Kapitan Gore greeted her in an old-fashioned uniform. His face was a mask, but she sensed his arousal at the sight of her. “You are very attractive this evening, Mrs. Bain. Are you ready to accompany me to the council meeting?”
“Nearly. Won’t you come in?”
Molly made a show of fine-tuning her attire in hopes of getting Gore to talk. “Gregori, you are the only person who calls me ‘Mrs. Bain.’ Why?”
“I consider our relationship a professional one.”
“It also keeps you distant.” She pitched her voice at a level she knew relaxed men. “I haven’t been married for almost twenty years. I want to know you again, as we did when we first met. Do you remember?”
A guttural sound emerged from Gore’s throat.
“You look very good, Gregori.” Molly drew near to her former lover. “Your uniform is familiar, but from a previous era?”
Gore lifted his furred hands to Molly’s bare shoulders. “It is a replica of the uniform my great-great grandfather wore in the Soviet Navy, the old Russian Navy of 1950 or so.”
“It suits you.”
They kissed. Gore’s lips tasted as human as any man’s, though the fur on his face felt like a cat’s, finer than a man’s beard.
“I admire you, Gregori. You’ve remade yourself. You’ve found your path in your own way.”
“You have done the same, Mrs. Bain. We saw the opportunities a new world offered and exploited them.”
“Gregori, I’m more than someone who can make your tankers follow one another like ants. Let’s you and I be partners, business partners...” Molly pressed against him and lifted her face to his. “...and partners in life. We could conquer the Arctic together.”
Gore brushed Molly’s check with the pads of his paw. “The offer is tempting, but we are no longer twenty years old. I have little tolerance for partnerships, beyond a brief encounter.” The corsair brought a claw to Molly’s neck and she felt the scratch, too light to be a caress, heavy enough to tear the topmost layer of her skin. It thrilled her and frightened her. I won’t take No for an answer. He is a monster, but I still love him.
♦ ♦ ♦
The worst thing about the room assigned to Bill was sharing it with Scribb, but thoughts of the dissed man melted away as Bill showered and shaved. The closet’s tailoring AI adjusted the semi-formal clothes for him, and though he wasn’t used to dressing up, he felt refreshed and ready for an evening out. Except for his forehead welt, Scribb was almost unrecognizable in his getup.
An empty belly reminded Bill he hadn’t eaten in nearly a full day. “ Scribb, I’m going to find something to eat.”
“They’ll have tons of food at the soirée, I’m betting.”
“I’m not waiting.” Bill scanned the hallway for a kitchen he spotted earlier. Spotting the auto-chef on a counter next to the open door, he reached for the device’s menu selector, noticing, but not reacting to a man sitting at a table. The stranger’s plain clothes hung on him as on a skeleton.
The man croaked, “Bill, it’s good to see you again.”
He looked familiar to Bill, but out of place. “I’m sorry, I don’t know—“ In a flash, he recognized him. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Divine I’m not, though I have some influence in high places.”
The shock hit Bill like a staser blast. “Raleigh? How?” Bill’s hand was poised over the auto-chef, as if frozen.
“Perhaps you could order me a coffee?”
Bill forgot his hunger and let his hand fall to his side. “Raleigh—” Bill’s body swayed with disorientation. “Anne! Is something wrong?”
“She’s fine.”
The assertion failed to reassure Bill. “ Kilel, is she here?”
“No, Bill.”
Bill couldn’t focus. He half-heard Raleigh as his emotions caught up with his perceptions. He hadn’t seen his older brother since he was eighteen. They exchanged a total of a dozen words since Anne was born. A few pictures, maybe. Bill rarely talked about him to anyone, even his daughter. It’s like he materialized out of thin air. Thoughts of the girl reoriented his mind. He stepped toward his brother, voice menacing. “If you’ve hurt Anne or done anything—“
“Relax, Bill. I told you she was fine. I saw her not long ago. She’s healthy, at home, and worried sick about you.”
