WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

HARMONY

The next morning, when the guards came to get me for interrogation, I refused to leave my cell. I hadn't slept good—my hip hurt. But more than that, I could feel Vestra struggling with something. She tossed and turned with it all night long. I stopped myself from reaching out with my mind to ask. I was afraid I had overwhelmed her. So I asked the guards for a doctor. I told them I was in terrible pain. It wasn't a lie.

The doctor took her time coming. So I sat in my cell and worried about what Vestra was worried about. She was anxious—our stomachs were upset—but about what, I don't know. Too many voices and feelings were bumping inside me. Travis, in his cell one floor below, was finally asleep. He had had a bad night—being locked up rips you up inside—and he's been in that cell for close to a year now. I try to keep my boy distracted when I can; we play word games mind to mind; tell jokes, I tell him stories. It's hard. He's depressed. Omari, four cells left of me, was pacing, waiting for the guards to take him to his interrogation room. He thinks the sec officers interrogating him are idiots, and really wants someone smart to talk to. And three cell blocks over, Mancy pokes at me constantly. I try to ignore him—and most times I'm able to block him out. But sometimes it's like he's roaring in my ear or has reached out his hands and shaken me. This morning, I can feel him in my bones like a shiver. He's in a nostalgic mood. Do you remember us Annie? What we felt like together?

"I do," I whispered. "Though I wish I didn't."

***

Pit District, Simoom
Two years ago

When Mancy got pissed off with Omari or Sharise, which was lots, he'd go to his shack above ground, and love-sick dolt that I was, I'd trail after him. We'd end up in bed, of course. I loved the feel of his long legs wrapped over mine. I liked the weight—liked how he held me to the thin mat he called his bed. All the time in the Pit, I felt like I was cracking into millions of pieces. I pictured me—my head, my body and everything else—crushed, turning into the dust and being sucked out through the rusted seal around the Plexiglas porthole in Mancy's shack. He had stuffed the holes with rags, but nothing could stop the dust from coming in and going out.

I never understood why Mancy didn't sleep in the bunker, away from a lot of the dust, like the rest of us on the council.

I hate hiding underground like a fucking mole. He told me once—his thought thrusting clear into me; it tasted sour.

I felt his sand-paper face on mine; both our heads were under the blankets—to keep out as much dust as we could. I smelled the rotgut on his breath.

Where'd you get the booze?

He chuckled. I've got my sources.

His hands found my breasts. I squirmed—on the edge between wanting to and not wanting to. I can't. I gotta go. I told Sharise I'd help her give out rations.

Shut up. He caged me with his body and his thoughts grew sweet on my tongue.

WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

DORIC

I woke up feeling crappy—like I had a hang-over—though I hadn't drunk that much at the Officers Club last night. My ear com on the bedside table buzzed loudly.

Grabbing it, I barked: "What?"

"Good morning to you too, Girlie."

I shook my head. "Sorry, what's up, Mac?"

"Our perp's just been taken to the infirmary. Something about a sore hip, probably bullshit."

"Not necessarily," I said, feeling a dull ache move through my leg again.

Mac snorted. "We're postponed until after lunch, but I think we should meet beforehand—rethink our strategy, say in the bullpen in an hour?"

"Yeah, sure, but can we make it an hour and a half?"

"Why?"

"Jeez, Mac, I do have a personal life you know," I answered, and I could hear him laugh as I ended the call. The truth is I didn't want to tell him I needed the time for some discrete inquiries of my own.

As I showered and dressed, I probed my mind for Ann's presence. Other than the ache in her leg, I felt nothing of her—no thoughts, no voice, no sensations or feelings. How did this stuff work exactly? "Ann? Ann?" I whispered to my bathroom mirror. "How do I contact you?"

I waited. But nothing came. Was I just shitty at taking the telepathic lead? Or was she deliberately keeping me out? I needed some answers.

I left my quarters, and made sure the cameras caught me picking up a bite to eat at the cafeteria and a few provisions at the shopping concourse. On my way to the bottle shop, I ran into Belcher, a reporter from the New Earth Times. He was on the station to get the scoop on the ongoing interrogations of the PCC members. Ordinarily, WAVE would have kept the media off the station, but the corporation now wanted to be seen as "transparent and co-operative."

