Selena

by V Guy

  Her expression eased. “Oh, I know that. I just don’t want to you to go.” She gave him a long, tight hug. “I still remember when you first came onboard. What a wonder you were.”

  He released her. “You’re a natural leader. I’d follow you anytime.”

  She moved to Makaha, who embraced her, lifted her from the ground, and swung her around. “I love you guys, I hope you know that,” she said, gasping for air.

  “It’s a big house.” He gently lowered her. “We’ll save you a room.”

  Evelyn gave them two more quick hugs then disappeared into the ship before her tears showed. James embraced Makaha a final time. The commando entered the hovercraft; Arturo paused next to Malik.

  “If you need us, call us. We’ll come.”

  Malik nodded and made a gentle smile. “I will. Safe traveling, my friends.”

  Arturo boarded the vehicle; the commandos were soon at the other side of the spaceport.

  Malik sensed their arrival. “They’re at the transport.”

  “Think they’ll have an uneventful trip?” asked James, moving next to him. “That’s a lot of expensive equipment.”

  “They’re big, strong, and people know they are associated with me; no one will mess with them.”

  “Reputations?”

  “They’re occasional helpful.” Malik grimaced. “When they aren’t causing problems.”

  He gazed at their destination, hearing the commandos’ minds. He lingered in thought, recalling his time with them until his head dropped. He turned, making a surrendering smile. Safe journey. “Now let’s get everyone else on the road.”

  James shared a consoling clasp with him, and they entered the ship.

  Malik moved to the garage, emerged shortly thereafter on the Dart, reached the tarmac, and set an immediate course for The Belle’s Curve. He eased the large hoverbike next to the loading dock. The establishment was yet unopened, and he moved around the building toward the boardwalk. He entered the patio’s canopy and settled near the edge.

  Malik heard a dog bark and turned to watch. “You’re an extreme morning person. Did you leave from Marshall this morning?”

  “Early starts prepare me for the day.”

  Lily St. Gale freed the straining dog, and it immediately ran to greet Malik. Malik raised a claw to stroke the canine’s sides.

  The beagle’s affection made St. Gale scowl. “Must be the hair.” She sat at one of the tables. “It’s getting harder to excuse your behavior.”

  “Were you able to follow up on the council woman?” he asked. “I’ve gave you considerable information concerning her.”

  “Yes, and that’s the only reason you’re not getting removed today.”

  “That and all the other things I’ve told you?” He submitted a list of names. “I’ve found a few more cops.”

  He saw her expression. “I’ve been investigating some of Vest’s competitors in crime, and these are their law enforcement contacts. Some are friends. Others are active supporters.”

  Her temper rose. “I can’t make cases with only names.”

  “Should I give them to Kroes?”

  St. Gale’s face turned crimson. “This is my planet, this is my business, I’ve got this.”

  “You’re over-extended.”

  She scanned the list, examining the regions, officers, and their connections. “This does explain some things. How are you investigating?”

  “As usual,” he replied. “I link with their minds, discover others in the business through them, then interact with the people they reveal. They’ve been leaving my sessions alive—at least they have up until now.”

  St. Gale paused in surprise. “You’re not killing them? You’ve bound to have discovered something incriminating.”

  “I’m being proactive. Convicting is your job. My enemies have become bolder; I must discern their tendencies and know if they should be monitored.”

  She lowered her device to look across the Rachart River. “What did you discover?”

  He made a crooked grin. “Fear is growing within their ranks. Some who might have afflicted Serena have decided otherwise.”

  “You staked the heads of mercenaries into the surface of a bar. That’s more substantial than just fear.”

  “The bar reported it?” Malik was pleasantly surprised, and the colors on his flanks warmed as his good humor showed. “Fear is a fantastic motivator, certainly far healthier than death, and involves less paperwork.”

  “You mailed a businessman’s head to his local association, of which he was the chairman. That’s a problem. That’s paperwork.”

  “Some people need drama. Death occasionally isn’t enough.”

  “Drama means visibility.”

  His lips opened in a snarl. “A friend of mine was killed while defending Serena, and the head came from the man who contracted the killers.”

  “He wasn’t under suspicion,” said St. Gale, valiantly containing her temper. “You may know he was guilty, but others don’t. I’m pressured to find the killer.”

  “Two other people within the association had similar proclivities, and I expect they’re leading the charge. Should they die, too?”

  She paused and frowned, furrowing her brows. “You can’t off everyone you find offensive. There are laws, I’m trying to uphold them, and condoning your actions could suggest an undermining, compromising duplicity. I’ve been trying to change perceptions—this doesn’t help.”

  “I’m the center of your efforts,” said Malik. “Without my contribution, your progress would be negligible.” He stood and stretched, rotating his joints to reduce their stiffness. “I’m obligated and legally entitled to defend my master, and these ‘offensive’ people have been trying to kill her. To be certain, this is my sole legal entitlement. If she dies, I stop talking, and you return to your previous, nonexistence success rate.”

  Her lips tightened. “We could stick you in a cage and leave you there.”

