Alien Skies, page 34
part #3 of Wakanreo Series
Kamuhi found it wearing to maintain a pretense of conversation while he was concentrating on the discussions around him. Magda kept up a flow of artless chatter that he was able to ignore for the most part. However, she seemed to feel the situation called for her to flirt with him, and every now and then she would lean over and touch his arm or bend her head near his as if to whisper in his ear. Kamuhi had to fight his instinct to draw away from her when she did this. It seemed to him that she was enjoying the play acting part of the assignment far too much.
A little later in the evening, there was another conversation of interest. A group of three Wakanrean men were complaining about fijazhai influence on Wakanrean culture. They ranted against the flow of imported off-world goods and the presence of fijazhai at cultural events. There was a brief mention of Jared as a dangerous person because he spoke their language and was seen as worming his way into the confidence of the Legislature. Their complaints never took on the added dimension of what action should be taken, though. When one of the men brought up the subject of a local sporting event, politics was forgotten. They argued over who would win the next round of a tournament, almost coming to blows as all three of them favored different teams. Kamuhi monitored them from time to time but they never went back to politics.
Kamuhi and Magda drank slowly but steadily. Kamuhi was relieved that the injection seemed to work as promised. He felt no effects from the alcohol. Finally, after three hours and two bottles of wine, Agent Arneson pulled back her chair. “I think we’d better call it quits. I don’t think we’re going to get anything here—at least not tonight—and the bartender is starting to give us funny looks. She’s probably never seen anyone in my supposed profession being so coy.”
They walked back to the ground car. Arneson had to punch in the destination and set the controls for automatic because the safety control kicked in when it detected the alcohol content of their breath. Magda leaned back in her seat and glanced over at Kamuhi.
“Rumor has it that you’re happily married,” she said.
“Rumor is right,” Kamuhi said. “At least it was,” he added, considering. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when I come home this late with so much alcohol on my breath that a ground car wouldn’t let me drive.”
Magda laughed and reached for her bag. After a little rooting around, she took out a container of capsules. “Here,” she said, handing him one and taking one herself. “This will take care of it. In about half an hour no one will be able to smell anything.”
Kamuhi took it gratefully.
The Intelligence agent glanced at him again. “So, are you old fashioned vows of faithfulness married, or living together is so much nicer but let’s not get fanatical married?”
Kamuhi smiled at her wording. “Very old fashioned.” He decided to change the subject. “Is tonight typical of Intelligence work?”
“No,” she said, smiling, “tonight was much more exciting than usual. Mostly we’re stuck watching people who are even less interesting than the people in that bar.”
Once they arrived back at Headquarters, Magda punched in the ID code so they could get through the defense system. When the ground car pulled up in front of the building where the Intelligence Desk was located, she sent the car back to the transportation pool.
Da Gama was waiting and Arneson gave their report. When Da Gama asked for it, Kamuhi repeated the one political conversation word for word in Wisutan.
“Too bad,” the Intelligence Chief said. “We’ll try again tomorrow night. I’ve got a line on a place that might be better. A small gang of qatorglynai hang out there frequently. There’ve been several bar fights over politics. It’s a little seedier, so we’ll have you dress down just a tad.”
Kamuhi was too tired to argue or ask questions. He changed back into his uniform quickly and walked home. When he let himself in, he was surprised to see that Yulayan had waited up for him. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, coming over to give her a kiss. She gave him a smile but, as his lips brushed her cheek, it changed to a startled look. She stepped back and surveyed him suspiciously.
“What have you been up to?” she said accusingly. “Who were you working with tonight?”
Kamuhi was taken aback. She didn’t usually ask specific questions about his work. Instead of answering, he stalled. “What’s wrong?”
Yulayan’s eyes widened and her crest stood up. “You’ve been with another woman! A Terran! I can smell her on you, and I can smell her perfume, too!”
“Yulayan, I was working. There are women in ThreeCon, you know, Terrans as well as others.”
