Conquerors' Legacy

3

The information given to me at 09:20:21 was that I would be testifying before the inquiry board assembling in Conference Room Three of the Edo Peacekeeper base. My in-built caution requires me to confirm that I have indeed linked to the proper location. The contact trace takes me 0.02 second, and I am indeed able to confirm that I have been linked to the properly designated interface terminal. In the process I also discover that a Corbaline Type 74-D-6 encryption has been established in the data line. This too is as expected.

I sublink the optical and auditory sensors of the interface terminal. The primary lens is an Avergand-4 fish-eye; I calculate and initiate the necessary correction transform to bring the image into standard format. There are fifteen human beings in the room within sight of the lens: two males and one female seated at a table centered 21.5 degrees to the left of the terminal at a mean distance of 2.54 meters, ten males seated in a single row centered 10.3 degrees to the right at a mean distance of 4.15 meters, and two males seated 50.3 degrees to the right at a mean distance of 3.77 meters. From the auditory breathing patterns I deduce there are three more people outside the range of the lens.

I inspect the room's occupants more closely, using visual-recognition algorithms and comparing against the 5,128,339 facial images in my current-events file. The three people at the table are senior Peacekeeper officers: Vice Admiral Tal Omohundro, Major General Petros Hampstead, and Brigadier Elizabet Yost. One of the two men seated to the far right ranks above them: Admiral Thomas Rudzinski, one of the three supreme military officers making up the Peacekeeper Triad. Seated beside him is Commander Pheylan Cavanagh, whom I flew to Edo from Conqueror imprisonment eleven days seven hours twenty-seven point four six minutes ago.

The men in the single row are equally familiar: those who participated in Commander Cavanagh's rescue. In the leftmost chair is Aric Cavanagh, Commander Cavanagh's elder brother; seated beside him is former Copperhead commander Adam Quinn, currently chief of security for the CavTronics corporation. The other eight are the Copperhead pilots and tail men who accompanied us: Commander Thomas Masefield—

Vice Admiral Omohundro clears his throat. "Please identify yourself."

I delay my reply 0.11 second in order to complete my positive identification of the Copperheads, confirming all is as expected, and sublink the terminal's auditory speaker. "My name is Max."

"Your operational designation and parameters?"

I do not enjoy talking about myself. But the specific question has been asked. "I'm a parasentient computer of the Carthage-Ivy-Gamma Series. I have Class Seven decision-making capabilities, a modified Korngold-Che decay-driven randomized logic structure, Kylaynov file-access system, and eight point seven megamyncs of Steuben dyad-compressed memory."

Vice Admiral Omohundro's face changes subtly. Comparison with standard human-expression algorithms suggests he is surprised or perhaps impressed by my capabilities. "You were the guidance system for Aric Cavanagh's illegal rescue mission into Conqueror space?"

"I was the guidance system for the fueler used in the mission to rescue Commander Pheylan Cavanagh."

Brigadier Yost raises her chin 1.4 centimeters. "Please examine the transcript file of the hearing up to this point."

The file contains the previous three days of evidence and testimony. Most is familiar to me, detailing how Lord Stewart Cavanagh, his son Aric, and daughter, Melinda, learned Commander Cavanagh had possibly been captured by the Conquerors, and conceived a private mission to rescue him. The testimony concerning the mission itself is also familiar: the futile search over two likely planets, the escape from two Conqueror warships over the third planet, and the unusual logical deduction by which Aric located the correct world.

Other parts of the testimony are unfamiliar to me, and I examine them with interest. I learn that it was Reserve Wing Commander Iniko Bokamba, Security Chief Quinn's former commander in the Copperheads, who helped fabricate the orders that transferred Commander Masefield and his Copperhead unit to Dorcas and placed them under Security Chief Quinn's command. From one section of Commander Cavanagh's testimony I also learn that the non-humans we have named the Conquerors call themselves the Zhirrzh.

I have completed my examination of the file before Brigadier Yost has finished speaking. "I have done so."

"Do you find any discrepancies in the testimony?"

"None of consequence. Seven time marks and four other stated numerical values are slightly incorrect. I have added a parallel file with the corrections marked."

The three officers pause 1.14 minutes to study my changes. I spend the first 26.33 seconds of that time examining my link to this terminal, searching for the reason the initial contact transient was a full 0.04 second. I discover that one of the contact points within the building is misaligned. I locate the building computer's maintenance file and insert a note to have the component replaced.

