the North’s leadership and the Valix Corporation as well. Her article made the rounds, and as it had in Riverswidth her aptitude gained instant notice. Melni soon found herself on a boat again, on her way to Combra, to join the team covering Valix at the source. Almost overnight she’d landed in a front-and-center position on the South’s stage of covert assets. Their top agent, like it or not.
A familiar face snapped Melni back to the moment. One of the newly arrived detectives was a man she knew, a source within the department she’d used in the past and become friendly with, Boran Kulit. He shrugged at her probing questions but his eyes darted toand lingered on a small mealhouse across the street. She nodded understanding and moved on.
The crowd soon melted away entirely. Melni completed her show of asking questions, enough to warrant the birdshit story she would write that evening, and then hurried across the street to the café. She fetched ginger water and a curd biscuit from the counter, paid, and found a table by the window where she could see the door.
“What a blixxing mess,” Boran said, sliding onto the bench across from her a few minutes later. He placed his blue tented hat on the table and flicked a bit of ash from it, then ran both hands through his long black hair. Dark bags of weariness hung under his eyes, marring his otherwise smooth Northerner’s brown skin.
“Biscuit?” she asked him.
The detective declined. He ordered cham with a quick hand signal to the man behind the counter, then just sat there, eyes distant.
“I have questions,” she said.
“Shitpipe Southern bastards,” he muttered, not hearing her.
Melni gave the words time to settle. She chewed and swallowed some of the biscuit. “The chin-ups said it was an accident—”
“Of course they did!” He remembered himself and lowered his voice. “That is what the Valix people told us to say. ‘Call it an accident and go about your patrols.’ Like they own us.”
They do, and you know it.
She only thought this, though. Aloud she asked, “You really think it was insurgents?” There were a few cells operating in the area. Melni had no contact with them; she only knew this because her handler had said as much. She made a mental note to ask him if they had anything to do with it. She doubted it, though. They didn’t make things look like accidents.
Boran grimaced. “All I know is something does not taste right. I would just prefer that we determined the truth on our own, not be handed it by Valix suits.”
Melni sipped her drink thoughtfully. Too sweet for her taste. Not the spicy variety like they served back home. “Mmm…” she breathed, pretending to enjoy it. Boran took no notice. His focusremained on the lab across the street. She followed his gaze to black-scarred bricks around the windows and entrance. A thin waft of gray smoke drifted out from a hole in the roof. Beneath it all was the knowledge that three people had died here. Not just people, she reminded herself, but top researchers for Valix. Tantamount to an assault on the Triumvirate itself, these days.
“Boran,” she said, taking care to keep her voice level. “Do you have the names of the dead? I would like to do them honor when I prepare my article.”
“Hmm?” His gaze swung back to her. “Oh. Yeah.” The heavyset man pulled a weathered paper pad from his pocket and thumbed the empty pages up front until he reached the first with scribbled writing. “Let me see. Crall, Harginns, and Dumon.”
So there it was, just like that. She kept her hands on the cup and her face carefully blank. Inside her heart felt as if gripped by a fist. Onvel Harginns. Her insider, her informer, dead. The closest she and the South had come to unraveling the secrets behind the Valix Corporation’s incredible string of technological marvels. To die like this, so soon after Onvel had told her of the critical work he’d recently become involved in, work he promised
A familiar face snapped Melni back to the moment. One of the newly arrived detectives was a man she knew, a source within the department she’d used in the past and become friendly with, Boran Kulit. He shrugged at her probing questions but his eyes darted toand lingered on a small mealhouse across the street. She nodded understanding and moved on.
The crowd soon melted away entirely. Melni completed her show of asking questions, enough to warrant the birdshit story she would write that evening, and then hurried across the street to the café. She fetched ginger water and a curd biscuit from the counter, paid, and found a table by the window where she could see the door.
“What a blixxing mess,” Boran said, sliding onto the bench across from her a few minutes later. He placed his blue tented hat on the table and flicked a bit of ash from it, then ran both hands through his long black hair. Dark bags of weariness hung under his eyes, marring his otherwise smooth Northerner’s brown skin.
“Biscuit?” she asked him.
The detective declined. He ordered cham with a quick hand signal to the man behind the counter, then just sat there, eyes distant.
“I have questions,” she said.
“Shitpipe Southern bastards,” he muttered, not hearing her.
Melni gave the words time to settle. She chewed and swallowed some of the biscuit. “The chin-ups said it was an accident—”
“Of course they did!” He remembered himself and lowered his voice. “That is what the Valix people told us to say. ‘Call it an accident and go about your patrols.’ Like they own us.”
They do, and you know it.
She only thought this, though. Aloud she asked, “You really think it was insurgents?” There were a few cells operating in the area. Melni had no contact with them; she only knew this because her handler had said as much. She made a mental note to ask him if they had anything to do with it. She doubted it, though. They didn’t make things look like accidents.
Boran grimaced. “All I know is something does not taste right. I would just prefer that we determined the truth on our own, not be handed it by Valix suits.”
Melni sipped her drink thoughtfully. Too sweet for her taste. Not the spicy variety like they served back home. “Mmm…” she breathed, pretending to enjoy it. Boran took no notice. His focusremained on the lab across the street. She followed his gaze to black-scarred bricks around the windows and entrance. A thin waft of gray smoke drifted out from a hole in the roof. Beneath it all was the knowledge that three people had died here. Not just people, she reminded herself, but top researchers for Valix. Tantamount to an assault on the Triumvirate itself, these days.
“Boran,” she said, taking care to keep her voice level. “Do you have the names of the dead? I would like to do them honor when I prepare my article.”
“Hmm?” His gaze swung back to her. “Oh. Yeah.” The heavyset man pulled a weathered paper pad from his pocket and thumbed the empty pages up front until he reached the first with scribbled writing. “Let me see. Crall, Harginns, and Dumon.”
So there it was, just like that. She kept her hands on the cup and her face carefully blank. Inside her heart felt as if gripped by a fist. Onvel Harginns. Her insider, her informer, dead. The closest she and the South had come to unraveling the secrets behind the Valix Corporation’s incredible string of technological marvels. To die like this, so soon after Onvel had told her of the critical work he’d recently become involved in, work he promised
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