The Cause of Death Read online

  "And females are rare and precious jewels," Zahida said with heavy sarcasm. "My brothers were all expected to go out and get themselves slaughtered in the grand old style to thin the herd. I was supposed to stay home and wait for my marriage to be arranged. I got tired of waiting. I left." She looked around the room defiantly. "I went to lots of places, including Pavlat worlds where they perform a variety of female life extension treatments, most of which leave no medical trace, aside from your not dying early. But there are laws about that here, as Allabex has said. So I won't say more.

  "At last I was called back here, as I knew I would be, sooner or later. Family duty. After all, I am a precious jewel--who can be bought and sold, for the right price. I am to be married off to a certain older son with a powerful father and a rich mother, and inherit certain properties of great value. Assuming it all works out, I will benefit from the bargain as well. I will do the inheriting. I will own the property and control it."

  "Quite right," said Allabex. "The son inherits the title and the political power. The wife of the son inherits the property, and the revenue from the property, on the death of the son's last surviving parent--which is nearly always the father. But it is the historical fact of commonplace male senility, and the cultural solution to the problem, that mainly concern us."

  Jamie thought it through out loud. "The Thelm--or the Thelek, or the land-thelm, or just the rich land-owning father--would outlive his wife, and the estate would be entailed during his lifetime, going to his eldest son's wife at the death of the father. But the old boy would just hang around, staying alive forever, but getting a little bit more out of it all the time. He would control the land, but not own it outright, and wouldn't have the mental capacity for the job of managing it. There would be infighting and maneuvering to get real control of the property--a regency, or whatever. The son might die violently, and might or might not leave a male heir, a grandson. And the grandson might marry and have children, and--well, after a while, there would be lots of rival claimants and factions and family feuds and on and on.

  "And as the old boy lived on and on, but had less and less ability to manage things, and the situation got worse and worse, someone might decide it would be a mercy to put him out of his misery--and get the title and the property safely into the hands of the next generation, who had been waiting a long time."

  Hannah nodded eagerly. "And after a while, mercy killings of senile old vegetables would get to be a pretty common tradition. It would become an institution, a standard ritual."

  "Yes!" said Allabex eagerly. "Now you are indeed starting to see. It did become an institution."

  "A barbaric one," Hannah said. "Forgive me for saying so, but the moment it became medically possible to prevent the senility--"

  "It was too late by then," Zahida said sharply. "Pavlat don't like change. Among the ruling elite, the obligation to kill one's incompetent father had long since come to have the force of law. Reqwar was settled by Pavlat who really hated change, and who settled an entire world for the sole purpose of living the way things used to be--or at least the way they imagined things once were. I don't disagree with you. It is a barbaric survival. But part of why it survives is that it hardly ever happens anymore."

  "Why not?" asked Hannah.

  "I was coming to that," said Allabex. "As Lady Zahida has noted, the obligation took on the force of law. It was formalized, codified, regulated. The eldest son was required to kill his father in order to protect the title and the property. But the son was only obliged--or even permitted--to do this after he himself had reached adulthood, only after his father had reached the age of one hundred twenty Pavlat years--and only after the son was married."

  And the last piece of the puzzle fell into place for Jamie. "I get it! For the last few hundred years, or even thousands--or maybe longer--lots of members of the nobility have all very quietly gotten antisenility treatments, so there hasn't been any reason to kill the father." He thought a moment longer. "And so long as the eldest son remained unmarried, he would not be required to kill his father. So eldest sons--probably even most younger sons--wouldn't marry while their fathers lived."

  "The funeral wedding, it's called," said Zahida. "The son marries as soon after the death as he possibly can, with the entailment of property shifting onto the son until he marries, so as to ensure the inheritance and protect the property. Very often the funeral and wedding actually take place in the same ceremony."

  "The process tends to make sons marry later in life," said Allabex, "and thus lengthens the time between generations. And that serves to prevent a situation with three or four or five generations all waiting for the patriarch to pass away."

  "So there have been very, very few cases in the who-knows-how-long of a Thelm's son actually having to kill his father," said Hannah, "but at the base of the whole system, the thing driving it, is the threat of being required to kill your father. Everything else has been set up to avoid that duty."

  "And the Thelm's three sons by birth were all unmarried," said Jamie, "probably mostly because of the law we're talking about--but Georg, the adoptive son, had a wife and daughter when he was adopted. And I'll bet no one ever thought that would be an issue."

  "Stars in the sky," said Hannah. "So bang! in one split second of bad piloting, the other three sons are wiped out, and Georg, as the sole surviving son, is therefore the eldest, and he is married--"

  Every eye in the room that could be brought to bear was turned on Marta Hertzmann, and Jamie had the feeling the Stannlar would have pointed their stern-facing eyes on her too, if they could have managed it.

  Georg did not respond. He had scarcely spoken all evening. He stared straight ahead, at nothing at all, his face a perfect blank, his hands folded in front of him.

