and shower when they should have been streaking out like scared trout. He had damned nearly advertised for trouble.
“Who’s going to ask?”
Bagshaw shrugged. “Just the Institute.”
“No cops? The city? State?”
Bagshaw looked at him as though he were trying to be funny. “You’ve got a patron! Probably the best there is! You’ll die of old age before any cop gets to lay a finger on you. That’s what lawyers are for.”
“So a guy works for the Institute, he can get away with anything?”
“Hell, no! The Institute sees to that itself.”
Ah! “And who files the report on what happened tonight?”
Without taking his veiled gaze off Cedric, Bagshaw tilted his head back, trying for a last drop of beer. Then he crumpled the can. “I do. You can file one, too, if you want.”
“Or countersign yours?”
Bagshaw began to look thoughtful. “You may get asked to…this time.”
“I could offer?”
The bull head seemed to hunker down into the blanket, as though smelling a threat, and Cedric had a momentary vision of something massive pawing the ground.
“You want to ask for a replacement?”
“Would I get one?”
The reply was grudging. “You might.”
Cedric pushed harder. “After tonight, you mean?”
Even more reluctantly, Bagshaw nodded. “After tonight. And if BEST files a complaint, then you will be asked for a report, I guess.”
But if BEST complained, then the Institute would close ranks around its own—like little-boy gangs, like the bunkhouses at Meadowdale, each one a separate gang. This was the same, but bigger. And it was not little-boy stuff. It was death, caused by arrogance and rank stupidity.
Gangs had rules, and the first one was always loyalty. But loyalty was a dangerous emotion. It could be turned.
Cedric drained his beer can, too. “No. I’ll sign yours,” he said. “Your report. Put in all the lies you want. Say anything you need to cover your precious ass, any crap at all. I’ll sign it for you, whatever you’ve said.”
Bagshaw bared his teeth. After a minute he said, “You can’t back out once you sign.”
“I know that.” Cedric returned his stare, not caring if he seemed petulant or unmanly.
“Bastard!” Bagshaw said very softly. “Bad as your bitch of a grandmother.”
Cedric felt a little better.
“Frigging young bastard! It must run in your bastard family!”
Whatever Bagshaw might make of the rest of his career, from that moment on he would always wonder if he owed his success to Hubbard Cedric Dickson. Nothing could ever hurt worse than that.
6
Nauc, April 7
DAWN WAS BREAKING, and Eccles Pandora Pendor had not been to bed at all. Negotiating, waiting for messages, wheedling and bullying, she had had a busy night. Even had there been a break, she would not have been able to sleep—not when she was poised on the lip of the biggest story in the history of investigative reporting. Hell, it was the biggest story in the history of the human race, and she was going to break it.
A stone ax with blood on it: Cave Men in Space.
Finding that she fretted too much in her office, she had withdrawn instead to her retreat on the eighty-third floor, to spend the night pacing and worrying.
Her apartment was a shimmering cavern of crystal and chrome, all angles and shiny white. The design was the latest and trendiest. To be honest, it gave her the pukes, but she redecorated every three months on principle, so this would soon be gone. Many a girl spent a fortune keeping her body youthful and then gave away her age by going for obsolete decor. Men detected discrepancies. Staying young was a total commitment.
Now and then her pacing would take her past a mirror, and she would pause to inspect her appearance. She was very pleased with her new face. She did not look a day over twenty, and the scars had all gone now, except for a couple inside her mouth, which she could barely feel with her tongue. Even those were fading.
The creep Wilkins had demanded
“Who’s going to ask?”
Bagshaw shrugged. “Just the Institute.”
“No cops? The city? State?”
Bagshaw looked at him as though he were trying to be funny. “You’ve got a patron! Probably the best there is! You’ll die of old age before any cop gets to lay a finger on you. That’s what lawyers are for.”
“So a guy works for the Institute, he can get away with anything?”
“Hell, no! The Institute sees to that itself.”
Ah! “And who files the report on what happened tonight?”
Without taking his veiled gaze off Cedric, Bagshaw tilted his head back, trying for a last drop of beer. Then he crumpled the can. “I do. You can file one, too, if you want.”
“Or countersign yours?”
Bagshaw began to look thoughtful. “You may get asked to…this time.”
“I could offer?”
The bull head seemed to hunker down into the blanket, as though smelling a threat, and Cedric had a momentary vision of something massive pawing the ground.
“You want to ask for a replacement?”
“Would I get one?”
The reply was grudging. “You might.”
Cedric pushed harder. “After tonight, you mean?”
Even more reluctantly, Bagshaw nodded. “After tonight. And if BEST files a complaint, then you will be asked for a report, I guess.”
But if BEST complained, then the Institute would close ranks around its own—like little-boy gangs, like the bunkhouses at Meadowdale, each one a separate gang. This was the same, but bigger. And it was not little-boy stuff. It was death, caused by arrogance and rank stupidity.
Gangs had rules, and the first one was always loyalty. But loyalty was a dangerous emotion. It could be turned.
Cedric drained his beer can, too. “No. I’ll sign yours,” he said. “Your report. Put in all the lies you want. Say anything you need to cover your precious ass, any crap at all. I’ll sign it for you, whatever you’ve said.”
Bagshaw bared his teeth. After a minute he said, “You can’t back out once you sign.”
“I know that.” Cedric returned his stare, not caring if he seemed petulant or unmanly.
“Bastard!” Bagshaw said very softly. “Bad as your bitch of a grandmother.”
Cedric felt a little better.
“Frigging young bastard! It must run in your bastard family!”
Whatever Bagshaw might make of the rest of his career, from that moment on he would always wonder if he owed his success to Hubbard Cedric Dickson. Nothing could ever hurt worse than that.
6
Nauc, April 7
DAWN WAS BREAKING, and Eccles Pandora Pendor had not been to bed at all. Negotiating, waiting for messages, wheedling and bullying, she had had a busy night. Even had there been a break, she would not have been able to sleep—not when she was poised on the lip of the biggest story in the history of investigative reporting. Hell, it was the biggest story in the history of the human race, and she was going to break it.
A stone ax with blood on it: Cave Men in Space.
Finding that she fretted too much in her office, she had withdrawn instead to her retreat on the eighty-third floor, to spend the night pacing and worrying.
Her apartment was a shimmering cavern of crystal and chrome, all angles and shiny white. The design was the latest and trendiest. To be honest, it gave her the pukes, but she redecorated every three months on principle, so this would soon be gone. Many a girl spent a fortune keeping her body youthful and then gave away her age by going for obsolete decor. Men detected discrepancies. Staying young was a total commitment.
Now and then her pacing would take her past a mirror, and she would pause to inspect her appearance. She was very pleased with her new face. She did not look a day over twenty, and the scars had all gone now, except for a couple inside her mouth, which she could barely feel with her tongue. Even those were fading.
The creep Wilkins had demanded
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