Cats like boxes because they are cryptic animals; they like to hide, and a box gives them a place of safety and security.
- Stephen Zawistowski
We were led down several corridors, the captain in the lead and a guard carrying Darwin in the rear. Leena and I each had a gun at our backs, though far enough back that simply spinning around wouldn't bring them into reach. They were good, as I said.
We entered a large loading bay, probably the biggest on the station. There was a pair of massive doors on each side of the bay, letting out into space. They were big enough to admit entire shuttles if necessary. There were also smaller doors built into these, as well as an airlock on each side.
There were also a few dozen people moving about, busily moving crates, cutting metal or rushing to various stations with what looked like reports. I only remember these details in retrospect. What drew, and kept, my attention was the large ship in the center of the bay.
It did not look like anything I had ever seen before. Our shuttles are sleek in design, meant for mostly atmospheric transport. This thing was alien. It was comprised of spheres of varying sizes, all reflective and overlaid with an intricate network of patterns etched into their surfaces.
About half the spheres were dismantled and lying on the bay floor. The rest were still together in a cluster, propped up by struts. Gantries and cranes surrounded it, though not much activity was apparent at the moment.
What was left of the ship though, with its sweeping curves and delicate filigree, was majestic. It gave off a sense of purpose, of deliberate design. I tried imagining it before it had been dismantled, and was awed by its size and simplicity.
"That is beautiful." I said quietly.
"Thank you," Leena said. "I assisted in her design."
The guards ignored our conversation as they continued to lead us through the maze of boxes and stations. We were still walking through the huge bay, heading towards a series of desks and terminals. We passed a segment of the ship that had been dismantled and emptied of its components. It was being cut into smaller pieces by a masked workman. As I walked by it, I saw the etching up close. It was filled with gold and swirled and looped to form a dizzying pattern.
"What do the patterns on the skin mean?" I asked Leena as we walked by.
"Mean? They are an expression of beauty. That is enough meaning for them to have. Their function, when intact, is to serve as a charged electromagnetic field to protect the occupants and systems from harmful radiation."
"A charge net? We have those, but nothing so... so beautiful." I felt like I was overusing that word, but nothing else came close.
"Can a thing not be beautiful as well as functional?"
I immediately thought of Sam. Not of Joanie, but of Sam. She had been helpful, of course, supporting my Finding, caring for Darwin, keeping me company during my convalescence. And there was no doubt that she was beautiful. I realized that I wanted to see her again for none of those reasons.
"I think it should," I replied.
"There is hope for you yet, father."
I credit the captain for not reacting to this, though I was sure he was listening. Mendoza, who was still carrying Darwin, however, spoke her surprise.
"Father?"
"Secure the chatter, soldier." The captain said.
"Yes, sir."
We walked the last few hundred feet in silence.
Mr. Jones was seated at a large desk, talking to one of the technicians. Several others were standing around anxiously. The technician was pointing to a plan in front of Mr. Jones, but she wasn't even looking at it. She just looked at him and said, "I don't care. Get it done. If anyone else dies, it is on you. You have 6 hours."
He scurried away with his plans, fear and hatred mixed on his face.
"Excellent!" Mr. Jones said, looking over to us. "Well done Captain. You will be amply rewarded for your exemplary service." She glared at the rest of the technicians until they backed away and went back to the bay floor in a cluster of concerned voices.
"Just doing my job, sir," The captain responded flatly.
"And you do it so well," she purred. She was clearly on the prowl again, and I feared for our stalwart captain's health.
"Thank you, sir." he said calmly.
Mr. Jones opened a drawer and pulled out a pistol. With a quad of armed guards here, what would she need a personal weapon for? She rose from her desk and came around to inspect us.
She looked over Leena as if she was a piece of furniture, roughly grabbing and spinning her to check for damage. The contrast could not have been greater. The tall, silent figure in black, the picture of confidence and the small, pale ball of fury and indignation, trying to assert her dominance, restlessly beating herself against the immovable cliff.
"Time to get you back to my labs. I am very upset with you," Mr. Jones said in mock petulance. "I don't like it when my property runs away. You have cost me a great deal of money, time and frustration. "
Leena just kept staring forward, saying nothing. "Oh, that's right. You can't understand our language, can you? I wonder that your masters trusted a monkey like you with such an important ship."
This finally drew a look from the captain, who had clearly heard us speaking together. I would have given much to have known his thoughts at that moment.
