A Lunatic Fear Page 5

  “We need to establish the source,” he said. “Odds are the women know how they were exposed. They might even know where the manufacturing’s going on. Can you get them to talk?”

  “I think so,” she said. “Two of them are desperate to do penance as it is.”

  “How long until they’re clear?”

  “Two weeks tops, if I don’t run into any snags.”

  “Okay. I’ll have Rachel dig up anything she can find about the people in their lives. Husbands. Bosses. Family. If the exposure’s that heavy it must be someone they see all the time, or a place they’re at all the time. You get what you can from them, too.”

  He swirled his coffee in his cup, brooded over it a minute. “Jaguar, what do you know about phase psychosis in men?” he asked.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I’ll explain in a minute. Just tell me what you know.”

  “Same as everyone else. Nothing. No one admitted it existed in women, much less men, who never reported trouble with exposure to Artemis. Of course, I’ve got my own theory about that.” He waved a hand, inviting her to continue, and she did. “Given what we call acceptable male behavior, nobody would see it as a problem. Now tell me why you ask,” she said.

  He stirred his coffee, brooded over it a moment.

  “Shaking your web, Spider Magus?” she asked, as she always did when she thought he’d been using his Adept skills.

  “Yes. Though, apparently, I don’t have to,” he said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Your vision in the sweat. I saw something similar.”

  “I’m not an Adept,” she said immediately.

  He grinned. She wouldn’t like seeing herself that way. “Don’t worry. Actually, I think you saw it with your clairvoyance. That just means it’s closer than either of us would like.”

  “How close?” she asked.

  “Here. The man in your vision – he’s here. A prisoner.”

  “You know who he is?”

  “Brendan Farley,” he said. “Got in trouble in Connecticut. And he used to work for La Femme.”

  She sucked in breath. It was unusual for Adept space to be that specific. Usually information was metaphoric, tricky to interpret. That’s why she trusted so few Adepts. What they saw was a gift. Their ability to interpret well took great skill, which most didn’t have. Alex, she had to admit, was damn good. But this vision needed little interpretation.

  “La Femme – one of my women worked there. Karena. But her personnel file’s missing.”

  “I know.”

  “Farley’s?”

  That’s here, but it doesn’t say much.”

  “So why - or how - did he show up in my sweat lodge vision?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but I think it means more trouble.”

  “Do you mind,” she requested, “being more specific?”

  He turned sharp eyes to her. “Specifically, corporate trouble. Big money and big politicking trouble. Specifically, when we drag all this out into the light, someone’s bound to get pissed off, and we’ll be standing right in line to get pissed on, if we don’t manage it right.”

  “You think you can manage moon madness?” she asked, “It’s like gold fever. Greed and fear are in charge of this one.”

  He considered his next words carefully. They would light a fire under her, but maybe she was already warm enough. On the other hand, he promised not to hold back.

  “Listen,” he said, “it may be worse than that.”

  She leaned back and sipped at her coffee. “Go on,” she said.

  He stirred his coffee, put the spoon down on the table. “I’ve been hearing some rumors, so I asked Rachel to track private Board memos. She found a bunch between some CEOs and governors talking about support for moratorium repeal, and discussing the idea of renting Planetoid space to Global Concerns - for lunar crystallization plants.

  He didn’t have to say more. She was suddenly and fully alert. “Which governors do we need to dodge?”

  She tumbled to that quick enough, he thought. “Could be all of them. The memos were from a variety.”

  “Rat fuck,” Jaguar said.

  “Dry and hard,” Alex agreed. “So the connection between Farley and Global Concerns gets important fast. Rachel’s pursuing that.”

  “Global - that’s Larry Barone’s outfit. More Rat fuck.”

  He was always surprised at the bits of information she did and didn’t carry around in her head, but this was very unexpected. High finance ranked nowhere on her continuum of what was important. That she knew the name of a CEO seemed about as likely as governors inviting her to dinner.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “I read,” she said cryptically. Then, she added, “And I’m very fond of Anna Burhasa’s writing.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Burhasa. I should’ve guessed.”

