Time's Chariot

weave together a case for the prosecution — any prosecution that wanted to show how she connived in Daiho’s alleged murder so as to reach her new exalted position. The logic was inescapable, just the facts were wrong.

But it could wound her. It might not get her sent to Reconditioning or the correspondent’s programme, but it would be the end to her career.

And then there was the last line:

’This need not happen.’

Murder? Marje had forgotten Rico Garron’s strange theories. She had certainly never believed them. But was Li Daiho’s death connected with whatever Hossein Asaldra was mixed up in? Surely not!

And again, surely Ario wouldn’t be party to any murder…

But if something was going on that could conceivably make it look like murder, however circumstantially…

Not only embarrassing and annoying for the rest of us but actively counter- productive, he had said. Marje didn’t need it spelled out. Ario had presented the carrot, this was the stick, and the end of both was the same: drop the investigation.

‘Erase it,’ she said, and slowly made her way to the recall area.

She thought hard as she waited for the next scheduled recall field, and then as she took the carryfield back to her office. She wanted to get this exactly right. She wanted to reassure Ario (that smug bastard with his smooth talk…), let him know everything was OK… and at the same time, make it clear there were some things she just would not tolerate.

She symbed Ario back in her office and he appeared before her in full image. He was affable as ever, as if he hadn’t just dropped a hint that could ruin her life if she didn’t take it.

‘How can I help you, Marje?’

‘I’ve been thinking over our conversation,’ she said slowly. ‘I just want to let you know that I’m examining all my projects, as you suggested, and if I find anything that matches your description, I’ll certainly cancel it at once.’

See? I can talk patrician just like you.

‘Wonderful!’ Ario beamed. ‘That’s a good idea, Marje. Welcome on board.’

‘But there is something that might upset you, personally, and I have to say it.’

Ario’s smile suddenly turned into a good humoured mask over a very wary face.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s my assistant, Hossein Asaldra. I know you’re his sponsor and all that…’

‘Yes?’ Now Ario sounded both wary and dangerous.

‘I’m sorry to say his performance has been far from satisfactory. I have reason to believe he has kept things from me, deceived me, misled me. I can’t have him working for me any longer and I can’t endorse his record for further promotion.’

‘He might,’ Ario said very mildly, ‘have been following orders.’

‘As my assistant, his first duty was to me,’ Marje said. ‘And this only reinforces my point. Perhaps he was working for some greater good. Perhaps it was one of those things you told me about that nonpatricians simply can’t understand, in which case, he should have done it a lot better. He acted in such an unbelievably sloppy manner that I actually suspected, for a while, that he might be involved in something illegal. If he’s that sloppy working for others, I don’t want him for myself.’

Ario’s eyes were cold. ‘I can see your point. And meanwhile…’

‘Meanwhile,’ Marje said, ‘I will continue to act in the best possible interest of the Patrician’s Guild.’

‘Thank you for that assurance, Marje. Goodbye.’

One small victory, Marje thought. One very small victory. Not in the least looking forward to it, Marje symbed Field Op Rico Garron.

‘Op Garron is not in the Home Time,’ was the automatic response.

‘What?’ Marje actually spoke out loud. Garron had gone already? She propped her elbows on her desk and massaged the bridge of her nose with her index fingers. Damn, damn, damn. When you had just mustered all your courage to sell out, it was extremely annoying to be thwarted.

She symbed Op Zo.

‘Su, I gather your partner left sooner than I expected.’

‘Yes, a vacant slot came up in the transference schedules. I’ve just seen him off.’ Su sounded pleased with herself. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘There—’ Marje stopped. If this was as sensitive as she suspected, it probably shouldn’t be talked about on the networks. ‘Can you come to my office, please?’

Besides, she owed it to Su not to shelter behind a symb but to deliver this face to face.

Su’s face when she heard what Marje wanted was expressionless.

‘This comes as a surprise,’ she said.

‘I have my reasons,’ said Marje, hating herself but finding patrician confidentiality a surprisingly easy thing to slip into.

‘Can I ask why?’

Marje ignored the question. ‘I know you’re not trained for Specific Operations,’ she said. ‘All you need to do is go to the arrival point, stay there and symb Op Garron to return for recall immediately.’

‘I won’t be able to get there for at least an hour after he arrived,’ Su said. ‘That’s how long he’s been gone.’ The Register would insist on an hour’s interval.

‘I know, I know. We’ll have to hope he stays out of trouble,’ Marje agreed.

‘And he might have done everything he needs to do in that hour. He might recall as I transfer.’

‘In which case, just come back,’ Marje said. ‘The point is, can you do it?’

‘I can do it,’ Su agreed, ‘but he won’t be happy. He was enjoying this.’

‘Do the job, Su,’ Marje said, ‘and let me worry about your partner’s feelings.’

‘Whatever you say,’ Su said without expression. She stood to go. ‘I’ll be off, Commissioner.’

If Su could play formal, so could Marje: she kept her professional, patrician face on as Su left the office. Then she winced.

Scratch one friendship? she thought. God, being a patrician had better be worth it.

EIGHTEEN

The waves rippled a hundred feet below Rico. The cliffs were a dark outline ahead of him and the white shape of the hotel was striking in the moonlight.

He was grinning with the sheer joy of it. This was more like it. Now to see if his guess was right.

BioCarr played such an important part in twenty-first century history that as many of its records as possible were archived. A study of the database had turned up a cryptic mention of a senior BioCarr executive and his family having their reservation at the company hotel abruptly cancelled, on their boss’s own orders, for some mystery VIP guests who were there for an indefinite stay. The exec had fired off an angry memo to complain. Matthew Carradine had answered personally that this was need-to-know, the guests came first and if this man wanted to keep his pension and position, there was a good way to go about it.

It was a good clue: Rico just hoped it was the one he needed. He had the date of the exec’s intended holiday. He had the co-ordinates of the hotel, and while he didn’t have records of the building that had stood at that point, he did have records of the local geography. So, he had chosen a new set of coordinates, half a mile to the west of the original, and thus he appeared clad in a fieldsuit set to full camouflage and wearing an agrav that held him safely in mid-air above the sea.

The lenses he wore gave him night vision, the sensors in his suit took a 3D reading of the area, and the data from both of them were fed into his fieldsuit’s computer and thence directly into his brain. In two seconds, Rico was in complete command of the situation.