by Adam Carter
With a yell like a wild hellion – assuming said wild hellion was also wailing in fear of her life – Cassiel thundered into the gang leader, surprising him even more than me and sending the both of them toppling. I watched as they rolled around on the dirty floor of the café, neither quite sure what was going on and both ineffectually attempting to land blows upon the other. Staring at them, I was at a loss as to what to do, and I could see the rest of the gang were much the same. Their leader had clearly told them he would sort out the two women and he was making a hash job of it.
Finally, the bruiser was able to push Cassiel from him and I moved to catch her, but only succeeded in having her fall on top of me. Getting to his feet and looking incredibly confused and more than a little angry, the bruiser took a moment to regain his composure.
That was when the blare of sirens cut through the café and we all looked through the window to see several police cars pulling up, with at least two dozen officers taking optimum positions. Either they had an excess of police officers in Rinden or those cops really liked the greasy spoon. Either way, I felt my body sag in welcome exhaustion, for there was no point in fighting any more, and hopefully little chance of being murdered.
Cassiel stirred, attempted to get up, but I said, “Don’t worry, Cass, we’re saved.”
Of course, in all the excitement I had clean managed to forget I was a wanted criminal.
CHAPTER SIX
“Let’s take this again, from the top.”
From the top. I’d never before wondered what that meant, but maybe it was a reference to the circus, for all the excitement happened in the big top. That was what an interrogation was, after all: a circus. Sometimes people told the truth, sometimes they lied; sometimes they were tortured, sometimes they were treated well; sometimes they produced results, sometimes they didn’t. Yet it was always a game, played by the accuser and the condemned, so maybe it was a reference to the excitement being taken from the big top and forced into a poky interrogation room down at the local police station.
As police stations went, it was fairly nice. Not that I’m a frequenter of such places, but the staff were pleasant enough, the area was tidy and the coffee wasn’t even half bad. Cassiel and I had been separated, of course, and the bruiser and his gang had all presumably been thrown into separate cells. For a while I wondered whether the police were corrupt and had let the entire gang out, but the officers questioning me were becoming annoyed at the answers I was giving and I could tell they honestly did want to put the gang away not only on charges of assault but on anything drug related they could pin on them.
My officers (I had developed something of a close, personal bond with them over the past few hours) were decent enough people. Firstly there was Detective Reynolds, which was an unfortunate coincidence indeed. He was in his thirties, with a shock of blond hair and a photograph of his wife and daughter in his wallet. I knew he kept such a photo in his wallet because he showed it me in what was perhaps the most bizarre interrogation technique ever. I wondered whether he was trying to entice me to show sympathy for him, whether he was a loon or whether it was an equally bizarre chat-up technique.
Thankfully, his fellow officer was somewhat saner. Her name was Detective Maxwell and she was a little younger, with untidy red hair which was surely far too spiky for regulations. She smiled a lot more – maybe she was single – and had an annoying habit of placing her hands upon the desk while twiddling her thumbs. I had hoped she was doing that to purposefully wear me down, but I slowly developed the impression it was more a nervous thing.
“From the top,” Maxwell was therefore saying. “You and your friend went into the café for a bite to eat.”
“A bite for me,” I said. “Cass was using a straw.”
“She’s Themistonian.”
“That’s right.” I was using her real name because we had not thought to consider pseudonyms and there was little chance of the station contacting Themisto to verify who Cassiel was. As for my name, I was feigning amnesia and rather hoping Cassiel did not tell anyone my name was Detective Reynolds. “I’m Themistonian, too,” I added. “But I shucked religion.”
“And you still can’t remember your name?”
“Sorry.”
“Raphael? Gabriel? Michael?”
“Aren’t they men’s names?”
“So’s Cassiel, but that doesn’t stop your friend from using the name.”
I was getting the impression people on Themisto were all named after angels and archangels. It was probably something I should have known were I to actually have come from there. I could see in the eyes of the detectives that they were well aware I was only just now realising this.
“You’re not Themistonian, are you?” Detective Maxwell asked.
“No,” I replied. “Honestly? No, I’m not.”
“Is your companion?”
“She is, yes.”
“What colour are her eyes?”
“I’ve no idea, I’ve never seen them.”
“Would you be able to pick her out in a line-up?”
“Why would I pick her out in a line-up?
“Because I’m asking whether you could.”
I frowned. “No. She’s Themistonian, she doesn’t take her clothes off. Well, I say she doesn’t take them off but I suppose she must do at some point. Themistonians must bathe, same as everyone else.”
“Have you ever seen her bathing?”
“No, why would I have seen her bathing?”
“What’s your relationship with her? Sister? Lover? Wife?”
“No, no and no. What’s with the questions?”
The two detectives exchanged a glance. “You’ve been arrested, what do you mean what’s with the questions?”
“I meant the questions about my relationship with Cass.”
