Dawn of Procyon (18 page)

Chapter 35

PSD 29-213: 1226 hours

The Cross never really slept. Even though it saw most of its trade in the dim, dark hours of the night, there was rarely a shortage of folk meandering through the common in daylight hours, and this was no exception. The biggest difference Cait could see was the presence of children; at night, they were generally tucked away in bed, but during the day they had free reign of the place. For the most part, they clustered together around the bright patches of sunlight that came from shafts that led to the surface, like moths around a light bulb. There they argued over worn trading cards, gossiped, and played out their own intergalactic wars with Argoni and Marine action figures.

For them, the war was something happening to other people, she thought, a diversion that was experienced only in the world of make-believe. Outposts such as Proc-One were rarely attacked directly by the Argoni. Whether the aliens viewed such installations as unworthy of their time, or there was some greater strategy at play, no one really knew.

As she walked, Cait was accosted by a number of vendors who called the Cross home. First, a greasy proprietor named Ker from the nightclub
Skin
offered her a voucher for free entry and half-priced drinks during happy hour.

“Haven’t we been through this, Ker? How many times are you going to offer me one of those?” she muttered as she walked past him.

“As many times as it takes before you accept my gracious offer,” Ker cackled.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that.”

Ker trailed after her for a few more strides, making promises of fun and frivolity, before giving up and seeking a new target. Cait was subsequently offered something called a “slingshot massage” from Gayna at
Rub ‘n’ Tickle
, a bowl of laksa at
Noodle Emporium,
and a new pair of work boots at
Robbie’s
, all of which she declined.

She wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted. Not now. She knew that she had work to do.

A little further on she found the address that she was looking for.

The sign on the door said
Franny’s Gift shop
.

Ms. F. Gertz was in there somewhere. Landry’s next of kin.

Cait made her way into the dim, gloomy interior. The store contained a potpourri of junk that had been collected from who knew where. There were pots of plastic flowers, clocks set into polished stone faces, and statues of the Eiffel Tower made from rusted wire. Used and broken action figures much like the ones carted around by the kids outside spilled out of a bin. Persian rugs hung on the walls next to cheap knock-offs of famous paintings. Mobiles of stuffed tropical birds and possums drooped from the ceiling, their dead eyes staring at Cait. There was so much trash crammed into the narrow space that she was forced to duck and weave her way through.

“Help you, darlin’?” someone asked.

Cait turned to see an elderly woman behind the counter. She was dressed in a colorful, flowing cloth wrap, and wore altogether too much makeup, enough eye shadow and lipstick to pull a warship out of orbit, Cait thought.

“Oh, yes,” Cait said, caught unawares. “I’m looking for someone who lives here. Or works here, I’m not sure which.”

“And who might that be?”

“A Ms. F. Gertz.”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “What exactly do you want with Ms. Gertz?”

“I just need to talk to her about a colleague of mine.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “I work over in Maintenance.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the coveralls,” the woman said. “I’ve got some cloth for sale if you’d like to look more feminine, darlin’. Could doll you up just like me. Might help with reelin’ in the fellas.”

“No, I’m good,” Cait said, giving her a perfunctory smile. “So, where can I find Ms. Gertz?”

The woman spread her hands. “You’re lookin’ at her.”

Cait paused, confused. “Uh, I don’t think it’s you that I’m after. Do you have a daughter or something?”

“There’s no one here but me, darlin’.” She tapped her chest. “Franny Gertz. Pleased to meet you.”

Cait glanced around, trying to gather her thoughts. She pulled Landry’s photo frame from her pocket and moved closer to Franny. “Do you know this woman?” she said, tapping the photo of the redhead kissing Landry.

Franny took the photo and held it at arm’s length in an attempt to bring it into focus. After a moment she handed it back. “Never seen her before in my life.”

“Are you sure about that? Take another look—”

“But I know the fella for sure. See him all the time.”

“Landry?”

“Is that his name? He doesn’t say much. Not one for idle chat.”

Cait glanced again at the wall-to-wall junk that littered the store. “What exactly does Landry buy here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He doesn’t buy a thing.” The woman smiled. “He comes in here for other services.”

