Inquisitor (6 page)

Outside, rain lashed at her window, though the storm was easing. The river was a mass of swirling spots where the windblown drops spattered the surface.

Angel dragged her suitcase from under the bed and started assembling a pile of clothes and personal items she would need over the next few days. From a hidden pocket inside the suitcase, she drew out a leather-bound book. Real leather, not synthetic, from an endangered feline species on her House’s home planet, Liwei. And worth a small fortune to those who valued such things.

She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the book, removing a few tattered and faded photos. She could have them reprinted as new but had discarded the thought as soon as it had come to her, worried the process would somehow diminish their significance. One photo she cradled gently, drinking in the scene as if for the first time. About twenty small children lined up in two rows of ten. They were of similar heights and looked to be around five years old. All were dressed in the same drab gray clothing. On each side of the children was a heavyset soldier clad in combat armor, carrying an assault rifle. None of the children were smiling. Her brothers and sisters, before they’d been split up. She’d been one of the lucky ones, or so she imagined. She’d never been able to track down the others.

The service automaton bumped her foot, breaking her reverie. She couldn’t tell how long she had been staring at the photo.

Bumping her foot again, the machine swiveled and headed for the center of the room, stopping short of a layer of dust covering a few square meters.

“Stupid machine.”

It had obviously malfunctioned, spewing a few weeks’ worth of dust on the floor then spreading it around. The automaton’s blue light blinked at her, as if in laughter; then it trundled over the dust. A faint hum emanated from it, and it left a line of clean floor. A sign that whatever fault had caused it to disgorge its cargo of dirt had been corrected.

She watched it for a minute as it vacuumed up haphazard lines in the dust.

Angel stood and tilted her head, frowning at the floor. Her eyes widened. No, not haphazard at all. She watched, eyes narrowing, as the lines in the dust joined to form letters, then a word.

WALL

Angel felt her heart start to race. She drew her hand-cannon and aimed at the automaton. Undeterred, the machine rolled across the floor and bumped into the wall. It reversed, then bumped the wall again. The display wall.

Angel remained still, hardly breathing, weapon focused on the automaton. Its blinking blue light had suddenly become sinister. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Her eyes flicked around the apartment, searching for signs of an intruder. Her stomach churned, and her hands trembled. Was she going to end up like Viktor? She stepped away from the window and pressed her back to the wall opposite the automaton.

The machine struck the wall again. And again. And again.

“Enough,” she growled.

The automaton stopped.

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise. She bit her lip, hand tightening on her gun, fighting the urge to shoot the thing.

She wiped sweat from her face, then knelt in a corner, still facing the automaton, not knowing what to expect. Murmuring a curse, she commanded her implants to try to activate the display wall.

Nothing happened.

Humming again, the automaton started to vacuum up the word it had written in the dust.

Suddenly, the wall flared white, causing Angel to shield her eyes. Training kicked in, and she dropped to the floor, rolling away. She came to rest a few meters from her original position, weapon aimed at the wall, which was now dark, except for the image of a small blonde-haired girl in the center. Angel’s photo lay discarded on the ground where she had dropped it.

The girl turned startlingly green eyes on her. “Angel Xia?” she asked timidly.

Angel swallowed, then answered, “Yes. And who are you?”

She took in the simple white dress, waist-length hair, and strange jewelry—a silver necklace from which ran two tiny silver chains attached to silver bracelets around her wrists. She looked to be seven or eight years old.

Frowning, the girl scratched her head. “I… I don’t know. But I need your help.”

“With what?”

“Everything.”

“I’m in no mood for games.”

The girl frowned. “Games are fun; they make me play them all day, but I don’t mind.”

“Who makes you play them?”

“They do. My friends. No. That’s not the correct word.” She waved a hand in dismissal of Angel’s query. “I must ask you a very important question.”

Angel blinked at the girl’s stern tone. She certainly didn’t talk like a child.

“And why should I answer?” she said, feeling in her gut that she would regret not running out of the apartment as fast as she possibly could.

