Stars Beyond

by S. K. Dunstall

“I’m sorry, but you still need to make an appointment.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  “He’s with a client.”

  “That’s fine,” Cam said. “We’ll wait till he’s done.”

  Cam got his usual approving smile in return. Did he ever get tired of it?

  “I love your mod,” the assistant said. “Is it Samson’s?”

  “Nika Rik Terri.”

  The assistant’s eyes widened, but he didn’t comment further. Alistair noted that not long afterward he touched the jaw-link and murmured something. He hoped it was a message to the modder.

  Five minutes later a man came out from behind the closed double doors on the left. Alistair recognized him from the recording of Shanna Brown’s murder. Sa’s classically handsome body was a perfect advertisement for SaStudio. His gaze centered on Cam.

  “You’re taking lead on all our body-modding queries from now on,” Alistair said under his breath.

  The man smiled, held out his hand. “Samson Sa.” He looked Cam over.

  Cam shook hands. “Cam Le-Nguyen. And this is Alistair Laughton. From the Justice Department.”

  Sa turned his gaze on Alistair, looked him over too. He smiled again, only this one was the professional smile of the salesman. Alistair blinked at the brightness of the teeth.

  Sa turned back to Cam. “My apologies, for I do have a client at present, but I am happy to talk to you once the session is over. I will be another hour. My apprentice can make you comfortable while you wait.”

  He waved a hand in the apprentice’s direction.

  “Thank you,” Cam said, and Sa disappeared back through the inner doors.

  The assistant, now demoted to a lowly apprentice, offered them a choice of alcoholic beverages. “Just coffee, if you have it,” Alistair said. Real coffee was nonexistent on Zell. It was still a luxury to be able to get it whenever he wanted. He was offered his choice of five blends, and seven ways of having it served, while another apprentice hurried over to offer a tray of delicacies for them to pick from.

  Alistair could get used to this.

  There were three apprentices, all differing ages, if Alistair had to guess, with the oldest more senior than the other two and ready to give orders. After they’d offered refreshments, they gathered around the desk, staring at Cam, whispering occasionally among themselves.

  “If it gets too bad,” Alistair told Cam, “you can always go for a walk.”

  “I’m fine.” Cam leaned back and closed his eyes. “Maybe it is a little unnerving.”

  Alistair considered going over to scare the apprentices into looking away. Even as he considered following up on the thought, one of them smiled. Which reminded him. “Did Sa’s teeth glow for you too?”

  Cam opened his eyes. Blinked. Burst out laughing. “Really?”

  It seemed to have broken up the awestruck audience, for when Alistair glanced across, two of the apprentices were talking over something on a screen while the third was polishing glassware. “Shining white. Like beacons in his mouth.”

  “It must be strange to be you, to see what you see. Do you ever regret it? I mean, if you lived your life over, would you wish it had never happened?”

  Would he? Alistair remembered the terror of that first night.

  The dark. The pain. The disbelief.

  And overriding everything was the realization that he was blind. On a world with fifty people, no doctor, and no way off.

  It had been all he could think about. Not even his final memory of . . . beings . . . as tall as he was, only half as wide. It had been instinctive to raise his blaster, because on Zell everything was out to kill humans. He’d realized, as he fired, that the other creature had its own weapon, raised it at the same time. He’d turned his aim, saw the other turn its aim as well, but the edge of the blue light had struck his face. It had happened so fast he hadn’t even felt the pain until it was over.

  That, and the secondary realization that he’d been hired as security, and now he couldn’t do his job.

  Alistair shuddered.

  “I don’t remember how I used to see,” he told Cam now. “Zell. It’s normal. All this”—he waved a hand around Sa’s genemod studio—“this is alien, unusual.” Not that he’d ever been in a studio like this before. Prior to Zell he’d used a modder close to the office who did a basic job of keeping his body in shape and healthy. Their shop front hadn’t looked like a ten-star hotel.

