Judgment at Proteus

have any idea how to keep him quiet for the next hour or two? Apart from punching him behind the ear every ten minutes, I mean?”

“Possibly,” Emikai said, still staring in a sort of fascinated repugnance at the unconscious Filly. Probably wondering why I hadn’t called the Jumpsuits, and whether he should do it himself. “Have you looked in the medicine cabinet?”

“No, I just had the quick tour,” I said. “You think Tech Yleli might have left us some sleeping tablets?”

“It is likely,” Emikai said, finally tearing his eyes away from Blue One and heading toward the rear of the apartment. “He might have needed them himself, or kept some to sell to others.”

“To sell?” I echoed. “You mean he was dealing?”

“Not at all,” Emikai said huffily. “Filiaelian medical techs are often tasked with providing minor health care to neighborhood residents. It relieves some of the strain on doctors and other care providers.”

“Ah,” I said, wondering if I should take that explanation at face value or press the issue further. Still, I knew Filly warriors and cops had been genetically engineered for loyalty and professional ethics. Why not medical techs, too?

If Yleli had been a dealer, he was either very good at it or very bad. The medicine cabinet was nearly empty, with no more than a dozen vials and bottles of various sorts lined up on the shelves. “Not looking good,” I commented.

“On the contrary,” Emikai said as he lifted out one of the bottles. “Though primarily designed for relieving the symptoms of a vision disorder, this medication also carries powerful soporific qualities.”

“And you’d know that how?” I asked, taking the bottle from him and peering at the label. A complete waste of time—I could read the Filly characters, all right, but the words they spelled out were technical terms my Westali courses had never covered.

“Even enforcement officers must occasionally improvise,” Emikai said with a hint of dry humor.

“Ah.” I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to.

“But this form is a liquid that must be injected,” he continued. “Are the hypodermics you met me with at the door still functional?”

“Yes, but the needles have been bent a little,” I said, digging into my pocket. “Fortunately, I happen to have a spare.”

I pulled out my third hypo, the one with the pale amber liquid in it, feeling a twinge of regret as I got my fingers around the rests and my thumb on the plunger. So much for doing my own analysis of Terese’s condition. But it couldn’t be helped. Aiming the needle into the sink, I pressed the plunger.

Nothing happened.

I frowned, pressing the plunger a little harder. But it didn’t move. The fluid level stubbornly remained right where it was, without so much as a drop seeping out the end of the needle.

“Is there trouble?” Emikai asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know what,” I said, peering closely at the hypo. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. “I can’t get the fluid to expel.”

“Let me see.”

I handed it over, and for a few seconds he carefully turned it over in his hands as he studied it. “Well?” I asked.

“I do not see any problem,” he said. “But it seems bulkier, somehow, than the hypos I have used in the past.”

“Interesting,” I said. “With Human equipment of this sort, the goal is usually to make things lighter and simpler rather than bulkier.”

“That is generally the same with us, as well,” Emikai said. “Can you tell me what fluid this is?”

I shook my head. “I can identify Human blood and a couple of other fluids by sight. But I don’t know this one.”

“But you did see it being withdrawn from Ms. German?”

“I—” I broke off, a strange thought tugging suddenly at the base of my skull. “I saw a tech stick the needle into one of the access tubes they’ve got plugged into her,” I said slowly. “I also saw him pull on the plunger. But that’s not what you asked, is it?”

“No, it is not,” Emikai said, and from the tone of his voice I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was. “Shall we perform an experiment?”

I gestured. “Go for it.”

He shifted the hypo to a two-handed grip, shot me a final look, and carefully pulled on the plunger.

The level of the amber fluid didn’t change, as it should have if there were a little of the stuff still inside the needle itself. Nor did bubbles appear in the fluid, as there should have if the needle was instead empty and Emikai was merely sucking air.

And then, as we watched, something did happen. A small droplet of a clear liquid oozed from the end of the needle.

I eyed the droplet a moment, then shifted my gaze back to Emikai. “Well, well,” I said. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“A reverse-valved hypo,” Emikai rumbled, still staring at the droplet. “But this makes no sense. She is in a hospital facility, where injections and medications are both expected and commonplace. Why use deception of this sort?”

“Precisely because she is in a hospital facility,” I said darkly. “Everything she’s officially given has to be identified, double-checked, and recorded. But with these, they can pump her full of stuff that’s completely off the radar, all under the guise of taking samples.”

I nodded toward the living room. “That also explains why there were two blood-sample hypos instead of just one. The first was a regular hypo, with a genuine blood sample, while the other was one of these tricked-out jobs.”

“Two reverse-valved hypos,” Emikai murmured thoughtfully. “One injection going to her and the other to her unborn child?”

“Or one intramuscular and one intravenous,” I said. “Or one into the bloodstream and the other into the intestines or liver. Take your pick.”

Emikai turned his gaze in the direction of the living room. “The santra you have taken prisoner. Is he one of those involved?”

“I think so,” I said. “If not directly, then at least peripherally. Who is he?”

Emikai shook his head. “I do not yet know.”

“You just said he’s a santra,” I said, frowning. “If you don’t know who he is, how do you know that?”

“It is obvious he has had a great deal of genetic work done,” Emikai said, gesturing toward his own throat. “From that it follows that he is a santra.”

“I thought santra was a social or political title,” I said. “It means exalted one, doesn’t it?”

“A more accurate translation would be distinguished one, and as such can also be applied to those with extensive genetic alterations,” Emikai said. “In actual practice, of course, those two populations largely coincide.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” I said, though the idea of getting your DNA remodeled just because you had the money and status to do it sounded slightly ridiculous. Still, it wasn’t any crazier than getting elaborate tattoos or jewelry implants, each of which had been fashionable for a time in various upper-class Human societies. “So what exactly does his status mean to all this?”

Emikai cocked his head. “I do not understand.”

“Back on the super-express you said that as an ex-cop you were still required to obey orders given to you by Filiaelian santras,” I reminded him. “Does that mean you have to take orders from him once he wakes up?”

I’d been hoping for a quick answer, a firm and automatic assurance that even santras weren’t above the law. The lengthening silence wasn’t a good sign. “Well?” I prompted.

“I can certainly restrain any Filiaelian who has clearly broken the law, santra or