We stared in horror at the images on the high-res monitor. The mushroom cloud bloomed in malignant symmetry. Luna City, twenty million people, gone. Across the conference table, Kev let out a gasp. Beside me, Cierra sobbed uncontrollably and bowed her head. Around the room, a stunned silence froze the others. Too numb to move, too shocked to speak, I sat there, unable to wrest my eyes from the screen. No room for anger. That would come later. Luna City, the largest on the moon, destroyed—its citizens vaporized. The cloud spread lazily in the low gravity, its silent grace obscuring the devastation beneath. The terrorists had made good on their threat.
One by one, my despondent colleagues shuffled back to their offices until only Cierra remained. I put my hand on her shoulder. She shifted in her chair to meet my eyes, her blonde hair disheveled and tears streaking her face.
“Why, Arris? Why?”
I didn’t reply. We both knew the answer. The self-styled Havenots had long promised an escalation of their campaign of violence. That their grievances were unreasonable did not matter. Only a righteous zeal for the fight drove them. A few generations earlier, they petitioned for a long-term solution. A mere handful of our leaders favored negotiation, but time and lack of progress calcified the positions of each. The resulting stasis lingered like white noise in the background of daily life … until today.
Cierra shook her head. “You’ll get the case if they catch those bastards.”
I stood up. “When they’re caught, you mean.”
“Yeah. That’s what I meant.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “You’ll be the one. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, it could be Kev or Maria. Besides, there’s no certainty they’ll be taken alive.”
“It’s so goddamn frustrating when cowards escape justice by suicide.” She rose. “You’re the best.” Pausing at the door, she collected herself and focused on me with a withering intensity. “Give those terrorist assholes what they deserve.”
Did she have friends or relatives in Luna City? Why didn’t I think to ask? With twenty million inhabitants, the odds were high.
I remained in the conference room. The monitor had begun to replay the disaster, diminishing the pain by a tiny fraction with each repetition. In a few days, the images would be engraved as memories, categorized and filed away, to be summoned up later for political expediency. Those who lost loved ones would carry the hurt a while longer, but time and routine would condition them to live with their loss.
The case might come to me. Unlike Cierra, I hoped the terrorists were not taken alive. A quick death should be retribution enough. No need to force the surviving friends and relatives to relive the tragedy.
I made my way to the Interview Sector. Kev and Maria labored over their data pads in the prep room. I admired their professionalism in light of the terrorist attack. Suppressing emotions had become second nature in our jobs.
A quick glance at the vid screen revealed a gaunt, long-haired prisoner in an orange jumpsuit. He leaned forward nervously in his chair at the little table.
“What’s his story?” I asked.
Kev tapped his keyboard. “Dealer.” The prisoner’s record flashed onto the screen.
I scanned the info. “Phantasy. That shit’s gotten too popular. He should be pretty damn worried.”
Maria clicked back to the prisoner. “Yeah. Name’s Jock Addison. He’s thirty-nine. He’s been fidgeting. Every once in a while, he’ll cut his eyes toward the camera. He’s aware we’re watching him. We picked up his brother, Luc, on a lesser charge—simple possession. He’s quite a bit younger … twenty-four, according to the initial report. I’m handling his case.”
“That’s good to know. I’ll take a few minutes to get organized before I question him.”
***
Jock eyed me warily when I took a seat across from him at the table. I scrolled through the notes on my data pad, letting several minutes pass in silence. He drummed his fingers on the hard surface. Finally, I raised my head and met his eyes.
“My name is Arris Remmick. I’m here to discuss your situation.” Jock’s hand ceased drumming and began to tremble. “You’ve been caught smuggling a considerable amount of phantasy from the warrens. You might as well tell us who helped you.”
“I can’t … I can’t. My life would …”
“Okay, Jock, I’ll level with you. You’re going to be put away for a long time. Neither I nor anyone else can get you out of that. By the time you’re free, you’ll be a forgotten man. You needn’t fear retribution. If you confess and name names, I can help your brother.”
Jock’s eyes widened. “He … uh, Luc’s just a kid.”
