Dirty Mirror

by R S Penney

  He stepped inside and shut the door.

  Off to his left, an open doorway in the corridor led into his living room, and he saw, from the corner of his eye, someone sitting on his couch. Brinton almost jumped, but he quickly recognized Jarl.

  Tall and handsome in a pair of gray pants and a black turtleneck sweater, Jarl had a striking face of brown skin. His head was completely shaved without a single follicle of hair. “I see you completed your task.”

  It took a moment for Brinton to calm himself. He was beginning to regret giving the other man a key to his house.

  Brinton closed his eyes, bowing his head to the man. “I did,” he said, stepping into the living room. “And you'll be pleased to know that I was careful. There were no people in the farm when the bomb went off.”

  Jarl lifted a glass of whiskey up in front of his face, studying the amber liquid with a curious expression. “Well, that's a good thing,” he replied without much enthusiasm. “I do hope you've prepared the necessary sacrifices.”

  “Sacrifices.”

  “Our people have become weak, Brinton. You yourself have seen it. This life we live where all our needs are provided for has made us soft. The threat of starvation, the threat of pain. These are the things that keep a man sharp.”

  Brinton knew he was correct about that. The texts of Layat spoke of hardship and its role in forging humankind into the people the Companion wanted them to be. A life where a home, clothing, food and water were just a given was a life in which people were doomed to stagnate.

  And with the Ragnosians coming, his people needed to be harder. They couldn't afford to be coddled anymore. “Sacrifices,” Brinton said. Was he really speaking openly about terrorism? “If it's necessary. Only if.”

  The other man leaned back against the couch cushions, directing a lazy smile up at the ceiling. “Of course,” he said. “No one wants any unnecessary deaths, but we won't go on trying to keep people alive anymore.”

  Brinton stiffened.

  “From now on,” Jarl went on. “If a man can't take care of himself, then he falls by the wayside. It's the only way to be strong.”

  He was right, though Brinton hated having to admit it.

  “Don't worry,” Jarl said. “We've made a good beginning, and soon, we'll move on to the next step.”

  Chapter 4

  From her perch near the edge of a cliff some two hundred feet high, Anna saw the city of Vesala stretched out before her. The outer buildings of the agricultural sector were nearest, tall cylinders with windows on every floor. She could even see some of the crops under banks of fluorescent lights.

  The city was almost circular – almost – with mag-lev train tubes extending from the centre like spokes on a wheel, running through sections of glittering skyscrapers and lush green parks with ponds that sparkled. It was quite the view, and she was more than a little daunted by the task of trying to capture it.

  The bristles of her paintbrush left a trail of blue across the canvas. She'd managed to create a fuzzy representation of the city as viewed from this cliff. Close enough, but it would be hard to make out individual buildings if you looked too closely.

  Chewing on her lip, Anna nodded to herself. “It'll have to do,” she muttered, a lock of blue hair falling over her eye. She tossed her head back to send it flying away. “It's the best I can manage, at least.”

  Seth offered encouragement.

  Painting took her mind off things that she would rather not think about, and right then, there were a lot of things that she would rather not think about. Her heart still ached as if an iron hand was squeezing it to the point of bursting.

  She missed Bradley.

  His face popped into her mind frequently – usually at the most inconvenient time – and she often had to struggle to focus on what she was doing instead of just melting into a lump of sadness. It was new for her. She'd had boyfriends before, and breaking up was always painful, but those relationships hadn't been quite so…deep.

  Worst of all, on some level, she knew she had made the right decision. Or, at least, she did most of the time. But knowing that did little to ease her pain. And there were too many moments when the grief made her think she was an idiot.

  Anna closed her eyes, tears streaming over her cheeks. “Not now,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I really don't need another bout of break-up blues to ruin yet another fine afternoon.”

  Her heart seemed to disagree.

  In her mind's eye, she saw the silhouette of a car drive up the narrow road behind her and settle to a stop near the trail that led to the cliff's edge. Since she hadn't ordered a cab to come take her home, it could only mean that someone else was coming out here to enjoy the view. Likely some couple.

  The car's door swung open, and a woman emerged. At least, Anna thought it was a woman; at this distance, it was hard for Seth to make out anything beyond a vague human shape. She didn't mind sharing her spot.

  Anna winced, scraping a knuckle across her forehead, brushing blue bangs aside. “Just don't expect me to be sociable,” she muttered under her breath. “This girl is in need of some serious alone time.”

  The silhouette of the woman came toward her, and she felt a spike of alarm when she recognized the newcomer as her mother. “I thought I'd find you out here. You never could resist a good view.”

  Dropping the paint brush, Anna turned around.

  Dressed in black pants and a white blouse with short sleeves, Sierin Elana stood in a field of green grass with her blonde hair left loose. “You should have been a painter. You have a natural talent.”

  “What are you doing here, Mom?”

  “I came to see my daughter.”

  “I see you several hours a day, every day,” Anna said. “It's one of the many perks of living together.”

