Chapter 1
The tin of eggs was unappetizing. Maxine hadn’t even dumped them onto a plate. The Claw was so much more appealing. It sat in a drawer by the sink—a crab-like titanium glove resting on five legs, whispering an invitation. She could almost hear the promise of paradise as she imagined her hand slipping into the Claw’s opening—its sensors pressed against her palm—carrying her away on a Vay/Cay trip to oblivion.
She kept the Claw out of sight. It was her way of pretending she had it under control. Every day began with a plan to leave it in place, but before the afternoon arrived Maxine would take it out with a one-last-time refrain. It was the memory of Steven that drove her—the one good thing in her world of bad. After thirty years together, his absence was the loudest sound in the room. Had it been only five months? It felt like he’d been dead for years.
With a groan of surrender, Maxine sidled next to the sink, slammed the drawer open, and took the Claw from its hiding place. Her mouth was dry. There was a mist of sweat accumulating on the back of her neck. She flexed her fingers, cleared her throat, and moved her hand toward the Claw’s opening. But as her fingertips brushed along the edge, a barrage of knocking invaded the quiet along with a voice that had no plans to vacate the premises.
“I know you’re in there, Maxine. Open the fucking door.”
Charlie Scott had been dogging her for months. Showing up at her unit, pounding on her door—cajoling, badgering, insulting, begging. And now this. Anger. It was a stupid move. Anger was her department.
“Keep your shirt on.” Maxine shoved the Claw back into its hiding place, strode to the front door, and yanked it open. Charlie stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a mixture of relief and anger on his face.
“Well?” she said, daring him to comment on her appearance. Her brown hair hung limply around her shoulders; her arms, thin and boney. Strength had never been Maxine’s go-to when she was on the force. She hung her hat on speed. But she could always manage a little muscle when she was face-to-face with a fiasco begging for closure. All of that was gone now.
Charlie’s 6’2” frame brushed past her, surveying the excuse for a living space her unit had become. He wrinkled his nose and pulled up his upper lip as his eyes fell on the couch where a gray landscape of dirty bedding formed hills and valleys dotted with food stains. Dirty laundry was curing in the bedroom, food was rotting in the kitchen, and there was the unmistakable absence of personal hygiene in the air.
“The unbeatable Maxine Dayley,” he said, with his eyes finally settling on her face. “You look like crap.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“Three months, Maxine. You don’t answer my facecalls, won’t let me into your unit.”
“I needed time. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Cut the bullshit. Look at you. You’re a fucking skeleton. Have your teeth started falling out yet?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Wanna know what I think?” said Maxine, with a small laugh. “I think you miss me. I mean, you’re out there, day in day out arresting God’s mistakes, without your talented Unida Coalition partner playing bad-cop-bad-cop. It was a sad day when I retired. I feel for you, buddy.”
“Making jokes? I should kick your ass.”
“Well, looky here,” she laughed. “If it isn’t the 2075 Tough Guy of the Year.”
They faced off, but Charlie broke first. He walked across the room to a chair opposite the couch, pushed the pile of clothes off the seat and sat down. Then he leaned forward with elbows on knees and said, “Come back to the investigation. Steven wasn’t using. You gotta know that.”
“I played that game for two months. No way could Johnny Jazz have faked Steven’s name on his list of Vay/Cay uploads. My darling husband was a busy boy.”
Charlie stared at Maxine, clearly struggling with what to say—his face, a map of shared memories; his eyes, searching for connection. “Y’know, I remember the day GeneSync paired the two of you. Gotta say, I was surprised. You, with that chip on your shoulder, suspicious of everybody around you, paired with a trusting guy like Steven. But I was wrong. You were perfect together; his sweetness, your sass. Over time, I saw you borrow some of that trust. Use it now, Maxine.”
“Fresh out, my friend. If there’s one thing our two-month investigation taught me, it’s this.” Maxine thrust a finger in his direction. “There isn’t a person on the planet who can’t be sucked into shit. Not even Saint Steven.”
Charlie slowly shook his head. “What the hell happened to you?”
What, indeed. Maxine never would have imagined Steven was a user. He’d always played by the rules. He was the honest one, the reliable one. Until the investigation. Until they found the upload trail. Until her stupidity grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her awake. The thought of Steven’s fall from grace had sent her wandering through the halls of shock and then anger and then depression, before flying into the arms of the very drug that had killed her husband.
Who was the fallen one now.
She turned away and headed into the kitchen. With her back to Charlie she said, “Yeah, well—this has been a real nice visit, but it’s time for you to go.”
“I’m not leaving till I find your Claw.”
Maxine swung around with her jaw taking the lead…and caught Charlie rummaging through her sheets on the couch. “You son of a bitch. If you don’t leave right now, this’ll be the last time you see me.”
