by Drew Avera
"How long have you been bleeding like this?"
"I don't know," he answered, looking at the wall and not at me. "I noticed it about half an hour ago, I think."
"What were you doing?"
"Sitting on the ground waiting for you. What else could I do?"
I shrugged and prepared the supplies for the cleanup process, hoping to abate the bleeding as much as possible. "You realize if you bleed out that I can't bring you back, right?"
"Life is temporary, Halem. Maybe I don't want to come back if I go too far over the edge."
The cryptic nature of his words wasn't as surprising as the reddening of the wound once I pulled the bandage off. It was more than infected, it looked like poison. I'd seen it in a few victims of gang violence a couple of years prior. They were nameless and apparently didn't warrant full autopsies according to the coroner. I remembered my shock and disappointment that citizens of Archea would be treated as such simply because of not knowing who they were or their possible criminal affiliation. It was as if the government rejected their own people. I shook the memory out of my head and focused on Castor.
"What kind of round would leave this?" I asked, pointing at the gunshot in his shoulder.
Castor looked down and groaned. "It's bad. There's no antidote for that stuff."
"Antidote? Everything should have an antidote," I replied, pulling the cap off the alcohol and pouring it into the hole. He winced but otherwise didn't move.
"Not this. It's laced with Tritipolyn." He said it as if I knew what he was talking about.
"Never heard of it," I said, dabbing the wound with gauze.
"It's a synthetic blood agent," he replied.
"Chemical warfare?"
He nodded. "A step up if you look back on the history of the stuff."
"Great, if they have this, then what else do they have?" I could only imagine what would happen if chemical weapons were released in Archea. The dome would prevent the winds from dissipating the poison and it would take the recyclers days to filter the air. This was proof the government had a means of annihilating the population if it chose to do so. Nothing put the evil of those in power into perspective like weapons of mass destruction. My thoughts shifted back to those nameless bodies and I wondered if they were test subjects dumped in a back alley of Outer Downtown, a silent warning of what was to come.
Castor shrugged. "Doesn't matter what they have. I doubt they'll use it unless as a last resort. You and I have a bigger problem. We're running out of time. If you want to get justice for Marada, then we need to act tonight."
I looked up at him, his tired face an expression of someone I didn't know at all and had no reason to trust. I thought back to the moments I contemplated ending him right then and there. It would have been easy. More so now. But I was certain I needed him to get what I came for.
Revenge.
25
Tetrim
Just as I figured, I couldn't fall asleep despite laying on my cot for a few hours, tossing and turning as if I was at battle with myself. My brain neglected to turn off long enough for me to succumb to the slumber I so desperately craved. Each time I was about to doze off, a thought would spiral out of control, lamenting the impending doom and gloom, swallowing me in my fictitious imagination to the point I thought it was the inevitable truth. It was maddening, but not nearly as much as my reality was shaping up to be.
Gosney entered the small room attached to my office without knocking, his shoulders slumped and a noticeable burden to his step. I was sure he was here to report Cherum's death, the details of which I could do without. When I closed my eyes, I could see Cherum staring at me, pointing an accusing finger as his final defiant act was to try and coerce a confession from me in order to trap me. It obviously didn't work, but his display of betrayal hit me in a way I hadn't imagined possible.
"What is it?" I asked as the detective stood across the room, his breathing heavy.
"I have news to report," he answered, his speech on the verge of mumbling, most likely from being tired. Understandable given the circumstances. After the situation with Cherum, I demanded more men to help secure the building. How few men were in my pocket enough to carry out what needed to be done was laughable, but at least they were in positions to lead other men in the shadows to ensure what needed to be done. It helped when marking your enemies as fugitives of the law. At least the orders the men had to fire on sight were lawful. There was nothing pegging me as a criminal for doing so, at least.
"Pontiff Cherum's dead?"
"That situation is handled, sir, but that's not it." He wasn't playing coy, but I could tell what he had to say wasn't what he wanted to say. I doubted I wanted to hear it, either.
I sat up on my cot and switched on the light on a table next to me. "Your people have the fugitives?" My question was accompanied by a grin of relief. Finally, I thought, we can be at peace without some ghosts coming back to haunt us.
"Not exactly," he said, immediately deflating my enthusiasm. "They killed three Guardsmen at Halem's residence. Body-cam footage shows our people on the cusp of killing them, but Castor deflected a frag grenade back towards the Guardsmen. One was killed in the blast, but Castor finished the job where the frag grenade failed, shooting both survivors before he and Halem escaped."
I groaned and rubbed at my forehead where the beginnings of a headache started to form. Why I couldn't get out ahead of this nightmare and end it quickly, with all the firepower at my disposal, was beyond me. "How long ago was this?" I rose from the cot without thinking about it, feeling as if some unseen force propelled me forward until I was inches from Gosney's face, ready to tear into him with all the fury I could muster.
"Four hours."
