by R S Penney
“Good.”
“One more thing,” Gabi said softly. “Agent Hunter, you mentioned in your report that Leo called you 'old man' while you fought him.”
Biting his lip, Jack squinted at her. “That's right,” he said, nodding once. “I only mentioned it because it seemed so ludicrous. How long do people live on his planet if twenty-two is old?”
Covering a smile with three fingers, Gabrina shut her eyes. In that moment, she looked very much like a school girl with a secret. “I know why he said it,” she muttered. “Leo just gave us a major advantage.”
“What's that?”
“He's Rathalan,” she said. “That comment stood out to me as well; so I decided to do some digging in the LIS archives. Rathala is a world located nearly six hundred light-years from Ragnos. It was conquered two centuries ago and has suffered all the social problems that colonialism implies.
“We've learned a thing or two about the Ragnos Confederacy from people who have sent us messages over the SlipGate network. Rathala is a highly stratified society with its upper classes – most of whom have interbred with the colonizing Ragnosians – taking up residence in walled-off communities while the 'pure-bred' Rathalans live in slums. Most Rathalan cities have problems with gangs.
“ 'Old Man' is a commonly-used pejorative term among members of those gangs. It denotes weakness, frailty.” Gabrina said. “The ageism aside, that should give you some insight into his mind.”
Agent Loranai stood with his chin clasped in one hand, nodding as he considered her words. “I've read about Rathala,” he said. “In such environments, the most ruthless usually rise to prominence.”
Jack closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He drew in a shuddering breath. “The guy did say he wanted to test himself against me,” he muttered. “Standard prison logic. Find the toughest person in the room-”
“And take him out,” Harry cut in.
“Or her.”
When he turned, Jena was glaring at him with a touch of red in her face. “Let's not forget that tough is an equal-opportunity adjective,” she said. “More importantly, this will give us an opportunity. Jack, the man has a fragile ego. Use it.”
Silence hung in the air for a few moments while Harry considered the implications of this new plan. If history was any indication, Leo would escalate the mayhem before they finally managed to bring him in. A soft shiver passed through Harry. His thoughts were with his children and even his ex-wife. Della was a bitch, but he wouldn't wish any harm on her. Or on anyone.
He was so distracted by his fears and worries that he barely noticed when everyone started filing out of the room. Snapping back to reality, Harry decided it was time to get back down to the station.
He turned only to find Jena in his path.
The woman was a mess, with damp hair disheveled. “So,” she began, “as I recall, you and I had dinner plans. How does this evening sound? Say around seven?”
A wave of heat burned through Harry's cheeks, and he bowed his head in a pitiful attempt to hide his chagrin. “If you still want to go,” he mumbled. “But I was under the impression that you were unable to go down to the surface.”
“I can't set foot in your country,” she said. “There are others.”
“All right, well where do you-”
Jena spread her hands, taking a step back to put some distance between them. She looked up at him with a great big smile. “Let me handle that,” she said. “Just meet me at the SlipGate room tonight at seven. I'll do the rest.”
“All right,” he said. “Seven it is.”
Chapter 19
Lanterns hung from the ceiling of the small patio, casting soft light down on small tables with candles on every one. Beyond the waist high wall, a sandy beach stretched on to the waters of the Atlantic.
The sky was dark with just a sliver of daylight remaining, and Jena took a moment to look at the stars. She had never allowed herself the chance to see Earth's constellations. A shame, that. Being cooped up on a space station robbed you of the opportunity to enjoy a world's natural beauty. Luckily, not all nations had followed Canada's example. Dinner in Miami. Jack had suggested the restaurant. Apparently, it was a place he had visited while on a trip with his family some years ago.
Jena wore a pair of beige pants and a white, sleeveless blouse. Her hair was still wet from a shower. “It's lovely,” she said, approaching the edge of the patio. “Your world has some beautiful scenery.”
Harry stepped up beside her in jeans and one of those shirts with the funny collars that Earth men favoured. The tense expression on his face told her that his mind was still back in Ottawa. “You've never seen an ocean?”
Pressing her lips together, Jena watched the lapping waves. “Of course I have,” she said with a nod. “But when you grow up moving from colony to colony, the thing you see most is the hull of a starship.”
Harry took his seat.
The small table they had been given was positioned directly under lantern, pressed up against the wall so they could look out on the water. A single candle flickered meekly in its little glass jar.
Jena frowned, bowing her head to the man. “You're not happy, are you?” she asked, sitting down across from him. “Are you one of those officers who can't ever take off the uniform, Detective?”
He looked up at her with a puzzled expression, blinking slowly. “What makes you say that?” he asked. “I came out here, didn't I? If I were a workaholic, do you really think you'd have been able to talk me into this?”
Blushing hard, Jena looked away. The man did have a point. “Just a feeling that I get,” she admitted. “You've been tense since the moment you showed up at my door. It doesn't exactly make for a romantic atmosphere.”
“I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Care to share?”
