Beating Heart Cadavers (8 page)

Ch. 10

The house was small and cramped, with a stone exterior and too many vines crawling up the sides that had completely overtaken the windows, rendering natural lighting non-existent in the rooms within. It was on the outskirts of the city rather than the suburbs where he had been relocated after his change in profession, as though forcing him to make the long walk from the station every day might help him atone for his supposed wrongdoing. Now that Fields thought about it – though perhaps she had always really known in the back of her mind – his life before being a professor was rather obvious. Even without the title
Doctor
to suggest who he had once been, his hollowed out insides from the way that the government had turned on him ought to have been enough to make it clear.

She could see his slight shadow moving throughout the kitchen through the space in the vines that covered the majority of the porch window, and she knocked twice on the door. Her head was throbbing from the argument with Caine, and the cigarette sticking from her mouth was doing little to drive it away. Perhaps Mason could do a better job.

“I wish you wouldn't smoke, Ladeline,” Mason said, pausing as he opened the door and caught sight of her. He was smiling as he said it, undoubtedly knowing that she wouldn't quit the habit solely because he wanted her to. “I am a doctor, after all.”

“Not that type of doctor, though.” She dropped the stub to the ground and pressed it out with the tip of her boot. “Hence why I'm here.”

He opened the door more widely to let her in, and she slipped into the dimly lit front hall. Despite being so small, Mason's house was overrun with a multitude of books that littered every surface, most propped open or dog-eared as though no matter how many times he reread them, there was still always more to remember.

“So what is it?”

She brandished the heavy silver notebook that she had found at Caine's and wordlessly went into the kitchen. He had coffee brewing on the stove. Despite the fact that she had told him time and time again how to make it properly, he still always burned it. She had rather grown accustomed to drinking it that way.

She poured herself a cup and sat down at the counter, her head bent low as she tried not to think about Caine. She had come back to deal with Jasper: she didn't have the time to waste worrying about how the former had chosen to live his life. And he would come around eventually, she reminded herself. He always did. She just rather thought that she would be long gone by the time that he did.

“Your coffee tastes like battery acid,” she said as Mason followed her over to the counter. He had pulled a pair of thick winter gloves from a drawer and was toying with the lock on the notebook in an attempt to get it open. Though the usual frown came to his brow as he concentrated, it diminished as he looked back up at her.

“If you pour enough cream and sugar in it, it masks the taste,” he said.

“I don't like cream and sugar.”

“You could learn to like it,” he replied, “if you weren't so opposed to change.”

She stubbornly took another sip, and they sat in silence as he observed the metal cover. His frown was becoming deeper, and a furrow had dug itself into his forehead where, had he not been bald, his hair might have hidden.

“What do you think?” she asked when he replaced the notebook on the counter.

Mason looked up at her.

“You found this at the ambassador's estate?”

“Yes.”

“But if the government knew it was there, why haven't they taken it before now?”

“They couldn't find it.”

“How did they know it was there, then?”

“Ambassador Caine said so before he died.”

“And he didn't tell them where it was? Or leave it out for them?” Mason gave Fields a calculating look. “I find it hard to believe that an entire team of government officials scoured the house and couldn't find it, but that you did, Ladeline.”

“Well, I had an advantage,” Fields said indifferently, leaning back as she spoke. The distance between them had barely increased, but suddenly she seemed much farther than arm's reach away. “I was the one who hid it.”

Mason stared at her for a long moment, and then looked back at the metal book.

“This was in the hands of the Spöken ten years ago, wasn't it, Ladeline?”

“A single Spöke, more accurately.”

“And how did it get into your possession?”

Mason was staring at her with the utmost seriousness, but Fields found that she couldn't match his tone. A smile had come to her face, taunting and dismissive, and she couldn't adapt to the graveness of the situation.

“Are you asking me if I killed my father, Mason?”

“I wouldn't ask that. I know it's not true.”

“You think so highly of me, Professor,” Fields said, the smile still twisting at her lips to toy with his opinion of her. “But you know as well as I do that he had this research before he disappeared, and that I've had it ever since.”

“That doesn't mean you murdered him.”

“What are you imagining happened? That he opted to go away and never return, and he left this for my safe-keeping?” Her mouth twitched as she spoke, and there was the slightest hint of fear behind her inciting, careless eyes. “For all of his faults, I give Andor credit: he never doubted what type of person I am.”

Mason remained silent. His eyes were unblinking, his mouth a thin, focused line.

“I don't believe you,” he said.

Fields nodded, but the action was one of pity rather than concession.

“Well, you did always have trouble believing what you're told,” she said. “But this time, the government's not wrong, Mason.”

