Entanglement

by R S Penney

  A servant arrived with a wine bottle in hand, filling her glass until she gestured for him to stop. Once again, Isara was reminded of the futility in this man's existence. One serving bot could do the job just as well. “Old Ones,” she said. “Will you ever abandon that quaint expression?”

  Pennfield sneered at her, shaking his head in disgust. “Inzari is no more accurate a name than Overseer,” he snapped. “I have not invited you here to discuss minutiae. Make your point or kindly leave.”

  She peered into the glass to find a hooded figure rippling in the golden liquid. Wine was not her beverage of choice. “You did not invite me here at all,” she said. “I go where the Inzari send me. You have no authority to block my way.”

  “Your point?”

  She looked up at him. “Slade has been forced from hiding,” she said. “His bungling has drawn the attention of the Justice Keepers. An opportunity presents itself.”

  “Earth.”

  “I understand you would like to return there.”

  Pennfield sat forward with his arms folded, his face twisted as though he had just suffered a kick to the stomach. “Earth is mine,” he said softly, his voice full of menace. “I told Slade to have the Hunter boy killed years ago.”

  “Now you sound like Leo.”

  Pennfield snarled like a feral beast, his face growing redder by the second. The man prided himself on his impeccable emotional control, but nearly four years on Ragnos had robbed him of some of his poise. “You and Slade are so very alike,” he said. “You both underestimate the threat.”

  Setting her elbows on the table, Isara laced her fingers. “It's fairly simple,” she said, tilting her head to one side. “Slade's incompetence has created the need for someone else to oversee matters on Earth.”

  “And you think it should be me?”

  Grinning within the depths of her hood, Isara turned her face up to the ceiling. “In truth, I think it should be me,” she said, eyebrows rising. “But events on Leyria require my attention, and I can't be in two places at once.”

  Pennfield grimaced, bowing his head to stare down at his empty plate. “If the Old Ones wish it,” he began. “I would gladly go back.”

  “Excellent.”

  Dinner arrived mere moments later: a roast duck so delicious she could have sworn she had stepped into the Halls of Bliss. It had been quite some time since Isara had taken the chance to enjoy her food. Normally eating was a matter of simple practicality – she did it because her body required it – but tonight she relished the experience.

  Making smalltalk with Pennfield was less painful than she would have anticipated but less pleasant than she would have hoped. They were too alike in this regard; neither had very much use for words except to convey important details. It was Slade who took pleasure in the act of socializing.

  If Pennfield planned on returning to Earth – no easy task given his failure there – he would need to be careful. Though presumed dead, he was still listed in the databases of almost every law-enforcement agency on the planet. It would be difficult to effect change while forced to remain out of sight.

  As much as she preferred her current assignment, she would have suggested that he take up residence on Leyria if not for the fact that the Justice Keepers had records of him as well. No, that wouldn't do. She preferred life on Leyria – she had been born there, after all – and she had no intention of leaving her current post. With a little care and discretion, Pennfield would learn to keep out of the public eye. She had done it, and he could easily do the same.

  When dinner was over, she took a walk in the garden to clear her head and fulfill her second obligation in coming here. Fear mingled with exhilaration at the thought of completing her next task.

  A stone walkway ran from the back of the house to a round fountain where waters babbled under the light of three moons in the northern sky. Statues of rearing lions with forepaws clawing at some invisible enemy lined the path on either side.

  Isara walked along with hands pressed to her side, her head bowed in reverence. “Truly your power is remarkable, my Lord,” she said to the empty night. “To create a world of such stunning beauty.”

  The edge of the property was marked by a line of trees that swayed softly in the gentle wind. Inside, it was so dark that she couldn't make out anything, but contact with her symbiont allowed her to perceive every branch, twig and stump.

  The Drethen stirred.

  Closing her eyes, Isara covered her face with a gloved hand. “Be at ease,” she told her companion. “You need not fear the one who created you. The Inzari will not destroy their most favoured servants.”

  That did nothing to calm the symbiont, and stepping into the darkness only made matters worse. It was almost as if the Drethen were trying to force her to turn back – an impossibility, of course; neither Drethen nor Nassai could control their hosts' bodies – but that didn't stop the creature from trying. She could almost picture trillions of alien cells migrating to her spine in some sad attempt to put as much distance between themselves and that which awaited her in the forest. A curious thing. Why Drethen felt such intense fear in the presence of their creators was not a question she could answer. Perhaps the instinct to cower had been genetically implanted.

  It was there, waiting for her.

  She saw nothing but a thin black patch against the darkness, but her symbiont could trace every detail of the Inzari's body. It was vaguely human shaped: nearly twice as tall as the average man with thick arms and legs.

  That had not been its shape at their last meeting; at that time, the Inzari had taken the form of an insectoid creature with six spindly legs and a bulbous head. It chose a different appearance for each meeting. The implications were unsettling.

  Were the Inzari capable of changing their physical form? Or were they a race of telepaths who projected a new avatar with each new encounter? For that matter, was this the same Inzari she had seen last time? Or were they perhaps not a single species but a society of many different races? She had inquired once long ago and received only silence in response to her question.

