The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  This time it was Ensign Pruitt’s turn to ask the question. “May I ask what for, ma’am?”

  “For being so persistent.”

  Ensign Pruitt nodded a second time, perhaps with less understanding but no less solemnly. “Of course, ma’am. If you need anything else, just ask for me. I’m OS Tau’s designated civilian liaison officer, among other duties.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The exchange complete, Roon shut the door as Ensign Pruitt paced measuredly down the hall, back to those other duties.

  Shouldering her way out of the robe, Roon let it fall to the floor behind her. She stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light. She found her reflection staring back at her from the relative safety of its alternate, mirrored reality, wearing a loose black shirt that fell to about mid-thigh over a pair of conservatively cut black panties.

  Closing her eyes, she took a bracing breath and stripped. When she opened them again she was naked. For several minutes she considered herself in the mirror.

  Roon had never thought of herself as particularly attractive, let alone beautiful. She wasn’t holo-star gorgeous or rail-thin with sunken cheeks or big-breasted with bottle curves. She had leftover baby fat clinging to her waist and thighs and a smattering of what she considered unsightly freckles dotting her face. Her breasts were smallish and not even particularly perky at that. She wore little to no makeup for lack of knowing what suited her and what did not. Her hair was not glamorously arranged, nor was her choice of fashions what anyone would ever have considered “in season.”

  Worst of all, the abuse leveled against her by “the monster”—her godfather—had left her scarred for life, though not in a way anyone but she could ever see.

  It began when she was twelve (shortly after her mother and father were killed during a workers’ rights demonstration that quickly devolved into a massacre) and lasted until she was sixteen. Even then, it was only the timely intervention of a massive coronary that robbed her godfather of the ability to continue raping her. By the time he recovered he was a shell of the man he once was and she was old enough to finally fend off his ailing advances.

  She was also old enough to take her fate into her own hands. Using every last credit left to her by her parents, she enrolled in a private, non-corporate university where eventually she graduated among the top of her class. Her field? Victims’ rights advocacy, in honor of her martyred parents.

  Though there was also something of a subtler subtext at work behind her chosen career path.

  Having graduated at twenty-two, her newly acquired reading glasses perched atop her head, she applied to join Morgenthau-Hale’s nonprofit division. Her reference? None other than the man she had called monster for so many years.

  The deal was simple: an unequivocal endorsement of her and her credentials. That, and the promise he would recuse himself from any and all cases in which they might find themselves working against one another. The penalty, if he failed to comply, was an outing of his horrific predilections, a he-said-she-said of such epic proportions it would leave them both ruined in its wake.

  All the better then to play nice and stick to the deal. It was an arrangement that had suited them well, if not perfectly, for more than seven years. She avoided signing her life away to a 20/20 contract and he avoided being outed as the pedophiliac rapist entrusted to care for his goddaughter. Everything was going just as she had planned.

  That is, until Fenton Wilkes came along.

  Something about Fenton’s story was bigger than she could ever have imagined. She’d known it the moment her godfather walked through the door and shown the same surprise she had at seeing him.

  “May I have a word with you?” she had said upon exiting the holding room.

  “You may, though I can’t imagine what you expect will come of it,” was his response.

  “I expect you’ll honor our arrangement as you always have!” she hissed.

  He simply shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not an option this time, little dove. For either of us. Scream and shout all you like, you’ll find your cries land upon deaf ears. Don’t you understand? This is bigger than the both of us.”

  Little dove.

  And so the nightmares had returned with scornful vengeance.

  Roon scowled at herself in the mirror, then thought better of it. She forced a smile and found she wasn’t entirely repulsed by what she saw.

  Maybe you’re not exactly a showstopper, but you’re hardly hideous, either, she thought as her reflection mouth-smiled back at her. Fenton seemed to like you, after all. Then again, he could barely see and you do basically hold his life in your hands.

  She sighed heavily, the smile flatlining on her face.

  At least you managed to get him out of that cell and into something a little roomier.