“Hardly a kid, Jock.” I checked my notes. “He’s twenty-four, but it’s his first offense, and it’s simple possession. I can’t promise, but I may be able to get him off with a light sentence or perhaps probation.” Jock slumped in his chair. “Why don’t you think about it overnight? I’ll check with you tomorrow.” Jock gave a weary nod, and I buzzed for the guard.
***
The conference room had filled again. I wormed my way in and stood against the back wall. The cloud still lingered over Luna City. Newscasters estimated it might take weeks or months for the air to clear enough for hazmat troops to access the devastated city. The site would remain toxic for decades.
No word on the perpetrators had emerged, but speculation ran rampant. The scant info recycled at a maddening pace. President Seldon gave a short speech to the citizens of Earth, pleading for calm and promising justice for the responsible parties. Predictably, he encouraged citizens to get on with their daily life and not let terrorism disrupt their routine.
***
The departure station teemed with throngs of commuters. I waited in the queue for more than an hour until my turn came. Slipping into the white, egg-shaped auto pod, I punched in the coordinates for station 6107. The vehicle eased out into the transport tube. I set the speed to medium while other pods zipped by at a furious rate. Desiring to relax, I selected ambient music and closed my eyes.
By the time my pod docked, I had detached from my job. I exited the pod and stepped onto the travelator. Thirty minutes later, I reached my home sector and walked the short remaining distance to our apartment. I touched my palm to the ID panel, and the door slid open. Margo stood transfixed, staring at our media console where the destruction of Luna City replayed while newscasters reiterated the same handful of facts, along with a selection of wild theories.
She came to me, eyes dulled from crying. “Those poor people,” she sobbed. “And their loved ones … They must be devastated.”
The catastrophic attack sent her deeper into the chronic despair that had begun after Ginny’s death. I hugged her and murmured soft words of sympathy. Years of dealing with hardened criminals and their cruel, violent offenses had taught me to compartmentalize my emotions. Margo had developed no such defense.
After dinner, we scrolled through an interactive list of known victims. We recognized a few dozen names, but miraculously no family or close friends. Afterward, Margo retreated to her workroom, seated herself at the keyboard, and began constructing an abstract image on her art screen. Several of her works had been uploaded by virtual museums. Her workspace had been our daughter’s bedroom. When Ginny died of a rare, untreatable illness, all joy left Margo. I longed to see her smile again, but she spent a great deal of time sitting silently in Ginny’s room, cradling the urn. Slowly, she began to express her grief through dark, enigmatic images. It gave her an emotional comfort beyond my ability to provide. In bed, I held her, supplying physical closeness.
***
Jock agreed to a plea deal and began serving a lengthy prison sentence. Security issued warrants and rounded up many of his confederates. Curtailing the flow of illegal substances into the municip from the warrens gave me a sense of satisfaction. I spoke with Maria about Jock’s brother, Luc. She consented to request leniency.
The search for the terrorists dominated the news. For most of us in the department, it became a steady but remote drumbeat in the background of our lives. At home, Margo spent more time in her workroom with the door closed. She set up a cot and began to sleep there at night. I let her be. She needed time alone to work her way out of depression. In the creative process, she found solace.
A couple of months later, the news flash came. Authorities had captured one of the terrorists—Sonja Olin, a young woman in her mid-twenties. The department assigned the case to me, as Cierra had predicted. It would be no easy interrogation like the drug cases I frequently handled, but I could count on Kev and Maria for support and assistance. Together, we made a formidable team.
It took a few days for the prisoner to be processed. Every screen on the planet lit up with her image. Not surprisingly, authorities linked her to the Havenots. Kev, Maria, and I spent our time poring over the evidence and her personal history. I cringed at the media rush to get the news out, knowing much of it would be twisted into uninformed conjecture. The department issued a few corrective statements—a hopeless endeavor destined to be lost in the maelstrom of misinformation. The date was finally set for the first interview.
***
Maria greeted me with a frown and a nod. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but apparently thought better of it. Had some unforeseen problem cropped up?
“What’s wrong, Maria?”
“Well …” She rubbed her forehead. “Uh … she’s naked.”
“What? For god’s sake, get her some clothes! Didn’t they issue a jumpsuit?”
“Yes … but she won’t wear it.”
“Why?”
Before she could answer, the door slid open and Kev sauntered in. “Good morning, Arris. Has Maria told you about our nudist prisoner?”
