Children of a Dead Earth Book One

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  The match had been cancelled, obviously, and Benson picked out several players from both the Mustangs and the Yuoguai floating about, trying to help what was left of Shangri-La’s constables keep order.

  Someone in the crowd spotted Benson and pointed.

  “That’s him!” she shouted. “That’s Bryan Benson, he’s still alive!”

  Every head in the corridor turned and shot daggers right at him. If looks could kill, Benson would have been lit on fire.

  one of his constables asked tentatively.

  The crowd floated menacingly close to his team.

  “Sorry, chief,” Hernandez said from behind him. “But you’re the threat.”

  Benson turned his head around only to see all three of the men he’d just led to safety pointing their stun-sticks at his head.

  He threw out his hands to calm down the brewing situation. “Whoa, everybody, what’s the deal?”

  “Orders just came in through our plants. You’ve been suspended by the Council. We were just sent the warrant for your arrest.”

  “On what fucking charge?”

  “Aiding and abetting the terrorist David Kimura.”

  Benson didn’t bother to hide his rage at the betrayal. “You’d all be bright blue right now if not for me!”

  Hernandez shrugged. “And maybe a lot of other people wouldn’t be. Now, are you going to comply, or do you intend to resist?”

  Benson felt his leg and arm muscles tensing involuntarily. His lower brain was itching for a fight, but he forced himself to remain calm and assess. Hernandez had already floated too close in a sophomoric attempt to intimidate. Benson could get a hand on the overconfident young man and break his arm before he could hope to react. Worse, he was stupidly blocking a clean shot line for his partner behind him.

  But that still left one stun-stick pointing at him, along with several hundred refugees who had also heard the news already. And who told them that, I wonder?

  He could probably take out Hernandez, could probably get a shot off at Flowers before she hit him, and could probably stay behind Hernandez long enough to hit the last man before he could get a decent angle. Aside from the other Zero players in the tube, nobody had his hours flying in micro, and few had his size and strength. He could probably stun thirty or forty refugees before they overwhelmed him, maybe even enough to get them to back off.

  But even if everything went right, there was nowhere to go. Command was surely monitoring and would lock down the exits at the first hint of trouble. Then he’d just be the guy who attacked his own people while resisting arrest.

  Benson was no lawyer, but he suspected that wouldn’t look good at trial.

  All of those thoughts passed between his ears in less than two seconds. By then, two of the late Chief Bahadur’s people had floated in behind him and trained their stun-sticks on his back, cutting off any chance of even short term victory.

  Growling like a cornered bear, Benson flicked his stick at Hernandez’s face hard enough to make him flinch, then put his hands on his head.

  * * *

  Like hunters returning from safari, Benson’s captors paraded him down the boulevard on the way to formal booking at the stationhouse. Word spread fast as hundreds, if not thousands, of people lined the street to jeer and harass Benson as he sulked by in humiliation. Soon, the assembled rabble grew bolder, throwing the traditional lettuce and occasional tomato.

  Some of them had good arms.

  “Ow!” Benson said as a tuber struck him in the calf. “That was a potato!”

  “Quiet,” Hernandez said.

  “I’m a suspect under your protection, constable. You’re not doing much protecting.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t turn you over to them right here.”

  “Forgetting your oaths now? You’re sure not doing anything to enforce the Codes. I’ve never seen so much food wasted.”

  Hernandez shoved him, hard enough that Benson had to take two big steps to keep from stumbling. The crowd roared in approval.

  “Well, we have twenty thousand fewer mouths to feed, don’t we, chief? Another word out of you and I’ll stun your ass and drag you the rest of the way by your feet, face down. Now, walk.”

  Benson strained against the plastic cuffs zipped too tightly against his wrists, itching for the chance to even up with the hothead, but this wasn’t the time. Instead, he locked eyes straight ahead and did his best to dodge the occasional ballistic onion until they reached the end of the path.

  The inside of the stationhouse offered a measure of calm compared to the mob outside, at least. But the price was seeing the angry, devastated faces of the men and women he’d led for the last five years. Theresa sat at the duty officer’s desk, weeping softly into her hands. He frowned sympathetically at her as he was roughly led past. She didn’t look up.

  Hernandez shoved Benson into his office, where a familiar face sat behind his desk.

  Chao Feng looked up and nodded to Hernandez. “Wait outside.”

  Hernandez obeyed and shut the door behind him.

  “Feng,” Benson muttered. “You’re in my chair.”

  “Not anymore. Sit, detective.” Feng motioned for the guest chair behind him. Benson caught a glimpse of an evidence bag in Feng’s lap as he sat down, but he couldn’t see what was in it.

  “Should I be surprised you’re behind this little witch-hunt? Because I’m not.”

  “Witch-hunt?” Feng snorted. “That’s an ironic charge, coming from you, detective.”

  “We don’t have time for your vendetta, commander.”

  “Vendetta?” Feng leapt up from the chair and punched Benson in the gut as hard as he could, which admittedly, wasn’t very hard. Benson anticipated the blow and tensed his abs. When he failed to double over, Feng stepped back, rubbing his wrist.

