Friction

by R S Penney

  Leo brought a hand up to strike the man's wrist and knock the pistol away. With his free hand, he seized the guy's shirt. A single shove was all it took. Amps-fueled strength sent his opponent flying backward.

  There was a harsh clank as the tiny man hit the open vault door and dropped to the floor. A thrill went through Leo, a sense of elation. He was the strongest, and he'd proven it beyond a doubt.

  This drug was a wonder, able to make a man into all that he should be. Now, it was time to repay the man who had bestowed this kindness upon him. Pennfield had ordered him to sow chaos, and that was exactly what he would do.

  He turned around to find a camera mounted on the wall just above the front door, a camera that was perfectly angled to capture everything that happened in front of the teller line. Whoever ended up watching that footage was in for quite a shock.

  Turning his face up to the camera, Leo offered a sly grin. “You think yourselves safe?” he said, shaking his head. “With this technology, I can walk into any home, any place of business.”

  The camera continued to record him. He noticed a small microphone just below the lens and felt a wave of gratitude at the knowledge that his words would be heard. “Your best men were nothing but toys for me to play with.”

  Clenching his teeth, Leo lowered his eyes to the floor. “I will find the places where you are most vulnerable,” he said. “Schools, hospitals and places of commerce. Parks and daycare centres. I will find the weakest among you and make them bleed!

  “You will never be safe!”

  The mug shot of a young man filled the screen of glass that stood at an angle above her desk, casting light down on the keyboard. Ricky Sykes wore a scowl, his hair gelled into a forest of dark spikes.

  Jena pressed her lips together, squinting at the screen. She shook her head ever so slowly. “You really made some brilliant choices, Rick,” she muttered, leaning back in her chair. “What makes a kid like you want to sell drugs?”

  Pressing the heels of her hands to her eye-sockets, Jena let out a groan. “Oh, Sweet Mercy, I need a break,” she growled. After nearly two weeks on this station, she was just about ready to scream.

  “Talking to yourself, Boss?”

  She looked up to find Jack standing in the door to her office, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a dark jacket. The kid's hair was unkempt, and his eyes had a few dark circles of their own.

  Jena smiled, her cheeks burning. She lowered her eyes to stare into her lap. “It's a habit you pick up when you're starved for good conversation,” she said. “I take it you've got something to report?”

  He had coffee.

  With the aid of her Nassai, she would have sensed the cup in his hand as he drew closer, but more importantly, she could smell it. What she wouldn't give for a fresh cup right about now.

  He set it down on her desk.

  Jena touched two fingers to her forehead, wincing as they made contact. “That's for me?” she asked with more than a little rasp in her voice. “Well, kid, I'm starting to think taking you on was a good idea.”

  He was smiling, his face painted a deep red. He looked away to hide his chagrin. “I figured you stayed up to the wee hours reviewing reports,” Jack mumbled. “Then you hauled your ass in here first thing in the morning.”

  Bringing the cup to her lips, Jena took a sip. The kid had left it black, just the way she liked it. Why some people chose to dilute the flavour by adding sugar and milk was beyond her. “Hot and bitter,” she said. “The way I like it.”

  “We talking about coffee or women?”

  She looked up at him.

  Jack backed away with his hands in his pockets, keeping his head down to avoid looking at her. “I-I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I didn't mean to pry. I just noticed the way you were flirting with Agent Lanoto.”

  “You're observant,” she said. “A good quality in a Keeper.” She had deliberately avoided discussing the topic of her sexuality since coming here. It wasn't as though she had any desire to hide, but some of the people on this planet still believe that romantic love between two women – or two men for that matter – was an abomination. That ugly truth stoked an ire in her. “For the record, I'm what you would call bisexual.”

  “Cool.”

  “So what have we learned about Ricky?”

  “Not a whole lot,” Jack answered. “He keeps telling the same story every time we question him. The man who sold him the Amps wore a hood which made it hard to see his face. Ricky was dealing at a party in downtown Gatineau when this mysterious man approached him and offered 'something out of this world.'

