Station."
"Great." Vaughan tore the graphic from
the printer and held it up to Chandra. "It’s the girl I
found in the freighter, Jimmy. Elly Jenson. She’s the subject
of a Weiss graphic called The Adoration
of the Chosen One."
Chandra made a printout of the Jenson pix. Seconds
later his handset chimed. He took the call and spoke rapidly in
Hindi. He nodded, his expression serious, and cut the connection.
"That was forensic. They know what killed
Weiss—a drug called rhapsody." He looked at Vaughan.
"Probably what killed Genevieve and her son, too."
"The same stuff that Tiger took..."
Vaughan began.
Chandra went on, "They’ve traced its
point of origin, too. I’ll give you three guesses."
"Not Verkerk’s World?"
"Right first time," Chandra said. "How
about this: quite apart from whatever Weiss was bringing shielded to
Earth, he was also smuggling rhapsody?"
"It’s possible, I suppose."
Vaughan shrugged. "I wonder where the Jenson kid fits in?"
"You tell me. I’ve got alerts out for
her. And we’re trying to trace dealers in rhapsody."
When the Scene of Crime team arrived minutes
later, Vaughan and Chandra left the villa and boarded the flier. The
cop ferried him to an east-side downchute station, and Vaughan nodded
to Chandra and climbed out. He pushed his way through the noisy crowd
as the flier took off and climbed into the dawn sky. Clutching the
scrolled graphic of the Chosen One, he dropped to Level Four and
walked the kilometre home through the still-busy streets, the
concentrated mind-noise drumming in his head like a migraine.
Fifteen minutes later he let himself into his
apartment. He sat before the window without turning on the light,
reached out and fumbled on the table for the vial of chora. He washed
it down with a swig of stale beer from a bottle he found wedged down
the cushion of the chair.
Quickly the drug took effect, reducing the
mind-hum and allowing him to relax. As the sun rose on the other side
of the Station, the night turned from navy to grey and pale light
flooded the apartment.
He stood up and found half a dozen magnets in a
storage unit. He clamped the graphic of Elly onto the wall, then
slumped back into his chair and stared at The
Adoration of the Chosen One.
Common sense told him to drop the case. Forget
about the Chosen One and whatever Weiss had been up to. Then he
remembered the kid’s terror back at the ship.
He had a couple of weeks’ leave due—he’d
contact the ‘port and tell them he wasn’t coming in for a
while. Then he’d concentrate on the Elly Jenson case.
He tapped Dr. Rao’s code into his handset,
got through to the Indian, and arranged to meet him at nine that
evening.
NINE : OSBORNE
It was two in the morning and the Siren Bar was
filling up.
The dance floor was a mass of bodies, writhing to
the rhythmic thump of the latest pop hit. Fat foreign men sat at
tables, half-naked girls squirming on their laps. The girls sucked on
bottles of beer, feigning interest and animation, but achieving only
a look of boredom.
From time to time couples left the bar and passed
Sukara on their way to the cubicles. The girls smirked at her as they
clung to their rich customers. Sukara tried to ignore them, but felt
herself blush beneath the gaze of the men. She drank her beer, lining
up the bottles on the bar before her. Fat Cheng had once told her
that she drank too much. "Beer okay, Fat Cheng," she had
replied. "I take plenty yahd."
He’d shaken his big head. "Not you
drunk I worry about, little Monkey. Beer no good for your insides,
your liver."
Sukara had just shrugged. She had more to concern
her than what beer might be doing to her insides.
A drunken Indian labourer was arguing with two
tall escort girls further along the bar. He kept pawing at their
breasts, trying to run a hand up inside their thighs. One girl backed
off, screeching at the Indian in machine-gun
"Great." Vaughan tore the graphic from
the printer and held it up to Chandra. "It’s the girl I
found in the freighter, Jimmy. Elly Jenson. She’s the subject
of a Weiss graphic called The Adoration
of the Chosen One."
Chandra made a printout of the Jenson pix. Seconds
later his handset chimed. He took the call and spoke rapidly in
Hindi. He nodded, his expression serious, and cut the connection.
"That was forensic. They know what killed
Weiss—a drug called rhapsody." He looked at Vaughan.
"Probably what killed Genevieve and her son, too."
"The same stuff that Tiger took..."
Vaughan began.
Chandra went on, "They’ve traced its
point of origin, too. I’ll give you three guesses."
"Not Verkerk’s World?"
"Right first time," Chandra said. "How
about this: quite apart from whatever Weiss was bringing shielded to
Earth, he was also smuggling rhapsody?"
"It’s possible, I suppose."
Vaughan shrugged. "I wonder where the Jenson kid fits in?"
"You tell me. I’ve got alerts out for
her. And we’re trying to trace dealers in rhapsody."
When the Scene of Crime team arrived minutes
later, Vaughan and Chandra left the villa and boarded the flier. The
cop ferried him to an east-side downchute station, and Vaughan nodded
to Chandra and climbed out. He pushed his way through the noisy crowd
as the flier took off and climbed into the dawn sky. Clutching the
scrolled graphic of the Chosen One, he dropped to Level Four and
walked the kilometre home through the still-busy streets, the
concentrated mind-noise drumming in his head like a migraine.
Fifteen minutes later he let himself into his
apartment. He sat before the window without turning on the light,
reached out and fumbled on the table for the vial of chora. He washed
it down with a swig of stale beer from a bottle he found wedged down
the cushion of the chair.
Quickly the drug took effect, reducing the
mind-hum and allowing him to relax. As the sun rose on the other side
of the Station, the night turned from navy to grey and pale light
flooded the apartment.
He stood up and found half a dozen magnets in a
storage unit. He clamped the graphic of Elly onto the wall, then
slumped back into his chair and stared at The
Adoration of the Chosen One.
Common sense told him to drop the case. Forget
about the Chosen One and whatever Weiss had been up to. Then he
remembered the kid’s terror back at the ship.
He had a couple of weeks’ leave due—he’d
contact the ‘port and tell them he wasn’t coming in for a
while. Then he’d concentrate on the Elly Jenson case.
He tapped Dr. Rao’s code into his handset,
got through to the Indian, and arranged to meet him at nine that
evening.
NINE : OSBORNE
It was two in the morning and the Siren Bar was
filling up.
The dance floor was a mass of bodies, writhing to
the rhythmic thump of the latest pop hit. Fat foreign men sat at
tables, half-naked girls squirming on their laps. The girls sucked on
bottles of beer, feigning interest and animation, but achieving only
a look of boredom.
From time to time couples left the bar and passed
Sukara on their way to the cubicles. The girls smirked at her as they
clung to their rich customers. Sukara tried to ignore them, but felt
herself blush beneath the gaze of the men. She drank her beer, lining
up the bottles on the bar before her. Fat Cheng had once told her
that she drank too much. "Beer okay, Fat Cheng," she had
replied. "I take plenty yahd."
He’d shaken his big head. "Not you
drunk I worry about, little Monkey. Beer no good for your insides,
your liver."
Sukara had just shrugged. She had more to concern
her than what beer might be doing to her insides.
A drunken Indian labourer was arguing with two
tall escort girls further along the bar. He kept pawing at their
breasts, trying to run a hand up inside their thighs. One girl backed
off, screeching at the Indian in machine-gun
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