Peacekeeper

by REEVE, LAURA E.

  His voice had roughened and changed with age and pain, but in his eyes, she saw that familiar flecking of green within brown.

  "Brandon?”

  CHAPTER 20

  Here’s an update on Ura-Guinn for all you net-rats. You say you’ve had enough of that and you’re tired of glitch data conspiracies? Well, my little netlings, they say they’ll know for sure what happened—in about four months, when the light-speed data reaches us. Yawn. Riiiiight. On to more interesting things, such as my analysis of the Marino versus Simons blockbuster match . . .

  —Dr. Net-head Stavros, 2105.298.21.01 UT, indexed by Democritus 29 under Hypothetical Effect Imperative

  "She’s gone?”

  Thales stepped back from the counter, in case the agitated man reached across. One of the uniformed men, the tallest one with the mustache, reached out and placed a warning arm across his chest.

  He’d seen this before. That was a mistake, to care too much about an addict. Nothing good could come from an addict. Addicts pulled anybody who cared about them through the muck and mire; they bankrupted their caregivers of wealth, energy, and spirit, like vampires. Thales had seen caregivers break down in relief when addicts checked into the Commons. Regardless of whether the caregivers were parents, siblings, children, or lovers, they’d had their trust betrayed countless times for any small chance of a high. He knew why these caregivers gratefully sent stipends to those inside the Commons: It was much cheaper and easier than having the addict live with them.

  Not that life got better for anybody when alcohol and drugs were removed, a sour revelation to Thales that rendered his workdays both endless and useless. Sometimes addicts could be cured. It often took voluntary neural probing, plus reprogramming, plus therapy, plus group support for such a success, but in the end, everybody who cared about the addict would be gone. Why? Because human nature is perverse. After all their nagging, whining, and martyrdom, caregivers found they didn’t like the new drug-free addict. Or they’d been controllers and they could no longer dominate the drug-free addict. Or they discovered they carried too much resentment toward the addict. Pick any reason.

  Addicts couldn’t win, because their relationships went up in flames whether they used or not. The corollary for everyone else was never care about an addict.

  Thales felt no compassion for the agitated man, who apparently hadn’t yet learned that rule. He was lean and tall, looking out of his element, like any other crèche-get on Hellas Prime. Raking his hand through his short blond hair, the crèche-get stepped back to stand behind the two military men and shiver in the conditioned air of the lobby.

  The military man with all the silver on his collar had Thales’s attention. His uniform displayed the familiar AFCAW emblem on the right breast pocket, but had some emblem involving a candle on the left. More importantly, the black uniform with the light blue edges matched the uniform that Major Kedros had worn, as it’d looked when the Terrans brought her in. Now the uniform was dispersed among the residents of Induction Three.

  "I’m Colonel Edones.” The man’s bland plastic face formed into a cold impersonal smile.

  "Yes, sir.” Thales kept his tone respectful. He had the feeling he shouldn’t screw with this man. Colonel Edones might not care, but he wouldn’t accept incompetence and he probably saw through lies with the easy facility of someone who kept secrets himself.

  "I have authority to access Major Kedros’s private data.” The colonel set his hand on the counter to perform near-field exchange with his implanted identification, and gave his public password.

  Thales looked down to check authentication. Colonel Edones was exactly who he claimed to be. Military supervisors never responded this quickly, and they usually sent a noncom to collect their wayward charges. Dread tightened Thales’s stomach into a knot.

  "Now tell me what happened to Major Kedros,” the Colonel said.

  Tell this cold reptile of a man that his charge had vanished, leaving behind a dead black-market organ broker? Thales’s instincts told him that he should divert this pesky colonel away from the Commons. He quickly put a spin on the story, grabbing the safest conclusion for his purposes.

  "She’s gone, leaving us a murdered man. We finished cleaning up her mess when I came on shift. EMT was called in about three a.m., they called both LEF and the coroner. I’m betting that, by now, Major Kedros has been charged with murder.” Thales’s voice was tight as he looked down at his tunic. Damn, he’d gotten blood on it when he helped the coroner load the body onto the stretcher, but that gave his story veracity.

