Friction

by R S Penney

Stroking his chin with thumb and forefinger, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Well, that means there's only one question left,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Just how big of a party are we talking here?”

  “You tell me, you're the star.”

  “I am not the star.”

  “Did you see that report, kid? You're the star.”

  Planting an elbow on the desk, Jack slapped a palm against his forehead. “I don't want to be the star,” he said, massaging away a slight throb. “I just want to go back to my nice quiet life of mortal danger and social isolation.”

  Crossing her arms, Jena slid her chair backward until it hit the ledge beneath the window. “If only we lived in a world where dreams come true,” she said with a shrug. “I guess you'll have to settle for fame and accolades.”

  Jack stood up.

  He turned away from her and walked across the room with his hands in his back pockets. “Yeah, I guess you're right,” he said, stopping near the door. “It's just my lot in life to suffer.”

  In his mind's eye, he saw her sitting on the edge of her seat, hunched over with her arms folded. “You think you have it bad,” she muttered. “I've got to bring in at least two more Keepers to make this team fully functional. Which means now that the major crisis is over, I get to go back to paperwork.”

  Jack grinned, a touch of heat in his cheeks. He bowed his head and let out a soft sigh. “Well if you don't mind my input,” he said, “I think I have an idea that will make your job easier.”

  “I think I know where this is going.”

  Anna took one last look at the little office that had been her home away from home for the past few years. Sunlight from the narrow rectangular window fell upon a wooden desk with a glass surface that she could use as an interface.

  Her blue swivel chair with a bright yellow flower on the cushion was turned askew. She'd had the thing fabricated so to give the room some colour, and now it would become property of the next occupant. There were only so many things you could take with you on a starship. Furniture was not one.

  Taking down that smuggling ring had earned her a commendation, and the fact that Marc had been supplying various dealers who peddled their guns on Earth sweetened the deal quite a bit. Jack had said that they had been looking for the source of all these incoming weapon; now she had found one.

  Anna stood by the wall with arms folded, dressed in sneakers, blue jeans and a tight black t-shirt. “Well, Lenai,” she said with a shrug. “Time to stop basking in nostalgia and get on with your life.”

  “You're basking?”

  The voice made her jump; Seth couldn't see through walls, so she was startled when Daython stepped into her office. Dressed in casual pants and a white short-sleeved shirt that he left untucked, he smiled down at the floor. “Sorry to scare you.”

  “It's fine,” he said. “What's up?”

  He looked up at her with a tight frown, wrinkles stretching across his forehead. “I came to say good-bye,” he explained. “I've just accepted an assignment off world, and I won't be here anymore.”

  “It's fine,” she said, stepping away from the wall. “To be honest with you, I'm in the same boat. I'm leaving for Earth in two days' time.”

  That frown of his turned into a look of stunned disbelief followed by a smile so bright it could have lit up the night sky. “That's wonderful!” he exclaimed. “I just joined the Diplomatic Core in New York!”

  Oh no.

  He shuffled over to her with hands clasped behind his back, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “I was thinking we'd have to part ways,” he added. “But that being the case, we can still see each other.”

  Pressing her lips into a thin line, Anna looked up to blink at him. “No, we can't,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm sorry, Daython; I'm sure you're a perfectly decent guy, but I don't think you and I are good for each other.”

  He looked shocked.

  A grin replaced his confused expression in less than half a second, and he bowed his head to her. “That's fine,” he replied with a little too much confidence. “It just means I'll have to work harder to change your mind.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I'm telling you I won't.”

  He turned away from her and sauntered back to the door, pausing just before he went through. “We'll see,” he said before vanishing into the hallway, leaving her to chew on her anger.

  Oh this is not going to go well.

  Slade stood on the dais with his back turned, facing the window that looked out on a field of stars. As usual, the man wore a thigh-length jacket – blue, this time – and let his long hair fall loose to his shoulder-blades. “Director Morane,” he said without turning. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  This meeting had been inevitable ever since her scheme to take down Breslan had been put in motion; still, Jena was not exactly looking forward to it. When you made a bold move, you often had to deal with the fallout.

  She wore a pair of black pants and a matching top under the long beige trenchcoat that she had owned for years. “You know, it's funny,” she said, stepping into the office. “I was just going through Breslan's personal history”

  Jena marched across the room with her head held high. “His record says he was born and raised on Palisa,” she went on. “I worked on Palisa for over a year, and I made a few contacts. Would it startle you to learn that the census data has no record of him?”

  Slade turned.

  The look in his dark eyes could have peeled the paint off a ship's hull, but he spoke with cold, calm clarity. “What precisely are you implying, Director?” Now she was going to have to tread carefully.

  Lifting her chin to squint at the man, Jena took a deep breath. “You two were close, weren't you?” she asked. “You must have noticed something about him, something that contradicted the official story.”

  “Cal was a private man,” Slade whispered. “We seldom spoke of his past.”

  “Well, that's odd.”

  “How so?”