  Sierin crossed her arms and started forward with her head down. “True,” she said with a curt nod. “But when your daughter moves back in with you despite the fact that she could have a home in any city simply by asking for it…”

  Anna felt her mouth twist, then turned her head so that her mother wouldn't see. “I'm fine, Mom,” she muttered in the mildest tones she could manage. “Taking a leave of absence is quite normal. I just need-”

  “To do something productive.” Once again, that judgy tone from Sierin made her want to growl in frustration. Her mother was the sort of woman who thought that she knew what was best for everyone. “It's a lovely painting. Have you considered submitting it to any galleries for review?”

  Spinning around to face the cliff with arms folded, Anna heaved out a breath. This was not what she needed right now. “I just painted it for fun,” she said. “I'm not looking to go professional.”

  “Why not, Leana?”

  “I have a career already,” Anna snapped. “A career I happen to love. And we've been over this many times now.”

  The other woman strode forward until she was standing right in front of the easel Anna had set up. This close, it was possible to sense her facial expressions with spatial awareness, and she did seem impressed. “It really is quite good, Leana…And if you love that career of yours so much, why aren't you doing it?”

  A sigh escaped her as she considered the answer to that question. She had been on leave for nearly a month now, trying to give herself time to sort things out. At first, she had been following up leads off-world, living in a shuttle while she hunted down Isara or any of Slade's other goons. Sadly, she had come up empty.

  It was a big galaxy.

  But the best thing about being off-world most of the time? There was no chance of her running into Jack. She felt awful thinking such things, but she really did not want to see him right then. Her feelings were already muddled enough without adding even more confusion to the mix.

  However, when it became clear that they weren't going to find Slade's people, and that the task force was essentially spinning its wheels, she decided the time had come to focus on her own life.

  “Is it that Ea
rth boyfriend of yours?”

  Anna looked over her shoulder.

  Her mother wore a small smile as she stared down at her own feet. “Please, Leana. I've known you long enough to know the look.” This would probably be a good time to bring the conversation to an abrupt halt, but Sierin just kept right on talking. “That sulky expression you get as you stare wistfully through the window.”

  Anna stared wistfully over the edge of the cliff, watching the city with its gleaming buildings. Would it be so bad if she jumped? “Mom, I really don't want to talk about this with you.”

  “You broke up with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that was wise.”

  Rage flared up, and she had to resist the urge to kick the easel over the edge of the cliff. The absolute last thing Anna wanted to hear from her mother was a list of reasons why breaking a good man's heart had been “wise.” And she missed him. Bleakness take her, the best thing anyone could say about her love life was nothing at all. But Sierin kept right on talking.

  “He was an Earther, Leana.”

  Red-faced, Anna forced her eyes shut. “Oh good,” she said. “I really didn't have enough useless prejudice today.”

  “They're a primitive culture, Leana: a culture fraught with hatred, bigotry and any number of backward beliefs.”

  “But also the ability to detect irony!” Anna shot back. “Our people seem to have lost that one.”

  “All I'm saying-”

  Anna spun to face her mother with her hands raised defensively, backing away from the other woman. “Look,” she began, “if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not hear the speech about how it was never gonna work.”

  A momentary grimace was Sierin's only reaction, but she covered it quickly. “Very well,” she breathed out, her voice dripping with exasperation. “But if you're going to set aside your duties as a Keeper, then at least do something productive.”

  Craning her neck to make eye-contact, Anna raised a thin eyebrow. “You're the one who wanted me to be a painter,” she said, gesturing to the canvas. “That's not productive enough for you?”

  “I suppose,” Sierin muttered. “Will you be joining me for supper?”

  “Yeah…Looks like I will.”

  Harry opened his eyes to find deep-blue twilight in his bedroom window. Clearly, dawn had come, but while his daily routine wouldn't have him up and about for another hour, he knew perfectly well that he wasn't going to get any more sleep. He was feeling restless, agitated.

  Harry sat up.

  Scrubbing two hands over his face, he pressed the heels to his eyelids and rubbed away the sleep. “Damn it!” he muttered, getting to his feet. “A grown-ass adult needs to feel useful if he wants a good night's rest.”

  He pulled a blue robe around himself, knotting the belt, and made his way over to the window. “Face it, Harry,” he told himself. “Going to Leyria was just a nice way of being put out to pasture.”

  Outside, his backyard was gloomy in the early-morning light, but he could make out the flowerbeds in neat little rows and the line of elm trees at the edge of his property. It was a nice home, really. He just hadn't planned on retirement for another twenty years at least. There were still good years ahead of him!

  But what use was a washed-up old city cop in a world full of Keepers and terrorists with nanotechnology and who knows what other god-forsaken surprises these people had hidden up their sleeves. He-

  The distinctive sound of the front door opening made him freeze.

  “Melissa,” he said, spinning around and making his way to the door. “If the damn girl was out all night with her friends, there will be hell to pay.”

  His bedroom door was across from the head of the stairs, and he quickly descended to find the silhouette of his daughter standing in the foyer, still dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday. “You were out all night?”

  Melissa looked up at him, blinking as if surprised to find that he was awake. “It's not what you think,” she assured him. “One of the vertical farms was destroyed; I had to go with Director Andalon to inspect the crime scene.”

