by Blaze Ward
He paused again. This was where things got tricky.
On the one hand, she knew he was going to create a ruling caste of humans, led by a royal family of heavily modified Vanir. On the other, he had just offered her the chance to place her own offspring into that level of power as well.
Permanently.
And the best part? All of his children would not be bound by the Accord of Souls, so he would have a permanent underclass of peons that were generally incapable of doing the kinds of violence necessary to stop him.
He would only have to worry about the humans he brought over, and his own children.
And Gareth St. John Dankworth.
Cotton Candy Skies
Gareth just couldn’t wrap his head around the color of the daytime sky overhead. Not quite as pink as cotton candy, but not so far down into orange as to be salmon-colored. It haunted him, but that had been the moment when he truly understood that he stood under alien skies. Looking up and not seeing blue.
Xiomber had explained it to him eventually. The weird bacteria and things that floated in the sky, plus a soft, constant haze of dust from the deserts on the continent of Mishalque. Orgoth Vortai had more land than Earth, only some forty percent being oceans, rather than the seventy-five percent back home. Heat made that desert largely uninhabitable, except by researchers who burrowed down into the rocks by day for coolness.
But he was back in Londra now. Gareth hadn’t even known the name of the city as he was passing through it. One minute he had been at The Arsenal. The next, he was in a park on the other side of town, headed to a tea shop…
“You have a very far-away look on your face, Dankworth,” Eveth Baker said in a voice strong enough to jar him out of daydreams.
“Last time I was here, six weeks ago, I was on planet for all of about six hours,” he replied. “Still completely trapped in culture shock and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.”
“And it made that big of impression on you?” she asked. Her voice had lost some of the ragged anger that had been with her all day.
She started to walk, so Gareth fell into stride with her. It was weird, working with a female partner. Back home, the few Women’s Auxiliaries of Earth Force were more secretaries and such, rather than agents. Although, come to think about it, Gareth could think of a few women he had known who could have done this job at least as well as him. Maybe better.
Here, he was the junior agent, but Baker was treating him like a peer, rather than a semi-feral animal she needed to keep on a tight leash.
Pippa, for example, could have done this. She had graduated third in her entire class from college, but couldn’t go on to get an advanced degree because no reputable program would enroll her, so she was doing something like Reading The Law to do advanced stellar physics with her father. She could have certainly handled this.
He had been raised that way, but Gareth wasn’t sure now why women were thought to be such frail, fragile creatures, to be protected at all costs. Eveth Baker was one of the toughest people he had ever met.
“Dankworth?” Baker prodded.
He had fallen silent in thought.
“The city? Yes,” he said, finding his way back to conversation. “Still culture shocking over all the things females do here as a matter of course, where back home they can’t.”
“That sounds stupid,” Constable Baker decided.
Gareth shrugged. He really couldn’t argue, having just spent the last six weeks surrounded by competent, capable females doing things that he had always thought of as a man’s job.
“What’s the next stop?” he asked instead.
They were dressed like cops today. Both in the steel-blue bodysuits with the bright blue ring over their hearts as a badge. Like always, she wasn’t wearing the extra tunic over the top, but Gareth was trying to be the spit-and-polish rookie cop here, so he had everything exactly to regulation, including the white beret.
That also included a stun pistol like hers. Plus strict instructions from Eveth Baker never to draw it. He would probably do so automatically, if danger appeared, but he would argue with her over it afterwards.
She really meant in most situations, and he found that acceptable. They weren’t going to find Marc Sarzynski while randomly checking bars and dives.
No, he was out here beating the bushes in order to drive the game towards Senior Constable Grodray. There would be no glory for Gareth Dankworth, but that was acceptable as well. The fewer people that knew he existed in the Accord of Souls, the better everything was likely to be.
“Here,” Baker pointed to a building that had remained behind when the neighborhood was gentrified and redone at some point in the recent past.
The apartment towers behind him had a recent feel to them, like a row of houses had been leveled and a massive stack of flats with a giant picture of a rooster on the side put in instead, with two stories of retail and office space at the bottom.
This was a solitary building in front of them. One story tall. Sitting on a corner facing the main street they were on as well as the side. The outside walls were wood, with neon signs for things Gareth presumed were local beers. It had that kind of feel to it.
Weirdly, the front door was Dutch. The top half was open, and the whole sat recessed at a forty-five degree angle, facing the center of the intersection rather than either street. Baker unlatched the bottom half and pushed it in.
Gareth followed her into a space that managed to carefully surf that line between upscale restaurant and neighborhood dive bar. Four booths ran down the right hand wall, with a hallway indicating restrooms beyond.
On the left, high and low tables filled the bulk of the space. Maybe forty of them, all told, with a waist-high, wrought-iron fence separating the space from a bar that ran halfway across the back wall. A window and a door beside the bar showed a kitchen, but Gareth could already tell that from the smells. Outside had been nice, a smell like a Sunday afternoon grilling.
Inside, the smells trebled. Gareth’s stomach rumbled in anticipation of the meat and yummies to be had here.
