~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the office, Reg, Buckman, Charles and the two guards were standing in the hallway. “We need to take you two down for questioning,” one of the guards said.
“I just answered a bunch of questions,” Charles said. “What more you got?”
The two guards stared at Charles, unsure how to respond. “I don’t know. Let’s go.”
13
Parren was in his suite before breakfast, talking on the com to a legislator back on Earth. The communication delay was getting obtrusive as the conversation became more direct. There was nothing either of them could do about it, since light only traveled so fast. “Senator, we have to move this forward,” Parren said. Parren could have put him on the visual, but he never liked to do that unless needed. This would have increased the delay, but there were more important reasons. There was too much the Senator could learn from facial expressions; and besides, it was still early, and he was not properly dressed.
“You have to understand,” the Senator said, after the requisite delay. “There are many opinions in how to secure a border and still maintain relations.”
“There are no more excuses. If you want funding for your needs, this has to go ahead.” Parren kept his voice down. He rarely raised his voice. If anything, he was quieter the more upset he became. Many years ago, he had perfected having the quietest voice but loudest meaning.
“Right. I understand,” the Senator said. The man was clever, and knew if he did not cooperate, the funding Parren was talking about would go into someone else’s campaign. Parren kept track of who stayed with his ideals and who strayed. Those who strayed ended up in other professions beside politics.
Parren listened to the man. As he talked, Parren could hear him form a position around and through the issue, until he came to construct a plan of who he needed to influence and how to proceed.
When he finally concluded, Parren said, “We both know the higher purpose to what we are doing. The only way to continue is to proceed as you described. This is for the best. All our lives will be enhanced without the weight of continued miscellaneous discourse that the voters have no patience for. Our decisiveness is what they really want, though they may only sense what we know as the divine purpose of our machinations. Still, their lives have been, and will be, profoundly enhanced by what our efforts will bless upon them.”
The message made its way through space and into the com the Senator was holding to his ear. There was a brief acknowledgement, followed by another condolence and a tight farewell. The line clicked off.
Parren turned off the com console on the table and pushed it aside. He took a bite of his warm grain cereal and washed it down with a mouthful of warm, clear tea. There was a mirror beside the table, and he caught a glimpse of himself. His hair was not quite right. There was a hairbrush in the drawer built into the table. He stood up and fixed his hair until everything was perfectly in place, and then he resumed eating in complete silence, with no news scroll or book to read. Parren often ate alone, staring at a blank wall, alone with his thoughts. At exactly 8:37 am, he finished eating and rang a service bell. A young man came into the room and began removing the dishes. “Blue blazer, red tie. Gray pants.” After a few moments of thought, he added, “I’ll pick out the shirt.” The young man quietly left with the dishes. A closet door in the next room opened and closed, and a few moments later, the young man left.
Parren walked to his dressing room to shower and dress for the day. She had good tastes in furnishings, he thought as he went through their fifteen-room suite. The place was warm and quiet. They had owned the suite and used it whenever they wanted to take a vacation. Bought as an investment and place to live and entertain, Parren had let her decorate and live there whenever she pleased. For the last six months, she had lived there exclusively. She would have stayed there longer if.... Well, if. Parren caught a few more looks of himself in the mirrors and glass panes. Overall, the suite was modestly sized, certainly not the largest on the ship, but they did have access to any of the clubs and restaurants they wished to attend. She often did and probably kept an active social schedule. Parren accompanied her whenever he was aboard, but only if exclusivity was assured.
Bents, of all people. The report on the newscast was still fresh in his mind. The little brown man and the taller blonde one. For sure, they were involved and had been part of many past grievances, all of which would be apparent when the time was appropriate. They would likely be convicted; jail would be good for them. As in most of his efforts, he truly did not understand the Bents. Years ago, the separation was a forgone conclusion, with both sides finally acknowledging the inevitable. They were given land to live on and all they needed to maintain a sufficient life. However, they continued to squabble, and there were wage skirmishes, which only made life difficult for both sides. If neither the Straights nor the Bents had to constantly deal with these kinds of conflicts, they could move together towards a greater good. Clearly, however, they had not proven worthy of such higher ideals. True to their nature and DNA, they only succeeded in breeding like flies, with no real thought on how to organize themselves and feed their own children. Celirna had spent considerable time, at his discouragement, working to better the lives of the Bent children. There was some research showing improvements could be made. In the end, though, these measures were always a way of feeling better, with no real measure of success. The Generators of the theory, his ancestors, had been profound and provided a path towards order and discipline. Parren and his collaborators had worked hard to ensure things stayed as they were, and the Senator he had been talking to was one of those making sure they did.