“Who was it?” Yulayan demanded. “It’s not Ellie; she doesn’t wear perfume.”
Kamuhi sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, guisha. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
This didn’t seem to make Yulayan any less angry. Kamuhi could see that her claws were out.
“Why can’t you tell me whom you were with, Kam?” she insisted. “You never refused to tell me about work before. What’s so special about tonight?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Kamuhi said, trying not to sound desperate. “You’ll just have to trust me, Yulayan.”
She stared at him for a second and then turned away in disgust. “Your tunic is fastened crooked, Kamuhi,” she said over her shoulder. “It wasn’t that way when you left after dinner.”
Kamuhi looked down and saw that she was right. He cursed himself mentally for being in such a hurry.
“Yulayan,” he said again. He laid his hand on her shoulder, intending to bring her around to face him. She brushed his hand away impatiently. Kamuhi cried out as her claws raked the back of his hand. There were three red streaks where he was bleeding, but Yulayan seemed only slightly repentant.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said. “But you should be honest with me. If you feel you have to have a Terran woman sometimes, you should tell me instead of trying to hide it.” With that, she stalked out of the kitchen.
Kamuhi cleaned his hand and sprayed a chemical bandage across the cuts. When he went into their bedroom, Yulayan was already in bed. She lay with her back to him and refused to answer when he tried to talk to her. Kamuhi gave up and lay down next to her. He was so tired he went to sleep quickly, in spite of the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that her anger had given him.
IN the morning, it was no better. Yulayan spoke almost exclusively to Malia. After a tense and virtually silent breakfast, Kamuhi put on his uniform. He helped Malia get dressed and pack her bag of favorite toys. He took her hand, intending to drop her off at the childcare center on his way to work, but Yulayan stopped him.
“Don’t bother,” she said in a frosty voice. “I’m going in late today, so I’ll drop her off on my way.”
“Are you sure?” Kamuhi asked. “I have to work again tonight.”
Yulayan gave him a look of withering scorn and declined to answer. Kamuhi left Malia at home and walked over to the Security area. He spent the morning monitoring the systems and working out with Quolund. The Miloran was able to throw him twice in the first ten minutes.
“Your mind’s not on it,” Quolund chided him.
“I know,” Kamuhi admitted, getting up off the mat the second time. He tried harder to concentrate and his performance improved. Quolund wasn’t able to throw him again and he got some good hits on the Miloran.
“That was better,” Quolund said, as they walked to the shower room. “Anything wrong, sir?”
Kamuhi shook his head. “Everything’s fine, Sergeant.” He caught the Miloran surreptitiously studying the cuts on his hand.
At his lunch break, Kamuhi called Da Gama and asked if he could come talk to him.
“Sure,” the Intelligence Chief said. “When?”
“How about now, sir?” Kamuhi suggested.
“Okay. You know where my office is?”
Kamuhi said that he did. When he walked in and saluted, Da Gama waved him to a seat. “Don’t fret too much about that stuff. Intelligence is part of Admin just so we don’t need to worry about playing soldier.”
Kamuhi sat down opposite Da Gama’s desk. The Intelligence Chief rested his elbows on the desk top. “So, Hailoaka, what’s on your mind?”
Kamuhi cleared his throat. “I was wondering if it would be possible to tell my wife just a little bit about what I’m doing. It’s difficult not being able to explain why I have to work so late two nights in a row, and maybe more.”
Da Gama smiled slightly. “Trouble on the home front, huh? Haven’t you had to put in any late nights before?”
“Certainly, sir,” Kamuhi agreed. “But in the past, working late has never involved coming home smelling of perfume.”
The Security Chief raised one eyebrow. “I see. I suppose it’s too late to suggest that you shower before going home.”
“Yes, sir. It’s very definitely too late.”
Da Gama sat silently for a moment. His eyes rested just for a second on the back of Kamuhi’s hand. “Okay, Hailoaka. You can tell her you’re doing a little job for Intelligence. You can even tell her what it involves—sitting around drinking with Magda—just don’t mention anything about what you picked up at the reception the other night—not one word about the hospitals or what we’re hoping to hear. And make sure she understands that she’s not to mention this to anyone—not her parents, not her friends, no one.”
