Neptune - Part 10

Part 10- Faith

Neptune's Journal 01/02/2027

It is hard to believe that two years have passed since our escape. We are all taller and stronger than before. Wiser, too, I hope, but this is harder to measure. We have created jobs for all of us, found temporary shelter and care. When the church is empty of congregants, we play out the stories we've all crafted together.
We had our celebration today inside of the church. I fear that the lady will be taken away from here soon, though the care she takes of us is certainly reciprocated, and this refuge we have taken will find itself stripped and unusable. While she has taken the time to explain to us our religion, Mercury and I have agreed that these biblical teachings have no place for creatures such as ourselves. We are not created in God's image. We are a product of hubris. Jupiter, Venus and Saturn do not even seem to acknowledge the teachings as anything more than the ramblings of a madwoman, regardless of how kind she has been to us.
Uranus, however, has taken to this religious instruction very strongly. It is not surprising. It appeals to the emotional self, and brings comfort where there is otherwise none. I am happy for him in a way, and I hope that he finds it in himself to forgive us all for our parts in Mars' death. Even when it was so long ago, he still harbours resentment that we had turned on one of our own. But what was the choice? And yet, I suspect, it does not matter. If someone had killed Mercury, taken her away, I would still begrudge them that regardless of their reasons. Is that it? Is that why Uranus cannot let go after all this time? Perhaps Uranus once shared that love with us all. Perhaps we have failed to see it, dooming one under his care.
May he forgive us. May God forgive us.

***

7:59 AM. I take my gaze off of my watch and walk into the shop that I keep for just these kinds of meetings. Heaven knows this place does not turn a profit. The workers there acknowledge me as I walk through the front, but they know better than to delay me with greetings. I almost always have a full schedule, so I usually prefer to arrive right on time.
I open the door to the back room and enter the office to find it empty. Is my contact late? I suspect not. Another presence in the small room is almost palpable to my senses, so I hesitate before closing the door. "Yes, I'm very impressed by your invisibility, but I feel no need to assess your competence. Just come out where I can see you."
I feel my ears flick towards the door. I do not even consciously hear anything, but I spin towards the source of the sound I must have perceived. I shut the door to find a vulpine recom who I don't recognize hiding behind it. He seems old, perhaps even elderly, by physical appearance, though his smooth, slight shifts as he's discovered tells me he must keep himself physically active. I raise my eyebrow slightly.
Before I can speak, he says, "Your senses are as sharp as they say, Errol. I got a message from Samara that you need some help. I'm surprised that she'd be gutsy enough to contact someone working for the SDF after disappearing like she did, but here I am."
"I don't know what interest someone like you would have in this. It is a matter that seems more in my sphere than yours." The SDF has its own branch of intelligence, and while they seem to keep track of a great matter of things (including my own business, since on Luna I seem to unofficially operate as the head of intelligence. I never asked for the position, but I seem to have a knack for it), I didn't think anyone from the organization would want to investigate my agent's death.
"It is," agrees the fox recom, "But I have suspicions that Darryl's murder had something to do with a case I was working on."
"What's the case?"
"Well, the Red Triangle has recently become more politically active on Mars, turning from street gang into a security organization no less shady. Given Darryl's history with them, I'd guess they have something to do with it," he says.
"Okay, I am unsure how likely that is, but okay. What's your name?" There is a short pause after I say these words, and I can almost anticipate the response that will come next.
"Confidential."
That is approximately what I had guessed. "Okay. Shall I name you?"
He seems amused for a moment, but it fades quickly into a sort of seriousness. "I already have an alias. Call me George."
I nod slowly. "Well, George, it's nice to meet you. I am uncertain what you really need me for if you already have an interest in the case and you don't seem like the type to take orders from me."
"Nope," he confirms.
"So again, what do you need me for? Why even meet up with me?"
He looks over me for a moment as if evaluating if I'll match up to his unknown expectations. The silent gaze makes me a bit uncomfortable. Thankfully, he speaks: "I won't be the only one working on this case, but I know you have a lot on your plate right now. Elections coming up, the ever-looming Martian threat, your family problems..."
I furrow my brow at the suggestion and cannot help but let a soft growl creep into my words. "My family is none of your concern."
He ignores me and finishes, "... But I have a lot on my plate, too. I will not be doing your investigation for you, but since I'm guessing Cheryl's not going to be providing leads, so that's going to be my role."
"Why would Cheryl not do that?" Our relationship being based completely on utility, it seems strange to suggest that she would not help when it's required. If she did not play her part, I would be glad to be rid of her. However, if she thought she had nothing to gain by helping me anymore... "What did the Martians do?"
"A couple of the Martian mega-industries have been pushing to offer her amnesty on Mars. It's strange to focus on a single person like that, but-"
"But it may be because they're targeting me. I'm guessing they want to provide hindrance to my re-election," I interrupt. I contemplate this and nod. It makes sense. It's likely that they want to keep me from Lunarian politics, so sabotaging my image is a fine move on their part.
"Right. Anyhow, I'll be providing leads, but you're going to have to do most of the legwork on your own," says 'George', "Samara gave me some of your contact info, so I'll keep in touch." I am not very fond of doing field work myself, but in this case, it may be necessary. Anyone willing to kill Darryl and his two children for getting in the way is very likely a threat to my own operations and my life.
I nod wordlessly and exit the office, pulling my cell phone from my pocket. Instead of heading through the storefront, I go through the exit in the back room.

