The Path of Sorrow Book One of A Glimmering From Afar Part One
The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the lands where sorrow is unknown.
William Cowper
Book One of the A Glimmering From Afar Series.
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The Path of Sorrow
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Part One - A
I strode up to the MIC checkpoint, in the lobby of the building that was twice the size of my old one, impatiently holding the back of my hand up so the skimmer could read my code.
Captain Banks' private holo-post to me this morning had been cryptic, to say the least. It had been marked with a security ten rating, and I'd had to engage a confidentiality shield in my office before it would play.
The holo-message had flickered for a moment before settling down - my emitter was due for servicing, but it took an act of the Celestial Congress or a bribe for any tech to trudge up here to the ninety-third floor.
I'd leaned back in my desk chair and parked my boots on top of my desk, then watched the holo-post; a large, dark skinned man rose from his chair and said “Ellison” before proceeding to tell me that I'd been transferred from my own division to his.
'Peachy,' I'd thought sourly, and paused the projection in order to study my new boss.
Banks was more than just tall, judging from how he towered over the furniture in his office. He was well muscled and had a sardonic expression on his face. I'd sighed and said my password to the ancient slave on the desk to engage verbal mode on, and requested that information on Captain Simon Banks, head of Major Interplanetary Crime, be downloaded from records and public sources, prioritized by relevancy to protector work, and be transferred to the mobile slave on my wrist.
Then I'd continued to watch the message till it finished.
Banks had ordered me to come to a briefing at his office that afternoon, graciously allowing me the rest of the morning to transfer my current cases to other detectives in the Vice division. My division head was out on vacation and the acting head, who didn't know me from Adam, had been notified and had, according to Banks, cleared my way to exit Vice and enter MIC.
I had no personal effects to take with me, and there wasn't anybody here that warranted a private goodbye. The rest of the division would be notified of my transfer soon enough, and I wondered if Xing would take the opportunity to take over my office. He thought it was more spacious than his own, and had been convinced that I'd been assigned it because I was a middle elite and he was only an upper superior.
I'd be glad to be free of hearing him whine about it, at least.
The skimmer's warm male voice broke into my thoughts, letting anybody who was listening in the lobby know that my main sexual preference was for males. Great. I preferred it when the skimmers used a robotic unisex voice instead of identifying sexual orientation from the code and then blabbing it to any bystander by using the voice of the gender that you were mainly attracted to, which in my case was males. Not that I'd turn down the occasional female, particularly if she was tall and red-headed. But it was men who were my main food group. Women were just for the occasional dessert.
“Citizen is verified as Ellison, James Joseph. Member of the middle elite class. Father, William James Ellison. Paternal grandfather, Joseph William Ellison. Paternal grandmother--.”
I interrupted. The skimmer could go on in this fashion back to the first Ellison who'd settled on New Rainier five hundred years ago.
“Stop the genealogy lesson. I've been assigned to MIC, and need authorization to enter this division added to my code.”
“Authorization listed and will be completed following level three verification. Please touch the box on the screen, and look directly at the green light.” I did so and the skimmer hummed a little as it took my retinal scan and verified that my actual DNA matched what was listed in my code.
“Verified. Authorization will proceed in five seconds. Please place your hand on the screen.”
A cookie cutter outline of a hand appeared on the screen and I placed my right hand over it, exposing the back of my hand with the small tattoo of the circle with the black triangle within, the scarlet colored section to the right of the triangle showing the universe that I was indeed, a member of the middle elite class. A member, yes, but not one in particularly good standing. Being a protector was considered more of a job for the superior and the upper common class members, not the elites.
Tough shit. I had long ago decided that my class was not going to limit me in my choices in life. Of course, in a way that was easy for me to say. I had no limits imposed on me for what I could do. It just wasn't considered seemly for an elite to get his hands dirty in a protector's career. Or a hunter's vocation.
I had been a hunter before I became a protector. I didn't mind getting my hands dirty. I preferred it to being one of the gods of business.
“Two... one... Do not move your hand. Initializing updates.” There was a different hum for two seconds, then it stopped and the skimmer told me, in its honeyed tones, that I was cleared to enter the Major Interplanetary Crime Division employee areas.
I asked for directions to Captain Banks' office, and took myself off to find out why in the pit of doom I was here.
///
Banks had a no-nonsense look about him and pointed to a straight-back chair after our obligatory man-to-man handshake. I felt a little relieved that I hadn't felt any sparks of interest in him when we'd touched. It would make life a lot simpler for me if I didn't care about what he'd look like naked.
“Detective. Have a seat.”
I raised an eyebrow at him in reply and gave back a deadpan stare. I'd had my slave brief me on Captain Simon Banks, born to the upper common class but raised up to middle superior by a lot of effort on his part. This was a smart man, a driven and dedicated man, one who had a talent for leadership.
I wasn't looking forward to finding out why I'd been chosen to become one of his men. I doubted that it had been in my best interests to have been transferred.
And after he started explaining what my assignment would be, I knew my skepticism had been more than justified. Damn. I was going to Quyllur and I had seriously fucked up feelings about that. I'd been... different there. But then, being mind-wiped will do that to a guy. I pulled my head out of my ass, though, and paid attention to what the Captain was saying.
“The political situation with Quyllur is coming to a head. The planet will be accepted as a colony world within the next six months and then Quyllur will be under New Rainier's laws. And when that happens, we're going to be in place to smash the pipeline supplying the magical ingredient to make Yana.”
I frowned. Yana was a relatively new drug on the street, but its effects were devastating. I'd seen people with Yana fried brains, and they acted like the old stories about zombies.
“I never saw anybody that was Yana brain dead when I was living on Quyllur, Captain Banks. What's this magical ingredient you mentioned? And do you know who's supplying it?”
“We don't know for certain who is involved, but we've got at least one name that's on the short list of candidates. But we've got no hard evidence on him, and I don't want to have tunnel vision about who we're looking for. Could be another group or individual that's handling things. Here's what we've compiled so far.” Banks handed me a dot, and I fed it into my slave.
“That's why we're going to send you there. You lived with the Sho'nakan, and we want you to use those contacts and find out who is buying or gathering the plant, or plants that are used to make Yana. Investigate our number one boy, gather evidence to nail his ass legally if he's the one spreading the Black Plague.”
Yana meant black in Sho'nakan. Black Plague was what doctors had started calling it when patients had begun to flood hospitals. It didn't kill the body, though. Just the soul and the mind.
Banks touched the emitter on his large desk, and indicated with his eyes for me to turn around.
The holo was of a young man, early twenties, I'd say, frozen in place with a mischievous grin on his lovely face. He had a mop of long brown curls that reached his shoulders, dangling earrings and several necklaces - I recognized one as Sho'nakan work - and a full, sweet-looking mouth.
I kept staring at that mouth, my dick taking an interest in what I was seeing.
Banks cleared his throat, and I turned back to him. He opened an expensive looking box on his desk and took out a cigar, an expensive one from the aroma, maybe from Marna, and held it.
“I'm not sending you out totally on your own, Ellison. Jack Pendergrast will be working with you to establish your cover on Quyllur, since he's already undercover there. And I'll be by occasionally, too, in the role of a crooked power-lord. I like to evaluate my men out in the field, and we'll leak the story that you work for me as a bodyguard and a point man. Should work well with you showing an interest in horning in on the Yana drug trade.”
