Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (8 page)

"You know what I'm asking. The rest of your file is closed. You wanna explain?" Palmer turned the holographic file towards Caleb, pointing at the thick silver line in the middle. Beneath it, the hologram read 'Access Denied'.
 
"You had a good career, and then as of the last two years, your record drops off. Why are you giving up a cushy job over in the 52
^nd
to lay up in the ass crack of the world?"

"Civic duty, sir."

A couple of chuckles fell from Palmer's mouth, practically clattering across the desk. "Bullshit. Civic duty? These are
my
folks, boy. Not yours."

Caleb blinked. "You're a Civilian," he said, finally understanding. "Not an Azure."

"Well, whoopty-la-doo for you. Seems like training as a Druid did you some good."

Caleb made a face. Aside from explaining the huge rod that was up the Cap's ass, his being a Civilian also explained why he didn't have an alchemic alignment. That distinction belonged to Azure Alchemists only. Apparently, so did manners.

"You buried nearly 100 cases over there in the 52
^nd
. That's pretty good. Excellent, even, if it weren't for the fact that most of your perps had been petty thieves, kidnappers, and thugs. You ever worked with
big
fish, boy?"

"I'm pretty fond of grouper, actually."

"You know what I'm talking about, smart ass. Have you ever tracked down Koan terrorists?"

"No."

Palmer shook his head and laughed, sending his toothpick into a tailspin. "Sweet Jesus. And they have the balls to send you over here like you're actually going to be useful?" With disgust, he flicked off the hologram. "What a waste of my damned time."

"The criminals I caught were just a symptom of the pond I was working in, Captain. I'm not sure how you all work here, but we tend to keep our fish under control in the 52
^nd
. Not a Koan terrorist in sight."

"Then I guess you won't mind if we let the big boys here cast the lines. They have more experience keeping dirtier ponds clean."

Caleb could feel anger flutter in his chest. "So what does that mean? You're not sending me out into the field?"

"Even if I wanted to, son, I can't. There's a special note here on your 'closed file'. Did you know that?"

Caleb felt the color drain from his face. He
hadn't
known that, actually. When did someone addend his file? "What does it say?"

Palmer slammed a fist down on the silver plate, and Caleb's hologram file popped back up. "As a Proficient-level Druid, Caleb K. Rai is to be treated as an imported investigative consultant," he read. "He is to work from the office
only
and is not to be put on patrol or special ops detail without
express
permission from the Halls of Eyre."
 

Palmer looked up at him with an acrid glare. "If you didn't get that last part, son, that means that you aren't to be given any work that could possibly knock the glitter off your ass. S
omeone
made it clear that they don't want you out in the streets getting your head blown off. So I'm sure you won't mind that the other boys take up the slack."

Caleb creased his brow. "Actually, sir, I
would
mind. I'm here as an officer, not as a decoration."

"Ha, that's rich! An Azure from the 52
^nd
Demesne..." Palmer focused his full attention on Caleb's face and then his attire. "More of a breeding ground for celebrities, than cops, don't you think?"

Caleb sighed and for the first time ever, he wished he hadn't pressed his clothes. Palmer was definitely noticing each careful crease.
 

"Cut me some slack, Cap, all right--"
 

"You think that I don't know where you
really
come from, Azure, but I do. Your roots run deeper than the 52
^nd
, don't they?"
 

Caleb's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"You wouldn't volunteer to come here, and we sure as hell didn't request you. So you had to have been sent here. What'd you do to get landed here in the Fifth? If your family is as blue-blooded as I've heard, I'm sure you were sent here as punishment. What'd you do, boy?"

When Caleb kept his silence, Palmer slapped his hand on his knee. "HAH! I'm gettin' warmer, ain't I? Okay then, let me guess. Your daddy's probably tired of you covortin' around with the ladies, island hoppin', playin' pretty boy down in the 52
^nd
. Maybe you humped the wrong duke's daughter or something and caused a tizzy. So, Daddy pulls some strings and dumps you in my lap to babysit you and powder your baby blue ass while they figure out what to do with you in Royal Town. That's why your file's closed, ain't that right? You're here on vacation? Must be, because a little rich kid like you sure as hell ain't here for police work."

The muscles in Caleb's jaw were working double time to not curse this fucker out. "With all due respect,
sir
," he said, barely suppressing his snarl. "My status aside, I take my work as a cop very seriously."

"So do I, and if you think I'm going to put a royal like you on a beat in the Fifth Demesne you're whacked. Not only is the Fifth getting worse, but I enjoy having my neck right where the hell it is without your father trying to lop it off for something happenin' to you. I don't give a shit
how
good you were as a Detective in the 52
^nd
. New ball game, new rules. Work in the Fifth ain't a candy walk, son. That's why Cotch and his boys are in charge, and you're going to play to their game. Got it?"

Caleb's brows raised reflexively, knowing he must be talking about the infamous Xakiah. Or KX Cotch, as most knew him. Caleb had heard about him over in the 52
^nd
. Rumors, and none too charming.
 

"Last time I checked, this was Civilian territory," Caleb said. "Why is an Alchemist, especially one like Cotch, running the Demesne Five precinct? That doesn't rub you wrong at all?"

Palmer sneered, seeming amused at Caleb's sudden abandonment of formalities. "Oh come on now, boy. You know old civvie blues like me are as useless as balls on a mule nowadays. You watch the news, don't you? According to the papers, here now's 'Azure time'. You like it being 'Azure time', boy? I'm sure you do.
Your
family certainly gets all the perks of it."

Caleb bristled.

