Crescent (14 page)

Marisa sat behind the big desk; the leather chair was still warm from Kendall’s body. She gazed down through the thick pane of glass at the rows of
LCDs
beneath. They cycled with a hundred feeds, each showing a different aspect of Crescent. There were
LCDs
dedicated to news feeds, too. A young girl had been murdered. There were environmental instabilities on Decks H through K. The Farm had reopened for business. Marisa looked away. She was afraid if she stared too long, she would see the feeds black out one by one until the whole desk panel was dark and a tar-colored wave of god-knows-what sucked her into its lightlessness. She called up the original feed again. It showed Taylor moving a couch against one of the far walls in the antechamber. She
paused
it and then called up the options menu. Her fingertip hovered above the words “purge record.”

Marisa hesitated. Captain
Swaren
was sure to audit the security feeds, and surely he’d be curious about what went on in the mayor’s office. She sat back from the hovering options menu and folded her hands in her lap. Had Kendall staged the whole thing so that she would delete the record unknowingly, only to be blamed for it later? She looked around the room, and felt the office camera watching her. She could hear Kendall saying to
Swaren
,
I left her there alone for just a few minutes. I had no idea what she was up to.
Marisa was
almost
convinced she was being played. The bizarre imagery she had watched on the feed had evoked a strong and terrible reaction, but it could have been a trick perpetrated by Kendall.
Easily.
All the rest could be coincidence—a strong fucking coincidence at that.

But, she was willing to believe it was all part of her general slip into madness. She’d believe anything that would let her feel in control, even if for a few minutes.

She closed the options screen. If Kendall asked, she’d tell him she had deleted it. And if there was something on there that
Swaren
was not supposed to see, that was Kendall’s problem—and his ass. Marisa would play the mayor’s little game, but the rules had just changed.

She was in control.

(Part X)

The Crescent botanical garden was an expansive atrium filled with vibrant, green foliage. Artificial sunlight leaked around thick, obscuring leaves of rubber tree plants that reached all the way to the glass ceiling. Hidden nozzles sprayed cool mist that clung to the greenery in trembling beads. Gerald seemed to get caught by the nozzles just as they would go active and, as a result, was getting fairly wet. He moved down a dim garden path, trailing his fingers across the narrow trunks of trees whose growth had been stunted by thin constrictor bands around their bases. He wondered how the plants did in the wild. They probably got three times as big and ate small woodland creatures. The path brought him into a courtyard. Six identical stone-lined trails ran through the clearing’s center and disappeared back into the vegetation that hung obediently behind the courtyard’s marble-fenced perimeter. In the center of the crossing paths was an honest-to-goodness thread garden. Blossoms of multicolored bacteria—vibrant clumps like bouquets of small flowers exploding with petals—hung suspended from individual strands of nutrient-providing
nano
-threads. The thread garden was sealed behind four transparent glass walls. There was a metal sculpture, bronze and glinting at the heart of the thread garden—a likeness of Crescent. Gerald pressed a hand to the glass. It gave ever so slightly; not glass at all, but moisture-permeable film.

“Don’t touch it, please,” a voice reprimanded Gerald from not far behind. He turned to see a man in a gray, multi-pocketed jumper absently sweeping the slate stones of the central area. He was an old man. Nowhere near as aged as
Naheela
, but his face was set with deep-etched wrinkles and the thin hair atop his head was cotton white. The hands that pushed the broom were dark with liver spots, the skin thin enough that the codger’s veins were visible. “That film lets jus’ the right amount of moisture in there. Thread gardens are delicate creatures, you know.”

“I know,” Gerald said. He watched the old man continue to sweep with his big, yellow broom. Gerald found it odd that the man should be sweeping when there were plenty of bots that could do the same job—a
bot
would do a better job.

“The only place they’re successfully grown without a film is on desert worlds,” the old man nodded. “So, like I said, don’t you go touching at it with your moist
hands.
”

Gerald was pretty sure no one had ever accused him of having moist hands. He stepped away from the garden and raised his hands.

“That’s a good boy.” The man dipped his chin to Gerald and swept off into the foliage.