  He could normally block the memory of the time that had followed the blinding. Not today. It all came crashing back.

  Three-fingered hands touching his face. Cooler than human hands. Trying to get away. Him, a former twenty-year veteran of the Justice Department, panicking like a rookie. They’d tied him down. He realized later that the restraining was a kindness, to prevent him damaging himself while he healed or running off into the wilderness before they were done.

  He’d just started to think rationally about what he was doing when they’d placed the hypodermic against his arm. At least he assumed it was a hypodermic. Everyone else had described it as a circle of metal, slightly cold.

  As cold as the fingers, Alistair would have said, but no one else had felt the fingers.

  Two hours later he had a raging fever. He didn’t know how long the fever had lasted. It had felt like forever.

  He’d come around to silence. Or not silence, exactly. There was a murmur of sound at the back of his hearing. A whisper that might have been words, waves on a distant shore that came and went. “Uncles . . . accepted the graft . . . wait and see.”

  He was untied. He’d pulled up the bandage, dreading what he would see. If he could see. He could make out shapes. The heat-shape of a weapon that had recently been fired. Circular windows. A circular door. He’d grabbed the weapon and made his way out.

  Something knocked his ankle. He twisted, raised the weapon, realized he didn’t have it in his hands, and instead threw his weight at what he’d felt. Couch, Alistair, and another body went down.

  Cam. Who’d kicked his ankle.

  They were at SaStudio.

  “I am glad I didn’t tap you on the shoulder, like I was going to. You weigh a ton, Alistair.”

  Alistair climbed to his feet and hauled Cam up. “You okay?”

  “Somewhat flatter than I was a moment ago.” Cam helped him right the couch. “This young man offered us more coffee.”

  That young man was backed against the wall, coffee pot tilted so far it was starting to pour out.

  “Coffee,” Alistair said, because if he tried to rescue the pot the apprentice would jerk back and scald himself.

  Cam swooped forward and righted the pot. “Alistair’s a big scary bear, I know. Do you need to sit down? Here, I’ll pour us some coffee.” He did so. “I’ll take the pot over to the counter here”—suiting action to words—“and you come over here too.”

  The apprentice sidled around, keeping to the wall.

  “Sorry,” Alistair said. “I forgot where I was.”

  Cam gave the apprentice a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.” He came over to sit across from Alistair again.

  “Big scary bear?” Did he scare Cam?

  “You must have been in a bad place.”

  Alistair rubbed his face. “There are times in my life I’m ashamed of how I behaved.”

  “Me too, Alistair. Me too.”

  Alistair sat back, sipped coffee, and watched the apprentices sidle as far around him as they could on their trips into and out of the room. “Does every modder have apprentices?” No one had mentioned Rik Terri’s apprentice. “Including Rik Terri?”

  “That’s an unfounded rumor.”

  He’d been so focused on watching the apprentices, he hadn’t heard Samson Sa open the double doors. “Nika Rik Terri doesn’t take apprentices.”

  There w
as no sign of the client, so they must have gone out another door. Or maybe they were being modded.

  “What do you mean? Rumor?” Alistair asked.

  “She didn’t have one two years ago,” Cam said.

  “And she still doesn’t have one,” Sa said. “Despite what the records say. The apprenticeship was registered after the explosion in her studio. She’s dead.” He ushered Cam to his feet, stared at him for a long, silent minute. “Your skin is so clear. It glows.”

  It did glow. At least to Alistair it did. A soft, golden color. All Cam needed was the white teeth to go with it, and Alistair would have to wear eye-covers when he looked at him.

  “And the eyes.” Sa might almost have been talking to himself. “It’s amazing the way she didn’t make you classically handsome. You look—”

  “Striking?” Alistair suggested.

  “Put you beside me.” Sa drew Cam over to a full-length mirror. “People will notice you before they notice me. I’d give anything to know how she did it. But come, let’s talk in my office.”

  Alistair followed them in.

