Crossworld of Xai

by Steven Savage

  “I see.” I am never sure what to say when mystical matters come up. “You feel … more confident?”

  That is always a sure assumption. Jade questions herself now and then. Admittedly, it used to be that if I wasn’t questioning her, she was questioning herself.

  “I do.” Jade smiled. It’s an oddly calm smile. “I’m happy to be here, Slate. I can … I wondered how I’d make things work. Mystic. Lover … wife.”

  Wife. Ah. Yes. More of the fallout from my Garnet’s pregnancy. The first pregnancy of our group of friends. The second fruitful marriage if one counts Brownmiller and his wife. It has caused many people to ask questions - according to Garnet. I have learned there are many things “according to Garnet” in my life.

  “Wife.” I feel a strange, oddly warm feeling. Jade, once, when she was … perhaps fourteen … said she didn’t plan to get married, ever. She had many things to say about the men of Colony, which, interestingly enough, did not seem to include me.

  “Yes, wife.” Jade grins. “Surprised, Slate?”

  I keep the story in my head firmly off of my lips. It is not worth relating now.

  “I am not sure. Yes. Perhaps. Wife. Is there … a ring?”

  “I’m sure there will be.” Jade nodded. “So, look, I’ve been talking enough. We’re nearly done, how are you?”

  “Fine.” I never am sure how to answer questions like these. People always want intimate details. I dislike saying in one hundred words what can be said in one.

  “Fine?” Jade asks. She gets closer to the one hundred words.

  “Fine. I have a home, a wife, a child on the way, and my job. Fine.”

  “Ah.” Jade nods. “Good. I’m glad.”

  She stops and looks at the remnants of her meal. “I suppose I’d better pay up so we can both get back to work. Huan’s trying to …”

  “Don’t worry about it, I don’t pay here.”

  My sister gives me a look that is an admixture of shame and surprise.

  “It’s gratuity,” I note. She does not seem convinced.

  “Lorne doesn’t seem to like it,” Jade notes.

  I dislike it when these issues come up. I dislike explaining it more. She should understand this. Rake does.

  “Jade, it is tradition. It is how they let me know I am doing my job. Lorne is not on beat, sister. He may also be my best friend, but he at times takes propriety too far.”

  Jade gives me a look. One of several she uses to express disapproval. This one involves a mix of squint and stare.

  “It seems a bit like … bribery.” She says, lowering her voice - a rare occurrence. She usually raises it.

  “It is tradition,” I state again. “Jade, half of the possessions you and HuanJen share are donated. This is no different. It … I patrol, and people show some gratitude. They know I come to their businesses, and that means nothing untoward happens. I get a free lunch now and then, they get to relax, and whenever we need something catered, I know where to go.”

  My sister blinks. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time.”

  “A shame it is to explain something simple.”

  “Yeah.” Jade rubs her forehead. “Well, Huan’s a Zone Cleric, and …”

  “Is there a different between Gendarme and Holy Man?”

  She is about to say something about religious traditions, I can tell - then seems to deflate, like a balloon. She nods. “Yeah. I understand.”

  The waitress sets the bill down on the table as we enjoy an uncomfortable silence.

  “I …” I begin to speak. Then I realize there is a bill on the table.

  I look at the bill. It was … very obviously a bill.

  I quickly dug the coins out of my pocket and lay them atop the paper.

  I chance a look at Jade. She’s staring at me, and looks away when she becomes aware of my gaze.

  “Someone …” She tries to speak.

  “Someone is not happy,” I note.

  I maintained my beat the rest of the day. This time I was paired with Loshira. I didn’t say anteing. If it had been Hirn, perhaps I could have talked to him, new as he was to working the beat with me - having once been a Mountie, I figured there was little I could say that would shock him.

  No. This is … a signal.

  Being a Gendarme isn’t like the security work I used to do for Corona (OK, still do, they pay me under the table for some consulting). It’s a more people-oriented profession, and I rather like that, I admit. Every day I see people on beat, day or night (mainly day, since Dorsheck and Blen like working nights).

