Broken Record - Chapter 3 - "Window Shopping"

           I staggered through my usual morning routine with my usual lack of grace.  Dust and polish the scales; heat up artificial broth and choke it down; check messages; brush beak; strap on armor.  The whole time, I kept checking myself for signs of illness.  These abrupt, long naps weren’t normal for me.  Should I see a doctor?

           I felt fatigued, but that was normal in the morning.  Eyes usual color, scales no yellower than last I checked, claw beds and beak clean, no unexpected aches.  For me, that's peak health.  I decided, again, to explain my sleep schedule anomalies as post-vacation adjustment.  Self-diagnosis was cheaper than a medical scan and less likely to turn up other nasty surprises.

           Avoiding the problem, I settled in to work on more immediate troubles.  Pkstzk.  I’d see her tomorrow.  What could I do today?  It was tempting to visit a constabulary office, but after some thought, I ruled out that idea.  I could get access to unclassified records using my private investigator badge.  The problem was, those records would get flagged and someone would start asking questions about what case I was working.

           Layafflr City had an officially ‘cooperative’ relationship between PIs and constabulary detectives.  Private investigators could take risks and pursue leads the constables legally couldn’t, since we lacked any power to abuse.  If our investigations panned out, the constables would overlook any illegal searches, break-ins, or other nonviolent offenses committed in the course of a case.  If a PI screwed up, well, they were still liable criminally and financially for any damages.  The constables could take credit for our successes and avoid blame for our mistakes; a perfect setup.  Suckers like me accepted this arrangement because, one, we still got paid if the client was satisfied, and two, a few of us actually wanted to see justice done.

           In return for being the disposable protective sheath of law enforcement, a licensed private investigator received a few privileges with the constabulary, beyond a (provisionally) blind eye.  We could read official criminal reports, up to a point.  Anything considered confidential could be blocked or redacted.  Ironically, the details most likely to be omitted were usually the secrets necessary to solve a case.  In practice, any PI worth their badge could probably deduce the missing info from context.  It just meant a little extra brain- or legwork.

           Technically, a PI could call for constabulary presence, including an arrest, provided they had sufficient cause.  Again, in practice, the speed of response tended to vary with the quality of that investigator’s past work and the number and rank of their friends among the city’s authorities.  I had been fortunate not to make many enemies among the rank and file, but I didn’t have many friends in power, either.  An influential pack would have helped there, go figure.  Barring that asset, I could have tried cozying up to the big crests in town, parlaying my past successes into private work and a reputation for quality.  I had the talent.

           Problem was, I didn’t want that much attention.  Getting too friendly with someone important meant that their handlers would start doing background checks.  I knew what they’d find in my past.  Better to remain a relatively unknown, struggling jobber than risk being outed as a criminal.  Worse than being retroactively arrested, I’d be blacklisted and lose my license.  After that, I’d be lucky to get work cleaning sonic wildlife repellers at the city borders.  Did you know, some of the smarter wildlife will endure the pain long enough to defecate on the emitters?

           The other privileges of an investigator mostly had to do with access: entry to crime scenes, permission to interrogate witnesses and suspects, and some opportunity to view evidence.  We couldn’t actually collect evidence, not legally, nor were the statements or confessions made to us legally admissible.  Any PI who botched a case by mishandling evidence or otherwise overstepping their rights would be prosecuted for obstruction of justice.  He or she would deserve it, too.  There were times I’d like to have more latitude to pursue a case, but if my zeal meant a thief or murderer went free on a technicality, all my work would be wasted.

           I wasn’t the type to shoot a suspect and cry “self-defense” later.  I knew a couple of those kinds.  They thought of themselves more as hunters than detectives.  They stalked their prey until it got spooked and ran… or fought.  I thought of them as killers with excuses, not much better than the crooks they ‘investigated’.

           What options did all this leave for me?  Legwork, actually, and lots of it.  First off, I could canvas the area where Pkstzk’s mate, Vzktkk, had been blasted.  The residents had already been questioned by the constabulary, so my investigation might seem redundant.  I’d have to deal with people asking why I couldn’t just read their previous statements.  Answer: I was looking for something the constables missed.  After all, if they could have caught the shooter based purely on the original investigation, he’d already be in prison, right?

           Just seeing the neighborhood would be useful later, to give context to other information.  Plus, I could really use the exercise.  At the least, I’d get a nice long walk.  If things got exciting, I might get to climb (into a window) or run (for my life).  There’s some optimism.  Even my worst cases improve my physical fitness.

           What I didn’t need right now was hand-to-hand combat practice.  I’d rather not waste time mending broken bones… again.  I strapped on Rtrtr’s holster and threw a rain jacket over the heater and my battered everyday armor.  Was it supposed to rain today?  Layafflr City had about a fifty-fifty chance of rain on any given day, so good odds.  I probably wouldn’t look too strange as long as the skies weren’t clear.

           As I stepped out of my nest, I went through a checklist of potential second stops.  Anyone who seemed too reluctant to answer my questions about Vzktkk could be worth further scrutiny.  I could talk to people who knew the dead guy: friends, family, work associates, etc.  If this wasn’t a random shooting, I might turn up ideas about who might want him dead.  If nothing else, his acquaintances might know if he seemed nervous before he died, possibly afraid for his life.  Had he done anything lately that seemed strange, outside of his usual routine?

           For that matter, I was assuming the place where he was found dead was on his usual travel route.  That might or might not be true.  I had to get some background on Vzktkk just to determine his baseline, before I started mining for deviancies.

           The murder scene was deep downtown, toward the central, wealthier districts of Layafflr City.  I decided to conserve my energy and rent an aircar.  Twice in three days… posh.  The smell of the not-recently-sanitized car reminded me that I could always have spent more.  The windows could have used a wipedown, too; I could see only about half of the details as the city sped by on every side.

           Apparently, I had done all my quality thinking on the stairs of my building.  The aircar ride passed without any new insights.  I needed some input before I could plan any further ahead.

