Metal Sky

by Jay Caselberg

“What is it, Hervé?” he asked, trying to control the reaction.

  Hervé turned to look at Jack, then tilted his head questioningly. “They—” He swept his hand in a wide arc—“are why we are here.”

  Jack shook his head, trying without success to ignore the alien creatures, the shining silvery spires. “Why am I here?”

  Hervé held the tablet forward, tracing the symbols with the end of his finger. “This is the way,” he said as if pointing out directions on a map. “This is the way across the sky.”

  Jack shook his head. His frustration rose in anger and burst out in shouted words. “I don’t get it! Don’t you see? I don’t get it!”

  “You will,” said Hervé, gently.

  They all disappeared. Jack was whipped up, ever up, into stars and blackness.

  Fourteen

  The dream nagged at him throughout the morning, the images floating up, trying to tell him something, a constant distraction. And still he was getting no nearer to finding Bridgett Farrell. He was totally reliant upon Billie, just in the way he’d been reliant upon his own sense in the past to tell him when something wasn’t right. His experiences over the last couple of years, particularly that last case in the Locality, had taught him he needed to use his head a little more, but he was failing in that respect. Instead of supplementing his senses with thought, he was taking the easy way out and relying on her. And now something appeared amiss with Billie, but he had no idea what it was. Everything seemed to be going wrong.

  Billie emerged from her room finally, but then it was only briefly, only to go to the kitchen, clatter around in there for a few minutes, and then disappear back inside. He waited, but she didn’t come out again.

  What was wrong with her? At first he had thought it might be hormonal, but it had to be more than that. He went over to her door and knocked gently.

  “Billie?”

  Silence.

  “Billie, come on, we need to talk.”

  After a couple of seconds, the door slowly opened.

  “What about?” she said, one hand still on the door.

  “Come on. Come out here and talk to me.”

  She screwed up her face, but took her hand from the door and pushed past him into the living room. She stood in the room’s center, waiting for him impatiently.

  “Sit down, will you?” he told her, and took a seat himself. She sat on the edge of the couch as if eager to get back to her own room as quickly as possible.

  He watched her carefully, but she was reluctant to meet his gaze. “What’s going on, Billie?” he said finally.

  “What?”

  “You know what. There’s something wrong. Something’s upset you. Are you going to tell me, or not?”

  She worked her jaw, and then shook her head. “Nuh-uh.”

  “Jesus, Billie. Come on. What is it?”

  She rocked back and forward almost imperceptibly, her jaw still working. Finally she turned her face to look at him.

  “You don’t care, Jack.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do know. Billie find this. Billie do that. Billie find out about her. Billie research that. Billie rig the system. What about what I want to do? You’re using me for what you want. That’s all. You’re the same.”

  He frowned. “Of course I’m the same. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. The same as them back in the Locality, back in Old. You just use me for what you want. You don’t care about what I feel.”

  She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and glared across at him, daring him to deny what she was saying.

  And what she was saying stabbed through him like a frozen knife. He stared back at her. How could she believe that? How could she even say it? Slowly he closed his mouth, then stood, rubbing at the back of his neck, having difficulty meeting her eyes. “Billie, you can’t believe that.”

  She looked away.

  Jack didn’t know what to say. He stood where he was, staring across at her hunched posture, at her tight jaw. She couldn’t really believe that, could she? He shook his head and walked back into his office, leaving her sitting there. Even after all this time, he really didn’t know how to deal with her. He crossed to the window and stared out at the street, considering. Was she right? He’d prefer to think that she wasn’t, but where in the hell had all that stuff come from?

  Out there, standing opposite the apartment block, stood a familiar figure, casually leaning against a tree. Jack growled deep in his throat. Larkin. The little bastard hadn’t learned. Well, maybe it was time he did learn. And Jack was just in the mood right now to deliver the lesson. He tore his gaze away from the window and headed back into the living room, half prepared to grab the gun he’d taken with him from Landerman’s hotel room. Billie was still sitting on the couch where he’d left her and he stopped, his shoulders slumping. Larkin could wait.

  Slowly he walked across and stood in front of her, then kneeled. He reached out and took one of her hands.

  “Billie, look at me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Come on, Billie.”

  Slowly she turned her face; her eyes were moist, but there were no tears. Her jaw was set tightly. He still was having difficulty meeting her gaze.

  “Billie, you can’t believe that stuff you said. Not really. I care about you a lot. You’ve got to know that. You don’t know how special you are.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Daddy’s special girl.” The words came out dripping venom. Jack felt the chill strike deep within him.

  “You know damned well that’s not what I was saying.”

  She pulled her hand away.

  “Jesus, Billie. Give me a chance. Have I ever asked you to do anything you didn’t want to? Haven’t I always thought about you in the things we’ve done? What do you want me to do?”

  “Look at someone else except yourself, Jack.”

  She pushed past him, off the couch, and raced across to her bedroom. The door shut a moment later.

  Jack got slowly to his feet. He didn’t get it. He just didn’t get it. He stared at Billie’s door, not knowing what he could do to solve it.

