Habu. James B. Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ an entity to which no laws apply. The LLI exists Fed wide and no one dares touch it. No one outside the Institute has any influence over it what­soever, regardless of the circumstances.”

      “Are you sure?” he asked enigmatically.

      “What?”

      “Nothing.”

      She would have liked to pursue the topic, but they ar­rived at the Government Center. They took a bubblevator up to the Prime Minister’s suite. When she introduced Reubin to Fels, there was a subtle change in the room. Tension. It wasn’t outright dislike. More in terms of chal­lenge. Fels Nodivving was a strong man, a man to whom everyone gave great respect and deference. There was none of that give in Reubin Flood. No acceptance of domination.

      It seemed to shake Fels momentarily. Physically, Fels Nodivving was shorter than Reubin—but wider at the shoulders and hips. Fels had been an accomplished wres­tler a life or two ago. He had thick, curly black hair drooping to cover his ears. He was clean shaven and sartorially correct, wearing the corporate uniform of Worm­wood, Inc. coveralls, with a small logo on the right breast. The deep blue coveralls reflected in his eyes, making them dark, but Tique couldn’t determine a color.

      Now they sat, Tique reviewing the day so far, Reubin and Fels scanning the autopsy results.

      Tique leaned back in disgust as the Prime Minister and Reubin Flood studied the autopsy. She was on the couch which obliquely faced Fels’ desk and the wall screen. Reubin rested lightly on a hard chair. Fels was on the edge of his executive chair, running the info onto the screen from his desk console.

      They saw the video replay of the autopsy. Tique re­fused to view it. She watched Reubin as the gruesome thing expended itself on the wall. His face was rock hard, as if under rigid control. Now Reubin and Fels Nodivving scanned the analytical results of the autopsy. Data scrolled in columns and neat little paragraphs and sub­paragraphs. Reubin’s face was intense with concentra­tion.

      Had Tique not been closely watching the two men, she’d never have known that moment was when it all be­gan.

      “Oops,” Reubin said. “Too fast, I missed that one.”

      Fels touched a keypad and the frame leaped back onto the wall. His face froze and his eyes locked onto Reubin for a fraction of a second. The enmity between them grew exponentially then; and it certainly wasn’t because Reubin had failed to “sir” the PM.

      Reubin’s shoulders tightened, then relaxed. His voice was normal. “Okay. Thanks. Go ahead.”

      Tique glanced up. What could have been a holo-scan of her mother’s brain disappeared from view.

      The rest of the audience with Fels went predictably. After reviewing the entire autopsy, Reubin asked, “Was there no chemical analysis of the blood? I saw other tis­sue analyses, but not blood.”

      Fels turned in his desk chair and tapped on his console. “Ah, there. An appendix to the other findings. I didn’t think it worth showing.”

      “Show me.” Reubin’s voice was commanding.

      “Certainly.”

      The antagonism between the two climbed another level.

      Data filled the wall and Reubin studied it. Then he waved a hand. “Through.”

      Fels killed the images. “Are you satisfied, Mr. Flood?”

      “Yes.” Reubin rose, though Fels had not indicated the interview was over.

      Fels regarded him. “It is quite unusual for a bride­groom to study an autopsy so closely.” An edge ap­peared in Fels’ words. Was it residual jealousy? Or something else?

      Reubin stared down at him. “It is quite unusual for the CEO of a company and planet to run the results of that autopsy for that bridegroom.”

      Fels stood. “Perhaps I simply wanted to measure the man who won Alexandra Sovereign.”

      “Perhaps,” said Reubin.

      Tique got to her feet. Neither of the men was aware of her.

      “Will you be staying long on Snister?” Fels asked Reubin.

      Reubin shrugged. “It could be that I’d like to see the planet. Play the tourist.”

      “It could be, also,” Fels enunciated slowly, “that memories on Snister would be overwhelming to you and you’d want to depart soonest.”

      “That could be.”

      “In fact, I suggest it,” Fels said.

      “Noted.”

      Tique could feel the strong undercurrents rushing about the two. Though not at all used to any sort of overt or subtle challenges, she couldn’t help but shiver internally. Hostility fairly leaped between them.

      On the way out of the Government Center, Reubin Flood was strangely quiet. In the car, he was the same, fiddling with his wristcomp. It gave Tique the willies.

      Then he swung the Heads Up Display from the driver’s view to the passenger side. He toyed with it for a mo­ment.

      “This promontory,” he said. “It offers a good view of the countryside?”

      Tique nodded. She had questions to ask him. “Some call it ‘Lovers’ Leap.’ But the actual name is something like ‘Scenic Overlook #18.’ Reubin, I—”

      “I’ve punched in the coordinates on the HUD if you need them.”

      “I know the way. But—” She realized he was looking at her with a strange intensity. Slowly he shook his head. He didn’t want her to talk, to question him. That much was obvious. But why?

      “Tell me what you do for a living, Tequilla.” Reubin looked at her and settled back. Danger boiled in his eyes.

      Tique couldn’t begin to categorize his reaction to Mother’s death. It was as if he weren’t...human.

      Wind pushed clouds off the sky above them as she drove into the mountains above Cuyas. “I’m an aquadynamacist.”

      “I know that much. What does one of those things do?”

      She felt self-conscious again. “It’s what it sounds like. A variation of an engineer and program designer. I run computer models of water dynamics. Irrigation. Dams. Since we have to have dams for irrigation sometimes, we use them for power, too. Underwater drive-vanes require just as much engineering as configurations for aerody­namics, for instance. Especially if you want to maximize profits and minimize expenditures, which is the middle name of the Wormwood conglomerate.” She thought of the “wetlands” where wormwood grew. “During the monsoon season, which is much of the year, we’ve got to control floods. I’m kept pretty busy.”

      She hesitated, then continued. “They’ve planted all the wetlands with wormwood, not simply allowing nature to grow it at her own pace and where the ecosystem dic­tates. There’s a great plain where man-planted worm­wood trees are already being harvested.” She waved angrily with her left hand. “Wormwood, Inc. has planted СКАЧАТЬ