by R S Penney
“Came for a little company then?” Harry asked.
“I thought we could have coffee.”
He felt his lips curl into a small smile, then bowed his head to her. “I'd like that,” he said, nodding. “Come on. I've got some in the kitchen.”
Once inside, Anna took a seat at his table, in the same chair that Melissa had used just a few hours earlier. The dirty dish that had once contained oatmeal was still sitting there in the open, and Harry suppressed a moment of annoyance. His eldest should know enough to put it in the dishwasher.
The kids were getting lazy now that they had a robot to pick up after them, which was one reason why he insisted that the damn thing remain in standby mode. No doubt it was waiting for his groceries to arrive or something along those lines.
Anna slouched in the chair, tossing her head back to stare up at the ceiling. “So, Melissa tells me you hate your new appliances,” she said. “I would've thought you'd appreciate the extra help.”
“I got by just fine for almost forty years,” Harry grumbled, making no effort to hide his irritation. “I really don't need that mechanical monstrosity to do my chores for me.”
The coffee dispenser on his counter filled one cup with piping-hot dark liquid. “I made decaf for you,” Harry said, adding milk and a spoonful of sugar. Anna had a sweet tooth. “I know Seth isn't a fan of the stimulants.”
“You know me so well.”
He turned, carrying a cup to the table where Anna sat with her hands folded behind her head. It was strange to see her with blue hair; he'd always thought that she had looked nice as a blonde, but then she'd gone with cherry-red, and now this. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly a fan of unnatural hair colour. But it really wasn't his place to criticize. He had learned that much in his old age.
He set the cup down in front of her.
Then he took the chair on her right, stretching his feet under the table. “So, what really brings you by?” he asked. “And don't tell me you just wanted a good cup of coffee. Detective skills, remember?”
“I was thinking you and the girls might join me for a trip to Ryloth City,” she said. “The granite monuments there are gorgeous. If you're going to live on this planet, you really should see the sights.”
“Feeling starved for company, hmm?”
She blinked at him.
“Detective skills.”
Anna gingerly lifted her cup in both hands, brought it to her lips and slurped as she took a sip. “I haven't lived on Leyria in almost five years,” she said. “Most of my friends from that time have moved off world.”
Hunching over the table with a grunt, Harry shook his head. “I think you know that's not true,” he muttered, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Your best friend lives in this very city.”
The flash of grief that twisted Anna's features told him that he shouldn't have said that. “I can't…” she murmured and then went silent for almost half a minute. “I can't talk to Jack right now.”
“Well, then I graciously accept your offer,” Harry replied. Inwardly, he chastised himself for trying to get involved in what was obviously a very personal matter. He had no business trying to coax Anna and Jack into making up. “I'm sure the girls would be happy to visit Ryloth on their next free day.”
Funny how things that had seemed so permanent just a few months ago had fallen apart. Jack and Anna's friendship was a fixed point in his life, a cornerstone of his reality. No longer, it seemed.
Worse yet, he didn't think anything could do Jena in. Bitter laughter almost passed through his lips when he realized that that was probably still true. The only thing in this universe that could kill Jena was Jena herself. The world was changing.
He just wasn't sure that it was changing for the better.
Chapter 2
“Take me through it again.”
This holding cell in Justice Keeper Headquarters had lights that would simulate natural sunlight. Ordinarily, prisoners would get a window, but these cells weren't meant to hold anyone indefinitely; so many of the amenities that were supposed to help a prisoner on their path to rehabilitation weren't available.
But what could you do when the prisoner in question was a Justice Keeper? Or had been at least. Only Keepers really knew how to contain other Keepers. That was the logic Larani had used when she insisted on allowing Calissa Narim to serve at least part of her sentence here. Jack wasn't sure he agreed, but it did give him the chance to get some very important answers.
The woman who sat with her elbows on the small, round table, her face hidden in her hands, wore sweat pants and a tank-top. “We've been through this,” she moaned. “I serve the Inzari because they are gods.”
In gray jeans and a simple black polo shirt, Jack stood by the wall with his arms folded, shaking his head. “Would you like to call your lawyer, Calissa?” he asked. “We can arrange that for you; maybe, if you give us some intel that we can use, we might be able to reduce your sentence.”
When she looked up, strands of dark hair fell over her flushed face, and she blinked at him. “There is no deal you could offer,” she said. “I tell you everything freely because I have no need to hide.”
“Great. Start talking.”
“There is nothing more to tell!”
“Why did Slade want you to kill Ben?”
“I didn't ask.”
Chewing on his lip, Jack shut his eyes and nodded. “You didn't ask,” he mumbled. “So, let me get this straight: the guy orders you to blow your cover and risk jail time just to kill one LIS agent, and you didn't want to know why?”
He paced a circle around her table.
Calissa turned her head to keep her green eyes fixed upon him, eyes that threatened to peel strips off his hide. “It wasn't my place to ask,” she answered. “Slade told me what was expected of me, and I did it.”
“You were a Keeper once.”
“Your point?”