Jack Pendergrast. That must be the name of the kid on the holo. I got up from my seat and walked towards the projection, my eyes drawn again to that sinful looking mouth. He'd be my partner. And maybe I could interest him in being my bed-partner as well. I wanted a taste of those lips and and I wanted to see him sucking my cock.
“So, this is my new partner?” I addressed Banks, but I didn't face him. “This kid is Jack Pendergrast?”
I was glad I wasn't looking at Banks when he answered.
“Jack? No. Jack's downstairs, and you'll be meeting with him to work out the undercover details after our meeting.”
I heard Banks push away from his desk and scant seconds later he had joined me, a fat cigar in his hand. He used it to point to the three dimensional image of the kid.
“This is the man we suspect of inventing Yana and supplying the ingredients in some form to the drug chefs.”
I felt my heart sink. Fuck. I'd have to try and forget that instant attraction to him that I'd felt. Wanting to bone the criminal responsible for the misery that Yana left in its trail... Hell of a way to start a new case.
Banks kept talking and, thank the Higher Powers, he didn't act like he knew I'd just been caught with my pants down and my dick out.
“His name is Blair Sandburg, age twenty-three. He's a member of the bastard class, and he's a smart son-of-a-bitch. He's a grad student, supposedly doing research on the plants the Sho'nakan use in order to earn his PhD. He's got degrees in Biology and Anthropology, and a Masters in Botany. He's close to earning his doctorate in Environmental Anthropology.”
“Why is he a suspect? What's his motive?”
“Motive? Well, he's never kept it a secret that he wants to change his class. He's gone to school on scholarships from some of the charities that help those people. And by all accounts he's worked hard to prove himself worthy, and he's fulfilled the education requirement for leaving his class behind. He's made excellent grades, even had been a teaching fellow before leaving to do his field research.”
So, his ambition might have outstripped his ethics. Wouldn't be the first time somebody made that decision; if so, I wondered how he managed to sleep at night. Banks walked around the image, then returned to his desk. I stayed where I was.
Banks continued. “But he needs money, too. He's got to have a decent bank account to prove he's ready to be assigned up the social ladder. This drug money can be laundered into something respectable. He could use the cash to bribe somebody into adopting him. He's got no father listed on record, but an adoption would speed things up for him, and he could jump up to the upper common or even the superior class that way.”
I frowned. So far this was just speculation. “What's the rest?”
Banks shot me a hard look. Probably my tone of voice hadn't been respectful enough. I told myself to watch the attitude. I'd been known as a hard-assed son-of-a-bitch in Vice, but it had occurred to me after I'd gotten the news of my transfer that this was an opportunity to clean up my act. Well, a little bit, anyway.
“Sandburg's research on the medicinal plants the Sho'nakan use just happens to coincide with the emergence on the street of Yana. We've just recently traced back a connection from a drug chef to a supplier of the ingredient, and the physical description we sweated out of the supplier matches Sandburg. But he couldn't pick Sandburg out from several others when we showed him a holo lineup. There's a good chance the guy was too smashed when he made the deal to remember Sandburg's exact features. We know Sandburg was on New Rainier at the time. He comes here several times a year, about every four months. Supposedly it's to work with his thesis adviser, use the lab facilities of the University of Rainier, and stock up on supplies, but we think that's when he's selling the recipe and ingredients for Yana to the drug chefs.”
Banks gusted out his frustration. “But we don't have enough evidence to arrest him, or win a case in court. That's why we need you, Detective Ellison. You've got insight and connections to the Sho'nakan that can help us fill in the gaps. We can arrest him on Quyllur for supplying Yana or the ingredients, as soon as Quyllur's petition to join with New Rainier is accepted by the Celestial Congress.”
He rose up from the desk and walked over to the door. I got the hint and moved there, too.
“Make yourself comfortable in the first room on the right from my office. You'll need to go over the details of the case on that dot I gave you. Pendergrast will meet with you in two hours. I want the two of you to leave for Quyllur the day after tomorrow. You won't be back for some time, so make arrangements for that.”
He gave me a hard clap on the shoulder. “I've heard good things about your work, Detective; I need you to nail Sandburg's ass before more people join the living dead.”
Banks opened his door but before I stepped out, I glanced back at the holo of Blair Sandburg. His big blue eyes seemed to stare right at me, a welcoming smile in them.
If Banks was right, he was poison wrapped up in a pretty package.
And if Banks was wrong... I stopped myself from going down that path. He was a suspect. I was going to either condemn him or clear him. What I wouldn't be doing in either case was fucking him.
I took my leave of Banks and once in the room down the hall, I engaged privacy mode, got myself a large cup of kaffee from the courtesy cart, sat down and propped my feet up on the desk in my favorite position for thinking. Then I ordered my slave to project the reports on the case.
I was far from thrilled about this assignment, but that wouldn't stop me from doing my best.
And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to wonder about the friends I'd made on Quyllur and if my adopted people, especially Incacha, our shaman, would welcome me back.
///
“So, Jimmy... Welcome to my humble abode. Sit down, put your feet up.”
It was cool in the small house, and a welcome relief to the heat and humidity outside, and Jack pointed to a comfortable looking wicker chair, then disappeared into another room, the kitchen from the sound of him rummaging through cupboards. I did as he suggested and enjoyed the feel of the breeze from the ceiling fans. Jack's place was about twenty minutes from the town of Quilla Rumi, and about ten minutes from the beach, and the jungle vegetation was almost at his doorstep. It was private here, but he'd said he didn't make his arrangements at his home. Mostly that happened in the bars and small restaurants in town or during purposeful walks down to the marina.
We'd made the flight from New Rainier in record time once we'd emerged from the tessering roll-through into orbit - Jack's bird was one deceptively looking souped up machine - and we'd hammered out the cover story for me on the way.
Jack would introduce me around as a 'cousin', which would let the right sort of people know that I was connected to the people Jack did jobs for here on Quyllur. Jobs that involved setting up smuggling, drug running, prostitution, and gambling.
Jack was a middle man, and was in deep cover. He'd been here for two years, and was gathering evidence so that when Quyllur was accepted into the New Rainier compact, there would be one hell of a house cleaning. But he'd drawn a blank on finding the Yana connection, either from the drug runners or from those who had connections to the people who lived in the jungle.
The indigenous people here, like the Sho'nakan, didn't talk to outsiders much. There was minimal trading, and it took a shaman's approval before anyone was truly accepted by a tribe.
Incacha had allowed me to stay with him. He'd consulted the spirits and held a ceremony purifying me and gaining me acceptance from our people.
I remembered it. I remembered everything that had happened to me once I'd awoken in the jungle. It had been my previous life that had been a blank.
I had been damn lucky that I'd been found and given a place within the tribe, although Incacha had told me when I'd left to resume my life as a hunter that the spirits had willed it that I join the Sho'nakan.
I'd reverted to what I truly was while I lived here. I'd become a sentinel.
If I'd stayed much longer with the tribe, I would have had to bond with a guide in order to stay sane. And in my mind-wiped state, I probably would have joined with one, if one had been available.
Incacha had helped, as much as he could, but he wasn't a guide. He'd been able to stave off the worst of the spikes and zones I'd fall into, but at times life had been pure hell for me, my out-of-control senses trapping me into either pain or blankness.
Later, when Incacha couldn't find me a guide within our tribe, he'd sent inquiries out into the wider world, and that resulted in my being found by a patrol of Orion's Hunters and pulled out of Quyllur. My mind-wipe had been reversed, thank the Higher Powers, although it had been a near thing. And I hadn't been able to identify who had done that to me.
