by J. N. Chaney
She heard me and stumbled to the containment door. “Can I turn it off?” she wheezed through chapped and blistered lips.
“You can.” I nodded. “There’s an input on the control panel. All it needs is the sequence.”
She lurched forward and almost fell onto the open chamber. I recited the numbers her father had given me before I left him in his office.
My heart ached as Marcella’s fingers shook violently as she tried to type the code.
The containment chamber began to close, letting me know she’d been successful. A hiss sounded and radiation neutralizers coated the room in a fine foam. “You’ve done it!” I shouted.
Unable to stand anymore, Marcella sank to the floor, water all over her skin, and she slowly crawled to the doorway.
I opened the door before the containment chamber gave the all clear and knelt next to her as she struggled to stay conscious. Dorian ran past me to the bridge in search of the pilot who’d also received a likely lethal blast.
“I’m sorry...Alphonse. Will you...tell my father—” A fit of coughing stole her next words and I stroked her hair.
“I’ll tell him, Marcella, I promise.” I said, trying not to look panicked by what I was seeing. “You saved a lot of people. You know that, don’t you?”
“Least… I could do…” Her breathing was shallow, and she struggled to speak now. She pulled the shield pendant from her neck with a shaky hand and placed it in mine. “I’m sorry...I...”
Marcella smiled one last time as her eyes grew still and vacant. I felt my throat tense as I stared at her, hoping somehow that she would move again, hoping that I was imagining this.
“Marcella…” I whispered, hardly a thought in my head for the first time in my life.
After another moment, I swallowed and closed my eyes for only a second, and then I stood, the necklace in my hand, and looked directly at Evelyn.
“My gods,” said the woman, and I saw what appeared to be regret in her eyes for the first and final time.
22
I was back on Alara.
Shaw’s office seemed like a distant memory, though I had been in it only weeks before. So much had changed in me that it made everything I saw outside seem new.
The ever proper and enigmatic Shaw stood behind his desk with a broad smile. “It is my great honor to see you in this office today, Tiro Malloy.”
Behind me, Dorian and Lacroan stood dressed in formal uniforms.
I nodded. “The job is done. Evelyn is where she belongs, rotting on an unnamed rock with no outside contact.”
Shaw coughed, or maybe it was a laugh. “Well done. How do you feel now, with that bit of the past behind you?” He turned his back to me and walked to the window.
I could still see his face in the reflection of the window. His motions were less a power move and more about concealing whatever wistful feelings he had for such summations.
“I don’t know. The job is done. We took a dangerous criminal down. We retrieved most of the neutronium. People were hurt and some lost their lives along the way. I may have corrected the mistake I made a year ago, but I didn’t do it before there were consequences.”
Shaw turned back to me and nodded. “That is the game we play here. A long game of consequences, and nobody has all the pieces. We may yet see more unfold from these events in the years to come.”
“As you say, sir,” I agreed.
He walked back around the desk and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Alphonse, you’ve learned something, I think, from all of this, but it bears repeating now. Lives come and go, power comes and goes. Hell, planets come and go. We’ll never be able to save them all. We’ll never be able to solve every case.”
“Then, what do we do?” I asked.
He paused, taking a slow breath and placing a hand on my shoulder. “We save as many as we can.”
I nodded. “I shall continue to work on my training and further my experience.”
“Training?” asked Shaw, raising his brow. He directed his attention to Dorian and Lacroan, who stood a few meters away from us. “You two, what was your assessment of Tiro Malloy?”
Dorian stepped forward. “He did an outstanding job. No other Tiro has been tasked with such a difficult first mission. He rose to the occasion and learned quickly, operated independently, and composed himself with dignity in the field and with everyone he encountered. He treated each situation with a respect that kept him above reproach.”
Lacroan gave a curt nod. “Tiro Malloy saw the gears in motion without disrupting their operation. His light touch will serve him well in the future. The Constables are lucky to have him.”
Shaw turned his attention back to me. “With those recommendations from your mentor and peer, and having completed your final exam, I am pleased to say you have qualified to become a full-fledged Constable.”
He stood at attention and saluted, which I returned.
“Constables strive to operate unseen,” he continued. “As such, no physical recognizance will be given to you. From this point forward, you will receive no official Union rank or title or commendations. The majority of the government won’t even know your name, and should you be captured by the enemy, the Union will disavow all knowledge of your affiliation.” He paused. “Knowing all of this, do you accept?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I do, sir.”
Shaw smiled. “Then let me be the first to welcome you into the fold, my young friend,” he said, grasping my hand in his. “Constable Alphonse Malloy.”
Epilogue
I stared out a viewport at a passing nebula. The colors were beautiful and provided a breathtaking view. After five years as a Constable, even after all the places I’d been and all the systems and stars I’d seen, sights like this still took my breath away. The awe of the cosmos never failed to fascinate me, looking through the stardust that would someday be new worlds, stars, and people.
