by R S Penney
“That's an amazing story.”
“Thank you.”
A sudden knock at the door startled him. Spatial awareness did not extend through solid objects, even if those objects were transparent. So, while the door was made of glass, it might as well have been a stone to him.
“Come in!” Anna shouted.
When the newcomer stepped into the office, Rajel perceived her as a woman of average height with long hair that framed a round face. “You're Operative Anna Lenai?” she said. “I was hoping to talk to you.”
Anna stood up, exhaling slowly, and walked across the room with a smile on her face. “Yup, that's me,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“I'm Detective Bevi Tremana with the Telsaran Police Department,” the woman said. “And I think I need your help.”
Chapter 3
The buildings of this quiet city street rose a good five or six stories beneath a dome that shut out the atmosphere of a green sky. Velezia was at a point in its rotational cycle where this part of the planet was facing the sun, and that would remain the case for quite some time. It took several weeks to complete one rotation, which meant nearly ten days of constant daylight.
To maintain the twenty-four-hour cycle that humans were used to, the dome would periodically become opaque. It was even worse during planetary night. At that time, huge lights that simulated sunlight would activate. Velezia, unlike the many worlds that had been terraformed by the Overseers, was nothing like Earth. Why anyone would want to live here was unfathomable to him.
Jack stood on the street corner in blue jeans and his brown jacket, his dark hair in its usual state of messiness. “You know something, Summer?” he murmured. “There is something very unnatural about a city street without even the tiniest breeze.”
His multi-tool beeped.
It was time.
He turned and stared down the long ramp with his head hanging, inhaling through his nose. “I don't suppose there's any chance that this won't go exactly as we've planned it?” Summer's response was a glum sense of resignation. “I thought not.”
At the bottom of the ramp, Jack found a subway platform with white tiles on the walls. There were a few people here, but only a few. Most folks had better things to do at this time of day than take a trip out to the spaceport. Of course, there were other stops on this line, but that was the most prominent destination.
A train came gliding up the track with hardly any noise, only a soft whirring sound as it settled into place. Doors in each car opened with a hiss, and Jack stepped through to find a comfortable environment with blue cushioned seats.
He chose one and sat with his hands on his knees, his eyes closed as he let his mind drift into a relaxed state. Soon, he felt the world falling away, his awareness dimming until there was almost no sensation.
Then he heard the sound of birds chirping.
Summer had created an environment where they sat on a wooden bench next to a path that slithered through a park. The sky overhead was its proper shade of blue, and the sun was shining.
In gray pants and a frilly, sleeveless blouse, Summer sat next to him in her Buffy-like form, golden hair spilling over her shoulders in waves. An older, wiser version of Buffy that included traces of many other strong women in his life. “Are you nervous?” she asked despite the fact that she knew the answer.
“Not really?”
“No?”
Chewing on his lip, Jack shut his eyes and breathed in. “I just want this trip to be over,” he said. “Five days on this world is making me feel a little stir crazy. I don't know how people can live their whole lives under that dome.”
Summer was as placid as an arctic glacier, her face unreadable as she watched the empty field. “There's always a chance that he won't disappoint you,” she said. “Faith in humanity is usually a good thing, I've found.”
“Yeah, there's a chance,” Jack replied. “But let's be honest with ourselves, Summer. The evidence is not looking good.”
“I'm afraid I must concur.”
“That's why I love you,” Jack teased. “Unconditional support delivered with a crisp British formality.”
The puzzled expression on Summer's face almost made him burst out laughing. She had learned to mimic humans well. “I'm not British!” she exclaimed. “I don't even have a British accent.”
Jack slouched with his arms folded, tilting his head back to feel the warm sunlight on his face. Amazing how Summer could replicate that experience. “Yeah, but it's not the accent,” he said. “It's the delivery.”
Looking over her shoulder, Summer watched him for a minute, then nodded as if his explanation had put everything in perspective. “What are you going to do if Roderick turns out to be guilty?”
“Try to take him alive, I guess.”
“That could be difficult.”
A frown tightened Jack's mouth, and he shook his head. “True,” he said. “But the reason you Bonded me is because I'm the sort of man who will try. Just be ready to bust out the fancy stuff if things get dicey.”
“I will.”
The vision dissipated, Summer's simulated world fading away until there was only the blackness under his eyelids. When he opened them, he saw another subway platform come into view through the train's windows. Moments later, the train came to a stop, and the doors opened.
Jack stood up, checking his weapons as he stepped onto the platform. He carried his standard issue pistol and a small clip on his belt containing three metal disks with razor-sharp edges. Leyrian weapons. They could be used to lethal effect by anyone with good aim, but he found them most helpful when it came time to disarm an opponent.
A set of stairs took him to a hallway that ran from left to right from his perspective. Signs on the walls indicated the routes to various shuttle bays. Jack chose his destination and turned right. Not long now, Summer.
The hallway was bland and pretty boring to look at with long fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling and sliding metal doors in the wall to his left. Each of those would lead to a catwalk that overlooked the shuttle bays. Entrances to the main floor were several levels down. You think he'll put up a fight?