“We’re just trying to figure out who you are and why that young woman isn’t still on Themisto. They don’t leave their little moon, you know, except on pilgrimage; and if they find out one of their people is here on Ganymede and was almost killed by a gang of alleged drug peddlers, they could start a holy war.”
“Why would it be a holy war, just because they’re religious?”
“Everything’s holy to them.”
“That’s a little racist.”
“It’s not a little racist.”
“Then you agree it’s very racist?”
Detective Maxwell narrowed her eyes and her thumb-twiddling became more furious.
Her colleague, Detective Reynolds, leaned forward and looked me directly in the eyes. “I joined the force to make the streets safe for my family to walk. Have you seen my family? Did you take a real hard look at them?”
“I’ve seen all I care to see of them, thank you. Please, really, don’t get your wallet out again. Your family are lovely, but I’ve seen enough of them.”
“The problem we have,” Maxwell said, “is that for religious reasons we can’t remove Cassiel’s attire. That means we can’t see her face, so we can’t see if we can match her profile to anyone in our database.”
“Don’t you have DNA scans for that?”
“Here in Rinden we like to take the old-fashioned approach whenever we can.”
“I see. You want to know whether I’ve seen her face because if I have I can describe her to you.”
“So, have you?”
“Seen her face? No. But, no offence, she’s clearly only eighteen or so. What possible chance is there that could you have her on your system anyway?”
“Juvenile delinquency is a serious crime here in Rinden.”
“I get the feeling there are a lot of serious crimes here in Rinden.”
“Crime is no joke, miss.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“What are you doing in Rinden?”
“Being arrested.”
“What are you doing on Ganymede?”
“What makes you think I’m not from Ganymede?”
“Something about you doesn’t
fit. And we know your companion is from Themisto, so chances are you’re going to be from somewhere else as well.”
“That’s the worst logic I’ve ever heard.”
“Look,” Reynolds said, leaning forward, “we’re not all that interested in you. Sure, you were involved in a fight, sure your friend is walking round the city armed with a sword, and sure your eyes are telling me you’re guilty as sin about something. But we don’t want you. We want the drug runners.”
“So why don’t you go question them instead?”
“Because we have to question everyone, and we happen to feel there’s an interesting story behind you that we might just be able to entice out.”
I preferred it when Detective Maxwell was the one asking me questions.
“One of the gang said something interesting,” Maxwell said, making me prefer it when Detective Reynolds was asking me questions. “He indicated you stowed away to get to Ganymede. That makes you an illegal immigrant. And your friend Cassiel is an illegal immigrant armed with a sword.”
I could see things were going very badly for us. “Is it an admission of guilt to ask for a solicitor?” I asked.
“No,” Maxwell said. “In fact, it’s a very sensible thing to do. Everyone should ask for solicitors. Solicitors are trained in the legal business and most suspects aren’t. Everyone in the gang we arrested asked for a solicitor, as did Cassiel. You were the only one who didn’t.”
“I get it. I’m stupid. Now I want a solicitor.”
“Sure,” Maxwell said. “We’ll get you one when we can.”
“I thought the interview had to stop once I asked for a solicitor?”
“Nope. There are countries on Ganymede where that’s true, sure, but we’re not in one of them. What’s on the box?”
“Box?”
“When you were arrested, you were found in possession of a data-reading device. There was nothing on it when we examined it, but clearly there was something there at one time.”
The feed would have been cut off when Cassiel removed her input device, so at least no one knew we were looking into Securitarn. “Nothing’s on the box,” I said. “We were watching daytime soap operas.”
Maxwell and Reynolds both winced at the very thought.
“What exactly do you want?” I asked. “I mean, threatening me with illegal entry and carrying a sword is fine, but if you wanted to put us down for either of those things you would have done it already. That means you want something, and I’m assuming it’s the drugs.”
“Drugs are a bad business,” Maxwell said, “but if there’s one constant in life it’s that there will always be drugs.”
“How cheery,” I said.
“We want the location of their warehouse.”
“Oh, is that all? It’s across the river.”
The two detectives looked at one another.
“What?” I asked. “You mean all of this has been about finding that warehouse? Why didn’t you just ask me?”
They looked at one another again.
“Jeez,” I said. “You people are the worst detectives ever.”
Just then the door opened and a tall, thin man in a suit entered. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, which is always a good indication that he was a pompous fool. He even touched his ear, and I could see a coiled wire tucked behind it.
“I need this interview terminated,” he said. “You’re to surrender the prisoner to me.”
“Who are you?” Maxwell asked.
“No one. You never saw me; I don’t exist.”
“If we never saw you,” Maxwell said, “how are we supposed to surrender anyone to you?”
The man touched his earpiece again, leaned his head to one side and mumbled something about failing to cooperate.
“Take her,” Detective Reynolds said.
“What?” Maxwell asked.
“You probably don’t know this, but I’m a family man. I think this guy’s about ready to kill us. Besides, we got what we wanted from the prisoner anyway.”
