by Lyn Forester
“In fact, it does.” Reagen glances at the other woman’s badge, then back at her palm-port. “Blue Guard L11S2G20, impeding investigation.”
On the screen, Reagen pulls up a GoGoNow game, Frown Away, and starts blasting away the bouncing red frowny faces.
“Now wait just a minute.” L11S2G20 pauses in her message writing and lowers her device.
“Where’s that button to attach personal fines?” Reagen frowns and glances at Drake. “I always have trouble finding it on this interface.”
“Oh, it’s right there.” He reaches over her shoulder and blasts one of the frowny faces near the edge of the screen.
Sweat breaks out across the blue guard’s forehead. “Did you say you’re running a blackout case?”
“You know we did.” Drake pulls out his own palm-port. “We should include personal surveillance footage in the report. I believe NuArc has cameras in the lobby that reach this part of the street.”
“Black Corp will never hand over footage.” L11S2G20 scoffs, but her gaze searches the front of the building for the wink of a lens.
“NuArc is an industry developer for vid screens, which has nothing to do with Black Corporation. They’ll be more than happy to assist a citizen request.” Reagen blasts another frowny face away from her defense line.
“How about we all put our palm-ports away?” The blue guard puts action to words and slides her own device into her hip holster, next to her psy-gun. “We’re all working here, right? Let’s be professionals.”
Reagen shuts down the game and returns her palm-port to her pocket, elbow tapping Drake’s stomach in the process. He takes the hint and steps back.
The blue guard nods her head with a tight-lipped smile and walks toward her waiting disc-bike. “Good luck solving your case.”
“Thank you.” Drake moves to stand beside Reagen, and they watch together as the guard zips away. When the blue glow of her light stream fades, he leans over to her. “Do you know where we’re headed?”
“Not a clue.”
~
After a quick reference of the city map on Drake’s palm-port, they head to Burgus’s scene of death first. The two bodies, found within a couple blocks of each other, make it easier to visit both sites.
“You really think we’ll find something that we didn’t already see on the holo-vids?” Reagen asks after they pass through the Sector 3 checkpoint. Her tense shoulders give away her annoyance, and her I.I. badge now swings from a lanyard around her neck, in clear view. Not that it’s stopped the last three guards from pulling them over to check credentials. Reagen’s tri-ring disc-bike stands out too much as low-level tech.
“I don’t trust holo-vids.” He checks the map projected out ahead of him and slows. The green location dot converges with his yellow. He pulls over at the curb. “This is it.”
“This supermarket wasn’t noted on the recording.” Reagen parks behind him and dismounts to stand in front of the high-class grocery store. A large glass display window showcases ripe red berries in ceramic bowls, wedges of cheese on wooden cutting boards, baskets of fresh-baked bread.
Saliva fills his mouth and his stomach growls its demand. He’d sell his living unit for one of those baskets. And that’s about what it would cost him. He reins in his appetite. At the moment, a place to sleep trumps fresh strawberries.
Reagen turns and raises her eyebrow, as if aware of his inner struggle.
A woman exits the store to a tinkling of bells, a young girl at her side. Slung over one arm, she carries a cloth bag stuffed with groceries. Drake can’t help noticing the material looks a lot like one of his nicer dress shirts.
“Come on, YipYip!” The kid tugs on a red string around her wrist. A winged fox yips and hops after her on spindly legs, clipped wings fluttering on its copper furred back. It struggles to keep up with the pair as they stride away.
“That should be illegal,” Reagen mutters.
“Pets are common up here.” Drake watches them turn the corner, the flying fox bouncing behind. “The desire to domesticate wild animals is in both human and clan history books. It’s like an inbred species prerogative.”
“Then they should focus on an animal that doesn’t have to have its venom sacks removed and its wings clipped.”
“The winged foxes are the only cute ones the Wildlife Community has found on this planet.”
“They could make mesuki into pets. They’re born docile.”
“Ugh, those things are ugly. Only good for food.”