  “So you brought me down here to work me over a little, is that it? You might want to bring Hernandez back in here. At least he can throw a punch.”

  “This is funny to you? Two-fifths of the human race is dead. Including my wife, you bastard!” The fury returned to Feng’s face, fueled by the anguish of another fresh loss. The admission hit Benson harder than Feng’s fists ever could have.

  “What about your boy? Is he safe?”

  “Why do you care, butcher? You had Edmond killed, too, then set me up. Don’t deny it!”

  “I do deny it, categorically,” Benson said flatly.

  “Oh really? Then explain this.” Feng reached back and grabbed the small evidence bag from the floor where it had fallen, then held it up to Benson’s face. Through the clear plastic, Benson saw a crumpled slip of paper that had been smoothed out, with a handwritten note on it.

  Benson’s heart sank as he recognized it:

  * * *

  Detective Benson,

  * * *

  I apologize for our hasty departure, but my people voted to go into deeper hiding. We are aware the habitats will be stopped and are taking precautions. Our arrangement is still in place. We will be in touch soon.

  * * *

  Sincerely,

  * * *

  David Kimura

  * * *

  “We found this down in the sub-basement not long after the power failure. I wanted to have you arrested right then, but the Council disagreed. They chose to put you under surveillance instead. I couldn’t believe it. It was bad enough you and your little harlot had spent almost every night of the last week contaminating a crime scene, but this?” He shook the letter furiously. “You’re a disgrace, even to your own sullied name!”

  Benson locked eyes with Feng. “Chao, I know how this must look, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Save it for the jury. I just want to know where he is. What’s his plan?”

  Benson shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit. We sent men down to the lake in Avalon and found the same
stolen mining explosives that caused the breach in Shangri-La. But we got there before the terrorists finished rigging them up. Guess where that was? Less than a hundred yards past the point where you called off the search. You knew they were making preparations and stopped the search to protect them.”

  “That’s absurd!” Benson shouted.

  “Is it really?” Feng slammed his hands down on the desk. “You led Chief Bahadur’s people into an ambush, knowing they’d be blown to hell, while you were safely several clicks away. You even had an escape route planned out.”

  “You think that was a plan? Vikram was my friend, Feng. And we almost died too. The only reason we got out was the maintenance hatch code you gave me.”

  Feng ignored him. “Less than a thousand people got out in time, but here you are. You didn’t even bother to save anyone but yourself.”

  “Don’t you think I wanted to? There wasn’t any way. Don’t you see? Kimura lied to me. He set me up. I know it looks bad, but everything you have is just circumstantial.”

  Feng shook his head. “Bravo, detective, you’re a hell of an actor. I might almost believe it if you hadn’t tried the same thing on me.”

  Benson tried to deflect Feng’s growing anger. “Look, I’m sorry. I was wrong about you and Edmond. Totally wrong. But you have to see it from my perspective. You were acting very suspiciously. I understand why, now, but none of that would have happened if you’d just been honest with me from the start. I’m being honest with you now. Kimura used me. We have to stop him.”

  “We will. Without your ‘help’. I don’t know what caused you to turn on your own people, but I’m giving you one chance at some sliver of redemption. Where is Kimura?”

  Benson recognized a lost cause when he saw one. Slowly, he stood up from the guest chair and looked down at Feng.

  “I invoke my right to remain silent. I’m formally requesting legal counsel to be appointed to represent my interests in this case.”

  Feng leaned back in Benson’s chair. “You’re really not going to give him up?”

  “I can’t give you what I don’t have, Chao.”

  “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Constable!” The door opened and Hernandez reappeared. “The prisoner has decided not to comply. Please escort him to his apartment, where he is to remain under house arrest until he is arraigned for trial.”

  Hernandez grabbed Benson by the upper arm and dragged him for the door, but Benson twisted sharply out of his grip and shoved him back with a chest bump.

  “I know the way, constable.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  His apartment was a little more… Spartan than he’d left it, yet somehow quite a bit messier. Men had swept through to prepare it for his house arrest, and they hadn’t come with an eye for cleanliness.

  Benson spent the first hour of his confinement just tidying up, trying to push the echoes of the people lost in Shangri-La out of his head. That task completed, he sat down to watch a movie, a documentary, anything to occupy his mind. But he found all of his permissions had been blocked.

  The only thing they’d left him access to on his display screen was the news channel, which, needless to say, was providing 24/7 coverage of the aftermath of the disaster, updated casualty lists, harrowing interviews from the handful of people who had managed to survive, and the endless speculation surrounding Kimura’s fate.

  Did he and his followers die in the explosion and decompression with the rest of Shangri-La? Did he escape? Was he plotting another attack? Why hadn’t he made any demands? How had he faked his death and stayed in hiding for so long? Why had the people’s champion turned mass murderer? And of course, the question on everyone’s lips, why wasn’t former Chief Benson being tortured for information about his “co-conspirator”?