"As for Cotch, much as I'm not a fan, I can't knock his reputation. Two months ago, he made one of the biggest busts ever seen since the insurgency started. Since then, he's been knocking Koan heads down with the best of 'em. So, he's the lead nose 'round here. His tactics are a bit-- rough--, but he gets the job done. He keeps the seams of Demesne Five closed to Koan infection. And while I ain't fond of him, he's a damned good soldier. He can learn you a thing or two about real cop work."

"If he's running the Fifth, then why are you captain? I figured the Civic Order would have you off their payroll by now, seeing as we all now have to swing from Cotch's sack around here."

Palmer's cheeks flushed pink. "It'll be a hard lesson for you Azures, but you'll find out pretty quick how much you need the Civilians. Me, I've been here for a while. Seen things. I know the Civic Demesnes in and out, and that's why I'm runnin' this precinct, much as you Azure dicks don't like that. But it just so happens that I don't give a damn what you all think. All I care is that you
do
. You gettin' me, son? You stay out of my ass, and I'll stay out o' yours. If you play nice while you're here, I might just forget all about your closed file, and we can get on as sweet as schoolgirls."
 

Palmer waddled to a stand, took a box of files off of a nearby cabinet, and dropped it at Caleb's feet. "There's a bunch of cases piling up that we haven't been able to pursue, due to lack of manpower for one, and secondly, because the organization of the police reports is shot to hell. You could start by going down into the cold room and organizing our paperwork." Then Palmer looked around his own office and made a face. "Actually, start
here
. I haven't been able to get my files together in ages."

Caleb's face screwed up. This was BS. "Sir, there's got to be something more hands-on I can do than this. I'm a cop, not a fucking maid. There's nothing else I can do here?"

"Well, our resident masseuse is out for the month, if you're interested..." Palmer walked past Caleb, heading towards the door, ending the conversation.

"I'm not joking, Captain."

Palmer stopped at the door, giving Caleb a look that said he wasn't joking either. "Get this place together, will you? Cotch will be back in a few days, and he hates clutter."
 

With that, Palmer closed the door behind him, turning over the hanging sign on the door that said "Out to Lunch".

Prick.

Snarling, Caleb kicked the box at his feet. It slid across the office and crashed against the far wall, regurgitating random slips of paper. The gesture made him feel better and yet more impotent all at the same time. All those years of cracking cases, of climbing the ladder, of special ops training in the 52
^nd
Demesne, and
this
is what he came halfway across the goddamned world for?

He walked over to the window, chewing on the bitter thought, cursing at how badly things in his life had gone in the past two years. He hadn't picked Demesne Five for the transfer, but at the time, he hadn't had a choice. He hadn't really had much of a say in anything. The Fifth Demesne Headquarters had been at the top of the list of the most understaffed and highest priority precincts, and one that would be the least likely to ask him questions. And likewise, he hadn't asked questions either. He had just been happy to be alive.

Guess I should be grateful for that much.
 

He sighed, already knowing the end to that tune. In the aftermath of his little "incident" in Demesne 52, he had spent nearly the entire trip over here mustering up some inklings of gratitude for what he had left. He had come up dry every time. So he had tried something a bit more practical and less infuriating: reading up on Demesne Five.

From what little info he had gathered, politicians of the Protecteds were afraid that Demesnes Five, Six, and Seven would soon lose their ground as Civilian sanctuaries. All the other demesnes surrounding the Protecteds had been getting hit with Koan metal. Hard. Outer Civic Demesnes were crumbling beneath the clashes between the Alchemic Order and the Koan insurgency, and guerilla warfare pressed harder and harder on the borders of the Protecteds as power shifted from Civilians to Koa... or so the files had said.
 

Either way, the reports didn't make sense.

Everyone, even Azures, knew that Koan insurgents considered the Protecteds sacred ground. Most Koan soldiers were rogue Civilians of the Civic Order, waging war on its behalf, not against it. To them, the Protecteds not only served as the capital of the Civic Order, but they were also the last three demesnes where Civilians were relatively safe. They would never breach them. It just didn't make sense.

The more Caleb had researched the situation in the Protecteds, the less sure was of the truth. He had only hit more dead-ends, more questions, and now that he'd been given bitch work, he definitely had doubts. Of all the things he thought he'd be doing here, he hadn't imagined that
this
was the kind of help the Demesne Five Headquarters needed. Why even put out an urgent notice for transfers if they weren't going to use them?

Say it, Rai. Sounds like a crock of shit.

And now, whatever the Orders or the Demesne Five Headquarters were up to, he was smack in the middle of it. He didn't have proof of foul play, of course. But still, something just didn't feel right...

Yeah, but that doesn't stop you from cashing their checks, does it?
 

He frowned. In the end, he had no choice, and that's what it had come down to in the last year. Survival. But after everything he had gone through to get here, after all he had done to piece together even the semblance of a normal life, he still wondered if this was the best that he could ask for.
 

As if to welcome him, a cool moist wind rolled in through Cap's window, kissing Caleb's skin, heightening his senses. It had started to rain. Arms crossed, he watched the first drops fall, and still, he was unable to make sense of the whirlwind of doubts in his mind. But in the end it didn't matter. Demesne Five was his home now... no matter how much he wished things were different.

Zeika carried Manja up the last hill that looked over their lot in New Co-op City. She stood at the top, stopping to take in the night. The stop home had to be quick before she and Manja went to the Forge. Mama and Baba worked deep in the fields on the other side of Demesne Six, and the civic transport only ran four times a day to accommodate the workers. It would be well past midnight before either of them got home. And there was still so much to do.