by R S Penney
A line of yellow police tape formed a barrier across the paved surface of a parking lot, and beyond it, a garage door in the side of an old gray building was open, revealing a warehouse where uniformed cops stood talking in little clusters. The sting in his skin had faded to a soft tingle – Summer had recovered – but he still felt as if he had run ten miles without rest or water.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trembling with impotent rage. “Never ends, does it?” he muttered, ducking under the police tape. “No matter where we go, someone's always trying to kill us.”
He marched to the door.
One of the officers spun to face him: a gruff man with a barrel chest and thick gray stubble on his jawline. “This is a crime scene, son,” he said in that terse voice cops liked so much. “You can't be here.”
Jack closed his eyes, bowing his head to the man. “I'm Agent Jack Hunter with the Justice Keepers,” he said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, some of my people are in there, and I'd like to see what they found.”
Before the cop could say anything, he brought up his multi-tool and activated the hologram that displayed his badge. The transparent image of a four-pointed star on a circle of blue floated between them.
The cop turned his head so that he wouldn't have to make eye-contact. “Right,” he said, clearly embarrassed by the oversight. “Go on in. Your forensics team is scurrying around like someone just kicked up their ant hill.”
When he got inside, Jack saw that it was no exaggeration. The room was essentially a great big cube with nothing in it except maybe twenty-five people who flitted about like bees gathering honey. There were cops hanging out by the door, but everyone else had come down here from Station Twelve.
He spotted Ali Layson standing with her back turned, dressed in a sleek gray skirt and a black blouse with a lacy fringe on the neckline. As usual, she was all business, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Jack crossed his arms as he strode across the room, heaving out a sigh. “Hey,” he said, coming up behind her. “Find anything that might tell us where that son of a bitch scampered off to?”
She stiffened, then took control of herself and spun to face him. Ali was a lovely woman with fair skin and big glasses that gave her something of a sexy librarian vibe. And he felt positively wretched that his mind would go to such a place at a time like this. “Well, there is something.”
“Something?”
Ali winced, then covered her face with one hand, massaging away what appeared to be a very nasty headache. “You're not gonna believe it until you see it,” she muttered. “I have several of my people scanning it right now.”
Only then did Jack realize that not everyone in this room was affiliated with the Justice Keepers. Some wore badges that revealed them to be agents of CSIS. So, this had become a joint operation, had it?
A familiar image solidified in his mind's eye: a tall woman who came marching up behind him as if she intended to bulldoze anyone standing in her way. Though her form was blurry, Jack knew exactly who he was dealing with.
He spun around.
Aamani Patel looked as sharp as ever in a black pantsuit. A tall woman who wore her black hair pulled back in a clip, she looked him up and down, then gave a quick sniff of disdain.
Thrusting his chin out, Jack narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “The last I heard, you weren't exactly fond of working with people like me.”
Aamani smiled, then bowed her head, chuckling softly. “Good to see you too,” she said. “And I'm here because our government is losing faith in the idea that people like you can do anything to keep this country safe.”
“Is that a fact.”
“One you can take to your superiors.”
Gritting his teeth, Jack turned his face up to the ceiling. He felt sweat prickling on his brow. “I don't have time for this, Aamani,” he said. “You want to work with us? Fine. Share what you know, and we'll do the same.”
The woman just stood there with a blank expression, blinking as if she had never seen a man before. “I thought you of all people would be sympathetic,” she murmured. “Most Keepers are from other worlds – they're used to this danger – but you! You know first hand what it's like to get swept up in the wake of forces that could squash you like a bug and not even notice.”
“Which is why you should let us do our jobs.”
“Oh? And what has that gotten us?” Aamani clasped her hands together in front of herself, then cleared her throat as if she were about to give a speech. “Two people dead and five injured thanks to Wesley Pennfield's little downtown rampage.”
Jack felt his mouth tighten, then pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He ran fingers through his sweat-slick hair. “Yeah, you will get no argument from me there,” he said. “But again, do you have the resources to stop him?”
“We're developing-”
“I didn't think so.”
He turned his back on her and found himself confronted by a group of three men who were crouched side by side, scanning…something they had spread out on the floor. It looked like a thin sheet of flesh with veins that pulsed, and it seemed to drink in the light from the nearby lamps.
In fact, it looked just like the device that had attached itself to Kevin Harmon, only this thing was big enough that you could use it as a blanket if you were feeling chilly. An Overseer device? And if size was any indication of power, then this thing was much more dangerous that whatever Anna had taken off Kevin.
Just looking at it made Jack's stomach turn, and he could sense Summer's growing apprehension as clear as sunlight on a warm spring day. This must have been what Ali was trying to tell him.
The tiny blonde woman had been content to remain silent during his confrontation with Aamani, but she stepped forward and grimaced when she saw the thing. “Yes,” she said as if she could read his thoughts. “Your suspicions are correct. That is an Overseer device, and we have no clue what it does.”
Biting his lower lip, Jack let his head hang. “I bet I can guess,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Pennfield's limo is outside, but he's nowhere to be found. Smart money says this thing transported him somewhere.”