Gerald seated himself on a stone bench facing the thread garden. He crossed one leg over the other and yawned. It was serene in the atrium. The hum of the air handling system was barely audible. An occasional bird chirped. Gerald wondered if the melodic calls were real or digitized. Every once in a while a pleasant breeze drifted by. The currents circulated the tangy aroma of the blossoms and leaves, making the experience all the more immersive. This garden was one of Mayor Kendall’s improvements to Crescent. There had been no garden in the original station plans. Gerald looked around, baffled. The place must have cost a huge chunk of change. Gerald didn’t even feel like he was on the station anymore. It made him
want
to find a planet of his own and hide there as he faded into age and obscurity.
Maerl
had the right idea. A hand on Gerald’s shoulder made him jump.

“I’m sorry,” a familiar voice said from above him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Gerald looked up over his shoulder at Marisa; she was in uniform, and judging from the scowl on her face she looked to be in a bad mood. Gerald patted the bench beside him and showed his teeth in a beaming smile.

“Have a seat,” he said and she smirked. Marisa sat beside him, her hands folded in her lap. She looked at the thread garden.

“How many years have I been here, and I had no idea we had a thread garden. Did you know that this was here?”

“I didn’t even know Crescent had a garden,” Gerald confessed with a laugh. “But, I haven’t been living on this hunk of metal nearly as long as you have. So what’s your excuse?”

Marisa shook her head and frowned. Her gaze trailed down the strands of color to rest on the slate that covered the ground. The gray stone was covered with tiny flower petals.

“What’s the matter?” It was Gerald’s least favorite question to ask anyone. Not because he didn’t care, but most times, if something was wrong with a person, they didn’t want you asking. It was his experience that if there was something the matter, they’d offer it.

“Nothing.
I just saw some strange things again today,” she said in a quiet voice.
Exactly
, Gerald thought.
Stupid to ask.
Marisa looked at him. “I’m sorry, Gerry. I haven’t been myself lately.” Gerald was about to speak and she cut him off. “Don’t act like you haven’t noticed. You’ve been keeping yourself pretty scarce.”

“I’ve been keeping myself scarce? The only time I see you these days is when you’re on the
vid
terminal in your underpants.
Or in the hospital.”
He felt like shit the instant the words left his lips. Marisa narrowed her eyes at him and her cheeks flushed. He anticipated a resounding
fuck you
at any second. Gerald was shocked when she looked away and said nothing. He had tried to convince himself, when her strange behavior began, that maybe he didn’t know her all that well and she probably had problems.
But you know your behavior has been a little strange lately, too,
a voice said in his head.
Kendall’s voice.
An interesting choice for his subconscious.
And let’s not forget—you’ve been seeing strange things too, son.

He took her hand. Her touch was ice cold, so he rubbed her hand between both of his. She forced a smile.

“That was an asshole thing of to say,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Gerry, something’s not right here.” Marisa said. He wouldn’t deny it. Their relationship had felt markedly strained over the past few weeks. “Crescent has never been a normal place.”
So, this isn’t about us,
he thought. He gestured for her to go on. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s fucked up in its own special way. That’s why I’ve liked it here.
But now?
There is something weird going on. Something’s in the water.” She paused. “I see it your face—you can sense it, too. I look at the people in the market. I look at the people on Main Street. I look at the people in Heathen’s. They sense it. They don’t know it outright, but they feel something is off. It’s like they keep getting out of bed on the wrong side.”

Gerald considered it.
The dreams.
The seeing shit.
The lifeboat.
Marisa’s issues.
He hadn’t drawn a correlation between what she’d been going through and the few strange experiences he had had, maybe because he just didn’t want to go there. The strange vibe of the station was suddenly hard to ignore. He was torn between sharing his own less-than-normal experiences, and just giving her a sympathetic smile and an understanding nod. He went with the smile and the nod.

“You’re just under a lot of pressure with this Core Sec audit. That’s all.”

“Pressure?”
She spat the word out as if it tasted sour. “Nigel
Swaren
isn’t putting me under any pressure whatsoever. As a matter of fact, he sent me off to do whatever I want until he needs me for something. And I have a good hunch that Nigel
Swaren
isn’t the type of man that needs assistance in anything.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to strike a nerve.
Free time off, then?
That can’t be a bad thing.”

“Can’t it? It drives me mad to know that he’s looking over all our security records looking for fuck-ups. Fuck-ups like my fuck-up.”

“The incident with the mercenaries.
That was a mistake,” Gerald said.