As he did every morning before attending to other matters, Parren devoted at least thirty minutes to reading the history and theories of the Generators, and working on a complete history he was planning to publish. Decades before, everything started with a Doctor Sharp. Sharp had discovered a supposed aberration to the DNA structure that predicted deviate behavior. At first, science disputed his findings, but as data grew, they came to accept his theories. Soon, employers and insurance companies began to use this information to make judgments. Laws were challenged and eventually proven to support the claims. People began to arrange marriages and relationships around DNA testing. Cities began to crumble into segments. Families split. Violence erupted, and though the politics were muddled, in the end both sides agreed a physical divide was for the best. Both sides, however, never really made peace, and problems would erupt and then settle down. Slowly over the decades, however, Bents had found ways to creep back into the Straight world. Lines, borders, and creative people are hard to secure. Parren had made it his life’s work and maintain the separation. Too much progress had been made since the separation. He had all the data to support this, and he had used it to build strong allies throughout the lawmaking and defense communities.
Parren pondered this history for a moment and went about writing the portion he had been working on, an introductory biography of Dr. Sharp:
Dr. Sharp had been born into a patrician family and had inherited his father’s penchant for the divine beauty of nature. The order and structure of plants, leaves in particular, held an especially riveting interest. He spent hours as a lad collecting samples and peering into a microscope, his uncharacteristically large head and bushy hair bowed for hours over the optical eyepiece, observing, noting and cataloging. It was a charmed, enlightened existence for a young man of such brightened astuteness and alacrity, encouraged by a well-bred familial environment that eventually led him to being one of the youngest scholars in his field, publishing respected works before he had fully matriculated....
Parren wrote as long as he could before needing to attend to other duties. He read what he had written, and knew this would be a definitive account, researched and written in minute, exquisite detail. Who would not want to read that! With a sigh, he turne
d off his notepad, and went back to a news broadcast. It only took a few minutes for him to see the unrest to know, believe, that what he was doing was a calling he could not refuse.
Parren finished tying his tie and looked in his closet at the extensive collection of white and light yellow shirts. He had thrown away the blue shirts after a disagreeable moment when he had a fight with her. Why had she insisted on blue shirts? She had a persistent way that could be unappealing. Too much opinion. He did one final check over his clothes and hair before sliding the com into his pocket and walking towards the door.
Sitting in the outer office of the suite was his publicist Morgan. Parren nodded to him when he stepped out. “Good morning, Parren,” Morgan said.
“Good morning,” Parren said to the small man with the round glasses. Morgan had been with him for seven years and had proven to be worthy enough to stay around for a few more. That time and service had allowed him to become a confidant of sorts. Mentally quick and easy of manner, he had shown himself capable of controlling and deflecting the press. Parren continued down the hall. Morgan fell in half a step behind him.
They went through another door where his attorney, Gryman, and an assistant were waiting. He nodded to both of them. “I have a matter to attend to regarding my dearly departed wife.”
“Yes, I have scheduled a meeting with the authorities,” Gryman said. For this trip, Gryman, an established and experienced private attorney, had come along.
“The men in question were Bent maintenance workers,” Parren said. “I’m due there in twenty-seven minutes. We should leave now to allow for delays. I imagine there will be press wanting to converse with me. I really don’t have time this morning.”
Morgan picked up on this request, though nothing else was added. “I’ll handle them. There should be an escort detail to ship central.”
“Agreed,” Parren said. With that, he led the way out the door and down the concourse. The other three men walked slightly behind and to the side of him as he walked through the various halls that eventually ended in a door leading to the public area of the ship’s Grand Atrium.
Morgan spoke into his com. A few seconds later, the door opened from the other side, and they were immediately flanked by three security guards. The media shoved their way in nonetheless as they tried to move forward. Parren’s entourage pressed slowly forward and made marginal progress. Parren tried to look over the heads of everyone, but made every effort to not touch or be touched by anyone. He kept his hands down to his sides to avoid the possibility. Cameras and questions were forced at him. “Not now, please,” he heard Morgan say from his side. “Respect the situation he is in.”
