by R S Penney
Closing his eyes tight, Jack bowed his head. He touched fingers to his brow and massaged away a throbbing pain. “All right,” he said. “I think we should be calling it a night, don't you?”
Tall and slim in jeans and a silk shirt that he wore untucked, Ben studied the tip of his cue. “Dude, it's only ten,” he muttered. “You can't possibly be ready to go home yet. You haven't even met anyone.”
Jack leaned over the table, lining up his shot. The tip of his cue struck the white ball and sent it rolling down table to collide with the Six. Clipped on the corner, the green ball took off at a forty-five degree angle.
It sped toward the corner pocket, nudged the Two ever so gently and sent that into the pit with a satisfying ca-thunk. “In recognition of my victory,” Jack said. “I'd like you to avoid gloating for the next hour.”
Ben slapped a palm against his forehead, groaning his frustration. “Oh Companion have mercy,” he said, turning away from Jack to face the brick wall on the other side of the table. “There's gotta be a way to make you tune out that Nassai.”
“The agreement was 'bonded for life,' ” Jack said. “Sorry, my friend, but Summer and I are a package deal. If you have a problem with that, just let me know and we can end this relationship right now.”
“Speaking of relationships.”
Jack felt a surge of aggravation at his poor choice of words. For as long as they had been friends – and it was what? Almost two years now? – Ben had been trying to get him to pursue romantic entanglements with more gusto. He supposed it was just a difference in sex drive between the two of them.
Ben had been in a long-term relationship for nearly eighteen months before he and James went their separate ways a few months ago, but Jack hadn't been on a date since… Did that thing with Lisa the barista count? He was half tempted to give it a pass just for the rhyme-factor. Dating just wasn't high on Jack's list of priorities, and though the other man was eager to play Stinson to his Mosby, he'd rather concentrate on work. “Not tonight, Bro. I'm exhausted.”
Crossing his arms in a huff, Ben frowned down at the table. He shook his head in dismay. “You're always exhausted,” he said. “Sooner or later, you're going to have to get out there and live a little.”
“I am living.”
“Then check out the hottie at the bar.”
Without turning, he focused on the spatial awareness that came from his bond with Summer and spotted the silhouette of a tall man standing at the counter. Visual memory allowed him to fill in colour – he'd seen this guy on the way in – and Jack had the pristine image of a guy in jeans and a turtleneck, a guy who kept his hair gelled into little spikes.
The man lifted a mug of beer to his lips, then set it down with some force. He kept his back turned, focused on his drink. “So go talk to him,” Jack urged. “I'll just be right here, offering my support.”
Ben grinned, shutting his eyes tight. He shook his head once again. “Not him, you dumb ass!” he teased. “I was thinking of the impeccably beautiful woman seated just a few feet to the left.”
Jack sighed.
His mind painted the image of a silhouette sitting on a barstool with one leg crossed over the other. This woman had not been there earlier – so he could not add colour – but from the shape of her image, he could tell that she had long hair.
It was a strange thing to see a ghostly shadow contrasted against a setting where everything else was in full colour. Had he seen it with his eyes instead of his mind, he would have jumped.
Jack grimaced as though he smelled something foul. “I'm not going over there,” he said, backing away from the table. “Whatever you're thinking, you can forget about it right now.”
“I don't understand your objection.”
“On my world,” Jack explained, “women get accosted by men every time they go out in public. Well…most of them do. I know that it's different on Leyria, but this woman deserves to have a night out without being pestered.”
Ben leaned over the table, lining up a shot behind the cue-ball. The poorly-hidden snarl on his face made it clear that he was taking this personally. Whether at pool or in a debate, Ben did not like to lose. “So, you'll never approach a woman you don't know?”
“Pretty much.”
“That must make it hard to meet people.”
Jack was about to answer, but a chirp from his multi-tool spared him from having to continue this conversation. A few quick taps at the screen brought up Harry's image. “Can you come to my office?” the other man asked. “There's something I need to show you.”
Oh, thank God.
“I'll be right there,” Jack answered. “Ten minutes.”
Open blinds on his office door allowed Harry to see people rushing past in the hallway outside. Officers in uniforms with their heads down, civilians in street clothes who tried not to look too closely at anything. Even at this time of night, the police station was bustling with activity.
Exhaustion threatened to knock him senseless, exhaustion and aggravation. A few reporters had left voice mails asking for an interview. The city was on high alert in the wake of the last killing. The Keepers insisted on taking the lead in this case, and Harry's lieutenant was more than happy to oblige them. Nothing made a bureaucrat happier than passing the buck.
Worse yet, he had reports of gang violence in the downtown core, and some of what those reports described almost certainly indicated the use of Leyrian weapons. This city was a lit fuse. It wouldn't be long before he had to face the inevitable explosion.
Harry sat in his chair with his elbows on the desk, fingers laced over the top of his head. “You're killing me…” He looked up, blinking moisture into tired eyes. “Why can't anything ever be easy?”
If there was a God, he wasn't talking.
Knock, knock.
“Yeah, come in.”
