by R S Penney
“I talked to some friends at the university.”
Larani raised an eyebrow.
The other woman offered a small smile as she dropped her gaze to study her own shoes. “My colleague, Darvin Sorvano, is a professor of sociology,” she said. “He did a think-piece for Skepticism Monthly, one that was highly critical of Dusep and his policies. It was popular among academics…but I'd be lying if I told you it had any influence on the opinions of the average voter.”
Turning away from her, Larani faced the window with her arms crossed, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Her reflection looked grim. “Is that the best we can do?” she asked. “A few articles in a semi-obscure magazine?”
“What more would you have us do, Larani?” Gabi countered. “This is a democracy. We have to win our battles with words.”
What indeed?
Think-pieces weren't going to get the job done; she knew that much. Three years on Earth had demonstrated to her the power that hatred had over people. Several of that world's nations seemed to be about two steps away from collapsing into open fascism. Six short months ago, Larani would have insisted that something like that could never happen on Leyria.
Her people had outgrown prejudice based on skin colour, gender or sexuality, or so the conventional wisdom went. But it was already starting. Dusep's campaign against Earth citizens who had migrated to Leyria offered some disturbing parallels to what she had seen while running a team of Justice Keepers in western Canada. There seemed to be a sick desire in people. When they were frightened, when they felt as though they had no control, they took comfort in terrorizing someone else.
Her shoulders slumped, and she covered her face with one hand, gently rubbing her eyelids. “You make a good point.” Her voice was hoarse. “We will have to appeal to the better angels of our nature.”
“I might be able to help with that.”
A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Jack coming into her office and striding across the room with grim determination on his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “The door was open, and I caught part of that.”
“It's all right, Agent Hunter.”
“I've been thinking about what you told me a few weeks ago,” Jack said. “Before we raided Leo's hideout. You said we had to find a way to counter Dusep's message.”
“And you were reluctant, as I recall. You said that as public servants, it wasn't our job to influence public opinion.”
“Well, I've changed my mind.”
Gabi replied to that with a beatific smile, stepping forward to lay a hand on Jack's arm. “That's good to hear,” she said. “You can help me brainstorm some ideas on how we might counter that man's propaganda.”
“I have a few suggestions.”
“Very well then,” Larani chimed in. “Unless more pressing matters arise, you may consider that to be your assignment, Agent Hunter. I've had you on some fairly high-risk missions lately; it would be good for you to take some downtime.”
The pair of them left, chatting amicably with each other, sharing ideas. And when they were gone, Larani found herself lost in thought again. These past few months, Dusep had been like a gnat buzzing around the back of her head, always just out of reach and yet an endless nuisance nonetheless.
The fact that he insisted on targeting the Justice Keepers – and Larani personally – only worsened matters. She had a hard time putting her finger on precisely what it was about the Keepers that vexed him so. Maybe it was just because Dusep saw them as a political obstacle. Or maybe there was something more insidious at play.
Threads knitted themselves together in her mind, and it wasn't long before she had woven a majestic tapestry, a grand conspiracy that felt so very convincing at the moment that she had envisioned it. Was it possible that Councilor Jeral Dusep was just a proxy for Grecken Slade? Did he too serve the Overseers?
She abandoned that line of reasoning before she became too convinced of her own ideas. Just because a theory felt like the most probable explanation didn't mean it actually was. A good Justice Keeper was an investigator first.
She could feel her Nassai's approval at that last thought.
A section of her desk's glass surface was tilted to form a screen. She ran her fingers along it, brought up the home screen and then accessed a folder containing image files. It took a few more taps to bring up an image of Jena.
It was a close-up shot from a party last year.
Jena was smiling into the camera, her eyes sparkling, her short auburn hair a mess. At times like these, Larani missed the woman's counsel. Jena had been true to the spirit of what the Justice Keepers were supposed to stand for – a distrust of authority in all of its forms. That instinct had served her well.
At times, Larani felt as though she were trying to mimic the other woman's strategy. And doing a poor job of it, at that. But she was here, and Jena wasn't. Larani believed in the Justice Keepers, and that belief was just as valuable as Jena's cynicism. Now, if she could just find a way to use it…
“What would you do?” she asked the picture.
Of course, there was no answer.
Tall ash trees with lush green leaves lined the sidewalk and provided some shade against the hot afternoon sun. Though summer was drawing to a close, the days could get quite warm here in Denabria. They passed house after dome-shaped house, each one with sunlight glinting off its roof. That photo-voltaic paint would suck up quite a bit of energy today.
In beige khaki pants and a white dress shirt with its collar open, Harry walked side by side with his youngest daughter. The small plastic box that he carried in both hands contained her science project, a plant she had grown over the last three weeks.
Claire was in denim shorts and a white t-shirt, her hair styled in cornrows with two long braids falling to her shoulder-blades. “You know, you don't have to come with me,” she said, sparing a glance in his direction. “I know how to get to school all by myself.”
