’Neath Quicksilver’s Moon by Jaye Michael
Chapter Sixteen ― Black Moon

 

¿Hasta cuándo, oh simples, amarán la simpleza, Y los burladores se deleitarán en hacer burla, Y los necios aborrecerán el conocimiento?

— Proverbios 1:22

How long, O simpletons, will you love being simple-minded, and you tricksters delight in trickery, and you fools hate the truth?

— Proverbs 1:22

 

 

The nightingales are sobbing in
The orchards of our mothers,
And hearts that we broke long ago
Have long been breaking others;
Tears are round, the sea is deep:
Roll them overboard and sleep.
 ― W.H. Auden

The Sea and the Mirror: A Commentary on Shakespeare’s "The Tempest" (W.H. Auden: Critical Editions)
Princeton University Press (April 7, 2003)

 

 

The Colonial Emigration office was somewhat drab, despite several huge threedee recruitment vids on the walls, and several smaller monitors displaying continuous video promos of every human colony. She was talking to a Mr. Eggers, who amused her not least because he was completely bald, and had a charming stutter.

“Y-y-yes, Mrs. Mmmm-anelli, we offer a substantial signing bonus for female immigrant volunteers for Earth Two, and in answer to your question, the full transit time will be f-f-fully-credited towards your pension payments from your husband’s death benefits, per Uniform National Pensions and Benefits Code of 2581 Section 102, 41 U.F.C. Section 4342 (2614). The p-p-provisions of the code have been upheld on several occasions by the Supreme Court as promoting p-p-public p-p-policy, despite several creative challenges by pension trusts and other interested parties, and the court has declined to hear further challenges for almost twenty years now. With roughly seventeen y-y-years accumulated travel time, your signing and death benefits and the accumulated interest on those, with zero interim l-l-living expense, at the c-c-current exchange rate in Earth credits, you’ll have well over five hundred times a mmmm-oderate lifetime income for Earth Two in the bank, just waiting for you, plus approximately six times an average income every mmmm-onth from then on. In short, Mrs. Mmmm-anelli, by the time you arrive on Earth Two, you will be financially secure — although not extremely wealthy — for the duration of your natural life.”

“Thank you, Mr. Eggers. Do you know if there are public news feeds where one can post notices?”

“There are, of course, but a woman in your f-f-financial position upon arrival is unlikely ….”

She blushed, understanding exactly what he implied. “Not at all, Mr. Eggers. I think you misunderstand me. I have a … friend … who left for Earth Two recently, and I was wondering what my chances of finding him might be.”

“Mrs. Mmm-anelli, believe me, w-w-walk into any store or office on Earth Two and the entire m-m-male population will find an excuse to visit, sooner or later, just to pay their respects, and everyone will know your name and physical description within a few days, so you needn’t b-b-bother posting a notice; your friend w-w-will find you if he cares to look, and I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t. The immigration notices are lively topics of c-c-conversation, and female names attract considerable interest, so your ‘f-f-friend’ will quite likely be there waiting at the disembarkation gate. You have to understand, Mrs. Mmmm-anelli, that the very large mmmm-ajority of immigrants to Earth Two are men, so women are valued, even honored, in a mmmm-anner difficult to understand for anyone who grew up on Earth.”

She blinked. “But … will there be any danger of ….”

“Let me h-h-hasten to assure you there is not. In my position, one is required to r-r-read local news feeds, of course, and the last g-g-gentleman to offer a drunken affront to a lady such as yourself — or any woman, for that matter — was hanged from a h-h-handy rafter within ten minutes of his unmannerly action by an ad hoc c-c-committee of citizens who convened a jury, hired a judge, and had the man convicted and executed quite legally before the ink could dry on the order of death. The gentlemen of the jury, and the judge, posed for a formal photograph which was published on the local news feed, and publicly apologized for the ruffian’s presence in their neighborhood, assuring every reader that women were properly respected in their part of town, and hoped that no one would let the example of one bad apple taint the entire barrel, as it were.” He thought for a moment. “I believe the story ran … about two and a half years ago, but I’d be g-g-glad to find it in my files.”

