by Jaleta Clegg
“Would you do me the pleasure of dancing with me?”
I turned at the unfamiliar voice, my peace shattered by the intrusion. Three men I’d never seen before watched me, crowding the balcony. They didn’t look like they belonged. They looked like thugs.
The one in the middle didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped close. His hand was rough on my arm. “Daddy should have never let you out of his sight.”
Something sharp pricked my shoulder. The world spun briefly and went black. My last conscious memory was of hard arms holding me around the middle before dropping me off the side of the building.
Chapter Eleven
Clark led Jasyn through a fast dance. She felt good in his arms and her smile was brilliant. The music ended. Jasyn stepped back, Clark let her go a bit reluctantly.
“Where’s Dace?” Jasyn asked. The table where they’d sat was empty.
“She must have gone outside,” Clark said, hoping it was true. He felt a twinge of unease. “I’ll go look.”
No short, slender women in flame-colored dresses waited on the moonlit balcony. He turned back inside. He made his way through the thick crowd and the pounding music, checking every corner of the dance club. Dace wasn’t anywhere.
Jasyn met him, her dress floating around her in clouds of lavender and blue. She looked worried.
“Did you find her?” she said, leaning close to talk over the music.
Clark shook his head.
“She wasn’t in the restrooms,” Jasyn said.
“Let’s ask the servers. You start at that end.” He pointed to the far end of the bar. He took the end nearest the doors.
The server was very busy. She answered his questions in staccato bursts between filling glasses. Yes, she had noticed a woman in a red and gold dress. Yes, she’d gone out on the balcony. No, she hadn’t seen her after that. It was only a few minutes ago, well maybe half an hour ago that she’d gone out.
Clark checked the balcony again, asking the couples out there if they had seen Dace. Most of them had been otherwise occupied and hadn’t noticed her at all. One woman said she might have seen her, out at the far end of the balcony.
Clark crossed to where the railings met in a sharp angle, the planters to either side forming an alcove open to the soft night breeze. Below, far below, the streamers of light in the ocean twisted and flowed with the artificial tides.
Jasyn came up behind him, her sandals whispering on the stone paving. She shook her head. “No one saw her leave. She wouldn’t have gone back to the ship by herself.” She looked like she hoped Dace had, but knew she probably hadn’t.
“They saw her come out here,” Clark said.
Jasyn looked over the rail. “What’s that?” She reached farther down to pluck it off the ledge, bringing it into the light spilling from windows above them. It was a single scrap of flame colored imitation Partha silk.
“Dace?” Jasyn called, panicked. “Dace!” she shouted, leaning over the railing.
The sea far below shifted in slow rhythms.
“She couldn’t have fallen,” Jasyn said, disbelieving. “The railing is too high. She’s afraid of heights. She wouldn’t have climbed up and fallen.”
Clark pulled her away from the edge. Her eyes were wide, shocked and denying what she knew had to be true.
“We need to call the police. Maybe they can find her.” He didn’t say more. No one could have survived that fall.
She followed him back into the bar, the scrap of fabric clutched in her hand. Clark leaned over the bar, and asked for the manager. The music pounded around him, too loud now. The manager wiped glasses with the rest of the servers. When Clark finally made himself understood over the noise of the room, the manager moved quickly. He came out from behind the bar and took them into his office. The door slid shut and the sound diminished to a quiet thumping.
“She fell off the balcony?” the manager said. “Are you certain about this?”
Jasyn held the scrap of fabric. “It’s from her dress. It was caught just under the railing. No one else has seen her.”
“She was last seen standing at the end of the balcony,” Clark added. “We asked. Please, call the police or someone.”
“If she fell, she’s…” The manager flicked a glance at Jasyn and didn’t finish the obvious. He keyed his com and put in a call. “They’ll be here soon,” he said after hanging up. “No one has ever fallen off the balcony. We had a couple of people jump, but that was years ago. There’s a field around it that prevents accidents.”
He tapped a screen on his desk and frowned. “The field’s off.” He punched in commands. His frown grew deeper. “It won’t come back on.” Belatedly, he remembered he had an audience. He shut down the screen and stood up quickly. “They’ll be down in the lobby very soon. If you would wait for them there, it would be best. I’ll get my assistant to take over and come down in a moment.”
Clark took Jasyn’s arm and led her out of the club. They took the lift down to the ground floor. The lobby was dim, shops closed for the night. The lights of the ocean outside reflected eerily on the underside of the building. Jasyn looked ill in the green tinted light.
Red and blue flashing lights joined the soft ocean glow. They were surrounded by people in dark uniforms, efficient and impersonal as they asked about the unthinkable. Dace had fallen from the balcony. She wasn’t anywhere to be found. Jasyn showed her scrap of cloth. And broke down in tears. A sympathetic officer led her away and found her a cup of something hot to drink.
“Are you certain she fell?” an officer asked Clark, for at least the tenth time.
“We couldn’t find her anywhere,” Clark answered again. “We checked.”
“Would she have gone home?” the man continued.
“Not without us,” Clark said. “Yes, I’m sure of that.”
