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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR



The oldest parts of Tycho Crater City resembled Byrgius University from the sky with various-sized domes joined by connecting tunnels that showed little evidence of long-term planning. Its newer parts were rather different, as the old “downtown” gave way to an expansive, organized grid of monolithic towers to form the city’s “uptown” blocks where the running lights of civilian craft flitted through the airless sky.

Zhu hǎo yǔn,” Nina said over the intercom from the chronoport’s bridge.

“Thanks,” Isaac replied, now seated beside Susan at the front of the Cutlass transport. “You too. We’ll catch up as soon as we can.”

“Detaching.” Susan toggled a control on the abstract interface, and the docking clamp released with a loud clank. The Cutlass dropped away from its berth below Defender-Prime’s wing, and she angled down toward Block D2 while the chronoport continued on to Block F9. A virtual blue outline pulsed around their destination tower, and she locked in their automated approach.

“Block D2?” Isaac asked.

“That’s right.” She leaned back. “Isaac?”

“Mmm?”

“I didn’t want to bring this up back on the ship, but wouldn’t it be best if we all headed for the Niner Slums? Why the detour to talk to Sako’s parents?”

“You know you’re free to speak up whenever you feel the need. You didn’t have to wait for us to be alone.”

“I know. And I would have if I’d been concerned, but you seemed to have a plan in mind, and I didn’t want to undermine you. I’m more curious than anything else.”

“We’re heading to D2 for two reasons. First, Cephalie and Nina are going to need time to figure out where this mysterious second Elly went, if they can pick up the trail at all, and that’s time we can use to check out the other lead.”

“And the second reason?”

“They’re her parents. If Sako has been radicalized, there’s a good chance they’ve noticed.”

“Okay. Makes sense.” She nodded to him.

The Cutlass dipped toward the highlighted tower, which rose from the gray landscape as a white cylinder, its surface unblemished by physical windows. Abstract signs dotted the exterior, marking locations like the “One-Twenties-Ville,” the “D2 Oasis,” and the “Thirty-Industrials.”

“Where do her parents live?” Isaac asked.

“Level 126. Right there.” A small cutaway near the top of the tower blinked. “Pretty high up, too.”

“Is that significant?”

“Maybe. Real estate tends to be more desirable near the top.”

The Cutlass curved over the tower, then slowed until it stopped to hover above one of several hexagonal indentations in the roof. The vectored nozzles eased the craft down into the dock, and it settled with feathery lightness.

The roof irised closed, and the sealed dock jostled then began a brief descent into the tower. The chamber filled with air, shuddered again, shifted sideways, and locked in place. Above them, an empty dock slotted into position.

Isaac and Susan released their harnesses and exited out the back of the transport. Susan took care of their docking fee at an automated terminal, and they left the dock through a malmetal door.

“Haven’t had to use that number in a while,” she commented with a wry grin.

“You’re not paying for this out of your own pocket, are you?”

“Oh, no,” she assured him. “It’s a work account.”

The docking atrium was a white-walled, hexagonal space. Walkways lined each of its eight levels, connecting with the dynamically docked chambers or leading to the tower’s pedestrian paths, internal trains, and elevators. Thin, pedestrian bridges cut across the levels, and advertisements for food, games, and shows floated down the center.

Isaac followed Susan through the dense crowds. He thought they might have to work around some of the denser pockets, but the crowds shifted out of their way as soon as people caught sight of their uniforms. Whether that was out of fear or respect for the Peacekeepers—or perhaps a combination of both—Isaac wasn’t sure.

Susan led them to the public elevators on the far side of the atrium and entered the level 126 destination code. It was a short trip, and when the door slid open, the stark whiteness of the elevator gave way to friendly, pale blue walls and virtual windows that provided glimpses of the Lunar landscape. Or the sides of other towers, as was more often the case. More pedestrian paths branched off the elevator station, and a floating sign declared this area was part of ONE-TWENTY-VILLE.

“Which way?” Isaac asked.

“Umm.” Susan brought up a map. “Their apartment is part of One-Twenty-Six dash Three Residential. Down this way.”