Harry felt his lips curl, then shook his head as he let out a sigh. “I wanted to come with you,” he insisted. “Claire, you're presenting your science project, and I'm a stay-at-home dad. The very least I can do is show up.”
“Shouldn't you be helping the Keepers?”
Harry tilted his head back and tried to find the words to answer her. “I'm not going to be doing that anymore,” he said. “After I got shot, I realized that they really don't need me.”
“Oh.”
“But you do.”
Claire stopped in her tracks, shoving her hands into her pockets as she stared into the distance. Then she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you, Dad,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The ferocity of her embrace eased some of Harry's tension. He had been afraid that his decision to put himself in harm's way had caused irreparable harm to his relationship with Claire, but thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case. Kids had a way of forgiving you when you screwed up.
He felt a brief pang of worry for Melissa – there was still a part of him that wanted to run to her and protect her as she threw herself into danger – but he quickly stifled it. Melissa had proven that she was quite capable of defending herself. Hell, she had bested Isara in their last confrontation. It was Claire who needed him.
The school was a massive, round building with windows along the outside. An arch-shaped overhang at the front entrance provided shade for several young boys who stood talking with one another. “Hi, Claire,” one said as they passed. “Good luck.”
Inside, a large foyer where benches formed a circle around a bubbling fountain was decorated with trees whose broad-leafed branches reached almost to the skylight. There were students here as well, standing in little clusters and talking with each other.
“Where are you presenting?” he asked Claire.
“The gym.”
Harry was glad to see that that room looked very much as he would have expected – a big box-like struc
ture with lots of open floor space, attached to the back of the school by a connecting hallway. There were tables set up in rows, and each student had claimed a spot to display his or her work. Some kids had their parents along, beaming adults who looked so proud when their child displayed some holographic readout or some plant that he or she had grown.
One kid had a floating robotic drone that he controlled with a SmartGlass tablet. It looked kind of like a Death Sphere with two long arms, each with a metal clamp for a hand. What the hell that was supposed to be, Harry couldn't even begin to guess. He had a feeling that his kid would soon know more about science than he could have hoped to learn in a lifetime at Earth schools.
Harry stood with his arms crossed, his mouth a thin line as he observed the other projects. “They don't look so impressive,” he said softly. “I wouldn't be surprised if you walked out of here with first prize.”
Claire took the box he had carried and set it on the table, keeping her back turned as she lifted the lid. “I doubt it,” she said. “For one thing, there isn't going to be a first prize; Leyrians don't believe in academic competitions.”
Harry went red, then hung his head and kept his gaze focused on the floor. “Right,” he muttered, nodding once. “But I still think you did an amazing job! I can't wait to see what your teacher thinks.”
His daughter spun around to lean against the plastic table with both hands gripping the edge, shaking her head as if he'd said something stupid. “Do you even know what my project was about, Dad?”
“Well…it's a plant.”
“Just…chill, okay?”
Oh boy was he ever feeling embarrassed now. Try as you might to understand your kids, you never quite managed to overcome lame dad syndrome. You would think that he would be used to this, having already gone through it with Melissa, but he still felt like an idiot standing here and pretending to be “with it.”
Relief hit Harry like a tidal wave when he saw Claire's teacher moving through the aisle between two tables, coming toward them. At least this way, he could do that thing where he listened attentively while the teacher told him what a great student Claire was. For a few moments, he would be spared the hassle of having to come up with something to say.
Sora Gaieles wore a simple pair of white pants and a red sleeveless shirt, her dark hair left to hang loose. “Harry,” she said as she approached. “I'm glad to see you made it.”
“It's my kid's science fair,” he said. “Of course I'm gonna come.”
Claire threw her head back and rolled her eyes, which made him feel embarrassed all over again. Not for his daughter's exasperation – kids always thought that their parents were lame – but it was a bit rude.
“Why don't you explain your project, Claire?” Sora suggested.
With a heavy sigh, Claire let her head hang and spoke as if she had been forced to recite this exact speech several times. “I grew green beans in a small hydroponic unit,” she said. “The goal of the project was to determine the optimal light intensity, duration and nutrient balance through observation.”
Harry wrinkled his nose in confusion, then shook his head. “Couldn't you just look that up on the Interlink?”
“The purpose of the exercise,” Sora began, “was to develop critical thinking skills through experimentation and observation. Once Claire chose a topic, she was given very minimal guidelines for how to begin. She spent several weeks growing multiple pods, adjusting the growing conditions each time and keeping records of her progress. At first, she conducted her work in the classroom, but the school lent her a small hydroponic unit so that she could continue at home.”
Harry nodded.
He remembered Melissa coming home about a month ago and helping Claire set up the project in her room. At the time, he had still been recovering from his wound. He had asked Claire about the project only to receive a terse “I'm growing plants” in response.
Maybe he should have pushed a little harder? His youngest child could be so damn standoffish sometimes. “Claire was graded not just on the quality of her beans but on her methodology as well,” Sora went on. “Which was quite sound. It took her only two tries to find an optimal light balance.”
