Justice Keepers Saga--Books 1-3, page 70
Of course, that left her in the undesirable position of having to choose between her friendship and her duty. Not an easy thing for Anna Lenai. “So,” she muttered, whirling around to face the other woman. “You want me to participate in a cover-up.”
“I want you to trust your conscience,” Larani replied. “A Keeper must be willing to disobey orders in the service of justice, but unlike your friend Jack, you are not prone to leaping to the right every time someone in a position of authority says 'go left.'
“Consider what would be best for the fragile relationship between Earth and Leyria. These people need us, Anna. They've come close to expelling us once before. Provoking them into doing so again will only leave them vulnerable to the hostile powers in this region of space. Antaur would love to get its hands on Earth.”
Anna hesitated.
What the other woman said made sense, but she couldn't escape the profound sense of revulsion when she considered the prospect of lying to her friends. And to her superior officers. Did Jena know about this?
Anna was about to speak when Larani offered a pleasant smile that left her feeling off balance. “Follow your conscience,” she said. “That is always your first priority. But consider wisely the consequences of your actions.”
“I fail to see the point of this.”
Grecken Slade sat in a chair with his back to a gray wall, his hands folded on the table in front of him. The man wore a blue coat with gold embroidery, and his black hair was left to hang loose, framing a face with tilted eyes and high cheekbones. “I've answered these questions many times.”
Jena looked up at him, squinting to make her point. “You're going to answer this one again,” she said, nodding curtly. “No more dancing around. Tell me everything you know about Cal Breslan's dossier.”
Slade threw his head back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “Cal Breslan was born and raised on Petross Station,” he said. “He bonded a symbiont at the age of seventeen and moved to Leyria to commence his training.”
“Were you there when he received his symbiont?” Jena asked. “Did you know any of his teachers?”
Slade fixed his gaze upon her, and for a moment, she honestly thought the force of that stare might tear strips of skin off her body. “No,” he said in a voice like silk. “I did not meet Breslan until many years later.”
The other senior directors looked unimpressed.
On her left, Larani Tal sat with her back to the window, anxiously scanning the contents of a tablet. The woman's dark hair was a mess, flyaway strands falling over her otherwise lovely face.
Glin Karon was on her right, sitting still with his hands in his lap. A short, compact man in a high-collared shirt, he watched Slade with a wary expression, sweat glistening on his face.
And then there was Dray Adarus.
The man had come here from Leyria for the specific purpose of taking part in these hearings. His normal position was that of a program director for the many academies that trained young Keepers, and he was quite eager to find someone – anyone – who recalled teaching Cal Breslan.
Adarus was a tall man with broad shoulders and long blonde hair that fell in waves to the nape of his neck. His face was handsome enough. Well…in her estimation, it was a little too handsome. She had never cared for statuesque men.
Jena leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, watching Slade like a hawk. “So you don't know any of his instructors?” she asked, raising a thin eyebrow. “You can't point us to anyone that could verify our records?”
“How many times must we go over this, Director Morane?” Slade asked. “I did not know Cal Breslan until he was many years out of the academy.”
Glin Karon lifted his chin to appraise the other man. “It seems to me that this is a problem,” he said, turning in his chair. “You have placed several commendations in Cal Breslan's file. You are the head of the Justice Keepers.”
“Until you choose to depose me.”
Jena stood.
She paced a line behind the table with hands clasped behind her back, heaving out a frustrated sigh. “The problem, Slade,” she said, “is that it's been almost three months, and we can't find anyone who can verify the information in Breslan's file.”
The man had supposedly been a Keeper for more than twenty years, and with the shortened lifespan that came as a result of bonding a Nassai, it was not surprising that many of his instructors were dead. Those that were still alive had retired to one of the outer colonies and were now conveniently unavailable.
Slade remained as cold as a snowstorm, his face betraying not one particle of emotion. “And whose problem is that?” he asked. “If you cannot produce sufficient evidence to demonstrate that I was involved in this so-called conspiracy, then by law, you must drop all charges.”
Larani Tal fixed her gaze upon the man, blinking behind strands of long dark hair. “This is a serious matter,” she insisted. “Director Slade, would you at least describe what made you willing to trust Breslan?”
“He was competent.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“I have already been more-”
Clenching her teeth, Jena shut her eyes tight. “The man had a symbiont, Slade,” she said. “A symbiont that was willing to kill for him. Can you explain that?”
Slade regarded her with that flat expression, undaunted by the question. “No,” he said simply. “I was not there when Breslan bonded his symbiont. Though it occurs to me that you may have overlooked the simplest explanation.”
“And what's that?”
“Has it occurred to you, Director Morane…” he asked, slouching down in his chair with hands folded behind his head. The smug little grin on his face made her want to slap him. “That a lifetime of exposure to Breslan's mind might have corrupted the symbiont?”
It was a good tactic.
With one seemingly innocent question, Slade had cast doubt on the very foundation of their institution. She could already sense the rising tension. Nassai bonded humans and then – when their hosts died – they returned to their Collective, carrying the sum total of that person's knowledge and experience. Who could say how that would affect a race of interconnected beings?
