Beneath a Holo-Sky (Poison World Book 1)

by Lyn Forester

  I lean my shoulder against the machine since no one else waits to use it. There's no harm in answering his questions. “I spent a night researching his interests, then the next week at the gym. It could have been done faster, but I had to wait for him to approach me first. Otherwise it could be argued as entrapment.” I run the numbers in my head. “Two hundred fifteen minutes total work, including writing the final report. Five hundred credits, plus four rice coupons as a bonus, for resolving the case in under ten days.”

  “But you don’t eat rice.”

  I snort out a laugh in surprise. Most people would latch onto the credits angle. Leave it to Drake to focus on the food. “I can trade the rice coupons for general food stamps.”

  “You’ll lose a lot in the exchange.” He scratches his head, eyes losing focus. “You’re looking at a three-to-one trade, two-to-one if you can find someone who’s generous. Almost not worth it.”

  “Do you work the trade racket at Black Corp?” He’s well informed on the topic. I had to check the current rate of exchange when I took the case.

  “You should give me the stamps.”

  “How’d you come up with that?”

  “You don’t like rice, and you’re basically throwing the coupons away with the exchange rate where it’s at right now. Might as well give them to me.”

  “Maybe I’ll hold onto them until Winter-Cycle, when the market has a higher demand.”

  “Yeah, the lower levels will run low on rice by then. Just give me one coupon then.”

  “Why should I?”

  “I helped you solve the case.”

  “The fuck you did.”

  “I was there when you solved the case.”

  “You’re not getting a coupon.”

  “Stingy bitch.”

  “Gluttonous asshole.” A commotion in the front hall draws my attention.

  “Get your filthy hands off of me! Do you have any idea who I am?” The shout rings through the quiet space of the hall. Heads pop up from behind cubicle walls, curious at the commotion.

  Drake and I step away from the kiosks and toward Blue Hall’s archway to join the gathering onlookers.

  Two guards in dark blue uniforms drag a man between them. Tall, with copper-colored skin and burnished hair that falls in waves around his shoulders. He shakes the strands from his face and heaves sideways to knock into the guard on his left, who stumbles and loses his grip. The prisoner wrenches his arm away, bringing clenched fists up to smash into the guard on his right.

  The glowing bands around his wrists brighten, more energy flooding the shackles to keep the halfbreed contained. The cuffs act as an equalizer for humans, dampening the superior strength and speed of those with halion blood. The prisoner should be rendered docile, but he howls in fury and brings his fists up again. The guard on his left regains his balance and latches onto his arm once more.

  “My father will have your badges for this!” The prisoner drops his weight, and the guards grunt and drag him onward.

  “Your daddy doesn’t care about you, halfbreed!” The jeer comes from a group of onlookers in the main hall. A few chuckle, but most look uncomfortable.

  It’s a well-known truth that pureblood halions don’t stick around to take care of their halfbreed offspring. They’re not allowed to form relationships that can interfere with the breeder’s plans, so why risk the heartache of being in a family that can be torn apart.

  The facts of the situation don’t leave the kids less abandoned. Decent people don’t joke about that stuff.

  “Who said that? I’ll kill you!” The prisoner surges to his feet, kicking out. “I’ll kill you all!”

  “Quiet down.” Right guard thumps his baton over the man's head.

  The prisoner stumbles, stunned, and they drag him through the arch into Blue Hall. Onlookers part to let them through, a living corridor to the processing desk. It leaves Drake and me on the inside of the path, out front and exposed.

  As the guards pass us, the prisoner shakes his head and peers around with unfocused eyes. They settle on me, and I see red veins bulging in the sclera. Black lines crawl from his gray eyelids. Clear signs of a bad reaction to Ash. Some halfbreeds take the risk in order to feel like a pureblood.

  “Like what you see?” His mouth drops open in a laugh to show gray against white teeth. “I got more for you right here.”

  The glowing cuffs leave tracers in the air as he pumps bound fists over the crotch of his pants. The blue guards drag him past, and he leans back in their grasp, still laughing.