  “At first, our boy wasn't having any of it. But Mystery Man knocked out a couple of his crew and told him this stuff would make him strong. Get this, he left a suitcase full of Amps for Ricky without a cent in payment.”

  Jena nodded.

  This was very much what she would have expected. Amps was an incredibly potent drug; you wouldn't turn a profit by selling it to college kids looking to party, and anyone with the resources to acquire the stuff would have no need for Earth currency. No, this was about fear. Leyrian weapons had been the…What was that charming Earth phrase? The tip of the iceberg.

  Once the populace was sufficiently frightened by the prospect of force-fields and particle beams, these conspirators would up the stakes by adding super-soldiers to the mix. Keepers inspired a certain amount of awe in the average person. Giving the common criminal enough strength to defeat one would be devastating.

  Jack's multi-tool made some noise.

  Lifting his forearm, he frowned down at the screen before tapping a in a few short commands. “Just got a text message from Detective Carlson,” he said. “He wants me to check the news.”

  Jena closed her eyes, thumping her head against the back of her chair. “What is it this time?” she asked, spinning around to face the wall. “Did he say exactly what it was he wanted you to see?”

  “No. Just check the news.”'

  “Computer,” Jena said. “Play local news.”

  A hologram shimmered into existence in front of the wall, stretching from corner to corner, from floor to ceiling. Brilliant light solidified into the transparent image of a man who sat behind a news desk.

  Short and slim, he had a ring of gray hair that encircled the back of his bald head and a mustache on his upper lip, and Jena could already tell that he was uncomfortable. “The attack on Capitol Credit Union,” he said, “is just the latest in a long string of violent incidents involving Leyrian technology.”

  The image shifted to black-and-white security footage of the credit union's interior. A small man went flying backward to strike the open vault door before dropping to the carpeted floor.

  Moments later, the camera was focused on a young man who wore a self-satisfied grin. “You think yourselves safe?” he said, shaking his head. “With this technology, I can walk into any home, any place of business.”

  Jena made note of his features – fair skin and messy blonde hair. She'd committed that face to memory before he spoke his next words. Not that it would matter. The man's image would be in every criminal database on the planet.

  “So that's our guy,” Jack said.

  On the screen, the criminal lowered his eyes so that Jena could only see the top of his head. “I will find the places where you are most vulnerable,” he went on. “Schools, hospitals and places of commerce. Parks and daycare centres. I will find the weakest among you and make them bleed! You will never be safe again.”

  The newsfeed returned to a close-up of the anchorman behind his desk, and now, the reason for his discomfort was obvious. “Ottawa Mayor Bill Cunningham is calling for calm in the wake of these recent attacks.”

  A spindly man stood beneath an overcast sky, breathing heavily. “Now is not the time for panic,” he said in a thick Canadian accent. “We've established a police presence at schools and local hospitals.”

  “You think that will be enough,” the interviewer asked.

  Cunnin
gham licked his lips, then bowed his head, afraid to look into the camera. “I think it's important to keep calm,” he replied with a nod. “Panic only makes it harder for our people to do their jobs.”

  “Kill newsfeed,” Jena ordered.

  The hologram vanished.

  Jena squeezed her eyes shut, slapping a palm against her forehead. “Damn it,” she muttered, slouching in her chair. “Things just went from bad to worse. We've gone from violent crime to open terrorism.”

  Jack stood on the other side of her desk, facing the wall so that she saw him in profile. “I'd better get down there,” he said, nodding once. “Someone's going to have to do damage control.”

  “Good plan.”

  “And you?”

  Leaning her head against the seat cushion, Jena let out a groan. “I'm putting a call in to every law-enforcement official I can find,” she said. “They're going to be in panic mode after a story like this.”

  He grunted.

  “Call your friend Detective Carlson,” she instructed. “Tell him I want to see him up here as soon as possible. We're going to need someone to liaise with the locals, and I bet he's got a long list of contacts.”