“I don’t understand. Why is she naked?” I tried but failed to suppress the anxiety in my voice.
Kev sighed. “Calm down. It’s obviously an act of defiance. She even declined an appointed lawyer. In her view, the jumpsuit is an admission of guilt. I’ve seen that occasionally, but not usually with females.”
He punched a key on his data pad. The interview room materialized on the vid screen. The young woman sat at the table, staring directly at the camera. An unruly mop of dark curly hair hung down, brushing her eyebrows. She had a slender, boyish figure with slightly hunched shoulders and small breasts.
“Not bad, eh?” Kev winked at me. “A few genetic tweaks and she’d look damned fine.”
Maria sighed and shook her head. “You guys could use a few genetic tweaks yourselves. You’re getting to be eyesores.”
I laughed. “Maybe so, but let’s concentrate on our primary task.”
Kev put his hand on my shoulder. “The bitch wants to make you uneasy. I don’t know what that will gain her. The evidence is pretty conclusive. Her interview is a formality in that regard, but we’re counting on you to pry some useful intel out of her.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go over the evidence first.”
***
I seated myself across from Sonja, who returned a hostile glare. I scrolled leisurely through my notes. Her silent anger cut through the space between us. I retained my professional composure and after a few minutes, pushed my data pad aside.
“You warm enough?”
“Fuck you.” Her dark eyes radiated hate.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s try to get along. We’ll both benefit.”
“Fuck you.”
I cleared my throat. “Uh … I’ll decline that offer.”
“Asshole.”
“Okay. I’ll do the talking. You just listen.” Her hard stare intensified. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. The penalty is death. You will be vaporized. Not even your ashes will remain. However, there is a slim chance I can arrange an exile for you.” Her expression didn’t change. “There’s a precedent for a Plutonian exile if you help us. The Lase Sonels case—”
“Fuck you.”
Her intransigence did not surprise me. I decided to allow her time to mull over the Plutonian offer. “Give it some thought. We’ll talk again, soon.”
“What do you think?” Maria asked when we reconvened in the prep room.
“Best to keep the first interview short. I only got two words out of her.”
Kev pointed to the transcript on the vid screen. “Three, actually. She called you ‘asshole’ once.”
“That doesn’t count as progress. At any rate, I planted the seed for a possible exile. We’ll let her stew for two or three days, and maybe some solitary time will loosen her tongue.”
Maria stood and sighed. “By the way, Arris, there’s trouble with Luc Addison. He missed an appointment with his probation officer. Keeping him off the phantasy is going to prove difficult. He’s got too much time on his hands. He needs a job to keep him busy. It was a mistake to treat him lightly.”
“That’s too bad, but our deal with Jock paid off with a lot of arrests. I can’t think about Luc right now. Sonja’s my focus.”
Maria dropped back into her chair. “I just hope she puts on some clothes. I’ve seen enough of that naked bitch.”
***
Margo remained shuttered in her workroom. I coaxed her out for dinner. She picked at her food and ate little before returning to her room. Later, I avoided the news, which no doubt featured Sonja, opting instead for a mindless comedy. It failed to make me laugh. After consuming a substantial amount of imported Venusian liquor, I retired to the bedroom. As I was about to drop off, the bedroom door slid open. Margo slipped under the sheets with me, surprising me with her physical desire. Afterward, I held her for a while, but she soon rose and retired to her workroom. Whether she slept or worked, I didn’t know.
***
Before checking in with Kev and Maria, I went up to Records and found Cierra at the counter. She forced a weary half-smile and straightened her sagging posture.
“Not getting much sleep, are you?”
“It shows, does it?” She slurred the words.
“Clear as daylight on Mercury.”
She gazed at her data pad. “I’m down a position, and all the applicants are so damned similar. Their resumes make them seem like clones. I need someone who will appreciate the work we do here. Most want the job as a stepping stone. It’s so frustrating to train a new hire every six months.”
“You’ll figure it out.” I cleared my throat. “Uh, Cierra, I need more detail on Sonja’s family.”
“You could make that request from your office.”
“Sure, but I have to get away sometimes, especially now.”