The elevator station opened into a small grassy park bisected by a trickling stream meandering through a few apple trees, and a picturesque blue sky portrayed on the ceiling three stories up. Apartments lined the park on all sides, interrupted with the occasional restaurant or store. The two detectives took a stone path around the park and followed it to the back of the residential area.

“Here we are,” Susan declared. “One-Twenty-Six dash Three dash One-Eighteen. Home of the Sakos.”

“Mmhmm.”

The sign above the door read: THE SAKO HOUSE. The words bobbed on a cheerful cloud with a rainbow arching overhead.

Isaac palmed the buzzer, and they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He palmed it again.

A virtual image of a warmly lit interior replaced the door, its details obscured by a privacy filter.

“Yes?” asked the blurry woman standing behind the door, her voice tinged with worry.

“Good day, ma’am.” Isaac pinged the woman with his DTI badge. “I’m Investigator Cho and this is Agent Cantrell. We’re looking for Kana and Emile Sako. Are they in?”

“They are. I’m Kana.” She placed her hand on an interface by the door. The virtual image vanished, and the door split open.

Elly Sako took after her mother, who shared many of the same facial features, though the gray strands mixed through her dark hair and the more prominent cheek bones differentiated the two at a glance.

“My husband is in the shower. He’ll be out shortly. What’s this about?”

“We’re working on a case involving your daughter, and we’d like to ask you and your husband a few questions. May we come in?”

“I— Well, yes, of course.” She backed away from the door. “But what’s going on? Is Elly in trouble? Is she all right?”

“Your daughter was in good health last we saw her. And she was doing quite well in the tournament. However, she and another player have received threatening messages, which is what brings us here today.”

“You were over in SysGov?”

“That’s correct.”

“What sort of messages are we talking about?”

“Death threats, I’m afraid.”

Kana gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

“I assure you, we take this matter very seriously. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“But what are you over here for? Shouldn’t you be in SysGov making sure she’s safe?”

“That’s a task for her security detail. Again, may we come in and ask you a few questions?”

“What’s going on here?” barked a man stomping toward the door. “Who the hell is pestering us at this—”

He stopped in his tracks, his damp chest bare and a black and white checkered towel wrapped around his waist. He took in the two Peacekeeper uniforms, and his anger slunk away.

“Emile,” Kana began, “they’re here about Elly, and—”

“Elly?!” he blurted, his face twisting with new worry. “Is she all right? What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Mister Sako,” Isaac said patiently. “Please allow me to explain the situation.”

* * *

“Would you please state your name for the record?” Isaac said.

Kana sat on a couch opposite Isaac in the living room with an abstract view of the park outside. Susan was sitting down with Emile in another room for a similar interview. Isaac would have preferred both family members to be data isolated, but he lacked the means to ensure they weren’t passing digital notes to each other. They’d have to settle for conducting simultaneous interviews.

“Kana Sako.”

“What is your relation to Elly Sako?”

“I’m her mother.” She smiled. “She’s an only child. Emile and I have talked about having a second kid, but you know how it is. Life gets in the way sometimes, and the next thing you know your kid is all grown up and you’re wondering if you still have the energy for another. I do regret her not growing up with a brother or sister, sometimes.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a data analyst in the Department of Energy. People think that means I work in the basement reactor, but in all honesty, I hardly ever venture below the seventies.”

“You’re referring to this block’s level numbers?”

“Yes, sir. That’s right. I’m currently studying power usage trends aggregated by both time and tower area, which my management will then use to plan infrastructure upgrades. Hopefully, we can keep ahead of any demand spikes.” She chuckled. “I’ve always had an affinity for math. I know the work might seem dry to most people—and it is to a certain degree—but I enjoy it. Between the two of us, Emile has the more interesting job.”

“What would that be?”

“Oh, he’s a programmer for SunSoft!” she said with pride. “He even worked on the original version of Legions of Patriots, specifically the game’s combat mechanics.” Her eyes twinkled. “He still receives royalties from that one. I think his career is one of the reasons Elly took to being a gamer so well. She was always a bit of a daddy’s girl.”

“Why did she go into teaching initially?”

“Well, Elly always had a soft spot for those less fortunate than us, and she thought teaching in a poorer block would be a good way to make a difference. That’s what she wanted most after graduating college. To make her mark upon the worlds in a positive way.” Kana shook her head. “Which landed her in that godawful slum job.”