Maxwell considered this; then nodded. “You’re right. OK, weird guy in the suit and sunglasses. She’s all yours. Detective Reynolds, we have a raid to plan.”
And, just like that, they were gone.
“Wow,” I said. “That was one of the weirdest experiences of my life.” I looked over to the man in the suit and saw he was standing with his legs parted and his hands crossed and resting roughly over his crotch. I didn’t know whether he thought he was a bouncer or a bodyguard. “So,” I asked, “what happens now?”
“You’re coming with me. The boss wants to speak with you.”
“What boss?”
“My boss. We managed to do a more thorough search of that data-reader than the police did. We know you two are after Securitarn and we’d like to know why.”
At that point I decided to stop asking questions, since I was finding I never much liked the answers.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was reunited with Cassiel when I got out of the lift. The suited man had not taken me to another building, but the ride in the lift had seemed endless. That we were in the same building did not necessarily mean we were still in a police station, for with such high-rising structures it was not uncommon for each building to be home to several organisations. Stepping out of the lift, I found Cassiel in a plush waiting area, sprawled over a comfortable settee and reading a magazine. She rose when she saw me and veritably beamed – I could see as much even through her mask.
The suited man took up position beside the lift, parting his legs and holding his hands crossed before him again. He spoke something else into his earpiece and after that fell silent.
“Roz, you’re all right,” Cassiel said.
“For now. They know we were looking into Securitarn.”
“They didn’t hear that from me.”
“Nor from me.” There was a door ahead of us, the only one in the massive waiting area, and I supposed that was where we were expected to go. “Whatever we’ve faced so far,” I said, “this is going to be a lot worse.”
“I’m ready for it.”
I was reasonably sure she wasn’t, but that was not for me to question. I approached the door and pushed it open with a timid heart. Well, I pushed it open with my hand, but you know what I mean.
The room before us was how I’ve always imagined a palace to look. There was a lot of space, with curtains draped thickly about the windows. There were pillars as well, ornately carved and standing proud. Plinths held stone busts of great men and women I did not recognise, while suits of ancient armour stood at regular intervals around the walls, with a long and spotless red carpet running the entire length of the room. At the far end was a collection of comfortable chairs and settees, and lounging upon one of these was a woman.
She was probably aged somewhere in her fifties, although had gone to great effort and spent a lot of money to appear much younger. She was wearing a white toga, of all things, and carefully ate black grapes from a bowl set upon a table before her. There were other fruits there also and I began to suspect the entire building was filled with the insane.
“Come, come,” she said, motioning to us with a well-practised royal wave of her hand. “Sit, eat, be content.”
I noticed Cassiel’s sword was resting against a pillar behind where the woman lounged. There was no attempt made to hide it, nor were there any guards in sight, which meant our host – whoever she was – trusted us not to cut her to ribbons.
Cassiel sat but did not eat. I could hear her stomach gurgling, but she would need to raise her mask if she was to eat anything and with Cassiel religion always came first.
“I don’t bite,” the woman said with a glint to her eyes as she fed herself more grapes, “and the food’s not poisoned. Or at least it better not be, the amount I’ve been eating.” She laughed, although I could hardly see what was humorous about that hope.
I slid so stiffly into a seat it was as though my clothes were saturated with starch. I did not e
at anything.
“More for me,” the woman said. “Cassiel gave her name to the detectives; you did not.”
“Nope,” I said. I was debating upon how polite to be, but figured I would reserve my judgement for the moment. “But Cass mentioned my name outside so I guess your man’s told you already.”
“My man?”
“The guy with the sunglasses.”
“Oh. Is he doing that again? Is he still wearing that awful black suit as well?”
“Yes.”
“And touching his earpiece?”
“He’s not been relaying all this to you?”
“He’s an odd one, but entirely harmless. Used to work for the government, you see, and has never been able to shake the habit. I blame the shock, of course.”
“Shock?”
A bomb went off right in front of him, blew to pieces half a dozen civilians. The only thing that saved his life was the reinforced glass of the government building he was in.”
“That’s horrible.”
“I know. So, no, I don’t know your name.”
“Rosalita,” I said. It did no harm to tell her my forename but there was no chance of me telling her any more than that.
“Charmed,” she replied. “The Countess de Silver.” She extended a hand, palm inward, fingers down, but when I failed to brush my lips against it she withdrew the gesture. “So uncouth, people these days.”
“Mr Sunglasses said you know what we were looking at on that data-receiver,” I said, getting straight to the point. I had had far too much of that building already and needed to return to some semblance of sanity.
“I’ll admit,” the countess said, “that I don’t know who you people are or what your interest in Securitarn is; but there are several possibilities. You might be trying to steal secrets to sell to competitors or to blackmail Securitarn.” She paused, assessing my face for a reaction. “You might be reporters, looking for that big scoop that’ll make a name for yourselves.” Again she paused. “But then, I think we all know you have a grudge against Securitarn. There,” she said with a smile. “That was the reaction I was looking for.”