'Everyone I've spoken to gives the same
opinion of Castle…a solid dependable type, loyal to the core.'
Kyra prised the lid off one of the
ubiquitous metal canisters and scooped out some flour into a small
bowl. Lisa was busy chopping tomatoes and trying not to get the juice
over the pages of an old, dog-eared book. Snuffling around both their
legs was an ever-hopeful puppy.
'Agreed,' John responded from his seat
at the table, where he was reviewing various reports. He considered it
to be safest place to be, given that Lisa's enthusiasm for 'cooking'
was far greater than her expertise. 'But something was clearly
terrifying him…enough to make him betray his beliefs.'
'But what? The threat of death? We've
all lived with that these past few months.'
'Things are escalating. Whoever is
behind the production of 'White Magic' …..
'Kyra, it says put the tomatoes in a pan
and cook them slowly.'
'Lisa, why would anyone want to cook
tomatoes?' Kyra looked mystified.
'I haven't a clue…but that's what the
book says.'
Kyra shrugged and followed instructions.
Then she looked over at Preston.
'You were right about Castle not
reporting back to HQ, though,' she said. 'I wonder where he is…and his
'assistant'?'
He gazed thoughtfully back at her and
Lisa.
'I wonder…' he said softly and went
across to the phone.
Lisa peered at the book again. 'Now
we're supposed to add ba…basil.'
'Whatever that is, we don't have it. But
I don't think it matters.' Kyra prodded the bubbling orangey-red mess
suspiciously.
'It says we need to fry the protein
pieces in a little oil…'
'How much is a little?' Kyra measured a
spoonful from another, smaller canister and poured it into a different
pan. Preston put down the phone and returned to his seat. His
expression was grim.
'I think we may have the motive for his
behaviour,' he said quietly. Kyra stopped stirring. 'According to
friends and family, Castle's wife, Julianne, is also missing.'
'So someone took her to ensure that
Castle would steal the equipment? Maybe even the man who was with
Castle at the Factory?'
'Entirely possible.'
Their eyes locked briefly as twin
thoughts collided…..Kyra wondered bitterly if Errol had ever considered
how emotional blackmail could become the new persuasion. Another tick
box to add to the Errol Partridge 'Cost of Feeling'.
'Dad…can you take Beethoven away? He's
trying to lick the spoons.'
Preston sighed. It was generally
Robbie's task to keep the animal occupied at meal times, but he was
doing yet another homework assignment with a friend, Michael Corbett,
whose family lived on the floor above and he wouldn't be back until
much later. So Preston crossed the floor to haul the protesting animal
into the living area. It took a full-on Cleric stare to make the puppy
stay there.
'Kyra! The tomatoes are boiling over!'
Warm fingers of sunlight caressed Kyra's
face, waking her gently to another new morning. She lay unmoving for a
moment, savouring the sensation. Just down the hall in the bathroom,
she could hear the soft drumming of the shower. A regretful sigh
escaped her throat and she wished she had woken a little earlier.
Kyra pulled on her grey robe and made
her way to the kitchen area. At least she could get breakfast ready
before she took her own shower. The muffled sound of various drawers
and cupboards being opened indicated that Robbie and Lisa were also
awake and getting ready for school.
She busied herself putting out plates,
bowls and the numbered canisters of cereal.
'What are you doing?'
The voice was sharp and cold. Kyra
raised her head slightly, but didn’t turn around.
'I said, what are you doing?'
'Good Morning, Robbie. I was just
setting the table for breakfast. What would you like?'
'I'm not a child. I can fix my own
breakfast. I don't need anything from you!'
'I was just being polite, something
which seems to have escaped you recently.'
'So? I don't know why you're still here.
We don't need you!'
'Your father seems to want me here. So,
it appears, does Lisa.'
'You're just convenient. Eventually,
they'll realise we'd all be better off if you simply went away
permanently.'
Kyra refused to be baited and reached
into the drawer for the cutlery. There was no mistaking the simmering
hatred in Robbie's voice, reserved especially for whenever they were
alone. She didn't even need to look at him to feel the burning contempt
in his eyes. Problem was, she had no real defence. What could she
possibly say to the child when she was technically responsible for the
death of his mother? She'd tried on several occasions to remind him of
the effects of Prozium…but he'd been dose-free for almost five years
and had no intention of forgiving her for reporting Viviana's sense
crime. A part of her knew that Robbie was transferring some of his own
guilty feelings…and those he also felt for his father, who had done
nothing to prevent Viviana's execution. Thus she had become a kind of
punching bag. It was a natural reaction, Kyra realised, although she
had no idea how to reach the boy.
Despite all this, Kyra was growing ever
more fond of Robbie Preston. He was so much his father's son, holding
true to his beliefs, fiercely loyal and ultimately selfless. He would
die to protect his father and sister.
