Crossworld of Xai

by Steven Savage

“I am investigating suspicious activity. Suspected suspicious activity. The kind where I am suspicious I am wrong so I haven’t told anyone.”

  “You’re playing detective?” Her voice hints at many other words she is not speaking.

  She’s University. Guild of Academics. And once part of the Historians. She is not a stupid woman. I am not going to be able to deceiver her.

  “What’s wrong with that?” I ask. If I can’t deceive her, I can ignore her.

  Loshira shrugs. “I never figured you for the detective type. You’ve got beat written all over you.”

  My mind soars into new ideas quickly.

  “I’d say that is to my advantage, Loshira. If I am wrong, people will say it is due to my … inappropriateness. If I am right, no one will see it coming.”

  “You … are a very dangerous man, Slate.” She sounds like she appreciates me for some reason. I am not sure I like the words though.

  “No, Loshira. I used to be a very dangerous man. Now I am a Gendarme. No more. And certainly no less.”

  “I … yeah. So what’s up?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not telling you. It wouldn’t be responsible.”

  “Yeah? And how am I going to trust you?”

  “As you said, I am a very dangerous man. And I haven’t been dangerous to you. Nor will I be. You are my partner. That will have to be enough.”

  I almost close the door, when she calls my name.

  “If Garnet wasn’t around, Slate …”

  I smile back at her. “What?”

  She grins. “Nothing. You look like you’re going to do something you’ll regret.”

  I nod. “I am solving a problem. My sister told me to be subtle.”

  “You weren’t.” She notes.

  “I know. I think it’s time to be true to my old self.”

  I think through the documents I printed out.

  Xianfu noted everything about Loshira. She lied to me. But …

  She lied to me then admitted it. Hirn, of course, was classically outside of the system. He didn’t find much. Did some work with Mountie-Rancelman go-betweens. Grew up in one of the independent communities near one of the far portals … which I can’t be sure of now because of the moronic renaming system.

  Loshira could have lied. She would have guessed. She deceived me in an honest way.

  Hirn.

  He’s native.

  The Swanson’s Shipping Company is owned by an Immigrant.

  He worked with the Rancelmen.

  I get a suspicion. It’s a nasty one, but …

  … and I don’t have to be subtle. Not in Jade’s way, certainly.

  It’s time to be me.

  May 29, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  Swanson’s Shipping, Receiving, and Holding is one of those businesses that could only exist on Xai. People have to move goods between worlds, but also you have to deal with storing exotic, unusual or merely small and personal goods most warehouses won’t take. These companies provide small-scale, personal, skilled storage and shipping. Their business picked up after the Messegner’s Guild fell apart, sort of the way the Communicants did ironically.

  See, I can start putting it together now. Hirn had the chance to commit a crime. He seemed clean, but he fits the profile. Loshira lied to me, but she’s already proven she’ll admit when confronted.

  I feel like my mind is a spiral staircase. It’s going somewhere, but not in a straight way. I know this is the way my sister thinks.

  It’s easy to get into Swanson’s because I don’t wear my uniform and I wear my winter coat. And I enter carrying a package. It’s actually a box lunch from Mekzine’s, but still - I don’t look like a cop, I look like a customer.

  The building is like a small warehouse, but subdivided very carefully, with private and public areas and careful security. I used to do security at Colony and for Conrona, so it’s easy to make excuses and avoid people. I could have gotten six months of work out of this place at Corona.

  It’s easy to work my way to Mr. Swanson’s office. He lives in the apartments atop the place with his family. So his office would be nearby. And people forget that any good building has multiple ways to access any floor.

  Mr. Swanson’s office is simply furnished. It reminds me of Xianfu’s for some reason, though this is the simplicity of a person who doesn’t like clutter.

  He looks up from his desk. He’s a slightly pudgy man with a severe look to his eyes, but a generally pleasant look. He also has to have an excellent memory as he recognizes me.

  “Shaleson!” He nearly yells, but his voice lowers as my name passes his lips

  “It’s fine.” I smile at him. “So, what is Hirn up to?”