           The ‘car deposited me at a quiet corner on the outskirts of Isstravil, the borough I had requested.  Traffic got tight further in; otherwise I would have opted for a destination closer to my target.  Aircars had lower priority than private vehicles, no surprise, but even mass public transit outranked the little one-seaters.  I’m no city planner; I’m sure the scheme makes sense at some level.  It’s just inconvenient when your nest is far outside the mass transit grid.

           So, I still had to walk a few blocks.  I spent the time getting reacquainted with Isstravil’s architecture and amenities.  It was an expensive neighborhood to live in, though not yet priced out of reach for middle-class workers.  Teachers, engineers, business managers, the people who did most of the intellectual work of Layafflr tended to like this area.  Some were just one promotion away from the cleaner, trendier hub... most were one dismissal away from my neighborhood in the overgrown rim.

           The shopping wasn’t bad, either.  If I could spare the transit cost, I might come here more often for groceries.  I thought briefly about looking for armor repairs, then chastised myself for already trying to spend my little bit of savings.  How about saving something for lunches?  Not to mention the cost of a drink when I went to see Pkstzk?  Ugh, there were just so many possible ways to drop credits.

           Finally I found the street I was looking for: Kzk Tsstkt, just off the 25^th Ring Road.  There were no helpful signs to indicate the exact spot of Vzktkk’s death.  The crime scene tape had been removed.  Any scorch marks from the laser had already been scrubbed away.  There might or might not have been any blood; no way to tell, now.

           I chose a likely spot and turned in a circle, taking in the surroundings.  A snack shop was at the corner I had just turned down.  Next door, a compad showroom offered showings and comm contracts.  If either was open, the employees would have heard a shot.  Laser weapons could be absolutely silent when fired, but the pop of superheated blood and flesh was usually audible, not to mention cracking concrete or brick if the beam strayed off its target.

           There were some side alleys: one near the compad store, one further down on the opposite side.  Those hidey-holes are the classic choice of muggers, so I checked them out.  Both were shallow, barely three meters back, giving access to a side door and trash bins.  High steel fences cut this side off from the roads opposite.  At the least, a shooter would have to climb those fences or go down to the corners to leave the street.  I didn’t see any obvious claw marks on the metal or in the alley walls.

           There were apartments on the upper levels, all up and down this stretch.  I could try the residents and see what they knew.  That presumed they were present at the time of the shooting, still at home right now, and willing to talk.  The odds of hitting all three were low, but better than null.

           I also noticed a closed storefront on the opposite side of the street from the open businesses.  The sign indicated it had once been an importer/exporter of ‘exotic pets’.  No wonder it went bust.  The fauna of Spore would be tricky to domesticate and about half were toxic to the majority of carbon-based sapients.  Even keeping one as a curiosity would be dangerous and expensive.  By a similar token, anything you wanted to import would be costly to keep fed and would have to be kept strictly indoors, or risk being poisoned or eaten by the local wildlife.  Stupid, but there was a market for stupid if someone considered it fashionable.

           The closed store struck me as a likely spot for a shooter.  Its sealed windows and door made it like a hunter’s blind.  All you needed was a few centimeters’ gap to sight and fire a laser.  If the glass was clear enough, you could even fire through it without much loss of beam coherence.

           I walked over to the pet store and examined it more closely.  The window shutters looked tight, reinforced plastic with no gaps.  The door was only locked, not shuttered, and it did have glass panes high up, forming a design on the upper lintel.  It did look like one of the panels was cleaner than the others.  That would be an awkward shooting position even if the shooter was a Taratumm… maybe someone standing on a chair?  It made some sense.  A high shot was advantageous for several reasons.  A firing angle above eye level would hide the laser from the target before it was too late.  Onlookers wouldn’t see the light easily, either.  If this was the origin, the constables might have overlooked it, especially if they were still focused on the ‘random criminal act’ angle.

           Why was I focused on the ‘non-random’ angle, myself?  I had defaulted to thinking of this as a planned murder from the beginning.  Was I just inclined to see every death as intentional, every crime as part of a deeper, more sinister scheme?  I knew better.  Most crimes across time and space were based on simple opportunity, not extensive plotting, and here and now, in Layafflr City, was no different.

           I'm not paranoid, in general terms.  However, regarding this specific crime, I was definitely looking for a plot.  Because of the connection to my old pack, I couldn’t help poking around for some hidden thread tying back to them.  If this death was just a mugging gone bad... great, nothing further to worry about.  But if it did have some significance that the second mate of my former packmate’s former mate had been killed, I needed to know what that meant.

           I was either going to thank Pkstzk for warning me about this case or scream at her for getting me involved, depending on how it turned out.

           Just for the sake of trying, I checked the door of the closed shop and confirmed that it was locked.  If the constables had checked it out, they had locked up afterwards.  More likely, it had gone untouched since Vzktkk’s death.  Was there another way in?  I surveyed the building and noticed that the apartment above the store was dark and had a ‘for sale’ sign in one window.  Probably connected.  Trying the next door down, I found it also locked.  I could call the owner and ask for access, I supposed.

           I could also unlock either door myself.  The apartment door’s lock was simpler than the store’s, which required a magnetic swipe card.  I’d have to go home for better tools to override that type of security.  The apartment had only a mechanical bolt lock on its outer entry.  Those were easy.

           My only problem was finding a few minutes unobserved to pick the lock.  There was too much foot traffic in the area.  I had been observed examining the building already.  If I set off an alarm or was seen breaking in, the constables would have no problem linking me to the illegal entry.  Since the place was closed and empty, I wouldn’t be charged with much, but the arrest would lead to those uncomfortable questions I was trying to avoid.

           When you can’t avoid attention, one solution is to draw more attention.  Specifically, make yourself so obvious and obnoxious that people have to react or else ignore you.

           I started pounding on the apartment door, shouting, “Open up!  I know you’re in there, deadbeat!  You’re five cycles behind, so you either hand me credits today or I’m starting eviction right now!”  I continued with more hammering and a stream of well-seasoned curses.

