by R S Penney
It was almost as if…As if he expected to flunk out of the program. She filed those concerns away in the back of her mind; they were probably just paranoia, anyway. Right now, the Good Girlfriend handbook Stipulated that her job was to offer emotional support and try to help him relax.
And that was what she would do.
Harry walked down a quiet street lined with trees on one side – each sporting thick foliage that fluttered in the wind – and small buildings with store-front windows on the other. The air was warm but crisp, the sun shining bright in the cloudless sky. It was still so strange to walk on a city street with almost no cars.
In beige pants and a white earth-style shirt with its collar open, Harry maneuvered around a young couple who stood in the sidewalk, pausing to offer a friendly nod as he passed. “Hello,” the young man said. “How are you today, sir?”
“Quite well, thanks.”
It was strange, the things you got used to. People on this world were so friendly. He was beginning to understand some of Anna's bubbliness and also the frustration that she had felt during her first visit to Earth.
Back home, people mostly just puttered along, trying to avoid eye contact. Every once and a while, you got a challenging stare. If you were too eager to talk to strangers, people started to assume you were up to no good.
Pulling open the glass door to a coffee shop, Harry found a cozy room with maroon walls and small round tables spread across the tiled floor. The counter was operated by a ghostly hologram a tall, pale woman with curly brown hair. “Good morning,” she said, her voice coming through a speaker.
Pacing across the room with hands in his pants' pockets, Harry stood in front of the counter with a grin on his face. “Morning,” he said. “Small Half-caffeinated coffee with two milks, no sugar.”
The hologram flickered.
Maybe thirty seconds later, a hatch in the wall that led to the automated kitchen opened, allowing a steaming cup on a plastic tray to slide out. By instinct, Harry almost reached for his wallet, and then he remembered that he didn't have to pay.
“Harry!”
He turned around to find Sora Gaieles in a white sleeveless dress, sitting at a table next to the window. Her brown hair shimmered in the light that came through the glass. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Blushing faintly, Harry nodded to her. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he replied, making his way over to her. “I didn't know you lived in this neighbourhood.”
Sora had one elbow on the table, her cheek leaned against the palm of her hand. “I teach at your daughter's school, Harry,” she said. “Where else would I live? Um…I think you forgot your coffee.”
This time, his blush was fierce enough to ignite flammable objects that got within ten feet of his body. What was wrong with him? Normally, he was the sort of person who kept his mind focused on what he was doing.
Returning to the counter, he retrieved the cup and saucer and carried them back to Sora's table. She looked up at him with a questioning eyebrow raised but gestured to the other chair just the same. “Did you want to talk about Claire?”
Harry took the seat across from her, setting his cup down on the table, then shook his head with a wry grin. “You shouldn't have to talk about school on your day off,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything.”
Her mouth was a thin line as she regarded him, and then she looked out the window as if she were searching for any excuse to break eye-contact. “I'm sorry, Harry,” she said. “You're obviously a wonderful conversationalist, but I think we should avoid any kind of personal relationship while I'm your child's teacher.”
That hit him like a splash of cold water. Was Sora thinking that he…No, he was just trying to…Leyrians were friendly! He was only trying to adapt to the culture. “I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn't have invited myself to sit down. I'll go-”
“No, please,” Sora cut in with one hand outstretched, freezing him in place halfway through the act of getting out of his chair. “I didn't mean to be rude. We live in the same neighbourhood; it's foolish to think we wouldn't cross paths. Finish your coffee.”
Harry dropped back into the chair, his head sinking as he tried to fight through his embarrassment. “Sorry.” It came out as a halfhearted mumble. “I probably should have thought about the optics.”
“It's all right,” Sora assured him. “Why don't you tell me about yourself?”
Harry let out a breath before answering. “I used to be a detective with the Ottawa PD,” he said. “Though you knew that. I was the one investigating Anna Lenai's mayhem in my city; that's how I got pulled into all this.”
He wasn't about to tell her about the N'Jal or any of the weirdness surrounding that. Pretty much everyone who knew about it had, at one point, given him that look that said, “Are you sure you're still Harry?” He didn't want to see that look in Sora's eyes.
Damn it.
Maybe he was smitten.
Tilting her head to one side, she offered a small smile. “I'm sure it's more complex than that,” she goaded him. “Didn't I read that one of your own officers betrayed you in the Anna Lenai Case?”
“You uh…Read up on me?”
“I make it a point to get to know the parents of my students,” she said. “Though, in most cases, I don't have a convenient public record to consult.”
Harry sank into the chair with arms folded, tossing his head back. “Yeah, one of my people betrayed me,” he confessed. “Guy's name was Hutchinson. He was one of several officers taking bribe money from Wesley Pennfield.”
A sour expression passed across Sora's face so quickly you might have thought that you had imagined it. “The pitfalls of a currency-based economy,” she said. “Just one reason why our people-”
“Gave it up a long time ago,” Harry interrupted. “Yeah, I've read the brochure. It only took a few months here to discover that this world has its own problems.”
“Indeed.”
“Sorry.”
