Chimera

Twenty

The morgue was a bit cooler, though Derec wondered how much of that was simply psychosomatic illusion. He stood to one side, near the big entrance, while Sipha Palen and her chief forensic specialist, Baxin, went through the logs.

"Fifty-one," Baxin said finally. He looked at Palen. "There were fifty-two when we brought them in here."

"So a corpse got up when you weren't looking and walked out?" Palen's voice made everyone cringe.

Baxin shook his head, less intimidated than bewildered.

"Not only that," Palen went on, "but it cleaned up its container and put it back in storage!" She wheeled around at the pair of security men nearby. "Didn't anybody pay attention to the monitors? Nobody saw a thing out of the ordinary?"

Derec leaned back against the wall. The TBI agents stood nearby, looking slightly embarrassed on Palen's behalf. But Derec could see the impatience in their faces.

Palen stopped herself before she continued her rant. With sudden and surprising calm, she said, "I want the monitor records gone over. I want to know when the dead got up and walked out."

Her two officers, with evident relief, left quickly. Palen came up to the TBI agents.

"I'm disinclined to turn anything over to you," she said, "but under the circumstances, maybe we can share resources. Avery here has been working on recovering the memory from that robot. If he succeeds, we'll all know what happened. If you remove it now, all his work will be lost and you'll be starting from scratch. "

"That's not-" one of the agents began.

Halwor raised his hand and cut her off. "As you say, Chief Palen, 'under the circumstances.' " He looked at Derec. "How soon, Mr. Avery?"

"We were less than an hour away from the first recoveries when you showed up. "

"Then, let's go see what you have." Rana was waiting for them when they arrived in the lab. She frowned upon seeing the TBI agents trailing behind Derec and Palen. She came forward, stopping right in front of Derec.

"Boss, we have a problem," she said.

"Yes, I know. There's a discrepancy in the bodycount."

"Yes, there is. The robot is gone."

It seemed to take a long time for the information to register. Derec stared at Rana. "What?"

"The DW-12…left."

Derec pushed past her and entered the workstation. The pallet was empty, the cables all neatly removed and retracted into the diagnostic link.

"When-?"

"What happened, Avery?" Harwol asked. "What did you do with the robot?"

"Nothing. Obviously, I've been with you. Rana?"

Rana looked embarrassed. "I had some personal business to attend. When I came back, the unit was gone. "

"Thales?" Derec asked.

"Yes, Derec?"

"Where's the DW-12?"

"At this precise moment, I do not know."

"Did someone remove it?" Harwol demanded.

"No," Thales said. "However, I have everything requested from it. I have organized the recovered memories and prepared them in a linear scroll for viewing."

Derec, uncertain and nervous, sat down at the console. "The excavation is complete, then?"

"I have a complete document of the robot's memory, Derec. "

The TBI agents looked uneasy.

"Um…any preferred mode of replay?"

"All options available, Derec."

"Flatscreen and full auditory will be fine, Thales. " Derec turned to the gathered audience. "If you'll all spread out along the blind, please, we can put this on a few screens and you can all see."

"I want an explanation, Avery," Harwol said. "That robot is evidence-"

"Maybe we should pay attention to the main question, " Palen said, "of what happened to those people."

Harwol frowned, unmollifled, but he nodded curtly. "Very well."

While they arranged themselves, Derec made sure the link was feeding to Ariel through Thales. He glanced back to see that everyone was ready.

"Okay, Thales," he said, "let's see what you have."

Four screens above the console cleared simultaneously. A few seconds later, a single view filled them all. The group of baleys gathered around the two people facing each other in their midst. The woman-Nyom Looms-looked angry, impatient. The man, dressed in dockworker's dull yellow togs, faced her stoically, arms folded, waiting for her to finish.

("Is there audio?" one of the TBI agents asked. "Thales," Derec prompted. "Incomplete. I am working on filling gaps.")

Nyom Looms raised one hand, finger aimed at the dockworker, and almost jabbed him. He dropped his arms and said something.

("Pocivil," Palen mused. "What's that?" Harwol asked. "Nothing," Palen said.)