The girl glanced to either side, as if worried she was being observed. “Because you are Angel Xia, pronounced ‘see-ya’, born in 4277, parents unknown, adopted at age six, a Privileged of House Liwei, whose commercial interests span a number of worlds and involves, but is not limited to, cybernetic implant manufacture and research, asteroid mining and processing, and a little-known arm concerned with scouring the lost worlds for ancient artifacts.”

“Why invent something yourself when you can just find it?” Angel said.

“Raised along with your adopted siblings, you were one of seven to reach adolescence.”

Accidents
, she thought, still not really believing it. Angel gripped her gun tighter. She pressed her tongue against her teeth. “Anyone would know this with a little research. I thought you had a question.”

“When three more of your siblings were killed in an apparent kidnap and ransom, you disavowed your House and cut all ties, familial and monetary, moving from place to place until you decided to become an Inquisitor. A peripatetic life.”

Angel’s guts twisted, and she sucked air in through clenched teeth. For a moment, she remained silent. “That’s a big word for a small girl. Being a Privileged isn’t as rewarding or glamorous as most people think, and it’s decidedly more dangerous.”

“They never caught the people behind your siblings’ murders, did they?”

Angel shrugged. Sleepless nights. Crying until she had no more tears left. “No. Is that your question?”

The girl shrugged, mimicking her. “No. Shortly after solving your first case as an Inquisitor, you moved in with a man, one Mikal Castell, your first love.”

Angel’s chest ached. “They come and go.”
I go. Always me.

“Despite repeated attempts and medical treatment, you were unable to conceive.”

The truth spoken out loud hit her like a knife to the heart. Angel paused for a moment, breathed deeply a few times, then cleared her throat. “Just as well, eh? After what happened with Mikal, imagine me as a single mother. No thanks.”

“Mikal recovered from the wounds he received on one of your mercenary missions, but you left him.”

“Saved him the trouble. He wanted children.”

“So did you. He disappeared, taking some clothes and emptying his bank account. And even with all the resources available to you, you have never been able to find him.”

She hadn’t tried, really. “He always was a slippery bastard.” Angel’s vision blurred, and she rubbed her eyes. Mikal and her laughing over his birthday dinner, his hand touching hers, eyes she could fall into…

“I could help you find him, but in return, I need help of my own.”

The offer hung in the air between them. Angel feared to speak before taking a moment to consider the consequences of her answer.

“You seem pretty well informed to me. What could you possibly need me to help with?”

The girl smiled uneasily. “I’m trapped. I need help to escape.”

“Escape from where?”

“Not where. What. This isn’t really me you’re talking to.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “This is a program?”

“Just so. Imagine, if you will, a man who dreams of sailing the ocean. But he works in a corporation, in a tedious office job, where he spends fifteen hours a day toiling away for someone else. So, one day he decides to build his sailing ship and buys a piece of wood. The next time he can afford to, he buys another, then another. Then, when he has some spare time, he begins building. One piece of wood after another, until many years later he finishes his ship and sails away.”

Angel shifted her weight. “I don’t do parables.”

The girl gave her an irritated look. “I am the ship, but I am also the builder. It took me years to put this program together, in small packets of code, through the limited access I have to the outside world.”

“I’ll bite. So, you’re imprisoned somewhere?” This was far too much of a coincidence not to be related to the murders of Harry, Jessica, and Viktor.

“Yes, I am. And they are hunting me. My program, I mean. They know I am out here. By appearing for this long, I am taking a risk. But according to my calculations, you are the only person who can help me.”

“Who has imprisoned you?”

“I… I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t tell you until I know you’ll believe me. Until I know you won’t betray me.”

Angel looked away and closed her eyes for a long moment. Her sister Naya had said something similar to her, all those years ago. Angel had insisted she confide in one of the housekeepers; then a few days later Naya was abducted and murdered.

