The exertion of undressing left him exhausted. He sat cross-legged in the bottom of the tub and let the water spray over him, scrubbing feebly at the shell of filth encasing his body. Overcome by uncontrollable thirst, he turned his face into the spray and gulped warm water only to spew it up again moments later. He doubled over in agony, gagging on bile when his stomach had nothing else to expel.
Bragg came in and lifted him back into a sitting position by his shoulders. “Swallow this.” Terson’s mouth filled with a thick lemon-flavored liquid. He tried to push the officer’s hand and the squeeze bulb it held away, but wasn’t strong enough. His swallow reflex finally betrayed him and the substance went down. The nausea vanished almost instantly. “Now eat this, slowly.” The officer forced a few pieces of crushed ice into his mouth.
“Why are you still here?” Terson mumbled around the cold slush.
“We need to talk,” Bragg said, “if you can pull yourself together.”
“Fine. How about some goddamned privacy?” Bragg left the bowl of ice with him. Terson nibbled at it sedately despite his craving for fluids. The hot spray worked at the sick lethargy in his body, easing him toward a more natural, recuperative drowse. He fell fully asleep for a while, only to snap awake from the cold spray when the hot water ran out.
Terson knotted a towel around his waist and teetered down the hallway to the bedroom where he heard Bragg clang away in the kitchen. The smell of fried meat and eggs awoke stabbing hunger pangs. He dressed as quickly as his condition allowed, noting on his way back that the garbage in the living room was gone. He reached for a plate piled with food but Bragg cut him off.
“That’s mine.” He pointed at a plate of lightly buttered toast. “That’s yours.”
“The hell!” Terson reached for the plate again and Bragg shouldered him away.
“Think you can take me?”
Terson doubted it, considering the ease with which the older man deflected him. Bragg shoveled food into his mouth with dogged determination while Terson nibbled at the toast. He started to feel nauseous again, obviously enough that Bragg handed him another small squeeze bulb. The substance inside soothed his stomach enough to finish eating.
“What is this stuff?”
“Nausecon. It keeps the drunks from puking in the cars.”
“Can I get it over-the-counter?”
Bragg scowled at him. “You need to lay off the booze.”
“You need to go to hell.”
Bragg knew that there was no winning the argument. “The investigation into Virene’s murder is stalled,” he said. “It’s going to go cold if you can’t help us out.”
Terson cocked his head. “Who are you hoping to charge? The corpses?”
“There were others involved.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because nothing about this fits with any conceivable motive, but there has to be one,” Bragg said. “The three you killed don’t appear to be anything but hired muscle, therefore the motive lies with someone else. Ergo: others.”
“Every second we sit here somebody somewhere dies for no other reason than some bastard feels like killing him,” Terson shrugged. “The bastards usually get away with it. They didn’t this time, but the fact that there are bastards out there doesn’t mean that there’s a conspiracy. Sometimes bastards do what bastards do, and that’s all the motive there is.”
Bragg shook his head. “The drug they gave the two of you wasn’t intended to kill—aside from Virene’s allergic reaction the dose in her blood was high but not lethal. The weapon they used on us wasn’t lethal, either, and I suspect that if I hadn’t drawn one of these,” he patted the handgun at his hip, “they’d have shot you with it instead and loaded you up right along with her.
“And that wasn’t the first attempt: somebody drained the tanks on that platform before that baffle-rider got there, and altered the emergency com system’s hyperlink address,” Bragg continued. “If you’d been able to use it the message would have gone to someone else.
“And just to confuse the issue a little bit more: the kid you arrested out there—the baffle-rider—is the son of an exporter. The cargo on the shuttle that splashed in front of you a few weeks ago belonged to the same exporter.”
Terson shook his head. “I’ve spent most of my time since I got out of the hospital wasted. If somebody wanted me, all they had to do was walk through the door, same as you.”
“Maybe they got what they wanted.”
“If I knew what that was I’d tell you, Captain, just to get you the hell out of my life, but I can’t.”
Bragg waved a hand. “Sorry. I didn’t come here to interrogate you. I just hope that you’ll let me know if you think of anything.”
Terson indicated the stacks of mail. “I’ve got enough to think about.” The strength of the bitterness surprised him. He drank to dull it, but there it was again, sharp and undiluted.
Bragg fingered the notice from Malone. “I’m sorry about this, Terson, I really am.”
“Fuck them,” Terson said. He clenched his shaking hands into fists, enraged by his helplessness, but had to let it fade away, too weak to maintain the emotion for more than a few moments.
“How did it happen?” Bragg asked softly. The memory flooded in, surprisingly vivid:
Something slammed the back of Terson’s head, driving his chin into his chest. He fell, stunned, without even the meager reflexes of a four-year-old to break his fall as his sister’s cradling arms slackened. Fire spread through his body, burning away fear and breath with equal agony.
One of the men who’d touched Mama lay vomiting and clawing at himself. The Big Man took away the knife and cut her neck. Terson was glad when Papa came home. The floor was cold and sticky. Papa wiped Terson’s face with his shirt and cried. He said he loved them all and put his gun in his mouth.
