Judgment at Proteus

about Muzzfor’s death and how it related to the murders aboard the super-express. If there was another player in this game, someone who had in fact tried to get Terese German away from them, they needed to find out the who and the what and the why. Right now, I was the best source of information that they had.

But I was only valuable as long as they thought such information might actually exist. The minute they were convinced otherwise, Bayta and I would be in serious trouble.

We had to make sure we were finished with our own investigation and far from Proteus before that happened.

Predictably, I suppose, Wandek followed us out of the building. “As a small gesture of gratitude for your time,” he said as we headed toward the building Terese and Aronobal had disappeared into a few minutes ago, “allow me to escort you to Ms. German.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” I told him. “We saw where she went. We can find our own way.”

“Of course you can,” Wandek said. “But this way you will not need to deal with questions or forms at the reception desk.”

We had made it halfway there when Doug suddenly stopped, turned his head, and gave a sharp yip. I was starting to look down to see what the trouble was when there was an answering yip from the distance.

I turned to look. Near the edge of the dome another watchdog was striding along at the side of a Filly, this one not in simple doctor’s garb but dressed in the usual upper-class set of ancient-Mongolian-style layered tunics. The watchdog was peering across toward us, the Filly himself ignoring us completely.

I was trying to figure out what another criminal would be doing here, especially such a well-dressed one, when Ty gave a yip of his own. Once again, the other watchdog answered.

And with that, all three animals went back about their original business. “What was that all about?” I asked Wandek.

“You mean the greetings?” he asked, gesturing down at the watchdogs.

“Yes, if that’s what those were.”

“The sounds function as a greeting and identification between msikai-dorosli,” he explained. “Each burst contains a wide range of ultrasonics unique to that particular animal.”

“Some kind of jailer-to-jailer code?”

“That Filiaelian you saw was not a prisoner,” Wandek said, a little stiffly. “Many citizens, even aboard Kuzyatru Station, keep msikai-dorosli as companions.”

I looked dubiously down at Doug’s non-furry and decidedly non-pettable back. “They’re considered pets?”

“They’re considered companions,” Wandek repeated, leaning on the word a little. “They can be trained to assist their owner with various tasks.”

“Like what?” I asked. “Making tea? Calling up the morning mail?”

“They can perform simple tasks such as fetching objects, particularly for those with post-operative weakness,” Wandek said. “They can also be fitted with harnesses for carrying medium-weight items.”

I looked down at Doug. I hadn’t considered the possibilities of him as a pack animal. “How much weight can they carry?”

“Why all the questions?” Wandek asked, frowning. “They’re really very simple animals.”

“I have a very simple curiosity,” I said. “How much weight?”

“I don’t know,” Wandek said, a little impatiently. Clearly, he had more important things on his mind right now. “If you really wish to know, you can look them up on the computer in your quarters. Everything there is to know about msikai-dorosli can be found there.”

We reached the building and went inside. Unlike the Shonkla-raa nest, this one was bustling with activity, with doctors in tan striding purposefully along or holding conversations in corners. Other Fillies in the full range of colored outfits manned desks or pushed carts or joined the doctors in their consultations. I spotted a couple more of the enlarged throats that I’d seen back in the other building with our Gang of Ten, but everyone else seemed normal. Or at least, what passed for normal in this genetics-crazy society.

A receptionist at one of the desks looked up as we approached. {We’re visiting Terese German,} Wandek said.

{Room 22, Usantra Wandek,} the Filly said, and gestured us down a side corridor. Midway along it was an open door with half-audible English mutterings emanating from inside. We reached it and went in.

In the middle of the room was a diagnostic bed similar to the Fibibib models common elsewhere in the galaxy but with some distinctly Filiaelian modifications to its design. Terese was lying on the bed, dressed now in a loose hospital gown, her eyes locked rigidly on the ceiling above her. Three doctors were standing around her, busily hooking up sample-taking equipment, while a blue-clad Filly was seated at an electronic console in one corner. Aronobal was off in a different corner, watching the procedure closely.

Trying to keep out of everyone’s way, Bayta and I slipped around to Aronobal’s corner. “How’s it going?” I asked.

“They have begun the preliminary tests,” Aronobal murmured, her eyes never leaving Terese.

“And then the treatment starts?”

“Once the tests have been evaluated, yes.”

I looked at Terese. She was still gazing at the ceiling, her face stony with nervous determination. “What sorts of tests are you running?” I asked.

“Tests that are none of your freaking business,” Terese bit out before Aronobal could answer. “Can someone throw them out? Please?”

“Hold still,” one of the other doctors said brusquely.

I frowned, taking another look at the activity around Terese. There was a hard edge to it all that I hadn’t noticed before.

I took a step closer to Aronobal. “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

She looked sideways at me, then nodded silently toward the door. I nudged Bayta, and together the three of us sidled along the edge of the room and escaped out into the corridor, followed by the watchdogs and Wandek. “Well?” I asked as Aronobal led us a few meters farther away.

Aronobal looked at Wandek, as if seeking permission to speak, then turned back to me. “The problem is not with Ms. German,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What I mean is that, although she has many physical problems of her own, our immediate concern is with her child. There appears to be some kind of unexpected stress in his heartbeat and brain-wave pattern.”

I looked at Bayta. Her face looked a little pinched. “How bad is it?” I asked. “Better question: what are they doing about it?”

“They will begin by taking samples of the fetal tissue and of the fluid in the birth sac,” Aronobal said. “Unfortunately, until this is settled we cannot begin work on Ms. German’s own problems.”

“Which are what exactly?” I asked. “I’ve never gotten a straight answer on that.”

Aronobal sighed, a soft whinnying thing. “She has at least four genetic disorders,” she said. “Possibly more—we have not yet done a complete mapping. Any one of the flaws could prove fatal to her over the next thirty years. Together, they are a virtual promise that her life will be cut tragically short.”

“Can you fix her?”

“We believe so,” she said. “But our knowledge of Humans and Human genetic structure is still woefully incomplete. That is indeed one reason she was invited to Proteus Station: to see whether we could map her genetic flaws and correct them.”

“But that’s now on hold?”

“It is the only safe way,” Aronobal said. “The work on Ms. German is extensive and deep, with the potential to put additional stress on the child. Were he healthy it would be a simple matter of screening out the treatment chemicals and monitoring his condition. But until we know what is causing these other anomalies we cannot risk any action that might precipitate his death.”

“And Ms. German cares about that?” I asked. “As I understand it, this child is the product of a vicious attack on her. Yet she still wants it to live?”

“We want it to live,” Wandek put in firmly. “Despite what some Human cultures believe, all sentient life is sacred and must be protected and nurtured to the fullest extent of our abilities.”