  A white couch was positioned along the wall to her left, facing a glass table with a vase of red flowers. That would do nicely. “You'll have to forgive me,” she said, making her way over. “The story gets even murkier as you peel away the layers.”

  Jena sat down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, and folded her hands in her lap. “Breslan's record says that he completed his training on Alios,” she added. “He has a full transcript that even lists his instructors.”

  “Your point?”

  “I called some of those instructors,” she explained. “Many of them are retired and living out their golden years on the homeworld. Do you want to know what I discovered? Not one of them remembers Cal Breslan.”

  She had made some of those calls while still trying to come up with a plan, but the thing about retired Keepers was that they sometimes took a few days to get back to you. How nice would it have been to have more ammunition when actually confronting Breslan.

  Covering a yawn with the tips of her fingers, Jena let out a moan. “Goodness,” she said, sitting back against the couch cushions. “Staying up all night to research? Not as fun as it sounds.”

  Slade frowned at her.

  “Now where was I?” she mumbled. “Oh yeah. In his early career, Breslan received a few commendations from senior officers who conveniently happen to be dead, and his most recent promotion came from one Grecken Slade.”

  The man faced her with perfect composure, his face a porcelain mask. “Are you trying to implicate me, Director?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Do you believe that I knowingly promoted a fraud?”

  “I gave Breslan's corpse to the RCMP,” Jena said. “The bullet that killed the security officer at the banquet hall? It matches his gun.”

  She stood up, shuffling across the room with hands shoved into her coat pockets. “We let a murderer into our organization, Slade.” Those words made her taste bile. “That makes us responsible for murder.”

  When she turned, Slade was backed up a
gainst the window, facing her like a caged animal ready to pounce. “This matter is of grave urgency,” he said. “You can rest assured that I have already launched a formal inquiry.”

  “You don't need to do that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Jena crossed her arms and climbed the steps to the dais with her head down. “The senior directors will be launching an inquiry of their own,” she said, looking up at him. “An inquiry to investigate your association with Cal Breslan. You will be relieved of duty for the duration.”

  If the man was shaken in any way, he gave no sign of it. “Very well,” he said. “I will expect your summons to appear before the tribunal.”

  Jena turned to go.

  The sense of triumph she felt lasted the entire five seconds it took her to get to the door. Just before she left, Slade called out, “Director?”

  She turned to find him standing behind the desk with hands folded over his waist, studying her with that cool, calculating gaze. “I am not the only one being watched,” he said. “Do keep that in mind.”

  Chapter 30

  A long hallway stretched on for what seemed like half a mile, curving slightly in the distance, and bright lights shone down on the polished floor. Double doors at even intervals were all shut tight.

  Jack walked through the lower decks of the station in gray jeans and a black polo shirt that he left untucked. Lost in thought, he pondered the words he had used to push Leo over the edge. They gave Pennfield a symbiont, he thought to himself. But you got Amps because you're cannon fodder.

  Leo's reaction had all but confirmed that he and Pennfield were working for the same people. That left him with a sick feeling in his belly. A traitor among the Keepers, two ruthless sociopaths with symbionts when Nassai only chose the best and brightest and a terrorist. Whatever was going on here, it was bigger than he'd imagined.

  He stopped at section J-13.

  Two doors on his left slid apart to reveal a large box-like room with black floor tiles and a SlipGate standing tall and ominous with thin grooves on its surface. A console just inside the door would operate the thing.

  Jack stepped inside.

  He pressed a palm to the console's touchscreen surface, allowing the biometric scanner to read his handprint. “Justice Keeper access confirmed,” a voice said in a thick Leyrian accent. “Please enter password.”

  Each month, that password changed to some other combination of random letters and numbers. Today, it was xg27Q49#. Two-step identification was required to access the SlipGate controls.

  He brought up a menu, enlarging the window by spreading his hands apart. Right now, the Gate was inactive, unable to receive incoming travelers. That was a security measure to prevent anyone from coming aboard. He tapped a setting to open the Gate, and received another request for his password.

  Jack frowned down at the console, shaking his head. “Worthless piece of crap,” he said before hailing a nearby starship. “Passenger ship Nazako, this is Station Twelve. We are ready to go.”

  “Confirmed, Station Twelve.”

  The Gate remained still and silent for a few moments, light reflecting off its metal surface. Thin grooves along its surface lit up with bright white light, and a soft whirring noise filled the air.

  A bubble appeared from out of nowhere.

  The person inside was a blur, her body twisted by refracted light, but Jack could already tell that she was carrying a large duffel bag. Or something like that. It really was hard to see through that shimmering curtain.

  The bubble popped.

  Anna stood in front of the Gate in gray pants and a blue short-sleeved blouse, the strap of her bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was redder than he remembered, done up in its customary ponytail.

  She looked up to inspect her surroundings, then blinked when she noticed him. Half a moment later, the biggest smile he'd ever seen blossomed on her face. “Hey!” she said, rushing forward.

  Jack stepped out from behind the console.

