Alien Skies, page 33
part #3 of Wakanreo Series
“Do we check them out in any way before we proceed?” Da Gama asked.
Jared shook his head. “No, we have so far assumed each request was made in good faith. A couple of times we’ve had folks back out at the last minute, but that’s all.”
“So someone makes a request, we schedule them at the hospital, fly them there, and then what?” asked Drushachh. “Is there someone whose job it is to take them by the hand and lead them to the operating room? Do they meet the doctor ahead of time? What happens?”
“The doctor always speaks to them personally,” Jared said. “Apparently, medical ethics requires a physician to be sure the patient really wants the procedure and understands its consequences. There’s always someone who escorts the patient—usually a medtech. Each patient has to have a battery of tests first, to make sure it’s safe to do the operation. The medtech takes them for the tests first. They go meet the doctor, who looks over the results, explains the procedure itself, and answers any questions. Finally, they get prepped, and then they have the procedure. It usually happens within a few hours after they arrive at the hospital.”
“But there’s no scanning for weapons or anything?” Da Gama asked.
“No,” Jared said. “Not at the University, anyway. Since the other two hospitals are on ThreeCon bases, there’s a standard scan for all visitors.” Anything he might have added was lost when there was a beep at the door. Jared checked the com set.
“It’s your boy Torunuchh,” he told Da Gama, as he tapped a code to open the door.
The Shuratanian came in breezily, even though he looked tired. He barely saluted, and then he grinned at Jared. “I got some good ones, Commander.”
“Let’s have a look,” said Jared. “We can run them through the databases afterwards.”
Da Gama moved a holo reader from the credenza behind him to Jared’s desk and Torunuchh rattled off a code and an instruction to display the image. Immediately, the image of the tall man in the cape appeared. He was looking bored and ready to go home as the woman in the white gown seemed to be still haranguing him.
“Anyone recognize him?” Jared asked.
“I do,” said Da Gama. “That’s Jupaon Viad, the political columnist. He’s been very outspoken against ThreeCon for providing the implant procedure. Come to think of it, he’s based here now, but he does come from Yiangliun. Let’s see the next one, Torunuchh.”
Torunuchh pressed the switch again. The man Jared had identified as the delegate from Yiangliun appeared.
“That’s the only one we knew already,” Jared said. “Let’s see the last one.”
Torunuchh pressed the switch again. The image of a third Wakanrean appeared. He was drinking a glass of wine, so it was a little difficult to see all of his face.
Da Gama frowned. “Haven’t you got a better shot than that, Torunuchh?” he asked peevishly. “We really need to make this guy.”
Torunuchh nodded. A new image of the same man appeared. There was a cry of recognition, but this time it came from Drushachh.
“Commander,” she said, “there’s our leak in the Munis! That’s Lumaio Fouqua. He’s the Chief of Enforcement for Wisuta. I’ll bet he’s the one who let that qatorglynai out of the lockup!”
Jared picked up the holo reader and turned the image so that he could view it from all sides. “Are you sure, Chief? Fouqua is pretty highly placed. I’ve heard the name myself, but I’ve never met him.”
Drushachh nodded. “I’d bet next month’s pay on it. You can check it out. He’ll be in our files.”
“Good idea,” Jared said. He turned to his terminal and quickly logged in to the security system. A few seconds after he ran the third Wakanrean’s image through the system, an official Wisutan ID page labeled with the name Lumaio Fouqua popped up on the screen. The image in the holo reader clearly matched the image of the face on the screen.
Jared sat back. “Well, Chief, you can keep next month’s pay.”
Drushachh smiled but shook her head. “You owe me an extra month, Commander.”
Da Gama scrunched his face up again. “So what does that mean? Is Fouqua credible as a source of information about the qatorglynai? If he really is a sympathizer, he’s kept it quiet. He never appeared on any of my lists.”
“Maybe there’s a reason, sir,” Kamuhi spoke up. “If he believes in the qatorglynai cause, he could do them a lot more good if no one knew that.”