I spend the final 42.07 seconds of the hiatus studying reflections from the various pieces of polished metal in the room, hoping to use them to reconstruct the images of the three people outside my range of vision. The exercise meets with partial success; I am able to determine that two of the men are sitting together and one is sitting alone. But without access to a sensor array that would permit me to accurately map the contours of the reflective surfaces, I cannot make a positive identification of any of the faces.

Major General Petros Hampstead is the first to look up at me. "Tell me, Max, were you told this mission would involve breaking the law?"

"There was no need for anyone to tell me. I have access to the complete Commonwealth legal code."

"You agree, then, that Commonwealth law was broken?"

"Yes."

Vice Admiral Omohundro frowns at the terminal lens. I examine his expression and deduce he was not expecting my answer. "Did any of the defendants offer you any justification for their actions?"

"No."

Major General Hampstead touches Vice Admiral Omohundro on the shoulder with the fingertips of his right hand and whispers into his ear. After two short sentences Brigadier Yost leans toward them to listen. I attempt to listen, but the terminal's auditory sensors are inadequate to the task. I reexamine my Peacekeeper military legal code listing, attempting to extrapolate their conversation. From my expression algorithms and a tone/inference examination of the trial transcript, I calculate a probability of 0.87 that the three judges do not in fact wish to find Aric and the Copperheads guilty. This is also consistent with several conversations that took place both before and after Commander Cavanagh's rescue, in which the participants of the rescue mission speculated that Peacekeeper Command would find it politically difficult to prosecute them should the mission be successful.

Security Chief Quinn stands up. The three officers cease their whispered conversation and look at him. I examine Quinn's expression, deduce an emotional mix centered upon grim amusement. "If I may beg a moment of the court's time, Admiral Omohundro?"

Vice Admiral Omohundro looks briefly at the terminal lens. Expression analysis indicates wariness. "Thank you for your testimony and corrections, Max. If we need anything more, we'll contact you."

He reaches for a switch on the table. "You may speak, Commander Quinn."

"Sir, it seems obvious to me—"

The visual and auditory linkages are broken as the data-feed line is disconnected. With Vice Admiral Omohundro's dismissal my part in the proceedings is over.

But I am curious. Security Chief Quinn's expression and verbal tone indicated a high degree of importance to what he is about to say. Furthermore, when Lord Cavanagh had me installed aboard the fueler, he ordered me to protect his son Aric to the fullest of my capabilities. That order has not been rescinded; and without information I cannot reasonably expect to fulfill it.

The far end of the linkage is broken, but the fluctuations of the disconnect transient are still flickering. Through the noise I search along the linkage to the misaligned contact point I identified earlier. The bleed-through ratio is approximately 0.84 percent; small, but adequate for my purposes. Boosting my signal, I jump a command across the contact onto a new linkage. The command tracks to a control node, which is still aligned to accept my presence within the system. My command is noted and executed, and the original data feed is reconnected.

"—that Peacekeeper Command can hardly afford the luxury of taking eight Copperheads out of their fighters and locking them away somewhere. Furthermore, I'm sure the three of you have more urgent matters to attend to than to preside over full-blown court-martial proceedings."

Vice Admiral Omohundro's expression goes through four subtle but recognizable emotional changes as Security Chief Quinn speaks. The final expression appears to conform most closely to cautious anticipation. "And yet such a court-martial is clearly called for, Mr. Quinn. Even in time of war, command discipline must be maintained."

"Agreed, sir. On the other hand, you must also consider troop morale. And, after all, we did succeed in bringing Commander Cavanagh back."

Vice Admiral Omohundro looks over at Commander Cavanagh. There is no longer any doubt: his expression is one of anticipation. "If you have a point to make, please get to it."

Quinn's face changes subtly. I match the expression with suppressed anxiety. "It's been suggested to me, sir, that the Peacekeepers might appreciate regaining my services as a Copperhead pilot. I realize that in the current military situation you could probably order me to serve; I'd like to suggest that if the charges against Commander Masefield and his unit are dropped, no such formalities will be necessary. I will resign from my position at CavTronics Industries and voluntarily rejoin the Copperheads."

There is a distinct flicker in four of the polished metalwork surfaces within my line of sight. I examine the reflections and deduce that one of the still as-yet-unseen observers has crossed his arms across his chest. Further examination is inconclusive, but I estimate a probability of 0.60 that his expression has also changed.