  Isara dropped to one knee before the creature, bowing her head. “He is amenable,” she said, resisting the temptation to look up. “With Slade's latest debacle, it would be best to make the transition as quickly as possible.”

  The inzari cocked its head to one side.

  “Yes,” she said in response to its unspoken question. “That is my concern as well. But Wesley seems suitably chastened after his last failure. He knows the territory better than any of us. I would prefer to avoid having to go there myself.”

  The inzari waited.

  Isara felt her mouth tighten, sweat prickling on her brow. “Slade's threats are of no consequence to me,” she replied. “I have no desire to give up my current assignment, but if you require me to clean up one of his messes-”

  She nearly screamed when the creature moved – a casual gesture from one of the Inzari might mean her death; she had seen it before – but nothing happened. The creature stood there with one hand outstretched, a single finger raised in admonishment.

  Restraining her frustration was more difficult that controlling her fear. The Inzari had a strange fondness for Slade. Perhaps it was because he was the first human to enter their service. No matter what the man did, they seemed to offer boundless forgiveness. In fact, Pennfield should have been killed for allowing her people to encounter the Earthers. She had suggested as much once and received more silence.

  After many long years in their service, she was still unable to discern their motives. The Inzari needed agents among humanity – that much was certain – but their goals were still a mystery to her. She knew what they were planning, but she was still unsure of what they hoped to gain by it.

  “I will make preparations to transport Pennfield back to Earth.” She got to her feet slowly, reaching up to tug her hood back into place. “Slade remains intent on continuing his search for the Key.”

  The Inzari sai
d nothing.

  “In that case,” she went on. “I will return to Leyria. There is so much to be done before the Arrival.”

  The Inzari was gone before she could so much as blink. It said nothing, conveyed no sense of approval or disapproval; it simply vanished before her eyes. Had it ever truly been there? Isara chose not to ponder it too deeply.

  She had work to do.

  Mist split apart to reveal a small river where black waters babbled as they carried twigs downstream. On either bank, moss grew in the shade of tall oak trees that reached across the waters, straining for each other.

  Anna stood by the water's edge in a pair of beige pants and a dark blue t-shirt with a silver diamond on the chest. Her hair was perfectly styled with thin strands framing her face, the rest tied back in a stubby ponytail.

  She closed her eyes, breathing deeply to calm herself. “Thanks for taking me back here,” she said with a nod. “I don't think I've seen this little stream in what…eleven years? Or was it twelve?”

  “Thirteen actually.”

  Seth stood on the small path that led back to the residential neighbourhood, dressed in a pair of black pants and a green tunic and carrying his perfect wooden bow over his shoulder. He had a handsome, boyish face with copper skin and a touch of dark stubble on the jawline, his black hair combed back.

  Just like the character that she had envisioned when reading Enala Seral's delightful children's novels all those years ago. Seth the Scout. Her Nassai had emulated the form of his namesake perfectly.

  Seth grimaced, bowing his head to her. “I could sense that you wanted to talk,” he said, strolling down the path to stand at her side. “Your confrontation with Slade has left you feeling off-balance.”

  Anna turned her face up to the sky, the light breeze brushing thin strands of hair off her cheeks. “Off-balance doesn't begin to cover it,” she said, eyebrows rising. “I need to know if I made the right choice.”

  “You did.”

  “Can you be sure?”

  He stood by the river's edge with his arms crossed, transfixed by the sight of the babbling waters. “I would not have bonded you if you were the kind of woman who felt comfortable sacrificing lives.”

  Well, that was a start, she supposed. And once upon a time, she would have agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly, but Jena's words had left her shaken. Twice in one day, she had been forced to decide whether total strangers would live or die. She was still reeling from her decision to abandon those men and women on Ganymede – enemy or not, a life was a life – and then Slade had thrown her into a deeper conflict.

  She could have pulled the trigger; she could have stopped him right then and there, but deep down, she knew that no force in this universe would have compelled her to go through with it. It was almost a law of physics: energy could not be created or destroyed, matter could not accelerate to the speed of light, and Anna Lenai could not bring herself to pull that trigger.

  It was the cognitive dissonance that gnawed at her mind. She would leave men and women to suffocate, but she would not kill one single individual? Well, no…that wasn't entirely accurate. Killing Slade would have meant putting everyone else on the station in danger. Maybe they would have restored life support, maybe not. As she considered it, she realized that she could probably take Slade's life if it meant no one else got hurt. She wasn't sure whether to feel proud of herself for being able to make the hard choices or guilty for being so callous. Where did you draw the line? When was taking another life acceptable and when not?

  Anna shuffled over to the nearest tree. “And I just keep on spiraling,” she whispered. “Maybe Slade was right; maybe I was never cut out for this job.”

  “If I believed that,” Seth replied from behind her, “I never would have bonded you. My host, I know this is painful for you, but you must understand that this guilt makes you a good Keeper.”

  “You think so?”