Harry leaned back, covering his face with both hands. He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Had a visit from my ex-wife today,” he said. “She wants to take my kids out of the city.”
“That might be wise.”
“Yeah, it might.” The snarl that he barely managed to smother made it clear that his agreement was halfhearted at best. Obviously, she had said the wrong thing. Jena hadn't ever experienced any real desire to have children. She suspected that she would not have become a Justice Keeper had circumstances been different.
It was hard to deal with parents. She had dated a man with kids before and often found herself at a loss for words. “It's just…It's been a long battle,” Harry went on. “I've had to fight tooth and nail just to keep custody.”
Jena closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I understand your frustration,” she said in a voice so soft it would be inaudible from five feet away. “But in this case, your kids will be away from the terrorist.”
“That's true.”
“But it doesn't make things any easier.”
He turned his head to squint at her with that intensity she sometimes saw in other police officers who thought they'd just stumbled on a clue. “Can I ask you something?” he began. “Why ask me out?”
“I spend a great deal of time cooped up on a space station,” she said. “I grew up on ships; so I often feel the need to see open sky above my head, and it seemed wise to have a guide.”
“Yes, but why me?”
Leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed, Jena gave him a withering glare. “Do I need a reason?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “I find you intelligent and more than a little attractive. Isn't that enough?”
“I suppose.”
Before they could say anything more, her senses picked up motion nearby. A young waitress was making her way toward their table. Tall and leggy, she wore a black vest over her pristine white shirt and left her blonde hair hanging loose.
She stood over them with a stiff posture, smiling as she glanced from Harry to Jena. “Good evening,” she began. “My name is Amy, and I'll be your server. Can I start you with something to drink?”
>
Harry looked up at the girl with anxiety on his face. “Just a glass of ice water,” he said softly. “Thank you very much.”
“The same,” Jena replied.
She was gone in an instant, spinning around and marching across the patio with a bounce in her step. Once they were alone, Jena returned her attention to her date. “So, would you like to resume questioning my motivations?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I haven't dated in a while.”
“Oh? How long?”
Harry leaned over the table with a sigh of frustration and spoke in a voice that was barely audible. “Well, I was married for thirteen years,” he said. “And it's been three years since the divorce. So… A while.”
“Oh, well it's fairly easy,” she said. “You order something you'd like, make some pleasant conversation, and if things go smoothly, there may even be sex involved.” That made him blush, and she had to remind herself that not everyone was as frank and open as she preferred.
Not that she currently had any intention of taking this beyond dinner, but Jena was the kind of girl who preferred to think that she might be pleasantly surprised. “Look,” she said. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable; so how 'bout we just focus on the pleasant conversation for now?”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Oh, I don't know…Tell me about your kids.”
“Well, the other day, Claire said the funniest thing…”
The line to use the SlipGate stretched across the tiled floor of the bus terminal's concourse level, curving around tall pillars that supported the ceiling. Even at this hour, there were still commuters wishing to visit other cities.
Harry stood in front of her with his back turned, a few wrinkles lining the fabric of that dark shirt. “So what now?” he asked, spinning around to face her. “I'd invite you over for coffee, but you can't set foot in my country.”
Jena stood with arms folded, smiling down at herself. “Now, I head back to Station Twelve and prepare for tomorrow's meeting,” she said. “How 'bout I call you in a couple days and we do this again in Tokyo?”
“Deal.”
They talked for a little while longer as they made their way toward the Gate, and Jena found herself recounting several stories from her childhood. Her parents had been engineers who found a purpose in traveling from one Fringe world to another and setting up the life-support system that colony worlds would need.
She had even spent eighteen months living on a space station while her parents got involved with a terraforming project. School had been difficult. Her family hadn't stayed in one place long enough for her to make friends. If public education was available, she would be enrolled in classes for a few months until her parents moved on to their next project. If not, her mother and father would take turns homeschooling her. It had been a hard life, but a good one.
Until the Antaurans raided Vedros Station.
Her parents had died that day, leaving their fifteen-year-old daughter to fend for herself. The next few years were something she would have preferred to forget. She had joined the Fringe Militia in their attempts to protect the colony worlds. That had been a mistake. She believed in the colonies and their right to live a peaceful existence, but… No. She would not force herself to recall those days.
A man in a U.S. military uniform stood at a console next to an arch-shaped scanner that would check her for weapons. Beyond that, she could barely see the line of SlipGates that stood ready to receive travelers.
She let Harry go first.
“Destination?” the soldier asked.
“Ottawa,” Harry replied.
The young man looked up with a stern expression, perhaps wondering why some random Canadian had come all the way down to Florida for an evening. “I will need to see your ID, sir.”
Harry lifted his wallet, and though Jena could not see what he was doing, she was fairly certain that he was displaying his badge. How strange. On just about every Leyrian colony, SlipGate travel was mostly unrestricted, but these Earthers wanted to log and track each individual traveler. They had gone through a similar ordeal on arrival. Though, given the political climate on this planet, she supposed she couldn't blame them.