Kamuhi was immensely relieved. “Thank you. sir,” he said, standing up.
“Hold on just a second,” Da Gama said. “Sit down. I want to ask you something. Word is that you’re pretty tight with Jared Harlengin. Is that right?”
Kamuhi sat back down in the chair. “I suppose you could say that. He’s a very good friend of my wife’s father, and he’s a friend of mine, too.”
“So if you told him you wanted to transfer to Intelligence, he might do it?”
`I don’t know, sir. I don’t think he would if he already told Captain Drushachh I’d be staying in Security. He doesn’t like to go back on his word. Besides,” Kamuhi added, “I wouldn’t want to ask for favors, and I don’t want to transfer to Intelligence.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you rather sit in a bar with Magda than break more bones with those Miloran heavyweights?”
“No, sir,” Kamuhi said emphatically. “I’m a lot more afraid of Agent Arneson than I am of Master Sergeant Quolund or any of the Milorans in Security.”
The older man grinned. “You’re probably right. From what I hear, you can handle the Milorans. I’m not so sure about Magda.”
Kamuhi sighed. “Do you really need me, sir? Absolutely no one in that bar last night was speaking in the Yiangliun dialect. Anyone who understood Wisutan dialect could have relayed all the conversations to Agent Arneson. Does it have to be me?”
Da Gama grinned again and shook his head. “Sorry, Hailoaka. I can’t let you off the hook so easily. What happens if I send someone else tonight, and they suddenly hear a conversation they can’t understand? We could miss a chance to learn something. That brings up another point.” The Intelligence Chief leaned back in his chair. “Because of your family, you’re in a unique position here as regards the qatorglynai. You have a strong motive to want to see them reined in. Don’t you want to help in that effort?”
“Of course. But I think I can make more of a contribution in Security. I’m good at that. I’m really lousy at pretending to be somebody else.”
“That’s not all we do,” Da Gama argued. “We monitor a lot of communications channels. We have a finger in a lot of Wakanrean pies.”
“You don’t need me for that,” Kamuhi protested. “You must have coverage for all the languages on Wakanreo. If it comes to that, there are programs that will translate for you.”
The older man shook his head. “I don’t trust them. We already use several programs to screen data and alert us when there’s something a real live person needs to hear. We only use a translation program when there isn’t anyone available for that dialect. I don’t want to rely on software to tell us what something really means. Computers can’t feel, and a good part of what we express in language is feeling—tone, connotation, innuendo, suggestion, inference—soft stuff like that. At some point, you need someone to tell you what the speaker is trying to get across. It helps if it’s someone who has a feel for the culture.”
“There’s no such thing as a single Wakanrean culture,” Kamuhi argued. “Just like on Terra, there are many cultures. When I was here the first time, I spent most of my time at the observatory, which is out in the middle of nowhere, and at the ThreeCon University in Fargaj; that’s almost half Terrans. I was only in Wisuta a few months. This time I’ve been mostly in Yiangliun. That experience hardly makes me knowledgeable about the entire planet.”
Da Gama was unmoved. “I don’t buy it, Hailoaka. I’ve had a look at your file. You’ve been in a lot of different places and in every one of them you made a point to study the native culture. You’re not a cop, you’re a scientist, and I could use you.”
“It doesn’t really matter, sir,” Kamuhi said, standing up again. “Commander Harlengin has said I’m staying in Security for now.”
Da Gama pushed back from his desk. “I don’t give up so easily, Hailoaka. We’ll talk another time. Meanwhile, you can reassure your wife that you’re really working. Just be sure to stop by the Infirmary before tonight and get your hand taken care of. We don’t want anything as obvious as those cuts to make you conspicuous tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Kamuhi said.