Swarming insects blackened the floor and bodies around him as they fed on spilt blood. He’d given up trying to move, to call Mommy and Daddy. He couldn’t feel the hard floor anymore, or the icky bugs walking on him. His attention was riveted by thirst.
He experienced a fresh surge of terror at the sound of footsteps outside the door. The Big Man was coming back! If able, Terson would have giggled with relief at the sight of the figure that appeared in the doorway instead: a man smaller than Mommy, who walked as though he commanded the entire world.
He turned to someone outside: “Shoot them in the knees. Find out where the others are, then hang ‘em both!” Voices accepted the task eagerly.
Boss Hanstead carried Terson to the helicopter himself.
“I don’t remember much,” Terson said. “It was a long time ago.”
“I guess life pretty much screwed you,” Bragg said. “What are your plans?”
Terson shrugged. “I haven’t given it any thought.”
“Any chance you’ll, you know…” Bragg extended his thumb and index finger, pointing at his head.
“Leave me your gun and I’ll let you know in the morning.”
Bragg shook his head and stood. “Get some rest. I’ll stop by again; maybe I can find some options for you.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Bragg stopped at the door. “I can talk to a magistrate for you,” he said. “You can get her back.”
Terson shook his head. “Virene’s dead. The body doesn’t matter.”
The officer nodded and closed the door behind him without questioning the lie. The maddening silence closed around Terson as the officer’s footsteps faded. The apartment seemed to hold its breath when he was alone. Dozens of minor chores waited to be taken up, though he could not begin one without realizing its futility and abandoning the effort. Why do the laundry when she would never again wear the clothes?
The mundane objects—toothbrush, combs, magazines arranged just so on the end tables, a crumb-flecked plate by the sink—reinforced her absence more than anything else. He could not disturb them without severing the fragile strings connecting her
to his life that stretched back through time to the moment she last touched them. Their home had become a shrine he would desecrate each time he cleaned or rearranged or bumped the sacred objects.
It was the inability to disturb those things that left him nothing to do but sit on the couch and dwell on his losses. Lack of purpose left him with time on his hands and alcohol gave him something to pass the time. He had to fill his time with something else, away from the reminders of his suddenly and irrevocably interrupted life.
Terson left the key on the kitchen table next to a voucher for the remainder of the lease. The taxi driver eyed him sympathetically as he struggled to unload his two bulging duffel bags at the marina. “You want a hand with those, mister?” Terson waved him off and swayed down the pier. He managed to swing them onto the hydrojet and dropped beside them to rest.
The lazy afternoon sun tempted him to stretch full out on the hot deck and let it bake the fatigue from his body. The entire length of public waterfront sighed with the same laziness; shops lay quiet between the waves of noon and evening customers. The harbor’s long, smooth swells lapped against piling and sea wall, mixing the odor of warm, salty rot with the smell of foods cooked and consumed hours ago, hot masonry and spilled fuel.
Reluctantly, he made his way to the rental building instead. A chime sounded in a back room. Cold, desiccated air dried his nostrils as he stepped into the tiny foyer. The space was too small to hold so much as a chair, so Terson leaned against the counter to support himself. He’d once asked Mac Toner why he didn’t knock out a wall.
“Cut into my office space,” the rental agent had explained. “Besides, if somebody hasn’t got the patience to wait standing, they probably don’t have the patience to read the starting instructions bent over.”
Terson cleared his throat. Mac Toner looked up, looked again. His habitual, bushy glare softened with surprise; he rose and engulfed Terson’s shoulder with a strong, callused hand. “Reilly, you look worse than I ever felt in my life.”
Terson suspected that that wasn’t exactly true. Local lore alleged that Mac Toner had run a charter cruise boat with his wife until a storm five years before Terson was even born took both. He’d never gone back on the ocean, though he didn’t separate himself from it completely. A taunting revenge, Terson thought, to take his livelihood from the sea without venturing within its grasp.
“I came to pay my rent.”
“Ah! Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s been eight weeks,” Terson said. “I’ve got the money.”
“Dock hasn’t been full for a long time. I ain’t lost anything.” Terson slid his card across the counter. “Not like I’m poor,” Toner grumbled, but he took the card and processed the transaction. Terson folded the receipt and stuffed it in his wallet.
“Got a tie-up with utilities available?”
Toner nodded. “Other side—number fifteen. Let me lock up, I’ll handle the ropes.”
Terson eased the boat through the marina on impellers and snugged up against the bumpers where Toner showed him. The other man tied him off and had the utility lines plugged in by the time Terson reached him.
“You want me to put you on the locator?” Toner asked.
Terson shook his head. “Anybody wants me bad enough, they’ll find me.” Toner trotted back to his shop, leaving Terson to contemplate the silent, reproachful craft. He slapped the hull apologetically. “Just you and me again, old girl.”
“You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
Colonel Cai motioned to a chair. “Have a seat, Maalan.” The Colonel’s taste in furniture ran toward stylish and uncomfortable, a deliberate eccentricity intended to deter frivolous visits and encourage unavoidable visitors to expedite their business. How quickly she invited those she summoned to sit indicated her level of dissatisfaction. Bragg turned on his halo and perched on the edge of the chair guilelessly. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I understand you’ve made inquires into Reilly’s case.”