This did nothing to help their progress, and a camera grazed his shoulder. Parren caught the eye of one of the guards. “I can’t treated like this.”
“Yes sir,” was the terse reply. “Only a few meters more.” They began to press harder through the crowd and made better progress until they came to an exit beside one of the shops. They unlocked the door and closed it behind themselves, shutting out the din of the crowd.
They climbed into a transport cart that would take them to ship central. Parren sat in the back, with Gryman beside him. Morgan had stayed behind to face the media. That was his job, and Parren was going to let him do it.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the unremarkable entrance to the government of the ship.
Before entering the facility, they were asked by a guard to present their ID sticks, which were thoroughly scanned.
“Don’t you recognize who I am?” Parren asked the entry guard, as he handed over the stick.
“Can’t be too careful, sir. Not with what’s happened.”
“Appropriate answer,” Parren said. Parren knew the guard was placating him, but it was the correct answer and he liked being placated.
Parren and Gryman were led to the Major Orden’s office, security chief for the ship. He was finishing a call when they walked in. Within a minute, he signed off the com and turned his attention the Parren and Gryman. “Gentlemen, I wish we could meet under better circumstances.” He reached across to shake their hands. Gryman shook hands with the Major. Parren merely raised his in acknowledgement.
“Correct, yes, right,” the Chief said, returning to his seat.
“Can you go over the details of what you know so far?” Gryman asked.
“There is not much to discuss yet. The two workers were in the area right before the, uh, discovery. Two officers went in not long after they had been working there and discovered a flood of matter in the hold. They began draining the area, and the discovery was made.”
“What do you know about these two workers?” Parren asked.
“We’re still gathering information. The older one is from Northern, and the other is from Eastern. The older man has a long record of trouble with authorities. The maintenance company has employed him for about 15 years. By all accounts, he is highly skilled at his job. The other, younger, man has very little in his background, which usually means he is an illegal.”
“And we let them on the ship?” Gryman said.
The Chief cleared his throat and crossed his legs, and Parren knew the man was going to be defensive to Gryman’s accusation. Blame always tried to find somewhere to rest. “I’m sure it requires no explanation that screening techniques are not foolproof. We use the standard protocols when reviewing contracted employees, but unless there is an exhaustive search by a trained individual, breaches will occur.”
“That’s hardly an acceptable excuse,” Gryman said. Parren began to feel he would need to bring this conversation back to the matter at hand if it continued in this manner much longer.
“I can only speculate at this point, based on the lack of in-depth background on this man. A full search is underway, and this will take up to a day. We can’t afford to spend an entire day researching everyone who comes aboard this ship. Also, privacy laws restrict how far we can investigate without just cause.”
Gryman was about to comment on this when Parren said, “Can you describe the circumstances under which my dear wife was discovered?”
Gryman put his hand onto Parren’s arm. “Sir, are you sure you want to discuss this?”
“I have no other reason for being here.” Parren had heard a general description of her condition when she was found. He had been a prosecutor in his early career, and had seen enough postmortems to make him immune to the emotional impact. “Spare no details.”
Chief Ordan went into a long description of how they entered the hold, made a thorough search, and finally started draining the containment area. He described the decomposed condition of the body.
“How can you be sure this is actually her?” Gryman said.
“An autopsy is in progress. The decomposition material makes this difficult. Right now, we only have strong speculation that this is she. All other evidence, trackings of her whereabouts, timing of locations, make the case this very likely. The confirmed data will greatly help us.”
Parren was not familiar with how the Alkalinium worked. He did know it was a widely used material that completely broke down organic materials to harmless and usable components. “I thought a DNA test would be conclusive. Are you saying you can’t even do that?”
“I don’t know yet,” the Chief said. “The way it was explained to me is that things are broken to basic elements. The scientists are looking further to see what they can find.”
Gryman pulled his com out. “We have access to the foremost experts in the field. I can have them up here in a day to help.”
“Please,” the Chief said. “I would rather the criminologists work for now.”