“Don't be,” Sora replied in a soothing voice. “Leyrian complacency is definitely an acquired taste. What happened to this Hutchinson?”
Harry lifted his cup and took a slow sip of coffee. Hot and bitter: just the way he liked it. Come to think of it, that might explain his ex-wife. “Maximum security prison along with most of Pennfield's goons.”
“And Pennfield himself?”
Frowning thoughtfully, Harry glanced out the window. “Anna killed him last year,” he explained. “The man came back to Earth from God only knows where and hatched a scheme to get revenge on Jack and Anna.”
Sitting forward with her elbows on the table, Sora steepled fingers in front of her mouth. “You do lead complicated lives,” she murmured. “Forgive me for venturing an unsolicited opinion, but I'm glad you've stepped away from all that.”
“Oh?”
When she looked up at him, her brown eyes were full of concern. “Most Keepers die long before their symbionts lose the ability to sustain them,” she said. “I don't want that for you, Harry; you deserve better.”
He felt a sense of calm when Sora reached across the table to gently lay a hand on his forearm. Was there any chance that she liked him too? Sora must have noticed the slip because she quickly snatched her hand back and cleared her throat.
Rising from her seat, she put on a stern expression and nodded to him. “It was nice chatting with you, Harry,” she began in a quiet voice. “I'll be sure to keep you informed as to how Claire is progressing with her studies.”
“Yeah…That'd be great.”
As he watched her go, Harry was left with a nagging sense of guilt. What in God's name was he doing? Teachers had professional standards to maintain, no different from police officers. And he was a middle-aged man, not some love-struck teenager. He was going to have to keep those feelings in check.
Sadly, he was old enough to realize that just about every attempt to keep ro
mantic feelings in check – no matter how genuine – ended in failure.
“You look troubled, Larani.”
The three rectangular windows in Sarona Vason's office, each with a metal muntin that segmented it into six individual panes, looked out upon a bubbling fountain in front of the Hall of Council. Two councilors, one of the Red Party and One of the Green, stood facing each other, clearly in the middle of a lively discussion. She watched them argue for a few seconds before responding.
Clasping her chin and stroking her jawline, Larani blinked through the window. “I was thinking,” she said. “About the direction we've decided to go. And the tension I feel every time I come here.”
She turned.
The office was majestic with a wooden desk on her left and bookshelves on either side of the door that led out to the hallway, each one supporting texts by key figures in Leyrian history. Those were mainly for show. No one would actually touch them for fear of damaging them. If you wanted to read The Art of Governance by Prime Council Narel Teriadra, you would look it up on a tablet.
Sarona Vason, the current Prime Council, sat in one of the large blue chairs near the fireplace opposite her desk. A willowy woman in her later years with white hair that she wore tied back and skin of a deep chocolate brown, she drummed fingers on the chair-arm as she gazed out the window. “Yes,” she said. “Dusep has targeted you specifically.”
The old woman turned her head to fix brown eyes on Larani, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. “It's no wonder you support my campaign to retain this office,” she said. “I think we both know that my opponent is no friend to the Justice Keepers.”
“Have we fallen so far?”
“I'm sorry?”
“The Keepers,” Larani explained. “Is our reputation so tarnished that people now accuse us of manipulating the political process to our own ends?”
Sarona was quiet for a moment, staring down at hands that she folded in her own lap. “Is that not what you're doing by allying yourself with me?” she murmured. With a start, she came back to herself, and her voice firmed. “A year ago, no one would have dreamed that the Justice Keepers were anything other than the noble guardians of Leyria and of democracy itself. But Slade changed that.
“Dusep doesn't trust your organization, and his arguments are convincing. Not long ago, the prospect of Keepers abusing their power would have been seen as nothing more than a paranoid fantasy, but we have witnessed people with symbionts committing brutal acts of violence. There are more than a few councilors who believe that you should be stripped of all legal authority.”
Larani snarled, anger hot inside her, and shook her head. “Just what would you do with us?” she asked, pacing across the room. “Lock us up? Exile us? The Justice Keepers have served faithfully for centuries.”
She took the chair across from Sarona, sitting primly with her knees together. “And who will be there the next time you face a threat that conventional law-enforcement can't handle?”
“You needn't convince me.”
“Oh?”
Sarona looked up, and her eyes cut like daggers. “You think I'm so easily taken in by Dusep's rhetoric?” she snapped. “But I can tell you this, Larani: you're going to have to find some way to restore the Keepers' good name. And it wouldn't be tragic if you took down Dusep in the process.”
“I'm working on it,” Larani said. “I believe that Dusep is a danger to this planet. In time, his bigotry will radicalize the people, and I have agents looking into that.”
“Good.”
With a sigh, Larani stood up, then nodded curtly to the other woman. “If there's nothing more,” she said. “I believe I should be on my way.”
“Good luck,” Sarona said. “You'll need it.”
The hallway outside the Prime Council's office had thick blue carpets and ornate light fixtures that produced a warm glow. Several young aides were scurrying about. One young woman came striding toward Larani with her eyes fixed on the contents of a tablet. They very nearly collided, but the woman murmured a hasty apology and went about her business.