“You’re referring to the teaching position in Block F9?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Should have taken any number of nicer posts. Even had an offer from the D2 Oasis. But the slum was the one she wanted.”

“Why that one?”

“Because it was in the worst area. To her, that meant she could do the most good by working there. That was her logic, anyway.”

“Did you and your husband approve of her career path?”

“No. We were lukewarm at best about the teaching career, and we definitely weren’t happy about her taking a post in the Niner Slums. We argued about it quite a bit, but she didn’t back down. It worked out in the end, though. Sometimes children have to learn their lessons the hard way.”

“How did the job pan out for her?”

“It didn’t. The area was horrible. The students were horrible. The other teachers were horrible. The experience beat a lot of the optimism out of her, for better or worse. About the only bright spot in all of it was the principal. Her name was Debra something. Began with an H, I think.”

“Debra Heller?”

“Yes, that’s the one! Elly would always have something nice to say about Debra during our calls. I could tell the woman had her back. They became very good friends, but one friendship wasn’t enough to make that job any less of a soul sucker. I think Emile and I celebrated with a whole bottle of wine when she finally left.”

“Did your daughter seem happier as a professional gamer?”

“Oh, yes! And she’s so good at it, too! I’m not much of a gamer myself, but Emile loves to point out all the unusual tricks she pulls. He makes her matches a treat to watch. And besides, she’s made so much money doing this! The two of us do all right for ourselves, but she blew right past us!”

“Did she keep in touch with Debra Heller after leaving F9?”

“If she did, she never mentioned it.”

“Anyone else she might have stayed in contact with from her teacher days?”

“I doubt it. She didn’t get along with most of them, and she was ambivalent toward the rest. Heller was her only true friend down there.”

“Did your daughter ever talk about any connections the school might have had to Free Luna?”

“No,” she shook her head with a confused expression. “I don’t recall anything of the sort.”

“What about connections Debra Heller may have had to Free Luna?”

“Sorry, but I don’t remember her ever mentioning Free Luna at all. Except maybe once or twice when they were in the news.”

“How would she characterize the group when she did discuss them?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell you. Whatever she said, it didn’t strike me as noteworthy.”

“Are you aware of your daughter’s charity donations?”

“Yes. We’ve talked about it a few times. The amounts seem a bit”—she smiled sadly—“excessive to us. We’ve cautioned her about spending too much, but she’s quick to point out how much money she makes nowadays. Honestly, as long as she’s keeping an eye on her financial future, she won’t hear any complaints from us. Maybe a note or two of caution, but that’s all. Besides, I also think it’s healthy for her to donate this way.”

“How so?”

“She wanted to help people in those slums and went about it the hard way for two whole years, but all that bought her was a lot of grief and stress. That was a tough lesson for her to soak in, and her self-esteem took a shot from it, but with her new career, she’s found a different way to meet those same goals. I guess you could say it’s a case of her working smarter, not harder.”

“Then you haven’t noticed anything unusual regarding your daughter’s finances?”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

“Do you still speak with her regularly?”

“Sure. She calls about once or twice a week.”

“Anything else of note? Any atypical actions or statements from her recently?”

“No, not that I can think of. Lately it’s been the ‘Weltall Channel’ when talking to her, if you get my meaning. It grows a bit tiresome at times, but I listen to her all the same.”

“Moving on.” Isaac brought up a calendar and removed the privacy filter. “There’s one specific event I’d like to ask you about. According to records at the Weltall qualifier, she took a train here after she qualified for the finals. Do you recall the visit?”

“Oh, yes! I remember!” Kana smiled brightly. “She was so excited. She even took us out to Lox’s to celebrate.”

“Lox’s?”

“Only the best restaurant in the Oasis. Very high end. Can you believe they don’t print out a single item on their whole menu? Not a one! Everything they serve is prepared by hand.”

“Did your daughter talk about the finals during dinner?”

“Are you kidding? She hardly talked about anything else! She was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen her that happy.”

“I see.” Isaac closed his notes. “Thank you for your time, Missus Sako. I believe that’s all we need for now.”

