Vigilantes (22 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

FLINT WAS BEGINNING to think the Armstrong Comfort Center was misnamed. He certainly didn’t feel calm or comfortable whenever he arrived here.

This time, he found himself in a waiting room done in pale lime green with darker wood than the blue waiting room had had. The art was some kind of Impressionistic wannabe thing, done with actual oil and brushes. He could see the imprint of the brush tip on the canvas in varying shades of green, and somehow none of it was coalescing into an image for him.

He wondered if that was on purpose, like those sensory tests done to evaluate someone’s mood.

His mood wasn’t great. He didn’t even sit in the dark green chairs scattered around the room. He paced, which was what he had done the last time he was here.

Pacing and comfort—somehow those didn’t go together for him.

Then the door opened, and Llewynn beckoned him. The man actually looked harried, his hair slightly mussed and his eyes darker than they had been before.

He had none of that fake comfort about him today.

Flint followed him through that mazelike corridor, finally ending up at Llewynn’s office. Its cream-and-brown coloring didn’t calm Flint, either. He glanced at the chair across from Llewynn’s captain’s chair and wondered what had gone wrong while his daughter was here to cause this kind of concern.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Llewynn said as he sat in the captain’s chair.

Flint had no real choice but to sit in the other chair. He leaned back, letting the chair conform to his body shape, much as he hated chairs like this.

“You made it sound urgent,” Flint said.

Llewynn nodded. “Your daughter cut our session short.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Flint said. “I told her she could leave if she wanted to. I didn’t want her to feel trapped here.”

He didn’t add that he wanted to her to protect herself as best she could, and if she couldn’t really stop some of Llewynn’s probing questions, then she should simply take control of the interview.

Sometimes controlling an interview meant terminating it.

“Look, Mr. Flint, you brought your daughter here because of her deep emotional distress.” Llewynn entwined his fingers together, but this time, his thumbs kept moving. He seemed so upset that he couldn’t stop fidgeting.

Flint sighed inwardly. He knew why he had brought Talia there, and he didn’t like Llewynn’s need to recap. But Flint was going to wait it out.

“We both understand that she is not the girl she was six months ago,” Llewynn said, as if he had known her. As if he understood her.

Flint almost told him to get to the point. But he was going to give the man one more sentence before he interrupted.

“But after this morning, I’m convinced she’s a danger to others.”

Flint leaned back in the chair, shocked to his core.

“To
others
?” he repeated. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Llewynn said that she was a danger to herself. That was Flint’s greatest fear.

But to
others
? How was that possible?

Llewynn took a deep breath. “I’m not sure how to broach this with you, Mr. Flint, so I’m simply going to be blunt. Right now, your daughter is empathizing with the clones.”

Flint blinked, unable to make the mental leap. Of course Talia empathized with clones. She
was
a clone.

But Llewynn didn’t know that.

“Which clones?” Flint asked.

“All clones,” Llewynn said. “Charitably, I’d like to say she doesn’t understand how dangerous they are, but honestly, I think she does understand. She still views clones with sympathy and thinks they’re misunderstood.”

Flint felt his cheeks heat. He wasn’t sure how to ask what had transpired in this room.

“And why do you think that makes her dangerous?” he asked.

“She doesn’t understand that clones are unthinking weapons,” Llewynn said.

Flint was careful not to move.

“She seems to believe that clones have some humanity. She even said that the clones were not as bad as PierLuigi Frémont.”

“She did?” Flint asked, because he couldn’t believe it. Had Talia been talking about
all
clones while this man had been talking about the Frémont clones?

“Yes,” Llewynn said. “She seemed to believe that clones were redeemable creatures, maybe even admirable creatures, and that they weren’t weapons at all.”

“She knows that clones attacked the Moon twice,” Flint said carefully.

“She knows that, and apparently thinks nothing of it.” Llewynn’s hands were still rubbing together. “I’ve seen this before, Mr. Flint. Sometimes victims of major trauma absorb the trauma in the wrong way, and it leads to violent acting out, maybe even repeating the trauma on someone less powerful. I’m terrified that your daughter might hurt a lot of people.”

“Are you actually saying you think she might blow something up?” Flint asked.

“I don’t know,” Llewynn said. “It’s a possibility. There are a lot of possibilities and none of them good.”

Flint was shaking his head. He made himself stop.

Llewynn leaned forward, his hands so tightly clasped now that his knuckles were turning white.

“Under the law,” Llewynn said, “it’s my responsibility to tell you that she is a danger. If she weren’t underage, I would be going directly to the authorities. I’m duty bound to report any threats that I hear that might result in loss of life.”

“My daughter threatened someone?” Flint asked, wondering if Talia’s temper made her threaten Llewynn.

“No,” Llewynn said. “I’ll be honest: had she done so, I would have gone directly to the law. But I feel I have a bit of leeway here, since she is underage, and the threat I feel is indirect at the moment.”

Flint willed himself to remain calm. This man was going to call the police on Flint’s daughter? Because she had defended clones in general?

Then he realized he had no idea what exactly had transpired.

“Perhaps you should tell me what she said,” he said calmly.

“I can’t, Mr. Flint,” Llewynn said. “She didn’t sign off on that. You agreed that we wouldn’t have to share everything with you. So I would need her permission to tell you exactly what our conversation was.”

Wonderful
, Flint thought but didn’t say.

“Trust me when I tell you that she was positively chilling. To make matters worse, she made it clear she would not return. I’m afraid she’s now angrier than she was before and she will harm someone sooner rather than later.”