***

The alleyways behind stores always seem to be less well-maintained. There is no face to keep; the customers never really see this nondescript grey brick wall anyways. A few pieces of garish self-indulgent graffiti born from teenage rebelliousness mar the surface, but it doesn't bother me. At least it offers colour in this otherwise plain space. I dial a number on my cell and raise it up to my ear.
One ring sounds. She's not going to pick up on this one. She never does. I wait.
A second ring sounds. She recognizes by her ID that it's me and hesitates. She will not pick up on this one either.
The third ring. She's about to tuck the phone away, but she thinks better of it. She excuses herself from whatever she's doing.
The fou- "Hello?" Cheryl's voice sounds through my speaker.
"I've been hearing rumours."
"I'm sure you have. I'm guessing that you're spying on me. That's so like you," she says. There are slight, rhythmic trembles in her voice. She must be walking.
"Nothing like that, though I probably should keep some kind of leash on you with all this trouble you get yourself into."
I hear a little bit of a huff through the receiver. "Is that a dog joke? Wow, I'm so impressed that you can make a species-type joke. That's so hilarious, Errol. You have the sense of humour of a vegetable."
I roll my eyes. As self-conscious as I feel when I use body language during phone conversations, at least there's nobody here to watch me. "It's just an expression. Your bitch status transcends species-type anyways." I pause. "This is not productive. I'm not calling to exchange vitriolic banter."
"That's a great word. Did you get it out of one of Neptune's ridiculous poetry books? I swear, you only read that nonsense because of your ancestry. He's as ridiculous a writer as he was a statesman. But I guess that runs in the family."
I pinch the bone between my eyes for a moment and sigh, "Cheryl, I really don't want to get into this. I just want to know if the rumours I heard are true."
"Are you talking about my being granted amnesty on Mars? Yes. And I'm guessing you're worried that I'm going to leave you, and you won't be able to use me anymore."
"Yes," I admit.
"It only makes sense to end it after I don't need you anymore. I'll probably be able to take custody of the kids, too, since I have evidence of private time spent with a Martian prostitute. I had a private investigator on it for awhile. Maybe I'll take you for every penny, too. Ruin your career. This whole marriage is a sham, you know."
I sigh. I'm not particularly worried about her threats, since I have reason to believe they're empty. "I know it's a sham. Have we ever even had sex?"
"Well..."
"With each other, I mean," I add.
"Oh. No. That's disgusting. I can't even imagine it. You probably have nothing resembling any kind of manhood. Is that why the attraction to androgynes?  Because there's no pressure to penetrate anything?"
"Shut your mouth, Cheryl."
"Why? There's no need to be cordial anymore." Anymore? What a laugh.
"This thing isn't going to work out. The Martian government is going to stab you in the back. And when they do, I look forward to you crawling back on your belly like the dirt-eating snake you are, prostrate and begging me to take you back." I say nothing else and hang up the phone. For a moment, I move as if to tuck it away, but I think better of it.
I dial the number of another woman instead, to set up a rendezvous.