Twelve

 

Noelle DeRicci kicked off her shoes, moved the gift basket off the top of the bar at the far end of her hotel suite, and reached for the whiskey on the bar’s top shelf. Earth-made whiskey in a bottle covered in dust. She didn’t care.

She wanted a drink. She deserved a drink, and by God, she was going to have one.

She poured three fingers worth into the real glass tumbler near the mirror, and looked at herself as she did so. She wanted this moment burned in her memory.

This was the moment when she started drinking alone.

Which wasn’t actually true. She had done the same thing after the bombing of Armstrong four years ago. And about at the same place in the timeframe. Six months after the actual event, when she realized she would never ever catch the damn bomber.

When she realized she might never have answers.

She set the tumbler down without taking a sip. Then she sighed.

You don’t understand, Dominic Hanrahan, the mayor of Tycho Crater, had said to her just a few hours ago.

The problem was that she understood too well. He didn’t understand. He had no idea what kind of pressure she was under. It was the same pressure he felt, magnified one million times. Each death that he allowed himself to think about matched one thousand deaths she couldn’t allow herself to think about—particularly as individuals.

If she thought about all of those people as individuals, she’d crack.

She looked up. A thin-faced woman with large eyes looked back at her, her once-dark hair now almost completely gray. She had never been thin, never looked thin, never was incredibly thin, not even when she was in her best shape as a police officer.

Now she wasn’t eating enough because she wasn’t sitting down long enough to have a meal, and when she did sit down for a meal it was often in a high-stress situation with someone like Hanrahan. What great way to kill an appetite. Then when she got to her hotel room or her office or home, she didn’t want to eat or she just plain forgot.

She was forgetting a lot of things, which her assistants kept telling her was normal for someone under the kind of stress she felt. Her forgetfulness was another reason she had staff shadowing her at all times.

Or at most times. Fortunately, at the moment, those shadows were in their own hotel rooms, probably contemplating their own liquor cabinets.

Long damn day. And tomorrow would be more of the same. Hanrahan promised to have the rebuilding plans in her hands by breakfast.

She wondered where he would find an architect who could design a working model of an entire dome section on such short notice.

She grinned at that thought. Hanrahan was so transparent. She had defeated him verbally at the disaster site, and now he was afraid of her. Now he would do what she wanted.

She only wished he would do it without intense supervision.

She wished a lot of things. None of them would ever come true. She wished she had known what life would be like now back when she had agreed to take this job. She wished she knew that life was this way because the change was inevitable, not because it was her fault.

She wished she had someone to talk to, someone who would truly understand what she was going through.

Noelle? At first, she thought the voice coming through her links was her imagination.

She turned away from the mirror. Miles?

A small holographic image of him appeared on the bar. The gift basket dwarfed him. She moved so that she wouldn’t see both in the same frame.

I wasn’t sure I’d reach you, he sent. I know that sometimes you’re unavailable when you’re touring the scenes.

That was earlier. She pulled over one of the bar stools and sat down. She hoped he couldn’t see the drink sitting untouched near the mirror.

You look tired.

He was clearly being polite. She looked exhausted.

He looked—what? Energized? Animated? Something was different about him. Something she recognized, but something she hadn’t seen in a long time, since before Anniversary Day.

I had the most extraordinary meetings today, he sent.

With who? She wished she could say her meetings had been extraordinary. They weren’t. They had been like every meeting she’d had since Anniversary Day.

I’ll get to that in a minute, he sent. But I’ve got some information, about the clones, about the zoodeh, and about the way we’re approaching the investigation.

What about the investigation? she asked.

We’re going about it wrong, he sent.

Of course they were. She rubbed her eyes, noting that even her thoughts were sarcastic or cynical. She was tired. She didn’t want to contemplate the idea that they had done something wrong, let alone conducted the investigation wrong.

What’s wrong with it? Just asking that question took more strength than she had anticipated.

We’re assuming that Anniversary Day was a practice run, just like that first bombing in Armstrong. Flint practically vibrated as he sent that. Wherever he had gotten this idea, he liked it. No, it was more than that. He believed it.

It isn’t?

He shook his head. We need to search for other smaller bombings elsewhere in the Earth Alliance. There will be more attacks, but probably not here.