  Of course she’d know about that. Anna Burhasa was a novelist, screenwriter, and poet at the turn of the century, and everything she wrote would be something Jaguar would appreciate. She started out poor and obscure, but the Pulitzer for one of her novels changed all that, and she grew to be very wealthy. Her money started the Burhasa trust fund, an organization that helped 13 Streams get solar technology.

  Her personality was as colorful as her writing. She traced her roots back to the ancient Etruscans, and always wore her family crest – a leopard’s face surrounded by grapevine – in her jewelry. She was a political activist, frequently arrested for civil disobedience, and she threw the best parties in any town you cared to name. She traveled the world and wrote about it, took a variety of lovers, male and female, and wrote about that, too. She married three times, and the third marriage lasted until she was shot in the streets of L.A., an old, old woman busy rescuing children during the Killing Times.

  Of course Jaguar would know about Anna Burhasa. That meant she’d also know about Larry Barone.

  “You know what happened with her second husband?” Jaguar asked. “He accused her of witchcraft when he left her.”

  Alex nodded. “The way she wrote, she must’ve been one of us.”

  “Naturally. But it didn’t keep her money out of the wrong hands.”

  Her second husband, Martin Barone, finagled rights to some of her early works, which she then refused to have published until after her death and his. But Martin’s son by another woman went to court for the proceeds and won. That was Larry’s father, and with the inheritance Larry financed the start of Global Concerns, Inc. If Anna was in a place where she knew her money was financing the Barone empire, Alex thought she’d be royally pissed.

  “Larry Rat Fuck Barone,” Jaguar commented. “Alex, does he have friends here?”

  “I have Rachel on that, and more. I’ll check on Farley myself. I know Nance, and she won’t mind. First, I’ll have a chat with Paul about moon mining plants.”

  Jaguar leaned her elbow on the table, put her chin in her hand. It was late, and she’d been hard at it with her prisoners, but her green eyes were alert, sparking with questions.

  “Do you think Paul’s for it?”

  “My first guess is no. He’s many unfortunate things, but he’s not a gambler, and he doesn’t like to share turf.”

  Jaguar chewed on this thought. “You’re right. So what’ll you do with Farley?”

  “Find out what I can,” he said. “Same as you do.”

  Her forehead creased in thought. “What’s his testing show?” she asked.

  “Thanatos syndrome.”

  At this, her aspect darkened further. “Be careful, Alex,” she said, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised. Jaguar advising caution was a new phenomena.

  “I mean it,” she continued. “With Thanatos, if he’s been exposed, he’ll be a toxic waste dump. Lunar material - you have to handle it with absolute respect.”

  “I know that, Jaguar. And like you, I know how to block unwanted empathic contact. I’m also old enough to vote and drink, choose my bed pa
rtners with care –”

  She made a low noise at the back of her throat like growling, reached quickly across the table and grasped his wrist. Squeezed hard. Spoke into him.

  Do not fuck around with this stuff. It will eat you alive.

  Through her hand he felt the power of desire that flowed through the moon, through the tidal pull of blood in veins, through her.

  She knew that the oldest wisdom was real. The moon exerted her influence, and if you tried to control or manipulate it without understanding, it would eat you. You had to take care, stay in balance with it, and with yourself. The moon was no more dangerous than a woman, in and of itself, but to play with either disrespectfully was potentially deadly. The Death Sisters were testimony to that.

  Through her hand he could feel the tidal pull of it, a power she would let flow through and out of her. He knew the discipline it took to resist using that power, and he only hoped he could do the same. Power was as seductive as love or fear.

  “You be careful, too, Jaguar,” he said softly. “It’s already in you.”

  She turned a slow smile toward him. “It’s different,” she said. “I’m a woman. The moon’s cellular for me.”