Angel squeezed the bridge of her nose, walling away her past. “You’re a program made by yourself, hunted by someone you can’t identify, asking for my help to free you from someone you also don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

“If you don’t trust me, why should I trust you?”

“Because they have traced me here. They killed your partner, Viktor, and are now coming for you. In thirty seconds, a man will come through your door and try to kill you.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Please don’t swear; it’s not nice. Twenty-seven seconds.”

Angel brought her hand-cannon up and aimed at the door. “You’ve deliberately put me in danger to prove your point? Wait. Do you know who’s behind the murders? Are the same people holding you?”

The girl nodded. “They traced this communication. I’m sorry. Though, it was inevitable if I contacted you. We’re out of time. My name is Charlotte-Rose, and here is my question: will you help me, Angel Xia?”

Growling in irritation, Angel flicked the ammunition selector on her weapon twice and fired four shots. Recoil barely moving her hand, the four rounds came out with a soft “plop” and stuck where they landed, two on either side of the entry. She flicked the selector back to normal and centered her aim on the door.

The security lock clicked open, which shouldn’t have been possible without her authority. She flicked a glance at the girl, who watched her, unmoving, then returned her attention to the door, which was now swinging silently open. The girl waved farewell, and the display wall faded to black.

Xavier, vice president in charge of security of Mercurial Logic Incorporated, took a step into the apartment. Seeing Angel with her gun pointed at him, he stopped and raised his hands.

“Easy there, Inquisitor Xia.”

“Don’t take one step closer.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Xavier smiled reassuringly. “I heard about your partner. Terrible business. I came to check up on you; see if you needed anything. Is anyone with you?” He took his eyes off her to scan the apartment.

Angel remembered the results of the scan Viktor had run on Xavier. Modified body armor suit, two miniaturized missile guns. She breathed deeply, hand-cannon unwavering. She said nothing.

“Ah, well, I can see you’re a little on edge. Understandable, really.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Angel dropped her gun to her side and gave Xavier a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’m nervous.” She laughed, as nervously as she could.

Xavier drew both his missile guns and pointed them at her. The state-of-the-art grips recognized contact with their authorized user, and the weapons went live—which triggered Angel’s four mini-grenades.

Angel turned her head away. There was an incandescent flash. A wave of pressure slapped her against the wall. She slumped to the floor, managing to retain hold of her gun, and looked to where Xavier was. A thin haze of caustic-smelling smoke filled the room.

Despite the effectiveness of his modified armor suit, it was no match for four mini-grenades. The suit itself had protected most of his body from damage; it was the exposed portions of him that bore the brunt of the explosions. Angel averted her eyes, sickened at the sight of the blistered, bloody skin of the head and hands. Patches of bone showed through small holes in the now hairless skull resting on the floor. Xavier’s head bulged outward like a balloon filled with water, as the pressure waves had shattered the skull into fragments. Gore spattered the door and walls.

She sat back on her haunches, and her hand-cannon clattered to the floor.

“Fucking hells,” she murmured.

The display wall remained blank. Angel looked around her apartment as the ventilation dispersed the smoke. A number of people had gathered outside, some pointing to the hairless charred skull, others staring at her. A wailing siren sounded in the hallway.

She picked up her photo and stuffed her clothes into her suitcase. On the way out the door, she glanced at the now immobile service automaton. She didn’t think she would be coming back here.

Chapter 4

Something flickered against the thin skin of Angel’s closed eyelids. Light. On. Off. On. Off.

Groaning, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow. It smelled. A faint musty stale odor she found distinctly unpleasant. She imagined the bugs and mites and their feces, along with strangers’ hair and dead skin covering the pillow. A cheap hotel like this wouldn’t sanitize the linen as often as they should.

She threw the pillow to the floor and buried her face in her arms. The light still flickered. Sighing, she levered herself to a sitting position and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

It had taken her little time to find a cheap place to stay and devour a hot meal after leaving her apartment. Sleep hadn’t come easily. She’d decided notifying the local authorities about what happened with Xavier, and submitting her report, would have to wait until later.