Brain Games (Rich Weed Book 3) Page 12

“Suit yourself.” Kriggler hopped up the stairs, disappearing around a bend.

  “I’ll follow him,” said Carl. “The police will want my visual feed in the event of a subpoena. Just don’t do anything stupid to get yourself shot.”

  As if I’d do any such thing. Three minutes later, when the police burst through the elevator doors, pulse pistols drawn, they found me seated in the middle of the lobby, hands in the air and with a finger pointed toward the fire escape. I had no intention of becoming a statistic.

  19

  I sat on a hard, flat bench in the heart of Pylon Alpha’s fourth district police precinct. Uniformed officers wandered back and forth in front of me, some with cups of coffee in hand, others with eyes partially glazed, taking Brain calls as they walked. They hustled about like ants, darting back and forth between conference rooms, holding cells, and each other’s offices, all while the grunts in the main chamber before me guarded their cubicles, each flush with holodisplays filled with surveillance feeds, info tickers, and glimpses of the occasional strikeball match.

  I turned to Carl, who sat beside me. “How long do you think this is going to take?”

  He shrugged. “Could be minutes. Could be hours. It’s bureaucracy. There’s no way to know.”

  I groaned. “I don’t understand why this is so challenging. I just want to talk to Kriggler.”

  “The police need to interview him thoroughly first,” said Carl. “Get his side of the story and compare it to the security feeds. How long that takes depends on how eager Kriggler is to comply. It’s possible he doesn’t want to talk to you. He’s not legally required to speak with anyone. Not even a lawyer.”

  “Psh. Not talk to me. As if anyone would willingly turn down that opportunity.”

  I sat there, tapping my fingers on my legs. I sighed. “I’ll admit though, I’m tempted to leave him here. Let him fend for himself.”

  “Then why don’t we?” asked Carl.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” said Carl. “Just saying.”

  “You know, I’ve never understood that expression,” I said. “I’ve met cats. Were they curious, yes, but none of them had a death wish.”

  Did you know the expression actually began as ‘care killed the cat,’ said Paige, with the first recorded instance appearing all the way back in 1598 in a play by the name of Every Man in His Humour. It wasn’t until much later, toward the tail end of the nineteenth century that the expression transitioned to ‘curiosity killed the cat,’ though the exact origin of the variation is unknown.

  “Well that makes even less sense,” I said. “How would a cat die being careful?”

  Care as in worry or sorrow, said Paige.

  “Well, thanks for adding that to the conversation,” I said. “I’m sure that tidbit of knowledge will come in handy at some point in my life.”

  I’m in here with you, said Paige. I can detect sarcasm.

  “You understand my point though, right?” said Carl. “There’s no real reason for us to continue this investigation. We got the results of the DNA test back. Lars is who we thought he was. Let’s hand over the rest of the information we gathered and let the police handle it.”

  I switched to an encrypted Brain feed for privacy. You know there are two main problems with that. The information Kriggler gathered wasn’t legally obtained, for one. The courts would throw it out, and the police can’t investigate without cause. And the other reason is due to jurisdiction. This isn’t purely a Cetie issue anymore. If Kriggler’s data is right, we’d need to get at least one, if not more, Cetif PDs involved.

  If Kriggler’s data is right, said Carl.

  Do you have any reason to doubt it? We were right there with him the whole time.

  Carl stayed silent.

  I thought so.

  While I’d stayed in the Tau Ceti Consolidated Credit Corporation’s reception area and been taken into police custody, Carl had followed Kriggler up to the skyscraper’s roof. Following Kriggler’s skimmer signal, the pair had found a private satellite array connected directly to the TCCCC’s servenet. Based on the inclination of the satellite array in the afternoon sky, Carl had guessed the thing was pointed at Cetif. Though Kriggler had chucked his skimmer over the edge of the building the instant the police arrived, he’d wirelessly transmitted the data to Carl before doing so. Since then, Carl had performed additional analysis of the servenet files and coordinates skimmed from the array. His silence now confirmed what we’d already discussed. Hundred if not thousands of Cetie bank accounts were being hijacked, their funds stolen, and the SEUs funneled through a secure channel to somewhere on Kriggler’s home world. Questions abounded. How were the accounts being hijacked? The victims couldn’t possibly all be dead—the deaths of Lars and Hari had to be coincidental—so how were the perpetrators hiding their tracks? Was it a simple cash grab, or something more nefarious? Who was behind it? And was it really our place to try and figure it out?