  “Right.”

  “And, Jack,” she added as he turned and made his way to the door. The kid froze in mid-step, waiting for her to finish her sentence. “Good luck.”

  Harry felt the grimace come on, shaking his head as those horrible words echoed in his head. You will never be safe. The man on the camera had said them, daring anyone to challenge him. Only twenty-four hours had passed since the attack on the credit union, and the city was already in a state of chaos.

  Harry sat down at the desk in his small home office, planting elbows on its surface and hiding his face in his hands. “I think I'm losing my mind.” He split his fingers to peek through the cracks between them. “Slowly.”

  This small room on the first floor of his house was cluttered with old books and manila folders containing reports from cases long closed. He really should have shredded those, but he was something of a pack-rat when it came to information. Blinds across the window blocked his view of the night sky.

  “Dad?”

  A quick glance to his right revealed Claire standing in the door that led out to the hallway. His daughter wore a pink nightdress, her black hair done up in pig-tail braids that she hadn't yet removed. At only nine years old, Claire was already starting to ask the hard questions, and he knew perfectly well that he was in for a discussion on the murders at Capitol Credit Union. All the kids must have been talking about it.

  Claire frowned, shutting her eyes tight. She bowed her head as she worked out what she wanted to say. “The man who killed those guards,” she began. “Peter says he'll come for our school next.”

  “Peter's wrong, honey.”

  “But he said so!” Claire's eyes were wide and glistening, a single tear rolling over her dark cheek to drip from her chin. “He said he was going to come to our school. Peter told me.”

  Harry paused, considering his next words. True, the man on the security tape had threatened to come after schools – along with banks, hospitals and shopping centres – but he had said nothing about Claire's school in particular. All that aside, however, his little girl was clearly frightened.

  How exactly was he supposed to handle this? Before the Leyrians had come, it had been easy to separate his job and his family life. Daddy went off to catch bad people and put them in jail. None of them ever followed him home. Now he had to deal with terrorist threats. “He won't come for your school.”

  “How do you know?”

  “There are lots of schools, Claire. He won't choose yours.”

  That left her with a thoughtful expression, and Harry could tell as soon as the words left his mouth that he had said the wrong thing. “So some other kids would die?” Claire whimpered. “In that case, I'd rather it was me.”

  Harry felt his face tighten, ignoring the tears that spilled over his cheeks. Christ! Now he was crying. “I won't let that happen, Claire,” he whispered. “I'll catch him before he has a chance.”

  His daughter needed him to be strong.

  Pasting on a brave face, Harry looked up and blinked tears away. “Everything will be okay,” he said. “The police take threats like that very seriously. And we have officers watching your school and all the other schools.”

  Claire surged forward, throwing arms around his waist and planting her face in his chest. “I love you, Dad,” she whispered, hugging tighter. “Please don't let any other kids get hurt.”

  There was nothing he could do but pick her up and carry her upstairs. The smallest bedroom on the second floor belonged to Claire, and with the sun down, the only thing that outlined the silhouette of her bed was a distant streetlight. He set her down on the mattress, tucking her in.

  In the dim light, he saw Claire's big eyes as she stared up at him. “How are you going to catch him, Dad?” she inquired. “What do the police do when they have to find a man like this?”

  It was a complicated question. Idly, he wondered how long it had been since Missy had started asking questions like that. Seven years? Eight? Something happened to kids just before they hit double digits.

  Baring his teeth with a hiss, Harry shut his eyes. He shook his head in response to the question. “It's hard to say, kiddo,” he replied. “We just keep trying different things till something works.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hopefully he left some clue behind.”

  Claire sat upright, clutching the sheets to her chest, suddenly fixated on the window across the foot of her bed. It was almost enough to make Harry jump, but even he didn't think this terrorist had come to his house. “Didn't you tell me one time that the police have people's IDs on file?”

  “Yes.”