  Malik stiffened. “You could. Would you prefer knowing what these dearly beloved, shady business associates have been doing? I’m learning more every week about what highly esteemed representatives of the community do outside of the public eye, and the longer my freedom endures, the more similar people I find. Because of me, your chance of purging this planet of their influence rises.”

  St. Gale stared at him for a long moment. She moved to the wooden railing to pace and paused at the steps to the docks. “We can’t investigate someone like that without appearing to target them.”

  “But you would question a person’s relationships to discern a killer’s motives, wouldn’t you? Never mind that I can assure their guilt, but your search might uncover transactions that would taint their public reputations. Others might talk and provide the evidence.”

  “As I said, I’m under intense pressure,” she said, looking thoughtfully across the water. “Some of my associates question the information’s price. Some of them believe we’ve stepped too far.”

  Malik stroked the contented beagle. “I won’t stop defending Serena. I can’t. What is the worth of her attackers’ blood? What would compensate you for the deaths of those who hired them? I know you want me to stop, but I absolutely guarantee that someone will try again, and when they do, I will respond.”

  St. Gale straightened, stiffened, then pondered him as she leaned against the railing. A measure of uncertainty touched her voice. “There’s a serial killer in and around Marshall; we’re being taunted with every kill.”

  “And you want me to do something you can’t or won’t?”

  She scowled. “She’s careful. We need evidence, and we need her alive.”

  ***

  The Grand Bazaar within Spring City, Cheonia, in Xist, was an ever-changing place. With every canton’s dismantling came the addition of new buildings, consumables, and crafts. One consistent quality was the multitude, and within it was Kroes, perusing booths, examining merchandise, and watching performers. Her passage was almost clinical a
s she inspected the new booths, produce stands, and brewers. While less giddy than during her previous approach, she did prolong her transit.

  “Positioning to blitzkrieg another two cantons, I see,” she said, walking to him while toting a basket of fruit. “Expanding the advance? You previously staggered your conquests.”

  Kilam shrugged. “I’ve reduced them to twenty-one cantons; they have fewer soldiers to throw at me, and my troops are stronger. Mostly, my time is uncertain. I would like to finish this conflict before I’m disconnected.”

  She glanced across the Grand Bazaar. “Those new towers don’t look like captured architecture.”

  “My enemy has introduced additional cheats,” he said, looking upward. “They had a spell that kept my necromancers from raising their dead; for a little while it made recovering my own troops challenging. There’s a new mineral, which I haven’t yet captured, some new herbs, which I have, and more powerful whip technology, of which a few were stolen. Finally, they have new portal spells and could break into this protected space. The towers can’t prevent portal formation, but they can quickly close them. How is your residence?”

  She took a step back in surprise. “You knew?”

  He shrugged. “It’s my empire; I can choose what I know.”

  “It’s a second-story apartment with a balcony overlooking Rush circle,” said Kroes, dropping the basket to the balcony. “It’s nice. I understand why people need an eight-hour disconnect to return to reality. This a good place to work, and I can easily forget the real world.”

  “Work,” he said, shaking his head in humored disbelief. “Whatever suits your fancy, I suppose. I have more names, although St. Gale wasn’t too pleased about your involvement.”

  She frowned and stepped to the railing. “You haven’t finished my previous list. While I’ve finished yours, there are still six people remaining on mine.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  She crossed her arms. “Hence the list. You must address these as soon as possible and certainly before I’ll address more of your problems.”

  The next canton due for conquest appeared. “Problems,” he muttered. “Accessing people of wealth, power, and security is challenging. I gave you incriminating information concerning two of them without their knowledge, another I disabled, and the last one I killed. The more frequently I access this caliber of people, the greater the chance of being noted and my involvement deduced. If Evaline is a problem situation as it is, then confronting hostile elements of Central Security would be exponentially worse.”

  “You’ve got me, and I’m CSA.”

  He frowned. “Yes, and that concerns me.”

  Kroes’s scowl mirrored his response. “Make me a priority, Captain. You might then lose your leash.”

  Kilam turned away, highlighting border territories within the next canton to invade. “You should offer direction concerning their disposition. It shouldn’t be my decision.”

  “They die.” She glanced out to observe some jugglers. “Take what you wish from them in advance.”

  “You received enough information about the first four for elimination without my input.”

  Kroes made a snort. “I’m like you. I know what they’ve done and don’t necessarily need trial-quality evidence to establish guilt, render a verdict, or administer punishment.” She moved a few paces away then hesitated. “What did you do with Helen?”

  Kilam momentarily thought to be evasive. “I offered her a new life. She ran through one of my differentiation programs, I eliminated the undesirable portions of her mental programming, then she chose to leave.”

  The CSA captain stared at him for a long moment. After debating on whether to pursue the matter, she departed.

  ***

  Malik’s questioning by law enforcement lasted until early in the afternoon, the network conversation with Kroes having occurred during the first part of the day. Some of the interviews had been spent away from the Curve, and he returned to the restaurant with their burden gratefully dislodged from his shoulders.

  He entered to a slow afternoon, as was to be expected on Newday, and he motioned to one of the waitresses. She in turn moved to the back offices. Jon Borch returned in her stead.

