Chief Linnaes Shaka launched to his feet,
shoving his swivel chair to the wall. “Success? Not unless you
consider collaring a pus-brain some great success. He was a
recruiter! As usual the bone-pickers got nothing.” Interrogators
consistently failed with the warriors sent to enlist others. Shaka
growled a few thoughts on that while glaring at Director of Criminal
Apprehensions Lozan Ordex.
Calexic’s chief oversaw the colony’s Crime Force as
well as the government officials who ran the rest. Even so, his
fifth-floor office was modest with little more than needed equipment and
bare furnishings. A view-plate inserted in beige paneling revealed blue
sky and the federal building’s south courtyard. Opposite, a silver gate.
This would vanish with a print-release or an interior-side approach. DCA
Ordex stood between the room’s untidy desk and two thinly upholstered
chairs.
“I expect a back-trace to—”
“We’re on it, sir. But if we learn anything it
won’t be about here.”
Shaka often laced his words with favorite
profanities. He did so now. “Because you don’t do your job! Those he
contacted must have warrior links. Family, friends. People who think
they’re ripe for turning.”
Lozan silently conceded the point. “I have men on
it. Sir, I’m to give a briefing at the STM in forty minutes. More
equipment has come in for the warehouses. The
theraformers and… I’m to
advise on security, sir.”
“Get out.”
Clench-jawed and wordless, he turned and made for
the gate.
“And Captain.” Shaka took an
envelope-identification marker from his desk rubble and shoved it
between his lips. “On the other…”
Lozan looked back.
“Be sensitive. They may have no involvement.”
Calexic’s DCA frowned. “A reason for the concern,
sir?”
Shaka removed the marker from his teeth to tap an
erratic tattoo on the desk-edge. “His widow dabbles in high society. Not
that I allow such things to interfere with my judgment. But no need for
her to know if things are handled delicately.” Incisive blue-grays with
stubby lashes fixed on him. “I expect it, Captain.”
* * *
Geminn turned from those in shadow to where she had
heard the rustling and whine. The lightweight, silver laser-knife in her
hand began slicing branches from stalk and stalks from root. A path
emerged permitting a step and another. She parted the thorny tangle of
malweed with its toxic berries called skeleton teeth.
He was dead. Beautiful but dead. The free hand
stroked dark brown on a head so perfect, so handsome. She must bury him
quickly, before any knew. Only High Command members received burial.
In length, breadth, and depth a hole grew as her
chor-ione pierced then ate the
loam. Her foot slipped at the edge, and she felt herself falling into
the tear that she had made—into the darkness and somewhere beyond. She
must go beyond.
“Geminn.” The whisper struck as lightening on a
midnight sky. “Geminn, please. You cannot die!”
In some deep place within her, she wondered who
spoke and blotted her brow. Words roiled but didn’t entirely form.
Images, rather, filled her brain: strangeness, kindness, and nightmarish
creatures beckoning from the shadows as she sank into weighted, stygian
dark.
“Choose life.”
Great waters avalanched, driving her to their inky
depths. Yielding, she sped to eternity.
But the voice pursued, unrelenting. “You cannot
die, Geminn!” Emotion choked the words, almost silencing them. “Please.
You must decide this! Choose. Choose life!”
Something in the words and tone plunged through
death and held. She turned to the voice and reached back.
“Choose, Geminn. Choose life!”
Waters churned and roaring filled her. She embraced
the battle, straining her muscles to near bursting against the night and
its deadly shadows. For what seemed lifetimes and more, she stretched to
the voice, wrestled to the voice.
“Choose! Choose, Geminn.”
Something like a physical hand seized and held her
from slipping forever into utter blackness. Even so, a downward current
assailed and threatened. She fought on—moving forward, gaining ground
until at last she broke through…with a lung-bursting gasp.
“Geminn!” A trembling hand sought a pulse then
relaxed.
Upon life’s shore, she lay exhausted and panting.
“The fever is strong. Please…you must live. Choose.
Choose life.”
The young woman drifted where no dream reached. She
didn’t lie, however, in the arms of mortal sleep. It had come close,
yes. But death would claim a different victim, rather, two homes away.
* * *
Warrior leader Susanna stood before a briefing-room
podium of kenite and wood. A
uniformed man set an envelope there.
“Thank you.”
Slightly, the courier lifted a hand. The gate
returned.
“We expected this last night,” the young woman
murmured while removing a crystal from its protective case. She shoved
the transparent rock—the size of a small fingernail—into a
compu-7. Print-activated, the
palm computer transmitted its report to her ICD implant. She nodded
slightly as if to herself. “We’re on.”
