Nat sat straighter, the muscles in her jaw clenching as she nodded. “Maybe you’re right. I needed that.”
“It’s what we girls do for one another. Promise me you won’t give up,” Jules said.
“I promise.”
They sat chatting for a while, eventually returning to bed as the sun began to peek beyond the horizon. The dogs trailed after them, and Jules had a feeling nothing would ever be the same again. But she was okay with that.
Six
The human police officer stuck his hand out, and I shook it. I read his nametag again, forgetting the name already. Officer George Duffner. My eyelids were heavy, and I took a pull from my coffee before reacting.
Slate leaned over the man’s shoulder, gawking at the killer’s image on the screen. It looked nothing like the man we’d fought last night, except the eyes. They were the same. Black. Menacing. “What do we know about Arthur?”
George scrolled through various files on the computer and stopped as he found the right ones. “Arthur Comax. Age forty-one. Worked at a manufacturing plant that went under after the Alliance began outsourcing power converters from Rebulon Peror Seven.”
“Let me guess. That’s the factory we found him under?” I asked, and the man nodded.
“One and the same.”
Slate tapped the screen. “When was he let go?”
“It’s been a year or so.”
I had an idea. “Can we access the corporation’s files?”
“We’d have to requisition them, but…”
“Do they have an office on Haven?” I started to search it on my tablet, but George intervened.
“Yeah, Conglometron. My sister works at the head office near downtown. She’s in employee resources,” he said, his tone uncertain.
Slate was ready to record the details. “What’s her name?”
“She won’t be able to…”
Slate repeated the question without a change of inflection, and the man relented. “Shelly. Shelly Duffner.”
“Good. We’ll need Arthur’s address too,” I added.
“It’ll be sealed off, Mr. Parker.”
“Tell them we’re coming in an hour. I don’t want any roadblocks, do you understand?” I used all my authority, even if I lacked the proper credentials to boss this officer around. It didn’t matter, because it worked.
“Yes, sir.” The man utilized his computer to send me the information, and I heard my tablet ping as it entered my inbox.
We walked from the room, leaving George as he called ahead, informing his coworkers to expect our arrival at Arthur’s home.
“You’ve still got it,” Slate said, lightly punching me on the arm. He was right, and it felt great to have my feet on the street, helping my friend.
We knew our way around Haven’s core, and I was happy to see it was thriving. There were few housing issues, and great social programs should anyone fall behind, but the entire city had a strong sense of community, businesses and people alike helping others. It wasn’t quite a utopia, but with a mixture of every Alliance member’s race living on our planet, it was as close as any world came to it.
The Conglometron building was five blocks from our position, and we chose to walk, me exhilarated by the exercise and fresh air. Slate was the opposite, his shoulders tense, his steps quick and deliberate.
We walked by storefronts at the bottoms of tall buildings, and for a moment, it felt like we were in Manhattan until I saw an ant-like Padlog pushing a food cart onto the street. I glanced across the road, finding ten or so Inlorian kids following a Keppe woman. This definitely wasn’t New York, but it was our city, and I was proud of how safe and secure Haven was.
“There it is.” Slate jabbed a finger toward the ten-story structure, the name of the business hanging over a wide entryway in red lettering. I didn’t know much about Conglometron, other than the fact that it was run by some investors from Bazarn, and that they had manufacturing plants on nearly every Alliance planet, New Spero and Earth included.
A human man guarded the front doors and waved us through when he saw us. It didn’t appear as though he was armed.
The foyer was crisp and clean, the floors immaculate, the ceilings high and brightly lit. We walked across to the reception desk, and a robot turned around in a chair. It resembled a human, with bright blue eyes and a tuft of hair.
“How may I assist you?” it asked in a sexless voice.
“We’re here to see Shelly Duffner,” Slate told it.
“Duffner. Seventh floor. Office B27.” It peeked at the elevators, and we left the robot to answer an incoming call.
