Spending his time sleeping and watching TriVid programs was not his idea of a good time. He was bored out of his mind. And restless. It felt to him like he was losing control, and time was quickly running out.
Someone knocked.
Jack sat up in his bed, and used the remote to unlock and open the door.
The young boy who had helped him escape was standing there, looking at him shyly. There were bruises on his face, which made Jack furious.
“Did your father do this to you?”
Victor’s right hand went to his face. He winced at the contact, and let his arm drop to his side.
“It’s alright, wassab. I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t! Why would you say that?”
The boy shrugged as he approached and the door closed behind him. “It doesn’t matter. They are all gone now.”
“Who’s they?”
“My father, my mother, my brothers, their friends... Everyone. After you escaped, they feared the cops would come, so they ran.”
“They left you behind?”
“I would not go with them.”
Jack was baffled and speechless.
The boy tilted his head as he considered the historian.
“You are still sick, wassab?”
“I am not sick!” answered Jack defensively.
“You don’t look well.”
“I was in that cell for too long, is all,” he muttered. “But I’m getting better.”
“That is good.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Jack.
“I don’t know...” The boy looked around the room, then back at the bed. “Is it true, wassab?”
“Is what true?”
“That the offworlders want to steal everything from us?”
“Is that what your father has taught you?”
The boy shrugged. “It’s what they all say.”
“And what do you think?”
“I don’t think it’s possible. There would be too much to take. And why would offworlders need anything of ours if they already have so many other worlds?”
Jack coughed but still managed to smile.
“That’s good thinking, kid. People are just afraid of what they don’t understand. We’re not here to take anything, we’re just here to help and to study. That’s all there is to it.”
“Study what?”
“There are many things on Qojja that warrant study. Archaeological sites, alien technology, history...”
Victor walked around the room, examining everything with curiosity. He’d lift an item, turn it around in his hand, then put it back down, move to the next and proceed likewise with it.
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” asked Jack as he watched the boy with some amusement.
The child paused and frowned. “I... don’t know. What do you do?”
“I’m a historian.”
“Oh.”
“Is that something you’d want to do?”
“No.”
Jack laughed. “That’s alright. You’re still young. You’ll find your calling, eventually.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you another blanket.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” The boy frowned. “You got sick. It’s my fault.”
“Not at all. I—”
Jack paused as another coughing bout started.
“It’s not your fault,” he finally let out with a sigh. “You helped me out, and that’s all that matters. I will get better... I’m working on it.”
“What will you do, once you are better?”
Jack thought about that for a moment. He needed to get the mask, of course, but he understood that wasn’t what the boy was asking. The question implied more long-term plans.
“If I am allowed,” he said slowly, “I would stay on Qojja. I have been here only a few years, but I’ve come to love your world, Victor. It is beautiful, and filled with mysteries.”
The boy tilted his head.
“You are not afraid?”
Again, the historian’s mind wandered beyond the scope of the question. There was one thing he was very much afraid of, but it had little to do with the fanatics that walked the streets outside.
His eyes turned to the window, his expression thoughtful.
“People are afraid of things they don’t understand,” he finally answered. He looked back at the boy. “And if there’s one thing I do understand, it’s the Qojjans’ anger—however misplaced it may be.”
***
It had been difficult to track down the hospital where her mother had been treated. But she’d finally found the answer in the bank statements. Medical bills are not cheap, and they stood out in the records. The associated reference had confirmed the name of a hospital.
She stared at the gigantic structure for a moment, before finally stepping in.
In the years she’d been away, Susan had visited many hospitals—when her parents had been killed, of course, but also after various small incidents. Some of them had been ancient buildings that smelled of antiseptic products. The modern ones—like this one—used thilium energy to clean their halls and rooms, a method which had the advantage of being odorless.
Still, there was one stink all hospitals had in common. One none of them could get rid of.
The stink of death.
When she explained at the front desk that she was trying to find information on her parents who had passed away, she was directed to the archives department.
“We can’t give you that!” said an uptight brunette. “Those are sealed and confidential.”
