by R S Penney
“I'm…”
She looked up to see Brinton rush over a hilltop and vanish down the other side. If he made it to those trees in the distance…
“I was…” she stammered. “We found the man who planted the bomb.”
“Who's we?”
Her mouth was moving, but she couldn't form words, and she was suddenly aware of sweat on her brow. How had the man figured out what she was doing? It was hard to concentrate with a voice screaming in her head that this was what happened when you broke the rules.
“Cadet,” Director Andalon said. “I think you had better come to my office for a talk.”
Melissa's stomach was doing flip-flops.
Outside, she was calm and collected, standing tall and proud before Jon Andalon's desk like a soldier ready to receive orders. Inside, however, she was a mess. A part of her wanted to squeak out an apology and slip away, but she knew better than to give in to that inclination. Besides, Director Andalon probably wouldn't be satisfied with an apology.
The man sat in his chair with his elbows on the armrests, his fingers steepled as he looked her up and down. “So,” he began. “Despite my ordering you to keep away from this case, you've decided to get involved. And as for the rest of you…”
Melissa grunted.
The only consolation she had was the knowledge that she wasn't alone in this; the two people who had come here with her were in just as much danger of bearing the brunt of the good director's wrath. Not that she wanted her friends and family to get themselves into trouble, but these things were usually easier to deal with when you weren't the only one being chastised.
On her left, Anna stood with arms folded, frowning down at the floor. “If anyone deserves the blame here, it's me.” She took one proud step forward. “I'm a fully-trained officer; Melissa's just a cadet.”
Jon swiveled in his chair, his face twisting into the kind of expression you might find on a man who did not enjoy his very expensive meal. “You are correct there, Agent Lenai,” he said. “Which makes me question your judgment.”
“Sir, I-”
“And you, Mr. Carlson!” Jon Andalon snapped. “Do you have anything to say?”
Harry stood on her right with hands clasped before himself, his head bowed almost reverently. “Melissa wanted to learn about detective work,” he explained. “I thought there were some things I could show her.”
Leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his chest, Director Andalon scowled up at the ceiling. “I'm sure there are,” he said. “But none of that changes the fact that I gave her specific orders to stay away from this case.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Melissa ignored the heat in her face. “Leave them out of this,” she said, approaching the desk. “I'm the one who coaxed them into helping me. I'm the one who disobeyed you.”
Of all things, the director grinned at her as if he were surprised by her reaction. “A girl who's willing to fall on her sword to protect her friends.” It galled her to be called a girl – and Melissa had to admit that part of that frustration stemmed from the fact that she was a girl and not yet a woman – but now was not the time to stand on indignation. She was on thin ice already.
“If I may ask, sir,” Melissa began. “How did you find out?”
“When I learned that Miles Tarso's access codes were used to override the farm's security systems, the first thing I did was investigate his social contacts. This brought me into contact with the rather objectionable Reverend Vanorel, and I don't mind telling you that I wanted to hit a punching bag for half an hour after just five minutes in that man's presence.
“So, you can imagine how I might feel when the reverend called me earlier this afternoon to inquire about a cadet who had come down to his church to make all sorts of wild accusations.”
Admitting this next part wasn't going to be easy, but she had to tell the truth if she wanted her new supervising officer to trust her. “We think we found the man who planted the bomb, sir.”
The man looked up at her with hard, dark eyes. “Do you now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Tell me, Cadet Carlson, how exactly did you put together the pieces of this rather ugly puzzle?”
She told the whole story: tracking the car back to Elidrea Street, getting witness statements from the people there, the man with the Talis Ring, her trip to the church and Brinton's sudden flight when she asked the wrong question. All the while, Jon Andalon just sat there with an unreadable expression. When it was over, he said, “So, why isn't this man in a holding cell?”
Melissa went red, then turned her head so that she wouldn't have to look at him. “I stopped to answer your call,” she murmured. “And by the time it was over, Brinton was gone. We lost him.”
She half expected a tirade and perhaps a warning that there would be a reprimand on her record, but the only response Director Andalon gave was a few tense moments where he tapped one finger on the surface of his desk. Finally, he let out a sigh and said, “This is why cadets don't take point on an investigation. You're not ready for this yet, Melissa. It takes years to develop the necessary experience.”
“I'm getting that…”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anna turn her head and direct a small smile her way. The other woman had been young and inexperienced when she chased a criminal all the way to Earth.
Jon Andalon stood up, running his gaze over the three of them. “I'm usually not in the habit of rewarding disobedience,” he cautioned. “But I must admit that I'm impressed by your tenacity and by your ability to find the culprit.”
Melissa felt a swell of pride.
Leaning forward with his hands braced on the desk, Jon nodded to each of them in turn. “Agent Lenai,” he said. “Perhaps it's time you returned to active duty. We could use your expertise on this case.”
“Happy to help,” Anna replied.
“Very well,” Jon said. “Melissa, if you're willing to follow my lead, I'm willing to let you be a part of this investigation.”
It was hard not to jump for joy, but she contented herself with a warm smile and a curt nod. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I won't let you down.”
