The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  “I understand what you just said,” he muttered.

  “Good.” I paused. “First question: how did you come to be involved with the Ripper?”

  King said nothing for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, “He was part of an assignment.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Is there anything about the Ripper you could tell us that would help us in capturing him?”

  King said nothing.

  I took a deep breath. “For instance: is there any specific reason why he chooses to take the faces of his victims?”

  “You mean, other than the fact that he’s a psychopath?” King asked, his eyes teasing.

  “Well,” I said. “Is there any particular pattern to his killings? Are there any preferences in his choice of accommodation when he’s on a job?”

  King laughed. “Accommodation? Are you being serious?”

  I clenched my teeth. “Or anything that could be helpful. We’re shooting in the dark here, Mister King. We would really appreciate anything you could share with us.”

  King gave me a look so tender that it stopped my heart for a moment. “I’ve missed you, Fey.”

  “Excuse me?” I stuttered.

  He whispered something I didn’t hear.

  “Hey! No whispering!” a guard yelled.

  The lights flickered. Something was wrong.

  “What in flaming…” Crawer mumbled.

  “Sol, are you doing this?” Dr. Starr asked, because now, King was standing up.

  “Sit down, prisoner!” one guard yelled. “Down, down, down! Don’t move, King!” another guard screamed. All the guards were closing in with their weapons.

  The lights were flickering faster now.

  I was giddy with panic. What was happening?

  The lights died completely, and there was a lot of yelling, a lot more screaming. When the lights came back on, King was no longer in a straitjacket. He was free.

  King looked at me. “Get down.”

  At once, blasterfire exploded in the room.

  Crawer and I dove to the floor. The lights flickered erratically. The sound of firing weapons was deafening. I could smell char.

  When it finally stopped, I looked up to see King standing over me.

  “Thank you. See you soon,” he said, with a smile.

  The lights flickered one more time, and he was gone.

  I stood up, and looked around, trembling. The place was trashed, and covered with blast burns. All eight guards were on the floor, groaning.

  Crawer helped Dr. Starr to her feet. “Are you two alright?” I asked. Crawer looked shaken, but furious. He cleared his throat and nodded. Dr. Starr looked too terrified to answer.

  Agent Q burst into the room with a dozen more armed agents, outraged. “What the flaming muck happened here?”

  “You tell us,” Crawer shot back. “How does one guy take out eight of your men?”

  Q let out a string of profanities, and turned to his subordinates. “Raise the alarm. Nobody goes in, or out, do you hear me? Nobody!”

  The agents nodded, and rushed out. Q turned to us, and growled, “Sit. Don’t move.” He marched out of the room. Almost immediately, the lights turned amber, and a shrill wail rose up in the distance.

  “Told you this case was a nightmare. Flaming muck, can’t anything about it go right?” Crawer muttered, as we sat. “This is beyond unreal.” He swore again.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Dr. Starr.

  This time, Dr. Starr managed a feeble nod. I stared at her for a moment. Then, for no particular reason, my gaze strayed to her glasses on the table.

  I frowned.

  It was faint, but I could see it: a faint ripple in the space around her glasses. It was a familiar ripple. The kind of ripple you saw around substances used to store, conduct and transmit mana energy through a circuit board.

  Or, possibly, to smuggle it into a secure facility.

  I looked at Dr. Starr, and felt my heart lodge into my throat. She had caught me staring at her glasses, and now, she was staring at me. Gone was the teary expression of fear and disbelief. Her eyes were icy cold.

  Muck.

  Before I could speak, she was on her feet. I lunged at her, but her hands were lightning fast. Two blows to my chest sent me flying into the wall behind me.

  Crawer didn’t process what was happening quickly enough. The ‘doctor’ kicked the chair from under him, and delivered a blow to his face mid-fall. Crawer was out cold before he hit the ground.

  I had never seen movement that swift.

