“…whoever she thinks she is…”
The blood vessels in Jayne’s head tightened. She levied at least five creative curses at Merry in her head.
“Well, she doesn’t fit in. She’s not one of us.”
The air around Jayne went ice cold. She felt her shoulders clench.
The gossiping women continued. “I know! Besides, you don’t just go from one committee to another. That’s not how Country Club Charities work in this sector.”
“She is from the more agricultural part. She married a rich government farmer, you know…”
Jayne exhaled and rolled her shoulders back, forcing them to relax. The anxiety, and now evidently paranoia, was full force in her stomach. “Okay Jayne, you can do this. They’re just people. Rich, powerful, glamorous people who can see through you… Stop it!”
Jayne gingerly lifted the skirt of her gown a couple inches as she stepped off the belt. She could see bright lights and some shadows of activity as she approached the door.
“Ticket, miss?” a polite and snooty voice inquired. The speaker had the waxy-skinned and politely detached look of an AI. His red suit was crisp linen with a short coat, long tails. He had a small scanner embedded into his white gloved hand.
Jayne rolled down her elbow-length satin glove and allowed the butler to scan her ticket patch. She could feel her heart beat in loud ba-booms, as if to say, ‘this is real’.
She muttered out loud to herself. “You can do this, Jayne. They’re just people. Rich, fancy, incredibly judgmental people…”
She smiled and thanked the quizzical butler, trying not to look surprised as she crossed the threshold. The first two things Jayne noticed were enticing aromas of roasted meat and sugary sweets, and the freshly waxed marble floors. The floors gave her trouble, as she nearly slipped as soon as she stepped inside. As she focused down on her heels to regain her balance, she noticed the pattern of the marble tiles alternated between a circular labyrinth design and classic checkerboard.
A mustached gentleman puffed on his cigar and silently watched Jayne rebalance herself. She placed a hand on her chest to catch her breath. “So much for trying to blend in,” she mumbled to herself.
There was a welcome smell to her left, kava mixed with muffins. A kava stand, Jayne laughed to herself in disbelief. He even put a mini kava stand in here.
Jayne walked towards the mini kava pop-up with mild trepidation. The Governor spared no expense—faux cobblestone façade with Holo-pots of violets, daisies, and lilies around the entrance. She could hear techno Bal-musette music playing nearby. She could feel her stomach turning somersaults, and felt eating something might help her relax. Food always made her feel better.
Jayne approached the counter and noticed every kava blend she could think of—even a couple inventions that she could swear contained severely rationed materials—were on the kitschy menu disguised as a window between two shutters. “Vanilla kava with extra foam and a berry muffin, please.” Vanilla was practically a relic. It might as well be in a museum. Jayne’s mind boggled at the thought of how much moo-lah was being blown on the vanilla alone.
The barista nodded in acknowledgement and invited her to sit at the counter or a booth. Jayne chose a booth that allowed her to look at the rest of the ball, noticing how difficult it was to maneuver into a booth in a full satin skirt.
Jayne looked up at the barista as he handed her the latte and muffin. He looked 18-years-old at the most. His teeth were straight and the exact color of the vertical white stripes on his crisp apron. “Oh! I just noticed you’re not AI.” She smiled acting as naturally as she could, even down to not hiding her embarrassment at her comment. “Great party,” she added, her eyes wandering back to the wonderland scene.
The kid laughed heartily. “That’s hilarious! My mom did most of the planning. She was really into The Galaxy That Plays Together theme. Mom wanted to do something different with the whole ball concept. Make it cooler for the younger crowd, you know? She even designed the invites. Dad just signed the checks and did the political schmoozing.”
There’s that word again, Jayne thought.
“You’re the Governor’s son?” Jayne’s eyes lit up. “He put you to work?”
“I wanted to. I get sick of smiling and waving, you know?”
Jayne felt a bubble of happiness as she took a sip of her latte. “You make a mean latte for a politician’s kid.”
