Dana Stabenow - Powers of Detection

“Computer!” the ship’s officer yelled. “Stop whatever they are doing immediately!”

Too late. One of the space-suited figures threw a switch, and there was a tremendous explosion. Pieces of Unknown Species 37 flew everywhere. The two subengineers were blown backward and dangled at the end of tethers, their suits leaking air in dozens of places. Other space-suited figures began moving their way.

Carter began whispering into the left forearm of his powered exoskeleton.

“Is this the way you treat visiting diplomats?” Clicksquawksqueal demanded. “You blow them up?”

Gordon moved closer to the ship’s officer, who seemed to have finished whispering. For a reason Gordon couldn’t quite name, the Huskers suddenly seemed much more dangerous.

“We didn’t blow up Clickclickwhistle,” he said. “We found him all folded in the hallway outside the diplomats’ area and his temperature was rising. Our computer told us he would explode on his own. Why is that?”

“All folded up?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What do you mean?”

“Show him, Computer,” Gordon said.

The computer projected a photograph of the Unknown Origin 37-or, rather, the late, lamented Clickclickwhistle-in front of Clicksquawksqueal. The creature did the same swiveling routine as the doorman and was silent for several minutes.

“Clickclickwhistle was in decommissioned pose,” Clicksquawksqueal said. “He would have expanded to the universe on his own.”

“Decommissioned pose?” Gordon said.

“Hey, I’m doing the best that I can,” the translation program said.

“Is that how your species disposes of its dead? Explosion?” the young diplomat asked.

Clicksquawksqueal swiveled and was silent again.

“It is,” it said at last, “it is our way of returning our biological material to the planet.”

“Well, I’d hate to walk through one of your graveyards,” Gordon said.

“Graveyards?” Clicksquawksqueal said. “What are graveyards?”

“Perhaps we should turn our attention to what happened to Clickclickwhistle,” the ship’s officer suggested. “When did you see him last?”

Gordon thought about strangling the starspawn. The demise of an alien diplomat in his keeping was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

Clicksquawksqueal seemed to share that sentiment. It swiveled and was silent for so long that Gordon thought perhaps it’d gone to sleep.

“Clickclickwhistle was an adventurous sort,” the Husker said, when it had swiveled back. “He went out exploring and never came back.”

“Weren’t you worried?” Gordon asked.

The swiveling was shorter this time.

“Define worried,” Clicksquawksqueal said.

“Never mind,” Carter said. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in more comfortable surroundings. Will you and your colleagues follow me?”

He turned his exoskeleton and walked out the hatch into the hall. Gordon was right behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed at Carter.

“Solving a mystery,” the ship’s officer said. “Watch and learn.”

After a few minutes of what had no doubt been furious swiveling in the compartment, Clicksquawksqueal emerged, followed by the rest of the Huskers.

The two humans led them down the hall. When they reached the Lambchops’ quarters, one of the creatures was standing in the hatchway.

“Where’s the party?” it asked.

“No party,” Carter said. “We are simply going somewhere more comfortable to continue our discussion with the Unknown Origin 37 delegation about the demise of one of its members.”

“Cool,” the Lambchop said. “Mind if we tag along?”

Gordon opened his mouth to tell the Lambchop, as diplomatically as possible, to mind his own beeswax, but the ship’s officer beat him to the punch. “Not at all,” he said. “The more the merrier.”

“What are you doing?” the young diplomat demanded in a fierce whisper. “Do you think I want the whole galaxy knowing about the blot on my record?”

“I said watch,” Carter said. “I didn’t say talk.”

He stopped his exoskeleton opposite the hatchway to the Gaspassers’ quarters. He pressed the doorbell. No response. He tried the handle. Locked.

“Computer,” he said.

The hatchway popped open. The Gaspassers were all huddled in one corner.

“We’re having a meeting,” Carter said cheerfully. “Diplomats love meetings. Come along.”

Without waiting for a reply, he moved on. When he reached the door to the Mutts’ compartment, he stopped again. “If you creatures can tear yourselves away from your card game for a minute, there’s a discussion in the common room you won’t want to miss.”

“Says who?” one of the Mutts growled.

“Believe me, you’ll want to be there,” Carter said pleasantly, “and so will the Unknown Origins next door.”

“Josef Stalin!” Gordon said. “Are you going to invite the entire diplomatic corps to this meeting?”

“Nope,” Carter said. “That’s it.”

With that, he led his group down the rest of the hallway and into the common room.

“Table,” he said, and a long, rectangular table rose out of the floor.

“Chairs,” he said, and chairs rose to line the table.

“This is normally the ship’s conference room,” he explained, striding to the head of the table. “Please, take a seat.”

The Lambchops and Huskers all sat on one side of the table. As they sat, the chairs shaped themselves to fit their anatomies.

“Now,” Clicksquawksqueal said, “perhaps you can explain what we’re doing here.”

“Not just yet,” Carter said. “Let’s wait for the other delegations to arrive.”

“You’re pretty confident they’re coming,” said Gordon, who’d taken a seat next to the ship’s officer.

“It’s my winning personality,” Carter said. “It’s irresistible.”

Sure enough, a minute later the Gaspassers came into the room, trailed by the Mutts. They took seats facing the Lambchops and Huskers.

“Thank you for coming, gentle creatures,” Carter said. “In the interests of universal harmony, it is truly an honor to welcome you to this historic meeting aboard…”

“Get on with it,” a Mutt that looked like a border collie snapped, “I’ve got a full house waiting back at the game.”

“Yes,” said one of the Lambchops, “you said you had something to reveal about the death of one of the Unknown 37 diplomats. Let’s not spend more time than we have to in such odiferous surroundings.”

“Who you calling odiferous, you cotton-covered assassin?” the collie barked.

This started all the Lambchops and Mutts bleating and barking. The Huskers rustled their fronds, and the Gaspassers emitted noises that indicated that they were about to become airborne.

“Oh, great,” Gordon said to Carter, “you’re starting a riot. Well, why not? They can’t drum me out of the Corps Diplomatique twice.”

“Silence,” the ship’s officer thundered, his voice enhanced by speakers in the exoskeleton. “I can have the walls lined with Federation Marines in a heartbeat.”

That seemed to make an impression. “Now,” Carter said, “we know that the unfortunate Clickclickwhistle left the Unknown Origin 37s’ compartment and never came back. We know that he was, what was the word, decommissioned inside diplomat country and was rolled through the hatchway into the outside hall. So we know that the culprit is a member of one of the diplomatic missions.”

“What?” the border collie snarled. “You’re accusing one of us of murder? I won’t stand for that.”

“If you don’t calm down,” Carter said, “I’ll send for a rolled-up newspaper. Now, before we go any further, perhaps the leader of the other Unknown Origin delegation can explain why one of its members is missing.”