Hide and seek by Paul Preuss Page A

elements–the techniques by which these had been alloyed into a compound far harder and stronger than diamond were a mystery. Equally mysterious were the methods by which the plaque had been machined with script; this was the question Morland had been pursuing.
    It was a question other researchers had studied without success. This, the hardest alloy ever discovered, had been shaped by tools harder still, if by any tools at all. Morland had convinced the Council of Worlds Cultural Commission that he could do no harm to the plaque–no problem with that, who could?– and had persuaded them that he might add some trivial details to humankind’s knowledge of it. “We’ve recorded his data banks,” said Polanyi.
“Have another look at them,” she said. “And see what else you can dig up. That’s enough of Morland for now.”
     
The building tilted and skittered under Polanyi’s controlling fingers, until it was upright. Without moving, they were suddenly moving swiftly down the corridor Sparta had investigated earlier.
     
“The other victim . . .”
     
The view halted instantly–had the illusory walls had mass, they would have splintered from inertia–and there was the second body, lying on its back with arms and legs spread wide in a pool of bright blood.
     
“Dare Chin,” said the lieutenant. “Darius Seneca Chin. One of the best liked of the original settlers of Labyrinth City.”
     
“The assistant mayor, working late because Morland couldn’t do what he needed to during business hours, and somebody had to keep an eye on him,” Sparta said tonelessly.
     
“That’s accurate.”
     
“And where was the mayor that night?”
     
“The mayor’s been on Earth for two months. Leadership conference, I believe.”
    Chin was a tall man, sparely built, with black hair and a handsome face more deeply lined than his thirtyfive years would have suggested. His dark brown eyes were open; his expression was one of interested surprise, not fear. He was dressed in the practical, heavy brown canvaslike polyweave fabric favored by Martian old-timers.
“Uranium slug again?” Sparta said.
     
“Through the heart. This time at a distance. Tossed him eight meters.”
     
“Not merely an executioner, then. An expert shot.”
     
“A professional, we think,” said the Lieutenant.
    “Maybe. Maybe an enthusiastic amateur, a gun lover, someone with a cause.” The crime had been committed for a cause, that much she knew. “He came down the stairs back there?” “Yes, those go up to the second floor near his office. He was working on a batch of civil cases. We have his . . .”
“I’ll get to it later,” she said. “His office is visible from the street?”
    “Yes. Old Nutting–that’s the patroller who walked by outside just a couple of minutes before the estimated time of the murders–said the whole building was dark except for Morland’s work lights under the dome and Chin’s office lights on the second floor. That and a few corridor lights. Anyway, she could see them both clearly, alive and well. Lydia Zeromski was with Chin. They were arguing.”
“They didn’t care who saw them?”
     
He smiled. “There’s a saying here, Inspector: people who live in glass houses don’t give a damn about stones. About privacy, that is.”
     
“Never?” She was skeptical.
     
“They have window shades when they want them.”
    Sparta knew from the reports that the patroller, a veteran near retirement, had sworn she’d seen no one else in the building except those three. From seeing the real building and its nighttime holo reconstruction, Sparta knew the patroller could easily have been wrong–someone could have been hiding motionless in the shadows; the distortion of the glass was sufficient to disguise even a human shape.
“I’d like to speak to her this afternoon.”
     
“The patrol office is in the executive building. You can set up a meeting on the way back to my office.”
    Sparta would go through