by R S Penney
“That's not entirely true.”
“Oh?”
Jack was as red as an open flame, squeezing his eyes shut as a shiver went through him. “I would rather keep that to myself, if you don't mind,” he said. “Let's just say she was there for me when I needed her.”
He stood up and paced across the pathway, pausing at the small concrete wall that bordered the property of a small office building. “I guess I feel like I owe her. Now, she might not be so willing to call when she needs a source.”
It was all Gabi could do not to chuckle. Somehow, despite her very best efforts, she always found herself dispensing advice. An older woman who had lived next to her when she was a teenager had once referred to her as a “sage” because she steered people around trouble. “People sometimes develop feelings, Jack; it's not a crime,” she said. “A working relationship should not be damaged so long as you respect her boundaries.”
He turned with a puzzled frown, the wind playing with his hair. “Then if you don't mind my asking,” Jack began, “why were you so uncomfortable admitting that you were attracted to me?”
Gabi felt her mouth tighten, then lowered her eyes to stare into her lap. “You're a good deal younger than me,” she said softly. “I just thought it wouldn't be appropriate to indulge such feelings.”
“I'm twenty-two years old, Gabi,” he said with more than a touch of irritation in his voice. “Who you date is your business, but I'm hardly a child.”
“That's true.”
A thought popped into her head, one that her better judgment tried to kill before it found its way to her lips. She knew it was a bad idea; a long-term relationship would be out of the question – they were at different points in their lives, and Justice Keepers didn't make great spouses – but damn it, she had such a crush on this guy. “All right,” she said. “How about this? We have sex. Just once. No strings attached.”
Jack's face turned several shades of scarlet before he hid his blush behind a fist that he pressed to his forehead. “That wasn't what I…” he stammered. “I mean I wasn't trying to make you…”
“I know.”
She squinted at him, shaking her head. “Why are you so flustered?” she asked, standing up and moving toward him. “Be honest with me, Jack. Have you ever been intimate with a woman before?”
“No, I haven't,” he said without hesitation. “But Gabi, I'm not trying to persuade you to do anything, and I don't need you to take pity on the inexperienced young man.”
“Jack, if pity were in any way involved in this, I wouldn't have made the offer.” It was sad really: the way in which his mind worked. She was willing to bet that he hadn't even considered the possibility that her offer might be genuine. “You're charming, brave and very intelligent. All highly sought-after qualities. And if you'll forgive my tendency to offer unsolicited advice, you may want your first time to be with someone who makes you feel safe.”
He seemed to consider that.
“Just think about it,” she urged. “If it's not something you want, I will understand. And if it is…Well, you know where to find me.”
The image of suited men in a conference room filled the television screen, but Ben had to admit he wasn't really paying attention to the plot. He was unfamiliar with Earth's history, and much of the nuance passed over his head. Supposedly the 1960s were a time of great upheaval; he'd reviewed certain texts when preparing for this assignment, but it was difficult to keep it all straight.
The living room in Darrel Smith's apartment was sparsely decorated with metal shelves and a cactus next to the TV. Through the window in the wall to his right, Ben could see a crisp, clear night.
He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “You really like this,” he said, turning to his boyfriend. “This random show about trying to dream up new ways to sell old products.”
The other man sat next to him with his knees together, a great big smile on his face. “I guess it doesn't make much sense to someone who wasn't raised with money,” Darrel answered. “But it's a fun drama.”
Ben stood.
Clasping his chin in one hand, he paused for a moment to study the television. “I can't say I like it very much,” he admitted. “But I do like you. So that raises the show's quality by proxy.”
Darrel was grinning as he stared into his lap. “Well, it's good to know I have an effect,” he mumbled. “Hey, maybe if you don't like this stuff, you can show me some Leyrian TV.”
Truth was, Ben didn't watch a lot of Leyrian TV. Well, the Leyrian equivalent of TV anyway. There were visual-based storytelling media on his world, but it wasn't quite the same. For one thing, much of it was done with holography.
He made his way to the kitchen.
White counters topped wooden cupboards that had endured more than their share of nicks and scratches from previous tenants, and the window above the sink was frosted over. The only light came from a small bulb above the stove. Just being here made him feel a little bit off.
Ben had never been very skilled with the culinary arts. For most of his life, he had been forced to make do with a robot that would prepare most meals for him. Convenient yes, but also a little boring. Robotic kitchen assistants would prepare each meal in exactly the same way every time unless you reprogrammed the recipe. And since he didn't know how to cook to begin with… Why had he come in here again? Half the time, he went to the kitchen only to forget what he-
His multi-tool beeped.
Lifting his forearm, he rolled up his sleeve to reveal Leyrian text on the screen. He had an incoming call from…Palisa. That couldn't be good. Just seeing those words made his chest tighten. “I've got to take a call, Hon!”
“Okay!” Darrel shouted.
When Ben stepped into the bedroom, he was reminded that his boyfriend was a bit of a slob. The bed was unmade with sheets rumpled and bunched up on the mattress, and there were dirty shirts hanging from pretty much everything. The dresser, the nightstand, the headboard: all were home to at least one article of clothing. It seemed Darrel just tossed his shirt aimlessly when he took it off each night.
