WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

Doric

Harmony was stalling—telling me these stories to gain sympathy. She deflected every time I circled back to the subject of her fellow ringleaders. She kept her face down and hidden behind her hair, and asked again and again about her son, but I was confident I would wear her down if given enough time. That was the problem—time.

Mac was lounging beside me, eyes closed, leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk, and I was wondering if we should take a break, when Harmony jerked her head and turned her face to the left wall as if she heard some noise from outside the sound-proofed room.

"Mancy's complaining about his food," she said.

"What?" I asked.

"You got Mancy in a cell."

I was not impressed by this "mind reading"—it was a safe guess. It was no secret PCC member Gerhard Mancy had co-operated, and he was wildly known as a born complainer. I answered: "Yes, we've offered him a deal. We could cut you a deal, too."

"Why do I need a deal? I didn't do nothing wrong." All afternoon her voice had oscillated between soft and desperate and harsh and bitter, with twinges of dark humour thrown in. This last bit was full of defensiveness—but the next bit was strident and imperious. "Let me see Travers—now. You can't keep me from him."

I barked back at her. "Of course, we can, Commander Harmony. Your son was picked up for rioting. And you and the other members of the PCC will be charged with the murder of twenty New Earth volunteers—"

"So, you're blaming everything on us then? You're going to punish all of us?" Anger had crept into her voice. Some recognition of her situation at last? Perhaps now we'll get somewhere.

I nudged Mac awake, before I replied: "That depends. Tell me how the council functioned and how it made decisions."

She laughed at me. "You want to know how telepaths make decisions? Well, first we argue all the fucking time."

"What are you doing?" Mac told WAVE-Sec to cut the sound before reminding me: "We don't care how the PCC worked—all we need to know is where the other members are."

"But, if we knew more about them, maybe we could figure out where they're hiding."

He smirked. "Bullshit."

I was hoping Mac would be on my side about this. "Don't you want to solve the case before those New Earth agents arrive and steal our thunder?"

But he crossed his arms. "Not our job, Girlie."

"Come on Mac, don't you want to know the truth?"

"Not our job."

"But—" I stopped when I saw Mac's face. "Okay, Okay, whatever you say Boss." I glanced at the monitor and saw that Harmony was sitting perfectly still in her chair with her head cocked to one side as if listening, but listening to what? She couldn't possibly have overheard us—the sound was muted.

"Sound on," I ordered WAVE-Sec and then settled my voice. "Ms. Harmony, can telepaths block their minds—their presence—from each other? If they wanted to ... if they wanted to conceal themselves?"

Harmony wrinkled her brow, as if she were a teacher considering a particularly dense student. She answered slowly. "You can block what's in your head—bits and pieces anyways. Sometimes you can block out what you're feeling and doing and where you are. Some people are better than others at doing that. But you can't do it forever—that'd be exhausting."

I felt chastised—embarrassed that I'd even asked such a question. Obviously, no one could sustain such a mental block long term. So that meant ... "—So you can sense your fellow council members, correct?"

Harmony smiled. "You really don't know where they are, do you? You want us three to ID them."

I blinked—no one told her about the third. "Three?"

"Omari. You got him too."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do."

"She's guessing," Mac whispered in my ear. "She knows we know Omari is part of the PCC—he spoke for them that morning at the barricades—he's on record."

True—very true.

"Oh for fuck sake!" Harmony sighed loudly. "Why ask me about telepathy if you don't think I can actually do it?"

Did she hear Mac over the speakers? I looked at Mac, but he just shrugged.

I cleared my throat. "Just answer the question. Can you find them?"

She shook her head, swishing her hair back and forth. "I don't get it. Mancy's already told you their names—you've looked up their files, you know what they look like. You've probably already taken Mancy down to the Pit to see if he can 'feel' their presence and the Pit's not that big a place. So what's the problem? Why can't you find them?—oh—" She stopped in the middle of her thought, like something had occurred to her. "Bad weather in the Pit lately? Is that it? Drones can't fly?"

