by R S Penney
“The documents I received appear to be inventory assessments from the Fringe Militia,” Alarno went on. “They confirm that the weapons that went missing five years ago have been in militia hands all this time. I'm not sure why someone would send them to me, but perhaps there is a traitor among these terrorists. Someone who has seen the error of his ways and who wants amnesty.”
Terrorists.
That was the way Leyrians saw colonists who intended to fight for their homes. As much as he hated to admit it, Ben would have agreed with that sentiment five years ago. He had been an outspoken champion of Leyrian doctrine right up until the moment when he had seen what those poor colonists had lived through. The border skirmishes with the Antaurans may seem like a minor political problem to the Hall of Council, but people were dying out there.
Alarno wore a thin smile as she met his eyes. “We still have no theories as to how those weapons found their way into terrorist hands,” she said. “However, now that our suspicions have been confirmed, we will reopen the investigation.”
“That seems prudent.”
“I thought you'd like to be involved,” she added. “I know those missing weapons have been a thorn in your side for quite some time. I will be transferring these files to the Fringe World division. If you're interested, I can give you a temporary transfer to Director Hassad's team.”
“I…”
How should he respond? If he hesitated, she might suspect that something was off, but if he agreed to go, he would have to work to expose his own crime. He could imagine how that would play out. Burying evidence. Compounding his sin.
Smoothing his face, Ben looked up to blink at her. “I appreciate the offer, ma'am,” he said with a nod. “But Earth is our biggest priority right now. I think I can do far more good right here.”
“Very well,” she said. “I will keep you posted.”
He left the office with a sensation that he could only describe as a hot rock in the pit of his stomach. Any thought that Tyron would choose prudence over vengeance had evaporated like dew on a hot summer morning. He was going to have to think fast if he wanted to avoid spending the next ten years in a prison cell.
The surface of Harry's desk was tilted at an angle to form a makeshift screen, and on that screen, he saw the stone steps that led up to the arch-shaped entryway of the Leyrian Hall of Council.
The doors swung open as politicians emerged, men and women in blue blazers who walked with a hurried step while reporters moved in for questions. Leyrians distinguished their political parties by colour and felt the need to display that allegiance when Council was in session. A few dozen voices talking over one another made it difficult for Harry to make sense of what was being said. It didn't help that he spoke Leyrian with the fluency of a seven-year-old.
The camera zoomed in on a man in his mid-to-late forties, a man with dark bronze skin and a few gray strands in his black hair. This guy had a firm jaw and a few wrinkles in his brow. “Councilor Dusep,” a reporter asked off camera. “Has Council finally made a decision on the Comprehensive Foreign Aid Act?”
The man looked into the camera with brown eyes that could peel paint off walls. “Council remains undecided,” he said firmly. “But the fact remains that Leyrians are still using our resources, our time and energy to help foreigners who don't even align with our values. In my opinion, that has to stop.”
“But surely the discovery of Earth was a major turning point.”
Dusep nodded, though his face twisted into the kind of grimace you'd expect from a high school senior experiencing his first hangover. “A major turning point,” he agreed. “I cannot deny that. But we should ask ourselves whether or not we have benefited from our so-called alliance with the Earthers.”
“And you don't believe we have?”
The man closed his eyes, heaving out a soft sigh that was picked up by the camera. “We protect their borders,” he said, “safeguard them from the dangers of technology they can't even fathom. Our people put their lives on the line. And for what? Earlier this year, one of Earth's nations voted to expel Leyrian citizens from its territory.”
A decision that Harry had opposed ferociously. Still, the idiots in Parliament had made that call, and there were bound to be repercussions. If men like this Dusep had their way, Earth might find itself naked before a very hostile galaxy.
“So you support withdrawal from Earth Space?”
Dusep snorted. “Earth Space?” he said, rolling his eyes with obvious disdain. “I do not think a civilization that lacks the ability to pass beyond the orbit of its moon has any business claiming any space as its own. The Leyrian Accords stipulate that any territory within the confines of a solar system is designated a common trust of the civilization living there; so I suppose that counts for something. I definitely support leaving the Earthers to their own devices.”
“Tell me again about your enlightened philosophies,” Harry murmured. “How your people have embraced higher values.”
“If you want hot air, there are better ways to get it.”
He looked up to find Jena standing in the doorway with her shoulders slumped and her head down. “Slade escaped,” she said, striding into the office. “He used some kind of special command code to take control of Station One's main computer and turn the whole damn place against us.”
Clamping one hand over his gaping mouth, Harry felt his eyes widen. “The whole station?” he asked, getting out of his chair. “Slade has that kind of power? Can he do that here as well?”
“I don't know.”
“Oh God…Melissa.”
Jena looked up at him with dark eyes that smoldered, shaking her head. “Really?” she asked with more than a touch of disdain in your voice. “That's your first thought? I tell you that a madman nearly killed three thousand people, and your reaction is to freak out about your daughter who was nowhere near the event?”
“And that is why you shouldn't give me parenting advice,” Harry snapped. “If Slade can take control of one station, who's to say he can't take control of any other?”