“I agree. Let’s let the experts do their jobs. I prefer not to make this a national story,” Parren said. “It is distressing enough as it is.”
Gryman looked at Parren a moment. “Very well.” Then, to Ordan, he asked, “Tell us about the
broken valve.”
“It appeared a plate had given way, allowing the line contents to flow into the hold,” Ordan said.
“Certainly, the thought has crossed your mind that this one man is a skilled plumber and could have set this up,” Parren stated.
“Yes, but I find it hard to believe he worked alone. I also don’t see any motive.”
“Keep looking,” Gryman said. “I’ve reviewed his profile. A violent and petulant man. He probably did not need more than hate as a motivation.”
Ordan clicked up a display of Charles that listed out his past offenses and projected it up on the wall behind him. “We have a full history of his activities: destruction of property, violent conflicts, participation in border problems. A long list.”
Gryman looked over the list and leaned forward on Ordan’s desk “I want to be present at the interrogation,” Gryman said.
“That would be highly unusual,” Ordan said.
Parren knew Gryman was almost of the same order as himself. He would have a complete distrust of the two Bent suspects. “Gryman is legendary in his skills of interrogation and legal logic. I want him there,” Parren said.
“We do very well ourselves. I would prefer he not be there,” Ordan said. He quickly closed down the display, and shut off the monitor on his desk.
Gryman had his com out and up to his ear. “Give me the Magistrate, please.” Gryman stood up and conducted the conversation quietly, but just loud enough for Ordan and Parren to hear.
Gryman hung up. Parren, knowing who was called and what was going to happen, stood up from the desk as well. “You’ll be receiving a call in a few minutes. Afterwards, be so kind as to contact Gryman of the time of the interrogation.”
Parren and Gryman left the office and took the transport back to their offices. Parren returned to the suite where be continued to conduct business. He was glad that Gryman would be in the interrogation room. Though he was interested in the proceedings, he knew his presence would be unusual. He also had other things on his agenda that day that he needed to do, and he did not want to spend the time at the security facility. Work was often the best cure for emotional thoughts.
14
The security guards had led Charles, Buckman and Reg to a room designated “Interview Room 5.” They had been sitting there for about an hour with the guard when the door opened and two men entered. One of them had on an officer’s uniform, and the other was wearing a gray flannel suit. Buckman recognized the officer from when they were first brought into the room but had not seen the other man before. Both men sat down on the opposite side of the table. The officer, Crombly, according to the name on his tag, ever so slightly turned his chair away from the other man. The man in gray quietly crossed his legs and sat very still. The officer had a cup of coffee on the table, which he drank and then exhaled audibly and importantly through his throat and nose. Buckman usually did not notice such things, but in this case, the body language and sounds left little doubt that the officer either was trying to prove something to the other man or had an intense dislike of him. Maybe both.
The man in the gray suit spoke first. “My name is Gryman, I represent the interests of Parren, the victim’s husband.”
“Cop told us they ain’t got a positive ID on the body yet,” Charles blurted out. “Keep us here for an hour and tell us a lie, that how it starts?”
“May I remind you sir—” Gryman said.
Crombly spoke up. “I’m going to remind both of you, this is my investigation, and I will ask the questions. If that’s not understood, I’ll find another way to conduct this.” Gryman feigned an interest in his fingernails. Charles smirked.
Crombly said to Charles, “Explain what happened when you first entered the hold.”
“Look, I described the whole mess before.” Neither of the men on the other side of the table reacted. “I went in and did an inspect right after we docked. I had to plan out the work on the orders.”
Reg jumped in. “See, the orders come out before the job is finalized. Things can change before we dock and begin work. That finalizes the work agreement.” Gryman looked down at Reg for a second.
“And what is your position?” Gryman asked him.
“I’m the supervisor for the recycling team,” Reg said. Gryman renewed his interest in his fingernails by rubbing his thumb across them.
Crombly continued. “Describe what you saw the second time you entered the area.”
“Ain’t that right in front of you?” Charles asked. Again neither man reacted. Gryman did not raise his head to look at Charles. “Once again. I came around the side of the hold and I seen shit flying 20 meters high. When you get a goddamn leak in light gravity and low air pressure, a line’ll blow like week old chili out yer ass.”
