Reprisals

By Chris Towndrow

A test flight crashes on the Moon.
A key trial witness is killed while under police protection.
The death of a leading roboticist, seemingly cut and dried, suddenly looks suspicious.
To cap it all, Enna Dacourt receives a marriage proposal from the man she loves.
She knows that at least one of these is her fault.
Hiding in the shadows, others blame her for everything, and are bent on reprisal.

Can she track down the source of all the ills which befall not just her, but the innocent lynchpins in the power struggle between two corporate tech giants?
And will she find time amidst all this madness to respond to Tom’s question?

The second book in the Enna Dacourt series - the sequel to Imperfect Isolation - is a slow-burn revenge thriller with wisecracks and twists aplenty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Towndrow
• Release date: Feb 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005030568

Chris Towndrow

Chris Towndrow has been a writer since 1991.He began writing science fiction, inspired by Asimov, Iain M Banks, and numerous film and TV canons. After a few years creating screenplays across several genres, in 2004 he branched out into playwriting and has had several productions professionally performed. This background is instrumental in his ability to produce realistic, compelling dialogue in his books.His first published novel was 2012’s far-future, post-war space opera “Sacred Ground”. He then changed focus into Earth-centric, near-future sci-fi adventures, and the Enna Dacourt pentalogy was completed in 2023. In a similar vein, “Nuclear Family” was a venture into post-apocalyptic fiction.He has always drawn inspiration from the big screen, and 2019’s quirky romantic black comedy “Tow Away Zone” owes much to the films of the Coen Brothers. This spawned two sequels in what became the “Sunrise trilogy”.His first historical fiction novel, “Signs Of Life”, was published by Valericain Press in 2023. With a number of excellent reviews, this Western romance has been his most popular title.In 2023, Chris returned to his passion for writing accessible humour and will devote his efforts to romantic comedies. Three such scripts are currently in development.Chris lives on the outskirts of London with his family and works as a video editor and producer. He is a member of the UK Society of Authors.

Book preview

Reprisals

Reprisals

Enna Dacourt Book 2

Chris Towndrow

Valericain Press

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Copyright © 2019 by Chris Towndrow

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Valericain Press

Richmond, UK

www.valericainpress.co.uk

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Reprisals / Chris Towndrow. -- 2023 ed.

Paperback: 978-1696241021

01

‘Supposing I said Yes?’

‘That’s the general idea.’

‘How long have we known each other?’ Enna asked.

‘Five months, three weeks, six days.’

‘Could you at least try not to appear desperate?’

‘Not funny.’

‘How many women have there been in your life? To the nearest, say, ten?’

‘Five.’

‘You are so kidding.’

‘I am deadly serious.’

‘But I’m suddenly The One?’ Enna rolled her eyes in mock disdain.

Tom shrugged. ‘When you know, you know.’

‘You’re certifiable, Tom Wagner.’

‘Guilty.’

She could see he was a kid on Christmas night, waiting for the big moment. She hated to be a party pooper, but this wasn’t merely a What do you fancy for dinner? This was life-changing.

‘Do I have us so wrong?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she replied comfortingly.

‘How many men have there been in your life?’

‘A lady doesn’t tell.’

‘I think I’m on safe ground when I say you’re no lady.’ He saw her rejoinder forming. ‘And the fact you’re about to tell me to shove that remark where the sun don’t shine proves my point exactly.’

Enna closed her mouth but pushed her eyebrows up as far as they could muster.

He continued. ‘You’re a woman, but no lady. An amazing woman, the kind that—well, you heard the question.’

She thought for a second. ‘And this would mean—what?’

‘I don’t know. Togetherness, happiness, children—if you want. Adventures, old age….’ He tailed off. ‘It’s not a new concept.’

‘It’s not the concept. It’s the… reality. It’s just… freaked me a bit, you know?’

‘Thanks a bunch.’

‘I should stop digging.’

Tom nodded and rose from the edge of the bed, giving her some physical as well as metaphorical space. The lightness of the gravity remained disconcerting, especially during movement. He wasn’t a natural at this, ever the Earth-bound desk jockey. For him, this had been Peak Romantic Gesture.

The problem was, it didn’t look like it had been enough.

He looked through the shallow window, across the undulating grey regolith towards the passenger Spaceport in the distance. He chuckled. Here they were, at one-sixth weight, and he felt disappointed she wasn’t walking on air. That he wasn’t. The apex of their little getaway was a damp squib, extinguished like a flame exposed to the airless vista outside.

