Flatlander - Larry Niven [69]
Had he any idea who might have wanted to murder Raymond Sinclair?
Peterfi was reluctant to make outright accusations. Surely we understood. It might be someone he had worked with in the past or someone he’d insulted. Ray thought most of humanity were fools. Or we might look into the matter of Ray’s brother’s exemption.
Valpredo said, “Edward Sinclair’s exemption? What about it?”
“I’d really prefer that you get the story from someone else. You may know that Edward Sinclair was refused the right to have children because of an inherited heart condition. His grandson has it, too. There is some question as to whether he really did the work that earned him the exemption.”
“But that must have been forty to fifty years ago. How could it figure in a murder now?”
Peterfi explained patiently. “Edward had a child by virtue of an exemption to the Fertility Laws. Now there are two grandchildren. Suppose the matter came up for review? His grandchildren would lose the right to have children. They’d be illegitimate. They might even lose the right to inherit.”
Valpredo was nodding. “Yah. We’ll look into that, all right.”
I said, “You applied for an exemption yourself not long ago. I suppose your, uh—”
“Yes, my diabetes. It doesn’t interfere with my life at all. Do you know how long we’ve been using insulin to handle diabetes? Almost two hundred years! What does it matter if I’m a diabetic? If my children are?”
He glared at us, demanding an answer. He got none.
“But the Fertility Laws refuse me children. Do you know that I lost my wife because the board refused me an exemption? I deserved it. My work on plasma flow in the solar photosphere— Well, I’d hardly lecture you on the subject, would I? But my work can be used to predict the patterns of proton storms near any G-type star. Every colony world owes something to my work!”
That was an exaggeration, I thought. Proton storms affected mainly asteroidal mining operations. “Why don’t you move to the Belt?” I asked. “They’d honor you for your work, and they don’t have Fertility Laws.”
“I get sick off Earth. It’s biorhythms; it has nothing to do with diabetes. Half of humanity suffers from biorhythm upset.”
I felt sorry for the guy. “You could still get the exemption. For your work on the inertialess drive. Wouldn’t that get you your wife back?”
“I … don’t know. I doubt it. It’s been two years. In any case, there’s no telling which way the board will jump. I thought I’d have the exemption last time.”
“Do you mind if I examine your arms?”
He looked at me. “What?”
“I’d like to examine your arms.”
“That seems a most curious request. Why?”
“There seems a good chance that Sinclair’s killer damaged his arm last night. Now, I’ll remind you that I’m acting in the name of the UN Police. If you’ve been hurt by the side effects of a possible space drive, one that might be used by human colonists, then you’re concealing evidence in a—” I stopped, because Peterfi had stood up and was taking off his tunic.
He wasn’t happy, but he stood still for it. His arms looked all right. I ran my hands along each arm, bent the joints, massaged the knuckles. Inside the flesh I ran my imaginary fingertips along the bones.
Three inches below the shoulder joint the bone was knotted. I probed the muscles and tendons …
“Your right arm is a transplant,” I said. “It must have happened about six months ago.”
He bridled. “You may not be aware of it, but surgery to reattach my own arm would show the same scars.”
“Is that what happened?”
Anger made his speech more precise. “Yes. I was performing an experiment, and there was an explosion. The arm was nearly severed. I tied a tourniquet and got to a ‘doc before I collapsed.”
“Any proof of this?”
“I doubt it. I never told anyone of this accident, and the ‘doc wouldn’t keep records. In any case, I think the burden of proof would be on you.”
“Uh huh.”
Peterfi was putting his tunic back on. “Are you quite finished here? I’m deeply sorry