Cait froze, her mind racing at the possible implications of that statement
.

“Uh . . .”

“Not
those
services,” Franny said. “I’m too fat and old and tired to go down that road, darlin’. Folk can find much juicier specimens down at Skin, anyhow.”

“So what services are you talking about?”

“Well, see, here’s the thing. Selling trinkets doesn’t make me a lot of cash, as it turns out. That’s really just a front for my
real
business.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Funds transfers.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“I provide a service for shifting money back to Earth. It’s actually a pain in the butt to set it up and keep it running. I have to be PCI compliant, and I get audited every year. Plus the license itself is pricey.” She tapped the counter. “But here’s the thing. The only other place that offers this kinda service on Proc-Rock is Outpost Control, and they charge three point five percent commission. Old Franny only charges two. So anyone who doesn’t want to pay extra to send cash home comes to me.”

“And Landry was one of those?”

“He was here every week, like clockwork.”

Now
things were beginning to make sense. “And I’ll bet you get plenty of customers who use your service so they can avoid going through official channels, right?”

Franny winked at her. “You bet.”

Landry
was
involved in some sort of trafficking operation, she realized. That was why he had gone off-site, prospecting for rare minerals, or whatever he was doing out there—manufacturing illicit materials at a secret location, maybe—and then siphoning the profits back to Earth through Franny’s service.

Cait had been right all along. He was a greedy fool who deserved everything he got.

That was a load off her mind.

“Well, I guess I should tell you why I’m here,” Cait said. “Landry’s dead, and—”

“Dead? How?”

“We don’t know. He’s been AWL from the outpost for over a day, and that means he’s dead. In an official capacity, that is.”

“Sounds pretty cold to me.”

Cait shrugged. “It is what it is. Anyway, I’m here to tell you that Landry nominated you as his next of kin—”

“I ain’t no kin to him,” Franny said. “I didn’t even know the poor fella’s name until you gave it to me a minute ago.”

“He named you as next of kin, and that’s all there is to it. The death certificate is being put together as we speak. It’ll be forwarded to you in due course. I guess his estate will pass to you as well.”

Franny sighed. “Such a shame to hear. The good ones never seem to last, do they?” she said.

“Good ones?” Cait said, her anger rising. “Look, lady. I get it. You’re upset that you’ve lost a regular customer, but going so far as to say Landry was some kind of shining beacon of virtue is just plain garbage. He was wrapped up in some sort of criminal enterprise. That’s obvious.”

Franny pressed her bright red lips together. “You have no clue what you’re talkin’ about, darlin’.” She turned to the terminal on the counter and began to tap the screen. “I ain’t supposed to check into any details of the transactions made by my customers, but . . . in the case of your fella there, I have to say that my curiosity got the better of me. The way he came in, every single week, just goin’ about his business . . . he weren’t like the others. He was an odd fish, that’s for sure.” She turned the screen toward Cait. “Every transfer he made was to the same place. And every time, the same amount.”

Cait looked at the transaction records that Landry had made. The recipient was something called
Fairlight Foundation
.

“So what is it? A front for a money laundering operation?”

“No, I looked into it a while back,” Franny said. “It’s legit.” She narrowed her eyes as she considered. “Some sort of medical charity. Leukemia research? Or cancer? I don’t recall.”

Cait checked the screen again. The weekly amount that Landry was sending to this place was almost his full supervisor wage—she knew because she’d looked into the Maintenance pay grades at length.

“So what you’re telling me,” she said, brimming with incredulity, “is that Landry sends practically
all
of his money to a charity every single week?”

“Doesn’t exactly fit with the whole criminal enterprise thing, does it, darlin’?”

Cait pressed a hand to her forehead. This was stupid, she thought. This made no sense. Why would Landry be doing this? And if he was making cash from illegal activities, why was he only sending an amount equivalent to his wage in Maintenance?

Because he’s not making money from illegal activities.

Frustrated, Cait uttered an expletive. She exhaled, then waved apologetically at Franny. “Sorry.”

“Do you really think that boy’s dead?”