Summer offered the emotional equivalent of a shrug.
The very last door on his left was shut tight with a palm scanner for authentication. If his theory was correct, he would find the man that he was looking for here.
Jack pressed his palm to the scanner and watched as his own face came up on the screen along with his Justice Keeper ID. “Recognize Jack Hunter,” the computer said. “Special Agent, Justice Keepers Denabrian Division.”
The door slid open.
On the catwalk, a thin, pale man stood with both hands gripping the railing, staring down at the shuttles below. His extremely fair skin was contrasted by black hair that he wore in a buzz cut.
Roderick Carvael cast a glance over his shoulder, squinting at Jack. “What are you doing here, Hunter?” he demanded. “Our interview is over; your little witch hunt turned up nothing. I've got nothing else to say to you.”
Jack stood in the doorway with his arms pressed to his sides, hanging his head as he let out a sigh. “'Fraid it's not that simple,” he said. “See, we came here on a tip from Rajel Aydrius; I'm sure you remember him.”
The other man's lips parted to show clenched teeth, and then he turned his head to break eye-contact. “It figures you'd listen to that idiot,” he said. “Aydrius is nothing but a malcontent and a loudmouth.”
“Yeah, well,” Jack said, starting across a catwalk that was a little wider than he had expected. Three men could walk side by side up here. “Whatever you may think of him, Rajel's pretty thorough. The guy hates Slade, and ever since we exposed him as a traitor last year, Rajel's been keeping tabs on all the little day-to-day stuff that most people fail to notice.”
Grinning down at himself, Jack shook his head. “Our buddy Rajel started noticing discrepancies in your department's inventory logs,” he went on. “For some reason, there were alway
s fewer weapons on hand than there should be.”
As he neared the end of the catwalk, he turned to find Roderick leaning against the railing with a smile on his face. “And you think this has something to do with me?” the man asked, his eyebrows rising. “I have to hand it to you, Hunter. The effort you put into hounding an innocent man is nothing short of remarkable.”
“You see, those little discrepancies?” Jack replied. “They can happen sometimes. A gun gets lost in the field. One stops working and someone forgets to log it. The record is never one hundred percent accurate all the time, and a clever man can exploit that to his own ends.”
Roderick turned his back and leaned over the railing, scanning the shuttle bay floor. Well, that pretty much confirmed it. The man was uneasy now; he knew that he had been caught.
Jack took a step back with his arms folded, smiling at the other man. “Wondering why the weapons you pilfered aren't being loaded onto a shuttle?” he asked. “They're not coming, Roderick. Agent Seyrus and her team intercepted the shipment ten minutes ago.”
The other man whirled around, one hand on the pistol that he wore on his hip. His eyes betrayed murderous intent. “And you've come to arrest me, have you?” he hissed. “I really did underestimate you, Hunter. I take it you've known from the very beginning.”
“No, not at all,” Jack said. “I had my doubts until about five minutes ago. We knew someone was smuggling weapons…I was hoping it wouldn't be you. How long have you worked for Slade?”
“Long enough to know how much he hates you.”
In two quick strides, Roderick closed the distance between them and Jack found himself backing up instinctively. There was still a part of him that hoped he could solve this without violence.
“I don't want to fight you,” Jack said. “Come with us, and we might be able to help you. You don't have to work for-”
The other man kicked high.
A black-toed boot hit Jack's nose and darkened his vision momentarily. The impact was fierce enough to send him stumbling backward until his spine hit the concrete wall. Roderick drew his pistol.
Jack dove.
He somersaulted across the catwalk, bullets zipping past above him, and came up on one knee in front of the other man. He flung one hand up to strike the underside of Roderick's wrist and knock the pistol aside. This left his opponent open.
Jack slammed his open palm into the other man's chest. With a wheeze, Roderick went staggering backward until he hit the railing that overlooked the shuttle bay floor. Maybe there was still a chance to end this.
Jack rose.
Biting his lower lip, he squinted at the other man. “It's not too late,” he said with a curt nod. “You can come back with us. We might even be able to extract your corrupted and give you a proper Nassai.”
Roderick lifted his pistol.
By instinct, Jack twisted his body in the half-second before a bullet passed within inches of his chest and hit the wall behind him. Dropping low, he retrieved a razor disk from a pouch on his belt and threw it in one smooth motion.
Roderick adjusted his aim, lowering the gun to point at Jack's head, and just before he fired, a razor-sharp disk cut up his knuckles and caused his fingers to uncurl. The man gasped as he stared at his own bleeding hand.
Jack got up and rounded on him, striding toward his opponent. “All right,” he said, shaking his head. “You want violence…Let's have some violence.”
Roderick marched forward with deadly focus. The man's face was red and covered in sweat. “Slade wants you dead,” he hissed. “Imagine how pleased he'll be when I grant his fondest wish.”
The man threw a punch.
Jack ducked and felt a bleeding fist pass right over him. He jabbed Roderick's belly with one hand, then the other. Twin blows that forced his opponent backward and drove the air from his lungs.
Roderick fell.
