Superego (8 page)

She wasn't a knockout, looks-wise, but the way she held herself—the authority in it—was very strong and, I guess, a turn-on for me. She smiled at me—I
was
the hero—but the suspicion was obvious in her eyes. I can assess people quickly, and this was a smart woman. That would potentially be trouble.

I turned the TV off. It would take my full concentration to pull off this act. “The news would just be a bunch of speculation at this point. I'm actually on vacation. I'm trying to relax.” I laughed, since that was supposed to be ironic.

Wait. I went to a café—a place to relax—which got me attacked by terrorists, which is situational irony. But I don't think my statement about it counted as irony, as it was merely light sarcasm.

It's important to keep that straight.

Whatever it was, it got only a polite smile in response. “I'm Detective Thompson. I'm here to question you about the terrorist attack. I'd just like to start by making it clear that our main concerns are these terrorists and preventing possible further attacks, so I want to get the issue of your involvement out of the way as quickly as possible. You gave your name as ‘Rico Vargas'?”

“Can you make sure my name and picture don't end up in the news? I don't want to sound cowardly, but I'd rather not have all the Calabrai freaks targeting me while I'm here.”

“We're not telling anyone you're the one who ended the attack,” Detective Thompson assured me. “Now, I need to ask: Why were you carrying guns?”

“I'm a police officer from a planet called Rikar.” The planet was in a galaxy red-shifting away near the speed of light; it would take the police on Nar Valdum a lot of effort to contact it. “I carry out of habit, and, to be honest, I didn't really look into the gun laws here. I've been through a lot, and I don't go places unarmed.” Seemed liked a believable cop attitude.

She nodded—somehow it came off as a suspicious nodding. “You carry three guns everywhere?”

That I do, unless I can comfortably fit more on me; I've never been in a situation where I was all, “Oh no! I have too many guns!”

That wasn't my answer to her, though.

“Rikar is a pretty violent planet; I'm used to carrying a gun at all times and a backup just to be safe. The third gun—the old-fashioned little revolver—is almost more of a good luck charm. You ever use a gunpowder-based firearm before?”

I really couldn't tell if she was buying it. “They're noisy.” She looked at her notes. “You often need your backup gun on Rikar?”

I was going to assume someone saw me firing both guns at once. “Not often, but I taught myself to aim and fire both guns at once. It's point-shooting—less accurate, but quick. With multiple attackers and limited cover, it's about all that kept me alive.”

“From the results, I could certainly tell it wasn't your first gunfight.” It seemed like part compliment and part further suspicion. She was challenging; I kind of liked that. It was so easy to fool most people.

“Like I said, Rikar is pretty violent.” True, if I was thinking of the right planet. I pointed to my stabilized leg. “Not my first gunfight
or
bolt wound.” Certainly true. “I was trying to get away from that, really.” Not true at all.

“So what brought you here?” She now seemed like she was trying to sound less suspicious. I was successful in engendering politeness, at least.

“I just really needed a break from work and wanted to see some of the universe. I constantly deal with the same problems and finally convinced myself that the whole place wouldn't burn down without me, and I could take a vacation. I heard about the conference here and the possibility of a stronger galactic government and thought that was worth checking out. There's so much crime and chaos out there, it's nice to think something can be done about it.”

“If by ‘something' you mean lots of talking and useless measures, then I'm sure something will be done.” She smiled wryly.

“Maybe so.” It seemed that we had now bonded as fellow law enforcement professionals. “So am I in trouble?” I almost forgot to ask that, but normal people would be worried about that sort of thing.

“You're a hero—I don't think the prosecutors will want to pursue the infraction of illegal possession of small arms. I need to do my job, though.”

“I understand.” Doing my job is what I'm all about. “If you guys expect some sort of written apology for the firearms possession, it's not going to happen.” It seemed right to be a little indignant.

She smiled. “I'm pretty sure we're going to be more practical than that.” She was pretty—that was for sure—though her clothing was functional and only vaguely feminine. The only thing outwardly threatening was her blue eyes—I could tell they were hard at work assessing me. If I'd had to guess just then—and I often do need to guess about these sorts of things—I would have ventured she had killed in the line of duty or at least been in numerous gunfights.

Yes, I can sorta tell that from someone's eyes. I'm not talking “windows to the soul” crap; it's what they focus on that's revealing. And hers were carefully looking me over while she kept up a friendly exterior.

I took another moment to reflect on what someone like “Officer Rico” would be concerned about in a situation like this. It's a universally accepted truth that people getting killed is tragic (even though it happens
all
the time), so I figured I'd better show concern about that. “So…uh…how bad was it?”

“Seven dead.” I could see a little fire in her eyes. She cared about others; how cute. “About three times that many were injured.”

I stared a bit vacantly with my mouth slightly open. It's supposed to be a “shocked” expression, and I think I pulled it off. I uttered, “Why?” People love that question, but the answer is usually much less enlightening than they would think. People need purpose in their lives, and intense purpose—intense enough to justify killing others—has got to be quite satisfying.

“They are nuts. I don't see any reason to analyze it past that. Maybe they're feeling upstaged by what's happening on Zaldia and wanted to remind everyone what mindless murderers they are, too.”

“It hardly compares to Zaldia.” I was really starting to think I should read up more on Zaldia if people kept mentioning it. I just hate reading the news.

“The Calabrai are never going to be anything more than a nuisance to society at large, but that's hardly comforting to the families of the dead. Right now we have people trying to find out if this attack was an isolated incident or if we should expect more.”

I didn't really have a plan at this point, but I saw something and decided to go with it. “Any leads on that?”

