Crescent

by Phil Rossi

  Like me? Gerald thought.

  “So, you want me to take you down to Anrar III’s surface to investigate these sites.”

  “That is exactly what I want. I’ll pay you twice what I paid you for the lifeboat haul.”

  It didn’t sound half as dangerous as the lifeboat salvage had been. Gerald couldn’t deny that he was at least a little bit curious and more than a little greedy. Each credit had the potential of taking him that much further from Crescent.

  “I don’t know.” He met Ina’s eyes. She remained silent, but the expectant look was hard to ignore.

  “Okay, Doc. Why the hell not?”

  Gerald took his time walking home. He looked at the people he passed. Some of them—most of them—looked perfectly normal: fine and happy. All there. But there were people who stared off into space; they looked exhausted, and some of them looked downright ill. Was there something wrong with these people?

  Or was it his newly hatched paranoia?

  (Part XI)

  It wanted Marisa to look at it. To touch it. The goddamn thing thrummed every time she neared the place where she had concealed it. She laughed. The hiding spot was foolish. After all, only six year olds and cats hid shit underneath furniture. But that was the spot. Marisa didn’t know why. It probably didn’t even fucking matter.

  The big recliner looked rattier now than it ever had. The fabric had been slowly unraveling itself and now pooled around the sides of the old piece of furniture. The disc was underneath the chair, wrapped in three thick towels. It had been Marisa’s hope to smother the thing’s call, but it only seemed to accomplish the opposite. The object’s pull was, at times, almost irresistible. The sensation was tangible, like thousands of tiny hands nudging and prodding her. She’d resisted going to the thing for days. How many days, she couldn’t count. Time was becoming a mere footnote on the rapidly shuffling pages of her existence.

  I shouldn’t look at it, Marisa thought. I should get rid of it. There’s still time. She emptied a few white pills of carthine onto the plastic table at which she sat, and pushed the pills around with her fingertip. She’d been taking the drug more and more. It wasn’t just to help her relax at night. It wasn’t just to help her sleep. It was to quell the urge to look at the glass disc she had brought back from the cistern—to stifle the desire to lay with the thing for days on end until she died from thirst and starvation. She started with one pill every other day. Now she was taking three daily. It made the thrumming more bearable, but Marisa still saw the Black everywhere she looked—just out of the corner of her eye.

  There was a distant chime. She glanced up at the wall clock—time to go. She looked back down at the pills and then over to the recliner. The chair watched her like a grim, age-faded sentinel, guarding the charge that sat beneath it. She flicked the pills—one, two, three—off the table and onto the floor. She stood slowly and moved toward the door. As she went, she picked up the discarded pills and popped them into her mouth.

  One. Two. Three.

  (•••)

  Nigel was at the monitoring-station-turned-office when she arrived. He’d been on time every day, while Marisa only seemed to be showing up later and later. Her punctuality didn’t matter. It wasn’t like Swaren was giving her all that much to do. He glanced up at her from a stack of fan fold paper and frowned.

  “You feeling okay, Lieutenant Griffin?” Nigel asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” She wasn’t lying. The carthine was kicking in.

  “You look exhausted. I don’t think ever seen such dark circles.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take that as compliment. What do you have there?” She leaned over the long, slender table that served as Nigel’s makeshift desk.

  “This?” He waved one of the pages. “This is my least favorite part of the job. Hard copy logs. Hard copy Crescent ATC logs. I’m making sure that everyone that has come and gone from the station was cleared to do so. Flight plans in Anrar and the neighboring systems must be pre-approved by Core Sec, without exception. There’s been a lot of raider activity in Habeos and Tireca as of late. Keeping track of these things has become particularly important to Core Sec with the New Juno colonization initiative ramping up.”

  Marisa stared at the stack. It looked fifteen centimeters high. The last thing she wanted to do was look over Swaren’s shoulder as he went through the pages of condensed printout one by one.

  “Marisa?”

  “Huh?” This was the first time he had called her by that name. The sound of it was strange coming out of his mouth and it caused her to look up.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Nigel asked and placed his hands atop the stack of data.

