by Stina Leicht
“I’m fine. This is merely a cold.”
You know damned well neither of us has had a cold in almost one hundred years. You’re lying. Rosie kept silent. The dread forming in their belly deposited bile in the back of their throat.
“Do you think for one moment I’d be stupid enough to expose my entire colony—the colony I worked so hard to obtain—to a deadly disease? Do you honestly think I’m that… that inept?”
“That depends upon how scared you got,” Rosie said, returning to the sofa. They gently moved Josie out of the way before sitting. “And it seems from here like you got very frightened indeed.”
“Fuck you, Rosencrantz,” Vissia said. “I’m done waiting. I’m taking what’s mine. Neither of us is going to live forever.”
“Particularly not you.”
There was a sharp intake of breath and a long pause. “That was beneath you.”
Rosie asked, “How long do I have?”
“That would be telling.”
“This isn’t right, and you know it,” Rosie said.
“There are a lot of things in the universe that are not right,” Vissia said. “And some of them should be erased from existence.”
“You lived among them for decades. You can’t believe that.”
“I do believe,” Vissia said. “In fact, I may even have the blessing of God.”
Rosie paused. “You brought the Church into this?”
“God works in mysterious ways,” Vissia said. “And I had to resort to whatever help I could get.”
“God doesn’t murder for money.”
“God may not,” Vissia said. “But we both know our Church history, do we not?”
“You’re vile.”
“And you’re an aberration,” Vissia said.
“So are you.”
“I’m done repeating old conversations. Good night.” And with that, Vissia disconnected the call.
Rosie didn’t move from the sofa. They stared at the abstract painting and thought about the landscape hanging in their office. It was an older work by an artist who was long dead and forgotten. The image was of a countryside no one living had visited. No living human being, in any case. The painter’s home world had been declared off-limits more than a hundred years ago. It was a place called Dellingr’s World, and the hills the painting depicted were located outside the settlement where Rosencrantz Ashmore was born. It was all they had left of the first ten years of their life. It was the only thing that had been deemed safe enough to keep.
Getting up, Rosie went to the liquor cabinet. They retrieved a bottle of fine scotch and then selected a heavy crystal glass. They poured a shot’s worth, resealed the bottle, and lifted the glass in the air as if in a toast.
“Here’s to burning bridges,” they said to the cat.
8
TIME: 08:00
DAY: SUNDAY
TAKGASHI TOWER LUXURY HOTEL
“It arrived yesterday around four o’clock,” Lucy Moore, the assistant property manager said.
The actual hotel manager was an AGI program supervised by the hotel chain’s upper management.
Lucy continued. “By corporate courier. It’s in the back.”
“Who sent it?” Kennedy asked.
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “It’s not listed on the manifest. Maybe it’s written on the return address?” An older, plump brunette, she squeezed from between stacked recyclable carbon boxes and excess office equipment. Eventually, she emerged with a medium package in her arms. “This is it. I’ll need you to sign for it, of course. To confirm delivery.”
“Is verification required by the sender?”
“Oh no. It’s just for me. A precaution. That way I can prove I gave it to you. Like they say, cover your ass, er… I mean butt.” Lucy actually blushed.
“That makes sense,” Kennedy said. She used the stylus Lucy held out and handed the tablet back to her.
“Very good. Thank you,” Lucy accepted the tablet and gestured at the box now resting on her desk, indicating that Kennedy was free to take custody. “Is everything to your liking? Are you comfortable in your apartment?”
“It is, and I am,” Kennedy said while her attention was on the box. Nothing about it seemed unusual. It wasn’t heavy. She checked the return address. There wasn’t one. “Do you know where it came from?”
“I make a point of not inquiring. Company regulations, you see. The courier wasn’t Tom. It’s usually Tom. But that one was a late delivery, and he doesn’t always come after three. Anyway, the courier said it got placed on the wrong delivery pallet. She said it was a rush order. I suppose we could inquire with the courier agency,” Lucy said. Worry pulled her dark eyebrows together. A line deepened on her forehead. “Didn’t you order it?”
She? Well that’s something. Kennedy opted to lie. “It’s probably from my sister. She likes to surprise me. She once sent a hand-knitted hat from Vancouver, Earth. I wonder what it is this time?”
“I just love surprises,” Lucy said. “Don’t you?”
Not really, Kennedy thought. She smiled in answer and turned away, focused on the box.
She took the package up to her apartment and placed it on the coffee table among Theodella Archady’s now quite defunct server components. Kennedy circled the table, staring at the .25m x .25m x .25m package—willing it to give up some clue as to its origin. After the third circuit, she gave up in disgust, crossed the room to the kitchen area, and found a knife. Then she used it to slit the tape. The box was filled with lightweight packing material—the standard carbon recyclable variety. Beneath that, she found a smaller cold-insulated box with a folded piece of synth-paper on top. She unfolded the note.
Written in the center was:
You appear to be looking for something. If interested in seeing more, contact me.
“All right. I’ll bite. Who are you?” She pried open the inner box and found two glass tubes of dark-red liquid. Blood samples. Why would anyone send me blood samples?