Her eyes were hollow as she spoke, and Mason found that he couldn't keep their gaze. Breaking his eyes away from her, he looked back at the heavy metal notebook instead.

“And you showed it to Matt?”

“He saw it,” Fields said vaguely.

“Meaning?”

“It was sitting on the table in front of him.”

“But did he look at it? Try to open it? Have any idea what it was?”

Fields gave a prosaic shrug. Mason threw her an exasperated look.

“You didn't show it to him, Ladeline?”

“The subject didn't come up. He was a bit focused on … other things.”

“You could have brought it up.”

“I could have, sure,” she said, fiddling blandly with her empty mug. “Only he wanted me to leave before I could.”

“I can't understand how you two are still fighting,” Mason said, straightening and moving to pour himself some coffee. “Or why you're at odds in the first place.”

He looked over the rim of his cup at her, eyeing her steadily as he waited in the hopes that she might answer, but her face remained quite blank.

“Is it Mari?” he asked after several moments.

“Why would you think that?”

“You can't answer a question with a question, Ladeline. It doesn't work that way.”

“I wasn't aware that I was in class, Professor.” She smiled a bit as she said it – one of her half-hearted, corners-of-the-mouth-twitching sorts of smiles that she counted on to appease him enough to change the subject – but he wasn't fooled. “I have nothing against Mari. I never did.”

“So it is about Mari.”

“You really want to discuss it now – when Spöken research on the Mare-folk is sitting on your counter?”

“Research which should be in the hands of the new ambassador, only you didn't want to show it to him. Why?”

“Because you're the expert on Mare-people, not Matt.”

“Why don't you tell me the truth, Ladeline?” Mason asked. He peered at her closely, and she suppressed the urge to squirm. “It can't be comfortable to have so many secrets and no one to tell.”

Fields slid her tongue over the edge of her teeth.

“There are reasons that some things are left unsaid.”

“Burying things doesn't make them go away,” Mason urged.

Fields thought back to the plot at the Ambassador's estate and licked her lips.

“No, I suppose not,” she said.

Mason looked at her carefully.

“It wouldn't bother me, Ladeline,” he said quietly. “Anything you told me … It wouldn't bother me. Do you know that?”

“Yes.”

“Then why won't you just say it?”

Fields paused for a long moment. He was waiting for something from her that she couldn't give, undeterred by the indifference that so easily pushed others away and led on by her sparse moments of insouciance. The conversation that they had had just hours before seemed much too far away, and its impracticality was digging at her unkindly. She shouldn't have let herself fall into such an ease with him: she wasn't staying in Oneris.

“Because it would bother me.”

Mason sighed and ran his hand over his shaved head, searching for a way to change her mind, but her eyes had turned to stare off in the other direction, and it was clear that she wouldn't say more.

He looked back down at the notebook.

“Did you really come to show me this, or did you come to say goodbye?” he asked.

“Neither. Or a little of both, maybe,” she said, unsure of whether or not she knew the answer herself. “I … I came to ask you something. A favor.”

“Alright, what do you need?”

She hesitated, shifting her jaw.

“Your identification number.”

Mason's stance shifted noticeably, and he crossed his arms as he looked down at her. Fields had never realized quite how tall he was.

“Why would you need my identification number, Ladeline?” he asked.

Fields didn't respond.

“Does it have something to do with whoever came to Matt's door?” he probed.

“No – it has nothing to do with Matt.”

Her voice was a bit too crisp. Mason gave a frown.

“Alright, does it have to do with your brother, then?”

“Yes.”

“And you need the number because …?”

“Because I have to find him.”

Mason sighed.

“I know that, Ladeline. What I don't know is why you need my identification number to do so.”

Fields turned her head away to stare out the window and across the lawn. There was a fruit tree on the edge of his property, and the sweet smell drifting from it was almost strong enough to mask the scent of her cigarette.

“Ladeline, I can't give it to you unless I know why you're using it. I'm being watched: the number will be of no use to you if you're trying to make an official request.”

“I'm not making an official request.”

He didn't seem to believe her.

“I don't know what else you could use it for,” he said. “It doesn't serve much purpose even for me anymore.”

“It's still got a high access code, though.”

“Well, yes – but they track me. Like I said, I can't make any official requests or ask for information. But Matt's number would be current. Have you asked him if you can use it –?”

“I'm not making an official request,” Fields cut in. The frequent mentions of Caine were making her angrier. “I need to – get somewhere.”

Mason paused.

“If you needed to go somewhere, I could just give you my pin,” he said, indicating to the silver ornamentation on his collar. “Will they not let you use the transportation system?”