“So, I'm confused,” Anna said.
Sunlight came in through Harry's kitchen window, falling on a collection of dishes in a sink full of soapy water. He dunked a plate in the suds and began to scrub it with a sponge. Of course, the dishwasher could have done this – and when he had decided to forego that option, that blasted robot had come along offering to assist him – but he wanted to do it himself.
Wincing hard, Harry rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “What are you confused about?” he grumbled. “It seems to me Director Andalon was pretty clear about what he expects.”
He looked over his shoulder.
Anna sat on his kitchen table with one leg crossed over the other, her hands folded primly on her knee. That blue hair of hers still looked out of place to him, but once again, he chose not to say anything. “Something doesn't add up,” she said. “Why would Harry Carlson – the biggest stickler for the rules that I've ever met – decide to help his daughter disobey orders from her supervisor?”
Blushing hard, Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “She needs to learn,” he answered, scrubbing a plate well past the point where it was spotless. “And I needed to do something.”
“See that's just it!”
Anna hopped off the table and shuffled over to stand beside him, bracing her hands on the counter. “Where did this obsession with being useful come from?” she asked. “For as long as I've known you, you've been the kind of man who wants to contribute, but now you're demeaning simple household appliances.”
“I don't know…I guess I just feel out of place here.”
“Come on, Harry.”
The growing tightness in his chest made him want to shrink away from her. Harry really didn't want to have this conversation. “Can't we just have a nice dinner, Anna?” he implored her. “You're reading too much in
to this.”
When he looked over his shoulder, Anna was squinting at him. He'd seen that look of suspicion on her a thousand times now. “Harry,” she said. “Something's bothering you, and I think you should let it out.”
“There's nothing for me to do here.”
“There's plenty for you to do here.”
God have mercy! What was Anna looking for? Back home, he'd had his job and his house and a thousand other little things to take care of. Not to mention keeping his girls out of trouble. But here…Claire loved her school; Melissa was doing well in her studies. The house maintained itself, for the most part, and he had no bills to pay. So, what was his purpose? He had to have a purpose, a reason for being, a reason that would make up for…
“It's nothing,” he insisted.
“I don't believe you.”
The tension in his chest was hard to ignore. “I just want to help,” he whispered. “Why is it so unreasonable that I would go out of my way to help my daughters?”
He turned to find her facing him with her arms folded, staring up at him with those big blue eyes. “Because you're a by-the-book cop, Harry,” she said softly. “Under normal circumstances, you'd tell Melissa to follow her supervisor's orders and stay away from the case. So, I repeat…”
“I have to do something!”
“Why?”
Gritting his teeth, Harry felt hot tears on his cheeks. “Because it was my fault!” he shouted. “Because I'm the reason it happened! All of it! I was there, in the Nexus…with Slade. I could have stood my ground.”
He pressed hands to his eye sockets as sobs ripped through him. “But he threatened Melissa.” The words came out as a squeak. “Slade…He said he would kill me on the spot, and then he'd go after Melissa.
“The N'Jal couldn't help me; he had EMP rounds. I couldn't shoot him. Slade would just deflect the bullets with one of those Bendings you Keepers are always throwing up. I had no options! So, I fled.”
Anna stepped forward, slipping her arms around him, hugging him tight. This girl, nearly twenty years his junior, suddenly felt very much like the big sister he'd never had. “It wasn't your fault,” she whispered. “You did the right thing.”
“Don't you see?” Harry growled. “Jena is dead because of me! If I had found a way to stop Slade, she wouldn't have…She wouldn't have gone in there…”
“Or maybe Slade would have killed you too.”
Anna stepped back, and when she looked up at him, her expression was stern. “You said it yourself, Harry,” she went on. “You had no other options. It's time to stop blaming yourself for something you couldn't control.”
“But Jena…”
“Might have died anyway!” Anna snapped. “Along with the rest of us, including your daughter. Think, Harry, if you hadn't come out to warn her, Jena would have kept fighting that Overseer creature until Slade turned the whole facility against us again. We all would have died on that moon, and nothing would be different.”
Harry fell to his knees, doubling over and covering his face with both of his hands. “I know,” he whimpered. “Believe me, I know that. But I keep thinking that there must have been something I could have done.”
Anna knelt before him with her hands on her thighs, frowning into her own lap. “We always think that,” she said. “Whenever things go wrong, we tell ourselves that if we had just done things a little differently…”
“But it's a lie,” he whispered.
“It's always a lie.”
Harry looked up, blinking tears away, and tried to regain his composure. “When did you grow up on me, Lenai?” he muttered. “What happened to the irritating, idealistic girl who threw her opinions around so casually.”
“She's right here,” Anna replied. “Casually throwing her opinions at you.”
Chapter 12
“One more time, Cara,” Jack said.
The cell they'd given the woman was very much like many of the others Jack had seen: a bed in the corner, a nightstand, a table and some chairs. Large windows of bullet-proof glass looked out on a field. She could punch herself silly against that, and it would not even make a crack, but at least she had sunlight.
