Authors: Hazel Cotton
‘Winded me, sir. Didn’t see it coming.’
‘Always watch for the crotch shot, lad, especially when dealing with women. You still look a bit green. Take a few more minutes then, after you’ve seen the ME, I want a full report. Who’s the arresting officer?’
‘I am, sir. Schaefer, Martin.’ A dishevelled corporal stepped forward, straightening his uniform. Strands of sun-streaked hair were escaping from his braided pigtail.
Hunter stood. ‘What’s the story here?’
Schaefer smoothed a hand over his mussed up hair, pulled down on his jacket. ‘Sir, we answered a call from a neighbour reporting an argument in progress. When we got there we found a terminated male with what looked to be a breadknife in his chest, and these women standing over him yelling like banshees.’ He glanced over his shoulder as tattoo woman was led away screaming about police brutality. ‘That one claims she knows people in high places…in her professional capacity… Says she’ll go to the press with the details if we charge her with anything. Says she’s got photos and a holo. It’s a bit delicate, sir, she mentioned someone high up in this unit.’
Hunter raised his eyebrows, closing his eyes before blowing out a hard breath. ‘Put them in separate interview rooms. Let them stew for a bit until they’ve calmed down. I’ll take their statements myself. The rest of you, why aren’t you at work?’
As they wandered back upstairs, Skye saw Newman hand over the money.
The idea struck as she passed his empty office. Although her heart was drumming in her chest, she walked casually. Hunter’s coat was over the back of his chair – his workstation illuminated, though blank. Still she hesitated. He could be back at any minute. And anyone inside the cubicle was like a goldfish in a bowl. She glanced around. Snatchers came and went, criss-crossing the open area, they talked on klips, or sat hunched over worktops. Techniques varied according to limits of patience: from yelling insults at their CPU’s to smoothing fingers over the surface like masseuse over skin. Nobody looked her way.
The cubicle door swung shut with a soft click. She was in. Hunter’s neat workspace was before her: a box of plain glass memory squares sitting on top of some sheets of clean paper; three hardcover files each in different colours, and a posh leather briefcase leaning against his chair. A sudden noise to the left brought her heart leaping into her throat, but it was only the bleep of his message bank picking up an incoming call. A small part of her brain registered snow falling outside his window.
Darting to his workstation she sat, keeping low. With one weather eye on the scene outside, she placed a finger on the glass table then, as command dials appeared, blocked audio. Hunter’s equipment was far more sophisticated than anything she’d worked with. She stared at the pane as if by doing so inspiration might strike. Her heart raced; fingers trembling, making them clumsy as they searched.
‘Hey, Dawson, where’s the drone? I need a coke. A man could die of thirst over here.’
Skye froze.
‘Sucking up to Hunter somewhere, I expect. You’ll have to get your own.’
Catching a movement outside Skye’s heart literally stalled. Private Johansson rose from his workbench and headed over.
She knew exactly what he intended to do. Right beside Hunter’s office, only a blink away from where she sat, was the hated drink dispenser.
‘Actually, as you’re up, I could use a coke.’
Skye watched, not daring to breathe, as he stopped at Dawson’s booth. They exchanged a few words, then Dawson slipped a hand in her pocket and handed over some coins.
Frantic, head jerking from side to side, she searched for somewhere to hide, but there was nowhere. She was trapped, with no believable excuse for being there.
Instinct kicked in. While his attention was focussed on Dawson, she slid onto the floor, balled tight under the glossy glass table, and prayed. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all the cover she had. Rough carpet scratched her elbows as she pressed into it, and a black, hairy spider, oblivious to the situation, dropped on a thin thread inches from her nose. I know you’re small; I know you’re harmless, she told herself, but, if you crawl to the floor, I’ll scream. If I blow you away you’ll no doubt trapeze back and squat on my face, and I’ll definitely scream. Better to keep you in sight. Narrowing her eyes, she dared it to move. Dawson called something out, and Johansson’s voice, chillingly close, answered. ‘You sure? Water, not coke?’
‘
Yeah.’ Dawson’s tone was flirty. ‘I need to hydrate. Figured on hitting the gym later. You could join me, lift some weights, get sweaty.’
‘Mmm. Might do that. So, you reckon the Lieutenant’s screwing her.’
