by S. H. Jucha
“All he could tell us was that her voice sounded familiar,” Liam replied. “He couldn’t remember when and where he’d heard her.”
“I was wondering,” Miguel mused. “Could the Jatouche cure her?”
“Do you think you could ask?” Liam inquired of Harbour.
Harbour saw Cecilia’s look of horror, and she could sense the lieutenant’s emotional spike. Moreover, she was sympathetic.
“No,” Harbour replied to Liam. “I won’t ask. Think about what you want to do. If the Jatouche can cure Luna, she’d be able to feel again. It would take time for her to integrate with others, but along the way, she’d become emotionally aware of what she’s done … of the people she’s killed. How do you think she’d feel about that?”
Liam and Miguel exchanged glances. They weren’t tracking.
“I can tell you,” Cecilia volunteered. “If the Jatouche cure her, she’ll mature quickly, like a child passing through her teen years to a mature woman in a short period of time. If she has good parenting examples to emulate, she’ll become haunted by her memories. There’s a good chance she’ll be driven mad. Perhaps, she’ll take her life, or maybe she’ll be overwhelmed by anger and lash out at everyone. Whichever the case, there’s little opportunity for her to become normally adjusted.”
“Okay, no cure,” Liam said, acquiescing to the women’s ire.
“I thought we could use the attack and capture of our killer to put a scare into the family heads,” Miguel said. “We could let them know that we had someone in custody who might talk and reveal them. But we certainly won’t surprise them.”
“Why not?” Harbour asked.
“The news is all over the station,” Miguel replied, hefting his comm unit. “And if the station has it, the downsiders have it.”
“We’re not going to scare anyone, not any family head,” Liam mused. “Whoever has shielded this woman knows her well. That person will know that their killer is an empty shell emotionally. They’ll know we have no leverage over her.”
* * * *
“Have you seen the reports from the station?” Eaton, the security chief, asked Dorelyn.
“Been busy,” Dorelyn replied, which was code for requesting Eaton to hurry up.
“Jessie and Harbour were attacked on the JOS … right in public,” Eaton said.
“They hurt?” Dorelyn asked, suddenly interested in what Eaton had to say.
“No, the attack failed,” Eaton replied.
“Do they know who did it?” Dorelyn asked.
“There are images, but they aren’t the best,” Eaton said. “She looks like some middle-aged artist type.”
Dorelyn accepted Eaton’s comm unit and sorted through the images he’d collected. She resisted smiling. No downsider would recognize Sika in her disguise.
“Too bad the woman wasn’t more competent. It might have made our lives simpler,” Dorelyn said by way of dismissal, as she handed the device back to Eaton.
* * * *
Sika cooperated with every request her minders issued often without saying a word. In truth, she didn’t have anything to say to anyone. Within days of her arrest, she was moved to a permanent cell and released from her bonds. Her disguise had been scrubbed, and she appeared in her true form, a twenty-something young woman.
It might have been said that Sika required great patience to plan and execute her escape. That wasn’t true. Patience is a tempering of those ever-present human emotions, and Sika didn’t have those. She planned, calculated, and reworked her plan. She did this over and over like a machine — right up until she perpetrated the act.
Sika measured each of her minders. There were those who brought her food. There were the med techs who checked her vitals, and there were guards who observed her every hour on the hour.
Then there was Kevin. Kevin Sorenson was the third-watch security guard. He checked her cell every other night, three nights a week.
Kevin wasn’t much older than Sika, and he suited her purposes perfectly. Kevin was a quiet and shy young man.
Sika requested skin lotion from a med tech, and he delivered a tube of it. Then Sika waited until Kevin made his rounds. Before he arrived. Sika stripped to the waist, turned her back on the cell door, and attempted to put the lotion on her back. Right on time, she heard Kevin’s utterance of surprise at seeing her naked torso.
Sika turned around to give Kevin a good look and held up her tube of lotion. “I can’t get the middle of my back,” she complained plaintively. “Could you help?”
