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Enjoy the rest of Deep Cover:
Prologue |
Rallez Maretases was not built for suits. His chest was too thick, his arms too short, his waist too small, his head too big. In formal wear, he looked like a barrel with a ball on top. In everyday suits with their tailored waists he looked like an upside-down pear. He wore his jackets open to minimize the effect of the tailoring, but that merely emphasized the bad drapery, so even the most freshly pressed jacket look rumpled. His oddly proportioned body and ill-fitting clothes drew attention away from his pleasant face, open and wide, with dark eyes and a quick toothy grin. Ragged lines etched his forehead and surrounded his eyes, deepening when he smiled or, more rarely, frowned. His hair formed a close-fitting, tightly curled cap, which drew no attention and required little care. He tended to sweat in mildly warm weather, making his dark skin glow. He was sweating now, as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it to catch his breath. A woman looked up from the tail-end of the PIC news. "You shouldn't have run," she said, and smiled. Maretases closed his eyes and nodded. "Lift was busy." "Probably broken. What can I do for you?" She sat behind a desk in the corner of the office, flanked by an oversized DataNet terminal on her right and the door to an inner office on her left. Beside the DataNet, the CommTerm now burbled background music. She turned it off. She was in her early thirties, pale and professional. Her light brown hair was long in back, held in an unadorned clip. She wore standard academic garb, pale blue tunic and trousers, with no indication of rank or position. A nameplate on her desk read 'Para Follen.' Maretases shrugged his jacket into place and wiped his cheek. "I have an appointment," he said. He slipped a damp card out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. She glanced at it and stood up. "One moment," she said, and disappeared through the inner door. Maretases sighed and glanced around the office. He whistled softly as he ran his fingers over the embossed titles on a rack of hardcopy reports and public information transcripts. He stood at the window, watching students scurry across the broad green commons of the Regional University. He sat in one chair and then another, facing the desk, then sat behind the desk. The door hissed open; he glanced up, but did not rise. The woman returned from the inner office, his card pinched between her thumb and forefinger. He winked. She frowned slightly and crooked a finger at him. "The Chairman will see you now," she said. "Go right in." "Thank you." Maretases paused as he passed her. "And you?" "Excuse me?" "Aren't you coming?" "No. Why should I?" Maretases shrugged. "Take notes?" She examined his face and said carefully, "The Chairman is able to take his own notes." Maretases grinned. "Hold my hand if I get scared?" She laughed. "Maybe later. Go on in. He doesn't like to wait." "Who among us does?" Maretases went in and the door slid shut behind him. The setting sun shining through the window blinded him for a moment. A man rose from behind the desk. Sparse hair formed a nimbus as his head eclipsed the sun. "You are Rallez Maretases, the private investigator?" "I prefer the term 'private agent.'" "I am Professor Huwei Yateef, Chairman of the Department." The man's voice was old, a creaky tenor. "The door was right, then." "Yes. Please sit down, Mr Maretases." Maretases lowered himself into a deep overstuffed chair in front of the desk. "Drop the mister, Chairman," he said, pulling his damp shirt away from his skin. "Maretases is fine." "It is hot today, Private Investigator." Yateef remained standing. Maretases stared at the top of the desk. "The fall ought to be less warm than usual, though." "If you say so." Maretases tapped the fingers of one hand against his thigh and looked up. "I'm not here to discuss the weather, Yateef." "Indeed not. Would you care for a drink?" "If you're having one. Water, if you're not." "I am." Yateef regarded Maretases closely for a moment, then nodded sharply. "Have you ever had a Kraasnel Moonglow, Mr Maretases?" "Kraasnel's out of my price range, Professor." Yateef's laugh rang like crystal. "Then you shall have one now." The Chairman left the sun and went to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf to the right of the desk. He walked with a cane, but did not limp. A section of shelving swung aside at his touch, puffing a cloud of condensation into the room. He removed a glass, set it on the desk behind him, took out another, closed the shelving with his elbow, and caned his way back behind the desk. "Help yourself," he said, nodding from Maretases to the first glass. The drink was black and featureless, like tar. Maretases rolled the glass between his palms. He sniffed, shook his head, and sniffed again. He looked up at Yateef. The Chairman lowered himself awkwardly into his swivel chair, keeping one leg straight. He