Children of a Dead Earth Book One (14 page)

“I understand, detective, but this had to be done.” The captain picked up the framed picture of Bahadur's family from his desk and stared at it for a long moment.

“Our jobs aren't that different, you know. Between the two of you, you're tasked with the security of mankind. But I'm tasked with its
survival
. That has to take precedence, especially now. We're already riding on the knife's edge. Dissent is trending up. You may not see it, because we've managed to keep the provocateurs' net presence isolated, but there's more each week. The last thing we need right now is a scandal involving senior command staff throwing the whole chain of command into question.

“The next few months are critical to the success of this new colony. After that, I don't care how many crows come home to roost. Once we're dirt side and the first season's crops are being harvested, I'll help you set the traps. I promise you that. But for now, the only thing I need you to take away from this conversation boils down to this: don't rock the boat. Clear?”

It was clear all right, as clear as the imaginary glass partition that separated the crew from the cattle. Rules for the ruled, but none for the rulers. Benson thought back to the first conversation he'd had with Sal Kite. He'd thought then that the man was just a bitter old cynic. And he was, but that didn't make him wrong.

“Completely clear, sir,” Bahadur said, once the silence became unbearable. Benson answered with a nod and a grunt.

“Good. I'm glad we could come to an understanding. You can be proud of yourselves for laying a three-decade-long mystery to rest. I'm sure the news reports will flatter you both.”

And there it was again. Not a threat, just a reminder that it was so much easier to follow the current. Don't struggle against it. Do as you're told and everything will be fine. But Benson was more worried about the young man thawing on a slab in Sickbay.

Captain Mahama saluted, then followed her first officer out the door.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Bahadur said after the door slid shut again.

“Are you quitting on me, old friend?”

“Not at all. But a good sailor has to gauge which way the wind is blowing. If I may say so, perhaps you were… impatient, going after Feng so soon.”

“Yeah, I'm beginning to see that.”

“Adjust your aim. Work on identifying the man who attacked you.”

“Or woman,” Benson corrected. “I don't even know
that
much.”

“Still, work your way up the ladder.”

“You're probably right.”

Bahadur grabbed his shoulder. “I'll help you any way I can, but let's try to keep our coordination off the grid, yes?”

Benson squeezed his friend's wrist. “Agreed.”

B
enson and Theresa
spent the evening in Laraby's apartment working through the frustration of their raid turning bust. It took a while. They were both very frustrated.

Basking in the afterglow of their second round, Theresa gently ran a finger through the valley between Benson's pectoral muscles. Like everyone aboard, his skin was smooth and hairless below his head and face. A small tweak of the genetic code as old as the Ark itself, speeding up evolution by a few hundred thousand years so precious protein wasn't wasted manufacturing useless hair.

Whatever gene-coder had mucked about in Benson's double-helix had somehow forgotten to turn off his goosebumps, however. Theresa's fingertip shot little arcs of electricity through his skin, leaving a minefield of tiny bumps in its wake, miniscule muscles tugging on hair follicles that had never existed. Benson intercepted the wandering finger before it ventured too much further south, then held it up and kissed it.

“I need a little more time to recharge than that, my dear.”

“Hmm,” she pouted. “Too bad you don't run on batteries I could swap out like my–”

“Little black market
novelty item
?”

“It's for my tennis elbow.”

“You don't play tennis.”

“No, but I plan to start any day now.”

Benson sighed. “I'm going to make an honest woman out of you one of these days,” he whispered.

Theresa laughed. “That's rich. I
was
an honest woman before you came along. Before all this fraternizing with my superior, midnight rendezvous, contaminating crime scenes.” She waved a hand around Laraby's bedroom.

“Which was
your
idea, as I recall.”

“More of a passing suggestion.”

“Well, if it's bothering you, we could always go back to my apartment.”

“And give up silk?” Theresa pumped her legs playfully against the nearly frictionless sheets. “Mmm, never.”

“I thought not. Still, it won't be much longer before we can be… honest about everything.”

“We're not the best kept secret as it stands, Bryan. You're too honest to be a good liar.”

“Make it official, then.”

She kissed his cheek. “I'd like that.”

“We can build a little cabin on the surface and start filling it up with–”

Theresa put a finger on his lips. “Slow down, hotshot. One problem at a time. What are you going to do next?”

“Roll over and take a nap.”

Theresa slapped him on the stomach. “Be serious. What's your next move?”

“Bahadur thinks I should go after my attacker and work the links from there.”

“I agree with him.” Benson shot her a wounded face. “OK, fine. What do you think?”

“I think I don't even know where to start! I know they're about a hundred and eighty-five centimeters tall, light build, and probably fair-skinned. So average height, average weight, and Caucasian or Asian ancestry. That narrows the pool of suspects down to what, thirty thousand people? And I have no way to track them? It's like chasing a boogeyman.”

Theresa ran a hand gently over the bandages on Benson's forearm. “Your wounds are real enough.”

Benson found himself looking around the bedroom, getting lost in little details like the crown molding. “This place still doesn't make sense to me. How did Edmond find himself here? There's no way he could have afforded it. Who approved the transfer?”

“I looked into that and couldn't find anything. This apartment wasn't even on the register.”

“What? Why didn't you tell me that?”

“I just did, you've been a little busy.”

“Don't tell me you think it's an oversight.”

Theresa shrugged. “It wouldn't be the first time an important record just happened to be incomplete, would it?”

“But look at this place, it's like a, a hotel suite. It doesn't look like
anyone's
lived here. It's too perfect.”

“Maybe that's exactly what it was,” Theresa said absently.

Benson looked at her, confused. “Explain.”

“Well, look around. This place was appointed to impress, from the furniture, to the linen, to the artwork, and it's off the registry. Perfect.”