She blinked again. “That won’t be necessary, I think. As I said, I know someone there, so I think I’ll be quite all right.”

“More than simply ‘all r-r-right,’ Mrs. Mmmm-anelli!” He chuckled at her naïvté. “On Earth Two, you’re the b-b-boss, and your … friend … from Earth will find himself with many more-or-less unobtrusive rivals for your attention, and with no r-r-recourse if you should ever tire of him, because your fortune and pension vests in you alone. I’ve talked to many w-w-women on Earth Two via ansible link, and they’ve told me that it g-g-gave them a whole new outlook on life. As a w-w-woman on Earth Two, there are no ‘bad’ parts of town, and you could stroll through the mmmm-eanest streets in the n-n-nude — not that I’d s-s-suggest doing any such thing, of course — walk up to any r-r-random man and punch him in the nose, without being subjected to a single unpleasant remark, much less receive any unwanted attentions. One of them explained it to me quite succinctly, ‘On Earth Two, when women talk, men shut up and listen.’ I’m told that it’s a refreshing change.”

She thought about that and smiled. “It sounds like I might actually like Earth Two, Mr. Eggers,” she said.

“I’m sure you shall.“ He grinned. ”While I c-c-can’t offer a mmmm-oney-back guarantee, I can honestly say that no w-w-woman has ever enquired about return p-p-passage.”

“Well, then, Mr. Eggers, where do I sign?”

They smiled at each other that time, and Alicia Manelli felt happier than she had in quite some time. Whatever happened when she got there, she was headed toward a new life, in a new world; a good life, sure to be filled with adventure and new experiences.

“Captain Webster?” The voice belonged to Fielding, one of the desk Sergeants, but evidently he also ran errands.

“Yes?” As an officer, Jack rated an office and a desk, but he was also on O’Hare’s shit list, so hardly anyone had the balls to talk to him, and he was still “Unassigned.”

“You have a visitor, Sir. In Interview Room Six.”

Jack blinked. Why not just show this mysterious visitor in? “Sure. I’ll be right there. Thanks, Sergeant Fielding.”

“It’s my pleasure, Sir!” He snapped off a salute, which was also strange. With his new status as a pariah, the courtesies of rank were being pointedly ignored by most of the denizens of this particular cop shop.

He returned the salute and followed Fielding right out the door, then turned up the hall toward the interview rooms, usually used for interrogations, but evidently now for ‘visitors.’ ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ he thought, then opened the door to see Captain Churco sitting comfortably, completely at ease, despite the uncomfortable durasteel chair he was sitting in, which was bolted to the floor and carefully designed to be both awkward and painful to sit in for any length of time. Jack had to admire his style, at very least. “Captain Churco, it’s so good to see you. What brings you to the DC Urbopolis?”

“Jack! And please call me Jorge. There’s no need for formalities between friends away from the public eye.”

“Well then, Jorge,” Jack smiled, “what brings you to the DC Urbopolis?”

“You, of course. I’m an admirer of your work, especially your thoughtful kindness to the Senator’s injured dog. He speaks of you often with gratitude.” He grinned, to let Jack know that it was a joke, and that he didn’t hold any grudge for what he’d seen as an imposition on his authority at the time.

“And I’m proud to have been named ‘godfather’ to the puppies,” he said wryly. “ ‘Compadre,’ I think they told me.”

“And a very great honor, Jack. The word also means ‘friend,’ as I think you know.”

“So they told me. What can I do for you, ‘compadre’?”

“You — and by ‘you,’ I mean the DC police department — have a man in custody, one Hisashi Yamaguchi, whom I’m given to understand you took down with a simple slapstick, a feat worthy of Hercules, considering Yamagushi’s reported prowess.”

“Yeah, well. It was dark, and he never really had a chance to get warmed up. But I turned him over to Central Booking. If you want to talk to him, I’m sure they’ll accommodate you.”

“But I’d like you to accompany me, compadre.” He grinned. “As the arresting officer, it should be your privilege to sit in on any interrogation, and your insights might be very valuable.”