He went to the Infirmary on his way home from work. The medtech was mildly curious about the scratches. “Family pet get you?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
“Well, it’s going to take little while,” she said.
She gave him a hypo so the accelerator could do its work, and then she made him hold his hand under a sterilization beam before she put it under the healing accelerator. When Kamuhi left, the scratches were faint scars on the back of his hand.
Kamuhi picked up his daughter at the childcare center and took her home. He had a pot of vegetable stew on the stove by the time Yulayan came through the door.
Malia ran to her mother. “Hello, Mommy. I helped Daddy make dinner.”
“That’s wonderful, Malia,” Yulayan said, bending down to give her daughter a kiss.
Kamuhi stood in the doorway. “Would you set the table, please, Malia. Daddy needs to talk to Mommy for a few minutes.”
“Okay, Daddy,” the little girl said.
Yulayan looked at him. “What is there to talk about?”
“A lot, Yulayan. Let’s sit down.”
When Kamuhi sat down on the sofa, Yulayan took a seat across from him. She folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”
“Listen, guisha,” he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about this before. I was ordered not to tell anyone, not even you. I still work in Security but Jared loaned me to Hubert Da Gama, the Chief of ThreeCon Intelligence on Wakanreo, because I know two Wakanrean dialects. I spent last night sitting in a bar in downtown Wisuta with an Intelligence agent. I listened in on some conversations and relayed them to the agent. I have to do it again tonight.”
Yulayan considered this information. “Who was the agent?”
“A Terran woman named Magda Arneson. She used to work in Security. She was the second in command until Da Gama got her transferred to Intelligence. I think she’s the main reason Jared refuses to put me in Intelligence permanently. Drushachh was really annoyed about losing Arneson.”
“Is she pretty?”
Kamuhi smiled. “Yes. She’s tall and blonde, and I’m terrified of her. She makes me feel like a juija when the net’s over him.”
Yulayan didn’t smile back. “What do you do with her?”
“We pretend to be friendly. We both drink, and I listen. If I hear something I think would be of interest, I pass it on to her.”
“Like what?” Yulayan challenged him.
Kamuhi shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I still can’t tell you that part.”
“Why can you tell me this now? What’s changed since last night?”
“I went to Da Gama and asked him for permission to tell you at least a portion of it,” Kamuhi explained. “He said okay provided you don’t tell anyone else, not even your parents.”
Yulayan looked down at her hands. “Is it true, Kam?”
“Yes, it’s true, Yulayan,” Kamuhi said emphatically. “If you won’t believe me, I can ask Jared to talk to you.” He moved so that he was sitting next to her and he took one of her hands. “Please, guisha,” he pleaded, “if you can’t trust me, there isn’t much point in being married. Do you really think I’d tell you I was working and then go off and have an affair with another woman?”
Yulayan shook her head slowly. “I didn’t want to believe it, Kam, but you wouldn’t tell me anything last night.” She made a sound between a sigh and a sob and put her arms around him. “Oh, Kam! I’ve been so unhappy.”
Kamuhi held her for a few minutes. “I have to do it again tonight, sweetheart. Can you live with that? I tried to get Da Gama to change his mind, but he wouldn’t. The only other thing I could do would be to ask Jared for a favor, and I don’t want to do that if I don’t have to.”
“It’s all right,” Yulayan said with a sniff. “Now that I know, I don’t mind so much your being gone.”
“Let’s eat dinner then,” Kamuhi said, smiling. “I don’t have that much time and we still have to fix the table since Malia is setting it by herself.”
KAMUHI’S second excursion into the world of Intelligence began very much like the first, except that his clothes were a little scruffy and Magda looked even less respectable. Her outfit consisted of a skin-tight body suit with large parts of it cut out, and a almost sheer skirt that clung to her hips. She was also drenched in a heavy perfume that Kamuhi recognized as a powerful chemical aphrodisiac.
