by Vanessa Muir
Why, though? Why would the State care about an SSG investigation? Stormshield was encouraged to answer questions from Councilors, but it wasn’t a legal necessity. They were the investigative force which supposedly kept the State in check.
Eli shifted next to her. He was uncomfortable with it too. Had he tried the memories last night and come to the same conclusion she had?
Boss Ink rapped his knuckles on the table, and they both sat up straight.
“So far, we’ve connected the murder to a single suspect. He was caught on tape.” Charlie kept her tone nominal. “As far as we know, he’s working solo. We did discover evidence that Natalya knew the perpetrator.”
Both Councilors raised perfectly penciled eyebrows. “She knew him?”
“That’s correct. We have reason to believe that Natalya performed memory removal operations on the murderer prior to the incident.”
“And how do you figure that?” Orcation asked, patting the end of her nose with one stick-thin finger. “It sounds far-fetched to me.”
“It appears that Natalya tampered with the recording devices in the facility in Pi Sector. The time missing is more than enough for her to perform removal on the murderer.”
“But what makes you think the murderer visited the facility at all?” That was from Herod.
Eli shifted again, and this time his discomfort sprang from the unorthodox method she’d used to garner that information.
“I received a tip off from a witness at the crime scene which led me to believe that the killer had visited the facility prior to the murder,” Charlie replied.
“Which witness?”
“Her name is Mary,” Charlie said.
Orcation’s brow wrinkled, defined lines which could’ve mapped out an underground tunnel system. “Who is this Mary? How do we know she’s a trustworthy suspect?”
“She wasn’t,” Eli said. “She’s a streeter. But her information led us to the skip in the camera times and the knowledge Natalya Maxis was performing memory removals during the missing minutes.”
“Bullshit,” Herod said. “Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.” He twirled his mustache. “You’re trusting a streeter with this? I thought Stormshield was supposed to be an elite investigative force.”
Boss Ink’s complexion reddened. “That’s not all they’re basing this on. Right, Spade?”
“Actually, it is, sir,” she replied.
Interesting, how a man’s skin could go from red to purple within minutes.
“Then we’ll call off that avenue of investigation, don’t you think, Herod?” Orcation looked at her fellow Councilor.
“Call it off?” Charlie asked. They couldn’t call off shit. This was an SSG investigation.
“That’s correct. We’ve received intel that the perpetrator is associated with Black Mars.”
“Black Mars.” Charlie barely contained her skepticism. So, this was what they wanted? They’d had a problem at a facility, a vicious murder which looked bad. Publicity was everything to Mem Store and their State funders.
What was their next logical step? Blame it on their only enemy. The underground rebellion, Black Mars.
“I thought they were a myth,” Eli said. “Or they’re really good at hiding.”
Both Councilors turned their gazes on him.
“Sorry, I just figured that the State operatives would’ve caught them by now.”
“Law enforcement is good, but they’re not magic workers,” Orcation said. “Many of Black Mars’ members are defectors from the ranks of enforcement or, memory forsake, Stormshield itself.”
Boss Ink spluttered incoherently.
“Don’t take it as an insult, man,” Herod snapped, then patted Ink on his arm. “There are bad apples in every bunch.”
“And you think Black Mars risked exposure for this? For drugs?” Charlie asked.
“That’s a valid question, so I’ll allow it,” Orcation replied.
Charlie’s hair stood up on the back of her neck. Fuck this. Fuck the Councilors. This felt like a setup.
“The drugs in question were expired. The side-effects of taking those drugs would be harmful to anyone who’s had memory removal in the past.”
“Which would mean most of the population,” Charlie said.
“Correct. And if Black Mars manages to distribute those drugs, it would make us look very bad. Which is ultimately their goal,” Orcation finished. “They are your prime suspect. I suggest you work off this basis. The sooner you find and persecute their leaders, the better.”
“Their leaders! With all due respect, ma’am, we were assigned to this case to find Natalya’s murderer.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Orcation replied. “Then perhaps, you should be reassigned.”
The words left a sense of finality hovering in the air. The meeting was done, and they had their orders. From the State. Not from Boss Ink or one of the high ups in SSG. The State, itself.
This was illegal on every level, but what could she say?
“Thank you for meeting with us, Councilors,” Charlie said. “I hope you found the information we provided satisfactory.”
“Oh yes,” Orcation replied, eagle eyes zoned on Charlie’s. “It was enlightening, to say the least.”
13
“Are you fucking crazy?” Eli hissed.
They quick-marched down the hall, away from the conference room and past restrooms and other SSG personnel, all yawning at the early hour. Folks had just started heading into work, most still clutching cups of coffee or tea.
“I’m crazy? That bitch was crazy,” Charlie replied, in equally hushed tones. “She’s lost it if she thinks I’m falling for this.”
“Falling for what?”
Charlie searched up and down the tiled hall, ignored the cameras watching them, then grabbed Eli by the lapel and dragged him into the women’s restroom.
He cleared his throat. “I’m flattered, but this is hardly the time.”