Enna watched him standing there in his jockey shorts, her mind scrambling with reasons why either answer would be simultaneously right and wrong. She felt like a bitch.

Here we are, the first break together for weeks, and you popped his balloon. Why?

With every second, it felt harder to concede an answer. If this needed such consideration, how would the decision now pass without scrutiny by either of them?

This was getting uncomfortable. She needed to say something.

‘I just imagined, somewhere, I don’t know, more romantic.’

He turned to her. The something she’d decided to say had probably been the wrong something.

Jeez, Enna, this has really got you flustered, hasn’t it?

‘So you have thought about it?’ he asked.

‘Generally.’

‘Just not with me,’ he extrapolated.

She sighed.

Stop digging, you idiot.

‘I don’t know—Machu Picchu, on a gondola, under the Northern Lights. Damn it, even freaking Niagara Falls.’

‘One shot and I blew it, huh? Does that mean it’s not the question that’s the problem?’

She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ll take it back.’

Her eyes snapped open. ‘No, don’t do that.’

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pushed her head against his chest. ‘Unless,’ she continued, ‘Well, you realise this is part of what you’d get. Me being—’

‘You,’ he inferred. ‘I said—I get the concept. For better, for worse, yadda yadda.’

‘I’m a horrible person.’

‘Don’t fish for compliments, Enna. You’re shit at taking them.’

‘Yeah.’ She listened to him breathe. ‘So tell me I’m a horrible person.’

‘Appalling. The worst.’ He squeezed her tighter. ‘Hell, I didn’t even get down on one knee.’

‘Maybe that makes you the worst.’

‘Like you’d ever let me beat you at anything.’

‘Part of the package, lover boy.’

She saw in his expression that the storm had gone, so she sought his lips, and that brief encounter passed for a coda to the whole sorry episode.

He broke off, catching sight of something outside.

She tutted. ‘Only you could bring me to the dullest place in the solar system to do some sightseeing.’

‘Worst Person,’ he said with a shrug.

She watched, too, as a shuttle slowly approached the short landing strip. ‘You’re here to watch me being put out of a job?’

‘Pilot-less ships—they’re going to happen. Already have planes.’

She batted it away. ‘They can test it, but it’s years off.’

‘Tell it to the guys in Big Tech.’

‘Whatever. I’ll find another job somewhere.’

‘Chief cook and bottle washer in the Wagner household.’

‘Up your ass.’

As she winked at him, the flash of light in the distance burned and died.

They looked.

There was no sound. The chaos was unreal, eerie.

Decompression had burst the impacting craft like a balloon, debris rising into the black sky, scattering outwards in an arc.

Involuntarily they winced, fearing impact that would shred the complex of buildings where they stood, but mercifully the trajectory was perpendicular to them. Nevertheless, they gazed, transfixed, horrified, as the parabola of destruction rained down on the edge of the Spaceport, puncturing one, then two structures.

Then came the faintest screams of anguish from other occupants of the habitation suite near where Tom and Enna watched, helpless, in disbelief and sick despair.

02

‘So, where’s it gonna be?’

‘Huh?’

‘The new life.’

Brogan Salt was a little taken aback. This felt like the first conversation of any substance. They talked about the weather most days. The state of politics. The news. Sports—usually how the Yankees still sucked and which first-choice pitcher they’d poach from any other team.

Their scant common ground was the lack of desire to break the bonds of Earth and find out how godforsaken and unwelcoming the other colonies were. They considered nothing worse than having even less to do, enjoying even less freedom, less luxury. Less air. More chance, they imagined, of a random and pointless death in a harsh climate due to some technical failure. When the news that a test flight had splattered itself across the surface of the Moon, they remained even smugger in their opinion.

At least, Brogan mused, on Mars, he’d be significantly more untouchable, but he’d hate every second of it, and what was the point of a new life if it sucked on a daily basis?

‘This is gonna sound dumb, but despite everything, I think the Wilderness calls me back.’

The cop shrugged. ‘When you’re not on the run, there’s a lot to enjoy. I mean, not for me—I’m a city guy. I’d be bored out of my fricking mind without an endless line of assholes trying to screw with the law.’

‘Exhibit A,’ Brogan offered, with obvious irony.