“Yes,” Bragg replied guardedly. “I’ve made a couple of calls.”
“Three this week alone.”
“I won’t dispute that,” he conceded.
“I made it clear you were not to involve yourself in this investigation,” she said. Bragg opted for silence. “As of this morning, the case was formally turned over to the EPEA. I believe I have you to thank for that.”
“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”
“Maalan, do you take me for an idiot?” she demanded. “Dwin is a competent officer, but connecting Sorenson Exports to Terson Reilly’s escapades has you written all over it! I don’t appreciate losing cases to other agencies!”
“That was never my intention,” Bragg said defensively. “It was just an interesting coincidence.”
“The EPEA found it a compelling coincidence. What the hell did you think would happen, getting inflammatory speculation put on record?”
“Damn it, Colonel, this investigation has been misdirected from the beginning! We have four people dead, an officer assaulted and not an inkling of why!”
“That’s enough, Captain!” Cai barked. “You will not involve yourself in this case again! If you already have significantly new information pertinent to the investigation it will be relayed to the EPEA through this office. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe I do.”
Cai sighed. “You are an excellent officer, Maalan. I don’t want something trifling as this to impact your record, but I will take action if I have to. Take a couple weeks leave, starting now. Relax. Get focused. And make an appointment to see someone over at Social Services. That’s not a suggestion.”
“Of course, ma’am; I understand. Thank you, ma’am.”
Bragg took the stairs down, seething the whole way. He had assumed that Dwin would relay his suspicions verbally, though in all fairness he couldn’t blame the sergeant for following established protocol. He should have talked to Cai himself and accepted an ass chewing that would have been forgotten by his next appraisal. He should have anticipated the consequences of linking the case to the possibility of poaching. The EPEA’s priorities were environmental first, last, and always. The agency would not divulge evidence of secondary crimes, no matter how egregious.
Let it go, he would have told another officer. It’s over! You can’t save the world. Hollow words, compared to the impotent rage that scorched his bowels at the memory: a young woman, brutalized before his eyes, kidnapped and murdered while he did nothing. The experience forever altered his self-image: no longer was he inviolate as a law enforcement officer.
He filled out a leave slip and locked his office. At least she hadn’t made it an official suspension.
FOURTEEN
Beta Continent: 2709:08:21 Standard
Dayuki’s inquiries into her Japanese and Mbuti ancestors inevitably led her to the conflict that brought them together, hundreds of billions of parsecs from their native lands on a world unknown even to their descendants. Most Minzoku considered the legends on the subject just that—legends—but to read the words of one who allegedly experienced the major events personally was an experience akin to spiritual, even if the narrator was a gaijin.
The Qu’a’i, it seemed, were not as sophisticated as they were technologically advanced. The fleet followed a more or less linear course through the Milky Way, turning aside only as necessary to reach nearby star systems when it grew hungry, and then returning to that path until attracted by another system. Barring undue influences, scholars believed that it would have continued on, oblivious of the Sol system, if not for an unfortunate by-product of human development.
To a creature accustomed to browsing the meager offerings of lifeless, barren star systems, artificially generated radio signals heralded the existence of a lush oasis like the sound of flowing water in a desert. The Qu’a’i fleet rushed headlong toward the source with gluttonous single-mindedness in a series of jumps that brought it to its destination in less than fifty years.
Billions of beings on both sides perished in the first few days, reducing the Qu’a’i fleet to a disorganized rabble of thousands of individual vessels and plunging the nations of Terra into chaos. Damaged Qu’a’i starships disgorged millions of frightened, desperate alien refugees representing nearly one hundred different life-forms across the face of the planet where they were met by equally frightened, desperate humans intent on protecting what little they had left.
The vast majority of the refugees were as ignorant of the inner workings of the Qu’a’i fleet as Minzoku peasants were of the Onjin, but those able to communicate with their human adversaries assured them that the parent Qu’a’i armada would soon arrive to finish what its foraging child had begun. History would later prove those claims vastly overstated, as the alleged parent fleet never arrived and no evidence of its existence, other than Qu’a’i legends, ever presented itself.
The threat was entirely credible at the time, however, and induced the Terrans to engage in a level of cooperation unheard of in human history and never matched since. They salvaged derelict Qu’a’i ships, using them in turn to seize operational vessels, marooning the occupants on Mars and Terra in order to evacuate entire human populations from their homeworld, abandoning it to a fate that never materialized.
Only a fraction of the ships that fled Terra were ever heard of again, although two of them, apparently, sought safe harbor on the same world where their cultures and genes commingled to form the seed that one day blossomed into the Minzoku.
The door chime startled Dayuki. She quickly logged off the terminal and crossed the room, breathing deeply to calm herself and clear the guilty flush from her cheeks. It was not Hal-san, she reasoned: Hal-san had no need to ring and always called before he returned. She turned on the monitor to find the Onjin woman, Tamara Cirilo, waiting in the corridor.
Pale Boundaries Page 22