  The crowd disperses, the entertainment over.

  I glance at Drake. “Add another Ash victim to the list.”

  He rubs a hand over his face. “Shit, I’m gonna have more messages waiting for me at the office.”

  “They’re not forwarding to your palm-port?” As if on cue, faint ringing comes from his pocket.

  “Are you some kind of psychic?” Drake pulls the palm-port out, scowls at the screen, and thumbs off the ringer. “Not a number in my disc log. They can leave a message.”

  “Sure that’s wise? It could be related to the case.”

  “I have everyone’s contact discs who should call about the case.” He rubs a hand across his stomach. “So about those rice coupons.”

  “Investigator Thorpe, I didn’t expect to see you so early in the morning.” Blue Guard Cooper waves an arm in the air to catch my attention as he pushes through the crowd.

  I check behind him, but don’t find the familiar figure of his partner, Blue Guard Rinehart. He must have taken a half-day. I nod my head as the older guard joins us. “Good to see you, sir.”

  “Are you here to check on the body from last night's crime scene?” He smooths down gray wisps of hair and glances around. “Nasty business. Good thing it wrapped up quickly.”

  “What do you mean?” My gaze darts to Drake. “We were just in the freezer. Carmichael is still writing the autopsy report.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Looks like the medic wasted his time.” Blue Guard Cooper presses his lips together, hiding them from view behind his thick mustache. “The report came in from Blue Guard Allred a few minutes ago. Looks like she spoke with the shift lead at The Hut last night. Mr. Chattle walked that route home after work every night. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The dealer stabbed him to stop him from reporting his drug sales to Black Corporation.”

  “But we spoke to the dealer before he died.” I shake my head, confused. “He thought he worked for Black Corporation. I stated that in my debrief with Blue Guard Allred.”

  “He lied to get out of trouble.” The blue guard scratches his neck, face grim. “Terrible luck for Mr. Chattle.”

  I don’t believe in luck. “But the dealer exploded.”

  The older man nods. “It happens sometimes with the gang kids who get in too deep. They choose suicide instead of being brought in for trial.”

  “What about the Ash?” Drake rumbles from beside me. I glance up at him. Deep furrows crease his brows, and a quiet click taps out from him as he runs his tongue ring against his teeth in agitation.

  “We’re still waiting for his DNA to find out who he was. But I’m sure once we learn his identity, we’ll find evidence at his home for the processing.” Blue Guard Cooper frowns with concern. “We might see a few more cases trickle in as the drugs already sold work their way through the streets. Then it'll die out like it always does.”

  Too neat and tidy. My radar pings on high alert. None of this makes sense. My limbs vibrate with the need for action. “Thank you for the update, sir.”

  “I’m glad I caught you when I did.” He smiles, mustache bouncing up at the corners. “Last night must have been rough. I hope it helps with whatever case you’re running. I know my partner’s concerned for you, Investigator Thorpe.”

  “Blue Guard Rinehart is too kind.”

  His brown eyes twinkle as he leans forward. “To be honest, I’m a little excited Blue Hall solved this. Can you imagine how u
pset Black Corp will be to owe us a favor?”

  Drake stiffens next to me, mouth opening, and I elbow him in the side. “Thank you for your time, Blue Guard Cooper. We won’t take up anymore of your time.”

  “Always a pleasure, dear.” The older man strides away.

  “That’s complete bullshit,” Drake hisses. Red flushes his cheeks, and the muscles in his jaw tense.

  “Sometimes the easy resolution is the right one.” I pull my palm-port from my pocket and head for the door.

  Drake stomps after me. “You don’t believe that.”

  “No.” My voice comes out clipped. I relax my muscles, and slow my pace to be more casual.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We need to talk to the only witness we know.”

  “The drug addict?” He freezes and turns back toward Blue Hall. “Then we need lockup.”

  “No.” I find the information I need and lock in the location on my map. “She’s not here.”

