Onekka - The Tragedy of Jaqui Fennet (10 page)

"You won't fire that thing in here," he said. "You're too
rational for that. You know you'd never be able to explain it away."
"You're right," she said, grabbing the air cannon from behind her. It
was still giving out that near-inaudible whine to indicate it was charged. She
hung the handgun back on her belt, and aimed the cannon. "I'll extend you
the same courtesy you showed the Armcorp delegation in the board room."
I'll
make you feel a little of the fear you put Helen through, day after day,
mindwipe after mindwipe, chipping away at her sanity until she's a shaking
shell of humanity.
His face set even harder, and she swore he actually growled. "The ai
gravity won't turn off in here, bitch. You'll be stuck with my body. You can't
move me like you did Garret - you'll find I weigh more than you might
expect." He flexed his arms as he said that, and Jaq wondered anew just
how much augmentation he'd undergone. He took a full step forward, those
mirrored glasses aimed resolutely at her face. "You're out of plays,
Fennet. You've lost, and all that's left is for you to give yourself up like the
sad, traumatised girl you are. There's nothing left for you, no reward you'll
appreciate or future worth having. You're broken, girl, a tiny wreckage on the
shores of life, well on your way to hopelessly insane." He took another
step, closing the distance enough that his sneer dominated her view.
"You-"
Jaq pulled the trigger.
The tiny sphere grazed DePennier's lips as they opened for his continued
tirade, and then impacted at the back of his throat. The maximum-strength
release intensity did its job, and no amount of enhancement would have saved
him.
That smooth dome of a cranium, glasses still attached, bashed a dent in the
ceiling as the lower half of DePennier's head exploded in a horizontal
dispersal. Blood and tissue spattered the walls, splashed like a wave across
Jaq, and settled in broad circle on the tiled floor. The body was thrown
directly to the tiles by the release, ending up front-down and facing her. The
open neck spurted rhythmic pulses of blood from the ruptured jugular. Jaq was
just with-it enough to jump sideways, and avoided getting her feet saturated.
In the aftermath, as gore dripped from her body and red mist settled across the
room, Jaq listened to the quiet whirrs of the mummy and the increasingly high
pitched whine of the air cannon as it prepared itself for another round. Was
there any coming back from this?
Nice one, Jaqui. Now you've really screwed yourself! What the hell are you
going to do now?
She strode over to the mummy, a dead slave to cruel masters, placed the barrel
in its ear, and fired again.

Jaq stood in
the security office and gazed down at the headless body of her nemesis
DePennier. The whole room was a gore-littered mess. Two heads' worth of brain
and skull had pebble-dashed the walls and floor, and strings of distressed
flesh hung in ragged tatters from furniture and fixtures. This was just a
portion of how that boardroom must have looked after the Armcorp delegation was
massacred.
All she could think about were the words he'd taunted her with just a couple of
days before she shot him. She was a born killer, he'd said, with an instinct
for dishing out death when required without hesitation. He'd also said she
instinctively covered her tracks afterwards, rather than confessing, overcome
with guilt.
Well, he'd been right on both counts. Jaq hefted the air cannon in her hands,
doubly glad she'd worn gloves this night. Turning the weapon, being careful not
to disturb the blood and flecks of skull that coated the barrel, she tried to
ascertain if she could fit the dangerous end in her mouth and still pull the
trigger. Lo and behold, it was possible. A part of her smiled while another
shrank back in horror.
Mr DePennier, it seemed, had killed the surveillance mummy before turning the
gun on himself. Perhaps a fit of guilt over his killing of Dane Garret led him
to this act, or his mysterious employers forced his hand, displeased with his
handling of the affair. Maybe the surveillance mummy had caught something it
shouldn't have...
The first order of business was placing the weapon believably in the body's
grasp. Despite needing to lean across a lake of blood to achieve this, Jaq
thought she did a reasonable job. She then brushed several clumps from herself
onto the floor around the prostrate 'suicide' victim. Worried about a gap in
the spray pattern where she'd been standing at the time of the shot, she picked
her way to one side and flicked more bits and pieces against the wall and
floor, pulling them from her hair and clothes with the gloves. The gap in the
floor was taken care of by DePennier's arterial gushing, which had spread
beyond the area she'd been standing in; a massive, sticky pool.
Jaq briefly debated following the stairs up, deeper into Sector 5, but Witching
Hour was quickly passing, and she decided to leave it for another night. With
DePennier out of the way, and hopefully carrying the can for Garret's murder,
she would be able to act with far less caution. Besides, she had a strong urge
to shower.
Time to make a quick exit!
She made her way back to the safety of her bunk, and this time she did it
before Onekka's support systems shut down for the night. As before, she
incinerated her clothes, and then placed her contraband back in her own stasis
locker. It seemed unlikely Henrickson would go to the trouble of searching her
bunk again - he was well aware DePennier's men had already turned it over.
