Chimera

Seventeen

Coren slept for an hour, then showered, swallowed more painblock, and found a change of clothes for Ariel. Dressed now in plain pants, work boots, and a dull blue jacket, she looked like any other T-rated office worker just off third shift, going home or shopping. He took her to the mall where RW Enterprises was and they waited in an open kitchen across from the entrance. Twenty minutes later, Wenithal emerged and trudged wearily down the concourse.

Ariel drifted away, quickly and unobtrusively falling several meters behind Wenithal on the way out of the mall. Coren was mildly surprised and impressed at how quickly and easily she blended with Terrans. The more time he spent with her the less Spacer she seemed.

He sat at a table at the edge of the pantry, nibbling on a meat pastry and sipping a cup of acrid coffee. After about ten minutes, he crumpled up the wrapper and dropped it and the half-full cup into the waste.

At the door to RW Enterprises, he took out his palm monitor and a small device that he pressed to the wall just below the lock. While it worked to decode the access sequence, Coren pulled out a few of his little devices and activated them. He glanced around. The mall was pretty deserted, but a few people milled around. The trick was to gain entry as fast as possible, making it look as if he had been admitted. The longer it took the more conspicuous he became.

The palm monitor chirped at him. He had the code. He entered a command that turned the ID scan on the door into a recorder, pocketed the reader, and pressed his right hand against the panel above the lock. A second later, the door slid open for him.

He snatched his decoder from the wall and dropped his devices just inside the doorway. They scurried off to run interference for him as he proceeded on, into the plant.

Machinery hummed. Coren went directly to Wenithal's private office. As he stepped through the door, he thumbed his hemisphere for a little added security, set it in the middle of Wenithal's cluttered desk, and paused.

Where to start?

Coren did a slow turn.

It was a working office, that was clear. A few changes of clothes lay scattered over chairs, stacks of paper and disks filled corners, three empty cups sat on the desk.

Coren looked for a personal datum. He found it tucked in a desk drawer.

He took a disk from his pocket and inserted it into the datum's reader. The screen scrolled up, went cloudy, then blank. Coren waited, listening intently to the distant sounds of automated machinery.

Less than a minute later-a long time for the decryption 'ware Coren used-the screen presented a menu.

Letters, memos, profiles on clients, quarterly reports. Coren opened the latest of these and perused RW Enterprise's Profits and Losses statements. One of the largest customers, he noted, was a Solarian firm-Strychos-that bought nearly half a million meters of a synthetic fabric a year. The lot was identified only by a batch number. Coren opened his palm monitor, switched it to record, and began taking notes.

Far down the menu he found a file named GRATUITES. Coren grunted in surprise. Well, he never thought anyone would open this…

The file contained what it suggested: a list of people to whom Wenithal paid bribes.

Brun Damik was halfway down. A very generous allocation.

Gale Chassik appeared several lines further.

Coren copied the list and closed the file. Studying the menu, he wondered how much more he needed to know about Ree Wenithal.

Why you resigned after becoming a hero would be useful…

He saw nothing that would seem to contain the answer to that, so he closed the datum down and returned it to the desk drawer.

So Wenithal was paying bribes to Damik. Coren still did not understand what any of this had to do with baleys… though he felt he should know.

There were several files of correspondence. Coren opened each one and perused addresses. He found several to a location in Petrabor. The documents themselves proved cryptic-evidently a code Coren did not recognize. Still, messages to someone in Petrabor seemed suggestive enough. He looked for replies and found them attached to each document-all of them were initialed either T.R. or Y.P.

Yuri Pocivil…?

Coren swiveled in the chair, searching the office walls. Nothing.

He closed up his palm monitor and left the office. Sitting down at one of the secretarial stations, he accessed the production records. He located the batch number for the synthetic, and went into the main plant to look for it.

The synthesizers looked like huge columns of dark gray segments piled high to the ceiling. Heavy conduits ran from their bases back into the shadows of the cavernous chamber. They hummed with activity, though only a few seemed to be outputting product into the deep troughs below their extrusion slots.

Coren followed the row of machines to the one marked "Line 18" and stopped. It was on-they all were, it cost too much to shut them down completely and restart them-but nothing was coming out. Coren studied the control panel.

"Imbitek," he noted, recognizing the logo. He keyed for access. The screen gave him a list of options. He entered the code for a sample.

