"I begin to see how this corporation makes its money," Tan said dryly.
After some searching, they found a transportation center and hired a cab driver to take them where they needed to go.
"First time on the Station?" asked their driver, a small, weasel-faced man complete with scraggly, whisker-like mustache.
"No," Tan said, giving him the map. "Here’s where we need to go."
And that was the end of the conversation. The driver punched buttons, muttered to his on-board computer, and the little electric car shot forward, pressing Ara into the seat.
The interior of the station was as hodgepodge as the exterior. Tunnels ranged from high, wide spaces to low, cramped rabbit warrens. Decor rambled like a patchwork quilt. Through the cab windows Ara saw crowded streets, Greek architecture, a Chinese palace, lush jungle, and stark white hallway. Some areas were clearly residences of wealthy corp officers. Other areas were so dark and crowded, Ara quietly locked her door. Humans seemed to be the dominant species, but only barely. Everywhere Ara looked she saw a new alien race. They ran, hopped, slithered, glided, stomped, and squished their way up and down the corridors and streets. Some sectors, in fact, seemed completely devoid of anything humanoid. All of them were in some way connected to Dreamers, Inc., Ara knew, though not all of the people were Silent, just as it was back on Bellerophon.
It took over an hour to arrive at the main security offices. They were a series of blocky, unimaginative-looking buildings with thick columns out front. Tan paid and dismissed the driver, then headed up the high front steps with Ara close behind her. Groups of beings, both human and non-, were scattered up and down the stairs, their voices combining in a strange cacophony of sound. The station ceiling was at least a dozen stories up, so far off it looked to Ara like a smooth, cloudy sky. The air was odorless, dry, and a little chillier than Ara liked, and she was thankful she had brought a jacket.
The foyer was a big, echoing chamber with polished marble floors. The beings hurrying through it spoke in hushed voices. Ara consulted a directory and found that Chief Rashid’s offices was on the fifth floor and that the elevators were off to his left.
"He has an entire suite," Tan murmured as they moved toward them.
"I noticed," Ara said. "You know, Dreamers, Inc., is three or four times bigger than the Children. The post of Chief of Security for them would probably be something like the post of Secretary of Planetary Defense anywhere else."
"I was thinking the same thing," Tan agreed. "The fact that we talked to him personally in the Dream says something. So does the fact that we’re getting in to see him right away."
"What does it all say?"
"No idea."
The elevator took them straight to the fifth floor. An immensely tall human woman dressed in a pastel blue suit met them as they disembarked.
"Mother Araceil Rymar and Inspector Lewa Tan," she said, and it wasn’t a question. "I am Denisa Ral, Chief Rashid’s executive secretary. He is waiting to see you." She ushered them through a series of offices and corridors, all well-lit, lushly carpeted, and decorated with holographic windows that pretended to offer scenes ranging from mountains to forests to jungles to sandy beaches. Ara wondered how Ral had known who they were and that they were on that particular elevator, then laughed at her own naivete. Rashid had probably been keeping an eye on them since their ship slid out of slipspace.
Eventually Denisa Ral lead them to an immense set of double doors made of polished oak. They swung wide at her touch, revealing a huge office beyond. One entire wall was a window that looked out on empty space. At the bottom corner lay a portion of the planet, a blue crescent against utter black. The room was furnished like a wealthy person’s living room, with designer furniture, spotlessly shined woodwork tables, and even a fireplace. A hint of wood smoke on the air indicated that it was a real one. Ara was impressed-attaining the wood and disposing of the smoke would be expensive undertakings, not to mention the amount of oxygen a fire sucked up.
Set against the window was an enormous desk. Ken Rashid, his silvering black hair blending in with the scene behind him, came around it as Ara and Tan entered the office. Denisa Ral closed the doors behind them. Rashid bowed slightly to each of them.