"You, my little ape, have caused me no end of trouble. I promised a shuttle to my company, and a shuttle they shall have. But at a cost. A very dear cost. And it will make me very rich, and very powerful. So it is time I put you back to work."
The she slinked over to me, her eyes passing up and down my clothes. I heard the guard behind me ready his weapon, in case I tried anything.
Mr. Jones slowly reached out and touched the tattered and bloodied holes in my shirt, then the skin beneath.
"How was this done?" she said in awe, passing her fingers back and forth over the spot where my shoulder had been blown away.
Her hand went from caressing my shoulder to grasping my shirt in a flash. "I asked you a question! How did you do this?"
I hesitated, trying to decide how to phrase it. "It was a gift from my daughter," I finally said.
Once again a gasp from Mendoza. She wasn't very good at hiding her emotions, and would probably be disciplined for it. Then I heard a click, though I couldn't place it.
Mr. Jones, typically, ignored everything that didn't directly relate to her. "Your...? More cryptic Finder talk? I saw you less than twelve hours ago. How is this possible? You will tell me, or you will show me." I found it amazing that she was able to distance herself from the carnage of that scene. She took a step back and raised her pistol, pointing directly at my shoulder.
A light dawned in her eyes. Turning back to Leena, she said, "You did this, monkey, didn't you? You and your monkey friends were able to heal all too quickly. And now you can pass it on? Well, I will figure it out. I will carve you up, and the Finder, and anyone else I need to in order to uncover your secret! This is worth a thousand shuttles!"
She was starting to rant. Her eyes were just a touch too wild. She was still staring at Leena when she said, "What's in the box?" She didn't take her eyes off Leena.
"Ma'am... uh Sir?" Mendoza sounded surprised to be the focus of this maelstrom's attention. "It is Darwin, sir."
Mr. Jones' face broke into a huge beaming smile as she spun in place to face the young guard. "You brought me a present! How thoughtful of you!"
Mr. Jones, her gun still raised, headed towards the box. Mendoza stood stock still. I will credit her for not trembling. Mr. Jones approached the box and tapped the lid with the barrel of her gun.
"Knock, knock. Wake up you little monster. Time to pay for my chair."
"Would you like me to open it ma'am... sir?"
"What? No! Don't be an idiot. Have you seen that thing? Just put it down on the ground, I can take payment just as easily from there."
The box started to rattle in Mendoza's arms, and she struggled to hold it steady as she put it down. Then the lid burst open and Darwin leapt out, heading for the shelter of the bins and parts stored in piles around the bay at full speed.
"IDIOT!" Mr. Jones screamed. "He was mine!" She turned to face Mendoza and raised her gun.
Mendoza raised her hands, unable to go for the weapon slung across her back. "I... I am sorry ma'am."
Then Mr. Jones shot her in the chest. "Don't call me ma'am." She said quietly, then stalked onto the floor hunting for Darwin as Mendoza crumpled to the floor.
Everyone sprang into action at once, except for Leena, who was watching Mr. Jones wander into the maze of boxes and bins, scanning around each of them for a sign of Darwin.
The captain knelt beside the Mendoza and took a look at the wound, "Punctured lung, extensive internal bleeding. No time. We need a gel-bath. NOW!"
The other guards abandoned their posts, one running for the door into the main corridors, the other grabbing a passing technician. I looked at the soldier's wound. It was serious, and within minutes it would be fatal.
"Captain..." I started.
"I know," he cut me off. I knelt beside the bleeding girl and lifted her helmet off her head. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Her face was pale and there was blood on her lips.
"Synthia," the Captain said, pulling off his own helmet. He was an older man, short cropped grey hair and a few concerned wrinkles.
"Sorry, Dad..." she coughed, "I mean, sir. Guess I screwed up. I couldn't let her just kill him."
"No, soldier, you did fine." Tears were streaming down his cheeks.
"Am I dying, Daddy?"
He choked a little. "Yes, sweetheart, I think you are."
"Ok." was all she said, and then lapsed into unconsciousness, her breath coming in ragged gasps
"Is there anything you can do, Finder? Anything?" The heartbreak was clear in his eyes, though his face remained stone.
I looked over to Leena, who had been watching us. She just nodded.
"Give me your knife," I said to the Captain. "You must say nothing of this, ever."
Without hesitation, he passed over his knife. I placed the blade against my palm and sliced it open. The pain was not as great as I was expecting, though I suspect that it was a matter of degrees to me by now.
