by Vanessa Muir
“It is not good, Agent Spade. It is not good at all. I have fed the MemXor to two test groups of rats in controlled conditions. The rats have exhibited behavioral changes over the last day. Those with lower dosages appear sound and are behaving appropriately, but the higher doses are another case.” He hesitated to continue.
“What is it?” Charlie asked, and her heart went wild, raced inside her chest. She already had the answer thanks to Mitchell’s journals. She hoped there was another explanation, anything to exonerate the pills because it meant hiding from the horrible truth.
Things had to change. Mem Store had to change. Or the State did, and she didn't see that happening anytime soon.
Germiston remained quiet on the other end of the line.
“Doctor? Are you there?”
“This is bad, Spade. The rats who took the higher dosages of MemXor, they are exhibiting aggressive behavior, mood swings. They’re killing each other, or throwing themselves at the walls of their containers and killing themselves.”
“Oh god,” she whispered.
“This is groundbreaking. If this is the result in rats, I can hardly fathom what would happen in a human test subject. As far as I am aware, those who undergo memory removal are subject to low dosages for repair of the hippocampus, but this is dangerous. It is unprecedented. One wrong dosage, one incorrect prescription, and the man or woman may tumble into a spiral from which they cannot recover.” The doctor swallowed, audibly. “Granted, I have yet to test the long-term effects of the pills on the rats. These are only basic findings. But if the MemXor has this effect short term, I can only equate long term to –” He cut off.
“Doctor?”
“Spade,” he said. “Spade, hold on. I heard a noise from the lab.” Muffled scrapes of fabric followed.
“Doctor? Doctor Germiston!” Charlie yelled it, and several of the other diners turned in their seats, glaring at her.
“What’s going on?” Eli asked.
“Doctor Germiston!”
The line cut out. The tone beeped in her ear.
“Shit,” she said and lurched out of her seat. “We have to go, Eli. Now.”
“Why? What happened?” He threw down his napkin and got up, signaling to the waiter for the check.
“I don’t know, but it’s not good.” Charlie jogged through the restaurant, between the tables of well-dressed men and women, past a gurgling water fountain and the porthole doors which looked in on the kitchen and its chefs. One of them looked up and gave her the stink-eye.
So, this was it. Mem Store had discovered their little experiment, and Germiston was about to pay the price. Germiston and the rest of Corden Prime.
14
“It just seems a little out there,” Eli said, sucking in deep breaths.
They sprinted down the road, under lampposts and past parked cars and shuttles, toward the SSG HQ Corden Prime Central.
“Huh?” Charlie focused on the entrance to the building, bouncing into sight.
“This whole rat thing.”
“Talk inside,” Charlie hissed. She pounded up to the front of the building, then pressed her thumb to the security pad. It flashed green, and the glass slid back to admit them. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the partition – hair ruffled, in a sloppy shirt and jeans, and grimaced.
She should never have agreed to the dinner. If she’d been home when Germiston’s call had come through, then what? She still wouldn’t have reached the lab in time to stop whatever it was that had happened to him.
The halls in HQ were well lit by overhead fluorescents, and it was late enough that even the cleaning crew had packed it in. They took the elevator to the forensics labs, located on the basement level of the building, and elevator music jived in the sudden quiet between them – now, that the pounding of their footsteps had stopped.
“It’s too convenient,” Eli said.
“What are you talking about?”
“The rats. MemXor. You’re telling me they’re expressing, what, aggression? After one day of taking the drugs? It sounds like the results have been messed with.”
“Oh, this you’re suspicious of, but anything the State does is gold to you?” Charlie said.
“The State has a proven track record,” Eli replied.
“Yeah, in subterfuge. And don’t let others at SSG hear you say that. You’re supposed to be an impartial party in this and every other investigation.” Her frustration had reached peak levels. “For once, shut up, listen, and do your fucking job.”
“I could say the same to you.” He glared at her.
She refused to look at him but focused on the glass front of the elevator. Floors whipped past – a section of cubicles, one with its lights on, another level was all storage. They were almost there. Almost.
“You’re the one who refuses to see what’s right in front of you,” Eli continued. “Even though it’s so damn obvious it could smack you right in the head.”
“What?”
“Black Mars. You don’t want to even consider that they might be a part of this.”
“That’s because they’re not a part of this,” Charlie snapped.
“How can you be so sure?”
Because Levi Daniels had confirmed it. No, that wasn’t it. It was because it didn’t feel right in her gut. Because the undeniable evidence, in her opinion, pointed in the exact opposite direction.
Facts couldn’t be manipulated. And the facts were that two scientists had found connections between MemXor and increased aggression. The drug itself, in high dosages, might be responsible for the last two murders, not just the expired RelaxIn component which acted as the stabilizer.
If the very basis of MemXor was unstable, the effects could be disastrous.
“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying,” Eli said. “Typical.”
“Start talking sense, and maybe I will listen.”
The elevator stopped in front of the labs, and the doors slid open, silently. The happy music jimmied down the cream and gray passage toward the sealed entrance to the labs proper. The glass doors at the far end were closed, and every light inside was off.