“Okay.” Her fingers poked the keyboard with bored precision. “It’ll come through in just a sec.”
“Thanks, Cierra.”
“Arris …”
“Yes.”
“You’ll get that bitch, won’t you?”
“Sure. Easy. No problem.”
“Arris, my son, he …” Her eyes swelled with tears. “… in Luna City.”
“Oh … I didn’t know. I’m sorry. It must be especially difficult with Thom away.” Her husband had shipped out for a five-year rotation with a terraforming team to Triton.
“Yeah, it’s even harder for him … being gone, you know. He still has two years remaining.” Her voice quivered. She closed her eyes and collected herself.
“Hang in there, Cierra. Sonja’s guilty. She’ll be vaporized.”
“Make it hurt.”
“I … I can’t do that. It’s a painless procedure. Anyway, that’s not my job. I just interview her, but rest assured her days are numbered.”
Cierra’s agony weighed on my consciousness. For her, the sudden shock must have been nearly unbearable. With Ginny’s passing, Margo and I had time to contemplate her death from the slow-moving, drug-resistant virus.
***
When I questioned Sonja again, she was, as expected, still naked. I brought a jumpsuit and tossed it on the table between us. She snatched it up and flung it into a corner. Again, I let several minutes pass. She didn’t squirm as most do. I pushed my data pad aside and met her relentless stare.
“Sonja, I see your mom lives in the warrens. The media are hounding her for comments. Help us out, and I can keep them off her back.”
“I have no mother.”
“That’s not so. I see right here …”
“Fuck you.”
I lowered my head, resting my chin against my chest and lied. “She wants to visit you.” The truth was, her mother had completely disowned her.
“I have no mother,” she repeated. “This session is over. Call the guard.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Have you thought about the possible Plutonian exile? I can request leniency if you can provide info that will prevent another attack.”
“Fuck you.”
I suppressed my impulse to escalate the hostility. “The prison colony on Pluto is not so bad. It governs itself. You’d be free to do whatever you wanted, subject to the local laws and, of course … the climate.”
“I make no deals. I stand by my actions.”
“You know, I could turn you over to others who would use physical methods.”
“That makes you the terrorist.”
“What?”
“You’re threatening me with a beating. Isn’t that terrorism on a personal level?”
The interview had derailed, but I didn’t want her to have the last word. “Think about helping your mom. She loves you despite your differences.” I don’t think she believed the lie.
***
Margo reclined on the sofa, caressing Ginny’s urn and gazing at the dark media console. I sat down beside her. She raised her dull, glassy eyes.
“Have you eaten today?” I asked.
She shook her head slowly.
“I’ll dial up something for you on the dinner program.”
In the kitchen, I booted up the cooking station and punched in the code for one of her favorite meals. A minute later, the station beeped and out came the hot, steaming plate of synthetic meat and vegetables. I placed it on the table and returned to the living room, where Margo still held the urn.
“Come, Margo. You’ll feel better after you eat.”
I eased the urn from her grasp and guided her to the table. While she nibbled at her food, I programed my dinner. We ate in silence. Afterward, she retired to her room, and I spent the evening surfing through the choices on the media console.
***
A cleaning robot scrubbed the floor outside my office. I found the constant whirring irritating. Those damned machines took forever to finish their jobs, going over and over the same spot, long after it was clean. I went down to the prep room to work.
“She’s dressed now,” Maria said, as I entered. “They’ll bring her for the interview in an hour or so.”
“Great. I wonder what motivated her.”
“Arris …”
“Yeah.”
“Her mom is here.”
“Really? Did she come of her own accord?”
“No. Kev had her brought her in to get more background. You want to talk to her?”
“I guess that’s why Sonja’s dressed.”
“No. She hasn’t been told.”
“Yeah, I’ll speak with her mom. Where is she?”
“In one of the interview rooms.”
***
Mrs. Olin watched me over her old-fashioned eyeglasses. She must have been in her mid-sixties with the beginnings of gray strands in the otherwise dark hair. She wore a conservative, out-of-style blue dress. I introduced myself.
“Mr. Remmick, I did my best to raise her.” She wrung her hands. “It’s not my fault.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Tell me about her childhood. Our records don’t have much info on her early years.”
