“Don’t worry, the Directorate has experienced extraction teams. I’ll have them here before lunch.”
“You said that about the forensics teams.”
She shifted around in the cramped space, and gave him an unnerving look of appraisal. “I know, and I apologize again. I’ve never quite let anybody down like that before. It won’t happen again.”
Hoshe knew he was blushing. Her apology was like some intimate confession. He tapped a knuckle on the portal to distract her. “Are you sure this will get a conviction? I’ll bet you a whole Earth dollar their memorycell inserts have been destroyed; there’ll be no memory of the killer we can ever access.”
“Trust me, Hoshe. We can nail him now. All I need is a judge to issue a warrant.”
It was a hell of a row that broke out in the living room. Loud enough for Morton to hear it from his bedroom, which made him stop what he was doing, which pissed him off no end. His e-butler told him who was invading his penthouse, so he was tying the belt on his dressing gown as he strode out.
Chief Inspector Myo was arguing with his human butler, while Detective Hoshe Finn interjected with angry threats. It was a credit to the butler’s training and character that he didn’t appear in any way flustered by the unwelcome guests and their authority. His loyalty lay solely with his employer; nothing was going to shift that.
“Let’s all take a breath and calm down,” Morton said. He combed his wild hair with his hand, trying to slick it back down. “What seems to be the problem here? Chief Investigator?”
“No problem.” She held out a small memory crystal disk. “I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“On what charge?”
“Two counts of bodykill and deliberate memory erasure.”
Morton couldn’t quite hang on to his peaceable demeanor with that allegation fired at him. “You’ve gotta be fucking joking!”
“No, sir, I am not joking,” Paula said. “As a registered Commonwealth citizen, you are hereby advised not to speak further in connection with the offense you have just been charged with until you are in consultation with your legal representative. Now, please get dressed, sir. You will be taken to the police precinct station for further questioning.”
“This is bullshit.” Morton stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest. Even though he knew, he asked, “Whose murder?”
“Tara Jennifer Shaheef, your wife at the time, and Wyobie Cotal.”
“Shit! I fucking told you they’d been bumped off.”
“You certainly did. Thank you for that, sir. Now please get dressed. If you don’t, we will take you as you are.”
A naked Mellanie rushed into the lounge. She threw her arms around Morton. “What’s happening, Morty? What are they saying?”
“Nothing, it’s a police fuckup, that’s all.” He almost shook her off, then thought better of it and returned her embrace. “Everything is fine.”
From inside the circle of his arms, she glared at the two officers.
Hoshe Finn was not looking at the naked teenager. Then he had to not look at the second girl who came to stand in the bedroom doorway, pulling on a white lace robe. Her long elegant face wore a bemused expression as she took in the tableaux, as if she was accessing some low-budget soap on the cybersphere. “What is happening out here?” she drawled in a husky voice. One hand patted languidly at her expensively styled hair. “Is this part of your kink, Morty, to be hauled off to a secret police dungeon where they manacle you to the wall?”
“No,” Morton and Paula Myo said in unison.
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.
“Morty never killed anyone,” Mellanie asserted. She tossed her head, daring them to say different.
Paula gave her a cool glance. “You weren’t even alive when he did this. Take my advice, don’t cause a scene. Morton?”
“It’s all right.” Morton gave the clinging girl a tender squeeze. “My e-butler has already informed the legal department. I’ll be home for dinner tonight. We’ll be suing for wrongful arrest before the fish course arrives.”
Mellanie pushed her face up toward his, entreating. “Don’t go with them, please, Morty. Don’t.”
“This is not a multiple choice situation,” Paula told her.
“I’ll get dressed,” Morton said. He swung around and walked back toward the bedroom. “It’s a shame,” he said to Paula. “You and I could have been quite something together.”
Paula looked from Mellanie to the haughty girl in the lace robe, then to Morton. “I can’t think what.”
…
The daily storm that raced in from the Grand Triad had now passed, leaving the wide valley fresh and gleaming. There were few trees here on the northwestern edge of the Dessault Mountains. The valley was mainly grassland, with boggy meadows along the bottom where the fast river flowed out to the north. Sunlight grew steadily warmer as the last twisting clouds hurried away toward the Great Iril Steppes, and the ground steamed quietly.
As soon as the rains stopped, Kazimir stepped outside. The McFoster village on the western slopes was where he had spent his earliest childhood, a huddle of stone houses with living grass roofs that provided watertight shelter during the rains. They all had broad open windows so the air could circulate. Not that many daylight hours were spent indoors in such a warm climate. It was a farming village, one of the many sheltered refuges where clan children could grow up untroubled by the Institute and the Starflyer. Cattle grazed easily on the floor of the valley, and a few Charlemagnes were trained by fighters no longer able to answer the Guardians’ call to arms.
Scott and Harvey joined him as he walked out toward the memorial garden, more villagers joining in until there were over thirty marching silently along the little-worn path. It ended at a dark wooden gate set in a drystone wall that was overrun by colorful climbing nasturtiums. The wall circled a graveyard that followed the pattern adopted by most small human settlements across the Commonwealth. Saplings that had been planted around the perimeter were now large enough to offer some shade. Gravestones were carved on chunks of local rock. In the middle was an eight-sided memorial made of stone. The base plinth measured three meters across, holding a two-meter sphere of red marble polished to a gleam. Names had been etched into the lower half, forming neat lines that covered nearly a third of the surface.
Everyone gathered around and bowed their heads.
“We have come today to celebrate the life of Bruce McFoster,” Harvey said in a loud clear voice. “Although he has left our clan, he will not be forgotten by us and those who fight with us. When the time comes for this planet’s revenge upon its violator he will hear the song of joy that all peoples will sing, for it will be so loud as to rock the dreaming heavens themselves.”
Harvey placed a small engraver tool against the marble at the end of an unfinished line of names. The little unit buzzed as its tiny blades began cutting the programmed pattern. Fine gray dust started to trickle down.
“I remember your laughter, Bruce,” Harvey said.
Kazimir stepped forward. “I remember your friendship, Bruce, you are my brother and always will be.” It was difficult to get the words out as his voice cracked. Tears were leaking down his cheeks.
“I remember your stubbornness, Bruce,” Scott rasped. “Keep it with you always, lad.”
A woman stepped forward. Kazimir didn’t hear what she said. The infant boy that Samantha was cradling began to wail loudly as if he understood what was happening, that he would never see or know his father.
The tributes lasted for some time. Eventually, the last McFosters had their say and the infant found the comfort of his mother’s breast. The buzz of the engraver fell silent. Kazimir stared brokenly at the new name on the marble, then hung his head, unable to bear the sight any longer.
People drifted away, leaving him and Samantha alone.
“Thank you, Kaz,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I think you and I are the only people who really cared about him.”