The Killing Jar (12 page)

LRF-AQ

AUGUST 8, 2232

“Anything I can help you with?” Abigail’s sultry voice pulled him from the void.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You’re staring again. What’s going on with you this week?” Abagail sat at the modest desk in the corner of his office, her cream-colored skirt tight across her legs. She wore a loose indigo blouse that accentuated her light hair.

Professional. Scholarly. Elegant.

What he wouldn’t like to do with those legs…

“I wasn’t staring.” He spoke with a degree of certainty, as if he could convince her otherwise.

Abigail noticed his ruse and smiled. She folded her hands over each other as he imagined a princess might. “You were definitely staring,” she teased him. “It’s my job to assist you, so tell me what you need.”

Michael didn’t appreciate being reminded of her position. He knew what it was. He knew theirs was a professional relationship. Logically, as an intelligent adult, he knew the nights she spent in his apartment were for his well-being as director, and nothing more. Still, he didn’t like to be reminded.

Michael preferred the illusion to reality.

“It has to do with Dr. Parr’s death, doesn’t it?” She leaned forward as if interested.

“No,” he lied.

“I can’t help you unless you tell me what you need.”

“I don’t need anything.” He was pouting, he knew, but he wouldn’t show how much he relied on her so soon. He was getting in too deep.

Abigail sat back in her chair and focused on her work, mining permits it looked like. It didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t disturb him.

Michael turned his tablet and adjusted the settings so his research would show to only him, only on the screen. He waded through folder after folder of files pertaining to personnel reports, shipments, even the files from Planetary Systems, but he couldn’t find the one he wanted.

He couldn’t find the digital autopsy file.

In fact, he couldn’t find any of them.

Michael searched the entire database twice, to be sure, before determining that they simply weren’t there. As director, he had ubiquitous access to every file related to the LRF. There was no reason such a file would be missing.

For the second time, Michael’s thoughts raced to the worst. Something wasn’t right. As much as he wasn’t in the mood for Abigail at the moment, she was the only one who could help him.

Into the tense silence, he said, “Where are the autopsy files for Parr?”

Without so much as a glance away from her work, she replied, “They were sent off for evaluation, some specialized unit in New York.” Then she realized what he was asking. “Why do you need the autopsy report? You’ve never asked for one before.”

“Don’t we retain a copy?” He ignored her inquiries.

Abigail shut off the display from her tablet and pushed out of her chair. She approached his sleek black and steel desk and placed both hands on it. “No, Masry considers them classified. What’s this about?”

“Why is a digital autopsy considered classified?” he asked, attempting to ignore how close she was.

“I don’t know. I can try to find out, but I imagine it has something to do with this being the seventh death. She has a responsibility to maintain the rigor of the Scholar class. I’m sure she wouldn’t want the Academy knowing some invisible
thing
was making the researchers die eighty years early.”

Michael pressed his palms together and brought his hands to rest touching his lips, a pose Abigail called his ‘thinking hands’.

“Yes, I would like for you to find out why these files are classified.”

SHUTTLE DOCK HEL-41, HELENA, NORTH AMERICA

AUGUST 8, 2232

For the first time in her life, Dasia was alone.

Sure, she sat on a transport shuttle with four hundred other people, but still she was alone.

Dr. Pastromas had escorted her to the shuttle dock, a metal platform encased in a low metal tube. The lights shone a honey color that reminded her of the haze, but inside the tube, the air was processed and clean. He had slapped some metal band around her wrist as they arrived at the shuttle door. When prompted, she held it to a scanner and was allowed access onto the shuttle.

“It’s coded to take you to the complex. It’ll alert me if you try to leave.” That’s all he said before turning back down the tube.

As if she had anywhere else to go.

“Aren’t you coming?” she called after him. He was hardly a friend, but somehow, he was the only person she knew.

He pushed his hands into his pockets and smiled some half-hearted grin. “No, I have a few things to do here yet. Just a few loose ends. I’ll take a later flight and meet you there in a few hours.” And then he left.

Dasia found one of the few vacant seats remaining, a narrow seat against the shuttle-wall. A tight-faced woman sat beside her with five-year old boy in the aisle seat. Both were occupied with their tablets, her with the news stream, and him with some sort of math problem. Both wore tight-fitted indigo body suits.

Must be Scholars.

Dasia felt so out of place. Her dusty work pants wouldn’t release the last traces of orange no matter how hard she rubbed her hands across them. Her shirt was beyond wrinkled from a second day’s wear. Even her blue knit cap was stained with haze.

Her eyes were puffy and sore, so dry they ached each time she blinked. A fog filled her head. The longer she went without anth, the more fog there was, until now her head felt like it would explode. Her hands shook and her foot bounced no matter how she tried to sit still.