Cara Sinthel sat in a wooden chair with her hands upon her knees, a slaver's collar around her neck. And she glared daggers at him. Unlike Calissa, she didn't bother making taunts or insinuations; she just sat quiet and implacable like a glacier.
“I want names,” Jack said. “You must have encountered other Keepers who have been working for Slade. Who are they?”
“You're not gonna get an answer.”
That came from Cassi, who sat backwards in a wooden chair of her own, watching Cara the way a kid with a magnifying glass watches an ant. “She doesn't know anything, Jack; we're wasting our time here.”
Cara said nothing.
Jack shut his eyes tight, sucking in a slow breath. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I don't think Slade would go to all the trouble to recruit a Keeper unless he thought that Keeper was valuable to his cause.”
Cara turned her head to fix gray eyes upon him, but she said nothing. You might have thought the woman was mute. Hell, she had responded to pretty much every single question with nothing but silence, and it wasn't as if they could do much to break down her resistance.
Offering leniency in exchange for her compatriots had produced nothing but a snort of derision; apparently, she wasn't frightened by the prospect of living out the rest of her days in a cell. Which meant she was either very stupid or she was expecting some kind of rescue. The latter was highly unlikely – no one had come for Calissa in the seven months since Ben had brought her in – but you didn't get to be one of Slade's people unless you were more than a little gullible. “Look around you, Cara,” he said. “Nobody's coming to save you. Why protect people who sold you out?”
The woman said nothing.
Biting his lip, Jack pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He let out a groan of frustration. “All right, this is getting us nowhere,” he barked. “What do you say we let her stew and see what Calissa has to offer?”
“If Calissa were going to tell you anything,” Cara began, “she would have done it already. Nice try.”
With his mouth open, Jack tossed his head back and rolled his eyes. “Lady, I don't get you,” he said, striding toward her. “If it isn't entirely obvious by now, Slade's people think you're expendable. What do you get out of this?”
Cara looked up at him with rage in her eyes, and for a moment, he was tempted to step back. “Oh, I don't know,” she murmured. “The favour of a god. The salvation of my immortal soul.”
“Slade's not a god.”
“Not him, you fool. Slade is just the emissary.”
Wheezing with laughter, Jack let his head hang. He rubbed his brow with the back of his fist. “So, you're one of those idiots who worships the Overseers,” he said. “Yeah. I heard all about that.”
“Then you should know what happens to heretics.”
He was about to reply with a witty retort when he noticed Cassi watching him with a worried expression. Maybe this was a bad line of questioning – or maybe she was upset that he hadn't told her about the Overseer religion – but he could deal with that later. For the moment, he had to know what made Cara Sinthel tick.
“You believe the Overseers are gods,” Cassi said before he could think up his next response. “Why is that?”
Cara rose from her chair in one smooth motion, smiling down at herself. She shook her head with a soft sigh. “Because they are,” she answered. “I've seen what they can do. Slade showed me the proof.”
“What proof is that?”
“Give it time,” Cara said. “You'll see.”
The first rule of interrogation was to never lose the subject's respect. Your prisoner must always believe that you have complete control of the situation. If anything they say rattles you, you must hide. Jack knew this, but that didn't stop him from exchanging tense glances with Cassi.
Ten minutes later, Cassi was sitting on Jack's desk with her hands folded over her stomach, frowning into her own lap. “The Overseers are gods,” she muttered. “What could possibly convince a grown adult to believe such a thing?”
Scratching his chin with three fingers, Jack squinted as he stared out the window. “You're right; it doesn't make sense,” he mumbled. “But if you meet enough of Slade's followers, you'll realize they all believe it.”
“So, they're all insane.”
Jack wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “If only it were that simple,” he said, approaching the desk. “Generally speaking, crazy people don't make the best operatives, and yet Slade's people have proven effective time and again.”
Cassi looked up at him with purple eyes as hard as gemstones, and he could see the tension in her face. “You can't think there's any merit to this!” she growled. “Don't tell me you're starting to believe them!”
Crossing his arms with a sigh, Jack let his head drop. “Do I believe the Overseers are gods?” he asked with a shrug. “No, I wouldn't go that far. But Slade must have shown them something to convince them.”
“Like that?”
If only he knew.
The pieces fit, however; Leo had insisted over and over again that he was a servant of the one true god; Pennfield thought that he had been elevated above mere mortals like Jack. Then there was Slade's bizarre rant when he fought Anna behind that motel a few months back.
Jack had caught the tail-end of it, and Anna had filled in the rest while they waited in the ER. After looking into her eyes, Slade had gone nuts, shouting “How many times must I kill you?” The man was off his rocker, and yet he believed everything he said.
Jack turned his back on Cassi, slipping hands into his pants' pockets. He marched across the office. “I suspect it's something the Overseers do,” he went on. “Possibly some way they modify the human brain.”
Cassi was hunched over with her elbow on her thigh, her chin resting in the palm of her hand. “You mean they can turn a good Keeper into a traitor?” she exclaimed. “There's a terrifying thought.”