Jack came back out, bearing a bottle in his hand and two mugs. “Here. I bet you remember this; it'll send you right to Nirvana.”
He filled the mugs and handed one to me. I took a deep, appreciative sniff.
Ah, Blue Heaven. Agrasa; Nirvana was right. The deep blue native drink was smooth and flavorful, distilled from a berry that grew everywhere here, and I'd always found it had a calming effect as you got drunk. Nice.
Jack filled me in on the local power structure, and what he knew of the Yana trade. It seemed to be restricted to New Rainier, he hadn't heard of any Yana victims on Quyllur.
He hadn't heard of Sandburg, either. So the kid probably wasn't a player because Jack had an ear to the ground about the illicit activities being conducted under the noses of the local law. Once the ratification was pushed through, the New Rainier law code would be in effect, and activities that were marginally legal or considered minor infractions would become illegal .
So Sandburg wasn't on Jack's scanner. That fit with the current theory, that Sandburg had stumbled on how to produce Yana and was taking advantage of the opportunity to make some quick cash in order to get out of his class.
We worked out our strategy, and I told him that after he'd introduced me around as his 'cousin', who was looking for additional business, I'd go deep into the bush and meet up with Incacha.
While the Sho'nakan avoided the towns and cities of Quyllur and were suspicious of most people that did contact them, Incacha would welcome me back to my adopted people. I hoped. We'd parted on good terms, even if I hadn't come back afterward to see him and the rest of the tribe. Thinking about that time of my life was something I'd avoided. My unit had been destroyed, my teammates killed, and I remembered nothing about it, or why I had been spared. The only thing left of my garrison had been the wreckage of our bird, strewn in orbit around a planet far from here. Somebody had wanted me alive, but not in any shape to bring them down. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to dump me, unhurt but dazed, memory of my past life gone, far into the jungle. And the jungle held its own dangers for the ignorant.
I owed a lot to the Sho'nakan.
Incacha would tell me if he knew who was supplying the plant that, when altered, made Yana so dangerous.
If he didn't know, he would help me find out. I could count on his assistance.
Our talk turned to other matters, not really personal; we didn't know each other well enough for that, but Banks' name came up.
Jack liked him, said he was blunt but he'd go to bat for you, and wasn't the type to sacrifice his people for internal politics. They weren't friends, but Jack respected him. He was a good boss.
“Why is he taking such a personal interest in this case? I mean, he's the head of MIC. He told me he was going to come here himself, check things - and me - out. I would have thought he'd be too busy for that.”
“Well... It's not common knowledge. But I know a lot of people, I hear things. His son had a close call with Yana. Some party the kid was at, and Yana was used to spike people's drinks. Daryl's best friend is fried now because of getting a taste of it at that party, and our Captain promised his kid he'd put an end to Yana being on the street.”
Jack excused himself to bed then. I stayed outside on the porch, feeling the breeze, smelling the heavy scent of tropical flowers, and remembering my life here as the tribe's sentinel. I had been wrong to avoid returning here but after I'd left I'd been grieving for my men, and feeling guilty for surviving. It had been easier to put everything out of my mind and in repressing their deaths, I'd also buried my memories of the people who had adopted me and cared for me as one of their own.
I was glad now that Banks had sent me to Quyllur. It would be good to see my people again, and this time when I left I would plan to return soon. New Rainier might be where I lived, but Quyllur was home.
///
My father would be disgusted at how easily I was accepted as a criminal by the people Jack introduced me to in the next few days, being of the opinion that the finer qualities of my class would be apparent to one and all.
But I had no trouble presenting myself as a dangerous man, menacing and lacking scruples. With Jack as a 'reference', I picked up a couple of small jobs, guarding one man's bird while all kinds of illicit items were loaded up to be smuggled out of the system, escorting others around town while they did their dirty business, that sort of small-timer work.
I used these contacts to ask about Yana. Most had heard of it being a New Rainier drug, but didn't know that it originated from Quyllur. I didn't enlighten them.
A lot of the smuggling was done with drugs or drinks that were legal in other parts of the system. What was illegal was avoiding paying the export and import taxes on those luxury items.
The local law didn't work too hard to arrest smugglers - the fines were minimal. That would change, of course, after the compact was signed. New Rainier laws were strict, and the threat of being mind-wiped a strong deterrent to crime. These smugglers would move on to other fringe planets, and I predicted that these rats would jump ship as soon as the Celestial Congress voting went one vote over the majority needed for ratification.
So the Yana trade wasn't being run by the established drug runners. That fit with Jack's intelligence.
I asked about Sandburg, but only very casually. I didn't want it to get back to him that a tall man with blue eyes, and who had a hard edge to him, was looking for him. So, I would bring the conversation around to wanting to go into the bush - to sight see, although that idea was met with a lot of skepticism - and I would wonder who might be able to guide me.
A few names would come up, with advice on how to locate those folks. Sandburg's name was supplied by a pretty, dark-haired barmaid at a rundown tavern. She looked like she wished she hadn't mentioned the kid after letting his name slip, but I pushed her on it and she reluctantly told me I could leave him a note on the bar's message board.
“Blair always checks the message board. He's got a thing about not using his comm while he's in the jungle. Actually, he might not be able to afford the bill. He always buys the cheapest thing on the menu, and that boy's clothes are one step away from the recycler.“
She smiled then, her dark eyes lighting up as she thought about Sandburg, and after seeing the kid's holo, I could understand why. He was cute, and from all accounts on the dot Banks had supplied, a lively little flirt.
After more questioning on my part about locating him so I could hire him, she admitted that she didn't know where he stayed when he was in town, but assured me that he would probably show up in a couple of weeks. I wondered if he'd slept with her. He didn't have a steady relationship with anybody, and from the intelligence Banks had on him, apparently never kept anything going too long with the men and women he dated.
Probably a shallow kind of guy. Probably had a user personality, all surface warmth with a veneer of friendliness which would fit with him exploiting victims with Yana. People like that got into your life and did their damage, and then left you gutted and bleeding. I'd had my share of users. Lila and Veronica came to mind. Both had ended up trying to kill me, after they'd gotten me to open up and trust them. Both had used sex as the lure. Luckily, I'd learned from my mistakes. I wouldn't be taken in by Sandburg's pretty face and glib tongue. No matter how he tried to use it.
I gave her a generous tip to ensure that the message with my comm number would stay up on the board. Sandburg was who knows where out in the bush and, from the rough schedule he kept, he wouldn't be stopping by this tavern any time soon.
So I decided my next step would be to see Incacha. My friend. It would be good to talk to him again, to clasp his arm in the way of brothers. And maybe he knew of Sandburg and how I could stop him.
///
Being in the jungle this time was very different from my last excursion. Then every one of my senses had been tuned into the slightest change in the environment. Now I was startled by the flight of birds as I came close to their home trees, and the scents in the air were a mixture of undecipherable messages. The light through the foliage overall still looked greenish to me, but I couldn't detect the subtle differences of color in the light that I knew were there.
Sometimes I did miss my senses being at such a high peak of capability. But then I would remember how a spike shattering me felt like being at the bottom of the pit of doom, or how helpless I felt when falling endlessly into a zone, unable to stop my descent and knowing that I could end my life trapped in a web of fascination of the tiniest detail of whatever had caught my attention.
