Meer's eyes narrowed for a moment as she regarded Wynn. “Who's asking?”
“My name's Wynn Efans, I'm, erm—”
“Well spit it out, man.”
“You've got a friend of mine's daughter. There was a mistake and—”
“Wynn! Wynn! Wynn!” Riko called, bouncing excitedly as she squeezed past Meer's skirts.
“Stop jumping,” Meer snapped.
Riko ran to Wynn and put her arms around his legs. “You take me to my mummy now,” Riko said.
“I told you, I'm your mummy—” Meer paused as she looked at Riko as Wynn picked her up and lifted her onto his hip. “Well, she's never hugged me like that,” she scoffed.
“You see Riko was taken by—”
“I don't care about your pathetic life story, man,” Meer said shaking her head. “Just take the little brat. I don't want her anyway. She's so needy. I bought a child for me, not for her. It just simply won't do. Just take her away. I don't care.”
She waved them away and closed the door.
Efans Household, Insularum 5, Lunar
Natsuki halted her nervous pacing when the door swing open.
“Mummy!” called Riko.
A sunburst of happiness exploded in Natsuki's heart as she ran to her daughter and embraced. “I missed you, I missed you,” she said between frantic kisses.
With tears in her eyes, she looked up at Wynn. “I don't know how to thank you,” she said .
“Honestly,” Wynn shrugged. “I don't know what happened. She just gave her to me. She was bored with the novelty of having a kid.”
Natsuki furrowed her brow. “She just gave her back? That seems a bit odd.”
“Trust me,” Wynn smiled. “Those Ranghis are the epitome of 'a bit odd'.”
Natsuki looked down at Riko's leather tunic, confused. “Who dresses a child like this?”
“Those Ranghis have expensive taste,” said Wynn.
“Expensive, but bad. There's not a way they could track Riko? Maybe something in her clothes?” Natsuki ran her fingers along the tunic's tight-stitched seams.
Wynn sighed. “That's something the Yaos might do, so I doubt it.”
“Just to be safe, I'm going to burn it as soon as I can get her something new.”
“Mummy! Mummy! Where's Daddy?” Riko asked.
Natsuki gulped. “It's just Mummy and Riko now. I'll never let anyone take you away again, I promise.”
Episode 7: Judgement
Offices of Lunar Chronicle, Insularum 2, Lunar
Akira Yamamoto's fingers ached as she typed at her terminal. Her news editor Osuma Imamura stood over her, his breath loud in her left ear.
“No, no, no. The story is that Kurosawa chinned Ozu, that's what you need to go in on,” said Osuma.
Akira huffed, then pushed her thick-lens glasses back up her nose. “I get that, but the vote is more important. The implications—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Osuma said, waving his hand close to Akira's ear. “You mention the vote lower down. No one wants to read another one of your long reports about some bloody Assembly meeting. Honestly Akira, the main thing about this story is the fact Kurosawa got arrested - everything else is a footnote.”
Akira flinched as Osuma leaned over her. He was close enough for her to smell the stale sweat on his crumpled pink shirt and see flecks of dandruff collected around his bald-patch. She couldn't work out how Osuma could be so skinny and gangly while bloated and shrunken. Not for the first time that day, Akira glared at Osuma.
She looked around at the newsroom; a pale shadow of its former self, its empty terminals daily reminders of the redundant journalists she'd been friends with, slept with, hated, or loved, but through one cost-cutting exercise after another had been pushed out of the industry. She was the last bulwark, a relic, an empty ship rattling through space on its own aimless trajectory.
“I'm sure Ken will back me up on this,” Akira said with a hostile tone.
She sat straight, raising her glasses from her nose and perching them along her hairline. Her tight ponytail did nothing to hide her almost childish face, with its chubby cheeks and button nose. It was only the dark wrinkles around her eyes that gave clues to her being only a few years from retirement.