* * *

“Their stories match,” Susan said after she and Isaac finished comparing notes. “Dead end?”

“Looks like it.” Isaac rested an elbow on the Cutlass’s main console. “Sako was with her parents that night, which begs the obvious question of who went to the Niner Slums. Let’s head that way. Cephalie and Nina might have something for us by the time we arrive.”

* * *

The Cutlass swooped in toward Block F9, and Isaac could already see how the notorious block stood out from the other monolithic high-rises. It still possessed the clean white of the neighboring towers, but its uniformity had been marred by a patchwork of additional, off-color plating at a few points along its exterior.

Defender-Prime sat in a large alcove atop the roof, and Susan took the Cutlass in to join it.

“Was all of that done during the Niner Riots?” Isaac asked.

“Most of it,” she explained.

“‘Riot’ doesn’t normally include venting a building to vacuum.”

“It does if the rioters use big enough explosives.”

“Is it safe? Structurally, I mean.”

“It should be. The riots ended seven years ago. There are a few areas they never repressurized, but everything else should be fine.”

“What caused the riots?”

“That.” Susan pointed to the tall, skeletal frame of a building near the edge of Tycho Crater City.

“What’s it going to be?”

“The correct question is what was it. It used to be a DTI suppression tower. The first ever built on Luna. Protests against its construction were the bloody seeds that led to the Niner Riots of 2973.”

“Then the rioters won? You never finished the tower?”

“Oh, no. They lost. In more ways than one, you could say. A lot of people’s homes were destroyed, and we built the tower anyway.”

“Then why’s it look the way it does?”

“Because we repurposed its antenna. We’ve done that with a few other towers, too, pulling out the hardware to build our Portcullis-class mobile suppressors instead of constructing all new antennae.

“The locals, often sensitive to any Peacekeeper overreach—perceived or otherwise—protested the tower’s construction. But those protests intensified over time until they finally spiraled out of control. The result was a complete breakdown of law and order in the tower, leading to rampant looting, arson, open attacks on local police and Peacekeepers, violent gang warfare. You name it.”

“Big explosions?”

“Yes, a few of those, too.”

“Were you involved?”

“In the counter-riot ops? No. The DTI kept to the construction site while other departments handled the rioters. There was one direct attack on the construction site, but it didn’t get far.” She frowned and turned to him. “And then the Admin pushed back. Hard.”

“Casualties?”

“Yes.”

“Many?”

“Yes.” She shook her head. “It was…not our finest hour. And it all ended up being for nothing. On both sides. Everyone lost.”

Susan brought the Cutlass down into one of the smaller hexagonal docks. The roof sealed, and the dock dropped into the underlying logistics of the roof port before locking into place. The port itself was the same tall, hexagonal space he’d seen in D2 but with maybe a tenth the people passing through. Only two advertisements floated in the air, and a combination of anti-Admin slurs and what looked like gang tags dotted the walls. A few vagrants slumped against the walls. One glanced over at them with glazed eyes.

“The locals shouldn’t give us trouble this high up,” Susan said, “but stay alert, just in case.”

“Understood.”

Isaac followed her across the level to the elevators, which they took up to the chronoport’s dock.

“The unemployment rate in this tower is north of sixty percent,” Susan added. “And that number goes higher the farther down we are. People here don’t have much to do beside drugs, abstract isolation, and finding new ways to hate on the Admin.”

“Lovely.”

They entered a private room off the side of the chronoport’s dock and found Cephalie, Nina, Noxon, and two Wolverines waiting for them next to a virtual view of the ship. Susan locked the door behind them.

“Isaac!” Cephalie quipped with a wide grin and spread arms. “You bring me to the nicest places!”

“How were her parents?” Nina asked, standing next to her forensics backpack.

“No surprises, and no new information,” Isaac summarized. “You two?”

“We have the second Elly’s destination,” Cephalie announced. “Once she arrived, she placed a call to a man named Kurtis Slater, who lives down in level 31. After that, she took an elevator down to the same level.”

“You sure the information’s solid?”

“As sure as I can be. From the looks of it, the infostructure here’s been screwed over so many times by so many people, it’s more porous than a sponge.”