No, it was better to give up the highs than experience the lows again. At least I was able to function as a protector without my senses being so enhanced. I'd have to bond with a guide in order to avoid the sensory problems I'd had before.
I would never do that.
I would never give up my privacy and my own identity to join with a guide, and forever after take co-dependency to the highest extreme.
No, thank you.
It was quite a long hike into the lands that the Sho'nakan traveled, and while I was aiming for the location of the settlement when I was last there, my people might have migrated to where the hunting was better, or certain food plants were concentrated.
They had moved, but a new trail winding away from the old camp led me to them about five miles away.
I hooted a signal as I traveled, announcing that a returning member of the tribe was approaching. While conflict between the different communities of the Sho'nakan were very rare, skirmishes with the outlanders who intruded upon my people's homelands were much more common.
Many different groups on Quyllur were considered to be outlanders by the Sho'nakan - descendents of far back ancestors who had left the traditional lands and became well versed in the use of technology, immigrants from other worlds who built a life on this beautiful world, drifters who came and went, some to explore and some to exploit. All were looked upon with distrust by my people.
I was surprised that Sandburg had managed to cross that barrier of mistrust with the people he had studied, since by all accounts he had lived here for several years and traveled freely through jungle and coastal areas sacred to the Sho'nakan.
It was dusk when I arrived, the night blooming flowers beginning to unfurl and their sweet scents traveling on the breeze. Men and women that I had known acknowledged me with their eyes, but none approached me. Several inquisitive boys and girls, who darted towards me, recognition dawning on their faces, were called back by relatives to stand next to them.
I understood. I had been away far too long. I might be a spirit, clothed in the shape of their sentinel, or a shape-shifter, come to employ evil magic and snatch at children and infants, to consume them in order to add to my supernatural abilities.
They would watch and mutter incantations of protection until Incacha examined me and pronounced me to be free of malice. I would be accepted again once he confirmed that I was Enqueri, the sentinel who had come to them years earlier, and who had then wandered far away from his people. Their brother, who had now returned to his home.
Incacha was waiting for me by his small campfire.
He stood, and while he is a small man, his stature did not diminish the sense of power that radiated from him.
I remained quiet, almost at parade rest, as he walked around me several times. He nodded, and reaching into a small pouch at his waist, he removed a small twig. He bent and lit the leafy end, holding it by the stem, and still watching me, and he drew symbols in the air around me, the smoke trails hanging in the air briefly.
He then inhaled the smoke from the twig, threw what was left into the fire and drew me towards him.
I bent, our mouths meeting in an open mouthed exchange, and I breathed the fragrant tang of Naya into my lungs. We drew apart and I exhaled.
Then Incacha smiled at me and we grasped arms, holding tight for a long minute before ending the embrace.
“Welcome home, Enqueri. Come, let us walk now and let the people know you are yourself, and safe to approach.”
///
I spent a week with my people, learning of the changes that had occurred since my departure - who had a new child, who had died, who had joined in marriage, who had become ill, and who had grown well.
In turn, I explained about no longer being a warrior of the stars, but that I had become a protector to a faraway people. And that I had come to find out who was perverting the sacred plants of home into a poison that was soul-killing people who lived on another world.
I asked my people to not talk of me or my reason for returning to Quyllur to outlanders, though. I was building a trap, I told them, and I had no wish to frighten off my prey. I asked that I be told if any approached them offering to trade for the plants, or if they observed the plant being gathered in large amounts. Incacha, as shaman, instructed the tribe to heed my wishes.
I did not ask directly about Blair Sandburg. I did not say he was suspected of stealing the sacred plants and altering them to harm others. Instead, I sifted through the conversations and gossip to see what I could discover without casting suspicion on the man. I preferred to have corroborating evidence, not to influence testimony by my own bias.
Sandburg was known to be visiting the different tribes, all Sho'nakan, but he had not come to this village yet.
Incacha expected him to arrive sometime after the second moon's time of fullness. Apparently, he'd gotten on the good side of several shamans and they had granted approval for him to do his research.
He was being sent from tribe to tribe, and his description went before him. A young man, small for an outlander, with eyes the color of the sea and hair of many shades that twisted and turned. In other words, he matched the description Banks had given me - short, blue-eyed, with curly brown hair. The Sho'nakan had dark brown eyes and black hair, with nary a curl, so Sandburg would look very exotic to them.
He also, Incacha told me, was considered an apprentice to the shamans he had studied under. He could take the final path of a shaman, but where that path would lead to, Incacha did not know. He spoke of the spirit world and what he had learned there regarding this outlander apprentice, and the young foreign man's future was veiled. But he did carry power. And all knew that a shaman could become a tribe's protector or become a witch, a sorcerer, and carry out evil deeds.
Incacha could not gain answers from the powers on the spirit plane as to what Sandburg would become.
But the command to offer the outlander instruction was not to be denied. One ignored the spirit world's guidance at their peril and Incacha would not risk the people's well-being by defying their directives.
So Incacha waited for Sandburg to come to him. In the meantime, I would work on setting my trap. I said my goodbyes to my people, promising to return soon, and I made my way back to town.
///
The message I'd left for Sandburg at the run down bar had paid off. He'd scribbled a number on the note I'd pinned to the message board listing where he could be reached for the next few days.
But I was too late when I called. The sleepy voice on the other end of the comm told me that, yeah, Blair had crashed with them for a couple of days, but that he'd gone to visit some other friends. He had me wait while he dug around to locate the comm number where Sandburg now could be reached.
“Doesn't he have his own comm, instead of using all of his friend's numbers?”
“Nah. He's always broke. Life of a grad student, he says. But nobody minds giving him a hand once in a while. He's a good guest, always helps us out with some project or other while he's here, and boy-oh-boy, can he cook.”
The guy put a cheerful leer into his voice. “He's fun, too. If you know what I mean.”
“He an equal opportunity fun kind of guy?” Sandburg's sexual history had indicated he went out with men and women, but it wouldn't hurt to confirm the intel.
“If by that you mean he goes with guys and gals, then yeah. Hey, he said somebody might call him about a job, but he's not a cash-boy. If that's what you want him for, you might as well not bother comming him.”
“I'm not looking for a piece of change. Did you find that comm number yet?”
The rummaging around the guy had been doing apparently did result in finding the number, because he drawled out the twelve digits before yawning and asking if that was all.
After I'd disconnected, I thought about what I'd learned from that conversation. Sandburg was a good enough con man to make people like him, get himself invited back again and again. He was willing to trade for what he wanted - a roof, food, and access to communication by sleeping around and doing chores.
Apparently he was good in bed and in the kitchen. What a deal for those he hooked up with.
I wondered if he ever had been a cash-boy. There was nothing in his employment records about being a legal prostitute, which was something a lot of the ciphers in his class ended up doing. But he could have been an illegal player, in order to skip paying taxes and avoid the involuntary health supervision required by the legit boys and girls who sold their bodies.
But that kind of record wouldn't have helped him in his quest to qualify for a better class. If he had done it, he'd have wanted to keep it on the sly.
Or maybe he was just into bartering, and had a healthy, carefree libido.
Either way, I wanted to meet with him and take my own assessment of who Blair Sandburg was.
I punched in the number I'd been given, and smiled grimly to myself when the comm was handed over to my target, and a warm, lively voice said, “Hey, this is Blair. Talk to me, man.”
