by R S Penney
“Fine.”
She turned away from him, allowing him to see the back of a sheer white blouse that revealed a tank-top underneath. Della marched to the door, pausing there. “We can pick this up again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.”
Harry groaned.
Was the woman so ill-informed that she knew nothing about the major disturbances around the city? People were starting to whisper, wondering what could have punched a hole in solid concrete and scraped up a layer of pavement. From what he'd heard just this morning, some people were afraid to go into work. Rumours circulated, naming everyone from Al-Qaida to the little green men as culprits. Under circumstances like these, it wasn't long before people started imagining bombs going off in the street. If he didn't wrap this up soon, they might have panic on their hands.
The phone rang.
He brought the receiver to his ear.
Mopping a hand over his face, Harry winced and let out a soft sigh. “Yeah, what is it?” he muttered. “For the love of God, Teresa, tell me it's not my wife's lawyer.”
“Vitello wants to see you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
A moment later, Harry found a tall man with a barrel chest standing in his doorway. Vitello had a jolly face that seemed to be frozen in a permanent smile. His cap threatened to slip down over his forehead.
Leaning back in his chair, Harry smiled at the man. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mike?” he asked, eyebrows rising. “I take it you have some results on the search I asked for? Reports on the blonde woman?”
“Actually, yeah,” Vitello replied with a nod. “Eighteenth Precinct picked up a pair of yahoos down in Centre Town. A couple of small-time dealers selling Synth, but they were beat up pretty bad. Said a blonde woman did it. Couldn't have been more than five-foot-three.”
Harry restrained himself from pummelling the other man with questions. A few days ago, he'd have dismissed those claims as nonsense from the mouth of an addict, but now? It seemed this woman had a tendency for starting fights. “Any leads?”
“Yeah, there was a vic,” Vitello explained. His face darkened as he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Kid by the name of Hunter. Got beat up some. Funny thing is, our perps are willing to plead to everything – assault, trafficking, you name it – so long as we keep 'the blonde psycho' away.”
Harry shut his eyes, tilting his head back. He took a deep, soothing breath through his nose. “These are the moments you live for, my friend,” he said. “I think it's time that I pay Mr. Hunter a visit.”
“The seventeenth floor…”
Jack was stretched out on his belly with an old yellow legal pad sitting on the floor in front of him. For the past hour, they had been trying to brainstorm ways to allow Anna to slip inside the Penworth building and take a look around. It bothered him that most of his ideas felt like they belonged in a bad Bond film. One more fantasy about zip-lines and he'd bang his head on the wall.
Resting his elbow on the gray carpet, Jack leaned his cheek against the palm of his hand. “We must be missing something,” he said. “There has to be another way to get you in unnoticed.”
Anna sat across from him with hands on her knees, a serene expression on her face. Or maybe that was just perceptual bias. Either way, she seemed to be mulling it over, lost in thought.
Frowning thoughtfully, she glanced down at the legal pad, then looked up to fix her gaze on him. “You mentioned key cards,” she offered. “What if we stole one from one of the scientists? If I'm careful, he may not notice.”
Jack clenched his teeth, wincing so hard his face hurt. He shook his head in dismay. “Wouldn't work,” he explained. “For one thing, the security office will just disable it the minute it's reported missing, and for another, it might tip them off.”
He rolled onto his back, letting the ideas percolate. Unfortunately, the only thing he came up with was hacking the building's employee database and creating a fake ID. Only one problem with that: he didn't know the first thing about hacking. Ripping the guts out of a computer and putting it back together, sure, but not hacking. Besides, those scenes of people typing furiously at keyboards were all fake.
“What we need is a way to get the key card away from someone just long enough for you to use it…” He sat up. “Or take it in a way that he doesn't notice and use it before he realizes it's gone.”
“What if we copied a key card?”
Jack stood.
He turned around to find Anna sitting with her legs crossed, hands resting on her knees with thumbs touching middle fingers. Her eyes were closed, almost as if she was meditating. “I think I know a way to do it.”
“How?”
Anna reached into her blue jeans' pocket and pulled out a small circular device that she held between thumb and forefinger. “This is called a multi-tool,” she explained. “It can help us.”
Holding the device in the palm of her hand, she tapped a small button with her ring finger. The air wavered, creating a rectangular field of transparent blue light with script he didn't recognize. And icons. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it looked like a desktop interface. Oriented toward Anna, of course, but a desktop interface just the same. Amazing that a people light years away would design something so similar to what he himself would have.
Only then did he realize what he was looking at. A portable holographic generator? Holograms were a new-fangled technology that had cropped up over the last decade, but they required more power than you could put into a handheld device. At least, that was true on Earth. “With this,” Anna began, “I can copy the magnetic signature of one of those key cards. It's designed to learn how to interface with foreign systems.”
Throwing his head back, Jack blinked at the ceiling. “It might work,” he said with a bit of strain in his voice. “But the hardest part would be getting your hands on one of the key cards. Unless you can scan one from afar.”
Anna looked up to stare at him through a field of transparent blue light. “Sadly, we cannot,” she replied with more than a hint of dismay. “You'll have to get within a few feet of the target.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “I have an idea.”