"-forming you now-have backup-prepared. It's the same as it was, only different. A new canister. We are professionals. "

The robot turned toward the group. Someone was working his way forward and had come to a halt at the very edge of the half-circle.

A window appeared at the lower right corner of the screen, and a series of faces scrolled quickly by, matching text on the left. The words NO MATCH appeared in place of the faces. The robot moved toward the stranger.

("That's Coren," Palen said. "Who?" one of the TBI agents asked. "Later; " Palen said.)

"All right," Nyom said. "But if this turns out to be anything but copasetic, I'll peel your skin off with pliers. Tell your people we're ready."

Suddenly, Coren stepped forward, a half-smile on his face. The robot reached him at that point and gripped his right arm. Coren looked up angrily, but his expression changed quickly to fear.

"I apologize, sir, but I must ask that you come with me." The robot walked him back through the crowd of baleys, who looked frightened and angry themselves.

They emerged from the crowd and continued on to the next bay. The robot stopped. Coren gave it another nervous glance, then turned abruptly.

"Damnit, Coren!"

Coren smiled wanly. "Good to see you, too, Nyom."

She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Don't tell me you're surprised to see me," Coren said.

"I'm not. That's what bothers me."

Coren nodded toward the robot. "Umm…"

"Coffee, go see to our arrangements."

"Yes, Nyom," the robot said.

The robot-Coffee-released Coren and returned to the group of baleys. It worked its way through them. Some cringed from it, but most stood their ground with stolid expressions, afraid but unwilling to show it.

Coffee emerged from the huddled refugees just as the dockworker returned, followed by four individuals. The window appeared at the lower left again as Coffee attempted to find matches.

One of the four was another robot.

("Looks like a DM-70," Rana whispered. "But what's that?")

One of the four looked distinctly artificial, surface a smooth, dull gray, but it was far more humaniform than either of the other two robots. Coffee gave this one a close examination. The view zoomed in on its head. Human-imitation eyes peered back. It wore close-fitting black: shirt, pants, and soft boots, which seemed silly for a robot.

("Look at the way it moves," Derec said.)

"Everybody ready?" the dockworker called out. He turned to Coffee. "Where's your boss?"

"One moment."

Coffee made his way back to where Nyom and Coren stood talking. It stopped a short distance from them. "Nyom."

Coren started and Nyom laughed. She began to reach toward him. "Coffee won't hurt you. What is it, Coffee?"

"Time."

"I'll be right there."

Coffee returned once more to the group of baleys. "She is on her way, " it told the dockworker.

"All right," Nyom's voice snapped. "Let's get this boat sailing, shall we?" She stopped upon seeing the newcomers, frowning. "Who are these?"

"My dock crew," the first dockworker informed her. "It wasn't hard to get everybody else to go out for a drink, but I think they'd draw the line at longshoring an illicit bin and loading up a bunch of baleys, don't you think?"

Nervous laughter came from the group of baleys. Nyom nodded, her eyes on the strange robot.

"This way," the dockworker said, leading them through the open bay.

They passed through the huge doorway. The baleys stopped on the broad apron between the warehouse doors and the maze of tracks upon which cargo bins scurried en route to and from the shuttle fields of Petrabor port. One bin came almost directly at them, stopping abruptly on its magnetic rails less than five meters away. Its door folded down.

"Okay, folks," the dockworker said, clapping his hands. "Here's the drill. Inside you will find an array of bunks-acceleration couches-each one with a breather mask attached to a rebreather. There's enough air in the bin for the ride up to Kopernik and the transfer to the ship that'll take you on to Nova Levis, as long as you use the rebreather. One of my associates here will ride up with you and make sure you know how to use the masks and will stay as security till you make the transfer to the ship. Once aboard ship, you will be released from the bin and provided regular berths for the main leg of the voyage. Once you are secured in your couches, do not-I repeat, do not-get out of them. There isn't enough room for floating around, and you could injure yourselves. Any questions?"

He looked around. Coffee was paying attention mainly to the unusual robot.

