by R S Penney
“Yes,” Harry replied. “And she carries a symbiont of some kind.”
“A symbiont?”
“Some kind of intelligent organism.” Harry stiffened, shaking his head as he tried to put it into words. “Hunter has one too. At least he does now. I saw him bonding the thing this afternoon.”
Aamani Patel glanced over her shoulder so that Harry saw her in profile, staring at nothing at all. “We have no choice then,” she said, almost to herself. “We have to quarantine them.”
“Or you could try speaking to them,” Harry protested. True, he wasn't exactly on board with this whole symbiont thing, but he wasn't comfortable with CSIS getting their hands on those kids either. The word quarantine had all sorts of unpleasant implications he would rather not consider.
“We have no choice,” Patel insisted. “We have absolutely no way to predict what kind of threat these symbionts represent.”
Clapping a hand over his mouth, Harry shut his eyes. He took a deep breath through his nose. “You might want to consider,” he said into his palm, “that if the girl's people are anything like us, they'll be looking for her.”
Patel stared at him, her face glistening with sweat. “What precisely are you trying to say, Detective?” she asked, raising a thin dark eyebrow. “That we're in danger of a full-scale invasion?”
“Call it a hunch,” he said, “but I don't get the sense that these people mean to harm us. The girl has gone to enormous lengths to avoid killing; that says a lot to someone like me. However, she is a guest on our planet. How might her people react if they learn we've been mistreating her? They can travel the stars, Aamani. After the devastation you've seen this week, do you really believe even our best weapons will stop them?”
The woman looked positively shaken.
Harry winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If it means anything,” he muttered under his breath, “I think Hunter will be amenable to working with us, maybe the girl too. But you have to proceed with caution.”
“Thank you for your insights, Detective,” she said, backing away. “I will give them serious consideration.”
A moment later, she stepped through the curtain and left him alone with his worries. The world had changed in one day; suspicions had become realities, and Harry Carlson was forced to redefine his place in the universe. Here on earth, people wondered whether humanity would ever travel the stars, completely unaware that humanity was doing just that. What kind of world would his children live in?
Christ, his children.
Every police officer who also happened to be a parent dreaded the possibility of having to tell their children they had been injured in the line of duty – or worse, having someone else tell them. True, the doctors claimed he would suffer no permanent damage, but this incident would only remind Missy and Claire that they might lose their father at any moment. Leaving them with a sitter tonight wouldn't help matters either.
With a frustrated sigh, he set about scanning through his phone's address book.
Some time later, after calling every available contact, Harry found himself sitting in a hospital room, contemplating the unthinkable. Madison, his usual sitter, was studying for an exam, and his neighbours were out. His brother was in Toronto on business, so that left him with only one option.
Harry tapped the screen of his phone with his thumb, dialling his ex-wife's number. Leaving the girls with her would be better than nothing, he was forced to admit, but only just. Missy was old enough to resent some of her mother's more questionable decisions, and he expected an incident.
“Hello?” Della said.
Closing his eyes, Harry brought the receiver to his ear. “Della,” he said, nodding once. “How are you today?”
“What do you want, Harry?”
“The girls need a sitter,” Harry began, trying to ignore the bile churning up in his stomach. Having to ask this woman for help was worse than facing down a pack of well-armed thugs. “You're the only one available.”
“Oh really?” she replied in scathing tones. “And just why can't you be there? Work getting too hectic again?”
“I was injured.”
Silence was the only reply. For a moment – a very brief moment – Harry actually wondered if the thought of him being injured had fazed her. “And this is why I should get custody,” she said at last. “You're unreliable, Harry. You think only about your career and not about your daughters.”
Tilting his head back, Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't stop the growl that rumbled in his throat. “For the love of God, Della!” he spat. “Can you put that issue aside for now and focus on your kids?”
“I am focusing on-”
Harry slapped a palm over his face, groaning in frustration. “I'm sorry,” he broke in before she could say anything else. If he didn't appease her, she might refuse to help out of spite. “Look, the girls need dinner and someone to stay with them. And no fast food! Something healthy for God's sake.”
“You owe me for this.”
“Oh, don't worry,” Harry snapped. “If there's one thing I've learned about you over the years, it's that you'll collect with interest.”
It had taken a bit of gentle persuasion to convince the hospital staff to let him stay the night, but Jack had managed it. Lauren had required even more coaxing. She seemed to think he was likely to start chanting “you will be assimilated” any moment now. Jack tried to be patient.
The dim light and quiet gave him a chance to think. He had made a life-changing decision today, but his life didn't feel any different. He was even starting to get used to the added spatial awareness. As for the Nassai, for the most part she let him be. Perhaps she sensed he needed some time alone.
The room was dark except for a tiny light above Anna's bed that offered just enough illumination for him to make out her features. She was lying on her back with her eyes shut, her expression serene.
The sound of her breathing almost made him want to drift off as well. Bonding the Nassai had taken a lot out of him – he'd eaten two dinners – and he still felt like he could pass out at any moment. It probably wasn't wise to force himself to stay awake, but Anna was right; they couldn't trust Carlson or any of the local authorities. Once she was well enough to leave, he planned to rent a car and just drive in any direction.