The kid laughed, returning to the counter to take care of the next partygoers. Jayne surveyed the scene as she picked at her muffin. The layout didn’t resemble anything Jayne saw on her tablet. For an event that billed itself as a ball, the dancing area only encompassed half of the floor. That area was filled with mostly older people and about as stuffy as she expected. It was her current location that caught her eye.
There was a casino at the heart of the huge ballroom. A giant roulette wheel forming the heart of it, and the blood was fistfuls of cash pumping in and out. Jayne saw five crowded poker tables surrounding that, as well as countless 2-credit slot machines. Jayne noticed AI and human women in skimpy sequined dresses carrying drinks from a ring of bars on the rotating ring surrounding the nucleus of gambling. Jayne appeared to be in the valence orbital, which was comprised of various tiny food stands. She made a mental note to hit the shrimp taco and tequila café later.
Jayne decided she would get more leads from the casino part of the ball. That was where the most drinking was happening. She gritted her teeth and stood up, kava in hand.
She picked a slot machine at random. The dark blue front panel had pinpoint white lights flashing to mimic outer space. She noticed the domed ceiling had a holographic projection, giving the illusion of stars and nebulas.
“These things never pay out.”
The speaker was a tall man who wore his tuxedo like a model. The crease in his pants was perfect, as was the controlled, gravity defying chaos of his strawberry blond hair.
Jayne allowed herself a ditsy, humanizing stammer. “They… they say the odds of winning are like 97%, but you have to really play all night because there’s something like 8,000 possibilities. The little pictures, they make 8,000 combinations.”
He cocked his head slightly and gave a smile that didn’t show crows feet. “I didn’t know that. I, for one, don’t have that sort of dedication.”
Jayne could feel perspiration beading in her armpits. “Great party. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The man nodded. Jayne felt somewhat lightheaded and her breathing slowed.
“You can do this, Jayne. They’re just people,” she muttered under her breath.
“Excuse me?”
She felt her face get hot and her mind raced, searching for words. “I, uhh, didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“I kind of figured.”
Her chest started tightening. “Excuse me, I need a drink… I mean, I don’t need, need a drink. I just…” She recovered with a smile. “I just want one.”
Jayne didn’t even wait to see his reaction. She hastily scurried to the nearest bar, doing her best not to slip again on the marble floor. The ruddy bartender nodded at her. “What can I get for the lady in green?”
Jayne propped her elbows on the lacquered synthetic wood bar. “A Blue Monday, please.”
“Interesting request.”
“Yeah, well, it’s an interesting night.”
Jayne moved towards the corner of the bar and turned away from the bartender. She touched the large center stone on her necklace and waited for a slight beep in her ear.
“Merry?”
“We were wondering when you’d call.”
“We?”
“Vlad the Inhaler’s still here. I figured he’d be useful as my kava wench or something. How’s it going?”
“Ugh.”
“Sounds promising,” Vlad remarked.
Jayne could hear the muffled sound of Merry’s fist on Vlad’s coat in the background. “Ow!”
“Ignore him.”
&nbs
p; “Done. Merry, this party’s unreal.”
“Ooooh, sounds like you could have fun if you relax for once. Any good leads?”
Jayne graciously accepted her cocktail from the bartender and dropped 10 credits into a pneumatic tube that safely deposited all of the tips below the bar. “Maybe. If I get my foot out of my mouth.”
Vlad’s voice chimed in again. “That’s our girl!”
Another muffled punching sound.
“Okay,” Jayne instructed, “just keep this line open. Maybe you can catch something I don’t.”
+++
Undisclosed Location
Sergeant Miller stood near the control panel for his retinal and body temperature scan.
“Activate Scan, Sergeant Miller.”
He remembered when the Federation added the body temp component about 15 years ago. Sergeant Miller shuddered at the memory of all the psychos in Super Max ripping out eyeballs and escaping. At least the fear was on his side against these inmates. The light shone intensely in his eyes for two seconds and he could feel the warmth of the scan from feet to head.