  On that note, Roon slipped back into the robe and made her way to the stateroom’s wet bar, where she was determined to drown the ghosts of her past in a veritable sea of dirty martinis.

  06 • UNDER REVIEW

  “This panel stands convened. These proceedings shall come to order…”

  Xenecia’s face was a mask of cold indifference, one carefully constructed to conceal the contempt with which she regarded these proceedings. Whether they knew it or not, the panel before which she sat was a shell game, an elaborate construction designed to render moot her claim on Fenton’s bounty. She had no doubt of the outcome, no designs on victory or vindication in this setting. As was always the case, she would have to claim her own laurels.

  “Let us begin by stating the purpose and objectives of this panel, as well as dispelling any misunderstandings over its attendant powers.”

  As the head of the panel prattled on, Xenecia took a moment to appraise her surroundings. The room itself was one of M-H Tau’s smaller offerings, though more than sufficient for their purposes. It was outfitted with two short tables positioned longways before a small dais at the front of the room. Appearing via holopresence was the tribunal overseeing the proceedings. Xenecia sat alone against a holographically rendered phalanx of Morgenthau-Hale’s top advocates and medical and security personnel. She had been offered the services of an advocate of her own prior to the convening of the proceedings and declined. Given that she had already written off the whole affair as a farce, she was not overly concerned with the disparity in their respective representation.

  “… Finally, this panel is strictly of an informal nature,” the woman whose nameplate identified her as FMR. CFO MEREDITH GYUN clarified. “It is not empowered to render a formal decision, only to recommend one to the appropriate oversight committee.”

  A panel with the power to render a decision without actually rendering a decision. Yet another layer of corporate chicanery, Xenecia mused privately.

  “Now, let us begin. Advocate Unser, you have the floor.”

  Advocate Unser stood, offering a short, deferential bow to the dais. He was slim and trim, a fast-rising star in Morgenthau-Hale’s civilian structure. Xenecia decided he was probably considered attractive among human females, with his balanced, neatly symmetrical features and no shortage of confident mannerisms. For her part she bore no interest in him whatsoever. She stared ahead as he locked eyes with Meredith Gyun and delved into the meat of his presentation.

  “Thank you, Chairwoman Gyun, for your time here today, as well as for your opening remarks. They were as measured as they were inspiring.”

  Chairwoman Gyun nodded just so. But for that gesture of acknowledgement she appeared unmoved by Unser’s obvious attempt at flattery. He pushed on obliviously.

  “As you are well aware, we are gathered here today to examine the circumstances surrounding the capture of one Fenton James Wilkes, a former employee of Morgenthau-Hale’s Biotech Development Initiative. As this is not a corporate court, I will not bore you with the details of his alleged offense and breach of contract—”

  “In that case, Advocate Unser,” Gyun said coolly, “could you please get
to the specifics of what you will be boring us with today? I’m not getting any younger.” On either side of her, Chairwoman Gyun’s fellow panelists chuckled involuntarily.

  Xenecia wondered if perhaps she had been too quick to write off these proceedings.

  “Of course, Chairwoman Gyun,” Unser continued without a note of humility. “Today we will be debating the methods used to apprehend Mr. Wilkes by one Xenecia of Shih’ra and whether said methods can be considered grounds to void the ‘life premium’ authorized by our employers and to which she presently lays claim. Thank you.”

  Chairwoman Gyun nodded solemnly. “And you, Advocate Unser.” She turned her beady gaze upon Xenecia. “Xenecia of Shih’ra, would you care to offer a rebuttal to Advocate Unser’s remarks?”

  Xenecia was genuinely torn. It seemed she might have an objective arbiter in Chairwoman Gyun. Ultimately, however, her prejudices got the better of her. She shook her head. “I have nothing to say before this body, Madam Chairwoman. The results of my actions speak for themselves.”