I was taken aback. "Four hours? That's long enough to allow them to get anywhere in Archea. They could be in this building for all we know. This is unacceptable." On the verge of shouting, I paced the room, wringing my hands nervously. I wanted to wrap my fingers around someone's throat and squeeze until their head popped off. I wasn't even partial to who it was at the moment, I just needed to release the anger burning inside of me.
"There is some good news," Gosney said, distracting me from my world falling apart long enough to pause and look at him, my eyes narrowed as I glared. "Castor was hit by a Tritipolyn laced bullet. His hours are numbered. That should give you some consolation."
I nodded as if I knew what that was, but frankly, all I could do was piece together the fact he was shot with something laced that would kill him. It was good enough for me, though it left an open question needing to be answered to truly settle my nerves. "How long does he have?"
Gosney shrugged. "If the bullet is still in him, twelve hours. If they pulled it out somehow, he might have a day or two tops. There's no antidote and the chemical reaction escalates the longer it's in the blood."
"I understand that Castor is neutralized as a threat, or will be soon, but surely you aren't implying the situation is going to take care of itself? What about Halem?" It angered me further that I had to remind Gosney that Castor was never the biggest threat, it was Marada's husband. Revenge had a way of destroying nations when unsettled. History made parables about it using Troy as an example. I would not see Archea toppled by another man's broken heart.
Gosney took a breath and continued. "We have three teams of Guardsmen searching for them, but Archea is a large city. They're smart and staying out of sight. We're deploying some technology that might help track them down using DNA scanners, but it's a long shot. The system isn't one-hundred-percent ready yet."
"Use it anyway and get results, Gosney. I'm not spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. And while you're at it, beef up the security here. If these desperate men enter this building, there will be a reckoning that could shatter Archea's future." I felt myself breathing hard and realized my heart beat hard enough to become a dull thud in my ears. "This needs to be done quietly. I don't want the public in an uproar and bringing attention to what'
s happening. We will get enough attention once news of the Pontiff's death hits."
"Understood." Gosney turned to leave the room, but I wasn't through.
"What about Cherum? You never really answered my initial question." I didn't want to know the details, but I felt obligated to ask. It wasn't that I never cared for him, but his betrayal cut me deep. I never thought he would be that kind of person to display strength when he felt the end approaching. Perhaps I had underestimated him. Just not enough to regret my decision.
"The situation will be handled." Gosney's tone was flat and void of emotion, precisely why he was the man for the job. Though, I thought it would have been done already.
"He's not dead yet?" I asked, not sure if I was upset or hopeful by the fact he could still be alive, that maybe Gosney found a new way to use my old friend that might preserve his life a little longer. But I had a feeling it was naïve to think I could ever trust Cherum again, after what he attempted to do.
"Let me worry about it, Councilman. The less you know, the better."
He left the room and the door shut louder than necessary. I didn't know if it was his doing due to anger or stress, or if it was my being sensitive to the emotional ups and downs the last few days wrought on me. I collapsed onto the cot and pulled the pillow over my face, feigning as if I intended to smother myself. Instead, I let out a scream, forcing the air from my lungs as I roared in anger and fear. I was losing control, and this was what it looked like. A man shouting into a pillow as he barricaded himself in a tiny room, expecting others to defend him.
Disgruntled, I tossed the pillow to the floor and rose off the cot. I was ashamed of my fear. This was not the person I was supposed to be. As I gazed out the window, peering out into the dark, Archean night, I wondered where my enemies were hiding. With any luck, the DNA trackers would do their job and the Guardsmen could put a quick end to them. But luck wasn't where I wanted to put my hope.
I walked over to the far wall and pulled down a painting of someone I never knew. The small, brass placard read "Denius Frud, Councilman 2507-2534," as if it meant anything to me. He was as dead as our future would be if my work stopped. Humanity could not survive on Mars trapped under a dome forever.
Behind the painting was my safe, and I pressed my fingers into the slots for it to read my fingerprints. A moment later I heard the click and the door released. Pulling it open, I reached inside for the gun which had been passed down over the history of the World Council. For all I knew, it had never been shot. With any luck, that would continue to be the case.
But I wouldn't bet on it.
26
Castor
The infection gave me the shakes. Every other minute I wiped sweat from my forehead as I gasped for my next breath. It was the beginning of the end and I felt it looming as if death was a physical being waiting patiently for me to submit.
I was ready.
"I need everything you have on Cherum," Halem said, pulling me from my dance with death.
I pulled the comm from my pocket and powered it on before handing it to him. "Every transmission sent to me by Pontiff Cherum is saved to a folder on the secondary home screen. The password is ‘verity'."
"Truth," Halem replied, taking it and immediately scrolling. I sat back and watched as the first transmission played.
"Agent Castor, I have a mission in need of your specific skill set. Councilwoman Marada Scrimpshire has impeded the plans of the World Council for long enough. She is obligated to attend the upcoming gala. It is imperative to silence her vote so I—excuse me, we can pass the necessary legislation to ensure a thriving future for Mars. I do not want to tell you how to carry out the deed, but I would suggest implicating her husband in the crime. Her request to make the gala open for spouses has presented an opportunity I think is in our best interest to take advantage of. I'm sure you remember Halem Scrimpshire? Once completed, you are to disappear to Clenist. You will be contacted by Agency personnel in one year's time for future assignments."