‘A man is the sum of his actions. I’ve seen your rap sheet, Salt, and in a city like this, you’re barely on the radar. Plus, you’re nailing a bigger ass to the wall this week, and I believe in priorities.’

‘Nicest thing you’ve said to me in ever, Klasic.’

‘You were on the money about the third base problem.’

‘Hell, my granny knows how to solve that, and she’s been dead six years.’

They laughed. Right then, Salt didn’t feel Witness Protection sucked too bad.

‘What’ll you do? For a job of work?’

Brogan shrugged. ‘Something under the radar. Where being an ex-con is not a problem for folks who like to make it a problem.’

‘It’s a new country. Where’s the beef?’

‘Always there if you look for it. Guess I’m not too bad with my hands. There’s always a call for woodworkers.’

‘Canucks pretty much invented the stuff.’

‘If NYPD are going to spring for a place, that’s as good as any. They’ll get a lot for their money. Couple of acres. Hell, it doesn’t have to be The Overlook—I can make it work. Plus, they’ll be happy I’m out of the way. They’d be pissed off if all that hassle and I wind up full of holes in a random brownstone because some snitch saw me at a downtown diner six weeks from now.’

‘Honestly, you think he’ll go down—Layton?’ Klasic asked.

‘All I can do is say my piece. Then it’s due process.’

‘You think? I don’t know any of my squad room who thought he didn’t put that spy into Horizon back aways, or at least know about it.’

‘That’s why lawyers get the big bucks.’

‘Well, it sucks,’ Klasic spat, shaking his head.

‘You’d be in the wrong line of work if it didn’t.’

‘All you can do is what you can do.’

The doorbell rang.

Salt’s brow furrowed. ‘You order already?’

A shake of the head.

Curious, the officer went to the apartment door, unholstering his weapon as he went, and touched the caller display pad. The image was of another uniformed cop, a face knit with worry.

‘Problem with my relief?’ Klasic called through the sturdy door.

‘It’s your wife.’

That turned his intrigue into concern. Weapon drawn, he unlatched the door. The bearer of the tidings bore the name Galloway on his breast badge. Not a familiar one. But it was a big city.

‘Galloway, fifteenth. I just caught an RTA two blocks down. We have a Leila Klasic taken to Kings County. I was sent to let you know. They figured you’d want to get down there.’

‘How serious?’

‘They didn’t want to wait for your four o’clock relief to get here from across town, so I guess it’s something you’d want to get to. I saw the scene, and it wasn’t pretty.’

Klasic’s heart started to run away. ‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. And I’ve got my daughter’s sax recital in two hours, so the precinct better pull a thumb out of their ass and get the real guy here, or my own lady’ll put me in County too.’

‘Shit,’ he reiterated.

Over the doorkeeper’s shoulder, Salt rose from the sofa in query, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

‘You know the drill?’ Klasic asked.

‘I did six weeks WP back aways. I’ll keep it tighter than a snake’s asshole. You go be with your wife.’

Klasic glanced back at Salt, who nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he told Galloway.

‘I’ll have a good thought for you.’

‘I’ll call in for Jackman so you can make the recital.’

Both men nodded, and Klasic set off down the hall at a jog. Galloway checked the security both ways and, satisfied, closed the door behind him.

He turned to Salt. ‘Hi, Brogan. I’ll be your babysitter for the next ten seconds.’

Then he drew his gun and put three bullets in the man’s chest.

03

‘What happened to you boys wanting the easy life?’

‘Where did you hear that?’ Janssen was a little taken aback.

Superintendent Berndt Faltskog shrugged. ‘I would go to Hälsingland to escape the bad underbelly.’

Inspector Kennet Carlsson piped up, ‘You can’t build a wall around crime. And you can’t stop an investigator wanting to investigate.’

‘I agree. But this case is closed.’

‘We’re on holiday,’ Chief Inspector Janssen offered, without irony.

‘We’re intrigued,’ Carlsson countered, not following his superior’s lead.

‘That is another way of saying We don’t trust you,’ Faltskog suggested.

Janssen recognised they were in danger of driving the conversation—and the relationship—into a crevasse. Kennet’s face indicated it too. He stepped away and wandered the room, apparently absentmindedly.

‘If you knew this Dr Iversen, you could have joined the case,’ the portly Faltskog continued. ‘I would much rather be read the riot act by one of our own than by the Americans.’