           As I had hoped, people started giving the block a wide berth.  Some looked more closely for a moment, but as my simulated fury grew, they moved on.  Thank goodness no lawyers – real or amateur – decided to intervene on the ‘tenant’s’ behalf.  Like I suspected, nobody in this kind of neighborhood wanted to get involved.

           Once my cover was established, I went to work.  Muttering threats the whole time, I worked the lock as fast as I could.  I did my best to look like a disgruntled building owner forced to break into his own property.  If anyone thought about it more carefully, they would have asked why the owner didn’t have his own key, but nobody was confronting me right now.

           Finally, the lock gave up and let me in.  I hurried into the inner hallway.  To my relief, the entryway did have a second door opening onto the side of the pet store.  A staircase curved up and away to the upstairs apartment.  It had looked like a combined unit from the outside; I was glad to be right.

           The inner door to the pet store also had a magnetic card lock.  I skipped the niceties and melted that off with my heater.  Hopefully, the damage wouldn’t cause problems with any future criminal proceedings related to this case.  Once the door and frame had cooled enough, I pulled open the door and stepped into the store’s showroom.

           It stank worse than I had expected.  The smell of dung from various species still hung heavy in the air.  Old rotted meat – an all-too-familiar stink – mingled with some kind of decaying vegetation, probably a neglected bag of herbivore feed.  Over top were odors from two different eras: the medieval aromas of fur, feathers, and straw and the modern reeks of ozone and oil.

           This place had been abandoned with little preparation and left untouched for cycles, maybe years afterward.  No wonder it couldn’t find a buyer.

           After my offended nostrils had stopped spasming, I made my way to the front of the room.  Enough light came in through the windowed door frame to light up that half of the store.  It was a big room, flanked by wide plastic and metal shelves that had once held animal cages.  Pegboards along the upper half of the walls still had metal hangars attached, with price tags for treats, leashes, and the other miscellany of pet ownership.  I could just make out a door in the back, which probably led to a storeroom or possibly an office space.

           At the front was a cashier’s stand, with sockets for a secure network connection.  This place was old.  Wireless network security in Layafflr City was now close to Collective standards, but at one point, the infrastructure hadn’t yet been established.  Some old-timers still liked to see the direct, physical links in use.

           The stand was just high enough that someone could stand atop it and get a line through the lintel window to the street.  I looked closely, hoping to see foot- or handprints in the dust.  There was no dust on the counter.  There was plenty of debris on the floor and dust on the side tables.  The counter had been wiped clean.  Now I knew I was on the right track, even if the shooter had been careful not to leave any evidence.

           The crud on the floor didn’t show any footprints, either.  That debris could have been swept around, or the shooter could have just been careful where he stepped.  I wondered about pad prints.  Pulling out my compad, I did a high-magnification sweep of the counter.  There were a few lines of body oil along the edge, but nothing patterned.  I swabbed up as much as I could get.  It would be too much to hope for genetic material – and I didn’t have the funds or friends necessary for a full workup anyway – but I could at least identify the origin species from secretions.

           Given the need for a boost up, I could reasonably rule out Taratumm.  Probably not Hrotata, either, as they would have to stretch uncomfortably to shoot even from that height.  It was best to be certain, though.  I couldn’t just assume Vislin.  There were other sapients of the right height in the City, including not a few Humans and maybe one or two Zig deviant enough to contract for assassination.

           Which was still a stupid thought.  Why would someone pay to kill a nobody like Vzktkk?  It didn’t look like that kind of professional job…

           I froze and shifted my attention as a sound intruded into my thoughts.  A scratching noise was coming from the back of the store.  I realized I had been hearing it earlier, more quietly, and dismissed it as the usual sounds of neighboring tenants or muffled traffic noise.  Now I could tell it was definitely inside this building.  It was getting louder and closer.

           Something bumped against the room’s back door.  The door moved.  It wasn’t locked, as I had supposed, not even closed tightly.

           I pulled out Rtrtr again.  The heater was still slightly warm from its recent use.  I called out, “Hey, someone in there?  Come out quietly, I’m armed.”

           In response, I heard a low hiss.  Okay, not sapient.  Probably not even intelligent.  Had something living been left behind with this store’s stock?  If so, how had it survived?

           As if to answer my question, the door banged open and a snarling, drooling mass of scaled muscle shot out.  The creature bolted toward me, fanged mouth forward.  I barely had time to fire before it reached me.

           Fortunately, I did fire and took out most of that dangerous mouth in my first shot.  Perhaps the beast had intended to leap for my throat, but was impeded by shock.  Its body skidded forward on momentum and collided with my legs.  The remaining sharp teeth bounced off my leather greaves, their jaws lacking any strength to puncture.

          I kicked the flailing body aside and put a second shot into its hindquarters, backpedaling toward the side door at the same time.  If it could still chase me after those injuries, I wanted a barrier between us.

          Two heater shots seemed to have taken the fight out of it.  The quadrupedal reptilian, about a third of my size, dropped to its flank on the floor, heaving and whining in pain.  Besides my blasts to its head and rear leg, it had other visible injuries: bites around its front shoulders and belly, plus scales missing in several places, as if from claw wounds.  It was also thin, emaciated from hunger rather than naturally lean.  All these damages made it hard to identify at first.  After a while, I realized that it was a rktpk, a sometimes-prey sometimes-pet animal from the home world, Hrotata Prime.  Totally ordinary there, at least in the countryside, but ‘exotic’ here on an outer colony world.

          Rktpk could be aggressive, but only if trained… or very hungry.  They were usually a little round around the belly.  This one had been starving.  It actually ought to be dead.  What had it been eating before now?  I dreaded checking the back rooms, but now I had no choice.

          I decided that the kinder option was to end its suffering.  I finished off the rktpk with a final heater blast to its head.  Maybe it knew I was helping; it didn’t struggle away when I stepped close.

