The Disk Mirror Solution (Galaxia Mortem Book 1)

by Danielle Ste. Just

  Twomanrie cocked her head. “Perhaps she told the author.”

  “No. I mean, she never said that, or they would have had a quote.”

  “Then her parents might have said it.”

  Armintor shook her head. “They were both dead when the biography was written. And she had no siblings.”

  Twomanrie leaned forward. “Maybe they made the dolls confess.”

  “Uh…” Armintor squeezed her hands together. What should she say? Should she laugh? Respond as if it were a serious comment? What wouldn’t get her in trouble?

  Twomanrie stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry. I was joking, Armintor. A little too early in our relationship for jokes, I see. I commend you for your logical answers. That’s exactly correct. The author did fabricate that detail.”

  Armintor’s hands unclenched a millimeter. She’d survive another minute.

  “What was the inciting incident referred to in the final chapter?” Twomanrie asked.

  Sparks flew across Armintor’s brain. She’d sort of skimmed the final chapter, to finish it before dinner. Did she dare confess that? Or would Twomanrie be angry? Tears prickled her eyes. She’d fail at this, as she did everything.

  “I want you to learn to dissect each word,” Twomanrie said. “To wring all the meaning—or the lack thereof—from each page. Come. Sit. Let’s discuss this further.”

  Over two hours passed before Twomanrie leaned back against her chair. “Good work, Armintor. I’ll make you a critical thinker yet. You have a great natural talent. All I have to do is nurture it. Remember, as Dr. John Watson once wrote in an attempt to contextualize Mr. Sherlock Holmes’s exactitude: desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning.”

  “Who?”

  “Mr. Sherlock Holmes. My mentor. Well, across the ages. He was a remarkable man, living in a remarkable age. But more of that another night.”

  Armintor picked up her sticky juice glass and stood to go. Finally she’d be able to be alone.

  “No, stay a little longer. We can finally relax. Our mind-work is done for the day.”

  Sinking back into her chair, Armintor swallowed in her dry throat. Relax? What was she was supposed to say now? Twomanrie was looking at her with a strange expression. Had she done something wrong?

  “You know,” Twomanrie said, “you don’t have to act like a Beta while we’re alone.”

  That was a lie. Betas always had to act like Betas. “O-okay.”

  “It’s something to work on.” Twomanrie took another sip of wine. “So, Armintor, what was it like on your planet? Terry’s New Earth?”

  Terry’s New Earth. The view of poplars out her bedroom window. The smell of her father’s chostim. Her mother’s sad smile. Puffy clouds of snow-not-snow. Charred bodies. Ringing in her ears. Bile in her throat.

  Words came from far away. “Armintor? Are you feeling ill?”

  Blackness blotted out her vision. Her heart hammered in her chest. She jumped to her feet. She had to run away from this feeling. Shout. Cry. Something. But she didn’t dare. Twomanrie wouldn’t like it.

  A hand gripped her right forearm. The touch grounded her.

  “It’s all right, Armintor. It’s all right.” Twomanrie repeated over and over.

  The sick blackness slowly receded. Nausea replaced it. She bent and pressed her head on the cool table. “I’m sorry,” she whispered so softly even she could barely hear it.

  “No need.” Twomanrie patted her arm.

  And in that moment, some tiny part of her heart melted enough to trust Twomanrie. Or at least enough to consider considering whether or not to trust her.

  Their days formed an instant pattern. Early morning Taich practice was followed by breakfast and then errands. Afternoons were filled with study. After dinner each evening, they lingered at the table with a glass of wine for Twomanrie and juice for Armintor, and discussed what Armintor had been reading.

  It was completely different from the life she’d longed for just a few months ago. Then, she’d thought that if she worked at the university, she might be able to sneak into an occasional lecture, to somehow get someone to notice how she understood the subjects. But now, she had access to vast quantities of books, and hours each day to read them. And the promise of more as soon as she wanted. Armintor felt as if her brain were a giant sponge and the world filled with water.