“We're working on that.”
“Oh, are you? Well, I suppose I should stop worrying then!” Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward to glare at her. “After all, you Leyrians can solve anything with the press of a button!”
“I'm going to assume the anger is just stress,” Jena said. “Now isn't the time for us to be fighting.”
“Jena, you can't imagine what I'm up against.”
“Because I'm not a parent?”
“Because you're white…and Leyrian.”
That left her flabbergasted, and for a very long moment, she just stood there with her mouth agape, blinking at him. Putting his thoughts into words wasn't going to be pleasant, but he had opened the door. It was too late to back out now.
Harry turned on his heel, pacing a line behind the desk with his arms crossed. “It's beyond frustrating,” he said, stopping just in front of the wall. “Being a black man who also happens to be a single parent.”
Baring his teeth, Harry squinted at her. “You go to pick up your kid from school,” he muttered, “and every other parent looks at you with this quizzical expression. In part because you're a man and not a 'natural caregiver.' But also because every single racist stereotype has trained them to think of you as a deadbeat.”
When he turned, his girlfriend had both hands shoved into her pockets and one very uncomfortable expression on her face. He felt a brief moment of guilt but squelched it as soon as he recognized it for what it was. Hard as it was to hear, Jena had to know these things if she wanted to survive on Earth.
“I get that, for you, this is all ancient history,” he went on in a gentler voice. “But for me, it's everyday life. If something goes wrong – if one of my kids gets hurt in some perfectly understandable accident – suddenly I'm the representative for black fathers everywhere.”
“I'm sorry.”
Harry turned away from her. “It's all right. I can unde
rstand why that might not have been obvious to you. It's hard to think about racism when you come from a world that has forgotten it.”
“I think Larani Tal might not find it so difficult,” Jena mumbled. “She's been here three years, dealing with Earth politicians. I've had men in their sixties who have never even seen a space-capable ship insinuate that I'm not fit to do my job. I shudder to think about what she's gone through.”
“Well, now you know.”
“Yeah…”
When he turned, she was standing tall and proud – a warrior ready to face down an army. The lack of colour in her cheeks spoke volumes. “If you think it'd be better to take Melissa home, I'm sure I can convince the doctors to discharge her.”
Harry waved away the offer. “They'll be releasing her in a few hours anyway,” he muttered. “I'm sure Slade won't try anything else in that time. If I were him, I'd be more concerned about putting as much distance between me and this station as possible.”
“Which is what I came to talk about,” Jena said. “Let's call in the rest of the team. We need to talk strategy.”
Saaaaarah!
The voice whispered in her mind like a howling wind through a deep dark cave, tormenting her as she teetered on the border between sleep and wakefulness. As a child, she had often feared moments like this. The edge of consciousness, the place where the waking world ended and the dreamworld began, was the abode of demons.
Sarah.
She tried to ignore it, tried to slip away. If that didn't work, she would have to force herself awake. Whatever she did, she couldn't stay here. Not with the voice whispering in her head. Not like this.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw silver moonlight coming in through the open window, curtains billowing in the warm summer breeze. Her boyfriend Kevin was asleep next to her, breathing in a slow steady rhythm.
Sarah sat up.
Her long dark hair spilled over her shoulders with a few locks brushing her cheeks. “Fucking hell,” she barked, shaking her head. “You got to calm yourself down, girl, if you don't want to be absolutely buggered come morning.”
She hopped out of bed.
Wrapping a robe about herself, Sarah paced across the room with fire in her belly, grumbling under her breath the whole way. They were just nightmares. Old dreams based on a child's interpretation of a story she'd heard from one of her little friends over twenty years ago now. She had to grow up.
Outside the bedroom, a narrow hallway with a hardwood floor led to a set of stairs. The touch of moonlight that came in from the foyer was enough for her to see. A drink. She was going to get herself something to drink and then head back to bed.
Sarah descended the steps, scrubbing a hand over her face to wipe hair out of her eyes. “Get yourself together, girl,” she whispered. “You keep this up, you're gonna drive your boyfriend into an early grave.”
At the foot of the stairs, she found the front door shut tight and secure with orange light from the street lamps coming in through the windows. She walked across the tiled floor to the kitchen at the back of the house.
White wooden cupboards with granite countertops surrounded an island where Kevin had left the newspaper unfolded. She gave an irritated click of her tongue. The man was always doing things like that. With only a small bulb above the stove for light, it was hard to move around, but she gave her eyes a moment to adjust.
The fridge on the wall to her right displayed the time as 2:17 AM in bright blue characters. A moment later, the display changed to reveal that the temperature inside was a chilly seven degrees centigrade.
She grabbed the remote and turned on the small TV that was sitting on the counter next to the sink. The screen burst alight with the image of a politician in a fine black suit walking down the sidewalk and waving to adoring crowds. “With Christmas just a few days away,” the newscaster said in voice over, “Labour MP Paul Sykes has continued to press Parliament for greater transparency in all dealings with Leyrian representatives. The fifty-two-year-old MP from Sydney was quoted as saying 'the birth of our Lord and Saviour should remind us of the need for…”
She tuned out the rest.