Continued in Part One - B
Master Post
Banner by Pattrose
William Cowper
Book One of the A Glimmering From Afar Series.
Banner by Luna61
The Path of Sorrow
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Part One - A
I strode up to the MIC checkpoint, in the lobby of the building that was twice the size of my old one, impatiently holding the back of my hand up so the skimmer could read my code.
Captain Banks' private holo-post to me this morning had been cryptic, to say the least. It had been marked with a security ten rating, and I'd had to engage a confidentiality shield in my office before it would play.
The holo-message had flickered for a moment before settling down - my emitter was due for servicing, but it took an act of the Celestial Congress or a bribe for any tech to trudge up here to the ninety-third floor.
I'd leaned back in my desk chair and parked my boots on top of my desk, then watched the holo-post; a large, dark skinned man rose from his chair and said “Ellison” before proceeding to tell me that I'd been transferred from my own division to his.
'Peachy,' I'd thought sourly, and paused the projection in order to study my new boss.
Banks was more than just tall, judging from how he towered over the furniture in his office. He was well muscled and had a sardonic expression on his face. I'd sighed and said my password to the ancient slave on the desk to engage verbal mode on, and requested that information on Captain Simon Banks, head of Major Interplanetary Crime, be downloaded from records and public sources, prioritized by relevancy to protector work, and be transferred to the mobile slave on my wrist.
Then I'd continued to watch the message till it finished.
Banks had ordered me to come to a briefing at his office that afternoon, graciously allowing me the rest of the morning to transfer my current cases to other detectives in the Vice division. My division head was out on vacation and the acting head, who didn't know me from Adam, had been notified and had, according to Banks, cleared my way to exit Vice and enter MIC.
I had no personal effects to take with me, and there wasn't anybody here that warranted a private goodbye. The rest of the division would be notified of my transfer soon enough, and I wondered if Xing would take the opportunity to take over my office. He thought it was more spacious than his own, and had been convinced that I'd been assigned it because I was a middle elite and he was only an upper superior.
I'd be glad to be free of hearing him whine about it, at least.
The skimmer's warm male voice broke into my thoughts, letting anybody who was listening in the lobby know that my main sexual preference was for males. Great. I preferred it when the skimmers used a robotic unisex voice instead of identifying sexual orientation from the code and then blabbing it to any bystander by using the voice of the gender that you were mainly attracted to, which in my case was males. Not that I'd turn down the occasional female, particularly if she was tall and red-headed. But it was men who were my main food group. Women were just for the occasional dessert.
“Citizen is verified as Ellison, James Joseph. Member of the middle elite class. Father, William James Ellison. Paternal grandfather, Joseph William Ellison. Paternal grandmother--.”
I interrupted. The skimmer could go on in this fashion back to the first Ellison who'd settled on New Rainier five hundred years ago.
“Stop the genealogy lesson. I've been assigned to MIC, and need authorization to enter this division added to my code.”
“Authorization listed and will be completed following level three verification. Please touch the box on the screen, and look directly at the green light.” I did so and the skimmer hummed a little as it took my retinal scan and verified that my actual DNA matched what was listed in my code.
“Verified. Authorization will proceed in five seconds. Please place your hand on the screen.”
A cookie cutter outline of a hand appeared on the screen and I placed my right hand over it, exposing the back of my hand with the small tattoo of the circle with the black triangle within, the scarlet colored section to the right of the triangle showing the universe that I was indeed, a member of the middle elite class. A member, yes, but not one in particularly good standing. Being a protector was considered more of a job for the superior and the upper common class members, not the elites.
Tough shit. I had long ago decided that my class was not going to limit me in my choices in life. Of course, in a way that was easy for me to say. I had no limits imposed on me for what I could do. It just wasn't considered seemly for an elite to get his hands dirty in a protector's career. Or a hunter's vocation.
I had been a hunter before I became a protector. I didn't mind getting my hands dirty. I preferred it to being one of the gods of business.
“Two... one... Do not move your hand. Initializing updates.” There was a different hum for two seconds, then it stopped and the skimmer told me, in its honeyed tones, that I was cleared to enter the Major Interplanetary Crime Division employee areas.
I asked for directions to Captain Banks' office, and took myself off to find out why in the pit of doom I was here.
///
Banks had a no-nonsense look about him and pointed to a straight-back chair after our obligatory man-to-man handshake. I felt a little relieved that I hadn't felt any sparks of interest in him when we'd touched. It would make life a lot simpler for me if I didn't care about what he'd look like naked.
“Detective. Have a seat.”
I raised an eyebrow at him in reply and gave back a deadpan stare. I'd had my slave brief me on Captain Simon Banks, born to the upper common class but raised up to middle superior by a lot of effort on his part. This was a smart man, a driven and dedicated man, one who had a talent for leadership.
I wasn't looking forward to finding out why I'd been chosen to become one of his men. I doubted that it had been in my best interests to have been transferred.
And after he started explaining what my assignment would be, I knew my skepticism had been more than justified. Damn. I was going to Quyllur and I had seriously fucked up feelings about that. I'd been... different there. But then, being mind-wiped will do that to a guy. I pulled my head out of my ass, though, and paid attention to what the Captain was saying.
“The political situation with Quyllur is coming to a head. The planet will be accepted as a colony world within the next six months and then Quyllur will be under New Rainier's laws. And when that happens, we're going to be in place to smash the pipeline supplying the magical ingredient to make Yana.”
I frowned. Yana was a relatively new drug on the street, but its effects were devastating. I'd seen people with Yana fried brains, and they acted like the old stories about zombies.
“I never saw anybody that was Yana brain dead when I was living on Quyllur, Captain Banks. What's this magical ingredient you mentioned? And do you know who's supplying it?”
“We don't know for certain who is involved, but we've got at least one name that's on the short list of candidates. But we've got no hard evidence on him, and I don't want to have tunnel vision about who we're looking for. Could be another group or individual that's handling things. Here's what we've compiled so far.” Banks handed me a dot, and I fed it into my slave.
“That's why we're going to send you there. You lived with the Sho'nakan, and we want you to use those contacts and find out who is buying or gathering the plant, or plants that are used to make Yana. Investigate our number one boy, gather evidence to nail his ass legally if he's the one spreading the Black Plague.”
Yana meant black in Sho'nakan. Black Plague was what doctors had started calling it when patients had begun to flood hospitals. It didn't kill the body, though. Just the soul and the mind.
Banks touched the emitter on his large desk, and indicated with his eyes for me to turn around.
The holo was of a young man, early twenties, I'd say, frozen in place with a mischievous grin on his lovely face. He had a mop of long brown curls that reached his shoulders, dangling earrings and several necklaces - I recognized one as Sho'nakan work - and a full, sweet-looking mouth.
I kept staring at that mouth, my dick taking an interest in what I was seeing.
Banks cleared his throat, and I turned back to him. He opened an expensive looking box on his desk and took out a cigar, an expensive one from the aroma, maybe from Marna, and held it.
“I'm not sending you out totally on your own, Ellison. Jack Pendergrast will be working with you to establish your cover on Quyllur, since he's already undercover there. And I'll be by occasionally, too, in the role of a crooked power-lord. I like to evaluate my men out in the field, and we'll leak the story that you work for me as a bodyguard and a point man. Should work well with you showing an interest in horning in on the Yana drug trade.”
