by Jason LaPier
“Mrs. Runstom!”
She flinched. Another thing to get used to. She turned to a clerk who was rushing to catch her at the door. “Yes?”
“Message for Stanford,” the young man said cheerfully. “Would you mind taking it to him?”
She grinned as she took the small box with the message chip in it. “Of course. I’m on my way to see him right now.”
“Thanks, Ma’am!”
She couldn’t erase the grin as she left. Everyone else had to come to the d-mail office to pick up their messages, and yet somehow in a short period of time her son had earned the kind of respect that meant people wanted to deliver his mail right to him. Or at least ask his mother to.
As she walked down the quiet street in the quiet town, she looked at the package. The sender code was on the outside, and though it was non-identifying, she recognized the first few numbers as a ModPol station origin designation. She knew she shouldn’t, but … those old habits. She looked at the WrappiMate on her arm and pulled up one of her databases. They were stale by months and growing staler by the moment, but she tried the code anyway.
“Major Lucy Jennifer Oliver,” she said to herself. She allowed herself a mischievous chuckle. “Now why oh why would this young woman be trying to contact Stanley?”
Why indeed.
She cleared her screen and rounded the corner. Just a few more blocks. It felt good to walk, and she didn’t miss all the metro-tracks that had been all over the new settlements on EE-3.
In some ways, she was surprised this was the place her son ended up. But in other ways, she would never be surprised. She gave up long ago feeling guilty for not giving him a normal life. What in the galaxy was normal, really?
He’d always been independent, but never in control. She could tell by his words, in those sparse letters he would send her over the years. Never in trouble, but never in control. He didn’t come out and say it, but she knew the symptoms. Her life was the same. Always trying to get somewhere, to move forward, but within the parameters meted out by the job and the circumstances.
And now he was taking control. Full control. The feeling it gave her was terrifying, but overwhelming in joy and pride.
On top of that, he wanted her help. It was more than she could have hoped for when she came to this tiny backwater moon to seek him out. Her nightmare, which he could never fully understand, was officially over. She no longer needed witness protection. But that was only the official side of it. Unofficially, she had to look into those brown eyes of his and see Bishop Down. The olive-green skin did nothing to cover up the resemblance; it was hard for her to differentiate it from Bishop’s black Earthling skin, especially when the eyes were so identical. She had to remember her betrayals, to everyone and everything. And she had to remember all the times she had to push her son away, how many times she had to hide truths from him. How she had to watch from a distance as his colleagues and superiors punished him for her choices, in all the little ways they could. Giving him the shit jobs, holding him back. And she was helpless to do anything.
Through all that, her son had kept his head down and worked hard. He’d been a good cop. They should have made him detective a long time ago. It was ModPol’s loss.
The office was still getting work done on it, so she had to go around a ladder to get to the door. She was so intent on not banging her head, she hadn’t seen the new lettering until it was right in front of her, and then it hit her. A wave of warm pride, like sun on her face.
Runstom and Jackson
Private Detectives
Acknowledgements
A great big thank you to the fine folks at Harper Voyager, including Natasha Bardon, Lily Cooper, and Simon Fox. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to tell this complete story across three books, and thank you for the support over these past few years. Also, I should throw in here: every cover in this series has wowed me and made other authors green with envy. Thank you, Ben Gardiner!
I’d like to thank all the people who have supported my writing in one way or another over the years. The following organizations have contributed something meaningful to my journey: National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the Northwest Independent Writers Association (NIWA), Willamette Writers, Indigo Editing, the Wordstock Festival, Literary Arts of Oregon, WorldCon, OryCon, WesterCon, and GearCon.
And then there are the fellowships I’ve developed with authors over the years. Thanks for the support, to the Third Thursday Writer’s group, the Speculative Fiction Write-in group at the Fort Vancouver Regional Library, the Codex community, and the other HarperVoyager writers I’ve connected with. You people are the best. Lastly, as always, a shoutout to the Writers With No Name: Brian and Wes, thank you for the mind-numbing libations and the mind-opening conversations.
I also want to thank my alternate-dimension family, the innovative and inspiring folks at AWS Elemental. I’ve gotten so much support and encouragement there, it’s not fair to call it simply a “day job”. In particular I want to call out fellow writer and all-time NaNoWriMo champion Duncan “Dunx” Ellis, whom I’ve had the honor to share a stage with on several occasions.
Cynthia: I know I never say it, but I owe you everything, Mom.
Jennifer: why does it feel like ten years of marriage is only the beginning? Oh right, because I will love you for all eternity. Thank you for being my universe.
About the Author
Born and raised in Upstate New York, Jason LaPier lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife and their dachshund. In past lives he has been a guitar player for a metal band, a drum-n-bass DJ, a record store owner, a game developer, and an IT consultant. These days he divides his time between writing fiction and developing software, and doing Oregonian things like gardening, hiking, and drinking microbrew. He can be found on Twitter @JasonWLaPier and he blogs at jasonwlapier.com
Also by Jason LaPier
The Dome Trilogy
Unexpected Rain
Unclear Skies
About the Publisher
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