“So gross.” Reagen shudders and turns away from the storefront. “The death log said they discovered Burgus’s body in an alley. Based on the locator, it has to be this one.” Reagen points to the wide space between the supermarket and a building to the right.
They leave the disc-bikes running at the curb and walk down the corridor. Tidy curves of dust on the ground indicate a recent visit from a street sweeper. The dumpster, low and pressed against the brick wall of the grocery store, gleams with fresh gray paint, the lid closed tight. When they get closer, he takes a deep breath and smells nothing but clean air. Must be some kind of clan tech that suppresses the usual aroma that comes from trash.
Further down, slender fire escapes hug the walls on either side, painted to match the red bricks of the buildings they are attached to. The bottom platforms are suspended several feet above standard first story height. Inside, the interior ceilings must be vaulted. Ladders tuck up tight to the rail, locked in place. No way they were getting up there.
“Give me a second, and I’ll pull up the holo-document.” Reagen pauses in the middle, near the side door to the market, and pulls a palm-port out of her satchel. Weird, he thought she carried hers in her pocket.
“You can run that from your palm-port?” Drake steps closer to peer at the screen. Slender, with a black case, her device looks the same as his. But a holo-projection would eat through his battery in seconds.
“Yeah, I had this one modded for work.”
“You have multiple?”
“Don’t you?” She swipes through a couple screens until she finds a file labeled Burgus. All of her files are loaded and organized, renamed into neat folders for easy reference. His are all on his desk-port, thrown into a single folder with their original source names still intact. Her extreme organization makes him a little ashamed of his digital sloppiness.
After this, if Mr. Black wants Drake to continue to learn how to run an investigation, he’ll need to upgrade his gear. Working with Reagen has already added a number of gadgets to his future purchase list.
On the screen, a three-dimensional, spinning cube represents the holo-file. She presses it and crouches to set it on the ground. Beams of light stream out to fill the alley, turning all the nearby surfaces into shades of green. It reminds him of night goggles.
After a moment of scanning, the light takes shape. A holo-projection of the dumpster overlaps the real one. Next to it, on the far side, a pair of feet stick out. He backtracks and finds Burgus’s body, slumped against the wall. A plastic sack lies on the ground at his side, a package of condoms and a box of cookies spilling out. Glass shards of a wine bottle spray toward the street, and a shimmer of green forms a large puddle.
Drake kneels to get a closer view of the body. He has to bend close and go at an angle because the man faces downward, chin against his chest. The green projection makes seeing color impossible, but the area around his nose and mouth appears a darker shade. Black squiggles crawl down his cheeks from his bulging, open eyes.
Not for the first time, he wishes they’d called Black Corp. It was obvious the cause of death was aphremore overdose. Being able to be live on the scene could have given him more to work with.
He hears a scrape, followed by a grunt and the rattle of metal. A moment later, Reagen calls, “No personal surveillance. At least, nothing I can see or pick up on my scanner.”
Reagen’s voice comes from high up, and he shifts back on his heels to peer past the hard edge of the dumpst
er. She leans over the railing of the grocery store’s fire escape, palm-port pointed up toward the roofline.
He frowns, glances from the black case still on the ground in the middle of the alley, her satchel tossed against the wall, and back up to her high perch. “How’d you get up there?”
“With skills.” She moves to the opposite end of the fire escape, swiveling as she searches the rooflines.
“No, really, how’d you do that?”
“Skills.” The word draws out like she thinks he might be hard of hearing, and she looks down at him with raised eyebrows. He paces to stand beneath the fire escape and tips his head back. Instant dizziness. His heart pounds, and a cold sweat breaks out under his arms.
Shit, she better not demand he go up there with her.
He shifts his gaze to the wall and focuses on the pores of the brick until his pulse steadies.
A foot descends into his view, black sneaker with a worn, thin sole. It scrapes against the brick for a second, then digs into the crevice of mortar. Another sneaker, followed by the long line of a black clad leg. He shifts his gaze up and shouts, “What are you doing?”
