Slow Burn Dark

by A. B. Keuser

  There might not be any specific Colarium presence here, but the second Archie sent anything resembling an invading force this way, the ships would appear out of bent space to protect the Colarium’s investment.

  They might not own the mines on paper, but theirs was an unspoken title and deed.

  Checking that out had been the easiest on his first list of guesses and it had still taken him weeks to be certain there was no chance the Lazarai had infiltrated Henri’s inner circle.

  The conversations to get there were more exhausting than working for Putty in the shafts for twelve hours.

  He was ready to stop thinking.

  He’d left his laundry on the floor by the lists on his last visit. The bag sagged like a gray cloth drunk. Sleeping against a bar’s alley wall.

  Snatching it up, he backtracked and slipped through the door that separated storage from living, eventually dropping it in the quarters he’d claimed as his own. There were three, all crammed together. Two on one side of the access corridor, one tucked up against the galley and common space. None was bigger than any of the others. Utilitarian had been the original builder’s mandate. Utilitarian was precisely what Flynn had wound up with some thirty years later.

  He’d lived in far worse.

  And there were definite perks to his busted ship.

  Snatching a beer from the cooler—the only thing in his kitchen he’d bothered to hook up to the power grid—he climbed the ladder to the airlock above the common space, and let himself out, into the dusk-dark air.

  His humble dwelling had its perks

  You couldn’t beat the view.

  They might have been miles off, but the Redland’s famous sand spires were beautiful in their distant enormity.

  From his perch on top of the nameless ship, he could see the whole town, the faint outlines of terrafarm solar towers in the distance, mimicking the rock spires that cut jagged lines along the edges of the UPD-5 belt, and the much closer Serbalean temple. As the last flicker of light disappeared and the stars winked back into the inky emerald, the temperature plummeted and Flynn gave up his post.

  Tomorrow would be a long, hard day…

  *

  Tomorrow arrived at two in the morning, and with a pounding on his door that matched the one in his head.

  Neither stopped when his eyes opened to the partial darkness of his torn apart quarters. He lurched upright and shoved to his feet. The slurred string of words that accompanied the action would have made even Putty raise a brow.

  Pants were necessary, regardless of who was on the other side of that door, so he grabbed the pair he’d discarded the night before and pulled them on. He was too angry to care that the legs were stiff with hard-caked mud.

  He didn’t bother with anything else. If they’d wanted him polite they would have waited ‘til the sun rose.

  Kicking the paneling that had fallen when he’d closed himself in for the night, he tore open the door.

  And glared into the emptiness above his persecutors head.

  The green glow of Seamus’ phosphor lamp was the only light in the short corridor, and Flynn caught himself before cursing again.

  Seamus Saguas blinked up at him. The kid’s eyes were round, their face an expressionless mask, and Flynn had a feeling the fear that gripped the kid had nothing to do with him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve seen a dead coyote before, but….” The words were sharp, Seamus’s shoulders stiff.

  Flynn pulled on his shirt. He’d seen that look before. Knew exactly what they were dealing with.

  Kids and dead bodies shouldn’t mix in any setting.

  “Show me where it is.”

  Seamus didn’t respond. They turned, sharply, and led the way through the ship. Their hands were shaking, sending jumpy shadows over the darkened interior.

  Mischief waited at the bottom of the ramp, her tail dragging a slow arc in the dust.

  Seamus sent her home with a flat command.

  When the kid led him to the small mine entrance three blocks away from Nika’s—an emergency access point and ventilation shaft—Flynn didn’t ask what they were doing up five hours after curfew, or what they’d been doing in the mines.

  Whoever the kid had found was dead, and it had scared them enough to come find him.

  Him.

  Not their mother, or the peace officers, or any of the people in town they’d known their whole life.

  Flynn would ask why, later.

  They wound their way through the empty mines for what felt like an eternity. Seamus didn’t say another word without prompting.

  “What part of the mine is this?”

  “Anderson Lodge.” They pointed to the ceiling. “We’re underneath where the old house was.”

  Where they weren’t was any part of the vast mine complex where Seamus’ mom had authority. Finding out her kid had been there could cause more problems than the body… especially if the captain who controlled this part of the mine thought their mom had sent them out as a spy.

  Kids noticed everything.

  “He hasn’t been down here long.” Seamus’ voice was still hollow, but they were offering insight without prodding.

  Flynn counted that as a step in the right direction.

  Seamus stopped a couple dozen meters later and Flynn halted just ahead of them.

  Even if the kid didn’t recognize it, Flynn knew their subconscious would take some comfort in the illusion of protection.

  Blinking toward the faintly lit tunnel, they turned a worried gaze on Flynn. “He’s down there.”

  Flynn didn’t tell the kid to stay put, didn’t ask them to stick close. Seamus opted for the latter.

  The body lay sprawled in the middle of a cross-tunnel access. Whoever had killed him hadn’t taken pains to hide him.

  The murderer wanted him to be found. And wanted it to be here.

  He definitely hadn’t been killed where he lay. There wasn’t any blood. And Flynn knew how much the hole in his head would have spewed.