“Perfect for what?”

“What we're using it for!”

“Are you saying Feng set this up as some sort of love nest? He's married and has a son.”

Theresa made a funny face. “You mean to tell me you never fooled around on a girlfriend back in your Championship days?”

“No! Well, maybe. But it's different once you get married.”

She let out a tired little sigh, then put a hand on his cheek. “Oh, honey, you're a keeper. But not everyone takes their vows that seriously, and Feng is a very powerful man. That means he has… opportunities.”

Benson tried the idea on for size. It fit the facts, and it would explain the Monet that had hung downstairs until very recently. The silk sheets were also very familiar, now that he thought about it.

“But then why was Laraby in here?”

She shrugged. “Maybe Feng was stuffing Laraby's girlfriend. Maybe he found out about it and blackmailed Feng for a better place to live.”

“He didn't have a registered girlfriend.”

Theresa passed a hand over her naked body. “And what am I?”

“Yes, OK. But da Silva said she never saw him with girls, like he was scared of them.”

Theresa shrugged off the objection. “One of his coworkers, then.”

Benson shook his head. “We always have the best pillow talk.”

“Eh, I've heard worse.”

“Really?”

“Oh god, yes. My last boyfriend was in the spectrographic astronomy department. If I ever hear another word about the mineralogical composition of the Tau Ceti asteroid belt, I'll seriously kill someone.”

“You dated a crewmember?”

“For like a month. He was sweet, but skinnier than I am.”

“White, average height?”

“Yeah?”

“Good, I'll start with him, what's his name?”

“Don't you dare harass that poor boy,” Theresa scolded. “He's harmless. I doubt he'd even know how to use a knife that didn't have apple-butter on it.”

“I'm joking.”

“You'd better be.”

Benson rubbed his chin. “I'd still like to know how they blocked the plant signal.”

“If they did,” Theresa added wistfully.

“Well, who else would have done it?”

“That's not what I mean. You're assuming there was a signal to block.”

“Of course there was, everybody has a plant signal.”

Theresa put up a hand in defense. “Yes, I know, and I'm not saying you're wrong, just that it's an assumption. But our plants aren't like our hearts, are they? We don't actually
need
them, even if most of us couldn't imagine living without them. Maybe it's time to start thinking crazy.”

Benson had to admit, it would solve an awful lot of problems in the case. Plants were tied into everything on the ship. They didn't just let you browse the net at will and keep track of where you were. They opened doors, turned on lights, tied into security protocols, medical information, everything. Someone without a plant would be virtually invisible to every system onboard, because every system onboard assumed everyone had one.

What had Salvador said in the museum?
You would be surprised what a ship this large can keep hidden.

“Hold that thought,” Benson flipped through his contact list and placed a call.

the doctor thought groggily.

she asked, trying to focus.

can't
remove a plant. They fuse with the tissue of the frontal-cortex in the second trimester. You might as well stick an icepick up their nose and hit it with a hammer.>

Benson thought about this for a moment.

The line went silent for a long moment. Benson broke it.

Jeanine rejoined the conversation.

Benson couldn't believe what he'd heard. Abortion was supposed to be one of those things that had been left behind with old Earth. Total government control over when one became a parent was the guiding principle behind the population control regime in place aboard the Ark for over two centuries. Conception didn't even happen internally anymore. Everyone was a test-tube baby.

Jeanine asked.

<…I'd rather not talk about that. It's usually an even bigger surprise to them. The monitoring software can catch hormone changes in the first week of pregnancy. I know before the mother does.>

Benson smiled.

Jeanine let out a mental sigh that her plant actually managed to translate.

Benson cut the link before the banter got any thicker, among other things.

“I have an idea,” he declared to the room at large.

Theresa's eyes wandered down to his waist. “I bet I can guess what it is,” she purred.

Benson glanced down. “Oh, um, not that. Not just now, anyway.” He threw the silk sheets aside and jumped out of bed, then headed for the door. “I have to go. Something to check on.”

Theresa shook her head. “You might want to think about putting pants on first.”

B
enson was surprised
to find that Salvador Kite wasn't at work, at least not where he expected to find him working. Mindful that all of his searches and plant communications were probably being monitored, Benson opted to just go talk to the ex-con face to face again. But his old supervisor down in the reclamation ponds told him Kite had been transferred.

“To where?” Benson asked.

“The museum, believe it or not.”

Benson stared at him. “Curator Feynman approved the transfer?”

“No, you don't understand.
I
approved the transfer just this morning. Curator Feynman was the one who requested it.”

A week ago, Devorah would have been the first in line at Salvador's stoning. People kept finding ways to catch him off guard. For once, the surprise was a pleasant one. The odor in the machinery under the reclamation pond tanks was something you could never really get used to, and it had the unique ability to stick around inside one's nose long after it had worn out its welcome. Benson was only too happy to return to the surface.

He found Devorah in the museum's atrium, starting a tour for a group of eager, yet bleary-eyed students from Avalon on a fieldtrip. They were all staying up well past their bedtimes for the chance to see the wonders the immense building held. He sympathized; it had been nearly two Avalon Time when he'd left Theresa in bed to chase this hunch. His eyelids tried to pull themselves down like automated blinds.

The kids looked about eight to Benson's eyes, which meant they were probably closer to twelve. Everyone looked too young since he'd turned thirty-five. Devorah noticed him standing at the back of the group, which should have been easy considering he was a good head taller than even the largest child. Then again, Devorah was a good head shorter than them, too. She waved over one of the other museum staffers and handed off the tour temporarily. The kids all followed along as their new guide walked them towards
David
, where the little girls pointed and giggled at his marble manhood, while the little boys mentally sized themselves against it.

Devorah stepped up next to him. “A package was waiting for me when I got to work this morning.”