“Well it must be serious if you're planning on pulling rank,” Osuma said. “You always do this. Trust me, Ken's in this business to sell stories—”
“What's this?” said Ken Nakamura. Akira turned at the sound of his half-drunk drawl. “I always know there's something up when you're standing a bit too close to someone.”
Akira grinned to herself as she saw Osuma take a step backward then stand straight at the edge of her peripheral vision.
“She's got a great story,” Osuma said. “Get this: the Lunar Vice Secretary took a swing at the Secretary - at the Secretary!”
“So what's the debate?” Ken stared at Akira, his grey eyes unmoving beneath his tall grey hair. He wore a washed-out red suit trimmed with leather and silk. Many years before, it was the height of fashion - an ostentatious sign of wealth and status that Akira used to find pathetic, but now made her yearn for better days.
“There's a much bigger story behind this, but I need more time,” she said. “First—” she held up her fingers to count off her points. “One: United Solar voted to legalise projectile and explosive weapons.
“Second: these can be used by any US Affiliates, but not citizens.
“Three: the wording of the motion was suspect, what the fuck does 'putting security at risk' even mean?
“Four: the vote was forced through by the Secretary using a piece of an obscure rule in the constitution - this has never been done before. I mean, the Secretary's never attended an Assembly meeting in person before.
“Five: the timing seems incredibly suspect. Think about it, there's no way the Yao would have backed such a motion. Suddenly, they're out of the picture, and we get this massive change. The Boeki were calling foul on this during the meeting, and I'm pretty sure that's why Kurosawa smacked Ozu.
“The whole thing stinks, and it's pointing to some very dark things.”
“Alright,” Ken said, gesturing for quiet. “This all seems very complicated. We can't risk getting something like this wrong. If we make accusations against Ozu, it's got to be solid.”
“But—”
“Write up the story as Osuma wants it. Make it punchy,” he said with a sly wink.
“This is ridiculous.” Akira slammed a fist against her terminal, blowing up a small cloud of dust.
“If you let me finish,” he said with an exasperated chuckle. “Get this story on the feeds now, and we'll talk about taking you off news desk to follow this up. If you're right, and if you're saying what I think you are - and, of course, if you can bloody prove it - then we're onto a huge story.”
Akira rubbed the back of her neck, adjusting the collar of her thick cotton shirt. “Thank you,” she said, straitening her back. “I won't let you down.”
As Ken walked away, she turned and scowled at Osuma. “Twat,” she whispered.
Examiner's Office, Judiciary, Insularum 1, Lunar
Tshilidzi Dumi winced as the Examiner wheeled out the body of Yao Chin.
Tshilidzi was a tall, stocky man with a shaved head and thick black eyebrows. He wore a creased brown suit and simple black shoes that struck a sharp contrast against the clean lines and polished white surfaces of the examination room.
The Examiner halted before Tshilidzi, adjusting a ceiling light to cast no shadows over the corpse. His clothing was clinical and face gaunt and grim.
Stepping around the body, Tshilidzi recognised the familiar face of the Yao. “This is very odd,” he said looking over the torso, leaning down to examine the fist-sized hole in the centre of its chest.
“How so?” asked the Examiner.
“This is Yao Chin, the one killed on L5?”
The Examiner tilted his head. “That's correct Investigator.”
“It's just that t
he wound looks a lot different to the images from the scene.”
“Well, we have cleaned the body up since then. You didn't expect her to be shipped down in the state she was in did you?” His tone was sardonic, annoyed.
“That's not what I meant.” Tshilidzi scratched his head, then reached into his pocket. He pulled out a hand scanner and shone its red light over the wound. He blinked with confusion.
“Take a look,” Tshilidzi said, gesturing. The Examiner stepped around to his left, taking the scanner from his hand, now slick with sweat.
The Examiner shone the red light over the wound. “Hmm,” he mused. “I've heard rumours.” The Examiner handed the scanner back to Tshilidzi.
“Rumours about what?” Tshilidzi leaned in to examine the wound again.
“Rumours about the Yao,” the Examiner said. “But I never believe such tales, you have to understand.”