“She’s bright. Did well in school. But it’s tough in the warrens for young people. All the teens are seeking a way into the municip. It’s hard. They get frustrated. Why can’t they be satisfied at home? The warrens aren’t so bad. The jobs there don’t pay much, but one can get by.”
“Did she use drugs?”
“Never. She’s too smart. Always was. She fell in with an angry crowd. I tried to steer her away, but she has a mind of her own.” I nodded my agreement. “She moved out at fifteen. I didn’t see her much after that.”
“Never visited you?”
“Twice. We argued and she stopped coming.”
“Did she ever talk about the Havenots?”
“Never.”
“Would you like to see her?”
“I can’t see any good coming from it. What will happen to her, Mr. Remmick?”
“There is a chance of a Plutonian exile, but to be honest, it’s a remote possibility. She won’t cooperate with us. Do you think you might persuade her?”
“No … it’s been many years since I had any influence over her.”
“Will you speak with her?”
“I think not. It’s for the best. Anything I suggest, she’ll oppose.”
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Olin. I’ll see to it that you are escorted home. We’ll provide a security detail to keep the media away until it’s over.”
***
Though Sonja had donned the jumpsuit, she still wore the same hard frown. I wanted to say, “You look good in orange,” but held my tongue. Antagonizing her would not be productive.
“Do you continue to refuse a lawyer? Legal advice is free. A lawyer could help you decide on the possibility of the Plutonian exile.”
“I won’t get an exile. Anyway, lawyers are part of your corrupt system.”
She knew her fate but didn’t care. I had nothing to offer that she wanted. At least she had begun to talk. A real conversation seemed possible. The path forward depended on finding a way for her to talk about her feelings. I made an attempt to penetrate her defenses.
“Your mom is here. She wants to see you.”
Sonja flinched. “Send her away,” she said hastily. For the first time, her voice contained a trace of anxiety.
“Why?”
“She never understood me … never understood why I didn’t put up with the goddamn shitty conditions in the warrens.”
“It’s not so bad in the warrens, is it? Food is supplied. I know it’s crowded, but everyone has a place to sleep.”
She shook her head. “There’re no fuckin’ jobs, man. It’s boring as hell. Lots turn to phantasy, but that’s a downward spiral.”
“Don’t the Havenots get some of their funding through phantasy trafficking?”
“Yeah, but most of our phantasy profits come from sales in the municip.”
She had slipped up. It had long been suspected that the Havenots smuggled illegal drugs into the municip.
“So, how does it get in?”
She realized her error and ground her teeth. I cursed myself for being too eager. The opportunity for intel on the phantasy network vanished as quickly as it had appeared. I switched gears.
“How does killing millions of innocent people advance your cause?”
She remained silent for a moment before responding. “No other way to get the attention needed for change.” She shrugged. “Protesting is futile. Elections are a joke. Most residents aren’t eligible to vote due to one bureaucratic reason or another.”
“Some folks work their way out of the warrens. We’ve lifted some maintenance workers from the warrens and taken them into the municip.”
“Yeah, but it’s a pretty goddamn small percentage. You could say it’s a drop in the ocean … if oceans still exist.”
I had never seen an ocean, but they existed somewhere beneath the vast man-made construct covering the surface of the planet. The interview had unraveled. “Okay, let’s talk about the oceans some other time.” I buzzed for the guard. As he led Sonja away, the briefest of smiles curled the corners of her lips. Did she think she had won the round? Impossible. Her fate was inescapable.
***
Margo was not home. I panicked. She had always been there—no need for her to go out. I didn’t know how to search for her. Anything she desired could be delivered by automatons. The door chimed and I answered it. Margo stood there, staring blankly, a security officer at her side. A mix of relief and concern coursed through my body.
“Mr. Remmick?” the officer inquired.
“Yes.”
He gestured toward Margo. “This your wife?”
“Yes, Officer.”
She stepped forward, and I drew her in.
“A patrol found her in the warrens. She appears to be in shock. You should have a doctor check her out.”
“Thanks. I’ll take her.”
The officer departed, and I guided Margo to the sofa.
“Those poor people …” Margo’s words startled me. “Those poor people …”
Who was she referring to? She had used those words after the terrorist attack. Was that it, or had she seen something in the warrens? Her dull eyes seemed far away.