Less than a minute later, a meter of black fabric oozed from the 'machine into the trough. The cutter came down with a heavy thud to chop it off, and Coren picked up the sample.

It was remarkably thin, almost insubstantial, and he found it difficult to hold, its surface friction nearly nonexistent. He managed to fold it down to a square that fit into his pocket with no more bulge than a handkerchief.

He walked away from RW Enterprises as if he were late for an appointment, briskly but not so fast as to look culpable. Outside the mall, he called Ariel. Ree Wenithal lived modestly for his income. His apartments occupied two floors of an old warren complex that had once been a barracks for factory workers, then converted into luxury apartments nearly a century ago, and now had evolved into many things: apartments, clinics, retail shops, storerooms, offices. Coren was amused to find two private investigation agencies listed.

Ariel waited across from the arched entry to Wenithal's warren, sitting at an autochef with a cup of hot cocoa, doing a reasonably effective imitation of someone who had just gotten off-shift and on her way to well-earned sleep.

"Did you follow him all the way in?" Coren asked; sliding onto the stool beside her.

"No. I'm not altogether certain he didn't see me, so I thought I'd better not. Did you find anything?"

"Some, but I'm not sure if it means much. He runs a business." Coren shrugged. "He's paying bribes to Chassik."

Ariel frowned. "He does business with Solarians?"

"A couple. Pretty big accounts."

"Solaria manufactures its own textiles. What are they buying from Earth?"

"A half-million meters a year of a synthetic." He showed her the sample. "If I'm not mistaken, this is myralar."

Ariel ran a finger over its slippery surface. "I'd have to analyze it, but it feels right. Hm. Half a million meters a year? That's a lot, but not enormous." She shook her head. "Maybe I'll ask Chassik."

Coren drummed his fingers on the counter. "I've got his P amp;L records, we can go over them later. I don't think we'll find anything conclusive, though. He was bribing Damik, too. The bribe is unusually large, more than I would have guessed Damik would be worth."

"Did Damik have something over Wenithal?"

"It's a thought…but that's not the feeling I got when I followed Damik to his meeting with Wenithal. Everything about it said Wenithal was the one in charge." He glanced at her cup. "Are you done?"

Ariel held up the cocoa and wrinkled her nose. "Before I started. Let's go talk to your ex-policeman."

They passed under the archway and started down a path lined with poorly-tended shrubbery. A number of the growl amps above them were out. Coren glanced around the area, and frowned.

"What's wrong?" Ariel asked.

"Hm? Oh. Nothing…" He glanced up at the tall windows to his right. Balconies and walkways hung higher up. "That's not true. I'm not sure if I can explain it."

"Try. I'm always eager to learn new things."

Coren looked at her. He saw no sign of sarcasm in her expression. Indeed, she seemed intent only on their surroundings.

"Well," he said, "usually when someone has a connection to a case-I'm talking like Service now-you might find someone through one source, one link, but when you look, if there is a connection, there's more than just one."

"And with Ree Wenithal?"

"There are suggestions of more connections, but I still have only one: Brun Damik. And his connection was tenuous."

"Until he died."

"That was a pretty strong hint, but not really a connection."

She frowned at him. " Just what do you count as a connection?"

"Something with steel cables tying it to something else."

"Isn't that a bit unrealistic?"

Coren stopped. Ariel continued on a few more steps, then turned to him.

"Early on," he said, "I arrested an innocent man. It wasn't a big deal, nothing bad happened to him, he just spent a few nights in confinement, went through a lot of humiliating interrogations and filled out a lot of forms. It was a mistake. I think I felt worse about it than he did."

"So you vowed never to make a mistake again?"

"No, but I got into certain habits after that. I made fewer mistakes. I became pretty good at it. And I got overconfident. "

"And made a big mistake."

"Very. It cost me the life of a friend."

"You're talking about Nyom Looms."

Coren nodded.

Ariel pursed her lips. "High standards are good."

They continued on to Wenithal's apartment in silence.

The door stood open.

"Come in," Wenithal called. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever get here. ". Ree Wenithal sat on a long couch, slippered feet propped on a low table, a glass in his left hand and a pistol in his right. He scowled at them for a long moment, then laughed.

"You! I thought it would be someone else." He set the pistol aside. "Close the door if you're staying."