Her shower was the best friend she'd ever had for a full half hour. The
scalding water felt like it scrubbed her, removing not just evidence but many
of the vestiges of guilt. DePennier would be the last one, she promised herself
as she rinsed blood from her hair. In the position she'd got to, nobody else
would need to die. This was a new start.
No more blood on your hands, girl.
No more shame.
A nagging thought wouldn't let her go, though, and while she suppressed it to
find sleep, Jaq knew it would return to haunt her:
Every time I sneak around in the dark, I end up killing somebody.
*
"Jaqui, you were betrayed. This slight cannot go unpunished." There
was an element of harshness to the companions' shared voice that she had never
heard before. Suddenly, the darkness was not so comforting. Though there was no
threat, the strongest sense of displeasure washed across her like a wave breaking
across sand.
She frowned, and then wondered if the dream companions could see it, or merely
sense her consternation. "You mean Helen? She didn't betray me, she was
used. Betrayal takes intent."
"No, betrayal takes action only."
"She is an innocent in all this, a victim who must be protected."
A blanket of anger, thick and acidic, was thrown over Jaq's thoughts. "She
is a liability. Her continued existence threatens your mission. She must be
removed, before she has the chance to unmake your purpose."
"I have a mission now? I thought this was all for my benefit, to help me
seek my inner peace. What kind of dream companions are you?"
In the silence that followed, the air beat heavy with dissent and
confrontation.
They're arguing.
Eventually there was that familiar
serenity, saturating the air with its sweetness. Jaq accepted the sensation,
but couldn't help remaining wary of it. There was a bitter edge to the
sweetness which would, she feared, impact it forever more.
"We are the kind that want only the best for you," was the eventual
reply. "You must understand, Jaqui, that everything we tell you is for
your benefit."
She folded mental arms. "I'm not going to kill Helen. The poor woman
deserves better than that."
"Then think of it as a kindness. What life has she ahead of her, without
the benefit of her full identity or unscrambled mental faculties? Helen exists
each waking minute in a state of flux, her sanity compromised, her emotions
bouncing from low to high without purpose, her dreams near indistinguishable
from reality."
"That sounds like being human, to me."
"In time, you will see that we are right. You must kill Helen. She is too
big a vulnerability to be left wandering free. She may not mean to, but she
will betray you in the end."
"In this, you are wrong."
The three voices filled her head with a simultaneous burst of pain and
pleasure. "Kill her, Jaqui. Kill her, and find peace."
Without a chance to reply, she was falling back through space and time to her
body.
*
"Do you, erm, do you ever get that urge, Ms Fennet?" Henrickson was
gesturing hesitantly with his hands as he paced around the room. Jaq sat in her
chair in the office he'd commandeered and watched him fidget.
"Urge?"
He smiled, but his eyes looked distant. "Forgive me, my phrasing. I mean
the violent urge; a need to inflict, erm, pain. Inflict pain. A colleague has
perhaps irked you, a lover misspoken. We all do it, I think, to some degree. We
might snap in anger and, erm, say something hurtful, or jokingly aim a
punch." He flashed that faraway smile again. "When we are not, in
fact, joking." He paused in his pacing, even in his fidgeting, and simply
stared at her, occasionally blinking those big eyes.
That voice is incredible. Not loud - in fact, very quiet - but piercing
without being high pitched. It almost sounds generated.
Clearly he expected
her to back-track through his monologue to the point where he'd asked a
question. Jaq smiled back at him, directly. "Of course. I think we all do.
I've hurt plenty of people's feelings in my time, even caused a few bruises. I
know when I've done it, though. Sometimes, I even apologise."
They'd been shifting between this light verbal sparring and meaningless
small-talk for almost an hour. If Henrickson knew about DePennier's apparent
suicide, he was playing his cards close to his chest. Jaq had the distinct
impression he was waiting for her to slip up and reveal her involvement in
something. Unlike when DePennier had questioned her, she felt no emotional
threat, and Henrickson was very far from intimidating, even if his build looked
reasonably strong. Instead, he was quiet and hesitant - not nervous in the
least, but particular about his choices of word - and as friendly as anybody
could be whilst in an environment of interrogation. A month ago Jaq might have
been taken in. Now, she knew this man could be just as dangerous as the one
she'd shot down last night, if not more so. At least DePennier had been open in
his intentions.
"There are those, Ms Fennet... Do you mind me calling you 'Ms Fennet'? Is
there something else I should use; a, erm, preferred name or affectation,
perhaps?"
How about 'Sugartits'?
"Jaq is fine, as long as I can call you
Robert."
That threw him, although only for a moment. "You saw my name badge on the
desk outside, yes? Erm, I think perhaps ... Henrickson would be the best method
of address. Mister or Detective Inspector, though; whichever, as it were, would
make you more comfortable." Jaq simply smiled in return. "I think, Ms
Fennet, that I shall continue to address you as I, err, have been."