A business-attired gathering had awaited this word,
the finale to their meeting. Applause echoed the room.
“I want to…” She waited for quiet to return. “I
want to thank each of you beforehand. Thank you. I should surprise no
one by saying that we now work under threat-level brown.”
The audience sobered. One moistened his lips while
another looked to manicured nails. All knew that she hadn’t overstated
their danger.
“Guard your health, too.” Troubled eyes flitted to
an elderly man in the back. “Bio-scrubs, rest, and avoidance of anyone
exhibiting symptoms. Employ proper cell-rejuvenation if you are not
routinely doing so. The epidemic hasn’t touched our people yet, but…”
She did not complete her thought. “We adjourn 'til evening.”
All stood.
“Day Star overcomes.”
Those gathered returned the pledge and saluted.
As the meeting broke up, Peter neared the far wall.
There the warrior leader dropped the courier-brought crystal into a
disintegrator.
“Su?”
The young woman confirmed the file’s destruction
then faced the one standing there.
Tall, dark-haired, and good-looking, Peter had
turned the heads of many women. Not this one, though.
Their eyes met, and a gentle smile touched her ruby
lips.
Before that morning, he hadn’t seen Susanna clothed
in shades of apricot. A lovely color, he thought, for that ivory skin
and sable-brown hair skillfully coiled.
“Peter. Been a while.”
“Too long, really. I know I missed the last
meeting. A work conflict.”
“I understand. Anything that I can help you with?”
The petal-soft lips resumed a pleasant curve.
“Other way. I wondered if I might help in tonigh—”
Disbelief exploded on her face. “Personal
involvement? Tell me you're kidding.”
Not the hoped-for response but the deserved one. “I
suppose… No, I… It only seems I could do more to help you.”
A frown marred the porcelain brow. “Do you think
we’re going to mess up on the operation?”
“No! Oh, no. Goodness, no. I only wish Michael and
you could do my job. You’re so efficient.”
Her frown deepened. “Is there something we did—with
you, I mean? Why would you feel a need to do more on our side?”
Their eyes held. In some measure, he wished himself
free of the embarrassing scrutiny. More, though, he relished the
opportunity to lose himself again in those lovely pools of celestial
blue.
“Be honest.”
“Wouldn't be otherwise.” He weakly smiled. “Code of
conduct.”
A small smile rose then fell on her lips. “Tell me
the whole truth, though. Have we…?”
“No. Oh no. It's nothing anyone's done. It's I
suppose,” he stammered. “I mean that I know.” Color rose in his face. He
looked down then away. “Respect is earned, Su. I want to earn your
respect and be worthy of that respect.” He hesitated. “And your love.”
Well, he had said it. Peter looked again to the
beautiful face for a reaction. Deflated, he found none.
“You are admired and respected. We wouldn’t have
brought you into the Inner Circle if you weren’t. Or into Circle A. And
each of us loves you dearly. Please don't give place to dangerous
thoughts, thinking that you aren't such a valuable member of the team
and so special to us all.”
Peter felt like a rookie guard in his first
firefight with peccels flying.
He wanted to retreat to safety. To give himself a moment to generate
some wisdom, he moistened his lips. “I'm sure that you do respect me,"
he began, slowly. "That the others do so, as well. But…” He looked away
again. “Never mind.”
The young woman reached for and took his hand. “You
are one special warrior and very dear.” Her free hand patted his. “If
more is meant between us… We'll know it—both of us.”
The elderly man from the back had stepped near.
Seemingly ageless eyes of silvery blue regarded them with interest.
Gently, he cleared his throat.
Susanna acknowledged his presence with a smile.
That Michael had to have heard something of their conversation was of no
consequence to her.
It was another thing for Peter. He hoped to keep
from reddening further. This galled him for normally he could come
across as so self-assured if not cocky. What was it about this woman
that melted his every defense?
“Might I have a word, Susanna?” said the
white-haired gentleman. “It'll take but a moment.” A smile touched his
aged lips. “Hope I'm not interrupting anything, er…important.”
Peter worked at his expression. “Not at all. No.”
Awkwardly, he withdrew his hand from hers.
“Will you excuse us, then? A matter of logistics to
settle, which shouldn't take long.”
“Quite all right, sir.” Peter tried a smile of his
own. “I have to go anyway. Day Star overcomes.” He saluted then turned.
And more than a little, he wished the ground would open beneath and
swallow him down.