          Afterward, I stalked back to the open rear door.  With growing anger, I recognized that a creature that big was never going to be left behind by accident.  Someone had, at the least, deliberately left the poor beast locked inside.  Maybe they intended to come back but were unavoidably delayed.  Maybe they had died first.  If they just forgot or didn’t care… that was another crusade for another time, but I’d make sure it stayed on my list.

          There was another possibility, one that started to look more likely as I searched the back of the store.  There were bags of kibble in a back storeroom, long since chewed apart and emptied.  There were bones from leftover meat, eaten and gnawed for the marrow.  There were also two carcasses of what I suspected were other rktpkk, mostly eaten but more recently slain.  That was the source of the rotten meat smell.  After the food ran out, the creatures had probably turned on one another.

          Someone had been feeding them, then stopped.  Why would you leave three animals alone in a building like this, hungry and isolated?  If you couldn’t sell them, why not release them to the wild?  Spore wasn’t an ideal world for Hrotata Prime wildlife, but they might manage.

          The other possibility was exactly what had just happened.  You kept starving animals locked in a building if you wanted them to attack anyone who came inside.  If you were setting a trap, you put them behind a closed but unlocked door.

          Was the trap for me, personally?  Or was it intended for anyone who entered this building?  Maybe if all three rktpkk had still been alive, I might have been overwhelmed.  That suggested that I had arrived later than the miscreant intended.  Maybe they had expected the constables to check the place out first.  Then again, it was possible they misjudged how much food would be needed to keep three animals satisfied up to the right date.

          None of the possibilities were pleasant.  I really hoped that this attack was related to Vzktkk’s shooter, so that I could punish both culprits at once.  It was too bad the legal punishment wouldn’t involve locking them in this foul place without food.  It was too bad I wasn’t cruel enough to give them that justice, myself.

A Bureaucrat's Tale - Chapter 6

          While my staffers studied dispatches old and new, I allowed myself a relative rest by wrapping up the first round of informational calls.  The Offices of Justice and Sentience got their briefings first.  I let them know what had been relayed to the other Offices on my first pass and hinted that more would be forthcoming soon. 

          Before I talked to Information again, I needed to complete my own study of the second dispatch from Locust System.  Aika helpfully scanned and summarized the various on-site reports from the salvagers along with the data dumps they had pulled from colony systems.  Before I started reading, I forwarded her annotated copy to Secretary ChiTakTiZu.  The boss always had to stay up to date.

          The headline atop everything else was the discovery of survivors… only one of whom was actually a survivor from the colonies: a Brin named Tiberius.  The others were, amazingly, the original crew of the Saving Grace: captain Carlos Mendoza, Human; pilot Mitchell Preston, also Human; Preston’s A.I., Georgia; crew member TePenVa, Zig; and crew member Torkt, Taratumm.  There had been a fifth sapient aboard, Zig first mate KoShunTi, but she was killed on-planet.  Mendoza’s Brin, Charlotte, was missing and presumed kidnapped aboard Saving Grace.

          Per the report of their rescuers, the Great Family passenger liner Vlluti, the crew of Saving Grace claimed their ship had been stolen by a mixed group of Human and Mauraug colonial survivors.  One of the Mauraug had shot and killed KoShunTi, while one of the two Humans, a male, hijacked one the ship’s surface vehicle, took Preston hostage, and used him as leverage to enter and overcome the captain aboard ship.  Captain Mendoza was further claiming that the boarder allowed his Brin to enter and overwrite ship’s computers.

          Putting aside the incompetence of a crew who left their ship’s systems so unprotected, Mendoza was admitting to several other poor security decisions.  His two absent crewmembers, TePenVa and Torkt, had been busy excavating the mining tunnels and never knew their ship was in trouble.  Preston had been hauling salvage back and forth between their work site and the ship.  Given that they were the first ship on site, they should have expected survivors to be a little twitchy.  They also should have been wary of the original attackers waiting in ambush.
         
          The Saving Grace crew provided descriptions of the suspects: a dark-haired, heavily built Human male, a younger Human female, an overweight Mauraug with no visible cybernetics, a dwarf Mauraug barely two meters tall, and three other Mauraug with, variously, a spinal implant, a replaced right arm, and a cybernetic eye.  The Human presence reduced the likelihood that this motley crew came from the Apostates, but it was also unexpected for such a joint enterprise to arise from among the Locust colonists.  Before the recent crisis, the Human and Mauraug populations had been competitors, not cooperating except where strictly necessary.  It was possible that their mutual tragedy had led to a bond between survivors of both sides… but then why attack the Saving Grace?  Unless they perceived the salvagers to be connected to their enemy, there wasn’t much sense…

          A variety of possible explanations came to mind.  It was possible the ‘survivors’ were already a criminal gang, using the disaster as cover to lure a salvager ship down.  It sounded like a stupid plan, but then, the Saving Grace crew had been sufficiently stupid to make such a plot successful.

          Perhaps the hijackers were survivors and mistook the Saving Grace for their attackers, at least at first.  The proximity between the original three ships’ departure and Saving Grace’s arrival made this explanation less implausible.  Theft might not have even been the original intent, but once the first shots were fired, the raiders might have felt trapped into completing their crime and fleeing with the stolen ship.

          Another possibility was more disturbing.  The survivors might have bonded over their anger and desire for vengeance not against the original villains, but against nearer targets.  An opportunistic salvager rifling through their former homes and the bodies of their neighbors might drive any traumatized sapient to violence.  Worse, survivors might have wanted to strike out at the organization they – like so many other fools – blamed for the colony’s vulnerability: the Collective.  If the ‘Grace turned up pirate in Collective space, my hypothesis would become more believable.

          A final accounting of the ‘Grace problem would have to wait on more evidence.  Similarly, there was nothing new to identify the colony’s killers.  The A.I. survivor, Tiberius, was of limited value, having been confined to the rooms of one of the Terran colonist families.  At least it could still recite the full population manifest of the Terran side and verify identities of the retrieved dead.  Its own User, Geminus Turell, had not yet been located.