“My parents are deceased, miss, and I’m their only heir. So I’m sure you can have them unsealed.”
“It doesn’t work that way...”
Susan brought up on her wristpad the proofs of her relationship with the patients, along with a copy of their death certificate.
The woman barely looked at them and dismissed them with an annoyed gesture.
“That’s all irrelevant. We can only release these documents to the patients themselves. Anyone else would need an authorization signed by them.”
Susan stared at the clerk in disbelief. “They are dead,” she pointed out.
“Well, I’m very sorry to hear that, but it does not change anything. Rules are rules.”
“Great! Thanks for nothing.”
She stormed out of the department, exasperated.
Walking through the hospital halls, she ran quickly through her options. She could counterfeit her mother’s signature easily, but she was certain that would raise other issues—like how could a dead person have signed an affidavit? She would have tried to sneak into the room while that dragon was not looking, but she wouldn’t know where to look—plus she was pretty sure she’d get caught as she was terrible at being quiet.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
That only left one solution, she realized. Something she had thought of earlier.
She headed back to the reception and asked if she could see the doctor who had treated her mother.
“Sure. What’s the doctor’s name?”
“I... don’t know.”
The lady at the desk hesitated for a moment. “You said your parents passed away?”
“Yes. Five years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss... Alright. Let me see what I can do. What was the name of your mother?”
“Wilma Caine. I do have the dates and references of the bills, if that can help...”
“That would, actually.”
She brought up the data on her wristpad and transferred it to the woman.
“Ah yes... Dr. Martins. You’re lucky. He’s going on retirement tomorrow. Looks like you caught him right in time.”
She jotted down some numbers on a piece of paper, which she handed to Susan.
“Building C6, elevator 3, sixth floor, hall 5, office 36B. I wrote it all down for you.”
“Thank you so much!”
Susan followed the instructions to the letter and knocked on the door.
“Come in!” she heard from the other side.
The room she entered was an old-fashioned office, cluttered with papers and files and old furniture.
“Dr. Martins?”
“That’s me,” said the man in the white blouse as he looked up. “Did we have an appointment?”
The doctor looked in his late sixties. He had balding white hair, thick eyebrows, and a short, thin nose.
“No, sorry, I didn’t even know your name until five minutes ago... but you knew my parents.”
The man blinked. “I did?”
“Wilma and David Caine. I’m their daughter, Susan.”
The doctor sat back in his chair and frowned as he tried to remember. “Those names do ring a bell. Ah, hold on!” He turned to an ancient-looking vidscreen and tapped on it repeatedly—harder, too, than you would have expected. It seemed to annoy him for a moment, but then he brightened. “Ah, yes! I remember now. Lovely people. How are they doing?”
Susan grimaced. “They died. Five years ago.”
“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“They were murdered. I’m still trying to understand the details.”
“That’s horrible! It’s always difficult to lose the people we love.”
“It is,” she muttered. “But... I think you could help me make sense of it all.”
“Well, I’d be happy to if I can.”
“I only found out a few days ago about the curse that was on my mother. It’s not something they ever mentioned to me. So I’m trying to learn more.”
“Let me see...” He glanced at his vidscreen, skimming through the displayed text, nodding his head occasionally as things came back to him. “We couldn’t determine what had caused her condition, which is why I diagnosed a curse.”
“I heard you’d found traces of magic?”
“Indeed.”
“Of what type?”
“A preserving spell, according to my notes.”
Susan frowned. “Wouldn’t that have helped keep her memory, rather than destroy it?”
“You would think that, wouldn’t you? But it was not cast on her mind.”
“Where, then?” she asked, confused.
“We could not tell. It was too old to trace exactly. Its last remnants had spread throughout her body. Most of them had already faded by the time she came to us.”
“Wait... too old? I thought she’d been sick for a year when she left Vuulthur?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not at all. That’s only when it became obvious. But it had been festering in her much longer than that, I’m afraid. I suspect it would have never affected her and would have faded unnoticed had it not been for this world’s particular atmosphere.”
