Crescent (19 page)

“Jacob, what did I tell you about this shit?”
Albin
said and waved his hand through the cartoon. It disappeared in a burst of static and light.

“Aw,
Albin
.
I got bored. At leas’ I wasn’t
sleepin
’, right?”

“Jacob, of all the
fuckin
’ feeds, why did you use our
fuckin
’ decoy?”

“I did?” Jacob scratched his greasy head.
Albin
inhaled a lung full of smoke and let it out with a sigh.

“Jacob, you’re getting careless on me. When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know,
Albin
.
Can’t sleep.
I hear things at night,” Jacob said and glanced around the cramped office.
Albin
frowned and took another long drag on the cigarette. If Jacob mentioned the angels again, he’d stab the dim-wit.

“Did you take those pills I gave you?”
Albin
asked.

“
Albin
, the
fuckin
’ pills don’t work. I can hear them. I
ain’t
crazy. It’s not like I hear voices all the time.
Only at night.
When I’m in bed.
I
ain’t
crazy,
Albin
. Honest.” Jacob was getting agitated and
Albin
held up a hand.

“Easy, Jacob.
Go home. Take handful of those little red pills and sleep, got it? I’ll be back around tomorrow afternoon. You just need sleep. You’re
fuckin
’ delirious. And that’s no goddamn help to me or to anybody.”

“Yeah,
Albin
.
I know you’re right. Just. It’s this place…Crescent. I don’t like it here.”

“Well, better get used to it. We’re
gonna
be here for a while.”

Jacob moved toward the frosted glass exit door and spared
Albin
one last look. It was the kind of look a ten year old boy would give his parents right before asking, “Can I sleep with you tonight?” Fuck that,
Albin
thought. He was having a hard enough time sleeping himself. The door whispered open, Jacob stepped through, and the door whispered closed. There was a muted click as it locked.

(•••)

“That is asking a lot,” Nigel said and folded his hands in his lap. He rolled back from a table that was buried in printouts and multiple glowing data pads, and turned to glance at the security monitors. A reflex, pure and simple—movement in one of the cycling feeds caught his eye.
Swaren’s
first years in Core Sec had been spent staring at wall panels full of glowing security feeds. Old habits died hard. Something moved. He looked.
Simple.

“Marisa…how long have I been on Crescent?” Nigel asked. As the words fell from his lips, he realized he couldn’t exactly pinpoint how long he had been there. He thought it should’ve been a week, but it felt like he had been there for far less time. The only evidence of the length of his stay was the depth to which the table-turned-desk was inundated with audit materials. Marisa didn’t answer him at first. She sighed and tugged her uniform jacket.

“I know you haven’t been here that long and you hardly know me. And I know it’s asking a lot, but I’m not sure how to proceed. Kendall is not someone to be fucked with,” Marisa said.

“You don’t know how to proceed? Look, Griffin. I like you a great deal. You’ve been nothing but accommodating.
Thus far.
You bring me the data I’m looking for when I ask for it. And you’ve respected my space. But this is a bomb you’ve dropped in my lap. And it sounds like rubbish.” Marisa frowned and glanced at her shoes.

Nigel took a deep breath. “I can’t go to Crescent’s mayor and accuse him of…” Nigel laughed. The notion was ridiculous. “There are certain routes to go through when leveling charges at any high ranking official. Besides, Marisa, this is all a little convoluted. This whole allegation about Mayor Kendall trying to blackmail you for letting illegal arms onto Crescent is
,
how shall I put it?
Small potatoes, and not worth my time.
Besides, I told you, your captain’s mention of the event was a standard incident report. You were named as present at the time and place but not involved. That is not why I’m here. And this business about your friend Gerald Evans—I still need to question him myself. His records check out and so do this Dr. Donovan Cortez’s, but I need to follow protocol—protocol based on what evidence shows. Tampering with ATC records
is
illegal. I have evidence that that occurred. Now, I have no evidence that Gerald Evans is running off-record jobs for the mayor. All of his ATC salvage records, in respect to his contract with Kendall, are legit. If Gerald states of his own volition that he is in cahoots with Kendall on something unsavory, then that’s a different story.” And, Nigel thought, a royal pain my ass.

“Don’t you ever get frustrated with the red tape?” Marisa asked.

“If there was no red tape, guys like me wouldn’t have a job.” It was the truth. He was one of the tapers, more often than not.

“So, you said that your reason for being here had nothing to do with a security complaint. Can you tell me what it is that you’re doing here, then?” If there was one thing that Nigel did like about Marisa Griffin, it was that she had the ability to ask the right questions. He applauded that ability and wished he could answer. But, orders were orders and his orders were to keep his lips sealed and get the job done.

“You know what I’m going to say, so spare me the breath and don’t make me say it,” Nigel said.

“You just wasted a lot of breath with that response, what’s a little more?” Marisa countered and smiled. The smile was strained, though. He could tell she was not pleased that he wasn’t going to look into her allegations.

He laughed and shook his head. She was persistent.

He thought on it a little more. Kendall didn’t possess the trappings of an honest man. That much was apparent just by looking at the people he surrounded himself with. Walter Vegan made Nigel’s skin crawl and Kendall’s two roughnecks were perfect examples of the type of men capable of all manner of unsavory activities. But, Kendall’s records were squeaky clean. All
the
i
’s
were dotted, all the
t’s
crossed.
Too clean, maybe.
But the only signs of tampering had to do with a salvage pilot and a neurosurgeon turned archaeologist.
Nothing to do with the mayor or his strange bedfellows.
Nigel was there to do a specific job. The whole ATC log tampering business would only slow him down. He didn’t need to further complicate matters by pursuing Lt. Griffin’s paranoia. It would only lengthen his stay on the station. And the less time he spent on Crescent, the better.