  Seamus made a small noise behind him and Flynn turned back, blocking the body from the kid’s view.

  “Hey, you did good, kid.” He knew things were bad when Seamus didn’t object to being called a kid. “I’m going to get ahold of the doctor and Henri. You don’t have to be around for this.”

  It would be better if Seamus went home. Got themself some space from the body, and then, tomorrow, when they were both fully awake and aware, Flynn would ask the harder questions.

  “There’s a murderer out there.”

  “Good point.” Flynn pulled out the beat-up phone he’d kept at Putty’s insistence and dialed Chadrick’s number. A handful of seconds later, a sleepy grunt echoed from the other side of the line.

  “I’ve got a body in the Anderson Lodge shafts. Grab Henri, whatever you need to deal with it, and get down here.”

  Chadrick muttered something Flynn took as an affirmation and hung up.

  “See,” Flynn said, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “Everything’s going to be handled.”

  Seamus nodded, the movement sharp, mechanical. Something colorful behind the kid caught Flynn’s eye, and he knew Seamus had a bit more to explain about why they’d been in the mines. But that could wait.

  “How’d that science project go? The one your mom wouldn’t shut up about?” Flynn asked, hoping to keep the kid grounded. “She seemed to think you had a good chance of winning top prize.”

  “I did.”

  “That’s great.”

  “And then I got detention because Todd said my mom did it for me and I broke his nose.”

  Flynn tried not to laugh, but a snort broke out and he decided a little laughter couldn’t hurt their situation.

  “Mom says I should have walked away.”

  “I’m not saying it was a good plan—my sister would have found a way to make him pay that no one could trace back to her—but I probably would have done the same at your age.”

  �
��Hey Flynn?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why do you have so many scars?”

  Flynn managed not to flinch.

  Kids noticed everything. He should have pulled on his shirt before he’d flung the door open.

  “Because I spent too much time punching other people when I was a kid.”

  That earned him a skeptical look, but Seamus seemed back to normal.

  “When you get home, you need to tell your mom what’s happened.”

  When Seamus shifted and looked toward the exit, Flynn knew they were going to try to get out of the punishment that would no doubt come from their after-hours excursion.

  “You can tell her yourself, and start with why you were down here, or I can tell her and bring up the fact that you weren’t alone.” He looked pointedly to where a bright blue kerchief had been dropped on the ground… next to a riot of footprints, one set definitely wasn’t Seamus’.

  Head jerking to follow Flynn’s eyeline, Seamus snapped out of the fog they’d been in. A full scale one-eighty from dead-body-haze to friend protection mode.

  “Alright,” Seamus hurried to scoop up the fabric. “But it’s probably better she knows Maya was here too.”

  And then, the kid was gone, seemingly having forgotten there was a murderer out there.

  At Seamus’ age, Flynn would have run for the hills too. Now that there was someone else to deal with it—him—the kid didn’t need to stick around for the ugliness that would no doubt come with the official inquiry.

  The only upside Flynn saw so far, was that the man wasn’t someone he recognized from the Lazarai.

  Lack of recognition didn’t preclude Archie’s involvement—Flynn certainly didn’t know everyone in the ranks—but if he’d recognized him, things could have been a lot worse.

  For one thing, he wouldn’t have been able to make that phone call.

  The mine lights hummed to full bright like a hundred cicadas, flickering every now and then until they reached the correct oscillation. If Putty was there, he could have fixed it before Chad reached him.

  Flynn would just have to suffer through the buzz that was doing nothing for his sleep-deprived headache.

  Full brightness revealed there was nothing else worth noting in the short passage. It was a connection between two flat tunnels, and while they were often used for extra storage in other mines, the captain in charge of this one kept their tunnels clear.

  Still… this one was almost too clean.

  He stooped down, picked up a handful of red dirt, and let it fall through his fingers like a sieve.

  The area around the body had been swept.

  No trace of who had moved him there… or where they’d brought him from.

  And he definitely would have left a trail.

  The dead man was huge.

  The kind of big that only happened with chemical assistance or genetic manipulation. And Flynn was pretty sure the latter was still a thing of fiction.

  It did narrow down the likely points of entry. A man that wide wasn’t going to fit through anything other than the equipment elevators. He certainly wasn’t going to make it through the newly bored tunnels, still slated for expansion.

  There wasn’t anything identifying about the body on sight. He wasn’t going to touch it, so he took a little walk as he waited for the others to arrive.

  Whoever had killed him had erased all traces of their movements. His own boot prints were the only ones visible until he reached a chain link gate.

  Locked and bolted, it stood between him and the first foot print he’d seen that wasn’t his. First and fiftieth too, if he had to guess.

  As he followed his trail back, he doubted there would be anything in the other direction to help him either.

  His only clues would be found on the hulking corpse.

  The dead man’s boot soles were slicks. He wasn’t headed anywhere he’d need traction, and in the soft sand where he now lay….

  The only warning he had was a gentle brush of air against his nape. But he knew who was there without turning.

  Chadrick was silent behind him. That was one of the many things he’d forgotten about his friend. He’d have made an amazing spy or assassin, if he’d had the stomach for that sort of thing.