“That was creepy,” Slate whispered, making me shrug. Robots were commonplace around the Alliance, and I was growing used to seeing them in roles like this.
The middle of three elevator doors opened, and we entered, a computerized voice requesting what floor our destination was. The voice matched the reception bot’s.
I answered, and we lifted, arriving a few seconds later. No one greeted us, and we walked down the hall, peering at the door numbers. When we neared Shelly’s, we saw it was empty through the glass walls.
“Boss, let’s just check her files and leave,” Slate said.
“No, we can wait.” I stuck my head into the office, making sure she wasn’t inside.
It was a good thing we’d waited, because the middle-aged woman stalked through the hall a minute later. “Dean Parker and Zeke Campbell. I’m thrilled to meet you.” She rammed her arm out, shaking each of our hands. “George told me you’d be coming. I took the liberty of getting Arthur’s files for you.” She passed me a tablet, and I spun it around, checking what kind of information she had. “Come in, please. We don’t need word to spread that our former employee went crazy and used one of our facilities to commit his crimes.”
We entered the space, and the door slid closed behind us. Slate sat first, and I watched as the clear walls grew darker, tinting at Shelly’s control. She took her seat behind the minimalist desk, and I kept reading the files. I tapped a date a month before they’d closed the plant. “It says you reprimanded him.”
“That’s right. His behavior deteriorated over time. His supervisor noticed Arthur had grown more distant, and he began using slurs against some of the other staff,” Shelly said. She had the same brown hair as her brother and wore a dark pantsuit I’d seen a thousand times.
Slate drummed his fingers on a knee. “I can only assume he was aggressive toward any hybrids you had working there?”
“That’s correct. How did you know?” she asked.
I finally took a seat beside Slate and leaned forward. “Your brother didn’t fill you in on all the details, then, did he?”
She shook her head, and I decided it was best she didn’t know. Ignorance could be bliss. “Why didn’t your company let him go?”
“We were closing in a month. The staff weren’t told until later, so we decided to transfer him to another department for the duration instead of making waves. He’d been a loyal worker for a decade and had a clean record until this incident.”
Shelly was nervous, and I tried to soothe her worries. “It’s not Conglometron’s fault. He wasn’t well. Where did you put him? The basement?” I kept my voice light and friendly.
“That’s right. The plant had runoff from the machines that would seep into the groundwater if left unchecked. Haven’s bylaws require strict environmental efforts, so Arthur was given that responsibility.”
Slate glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “So he’d been down there for over a year.”
I nodded, holding up the tablet. “Thanks for these details, Shelly. If we need anything else, we’ll let you know.” I rose, shaking her hand again, and we left. We had a timeline now.
We made it outside just as dark clouds began to roll in, bringing a light drizzle with them, and I used the tablet to source a transport. The next stop was Arthur’s home.
We landed ten minutes later, the rain pouring as we stepped out o
f the compact automated craft. Slate darted for the apartment block’s entrance, hiding from the rain under the awning. “This is a craphole,” he said eloquently.
Even though we’d tried our best to make Haven a safe and structured place for everyone, the fact that capitalism always prevailed created classes. It was inevitable. Arthur hadn’t been a well-paid employee, and he’d lived in a tiny box of an apartment. The police presence was instantly visible as I looked through the metal gateway. Their lights flashed into the central courtyard that most of the unit’s main window focused on. It was the middle of the week, a few hours into the workday, but people still watched us as we walked past the expectant officers.
“This way, Mr. Parker,” a female Padlog officer said with a buzz.
“Anything useful?” Slate asked her.
“Depends what you think is useful. Way I see it, we caught the guy”—she paused, glancing at us—“or you did. We didn’t find any more captives or reason to suspect other hideouts.”
The building was four stories tall, and she led us into a rear entrance, two robots standing on either side of the door. She clicked a device in her palm, deactivating their perimeter alarm. “He’s on the second floor.”