Jack frowned, his head drooping from the weight of his fatigue. “Come on, Hunter,” he whispered. “You promised to watch over her, so no dozing off.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, running fingers through his hair. “You can handle a little more exhaustion,” he said, blinking to moisten his eyes. “Once you get her out of here, you can rest.”
“You needn't be so distrustful.”
Dressed in a black suit with brass buttons, a tall woman stood in the doorway with arms folded. She wore her dark hair up in a ponytail, her face an expressionless mask. “I take it you are Hunter.”
Pressing his lips together, Jack looked up to stare at her. He narrowed his eyes. “I am Hunter,” he said, nodding once. “And who might you be? Given your lousy sense of timing, I'm guessing 'watchmaker' isn't likely.”
“My sense of timing?”
“It's the middle of the night.”
The woman moved gracefully into the room, stopping a few feet from the bed as if she feared Anna might jump up and punch her. “My name is Aamani Patel,” she said. “I came here to make you an offer.”
He stood.
Clasping hands together behind his back, Jack maneuvered around the foot of the bed and stood before her. “I'm all ears,” he said, eyebrows rising. “But I should tell you up front: I've already got a lifetime's supply of Turtle Wax.”
Aamani Patel studied him with a flat expression, then nodded to herself. “Carlson told me you were defiant,” she said, stepping forward. “Let me be equally forthright with you, Jack. I work for CSIS.”
“Oh, that's awesome!” he exclaimed. “Hey, now that I've got you here, let me ask: is there a Canadian equivalent of th
at warehouse at the end of Raiders? You know, one that holds all our country's secrets, like the recipe for maple-glazed Timbits?”
Patel thrust her chin out, her dark eyes smoldering. “I'm well aware of your talent for verbal sniping, Hunter,” she spat. “Has anyone ever told you it's a rather thin veil for the self-doubt that gnaws at you?”
Jack sucked on his lip, his cheeks flushed to a blazing red. He lowered his eyes to the floor. “What's your offer?” he muttered. “And if you think you're going to take Anna into custody, you're very mistaken.”
“I want you to come work for me.”
What?
When he looked up, he found Patel watching him with a completely straight face; her tone seemed even as well. “You and the girl,” she said, glancing at Anna. “I'm told you both have talents that we can put to good use.”
“I'm not sure I trust-”
“If what you say is true,” she pushed on, “then Pennfield has been snatching up all sorts of alien technology. That represents a clear and present danger to the security of this nation and every other nation on this planet. Who better to devise a defense than a pair of experts on the subject?”
“You make a solid case.”
Turning away from him, Patel marched to the door and paused there. “You would be consultants only,” she went on. “Exempt from taking part in any assignment if you so choose. Though my operatives would welcome a woman with Anna's skills, and if what Detective Carlson tells me is true, you will soon be joining her at that level of…shall we call it combat proficiency?”
“All right, I'm on board.” He still wasn't certain that he could trust this woman, but it was better to be working with CSIS than to be running from them. “For the moment, I'm happy to work with you, but I can't say the same for Anna.”
Patel glanced over her shoulder, her lips curled into a small smile. She nodded to him. “Present my offer to her,” she said as if it were already settled. “I'm sure that you'll find her amenable.”
Chapter 19
Waves crested and fell beneath the starry sky, washing up over the sandy beach in a thin white foam. Teenagers gathered in the sand, many in nothing more than swimwear, and most carrying some form of alcohol.
From her perch on the wooden patio, Elora watched them with half-hearted interest. A young man in swim trunks and an open shirt led a bikini-clad girl off into the darkness. What she wouldn't give to have the last twenty years back, to relive them here, on this backward little planet.
A slim woman in a red sundress, Elora felt the wind tease her bob of dirty blonde hair. Her skin had been bronzed by the sun, but she would still be considered pale here in the Dominican. “If wishes were ships,” she said, nodding to herself, “every last one of us would sail the stars.”
She turned away from the railing.
The small bar with a neon sign in its front window had a roof of small red tiles and a few cracks in the white stone that made up its front wall. Plastic tables and chairs were spread out across the patio. Not exactly a palace, but the place was hers. She had always wanted to own a bar.
Elora glided across the wooden planks.
Pushing her way through the front door, she found herself inside a dimly lit room where wooden tables were spread out haphazardly on the dusty floor. The counter off to her left was occupied by a young man in a Hawaiian shirt who sat with his back to her, staring into his beer.
With a heavy sigh, Elora lowered her eyes to the floor. She felt deep creases stretch across her brow. “Still here, Emmanuel?” she asked. “I thought that I'd made my position clear to you.”
He kept his back turned, but Elora could see the way he hunched up his shoulders as though a shiver had run down his spine. “You sell to Rolin,” he growled. “Why should I be any different?”
“Because your mother would hate me.”
“Forget that bitch!”
Lifting her chin, Elora narrowed her eyes to slits. “You will not say such things in my presence.” The words came out as a rasp, but that suited her. “Your mother is kinder than I would be in her place.”