          It had been a Vlluti crewmember who found Tiberius… lucky for the Brin they retrieved him, much less talked to him.  Eh, I was being unfair again.  The Hrotata weren’t as hostile to A.I. as most non-Terrans.  An average spacefaring Hrotata wouldn’t be afraid to talk to a Brin, even if they wouldn’t want to partner with one.

          I felt chastened that I had not counted the Brin population among the casualties of the Locust attack.  The officially reported count of ‘colonists’ transported to Locust Four tallied only Human and Mauraug, about 800 of each.  That number included only ‘sapient’ designations.  If you counted sentients, instead, the death toll could be over 2350 individuals.  The Mauraug colonial negotiators, in this case, had hurt themselves by spiting Brins: the Terran colony had nearly twice as many minds among their population, even if the body count was about equal. 

          Tiberius was also able to provide maps of the colony prior to its demolition and report on the Terran side’s status up until the attack began.  Its User had been unable to retrieve Tiberius’ storage hardware before he evacuated.  The Brin asserted that its User most probably guided other Humans to the potential cover of the mining tunnels.  Given that other reports indicated that the mining tunnels were largely collapsed or sealed by bombing, Turell and any followers were probably dead and buried. 

          What Tiberius couldn’t answer was who had attacked, what their ships or armaments were like, what (if anything) the colonists had done in defense, or what happened after the attack started.  The A.I. possessed limited communications links, which were lost when the aggressors took down every comm satellite and ground-based relay.  Inside, cut off, it had been more blind and helpless than a sapient in a sensory deprivation tank.  It was fortunate that Brins rarely suffered mental disorder as a result of such isolation.

          Outside of the salvage reports, the messages included a hail from the Mauraug warship, Zhapak bash’Kettath.  They had little of value to add, other than to make Settlement aware of their presence and availability to assist where needed.  We had nothing for them to fight and no Mauraug colonists to transport, so they were as worthless as Terran military would have been.  I looked forward to raising that point with the Terran Council contact when I advised them about the Mauraug military presence.  They’re there, and it still doesn’t matter. 

          If either cultural government – or both – had stationed a warship in Locust System mere hours ago, they would still have their much-demanded colony.  A day late was worthless.  In a way, I would be pleased if they diverted ships to Locust after the fact.  They could waste resources now and have to answer at home for the expense.  Inquiries might lead to an investigation that would expose the true reasons why no defenses were protecting Locust Four when it mattered.  Vindication would be nice.  I could dream, anyway.

          Could I somehow bait Councilor Webb into sending a ship or two, even after I had advised against such an action?  Perhaps I could protest enough that she would start to wonder what Settlement was “hiding”.  I suspected simple reverse psychology wouldn’t work on the senior Councilor.  It might work on Representative Jocasta, our Office’s more direct foe, but he didn’t have the authority to dispatch Terran ships.  It was another amusing thought, but not a practical strategy.

          I needed to get back to business.  My two previous calls had given my assistants, Jacq Coombs and Tlalosseth, enough time to catch up on the original set of transmissions from Locust.  I could hear them already composing the media release I had requested.  Aika hovered nearby, not directly choosing the subjects or phrasing of the message, but doing her best to subtly influence its content, offering ideas for corrective edits.  She could have assembled the entire thing herself, without their help, but I wanted some of her capacity available for my use.

          In particular, she added expert analysis to the summary I was receiving.  Her output wasn’t just a distillation across every piece of data provided; it prioritized points, showed linkages, drew logical conclusions, and suggested important questions not yet answered.  The three of us other sentients could have done the same – and as Jacq had demonstrated earlier, we could still pull out connections that Aika would miss – but we would probably have taken three Terran days to finish the work.  Aika needed only three minutes.

          With her assistance, they were giving a ‘sapient touch’ to the press copy, yet still completing the job twice as fast.  I needed to step up if I was going to be ready for the second wave of calls as soon as they finished.

          After finishing the paragraphs of known fact, I skimmed over the remaining lines of conjecture from Aika.  These analyses might be uncertain – and increasingly lower in probability the further I read – but were much more interesting than the dry certainties.

          Vlluti reported that mining equipment had been shifted after the attack, confirming that Saving Grace crew had used the machinery themselves.  Closer inspection might reveal areas they had already excavated.  If we pressed the Great Family personnel to pay sharp attention they might discern patterns indicating what equipment (and personnel) was now missing.  It was possible the ‘Grace crew weren’t giving an honest accounting of their activities.  They should have been prioritizing their search for survivors and the collection of casualties, not gathering material goods.

          Between the accumulated reports and our analysis, Settlement was getting closer to an accounting of dead versus missing.  Over 600 Mauraug were definitely deceased, along with more than 500 Humans and 400 Brin.  Final counts would have to wait on complete excavation of the demolished settlements.  The oncoming Medical ship would likely assist with final collection, identification, and transport of remains, eventually providing a definitive list.

          Matching the current dead with Tiberius’ records highlighted some patterns.  Over 100 of the missing Humans were mining staff.  Anywhere from 50 to 100 additional Humans might have been close enough to seek refuge in the tunnels.  By contrast, the majority of the unaccounted Mauraug were listed as construction laborers or military defense.  The construction workers might have be buried deeper beneath the Mauraug structures, delaying their discovery until crews started digging.

          Explorers and security on both sides were most likely to have survived, by luck of being in the wilds when their settlements were hit.  That absence was no guarantee of safety, however.  A group of agricultural workers planting outside of the Human settlement had been strafed by plasma fire after the bombing runs.  A lone Mauraug defense outpost had been bombed separately.  One Mauraug explorer had been found dead far to the north, untouched by technological weapons, killed by a fall from rocks.  It was unknown if it was seeking safety while fleeing the attackers or suffered the accident earlier and could not be rescued.

          The unfolding pattern of destruction continued to suggest a desire to eradicate not just lives, but the colonial project itself.  That behavior best fit the Mauraug Apostasy.  No other group had both the resources needed to field three heavily armed ships, along with the grudge necessary for such mass slaughter.  Other consistent possibilities remained, but each was less probable: A raid by a culture outside of the Collective, an attack covertly sponsored by the Terran or Mauraug governments, a pirate raid gone bad, or even a complete hoax.