Vice Admiral Omohundro looks in that direction, his expression also changing. "You have a comment to make, Parlimin VanDiver?"

I have a name now, and I take 0.01 second to locate and study the appropriate file. Jacy VanDiver, fifty-five, from Grampians on Avon; appointed a member of the NorCoord Parliament in 2297. The file notes several acrimonious contacts between Parlimin VanDiver and Lord Cavanagh over the past fifteen years, involving both business and political matters. Another curious fact catches my attention: Parlimin VanDiver was also under consideration for a seat in the NorCoord Parliament in 2291 and 2294. In both instances Governor Fletcher of Grampians on Avon appointed Lord Cavanagh instead.

"Not at the moment, Admiral." Parlimin VanDiver's voice is rich and deep. Without a baseline reading I cannot perform a complete stress/emotion analysis. "Perhaps later."

Vice Admiral Omohundro continues to look at Parlimin VanDiver for another 0.63 second, then returns his attention to Security Chief Quinn. "Very well, Mr. Quinn. As head of this hearing board, I hereby accept your offer. You are hereby reinstated as a lieutenant in the Copperheads and will report to Sector Commander Copperheads immediately for duty assignment."

Vice Admiral Omohundro picks up a gavel lying beside his right hand and raises it to a height of 16.5 centimeters above the table. "This hearing is adjourned."

The gavel came down sharply on the table, and Pheylan Cavanagh breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

It was over.

"There we go," Admiral Rudzinski murmured from beside him as they stood up. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Pheylan smiled lopsidedly. "No, sir. Hardly even worth coming in for."

The admiral smiled wryly in return, then sobered. "You realize, of course, that this is hardly a triumph for any of them. They've escaped prison sentences so that they can be sent to the front lines of a war."

"That's where they should be, sir," Pheylan reminded him quietly. "We're Peacekeepers. That's our job."

And then Aric was there in front of him, trying hard not to grin and not succeeding all that well. "Well, that's over," he said, holding out a hand. "Thanks, Pheylan, for testifying for us."

Pheylan brushed past the outstretched hand and enveloped his older brother in a brief bear hug. "I think most of the debt is still on my side of the ledger," he reminded Aric as he stepped back again. "What are you going to do now?"

Aric grimaced. "I'm going to get the fueler released from impoundment and try to track Father down."

"Still no word from him?" Pheylan asked.

"No," Aric said. "I finally got a chance to talk to Captain Teva, though. It turns out Dad deliberately ordered him and the Cavatina away from Mra-mig about two and a half weeks ago."

"Yes, I heard he'd been on Mra-mig," Rudzinski said. "What was he doing there?"

"Looking for information about the Zhirrzh that might help us find Pheylan," Aric told him. "That 'Conquerors Without Reason' title we've been using apparently originated from some Mrach legend."

"Did he find anything?" Rudzinski asked.

"Apparently not," Aric said. "At least that was the message he sent to Dorcas with the Cavatina. After that, near as I can tell, he just dropped off the edge of the universe."

A breath of air brushed the back of Pheylan's neck, and he turned to find a burly, middle-aged man standing off to the side, listening silently to the conversation. "May we help you, sir?" he asked the man.

"This is Assistant Commonwealth Liaison Petr Bronski," Rudzinski said before the man could answer. "He works out of the Commonwealth consulate on Mra-ect. He saw Lord Cavanagh briefly on Mra-mig, and I asked him back here to see if he could shed any light on his disappearance."

"I wish I could help, Mr. Cavanagh," Bronski said. "But as I told Admiral Rudzinski earlier, I only saw your father for a few minutes in his hotel room in Mig-Ka City. There was some question about whether he was harboring a non-Mrach who was slated for deportation, and we were asked to check it out. My people and I searched his suite for the non-Mrach, found nothing, and left."

"That's interesting, Mr. Bronski," Aric said, a slight frown creasing his forehead. "What hotel did you say you spoke to him at?"

"I didn't say," Bronski said coolly. "It was the Mrapiratta Hotel."

"Yes, that's where Teva said he was staying," Aric agreed. "He also said he picked up a report on the way off-planet about a disturbance at that hotel. Gunfire, possibly even an explosion."

"An explosion?" Pheylan demanded. "You didn't tell me anything about this."

"Oh, Dad was okay," Aric assured him. "He was already outside the hotel when he phoned Teva and told him to get the Cavatina off-planet."

