by R S Penney
“So…”
Baring her teeth with a growl, Jena shook her head. “So we're on guard duty,” she said, stepping away from the dresser. “Shinval and Koss are liaising with the NYPD and the National Guard. They're going to raid Slade's warehouse. Our job is to make sure that civilian casualties are minimized.”
Closing his eyes, Harry nodded to her. “Minimize civilian casualties.” He flopped back onto the bed to lie on his back with hands folded over his chest. “That sounds good. Hell, it sounds like the most noble thing we could be doing.”
“I suppose it is.”
“You don't think so?”
Jena turned on her heel and paced a line to the window. She paused there with one hand covering her mouth. “It's not about that,” she said at last. “Keepers protect life. We should never be eager to take it.”
“Then…”
“It's about Slade,” Jena murmured. “That worthless sack of shit has surprised us at every turn; he's going to pull some trick out of his ass, and it's going to be something we never saw coming.”
Harry squinted up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I get that,” he muttered under his breath. “So you're thinking that Shinval and Koss are leading their people headlong into a trap, and you don't know what to do.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Jena studied him with brown eyes that tried to bore a hole in his skull. “Bloody detectives,” she hissed after a moment. “Anyone ever tell you it's rude to read a lady's thoughts.”
“When I meet a lady, I'll keep that in mind.”
“Ass.”
The urge to just fall asleep right there on the bed was hard to resist – and worse yet, it was barely past suppertime; he couldn't be so old that he was getting into the habit of passing out before sunset – but he fought it down. The truth was he was starting to think that he should find another room. He'd been sleeping in Jena's bed since he'd arrived here three nights ago, but she hadn't been.
Keepers were known for their stamina, and Harry imagined that being the de-facto leader of a small band of guerrilla fighters was a 24-7 job. That didn't make it any less awkward when she woke him up by slinking into bed at four a.m. And then she was gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He was starting to think that she just didn't want to share a bed with him.
Maybe it was nothing. He hadn't had a good night's sleep since coming to this city; there was always something going on at all hours of the night. Someone with a report that Jena had to hear about right that second. He would have chalked it up to paranoia if not for the fact that their relationship had cooled off considerably in the last few months. He had told himself that they were both busy people, but somehow that just didn't feel very convincing. “So, are we going to talk about it?” Harry asked.
“Talk about what?”
His face burned as he sat up, and then exhaustion made his head hang. He pressed a hand to his forehead to soothe away his headache. “Talk about whatever's been going on between us.”
“Ah…”
Jena sat down on the edge of the mattress, turned so that he saw her in profile. It was clear that she was struggling to find the words. “Don't take it personally, Harry,” she said at last. “This is just who I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lose interest in relationships,” she said with a touch of guilt in her voice. “That's the way it's always been with me. It starts off hot, and eventually I just find myself more focused on other things. But I don't want to break up.”
“Well, there's that…”
She smiled and let her head hang, staring into her lap for a very long while. “You are a wonderful partner,” she began. “And I do love you. I'm just, I have never been the kind of person who saw herself living out her entire life with one person.”
“Well, that's all right,” he murmured. “I've done the whole marriage thing, and it's given me a new appreciation for living in the moment. How 'bout we just stay focused on the here and now and deal with the future as it comes?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“What about him?”
Dressed in blue jeans and a frayed gray t-shirt that showed a bit of midriff, Anna sat on the hood of a police car with one leg crossed over the other. Her red hair was left loose in a bob that barely touched her shoulders.
Across the street, a young police officer in plain clothes paced a line in front of the steps that led up to the station, tapping away at his phone the whole time. Most cops had stopped wearing their uniforms when they realized it made them easy targets for Slade's roving bands of terrorists, and she wasn't surprised that the situation hadn't changed even after communications had been restored. This guy was quite handsome with fair skin and a firm jawline, but a baseball cap hid most of his face. “He's cute,” Anna said. “You can't tell me he's not cute.”
Ben was leaning against the side of the cruiser with his arms folded, scowling as he watched their latest specimen. “Very cute,” he admitted. “Probably with abs that'll make you sweat just thinking about him.”
“Then why the frown?”
“You have to ask?”
Anna winced and let her head hang, slapping a palm over her nose. “I'm sorry,” she murmured gently. “You'll get to talk to Darrel as soon as this crisis is over. But you know why radio silence is a must.”
Ben's face hardened, but he nodded his agreement just the same. “I am aware,” he whispered. “But it remains to be seen whether Darrel even wants to talk to me. I just up and disappeared on him.”
“I'm sure he'll understand.”
“For all I know, he's dating someone else.”
Smooth, Lenai, she scolded herself. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that a game where they enjoyed looking at handsome men right outside a police station could remind Ben that he hadn't spoken to his police officer boyfriend in over three months. Guard duty really sucks.
They'd been here for the better part of two hours, keeping an eye on the station in case Slade's goons decided to try anything. Ben had opted to forego putting on his fancy new suit of armour to avoid drawing attention to himself, but he claimed he had a few tricks up his sleeve.
