Conscience of the Beagle by Patricia Anthony Read Free Book Online

the cop blanched.
    The limo is waiting. The interior smells of Vanderslice’s spicy aftershave.
    He doesn’t offer us anything to drink. “What did you find?” he asks.
    I look out the window at the sleeping town. “Nothing.”
    Vanderslice’s eyes meet Beagle’s. The construct stares back, poker-faced.
    “Look. When we get to the mansion, let me do all the talking.” Vanderslice leans toward Beagle. “And let’s not remind him that you’re a construct. He knows that, of course, but he conveniently forgets stuff. Marv’s upset enough, understand?”
    “No robot babble. I think I understand.”
    Vanderslice leans back and chews at a nail. The rest of the trip is silent.
    On the third floor of the mansion we’re met by a tight-lipped woman. Her eyes are wide with alarm. Wife? She’s the right age. Or secretary? She’s certainly frightened enough. Without a word, she opens the door to Marvin’s office and ushers us in.
    The Chosen of God is pacing the terra cotta tiles. In a wing-backed chair a high-ranking God’s Warrior nurses a drink.
    As we enter, Marvin stops pacing. His face purples with rage. “God in Heaven!”
    His shout is high-pitched and loud. The woman retreats, shutting the door behind her. The God’s Warrior spills his drink and surreptitiously mops the upholstery with his sleeve.
    “You were in there over an hour!” Marvin screams. “People were waiting for news! And do you have any idea what I had to tell them?”
    Before Marvin can answer the question himself — because it appears that he is about to — I take a seat.
    “That the Earthers had ordered my men out. And do you know what they said?”
    Across the room Beagle considers his seating decision, then opts for a chair out of Marvin’s line of sight.
    “They said, ‘But my father might be in there! My wife just went shopping and isn’t home yet!’ And do you know what my answer had to be? Do you have any idea?”
    I lean back and regard my steepled hands.
    “I don’t know! I had to tell them I don’t know! God help me! There were people crying on the phone!”
    To my astonishment, Marvin halts his tirade to check his watch. “Nine forty-five the blast went off. It was after midnight when you finally decided to get out of there so we could finish listing the dead.” Marvin has used up all stores of available anger. Now he stands depleted, his head down, his face weary. “I had to tell them we couldn’t be sure there weren’t more survivors bleeding to death in the rubble. One man was missing his wife and two children.”
    “I’m sorry. There weren’t any survivors. Didn’t you think we’d check?”
    The Chosen studies the ceiling. “You know what we are to Earth, Major Holloway? A dog on a leash. We can go just so far, and our master jerks us back. Sit up!” he snaps.
    I stiffen. But Marvin isn’t looking my way. His gaze is riveted to the window and the sprinkling of blue-white lights beyond.
    “Beg.” In silken fury he adds, “Play dead.” Marvin whirls. “Major. What did you find in there?”
    “Nothing. Except by inference. The bombings are professional. Surgically neat acts of terrorism —”
    “Neat? Surgically neat? That bloodbath? Blessed God, Major! You’re talking in oxymorons. Nothing could be neat about it!”
    Vanderslice, out of Marvin’s peripheral vision, is motioning me to keep quiet. “I meant that whoever set the bombs off knew exactly what they were doing. That’s what I meant. How are the God’s Warriors trained?”
    The Chosen’s eyes turn glassy. His words emerge in a hiss. “Sweet Jesus. You’re planning to blame this on me.”
    “I’ll investigate everything, but the government is the most obvious place to start.”
    His fingers have started to tremble. “I ordered you to come. I can order you back.”
    “If that’s what you want.”
    “If you can blame this on my administration, Earth can take over Tennyson on an Article Five. And that’s what you’re planning to