  “But politics and corporate scamming aren’t,” he said. “Far from it. So I repeat, be careful. Don’t make big moves without letting me know.”

  “And you - will you let me know what you’re doing? What you know?”

  “I will, Jaguar. I promise. Unless I’m physically prevented, I will.”

  “All right,” she said. “Okay.” She stood and stretched her long arms toward the ceiling, breathed in and out deeply.

  “Back to work,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  And quietly as wind, she was gone, leaving Alex to brood further over his coffee, his job, and the imprint of her fingers on his wrist.

  Chapter 5

  In the morning, Alex’s first move was to call Board governor Paul Dinardo, who was on the home planet, just outside of Maryland and just around the corner from the legislative bodies the Planetoid system received funding from.

  Governors spent a great deal of time in liaison work with the home planet government. Except to write protocol or approve code changes, they left the actual work of the system to the supervisors and Teachers, so long as nobody made any noise. A low profile was a valuable commodity in the Planetoid system, keeping the home planet populace happy. They could gaze skyward and know there was somewhere to send dangerous criminals, away from a world they wanted kept neat and clean, especially after the violence of the Killing Times.

  Legislators, who liked happy constituents, felt the same way. So did governors, who liked happy legislators.

  That was why Jaguar aggravated the hell out of them. She ran with scissors, pointed out. On the other hand, when Alex ran with scissors, he pointed them down. Paul appreciated this about him, and Alex hoped that appreciation would carry them through this situation.

  He punched in Paul’s code, and found him in his home planet office. When his face appeared on the telecom, it looked distracted, and Alex could see his computer on and scrolling in the background.

  “Busy day, Paul?” he asked.

  Paul rolled his eyes. “I got a couple of few senators up my butt about a thing or two.”

  Alex clucked sympathetically. “Would it have anything to do with the moon mining moratorium?”

  Paul startled, put down his cup of coffee, reached behind him and closed down his computer screen. He touched a code key on his telecom.

  “Go secure,” he told Alex.

  Alex did so, and smoothed his aspect into serenity. He hoped the truth would set them free, without doing too much damage first.

  Paul leaned forward and stared into the screen. “How do you know about that?” he asked, then held up a hand to stop him. “Wait - Never mind. I don’t care how you know. Just tell me what you know.”

  “I know the lunar mining moratorium is six months from expiration, and the pressure’s on to let it expire,” he said. “Lots of people want a grab at the power base there.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “Everybody who watches the news knows that. There’s about six different mega-corps all wanna be first in line. What else?”

  Alex decided to cast his line out as far as it went when he thought like an Adept. “I hear talk that Global Concern wants a little space on the Planetoids to run a processing plant. And some governors are glad to let them have it.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. “Who’s talk is that?” he asked.

  Alex leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Talk among friends. Is it true?”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “It’s true. “

  Alex was simultaneously furious, and relieved that Paul wasn’t dodging the question. He sat and waited for explication, which came soon enough.

  “The Senate likes it. Makes the system profitable, and it’s an election year, God help us. I told them forget it for Three. We’re an open system, and it’d be too dangerous unless we got rid of the people. Same problem here as they’d have on the home planet. We got some big boys against us, though, so I ain’t calling it until it’s over. Senator Delaney says develop some of the unused patches outside the replica cities, put a bubble dome on ‘em. I say nuts to her.”

  Alex let his shoulders relax. At least he didn’t have to fight Paul about it. That is, if he was telling the truth.

  “What about One?” he asked.

  “It’s prettier here. Besides, One already puts its prisoners to work, and we don’t.”

  “Yet,” Alex said.

  “Not yet, and not ever,” Paul said decisively. “If we work them, we start needing them. Then we’re not rehab anymore. We’re a labor pool. I don’t like it, and I don’t like it a lot.”

  “I’m proud of you, Paul,” Alex said. “You’re evolving.”