She looked about as good as she felt.

She carried nothing with her, had nothing to her name. She could never go back home. Aside from the clothes she wore, she had nothing.

A quiet vibration traveled down the arm rests, the gentle hum of the shuttle launch. Somewhere inside her, buried under everything else, she still held a glimmer of excitement. It was her first shuttle ride after all.

It should have been a good day. She should have woken up in Cole’s arms and spent the day on the farm with her dad. Her mom would have made them lunch and they would have laughed.

Instead, she had ruined it. It would never be that way again. The Daughertys lost their son. Her parents had lost their daughter. More than likely they’d be forced to sell. She could only hope they would make enough profit to live out their days in comfort. Away from the haze.

The lights dimmed and quiet conversations emerged throughout the cabin.

A woman in an olive-green shirt came down the aisle. “What would you like to drink?”

The boy lifted his metal band and the woman scanned it with a handheld device of some kind. Dasia hadn’t realized it until then, but everyone on the shuttle had the same band.

Without taking her eyes from her display, the tight-faced woman lifted her own wrist and let the scanner transmit her drink order.

When it was Dasia’s turn, she asked instead, “What is this for?”

The woman in green huffed. “It’s your travel voucher. If you’ve prepaid for concessions, I can scan your order.” She lifted up the device and shook it as if to prove it was real.

Dasia lifted her metal band in hopes Dr. Pastromas had arranged a drink for her. She was more hungry than anything, but a drink would at least hold her over. A bottle of water would do.

The woman scanned the band and walked on to the next row without a word. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when the woman returned with a vodka tonic that Dasia was truly surprised.

Dr. Pastromas had been through her entire file. He knew she was seventeen. It had to be a mistake.

Rather than give it back, Dasia aimed to take full advantage. She sipped it slowly, the bubbles fizzing against the heat of the alcohol. Several minutes passed before she could drink it easily. Somehow, the woman knew to bring another, though Dasia hardly cared. She savored the blur in her mind once more, and at last, she sat back and relaxed.

Far from home and headed for a new life, it was almost possible to feel like someone else. Someone who’s life wasn’t quite so ruined.

Next she knew, a hand shook her shoulder. Her eyes flashed open to find the shuttle empty, the lights bright, and her drink gone.

“Are you Dasia King? Your ground transport is waiting.” The woman stared at her like vermin. The look made Dasia’s skin crawl.

She darted from her seat and headed for the exit. Reaching the doors, she waited for them to open but nothing happened. Then she remembered the scanner.

Down another length of empty honey-colored tubing, Dasia found a pod waiting.

A young man, maybe twenty, waited. He leaned his back against the pod with his ankles crossed, a tablet in his hand. He looked up when he saw her, his eyes hidden by thick sunglasses that had to be at least a century old.

“Dasia King?” Despite his general good looks—a dusty-blonde shaggy do, a chiseled chin, and grey eyes—he was considerably shorter than her. She had a good three or four inches on him.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

The stranger removed his glasses to reveal sandy brown eyes. He wore sleek grey slacks with a black dress shirt and matching grey vest, though it didn’t look as though he’d had them long. While the clothes fit like a glove, he didn’t look comfortable in them, as if he’d borrowed them. The guy stuck out his hand to shake hers. “Hey there, I’m Osip. I’m taking you back to CPI. No bags?”

Reminded of her losses, Dasia shook her head and slid into the passenger seat, ignoring his outstretched hand.

Oblivious, Osip laughed softly and said, “Yeah, that’s the way it goes. You’ll have everything you need when we get to the grounds. Where ya from?” He spoke with faint traces of an accent, but she couldn’t place it.

It didn’t really matter. Dasia couldn’t think of anything she’d rather talk about less. Instead, she pretended not to hear him and stared out the pod glass.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” Osip grew quiet, and Dasia felt as if she had disappointed him somehow.

Osip pulled a bronze coin from his pant pocket and flipped it in his hands. The motion annoyed her but at least he was distracted and didn’t bother her with more questions.

She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She felt like a shell of a person, as if someone had come in and scooped out the meaningful parts of her, leaving only the husk. Without Cole, her parents, her farm, her perfectly planned future and whispers of anth, there wasn’t much left. She didn’t know if there was enough.

Poor Osip might as well be in the pod alone.

Outside, a vast, sprawling city flew by. Other pods whirred by at their pre-set speeds, each carrying a bored passenger or two. People walked along the streets without respirators, their clothes fine and dust-free. In the glass-front buildings, there were shops and restaurants full of patrons. It was like something out of one of the old vids.

