The Remnant Vault (Tombs Rising Book 2)

by Robert Scott-Norton

*

  Booth blinked.

  And then the lab looked like it always did. Clean gleaming white walls. Shelves with crates and laboratory equipment. The lighting from above came through transparent tiles that broke up the otherwise blue ceiling. He patted his lab coat and checked for his pen. He normally kept one in his pocket. The tang of cleaning fluid caught the back of his throat and he swallowed, wishing he’d brought a drink from the breakout area with him.

  “Hey, you OK?” A man appeared through the glass doorway. “Thought you’d appreciate this. It’s meant to be good stuff but I’ll believe that when I taste it.”

  Booth took the drink and put it on the edge of his desk. “What’s up?”

  Geoff held his hands up placating, “Nothing. I just heard you misfired this morning.”

  This was troubling. Booth rubbed his chin, playing with the slight stubble that meant he’d forgotten to shave again that morning. “You’re joking.”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “What happened?” Booth asked, trying to remember how he’d got to work that day, but the more he tried to focus on the details, the more they slipped away.

  “I don’t know much. Doctor Phillips had to take care of you.” He leant forward and spoke in a hushed tone. “I reckon they were on the verge of calling the adjusters back.”

  “Shit,” said Booth, sipping at the coffee. Geoff had been right, it was good stuff. He wondered whether they’d been keeping it aside for moments like this. “Tell me about it.”

  “Not much to say. You didn’t re-engage when you crossed the threshold. Needed a shot to bring you up to speed.”

  This wasn’t good. It was evaluation time soon. Conditioning was a part of that evaluation. He couldn’t afford to fail. Helen depended on this income. He wasn’t prepared to lose it. This hadn’t happened to him before. Actually, thinking about it now, he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened in their lab. Geoff was fairly new at this and he never seemed to have any issues with working here. Geoff didn’t have any family to think about. No one to worry should the money suddenly stop coming in. Booth realised how little he liked this friend of his.

  “I suppose we better get this lot finished or we’re going to be here all night,” Booth said, gesturing at the racks of sealed crates behind them. There were still three crates from yesterday. Another wheeled cage waited with today’s cases; another twelve racks, each with about twenty specimens to verify, adapt, then store in new cases. “Phillips won’t let us go until it’s done.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Geoff sat at his own side of the bench.

  “Tell me. Do you ever question why we do this?”

  A pause. It wasn’t the question Geoff was expecting. “We do it because we get paid well.”

  Booth pictured Helen and Charlie, shook his head, got to his feet, and then pulled one of yesterday’s batch from the rack and placed it in front of him.

  “I could get them to put some music on,” Geoff said after a while.

  Booth stared at him. This stranger that claimed to be his friend.

  “I’d prefer the quiet.”

  From the other side of the room, Booth collected a second tray for himself, before collecting a second for Geoff. On the trays, a series of wooden boxes about six inches square with carvings adorning the surface and sides. A dark wood. The wood of the tree of the dead. Geoff acknowledged Booth with a thanks then gave his full attention back to the job in hand.

  Booth pulled out the datapad from the end of his workbench and activated it, pulling up the day’s listings. As he thought, the expectation was that they’d catch up on yesterday’s then still manage a full day’s work. He tapped the large Begin button that had started flashing on the datapad then carefully opened the case from the rack. Within, a series of compartments, each sealed with its own plastic lid, about thirty compartments in total. He scanned the label on the first compartment before delicately flicking open the lid.

  Inside, a pair of human eyes stared up at him.

  2:52 PM

  Edward stood at one end of the perspective table in the operations room looking across at his team. Phil and Steve were leaning on the table, their gaze lowered to the floor. It looked like they would need to sit down soon. Alice was already sitting down. She was crying openly and noiselessly, wiping at the tears down her face on the back of her sleeve. Chloe, as ever stood by his side, holding her arms tight in front of her. No one had said a word since Edward had broken the news.

  “I don’t want this to become a rock around anyone’s neck. Moira wouldn’t have wanted us to—”

  “—do you think she killed herself?” Phil asked. The man was not known for his subtlety. The question provoked a fresh round of tears from Alice who chose that moment to get a bottle of water from the machine across the operations room.

  “I don’t know,” Edward replied. “How did she seem today? Who saw her?”

  “We all did,” Phil replied. “She seemed stressed about something, but her mum’s ill. She’s the only one looking after her. I mean, she was the only one looking after her.”

  “I thought she looked OK,” Steve offered.

  “Insightful,” Chloe said.

  “Hey, back off. I’m as shocked by this as you.” He stood up and scratched the back of his neck.

  “You couldn’t stand her. Let’s not pretend.”

  Edward rested a hand on Chloe’s arm. “Cool it,” he said calmly. “We’re not going there. This isn’t about who liked who.”

  “Jesus, he’ll be going home tonight and cracking open a beer, celebrating one less teep in the world.”

  Steve shook his head. “She might have been a teep, but she was OK as far as I was concerned.”

  “As long as she knew her place.”