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Pit Pat officer," he greeted me.

"Sorry, Belcher, can't talk now," I said, side-stepping him. "I'm off duty."

"So am I,  just having breakfast," he said, holding up something grease-laden and wrapped in foil. "I'm here every morning, for a quick bite, if you change your mind about talking,  Doric," he called, as I walked on.

At the bottle shop, I called in a favour from the shopkeeper, asking her: "What's the best off-camera route today?"

"Tough," she whispered back, shaking her head. "Maintenance has been working overtime plugging lots of the gaps. Where do you want to end up?"

I told her my destination and she gave me the directions. There's always gaps in the station's surveillance grid—the more cameras replaced and repaired, the more others break down or disappear altogether. Maintenance is always playing catch up. By unspoken consensus, people will only tolerate so much.

It was a circuitous route through the service corridors and maintenance hatches up to that off-camera cubby hole the detention centre guards use as their unofficial break room. When I arrived, there was a game on, and my old friend Gambo was losing badly.

"Lend me some credits, Doric," Gambo grumbled when I pulled him aside.

"Can't—this visit is strictly off grid—no electronic trail. I'm not officially here. Besides you owe me from last time."

"Yeah, yeah, don't remind me. What do you want?"

I told him.

He started shaking his head, before I even finished talking. "No fucking way, Doric. No!"

I gave him one of the bottles of 'shine I bought at the bottle shop. "It's the good stuff," I said. "From New Earth."

Soon enough we were standing in front of a detention cell, me in the WAVE-Sec blind spot, and Gambo, on camera, carrying a tray. He swiped his sec-tag and opened the door; I slipped in behind him. Gambo's body camera was on, but there were no cameras in the cell.

Mancy was lying in the fetal position on the hard shelf that doubles as bed and seating. Gambo kicked him awake. "Get up! I've brought your morning tea."

Mancy moaned and raised his head. "My what? To what do I owe this privilege?"

Gambo didn't answer him, but instead laid the tray on a table. "I'll be back in ten to collect the stuff," he said. He turned, careful not to get me on his body camera, and left the cell. Mancy and I were alone.

Bleary eyed, he sat up and I got a good look at him. He still had the long hair and trimmed beard that Ann had described—but I wouldn't call him gorgeous. He had turned grey and there was this kind of off-colour, rotting around the edges look to him. Besides, he stank of piss and sweat.

"Should I scream for help?" he inquired, spotting me leaning cross-armed against the far wall.

"Go ahead," I answered. "Apparently you screamed too much when you first got here—."

"That was not screaming. That was justifiable complaining about my abhorrent treatment at the hands of these brutes."

"Yeah well, whatever it was—it was annoying. The guards keep your cell on mute."

He swept his hair from his eyes in a flashy way I think he thought was charming to women and smiled at me. "Do I know you? Are you someone of import?"

I smiled back. "Not at all. Shall I pour?" I asked indicating the cup and little teapot on the tray.

He nodded his head.

I poured. "I just thought since you're supposedly telepathic, she would have told you my name at least."

"She?" He regarded me with renewed interest. "Ahh ... I see ... are you Annie's latest conquest?"

The question hung in the air between us. It stung, but I tried not to show it.

"Why did Omari allow —"

"Pardon me, Officer, but is there any particular reason I should I talk to you? As the common Rats say, 'What's in it for me?'"

From my pocket, I produced the flask of 'shine I had also bought that morning, and poured a generous dollop into his tea cup.

Mancy perked up, as I slid the cup to him across the table. I didn't want to hand it to him. I didn't want to touch him. He smiled as if he knew that. "I'm all ears, Officer. Do, please, continue."

"Why did Omari allow himself to be caught?"

He took a long sip of his drink and made a great show of savouring it. "Oh, that's easy. Omari is such a predictable little man."

"How so?"

"He craves the attention, Officer. He thinks himself a political activist. He wants a show trial on New Earth. He wants to martyr himself in the court of public opinion."

"And Ann...Commander Harmony? Why did she emerge from the dust?"

Mancy shrugged. "Fuck if I know why that woman does what she does. I expect it has something to do with being close to that snotty nosed boy of hers."