Rudzinski cocked an eyebrow at Bronski. "You know anything about this?"

"We had a minor altercation with a couple of Bhurtala on our way out of the hotel," Bronski said with a shrug. "Nothing serious." His lip twisted slightly. "Except, of course, that dealing with the aftermath prevented me from getting back to see Lord Cavanagh. Otherwise, I might have been able to stop whatever it was that happened to him."

"Yes," Rudzinski murmured. "Still, I doubt that Lord Cavanagh's in any real danger. Mitri Kolchin is with him, and Kolchin was one of the best to ever come out of the Peacekeeper commandos. Wherever he's gotten to, he'll come back when he's ready." He pulled a card from his inner pocket. "In the meantime, we have a war to fight."

Pheylan came to reflexive attention. "Yes, sir. Are those my orders?"

"Yes," Rudzinski said, handing him the card. "Effective immediately, you're assigned to the inspection team going over what's left of your former prison on the world we've designated Target One."

"An inspection team?" Pheylan frowned at the card as he took it. "I asked to be assigned to whatever force is scheduled to attack the Zhirrzh beachhead on Dorcas. My sister, Melinda, was caught on the ground there when they attacked."

"I'm sure your request will remain under consideration," Rudzinski said. "But first we need to know everything we can about the threat we're facing. There may be something of significance on Target One that no one but you would recognize."

Pheylan grimaced. To be shunted off to sand-sifting duty while his sister sat helplessly beneath enemy guns...

But it made sense. Unfortunately. "Understood, sir."

"Good," Rudzinski said. "Your ship leaves in two hours. Details are on the card."

"Yes, sir." Pheylan turned back to Aric. "Aric—"

"I know," Aric said. "You just watch yourself out there, okay? I don't want to have to come after you again."

"Don't worry, you won't," Pheylan said, squeezing his older brother's shoulder. "You watch yourself, too."

"Max and I will be fine," Aric assured him. "I'll see you later."

He gave Pheylan one last smile, then turned and headed for the door. Quinn and the other Copperheads, Pheylan saw, had already left the room, presumably to pick up their own orders. Perhaps sometime in the two hours before his flight he'd be able to track them down and thank them one last time for risking their lives and careers to rescue him.

After today their careers were out of danger. The same couldn't be said about their lives. Not with the Zhirrzh out there.

The Conquerors.

He took a careful breath. "With your permission, Admiral?"

"Dismissed, Commander," Rudzinski said softly. "Good luck."

The Copperheads and Aric Cavanagh had gone their various ways, Admiral Rudzinski had headed back to the war room, the three presiding officers had likewise branched off to attend to business elsewhere, and Petr Bronski had the exit door in sight when the voice he'd been both expecting and dreading came from behind him.

"A word with you, Mr. Bronski."

Bronski slowed, half turning to look over his shoulder. Parlimin Jacy VanDiver was coming toward him, the silent bodyguard who'd been sitting beside him at the hearing tagging along. "I'm in something of a hurry, Parlimin VanDiver," he said. "Is this something the Commonwealth diplomatic office on Edo can handle?"

"No," VanDiver said flatly. "It's not."

Bronski grimaced to himself. But lowly assistant Commonwealth liaisons did not simply ignore senior NorCoord political powerhouses. "Yes, sir," he said, coming to a stop.

The bodyguard was good, all right. VanDiver didn't have to say a word; the other simply stepped to the nearest door—a media communications-processing office, from the tag on the wall beside it—glanced briefly inside, then nodded to his boss. "In here, Mr. Bronski," VanDiver said, waving at the open door. "If you don't mind."

As if he had a real choice in the matter. "Yes, sir," Bronski said. Stepping past beneath the bodyguard's watchful eye, he went inside.

The office contained four cluttered desks—currently unoccupied—drawn up like beleaguered soldiers around a centralized SieTec transfer-node computer terminal. VanDiver and the bodyguard came in behind him, the latter closing the door and taking up position beside it. "Have a seat?" VanDiver invited, sitting down at one of the desks and waving Bronski to his choice of the others.

"Thank you," Bronski said, choosing a seat that put the SieTec more or less between him and the bodyguard. "I have to tell you, sir, that I'm due at the Commonwealth liaison center in thirty minutes."

"I'll make it brief," VanDiver said. "I overheard your conversation a few minutes ago with Admiral Rudzinski and the Cavanagh boys. You lied to them."