Larani supposed she couldn't blame her; with the speed at which things seemed to be unraveling, it was easy to get distracted. Her own stomach was tied in knots when she thought about the future.
What would she do if Dusep became the next Prime Council? The office had very little executive authority – he couldn't just order that the Keepers be disbanded without the support of the legislature – but the man had proven himself to be exceptionally good at persuading people to do what he wanted.
In her official capacity as Chief of the Justice Keepers, she was not allowed to offer public support for any one candidate, but she was beginning to wonder if it was perhaps time to break that rule. The spirit of the law should always trump its letter. Dusep wasn't just a candidate with whom she disagreed; he was a threat to this planet. His rise could spark a revival of bigotries and prejudices that had not achieved mainstream acceptance in centuries.
That was the sad reality of the human condition: bigotry was not a hard and fast reality – it could be overcome – but keeping it in check required constant vigilance.
Her multi-tool chirped.
Pausing near a stairwell, Larani rolled up her sleeve and slid one finger across the screen. “Yes?”
“Director Tal?”
“Yes…”
It struck her as odd that there was no visual signal. Her multi-tool displayed only the words “Unknown Caller” in blinking blue letters. “We met once in passing roughly eight months ago,” the stranger said. “My name is Ven.”
Larani blinked, instinctively pulling back from her multi-tool as if the thing might spit acid in her face. “The AI?” she said. “Yes, I do recall a brief greeting when you were working with Jena's team.”
“I understand you now lead that team.”
“I lead all Justice Keepers,” she informed the AI. Really, Ven should have known as much. “Officially, Director Jon Andalon took over for Director Morane.”
“Regardless, I think we should meet,” Ven said. “Your office in one hour?”
“All right…What's this about?”
“Just trust me.”
One hour later, Larani walked into her office with heels clicking on the floor tiles and paused halfway to her desk, planting hands on her hips. “I'm here,” she said to the empty room. “What's this about?”
The holographic projector created the image of a transparent figure made of orange light that floated about a foot off the floor. It wasn't really male or female in appearance, but Larani had always assigned female pronouns to the AI. She was told that Ven didn't have a preference one way or the other.
The hologram bowed her head, then looked up to fix an eyeless gaze upon her. “I'd like to thank you for meeting me,” she began. “There are many things you need to know, things I've discovered in the last few months.”
Crossing her arms, Larani backed away from the ghostly figure, then shook her head. “Where have you been for the last eight months?” she demanded. “I would have assumed that you would be more involved in events after our last meeting.”
The hologram cocked her head, seemingly intrigued by the question. A soft buzzing sound came through the office speakers, like a thoughtful grunt. “I have been monitoring the Overseers,” Ven explained. “It seemed prudent.”
Prudent indeed.
The mere mention of the beings that her people had once worshiped as gods left a tension in Larani's chest. “And what did you find?” she inquired. It was so easy to forget, so easy to get caught up in the mundane. Slade and his cronies could be rationalized away as religious extremists or a cult. Her mind just slid past the uncomfortable reality that the aliens Slade revered were active players in this game.
“Your Director Andalon encountered them on a planet called Abraxis,” Ven said. “a most inhospitable world on the edge of Antauran Space. We know little about the galaxy beyond that point.”
A frown drew Larani'
s brows together as she studied the hologram. “But you have explored that region, haven't you?” she said. “Like a child who has to poke the ant hill just to see what comes out.”
“Curiosity is one of my base protocols.”
“And?”
The hologram vanished to be replaced with a two-dimensional representation of the Milky Way: millions of tiny white specs all swirling around a glowing core. The borders of Leyrian Space appeared in blue, and next to it, Antauran Space in red.
Green dots started to appear on the other side of Antauran Space, in the vast, empty regions that – so far as she knew – no civilization had claimed. “These are the locations where I have encountered Overseer ships,” Ven replied. “As I told Director Morane last year, I've spent the better part of the last century exploring the regions of space beyond our borders. Until recently, I found almost nothing to indicate the presence of intelligent life. Certainly no space-faring civilizations.”
“But then the Overseers returned.”
“I started spotting them several years ago,” Ven confirmed. “And occurrences have become more common since. I've used every stealth protocol I know to avoid detection. I don't know if they've been effective or if the Overseers just don't care enough to respond to my presence.”
Turning away from the hologram, Larani paced across the floor with arms folded, heaving out a breath when she reached the door. “I admit it's unnerving,” she said. “But why come to me?”
“Because the Overseers are only part of the problem.”
She returned to the galaxy map just in time to watch it ripple out of existence. Ven's hologram reappeared, this time composed of blue light. The spectral figure raised a hand to gesture casually at the wall. “I've traveled through the new SuperGate network,” she said. “Visited Ragnosian space.”
Larani felt her eyebrows rise, then gave her head a shake. “Nobody from our side has gone across!” she snapped. “The Ragnosians are extremely xenophobic! If they saw an unmanned ship piloted only by an AI, they would view it as an-”
