Conscience of the Beagle Read Online Free

you request our help?”
    Everyone is looking at me, their faces, their bodies still. Marvin is standing so close I can feel the warmth from his body. I refuse to look up. Instead, I tilt my coffee cup toward me. There’s a single swallow of coffee at the bottom, long gone cold. Some people on Earth would have killed for that swallow.
    Then I notice, almost peripherally, that the Chosen’s hand is trembling. “What religion are you, Major?”
    What’s scaring him? “Is that germane?”
    “Are you afraid of my question?”
    “Not afraid. I’m taken aback. I’m insulted. I normally don’t think in terms of religion. I can’t afford to.”
    “Afford to, Major? You mean you can’t fit murder in the divine plan, isn’t that it? You look at Earth’s violence and wonder where faith comes in. Well, this isn’t Earth. We’re a God-fearing community. If you wish to solve these crimes, it would be best if you understood that.”
    The Chosen walks to the door. The ministers rise. I watch Marvin leave with all his retinue but Vanderslice.
    “Excellency?” I call.
    He pops back in the doorway.
    “If your people are so God-fearing, why are they killing each other?”
    I don’t know if he lacks an answer or if he’s too furious for speech. The doors shut on that extraordinary scowl.
    Next to me, Vanderslice lowers his head to his crossed arms. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

ALL DURING the ride down the lift, all during the walk to the limo, Vanderslice is mute. I recognize that silence.
    It’s the same careful silence I keep in my office. Vanderslice thinks the building’s bugged.
    In the limo, we sit opposite each other. He opens a tiny refrigerator and, without asking if I want one, brings out a pair of native soft drinks. The soda is an off-putting hue of purple and sickeningly sweet.
    I set the soda down. “Who’s in charge of the local investigation?”
    Vanderslice’s head is tilted back against the seat. His eyes are closed. He has a sheltered, guileless face.
    One eye opens. “Me,” he says.
    I suppress a laugh. Of course. That’s why the investigation is stalled.
    “The gossip Marvin mentioned. What is it?” If he thinks the car is bugged, Vanderslice won’t answer my question.
    He stops smiling. He studies the level of his soda. Tips the bottle this way and that. “You ever hear Marvin preach?”
    I don’t bother to answer.
    “He’s good. Really good. Marvin and I go way back, and he was always a star. While the rest of us were busy playing ball, he memorized the New Testament. When we were discovering girls, he’d already begun his ministry.”
    My attention wanders from Vanderslice’s monologue. The limo’s been moving at a brisk pace, and wherever I look are houses. Individual houses on their own private lawns. There are sidewalks, too. But no one’s outside. Strange. If I lived in that neighborhood, I’d walk there.
    “Marvin was one of those guys who knew where he was going. He was ambitious that way.”
    Ambitious. The word rouses me from boredom like a slap in the face.
    “Marvin had the handicap of that voice. You’ve heard him. He sounds like a castrato. But otherwise, he was a natural. Straight-A student. The class cut-up. When we were in school, and the teacher wasn’t around, he’d preach these hilarious sermons. He’d talk about sin and make his voice tremble. He’d talk about forgiveness and cry. Old Marv gave an outstanding performance.”
    I look out at the houses again. Lila and I could have been happy there. Maybe we could have had a dog. A small white fluffy dog like the kind she cooed over in pictures. My fault we didn’t. Ten years as an M-4. Twenty years of successful cases and criticisms in my Personnel File.
    Doesn’t work well with others.
    Prima donna.
    Insubordinate.
    The bastards. I should have been M-6 at least. I had the seniority for it.
    Troublemaker.
    Iconoclast.
    I wanted to buy Lila that little dog. Wanted to live where ceiling light