  The people here seemed to like me. Admittedly, I find the presence of a very large and armed man who is there to help assures many people. Gendarmes have worked to make their presence reassuring to people, even before Lainkaiser and the Guildwar. It’s important, it’s about trust, and I like being trusted.

  I am obsessed over paying for lunch.

  But it’s not that. It means I failed at something. And someone hasn’t told me. And someone hasn’t complained to the Gendarmes. It means its something subtle, a signal. I certainly can’t ask, so the diner owner expects me to know …

  The remaining half-beat passes slowly. Every time someone greets me as I walk by, I wonder if they think I’m doing a good job.

  Of course, when I get home, Garnet knows. She always knows.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I barely get in the door. She’s in the kitchen, cooking, and she can tell. There are psychics in Guild Esoteric and guard dogs with less supernatural senses than her. The fact she and some of the other housespouses in the neighborhood constantly exchange information is part of it - but not all of it.

  I’d blame hormones from the pregnancy, but that seems to affect me and our friends more than her. And I don’t want a repeat of what happened a week ago with the “I’m not made of glass” speech.

  I can’t dodge the question. I walk into the kitchen and grab a chair at the table. Garnet hovers over the stove. She’s wearing only shorts and an apron. I find the site of so much of her red fur … distracting. Nicely so, but in her condition and mine, I don’t want to indulge my distractions.

  “Well?” Garnet turns away from some boiling pot and looks at me seriously.

  “I … normally get a free lunch at Mekzine’s. I didn’t.”

  “Yeah?” Garnet crosses her arms.

  “You know, it is … gratuity. I think I’ve made someone angry!”

  “I knew this was going to happen,” she sighs, then looks at me affectionately, lovingly, “Slate, you’ve done great on the job. Now, well … live with the fact it’s not perfect. Lorne …”

  “I know, I know, Lorne said beat cop gratuities are a bad idea. Well, maybe I’m paranoid, maybe Mekzine was just being nice while I settled in, but …”

  “You’ve got a feeling?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  Jade talks about feelings like this. About how HuanJen knows Metris. About Rake. About Harkness. About how she can feel things around the edges of her mind. I understand that in a way, though I’d like to think I can express it more clearly.

  “Seriously?” Garnet asks. “I mean.”

  “It feels … wrong. It’d be like Mr. Trember at the flower shop not saying hello to me. And someone doesn’t want to talk to me. Or …”

  Garnet looks at me. I manage a humorless smile.

  “Someone wants to get me to talk to them …”

  May 20, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  And so, it’s the evening, and I’m hanging out back of Mekzine’s, feeling like a stalker. I am not in my uniform, which is the best attempt to conceal myself I can think of. Perhaps people will mistake me for some other six-foot-seven Vulpine with gray fur. There is always the chance.

  I feel strange, to say the least, and it’s not just the fear of calling attention to myself.

  Part of me, a small part, felt being a beat cop for the Gendarmes would be simple. You show up, people don’t want to
commit crimes, you walk around, you help out. If there’s a problem, people know where you are because all beat cops have to live on their route. Easy.

  A lot of me knew it wasn’t simple. That’s part of what the Gendarmes do - along with Guild Esoteric and Guild Medical - we keep things running. It’s why they bound the hotlines together. It’s what I really liked about it. Xai is where I found my own life, where I am free of the mazes of Colony. I want to do something for it.

  Unfortunately, that means things like … looking for a signal because you didn’t get a free lunch. It gets close to politics and the things that HuanJen and Jade and Rake get into. Esotericists tend to be some kind of social engineer, and I just don’t have the head or desire for that. I hate politics of any kind because it always ends up in someone getting killed or hurt.

  I’m getting close to politics. I can smell it.

  Mr. Mekzine walks out of the back door, just like he always does. Same time. He’s got a routine we all know.

  He reminds me of a tree stump that became human. He’s short and stocky, moreso than a lot of natives. He wears muted colors. His hair is short and gray , with one ridiculously long and over-beaded braid on the left side.