“Insights? Don’t make me laugh. The first time I really saw him — aside from his mug on the threedee — was when I turned on the lights in my cubicle, and by that time he was unconscious. It’s not as if we spent the time chatting amicably while we waited for transport.”

“None-the-less, Senator Ortíz has requested your personal attention to this matter. I need hardly point out that his stamp of approval will do wonders for your career prospects in the department, while Thomas O’Hare’s star is on the wane, I fear.”

Jack noticed the omission of rank and smiled to himself. ‘Perhaps there is some justice in the world after all,’ he thought. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Okay, when do we leave?”

“How about now? Al hierro caliente batir de repente!”

“Which means?”

“I believe in English you would say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot,’ although of course the original Spanish is much more subtle and evocative. We’re all poets, you know, with passionate hearts quite filled with lyrical songs of great power and beauty. I do hope you sing well, Señor.” He smiled. “¿Vámonos?”

Jack knew that one well enough. “No time like the present.” He gestured around him indicating a certain carefree insouciance. “As you may have heard, I have nothing urgent to do otherwise.”

As they walked out the door, Churco slightly ahead, as befitted his status as Jack’s guest, Jack thought to himself, ‘Things are definitely looking up.’

 

 

Jack was astonished when he saw Yamaguchi through the one-way threedee, because the sad schmuck was black and blue everywhere he could see, still chained, but with a flex-chain waist belt simultaneously holding his arms down to his sides and his back to the durasteel interrogation chair, a bite-prevention plastic mask which covered his mouth, and separate chains locking his feet firmly to the floor. Evidently the guy’s reputation had been communicated to his jailers, and they were taking no chances. He wasn’t at all sorry about his injuries, because the guy had tried to chop off his head with a damned sword, after all, but was definitely surprised. A slapstick usually didn’t leave such a mess behind, but he looked like he’d been beaten by a professional ‘enforcer’ with a baseball bat. “Jeez! I didn’t think I’d hit him that hard. Did someone ‘soften him up’ for us on the sly?”

“Not as far as I know, and I’ve read your report. Perhaps the sight you described of an unsheathed sword lent a certain adrenalin-fueled enthusiasm to your efforts to subdue him.”

Jack shook his head. “I was scared shitless, but I wasn’t out of control. I did everything strictly by the book, and cuffed him as soon as he no longer posed a threat, in my opinion. He was pretty lively about resisting arrest, and I have to confess that I didn’t call upon him to surrender peacefully, but I was very busy at the time, since he appeared to be doing his level best to kill me.”

“I’m sure you did, and I congratulate you on your restraint. I myself would have been sorely tempted to ensure that an obviously professional assassin never got a second opportunity to do me harm. I have little respect for criminals who sneak around in their stocking feet to commit murder by stealth, and especially those who plant bombs to kill or maim any unfortunate individuals near their supposed targets. He should be put down like a mad dog, shot out of hand, I think, but perhaps I betray my peasant upbringing.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly know that he was a pro, at the time, since I didn’t pay all that much attention to the bulletin, having no duties assigned at the time, but I saw the guy’s eyes on the threedee, just after the bomb exploded, and agree with you, my friend. The world would be a better place with him not in it.”

“Alas, he’s bound to be in it for at least a little while, although I’m uneasy about his seeming ability to escape the strictest confinement. He managed to break one set of your cuffs, you know, during transportation to your cárcel de alta seguridad, which caused his guardians no end of trouble. I noticed that they were the top-quality Smith & Wesson hinged model, which is quite remarkable, since the manufacturer has advertised them as ‘unbreakable without power tools’ for many years. I’ve taken the liberty of having his file placed in your communicator queue, if you’d care to glance at it before we go in.”

Jack shrugged. “Actually, I prefer to do that while sitting in front of the prisoner, since that conveys a certain contempt, and demonstrates his proper place in the criminal justice scheme of things, which is as an insignificant interruption in my busy day, and I’m already ticked off, because I paid for those cuffs out of my own pocket. Department issue cuffs are cheap plastic crap, and the stingy bastards will want to issue me a set of those as ‘replacements.’ Assholes!”