The transmission closed, and I watched Halem sit on the steps shaking. I couldn't tell if it was rage or sadness until he spoke.
"That piece of—I'm beyond words," he barked as he rose from the step and stomped towards the platform before turning back, his eyes wild. "This conspiracy suggests World Council involvement. The entire system is corrupt!"
I nodded, no words were necessary.
Halem played it again, this time pausing in the middle. "When he makes a mistake and corrects himself, there's a pause and something shifts in his demeanor. Did you notice this?"
"No."
Halem kneeled next to me and shifted the screen so I could see it. "Cherum has a tick. He's constantly turning the ring on his finger. Any time I've seen him in nervous situations, he escalates, not stops. At the beginning of the video, he's turning the ring as usual, but once he stumbles on his words, the tick stops, almost as if it's an afterthought."
I watched Cherum onscreen a couple of times as Halem made his point but was unsure of how that could prove anything. "So, he does. What does that prove?"
Halem stood again and sighed, looking at the screen as he spoke. "I don't think that's Cherum."
"It certainly looks like him. Sounds like him too," I replied, shifting my weight to my other hip.
"Yeah, I know."
"Then you also know proving otherwise is near impossible. Are you sure your disdain for Tetrim isn't clouding your judgment?" Halem cut his eyes at me but didn't speak. "I'm only suggesting you not overlook the fact that you have a vendetta against him, which may not tie him to the crime."
"Ties," Halem said.
"Ties? Ties what?" I asked, confused, either by the infection making it difficult to concentrate, or Halem not making sense. It was hard to say.
"In the video, Cherum ties you to me, suggesting you should remember me."
"So? He knows my history in the department. If he didn't know, I'm sure the Agency informed him."
"I've spoken with Cherum many times, but he always referred to me as Detective Scrimpshire. He never said my first name, and Marada implied more than once that he had a terrible memory of people he didn't speak to very often. Usually, he would remember a title and a social cue, such as Marada inferring I was her husband."
"Maybe it was an act, or maybe he looked up your information before sending me the order? This doesn't mean much. You're reaching for a conspiracy that doesn't exist, Halem."
"Am I?" Halem handed me the comm. A red death banner scrolled across the screen, marking the end of life for Pontiff Cherum. "Isn't it ironic this report just came out that Pontiff Cherum killed himself? This is a classified report. Thanks to your access, we now know he's gone. But why?"
"Complicity in your wife's death. Maybe he felt guilty," I said, rising to my feet, tired of looking up at Halem as he paced.
"Or to create a dead end. If there's no one to exact revenge on, then you neutralize your enemy," Halem said.
I scoffed. I had the feeling his ego played as much into this conspiracy of his as his need to avenge Marada. I hoped not, but the evidence stood right in front of me. "Do you really think they're that concerned with you? You're no one in their world."
That statement seemed to take some of his steam as he paused, his head hung low. "Let's say you're right. Where do we go from here?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm dead in a day regardless," I answered.
Halem cut his eyes towards me. "Then help me take Tetrim out for the good of Mars."
"You want me to murder someone just because you think it's a good idea? Do you hear yourself?"
Halem stepped towards me. "You're a killer. That's what you do, right?"
"I was a cop before they got ahold of me. I had a conscious. I upheld the law, which is what you're supposed to be doing. Not giving into your hatred for someone else." I had the sense this was the clearest my thoughts had been in a long time. The infection put me in a fog, but my reasoning went unhindered by the programming the Agen
cy put me through. Had I finally broken through?
Halem shoved his hands in his pockets and kept looking at the ground. "You're right. I've let my contempt carry me this far and I'm on the brink of falling into the darkness. I don't know where to focus my grief. When Cherum was alive and you agreed to help, I felt a sense of purpose. If he's gone, then this is over. He did what we could not. Now, I feel like we failed."
I leaned back against the wall, pulling my jacket tighter around me as chills shook me to my core. "I suppose with Cherum gone, you'll no longer have to look over your shoulder. I would just give it time for the news to hit the public. Once you're vindicated, maybe you can move on?"
Halem sniffed, but I couldn't tell if he was crying or if it was sinuses. "Maybe?"
We stood in silence for several moments before a high-pitched whirring sound caught our attention.
"What is that?" Halem asked, peering towards the dark end of the tunnel where the sound emanated.
"Sounds mechanical," I said, but there's nothing down here that should be operational." No sooner than those words escaped my lips, that's when we saw them. Half a dozen drones gliding into view, six feet above our heads. They stopped as if they were a single entity, thinking as one, almost like a hive.
"What are those?" Halem asked with dread in his voice.
"I can't believe it," I muttered, half under my breath. What appeared to be the lead drone illuminated, a holographic display emanating from its nosecone, revealing a not too unfamiliar face. At least to me.
"Your time is up, Castor. It's time to go to ‘sleep'," Pollux said, his voice low as he spoke in the frequency used to control my augmentations.