  He looks at me. I set my lunch down and take a chair.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “How …”

  I feel my mind spinning around, ideas firing through it like gunfire. I am finding the words slide into place so much easier than I’d expected. It’s so much nicer not to try and be subtle sometimes.

  “Let me guess, he said that if you went to me, you’d be in trouble. Everyone knows what Vulpines are like? And you weren’t sure about your neighbors. Natives all, and he suggested they wouldn’t take kindly to some newcomer making trouble? And … finally he called it a bit of a gratuity.”

  Mr. Swanson stares, then his shrewd look comes back.

  “How did you know?” It’s a man in search of answers.

  “Process of elimination and a sadly paranoid mindset I once wanted to get rid of but am now learning to treasure.”

  He looks at me again. “You’ll understand if I’m not feeling trusting …”

  “He probably knew some people in the Rancelmen and said he could get you in trouble. Lots of money changes hands here and things get lost or unclaimed.”

  Swanson blinks. Slowly. Deliberately.

  I find myself smiling. I can tell he’s thinking to. I bet he’s the kind of person who reads detective novels to out-think the author. I can understand how he got a successful business so quickly.

  “Let’s just say your neighbors care more than you think. People on Xai like order. And, once I … I am not used to playing detective. I like a beat cop life. But once I got into it … I think I did well.”

  “How can I trust you?” He asks.

  “Mekzine told me.”

  Swanson gave me a canny look. “I didn’t think he liked me.”

  “He’s hard to figure out. But the natives like peace and quiet. Give them credit.”

  “Yeah.” Swanson scratches his nose. “He just asked to get accesses to the unclaimed. Said when he was ‘sure I was on the up and up’ I’d be OK. Said …”

  “Everyone did it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a lie.” I look at my lunch. “That’s a gift from Mekzine. When those little bits of appreciation dry up, that’s a message I’m not doing my job. When I am … well it lets me know I am. You need to get to know your neighbors better.”

  “Yeah …” Swanson nods. He’s turning red.

  I lean forward. “Give me Hirn. Let me prove you can trust us.”

  “I …”

  “Me. Give me evidence.”

  He smiles at me. There is no humor. “I can even give you him. He’s coming for a payoff tonight.”

  Something in me clicks.

  “Good.”

  I tell Garnet everything.

  I tell her what I’m going to do.

  I tell her why I’m taking my gun.

  I tell her I have to do this so people trust me.

  She doesn’t say anything about it. She knows when not to. She worries about me, but she understands, even if she is unaware she does.

  And I head to Swanson’s.

  Part of me tells me I’m not doing this to be vengeful. I have evidence from Swanson, but I want to see it. And I want to confront Hirn.

  It’s my job. I look after these people. They need to trust me.

  I meet Swanson
in the one place no one will look - the front door. He, of course, takes me to the back of the building and asks me to wait behind some crates. I feel like I’m in that strange action-crime-comedy anime Lorne watches, with the female mercenaries and the one who likes grenades.

  Of course, it’s something out of television. So no one will suspect it.

  It takes ten minutes for Hirn to arrive. He knocks on the back door. It’s so blatant I feel sick.

  Swanson opens the door. He seems resigned and tired. The guy could be an actor. There’s a lot to him, more than a businessman.

  “Hello!” Hirn seems cheery. “Well, what do you have?”

  Hirn is wearing his civilian clothes. He’s even got his braids different. He probably just washed his hair.

  “Oh, something,” Swanson said, and rocked back on his heels, “I’m here to tell you to fuck off.”

  Hirn is smiling. But it’s no longer real.

  “What.”

  “Take your blackmailing, lying ass, and never trouble me again or I’m going to go to the Gendarmes and tell them everything, even …”

  “Look,” Hirn extends his hands, “There’s just going to be trouble if …”

  “Go to hell. Now.”