Churco smiled. “I like the way you think, compadre, and I ascertained your department’s policies when I heard about his accomplishment. I’ve taken the additional liberty of replacing them with a matched set of two from my personal collection, in the antique titanium alloy no longer available, and slightly more robust, I think, than your new model cuffs. I have them here.” He reached behind him to unsnap two slim investigator cases with cuffs from his belt and casually handed them to Jack.

Jack arched one brow in friendly assessment as he took them in his hand. The cases themselves were molded black leather, luxurious accessories he’d never thought possible to afford. “Jorge, compadre, this is a very generous gift.”

Jorge smiled. “It’s nothing, compadre. I am very well-compensated in my position, and they’re necessarily well-used. Here in the old USA, you have a saying, I think, ‘Share the wealth?’ ” He paused for a moment before continuing, “and I have an ulterior motive. Senator Ortíz has secured your position here with his patronage, so as to ensure that no undue pressure exists which you might believe forced you to accept his offer. He was impressed with your creativity and ‘doggedness,’ if you’ll pardon the expression,” here he smiled briefly, a merry wrinkle in the corners of his eyes, “in pursuing the threat against him, and would like to offer you a position outside the department, and I hasten to assure you that you would be reporting directly to the Senator, and not to me.”

He didn’t have to think very long before saying, “And I’m very willing to hear what he has to say.” His tenure with O’Hare had been a brief interlude in what he’d seen as a dead-end position. His previous superiors had been leery of him, fearful that he might pose a threat to their own advancement. Until the Burladors came along, he’d resigned himself to just ‘marking time’ until he could retire. “Jorge, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He smiled broadly. “You must allow me the pleasure of buying your lunch, after we’ve finished with yonder creep.”

“I’d be honored to accept your hospitality, Jack, and I agree. I’ve seen that movie. We live in interesting times.”

With one accord, as if they’d planned it, they rose to walk together into the other interrogation room.

World Senator Tamotsu Tsukasa was very angry, although his face was impassive. “Hisashi Yamaguchi has completely failed our family through his incompetance and must be disciplined. He is currently in the custody of the Metro-East police, so this will be a delicate task. Can any of you gentlemen offer a solution to this problem.”

His audience consisted of four men, and they were seated cross-legged around a traditional low table in a Tokyo izakaya which the Oyabun had reserved for the evening, a room with sliding rice-paper screens for walls, tatami mats on the floor, and the available menu displayed in pictures on the walls. There were no prices listed, since this particular tavern never served the general public, and it evidently catered to Yakuza gangsters, because the men talked freely, despite the waitresses in attendance by the door which led to the kitchen, and the (literally) paper-thin walls.

One of the men — after looking carefully around the table — said, “Yamaguchi-san has not escaped?”

Tsukasa said, “No, and he was taken into custody by an American policeman who was asleep in his bed when Hisashi entered stealthily to slay him with his ninjatō.”

There was a sharp intake of breaths all around the table. “Impossible!” said one; “Contemptible!” another, both at once.

Tsukasa nodded, and his face was grim. “ ‘Contemptible’ captures my feeling perfectly. He was charged to do a specific task, kill that policeman and his immediate superior, and failed utterly, although he did manage to kill two innocent bystanders while attempting to murder a World Senator and her child for no apparent reason — completely without authorization, and with so little care that he was caught on threedee in the very act, then made a theatrical escape to prove his complicity — thereby drawing unfavorable attention to myself as a direct consequence.”

“Oyabun! Respectfully, why was the policeman targeted?” one said, a Wakagashira named Naoto Takahashi from Kyoto.

“He and his superior were investigating the assassinations of World Senators, and I believe that they may be in the pay of our enemies, since they were closely associated with the death of Senator Chillings, our ally, and had spent considerable time with Senator Ortíz, a former ally turned traitor. I believe all these setbacks are connected, and Jack Webster is the only common link, and has been in direct contact with persons of interest on Quicksilver.”

Takahashi immediately volunteered, “Then they must both be eliminated, Oyabun! I have a few contacts in the area, and will investigate this problem.”