  “Ask me again and I won’t be okay, and neither will you.” Despite her best intentions, Marisa felt her eyes narrowing to menacing slits.

  “Easy, Lieutenant.”

  “And don’t you make any fucking jokes about this being my time of the month.” Marisa frowned and looked away.

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” Nigel said.

  “Good. Are we done here, then?” She looked back to him.

  “Actually, no, we’re not done here.” He began thumbing back through the stack of pages, speaking casually as he did so. “Core Sec procedure specifies hard copy data review—the brass says looking at a piece of paper is more reliable than reading data on a terminal or overlay. I’ll tell you, we’re the only people who look at paper this often in this day and age. If it weren’t for Core Sec, I bet paper wouldn’t even be produced anymore.” He stopped the page-flipping at a sheet that was flagged with a red sticker.

  “That’s very interesting,” said Marisa.

  “Not really. But this is.” He placed his finger on a line marked by an adhesive red arrow. “Bean. Transponder number 48967, made an unscheduled trip from Crescent three days ago. It looks like someone tried to delete the entry. The record had been backed up prior to the deletion. Whoever deleted the entry didn’t bother to take care of the backup. Careless, really. I looked up this “Bean.” Turns out she is a Class 2A hauler specializing in salvage, captained by one Gerald Evans. His records are all clean, but I think this should be checked out nonetheless.”

  Marisa wondered if this had been one of Gerald’s salvage runs for Kendall. Kendall’s people should have no cause to delete a record if the run were legal. Which meant that maybe the runs weren’t? Truly, what else could it be? She wasn’t wondering so much as she was fretting. Gerry, she thought, just what have you gotten yourself into? Marisa stuffed her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. She offered a weak smile.

  “And what would you like from me?” Marisa asked.

  Nigel was squinting at the page. “Go find this Gerald Evans. He should be on the station if he’s not making another unscheduled run. Find out what he was up to.” He stopped studying the sheet to look up at her.

  “That all?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Do you want to question him yourself?”

  “Only if necessary. I’ll be tied up the rest of the day mapping crime trends. There seems to be no lack of data there. Use your discretion, Officer. If you think I need to question him myself, I will,” Nigel said.

  “Okay.” Marisa knew that if Gerry’s salvage work was illegal, Kendall would sell him out in a heartbeat. If Gerald was doing work for someone else, Kendall would have Gerald beaten into a pulp. She didn’t want to see Gerald get hurt, even if he was being an aloof and unsupportive asshole. The fact that she would be the first to question Gerald was a reprieve for the pilot—even if only a small one.

  “Well, get to it,” Nigel said.

  “I’m sorry, Nigel. Sir. Captain Swaren. I’m just getting over the shock of being handed an actual assignment,” Marisa said, and he laughed.

  “You have proven reliable when being sent off to do nothing. Now, I’m sending you away with something to do. If that goes well, we’ll talk about beefing up your responsibilities even further.” Nigel returned his eyes to the th
ick stack of log entries.

  She smirked but didn’t say a thing. Instead, she turned to leave.

  “Look. I like you, Marisa,” Nigel said and returned his eyes to her. “I’m a work alone kind of guy. Don’t be offended. This is just how I operate,” Nigel said.

  “I’m not offended. The way I look at it, Core Sec has been paying me to take strolls in the park and catch up on my grocery shopping these past few days. It’s been far more relaxing than working dock security detail.” A lie. Having nothing to do was giving her more time to get stoned and go crazy.

  “I do have to ask,” Marisa took a deep breath. “The Heathen’s incident…the…gun club, as you called it.”

  “I have yet to look into it. The shoot-out is low on my list of priorities. Now go and find this Evans.”

  “Yes sir.” She found this news more than a little relieving.

  Marisa raised her hand to her forehead in a salute, which was a ridiculous gesture. There was no Core Sec salute. She needed sleep. Sleep that was not drug or alcohol induced. She blinked and offered a meek smile. Nigel looked at her like she was insane before returning his eyes to the reports. Maybe she was insane. At least now she had something to focus on. Something to get her mind off the secret treasure in her apartment.