“Then it sounds like we should pay Mister Slater a visit.”

“Before you go, you’ll be interested in this.” Nina opened a virtual file over her palm. “Noxon was able to pull Slater’s criminal record. He’s in the Peacekeeper database with an arrest record for providing material support to a Free Luna cell. Most of it in the form of unregistered vehicles.”

“Slater…” Susan mumbled.

“Something on your mind?” Isaac asked.

“Yeah. I think Pérez and I might have brought him in. We busted a lot of Free Luna cells over the years, and the name sounds familiar.”

“You’re right,” Nina confirmed. “Pérez was listed as the one who made the arrest.”

“Looks like we’re heading down to level 31,” Isaac said. “Cephalie, Nina, it’s probably best if you both stay on the chronoport. Susan and I will head down and—”

“I’ll come, too,” Noxon cut in, “along with the drones.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?”

“I don’t think it’s enough, but it’s what we have,” he growled. “If I’d known we were heading into this accursed tower, I would have brought more drones.” He placed a hand on his slung assault rifle. “And bigger guns.”

* * *

The elevator stopped a third of a meter above the target level, and the door shuddered open. Isaac frowned first at the misalignment, then at the flickering lights in the cramped, circular elevator station, and finally at the food wrappers and dirty clothes strewn about the stained carpet. He was about to step out when the smell hit him. It was a fetid mixture of sweat, urine, feces, motor oil, and coffee, which made him suspect the stains were the results of public defecation.

“That’s…” He coughed into his fist. “Unpleasant.”

“Let’s make this quick,” Noxon warned, climbing down. “Before these idiots realize we’re here and decide to try their luck.” The two Wolverines followed him out.

“Right,” Isaac agreed, his eyes watering at the stench.

“You okay?” Susan asked.

“All part of the job.”

Noxon and the Wolverines led the way down a cramped corridor filled with stagnant water from a leaking water main. The corridor opened into a two-story park, smaller but similar in layout to the one where the Sakos lived, but this “park” was a barren stretch of dead grass and dirt. Its lone tree had wilted long ago, and someone had painted a crude Peacekeeper on its bark and had, apparently, been using the tree for throwing knife target practice.

A few barefoot kids played in the dirt, and an elderly couple watched them from a nearby balcony. A group of six young men perked up as the Peacekeepers passed through. Most of them wore red jackets slashed with black stripes, which screamed “gang colors” to Isaac’s senses.

They entered another utility tunnel and cut through to the next area.

“We’re being followed,” Susan told the others.

“I saw them,” Noxon confirmed. “Did you see any weapons?”

“Knives and a club. No guns. You?”

“Same.”

The next residential area resembled the first, except a nearby leak had turned its dirt park into a pool of stinking, trash-strewn mud. A vagrant sat at the edge, naked from the waist down with his bare feet in the mud as he stared up at nothingness, though whether from a drug haze or uninhibited abstraction was hard to tell.

Drugs, probably, Isaac surmised, given his lack of pants.

They stopped at an unmarked door.

“Map says this is the place.” Susan glanced back the way they came. The six gang members lurked along the far wall. “It seems we still have our audience.”

“Drones, establish a perimeter centered on this door,” Noxon ordered. “Twenty-meter exclusion, five-meter warning buffer. Ignore anyone inside the apartment.”

The two Wolverines spaced themselves out on either side of the door, and a pair of concentric rings—one yellow and one red with scrolling messages in bold letters—appeared in everyone’s shared vision.

“What will happen if they violate the perimeter?” Isaac asked.

“The Wolverines will open fire,” Susan said.

“Is that necessary?”

“With a taser first,” Susan added hastily. “If that fails to subdue the target, then they’ll switch ammo types and shoot to kill.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Isaac ran his hand over the buzzer. Nothing happened, so he tried again. Then a third time. “Does anything work properly down here?”

“Allow me.” Noxon placed a hand on Isaac’s shoulder and urged him aside. “I believe I know how to fix it.” He raised a fist and pounded on the door so hard the malmetal plates segmented down the middle to form a thin crack. “Open up, Slater!”

“Fix it, huh?” Isaac asked.

Noxon shrugged without apology.

