The Dark Side (43 page)

Brass feels caught off guard again. And to make matters worse, Justus is just staring at him, waiting for a response. So he
chuckles incredulously. “Again, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I'm mainly talking about your daughter, Mr. Brass. You know, the one you trusted least of all? The one you were planning to imprison at first—lock her up after you'd framed her for the assassinations, of course, until—”

Brass, seizing the moment, can't help interjecting. “You really have no idea, do you, Lieutenant?” he says. “Are you really that naïve?
Really?
I had no intention of locking up my daughter while I was away—
because my daughter was coming with me
.”

This silences Justus—he's got a blank expression on his starfish face—and Brass makes the most of it.

“That's right—
she was coming with me
. To Mars. You can ask Ms. Powers if you like. My daughter was coming with me. You didn't know that, did you?”

Justus pauses. “And QT herself—did she know about this?”

“No, Lieutenant—
of course she didn't know
. Because I was taking her
against her will
. I was taking her for her own good.”

“You were going to kidnap her?”

“Call it what you like. Because I wasn't going to let my daughter—my own flesh and blood—become the target of rogues and assassins. And that's exactly what would have happened if she stayed here—because like you, she was
naïve
. She wouldn't have lasted
two weeks
as the leader of Purgatory.”

“I think your daughter would have a thing or two to say about that.”

“You do, do you? Well, what does it matter now?”

“Because you ordered her assassination?”

“No—
I ordered no such thing
. You're wrong yet again. I have no idea who killed her. Good Lord, do you think I'm
happy
she's dead?”

“Well, you sure as hell didn't sound too happy with her yesterday, when you thought she was trying to pin the deaths of the Leafists on—”

“
But that doesn't mean I'd kill her
. Would you kill your daughter? Of course not. Just as I'd
never
kill
my
own daughter.”

“You'd kidnap her but you'd never kill her?”

“I'd kidnap her to
save
her. Can you not tell the difference?”

Justus pauses a moment and then sighs. “No, Mr. Brass—you're lying.”

“What? How
dare
you tell me I'm lying!”

“I'll dare to tell you whatever I like. I don't answer to you or anyone else. I'm no longer a police officer, remember? So I'll tell you what I
do
know—as facts. You might have planned to kidnap QT at one stage, but when you found out about her plans you changed your mind. And you ordered her assassination.”

“
You have no proof of that
.”

“Do I need proof anymore? The silence is the answer, remember? Well, in your case,
everything about you
is the answer. Your history. The reason you're here on the Moon. The litany of death and broken lives you've left behind. Your narcissism. Your egomania. The Leafists. Your plans to replace yourself with a killer android
.
Your goddamned laws.
And the way you threatened my daughter
. No, Mr. Brass, in your case I don't
need
proof. Because everything you've done is proof enough. But there's more.”

Justus has gotten to his feet now and there's the sound of an explosion outside—the swelling crowd seem to be letting off fireworks. Or dynamite. Or something.

“You see, Mr. Brass, you've been so far out of the loop, out there at your rocket base, that you don't even realize how flimsy your support network is. You're the leader who barricades himself behind lackeys and lickspittles, little realizing that they're always
the first people to turn when the breeze changes direction. Well, I found out all about that in the last twenty hours or so. When it became clear that you'd ordered the death of QT Brass, and when Leonardo Black went on his little rampage. I met a few people and learned a few things. I was amazed, but I shouldn't have been. Because you've gone too far this time, and you were never as much in control as you think. You've been played. You've been checkmated. And you're in for a very rude surprise—much sooner than you think. As a father, you should be very proud.”

Justus turns and starts walking toward the exit, but Brass shoots to his feet, slamming his cutlery onto the breakfast plate.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Brass.”

“I said, what the fuck does that mean?” Brass steps out from behind the table. “ANSWER ME!”

Justus keeps walking toward the door.

Brass is livid. “ANSWER ME, YOU STAR-FACED CUNT!”

But it's only at the door—about thirty meters away—that Justus finally turns. With an insufferable look on his disfigured face.

“No, Mr. Brass—I've made my decision. I've cut a deal, in fact. It was either you or me. And I figure, for my daughter's sake, that it's better that it's you.” He reaches for the door, but suddenly turns back. “Oh yes,” he says, “an afterthought. A last little message—an art I've learned since I came here.”

Brass bristles. “What the fuck are you talking about now?”

“In this instance, it's just an observation. You're free to agree with it or not. But it seems to me that, even after all this, even after all I've said to you just now, you're still the man in charge. You're still Number One. You're still the Patriarch of Purgatory, am I right?”

“Are you fucking joking?”

“I'm just asking. This is your kingdom, isn't it?”

“I said, are you joking?”

“So you're the King.”

“I am the fucking King.”

“You're the Wizard.”

“I'm
everything you're not
, you shit—what is this supposed to mean?”

Justus just snorts. “Farewell, Mr. Brass.”

And he goes out, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Brass stands in place, fuming, wondering what to do, hearing the increasingly noisy crowd outside. Then he tries to turn, just to get out of the room. But suddenly something drags him back.

Brass, outraged, can't believe it. He can't move. Something has seized him from behind—by the hair.

He struggles, but the grip is fierce. And he's being tilted forward—by the head.

He squirms and swivels and looks up, furious, and sees that it's Leonardo Grey, grinning wickedly, who's grabbed him.

But the droid's eyes aren't grey. They're
black
. And he's holding a terrifying foot-long blade in his right hand.

“
You're not really a conquistador
,” the droid hisses, “
until you hold the King's head high.”

