I’d been thinking the same thing. “I’d give half my disposable income to know what happened to the last Dip Corps envoy who crossed the Bettelhines, this, whatever his name was, Bard Daiken. It might give us an idea what to expect.”
Skye raised an eyebrow. “Would it even help us to expect a consequence we don’t know how to avoid in any event?”
I didn’t know. I suspected not. We’d blundered into a malevolent place filled with trap doors and shadows, where every step took us farther away from an exit that already seemed shut to us. It might have been different had my AIsource handlers been available to provide their usual hints and portents and thus light the path ahead of me. But they remained silent, even as I made yet another attempt to call them back.
Paakth-Doy returned from the bathroom, her eyes glazed and her complexion even paler than the one she’d worn before going in. But she nodded at me as she took her seat again, well prepared for whatever came next.
Skye asked her, “Are you all right?”
Paakth-Doy needed a second to answer. “I must confess that my upbringing among Riirgaans renders me vulnerable to shock at the corrupt potential of my fellow human beings.”
Skye said, “It wouldn’t feel any different if you were raised by your own kind. We’ve all been ashamed of our species, from time to time.”
“I suppose,” she said, with excessive dignity. “But I will do my best to prepare myself for whatever follows. Except, one thing? Counselor?”
“Yes?”
“When you leave Xana… would you take me with you?”
That was about the last thing I expected. “Really?”
“Yes. I would very much like to go.”
“Why?”
She struggled with the words. “When I left the Riirgaans in my midteens, never having met another specimen of my natural species, the family that raised me afforded me my choice of human destinations. I chose to avoid your Confederacy because of the legal gauntlet it requires of humans with nonhuman citizenship who seek repatriation. Employment with the Bettelhines seemed an easier alternative. But after what I have seen, right now, I am no longer certain that I wish to pay the moral price of living here. I now believe that it would be better to face and overcome the bureaucracy of New London. Will you give me a ride? And perhaps a testimonial to my good faith, if required?”
She had an inner strength, that one. There was no way of telling yet whether that would make her a useful ally or an implacable enemy, but there was no point in underestimating her. People who bounce back are dangerous. Still, I warned her, “It might not be possible. The Bettelhines seem to have a problem releasing people who’ve served the Inner Family.”
“True. But I have never served the Inner Family before this descent. Nor am I impressed with my first taste of life among them. If I can still leave this world, I would like to. Please help me.”
I may be an unsympathetic bitch, much of the time, but I’m still capable of being moved. “If it’s within my power, I’ll make it happen.”
She did not thank me for the promise yet to be fulfilled. She just nodded and went back to her seat, content to wait for the next of the revelations she had to witness.
Skye, who had watched the exchange without comment, now turned to me. “Who next? Philip? We have some hard questions to ask him right now.”
“No, not yet. I’ll want a little more ammunition before I go after that one.”
“Dejah? Given her prior antipathy toward the Bettelhines, her presence here raises the most questions.”
“I think not.”
“Jason and Jelaine?”
“No,” I said. “I think we’ll hold on to them for a little while, yet.”
“Who, then?”
I bit my lip, considering. And then said, “Mendez.”
10
MENDEZ
We did not have to send for him. Oscin, who was still outside with the others, knew we needed Mendez the instant Skye did. This time, as per the head steward’s lowly status in the scheme of things, Philip raised no tiresome fuss about including Bettelhine Family counsel in the discussion. Mendez entered alone, his head a little bowed and his lips a little pursed, but his deferential, formal manner otherwise undisturbed by our mutual encounter with violent death. Had he been affected at all by the bloody turn our journey had taken, it manifested only as the thin layer of perspiration turning his forehead into yet another reflective surface, glowing in the presence of Bettelhine riches.
He came in, sealed the door after him, then made his way to the place Dina Pearlman had just vacated, all without urgency, trepidation, or any sense that his mission here might entail more than serving drinks or wiping up spills. He stood beside the ottoman, declining to sit. “Counselor. How may I help you?”
“You can begin by taking a seat.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’m on duty, and I fear I’d find it improper. Indeed,” he said, his voice rising a decibel or two as he directed withering criticism toward Paakth-Doy, who had been sitting all along, “it is improper for her as well.”
Paakth-Doy turned red and began to stand.
I snapped, “Sit your ass down, Doy!”
Caught in the very act of rising, Paakth-Doy froze. There was no way of determining the specific arguments raised in the resulting internal debate, but gravity may been the tie-breaker. She collapsed back in her seat, wearing the special misery of any human being caught between competing faux pas.
I kept my voice steady. “Tonight’s etiquette violations include murder, sir. With that on that table I could not care less about who stands, who sits, and who uses the wrong goddamned fork while eating their goddamned pretentious inedible entrée. Tonight, Paakth-Doy’s working for me, and tonight she’ll sit if she’s fucking comfortable that way, or if I fucking want her to sit. Is that clear?”
Mendez didn’t show even the slightest sign of anger, behind his placid, butlerian exterior. “Whatever Counselor wishes. Am I to sit as well?”
“No, you may do whatever makes you most comfortable.”
“Then I’ll stand.”
“All right.” A second passed before I damned myself for my shortsightedness in giving him a choice. Now, for as long as I remained seated myself, I’d have to spend the entire interview looking up at him.
Suppressing a sigh, I rose, cracked my spine, paced a half dozen steps away and turned to face him across a level playing field. The most difficult part was ignoring the gentle grin on Skye’s face.
“Mr. Mendez, your primary purpose here is to provide a timeline. But I’d like to know a little bit about you first.”
“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I must confess I wonder why.”
It wasn’t the first time in my experience that a suspect in a major crime had objected to personal questions, or even the first time a witness had expressed confusion over their relevance. But that had usually been a sign I was striking too close to home. This may have been the first time, ever, that one had questioned the relevance of a basic profile. I stared at him for a moment, expecting insolence, but found none: just a bland, academic curiosity. “I find it helpful to develop a general sense of the person first. Why? Do you think it impinges on your privacy?”
“No, Counselor. I recognize the importance of what you’re doing. I just don’t know why anything in my life would be considered of special interest.”
Meaning that it very well could be. “Well, we’ll just let me be the judge of that. How old are you, sir?”
“Forty-seven, Mercantile Standard.”
“Have you lived on Xana all your life?”
“No. I came here as a young adult.”