The man caught himself with one hand and swung his leg to kick the side of Jack's rib-cage. Pain flared up, and Jack was forced to stumble sideways. His shoulder hit the wall, and he groaned on impact.
Summer was frantic, and when he focused on his spatial awareness, he knew why. In his mind's eye, Roderick was leaping toward him, twisting his body for a flying side-kick that would likely kill him.
Jack slipped out of the way.
The man's foot hit the metal wall with a clank, and Roderick bounced off to land on the catwalk, dazed by the impact. That gave him an opening.
Jack seized the back of Roderick's collar and slammed his enemy face-first into the wall. A second hit should have knocked the man senseless. Roderick's elbow came up and struck Jack's nose, filling his vision with stars.
Without even a second thought, Jack jumped and back-flipped through the air. He uncurled to land on the catwalk right next to the fallen pistol, then crouched down to pick it up. He set the weapon for stun-rounds. “I really don't want to do this, Roderick.”
The other man rounded on him, striding forward.
Jack lifted the pistol and fired, releasing a low-velocity bullet that sped toward the other man. At the last second, Roderick blurred into a wavering puddle of colour, and his bullet curved upward to hit the ceiling instead.
Jack fired again and again, loosing bullet after bullet, each one curving upward as they traversed a patch of warped space-time. Keep the other man occupied, force him to exhaust himself by maintaining a Bending.
Behind him, the door to the hallway slid open, and men and women in tactical gear flooded onto the catwalk. There were footsteps down below as well, people marching through the shuttle bay. “He's on the catwalk,” Cassi shouted. “Surround him!”
The officers behind Jack dropped to one knee, lifting assault rifles set to fire stun-rounds and pointing them at Roderick. The fallen Keeper must have realized that he was outmatched because his Bending collapsed.
The swirl of colour solidified into Roderick who stood with one hand outstretched, sweat rolling over his face. “Damn you, Hunter,” he panted. “You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into. Slade will kill you.”
Shutting his eyes, Jack felt sweat on his own forehead. “Yeah,” he said with a curt nod. “I've heard that before.”
He looked over his shoulder to find a group of tactical officers staring nervously through the visors of their helmets. No one seemed willing to take their eyes off Roderick for even half a second. “Let's get this guy into a holding cell,” Jack said. “He and I have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter 4
In gray pants and a blue blouse that she left untucked, honey-coloured hair hanging loose to frame a face of tanned skin, Detective Bevi Tremana stood just inside the door to Jon Andalon's office. “Thank you for seeing me,” she began. “I would not bother you with this if I didn't think it was important.”
Anna watched her supervising officer.
Jon Andalon sat behind his desk with his hands spread apart on its glass surface, a blank expression on his face. “It's no trouble at all,” he replied. “Start from the beginning. Why do you think this case falls under Keeper jurisdiction?”
On the far side of the room, Rajel stood with his hands folded behind himself, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses but fixed upon Bevi Tremana. Anna could tell that he was a little uneasy, and she couldn't blame him. The man was still getting used to the fact that his new team took all the weirdest cases.
Keli was present as well, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window with her arms folded and watching their guest like a hawk. “Detective Tremana doesn't trust me,” she said. “Her distaste is so strong I can practically smell it.”
Bevi Tremana frowned but kept her attention focused on Jon. “My apologies if I've given offense,” she said. “I'm here because I believe that citizens in my community have been assaulted by a telepath, and yours is the only team of Justice Keepers on this planet that employs the services of a telepath.”
“She's telling the truth,” Keli said.
Jon twisted in his chair, l
ooking over his shoulder, no doubt glaring daggers at her. “Perhaps,” he began, “we should let Detective Tremana tell her own story.”
Anna sat in a large white chair with her hands on her knees, staring into her lap. “You'll have to forgive us if we're a little off balance,” she said. “What makes you think a telepath is going after your people?”
“Well, for one thing, there have been six suicides in the neighbourhood over the last two months.” Anna nearly gasped. That was remarkable. If you looked at data from every region on the planet, you'd find maybe five hundred suicides in any given year. Over the centuries, her people had learned to ease social stresses and build a society that promoted good mental health, but there were always anomalies. Divorces, break-ups, unanticipated deaths of a loved one. Some people took drastic actions before they got the help that they needed. But six suicides in one community in such a short span of time?
Closing her eyes, Anna exhaled slowly and then nodded to the other woman. “I can see why that would be troubling,” she began. “But on its own, it's not enough to indicate the presence of a telepath.”
Bevi Tremana stood with her head held high, her eyes fixed dead ahead on nothing in particular. “No, it's not,” she replied. “But there have been other indications. Reports of hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations?”
“One woman reported seeing shadows without an object to cast them, shadows that seemed to move and flit about from wall to wall. A man from that same neighbourhood claimed to hear whispers at times when he knew that he was alone. People have reported seeing faces looking in at them from windows. We've dispatched officers to monitor their houses and found no sign that anyone was lurking in the bushes.”
A frown compressed Jon's mouth into a line, his brows drawn together as he studied their guest. “Isn't it more likely that this is the result of some hallucinogenic compound?” he asked. “Perhaps something that contaminated the local water supply?”
