by Nina D'Aleo
‘Yes, boss.’
‘And try not to upchuck this time,’ Diega poked Eli in the ribs as she got to her feet.
‘I have everything under control,’ Eli said, his voice projecting far more confidence than he felt.
5
The suburbs of Moris-Isles and Fortitude Hill were 640 levels and an entire universe apart. Somewhere between the two, desperate, dirt-dredging, seven-families-to-one-room poverty had given way to pristine, sculpted gardens, highly polished transflyers and seventeen-rooms-to-one-man mansions. Here, under the eternal blazing stare of high-powered laser-globes, the feeble lantern-lights of the city slums and the shadow people who subsisted beneath them faded to a half-forgotten dream. Silho stood on the corner of Saint Wickham and Berry streets, surveying the neighbourhood through the underwater waver of a concussion. Her head throbbed in a remorseless pounding rhythm and a migraine pain ached behind her eyes, but she fought not to show it. Not today – the first day of really living after a lifetime of dreaming.
In this neighbourhood, only the snip-snip of water sprinklers and the gurgle of fountains broke the silence of night. Scents of freshly cut lawn and citrus leaves perfumed the air. Silho glanced around at the others climbing out of the transflyer. Their movements were shaky. Diega had put them through a punishing trip of speeding swoops and swerves and very near misses. Silho hadn’t needed to be an empathetic sensor to feel the Ohini Fen’s undercurrent of frustration sparking into anger. Ev’r Keets had got to her badly, though in exactly which way Silho didn’t know, and, in truth, didn’t care to know. Diega’s nasty attitude was getting old fast, and Silho’s dislike for the Fen, though she hid it behind a well-practised mask, was growing by the second. As for Ev’r Keets . . . Silho’s chest constricted painfully and her throat tightened as the memory of what had happened in the interrogation cell replayed again behind her eyes. During her military training, she had never connected the renegade Keets with the scullion-gypsy girl Zingara Ohavor – someone she remembered as a friend, someone she had looked up to, had wanted to be, if only because she reminded Silho of her mother. What she felt seeing Zingara after so long, in such a way, could only be described as heartbreak – if what was already broken could be re-broken – because it meant only one thing. Ismail had died and taken to his grave every grain of hope and goodness Zingara had tried to hold on to, and she had tried, leaving behind the shell – Ev’r Keets.
Silho blinked away the empty sadness misting her eyes. She forced it back into a dark corner of her mind, to stay until she was alone, in her own room, where she could press her face into her pillow and cry as loudly as she needed to.
‘Silho.’
A voice jolted her out of her reverie and she turned to the imp-breed tracker, Eli Anklebiter, standing beside her.
‘Sorry, I meant to startle you – I mean, I did not mean to startle you . . .’ He tripped over his words and angry red splotches broke out all over his neck.
Silho considered him. He was short and slight with a shaved head and protuberant ears. His large, dark eyes sparkled and a mischievous smile played constantly at the corners of his mouth. His bloodline marks were a harlequin colour struggle between the blue stripes of a Glee and the purple dots of a Greer. That explained a lot.
‘How . . . how are you holding up?’ he asked.
Silho opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Diega calling out beside them,
‘Eizenef aregz’amon.’ With an unnecessarily loud crack of Fen magics, she morphed the tracker’s transflyer, the Ory-4, into a silver coin and then pushed it into her pocket.
The commander spoke to the group. ‘Number 201 Berry. Move out.’ He stepped out into the street and everyone fell in silently behind him. They walked along the avenue lined with identical straight-trunk trees pruned to a tedium of perfection. Tall street lamps, placed at exact and equal intervals behind the trees, blazed above their branches. Silho kept a vigilant watch on her surroundings as much as she could with the sick haze veiling her sights. She looked up into the lights and saw that no bugs swarmed the glowing globes.
Eli, trotting at her side, noticed her looking and said, ‘It’s because of the nets, super-fine Wraith-woven silks, encircling the entire suburb. They keep everything out.’
‘Look at this trutting place.’ Diega sneered at the angular mansions completely encircled by front, side and sky gates like big cages. Silho stared at all the darkened windows, searching for some light.