  But then the worst part of her day would happen. What was it like in your school? Who were your friends? Tell me about your mother, your father, your brother. What did you want to be when you grew up?

  She knew Twomanrie wanted to know what Armintor had been like before the plague. But Armintor couldn’t expose herself like that. Not wouldn’t, but couldn’t. It was as if her old self were locked inside and she’d lost the key.

  She trusted Twomanrie, but not really. Or, she tried to, but couldn’t. She wasn’t sure which. You don’t have to act like a Beta while we’re alone. Twomanrie kept repeating those words. But Armintor didn’t believe them. Twomanrie had an idea of how Armintor was supposed to act, somewhere between a Beta and an Alpha. Maybe Twomanrie wasn’t even aware of it. And what would happen if Armintor did something Twomanrie really didn’t like? Well, she knew the answer. Twomanrie wore an agony stick on her belt. All day. Every day. Whether they were outside the apartment or inside. And there was only one reason she would wear an agony stick inside the apartment; she was willing and able and ready to use it on Armintor.

  Despite her fears, Armintor decided to act differently in little spurts. One morning she chose her own breakfast instead of just having whatever Twomanrie had. That behavior passed without comment. So that was allowed.

  Her next experiment was arriving exactly ten seconds late for Taich practice. Twomanrie punished her for that, by making her hold a difficult posture until she fell down. So, she couldn’t be late. There was a lesson here: she didn’t necessarily need to act like a Beta, but she couldn’t deny Twomanrie’s right to dictate like an Alpha.

  After her Taich punishment, it took her several days to dare to make her next behavior experiment. She’d finished reading her latest stack of books and suggested over breakfast that she go to the library alone, bringing along a list of subjects ostensibly from Twomanrie.

  “An excellent idea,” said Twomanrie. Then she glared at Armintor over her cup of hot ginger tea. “But remember to act like a Beta.”

  “Of course,” Armintor said.

  Twomanrie continued, as if she hadn’t responded. “You must always act slightly stupid. If you have an original thought, you must never reveal it.”

  “Why?” Armintor dared to ask.

  “Because,” Twomanrie said, filliping her middle finger against Armintor’s forehead. “You’re always at an advantage if people underestimate you.”

  Armintor rubbed at the stinging spot on her forehead, digesting this idea.

  “Unfortunately,” Twomanrie said, “no one underestimates me. Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, as those brilliant detectives who revered Mr. Sherlock Holmes knew.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let me put it this way. I’ve got a reputation for genius. Consequently, I have to continually train to be better, smarter, faster, or I’ll be eaten alive by my colleagues. You… well. If you act as stupid as everyone presumes you to be, no one will expect anything else.”

  One morning, a few months later, someone knocked on the door during their Taich practice. Twomanrie looked at Armintor and nodded toward the entrance. Armintor walked to the door with trepidation. Had Twomanrie expected a visitor and not said anything?

  When she opened the door, her fears were realized when she saw the Alpha that stood there, a stern expression on her face. Armintor froze, sweaty hand gripping the handle. Was she going to be taken away?

  The Alpha made a scornful noise and brushed past. Armintor shut the door and scurried after her, afraid of Twomanrie’s anger if she shouldn’t have let the w
oman in.

  The strange Alpha saluted when she saw Twomanrie. Her deep-set eyes flicked around the room, absorbing it. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?” she said, her voice as respectful as her expression had been contemptuous toward Armintor.

  “Yes you are, but no matter,” said Twomanrie. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s been murdered,” the strange Alpha said. Her hair was black, and short, and so shiny it looked like it had been sculpted from dark glass. “The constabulary has requested your help.”

  Armintor crept to the couch and sat, trying to make herself small. She’d thought sharing this space with Twomanrie was difficult enough, but being in the room with two Alphas was exponentially worse. Despite Twomanrie’s diminutive size and the fact that the strange Alpha towered over her, they seemed like a matched pair.

