Kristine Kathryn Rusch - The Disappeared.pdf

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The Disappeared, by Kristine Kathryn Rusch.The Disappeared
A Retrieval Artist Novel
Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Year: 2002
For Spike, with love always
Acknowledgments
I owe a lot of gratitude to Stan Schmidt for his comments on The Retrieval
Artist, the novella that got this series started; to Laura Anne Gilman for
believing in the series and for her insightful suggestions; to Merrilee
Heifetz
for all her help on everything; and to my husband, Dean Wesley Smith, who
always
seems to know which stories are going to capture my heart.
1
«^»
She had to leave everything behind.
Ekaterina Maakestad stood in the bedroom of her Queen Anne home, the vintage
Victorian houses of San Francisco's oldest section visible through her
windows,
and clutched her hands together. She had made the bed that morning as if
nothing
were wrong. The quilt, folded at the bottom, waiting for someone to pull it
up
for warmth, had been made by her great-great-grandmother, a woman she dimly
remembered. The rocking chair in the corner had rocked generations of
Maakestads. Her mother had called it the nursing chair because so many women
had
sat in it, nursing their babies.
Ekaterina would never get the chance to do that. She had no idea what would
happen to it, or to all the heirloom jewelry in the downstairs safe, or to
the
photographs, taken so long ago they were collector's items to most people but
to
her represented family, people she was connected to through blood, common
features, and passionate dreams.
She was the last of the Maakestad line. No siblings or cousins to take all of
this. Her parents were long gone, and so were her grandparents. When she set
up
this house, after she had gotten back from Revnata, the human colony in Rev
territory, she had planned to raise her own children here.
Downstairs, a door opened and she froze, waiting for House to announce the
presence of a guest. But House wouldn't. She had shut off the security
system,
just as she had been instructed to do.
She twisted the engagement ring on her left hand, the antique diamond winking
in
the artificial light. She was supposed to take the ring off, but she couldn't
bring herself to do so. She would wait until the very last minute, then hand
the
ring over. If she left it behind, everyone would know she had left
voluntarily.
"Kat?" Simon. He wasn't supposed to be here.
She swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat.
"Kat, you okay? The system's off."
"I know." Her voice sounded normal. Amazing she could do that, given the way
her
heart pounded and her breath came in shallow gasps.
She had to get him out of here and quickly. He couldn't be here when they
 
arrived, or he would lose everything too.
The stairs creaked. He was coming up to see her.
"I'll be right down!" she called. She didn't want him to come upstairs,
didn't
want to see him here one last time.
With her right hand, she smoothed her blond hair. Then she squared her
shoulders
and put on her courtroom face. She'd been distracted and busy in front of
Simon
before. He might think that was what was happening now.
She left the bedroom and started down the stairs, making herself breathe
evenly.
For the last week, she hadn't seen him — pleading work, then making up travel
and a difficult court case. She had been trying to avoid this moment all
along.
As she reached the first landing, the stairs curved, and she could see him,
standing in the entry. Simon wasn't a handsome man. He didn't use enhancements
—
didn't like them on himself or anyone. As a result, his hair was thinning on
top, and he was pudgy despite the exercise he got.
But his face had laugh lines. Instead of cosmetic good looks, Simon had an
appealing rumpled quality, like a favorite old shirt or a quilt that had
rested
on the edge of the bed for more than a hundred years.
He smiled at her, his dark eyes twinkling. "I've missed you."
Her breath caught, but she made herself smile back. "I've missed you too."
He was holding flowers, a large bouquet of purple lilacs, their scent rising
up
to greet her.
"I was just going to leave this," he said. "I figured as busy as you were,
you
might appreciate something pretty to come home to."
He had House's security combination, just as she had his. They had exchanged
the
codes three months ago, the same night they got engaged. She could still
remember the feelings she had that night. The hope, the possibility. The
sense
that she actually had a future.
"They're wonderful," she said.
He waited for her to get to the bottom of the stairs, then handed her the
bouquet. Beneath the greenery, her hands found a cool vase, a bubble chip
embedded in the glass keeping the water's temperature constant.
She buried her face in the flowers, glad for the momonetary camouflage. She
had
no idea when she would see flowers again.
"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling. She turned away, made herself put
the flowers on the table she kept beneath the gilt-edged mirror in her entry.
Simon slipped his hands around her waist. "You all right?"
She wanted to lean against him, to tell him the truth, to let him share all
of
this — the fears, the uncertainty. But she didn't dare. He couldn't know
anything.
"I'm tired," she said, and she wasn't lying. She hadn't slept in the past
eight
days.
"Big case?"
She nodded. "Difficult one."
"Let me know when you're able to talk about it."
She could see his familiar face in the mirror beside her strained one. Even
when
 