  Well…His daughter was getting her first taste of the odd hours that went with a job in law enforcement. He supposed that was a good thing. In the last few months, they had called her in the evening or on her free days to job-shadow someone on this case or that case. “What did you find?”

  Harry rounded the foot of the stairs and paced through the narrow hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. It was still chilly on these spring mornings, and he was regretful over leaving one of the windows open.

  “It was arson,” Melissa said. “A bomb.”

  Harry sat down at the table, resting an elbow on its surface and burying his face in his hand. “Ugh…” he grumbled. “Why would anybody want to blow up a farm? There is nothing to be gained from it.”

  “That's what we're trying to figure out.” His daughter went to the sink, turned on the water and began washing her hands. It was too dark to see her face, but he suspected that she was frowning. “You'd have to do a whole lot more to compromise the city's food systems; so even if this is an act of terrorism, it's kind of an incompetent one.”

  “Maybe this is just the start of something.” That left him feeling rather uneasy. The reason they had come to Leyria was so that Melissa could do her training in a safe place; Earth was a focal point of craziness as people came from all over the galaxy to see the birthplace of humanity and run amok with their advanced technology. Here, things would be calm. Or, at least, they should have been!

  He wasn't sure he liked the thought of his untrained daughter working an arson case, but then there was no safe way to be a Justice Keeper, and she carried a symbiont now. Jena's symbiont. Christ! Just how much did the Nassai share with their hosts? There were things he had told Jena that he would rather Melissa not know.

  “What would you do?”

  He looked up to find his daughter standing on the opposite side of the table with her hands folded on the back of a chair, staring at him in the dim light. “Where would you go from here?”

  Was his daughter asking for advice? More importantly, was it messed up that he was so thrilled by the prospect of being useful?

  Scratching his chin with three fingers, Harry squinted down at the table's surface. “That's a tough one,” he muttered. “I suppose I would wait for the lab report, determine the composition of the bomb and see if that told me where it came from.”

  Melissa slid her chair back and dropped into it, lacing her fingers on the table. “I figured as much,” she said, leaning forward. “But I keep thinking that there should be something else I can do.”

  “Much of law enforcement is waiting.”

  “Good thing I'm patient. I just…”

  Harry slouched in his chair with his arms folded, tossing his head back. “You want to make a good impression with your bosses,” he said. “And you're afraid that sitting on your hands makes you look lazy.”

  A smile blossomed on his daughter's face – he could see it as the room brightened – and she lowered her eyes. “You know me so well,” she mumbled. “But dig deep, Dad. Is there anything else you could do?”

  “You could canvass the area.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Talk to people who may have seen something. The vertical farms are right on the city limits – so it's not very likely that anyone was around – but it's worth a shot. This job involves a lot of throwing things at the wall to see what sticks.”

  Tilting her head to one side, Melissa smiled. “Do you want to come with me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe help me learn some interview skills.”

  He chuckled. “Are you asking me to be your partner?”

  “Sure! Why not?” Melissa stood up, clapping her hands. “Father-daughter crime fighting team. You could even have your own catchphrase like 'I'm too old for this shit!' ”

  After a moment, she froze. “Okay, I promise to leave the pop-culture references
to Jack from now, and-” Her mouth snapped shut when her multi-tool chirped, cutting her off in mid-sentence. Melissa tapped the screen.

  “Check the news,” Jon Andalon's voice came through the speaker.

  Putting on her sternest expression, Melissa looked up to stare across the room at the wall behind Harry. “Computer,” she said. “Denabrian local news.”

  Harry twisted in his seat to watch the thin sheet of SmartGlass on the wall light up with the image of a newsroom. A hard-faced woman with an olive complexion and eyes that tried to bore right through you sat behind the desk with her hands folded primly on its surface. “Once again,” she began, “this video from a group claiming responsibility for the destruction of Vertical Farm 17 came in just this morning.”

  The image shifted to the silhouette of a hooded man against a gray backdrop. “Yes, it's true,” he said in a slimy voice, nodding to the camera. “We destroyed the farm for the greater good of all Leyria. You will all come to know us as the Sons of Savard, and when this era of crisis is over, history will look back on us as your saviours.

  “The blood of all Leyrians has thinned. We have constructed a society that coddles the weak, allowing those who would otherwise have fallen behind to slow the rest of us down. We can no longer tolerate such weakness.”

  The man leaned in closer to the camera, but only the barest outline of his face was visible. “From this point onward,” he said, “those who cannot fend for themselves will be left behind. We restore a culture of traditional values, a culture prepared to face the threat of Ragnosian incursions into our space.

  “You think we are joking,” he went on. “But I can promise you that we are deadly serious. The farm was just the beginning. More will follow. Those who foolishly choose to put themselves between us and our goals will be extinguished. You have been warned.”

  The news anchor reappeared.

  “Off!” Melissa barked.

  She stood at the end of the table with her arms crossed, her head drooping in what looked like fatigue. “Well, at least we know their motives,” she rasped. “So, Dad, can I count on your help?”