  “They certainly do,” Advocate Unser responded when presented with the opportunity to speak again. With that he launched a coordinated assault upon the events surrounding Fenton’s capture. Unser painted her as a loose cannon who had stopped just short of curbing Fenton in order to preserve her claim on his life premium. His medical advisors characterized Fenton’s broken nose as a “significant cranial injury whose short-and long-term memory effects remain undetermined.” Naturally, this left “open to question how much he will remember, if any, of the proprietary data with which he stands accused of absconding, let alone where any redundant copies of said data may have been stored during the course of his many months of flight.” And if the detailed critique of her strategic missteps in effectively managing Fenton’s capture as offered by Unser’s military advisors wasn’t enough to sway the panel, the man was apparently none too concerned with selling the corporate line.

  “Last but not least, esteemed panelists, I would like to introduce the testimony of an expert witness in the matter at hand.”

  Chairwoman Gyun raised a brow but otherwise showed no objection. Unser nodded and the leering visage of none other than Quint Samuels was rendered into the air before them.

  “Well, hey there, Xenny-baby,” Quint half-drawled, half-slurred from what appeared to be a rack in some farflung sickbay. Evidently he was under the influence of a mild anesthetic. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

  Xenecia set her jaw against the image and words coming at her through the digital ether. “Quint,” she all but snarled.

  “You are saying you know this man, Xenecia?” Unser prompted. “Could you state his full name, for the record?”

  Quint giggled a loopy little giggle. “That’s right, Xenny-baby, say my name!”

  “If I am not mistaken, Chairwoman Gyun, you said this is an informal hearing?” Even as she asked the question, she held Unser with a fiery gaze.

  “That is correct.”

  “Then why don’t you say his name?” she suggested of Unser. “We both know I know who that son of a bitch is.”

  “Ooh, so feisty!”

  “Very well. Let the record state that appearing before us is one Quint Samuels.” He looked to Gyun, as if searching for permission to continue.

  “You may proceed with your deposition, Advocate Unser.”

  “First, I would like to offer my gratitude to Mr. Samuels for agreeing to join us as part of these proceedings, given his current circumstances.” Here Unser tented his fingers before him, affecting an air of deep concern. “How are you feeling, Mr. Samuels?”

  Quint snorted, his demeanor flicking from manic high to dour low. “Well, my leg is shot all to shit and back, doc says I might have nerve damage, too soon to tell if I’ll ever be able to walk right again—not to mention the concussion that crazy bitch gave me—so, all in all, not that shit-hot, now that you mention it. Now, how’s about we move this show along so I can get another shot of morpho, eh there, pretty boy? Benefit of being a company man, best god damn dope this side of a Farbright tar shack.”

  “Of course, Mr. Samuels. In fact, that was to be my very next question: Are you now or have you ever been under contract with Morgenthau-Hale?”

  “I surely am,” he answered. He held aloft a holographically imprinted identification badge bearing not only his homely likeness but the Morgenthau-Hale seal as well. “Got my credentials right here.”

  “And how long have you been under contract?”

  “Three weeks, give or take.”

  “And what service were you providing Morgenthau-Hale as part of the terms of your contract?”

  “I was on the hunt, looking for Fenton Wilkes and a fat payday.”

  At Advocate Unser’s direction, a grainy surveillance still taken the day Fenton was captured appeared before them all. It was shot from just above the door of the Greasy Spanner. Three figures were visible on the far left side of the shot: the graybeard bartender looking on helplessly from behind the bar; Fenton on the opposite side; and Xenecia behind him, the business end of her mare’s leg carbine tucked neatly against the small of his back.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, what you see before you is the beginning of surveillance footage documenting the very confrontation we are discussing here today. Now, Mr. Samuels, I’m going to start this footage and ask that you walk us through the corresponding events in real time as best you remember them. Can you do that for us?”

  “Hit it, pretty boy,” Quint said sharply. “Sooner you do, sooner I get that shot of morpho.”

  “Of course.” If he was at all offended by Quint’s passive-aggressive posture, Unser never let it show. “Starting now,” he said, and the footage sprang to life.

