by R S Penney
Harry pressed his lips together, nodding with every syllable. “Can you think of any other weapon that can do that?” he asked, eyebrows rising. “Seems to me like we've still got a smuggling problem.”
Chewing on his lower lip, Jack stared down into his lap. He squinted, shaking his head. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But it's also likely that some of the crap Petrov put on the streets is still in circulation.”
Harry knew they had arrived when he spotted a line of people – most of them in their early twenties – standing on the sidewalk with their backs turned. It was a staple of the human condition that people would want to get a good look at the mayhem wherever it happened.
They pulled into a lot where four gas pumps stood in front of a small convenience store with a big yellow sign above the door. Windows that looked in on aisles full of gum, candy and potato chips had been shattered, and yellow police tape formed a large square around the front entrance.
Harry got out of the car.
Dressed in the same slacks and dark shirt, he made his way toward the crime scene with a jacket slung over his shoulder. “All right, give me a status update,” he said as he drew near. “What do we know?”
Two uniformed officers stood just inside the doorway with their backs turned, both tapping out reports on tablets. “Detective,” Lewis said, turning around. “We… um. We're still looking the place over.”
The guy was an older fellow with creases in his forehead and silver hair that poked out from under the brim of his cap. “Paramedics are looking over the body,” Lewis said with a curt nod. “By the time we got here, the clerk was dead.”
Harry gritted his teeth, wincing so hard that his temples throbbed. “All right, let me take a look,” he muttered. “Get Roberts and Smith out on the sidewalk. I want statements.”
“Right.”
The place was a wreck with shelves toppled over and candy bars strewn across the white-tiled floor. An open register sat unattended with absolutely nothing inside the cash drawer, cigarettes that would have lined the wall behind the counter had been pilfered. So much for a smoke-free Ontario.
The clerk – a young man with pale skin and thick curly hair – was indeed crushed into the wall, wire-frame shelves dented where his body had made contact. Bags of chips were scattered on the floor in a pool of the man's blood. Jack approached on his right and very nearly retched at the sight of the body. “It was a force-field,” he managed, raising his multi-tool for inspection. “I'm detecting a residual electrostatic charge.”
A pair of paramedics stood off to the side with solemn expressions. They were too late to do anything for the man, and they didn't want to risk contaminating the scene of a homicide. A rather ugly homicide.
Biting his lower lip, Harry shut his eyes. He let his head hang, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach. “All right, so force-field,” he said. “Someone decided to turn a robbery into a murder.”
Pressing his lips together, Jack lifted his chin. He turned his head and surveyed the room. “I'm not so sure this was a robbery,” he muttered. “Leyrian tech makes this a high-profile crime.”
“And?”
“And they know we'll be coming for them.” Jack stepped forward with his hands clasped behind himself, staring down at the body. “So if you have the resources to buy some very expensive alien weaponry, why would you draw attention to yourself with a petty heist that earned you maybe five hundred dollars?”
“I see your point.”
Harry had to give the kid this much credit: he was sharp. That line of reasoning would have occurred to him once his stomach settled, but Hunter cut right to the heart of the matter. Then again, the boy was a Keeper and probably used to dealing with cases like this. A shame. Now that they had confirmed the use of alien weaponry, Leyria would try to wrest control of this case away from Harry and his people. “So you're thinking this was politically motivated.”
“Mmmhmm,” Jack replied. “Someone's stirring the pot.”
“To what end?”
Jack tapped his lips, squinting down at the body. “What else?” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “The oldest trick in the book, my friend. Somebody is trying to pull the classic divide and conquer tactic.”
Turn Earth against Leyria? Who would want to do something like that? Who would have the power?
Chapter 3
Half a dozen people took up every inch of space in a living room with gray carpets and a black couch along the wall. Through the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, Anna saw three women in colourful dresses talking to Daython.
He was the only person that she knew at this party – which probably meant that she was supposed to mingle – and he had spent all of five minutes with her. As a result, she'd said maybe a dozen words since walking in the front door.
Daython wore gray slacks and a black shirt, his short dark hair cut to a point where it was almost stubble. He held a glass of brandy in one hand and gesticulated as he told some story.
Anna leaned against the balcony railing with a drink in hand, dressed in beige pants and a navy-blue t-shirt with flowers embroidered on the V-neck. She let her head hang, staring down at the floor.
Lifting a glass of water to her lips, Anna closed her eyes and took a sip. “And here Dr. Lenai has come upon a rare opportunity,” she whispered, turning around. “A chance to study the elusive twenty-something in his native habitat.”
The skyscrapers of Alantara rose up before her, each glittering in the waning light of the setting sun. One always drew her eye whenever she gazed at the city. The building was sculpted with a curved geometry.
In her mind's eye, she saw Daython approach from behind with a big grin on his face. “Well, I'd say you were enjoying yourself,” he said, approaching the railing. “But I don't think you've moved from that spot.”
“It's a nice spot.”
He stood beside her with arms folded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I guess it is,” he said, staring out at the city. “But I do think the point of the evening was for you to socialize.”