He turned around and took a moment to peer through the rectangular window in the wall next to his bed. Outside, the evening sky had faded to a deep blue with a few bright stars twinkling. The small variety store in the building across the street was lit up like a Christmas tree, its yellow sign flickering. “Are you hungry?” he inquired. “I was going to head to the store to pick up a few things.”
When he spun around, the hologram had vanished, leaving Anna sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Why don't you save that for tomorrow?” she said. “I noticed that you have everything I need to make creeshai, and that happens to be one of my specialties.”
“You want to make a Leyrian dish?”
Anna tilted her head to the side, smiling at him with impish glee on her face. “Well, I thought we could stay in,” she said, her eyebrows shooting up. “And you could tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets.”
Creeshai turned out to be quesadillas: three of them on a green plate in the middle of the small wooden table. Anna had prepared them with some grilled chicken, peppers and three kinds of cheese.
They sat at the little table in the corner of Jack's kitchen – a table that he normally reserved for his laptop. In truth, that was all it was good for. The single plate took up just about every inch of space.
Jack took a bite, strings of cheese extending as he pulled the tortilla into his mouth. He sucked them up with a slurp. “Now, that's delicious…” he said with his mouth full. “I don't know who taught you to cook, but you're an expert.”
Anna wore a big grin as she stared down at the table. “I thought you might enjoy them,” she said, eyebrows rising. “Now about those deep dark secrets that you promised to tell me.”
Blushing hard, Jack shut his eyes. “We're still on that, are we?” He slouched in his chair, stretching out his legs be
neath the table. “You know, we have a similar dish here on Earth. Really makes you wonder how much our peoples have in common.”
“No changing the subject.”
“I don't have a lot of deep dark secrets, An.” He found himself grinning up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the heat in his face. “Really, I'm just a boring guy who works in a thrift shop.”
Anna set her elbow on the table, leaning her cheek against the palm of her hand. “I find that hard to believe,” she said, deep creases stretching across her brow. “To me, you seem very interesting.”
“Well, I guess I should give you the profile,” he muttered. “My name is Nathaniel Jack Hunter. I'm a Taurus. My turn-ons include gruelling death marches by the freeway, the Dewey Decimal System and tax evasion. I once told a woman that I'm deathly afraid of sock puppets just to see the look on her face. I did this over e-mail and then decided I need better planning skills.”
Clamping a hand over her mouth, Anna squeezed her eyes shut and trembled with a fit of laughter. “You have a well-developed sense of humour,” she murmured into her own palm. “But then I already knew that.”
“All right,” he said, “your turn. Tell me about yourself.”
Anna pressed her lips together, tilting her head back. A look of concentration passed over her face as she chose her words. “Our school system is similar to yours,” she began. “With the younger students separated from the older. I excelled in languages and physics. I bonded with my Nassai at the age of sixteen.”
Jack blinked.
Crossing her arms, Anna grinned and bowed her head to stare into her lap. “It's very young, I agree…” A heavy sigh escaped her. “Most people are not bonded until they reach the age of twenty-one, but my case involved special circumstances.”
“Care to share?”
“My father and I were on journey to Alastra,” she explained, “a colony world near the edge of Leyrian Space. It was my first time off world. My father is a diplomat and he was attending trade negotiations with representatives of the Antauros Dominion. They're human as well, in case you're wondering.
“Relations between Leyria and Antaur have always been strained. Sometimes the colonies along the border attack one another despite the objections of both governments. Our transport was hit by raiders.
“The Nassai I carry was on board in a containment unit. It was supposed to have bonded with a young Justice Keeper who had just completed his training on Alastra. But during the attack, the containment unit was damaged.
“Nassai cannot survive in our environment without a host; however, the chances of a successful bonding get slimmer and slimmer once you get past the age of twenty-five. That left only six potential candidates on board, and two of them refused to join with the symbiont. As for the others…the Nassai touched each of our minds and chose me.”
Jack wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Her story sounded like something out of a sci-fi flick, but then, why should that surprise him? It felt strange to realize that he no longer doubted Anna's extraterrestrial origins, but now that he had made that leap, it was silly to nitpick the finer details.
Biting his lip, Jack stiffened and shook his head. “Okay, I'm confused,” he said. “You said the Nassai rejected the first three candidates. Why wouldn't it accept the first offer?”
Anna studied him with a blank expression, clearly taken aback. By the look in her eyes, he could tell he had asked a very stupid question. “The symbiont gets a say in the matter,” she said in exasperation. “Most Nassai would rather die than give such power to an unworthy candidate.”
“And why would a human reject the symbiont?”
“Power comes with a price,” she replied. “Now that I have been bonded, my cells cannot replicate without my Nassai's assistance. I would die if the symbiont were to leave me. As it is, my lifespan has been shortened.”
“So, you're saying…” He almost didn't want to hear it. Now that he had met Anna, the thought of anything bad happening to her was painful. That in itself was unsettling. He didn't like the thought of being so concerned for someone he hardly knew.
“I'm saying that I can expect to live into my mid-fifties,” she explained. “And not much longer than that.”