  “Why not?” Drake swings back into motion, and we exit the Halls of Justice into Central Plaza.

  I jog down the steps and head for the central lift. “She was moved to Ripfield Sanitarium.”

  Drake’s stride matches mine, pace for pace. “The place for crazy people?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  PAINT OVER THE STARS

  “This place is creepy.” Drake gazes up at the tall, gray building. Windows stop after the second floor, giving way to polished stone that reflects puffy, white clouds from the holo-sky.

  “Yeah.” Reagen, hands shoved into her pockets, rocks on her heels. “Like the building’s supposed to be camouflaged or something.”

  “Maybe the neighbors like to pretend it’s not here.”

  “I don’t blame them.” Her head moves left, then right, as she inspects the rest of the street. “Who wants a reminder they’re next to the nut house.”

  Pedestrians make a wide arc around them, sticking close to the curb to avoid walking closer to Ripfield Sanitarium.

  “Ready?” He glances at the doorman who gazes back at them with suspicion. They’ve stood on the sidewalk too long.

  “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” Reagen’s hands drop to her sides as she strides forward.

  Drake follows, pace slow. The building seems to waver as the reflection shifts, as if it’s not quite in their reality. A shiver crawls up his spine. He doesn’t want to go in there.

  “May I help you?” The doorman asks as they stop in front of the double doors.

  “We’re here to see a patient.” The man hesitates, and Reagen flashes her I.I. badge.

  “I’ll send you through. Reception will take care of you.” He steps to the side, and places a palm over a wall-mounted scanner. A quiet buzz sounds, and the doors slide open.

  “You first.” Drake pops an elbow out, and she sways out of range, feet planted on the ground.

  “Stop being a baby.” Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath, then walks inside.

  The doors of the sanitarium lead into a curved hallway, and Drake’s glad for his coat. Frigid air blows on their heads from vents in the ceiling, strong enough to ruffle his hair. Metal bars line the walls at waist height. Cuffed to one on the right, a thin man shivers in sweatpants and no shirt. The shackles that lock him to the bar cast a reflective glow against his bare chest.

  They move to the left, and he crowds Reagen against the wall. For once, she doesn’t argue. Instead, she lets him be a barrier between her and the unknown.

  Why leave a patient locked up at the entrance?

  Dim overhead lights make it difficult to see. As they move closer, Drake realizes the prisoner is a pureblood halion.

  Blue hair hangs over his face, a glint of silver eyes visible through the greasy strands. He straightens as we pass, a jerk of muscles as he unfolds, rising toward the ceiling. The top of Drake’s head comes to his shoulder. He tries not to stare at the pale gleam of pearlescent skin stretched over the bumps of his ribs. His Rothven clan mark, a rolling-wave shaped birthmark, stands out as a dark smudge across his left pec.

  His presence shocks Drake. A pureblood Rothven shouldn't be here.

  "Why hasn't the white guard collected him?" Drake growls as they walk past him.

  He pulls his gaze away from the man to glance at Reagen. Her mouth presses into a tight line, nostrils flared as she stares at the halion man. The dry sound of bare feet shuffling against the floor comes from behind them, the clink of metal rattling against metal. He turns to find the patient shuffling down the wall, pace in sync with theirs as he follows. His head tilts at a near ninety-degree angle as he watches them from three feet away.

  Drake freezes, pulling Reagen to a halt, and the patient stops too. He strains toward them, arms stretched off to the right. The shackles glow brighter to keep him from coming close. His head tilts the other way, and his hair shifts to show the dry, dehydrated skin of his lower face.

  His mouth opens to shape silent words. He frowns, coughs, and a tongue darts out to run across the bloody cracks of his lips. He tries again, the words scraping against his throat. "Have you come for me?"

  "Has someone called your people?" Drake pitches his voice so it won’t carry.

  “You took so long to get here.” The man rattles the cuffs against the bar, and they glow brighter. “We need to leave before they come back.”

  “We’re not here for you.” Reagen pulls out her palm-port. “I’ll make sure the white guard knows you’re here.”