rolled his own glass, sniffed, and chuckled. "Smells like nothing you've ever smelled before." "Smells like nothing at all. How do you drink it?" "You don't." Yateef's voice was distant and subdued; he looked only at the glass, as if addressing it. "You admire it. You experience its fullness and beauty, and then it enters you of its own accord." "Admire it." "Yes. Look." Yateef swiveled to face the window and held the glass up to the sun. A splash of color poured across his face and spilled onto the desk. A rainbow danced between his fingers. Maretases raised his own glass and stared through it at the sun. He gasped. The surface of the drink was deep red, almost purple. This shaded through the reds to orange, yellow, chartreuse, green, blue, and purple again before returning to deep, impenetrable black at the bottom. He shifted the glass back and forth, but the colors did not change unless he removed it from the light completely. "It is not diffraction, Maretases." "I see. What does it taste like?" Yateef cocked an eyebrow at him. "Have you absorbed the fullness of its beauty?" "Yes, Professor. Do we drink it now?" "The sun is not quite right." Yateef peered through his glass as if taking a bearing. His hand shook slightly, and the rainbow shimmered across his face. At last he said, "Now. The colors are perfect. Drink it in one breath, Maretases; the beauty will not last." Maretases put the glass to his lips and sipped. The top layer of red slid easily across his tongue. He caught his breath, and the rest of the drink poured down his throat. When it was gone, he sat staring at the ceiling, the glass inverted above his open mouth. He sat forward slowly, lowering the glass soundlessly to the desk. He sat with one hand still caressing the glass and rubbed his temples with the other. He sucked air sharply across his teeth and blew it out slowly. Yateef leaned back in his chair, cradling the empty glass in his lap. His eyes were closed, his mouth set in a vaguely happy smile. His face, at rest, was younger than his voice, unlined and serene. The nose dominated his other features, long and sharp, like a knife slashing down between his eyes. His eyebrows were thick and black, in contrast to his thin white hair. He eased his eyes open and sighed. "Thank you, Maretases, for sharing that with me. It was my last." "Why? You can get more." Yateef shook his head. "Kraasnel Moonglow has changed. There is no longer a perfect time to drink it. The colors are wrong." Maretases nodded. "Cheap substitutions. It's like that with everything." "Oh, no. Never that. Kraasnel simply no longer exists." "What? Oh, you mean the planet." "Of course." "But it hasn't existed for fifty years." "Precisely." Yateef leaned across the desk. "And there hasn't been a decent Moonglow made in fifty years." He shook his head slowly and sat back. "The Kraasnel Estates here try, but they will never be the real thing." Maretases cleared his throat and stared at his empty glass. Yateef stood and lowered the window blinds. Leaning heavily on the cane, he crossed the room and touched the light panel. Soft, even white light bathed the room. Maretases blinked and looked away from the glass. "But now to business," Yateef said, resuming his seat and placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him. "Yes." "You call yourself a private agent." Yateef studied his hands intently. "What exactly does that mean?" Maretases shrugged. "It means people come to me for help. I do things they can't do for themselves. Or won't." Yateef looked up. "What sort of things?" "It depends on the client." "You investigate things?" "If that's what the client wants." "And when you do, you are a private investigator," Yateef said with satisfaction. "You investigate things and keep them private. You tell no one but your client what you find." Maretases stirred in his chair. "If that's what the client wants. Look, Professor, I appreciate the Moonglow, and I'd love to chat all day, but if you don't get to the point soon, I'm leaving. There's a sordid rendezvous across town I could be recording." "You have a droll sense of humor, Maretases." "Yes." "But I see you are an impatient man. Few people have the time for conversation these days." "Yes." Yateef sighed. "Business it is, then." He leaned over the desk, hands clasped in front of him, and said in a harsh whisper, "One of my students is missing." Maretases raised an eyebrow. "How long?" "Two weeks." "Have you told the police?" "No." "Why not?" "They can do nothing." "Not if you don't tell them." "They could still do nothing." Yateef pursed his lips. "It is out of their jurisdiction." Maretases frowned. "I see. Just where is this?" "Off-planet." Yateef raised his hands, palms up "So you see, the Venndal police cannot help." "Have you tried the Imperial Guard or the Fleet? They have interplanetary jurisdiction." Yateef returned his hands to the desktop. "Not there." "Where? Outside the Empire?" Yateef hesitated, glancing down at his hands before looking up