  He strode toward her with the bow in one hand, frowning down at the ground under his feet. “To take a life is a serious matter,” he said softly. “We both acknowledge the necessity, but it should never be easy.”

  Anna leaned against the tree trunk with arms folded, heaving out a breath. “So how do I get used to it?” she murmured. “How do I go about my job with these doubts in my head?”

  “You will adapt.”

  “Can you be sure?”

  Seth watched her with a blank expression, nodding slowly. “I carry the memories of other Justice Keepers within me,” he said. “You are not the first to face such a conflict. In time, they learned to adapt, and so will you.”

  Anna shut her eyes, inhaling as she tried to calm her frayed nerves. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Maybe I just needed to be reminded that other Keepers have lived through this as well.”

  Seth's only response was a grunt. His body began to fade, growing more and more transparent until there was nothing left. He left her here to remember this little stream in the woods behind her old house.

  The mug of coffee on the surface of the small metal table sent thin tendrils of steam wafting up into the air. His reflection in the dark liquid – he always took it black – rippled as he blew on it.

  Ben sat with his elbows on the table, fingers laced over his mug. His muscles ached from this morning's excursion. He was no Justice Keeper; pushing his body well beyond the normal human limits was not an option for him.

  The Nova Café on Station Twelve was a nice place to relax. Over two dozen tables were spaced out on the surface of a balcony that overlooked the concourse, most of them unoccupied. The coffee bar to his right was home to several Keepers who sat quietly, reading the day's news.

  As a member of the Leyrian Intelligence Service, his office was located on Station Ten, but he liked to hang out here just the same. His friends were here; there was a good chance that if he waited long enough, he would see Jack walking past with a tablet held up in front of his face. Or maybe Anna. She sometimes liked to take her lunch here.

  Spies didn't bond with each other quite as easily as Keepers did. They were often put on long, deep-cover assignments with little contact with their agency. He had spent several years of his career out on the Fringe, keeping tabs on the rising tensions between the colony worlds and the Antaurans.

  Tyron's threats popped into his mind.

  Shutting his eyes as he drew in a calming breath, Ben collected his thoughts. Keep it together, he told himself. The man isn't going to condemn himself to several years in prison just to get back at you for some damaged furniture.

  Unfortunately, that sounded exactly like Tyron.

  Ben slouched down in his chair with arms folded, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. You need to put this out of your mind, he scolded. You won't accomplish much of anything by worrying about things you can't control.

  His multi-tool beeped.

  Swiping one finger across the screen, he answered the call. The image of a woman with fair skin and thin gray hair popped up. “Agent Loranai,” she said. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

  He paused a moment before answering. Liliana Alarno wanted to speak with him? The director of all LIS operations on this planet wanted to speak with him. Nothing good could come of this. “Is something wrong, ma'am?” he asked carefully.

  “Please join me in my office.”

  Well, there was nothing to do but comply with that request. Thoughts rose up that he had a hard time squelching. If Tyron had decided to call his bluff, things might go very badly for him. He tried to put that out of his mind.

  Ben hopped a tram to the SlipGate chamber and traveled to Station Ten where he took an identical tram to the LIS offices. The trip took a little under twenty minutes, and he found his anxiety mounting the closer he got to his destination.

  Director Alarno's office wasn't so different from his own. Black floor tiles stretched to a window that looked out on a vast expanse of stars. She had decorated the gray walls with pictures of her children and grandchildre
n. It took some effort, but Ben was able to tell one from another by hair and clothing styles.

  The woman stood over her desk with her back turned, scanning through documents on a tablet that she held in one hand. Though she was incredibly quiet, he could make out soft humming.

  Ben frowned, bowing his head to her. “Ma'am?” He stepped through the door with his hands in his pockets, refusing to look up. “You asked me to stop by your office?”

  She turned slowly.

  Lifting her chin, the woman studied him for a moment before nodding. “I received a very interesting memo today,” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk. “A manifest of military-grade small arms.”

  Ben closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. “Weapons that found their way onto Earth soil?” he asked. “I was under the impression that we had shut down most of the major smuggling rings.”

  Alarno frowned into her lap, shaking her head in dismay. “Not Earth soil,” she said. “The serial numbers match those of the weapons you were sent to retrieve five years ago. It seems they found their way onto the Fringe Worlds.”

  “Someone found the missing shipment?”

  “It would appear so.”

  Crossing his arms with a heavy sigh, Ben kept his head down. “Why now, after all this time?” He backed away from her, pausing just before he went through the door. “Do you know who sent that memo?”

  “I'm afraid not.”

  She stood up with a grunt, wincing at what appeared to be a pain in her legs. “The note was forwarded to me through a series of sock-puppet accounts,” she explained. “I've had my best forensic analysts tracing it, but we hit a dead end.”

  Controlling his face was difficult. If you worked in intelligence long enough, you eventually learned how to read micro-expressions. The worst thing he could do right now was demonstrate relief. Of course, the fact that Tyron had not identified himself didn't mean that Ben was in the clear, but it did make it more likely that he would walk out of here without handcuffs.