Beneath a Holo-Sky (Poison World Book 1) Page 8

  I'm glad the room is empty today.

  Last time, a woman had been sitting in one of those chairs. At the sound of the lift's arrival, she'd stood with such hope and despair. For a single moment, before she saw me, she thought she wouldn't have to make that visit alone. I don't enjoy having that kind of look directed at me.

  We walk up to the plas-glass doors, and I press the call button on the intercom. On the other side, the solid white floors gleam with fresh polish. It reflects the dull metal walls and the mysterious overhead equipment hanging above the three autopsy tables in the middle of the room. A mug steams on top of the desk, pushed up against the far left wall.

  "Yes?" an annoyed voice barks from the little audio device.

  "Investigator Thorpe to see a body." I resist the urge to lean toward the intercom and stay in front of the doors.

  A moment later, a head pops into view from the right side. At my elbow, Drake flinches. Maybe I should have warned him. Medic Carmichael hates visitors and tends to hide when the lift notifies him of new arrivals.

  His narrow face sports a pointed chin and large, beaky nose. Brown hair springs from his head at crazy angles. Thick eyebrows crouch on his forehead, like little bushes sprouting from the goggles strapped to his face. His brown eyes narrow at me, suspicion magnified to cartoonish proportion by the lenses.

  "I don't recall an appointment with you, Ms. Thorpe." He emerges into view, arms crossed over his narrow chest. It stretches the material of his white jumpsuit and accentuates his tiny frame. His head tips back to peer up at me, and annoyance skitters across his face.

  "I don't need an appointment, Medic Carmichael." I press my badge against the door. "I'm here on a blackout case."

  He glares at it, offended that such an innocuous piece of plastic can allow me to invade his domain. But he has no choice. Contracts between Blue Hall and Investigators, Inc. prohibit denying access to any evidence that pertains to an active case. In this instance, Blue Hall has evidence I need to access.

  But he can be obstructive if he wants, and I wonder how long he'll draw out the staring contest.

  Three minutes.

  Three minutes in which my knees begin to ache from lack of movement. Three minutes for my eyes to blur over from lack of blinking. Three minutes I fight against the tremble of keeping my arm extended and my badge out.

  Three minutes are worth it to see him blink first.

  He presses a button to the right of the doors, and they open with a vacuum rush of cool air. The sharp antiseptic odor increases, and my eyes water.

  Contrary to its name, the freezer's temperature only registers a few degrees cooler than the rest of Peace Keeper's headquarters. The name dates back to a time when they froze bodies to preserve them. Technology advanced, but the name stuck.

  Medic Carmichael's feet, covered in cloth booties, make a faint shushing noise as he moves over to one of the autopsy tables. Silent, I follow behind. Drake's shoes clop against the hard floor.

  The medic walks around the table to a control panel and glances up. "What body do you need to see?"

  I pull out my palm-port and open the file Mr. Black provided. I'd flagged the number last night and could have memorized it if I wanted to look especially awesome in front of my new sidekick. But I'm a believer in the necessary use of brainpower, and the sixteen-digit number is a waste of mental space.

  I read off the number and wait while Carmichael punches it into the screen on the front of the table. A soft buzz emanates from the table as well-oiled gears work away. After a few minutes of clicking, the surface of the table opens, and a body rises to the surface.

  "He's halion." Surprised, I can't help stating the obvious.

  From the Troehan clan, the man takes up most of the table, almost seven feet tall. Lean-muscled and beautiful like all halions. His hair puddles beneath his head, a silky swirl of greens that resemble newly grown grass. His skin, smooth and flawless, still shimmers with swirls of gold and deep brown. A clan birthmark of vines and tiny leaves curls across his abdomen, then disappears under the courtesy towel draped across his hips. Thick lashes form dark arches against his high cheekbones. I half expect to see them flutter open with a sleepy gleam of restful eyes.

  "Why isn't he in White Hall?" Drake demands. He sounds equally shocked, and I forgive him for not warning me. Halion's deal with their own. It's uncommon for one to land in Blue Hall.