Her expression turned serious. “I'm not on that case beyond checking in on you.”

I smiled. “You have an idea of what trees to shake, though?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You're antsy. You don't want to be here; you want to be out there chasing this. I've been there.”

She grinned. “No, I don't want to be here when we could have more attacks coming. I hope you don't take offense at that, Mr. Vargas.”

“Rico, please.”

“If you don't find it too offensive, I'm just going to go ahead and report that you don't appear to be a threat, and we'll sweep this whole thing under the rug.”

“If I'm not a threat, can I have my guns back?”

“You're not getting your guns back is part of the rug-sweeping, I'm afraid. I wish I could offer you something more to help salvage your vacation; you are a hero.”

I was interested in seeing if she had more to offer me. I was in a bad situation, and I had two options: Try to escape further police notice, or see if I could use it to my advantage—whenever I found out why I was on this planet. “They say I'll be out of here in another hour, so I think I'll just be satisfied today with a nice dinner and a good night's sleep.” The hook was baited.

“Eating alone?” And she went for it.

“I'm on a solo sojourn right now.”

“Well, if you want company, I know a few good places. My treat. It's the least we could do for you.”

“That would be great. I'll just need to get back to my hotel room first because of the societal need for pants.”

She chuckled. “So where are you staying?”

“Lion's Grove. It's pretty nice.” And not too suspicious on a cop's salary. It seems like luck, but smart planning makes its own luck.

“I know a good restaurant right by there—Kylo's. Why don't I meet you there at seven, Rico?”

“Sounds good…Detective.”

She smiled. “Diane. Now, try to stay out of trouble until then.” She took one last look over me before leaving. No, not in that way. I think she was still suspicious of me. I liked her. She seemed pretty smart. Hopefully not so smart I'd have to kill her.

“Dip, I have a new job for you. Find out everything you can about a Detective Diane Thompson.”

CHAPTER 9

My leg was stiff, but it seemed to work for walking, which was the best I could hope for a few hours after having a blaster bolt go straight through it. More bothersome was my current sense of nakedness. That was partly from having to wear a small pair of shorts I got at the hospital to replace my pants. (I'm not much for fashion, but I'm pretty sure blue shorts don't complement a gray sports jacket too well.) But I could wear a clown costume and not worry about drawing attention as long as I knew I could kill everyone around me.

As soon as I got back to my room, I opened the safe inside the closet and took out my last two firearms: the .45s. They were just a step up from a sharpened rock on a stick, but as long as they were concealable and could kill people at a distance, I was happy.

“I have information about Diane Thompson if you want it, Rico.”

“You haven't heard any more from Vito?”

“Not yet.”

I picked out another suit from the closet. I have a few slightly varied styles, but I always keep things simple. “Yeah. Read me the main points.”

“Please clarify.”

“Where she is from, how old she is, how long she has been on the police force, any cases she's worked on that stick out…”

“Stick out how?”

“Arrested someone with a high profile, any shootouts. You should be smart enough now to figure out when something is unusual.” Once I had the new shirt on, I got out some shoulder holsters that fit the .45s. I'd had to go to a replica store to get them.

“She is thirty-four years old. She is originally from the planet Andalu and transferred here as a police officer a little over ten years ago. She was promoted to detective four years later. She has been involved in twelve shootings in the line of duty. Killed eight sentients total, wounded five, all ruled justified. About a year ago, she received a bolt wound to the shoulder while her partner was shot multiple times and killed. She killed one of the assailants in that incident, and the other two were caught and are currently serving life prison sentences.”

“That's quite a bit of action for a police officer, correct?” Her number of kills over ten years wouldn't be a particularly exceptional day for me, but officers of the law aren't exactly supposed to be killing machines—especially in well-settled areas.

Dip said, “There is a decent amount of crime in the city, and she hasn't drawn her gun excessively—she just appears to be more lethal than average when she does. She does have a higher than average number of complaints against her.”

I chuckled. “That just means she needs to kill even more people. Dead men don't complain. Anyway, she seems interesting.”

“Rico, why are you asking questions about her? Based on data of celebrities known for their attractiveness, I have given Diane Thompson a seventy-eight percent chance of being considered attractive.”

I practiced drawing the guns from the shoulder holster. They had a nice weight to them, but the weight would change as I fired them and used up ammunition. A small factor, but it was worth noting. “Things are pretty messed up right now, since I've earned a high profile with the police. I don't know what I'm doing here, but maybe when I find out I can exploit police access for it. I'm just keeping my options open…since I don't know what else to do at the moment.”

“Getting closer to law enforcement on this planet seems like a dangerous plan.”

“I don't know what the safe one is.” I checked the action on the guns. I was less familiar with it—I've practiced shooting them but have never actually killed with one.

“Fleeing,” he said.

“I have a dinner date. Fleeing would hurt the detective's feelings.” I loaded the guns, put the safeties on, and holstered them.

“Do you plan to kill her?”

“That would be a little forward for a first date.”

“I would caution you that—” Dip paused mid-sentence. “I have an incoming call from Vito.”

Finally. “Patch him to me.” I waited until I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. “Vito, what the hell?”

“Sorry. I don't know much of what's going on,” Vito said. “But I have new orders for you. You're supposed to help the police on Nar Valdum take out the terrorists.”

“Is that my main job here?” I asked.

“I don't know the details. I'm just told you're to do that, and someone will contact you again later.”

“When?”

“I don't know.”

“So work with the police?”

“That's what they said.”

I was silent for a second while I contemplated this. “I don't think the police are going to like my methods.”

“Sorry. That's all they told me.”

“And what about the contacts I was supposed to meet here? Did they know the café would be attacked?”