"Hold on, Lady Fair," he murmured as he ran out of the hall and into the muddy street. "I'll be with you in just a moment. Don't do anything rash."
"I'm not going to do anything," Carialle said, but her voice rose in volume and pitch until he winced. "But Dr. Sennet Maxwell-Corey is going to pay heavily for this. I am not crazy!"
Chapter Seven
Tall Eyebrow caught up with Keff about twenty meters outside the door, and swept him up on a wave of Core power.
"I will take you swiftly to 'the One Who Watches From Behind the Walls,' " he said.
The two of them flew up over the jungle-fringed city blocks toward the spacefield. Luckily for Keff's atmospheric acrophobia, he had no attention to spare for looking down. He had enough on his hands trying to calm down his partner, who kept up a steady stream of diatribe in his ears.
"… Muck-faced, baby-eating, acephalitic bastard," Carialle kept saying. "First, he rigged me with a booby trap, illegally, without my knowledge, and set it to go off without waiting to get full data on the situation. Now he sees to our disgrace before the entire Cridi population. What's next?"
"I'm sure we can work out the mistake," Keff said, over and over again. "Just exactly what did they say?"
With admirable control, Tall Eyebrow brought them to a perfect landing on the ramp of the ship. Keff threw a bare nod over his shoulder for thanks, and ran inside.
"Oh, they were polite," Carialle said. Her voice beat double on his eardrums, coming from the cabin speakers as well as his implant. When he cringed at the sheer power of her vocal volume, she relented and turned it down, deactivating the mastoid bone receiver entirely. "So sorry, but orders are orders."
Keff plumped down in his crash couch. Tall Eyebrow hovered sympathetically near Carialle's titanium pillar.
"Let's see the message," Keff said.
The screen in front of him filled with the hailing graphic used in all Central Worlds Fleet communiques. It vanished, and the image of a man appeared. His long jaws and heavy eyebrows made him look melancholy, but his voice was a pleasantly warm tenor.
"CK-963, this is the DSC-902. Respectful greetings. I am Captain Gavon. I am sending you a tightbeam of messages entrusted to me by the Central Committee. I know the content of these datafiles. I want to assure you in advance that I regret the intrusion as much as you do. Standing by."
The messages followed. As Carialle had dreaded, the first was from the head of Explorations, Dr. Michael Brinker-Levy. His pleasant, dark-skinned face glanced out at them from the screen. He gave them an apologetic smile.
"Carialle and Keff, we have just received communication from the Inspector General for your sectors, Dr. Corey. He had an emergency buoy that you had launched at this point," a star chart overlay his face. "The internal recordings from Telemetry showed you were in no physical peril at the time, but nevertheless show dangerous adrenaline and toxicity levels in your system, Carialle. No updates and no further messages from you were received, except for a routine query for a databank search you sent recently."
"Nonsense," Keff said. "The IG must have heard from SPRIM and MM within microseconds. And what about your complaint for illegal circuit-tapping?"
"He oversees all queries about illegalities and improprieties in this sector," Carialle said bitterly. "And who is watching the watchman?"
Brinker-Levy continued. "… I have also had a complaint on your behalf from the oversight agencies, SPRIM and MM, citing personal interference from the Inspector General. Under normal circumstances I would be able to take those into account first. Because you're engaged upon such a delicate negotiation that affects matters at the highest levels, if there is anything wrong, and your judgement is in some way impaired… you must understand we cannot take chances, and at this distant remove we have no way of judging for ourselves. Please cooperate in every way with Captain Gavon. He's a good man, and will need your help. Your knowledge of the Cridi culture and language are unsurpassed, and I have always been satisfied with the job you do," here he smiled, "even if you are a little unorthodox. I will take up the subject of your complaints while you are on your way back to Central Worlds, and send you updated information in transit."
"On the way back? What is he talking about?" Keff asked.
"There's more," Carialle said. "This was on the sideband." The visual didn't change from the graphic left after the end of Brinker-Levy's message, but a resonant voice broke over the speakers.
"Hi, gal," Simeon said. "Greetings from SSS-900-C. I received your query. I'm at a loss for natural causes that would have destroyed three starships. No abnormal outbreak of ion storms, comets, or other anomalies observed in your pinpoint area. I'm uploading to you all the data I have for the last fifty years. There's not much. Some of it's your own. That spot between P- and R-sector is rarely explored.
"I'm piggybacking on Exploration's message to you because I heard some scuttlebutt you need to know. Maxwell-Corey's out ringing doorbells again. The first probe caused quite a sensation. Pa-lenty unorthodox. He was going to be in deep spacedust with SPRIM, until the second probe arrived. The data on it was garbled, and your voice sounded woozy. That added fire to his insistence that there's still something wrong with your mind, and you need specialized long-term mental care. I sincerely hope not. He's arguing at the least you're severely overwrought. Keep it together, gal. Greetings to Keff."
The graphic faded, and the unwelcome sight of the Inspector General's mustachioed face flicked into being. Keff found himself unable to resist a sneer. Maxwell-Corey's vendetta against his partner had attained foolish proportions over the years, and he was becoming tired of the pompous bureaucrat and his implausible hobbyhorse. A dozen shrinks had proclaimed Carialle sane, but this control freak could not acknowledge the truth, would not acknowledge it. The tragedy was, he might be able to "prove" it by forcing her into unwitting admissions, recording angry outbursts, and twisting data to suit his purpose.
"CK-963 Carialle, in light of your two communications with the Central Worlds I am ordering you to SSF-863 for a full evaluation. You will brief the replacement team in full and return immediately when you have received this message. Maxwell-Corey out."
The screen blanked. Keff relaxed a little, realizing that his hands were ground into tight fists, and he was standing on the balls of his feet, as if ready to meet an attacker.
Captain Gavon's face reappeared, his long face sympathetic.
"I am sorry," Gavon said, and the catch in his voice showed Keff the diplomat was under a tremendous strain. "We'll be with you in a matter of hours. Gavon out."
"They can't do that to us," Keff said. "We'll fight them, Cari. Cari?"
Carialle didn't answer. She ignored the input from her screens, antennae, and camera eyes. For a moment, just for a moment, at the sound of the Inspector General's mocking voice, her long-buried subconscious had flashed back to a memory she thought had been destroyed with her first ship… feeling not so much as hearing a slight vibration from the hull above her, as footsteps stopped-as if someone was laughing at her. Laughing at her helplessness!
No, she said to herself, pulling back into the inmost security of her shell. I will not let myself be forced. I am not mad. I'm cured! she cried. I'm cured, I'm cured, I'm cured. But the tapping and the sounds of her own screams came back to her. She started counting the seconds again. One, two, three…