“And you think you can find him?” Aamani asked.
“Given enough time, I know we can.”
The woman stepped forward until she was standing right beside him, her face as smooth as porcelain while she studied the device. “You may not have enough time. He will strike again.”
“I'm aware of that.”
“Then you-”
Jack spun to face her with his arms folded, drawing himself up to his full height. “Then I what?” he asked, stepping forward. “My question from before remains. Do you have the resources to contain a man like Pennfield?”
“We are developing new technologies-”
“Uh huh? Like what?”
A flush put some colour in Aamani's cheeks, and she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Cells reinforced with force-field generators,” she said. “Weapons based on Leyrian technology with multiple settings.”
“Oh, well, that's just wonderful,” Jack snapped. At this point, he wasn't even trying to moderate his tone. The anger was just bubbling to the surface, and he couldn't spare the mental energy necessary to keep it bottled up. “So what are you gonna do when he crafts a Bending that reflects those bullets right back at your people? When he activates a Death Sphere that rips your officers to shreds?
“Fuck, Aamani, you of all people should understand why we need the Leyrians. I was there. I saw what happened in that parking garage; I watched those battle drones cut down your officers one by one while your best efforts barely even scratched their paint. Anna is the only reason that you and I are still standing right now, and rather than accept that simple reality, you've decided pick up a copy of 'Xenophobia for Dummies.' ”
He was seething – and Summer as well – but he didn't care. Once upon a time, he had felt a great deal of respect for this woman. Once upon a
time, he would have been too afraid, too convinced of his own inadequacy, to bother telling her what he really believed. No more. No, he was in this game now, and that meant he'd better start playing to win.
The words just kept spilling out of him.
“What are you gonna do when the Antaurans show up with ships?” Jack went on. “When they offer the nations of this world two choices: allow them to strip our planet of every last resource or watch helplessly as they obliterate us from orbit?
“Hell, it doesn't even have to be an official military. Some guy in a dinky little fifty-year-old shuttle could hold this planet hostage by floating in orbit and threatening to drop a few plasma bombs on just one of our major cities. The Leyrians prevent that. They may not be perfect – and sometimes I want to kick my superiors halfway across Dead Space – but they are the reason our culture continues to exist.”
Aamani was watching him with big brown eyes, and for a moment, he almost felt as though she were seeing him for the first time. No. this was not the Jack she had been expecting. Not the uncertain boy who covered his self-loathing with jokes about maple-glazed Timbits. Sometimes he still hated himself, but he knew what he was doing now.
“I will…think on that,” Aamani said.
“Good,” Jack grumbled. “Ali, would you please call in a Hazmat team? Let's get this thing up to the station.”
Samuel Elwood – that was his alias for the time being, and he had better get used to thinking of himself in that way – watched as two women in Hazmat gear carried the Overseer device out of the warehouse. Those suits were bulky with big thick visors, and you could hear the soft rasp of their breathing. No one wanted to risk letting exposed skin come into contact with Overseer technology.
He stood in the corner with his arms folded, staring down at the floor beneath his feet. What scheme is this, he wondered in the privacy of his own mind. It was an effort to keep his thoughts quiet. What are you planning, Slade?
Aamani Patel came striding over to him, heaving out a deep breath. Her posture made it clear that she was tired. “As usual, the Keepers will be taking their prize,” she muttered. “I wonder what we could have learned from it.”
Samuel looked up to meet her gaze, blinking several times. “Not much, ma'am,” he said, shaking his head. “Our best scientists can barely puzzle out how Leryain technology works. That stuff is a whole other ball park.”
He was pleased with himself. Adding a touch of Earth slang gave him even more credibility. The badge he wore on his jacket pocket, declaring his affiliation with CSIS, would not do very much good if he couldn't act like one of the locals. Now to drive home his point…
Samuel opened his mind to the sensations all around him, allowing the thoughts of others to seep into his consciousness. Aamani's were strongest. She was right in front of him and focused on him. Images flickered in his mind: memories of Agent Hunter and some little blonde woman. But he was not interested in her thoughts, only her emotions.
He sensed Aamani's frustration, her feelings of being shut out, unable to take part in the search for Pennfield, unable to do anything to bolster the security of her country when she had dedicated her very life to that purpose. Once upon a time, she had been relevant, an important figure in government's hierarchy. Hers was a voice that carried weight.
Then the Leyrians came and took all that away from her. Years of slowly climbing the ranks, of proving that she was not just as capable as any man but more capable. Years of refusing to back down until she finally achieved her goals, only to be made obsolete by a group of space cops with better technology. She hated it.
Samuel stoked those emotions. Just a tweak – too much, and he would be noticed – but it would do the trick. “Agent Hunter was right, ma'am,” he said. “The Leyrians are better equipped to study that thing.” A gentle caress of her mind, flaring the distrust that she naturally felt. It would leave her confused and disoriented, his words pushing her in one direction, his thoughts in another.
And there it was!
He felt it well up inside her like an eruption from a volcano. Resentment. Disgust at the notion that technological superiority would give someone the right to set policy. He could hear the question burning in her mind. “Why should the Leyrians get their way just because they have better tools?”