  Edward smashed his hands on the perspective table. “Everyone can just shut up now, or they can come to my office later and I’ll arrange for them to be transferred to Traffic. Anyone want that?” He looked at the others.

  Phil caught his gaze but quickly let his eyes rest back at the table. Alice took a sip from her water and kept looking straight ahead, not making eye contact with any of the team. Chloe shifted on the spot, ran her hand through her hair and took a deep intake of air. And Steve, like the professional bigot he was, held his head high and didn’t break eye contact with Edward. On at least three occasions now, Edward had fought to get him transferred, but the department needed his skills, and he hated to admit it, also his dislike for telepaths. It kept the rest of them on their guard and when dealing with rogues you needed to keep your wits about you.

  After a moment, Edward pulled up the scene of accident report onto the perspective table. Light formed a miniature street on the surface. Edges formed, buildings took shape and finally traffic and people melted into existence.

  “When was this taken?” Chloe asked, bending to get a better look.

  “A security drone was on a patrol lap around the street. This was from its last pass before Moira got there. She was still in the police station at this time.” He swiped the edge of the control panel and the image reformed, the same but different. Now, there was a bus in the middle of the street, an ill-formed figure lying prone on the floor in front of it. “This from the same drone, ten minutes later.” He zoomed in on the image and details filled in. He could see the individual faces of the people on the bus; saw the bus driver in his uniform leaning against the side of his vehicle, head resting on his arm, looking at the tarmac. Passers-by had gathered around her, but Moira was already dead at this point. The paramedics had said she’d have died as soon as the bus struck. She didn't stand a chance.

  “Have we got any images of the crowd?” Steve said, from his side of the perspective table.

  Edward nodded. “The AI is going through the footage now. We should have a list of people to contact. Some have already given their names to the officers on scene. What statements we have all say the same thing. No one noticed her until she stepped in front of the bus.”

>   “Was she trying to flag it down?” Alice suggested. Edward was relieved that she looked more composed now. Nothing worse than an inconsolable woman.

  “Not according to the statements. She calmly turned as if crossing the road, then stared at the bus, waiting for it to get close enough. She wasn’t trying to catch it.”

  “Jesus,” Chloe said, frowning, “has anyone contacted Sadie yet? Or her mum?”

  “I thought you and Alice could tackle that. Take a family liaison officer if you can find one. If not, go anyway, and do it within the next hour. The last thing they need it to find out from watching the news.”

  The doors hissed open behind him and they turned to watch the station head walk up to them. DCI Meadows nodded as she approached, raising a hand as if to say don’t worry about me, but Edward had finished anyway. “Yes Ma'am?”

  Realising that perhaps, she had caught the tail end of the meeting, she coughed gently then resting her hands in front of her, she addressed the team. “I wanted to come down and say how sorry I am that you’ve lost a member of the team. Moira was a wonderful lady, warm, friendly, good at her job, but most importantly everyone’s friend. I’d understand if any of you wanted to take the rest of the day off.”

  No one said a word.

  Meadows nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “You’re a good team. We’ve lost a member of the family, but don’t let it impede your work. She wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  Edward caught Chloe rolling her eyes and wondered how much longer Meadows would survive in the department if she continued to talk like that in front of them.

  “Ma'am, if we could talk outside,” Edward suggested, heading for the door.

  Meadows smiled at the team, then followed Edward out into the corridor. The doors closed behind them.

  “Thanks for coming down. I’m sure they appreciated it.”

  “No problem. It’s terrible when we lose someone. Even when they’re on attachment like Moira, it’s still a shock.” Edward wondered how much of her sentiment in the operations room had been genuine. The chief’s disdain towards working with OsMiTech was well known. She didn’t believe that you needed a telepath to catch a telepath. Old-fashioned police work was one of her favourite topics, and she considered having a teep on the team almost as bad as using informants. Steve and Meadows were definitely cut from the same cloth.

  “I’m sending Chloe and Alice out to speak to her family. Do we still have a family liaison officer or did they go with the last cutbacks?”

  “What do you think?” Meadows said with a grim smile.

  “Oh, well. Must have missed the memo on that one.”

  “Why send your team out? Get some uniforms sent out.”

  “But she was one of ours. I wanted someone that at least knew her to talk to her family.”

  Meadows frowned. “This isn’t your case, Edward. What happened was a tragedy, not a crime. You have enough unresolved cases as it is. After the district meeting, we’re going to find ourselves under more pressure to improve.”

  Edward clenched his fists and let the fingernails bite into the warm flesh of his palm. The woman was obsessed with targets and budget. It would help him more if she paid attention to the people in these departments. It wasn’t just the Telepath Crime Unit suffering under these austerity measures, but they were taking the brunt of it. He’d asked for more resources last year after the Griffen case, but what had actually happened was he’d ended up losing one of his team to the murder squad, and their overtime rates had risen ten percent.

  “OK,” Edward said, “we’ll get back on it. But, I need a replacement teep.”

  “Little callous?”

  “No. You want me to catch more rogues, I’m going to need another telepath. That’s how this department operates. Are you going to get onto OsMiTech or shall I?”

  She glared daggers. “I’ll go through the correct channels, but it might take weeks before they assign someone. Make do until then.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone.”

