by J. S. Bailey
Dalton grimaced. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“It was only eight weeks ago.”
“Things happen. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
“You’ve heard that FCU is landing here tomorrow.”
“I did! I was just talking with the mayor about it. He gave us a rundown of how we should . . . manage things once they show up here in Cloud City.”
“What sort of things?” Dalton kept his tone neutral.
“We’ve had a problem with looters the past couple weeks. Someone cleaned out the general store in the middle of the night about ten days ago, and we have no suspects. Then the same thing happened at the hardware store and the Hindu temple.”
“Hate crimes?”
“Oh, I doubt it. The people who run the general store are druids, and an ex-priest runs the hardware store.”
“Could cameras have caught anything?”
A soft snort issued from the comm. “Remind me again, Dalton, which planet are we on? Hey, maybe FCU will donate security cameras so we don’t have to deal with this rubbish anymore!”
“What did they take from the Hindu temple?”
“About half a dozen gold-plated statues. Ganesh, and a few other gods I can’t remember. It’s all in the police report, if you want me to mail it to you.”
Dalton raised his eyebrows. “How big were these statues?”
“The biggest ones were close to two meters tall. We don’t know how they got them out of there without anyone noticing.”
“What did they take from the stores?”
“Oh, just what you’d expect. Funny thing is, there were no signs of forced entry. It’s like the thieves are ghosts.”
“What?”
“My people are working on it, Dalton. No need to worry.”
“You haven’t seen any strangers in white wandering around, have you?”
There came a pregnant pause. “Not that I’m aware of. Why?”
“There . . . may have been a report of strangers here in town. Nothing important. Forget I asked.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He coughed a few times and opted to change the subject. “You haven’t had any Greens running amuck, have you?”
“In Cloud City? No way. We’d have sent an alert out immediately if we had. That’s not something to just sweep under the rug, is it?”
“Not at all,” Dalton said. Paused. “We’ve had two Green attacks already. People died. Carolyn doesn’t want FCU to know.”
“That’s terrible! How many—hold on a minute, someone’s knocking on my door.” He heard a clunk, and indistinct murmurs. Then, “Dalton, I’ve got to go—someone’s just looted the elementary school and taken all the desks. Good luck with the FCU people, okay?”
“You too,” Dalton said, ending the call and wondering just what was happening to his planet.
Finding the charity shop proved easier than Chumley had expected, though he felt like a sardine swimming through a current of sharks as he traversed the grid of streets to get there. He made sure his new deputy badge stood out prominently on the front of him, praying it would ward off attacks like a blessed crucifix against vampires.
He received plenty of dirty looks, but nobody hurt him.
The charity shop sat on the ground floor of an adobe structure that rose several stories into the sky; the uppermost of which were probably flats full of more glaring people. When he stepped through the door into the somewhat less-stifling interior, he caught a whiff of that charity-shop smell that seemed intrinsic of every charity shop in which he’d ever set foot, regardless of region or planet. It was the smell of a thousand fragments of disparate lives, thrown together in a depressing clutter of had-beens.
Some days he felt like the human equivalent of that.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the twentysomething sales clerk, glaring at him from behind the counter. Their dark hair stood up in spikes dyed pink at the tips, and they wore a black t-shirt with white letters that read, “This is my happy face.”
Chumley recognized them as one of the people he’d handed a tanning bed brochure to on the day of his arrival. “Just browsing,” he said, darting past the gender-neutral aisle toward the men’s section. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
Honestly, these people’s attitudes were simply abominable. He hadn’t even had the chance to properly con them before they’d unleashed their fury.
He located a rack of button-down shirts that predated some of the dinosaurs and riffled through them one after the other, finding a mauve one that still bore its original store tags. This he removed from the rack and draped over one arm before proceeding through the rest of the shirts, finding a handful more suitable enough for his tastes.
Halfway through his perusal of the trouser section, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he did a double-take.
Standing in one corner of the charity shop were two white-robed people wearing white veils and white gloves that completely obscured any identifying features.
He nearly dropped the bundle of clothes draped over his arm.
“Oi!” he shouted. “Who are you?”
The figures froze in place.
“Who are you shouting at?” the clerk asked, rising from the stool behind the counter and craning their neck to see better. “You’re the only one in here, besides me.”
Chumley rubbed his eyes with one hand; blinked.
The people in white were still there.
“Oh, erm, you’re—you’re right,” he stammered. “Can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
The two figures glided toward the exit without a sound. Chumley made quick inventory of the items in his arms—four shirts and two pairs of trousers—and darted after them, tossing the hundred-pound note toward the counter as he passed it. The money fluttered to the floor like a lonely piece of confetti.
“Keep the change!” he cried to the bewildered clerk, who might feel more warmly toward him now that he’d paid nearly triple for his clothes.
The shrouded couple pushed their way outside. Chumley swept up his pair of new trousers that had begun to drag the floor, did an awkward little dance as he avoided a hanging display of belts he hadn’t seen until the last second, and plunged into the sunshine and sweltering heat, wincing at the retina-searing glare.