“Second floor. People above and below,” Slate whispered.
We climbed the steps, and another officer greeted us at the unit. I asked them to give us a few minutes, and I accepted a pair of gloves from the Padlog.
“Isn’t this place pleasant?” Slate snapped the wrists of his gloves on and grimaced as he peered around. It was filthy. Dirty dishes were piled in the single sink, and blankets were strewn all over the floor. I could hardly see the carpet. There was a couch and an end table, each covered with paper.
I stepped closer, picking a piece up. My stomach sank. “Look familiar?” I flipped it around, showing Slate.
He snatched it from my hand, staring at the crude drawing. “I don’t think so. What is this?”
“The arms with claws. Red eyes. It’s the thing Carolyn talked about seeing in her dreams,” I reminded him.
“That’s right. It’s… everywhere.” Slate dropped the paper, letting the page float to the floor. We sorted through the stack of drawings, seeing the same image sketched in a slightly different style on each of the sheets.
“This can’t be a coincidence. Now we have to bring this to Regnig and let him compare it to his database.” I took numerous samples, folding them and sliding them into my pocket.
We spent another uncomfortable hour there, finding nothing of use. Arthur Comax had been a normal man at one point, and something had been triggered in him. I assumed these drawings had begun at that time. If Slate harbored the same affliction, it made sense that he couldn’t remember the traumatic effect. But Carolyn had, early on. The entire thing was giving me a headache.
“Did you find what you were seeking?” the Padlog officer asked from the doorway.
Slate shook his head and brushed past her into the hall. “Come on, Dean. Let’s talk to his victims. See…”
“I think we can let the police do that. Let’s visit Earth.”
“Why?”
“To check if the Locator tracks any more hits. We can’t have people chaining our allies in their basements.”
Slate grimaced, and I saw then that he felt some form of connection to Arthur and Carolyn. I set my hands on his shoulders as I stood in front of him and spoke softly. “You are not them. We’re going to solve this.”
He could only nod his understanding.
A short time later, we were on our way to the portal, ready to return to Earth.
____________
“Did you forward the images to Regnig?” I asked Slate, and he nodded. We lowered near the New York colony, where we’d arranged to meet Paul in Central Park. It was a beautiful autumn day, and I guided the shuttle toward Cleopatra’s Needle, the imported obelisk. Paul waited with his wife, Sammy, leaning against the old stone statue.
“If it isn’t the dynamic duo,” Paul said with a smirk. “I’m glad you contacted me.”
“I wish it was for a better reason,” I admitted. “Hi, Paul. Sammy.” I hugged them one at a time, before Slate did the same.
“What kind of trouble are you in today?” Sammy asked with a sparkle in her eye.
“The usual. Apparently, I’m an alien that could erupt into chaos without notice. No big deal,” Slate told them flatly.
Paul started to smile, but it faltered. “Are you kidding around?”
“I wish I was, but it may not be as dire as our friend makes it out to be,” I said. “We do have a favor to ask of you, though. There are two targets on Earth.” I held out the Locator, scrolling to each red dot the device had found. The moment we’d transported from Haven to Earth, I’d used the tool, and it showed someone in Canada and another in Russia with the same genetic markings.
“Two targets? What the hell are you rambling about?” Paul asked.
The four of us went for a walk, heading toward the abandoned Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Slate and I explained our plight. They listened with few questions, and by the time we reached Fifth Avenue, the situation was clear.
“We’ll send teams in to extradite these targets right away, Dean. Are you going to wait around?” Paul crossed his arms as the chilly fall breeze blew through his hair.
“We have other places to be, but send word to me with what you find. And remember, these people could be armed and dangerous. We may have another Arthur-type scenario.” I was glad someone younger and more prepared would run this mission on Earth.
“We’ll deliver the best of the best to do the job. Where are you going?” Sammy asked.