Could humanity have slowly perverted the Nassai? The symbiont that she carried replied to that with a resounding “No.” Jena was hit with a wave of disgust so profound it almost made her nauseous. Silence lasted for nearly a minute before someone finally decided to speak.
Dray Adarus rose from his chair, standing tall and proud like the statue he was. “I think we should change course,” he said, glaring at Slade. “You gave Breslan a commendation for his work on Palisa.”
“We've been over this…”
Adarus scrubbed a hand over his face, massaging away what looked like a nasty headache. “And we'll go over it again,” he replied. “What specifically motivated you to decorate Breslan?”
Slade turned in his chair to face his accuser, the slight flush in his cheeks the only sign of his annoyance. “Cal Breslan quickly and efficiently brought down a cabal of arms dealers,” he said. “Thus promoting peace on the Fringe.”
Jena had a few things to say about that. Leyria took a very negative stance on the issue of skirmishes between its colony worlds and the nearby Antauran territories. As if political will alone would stop the violence. The Core Worlds could preach peace until their lungs exploded, and it wouldn't change the fact that many of those skirmishes were caused by Antaurans raiding Leyrian outposts.
So how did the homeworld respond to this? By restricting the flow of weapons to its outer colonies. Leyria's position was that the colonists should just come home. Never mind the fact that doing so would leave three habitable worlds and over a dozen space stations ripe for Antauran conquest. All that would do was create a new Fringe, one much closer to the homeworld.
“I think,” Slade began, “that we are done here.” He stood up, smoothing wrinkles from his coat and pants with a sigh. “Breslan hid is treachery well. His schemes to aid and abet the terrorist Leo were as unknown to me as they were to you.”
“Sit down,” Jena ordered.
Slade flowed around the table, all the way to the door. He paused there for a brief moment, keeping his back turned. “I think not, Director Morane,” he said. “I will return to my quarters, where I will remain under lock and key until you decide to do away with these insulting allegations.”
Double doors slid open, and Slade stepped through, spinning around to give them all one last withering glare. “Be swift in your decision,” he advised. “I have decided that I have no more patience for foolishness.”
And just like that, the meeting was over.
3
The arch-shaped opening in a red wall with gold trim along the baseboards looked in on a large room where round tables were spread out on the carpet, each one supporting a candle on a linen tablecloth. There were people – she could see a couple of young men making their way toward the slanted window – but the buzz of conversation was all but nonexistent. Everyone spoke in hushed tones.
Anna stood outside.
She wore green denim pants and a white t-shirt under a coat that fell all the way to her knees. Her hair was done up in a ponytail with bangs falling across her forehead. And she was ready to go to war.
As she stepped forward, a hologram appeared inside the archway. The transparent image of a man with dark skin and an even darker beard frowned at her. “Madam, this lounge area is for members of the diplomatic office,” he said. “I must request that you leave at once before-”
Anna tapped at her multi-tool.
The hologram flickered, winking out of existence before reappearing again half a moment later. “Justice Keeper status recognized,” he said. “Thank you for visiting, Agent Lenai. Please have a pleasant day.”
When he vanished, she made her way into the lounge and took a moment to scan her surroundings. A long, slanted window on the far wall looked out upon the skyline of New York City.
Tall buildings rose up toward the open sky, each one reflecting the wan sunlight of a winter afternoon. A few men in fancy Leyrian coats with high collars sat at one table on her left, and another group of people occupied a table to her left.
Anna closed her eyes and shook her head. You're playing right into his hands, she thought, striding into the room. His stupid little overtures are probably designed to make you come down here.
She found Daython sitting at a table in a black high-collared shirt, chewing his food as he stared into his plate. “Well, you have to give the place this much credit,” Anna said as she approached. “The weather is terrible compared to Alios, but the décor is just so much more posh.”
He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, then looked up to blink at her. “Hello there, Anna,” he said. “I have to say I wasn't expecting you, but now that you're here, perhaps you could join me for a late lunch.”
Anna stood before him with arms crossed, frowning down at him. “You got me down here,” she said with a shrug. “So I'm gonna give you the benefit of assuming that the rose was code for 'Help! Come save me!'”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Oh no?”
“No.”
“I'm not in the mood to play games with you, Daython,” Anna said. “This is your one chance to avoid ending your career on a harassment charge.”
He was lounging in that chair with his hands on the armrests, a lopsided grin on his face. “So I take it someone sent you flowers?” he inquired. “And you naturally assumed they came from me?”
The smug, self-satisfied demeanor made her want to smack him hard enough to knock teeth from his mouth. Lashing out in anger would feel wonderful right about then, but she was a Keeper. She would do this right.
Anna shut her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose. “It came from New York City,” she said with a nod. “I made a trip down to the mail room and spent two very long hours going through the logs.”
She took the chair across from him.
Daython sat with his elbows on the armrests, his mouth hidden behind steepled fingers. “Is that so?” he asked, eyebrows rising. “And even if you happen to be correct, what makes you think they came from me?”