‘Sure. She’s got him where she wants him. You should have seen her, all dewy eyes and trembling lips when he bawled her out for stuffing up big time arresting that old biddy. So he goes soft and gives her a slap on the wrist when he should have sent her packing. And that fancy flat he’s set her up in? You can’t tell me he’s not getting paid, or rather laid.’
On the other side of the wall, coins tinkled into the drink dispenser. Fuming, Skye waited cross-eyed as the spider stared her out, expecting to hear the familiar thud of a cone spewing out… Nothing happened.
‘Can’t say I blame him. From a purely male point of view she’s hot – throw in the innocent and untouched element… v-e-r-y tasty.’
‘Oh, please. But wouldn’t you love to be a fly on the wall, when his fancy girlfriend finds out.’
‘Yeah, but is he really dating that Keating broad? So they’re at the same do’s? Don’t make them an item. Gossip columns’ll make a story out of nothing, and she’s always news.’
‘Hey. You two. I’m not sitting here listening to you talking about the boss like that. Show some respect, will you. And the girl’s okay. Give her a break.’ Skye didn’t recognise the voice, but she heard some others agreeing.
Dawson sounded pissed. ‘I was only saying.’
‘Yeah, well don’t.’
Almost - she almost risked raising her head. Had she missed it listening to them? Had Johansson gone back? Or was he standing right there peering down through the glass?
The machine gave a belch followed by two satisfying thunks. She counted to ten before peering around the end of the table to watch Johansson’s retreating back; stayed stock-still while he threw Dawson a cone, returned to his place, lowered his head and got on with his work.
The breath she’d been holding whooshed out of her lungs. The spider swung away in an arc on its thread and Skye bolted out of hiding. Hurriedly, she resumed her search. She’d lost valuable time.
Command console recognised. Access granted.
At last what she was looking for appeared on the glass. Staff files. Scrolling down the list, she touched on his name. Copy present file to workstation five, then return to standby mode. Re-engage audio. A second later Hunter’s screen went blank.
Thanking each god in the universe with every fibre of her body, Skye slipped out of the cubicle and hurried back to her own.
‘Display downloaded data.’
Enlarging the image that appeared, she studied it.
‘What do I really know about you? she wondered, as uneasy thoughts swirled through her mind. What was the fascination? Hunter’s face stared back. Those cool blue eyes that seemed oddly out of place against the dark skin. What went on behind them?
Speed-reading, she scrolled to the next page.
Hunter, Stephen. Micro-chip No: PLD43216886958. Birthed 2057 Milan, Italy.
Hmm, thirty one, a bit younger than she’d thought.
Parents: YFH97861090715/OVC63513481592 (co-habitation licence cancelled). Father, International Corporate Solicitor working out of Rome. Mother chartered accountant with Chelsea branch of Hunter, Novello, Myers. No siblings. Education: Chelsea Public School; science degree Southampton University. Enlisted UK Military & Civilian Combined Forces 2077. Two year tour of duty with Military Research Laboratory, Stella Frontier 2078-2080. Joined LMCCFHQ November 2080. Current address: 15 Gloucester Mews, Kensington, London. Financials showed an eye-popping bank balance. Apart from his Lieutenant’s salary, he also held majority shares in Orb Industries which netted him a private income capable of buying a small planet.
Out of curiosity, Skye tapped Orb Industries into the search engine: A quick squiz of their website told her it owned spider web silk farms in Australia, South Africa and the USA.
The very thought of them made her shudder. Subsidiary manufacturing companies, she read, produced mega-expensive web-silk clothing as worn by the jet-setting crowd but, interestingly, one arm of the company was responsible for the design and development of body armour - the properties of spider webs apparently being stronger than high-tensile steel, thereby eliminating trauma on a human’s flesh even when hit by a GIG-95 milli-wave stream. According to the advertising blurb, it was also light and flexible and virtually indestructible. Hmm, you learn something new every day.
Well, Stevie boy, so you’re a rich kid, she mused. Explains that supedup car. So why do you stay in the Force? But she already knew the answer to that – she’d begun to feel it herself. It was more than a job; it was family. Every man and woman in his team mattered.
He cared about them. That was what made him a good leader, made him successful at what he did.
She read on. It was all there: a brilliant record; several commendations and a rapid rise to his present position. One protected file. Access denied. Interesting; what was all that about, she wondered.
One co-habit: Anya Leberdev. (Terminated 2080).