Another man emerged from the station's front door, this one a detective in his late thirties who wore blue jeans and a light jacket. He was handsome with dark skin and a short beard that went from ear to ear.
Ben puckered his lips and blew out a breath. “Now that is quite a specimen!” he said, nodding once. “Were I a single man, I might feel compelled to approach him in a manly fashion and declare my intention to mate.”
“Get in line.”
“You are also not single.”
Tilting her head back, Anna blinked at the darkening sky. “This is true,” she said with exasperation in her voice. “But I'm going back to Leyria in a few weeks. Kind of limits the potential for a happy relationship with an Earth man.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Anna hopped off the car.
She marched to the edge of the parking lot with her arms folded, huddling up on herself like a turtle trying to hide in its shell. “How exactly am I supposed to feel about that?” she growled. “Awful!”
When she turned, Ben was leaning against the side of the cruiser with hands shoved into his pockets, watching her with an expression she'd seen on Justice Keepers who were conducting an interrogation. “Have you told him yet?”
“No,” she answered. “Radio silence, remember?”
“How do you think he'll take it?”
“Badly.”
Anna shut her eyes tight, hissing with frustration. “He's been trying to find ways to make himself a bigger part of my life,” she said, marching back to Ben. “The truth is we just walk in different worlds.”
She spun around to lean against the cruiser beside him, folding hands over her belly and blowing out a breath. It was a truth she really didn't want to acknowledge, but it had been there since her very first date with Bradley. He was cute, sweet and brilliant, but that did
n't change the fact that they were walking on different paths.
Across the street, two officers were standing on the steps that led up to the police station, both dressed in plain clothes as they chatted amicably. One was an older fellow with flecks of gray in his dark hair, the other a young man with Asian features. “What about those two?” she asked.
“Not my type,” Ben insisted.
“Oh?”
He slouched against the car with arms crossed, stretching his legs out in the gravel. “The one on the right is too boyish,” he said, looking up at the sky. “The other one just has something about him. You ever seen someone just exude cynicism?”
“Since coming to this planet, I see it every day.”
“Isn't that the truth? But anyway, about your boyfriend-”
She was spared from further conversation on this uncomfortable topic by a quiet beep from her multi-tool. Swiping one finger across the screen, she answered an audio call. “Hey, guys,” Raynar said.
“Hello, hello,” Anna replied. “Anything to report.”
“Well, I've been scanning the neighbourhood for the last half hour. There's a lot of anger, a lot of fear and distrust; so it's hard to pinpoint any specific feelings of hostility, but I think we're in the clear.”
“Can you try one more time just to be sure?”
“Of course.”
Perched on one knee atop the roof of the police station, Raynar stared out into the twilight. The wind teased his thick blonde hair, blowing it back from his face. “It'll take me a few minutes,” he said with a nod.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, savouring the wind's gentle caress. “Most of the neighbourhood has been evacuated,” he went on. “It's hard to pick out individual minds when you're dealing with anything more than a few dozen people, but…”
He stretched out with his senses, focusing on the currents of thought and emotion. There was no way to express what he did in terms that non-telepaths would understand, but when his captors had demanded that he describe his experiences, he had developed the habit of using colours to represent emotions.
When he opened his eyes, the neighbourhood stretched out before him: a sea of rooftops that went almost to the horizon. Off to his right, the skyscrapers of Manhattan stood dark and silent with only a few lights in their windows. The city was on lockdown, and no one wanted to risk drawing attention to themselves.
The bright blazing orange of anger formed a thick fog that seemed to permeate the entire neighbourhood. Here and there, he found patches of colour. The deep violet of fear, the brilliant yellow of joy. But mostly anger. There were places where it was deep and red, almost black. That was hatred, contempt.
Raynar licked his lips, then let his head hang. “The urge to do violence tends to be concentrated,” he said, rubbing his forehead with the back of one fist. “There are pockets of deep hatred, but none seem to be directed at us.”
“No definite plans to attack the station?” Anna inquired.
“Well, it's impossible to be one hundred percent certain,” he explained. “My guess is that there are maybe five hundred people left in this neighbourhood, and most of them are cops. I sense hatred, but none of it is directed here. Picking out individual thoughts in a sea this large is next to impossible.”
“All right,” she said. “Agents Sinalza and Nelson are scheduled to relieve us in ten minutes. Get down here, and let's head home.”
A freshly loaded magazine full of bullets sat on a wooden table in the corner of a small bedroom, right next to an unloaded pistol that was pointed at the wall. Jack must have checked it over a dozen times. A funny thing about knowing that you'd be dodging gunfire at some point in the next few days: it made you look for ways to keep yourself busy. Any way available.
This bedroom in the apartment building that Jena called the safe-house had once belonged to a teenage boy. Posters from bands like Fly Under and Sam Lives took up most of the space on the dark-green walls. The kid had good taste. Jack let out a sigh.
He picked up the clip in one hand and the gun in the other, then slid one into the other. The pistol let out a beep, its LEDs flashing momentarily. A check of the power cell revealed that it would last another few weeks.
