TWO
TAEMA
Officer Oloyu, or Gold Tattoo, is all business when we reach the San Francisco Police Headquarters. He has become hard—perhaps on the silent hovercar trip he’s changed his mind and decided I must be as guilty as my sister. Or the question in the hallway was an act, and he decided he wouldn’t catch the fly with honey. He gazes down at the blank tablet, little more than a white piece of plastic to focus the eyes as he accesses his ocular implant for my file.
He hovers close, almost touching, knowing that it will make me defensive and on edge. Then he strolls to his side of the table, perching on the chair, legs spread wide.
He’s offered me a coffee, but it sits in front of me, an oily sheen on top from the artificial creamer, untouched and growing cold. My mouth is dry. All I can think of is Tila. Where have they taken her? What’s going through her mind?
Oloyu is the only one in the room. Aren’t there usually two, a good cop and a bad one? Granted, all I have to go on is old cop shows they play late at night on the wallscreen.
Oloyu stares at me, unblinking. I can’t decide whether or not to be intimidated by him. His splayed body language is aggressive, and it’s working—I feel like prey being stalked. Yet his features are still so young, honest and symmetrical. If he really wants to be more frightening in situations like these, perhaps he should make another visit to the flesh parlor.
“When’s the last time you saw your sister?” Oloyu asks.
“Almost a week ago,” I answer, keeping my voice flat to stop it quavering. I’m also embarrassed to realize it’s been that long. I’d invited her over for dinner twice, but she’d claimed she was working both times. I don’t have anything to hide, yet I still feel like this is a test I could pass or fail, depending on my answers. Or that I could accidentally incriminate my sister.
How could you incriminate her? I ask myself. She couldn’t have done anything. Right?
“And where do you work?”
I swallow. This is all in my file from when he scanned the VeriChip in my wrist. “Silvercloud Solutions.”
Officer Oloyu makes a show of perusing my file on his blank, white tablet. “That’s a subset of Sudice, right?”
“Yes.” I don’t know why he’s pretending he doesn’t know. Sudice is the biggest company in Pacifica, with offices in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Portland and Honolulu. They supply the drug Zeal to all Pacifica states, and have most tech in the city patented.
“It says here you helped design the VivaFog.” Those machines have been my life’s work for the past five years: the machines that take energy from the ever-present fog around the bay and relay it to the coastal apartments. We’re going to try and expand to the maritime district this year.
“I was one of the team that did, yes,” I respond. Why isn’t he asking the questions he really wants the answer to? Beneath the table, I press my knees hard to stop them knocking together.
Officer Oloyu isn’t saying anything out of order, but everything in his body language screams: I suspect you, either of murder or accessory to it. I wish I still had that microexpression overlay downloaded to my ocular implants, but I deleted it months ago. I didn’t like what it told me about people.
“That’s impressive,” Officer Oloyu says. I’m not sure whether or not I sense the underlying subtext I often do from people who know my past: for someone who grew up in the cult of Mana’s Hearth.
“Thank you,” I tell him, meeting his eyes.
“We contacted your employer, but it seems you quit your job today and have plans to leave the country.”
“Yes, that’s correct. That’s been in the works for months. It’s not a sudden decision.” I feel a flutter of nerves, deep in my stomach. It’s a coincidence, but it doesn’t look good.
“We’re unclear if this is premeditated or a crime of passion.”
“I had nothing to do with this. Whatever this is. And I’m sure my sister didn’t, either.”
He pauses, considering me. The overhead lighting leaves half his face in shadow. I look down at my stone-cold coffee. I want water, but I don’t ask him for it.
“Did your sister seem different at all, the last time you saw her? Distressed in any way?”
“No. She seemed the same as usual. Laughing, joking. We went to an Ethiopian restaurant in the Mission.”
His gaze goes distant as he makes a mental note with his implants.