Unexpected Rain. Jason LaPier
him. If there was any doubt in his mind that this was a set-up before, it was gone now.
“Take those away, please,” his attorney said weakly. Jax could feel the man next to him fidgeting and anxious, rattled by the images in the photos.
Brutus ignored him. “You know what?” he said, pointing and wagging two fingers at the operator. “You’re right. I did look at your psyche profile. That’s standard procedure. You want to know what your profile told me about you?” Jax just stared, slack-jawed, so Brutus kept talking. “Too smart to be an operator.” He leaned in closer. “Yeah, that’s right. A smart guy. Smart enough to go to an Alliance University as an engineering student, anyway, until you dropped out. It makes no sense for someone with your brains to be working this thankless, dead-end job. You should be designing LifSups, not operating them. So what’s the deal with that?”
Jax wanted to just be silent, but the detective stared at him, waiting for an answer. He felt railroaded. Worse, he could hear his father’s voice inside his head, as if he were standing over Jax’s shoulder. Tell them, Jax. Tell them why you’re not an engineer like me. Tell them why you failed. Tell them why you turned out to be a grunt like your mother was. He narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to share his life story with these strangers. “I guess not everyone has what it takes.”
Detective Brutus stared at him for another minute, as if he were trying to figure out if the answer revealed anything significant. He shrugged and continued. “Let’s start with the girl, Jackson. We know you had a relationship with Priscilla Jonnes.” Another printout came out of the folder. Jax began to wonder what else was in that stack of coffin nails that he first thought was just for show. “This is a record of a genetic compatibility test. You and Jonnes must have been pretty serious. A genetic-comp test – that’s pretty much a pre-engagement for you B-foureans, right?”
Detective Porter stepped up to the table, leaning over, palms flat on the surface. He put on a concerned face. “What happened, Jackson? There’s no grounds for a break-up in this compatibility report. So what was it? What was the trouble in paradise?”
“We grew apart,” Jax managed to say. Trouble in paradise, indeed. Priscilla had been a wonderful companion and a dear friend. If Jax could figure out why she left, he’d know a whole lot more about women. Or people in general, for that matter. “I haven’t seen her in years,” he said sadly, then creased his forehead in annoyance that these off-worlders were getting into his head.
“Mm-hm.” Porter nodded, as if that was the answer he expected. He smiled, his teeth unnaturally white and perfect, and winked, as if he’d just made a sale or won someone’s vote. He stepped back to his post holding up the wall.
“Milton is your supervisor,” Brutus continued. “Was your supervisor. Must have burned you up, your boss marrying the love of your life.”
“I didn’t know,” Jax said quietly, knowing they weren’t going to listen to him. He looked briefly at his lawyer for help, but the man’s gray eyes were wide and empty. He’d probably never defended any crime worse than vandalism before this day.
“The guy who was constantly on your case. The guy whose signature is on a stack of write-ups that kept you from getting promoted this year.” Another printout, this one on different paper. “The guy you have an official personal debt to for ten thousand Alliance Credits.”
Jax looked at the paper on the table. It was some kind of third-party record, like an escrow company or bank or something. It was covered with official seals and date-stamps, all from the same day, about six months ago. The lawyer took a timid look at the document, and his silence seemed to verify its authenticity.
“What …” Jax started, but couldn’t form any other words. His mind reeled. He never borrowed money – not from anyone, not even his own father. But for some reason someone had forged a document that said he owed money to his supervisor, Brandon Milton. It made no sense to Jax.
“The guy.” Brutus pulled the postmortem photo of Milton back to the top of the pile. “The guy who is dead now. Dead by the commands of a Life Support operator. Commands input at your console.”
“This is not real,” Jax said. The room began to dip and sway in his vision and he placed his hands flat on the table to steady himself. “This is not true. I never owed Brandon Milton any money. I didn’t even know he was married to Priscilla.” He got louder, voice rising in panic. “I didn’t run any commands that opened up the roof of that block! I didn’t kill these people!”
“Well, a confession would have been nice, could have been a straight-to-sentence, no-trial-necessary deal.” Detective Brutus held the door open as Detective Porter came into the break room.
“I know, Mike,” Porter said. “But you know what they say. Everyone on the prison planet is innocent, donchaknow?” They shared a laugh. “But hey, don’t sweat it – that guy is going away for good.”
“Yeah, I reckon so.” Brutus turned to face the officers in the room. “Okay, everybody, listen up. No confession from Jackson, so that means he’ll be going to trial. Now you know we don’t do any ModPol trials on-planet. He’ll be tried at the outpost, out on the outer ring of the system. And, you know we can’t just send a ship out to the edge for one prisoner. But there are a couple of prisoners lining up for trial in Blue Haven right now, so we’ll have a full transport by the end of the week.”
“Excuse me, detective?” Runstom said, hearing apprehension in his own voice.
“Yeah, Officer. Question?”
“Uh. Well, I was just wondering – aren’t we going back to the crime scene at all?” Brutus stared at him expectantly, so Runstom continued. “You know – to make sure there’s nothing we missed. Evidence we might have missed.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Porter responded, walking toward the coffee machine.
“Yeah,” Brutus said, and seemed to leave it at that. He looked at the back of his partner, and Runstom detected a hint of uncertainty on his face, but it quickly vanished. “Okay,” he said with renewed authority. “We’re going to need to keep two of you here to escort the prisoner up to Barnard Outpost Alpha when they’re ready to transfer him.”
“You. And you,” Porter said, fingering Halsey and Runstom. He tilted the coffee cup in his hand, peering at the inside of it cautiously, as if it might suddenly come to life and bite him.
“Okay, good,” Brutus said. “You other two are heading back up to Outpost Gamma. We’ve got some paperwork assignments for you. Any questions?”
They didn’t get much time to respond before Detective Porter banged his cup down onto the counter and said, “Nah, they got it. C’mon Mike, let’s go.” He slapped Detective Brutus on the shoulder and they left the room.
“Bah, paperwork,” McManus grumbled after the dicks left. “Just our luck, eh, Sue?”
“What?” Runstom’s eyes went wide with disbelief.
“Yeah, fuck you, Mac!” Halsey said. “Paperwork, big deal. We gotta sit around here in this fuckin’ dome for three days and then take a ride out to the outer ring! Four days cooped up in a tiny transport vessel with a bunch of cons and—”
“Better check your orbital positioning,” Horowitz said. “Alpha is on the opposite side right now. Tack on an extra day and a half.”
“Oh yeah,” McManus said. “Don’t forget about the trip back too, that’s a couple more days.” He pointedly dropped a half-full cup of coffee into the sink. “Hey, white boys,” he said to the three pale-faced officers still standing quietly at the back of the room. “Been nice knowin’ ya. Thanks for the shitty coffee.”
“It was our pleasure, officers,” the middle one responded cheerfully.
“Have a nice trip, fellas.” McManus and Horowitz gave them each a nod and walked out the door.
“This is just