Abruptly, that robot stepped forward, approached Coffee, and made a show of examining it. It moved with a sinuous fluidity that belied its artificial nature, making one slow circuit around Coffee and coming to a halt directly before it.

The skin seemed to ripple briefly. Suddenly, it looked to its left. As Coffee watched, the skin changed hue and texture, dappling and darkening.

"Nyom," Coffee said, "I recommend against this. We should abort and try another avenue."

"Why, Coffee?"

The strange robot regarded Coffee with an attitude of almost human curiosity, as if to say Yes, Coffee, why?

"I am unable to define my reasons, " Coffee said. "The situation has too many unexpected variables. For instance, I do not know what this is." Coffee aimed a digit at the robot before it.

"Come on, " the dockworker said, exasperated. "We don't have time for this shit! The crew will be back any minute-you take it or leave it. You drop this ride, your chances of getting another one go way down."

Nyom turned to her group. "It's up to you," she said. "Do we go?"

The refugees murmured among themselves briefly, then hands went up. "We go," most of them said.

Nyom frowned as she turned to the dockworker. "I repeat: anything goes wrong on this, I'll have parts of you as souvenirs. "

"What, you think we're going to ruin our reputation? Come on, we're professionals-we do this all the time. Now, can be get a move on?"

"Coffee," Nyom said, "you just pay close attention to everything. "

"Yes, Nyom."

The robot facing it spun gracefully and walked up the ramp, into the bin. The baleys filed in, one by one.

Nyom hung back, close to Coffee. "What's wrong, Coffee?"

"That robot-" Coffee began.

"The tally doesn't add up," the dockworker interrupted. He held up a pad. "I did a head count. We're missing one."

"I know," Nyom said. "It happens. Someone gets cold feet at the last minute; they don't show. Can't call it off on account of one or two who change their minds, can you?"

"No, I suppose not. But my people don't like it."

"I don't care what they don't like."

The dockworker shrugged. "So we have one extra couch. Everyone else showed, though?"

"Everyone else did." Nyom gestured. "Where'd you get that robot?"

"Gamelin? Didn't get him anywhere. He's part of the connection on the other end."

"He's…different."

"He is that. Well, you ready? Everyone else is on board."

Nyom nodded and walked up the ramp. Coffee followed.

Within, the light was dim, provided mainly by a single flash held by the robot, Gamelin, and the readylights on the hulking rebreather unit in the middle of the deck. Gamelin was helping people settle into the couches that were stacked to the ceiling, and answering questions in a quiet, raspy voice. Coffee began checking those already settled in.

The hatch came up, then, and Gamelin activated the internal seals. Coffee squatted by the control panel of the rebreather and began running a diagnostic.

"Don't you trust me?" Gamelin asked.

"What model are you?" Nyom asked. "I've never seen one like you. "

"You won't again," Gamelin said, turning toward her. "Better get into your couch. "

The bin lurched and Nyom nearly fell. Gamelin caught her arm and steadied her.

"No talking," Gamelin announced. "Uses too much air."

Coffee did a second check on the rebreather. Everything read optimal. It straightened and watched Gamelin help Nyom with her straps.

"And the mask-"

"I have my own," Nyom said.

Gamelin hesitated. "Very efficient."

Coffee approached Gamelin. "You did not answer Nyom's question. What model are you?"

"I'm a prototype. I don't have a model designation. "

"Are you Solarian? I am unfamiliar with any Auroran design even in the planning stage from which you might be derived. "

"How long's it been since you were on Aurora?"

"Thirty-six years."

"Things might've changed, don't you think?"

"Very probably. That is why I ask."

"Solarian. Now get to your ready station. We've got ten minutes before the shuttle lifts."

Coffee returned to a place beside the rebreather. Gamelin climbed lithely into one of the couches.

("What happened? The scene shifted…" one of the agents complained. "Coffee shifted briefly to standby," Derec explained. "Nothing recorded during an essentially uneventful period. All telemetry is on, but…")

The cargo bin was in freefall, on a trajectory to Kopernik on board a shuttle. Two or three people groaned. Coffee bent to the rebreather control panel and checked the readings on individual respiration.

"There is a problem," it said.