‘Superintendent, there’s no riot act,’ Janssen replied, trying to diffuse tension. ‘This is Linköping PD territory, and we’re in your debt to be here.’

‘Then why are you here, Chief Inspector? You are welcome. You would have been welcome five months ago. What has become so important?’

Janssen needed to tread carefully. Across the laboratory, Kennet was looking at something invisible, measuring his steps, peering at a point in space, looking around himself. Janssen decided to cast his junior in the role of troublemaker, hoping the experienced Faltskog would indulge the relative inexperience of youth.

He leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Kennet has some crazy ideas this wasn’t a suicide.’

Berndt nodded in recognition. ‘We had crazy ideas too. Then we examined the scene and the recording, and we did it again, and we had no more crazy ideas.’

‘He doesn’t have the benefit of your evidence. Or your experience.’

The local man looked towards the younger Inspector, who was alternating his attention between the room and a palmtop device. ‘We all have to learn somehow.’

‘Sometimes by mistakes,’ Janssen suggested.

‘The good Doctor regretted his mistake. Perhaps too much.’

‘Did you know him?’

‘Only by reputation. Most of the intrusion problems he had were handled by my predecessor before I came up from Malmö.’

‘Dr Iversen annoyed a lot of people.’

‘Or, a lot of people decided to be annoyed by him. Perspective.’

‘There are two sides to every story, Chief Inspector.’

Janssen nodded. ‘Maybe the Inspector is looking for the other side here.’

Kennet was trying to judge the distance and height of something. Janssen shot him a querying glance, which was answered with a slight beckoning nod.

With a wave, Faltskog bid his guest join his companion.

Kennet held up the palmtop for Ulrik. What played was the recording of Dr Iversen’s last message. The sound was muted. It was a sad thing to see again—they knew the words, so what new information could possibly come to light? They’d read the case report, trusted that the analysis was thorough and accurate. What goose chase was Kennet on?

‘So?’ Janssen asked.

‘The recording was made with the camera right here.’

‘I grant you.’

‘At this height.’

‘Again.’

‘Supported how?’ Carlsson queried.

Janssen went to speak but had neither question nor answer. He looked around, then at Faltskog. ‘Are the camera and tripod still at your station?’

‘Tripod?’

‘Support. Leg. Cradle.’

Faltskog cocked his head. ‘There was none at the scene.’

‘Then where did Iversen put it away? And why? The recording shows the camera was about here, this high.’ Carlsson held the palmtop at chest height, screen towards him. Faltskog came to look in the same direction.

Carlsson continued, ‘He wasn’t holding the camera; it was too far away. It wasn’t resting on a bench, and there is none here. It cannot fly, the camera. Where is the tripod?’

The other two glanced around. ‘In another part of the house?’ Faltskog suggested.

‘The doctor is about to commit suicide. He is an emotional storm. But he packs away the equipment? The camera was found set here, yes?’ Carlsson stepped three metres to the side and laid his hand on a bench.

‘Yes,’ Faltskog stated with intrigue.

‘Did you see his eyes?’

Faltskog nodded. ‘The video was analysed a hundred times. There is no reflection in the eyes. There are no shadows. There are no other voices or sounds. No other fingerprints. No fibres. No footprints. The doctor tied his own rope.’

‘Everything else here is a mess. Iversen worked like this. I saw it before, in the spring, when he and Lieutenant Enna were together finishing his work.’

‘The work that killed him,’ Janssen interjected.

‘I’m aware you have history here, Inspector,’ Faltskog said.

Carlsson nodded. ‘The doctor’s eyes are not always looking at the camera. I’m sure experts have said such. I know there must be psychological trauma happening at this point.’

‘We are not experts, for sure,’ Janssen agreed.

‘The camera cannot levitate. It cannot fly. It was not held by a person—that would be too unsteady to match the recording. So how was it held up here? And why was such a thing moved? And by who? To where?’

Carlsson looked at Faltskog. Faltskog looked at Janssen. Janssen looked at Carlsson.

None wanted to say what they knew inside.

Which was that none of them had an answer.

04

There was a hell of a lot of admin to do. Erik hated admin. He was too bright for that shit. Why couldn’t it just… happen?

He sipped the beer, set the tall glass on the table, and sighed.

What an ungrateful SOB you’re being.

All this is yours now. You never had to lift a finger, and now you have a home, a workshop, vehicles, money…

Lighten up, Karsten.A lifetime’s accrual and you’re only twenty-five.