Jack Pendergrast. That must be the name of the kid on the holo. I got up from my seat and walked towards the projection, my eyes drawn again to that sinful looking mouth. He'd be my partner. And maybe I could interest him in being my bed-partner as well. I wanted a taste of those lips and and I wanted to see him sucking my cock.
“So, this is my new partner?” I addressed Banks, but I didn't face him. “This kid is Jack Pendergrast?”
I was glad I wasn't looking at Banks when he answered.
“Jack? No. Jack's downstairs, and you'll be meeting with him to work out the undercover details after our meeting.”
I heard Banks push away from his desk and scant seconds later he had joined me, a fat cigar in his hand. He used it to point to the three dimensional image of the kid.
“This is the man we suspect of inventing Yana and supplying the ingredients in some form to the drug chefs.”
I felt my heart sink. Fuck. I'd have to try and forget that instant attraction to him that I'd felt. Wanting to bone the criminal responsible for the misery that Yana left in its trail... Hell of a way to start a new case.
Banks kept talking and, thank the Higher Powers, he didn't act like he knew I'd just been caught with my pants down and my dick out.
“His name is Blair Sandburg, age twenty-three. He's a member of the bastard class, and he's a smart son-of-a-bitch. He's a grad student, supposedly doing research on the plants the Sho'nakan use in order to earn his PhD. He's got degrees in Biology and Anthropology, and a Masters in Botany. He's close to earning his doctorate in Environmental Anthropology.”
“Why is he a suspect? What's his motive?”
“Motive? Well, he's never kept it a secret that he wants to change his class. He's gone to school on scholarships from some of the charities that help those people. And by all accounts he's worked hard to prove himself worthy, and he's fulfilled the education requirement for leaving his class behind. He's made excellent grades, even had been a teaching fellow before leaving to do his field research.”
So, his ambition might have outstripped his ethics. Wouldn't be the first time somebody made that decision; if so, I wondered how he managed to sleep at night. Banks walked around the image, then returned to his desk. I stayed where I was.
Banks continued. “But he needs money, too. He's got to have a decent bank account to prove he's ready to be assigned up the social ladder. This drug money can be laundered into something respectable. He could use the cash to bribe somebody into adopting him. He's got no father listed on record, but an adoption would speed things up for him, and he could jump up to the upper common or even the superior class that way.”
I frowned. So far this was just speculation. “What's the rest?”
Banks shot me a hard look. Probably my tone of voice hadn't been respectful enough. I told myself to watch the attitude. I'd been known as a hard-assed son-of-a-bitch in Vice, but it had occurred to me after I'd gotten the news of my transfer that this was an opportunity to clean up my act. Well, a little bit, anyway.
“Sandburg's research on the medicinal plants the Sho'nakan use just happens to coincide with the emergence on the street of Yana. We've just recently traced back a connection from a drug chef to a supplier of the ingredient, and the physical description we sweated out of the supplier matches Sandburg. But he couldn't pick Sandburg out from several others when we showed him a holo lineup. There's a good chance the guy was too smashed when he made the deal to remember Sandburg's exact features. We know Sandburg was on New Rainier at the time. He comes here several times a year, about every four months. Supposedly it's to work with his thesis adviser, use the lab facilities of the University of Rainier, and stock up on supplies, but we think that's when he's selling the recipe and ingredients for Yana to the drug chefs.”
Banks gusted out his frustration. “But we don't have enough evidence to arrest him, or win a case in court. That's why we need you, Detective Ellison. You've got insight and connections to the Sho'nakan that can help us fill in the gaps. We can arrest him on Quyllur for supplying Yana or the ingredients, as soon as Quyllur's petition to join with New Rainier is accepted by the Celestial Congress.”
He rose up from the desk and walked over to the door. I got the hint and moved there, too.
“Make yourself comfortable in the first room on the right from my office. You'll need to go over the details of the case on that dot I gave you. Pendergrast will meet with you in two hours. I want the two of you to leave for Quyllur the day after tomorrow. You won't be back for some time, so make arrangements for that.”
He gave me a hard clap on the shoulder. “I've heard good things about your work, Detective; I need you to nail Sandburg's ass before more people join the living dead.”
Banks opened his door but before I stepped out, I glanced back at the holo of Blair Sandburg. His big blue eyes seemed to stare right at me, a welcoming smile in them.
If Banks was right, he was poison wrapped up in a pretty package.
And if Banks was wrong... I stopped myself from going down that path. He was a suspect. I was going to either condemn him or clear him. What I wouldn't be doing in either case was fucking him.
I took my leave of Banks and once in the room down the hall, I engaged privacy mode, got myself a large cup of kaffee from the courtesy cart, sat down and propped my feet up on the desk in my favorite position for thinking. Then I ordered my slave to project the reports on the case.
I was far from thrilled about this assignment, but that wouldn't stop me from doing my best.
And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to wonder about the friends I'd made on Quyllur and if my adopted people, especially Incacha, our shaman, would welcome me back.
///
“So, Jimmy... Welcome to my humble abode. Sit down, put your feet up.”
It was cool in the small house, and a welcome relief to the heat and humidity outside, and Jack pointed to a comfortable looking wicker chair, then disappeared into another room, the kitchen from the sound of him rummaging through cupboards. I did as he suggested and enjoyed the feel of the breeze from the ceiling fans. Jack's place was about twenty minutes from the town of Quilla Rumi, and about ten minutes from the beach, and the jungle vegetation was almost at his doorstep. It was private here, but he'd said he didn't make his arrangements at his home. Mostly that happened in the bars and small restaurants in town or during purposeful walks down to the marina.
We'd made the flight from New Rainier in record time once we'd emerged from the tessering roll-through into orbit - Jack's bird was one deceptively looking souped up machine - and we'd hammered out the cover story for me on the way.
Jack would introduce me around as a 'cousin', which would let the right sort of people know that I was connected to the people Jack did jobs for here on Quyllur. Jobs that involved setting up smuggling, drug running, prostitution, and gambling.
Jack was a middle man, and was in deep cover. He'd been here for two years, and was gathering evidence so that when Quyllur was accepted into the New Rainier compact, there would be one hell of a house cleaning. But he'd drawn a blank on finding the Yana connection, either from the drug runners or from those who had connections to the people who lived in the jungle.
The indigenous people here, like the Sho'nakan, didn't talk to outsiders much. There was minimal trading, and it took a shaman's approval before anyone was truly accepted by a tribe.
Incacha had allowed me to stay with him. He'd consulted the spirits and held a ceremony purifying me and gaining me acceptance from our people.
I remembered it. I remembered everything that had happened to me once I'd awoken in the jungle. It had been my previous life that had been a blank.
I had been damn lucky that I'd been found and given a place within the tribe, although Incacha had told me when I'd left to resume my life as a hunter that the spirits had willed it that I join the Sho'nakan.
I'd reverted to what I truly was while I lived here. I'd become a sentinel.
If I'd stayed much longer with the tribe, I would have had to bond with a guide in order to stay sane. And in my mind-wiped state, I probably would have joined with one, if one had been available.
Incacha had helped, as much as he could, but he wasn't a guide. He'd been able to stave off the worst of the spikes and zones I'd fall into, but at times life had been pure hell for me, my out-of-control senses trapping me into either pain or blankness.
Later, when Incacha couldn't find me a guide within our tribe, he'd sent inquiries out into the wider world, and that resulted in my being found by a patrol of Orion's Hunters and pulled out of Quyllur. My mind-wipe had been reversed, thank the Higher Powers, although it had been a near thing. And I hadn't been able to identify who had done that to me.