"What?" Nyom asked. She pulled herself out of the couch and swam quickly to Coffee.

("Where'd she learn to do that?" Rana wondered.)

"The monitor indicates distress," Coffee said. "Breathing is becoming impaired."

"What the-we have a defective rebreather?"

"Nothing's defective," Gamelin said, sliding across the bin. "Everything's working fine."

"I disagree," Coffee said. "According to this-"

"Shut up, tinhead. Time to put on a standard mask, Ms. Looms."

Nyom shot a look at Gamelin. "What are you-"

Gamelin reached for her. She writhed in mid-air and slammed a foot against its chest, launching herself backward. Her shoulders banged into the strutwork supporting a bank of couches.

Gamelin pursued, one arm extended, reaching.

"Stop," Coffee said. "You will cause injury."

"Exactly, " Gamelin said.

Coffee twisted around and grabbed Gamelin's shoulder. Coffee's grip closed on softer material than expected. Gamelin jerked around beneath the grip and pulled free, hissing in clear pain.

Coffee opened its hand and saw, in its enhanced vision, a mass of fabric and dermis mingled thickly with blood.

The scene lurched. Coffee watched, immobile, as Gamelin chased Nyom Looms around the bin, while all around people were moaning louder. Several had ripped off their masks, gasping. Coffee looked down at the rebreather.

("Why doesn't it do something?" one of the agents asked. "It's caught in a dilemma," Rana said. "It just hurt something that might be human. It doesn't know what to do." "Human!")

Suddenly, Gamelin caught Nyom. Coffee looked up to see her struggle briefly while Gamelin got a grip on her head and gave a short, sharp yank. The snap of bone sounded horribly loud.

Gamelin let Nyom's body go and pulled something from its belt. It went to one of the clear surfaces and aimed the tool. A brilliant spark leapt at the bulkhead.

"Stop," Coffee ordered. "You will breach the integrity of the container."

"Stop me, tinhead," Gamelin said. "If you can."

"I-"

Suddenly, Gamelin drew back and punched up. The loud bang filled the chamber. A moment later, he pushed both hands through the crack he had made and heaved. Blood oozed from the wound on his shoulder. Air whistled through the hole.

Gamelin swam back to the robot and came close to its face.

"They'll suffocate if they don't put their masks back on," he said. Then he returned to his couch.

Coffee went from person to person, urging them to replace their masks. Some were already dead, though. coffee seemed to realize then that the rebreather was poisoning them.

It knelt by the unit and tried to run a systems purge. That did not work, so it began stabbing the DISCONNECT; all the while the air inexorably leaked from the small chamber. Everyone stared at the now blank screens, mute, the shock clear on their faces. Derec let out his breath slowly. He looked at Rana.

"What-?"

"So where did that thing go?" Agent Harwol demanded explosively. "Obviously, that's what walked out of your morgue, Chief Palen, right under the noses of your staff and your surveillance."

"Coren said it was invisible to his optam," she said.

"Invisible to your security systems, too?" Derec asked.

She looked frightened. "What is it, Mr. Avery? You're the roboticist. Tell us."

"I have no idea. I've never seen anything like it. Coffee couldn't stop it because it was human. Or seemed human. "

"That?" Harwol exclaimed.

"It bled, Agent Harwol. It was-is-organic. Up to that point, Coffee assumed, as did everyone, that it was a robot…" He blinked. "A cyborg."

"A what?" Rana asked. "I didn't think those were possible."

"Aurora stopped research on them a long time ago. Not because they aren't possible-on the contrary, they are very possible. And much too unpredictable. "

"We're impounding all this material," Agent Harwol declared. "I want every bit of it turned over to us before any more of it goes missing. "

"To do what with?" Derec demanded. "You don't have the first idea what any of this means. "

"And you do? No arguments, Mr. Avery-this material is, now under TBI jurisdiction, and you are under arrest."

"For what?"

"Criminal negligence, for a start. Until we find that robot, I'm holding you responsible. You were working for us on this and an important piece of evidence is missing."

"For the sake of-" Palen said. "Stop it. Just what do you think you're accomplishing by all this?"