  “Joanne,” he said coldly. “I’m not messing about this. You get this sorted today or I will take matters into my own hands. And you know what I’m talking about.”

  He left her there, visibly shaking in the corridor, as he turned around and headed back into the operations room to help his team.

  8:21 PM

  The rest of the morning had gone without incident. Despite their best efforts, they hadn’t quite got through the backlog but it was close enough for Phillips to appear pleased with them. At least she hadn’t requested they stay and complete it all.

  He stood once again outside the green door, looking out into the street, and felt the haze spreading across his mind. Every day was the same but it surprised him how quickly he’d got used to this. A disconnect between his working life and his home life; the Booth he was when working in the white lab coat cataloguing eyes, and the Booth back on the street. He knew the lab coat Booth wouldn’t be here for long. The memories of his work would fade as he walked away from the door and towards home, almost totally gone by the end of the road.

  With a sigh, he began the walk to the bus stop. The evening air was cool and he pulled up his jacket, trying to sink into the material. The streets once busy with workers and shoppers, were quiet. Above, the distant hum of a drone as it circled the area, lights flashing on its surface. He resisted the temptation to wave.

  He wasn’t allowed a HALO at work so never brought it in with him. As it was, he’d have quite liked the opportunity to call Helen and let her know he was running late.

  The conversation with Geoff had unsettled him a little. He knew that there would always be people that did his kind of work. It wasn’t as if they were grave robbers; they hadn’t caused these people to die. It’s just that you’d have to be a fool not to realise that the public hadn’t exactly embraced the remnant keepers. They’d barely come to terms with telepaths living alongside them, and for most people, that was still a little too uncomfortable. Yeah, there were the constant education campaigns and schools were now taught about telepath equality in schools but how much of an impact was that having? How long before the telepaths turned around and said, “You know what, we’re not equals. We’re superior.” And it would happen soon. OsMiTech was the place to be concerned about. It unsettled Booth to think about how many telepaths congregated in their headquarters and the buildings just like it around the country. Tolerance for now, what comes later would be anyone’s guess.

  The headache was growing more intense. He saw the Wellington on the corner. An old pub, given multiple lives by the owners that had taken it on and passed it along, but behind its peeling window frames and opaque windows, was a place he’d feel welcome and relaxed. Helen might be worried, but she might have to stay worried a while longer. He’d be prepared to kill anyone standing in the way of his pint tonight.

  Brushing past a man on his way out of the pub, he apologised and stepped over the threshold into another world. Black beams crisscrossed the ceiling with the spaces between covered with a dark red tile. The bar was noisy with people waiting to be served. Two bartenders were on; but despite all the times he’d come in here, he couldn’t think what their names were. Behind them, the mirrored wall reflected the coloured bottles and dappled the bar with jewels of light. Low lights hanging from chains kept the shadows in the corners of the room alive.

  A news feed scrolled up the far wall to his left showing sports results. He ignored it, hung his coat on a peg and headed for his favourite corner of the bar where he waited patiently to be served. It was a good spot that afforded him a view of most of the pub, from the fireplace seating area on the far right, to the toilets behind the low tables where already the daily regulars had secreted themselves, putting the world to rights over a pint.

  A tap on the shoulder made him turn. An Indian lady in a blue dress smiled at him. “Excuse me. I don’t suppose I could scrounge a spare cig tab.”

  �
��No, sorry,” he replied, smiling at the young woman with midnight brown hair that kissed her shoulders.

  “No problem, I should probably give them up. There are all those stories now about them being bad for you. Still, I guess if you listened to all the advice that’s thrown at you, you’d never leave your house.”

  Eventually, the landlord came over, an old gent still one for dressing in a shirt and tie whilst serving.

  “Pint of bitter, please and whatever the lady wants,” Booth said, nodding at the newcomer.

  If she was surprised, she hid it well. “Thanks, I’ll take a white wine, please.”

  “Denbies or Bordeaux?”

  Booth hoped she’d say the former, surprised by the Wellington having anything foreign at all, and slightly regretting his impulsive behaviour.

  “Denbies would be great,” she replied, then she looked Booth in the eye, “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  He twisted on his stool to watch the sports news fly up the screen. The broadcasters were reporting at a race course, where the weather looked grey. The news feed kept referring to a death in the city centre earlier; a telepath.

  The drinks arrived and he paid with his credit chit and took a sip. The Wellington might not have the nicest surroundings, but it served an excellent bitter.

  “Cheers,” the woman with the perfect smile offered, holding her drink aloft.

  He raised his, “Cheers.”

  And that was where he thought the conversation would end. He’d bought the pretty woman a drink, shown that he could do so without crossing any kind of line, and had settled in to enjoy his pint.

  But his new companion had other ideas.

  “Shocking isn’t it? That poor teep. Said she threw herself under a bus. Worked for the police.”

  “I haven’t been watching the news. Been at work all day.”

  “Ah, what is it you do?”

  Something switched in his head. Ideas shifted quickly around his consciousness, fog lifting up and over, shrouding thoughts, revealing others.