  It seemed the court of public opinion hadn’t heard that his trial hadn’t actually taken place yet. Still, he could hardly blame them. The circumstantial evidence connecting him was damning, and his family’s… notoriety sealed the deal for most everyone else. He had to admit, if it had been someone else, he’d have probably been first in line to throw the switch that opened the lock.

  After a few hours, not even Benson’s guilt for all of the lives lost on his watch could make him continue wallowing in the self-abuse. He shut the display off and looked in his small refrigerator for the dozenth time, hoping a case of sake had magically appeared so he could numb out the next few hours in peace. His wish hadn’t been granted.

  Benson’s ears perked up at the sound of commotion coming from outside his front door. Probably more protestors come to harass the guards. A small part of him wished the guards would let them in and be done with it. Still, better see what was stirring, just in case.

  He shuffled over and keyed for the hallway camera. No point trying to open the door, it was locked from the outside. A small image appeared on the door itself where a peephole would traditionally be. But instead of another mini-mob of angry citizens bent on vengeance, all Benson saw outside his door were his two guards, and a tiny woman, holding a book almost as big as she was.

  “Devorah?” His heart raced. He’d never thought to check the casualty list for her name because she was always in the museum. He reached up and keyed for audio, which streamed in through the imbedded sound system.

  “I already told you, ma’am, he’s not to have any visitors.” It was Hernandez, Benson was sure from the voice. Little shit probably volunteered for a shift watching over his former boss.

  Devorah stamped a tiny pointed shoe. “That’s baloney, young man, malarkey even. I’ve probably interviewed and interrogated more people in my day than you’ve ever arrested. I know the rules about house arrest, and he’s allowed one visitor at a time between 15.00 and 17.00. And unless my plant’s clock is broken, it’s just after 16.00 right now. So unless he’s entertaining some fan, you’re going to let me through.”

  “Ma’am, this is a special case, Commander Feng’s orders.”

  “Oh, you’re a crewmember now, son?”

  “Well, no…” Hernandez looked around, suddenly on uneven footing.

  “No, you’re a civilian constable, who takes his orders from his civilian superiors, who take their orders from the Codes. Do I need to recite the code in question to you?”

  Benson almost felt bad for him. Almost. He knew how hot Devorah could get. Her self-righteousness generated its own electromagnetic field if you got her spun up enough.

  “Now are you going to let me through, or do I have to call up Acting-Chief Swenson to straighten this out?”

  Even though Benson could only see the back of Hernandez’s head, he knew the expression he had to be wearing. The two guards took a moment to converse, and apparently decided it was just easier to step out of the way of a speeding train than to try to stop it, even if it was only a hundred and sixty centimeters tall.

  “We’ll have to search you for contraband, ma’am,” the other guard said earnestly.

  Devorah set down the book and held out her arms. “Be my guest. It’ll be the most action I’ve seen since college.”

  The guards blushed as they performed the quickest, most perfunctory pat down Benson had ever seen. It was the first time he’d laughed in days.

  “And the book,” Hernandez said.

  “What, this?” Devorah leaned down and opened the cover, then flipped through a handful of pages. “Not much you can hide between the pages, boys. Besides, it’s the stuff inside a book that’s really dangerous.”

  Hernandez let out a sigh and waved her in. “Fine. Ten minutes. Then you’re leaving. Understood?”

  “That will be just fine, young man.”

  Hernandez shook his head and turned around to speak into the audio pickup. “Mr Benson,” his voice boomed through the speakers like the God of the Old Testament.

  “I can hear you, Hernandez, you don’t have to swallow the microphone.”

  Hernandez rolled his eyes before continuing. “Step back from the door and sit on your couch with you
r hands on your head.”

  Benson took his time moseying over to the couch, but complied. The door slid open as Hernandez and the other guard who Benson didn’t recognize spun into the room, stun-sticks leveled squarely at his head.

  Unfazed, Devorah pushed past them clutching the gigantic book to her chest and sat on the love seat adjacent to the couch.

  “That’ll be all, boys.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay, ma’am?”

  She glared up at him. “Son, if Bryan here wanted to do me harm, neither of you little twits would make much difference. Besides, I think I’m far safer with him than either of you are.”

  Hernandez glowered at her. “Ten minutes.” They left, and the door locked shut behind them. Benson nearly jumped out of his chair in the rush to embrace Devorah.

  “You’re alive!” He swept her up out of the chair and into a bear hug.

  “Not if you keep squeezing me so hard.” She emphasized the point by kicking him gently, but firmly, in the shin with one of her dangling legs.

  Benson set her back down. “You never leave the museum. I assumed the worst.”

  “And you would have been right if it wasn’t for Salvador. He remembered the vault was airtight while the rest of us ran around flapping our gums arguing over what to do.”

  “Sal made it out, too?”

  Devorah’s face darkened. “He made three trips down to the vault and back up, grabbing these panicking idiots banging on the front doors and dragging them down to safety. I was one of them, I’m ashamed to say. He went back up to grab one of the summer interns, but she was just frozen, couldn’t move a muscle. Best we can tell, he was carrying her down the stairs like a fireman when he missed a step and broke his ankle. They found them both at the bottom of the steps. He was hugging her when the air ran out.”