  Jon gave him a big bear hug and guffawed. “You’re about as hairy as I am.” He then glanced at his large pack. “Got everything you need?”

  Malik nodded.

  Jon led him to the door leading upstairs and climbed the narrow steps into Selena’s old apartment.

  Malik was particularly obstructed by the awkward load, and when he arrived at the second-floor landing, he saw Jon and a petite woman with graying, light-brown hair standing in the late afternoon sunlight. Her expressive, pale-blue eyes were busy hiding behind her large husband, along with the rest of her.

  Jon came forward and motioned to the woman beside him. "This is my wife, Doris."

  “A pleasure to meet you,” said Malik, bowing his head. He removed the pack and set aside the parts for a portable infirmary table.

  His strange speech drew her immediate interest. After a moment of thought, she leaned close to Jon. “Why does he talk like that?”

  Malik chuckled in four-part harmony. “There’s no good reason. I suppose my maker was showing off.”

  Doris hesitantly emerged from the shelter of her husband. “Showing off?”

  “I was designed to kill. Can you imagine another reason for harmonic speech?”

  Her brow furrowed. He was immense and fearsome, and she could only imagine his capacity to end a life. “But you’re doing this?”

  “I prefer healing. Serena was always sick. I gained a great deal of medical knowledge, memorized known procedures, investigated cutting-edge techniques and equipment, and extensively simulated to find solutions. I like Jon, and he loves you considerably. Why not help you, too?”

  Doris’s fear warred against her logic; she stalled. “My EHA account didn’t cover treatments for people my age. The procedure must have been too risky.”

  “It was expensive, older people needed it more frequently, untreated patients buy more, higher-priced medicine, and the restriction reduces costs.” Malik made a growl of disgust. “I treat everything and everyone. After the medical challenges I’ve faced, this will be easy.”

  Two hours later, Doris Borch walked pain-free down the stairs for the first time in years, Jon resumed work during a moderately busy evening, and Malik returned to Pathfinder with the satisfaction of having done something worthwhile.

  40: Transition

  Day 802: Evaline; Channel Surfer, Pathfinder

  “I’ve got to leave,” said a determined Serena. She paced the extent of the apartment’s small kitchen, making repeated circuits past the tiny table. “I can’t stay here.”

  Liola said nothing. The other woman was conflicted, stopping to stare through the sink window if the effort would help. Lights for the complex’s pool illuminated the unseen water, producing reflections on nearby buildings.

  “I’m exhausted; I can’t do this anymore. There seems to be an antagonist at every turn, I must be constantly on guard, and anyone could be my killer.” Her countenance fell as she slumped against the counter. “I want to go home.”

  “Nothing has happened since Tichner Beach,” said Liola. “We’re in the clear.”

  “In the clear,” muttered Serena. “I’m the person in witness protection, the double-agent on the run in a foreign country, the snitch trying to hide from old gang members.”

  Liola made a snort. “You’re not a witness, there are no foreign countries, and I’m the leader of the gang. You watch too many old movies.”

  Serena glared at her. “That isn’t the point. I can’t live my life on Evaline. I can’t be a person in a cage!”

  “You’ll need fresh credentials,” said Liola, rising. “Malik can get you a set and a matching, altered chip. You could be gone within a week.”

  Serena stared at her, scowling to emphasize her words. “I want to leave now.
”

  ***

  The liner Channel Surfer was her vessel of choice. Although she yielded and consented to informing Malik of her departure, Serena wasted no time. Her transit shuttle rose from the planet twelve hours later. Eight hours after that, the liner vectored toward the channel to Taipei.

  Brunch ended half a day into the flight, and the day was fully mature, but Serena struggled to adapt to Earth Standard after living on Evaline’s long days. She made a leisurely trek back to her stateroom for rest and opened the door, closing her eyes and leaning against it after it closed. She was away. Relief flooded through her. In only an hour, Channel Surfer would reach the drop and depart the system.

  Her ease was short lived. A set of strong hands roughly grabbed her, pulled her away from the wall and into a sitting chair, and held her as she was bound by a second man. A third man emerged from the bathroom with a satchel, which he dropped on the floor.

  “New orders, fellas,” said the burly, hard-countenanced man. He fished through the bag and stacked gear to the side. “We’re killing her instead.”

  The original men glared back. “Then why bind her?” He removed a twelve-centimeter knife from his belt. “We didn’t need to be here at all. Let’s get done with it before this ship goes.”

  “The customer wanted a personalized execution,” said the third man, rolling his eyes. “We’re to deliver a message.”

  The second man straightened. “That’s ridiculous. Death isn’t strong enough?”

  “I suppose not.” The third man completed the assembly of three hovering remotes. “You get to be our spokesperson.”

  “Fantastic. And what will I be doing?”

  The third man tossed a device while syncing a companion device with the hovering machines. “You’ll stand behind the girl and make that statement. Nelson will slice her neck on cue. Put on your masks.”

  The first man kneeled to Serena’s right side and donned a hood. “We should’ve done this last night. I hope we don’t need to drag her through the ship during the middle of the day.”