That first time, Sika wasn’t completely successful. She did get Kevin’s assistance with the lotion, but he required she attach the wall manacle to her ankle first. Then he requested she step toward the door until the manacle cable came up short before he unlocked the transparent cell door and slid it aside.
In Sika’s mind, the pieces of her plan were unfolding nicely. Kevin did accept her request. He did open the cell door when protocol probably dictated otherwise. Best of all, Kevin took his time applying the lotion, and she made sure to reward him with encouraging noises.
-28-
Plebiscite
After perusing the Belle’s original documents, the Review Board agreed to hold a plebiscite. The referendum required a simple yes or no vote. A yes vote meant to go forward with Captain Bassiter orchestrating the election of a new government. A no meant a voter chose to remain with the political status quo.
The board posted its announcement, and Pyrean citizens were further divided about Pyre’s future. At the center of the division were the aliens. Their arrival by droves in the Triton dome fueled the xenophobia of some. At the same time, others were elated to see the projects that Pyre was receiving.
Dingles was informed of the board’s decision prior to its posting, and he’d finished dinner with Nadine when the bridge called him.
“Captain Stamerson,” Dingles said, when he accepted the call.
“Good evening, Captain Bassiter,” Henry said. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
“Little to do right now until we reach Emperion,” Dingles replied. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine, Captain,” Henry replied quickly. He could imagine the nervousness of many, especially those aboard the Belle and spacers, in general, worrying about another attack against Harbour and Jessie.
“I wanted to talk to you about the plebiscite,” Henry continued. “Well, in fact, I wanted to warn you.”
“Let’s speak plainly, Captain, spacer to spacer,” Dingles requested.
“I’d appreciate that,” Henry replied. “All indications are that the referendum will be approved. That means you’ll be in charge of defining the election process and adjudicating any issues. Are you ready?”
“Who would be?” Dingles retorted. “However, I hope I can lean on you for advice.”
“And that’s one of the reasons for my call. You can’t, and at this time, I can’t tell you why,” Henry said. “But I do have some advice for you.”
“I’m listening,” Dingles said.
“You’ll be disposed to listen to Harbour and Jessie, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Henry explained. “However, if the plebiscite is a yes, you’ll be viewed by every citizen as the captain of the Honora Belle, not appointed by Harbour but as Earth outlined your duties. Do you understand?”
“You’re telling me that I must communicate to and seek the advice of all our leaders, especially the family heads,” Dingles replied. “You’re late, Captain. Harbour and Jessie have already had this conversation with me.”
“Sorry,” Henry apologized. “I can’t communicate with them either. By the way, this will be my final call to you for the near future. Good luck to you, Captain.”
“I wish you good fortune in the presidential election, Captain Stamerson,” Dingles replied before the call ended, and he heard Henry’s chuckle.
Dingle stared at his comm unit. He couldn’t have imagined that the research he’d helped Harbour with years ago would lead to
this moment. He poured a drink from the captain’s private stock, apologized to Nadine, and retired to his study. He connected his comm unit to the desk monitor and accessed the Belle’s library.
Everyone’s warnings to Dingles about his new duties were unnecessary. He knew them, and he’d been preparing for this eventuality. He saw his first step as outlining the electorate process and publishing it once the plebiscite was approved.
* * * *
Dorelyn sat before the family heads’ council with her co-leaders, Idrian and Rufus.
“I assume we’ll be in favor of the proposal?” Lise Panoy, the titular downside governor, asked.
“Absolutely,” Dorelyn replied. “This is our opportunity to take over governance of the stations, the spacers, the colony ship, and everything the aliens will build.”
“We can thank that empath for so generously contributing to our cause,” Rufus smirked. His comment elicited chuckles from several family heads. The rest weren’t amused, having caught Dorelyn’s frown.
“It’s critical we ensure the proposal passes,” Dorelyn continued. “Exert your influence through your security staff on households, vendors, and businesses. Let them know the importance of its approval to you.”
