A Galactic Holiday

by Stacy Gail, Sasha Summers, Anna Hackett

  “Vedette, you have no sense of adventure.”

  “Hmm.” Visor in place, her attention veered back to the tree. With an air of curiosity, she touched the string of popcorn swirled around it. “Real tree, real popcorn. A red and green paper-chain, paper doily snowflake ornaments and a star made out of aluminum foil. What does this remind you of?”

  “I told you— ‘Gimme, Santa, Gimme.’”

  “I can’t believe I forgot you suffer from an incurable case of smartassery.” She shook her head as though lamenting this tragic flaw in his personality. “Are you ever serious, Detective Wicke?”

  “Seriousness is overrated. And we’ve known each other a couple years now, yeah?”

  She pursed her lips. “Let’s see. My first memory of you was when you ate the pistachios given to me by the family of the last victim of the Lake Shore Drive Cannibal. This occurred a couple months before that twitchy university professor wired his campus’s science building to go up in a nuclear flash. As I recall, you were hyped up about sniping him straight out, while I thought it might be a great idea to find out why he’d flipped his lid.”

  “My plan had merit.”

  “Except for the fact that the detonation trigger was biomechanically hard-wired to his body. Your plan would have turned Chicago into a mushroom cloud. Mine uncovered the fact that the student he’d been obsessing over was going off to spend Spring Break with her boyfriend. A couple sweet-nothings from her via vid-chat, and he was as docile as a lamb.” She shot him a frown. “Is there a point to your question?”

  “The point is, we’ve known each other for a while now. When are you going to start calling me Edison?”

  “Maybe when you tell me what you and your bionic brain come up with when you look at this tree.”

  There was a challenge in her tone he couldn’t help but answer. He plugged the screencap of the tree into a search engine and let it roll. “This is an Austrian pine tree, standing at a height that would be consistent with a tree that is approximately three to five years in age and could therefore be considered a sapling. The needle tips are showing the first signs of Diplodia, a blight-like disease that hits Austrian pines living primarily in urban areas—”

  “God, I hate all the trivial garbage search engines vomit out.” If he had been plant life, the look she gave him would have been just as devastating as Diplodia. “Try to look at this object with human eyes and tell me what you see. That is, if you can even remember how that’s done.”

  With a curse, he closed the internal search window. “Someone has a really bad sense of Christmas style?”

  “This is a child’s tree.” Though she still looked as irritated as he felt, her tone softened as if a part of her was slipping away to another place. She brought a gloved finger to one of the doily snowflakes as if it were made of the finest crystal. “I used to make these when I was a kid. Same with the paper chains. Though I have to admit mine never came out as symmetrically perfect as these little geometric wonders, no matter how hard I tried.”

  “Yeah?” There was something in her expression, an echo of sadness that didn’t jibe with the conversation. “I can see you shooting for perfection, even as a rugrat.”

  “It’s not my fault I’m detail-oriented. Did Ms. Seldon notice if any of her household items were used to make the decorations?”

  “She says no. She didn’t even know what a doily was, and quite frankly neither did I. Who knew there was such a thing as doily snowflakes?”

  “My parents.” She hunkered down to examine the base of the tree. “This material wrapped around the tree’s base looks like that sheet hanging up at the window, complete with a sun-bleaching on one side. Unlike the ornaments and the tree itself, this tree skirt didn’t come from outside. This was already here.”

  “Tree skirts, doily snowflakes.” He shook his head, watching the intriguing play of emotion drift across her face. What he wouldn’t give to link with her now. “I don’t even know the names of these things. You must really go all out for Christmas, yeah?”

  She shook her head and lifted the sheet to examine what was underneath. “Not since I was sixteen.”

  “What happened when you were sixteen?”

  “How amazing that a level five detective would have to ask something so obvious. Guess they don’t make level fives like they used to.”