Tapping his multi-tool with the fingers of his left hand, he brought up a program that he had coded years ago. The tool's mini-fabricator spat nanobots from the metal disk, each set clumping together to form a small crescent-shaped object about the size of his palm. He made four of them, placing one along each wall.
When he triggered the program, he would be able to speak without fear of anyone eavesdropping. The devices were actually tiny force-field generators, and the barrier they created was just strong enough to block soundwaves.
Due to their low power level, the force-fields were all but invisible. The air in front of each wall seemed to shimmer and ripple with only the occasional flick of white static. He would be able to walk right through any one of those barriers with nothing more than a minor shock.
“Answer call,” Ben ordered.
A hologram wavered into existence before him: the image of a tall man in a fancy green coat with a high collar. Tyron's face was haggard, his dark hair waxed into a forest of tiny spikes. “Tanaben,” he said with a nod.
Ben looked up with lips pursed, squinting at the man. “What in Bleakness do you want?” he asked. “In case you've somehow forgotten, I'm still holding a grudge from our last meeting.”
Tyron turned so Ben saw him in profile, appearing to pace a line on the floor. Though the hologram remained stationary. “Now, Tanaben, is that any way to greet an old friend? We have business, you and I.”
Ben felt his face twist, sweat beading on his forehead. “I don't have any further business with you,” he said, shaking his head. “The next time I see you, Tyron, I won't just arrest you. I'll put a bullet through your head.”
A bright smile bloomed on the other man's face, and he turned, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “If you wanted to be done with me, Tanaben, you should have stayed far away from Palisa.”
“You shouldn't have been sending w
eapons to Earth.”
“Yet,” Tyron spat. “I notice an intriguing lack of Justice Keepers at my door.” He stood there with his arms crossed, his expression as dark as a thundering storm cloud. “Might that have something to do with the fact that if I am revealed as the supplier to any number of arms dealers, it might put me in a frame of mind to divulge certain details of our past relationship?”
Guilt was not an emotion that Ben had to deal with on a regular basis; he made his decisions – even the ones that skirted the edge of his moral code – and accepted whatever consequences fate had in store for him. But this… No, he had not revealed the details of Tyron's involvement in the arms trade. And for much the same reason as the other man had articulated. He had hoped that Tyron would be willing to leave all that in the past.
The Fringe Worlds had been suffering when Ben had been assigned to break up a smuggling ring all those years ago. Belos, Alios and Palisa were all located near the very edge of Leyrian Space, and they made tempting targets for the Antaurans. With Leyria pursuing a policy of non-aggression, the colonists were left to the mercy of anyone who wanted to raid them. It had been a simple thing to falsify a few reports, to claim that he had been unable to locate the smugglers even after he had Tyron in custody. One would think the other man would be grateful. “I'm not turning a blind eye to any more weapons shipments,” Ben insisted. “Tensions along the border have been fairly minimal lately.”
“I don't want weapons.”
Clenching his teeth, Ben drew in a slow breath to keep his temper in check. “Then what do you want?” he snapped. “If you were going to turn me in, you'd have done it by now.”
Tyron lifted his chin to study Ben with the hard expression of a judge pondering a convicted man's sentence. “I want information,” he said at last. “I want everything you know about activities along the Antauran border.”
“Feel free to call my superiors.”
“Excuse me?”
Grinning triumphantly, Ben hung his head and hoped the other man wouldn't call his bluff. “I'll even give you their contact information,” he went on. “You can tell them everything you know if it suits you.”
He looked up to hold the other man's gaze, struggling to keep his face smooth. “I won't be complicit in any more of your schemes,” he insisted. “I let you hold on to those weapons because the colonists had a right to defend themselves, but I will not help you start a war.”
The hologram vanished.
“Well then,” Ben whispered. “Now we're committed to the path.”
Collecting the force-field generators, he used his multi-tool to disassemble them and consume the individual nanobots. He wanted a few hours of peace and quiet before… What was that Earther expression? The people here had such colourful profanity.
Before the shit hit the fan.
Chapter 7
The conference room was illuminated by windows in the wall to Harry's left, each one casting light upon a long wooden table where chairs were haphazardly positioned. It was always his practice to be the first one present at any meeting; it gave him a chance to watch everyone file in.
Mark Robinson, a tall man in a gray suit with hair that was slowly turning silver strode in first and took the chair nearest Harry. The man was a high-ranking official with the CBSA and took the job of enforcing Canada's borders quite seriously.
Mary Flemming was next, a plump woman in a black skirt and matching blouse. Her dark hair was tied back with a clip, and the thick glasses she wore looked as if they might crush her nose. Of all the people he had met since taking this job, Mary was the most agreeable. She worked with the RCMP, and luckily, she understood the value of cooperation with the Leyrians.
There were others, of course. James Tanner was here to represent CSIS, and Trish Lopez to represent the Ministry of Finance of all things. The government had to manage the cost of all that free technology the Leyrians offered.