  I expected Starr to flee the room, but she came towards me. She punched the wall over my head, and yanked out a shard of tile. Then, she pulled me to my feet, held me to her chest, and rested her makeshift weapon against my jugular.

  “Try anything funny,” she hissed, “and I will turn you into a fountain.”

  I believed her.

  Together, we exited the room, and moved through the corridors. She seemed to know her way around. Or perhaps, she had simply memorized the route the first time we came through.

  We met two agents at one point. I was shoved towards them, and in the split moment it took them to push me out of the way, she closed the gap. They were disarmed, and disabled faster than it took me to blink twice. Before I knew it, I was back in her arms, cold tile against my throat.

  We found the metal detector from earlier, and then the exit to the building. There were several guards here. The moment they saw us, they lifted their weapons, and ordered Starr to stand down.

  “Open the doors,” she ordered right back.

  They hesitated. Swiftly, she slit my cheek, and I cried out in pain.

  A guard quickly punched in the access codes, and opened the doors.

  We walked passed rows of trained blasters. Starr’s movements were sure, undeterred. As soon as we reached the frame of the door, we turned around, and moved backwards, keeping the agents ever in our sights.

  Now, I could guess where the facility was located. The air was freezing, and I could see the sand beneath my feet. We were in some kind of desert; possibly south of the Cluster States.

  I saw more and more agents come to the door, the farther away from the building we got. Eventually, Q appeared in the door too. I couldn’t see him from this far away, but I knew he was livid. Everyone had blasters trained on us. But no one released a shot.

  When we were far enough from the building, Starr shoved me to the ground, and released a massive wave of blue mana from her fingertips. The floodlights lining the building rooftop exploded in a brilliant shower of orange sparks, and we were plunged into darkness.

  I heard the blasters go off. There was blaster fire for a very long time. So loud. So persistent. I thought it would never end. But, of course, it eventually did.

  And when the facility emergency lights came on, I looked up to see if they had got Starr. But I had guessed as much.

  ‘Dr. Starr’ was long gone.

  CHAPTER 20

  Senior Intelligence spent all night scouring the building and the surrounding desert. They found neither Sol King, nor Dr. Starr. An on-site healer attended to Crawer, and right after he had regained consciousness, we were submitted to hours of extensive interrogation. Finally, disgusted with us and furious with himself, Agent Q had me and Crawer sent away.

  The hover carrier dropped us off on the same incomplete building. I took Crawer back to the station, and then went back to my own apartment, more exhausted and confused than I had ever thought possible. No sooner was my foot through my front door, than I received a call from Lieutenant Blunc.

  I had never received a call from the Lieutenant.

  He told me that he had received a call from the Captain, who had received a call from the mayor, who had received a call from the governor’s office, which had received a call from Light knew where. He wasted no words: I was on leave, effective immediately, until a full investigation had been conducted into my involvement in the facility breach. Tomorrow, I was expected to come to the sta
tion, and turn in my badge and issued blaster. He hoped I would have a good day.

  I didn’t bother responding. I allowed the line to die, and then tossed my cell-comm aside.

  I threw off my clothes, and collapsed onto my bed. I was thoroughly spent, but I couldn’t go to sleep.

  Of course I couldn’t go to sleep.

  Katrice woke up soon afterwards. I could hear her in the kitchen. I wondered if she was going to bake again. I hoped not. The refrigerator was already bursting at the seams with muffins.

  No warm smells came floating into my room. About the tenth hour, I heard the front door open, and close. Katrice had gone out.

  I was alone.

  At noon, Crawer called.

  “Did you get a call from the Lieutenant?” he asked.

  I told him that I had. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “Are you on suspension?”

  He told me he’d been discharged.

  I was speechless. “I-I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it. I could feel in my gut that it was a bad idea, and I allowed us to do it anyway.”

  Somehow, listening to him say that was worse than being blamed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  There was a sigh on the other end. “I have to go.”

  He didn’t wait for me to respond. The line went cold.