  “Get away from it.” Chad said, his voice sharp with tired irritation.

  “I’m not touching your things, Doc.” When Flynn turned around, he saw the bobbling lights of the others Chad had left behind.

  Henri was there, wearing pants for the first time in the weeks he’d known her. And… they’d brought his brother.

  Maybe he could put in a work order for the still-buzzing lights.

  “What the hell have you gotten into this time?” Putty asked, scowling, not at the dead man, but at him.

  He’d wait to mention the lights until his brother had had more sleep, or a gallon of coffee. The bags under his eyes were nearly purple.

  “I thought that was obvious.” Flynn turned away from him. “I dug up something uglier than UPD-5 and wanted to share the discovery before I stake my claim.”

  That got him three flat glares.

  “Are you always this glib in the face of death?” Henri asked.

  Grumpy moods all around then. He’d fit right in.

  “No.” He dropped the facade he’d learned to put in place. “I’ve seen enough of it to know that there are those you mourn, those you learn from, and those you send a thankful prayer to the Great Mother for removing. This guy was the last.”

  Moving to Chad’s side, Flynn pointed out the shoes, the cleaned off floor, and gave his guess at the caliber of the gun that had done the deed.

  He ended with the thing he’d seen as he gave his list. “Based on the tattoos someone lazed off his hands—poorly, I might add—first guess would be a merc dressed up for a job.”

  Henri looked at him, one brow raised. “Takes one to know one?”

  “I can say with complete honesty that I have never played that particular occupational game. Mercenaries bleed you dry then leave you to die.” Flynn had dealt with his fair share. The only thing worse than hiring them was working for them.

  He’d rather suck void.

  “Hired muscle is still hired muscle.” Henri stopped down, keeping her hands in her pockets as she studied the body. “So, what else did you notice when you so conveniently found us a corpse.”

  “Well,” Flynn drawled, “it started with the fact he was dead.”

  Chad rolled his eyes and ended with a glare that would have been accompanied by a “play nice” in other circumstances.

  Being difficult wouldn’t get him back to bed any faster.

  “I didn't find him. I was brought here by a concerned civilian that will remain anonymous for a little while longer. But,” he held up a hand when Henri looked like she’d object. “I promise you, they were not involved in the death and I will bring them to you for questioning soon. Probably before noon tomorrow.”

  “Why’d they go to you?”

  “That is a question I intend to ask before I make their identity known to you, or anyone else.”

  “You’re definitely who I’d have come to.” Chadrick looked up at the other two as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “No offense.”

  “Not like it’d be unexpected.” Putty’s words were dull, spoken without thought—he was glaring up at the buzzing lights.

  Chad had taken Flynn’s side against Putty in the great water battle of 1321PD and countless others. Putty had gotten over those betrayals. Flynn knew he’d get over this slight too. But his brother never forgot.

  Backing away, his face screwed up like he was going to spit on the body, Chad locked his data pad. “There’s nothing else I can do here. Get the captain and the peace enforcers down here and get the scene cleaned up. Until you get the body moved to the med unit, we won’t learn anything more from the body.”

  “I’ve already contacted the peace force. The captain whose jurisdiction is closest will take longer,
he’s further away.” Henri almost looked happy about that.

  They all looked down the still empty tunnel between them and the elevator.

  “And you wonder why they didn’t go to the local authorities first.” Chad shook his head and closed up his kit.

  “If I’m not needed here anymore, I was enjoying a nightmare that I’d like to get back to.” Flynn turned before anyone could stop him and was almost around the bend when he realized he wasn’t the only one walking away.

  Chad grabbed his arm and held him back. They were far enough away from the others that when Chad spoke, there was no chance he’d be overheard.

  “Bring Seamus to me in the morning. They’ll need counselling after seeing something like that.”

  Flynn didn’t deny Chad was right. They’d all know soon enough. “Maya too. I’ll get them to you as soon as humanly possible.

  He wasn’t sure how he’d get two kids out of school without legal paperwork, but he’d take them kicking and screaming if he had to.

  Eight - Kathrynn

  Caireaux was an artificially pristine world.

  One where Archimedes Holzen and his ilk weren’t welcome. The temple’s clearances wouldn’t even let her pilot or crew off-ship during her brief visit, not that Trey seemed to mind.

  Even the sisters would be subject to a thorough—though painless—scan on their way through the port’s exit.

  No one was above scrutiny

  Whistling a tune Kathrynn couldn’t quite place, Trey checked the autoloader pallets bringing on supplies and offloading the temple crates.

  The three sisters who had made the two-week journey--sharing a single sleeping compartment--wore the relieved smiles of pilgrims at the end of their voyage. They spoke quietly, hooded heads bent close.

  Kathrynn had kept her distance during the flight. None of these sisters knew her. They didn’t know what was and wasn’t true in the many stories told of her. The less contact she had, the less likely one of them could damn her.

  Slipping into the smaller of the two lavatories, she blinked her green contacts back into place and scrubbed at the remnants of red staining her fingers. Two years later, and she still tried.

  Without a robe—and after she pulled her gloves on—she could blend into a crowd and no one at the temple would bother to ask after her discipline. Not here.