A Perfect Day, With Explosions, page 6
“I used to, but they all died on me.” She said it with a smile, like it was a joke. The look in his eyes, though, made her smile falter and fail. “I’m not very good at making new friends. How’d you get the twitchy extrovert and his wife to adopt you as their favorite introvert?”
AJ tipped his head to the side, clearly thinking over the answer. “Lizzes isn’t any fonder of most people than I am. She just hides it better.” He was silent for a moment, then gave her a teasing grin. “Better than you.”
Jenna laughed. “Most women do!”
They traveled in friendly silence until she opened the container with the pancakes, and took an appreciative sniff. “So, there’s a meeting we’re late to. And if I know bureaucracy, there’s a meeting after the meeting. And then a workshop over lunch, followed by an informational lecture in a stifling dark room with the lights turned off that everybody sleeps through, then a meeting to cover what was missed… am I missing another meeting somewhere in there?”
“Only one meeting. Then we’re going to look at the entire team of terrorists, in case you see anything else we missed.” He took a deep breath, and looked over at her. “Made you breakfast because it really helps, sometimes, to have something in your stomach to throw up.”
“Oh.” They weren’t nearly as appetizing, now. But necessary, so she rolled one up and started eating.
“Then debriefing, and you’ll be in training. We’ll start the bazaars on Friday, and spend the weekend searching for the rest of the shipment.”
She wanted to protest, but it seemed as useless as shouting at thunder. Her voice was weak and shaky even to her own ears. “I already told my mom I’d go to the family cookout this weekend.”
AJ didn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll schedule that in, between search patterns.”
10
Bloody Bad Fashion
AJ had anticipated issues getting into Home Defense, but Intelligence had clearly been up and efficient while he’d been drinking his ghosts to sleep, and then rounding up a woman who didn’t know enough to be scared as they headed down to the basement. He didn’t like the way building design at the bottom of the gravity well tucked the important infrastructure out of sight, but seeing them half-exposed as dark silhouettes between strips of sunpaint above the institutional-green walls and gleaming floors with every trace of evidence of what went on here polished and waxed away was somehow worse.
Their assigned destination was an office with a green light for cleared to enter above the door. As AJ put his hand to the palm-reader, Jenna asked, “Doesn’t green mean we can just go in?”
He wondered what building she would be in, that would have secure lights and lax protocol like that. “Not here. Here, green means you may ask if you can go in. If the system thinks you’re cleared and the people inside agree, then you can go in.” He stepped aside. “Put your hand up there, too.”
She did, with a little frown. “How would it even know who I am?”
AJ felt the drag of the gravity well all the way to his soul that she could even ask. On ship and station, environmental and security tracked all movements, all the time, so you never had to worry about how many bodies to account for. It never worked perfectly, and practice had a lot of messy corpses to prove that people liked their privacy. Down here, people could go their whole lives without meeting a secured door, and he’d have to learn to live with that. “Have you ever done a background check?”
“Oh, yeah, when I got hired.” She frowned at him he moved her aside and opened the door to Crane’s office. “But how would Home Defense know that?”
Directly in front of them in the small, cluttered office, Crane was sitting behind a desk and resting his chin on one hand. He replied as though they’d been standing in front of him all along. “Dear, who do you think they asked to do the background check?”
“Oh!” She said it brightly, completely ignoring his subtle hint that he could see and hear everything in the halls, and had probably tracked them since entry. AJ made a mental note to check his truck for trackers and bugs.
“Do you need more coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. AJ made a cup for me, but it was only one cup.” She looked around as Crane stood up. “Oh, don’t get up on my account! I can make it!”
“It’s quite all right, dear. Sit down. While I’m making this, why don’t you tell me what you learned about the whole incident yesterday, after you left our care?”
