Simoom Rising

Chapter Four

WAVE Station
Now

Doric

"Stop," I said. "What does your daughter being sick have to do with keeping dust out of cameras?"

Harmony began playing with the ends of her hair, as if without thinking. But I knew better, every movement seemed deliberate: the slim fingers twirling the strands at just the right angle to catch the light and draw me in. "Aren't detectives supposed to be patient?" she asked.

"Patience has its limits. Please get to the point."

"Well, that's just it."

What the Hell was she talking about? "Explain yourself."

"The point! What is the point? I think you and me have different points. You don't get it." She leaned into the camera and stared. "You Pit Pats are all the same. Do your bosses hire people on purpose with no brains or feelings? You seem to shut off your hearts the minute you suit up. Pull that helmet on and black mask down and you're robots. Tell me Detective did you feel nothing when you were kicking in the heads of Pit Rats—yes, I know what you call us."

"Get to your point."

"What was their crime, exactly? Those Pit Rats. Oh yeah, they dared to rub shoulders with the nice, clean Plats in the High Ridge Mall. What did you feel when you were tasering them and they're jerking and peeing all over those faux-marble floors?"

I refused to be baited. "We don't make the corporate rules."

"No, but you don't have to enforce them so much. You didn't have to be so fuckin' mean. Just please, let me see Travers. I haven't seen him for close to a year. It's killing me."

She broke like a dam and the tears started flowing so convincingly—so real.

***

We stopped for lunch. Mac had somewhere to be, and so I sat alone in the cafeteria with just my sandwich and cup of chai for company. That's when Moses Caraq—the disgraced supervisor—came in. He was a big, tall man; years before I thought him majestic. He had carried himself like a descendent from a long line of African kings. But now he walked with a stoop and a shuffle and his dark hair had greyed considerably. No one said hello to him or even looked his way. No one wanted to be tainted by association. He sat two tables over—deliberately within my sight.

Towards the end of my meal, I noticed him trying to catch my eye. I nodded at him and he nodded back. Soon after, he got up, carried his tray to the trolley and with an infinitesimal glance toward me, left the cafeteria by a side entrance. I figured that was an invitation and after a pause, I got up, returned my tray and followed him out.

I found him down a dead-end service corridor, where the garbage and recycling chutes were. It was dotted with discarded equipment and old seating. 

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," was his greeting.

"So, why did you lead me here then?" I replied, searching the dim, upper recesses of the space. "I take it the cameras are out again in this corner?"

He smiled. Chuckled a little. "Mac always said you were smart. How's he doing?"

"You could ask him yourself."

He shook his head. "I can't. Since they put me on restricted duty, I'm not supposed to...besides I doubt he wants to talk to me. He blames me, you see."

"Well, you were the one in charge when this shit went down."

He chuckled some more. "Was I?"

"What do you want, Caraq? You didn't arrange this talk just to chit chat."

He licked his lips. "I want to..." He paused, like a million thoughts were running through his head and he had to put them in order before he spoke. Finally he said: "Do you know what happened to Ann.. Ann Harmony in the Pit?"

I jerked back from him. "She's gotten to you, hasn't she? You fell for her act."

"Her husband was killed when the Little Etna mine collapsed."

"She wasn't the only one who lost people."

"No, but we should have treated them better—WAVE Corp.—should have treated her better. I keep thinking that if only...none of this had to happen, none of it. We should have listened...we should have..." His voice petered out to an incoherent mutter.

"Jeez, what the hell did she do to you, Caraq?"

"Nothing. Everything."

I pondered the creature in front of me; was this the same man who five years ago towered over the Pit Pat trainees? He used to scare the hell out of me. "Why do you care so much, Caraq? What is it about her?"

"Why do you care, Doric? Why did you want to be in on this interrogation? Why did you leave detention block duty?

I blinked. They had put Caraq in the meteorology department—monitoring weather satellites on the night shift. He had no access to Pit Pat employee files anymore, so how could he possibly know about my transfer?

My puzzlement must have shown on my face because unprompted he said: "I have friends—still—who tell me things. What's your interest here, Doric? What do you really want?"

What do I want? Raquel. I want Raquel back. I want to erase the last eleven years without her. I want to stop her from coming to Simoom, from entering the Pit that morning. But I can't do any of that, so now I want to find out which of those fuckers from the PCC ordered her death. I want to find her body so I can send it back to her family on New Earth. That is what I really want, but, of course, I wasn't going to admit anything to Caraq. Instead, I told him: "The truth. I want the truth."

He nodded his head at me. "They'll try to stop you."

"They? Who are 'they?'"

"Just let her tell you her story, Doric. Listen to Harmony," is all he answered. Then he turned his head sharply left and right, hurried past me and was gone.

I made my way back to the control room. Mac was there waiting for me. "Hey," I said. "Have you spoken to Caraq since this all went down?"

He shook his head. "Don't plan to either."

"But I thought you two were close."

"Yeah, once, maybe." He stroked his goatee. "But I've got a career to think of, Girlie. And so do you. Don't talk to him—ever." This last was said with a tinge of urgency. I was going to tell him of my conversation with Caraq, but now I hesitated.

"Okay, okay. Relax. Just thought we could get some inside intel—you know, stuff that wasn't in his debrief."

He snorted. "I wouldn't trust a word that comes out of his mouth. The only reason they didn't fire him outright for gross incompetency is because his mommy's on the Board."

"What—you mean the WAVE Corp. Board?"

"What other Board of Directors would I be talking about? Caraq's mom is Chrystia Sampanthar."

I was beginning to see the light. "You mean he's a descendant of—"

"The Right Honorable grand-asshole himself, Sir Crispin Sampanthar, original colonist of Simoom and founding partner of WAVE Corp.—yeah, that's the one."

"Right." I looked at the screen. Harmony was staring up at the ceiling of the interrogation room, while absently rubbing the arm that was cuffed to the table. The overhead lights hit the sheen of her forehead and she glowed with an intensity that made me blink. "Has she been fed?"

"Yeah."

I sat down at the console. "WAVE-Sec resume recording. Sound on." I turned to the microphone: "Good afternoon, Commander Harmony."

She lowered her head, looked at the camera and smiled. "Good afternoon, Detective. Did you enjoy your sandwich?"

Can Harmony read minds? Vote if you think yes!