Threshold Shift (5 page)

“He
has superficial cuts to his right shoulder,” Jon said as Forbes
disappeared into his consulting room.

“Yes?”
Forbes voice echoed.

“Also
he’s lost his right trigger finger and there is extensive
concussion bolt damage to the rest of his hand.”

“I’ll
pack a regrow kit,” the Doctor shouted. “Anything else?”

Jon
paused for a moment, steeling himself. Forbes probably knew anyhow.
“He needs Jopo H if you have any.”

Ethan
Forbes reappeared in his consulting room doorway, white as a sheet.

“I
don’t stock illegal drugs, Deputy.”

“If
you did,” Jon said slowly. “It could save his life.”

Forbes
grimaced for a moment, slamming the door behind him as he disappeared
into the room again. Jon waited, it was a law he didn’t mind
the Doctor breaking. A minute later the door reopened.

“You
didn’t get this from me, Jon,” Forbes said, holding out a
small vial of purple liquid. “It’s only a very weak dose
I’m afraid, but it’s all I have.”

Jon
took the proffered vial and placed it in his breast pocket.
“Thank-you, Doctor.”

“I
was keeping it as an aid for difficult operations,” Forbes
said. “I would never get addicted to the stuff. I know too well
what it does.”

“I’m
glad someone does,” Jon replied bitterly.

“It
won’t keep him going long,” Forbes added. “A few
days maybe, if he avoids undue stress."

“A
few days is a long time, Doc,” Jon said. “But avoiding
stress isn't an option.”

Forbes
nodded, and picked up his bag, heading for the back door.

Jon
made to follow, only for Forbes to suddenly turn around and brush
back past him towards the front exit. “I’m sorry, Jon,”
Forbes said.

Jon
smiled as the Doctor hurried into Main Street where anyone could see
him.

“You
have nothing to be sorry for.”

Chapter
Three

Jacob
sat in his bathroom, his damaged hand stretched out over the sink as
Forbes cleaned the wound. He winced with each splash of antiseptic,
eyes watering with the pain. Forbes paused each time, waiting a few
seconds, before continuing, working quietly and meticulously by
Jacob’s side.

“Thanks
for coming,” Jacob said weakly when the Doctor had finished.
His whole face ached from too much gritting of teeth,

“No
problem, Jake,” Forbes said, reaching into his bag to produce a
round transparent box filled with grey liquid. “Put your hand
in this, please.”

Jacob
pushed his hand through the gel into the re-grow pack and felt a
sticky warmth engulf the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief as the
throbbing pain was reduced to a sharp tingle.

“Try
not to move it too much,” Forbes advised. “I’ll
take it off in two days, and you should start getting feeling back in
a week or two.”

Jacob
nodded. “I may not have a week or two.”

Forbes
clicked shut his bag. “Jon told me about your… problem,
but you seem to be handling the withdrawal very well, better than I
would have believed possible.”

“I
can fight it off for a time,” Jacob said with a wary smile.
“But don’t make the mistake of believing I’m
winning. If I relax my grip it can catch up with me very fast.”

“Then
this will help,” Forbes said, loading an injector with the pale
purple vial of liquid.

“That
doesn’t look right,” Jacob said.

“It’s
not particularly pure,” Forbes replied. “But it will give
you time.”

The
Doctor injected the Jopo into Jacob’s arm. “I’m
sorry I can’t give you anything more potent. But it’s all
I have.”

Jacob
nodded, and let Forbes lead him back into the adjoining bedroom. He
had no trouble at all collapsing into bed. The sheets were clean,
fragrant. He was pleased they no longer smelled of him. It made sleep
so much easier.

“Come
and see me in two days,” Forbes said from somewhere near the
doorway.

“Two
days,” Jacob muttered, vaguely aware of the bedroom door
closing in Forbes wake. Somewhere inside him he knew the drug, even
diluted, was beginning to feed his blood. As unconsciousness
beckoned, he smiled.

When
he woke up, the strain required to keep hold of his senses was gone.
He no longer had to fight. But he also felt a profound
disappointment. There was no high. He could think normally again, but
that was all, the clarity and intensity Jopo normally gave him was
missing. With a sudden moment of intense regret, he realised he would
never experience that clarity or intensity again.

