Buried Deep Part 19

"Well, find someone who can," Rackam said. "We're in trouble here."

"Yes," Columbus said, "we are."

She glanced at Nakamura. The two women seemed to understand each other. But he wasn't understanding them.

" I I have no power," he said. "I can't make any decisions. We need a meeting of the Dual Governments. The Disty have to tell us what to do." have no power," he said. "I can't make any decisions. We need a meeting of the Dual Governments. The Disty have to tell us what to do."

"The Disty," Nakamura said as if she were speaking to a particularly dumb child, "are unavailable. What Disty we do see on our links-which you seem to be avoiding-are in such a panic that they don't seem to be thinking logically."

"There is a crisis, and someone has to solve it," Columbus said.

"Not me," Rackam said.

Kim stood up. His mouth was set in a thin line. "We'll figure out what to do and you'll do it. Agreed?"

Rackam wasn't sure he could agree. He didn't have the authority. Was he the only person in the room who understood that? He didn't have any authority at all.

"You're going to close the Domes to all bullet trains," Columbus said. "You're going to isolate those trains outside all of the Domes, and you're going to enforce this, with security teams if necessary."

The breath left Rackam's body. "We can't attack Disty."

"We're going to say we're protecting Disty," Columbus said. Everyone in the room was watching her. "Either there's some kind of virus going through that affects their mind, or some kind of group hysteria. Wells caught it after the bullet trains went through. The trains didn't even stop. So no Sahara Dome and Wells Disty can get into other Domes. Is that clear?"

No one had used that tone with him in nearly a decade. He bristled. "They'll shun me, or worse. They'll prosecute me, especially if somebody dies. This decision won't work."

Her expression, which had been flat, didn't change. "You'll stop the trains, and if the Disty question you, you'll tell them you were only holding the trains until someone from the Disty High Command got back to you and told you what to do. You could only act on the evidence before you, and the evidence was that something bad was happening to the Disty. You were only concerned for their lives."

"They won't believe that," he said. "They'll know it's not true."

"Stop worrying about them," Kim said. "We have to do something. Do you understand how this will cascade if we don't?"

Rackam was breathing shallowly. Cascade? What did they mean, cascade?

"No," he whispered.

Nakamura sighed. Columbus shook her head in disgust. Had they always thought of him this way? Had their respect been feigned?

He felt his cheeks heat.

Kim crossed his arms. "All the Disty from Sahara Dome will spread down southward. Now add the Disty from Wells. They won't go directly south. Some will go east, others west. None will go north because there isn't much beyond Sahara Dome. So let's a.s.sume this is a crazy-making virus. The large group of Disty will get into another Dome, then its Disty will start to flee. The Disty will keep infecting the Domes and moving until the entire planet is filled with Disty running from something none of us understand. They'll run out of places to go."

Rackam bit his upper lip. "But close the Domes . . ."

"Yes," Nakamura said. "It's our only choice."

"You should think of closing the ports as well," Columbus said. "The Disty need to stay on Mars until we know what's causing this."

Rackam shook his head. He had finally understood what his team was talking about, and he understood the implications.

"I won't close the ports," he said, "but I'll close the Domes to any on-world travel. Right now, all the Domes will be isolated until we hear from the Disty. until we hear from the Disty. Which better be d.a.m.n soon." Which better be d.a.m.n soon."

He whirled again, feeling his robe swirl around him.

He could see the team reflected in the windows. He shook a hand at them.

"Go on. Begone. Get out of here. Get this done. And don't bother me until you hear from a Disty."

He could see the three of them glance at each other. Then they shrugged and left the room. Someone slammed the door.

Rackam sank into his favorite cushion, then placed his face in his hands. He had just ruined his own life. The Disty would never forgive him for this.

He would have to find a way to blame the advisors. Maybe he would find a way to modify the records, or take himself out of the discussion altogether.

I'm firing them, he would say to the Disty High Council. he would say to the Disty High Council. They seemed to believe someone had to act, so they did. Without my permission. Maybe we can bring criminal charges against them for all the deaths. Would that satisfy you? They seemed to believe someone had to act, so they did. Without my permission. Maybe we can bring criminal charges against them for all the deaths. Would that satisfy you?

Because it wasn't satisfying him.

All he'd signed on for was a ceremonial position.

He couldn't handle decisions that resulted in life or death.

Particularly his own.

30.

Flint stood in the lobby of the Domeview Hotel. A different woman paced behind the long desk; otherwise, the lobby was empty. Flint had his back to her as he used the automated network to contact Aisha Costard.

Like before, he couldn't find her listed on any of the internal servers. Unlike before, she didn't answer his page. If she had left within the last few days, the system should have shown her as checked out.

It didn't show her at all.

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He might have to ask for human help.

As he turned toward the woman at the desk, movement caught his eye. Two men in security uniforms headed straight toward him.

Flint tensed.

The men stopped in front of him. Both were larger than he was, and at least one had enhanced muscles. But Flint could outmaneuver them if he had to.

"Excuse me, sir," said the man with enhanced muscles. He had dark hair and even darker eyes. "You'll have to come with us."

"Did I do something wrong?" Flint asked.

"We're under orders to take you with us," said the man.

Flint stepped back so they weren't quite as close to him. "Are you police officers?" "No, sir," said the guard.