she tried to look normal, she couldn't. The bags beneath her eyes hadn't been
there a month ago. Neither had the worry lines beside her mouth.
He watched her watch herself, and she could tell from the set of his jaw, the
slight crease on his forehead, that he was seeing more than he should have
been.
"This case is tearing you apart," he said softly.
"Some cases do that."
"I don't like it."
She nodded and turned in his arms, trying to memorize the feel of him, the
comfort he gave her, comfort that would soon be gone. "I have to meet a
client,"
she said.
"I'll take you."
"No." She made herself smile again, wondering if the expression looked as
fake
as it felt. "I need a little time alone before I go, to regroup."
He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, then kissed her. She lingered
a
moment too long, caught between the urge to cling and the necessity of
pushing
him away.
"I love you," she said as she ended the kiss.
"I love you too." He smiled. "There's a spa down in the L.A. basin. It's
supposed to be the absolute best. I'll take you there when this is all over."
"Sounds good," she said, making no promises. She couldn't bear to make
another
false promise.
He still didn't move away. She resisted the urge to look at the
two-hundred-year-old clock that sat on the living room mantel.
"Kat," he said. "You need time away. Maybe we could meet after you see your
client and — "
"No," she said. "Early court date."
He stepped back from her, and she realized she sounded abrupt. But he had to
leave. She had to get him out and quickly.
"I'm sorry, Simon," she said. "But I really need the time — "
"I know." His smile was small. She had stung him, and she hadn't meant to.
"Call
me?"
"As soon as I can."
He nodded, then headed for the door. "Turn your system back on."
"I will," she said as he pulled the door open. Fog had rolled in from the
Bay,
leaving the air chill. "Thank you for the flowers."
"They were supposed to brighten the day," he said, raising his hands toward
the
grayness.
"They have." She watched as he walked down the sidewalk toward his aircar,
hovering the regulation half foot above the pavement. No flying vehicles were
allowed in Nob Hill because they would destroy the view, the impression that
the
past was here, so close that it would take very little effort to touch it.
She closed the door before he got into his car, so that she wouldn't have to
watch him drive away. Her hand lingered over the security system. One
command,
and it would be on again. She would be safe within her own home.
If only it were that simple.
The scent of the lilacs overpowered her. She stepped away from the door and
stopped in front of the mirror again. Just her reflected there now. Her and a
bouquet of flowers she wouldn't get to enjoy, a bouquet she would never
forget.
 