The door shuddered apart, and a man with long, matted hair looked them over with a bored expression on his pale face. One arm and a leg were in medical casts, and he hunched forward on a metal cane. The man’s face matched the one in Slater’s file, though the years had not been kind to him, it seemed.

“Kurtis Slater, I presume?” Isaac asked.

“Took you people long enough. Well, come on in.” Slater shook his head and walked back into a dingy apartment that stank of alcohol and vomit. He swept food wrappers and empty drink cans off the cushions of a stained sofa and plopped down into it with a pained gasp. “Have a seat. My house is your house, such as it is.”

Isaac eyeballed the room. He didn’t see anywhere else to sit except on the sofa next to Slater, and that cushion looked wet.

“I’ll stand, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” Slater picked up an open can from a tray next to the sofa and took a swig.

“Mister Slater, I have a few questions I’d like you to—”

“She was a beautiful young thing.” He set the can down.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Looked as sweet and wholesome as an angel. Bright eyes, soft skin, silken hair. Breasts out to here.” He gestured with both hands in front of his chest. “Is that who you’re here about?”

“Would this be the woman you’re describing?” Isaac summoned a picture of Elly Sako.

“Yeah, that’s her.” His face curled up into a snarl. “That’s the bitch who beat the living shit out of me.”

“She assaulted you?”

“Of course, she did! You think I broke my own bones for the hell of it? She fuckin’ worked me over! She even broke my leg after I gave her what she wanted! Said it was for giving her a hard time!” He shook his head. “Bitch! I’m lucky one of my neighbors helped me reach the free clinic up on fifty-five.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you started at the beginning,” Isaac suggested.

“Look, it’s really simple. That bitch came down here about a month ago asking after my old Free Luna contacts, and I didn’t give them to her.”

“You’re still in contact with Free Luna?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I do any work for them, so don’t get all excited. I already served my time, thank you very much.” He paused to thump his chest, then belched. “I chat them up to see if they can send a few Escudos my way. Since helping them out the last time went so fucking well for me. And occasionally they do. You know, for old time’s sake. I think they feel sorry for me. Can’t imagine why.”

“The woman was after your contacts?”

“Shit, you catch on quick for an Admin stooge.”

“Which contact?”

“How the hell should I know? She asked for all of them. Almost like she didn’t know which one she needed. And when I didn’t give them to her, she fucked me up!”

“Did she say what she needed the contacts for?” Isaac asked.

“Nope. Just asked for them, then beat me up, then demanded them.” He blew out a breath. “Then broke my fucking leg.”

“We’ll need that list of contacts,” Isaac said. “I can provide a search warrant, if you need to see one.”

“Oh, save yourself the trouble. Here!” A list of connection strings appeared in the space between them. “Go find that bitch and beat the shit out of her.” He sank into the cushions and grabbed his drink. “It’s what you clowns are good at, after all.”

“Thank you.” Isaac copied the strings. “Is there anything else—”

“You have entered an exclusionary zone,” warned one of the Wolverines outside. “Move back or I will be forced to subdue you.”

Susan and Noxon both spun to face the door, hands reaching for their weapons.

“Sounds like you’ve got problems of your own,” Slater cackled.

Isaac accessed the apartment’s virtual window, and the wall vanished, revealing a cluster of six gangsters encroaching on the perimeter. The youngest one edged up to the red circle and chucked a rock at the closest Wolverine. The drone sidestepped the projectile and returned fire with a pair of taser bolts to the gangster’s chest. He convulsed and dropped onto his back with a sloppy splash.

“Fuck!” shouted the gangster with the pipe club.

Noxon strode out, holding his rifle in one hand, but keeping it aimed at the ceiling.

“Disperse now,” he ordered in a soft yet commanding tone. “Or else.”

“Or else what, tin man?”

“Drones!” Noxon commanded. “Switch to lethal ammo!”

Mechanisms whirred inside the Wolverines’ heads.

“Oh, shit!” The gangster dropped his club. He turned and ran while the others scattered, leaving their tased comrade alone on the ground.

“Not how I would have handled it,” Isaac commented as he stepped out of the apartment, “but it seems to have worked.”

“For now,” Noxon said. “Let’s get out of here before more show up.”


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