by Ginn Hale
Lake could have ignored him, probably should have for that sake of his wrecked body. But Aguilar was the last thing he wanted to ignore.
“No, but I’m great at talking in my sleep,” Lake replied. “What’s going on?”
“Both my snoops have resurfaced with goods. I wondered if you were interested in what they’ve scraped up.”
The prospect of information and maybe a way out for him and Aguilar brought Lake completely awake. He sat up, though he had to move slowly and support his right arm with his left.
“I’m up.” Lake announced it like standing and walking were a done deal. After a couple of uneven steps, he proved himself right. So long as he didn’t jostle the right side of his body too much, he could keep moving.
Once he’d gotten into the living room and settled on Aguilar’s couch, he yanked on his optics. This time he felt the strain as a rush of vertigo. Good thing he was already sitting or he might’ve toppled over.
“Are you sure you’re ready to be staggering around?” Aguilar’s deep frown tugged a long crease into his scarred cheek.
“I’m good. Just a little stiff and sore—”
“And bullet riddled. Yeah, you’re doing great. We should go out dancing after this.” Aguilar shook his head but didn’t offer any further argument. Lake appreciated Aguilar’s willingness to indulge his pride.
Aguilar brushed his right hand through the smoky cube of his depth screen, and it lit up with a miniature lightning storm of electric comms. Aguilar’s snoops streamed in slick and spattering like sizzling oil. Aguilar reached into the cloud of the depth screen and flicked them both open. Information crackled up through the pale haze in two streams. The power-down schedule for Sisu Station poured into a 684-day calendar—a single orbit around their black hole. The last two power-downs had been planned and blocked out a year earlier by request of Security & Intelligence. Holly Ryan hadn’t even been on the station then.
Across from the neat rows of numerals, a second stream of information resolved into a badly damaged visual recording. Two distorted gray figures spilled and smeared into each other in a grotesque tangle of naked flesh. Words slurred into animal calls and grunts. Restoration programs flitted through the figures, tugging and tightening the resolution and sound back into an approximation of the original depth recording.
The angle was all wrong for the thing to have been intended as pornography, too high up and far back from the couple on the bed—observed from a book shelf, maybe. The ugly sobs that wracked up from girl pinned to the bed filled Lake with a terrible, sick feeling.
The audio cut out. Then the visual froze-up, leaving a very young Holly Ryan trapped in the depth screen, staring out in agony over the broad shoulder of a big man.
“So, a rape.” Lake wanted his optics off but knew that looking away wouldn’t undo a damn thing. He forced himself to study the glistening muscular back of the man on top of Holly. Was it any wonder she’d been such an angry girl?
“That’s what it looks like.” Ire edged Aguilar’s voice. “I don’t think she could have been more than twelve.”
Lake nodded. They both studied the image before them in silence. The sick feeling in Lake’s gut only seemed to grow.
“That tattoo on his shoulder…” Lake said. Even as degraded as the recording appeared, the blocky eagle and three stars stood out clearly.
It could have been a coincidence that Cullen wore the same design on his shoulder. But adding that to the fact that Cullen had a history with Holly’s family, that his position as Police Chief would have given him access to Clay and Leaf as well as knowledge of exactly when the two consecutive power-downs had been scheduled… Lake remembered the way Cullen had stumbled in that instant when he’d thought one of the boys had survived.
“So Cullen is our killer,” Lake said. “And now he’s in charge of the investigation…”
“Yeah.” A grim certainty filled Aguilar’s voice. With a motion he released Holly Ryan’s image back into the haze of the depth screen. He dropped down into the chair beside the couch. “This is going to be a fucking mess.”
Lake remembered Nam Yune offering him transport off the station. If he wanted he could get away from this entire thing. Now would be the time to do it. He could probably get Aguilar out too. But neither of them could outdistance their knowledge of what had been done to Holly Ryan. Or how Leaf and Clay had died.
“This copy is too damaged to hold up against a good defense lawyer,” Aguilar muttered. “We need to get our hands on the original if we’re going to have a chance of charging Cullen and making it stick.”
