by Piers Platt
She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful.”
Then she turned and disappeared down the docking tube.
Chapter 6
The autocab slowed to a stop at the end of the driveway, and Vina touched her finger to a scanner in the car’s dashboard, authorizing payment for the ride. A green check mark icon appeared on the screen, and the passenger door opened automatically. She stood up and stretched, feet crunching in the gravel. A warm breeze ruffled her short, brown hair, bringing with it the scent of the hibiscus bushes lining the driveway. Vina closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, smiling.
It’s good to be home.
She retrieved her bag from the trunk, and the autocab pulled away, disappearing back down the driveway a moment later. Vina took the stairs to the porch two at a time, and heard the front door unlock automatically at her approach. She pushed on the handle but paused at the threshold, feeling the old wooden floorboards creak under her shoes.
“Hello? Anyone home?” she asked.
“Vina?” her mother’s voice replied. A moment later, Elize appeared at the end of the hallway. Her long brown hair was streaked with gray and tied back in a loose bun. Elize saw her daughter and opened her mouth in surprise, the smile lines around her eyes wrinkling. “Vina, you’re home!”
“Hey, Mom,” Vina said. She dropped her bag by the stairs and met her mother in the hallway, where the two women hugged.
“It’s good to have you back,” Elize said. She leaned back, still holding her daughter at the waist. “You are never, ever going on vacation to the colonies again!”
Vina laughed. “I’m okay, Mom, really.”
Elize shook her head. “I knew this dragon safari thing was a bad idea, I said so,” she said, clucking her tongue.
“I know, and you were right,” Vina conceded.
“But you’re okay?” Elize asked.
“I’m fine,” Vina assured her. She frowned, and sniffed the air. “Nothing some corn bread wouldn’t fix, at least.”
Elize smiled, and let her daughter go. “That’s for dinner. But if you come tell me more about your trip, I might have a piece for you now.”
“Deal,” Vina said, and followed her mother into the kitchen. She took a seat at a stool next to a countertop, and watched as her mother sliced a piece of corn bread out of a cast iron skillet.
“Enzo coming home this week?” Vina asked.
“Your brother’s still at school,” Elize said, shaking her head. “Spring Break’s not for a few weeks. Butter?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Vina said, taking the offered piece of bread. She blew on it, then took a bite. “Mph, hot,” she mumbled.
“Mm,” her mother agreed, pulling up a stool across from Vina. She steepled her hands on the countertop, and then leaned her chin on them, watching her daughter. “Okay. Tell me everything.”
*
After dinner, Vina showered and unpacked her bag, then took her datapad downstairs to read a book. She found her mother reading from her own datapad on the couch in the living room. Vina took a seat in the chair across from her.
“I got a message from my boss,” Vina said. “She suggested I take another week or two off. She said she didn’t want me rushing back, after all I’ve been through.”
“That’s generous of her,” Elize said.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Vina said. “I think it might be good for me to get back to work, but we’ll see. I’m definitely not going back until next week, though.” She checked the time on an antique clock over the mantelpiece. “Where’s Grandpa?”
“It’s the end of the quarter; he’s doing the books at the store again,” Elize explained.
“When is he going to just cave in and hire a robo-accountant?” Vina asked.
“He did,” Elize sighed. “But you know your grandfather. He says he can’t trust it, so he wants to check everything himself.”
Vina glanced over at her mother’s lap. “What are you reading?”
“I found another article about Olympus,” Elize said.
“I already told you all about it!” Vina laughed.
“I know, but … it’s just so strange to read about my daughter in the news.” Elize set the datapad aside. “I was reading more about the guide, Sirio Falken. You must have made quite the impression on him,” she observed.
“Mom …” Vina said, cocking an eyebrow. “I know where this is headed.”
“What?” Elize asked, innocently. “I’m just pointing out that he rescued you, twice.”
“He would have done that for anyone,” Vina argued.
“Mm-hm,” Elize said, unconvinced. “Regardless, he seems like an interesting man. What is he doing now that his tour company is out of business?”
Hopefully, convincing the warden to let him back into jail, Vina thought. He may even be with Dad already.
“He’s … uh … trying to figure that out, last we spoke. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do.”
“You’ve been keeping in touch since the crash?” Elize asked.
“We flew back together … or rather, we were on the same flight,” Vina said, blushing. “But we’re just friends.”
“Okay,” Elize said, holding up her hands. “I don’t mean to pry.”
“He’s definitely not my type,” Vina said. “You know me, I usually date quiet guys. Not big hulking adventure tour guides.”
“Mm,” Elize said. “I thought I had a type, too, until I met your father.” A sad smile touched her face briefly, and then Elize picked up her datapad, and turned her attention back to the article.
Vina frowned. “Mom?”
Elize looked up. “Yes?”
“Can we talk about Dad?”
Elize pressed her lips together, but she nodded, and put the datapad down again. “Okay.”
“Why do you think he did it?” Vina asked.
“I don’t know,” Elize said. “I never understood it myself. Your father never seemed like a man capable of doing such a thing.”