When her turn came, the young soldier looked up to show her a frown that made him appear sick to his stomach. “Destination?” he asked in that same terse tone. “And I'll need to see your ID.”
“Station Twelve,” she answered.
Lifting her forearm, she tapped at her multi-tool and generated a hologram of her Justice Keeper ID. The same program also forwarded access codes that would grant her permission to board a Leyrian space station. The young man grunted his approval, and she stepped into the scanner.
On the other side, she found three SlipGates standing side by side. They were all identical until you got up close, each one a seven-foot tall metal triangle with sinuous grooves on its surface. Only a thorough inspection would reveal that the patterns on each Gate were different.
Harry stepped up to one of the triangles, spinning around to face her. “Good luck tomorrow,” he said with a nod. “And thanks. I really did need to get out of the house and socialize.”
Something that looked very much like a soap bubble surrounded his body, making him appear blurry to her. He would be unable to hear her in there, so she chose to wave her good-byes before the bubble vanished.
Jena stepped up to the adjacent Gate.
Closing her eyes, she let her head hang. “Well, as dates go,” she muttered, wiping sweat off her brow. “This one wasn't a complete disaster. Which only means it's gonna hurt that much more when it all falls apart.”
A bubble surrounded her as she finished that sentence, and she turned around to see her surroundings as a smear of blurred light. A hazy figure stood just a few paces away, the man who was next in line to use the SlipGate. Oddly, she could not sense him with her Nassai while she was in this small pocket of spacetime.
He vanished as the Gate propelled her up to Station Twelve.
A hallway with a vaulted ceiling stretched on to an intersection where one large window allowed sunlight to spill through. Wooden doors at even intervals were shut for privacy. Politicians loved their closed-door meetings.
Jena strode through the corridor in gray pants and a matching jacket that fell to her thighs, scowling at the thought of her appearance. Bloody formal attire, she shouted in her own mind. Uncomfortable as the Bleakness itself.
A young man stood just outside an open door with hands shoved into his pockets, watching her with a blank expression. He had a round face with buzzed hair and thick brown eyebrows.
Pressing her lips into a tight frown, Jena looked up at the man. She blinked a few times. “So, you're on guard duty,” she said. “Well, I suppose I can't blame Mr. Tombs for wanting extra security. Tell him Director Morane is here.”
He gestured to the door.
Jena stepped inside to find herself in a posh office with green carpets and wooden bookshelves on every wall. Sunlight through the window cast radiance down on a desk of polished mahogany, a desk kept spotless without a single piece of paper on its surface.
The woman who stood at the window with her back turned wore a black pantsuit. Her dark hair was tied up in a ponytail that fell almost to the small of her back. “You'd be Director Morane.”
It wasn't a question.
Jena crossed her arms, shaking her head in exasperation. “And you are not Peter Tombs,” she said, moving into the room. “Is there some reason the man chose to cancel our meeting at the last minute?”
The woman turned slowly.
She was tall and slender, with a stern face of smooth olive skin. “I'm afraid that Mr. Tombs was called away on urgent business,” she said, leaning over the desk. “You will have to speak with me.”
Lifting her chin, Jena held the woman's gaze. “And who might you be?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “You know it's generally bad form to cancel an important meeting without so much as an e-mail.”
The woman's face was a mask of stone. A slight shake of the head was the only sign that she felt anything. “My name is Aamani Patel,” she said. “You may discuss your plan to capture the Leyrian terrorist with me.”
“He's not Leyrian.”
The words were out of her mouth before she had a moment to think. Something about this woman left her off balance. The name was familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. “He's Rathalan,” Jena went on. “You can believe me when I tell you that my people have nothing to do with the attacks on this city.”
“I'm sure they don't.”
“And yet I sense skepticism.”
Aamani Patel sat behind the desk with one leg crossed over the other, gripping the armrests with both hands. The small smile on her face sent shivers down Jena's spine. “I have…had some dealings with Leyrians before.”
Everything snapped into place.
Jena felt her cheeks grow warm. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head to the other woman. “You're the CSIS officer who worked with Jack,” she said. “I'm ashamed it took me this long to remember. Your comments in his file were…enlightening.”
“Is that so?” she inquired. “You will have to forgive me for not asking after young Agent Hunter. I would normally make it a point to go through the pleasantries, but we're both familiar with his propensity for bucking authority.”
“Yeah,” Jena said. “It was your comments that made me bring him onto my team.” That ought to give her something to think about. Jena wasn't sure why she was being so standoffish. Well, she had a vague idea. She had sensed hostility from the moment she stepped through the door.
Everything from the woman's posture to her clipped tone of voice to the fact that she had usurped Peter Tomb's office sent the message that this would not be a friendly meeting. Still, the fact that they had a mutual acquaintance meant there was some small hope of bringing Patel over to her way of thinking. “It's good that you're here,” Jena said. “If you can convince Parliament to start working with Leyrians again-”