Sitting
up from the bed, he listened, it was so quiet. The only sound he
could hear was the thrum of the under floor heating. The curtains
were drawn, but through a small gap he could see the night sky, and
the distant stars twinkling like old friends. He stroked his chin.
The stubble made him feel dirty, a little wretched even. Stretching
out his good hand before his eyes, he was pleased to see it was
steady, under control. It was time for a shave, and another shower
wouldn’t go amiss either.

Twenty
minutes later he was dressed in the cleanest uniform he could find,
and let himself out of the bedroom. The staircase felt solid beneath
his feet, and he no longer needed to grip the balustrade for dear
life. He entered the office to find Roe had returned, and was sitting
at her desk, eyes blank, lost in Espirnet, perhaps even writing her
report. Jon was sitting behind the long unused second Deputy Desk,
his expression sombre, even morose, but he quickly replaced this with
a smile when he saw Jacob.

“Dad,
you’re looking better.”

Jacob
scratched his head and smiled. “Feeling better, thanks.”

Roe’s
eyes refocused on reality and she returned his smile. “Marshal,
you’re OK.” She stood up and rushed over to hug him. He
felt a little embarrassed by the show of affection and felt a wave of
disapproval from Jon. Roe didn’t seem to care, but she let him
go quickly enough, her small brown eyes darting from side to side as
she examined him. He hoped his smile and clean shaven chin would
reassure her. He had no idea what Jon had said, but he noticed that
when she looked at his son, it was not with approval.

Jacob
appreciated her loyalty. She had been his deputy for seven months,
had it been that long already? Seven months since he had fired his
last Deputy for taking bribes. When she had applied for the role, he
thought she was too young, too spindly. Her short-cropped brown hair
had made her appear almost boyish. He had known her father Abe
Jenkins for years, had drunk with him on many occasion. It was safe
to say her father did not approve of the appointment and would rather
she worked on his farm. But even at the age of twenty, she had never
developed the necessary muscle to be of any real help. She had proved
too restless to belong on a farm. She could not fit herself around a
routine. But what she lacked in physical strength, she more than made
up for in speed, wit, and an accuracy he had rarely seen with a
concussion pistol.

A
lawman did not require much muscle on Threshold. Human strength was
no good against a Threshian anyhow. The weakest of them was superior
to the strongest human. Tactics and gunplay were the only superiority
a human could have. In recent weeks he had grown confident enough in
her abilities to send her out alone to deal with the more complicated
disputes. He trusted her judgement, in some ways more than his own.
With an intermittent supply of Jopo, perhaps he had trusted her too
much. He valued her respect, valued it enough to hide his condition
and send her out further afield far more often that he should have.
Seeing her in the jail he suddenly feared he had made a mistake by
allowing Jon to recall her. He had made a great many mistakes lately.

As if
sensing his thoughts, she met his eyes. “How are you, really?”

“What
do you know?” Jacob asked.

She
glanced at Jon. “He,” she emphasised. “Told me
about what happened in the street and about Lucas.” She paused.
“He also told me you’re a Jopo H addict. Is that true?”

Jacob
took a step back, he couldn’t meet her eyes. He could almost
feel his damaged hand throbbing away again in the gel pack.

“Jon
wasn’t lying, I am an addict. I have been one for a long time.”

He
saw the pain written on her face, the disbelief. “But you look
OK.”

“Forbes
gave me another shot,” he explained. “I’m good for
now, but it won’t last.”

She
retreated to her desk, and he was suddenly aware of the widening gulf
between them, a gulf he had just created.

“That
stuff will kill you,” she said. It was more an accusation than
a statement. “Why are you doing it to yourself?”

“It’s
already killed me,” Jacob replied. “I’m too far
gone and I can’t get anymore. You know what happens to
addicts?”

She
swallowed. “What are you going to do?”

“Hang
on,” he said, heading for his own desk, his own seat of
authority. “For as long as I can. Help you two as much as I
can. Michael isn’t going to like his nephew being tried for
murder. He’ll do something.”

“It’s
already started,” Jon said. “Tell him Roe.”

“He’s
coming here, Jake,” she said. “Tomorrow, he’s
coming here to talk to you.”