Watchful, Bill slid closer to the door, preparing to run. He was buffeted by a sudden squall of emotions, which surged from deep in memory into the present, breaking through and swamping all other feeling, even worry about his daughter. Waves of memory pounded him, beginning with the fear and hurt transferred by mother and father to a four-year-old who absorbed them like a sponge but could not understand them, succeeded by confusing, frightening experiences a six-year-old articulated with tears as a brother announced his betrayal and people in uniforms shut off the dairy farm’s water and electricity, ending with flashes to a funeral first for the father and then for the mother, but no brother anywhere near. A decade of hurt compressed into an explosive moment. Bill clenched his fists then opened them, raising them to Raleigh palm out as if blocking him from sight. Bill’s voice was low and calm as he struggled to control the maelstrom in his heart and mind. He wouldn’t come all this way after 20 years just to inflict pain. “Seeing you makes me want to kill you for what you did to mother and father.”
Raleigh studied his pale hands. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, though I don’t think you’re capable of it.”
The truth of Raleigh’s statement loosened the tension. “I’m not, but I think you should get out, just the same, in case the truth is different.”
Raleigh’s eyes hardened. “I can’t just now, Bill. I need to find someone.”
His brother’s resistance enraged Bill, as if the older man was preparing to betray him again. “Who are you chasing now?”
“I need to find Molly, your wife.”
Ex-wife, Bill wanted to say, but he remained silent as the storm in his heart calmed and he grasped Raleigh’s meaning.
Turning to Bill, Raleigh was calm, direct, even warm. “How much do you know about my situation?”
Bill repeated what Scribb detailed in the Extinction’s mess hall. Raleigh’s near-death appearance corroborated the story for Bill.
“Molly is my last hope for survival. Will you take me to her?”
Bill thought of calling out to Scribb, but didn’t. “Why me?”
“I’d rather it’d be you than that cretin.” Raleigh sneered in Scribb’s direction.
The early emotions subsided, and cold rationality ruled Bill’s mind. Raleigh was desperate, and he needed his younger brother to save his life. He’d probably already attempted to find Molly with the usual network surveillance, but Run was no ordinary city. Bill guessed that Raleigh had few options but to make contact with him and with Scribb in order to locate Molly. Bill made his calculation. “I want something from you, and you’re going to give it to me.”
Raleigh had an air of expectation. “You want revenge? Payback for what I did to Mother and Father?” He made the suggestion as if ready to bargain.
“No, Raleigh. Revenge would do me no good. Or Anne.”
Raleigh lifted a corner of his mouth. “An intelligent conclusion on your part. Anne is a beautiful young woman, smart, gifted even.” He hung his head a little. “I’m sorry that I didn’t take the time to get to know her better. Or her father.”
Is he trying to soften me up? “You took the road you took, Raleigh. Own up to it.”
“I have, but it’s too late for me to do anything about it.”
“There’s one thing you can do. Scribb said you might be able to get the charges against me dropped. Can you?”
Raleigh considered a moment. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Can you guarantee that Anne will never be touched by anything related to the refuge fire? I don’t want her future tainted by it.”
Raleigh was thoughtful, as if a new idea had occurred to him. “Yes, I’ll protect her a
ny way I can.”
Another thought came to Bill. “How can I know whether to trust you?”
“I’m a professional, Bill. You may hate me, and I may deserve it, but I believe in what I do. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” Raleigh sighed. “Apart from that, all I have to offer as a guarantee is my regrets. I’m sorry, Bill, for everything.”
The sight of Raleigh’s shoulders lifting a millimeter or two, as if the words were waiting to be said for a lifetime, convinced Bill that his brother was sincere. Have I made a mistake, hating him all these years? “Very well. I think I should bring Molly to you. This is what we’ll do.”
♦ ♦ ♦
A pillared City Hall corridor overflowed with people in formal, if festive dress. South Asian traditional fashions influenced most of the garb, Molly noted, with flowing drapes of fabric in colors that ranged from a grapefruit yellow to deep saffron. Many of the men wore turbans, and the women graced their heads with a simple drape of sheer fabric. The exposed faces, arms, and feet of one couple intrigued Molly. Each of the pair was a hybrid of human and birds of paradise, the sensational iridescent colors of their faces and necks broadcast by hundreds, if not thousands, of feathers. The feathers grew out of their skins, the shafts growing in the same way as a true bird’s.