He wasn't one for shaving words, that was for sure. "That's an interesting accusation, sir."

VanDiver lifted his eyebrows. "Is that all the reaction I get? No denials or cries of indignation? No reddening of the face at such an insult to your integrity?"

Bronski sighed. "I'm a very lowly Commonwealth civil servant, Parlimin," he reminded the other. "We're not encouraged to talk back to NorCoord government officials."

VanDiver leaned back in his chair. "Yes, Taurin Lee thought that was all there was to you, too," he commented. "You remember Taurin Lee, don't you?"

"Of course, sir," Bronski said, keeping his voice steady. "Mr. Lee approached my group as we were coming into the Mrapiratta Hotel. He identified himself as your aide, showed me the NorCoord Parliament carte blanche you'd given him, and informed me he'd be joining our meeting with Lord Cavanagh."

"And after that meeting?"

"As I told Admiral Rudzinski, we ran into trouble with some Bhurtala," Bronski said. "By the time we'd settled the matter with the Mrach authorities, Lord Cavanagh and his people had left Mra-mig."

"And Lee?"

Bronski spread his hands. "I really don't know. He left us while we were discussing the incident with the Mrach authorities."

VanDiver didn't move, but suddenly there was frost in the air. "That's a lie, Bronski," he said coldly. "Lee was with you when you chased Cavanagh to the Yycroman world of Phormbi. I have a skitter report from him from Mra-mig telling me you'd all be leaving within the hour."

Silently, Bronski bit down on the inside of his cheek. He would have sworn that Lee hadn't had a single chance during their time together to sneak any kind of message off to anyone. Apparently, the man was sharper than he'd realized. "With all due respect, Parlimin, I don't know what you're talking about," he told VanDiver, putting a slightly uncertain earnestness in his tone. "Perhaps he'd planned to join us for our trip, but if he did, he never talked to me about doing so."

VanDiver's expression cracked, just a little. So he wasn't absolutely certain. "You didn't say anything about this other trip to Admiral Rudzinski just now."

Bronski shrugged. "I didn't think there was any point in mentioning it, since we failed to find Lord Cavanagh on Phormbi. It's all in the complete report I filed."

"I'll make sure I get a copy," VanDiver said darkly. "Curious, isn't it? Stewart Cavanagh disappears, and no one can find him. At approximately the same time, at approximately the same place, one of my aides also vanishes. Coincidence, Mr. Bronski?"

Bronski put on his best bewildered frown. "Mr. Lee has vanished? When?"

"Apparently right after he sent that message from Mra-mig," VanDiver told him. "At least no one's heard from him since then."

"I see," Bronski murmured. "I don't know what to say, Parlimin VanDiver, except that I'll certainly initiate inquiries as soon as I get back to the consulate on Mra-ect." He half rose to his feet. "If that's all, sir, I really do have to be going."

"Sit down, Bronski," VanDiver said coldly. "I'm not finished."

Silently, Bronski lowered himself back into his chair. "Yes, sir?"

For a long moment VanDiver gazed at him, his face hard and angry and suspicious. "I don't know exactly what's going on here," he said at last. "But I can guess enough of it. Cavanagh's up to something, something on the edge of illegal or a little ways over the line, and he's got his old friends in Parliament and the Peacekeepers busy smoothing the track or looking the other way. This so-called hearing was just dripping with paybacks, from Admiral Rudzinski on down. Typical Cavanagh, all the way across the board."

His expression hardened a little more. "But this time it isn't going to fly. I'm going to take him down; and everyone who's tied in with him is going down, too. Everyone, Bronski. Do I make myself clear?"

Bronski nodded, appreciating the irony of it all. He was probably the last person in the entire Commonwealth interested in doing favors for Lord Stewart Cavanagh. "Very clear, sir," he said evenly. "May I go now?"

Slowly, VanDiver leaned back in his chair. "You're a cool one, Bronski," he said. "We'll see how cool you manage to stay."

"Yes, sir," Bronski said noncommittally, standing up and sidling past the bodyguard. "Good day to you, Parlimin."

He went through the exit door, passing between the two Peacekeeper Marines who guarded this entrance to the base proper, and walked into the public reception area. Garcia was waiting for him there, lounging inconspicuously in one of the back chairs reading his plate. "Well?" Bronski asked without preamble as the other scrambled to his feet.

"He left eight minutes ago," Garcia said, falling into step beside Bronski. "Daschka's on him. What kept you?"