“I want to meet with Mr. Evans as soon as you can arrange it. I don’t have time to spare on this nonsense. I’m not going to pursue your Kendall…situation.” At that, Marisa seemed to deflate.

“It’s just that…I’m so sure he’s up to something. Why else would he ask me to keep an eye on you?” Marisa said. “Why? At least give me an answer to that.”

“Lieutenant, do you think you’re the first security officer a station mayor has asked to keep their eye on me?” Nigel chuckled and shook his head. For an instant, Griffin looked like she would cry. He realized he was probably pushing back too hard now.

He felt himself acquiesce, ever-so-slightly. He would keep his eyes open. Her desperation convinced him to do that much, at least. But Griffin didn’t need to know he’d be doing that. It would only encourage her to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. Nigel knew full-well that there was always a carpet that the dust was swept beneath, but he wasn’t there for Kendall’s rug of secrets. Now, if this Evans had anything of particular merit that would contribute to Marisa’s case and anything that would make Nigel’s goals easier to accomplish, that was another story. But Nigel wasn’t going to go fishing.

“I can arrange the meeting, yes,” Marisa said at long last.

“Good. Then I can continue to like you.
A great deal.”
He gave her a winning smile. Marisa didn’t return it; she left the office with out saying a word. Nigel turned back to the security monitors. There were over three hundred primary security feeds, with many more
subfeeds
. He began to cycle through them. He’d spend a little time looking in on Crescent’s residents from above, so to speak. There was something centering about being able to change perspective with the wave of a hand. It helped him to think in different dimensions, to look at problems from various angles and attitudes. Despite his best efforts, Nigel’s mind kept straying to Ezra Kendall. He was wading into some dark waters by letting his thoughts travel there—there was a drop-off in those waters, he was sure of it. And that drop-off would send him into an abyss. If the rip current didn’t yank him out to sea first.

He stopped on a feed that caught his attention. The camera lens was dirty; grime partially obscured the view. But from what Nigel could see, it was a loading dock. He checked the address at the bottom of the display. It was one of the Farm’s loading docks. Workers sealed off a large, long crate, and a pair of collector robots carried it off. Nigel shrugged and cycled past the image. Then he went back. It took him several minutes of scrolling to find it again, and when he did, the camera lens was clean and the view was clear. The dock was empty. The crate hadn’t looked like a typical produce-bearing container. It had been too heavy-duty. It also struck Nigel as odd that there would be people working the Farm’s loading docks well after hours—easily six hours into the station’s night cycle.

Dark waters
, Nigel thought.
Dark waters, indeed
.

(•••)

Bean was just ahead. Milky daylight oozed around the hauler and softened the ship’s lines and contours. The cold rain fell more insistently; the wind lashed out with brutal intent, each gust the crack of an icy whip. The small portion of Gerald’s face that was exposed had been rendered raw and numb. He looked back over his shoulder to see Ina shuffling along not far behind him. Her head was down and her gloved hands were stuffed into the parka’s pockets. She hadn’t slowed them down on their return trek. A good thing—their supplemental oxygen supply was nearly exhausted. Gerald felt like his knees were ready to give out. The goddamn gravity was really getting to him. He couldn’t wait to get his tired ass into that control couch. He wanted to forget all about the geological station and its freak show. He couldn’t help but wonder if the universe had gone mad while he was star-hopping his way to Crescent. There were no answers on
Anrar
III, as Marisa had hoped. Just more shit to pollute his dreams. He wasn’t really sure what he’d tell Marisa about the visit to the planet.
Would he tell her about the word—the name?
Every time he thought the word
Murhaté
, it made his fillings ache. It was the name of the geological station—that was apparent. But somehow Gerald knew it was the name of something else.
Something bad.
But what?

He looked up at the dark, twisting clouds. Beyond them, Crescent circled countless kilometers above the rocky planet. Was this dead place—this former mining operation and the planet it had penetrated—the cause of all the weirdness on Crescent? Gerald had never cared about the station’s earlier days. He had no cause to. But now that he was stuck on Crescent, he wanted to know.

Maybe staying on Crescent too long drove a man insane. Was that Marisa’s issue? Had he missed earlier episodes of her madness due to his short stays?
Look at
Naheela
, for god’s sake
, he thought. She was supposedly Crescent’s longest resident and was clearly bat-crazy. On the other hand,
Maerl
seemed pretty well composed, and he had been on Crescent for years.

How well do you really know people?
Gerald thought.

There was Ina—she seemed a little more than off at times, and she hadn’t been on Crescent all that long. And he was having problems of his own. He cut off the rapid train of thought before it derailed.

Gerald was near enough to see the large drops of rain exploding on Bean’s gray hull.
Thank god,
he thought. He couldn’t feel his extremities. The rain had managed to work its way into his suit, chilling his entire being. He looked back to check on Ina’s progress and didn’t see her at first. Then he spotted her—she was laying face down in the wet grit. Gerald tried to run to her, but his legs were just too weary to manage more than a jerky amble. He dropped to his knees beside her and cried out from the pain of the impact. He caught his breath,
then
turned her over. Her eyes were open, but rolled back in her head. She was breathing, but her breath came in short and shallow respirations. Summoning the reserves of his strength, Gerald hefted Ina over his shoulder and began to make his way to Bean. His knees were white hot balls of pain. Every step burst through his bones like a nuclear explosion. The rain was coming down harder and it made the path slick. More than once, Gerald’s booted feet nearly shot out from underneath him. The planet was trying to mock him.
No,
he thought,
this planet is trying to kill me.

“What are you doing?” Ina’s voice came muffled from his back. He instantly let her slide to the ground, where she settled on her hands and knees. She looked up at Gerald, her blue eyes piercing.