by R S Penney
A moment later, Atero reappeared, and the rainbow of light reformed into a single white beam from his multi-tool. He turned it off with a few taps. “Ships emit all sorts of energy: thermal emissions, radar pings. You name it.”
He sat down in the chair in front of one console, muttering to himself as he tried to pull the smock off. “Bleakness,” he said at last. “A simple pair of infrared goggles would render this device useless.”
“Well, there's that much,” Larani said. “Keep studying the tech. I want a full report on my desk as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She just prayed the Sons of Savard didn't have any other nasty surprises in store for her people.
Chapter 18
Melissa felt her mouth stretch into a great big yawn and then covered it with one hand, groaning as she fought through her fatigue. She was tired. “Goodness,” she muttered into her own palm. “You'd think Keepers would have more stamina.”
A ceiling of gray clouds threatened to spit rain down on Riado Street, but somehow, they never made good on it. Buildings on either side of the street stood five or six stories high, and trees along the curb sighed in the wind. The architecture was a little different here on Leyria. There were still highrises, but many buildings were shorter, and some were designed with odd geometry in mind.
Sliding her hands into her back pockets, Melissa closed her eyes tried not to yawn. “That's what I get for only sleeping four hours,” she mumbled. “And after getting my ass kicked to boot.”
On the nearby street corner, she spotted Aiden standing in shorts and a light green t-shirt. He was staring off into the distance, unaware of her presence. Melissa had briefly considered canceling their lunch date, but she needed to unwind.
When Aiden noticed her, he perked up and started up the sidewalk with a big smile on his face. “Hey!” he shouted. “I was worried you weren't gonna make it. I heard about what happened yesterday.”
Melissa smiled down at herself, then shook her head slowly. “Well, you can take it as a complement,” she replied. “I don't know…I'm still reeling from the fact that there's a murderous religious zealot who wears the face of someone I grew to love and respect.”
Aiden crossed his arms as he stood before her, bowing his head as if he couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. “Yeah,” he said. “Have you thought about speaking to a counselor?”
“Oh, believe me, I have.”
And she wasn't particularly enthused about the prospect of having to go through that again. She had only just been cleared to end her therapy sessions with the counselors who had treated her after she bonded Jena's symbiont. If being a Justice Keeper meant a constant strain on her mental health…
Well, actually, that was exactly what it meant. She had signed up for a life of near constant danger and political intrigue. She couldn't exactly act surprised when that took a toll on her emotions.
Aiden jerked his head toward the cafe on the street corner. “Shall we…”
“Yes.”
Inside, the place was quaint with silly paintings that reminded her of Picasso's work hung up on the pastel-green walls. A counter with a display case that showed off cakes and other delicious goodies was operated by a woman who…
A woman. A human woman.
This lady was short with olive skin and dark hair with a streak of teal through it. She smiled when she saw them, gesturing to one of the many empty tables that sat in the light of a store-front window. “Please, come in! Sit wherever you like!”
“You're a person!”
The woman's face took on an expression that you might expect to see on someone who had just picked up a whiff of garbage. “Thank you?”
Melissa felt her cheeks burn, then turned her head to stare at the wall. She cleared her throat. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled. “It's just…I grew up on Earth, and most restaurants I've seen since moving here have been automated.”
A bright beautiful smile replaced the woman's scowl. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I see. No, this place is mine. The name's Tesia.”
“And you run this place?”
“Yes, I've known I wanted to be a pastry chef since I was about eight years old. We do have robot waiters for the busy hours, but they're all on standby for the moment.”
Aiden seemed a tad chagrined by her touristy behaviour, but what could she say? She was still new here. They chose a small table by the window, but with an overcast sky, there wasn't much light to be had.
The menu came in the form of a hologram that floated above the table, and Melissa selected something that was kind of like a fajita. Grilled chicken, green and red peppers and shredded cheese in some kind of tortilla shell.
Tesia approached their table mere moments later, standing with her hands behind her back as she smiled down at them. “I should tell you that we're out of chicken for the next little while,” she explained. “Ever since those idiots hit one of the cloning facilities the other night, deliveries have been behind schedule.”
“Oh that's all right,” Melissa said.
Aiden leaned back with his arms folded, grinning up at their server. “You should thank this one for the fact that you still have bread and pie crusts,” he said. “She saved a food processing plant.”
Tesia blinked.
A moment later, she pulled up a chair as if she had been invited to join them and sat with her elbows on the table. “You're too young to be a cop,” she said, studying Melissa. “But you might be a Keeper.”
“Yes,” Melissa answered. “But it's really not a big deal.”
“On the contrary,” Tesia insisted. “It's a huge deal” It was hard not to feel just a tad uncomfortable after that. All Melissa wanted was a quiet lunch. She wasn't looking for a generous helping of praise along with her food. “And you're from Earth? How long have you carried a symbiont?”
“Just a few months.”
Tesia flinched as if someone had splashed cold water over her face. “Only a few months…Cadets don't usually go on…Are you Melissa Carlson?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Melissa pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. “How do you know that?” she whimpered. “I've turned down every reporter who asked me for an interview.”