“Shut up.” Charlie latched the bathroom door, then walked to the two gated stalls and checked that they were clear. She spun and caught sight of her reflection, hair still mussed from sleeping fitfully on the sofa, and turned her back on the mirrors.
“You’ve got to realize what they’re trying to pull, Eli. You’re not stupid.”
“Pull what? What are you talking about?” He shook his head.
“Black Mars, for fuck’s sake. They’re trying to pin this on their imaginary rebellion, but we both know that’s not the case. That guy, whoever he was, acted with Natalya alone.”
“How do we know that for sure?” Eli asked. “I mean, the only testimony we’ve got is from a streeter.”
“So what? That doesn’t make her less of a person than you or me.”
“It does in my books. But even if it didn’t, she’s still not a reliable witness. You saw what she was like. She was hopped up on drugs when we brought her in,” Eli replied. “She would’ve told you she was the fucking Councilor of the State if it meant you’d let her get back out there to whore around again.”
His opinion incensed her on too many levels. “Stop being obtuse. You wanted to partner with me on this case, so start acting like you have a brain separate from the State’s machine and think!”
“I am thinking,” he replied. “I’m thinking you’re an asshole.”
“Great, Eli, just great. That’s very productive. Case closed, let’s move on.”
“I’m just saying that Black Mars is an option.”
Charlie groaned and gripped her forehead in both hands. “No. No, no, no. There’s no such thing. Jones was corrupt. He worked for the State on SSG salary. He wasn’t a Black Mars agent.”
“Who the fuck is Jones?”
“My ex-partner.”
“Okay?”
Charlie dropped her arms to her side. “I’m telling you, they’re not infallible. They’ve got a finger in every fucking pie across the globe. Even in SSG. Even in our investigation. It’s wrong. We’re supposed
to be separate from them.”
“Fuck, okay, relax. You’re getting worked up.”
Damn right, she was worked up. They’d taken control from her and twisted the investigation to their benefit. It was a miracle she hadn’t had a fucking aneurysm, by now.
“Look, you don’t think it’s a little weird that they turned up the day after we swiped those memories from the Pi Facility?” she asked.
“I didn’t consider it.”
“Did you take a look at the data last night?”
“Didn’t get the chance.”
“Right, well, there were plenty of files on the drive, and there were several labeled within the blank time slots when Natalya turned off the cameras,” Charlie said. “She did removals. With him.”
Eli’s cogs worked behind those baby-blues. “Why didn’t you tell them that?”
“Because I didn’t want them to know. They’d already decided which agenda they wanted to push on us.” Charlie took a breath. “And there’s more. Droggo is missing.”
“What?”
“His phone has dropped off the grid. I can’t get ahold of him. The memories we received have another access code attached. We can’t view them until we’ve cracked it,” she said, then ruffled her hair. “This is utter bullshit. They’re moving in on our investigation.”
There wasn’t much she could do about it. Boss Ink would demand they followed the new avenue. Black Mars. If she had to investigate them, she’d die of embarrassment. They were a myth.
“I don’t know, Charlie, it sounds to me like you’re the one jumping to all the wrong conclusions here. You’re too involved. You’re acting like this is the only lead we have, when it’s not,” Eli replied.
“It’s the only viable lead we have,” she snapped. “We’ve got the memories. We just need Droggo’s code to view them. It’s logical.”
“No, it’s the opposite. Everything we’ve done so far has been driven by memory alone knows what. Your desire to take revenge on your corrupt ex-partner? Your anger at having me around? I don’t know, but you’ve led us on a path which has dropped us in deep shit with the State.”
“Do you really care what the State thinks? You’re not their poster child, Eli.”
“I’m not you either. I just want to do the right thing here. If the State thinks Black Mars is behind this, then we should at least consider it. I mean, what if they do what Councilor Orcation said and release the drug to people? What if that happens and then —”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear any more fairy tales. Especially, not from you,” Charlie said. “I’m going to find Droggo. You can either come with me or stay here and try to find the imaginary rebellion leader.”
“I’m staying.” Eli folded his arms.
“Fine.” Charlie walked to the door. “Fine. But let me tell you something, Yoke, you’re either with me or you’re against me. I don’t suggest you select the latter option.” She slammed the bolt back, then tore out of the bathroom, anger driving her to a point of focus.
Droggo. Find Droggo and get the codes. Then all of this would be over.
14
By the time she reached the Mem Store Facility in Central, her fumes had run out, somewhat. The focus remained, however. She had to find Droggo before it was too late, and the case was wrested from her control.
They’d turn it into a wild goose chase. It would be shunted from group to group until Natalya Maxis’s murder was finally shelved. And that was exactly what the State wanted.
Which meant there was something in those memories they didn’t want Charlie to access. Could it be incriminating for them? Evidence of… what?
Charlie entered the lobby of the Central Facility and walked to the reception desk at the front.
The woman behind it pressed a finger to her temple. “Mem Store Research and Operations, how may I help you?” She smiled at Charlie and mouthed, “Just a moment.”