  "Yes, most unusual." Medic Carmichael hums an off tune under his breath as he scrolls through the file, all business now. "It appears the blue guard has taken priority over this body, as they believe his death is related to other bodies found early yesterday, also related to Ash burnout." His eyes flicker over the screen. "The white guard has lodged a formal protest and filed an injunction. We are allowed only noninvasive autopsy until the matter is resolved."

  "Noninvasive?" I link my hands behind my back and lean over the body. Well preserved, it's hard to believe he died two days ago. "The preservation is incredible."

  "Yes. Mr. Halrow has a beta of Techstrom Technologies Vital-U line." Carmichael's voice rises with excitement, and he lifts the halion's right arm to tap the datband still attached. Unusual, since standard protocol boxes personal effects for evidence. "The minute his pulse went outside the range of viability, his Life Preserver kicked in."

  "Life Preserver?" Not a technology I've heard of, and I keep up on all the latest advancements.

  "See the liquid on his skin?" He removes a flat, metal stick from a table drawer and scrapes at the man's arm. What I took for the natural shimmer of halion skin turns out to be a thin, gel-textured fluid. It beads up on the stick and leaves the skin beneath dull. As I watch, the gel spreads over the area Carmichael exposed until it once more encases the entire body.

  "What's the purpose?" I want to poke at the gel, fascinated to watch it shift under its own volition. My fingers tighten around themselves to stop the urge.

  "It appears to have a compound macro-engineered into the gel that puts the person into instant stasis. The Life Preserver sends out an alert to the nearest Vital-U dispatcher, and the medics arrive in time to save the person." He throws the used stick into a bin on the table, and it pings around before it settles at the bottom.

  "So what happened here?"

  "It's difficult to say without a full autopsy," Carmichael hedges.

  "Best guess?"

  "Without being allowed to run all the tests, I would say that the fault lies with the beta compound for stasis and the aggressiveness of his reaction to the Ash he ingested."

  "How do you know it was an Ash burnout if you haven't performed an autopsy?" Drake speaks up.

  I resist the urge to kick him. He chose the exact wrong way to handle the moody medic. The other man straightens, his eyebrows twitching with irritation.

  "Is this how you train your juniors, Investigator Thorpe?" He folds his arms across his narrow chest, shoulders rising toward his ears.

  Fuck, he's going into hibernation mode.

  I shoot a glare over my shoulder at Drake and mouth, slow and clear, "Fix this, asshole!"

  He looks a little contrite, so at least he knows he did something wrong.

  "My apologies, Medic Carmichael." He steps up to the table and mirrors my posture with his hands behind his back, well away from the body. "I'm not doubting your diagnosis. I reviewed the symptoms for Ash burnout before coming today, and I don't see the usual signs of redness around the eyes and mouth, or blackened fingertips. Is something different about this recent batch?"

  Carmichael uncurls enough to withdraw another metal stick from his drawer, this one large and wider, more like a tongue depressor. He pushes the Life Preserver gel away from the body's mouth to lift the top lip.

  "As you can see, there's the distinctive gray gums and, if you lean closer, there's a clear sap odor." He wedges the stick between the teeth and pops the mouth open.

  I don't want to be that close.

  At the head of the table, I lean forward until only
an inch separates me from the dead man's face. His gums, dark gray around the teeth, turn black where they connect to the rest of his mouth.

  Eyes closing, I take a deep breath. Onion, garlic, the sourness of cheese, acidic alcohol, and a hint of sap. I open my mouth and draw the next breath over my tongue. Black currant, oak, and anise.

  I lean back, step away from the body. Resisting the urge to scrub a hand across my face, I try not to think of the dead man's breath in my lungs.

  Expectant, Carmichael and I glance at Drake.

  "Get in there, kiddo," I urge when he doesn't immediately step up. "Medic Carmichael is giving us invaluable information."

  Eyes narrowed, Drake walks to the head of the table and bends at the waist. He stays in position for five seconds.

  Perfunctory.

  "Are you satisfied he ingested Ash?" Carmichael throws the metal stick into the bin, and it clangs around together with its predecessor.