Aamani winced, touching three fingers to the side of her forehead. “You're right,” she said, backing away from him. “Though I don't have to like it. I suppose we'll have to work with Hunter if we went any answers.”
Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Samuel shut his eyes. He drew in a deep breath. “It seems that way, ma'am,” he said. “But you can trust him. You've worked with Agent Hunter before, right?”
“Yes…”
“Good.”
The woman forced out a sigh, bracing one arm against the wall to her left. “I think it's time we left this place,” she muttered under her breath. “Do you need a ride back to the SlipGate terminal?”
He shook his head. “No, I think I'm gonna get some food,” Samuel said, feigning exhaustion to this best of his ability. “I'll catch a cab back when I'm done. See you in the office tomorrow then?”
“Okay.”
It was some time before everyone was gone – the Leyrians wanted to go over the whole place with a scanner – so he made his cover that much more believable by actually going for food. The things these primitives ate! After several years on this planet, he had grown used to hamburgers and french fries, but what he wouldn't give for a nice lean cut of fish with some garlic seasoning.
When he returned to the warehouse, the place was empty, the police tape removed and the lights turned out. The only illumination came through the open garage door, and that wasn't much. He wasn't nervous; he would have sensed another mind long before he was in any danger.
Samuel retrieved a multi-tool from his pocket, a metal disk with buttons on top. He didn't bother wearing the gauntlet with its touchscreen interface. That would have raised too many questions.
Tapping one button caused a rectangle of soft blue light to appear before him, the hologram displaying icons would allow him to access the tool's functions. He waved his finger through one and the image rippled to be replaced by the tool's communication's application. After that, it was a fairly simple process to place a call.
The hologram of Grecken Slade stood before him: tall and proud in a pair of gray pants and a black coat with gold trim. The man wore his long dark hair hanging loose and kept his expression neutral. “Report.”
Bathed in the light of the hologram, Samuel shut his eyes and bowed his head. “It seems Pennfield has left a piece of Inzari technology for Hunter to find,” he said. “I have no doubt it is some form of bait.”
Folding his arms with a grunt, Slade craned his neck to stare at something above Samuel's head. “Yes, I would agree,” he muttered. “So it seems our errant servant is still spinning his own web.”
“It appears so.”
With a sigh, Slade covered his face with one hand and gently massaged his eyelids. “Idiot man,” he said into his own palm. “His insistence on carrying out this vendetta has forced us to accelerate our timetable.”
Samuel frowned down at the floor, his brows drawn together. “Would you like me to remove him from the game?” he asked, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine. “It can be done, but I will need assistance.”
“No,” Slade answered quickly. “Don't bother. Pennfield is nothing but a distraction at this point, and if he keeps Hunter occupied…”
“What if he manages to kill the young Keeper?”
Slade shrugged as if it were no concern of his. “One way or another, Jack Hunter must be dealt with,” he explained. “He is a resourceful young man – so I would prefer to bring him around to our way of thinking – but if that proves to be impossible, his death will do just as well. Leave Pennfield in play for the moment.”
Cocking his head to one side, Slade frowned at him with puckered lips. “And
how is Aamani?” he asked, raising a thin eyebrow. “I trust that her conversion is progressing according to schedule.”
“It is.”
“Good. I'd hate to have to replace you.”
Samuel winced, stiffening at the thought. “That will not be necessary,” he muttered. “Aamani Patel is naturally suspicious of anyone that she deems to be an outsider. A few gentle nudges are all she needs.”
“You're certain?”
Samuel looked up to squint at the other man. “Quite certain,” he replied with a nod. “Telepathy is a subtle art, Lord Slade. Push someone too hard, and they will detect your touch and counter it. You were wise to choose her. She was already close enough to being exactly what we need her to be.”
“Very well, then,” Slade said. “You are dismissed.”
The hologram rippled out of existence.
Chapter 23
“You're too tense,” Melissa said.
The sun was beating down from a clear blue sky, casting rays of silver light upon a field of green grass not far from the park where Amanda Simmons did her babysitting. The girl was off today, which made it a good time for training.
Melissa stood in the grass with hands folded behind herself, dressed in a pair of white shorts and a black tank-top. “You need to loosen up a little,” she said, marching toward Amanda. “Let muscle memory guide you.”
The other girl wore a similar outfit and stood with her fists raised in an attempt at a boxer's stance, up in front of her face so that it would be hard to see. “We've been at this for almost a week now.”
Melissa scowled, nodding her agreement. “We have,” she said, approaching the other girl. “But I've been training for over three months, and I'm only starting to hit the point where I feel competent.”
Amanda looked up at her with lips pressed into a thin line, her face betraying her confusion. Or maybe it was skepticism. “If you say so,” she mumbled. “It's just…This Tae Kwon Do stuff isn't me.”
Well, that was a good thing since Melissa was actually teaching her a Leyrian self-defense style called Dejara. Jena had claimed that it was best for someone who preferred to let her opponent strike first and then capitalize on whatever opening presented itself. Still, Melissa could understand the girl's lack of confidence.
