"Cadigan, Pat - True Faces" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cadigan Pat)

Stilton coughed. "I don't think it'll work. We're-ah-" he turned to the Lazarian "-we're too different." I could tell he was trying to imagine how those sackheads would register. The 'viewer worked on interpreting a lot of little things-facial expression, blood flow, temperature, eye and muscle movements, pulse, respiration, vocal quality and inflection, choice of words, context, and some other things I didn't have to bother remembering. It wasn't infallible, we'd all been told, but in my experience, I have yet to see anyone beat it, not even the most hardened pathological liars. We were only allowed to use it to determine probable cause for search and/or arrest, not to determine official guilt or innocence, so it wasn't any more admissible in court than the old lie detector results had been, but it was useful enough.
"Can converrrt," said the Lazarian. "Ha-ahve progra-ahms to converrrt for our species."
Stilton held the 'viewer protectively close to his chest, giving me a desperate look.
"I don't know," I said. "I'd have to call-"
Farber swallowed. "Weren't you told to take every measure necessary to wrap this up as quickly as possible?" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Do you want to think about the repercussions of having an unsolved murder in the Lazarian embassy? They'll have to call out the National Guard to protect this place, and all of us will still be trapped inside of it. And that includes you and your partner. The door is booby- trapped. Something sonic. Break the plane from this side and you'll drop like a rock. When you wake up, you'll have the worst headache of your life." He jerked his head at the group of humans. "Some of them tried it. Ask them if they'll try it again. Get it through your head, no one is going to leave here until this is settled, and if it takes months, that's not Thinta-ah's problem."
"All right," I said. All right for now. Call in a siege team? I'd never get that okayed. I'd have to see about locating the control for the doorway knock-out and figure out how to disable it later. That would probably cause an international incident-interstellar incident?-but not as major an incident as a siege team storming the place.
I looked at the Lazarian, but that face was unreadable. As usual. It was actually the outer surface of a kind of flexible exoskeleton that covered the whole head, featureless except for irregular, opaque black patches where the eyes and mouth would be. I'd read somewhere that the exoskeleton thickened and then thinned out again on some cycle that was individual to each Lazarian, but no one knew what caused it or what it meant to the Lazarians, except that they referred to what lay beneath it as the 'true face,' which was never to be shown to another living being, not even if its owner were dead. Which I thought begged the question: what was the point of having a so-called 'true face' if nobody could ever see it?
Something teased at the edge of my mind. I looked over at the Lazarians still motionless around the corpse. Was the penalty for seeing a 'true face' immediate death?
Everyone was staring at me expectantly. "I should still probably call in for authorization," I said weakly.
"Ca-ahll," said the Lazarian, and it wasn't granting me permission, but giving me an order.
I took the cellular off my belt and punched the speed-dial for the direct line to the captain. The subsequent conversation was almost as brief.
"She says it's a go," I said, clipping the phone back onto my belt. Stilton looked outraged for half a second and then wiped all expression from his face. For some reason, 'viewer operators get extremely possessive about their baby. Normally, Stilton wouldn't even let me hold his. "Let's get the program and convert the 'viewer for Lazarians."
Farber looked distressed as he swallowed. "Well, I've just thought of a problem."
I winced. "Only one. What a relief."
"It's big one. The program is in Ms. Entwater's office upstairs. Everyone who was in the embassy at the time of Ms. Entwater's death is now here in this room, Lazarians and humans alike. We may not leave this room, not any of us."
"Why not?" I said, looking at Thinta-ah.
"Bee-cauzzzzeh," the Lazarian replied, still using the command voice.
"Oh," I said, hoping I didn't sound sarcastic and looked at Farber. "Any ideas?"
He took a long time swallowing. "We could call a courier to fetch the program for us. Of course, the courier will have to stay here with us afterwards."
"We'll charge the overtime to the embassy," I said, reaching for my cellular again.
The courier business took a little longer, since the courier made the mistake of entering the room we were all in first, forcing me to have to call out for another. Forewarned, the second courier put the program chips in an envelope and tossed it to me through the open doorway.
"Go to it," I said, handing the envelope to Stilton. His face had a slightly greenish cast to it.
"Before I fool with the 'viewer and quite possibly break it, maybe we should talk to the humans," he said.