She twisted her engagement ring. It had always been loose. Even though she
had
meant to have it fitted, she never had. Perhaps she had known, deep down,
that
this day would come. Perhaps she'd felt, ever since she'd come to Earth, that
she'd been living on borrowed time.
The ring slipped off easily. She stared at it for a moment, at the promises
it
held, promises it would never keep, and then she dropped it into the vase.
Someone would find it. Not right away, but soon enough that it wouldn't get
lost.
Maybe Simon would be able to sell it, get his money back. Or maybe he would
keep
it as a tangible memory of what had been, the way she kept her family
heirlooms.
She winced.
Something scuffled outside the door — the sound of a foot against the stone
stoop, a familiar sound, one she would never hear again.
Her heart leaped, hoping it was Simon, even though she knew it wasn't. As the
brass doorknob turned, she reached into the bouquet and pulled some petals
off
the nearest lilac plume. She shoved them in her pocket, hoping they would dry
the way petals did when pressed into a book.
Then the door opened and a man she had never seen before stepped inside. He
was
over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His skin was a chocolate
brown, his eyes slightly flat, the way eyes got when they'd been enhanced too
many times.
"Is it true," he said, just as he was supposed to, "that this house survived
the
1906 earthquake?"
"No." She paused, wishing she could stop there, wishing she could say no to
all
of this. But she continued, using the coded phrase she had invented for just
this moment. "The house was built the year after."
He nodded. "You're awfully close to the door."
"A friend stopped by."
Somehow, the expression in his eyes grew flatter. "Is the friend gone?"
"Yes," she said, hoping it was true.
The man studied her, as if he could tell if she were lying just by staring at
her. Then he touched the back of his hand. Until that moment, she hadn't seen
the chips dotting his skin like freckles — they matched so perfectly.
"Back door," he said, and she knew he was using his link to speak to someone
outside.
He took her hand. His fingers were rough, callused. Simon's hands had no
calluses at all.
"Is everything in its place?" the man asked.
She nodded.
"Anyone expecting you tonight?"
"No,"" she said.
"Good." He tugged her through her own kitchen, past the fresh groceries she
had
purchased just that morning, past the half-empty coffee cup she'd left on the
table.
The back door was open. She shook her hand free and stepped out. The fog was
thicker than it had been when Simon left, and colder too. She couldn't see
the
vehicle waiting in the alley. She couldn't even see the alley. She was taking
her first steps on a journey that would make her one of the Disappeared, and
she
 
could not see where she was going.
How appropriate. Because she had no idea how or where she was going to end up.
.
Jamal sampled the spaghetti sauce. The reconstituted beef gave it a chemical
taste. He added some crushed red pepper, then tried another spoonful, and
sighed. The beef was still the dominant flavor.
He set the spoon on the spoon rest and wiped his hands on a towel. The tiny
kitchen smelled of garlic and tomato sauce. He'd set the table with the china
Dylani had brought from Earth and their two precious wineglasses.
Not that they had anything to celebrate tonight. They hadn't had anything to
celebrate for a long time. No real highs, no real lows.
Jamal liked it that way — the consistency of everyday routine. Sometimes he
broke the routine by setting the table with wineglasses, and sometimes he let
the routine govern them. He didn't want any more change.
There had been enough change in his life.
Dylani came out of their bedroom, her bare feet leaving tiny prints on the
baked
mud floor. The house was Moon adobe, made from Moon dust plastered over a
permaplastic frame. Cheap, but all they could afford.
Dylani's hair was pulled away from her narrow face, her pale gray eyes
red-rimmed, as they always were when she got off work. Her fingertips were
stained black from her work on the dome. No matter how much she scrubbed,
they
no longer came clean.
"He's sleeping," she said, and she sounded disappointed. Their son, Ennis,
was
usually asleep when she got home from work. Jamal planned it that way — he
liked
a bit of time alone with his wife. Besides, she needed time to decompress
before
she settled into her evening ritual.
She was one of the dome engineers. Although the position sounded important,
it
wasn't. She was still entry level, coping with clogs in the filtration
systems
and damage outsiders did near the high-speed train station.
If she wanted to advance, she would have to wait years. Engineers didn't
retire
in Gagarin Dome, nor did they move to other Moon colonies. In other colonies,
the domes were treated like streets or government buildings — something to be
maintained, not something to be enhanced. But Gagarin's governing board
believed
the dome was a priority, so engineers were always working on the cutting edge
of
dome technology, rather than rebuilding an outdated system.
"How was he?" Dylani walked to the stove and sniffed the sauce. Spaghetti was
one of her favorite meals. One day, Jamal would cook it for her properly,
with
fresh ingredients. One day, when they could afford it.
"The usual," Jamal said, placing the bread he'd bought in the center of the
table. The glasses would hold bottled water, but it was dear enough to be wine
—
they would enjoy the water no less.
Dylani gave him a fond smile. "The usual isn't a good enough answer. I want
to
hear everything he did today. Every smile, every frown. If I can't stay home
with him, I at least want to hear about him."
Ever since they found out Dylani was pregnant, Ennis had become the center of
their world — and the heart of Jamal's nightmares. He was smothering the boy
and
 

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