“Well,” Eli said. “This wasn’t a fantastic waste of time.”
Charlie walked down the corridor and halted in front of the glass. She squinted into the darkness, searched the floor for a body, preparing herself for the shock. But there wasn’t a soul in sight.
Dr. Germiston was gone.
Like Droggo Boersma.
Charlie gritted her teeth. This was a god damn nightmare. They could make people disappear. How long until it was her turn? How deep would she dig before they decided her time was up too?
“Charlie, it’s empty. There’s no one here.”
“I’m aware of that, smartass.”
“Then, why are we hanging around?”
“Leave if you want to leave.”
Eli stepped up beside her. “Come with me.”
“No.”
“Why? Why won’t you just see sense for once? Why do you always have to be such a –”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Charlie said. “I’ve already lost most of my respect for you, Eli. Don’t finish the job.” Her watch pinged with a notification before he could reply. Charlie lifted it and tapped the screen.
Words flashed there, black and red, in bold print.
Report to Shane Mitchell’s apartment. BOE.
“BOE,” she said.
“Breach of Evidence?” Eli’s tan brow wrinkled up. “At this time of the night?”
Charlie hurried back to the elevator, the nerves which only just subsided came rushing back into place. Her arms were blocks of lead; her head swam. Something had gone wrong again. Something big.
15
Smoke clogged the vents in Charlie’s car long before they parked across the street from Dr. Mitchell’s apartment building. They got out, and soot clung to their skin, flecks of ash scattered to the wind. Perhaps it was all the books burning.
&
nbsp; The building was wrecked, a steel frame, blackened, twisted, shattered glass on the concrete in front of it, and still burning. Fire trucks screamed up the street, though there were already two in front of the fire. Men hoisted hoses, spraying flame retardant gel onto the blaze.
“Shit,” Charlie said and tasted ash. “The whole building. The people.” She scanned the sidewalk opposite, but relief didn’t come at the sight of all those lined up watching the furnace destroy their homes.
Eli was silent on his side of the car, standing with the door still open and one foot in, one foot out of it.
“Spade!” A throaty shout.
She turned and cringed inwardly.
Boss Ink charged across the street toward her, ham fists balled up. “Spade,” he repeated and halted in front of her. “You took your time.”
“We came as soon as we heard,” she said and looked past his tattooed face at the flames. They licked steel beams. There was a terrific crack-pop, and a window on the side of the building shattered, raining glass on the firemen in their orange striped uniforms. They yelled and scurried around, toting the hoses.
Organized chaos.
“The evidence,” she said. “The apartment.”
“It’s all gone,” Boss Ink replied. “I hope you got what you wanted from Mitchell’s place, Spade.”
“This was orchestrated. It has to be. Someone did this to destroy evidence.” Had she missed something in the house? Another set of journals? Perhaps there had been some clue as to where Mrs. Mitchell had run off to.
“Where were you?” Ink asked and gestured to the building. “Before all of this.”
“At SSG HQ, sir.”
“At this time of night?”
“Yes, sir, I received a call from Dr. Germiston in forensics. He had preliminary results on the MemXor. Boss, it appears that the drug –”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “I don’t want to hear a damn word about the drug or anything else, right now. We’re standing in front of a burning building, next to people who have lost their homes, their belongings, and all you care about is the case and the evidence.”
Charlie stepped back from the heat in his voice. “Did everyone make it out okay?” she asked, lamely.
Boss Ink grunted, then took her by the elbow and walked her down the street, a short distance from Eli, the car, the crackle of flames and the shriek of twisting metal. No one so much as glanced at them. All eyes were on the pyre.
“This is a fuck up, Spade,” he muttered. “The apartment has been razed to the ground in the wake of your investigation. Yeah, I know you and Eli were here without authorization today.”
“Without authorization! Sir, it’s my crime scene.”
“No, it’s SSG’s crime scene. You’re an operative, Spade. You don’t run the whole damn show, and that means you have to follow the rules. I told you not to fuck this one up.” His voice trembled with intensity.
“I’m not fucking it up,” she replied. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve got a lead on the drugs. It’s important. It could blow this case and many others wide open.”
“What did I say about that? I don’t want to hear it. You’ve stepped out of line too many times, and I’m running out of reasons to give you chances,” Ink said, and his eyes darted to the left and then the right in his skull. “I’ve got the Council so far up my ass if I fart, they hear about it. Understand? I can’t cover your ass anymore.”
“I don’t need anyone to cover for me. I’m following the leads,” Charlie replied, as evenly as she could. The backdrop of the burning building didn’t help in that. “Listen, you don’t think it’s a little damn suspicious that this particular apartment building is ablaze?”
“Stop it.”
“I’m serious, Boss. This is arson, I’d bet my badge on it, and I have some idea as to who it might be.”
“Don’t you dare say it.”
“Mem Store,” she said. “They know I’m onto them, and they want to make sure I can’t nail them for what they’ve done.”