Travers—of course, she could more easily communicate with him telepathically if she were on the same space station as him. That made sense. "I have another question."

Mancy raised his empty cup and I poured more 'shine into it. He nodded at me to proceed.

"Commander Harmony has stated that when you first brought her and her son to the main bunker in the Pit, the other PCC members there were surprised."

"Yes, what of it?""

"Well, why were they surprised? I mean, wouldn't they have known what you were up to if you're all telepathically linked? Or were you blocking your thoughts from them somehow?"

He hesitated for a beat, cup in midair, before bringing it to his lips and swallowing. "Look, who are you exactly?" He tried to change the subject. "You know, if you have no authority to offer me a good deal, I don't think I have to talk to you."

"You've already taken WAVE's deal."

"I mean a deal that gets me out of here quicker, and on a cruise ship to New Earth a free man."

I laughed. "I'll see what I can do," I said, knowing that I wouldn't. "Now answer me Mancy, how long can you block your thoughts from someone you are telepathically linked to?"

He shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?"

He shrugged again. "It's not cut and dried. Some people are better at compartmentalizing than others."

"Compartmentalizing?"

"It's a technique. You imagine a closet in your head, then you imagine a person, then you put that person in the closet and lock it up tight."

"How long can you keep that person locked up?"

"If you get really good at it, you know, with practice, indefinitely."

I jerked back. If that were true, why did Ann tell me it would be too exhausting to do that? Mancy must have seen the colour drain from my face. "What's the matter, Dearie?" He leaned into me and reached out with a hand.

I recoiled. "Don't touch me!"

He raised his hands in denial. Then he started to cackle with laughter. "What? Did little innocent Annie lie to you, big bad Pit Pat officer?" Spittle flew from his mouth. "Are you really surprised she lies?"

I was surprised—stupidly it seems. "Fuck off, Mancy!" I spat back.

But he sensed my defences were weak, and he went on the attack again. "Oh, she's got her claws into you deep, just like Moses."

"Moses?" I whispered.

"Supervisor Caraq—the man with his career in tatters. You don't want that to happen to you, do you?"

Without thinking, I shook my head.

"No, you don't want that, do you Dearie? So don't listen to a word that comes out of Annie's pretty mouth. It's all lies."

Just then Gambo came into the cell to retrieve the tray. He kept his face and body camera on Mancy. "All good?" he asked.

"All very good, thank you for the tea, Officer," said Mancy, smiling at me as I slipped out the door.

I took the off-camera route back to the shopping concourse—my mind in a muddle and feeling foolish. What else had Anne lied to me about? Could I trust her? Could I trust myself now? I poked around my head, trying to feel her presence, but still felt nothing—not even her sore hip. Maybe the doctor she'd seen this morning had given her something for the pain. I missed that sore hip—it had become my companion. 

I got to the bullpen at Central Sec ten minutes late for my meeting with Mac.

He scowled at me. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I had a couple of personal errands to run. What's up?"

He slammed his cup of mocha down hard on his desk. "Those fucking doctors at the infirmary insist we call off the interrogation this afternoon."

"Why?"

"Some crap about her being exhausted and running a fever."

"A fever?" I tried to keep my voice neutral, even though worry stabbed at me. We were being observed not only by the other sec officers in the bullpen, but by sec cameras. WAVE Sec watched its officers just as much as it watched everyone else.

Mac shrugged. "Bursitis. They've got her on meds and are keeping her in for observation until tomorrow." He plopped down on his chair with a thud. "What the hell do they think we're running here? A five-star hotel?"

I shook my head at him. "Wait—weren't you the one who lectured me on everything having to be above board?"

"There's a difference, Girlie," he barked, "between sticking to the rules and coddling terrorists."

"Yeah, but if the media finds out we mistreated her..."

Shaking his head, Mac got up from his chair and walked away, muttering, "this isn't right. This isn't fucking right."

"What isn't right? Where are you going?" I called after him.

"Early lunch," he said and huffed his way out the door.

After Mac left, I sat at my desk, and turned on my screen. I pulled up some paper work I had to complete, but really I just stared at the half-filled form in front of me. This morning I woke determined to find some answers, but instead I had found more questions—about Ann, about Mancy, about me, and about why Mac was so upset.