The door swung inward to reveal Jack Hunter standing there in a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt under his brown coat. “Harry,” he said in that inquisitive tone of his. “You wanted to talk?”
“You might say that.”
The kid studied him with a flat expression, blinking as he considered the situation. “Something else happened,” he said, approaching the desk. “We've got another problem on our hands, and you don't want to go to the Keepers.”
Harry smiled, a touch of crimson in his cheeks. Closing his eyes, he offered a curt nod. “You're sharp, Kid,” he said, wheeling away from the desk. “Two of my officers just picked up a beat-up kid named Alex Clemons on a minor drug charge.”
“This kid get hit by a force-field?”
Harry stood up on legs that ached the instant he got out of the chair. Jesus Christ, he really was getting too old for this. “Not exactly,” he said, turning around and marching to the window
Thin blinds partially obscured his view of a street-lamp that stood tall and lonely, casting orange light down on the sidewalk. On the far side of the road, a squat little red-bricked building peered back at him with dark windows. “Kid said the guy who beat him up was strong enough to throw him several paces.”
“Like a Justice Keeper.”
Harry closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He took a deep breath through his nose. “Exactly like a Justice Keeper,” he muttered. “Alex claims that his assailant beat up two other guys before putting the smack-down on him.”
“Do people still say smack-down?”
“I really am getting too old for this.”
“Now you're afraid to bring this to my superiors,” Jack added. “If there is a rogue Keeper involved, any report you make will only get buried, and it will put you on their list of people to monitor.”
Anxiety seized Harry's stomach and squeezed for all it was worth. The boy had just voiced his deepest fears. Thoughts like that had been passing through his head for the last few hours, but hearing them spoken aloud made the fear seem new and fresh.
What kind of world was he living in now? Three years ago, everything had changed when
the Leyrians declared themselves openly. Joint Earth-Leyrian task forces were hard at work developing advanced medicines and updating the planet's food distribution systems. Not to mention all the latest gadgets that everyone now carried on their person. But all of that technology came at a price.
You had to take the good with the bad, some said. Access to new technologies meant a greater potential for the misuse of said technologies. The one thing the Leyrians would not share was weapons, but that did not stop shipments from finding their way onto Earth's soil. Nicolae Petrov was just one of many dealers. The Keepers were supposed to protect Earth from such threats, but if one of them had turned traitor…
“Harry?” Jack said, drawing him out of his reverie. “You okay?”
“A rogue Keeper would explain a lot,” he replied. “For one thing, it would give us some clue as to how our killer got his hands on restricted weapons tech. I need someone I can trust on this, Jack. Because I'm in over my head here.”
He turned around to find Jack sitting in front of his desk with elbows on his thighs, his chin resting on laced fingers. “Yeah,” the kid said. “I can see that. I take it you want me to Veronica some answers for you?”
“Veronica?”
“Sherlock?”
Harry stared down at the floor. He trembled as a wave of laughter went through him. “That would be helpful, yes. And for future reference, the verb you want is 'Mulder.' ”
Jack smiled into his lap, shaking his head. “Where's this Alex?” he asked, moving closer to the desk. “I may as well start by talking to him.”
“We've got him in lock-up for now,” Harry answered. “Took him to a hospital this evening. Kid was beat up pretty bad, but the nurses say he's stable. I suggest that you wait until morning before having your chat.”
Harry dropped into his chair with a grunt, hunching over the keyboard. A few clicks of a mouse brought up the PC's media player. “Come over here,” he ordered. “Let's take a look at this together.”
Jack stood.
The kid moved around the desk with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. “What's that?” he asked, jerking his head toward the monitor. “Did Missy send you another video of a cat in a shoe? 'Cause I could use a laugh.”
“No,” Harry answered. “It's camera footage from the gas station.”
He pushed play and watched the video begin. His monitor was suddenly filled with the black-and-white image of a young clerk standing behind the counter. The same clerk who had met his untimely end the other night.
From the camera's position in the corner, Harry could see both the front counter and the door. Several seconds passed while the young man puttered about behind the register. There was no audio.
He looked up as the door swung open.
A man in black stepped into the store. Clothed in a sweater and a ski-mask, he was covered from head to toe with barely an inch of skin showing. Clearly this guy did not want to be identified. He raised a hand, pointing a gun at the clerk.
The kid stepped away from the register with hands raised, shaking his head. Harry was actually thankful for the lack of sound; he had no desire to hear the poor kid beg for his life. Especially when he knew what was coming next.
The gunman gestured with his weapon, ordering the clerk to come out from behind the counter. Nausea tormented Harry's stomach as he watched the scene play out. The kid did as he was ordered.
He stepped out from behind the counter, positioning himself in front of the shelves that would eventually become his final resting place. From this angle, Harry could only see the back of his head, but it seemed as though he was speaking.
The gunman's expression was unreadable behind his ski-mask. He remained frozen in place with his weapon pointed at his victim. At that moment, Harry would have paid a hefty sum of money to know the young clerk's last words.