“Do you think he’s innocent?” Vina asked.
“No,” Elize said, frowning. “I think he just got so scared and frustrated at not being able to find us, and when he saw Tevka, all that frustration and fear and anger came pouring out before he knew what had happened.”
“I wish we could have seen him one last time. Or talked to him about it.”
“So do I,” Elize said. “But I know what he would have said – he talked to Grandpa, once or twice, while he was on trial.”
“What did he say?”
“He insisted – even after he was convicted – that he hadn’t done it,” Elize said. “I think by that point he had convinced himself that he really hadn’t.”
“Tell me what happened?” Vina asked.
“You know what happened,” Elize said.
“Just humor me,” Vina said.
Elize sighed. “It was a Friday, early in September. I picked you and your brother up from school, and we came back here to get Enzo ready for soccer practice. I opened the door, and there he was, standing in the hall, with a mask and a gun.”
“You knew it was Tevka right away,” Vina said, remembering. “You called him by name.”
“I recognized his posture,” Elize agreed. “He used to slouch around the store all day like that, before your father fired him.” She tucked her legs up underneath her on the couch. “He forced us back into the car, and then drove us to his car, and eventually led us to that awful bunker he had found.”
“I just remember how dark it was, all the time. And it would get so cold at night,” Vina said. “You used to try to talk to Tevka, those first few days, when he came to check on us.”
“I was trying to reason with him,” Elize said. “But he would always just ignore me, shine the flashlight on us for a few seconds, and then leave. And we stayed there, for three and a half weeks, until your grandfather found us.”
“What did Dad do when we disappeared?”
&nb
sp; “When he got home and found the ransom note, he went to the police, immediately,” Elize said. “And they started searching for us. Your father and Grandpa closed up the store, and spent the next few days either here, waiting for a call or another ransom letter, or out spreading the word to people, to see if anyone had seen us. It was all over the newsnets during that time.”
“Then Tevka called Dad,” Vina prompted.
“I think it was an email,” Elize said, shaking her head. “He told your father to meet him outside of town, and come alone, or else he’d kill one of us.”
“Dad didn’t tell the cops about that email?” Vina asked.
“No,” Elize said. “Perhaps things would have gone differently if he had. But it was the first message he’d gotten since we disappeared, and it was a very angry, forceful message. So he decided to go alone.”
“What happened next?”
Elize sighed. “Must we, Vina?”
“Please, Mom,” Vina said.
Elize shook her head. “They met up in the woods. Your father stabbed Tevka, and then came back here briefly. He threw out a few things – a hat, I think, and Tevka’s wristpad. Then he gathered some tools to go back and bury the body, and soon after he got there, the police arrived. They found Tevka, searched the trunk of your father’s car, and arrested him. And you know the rest.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Vina cleared her throat. “What did Dad say happened?” she asked. “What’s his version of things?”
“He didn’t seem to remember a lot of what happened. He told the police he had only just gotten there and discovered the body – that it was his first time going there, not his second trip. He had no idea how the tools got in the trunk, or how some of Tevka’s belongings ended up back at our house.”
“How else would they have gotten there?” Vina asked.
“I don’t know, honey,” Elize said. “As much as I want to believe otherwise, the simplest explanation is that your father put them there, and then lied about it.”
“Wait, why were the police out by the woods in the first place?” Vina asked, frowning. “How did they know to look there?”
“I’m not sure,” Elize said. “I think they just happened to be driving by.”
“That’s awfully convenient,” Vina said.
“It’s a small town,” Elize said, shrugging. “There’s not much that goes on here that Sheriff Buckniel doesn’t know about.”
“Buckniel was the sheriff back then, too?” Vina asked.
“Of course,” Elize said. “He’s been the sheriff since we moved here, years ago.”
The front door slammed, startling them. A moment later, Vina’s grandfather appeared, slipping a scarf from his neck. He was a tall man, lanky, with a shock of white hair and a lined forehead that made him appear to be perpetually frowning.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Vina said, smiling and standing up to walk over to him.
“Welcome home,” he said, gruffly, hugging her. “I trust you learned a good lesson out there in the colonies?”
“Mom’s already been lecturing me,” Vina said. “Don’t you start, too.”
He softened then, and brushed a lock of hair back from her face, smiling faintly. “It’s good to see you back. I’ll sleep better knowing my girls are both safely under one roof. I assume you’ve told your mother the whole story?”
“Actually, we were talking about Dad,” Vina said, crossing back over to her chair.
Her grandfather frowned. “Your father? Why?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about him, lately,” Vina said.
“Probably because of all those criminals you ran into,” her grandfather replied.
“I just want to try to understand why he did it, that’s all,” Vina said. “Can I talk to you about it sometime, Grandpa?”
He shrugged. “If you want. But … it’s best to leave the past where it belongs.” He turned to Elize. “I’m headed to my place, but I thought you might have some dinner …?”
“There’s a plate in the fridge,” Elize replied. “And cornbread on the counter.”
He nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
Vina smiled conspiratorially at her mother. “Grumpy Gramps,” she whispered.