  His daughter looked over her shoulder with a resolute expression, convinced that she had found something. “Couldn't you use the computer to match up his picture with the IDs you have?”

  Smart kid.

  “We've tried that,” Harry explained, kneeling down next to her bed. Head hanging, he felt a sigh explode from his lungs. “It didn't work. If he's one of the Leyrians, we won't have his picture on file.”

  “So ask Jack.”

  It was difficult not to grin. Covering his face with one hand, Harry allowed himself to chuckle. “We're already doing that, Claire,” he replied. “But the galaxy is a big place, and there are lots of people in it.”

  “Oh.”

  It took some doing, but he managed to make her lie back down and relax. The girl asked so many questions you might have thought she intended to pursue a career in law enforcement. Perhaps she will, Harry noted. She had come up with a solid investigation technique all on her own. Maybe detective skills were genetic.

  He was going to have to talk with Jack and Jena tomorrow. The kid had been pretty worked up when the murder of the two guards hit the news. Jack seemed to take each and every one of these attacks as a personal failure on his part. Harry understood that impulse all too well. This was his city.

  Harry had met many Keepers in the last few years, and most of them had been aloof and unapproachable. He chalked it up to culture clash. Hunter, at least was a Keeper that he could trust, and he was beginning to feel the same way about this Jena Morane. There was something about her… A lack of guile.

  Harry sighed.

  He missed Lenai. The girl had been a massive pain in the ass and far too willing to get up on her high horse, but he had come to see her as a woman of integrity. In truth, she reminded him of himself. He'd lectured Jack on the importance of being a team player, but a good cop had to be willing to butt heads with his superiors when politics got in the way of justice.

  What would it be like to get the old team back together? When last he'd spoken to Aamani, she was working as a liaison to Keepers out in Western Canada. Take it easy there, Carlson, he cautioned himself. First we'd need to find Lenai.

  Chapter 11

  Bli
nds along the windows segmented daylight into thin bands that fell upon a long table where half a dozen CSIS agents sat exchanging glances with twice as many RCMP officers. Peter Tombs was present as well.

  The Minister of Justice wore a fine black suit with a gray shirt, and sunlight glinted off the lenses of his glasses. Jack had been watching the man for the last five minutes. Everything depended on swaying him to their way of thinking.

  Jena stood at the head of the table.

  Dressed to kill in a black skirt and purple blouse, she kept her hands behind her back as she ran her gaze over everyone present. “The situation has changed,” she said. “Our guy has come into the open. He wants to be seen, and he wants everyone to fear what he might do next.”

  Peter Tombs sat with his elbows on the armrests of his chair, his fingers laced together. “Agent Hunter,” he said, swiveling to face Jack. “You told us that this man's goal was to sow chaos. Do you still believe that?”

  Chewing on his lip, Jack felt the blood drain out of his face. He closed his eyes and nodded his agreement. “I do,” he answered. “The use of Leyrian technology is flaunted in every one of these cases.”

  “If that's the case,” Tombs replied, “I'm going to recommend we close our borders to all off-world visitors.”

  Jack looked up at the man with his mouth open, blinking in disbelief. “You cannot be serious,” he said. “That's exactly what he wants! If you do that, you're playing right into his hand!”

  “I am deadly serious.”

  Tiffany Sanchez, a young CSIS agent with copper skin and black hair that she wore in a ponytail, frowned down at the stack of papers in front of her. “If we pursue that kind of policy,” she began, “it will almost certainly damage Leyrian credibility.”

  Tombs shot a glare in her direction, his face growing redder as he spoke. “I am not all that concerned with Leyrian credibility at the moment,” he snapped. “This city is on the verge of tearing itself apart.”

  “You should be concerned.”

  Leave it to Jena to bust up growing hostilities with a single, well-timed sentence. The sound of her voice brought silence to the room. Jack quickly made a mental note to remember that latest trick. Remain silent and let a few people get the hot air out of their systems before taking charge.