“Opening. Thank you, Sergeant Miller,” confirmed the polite robotic voice.
Miller looked over his shoulder at the inmate and the new doctor as he walked out of the door. “Don’t give Dr. Rasmussen trouble. If you need me, Doc, please use the comm system.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
The man in the orange jumpsuit bowed in an exaggerated fashion. “Much obliged, Sergeant Miller.”
“You got some balls, Inmate.” The door buzzed closed behind Sergeant Miller.
The older man in the orange jumpsuit leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands in front of his chin. He had kindly dark eyes and a gentlemanly bearing, but his voice was the kind of smooth that sent shivers down the spine. “I’m all yours, Doctor.”
Dr. Rasmussen cleared her throat and made eye contact with the inmate. “I appreciate your cooperation. You requested a session. Why?”
The inmate shrugged and sat back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. “I needed to clear the air. I’m about to get out, you see, and I feel as though none of you truly know me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel you know me from my file and by my supposed crime, but it is not representative of who I am.”
Dr. Rasmussen twirled her stylus and exhaled. “With all due respect, you’re in Camp Cupcake. How would we benefit from knowing you, as you say?”
“I just think it could be of benefit to both of us. Getting in the mind of a criminal furthers research, yes?”
“When we’re talking about serial killers and high-stakes psychopaths, it does. But I don’t know how beneficial it is to study a nuisance criminal.”
The inmate’s pupils narrowed and there was an upward twitch at the right corner of his mouth. He changed his countenance quickly and softened his eye contact. “Nuisance criminal! You wound me. I am nothing like anyone here.”
Dr. Rasmussen appeared to search for words in the concrete brick wall and compressed her lips. She sighed. “You’re saying you are different from the other inmates here? Does this have to do with the upcoming parole hearing you keep telling us about?”
There was a slight snarl on the inmate’s upper lip before his face went placid once more. His mouth took on a meek, closed-lipped smile. “You got me, Doctor. The hearing is part of my reasoning, true, but I really do want to be known.”
“Okay,” Dr. Rasmussen turned towards the inmate and folded her hands in her lap before continuing, “what do you want us all to know?”
The inmate crossed his legs in a figure-four position. His voice grew more resonant. “Me. I want you to know me—what drove me, what drives me still. I want you to know not only about me, but that I was a bystander in this drama.”
“Go on.”
The inmate positioned his hand on his chest for emphasis as his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I know what I did was wrong—any school kid in civics class knows that—but I was wronged too.”
Dr. Rasmussen scrolled to the part of the file, detailing the crime. “You say you were wronged, but this says you were caught with blueprints to a nitrate plant and some serious detonation devices. And that’s only what you’re serving time for now…”
The inmate squinted, as if he needed to bring Dr. Rasmussen into focus. He was trying to understand her better. “I was blackmailed.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t patronize me. You don’t have to tell me this isn’t my first sentence.”
“Are you saying the courts should not take your pattern of highly antisocial behavior into account when evaluating the information given by this source?”
“I’m saying,” the inmate briefly clenched and released his fists before continuing, “you were given nasty, dark intel from a nasty, dark source. How the courts could not consider the source is beyond me. Did anyone consider the informant’s motives before persecuting me?”
“The courts were more concerned about your plan to detonate a nitrate plant.”
“Child’s play!”
“Blowing up a nitrate plant seems like a big boy decision to me.”
“First, that’s why I need you and the courts to know me, Dr. Rasmussen. Second, please stop patronizing me.”
“If I’m hearing you right, you are saying we need to know you to get a feel for what made you who you are today.”
The inmate situated the back of his chair about five feet from Dr. Rasmussen. He straddled the chair, with its back against his chest. “My real hope is for authority figures like yourself to stop looking at me like I’m a piece of shit.”
“Sit properly, please.”