  “Well, if it isn’t Investigator Weed.”

  I looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. My buddy from Lars’s crime scene, Oliver Sanz, stood in front of me with his arms crossed.

  “Officer Sanz,” I said. “I didn’t realize you worked at this precinct.”

  “I don’t,” he said, a deep frown set into his cheeks. “The officers here called me in after you were taken into custody and your name popped up on a report regarding my investigation into the Busk death.”

  “Hopefully it was a short trip over from your office, then.”

  “Not especially.”

  Sanz stood there staring at me. I shifted on my seat, feeling the heat of his gaze.

  “Okay, look, Weed,” he said after a moment. “I don’t know what your plan is, or what you hope to accomplish with this pal of yours, Dirk Kriggler—”

  “Hey, now,” I said. “That guy’s not my pal, no matter what he says. I barely know him. He barged into my apartment a few hours ago. I only hooked up with him because our cases seemed to align. But I had no idea he was armed, and I certainly didn’t know he was going to assault a droid. Seriously, I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve complied with you guys from the get go, and—”

  Sanz put up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Trust me, I’ve already watched the security vids. If I or any of the other officers felt you should’ve been charged, then you wouldn’t have been released right away. That’s not why I’m here.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Good to hear. Then why are you here?”

  “For a friendly warning,” he said. “I’ve been honest with you from the start. You haven’t, though I thought you’d turned a corner during our last call. Now? I don’t know what you’re up to with this Kriggler guy, but I’d highly suggest you cool your heels and leave the police work to those with badges. From what you told me about your case, this doesn’t concern you anyway. Speaking of which…we got the results of the DNA test back. It was, indeed, Lars Busk who died.”

  I nodded, not admitting we’d already learned the same from our own test. “Thanks for that. Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Kriggler wants to talk to you. It’s up to you if you want to abide by his request or not, but I’ve made my thoughts clear on the matter.”

  “Where is he?”

  Sanz pointed across the room. “Holding cell sixteen. The security officer there will let you in.”

  I sighed. “I should at least hear him out. Carl? I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I stood and crossed the common area, heading down a hallway and toward the holding cells. As I approached number sixteen, a panel flashed. Someone barked at me to identify myself, so I stated my name and pressed my thumb into the scanner when prompted. The gate opened and I stepped in. Kriggler sat behind a plain metal table in a chair of similar form.

  “Rich. Buddy,” said Kriggler. “What took you so long? Was it that Sanz guy? It was Sanz wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t
know what you’re referring to exactly,” I said. “And don’t ‘buddy’ me. You don’t know me. You certainly don’t care about me. Buddies don’t fail to mention they’re packing heat and then pull said weapon out in public. They certainly don’t fire on droids in the middle of a bank lobby.”

  “Rich, we talked about that,” said Kriggler. “The droid attacked me. You saw it. It’s on any number of feeds. The bank surveillance feed, your droid’s, your own visual feed.”

  “Those vids are inconclusive to say the least. And if you think you’re going to avoid charges by claiming self-defense against a droid, then you’ve lost your marbles. I don’t know if Cetif’s any different, but here and in the rest of the known universe droids are programmed not to kill humans.”

  “Stranger things have happened, pal,” said Kriggler. “But that’s besides the point. We have more important things to talk about—namely, our investigation.”

  I blinked and pulled up a chair, another folding metal one. It was as uncomfortable as I’d expected. “Are you not paying attention? You’re here on assault and destruction of property charges. Be glad your pulse rounds only temporarily incapacitated that droid, otherwise you’d be facing far worse.”