Lake nodded, and then he noticed how intently Aguilar stared at him and remembered what Aguilar had told him just before he went down into senseless numb the first time. Holly Ryan’s comm records showed she’d contacted him. Only he’d never heard a word from her. But he hadn’t given Holly his personal contact, he’d supplied her with his business chip. If she had used it, she would have reached his office. Jänis would have taken her call.
Jänis who’d always been strapped for credits, but who’d suddenly been able to afford a new high-grav surgical suite for her man.
Then it all made a terrible kind of sense. Holly had reached out—wanting a partner to back her up in her blackmail and Jänis had needed the money. And using the business comms and accounts, Jänis could have masked her identity.
No wonder Cullen hadn’t believed him when he’d claimed to know nothing about Holly Ryan—and no surprise that he’d wanted to interview Lake off the record. Cullen genuinely believed that Lake possessed proof of his crime and that it was only a matter of time before Lake would return to shake him down for more money.
“We need to talk to Jänis,” Lake said, and the cold, sick sensation twisting through his gut only grew worse, like cryo-worms were chewing through his stomach.
“No,” Aguilar replied. “I need to find her. You need to lie down and rest—”
“She knows me.” Lake sat upright and did his level best to hide the effort of it. “She’s more likely to talk to me and turn over the—”
“No!” Anger cracked through Aguilar’s voice. “You can’t do this. Not only is every security camera on this entire damn station searching for you, but alerts featuring you as wanted have been running on all the public broadcasts. And you can’t even walk five meters because you have been SHOT!” Aguilar broke off with a growl of inarticulate frustration.
“I’m all right—” Lake hadn’t realized how distressed the man had been until this moment.
“No, you aren’t all right! I was there, god damn it! I had you in my arms. Your blood all over my hands and those roaches were coming for you.” Aguilar’s voice suddenly trembled. “I nearly lost you, Lake. I won’t—I can’t…”
“Okay,” Lake said quickly. Aguilar’s anguish convinced him in a way that no reasonable argument ever could have. He would have nailed his own foot to the floor to keep Aguilar from sounding so shaken. “I’ll stay here, watching your cacti grow while you haul Jänis in. But go easy on her, will you?”
For a moment Aguilar seemed too stunned by him giving in to respond. Then he nodded.
“She set you up, you realize that?” Aguilar said it quietly.
“Yes. But she did it for the sake of a man who’s better than me or her. I can sympathize with that.” He’d betrayed more people for much less. That still didn’t make him willing to die to support Dr. Gim’s good causes and charity.
“I’ll try not to bruise her,” Aguilar told him.
Lake knew he couldn’t ask for more. He allowed Aguilar to waste a few minutes fussing over him in his stern manner, and then after tucking too many pillows and blankets around him on the couch, Aguilar kissed him goodbye.
Lake tapped off his optics and listened to Aguilar leave. Locks snapped closed behind him, and the hum of the overhead lights fell to a dark quiet.
Lake slept but anxiety riddled his dreams. He woke sticky with sweat and his mind churning between the memory of Aguilar lea
ving and the violent murders that had filled his dreams.
He staggered to the toilet and pissed, handling himself with his stiff left arm. Then he stumbled into the wash closet, washed his hand and splashed cold water over his face. His chest and right shoulder still hurt, but his head felt a little more clear. He pulled in a deep breath and almost choked on the acrid taste that filled his nostrils and mouth.
The reek of Maze-born blood.
Then Lake realized that Aguilar must have treated his wounds in here. He’d probably disposed of Lake’s blood-soaked clothes, but a quick scan of the wash stall assured Lake that Aguilar had kept his cold automatic, setting it aside on the counter. Lake’s dried blood saturated the holster in thick crusts. Lake pulled the automatic free. He didn’t need his own blood to gum up the mechanisms. It felt strange, almost alien, cradled in his left hand.
He wondered if he should attempt to clean the thing or wait until he had better use of his right hand.
Lake froze where he stood. The whir of a hydraulic pick splitting the strike plate of a locked door carried through the silence and sent a shudder down Lake’s spine. He clenched his hand around the automatic and crept out of the tight confines of the wash closet. In the living room he could feel the hot masses of the two men outside Aguilar’s door. The muscular blister of Cullen stood over the crouched, stringy bundle of the blond Game-boy. They’d made it through two of Aguilar’s locks, and Lake knew he wouldn’t beat them if he made a run for the back door. He could hardly walk.