  “You’re the one who told me to simply ask you about stuff, rather than be invasive,” he shot back, while his already-iffy mood hit the skids to land him in a place where putting his fist through a wall seemed like a fine idea. “Don’t get pissy because I’m a level five now. I earned it, make no mistake.”

  She ducked her head almost to the floor, doing something under the sheet with her free hand that seemed to have all her attention. “I will admit, you are a better detective than, say, level three Manu Obie.”

  “Damn, you know how to insult a guy.” Well and truly ticked off, Edison went back online with the speed of thought. “You want me to show off my detective skills? Fine. Twenty-six years ago when you were born, you were given the name Reina Leonida Vedette by fifth-generation Italian-Americans, Alphonse and Carlotta Vedette, highly decorated police officers from Brooklyn, New York. When you were ten you moved with the family to Chicago to be near your paternal aunt when the first H8N1 pandemic broke out. Six years later at the age of sixteen you were orphaned when the second pandemic hit. You lived with your aunt for two years before heading for college on a full scholarship, and you’ve been on your own since. Ten years ago was the time you stopped celebrating Christmas, in all probability because you lost your parents. And wouldn’t it have been nice if you’d been decent enough to tell me that, instead of being a grade-A bitch about the fact that I’m now a level five and you’re not?”

  “Yeah, that would’ve been nice.” Lifting her head off the floor, she pulled off one glove so that it turned inside out, then rose to her full height. “I apologize for my lack of professionalism, Detective. Let’s go talk with the Seldon family and get this over with, shall we?”

  Without looking at him, she turned and headed for the door.

  * * *

  Idiot.

  Reina’s stomach tied itself into angry knots, but it wasn’t an anger directed at Edison for delving into her private life. She’d asked for that and by damn, the man hadn’t disappointed. No, she was royally furious over her shaky self-control when it came to dealing with him. What was she doing, showing him glimpses of her petty resentment that he was now a level five? How mortifying. It wasn’t his fault she’d free-fallen from grace. Nor was it his fault the higher-ups valued technology more than human intellect and competency. Hell, no wonder they loved Edison Wicke so much. He was a perfect melding of the two.

  No more embarrassing lapses, she promised herself as she paused at the apartment’s single bedroom door off the sparse but spotless kitchen. From this point on she was going to be the epitome of law enforcement professionalism. They could take away her rankings, her prestige and her place in the world, but they couldn’t take away her pride in doing the job to the best of her ability.

  That was something only she could give away.

  “Ms. Seldon?” Stuffing the angry chaos of her emotions into a dark corner, Reina knocked briefly on the door and cracked it open. “My name is Detective Vedette. May I please come in?”

  “Of course.” As Reina entered, a small, rawboned woman rose from the edge of the neatly made bed, on which two children were nestled against the pillows. “Welcome to my home, Detective. Do you need anything from us?”

  It was hard to stay in a bad mood when someone had such a great smile, Reina thought, and found herself smiling at the woman in return. “Just a few more minutes of your time, if that’s all right. Hi guys,” she added with a little wave to the kids as Edison slipped in behind her, as silent as a shadow. “It looks like Christmas
came early, huh?”

  The children looked to their mother before nodding silently, clutching the toys they held to their chests as they did so.

  Reina glanced at those precious toys, noting their newness, before returning her attention to the mother. “Ms. Seldon, I only have a few questions, and then we’ll be out of your way. If you’ll forgive me for getting personal, may I ask if the children’s father lives here?”

  The question seemed to surprise Ms. Seldon. “No, I’m afraid he passed away two years ago—the Cabrini Green Maglev derailment.”

  Automatically Reina offered her condolences. “Do you and your family traditionally celebrate Christmas?”

  “We...we used to.” She slid a surreptitious glance toward the bed. “It’s been difficult, these past couple of years, and what money there is has to go to a roof over our heads and food on the table, so...”

  “I understand.” Reina also glanced at the children who, having lost interest in the boring adults, were now playing quietly. “I had an opportunity to examine the other room, specifically the floor, Ms. Seldon. You keep a very clean house. Very neat.”