  The crèche-get’s mouth dropped open and he glanced at the two military men, who didn’t react to Thales’s words.

  "What did ComNet get?” Edones asked.

  "Thanks to privacy law, we don’t have ComNet nodes inside Induction,” Thales said. "It’s not legal confinement.”

  "Who signed for her?”

  "There’s no requirement to check out of Addict Commons, as opposed to checking in—”

  "There’s our tax drachmas at work,” the crèche-get said in a nasty tone.

  Thales ignored him and instead sent the menu to the opposite wall. "Here’s what’s available, given the nodes on the lobby, the exits, as well as the public reports filed by the LEF. Excuse me, but I have to change.”

  The lobby was silent as the three men turned to the displays he’d provided. He saw them all whip out slates before he turned away. It took him about half an hour to replace the tunic and tidy himself. He dawdled, hoping that Edones and his entourage would leave by the time he got back to the admittance counter.

  No such luck.

  Colonel Edones and his sergeant were conferring in low tones over a slate while the crèche-get stood to one side with a pale face, his arms crossed. As Thales slid onto his stool behind the counter, Colonel Edones looked up and watched him with bland lifeless eyes, making him shiver.

  "We’ve gone through your reports, as well as the Hellas LEF analysis,” Colonel Edones said. "From interviews, they’ve been able to piece together what happened.”

  Thales’s gut tensed. He was surprised that Edones had access to Hellas LEF data. What was more worrisome: Had the LEF issued warrants against ComNet packet routing? They’d never done that before.

  "She’s safe. Get in the car,” Edones said to the crèche-get.

  "But—”

  "We know who picked her up, from the LEF paperwork. She’s safe.” Edones nodded at the sergeant, who hustled the crèche-get outside, where they both got into the car.

  Colonel Edones watched them go. He walked to the counter so he could stare at Thales eye to eye.

  Thales flinched. He’d been mistaken; the Colonel cared about the missing woman, although not in a lost and victimized way.

  "The Hellas LEF identified the dead man fairly easily. Do you know him?” Edones tone was frigid.

  "No, I’d never seen him before.” Thales was telling the truth, but he began to sweat.

  "They connected him to illegal and involuntary organ brokering.”

  "Well, then, his death is no great loss. But murder’s murder, isn’t it? Are they charging Major Kedros?” Thales kept his voice steady.

  "No, it’s valid self defense. Besides, final cause of death was high-voltage stunner,” Edones said, leaning closer. "Major Kedros didn’t have any weapons, and interviews of your inmates indicated that a third party used weapons to rescue Major Kedros from becoming an involuntary organ donor.”

  "They’re residents.” Thales’s voice was soft and hoarse. His mouth was dry.

  "What’s that?” Edones leaned closer.

  "They’re called residents, not inmates.”

  "I suspect they’re also called organ fodder, when they’re in good enough health. The LEF has already issued a warrant to examine all calls made to and from the dead man for the last two days.”

  Edones’s voice was quiet, but Thales could hear him quite clearly since he was leaning over him across the counter.

  "Ar
e you insinuating that someone called this broker when Major Kedros checked in? Are you accusing me?” Despite his best efforts, his voice squeaked.

  Edones stared at him coldly.

  Thales licked his dry lips. The ComNet nodes could pick up their conversation, even if it was quiet. Perhaps he could provoke Edones into threatening or libeling him. He sensed the man was tense, like a tightly wound spring.

  "She was just an addict. The scum that Gaia cleans off her planets every day,” Thales whispered.

  Instead of losing control, Edones smiled. "She was the wrong target to choose. She was under my protection.”

  The words puzzled Thales, but before he could respond, Edones straightened and stepped back.

  "The Hellas LEF needed a bit of prodding to look into this matter fully. Apparently, they’ve let similar incidents slip by them in the past, but I’ve remedied that.” Colonel Edones brushed some imaginary lint from his uniform. "I can’t imagine a worse torture for anyone than watching the excruciatingly slow jaws of the LEF close around them.”