  And the shadows with their smiles.

  (•••)

  Marisa found Gerald in Crescent’s main hangar. From the looks of it, her timing could not have been better. Bean’s exhaust cones were still steaming. Gerald stood with his arms crossed over the chest of his flight suit as he examined what was clearly his most recent salvage—a mining barge with black and jagged scars marring an otherwise featureless and undamaged hull. The barge seemed no worse for wear. Gerald’s brow was furrowed and he appeared to be in no small state of distress. Marisa approached him with her hands in her pockets. Her eyes went from the barge to Bean, and then to Gerald. He didn’t seem to have noticed her. He was too busy trying to burn holes into the salvage with his eyes.

  “Gerald,” she said. His eyes flitted over to her and then back to the barge. Recognition dawned on his slack features. He looked back to her and smiled briefly.

  “Hi, Marisa. I didn’t think you had dock duty while that Swaren character was around. Already got the standard shakedown and ball cup by your compadres.”

  “That’s not why I’m here, Ger,” she said. Her scalp tingled and so did her face. The carthine. She wondered if he could tell she was on it. She hoped not.

  He frowned and ran both hands through his hair.

  “Oh,” was all that he said.

  “No. It’s not about our conversation in the garden, either. I’m here on… business.”

  Gerald cocked a brow and then began to tug on some stray lines that were attached to the mining barge’s hull. He picked up a data pad and tapped in some notes. Marisa continued to watch him and he continued to study the ship as if she wasn’t there.

  “I don’t want to tell you how many mining ships I’ve been sent to haul out of Tireca. From the same goddamn dense asteroid field. This patch of space is so thick with rocks, I don’t know how any raider could find these ships in there… ”

  “Gerry, I’m here on business,” she repeated.

  “I don’t know why these guys are mining this patch in the first place. There are fields that are a lot safer to mine. And right here in Anrar… ” Gerald continued to ramble. She grabbed him by the arm.

  “Gerry. There are some things we need to talk about.”

  “Okay then,” he said. “I’m here, you’re here, and we’re both on the clock. Start talking and I’ll listen.” She wondered for an instant if he was irritated because he could tell she was on the drugs. She pushed the thought aside. She didn’t feel all that doped up.

  Marisa glanced around the deck. Maintenance crews worked on a few nearby ships. Collector bots stacked crates and loaded them onto a freighter, whirring and clicking in their absent way. Walter Vegan hobbled near the hangar office with a cup of coffee clutched in one gnarled hand; some of its contents sloshed out with every step. He waved to her. She waved back.

  “We should really talk about this somewhere a little more private.”

  Gerald put the data pad beneath his arm and turned around to face her. The frown had resurfaced. Marisa hadn’t expected he’d to be thrilled to see her—not after the little scene she caused in the botanical gardens—but she didn’t think he’d be outright pissed off. It wasn’t like Gerald.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Yes, Gerald. I’m here on Captain Swaren’s order.”

  “The auditor? Shit. Well.” He slid the data pad into a duffle bag that sat on the flight deck. He hoisted the bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. “I guess let’s talk, then. Your place or mine?”

  (•••)

  Marisa looked around the small maintenance closet. Storage 15. Little 15. Last time she and Gerald had shared the space, she had been tearing his clothes off. Now, the salvage pilot felt worlds away from her. He sat in a creaking metal chair, and she sat on a stool across from him. He looked both annoyed and worried at the same time. She was sure she looked just as pleased to be there. She retrieved her own data pad and activated it with the wave of a hand. The entries that Nigel Swaren had flagged in the hard copy ATC logs pulsed on the screen in ominous green letters. She tapped the first entry. More information dropped down below the initial line. She held up the data pad so that he could see the display.

  “Do you remember leaving the station at this time on this date?” She pointed a few lines down. “And then returning at this time?”