Jack came back out, bearing a bottle in his hand and two mugs. “Here. I bet you remember this; it'll send you right to Nirvana.”
He filled the mugs and handed one to me. I took a deep, appreciative sniff.
Ah, Blue Heaven. Agrasa; Nirvana was right. The deep blue native drink was smooth and flavorful, distilled from a berry that grew everywhere here, and I'd always found it had a calming effect as you got drunk. Nice.
Jack filled me in on the local power structure, and what he knew of the Yana trade. It seemed to be restricted to New Rainier, he hadn't heard of any Yana victims on Quyllur.
He hadn't heard of Sandburg, either. So the kid probably wasn't a player because Jack had an ear to the ground about the illicit activities being conducted under the noses of the local law. Once the ratification was pushed through, the New Rainier law code would be in effect, and activities that were marginally legal or considered minor infractions would become illegal .
So Sandburg wasn't on Jack's scanner. That fit with the current theory, that Sandburg had stumbled on how to produce Yana and was taking advantage of the opportunity to make some quick cash in order to get out of his class.
We worked out our strategy, and I told him that after he'd introduced me around as his 'cousin', who was looking for additional business, I'd go deep into the bush and meet up with Incacha.
While the Sho'nakan avoided the towns and cities of Quyllur and were suspicious of most people that did contact them, Incacha would welcome me back to my adopted people. I hoped. We'd parted on good terms, even if I hadn't come back afterward to see him and the rest of the tribe. Thinking about that time of my life was something I'd avoided. My unit had been destroyed, my teammates killed, and I remembered nothing about it, or why I had been spared. The only thing left of my garrison had been the wreckage of our bird, strewn in orbit around a planet far from here. Somebody had wanted me alive, but not in any shape to bring them down. Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to dump me, unhurt but dazed, memory of my past life gone, far into the jungle. And the jungle held its own dangers for the ignorant.
I owed a lot to the Sho'nakan.
Incacha would tell me if he knew who was supplying the plant that, when altered, made Yana so dangerous.
If he didn't know, he would help me find out. I could count on his assistance.
Our talk turned to other matters, not really personal; we didn't know each other well enough for that, but Banks' name came up.
Jack liked him, said he was blunt but he'd go to bat for you, and wasn't the type to sacrifice his people for internal politics. They weren't friends, but Jack respected him. He was a good boss.
“Why is he taking such a personal interest in this case? I mean, he's the head of MIC. He told me he was going to come here himself, check things - and me - out. I would have thought he'd be too busy for that.”
“Well... It's not common knowledge. But I know a lot of people, I hear things. His son had a close call with Yana. Some party the kid was at, and Yana was used to spike people's drinks. Daryl's best friend is fried now because of getting a taste of it at that party, and our Captain promised his kid he'd put an end to Yana being on the street.”
Jack excused himself to bed then. I stayed outside on the porch, feeling the breeze, smelling the heavy scent of tropical flowers, and remembering my life here as the tribe's sentinel. I had been wrong to avoid returning here but after I'd left I'd been grieving for my men, and feeling guilty for surviving. It had been easier to put everything out of my mind and in repressing their deaths, I'd also buried my memories of the people who had adopted me and cared for me as one of their own.
I was glad now that Banks had sent me to Quyllur. It would be good to see my people again, and this time when I left I would plan to return soon. New Rainier might be where I lived, but Quyllur was home.
///
My father would be disgusted at how easily I was accepted as a criminal by the people Jack introduced me to in the next few days, being of the opinion that the finer qualities of my class would be apparent to one and all.
But I had no trouble presenting myself as a dangerous man, menacing and lacking scruples. With Jack as a 'reference', I picked up a couple of small jobs, guarding one man's bird while all kinds of illicit items were loaded up to be smuggled out of the system, escorting others around town while they did their dirty business, that sort of small-timer work.
I used these contacts to ask about Yana. Most had heard of it being a New Rainier drug, but didn't know that it originated from Quyllur. I didn't enlighten them.
A lot of the smuggling was done with drugs or drinks that were legal in other parts of the system. What was illegal was avoiding paying the export and import taxes on those luxury items.
The local law didn't work too hard to arrest smugglers - the fines were minimal. That would change, of course, after the compact was signed. New Rainier laws were strict, and the threat of being mind-wiped a strong deterrent to crime. These smugglers would move on to other fringe planets, and I predicted that these rats would jump ship as soon as the Celestial Congress voting went one vote over the majority needed for ratification.
So the Yana trade wasn't being run by the established drug runners. That fit with Jack's intelligence.
I asked about Sandburg, but only very casually. I didn't want it to get back to him that a tall man with blue eyes, and who had a hard edge to him, was looking for him. So, I would bring the conversation around to wanting to go into the bush - to sight see, although that idea was met with a lot of skepticism - and I would wonder who might be able to guide me.
A few names would come up, with advice on how to locate those folks. Sandburg's name was supplied by a pretty, dark-haired barmaid at a rundown tavern. She looked like she wished she hadn't mentioned the kid after letting his name slip, but I pushed her on it and she reluctantly told me I could leave him a note on the bar's message board.
“Blair always checks the message board. He's got a thing about not using his comm while he's in the jungle. Actually, he might not be able to afford the bill. He always buys the cheapest thing on the menu, and that boy's clothes are one step away from the recycler.“
She smiled then, her dark eyes lighting up as she thought about Sandburg, and after seeing the kid's holo, I could understand why. He was cute, and from all accounts on the dot Banks had supplied, a lively little flirt.
After more questioning on my part about locating him so I could hire him, she admitted that she didn't know where he stayed when he was in town, but assured me that he would probably show up in a couple of weeks. I wondered if he'd slept with her. He didn't have a steady relationship with anybody, and from the intelligence Banks had on him, apparently never kept anything going too long with the men and women he dated.
Probably a shallow kind of guy. Probably had a user personality, all surface warmth with a veneer of friendliness which would fit with him exploiting victims with Yana. People like that got into your life and did their damage, and then left you gutted and bleeding. I'd had my share of users. Lila and Veronica came to mind. Both had ended up trying to kill me, after they'd gotten me to open up and trust them. Both had used sex as the lure. Luckily, I'd learned from my mistakes. I wouldn't be taken in by Sandburg's pretty face and glib tongue. No matter how he tried to use it.
I gave her a generous tip to ensure that the message with my comm number would stay up on the board. Sandburg was who knows where out in the bush and, from the rough schedule he kept, he wouldn't be stopping by this tavern any time soon.
So I decided my next step would be to see Incacha. My friend. It would be good to talk to him again, to clasp his arm in the way of brothers. And maybe he knew of Sandburg and how I could stop him.
///
Being in the jungle this time was very different from my last excursion. Then every one of my senses had been tuned into the slightest change in the environment. Now I was startled by the flight of birds as I came close to their home trees, and the scents in the air were a mixture of undecipherable messages. The light through the foliage overall still looked greenish to me, but I couldn't detect the subtle differences of color in the light that I knew were there.
Sometimes I did miss my senses being at such a high peak of capability. But then I would remember how a spike shattering me felt like being at the bottom of the pit of doom, or how helpless I felt when falling endlessly into a zone, unable to stop my descent and knowing that I could end my life trapped in a web of fascination of the tiniest detail of whatever had caught my attention.