  Paul grimaced. “No. I’m sticking with what I got. We’re a prison system. We’ll stay a prison system. If I can get the Senate out of my butt.”

  “You want some help with that?” Alex asked.

  Paul eyed him suspiciously. “What kind of help, and what does it cost?”

  “I’m not sure what kind yet. I’d need to know a little more. And as far as I can tell, that’s all it would cost – some information. Like, who are the biggest fans of the idea?”

  Paul shrugged. “Shafritz. You know him? He’s zone 9.”

  “I know him. Tall thin guy with a lot of beard and a fake laugh.”

  “Yeah. That’s him. Then there’s John Kusick, who votes for anything I don’t want because he’s still sore that zone 12 does better than zone 9 in the football pool.”

  “Zone 12 does better than 9 in just about everything, Paul. It has better governance.”

  Paul shot him a look. Alex shrugged. “Sometimes, you act with expedience rather than intelligence,” he said. “And sometimes you think more about looks than substance. But most of the time you really want what’s good for the system, and often you even trust us to do our jobs.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said. “Sure. Anyway, there’s a couple others on Three behind it, but mostly to kiss some Senate ass. Lars and Talek and George, right?”

  “Who’s against it?” Alex asked.

  “Jonathan Gore, of course – the environmental guy. And Miriam Whitehall. You know her?”

  Alex nodded. She was an attractive woman, pleasantly curved, with soft brown eyes and soft wheat colored hair. She tended toward the liberal in her politics, and flowing skirts in her wardrobe. She’d once expressed a more personal interest in him, but he had a feeling she wasn’t as soft as her wardrobe, and it didn’t seem worth the possible consequences.

  “Is that it? Just you those two?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Kinda lonely out here on the edge.”

  “As if,” Alex said, “I don’t know that. Tell me what it would take to get a definite ruling against it.”

  “A hammer on the right heads. A really big hammer.”

  “Wou
ld evidence linking Artemis compounds to Phase Psychosis be big enough?”

  Paul leaned back a little too fast and a little too hard to cover his surprise. “Like what kind of evidence?”

  “Like some female prisoners who have Phase Psychosis. If I can link that to Artemis exposure, would that do?”

  “That’s not even a nutcracker, much less a hammer. The last time women made that claim, they got their clocks cleaned.” He picked up his coffee cup and sipped.

  “What if it was a man?” Alex asked.

  Paul put the cup down. “What do you need?” he asked.

  Alex sighed. He supposed Jaguar was right when she said men still had that extra six inches of legitimacy. She called it a legal hard on. Crude, but accurate.

  “If it checks out, I’ll need permission to have a prisoner transferred to me. Brendan Farley. And a free rein in his program.”

  “Farley? Isn’t he the one with the Mall? Jeeze, if you could nail that one - do you really think so?”

  “I’m looking into it. In the meantime, I need extra research hours allocated for my workers, and access to some private citizen’s files - Like Larry Barone’s.”

  “That’s a lot of toys, and it ain’t even Christmas. If you get ‘em, how do you play with ‘em?”

  “I play nicely, Paul. And I play with friends. Like you. And the Hague. Maybe the Senate if it seems right.”

  Paul drummed nervous fingers on his desk. “Okay,” he said. “If you need Farley, you got him. Special transfer, my signature on it. I’ll try for Barone, but that’ll be tougher. Alex – you really think you got something here?”

  “I think when I’m done, I’ll have a jackhammer for you.”

  A smile began to show at the edge of Paul’s mouth. Alex thought it was a good time to give him the bad news.

  “Just so you know, Jaguar’s working with me. She knows everything – she and Rachel. Nobody else, for now.”

  He waited for Paul to object, shout, curse - any of his usual objections to Jaguar. Instead, his forehead creased and uncreased itself. “I suppose,” he said, “it was inevitable. Keep tabs on her, will you?”

  Alex grinned. “Always.”

  “Yeah. Right. I’ll call you when I got something for you. You do the same.”