  “I… ”

  “Let’s keep this simple, Gerry,” she said, cutting him off. “Yes/no answers to start off with.” There was a moment of silence. A duct fan squeaked above them as it pumped recycled air into the closet.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Okay. Did you delete this entry from the ATC records?”

  “No.”

  Marisa’s head was beginning to feel clear. How could the carthine be wearing off already?

  “Do you know who deleted them?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Either you do or you don’t, Gerald. Was it Kendall? Was it someone else?”

  “This is a mess,” he said. The hand he raked through his dark hair made it stand up comically. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, rocking the thin front legs off the gray floor.

  “What’s going on, Gerry? Is Kendall breaking the law? All kinds of laws? He is, isn’t he?” Say fucking yes, Marisa thought, but didn’t say it aloud. She wanted Gerald to answer yes more than anything in the world. Her suspicion—her knowledge—that Kendall was up to no good was useless when she didn’t have the first clue as to the nature of his activities. There was nothing to incriminate him on but his blackmailing at this point. And in that case, it was his word over hers. But, if Gerald confessed to something, that just might be enough to lock Kendall up. The road to salvation stood out in sudden contrast. She would be able to continue with her career and Gerald would be out of hot water, too. With a record as clean as Gerry’s it would be simple enough to convince a Core Sec jury that Kendall had threatened Gerald into going along with whatever plans were in action. Life could go on.

  “No, not Kendall,” Gerald said. “Well. Not Kendall in this instance.”

  That was not the answer she was expecting or hoping for.

  “What the hell does that mean?” She sat back on her stool and frowned.

  “What it means is, if Kendall were to find out I was doing some off-record work for another… party, I’d be as good as dead. Not that there’s anything good about being dead.”

  “Let’s go back to the yes or no for a minute, here.” She wasn’t ready for more complicated details. “Are you engaged in any illegal operations?”

  “No. Not in this regard,” he replied.

  “In this regard?”

  “In regard to my other emplo
yer.”

  “What about in regards to Kendall?”

  “I have no idea,” Gerald said. Kendall, she wanted to scream. It has to be about Kendall. I have to get off this station and Kendall is the key.

  Marisa groaned in frustration.

  “Let me finish, Marisa. Kendall tells me to pick up a salvage and I pick up a salvage. I never get any more details than that. And I don’t ask. I just do as I’m told.”

  The lights went off and the fan stopped spinning. The data pad blinked out. The small space was flooded with silence. Marisa inhaled sharply; the air was cold as it hit her lungs. She could hear Gerald breathing.

  “Gerry?”

  “I think there’s someone in here,” he whispered.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The air grew colder and the sense that someone else was in the closet with them became stronger. The air was heavy and it wrapped around Marisa like a numbing cloud; her senses went dull. Marisa was falling.

  And like that, the sensation was gone. The presence receded and the darkness lifted like a veil.

  Marisa was no longer in Storage 15. She was in a much larger space. A single light panel blinked on and off above her head. It was still dark, but there was just enough yellowish light to get a sense of the room’s enormity. She was in the Crescent auditorium. A sea of gray, featureless flooring stretched out around her in every direction, swallowing her in its emptiness. The stage looked naked and lonely with nothing covering it but pools of shadow. Marisa was drawn to the platform. She walked slowly, placing one foot ahead of the other as if she didn’t believe the floor panels beneath her feet were made of solid matter. When her chest hit the stage’s beveled edge, she halted and placed her hands on the cool metal surface.

  “It will start here…” she whispered.

  (•••)

  Gerald heard Storage 15’s door shudder open and then slam shut. The overhead light flickered to life and the vent fan began to squeak again. The darkness seemed to fold in on itself. Marisa’s stool was empty. Gerald sprang to his feet and turned in a shuffling circle. Equipment leaned against the wall. Corrugated crates lined the dusty shelves. And Marisa was gone. Gerald made it out just in time to see Marisa disappear around the corner of the deserted hallway. He ran after her. She was already a good distance ahead of him by the time he rounded the bend. The distance grew between them in a way that didn’t make sense.