The Bright Image: Clean Book 3 Page 5

  “The bedroom,” said Balancar. “Take a deep breath, detective. You may need it.”

  “I’ve seen murders before,” said Ryan.

  “You’ve seen death, detective. But not like this.” Balancar motioned toward the door to the bedroom.

  Ryan followed the motion. The light veins flared, almost to full luminosity, then dimmed to near complete darkness. Ryan stopped walking and glanced up at the ceiling.

  “Any idea what’s wrong with them?”

  “Something disrupted power flow to this block several hours ago.”

  “Before the murder?” asked Ryan.

  “I suspect so,” said Balancar.

  Ryan nodded, then activated his sensory link to his team and walked into the bedroom. Golden streaks hung like paint on the walls of the bedroom. Ryan froze as he noticed a shape on the bed that resembled an arrow. The light veins flickered brighter behind him.

  It was an arm, torn from the victim’s shoulder. The open palm showed a wound in its center, leaving no doubt the limb had belonged to an aeon. The air stank of blood, however mingled with a tang of sweetness.

  He covered his mouth with his hand. The floor gleamed with yellowish ichor. Slumped by a closet door near the foot of the bed, sat the rest of the victim. Ryan avoided the trails and drops of fluid, not all of it sticky and golden, but some of it black and viscous. He approached the foot of the bed, stopping at the edge of a pool of ichor spreading from the body.

  Savage wounds stood open and yellow, limned with more of the dark fluid from the floor. His head lay against the wall, appearing untouched. Glassy eyes gazed at the ceiling. The aeon wound in his forehead was dry. Where his left arm had been pulled from his body, the remains of a tattered white uniform-sleeve hung, sodden with gore.

  His other arm drooped from his shoulder, hand limp on the floor. Ryan’s back prickled with icy dread. Aeons were built tougher than humans, and even if the victim had been human the question would be the same, what could have done this?

  A beast? A rogue star?

  His team remained silent, probably just as stunned as Ryan himself. A long shadow fell across him.

  “His name was Dalmanno,” said Balancar.

  “Dalmanno,” Ryan muttered. “The name isn’t familiar.”

  “It wouldn’t be. He was a seventh-year aeon, one of only the few youngest.”

  During the mind plague and the arrival of the aeons the first to appear were thought of as the first year. For over half a decade more aeons appeared, but fewer and fewer until eventually no new ones arose after the seventh year. While aeons varied a little in apparent human-age, they had all appeared within thirty years of the present.

  More knowledge the public did not know at large, but which the Colonel had informed Ryan of after Sudhatho’s fall.

  “Only twenty-five years old,” said Balancar. “And still a child.”

  “You sound like you knew him.”

  “I sponsored him, and when he wasn’t studying he also traveled in my circles, ambitious for one so young.”

  Ryan did not bother asking the details of what a young aeon studied here in the heights, especially over the course of more than two decades. He knew Balancar would not give a straight answer.

  “Did he want to govern?” Ryan asked, averting his gaze from the body.

  “Most definitely.” Balancar sighed. “And I doubt he would have been satisfied with managing a district of the city. Ambitious indeed.”

  “Yeah. I see.” Ryan turned to face Balancar. “Can we discuss this in the main room?”

  Balancar nodded, but said nothing. They returned to the living space of the apartment. Balancar looked at Ryan.

  “You’re pale. I’d say you should sit, but this is a crime scene and must not be disturbed.”

  “I understand. I can handle it.”

  “Good.” Balancar folded his arms. “Because I’m afraid the latest crisis with reproductive rights will require my vote shortly. I’ll give you what I know. Then I’m afraid I must leave this in your hands.”

  “I won’t let you down, Governor.”

  “I hope not.” Balancar’s stony, chiseled mind touched the edge of Ryan’s network perception. “I’m relying on you, detective.”

  Ryan braced himself for the relay. Information packets flooded his mind. When he recovered from the transfer, he contacted his team to tell them to meet him at the scene.

  I got the news bulletin from the major net’s live feed as my team and I finished unpacking in our hotel rooms in the refugee district. We took two rooms. One room for me and the twin sense recorders, Layne and Phil Kowalski, and the other for Samantha and her assistant, Ellen.

  While I knew I would miss Rebecca, seeing the two double beds in the room reminded me of her, and of a night on the run when we had shared a bed similar to one of these. The Kowalski brothers shot fingers for who would sleep on the floor that night.

  Layne won and seemed intent on never letting Phil forget until I held up a hand.

  “Keep it down, guys. There’s breaking news.”

  Layne and Phil exchanged glances.

  “Sure, boss,” said Layne.

  Rain spattered on the window by my bed and drummed on the roof as I sat to take in the news.

  It was targeted locally, a warning for this district and the one to the south where the immense structure of Candlegrove Heights dominated the view through the rain. The local newswoman began with a nervous frown on her face.

  “Security forces are on the lookout for the perpetrator of a brutal crime in Candlegrove Heights. An aeon student was found this morning in his apartment…”

  My eyes widened as I listened. I knew this story could reflect on the refugees. However the murder ended up looking, I guessed it could not help the tension in the streets. I looked at the recorders, both of them networking. Their shocked faces told me they were watching the same report as I.