Harry stood before them in gray pants and a blue shirt with the collar left open, his head bowed almost reverently. “Good to see you all,” he said. “So, let's get down to business. We were discussing the implementation of scanning equipment-”
Robinson swiveled around to face him, glaring at Harry with the kind of snooty grimace you expected to find on an old English lord. “We've had some difficulties getting some of our people trained on the new equipment.”
“How so?”
Robinson looked up at the ceiling with exasperation plain on his face. “Well, they aren't exactly pleased with having to learn these new systems,” he said. “Many of them feel intimidated by the prospect.”
Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm his nerves. He touched two fingers to his forehead. “Mark, we've been over this,” he said. “The scanning equipment is there to help you detect Leyrian weapons.”
“Many are afraid of losing their jobs.”
“What?”
“The Leyrian simulated intelligence programs are so thorough, many people fear their labour will not be needed.”
Of all the times to lose sight of the big picture…“Whether we like it or not,” he began, “we have been exposed to technology that can pose a danger to us. We must counter it.”
This was something that he and Jena had discussed at length, the need to embrace technical solutions. They were something of a staple in the Leyrian way of life, and Jena was still Leyrian at heart despite her protests to the contrary. If a machine could do work with greater speed and accuracy, it only made sense to automate: that was the Leyrian view on the matter. In their opinion, financial concerns should not be an issue, only efficiency. In this instance, Harry was forced to agree. Safety had to be their first-
He felt it more than saw it.
When he looked up, Aamani Patel stood just inside the conference room, dressed in a gray pantsuit with a black blouse beneath. Her dark hair was pulled back from a stern face that conveyed disdain with every glance. “Detective,” she said, pacing into the room. “It seems you've come up in the world.”
Scowling with disapproval, Harry shook his head. “I'm not a detective anymore,” he said, leaning over the end of the conference table. “What can I do for you, Aamani? I hope you're not here to cause a disruption.”
She crossed her arms with a heavy sigh, bowing her head to him. “Far from it,” she replied. “You and I can speak more freely once you've seen to the little nitty gritty details.”
Harry had to suppress a biting comeback. Under normal circumstances, he wasn't a man prone to losing his temper, but he had no tolerance for anyone who undermined the validity of his work. Moving on with the meeting was that much more difficult in light of Aamani's disruption.
Robinson continued to protest the use of Leyrian scanning technology at border checkpoints, but, ironically, he wanted his people to have access to Leyrian body armour and weaponry. That wasn't very likely. The Leyrians weren't inclined to share weaponry of any kind. Even body armour was, for the most part, off the negotiating table. He had inquired about that on several occasions, and the answer was always the same: access to advanced body armour would only motivate Earth's governments to create even deadlier weapons. The Leyrians, it seemed, were very concerned about the prospect of their tech being used for violence. Harry supposed he could see some logic in that. Some logic. It wasn't as though the Leyrians objected to any and all uses of violence – they wouldn't have designed the weapons if they did – but the process of creating a piece of technology gave one some insight into the consequences of its use. He imagined what it would be like to put an AR-15 in the hands of one of the Knights Templar. The carnage wouldn't be pretty.
In the end, he managed to get Robinson on board with the scanning technology and convinced Mary Flemming to outfit highway patrol units with similar devices. He had to suppress the urge to grin. Harry had never considered himself to be a diplomat. He would not have expected any level of success. But maybe that was the point. Maybe he was able to make some headway because he still thou
ght of himself as one of them: a cop first and foremost. Either way, it felt good to make some progress.
After they all filed out, he found Aamani standing by the wall with a tablet in hand, scanning the contents of some document. “I should have expected as much,” she said in amused tones. “You always were a peacemaker.”
Harry sat down on the edge of the table with arms folded, pausing a moment to glance out the window. “What can I do for you, Aamani?” he asked. “I'm having a hard time believing you came here to tell me something I'd like.”
“Probably not.”
She strode forward, thrusting the tablet at him with such force he almost recoiled on instinct. “I suspect you won't like this one bit,” she said. “But just the same, I think it could provide a reasonable solution to our problem.”
As he perused the document, he felt tension rising in his chest. The proposal was one of the most radical things he had seen in a long while. And in just three months of working as a liaison, he had seen some doozies.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry ignored the prickle of sweat on his forehead. “You can't be serious,” he said, shaking his head. “You want the Leyrians to protect this planet without setting foot on it?”
He looked up to find her standing there with her arms crossed, her face as dark as a looming thundercloud. “I'm deadly serious,” she insisted. “I see no reason why they can't just keep dangerous criminals from landing on Earth.”
“Why can't we keep criminals from jumping national borders?”
Aamani backed away from him with a heavy sigh, her head sinking as though the question had exhausted her. “The two situations are hardly analogous,” she said. “It shouldn't be that hard to prevent any shuttle from landing on this planet.”
With his mouth agape, Harry blinked at the woman. “Are you insane?” he asked, getting to his feet. “We've only just discovered that we aren't alone in the cosmos, and now you want us to go back into isolation?”
“It would be safer.”