He glanced to the left. To the right. Straight ahead.
The shrouded couple were gone.
“Oh, biscuits,” he said. His gran would have been proud of that. She’d never liked it when he swore.
Spotting a glimpse of white in the distance, Chumley sprinted toward the left, which was east, but immediately lost sight of the mysterious pair. Who could they be? Invisibility technology had been banned for centuries due to safety concerns. Could someone have invented their own faulty invisibility shields that enabled some to see them and others not to? What would anyone hope to accomplish by creating such a device?
Chumley peered down alleyways and side streets, nearly got flattened by a passing lorry when he forgot to look both ways before crossing an intersection, and decided that he’d either gone the wrong way, or the couple had vamoosed, or turned invisible again, or something.
There wasn’t anything he could do but find the sheriff and tell him what he’d seen.
He wondered if Dalton would believe him.
Dalton had begun pacing back and forth across his living room after he’d concluded his calls with his fellow keepers of the peace, having more questions now than answers. Buildings being looted without forced entry? Sounded like an insurance scam to him, but who knew?
Footsteps outside made him turn to the door. He schooled his expression into a mask of disapproval just in time for Chumley to barge in and drop an armful of charity shop clothing onto the floor
. Dalton could smell it from where he stood and was about to point Chumley in the direction of the washing machine when he noticed the look on his deputy’s face.
“I saw them,” Chumley said, breathlessly. “The people you saw earlier.”
Dalton folded his arms. “You’re sure.”
“They were inside the charity shop. The clerk didn’t see them, but I followed them outside, and they’d disappeared. I ran all the way back here to tell you.”
God in heaven. “Spies,” Dalton muttered. “They have to be spies. Nobody with good intentions is going to go snooping around my city invisible.”
“They’re not very good at being invisible, though, are they?” Chumley mused. “And what would spies want here in Richport?” His cheeks flushed, then paled. “What if it’s the people from FUC?”
“That’s FCU,” Dalton snapped. “Why would they send invisible spies to peek in on us?”
“They could be like secret shoppers; get a feel for the place without anyone expecting them.”
“And you think what, they’ll report to Naomi Schwartzman when she and her crew get here?”
Chumley shrugged. “It’s possible, isn’t it? Who else would be keeping an eye on us?”
Dalton frowned. He could think of no one, honestly, and he felt himself relax. “You know,” he said, “I think you’re probably right.”
Chumley’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Don’t see why not. You’re right, there’s nothing here in Richport anyone else would want, except maybe a good curry.” Idly, Dalton thought of the mysterious looting over in Cloud City. But that was Cloud City, not Richport.
And Janelle had mentioned nothing about the people in white.
Chapter 9
The next morning, Dalton and Chumley convened in Carolyn’s office along with Errin Inglewood and Cadu Mão de Ferro. Paper cups of coffee steamed from their places in a cardboard drink carrier, and a fresh box of donuts sat beside them.
Dalton and Chumley had agreed to say nothing more to Carolyn about the people in white, considering the plausible possibility they had some connection to FCU, and Dalton didn’t think it would be the best of ideas to worry the mayor unnecessarily. Let her keep thinking Dalton had been seeing things. It would be better for everyone in the long run.
Carolyn, her black hair wavy and gleaming, stood ramrod straight behind her desk again. Dalton didn’t think he’d ever seen her actually sitting at it. “This is a momentous day,” she said, her eyes twinkling with zeal. “You know I only ever want what’s best for this city. We may not be as dazzling as Mumbai or London on Earth, or as affluent as Kingston or Nuevo Pradesh City on Pelstring Four, but we’ve got guts, grit, and determination, and I say we deserve FCU assistance just as much as anyone on any colony world.”
Errin gave a polite clap. Dalton wondered how many times Carolyn rehearsed her speech before everyone arrived.
“What will you need us to do?” Dalton asked.
“I’ve already ordered the sanitation workers to sweep the streets of any garbage. You, Cadu, and Chumley should just stand around looking tough but pretty. You’re all handsome people; you should look good for any publicity photos they’ll want to take.”
Dalton, Cadu, and Chumley turned toward each other and looked each other up and down wearing matching frowns. Chumley had chosen to wear a mauve button-up shirt and slick, gray trousers that looked brand-new in spite of being secondhand. He’d put mousse in his black hair that morning before heading out, making him look more like a bruised fashion model than an officer of the law.
Cadu looked rumpled, as usual, as if he’d come straight here after rolling out of bed. He absently tucked his sand-colored shirt into his trousers and straightened his shoulders. “All right, Dalton. How do I look?”
Dalton squinted at the emergency operator. “You look like Mogotsi Molosiwa in Rise of the Killer Meerkats.”
Creases formed in Cadu’s brow. “You mean the part where he’s running from the swarm and rolls down the hill into the bubbling mud pit?”
“That’s the one.”
“I didn’t realize you were paying attention.”