  Marta returned their gazes, one after the other, her expression angry, defiant, and miserable. "And so that's the way it is," she said. "If Georg fails to kill the Thelm, he is guilty of treason and will be put to death. If he does kill the Thelm--he becomes the Thelm. He will step over the corpse of his adopted father, and rule this planet--in complete violation of every oath he ever swore to Pax Humana." She was quiet for a moment, then looked to Jamie and Hannah. "There's the case you've got, if you can call it that. The only mystery, so far as I can see it, would be finding out if there is a way out of this mess. If there is, I haven't found--"

  She stopped talking, for suddenly there was the sound of a door swinging open, then footsteps, moving smoothly and confidently toward them. They all turned to look, and saw the door to the warehouse office standing open and a tall, splendidly dressed Pavlat walking toward them. Zahida was instantly on her feet, and so were all the humans. Even the Stannlar managed to raise themselves up a bit.

  "Forgive me, all of you," said the Thelm of all Reqwar as he came toward them. "I pray, let there be no ceremony--as I have chosen a most unceremonious entrance."

  "Honored Thelm--my father," said Georg, bowing very slightly. "I am--we are all honored by your presence."

  Marta managed a sort of a curtsy, and Zahida bowed in what was very clearly the approved manner for one of her rank. Concluding that no ceremony meant "some ceremony" in the present context, Jamie did his best to duplicate Zahida's bow, and managed it about a half heartbeat after Hannah.

  The Thelm acknowledged them all, and moved smoothly to the table, where he remained standing--as did everyone else. "Lady Zahida did me the kindness of arranging for me to be present--quietly--so I could hear what you had to say. The Thelm too often hears what people wish him to hear, or what people believe he wishes to hear. I felt the need to hear your views spoken frankly, as they would be without my being present." He turned toward Cinnabex and Allabex with a slight smile. "I expect your antisurveillance device is quite effective against electronics and other technical means--but it can't stop someone in the next room from listening in."

  Zahida looked at the others and shrugged apologetically. "The Thelm asked to be here and to listen to the discus
sion. Making those arrangements was part of what made this meeting hard to set up. I ask that you forgive me for this small deception."

  "'It's easier to get forgiveness than permission,' " Hannah said in a wry tone of voice. "We take no offense."

  Jamie muttered some sort of agreement, and the others made similar little speeches--all doubtless doing what Jamie was doing, frantically thinking back over what they had said, wondering if they had made any remark that might greatly offend the Thelm.

  Jamie could not help but stare. It was strange to be in the presence of the ruler of a whole planet, especially one that he had been studying intensively, even coming to admire in one way or another, for the last ten or twelve days.

  The Thelm acknowledged their bows and curtsies with a modest smile. Then he let his smile fade away and let his voice and expression turn serious. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you all. It is a strange and complex crisis--really a whole series of crises and accidents--that has brought all of us together tonight. I think it might be wise if I summed up the situation as I see it at present. If we all agree as to where we are, perhaps we can better seek out the way ahead--even the way out.

  "We are caught in a game--a deadly one. The obvious issue, the immediate issue, is of course whether Georg will live or die. That is of great concern to those of us here, but to the people of Reqwar, there is a larger question. Who shall be the next Thelm of all Reqwar after I am gone? Will it be my adoptive son, Georg Hertzmann? By law and tradition, his claim is unimpeachable--except that he refuses to kill me. There is also the issue of his not being born a Reqwar Pavlat, but instead being adopted into my family--and, in effect, into my species.

  "Georg never sought the post of Thelm, does not want it, and will only accept it out of a sense of duty--and a sense that he must protect the planet from its fate under the other claimant, my distant and estranged kin, the High Thelek Caldon Saffeer.

  "But this is not merely a game of who-wins-the-planet. Georg, his wife Marta, Stannlar Allabex, and Stannlar Cinnabex had nearly completed the task of establishing their laboratories and just started arranging for trained technicians to be brought in when this crisis erupted. I am no expert on this point, but as I understand it, various components and subselves of the Stannlar themselves are integral parts of the laboratory. The laboratories cannot function without them, and the subselves cannot operate--or even survive--without the main beings of which they are parts at least remaining on-planet.

  "If our Stannlar friends are forced to leave the planet, the labs will not be able to function. If Caldon becomes the Thelm, he will be obliged to throw the human-Stannlar team off the planet and will likely bring in technicians selected by the Kendari, who have been backing him.

  "The Stannlar would not remain if Georg were executed, for several reasons. I will note but one. They are, after all, here performing tasks that Reqwar Pavlat are forbidden to undertake. Might some zealot, inspired by Georg's death, find some forgotten, antique law, some technicality regarding the ban on genetic engineering? Could they be found guilty of violating such a law, be forced to meet the same punishment as Georg? If Georg was put to death, they would quite understandably fear for their own lives."

  Allabex nodded her forward sensory array gravely. "Being executed would be a serious inconvenience for us both. Reconstituting ourselves so soon after the split-clone process might well be difficult, expensive, and even dangerous. Neither of us would wish to risk it."

