by Devin Hanson
“Madam Crade requests your immediate presence,” she said bluntly. There was something cold about the woman’s eyes that sent a tremor of unease through Marcus.
“I’m sorry, what is this about?”
The woman turned her back on him, striding away from the door, already hurrying off to her next destination. “You have your summons,” she called back over her shoulder.
Marcus frowned. He might be a little unclear about his position in the greater scheme of things, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t some lackey to be summoned at his master’s whim. The woman was already gone, and it was pretty clear she was just a messenger. Demanding an explanation from her probably wouldn’t have achieved anything.
It galled him, but the only thing he could do was go to Grendal and try to clear things up. Ignoring the summons would only sour his relationship with the woman, and his position was too fragile to endanger it needlessly.
With a sigh, Marcus left his apartment and made his way up to the market level where the Redstone Lounge was. It was still early, some hours before midday, so the market was mostly empty. As he got closer to the Lounge, he gradually became aware that there were others who were moving through the market with him, apparently to the same destination.
By the time he reached the door to the Lounge, he was one among a group of a dozen or so. They entered the foyer together, and Marcus gave up on the hope for a private conversation with Grendal. One by one, the people handed assorted weapons over to Charles, who took them without comment and locked them away. Marcus watched the proceedings, feeling more and more out of place. These people were mercenaries, thugs, and criminals. He didn’t belong here.
The group entered the interior one at a time, passing by the frosted-glass partition. Vague shadows shifted behind the glass, but other than cursory interest, whatever machinery was deployed there raised no objection.
Marcus lingered in the rear of the group. He debated with himself whether he should just turn around and go home. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t a criminal, nor did he take pleasure in hurting others. Going through that door and into the Lounge would place him in association with the others.
There was little doubt in his mind that the gathering had something to do with the kidnapping operation he had been exposed to. Grendal was calling in her forces, preparing for, or reacting to, some emergency.
Charles was looking at him expectantly, and Marcus realized that he was the last one left in the foyer. He could still turn around and leave. It would be an insult to Grendal, perhaps enough that she would refuse to do business with him in the future. Without the patronage of the Lounge, how long would it take him to build up a client base and earn enough money to survive?
On the flip side of the coin, he had already had demonstrated to him how flush with credits Grendal’s organization was. He had no doubt that those who participated in whatever emergency would be compensated handsomely for their effort. He had a decent chunk of credits in his account right now, but with the expenses of the Womack treatments and his rent, living expenses, et cetera, it wouldn’t last long. Certainly not long enough to get a comfortable start to his vodka business.
And now he didn’t even have access to the wealth his water had brought him. It was tied up with the trees in Dr. Bannister’s orchard. Withdrawing from that arrangement would be even worse. Dr. Bannister could refuse to grow his next crop of potatoes. It would ruin him if that happened. With no source of income and no marketable skills, he would burn through what credits he had and then he would die.
He was trapped. If he didn’t walk through that door, he would be dead before the end of the year. If he did, he stood to make an even larger sum of credits and he would cement his relationship with Grendal. Later, he could find a way to get out of the illegal activities. Perhaps once he had his distillery running, he would have a mutually lucrative arrangement with the Lounge, and his personal involvement in Grendal’s other business could be dropped.
As if in a dream, he nodded to Charles and stepped forward, past the milky glass and into the Lounge. He was committed now. For better or worse, he had thrown his chips in with Grendal.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Once the dust settled following the December Protocol, historians and scholars picked over the tattered remnants of society and slowly pieced together a now widely accepted account of the rise and fall of immortality on Earth. In time, most nations figured out how to move on and did so. The economic collapse was restored, if not quite as high as before. Gradually, the lives of the survivors turned back to what could be considered normal.
One nation stood out in its complete inability to recover. China, eldest of civilizations, was gone. There were still people of Chinese descent living in other nations, but the great, impossibly populous nation was suddenly empty. Straggling groups still lived, but their gene pool was too limited. Survival drove them to intermingle with other peoples and the “pure Chinese” heritage was gone forever.
While the account of what actually happened during the years leading up to the December Protocol is rarely disputed, discussions over what could have been done differently were continuous and heated. Some blamed the free market and greed, others blamed Dr. Womack for making his process public, others blamed Dr. Everard for letting the secrets of the Rebuild into the hands of the scientific community, and others blamed the U.N. for meddling in the affairs of nations where it had no right.
Every scholar had their own opinion, but for all their argument, the promise of life everlasting was gone forever. The bulk of humanity had had one chance to move to a higher stage of evolution, and they blew it. Maybe in a thousand years, or two thousand years, Dr. Everard will return to Earth and offer her Rebuild one more time. Maybe then the human race will have matured enough to see the blessing for what it is and evolve their society to match.
Pleasure and pain are very closely related. From the depths of darkness, the first stirrings of sensation could easily have been mistaken for pain. Awareness, as such, was limited. There was no room for external perception, no capacity for understanding or cognitive function. The whole world was nothing more than howling nerves and pulsing, shuddering, life.