  Hirn isn’t smiling now. “Look, you want things to run smoothly, without trouble, well, then I can keep the Rancelmen off your back, and we all win. And it’s not like you miss the things you give me …”

  “No.”

  “Listen, if you think this is funny, I know how to deal with people like you. On the frontier …”

  “On the frontier, what, Hirn?” I stand up and walk towards them.

  Hirn goes pale. It’s a stunning sight.

  “On the frontier. It wasn’t hard to piece it together. Swanson’s the perfect victim, of course.” I keep my hands away from my pistol as I walk fowrward. “This is the kind of scam someone would run on the frontier some immigrant, not enough to cause trouble, don’t take enough to make him too angry. Once I looked it over you were the most likely.”

  “Looked …”

  I keep walking. I feel stiff. I watch his hands.

  “They know about you, Hirn, it’s over one way or another. Only now I’ve got to clean up. You …”

  “Hey, listen.”

  “You betrayed everything you greedy, selfish, bastard. You took the same oath I did, you adopted this neighborhood, how dare you do this. How dare you do this in my neighborhood. My beat.”

  Hirn shook his head. “Slate, we got a good thing, look, I …”

  “No.”

  Hirn nods, and raises a hand.

  And there’s a whine I heard before. A familiar one. Swanson flies back into a wall, and ends up in a heap.

  He’s got a Lakkom. Hirn’s got a damn Lakkom like my sister. Psychic kinetic energy discharge weapon, borderline Transcendi technology.

  It makes sense, of course. Hell, he could even threaten people with it - there isn’t a bullet or a Gendarme issue gun to trace. He probably got it off of Swanson.

  I dodge immediately. I see something green glinting in the palm of Hirn’s hand. It’s a smaller version, but I see a familiar green glow.

  Another whine, and something grazes my head.

  I’m calculating. He probably has one shot left if it’s like Jade’s Lakkom. He certainly seems confident he has more than one. But he didn’t expect me to move well. No one expects that - they think if you have a lot of muscles, you’re slow. They rarely think you may work on carrying them.

  Hirn is aiming again. Everything is slowing. I should draw my pistol, but Lakkom’s respond to the thoughts of the user, and I am quite sure he is thinking.

  So, instead, I run head-first into his chest. It may not be a bullet, but it is effective. He also didn’t expect it.

  If you carry a gun, people expect you to use it.

  We roll to the floor. I grab Hirn’s hand the one with the Lakkom on it, and keep it away from my face while tryng to sit on his chest.

  Things slow more.

  Hirn is glaring at me.

  I see the Lakkom in the palm of his hand, a dull emerald triangle, part of a glove.

  He is looking at me. There is a rage on his face, like a kind of angry surprise. He didn’t expect this. Not me.

  I feel angry. Not from me. Stupid Slate. Dumb Slate. Reliable Slate. Uncreative Slate.

  Gullible. Too stupid to think that I’d care that my wife lives here, that my child will live here …

  I bend his arm towards his face, my fingers touching the Lakkom. He’s strong. I don’t have much leverage.

  I’m touching the Lakkom. They work by willpower, I recall.

  I look at Hirn, and bend his wrist. There’s a slight snap.

  And the Lakkom fires at my touch, straight into his face. Hirn, needless to say, stops moving.

  I want to hit him again. I want to …

  I manage to stand up. Over in the corner, Swanson is getting to his feet.

  “Is he …”

  “He is unconscious, though I think I gave him a concussion. And the need for some dental work.”

  “Huh.” Swanson tries to stand, then sits. “Assaulting an officer, a civilian, blackmail … our testimony …”

  “I’m not sure.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Will he get … the portal?”

  “I don’t know.” I think. “I don’t care, actually.”

  It takes over a week to sort things out.

  The evidence against Hirn is overwhelming. Swanson’s neighbors chime in on it. A search of his apartment reveals materials that were used for bribery.

  He didn’t even care.

  Some of his other friends on the Gendarmes are being investigated. You don’t do something like this without friends unless you’re very stupid.