Ariel pressed the contact.. The light from the balcony shrank to a narrow line and vanished.

The room smelled of alcohol.

"So," Wenithal said, "did you go through my files?"

Coren hesitated.

"My career," Wenithal said, stressing each syllable. "My exploits. They're all in the public record. They'll tell you all about me, about my life, my accomplishments, my…my…" He waved a hand vaguely. "Everything."

"I looked at them," Coren said.

Wenithal waited. When Coren said nothing more, he got ponderously to his feet. "Are you going to introduce me to your partner? Oh, if you want a drink, help yourselves. I keep a good stock. Even some Spacer stuff."

"Brun Damik is dead," Coren said.

Wenithal nodded. "I was questioned about it."

"Uh-huh. Do you have any idea why he was killed?"

"Do you?"

Coren crossed the room in four strides and snapped his palm into Wenithal's chest. The older man sat back down heavily, his wind wheezing from his mouth.

"We were attacked earlier tonight," Coren said. "I'm in no mood for repartee, Mister Wenithal, so do me the courtesy of answering my questions directly."

"I don't have to tell you shit," Wenithal said breathily.

"Fine. Then when the people you were expecting come to kill you, I hope you have some friends to attend the services."

Wenithal glared up at Coren, but his eyes wavered moistly and Coren caught the distant shimmer of fear behind them.

"Something killed Nyom Looms and Brun Damik and fifty baleys who just wanted to get off Earth," he continued. "Something tried to kill me tonight, and something is coming after you. You used to be a cop. Pretend you still are for the next ten minutes and do the right thing." He paused. "Or do you already know who these people are?"

Wenithal tried to heave himself up, but Coren rapped him in the sternum again. "You're a bastard," Wenithal hissed.

"Do you know that for a fact, or just speculating?"

Wenithal slapped at Coren half-heartedly, missing. Coren watched the old man warily, but it was obvious Wenithal would do very little now.

"What do you want?" he asked grumpily.

"The same thing I wanted the first time we spoke: information."

"I don't have any to give you."

"Bullshit." Coren wanted to shake Wenithal. "How long would you have played games like this when you were a cop?"

"When I wasn't pretending, you mean?" Wenithal grunted. "I wouldn't have played them at all. " He shrugged, tried to sit up straighter, then nodded. "All right…what do, you want to know first?"

Coren picked up Wenithal's glass and smelled it: Akvet. A Theian drink, a variation on absinthe. No wonder Wenithal was so intoxicated so quickly.

"What were you going to do when the bad guys came?" Coren asked. "Play dead?"

"Very funny…"

Coren looked at Ariel. "Would you see if there's any stimulant around? Coffee, capvitane, sniff, whatever."

Ariel raised an eyebrow speculatively, then nodded and headed further into the apartment.

"There's coffee," Wenithal called after her. He looked up at Coren. "What do you want to know?"

"First, why did Damik see you after I talked to him?"

"What did you ask him for?"

"I wanted to know who ran the whole baley enterprise. The real managers, not the dockside people."

"Ah." Wenithal grinned again. "That's clever. He never believed he could get caught. Ex-Special Service, you know about that. So he wasn't ready when someone came asking the right questions. Of course, you realize, it got him killed. "

"We were screened. No one overheard our conversation."

"So? It's all connections. People looking for other people. Links get made, conclusions drawn. Brun was killed on spec."

Ariel returned with a cup of steaming coffee and set it down on the table before Wenithal. He stared at it for a long time, then lurched forward to grasp it.

"I don't drink much anymore," he said. "Not used to it."

"Seems a suicidal habit to start up again just now," Ariel said.

"If I'm drunk enough it might not hurt so much." He lifted the cup to his lips and held it there, poised.

"Brun was an orphan," Coren said. "You sponsored him. Why? Did you know his parents?"

Wenithal stared at him.

"The Holmer Foster Gymnas Cooperative," Coren said.

Wenithal focussed on him. "You knew?"

"We did work together once," Coren said evasively.