"Then you have no right to take me anywhere. I walked into the hotel, looked up a patron's name, didn't find it, and was about to leave. That wasn't a crime the last time I checked."

They glared at him. How many hotel patrons didn't know their rights under Armstrong law? Probably most of them, just like Flint wouldn't have known what to do or how to behave in some of the alien cultures he'd heard about.

"I'm a former police officer," he said into the security guards' silence. "You can either tell me what's going on or let me leave."

The second guard glanced at his partner. The spokesman stepped just slightly in front of Flint.

"We've been asked to take you upstairs," the guard said.

"By whom?" Flint asked.

"The police."

That surprised Flint, but he didn't let it show. "Really? Why?"

"Apparently, you accessed a name involved in an ongoing investigation."

Now this was beginning to make sense. And the detective in charge was alone or with his partner, so that he had no one to send down to the first floor to get Flint. Instead, he let these amateurs handle it.

"Well, then," Flint said. "Bring the detective in charge down here."

"We can't do that," said the other guard, his voice rising with shock.

Flint shrugged. "And I can't go with you. I don't trust you. So I'm going to leave the hotel."

"Sir." The first man blocked his path. "If I send for the detective and have him contact you, will you go upstairs?"

"If he has a legitimate City of Armstrong identification code," Flint said.

The security guards glanced at each other. These two were so incompetent they obviously hadn't even checked that themselves. The first man kept his position in front of Flint, but looked down as he spoke under his breath into his own internal links system. An older, less expensive system that didn't have thought filtering. That didn't surprise Flint.

Security guards were poorly paid and had little job security. They couldn't afford their own upgrades, and the hotel wouldn't supply them-too many guards quit after getting better links.

After a moment, the guard nodded. "He'll contact you."

As the guard said that, a message ran beneath Flint's vision. It was a summons to Costard's room from a Detective Bartholomew Nyquist. The summons carried Costard's room number. Nyquist's City of Armstrong identification code wrapped through the message, almost like a taunt.

Flint sent that he'd be there in a moment, then shut down many of his own links. Nyquist had obviously gotten Flint's name and identification, as well as his link code, from the fingerprints he'd left on the screen.

Flint pushed past the guards. He took the stairs, hurrying so that the guards would have to work to keep up with him. Despite the enhanced muscles, the first guard wasn't in the best of shape.

As Flint climbed the unremarkable concrete stairs, he worried about the Armstrong Police's involvement. Had Costard done something wrong? Had the Disty rescinded her special pa.s.s to be in Armstrong in the first place?

The guards still hadn't caught up with Flint when he reached the door that opened onto Costard's floor. As Flint stepped into the hallway, he saw another open door at the other end, with a warning barrier sealing it off.

A warning barrier, made up of thin motion-detecting equipment and red light beams, letting anyone who tried to pa.s.s know that their presence was being monitored and would probably be recorded.

Something bad had happened.

Flint walked down the hall. No one stood guard outside the room, so his initial hunch had been correct. Nyquist was here alone.

The guards reached the floor just as Flint stopped outside Costard's door. The room was smaller than he expected, and he didn't see anyone inside.

"Detective Nyquist?" Flint said to the empty room. "May I enter?"

Nyquist came out of the bathroom. He was square, with broad shoulders and a trim frame. He was shorter than Flint and probably older. His bluish-black hair was thinning on top, and he had real wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

"Funny we never met," Nyquist said. "You hear how big the Armstrong P.D. is, but you never quite realize it, not until you run into someone who worked in the same department you did at the exact same time, and not only have you never met him, you've never heard of him."

Which pretty much summed up Flint's reaction to Nyquist as well.

"I've been off the force for a few years now," Flint said, determined not to establish a rapport.

"Yeah, well, I've been on it too long." Nyquist beckoned with his right hand, as if the room had been rented to him instead of Aisha Costard. "Come on in."

The lights went off for a moment, and Flint stepped inside the room. The room smelled of dust and cleanser, as if no one had been inside for quite a while. The bed was made. A familiar bag sat on the suitcase stand. Costard had brought that bag to Flint's office on that first day.

On one wall, a waterfall cascaded down some rocks. The sound had been muted, but otherwise the scene looked real enough. Flint wondered if Costard had set that program or if it was standard in the hotel.

The security guards arrived just then, and stopped.

"Thanks, guys," Nyquist said. "I think I've got it from here."

The guards glanced at each other, then shrugged. They left.

"Where's your partner?" Flint asked.

"I'm between partners." Nyquist's voice had a familiar tone. It took Flint a moment to identify that tone. It was a bitterness that reminded Flint of DeRicci.

"Yet they gave this case to you," Flint said.

"Lucky me." Nyquist shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. He leaned forward ever so slightly as he paced around the small room.

"You gonna tell me where Aisha Costard is?" Flint asked.

"You gonna tell me you haven't linked up all day?" Nyquist asked.

Flint's stomach twisted. "I don't always follow the news," he said, taking a guess at what Nyquist meant.

"Must be the luxury of the unemployed," Nyquist said.

"Self-employed." Flint let himself step into that. He recognized Nyquist's technique-a little brash, a little tough, a little blunt. DeRicci liked that method as well.

"Right. You Retrieval Artists get to pick and choose your jobs. Lucky you."