  He also smokes, which is very uncommon. Cigars, as well. From out west. One burns in his mouth now.

  “Figured I’d see you,” he says, the cigar shifting around. “Knew I could rely on you.”

  I don’t answer. It’s a trick I learned - let the other person say two things. That way you’ll know if you misinterpreted the first. It also keeps you from saying anything stupid.

  Mekzine looks at me, then nods. “Figured you were a straight shooter. You know, except for the night cops, we had our whole day beat change. You seem to be someone we can trust.”

  “Thank you.” I don’t say anything, really. The words are there, but I don’t give anything away.

  “I hear we’ve got some trouble. One of the day people on the take. The wrong kind of take. Over at Swansons. That little holding and receiving business over on Kartin. Figured if you got a signal, you’d show up.”

  “Why me?” I ask.

  Mekzine’s cigar makes another circuit of his mouth. “Gotta find out who we can trust on the day crew. Got you, got Hirn, got Loshira. You’re solid stuff. Other two, not sure. And if they aren’t dirty, well, the night beat people are a whole different area … but I don’t think it’s them.”

  “So I’m supposed to find out what is going on - if anything’s going on.” I respond carefully. “And ‘we’ is …”

  “People who’ve been around here awhile.”

  Yes, this is close to politics. Local politics. Neighborhood politics. But it’s still politics. It’s politics like Guild Medical getting less funding or the stories the Powersmiths are going to go public voluntarily and place themselves under the other Guilds ��� only just a smaller scale.

  I suppose I should be happy I was trusted. It’s very reassuring. But I can tell there’s more.

  “This is a test as well?” I ask.

  “Had a lot of changes to our beat cops, this is as good a test as any. People like their peace and quiet around here.”

  “Why not go to the Gendarmes?” I ask carefully.

  “With you, I just did.” Mekzine takes the cigar out of his mouth, and finally acts serious. “Look, there’s a lot of not sure. Swanson’s an immigrant, and you never know, and if things aren’t … well, why cause trouble?”

  I nod. There’s more. Mekzine can tell I’m waiting.

  “Was fifteen when the Guildwar started,” he says finally, “Remember what the Gendarmes went through. Remember what Lainakiser did to the guys who wanted to sell out. I remember when Lainkaiser shot himself. Saw the body. Gendarmes got a lot of work to do, you guys always did well by me. Gonna trust you guys. Gonna trust you. Can I?”

  “You said you could.”

  Mekzine nods. “Thanks. Hey, tomorrow, you and your wife are going to get one of my delivery dinners. Make sure she doesn’t waste time cooking.”

  “Of course …”

  May 22, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  So I ended up talking to Lorne.

  This was not something I’d intended to do. Lorne and I had a golf game scheduled. I can avoid talking to people, but I refuse to give up on golf.

  Golf was something Lorne introduced me to, and as he is, honestly, the best friend I have (next to Garnet), it’s something special to me. Golf held no interest for me on my Earth, but on Xai …

  … there aren’t really any organized sports here. But golf is something people put a lot of time into, and I can understand why. One gets outside with one’s friend. The game is one of yourself versus yourself - a game of pure precision and attention, like target shooting. However, the lack of a gun is refreshing.

  However, one problem of playing with Lorne is …

  “That shot was long. Slate, are you OK?”

  Lorne is one of those people that can read your golf game, if he knows you well enough. I’ve seen him to it to me, his boyfriend Xianfu, and one of his other golf partners. Lorne is not always the most intuitive person, even if he is a caring soul, but things like this are disturbing.

  I watch the ball land. It’s the seventh hole. This could be a long game.

  “Work.” I walk towards our balls. His isn’t that far from mine … but he can tell the difference.

  “What’s wrong?” Lorne asks, lining up his shot.

  “Some concerns about the beats. The new ones.” I might as well be honest here.

  “Ah.” Lorne takes his shot smoothly. The ball travels yards and lands right next to the hole. He’ll have it in three, and seven is a difficult hole.

  “Arent you all new?” Lorne asks.