  And in the end, they gave him exile. Oh, it wasn’t announced much, but they sent him through portal Gimmel quietly. Without much fuss.

  He’s gone.

  I can’t say I feels bad at all.

  June 6, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  “So, people … treating you different?”

  Jade at I are at Mekzine’s again, eating, again. She’s been treating me a bit different herself, actually.

  “Gendarmes like integrety.” I look down at my finished meal. “No one has criticized me.”

  “And many have praised you?” She sounds like she’s trying to trick me into bragging.

  “Enough that I know I’ve done my job.”

  My sister looks at me. It’s as if she is re-evaluating me.

  “That’s good.” She’s at a loss for words, which is a rare occurrence.

  I treasure it greatly. Normally she won’t shut up.

  Sharon puts the bill down in front of us. I pick it up immediately.

  I take the bill, and gently deposit the guilders into Sharon’s hand. I give her a smile, though it is a bit forced, and nod. She smiles back and goes on her way.

  “I thought things were all settled and you’d have free meals again?” Jade asks.

  “It is. But I need to build trust, Jade. That’s what the job is about.”

  She looks at me, and just smiles. It is very a genuine one.

  CYCLES

  November 3, 2002 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  Solomon Dell sat in a cafe, one of many that dotted Metris. Technically, it was still a cafe, but the recent breakthroughs in growing coffee despite the hostility of the Xaian environment to it, was evolving it and some of its kin into a coffee shop.

  This gave him terrible flashbacks to what he’d heard on other Earths, where such shops were a major business. Being a practical man, indeed head of the Rancelmen, he didn’t comprehend the idea of specializing like that. However, now that coffee could be grown on Xai easily despite some odd bacteria that had made it difficult for centuries …

  Things changed, even in the small. Xai changed. People acted as if it was unchanagable, but there were only parts of it that were.

  D
ell toyed with his blond braids. He had four framing his face, up from two a few months ago. He’d felt like a change, though part of him wondered if he was trying to be “more native.” He was even wearing colorful native garb as opposed to his regular armor, though that he considered a matter of actually having a life …

  He always got like this when he met HuanJen. He thought.

  HuanJen, the Taoist mystic, the Fang-Shih (or was that Tao-shih? Solomon vaguely remembered something about Huan being up for a promotion in The Order). HuanJen had become his friend, his confident, through the fact that Solomon didn’t understand him very much at all. It was comforting in a strange way to know HuanJen would not be predictable, as it meant any standard worries Solomon may have wouldn’t be fulfilled. HuanJen would, at worst, mean you could worry in whole new ways.

  The Head Rancelman tapped his fingers on his satchel. Always worries.

  “Hey, Solomon!”

  The voice was familiar. Very female, very loud, and vaguely First-Level Earth European. And unexpected. And recognizable.

  “Jade?” Dell asked, spinning his chair around.

  It was indeed HuanJen’s apprentice. And lover. And … well the relationship apparently ended there but Dell was never shure.

  She was a tall, black-furred Vulpine woman with a head of long-black hair and leaf-green eyes. She was dressed in a greenish dress top and jeans, which was usual for her. To Jade, formality was usually something that happened to other people.

  “Where … is HuanJen” Dell asked, hoping for subtlety. With Jade it was like hoping the rain wouldn’t fall.

  Jade shook her head, and smiled with some affection. “You really need to check your email …”

  ” … we had a scare at Portal Alpha … or whatever Pynn calls it in his new system …”

  ” … or your pager … “

  ” … the problem at the Portal ate my pager.”

  Jade paused. “You’ve had a shitty day.”

  “Thirty-six hours, actually. Thank you for noticing,” Dell shook his head, “Anyway …”

  “Come on,” Jade cocked her thumb at the door of the cafe, “I got Brandon’s van. Got to pick people up, but HuanJen’s at Metris General.”

  “Metris General?” Dell felt a small leap in his chest. “Huan is …”

  “Fine,” Jade grinned, her smile a pure white slash against her dark fur, “come on, he figured you’d want to see something …”