Tsukasa nodded and said, “Excellent! Takahashi-san. I applaud your initiative. See to it.”

Takahashi bowed. “Hai!”

The Oyabun stood up and left the room. The others followed, after a respectful pause, but the three aside from Takahashi avoided looking at him directly.

Their lunch was delicious. Jack had sprung for a real sit-down restaurant he'd heard of, with white linen tablecloths and napkins, a far cry from his usual pizza joints and udon noodle bowls. Jorge had chosen salmon, farmed of course, but still pricey. Jack had to have the same, with a three-quarter-liter bottle of white wine for the table. It was a guy thing.

“So, Jack,” Jorge said as they were leaving, “Do you have a little free time to stop by to see Senator Ortíz?”

“Sure, why not?” They caught a cab, lots easier than parking, and Jack had an official Metro-East discount card.

“While we're there, perhaps you wouldn't mind a quick med-scan. If you're thinking of accepting the Senator's offer, it would be one formality out of the way, and there's no co-pay.” He grinned.

“Sure, I'm easy.”

The Senator's office was an entire building, as in turned out, and they walked directly from the curb, where the taxi had dropped them off, to a second floor medical office, with a scattering of waiting patients, or so it appeared.

“This is all the Senator's?” Jack asked.

Jorge shook his head. “No, not at all. Medical coverage is fully paid for all employees, and it's simply convenient to have a clinic nearby, so people can drop in at their leisure, or in an emergency, without running all over town.”

Jack noticed that he simply waved at the receptionist and walked right in, so either he was expected, or people naturally deferred to him. He frowned slightly. Jack hated feeling like he'd been ‘set up.’

A doctor met them in the hall. “Señor Churcas! And you must be Señor Jack Webster! Come right along!” he walked them through an automatic door.

Set up then. Jack was getting irritated. “Jorge ….”

The doctor interrupted. “Just place your head against this scanner, and keep your eyes wide open.”

Jack saw a blinding flash. “Hey!”

The doctor's voice said from somewhere behind him, “Nothing to worry about, just a little retinal scan, and here's the last, a little drop of blood and tissue for testing.”

Jack felt a pinprick, and then it seemed to be over. “That was about the shortest medical exam I ever experienced. What happened to ‘Open wide and say “Ahhhh!”?’ ”

The doctor said blithely, “Oh, we don't do that any more. What sort of medical care have you been getting, anyway?”

“I have coverage through the police department,” he said, more than a little annoyed by now.

“Oh, them,” the doctor said dismissively. “Barbarians!” then looked at a readout. “Yep, he's ok,” he said, the words addressed to Jorge.

“Excellent!” Jorge turned to Jack and said, “Let's go! We're almost late.” He led him through a maze of halls, then down two flights of stairs and out into what looked like an empty gymnasium with hardwood floors. He led Jack out onto the floor and said, “Stand there, please, just for a moment, and everything will become clear.”

“Uh, okay, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Just stand there and look at me, and please keep your eyes open. This is all part of the exam.”

Jack watched carefully as Jorge walked down to the other end of the room, and then Jorge whipped out an old-fashioned automatic pistol and fired directly at his head!

Somehow, time seemed to slow down for Jack and he could actually see the bullet as it sped directly toward him. He managed to get his hand up to try and ward it off just before it hit him, and it struck the palm of his hand instead.

“Jesus! Jorge! What the fuck?!” he was rubbing his hand, which hurt like hell.

Jorge smiled. “Just proving a point, compadre, and I apologise for startling you. I assure you, dear friend, that you were never in any danger. Go ahead; take a look. You're not the man you used to be.”

Jack looked down at his hand, which he expected to be bloody and broken, but the pain was already fading, and his hand looked as good as new. “What the fuck?” Jack Webster, long-time police veteran, crime scene investigator deluxe, was completely confused.

Jorge smirked in wry good humor. “Feeling better now?”

Copyright © 1993, 2010, 2011 by Jeffrey M. Mahr

All rights reserved.

 

DEDICATION:

To my loving wife, Betty. She completes me.

 

 

Copyright © 2011 Levanah