"It’s nice to meet you in person," he said. "Forgive me not shaking hands, but in my current position I can only allow certain people the ability to locate me when I am in the Dream. If you are hungry or thirsty, refreshments are over there." He gestured to a table littered with an assortment of snacks and beverages. A wet bar stood in the corner. "Perhaps we should begin?"
"Yes. And since we’re being direct," Tan said, "I have to ask, Chief Rashid-why are you seeing us? Your schedule must be insanely busy. It would be easy enough to assign this to a subordinate."
Rashid’s expression went rigid for a moment and Ara thought Tan had offended him. Something flashed in his eyes, and Ara remembered the same thing happening when they had spoken in the Dream. Then Rashid passed a tired hand over his face and his expression softened.
"There were four victims here on Dream Station," he said. "Polly Garvin, Minn Araq, Riann Keller, and Liss Padel. Liss Padel was my wife."
"I’m sorry," Tan said softly.
He nodded. "It was a decade ago. I usually think I’m past it, then something happens to remind me of her and I learn I’m not. Usually what I feel is anger. The bastard that killed her is walking around free. I was removed from the case, of course-conflict of interest-but it didn’t matter. No more victims showed up. We never learned who did it. Ten years later, I get a message from an old friend that two monks from Bellerophon are looking for a killer who chops off fingers. I think you now understand how the Chief of Security for Dreamers, Inc., found time to see you." Rashid gave a wan smile. "But I’m being rude. Please come and sit."
He ushered them to a group of cushioned highback chairs that huddled around the fireplace. The top of the chair was at least two heads higher than Ara’s head once she sat down, and she rather felt like a child sitting in an adult seat. A round end table held a lamp and a box of chocolates. Ara thought about reaching for one, then flashed back to Iris Temm’s house and the single chocolate missing from the box. Her appetite left her and she drew out her computer pad instead. Tan and Rashid took seats as well.
"Did the murders take place on Dream Station?" Ara asked.
"All four," Rashid said, and then suddenly bounded to his feet. "God, I need something. Can you excuse me for just a moment?" Without waiting for a reply, he went over to the mantle and opened an intricately-carved wooden box. From it he withdrew a brown cylinder a little thinner than a finger. He waved it, and one end glowed. A curl of smoke trickled upward and Ara smelled it, harsh and acrid. Rashid put the other end to his mouth and inhaled. Ara couldn’t keep from staring. She had heard about this habit but had never seen it in action. Rashid noticed her gaze.
"An expensive vice," he said, "especially on a station. But someone in my position is allowed a few indulgences. Would you like to try one?"
"Thank you, no," Ara said.
"It’s not Thursday," Tan murmured, and Ara shot her a hard look.
Rashid took his seat again and tapped the ash into a crystal receptacle. Cigarettes, Ara remembered. They were called cigarettes. "Shall I begin or should you?"
"Let’s start with our end," Tan said. "Then you can tell us what you know and we can examine each other’s files."
Rashid waved his cigarette, leaving a trail of smoke in assent.
"A little over two years ago," Tan began, "a Silent Sister named Prinna Meg was found dead. Levels of psytonin in her brain indicated she was in the Dream when she died. Her body was found with bruises and abrasions-indications of psychosomatic trauma. Her left little finger was cut off. Sewn to the stump was the finger of another woman, someone we still haven’t identified. There were no witnesses to Meg’s death in the Dream or in the solid world. A search of her house uncovered no significant clues. We took pictures and holographi
c images of everything anyway."
Rashid blew out a cloud of smoke. Ara found the smell dry and cloying but didn’t feel it was proper to say anything. She tried to breathe shallowly.
"About a year after that-I can give you an exact number of days, if you like-Sister Wren Hamil was also found dead. Circumstances were the exactly same. Killer cut off her left little finger post-mortem and sewed Meg’s finger on in its place. Eleven months later, Sister Iris Temm turned up dead in her home. Hamil’s finger was sewn to her left hand. At this point, we knew what we were dealing with and we brought in Mother Ara here."