Who told you this? DeRicci asked.

This part is just a theory, Flint sent, but it makes sense to me.

Her brain hurt. The theory didn’t make sense to her. But then, little had of late.

Look, Noelle, Flint sent, the only reason I’m telling you this is so that we can move the investigation wider. We’ll need Earth Alliance help.

We already have Earth Alliance help, she sent.

Looking at internal records of other cultures, he sent. I suspect the practice runs on some of them have already happened.

And you want me to contact someone, she sent. She was feeling more and more tired with each idea. She didn’t want the Earth Alliance involved any more than it already was. She certainly didn’t want those investigators to interfere with the way things were going on the Moon.

He shrugged. Maybe you should contact someone. If we find anything. First, I need your permission to look.

I’m not in charge of you, Miles.

I know, he sent. But you’re in charge of the investigation, and I can’t give orders without your authority. In fact, I need you to tell Rudra that my theory is worth pursuing.

She disagrees? If Popova disagreed, then DeRicci would too. After a difficult period just after Anniversary Day, DeRicci could trust Popova again.

She doesn’t know, he sent. She doesn’t like the Earth Alliance investigators already in your office.

DeRicci didn’t like them either. But maybe this was a sign that DeRicci needed a real assistant. Not shadows, not a glorified secretary like Popova. Someone who could make decisions for her. Someone she trusted one-hundred percent.

The problem was that she didn’t trust anyone one-hundred percent, not Miles, not anyone.

DeRicci sighed. Looking in a new direction won’t hurt. I’ll let her know. But I don’t want her to involve the Earth Alliance investigators. I think they’re here to take over my investigation.

At that moment, she sent Popova a private message. In it, she warned that whatever direction Flint wanted to take the investigation was all right with her, but that the Earth Alliance investigators should be kept in the dark.

Flint had his arms crossed. Something was bothering him.

Anything else? DeRicci sent.

Zoodeh and the clones, Flint sent. He was frowning now, as if he couldn’t believe she had forgotten that.

She could believe it. She really needed something to eat. Or some sleep. She wasn’t sure which was more important.

What about them? she sent.

He told her about the zoodeh, the fact that a lot of it remained in the Earth Alliance after the ban.

We should have thought of that, she sent. The Alliance is so disorganized.

Flint nodded. So we’re going to investigate that too.

Good, she sent. And the clones? Did you find who made them?

No, he sent, but I did find out how they came to be. They’re designer clones, Noelle. Someone is selling clones for specific activities, as thieves or assassins. As weapons.

DeRicci closed her eyes and tilted her head back. There it was. Someone from the Alliance had finally talked to Flint.

I know, she sent.

You know? he sent and she could feel his disbelief. She knew what he would say next. This was something she should have told him.

It’s classified. I couldn’t have told you if I wanted to, she sent.

Don’t you think it would have helped the investigation if I knew?

No, she sent, even though she did think it might have helped. The Earth Alliance already has people investigating this.

And they haven’t done anything in years, Flint sent.

They have, she sent. They’re on the trail. They’ve moved even more personnel to this task since the bombings.

His little holographic self stared at her. She was glad she was seeing him in miniature, because if he were across from her, she wasn’t sure she could defend his lack of knowledge on this.

Who told you about this? she sent. Those lackeys from the Earth Alliance that Popova’s been messaging me about?

Luc Deshin, Flint sent—and severed their connection.

DeRicci sat down. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that Flint had cut her off or that he had been talking with Armstrong’s most notorious criminal boss.

Luc Deshin. He had probably been the source of all of the information that Flint got. She wondered what Deshin got out of pushing the investigation in this direction.

Flint wasn’t easily manipulated. In fact, he had a stronger spine than she did. So Deshin couldn’t push him in a direction he didn’t want to go.

Still, Deshin’s presence in this investigation made her wary.

Everything made her wary.

And the conversation with Flint left her unsettled.

She thought of contacting him again, and then she changed her mind. She needed food. She needed rest.

She needed to think about something else for a while.

She turned around, and without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she downed the tumbler of whiskey.

It burned and it didn’t make her feel any different. Not more relaxed, not happier, not anything.

It didn’t make her forget either.

Nothing ever would.