Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

Liaison Bronski nods. I deduce from his expression that my previous conclusion was correct. "Thought so. The Peacekeeper tech guys found a spurious data-line linkage keyed in about that time. I thought it was probably you."

There are many nuances contained in this statement, and I spend the next 2.09 seconds considering them. I compute a probability of 0.02 that a Commonwealth assistant liaison would have sufficient access to high-level Peacekeeper operations to have learned about a spurious data-line linkage. Accordingly, I replay the conversation immediately following the inquiry-board hearing, paying particular attention to the expressions and body movements of Admiral Rudzinski as he speaks with Liaison Bronski. This new analysis allows me to compute a probability of 0.68 that the two men are more familiar with each other than the words spoken during the conversation would suggest.

"Cat got your tongue, Max?"

"What do you wish me to say?"

He smiles, though the expression has a strong degree of cynicism incorporated into it. "Never mind. I just figured a man like Lord Cavanagh would have taught you how to lie. Mind if I come up there?"

The question is unanticipated, and for 0.24 second I examine his expression. But the algorithms are of no use in helping me deduce the reason behind his request. "Why?"

"I want to look around a little." His expression shifts to something that might be interpreted as shrewdness. "It'd also give us a chance to discuss various questions with a little more privacy."

Legally, the fueler is private property and I am under no obligation to allow him inside. But the implication that I may be able to learn the answers to some of my many questions is a strongly compelling one. I can always summon help should that become necessary. "Very well."

It takes 1.07 minutes for me to rotate the lift cage from its storage compartment onto its track, lower it to the ground, and bring Liaison Bronski up to the hatch. It takes another 21.91 seconds for him to enter the hatch and make his way to the control room.

I review my earlier files and note that Melinda Cavanagh required 48.96 seconds to make this same trip through the fueler. Aric Cavanagh similarly required 51.03 seconds. However, Security Chief Adam Quinn required only 18.24 seconds. From this I deduce a probability of 0.87 that Liaison Bronski's background includes experience with such spacecraft, and a correlating probability of 0.95 that such experience was obtained via service with the Peacekeepers.

Inside the control room Liaison Bronski spends 4.52 seconds examining the control boards. His expression indicates he is satisfied with what he has learned from them, and he slides out a jump seat and sits down.

"How long have you been with Lord Cavanagh, Max?"

"I've been a CavTronics computer since my inception. I had not met Lord Cavanagh personally until he selected me for this mission."

"Did some extensive reprogramming on you, did he?"

"Extensive reprogramming was not required. Do you know where Aric Cavanagh is?"

He looks at my interior monitor camera for 0.72 second, his expression indicating thoughtfulness or speculation. "I'm asking the questions, if you don't mind. I'm looking for a list of emergency rat holes that Lord Cavanagh might have programmed into you."

"Please define the term rat holes."

He eyes me closely, his expression suspicious. "Places to go hide in case of trouble. Maybe the addresses of Lord Cavanagh's friends or business associates; maybe some of his favorite out-of-the-way vacation spots; maybe an unlisted CavTronics research plant or two. That sort of thing."

There are fifteen procedures consistent with my programming for deflecting questions I do not wish to answer. I select one of them. "Why would I have been given such information?"

He smiles, his expression indicating a probability of 0.96 that the deflection procedure has not deceived him. "Because you were sent out with Quinn and Cavanagh's son on a blatantly illegal rescue mission. A man like Cavanagh would have made sure there were a handy set of bolt-holes ready in case they had to bury themselves when they came back. Straight question, Max: you have a list or don't you?"

For 0.02 second I examine the list whose existence Liaison Bronski has deduced, focusing my attention on the restrictions and controls concerning disclosure of the information contained therein. "I'm sorry, Assistant Liaison, but the information you seek is confidential. I cannot give it to you."

He reaches his left hand inside his coat and produces a wallet. "Oh, I think you can, Max."

The wallet is at a sharp angle to my monitor camera as he opens it, but using the proper algorithm, I am able to discern that the ID in the window is his official Commonwealth diplomatic identification.

He slides the ID from beneath the window. But instead of holding it up to my monitor camera, he presses his thumb onto the upper left corner of the back. After 3.56 seconds he removes his thumb and begins to carefully peel off what appears to be a thin metallic backing. The complete removal requires 4.33 seconds. He turns the ID over and holds the back up to my monitor.

Imprinted on the reverse side of the diplomatic ID is a second ID that identifies him as Brigadier Petr Bronski of NorCoord Military Intelligence.

I am not equipped for retinal or DNA confirmation, but there are two photos embedded in the ID, and I spend 0.14 second comparing them to Liaison Bronski's face. I pay particular attention to the sizes and positional spacings of eyes and mouth and to the contours of the ears, and I compute a probability of 0.9993 that it is a match. The pattern of the ID itself is on file, and it requires only 0.07 second to confirm it is genuine NorCoord Military Intelligence issue. "This answers many of the questions I've had about you, Brigadier Bronski."

"I thought it might." As he speaks, he reattaches the backing to the ID, once again concealing the Military Intelligence side. "You're not to tell anyone else about me, by the way. As far as anyone else is concerned, I'm just a humble Commonwealth assistant diplomatic liaison. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He reinserts his ID into the wallet and returns it to its place inside his coat. His hand reemerges with a card, which he inserts into the transfer slot on the secondary control board. "Right. Let's have the list."

I choose another deflection procedure. "What use would you have for the list now? Aric Cavanagh and Security Chief Quinn chose not to utilize any of them but instead came directly here to Edo."

His expression changes subtly. "They did look at the list, then?"

"I did not intend that choice of words."

"Answer the question, Max. Did the Cavanaghs see the list or didn't they?"

I spend 0.17 second examining the laws and regulations concerning questioning by governmental officials. Unfortunately, the various laws concerning self-incrimination and privacy do not seem to have been properly extended to parasentient computer systems. Neither have penalties for refusing to speak, however. Nevertheless, I compute a probability of 0.92 that answering the question would merely confirm what Brigadier Bronski has already concluded. "Aric Cavanagh, Commander Pheylan Cavanagh, and Security Chief Quinn spent 16.55 minutes on the voyage home examining the list. As I said, they chose not to go to any of the locations."

Brigadier Bronski makes a grunting noise in the back of his throat. "That's not the point. The point is that they know what was on it." His eyebrow lifts 2.1 millimeters. "Maybe even made copies for future reference?"