again. "Yes." Maretases rose and started for the door. "Good day, Professor. Sorry I can't help you." "Why not?" Yateef sat motionless in his chair. "I won't sneak into Melchorian space for you or anyone else. I don't care who's missing." "Once you were not so scrupulous." Yateef's voice was calm and low. Maretases stiffened. He turned slowly and walked back to his chair. "What do you mean?" "You sneaked into Melchorian space quite regularly to deliver weapons to the insurgents on Imalar." Maretases gripped the back of the chair and leaned against it. "I take it you didn't just pick my name out of the Register." "I did not. I chose you because you are the right man for the job." "How do you know?" "From a friend of mine who knows such things." "An anonymous government source?" "If you like." "What will you do if I refuse?" Yateef shrugged. "Find someone not as good, but more reasonable." Maretases's eyes narrowed. "I won't infiltrate Melchior, and I won't meddle in diplomatic squabbles. If your student's been arrested as a spy, I won't get him out." Yateef laughed. "There will be nothing at all like that, I assure you. There is no need to go anywhere near Melchorian space." Maretases nodded and resumed his seat. "You said it's not Empire, and now it's not Melchior. What's left?" "There's always unexplored space." "But it's not that." Yateef smiled. "An interesting conclusion, Maretases. How do you know?" "I'm not stupid, Professor. Your department is anthropology, however little you like to say it. If there's an anthropologist in unexplored space, it's as part of an Imperial Exploration Team. IETs are squarely in the jurisdiction of the Fleet, and you said this isn't." "QED. Very good, Maretases." "Do I pass? Or is there a true-false section?" Yateef colored slightly and looked down. "My apologies, Maretases. I have been teaching too long." "I'm not your student, Professor. Right now, I don't even work for you. Try treating me as an equal. Short of that, a colleague." Yateef sighed. "Very well, Maretases." "Right. Let's start with some simple facts. Your student is missing. Where was -- he? -- where was he, last you heard?" "Kalinor." "Never heard of it." "There's no reason you should have. It's restricted." Maretases hunched forward. "An Imperial hunting preserve? A Fleet security planet?" "Oh, no, Maretases, nothing like that. A Primitive. A reservation." "What was he doing there?" Yateef chuckled. "As you pointed out, Maretases, my department is anthropology. What better place for an anthropologist than on a Primitive?" "Research?" "Exactly." "How long has he been there?" Yateef considered. "Four years, close to." "Isn't that a bit long?" "We discourage students from staying in the field longer than a year, but Grendel's work has been unusually productive." "That's his name? Grendel?" "Yes." "Unusual name. What makes his work so productive?" "I take it you are not familiar with the scientific literature." "You take it right." "Grendel's research has resulted in two dozen well-received articles for the journals, and three books that have sold quite well for such things. One of them is now a standard textbook throughout the Imperial University System." "And as long as this keeps up, you don't care how long he stays?" Yateef frowned slightly. "I begged him to return after the first year, and have urged him to do so periodically since. I cannot force him to return, and he will not listen to my suggestions." Maretases nodded. "How do you know he's missing?" "He has communicated with me every week, without fail. I have heard nothing for three weeks." "You said two weeks." "I did not expect to hear from him the first week," Yateef said primly. "He is only two weeks overdue." "How do you know his disappearance isn't voluntary?" "I don't believe it," said Yateef in a flat, low voice. "But suppose it is." "It would change nothing." Yateef's eyes narrowed, and he began to tap his good foot. "I want you to find him. If he's in trouble, help him. If he's not, just let me know he's all right." "What is the nature of his research?" "Will you take the case?" "It depends." "On what?" "The nature of his research." Yateef snorted. "I fail to see why it should matter. You are a private investigator, not a scientist. I want investigation, not professional criticism." "Yes," said Maretases, his voice now hard. "The operative word is private. I don't take a case unless I want to, and I don't want to take this case until I know what Grendel is doing on Kalinor." Yateef pursed his lips. "Very well. Para will give you the information on your way out. Let her know your fee." "You tell me, Professor. What is Grendel researching?" Yateef turned toward the window, his back to Maretases. Beyond the closed blinds the sun had set. "Magic," he said. "See Para on your way out. I expect to hear from you in a day or two." He raised the blinds and stared into the twilight. Maretases watched him in silence for a moment before leaving. |
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