"I'm putting the lid on a bad situation on its way to becoming worse, Chief Palen," Harwol barked. "You're suspended, pending an investigation into abuse of authority. You had no mandate to indulge in this sort of an investigation-"

"You're going to make a mess of this whole thing-"

"Enough! I want this lab quarantined and everything in it held in stasis till I decide what to do with it. You have overstepped your authority in this matter, and the TBI is now taking over the investigation."

"Damn it-!" Palen began.

Harwol aimed a finger at her as if it were a weapon.

"Another word, Chief Palen," he said. "One more."

She restrained herself with a visible effort.

"You're an idiot," Derec said. "You could've just asked."

"I'm afraid, Agent Harwol, " Hofton said then, "that you lack the authority to make arrests on Auroran territory."

"Kopernik Station is an Earth Incorporated Zone," Harwol said. "Security is handled by Terran authority under specific treaty, which is why Chief Palen here has the authority to police even the Spacer and Settler areas. I am relieving her of that position and assuming that authority."

"That's thin, Harwol," Palen said. "Really, really thin."

"Maybe, but that's what I'm doing. I can damn well make arrests here, and I damn well will. You may file a complaint through proper channels and it will be considered at that time, but till then I am in charge of station security and you-" he pointed at Derec "-are under arrest." "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. I was under the impression that Auroran embassy grounds were accorded the same privileges as the main mission. "

Hofton looked agonized. Derec had never seen the man so distraught. He sat on the other side of the narrow holding cell, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched, his face stretched by internal doubt and self-loathing.

"You can't be expected to know everything, Hofton," Derec said.

"I don't," Hofton said. "But I should know everything about my job."

Derec looked across, through the mesh of his cell door, to the cell opposite his. The Spacer who had been arrested the day Derec had arrived still waited within it. In all the confusion, he had been forgotten.

"It's understandable," Derec said. "Harwol and the others saw something they don't understand. Naturally, their reaction is to put anything they don't understand in a cell."

"All expectations for rational action and maturity notwithstanding," Hofton said gloomily.

"Doesn't matter. The relevant point is, you still have a job. I accept your apology. Now, let's figure out how to solve our problems."

Hofton continued to stare at a spot on the floor for several seconds. Then he drew a deep breath, straightened, and nodded.

"You're right, of course," he said. "What do you propose?"

"Thales withheld information for some reason. There's no way that robot could have done anything with Thales knowing." Derec thought about that. "Scratch that. Without Thales instigating it. Assuming for the moment Thales won't say anything to anyone but us, then the first opportunity we get to question it alone-"

"That may be very difficult. Harwol has an agent in the lab at all times."

"Hmm. All right, then the first thing we have to do is get some idea of what that thing is we saw in the recovered memories. They all saw that, there's nothing left to hide from the TBI. Contact Ariel, go over it with her."

"You said it's a cyborg."

"That's my best guess, but I wouldn't mind being contradicted. If somebody has a better idea, I'd love to hear it."

"Assuming you're correct, though, what then?"

"Then we have a real problem. Harwol and his people have no idea. If it's a cyborg, it was certainly not created out of thin air. There's infrastructure behind it-industry, an impressive application of technology. Which means money. More than likely, if there's one, there are more."

"Whose money?"

"That's one good question. The other is, what do they have to do with baleys?"

"Baleys in general, or those going to Nova Levis specifically?"

"Right now it could be either one. When you talk to Ariel, find out if Lanra has any statistics on the number of baleys going out each year that arrive dead. Or just disappear."

"With all due respect to Mr. Lanra, how would he get such statistics? The Settler colonies are not all willing to provide Earth with data. Census figures alone represent a major problem."

"Mmm. Well, maybe he knows someone who can get those numbers. I just need to know if one colony above any other is having a problem with this."

Hofton nodded. "I'll see what I can find out. Anything else?"

"Can you go in and out of the lab?"

"For the time being." He grinned wryly. "I'm a bit of a gray area for them. They don't quite know how to handle me. I've threatened them with Ambassador Setaris."

"Then get me an update from Thales."