"Our species firrrrrrst," said Thinta-ah, and it was another command. I wanted to object. Across the room, the half dozen human employees were also still huddled together, albeit less closely. Except for the Pilot, who had gotten tired of sitting and was now leaning against the wall behind the others, smoking a cigarette in a long holder. She looked happy, but all Pilots look happy all the time. It's something that happens to them as a result of their training. Maybe after that first trip, they never really 'came back,' so to speak.
"Do as you're told," Farber said to Stilton, managing to sound apologetic. "I've got a wife, a husband, and three children I'd like to see again before I'm much older, and I imagine you both have families as well."
I cleared my throat. In Stilton's case, that had been the wrong appeal to make; his significant others had voted him out three weeks before and he was still stinging from it. But instead of giving Farber the evil eye, he went to work on the 'viewer, even allowing me to steady it for him while he changed chips.
It took Stilton about half an hour to get everything synchronized and in phase and whatever else-I'm no more of a techie than I am a diplomat, though I suspected the last fifteen minutes he spent on running tests and diagnostics was nothing but pure stalling.
"I guess it's ready," he said at last. "But even with all these adjustments and conversions for Lazarian biology, I don't know how well it's going to work with an exoskeleton."
"No ex-oh," said Thinta-ah, coming over to stand too close again. "True faaaa-aice."
The Lazarians gathered around Entwater made no perceptible physical movements, but something in the air changed. Everybody felt it, even the humans on the other side of the room. It was similar to the sudden presence of ozone before a lightning strike (don't ask me how I know about that unless you're ready for a story longer than this one), and for a moment, I thought I could actually feel my hair stand on end.
"I know your custom of not showing the true face," I said to Thinta-ah. "How-"
Thinta-ah made Stilton cringe by touching the 'viewer again. "Not a-ahlive."
"You'll allow a recording that we can look at?" Stilton said, amazed.
"A-ahllow to look a-aht recording one time," the Lazarian said, making a strange movement something like a full body shrug. The clothing, as loose, mismatched, and wrinkled as anything that ever came out of a Good Will free bin, seemed to readjust itself on the Lazarian's loose-jointed body, somehow acquiring even more wrinkles. Wrinkles especially seemed to be their fashion statement. The Lazarians around the corpse still didn't move, but I knew they were unhappy. Not just unhappy, but unhappier than they had ever been in their lives. I tried to imagine an equivalent for myself-being forced to strip naked in public seemed obvious, but I knew this was a lot more than a nudity taboo.
My gaze fell on the 'viewer. Maybe more like being exposed with one of these things? "One time," I said to Stilton. "We'd better make it a good look, then."
Thinta-ah did some fast organizing. The humans were to sit directly behind to the group in the center of the room so they couldn't possibly see their true faces while they were speaking to the 'viewer. Very simple solution-just the sort of thing that signals some major complication is imminent.
Stilton and I found a chair for the 'viewer. He got it aimed at the first Lazarian, fiddled with the focus for a few seconds, and then turned it on. "Any time," he told the Lazarian and turned away, crowding close to me as Thinta-ah crowded close to him.
In the long pause that followed, I could hear the Lazarian removing the exoskeleton. It was a ghastly sound, like cloth ripping and I wondered if it hurt. Anything that made a noise like that seemed like it had to hurt.
"You a-ahsk," said Thinta-ah.
I cleared my throat. "What is your name?"
"Simeer-ah," said the Lazarian. I felt Thinta-ah stiffen. The last syllable indicated this was some relative of Thinta- ah's, but not which kind.
"How are you connected to-"
"A-ahsk only about Entwa-ahter!" Thinta-ah practically shouted.
I hesitated, wanting to explain about establishing a pattern and knowing at the same time that Thinta-ah wasn't buying. A Lazarian's true face was exposed in the presence, if not the sight, of others, and to them, this was much more urgent than a murder. Any murder.
I could have sworn I heard Farber swallow from across the room. "Do as you're told," he called from where he stood facing the now closed door with the courier.
Behind me, the exposed Lazarian made a small noise. I'd never heard the sound before but I knew instinctively that the alien was weeping. A wave of compassion mixed with shame swept through me-not the best thing for a cop to feel during a murder investigation. If I'd felt sorry for everyone who ever cried during questioning, there'd have been a few more hardheads running free who had gotten away with murder and worse.
I took a deep breath. "What do you know about the death of Celie Entwater?"
"I a-ahm responsible."
My shamed compassion turned to cold water. "Are you saying you killed her?"
"It is my fault."