Sarah opened the fridge to find a bottle of chardonnay sitting on the top shelf, half full by the look of it. That would do for now. She didn't bother with wine glasses; instead she took the nearest mug from the cupboard.
The power flickered.
Every light in the kitchen – including the TV screen – went off only to come back half a moment later. The newscast was gone, however, and in its place, she found only the sound of white static.
And then she saw it.
It stood in front of the door that led out to the backyard, silhouetted by the light of her pool-side lanterns: a creature that was much too tall to be a man with thick, well-muscled arms and legs.
Its large, bulbous head was tilted to one side in a gesture that reminded her of a sparrow inspecting a worm it might devour. Dear God in heaven! What kind of demon was this?
Sarah touched one hand to her forehead, then made the sign of the cross. “Lord Jesus, have mercy…” she whispered, dropping to her knees. “I confess to Almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters…”
The creature seemed to be studying her, tilting its head this way and that, fascinated by the sight of her. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the owner of the voice that had tormented her for so many years.
She should have been screaming, but she felt no urge to do so. She was terrified, but she had no desire to act on her fear. Instead, there was an odd sense that if she simply remained passive, the creature would not harm her.
A sense of calm came over her, and she understood what she had to do. It was all very simple when you paused for a moment to collect your thoughts. No need to resort to anything drastic.
The power flickered again.
When she looked up, the creature was gone, leaving only the patio door that looked out on the rippling waters of her swimming pool. It was a lovely summer night with cool breezes coming through the window. Why had she been so afraid?
Sarah paused for a moment to look down at herself. She was kneeling on the floor. Why was she kneeling on the floor? Everything seemed so muddled. She had come down here for a drink to soothe her anxiety, and…
And nothing.
Sarah got up, rubbing her eyes with both fists. You're going insane, she thought, snatching up her mug from the island. Somehow, even the comforting presence of alcohol didn't soothe her nerves. Go back to bed. You've got work in the morning.
She set the empty glass down on the counter.
Then she grabbed a carving knife from the counter and made her way back upstairs.
Officer Terrance Davis had seen many things in his fifteen years on the force, but today might just qualify for weirdest, most disturbing day ever. The call that had brought him to this house in the suburbs had apparently been placed by the very same woman he was here to arrest.
He pushed the bedroom door open to reveal a stomach-turning scene. A young man was stretched across the mattress, lying in a pool of his own blood, with unseeing eyes staring up at the ceiling. His girlfriend sat in a small wooden chair next to the window.
She was huddled up with arms folded, trembling as sobs ripped through her body. “I didn't mean to!” she squeaked. “Lord have mercy, I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to!”
Terrance couldn't help himself.
“Then why?” he asked, striding into the room. “Why kill him?”
The woman – one Sarah Michaels – looked over her shoulder to stare at him with tears streaming over her cheeks. “I don't know,” she said through trembling lips. “I don't even remember doing it.”
“Then are you sure…”
She lifted bloody hands up so he could see them, seemingly terrified by the sight. As if she didn't quite believe it herself. “I was having trouble sleeping,” she whimpered. “I got up…and then everything was a blur…”
“Come on, ma'am,” he
whispered. “Let's get you down to the station.”
Part 2
Chapter 16
As he listened to the end of Anna's story, Jack struggled to contain the four or five different emotions that swirled around in his heart, tightening his chest the way a wrench tightens a bolt. Anger mixed with fear, concern and a sense of failure. He had gone home after the raid on Ganymede Station, changed into some clean clothes and fixed himself a light lunch. And while he sat in his cozy living room relaxing, his friends had challenged the corrupt former head of the Justice Keepers.
Slade's escape could have killed everyone on Station One. But the worst part was the toll those events must have taken on his best friend. Anna had relayed the details of her confrontation with Slade. Jack knew that if he had been in that situation, he would have made the same choice, and he would be cursing himself right now for doing it.
The conference room on Station Twelve was all but empty.
Jena sat at the head of the long rectangular table with her hands folded in her lap, frowning down at the table's surface. “The bottom line is he's loose now,” she said when Anna's story drew to a close. “We need options.”
Anna sat across from him in the same black clothes she had worn during the raid on Ganymede, her hair in a state of disarray with flyaway strands all over the place. “I tried checking the SlipGate logs. No joy.”
The only other member of their little group was Harry, who sat a few chairs down from Anna with his elbow on the armrest. “In a case like this, we'd usually try to ascertain the fugitive's goals.” he said. “Figure out what he needs. What his next step would be.”
“Believe me, Harry; I thought of that.” Anna leaned forward, set her elbows on the table's surface and rested her chin on laced fingers. “There's no way to know.”
“We can speculate.”
Jack closed his eyes, banging the back of his head against the seat cushion. “We should start with what we know.” He took a deep breath, running through the list in his mind. “We know that Pennfield had access to some kind of twisted symbiont, one that was willing to play along with his sick little schemes.”