As far up as she could see, the buildings stretched into the blue sky. Dasia had never seen such a thing. A bright vibrant yellow orb hovered above the city. It took her several seconds to realize it must be the sun, free of the haze’s distortion.

“Never been to the city before?” Osip asked after her wide, gaping mouth.

“No, where are we?”

“New York.”

Dasia’s hopes faded instantly. “There’s a dome,” she realized. She’d read it somewhere during her Youth classes. New York was one of the forty six American cities to be protected by full domes. “It’s artificial.”

“Yeah, it’s the city,” Osip replied. “Man, I thought I was sheltered.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d never been above ground before Nick recruited me.” Osip laughed at the memory. “There was a little culture shock.”

“That’s where you got the accent?”

“Ya,” he said laying it on thick. He smiled wide at her, but it soon faded when he realized she wouldn’t return it.

Osip cleared his throat and said, “I know it’s hard to transition. You had to really go through something to get here. If you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to.”

He looked hurt, his features fallen. He switched off the autodrive and grabbed the handles, concentrating on driving the pod.

Dasia wanted to feel bad, to tell him it was all right and that she could talk to him, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. The wounds were too fresh. Maybe they always would be.

They arrived soon enough. Osip rolled the pod into a garage and popped open the doors. Dasia stumbled out and waited for him. She had no idea what to do, where to go.

Osip tried on his warm smile again, but it was damaged this time. “Come on. Jane’s waiting to take you on a tour. She loves that sort of thing.”

He led her down a bright corridor, the lights white and clean. When they arrived at the doors, he held his palm to a scanner and waited.

No sooner had the doors swung open than a tall brunette materialized, her hair cut into a severe bob with a low-hanging bang. “Hi, you must be Dasia! I’m Jane, welcome to CPI!” Her full red lips smiled over her crisp white teeth. She had long, slender arms and legs that went on for days. Her eyes were sharp, as were her cheekbones. By all accounts, Jane was beautiful.

“Uh, thanks,” Dasia replied, completely lost as to why her arrival was so important to the girl. To Dasia, it was the end of her old life.

Jane turned to stare at Osip. When he didn’t move, she said, “Don’t you have something to do?” Her words dripped with disdain.

Osip sighed and walked off, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Dasia watched him leave, wanting to say something, to apologize for being rude, but she didn’t. She didn’t have the energy for it.

“Thank goodness you’re here. We need a few more girls around here! Ugh, so many boys. If only they were cute,” Jane said with a romantic sigh.

Dasia stood frozen, her arms crossed across her chest. What the hell was this place? She couldn’t make sense of it. Then again, she was one step away from catatonic. Even in her state, she could tell Osip was handsome. Apparently, Jane had absurdly high standards.

“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Jane slid her arm through Dasia’s and pulled her along like a best friend.

Only Dasia didn’t have a best friend. Not anymore.

“This is the lobby. No one comes here except when they’re new. Who recruited you?” Jane asked as if it were a perfectly plain thing to ask.

“Oh, uh, Dr. Pastromas.”

Jane’s giggled. “Doctor Pastromas? You mean Nick? Ha ha! I’m going to call him that from now on.”

Dasia blinked. “You call him Nick?”

“Yeah, everyone does. Everyone’s pretty lax around here. Except Dr. Arrenstein, but he’s all right. This is the elevator, but we’re only allowed on the first two floors.” Jane pointed to a column in the middle of a round room with a pair of double doors that looked like all the others.

“Why?”

“Only handlers and agents are allowed. It’s like, strictly forbidden.” Jane’s eyes widened as if they were keeping man-eating sharks up there.

“Agents and handlers?” Dasia asked. It was all so new, she didn’t even know what to ask about first.

“Oh, if Nick didn’t tell you yet then I probably shouldn’t. There’s a meeting scheduled for the day after tomorrow. There’s one more girl coming in tomorrow morning and then I guess we’re really going to get started. Pretty exciting, huh?” Jane squeezed Dasia’s arm against her torso.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Exciting.”

“The cleaning station is down there. You’ll have the morning there tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll come get you. It sounds horrible, all the procedures, but it’s kind of nice, actually.”

Procedures? Dasia walked on with her eyes locked on the doors, apprehensive to receive any procedures. She didn’t sign up for that.

Jane didn’t notice her nerves. Instead, the two continued down the long corridor.

“This hallway is mostly for staff. Building maintenance, servers. At the end is the galley. Hey, you want to go see if Knox is cooking? What am I saying? He’s always cooking.”

Jane tugged her along down the hall and Dasia let her. It was easy to let Jane tell her what to do, where to go. It was better than thinking about anything.

Besides, as much as it shocked her, Dasia kind of liked Jane. She was new, she was different. She didn’t remind her of Cole.