Time passed. How much was impossible to tell, impossible to quantify. Time could be considered nothing more than the perception of expected motion. How, then, could one experience time when there was no awareness outside of nebulous center-ness? And the pleasure so intense it was like pain.
Awareness of the exterior grew slowly. A nucleus of sensation developed into pressure on a hip. Swirling saturation resolved into an awareness of lightness and darkness, and then hue. Meaningless drumming settled into the rhythmic crunch of tires over sand and gravel.
External awareness grew, and time passed in a more measured fashion. Gradually, the overwhelming waves of pleasure faded to bearable levels and gradually a more complex self-awareness developed. Self-awareness grew and relational understanding manifested. Knowledge of position and motion grew, and with it an understanding of time.
Buried within the pleasure, knowledge of the body grew, of limbs and muscles and movement. Self-movement was attempted but thwarted. Emotion followed. Frustration. Fear. Anger. With emotion came rational thought, then, in a sudden torrent, identity, memory and purpose crashed down.
Min lay quiescent, in wonder at his survival. Lassitude gripped him and he felt at peace, harmonious. How had he survived? The last thing he remembered was tumbling down the slope, grappling with Jiahao. He had failed, he remembered that much. But then… what? He was alive, which meant he had received the serum injection somehow.
Ruu! Min remembered how Jiahao had been suddenly knocked sideways. The lieutenant must have shot him. And then what? Pain had made his memories foggy and unreliable. Ruu must have gotten him back to the rover and injected him before his heart stopped beating.
So Ruu was on his side now? As soon as he thought it, Min knew that was too simplistic a viewpoint. The lieutenant
had always been acting in her own best interests. For the moment, having Min alive fit that.
The serum would have repaired the damage to his organs, but it couldn’t have been quick. How much time had passed? Min tried to sit up and discovered he was strapped to the table. His arms were free, though, and it only took a moment of fumbling to find the releases on the straps and free himself.
Min was still in his spacesuit, though his helmet had been removed completely and was no longer in the cabin. So. Ruu wanted something from him still. A quick search of the cabin turned up the small two-way radio that had been knocked into a corner. A specimen tag tied around the antenna read simply “Call me.”
Min depressed the talk button. “I understand I have you to thank for my continued survival.”
After a moment, Ruu’s voice came back, scratchy over the interference from the motors. “How are you feeling, Min?”
“Really good,” Min stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of complete wellbeing that always followed immediately after a treatment.
“I’m glad.”
Silence followed and Min waited patiently. The ball was still in her court.
“I killed Captain Jiahao.” Ruu’s voice was troubled, and Min could see her face in his mind, her brow furrowed in consternation.
“I figured. Thank you.”
“I did not do it for you, Inspector Yang. What you said about Ping being killed by Jiahao. What made you say that? What proof do you have?”
“I’ve been nailing bastards like Jiahao to walls for most of two hundred years, Lieutenant. It’s how they operate. As soon as you are within their control, they take away the carrot. It’s always easier for them to offer a relief than to actually provide it. And once they had you under their control, they no longer needed to keep Ping alive.”
“But it could only have been an accident. I saw the body.”
“You said she was killed by a loader with a bad sensor? It could easily have been tampered with after the fact.” Min kept his voice calm and level. He had already told her all this, but he supposed she needed to hear it again now that she’d had time to think.
After a minute, Ruu’s voice came back. “I see what you are saying. But I would like to have proof.”
“That might be difficult to find.”
“I killed a marshal captain, Min. I require proof. Otherwise I might as well step outside without a suit on right now.”
Min’s helmet was probably in the cab with her. If she did that, Min would be dead as well. “I’d advise against it,” he said, trying to keep humor in his voice. “If you are looking for the kind of proof that would justify your actions, I’m sure we can find it.”
“I would also have your assistance in removing the hold Captain Jiahao had over me.”
“And in return, what? You walk away and pretend this never happened?”
“They killed Ping,” Ruu said grimly. “Nothing can forgive that.”
“Going against these people will be dangerous. There will be killing needed,” Min pointed out.
“I did not get my current rank by being meek, Inspector.”
“Point taken. So what now?”
“I need access to Jiahao’s files first.”
“I was talking about our immediate situation. This would be easier to plan if we didn’t have to do it over a radio.”
“I see. You are willing to work with me?”
“You mean will I turn you in the moment we get back inside Olympus.”
There was a pause. “That was a concern.”
Min sighed. “Listen, Ruu, I wasn’t in your shoes, but I understand the desperation of trying to make the payments on Womack treatments. If you help me close this kidnapping ring down, I’ll consider your amends made.”
The rover ground to a halt and after a minute, Min saw Ruu arrive at the airlock. She held his helmet in one hand and a pistol in the other. She cycled the airlock and stepped through into the cabin.
Min nodded at the gun in her hand. “That shows a certain lack of trust, Lieutenant.”
She tossed the helmet to him underhand. “It’s for you. Jiahao had it on his person.” After a moment’s hesitation, she relaxed her grip and let it flip over, one finger through the trigger guard. She offered it to him butt first, and he accepted it.