Wham. It hit her. Here was the mystery woman Maxine had mentioned all those weeks ago. Skye toyed with a strand of her hair, twisting it between her fingers. What were you like, Anya? Clever, obviously - you’d worked in the space lab. I bet you were beautiful too. Were you and Hunter happy together? Skye studied Hunter’s picture again and felt a tug in her chest. She read the date of death again. Nine years ago. Hunter had left Stella Frontier around then. Too many memories, she supposed. Skye understood those well enough. ‘What on earth happened to you, Anya?’ She whispered.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she grieved for a woman she’d never met.
.
An hour later Skye was still shaken. She’d been trying not to look in Hunter’s direction, but it was hard. For the last five minutes he’d had his head down, talking to someone on his communicator. She risked another glance.
He wasn’t talking anymore.
In a startling red trouser suit, Narelle Keating waltzed, unannounced, into his office, holding out a slim hand as Hunter pushed up from the table. She only seemed amused when he didn’t respond.
Before the door swung shut Skye heard her rich, deep voice. ‘Don’t look so grouchy, darling. Anyone would think you weren’t pleased to see me.’
Skye snagged Corporal Smith as he passed her cubicle. ‘You know who that woman is with the lieutenant, right?’
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he glanced over. His eyes widened. ‘Blimey. Wonder what she wants?’
Curiosity won over caution. ‘I’m going to find out. Want a coffee?’
His pretty face broke into a grin. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
Skye took her time at the machine, dropping coins in slowly. Careful not to raise her head too often, she strained her ears to listen to their muffled conversation.
‘What are you doing here, Narelle, I’m busy?’
Even though he stayed standing, Narelle sat, crossed her legs and casually flicked the back of her hand across her thigh. She’d left the three top buttons of her white silk shirt open, Skye noted with some irritation, revealing the hint of lace underneath. Her ears, throat and wrists glinted with gold; her hair done in a complicated twist.
Brown liquid finished slurping into the first cup. Skye moved it to one side, trying not to burn her fingers, and stuck in more coins.
‘I heard you talked to one of my colleagues on the board of Royalty. As you know, we are always happy to help the law in any way possible and have been nothing but co-operative, but it all seems so cloak and dagger. Surely we have a right to know what’s going on.’
Hunter straightened. Walking around to the front of his desk, he stood over her. His expression gave nothing away. ‘As I told that stuckup prig, Webber, I am unable to give information which may compromise an ongoing investigation. He didn’t react well either.’ Skye sneaked a look at Narelle. She had to be insulted, especially as they knew each other so well, but there was only concern showing on the lovely face as she leaned forward and took his hand.
‘I’m worried about you, Stephen. I know you’re under a lot of pressure and it concerns me.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘No, no you’re not.’ Narelle stood now, reached a hand to his shoulder. In other circumstances it might seem as if they were about to dance. When he didn’t react, she sighed. ‘Stephen, I’m saying this as your oldest friend. I watched you fall apart once before, and I recognise the signs. You’re not yourself.’
Even from a distance Skye saw Hunter’s eyes glint dangerously, but his voice was perfectly controlled. ‘Your concern is noted but unnecessary.’
Incredibly, she stroked his stony cheek. ‘My darling, don’t jeopardise everything you’ve worked for with another vendetta. I thought we were passed all that. You accused me of something once before and didn’t succeed. I forgave you then because I understood the reason for your breakdown. Don’t make the same foolish mistake again.’
Taking her hand from his shoulder, Hunter studied her fingers before lifting his head. His eyes were steady on hers as he spoke. ‘Worry about yourself, Narelle, not me.’ Walking to the door he opened it, held it ajar. ‘Your brother won’t always be there to protect you.’
‘My brother?’ Narelle gave a sad shake of her head. ‘You see that proves my point.’ Gently, she laid a hand over his still gripping the door. ‘Get help, Stephen, before you do something you’ll regret. Anya’s anniversary is coming up soon. If you won’t do it for me, do it for her.’
Every ounce of colour drained out of his face. Against the black of his uniform his skin looked deathly white. Narelle turned on her heels and strode out. Skye thought she’d walk straight past, but as she drew level she paused. Leaning in so close her breath tickled Skye’s cheek, Narelle whispered, ‘Oh, little girl, what big ears you have. Be careful of that big, bad wolf. He turns on you when you least expect it.’ Then she was gone, leaving the same trail of flowery scent and the echo of clicking heels.