“And when it passes, who will the families put up for the presidency?” Lise asked. She knew the answer to her question, but she needed Dorelyn to admit it.
“I think that’s obvious,” Dorelyn replied. “I’m presently the leader of the council’s tribunal. So naturally, I should take the first turn as president. If we manage this well, we can control the presidency from here on out and pass the election around to other family heads.”
Rufus frowned. Despite his close association with Dorelyn, many of his businesses competed with hers. What he didn’t need was her gaining a significant edge over him. But there was a more important issue, and he voiced his concern.
“I agree with you, Dorelyn, that once we obtain control over this new government, we can probably maintain it,” Rufus said, “but first we must win it. In that regard, are you the most electable among us?”
Rufus let the question hang in the air.
Lise could hear murmurs and grumbles around her, and she chose to take advantage of the mood.
“So, who would be a better choice?” Lise asked the council.
Dorelyn kept her composure, although she was furious that Lise and Rufus were subverting her plans. “I submit I’m as electable as any family head,” she protested.
“I disagree,” Rufus retorted. “You’ve been the face of the council, of downsiders. The stationers know you, and in general, they don’t love us.”
“They don’t love any of us,” Dorelyn challenged.
“Not true. There are exceptions,” Lise replied. “Haven’t you been paying attention to station reports, Dorelyn? Stationers know that Idrian’s son was saved by the envoy and the Jatouche.”
“That’s not news,” Dorelyn said dismissively.
“Your ignorance doesn’t do our council justice,” Lise shot back. She was enjoying the opportunity to undermine Dorelyn. “Imian has been befriended by an empath … Sasha Garmenti, no less.”
Dorelyn glanced at Idrian, who sat beside her. She was surprised he hadn’t informed her of the relationship. Then again and realizing the volatile nature of the information, she could understand why he wanted to keep it quiet.
“You’re mistaken, Lise, if you think an association between an empath and a family’s, shall we say, unfocused son would tip the scales in Idrian’s favor,” Dorelyn declared.
Rufus and Lise had the same thought. This was a perfect opportunity to put Dorelyn on her heels by pushing for a vote of support for Idrian. Unfortunately for them, Dorelyn could sense the winds of change as well as anyone. Before her opponents could press the issue, she emphasized her earlier points that the council must press everyone to support the referendum. Then she adjourned the meeting.
As Dorelyn left the council hall, she focused on her challenge. She couldn’t afford to be replaced as the first downside presidential candidate. If she was, it might be a long time before the council allowed her into the rotation. Dorelyn realized that time was short. She would have to consolidate her support before the next council meeting.
* * * *
Sika judged that her relationship with Kevin had matured sufficiently. The chronometer outside her cell told her that Kevin was due to arrive soon on his rounds. She stripped out of her coveralls and undergarments and slipped under the cot’s covers.
Kevin arrived at Luna’s cell in anticipation. She had let him apply lotion to more of her body with each successive visit. She had a slender and exciting body.
Gazing through the transparent door, Kevin was disappointed to see Luna under the bedclothes. Then he saw that she was watching him. When she smiled, Kevin’s heart thumped and his emotions soared. He could hear blood hammering in his ears.
Kevin was about to instruct Luna to attach the electronically controlled manacle to her ankle, when she slipped from under the covers.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Kevin,” Sika said.
Kevin’s brain was inundated with white noise. His mind’s thought processes stalled, and he was transfixed, staring at Luna’s delightfully nude body.
Sika crossed to the transparent cell door and pressed her hands against it. “Are you coming inside, Kevin?” she asked in a seductive voice.
Kevin’s throat was too dry to reply. Without thinking, he triggered the door aside, stepped inside, and closed it. Luna’s arms slid around his neck, and she kissed him softly. It was just as Kevin imagined in his daydreams.
Sika undressed Kevin, while continuously kissing, petting, and murmuring sweetly to him. When they were both unclothed, she lay down on the cot and pulled Kevin on top of her.