Molly’s elegant stride complemented the aristocratic bearing of the uniformed Kapitan Gore, who greeted guests here and there. The music’s volume increased, as did the press of people, who moved on the dance floor as if choreographed. Gore stopped at a table and bade Molly to sit. A tuxedoed human server set golden champagne and a selection of mist sticks in front of the new arrivals. The sticks glowed with colors indicating their potency: from red, which would generate hallucinations, to no color at all, which elicited a few minutes of pleasant warmth.
With the nonchalance of the practiced courtesan, she surveyed the walls and ceiling, which were covered with frescoes worthy of the grand ballrooms of Paris or old New York. On the crowded mezzanine, she spotted Bill and Martin, cleaned up, but dressed plainly. Micah Panang rested on the railing, beverage in hand. Molly inferred a pecking order: elites on the main floor, middle classes on the mezzanine.
A large woman in a muted suit decorated with an intricate broach reached out to Gore. “ Kapitan, it is so good to see you again.” Her Delhi accent matched the caramel color of her skin.
Gore inclined his head in salute. “Mayor deMayer, I’m honored by your invitation. May I present Mrs. Molly Bain.”
“The president of the Cyprian Association. We’ve read about your work in the AFEZ. Pioneering, in many respects.”
Molly offered a friendly smile.
“An expert in artificial intelligence as well. A renaissance woman. What brings you to our city?”
“Mrs. Bain is my guest,” Gore said. “She was instrumental in getting my latest delivery to Run without serious problems.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Madame Mayor,” Molly said, extending her hand.
The mayor’s grip was confident, her gaze, measuring.
“Thank you for inviting me to your party,” Molly added.
“Party? What is she talking about, Kapitan?” The mayor grinned. “Of course, you’re not familiar with our government in Run, are you, Mrs. Bain?” A chime interrupted her conversation. “I’m being called to the council dais. Please excuse me.”
The mayor made her way toward the raised stage on one end of the rectangular hall. Eight of the nine places on the platform were occupied. The mayor took a seat at the empty high-backed chair in the center. As if on cue, the throng of three or four hundred guests took chairs at tables around the edge of the ballroom’s dance floor, now empty. The crowd on the mezzanine stilled.
Mayor deMayer banged a gavel. “The meeting of the Great Council of Run will now come to order. We have a blessedly short agenda this week, though a grave one. The clerk will call each item.”
An aged man stood at one end of the dais at a rostrum. “Madame mayor, honored council members, our only agenda item concerns the matter of Citizen Harunah.”
“Yes, of course. A grave matter indeed.”
The crowd shifted in its seats, uncomfortable.
“Let’s get it over with. Bring in the citizen.”
Two security robots dragged in a half-conscious man, his torn and dirty clothing saturated with dried blood. A few in the crowd averted their eyes as he was taken to the center of the dance floor. Gore’s eyes widened with anticipation. The bots forced the prisoner to face the mayor.
“Citizen Harunah, you stand accused of...” The mayor picked up a tablet and scanned it. “...of various crimes, all of which are in the public record. I won’t bore the council by reading them. You have been determined guilty by the gendarmerie. Do you have anything to say before sentence is passed?”
The prisoner moaned and his head lolled on his chest.
“If I may, madame mayor.” The receptionist with the pug nose spoke from his place on the dais. He was one of the nine councilors. “The accused is a resident of my ward. I have been asked to speak for him.”
“Very well. What can you say in his defense?”
“Well, madame mayor, that’s the problem. I was asked to speak up for him, but I can’t think of anything useful to say. I did want to place on the record my statement that I tried to speak up for him.”
“Very well said, councilor. You’re a credit to your ward and constituents.”
The other councilors agreed.
“I move and second that Citizen Harunah be dealt with, according to the law.” The mayor glanced down each arm of the dais. “Is there further discussion? No?” The mayor addressed the semi-conscious prisoner. “It is the sense of the Great Council that you deserve the maximum punishment for your crimes. I assume you have nothing further to add that will move the discussion forward. Therefore, you will be disposed of.”