  “An aeon was murdered…” said Phil in a low voice. “Has that ever—I mean, how could it?”

  Layne shook his head.

  “Bad news on top of bad news.”

  “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time,” I said. “The aeon council is making a preliminary vote on reproductive research today.”

  “Huh,” said Phil. “How do those connect?”

  Layne shot an exasperated look at his brother.

  “You really need this spelled out?”

  “I can’t read your mind, jerk.”

  “You could if you tried.”

  “Enough,” I said. “Phil, aeons might be swayed to vote in favor of reproductive research if they’re afraid of losing numbers.”

  “Can you imagine another generation of aeons?” said Layne.

  “I guess so,” said Phil. “But I’d say the refugees are a bigger issue. With millions of new people arriving in the city, the governing aeons will need to manage more and more.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “But wait,” said Phil. “Why would more aeons be bad?”

  I didn’t think I should tell them the truth, so I shrugged.

  “Maybe it won’t be. But it could be a big change.”

  “Change is coming, one way or the other,” said Layne.

  I nodded. Part of me wanted to reach out to Rebecca and ask her opinion. The part of me that feared what she would tell me won out for once. Whoever could kill an aeon in a strictly controlled building like Candlegrove was no one even she, with her skills, could deal with alone.

  The refugee story had to be my focus for now. I closed my eyes and extended my mind to set up meetings with refugee leaders.

  Unregistered Memory, Thomas Fenstein, Candlegrove Heights

  Thomas had only been to the heights once before the day Celsanoggi brought him and Rebecca to Candlegrove. He remembered it well.

  In the largest atrium of a building full of large interior gardens, he took a bench on an island cut out of the tiles by parallel streams of water. He sat and waited for Celsanoggi
to send her vote to be tallied with those of the other governors.

  Thomas watched the numbers through the network as they grew over the next hour. Each aeon took only seconds to send their anonymous support to their side of the debate. Nobody would abstain, not on an issue this divisive and important. Even this preliminary vote to determine whether or not research should be pursued had divided the city’s factions along more than the usual lines.

  On the side supportive of reproductive research stood a coalition of some militant aeons and the bulk of the Maladecti faction, following their highest aeons. However, even the expansive Maladectis were split at one point. A junior council representative, Kurasha, had his followers in vocal opposition to their usual superiors, including the head of the faction and it’s officially retired senior member, Peressa. Onoggotos was officially a Maladect, and Thomas figured his curiosity placed him with the majority of his faction in supporting more research.

  With the majority of Maladectis reporting, pro-research was up immensely. Thomas felt his stomach drop, as he considered a city where any aeon could go mad if they decided it was worth the risk.

  The Teloites, once led by Sudhatho reported en masse in the next wave. They mostly supported anti-research. Now led by Leshenien, a high aeon military commander who had inexpertly tried to reorder the security-driven faction, splinters were showing. Though they wanted to keep the city safe, many favored research to sustain the aeon’s side of the city military.

  After most Teloites reported the two sides were close, but pro-research still appeared to lead.

  The non-faction high aeons and the other major faction reported in the final minutes. This meant Celsanoggi’s faction, the Bathoterns, and their leader Rittaskana turned the tables on pro-research. The numbers came in close.

  Too close.

  The mentors and high aeons called the vote after human council members made their contributions. Pro-research still led, but not by a decisive margin thanks to district lines. Thomas sighed with relief. Another vote would be called in a week. The debates, protests, and gossip would continue without a decision for at least that much longer.

  Celsanoggi disconnected as she walked over to the bench where Thomas sat.

  “Are you kidding me?” she said. “An indecision, at this point?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “They’re not going to make our job any easier, that’s for sure.”

  Celsa put a hand to her collar, a habit when she was repressing an emotion.

  “I know you’re angry,” said Thomas.”

  “We can’t have new aeons until we can control the ones already here,” said Celsa. “Even the lowliest student could be a deadly weapon, and I have a feeling the killing last night won’t be the last.”

  “Do you know which student—”

  “A social climber called Dalmanno. He was courting my mentor, Rittaskana.”

  Thomas whistled.

  “That’s ambition. She’s one of the highest in the city.”

  “I don’t think Ritta was leading him on, either.” Celsa sighed. “It’s strange to think he’s gone, just like that.”

  “Think we should look into it?”

  “With care, Thomas. Dalmanno may have been a student, but he was still an aeon. Whoever killed him could be a danger to me, and will surely threaten you if your identity becomes known.”

  “Any idea who’s investigating officially?”

  “Ryan Carter,” said Celsa. “He and his team are here.”

  “Already?”

  “This is a matter of utmost importance. Governor Balancar appears to have delegated to them.”

  “This could be good news,” said Thomas. “We can work with Ryan.”

  “Perhaps,” said Celsa. “Reach out to him later. For now, we should see if Onoggtos found anything about Rebecca.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Seems like that’s what we can do right now,” he said.