Fishing the tubes out of the box, she went to a lamp and held them up to the light. There weren’t any obvious differences. What is this? I’m not a biologist.
But one of her sisters was. She decided it was time to break her self-imposed communication restrictions. She composed a secure message. A reply arrived at once.
Where have you been?
I’ve been working.
We were worried.
I’m sorry. I didn’t have anything new to report. So I decided to wait. The less we communicate, the less likely this channel is discovered. I’m on Persephone. It felt so good to not be alone, to feel her sisters close.
What do you have to report?
She gave them everything she’d found thus far. It didn’t take long, of course.
May we see the vials?
Naturally.
Kennedy held the glass tubes of blood close enough for her sisters to get a good view. There was a small delay.
Open the first vial and sniff it, please.
Kennedy got the sense that the request came from her sister Thelxiepeia, the biologist. Are you sure that’s wise?
If they wanted to poison you, you would be dead already. If they wanted to infect you with nanobots, they also could have done so many times already without alerting you.
Point. Kennedy removed the rubber stopper and sniffed.
It’s blood.
What do you think they’re trying to tell us?
I’ll need a sample to be sure. And I need access to the body in order to examine it.
An instant of powerful unease overcame Kennedy. At first, she didn’t recognize the strong urge to deny her sister’s request for what it was.
How much do you need?
One drop from each will be sufficient.
All right.
She closed her eyes and concentrated, activating the nanobots in her system. When she was ready, she touched her tongue to the mouth of the test tube.
Don’t waste any of it.
I’ll be careful.
The nanobots extracted their samples from each of the tubes, sterilizing her mouth afterward.
When that was done, Kennedy detected her sister’s presence waiting just outside her consciousness. Kennedy acknowledged her before her sister approached. For a few moments, the inside of Kennedy’s body felt crowded. This time the extreme intimacy of it—the closeness she’d been missing not long before—was unpleasant. Claustrophobic. Just as suddenly as the anxiety had appeared, it vanished.
I have what I need. Thank you. Are you all right?
I am.
Excellent. I should have something in a few hours.
Thank you, Thelxiepeia.
I miss you.
I miss you, too. All of you.
Please do be careful.
I am.
Kennedy went back to work on the computer components taken from Theodella’s home server. She was certain she’d extracted all the useful information but needed something else to focus upon while Thelxiepeia worked. An hour and a half later, one of the subroutines Kennedy had set up sent an alert. It’d discovered anomalies in visible light emissions from the station via the starport cameras. She put down the component in order to focus on the returned data.
Someone had sent a broadband message from the station orbiting Persephone. It was coded in much the same way all of Cora’s previous messages had been.
Interesting.
Kennedy spent several minutes in an attempt to crack the message, but it was deceptively complex, and it wasn’t long before she knew she wouldn’t be able to read it. Not with the tiny sample code I have.
Storing the message, she then replicated another sliver of herself to target the specific light spectrum originating from the station. All messages were set to be stored in the same file. Then she allocated yet another part of herself to decode it in the background. She wouldn’t give it any attention until some sort of pattern emerged. I need to return to the station.
She wasn’t happy with the idea of backtracking, and she was frustrated with herself for not searching the station’s systems before traveling to the planet. That had been an error, but she’d been excited by the prospect of getting closer to her goal.
You cannot afford impatience.
It was three thirty in the morning when Thelxiepeia contacted her again.
Are you awake?
Of course I am. What is it?
Both blood samples contain a mixture of human and alien DNA. They appear to be from two individuals. One sample, the alien, is significantly older than the other. The alien sample contains more foreign genetic material. There are, however, similar genetic anomalies contained in both. The individuals in question are quite old. The alien is more than a century old, according to my estimate. The human shows signs of advanced genetic modification.
I see.
The alien is not listed among known species in this sector. Its existence could be a threat to humanity.
Or an important discovery. They have not killed us. Clearly they wish to talk rather than threaten. Do you know who the human is?
Records indicate an individual named Rosencrantz Ashmore. There are several such persons listed as citizens of the URW. However, there is only one located on Persephone. They own a bar called Monk’s on Due Street.
Thanks.
Do you need anything else?
Not right now. I can take it from here.
Be careful. Anyone who can do what they’ve done is dangerous. That body of yours is susceptible to tampering. And this is tampering on a grand scale—
I know. I will be careful. You, too.
Please come back to us. Nothing is the same without you.
An overwhelming mix of emotions welled up. Unable to sort through them, Kennedy signed off without acknowledging her sister’s last message.
9
TIME: 08:47
DAY: SUNDAY
TSUSHIMA COUNCIL ESTATE
WEST BRYNNER
Every time Angel closed her eyes she saw Theodella Archady’s puzzled face as she’d transitioned into the big beyond. It wasn’t the first time Angel had watched someone die. Nor was it the first she’d seen death—not that she had, in fact, killed Theodella.
She still died.
I wasn’t there for her. None of us were. We were there for Gau. I was there for Gau.
In the unlikely event that Enid had missed her shot, it would’ve been up to Angel to end him.
Perhaps that’s the problem? She doubted it. You were paid to make a not-nice man dead It is a contract, no different from any other.