He tossed it down on the table.
Jack frowned as he studied the gun. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You're going to make yourself insane,” he muttered. “How many times are you gonna check the same damn weapon?”
A knock at the door offered another distraction.
“Come in.”
When the door swung open, he wasn't surprised to find Gabi standing outside in a pair of gray sweat pants and a red t-shirt. Her long black hair was done up in a braid that fell over her shoulder.
Jack shut his eyes tight, sucking in a deep breath. “I was wondering how long it'd take,” he said, rising and turning to her. “Hell, I'm surprised you didn't come to see me when I was recovering from my make-out session with a wooden beam.”
Gabi stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, her eyes downcast as if she were afraid to look at him. “I thought I should check in,” she murmured. “But if you're going to be offended by my presence…”
Blushing hard, Jack found himself transfixed by the floor as well. “Sorry,” he said. “I'm just a little off-balance. I don't know how to relate to you anymore.”
“You seem to be doing fine.”
“Well, I have a masters in faking it 'til you make it.” Already he was falling back on his habit of deflecting uncomfortable conversation with humor. Not good. But then again, how was he supposed to relate to her? She couldn't expect him to just open up about what he was feeling. Not after…
A heavy sigh exploded from Gabi, and she shuffled into the room with none of her typical grace. Dragging one finger along the top of a dresser, she checked it for dust and grunted. “Be honest with me, Jack,” she said. “You're a little relieved, aren't you?”
“Relieved?”
She sat down on the bed with her knees together, her hands in her lap. The look of concentration on her face told him this was hard for her. “Now you're free to go after what you really want.”
Grinning with a burst of laughter, Jack shook his head. “You're something else.” He began pacing a line at the foot of the bed. “Enlighten me, Gabrina. What is it that I really want? I'm all ears.”
“I think you know what you want,” she said. “It has red hair and a tendency to punch evil things in the face.”
A lump settled into the pit of Jack's stomach. So…She knew? Of course she knew. this was Gabrina Valtez, after all. The better question was how long she had known, and more importantly, was this the reason she had ended things with him? The reason she had never been all that gung-ho about their relationship in the first place?
Gabrina stared up at him with lips pursed, blinking slowly as she watched him. “I take it that I struck a nerve,” she said in that smooth voice of hers. “Well, I'll take that as a confirmation that I'm right.”
Clenching his teeth, Jack winced and let his head hang. “I don't know!” He spun on his heel and threw up his hands. “You want total honesty from me? Fine! I've been trying not to think about it!”
“Why not?”
“Really?” he growled. “You're not noticing our bigger concerns?”
She sat primly with her hands on her knees, breathing out a sigh that said she was annoyed. “Oh, Jack,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Extraordinary circumstances like these have a way of bringing things into focus.”
“Anna has a boyfriend.”
“Have you ever watched them together?”
Jack dropped to one knee next to the table with his gun, then fixed his attention on the floor. “What does that have to do with anything?” he spat. “Just in case it's not clear, I'm not looking to purchase a subscription to Homewreckers Monthly.”
In his mind's eye, the blurry image of Gabi rose from the bed and shuffled over to him. He half-expected her to put a hand on his
shoulder, but she resisted to fall back into the role of supportive girlfriend. “You make Anna happy,” she said softly. “And it's clear that she makes you happy.”
“Why should my happiness matter?”
“I see you still have a talent for stupid questions.”
He stood up but was unable to find the nerve to face her. It did no good, of course; with spatial awareness, he could perceive her as easily as he could with his own eyes, and now that she was standing within arms reach, he could make out the slight curl of her lips that indicated a concerned frown.
Why did this matter to her? Shouldn't jealous ex-partner syndrome have set in by now? Most people who had just got out of a relationship would be more than happy to imagine their exes growing old alone and bitter. Gabi wanted him to be happy. Why? A thought occurred to him that he didn't like.
Could she have met someone else? Possibly in the final days of their relationship? It was an unworthy thought that he tried to squelch as soon as it popped into his mind – Lord knows, he could feel Summer scowling with disapproval – but unworthy or not, it was the kind of thing most people would think in his place. Jealous ex-partner syndrome was one hundred percent contagious. “What about you?” he asked, turning around with some reluctance. “What happens to you now?”
“I'm retiring from the service,” she said. “To have a family.”
Leaning against the wall with his arms folded, Jack looked up at the ceiling. “You have got to be kidding,” he said, eyebrows rising. “You really expect me to believe that Gabrina Valtez is gonna white-picket-fence her way through life?”
“I'll remain as a consultant.”
Closing his eyes, Jack let the back of his head touch the wall. “We really weren't meant for each other,” he replied in a rasping voice. “It's dangerous, but I got one taste of this job and realized I could never go back.”
When he opened his eyes, Gabrina was smiling at a spot on the floor. “Well that's good then,” she said softly. “Because I'm reasonably certain that your soulmate feels the same way. Good luck, Jack. Tell her the truth.”