Titan Song by Dan Stout (best english books to read txt) 📗

hovered close, listening in on our conversation. It’s a common experience when wearing a badge. If someone isn’t a victim or potential arrest, they like to hang around and observe things go down.

“The problem is that there’s a whole structure behind the tents,” Harris was saying. “Not to mention the wider scope of the drill site. There’s still tons of people running around here.”

“I can get you whatever access you need.” Our guide’s voice broke through our conversation, loud and confident. “The rig, the outbuildings, the fields.”

“You can?” Harris asked. “Not the stage and tent, but the rig itself? That’ll probably be off limits.”

“Not for me,” she said. “I own it. I’m Vandra Cedrow.” She turned from Harris to me and her smile hardened into something less than friendly. “You killed my uncle.”

2

OUR ESCORT HELD MY EYE, waiting for a reaction. Built with the slender musculature of a rock climber, she wore limited makeup, mostly dark eyeliner that terminated in elaborate flourishes. She wore her hair styled up and over her scalp, a dirty blond wave breaking on the beaches of her temples. The sides of her head had been shaved down to a sandy fuzz, and a gold chain wove through one ear’s multiple piercings like an expensive golden thread. I could see the resemblance to Harlan Cedrow, if I imagined the former head of Rediron Drilling without his head plucked free of hair in the Therreau tradition. Or the bloody wounds from when I’d ended his life with a length of metal rebar.

Doing my best to keep my voice neutral, I said, “He didn’t give me much of a choice.”

And that was true. I’d chased her uncle onto the ice plains, pursuing him for crimes ranging from murder to more murder. I didn’t regret my actions, but I regretted that day—when her uncle struck manna and started the chain of events that had caused the near-complete halt to oil drilling on the plains and put Titanshade on either a path to riches or a long road to irrelevance. But in the moment, none of that had mattered. In the moment, I’d simply been fighting to bring in a killer, and to stay alive.

Vandie’s head bobbed up and down. Not a nod, more like the motions of someone listening to a song they’d heard many times before. “You managed to walk away just fine.”

“I was carried out,” I said. “And I was luckier than most.” One of our sister officers hadn’t made it out alive. And even I had left two fingers lying on the floor, severed by a Mollenkampi’s bite. I suppose they’d been collected by crime-scene techs. It’d never occurred to me to ask.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jax reinforced his words with a soothing hum. “The use of force is a last resort. On that day there wasn’t another solution.”

I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to lay out exactly why that force had been needed. Crimes needed to be punished, victims needed to be remembered, and a monster like Harlan Cedrow didn’t deserve a free pass, even in death.

Over Vandie’s shoulder I got a view of a man moving in our direction at a steady amble.

“I don’t defend what my uncle did,” Vandie said. “I don’t know if my family will ever make amends for what happened. But I know that a mentally ill man ran onto the ice plains, and instead of calling in support, you chased after him and clubbed him to death.” She worked her jaw, as if chewing on gristle. “So tell me again how force is a last resort.”

The man headed our way was a deeply tanned human. Around Titanshade, that usually indicated an old roughneck, someone who’d spent long hours exposed to the glare of the ice plains sun. He had a full head of white hair, wind-chapped cheeks, and a face with more crags and crevices than the ice plains themselves.

Vandie wasn’t letting up. “What’s the matter? You forget the details of that particular murder?”

“Your uncle poisoned his workers and set them on us like attack dogs. He condemned innocent people to madness and destruction. Hells, he almost created an international incident. And he didn’t care who knew. He left a trail of physical evidence and witnesses, because he was sick enough to be proud of it.”

Cedrow’s elbows drew in tighter. “It’s amazing what witnesses will say with a bunch of cops on their doorstep.”

The man had finally reached our position. He rested a wrinkled hand on Cedrow’s shoulder, but spoke to us.

“Murphy CaDell, officers. I’m so glad you came.” The man moved as if he were walking through molasses, and his speech was equally drawn out.

Cedrow tilted her head, addressing the older man while keeping her eyes locked on me. “We don’t need them here.”

“But here they are,” said CaDell. “So maybe we ought to take him to see Dinah.”

“Maybe he ought to get his ass off my property.”

The man’s eyes sought hers, and he hazarded a smile. “Vandie . . .”

“I mean it.” The younger woman jabbed a finger at the scuffed floor coverings and held my eye. “This is private land, outside the city. Leave my property.” Her voice was firm, accustomed to being obeyed.

I wagged my head. “That is not how this works.”

Her jaw clenched, and the man had dropped his hand. But he took a step forward, as if ready to intercede in a physical escalation. “Let’s not be petty, Vandie.”

“Petty?” The younger woman turned, eyebrow raised. “If someone butchered your uncle and called himself a hero, how’d you react?”

CaDell tilted his head to indicate me. “He saved the city.”

“We did what we had to,” I corrected, before turning my attention back to Vandra. “And the only people using the word ‘hero’ weren’t there to see what happened.”

“And as for today, we’re already on the scene.” Guyer crossed her arms, displaying the glyphs that danced along the edges of her cloak. “You can’t un-call the police once we show up.”

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