  “Alright, here’s where me and the boys come into the bar. I’d gotten a hot tip from one of the regulars and figured I was in for one of those no-fuss, no-muss collections, but nope, there’s Xenny, sure as the day is long,” Quint narrated as the footage played out, Xenecia leading Fenton away from the bar only to come up against the wall presented by Quint and his cohorts. The camera was pointed at his back, making it impossible to see what he was actually saying even for someone skilled in the art of reading lips. The tribunal had only his stilted testimony to rely upon, an advantage he used to the fullest as the next few frames played out. “At this point I’m trying to negotiate with her, let her know we’re on the same side.” Because Quint carried his oversized pistol on his front side, it made it that much easier for him to claim he was going for his identification when the camera showed him reaching around his waist for what Xenecia knew to be his sidearm. “And that’s right about when all hell broke loose.” In the footage, Xenecia raised her carbine and fired over Fenton’s shoulder, loosing a hellacious storm of shrapnel down upon Quint and his cohorts. The firefight that followed was short and brutal, ending only when she rushed Quint as he was reloading and clubbed him across the face with the butt of her carbine. A moment later Fenton could be seen popping up from behind the bar just in time to receive the same treatment. “And that’s all she wrote. As you can see, she didn’t care who she had to go through to get that capture. She damn near almost punched the kid’s ticket making sure he didn’t get away. I tell you what, if it’d been me and my boys that’d gotten there first, things would’ve gone down a hell of a lot smoother.”

  Unser nodded solemnly. “Thank you very much for your testimony, Mr. Samuels. Best of luck to you going forward. Of course, Morgenthau-Hale will continue to compensate you for your recovery, as per the terms of your contract. You have my word.”

  Quint seemed hardly interested in Unser’s word, already gesturing for a fresh hit of morpho as the feed went dark. Unser, meanwhile, could hardly have been more pleased with himself.

  “And there you have it, esteemed members of the tribunal. Proof positive that Xenecia of Shih’ra does not deserve the life premium affixed to Fenton Wilkes’ bounty in the event of his safe return—for as we now know he was not return
ed safely. Moreover, we have been presented with unequivocal evidence that in the course of apprehending said subject she committed hostile acts against credentialed, contracted employees of Morgenthau-Hale.” Unser seated himself primly, folding one leg atop the other and his fingers over the leading edge of his knee. “Thus concludes our presentation. We await your decision, Madam Chairwoman.”

  Chairwoman Gyun, for her part, pursed her thin, colorless lips as she looked from one table to the next. “You have remained conspicuously silent throughout these proceedings, Xenecia of Shih’ra. Do you have anything to add? A rebuttal to offer in your defense?”

  “I do not.” She had known as a matter of course that the fix was in even before the opening gavel; Quint’s testimony was the final proof. Nothing she could say or do would change that now.

  “Very well.”

  After a brief show conferring with her fellow panelists on the tribunal, Chairwoman Gyun laid out their final decision. “Having heard both sides to the extent they wish to be heard, it is the decision of this panel that Xenecia of Shih’ra acted unduly and with reckless intent toward a fellow contractor. Furthermore, this tribunal has seen and heard sufficient evidence to leave open the question of Fenton James Wilkes’ mental faculties following his capture. Therefore, it is our decision to advise a hold on the paying of the life premium for his unharmed capture, until such time as he can be examined and the state of his mental faculties determined. In the event he is unable to provide the information for which he was sought, the life premium, as well as the bounty itself, will be canceled outright.

  “This panel stands adjourned.”

  Xenecia sat for several long moments after the holopresence avatars had dissolved. A low-heat, phosphorescent rage boiled through her at the realization that Fenton’s bounty was now almost certainly forfeit to her.

  As a matter of course, that simply could not stand. She had to do something.

  At which point, something happened to resolve itself in the form of a strapping young corpsman. “I’ve been instructed to escort you back to your quarters, ma’am.”