But it’s not without heartache.And emptiness.And regret.And bitterness.

Beyond and below the tall windows, the sea twinkled and danced in the bright summer sunlight. It felt almost ethereal—or was that his reflective mood? Did he even believe in heaven? Where had uncle Steffen gone to? Was there a better place? If there was, the man deserved it.

The curse of success. The irony that the man’s lifetime’s work, the thing which drove him to push science and technology, precipitated the end of his lifetime. But how? Surely not the method or reason it was widely believed? Such pride, such determination, such stubbornness—relinquished so wastefully and uncharacteristically?

He shook his head—not for the first time these past weeks—and drained the glass.

It was so quiet. He missed the rush and throb of campus. The bustle had been a distraction, companionship and a cocoon. He recognised that this isolation, and its connectedness to the past, would catalyse grief.

So he let it.

Later, he regained some clarity. He resolved to emotionally and physically assemble the upsides of the circumstances.

He toured the property, taking a mental inventory. Starting outside, he checked the terrain, perimeter, drainage, sanitation and exterior walls. The water processing plant needed upgrades, and the whole place required a refresh of its weatherproofing. At the abandoned vegetable and herb garden at the rear of the house, he realised more strings needed adding to his bow.

He thought about Tina. If they had still been together, she could have handled this aspect. She would have relished the challenge of creating a smallholding and indulging in cookery.

If.

He’d been a scumbag, put her in the firing line for things that weren’t her fault, and been generally unbearable.

Maybe she liked the city too much to come here anyway.

Moot point.

There were many trinkets in the house that weren’t to his taste. Very soon, there would be a big bonfire. Or perhaps not so soon? How long was long enough? Steffen had been dead barely five months. This was new ground for Erik. Then again, there was nobody to vet or veto his decisions, either here or elsewhere.

Well, not really.

He felt maudlin, so he went to the sound system to fill the air with distracting music. What he found wasn’t to his liking, so he tethered his Com and initiated a favourite playlist. Instantly he felt less like an imposter, a wanderer in a ghost town.

He’d left the laboratory until last, wanting to finish on a high. Nevertheless, it would be a place redolent of work unfinished, a life interrupted, a legacy he didn’t feel qualified to inherit.

On the plus side, it could catalyse his research and engineering. What gems lay undiscovered that he could seize upon and develop? Whilst also honouring uncle’s memory, of course.

They didn’t share a working approach; Steffen was unbelievably disorganised. It came as something of a shock to discover as much.

Just when you think you know someone.

Or did he already know this? Was there a lost and distant memory of a mad scientist with a workplace in disarray? Or was that a novel?

He toured the expansive room. The walls were lined with cupboards and shelves of differing sizes, assembled piecemeal over twenty years. There were three workbenches, endless electrical outlets, a handful of computer terminals, and tools littered everywhere.

How could a man work like this?!

Well enough to be world-renowned and successful. Also, to lock horns with the wrong elements, make errors of judgement, and be undone by those as yet unpunished.

Erik felt angry. Such people hadn’t been fit to orbit in uncle’s orrery.

There was a sudden violent impulse to destroy the place.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself against it. That would not be the right end for this temple to progress. It was the seed for his own life’s course. To destroy it would be like a disciple stoning his leader.

He mooched reflexively, toying with various components—circuits, assemblies, arms, CPUs, diagrams.

Something on a shelf caught his attention.

His teeth set on edge.

He went to it, hefted the cranium down and looked at the synthetic face.

‘You.’ He spat at it. ‘Why didn’t you leave alone? How is it for you to judge? And to think he honoured you. He would turn in his grave. He was a fool. You caused this. You and the mighty and untouchable.’

He thrust the head back onto the shelf.

‘Why don’t you just die, bitch.’

05

The screen door slammed so loudly that Marcia Gregson nearly put the paring knife through her hand rather than the onion.

‘Son of a bitch!’ was even louder.

No need to ask Wesley about his day, she thought.

There came the thud of a bag hitting the floor, and then he appeared in the kitchen, looking apoplectic.

‘Well, the good news is I won’t be short of vacation time for the wedding!’ he snapped sarcastically.

She decided that saying nothing was preferable to enquiring or mollifying words.

He went to the refrigerator, rudely yanked out a beer and prised the cap off. She felt he could have snapped the very neck of the bottle.