“Well,”
Jacob said. “I’m a little surprised. I haven’t seen
him in Argon for years. But, you’ve got it wrong Roe. He isn’t
coming here to talk to me. He’s coming to talk to us.”

*

Jacob
let Roe return to her father’s farm out of town. He wondered at
the wisdom in such an action, but he couldn’t stand the
accusation in her eyes anymore. She would be safer there than at the
jail. An attack could happen anytime. Jon, on the other hand, had
nowhere else to go and had set up home in one of the empty cells. He
told the boy to get some sleep and used his console to set the
security alarm to sound loudly if the Jailhouse was breached. In
truth he expected a quiet night, Michael was coming, and he was sure
the Threshian would want to attempt to resolve the situation
peacefully before resorting to a more risky plan of action. Michael
had always been a pragmatic creature.

Hours
passed, and he sat at his desk, staring at the wall, thinking of the
past and the stupidity in ever becoming addicted to Jopo H in the
first place. He didn’t feel tired, a side-effect of the Jopo
and the other drugs coursing through his system. So he removed a
spare concussion pistol from the weapons cabinet and held it in his
unfamiliar left hand. It didn’t feel right. Getting up he
headed for the staircase and descended to the lowest level in the
Jailhouse, lower even the Threshian cells. The shooting range
awaited, and he might as well get his left hand up to par. He might
still need to use a gun before the end. After half an hour of
problematic shooting he was satisfied that he was progressing to an
average but poor shot with his left hand. But there was no denying
how awkward it felt, his brain was simply not trained to use the
wrong hand, nevertheless he felt there was at least a modicum of
improvement.

Putting
the gun to one side his eyes lingered on the transparent door to The
Regeneration Chamber on the other side of the sub-basement.
Thankfully there had never been a reason to use it, but the machinery
was there, waiting, and involuntarily his hand wandered to the coin
sized disc that hung on a chain around his neck. Not yet, he thought,
but soon. He trudged over to the stairs and heard a loud vocoder
shout echoing from the level above.

“Keep
that racket down!”

Jacob holstered his gun and marched up the stairs to the basement
where Paul was imprisoned. The Threshian was lying on his bunk, his
lips turned into a sneer and his hands over his ears. Jacob turned up
the light globe, causing the Threshian to quickly move his hands from
his ears to his eyes.

“Hello
Paul,” Jacob said.

Paul
removed his hands. “You.”

“What’s
the problem?”

“Where
do I start?” Paul replied. “All that shooting, at this
hour, the floor isn’t exactly soundproof.”

“Sorry
to inconvenience you,” Jacob said holding up his gel packed
hand.

“I
didn’t shoot off your finger, Hassan did. Why isn’t he
locked up?”

“He
didn’t murder my old deputy.”

Paul
sprang to his feet, his hands curled around the bars of his cell.
“That farmer? He shouldn’t have interfered. Anyway, he’d
still be alive if not for you.”

Jacob
blinked. Paul’s statement was true, but twisted.

“Your
uncle is coming to visit tomorrow.”

“Good,”
Paul said. “Then he can see the barbaric way you’ve
treated me.”

“It’s
good accommodation for a murderer,” Jacob said. “They
won’t treat you better off world.”

“I
was justified in everything I did,” Paul said. “After
what you did to my father, a swift death would have been too good for
you.”

“Your
father deserved it. You know full well what he did to me.”

The
Threshian sneered, pulling ineffectively at the bars of his cell
before reaching out a clawed hand. Jacob took a step back.

“My
father did what he had to do,” Paul retorted. “This is
our planet, not yours. You invaded us.”

“And
the Threshians have done very well out of it,” Jacob said.
“Before we came you couldn’t even talk to each other. You
were barely out of the swamps.”

Paul
flicked the vocoder module that hung around his neck. “It’s
just dirty human technology.”

Jacob
bared his teeth. “Then destroy it. You could, you know, very
easily. They’re very fragile.”

Paul
removed his hand from the vocoder.

“I
didn’t think you would,” Jacob said.

“I
only keep it so I can tell my uncle all about you and your dirty
son.”

“Good
night, Paul,” Jacob said, retreating to the staircase.