  “Just the day beats. I’m senior now, by a few months.” I walk over to my ball. Lorne’s polite. We take turns when we play.

  “Hmmm. They trust you too?” He asks. Probing. Again, he could have been a beat cop, he really could have. “What’s the problem.”

  This is going to be the hard part.

  “I think someone’s shaking down a business in the area.”

  Lorne falls silent. I line up my shot and take it. It goes far, but not too far. I might have it in three strokes too.

  “An immigrant business,” I add as we prepare for our hopefully final shots. I know that should get Lorne’s attention.

  “Oh.” Lore stares down at his golf ball. We are about to discuss Vital Issues shortly.

  My friend putts his ball into the hole. “Always a problem, immigrant and native issues. The other day beats, they’re?”

  “Native.”

  “And the locals trust you? That’s good.”

  I line up my ball and take my shot - and miss by inches. This is not a good day.

  “I think it’s because they suspect one of the day beats is in on it. So I’m as close as they have to reliable. They’re testing me, Lorne.”

  “Ah.” Lorne doesn’t seem to know what to say. “Look, I … what are you going to do?”

  “Handle it myself. Make sure it is true or not. Pass the test.”

  “You’re quite calm.”

  “I don’t see much of a choice.”

  May 23, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  I have to walk my beats. I try to figure out what to do.

  I could go and ask at the Swanson’s company, but that of course complicates things - they may not trust me, I may chase off anyone involved in this and it could all be complete rumor so throwing around accusations only would annoy my partners.

  Partners.

  Today I spend the day with Hirn and the afternoon with Loshira. I try not to say anything - a Gendarme’s instincts can misfire.

  Hirn is from the frontier, used to be a Mountie. Big guy. Very big. As large as I am. We had to get a special uniform for him. He wears his hair in one very large braid, but keeps it as short as possible.

  He seems fine. He doesn’t seem suspicious.


  Which is suspicious.

  Then after lunch, there’s Loshira, who’ll handoff to one of the night shifters. She’s second-generation - not sure what kind of earth, she has thick, oddly dark hair and a strange skin tone that’s dusky, but not exactly dark. She doesn’t dress natively or wear her hair natively. Always wears a necklace of some blue stones.

  She keeps to herself. Which is suspicious. Which makes me suspicious of my suspicions.

  So I’m not suspicious. Which makes me suspicious.

  I make it through the day, then spend some time just walking - which is an odd recreation for a beat cop, but there you go.

  As for Swansons … no reports, no complaints. Holding, shipping, receiving - basically part of what used to be the Messenger’s Guild. Nothing that stands out. They move and store products, mainly personal goods and odds and ends. Nothing you particularly want to rob or steal or extort - and it’s not a high-profit business.

  It hits me that I’m doing detective work.

  See, beat cop is not detective work. It’s people work. It’s relations. It’s doing your beat and stopping trouble. It’s not …

  … well, I suppose it’s a bit of everything, still …

  I don’t like being suspicious because I’m very suspicious. Despite what Garnet thinks I am not as nice a person as I’d like to be. I don’t like being suspicious because it may mean I do terrible things. People don’t always tell me when I do terrible things because I am a larger person whom they assume can do even more terrible things than I have done.

  And thus, I am careful.

  And, I figure, too careful.

  May 25, 2001 AD, Xaian Standard Calendar

  With nothing to go on, I am going to have to resort to cunning, guile, inquest, and potentially politics. This is not something I am good at. So, it is time to talk to my sister. In detail.

  Jade is actually someone quite good at cunning, guile, and politics even though she’d probably rather die than admit it, or admit it in that way. At least she has turned them to good use.

  She is an apprentice in Guild Esoteric, and her … mentor and lover HuanJen is an honest man. He leaves things out, but he won’t really lie to your face. However, the people of Guild Esoteric are not just workers in the supernatural, but workers in social issues and arenas. This requires a certain amount of political and personally cunning. HuanJen gets through it with a strange mix of wisdom, cleverness, and inoffensiveness, Jade …