Anna smiled, looking down at the floor. A lock of red hair fell over her cheek. “And talk about what?” she asked, eyebrows rising. “I've been floating from one assignment to another since I was sixteen.”
“That sounds interesting enough.”
“Oh, it is,” she replied. “But people in there talk about their college years and all their crazy stories. My crazy stories involve dodging gunfire and then sitting through all sorts of psych evaluations after the fact. Don't get me wrong; I wouldn't change my life for the world, but telling people about the time I was nearly incinerated by particle beams doesn't make for good party conversation.”
Lifting his chin, Daython stared off into the distance for a very long moment. “I see your point,” he said, nodding. “It's a shame. I'm fairly certain that Tyran was looking at you earlier.”
Covering a smile with her fingertips, Anna closed her eyes. “The handsome young man in the kitchen?” she murmured into her own hand. “Feel free to send him my way. I wouldn't mind some pleasant conversation.”
Daython folded his arms on the railing, hunching over to stare down at the ground below. “I don't know,” he said with a shrug. “A beautiful, confident Justice Keeper. Some men find that intimidating.”
“But not you, of course.”
Once again, he chose to flirt by paying her thinly-veiled compliments, which she supposed was better than thinly-veiled insults. Some men were actually stupid enough to think that would make a woman more receptive to their charms. Daython, on the other hand, seemed to insist on feigning disinterest while simultaneously trying to provoke her interest. Did that actually work? On anyone?
Anna bit her lip, nodding to herself. “So let's review,” she said, creases forming in her brow. “You point out another man's interest in me – confirming my desirability – and then quickly add that he likely finds me intimidating.”
She whirled around, leaning against th
e railing, then turned her face up to the starry sky. “Your presence here demonstrates that you're not intimidated,” she added, “thereby proving yourself to be the superior suitor.”
A glance over her shoulder revealed him standing there with a sour expression, his face suddenly a few shades too pale. “Did I miss anything?” Anna asked. “Thoroughness is a necessary skill for any Justice Keeper.”
“Do you always do that?” he muttered. “Dissect people's words?”
“Always.” Anna took a sip of her water. “If you want to ask me out, Daython, just ask me out. You'll find I'm much more receptive to men who take the direct approach.”
He turned, leaning against the railing. Grinning like a boy with a stolen cookie, Daython studied her. “Would you like to go out with me?” he said. “I know a great little place.”
“Yes.”
He blinked.
“Not the answer you were expecting?” she inquired, turning back to the city. In the distance, she saw a monorail rushing down the tracks toward a Hub in the centre of town. It was a lovely evening. Would it be entirely rude if she suggested leaving the party and taking a walk?
It would be, she realized. Oh well. Maybe she could make small talk. She had just read a fascinating article about the discovery of a new species of tree frog in the Southern Hemisphere Jungles. People would find that entertaining, wouldn't they?
“No, it isn't,” he admitted. “But I've learned to expect the unexpected when you're around.”
“Ah,” she teased. “The apprentice can be taught.”
Through the canopy window of a shuttle, Jena saw a field of stars with the Earth a sliver of light beneath them. Stars and not much else. There was a space station out there, but at this distance it was impossible to see with the naked eye.
Jena stood in the cockpit with her arms crossed, frowning down at her feet. “Well, here we are,” she said with a shrug. “The perfect end to a long flight. After nine days in the black, I'd kill to see blue sky.”
The pilot's chair was turned away from her, facing the window, but the woman who occupied that chair offered a chuckle in response. “Not much longer now, ma'am,” Elaria said. “Another five minutes.”
A frown tightened Jena's mouth, and she looked down at the floor. “Thank you,” she said with a nod for the pilot. “Call me if you need anything, Lieutenant. I have some last-minute things to take care of.”
She turned around.
Jena strode through the cockpit with hands clasped behind herself, approaching the door at the back. A moment later, it slid open with a soft hiss, granting her access to the passenger compartment.
Steps led down to a cramped little room where a square table took up much of the floorspace. Beyond it, a metal diamond stood over seven feet tall with sinuous grooves along its surface. SlipGates came in different shapes. Not all of them had been built by the Overseers. Once her people had gained a basic understanding of the technology, they had developed their own models.
A small tablet on the table blinked, alerting her to the presence of a message in her personal inbox. No doubt one of the other division heads wanted to speak. They probably had a meeting scheduled to welcome her. Director Jena Morane. It was going to take a long time to get used to that.
Jena frowned, turning her face up to the ceiling. “See, this is why I don't believe in you,” she said, her eyebrows shooting up. “In a well-managed universe, no one with half a brain would ever put me in charge.”
Of course, an alternative explanation would be that none of her superiors had half a brain. And she wasn't willing to completely dismiss that hypothesis. She took the tablet and began reading through its reports.
Relations with the people of Earth had deteriorated now that the thrill of meeting humans from another world had faded. From the moment of their arrival here, things had gotten worse in the last year.
As expected the flow of contraband technologies had become unmanageable in the last six months, culminating with a series of deaths in major cities across the planet. And Leyrian weapons were to blame. There were some who called for an end to diplomatic relations between their two peoples, which would be a mistake.
