Walter Williams - City on Fire

“If that is true, the plasm scans will reveal it. And, I should add, all hiring and firing in this department ultimately rests with me. I am not interested in prosecuting any minor criminality that may have taken place in the past, under a different regime. But if there is any danger of future misbehavior, then my hand is forced. The PED is the only clean agency of law enforcement in the government, and it will remain so.”

Romus’s tentacles flutter uneasily. “I will take the test,” he decides.

“Very good. I will have Anstine give you the application forms and schedule the scan.”

Aiah watches Romus leave, then returns to the piles of paper spread before her.

She decides she needs a bigger desk.

THE GOLDEN LADY—FREEDOM FIGHTER OR PLASM THIEF

TOMORROW ON THE WIRE

Aiah looks stonily at the jerky video as another arrested suspect explodes. Fortunately the soldier carrying the camera faints almost immediately, and the video is short.

“Did you see the room?” Kelban says. “Bottles everywhere. Pills. Take-out food. And a girl had just left, a pro—surveillance saw her exit.”

Nictitating membranes half-lid Ethemark’s eyes. “The Party Sickness,” he says.

“Two people with Party Sickness symptoms, and they both blow up when arrested,” Kelban says. “This is not a coincidence.”

“But the first fellow to explode,” Ethemark remarks, “did so in front of his family. No Party Sickness there.”

Kelban frowns. “Maybe he was in the early stages.”

Maybe he was starting the party with the wife, Aiah thinks. She ventures a cautious shrug. “What can we do?” she says. “I’ve never heard of an illness that acts this way, and we’re not the Health Ministry in any case.”

Ethemark tilts his head back, considers. “We are not empowered to act on matters of public health, true. But if this is the result of a Slaver Mage, say, or an ice man, then this is definitely a case of misused plasm, and therefore falls within our purview.”

“I’d like an opinion from counsel in that regard,” Aiah says.

“Still,” says Kelban, “if this is a case of some kind of supernatural possession, then its only victims are Handmen. This mage, or whatever it is, is doing us favors.”

“We don’t know that its only victims are Handmen,” Ethemark points out. He turns to Aiah. “I’d like authorization to open a file on this, perhaps commit some of our investigators.”

“It looks like a dead end to me,” Aiah says. “We have no evidence, nothing but some bodies.”

“We don’t have any evidence yet. We haven’t looked—I want to thoroughly investigate the movements of the victims, who they saw, when and if they began to act strangely.”

That seems harmless enough, Aiah thinks. Certainly digging through the victims’ files and backgrounds is not going to lead anyone to Constantine.

“All right,” Aiah says. “Submit a proposal, then, and I’ll approve it, providing it doesn’t take too many personnel from their regular duties.”

Ethemark looks at her. “Very good. I don’t think we’ll need more than one mage, and maybe one good investigator on the ground.”

“Not full-time, I trust.”

“Probably not.”

“Well. Submit your proposal, and we’ll see.”

Aiah wonders if Ethemark has heard the same rumor that Khorsa had, that Constantine interviews prisoners, orders them released, and that they subsequently die of the Party Sickness. If this is an attempt by Ethemark, or Ethemark and Adaveth together, to discover something they can use against Constantine, or to hold over him.

Aiah remembers Constantine in the limousine just a few days ago, smiling as he gazed into his wineglass, firmly in command of Caraqui and himself, confident in his ability to manage any crisis. Taikoen was an element of his confidence, his power, but a dangerous element.

She wonders if it is possible to kill a hanged man, and how.

JABZI ATTACKS “GOLDEN LADY”

AIAH “COMMON CRIMINAL,” SAYS INFORMATION MINISTER

“The hearings in the Timocracy came to nothing,” Colonel Galagas is pleased to report. He touches his mustache, smiles. “No evidence was ever developed, and none of the Escaliers were ever required to testify.” “I’m pleased for you.”

Aiah has little actual interest in the findings, but they allow Galagas and the Escaliers to keep their standing within their profession. Invitations to the other mercenaries’ regimental dinners will continue.

Aiah leans forward across her desk and asks the question that truly interests her.

“Have the hearings revealed who betrayed us?”

Galagas shakes his head. Plasm displays, reflected from the window behind Aiah, glow gold and red in his eyes.

“I regret to say that they did not. The order to attack the Escaliers came from the headquarters of a Provisional general named Escart, but he was killed in the fighting, and we don’t know where he got his information.”

“Who could have told him?”

“Quite a few people, unfortunately. The information could have come from above, which would have meant army group or Provisional headquarters in Lanbola. Or below, possibly his own intelligence section.”

“Is there a way to find out?”

He gives a thin smile. “The Escaliers, too, have an intelligence section. They’re working on it—there is little else for them to do, really—and we’ll let you know if we find anything. Provisional headquarters no longer exists, and a number of their employees are now hard up for funds.”

Aiah returns Galagas’s smile. “The PED has a small budget for informers,” she says.

“Ah.” Galagas’s look brightens. “That is good to know.” He touches his mustache again. “When I was in the Tim-ocracy,” he says, “I looked at the Wire’s piece on you.”

Aiah finds herself making a face. “And?” she says.

“They made no effort to understand Barkazils, but otherwise I thought it was fair enough. And you?”

Aiah tries to banish the tension she feels in her shoulders. The Wire’s investigation had been extremely thorough, though fortunately it was reasonably objective—it gave her credit for investigating plasm thefts in Jaspeer and for her work against the Silver Hand and the militia, even as it raised suspicions about other activities.

Her heart had lurched when she’d seen her ex-lover quoted, but to her surprise, Gil had spoken nothing but praise, and defended her against any suggestion of criminality, something that relieved and gratified her. She should send him a wire of thanks, she thinks.

“I hate to see those old charges raked over,” Aiah says. “But at least they admitted they couldn’t find evidence.”

“The Cunning People leave no trace,” Galagas says. There is a confiding little gleam in his eye.

Aiah can only hope that, as far as the Escaliers and her own activities in Jaspeer are concerned, Galagas is speaking the truth.

MARTIAL LAW TO BE EASED

TERRORISTS, SILVER HAND STILL SUBJECT TO EMERGENCY POWERS

Rohder’s computer gives a rumble, shudders slightly, and at length offers up its data, first in a tentative flickering upon the screen, and then with firmer, shining confidence.

“The trend’s continuing,” Rohder says.

Aiah glances over his shoulder at the columns of figures. “Good.”

“More for the Strategic Plasm Reserve.” Rohder frowns, looks at the data. “If only I knew why. The figures shouldn’t be this good.”

“An element you haven’t accounted for in your theory?”

“Oh, of course.” Dismissively. “There must be.” Rohder’s blue eyes brood upon the figures. “Our original experiments were necessarily on a small scale; but here we see a leap in plasm production beginning…” He traces a line of figures across the computer display with a horny thumbnail. “ Here. Almost four months ago. A few weeks after the war started. And with the war destroying so many plasm-generating structures, there should have been less plasm, not more—But still the dip in generation is not as great as it should have been, and now, even though so much of the city has been wrecked, our overall plasm generation is better than before the war started.”