He swivelled around on the stool.
Emmanuel was a handsome boy with copper skin and high cheekbones, his black hair kept short. “I know you need the money,” he said, standing up. “Just this once, and I swear I'll never tell.”
Elora felt her face burn.
It was becoming clear to her that the kid would not depart until she appeased him; he had come in a half hour ago, demanding a bag, and silencing him had taken more effort than she would have cared to expend. There were customers who only wanted to drink in peace, and alerting them to her under-the-table activities was a good way to run afoul of the locals.
Not that she feared imprisonment – the few trinkets she had brought with her to this technologically impoverished world would be more than enough to evade the police – but that would require her to move on. She had spent the better part of her adult life drifting from one port to another, but she liked it here. It was warm.
She had placated the boy with alcohol despite his lack of an adult bracelet, but with the last of her customers gone, his protests had started up again. At this point, it might be wiser to relent. Boys had a habit of letting their tongues wag, particularly when they felt slighted. Allowing him to purchase his bag would provide him with plenty of incentive to keep silent.
Elora marched across the room with her fists clenched at her sides, her face twisted in a scowl. “You are a foolish boy,” she said, shaking her head. “But if you insist on this, then I'll have your promise. Not one word to anyone.”
“Of course!”
She dropped to a crouch behind the bar, rifling through a few cardboard boxes that she kept on a small shelf. So far, she had managed to keep their contents hidden from customers and government officials alike. When she found what she was looking for, she breathed out a sigh of relief.
Pulling a black glove over her hand, Elora squinted into her palm. She nodded once in approval. “One thing before we go on,” she said, standing up. “Do you believe in black magic, Emmanuel?”
He leaned over the bar with a big grin on his face, his eyes as wide as a ten-peso coin. “What are you talking about, Lora?” he exclaimed. “Nobody believes in those old superstitions. Now, give-”
She seized his throat with her gloved hand.
The boy spasmed as pain shot through his body, arms flailing about, head bobbing from side to side. A Slaver's Glove was designed to do just that: stimulate those nerve-endings that sent pain signals to the brain.
She gave a shove.
Emmanuel fell backward, landing hard on his ass on the wooden floorboards. Tears glistened on his cheeks. “What did you…” He shook his head, groaning. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Elora lifted her chin to stare down her nose at him. “Do you believe in black magic, Emmanuel?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps your view of the universe has been expanded tonight.”
Red-faced and gasping, Emmanuel hung his head. He sobbed and tears dripped from his chin. “Sweet Jesus, have mercy,” he whimpered. “Mother Mary and all of the Apostles, I beg-”
“Pick yourself up.”
The boy did so with some hesitation, standing on shaky legs as though surprised to find that the pain had receded. He looked up at her, terror on his face. “How are you able to do that?”
“That is not your concern.” Elora took a small bag of cocaine from a drawer under the bar and tossed it onto the counter. “You will pay me two hundred for that, leave here and never speak of this to anyone. If you do, for any reason, I will inflict horrors on you that you have never imagined.”
Emmanuel frowned, staring down at the floor. “Okay, Elora,” he said, retrieving his wallet and fishing out a stack of bills. “I won't tell anyone; I promise. Just…whatever you did, don't do it again.”
When he was gone, Elora heaved out a sigh. Inflicting pain on the boy had been a gamble – it might persuade him to remain sile
nt, or it might convince him to bring the law down upon her – but she felt more assured of the former than the latter. Emmanuel would not want to talk to the police when there existed the possibility that Elora might reveal the purpose of his visit.
“Tormenting children,” a dry voice said. “I thought that beneath you.”
A sudden chill went through Elora, and she almost reached for the pistol she kept under the counter. Almost. A savvy woman learned to keep those reactions under control; they could interfere with business.
A tall man stood in her doorway, dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt with the collar left open. His thin, angular face was a little too pale, and the glasses he wore reflected the light. “Perhaps I underestimated your foolishness.”
A flush singed Elora's cheeks, and she looked down at the counter to avoid glaring at him. “What do you want, Pennfield?” she asked. “I'm fairly certain my debts to you have been paid.”
“To prevent you from drawing attention to yourself.” Slipping his hands into his pockets, Wesley Pennfield strolled into the room, glancing about as if to study the décor. “I did not offer you refuge on this planet only to have you flaunt your stolen technology like a child with a toy.”
Elora closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and then let it out again. “What I do in my own establishment is none of your concern,” she said. “If you're worried that I might divulge-”
“Please.”
The man turned on his heel, facing her with his chin thrust out. Being scrutinized by Pennfield made her feel very much like a worm that had been primed for dissection. “Nothing you could divulge would harm me. I've come here to arrange a simple business transaction. Nothing more.”
“What sort of transaction?”
Wesley Pennfield smiled a smile that seemed forced somehow. “You have several battle drones, do you not?”
“I do not.”
Crossing his arms, the man looked down at the floor. He seemed to be choosing his next words with care. “But you know where I can find some,” he said. “Perhaps you can broker a deal?”