"Yes, sir. Shall I see about getting you out of here?"

"Eventually, yes. For now, though, I've got some thinking to do, and this is as good a place as any. "

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"Call me Derec."

Hofton stood. "I'll see what I can do. Sir."

Hofton placed his hand against the lock pad. The door opened for him; after he passed through, the mesh slid back into place. If Derec had tried to follow Hofton a stunner would have knocked him back very firmly.

A few minutes later, the main door opened again and two of Palen's uniforms brought a man into the block. They escorted him into a cell at the opposite end from the main door, locked him in, and left without glancing at Derec or the other prisoner.

Derec strained to see into the cell of the new inmate, but the man had flopped onto his cot.

Derec looked across the concourse at the other Spacer.

"So what did you do that got you thrown in here?" Derec called.

The Spacer sat up. After a few seconds of contemplation, the man went to his cell door, placed his hand on the lock, and walked out. With a glance in the direction of the newcomer, he came quietly up to Derec's door, opened it, and entered the cell. The door slid shut and the Spacer sat down where Hofton had been sitting.

Derec stared at him. "You're one of Palen's people."

He grinned. "Right on the first guess. They didn't lie when they said you were bright." He extended his hand. "Masid Vorian, station security."

Derec shook Masid's hand. "So I suppose you heard everything we discussed?"

"Most of it. Don't worry about the TBI, though. The cell monitoring system is keyed to Sipha's password. She shut it down after Harwol and his eager fools showed up. So they'll never know what you discussed with your man, or what you and I talk about now."

Derec nodded toward the door. "What about the new prisoner?"

"Must be a legitimate arrest. His escorts would've given me some kind of warning if he was a plant or something. Don't worry-I doubt he can hear our conversation, either."

"And what are we talking about now?"

"The same thing." Masid leaned forward earnestly. "You need to understand one thing: Sipha Palen is a good cop. She's honest, dedicated, and a magnificent pain in the ass to work for as a result, but she's sincere about the job."

"I never doubted it."

Masid nodded once. "But it gets her in trouble. That's the reason she's up here and not running a department on the ground. "

"Honest to a fault."

"She doesn't always know when to shut up." He grinned. "In certain circles, it can be a real deficit."

"She planted you in the lab."

"No, I was already there. I'm a turned agent. I used to work for Settler security. Sipha found out and made a deal with me: work for her, at least part-time, or she'd expose me."

"Forgive me, but you look like a Spacer."

Masid made a mock bow. "Native of Proclas."

"Then how-?"

"It's a long story. The short version is, I was trained as an information specialist, but, frankly, it's boring work. Proclans are agrarian by temperament, but you can't maintain much of a civilization growing vegetables. I started freelancing. The government called it treason and I had to leave. I ran an independent merchant ship for a while, then went to work for the Theian intelligence service on Pax Commari-"

"That's a Settler colony."

"Yes, it is. Theia sponsored it. Anyway, I decided that what I was doing was crass and unethical, so I turned myself in to the local intelligence people. They had absolutely no use for me, but-lucky me-,..they knew someone who did. I ended up working for the Settler Coalition. "

"I didn't know they had an intelligence arm. "

"Not very many people do. Their biggest concern is smuggling. Post to post to post, I ended up here. " He raised his arms. "That's the short version. Some day when we have time and a good deal to drink, I'll give you the full version, which is a lot more interesting. "

"So you work for Palen part of the time."

"At this point, I'd have to say I work for Palen all of the time. She made me a good deal. Over the last few years, I've found myself with a growing case of loyalty to her. "

"That impressive?"

"I respect her," Masid said.

The way he said it, Derec got the immediate sense of a vast and profound commitment; that respect was something Masid Vorian esteemed above all else.

"All right," Derec said slowly. "I presume that the arrangement is, you work with the Aurorans for a time and when you have something to report you get yourself arrested."

"Basically. Most of the time information is easily sent through a secured comm channel. But sometimes something comes up that requires a personal meet."

"What prompted this one?"