I considered my reflection. It sent my thoughts back to my graduation and the look that Shaw had in that moment. Maybe he hadn’t been hiding his face from me, maybe he’d simply enjoyed his own internal landscape reflected in the darkness beyond the window. In any case, he’d vacated his post at the Red Tower some time ago. He was an Admiral now, in control of a large fleet, last I had heard.
Thoughts for another time.
I stood on the promenade deck of Doden station. Music streamed from a rare set of live musicians on a stage ten meters behind me. It was both somber and raucous, depending on how you saw such things.
A party was in full swing. Dancers danced. Drinkers downed snifters of colorful liquid. The who’s who mingled and talked and created moments that they would try to deny or relive.
I made my way through the crowd. A quick word here, a feigned smile there, and at last my eyes set on my target, the party host himself.
Horace Girballon.
He was the CEO of a ship-contracting company, overseeing the construction of warships and transports alike. The celebration was his way of giving back to those that had helped him land a recent top-credit deal with the Union’s second fleet.
The man was surrounded by well-wishers. The power shuffle at this tier of the game was something to behold.
I sidled in next to him and then moved to catch his attention as one such influencer finished their thinly veiled congratulatory threats. I offered a hand and he shook it reflexively, even as he struggled to place my face.
I refused to let go of his hand and swept my arm around him. “Mr. Girballon. Pleasure to finally meet you face to face. Long-time supporter.”
He pushed back into my arm, but I kept him motivated with a twist of his still trapped hand.
“What is going on here!?” The man’s eyes went just a fraction wider than they had been a minute ago.
I flashed him a broad smile and winked at the bartender. “I’m a business associate, Mr. Girballon. Just here to make sure you get a well-deserved drink.”
He caught the bartender’s eye and tried t
o not stare at her revealing clothing. They had a history, something in the way of promises made in an office one night and ignored the next. Perhaps useful for later, but I had an agenda.
“Two highballs, please,” I said to the bartender.
Girballon pulled his hand from my grasp and I let him settle into a lean against the bar. “And aside from a drink and the reminder of an unpleasant evening, what can I do for you?”
I smiled, keeping my gaze forward and the man close. “I’m actually here to save your life. There are three assassins in this room who have been paid to kill you. Keep smiling. Good man. Apparently, you did some dirty things to land this latest contract and some people want payback.”
He was already sweating and the color drained from his face.
“See, this is why you need a drink. Cool down and relax,” I said in a friendly tone.
The bartender returned carrying two glasses of a sweetly scented liqueur with bits of fruit floating in them.
“This looks refreshing. Drink yours, fast,” I told him.
He obeyed, then I nodded to the bartender and slapped a large tip on the bar. “If you’ll give us just a minute.”
She smiled at the tip, glared at Girballon, and left the bar.
I turned the rotund man around. “If you look out there, you will see a man behind the cello, yes? He has a silenced weapon cleverly concealed in the bow of the instrument. It will fire a poison dart and you will never see the morning.”
He swallowed.
I motioned to the left to a female staff member trying to move two overly eager dancers away from the crowd. “That woman is an expert martial artist. She knows a dozen ways to pinch you and stop blood flow. The moment she gets near you, you get to feel a nice intense pressure and then have a sudden heart attack.” Her real name was Margaret Duchalles, another Constable like myself, but truly a combat specialist.
His eyes darted around the room, panic setting in.
I turned to the center. “And that man there, the one with the glass eye and the sour expression? He isn’t being paid to kill you. He’s part of a radical front that intends to use your death as a statement for his splinter organization.”
Girballon’s eyes were wide with fear. He was sipping his drink in a panic.
I chuckled and pulled the glass from his lips. “Don’t get too worked up. Don’t want you choking and doing their jobs for them.”
I put the glass on the bar and signaled to the bartender again. The signal wasn’t just for her benefit.
The martial artist bumped into the man with glass eye, spinning him slightly to the side. As he moved into position, the bass player fired his dart. The man slumped and Margaret pulled him aside. “Oh my, sir, looks like you need some space,” she told him, and proceeded to carry the man into the back room for questioning.
I patted Girballon on the back. “Don’t drink too much. And remember, we’re watching you. From now on, you’ll run a legitimate enterprise, understood?”
“Y-yes,” he stuttered, then hastily sat the half-full drink on the bar top.
I walked toward the rear exit, following Margaret. I had an assassin to question before the day was through.
There was a notification on my pad, and I paused at the sound of it. I pulled the device out as I passed through the door to the kitchen staging area. The man with the glass eye was breathing heavily and his arm was blackened from blood necrosis. The message was from Shaw.
“Are you coming?” asked Margaret, looking up at me with the man’s arm around her neck.
“Give me a moment,” I told her.