“Did you notice anything suspicious?”
Clark shook his head. “We just came here to dance.”
“Have you had an argument lately?”
Clark shook his head again.
“What was your relationship?”
“Professional,” Clark said, guardedly. Police were notorious for being very helpful until they found out they were helping spacers.
“In what way?” The man studied Clark, showing nothing on his face.
“I worked for her.”
“Is it common for you to go dancing with your employer?”
Clark took a steadying breath. He hated this man prying into his affairs. “We had a close relationship, you could say.”
“How long have you worked for her?” The man avoided using her name.
“About three weeks,” Clark admitted.
The man showed a flicker of surprise. “And the other woman? How is she related?”
“They were partners,” Clark said.
“Married?” the man asked with a hint of distaste.
“Business partners, but also close friends.”
“How much do you know of their relationship?”
“Are you looking for her or not?” Clark asked, losing patience with the endless offensive questions.
“We have divers arriving shortly. It’s my job to ask personal questions,” the policeman said, his eyes showing a trace of compassion for Clark’s obvious distress.
“I know,” Clark said, finding his throat tight, his eyes hot. He hadn’t realized how emotionally charged his job might become. He looked across at Jasyn, being questioned by the gentle woman with the dark uniform and pale blond hair. Jasyn nodded at something the woman said. Her lavender eyes, usually so bright, were dull, huge in her pale face. They looked bruised, dark smudges showed under them.
“Only a few more questions,” the man said, noting the direction of his look. “Was there anyone else that might have wished her harm?”
“Not here,” Clark said. He was tired, he wasn’t thinking well.
“You wish to answer at the station?” the man asked confused.
“No, she didn’t h
ave anyone on Ytirus who wanted to hurt her.”
“She did have enemies elsewhere?”
“Can we do this later?” Clark asked. He was too tired. He would say something he shouldn’t.
There was a flurry of activity outside the windows. Jasyn rose, drawn to the open door and the narrow walkway along the ocean front. Clark caught up with her at the door. She looked at him, only seeing him as something familiar in a world suddenly tilted.
“Are you sure you want to watch?” he asked.
She nodded. He put his arm around her, for comfort and support, and walked out with her.
Half a dozen boats stirred the patches of light in the ocean. Bright lights scattered the streams of iridescence, they paled to nothingness in the glare. Divers bobbed in the water. The ocean lapped at the walkway.
Jasyn leaned against Clark. He pulled her closer, out of the way of the officers now moving out to support the divers in the water. They stood together, seeking mutual comfort, as the endless night wore on.
They moved back to a bench after an hour of fruitless searching. The number of police diminished. The divers kept bobbing down, returning empty handed. A new boat arrived, and cruised slowly over the water in widening circles, scanning the shallow water.
Dawn came, with increasing clouds and a slight breeze. Jasyn shivered, and woke from a shallow sleep propped against Clark’s shoulder. He moved his arm and she shifted more into his hold. She was chilled, damp from the endless gentle spray. Both were unwilling to leave their vigil. The search continued.
“There’s been no trace of her,” the officer who had questioned him spoke beside them. He waited until Clark looked up. “We’ll keep scanning, she may have been shifted by the currents. It may be days before we find anything.” He looked tired, his eyes sympathetic. “Can I offer you a lift home?”
Clark nodded, stiff from sitting. Jasyn sobbed, once, choking it off. They both stood, Clark helping Jasyn. Her dress was rumpled and limp.
“I need contact information,” the officer said. “Where can I take you?”
“The spaceport,” Clark said, expecting the sudden stiffness, the change in attitude.
“Which ship?” the officer asked, his voice still sympathetic. “I guessed you were crew.”
“Phoenix Rising,” Clark answered. “Small trader ship on the far side of the field.”
“Ah,” the officer said. “There’s a flitter out front that can take you back. We’ll let you know as soon as we find anything. Do you have a schedule to keep?”
Clark shook his head. “Nothing that can’t wait a while.”
“Is there any family we should notify?” the officer asked.
“We’ll take care of it.” Clark had no idea if Dace had a family. Jasyn would know, when she was ready to talk.
“I’ll be in touch,” the officer said, and stepped away, to look down into the restless water.
“Jasyn,” Clark said and waited until she looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and found he really meant it.
“Let’s go home,” Jasyn said. “Before…” Her voice broke, she squeezed her eyes shut, regaining control. “Take me home, please.”
He escorted her through the now deserted lobby. A single police flitter waited at the curb. The officer opened the door for them. She didn’t ask them anything. She lifted the flitter and turned towards the ships across the wide strip of ocean. The city below them was slowly waking as the sun crept towards rising. Clouds moved in, cutting off the light. The sea that had been so enchanting the night before was dull and lifeless.
They didn’t say anything on the trip back. The police officer spoke briefly with the port authority, receiving clearance to fly all the way to their docking berth. She landed the flitter and opened the door for them. Clark thanked her. Jasyn went to the hatch, laying her palm on the lock plate with exaggerated care. The hatch opened. The flitter took off, looping low over the landing field before rising to cross the water.