"There are those," he continued, now pacing again, "who do not
limit themselves to what we might call situationally appropriate forms of
violence. To some, a boundary is - how might one say? A boundary is simply an
alternatively coloured path. To such personalities, deadly violence may result
from a social slur, and feel quite fine."
Jaq nodded along, feigning interest.
He takes longer to get to the point
than a dwarf climbing an oil-soaked flag pole.
"Is that what they call
a psychopath? Do you think we have one on board?"
The faint smile flashed again as he turned and paced slowly in a new direction
"Psychopath, sociopath. The 'path' is the important part. They have no
power of empathy, and the world to them has no, you might say, pathos. Do I
make sense, Ms Fennet? Have I, have I explained the concept, or are you
familiar?"
"I'd never really thought about the word. Do you really think there's a
psycho on board Onekka?"
"Oh yes, most certainly, or at least I, erm, I did." He finally
ambled across and sat down in the second chair, facing her. "The nature of
the crimes, the stories told by the scenes, informed that view." He
squeezed his hands together, back to palm. "But now, our mostly likely
suspect appears to have, erm, given up the fight. And THAT," he slapped
his hands down on his knees with a sharp smack. The voice, though emphasized,
was still not loud, but his face was set in an expression that could have been
the dictionary definition for 'vexed'. "That does not sit right," he
whispered.
Jaq studied him, still unable to get a reading on the man. He was undeniably
handsome, and his attitude when they first met had seemed take-charge and
commanding. Now, he came across as diminutive, inquisitive. With his manner, he
was almost asking Jaq's opinion on her own level of involvement, and she found
the approach simultaneously amusing and terrifying. The latter was because she
found herself wanting to help, to put a comforting hand on his shoulder and
provide that key piece of the puzzle that would help him see the picture
clearly. He was, she realised, almost the opposite of a sociopath. He was
pathetic, in every way, and a part of her responded to that.
You want me to say 'Oh, did Mister DePennier kill himself?' Sorry, I'm not
falling for that.
"Are you telling me someone's given themselves up? Have you caught Mr
Garret's killer?" She hoped her slightly wide eyes were aimed in an honest
direction, that her voice was pitched at the right level of innocence. At least
Henrickson wasn't sifting through readouts in his vision that told him whether
she was stressed or calm, jubilant or frightened. That made her better off than
she'd been when facing down DePennier.
With a creak of relieved timber, he stood and resumed pacing. "You did
not, I suspect, get on very amiably with your Mister DePennier." It
sounded like a statement, so Jaq decided not to answer. The panic that was
thudding in her throat helped with the decision - any words she spoke right
then would sound like they'd been forced through a sieve.
Please, let him
not follow this line of questioning for too long - I don't think I can handle
it!
"I looked at his docket regarding your, erm, involvement in
proceedings. The man had nothing on you, Ms Fennet. Nothing but his
suspicions." He looked like he'd swallowed a fly. "I do not know for
whom he worked." He cast an all-encompassing glance around. "In fact,
there is, one might say, much I do not know on this station. But, whoever they
were, they were not particular regarding their choice of employee."
Jaq examined the last few minutes' conversation for potential tricks before she
took the bait and responded. "Worked? Were? You're speaking in the past
tense. Has something happened to DePennier? Is he actually going to be off my
back?"
"Oh yes, Ms Fennet. He's dead."
Jaq let her mouth drop open. "How the fuck did that happen? Oh!" she
slapped a hand to her mouth. "Pardon my French."
Henrickson gave her a piercing look.
That was too much! Calm it down.
When she didn't rise to his expression, he continued. "He killed himself
with a weapon similar to those which killed several others in the
Administration area."
So, he does know about the delegation.
"That doesn't sound much
like the DePennier I know. He always seemed completely in control, especially
when he got it in his head to come after me."
There was that smile again. Many more of them, and she'd be trying to knock
them off his face. Perhaps that was the idea - to get a rise out of her. She
took a deep breath, making sure it was subtle. She wasn't going to lose it; not
now.
"Indeed," he said, leaning on the back of the other chair with both
hands, "and therein lays my conundrum."
They stayed like that, as still as statues, for fully five minutes before Jaq
decided enough was enough. "Do you have any more questions for me,
Detective Inspector Henrickson?"
He looked like she'd startled him from a reverie. "Oh! No, erm, not for
the moment, Ms Fennet. You may go, but please ... well, stay close."
She extended her hand, and when he returned the gesture, curling his fingers
round her palm and shaking, Jaq's stomach turned to lead and fell into her
shoes.
"You're a cybernetic!" she blurted, feeling the solid tissue in his
fingers and smooth skin.
He chuckled. "Yes! The voice, err, usually gives me away before the
handshake, but I've been working on adding an accent. It's the air, you see.
Because I don't breath, there's nothing to, well, project my words, as it were.
You get sound, but no reverberation."
Beware the human voice without breath's benefit. Oh, bollocks!