Kamuhi didn’t see anything of Da Gama this time. After he had changed, Agent Arneson gave him the hypospray to block the effects of alcohol. Kamuhi could feel his mouth go dry as she stood close to him. The perfume was almost overpowering in its effect. When they went outside, there was an autocab waiting instead of a private flyter. Magda punched in the destination code and leaned back in her seat. Kamuhi looked her over.
A little later in the evening, there was another conversation of interest. A group of three Wakanrean men were complaining about fijazhai influence on Wakanrean culture. They ranted against the flow of imported off-world goods and the presence of fijazhai at cultural events. There was a brief mention of Jared as a dangerous person because he spoke their language and was seen as worming his way into the confidence of the Legislature. Their complaints never took on the added dimension of what action should be taken, though. When one of the men brought up the subject of a local sporting event, politics was forgotten. They argued over who would win the next round of a tournament, almost coming to blows as all three of them favored different teams. Kamuhi monitored them from time to time but they never went back to politics.
Kamuhi and Magda drank slowly but steadily. Kamuhi was relieved that the injection seemed to work as promised. He felt no effects from the alcohol. Finally, after three hours and two bottles of wine, Agent Arneson pulled back her chair. “I think we’d better call it quits. I don’t think we’re going to get anything here—at least not tonight—and the bartender is starting to give us funny looks. She’s probably never seen anyone in my supposed profession being so coy.”
They walked back to the ground car. Arneson had to punch in the destination and set the controls for automatic because the safety control kicked in when it detected the alcohol content of their breath. Magda leaned back in her seat and glanced over at Kamuhi.
“Rumor has it that you’re happily married,” she said.
“Rumor is right,” Kamuhi said. “At least it was,” he added, considering. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when I come home this late with so much alcohol on my breath that a ground car wouldn’t let me drive.”
Magda laughed and reached for her bag. After a little rooting around, she took out a container of capsules. “Here,” she said, handing him one and taking one herself. “This will take care of it. In about half an hour no one will be able to smell anything.”
Kamuhi took it gratefully.
The Intelligence agent glanced at him again. “So, are you old fashioned vows of faithfulness married, or living together is so much nicer but let’s not get fanatical married?”
Kamuhi smiled at her wording. “Very old fashioned.” He decided to change the subject. “Is tonight typical of Intelligence work?”
“No,” she said, smiling, “tonight was much more exciting than usual. Mostly we’re stuck watching people who are even less interesting than the people in that bar.”
Once they arrived back at Headquarters, Magda punched in the ID code so they could get through the defense system. When the ground car pulled up in front of the building where the Intelligence Desk was located, she sent the car back to the transportation pool.
Da Gama was waiting and Arneson gave their report. When Da Gama asked for it, Kamuhi repeated the one political conversation word for word in Wisutan.
“Too bad,” the Intelligence Chief said. “We’ll try again tomorrow night. I’ve got a line on a place that might be better. A small gang of qatorglynai hang out there frequently. There’ve been several bar fights over politics. It’s a little seedier, so we’ll have you dress down just a tad.”
Kamuhi was too tired to argue or ask questions. He changed back into his uniform quickly and walked home. When he let himself in, he was surprised to see that Yulayan had waited up for him. He could hear her moving around in the kitchen.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, coming over to give her a kiss. She gave him a smile but, as his lips brushed her cheek, it changed to a startled look. She stepped back and surveyed him suspiciously.
“What have you been up to?” she said accusingly. “Who were you working with tonight?”
Kamuhi was taken aback. She didn’t usually ask specific questions about his work. Instead of answering, he stalled. “What’s wrong?”
Yulayan’s eyes widened and her crest stood up. “You’ve been with another woman! A Terran! I can smell her on you, and I can smell her perfume, too!”
“Yulayan, I was working. There are women in ThreeCon, you know, Terrans as well as others.”
“Who was it?” Yulayan demanded. “It’s not Ellie; she doesn’t wear perfume.”
Kamuhi sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, guisha. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
This didn’t seem to make Yulayan any less angry. Kamuhi could see that her claws were out.