          There certainly were non-Collective species with the technology and psychology to undertake such acts… but they’d have to come in from outside our space, attack, and then run back beyond without pausing for fuel.  Few known enemies of the Collective had such resources to spare, much less to waste on such a minor target.  For that matter, if most competitors wanted to dispute territory, they would strike at the borders, not deep within Collective space at the Terran-Mauraug border.  There could be a more cunning plan at work, something aimed at raising tensions between Collective members, but again, that suggested deep internal knowledge.  Such sophisticated insight was less likely to be available to non-Collective cultures, especially the ones with whom we weren’t on friendly terms.

          Theories about internal sabotage would be flying thickly for a few days, no matter what the actual facts said.  Members of both the Terran and Mauraug governments would accuse one another of destroying the colony for various reasons.  Other demagogues within the various layers of the Collective would also accuse one or the other culture.  Accusers would say one side, opposing the joint colonial charter, would rather destroy the colony rather than see it succeed (jointly or under control of their opposition).  Perhaps the proposed villain expected to start a new colony on their own or under terms more favorable to their side.  Maybe the villain had opposed the colony from the start and maneuvered to have it secretly annihilated.

          If a sensible rebuttal asked why the responsible government would kill their own colonists, the conspiracist would be ready.  Of course they killed their own citizens; it would be too suspicious if one side was spared and the other destroyed.  A necessary sacrifice.  People who thought like that worried me, especially when they were already in elected government positions.  Alternately, a really depraved theorist might claim that the colonists could be privately declared traitors for having joined a joint operation.  After all, such 'collaborators' had tacitly accepted the potential jurisdiction of The Other.  Such idiocy provides much of the challenge of my work.  Sadly, I couldn’t entirely dismiss such folly.  A corrupt leader could amass enough power to send three ships to murder hundreds of sapients.  It was possible, however unlikely or unprofitable.

          As to the other points, well, there weren’t many known pirate operations with the strength to pull off such a raid.  Even if they had, they’d be more bent on collecting valuables than destroying buildings.  They’d hit one side or the other in force, gather up whatever they could, and then maybe scorch the earth afterward… but more likely just leave.  Even if it turned out Saving Grace had turned pirate, sending three combat ships to pound a target flat and then scraping up the remains with a single salvager afterward was a stupid plan.  More likely, the latter ship was an opportunist rather than a collaborator.

          There could still be an unknown pirate operation out there.  For that matter, no few mercenary ships operate in Collective space.  If someone paid enough – and promised enough cover to hide the hirelings' involvement – it was possible they could have purchased a massacre.  If something of that nature had occurred, time would gradually expose the truth.  Someone would talk to someone.  Eventually, a ship log would be found with a record of travel through Locust System at a certain date and time.

          Among the last few possibilities was that the attack was a hoax.  While highly unlikely, falsification of information was technically possible due to the limitations of message relay between systems. 

          Finally, the cause could be an ‘unknown’, some phenomenon out of current knowledge.  For example, an entity could have psychically taken over several ships’ crews, forcing them to attack a defenseless colony for unknowable reasons.  The process of logic initially excluded these last two hypotheses as requiring too many suppositions.

          Technically, such logical processes weren’t part of my job description, nor Aika’s.  We wouldn’t be mentioning any of these ideas publicly.  We reported only facts and our policy in response to those facts.  Theorizing did, however, help us determine what information was worth magnifying and what details could be left buried in the raw data when we relayed 'on-site' reports.  Theorizing about the guilty parties also helped us anticipate any wild accusations or theories that might be thrown in our direction.  Shooting down impossibilities or improbabilities quickly would make our job easier.

          Among the many challenges facing Settlement, one problem steadily rising in priority was fatigue.  I had already exceeded my normal work day.  We were past fourteen hours since the original message from Locust System.  Given the two hours I had already been present before the emergency erupted, that made sixteen hours at the office and eighteen without sleep.  In addition to my usual working lunch, dinner had also been eaten in-office.  If we wrapped around to morning and breakfast at desks, my temper and error rates would both inevitably increase.

          What work had the highest priority?  What must be done before we stopped for rest?  Defense needed the new intelligence about Saving Grace.  The ship would be reported stolen per Captain Mendoza’s statement.  She needed to be detained, wherever she next made port.  The possibility of an A.I. violation would also need to be mentioned.

          After that, the old and new press releases must go out, simultaneously with packets for the Terran and Mauraug governments.  The second round of updates to our fellow Offices could generally be managed by Aika.  I'd just have her forward the raw data.  Nothing I saw so far changed our directives to any other Office, except Defense and possibly Justice.

          I’d deal with the Justice and Communications updates after a nap.  If, Maui be kind, no new trouble arrived right away, I might even manage several hours of sleep before more decisions were required. 

          My personal apartments are located in the same building where I work, for which I am grateful on hectic days like that one.  On an average day, I can work from home, but the sort of highly sensitive information we were dealing with then precluded that option.

          Lesser players like individual reporters, private citizens, and oh yes, Representative Tomas Jocasta could wait until tomorrow for their responses.  In particular, I wanted to see what Tommy-Jo would come up with on his own, without our help.  The closer his accusations fell to our current state of knowledge and the sooner his protests arrived, the better I could pinpoint the breach in Collective information security.

          There were lots of miscreants to catch, all of the sudden: murderers, thieves, and dishonest bureaucrats.   I couldn’t help much in the identification or apprehension of the first two, but I could do my best to flush out the latter.  If there’s anything I hate, it’s a fellow bureaucrat with compromised integrity.  They make us all look bad.

Broken Record - Chapter 2 - "Kicking Old Habits"

            I tossed Pkstzk’s letter onto my couch and carried my travel case into the office.  After offloading my compad and grooming kit, I decided not to take any chances, and unpacked Rtrtr as well.

