by R S Penney
Jack indulged his curiosity and realized that his former supervisor was correct; at least half the people present were casting furtive glances in his direction, some of them turned to stare over the backs of their chairs. The conversation had been carried out in Leyrian – so it was highly unlikely that anyone would have understood – but regardless of context, it was clear there was dissent among the Keepers.
“Just keeping it interesting,” Jena mocked. “I hate boring parties.”
As the night wore on, Jack kept mostly to himself and watched the other guests dance, drink and socialize. Slade was off in the corner with hands tucked neatly into his pockets, answering questions for a reporter who held a microphone in his face. Each of the various politicians had been given a chance to make a statement, and now it was time for the Keepers to voice their opinions.
Jack leaned against an empty table with arms folded, nodding his head in time with the music. “Hell of a party…” he whispered to himself. “And I thought Leyrian solidarity was unshakable.”
Speaking of that particular devil, he spotted Jena flowing through an aisle between tables with hands folded primly over her waist. You wouldn't have expected to find such elegant posture in a woman who sometimes cursed like a sailor, but there it was. When she put her mind to it, Jena could outclass Lizzie Bennet. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked as she approached. “Hope I put on a good show.”
Jack frowned, turning his head to look over his shoulder. He blinked at her. “It was quite enlightening,” he said. “But aren't you worried that open displays of hostility will only get in the way of our real objectives?”
Jena stood beside him.
For a little while, she was silent, content to watch the people out on the dance floor. “It was a trade-off,” she replied. “Right now, I don't trust Slade's intentions. I can't prove anything, but whatever I can do to hinder his plans…”
“Right.”
Peter Tombs was standing on the far side of the room, enjoying a little teté-a-teté with Breslan who gesticulated with every syllable. It was a good bet the man was trying to undo whatever damage Jena had done. “That wasn't what I expected,” Jack said softly. “I half thought you brought me here to learn how to network.”
She watched him over her shoulder, a warm smile blossoming on her face. “So you thought I was going to teach you how to schmooze?” she asked. “How many times do I have to tell you Keepers don't do that?”
“Twelve more,” he answered. “Ten if you're lucky.”
“Perhaps we should work on your listening skills.”
“So what was the point of bringing me here?” he asked. “I have to admit I'm more than a little confused. This may be the product of my dumb, post-adolescent brain, but it seems to me that what you did is identical to what I did: a direct, open confrontation with one of your superiors. What was I supposed to learn?”
“Timing.”
Jena bit her lip as she stared into the distance, nodding slowly as she chose her next words. “Confronting Slade in his office does no good,” she explained. “It only makes you look like a spoiled young Keeper who can't take direction.”
“I see.”
“If you're going to openly oppose one of your superiors,” she added, “do so at a time when it will actually damage his credibility. And be damn sure that you can verify everything you say.”
“Maybe coming here was worth it,” he muttered.
Jena was smiling at him, her eyes glittering in the soft light. “You mean you're not enjoying the party?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Live a little, kid. Introduce yourself to some people.”
Chapter 14
Jack stood by the window with hands in his pockets, watching his faint reflection in the glass. Beyond that, he could see the small courtyard outside the banquet hall with its bubbling fountain spraying water into the air.
“Agent Hunter?”
He turned.
A rather portly man with thick white hair and a matching beard stood before him, wearing a jovial smile. “I'm Aaron Carmichael,” he explained. “Chief editor down at the Herald. You're something of a news item.”
Jack smiled, a touch of red in his cheeks. “That would be me, yes,” he said with a nod. “But if you don't mind, Mr. Carmichael, I make it a point to stay out of the news as much as possible.”
Carmichael laughed, squeezing his eyes shut as he trembled. “Most people do.” He stepped away from Jack, clearing his throat. “But one of my best reporters has been trying to contact you for a week, and I'd be remiss if I didn't at least try to introduce you.”
“This reporter have a name?”
“Selena Knowles.”
He scanned his memory to see if he recalled noticing that name in his inbox and found himself drawing a blank. “I take it she wants an interview?” Jack inquired. “On a scale of one to ten, how hard will it be to get out of this?”
“Nine,” Carmichael said. “She's very tenacious.”
Jack pressed his lips together, tilting his head back to squint at the ceiling. “I guess there's no getting out of it then,” he said softly, amazed that he was agreeing to this. “So let's go meet Miss Knowles.”
Carmichael turned around and began making his way through a field of tables with the dance floor on his left. Ten thirty had come and passed, and half of the guests had left already – including Slade and his cronies – but there were always people who waited for last call before heading home.
The way Jack saw it, if he was going to go through the bother of getting all gussied up, he could at least enjoy the party. Of course, since most of the guests were politicians – and damned if he trusted himself to play nice in their presence – that meant most of the night was spent at the window.
Carmichael brought him to a table where a woman in a blue dress sat hunched over with her hands folded. She must have found something truly fascinating in the weave of the tablecloth. “Selena,” the old man began. “This is Jack Hunter.”
The woman looked up.
