Neward and Provident ran a series of seemingly unrelated stories two days later. The first under the byline of Serah Wyles, covering the mysterious murder of a billy named Robert Galloway, which Detectives David Parrino and Samuel Makluskey of the Soho police were investigating as a probable robbery gone wrong, and possibly related to the very similar murder of a random homeless man who had encamped in the HVAC works of the under-construction Knightsbridge-Bellgravia Arcology. Local street gangs, recently displaced by demolition in that area, were the most likely culprits.
A second story, written by Jafet Melendez, reported on the apparent investigation into a rogue Division 4 agent, Bernard Ducard, who mysteriously attacked his partner and was later found shot to death while breaking into an unnamed citizen’s apartment. The death was ruled self-defense, and the innocent citizen involved has chosen to remain anonymous. Ducard’s partner, Nolan Foucan, is on administrative leave pending an investigation and reports that Ducard was apparently suffering some kind of mental breakdown following his recent battle with and subsequent capture of a notorious interstellar assassin three days prior.
Finally, in a shared byline between Serah Wyles and Henry Whittaker, it was reported that long-time NPNA staffer Vir. Erik Walker and his aunt, Vir. Wendi Amilia Sparks, were found dead in the home they shared after an unspecified domestic accident. Erik was a valued researcher and an essential member of the NPNA reporting team. Indications are that Ms. Sparks, a wealthy widow and former art patron, had invested a portion of her wealth into backing up her nephew’s neural patterns into a hosted psytron matrix. If this is the case, and if her nephew is so inclined, NPNA looks forward to welcoming LiM. Walker back to his old position whenever he wishes.
“I am going to miss the place,” Serah said as she sipped her coffee.
It was the last day for Nine Stones Café, and they had opened specially for just their dozen or so remaining patrons. Most of the furnishings had been cleared out except for a couple of dispensers and a half-dozen couches. The bare walls bore the stains and cracks of decades of memories and stories. Those memories would be gone forever when the last brick had fallen and crushed into dust.
“Everything changes and gets reborn,” the young, fair-haired man on the couch next to her said. She recognized him as Cerny, the man who had tried to kill her in the lobby of Alibron a few days prior; she knew he was someone else now, however. The man drank gingerly from a steaming cup of Thurinese Oolong tea that made him wince in displeasure.
“Too hot?” Serah asked.
The man shook his head. “Doesn’t taste right.”
“Smells as bad as ever.”
“Different tastebuds, I guess.”
“Dare I ask if those are yours or if you’re sharing them?” Serah frowned slightly with distaste.
He looked at Serah momentarily, her expression not lost on him. “They’re strictly mine,” the man confirmed with a hint of sadness. “If … second-hand.” He paused for a moment, considering his words, and then nodded.
“I’m not sure how I feel about that, having already had you traipsing around in my nightmares and borrowing my body after I passed out. Is this victim at least consensual?”
“You saw what happened,” the man said. “Cerny was gone. At best, he would have spent the rest of his life restrained in an institution. This seemed much more humane.” He quickly changed the subject. “Thank you for meeting me. I wasn’t sure you would. Honestly, I would have understood if you never wanted to see me again. I can not apologize or thank you enough, but I just wanted you to know, if the stakes hadn’t been so high, and if there had been any other way…” he trailed off. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any way to explain–”
The new, younger face had a look of sincerity that allowed Serah to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You could start by telling me what that shade was that killed my friends and chased me across Europe,” Serah prompted.
“Something…” The man thought for a moment. “Something that got past us. Something people aren’t ready to know about yet. We’re preparing, though. I should probably leave it at that and not worry you further.”
“I didn’t think you’d give me an answer. You never do,” she said accusingly. “At least you stopped it, I guess.”
“It wasn’t me,” the man insisted. “You did it yourself, Serah. I was just watching. I barely got the words ‘code black’ into your conscious mind. I’m pretty sure it’s the only helpful thing I managed to convey over the past few days.”
Serah looked up and smiled. David Parrino was crossing the room. He sported a cane and walked with only the slightest limp.
“Hello, Sergeant,” Serah smiled.
“Miss Wyles,” Parrino smiled. Serah nodded toward the leg, raising one eyebrow as a silent question. “It’s prosthetic, but they’re growing me a new one. It should be ready in a few months. Until then, we’re on desk duty.” He nodded to the slac walking three paces behind him, projecting Mak’s features over itself. As they approached the couch, it made a point of pushing Parrino out of its way and sitting next to Serah, forcing his partner to shift to the other end awkwardly.
“Mak!” Serah smiled. “I believe I owe you a drink for saving my life … several times.”
“Hey, I did no such thing,” Mak protested, “Just summoned security, turned on a fire alarm, and activated the quarantine protocols on a wrist terminal. Everything else was you, my dear. Officially, I wasn’t even there, and I certainly didn’t commandeer a Division 4 drone at Calais station, steal a taxi during a hailstorm of aircars in downtown Calais, and vandalize an autohauler in Lille.”
Parrino suddenly seemed to notice the fair-haired man for the first time. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude.” He extended a hand. “I’m Sergeant David Parrino. This is my partner, Mak. And you are?”
The fair-haired man smiled. “I am … just leaving,” he said as he stood up. “I saw an old friend and just wanted to say ‘hi.’“ He turned and bowed slightly to Serah. “Maybe we’ll see each other somewhere down the road.”
Serah did not smile. “Yes. Let’s hope it’s not any time soon. There aren’t many pieces of my youth left standing,” she said, scratching the skin behind her left ear around the newly installed neural interface.
The man forced a sheepish smile. “Well,” he said at last, “Until then, at least I can offer you pleasant dreams.” He nodded expressionlessly to the three of them, turned, and sulked out into the rainy night.
© 2022 Darrin Snider. All Rights Reserved.