Gryman looked up. Reg said, “Charles, watch your language.”
Buckman chimed in. “It was a massive leak. The biggest I ever seen.”
“Charles is the most knowledgeable man we have on the operation of the systems. If anyone could diagnose and fix it, it would be him,” Reg said in a calm voice.
Crombly entered a few pieces of information into the data pad. Gryman said, “Ask him how he learned the entire recycling system.” Crombly looked at Gryman, who did not return the stare. He set his hand on the table and drummed his fingers once. “Ask him, please. You’re the lead investigator.”
“How have you come to have an in-depth knowledge of the entire system?” Crombly asked.
Charles looked at Gryman, who still was turned slightly away from him. Gryman continued to drum his fingers. “What?” Charles asked.
Crombly looked at Gryman. “Have him answer the question,” Gryman said.
“Please answer the question,” the officer said.
Charles tilted his head to one side and let out a grumpy sigh. “What are you, his puppet? He got his hand up your butt, working your mouth?” The silence that followed was only filled with Gryman’s drumming fingers and a stifled throat clearing from Crombly.
“He’s been in this business for almost twenty-five years,” Reg said. “All his training and certifications are up to date.”
“Is he the supervisor for these men?” Gryman asked Crombly.
“Yes,” Crombly said. He paged through a number of screens. “Reginald McCullough. Works for TAris Waste products. He’s been employed for twenty years. Started as a—” He was cut off by a wave of Gryman’s hand. “Excuse me? I thought you me asked a question.”
“And you answered it. The remaining information is of little importance,” Gryman said.
“How can you say that?” Crombly asked.
“Continue with your questioning. The blonde man, when did he first enter the hold?” Gryman said.
Crombly slammed the screen closed on the table. “I will ask the questions here. This is my investigation.” Buckman was stunned. Charles continued to smirk.
“Then ask. You were about to ask that anyway. This is a very relevant question,” Gryman said.
He opened the screen again and asked, in an even voice, “When did you first enter the hold?”
Buckman was confused as to who was really in control of this interrogation. Maybe that was Gryman’s goal. “Right, I went in at 800.”
“What actions did you perform?” Crombly asked.
“I was to watch the material transfer and do a class 1 inspection of the hold,” Buckman said.
“What is a class 1 inspection?” Gryman said. “Sorry; please ask him the question.”
Crombly looked at Buckman but did not verbalize the question. Buckman answered anyway. “A class 1 inspection looks for obvious structural problems and leaks.”
The information was entered into the database. Before Crombly could finish, Gryman asked another question. “Where did he look, specifically?”
Buckman looked between the two interrogators, still confused on who was doing what. After several
moments, Crombly pointed at him. “I went to the top of the tank with a monitor to detect any leaks. I also looked at the struts on all sides for any signs of cracks or fatigue.”
Gryman asked the officer. “Do you think both of these men could possibly have an in-depth knowledge of the workings of the plumbing on a ship of this complexity?”
Charles was no longer able to contain himself. “What the hell are you driving at?” he bellowed.
“Can we have him removed?” Gryman asked, pointing at Charles and looking back at the viewing window.
Charles jumped up. “What are you trying to do? Don’t you want to find the killer? This woman didn’t just wander in there and get lost.” Crombly put a hand onto Charles’s arm. “This smells funny, and I work in some shitty places. It seems damn strange the police go in right after we was. It’s like we was set up. I know how the sewage system works better than my own insides. Whoever did this broke the valve. I can prove it. There’s marks all over them bolts.”
“Who’s to say you didn’t leave the marks there? You would know how to do that,” Gryman said.
“You son-of-a-Bent motherfucker.” Charles started to crawl across the table, but forgot his hands were tied down. He slipped out of his chair and fell to the floor cursing and yelling.
Within seconds, another officer entered the room. He started unlocking Charles and dragging him back up to a standing position. Charles appeared to calm down, which caused the officer to stop, but keep his grip on him.
Charles bent forward slightly and said to Gryman, “You tight-assed bastard. I know what you’re all about. Fear. Enough fear and people will say anything for you to leave ’em be. We get tired of that. Tired of your kind. I know what stink is and this reeks.”
Charles knew enough not to make any more of a scene, and he left with the guard. Gryman did not watch as he left the room, only looking at his manicured left thumbnail and rubbing it with his index finger.