  He screwed up his face, spun on his heel, and headed for the door. Well, at least he could solve one thing . . .

  It took him only moments to reach the elevator and descend to the street. As he headed out the building’s front doors, Larkin saw him coming, clearly recognizing the fury on Jack’s face and in his gait. The little man was gone in a shot, disappearing rapidly up the street, not even giving Jack the chance to cross and confront him.

  Jack stood in front of the building, growling, impotent with his frustration. He wasn’t going to charge up the street after the little man. With set jaw, he turned back and reentered the building.

  When Billie emerged again, Jack was a bit nervous about how he should handle it. If he was too nice, too gentle, then she was bound to think it was just a performance because of what she’d said. If he behaved normally, she’d think that whatever she’d said had gone in one ear and out the other. Instead, he said nothing.

  He needn’t have bothered.

  “Jack, I found something.” She seemed quite excited. She jumped up on the couch and called up the wallscreen. “It wasn’t easy. I didn’t know what I was looking for.”

  “What have you got?” he asked, crossing behind the couch and placing his hands on its back, leaning forward to look at the screen. It was an old newsfeed item. There was a picture of Landerman.

  “Okay, that’s him all right.”

  Philanthropist and politician Christian Landerman today spearheaded the first introduction of the anti-immigration bill to government. Jack frowned. Philanthropist? Politician? Okay, the second made sense. He read further. Chairman of the Progress Party. What the hell was that? He was still shaking his head over the philanthropist bit.

  “Hmm, he didn’t strike me as the type. So, where’s this from?�
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  “Utrecht Newsnet.”

  “And let me guess . . . he’s based out of Balance City.”

  Billie nodded. “I did some more follow-up, cross-referencing with the Progress Party of Utrecht. Landerman comes up quite a lot. There’s also some other stuff about donations to the university.”

  He looked at her sidelong. It was as if their previous conversation had never taken place. Okay, that would keep for now.

  “Anything on Danuta Galvin?”

  “Nuh-uh. Nothing.”

  “What about Talbot?”

  She shook her head.

  He crossed from behind the couch and took a seat, steepling his fingers in front of himself as he thought. “Okay, it’s a start, and it’s good, Billie, but I think we need some more. I still don’t get this philanthropist bit. And you know . . . anti-immigration legislation isn’t the sort of thing that goes with that image either. Donations to a university . . . yeah, I can see that, but not unless he was getting something out of it. So what the hell does he want with this artifact?”

  “Maybe he just wants it,” said Billie.

  “Maybe . . . but I don’t see it. This is the sort of guy who has some reason for doing things. He’s involved in politics for a start, and don’t forget, I’ve met the guy. I didn’t get any sense of warning from him, nothing edgy, but there was something about him. Something not very nice at all. You get these rich people who collect things just so they can have them and so no one else can, but there’s got to be more to it than that.”

  He got up and started pacing. “Jesus, I hate politicians.”

  “Jack?”

  He paused in his circuit of the room. “Yeah?”

  “What do you want me to find out?”

  Jack rubbed his chin and walked slowly back to the chair. “I’m not too sure, Billie. I’ve been having dreams about this . . . .”

  “And?”

  Jack took a few minutes describing the progression of dreams about the City of Trees and Hervé. “And so,” he said, “I think somehow this artifact is more important than we think. What do you say?”

  She nodded slowly. “Why would Outreach want it?”

  “What?”

  “Outreach. That was them at the City of Trees, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah . . .” Jack rubbed his chin again. Outreach involvement just couldn’t be good, but so far, there was nothing that showed they were really involved in any way apart from shifting a bunch of crates and equipment around.

  “Okay, here’s what we need. Landerman is involved with the university somehow and that has to be the source of the artifact, so there has to be some contact there, otherwise it’s simply been stolen. See if you can find any reports of thefts from the University of Balance City. Anything as big as that has to make a splash. See if you can’t find out any more about Landerman’s involvement with the university too. There’s still something I don’t get though. How the hell is our Bridgett Farrell involved? Carl Talbot worked for Landerman, and we know that Farrell, or Galvin, or whatever she calls herself worked for him too, or so he says. Maybe Talbot did have the artifact. Maybe she had it. The question is, where is it now? We have to assume that whoever killed Talbot has the artifact. That leaves both Farrell and Landerman out of the equation.”

  “So, you need to find someone else,” said Billie.

  “Yeah,” said Jack, and sighed. “But then why has Ms. Farrell disappeared? It doesn’t make sense. Unless she’s afraid of what Landerman might do to her for losing the thing in the first place. Nope. I don’t like it. It just doesn’t feel right.”

  “What about Outreach?”

  “What about them?”

  “Could they be the other person?”

  Jack considered the possibility, turning it over in his mind.

  “Okay, add one more thing to the list. Probe the university link some more. See if you can find anything solid on Outreach. We know these guys though. They’re big and they’re careful. Anything like donations or things like that are going to be clean, aren’t they? But there might be something there. Some slipup. You’re good enough to find something, Billie.”