Kevin searched for the words he wanted to say. He’d fallen in love with Luna, and he no longer heard the stories that circulated about her. In his mind, there had to be a good reason that the quiet young woman was trapped into participating with the families. That was his final thought before the lights went out.
Sika had watched Kevin stare into her eyes. He was hopelessly smitten, which is what she wanted. His head was in the perfect position. She reached around his neck with one hand and cupped his jaw with the other. Savage twists of both hands neatly snapped Kevin’s neck.
Rolling Kevin’s body aside, Sika quickly tossed her detention coveralls onto the bed and covered Kevin. She dressed the bedclothes to make it appear as if she was asleep.
Kevin was more than a head taller than Sika. After donning her undergarments, she was forced to roll up the shirtsleeves and pant legs of his uniform. The deck shoes didn’t fit. They were much too large.
Fortunately for Sika, Kevin left his comm unit open. He hadn’t thought to secure it, which was what Sika had anticipated. With the device, she triggered the door aside and closed it behind her.
Barefoot, Sika tiptoed her way along the rows of cells. In the early morning hours, nearly everyone slept. An older man sat on the edge of his bed. He watched her go by, but he said nothing.
Before Sika could access the corridor’s exit, it opened. A young officer saw her and hurried to pull a stun stick. Sika punched the woman in the diaphragm and snatched the weapon from the woman’s grasp. The officer was on her knees, gasping for breath, when Sika jabbed the stick into her neck, stunning her and rendering her unconscious.
Clearing the detention ward, Sika raced past cubicles and officers. Startled security personnel yelled at her to stop, and they gave chase.
An older male officer stood in Sika’s way. He’d drawn his stun stick and was crouched in a fighting stance.
Sika charged her adversary. She blocked his stick thrust, spun aside, and smacked the man’s temple with her stick. Behind her, she heard him hit the floor, as she bolted through administration and exited the lobby doors.
A foot race between Sika and the pursuing officers was something she planned to win. She con
centrated on working her way inward and taking indiscriminate turns in the corridors. As time wore on, the footsteps faded, and Sika worked her way toward a critical stash.
Hidden in the ceiling of a public facility was a bag that Sika grabbed. She peeked out the door, saw no security personnel, and walked casually but quickly toward the nearest maintenance access hatch.
Late-night stationers stared at Sika’s odd dress and bare feet. No one stopped her to inquire if she needed help. There was more than one eccentric on the station, and most of them were spacers who suffered from dementia.
Sika dug through her bag and pulled out the all-important pass. Its chip triggered the access hatch, and she slipped through it.
In the corridor beyond, which was festooned with cabling, conduits, machinery, and cabinets, Sika stripped off Kevin’s clothes and laid them aside. From the bag, she pulled maintenance worker coveralls, deck shoes, an old worn cap, and her disguise kit. When she was dressed, she stuffed Kevin’s clothes in her bag, located the nearest facilities, and locked herself in a cubicle.
With the aid of a small mirror, Sika adopted the appearance of an older woman, aging her face about twenty years. When she was done, she went in search of the rest of her disguise. During the next two hours, she collected a discarded belt and tool bag, some worn tools, and a few diagnostics devices, only one of which was active.
Sika and the maintenance tunnels were old friends. She’d used them many times, adopting multiple disguises and never the same one twice. She was practiced in the mannerisms of the workers. They were assigned a list of duties via their comm devices. When the jobs were completed, they were done for the shift. The old hands tipped a cap or touched fingers to the brow in passing, but they didn’t stop to chat. It was the young ones who spent a little time talking to others to relieve the boredom and loneliness of the extensive tunnels.
That was the key to Sika’s choice in makeup. By appearing as a veteran of the tunnels, she didn’t invite conversation. She could visit the breakrooms, get a free meal, eat in peace, and appear to return to work. She’d never have to say but a word or two here and there.