“Shh,” Elize said, frowning. “He means well. And he has been worrying about you. We both have. I haven’t slept well since you left.”
Vina stood up and moved over to the couch, taking a seat next to her mother and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“I missed you too, Mom.”
“After everything that happened, all those years ago, I always worry when you’re not here,” Elize said softly. “You know that.”
“I know,” Vina said, squeezing her. “Why do you think I still live at home?”
Elize studied her daughter for a moment. “You don’t have to, you know. I’ll be okay, if you want to get your own place. I’d be fine.”
Vina smiled. “I know. I’m here because I want to be here.”
Chapter 7
On the fifth day after arriving on the UNCS Sydney, Falken woke to find a message on his cabin’s computer terminal from Captain Peshai:
>>>Corrections Committee meeting this morning, 10 a.m. Meet me at the entrance to the admin offices.
Falken showered and dressed, and ate a light breakfast in the ship’s mess hall. Rather than assigning a guard to watch over him, the prison staff had fitted him with a tracker bracelet, exactly like the one he had worn during his recovery, after his release from Oz. The bracelet allowed him to access only certain portions of the ship – the gym, the recreation center, a suite of visitor cabins, and the mess hall. The rest of the ship was closed to him, but Falken didn’t mind – he had no need to access the prisoner areas.
Not yet, at least.
At five minutes to ten, he walked up several staircases to the office level, expecting to have to wait outside the locked hatch, but the warden was waiting for him.
“Good morning,” Peshai said. “Again, I’m sorry that you’ve had to wait here for the last few days. I was hoping to be able to get time with the Committee sooner, but unscheduled meetings can be tricky. They’re fairly busy folks.”
“No problem,” Falken told him. “It’s given me a chance to catch up on sleep.”
“I imagine,” Peshai said, leading him down the corridor toward a conferencing suite. “Some day you’ll have to tell me more about what went down on Olympus.”
The conference room featured a single desk facing a bank of vidscreens arrayed in a semicircle. As with the other offices, the room held only basic furnishings – a thin carpet, several abstract paintings on one wall, and a whiteboard on the opposite wall. Peshai pulled a spare chair over to the desk, and set it next to his own seat, then gestured for Falken to sit. Each of the four vidscreens showed a live feed of a different person – two women and two men, all well-dressed, sitting in different offices. In the center-right screen sat a stern-looking woman with gray hair bunched in springy curls. A line of text below her image read: Locandez (Chairwoman).
She glanced up, appearing to tally the heads on her own vidscreens. “We’re all here, Captain,” Locandez said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, madam chairwoman. And thank you all for joining,” Captain Peshai said. “I have an unusual request that I’d like to put before the committee. This is Sirio Falken, a former inmate of Oz. I’ve sent his records to you, should you be interested in reviewing them in more detail.”
“What’s the short version?” a man whose name read Ojibwe asked. His dark face was freckled and sported a well-trimmed, salt-and-pepper goatee.
“Mr. Falken was convicted of murder nine years ago, and earned his parole through the Oz program less than a year after that. He has served with distinction as an ecological officer on four different planetary survey missions as part of a UN exploratory crew, and as a researcher and tour guide in the colonies since then.”
“Falken … that name rings a be
ll,” Locandez said, frowning. “Didn’t I read about a Falken who was involved in that mess on Olympus a week or so ago?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Falken said, clearing his throat. “That was me.”
“Mr. Falken’s involvement was accidental,” Peshai said, hurriedly.
Locandez arched an eyebrow. “You were on the right side of the law, this time, Mr. Falken?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Falken said.
“… and from what I gather, his actions during the incident not only prevented the criminals from succeeding, but also saved multiple lives,” Peshai said.
“I would expect nothing less out of a graduate of Oz,” Locandez said. “What brings you back to the Corrections Department, Mr. Falken? What is this ‘unusual request’ of yours?”
Falken glanced around the screens nervously. “I’d like to go back into Oz.”
“Back in?” another man asked, frowning. He was the youngest of the group, with wavy brown hair and bushy eyebrows. His name was listed as Huginot.
“Yes, your honor. To try to help a friend. He’s still in the system, and I think I can help him find his way out.”
“One of our inmates is a man named Sef Weaver,” Peshai explained. “He has spent the last nine years in the program, without success. Mr. Falken was close friends with Mr. Weaver during his time in Oz, and he believes he can help Mr. Weaver.”
“How, Mr. Falken?” Locandez asked.
“I know him,” Falken said. “I spent almost a year with Weaver, day in, day out. We went through a lot together. The only thing holding Weaver back is that he needs to confess his crime. He needs to face what he did. I can get him to do that, I know it.”
“And what do you think, Captain?” the other female committee member asked. Her hair was pure white, and pulled back into a conservative bun. She wore a lace collar around her judge’s robes, and the name on the screen identified her as Arkanian.
Peshai turned to face her. “It’s unprecedented, ma’am, but I think it’s an intriguing idea, and if it works, it could prove to be a useful tool in our rehabilitation toolkit. I wouldn’t have brought it before you if I didn’t think it was worth trying.”