  “It’s not much, but what we have I make sure it’s well taken care of.”

  “It shows, believe me. Which leads me to the next question—by any chance, did you clean up any mess after the children made the discovery of the tree this morning? It’s all right if you did,” she hastened to say when the other woman seemed to blanch as if expecting a scolding. “That would be my first instinct as well. And since I noticed the tree has a fully-formed root ball complete with dirt clods and other detritus clinging to it, I just assumed it left a bit of a trail.” Automatically her hand tightened on the glove that held part of that detritus. “Am I wrong?”

  “No, you’re not wrong.” With a grimace of distaste, Ms. Seldon shook her head. “I don’t allow dirt in my home. There was a trail of it leading from the window to where you see the tree now. It was such a mess I would have thought my kids had done it, if it weren’t for the fact that we’re on the third floor and there’s no conceivable way they could get a tree up to a third story window.”

  “It was Santa,” the little girl on the bed muttered into the glossy black hair of the doll she held.

  Ms. Seldon sighed. “Momo, sweetheart, we just talked about this.”

  “So the toys were left as well?” Reina asked, already knowing the answer.

  The other woman nodded. “I swear I don’t know where they came from—”

  “It. Was. Santa.” With a mutinous face that only a six-year-old could pull off, the girl named Momo exchanged a nodding glance with her brother before she knee-walked to the edge of the bed, clutching the doll to her heart as the great treasure it clearly was. “He left us toys because we’ve been good, Mommy. We always try super-hard to be good for you, and Santa knows how hard we try. That’s why he came this year. Because we were finally good enough to get toys.”

  Mrs. Seldon made a helpless sound. Reina could almost hear the woman’s heart break. “Momo...sweetheart—”

  “That’s right, Momo.” From behind Reina, Edison stepped forward to rest a hand on Reina’s shoulder while smiling down at the little girl. “No one else but Santa could’ve done this, and there’s no way in all of Chicagoland that there are better kids than you and your brother. My partner and I would just like to take a quick look at those toys before we get out of here and leave you to enjoy the rest of your day. Is that all right?”

  Reina’s gaze snapped to him while the hand on her shoulder burned through the frictionsuit’s fabric and into her flesh. There were so many things wrong with his statement that needed correction—they weren’t partners, and in all probability the toys would have to be confiscated as evidence, for starters. But at the moment all she could think about was how hot his hand was against her shoulder. Maybe that was a part of his bod-mods, she thought a shade frantically. Any man with half a brain would want a mod that made his hands so scorching hot they melted a woman from the inside out. And any woman would be helpless to fight against it.

  Helpless. Yeah. That was pretty much where she was beneath his heated hand.

  The siblings exchanged speaking glances before the little girl nailed Edison with a mistrustful look. “You’re not going to take them, are you?”

  “I swear on my life I won’t let anyone take them from you.” At last he moved his hand from Reina’s shoulder, kneeling down until he could look Momo in the eye. “Give us one minute to look the toys over, and you’ll have them back. You guys can count to sixty, right?”

  That spawned a dramatic eye roll. “Of course. Ren and I aren’t babies.”

  “Good deal. So?” He held out his hand, the picture of patience. “The moment you give me the toys, you start counting, okay? On your mark. Get set...go.”

  The little boy, Ren, hustled over to offer his toy—a Tyrannosaurus Rex—to Reina. “I’m gonna be a police cop when I’m all big,” he told her confidentially while his sister began to count. “You can be my partner, ’kay?”

  “Five years old and already he’s got an eye for the high-quality ladies.” Edison grinned as he focused on examining the doll, and Reina couldn’t stop herself from doing a quick double-take at the unintended compliment. “Sorry kid, but she’s already got a partner in me.”