           Stalking back into the front room, I moved the offending envelope onto the floor and blasted it with Rtrtr’s lowest setting.  Destroy the evidence.  Burn the writer, by proxy.  The resulting fire left a charred mark on the plasticrete, but the property damage was worth it.  I felt a little better for indulging my feelings.

            I would need my best frenzy management strategies to deal with Pkstzk and her troubles.  Even if she stayed well-behaved – and that wasn’t guaranteed – there would still be nosy constables to deal with.  The investigation of her mate's death might stray into old, deep waters.  My past self, a more nervous, trigger-happy self, still lurked about, just waiting for an excuse to leap forward… or run away.  Swimming backward against time made it easier for younger me to influence older me.

           There were a couple of days yet before the next rest day.  Lots of time to relax.  I was glad I didn’t have to scramble uptown right away to meet Pkstzk.  I’d be able to let go of my presently agitated state of mind.  That was presuming I didn't work myself up more in the meantime.

            Despite that concern, I felt like I should do some background research.  I ought to check the history on Pkstzk and her mate.  I could review public records about the murder case.  Maybe I'd see what I could find about the old pack.

            I already knew that one packmate, Fzpktk, was dead, killed by constables while resisting arrest.  Rsspkz was in prison for life, along with Vztrrp.  The three of them had been identified on a job gone bad where sapients died.  I wasn’t sure which of them, if any, had actually killed, but as far as the law was concerned, they were all guilty of murder.

           Tklth had managed to escape the dragnet and made it off-planet.  Her trail was cold.  While I grabbed a drink and a snack, I confirmed that absence of information.  Her name turned up nothing on the news media.  She wasn’t listed in any Collective death notices.  I sent a query through the constabulary just in case, using the cover story of research for a client.  They might only give me a form response after a day or two, after skimming the public files.  I already knew that search would come back empty.  If I was lucky, the inquiry would spark some interest, maybe prompt somebody to dig deeper.  My search could backfire if someone linked Tklth and Pkstzk, but that was unlikely.  The two females had despised and avoided one another, and like I said, Pkstzk never worked jobs with the pack.

            I went through the same media searches for Pkstzk, Rsspkz, and Vztrrp, along with a few other hangers-on who weren’t part of the pack but still associated with one of us closely: Rsspkz’ siblings Zfzptk (off-planet, asteroid miner) and Ktchvch (diner cook), and Vztrrp’s childhood friend Ssptkt.  That last search turned up an interesting story: Ssptkt had apparently picked a fight with a Taratumm herd and was now paralyzed from the neck down.  I found nothing relevant to my current concerns, though.

            Nobody seemed to have an easy connection back to Rsspkz. Nobody was an obvious candidate for him to use to stalk or threaten Pkstzk or her mate.  I also didn’t see any indirect links between any of the old pack mates.

            That included me.  Back then, I didn't have any associations outside of the pack, other than my parents and their pack.  They moved away and passed away off-planet after I reached maturity.  Anyway, Vislin don’t generally maintain lifelong genetic family relationships like mammalians tend to.  I suspect that the modicum of affection adult children receive – or adult sibling affection – is a cultural imposition from the Hrotata and Taratumm.  Prehistoric Vislin were likely more like our evolutionary forbears, kicking young out of the nest to form their own packs as soon as they could hunt alone.

            Pack association is the strongest relationship in Vislin culture and society, far more important than genetic ties.  I reminded myself of this obvious fact to prepare my defenses.  Even mate bonds are secondary to the pack, although a good pack rarely forces the two allegiances into conflict.  Ideally, one mates within the pack and avoids the whole issue.

            Research is still trying to untangle all the ways pack mates bond: chemically, mentally, and maybe psychically.  Those bonds helped us survive in the past; a pack could make survival decisions and take action better than any of its component sapients.  Obviously, a coordinated pack hunts better.  Pack mates know when one of their own is in trouble and do whatever is necessary to assist.  The pack bond can even overrule frenzy in ideal circumstances.

            Even in modern times, the pack bond is still a significant asset.  The frenzy control effects can’t be discounted, especially now that there are fewer and fewer places where you can acceptably vent your anxieties.  Packs that work together produce superior results to mixed-pack work groups.  That truth applies to intellectual work as much as physical labor, which explains some of the historic technical and military advantages enjoyed by Vislin.

            What all this biopsychology meant was trouble.  I had escaped my old pack through a combination of chance and idiosyncrasy.  I was fortunate to not be involved in that last job, the one that went bad and cost most of the pack their lives or freedom.  I was also lucky to be absent when the constables came to round the others up.  Otherwise, in either case, I might have been caught up against my better judgment.  With pack mates present and in trouble – no matter that it was trouble of their own making – I’d have felt obligated to help them fight or escape.

            Even afterward, if I was ‘normal’ but avoided death or arrest, I’d have been in the courthouse standing by to help their case.  I might have threatened witnesses, destroyed evidence, even assassinated court personnel if I thought that would help… presuming I wasn’t jailed or killed first.  Even now, I might have wanted to assist Rsspkz and Vztrrp in prison, taking their calls and sneaking them contraband.  I certainly would have identified, proudly, as their pack mate, earning me constant constabulary observation.

            I am not ‘normal’, thank sun's warmth.  When things went bad, I was actually relieved.  I had been having second thoughts about the pack’s activities for years but didn’t see any way out.  Mine was the voice that encouraged them away from dangerous, violent jobs and sought opportunities for stealthy, zero-casualty crimes.  I wasn’t any paragon of virtue, but I did what I could.  Maybe I should give myself credit for finding a strong personal code of ethics.  Moral objections might have been the counteractive force that weakened my pack bonds.  It’s certainly a more comforting theory than just thinking I’m defective, unable to bond properly or capable of discarding those bonds for my own convenience.