  Being put to death is more than an inconvenience to those of us who don't run off full backup copies of our mentalities once a week, Jamie thought.

  "Just so," said the Thelm. "You would leave. If the High Thelek has his way, you will be forced out before you have the chance to leave voluntarily. He will bring in technicians under his control. And they will not have the expertise, the experience, the data, or the skill of the present operation. According to the estimates from our Stannlar friends, there is close to a zero percent chance of their successfully decrypting the necessary genetic material in time. In short, resolving this crisis will likely decide whether the terrestrial ecosystem of Reqwar survives or not.

  "So," he said at last, "there is the situation as I understand it." He turned his attention toward the two BSI agents. "Lawkeeper Mendez. Lawkeeper Wolfson. You were brought here through muddle, confusion, and perhaps even deliberate dereliction of duty on the part of my translation and communications staff. I am looking into that. But only a fool rejects a gift of great value because it can be put to better use than the giver intended. That brings me to the question I came here to ask: Can you do what none of those here have yet been able to do? We are hoping against hope that you have a sufficiently different perspective, that you can see what we cannot. Having heard the situation, understanding the stakes involved--can you come up with a way out of this horrible mess? If so, as Thelm of all Reqwar, I do not command you to speak--I beg you to speak."

  Jamie felt his stomach tie itself into the tightest knot imaginable. He turned and looked at Hannah. He desperately wanted to speak with her first, to get her advice, to hear her thoughts. But he was face-to-face with the ruler of the world, the ruler he had been reading about and admiring ever since he drew this assignment. He felt compelled to answer, and to speak the truth. "I think I might," he said. Even before the words were out of his mouth, he knew he should have kept silent. He should have spoken later, or not at all. But by then it was too late.

  Far, far too late.

  There was a general murmur of happy surprise and disbelief in the room, and Jamie held up both his hands in front of himself, palms out; a gesture of warning. "Not a very good idea, or a pleasant or satisfactory one," he cautioned them, "but perhaps it would at least be another way out. And there may be reasons I don't know about that will make it impossible. Will you allow me at least a little time to think on it?"

  "Yes. Yes, of course," said the Thelm. "But only a little time--for that is all that we have left."

  EIGHTEENLIFE

  Hannah looked around the table, and at the individuals ringing the table. It was one of the most absurd and ghastly moments in her professional life. All the individuals looking at Jamie were suddenly illuminated with new hope, new enthusiasm.

  But Special Agent James Mendez, BSI, didn't look hopeful. He looked scared to death--and Hannah sincerely hoped that it was Senior Special Agent Hannah Wolfson that he was most afraid of.

  She stared at her partner--her very young partner--in shock, horror, and more than just a dash of rage. Her first impulse was to drag Jamie out of the room and beat some sense into him, but that would have to wait for later. She forced herself to focus on what was going on in front of her.

  "I must return at once to Thelm's Keep," Lantrall was saying. "I slipped away very quietly, and I wish to return before too much notice is taken of my departure." He turned to Jamie. "When you have taken the time you need to think, Lawkeeper Mendez, we will all be most eager to hear your idea. For now, however, let us talk of your comfort." He fanned his ears at Jamie, then at Hannah, in what the briefing data said was a gesture of informal welcome. "'My roof shall be your nightshield,' " he said, in a tone of voice that made it plain it was some sort of quotation or formal statement.

  "I--I beg your pardon?" Hannah said, still too distracted to focus properly.

  "'My roof shall be your nightshield,' " the Thelm repeated, a faint hint of impatience in his voice.

  "It is a formal statement of invitation," Georg said quietly. "You are asked--technically, commanded--to accept the Thelm's hospitality."

  Hannah was quite certain from the way he spoke that it was very much a command and by no means a mere technicality. "Oh!" she said. "I see."

  "Just so," said the Thelm drily. Probably he had expected Hannah and Jamie to accept with unbounded gratitude, rather than fail to comprehend at all. "You shall sleep tonight--and all nights, until you depart for home--at the Thelm's Keep. Your possessions have already been removed from Hotel Number Two, and by
now should already be unpacked in your apartments in my home."

  "We thank you most heartily for your hospitality," said Hannah. It would be a relief to be out from under the Thelek's microscope. But would the Thelm's people be any less enthusiastic about monitoring them? And being moved into the Thelm's Keep would be another point of pressure on the two of them, pushing them toward the Thelm's side in his struggle against the Thelek. Sleeping under his roof was something close to a statement of alliance--and of course the Thelm knew that.

  That the move was involuntary almost made it worse; it meant they were not truly players in the great and deadly game the Thelm had spoken of--they were game pieces, to be moved around at will, used and discarded as best suited the player who controlled them. It was not all that hard to imagine all Reqwar involved in a civil war, and humanity pulled into it on one side or the other, because of where she and Jamie happened to be sleeping.

  But what choice did they have? With their clothes and gear already moved out, they could not go back to Hotel Number Two, even if they had so desired, and they had to sleep somewhere. "It is a great honor that you bestow upon us," said Hannah.