“Rumours about what?” Tshilidzi repeated as they both stood next to each other, looking over the corpse.
“I remember being told Yao bodies regenerate and heal at an amazing rate. This would explain the repairs around the edge of the wound. Their medical technology - well, all their technology - is beyond the rest of the Union. So something like what we're seeing here doesn't actually surprise me.”
“Regenerate? How much?” Tshilidzi shuddered at the thought of the corpse repairing itself to such an extent that it came back to life.
“I'm not sure, but they're staying dead if that's what concerns you. The brain is dead, but it is strange that the healing has continued post-mortem.”
“And this is the cause of death?” Tshilidzi pointed to the wound. “I'm assuming we can be clear on that?”
“Absolutely. My full report will be with you soon.” The Examiner paused for a moment, licking his lips as if hesitating over the wording of his next sentence. “Do you know who did this?”
“At this moment, I haven't got a clue.”
Secretarial Palace, Insularum 1, Lunar
Out of breath, Akira ignored the tuts and glares. She squeezed past a row of reporters and found an empty seat to the rear of the hall. She craned her neck to see past the gathered Representatives, dignitaries and Affiliates.
“It seems like anyone with even a whiff of power about them is here,” she whispered to the stone-faced reporter on the seat to her left.
The raised platform at the far end of the hall was illuminated with a criss-cross of blue, red and white beams of light and adorned with the insignia of United Solar. The hum of conversation, coughs and shuffles became hushed as Lunar Secretary Takeshi Ozu took his place at the podium. Every cough, every sneeze, and every uncomfortable shuffle echoed and reverberate around the hall's grandiose pillars and swooping arches.
Akira reached down to take her notepad out from her bag as Takeshi lifted his head and stepped up to the podium, surveying the field of white-clad mourners.
“Fellow citizens,” Takeshi said with a sombre tone. “We are here today to mourn the end of the Yao dynasty: a family whose power and influence has formed an important part of our lives since before our recorded history.”
“We have all been touched by the Yao's passing. The actions and deeds of this historic family have been felt from the orbiters of Mercury to the most remote parts of our Union beyond Neptune. From the ores that make our ships and the fuel that keeps them running to the jobs that put food on so many citizens' tables - the loss of the Yao is a loss to us all.”
Akira scowled as a faint murmuring of agreement spread through the hall. She scribbled down the speech verbatim, but this was a distraction. There were bigger issues in play.
“But in these times of great sadness, there is optimism. In these times of strife, we are strong. In these times of uncertainty, we do not waiver.”
Akira sat up - this was not the tone of speech she was expecting.
“My fellow citizens: for the last three days, the entire Union has seen for itself that our resolve in unshakable.
“Tonight we are all awakened to danger and called to defend our freedom, to defend our security, to defend our families.
“Through our grief, we find anger, but through our anger, we have found resolution.
“Now is not the time for revenge: now is the time for justice.” He paused for emphasis, for drama. “And justice will be done.”
Applause rang around the hall, spreading to a deafening crescendo. Akira's expression became grave, haunted.
“Enemies of our way of life committed a crime not just against the Yao, but against us all,” Takeshi continued as the applause faded. “Who attacked the Yao? The evidence we have points to a loosely affiliated terrorist network known as the Purdah.
“Their goal is simple: to destroy our way of life.” Takeshi sighed. “Their network extends across the eight provinces. We believe their members have infiltrated our governments, infiltrated our Affiliates, and infiltrated our media.
“Their influence undermines trade, undermines security and undermines our way of life.
“Their leader, Ajay Johar, remains United Solar's most wanted criminal. We will find him - justice will be done.”
The buzz of agreement echoed in the murmurs and whispers around her.
“And so, we make our demands to the Purdah: hand over Ajay Johar - deliver him to the Judiciary. Close your stations, hand in your ships and end this reign of terror - you will be found, and you will be defeated. Our war against the Purdah begins now and will end with its complete destruction.”