“I see,” Flint said. “So what will your next steps be?”

“I am speaking to you. If I feel that you are not taking me seriously, then I will talk to law enforcement. I know they’re overburdened at the moment, but I’m sure they will listen about another attack.”

“I am a former police detective, Mr. Llewynn,” Flint said. “I work closely with the Armstrong Police Department still. Right now, they’re understaffed and trying to deal with the attacks that happen on the Moon. I can guarantee that if you report Talia for some vague threat, they won’t respond.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Flint?” Llewynn said.

This man was impossible.

“No,” Flint said in his placate-the-crazy-person voice. “I am telling you that from my experiences with the Armstrong PD, going to them right now will not help my daughter or alleviate the threat. Clearly, something happened in your session that chilled you. I take that very seriously. Since the police are overburdened and not an option at the moment, what options do you see that are available to us?”

Llewynn leaned back slowly, unthreaded his hands, and wiped them on his knees. He was obviously trying to assess what Flint was telling him, and how sincere Flint was.

“If you bring her back here, we can find her another counselor—”

“I know my daughter,” Flint said. “If she walked out of here in anger, bringing her back will only make her angrier. Are there other therapists you recommend? Maybe a different Comfort Center or perhaps a personal tutor who can assist her?”

Not that Flint would ever hire them, but he wanted Llewynn to believe he was cooperating.

“I’m afraid not,” Llewynn said. “Every place in Armstrong is overburdened, to use your word, and there are no places that are as effective as ours.”

Flint let out a small sigh. “I can’t bring her back here, and I can’t have her locked up. Maybe somewhere else on the Moon….?”

“The trauma the Moon has suffered is so deep that some counselors are actually leaving the business right now. They’re not equipped for this kind of grief work,” Llewynn said. “Many of them believe that the crisis has affected their judgment, and are turning their companies over to guest therapists. Thank heavens Armstrong was untouched, so that we didn’t have to do something like that here. My people have been heavily monitored, and they’re doing just fine.”

Like you?
Flint thought but didn’t say. Clearly Llewynn wasn’t fine, and he was about to sacrifice Flint’s daughter on the altar of his post-traumatic stress disorder or whatever the crisis had unleashed inside him.

“I can’t bring her back here,” Flint said. “I can keep her occupied twenty-four hours per day. I can make sure that someone is watching her. She knows I’m worried about security at the moment.”

Llewynn nodded. “That’s good until she stops being watched. And then she’ll do some kind of harm.”

“Perhaps there’s some place on Earth that I can send her? Surely, there has to be some other counseling center that you would recommend.” Flint kept his voice calm. He had separated himself from his emotions. He had to: otherwise, he might harm this asshole.

“I can send you a list,” Llewynn said, sounding a little less agitated. “The therapeutic tradition began on Earth and continues to thrive there.”

He frowned, then looked down at his hands, still clutching his knees.

Flint waited. The man was still not thinking clearly.

Then Llewynn lifted his head. “I think it’s wise to take your daughter from the Moon. A change of venue might calm her and it’ll certainly get rid of the daily reminders of her trauma. That, plus the assistance of one of the counselors I recommend, might help her heal.”

If only that were true
, Flint thought. He wished things could have been different. But he had gone for the traditional solution, even though his intuition had told him Talia was the wrong candidate for it.

He was disappointed that this gamble hadn’t worked; he wanted to help his daughter. But if Llewynn hadn’t contacted Flint, things might have gotten a lot worse.

If Llewynn believed that Flint wasn’t going to take his advice, things could still get a lot worse.

Flint stood and extended his hand, even though he didn’t really want to touch Llewynn. “Thank you. I promise I will get this resolved.”

Llewynn stood as well. He took Flint’s hand and shook it with some kind of weird emphasis.

“I’m so relieved you’re listening to me on this,” Llewynn said. “Often I have to convince parents to go past their instincts.”

“I’m a former police officer,” Flint said, removing his hand from the shake ever so gently. He resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his pants. “I’ve seen what happens when parents don’t listen to warnings.”

“I’m sure you have,” Llewynn said. “I’ll send you a heavily notated list later this afternoon. Good luck, Mr. Flint.”

“Thank you,” Flint said sincerely. He would need the luck. He had no idea how he could help his daughter. He did know that Llewynn was right about one thing: he had to keep trying.

Or he might lose Talia forever.

TWENTY-EIGHT

NYQUIST TOOK BRODEUR’S warning seriously. As Nyquist made his way to the crime scene, he thought about bringing on an investigator to shadow him.

And he couldn’t come up with any name at all.

Everyone he knew and trusted on the Moon was already working on the bigger picture—solving the crimes that were destroying Nyquist’s home. He didn’t want to take anyone he knew away from that.

He knew of others off-Moon, but no one he really trusted. Besides, if he had to share links—even encrypted ones—given what was happening on the Moon, he was afraid the investigation might become
more
compromised, not less.

Gumiela trusted him to handle this.

He would document everything, make fantastic backups, and keep them at the security office—and maybe even ask Flint to store some backups.

That way, if things got too dicey or too corrupt, Nyquist had options besides his own department.

A few years ago, he might have been as saddened as Brodeur over the corruption in the department. But Nyquist didn’t feel as idealistic as he once had. After all, he had barely avoided dying in a bomb blast instigated by a lawyer he had once recommended to people. He had investigated the assassination of the Mayor and seen more footage of destruction than he ever wanted to see again.