"Mm. I suppose that counts for something." He took another drink and scowled. "Something about the acids never mix right with the wormwood…" He set the cup down and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "There was a kidnapping. Oh…when was that?… twenty-something…a long time ago. A district manager for a company that no longer exists. Very high profile. Like an idiot he went to the news nets first, made everything very difficult for us. The thing was, no ransom demand ever came. The child just disappeared and that was it. It wasn't my case initially, I was called in later, but. I. anyway, we had nothing to go on, no thread to follow through the maze. When we started looking through the database for similar cases, a pattern began to emerge. Hundreds of unsolved kidnappings allover the world over the previous decade, none of them with a common denominator other than the complete absence of further contact. " Wenithal grinned crookedly. "The problem with databases-AIs, smart matrices, logic systems-is that if you don't ask just the right question you never get the answer you need. "

"Hundreds," Ariel said. "That many, they had to be going somewhere."

Wenithal raised a finger. "Absolutely. But where? After canvassing and recanvassing witnesses, acquaintances, associates, total strangers who might possibly have seen or heard something-anything-I started expanding the search. I started looking at schools, hospitals, orphanages. "

"You found the link in orphanages."

Wenithal nodded. "Not all of them, though. Special ones, ones that took in and maintained 'problem' children. Infants with defects, genetic problems, congenital and chronic illnesses. Children turned over to the institution and their records sealed or, in some cases, erased. It was difficult to detect, actually, but I found several of them doing a backdoor business in what they delicately termed 'material."'

"Selling the children?" Ariel asked.

"Basically. Oh, they claimed they were selling cadavers, but the numbers were too high and the age groups too coincidental. It took a long time to finally prove what I knew was going on. "

"And Brun?" Coren urged.

"I didn't know his parents very well. They were part of a series of interviews I conducted in relation to the case, but they didn't really have anything to do with it. They'd tried to adopt, that was all. After Brun they'd been told not to try another natural birth, not without a complicated gene therapy they couldn't afford. Shortly afterward, there was an accident. A semiballistic struck an old piece of orbital debris. Ninety or so passengers and crew. Holmer Foster was the local institution. I felt…an interest, I suppose. Brun was bright, nine years old. When I checked on him two years later, he was running a kind of black market in his facility, using smuggled-in recordings, access codes, food allotments. I thought it was a waste of natural talent. So I sponsored him."

"You didn't adopt him?"

"A police officer? Where would I find the time? No, sponsoring was about the best I could do. It was actually Brun who told me about the missing UPDs. "

"UPDs?" Ariel asked.

"Untreatable Physiological Dysfunction. Children with disorders that can only be watched. Often they can't even stop their pain. Those were the ones I found out were going missing the most."

"That doesn't make sense," Ariel said. "What use-? Oh."

Wenithal glanced at her. "Research, spare parts, other things I never cared to think about."

"You 're sure they were being shipped offplanet?" Coren asked.

"That's where the trail went cold. We traced them to four or five labs. They all funneled the 'material' through a single lab that I could never really prove was involved."

"Let me guess," Coren said. "Nova levis?"

"Very good. You must've been a decent cop. "

"I still am. Who was running the operation?"

"Very corporate. But I could never prove it. I know it, but I can't take it to court."

"Imbitek," Ariel said.

Wenithal shrugged.

"How did that tie in with the kidnapping that brought you into it?" Coren asked.

"That was the most perverse component. The boy that was kidnapped was just a normal boy. It didn't make sense in light of what I had found out about these…these… flesh mills. So I took a closer look at my concerned parents and found that they had had two previous children. One had died shortly after birth, the other…the records had been manipulated. The claimed death was not a death. They relegated it to one of these orphanages. There was a connection." Wenithal frowned at Coren. "Do you even want to know? You work for Rega Looms, how much do you know about him?"

"I-"

The door chimed.

Wenithal groped for his pistol.

"Take it easy," Coren said quietly, easing his own weapon out. He looked at Ariel and gestured for her to move to the far side of the room. Coren moved quickly to the wall alongside the door. He nodded to Wenithal, who brought his pistol into his lap.

"Enter."

Coren tensed as the door slid open. Light from the balcony outside spilled across the carpet, outlining a shadow. Wenithal raised the pistol.

Coren stepped away from the wall, aiming at head height.

A sharp hiss and a muffled "Shit!" came from the person standing in Wenithal's entryway.

The light in the room brightened, revealing a woman in dark clothes with a heavy pack slung over her left shoulder. She gaped at Coren, stunned.

"Jeta Fromm," Coren said. "I've been looking allover for you. "