  I put down my cell-comm, and tried to sleep again. By the fourteenth hour, I was still awake.

  I rose from my bed, and went to the bathroom. My pill bottle was waiting for me.

  I fumbled with the bottle. For some reason, it would not open. I let out an exasperated cry, and banged it against the sink. It smashed open, and soon there were spotted white pills all over the bathroom floor. But now, I was also bleeding.

  Sighing, I washed the gash in my right palm, and bandaged it. I downed two of the pills that had fallen in the sink, and then on second thought, swallowed a third one from the floor. I would clean up later, I thought. I returned to bed.

  This time, I slept deeply. I dreamed that I was in a cold, tiled room, strapped to a metal chair. The lights were weak, and they flickered intermittently. I could see my reflection in the mirror opposite me. My hair was wretched. I was sweating profusely. I heard a door open up behind me. I tried to turn my head to see who had entered, but I couldn’t. My body was paralyzed. The person came around, but I couldn’t see his face—because he had no face. And though he hadn’t a mouth, I heard him whisper, “Such a pretty face. Don’t worry. I’ll take it real slow.” He produced a scalpel…and started to cut.

  My eyes flashed open. I was back in my room.

  I sat up, trembling, screams lodged in the back of my throat. It had grown dark. I found my cell-comm, and looked at the time: fifteen into the twenty-third hour.

  Grunting, I stumbled out of bed, and teetered to the kitchen. I needed a drink; my pills always left me desperately parched. I found a half-gallon of trius juice in the fridge, and gulped it down fast, grateful for the cold, sour-sweet taste of citrus. I belched softly, and leaned against the kitchen island. I could feel beads of sweat dripping off my face, and down my back; it was far too warm.

  “For Light’s sake, DEB,” I said, “Lower the temperatures, will you?”

  There was no response.

  “DEB?” I called.

  “So, this is who you are now?” a voice said behind me.

  I recognized it, and my reaction was instantaneous: I grabbed a knife, and spun around, ready to defend myself.

  Sol King was standing in my living room, his back against the frame of my balcony door. His hair was closely cropped, the beard: non-existent.

  I stared at him, frightened and speechless for a moment. Then my anger exploded. “How dare you?” I roared, and hurled the knife his way.

  He caught it effortlessly.

  I rushed to the fridge, and pulled out the emergency blaster I kept hidden in the vegetable crisper. When I turned around, he had not moved.

  “Your hands on your head,” I ordered, stepping out from behind the kitchen island. “Now! Or I swear by all that is illuminated, I will end you where you stand.”

  King did not look impressed. His eyes wandered around the room, and then they settled back on me. I shivered; his eyes glowed in the dark.

  “The domestic life never suited you,” he said, giving me a once over.

  I remembered that I was only in my vest and drawers. I gritted my teeth. “Turn around.”

  He didn’t. “Are you coming back?”

  “I said, turn around!”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you in less.” He sauntered into the room.

  I hesitated, and then squeezed the trigger. Nothing. The battery light on my blaster blinked amber.

  Muck.

  “You can go get a new cartridge if you want,” King said, and plopped into a sofa. “I’ll be here.”

  “What do you want?” I snarled.

  “I want to know if you’re coming back.”

  “I don’t understand. Coming back to what?”

  “To the team.”

  “What team?”

  He sighed. “I swear, sometimes you’re infuriating.”

  I was beginning to understand what was going on here. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

  “Oh is that what you think?” He smiled.

  “Who do you think I am?”

  King looked tired. “Must we play this game, Fey? Are you still mad about the Breakpoint op?”

  “You’re obviously not well,” I said, in what I hoped was a calming, reasonable voice. “So you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to let me call someone. Someone to help.” Slowly, I put my blaster on the floor, and then lifted my hands as if to say See?

  King only stared back. He looked sad.

  “I’m only going to get my cell-comm,” I assured him. “Is that okay?”

  He stared.

