Mark Tiedemann - Chimera

But not if they were dead.

If he had not lost his optam, he would have at least had something visual to run through-especially the humans that had accompanied the stealth robot. Odd, he was beginning to think of the robot as having been in charge.

Going through Damik had been the only way he could think of to find the people Nyom might have gone through, but that had led him into areas that seemed unrelated to Nyom's death.

So why pursue them? he wondered.

Because it felt connected. Because he saw Rega Looms' name on a list of investors of a company that he would today condemn as a morally questionable enterprise, a company with the same name as the colony his daughter had been murdered while trying to emigrate to. Because Looms had made the same remark as a man Coren had never even heard of till today. Because all these unrelated details felt related. He just could not see how. Yet.

The rule by which he had always worked was, when stuck for the next move, ask more questions.

Why did Damik go see Wenithal?

Coren certainly had names from the Wenithal connection, but not the ones he had expected and none he could do anything with, at least not immediately.

Unless I just can't see it…

He glanced at his watch, then pulled out his comm again.

A few connections later, Ariel Burgess answered.

"Coren Lanra, Ambassador."

"Mr. Lanra, thank you for returning my call. I think we need to talk."

"I couldn't agree more. In person?"

"That would be best." She paused. "Are you busy this evening?"

"I have no way of knowing yet. What did you have in mind?"

"I've been invited to an embassy dinner this evening. I have the option of bringing a guest of my choosing. Would you be interested?"

"At your embassy?"

"The Auroran embassy, yes. "

Coren hesitated. This sounded like a complete waste of time, but he had no other ideas past talking to Damik. "Um…"

"There will be other Terrans present, Mr. Lanra, it isn't that sort of dinner. I believe it could be very interesting. Even informative. It would be a favor to me if you'd agree."

"Will Ambassador Chassik be there?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Something I stumbled on today. I suppose this will be formal?"

"Of course."

"I have an errand to run up in the Baltimor District. I'm not sure how long that will take and I'll have to change before I meet you."

"We have an excellent tailor on the premises, Mr. Lanra."

"Two, three hours then?"

A pause. "I can make that work. There will be an escort in the main lobby to bring you to my apartment."

"Then I'll see you later this evening. "

"Thank you. "

The link broke. Dinner with the enemy? he mused. He laughed softly to himself as he headed for a commuter station. Brun Damik's apartment was on the fourth level of an expensive block in what had once been an exclusive warren. Though other parts of the urban complex now superseded it as the place to live, it still bespoke class and elegance, and far more credit than Damik ought to possess.

Police lounged in the corridor. Coren felt a sudden hollowness. One of the officers approached him, hand on the butt of her department-issue stunner, and Coren automatically held up his ID with the investigator's license appended.

"Inspector Capel is in charge, Mr. Lanra," she said, gesturing through the door.

The living room contained little furniture, but all of it looked expensive. Coren glimpsed the label on the entertainment array and quickly calculated the significant fraction of his annual income the system would have eaten. Forensic recorders drifted slowly over the stone-tile floor. A huddle of plainclothes police stood with their backs to a wall-length image of black, white, gray, and ivory blocks of various proportions that gradually exchanged places. The detectives stopped talking when Coren approached.

"Coren Lanra," he said, showing his ID again. "I'm looking for Inspector Capel?"

One of the men took his ID and examined it casually. He was slightly shorter than Coren, grayish hair a fine dusting across his broad skull. His eyes were a bright, almost artificial green. "Private security," he said, handing it back. "Do you have business here?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm an acquaintance of Brun Damik."

The inspector blinked twice, then nodded. "Come with me," he said. "I'm Capel."

He led Coren to Damik's bedroom. Coren surveyed it quickly, noting the pair of uniformed police going through the wall-length closet and the bank of drawers. The bed was enormous, cobalt blue sheets rumpled. Coren saw no sign of blood.

"In here," Capel said, continuing on to the bathroom.

Damik sat propped on the toilet, hands dangling. Coren stared, shocked at the condition of the body. Bruises covered most of Damik's torso and thighs; his eyes were swollen shut, lips black and inflated. The head sat at an odd angle and Coren noticed the thick line of purpling around the neck. The only blood came from the holes where Damik's ears had been attached.

"They're in the sink," Capel said, guessing Coren's question. "These apartments are completely soundproofed. Surveillance shows no one entering or leaving. before or after Brun Damik came home last night. Preliminaries indicate that sixty to seventy percent of his bones are broken-the spine is holding him up, if you're wondering-and several major organs are ruptured." Capel wheeled on him. "Your card says Special Service, so I'm not even going to try to be clever with you. Let me ask right out: what are you doing here?"

Coren closed his eyes. He had never grown the callouses other veterans claimed came after seeing enough dead bodies, but the nausea he once experienced no longer reached the point of muddling his thinking. The hollowness he felt upon seeing police here acquired a sour tang, and his conscience suggested that this was his fault for having visited Damik recently. He drew a deep breath.

"My employer is running for office," he said. "Rega Looms. I'm following up possible embarrassments."

Capel nodded as if Coren had just passed a test. "What could Brun Damik have done to embarrass Rega Looms?"

"Nothing, directly."

"But…?"

"But…" Coren glanced over his shoulder as to make sure he and Capel were out of earshot. He stepped closer. "Looms' daughter has been known to play at smuggling from time to time."

"Baleys. We know. So you're covering for him by trying to find his daughter." Capel pursed his lips. "Could this be the result of your investigation?"

"I honestly can't see how."

Capel stepped closer to Damik's body. "He was tortured. Somebody did this over a four- or five-hour period." He looked up. "How well did you know him?"

"We worked together in Special Service several years ago. He was competent. His tastes ran a little rich, though. "

"Rich enough to accept perks?"

Coren made an inclusive gesture, indicating the opulence of the apartment. Capel grunted, agreeing.

"Was he supposed to have some information for you?"

"I don't know. I spoke to him yesterday. He wasn't very helpful. I was coming back to try again."

"Somebody beat you to it." Capel sighed. "I don't expect to get everything you might be able to tell me, Mr. Lanra, and I don't doubt you have a very good attorney, working for Rega Looms, so I won't even think about detaining you. I'm going to rely on your integrity as a former cop to tell me what I need to know. I'm not naive enough to believe I'm even going to get that, so we'll pretend for the moment that we're actually working on the same side and that you wouldn't obstruct my investigation."

"Believe me, Inspector, I don't have a clue who did this. Or why. "

Capel nodded. "It is excessive, especially for baleys. But who knows? This is politics, right? Maybe someone knows something about Looms' daughter that could hurt him." He shrugged. "It's a stretch. But all the other ideas I have don't explain this any better. Some sadistic shit tortured this man. That transcends jealousy, crime of passion, payback on a bad debt. Nothing explains it. Not even politics, really, unless he knew something."