“Let’s get you some rest. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”
She nodded slowly, and I put her to bed with a Tranq tab. I settled in front of the media console to check the news. Amazingly, the newscaster failed to mention Sonja’s case. It had only been a couple of weeks since her capture, but the media had moved on, turning to a sex scandal involving a celebrity and a politician—how boring. I shut it down and went to bed but didn’t sleep.
Margo lay beside me, lightly snoring. When Ginny died, she initially turned her anger on me. She didn’t understand why, when the most common cause of death was old age, we could lose our daughter to something as pedestrian as a virus. After Ginny’s passing, Margo’s energy declined. She had no interest in having another child. “Ginny can’t be replaced,” she said. She rebuffed my awkward efforts at consoling her. Only in her artwork did she find relief. In the wake of the terrorist attack, even that outlet appeared to be failing her. I resolved to take her to the doctor if she wasn’t better in the morning.
I slept poorly, waking often. Margo cruised through the night in blissful, medicated peace. When my alarm sounded, I forced myself out of bed and staggered to the kitchen. Margo sat at the table with her coffee.
“How are you?” I asked. Best not to mention last night, unless she brought it up.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“What will you do today?”
“Don’t know … maybe I’ll feel like working.”
“Right. Stay in. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Where would I go?”
Had she forgotten about yesterday? “No place to go, right?”
She gave me a nod and a curious look. “Yeah, no place.”
***
The interview with Sonja began as a lecture. She launched into her manifesto, detailing the plight of the warrens and her frustration with the bureaucratic lack of interest in conditions there. The revolution was coming, she said. It would be aided by sympathizers in the municip.
I countered her supposition. “There’s no support in the municip for a rebellion. Everyone’s happy with things here. Our needs are fulfilled and there’s no crime … or not much, anyway.”
“Hah … There’s discontent. How do you think we are able to smuggle phantasy in? We have help. You’re blind as a fuckin’ Martian kanga-rat if you can’t see it.”
“Sure, a few disgruntled citizens might be fooled by your propaganda, but you’re exaggerating.”
She had me on the defensive, and my will to counterattack flagged. I blamed fatigue and lack of sleep. I cut the session short and took the rest of the day off.
I dozed in the auto pod until its arrival alarm woke me. The travelator moved at a crawl as it delivered me toward home. Something must have been wrong with the mechanism. If they didn’t get it fixed before the afternoon rush, there would be an outcry. At last, I reached our apartment and stepped inside.
Margo lay sprawled on the floor. I knelt and checked her pulse. It was faint. I whipped out my communicator and punched in the emergency code. Twenty anxious minutes later, the med crew arrived. They whisked us away on the mini-tram.
At the med unit, I lost track of the hours, but eventually someone led me to an office where I waited. A half hour later, a doctor appeared, looking weary and disheveled.
“I’m Dr. Barbosa,” she stated, peering over her round, wire-rim glasses and running her hand through her dark hair. “Your wife is lucky. How long has she been using phantasy?”
Her question shocked me at first, but within a heartbeat or two, it was obvious. “I … I don’t … I don’t know. She’s been depressed … since our daughter died.”
“Yes, we’re aware. It’s in her record.”
“Of course,” I murmured. “It’s been worse … since the terrorist attack.”
“Ah, we’ve seen a lot of that.”
“Really? It’s faded from the news.”
She gave me an incredulous stare. “We’ll keep her here for a while. Our procedures practically guarantee a complete cure. Best if you allow six weeks. Call first if you want to visit.”
Though Margo had been sleeping in her workroom, I felt especially lonely that night. My desire to hold her surged up with a depth of feeling I hadn’t known in a long time. No doubt she rested in a medicated slumber unbroken by dreams. I, on the other hand, lay awake. After an hour or so, I gave up and surrendered to the uncomplicated sleep of a Tranq tab.
***
Kev wore a frown as I entered the prep room. Maria glanced expectantly at me and then at him.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound chipper, though they knew me well enough to see through my ruse.
“You’ve been relieved of the Sonja Olin case. They’ve given it to Andrej.”