  “Okay. Here I go.” I took a cautious step back. Then another. Quickly, I turned around, and…

  “I already said I was sorry,” he breathed into my face, and I shrieked, stumbled, and landed on my backside.

  King was—impossibly—standing before me. “But I’ll say it again,” he said, crouching and reaching for my face.

  I was terrified. I could feel my heart thrashing against my rib cage. But I did not move, hoping to dear Light that if I did not, then perhaps he would not take my life. Oh invisible Bearer of Light, Katrice was probably back by now, alone, in her room.

  His hand touched my cheek, and I shuddered. But his hands were not cold. On the contrary, they were warm. Hot even. As though he was suffering a fever.

  He stared into my eyes, and I teared because it was like staring into tiny reflectors.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  And he pressed his lips against my forehead.

  At once, a rush of fire and electricity surged through me, boiling me from the inside, jolting the very core of my bones. I screamed. But only in my head. The pain made it impossible to move my lips. Or any other parts of my body. There were spots behind my eyes, and then my vision blurred.

  I keeled over, and smacked the floor. I didn’t feel any pain. I couldn’t feel anything. Yet, somehow I knew I was convulsing.

  King was calling a name: Fey. Now, he was screaming it. I heard a familiar voice say King’s name.

  Thena Starr?

  There was muffled shouting. Then a high frequency hum. Then nothing at all.

  CHAPTER 21

  I could hear a voice above me. A familiar voice. A steady beep—the kind a heart monitor made. I opened my eyes, and light flooded my retinas.

  I groaned.

  “Arra?”

  Evon’s voice. Evon’s face. Evon’s eyes. Staring back at me. She looked concerned.

  “Evon?” I croaked.

  She was standing over me. She reached a green hand down, and touched my face. But I di
dn’t feel her touch. I felt a sob rise up in my throat.

  She wasn’t real.

  I closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, Evon was gone. I turned my head. Katrice was sitting by my bed, hands clasped in her lap, looking small. She was wearing another corvus inspired outfit. This time, her eyelids were heavy with neon blue shadow, and she was wearing miniature wings.

  She stared wordlessly for a few moments. “Hello Arra,” she said.

  “Hey yourself,” I murmured. “Where am I?”

  “The hospital,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  I had to think about it to answer. “Like roadkill.”

  Kattie nodded, like she’d been expecting that answer.

  “What am I doing here?” I asked.

  “You don’t remember?”

  I searched my mental archives again. A few memories leaked through, and my eyes widened. But Kattie was already standing up.

  “I’ll go get the doctor,” she said, and she left the room.

  Silence. Beep, beep, went my heart monitor.

  “Are you going to be alright?” Evon asked.

  I looked to see my best friend. She was sitting where Kattie had been sitting a moment ago.

  “I think so,” I said. “I’m hallucinating you, aren’t I?”

  “Probably.”

  “I messed up, Evon,” I whispered. “You were right. I should’ve let the case go. We were in over our heads, and my head was too far up my rump to see it. Now, I have no idea what’s going on. King came to my apartment, and I think he tried to kill me or something. Everything’s gone to muck, Evon.” My voice was shaking. So was my breathing. “I’m sorry.”

  She waited for me to calm down. “Boy,” she said, when my breathing had slowed again. “That doesn’t sound like the Arra I know.”

  “The Arra you know wasn’t a disgraced enforcer.”

  “So you’re feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “I’m feeling guilty about you.”

  She shook her head and made a face. “Don’t. It’s very unattractive.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I. I loved you. You know that right?”

  I swallowed. “I do.”

  “I would’ve taken you seriously if you’d suggested we investigate an impending zombie uprising. I would’ve taken you seriously if you’d thought that an army of rabid poultry birds was going to assassinate the queen of the K’har world. Well, I’d probably have had you committed to a psyche facility for a couple of weeks after that one, but I’d have visited you every day and brought you cream cakes. Do you understand what I mean?”