“It was, in a manner of speaking. Where is it now?”
The inspector blinked. “Where is it? Looks like about fifty meters inside solid rock. What’s left of it.”
There was a pause. “It didn’t disappear into the clouds?”
“Hell no. Ran straight into a cliff. Just missed clearing the top. Why, what was it? Manz, get your ass out here! What’s going on? And where’s Monticelli?”
This time it was Vyra who responded, her words contrasting with her girlish voice. “Probably all around you, Inspector.
I’m sorry. It sounds like we won’t be taking him alive. Apologies.” She clicked off.
Hafas stared blankly at the com speaker, then slowly raised his gaze a last time to contemplate the steaming black hole in the distant cliff face.
XVII
After tracing and deactivating the central security console to assure Hafas and his people safe access, Manz and Vyra settled down to wait in the expansive dwelling’s central courtyard. Replete with lush landscaping, statuary, tumbling waterfalls and brooks, it seemed an unnaturally peaceful setting after the violence that had disrupted the view outside.
“Something went wrong with his accelerator.” Vyra toyed gently with an exquisite black flower.
“No kidding.” Arms folded, Manz rocked gently on a smooth-surfaced artificial boulder.
“He didn’t attain adequate altitude. Insufficient angle of ascent.”
“Boom,” Manz said matter-of-factly. “Probably didn’t have time enough to realize anything was wrong. Died happy, thinking he’d put it over on all of us. Doesn’t seem fair, somehow.” He made a sound with his lips. “Gemmel won’t be pleased. Hell, I’m not pleased.”
She released the flower and drew circles in a small pool with the toe of her boot. Small, brightly colored fish swam out from under glistening flat rocks to mouth the fabric experimentally.
“Gemmel might not care. There’ll be no more jackings, and when the news reaches the necessary ears it’ll make a convincing case against interfering with any shipment with the name Braun-Roche-Keck on it.”
He was only partly mollified. “Wonder what went wrong?”
“Perhaps I can answer that.”
They both turned. Manz was initially pleased, then angry. “Moses! You disappeared on us.”
The mechanical mimicked a human headshake connoting negativity. Behind him, JeP officers were spreading out to search the house. “I did not disappear on you. You left me behind. It was just as well. With the use of a go-between, I had the opportunity to consult with someone else with a personal interest in the disposition of this case. There were a number of questions I badly wanted to ask it.”
“Personal interest?” Manz responded.
“I refer to the hermaphrotaxonomic alien individual known as F’fay’pas.” A tentacle gestured backwards. “It remains on board the police hover ship on which I arrived, temporarily transplanted into a portable container. A comfortable if not roomy state of affairs, or so I have been told. I required the services of a human go-between, in the form of a willing Port Authority technician, because the Ceti unfortunately cannot communicate directly with higher beings such as myself.”
“Look at me; I’m laughing.” Manz stared at the humaniform. “I don’t suppose you know anything about what just happened here?”
“Of course I do,” the mechanical replied. “So should you, if you will reserve a moment to think instead of act.”
Something cool and solid grazed the adjuster’s arm, wrapping his bicep in a firm but benign grip. Looking down, he saw a green tendril as thick around as his thumb. He turned sharply.
Several constituents of the pool-and-plant complex were weaving gently.
Vyra stared expectantly at the humaniform and Moses unblinkingly returned her violet gaze. “F’fay’pas has been in close communication with those of his brethren who were sequestered here ever since we arrived. Our hover ship is located at the extreme limit of their range. Nevertheless, communication was possible.”
“Why didn’t you let us know?” Manz growled.
“Upon venturing an inquiry as to your whereabouts, I was informed in no uncertain terms that you were busy.”
“We were, but you could have told Inspector Hafas.”
“He was busy too. Besides, I was accumulating vital information, which was eventually put to good use.”
“To make roadkill out of Monticelli? Real subtle, Moses.”
“The alternative was to allow him to escape.”
Vyra supported the mechanical’s analysis. “He’s right, Broddy. Decisions had to be made quickly. Better a demised Monticelli than one alive, free, and thumbing his nose at us.”
The adjuster muttered something unintelligible. “You’re not programmed to make decisions of such import. You exceeded your authority.”
“I didn’t make any decisions. At least, not any in absolute terms. That was determined by F’fay’pas and his people. It was only fair. They are the ones who were deceived by Monticelli and who suffered at his hands.”
“How did you … how did they manage it?” Vyra inquired curiously.
The humaniform spun idly on his trackball. “As I said, the alien has been in touch with his compatriots ever since our arrival. Though intimately familiar with this portion of the recently deceased Mr. Monticelli’s estate, they were of course unable to explore the rest of it. It may not have occurred to the aforementioned human that his prisoners could listen in on all his conversations. Or perhaps he did not care.
“In any event, they learned much about the estate’s facilities by listening to him and, in his absence, to his employees. The nature of his intended escape was therefore known to them. When F’fay’pas arrived, this information and much more was exchanged.
“Having been informed of what was taking place within the Monticelli compound and being unable to contact you, I resorted to my best cognitive and analytical programming. Reaching a decision, I urged F’fay’pas to instruct his brethren to do their utmost to disrupt or delay the human Monticelli’s departure.”
“They succeeded,” Manz declared dryly.
