Due Diligence
© 2022 by Walter Reimer



As coping mechanisms go, having Ivar’s image living in my head is fairly low maintenance. There’s no need for him to eat, drink or sleep, and he’s a useful sounding board.

“I take it,” my lupine companion ventured after I had been looking at Bustani’s image for a few minutes, “that you are not acquainted with the object of your investigation?”

“Of course not,” I replied. “He was in the Fleet when I was still preventing furs from stealing old ladies’ pocket money.” I fancied that Ivar was giving me an eye full of grievance for that minor sally, but his ears perked with interest as I brought up the images of Bustani as a child, and as a youth, and as a recruit, arranging the images like a row of skulls across my desk.

“Looking for a substitute?” he asked.

“Just a thought,” I replied. “If Bustani had been replaced at any time, you might notice a discrepancy as he aged.”

“Unless he’s a clone.”

I shuddered. The Clone Conspiracy had swept across nearly twenty Terran worlds, a form of mass hysteria where the victims were certain prominent furs had been replaced by clones. The waves of mass killings had finally abated after the media outlets and malcontents who were spreading the rumors were rounded up and imprisoned. Fortunately, that sordid bit of the past was exactly that, and planetary AIs were on their guard for a recurrence.

I sat back and rubbed my eyes before erasing the series of images on my desk. “No discrepancies I can see,” I muttered as I called up details on his prosthetic leg, with an emphasis on looking for any lacunae where a weapon or other equipment might be concealed. After a moment, I erased that image as well. “Nothing.”

“No doubt his leg had been thoroughly checked,” Ivar murmured.

“True,” I said, “but attention to detail is a hallmark of Three, and you know it.”

The lupine nodded. “A pity that our friends in Sixth learned that lesson too late.”

There was nothing I could say to that, so I made my way through the rest of the file. Never married, no regular intimate contacts, wasn’t a drinker . . .
I gave a growl. This fellow was so clean he squeaked.

Which made him instantly suspicious, in my admittedly jaded opinion.

“I realize I am taking a hard line, that friend Bustani is guilty,” Ivar remarked. “That is because I sense you think him innocent, and I wish to balance things out. “

“Thank you, Ivar.”

“Pray, think nothing of it, my dear friend. Speculation. He may be exactly who he is, which means we turn now to why Admiral-General Gromov has a feeling about him."

Thoughtfully, 'M' provided a full transcript of his meeting with the Admiral-General, as well as the raw recording of the conversation between the tiger and the roebuck.

Ivar’s ears perked and his tail wagged slightly. “O ho. Transcript and raw recording. Query: how rare is that? Is friend "M" in the habit of acting as a Recording Angel?”

“From above? Almost unheard of. And it’s always best to assume that everything’s being recorded.” I tapped my fingers together as I thought. “Which means . . . either Gromov is trying to clear his flanks to gain access to the Emperor, or 'M' is playing along in hopes of toppling the same fur he himself recommended for the job, and Bustani – completely innocent - is being used as a game piece on a board, in a game where the rules are not written down?”

“So. We have one curious line: to wit, a sudden abundance of data from ‘M.’ As to Gromov, as you say, clearing his flanks, as behooves a flag officer, what evidence do we have of that?” Ivar asked.

In response, I replayed the conversation.

The Admiral-General was seated behind his desk, with ‘M’ seated across from him:
Gromov: “It's hard to describe, Director; he just seems . . . familiar, somehow. Will you look into it?"
M: "Of course, sir. I'll give the job to Directorate III. The fur I have in mind will do a very professional job."

I felt my teeth grinding. Was I being played? It was a very bad thought, but it had to be taken into account.

Ivar gently cleared his throat. “You will pardon me for being suspicious - but are we sure that there isn't any play-acting here? You know. Two furs reading from the same script?”

He was picking up my bad thought. “It may be,” I growled. “Intelligence is, after all, an arm of the military. Damn, and here I was thinking that this might not be dangerous.”