Suddenly, he was embarrassed for reasons that had nothing to do with his child's snippy tone of voice or exaggerated displays of irritation. All of this had been going on, and he never knew? Oh, he was aware that his daughter was conducting a science project, but Claire had told him nothing about the specifics.
Was it like this with Melissa?
No, he realized, it really wasn't. From the age of ten until the day that she Bonded Jena's symbiont, Melissa had been insistent on charting her own path, but she always told you what she was thinking; she made her plans clear, and you could either get on board or not. Claire, on the other hand…He should have made more of an effort to find out what she was doing. Assuming that she would imitate her older sister was just foolish.
“I'm impressed,” Harry said softly.
A faint blush put some colour in Claire's cheeks, and she turned her head so that she wouldn't have to look at him. “Thank you,” she said. “But I better get set up. I have all of my records on holographic display.”
“Okay.”
“Why don't you tour the fair, Dad?” Claire suggested. “See what some of the other kids have come up with.”
Fifteen minutes later, Harry was leaning against the gymnasium wall with coffee in a plastic cup sending steam up to tickle his nose with a delicious scent. He had seen some really interesting projects. The kid with the drone that he had fabricated on his own was still showing off just a few aisles away.
Sora approached with a smile on her face, her eyes downcast…almost as if she felt a little nervous around him. “Your daughter really is a remarkable student,” she said. “She's done some excellent work.”
Shutting his eyes, Harry took a sip of coffee and then exhaled through his nose. “I know she has,” he said. “I just feel…”
“Yes?”
“Like I'm a negligent father.”
Sora responded to that with a raised eyebrow, holding his gaze until he felt stupid for even mentioning it. Jesus…If she used that look on students who acted out, it would be a matter of days before she had the best-behaved class on campus. “Parents are human beings, Mr. Carlson,” she said. “Not gods or angels or Overseers. It's understandable that you would be somewhat fixated on your eldest daughter now that she has entered a very dangerous career.”
“But I shouldn't neglect Claire.”
“I don't think you've neglected Claire, Mr. Carlson,” she said. “Kids don't always tell us what's going on; sometimes, we need to hear it from other adults.”
Well, he couldn't argue with that. Sometimes, Harry wondered if his own parents had spent nights staring at their bedroom ceiling, worrying about him. Probably. That seemed to be the universal law of parenting. “I suppose you're right,” he replied. “It was silly of me to think I had this all figured out just because I've gone through it once before. And it's 'Harry,' remember?”
“All right then, Harry,” Sora said. “It was good of you to come to the science fair. She may be a little snappish, but I can tell that Claire is happy you did.”
Well…He had that much, at least.
When the door to Isara's office slid open, Arin found the woman standing behind her desk with her back turned, staring out upon an endless expanse of stars against the inky blackness of space. Isara wore an elegant black gown with thin shoulder straps. Auburn hair now fell to the nape of her neck; she had been letting it grow now that there was no longer any need to impersonate Jena Morane.
Forcing a smile to cover the unease he felt around this woman, Arin bowed his head to her. “Isara,” he said, stepping into the office. “Our agents on Leyria have shared a very interesting report.”
“Hmm?
“There is a situation that merits your attention.” He set a tablet down on the edge of her desk and slid it across the glass sur
face. Everything that she would need to know was right there.
Isara spun to face him with a smile that would have been warm and friendly on just about anyone else. “Excellent!” she exclaimed. “And while we're on the subject, I have been alerted to a situation that merits your attention.”
Chapter 7
Any hope that Anna had of finding some kind of rhythm in the telepath's attacks was dashed the instant she read the information that she had compiled from the victims. The names of each victim along with the time and date of each incident were listed on a screen of SmartGlass with each record colour-coded so she could easily keep track of who was who.
Orange, purple, red, blue, orange, green, purple, turquoise, yellow: on and on it went with no discernible pattern. So, the telepath wasn't attacking these people in any specific order.
“It's no good,” Anna said, shaking her head. “There's nothing here.”
When she turned, half a dozen uniformed officers along with Detective Tremana filled the bullpen, all watching the screen with just as much intensity. Maybe one of them would see a pattern that she had missed? Was the telepath just picking people at random? If so, then why had he gone back to several victims? She made a mental note not to think of this telepath as a man. There was no way to know for sure who was behind this until they had a suspect in a holding cell.
One officer, a broad-shouldered man in his late thirties who wore his gray uniform well, stepped forward to hand her a SmartGlass tablet. “The addresses of every victim,” he said, “with a line tracing the telepath's route through the city.”
Anna smiled for him, then nodded once. “Thank you,” she said. “You're doing a great job. All of you are.”
The man stood a little taller, his lips curling into a small smile of his own before he turned away and rejoined his colleagues. Recognition and encouragement did wonders for morale. People had to feel as if their efforts made a difference.
Anna scanned the list of addresses on the tablet, then slid her finger across the screen to bring up a map of the city. The telepath's route was shown in red, and of course, it was nothing but a zigzag around this neighbourhood.