“Lights locked down,” Lake commanded the house AI. He wasn’t going to give Cullen or Game-boy the advantage of sight.
The third and final strike plate let out a desperate whine. The smell of hot metal and smoking bamboo drifted in the air, setting off a screeching fire alarm and a sudden spray of water. Security alarms should have already been wailing, but likely Cullen had shut those down. Stupid of him to forget about the fire alarms.
Not that it would be much help to Lake, unless he could slow Cullen and Game-boy for the six minutes it would take for a fire crew to arrive.
Six minutes. Lake considered the downpour of the sprinklers. He moved as quickly as he could, slipping behind the cacti-filled terrarium.
“Depth screen,” Lake called. “Loop play stream two.”
Holly Ryan’s cries joined the screams of the fire alarm as the recording of her rape came to life in a play of agitated electrons and radiant photons. The last strike plate split with a crack that throbbed through the surrounding walls. Cullen and Game-boy rushed into Aguilar’s home.
“Alarm off!” Cullen shouted. The siren went silent, leaving Holly Ryan’s raw voice screaming.
“What the hell is that?” Game-boy sounded shaken.
“Depth screen off!” Cullen’s words sputtered as he spit against the downpour of the relentless sprinklers. “Depth screen off!”
Holly Ryan uttered a final sob and folded into darkness.
“What the fuck was—” Game-boy began.
“Get your head in the game!” Cullen hissed, though he sounded nearly as shaken. “That son of a bitch, Lake Harmaa, is in here. We have to take him out before he takes us.”
Lake felt Game-boy nod. Water droplets spattered and split as he lifted his gun. Cullen, too, raised his weapon. Both guns hung in Lake’s awareness, solid and simmering with the fat masses of their burn-rounds. Cullen wasn’t taking any chance on Lake surviving to be arrested.
“Lights on,” Game-boy whispered.
The house AI ignored him. Lake lifted his left arm and braced the muzzle of his heavy automatic against the cold pane of the terrarium. The instant he opened fire, his position would be obvious. Maybe he’d be able to get off a second shot before either Cullen or Game-boy incinerated him. He certainly wouldn’t get a third shot.
Water droplets cascaded down his naked body. His pulse kicked so hard he felt the veins in his neck jumping. Six minutes, he tried to reassure himself. He just needed to keep himself alive for six minutes.
“We know you’re in here, Harmaa.” Cullen raised his voice as he and Game-boy crept farther into the house. “We identified traces of your blood on Aguilar’s high-grav suit. Maybe you could explain that. Did you coerce Detective Aguilar into abetting you? Maybe he coerced you? It could still go that way. Come on out and we can talk about it.”
“Lights on,” Game-boy whispered.
The locked-down system remained dark.
Cullen lifted his empty hand to his head, and Lake realized that he was about to pull a pair of light-enhancing goggles down over his eyes. But then Cullen halted. He and Game-boy turned back just slightly.
Lake felt a familiar mass signature near the battered front door.
“What the—” Aguilar’s voice carried to Lake.
Cullen brought up his gun to take aim.
“Wrong!” Lake shouted, desperate to pull those guns off of Aguilar.
Cullen and Game-boy both swung back towards him, and Lake fired. The terrarium shattered and Game-boy crashed back into Aguilar’s table. The automatic’s recoil sent a shock of pain through Lake’s arm and nearly knocked him off his feet. Cullen took his shot.
Chemical flames surged up the raised arms of Aguilar’s prized saguaro as Cullen’s burn-round struck. Heat washed over Lake, and the water from the sprinklers hissed and steamed.
Lake felt Aguilar bound through the open door. The masses of a fire crew charged after him.
“Die, you blind son of a bitch,” Cullen swore.
“Not before you.” Lake’s arm shook as he took his aim.
He sensed the burn-round jump from the muzzle of Cullen’s gun as he pulled the trigger of his automatic. He didn’t fight the brutal force of the automatic’s recoil; it kicked him down to the floor. Flames exploded up Aguilar’s wall, and Lake felt blood seeping through his bandages. The air in his lungs tasted like burning hair.