“No. And that's not … the type of place I'm trying to get into.”

Mason's head moved slightly to the side, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers as he finally came to the realization of what she was asking.

“Ladeline, are you trying to get into Spöken headquarters?”

She didn't answer, nor did she need to. A heavy silence came over the kitchen that no amount of explaining seemed capable of getting through. Mason ran his hand over his face.

“Ladeline – it's not worth it. Jasper's made his choice. You don't have to feel obligated to protect him anymore.”

“But I am obligated,” she said, and her voice was so certain that he couldn't bring himself to try and dissuade her any more.

He sighed and bowed his head.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” he asked. “I'll write the number down for you.”

She watched him jot it down and pass it to her in disbelief. Sliding the paper safely into the pocket with her gun, she stood to leave.

“Ladeline –” Mason said, stopping her before she stepped past him. There was a wavering note in his voice, and his eyes flickered in the falling light in a way that made her think he might change his mind and try to stop her. “Come back, will you? When – when you're done. Come – come back.”

Fields stepped into the hallway, her chin lowering a bit as though she was about to nod, but she kept her head bowed instead. She didn't like to make promises that she couldn't keep.

Ch. 11

“Have you given more thought to my proposal?”

Ratsel sat at his desk in the office, his eyes blazing with the same silvery cold that the metal all around him did. Caine turned from the window to face him.

“I have.”

“And?”

“Shutting down the charging facilities doesn't seem like the right way forward. If it was, my father would have done it years ago, wouldn't have he?”

Ratsel let his breath filter out between his clenched teeth.

“Your father did the best that he could for the Mare-folk. It was his hope that, with time, more would be discovered that might determine how best to proceed. Unfortunately, that time never came for him. I would hate to think that you let your reasoning be dictated by what someone else thought that you should do, Matthew.”

“I wasn't saying we should let them carry on,” Caine said. “But I thought – seeing as they need the charging facilities to stay alive – that the best thing would be to quarantine them. We allow them to live out their lives, separate from others to keep them from infecting us, and let them die out naturally.”

“I see.”

Ratsel held out his hand and indicated to the chair across from him. Caine took a seat.

“I wonder, Matthew: how much do you know about the Mare-folk?”

“I … As much as anyone else, I would think.”

“But perhaps not as much as the Spöken?” Ratsel said. He leaned back a bit, placing his sharp elbows on the chair arms and locking his fingers together. “You know how their hearts are charged?”

“With Hilitum. Of course.”

“Yes. Most people are under the impression that the Mare-folk all come at regular intervals to charge their hearts. They flock to the facilities, receive the charge, and then come back in a set number of days to do it again.”

“Is that not true?”

“It's not the whole picture,” Ratsel said. “You see, one metal heart is not equivalent to another. There are Mare-folk out there who don't need to charge their hearts as frequently as others do. There's something about the hearts that allows them to keep beating regardless, like an automatic watch versus a mechanical one. Some people speculate that they've done something to their hearts that causes them to not need the charge – an insert of sorts, of Hilitum, that acts as a permanent charge. What do we do with them?”

“I – well, those we could round up separately, I suppose.”

“But how?” Ratsel frowned, his thin, dark brows creating a v-shape over his eyes. “How do we find people who look like us, and act enough like us, but who have taken measures to ensure that they stay hidden?”

“Well … hospital records. When a Mare-person's born, we could … could tag them and ...”

“We can't detect the metal hearts at birth: the government doesn't allow us to x-ray infants. And even if they did, parents in fear of losing their children could keep their conditions secret by not allowing them to have check-ups and whatnot. So I repeat: how do we find people who look like us, and act enough like us, but who have taken measures to ensure that they stay hidden?”

Caine remained silent. He simply didn't know.

“Shutting off the charging facilities is the first step of many, Matthew. It would get rid of the weaker Mare-folk, but there would still be more out there, and more will being born every year. There's no quick-fix for this issue, despite our efforts. And the longer that we wait, the more problems that arise.” He looked at Caine steadily. “Your son is still in West Oneris, correct?”

“I … yes. Yes, he is, High Officer.”

“And he's there because of the Mare-folk, isn't he?”

Caine shifted a bit, his eyes downcast, but Ratsel cut into his discomfort.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of, Matthew. This is exactly what I've been talking about: good Onerian citizens are suffering because of the problems that the Mare-folk have caused. Your son was poisoned by exposure to Hilitum – something that needn't have happened had we stopped mining it long ago.”

“It shouldn't have happened,” Caine murmured. “They think it was worse on him because he was so young ...”

“No one blames you for it, Matthew. It's the fault of the Mare-folk. Though –” Ratsel unlocked his hands and made a gesture of incertitude. “– we do have to wonder how he got poisoned in the first place.”