“Why can’t you tell me whom you were with, Kam?” she insisted. “You never refused to tell me about work before. What’s so special about tonight?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Kamuhi said, trying not to sound desperate. “You’ll just have to trust me, Yulayan.”
She stared at him for a second and then turned away in disgust. “Your tunic is fastened crooked, Kamuhi,” she said over her shoulder. “It wasn’t that way when you left after dinner.”
Kamuhi looked down and saw that she was right. He cursed himself mentally for being in such a hurry.
“Yulayan,” he said again. He laid his hand on her shoulder, intending to bring her around to face him. She brushed his hand away impatiently. Kamuhi cried out as her claws raked the back of his hand. There were three red streaks where he was bleeding, but Yulayan seemed only slightly repentant.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said. “But you should be honest with me. If you feel you have to have a Terran woman sometimes, you should tell me instead of trying to hide it.” With that, she stalked out of the kitchen.
Kamuhi cleaned his hand and sprayed a chemical bandage across the cuts. When he went into their bedroom, Yulayan was already in bed. She lay with her back to him and refused to answer when he tried to talk to her. Kamuhi gave up and lay down next to her. He was so tired he went to sleep quickly, in spite of the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that her anger had given him.
IN the morning, it was no better. Yulayan spoke almost exclusively to Malia. After a tense and virtually silent breakfast, Kamuhi put on his uniform. He helped Malia get dressed and pack her bag of favorite toys. He took her hand, intending to drop her off at the childcare center on his way to work, but Yulayan stopped him.
“Don’t bother,” she said in a frosty voice. “I’m going in late today, so I’ll drop her off on my way.”
“Are you sure?” Kamuhi asked. “I have to work again tonight.”
Yulayan gave him a look of withering scorn and declined to answer. Kamuhi left Malia at home and walked over to the Security area. He spent the morning monitoring the systems and working out with Quolund. The Miloran was able to throw him twice in the first ten minutes.
“Your mind’s not on it,” Quolund chided him.
“I know,” Kamuhi admitted, getting up off the mat the second time. He tried harder to concentrate and his performance improved. Quolund wasn’t able to throw him again and he got some good hits on the Miloran.
“That was better,” Quolund said, as they walked to the shower room. “Anything wrong, sir?”
Kamuhi shook his head. “Everything’s fine, Sergeant.” He caught the Miloran surreptitiously studying the cuts on his hand.
At his lunch break, Kamuhi called Da Gama and asked if he could come talk to him.
“Sure,” the Intelligence Chief said. “When?”
“How about now, sir?” Kamuhi suggested.
“Okay. You know where my office is?”
Kamuhi said that he did. When he walked in and saluted, Da Gama waved him to a seat. “Don’t fret too much about that stuff. Intelligence is part of Admin just so we don’t need to worry about playing soldier.”
Kamuhi sat down opposite Da Gama’s desk. The Intelligence Chief rested his elbows on the desk top. “So, Hailoaka, what’s on your mind?”
Kamuhi cleared his throat. “I was wondering if it would be possible to tell my wife just a little bit about what I’m doing. It’s difficult not being able to explain why I have to work so late two nights in a row, and maybe more.”
Da Gama smiled slightly. “Trouble on the home front, huh? Haven’t you had to put in any late nights before?”
“Certainly, sir,” Kamuhi agreed. “But in the past, working late has never involved coming home smelling of perfume.”
The Security Chief raised one eyebrow. “I see. I suppose it’s too late to suggest that you shower before going home.”
“Yes, sir. It’s very definitely too late.”
Da Gama sat silently for a moment. His eyes rested just for a second on the back of Kamuhi’s hand. “Okay, Hailoaka. You can tell her you’re doing a little job for Intelligence. You can even tell her what it involves—sitting around drinking with Magda—just don’t mention anything about what you picked up at the reception the other night—not one word about the hospitals or what we’re hoping to hear. And make sure she understands that she’s not to mention this to anyone—not her parents, not her friends, no one.”
Kamuhi was immensely relieved. “Thank you. sir,” he said, standing up.