“I remember every awful fecking movie you’ve made me sit through.”
Chumley gave a light cough and looked to Carolyn. “Is there anything else we should be doing aside from . . . what you said?”
“I’d rather not have my police force actually have to do something while FCU is here,” Carolyn said, “since that means there would have to be a problem for all of you to take care of. We do not need any problems. And for God’s sake, don’t forget to smile.”
Dalton tried to force his expression into something that wasn’t a glower, but his facial muscles didn’t seem to want to budge.
“Don’t worry,” Errin said gently. “If you all want to help, you can join me in the town square in—” they checked their plain, black wristwatch— “half an hour to help set up the stage and podium. Ms. Schwartzman will want to make a speech, of course.”
Speeches were, perhaps, even worse than meetings. “Suppose I can help with that,” Dalton said.
“Shouldn’t I stay inside the station in case any emergencies get called in?” Cadu asked.
Carolyn bit her lower lip with great thought. “That’s a good point. Stay on call, though, in case we end up needing you for anything.”
Cadu dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“FCU will be staying at the Oasis Bed and Breakfast for the days they’re here in Richport,” Carolyn continued. “When they’ve concluded their visit here, I would like for you, Dalton, to escort them to Paris, so you might protect them from anything untoward they might encounter on the way there.”
Dalton raised his eyebrows. “Just me?”
“You, and whoever you think is most qualified to help. I want to make sure they stay safe. If anyone asks why you’re going with them, you can make up some bullshit answer that sounds good.”
“Ms. Kaur?”
Carolyn blinked, then glanced down at the shiny, silver comm unit lying atop her desk. She plucked it up between thumb and forefinger and said, “Yes? Who is this?”
“This is Dev Chakrabarti. Um . . . FCU just landed here, at the spaceport. They said they made good time. Um . . . what should we do?”
“Treat them like royalty, of course!” Carolyn snapped, the color deepening in her cheeks. “I’ll head out to greet them right now. You lot, get to work on that stage.”
Errin plucked up a cup of coffee and a donut, then made a gesturing motion with their head indicating that Dalton should follow. Dalton opted to skip the coffee for the time being; it would only make him jittery and need to use the toilet too many times while he was busy ass-kissing the FCU people.
Chumley took a coffee for himself and started chugging it almost immediately as the three of them shuffled out of the office.
“Wow,” he said. “That actually isn’t as bad as I expected for a colony world.”
“Better watch what you say,” Dalton said. “Carolyn’s cousin Slim runs the coffee shop.”
Errin led them down a corridor into a wide storage room filled with long sheets of composite flooring of a pale brown color meant to imitate wood. “We can carry these sections out the back here and around the side of the building,” they said, having already consumed their entire donut. “They sit on top of these big blocks, and here’s the steps.”
Dalton regarded the concrete blocks, each of which looked about as heavy as one of the Egyptian pyramids. He attempted budging one. It didn’t move.
“Teamwork,” Errin said, wheeling over a hand truck. “I’ll hold this in place while you and Chumley maneuver one onto here. I’d help lift if I had any muscles.” They flexed a skinny bicep in demonstration.
Dalton looked over at Chumley, still chugging coffee, and sighed.
He co
uld already tell this would be a fabulous morning.
Dalton longed for Carolyn’s office air conditioning by the time he and Chumley had arranged the massive blocks in the appropriate places in the town square. Errin helped heave the lighter composite boards over top of them and fastened them into place with pins.
“There,” Errin said, taking a few steps backward and admiring their handiwork. “What do you think?”
Dalton put his hand on his chin. His healing sunburn was itching his nose again, and he resisted the urge to dig at it. “Podium’s off-center,” he said.
“Seriously?” Chumley said.
“Carolyn will notice.”
Chumley rolled his eyes, ascended the portable set of steps, and dragged the podium roughly two centimeters to the right. “Better?”
Dalton gave a curt nod. He attempted another experimental grin. It was like trying to make one of the faces on Mount Rushmore smile, not that he’d ever seen Mount Rushmore.
“What was that face for?” Errin asked. “The podium looks fine to me.”
“What Carolyn said. About smiling.” Dalton couldn’t help it, he had to scratch his sunburned nose, and flakes of dead, white skin came away when he did and fluttered to the ground.
“You’re having trouble with it?”
“It’s not a thing I’m used to.” He lowered his voice so Chumley wouldn’t hear him. “You understand, right?”
Errin dipped their head in a show of empathy. “I lost people that day, too, you know. It’s not an easy thing to forget.”
Dalton had nearly forgotten—Errin’s cousin Paulson had been married to Dalton’s cousin Marrietta. The couple had had two children. All gone, now, just like everyone else.
“I’ve seen you smile,” Chumley said, joining them at ground level.
Dalton threw him a look of irritation. “When?”
“You probably weren’t thinking about it,” Errin said. “Can you think of something happy? It could be anything—eating a piece of chocolate cake; winning a million pounds.”