She nodded and continued to the back.
I swiped my finger across the pad, initiating the retinal scan and unlocking the message. It was a response to a previous inquiry I had placed, based on something I hoped would serve as my next assignment.
RE: The Nun and the Albino Girl
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Preview: The Amber Project
Documents of Historical, Scientific, and Cultural Significance
Play Audio Transmission File 021
Recorded April 19, 2157
CARTWRIGHT: This is Lieutenant Colonel Felix Cartwright. It’s been a week since my last transmission and two months since the day we found the city…the day the world fell apart. If anyone can hear this, please respond.
If you’re out there, no doubt you know about the gas. You might think you’re all that’s left. But if you’re receiving this, let me assure you, you are not alone. There are people here. Hundreds, in fact, and for now, we’re safe. If you can make it here, you will be, too.
The city’s a few miles underground, not far from El Rico Air Force Base. That’s where my people came from. As always, the coordinates are attached. If anyone gets this, please respond. Let us know you’re there…that you’re still alive.
End Audio File
April 14, 2339
Maternity District
MILES BELOW THE SURFACE OF THE EARTH, deep within the walls of the last human city, a little boy named Terry played quietly with his sister in a small two-bedroom apartment.
Today was his very first birthday. He was turning seven.
“What’s a birthday?” his sister Janice asked, tugging at his shirt. She was only four years old and had recently taken to following her big brother everywhere he went. “What does it mean?”
Terry smiled, eager to explain. “Mom says when you turn seven, you get a birthday. It means you grow up and get to start school. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“When will I get a birthday?”
“You’re only four, so you have to wait.”
“I wish I was seven,” she said softly, her thin black hair hanging over her eyes. “I want to go with you.”
He got to his feet and began putting the toy blocks away. They had built a castle together on the floor, but Mother would yell if they left a mess. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I promise, okay?”
“Okay!” she said cheerily and proceeded to help.
Right at that moment, the speaker next to the door let out a soft chime, followed by their mother’s voice. “Downstairs, children,” she said. “Hurry up now.”
Terry took his sister’s hand. “Come on, Jan,” he said.
She frowned, squeezing his fingers. “Okay.”
They arrived downstairs, their mother nowhere to be found.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Janice said, pointing at the farthest wall. “See the light-box?”
Terry looked at the locator board, although his sister’s name for it worked just as well. It was a map of the entire apartment, with small lights going on and off in different colors, depending on which person was in which room. There’s us, he thought, green for me and blue for Janice, and there’s Mother in red. Terry never understood why they needed something like that because of how small the apartment was, but every family got one, or so Mother had said.
As he entered the kitchen, his mother stood at the far counter sorting through some data on her pad. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Something for work,” she said. She tapped the front of the pad and placed it in her bag. “Come on, Terrance, we’ve got to get you ready and out the door. Today’s your first day, after all, and we have to make a good impression.”
“When will he be back?” asked Janice.
“Hurry up. Let’s go, Terrance,” she said, ignoring the question. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. “We have about twenty minutes to get all the way to the education district. Hardly enough time at all.” Her voice was sour. He had noticed it more and more lately, as the weeks went on, ever since a few months ago when that man from the school came to visit. His name was Mr. Huxley, one of the few men who Terry ever had the chance to talk to, and from the way Mother acted—she was so agitated
—he must have been important.
“Terrance.” His mother’s voice pulled him back. “Stop moping and let’s go.”
Janice ran and hugged him, wrapping her little arms as far around him as she could. “Love you,” she said.
“Love you too.”
“Bye,” she said shyly.
He kissed her forehead and walked to the door, where his mother stood talking with the babysitter, Ms. Cartwright. “I’ll only be a few hours,” Mother said. “If it takes any longer, I’ll message you.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Mara,” Ms. Cartwright assured her. “You take all the time you need.”
Mother turned to him. “There you are,” she said, taking his hand. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”
As they left the apartment, Mother’s hand tugging him along, Terry tried to imagine what might happen at school today. Would it be like his home lessons? Would he be behind the other children, or was everything new? He enjoyed learning, but there was still a chance the school might be too hard for him. What would he do? Mother had taught him some things, like algebra and English, but who knew how far along the other kids were by now?
Terry walked quietly down the overcrowded corridors with an empty, troubled head. He hated this part of the district. So many people on the move, brushing against him, like clothes in an overstuffed closet.
He raised his head, nearly running into a woman and her baby. She had wrapped the child in a green and brown cloth, securing it against her chest. “Excuse me,” he said, but the lady ignored him.
His mother paused and looked around. “Terrance, what are you doing? I’m over here,” she said, spotting him.
“Sorry.”
They waited together for the train, which was running a few minutes behind today.
“I wish they’d hurry up,” said a nearby lady. She was young, about fifteen years old. “Do you think it’s because of the outbreak?”