  She looked across the room at him, her gaze analytical. Then she sighed.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t have to say that.”

  Jack bit his lip. “Yeah, I know, but I did say it, didn’t I? And guess what, Billie? I meant it. Is that okay?”

  She took a second to respond, and then she nodded. But there was still no smile to go with the nod.

  Later that day Jack was still worried about her, and he was still wondering what had prompted the whole scene that morning. What did he know about girls as they grew up? Maybe it was only a phase, but still it was something that had him concerned. He really did rely on her, and if their relationship was going to suddenly start deteriorating, now was not the time for that to happen. They had the chance to make something here, maybe go somewhere, a new environment that might be better for her. Maybe he could do something about her sudden interest in archeology. Or perhaps that was just a phase too. He didn’t know. All the same, there was guilt there, though it wasn’t a guilt he could really pin down. He’d done the right thing getting her out of the Locality, but did that mean he was still doing the right thing?

  Come on, Stein, he thought to himself, there were more immediate things to think about right now, like the case.

  At least the dreams were telling him something. That meant that it wasn’t his relationship with Billie that was responsible for restricting his natural abilities. It too had to be the environment. Yorkstone was sterile. He stared out at the clean natural-looking street. Well, there was one small positive; Larkin seemed to have gone for the time being. The guy was lucky for now. Next time, Jack was really going to deliver his message and make sure it stuck.

  Billie had decided to do the work in her room, and until she came up with something, Jack was at a loose end. He wandered out of the office and headed for her door. Again he knocked. This time she was quicker to respond.

  “I’m going out for a while,” he said. “You going to be okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. She looked fine.

  “Okay.” He left her there and wandered out of the apartment and out onto the street, heading off to find a bar—something he hadn’t felt like doing for a long time—and now he had a fair idea of what lay nearby. This time it wasn’t going to be the Keg, either.

  He found a place on one of the main streets. It looked discreet, nothing flashy, and he wandered inside. Unlike the police bar, it used all the standard programmed furnishings you’d expect in a place like this. He wandered up to the bar and ordered a scotch. By his third, he was deep in thoughts about what the hell he was doing, and what the hell he was doing with Billie too. He just didn’t know if he was doing the wrong thing.

  Leaving the Locality had been a relief and he’d felt justified, as if he was doing the right thing with Billie. Yorkstone was a good environment—a nice place for Billie to grow up. After all she’d been through back there, he needed to give her some sort of stable environment where she could mature properly without any real further potential for harm. In a sense though, that was avoiding things. Avoiding his own life. Was he just using Billie as an excuse? The thought of her leaving him just didn’t enter into it. Somehow, they belonged together. He couldn’t even think about her going somewhere else away from him. Then again, who was Jack Stein to offer a young girl a life? She needed to be with a family, with a normal, stable environment. The problem was, Billie wasn’t a normal, stable kid. She’d seen a lot, done a lot—more than some adults had seen and done. Besides which, she’d attached to him. Was it wrong what he’d done, the attachment that had formed? He didn’t really know.

  Four scotches later, he’d gotten no closer to resolving the conflicting thoughts running through his brain. He shook his head, pursed his lips, and then tossed back the remains of his drink and signaled for another. It arrived in front of him and he turn
ed the glass around and around on the bar before lifting it and taking another big swallow. He wasn’t going to find any answers in the bottom of a glass, but by now, he didn’t really care.

  When he finally staggered back to the apartment, much later, Billie was already asleep. Jack went straight to bed, somewhat the worse for wear. His sleep was deep and dreamless.

  Fifteen

  Everything had changed so much since he and Billie had left—no, more like escaped—the Locality together. Jack had cleaned up his act, and as a result, last night’s session had left him feeling like crap. He wandered into the bathroom and rummaged around in the cabinet, looking for something he could use. There was a time when he would just slap on a patch to get through whatever it was that was affecting him . . . whatever it was. Nothing. Just a few stray analgesic patches. He had no idea how long they’d been there. He couldn’t even remember getting them. Peeling one free with a sigh, he applied it to his neck and smoothed it into place. At least it might do something about the headache.

  He finished getting himself up for the day, and two extra-strong coffees later and with the analgesic patch kicking in, he was starting to feel like something that almost resembled humanity. Billie would be occupied for a while, doing her searches and scans, and she would work better if he was out of the way. Until she came up with something, or something else happened, Jack was at a loose end. There was nothing he could do, particularly, until she made some progress with her work. He could use the time for thinking, but he thought it might be better if he got out of the apartment and went somewhere else. Occasionally, that was just the sort of prompt he needed to get his inner sense working again—a decent change of scenery.

  Making sure Billie was up, he announced that he was going out. She shrugged and said nothing. Jack filed her reaction away, intending to chew it over later. There was still something not right between them, but now was not the time to deal with it. He just had to let her get on with things. The moment would happen when it was right. Jack wanted to go somewhere where he could find open space, uncluttered. Somewhere he could think. Maybe he was just looking for excuses, but at least it was something to do.