Crescent (21 page)

Kendall went to his tall wardrobe and opened one of the double doors. The inside of the door had a polished mirror set into the wood, not the typical high-def liquid crystal displays favored for modern hygiene. Kendall always thought of himself as more of a classical man. There was someone standing behind him. It wasn’t Taylor. It wasn’t Angela. He turned. There was no one there.

Seein
’ shit, Ezra
, he thought.
You better figure out how to get off before this stress kills you.

Kendall straightened his shirt and ran a brush through the tangles in his thin hair until it was straight. He set the brush down and frowned. Someone was snooping around the Vault again.
Had to be.
The last time there had been a ruckus on Crescent—some fifteen years ago—people had been sniffing around where they didn’t belong. Stupid little brats had been prying. Oh, the ends he had to go through to keep the peace. And yet, here he was again.

Kendall closed the wardrobe. He moved to the adjacent chest of drawers and chose a small bottle of cologne from the menagerie that sat atop the piece of furniture. He dabbed a tiny amount into his open palm. He clapped his hands together and then applied the smell-pretty to his cheeks with light pats.

Kendall did not want to talk to
Naheela
. Hell, it was the last thing he wanted to do. But, he needed to. The weird old bitch had guided him the first time. She
came
to him the first time. She’d help him again, no doubt. Who better to provide advice on a haunting than a witch? The thought made him laugh out loud. He pulled on his pants, fastened his belt, and then slipped his suit jacket on over his shoulders. Whatever spirits were restless on Crescent, he had best placate them off the radar. If it was a gaggle of virgins they wanted this time, or a basket of babies, those things would be delivered without Nigel
Swaren
getting wind of it.

The archaeologist.
Kendall growled at the thought of soft and naive Donovan Cortez. If that damn doctor had gone sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, Kendall would throw him and his young daughter into the meat grinder as a bonus.

Kendall found himself feeling much better.
The wonder of thinking things through and coming up with a course of action,
Kendall mused. His member twitched and he smiled. Angela would have better luck that evening.

(•••)

The crone traveled with a cloud of stink. Kendall found
Naheela’s
smell unbearable, even with a lit cigar perched between his lips. The tang—an amalgam of spices, fetid breath, and body odor—was enough to make his nostrils sting and his eyes water. She sat across from him, on the other side of the big desk. Her gnarled hands were folded in the lap of the patched, brown skirt she wore. Her gray, greasy hair fell well past her shoulders in shiny clumps. She smiled through Kendall’s cigar smoke, revealing her few remaining yellowed teeth. The deep wrinkles etched in her dark skin went to unfathomable depths. With all the technology that was available, why did this woman choose to look like she was holding hands with death himself? Kendall shook his head and took an exaggerated drag on the cigar.

“
Naheela
, do you know why I’ve invited you here today?” Kendall asked.

“I may be old, Ezra, but I’m no fool.”

“Good, then. We are spared talking around the bush. I want know what is happening on my station, and I know you know.”

Naheela
snickered. A watery substance began to trickle from her nose. She wiped a hand across its bulbous end.

“You know,” she said and pointed a finger at him.

“Why is Crescent doing this again? I followed your instructions the last time. You said that would be enough.”

“Why do you think that is no longer enough, Ezra?”

“Crone, I did not ask you here so that you could ask me questions,” Kendall snapped.

“The pact is broken, fool. Someone has found the Vault. Any deal you made with the Black is off,”
Naheela
said.

“That is highly unlikely,” Kendall said. “Even if someone was fooling around where they didn’t belong, the deal you had me make…”

“A piece of
chewin
’ gum will only keep the dam from
breakin
’ for so long. Poke at the sore, and you hasten the flood.”

Kendall sighed through his nose. He could think of only two people that would go down there. The milky depths of
Naheela’s
eyes rested on him with a look of knowing.

“Very well,
Naheela
. Here I am again, looking for advice.”

“I fear, Ezra, that it is not as simple as this time around,” she said.

“What do you mean? How could it not be as
simple.
The same goddamn things are happening.”

“Same? No. This is very different, Mayor.
Much worse.
The first time you only had the Black to contend with.
A part of the whole.
It wasn’t worried about unity—only survival. Now the Three are nearly back together. The glass trembles. The Black gets stronger with each passing day. The same sacrifice will not suffice this time, Kendall. The Violet is here. We can only hope that the Red—the final piece of the trinity—does not show up, too.
For if the Red does come, then it’s too late.”

Kendall couldn’t fully grasp her message. Tangled in metaphor, her words rang like a steaming pile of shit to him. Even still, Kendall did not like the certainty in her voice.
Naheela
tested the bounds of his superstition. He drummed his fingers on the desk.

“I’m not going to ask what that means. But I will ask again. What can we do about it?”