“Hold on just a second,” Da Gama said. “Sit down. I want to ask you something. Word is that you’re pretty tight with Jared Harlengin. Is that right?”
Kamuhi sat back down in the chair. “I suppose you could say that. He’s a very good friend of my wife’s father, and he’s a friend of mine, too.”
“So if you told him you wanted to transfer to Intelligence, he might do it?”
`I don’t know, sir. I don’t think he would if he already told Captain Drushachh I’d be staying in Security. He doesn’t like to go back on his word. Besides,” Kamuhi added, “I wouldn’t want to ask for favors, and I don’t want to transfer to Intelligence.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you rather sit in a bar with Magda than break more bones with those Miloran heavyweights?”
“No, sir,” Kamuhi said emphatically. “I’m a lot more afraid of Agent Arneson than I am of Master Sergeant Quolund or any of the Milorans in Security.”
The older man grinned. “You’re probably right. From what I hear, you can handle the Milorans. I’m not so sure about Magda.”
Kamuhi sighed. “Do you really need me, sir? Absolutely no one in that bar last night was speaking in the Yiangliun dialect. Anyone who understood Wisutan dialect could have relayed all the conversations to Agent Arneson. Does it have to be me?”
Da Gama grinned again and shook his head. “Sorry, Hailoaka. I can’t let you off the hook so easily. What happens if I send someone else tonight, and they suddenly hear a conversation they can’t understand? We could miss a chance to learn something. That brings up another point.” The Intelligence Chief leaned back in his chair. “Because of your family, you’re in a unique position here as regards the qatorglynai. You have a strong motive to want to see them reined in. Don’t you want to help in that effort?”
“Of course. But I think I can make more of a contribution in Security. I’m good at that. I’m really lousy at pretending to be somebody else.”
“That’s not all we do,” Da Gama argued. “We monitor a lot of communications channels. We have a finger in a lot of Wakanrean pies.”
“You don’t need me for that,” Kamuhi protested. “You must have coverage for all the languages on Wakanreo. If it comes to that, there are programs that will translate for you.”
The older man shook his head. “I don’t trust them. We already use several programs to screen data and alert us when there’s something a real live person needs to hear. We only use a translation program when there isn’t anyone available for that dialect. I don’t want to rely on software to tell us what something really means. Computers can’t feel, and a good part of what we express in language is feeling—tone, connotation, innuendo, suggestion, inference—soft stuff like that. At some point, you need someone to tell you what the speaker is trying to get across. It helps if it’s someone who has a feel for the culture.”
“There’s no such thing as a single Wakanrean culture,” Kamuhi argued. “Just like on Terra, there are many cultures. When I was here the first time, I spent most of my time at the observatory, which is out in the middle of nowhere, and at the ThreeCon University in Fargaj; that’s almost half Terrans. I was only in Wisuta a few months. This time I’ve been mostly in Yiangliun. That experience hardly makes me knowledgeable about the entire planet.”
Da Gama was unmoved. “I don’t buy it, Hailoaka. I’ve had a look at your file. You’ve been in a lot of different places and in every one of them you made a point to study the native culture. You’re not a cop, you’re a scientist, and I could use you.”
“It doesn’t really matter, sir,” Kamuhi said, standing up again. “Commander Harlengin has said I’m staying in Security for now.”
Da Gama pushed back from his desk. “I don’t give up so easily, Hailoaka. We’ll talk another time. Meanwhile, you can reassure your wife that you’re really working. Just be sure to stop by the Infirmary before tonight and get your hand taken care of. We don’t want anything as obvious as those cuts to make you conspicuous tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Kamuhi said.
He went to the Infirmary on his way home from work. The medtech was mildly curious about the scratches. “Family pet get you?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
“Well, it’s going to take little while,” she said.
She gave him a hypo so the accelerator could do its work, and then she made him hold his hand under a sterilization beam before she put it under the healing accelerator. When Kamuhi left, the scratches were faint scars on the back of his hand.