Brass tries to raise his hands, but the blade is already sweeping across his throat.

B
LACK HAS BARELY FINISHED
taking care of business when Justus reaches the third floor vestibule. He's making his way across this great chamber—brass pillars, parquet floor, a sculpted wall of bearded faces—when he hears a voice from the shadows.

“Welcome to the Dark Side, Lieutenant.”

Justus, stopping in his tracks, recognizes the voice immediately. But he waits for his eyes to adjust before responding.

“I didn't know you were going to be here,” he says.

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

“It's still a moment for sadness, isn't it?”

“The King must die so the country may live—Robespierre said that.”

“You're quoting Robespierre now?”

“This is our first revolution, so why not?”

She steps into a coppery strip of morning light. Since their
meeting a few hours earlier she's glammed herself up in clerical black and white—jacket, pleated skirt, blouse, and silken black tie—and she looks like she means business. Like a distaff version of Leonardo Black, before he costumed himself as Leonardo Grey.

“He was your father, is what I meant.”

“In trying to assassinate me, he rather swiftly put an end to my responsibilities as a daughter, wouldn't you say?”

Justus isn't sure. He has no doubt that Brass ordered the bombing, but he's still not convinced that his daughter didn't purposely leak her own controversial plans in order to make such an assassination attempt inevitable. An assassination attempt, as it turned out, that she miraculously avoided by “sneaking off to the secret conference in the Sin Rim.” Leaving her own double—a cosmetically altered prostitute named Harmony Smooth—to fill in for her at Ishtar. And get blown sky-high for her trouble.

“Why do I get the feeling that you've been planning this for years?” he asks.

“Because I have. And a lot longer than you think too.”

“Since when?”

“Since my mother's suicide. Do you know what my father told her when he cut her loose? He said, ‘Turn me into a grudge—you'll get a lot of mileage out of it.' And in my mother's name, I've sure come a long way on that grudge.”

Justus shakes his head. “The peach really doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?”

“Now you're just being rude, Lieutenant. I don't see much regret in your eyes either, now that you've done what you did—twisted the rule of law.”

“I did what I had to do.”

“We both did. We let business take its course, and the Brass Code take care of itself. We just didn't get in the way.”

“That's one way to look at it.”

But Justus isn't enjoying the clinical tone of the exchange, especially when a man has just been brutally murdered in the next room. So he starts moving for the stairs.

“You can stay here, you know,” she calls after him. “We're going to need a new police chief.”

Justus looks back. “You really think I'd
want
to remain here? After all this?”

“And do you really think it's safe—for your daughter—if you go home?”

“I hope that's not a threat.”

“You
know
it's not. Who do you think I am?”

I wonder
, is what Justus wants to say. Her demeanor ever since their secret meeting, high above the city where the multitudes were just starting to get agitated by her supposed demise, has been positively icy. Which could be a natural reaction to the bombings, or it could be her true self. Whatever the case, she's certainly not acting like someone whose closest allies have just been obliterated. She's acting like someone fully prepared to sacrifice her friends, if indeed they
were
friends, for her own political ends. Justus wonders if she knew all along that a bomb had been planted in her office. And if she knew her double was going to die—if she
planned
it that way, to help ignite a revolution. He even has to consider the chilling possibility that she long ago
arranged
to have Leonardo Black misprogrammed at the robotics base in Seidel, and even
expected
the droid to come after his king.

“I'm not sure
who
you are,” he replies, unblinking. “And I'm not sure I want to know.”

“I'm not asking you to write my biography, Lieutenant. I'm just asking you to stay here. To be part of this.”

“Then you don't know me very well.”

“I read your psych report.”

“Is that right?”

“It said you were suppressing a high level of resentment.”

“That's interesting.”

“It also said you were borderline obsessive. It suggested a guilt complex.”

“That's even more interesting.”

“Look, we all have our dark sides, Lieutenant—I'm not going to question why a man like you becomes a cop. But it's fair to say I know you better than you think.”

“Oh yeah?” Justus is starting to get annoyed. “Then maybe you don't know your
people
as well as you think. Or what you're in for.”

“What does that mean?”

He jerks his head. “When the mob finds out about this—that you didn't die after all—they might not be so impressed. No one likes being hoodwinked.”

“They'll love it. Even if they suspect they were duped.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know my people. When they learn the truth, they'll be ecstatic.”

“And when exactly are you planning to reveal the truth?”

“Why do you think I'm here?”

Justus snorts. He hears the crowd getting louder and angrier—the clapping and chanting is shaking the walls of the Kasr. “You're planning to take over straightaway?”

“Why not?”

“I wonder what the King will think about that.”

“The King isn't always the one who reigns, you know. In fact, I'd say that it's a rare king these days who's actually in charge. Even if he thinks he is.”

“So you're going to stand alongside Leonardo Black, are you? King Leo the First? You're going to let him think he's the Wizard?”

“Until I'm ready to take over myself.”

“Then you're even more cunning than I thought. Even more cunning than your father.”

She looks cross. “Look, Lieutenant, don't think for a second that this is easy for me. But I've thought it through. I've studied the revolutions on Earth. And what I've seen is that when a volatile population is freed from tyranny it passes through several distinct stages. Euphoria at first, then hope, then confusion and uncertainty, and finally—too often—disillusion and dismay. Which in many cases leads to more chaos. Because people released from their shackles often don't know what to do. They don't know whom to trust. So there has to be a carefully calibrated transition stage. During which there'll still be eruptions of anarchy—
many
eruptions. And that's why I'm going to need a very dedicated and loyal police force. To hunt down the assassins employed by my father, for a start.”