  The colonel turned smartly and went out to get in his car, leaving Thales sweating and shivering in the lobby’s conditioned air.

  Ariane dropped to her knees on the patio stones, which still radiated heat from the afternoon sun. She extended her arms toward the sick man, and then dropped them after he made no movement. "Brandon, is that you?”

  "Yes, unfortunately, this is me.” Again the crooked smile.

  "How did you find me?” Then, as his previous words registered, she asked blankly, "Black market organ broker?”

  "I’ve had my staff following you. Of course, we were notified by our automated agents when you were checked into the Addict Commons.”

  She looked at him dubiously as she tried to remember. "Did you come for me personally? I remember that somebody had a stunner.”

  "That was my security. They’re probably still filling out forms for the Hellas LEF. They’ll come through fine since it was self-defense, or at least to prevent you from being portioned out to the highest bidder.”

  "Thank you.” Her tone was fervent; being kept alive in a vat, unconscious, until her body lost too many parts to continue, wasn’t her idea of a decent end.

  "You don’t have to worry here, Ari. This sanctuary is secure and I have top-notch protection.”

  She searched his face and eyes, now level with hers. She had never found out whether Brandon had been charged for his attack upon the DO. After Ura-Guinn, she had been hustled off to sick bay, while everyone else was sequestered by the black and blue. When she was healthy enough to keep her food down and her hair was growing out again, the only person she could question was Lieutenant Owen Edones and he hadn’t been bubbling with answers.

  As Ariane looked into Brandon’s eyes, she sadly recalled the squadron commander’s face, the stark reality of what had happened etched into the man’s features. He’s dead now. They’re all dead, except for Brandon and me. Brandon looked as if he’d been through the grinder already, and she’d trashed whatever was worthwhile in her own life.

  "Why all the surgery?” Ariane asked, avoiding all the other questions she wanted answered. Where did you go? What have you been doing with your life, and with whom?

  "This is what can happen when rejuv fails. Of course, AFCAW has paid for this, many times over. They helped build my empire from defense contracts.” The resignation in his voice had an undertone of bitterness. He looked down and his hands traced some of the scars on his bare chest. "I burn up my own organs, but luckily, I’m one of those people that can grow my own and accept them gracefully.”

  "You sound different.” Ariane felt awkward. The patio stones were beginning to press painfully on her knees and she sat back on her heels. This wasn’t the same Brandon, who lost control of his emotions freely and frequently.

  "From what I can see under all those bruises, you didn’t have facial reconstruction. But something’s different about your face.” He grinned.

  "I had the nose straightened and refined. You know, I’d bashed it up, way back when . . .” Another altercation in a bar that she didn’t want to rehash, particularly with Brandon. She’d been protecting her nose jealously ever since; she hoped Kim hadn’t broken it again.

  His expression sobered. "You know, Ari, the Addict Commons are dangerous. Especially the ones in Alexandria.”

  She winced, suppressing glimpses of the nightmare. She wanted to protest that she wasn’t responsible for ending up in the Commons and she didn’t want him disappointed in her, but she paused. Did that matter anymore? His respect was less important than warning him about the Terrans and the assassin that was still roaming around. He said he had a good security staff; how much would he have told them?

  "Brandon, you’re—we’re in danger,” she said.

  "No doubt.” He chuckled. "We’ve always been in danger, top of the hit list for any crazies out there. I have my people keep an eye on the fringes, just in case.”

  You have no idea how much danger, particularly if they can get onto a military installation. Before she could reply, one of the monitors on his chest began to blink and beep. It was about as thick as Ariane’s finger and semi-buried into his skin.

  Movement at the periphery of her vision caught her attention; a medic was walking toward them. She was probably answering Brandon’s monitor. Her vivid hair, flamboyantly copper with green highlights, stood out starkly from her medically white tunic and pink trousers. She hadn’t reached the patio when Ariane’s scalp began to tingle. It hadn’t been Brandon’s voice that had haunted her, that had pushed familiarly through the fog of alcohol and smooth.