Kamuhi picked up his daughter at the childcare center and took her home. He had a pot of vegetable stew on the stove by the time Yulayan came through the door.
Malia ran to her mother. “Hello, Mommy. I helped Daddy make dinner.”
“That’s wonderful, Malia,” Yulayan said, bending down to give her daughter a kiss.
Kamuhi stood in the doorway. “Would you set the table, please, Malia. Daddy needs to talk to Mommy for a few minutes.”
“Okay, Daddy,” the little girl said.
Yulayan looked at him. “What is there to talk about?”
“A lot, Yulayan. Let’s sit down.”
When Kamuhi sat down on the sofa, Yulayan took a seat across from him. She folded her arms across her chest. “Well?”
“Listen, guisha,” he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about this before. I was ordered not to tell anyone, not even you. I still work in Security but Jared loaned me to Hubert Da Gama, the Chief of ThreeCon Intelligence on Wakanreo, because I know two Wakanrean dialects. I spent last night sitting in a bar in downtown Wisuta with an Intelligence agent. I listened in on some conversations and relayed them to the agent. I have to do it again tonight.”
Yulayan considered this information. “Who was the agent?”
“A Terran woman named Magda Arneson. She used to work in Security. She was the second in command until Da Gama got her transferred to Intelligence. I think she’s the main reason Jared refuses to put me in Intelligence permanently. Drushachh was really annoyed about losing Arneson.”
“Is she pretty?”
Kamuhi smiled. “Yes. She’s tall and blonde, and I’m terrified of her. She makes me feel like a juija when the net’s over him.”
Yulayan didn’t smile back. “What do you do with her?”
“We pretend to be friendly. We both drink, and I listen. If I hear something I think would be of interest, I pass it on to her.”
“Like what?” Yulayan challenged him.
Kamuhi shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I still can’t tell you that part.”
“Why can you tell me this now? What’s changed since last night?”
“I went to Da Gama and asked him for permission to tell you at least a portion of it,” Kamuhi explained. “He said okay provided you don’t tell anyone else, not even your parents.”
Yulayan looked down at her hands. “Is it true, Kam?”
“Yes, it’s true, Yulayan,” Kamuhi said emphatically. “If you won’t believe me, I can ask Jared to talk to you.” He moved so that he was sitting next to her and he took one of her hands. “Please, guisha,” he pleaded, “if you can’t trust me, there isn’t much point in being married. Do you really think I’d tell you I was working and then go off and have an affair with another woman?”
Yulayan shook her head slowly. “I didn’t want to believe it, Kam, but you wouldn’t tell me anything last night.” She made a sound between a sigh and a sob and put her arms around him. “Oh, Kam! I’ve been so unhappy.”
Kamuhi held her for a few minutes. “I have to do it again tonight, sweetheart. Can you live with that? I tried to get Da Gama to change his mind, but he wouldn’t. The only other thing I could do would be to ask Jared for a favor, and I don’t want to do that if I don’t have to.”
“It’s all right,” Yulayan said with a sniff. “Now that I know, I don’t mind so much your being gone.”
“Let’s eat dinner then,” Kamuhi said, smiling. “I don’t have that much time and we still have to fix the table since Malia is setting it by herself.”
KAMUHI’S second excursion into the world of Intelligence began very much like the first, except that his clothes were a little scruffy and Magda looked even less respectable. Her outfit consisted of a skin-tight body suit with large parts of it cut out, and a almost sheer skirt that clung to her hips. She was also drenched in a heavy perfume that Kamuhi recognized as a powerful chemical aphrodisiac.
Kamuhi didn’t see anything of Da Gama this time. After he had changed, Agent Arneson gave him the hypospray to block the effects of alcohol. Kamuhi could feel his mouth go dry as she stood close to him. The perfume was almost overpowering in its effect. When they went outside, there was an autocab waiting instead of a private flyter. Magda punched in the destination code and leaned back in her seat. Kamuhi looked her over.