Any further venomous comments were
curtailed by the arrival of Lisa and the puppy. Thwarted, Robbie
casually announced he would get breakfast at school. He threw a cheery
goodbye to his father, who had just emerged dressed but still
damp-haired, ruffled the dog's ears, sending it into paroxysms of
pleasure and waved at Lisa on his way through the door. He turned his
head just far enough to give Kyra a final, narrow-eyed glare before he
fell into step with the guards.
She held his gaze unflinchingly.
Breakfast was its usual fairly quiet
affair punctuated by Lisa revising for her spelling test later in the
day, sounding out the new words her Grade were learning. She especially
liked 'exuberance' and 'exhilarating'.
Perched on the edge of the table was an
old Roget's Thesaurus, its quaint dust cover stamped with a large
EC-10. Kyra had remembered that these and similar books had been
somewhat carelessly stacked in the more inaccessible areas of
Evidentiary Storage and had rummaged through countless boxes before
retrieving a few copies. The rest had been removed for copying and
redistribution by the newly-formed Office for Language Advancement. It
was hoped that this would ease the frustrations of a population
struggling to express verbally the breadth of feelings they were now
experiencing. Certainly, Kyra and John had acquired a few synonyms and
superlatives that did not go amiss during more intimate moments.
Preston alternated between trying to
catch up on the ever-increasing number of reports on criminal activity
and keeping a slobbering dog away from the remains of his breakfast.
Although he occasionally regretted bringing the creature back to what
he now tried to remember to call home, he recognised its importance in
his evolving transition from pawn of the Tetragrammaton to master of
his own fate.
He looked up to observe Kyra and Lisa
hunched over the spelling list, smiling and practising the new words.
The bond between them was obvious. Whenever Kyra was around, Lisa came
further and further out of the shell she had been forced to construct
to prevent him…her own father…from seeing the truth. Kyra, too,
relaxed, allowing the light of Lisa's laughter to chase away the dark
shadow of the Tetragrammaton…at least for a little while. He understood
that.
Then the moment was suddenly gone as
Lisa pushed back her chair, collected her books and headed off to
school, directing her newly-learned trick of ‘blowing a kiss’ at her
father and at Kyra, who cheerfully returned the gesture before
beginning to clear the table.
Preston watched Kyra as she busied
herself with domestic tasks. He knew that he ought to be generally more
demonstrative, but recognised that, for both of them, to acknowledge or
express feelings outside the privacy of their room was still difficult
and often uncomfortable. The rigidity of their lives could not simply
be put aside. Prozium had suppressed their emotional responses, but
their training directed their existence. Self-control was an integral
part of their make-up. Whilst others took advantage of certain freedoms
to adorn their units with pictures and strange ornaments, neither
Preston nor Kyra had introduced anything which could have been termed
EC-10.
Then again, Kyra was…special. That had
always been evident, even from their being children together at the
Monastery. She was strong, both mentally and physically, possessed a
razor-sharp intellect and maintained 100% scores on the firing ranges.
And although they both knew she could never beat him in hand-to-hand
combat, she still surprised him with her ingenuity on the practice mat.
He allowed his mind to drift to their
last Kata session…then instantly regretted the lapse as the tactile
memory of the sweat-laden physical contact coupled with the obvious
fact that, at present, she was wearing nothing under that austere grey
robe, triggered a now most familiar and usually welcome response.
Preston cursed silently and sought to focus his attention on the chaos
unfolding on the streets of Libria.
As it became increasingly apparent that
this was a fairly futile attempt, the Cleric abruptly concluded that he
was wasting effort on controlling a situation which could equally well
be resolved in a much more satisfactory manner. Kyra turned as he
snapped the file shut, a quizzical, then delighted expression forming
on her face as John moved purposefully towards her.
They were going to be somewhat late into
the office that morning.
Despite beginning on a decidedly
pleasant note, the day proceeded to get worse for Kyra. Reports of more
raids landed on her desk along with gruesome mortuary photographs of
two recently discovered corpses. Both were so far unidentifiable…one
due to the effects of rodent activity and the other as a result of
having hands, feet and head removed in a far from gentle fashion.
Most of the Tetragrammaton resources,
some of which could be invaluable to Free Librian Security, were in
chaos, since many Departments had been systematically wrecked by
well-meaning Resistance fighters. LAFIS…the Librian Automated
Fingerprint Identification System…was just about up and running, but
anything which could be remotely connected with Prozium testing had
been totally destroyed. Unfortunately, this included the DNA lab…
Kyra sighed. They'd just have to do
things the old fashioned way. She examined the photographs again. The
glaring similarity was the single bullet wound to the heart…perfectly
placed and perfectly executed. Trace on the bullets revealed they came
from two different weapons. The fact that these weapons were standard
non-assigned TG issue meant very little…given the chaos after the
Revolution.