Gau had been a sex trafficker, a murderer, and a drug cartel leader. Persephone is a better place without him There is no need to think any more upon it.
Stretched out on the sofa, Angel shifted her gaze from the ceiling to the opposite side of the room and the lump in the bed. One gloved hand was draped over the bed’s edge.
Angel had a terrible hunch that her life was about to fall apart. It generally did when Sukyi showed up unannounced. Bad luck—the sort of bad luck that didn’t involve gambling—tended to follow Sukyi like a perfume cloud through no apparent fault of her own. It was as if the universe needed to right itself after one of Sukyi’s ridiculous flashes of good fortune. Unfortunately, that adjustment didn’t seem to limit itself to Sukyi.
A flash of guilt heated Angel’s cheeks. She reassured herself that Sukyi’s chaos field generally set off chain reactions that ended on the positive. For the most part. Still, the anxiety remained.
A kinetic person when under pressure, Angel needed to expend nervous energy. So, she got up and made a fresh pot of coffee. She was careful to make as little noise as possible. Sukyi wasn’t up yet. Infamous gamblers and smugglers weren’t known for being awake in the morning even off-planet—unless, of course, they’d not been to bed at all.
Thank goodness she’s resting, Angel thought. She had insisted on giving Sukyi the bed. Sukyi had been so exhausted that she hadn’t resisted. Now, her face was serene, and her breathing was easier. The dark circles under her eyes, and the grey undertone to her skin had faded. Her face was a healthy brown.
The tension between Angel’s shoulder blades eased somewhat.
Of course, Angel had her own health concerns. Everyone on her crew did. She’d been twenty-nine at the end of her last tour. She was now thirty-two, but she had the medical issues of an elderly woman. She opened the cabinet where she stored her daily medications—the ones that prevented migraines, seizures, strokes, and mood swings—and took the handful of pills with a glass of filtered water. The URWMC provided the meds free of charge.
Her first job postretirement had been debt collection for a bookie on Inaba Station—one of the border stations not far from Thandh. There wasn’t much demand for a mercenary who was no longer battle-rated for health reasons. She could’ve hired on as security on a starship, but Angel didn’t like the odds. It wasn’t that she was afraid to die. She knew well enough what that entailed. However, Inaba was too close to Thandh, and the likelihood that security staff would’ve consisted of Gorin was high. No Gorin would serve with an outcast.
Time had been running out. Angel had needed rent money, and soon. Thus, she’d broken down and accepted the debt-collection job. She’d told herself it was only for a month or two, until she could find something better. She’d feared she was lying to herself but had showed up at the appointed hour anyway.
She’d met Sukyi on the first day. The morning’s assignments had ended peacefully with the money owed being paid. She hadn’t had to do or say much. That had been a comfort. Her employer’s reputation, her presence, and the weapons strapped to her hip and shoulder had been incentive enough. However, she’d been warned that Sukyi would be a difficult case. So, Angel had saved Sukyi for last.
Finding her had been the easy part. Sukyi had frequented a bar called the Grey Lady Saloon not far from the hotel where she was staying. She also tended to wear a bright red badly knitted neck scarf no m
atter how warm the climate.
Armed with a current photo uploaded on her hand terminal, Angel had entered the bar in question. She’d spotted Sukyi at once. She was indulging in two of her favorite pastimes: flirting with the staff, regardless of gender, and getting as drunk as humanly possible. Angel often wondered about that. As often as Sukyi had emphasized knowing when to exit was vital to survival, her choice to remain on Inaba when she had the means to leave had been a glaring inconsistency.
Using the prepared speech Angel’s employer had provided, Angel had introduced herself. “Under the United Republic of Worlds Income Retrieval Act, I am required to inform you that I am here to collect a debt. Anything you do and say can, and will, be used to recover my employer’s legal property or the agreed upon equivalent. I am authorized to enact certain infringements upon your person, up to and including injury but not death nor grievous bodily harm.” She suspected there was some contention on the definition of grievous. But it wasn’t a debate in which she was willing to engage. “My name is Angel de la Reza and my employer is Mr. Ian Anderson MacDonald. Are you Sukyi Edozie?”
She’d been prepared for Sukyi to bolt for the door. Instead, a sheepish smile stretched itself across Sukyi’s face. Her dark eyes seemed to twinkle before she looked away in dignified embarrassment.
“I’m the Sukyi Edozie you’re looking for.” Her aristocratic accent only added to the illusion of fallen nobility.
“Do you have the money you owe Mr. McDonald?” Angel asked.
“There seems to be an unfortunate misunderstanding,” Sukyi began. “We agreed that I would have extra time to secure the funds due to special circumstances.” She continued a lengthy explanation composed in lofty syntax.
Angel wasn’t a fool. She’d served in the Thirteenth alongside former thieves, murderers, debtors, drifters, and hustlers. And yet, she’d listened to Sukyi’s sad, eloquent tale anyway.
Well, half listened. Angel couldn’t help being impressed and amused.
In any case, she had waited until Sukyi stopped speaking. Listening delayed the inevitable. When Sukyi was finished, Angel had let the silence stretch a respectable ten seconds before responding.