“I didn’t.” She sat reluctantly, and flipped the overshirt she was holding back to show the medi-mask. “We talked about food available upstairs versus down here, and the differences in welding techniques with full g versus micro, and good vacation spots. And then he took me back to my place and I barely texted my mom and put this back on before passing out. Speaking of, do I give it back to you?”
“Thank you.” Crane took it, and gave it a cursory check, before setting it aside. “Cream or sugar?”
“Please?” She indicated how much of each, while AJ took his black. As she drank, Crane brought up a holo showing the shattered wreck of the mall from the parking garage side.
“The mall had three parking garage entrances on the south side, one on each level. The terrorists managed to detonate a car bomb at each level, though the one on the ground floor was almost too far away to be effective against the main structure of the mall itself. Their assault force then disembarked from a stolen bus and entered through the north main entrance.” As he spoke, the holo showed an animation of the bomb blast spreading through the structure, and then the terrorists in red, the mall security and outside responders in blue, and the civilians caught in the middle in green. They’d been two of those dots streaming out the side, and AJ noted just how many had remained inside, trapped by panic as surely as by terrorists.
“The frontal assault was the hammer to the bomb’s anvil. But they didn’t have a specific target, not by this.” AJ spoke, eyeing the diffuse nature of the enemy movement through the structure. “There’s also no way for them to regroup or get out before responding forces arrived. Were they going for hostages?”
“No. This was suicide run by the Sons of Native Earth; they were attempting to inflict maximum casualties. They’ve already released a statement claiming responsibility, and demanding we stop supporting the independence movement in NewCali, as well as their oil exploration there.” Crane took pity on the look of stunned incomprehension on Jenna’s face, and clarified for her. “The demands are irrelevant; the entire assault was a propaganda move to keep their name in the headlines.”
“I thought we’d gutted the Sons recently.” AJ was not going to touch the line about NewCali, not in front of a lady. He wasn’t sure he could say anything about it without a lot of profanity.
“We have. And there are few things as dangerous as a dying terrorist organization. This was an efficient move to get rid of the zealots that wouldn’t be happy keeping their heads down while the most dangerous of the Fed-trained fighters and money men reorganize and regroup.” Crane looked over at Jenna, and leaned forward, gentling his voice. “And this is why I am asking for your help, dear. They made a mistake, and you found it. If you can find any more mistakes they made, you can help me find them, and they’ll never be able to hurt anyone again.”
She shuddered, and said a little shakily, “I’m… I’m not any sort of soldier.”
“I’m not asking you to be. I want you to be a fashion critic. Can you do that for me?” At her hesitant nod, he smiled. “AJ will take care of the soldiering part, though if you could make him look a little more less of a beached spacer, that might be better for both of you.”
She looked at AJ, clearly judging him to some standard he could not meet, and weighing options he was pretty certain he wouldn’t like. “Um…”
“He does know something about welding, though not as much as you. And engine maintenance, and being ship’s crew. If that helps. I was surprised he ended up in a cubicle instead of dockside.” Crane’s voice was soft and dangerous, and the look he shot AJ promised retribution if he objected.
“I’m not. I like being able to get dirty, but even I can see the advantages to working up to clean room levels. AJ’s been working longer than I have, so he’s had more time to get wiser about not doing grunt work than me!” She gave AJ a grin, and if it was still a little shaky at the edges, at least it was heartfelt.
AJ decided this was a good time to squeeze her shoulder gently. By the way she leaned into the touch, it definitely appeared to be the right decision. Crane noted it, and nodded before pushing back and standing, and addressing both visitors. “All right, then. Ready to go look at some bloody bad fashion?”
“Ready as I’m going to be.” She drained the last of her cup and stood, looking around for a place to put it. AJ took it from her, placing both mugs on the desk as he followed Crane out of the office.