  “Who was murdered?” Twomanrie asked.

  “Theethee Rustar.”

  Only a slight widening of Twomanrie’s eyes showed her surprise. “Theethee. How… odd. I’ll change and be with you in a few minutes. Armintor,” she said, turning to the couch, “serve her whatever she wants to drink.” With that, she turned and disappeared inside her room.

  Armintor stood, knees shaking slightly. “W-what would you like?”

  The Alpha ignored her and sprawled on the couch to clearly signify that it was now her domain. Armintor crept close to the nutrition panel, in case the Alpha changed her mind. Had she said something wrong? Was she not supposed to ask the question? She stared through her lashes at the Alpha, hyperaware of every small movement the woman made.

  In a few minutes, Twomanrie came out in her trim uniform. Without a word, she and the other Alpha left.

  Although she had never been inside Twomanrie’s office or bedroom and felt curious about how they looked, Armintor showered and changed, then resolutely remained in the living area reading and studying. She couldn’t help but wonder if Twomanrie had a recording device, or some other way to tell if her privacy had been invaded. Armintor did, though, relax to a degree she didn’t remember feeling since… well, since she’d been twelve years old.

  Several hours passed before Twomanrie returned. “Bring me some tea,” she said as she sat at the dining table.

  Armintor ran to the nutrition panel. As she brought the cup to the table, she noticed Twomanrie looked tired, and a little sad. “What happened?” she dared to ask.

  Twomanrie sighed. “A sad day. One Alpha took the life of another.” She shook her head. “Physical desire is one of the most base motives for murder. Luckily I caught the culprit before he fled off-planet.”

  Armintor felt her eyes widen. “You caught him?”

  “Of course.” Twomanrie looked at her with a wry expression. “Armintor, what do you think my profession is?”

  All Armintor could do was gape. Wasn’t being an Alpha a profession in itself?

  The corners of Twomanrie’s lips twitched. She disappeared into her office, and emerged in a moment with a giant pile of paper which she set down on the table. While Twomanrie disappeared back into her office, Armintor leafed through the pages.

  “People from other worlds have written to you!” she called to Twomanrie. “On paper!” When she started reading the first letter, Armintor was utterly shocked. She glanced over at Twomanrie, who was now standing in her office door, leaning against the frame.

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out what my job is,” Twomanrie said. “You’re intelligent. You have curiosity. But I’m realizing your curiosity is limited to abstract ideas, or of people you don’t know.”

  Sweat bloomed on Armintor’s palms. She dropped the letter and rubbed her hands against her coverall legs. Twomanrie wouldn’t be happy if she sweated all over the letters. “I’m sorry.”

  Twomanrie shook her head. “No need. I’m a detective. The galaxy’s only consulting detective. Read that first letter aloud.”

  Armintor picked up the letter and read.

  Twomanrie Ohetto;

  My father has been killed, and the local police can’t find the killer. They’ve said that since there’s no vid of the crime and no cellular evidence, they have nothing to go on. They’ve even hinted my father must have killed himself. But tell me how my father managed to cut his own body to pieces?

  Armintor looked up. “She wants you to come solve the murder of her father?” She imagined what she would feel like if someone had killed her father, if someone had chopped him into pieces. Some person, not a mindless plague. “When do we leave?”

  Twomanrie shook her head. “I’m not going.”

  “Why not?”

  Twomanrie set a heavy red tome on the table beside the letters and sat next to Armintor. She slid a few of the letters to herself and riffled through them. “To quote my mentor, Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Armintor said, then admitted the one thing she hated above all else to admit to Twomanrie. “I don’t understand.”

  But Twomanrie only shook her head and gave her faint smile. “I’m comfortable here. My days of traveling are over. And nothing sounds intriguing anymore. I’ve solved so many crimes that there aren’t any new ones.”