Min hefted the pistol. Ruu looked steadily at him. He could shoot her right now. Proof would surface, showing Jiahao and Ruu as corrupt marshals, and Min would be exonerated. Hell, he would even be honored for his part in cleansing the marshals’ ranks.
A month ago he would have pulled the trigger. But Ruu had been forced into an untenable position, one which Jiahao had taken advantage of. Besides, she had saved his life. That was worth something, wasn’t it?
No. He couldn’t kill her. Or shouldn’t? Did the distinction make a difference? One made him unfit to be a marshal, the other was a moral dilemma. It was a problem he would have to sort out later when he had time and preferably a large quantity of alcohol.
He tucked the pistol away and noted the relief in Ruu’s eyes, though she turned her head to hide it. Min settled the helmet over his head and verified the seal, then gave a thumbs up to Ruu. “All set.”
They cycled out of the airlock, and Min saw the dome of Olympus Cluster looming over them, a mile up slope. It would take them at least half an hour to get back, time he intended to spend trying to work out a plan for how he was going to survive the next twenty four hours.
At three in the morning, the marshal headquarters was mostly empty. Min and Ruu made their way through the vacant hallways, heading for Captain Jiahao’s office.
“How many others in the marshals are…” Min was about to say corrupt but thought better of it. “Involved?”
“I don’t know,” Ruu said. If she heard his hesitation, she didn’t comment on it. “Jiahao never told me of anyone else, though I inferred I wasn’t alone.”
“Guess we better find his files then.”
“Min, it is possible the others were coerced as I was.”
“And what, you want to give them a chance to surrender? Lieutenant, you killed Jiahao before he could kill me. That makes you a good guy. But the rest of them, what have they done to exonerate themselves?” He saw the defiant look in her eyes and held up a hand. “I’m not going to go out of my way to hunt them down,” he said, “but if they try and stop me, I’ll put them down as hard as I can.”
Reluctantly, Ruu nodded. “That is fair.”
“Glad we agree.”
They neared Jiahao’s office and Ruu put her hand on Min’s arm, stopping him. “Listen.”
Min paused and strained to hear. Distantly, he heard the crash of something breaking. He drew his pistol and Ruu copied him. Together they ran towards Jiahao’s office and drew up a few yards from the door. The jamb had been shattered, all three deadbolts ripped free of the doorframe.
Min slowed to a halt, closing the last few yards at a careful walk. He heard voices muttering to each other inside the office. Carefully, Min pushed at the door and it swung open a few inches before sticking. Any further and it would squeak. He put his eye to the crack and made out a figure swathed all in black, leaning over a table. The figure turned and tossed something to a person out of Min’s view.
Min pulled back from the crack and turned to Ruu, holding up 2 fingers. She nodded and slipped to the other side of the doorway. She held her gun up, ready to swing in and cover any assailants. Her hands did not shake.
With a held up hand at full spread, Min counted down on his fingers from five. At two, he took a step back and kicked in the door. It flew open with a crash. Min’s momentum carried him forward into the room and he moved to the side so Ruu could have a free arc of fire.
Ruu swung in on his heels and peeled off in the other direction, splitting any potential incoming fire. Her voice rang out, strident and commanding. “Freeze!”
Min steadied himself against the wall and drew a bead on the closest figure. A quick scan of the room suggest
ed that there were only two intruders, though a door in the back could be hiding more. Both intruders had frozen in position, their hands raised.
“On your knees!” Ruu ordered.
One of the masked figures complied, but the other lowered his hands. “What the hell? You’re alive, Lieutenant?” He turned and locked eyes with Min. “And you’re with Min? Explain yourself!”
Min took up some of the tension in his trigger. “Maybe you should be the one explaining,” he said. “What are you doing in the captain’s office?”
“Ruu, why isn’t this man dead?” the intruder demanded. “Where’s Captain Jiahao?”
“Out on the mountain,” Ruu said, her voice tight, “with a bullet hole in his head. Who are you? Take off your mask!”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” the man sneered at her. “If you’ve turned traitor, you’re going to die a slow and painful death.”
Min dropped the barrel of his gun and shot him in the knee. He didn’t really decide to do it; it was a reflexive response to the threat against Ruu. The man’s knee exploded outward in a spray of blood and shattered cartilage, and his leg buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. He hooted, more in shock than pain and stared down at his leg that was bending in the wrong direction.
The other figure started to get up and Min swung around. “Give me a reason.”
Ruu strode forward and ripped the man’s mask off. Min recognized him by sight, a marshal who served in a different division, and not one Min had ever had any personal contact with. His face was tightening with growing pain and the first keening prelude to screaming was leaking out between clenched teeth.
“You recognize this guy?” Min asked her.
Ruu shook her head and turned to the other intruder. “You too, take off your mask.”
“Or what, you’ll shoot me too?” the voice was feminine, but she complied, shaking out her hair and glaring defiantly up at Min. She was a wujin, Spanish, but he didn’t recognize her at all.