AJ knew enough of the signs to recognize the morgue even before they reached the wide double doors. She didn’t, not until they walked in, and she locked up solid at the first breath of old death, chemicals, and burnt bone. AJ wrapped an arm around her, and was debating whether or not to make useless, soothing noises. They never seemed to work, but was it that civilians liked to make them in times of crisis, or that they liked to hear them? Crane stopped after two steps, and turned to check on her. “Miss Brooks?”
“This is a morgue.” She was shaking.
“Yes.” Crane looked at AJ, and they both realized she hadn’t quite understood what they were asking. “Don’t you need to see the actual clothes? That’s important when you’re looking for counterfeits, isn’t it?”
She closed her eyes, body curling in a protective hunch, hands clenching into fists. “Yes. Yes, it is. I thought you were going to be showing me holos. I’m an idiot.”
AJ decided the appropriate response was to pull her into a hug. Touch was comforting, whether or not the inane phrases were. Now was not the time to get distracted by a discussion on inexperience versus idiocy. Instead, he focused on logistics, and whether they’d have to do this again elsewhere. He said to Crane, “You had them all moved here?”
Crane grimaced. “Yes. City morgue is overflowing, as are the hospitals and funeral homes. The crown started making preparations after the Landing Day Ball event in case of another mass casualty, but no one was adequately prepared for this scale.” He looked at the bright blonde braids under AJ’s hand where she’d tucked her face into his chest, and said, “She doesn’t need to see that.”
“No, she doesn’t.” AJ said. “Come on, Jenna. Not that far now.”
They got her into a room chilled down to keep the bodies preserved, and their targets were stacked on banquet tables. AJ knocked a knuckle against one, and looked over her head with a small gesture at the table and raised eyebrow, even as he was saying, “Jenna. Put your overshirt on. Stay warm.”
She shivered, but did as told, avoiding looking anywhere but the floor or his chest. “I hate air conditioning. And hospitals.”
Crane made the soothing noises at her, and AJ filed this as a situation where they were warranted. “It’s okay. It’s all right. You’re doing fine. Just take one at a time. If you have to take a break, I understand.”
She shook her head, and said miserably, “If I walk out, I’m not…. I’m not coming back. Got to do this in one go.” With a small growl, she tore herself out of AJ’s embrace, and stepped up to look at the first body.
AJ stayed with her, keeping a hand on her as she winced and flinched. They weren’t that terrible, in his opinion. He’d seen plenty of corpses. He’d made plenty of them, too. At least these weren’t post-vacuum, weren’t decomposed like a ship that had partially lost environmentals, and were intact. Mostly. Several had very nice headshots and center of mass, and one clearly had been on the losing end of a knife fight. She started gagging when she saw the entrails, and AJ tucked her back into his chest, brushing the falling braid out of the way to rub her back. “Control your breathing. Take a long four-count inhale, hold it for the same, and take your time letting it out.” He wondered if he should offer her a ginger jelly. She might have an adverse reaction to food in the presence of corpses; some people were like that. “Are they the same clothes as you saw before?”
“No. Well, the shoes are the same. Lousy knock-off Yvngi’s.” Focusing on the task steadied her. “And the jeans are supposed to be Orbital Gate Five, but they’re the wrong cut. The shirts are all different, and the watches are different brands. The, um, red shirt isn’t wearing a knock-off watch. His is just cheap.”
“Thank you.” Crane said, and studied the bodies. “I am informed Yvngi is a louse, even in the original.”
As they went down the row, AJ looked at the corpse on the end, and his eyebrows rose. She hadn’t noticed yet it was so fresh that lividity hadn’t had time to set in. Neither had rigor mortis, not when he picked up the hand to examine the IV marks, and the way the shirt had been cut away as injuries had been treated. He risked a look at Jenna, and when she was distracted, tucked the hand and arm back in original position. Crane gave him a dead level stare, and AJ didn’t bother to react. He didn’t care if the terrorist had died from his injuries or from questioning. If he had spilled anything in the medbay in Intelligence’s sub-basement no one acknowledged existed, all the better.