Well…there you had it.
Though he knew it was irrelevant – it wasn't as though he'd ever get the opportunity – Jack found himself wondering if he would accept a symbiont. He wanted to say yes, but was he willing to cut his lifespan in half?
Knock, knock, knock.
Anna threw a glance over her shoulder, her face twisted in an expression that made him think of a startled wolf. “Are you expecting visitors?” she asked in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper.
“No,” he answered. “Hide in the bathroom.”
With serpentine grace, Anna stood and padded across the room without making a sound. She paused at the door to the bathroom, slowly pulled it open and stepped inside. Now, let's pray this goes smoothly.
Another knock. Louder this time.
“Coming!” Jack shouted.
He went to the door and pulled it open to reveal a man in a black suit. Dark of skin and hair, this guy had a chiselled jaw and eyes that seemed to smolder when he looked at you. “Mr. Hunter?” he inquired, lifting up his open wallet to reveal a small silver shield. “Detective Harry Carlson, Ottawa PD.”
Lifting his chin, Jack squinted at the other man. “Good to meet you, Detective,” he said with a curt nod. “I think I know what this is about. If you need me to come ID those perps, I'm happy to help.”
The man's face was a stone mask: completely unreadable. It was an old trick but a good one. “Actually, they confessed to everything,” Harry Carlson elaborated. “You gave a report in which you said you were saved by an unidentified woman. I don't suppose you could tell me more about her.”
“Not off the top of my head,” Jack said. “My vision was a little bleary at the time, and I was pretty out of it.”
Detective Carlson kept his gaze fixed upon Jack. There was just something so very unnerving about having someone stare at you. Jack knew from a few high school psych classes that it was an intimidation technique, and yet that knowledge did nothing to ease his anxiety. “Hospital reported you had a visitor,” the detective said. “A blonde woman.”
“Her name is Tracy.”
Carlson frowned, his brows drawn together. “Tracy…” he said, nodding to himself, testing the name. “This Tracy wouldn't be the same woman who saved you, would she? I would love to meet that woman.”
“Of course not.”
“Does Tracy have an address?”
Burning up with anxiety, Jack buried his face in the palm of his hand. He groaned and rubbed the tip of his nose. “She's a friend from Toronto,” he muttered. “Went back there this morning.”
He almost tripped over his own words. Giving away too many details was a sure sign that you were lying, so he made it a point to keep his responses short and frank. “Is that all, Detective?”
“There's no chance that Tracy's here?”
Jack stepped aside.
He allowed the man to peer through the open door, allowed him to see the ugly gray carpet that stretched all the way to a brick wall with two rectangular windows. Except for the couch in the middle of the room, a small table and his bed in the corner, the apartment was devoid of furniture. “Do you see anyone, Detective?”
The man scowled, shaking his head. “No, I don't,” he admitted, stepping back into the hallway. “That's all for now, but I hope you will make yourself available should I have further questions.”
Jack shut the door and heaved out a sigh. Tension that he didn't even know was there began to drain out of his body. I should have seen this coming, Jack noted. Anna had a bit of a flair for the dramatic when it came to opposing injustice; sooner or later, her actions would draw the law's attention.
We need to step up our timetable.
Chapter 11
A slanted window that rose from fl
oor to ceiling looked out on an overcast sky where tall buildings stabbed the heavens. Gray daylight fell upon the dozens of small tables that were spaced out on the tiled floor. The cafeteria in the Penworth building was bustling with activity.
Ah, the miracles of Facebook. What luck it had been to discover that one of his old high school friends – an older girl that he hadn't seen since the end of ninth grade – now worked in the IT department. With excitement at the prospect of catching up mingled with the fear of getting caught, Jack had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder every few minutes. Leah was a nice girl. He didn't want her caught up in this, but there was no other way to get close to Hamilton.
Tall and a bit gangly, Leah wore a pair of black slacks and a blue t-shirt with a lacy neckline. Her gaunt-cheeked face was marked by freckles, and she kept her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. “Jack!” she exclaimed, approaching the table.
He wore the same black pants and jacket that he had worn yesterday, sitting in his chair with arms folded. “Leah,” Jack replied. “Thanks for meeting me. God, it feels like it's been forever.”
She sat down across from him, her mouth tight as she looked him up and down. “And here we are…” she said, leaning back in her chair. “So, tell me everything. The last time we talked, you were trying to work up the nerve to ask out…Selia? No, Cecelia! Cecelia Abrams! How did that go?”
Grinning with a burst of laughter, Jack looked away in some sad attempt to hide his embarrassment. “It went about as well as you'd expect,” he said. “She broke my heart and shook my confidence daily. My next crush will be a Roxanne.”
“Why's that?”
“Because no one ever wrote a song about a Roxanne.”
She smiled into her lap, trembling with a burst of giggles. “Same old Jack,” she said, shaking her head. “So, what happened to that old computer programming club? Do you still talk to Ray?”
Chewing on his lip, Jack looked up at her. “Yeah, he's gone out West I think.” It took a moment to rack his brain. “I want to say Edmonton, but to be honest, I'm pretty sure it's Red Deer.”
