Judgment at Proteus

gritted.

The Jumpsuit frowned in obvious confusion. But an usantra had spoken. Dutifully, he touched the pad of the unoccupied cell. The door gave a snick, and he pulled it open. {Is the Human female also to be charged with murder?} he asked.

{She merely wishes lodging for the night,} Wandek growled. {She may come and go as she pleases. See that she and the prisoner are fed in the morning.}

{I obey, Usantra Wandek,} the Jumpsuit said.

Without another word, Wandek spun around and strode from the room. Once again, the loitering Jumpsuits made sure to get out of his way.

[I take my leave, as well,] Minnario said. He looked around and leaned in close to me. [Whatever speech you wish to share, remember there’s a camera pointed at you,] he added quietly. Getting a grip on his chair’s controls, he swiveled around and headed out in Wandek’s wake. This time, none of the Jumpsuits bothered to interfere.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Bayta asked softly.

I looked behind me. The two cells were set up as mirror images of each other, with the cots pressed end to end against the dividing set of bars. “Later,” I said, giving an elaborate yawn that required no acting whatsoever. “Let’s get to bed, shall we?”

Bayta’s eyes flicked past me to the cot arrangement. “Good idea,” she said.

She stepped through the door of her new quarters and walked to her bed, lying down with her head to the bars. Ty, for once, didn’t try to hog the headboard position, but merely curled up on the floor beside her. I lay down, too, my head toward Bayta’s, then gave the three remaining Jumpsuits in the room a baleful look. “Do you mind?” I asked. “A little privacy, if you please. You can also turn off the lights while you’re at it.”

Taking their own sweet time about it, the three Fillies strolled from the room. The lights, naturally, stayed on.

“Are you all right,” Bayta whispered. “I mean, really all right?”

“As all right as someone can be who’s being framed for yet another murder,” I told her sourly. “They’re doing an especially terrific job on this one, too. Did I mention that the two cameras in the dome had already been taken out when I got there?”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “How was it done?”

“One of them was twisted up on its gimbals where it couldn’t see anything but the top of the dome,” I said. “The other isn’t even there anymore. No idea when it was done, but certainly sometime before the murderer got busy.”

“So that no one would see the killing,” Bayta murmured.

“And so that I couldn’t prove when in the timeline I arrived on the scene,” I said. “Fortunately, I have an ace in the hole that so far no one seems to have noticed.”

“The msikai-dorosli?”

“Exactly,” I said. “I didn’t see much of the victim before I was hauled away, but I saw enough to know that he’d been stabbed at least twice. They looked a lot like the wounds Muzzfor inflicted on our allies aboard the super-express.”

“Allies.” Even in a whisper, I could sense the odd flatness to the word. “I’m sorry, but it still sounds wrong to talk about the Modhri that way.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to get used to it,” I assured her. “That was a specific mind segment, in a specific situation, and the truce we had died when he did. So just forget it.”

“I’m trying,” Bayta said. “So you’re saying one of the Shonkla-raa was the killer?”

“I’ll know better if and when I get a look at the autopsy,” I said. “Those fancy self-locking stabbing fingers Muzzfor had aren’t likely to be mistaken for a knife or any other kind of weapon. It’s probably too much to hope that we’ll be able to match the wounds to any specific fingers, but we should at least be able to prove they were fingers.”

“Though a specific match may not be impossible,” Bayta said thoughtfully. “The Proteus computer system is quite extensive.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I said. “Speaking of which, what exactly were you doing on the computer when I went to bed?”

There was just the briefest hesitation. “I was mostly just looking around,” she said.

“Mostly?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone warning me to drop it. “We’ve talked about how those enhanced Shonkla-raa throats look like the ones Filiaelian opera singers sometimes get to extend their range and volume.”

Whereas the Shonkla-raa used their additional vocal capacity to send out an ultrasonic tone that could paralyze Spiders and take control of Modhran walkers. All things considered, I’d rather have opera. “So what were you were looking for, the headquarters of the Proteus Operatic Society?”

“Actually, yes, I was,” she said, sounding a little miffed at my tone. “And every other musical and singing group aboard.”

I grimaced. “Sorry,” I apologized. “Actually, that’s a very good idea.”

“Not really,” she said with a sigh. “It turns out that there are dozens of groups devoted to songs and singing, scattered all across the station. Not to mention at least five operatic associations. Dead end.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Maybe we can figure out a way to refine the search. Were any of the operatic societies in this sector?”

“No, the nearest was in Sector 25-C.”

Three sectors away from us in the direction of the station’s rim. On a station this size, that was a long walk and a hell of a lot of Fillies away. “It’s still a good idea,” I said. “Let’s think about it some more and see what we come up with.” I yawned again. “Or rather, let’s sleep on it. I don’t know about you, but I’m about half dead.”

“You think we’re safe here?” Bayta asked quietly.

So she’d figured out why I’d insisted on her staying with me tonight. “What, surrounded by Proteus patrollers?” I countered, trying for a cheerfulness that I didn’t really feel.

“Most of whom think you’re a murderer.”

“Most of whom have had one murder on their watch and want to make damned sure they don’t have a second one,” I pointed out. “I was a cop, Bayta. I know how cops think and feel. Besides, Filly cops are designed with very specific behavioral boundaries. I doubt they could get up a good lynch mob even if they wanted to.”

She didn’t answer, and it wasn’t hard for me to guess what she was thinking. That was all well and good for your run-of-the-mill Filly cops, but these cops were on Proteus Station, under the authority of the ancient Slisst Protocols. Neither of us had a clue what the Protocols had to say about lynch mobs.

“It’ll be all right,” I said into the silence. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“All right.” Bayta paused. “It’s almost like being in the middle of a dit-rec drama, isn’t it?”

“That does seem to be the way our lives have been going these days,” I agreed. “Any one in particular springing to mind?”

“I was just thinking tonight about the one you showed me last week,” she said. “The Hitchcock dit-rec where the man was framed for murder and found himself caught up in a huge conspiracy.”

“Right—The 39 Steps,” I said, making a face. “That one’s definitely hitting a little too close to home tonight. I don’t think Proteus’s bullet trains go anywhere near Scotland, though.”

“Too bad,” she said. “The landscape looked very pleasant.”

“I’ll take you there someday,” I promised. “Your choice as to with or without the handcuffs.”

She exhaled, just loudly enough for me to hear. “If we ever make it there, I think we’ll have had enough of handcuffs.”

“I suppose,” I conceded. “Joking aside, try not to let any of this worry you. We’ve gotten out of much worse situations. We’ll get out of this one, too.”

“I know,” she said. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, Bayta.”

There were some soft creakings as she resettled herself on her cot, and with a grimace I did the same. Maybe she was right. Maybe we would be murdered in our beds. If we were, I’d never forgive myself.

There was a little woof from across my cell. I opened my eyes to see that Doug had once again settled himself