"To what end?" Rashid tapped his cigarette ash into the crystal receptacle again. "My sources-and yes, I did check up on you both-indicate that you, Mother Ara, are not an investigator."
"I was brought in as a consultant in morphic Dream theory," Ara said. "I can sometimes recreate other people’s scenes in the Dream."
Rashid’s dark eyes glittered and he leaned forward. "Ah! So you recreated the murder, then. Did you see the killer?"
"Yes and no," Ara said. "I saw the murderer do his work. He killed Iris by bringing her Dream landscape to life. He appeared to her as a man dressed in black with a wide-brimmed hat that left his face in shadow. I wasn’t able to see his face."
"So his Dream form is different from his solid one," Rashid mused.
"After he killed Iris," Ara continued, "he cut off her finger and used it to write the number twelve on her forehead. We’re assuming he’s numbering his victims." Ara’s stomach began to churn. Memories of all the corpses she had seen, both Dream and solid, swirled through her mind and combined with the cigarette smoke to nauseating affect. She forced herself to go on. "We know the killer is powerful in the Dream. Not only does his mind overpower those of his victims, he also recreates their landscapes and their corpses, keeping the scene ‘alive’ even after the originating Silent is dead. I didn’t even notice a transitional waver between Iris’s death and the killer’s recreation." She stood up. "I think I need something to drink."
Rashid started to rise. "What would you like?"
"If that’s the bar over there, I can get it," Ara said almost shortly. "Inspector Tan can continue."
"Things get a little more complicated after this," Tan began as Ara headed for the bar and Rashid resumed his seat. "About nine months after Iris Temm died, the killer murdered Mother Diane Giday. But we didn’t find the body until after he took another victim-Vera Cheel. So we found them out of order. That confused us for a while because Cheel was wearing a finger we couldn’t identify. Only two weeks had gone by between the murders of Giday and Cheel."
"So the killer is escalating," Rashid said. He ground his cigarette out.
"Looks that way," Tan agreed. "We weren’t able to recreate Giday’s murder in the Dream, but with Vera Cheel we got a break."
Ara sniffed the contents of three decanters before she found the brandy. She sloshed a healthy dollop into a glass and started back toward the trio of chairs. On the way, she impulsively hooked a small plate of canapes. Did Rashid always have this sort of thing just sitting out, or was it there because he knew Ara and Tan were coming?
"What sort of break?" Rashid asked.
"A witness."
Rashid bolted upright. "Someone who saw the actual murder in the Dream? Who?"
"One of my students happened on it by sheer chance." Ara settled in her chair and took a sip of brandy. It was light and dry, and it burned pleasantly all the way down until it outlined her stomach in warmth. She let it settle a moment before describing what Kendi had experienced. During the retelling she had to pause for two more sips of brandy.
"Unfortunately," she concluded, "none of this gave us a clue to the killer’s true identity."
"At first," Tan put in, and Ara thankfully let her take over the narrative again. She settled back into her chair and popped a salmon-cream cheese puff into her mouth. It was delicately and perfectly seasoned.
"After Mother Ara had a chance to investigate the solid-world murder scenes," Tan continued, "she noticed something. Each of the victims had received a gift before she died. We assume it came from the killer. The gifts were always some sort of love token that came in a set that matched the victim’s number. Iris Temm, the twelfth victim, received a box of twelve chocolates. Vera Cheel, victim number thirteen, received thirteen roses, and so on. After the killer did his work, he took a single token back, so Temm’s chocolate box had one missing, for example."
"Strange," Rashid murmured. Ara tried to read his expression and found she couldn’t.
"But that’s not all he took," Tan said. "He also took some sort of intimate object-a pair of panties, an earring, a shoe."
"A finger," Rashid said grimly.
"Until recently we also had no suspects, but then things changed." Tan remained still and upright in her chair, reciting the story as if she were a recording. "A student at the monastery recently exhibited strange behavior-irrationality, wide behavioral changes, alterations in word use-and then she attacked another student."