Crombly made another entry into the data log. “Very well. Continue explaining your actions in the hold.”
Buckman went into detail about how he went around to the various supports and incoming lines, looking for any signs of fatigue. This explanation included a detailed working of the monitor and him dropping it, though he placed himself in a different location when that happened.
“How could he be under the tank and not see her?” Gryman asked.
Buckman felt there was something odd about that question, but was not sure what it was. He was not sure if Gryman had jumped to a conclusion or how much he knew about how she was found. Buckman knew the answer was that he had to be almost in the exact position he was to have seen her, but did not want to give that much detail, so he gave an in-between answer. “It’s real dark under there. I had a helmet on and visor over my face.”
Gryman blinked a couple of times. “Of course. Excuse me. Were you the first person to go in there after you docked?” he asked Buckman.
“We work in regular shifts,” Reg said. “Like we said, Charles went in first to check on what needed to be done.”
“What do you think?” Gryman asked Crombly, who at first appeared to not hear him. He stopped entering data and thought for a moment.
“What shift did you work that day?” he asked Buckman.
“I was on the first shift. I went in ahead of anyone else,” Buckman said.
“Even before the other man?” Crombly asked.
“Buckman needed to be in there for the docking and secure transfer of the expended waste material. That’s a safety regulation we’re required to follow,” Reg said.
“Was he assisting the other man at any point?” Crombly asked.
“If you look at the safety codes, if there is a repair in progress or machinery moving around, at least two workers need to be present,” Reg said. He started to remove his data pad and look for that exact regulation. Gryman had no interest; however, Crombly patiently waited for Reg to find the clause and then noted it in the interview record.
“How deep was the liquid in the hold when you stepped in?” Gryman asked.
“Waist deep. When I bent over my visor was partially submerged.”
Gryman pursed his lips and shook his head. “This is just too convenient,” he said to Crombly. “These men were right in the vicinity of where she was found. They admit it and the movement records prove it, and yet they claim no involvement. They both have a profound knowledge of the workings of the system.”
Buckman first turned to Reg for help, but saw there was none there. “I just didn’t see anything. I—I can’t explain it better than that.”
Gryman pressed his finger onto the table. “Listen, all of you. This was the wife of an important and powerful man. His influence is limitless. He will not stop until the perpetrators are caught, duly prosecuted, and punished. His and my backgrounds are in legal prosecution and law. We therefore know all the ins and outs of how the system works. Parren is a brilliant man, as am I, and we cannot be fooled. Our skills of perception and logic are beyond what most people can even imagine. I’ve often been accused of reading people’s minds, but I assure you my only tricks are a high degree of intelligence and persistence. If you were involved with this, and I believe you were, your best course is to confess. I know from experience this will greatly curtail the incarceration. Incarceration means jail time in case you don’t know.”
Crombly finished entering a few notes. “Anything else?” he asked Gryman.
Gryman removed his com from his pocket and held it out. “I can call someone right now and have you removed from this case. You ask the right questions make the right conclusions, and there will be no problem. It’s your choice.”
Crombly closed the data pad. “Finished?”
Gryman put the com away and left the room. Crombly continued with the same series of questions he had asked before, to which Buckman gave the same answers.
15
Before leaving the interrogation room, a tracking bracelet was placed on Buckman’s left wrist. The plastic ring hung loosely around the wrist, but it was still a nuisance. The policeman read to him from a prepared statement.
“The item being placed on your person does not constitute a conviction. This is only being done for the purpose of monitoring your whereabouts during this official investigation, G010-08-004-DO004. However, removal of the item is punishable by up to a year of confinement. The item will be removed upon the completion of the investigation.” They then led Buckman and Reg back out of the security center to let them find their way back to Bertie. As they stood in the concourse, a private transportation cart with Gryman and his assistants went by and disappeared around the corner.
“This looks bad,” Buckman said.
Reg was walking in the direction the cart had gone, and Buckman began to follow him. He assumed Reg knew his way around or had directions on his com.
“I know how it is,” Reg started to say when Buckman came up beside him. “I’ve worked with Bents long enough to know you don’t get a fair break.”
“But you know we didn’t do this,” Buckman said. They had come to a corner where a public transport would meet them. Reg put in a call to be picked up.