‘Not a soul in sight,’ Eli commented.
‘Murder tends to scare away the well-to-do,’ Diega said nastily. ‘In case they get blood on their fine linen and manicured hands.’
Silho noticed Jude grit his teeth. SevenM, riding on his shoulder, stroked the side of the Ar Antarian’s face with one multi-jointed leg in a soothing motion. She’d been too stressed to really think about it when they’d first met, but it now occurred to Silho how strange it actually was for an Ar Antarian to be a tracker – or any kind of active soldier for that matter. Ar Antarians, the upper-level racial group to which the king of Scorpia, Miron U, belonged, usually held positions of power and left the grunt work for everyone else. Jude was obviously an exception – and obviously not afraid of murder.
As they neared the end of the street, Silho registered a shift of shadows up ahead. She blinked into light-form vision and saw a glowing figure standing beside an open gate in front of one of the houses. The person saw them as well and drew back. Silho hesitated, but when the others didn’t pause or draw their weapons, she continued on as well. They took several more steps before she placed the shape and size of the form as belonging to a machine-breed. When they came within talking distance, the Androt stepped out into a pool of light and Silho changed back to normal sight.
The Androt woman wore a white uniform with a blue servant’s apron. Her dark hair was pulled severely back into a low bun, exposing the barcode numbers on her neck – 363430. She wrung her hands like a wet cloth.
Copernicus spoke to her. ‘United Regiment Oscuri Trackers.’ He held up his identification, but the Androt didn’t look at it, gazing instead at their faces, studying their facial features and movements with expert, robotic precision.
‘You called about a suspected murder.’ Copernicus pocketed his ID.
‘Yes, sir.’ She spoke with a lowered voice. ‘If you wish, I’ll show you in.’
‘Show us,’ Copernicus consented.
The Androt led them up the path, towards the mansion house. She glanced back several times with nervous eyes. Silho noted the distinct lack of light in the yard compared with the other houses. Garden sculptures crouched in the shadows like stalking beasts. The Androt showed them up a set of stairs and through open double doors into the lobby of the mansion. Silho noticed two things immediately: the biting cold and the smell of blood. Her eyes followed two grand staircases leading up from either side of the lobby into a second storey. A chandelier twinkled above them. Works of art hung on the lobby walls, mostly portraits of sad-looking girls, barely dressed and strewn over lounges. Silho avoided staring too long at the pictures. She looked instead at Copernicus Kane and saw, by the rapid movement of his eyes, that he was taking in the surroundings – not just looking at but beyond and through. He felt her stare and turned towards her, studying her with the same deep scrutiny. She quickly lowered her eyes, nerves buzzing inside her.
The Androt maid closed the door behind them and said, ‘If you wish, please follow me.’
Copernicus nodded and she led them again, through the lobby and into a corridor dimly lit by overhead globes. They passed many rooms big enough to swallow Silho’s apartment whole and headed towards the end of the corridor where a light shone brighter. They reached the doorway and the Androt stepped aside. She gestured for them to go in and bowed her head. Copernicus and Diega entered first; Jude said a quiet thankyou to the Androt and followed them. Eli went after him, tripping and almost falling on the carpet. Silho grabbed his arm to steady him. He gave a nervous gig
gle and whispered, ‘Oops’. They entered together and Silho heard the maid’s footsteps retreating back down the hallway.
The room was a parlour with tasteful tapestries lining the walls, delicate china displayed in glass cabinets, a large fireplace with various sculptures posed above it, and, on the ground in front of the fireplace, a hollowed-out corpse lying in the centre of a shaggy rug. A dark red stain had spread out around the body of the middle-aged woman.
Silho’s eyes were drawn to the corpse’s glassy dead stare, then down to the terrible gaping wound in her stomach and chest. The wound looked as though it had been cauterised, like the two other hollowed-out victims at the Moris-Isles crime scene. Silho noted no signs of torture apparent at first glance, but the bruising on the corpse’s legs and arms, and the overturned and smashed objects and drag marks all over the carpet suggested a violent struggle. Silho immediately noticed an inconsistency. The corpse was a human-breed with red blood, but the rug and walls were also splattered with white machine-breed blood, so much of it that she doubted even a fast-healing Androt could survive the loss.