The condemned prisoner’s mind cleared, and he screamed in a language Molly did not comprehend. Urine flowed down his leg, puddling on the floor.
The mayor put her mouth closer to her microphone to overcome the noise. “Security, execute.”
One of the bots deployed its staser and placed it at the back of the prisoner’s neck. Molly heard a click. The prisoner’s body stiffened, and slumped. The security bots lifted the lifeless man and carried him away. Within seconds, a cooking-pot-sized bot rushed onto the dance floor to clean up the dead man’s piss. The acrid smell overcame the perfume of flowers and artificial fragrances.
Gore bared his teeth. “Justice in Run is rough but dependable.”
The mayor clasped her hands in front of her. “If there is no further business, I’d like to adjourn the meeting.” DeMayor lifted her gavel and brought it down like a thunder clap. The orchestra leader lifted his baton, and the orchestra played a waltz. Couples twirled on the cleaned dance floor as if nothing had happened. Molly glanced up to the mezzanine. Bill, Martin, and Micah were gone.
The wildness of Run attracted Molly, despite the execution. It was the same feeling of opportunity that drew her to the Arctic Free Economic Zone after the Three Degrees North War. Run draped a veneer of legality over an obvious lawlessness, like the gun-toting marshals of Old West Arizona. People in the streets of Run remained trapped in dependency on the very thing that had destroyed them: oil. As in all human upheavals, some profited and thrived in the midst of disaster, Kapitan Gore among them. Molly believed all people had a choice: be a victim, or a victor.
Molly’s reverie was interrupted by a movement on the mezzanine. Bill waved at her and mouthed something. Molly scanned the com channels, but found nothing labeled “Bill Penn” or “William Penn.” Why doesn’t he use his com? He pointed at the door to the main floor. He showed up at the door’s scanner. The security bots prevented his entry.
“ Gregori, Bill Penn would like to speak with me. May he be allowed in?”
Gore peered at Bill. “I don’t see why I should.”
“Because you are a gentlem
an, sir.” An appeal to vanity always worked when Molly needed something from a man.
Gore wasn’t happy about it. “I’ve asked the mayor’s permission, and she’s consented.”
Molly rose from the table and met Bill at the door. The scanner glowed green and Bill walked through. He was as handsome as any on the main floor.
“Mol, I need to talk to you.”
“Let’s dance.” She took her ex-husband’s hand. “You remember how to waltz, don’t you?”
The couple glided around the floor with the others. Hesitant at first, Bill soon found his rhythm as Molly led.
“Someone is here to see you,” Bill said.
“Who?”
“You need to come with me.”
She wasn’t going to play guessing games. “I’m with Gore. He’ll want to know why.”
“Say you have business with me,” he said, a touch coldly.
“Business?”
“You know what I mean. Please, Molly.”
Bill was not interested in her services, that much was certain. She searched Bill’s entreating eyes for a clue as to what was going on. She left him in the middle of the dance floor. The other couples and triples swirled around him as she conferred with the master of Extinction. He assented.
Anxious to fulfill his promise to Raleigh, Bill directed Molly to the council chambers’ main door. He led her to a stairwell and they walked down two flights.
“Where are we going?” Molly said.
“It’s near.”
Bill hurried through a concrete tunnel, Molly trotting behind him in her fashionable shoes. Until the encounter at Pole Station, and now at this brutal, absurd party, he hardly imagined her in gaudy clothes. She’d adapted to a new life in which he didn’t belong. He pressed his ear to a steel door and opened it, taking Molly through. The room was large and lit with overhead lamps. Rivulets of condensation stained the concrete columns. Martin Scribb stood next to a seated man at a table loaded with unfamiliar equipment.
Martin brightened. “Molly, I’m so glad you decided to come.”
“What’s going on, Martin?”
“Molly, may I present Colonel Raleigh Penn.”
Carbon Run (Tales From A Warming Planet Book 2) Page 29