Akira tried to puzzle out why the Secretary would use the pretence of a memorial ceremony to declare war. It make no sense.
“We are not deceived by their pretences to piety. They talk of injustice, of monopolies, of greed and corporate control; but it is they who are greedy, they who are controlling, it is they who undermine everything we stand for and hold dear.
“Our Union has been put on notice: we are not immune from attack. We will take defensive measures against the Purdah to protect our Union, to protect its Affiliates and to protect our citizens.
“We have set in motion new laws to allow us to protect ourselves in the face of the Purdah. For the first time in over a millennium, we are making it possible for our security forces and our Affiliates to arm themselves against this threat. These measures are essential. But the only way to defeat the Purdah is to stop it, eliminate it, and destroy it by any means necessary.
“My fellow citizens: these are troubling times, but with our resolve, justice will be done. Thank you.”
The two thousand in attendance stood to their feet and applauded the Secretary as he stepped down from the stage. A group of Boeki traders turned their backs to the stage in protest - a dangerous move.
“What just happened?” she said, turning to the reporter on her left, but the only response he gave was a grimace.
Elevator Capsule, L5 Casino Platform, Lunar
Tshilidzi stared over the expansive series of domes spread out across the Lunar surface as the elevator capsule pushed vertically, freeing itself the Lunar's gravity well. He looked out of the viewing window to his right at the Lunar Band - the asteroid belt that arced across the Lunar sky - shimmering as it caught the light from burning white sun.
His stomach turned against the reduced gravity. Pulling against his safety straps, he reached beneath his seat and lifted a bag onto his lap, then pulled out a series of hand-written notes he'd been making on the investigation.
“I hate riding the elevators,” a man seated to his right said.
Tshilidzi chuckled. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “Every time I go off-surface I feel like I'm going to throw up.”
The man looked back at him with a concerned look on his face. He was middle-aged, with bad skin and a large gut.
“I'll be fine,” Tshilidzi said with a reassuring tone. “It hasn't happened yet.”
Tshilidzi smiled as the man reached out a hand. “I'm Hari Maher,” he said. “Is this a business trip or are you
heading to the casino?”
“Tshilidzi Dumi,” he said squeezing Hari's hand. “My stop's the casino, but unfortunately, it's strictly business.” He pushed his notes back into his bag and adjusted his seat.
Hari raised an eyebrow. “What's your line of work?”
“I'm an Investigator.”
“Oh,” Hari said, dropping his gaze.
Tshilidzi was familiar with this response. As soon as people found out he was an investigator, things always became awkward.
“I've always thought the casinos were up to no good,” Hari said. “What is it? If you don't mind me asking, of course. Tax? Laundering? Are they in with the Purdah? That would make a lot of sense,” he mused.
Tshilidzi smiled. “Not at all,” he said. “I don't know if you've heard about the Yao deaths?”
“Terrible business,” Hari said.
“I'm looking into that.”
“Really?” Hari looked forward, wide-eyed. “So, who was it?”
Tshilidzi shrugged and shook his head. “I'm not sure yet.”
“Who do you think it was, though? You must have some inkling, some suspicion. Ozu reckons it's the Purdah.”
Tshilidzi curled his lip. “If you go into investigations with conclusions already formed, then you only notice things that confirm your suspicions.”
“So you do have suspicions?”
“Not yet,” said Tshilidzi.
Hari turned away again, and the pair sat in silence for several moments. Tshilidzi reached back into his bag, retrieving his notes.
“It's pleasure for me,” Hari said, clearing his throat. “I'm meeting a couple of the lads from sales for a bit of a blow-out. We've had some strong numbers recently, so we all deserve it.”
“What do you sell?”
“I inherited quite a sizable stake in the rubber and cotton licenses - people always need clothing and business's always need rubber.”
Tshilidzi nodded, laying his notes flat on his lap. “This is true,” he agreed. “Do you visit the casino often?”
“Not as regularly as I'd like, but I do love it there.”
The Slip: The Complete First Season Page 17