She had a pretty face – though her cheeks were hollow – and long blonde hair with bangs that fell almost to her eyebrows. “So this is the man who won't answer his e-mail,” she said. “Now I've seen everything.”
Jack felt a grin come on.
Pressing a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat with some force. “Yeah, I'm sorry about that,” he said, approaching the table. “Keepers are kind of a hot topic these days; I get a lot of requests for an interview.”
She lifted her chin to study him with narrowed eyes. That cold, calculating stare left him feeling…a little awkward to say the least. “And you don't think it worth your time to answer?” she asked. “Perhaps you don't see the value in a free press.”
“I wouldn't say that.”
“Oh,” she replied. “Then I guess you're just rude.”
Damn! You had to admire someone who spoke her mind so freely. His initial flash of irritation was quickly replaced by respect. Most people felt the need to avoid saying anything controversial, but when he thought about it, Jack had to admit that he had been rude. “Once again, I'm sorry.”
He sat down across from her, resting hands on his knees. “If you'd like, I'm willing to do the interview,” he said. “Just let me check my schedule, and I'll get back to you.”
She offered a coy smile, then looked away as if fascinated by something off to her left. “I'll think about it,” she murmured. “You aren't the only Keeper in the world, Agent Hunter, and many of your colleagues are much more receptive.”
“Fair enough.”
“To be honest, I'm surprised you came.”
“Why's that?”
Selena Knowles leaned back in her chair, turning her face up to the ceiling. She blinked. “You have something of a reputation for improper behaviour,” she said. “Some people find you…abrupt.”
Jack crossed his arms, doubling over in his chair. He smiled and shook his head. “I can't believe this is coming from you!” he e
xclaimed. “Miss Knowles, I've been here two minutes, and you've insulted me four times!”
“I guess we have something in common then.”
He looked up at her with a grin, unable to ignore the warmth in his face. “I guess we do,” he said with a nod. “Be honest with me. How many people regret agreeing to an interview with you?”
“All of them.”
With the intensity of this conversation, it was easy to forget Aaron Carmichael's presence, but the man was still standing there right behind his chair. Jack could see him as a blurry image in his mind's eye. “I'm pleased you two are getting along,” he said in tones that reminded Jack of the voice his mother had used when he and Lauren had been fighting. “Selena. Play nice.”
Craning her neck, she stared up at him with an impish grin, blinking as if confused by his words. “Whatever do you mean, Aaron?” she asked. “You know I'm the very soul of respect.”
Okay, Jack thought. Maybe coming here wasn't a waste of time.
Jena watched the whiskey in her glass ripple, sloshing about as she tilted her glass. After the altercation with Slade, she figured she'd earned herself a drink. Her symbiont was silent on the matter. It was a commonly-held belief that Nassai disliked alcohol, but that wasn't entirely true. They disliked the sensation of being drunk, but in moderation, they did not mind it.
She sat at the bar with her arms folded on the counter, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. “Sometimes life is good,” she said, bringing the shot glass to her lips. “Only sometimes.”
The added awareness that came with a Nassai bond allowed her to perceive the tables and dance floor behind her. Roughly half the guests remained, and many of them were moving about the room, mingling with one another.
A silhouette approached her from behind, one that she had learned to identify fairly quickly. The detective that Jack had brought up to station twelve was an interesting man. What little she had learned about him suggested a life not unlike her own.
Harry Carlson approached the bar and set his elbows down on the counter, lacing his fingers together. “Quite the party,” he said, glancing at her. “Seems your people have gotten a little restless.”
Jena felt her lips curl.
She cast a glance over her shoulder, blinking at the man. “I take it you're referring to the mass exodus a few hours ago,” she said. “This might surprise you, Detective, but Leyrians don't all agree on every issue.”
He was staring at the mirror behind the bar, squinting as though he hated the sight of his own reflection. “I didn't mean to imply as much,” he mumbled. “Just hoping you might give me some insight.”
Jena closed her eyes, tilting her head back. She brushed bangs off her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “A sign of good faith, you mean? Proof that I'm going to take you seriously?”
Harry turned around.
Leaning against the bar with his arms folded, he watched the people on the dance floor. “Something like that,” he said, nodding once. “You'll forgive me, but most Keepers don't take me seriously.”
Well, this certainly presented an opportunity. She did enjoy conversing with people who showed a little obstinacy. “Your people have a saying,” she began. “I believe it goes 'quid pro quo.' ”
Harry frowned, throwing a glance in her direction. “You want something from me?” he asked. “What could you possibly want that I haven't given already?”
Covering her mouth with her fingertips, Jena shut her eyes. She took a deep breath and considered the question. “I have a few ideas,” she mused. “But I'm afraid you'll have to agree to the deal before I tell you.”
“That's not fair.”
“Did I ever claim to be a fair woman?”
“You're certainly a frustrating woman,” Harry muttered. “But all right. I give. What do you want?”
She opened herself to the spatial awareness offered by her Nassai and searched for the bartender without turning her head. When she spotted him talking to some gorgeous young waitress near the door that led into the kitchen – well out of earshot – she began to speak.
