It took something, to deny your offspring a number, a normal life–medical care, and schooling, and easy travel, and everything else you could do with a CIT number.
“People groomed just to get past surveillance,” she said. “I suppose they’re more used than users. I can’t see it would be a happy life. But if there was a nonperson who was really, really a black hole in the system, and he was really smart, he could get power, I suppose. If he was really determined, if he had a lot of arms and legs, he could do damage.”
“He could,” Florian said. “You’d only see the arms and legs. And Anton Clavery doesn’t exist. A nonperson is one possibility. A hollow man is the other thing you have to deal with. A dead person anybody can be, if he pays the rent on the identity. Back during the War, there were even a few instances of Alliance agents–stationers. Not spacers, that we never found. The stationers didn’t cope well, however.”
“There are a lot of schemes in Novgorod,” Catlin said. “Cons and schemes alike.”
“One thing Novgorod CITs are in my notes as being,” Ari said, “is really good at finding ways around rules. I’m betting CITs descended from azi aren’t much inclined to be nonpersons. Or use hollow men. I’m betting that’s not in their psychsets. They’ll go to birthlabs, mostly, to have their children. They’ll get them registered. A CIT number is important to them.”
“I certainly don’t want one,” Catlin said. “But then I don’t want to be a CIT.”
“You’re not setted for it,” Ari said, which threw her into thinking about what would in fact happen to them if she died, the way Maman had left Ollie, and she didn’t want to think about that. It was one real good reason for her to live a long, protected life, was what. Two people relied on her, absolutely, and this Anton Clavery, whoever he was, whatever he was–threatened more than the Eversnow project. He had brought her really unpleasant questions, like currents running in Novgorod, among the Paxers, and the Rocher Party, the Abolitionists, who absolutely wouldn’t understand Catlin’s rejection of being a CIT. They’d want to freeher, depend on it.
“I’m glad I’m not,” Catlin said. “Most of the troubles anywhere in the universe are CIT.”
“Well, We do have our uses,” Ari said, a little more cheerfully.
“So we don’t have to do things,” Florian said. “You do them.”
“Well, right now I wish I could figure how to find a man who doesn’t exist.”
“We’ve looked through lab results,” Catlin said, “and the rush from the blown window and the blast from the grenade messed up the sniffer, so we don’t even have the smell of this person, well, not much, at least, but we’re pretty sure it was male: we have a little bit of a scent. He was likely using a masker or a puffer to mess up the sniffers, to boot, but all we really have is Dr. Patil’s saying the name before she died. We don’t know if she recognized him as breaking in, or if she just thought of him when someone else was about to kill her. The way she said it–’the name is Clavery’–seems to indicate she wanted Justin to remember that name and report it.”
“And it was definitively a grenade?” Ari asked.
“Yes. Hand launcher,” Catlin said. “they aren’t big. They carry farther than a toss can do. Unskilled people can use them the same way they’d use a handgun. Setting it off in a room wasn’t really appropriate use for it. But it was probably on a few seconds’ delay: that’s one advantage of a grenade. That would let the perpetrator get the door shut so he wouldn’t get blown out, too.”
“Using the launcher in that small a space says this was a novice,” Florian said. “Someone that was likely to make a mistake with a grenade, maybe freeze. The launcher–you just preset the delay you want, and pull the trigger. It could have sent the grenade halfway to Admin from here. In that little room, it probably stuck in the wall and then blew up: if it had hit the window, it would actually have done less damage. The door was shut by then: there was blast impact on its inside. The perpetrator was on his way out of there–if he wasn’t blown out, too. They tried sniffers outside the room, but he was probably using a puffer, and he was probably moving fast. They went ahead and took sniffer readings in every room on that floor and above and below, but they never found the launcher or the puffer, so that part was clever. Somebody probably took it from him, maybe somebody else took over the puffer as they passed in the hall–that’s the lab’s theory. If he didn’t land on a rooftop somewhere as yet undetected. Possibly the assassin was on building staff. I don’t think they’re going to find too much that’s useful. A lot of things about this are very well‑organized.”
“That could even mean they meant to give the impression of a novice,” Catlin said, “and whoever was running it really wasn’t. A grenade like that–it could have taken out the apartment downstairs. It didn’t. The owner downstairs was very lucky, or the assassins knew the building design.”
“Not nice, all the same,” Ari said.
“No,” Florian agreed. “Not nice. And Paxers haven’t been at all careful about collaterals. No rules.”
“If it was Paxers,” Catlin said.
“Paxers had the motive,” Ari said, “if they thought Patil was betraying their interests or selling out to Reseune. Paxers really don’t like us. But you’re right: there could be others. And where do you getgrenades and launchers?”
“Mostly from Defense,” Catlin said, “but there’s pilferage, mostly at Novgorod docks, and things can be had.”
“That needs fixing,” she said.
“It’s not easy to fix,” Florian said, “from what I hear.”
“First is to make sure they’re not hiring any Paxers dockside,” Catlin said, “which has happened.”
“That would be top of the list, yes,” Ari agreed. It was a wide, confusing world–unlike Reseune. But there were slinks in both, and they hadn’t found the one in their own halls, not yet: that there wasone, potentially–the movement of the card indicated there was.
“Sera,” Catlin said, “you have on file a list of all her contacts.”
“Yes. Largely Defense, and academics. Academics don’t have access to grenade launchers. Unless they’re getting them from Paxers.”
“Defense is having elections,” Florian said. “That’s a period of instability.”
“Namely?” Catlin said.
“Jacques and Spurlin backed Eversnow, but there’s Khalid. I’d expect Defense professionals to be more careful,” Florian said, and a little line appeared between his brows. “But the charge didn’tpenetrate the floor. Just blew the pressure out. Does anyone live downstairs? Do we know‑that? And who are they?”
“I did check about downstairs,” Catlin said, “a single man, Shoji Korsa. He was out on emergency assignment with his company. This appears a coincidence. Coincidences have to be proven. He’s an executive with Geotech. That company called him to Moreyville. His apartment wasn’t damaged, except a mirror broke. The building is being investigated for structural problems.”
“Meanwhile we’re investigating via the ReseuneSec link,” Florian said. “We’ve kept our inquiry out of Hicks’ awareness, sera, except for that. We’ve done a little, just to keep up the appearance of using his system. Should we ask him directly?”
Ari shook her head. “Not until we talk to Yanni. I imagine he’s upset about Patil. But I’d like to know how upset he is. Have you sent Yanni and Hicks the transcripts?”
“Yes,” Florian said.
“Good.” She’d ordered that, a gesture of good will. She was tired. It had been a long day with the computers, and she’d missed her lesson with Justin. Again. Her eyes were scratchy. Jordan had found out about Eversnow from somebody. And when she thought about things really hard, she got sleepy when she was in this state: that was ideas trying to find their way out of the maze. Regarding Justin. Regarding Paxers. Regarding two murders, one delicate, one a blunt‑force mess that might have destabilized an apartment tower. “Let’s just go to bed.”