Charlie took that time to study the lobby and its inhabitants. Folks in lab coats, or visitors who were there for tours. Oh yeah, Mem Store had turned their labs into a tourist attraction. Folks from halfway across the globe come here to witness the glory of the original laboratory where it all started.
She’d bet her badge they didn’t do retellings of the torturous methods Shamood had employed during the civil war. No, that wouldn’t suit the Mem Store aesthetic.
“May I help you, ma’am?” the receptionist asked.
“Yeah, I’m looking for a researcher here? Droggo Boersma.”
The woman’s expression didn’t change a whit, but something else shifted. Something in the air around her. A change of attitude, by the slightest degree. “Of course, just give me one moment while I check whether he’s logged in for the morning. Could you spell that name for me, ma’am?”
Charlie spelled it out.
The receptionist tapped on her screen, then scanned through lines of text and images. She looked up and shook her head, a practiced rejection with a smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am, it doesn’t come up.”
“Pardon?”
“The name you’ve given me.”
“Oh, he hasn’t checked in yet?”
“No, he doesn’t work for us, ma’am. I don’t have a record of anyone named Droggo Boersma at this facility.” She tapped on the screen again. “Or at any facility in Corden Prime.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Already? They’d erased his data already? Did that mean he wouldn’t be able to get her those access codes? Granted, she’d have to find him first. He might be at the bottom of a standard issue Mem Store pit. “Please, check again.”
“Ma’am, I assure you the system indicates that we don’t have an employee here by that name. If you’d like to speak with —”
“I don’t want to speak with anyone other than Droggo,” she snapped.
The receptionist went pink and patted her white hair. “There’s no need to be rude, ma’am.”
“Is there a problem here?” Another researcher in a lab coat, name tag read Jordan, strode up to the front desk. “Matilda?”
“This woman is insisting she speak to a researcher who doesn’t exist. I’ve tried telling her there’s no one working here by that name, but —”
Jordan held up a hand and stalled her, then turned a blinding white smile on Charlie. “Who are you looking for, ma’am.”
“Yeah, I’m with the SSG. I’m looking for Droggo Boersma. He was meant to meet with me today,” she said. A lie, but it served its purpose here.
A practiced frown marred the researcher’s expression. “I’m sorry, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”
She ground her teeth until they squeaked. “He’s a junior researcher here.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Spade, there’s currently one junior researcher at this facility, and that’s me,” he said and patted his chest.
“You called me Spade,” she said. She hadn’t put on her name tag this morning, and she certainly hadn’t shown anyone her ID. “How do you know my name?”
“I didn’t call you anything but ma’am,” he replied. “Right, Matilda?”
“Right.”
“Ma’am, I think you’re feeling ill. Perhaps, you’d better take a seat. Or better yet, get some fresh air,” Jordan said, still with that shit-eating grin.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said and prodded him in the chest with her index finger.
“There’s no need to become physical, ma’am.”
“That’s it,” the receptionist said, “I’m calling security.”
“Perhaps, that would be for the best.” Jordan took a few steps back.
“You’ve done something to him, haven’t you? You’d better not have killed him,” Charlie hissed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“If you killed him and I find out, you’re on my list. Understand?” She pointed at him. “You’re next on my list.”
Two security personnel rushed at her from the opaque, blue doors, printed with Mem Store�
��s logo. They grabbed either of her arms and pulled her back. She let her heels drag — fighting them would be futile, and walking was impossible at this pace.
She hung between them, suspended like a sack of potatoes, and stared daggers at the junior researcher. “You’re next on my list,” she yelled.
Jordan turned his back on her and nodded to the receptionist. The pair separated, the receptionist returned to her phone calls and temple tapping, the researcher strode to the set of doors which led into the laboratory proper.
They’d erased him. The State had erased him because he’d helped her get the memories. What were they hiding?
The security men tossed her out into the street. She hit the side of her car and flopped into the gap between the sidewalk and the asphalt. “Thanks, gents,” she yelled over her shoulder. “I thought I lost this thing.” She patted her car, then used one of the mirrors to pull herself upright.
The men in blue and white stood on either side of the lab’s entrance, staring at her, impassive, but alert.
She flipped them off, then got into her car and drove away.
Back to the SSG HQ to convince Eli that they had to find Droggo before time ran out.
Her timepiece had pinged with an alert even before she hit the freeway.
15
What was a memory?
It was pain. It was pleasure. It was a collection of reactions in the brain. Remembering served an evolutionary purpose. She remembered every time she’d fucked up and the consequences thereof.
And yet, she’d made the same mistakes again.
She remembered crying herself to sleep after the last time she’d loved a man, years ago. She remembered her father’s disappointment in every movement, breath, spoken word.
Charlie Spade had become a collection of those memories. That was all they were, every person in every sector, in every city on the planet: collections of memories. Moving, talking collections, and Mem Store and the State had figured out how to capitalize on that.
To take the one thing which should’ve remained private, untouched, sacred, and to change it, sell it, repackage, rebrand.