“Nail them? Do you hear yourself when you speak? You’re one person. You can’t bring down a massive State-sanctioned corporation, and you shouldn’t want to. They’re part of the reason you have a job,” Ink said.
“So, I should sit back and let them do whatever they want to do?”
“No,” Ink replied. “You should do your damn job. You’re here to provide checks and balances. To make sure they’re kept in line, but not to destroy the very foundation of what our fucking society is based upon.”
Charlie pressed her lips into a thin line.
“And you don’t need to, regardless. I don’t care what you may or may not have found in the drugs from the apartment. You’re supposed to be looking for the killer, not dancing on the victim’s grave.”
“Sir, the pills.”
“May have been tampered with. They might not have been pure MemXor.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” Charlie gripped her forehead and smeared the ash there. It was greasy, thick. God, what had they used to set this fire?
“I’ve just received intel on Jana Mitchell. She was spotted meeting with Black Mars operatives. Mem Store has the surveillance footage. She’s somewhere in Corden Prime Beta Sector.”
“Black Mars,” Charlie said, flatly.
“They have physical proof.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“It’s not your job to believe it. It’s your job to investigate it and make the god damn arrest,” Ink said. “This is your last warning, Charlie. If you step out of line again, I’ll have no choice but to remove you, permanently.”
What could she say to that? She didn’t have any authority in this situation, perhaps, she didn’t even have it in her investigation. “Sir, you know me. I might push hard and go fast, but I always get results. I helped apprehend Jones.”
“I’m not going to engage in mental masturbation,” Ink snapped. “Get out of here. Go home and sleep, Spade. Wake up tomorrow morning with a fresh outlook, and find Jana Mitchell before she kills another victim. Or burns down another building.”
Another theory Charlie didn’t put any stock in. She massaged her forehead. “Boss –”
But Ink didn’t hang around to hear her rebuttal. He walked off, back stiff and hands thrust into his pockets.
“Everything okay?” Eli asked, behind her.
“Yeah, perfect,” she replied. “Just perfect.” She walked off and left her partner in the ash.
16
Charlie took the elevator up to her floor and held back a tide of rage. She flexed her hands, balled them into fists, released them again. Every bit of this was bullshit. Boss Ink was too scared to find the truth about the State, and she – well, she couldn’t entirely blame him for that.
It frustrated her, but she understood on a deeper level.
He had a point. What could she do against Mem Store? Against the State? Absalon Shamood was a god. Her own father was probably involved in this somehow; the very same person she’d been determined to impress once upon a time.
If there was a problem with the drugs – there is – it was rooted deep. She’d have to dig at the base to get it all out into the open, and what then?
“Stop,” she whispered, as the elevator slid smoothly up its shaft. “You’re not going to give up on this.”
She would make Boss Ink understand. She’d use the journals. At least, she still had them to work with.
Charlie had already made her decision on this. She’d dig until she uprooted the whole tree, if necessary. For too long, people in positions of power had stepped on the little guy, had pressured others into doing things they regretted.
Perhaps, this would help her put an end to that.
The elevator gave a merry bing, and the door slid open. She stepped into the hallway – now, well lit, thanks to whoever had fixed it after Levi’s visit – and walked down the hall.
The door to her apartment
opened of its own accord.
Charlie halted mid-stride and stared. “What the hell?”
A man stepped into the hall, carrying a box and wearing the pale blue uniform of the Mem Store Corporation. Its insignia was sewn onto his right breast pocket.
“Hey! What the heck are you doing?” She started forward.
He didn’t answer, simply side-stepped her and kept walking.
“Stop right there, or I’ll have you arrested.”
“For what?” The smooth, buttery voice spoke behind her and sent a chill down her spine.
Charlie spun around, her back to the apartment, and held her breath. Jordan Smith stood in the doorway, wearing a neatly ironed suit. He ran a finger down the front of his black tie, smiling at her – wolf’s teeth on display, a glint in his eye.
“I’m afraid we have authorization to be here, Miss Spade.”
“Agent,” she hissed, and her vision zoomed in and out on him. She braced herself with a palm to the wall. “You can’t do this.”
“We can do whatever we want,” Smith whispered. “Whenever we want. You’d do well to remember that.”
Another Mem Store worker filed out, another box tucked under his arm.
“I must say, you made it easy for us to clean up here. You don’t have much in your home. Why is that, Miss Spade?” He stepped closer, imposing upon her, filling her personal bubble with his body and smell – surgical spirits. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing,” she said and lowered her gaze to the floor. The journals. What if they’d found them? She’d have nothing but a few pictures of their pages, and that was it. I didn’t hide them well enough. The sofa? What were you thinking, Charlie?
“Everybody’s hiding something,” Smith said, and the words were an unwanted caress. “Everyone has their little secrets.”
“Even you.” Charlie raised her head again.
The smile on his lips had gone cold, but it remained there, almost like an after-image. “This is a routine investigation,” he said, loudly. “It’s come to Mem Store’s attention that you may have the personal files of one of our researchers. This is Mem Store property and has been removed.” It was for everyone to hear, a formal rebuke.