"Baleys. Lots of very dead baleys." "There's a regular route, always has been," Masid explained. "The bays change, but usually they're Settler. Baleys have been leaving Kopernik for years via the same avenues-fifty, a hundred years. We estimated that on an average year maybe five, six thousand people leave Earth through clandestine channels. Occasionally, the number goes as high as ten or twelve thousand. ITE cracks down periodically, the numbers drop to less than a thousand, then pick back up.

"A couple of years ago we started seeing a massive surge: twelve, thirteen, fifteen thousand a year. I think this had to do with the politics, Eliton's whole Concessionism kick, and then the collapse of talks last year. I think a lot of baleys are afraid all the avenues are about to be shut down.

"In the middle of this frantic running, though, we started hearing rumors from some of the Settler crews that a number of shipments went missing. I started doing a little digging among my old Settler contacts. I found out that transfers were being made mid-journey by certain ships-destinations changed, baleys offloaded and sent somewhere else. Too many claims to ignore. "

"Pirates?" Derec asked.

"That's an easy accusation to make. Tell me, what is pirate? Black market, certainly. But fine, let's assume for the sake of this discussion we're talking about pirates. Then what are they doing? A lot of so-called pirate ships are already dealing in baley running. A lot of them have quasilegal status and come into port regularly. No warrants, no evidence to hold them, we let them go. The ships offloading the baleys aren't doing so under duress, so it's a business deal. But for who? The money being paid by baleys and some of the recipient colonies is a lot, but I don't see how the margin makes it worthwhile stealing the baleys after they're already en route. So where are they being taken?"

"You found out?"

Masid shook his head. "Not exactly. A lot of talk has them going to Nova Levis. Of course, that's quarantined, so it's not likely we're going to find any ship's owners willing to admit they're making runs there. The pirate ships taking the baleys on never come to Kopernik. But let's assume that one or two colonies have hired mercenary shippers and are paying premiums to steal baleys. Why? What do baleys have that could be marketable under illicit conditions?"

"Labor. Possibly blackmail of family."

"No blackmail, not a single demand. Labor, sure. But you can buy cheap labor from companies like Imbitek and Morris and some of the others. There are some colonies buying robots from Spacers. So, if it's not labor, what is it?"

Derec shook his head.

"Bodies."

"Organs?"

"What else? On spec I recommended that a shipload of baleys be traced and intercepted en route. A joint Auroran-Terran venture was set up. It took four tries to find a transfer, but we found one and the ship was taken. The baleys were already dead, in stasis. Medical quality stasis. Eighty-three of them. We had a few arriving shipments intercepted here and at least three of them contained already dead baleys."

"Why didn't you shut it all down if you knew about the shipments?"

"Two reasons: we don't know about all the shipments, and we still don't know who's killing them and selling the corpses. Ongoing investigation; we need to keep it quiet till we can shut down the source. I know, it's terrible. People are dying. But that's the way it is."

"How many?" Derec asked.

"So far, three hundred plus. We've been trying to infiltrate baley groups, see where they're going. Our agents have been turning up dead, too. Some of them in very unpleasant ways. The worst was Chiava."

"Chiava?"

"The Brethe dealer you heard about. Right here, in her holding cell. "

"Chief Palen worked her the same way she works you?"

Masid nodded. "She worked dockside vice mostly, not this. She found something related to my investigation. "

"Did she have time to tell Palen?"

"No. She was brought in while Sipha was away. By the time Sipha returned…"

"What I don't understand," Derec said, "is where the market for this is. Organs can be grown-you don't have to do gross transplants. "

"Spacer medical tech is expensive. "

"That's facile. It's also safer. The only reason…" Derec caught his breath. "The baleys in question. You identified them?"

"As many as we could. Some had bought very expensive privacy locks on their pasts."

"How many of them were orphans?"

"Orphans?"

"Yes, orphans."

Masid blinked and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Find out."

"You have an idea what's going on?"

"Just an idea. A very tenuous idea. "

Masid nodded. "You look like you hope you're wrong. "

"That, too." Derec studied Masid for a time. "So what are you still doing in here?"

"Oh, that. Well." Masid smiled sheepishly. "I'm bait."