            Where I found a ‘strong personal code of ethics’, only the Egg-Thief knows.  My parents didn’t teach me much, except how to function socially, keep myself fed, and to stay in school.  Civics was taught in my nursery, but only as a set of dry ideals, not a practical lifestyle.  My pack wouldn’t know an ethic if it burrowed under their scales.  I didn’t have a friend, mate, or even play-mate to teach me right from wrong or look disappointed about my moral failings.  I just somehow came to realize that what the pack was doing was wrong.

            Not at first, either.  When I first joined up, it seemed exciting.  We were pulling tricks on society, taking what it couldn’t protect, proving ourselves clever and quick hunters in a world going soft.  We loved rough, frontier ChtkKttp and our home town: grim, gritty Layafflr City.  Pack Vzrrk was part of a tradition of lawlessness stretching back to our colonizing ancestors.  We had dreams of scaling the walls of society and taking our rightful places among the high kleptocracy, once we had amassed enough wealth to prove ourselves worthy.  Our victims were pathetic, weak fools who couldn’t defend their possessions and so didn’t deserve to keep anything.

            In short, I now make a career out of finding and capturing the type of idiot I used to be.  That’s how I understand them so well.  It often comes as a revelation to criminals – especially thieves - that anyone else could be as clever and tough as they believe themselves to be.  I suppose you could argue that I’m so amazing because of my criminal past; that I’m not really one of the soft marks of society, unlike the clients I assist because they can’t help themselves.  I think, though, that I’m smarter and more skilled now than I ever was back when I thought myself better than everyone else.

            I managed to make a clean break from my foolish youth.  I stayed out of reach and out of contact from my pack until they were safely in prison, in space, or in the grave.  Any urgings I felt to come to their aid were quashed by my better sense.  Maybe I rationalized, at the time, that I could do more for the pack by staying free and anonymous than I could by sticking close and getting spattered with their same stink.  Such thoughts might have fooled 'normal' pack-sense for a while.  Yet even afterward, I could deny our bond without much effort.  Someday I’d help them out.  Someday it would be feasible to step out of the shadows and risk contact.  Just keep pushing that someday further into the future.  Until then, I could keep away from temptation and out of trouble.

            Apparently, that "someday" was coming up, two days from now.  Pkstzk wasn’t pack, so I wouldn’t feel those urgings toward her.  Different urgings, sure, and I had to be ready for those feelings, too. 

            Even so, she was still linked to the old pack.  Helping her might mean contact with my past pack mates.  Even without direct contact, my motivations and perceptions would still be influenced by our mutual past.  I still felt the pack bond.  I wasn’t that insane, regardless of how my neighbors or clients thought of me.  I could just push that bond aside better than most.  I had to hope that if I stayed introspective and made sure my decisions were rational, I could avoid doing something loyally dumb.

            Speaking of bonds, I eventually remembered to look up Pkstzk’s dead second mate.  I found both their public mating certificate and the record of his death.  The stiff was named Vzktkk.  From the little I could find, he sounded pretty dead even when he was alive.  Accountant… what a terrible job for a Vislin.  Office worker.  Low income, likely working his way up.  Liked to play space fighter sims.  When that’s the highlight of your obituary, you did something wrong in life.  Not like me.  I’m sure my death record will be spectacular, a tribute to my wonderfully varied existence, capped off with an explosive ending.  Yeah, not boring like poor Vzktkk.

            I suspected this guy’s herbivorous lifestyle was what had attracted Pkstzk.  He was safe, a refuge after the wild ride with Rsspkz.  He wasn’t too bad looking, either, judging from the pictures on record.  Probably would have been a great provider for her and their young.  That was a shame; she deserved that stability.  Knowing Pkstzk, though, she probably had been chewing her claws off from boredom.  Back with the old pack, she had enjoyed most of the craziness, at least until things turned bad and bloody.  It was the messy ending that scared her off.  We had that in common as well.

            Frost, to be honest, most of my current life is pretty boring.  It just gets punctuated with moments of deadly hazard and occasional frenzy.  I wasn’t as good looking as Vzktkk.  I was certainly poorer on most days.  Plus, the guy had gone out with a blast. 

           The official cause of death was listed as homicide, but the obituary didn’t go into any details.  A news article on the crime only elaborated that Vzktkk was found dead, shot once through the head with a laser, on a side street in central Layafflr City.  There were no witnesses and no evidence on the scene. The murder was thought to be a mugging or fly-by shooting or maybe a random act of pointless violence.  These things happened.  Constabulary investigating.

            The article was dated from only a week ago.  Not much time had passed since Pkstzk’s visit, maybe between one and six days depending on how long she waited before seeking me out.  I didn't find much else to go on.  Even the news article didn’t name the neighborhood, much less the street or address where Vzktkk was found.  The time of discovery and time of death were omitted.  That suggested that facts were being kept out of circulation by constabulary request. 

             On some worlds, such 'requests' wouldn’t matter to the media, but the press on ChtkKttp was conditioned to keep on the constabulary’s good side.  The government could still wield the law as a bludgeon against troublesome publications, if it chose.  Keeping the constables happy also meant easier access to information… when they chose to provide any.

            I wasn’t bound by such friendly agreements.  I’d get the details myself.  The first step was to see Pkstzk, hear what she had to say and figure out what she knew.  That was the logical choice, right?  I wasn’t just being influenced by my own desire to see her again.  I was fairly sure both motivations were involved.  I’d just keep it professional and not get personally involved.  That resolution always works (it never works).

            I had two days to fill.  What was I going to do with myself in the meantime, if I wasn’t out scrounging for leads?  Sit around the nest, hunting around the networks?  Play space fighter sims?  Go tempting fate and take a walk around my neighborhood?  There weren’t many options if I was trying to hold onto my saved credits.  Even a public aircar to take a walk in a ‘safer’ uptown park cost a bit.  Actual recreation could take a chunk out of my finances.

            Just thinking about it was wearing me out.  Between my post-vacation depression, travel lag, and the thought of enforced downtime, I was getting tired.  I stripped off and curled up in my nest for a nap.  I'd just sleep for a couple of cycles, to refresh myself before dinner and decision time.

            I woke up the next morning, confused and then irritated.  Well, that was one day down.