  I left the hotel with my team right after the vote went to indecision. We eschewed the van in favor of capturing the sights and sounds of the foot traffic. Rain came and went throughout the day as we talked with refugees and locals who had been in the district longer, as well as a few security personnel.

  The security troops, in particular, were happy to explain the difficulties of their job in keeping everyone as safe as possible.

  "At least the rain isn't too bad yet. The canals here are old," said one of the water traffic coordinators standing in front of a makeshift wharf full of dilapidated riverboats. "If we get hit too hard, things could really go sideways."

  I recorded the interviews with the help of Phil Kowalski, while Layne ranged free and Ellen recorded Samantha's interviews.

  Already, I was seeing things that worried me.

  For one, many of the district's formerly derelict buildings were under fresh construction. Teams of workers with a few aeons each were putting light veins into a whole set of apartment buildings in a complex five blocks from our hotel.

  The second issue was the food lines. Whatever these refugees had been able to bring with them on their trains had quickly been used up. It wasn't just the rain and the canal that could make things go sideways. The food lines we captured with our senses showed bedraggled people waiting out into the street for meager bowls of soup and bread.

  "Awful conditions," said Samantha as we made our further into the district, away from the canal. "And all in the shadows of the aeon heights."

  "Absolutely goddamn right," muttered Layne, currently off the record while his brother recorded our motion going forward.

  Samatha's eyes flashed and she shook her head.

  "We're far from seeing the worst, though."

  I nodded to her, solemn as I considered my parents having to move into this overcrowded and undersupplied part of the city. We had to diagnose the problem fast, then hopefully get help from the Harpers. I wished I could be sure Council Member Macroy would attack the problems facing his new constituents as aggressively as he possibly could.

  We kept walking, making our way toward the train station at the northwest corner of the district.

  As we neared the train station, a woman's raised voice drew all of our attention to a semi-circular crowd of refugees standing in the rain. At their center, the speaker, a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties with all-gray hair, waved a hand toward the trains. It looked like some kind of old-fashioned political rally, from before ichor facilitated network communications for gathering support.

  "This is our home now, but we're still going to be Fort Wayne. The buildings are gone, but we've always been the city, not the streets or the houses."

  The crowd rumbled with assent. A few people cheered or whistled. I was impressed.

  "Angela Watts," said Samantha for Layne's sensors. "The former mayor of Fort Wayne is still a leader among her displaced people."

  I admitted privately, I was glad I had brought Samantha in on this. I wouldn't have recognized Angela Watts from the news coverage. Samantha went silent as the mayor went on with her speech.

  "We're here, and we need to spread the word. There's nothing but the ocean on the other side of this city, nowhere left to run. We have to convince the people here to fight back."

  "She's pretty inspiring," whispered Ellen from beside me.

  "Yeah," I said softly. "But that message isn't going to play in the city. People are too used to things being mostly safe."

  "If she's right we could be in for a change," said Ellen.

  I turned and looked at Samantha's young assistant.

  "You don't sound scared."

  "Being scared of change is for people with power."

  "Good point." I sighed inwardly, then motioned to Phil. We moved toward the crowd in such a way as to stay out of Layne's direct field of vision.

  The Kowalski brothers might joke too much, but they were good sensors and executed the maneuver perfectly. Ellen moved in beside Layne to keep, probably capturing additional details of
her own.

  I made my way along the edge of the crowd as it began to break from around Angela. She had finished speaking, and the people were hungry, not to mention cold and wet from the rain. The weather was beginning to bother me, though it was only sprinkling at the moment.

  I made a few mental notes on what I saw, then started speaking for my sensor to hear.

  "The situation here appears dire. Too many people. Too few supplies and the difference is growing daily."

  I paused for effect.

  "If we can get aid to the district, the city can save lives here." I looked toward the center of the slowly scattering crowd. Angela Watts still stood where she had been before.

  Another woman, this one in her late thirties and pushing a wheelchair with someone who could easily be her sister, followed Angela as she proceeded forward slowly.

  A girl in the crowd was studying me and Phil.

  "Are you with the news?" she asked.

  "With BrightNet, yeah," I said.

  "Her too?" the girl, who looked to be in her early twenties tipped her head toward Samantha.

  "Yeah," I said. "We're here to help."

  "My mom and everyone here could really use all the help we can get," said the girl. She turned toward the woman in the wheelchair. "Traveling has been hardest on her, though."

  I followed the girl's gaze.

  The woman's head rested against the back of the wheelchair. She looked steadily up at the sky, despite the rain.

  "Is she sick?" I asked.

  "She's always been like that. My Aunt Trish says it's the mind plague, some part of it that never went away."

  I frowned.

  "My name's Jethro Gall," I said.

  "I'm Jeanine," said the girl.

  "I want to help your mom. Can you help me get an interview with Mayor Watts."

  "Sounds like a deal to me." Jeanine motioned to me and Phil. "Follow me."

  Unregistered Memory, Elizabeth Ashwood, Highest Hall, Candlegrove

  Governor Balancar met Elizabeth and Sarah in the highest hall of Candlegrove while Lena and Vistenna waited in the atrium below. The highest hall gleamed with skylights and shining veins in the floor and support structures.