Five meters from him, Cullen’s mass signature spilled across the floor, torn open like a burst blister. He didn’t make a sound—didn’t move at all when Aguilar raced past him.
An instant later Lake felt Aguilar’s arms grip him.
“I’ll live,” Lake managed to say before Aguilar could ask.
“Yeah, you will.” Aguilar said it like a command. He hoisted Lake to his feet. The two of them stumbled away from the flames and roiling smoke together.
7.
Lake rolled his shoulder, feeling the pull of tight new scar tissue. Then he picked up the small, deep-space shipping tin. He ran his fingers over the raised quadrant codes and realized the contents heralded from the largely aquatic world of Baekdu. Nam Yune had lived there briefly, he recalled.
Under a sheath of decorative metal, microbots pumped out lipid-producing DNA, freshening the meaty contents of the tin with a burst of something resembling olive oil. Lake cracked the seal and popped the tin open. A pungent aroma rolled up from the contents.
Seated at the desk across from Lake’s, Aguilar lifted his head. A variety of his surviving cacti now decorated their shared office, and the spiny plants seemed to almost bristle along with Aguilar. Most days, Lake liked to imagine it was a shared toughness that Aguilar found attractive in both himself and the thorny plants. Today he thought he could see something of Aguilar in their sharp, upright natures.
“What is that smell?” Curiosity tempered the suspicion in Aguilar’s voice.
“Squid,” Lake told him.
“Genuine squid?”
“The comm on the tin claims it is, and who am I to argue with a can that’s come across three star systems to call on me?” Lake held up the lid.
“Is some millionaire trying to bribe you to take down the Federal government?” Aguilar asked, but then he shook his head. “No, on second thought, don’t tell me. I’m going to cling to what ignorance I can still claim.”
Lake laughed and nodded.
After the police commission had shown the poor sense of dismissing Aguilar for his failure to obey the chain of command, Lake
had been all too happy to snap him up for his own company. He hadn’t been alone in offering Aguilar a job. Two agents smelling suspiciously of black noodles and fighting beetles had assured Aguilar that the M6 division of Security & Intelligence could use a man like him to clean up other police departments. Aguilar had very politely turned them down.
Now he returned his attention to finalizing an invoice to their latest client. The work had involved a great many hours of surveillance, but those had passed surprisingly easily now that Lake didn’t have to endure them alone.
The comm message programmed into the tin’s lid fluttered over Lake’s palm.
I’m sorry. Thank you for the second chance.
Lake frowned. Nearly a year had passed, but he still felt conflicted about Jänis. He should have been furious—should have been filled with righteous ire and been first in line to testify against her. She’d nearly gotten him killed, nearly destroyed Aguilar’s home and career. She’d abetted Holly Ryan, and thanks to that Holly, Leaf and Clay had ended up dead.
But the fact that Leaf and Clay had been the ones who butchered Holly—who’d intended to murder Lake—complicated matters. Leaf and Clay had been anything but innocent victims. And Holly…
Jänis had said Holly would have blackmailed Cullen with or without help. Lake felt certain she’d been right. From what he knew of the girl, he suspected that nothing but death would have stopped Holly Ryan. Though, Lake hated thinking as much, because it meant Holly’s murder had been almost inevitable. He wanted to imagine she could have had a chance to escape her past.
But the dead didn’t get second chances. At best they burned themselves into the memories of the living. Lake didn’t think Jänis would ever forget Holly Ryan.
And, in her own way Jänis had tried to win some kind of justice for Holly. There would have been little point in submitting Holly’s evidence to the police when Cullen was in charge. Even with Cullen dead, the department had done its damnedest to cover up the entire matter—murders and all.
They’d tried to bury Lake inside an isolation cell and under murder charges. If it hadn’t been for Aguilar leaking everything to Holly Ryan’s parents and the press, Lake might have stayed buried. But as it was, the stars had rained lawyers and the news lit up with accusations and long lists of officers had been suddenly removed from their positions. Even the complacent people up in the Drift had been alarmed when they learned of Cullen’s crimes, and the police department’s subsequent attempts to hide Cullen’s misuse of his authority. Not the least of which had been failing to inform Holly Ryan’s parents of her death and instead feeding her remains to insects so that her well-connected parents could go on believing Holly might someday find a way home to them.