“First, an answer to your question,” she said. “I decided to reveal Director Breslan's attempts to frustrate young Jack's investigation into Nicolae Petrov. I did so here, in this public setting, to better undermine Slade.”
The shock on his face was telling. Clearly Detective Carlson was as unused to the game of subtle maneuvering as Jack had been. She would have wondered if Earthers just didn't play at politics, but she had met several members of Parliament.
In their defense, most Justice Keepers didn't know how to play politics either. As far as they were concerned, they shouldn't have to. Their job was to protect society from those who would break its laws, not to maneuver for power. That was a Leyrian way of thinking, but Jena was Leyrian in name only.
She had grown up on the Fringe, moving from colony to colony with her parents. Keepers were a rare sight out there, and colonial leaders had a way of hoarding the supplies and tech that came from the homeworld. You learned to play the game if you wanted to get anything done.
“Doesn't that undermine your mission?” he asked in a rasping voice. “Forgive me, but it seems to me like catching this man is more important that undermining your boss.”
“I'm not sure my boss wants to catch this man.”
“What makes you say that?”
Hissing air through her teeth, Jena narrowed her eyes. “It's not something I can prove,” she said, swiveling on the stool to face him. “There are just certain inconsistencies that aggravate what you'd call my 'cop's instinct.' ”
“Like what?”
“You worked with Lenai when she was here, didn't you?” Jena asked. “What was your impression of the girl?”
Harry stared off into space, blinking as he thought the matter over. “I'd say she was just that,” he began, “a girl. Passionate, idealistic, but a little blind to the way the world works.”
“Exactly,” Jena replied. “So now tell me: of all the Justice Keepers that Grecken Slade could have picked, why did he order Anna Lenai to pursue Denario Tarse? He says it was because she was in the Fringe on an assignment and that it would be easier for her to intercept Tarse's ship, but she was hardly the only Keeper nearby.”
“Your point?”
“My point, Detective,” she went on, “is that Slade chose a girl not six months out of training to take on one of the most high-risk assignments imaginable and then failed to send her any backup for several weeks.
“Then you have Breslan: a man who had every opportunity to incarcerate a known arms dealer and deliberately stalled. Why? Jack made several requests to know the reason for his delays and got nothing but silence for his trouble.
“This leaves me with a very unsettling question in the back of my mind: what does Petrov know that I'm not supposed to find out about?”
The detective sat down on the stool next to her, hunching over. He planted elbows on the counter and laced fingers over the top of his head. “This might seem obvious, but have you considered asking him?”
“I can't.”
“Why not?”
“Right now, he's Breslan's prisoner,” she explained. “I'm not cleared to speak with him.” Resisting the urge to slam her fist down on the bar took a little effort. Anger welled up in her chest. “I could get clearance by jumping through the right hoops, but that would require Slade's approval.”
“And since he's not likely to give it to you,” Harry murmured, “your best bet is to undermine Slade himself.”
“Precisely.”
“So what do we do now?”
Jena frowned, then slapped a hand over her nose. She massaged her brows with the tips of her fingers. “We do nothing,” she said. “I am going home for a cup of mint tea and a long bath.”
Harry swiveled around to face her with his hands on his thighs, his eyes downcast as if he couldn't bear to look at her. “If you don't mind my asking,” he began. “Just what is this honesty g
oing to cost me?”
Jena smiled.
A glance over her shoulder showed her a man who watched her with an expression that belonged on a field mouse who found himself staring down a hungry cat. “Nothing too onerous,” she assured him. “Dinner.”
“You want to go on a date?”
“I've stationed here for about two weeks now,” she explained. “And since then, I've left Station Twelve for a total of maybe six hours. I would like to see some of the sights, get a little fresh air.”
“Why me?”
Jena lifted the empty glass in front of her face, squinting as she studied it. “Well, you may not have noticed,” she said, “But I've made exactly one friend since coming to this planet, and he's half my age.”
Harry Carlson bared his teeth with a soft hiss. He shook his head ever so slowly. “That still doesn't answer my question,” he insisted. “There are many people who could show you the sights.”
“What is it with you people?” she muttered, suddenly wishing for another shot of whiskey. “You, Hunter, several of the diplomats I've met. Has everybody on this planet forgotten how to have fun?”
“All right,” he said. “Dinner.”
“Good. Maybe there's hope for you yet.”
After nearly an hour of witty banter, Selena Knowles rose from her chair and stood before him like a marble statue. “I should be going,” she said. “There's quite a lot left to do tomorrow.”
Tilting his head back, Jack smiled up at her. “So soon?” he asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “It cannot be that late already. I thought we were just starting to get to know one another.”
Selena frowned, then glanced over her shoulder toward the exit. “You might not realize this, Agent Hunter,” she began, “but it's nearly midnight. More than half the guests have left, including your boss.”
He stood.
Jack bit his lip, his face turning several shades of crimson. He lowered his eyes to avoid looking at her. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Knowles,” he said. “Let me know when you want to do that interview.”