“We?
You mean you, Ezra. And I’m sure this time I don’t know,”
Naheela
said with a toothless grin. “You could destroy this place for good. That is always a possibility.”

He laughed. The sound was bitter and harsh.

“Leave? No,
Naheela
. I won’t leave. That is not an option.”

“I didn’t think it was.” She folded her hands on his desk and raised her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know what else you could do, Ezra. I may know soon enough. As for now, it is all too new. Things have not finished
shapin
’ themselves. When they do—or when they get close—I’ll know. Until then, there is nothing more I can tell you.”

“I’ll trust you’ll get in touch with me as soon as…
 
things have finished
shapin
’ themselves,” he said.

Naheela
beamed. “I do so love our visits, and they are too far between.” She laughed, and wiped her nose with her hand again. The hand, she wiped on the arm of Kendall’s chair.

When
Naheela
took her leave, she left behind her stink and a growing sense of unease.

(•••)

Crescent floated black against the dissipating glare of
Anrar
. Its silhouette was a malignant hook, dark and terrible. Ina was slack in the harness of the control couch. Gerald leaned against the console, his hands in his pockets. He watched her chest rise and fall with slow breaths. Her eyes flitted back and forth beneath her lids as she lay in dreams. Ina’s temperature had risen in the past several hours, but Gerald wasn’t sure he was ready for her to wake up. Asleep, she was incapable of delivering more crazy talk. Gerald shook his head. The trip to
Anrar
III could be called any number of things, but a good idea was not one of them. Marisa had been so wrong. More bad things were going come of it—of that, Gerald was sure.

Ina began to stir.

Her blue eyes opened and fell on Gerald. He managed a weak smile as she sat up in the couch and undid the harness with slow moving fingers.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

“The better part of an hour,” he replied. He waited for her to ask what happened, but she didn’t.

“Okay. So, we’re almost back?”

“Yeah, we’re almost back.”

“Good.” She ran her fingers through the tangles of her blonde hair, piling it atop her head as she did so. “I need a shower. I feel so…
 
dirty.”

“Do you re—” Gerald began, but she cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t think we need to talk about it. It’s not for you and I to discuss.”

She got to her feet and stretched. And suddenly, she was moving. Ina closed the space between them so fast that Gerald was nearly knocked off his feet, but her arms slithered around his neck before he could lose his balance. Her skin was cool and smelled of the rain. In the space of a single breath, her lips were on his, her mouth open, her tongue seeking his. Her kiss was cold, insistent, but not unpleasant. Gerald found himself unable to resist. The blind desire to lay with her overwhelmed him and he could think of nothing else. The lust filled his skull like the buzzing of a thousand wasps and consumed him. Even so, he gripped her by the shoulders and shook his head.

“No, Ina,” he pleaded. “I can’t. Not this time.”

“It has to be
now,
” she said and broke his grip. And that was it—his resolve was gone.

He allowed Ina pull him down to the floor. He let her undress him. He let her put himself inside of her. There was nothing cold about her there. She was on fire; soon, his entire body crackled with it.

He closed his eyes and saw an ocean of surging red.

(Part XIV)

Nigel
Swaren
sat before the security monitors at HQ with his hands clasped behind his head. The air handling system murmured above him. He closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath of recycled air, then exhaled just as slowly. He was done studying the security feeds from the Farm. Footage amounting to a month’s worth of camera time had been under Nigel’s close scrutiny for more hours than he cared to count. Nigel couldn’t focus on it any longer—his eyes burned and all he saw were random pixels. But he had already seen plenty. His day had centered on studying regular outgoing shipments and his interest had been piqued by the occasional heavy-duty crate intermingled with the standard agricultural shipping containers. At first, the reinforced crates seemed to show up at random, but after tracking their appearance for hours on end, Nigel had noticed a pattern.

Now he cycled through feeds at random, watching as people came and
went,
carried by whatever force propels people from one location to another. Other screens were still, showing seldom-visited sections of Crescent—one snapshot after another showed cobwebs and flickering overhead light panels. Nigel dropped his eyes from the security feeds to the white mug that sat untouched on the control panel. The beverage had gone cold hours ago.

Nigel was annoyed—annoyed with himself for diving into the security feeds with such reckless abandon, because now he’d seen plenty to prove that Ezra Kendall was hiding something.
And this kind of dirt, I cannot wash off my hands.
Nigel hadn’t been sent to Crescent to go fishing for corrupt politicians. Really, that was the last thing he’d wanted to get tangled up in. But now, a misbehaving mayor might be just what Nigel was looking for. He laughed at the irony. Salvation could be found in the most unlikely places.

A skinny, pallid kid in blues entered the monitoring station, rubbing eyes that were ringed with dark circles. He seemed surprised to see Nigel there.