"My son," Ara put in.
"After the attack, she disappeared," Tan said. "When we searched her room, we found a shirt with Diane Giday’s blood on the sleeve. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to locate this student."
"She," Rashid said. Ara had expected him to get excited that they had a suspect, but he seemed perfectly calm. "You think the killer is a woman? The one you showed me in the Dream?"
"We aren’t sure," Tan admitted. "Her disappearance is highly suspect, of course. So is the blood on her shirt cuff. But as Mother Ara once pointed out, a smart killer-as this one seems to be-wouldn’t keep a shirt that might have picked up the victim’s blood. She may have disappeared because she was murdered by our real killer, who’s trying to throw us off the trail. In any case, we’re still trying to find her so we can have a chat."
"I see," Rashid said. "I think it’s obvious we’re both looking for the same person, in any case. I notice that your victims are all Silent women connected to your organization. Since some carried the title ‘Mother’ and others the title ‘Sister,’ I assume their ages varied. This fits the profile of our victims as well-females of varying ages connected with our organization. Did your victims have any connections with each other? Common friends or people they knew on the job?"
Tan shook her head, making her long braid whisk back and forth like a broom. "We checked extensively. Nothing came up. What about yours?"
"Only one," Rashid said. "Polly Garvin, the first victim, was an acquaintance of Riann Keller, the third victim. But we weren’t able to draw any other connections. Perhaps we should trade files and see what we find."
Computer pads came out and the transfers were made. Ara nibbled on more salmon-cream cheese canapes and glanced about the luxurious office before opening anything.
What a place this would be to work, she thought. A view of the universe and people to make you little dainties. Then she remembered the dark, narrow warrens that probably made up the majority of the residences and workplaces on Dream Station. Slavery was perfectly legal here, and Dreamers, Inc., owned many thousand of them, some Silent, some not. It might be fine here for the people on top, but the ones holding up the bottom had a hard time of it.
With a sigh, Ara opened the file on Riann Keller’s death. Tan and Rashid were already reading silently, pictures and text mixing on their holographic screens. Tan pointed to one part of a picture and it magnified. Ara caught a glimpse of a pair of dead, filmy eyes staring at nothing. She shuddered. Someone-Dorna? — had left a trail of death and sorrow across an entire galaxy.
A pile of text appeared on Ara’s screen and she found she couldn’t bring herself to read closely. Too much pain, too much sorrow, too much death. How did Tan deal with this? Although the Dream stalker was Bellerophon’s first recorded serial killer, Treetop City and the other city-states had their share of violent crime. Otherwise the Guardians wouldn’t exist.
Ara’s eye wandered across the
text, not lighting long enough to read more than a word here or a phrase there.
…psytonin levels indicate. .
…complete loss of. .
…suspect must have attacked the victim. .
…named Dorna, and a son. .
…found approximately two hours after. .
Ara gasped and scrolled frantically backward. Had she seen-yes, there it was. The victim had two children, a daughter named Dorna and a son named Cole.
It suddenly occurred to Ara that she and Tan had never mentioned Dorna’s name to Rashid. There was so much information to trade, it was easy to leave things out, even obvious facts. Ara called for Tan and Rashid’s attention and quickly explained.
"I remember the daughter," Rashid said excitedly. "Is there an image of her in your files? The image you showed me in the Dream was too wavery for a good identification."
Tan called it up for him. Dorna’s head and shoulders appeared, her identification holo for the monastery. Rashid studied it a moment, then addressed the computer. "Reverse aging on this holograph ten years."
Dorna’s face changed. Her cheeks became rounder, her features larger, until she looked to be fifteen or sixteen. Rashid’s eyes glittered. "That’s her! That’s Rhiann Keller’s daughter."
"So she is the killer," Ara murmured. She should have been glad, even excited, at the confirmation, but all she felt was a lingering disappointment.
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