I let the blood from my hand pour into the Synthia's open wound. Within a minute, her breathing had steadied. I could feel my hand tightening as I sat there and the blood flow stopped. I opened it to see wet blood in my palm, but little else. I wiped it off on my already ruined shirt, then turned the fully healed palm back to the captain.
"Not a word."
His eyes widened, "Not a word, sir."
"Give her a few days, feed her well. And play this down. She was only grazed. A flesh wound. You were wrong."
"Aye, sir." he said. He then leaned into his com, "Fall back. Situation is secured."
The two remaining guards jogged back into sight.
And so did Mr. Jones. Slowly walking backwards, her gun raised. Walking towards her was Markham, bloodied and steady, her left hand purple from the tourniquet still wrapped around the wrist. She said nothing as she advanced.
Mr. Jones fired at her, catching her in the shoulder. Markham just twitched, but didn't slow down. Mr. Jones fired again, but the gun just clicked uselessly. I have already said my piece about buying good quality weapons, so this can serve as an object lesson.
Mr. Jones glanced back, and seeing the guards yelled out, "Shoot her! That is an order"
The two guards who had just returned hesitated a moment, looking from Mr. Jones to the still kneeling Captain.
"That's an order, soldier!"
They raised their weapons.
"HOLD!" I yelled. "This is Personal Vendetta!"
They hesitated again, looking to their Captain. "Hold a moment." He checked his daughter's breathing once more, then reassured, he rose to his feet.
"Explain, Finder."
"She murdered Markham's wife. I stand as witness to the act."
"That's good enough for me. Finder's can't lie," he said, then turning to the two guards. "Stand down boys, this is Personal Vendetta, nothing to do with us."
"You still work for me!" Mr. Jones cried, still backing away from the steadily approaching Markham.
"Actually sir, we work for 3p. We always have. My team was sent to clean up your mess here, sir. And it seems that you have made more of a mess than you can handle. This is personal, not company business… Ma'am."
Mr. Jones was stunned, all of the power she had accumulated over years evaporating in a moment. In that moment of hesitation, Markham reached with her good hand and grasped Mr. Jones by the collar and drew her in. Markham standing almost two feet taller than her wife's killer, engulfed Mr. Jones in a bear hug against her chest.
Mr. Jones struggled to free herself, but the crushing vice would not release her. Markham kept walking, turning towards the wall of the bay. "They weren't even talking!" Mr. Jones, "They weren't talking to each other anymore! They had broken up!" And with those words Mr. Jones proved her guilt and sealed her fate.
The floor had come to a standstill. Every technician within sight was riveted to the scene unfolding in silence. Except for Mr. Jones, of course. She was yelling and pleading and ordering, all to no avail. Markham continued her inexorable walk to the waiting door, trailing her own blood as she went.
When one of the technicians realized where Markham was heading, she gasped in shock. The realization rippled through the small crowd.
"It is Personal Vendetta," I reminded everyone. "This must play out."
I knew as well as anyone what Markham intended, and I knew how she felt. I knew the loss of the only person I had ever loved.
"Barbara," I said, pitching my voice over Mr. Jones continued protestations. "Barbara, you don't have to do this. She… Susan forgave you, and you have forgiven her. Let the company take care of her killer. She already has much to answer for. Come back to us. We can heal together."
Mr. Jones had continued her ravings, struggling futilely against Markham's iron grip. In the silence that followed my request, Mr. Jones said clearly, "I'll kill you, both of you, ALL OF YOU!"
Markham pause a moment to look down at her prisoner. "I died years ago. You killed my only reason to come back." Then she started walking again.
Still holding Mr. Jones in her damaged arm, Markham reached out and pressed the panel to open the first door to the airlock. When she stepped in herself, still holding Mr. Jones's screaming body, a shudder of horror passed through the onlookers. Once inside, she closed the bayside door. The light above the door went from green to a blinking red.
The small window didn't show much, but for a brief moment Mr. Jones' terrified face was framed by the opening. She was mouthing something that no one could hear. The light above the door stopped blinking and glowed a steady red. Mr. Jones' face receded into the darkness as the airlock opened and Markham pulled them both into space.
There was silence as the final act of the drama sunk in. Someone was weeping quietly.
"Very tragic," a voice said dramatically, "but now that we are done with that nonsense, let us get back to the matter at hand."
I turned to see Gregson standing behind a kneeling Leena, a gun pressed against her temple. "Shall we?"