  "Yeah." Drake rubs a hand under his nose and backs away from the table.

  "The other bodies show standard signs of Ash burnout," Carmichael informs us as he punches a code into the table's control pad. The body lowers out of sight.

  "Can we see them?" I ask with little hope. He removed the body from view way too fast.

  "I haven't autopsied them yet." Shoulders tense, he keeps his gaze averted. "File a request for the report and make a new appointment if you have questions."

  "Thank you for your time, Medic Carmichael." I inject a good level of gratitude into my voice, and he unscrunches a little more.

  When I turn to leave, Drake's mouth opens. I step on his foot, hard, as I pass him and head toward the exit. "Come on, Drake. Let's not disrupt the medic's day anymore."

  Right before the doors close behind us, Medic Carmichael shouts, "Don't bring any more juniors here!"

  WHACKING DISTANCE

  Shit, his foot hurts. For such a skinny thing, she can stomp hard. She's right though. Medic Carmichael doesn't appear in the mood to offer further help. And that's his fault.

  He knows the exact moment he put his foot in his mouth.

  It irks him that she got them in to see the body right away, while his request for medical documents probably sits at the bottom of Carmichael's desk drawer.

  Vital-U should have checked Halrow's employment record and shipped the body to a Black Corporation run facility. They would have performed the autopsy without White Hall ever knowing one of their halion purebloods was missing. Halrow belongs in the lower echelon of halion society. His death would have gone unnoticed for years, possibly forever.

  Breeders aren't as interested in the unskilled masses of males that inhabit their lowest ranks. They're given menial labor jobs in the colonies, or they're allowed to venture into the human and halfbreed cities for work, as Halrow chose to do.

  Shit, he needs to make sure the position gets filled. Black Corporation doesn't want to lose revenue.

  She's watching him.

  "What?" He turns from the elevator to glower at her.

  Eyebrow raised, she leans a shoulder against the wall as they wait for the lift. She appears relaxed, like she has all day. It spikes his irritation higher.

  They'd learned nothing coming here.

  The lift arrives, and they step on. She presses the button for the lobby and moves to stand with her back against the wall. Her gaze focuses on him again.

  "What are you looking at?" He braces his feet apart and faces her.

  She waits long enough that he thinks she'll ignore him. Thick lashes drop to veil the intensity of her indigo eyes. "Why do you have your tongue pierced?"

  He freezes in shock, and the quiet clicking that filled the elevator freezes with him.

  She nods, rocking on her heels as the lift slows. "You should work on that. Or take it out."

  When did he pick up the habit? The piercing came from his gang days, and his bed partners like it, so he kept it. Both nostalgic and functional. He should have been aware he’d developed a tell.

  But it bugs the shit out of him that she needed to point it out.

  She doesn't even appear pleased she got one up on him.

  "Come on, we'll file for the paperwork." She leads the way off the lift and further into Blue Hall's domain.

  "I already filed for the paperwork." He moves to walk beside her.

  She glances at him from the corner of her eye. "With a great big stamp on it stating it came from Black Corporation?"

  He gives a grudging nod, and she smiles. It transforms her face from sharp cheekbones and a pointy chin into something almost pretty.

  It's gone in an instant. "Medic Carmichael hates Black Corporation. Your request is sitting in the bottom of a drawer somewhere."

  Shit, he was right.

  They walk toward a group of kiosks against the wall. People stand in front of a few, dressed in street clothes like Reagen. A pair of men, similar in height and build, jostle each other good-naturedly. A family team.

  Above them hangs a large leaderboard listing high-paying cases registered for open work. Already, multiple nametags mark them on the right.

  Reagen follows his gaze.

  "I don't run those." She raises her voice a little as they move further into Blue Hall, the bustle of the guards a steady rumble of background noise.

  Drake reads one of the case descriptions and frowns.

  "Why not? They seem easy, and the pay is good." As he watches, another tag pops up next to the third line. A case for distribution of illegal skin trade videos. Could be dangerous, but the higher pay on that one compensates for the risk.