He drained half, looked her in the eye. ‘Fired. You believe it? Goddamn fired.’

It was the angriest she’d seen her imminent brother-in-law. If she was stunned by the news, she couldn’t imagine how torpedoed he felt. But then, looking at his face, perhaps she could.

‘Bullshit. It’s all bullshit.’

She waited to hear in what way it was bullshit.

‘You believe it?’ he asked again.

She shook her head.

He drained the beer and grabbed another.

She needed to say something, so opted for a non-confrontational, ‘I’m doing burritos.’

He nodded, drinking.

Wesley wasn’t a drinker. However, tonight might be an exception. He chewed it over, trying at a basic level to come to terms with the news.

‘Ten years, I never had a bad word said, and then BOOM!’

There had been redundancies at Teksys since the company hit the headlines for all the wrong reasons, but she wasn’t about to voice that. Not much would act as a balm on this wound.

She felt some kinship with loved ones of other casualties of the commercial treadmill. There would be women far less lucky than she, those who might bear real physical scars of the downfall of the more violently disgruntled ex-employee.

She surreptitiously put down the knife and went to the refrigerator. If you can’t beat them, she thought, prising a cap off a bottle and pulling up a chair at the kitchen table.

He sat.

‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said.

‘Because I’d trash my own place,’ he inferred.

‘Just looking after you.’

‘Again.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t like being beholden.’

‘You were there for me when Den died,’ she pointed out.

‘Yeah, and if what happened today isn’t a ripple from that, I don’t know anything anymore.’

‘How could it be?’

He drained the bottle and rapped it down on the table. ‘When you screw over your employer, it’s hardly likely to go well, is it?’ He stood. ‘Got nachos?’

She pointed to the cupboard. He fished out a packet, grabbed another beer, and retook his seat.

‘I did my part in fingering Layton, and this is payback.’

‘I think you’re joining dots that aren’t there.’ She helped herself to some chips.

‘They already targeted me once. And Salt. Maybe they’re more cautious now, but sure as hell there’s no way I put sensitive adult material on my damn system terminal.’

‘Jesus Christ!’

‘Welcome to the party. This is horseshit. I don’t know how in hell they’ve done it, but they needed a reason to pull the plug, and they cooked one up.’

‘Wes, we’ve done the whole conspiracy thing already.’

‘Remind me how that turned out? I dig around your brother’s terminal, join dots, find a few bodies. Next thing I know, I’m ploughing a field without a tractor.’

Marcia buried her head in her hands. This didn’t get easier.

Wes knew as much. ‘I don’t blame you. I could have said no. I could have trodden more carefully. I screwed with the wrong people.’

‘You didn’t wind up dead or on trial.’

He flashed a sober glance. ‘It’s early.’

‘I need to cook.’ She rose and resumed her duties. Wes remained seated, pensive. ‘You get severance?’ she asked.

‘You think? I got Gross Misconduct. I got an hour to leave.’

‘You going to fight it?’

‘When I’ve got something to fight with.’

‘Like what?’

‘Evidence.’

‘Gained how? You just gave me the lecture on what happened last time. Besides, Wes, I’m no techie, but they’re not dumb enough to let you keep your system access?’

‘Hell no. Except this time, they screwed with the wrong person. Didn’t take an hour to clone my data and my user ID.’ He pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket. ‘I’ve been framed—a million bucks says so. Am I snooping around to find which son of a bitch did it? No shit, I am.’

06

Tom’s evening and night passed as a strange unreality.

Sleep was troubled, minds whirred, and there was tension in both the air and their bodies.

There was The Unanswered Question; the worry that he’d put Enna in a difficult position and how, by raising the subject out of the blue, he might have done more harm than good to the relationship. Was it even guilt? It was a lot of disparate things, and his mind (and heart) just decided Guilt was a suitable folder in which to store them.

There was a kind of schadenfreude. What happened at the Spaceport was a horrific, unexplained, numbing shock. Yet, it gave them something to talk about instead of the wrinkle in the holiday, in the relationship. It was a Get Out Of Jail Free card, a welcome distraction, and he felt sick to his stomach that he viewed it as such.

Where the unresolved proposal had, if not pushed them apart, certainly precipitated physical caution, the crash had drawn them closer. They held each other tight, feeling the world a little more fragile than before, yet out of security rather than their natural