And there had been plenty of those. In the few days since the attack on the city's infrastructure, she had received at least half a dozen calls and almost as many e-mails from journalists who wanted to hear from the city's youngest hero.
Tesia sat with her hands folded over her stomach, a great big grin on her face. “You can turn them down,” she said. “But it doesn't prevent them from doing their jobs. When a cadet saves a major piece of the city's infrastructure, that's news.”
“Oy…”
Hunching over the table with his arms crossed, Aiden shook his head. “Well, I say you should enjoy it,” he said. “Come on, Melissa! You put your life on the line! At least enjoy the rewards a little!”
“You could let me serve you dessert,” Tesia suggested. “We have the most delicious key lime pie in the city. My own recipe.”
“Okay, okay,” Melissa relented. “I'll try the pie.”
“Good.” Tesia stood up and nodded curtly as if the matter were settled. “And one small piece of advice? You may want to agree to at least one of those interviews. People need to know that someone is protecting them.”
A shivering Brinton sat with his elbows on the surface of a metal table, his fingers laced over the top of his head. The young man looked wan and pale, his brow glistening with sweat. Amps withdrawal was a terrible thing to witness. From what Anna had been told, the doctors were trying to wean him off the drug.
Another man sat on Brinton's right.
This one was tall and lean in a gray jacket and high-collared white shirt. His thin face of chocolate-brown skin was marked by high cheekbones, and he had shaved off his hair. “Agent Lenai,” he said. “Clearly my client is in no condition to answer questions. I submit that anything he tells you in this condition is
inadmissible.”
In gray pants and a black blouse with the collar open, Anna sat with her hands on the armrests of her chair, staring into her lap. Lawyers. Sure, it was their job to protect a suspect's rights, but she had no intention of maneuvering Brinton into saying something that would incriminate himself; they had all the evidence that they needed to convict him several times over. All she wanted was to know why.
Biting her lip, Anna shut her eyes and nodded. “You make a good point, Mr. Pellan,” she said. “But I just want to clarify a few things. Brinton, I understand that you're in pain, but if you cooperate, it will go a long way toward helping your case.”
“I will cooperate.”
Rax Pellan was not satisfied; the man shot a glance toward his client and frowned as if someone had dropped rotting garbage on the table. “You're sure?” he said. “Brinton, you can't be forced to answer questions if you can barely think.”
“I want to answer.”
Closing her eyes, Anna breathed slowly to steady herself. “All right,” she said. “I want to know why you attacked the university, and what made you ally yourself with the Sons of Savard.”
Brinton looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, and he blinked as if trying to moisten them. “I attacked the university because Isara told me to,” he answered. “She said it was the will of the gods.”
“More religious nonsense,” Ben muttered.
Anna could perceive him with spatial awareness. The man was leaning against the wall behind her with hands in his pockets and shaking his head in disgust. “You've gotta love the human condition; we can go to the stars, but we're still taken in by superstitious nonsense.”
Restraining herself from snapping at Ben required a little effort. Only a little. She lacked Jack's flair for putting a suspect on the defensive, but there were other ways to get information. Belittling people wasn't one of them.
Anna felt her lips curl, then bowed her head to the young man. “Isara told you that it was the will of the gods,” she said. “Brinton, you're an acolyte of the Holy Companion. You don't believe in gods.”
Brinton slouched in his chair, his head lolling to the side as if he couldn't find the energy to stay awake. “I was an acolyte of the Holy Companion,” he murmured. “Then Isara showed me the truth.”
“What did she show you?”
“That the Overseers are gods.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, and Anna found herself exchanging looks with Mr. Pellan. It was clear that the lawyer was growing uncomfortable with this particular line of questioning. “How did she show you that, Brinton?”
The young man wheezed with laughter, doubling over and trembling with every breath. “She killed me,” Brinton whispered. “She killed me, and then the Inzari brought me back to life.”
Anna felt a lump of ice in her stomach. Was this man insane? A victim of some sort of brainwashing? Was that how the Overseers turned Keepers to their cause. She shivered at the thought that it might happen to her.
Ben was less than pleased with the answer. He was standing by the wall with his hand pressed to his stomach, growling as he stared down at the floor. Perhaps asking him to be part of this interrogation had been a bad idea.
Rax Pellan forced a smile and then shook his head slowly. “Agent Lenai, you must see that Brinton is suffering from delusions,” he said. “I'm going to recommend that the court remand him to a rehabilitation facility where he can receive the-”
“I'm not delusional!”
When Brinton looked up, his face was red, and for a moment, it looked as though he might launch into a fit of rage. “I was there! On their ship!” he squealed. “I saw my own dead body lying on the floor.”
Once again, the room fell silent. How exactly did you respond to something like that? Brinton certainly sounded delusional, but she couldn't really discount what he was saying simply because it seemed incredulous. The Overseers had re-engineered planets to make them suitable for human life. Who could say what they were capable of?
Tapping her lips with one finger, Anna shut her eyes tight. “That's very interesting, Brinton,” she said gently. “Maybe it's time for a change of subject. What can you tell me about the Sons of Savard?”