“Would he be standing around in a public place with known sympathizers then?” asked Drushachh.
“But he wasn’t really,” Da Gama disagreed. “Viad is a columnist. He’s a political figure who’s taken a stand against the implant procedure, but he’s not perceived as a qatorglynai. I’m sure most people wouldn’t even label him a sympathizer. And Zabour, the delegate, is certainly not seen that way. Since they all seem to be from the same geographic region, they may well be old friends. The Lieutenant is right. Fouqua could be keeping his feelings secret in order to better help the qatorglynai. We know there’s somebody at Muni who’s been feeding them information. We planted a false story with the Munis just to see, and sure enough, the qatorglynai acted on it.”
“So what do we do now?” Jared asked. “Any suggestions?”
“We add an intensive weapons scan to the hospital check-in procedure, right off the bat,” Drushachh said. “That’s not guaranteed to pick up everything, but it’s worth the effort.”
Da Gama frowned. “The qatorglynai may be expecting that. They could well have come up with something a scan would never find.”
Jared chuckled. “You’re forgetting, Hubert. Every Wakanrean carries ten lethal weapons everywhere he goes. If all they want to do is kill or maim the doctor, they don’t need external weapons. All they need is the element of surprise and a qatorglynai who knows how to attack with his or her claws.”
Da Gama looked chagrined. “That makes it pretty tough, Jared. What are we supposed to do, have the doctors work out with Drushachh’s boys?”
“How about simply having one or two Security staff in the room with stun guns?” Drushachh suggested. “We could make them look like medtechs. Luckily, Wakanreans aren’t at all resistant to stun guns, like Milorans.”
Jared nodded. “That might work—so long as the doctor is willing to let them stay in the room during the patient conference.”
Da Gama had his face scrunched up again. “We can take these precautions immediately, but I want to try to pick up more information. If this is a real qatorglynai initiative and Fouqua knew about it, then probably there are others who are aware of it, too. One good thing for us is the qatorglynai don’t seem to be able to keep their mouths shut. We might overhear more if we monitor a couple of their hangouts.”
“I thought they were wise to your gadgets?” Jared said. “The last time you bugged a place, they detected it and stopped going there.”
“I wasn’t going to use a bug,” Da Gama said. “I was going to put the Lieutenant in civilian clothes and have him sit quietly in the corner drinking a beer. He could use a directional mic. They’re impossible to detect because there’s no signal.”
Drushachh sat up straight in her chair. “Lieutenant Hailoaka has a job already, Da Gama. He’s not available.”
Da Gama started to retort but Jared interrupted.
“Lieutenant Hailoaka,” he said, “we’ve kept you up late enough. You can go now. Captain Drushachh will fill you in on anything you need to know in the morning.”
Kamuhi stood up and saluted. Jared returned the salute and Kamuhi left the room without hearing any more of the conversation.
By the time he got home, Yulayan was already asleep. When Kamuhi removed his uniform and slipped under the covers, Yulayan rolled over and curled up against him. Kamuhi went to sleep with the warm, silky feel of her fur against his skin.
Chapter Twenty
The next day, Kamuhi arrived at work to find his terminal displaying a message to report to Captain Drushachh.
Kamuhi knocked on her door.
“Come,” the Captain’s voice called.
When Kamuhi came in and saluted, Drushachh looked up and frowned.
“Well, Lieutenant,” she said. “You’re about to find out that the reward for doing a good job is more work.”
“What does that mean, ma—Chief?”
“It means that Jared Harlengin refused to transfer you to Intelligence, but he agreed that I would loan you to them a few evenings this week. You’re going to have some busy days.”
“Yes, Chief. What do I have to do?”
“Mostly,” Drushachh said with an inscrutable Shuratanian smile, “sit around a bar and drink. Da Gama will assign a Terran woman to keep you company so you won’t look conspicuously alone.”
Kamuhi sighed. “I’m not very good at acting.”
“According to Torunuchh, you did a good job of giving him the Commander’s message without being obvious.”
This made Kamuhi smile. “I felt like I was in a cheap holoflick the whole time. I did everything but slink over to him and ask for the code word.”
