Habu. James B. Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ she drove, she told him of the various projects she’d worked on. As wormwood became more important throughout this sector of the Federation, new wormwood forests were needed. The production spread out from Cuyas and other cities. The major wormwood production now came from Company-grown groves on that distant riverine plain as opposed to harvesting the original, nature-grown wormwood trees. In the other areas, the trees had not yet matured. But they were increasing their harvesting capability: manpower being hired, machines being built, processing centers under construction; all targeted for the projected harvest in a few years.

      “The expansion from harvesting natural wormwood trees to man-grown ones was, in fact, the reason Mother was off world surveying markets and soliciting business.” She went on to explain how the particular combination of climate, humidity, flooding, root nutrition, and light filtered through Snister’s atmosphere created the odd con­ditions in which the worm could live in that particular tree, acting as a symbiote to the tree itself.

      Tique was proud of her profession. It was unique, as far as she knew. “To become an aquadynamacist, you have to become an expert in all phases of computers. I can make the company’s mainframe tap dance if I have to.”

      Into the mountains, she followed the single route up; at the 3K level, just below the crest, was the promontory. She ran the car into the turnaround. No other groundcars were stopped. Occasional traffic went up or down the mountain behind them.

      Tique had always loved this spot. Her mother had brought her here often—on the way to their mountain cabin—when she was a child. Lately, she hadn’t come as frequently as she’d have liked. Briefly, she wondered whether Reubin was psychic and had asked to be brought here because it was Alexandra’s favorite place, too.

      The wind blew strongly, hinting of rain even at this height. Tique led the way into the protective bubble to­ward the viewers.

      Reubin fiddled with his wristcomp again.

      Tique looked out over the mountains and valleys and forests of wormwood trees. She pointed, “See that peak at about nine o’clock, just below the horizon?”

      Reubin activated a viewer and swung it around.

      “Flaag Peak,” Tique said. “Perhaps 4K to the west and down on that shoulder is the cabin Mother gave me. It was her departing gift. She, well, she was gonna go off with you to start a new life and uh, well—” The memory assaulted Tique. Mother. Dead.

      “Got it,” Reubin said, diplomatically still glued to the viewer. “Can you get there from here?”

      She nodded though he wasn’t watching her. “Aircar, or a long ground route. It’s alone out there, a blip on the side of a mountain, surrounded by forest and rock and mountain and a lake.”

      Reubin had stopped looking through the viewer. “It’s in your name?”

      “Yes.” Was Reubin after Mother’s money? Every time she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her.

      “Good. Listen, Tequilla Sovereign. We have a prob­lem. I am going to tell you about it for one simple reason: they will never believe I didn’t tell you.”

      “Tell me what?”

      “First, your car is bugged. Are you aware of that?”

      “No. Why—”

      “It was clean when we drove to Government Center, so they must have installed the bug while we were with Nodivving. It may be tied in with the autosystems, but it’s there.”

      “You know this for a fact?” Tique sat down heavily on a bench. Wind blew leaves on the ground, which rus­tled in the comparative shelter of the bubble.

      Reubin touched his wristcomp. “Special design. One of the functions is a signal locator. Your car registers one—surely in case your built-in transponder is inop or perhaps gimmicked so it doesn’t broadcast. Doubtless by now, your apartment has been doused with listening de­vices.” He put a foot on the bench and leaned on his knee, watching her closely.

      “But why?”

      “Your mother. More specifically, my questions this morning to Nodivving. The questions alerted them. Which, in turn, means it’s likely they killed her.”

      “Mother? Murdered?” Tique was bewildered by this turn of events. “I don’t understand.” Could Reubin pos­sibly be serious?

      “Me, neither, but I’m going to. Think about the cir­cumstances of Fels Nodivving himself showing us the results of the autopsy.”

      “Mother was a government minister—”

      “Certainly. But Wormwood, Inc. has some kind of stake in your mother’s death, as near as I can figure.”

      “But why, Reubin? I mean—”

      “I don’t know. Yet.”

      “How can you say this?” Tique felt strangely empty. This interloper was mixing up her feelings. Emotions she thought dead rose again. Her forehead burned.

      “Recall the autopsy. Did you see the chemical analysis of her blood?”

      “I wasn’t paying that close attention. Frankly, it was rather odious to me, all that—”

      “You didn’t see it.” Reubin sat down and stretched his legs. He interlaced his fingers, twisted his hands inward, and snapped his knuckles. “It wasn’t there. Until I asked, remember?” He laughed dryly, with no humor. “All they had to do was to dummy one up, but they didn’t take the time and effort. Or, perhaps—”

      Tique waited, watching him think. Not wanting to think herself. “Perhaps what?”

      “Perhaps they purposefully failed to include it so that I’d notice. If I noticed and left the planet quickly, that meant that I was privy to Alexandra’s secret—and making a panicked run for it. But I studied it.”

      “What secret?” Tique was more at a loss as each mo­ment passed.

      “The secret they killed her for. The secret they wouldn’t have gotten from her, else they wouldn’t leave the sucker-bait of the incomplete autopsy.” Reubin breathed deeply. “I’ve always loved high mountain air. There’s something primordial about it.”

      “I say again, Reubin, what secret?”

      “I don’t know. Do you?”

      Tique shook her head. “Not only that, but I’m not sure I know what the hell we’re talking about right goddamn now.” More anger seeped into her voice. Was this man toying with her?

      “Nor am I.” Reubin’s voice was strong, decisive. “Did you notice the color cross sections of her brain?” He didn’t wait for her response, but continued. “It was difficult to tell because the autopsy got into her brain and the pathologist could have conceivably caused the dam­age—”

      “Reubin? You are frightening me. Will you please start to make sense?”

      He looked at her, scooted closer and snaked his arm through hers. She stifled her recoil. “There is a little tuck in the cerebrum, right under the front of СКАЧАТЬ