  His head swivels in her direction, drawn by her voice. Snuffling sounds come from him, the hair over his nose fluttering. “Why are you here?” The muscles in his arms tense as he pulls against his restraints. “She shouldn’t be here! Why is she here?”

  His shouts draw the staff's attention from further inside, and the sounds of hurried steps come from around the wall’s bend. Moments later, two white-uniformed men come into view, polished shoes squeaking against the hard floor. Big, muscular halfbreeds, their eyes dart to Drake and Reagen as they approach the halion man.

  When the patient sees them, his shouts turn into a high-pitched scream as he kicks out a bare foot. Drake shoves Reagen against the wall and flattens himself in front of her. Her breath stutters against his neck, and the warmth from her body bleeds into his, but she stays in place, hidden.

  One nurse withdraws a large syringe from a pouch at his belt, while the other keeps the patient distracted. The needle sinks deep, through the sweatpants and into the patient’s hip. His scream rises in pitch to bounce off the walls. His thrashes work the drug through his body faster.

  Within seconds, he quiets and sags against the wall on legs that no longer support him. The nurses stand back and make sure he's docile before they acknowledge Drake and Reagen.

  The one on the left, a mix of human and Koevhern, frowns as if it’s their fault this happened. And it might be. But a patient shouldn’t be left in the entryway, so it’s their fault, too.

  “Reception’s at the end of the hall.” Left nurse waves a hand in the direction they came from. “Get moving. We're not an entertainment house.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Drake grabs Reagen’s arm and drags her into motion. They hurry away from the halion man, now crumpled on the ground, bound hands extended above his head in supplication. Once they’re out of sight, Drake leans into Reagen. “Did you make the report?”

  She stares at the palm-port in her shaking hand, screen lit up to display the anonymous tip line for White Hall. With a shaky breath, she types in the alert. If they weren’t aware of the Rothven man, they are now and will be here soon to collect him. Halions take care of their own.

  ~

  “Don’t expect much from the patient,” the doctor cautions as she leads them off the elevator at the fourth-floor.

  “Thank you for letting us see her.” Drake steps aside to let the women go ahead.

  He stretches his shoulders out and rolls his neck to work out the stiffness. They�
�d waited for over twenty minutes before a doctor could be located to chauffeur them around. The woman who had arrived, harried and impatient at the disruption to her schedule, had introduced herself as the physician overseeing the blood fever ward. On the ride up the elevator, she’d regained her composure.

  “It’s no problem at all.” She checks the buttons that fasten at her throat and smooths a hand down the side of her white coat.

  “How coherent is she?” Reagen’s head tilts down to speak with the shorter human at her side as they walk.

  “She has lucid moments, but she’s confused most of the time.” The doctor’s shoes make quiet squeaks against the white floor.

  The elevator door closes behind him. Drake glances back in time to see the door’s security panel flash from green to red. Another panel locks the elevator from the inside, with the doctor’s badge the only access on and off the floor. Without one of those keys, they are prisoners here.

  The bright, overhead lights glare off the white walls and glint off another set of metal rails bolted at waist level. No patients locked to these. He can’t shake off the memory of the clan man. Leaving here can’t come soon enough.

  A few paces down, he passes a doorway and motion catches his attention. He stops to peek through a small window, set high in the door, and sees the room beyond. Large and well lit, with tables and plastic chairs. Colorful drawings of flowers cover the walls in place of a view to the outside world. Patients in flower-patterned nightgowns fill the space. Some sit in silence while others talk, arms waving in animated gestures, either to other patient or to themselves. Through the plas-glass, he hears faint singing.

  Small groups of white-uniformed nurses hover in the corners. They talk to each other as they keep a watchful eye on the patients. One laughs, palming the pouch at his belt as a dancing woman catches his attention. She twirls around the tables, and her flowered hospital gown bells out around her calves. A few patients watch her, clapping, and the nurse steps away from the wall to move in her direction.