  "They can't be locked. Only one of those tags will get the info first, so they'll be the only one who gets paid." She steps up to a kiosk two down from the pair. "One investigator can take evidence from the first investigator. People get hurt."

  She punches in a code, body blocking the screen.

  It lights up, and she moves to the side to make room for him to watch if he wants.

  "The team, there." A casual head tilt towards the two men now signing off of their kiosk. "The case they tagged was posted yesterday and already has three investigators working it. That team will run it long enough to figure out who's closest to solving it, then steal the info. They're poachers."

  "That should be illegal." Drake watches the two men walk away, laughing and shoving each other.

  Reagen glances at him, one brow lifted, and he realizes the irony of what he said. But even Black Corporation frowns on that kind of shit. Just because they deal in the illegal doesn't mean that kind of behavior would be tolerated among their own ranks.

  "Blue Hall and Black Corporation have specific rules that allow them to function." Her fingers move over the screen while she speaks, probably requesting access for the autopsy files. "Investigators, Inc. doesn't have rules like that. Solving the case is all that matters in the logs. If you tag it, you solve it. It doesn't matter how."

  "The Laundreman case must have hurt your record." Drake refuses to feel sorry for her. She was too willing to sell the information.

  Her gaze flicks to him, then away. "That was a closed case. I reported negative findings for infidelity. I didn't lose marks."

  Mercenary to the bone.

  She logs out of the kiosk and turns to face him. Somehow, she meets his eyes without looking up at him. A neat trick because he has a couple inches on her.

  "That bothers you." She made a gesture at his body. "Sure you shouldn't be wearing blue?"

  "Reagen!"

  Reagen's body goes loose, relaxed, and Drake notices how stiff she was. He watches as the professional mask slides into place, and she turns to greet the man striding up to them.

  "Blue Guard Rinehart," Reagen greets him, not too warm, but familiar.

  An older human, in his late thirties, with silver mixed into the brown hair at his temples. In shape, he wears his cobalt uniform with ease. A stylized wing glints on his right lapel, seven feathers to indicate his position on Level 7. On his opposite pocke
t, five silver stars mark him as a high-ranking guard. Another star and he'll be promoted to Level 8.

  He stops, body angled toward Reagen. While his forehead comes level with her nose, it doesn't seem to bother the man. His cool gaze drifts over Drake and measures the distance between him and Reagen's bodies. Drake takes a step closer, near enough for the heat of her body to reach his. Blue Guard Rinehart's eyes narrow.

  "Reagen, it's good to see you in the Halls." The man leans forward, a smile on his face as he ignores Drake. "Are you here tagging more cases?"

  "No, just showing a junior around." She swings an arm up to gesture and whacks Drake in the chest. He takes the hint and backs up. Not worth goading the other man if it means getting hit.

  "When are you taking the blue guard exams?"

  She laughs with him and shakes her head. "I wouldn't look good in azure."

  Rinehart's gaze traces her body in appreciation as he clears his throat. "I'm sure you'd be bumped up to cobalt right away. Your skills would be wasted on traffic duty."

  "I like the freedom of picking my own cases, Blue Guard Rinehart." She rolls her shoulders and glances at the ground.

  "Please, I keep asking you to call me Kyle." His voice drops an octave.

  Embarrassment pings through Drake. The poor man's working up to something, and Reagen isn't making it easy with the stop signals she's throwing out.

  "Rinehart! Break-in alert in Sector 3!" Another cobalt-uniformed guard heads toward them at a fast walk, one disc-bike in each hand.

  "Duty calls." Reagen nods toward the incoming guard, and Kyle’s shoulders slump with disappointment. With a last smile, he turns on his heel and hurries to join his partner.

  "So, how many times has Kyle asked you out?" Drake gives her shoulder a small nudge.

  She spins, and Drake gets his feet out of her way, wise to her ways. Passing him, she heads toward the rotating plas-glass doors.

  "How many times?" He follows on her heel, close, but not whacking close.

  When she notices she's ahead of him again, she slows her stride to a more casual speed and waits for him to come up alongside.