“Keepers aren't exactly known for being good little soldiers.” Jack came up behind her, then leaned over to bring his lips to her ear. “So, what would make an anarchist like you decide to go on an obey-a-thon?”
“Slade is my lord and saviour.”
Frustration made him want to beat his head against the wall. This was getting him nowhere. What little he had learned from Ben suggested that Calissa had been much the same way with him – taunting, mocking, hinting at some reckoning to come and constantly reaffirming her devotion to His Royal Douchebag.
He strode past Calissa, back to the wall.
Closing his eyes, Jack tilted his head back and took a deep breath through his nose. “Let's try something else,” he said. “There have to be other Keepers working as moles for Slade and his minions. Who are they?”
In his mind's eye, the woman just sat there with hands on her table, staring into her own lap. “I don't know any names,” she said. “We're told only what we need to know in case we're captured.”
“How very NSA of you.”
“I'm sorry?”
Jack rounded on her.
“Look,” he said, “you can't expect me to believe that you know absolutely nothing about the inner workings of your own secret society. Someone had to deliver the message to kill Ben. Who was it? How did you verify your orders? How do you communicate with the other members of your cell?”
Calissa stood.
It was hard not to assume a fighting stance – this woman was a Justice Keeper after all – but Jack managed to maintain his composure. That thin metal collar around her neck would prevent her from using any of her Bending talents. A part of him was sickened by the thought of employing a slaver's collar, but what else could you do against somebody who carried a symbiont?
The woman just folded her hands behind herself and kept her eyes on the floor. “You haven't given me any reason to cooperate,” she said. “If I'm going to risk a reprisal by Slade or his people, well…”
“You're serving two consecutive life sentences.”
&nb
sp; “Yes…”
“Maybe I could talk to the Sector Attorney.”
Turning on her heel, Calissa marched to the cell's back wall. For a little while, she just stayed there without saying anything. “No,” she replied at last. “There is nothing that you can offer me.”
“You sure?” Jack said. “I make a mean apple pie.”
“You don't understand the Inzari,” Calissa muttered. “Their power is absolute. They have shown me their majesty and glory.”
Jack yawned and then covered his mouth with his fist, groaning softly. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Lengthy sob stories in the genre of 'I'm so evil – ask me how' always put me to sleep. Any chance you could record that one for me? Been having some nasty insomnia these last few weeks.”
Calissa turned back to the wall, refusing to look at him. “You don't understand,” she said. “But you will…Leave me be.”
“Not how it works, lady,” Jack said. “You're on my time. This conversation is over when I decide I've gotten something useful out of it. Now, if you want to make with the answers, I'd be eternally…less contemptuous.”
Calissa returned to her chair.
Stretching her legs out and folding her hands behind her head, she smiled up at the ceiling. “I've been a Keeper longer than you,” she said. “I know what to expect. You will stand there and make noises about lessening my sentence or granting me privileges, but you won't actually do anything to me.”
Jack flinched, turning his face away from her.
“So, unless you're willing to start torturing me,” Calissa went on. “I suggest you be on your way. Because I'm not telling you anything else.”
Steam rose from a cup of mint tea where Larani's dim reflection rippled in the dark liquid, thin trails of vapor wafting upward. She always drank mint tea when she needed to soothe away her anxieties, and since taking over as head of the Justice Keepers, she had been drinking it more and more.
The back wall of her office was one long floor-to-ceiling window that looked out upon two glittering buildings on the other side of the street. Through the space between them, she could see the trees of Aletha Park.
Larani sat in her comfortable desk chair with her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, lifting the cup to her lips. The tea was good, not too sweet. She couldn't figure out why people insisted on dumping sugar into it.
A door opened behind her.
Larani closed her eyes, pressing the back of her head to her chair. She let out a soft sigh. “I take it you spoke with Calissa Narin,” she said. “And furthermore, I'm guessing that your conversation was less than fruitful.”
She swiveled around.
Her office was a simple room of dark gray floor tiles and blue walls the colour of a twilight sky. Paintings done in soft pastels depicted a forest, and there was a couch along the wall, though she never used it.
The young man who stood before her was tall and lean, dressed in Earth fashions and wearing one of those cautious stares. Had she felt any interest in men, she supposed that Jack would be handsome enough with his firm jawline and dark brown hair that had a practiced messiness. “You could say that.”
Lifting her chin, Larani studied the young man for a moment. “And what did my former agent tell you?” she asked, raising one dark eyebrow. “More promises about what Slade will do when his plans come to fruition?”
“Not so much,” Jack answered, approaching the desk. “It was the usual display of rehearsed bravado until I told her that Slade's been dead for four months now.”
“And then?”
“And then I left her to stew.”
As she watched her reflection in the cup, Larani couldn't help but wonder whether it might have been wiser to press the advantage then and there. Assuming that Jack was indeed correct and that Calissa was expecting a rescue, pressing her for information right after her hopes had been dashed might have been more fruitful.
Giving her time to “stew,” as the young man put it, would only give her opportunity to consider her options. Panic was the enemy of anyone who wanted to keep a secret, but Larani kept that opinion to herself. She had requested Jack for a reason, and that meant trusting his instincts.