  "Brandon? Who came to the Commons to get me?”

  Brandon closed his eyes, smiling faintly in the fading sunlight. The early gloom of evening was starting. Ariane watched the attendant approach. She ignored Ariane and knelt beside Brandon, professionally turning off the blinking monitor and checking measurements. A delicate barrette shaped like an insect with long filigree wings held back her thick shoulder-length hair over her right ear.

  "You know your liver function’s degrading, Mr. Leukos. You shouldn’t be out here in the evening temperatures,” she said in that tantalizingly familiar voice. She picked up the light jacket that had been beside Brandon and draped it around his shoulders.

  Brandon sat tranquilly, his eyes closed, his peaceful expression unchanged, and his legs arranged in the lotus position. The attendant looked up, her dark eyes meeting Ariane’s without surprise.

  "Hello, Cipher,” said Ariane.

  "So you think Ari’s safe with this Leukos fellow?” Matt sat alone in the backseat, looking at his slate after getting results from Heraclitus and Democritus models. "From what I can find, it sounds like this guy might be a customer of organ brokers, legal or illegal.”

  "Mr. Leukos is ill, true, but he has the means and the ability to accept his own vat-grown organs.” Edones replied in a disinterested tone, watching the city lights go by.

  "Hmm. Well, I suppose if you’re rich enough to have whole hospitals named after you, there’s no need to scrounge in the black market gutters.”

  Neither man in the front seat responded to his low mutter.

  They were heading north by way of the central expressway of Alexandria. The light rain that regularly swept into the western parts of the city had faded away as the rental car smoothly rolled through villages and districts. The car was displaying exit names on its windows. In Matt’s peripheral vision, they blurred together, one after another, into the inky night. The constant hushed hiss of the wheels was hypnotic.

  Matt shook his head. Even when distracted, Edones avoided giving him a direct answer. How did Edones know so much about Leukos, and how did Ari fit in? Matt had been trying to find the connections, but so far, he’d been stymied. He set his slate on the seat beside him.

  There was no connection between Reserve Major Ariane Kedros and Mr. Bartholomew Leukos; even the AI models, with their formal answers, seemed taken aback by
the absurdity of such a query—or that might be his imagination. Mr. Leukos was extraordinarily rich and shrouded in the privacy that only the rich could afford. He was twelve years older than Ari and had no military background, other than being rejected for duty by reason of his medical condition, the nature of which was heavily protected by privacy law. Leukos had initially started his business empire with a small defense contract and then bought another contractor, and then another. Today, Leukos’s corporations dominated much of Hellas Prime’s manufacturing and transportation industries for the defense sectors.

  According to the analysis Matt could perform quickly against the AI indexed information, Ari and Leukos shouldn’t know each other. However, Edones had immediately relaxed when he thought that Leukos had snatched Ari out of the Commons, because "she was with friends.” While not claiming friendship, Edones said he had "had dealings with Leukos in the past.”

  They were on their way to the Demeter Sanctuary where there was a good chance of finding Leukos, but Edones was taking his own sweet time. He seemed reluctant to call upon Leukos, and Matt suspected something more between these two men than only "differences of opinions,” as Edones had said. Part of Edones’s delaying tactics involved driving through the central Alexandria nighttime light displays and going to dinner. Matt seethed and fidgeted, although he admitted he was hungry.

  He wished he had time to have Nestor’s Muse 3 do a full-fledged analysis on Bartholomew Leukos. Would there again be an interesting division between almost-perfect and less-than-perfect documentation? If so, would the transition point again sit at 2090, when Ura-Guinn was blown out of N-space by a TD warhead?

  He wouldn’t know until he was willing to invest a good amount of accelerated AI time, as Nestor had done for his investigations of Customs. Thinking of Nestor, he guiltily picked up his slate again. He’d put off the LEF’s questions long enough. This emergency with Ari had taken all his attention. Now he had the time to grind through Nestor’s "Customs” package and the LEF data, which he’d loaded onto his slate, just in case. He pulled out his stylus.