Caine was quite still, though his Adam's apple bobbed down and up again as he swallowed. He ran his hands over his pants as he tried to think of an answer.

“Perhaps it was something environmental,” Ratsel continued, though his tone made it quite clear that he didn't believe the suggestion at all. “Though, from what I've heard, his symptoms are more in keeping with something that was carried over to him in the womb. Sometimes parents who get pricked with a sharp piece of Hilitum carry something in their bloodstream, undetectable until it's passed to the child. But that couldn't be possible, could it?”

“No. Of course not.”

Ratsel hummed to himself.

“You know, Matthew, the government doesn't take too kindly to those who … keep things from them. I'm sure that your friend Doctor Mason has taught you that.”

“I – I'm not sure that I know what you mean, High Officer.”

“You must be aware of his situation, yes?” Ratsel waited for Caine to nod. The movement was stiff and forced. “He was set on conducting research behind our back. Research, I might add, that isn't beneficial to Oneris' goals. That's why he was asked to step down.”

“I … I don't know all the details of it, admittedly.”

“I'm sure that you can fill in the blanks by yourself. The point that I'm trying to make is that loyalty speaks louder than all else in Oneris, shall we say. And when loyalty falters, motions will be made to take away certain … privileges.”

“That's why he's teaching history now at the university, you mean?”

Ratsel ignored his comment.

“How long has your son been in West Oneris, Matthew?”

“Nearly – nearly a year. They're treating him for the neurological problems that the metal poisoning caused –”

“They must have finished the treatment by now, though, yes?”

Caine faltered.

“I – I'm not really certain, High Officer.”

“I only mean that there's only so much they can do for him. Either his issues are permanent or they're not. And in either case, it would be his parents who continued his care after everything was determined.”

Caine fidgeted, picking some lint off of his still-wrinkled uniform. Ratsel leaned towards him.

“Do you want your son back home, Matthew?”

“Of course I do,” Caine said. “I've asked – I've been asking – but they say he's not ready yet –”

“Did you tell the doctors how he came to be poisoned with Hilitum?”

The ambassador's voice dropped to a whisper.

“No.”

“Do you know how it happened?” Ratsel continued. “We're very careful with Hilitum in Oneris. It gets mined and shipped to the facilities with great measures to ensure that none of our people come into contact with it. The only exceptions are the metal pieces that are sold to … individuals.”

“I've never bought Hilitum, High Officer. I wouldn't – I have no use for it –”

“Are you certain?”

“I'm not a Mare-person,” Caine said angrily. “Neither is my wife – we have a child to prove it.”

“But maybe you bought it for another reason? Another … person?”

Caine shook his head.

“I don't understand what you're asking me.”

“Maybe you know a Mare-person, one who's hiding, and you bought it for them?”

“I don't associate with the Mare-folk,” Caine said adamantly. “I don't know any, not now and not in my past, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't risk my son's health to help charge their heart! I hate them as much as anyone does, High Officer. More, maybe.”

Ratsel nodded, seemingly believing him.

“I don't doubt that, Matthew. I'm just telling you what the government sees when they look at what happened to your son. If you or your wife were exposed to Hilitum, it's not a crime. But hiding it is.”

Ratsel waited, but Caine had turned his head away, refusing to answer.

“Matthew, mistakes can be forgiven. If it was something … unsightly, it's best to get it off your chest. Did you buy Hilitum for someone? Or transfer it – perhaps for money or some sort of deal with a Mare-folk?”

“No,” Caine said firmly.

“Did your wife?”

“Of course not,” Caine snapped. “She had nothing to do with –”

He stopped himself before saying more, but Ratsel had gotten to the marrow of it.

“If what you say is true, Matthew – and I believe you – then you have nothing to fear. Buying or transferring Hilitum is a weighty crime, but anything else that might have caused you to come into contact with it is admissible. Tell the authorities, and they'll return your son to you.”

Caine shut his eyes, seemingly weighing the options, but after a moment he shook his head.

“It can't be as bad as you think it is. And you're the ambassador now. They'll have lenience.” Ratsel spread his hands over the desk, smoothing the surface as though wiping away a stain that had gathered there. “Come, now, Matthew: think of your son.”

“I'll push the bill.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bill – to shut down the charging facilities. I'll make sure that it goes through.” Caine looked at him pleadingly, like a man who had just signed a Faustian Bargain and was begging for his soul to be a high enough cost. “Then will they give me my son back?”

Ratsel's mouth pulled down into a frown as he considered the plea.

“It's certainly a good first step,” he replied.