“I…
 
”

“You’re late and you’re sorry, right? Not my problem. Take it up with your captain if you’re feeling guilty. And besides…
 
you should be reporting to Temporary Monitoring Station 17—this is my office,” Nigel said.
Not that I’ve seen Captain Benedict all that often since I’ve been here.
He walked past the kid without sparing him another glance.

(•••)

Nigel leaned against a bookshelf in Kendall’s antechamber. He pretended to be examining the rows of neatly organized books. He pretended to be oblivious of the four eyes that burned holes in his back. Kendall’s goons were just the sort of scum you’d find in a dark alley, at the other end the knife stuck in your side. The shorter one, with the slicked-back dark hair and the high forehead, appeared to be stupid as all sin. There was nothing going on in his dark eyes but a dose of the crazies. The taller of the pair, with the red hair and weathered features—he was no fool. He watched Nigel with a gaze that was as appraising as it was ice cold.

Taylor, gigantic and wearing cheap cologne, ushered Nigel into Kendall’s office. Nigel spared Kendall’s dogs one last look before the office door swung shut. The halo-globes in the spacious office were turned down low. A single lamp glowed on the large desk that dominated the room. Beyond the desk, the wide viewport that took up much of the anterior wall showed the night face of
Anrar
III, black and endless. Kendall sat behind the desk in a chair that Nigel found to be ridiculously oversized. His long fingers were twined together on the desktop. The mayor’s gray hair hung to his shoulders in hastily combed rows. Kendall’s thin lips curved up but never quite reached the altitude of a smile.

“I apologize that we have continued to miss each other until now, Lieutenant
Swaren
.” Kendall’s tone was honey sweet. “Mayor is a busy role, as I’m sure you can imagine. Were I not able to delegate, I might hang myself.”

“That’s Captain. And yes, I imagine it does keep you busy.” Nigel spoke pleasantly enough. He looked around the office.
More books.
“The shelves are real wood?”

“Real down to the molecule.”
Kendall smiled. His lower lip stuck to his teeth for a brief second. “The books are real, as well. It’s taken me many years of collecting to fill these walls.”

“Do you go off-station often, then?
To collect your books?”

Kendall laughed and shook his head. One of the strands of hair came free of its ordained row and fell into his face. He brushed it away.

“No, no. I never leave the station. Nexus auction, my friend.”

There was a strange tang in the office. Nigel inhaled through his nose. It was the smell of sex. He tried to not react to it, although his first instinct was to purse his lips. He matched gazes with Kendall. Nigel felt sorry for the poor girl, whoever she was. Kendall was not a picture of beauty.

“Can I interest you in a drink, Mr.
Swaren
.
”

“I don’t drink,” Nigel said, matter-of-factly. “And besides, I’m on duty.”

“And here I was thinking this was a mere courtesy visit.” Kendall stood and made his way over to a slender bar set into one of the book-laden walls. Atop the bar sat multiple decanters filled with dark liquid. Kendall selected one and filled a crystal tumbler. Nigel had little doubt the bottles in Kendall’s bar were filled with genuine, non-synthetic liquor. There was a lot of money in the office. Kendall seemed to have acquired a lot more wealth than your typical fringe outpost mayor.

“The New Juno initiative seems to be favoring you, Mayor,” Nigel said as Kendall sat back down. Kendall looked around the office with a pleased glance.

“It certainly hasn’t hurt.”

Silence settled between them for several seconds. A leap of faith was not required here. Kendall was misbehaving himself into a fortune.

“What are you doing here,
Swaren
?” Kendall asked. His voice was even, almost indifferent. “And I’m not referring to your presence in my office. I want to know what you’re doing on
my
station.”

“I’m performing an audit, of course,” Nigel said.

“There is no reason for this audit. Crescent’s performance is with little flaw.” Kendall took a sip from the tumbler cradled in his hand. “This station has not been audited in some fifteen years.”

“Isn’t that reason enough for an audit?”

Kendall did not respond.

“At the risk of sounding disrespectful, Mayor Kendall, you don’t have the privilege to know my reasons for auditing this station. Your only role here is to comply with my needs,” Nigel said.

“Mr.
Swaren
. I’m going to remind you of
somethin
’. You are on my station. I run the show on Crescent and I run the show in a way that keeps things moving smoothly. You had best be careful where you stick your dirty little nose. It just might get bitten off. Do you understand what I’m
sayin
’ here, son?” Kendall asked.

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Mayor. If I had to guess, I’d say you were threatening me.” Nigel folded his hands in his lap and maintained eye contact with Kendall. For the first time during their meeting, Kendall’s lips curved into a wide, Cheshire grin.

“What I’m
sayin
’ is
,
you’re a long way from any Core Sec hub. You don’t have any friends here. I don’t see that
changin
’. It’d be unadvisable to make enemies. Do your job and leave.”

“I am doing my job, Mayor,” Nigel said.