  “Nika certainly knows how to mod to make someone stand out.” He leaned close, said confidentially, “I’d never have admitted it while she was alive, of course, but some of her designs were outstanding. Yours especially.” He hesitated. “It’s a pity she’s gone, of course, but if you need a touch-up, my studio would be honored to oblige.”

  Cam’s own smile flashed out. “I’m rather hoping Nika’s still alive.”

  “What makes you think she’s dead?” Alistair asked.

  Sa turned his attention to him. “Well, there’s the explosion, of course. At her studio.”

  Did he know Rik Terri’s body hadn’t been found there?

  It was the best introduction they were likely to get. Alistair said, “I believe you were seen with Nika Rik Terri only a few weeks before the accident.”

  “I haven’t seen Nika since Festival. There’s a big gala dinner. Anyone who’s anyone goes. It’s the only event Nika is sure to attend. Not like she used to. Not like she did before she hooked up with Alejandro Duarte.”

  Duarte’s body had been one of those in Rik Terri’s studio.

  Sa sighed reminiscently. “We’ve had some great discussions over the years.” He laughed this time. “Quite energetic ones at that.”

  “What about Shanna Brown’s event?”

  “Oh, my—” Sa put a fist to his mouth in what Alistair thought was an instinctive, rather than feigned, reaction. He shuddered. “Terrible business, and my client too.”

  “But the woman you came in with—”

  “Was not Nika Rik Terri. I’ve already told your agents that. She was no more Rik Terri than I am.”

  “Yet you came in with her.”

  “It was an outstanding mod. I mean, look at the images.” Sa waved a hand. “You can only get skin like that from a Songyan, and Nika only ever uses a Songyan. I only wish I knew what she was using to create that glow.” He looked hopefully at Cam, who shrugged. Sa sighed and turned back to the image. “Of course, I sought the woman out as soon as I saw her. When your rivals are producing work like that, you need to know about it.”

  “But you don’t believe it was Rik Terri?”

  “I did at first, until I spoke to her. It had all the characteristics of a Rik Terri design.” He looked at Cam. “The woman’s skin had that same, clear look yours does.” Nodded. “Beautiful eyes. Which explains why you’re so mixed up about the woman’s identity, but the modder is not the body they produce, Agent.”

  “But it could have been Rik Terri herself.” Alistair had checked Rik Terri’s stats. She was the same height, same build, as the assassin.

  “Agent, Nika and I are professional rivals. We know each other’s work; we know each other’s bodies. We’re modders. We know how the other walks, how they talk, how they smile. If they do smile, that is,” and Sa smiled his own teeth-blinding smile again. “I can’t answer for the smile, but that woman did not walk like Rik Terri. She did not talk like Rik Terri. She did not converse like Rik Terri.”

  “What do modders talk about when they get together?”

  “Small talk initially. Pointed barbs aimed at each other’s modding work. Then they get down to business. There is only one topic of conversation when two top-class modders get together, and that is modding.”

  “And what did you and the woman—the murderer—discuss?”

  “The weather. Of course, I tried to find out about her mod, but all she spoke about was how cold the night was.” Sa rubbed his chin. “You know, on reflection, that was unusual. Someone who’s just been modded generally wants to talk about how wonderful the mod is.”

  “So you didn’t know her at all before you got to Brown’s that night?”

  “No.”

  “There’s a rumor that before the woman was modded she was taller.”

  “Couldn’t happen,” Sa said. “It’s not worth the effort. Too much modding. Too fiddly. Too dangerous. Although, if anyone could, it would be Nika Rik Terri. She had a mind that went right down to the molecular level. Rather too much detail, if you ask me.”

  “What about the theory that someone else was controlling the body?”

  Sa laughed. “Now you’re getting into fiction. They only do that in the vids, Agent. No one can physically swap bodies.”

  “Not even Nika Rik Terri?”

  “No. Not even Nika.”

  They escaped an hour later, knowing more about body modding than Alistair had ever wanted to know.