His superior smiled back but managed to look solemn at the same time. “Hopefully, you won’t have to do any elaborate pretending. I agree you’re not a very good liar.” She sat back in her chair. “The other thing I was supposed to pass on from Da Gama is that you’re not to tell anyone about this, not even your wife. And be prepared to start this evening. He’s hot to go on this one.”
“Yes, Chief. Does anyone have any suggestions on what I tell my wife when I have to leave the house in civilian clothes?”
“Da Gama thought of everything,” Drushachh said. “Wear your uniform. He’ll provide suitable clothing once you’re there.”
“Where is ‘there’?”
“You’ll report to the Intelligence Desk. Da Gama is still making arrangements. He’ll call you when he knows the time.”
The Security Chief went over a couple of staff assignments and then dismissed Kamuhi. When he got back to his office, Kamuhi found another message waiting, this one from Hubert Da Gama, repeating the instruction to report to the Intelligence Desk that evening. It gave a specific time and specified that he report in uniform. Kamuhi checked his schedule and decided not to wait to break the news to Yulayan that he would be home for dinner but would need to return to work and be gone all evening.
“This is getting to be quite a habit,” Yulayan said when he reached her. She had started her new job, and she was at the Quafray facility in downtown Wisuta.
“I can leave a little early today,” Kamuhi said. “I’ll pick up Malia and get dinner started.”
Yulayan sighed. “I guess that will help.”
WHEN Kamuhi showed up at the Intelligence Desk that evening after dinner, the Terran clerk on duty directed him to Da Gama’s office.
The Intelligence Chief was waiting with a young Terran woman in civilian clothes. She was tall; when she stood up to shake hands with Kamuhi, her head came up above his shoulder. She was very fair skinned and her hair looked naturally blonde, something Kamuhi had rarely seen since he left Terra.
“This is Agent Arneson,” Da Gama introduced her. “She’ll be accompanying you for two reasons. One is to give you a pretext to sit and drink. You two will make conversation and try to look interested in each other. The other is that she’s there in case you do overhear anything. You relay the information to her, and she’ll know what to do.”
The Intelligence Chief nodded to a door behind Kamuhi. “You can change in there.”
Kamuhi noted Arneson’s black jumpsuit, cut low in front and very snugly fitted in a way that showed off her figure. Kamuhi also noticed the subtle scent of expensive perfume. He had misgivings about what the Chief would expect him to wear, but Da Gama had provided standard Terran casual clothes—trousers, a shirt, and a jacket. The shoes were a little loose but everything else was comfortable. Kamuhi was surprised since he often had trouble finding clothes that fit.
When he came out, Da Gama looked him over. “What do you think, Magda?”
“He’ll do,” she said. She grinned at Kamuhi. “You’re supposed to be a businessman relaxing after hours, and I’m supposed to be a high class version of what used to be described as a lady of the evening.”
“I’m not very good at acting a part, sir,” Kamuhi repeated his earlier apprehension.
“You’ll do fine,” Da Gama brushed aside his protest. “You did a good job with Torunuchh last night.”
“That was for all of two minutes,” Kamuhi pointed out. He felt compelled to ask another question. “Wouldn’t a Wakanrean be a lot less conspicuous, sir?”
The Captain shook his head. “I don’t have anyone, Wakanrean or other species, who knows both Wisutan and Yiangliun dialects. Besides, no one will expect a Terran to know either of them. They may be careless in front of you, where they wouldn’t be in front of a Wakanrean, just like last night.” The Intelligence Chief reached into a drawer in his desk. “This is your directional mic,” he said, holding out what looked like a stylus. “Just lay it on the table, press the contact switch and point the business end toward whomever you’re listening in on. Keep your hand on it, and you’ll be able to ‘hear’ a conversation from as much as thirty meters away. Be sure to keep contact with it, though. It doesn’t have a speaker or a transmitter—the sound travels through your body. That’s why the mic can’t be picked up by detection equipment. It actually works as a stylus, too,” he added.