  “I know what I’ve been charged with,” said Kriggler, “and I think I can get out of all of it. But as I said, that’s not important. Right now, we need to focus on you getting me out of here.”

  “Really?” I asked. “How do you plan on doing that? Did you manage to sneak a fusion-powered drilling laser in with you in your pants?”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re going to bail me out.”

  I laughed, but the mirth died after a single guffaw. “And why would I do that?”

  Kriggler leaned forward in his chair. “Because you want to know what’s going on as much as I do. Because you made a commitment to your client, and you’re the sort to see things through to the end. I can tell. Seriously, lives are on the line here. You’d follow this case even if you hadn’t been hired in the first place. And last but not least, because you’ll need me. I’m sure you’ve chatted with your partner, Carl. Talked about what he and I discovered. Where it pointed. Trust me, you’d be lost without me.”

  Kriggler was going out of his way not to mention Cetif, and with good reason. If the police had reason to think Kriggler would skip planet the moment he posted bail, they’d never let him out of their custody. Not that he’d make it very far. His name would automatically be added to every intra- and interstellar transportation company’s no fly list. He wouldn’t be able to buy a ticket, much less set foot on a freighter.

  I shook my head. “It’s a moot point, Dirk. Even if I post bail for you, we’re stuck waiting for the due course of law. If you wanted to make progress on the case, you should’ve first thought about the repercussions of pulling and discharging your firearm.”

  “Come on,” said Kriggler. “Help me with the bail. I’ll pay you back. The charges aren’t that serious. I’ve probably made more off incidentals from the Gupta case alone than you’ll have to pony up. Just do it. Quick. The longer we wait, the colder the trail will get. You know that.”

  “I’ll think about it. That’s all I’ll promise.”

  I turned and headed back out the gate, over to the common area, and back to Carl, who still sat on the bench. Officer Sanz had made himself scarce.

  “Learn anything?” said Carl.

  I took a seat. “Not really. Kriggler wants me to post bail. Wants to keep investigating, despite the obvious roadblocks in the way.”

  “Don’t worry about what he wants,” said Carl. “You don’t owe him anything. The question is, what do you want?”

  It was a good question. Ultimately, I wasn’t sure. Despite the blunt and tactless way Kriggler had gone about his points, he’d made good ones. I’d always had a bit of a soft spot for maidens in need, and Lars’s death had forced upon me a moral imperative to go above and beyond the line of duty in regards to Helena Busk. Not to mention the grander moral implications of our case. Kriggler’s skimmer had found hundreds if not thousands of accounts being defrauded—presumably—of their government stipends. Two of those people were dead. How many others might be?

  One thing was obvious. I couldn’t sit on my hands and do nothing. Patience had never been a strong suit of mine.

  I glanced at Carl. “I don’t think you’ll like what we’re going to do next.”

  My partner lifted an eyebrow. “It involves Kriggler, doesn’t it?”

  “It involves money,” I said. “A lot of it. Come on. Let’s pay a trip to my bank. They’ll want to be advised of this.”

  20

  I leaned back in my captain’s chair, plush white lambskin leather underneath me, sleek and clean and cool to the touch. A console swept out before me, a variable touch display trimmed in dark gray carbon fiber and loaded with the standard terrestrial controls and readouts: a speedometer, accelerometer, altimeter, geolocator, external pressure sensors, attitude indicator, and a host of other readings I’d yet to come to understand. Thankfully, I had Paige for that.

  You’ve got me for all of it, she said. As if you’d be able to pilot this ship without me. You didn’t even know what attitude meant until I notified you ten minutes ago.

  I knew what it meant, I retorted. Give me some credit.

  Oh, you knew what one of the word’s definitions meant. Not the one related to geometry and orientation, unfortunately.