“A mistake that ends up with people dead is a pretty big mistake in my book. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, Gerry. I appreciate that. I’m just a basket case right now.”

Gerald’s PDA began to chime from his pocket. He smiled thinly and apologized.

“Nice moment for that thing to go off,” Marisa said and sighed.

Gerald slid the small PDA into his palm and looked at it. The LCD told him it was Donovan Cortez calling. He slipped it back into his pocket and took both of Marisa’s hands. He kissed them. “You just need a vacation. When this Nigel
Swaren
is done with whatever he’s doing…
 
”

“Maybe I’ll get a permanent vacation,” she cut him off and grinned, sans amusement.

“That’s one way to look at it. Or, maybe you can just get off the station for a few days.”

“And go where? Not much to see in the
Anrar
system,” she countered.

“Okay, Marisa.” Gerald raised his hands. “I give up. Be miserable, then.”

Her pale cheeks reddened anew and she stood and straightened her uniform. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. She tugged at the navy blue jacket again and took a deep breath.

“I’m trying to keep it together here, Gerry. I’m sorry if I’m not doing a good enough job.” With that, she strode off into the fronds of a fern-lined path. Gerald remained still. He wasn’t sure if he should follow her. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bad or feel annoyed. He wanted to feel bad, but instead he was irritated by the whole exchange.

Gerald couldn’t help it. He was well aware he was being selfish. He was irritated with himself, too—at least partially. The heart of the matter was that Marisa’s dance with craziness was making him question his own sanity.
You can see it in their faces
,
she had said. He hadn’t bothered to look for it. If he did look for
something
in the faces of Crescent’s residents, would he be able to notice a difference?
Maybe.
And that was what prevented him from looking.

When was the last time I looked in a mirror?
he
thought.

Heathen’s had certainly been crowded as of late. More people drinking meant more people trying to drink something away.

Gerald snapped open the cover on the PDA and it informed him that he had a single message. Gerald played it back. The small display showed Donovan Cortez. Over the short man’s shoulder Gerald could see the curving hull of the lifeboat. It made him
feel
squeamish just knowing that thing was on Crescent.
And whatever was living in there—that’s on Crescent now, too.
Gerald was quick to force that thought to the back of his mind. He focused on watching Cortez’s mouth move and concentrated on each word.

“Gerald. Things are going quite well here, I must say. We’ve learned a lot of interesting information. I have you to thank for this boon. Perhaps I can repay you with more work?”

“Yeah, right,” Gerald said, and actually guffawed.

“Please, call me back so I can share this with you. You’re the only man I can trust on Crescent.”

“Because it’d be my hide, too, if Kendall and Core Sec got wind of what you’re up to in there.”
How does Donovan plan on keeping the auditor out of that cargo hold if he decides to snoop,
Gerald thought.

(•••)

Gerald waited at the small, non-descript access door. Black paint obscured the door’s small round window. Cortez had told Gerald to meet him there, and Gerald had agreed—although against his better judgment. The thought of seeing Ina again had been the deciding factor. After the dramatic exchange with Marisa, Gerald needed some positive female attention. The logic was flawed, but he needed it all the same.

Gerald stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to whistle an absent melody. He had no idea if the
Cortezes
knew he was out there. He called the doctor using his PDA, but there was no answer. Gerald was getting ready to leave when the heard the locking mechanisms in the door release. Ina stood on the other side. There was a peculiar smile on her lips and he thought he saw something in her eyes—an odd darkness swimming amongst the pretty blue. But when she blinked, it was gone.
Is this what Marisa was talking about?
he
thought.
Everyone just seems off for a second and then it’s fine?

“Hello, Gerald.”

“Ina.”

She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

“Thanks for coming down here. My father will appreciate it a great deal.”

“Uh huh,” Gerald said and stepped through the hatch. He looked up. Mineral-rich dust caked the underside of the ancient lifeboat. The vessel’s skin looked organic and sickly in the floodlights. He began to regret his decision to come.

“I appreciate it, too. You left so quickly after you hauled the lifeboat, I thought…
 
” Ina looked down at her feet. Gerald knew what she was getting at.

“Thinking complicates. Where’s the old man?”

She looked up at that, the smile returning, and pointed up.
“On the bridge, at the moment.”

Gerald took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Of course Donovan was on the ship—it was the last place that Gerald wanted to be.