  “Samson Sa can certainly talk,” Alistair said as they made their way back to the hotel they were staying at. “Was Rik Terri like that too?”

  Cam laughed. “Nika? She made you talk. She hardly said a word. She just listened, and before you knew it, you were pouring out your soul.”

  Alistair wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  “Where to now?” Cam asked.

  “Eaglehawk Prime,” which was the headquarters for Eaglehawk Company. “We have an appointment with Leonard Wickmore, the sole survivor of the attack at Rik Terri’s studio.”

  * * *

  • • •

  At the Eaglehawk head office, Alistair and Cam passed through five outer offices and spoke to seven personal assistants before they finally got to speak to Leonard Wickmore.

  “I’m so glad you made an appointment,” Cam said as they waited for the seventh assistant to clear the way. “Imagine if you arrived unannounced.”

  There was security, and there was excess. This was excess.

  The seventh assistant ushered them into Wickmore’s office.

  Alistair shook hands with the Eaglehawk executive. “That’s some gamut to run out there.”

  Wickmore laughed, deep throated and musical. “One can never be too complacent.” He indicated the two seats in front of his desk. “Please.”

  Alistair pulled off the eye-covers he’d worn on the way to cut the infrared and ultraviolet and clipped them onto the edge of his pocket. There were occasions when it paid to see colors approximately as others saw them. It saved a lot of misunderstanding, and the occasional near miss.

  Without the blocking lenses, Wickmore’s body took on the more familiar, warmer red and yellow overtones. Through the walls Alistair could see the heat from the power conduits. And the cameras. Wickmore had five cameras hidden in the walls around his office. Along with two weapons. One of which was pointed directly at the chair Alistair was about to sit on. The other at Cam’s chair.

  What sort of man hid weapons in his wall?

  Sometimes the extra sight was a blessing. Sometimes he’d rather not know.

  Alistair moved over to the window instead of sitting. He wanted to warn Cam not to sit down either, but Wickmore would know he knew. “An amazing view.” The weapon followed, remained targeted on him.


  He tried not to sweat. This was a regular visit. Nothing to worry about. But it was amazing the junk people had hidden in their offices that most people didn’t know about.

  The view from Wickmore’s office was purported to be amazing. Alistair supposed it was, but the rushing aurora in the sky outside reminded him of the Vortex. He hid a shiver, went back to the chair Wickmore had proffered, and tried to ignore the weapon focused on him.

  He noticed that Wickmore walked around them both to get to his own desk.

  “You’ve fallen on your feet,” Wickmore said. “Not so long ago you were up on a fraud charge. I see you got off that. Your wife didn’t. It was generous of her to take all the blame.”

  An immediate declaration of war? Or just another powerful man trying to gain the upper hand? Alistair ignored the jibe. “Executive Wickmore, we’d like—”

  “Yet here you are, large as life, still working for the Justice Department. Back in your old job, even.”

  When Wickmore smiled, his teeth were almost as blinding as Samson Sa’s. Maybe it was fashionable.

  “We’d like to talk to you about the explosion at Nika Rik Terri’s studio on Lesser Sirius.”

  “And this is what my attack has been reduced to. A cold case being investigated by a discredited agent on trial for fraud.”

  Wickmore might have guessed they were there to talk about the explosion, but his pat answer sounded rehearsed, as if he’d already thought of what to say and now had to deliver it. He’d known why they were here before Alistair had told him. But then, he was a company executive. He’d have called up the Justice Department Eaglehawk board representative as soon as Alistair had made the appointment. A few discreet questions later and he probably knew more about the case than Alistair did.

  “Your attack?”

  “It was directed at me.”

  That was an interesting view of an attack at Nika Rik Terri’s studio.

  “Why do you feel the attack was directed at you and not Rik Terri?”

  “Why would anyone target a body modder?”

  Alistair could think of a lot of reasons, but he left it. He was looking for Nika, not investigating an attack on the executive. “You should be encouraged,” Alistair said. “At least someone is looking at it.”