Kamuhi tried the switch a couple of times and then put the mic in his jacket pocket.
“One more thing,” Da Gama said. “Roll up your sleeve.”
While Kamuhi complied, Da Gama reached into the same drawer and took out a hypospray.
“What’s that?” Kamuhi asked warily.
“Something every Intelligence agent needs,” Da Gama replied. “A lot of business types use it, too. One good dose and you can drink all night and never feel a thing. Magda’s already had hers.” He pressed the hypospray against Kamuhi’s arm. Kamuhi rolled his sleeve down and they were ready to go.
Arneson led the way to a small ground car, and Kamuhi got in beside her. She piloted them through downtown traffic to a commercial area, and then they left the car in a parking facility and walked the remaining distance to a bar named Taygor’s. Kamuhi wondered if the owner’s name was really Taygor, as that was the name of the main character in a classic Wakanrean epic poem.
When they entered the bar, Kamuhi took a quick survey of the room. There was one other Terran, a man sitting by himself at the bar. The rest of the crowd were Wakanreans, both men and women. The bartender was an elderly Wakanrean woman, not nearly as old as Umphauron Diow but older than Juzao Sadoc had been. Lieutenant Arneson led the way to a table on one side of the room.
Kamuhi went to the bar and ordered amber wine. He paid for it on the spot since, unlike the establishments on ThreeCon bases, Wisutan bars didn’t believe in letting customers run a tab. The elderly Wakanrean shuffled over with a bottle and two glasses. Kamuhi poured a glass for his companion.
“Thanks,” she said. “You’d better call me Magda, by the way. Let’s not mention rank or titles. Someone might overhear, and all Wakanreans seem to speak Standard.”
“I’ve only ever met one who didn’t,” Kamuhi agreed. He took a sip of his own wine. “Didn’t you use to work for Drushachh?”
She nodded. “Until several months ago. I was your predecessor. She was pissed as hell when Hubert talked Harlengin into transferring me.”
“Anyone ever ask you what you wanted?”
“Sure,” she grinned. “The PC called me in and asked me how I felt about it. I told him I liked working for Drushachh, but Intelligence appealed to me. If nothing else, it got me out of practicing with Quolund. Milorans are just too damn big to make taking one on any fun.”
Kamuhi laughed at this sentiment. “I know the feeling.”
“That’s not what I hear,” Arneson looked around. “Better get to work. Let’s start with the two guys in the corner. They seem to be having a heated debate.”
Kamuhi took the mic out of his pocket, along with a notepad. He made a few unimportant scribbles on the pad and then laid the mic on the table, being careful to rest his hand over it. He had to adjust the angle a couple of times, and then he found that he could follow the conversation. It was very strange—it wasn’t sound exactly. It was merely that the vibration travelling up his arm was intelligible as language. After several seconds Kamuhi smiled and shook his head.
“I think they’re shahgunrahai,” he said. “They argue like it anyway. The tall one is complaining that the other one is away too much of the time. He says that the shorter one doesn’t seem to care about him at all; he doesn’t try to change his schedule to stay at home more.”
Magda raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Two men?”
“It’s not common, but it’s not rare, either,” Kamuhi said.
“Well, let’s try someone else, then,” Magda said. “How about the group in the other corner—three men and two women?”
Kamuhi shifted the mic slightly and listened. He shook his head again. “They’re actors. They’re all in a play that opens soon and they’re debating whether the director really knows what she’s doing or not.”
Kamuhi tried every table in the place. A couple of times it took some fine tuning to get the angle exactly right. One table was directly behind another and he couldn’t get a fix on it until the people at the nearer table got up and left. None of the conversations was of the slightest interest except one pair of men who seemed intent on not being overheard. Kamuhi listened to them for several minutes as they debated whether any of the people at the tables near them were paying any attention to them. Finally, their paranoia allayed, the two began a conversation about how a chemical process was conducted. Kamuhi realized it was most likely a case of industrial espionage. He still summarized the conversation for Agent Arneson even though she looked disgusted the whole time.