“He’d be back by now if he wasn’t.”

Franny looked dubious. “What’s gonna happen to him if he comes back?”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that.”

Chapter 36

PSD 29-213: 1703 hours

The misting rain continued to fall around Landry, but he was no longer in an underground cave on a planet that was eleven and a half light years from home.

He was back on Earth, walking through the gently swaying branches of a willow tree that sat on a hillside overlooking the city. A drizzle of rain fell around him.

No. Not now. Don’t think about this now.

But he couldn’t stop it. Now that the despair had come over him, the memories that he’d locked away were beginning to force their way into his consciousness, free of their shackles. They were loose, ready to torment him once again.

No. I left all of this back on Earth. This is all buried. I escaped.

But one never really escaped memories like this. Landry knew that. All you could do was push them down into the deepest, darkest place inside your soul, and hope they never found a way out. Lock the door and throw away the key.

But now, at the worst possible moment, the door had swung open again. Just as he somehow always knew it would.

The last of the willow branches brushed over him, and he left them in his wake. He stood before a copse of jacaranda trees in full bloom, their distinctive, bright purple flowers oddly muted, washed out. A sickly shade of grey. He looked out across the city and saw that same hue cover everything. There was nothing but monochrome as far as the eye could see.

The sky, too, seemed wan and lifeless.

The misting rain got heavier. The grass glistened under his feet, and when he walked, water squelched around his shiny black boots. He reached up and tugged at his collar, trying to loosen the stiffness. He wasn’t accustomed to wearing suits. This particular one had been hanging in his wardrobe for about five years, unused, and it was a little tighter than he remembered when he’d tried it on at the store.

All things being equal, he would rather have been in his coveralls.

But he couldn’t wear those, he knew. Not today.

He turned and walked up the slope again. Further up the hill, the priest stood motionless, dressed in dark robes and sheltering beneath a broad, black umbrella, his eyes fixed on Landry as he slowly ascended. Up until now, Landry hadn’t wanted to face this moment. He’d simply wanted to stave it off for as long as possible, as if he might somehow avoid the whole thing if he waited long enough.

He knew that he’d been deluding himself. He had to go through with it. He had to get it over and done with.

“I hope the walk helped to ease your troubles,” the priest said. “I often find a good walk freshens the spirit.”

The walk had done nothing. If anything, he felt worse. “Yes,” was all he could say.

“I’ve not yet seen anyone else,” the priest said, glancing about. He was a portly man with a round face and droopy, somehow sad eyes. Perfect for a day like this. “Do you think they are coming?”

“If they were, we should have seen them by now.” Landry’s eyes drifted across the graveyard. It was empty aside from more jacarandas and a smattering of willow trees, gently undulating in the breeze. “Let’s just go ahead, if you don’t mind.”

The priest nodded and lifted a thick black book with his free hand. He allowed it to fall open to the first marker. “We are gathered here today to mark the passing of our beloved Freida, daughter of Jonathon and Mary, wife of Landry. Taken from us tragically and far too soon, she nevertheless touched the lives of all those she met in her brief time in this world.

“The light shines down upon this world, and it is not for us to question when and why our own brilliance may fade from the glory of . . .”

Landry tuned out. This priest was a stranger to him, an official who neither knew Freida, nor understood what had made her special. He recited meaningless phrases, rehashed clichés that were undoubtedly trotted out at every funeral he attended. A part of his standard homily.

But it wasn’t the priest that concerned Landry the most. It was the fact that no one else had showed up to see Freida go. There was just Landry, a hole in the ground, and an empty graveyard to witness her departure from this life.

Her parents were dead. They’d passed some time ago, before Freida and he had even met, and she had no other family, so there was that. But what of her friends, her colleagues from work? People she’d met and formed relationships with over the years?

Where were they?

Why was Landry the only one who had bothered to show up?

“They didn’t come,” he said, more to himself than to the priest, but the holy man stopped and looked at him anyway.

“Who, my son?”

Landry shrugged and shook his head, not really wanting to discuss it, but a part of him knew that he had to get this off his chest. “The people who loved her.”