  There it was again, that partner thing. She was going to have to squash that idea like a bug as soon as she had a chance, she thought, turning the T-Rex over in her hands. “As much as I’d love to be your partner, Ren, I work alone. Completely alone.”

  Edison sent her a look that told her the message was both received and unimpressive. “Another reason why you wouldn’t want to be her partner, kid—she doesn’t play well with others.”

  “Forty-nine, fifty. Fifty-one...”

  “Okay, okay.” With one last cursory glance at the doll, he handed the toy back and straightened while Reina returned the T-Rex to the boy. “Ms. Seldon, is there anyone you know who might have done something like this? Family? Friends? Friends of your husband’s?”

  She shook her head as the kids took their toys back with glee. “There’s no one. For all I know, it really was Santa.”

  “Saint Nick is the one person we can eliminate from our list of suspects,” Reina said a few minutes later as she and Edison made their way back down the stairs, the frigid wind biting into her exposed cheeks. “But the weirdness of someone breaking into a house to leave things rather than steal them is just one of the many questions I have about this case.”

  “Yeah? Let’s hear the others.”

  “For one thing, why was it necessary to call in three detectives for a non-violent break-in that left behind toys, two happy children and a general sense of peace on earth?”

  “I didn’t call Obie in.” Edison pulled up the collar of his coat against the wind. “The idiot thinks he’s an invaluable asset to every crime scene in Chicagoland now that he’s been promoted, so he just assumed I wanted him for a partner on this. Obviously he was wrong.”

  “Which leads me to my second point—this whole partner business. Lazlo Gerski was the one and only partner I’ve ever had. As far as I know, I haven’t been assigned another.”

  “For this case you do have a partner—me.” He spread his arms wide with a grin that made her want to smack the taste right out of his mouth. “Smile, Vedette. Look at me in the same way those kids were looking at their new toys—an early Christmas present that’s allll yours.”

  Chapter Three

  Over the past year, The Dugout had become one of Reina’s favorite haunts. Home to the unseen and unwanted, The Dugout had actually started out the 21st century as Calumet Park, a bucolic oasis in the midst of a gritty urban sprawl. That changed when the second wave of the bird flu decimated South Chicago’s population, and local authorities decided in desperation to turn the park into on
e mass gravesite. Upon digging it out, however, a section had swamped thanks to the nearby Calumet River, and the site had been abandoned. A few ingenious citizens had discovered that diverting the flow of water made the massive hole in the ground an ideal place to shelter from the harsh cold and bitter winds coming off Lake Michigan. Over the past decade, a subterranean community had grown and thrived.

  Before bod-mods had become mandatory, Reina had dropped into The Dugout only when necessary. Tapping informants for the latest word on the street had been the usual reason, and on one memorable occasion she’d had the unenviable job of chasing down a murderous shriek-freak so hopped up on the city’s latest designer drug he thought he could fly. The Dugout was the last-gasp stop for society’s cast-offs, the lunatic fringe, the freaks, the fugitives, the crazies and the losers.

  For Reina, since the advent of bod-mods, it had become her second home.

  There were three official entrances she had known about a year ago in her position as a level five detective. Now, she’d never think of using them. Those entrances were for the adventure tourists and the authorities—the ones who didn’t belong. True members of The Dugout’s rag-tag society knew the area was honeycombed with connections to the surface, thanks to a maze of abandoned sewer lines, Chicago Transit Authority tunnels and service tunnels. The entrance Reina favored was a simple service tunnel capped by a reinforced steel door left open during daylight hours. It opened onto a surprisingly wide boulevard well-lit by hydrogen-powered full-spectrum sun therapy lamps that cast an orange glow over throngs of Dugout denizens.

  Reina’s destination was an Olde English-style tavern on the corner of what amounted to a pedestrian mall. Out in front of its revolving door, a young blind man by the name of Sentry played a soul-stirring tune she at last pegged as “Angels We Have Heard On High.” She fished a couple of crumpled bills out of a pocket and tossed them into the open case at his feet.