His eyes went wide as he understood. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…”
“I should have your balls for this.”
“I didn’t know how things were on your world. I apologise.”
“I didn’t have a world.”
“Of course. Ah, I’ll take my leave, if I may.”
“Yeah. Get the fuck out.”
Iokan headed for the door — but before he could reach for the controls, a chime sounded around the centre, and magnetic locks snapped tight on the door. My voice came over loudspeakers.
“This is a security alert. I’ve had to lock down the building. The situation’s under control but we need you all to stay where you are for the moment. I’m sorry about this — I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
Iokan tried the door: the controls refused him. There was a handle designed to be used in power failures, but that wouldn’t move either. He turned back to Elsbet, who sat on the bed looking distinctly annoyed.
“I think we’re stuck here for a while,” he said.
She folded her arms. It was going to be a long night for the pair of them.
10. Security
HUB SECURITY INCIDENT REPORT
Incident Number: 897-9898-gf
Date: HD y276.m7.w2.d3
Reporting Officer: Sgt. Fers, I.
Incident Location: Lhasa Bar & Club, 2345 3rd Avenue, District 2, Hub Metro
Officer Leberrine responded to an emergency call at 23:45 hours, and found the owner of the club, Mr. Dawa Dorje, in a state of distress, while the club itself had suffered damage to fixtures and fittings. Mr. Dorje reported an assault approximately thirty minutes earlier by an unidentified female who questioned him regarding criminal activities. Mr. Dorje was extremely emotional and repeatedly confessed to a number of offenses against the Biodiversity Statute, but insisted he had never been involved in any kind of genocide. Officer Leberrine was unable to calm him. An ambulance was called, and Mr. Dorje was given a mild sedative.
I interviewed Mr. Dorje at the station at approximately 00:45. He stated that he was on the premises while it was closed to conduct a stocktaking exercise, along with several employees who were assisting him, when the assailant broke in and attacked them. Mr. Dorje’s employees attempted to subdue her but they were unable to do so. The assailant stated that she only wanted to speak to Mr. Dorje, and allowed the others to escape. She proceeded to beat Mr. Dorje until he admitted to smuggling offences, but then asked questions regarding wider criminal networks. He insists that no such networks exist and he knows nothing of genocide on other universes, which the assailant seemed to be primarily interested in. He was unable to supply a full description of the assailant because she was masked, but was certain she was using a phonetic translation device. He also told us she demanded to know where the security recordings for the establishment were, and then destroyed them (both physical and data copies).
Mr. Dorje was remanded in custody pending a search of his premises following his confession, and officers were despatched to arrest his associates. The Psychiatric Centre reported no escapes of inmates, nor have there been any other reports of an individual answering the same description.
11. Intruder
The truck came in to land at the vehicle paddock across from the main building, audible warnings reporting it was approaching ground level. The garage behind it opened up and the vehicle reversed inside to the sound of further warnings.
As it halted, a baggage compartment at the back popped open and a masked figure in black rolled away. The driver would find the opened compartment a minute later and wonder how he’d managed to leave it open after a supply pickup in the outskirts of Hub Metro. But by then the stowaway was making a perfectly timed run to the main building as sensors switched themselves off along her path. She leapt two stories up to catch a newly opened window with one hand, and then swung herself inside, entering an unused room in the shuttered part of the centre.
A door opened for her and she snuck away down the hall towards the staircase leading to the residential corridors two floors below. She paused on the stairwell and leapt to the ceiling, clinging to a centimetre of foothold while Veofol walked below her. Once he had gone, she slipped silently down to the floor and continued on.
She went straight to the corridor that housed the personal rooms of the residents, one of which opened despite her failure to use the fingerprint, voiceprint or numeric locks. She stepped inside, said “Lights on,” and pulled the mask from her face.
That’s when Liss got a nasty shock. Her room was gone. All the pink, fluffy and girly fittings were removed. All that was left was an empty, unformed grey shell. She turned to see the one object left behind — clamped into the wall, squat and functional, was a SAR launcher. SAR stands for Semi-Aerosolised Restraint. She had time to mutter “shit!” before it fired a cloud of adhesive droplets at her, binding her in a sticky mesh. She struggled and tried to jump, ending glued halfway up a wall, progressively constrained as she fought against the SAR polymers.
Once she’d stopped struggling, security guards felt safe enough to enter and point weapons at her. Lomeva Sisse, the security manager, took special pleasure in her capture; the final touch of the empty room had been her idea, and avoided the possibility of physical confrontation and serious injury. She proclaimed the situation safe once her officers had made sure Liss could still breathe, then allowed me to enter.
I could see her black clothes were actually stolen from Iokan — the black poloneck, the combat trousers, all adjusted to fit her. I thought she’d only been using her sewing kit to attach pink bobbles to everything she wore. But instead she’d been preparing for this all along.
She glared down at me, still squirming enough to keep the mesh tightening around her. “Just relax, Liss,” I said. “It’s over. Security are going to take you away for an interview in Hub Metro. That’s out of my hands. Is there anything you’d like to tell me before you go?”
“My name is Liss Li’Oul. Reservist. Paranormal Response Group. Identity number 1656710. I’m not telling you another damn thing.”
“Liss… we didn’t destroy your world. We want to help you. Surely after all the time you’ve been here, you understand that?”
She just scowled at me. She was determined to play the part of a prisoner of war. I tried something else: “We want to find out who killed your species as much as you do.”
“And what would you do about it? Let them off with a fine? Smack them on the wrist? Take away their fucking toys?”
I sighed. “We’ll talk again, Liss.” I looked at Lomeva. “You can take her away now.”
They came in with tranquillisers and restraints and took her away to security headquarters in Hub Metro.
PART SEVEN — JUSTICE
1. Committee
The next morning, I was summoned to an emergency meeting of the Special Counselling Groups Committee, representing everyone who had an interest in my group, none of whom were likely to be happy with me.
I sat down in the remote conference room, and around the circular table, images of the committee members glowed into life. Henni Ardassian, head of the Refugee Service, sat opposite me, with the other members scattered around the table.
“Is that everyone?” asked Henni, looking around. “Is there anyone else from Diplomatic?”