  She slammed into him like a freight train gone off the rails, hugging him so hard he grunted in surprise. “Companion, I've missed you!” she exclaimed. “But I told you I'd be back one day!”

  Jack rested his chin atop her head.

  He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. “I've missed you too,” he said, holding her tight. “And I never doubted you. Once you experience the smog and the junk food, other planets just don't stack up.”

  “Believe it or not, I have missed this place.”

  “Well, you know,” Jack muttered, “it's a popular tourist attraction. We even put a great big sign just out beyond the Oort Cloud. 'Now entering the Sol System: come for the religious extremism, stay for the abject poverty.”

  “So tell me everything.”

  He turned to walk side by side with her, one hand resting on Anna's back as he led her to the door. “Well, Harry's daughters just came back from Alberta – long story – but the oldest one has a boyfriend, and he's trying not to become a sitcom dad.”

  “Right.”

  “Jena is currently applying to do scholarly research on the use of paperwork as an advanced interrogation technique.”

  “Of course.”

  “Read the abstract before you judge,” he said, gesticulating with a roll of the wrist. “They say it shaves off a few intelligence points and actually makes you more susceptible to suggestion.”

  Slade kept his quarters dark when he felt like meditating, allowing only the natural light of the stars to come in through the windows behind his red sofa. With the station oriented so that Earth was not visible, he had very little illumination indeed.

  He stood in his living room in black pants and a long green jacket with gold trim along the hem, his dark hair left to hang loose over his shoulders. So much frustration brought on by one woman.

  He wanted to scream.

  A small, cylindrical device sat in the middle of the gray carpet with soft starlight glinting off its metal surface. That would enable him to speak in real time with someone lightyears away. It was essentially a miniaturized version of a SlipGate, incapable of transporting a passenger, but able to send communications through to other Gates in the network. He would have preferred to avoid using it – anyone who happened to be looking would detect a new Gate on the network – but with his movements restricted to Station One, taking a shuttle out was not an option.

  Closing his eyes, Slade turned his face up to the ceiling. He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Multi-tool active,” he said. “Interface with communications device and place a call to Isara.”

  His tool chirped in response.

  A moment later, the hologram of a woman in a long dark cloak with the hood pulled up appeared in the middle of his living room. She was wraithlike and ethereal: a spectre that floated over the surface of his coffee table. “So, the mighty have fallen.”

  He felt his mouth tighten but nodded just the same. “I have experienced a minor setback,” he said, moving away from the hologram. “You should be proud. Jena Morane is more tenacious than any other Keeper I've met.”

  The woman folded her arms, standing with her head bowed so that he could only see the top of the hood. “You've jeopardized our operations,” she said. “Years of planning put in jeopardy by your incompetence.”

  Tilting his head back, Slade blinked as he considered that. “I disagree,” he muttered in response. “We knew it was only a matter of time before my actions drew the attention of the Justice Keepers.”

  “Our best estimates said that would not happen for several more years.” Holding his frustration in check took some effort; Isara was a persistent woman, but it was not a desire for recognition or praise that drove her. The Inzari chose their servants well. Men and women who fell prey to the vices of vanity or ambition were not suitable. Such fools had their place, but it was not one of leadership. Only those who truly believed deserved to look upon the face of God.

  Isara was young enough and fo
olish enough to believe that all of their efforts would come to naught in the absence of her intervention. Slade forgave her insulting demeanour for precisely that reason.

  He turned away from her, marching to the set of double doors that would lead out to the hallway. The holographic scanner in his multi-tool would project an image of him just the same; she would still be able to see his face. “The Inzari remain pleased with my progress,” he said. “Their judgment should be good enough for you.”

  “And the Key?”

  “Will be found in due time.”

  Slade clasped his chin in one hand, stroking his jawline as he stared at the wall. “It is only a matter of patience,” he said. “What little remains of the Inzari's tenure on this benighted little world will eventually surface.”

  “I warned you not to involve yourself with Leo.”

  “That was Wesley's project.”

  “Yes…” The hologram spoke with a voice that came out of his multi-tool. It was a tad disorienting. “But using your man to assist his scheme has cost us dearly. It took us years to position Breslan among the Justice Keepers.”

  Slade turned back to her.

  Isara stood with hands folded over her stomach, refusing to look at him. Unlike Pennfield, who meddled in his affairs because he thought Earth was rightfully his domain, Isara stuck her nose in where it didn't belong out of a need to control every last aspect of their work.

  Granted, Earth was the focal point of their activities for the moment, but the woman might need a reminder of her place in all this. An honoured place, but one subordinate to him. He was the first of his kind, the first human to be elevated by the Inzari. Pennfield, Isara and the rest had all come to their masters through him. Of course, they had not been known by those names when he brought them into the fold. Even Grecken Slade was just the latest in a long line of identities that he had claimed.

  “You have projects of your own,” he reminded her. “The situation on Leyria will require your attention. I suggest you focus your efforts there and leave me to complete my tasks as I see fit.”

  “Then why have you bothered calling me?”