComPol. They're like sharks once they've gotten onto a scent. They'll hound innocent people to death, even if they're scapegoats."
"They're efficient, yeah," Russell said. He leaned over his desk, gazing at her with a frown. "Pali—what happened? And why didn't you come to me sooner?"
"Long story. The point is that the ComPol is coming on like gangbusters, and Ramo and Sage have taken off—"
"Taken off?"
"Well, I suspect that they got a tip-off from somebody that the boom was being lowered—and they seem to have made themselves scarce. If they're smart, frankly, they won't come in until the ComPol eases off a little." She was startled by the defiance in her own voice.
Russell looked scandalized. "Pali, they can't just avoid the ComPol!"
She shrugged. "The ComPol were interrogating me, and you would have thought I was responsible for the next world war." Her face flushed with the word war. "I'm not sure they can be trusted to be reasonable."
Russell's breath hissed out. "What do you want me to do? I don't have any authority over the ComPol."
"No, but you have influence. If they would just ease off, I'm sure this could all be straightened out."
Russell gazed impassively at her. "Pali—if I try, it could backfire. These people aren't the type who like to be manipulated."
"But will you try, anyway? As a favor?"
Russell gazed at her inscrutably. She was getting to him, she knew. "Look, Pali—"
She inclined her head, brushing her hair back.
"Before I agree to anything, I need to know more. Tell me what happened. All of it." He looked at his watch and grimaced. "Damn it."
Pali took a deep breath and nodded.
* * *
Kyd smiled at the two agents. "I'm sorry, but I just don't know," she said, cocking her head. She felt the pressure inside her skull and pushed back experimentally. Pali had warned her that she might be visited by a ComPol psych-scanner. After the first flush of worry, she had calmed herself. No doubt, fear of psych-scan was all out of proportion to the actual danger. No doubt. The psych-scan profession was secretive about the precise power of its arts, but she was not wholly defenseless. She caught the gaze of the tall, quiet agent and projected an explicit thought: Wouldn't you love to get inside me? The agent stiffened, and Kyd blinked and looked innocently, and with satisfaction, back at Sergeant Dorfer.
Dorfer scowled. "Miz Metango, I really think . . ." He suddenly paused, clearing his throat. Perhaps he had caught echoes of his partner's discomfiture. "Miz Metango, did you or Misters DeWeiler or Romano alter the gnostic system in any way during the course of your activities?"
"Anything one does in the system causes change. Isn't that the nature of the gnostic system?"
Dorfer tapped an index finger against his temple. There was something like a smile on his face, a cold smile. "Don't play games. Where are the men who performed the entry into the system for you? Where are DeWeiler and Romano?"
"I could look up their addresses for you. But as for where they are now . . ." Kyd shrugged helplessly.
She felt a sharp twinge inside her head. She glanced at Derek, the tall, silent one—who was gazing at her with intense concentration. "Where are they?" Derek said, speaking for the first time, without seeming to move a muscle. His voice was dry, and it rustled in her mind like prickly, desiccated leaves, hurting her ever so slightly.
Her breath came tightly. "I . . . don't . . . know," she whispered with sudden difficulty. Her words were true. She knew that they were gone; she didn't know where.
She also knew that if the psych-scanner chose to do so, he could wrest other information from her against her will, wreaking havoc in her mind in the process. He was not supposed to do so without a court order . . . but Kyd was determined that he would not want to. While she was not trained as he was in telepathic probing, she might yet use her own empathic abilities . . . to distract, to delay. She met Derek's gaze and filled her eyes with a warm and desirable innocence. The pressure shifted in her mind, trying for another leverage point. Wouldn't you like to know me better, really know me? she thought.
The pressure tightened, choking off a nerve. She gasped silently, and for the first time felt a moment of fright.
She felt the probing fingers, and the explicit command: Tell him what he asks.
I don't know—
Tell him!
She fought down panic. With an effort, she closed her eyes—keeping her thoughts tightly shut—and turned, smiling against the needling pain; and when she blinked her eyes open again, she was looking at Dorfer instead of the psych-scanner. He had a slightly befuddled look; he knew something was going on. Kyd, ignoring the ordering voice inside her, gazed at him with her eyes promising better things later, projecting empathy, touching and arousing . . .
Something pinched sharply in her mind, and she responded with a shudder. She caused her face to flush with innocence and fear, and she silently, fighting the pain, projected to Dorfer a frightened plea for protection. If she could just keep Derek out of her thoughts a little longer . . .
Dorfer stirred in his seat, as though to say something. She felt the knot in her skull loosen momentarily, and she extended a touch of warmth to Derek, too. Just like a john, but don't let that thought out. She encountered a wall of coldness, but when the knot in her thoughts tightened again, it was less certain, less cruel.
"I think," Dorfer said huskily, breaking the eerie silence, "that we're finished for now." He stood up. "Thank you, Miz . . . Metango." He gestured to his partner.
Derek's grip in her mind persisted. "Derek," Dorfer said sharply.
The knot, and the pressure, vanished.
"We may . . . speak to you again," Dorfer said, smoothing the front of his suit.
Kyd nodded as the two turned to leave. Derek avoided her eyes as he strode out.
When she was alone again, she closed her eyes and listened to her heart pounding, until the pounding slowly subsided. She had defeated them this time. She doubted she could do so again.
She turned to her phone—and caught herself. Not from here. Wait until you get home. George, it's time to get us out of here!