So there had to be a second body somewhere.
The sound of the commander’s voice broke Silho’s concentration. ‘Mrs Parkingham,’ Copernicus greeted a short woman, wearing a lavender satin dressing gown. She stood beside the fireplace staring at the blood-stained walls. Two Androt maids flanked her.
The woman jolted and turned. She was a human-breed with the petite, pinched features of rabbit heritage. She stared at the commander with bloodshot eyes streaming tears behind thick glasses and held a scrunched handkerchief close to her nose. It gave an occasional twitch.
‘I’m Commander Copernicus Kane of the Oscuri Trackers.’ He gestured behind him. ‘My team.’
Silho noticed everyone else had dispersed around the room, as though by silent command, to do their own tasks. Jude and SevenM were examining the shattered window of the sitting parlour, a possible entry or exit route for the murderer. Diega and Eli knelt on either side of the corpse. Silho didn’t know what she should be doing, so she stepped back to stand beside Jude and continued to observe the commander speaking with the woman.
‘Mrs Parkingham, I need to ask you a few questions.’
The woman dabbed her nose with the handkerchief and her maids helped her to sit on one of the couches. Copernicus sat opposite her, leaning forward.
‘You are the owner of this house?’ he asked.
Mrs Parkingham nodded.
‘Did you discover the deceased?’
She nodded again and said in an accent that swapped between commoner lower-level Urigin to uptight upper-level Urigin, betraying her newly rich status, ‘I heard a sound. I came downstairs and . . . and . . .’
‘And what did you see?’
‘This room – like this . . .’ She gestured around.
‘You didn’t see anyone exiting the room?’
She shook her head.
‘Do you know the deceased?’
‘Which one?’ The woman’s lip quivered.
The commander gave her a look that prompted her to explain. ‘Well, look,’ she squeaked, pointing to the walls. ‘How can he still be alive? Tell me how. Our poor Kry!’ She covered her face and dissolved into sobs. The Androt maids also began to cry. Copernicus turned to them.
‘Who is Kry?’
They glanced at each other and one answered hesitantly, ‘Mrs Parkingham’s gardener.’
‘Kry is an Androt?’ the commander clarified.
They nodded. Silho felt a tug of surprise – most Androt owners called their servants by their numbers, not their names.
Mrs Parkingham spoke again, her voice choked and wet. ‘This person,’ she gestured to the body, ‘must have broken in with someone else. Kry heard them and tried to save me. It would be like him to do that. He managed to stop this one, but the other one must have injured or killed him and taken away his body. We’ve searched all the house and garden and there is no sign. Maybe he could still be alive somewhere. What are you going to do about finding him?’ she demanded.
‘Everything we can,’ Copernicus assured her.
‘What do you care?’ Jude spoke abruptly from where he stood at the window. He stared at Mrs Parkingham with open hostility. His silver face had flushed to dark grey. ‘Are you concerned your garden will fall into disarray without your slave to tend to it?’ SevenM stood to his full height on Jude’s shoulder, also glaring at the woman. There was a moment of silence broken by the parlour chronograph ticking over and chiming two hour cycles past darkfall, with a long night still ahead. The commander lifted an eyebrow at Jude in silent question. Diega and Eli sat staring in suspended motion beside the corpse, Eli’s mouth making an O.
Mrs Parkingham stammered, ‘I’m concerned for him. For his . . . his wellbeing . . .’
‘I can imagine,’ Jude replied, his upper-level Ar Antarian accent pronounced in his anger. ‘It must be expensive to buy good slaves, especially ones willing to risk their lives for your silverware.’
‘How dare you!’ Mrs Parkingham said. ‘I have never —’
‘Jude, Brabel,’ Copernicus interrupted, ‘go into the next room. Run a body-heat scan.’ When neither moved, he gestured with his head, ‘Now!’
For a moment Jude didn’t budge, then he turned and barged out of the room. Silho hurried to follow. She closed the door on the sound of the commander explaining that Jude was still learning his role in the trackers.