Pressing his lips into a thin line, Jack held her gaze. “I think we might be on a wild goose chase.” What a curious expression! “We've been going through personnel files for months, and we haven't found any double agents.”
Tapping her lips with one finger, Larani shut her eyes. “Perhaps you're right,” she said, wheeling her chair back from the desk. “But Cal Breslan and then Calissa Narin? It seems as though Slade didn't lack for accomplices.”
“True.”
Larani stood up with a sigh, bracing her hands on the desk and leaning over it. “Let us not forget Slade's ability to plant a virus in Station One's computer.” Thinking about that day still left her feeling uneasy. “I highly doubt he would be able to do such a thing without assistance.”
“What makes you think Keepers assisted him?”
“What makes you think they didn't?”
The young man's jaw worked as he tried to form a response, but then he sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Most Keepers aren't computer programmers,” he said. “Even if they were, we'd have to investigate the ones who were working on Earth when the stations were being built.”
A point in his favour.
She was beginning to notice that Jack had a habit of drawing her into one of these hypothetical arguments. His mind spun intricate webs of theories and propositions, and he voiced them all without ever feeling the urge to stand on ceremony. He never asked permission to share his opinions. It was both refreshing and occasionally irritating.
But then, the man had had Jena's ear for months.
“What do you suggest?”
Jack crossed his arms and looked down at himself, heaving out a deep breath. “I don't know,” he said, taking one shaky step forward. “I don't want to ignore a potential threat as big as this, but…”
“But you don't want to start questioning Keepers?”
He stiffened.
“Is your honour so prickly?” Larani demanded. “A year ago, you were more than eager to hold our feet to the fire, and now you're afraid to implicate your colleagues? It's quite the juxtaposition.”
Jack wrinkled his nose as though he smelled something awful, then shook his head in contempt. “It's got nothing to do with honour,” he insisted. “This can't become a witch hunt, or we're no better than the worst dirty cop.”
Licking her lips nervously, Larani hung her head. “You showed no such restraint in your efforts to prosecute Cal Breslan.” Quite the opposite, as she recalled it. The young man in front of her had been a thorn in everyone's side. “Is it only authority figures who receive your scorn and mistrust?”
To her surprise, Jack looked up to study her with blue eyes that seemed to burn with righteous fury. “Authority figures have a tendency to misuse their power,” he said. “Therefore, they deserve a little extra scrutiny.”
“And you apply this standard to yourself?”
“Absolutely.”
How intriguing.
She turned around to find herself face to face with her own faint reflection in the window pane. The skyscrapers in the distance drew the eye, sunlight glinting off of their windows. “I believe I see the problem,” Larani began. “I've given you authority, and you are afraid that by using it, you become the very thing you fear most.”
Spatial awareness allowed her to perceive Jack shifting his weight from one foot to the other, anxiously contemplating her words. Yes, she had found the mark with that last observation. Jack Hunter mistrusted authority figures.
In most people, that was a prejudice reserved for others – most people believed that they themselves were capable of using authority wisely – but Jack distrusted authority as a concept. He didn't think anyone should have it! Least of all himself! “Over the last few months, we have compiled a list of Keepers who have exhibi
ted unexplained behaviour. I want you to begin questioning them.”
Her lips curled into a small smile, and she nodded to her own reflection. “Think of it as a check on power,” she said. “Keepers have an extraordinary amount of it. Your job is to give them a little extra scrutiny.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And, Jack,” she said. “Good luck.”
The vertical farm was somewhat intimidating up close: a twenty-story skyscraper with a tip that seemed to touch the star-filled sky. Each floor was used to grow a different crop through hydroponic and aeroponic technologies, all perfectly managed by a series of robots and complex computer algorithms.
There were forty-two others just like it on the outskirts of Denabria. Food was sent to individual distribution centres by mag-lev trains that ran through underground tunnels. There, it was sorted, some produce going directly into grocery deliveries, some sent to refineries where it was used to make cereals, canned soups or any number of products. Over the centuries, Leyria had created a well-oiled economy that saw to everyone's needs with a minimum amount of human labour.
That was why Brinton had to destroy it.
The farm stood alone in the middle of a grassy field, on the other side of a chain-link fence. Not exactly high security, but then who would attack a farm when access to food was a given for every citizen?
Brinton stood just outside the gate in black pants and a matching sweater with the hood pulled up to hide his face, a suitcase in one hand. “The Companion watches over me,” he murmured, stepping forward.
Rolling up his sleeve, he tapped at his multi-tool and ran an app that he had coded after stealing Miles Tarso's fingerprints. Tiny nanobots emerged from the metal disk on his gauntlet, a swarm of them that crawled over his fist and onto his thumb.
They molded together to form a fingerprint that was not his own. Something that looked very much like sand coating his thumb. Advanced biometric scanners would be able to tell that it wasn't organic material, but he had done his research, and he knew that the security systems of this farm were somewhat out of date.