“Slate and I will be on New Spero for a day or two.”
“We will?” Slate asked.
“Yes, we need to… see the doctor about your… issue.”
Paul and Sammy escorted us to the shuttle, assuring us they would take care of the red dots on the Locator and contain the people they found.
“We’ll send you the details within a few hours on New Spero,” Paul said, clapping my shoulder with a palm. “Slate, you’ll be fine. If anyone can figure it out, it’s the pair of you.”
“Thanks, guys. I appreciate the confidence. We’ll be in touch.” Slate smiled at them, and we entered the shuttle, ready to return to Egypt.
“Boss, we’re only a short trip from the Canadian target. Can’t we see first?” he asked.
I considered it, but in the end, decided to let Paul handle it. “We need to chat with Dr. Swan. Come on, nothing we do here will change anything. We’ll stop at home, and you can talk with Loweck. I left Jules to stay with Natalia last night, and she’ll be at our house by now. I want to check up on her.”
Slate guided the ship off the grass, lifting us above the park and into the clouds. “You’re worried about her being out at the training site, aren’t you?”
“Me? Worried?” I laughed, making him snicker.
“Sure. Dean Parker is so casual and cool, he has no concern for his family. It’s all over your face, Boss.”
“Maybe I’m nervous for her,” I admitted.
“She’s a good kid. The best one I know. Hell, she’s twice the Gatekeeper I ever was, not to mention smart as a whip,” Slate told me. “She’s probably capable of running the entire operation.”
“Except she’s a seventeen-year-old girl in love, whose abilities have recently disappeared. It’s a tough time for her right now, and with Mary gone and me running around with you, she needs somewhere stable. Magnus will give her that at the training grounds. They’ll be so busy preparing for it the next six months that she won’t have time for trouble.” I tried to convince myself with the statement.
“Man, it’s so strange having Magnus with us,” Slate said after a quiet moment. There was nothing but the Atlantic under us once again, and I stared at it as we went.
“I know. Would you have done it?”
“What, bring Magnus back from another dimension?” He glanced
at me. “I have no clue. Jules did what she thought was right, and that sells it, but there will always be trade-offs. I understand why she did it, though.”
“You do? She never really explained why, at least not fully.” I waited for Slate’s point of view.
Slate shifted in his seat, setting the controls on auto-pilot, and he turned toward me. “She’s in love with Dean, right? The guy went through so much with losing his dad, and chasing after the Zan’ra and his sister, that he almost lost himself. Jules saw Magnus and wanted to help like she always does.”
I tapped a finger on the dash, grasping his words. “There’s more to it than that. She told me he was so sad. She didn’t think he’d make it by himself. He was dying of heartache, Slate. Not that I can blame him. I’d be the same.” I thought about the other version of Dean Parker, the older one that had helped my daughter deal with Lom of Pleva. He’d been alone, his entire family gone, because of Carolyn Lauder. The same woman who was a match for Slate’s odd DNA mutation.
“I understand completely. Loweck and I can’t have kids, but if I lost her, I’d be at my wit’s end.” Slate reclaimed the ship’s controls as we headed over land.
“That’s what Loweck’s feeling now. Has she tried to convince you to let her come along with us?” I asked.
“Not yet. She wants to assist in any way possible, and for the time being, I suggested she stay where she is, out of harm.”
I lifted an eyebrow, imagining being a fly on the wall for that conversation. “And how did that go?”
Slate let out a strained laugh as he began our descent. “You can picture it, can’t you?”
“About as well as me telling Mary to remain behind on a mission, I’m guessing.”
“With a cherry on top. She’s helping manage Alliance business, so she’s staying busy.”
By the time we entered the portal and were about to hit the icon that would take us to New Spero, my tablet had chimed, indicating a message. I checked it, seeing Paul’s name.
They’d already investigated the target in Canada and had found him dead.
The Survivors | Book 15 | New Beginning Page 7