She was getting a little bolder, willing to poke at the clothes where they didn’t touch the corpses. Just now, her finger reached out and tapped a watch face. “This one. That watch is genuine.”
“Cheap again?”
“No, that’s a real Thuja Original. Serious money.” She bent over and squinted at it. “It’s not new, either.”
“Interesting. Go on.” Crane said, and she did. When she got to the recent death, she was bold enough to poke at a shoe. “There’s something very weird about the construction on…” She touched the corpse’s foot, and it flopped over. The arm was dislodged again, falling off the table, and that was one movement too many. She jumped back with a startlingly high-pitched shriek and departed the room at a dead run.
AJ shook his head, and headed after her. “You handle the corpse. I’ll handle the girl.”
He found her out in the hall, one hand braced against the wall and one arm wrapped around her stomach, breathing shallowly and looking… ah. “This way.” Fortunately, it wasn’t far to the bathroom, and no one objected as he half-carried her into the largest stall, flipped the lid up, and held her hair out of the way as she noisily lost the pancakes and coffee. And last night’s dinner, from the looks of it.
Definitely time for useless soothing noises. “It’s all right.”
She glared up at him, and said in a rather choked voice. “It is not all right! I just touched a corpse and it… it… flopped at me!”
AJ gave her a shrug, and fished a flask out of a pocket. “He’s dead. They flop, they fart, they stink, but they don’t shoot back. Drink?”
He wasn’t expecting her to hit him. It didn’t even hurt, and he wondered if he should fake like it had, to make her feel better. Instead, she was staring at where her hair was still wrapped around his hand, as it pulled her up short like a leash. “Why are you holding my hair?”
“To keep it from falling in the toilet and getting vomit on it?” He said, wondering if that was some taboo he hadn’t been informed about. “Women hate dirty hair, right?”
She gave a shaky laugh, and instead reached for his hand for help to stand up. He let go of her hair, and pulled her until she was standing close enough he could feel her body heat through his clothes. She was giving him a look he couldn’t interpret, with a small, lopsided smile. “You are strangest, and sweetest, guy I’ve ever met.”
He had no response for that, on any list. He’d have to ask Twitch. So he pulled the flush chain, opened an arm pocket, and fished a twist of wax paper out. “Ginger jelly?”
She took it, closing her fingers around both the jelly and his hand and holding tight onto both. “Thank you. For everything.” Her voice started soft, and got firmer. “But do you realize you’re in the ladies’ restroom?”
He could take that hint. “I’ll let you be.” As soon as she let him go, he sketched a brief bow, and walked out into the hall to wait at patient parade rest. There was a commotion going on in the morgue, which was not a good sign. Nor was the way a young officer with a transfer case for fragile equipment came down the hall at a dead run and crashed through the morgue’s double doors. After six minutes of waiting for Jenna, he got Crane instead. The intelligence officer came out of the morgue, and stood next to him. AJ figured this was the perfect time to ask questions she wouldn’t want to hear. “Banquet tables?”
“All the drawers are full.” Crane replied, biting the words off. He looked white around the lips.
“How many casualties?” Had Home Defense lost that many, or were they doing overflow?
“Between wounded and dead, we passed three hundred. They’re still pulling them out of the rubble.” Crane dropped his voice as more people went past, headed to the morgue. “I’m going to spike these sons of bitches’ heads on the palace gate.”
“After the Ball? The Emperor will probably officiate the ceremony when you do.” AJ took a breath, and let it out. “She’s been in there eight minutes and six seconds since she finished vomiting. How long…”
“Oh, son. You have a lot to learn about women.” Crane tapped his temple. “I’ve got help on the way.”
“Medics?” He could get her stabilized…
“No, one of my female agents. She’s having a good cry, and you’re the wrong man for the job of fussing over her.” Crane smiled at him.
“You’re monitoring her?” Of course Intelligence would have bugged their bathrooms, especially in their own headquarters.