Humans had been scattered on nearly two dozen worlds across this galaxy, and of those worlds, four had developed interstellar flight. Two were separated from Earth by hundreds of thousands of light years – the only way her people knew of their existence was through accidental contact via the SlipGate network – but Antaur was close enough to be a threat. And they would likely try to annex the entire system.
The Overseers had left records chronicling humankind's migration across the stars, records that suggested the place of humanity's origin held some special significance. Her people wanted exclusive access, but they were willing to respect the sovereign rights of the locals. Others might not be so generous.
The Overseers…
She whirled around to find… nothing. Just the steps that led up to the cockpit. Well, what was she expecting? “You're getting paranoid, Morane,” she said, leaning against the table. “It doesn't become you.”
“Director?” Elaria's voice said over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“We're docking now.”
Orbital Station 12 was the latest in a series of fifteen space stations constructed by her people as a launching platform for Justice Keeper and diplomatic operations. It was your basic rotating wheel with spokes that led to a central shuttle bay. On most colonies and Partner Worlds, Keepers worked in offices on the planet's surface. Here, they kept themselves in orbit.
It was a symbolic gesture, a subtle way of reminding the people of Earth that Leyria respected their sovereignty. Jena couldn't see the difference. If you decided to work with Leyrians, you were going to be exposed to Leyrian influence. Whether that happened in space or on the ground was beside the point.
So twenty minutes later – after a nauseating ride in an elevator where the force of centripetal acceleration kept getting stronger and stronger – she found herself walking down a long corridor with her bags in hand. They had given her quarters on the station, but she would have to find a more permanent residence once she got settled in. Space was fun to visit, but she needed fresh air.
The office they had given her was about as plain as plain could be. Gray floor tiles stretched on from the door to the large window that looked out on the stars, broken only by the presence of a desk with a surface of polished glass. She noted the addition of an ugly chair and a keyboard.
Jena felt her mouth tighten, staring down at the floor. She covered her face with her hand. “They made me a bureaucrat,” she said, marching into the room, “and in so doing, challenged the validity of natural selection.”
“Director Morane?”
She turned.
The young woman who stood in the door was a fine specimen of youthful beauty with fair skin and waves of long blonde hair. “Ali Tavar,” she said, nodding. “You were going to interview me tomorrow.”
Jena lifted her chin to study the young woman. “Is that a fact?” she said, eyebrows rising. “And to be sure of punctuality, you decided to jump through a SlipGate and come here twenty-four hours early.”
The girl went red and lowered her eyes to the floor. “I'm sorry,” she said, stepping into the office. “I happened to see you passing in the hall and thought it might be a good idea to introduce myself.”
Crossing her arms with a soft sigh, Jena frowned down at herself. She backed away from the girl, stopping when her backside hit the desk. “Five minutes on the job, and I'm already turning into an insufferable jackass,” she muttered. “Who says power corrupts? Come on in, Ali.”
“Thank you, ma'am.”
“Would you like to get the interview over with?”
Ali looked up with her mouth agape, blinking as though stunned by the question. “I am…” She looked down at her ensemble of gray cargo pants and a black, short-sleeved shirt. “Apologies, Director. I'm not properly dressed.”
“Kiddo, if you think that's gonna influence my decision in any way, you're in the wrong place.” Jena sat down on the edge of the desk, hunched over with her arms folded. “I'd offer you some refreshments, but I just moved in. What time is it here?”
“Mid-morning, ma'am.”
“You wanna go for breakfast?” Jena offered.
“Here's fine…”
The interview wasn't entirely unpleasant – which had nothing to do with Ali; she was perfectly agreeable, but Jena had never fancied herself as a woman who would be conducting interviews – not entirely unpleasant but not very productive either. Ali would make a fine Keeper, but Jena had her reservations.
The kid had a way of thinking in straight lines with all the standard dogmas built right in. The Justice Keepers were on a mission to protect the innocent and uphold the values of integrity and equality. Yada yada yada. Most young Keepers felt the same way, and Ali here was no exception.
That wasn't to say that Jena disagreed. She believed in the Keepers as an ideal, but she had seen a few things that rubbed her the wrong way. She had met several higher-ups who believed in things like order and structure and the preservation of the Leyrian way of life. That was all well and good, she supposed, but true justice often required you to upset the established order.
Humans were incapable of creating the perfect society; that meant the best they could do was to pursue incremental improvements, to always be challenging the status quo. There were times when she saw a little too much jingoism in Leyrians – she herself had grown up on a remote colony – and it was worst in the young. “Thank you,” she said at last. “It was nice getting to know you.”
Ali looked crestfallen, refusing to make eye-contact. “Thank you, ma'am,” she said with a curt nod. “I'll be on my way now.”
“I'll be in touch,” Jena replied. “Take care.”
Chapter 4
The cue-ball struck its yellow-striped companion and sent the Nine rolling straight into the corner pocket. Ben did his traditional victory dance, marching around the table and cheering himself.