  Armintor looked back at the letter. “You used to do this, though? Go to other planets and solve crimes? Why?”

  Twomanrie shrugged. “Everyone’s completely reliant on technology. Detectives get implants in their fingertips to lift prints and DNA from crime scenes. Their nose implants can sample the air to learn who stood there hours before. They can delve into anyone’s cranial embeds to extract information and memories. They can download optical hook recordings. Given all that, it’s easy to figure out what happens to their deductive powers.” She waited a moment, then raised one brow at Armintor in an unspoken question.

  “Uh…” Armintor thought for a moment. “They can’t solve crimes anymore if they don’t have physical evidence?”

  “Indubitably.”

  “What’s ind—”

  Twomanrie raised a hand palm-outward. “Look it up later, on your own time. Anyway, in my younger years I worked for the police here on Variegor. Word of my abilities spread off-planet. I spent the second half of my career traveling from one planet to the next, solving crimes the local constabulary deemed unsolvable.”

  Flipping through the stack of letters, Armintor asked, “But there are all these people begging you to go help them. How do you say no?”

  With a sigh, Twomanrie leaned back in her chair. “It is difficult sometimes. The suffering of others is what motivated me in the first place. But there are crimes here on Variegor, too, and I do help if our police can’t solve them. As you have just witnessed. And, as Mr. Sherlock Holmes once said, on general principles it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes.”

  “What’s Scotland Yard? And what’s criminal classes? Is it something they study at West Quadrant University?”

  Without a word, Twomanrie pushed the red-bound book in front of Armintor. “All your answers are in here.”

  The book’s spine read: The Collected Work of Sherlock Holmes. “This is your mentor’s book? So was he a detective too?”

  Twomanrie laughed.

  “What’s funny?”

  “What’s funny is you spent three and a half months with me, and this is the first time we’ve discussed my life before we met.”

  Armintor’s face turned hot. It was true. She’d never asked Twomanrie about her past. But she never dared to. And, she realized, she didn’t dare tell Twomanrie she didn’t dare. Every movement, every word, every look… if Twomanrie didn’t like it, Armintor could be killed. It was too much pressure. She felt sometimes that she’d go insane. Even in bed at night, she felt as if someone were looking at
her. Judging her.

  Twomanrie patted her on the shoulder. Her touch was cool, and light, like an autumn leaf. “It’s all right, Armintor. We’ll just keep going. We’ll be friends some day.”

  Friends. She’d had friends before. Barta. Salli. Sikayla. And she didn’t see how Twomanrie would ever become one of them. She glanced at the agony stick strapped to Twomanrie’s hip, then turned back to the correspondence. She had a job to do. Or a nesting series of jobs. The smallest job, right now, was to read this book, so she could understand whenever Twomanrie talked about Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then came the larger job of continuing little things that made Twomanrie’s life easier. Like maintaining the nutrition panel, or going to the library to pick up books by herself. And then came the even larger job of being Twomanrie’s apprentice. Of being unlearned enough to need Twomanrie’s tutelage, and of being malleable enough to change when Twomanrie judged she should change. But the largest job—the largest in her series of nests—was to always be the perfect Beta to Twomanrie’s Alpha. To be intelligent enough to intrigue Twomanrie, but not intelligent enough to challenge her. To be independent enough to not bother Twomanrie with details, but not to take unapproved initiative. To be the ancillary person. The pocket servant. The one who made Twomanrie feel needed.

  Chapter 13

  Bituminous Tarsi

  Date: 2422

  It was a stupo holiday in Alessandro City. Everyone who was everyone was out on the streets. Free food and ‘cave time for every resident. Chomping and dreaming. The perfect recipe.

  Well, K, up until a few weeks ago, Redcholate’d yenned holidays as much as the next person. But right now she felt too terrible to eat anything. And she couldn’t even get her free hour of under time, as her tie-in socket was mort.