S. Swann - Forests of the Night

He expected to be stopped by the cops at least once, but he wasn't. Could be the suit. It didn't lessen the tension he felt. The roads were smooth and lined

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with trees. Not a morey in sight. The cozy one-family dwellings stared at him from behind manicured lawns.

Stephanie Weir lived in one of those intimidating brick houses.

Nohar pulled the Jerboa up to the curb in front of her house. Brick, one family, seven rooms, a century old or so. It was the kind of building that reminded Nohar how young his species was.

Come on, he told himself, a few questions, nothing major.

After saying that to himself a few times, he climbed out of the car and stretched. Before he realized what he was doing, he had reached up and started clawing the bark from the tree next to his car. No matter how good it felt, when he noticed himself doing it, he stopped. He hoped the Weir woman hadn't seen. It was embarrassing.

He shook loose bark from his fingers and walked up to the house. He pushed the call button next to the door and waited for an answer.

A speaker near his hand buzzed briefly, then spoke. "Damn, just a minute." There was a very long pause. "Who do we have here?"

Nohar tried to find the camera. "My name's Nohar Rajasthan. I'm a private investigator. I'd like to talk to a Ms. Stephanie Weir."

Another long pause. "Well, you got her. You have any ID?"

Nohar fished into his wallet and held up his PI license.

"Stick that into the slot."

A small panel under the call button slid aside. Nohar tossed it in.

Nohar stood and waited. He was tempted to push the call button again. But, without warning, the door was thrust open. Nohar had to suppress an urge to leap back. Weir offered his license back. "What can I help you with, Mr. Rajasthan?"

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Pronounced it right her first try. Nohar was relieved, and a little puzzled, not to smell any fear. He was also grateful Weir didn't wear any strong perfume. She had an odd smile on her face and he wished he was better at reading human expressions. "I'd like to talk about Daryl Johnson."

Weir bit her lip. "Complicated subject. You better come in."

Nohar watched her walk away from the door before ducking in and closing it behind him. He could stand in the living room and not feel cramped. He wondered what she did with all the space. A comm was playing in the background. He recognized the voice from his research, ex-mayor Russell Gardner, Binder's opponent.

**. . . is in a crisis. Our technological infrastructure was fatally wounded when Japan was invaded, as surely as if the Chinese had landed in California. For nearly a decade my opponent has been leading a policy of government inaction. For twenty years our quality of living has been degrading. There are fewer engineers in the United States now than there were at the turn of the century—"

"Sit down." She motioned toward a beige love seat that looked like it could hold him. "I was just about to fix myself a drink. Want one?"

Nohar sat on the love seat and wriggled to get his tail into a comfortable position. "Anything cold, please."

Gardner went on as if he had found a new issue. "... space program as an example. It's been four decades since a government program—a program since disbanded for lack of funding—discovered signals that are still widely believed, in the scientific community, to be an artifact of extraterrestrial intelligence. NASA's nuclear rockets have been sitting on the moon ten years, waiting for the launch and we are losing the ability to maintain them. WeVe lost the ability to maintain cutting edge tech ... "

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Nohar wasn't interested in the political tirade. Instead of listening, he wondered why the pink female was acting so—relaxed wasn't quite the word he was looking for.

Weir walked into the kitchen and Nohar's gaze followed her. He enjoyed the way she moved. No abrupt motions, every move flowed into every other seam-lessly. He watched as she stretched to get a glass from a cabinet. The smooth line of muscle in her arm melded into a gentle ripple down her back, became a descending curve toward the back of her knee, and ended in the abrupt bump of her calf.

She said something, and Nohar asked himself what he'd been thinking about. "What did you say?"

Weir apparently assumed the comm was too loud. She called out, "Pause."

Gardner shut up. "I said I've been waiting for you to mention it."

Nohar felt lost. "Mention what?"

She returned with two tumblers and handed one to him. He couldn't read the half-smile on her face. "Well, I'd picture a detective jumping all over me for not being more broken up about Derry."

"I was just trying to be tactful." That was a lie. The fact was, Nohar had been so nervous he hadn't even noticed. He took a drink, hoping it was something strong. It turned out to be some soft drink whose carbonation overwhelmed any taste it might have had. At least it was cold.

"I guess I'm not used to tact." She sat down in an easy chair across from him. He could identify her natural smell now, somewhere between rose and wood smoke. He liked it. "So, let's talk about Derry."

Nohar took another long pull from the glass. It did little for him but give him a chance to think. "Could you describe your relationship with him?"

"We weren't that close. At least, not as close as it was supposed to look. I suppose you've gotten the in-i

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tended message from all the photo-ops and the social events. All window dressing, really."

"Meaning?"

"Just what I said. It was supposed to look like Derry was hot for me when he could really care less about women. It was all an elaborate game. I was supposed to cover up one of Binder's political liabilities." Now Nohar could read her expression. The hard edge in her voice helped.

"Daryl Johnson was gay?"

She nodded. "I got recruited by the Binder campaign right out of Case. Major in statistics, minor in political science. So I can go to parties and look cute. All because Binder is too loyal to fire his chosen, and is too right-wing to accept a homosexual on his staff. Publicly anyway."

That was amazing, even though he had some idea how extreme Binder was. "That attitude's bizarre." He had to restrain himself from adding, "Even for a pink."

"You don't know the man."

"You put up with that?"

That brought a weak smile. "Selling out your principles pays a great deal of money, Mr. Rajasthan. Until he died, anyway."

She noticed they both had empty glasses. She got up. "Can I get you a refill? Something a little stronger this time?"

Nohar nodded. "Please—"

He didn't like questioning good fortune, but he was beginning to wonder why she was so open with him. "What was playing on the comm?"

"One of Gardner's speeches. Sort of self-flagellation."

Odd way to put it. "Are you still with the Binder organization?"

She stopped on the way to the kitchen and shook her head. "Binder's legendary loyalty doesn't apply to the 2 window dressing. After all I put up with—you know, D someone even started a rumor I was a lesbian."

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"Are you?"

Weir's knuckles whitened on her glass. Nohar thought she might throw it at him. The smell Nohar was sensing was powerful now, but it was more akin to fear and confusion than anger. The episode was brief. She quickly composed herself. "I'd really rather not talk about that right now."

Nohar wondered what he'd stepped in with that question. Pinks tended to lay social minefields around themselves. Nohar wished he had a map. "Sorry."

She managed a forced smile. "Don't apologize. I shouldn't have snapped at you. IVe never been very good around people ..." She sighed.