Three people sat at the bar, their backs to he and Baker as they came in. A Grace bartender watched them from under hooded eyes and restive coils, but gestured to the room.
“Anywhere you like,” he called in a voice that was just about as friendly as he was required to be to cops walking in in the middle of the afternoon.
Baker led him to one of the booths and slid in, tapping the other side to indicate where he should go. He ended up with his back to the front door, the bar on his left, and the hallway in front of him, over her shoulder.
The menus were meat. It came grilled, fried, barbequed, sous vide, and probably tartar. Gareth could recognize about half of the animals that were the source by now. Vegetables came grilled as a side, or possibly in a salad for someone that had been dragged along kicking and screaming by hungry carnivores.
Baker studied the menu, while Gareth looked over at the inhabitants.
The Grace woman on the closest end of the bar looked over as they sat, blanched, and quickly paid her bill and vanished. A Borren drunk at the other end leaned back enough to look over and then went back to his beer. Or whatever it was in his glass.
The man in the middle was a species Gareth had never met before, though he had studied them. Th'Tarni.
They reminded Gareth of wood elves, as portrayed in stories. A little over five feet tall, with a dusky skin that wasn’t gray and wasn’t brown and wasn’t smoke, but somewhere in the middle of all three. Back home, he might have belonged to the negro subgroup, based on the color of his skin and his flat nose. They weren’t that common in Earth Force Sky Patrol, so Gareth had never really interacted with them.
This man’s eyes were the most fascinating. They didn’t have an iris and pupil, like most species, but simply a transparent orb for an eyeball, lit from within with a shy, baby-blue light that stood out against the gray-brown skin. Similar dots of color on his skin were freckles,
or the roots of his hair. That same hair faded to gray and then black quickly, but always had some of the cerulean along all edges, like it was part of a neon sign.
The ears were pointed, like Gareth’s were now, but instead of going straight up, this man’s flowed backwards and then rose to points nearly even with the back of his skull. They also glowed with the same internal light.
It was like the man was made of light and given a shell. Or maybe he was a gigantic lightning bug given human form by the Chaa.
The man turned as he watched and glared at Gareth, almost challenging. Gareth realized he was staring and quickly turned his head down to study the menu again, blushing furiously.
He thought he heard a snicker come from Baker, but couldn’t be sure and wasn’t going to ask.
Suddenly, music engulfed the room. Gareth glanced over and the bartender was responsible. Probably to keep conversations more private. Maybe it was just late enough in the day that this was when he normally turned the jukebox on.
And pigs might fly.
The bartender meandered over, making it clear from his stance that he was serving them because they had walked in and had badges, and not because he liked their kind in his joint.
“What’ll it be?” he called over the music in a rasp that bordered on rude.
Gareth checked the small section at the bottom of the drinks menu. Seventy-three kinds of beer and hard cider. Eight things without. Half of those were mixers in hard drinks.
“Cola,” he said simply.
“Anything in it?” the man almost sneered.
Gareth fixed him with a hard stare.
“Ice,” he said in a growling tone.
The Grace blinked and recoiled, ever so slightly.
Two can play at that game, buddy.
“Coffee,” Baker added. “Hot and black. Preferable strong enough to stand a knife up in it.”
“See what I can do,” the Grace man moved away quickly.
Like they were toxic to his physical being, not just his state of mind.
“We eating?” Gareth asked quietly, letting the music cover his tones. “And is it safe to eat here?”
Baker actually let go of her hard-ass persona long enough to give him a genuine smile.
“Very safe,” she said in a similar, quiet voice. “Best bacon on the planet, as far as I’m concerned. And don’t let Ray’s demeanor fool you. He’s been a source for me for years. This is all just an act, so feel free to bad cop him as much as you think he deserves.”
“Roger that,” Gareth acknowledged.
The bartender, Ray apparently, returned a few minutes later with a brown-black glass for Gareth, with ice, and a mug of coffee and additives for Baker. She ordered a pulled pork sandwich and a plate-of-bacon sampler. Gareth got a mac and cheese with all the bacon added it.
Seriously, they had bacon made from three different kinds of animals. None of them were pigs. How weird was that?
About the time that more customers started to wander in, the Th'Tarni man paid his bill. He fixed Gareth with a long, appraising stare, and then sauntered out of the room like the King of Brooklyn, robes swishing to show off elaborate embroideries over the front and sleeves. Gareth decided the man needed a small hat, maybe a kufi or a chador, to make the outfit perfect, but maybe the colorful hair didn’t like a lid.
It must be happy hour, Gareth decided. By the time food was delivered, nearly a quarter of the tables in here suddenly had custom, and a Vanir waitress had come on duty.
She wasn’t as tough-looking as Baker, nor all that attractive as a woman. Tall and kind dumpy, with too many tattoos visible and a paunch around the middle. She did had a smile for him, every time she caught him looking over, though.
The food was absolutely fantastic. Nothing like what his Mom would have cooked, but his mother wasn’t that good of a cook, preferring to pull something out of the freezer and either toss it into the stove or the microwave-emitter. Or better, when Gareth had finally gotten old enough, to have him do it himself.