No, it was better to give up the highs than experience the lows again. At least I was able to function as a protector without my senses being so enhanced. I'd have to bond with a guide in order to avoid the sensory problems I'd had before.
I would never do that.
I would never give up my privacy and my own identity to join with a guide, and forever after take co-dependency to the highest extreme.
No, thank you.
It was quite a long hike into the lands that the Sho'nakan traveled, and while I was aiming for the location of the settlement when I was last there, my people might have migrated to where the hunting was better, or certain food plants were concentrated.
They had moved, but a new trail winding away from the old camp led me to them about five miles away.
I hooted a signal as I traveled, announcing that a returning member of the tribe was approaching. While conflict between the different communities of the Sho'nakan were very rare, skirmishes with the outlanders who intruded upon my people's homelands were much more common.
Many different groups on Quyllur were considered to be outlanders by the Sho'nakan - descendents of far back ancestors who had left the traditional lands and became well versed in the use of technology, immigrants from other worlds who built a life on this beautiful world, drifters who came and went, some to explore and some to exploit. All were looked upon with distrust by my people.
I was surprised that Sandburg had managed to cross that barrier of mistrust with the people he had studied, since by all accounts he had lived here for several years and traveled freely through jungle and coastal areas sacred to the Sho'nakan.
It was dusk when I arrived, the night blooming flowers beginning to unfurl and their sweet scents traveling on the breeze. Men and women that I had known acknowledged me with their eyes, but none approached me. Several inquisitive boys and girls, who darted towards me, recognition dawning on their faces, were called back by relatives to stand next to them.
I understood. I had been away far too long. I might be a spirit, clothed in the shape of their sentinel, or a shape-shifter, come to employ evil magic and snatch at children and infants, to consume them in order to add to my supernatural abilities.
They would watch and mutter incantations of protection until Incacha examined me and pronounced me to be free of malice. I would be accepted again once he confirmed that I was Enqueri, the sentinel who had come to them years earlier, and who had then wandered far away from his people. Their brother, who had now returned to his home.
Incacha was waiting for me by his small campfire.
He stood, and while he is a small man, his stature did not diminish the sense of power that radiated from him.
I remained quiet, almost at parade rest, as he walked around me several times. He nodded, and reaching into a small pouch at his waist, he removed a small twig. He bent and lit the leafy end, holding it by the stem, and still watching me, and he drew symbols in the air around me, the smoke trails hanging in the air briefly.
He then inhaled the smoke from the twig, threw what was left into the fire and drew me towards him.
I bent, our mouths meeting in an open mouthed exchange, and I breathed the fragrant tang of Naya into my lungs. We drew apart and I exhaled.
Then Incacha smiled at me and we grasped arms, holding tight for a long minute before ending the embrace.
“Welcome home, Enqueri. Come, let us walk now and let the people know you are yourself, and safe to approach.”
///
I spent a week with my people, learning of the changes that had occurred since my departure - who had a new child, who had died, who had joined in marriage, who had become ill, and who had grown well.
In turn, I explained about no longer being a warrior of the stars, but that I had become a protector to a faraway people. And that I had come to find out who was perverting the sacred plants of home into a poison that was soul-killing people who lived on another world.
I asked my people to not talk of me or my reason for returning to Quyllur to outlanders, though. I was building a trap, I told them, and I had no wish to frighten off my prey. I asked that I be told if any approached them offering to trade for the plants, or if they observed the plant being gathered in large amounts. Incacha, as shaman, instructed the tribe to heed my wishes.
I did not ask directly about Blair Sandburg. I did not say he was suspected of stealing the sacred plants and altering them to harm others. Instead, I sifted through the conversations and gossip to see what I could discover without casting suspicion on the man. I preferred to have corroborating evidence, not to influence testimony by my own bias.
Sandburg was known to be visiting the different tribes, all Sho'nakan, but he had not come to this village yet.
Incacha expected him to arrive sometime after the second moon's time of fullness. Apparently, he'd gotten on the good side of several shamans and they had granted approval for him to do his research.
He was being sent from tribe to tribe, and his description went before him. A young man, small for an outlander, with eyes the color of the sea and hair of many shades that twisted and turned. In other words, he matched the description Banks had given me - short, blue-eyed, with curly brown hair. The Sho'nakan had dark brown eyes and black hair, with nary a curl, so Sandburg would look very exotic to them.
He also, Incacha told me, was considered an apprentice to the shamans he had studied under. He could take the final path of a shaman, but where that path would lead to, Incacha did not know. He spoke of the spirit world and what he had learned there regarding this outlander apprentice, and the young foreign man's future was veiled. But he did carry power. And all knew that a shaman could become a tribe's protector or become a witch, a sorcerer, and carry out evil deeds.
Incacha could not gain answers from the powers on the spirit plane as to what Sandburg would become.
But the command to offer the outlander instruction was not to be denied. One ignored the spirit world's guidance at their peril and Incacha would not risk the people's well-being by defying their directives.
So Incacha waited for Sandburg to come to him. In the meantime, I would work on setting my trap. I said my goodbyes to my people, promising to return soon, and I made my way back to town.
///
The message I'd left for Sandburg at the run down bar had paid off. He'd scribbled a number on the note I'd pinned to the message board listing where he could be reached for the next few days.
But I was too late when I called. The sleepy voice on the other end of the comm told me that, yeah, Blair had crashed with them for a couple of days, but that he'd gone to visit some other friends. He had me wait while he dug around to locate the comm number where Sandburg now could be reached.
“Doesn't he have his own comm, instead of using all of his friend's numbers?”
“Nah. He's always broke. Life of a grad student, he says. But nobody minds giving him a hand once in a while. He's a good guest, always helps us out with some project or other while he's here, and boy-oh-boy, can he cook.”
The guy put a cheerful leer into his voice. “He's fun, too. If you know what I mean.”
“He an equal opportunity fun kind of guy?” Sandburg's sexual history had indicated he went out with men and women, but it wouldn't hurt to confirm the intel.
“If by that you mean he goes with guys and gals, then yeah. Hey, he said somebody might call him about a job, but he's not a cash-boy. If that's what you want him for, you might as well not bother comming him.”
“I'm not looking for a piece of change. Did you find that comm number yet?”
The rummaging around the guy had been doing apparently did result in finding the number, because he drawled out the twelve digits before yawning and asking if that was all.
After I'd disconnected, I thought about what I'd learned from that conversation. Sandburg was a good enough con man to make people like him, get himself invited back again and again. He was willing to trade for what he wanted - a roof, food, and access to communication by sleeping around and doing chores.
Apparently he was good in bed and in the kitchen. What a deal for those he hooked up with.
I wondered if he ever had been a cash-boy. There was nothing in his employment records about being a legal prostitute, which was something a lot of the ciphers in his class ended up doing. But he could have been an illegal player, in order to skip paying taxes and avoid the involuntary health supervision required by the legit boys and girls who sold their bodies.
But that kind of record wouldn't have helped him in his quest to qualify for a better class. If he had done it, he'd have wanted to keep it on the sly.
Or maybe he was just into bartering, and had a healthy, carefree libido.
Either way, I wanted to meet with him and take my own assessment of who Blair Sandburg was.
I punched in the number I'd been given, and smiled grimly to myself when the comm was handed over to my target, and a warm, lively voice said, “Hey, this is Blair. Talk to me, man.”
Continued in Part One - B
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