The inmate slowly and grudgingly complied.
Dr. Rasmussen brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and narrowed her eyes at the inmate. “Why now?”
The inmate raised his voice and his genteel gestures broadened. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Dr. R!”
“Call me Dr. Rasmussen, please.”
The inmate practically hissed, “Dr. Rasmussen. I didn’t feel like anyone would listen.”
“Oh? So again… why now?”
“My reasons are as complex as I am. It’s not worth getting into.”
Dr. Rasmussen exhaled, compressing her lips briefly. “What is worth getting into? Why call the prison shrink instead of writing your memoirs?”
The air in the cell started to stagnate as the inmate sighed, “I don’t want to be this person anymore. I know, I know. Hell of a time to realize it, but it’s true.”
“A person like what? You did say that you were complex.”
The inmate’s voice grew softer and he appeared to struggle with eye contact. “I’ve done things, doctor.”
“What kind of things?”
“I’ve… hurt people.”
“Hurt? Or killed?”
The inmate clasped his hands in front of his abdomen and stared at his fidgeting fingers. “Hurt. I think.”
“But you could have caused someone’s death?”
“I don’t think about that anymore. Can’t afford to.”
She paused briefly. “Why do you need someone to know this now?”
“I want to leave with a clean slate.”
The inmate and Dr. Rasmussen sat in silence for what felt like five minutes. The inmate appeared to study Dr. Rasmussen, mostly focusing on her posture and facial expressions. Dr. Rasmussen remained outwardly placid despite the awkward silence. The inmate started rubbing the back of his neck.
“Is something wrong?”
“Sometimes I can’t stop thinking about the person I was and how that led me here.”
“I think that’s healthy, given the circumstances.”
The inmate put one hand over his eyes. “I can’t be this person anymore, doctor. I can’t. I just don’t have it in me.”
Dr. Rasmussen eyed him carefully. “It was in you at one point, because, as you’ve acknowledge
d, you hurt people.”
“I know. I can’t take that back,” he sighed in frustration. “I just wish I could be someone else.”
Dr. Rasmussen felt her guard ease. “I don’t know that you can focus on the person you want to be until you finish processing the person you were. Or still are, rather.”
“You’re probably right.” His shoulders and upper body tensed with sobs. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hurt people anymore…”
Dr. Rasmussen got out of her chair and stood on the footprints in front of the door. “I’m sorry to do this, but we’re out of time. You need to get back for count.”
The inmate appeared to shake his head in acknowledgement, still hiding his face from the doctor. He wiped his eyes, which were actually completely dry, with the back of his hand.
Dr. Rasmussen inhaled deeply. “Activate Scan, Dr. Rasmussen.”
“Opening. Thank you, Dr. Rasmussen.”
Sergeant Miller was waiting for the doctor on the other side of the door. The two walked down the long row of cells in silence.
Sergeant Miller cleared his throat as they approached the Sally Port dock. “Does he really think he’ll get out?”
Dr. Rasmussen’s expression was pensive and troubled. “I don’t even know what he’s thinking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Governor’s Mansion, L80, Theron Techcropolis, Armaros
Jayne was finishing her second Blue Monday.
The bartender pointed to her last sip and asked, “Are you going to want another, miss?”
“Why not?” she smiled, finally relaxing. “I’ll have this one shaken, not stirred.”
The bartender grinned and shook his head.
“See?” Merry’s voice came over the comm, “you don’t completely suck.”
Jayne smirked, thinking it was probably not a good idea to talk back to her necklace anymore. She was getting better at pretending to be important, but not eccentric.
“Having fun?” A new voice interrupted from behind her.
She turned to face the speaker. “You’re the guy that almost ran me over on the walkway!”
He smiled sheepishly, his blue-gray eyes and dimpled chin on full display. “Yeah, sorry about that. I saw you over here and thought I’d apologize again.”
Expelled (Interplanetary Spy for Hire Book 1) Page 27