“How long did she have it?”
“Hard to tell. But if I had to guess, considering the spell’s state of degradation, I’d say at least a decade. It was a slow burner.”
Susan was stunned by the revelation.
***
The glider sped through the sky, heading straight for Joqqal.
Inside, Ed cursed himself for wasting so much time on a red herring. He couldn’t have known, of course, but it was infuriating nonetheless.
An alarm went off.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
The voice-activated AI came alive.
“Incoming collision in twenty seconds... nineteen... eighteen...”
Ed jumped to his feet and rushed to the back of the vehicle. Through the glass, he saw another glider rushing toward him.
Can’t he see where he’s going? What is this?
“Thirteen... twelve...”
He jumped over the seats and into the control booth. He switched to manual and forced the glider to dive. The entire structure shook under the added pressure, but the countdown paused. Then started again.
“Recalculating trajectory. Fourteen seconds to collision. Thirteen... twelve... eleven...”
Ed cursed as he turned to the right, but the pursuant followed course and it only saved him another few seconds.
“Eight... seven... six...”
At least he knew now this was intentional. Not that it made him feel any better. He gritted his teeth as he buckled his belt and held tight to the armrests.
“Three... two... one...”
There was a loud crashing sound as the two vehicles collided. The front of his glider dipped and the entire structure spun out of control.
He saw the ground rush toward him, and it brought back some rather unpleasant memories.
The shock made the entire structure shake and crack, but he was not crushed, as the AI’s safety mechanism had been automatically activated. An air bubble cocooned his body, keeping all surfaces away from his skin.
The lights in the vehicle blinked as a siren rang.
He unbuckled and stood, the safety bubble fading instantly.
Rushing out of the glider, he circled around it to inspect the damage. It was dented in several spots, and one glass surface was cracked, but at least no fire had started.
An explosion sent him to the ground. He looked back and saw the other glider—the one that had hit him—burning a few feet away. That one hadn’t been as lucky.
He approached the wreckage warily.
As far as he could tell, the flames were only in the back. There was a chance it could spread fast, but he couldn’t just let burn whoever was in there if there was a chance he could save them...
He could pull it off if he timed it right.
With a deep breath, he forced the unhinged door to open more and slid through the opening.
It was getting too warm for comfort in there, but he paid that no heed and turned to the control booth... It was empty!
Had the owner slipped out without him seeing? He didn’t think that likely.
He checked over his shoulder but didn’t see any flames, though here too the alarms were blaring loud.
After a very brief hesitation, he hurried to the controls and tapped into the system. He pressed his wristpad against the vehicle’s sensor, waited a few seconds, then jumped out of the glider and ran away from it.
Only then did he fall to the ground and take a deep breath.
He looked at his wristpad to check the copy he’d made of the onboard AI.
It had been hacked, he realized immediately. There were no traces left of where it had been previously, or who had owned it or sent it.
Whoever had thrown that glider at him knew exactly what they were doing.
Someone was on to him.
He did not like that one bit.
As he contemplated these dark thoughts, the burning glider exploded.
***
The village itself did not, in fact, have a name. It spread on an island so small it used up all its surface. As the island had a name at the time it was settled, no one ever bothered to name the village. Everyone simply referred to it as Sidut er’Nadiv.
When Paul’s glider had reached the northernmost part of the land that was level with the village, it had veered eastward and flown above the sea’s turbulent waters for about an hour before finally landing on a parking area at the edge of the island.
A few locals glanced at him as he stepped out of the vehicle, but went on their way as if they had better things to do than stare at a stranger.
He did not even bother to ask for directions. It would have been pointless, as the Temple stood high above all the other structures—a testament to the faith of the deity’s followers.
It was an impressive building, made of pink stone encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. Large pillars rose on each side of the entrance, with statues of naked women lined up in the hall inside.
As soon as he stepped in, he was approached by a dozen women, all of them wearing short skirts and tight tops with generous cleavage.
One of them ran her fingers across his chest, smiling.