…but fired by the same hand?
Half-formed suspicions skittered around
her mind. Without taking her eyes off the pictures, she reached for her
notepad, but only succeeded in knocking it off the desk instead. Her
concentration broke.
'Damn!'
'Can I help, Administrator?'
Ted Phillips stuck his head round the
door just in time to see the Administrator balancing on her chair
trying to reach the offending notepad. He rushed forward to retrieve
both it and her.
'Thanks, Ted. I can always rely on you!'
She didn't smile.
'Bad day already?'
'You've seen these?' Kyra indicated the
photos.
'Um…yes…very nasty.' Ted kept his gentle
grey eyes averted from the nastiness. Not really his thing. He wondered
how she could be so…clinical. He supposed she unconsciously accessed
that core of ever-present…even if now technically
unacceptable…Tetragrammaton indoctrination. He knew he had escaped
there sometimes, when things were bad…before they found him.
Kyra spread out the photos. The reports
indicated that the bodies had been discovered in separate areas of the
City. No trace evidence as yet. If her suspicions had any foundation,
then once again, something was not quite right.
'You know, if I had killed someone….for
whatever reason…I'd ensure that the bodies were never found…'
She was more or less talking to herself,
but Ted took a deep breath and leaned forward. He echoed her thoughts
on the accuracy of the bullets.
'The…er…this one…' Ted pointed at the
remains of the rat-feast. 'There're no records on file…fingerprints,
nothing. Probably lived in the Nethers…maybe even born there. Wouldn't
matter if he was found.'
'True,' Kyra responded thoughtfully.
'But what about the other one?' She was interested to know if Ted would
follow her down the same path of suspicion.
'Ah! Well…this is either a mistake, or
carefully planned. If it's the latter, then whoever did this knew it
could take days to confirm identity…the TG database is still
unreliable…but why take the risk? If it's the former and…whoever…had no
intention of the body being found, then why do…that…to it?'
'Agreed,' replied Kyra. 'It's certainly
barbaric. Let's look more closely at where he was found.'
She shuffled papers, wishing for the
thousandth time that the Network was back online. So much paperwork…
Law enforcement was fighting a battle on
so many fronts. Although most citizens now accepted that their freedom
came at a price, it didn't soothe the feelings of resentment at
perceived invasions of their new-found privacy. Jurgen had never
pretended it would be an easy transition. He had never promised them
Utopia.
It was a logical decision for Preston
that Free Librian Security should be based at the Hall of Enforcement.
The Council's estimation of the post-Revolution level of crime had been
seriously flawed. The Cleric had tried to warn them, but it was a month
before they accepted his recommendations and by then all manner of
misdemeanours and more serious offences were spreading resources even
more thinly than before.
And now, something more sinister was
emerging. The pattern of crime was changing. To Kyra, it was very much
like the jig-saw puzzle Tatiana had given to Lisa. So many pieces were
missing, the picture was unclear. What was evident, however, was the
increase in 'White Magic' related crime.
Kyra and Ted Phillips were poring over
the Scene of Crime photos when Preston entered the room. They looked up
and noted the Cleric's grim expression. Ted made a move to leave but
Preston indicated he should stay.
'Meeting not go so well?' Kyra asked.
'No,' Preston replied, in a tone that
brooked no further comment. Kyra knew better than to press the matter.
Recently, the meetings with the Free Cleric had become…difficult.
Despite the fact that the Council had ratified their position, many
Council members, mindful of the role these same men had played before
the revolution, were seeking to restrict and control all Free Cleric.
Preston was all that stood between them and outright rebellion.
Unwilling to put extra pressure on him,
Kyra started to collect in the reports and photos littering the desk.
Ted picked up on her thoughts and did the same. Once again, he wished
that he could control the nervousness he always felt when John Preston
was in the room. But he knew that would never happen until he could
reconcile himself with the memory of a flat-lined polygraph and the
shocked expression of his oh-so-arrogant Supervisor as a bullet from
one of Preston's concealed guns caught him between the eyes.
To this day, Ted still wondered how
Preston had known, in those few seconds, that he was a sense offender
and spared his life. Administrator Flynn had told him that the Cleric's
Dress sword, which he had given her, had actually saved both hers and
Preston's life in a final confrontation in DuPont's Office. He supposed
Fate thought that was quite amusing.
Still, his fingers seemed to be all
thumbs and one of the photographs of the mutilated torso skidded across
the desk onto the floor by the Cleric's feet. Preston picked it up. His
expression darkened further.
'You know who this probably is.' It was
a statement, not a question and both Ted and Kyra looked puzzled.
'Castle,' Preston said. And watched the
puzzlement turn to shock.