“Relieved of the case …?” Ironically, relief was what I felt. I should have seen it coming. The department wanted quick results, and I had made no tangible progress. “I hope Andrej has success, but I doubt it. He’ll be rough with her. That’ll make her more intransigent.” Kev and Maria stared as if expecting me to continue. I shrugged. “I’m going to get some coffee.”
In the cafeteria, I sat alone thinking of Margo and curiously … of Sonja. Margo would be saved by medical intervention. Sonja was doomed. I couldn’t see the link, yet they coexisted in my mind.
“A quatloo for your thoughts.” Cierra, with coffee cup in hand, slid into the chair across from me.
I sighed. “I’ve been taken off the Sonja Olin case.”
“I heard. Word has gotten around.” She traced the rim of her cup with her finger. “They say it’s Andrej’s case now.”
“Yeah … Uh, Cierra … Margo’s in the med unit.” I related last night’s events while she listened. When I finished, she reached out and touched my hand.
“She’ll be okay. They’ll take fine care of her.”
A pang of guilt struck me as I remembered Cierra’s son, lost in the attack. I had been too wrapped up in my own problems. “How are you doing?”
“Coping … I guess. Staying busy helps.” She bit her lip. “I’m trying to remember the fun times, but I’ve got to face present reality, too. They run together.”
I tried to summon up the good moments with Margo, when her infectious smile first aroused my desire. Those days of our youth seemed so long ago. Our lives had begun to diverge prior to Ginny’s death. I couldn’t recall exactly when her smile disappeared.
“Arris, take some time off when she comes home. It’ll be best for both of you.” She rose. “I’ve got to get back to work. I still have that damn position to fill.”
A thought flashed into my mind. “Cierra, do you ever hire anyone from the warrens?”
“Yeah, sometimes, but hardly any apply. I don’t think they have any way of finding out about openings.”
“Can I make a recommendation to you?”
“Sure.”
“Luc Addison. He’s on probation for simple possession.”
“A druggie? Why him?”
“Just a hunch. Maria’s been working with him. He might appreciate getting a break.”
“Well … okay. If he’s really appreciative, maybe he’ll stay longer than six months.”
***
Evenings at home were lonely without Margo. I took Cierra’s advice and kept busy at work. Sonja’s trial dominated the news. There were no surprises. Andrej’s harsh techniques had failed to uncover new intel on the Havenot network. Sonja showed no remorse, and the court pronounced her guilty. An execution date was set. Unexpectedly, she requested my presence.
A week prior to the execution, Margo came home. I resigned my job and accepted a position in Rehab with a lower income and less stress. It allowed me to devote more time and energy to caring for Margo. She spent much of her days watching mindless shows on our media console. In her eyes, I sought the Margo of her youth and her long-absent smile.
Sonja’s execution day arrived. I joined a dozen other witnesses in the viewing booth, separated from the chamber by a large plate-glass window. Sonja’s mother did not attend. An officer handed out dark, protective glasses. The stark white chamber was empty, except for a gurney in the center of the room.
A few minutes later, two blue-clad officers ushered Sonja in. Dark bruises marked her face. I half expected a stubborn display of defiant nudity, but she wore the traditional white scrubs. The moment came for her final words.
In a flat, emotionless voice, she delivered her statement. “All victories are temporary. Everyone’s expendable. There will be either change or revolution. The choice is yours. I have played my role and have no regrets.”
Her attitude did not surprise me. She declined assistance in getting onto the gurney. After she settled, the officers withdrew. A few seconds later, a flash of pale blue light lit the chamber, and she was gone.
I told myself she deserved it, but a feeling of sadness proved impossible to dispel. Her death did not bring back the victims of her crime. I doubted it would bring closure to Cierra and others who had lost loved ones. If only Sonja’s drive and commitment had been directed in a productive way, she could have done much good. Did the municip’s policies ensure the rise of additional Sonjas to carry on the fight? Perhaps, but I couldn’t see that killing innocent citizens furthered her cause. Surely, history would portray her as the ultimate villain. Why did she request my presence? I never solved that riddle.
The experience, though, soured me on the value of my previous job. Had I accomplished anything? How does one ever know? I can’t foresee what the future holds. I don’t have solutions for the many problems of society, but I contemplate those things while I wait for Margo’s smile to return.
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