“They want Leyria to embrace traditional values.”
“What do you mean?”
The young man covered his face with both hands and groaned into his own palms. “It shouldn't be that hard to understand,” he said. “We've eliminated poverty. There's no struggle to life anymore. This made us soft.”
“So, you want people to starve in the streets?”
“I accept it as a necessary evil if we want a populace strong enough to deal with the threats represented by the Antaurans, the Ragnosians and anyone else who might want to encroach on our borders.”
Restraining her hot temper required a miraculous effort of will. This was the kind of stupidity that only a privileged Leyrian could articulate with any degree of sincerity. Anna had been to Earth; she had seen the horrors of homelessness, deprivation. She had witnessed the deleterious effect poverty had on the human soul. Destroying their social infrastructure wouldn't produce a generation of hardy Leyrians willing to defend their home against any threats; it would produce a generation of people so desperate for any kind of relief that they would sell themselves into slavery.
“Is this what the Overseers want?” she asked.
Brinton winced, shaking his head so quickly he was likely to make himself dizzy. “No,” he replied in a strained voice. “The Sons have nothing to do with the Inzari. Isara gave us weapons but…”
Anna sank into her chair with arms folded, frowning at the young man. “So, Isara gave you advanced weaponry?” she said. “Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Everything Isara does is done with only one purpose,” Anna said. “To further the ends of her so-called gods. Clearly, the Overseers see your group as a convenient tool.”
Before she could say another word, Rax Pellan stood up with a hand over his chest. He looked to Anna and then to Brinton. “I think that, in the best interests of my client,” he began, “it would be best to suspend these proceedings for now.”
“He's willing to talk, Mr. Pellan.”
“There's no point in hiding it,” Brinton said. “You cannot deny the truth of divinity itself. Only a fool would try.”
Anna stood up.
Heaving out a breath, she let her head sink and rubbed her brow with the back of one hand. “All right, that's enough for now,” she muttered. “Come on, Brinton. Let's get you back to your cell.”
Mr. Pellan stood with hands behind his back, nodding his approval. “It's clear to me that Brinton needs help,” he said. “I'll draw up the paperwork to have him transferred to a psychiatric care facility.”
Anna wasn't quite so convinced that these were mere delusions – she had seen the devotion that the Overseers inspired in their servants – but she wasn't willing to put up a fight about it. A therapist might do a better job of getting Brinton to confess whatever it was he knew about the Sons of Savard anyway.
“Ben,” she said. “Contact Jack. Tell him what Brinton said. Let's see if he can get something out of Cara.”
The screen of Jack's multi-tool was filled with the image of Ben grimacing as he relayed everything he had learned from Brinton. “Jon wants you to ask Cara about it,” he said. “See if you can corroborate any of this.”
Standing in the hallway outside Cara's cell, Jack heaved out a breath as he stared at the gauntlet on his forearm. “All right,” he said with a nod. “Cassi's in with her now. We will see what we can dig up.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
The screen went dark.
Jack pressed his palm to the scanner beside the door, allowing the computer to read his biometrics. Then he typed in a security code and waited for the soft beep that told him he had been granted access.
When the door slid open, he saw Cassi in profile, seated on a s
tool just in front of Cara's bed. His partner wore a gray skirt and a sleeveless fuchsia blouse that was a near-perfect compliment to her short pink hair. And she seemed to be concentrating on something.
On the other side of the room, Cara Sinthel was dressed casually in track pants and a tank-top with spaghetti straps, her silver-blonde hair done up in a ponytail. “We've been over this, Cassiara.”
“And you still haven't given an answer.”
Leaning against the wall with a hand over her stomach, Cara tilted her head back and rolled her eyes. “I don't know anything about these Sons of Savard,” she said. “Or the proliferation of Ragnosian weapons or the true identity of this Isara.”
Jack strode into the room with his arms swinging, shaking his head as he let out a growl. “What about the Overseers?” he demanded. “You must know all the juicy gossip about them.”
Cara watched him for a long moment, her gray eyes sizing him up. “You wouldn't be interested in anything I have to say about them,” she muttered. “You've already made your opinions clear.”
“Did they bring you back from the dead?”
The woman's mouth dropped open, and her skin visibly paled. “How do you know about…” She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake. “Impossible.”
Jack crossed his arms with a chuckle, bowing his head to her. “Is that so?” he said, stepping forward. “You know, we've got a guy two cells over who insists that the 'Inzari' brought him back from the dead.”
“Then perhaps you should believe him.”
Cassi sat on her stool with such poise you might have thought it was a throne, and she watched the other woman the way a mother bear watches a hunter. “So, you're saying the Overseers can resurrect the dead.”
“They did for me.” Cara lifted a hand up in front of her face, studying her nails as if she had just applied a fresh coat of polish. “Slade stabbed me through the heart, and when I woke up, I was fine, but my symbiont was gone. It was disorienting, losing my sense of spatial awareness.
“They left me alone in a room that felt very much like a cavern with walls made of skin. Naked and terrified. I'd never been more afraid in my life. After what felt like hours, Slade showed up and offered me the chance to join him.”