Kendall’s grin turned into a smirk.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr.
Swaren
?”

“I don’t believe so, Mayor.”

“Very well, then,” Kendall replied and pressed a finger behind his ear. He muttered something and seconds later the door swung open. Nigel felt a large hand on his shoulder but did not bother looking up to see who it belonged to. He could smell the cologne just fine. “Thank you for your visit,
Mr.
Swaren
. I trust if you need anything from me, you won’t hesitate to ask. Taylor will show you the door.”

(•••)

The man strode across the bar toward Nigel, rubbing his dirty face with a weary hand. Despite the slender and athletic build beneath his flight suit, his shoulders were slumped and his movements deliberate with exhaustion. His dark hair was in a mad tousle atop his head. Gerald Evans looked just as Lieutenant Griffin had described him: a mess. Nigel waved to him. Evans nodded and changed course. Once he was within range, Nigel stood and extended his hand.

“Nigel
Swaren
,” Nigel said, and Gerald took his hand.

“I figured as much. I
gotta
sit down here, buddy. I’m dead on my legs.”

“By all means.”
Nigel gestured to the open seat across from his own. Gerald seated himself with a long sigh of relief, and Nigel sat back down.

“Drink?”
Nigel asked.

“Heavily and momentarily.”
Gerald managed a weak smile and waved to the girl tending the bar. She nodded back to him. Satisfied, Gerald returned his attention to Nigel. The salvage pilot’s eyes were bloodshot. His lips were chapped and his cheeks looked either sun or wind burned.
Strange.
Not really the type of wear and tear you’d expect to see on a salvage pilot.

“You’re the auditor,” Gerald stated with casual indifference. It wasn’t a question.

“I am.”

“Funny. I expected someone older.
Stauncher.”
Gerald paused and then added, “With less hair.”

Nigel laughed. At face value, Gerald Evans did not seem to be a bad man—Evans and Kendall were a study in contrast.

“Mr. Evans, you’re probably wondering why I asked you here,” Nigel said.

“Wondering, yeah.”
He nodded to the serving girl as she set a bottle in front of him. “I’ve got all kinds of ideas. But, it’d probably be easier for the both of us if you got down to it.”

“Very well, then. What is your employer up to? By employer, I mean Kendall.” Gerald’s drink halted mid-flight on its way to his lips. He set the bottle back down on the table and lit a cigarette. Smoke drifted past his dirty face in elongating wisps toward the sensors for the air handling system. The whirr of the fans kicked up a notch.

“Ah,” was all that Evans said.

“I had the chance to meet with Mayor Kendall this morning,” Nigel said.

“And he made you feel all creepy crawly, huh?”

“In a manner of speaking.
He’s up to no good, Gerald.” As the words crossed Nigel’s lips he realized how ridiculously obvious they sounded. “Certain members of his security team have alluded as much. I have seen enough to be convinced.”

“What variety of no good?” Gerald asked.

“I was hoping you could help me with that. I always figure these things out eventually, Gerald, but I have no interest in prolonging my stay on your fine station,” Nigel responded.

“Crescent isn’t my home, buddy. Business keeps me here—that’s all.”

“Business with Kendall.”

“Yes. Business with Kendall,” Gerald said.

“Anything to do with heavy-duty shipping crates from the Farm?” Nigel asked. Gerald blinked, and shrugged. The look of recognition that Nigel had hoped for was not there.

“The Farm?
No. Christ. I’m so tired.” Gerald took a drink from the
longnecked
bottle of ale and then stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. The ashtray’s top sealed with a click and when it opened again, the
cigarette butt was gone. “I have to go,” Gerald said.

“Gerald, you’re at no risk, telling me about any of this. You have my word.”

“There could be listener mites all over this place, Nigel. And it’s like I said. I don’t know jack about the Farm, okay?”

“The bar is clean, Gerald. No mites. You don’t have to worry about Core Sec listening in on this conversation.” From the look on Gerald’s face, he did not appear to buy it.

“Nigel, I’m not worried about Core Sec listening in. I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about Kendall. If it’s not mites, it’ll be
Catlier
and Raney coming in at the wrong moment. The last place I want to end up is floating in deep space without a ship or suit,” Gerald glanced around the bar.

“I see,” Nigel said.
Catlier
and Raney—the goons have names
, he thought.

“This is the part where you offer me protection,
Swaren
.”

“Protection?”
Nigel laughed again. He helped himself to one of Gerald’s cigarettes and lit it with a lighter that was attached to their table by a plastic cord. “Gerald. I’m one man.
One outsider.
I can’t protect you. I doubt I could protect myself.”

“Nigel, you’re not making me feel all warm and fuzzy about helping you,” Gerald said.

“In the long run, I’ll wager you’ll be better off by helping me. Men like Kendall eat their slaves alive—it’s just a matter of time.”