  I lifted my gaze and looked out the front windshield, a wide expanse of Pseudaglas that might as well not have been there for all the optical interference it provided. Tau Ceti burned brightly in the sky outside, showering its warm rays over the vast reach of the spaceport’s Epsilon runway before me. I couldn’t even see the end, the pavement disappearing into the distance. I still wasn’t sure why flight control had sent me to this particular runway. My Kestrel™ Chinook Z-Class didn’t need anywhere near that far to achieve lift, or even to slow on landing. Maybe the other runways had been busy.

  I called out over my shoulder. “Carl? How are we doing on everything? Provisions? Fuel? Are we good to go?”

  I heard his footsteps as he approached from behind. “It’s a little late to be asking that, don’t you think? We’re literally waiting for final takeoff approval.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I feel like I should be calling out important questions and commands to the crew, like ‘batten down the hatches,’ and ‘check the resonant cavity thrusters for gravitational lensing!’”

  Carl sat next to me in the copilot’s chair. “You’re just throwing words together now, aren’t you? Do you have any clue how this ship works?”

  “On a grand scale, yes. At the micro level? No.”

  Don’t worry, said Paige. Carl and I have you covered. As always… And for the record, yes, I made sure to check the food stores and liquid hydrogen tanks as part of the several hundred item long pre-flight checklist. You won’t lack for snacks, and we won’t run out of fuel. Of course, even if we did, we wouldn’t be stranded. This vessel is equipped with a Bussard hydrogen scoop. We could putter along on stray atoms until we found a spot to refuel.

  “But we wouldn’t be able to land anywhere,” I said.

  Depends on the atmospheric composition of the planet we’re trying to land on, said Paige. Assuming said planet has an atmosphere. I’m assuming most of the ones we’ll be visiting will. Congrats for knowing what a Bussard scoop is, by the way.

  “Eh. I inferred it from context.”

  Carl smiled and shook his head.

  “Are you laughing at me?” I said.

  He looked up. “Me? No. Well…a little. I’m more surprised to find myself here. In this ship, specifically. I really didn’t think you’d pull the trigger on the Chinook.”

  “But you’re glad I did, right?”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t blow your entire fortune on a broken down used freighter, if that’s what you mean,” said Carl. “That isn’t to say
I fully approve of the purchase. Or of everything else…”

  The intercom crackled to life. “Fhloston Paradise. You are cleared for takeoff.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Given the delay, I’d started to worry. “Thanks, flight control. Paige?”

  I’m ready to engage the engines as soon as you buckle yourself in.

  I glanced at my chair. “Right.”

  I did as Paige asked, and she sent power surging into the thrusters. A rush of acceleration mashed me into the back of my seat. The runway blurred, and before I knew it, we’d surged into the sky. Trees and cars and buildings shrunk beneath us, and our acceleration slowed to a more moderate level.

  I paused with my hand over the seat restraints. “Paige? Is it safe to unbuckle?”

  I’m no flight attendant, she said. This is your ship, remember. Do what you want. But if you’re asking for my flight plans, I intend to keep the Paradise on her current trajectory for another eighteen minutes or so. Once we start to clear Cetie’s mesosphere and enter the thermosphere, I’ll reorient us for a deep space burn. We’ll continue to experience Cetie’s gravitational field throughout, though, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

  “Good. Carl? Give me a hand.”

  I unbuckled and headed into the back, dropping down a ladder from the cockpit into the Chinook’s common room, a surprisingly airy space equipped with a pair of wraparound bench and table sets, retractable lounge chairs with built-in holoprojectors, and a kitchenette at the back. I ignored the lot and headed to the middle, crouching down over one of the floor panels.

  I held out my hand. “Carl? Electromagnetic clamp?”

  He searched under his coat and produced two of the handle-like items in question. He handed me one and crossed to the opposite side of the panel. We each pressed our clamps into place against the panel and activated the current.

  “Ready?”

  Carl nodded.

  “On three.”

  I counted, and we lifted. The panel slid free, revealing a flat gray slab of metal underneath, its surface coated with ice crystals and held in place by an equally frosty latch.