Rift in the Sky

“Yes. Everything portable was gone. We searched for remains with orbital scanners and midlevel vidbots with no success. We’re contacting next of kin based on staff records. Members of an indigenous population, the—” a slim, delicately scaled finger tapped a screen, “—the Oud, may have been involved although there’s—ah—distinct possibility of scavengers. You saw the last annual report, I’m sure.”

“No ground search.”

“The Oud revoked permission for any offworld presence. It may be tied to an unanticipated territoriality. They’re expanding at the expense of the other sapients, despite what early surveys described as peaceful coexistence.” A pause. “In my professional opinion, the situation’s unstable. Even with intervention by the First, I’m sure the planet will be closed in the next vote. This quadrant is still more Commonwealth than Trade Pact.”

“The find?”

“There’s no proof. Bowman played it close. He could, with his reputation. The funding committee did request a presentation next month, but expansion to a priority site and additional security was a given. For what, now becomes the question. Instead of supposedly productive excavations, we found landslides and sinkholes.”

One thick finger pinned a plas sheet and jerked it free of the rest. “And explosive residue. Your thoughts.”

“I couldn’t speculate—”

The hand turned palm up.

“As you wish. The residue was inconsistent with local technologies, implying offworld origin. We recovered a handful of observation ’bots. They’d been shut down before any disruption. The authorization code was Bowman’s. I regret to say there could be a connection.”

“Elaborate.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a field researcher found a more lucrative market for his work. As for the result? Deals go badly. They might have been surprised or met more than expected resistance onsite. My speculation, with your indulgence, is that considering the rarity of confirmed Hoveny relics, the goods weren’t as advertised. Bowman could have used his reputation to entice a buyer who wasn’t fooled by fakes.”

“Murder and fraud. Serious accusations.”

“Speculations. There is, of course, no proof.” Scaled fingers met at their tips. “Other than Bowman’s own report of being contacted by a representative of the Deneb Blues, which raises questions. Among them, why would a prominent criminal organization approach him, of all the researchers based out of this facility? And was his report sincere, or a clever attempt to throw off suspicion in case they’d been observed?”

“Insufficient.”

“There is also the matter of his more recent reports. After the—accident—that killed the rest of his initial Triad, Bowman began encrypting all raw data, including vids. His submitted reports since have consisted of summaries and analyses. The support materials we have on file are inaccessible.”

“Not unusual.”

“Indeed not. Despite the First’s impeccable security, many Triads keep their findings private until they are ready to share them. Still, for Bowman, this was a change in habit. Changes have reasons.”

The flat of the thick hand swept the mem-cube aside as if offended. Dozens littered the long beige table. More waited in their racks. Potential finds, urgent demands, chances for glory, fool’s hopes. “Enough of Cersi. The First has a lifetime’s worth of stable worlds with as good or better indicators.”

“No investigation? Surely we must tell the next-of-kin what happened.”

An impatient wave. “Send out the standard condolences, hazards of pushing the boundaries of science, the First assumes no responsibility, et cetera.” A finger tapped the table. “Inform the appropriate authorities the First considers Marcus Bowman a being of interest in the destruction of Triad sites and the murder of offworld personnel. See that Bowman’s materials, encrypted or otherwise, are sealed, pending any internal review of the matter. Liquidate any assets and transfer to this office.”

Slim scaled fingers collected the sheets and mem-cube. “I’ll see to it personally.”

“Next planet.”

“No ss-sign of the artifactss-s?”

Slim, scaled fingers curled around a stem, lifted the preserved flower, held it to the light. Crystals lined each petal, sparkled like gems. “I have no explanation.” A mauve tongue fastidiously removed a single crystal, brought it between nonexistent lips, waited for it to dissolve. The tongue’s owner gave a delicate shiver as the sugar hit its bloodstream. “An excellent harvest. A shame you can’t appreciate such flavors.”

“A ss-scam is unlikely. Thossse we work with undersstand the cons-ssequence.”

“It’s possible the information was flawed. Or Bowman suspected. He worked alone most of the past year, refused extra staffing of the new site. Our contacts put it down to a pretty local he’d taken an interest in, but . . .” another crystal, another shiver, “. . . but the Human may not have been the fool we hoped.”