terminal’s irritating facsimile of his own voice began
a condensed recitation of the file contents. He marked with a murmured word the
things to be brought up in more detail, staring out the window at the city
shrouded in cold mist. The windowpane was completely dry, for once; but as he
watched the rain began again, random fingers tapping restlessly on the pane,
droplets running down its face randomly like tears. Damn the rain, he thought,
rubbing at his eyes. It was too much like snow.
“... The Chief Inspector requests your presence in his
office as soon as possible. , ..”
Gundhalinu stiffened. “Hold,” he said to the desk, and
turned back, to face the message lying on its screen. The Chief Inspector. He
stared at the inert forms of the graphics ... in his office. Gundhalinu’s hands
closed over the molded arms of his seat, anchoring his body in the present while
the room around him shimmered as if it were about to disappear, about to leave
him alone in the white wilderness .... He stood up, slowly, afraid that his
body would betray him; that his legs would refuse to carry him forward, or that
when he reached the door and stepped into the hall he would bolt and run. There
was only one reason the Chief Inspector could have for wanting to see him in person.
He looked down, checking the blue-gray length of his uniform for a speck of
dust, a line out of place. When he was certain that his appearance was
regulation, he went out of his office and through the Police complex to where
Chief Inspector Savanne waited for him.
He stood on the muted floribunda carpet before the Chief Inspector’s
desk without a single memory of how he had gotten there. His body made the
correct salute perfectly, habitually, although he was certain his face was
betraying him with a look more guilty than a felon’s.
Savanne returned the salute but did not rise. He leaned back
in the flexible confines of his seat, studying Gundhalinu wordlessly.
Gundhalinu met his gaze with an effort of will. The Chief Inspector was not an
easy man to face, even on a viewscreen. And now the uncertainty he found in
Savanne’s gray eyes was harder to endure than the cold disapproval he had been
expecting.
“Sir—” Gundhalinu began, and bit off the flood of excuses
that filled his mouth. He glanced down the blue length of his uniform to his
shining boots, compulsively, finding no flaw. And yet his mind saw the truth,
the real, hidden flaw—saw a hypocrite, a traitor, wearing the clothes of an
honest man. He was certain that the Chief Inspector saw the same thing. Tiamat.
The word, the world, were suddenly all he could think of. Tiamat, Tiamat,
Tiamat ...
“Inspector,” Savanne said, and nodded in acknowledgment.
Gundhalinu felt his own lips press together more tightly, felt every muscle in
his face and body stiffen, bracing for an attack. But the Chief Inspector only
said, “I think we both realize that your work has not been up to standard in
recent months.” He came directly to the point, as usual.
Gundhalinu stood a little straighter, forcing himself to
meet Savanne’s gaze again. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Savanne let his fingertips drift over the touchboard of his
terminal, throwing random messages onto its screen, as he did sometimes when he
was distracted. Or maybe the messages weren’t random. Gundhalinu could not make
them out from where he stood. “You obviously served very competently on Tiamat,
to have risen to the rank of Inspector in so short a time. But that doesn’t
surprise me, since you were a Technician of the second rank ....” Savanne was
from Kharemough, like Gundhalinu, like most high officers on the force. He knew
the social codes of its rigid, technocratic class system, and all that they
implied.
Were. Gundhalinu swallowed the word like a lump of dry
bread. His hands moved behind his back; his fingers touched his scarred wrists.
He could protect his family from dishonor by staying away from Kharemough. But
he had never
a condensed recitation of the file contents. He marked with a murmured word the
things to be brought up in more detail, staring out the window at the city
shrouded in cold mist. The windowpane was completely dry, for once; but as he
watched the rain began again, random fingers tapping restlessly on the pane,
droplets running down its face randomly like tears. Damn the rain, he thought,
rubbing at his eyes. It was too much like snow.
“... The Chief Inspector requests your presence in his
office as soon as possible. , ..”
Gundhalinu stiffened. “Hold,” he said to the desk, and
turned back, to face the message lying on its screen. The Chief Inspector. He
stared at the inert forms of the graphics ... in his office. Gundhalinu’s hands
closed over the molded arms of his seat, anchoring his body in the present while
the room around him shimmered as if it were about to disappear, about to leave
him alone in the white wilderness .... He stood up, slowly, afraid that his
body would betray him; that his legs would refuse to carry him forward, or that
when he reached the door and stepped into the hall he would bolt and run. There
was only one reason the Chief Inspector could have for wanting to see him in person.
He looked down, checking the blue-gray length of his uniform for a speck of
dust, a line out of place. When he was certain that his appearance was
regulation, he went out of his office and through the Police complex to where
Chief Inspector Savanne waited for him.
He stood on the muted floribunda carpet before the Chief Inspector’s
desk without a single memory of how he had gotten there. His body made the
correct salute perfectly, habitually, although he was certain his face was
betraying him with a look more guilty than a felon’s.
Savanne returned the salute but did not rise. He leaned back
in the flexible confines of his seat, studying Gundhalinu wordlessly.
Gundhalinu met his gaze with an effort of will. The Chief Inspector was not an
easy man to face, even on a viewscreen. And now the uncertainty he found in
Savanne’s gray eyes was harder to endure than the cold disapproval he had been
expecting.
“Sir—” Gundhalinu began, and bit off the flood of excuses
that filled his mouth. He glanced down the blue length of his uniform to his
shining boots, compulsively, finding no flaw. And yet his mind saw the truth,
the real, hidden flaw—saw a hypocrite, a traitor, wearing the clothes of an
honest man. He was certain that the Chief Inspector saw the same thing. Tiamat.
The word, the world, were suddenly all he could think of. Tiamat, Tiamat,
Tiamat ...
“Inspector,” Savanne said, and nodded in acknowledgment.
Gundhalinu felt his own lips press together more tightly, felt every muscle in
his face and body stiffen, bracing for an attack. But the Chief Inspector only
said, “I think we both realize that your work has not been up to standard in
recent months.” He came directly to the point, as usual.
Gundhalinu stood a little straighter, forcing himself to
meet Savanne’s gaze again. “Yes, sir,” he said.
Savanne let his fingertips drift over the touchboard of his
terminal, throwing random messages onto its screen, as he did sometimes when he
was distracted. Or maybe the messages weren’t random. Gundhalinu could not make
them out from where he stood. “You obviously served very competently on Tiamat,
to have risen to the rank of Inspector in so short a time. But that doesn’t
surprise me, since you were a Technician of the second rank ....” Savanne was
from Kharemough, like Gundhalinu, like most high officers on the force. He knew
the social codes of its rigid, technocratic class system, and all that they
implied.
Were. Gundhalinu swallowed the word like a lump of dry
bread. His hands moved behind his back; his fingers touched his scarred wrists.
He could protect his family from dishonor by staying away from Kharemough. But
he had never
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