The priest closed the book and held it against him as he stared contemplatively out across the city. “These are dark days. Perhaps they feared for their safety. Especially after yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

The priest raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know? You didn’t see the footage?”

“I haven’t even gotten out of bed since . . . since Freida . . .” He wiped a hand across his brow, struggling to keep his composure. “Footage of what?”

“There was an attack yesterday. In France. The Argoni fell from the sky in those . . . what do they call them?”

“Clusters? They hit France?”

“Yes. In Paris, to be exact. There was widespread destruction across the city and parts of the surrounding area. I saw amateur footage captured by those in the streets.” The priest’s face was desolate as he recalled the memory. “The Argoni emerged from their protective cocoons so quickly. Before the glow of reentry had even dimmed, it seemed to me.” He looked at Landry. “There were thousands of them.
Tens
of thousands of human souls lost in a single day, and the number keeps rising. The monsters are still out there, you see. Still on the loose, killing and maiming.”

“What are the UEM doing? Surely they can help.”

“They have tried, but . . . it is a difficult situation.” The priest waved his hand vaguely. “The response from the rest of the world has been . . . panicked, I think you would say. People are proclaiming that this is the end, that the tide has turned.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

The priest pursed his lips. “The attacks grow worse every year. Some say that it is only a matter of time before we bear witness to an attack of incomprehensible magnitude.”

“The end of the world,” Landry said soberly.

“That is not for me to say. I was merely making the point that tensions are high. In the aftermath of Paris, governments across the world have warned their citizens to exercise caution over the next few days. For their part, the UEM have offered assurances that this will not happen again.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“People are scared, Landry. Too scared to leave their homes, in many cases. Perhaps that is why those you expected to be here are not.”

“I guess.”

The priest cleared his throat. “May I continue with the service?”

“Please.”

Landry tuned out again as the priest picked up where he’d left off. He stood there, at the funeral of the most beautiful woman he had ever known, with no one to share his grief. No one to offer condolences or an embrace or shed tears. No one to share stories about their good times with Freida Cooney. No one to simply
be there
for one another in the time of grief.

Landry didn’t know whether to be appalled, disgusted, or simply disheartened by the reality of what confronted him at the gravesite that day. It seemed surreal, like a nightmare that was too ridiculous to be true.

And yet, it
was
true.

A noise stabbed through his bleak thoughts, and he realized the priest was saying something to him again.

“Huh?” Landry said.

“I wanted to know if you have any words to say for the deceased?” the priest said solemnly. “For Ms. Cooney.”

Landry looked down at the coffin, at the carnations he’d spread across it. She’d liked those. Every time he brought her flowers, they were always carnations. And they always made her smile.

He imagined Freida’s withered form inside the coffin, how insubstantial she’d looked in those final days in the hospital bed. Like another person. Not his Freida.

He wanted to feel anger. Anger that she had been taken away from him, that he had been left here alone. That he was powerless to change anything that had happened.

But he could only feel a horrible, chilling emptiness that permeated every part of his being.

“Do you know the worst thing about his war?” he said finally, not really expecting an answer.

“There are many terrible aspects of the conflict,” the priest said after a moment. “It would be difficult to say.”

“I know what it is. It’s that the cost of one life has become meaningless to us. No one cares. This war has been going on for over ten years now, and in that time we’ve all managed to lose sight of what’s important.”

The priest pursed his lips as he thought of an answer. “There is meaning in it for—”

“A person dies, and we don’t feel a
thing
anymore. We’re all worried about the next problem coming, rather than taking the time to appreciate what we’ve lost
now
. That’s the worst thing.”

“Grief affects us in many ways. It can make us bitter—”

Landry simply waved a hand at him. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. I just needed to get that off my chest. We can put her to rest now.”

The priest acquiesced, reaching out and pressing a switch on the frame around the grave. The coffin began to descend gently into the earth.

“In our hearts forever,” the priest said solemnly, and suddenly Landry heard her voice in his mind.

There’s a part of me that will live on
, she’d once said.

He smiled bitterly as tears spilled down his cheeks.

The priest had long gone, and the sky was dark before Landry finally turned and walked away.