Reagen clings to the side of the building, arms and legs spread wide. She shoots him an annoyed glance over her shoulder as she finds her next foothold. “Didn’t you want to see how I got up there? If you didn’t, I would have used the ladder instead.”
He lunges forward, arms outstretched. “Don’t do shit like this!”
“Stop it.” Laughter bursts out, and she presses her forehead against the bricks. “You’ll make me fall.”
The fingers of one hand slip, and she hangs from three points, snorting through her nose as she tries to regain control.
“Shit, go back up, and take the safe way down.” He moves closer, shifts from foot to foot as he estimates the right place to stand to break her fall.
“You’ll catch me.” She regains her grip and brings her foot lower, toe searching for purchase.
“Shut up, and pay attention to what you’re doing.”
“Have you always been afraid of heights?” Next, she lowers her opposite arm, fingers digging into invisible handholds.
“Have you always had a death wish?”
“I won’t die from something like this.” Another two feet closer to the ground.
Her newest hold moves her out of range, and he shifts to stay under her. “Are you some kind of adrenaline junkie?”
“Adrenaline reminds us we’re alive.” As one black sneaker comes within reach, he resists the urge to grab her.
“Living reminds us we’re alive,” he growls.
“No, that’s just existing.” She peeks over her shoulder at him. “How about a trust fall?”
“We don’t trust each other.”
“It’s a team-building exercise.”
“Don’t you dare.” Drake shuffles right, raises his hands higher. “We can do that kind of shit some other time.”
“No time like the present.” She pushes away from the wall, arms out as she plummets toward him.
He catches her at the hips, bracing his feet as she slams into his chest. He stumbles back a step but keeps his balance. His heart thunders behind his ribs, lungs tight. Oxygen. Need air. He pulls in a painful breath.
She makes a solid weight in his arms, warm, with the faint scent of sweet cinnamon. Not surprising that the air freshener from her apartment clings to her clothes. After airing out, the perfume’s not bad. Not as nice as Nate’s musky rose perfume, though.
Another steadying breath, and he thumps her onto her feet. “Shit! Don’t do that kind of shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
“You did good.”
He puts his hands on his hips, his feet braced wide, and scowls at the back of her head. “What would you have done if I didn’t catch you?”
“Tucked and rolled.” Patting down her jacket to make sure nothing fell out, she turns to face him. As she takes in his angry stance, a smile ticks at the corner of her mouth. “But I knew you’d catch me.”
“How?”
“We’re partners.” Her shoulders lift and fall. “We have each other’s back.” She stares at him, blue eyes soft, her face open and vulnerable.
He freezes, stunned, and the space between them fills with a heavy silence. She blinks, her expression shuttering as she looks down, hands gripping her elbows.
Sudden panic zings through him. She’d opened up, and he’s left her hanging too long. Almost tangible, he can feel the wall she is rebuilding between them. Anxiety floods him, a pinched ache in his chest. If he blows it now, she won’t make another overture.
“Yeah.” Slowly, he reaches out. She doesn’t immediately step out of range, and he grips her shoulder. “I got your back. That’s what partners are for.”
At NuArc, she’d hunched in on herself, uncomfortable. He hadn’t noticed fast enough, the quiet panic when he slipped into office mode. They’d been heading toward friendship over the last few days, and he’d shut her out. Revelation hits him hard; she wants to be his friend.
He resists the urge to pull her in for a hug and gives her shoulder a firm squeeze. She nods, a quick bob of the head that sends black strands of hair over her eyes. The hold she has on her elbows loosens, and she clears her throat.
“I don’t think we’ll find new evidence here.” Voice thick, a short step pulls her out of his grasp. She bends to retrieve the satchel, slides the strap over her head, and settles the bag at her hip.
“Yeah, you’re right. This was a waste of time. The cleaning bots are too efficient.”
