“There is a huge gulf between railing against clones and killing them. Besides, what does C-the-Third have to do with any of this? He wasn’t the one who was murdered!”
“No, Puck is incapable of killing him.” Holmes shook his head. “He is an extremist. But in words only. His psychological profile practically excludes the killing of a human. But to kill the Zzygou and so to ruin C-the-Third’s life and career—easy! Seems he didn’t understand that Zey-So wasn’t just a worker individual of the Swarm, whose life was unimportant to the Zzygou.”
“Are you accusing him?”
“I’m only thinking out loud, my dear fellow.” Holmes impulsively lifted the bow off the strings. “The same thing is possible with regards to Paul Lourier. His teachers and classmates testify to his extremely hot temper, impulsiveness, and a penchant for cruel pranks… besides, the fellow is easily influenced by others.”
“Good grief, that’s such nonsense!” Alex shook his head. “The young man is as calm as a tank! If only all novices were this even-keeled…”
“You’ve only known him a few days, Captain. And I have listened to the opinions of people who have lived with Lourier for years. And now, let’s move on to Xang Morrison.”
“What’s he got to do with it?” Alex could no longer hear any conviction in his own voice.
“A few facts of his biography. In his youth, ages thirteen through nineteen, he was a member of the youth ministry at the Church of the Mournful Christ.”
“But that’s the…”
“The followers of the Church of the Angry Christ, after it was banned. In point of fact they have the same worldview as do the poor inhabitants of Eben. When Xang was nineteen, the clandestine work of psychologists had its effect. Morrison officially broke away from the Church of the Mourning Christ, but echoes of that time remained with him. He has been noted more than once for comments insulting to the Others, and several times he publicly incited people to ‘blast the buggers.’” Holmes pronounced the last phrase in the voice of Morrison, and Alex started.
“I would’ve never thought…”
“So everyone has a motive, even an obvious motive! And what if we dig a little deeper?”
“And what motives do I have?” asked Alex wearily.
“None.” Holmes smiled. “Absolutely none. You aren’t looking to stir up any trouble. You’re tolerant of the Others. You’re happy with the ship, with the crew, and with yourself.”
Alex smirked. Yup… especially happy with himself…
“Thank God,” he said. “Then I’m not a suspect.”
“What are you talking about, Alex?” Holmes’s voice suddenly filled with sympathy, which he was incapable of feeling. “That’s precisely the reason why you are the likeliest suspect.”
“I see,” said Alex, trying to grasp what he had just heard. “If I’m the likeliest suspect, then why are you telling me all your conjectures?”
“That’s Peter Valke’s trademark style.” Holmes spread out his hands, palms up. “Creates an excellent effect. You do understand that the criminal has nowhere to run. Turn on the outer-space sensors, Captain.”
“Computer, turn on outer-space sensors,” said Alex wearily.
A screen unfolded.
Very close to Mirror—about three point six seven two miles away, from what Alex could hastily estimate—a Lucifer-class destroyer was hanging in mid-space. Its gun turrets were closed, but that didn’t make Alex feel any calmer.
No matter how good his own ship might be, the Lucifer could reduce it to ashes in a fraction of a second.
“If I don’t leave your ship in forty-eight hours, it will be annihilated. And if Mirror turns on its engines or opens up its battle station blisters, the Lucifer will fire immediately.”
“But why forty-eight hours?” asked Alex.
“The Zzygou fleets are on the move. Their attack on human colonies is estimated to start in forty-eight hours, plus or minus three hours.”
Suddenly Alex felt himself completely devastated, empty. As though it was he, and not the poor Zey-So, whose entrails and reproductive organs had been ripped out, and whose blood was smeared all over the cabin walls.
The world was crumbling. The Zzygou race, though inferior to humans in its military power, was only slightly so. Soon planets would be ablaze. Space would be filled with radioactive streams and predatory flocks of rockets. Every human and every Zzygou would curse those who had instigated the war… not knowing that he was the real perpetrator—he, Alex Romanov, pilot-spesh, who took into his crew someone capable of heinously murdering one of the Others, monstrously, in cold blood.
And it wouldn’t matter who came out as the winner of the slaughter—the universe would change. All the other races would attack those who escaped destruction. This had been the fate of the Tai’i, and the same would now befall the humans… or the Zzygou.
“How can you be so calm saying this, Mr. Holmes?” cried Alex. “Don’t you see—this is the end?”
“Let the world perish, so long as justice triumphs,” said the detective. Alex turned to him, met his eyes. “I’m kidding, Captain. Of course I want to live. And I want a happy life for all the honest citizens of the Empire.”
“Then what’s that ship doing here?” Alex asked. “Its place is in a military alignment. As for us… either just shoot us all at once, or send us into the army. Has mobilization already been announced?”
“Of course. The Zzygou have already sent the Emperor an official declaration of war.”
“What does the little snot on the throne have to do with it?” raged Alex. “He ought to be playing in a sandbox, not making military decisions!”
Sherlock Holmes furrowed his brow.
“Alex, there’s no need to say such things about the ruling Emperor. He will receive his full power in due time, and then the Empire will rise to new heights.”
“What heights? What are you talking about? Both our civilizations will be destroyed in this war! Don’t the Zzygou realize this?!”
“They do, as far as I know,” the detective nodded. “Any other race would not allow this conflict to escalate to an all-out clash. But we are witnessing the full power of the most profound forces that move each civilization. C-the-Third could explain this better than I can.”
“Explain the best you can!”
“As you may know, Captain, most of the Zzygou used to lack a fully-fledged mind. The men… em… the drones, despite their lowered social position, did, nevertheless, enjoy love and respect, developing the arts. But the nominally sexless worker individuals gained self-awareness only in the last two hundred years. The human segregation between the rich and the poor, or between naturals and speshes, is nothing by comparison to the social abyss that used to separate the highly esteemed Zzygou females, who had two-syllable names, and the workers, who just had numbers. But when, out of necessity—for stupid animals cannot work with high technologies—the ruling females allowed the development of the workers’ minds, they also inculcated in them the highest level of loyalty and love for their rulers. All this guarantees the Zzygou society freedom from internal conflicts.”
Alex thought again of Heraldica. And felt sick to his stomach.