Charlie struggled with what to do as his eyes darted around the room—as if that was all it would take to find the Vay/Cay Claw. Then he looked back at Maxine. “Fine. I’ll leave. But I’m coming back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. I’m gonna keep coming back until you stop being an asshole.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
Charlie let himself out leaving an all-too-familiar quiet in his wake. Maxine shook off the oppressive loneliness as she rubbed the stiffness from the back of her neck. When she did, her hand brushed against the empty oval-shaped portal behind her right ear meant to hold her MELS in place. But Maxine hadn’t inserted her Micro-External Linkage System for weeks. Why bother. She had no one to call. Nothing to buy. No interest in reading or watching vids. Her MELS sat in its case on her bedside table, as useless as a cup of decaf.
She opened the drawer by the sink and took out the Claw. Now, where was I?
But Charlie’s presence was still hanging in the air. She angrily shoved the Claw away. It skittered across the counter, fell to the floor, and rolled under the dining table. Christ. It just doesn’t end. Maxine walked around the counter to pick it up. She was under the table bent down on all fours when her head banged against something nailed to the underside—a three-by-four-inch bioplastic box.
Maxine tried to pry the box loose but it wouldn’t budge. When she released the latch, the bottom of the box fell open and a piece of paper fluttered onto the floor with her name scrawled in Steven’s unmistakable hand.
Paper. Hard to come by, carefully controlled. Had Steven been a good little boy and submitted a purchase request? Maxine lifted the paper to the light. There was no official watermark, so…hell no.
She turned the note over and read Steven’s cryptic message.
MAX. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU’LL EVER KNOW. TURN OFF OUR UNIT’S CENTRAL SERVER. THE ANSWERS ARE BURIED UNDER OUR FIRST THREE DAYS.
Our first three days? Of course. Three days, alone, after their pairing ceremony. Maxine knew exactly where to look. Their bed.
She started with the mattress. Pulled off the sheets. Checked for slits or rips or openings. Nothing. Then she dragged the mattress off and went over every inch of the frame looking for compartments. She came up blank. Maxine pushed the frame across the room and focused her attention on the hydrocork flooring. On hands and knees she examined every inch, walking her fingers across each board. Still nothing.
God dammit, Steven. Why the hell would he hide a note she might never have found and, even worse, put something in a non-existent hidey hole?
‘Buried under our first three days.’ That’s what he wrote. ‘…our first three days’. Those early years were a lifetime ago. They were young and happy and—
Maxine took in a quick breath. How could I have forgotten? Steven had been such an idiot when they’d moved into the unit, tricking the place out with his little jokes—hidden cubby holes, fake drawers. It was a game they used to play back in the day. He’d come up with a hiding spot and his “shiny new detective” would find it.
She walked around the perimeter of the room feeling along the corners and walls and windows—and every step of the way she cursed Steven, cursed his death, cursed herself. After years on the force Maxine knew exactly when trouble was about to bite her in the ass. She was headed into a big fat wall of fuck-me.
An hour. That’s how long it took. An hour of painstakingly feeling every inch of the room—until her finger found a button hidden just under the right corner of their window. When she pressed it, a hatch door sprung open—and it was set into the floor where the bed had been standing. ‘…buried under our first three days.’
For Chrissake. Could you have made it any harder?
She ran to the open cubby and knelt down. Inside was a cell-operated server, a one-by-three-inch vidstick and a rectangular bundle wrapped in fabric. Maxine powered off the central server and snatched her MELS from the bedside table. After inserting it into the portal behind her ear, she turned on the miniature server, synched to the vidstik, and gave the command via her MELS to play the file.
Maxine felt a grab in her chest when Steven appeared, a translucent version of himself, leaning forward in a chair, elbows on knees, staring into the vidcam. His hair, disheveled—as always. His characteristic amusement and summer’s day smile replaced by a fighter’s fatigue.
And just like that, all the anger and betrayal she had felt was gone.
“Well, Maxie. I suspect I’m gone. Just know that however they did it, it wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t suicide, and it wasn’t sickness. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was working on. I didn’t want to put you in danger. At least not until I knew the ‘who’ and the ‘what’. Stupid, right? How could a retired Centrux systems designer do a better job than you? But you’ve been so happy away from police work. I didn’t want to suck you back into the muck.
“If you’re watching this vid, the trigger I’m about to put into place has sprung. I can only imagine how tough it was for you to read the message, but I had to put safeguards in place. Now it’s up to you and Charlie. I know you’ll both move heaven and earth to find the culprit. I need you to understand what you’re in for.”
Steven lowered his head and combed his fingers through his hair. Maxine wanted to reach into the vid and rub away his worry. She wanted to take his hand and bring him to the couch and tell him everything would be all right. He raised his eyes and looked back into the vidcam.
“GeneSync is working on something under the radar, something new, and it looks like it’s gone wrong. I found memovids about experiments and tests. You’ll see them in my notes. But you need to go slowly. Protect yourselves. The people involved have power and if they discover what you know, they’ll kill the both of you. My greatest regret is laying this on your doorstep. I feel even worse involving Charlie.