The gunman tapped something on his belt, causing a screen of tiny white flecks to appear before him. Half a second later, the wall of energy sped forward, struck the clerk and sent him flying.
He went right into the shelves, causing the metal to collapse on impact, and his head rebounded off the wall. Bags of potato chips fell over his broken body and scattered on the floor.
The gunman turned around, marching to the door. He didn't bother with the open register. The store must have been ransacked by other people who saw an opportunity once the killer was gone. So far as Harry could tell, the man had stopped by just to commit a casual murder.
Jack stood at his side with his arms folded, frowning at the screen. “Terrorism,” he said, shaking his head. “This guy doesn't want anything except to cause as much damage as possible.”
Harry shut his eyes, throwing his head back. “Yeah, I think you're right,” he muttered. “Did you see anything that might give us a clue as to who this guy is?”
“Sorry, no,” Jack muttered. “He's got a force-field generator, but with the way those things have been spreading, that doesn't tell us much.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Right back at square one,” Jack said. “Let's just hope Alex has something that we can use.”
When he opened the door to his apartment, Jack found himself confronted by total darkness, but he could make out every feature of the place nonetheless. The small, galley-style kitchen was right across from the front entrance, and beyond that, a dining room sat unused. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed traces of illumination from the windows.
Off to his right, a long hallway stretched on to the bedrooms, and Spock – his huge orange tabby – sat primly in the middle of the floor, waiting for his dinner. If he didn't sort that out in short order, there would be bitching.
He turned on a light.
“Just what I need, Spock,” he muttered, shutting the door behind him. “Someone else with a symbiont running amok in my city. We're the galaxy's hot new tourist town.”
The big orange cat stared up at him.
Jack forced a smile, his cheeks growing slowly redder. He pressed a closed fist to his forehead. “And here I am turning into a crazy cat dude,” he added. “You're starting to worry about me, aren't you, buddy?”
His multi-tool beeped.
The little red LED was blinking to alert him to the presence of an incoming call. Whoever it was probably wanted to aggravate him further. Whether it was siblings who wanted to meddle in his love life or bosses who wanted to tell him that he was a grand disappointment, everyone wanted something from Jack Hunter. He knew that was self-indulgent whining, but damn it, everyone deserved the right to sulk every now and then. So long as they kept it in the privacy of their own head.
He stepped into the narrow kitchen with long gray counters on both sides and white cupboards at eye level. A tablet had been left sitting next to the sink. That would do for a quick phone call.
Detaching the metal disk from his gauntlet, he placed it in the charging unit on the wall. “Forward call to tablet,” Jack ordered. “Answer in five seconds.”
The screen lit up with an image of Anna sitting at a desk in her apartment. As usual, she wore her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail with thin strands to frame her pretty face. “So it's been two weeks since we spoke,” she said. “And I do believe that it was your turn to call me.”
Clenching his teeth, Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah… I'm sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I didn't mean to ignore you; it's just things are pretty crazy around here.”
“What's up?”
He didn't want to tell her – Anna had been so eager to see him become a Keeper; the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her by telling her he'd been suspended from active duty – but he wasn't in the habit of lying to his best friend. The story came out of him in fits and bursts.
He relayed every last detail, starting with their investigation into Nicolae Petrov and then moving on to Breslan's inexplicable stalling tactics. At least, they seemed to him like stalling tactics. Slade insisted that it was all part of a coordinated st
rategy. Finally, he got to the part where he disobeyed orders.
To her credit, Anna listened to the whole damn thing without a single interruption, smiling every now and then and encouraging him to go on whenever he found himself in a long pause. After just a few minutes, he was starting to feel stupid for hesitating. She really was his best friend; he could tell her anything.
Jack was hunched over with his elbows on the counter, his chin resting on laced fingers. “So that's it,” he said, eyebrows rising. “The tragic story of how I shot myself in the foot and ruined my career again.”
Anna frowned, turning her head so that she wouldn't have to look at him. “Sounds like you've had to make some tough choices,” she murmured. “But if it means anything, I think you did the right thing.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do.”
Anna leaned back in her chair with her arms folded, scowling into her own lap. “Do you know what a Nassai looks for in a potential host, Jack?” she inquired. “Do you know what it is they really want?”
“Good looks and a six-figure income?”
Tilting her head to one side, Anna showed him the warm smile that made his cares melt away. “Someone who is unwilling to just blindly follow orders,” she said. “Someone who refuses to go along to get along.”
Chewing on his lip, Jack looked down at the counter. “Well, isn't that something?” he asked, deep creases forming in his brow. “I guess Summer found the most stupidly obstinate mofo on this planet.”
“You were a good choice.”
He spun around to lean against the counter with hands in his pockets, frowning down at himself. “Yeah well, we've got bigger problems,” he muttered. “Harry thinks there may be a rogue Keeper on the loose.”
“A rogue Keeper?”
Jack was forced to delay his response while a shiver traveled all the way down his spine. The prospect of someone using the power that came with a Nassai bond to harm others was not something he wanted to consider. It left him with a sickness in the pit of his stomach.