“Have you come for a sacrifice?”
He cleared his throat. “No, uhm, I’ve come for answers.”
Another priestess—for that was what they were, he realized—giggled. “Then you’ve come to the right place, for is not answering questions the very function of any temple?”
He pulled away from all the groping hands and waved his own in front of him, as if to ward them off.
“Enough! Stop it! I’ve come to see Raduul. She alone can answer my questions.”
The women pouted when he denied them.
“The goddess does not answer the questions of mortals,” said the youngest among them.
“Raduul,” he said—still refusing to consider her a goddess, “will answer mine.”
“She does not like arrogance,” warned another.
“I have come a long way to see her.”
“Then you have come for naught. But we can still make it worth your while...”
“Take me to her!” he insisted with impatience.
“She is no longer here.”
“Where can I find her, then?”
“The goddess does not share her comings and goings with us.”
“When will she be back?”
“The goddess does as she pleases...”
He groaned and turned to leave.
As he walked back down the hall, he suddenly froze.
All those statues...
He had seen them, but he hadn’t seen them.
They had been there all the time, within his field of vision, but he had not paid attention to them.
Now, for the first time, his eyes noticed the face.
They all had the same one.
“Who is that?” he asked, pointing at the closest statue.
“That is She of the sacred heart, She who mounts the gods and replenishes the seas! That is our goddess of lust, of contempt, and of spite. That is our goddess Raduul, blessed be Her name!”
The priestesses swarmed around him, chanting and caressing, soothing and adoring... but he only had eyes for the statue.
For the statue, he now knew, wore the face of his mother.
And that was also the face of the mysterious woman he had met in the streets of Joqqal...
***
The call came as he was about to go to bed. He almost did not take it, half expecting a marketing attempt. He’d had a block set up, but every once in a while, a particularly ingenious company managed to circumvent it.
But it was none of that. It was the CEO of Moonrise, Simon Goodrich.
“I apologize for the late call. I hope I am not indisposing you, but I have just heard back from our gods, and I assumed you would want to hear right away.”
Ward tried to hide his exasperation at the use of the G-word and nodded instead. “Yes, of course...”
“I’m sorry to inform you that your request has been denied.”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The Zendaar do not authorize you to talk with our employees.”
“Need I remind you that I work for the police?”
“On Exudia, yes. I am well aware, detective.”
“You cannot—”
“They are our gods, detective. They have the final say.”
“This is Weld business,” he said, feeling his temper rising. “I can easily get a warrant if you push me to...”
The CEO shrugged. “Do as you must. But I can tell you now it will make no difference. Good night, detective.”
“Wait.”
Goodrich, who was about to cut the communication, paused his gesture. “Yes?”
“I want to meet them.”
“I told you, your request has been—”
“I mean the Zendaar. I want to meet them.”
The little man stared at him. “That... is an unusual request. I am not sure it is a wise one.”
“Are they afraid of offworlders too?”
Goodrich looked displeased by the proposition. “The gods are afraid of nothing.”
“Then set up a meeting.”
“I will do no such thing. However... I will convey to them your latest request. Good night, detective.”
This time, the communication was cut off before Ward could say anything else.
He paced the room angrily.
They were denying him? How could anyone deny the police? You couldn’t just say no to being investigated. That wasn’t how it worked. It was the most outrageous thing he’d ever heard.
Surely, the police here would help him out... or was there so much corruption here that the Zendaar controlled even them? He’d heard of world governments totally in the grip of criminal organizations before... it wasn’t like it was anything new. He just hadn’t expected it here. But why not, after all?
If that turned out to be the case, though... then what? How would he get to the bottom of this case if those most likely to be involved could end his investigation with just a snap of their fingers?
He could always turn to the Weld. If anything, they were more powerful than Qojja’s government, and they certainly outranked them. But would the Weld lift a finger? Would they care? For them to get involved directly would require an incentive... They’d have to get something out of it.
If Ward could find a way to lure them in...
He slipped into bed, but his foul mood kept him awake all night.