He spoke for a few seconds then hung up. “Of course you didn’t. What reason do you have?” Reg crossed his arms and looked at his shoes. “Let’s be honest here. We all know who Parren is. He’s in a powerful position, and he hates everything there is to do with Bents.”
“The man’s evil. Not to mention this lawyer, or whoever he was,” Buckman said. The word sounded odd to him, since evil carried with it some kind of supernatural ability. Clearly, Gryman thought he was as close to an advanced being if there was one. Parren probably thought the same, so maybe the term made sense. Buckman needed no reminder of how he was overmatched if it came down to any kind of legal battle. He knew at least that his job on the ship was over, and he would be lucky to get hired back
anywhere. The identity stick was in his pants pocket. He ran his thumb and forefinger over it, and then took his hand out of his pocket and looked at where they had extracted a sample for evaluation. They would catch him for being an illegal. A complete DNA scan would reveal this.
“How do they know it’s his wife?” he asked Reg.
“They know. They always find a way to know. If not, they’ll make it that way,” Reg said. He sat down on a bench to wait for the transportation cart.
A small group of ship employees walked by, two men and two women. Buckman guessed they were part of the ship’s administration, since they seemed to be familiar with where they were, as opposed to a guest who might be lost. They took little notice of him, but one of the men glanced at the bracelet on Buckman’s hand. He sat down quickly and covered it with his other hand. “I have to talk to Charles.”
“They must still have him. Fairly routine; they’ll talk to each of you separately and see if your stories match up. Think he did it?” Reg asked.
The question did not surprise Buckman, and he thought Reg did not believe it. “Of course not.” He thought about telling Reg what he knew really happened in the hold but figured this was not the time.
“I don’t think so, either,” Reg said. “How well do you know him?”
“Well enough. He causes trouble, but this is not something he’d do. It doesn’t even make sense that he would.”
“I know. I hope they get that message. The truth can be a bother sometimes.” Reg put his head down. He had not turned his com back on after the call for transportation. Even though Reg was there with Buckman, he was still on duty, and being out of contact was a problem. Everyone was available all the time. “You know what it’s like? What it’s like to be a Bent?” Buckman asked.
Reg did not move, and for a moment, Buckman thought he did not hear the question. “I do. Look at what I do for a living. My DNA is borderline, as is much of my family. My niece was taken away.”
Buckman knew that in rare but not unusual cases, a Bent baby was born to Straight parents. Normally, this would be caught at the first sign of pregnancy, and the parents could then decide to terminate. Some did, and some did not. It was a choice. In other cases, the tests were wrong, and post-birth tests confirmed the truth.
“It was a borderline conclusion on the tests, so we went ahead with it. They took her away within a few days of birth,” Reg continued. “They took her to a transition center. She was there for a couple of years before being placed in a home.”
“You ever see her?” Buckman asked.
“On occasion, but there’s no connection there. They can’t bring her back, legally. We don’t talk about it in the family.”
Reg shook his head and shuffled his feet. Buckman watch as Reg slowly lowered his head until his face was hidden. He could see Reg was breathing deeply, and knew he had just told him a part of his life that was never mentioned. The shame on the family would be enormous. “Was it really your niece?”
He stayed very still again, and Buckman was not inclined to ask again. “No. There’s a reason we don’t have any children.”
Another cart rolled by going in the opposite direction they needed to go. A few more workers strolled past as well. Reg stood up and walked away from the bench a few meters, leaving Buckman alone on the bench. “I understand, Reg.”
“It was our daughter,” Reg said. “My wife and I mourn the loss every day. I had a good job as an accountant. I lost that. We don’t dare have more children. We’d never recover.”
Buckman realized that Reg could only do so much for him. He would help provide support as to where they were that day and what they were doing, but beyond that there was not much the man could do. When he thought about it though, that was more than any Straight would have done. “Thanks, Reg.”
“I can tell them you both are decent, hardworking men. I have all the reports and reviews to prove it. Don’t know how much that’ll help, but it’s something. They’ll come asking. Always do.”
A few minutes later, a transport stopped by. Because of the bracelet, Reg would need to escort him back through the ship and onto Bertie. Other than business, they talked about nothing else.