Jasyn walked into the ship like a sleepwalker. She paced the small lounge touching things Dace had owned. The lute lay forgotten on the bench. Jasyn plucked the strings. The soft chord echoed in the air. Jasyn sank onto the bench, clutching the instrument to her, tears running down her face.
Clark watched her, wanting to help but unsure how.
She looked up at him, tears caught in her lashes. “She can’t be gone.”
“I’m so sorry, Jasyn,” he said, kneeling in front of her.
She leaned forward, seeking comfort. He held her and they both cried.
Jasyn slept finally, exhausted. He tucked her onto the bench. She still held the lute. He rubbed eyes red and raw from emotion and lack of sleep. He had work to do. There was still some way he could make up for his mistake. He should never have taken his eyes off her, he should never have let Jasyn distract him from his mission. He sat at the com and made the call he dreaded most, glad that he could turn the vidlink off.
The Patrol officer who answered spoke crisply, asking for identification. Clark gave it, adding Lowell’s name, asking to contact the base commander. There was a pause, and the voice informed him it would be quite some time. Clark asked to have him call the Phoenix at his convenience. The voice assured him the commander would be given the message. Lowell’s name added priority. Clark signed off and leaned back, wondering just how he was going to explain himself, not just to Lowell but to Jasyn.
She woke too soon. Clark sat at the galley table, clicking pieces of the Crystals game, setting up endless variations that he couldn’t possibly win. He heard her stir and put the pieces down.
“I made some soup,” he offered.
“I don’t want any. It really happened, didn’t it?”
She put the lute carefully to one side and went into her cabin. She came out a while later, dressed in a plain shipsuit, her hair loose and damp. Her face was pale, but more composed.
Clark put the game away. He handed her a steaming mug, not letting her turn it down. She set it on the table, looking at it as if she didn’t recognize it. Clark picked at the edge of the table.
“Have they called?” Jasyn asked.
“No one’s called. No news yet.”
She lifted the mug and sipped.
“I’m sorry, Jasyn. I failed. I should have stayed with her.”
“I should never have dragged her off dancing.” She frowned as his words sunk in. “What do you mean you failed?”
“Dace was right. I’m Patrol. Lowell arranged for me to be the only pilot available. I was supposed to watch her, report back on what she did, and keep her safe.” He didn’t dare look at Jasyn. He didn’t want to see the anger or recrimination on her face. He never wanted her to look at him that way.
“You weren’t very good at hiding it,” Jasyn said, none of the expected anger in her voice, only a sadness that underscored every word.
“You aren’t angry with me? Dace would be furious.”
“I don’t have her history with the Patrol.” She put the mug very carefully on the table. “She’s really gone.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“There isn’t much you could have done.”
The com beeped. Clark stood. Jasyn looked up at him, hope and dread warring in her eyes. He went to the cockpit and answered the com. It was the Patrol commander.
“Who the devil are you?” the commander demanded as soon as Clark connected. “Why am I calling some private freighter?”
“This is Major Trevyn Clark,” he identified himself. “I’m on assignment from Commander Grant Lowell.”
There was a long moment of silence. “If you’re working for him, why are you using an open channel? Why aren’t you following procedures?”
“Because the mission is a disaster,” Clark said, sagging in defeat at admitting it out loud. “I need to get a priority message to him.”
“I’m not a message service,” the commander said gruffly.
“No, sir,” Clark said tiredly. “But if I send it th
rough you, it will reach Commander Lowell more quickly.”
“And what should I send him?” The commander sounded a bit mollified.
“Priority code black.” The code for agent missing or dead. “Subject is no longer available.” His voice broke. It hurt to put it so coldly. He wished he had never taken the assignment, never listened when Lowell tempted him away from his routine posting. The money wasn’t worth this, nothing was.
“Is that all?” the commander asked, voice quieter as he understood the unspoken message behind the impersonal words.
“Yes. And thank you, Commander.” Clark disconnected from the call.
“Soup?” Jasyn offered behind him.
He swiveled the chair to look at her. She held a steaming mug. He took it, even though he didn’t want it.
“I’m not a professional agent,” he said.
“I know,” she answered. “There is one other person you should notify.”
“Her family? I thought she didn’t have one.”
“She said I was the sister she’d never had, once,” Jasyn said. And turned suddenly wet eyes away, brushing at them. “She doesn’t have a family.”
“Then who? And why me?”
“Malcolm Tayvis should know,” she said, her voice full of pain. “Lowell’s the only one who knows where he is.”
“I’ll send it,” Clark said. He keyed the message as personal, deliverable to Grant Lowell.
Chapter Twelve
Disjointed fragments. Momentary glimpses.
Senses uncoordinated with each other. Flickers of time stretched and pulled—
—vibration in my head, or maybe outside. The rumble of an engine, out of tune, unbalanced. The taste of salt water on my lips, the taste of tears. The memory of falling through space, tumbling forever between warm streams of light—
A moment of nausea. Darkness. Not night, something deeper, dragging me in and wrapping me in smothering folds of velvet unconsciousness—
—voices rising and falling like the calling of birds, a language I should know but can’t remember—