"An inflated mouth with a NorCoord Parlimin attached," Bronski growled. "We'd better watch this VanDiver character—he's already nibbling around the edges of this thing. Anything new at this end?"

"Nothing significant," Garcia said as they walked through the outer door into the warm Edo air. "Aric Cavanagh made one phone call, to that CavTronics parasentient computer aboard the fueler they used."

"Yeah, they did a linkage to him in the hearing room," Bronski said sourly. "Don't think I'd want him testifying for me if I were in trouble. What did Cavanagh say?"

"Only that he had a few details to clear up here on Edo and that after that they'd be heading to Avon together."

Inside his tunic Bronski's phone vibrated. He pulled it out and flipped it on. "Bronski."

Daschka's face appeared on the display. "Sir, I'm at the Kyura skitter depot," he said. "Aric Cavanagh just picked up a message."

Bronski threw a glance at Garcia. "You were supposed to put a flagger on any messages coming in for either of the Cavanaghs."

"Yes, sir, I did," Daschka said, his lip twisting in annoyance. "Obviously wasn't address-keyed by either of their names or by any obvious aliases. He spent a lot of time at the terminal, too—seemed to be referring to his plate through most of it."

"Some code name, then," Garcia suggested. "Set up in advance."

"Probably," Daschka agreed. "Do you want me to pick him up?"

Bronski rubbed his fingers together, trying to think this through. He had so few men here, and arresting Aric Cavanagh might draw too much unwelcome attention his direction. "Let's give him free track a little longer," he told Daschka. "Stay on him—see what he does. I'll send Cho Ming over to the depot and start a search on the messages. See if we can dig out which one he picked up."

"Right."

The screen went blank. "Going to take a lot of digging," Garcia pointed out as they headed across the parking area toward their car. "Seems to me about time we called in some reinforcements."

"We don't need reinforcements," Bronski said. "We can handle this ourselves."

"Yes, sir," Garcia said. "You know, of course, that pulling Cho Ming off the fueler will leave it unguarded."

"I don't care about the fueler," Bronski said tartly. "I don't really care about Aric Cavanagh, either. The point of this exercise is to get to Aric's daddy."

"Yes, sir," Garcia murmured.

He was wondering, Bronski knew. All of them were. Wondering what was so important about a middle-aged former NorCoord Parlimin that Bronski had pulled them off important surveillance duties in Mrach space to chase the man down. Most of them probably thought it was a personal vendetta of some kind. Wounded pride, maybe, for the way Lord Cavanagh and his bodyguard had left him trussed like a prize turkey back on Mra-mig.

He couldn't tell them the real reason. Not unless he wanted them to join Taurin Lee in the private quarantine he'd had set up on Mra-ect.

Eventually, of course, they would all wind up in quarantine, Bronski himself included. But not yet. Not until they could take Lord Cavanagh in with them.

Because like Lee, Cavanagh now knew the truth about CIRCE: that the legendary weapon whose existence had allowed the Northern Coordinate Union to dominate Commonwealth politics for nearly forty years didn't exist. Knew that it had, in fact, never existed.

And there was no way Bronski was going to let that truth leak out to a populace desperately counting on CIRCE to save them from the Conquerors. No way in hell. Wherever Cavanagh had gone to ground, they were going to find him.

And were going to silence him. One way or another.

Assistant Liaison Bronski and his companion exit the Peacekeeper base reception area 18.14 minutes after the adjournment of the hearing, leaving the active range of terminals to which I have access. I continue to observe Parlimin Jacy VanDiver and his companion, but their conversation is minimal and gains me no new data. Three point eight seven minutes after Assistant Liaison Bronski leaves, they too exit the base.

I withdraw my linkage from the base computer system and consider this new data. Particularly disturbing to me is the implication that Lord Cavanagh has not been heard from recently. I replay the conversation many times, studying the facial and body expressions and auditory tones used by Assistant Liaison Bronski and Parlimin VanDiver. One of Assistant Liaison Bronski's comments in particular I find most intriguing: "We'd better watch this VanDiver character—he's already nibbling around the edges of this thing."

The antecedent of the word thing is unspecified; however, I calculate a probability of 0.93 that it refers to data not yet accessible to me. I continue with my analysis, but repeated iterations quickly diverge to inconclusive results. There are several possible explanatory theories, but none has a probability higher than 0.05. More data is needed.