“I don't know anyone else in New York.”
Keeping her temper in check required enormous amounts of willpower. Anna had no patience for people who couldn't even manage to display basic human decency, and she was especially disgusted with men who would not take no for an answer. Daython's comments in her office on Alios implied that he intended to win her over. A mistake of galactic proportions.
From what she had read, Earth was the perfect place for a man like Daython. Far too many men here shared his affliction. Not all, of course, but many. Her world used to have a similar problem in regard to the way men treated women. Three years ago, she would have insisted that Leyrians had outgrown such behaviour. Now, she was slightly less firm in that assertion. Her people had made great strides – and most of the men on her world treated women with respect – but there were still some with sexist attitudes.
Of course, she had to admit there were some women on her world who had a hard time understanding the meaning of the word 'no.' Prestige had a way of making people think they could have anything they wanted. Leyrians had given up the use of money, but every now and then some inventor or software developer became a little too fond of the praise she received.
Daython lifted a glass of wine, pausing for a moment to inhale the bouquet before he took a sip. “And you honestly think that implicates me?” he asked. “Maybe you've got a secret admirer.”
Anna looked down at the floor, her eyebrows slowly climbing up her forehead. “I don't have any admirers,” she said. “Except for a young diplomat who just can't figure out that I am not interested.”
“The subtle art of negotiation.”
“Excuse me?”
Daython turned his head so that she saw him in profile, squinting into the distance. “Has it occurred to you,” he began, “that my entire career revolves around convincing people to change their minds?”
Leaning over the table with her arms folded, Anna glared at him. “So you think that applies to your personal life as well?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Why can't you just accept that a relationship with me is off the table?”
He stood.
Turning his back on her, he made his way over to the window with the wine glass in hand. No doubt he expected her to join him, and that was probably some technique he intended to use to gain her compliance. Anna didn't spend a lot of time reading through psychological journals, but it wouldn't surprise her to learn that making someone come to you subtly reinforced the idea that he should work to earn your approval. Seth was angry, and rightly so. The Nassai despised manipulation.
Despite the obvious ploy, she found herself playing along, shuffling over to the window so she could look out on the city of Manhattan. She drew the line at speaking, however. Daython could make the first move.
He stood there for a moment, taking a sip of his wine before he finally decided to acknowledge her. “I'm a man who's used to getting what he wants,” he said. “And I must admit that I want you.”
She knew she was going to regret this – the smartest thing to do was to tell him in no uncertain terms that she was not interested and then to inform his supervisors – but curiosity got the better of her. The psyche of a man who chased after women that found him repulsive was so bizarre that she just had to know. “Why?”
“You're a Justice Keeper,” he answered. “I've always wanted to sleep with a Justice Keeper. Allow me to make a proposal, Anna. One night of the best sex you've ever had, and then I'll leave you be.”
“Really?” Anna said. “Here's my counter.”
She seized his wrist.
Anna gave a tug with enough force to send wine sloshing over the rim of his glass. It splashed against his shirt, leaving a big wet stain, and Daython stared down at himself with his mouth hanging open.
She very nearly jumped when she heard a deep, familiar voice call out from behind her. “Brilliant,” her father said. “Once again, my youngest decides to make her opinions known in the most destructive way possible.”
She turned.
Beran Lenai stood between two tables, dressed in black pants and a simple blue coat. A short man with a stern face, he kept his red beard neatly trimmed and wore his hair parted on the left. “Leana.”
She closed her eyes, a flush singeing her cheeks. With a sigh, she bowed her head to him. “Hello, Dad,” she began. “Before you start in with one of your lectures, I think I should tell you that this man won't stop making romantic overtures.”
Beran scowled, turning his head to stare at Daython. “Get out of here,” he growled, jerking his head toward the door. “I'll deal with you later. For now, I think my daughter and I should have a little talk.”
Tiny snowflakes fluttered just outside the window over the sink, so many Harry could barely see the house next door. If this kept up, he was going to have to shovel again, and his back was already protesting the last session.
The huge blue bowl was filled with leafy green lettuce that had been drenched in Caesar dressing, complete with croûtons and bacon bits. Making the salad had been his task; his girlfriend was making some Leyrian dish that involved chicken.
“So we got nothing,” Jena said.
Harry frowned, staring down at his creation. “Nothing at all from Slade?” he asked, deep creases lining his brow. “The guy didn't trip over his words or mix up the details of his story?”
He turned.
Jena was leaning against the kitchen table with her arms folded, gorgeous as ever in a pair of blue jeans and a purple sweater. “Nope,” she said. “In fact, he seemed contemptuous of the whole process.”
“Sounds like you've hit a wall,” Harry said, carrying the bowl over to the table. “Let me ask you something, Jen, have you ever considered the possibility that he might be innocent?”
The scowl she directed at the wall told him that he was walking on thin ice, and the slight flush in her cheeks emphasized the point. “He's not innocent,” she muttered, “The man loves his schemes.”
