Conscience of the Beagle Read Online Free Page B

desire to be a martyr.”
    The girl stops talking. Looks expectantly at me. I’m afraid to meet her eye, afraid Vanderslice will ask what I’m looking at. I don’t know what I should tell him.
    After an awkward pause she asks if I would care for any printed information.
    “Tell her no,” Vanderslice says.
    Damn it. What kind of game is this?
    Then he shoves his arm through the Bible, through the frilly dress, until everything past his elbow is lost from sight. The girl is still smiling.
    “A Chamber of Commerce holo. She picked you out because you don’t have an EPAT. Tell her no.”
    “No.” So easy. Not murder, but something like it. The girl and her perky smile wink out of existence.
    “EPATs. We’re implanted,” Vanderslice says, touching a tiny scar on his wrist. “Eternal Prayer And Tithe. HF told you, right? It tracks where we are every minute of every day. Being an Earther, that’ll probably lead you to the wrong conclusion. Truth is, nobody cares. Nobody wants to know where an EPAT goes. We’re God-fearing, trustworthy citizens, otherwise our EPAT would be taken away. It’s the Banished out of Bosom that the government worries about. They’re the ones they keep an eye on. At least until now.”
    Vanderslice has been tagged like a convicted petty thief. Why did he stand for it? Nothing could make me give up my freedom like that. “I’ll want all your files.”
    He gives me a self-deprecatory nod. “Sure. I’ve already sent some to Dr. Taylor’s net. I’ll get you the rest right away. It won’t be what you’re used to, though. We’re amateurs at this, and everything’s pretty sloppy.”
    “Get me everything.” I walk to the door. Vanderslice follows.
    “Look, Major. Why don’t you let me help you? There’s a lot about Tennyson you won’t be able to understand. I’ll try not to get in your way.”
    Vanderslice would always get in my way. “You look . . .” I face him.
    “John. Just call me John.”
    “It’s nothing personal. I’m simply not allowed to work with any locals. In off-world cases, HF never shares information. There’s too great a danger that the contact is implicated. Or that he’s an informant.”
    Vanderslice is crushed. “Oh. Sure. I understand.”
    But when I enter the building, he’s right on my heels.
    The heart of the lobby is pierced by brilliant shafts from the skylights. Beagle and Szabo sit at a table under a waterfall of green vines. Arne’s chair is pulled some distance from the others as if he fears being contaminated by congeniality.
    As we approach, Beagle looks up. His eyes are heavy-lidded. His jowls sag over the tight collar of his uniform. “I want to talk to you alone, Major,” he says.
    Vanderslice fidgets. Waves vaguely toward the restaurant. “Okay. Sure. Well, I’ll just go over here and get something to eat. You guys want anything?”
    Beagle doesn’t answer. Always the gentleman, Szabo shakes his head.
    When Vanderslice is out of earshot, Beagle says, “Get us off this planet. Get us out of here now. We’ve been set up.”
    We? Surprise makes my mind so blank it’s like staring at a wall. Beagle’s not in danger. I am.
    “I’ve only gone over the preliminary reports,” Beagle is saying. “But there’s enough here to point to an attempted coup. The Tennyson government found out about it. They planted the bombs to kill the conspirators and cover up the revolution. Tennyson’s designed to be a perfect world. And in a perfect world, Major, there can be no such thing as unrest . . .”
    Beagle’s eyes rivet to a point beyond my right shoulder. Vanderslice is walking toward us, carting a platter. He halts a few feet away. “You guys finished talking now? I brought snacks.”
    “All finished.” I take a chair. Beagle’s too smart — too brilliant — to be fooled by the obvious. “Beagle here was just telling me he’s solved the case.”
    Blood drains from Szabo’s cheeks so quickly it seems he’ll faint.
    I smile at