He looked down and considered licking the bowl clean but his tongue wasn’t long enough. If he had gotten any bread, this would have been the time to smear it and pick up any cheese sauce left.
Baker was watching him with mirthful eyes when he looked up, rather at odds with how she had been for the last three days. Gareth studied her carefully, like she was about to ask him a final exam question that counted for twenty-five percent of his grade.
“You’re very quiet for a rookie,” she observed.
“I’m only a rookie in your department, Baker,” he said sincerely. “I’ve been doing this for almost eight years in mine. Plus, I don’t want to screw up your investigation, so I’m trying to listen and learn.”
She nodded slowly. The grin hadn’t left her eyes, even as the rest of her face fell into seriousness.
The bartender, Ray, approached in his casual, unruffled-by-cops saunter, and placed a small, black binder on the table with a “Whenever you’re ready,” before he fled back to the bar.
Baker pulled out her wallet from a thigh pouch, extracting a credit card plus something else. Gareth thought he saw her palm a piece of paper and stick it into the binder with her card, closing it and laying it flat on the edge of the table.
Gareth concentrated on what was left of his cola, the music, and the crowd. He could tell the place had gentrified and done so fairly recently. A young Nari woman walked in and one point and asked about a job, but Ray explained that everybody loved this place so much that nobody ever quit. She left, but Gareth could tell she was from the old neighborhood, not the place that it was turning into.
Others at various tables had the feel of businessmen out for a late meeting happy hour beer, or an early dinner before heading out for a night on the town.
Ray came back and retrieved the binder. Gareth thought he detected a ghost of a nod between Ray and Baker, but it might have been his imagination.
Baker didn’t say anything, just kept watching over his shoulder.
A few minutes later, Ray emerged from the back and slid the binder in front of Baker, again retreating, almost disdainfully, rather than make small talk.
Baker opened it, fiddled around with the papers inside, and then signed one. Again, Gareth thought he saw her palm a folded piece of paper, but she slid out of the booth quickly and stood before he could ask her about it.
Gareth joined her. In addition to being a cop in this joint, he and Baker were the only two Vanir, other than the waitress. Gareth almost felt like he was walking in a middle school lunch hall, being a head or two taller than almost everyone else.
It might have been his imagination, but there seemed to be a small bubble of silence that rippled along with them as they exited. Each table they had passed had seemed to quiet down for a beat, perhaps as the occupants looked over, before it picked up again.
Back out on the street, Baker retraced her steps with a jaunty stride. Gareth had to stretch his legs just to keep up with her, which was another strange feeling.
“You done good in there, Dankworth,” she said after they had gotten two blocks away. “Professional without looking like a rookie. Not letting anything throw you off. Nicely done.”
“Why was Tornado so important?” he asked, referring to the restaurant behind them.
“Ray, the bartender?” she said. “He owns it, and has for a long time, but it has always been something of an underworld hangout. Neutral ground. Everyone minds their manners in there, and nobody says anything. Probably a quarter of the people in there with us had criminal records, possibly active warrants.”
“And you let a place like that exist?” Gareth was aghast.
“Better the devil you know,” she replied carefully. “Plus, Ray provides a forum where enemies can meet and work things out. Better than bloodshed. Even cops can have conversations with criminals in there, as long as nobody raids the place.”
“What would happen if they got raided?” Gareth asked.
Thi
s was so far outside his normal expectations of law enforcement that he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“Everybody would make common cause on the person responsible,” she said in a serious voice. “That includes the Constabulary helping the local dons take someone down. It’s not the best arrangement, but it keeps a lid on things, at least until we can do more to get rid of the rotten elements in society. That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” he asked, almost faltering in his stride.
“You,” she agreed. “When those two Yuudixtl brought you here, they started a chain of events. Sarzynski overplayed his hand and we nearly broke his organization. Right now, he’s spending more time fighting with the underworld than with us. More thugs have been arrested in the last month than the previous year. Crooked prosecutors are suddenly having to go to court because of the increased visibility, and bad guys are going to jail rather than getting off on technicalities and witnesses refusing to cooperate.”
“Huh,” Gareth replied. “I’ve been off training and studying, so I didn’t see any of this.”
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve intentionally kept you in the dark up until now. But Grodray wants you visible now. Being seen with me. Word will get around.”
“Who are we looking for?” Gareth said.
Baker stopped walking now and pulled out her comm. She called an auto-taxi and turned to him.
“Anybody that panics when they see you,” she said with a predatory smile. “You don’t exist, so you’re just another Vanir cop. But if they know anything different, I want to put them in a small room and sweat them.”
“Okay,” Gareth said as the car landed and the door opened.
He followed her inside and buckled his belt.
“And that note you passed Ray?” he continued.
That got him another smile. Gareth wasn’t sure he was a ready for an Eveth Baker who smiled a lot.
“I told him I wanted a name,” she said, pulling the paper out.
She unfolded it and read it quickly, nodding to herself.