She was right, but how? She had been held in isolation for over a month, while Management dithered. She's had no access to the media weather reports or contact with the surface.  

I repeated my question: "We can put in a good word for you with New Earth Sec, if you co-operate. Can you find them?"

She shrugged. "What makes you think I'll have a better chance at 'feeling' them than Mancy? It's crazy the weather in the Pit, isn't it Detective? It took me a little while to get used to it when we first got there. Me, Travers and Sila. Let me tell you about Sila."

"I hate to interrupt what, I'm sure, will be a heart-wrenching story, but—"

"I'm answering your question."

"Commander Harmony, you're stalling."

She looked directly at the camera and smiled. "So you don't want to know about the weather in the Pit? About the dust?"

"We have meteorologists and environmental scientists on staff," I told her.

"Good," she countered. "Then you already know how to stop the dust from wrecking drone cameras ... right?"

I couldn't help but smile. She had us on that one. I looked at Mac. He wasn't too pleased, but he shrugged and settled himself back in his chair.

"Fine," I said to her. "Tell me about Sila."

Pit District, Simoom
Five years ago

Harmony

"You're fighting it, that's the problem," One of my landladies told me. I can't remember which boarding house it was. That first year in the Pit felt like one slow-mo fall—one long series of shipping-pod boarding rooms—picking up work cleaning or waiting on tables, or, when the dust screwed up the digi-accounts, trading labour for room and board, making our way down the slope to find cheaper and cheaper rents.

"Don't bundle up your kids like that. Don't hide them from the dust. You gotta embrace the dust—it's a gift," goes my landlady.

"Yeah, gives you black lung."

"That's crap! Look at me," the woman goes—dust flying off her when she pounded her chest. "Been here for over a decade and not a thing wrong with me. The dust protects you, Missus. It keeps you company, if you let it."

It was weird, but she was right. The dust felt comfortable on your skin. It gave the air and the food we ate different smells and tastes. Even now I can't look at instant noodles without remembering a yellow dust that made this one pack of noodles taste like my grandmother's steamed dumplings.

"Potent, today, Missus," the landlady goes, standing in her doorway, taking deep breaths. "Smells like lilac and lavender." And the instant she said that, I smelled those old Earth scents too.

But not even that crazy old lady would go out when a grey blizzard hit. Those storms went on for days. Me and the kids holed up in our little room: the windows and door shut tight, blocked and draped by old tarps and sheets—anything I could find—but still the dust got in; the wind shaking the tin-can walls and roof; everyone getting on each other's nerves; everyone coughing; Sila crying non-stop; me walking the floor with her in my arms.

"Mom, make Sila shut up!" Travers goes.

"I'm trying, but she's sick."

"Can't you do anything?"

"When the storm stops I'll take her to that free clinic up the slope. But right now, you're just going to have to be patient, Honey."

"Just give her her old doll to suck on."

"It's full of dust."

Travers shrugged. "She says it tastes like candy."

Finally, Sila fell asleep and I tucked her down beside Travers on the mattress we all shared. I settled myself on the chair for a quick nap—I'll check on her in an hour or two, I said to myself.

***

I woke up when Travers yelled, "MOM! MOMMMMM!"

I had been dreaming of the fancy boutiques in the High Ridge Mall on the Plat; buying fresh fruit at the grocers; a drink at the bar, overlooking the fountain; breathing the clean air of the greenhouses; walking through the rose bushes. The thorns on the branches pricked.

"MOMMMMM!" Travers was yelling; the sound scratched my skin.

"Hush, Honey." I'm half asleep. "You'll wake Sila."

"MOMMMMMMMM!"

That yell was sharp, a thorn in my chest. I opened my eyes and sat up. The storm had gone. The calm rang in my ears; I couldn't hear the wind no more. "What? What, Travers?" I turned and saw Sila lying on her side, shivering and shaking, dribbling pink and green puke.