“This vidstik has all my source material. There isn’t much, but it’s a start. Do your best to use old tech. It’ll keep you safe.”
Steven rubbed his drawn face and quietly added, “It’s the kids, Maxie. They’re using the kids. I think—”
Steven’s eyes shot up. Someone was pounding at the door. He ducked under the dining table, opened a bioplastic box nailed to the bottom, and jammed a small piece of paper inside. Then the transmission blinked off, leaving an empty spot where, just moments before, Steven had been sitting.
It hit Maxine hard. There was no overdose. There was no betrayal. Her husband had been murdered—and she’d been seconds away from seeing who’d done it. But that wasn’t the half of it. Charlie was spending his days searching for his killer while Maxine traveled the Vay/Cay highway. Somebody killed Steven, and I did nothing. How was she supposed to live with that?
She lowered herself to the floor with her back against the wall listening to the drumbeat in her head. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. If only Steven hadn’t been interrupted. She would have gotten some kind of message, a note, his ‘trigger’. Then things would’ve played out differently, right?
Nice try, Maxine. Charlie hadn’t needed a stupid fucking note.
She sat on the floor struggling for a sense of direction or focus…something to hold onto. There was work to be done; a plan to be made. One thing was certain. No way would she involve Charlie. They were street crime cops. They knew nothing about investigating powerful people and if anything happened to him, it’d kill her. Maybe once she got a handle on the situation, she’d bring him in. But even that would have to wait until she got rid of the Claw. No more trips, no more lost weekends.
Maxine bolted up off the floor and went to the kitchen where the Claw was waiting. She grabbed a hammer from the drawer and got ready to throw down the strong arm of justice.
Any time now…
Here we go…
Nothing easier…
…
Goddamn it. She couldn’t do it.
Maxine slumped into her bar stool with her head in her hands. What the hell should she do? She needed to get clean. She raised her eyes and, seeing the Claw, came face to face with salvation.
A short trip would get my head straight. Just a taste to smooth my edges. But as she inched closer, she noticed her hand—boney, shaking, nails jagged and dirty. Christ. She was no different from the junkies she used to bust.
With a cry of frustration she shot up from her seat and started pacing. Maxine needed help. She needed Charlie. She may not be including him in her investigation, but he was the only person she could trust to help break her habit. She inserted her MELS for a facecall.
It was as if he’d been waiting. Charlie’s translucent image appeared before the first ring ended. “Maxine. Are you okay?”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said. You were right. Gotta be right. It was crazy to think Steven was a user.”
“Really? Hell. You had me worried.” Charlie’s shoulders visibly eased. “I’ll come by first thing in the morning. There are a couple more leads we can follow.”
“Wait. No. I’m not ready.” Maxine struggled for the right words. “I’ve-I’ve been using. And I’m not worth a shit until I’m clean.” She turned her head away. “Can you help?”
“Hallelujah. Damn right I can,” he said with a grin. “I’ve got you, Maxine. We’ll get started right away.”
And there it was. Sweet, trusting Charlie was so happy to hear from her—so excited to help—he never asked what any self-respecting detective would’ve asked. “Why now?”
“Thanks,” she said. “Once my head clears, we’ll hit the street.”
When she ended the call, the quiet whispered its indictment.
Liar.
In her forty-seven years on the planet, she’d never felt such regret as she sat alone, repeating an unignorable question. “How the hell will I do this alone?”
Then she saw the rectangular bundle wrapped in fabric. She’d nearly forgotten it was there. Maxine reached for the bundle and carefully unwrapped it.
Sandwiched between two sheets of bioplastic was an inch thick stack of paper. Steven had threaded rope through two holes along one edge, holding the entire thing together. Son of a bitch. He’d made a book.
If paper was rare, books were rarer. Too inconvenient in a world where reading was done through a MELS. But the real damage had been done by the Federation’s buy-back program. You could now plant your ass on a recycled volume of Proust or walk on the recycled tiles of the complete works of Shakespeare.
Maxine turned the top piece of bioplastic over revealing the paper within. Some pages were new. Most were worn, frayed along the edges and dotted with mold. She envisioned Steven tracking down brokers in darkened buildings on the outskirts of town, collecting bits of paper, piece by piece. She imagined him painstakingly gathering them together to craft the book she now held in her hands. It made sense. The early 21st century had fascinated him. If Steven had needed to hide something, this was his obvious choice. Maxine sensed his singularity—his life force—infused in the fibers of the book’s pages.
She was holding her dead husband in her hands.
Enveloped by the gathering gloam, she lost track of time as she drew Steven’s book close. Then, disturbing the stillness, Maxine felt a rumbling in her head. It was subtle at first, but after a time, it crowded into the room until the rumbling formed a presence in her mind’s eye. It stood before her, fierce, unafraid. Here was something Maxine understood. Her way forward. The answer to the question, ‘How?’
That rumbling was rage.