“It’s not like he’s a murder victim. There was no reason to keep the scene blocked off.” Reagen walks over to the palm-port and picks it up. The green holo-projection cuts off, and Drake blinks at the sudden return of normal light. The gray cement and red brick look unnatural, bright and vibrant.
“He had a bag from the grocery store. Maybe someone in there can tell us more.” They should have gone there first, skipped the alley.
“Good idea.” She moves past him, out onto the main sidewalk. As he follows, he passes the dumpster once more and glances down, somehow surprised to find the wall next to it empty where Burgus’s body had lain.
The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He shakes off the sense of trepidation and hurries from the alley.
Reagen, stopped before the display window, presses her fingers against the glass. Frozen, lips parted, she stares at the clear pane, gaze unfocused as if caught in memory. Her arm drops when he joins her. Curious, he brushes his hand against the smooth surface.
“It’s cold.” Surprised, he keeps his fingers spread in place; the glass never warms.
“I’ve read about this. It’s a new Koevhern product. Thinner and cheaper than what they use on the glass domes on Level 13.” She taps the window with a fingernail. “They somehow imbue the glass to keep it from shattering and make it resistant to grime.”
He swipes a finger across the window, surprised when the clean surface remains streak free. “That’s amazing.”
He focuses past the window and into the shop, meeting the annoyed eyes of the clerk behind the checkout counter in the back. With a sheepish smile, he stops petting the window.
Reagen waves at the man. “Let’s go in.”
Inside the store, a wonderland of rich aromas fills his senses. Fresh-baked bread, sharp cheese, tart fruits, and crisp vegetables. A cold case in the center displays clear-wrapped packages of meat, cubed and arranged onto white trays for easy purchase.
A glow against the left wall pulls his attention. Reagen walks past him, toward the clerk, and he fists a hand in her collar, yanks her to a stop.
“What the fuck?” An elbow catches him in the gut, and he grunts and shakes her jacket.
“Look, Rae.” He pulls her until she faces the glowing display, too.
“So what?” She swats at him until he releases her.
“They’re sky skippers.” He stares in fascination at the glass aquarium. A vaporizing machine
at the back puffs out a thin layer of cloud for the gelatinous creatures to swim through. Every so often, a tiny streak of lightning flickers between their dangling tentacles.
“I’ve seen them before.” A huff of breath escapes her. “I’ve paid to exterminate them. They’re pests. Nothing special to gawk at.”
“But this is a grocery store.”
“Yeah, so?”
He shifts his gaze to her in disbelief. She doesn’t get it. Sudden hunger gnaws at his stomach. “That means they’re here as food.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She turns away in disgust and heads toward the checkout counter.
“I want to eat one.” He hurries after her, imagination rampant as he tries to decide what they taste like. Clear is so hard to judge. “Rae, we have to find someplace that serves them while we’re up here.”
“You make me sick.”
“Do you think they’ll be soft?” The gelatinous sky skippers, with their translucent bodies, look squishy. But he’d overseen an extermination before, and their tentacles had been firm and stretchy. He works his jaw, tries to imagine a piece of bouncy tentacle between his teeth. “Or maybe chewy?”
“I don’t care. I’m not eating one.” Reagen shoots narrow-eyed exasperation over her shoulder, then stops in her tracks, gaze shifting past him. She about-faces and strides over to a cold case against the opposite wall. The smiling happy-face logo tells him in an instant what has her excited. He joins her.
Green cans line the top shelf. He points at them, tries to drum up enthusiasm for the noxious energy drink. “They have the new Apple Flavor in stock.”
“I don’t care.” She crouches to search the bottom shelf and pops up with a red can of Cherry Flavored in her hand.
“How do you not get sick of that flavor?”
“It’s the original.” She clutches the drink to her chest. “There’s no need for improvement.”
“You have three cans of that in your satchel.” When he’d exited the sanitizer with a contented Nate, there had only been one empty container on the counter.
“But this one’s cold.”