Jude stood beside the window, looking out into the unlit garden. The many red lights of SevenM’s eyes reflected in the glass.
Silho approached the Ar Antarian carefully. ‘Are you alright?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ But it didn’t sound to Silho as though he meant it.
‘You said what you felt.’
‘Exactly,’ he replied, his words heavy with bitterness.
‘You don’t like the way Androts are treated?’ Silho said.
‘You could say that,’ he replied.
‘Neither do I,’ she admitted. She glanced around the room for signs of hidden spyers recording their conversation. ‘Never have. I hope it changes.’
Jude exhaled and his rigidly held shoulders sagged. ‘Nothing changes without action,’ he said. ‘Action by braver men than me.’ He lowered his head and his tinted glasses slipped a little down his nose, showing a hint of electric blue – the eye colour of an Ar Antarian noble. Silho couldn’t help but stare. Jude was not just one of the upper-level Ar Antarians, but had obviously come from one of the few noble-blood families. It was difficult even to imagine why someone like him would want to go from being nobility to military – especially considering the two groups were mutually exclusive. Jude must have left everything behind to become a soldier. Silho was lost for words and desperately searched for a different topic.
‘I’ve never seen an Ar Antarian with a companion robot before,’ she said. ‘Did you . . . did you make him?’
After a moment Jude replied with a more composed tone, ‘I found him.’
‘Really? Where?’
The spider robot shone his gaze down on her, his eyes moving over her face.
‘Sirenseron,’ Jude said.
Silho raised her eyebrows. She didn’t personally know anyone who had been inside the king’s palace – or even anywhere near the fortified grounds on the very top level of the city.
Jude noticed her surprise. ‘I worked there – before I joined the Regiment. SevenM was a serving robot in the kitchen. He malfunctioned and they dropped him down the rubbish chute to be compressed.’
‘You felt sorry for him.’
Jude nodded. ‘I went to find him and remade him. We became friends. People laugh at that, a man making friends with a machine.’
‘I don’t think it’s funny,’ Silho said.
‘You’re different,’ Jude said. He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I can see that.’
Silho swallowed and dropped her g
aze to the ground, avoiding the intensity of his stare. ‘You seem very close . . . like brothers,’ she said in an attempt to divert his attention.
Jude didn’t reply for so long Silho began to wonder if he’d actually heard. She glanced up to find he was still looking at her. His expression had shifted slightly. There was clarity in his gaze.
‘Silho, you’re right,’ he said softly. ‘We are brothers. I take care of him and protect him from being enslaved by people like that woman out there. He takes care of me and gives me the gift of seeing through his eyes. I see the world as he sees it. It is a beautiful world, but it’s also twisted and cruel.’
‘Yes,’ Silho agreed with more feeling than she had intended. Jude’s sincerity and warmth invited her trust, but she knew that confiding in anyone about her past was a mistake that could see her dead. So, as always, she held her silence. She looked out into the night and sensed Jude still studying her.
‘You’re beautiful, you know,’ he said unexpectedly.
She froze, his words sending her mind spinning. No one had called her beautiful before and she had no idea how to respond. Thank you sounded vain, No I’m not seemed desperate and saying nothing at all might come across as cold. An embarrassed heat seared her face as the silence stretched out between them. She felt so awkward that she couldn’t even raise her eyes. Thankfully the moment broke as the door handle rattled and the door slid open, scuffing over the thick carpet. Eli popped his head around the corner and said, ‘Forensics are here. B.L. is baying for us to leave and the commander is ready to fly. See you guys outside.’ He grinned and vanished.
Jude smiled and spoke to Silho, his tone back to conversational. ‘B.L. Jenkins is the lead forensic investigator and he hates the commander – a lot. We’d better get out of here before he comes in and accuses us of compromising his scene.’ He brushed a hand over her back as he left the room.
Silho stayed where she was, looking out the window, trying to gain some control over her thoughts. Her gaze zoomed in on a white smudge on the windowsill, partially hidden by the curtain. It looked like a fingerprint of Androt blood. As she examined it, she caught a flash of something darting among the sculptures in the darkened garden. She stared, hoping to catch another movement, but everything remained still.