Lois Bujold - Cryoburn

What was in that big thick envelope Counsel Vorlynkin had handed to him? It crackled against his skin. Entering the second-level rotunda, he dodged out of the way of a woman with a pram, then leaned his shoulders against a pillar and fished out the letter. To his disappointment, it wasn’t sealed with a bloody thumbprint, but it was certainly sealed. No peeking. He sighed and thrust it back inside his shirt.

He finally found the right escalator, and rode it up two flights to the top-level gallery. He was worried about his animals. Would Miles-san take proper care of them? You never could tell, with adults. They pretended to take you seriously, but then laughed behind your back at the things that were important to you. Or said that because you were just a kid, you would forget it all soon. But Miles-san had seemed to genuinely like Jin’s rats, letting Jinni sit on his shoulder and nibble at his hair without flinching. Jin could tell when grownups didn’t really appreciate how sleek and funny and friendly rats could be, and they didn’t bite hard at all unless they were accidentally squeezed, and who could blame them for that?

The squeeze on Jin’s shoulder made him jump and yelp. If he’d been equipped for it, he might have bitten the hand as well, but all he could do was twist and stare upward. Straight into the face of his worst nightmare.

Brown hair, a pleasant smile, the blue uniform of municipal security. Not just a tube-tram safety officer; their uniforms were green. A real policewoman, the sort who’d come for his mother.

“What’s your name, child?” The voice was friendly, but the undertone steely.

Jin opened his mouth: “Jin…” Oh, no, that wouldn’t do. Lying to grownups made him scared inside, but he managed, “Jin, um, Vorkson.”

She blinked. “What kind of name is that?”

“My Dad was a galactic. But he’s dead now,” Jin added with hasty prudence. And half truth, for that matter. He tried not to think about the funeral.

“Does your mother let you come downtown alone? It’s school hours, you know.”

“Um, yes. She sent me on an errand for her.”

“Let’s call her, then.”

Jin held out his skinny wrists. His stomach felt cold and quivery. “I don’t have a wristcom, ma’am.”

“That’s all right. You can come along to the security booth, and we can call her from there.”

“No!” In a panic now, Jin tried to wrench away. Somehow, he found his arm cranked up behind his back, hurting. His shirt tail came loose, and the envelope dropped to the pavement with a loud slap. “No, wait!” He tried to dive for it. Without releasing his arm, the woman scooped it up first, staring at it with a deepening frown.

She murmured to her own wristcom, “Code Six, Dan. Level One.”

In moments, another policeman loomed. “What ho, Michiko? Catch us a little shoplifter?”

“I’m not sure. Truant, maybe. This young fellow needs to come to the booth and call his mother. And get ID’d, I think.”

“Right.”

Jin’s other arm was taken in an even stronger fist. Helplessly, he let himself be marched along. He was wild for a chance to break away, but neither grip slackened.

The security booth had big glass windows overlooking the rotunda. It was cool inside, and when the door shut a wonderful silence fell, which usually would be a relief to Jin, but not now. A lot of screens were running, and Jin realized that some of them were from vidcams that looked right into people’s faces as they went up or down on the escalators. He hadn’t noticed them among the noise and confusion and hurry of the place. The woman plunked him down in a swivel chair. His feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

The wide man, Dan, held up a light pen. “Let me see your eyes, child.”

Retina scan? A red flash. Jin squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and clapped his palms over his face for good measure. But it was already too late. He heard the man moving away to his comconsole.

“He’s scared, Dan,” said the woman. Jin peeked through his fingers to see her holding up the envelope, squeezing and rattling it like a birthday present. “Think the reason might be in here?”

A ping from the console. “Aha. I believe we have a match. That was quick.” Officer Dan looked up and asked, “Is your name Jin Sato?”

“No!”

“It says here he’s been missing for over a year .”

Without letting go of Jin’s arm, the woman edged around to look at the holoscreen. “Good heavens! I’ll bet his family will be relieved to get him back!”

“No, they won’t! Let me go!”

“Where have you been hiding for a whole year, son?” Officer Dan asked, not unkindly.

“And what is this?” Michiko asked, hefting the envelope and frowning.

“You can’t have that! Give it back!”

“So what’s in it?”

“It’s just a letter. A, a very personal letter. I’m supposed to deliver it. For, for some men.”

Both officers went rigid. “What sort of men?” asked Michiko.

“Just… men.”

“Friends? Relatives?”

Relatives were not a good thing, in Jin’s world. “No. I just met them today.”

“Where did you meet them?”

Jin’s mouth clamped shut.

“Not addressed. Not postal-sealed. No legal reason we can’t peek, is there?” said Dan.

The woman nodded and handed the envelope over. Dan popped a folding knife and slit it open from the bottom, holding it above the countertop. A thick wad of currency thumped out, followed by a fluttering note.

It was more money than Jin had seen in one place in his life. From their widening eyes, it was more money than the two security officers were used to seeing in one lump, too, certainly in the hands of a kid.

Dan riffled the wad and vented a long, amazed whistle.

Michiko said, “Drug ring, do you think? Feelie-dream smugglers?”

“It could be—gods, it could be anything. Congratulations, Michiko. Shouldn’t wonder if there’s a promotion in this.” Staring at the envelope with more respect, Dan belatedly pulled a pair of thin plastic gloves from his pocket and donned them before he picked up the note. It seemed to be printed on half a flimsy.

Dan read aloud, “We must trust that you know what you are doing. Please contact us in person as soon as possible.” He turned the note in the light. “No address, no date, no names, no signature. Nothing. Veery suspicious.”

Michiko bent to look Jin sternly in the eyes. “Where did you meet these bad men, child?”

“They weren’t bad men. They were just… men. Friends of a friend.”

“Where were you taking all this money?”

“I didn’t know it was money!”

Michiko’s eyebrows rose. “Do you believe that?” she asked her partner.

“Yah,” said Dan, “or he might have taken off with it.”

“Good point.”

“I wouldn’t have! Even if I had known!”

“No one can threaten you now, Jin,” Michiko said more gently. “You’re safe.”

“No one did threaten me!” Jin had never felt less safe in his life. And if he blabbed, Suze and Ako and Tenbury and everyone who had befriended him wouldn’t be safe, either. And Lucky and the ratties and the chickens, and big, beautiful Gyre… Lips tight as he could press them, Jin stared back at the officers.

“Call Youth Services to pick up the boy,” said Michiko. “The rest of the evidence had better go to Vice, at a guess.”

“Yah,” said Dan, his gloved hands sliding Jin’s precious envelope, the wad of cash, and the note into a transparent plastic bag.

“My animals ,” Jin whispered. Such a simple task Miles-san had entrusted him with, and he’d screwed it all up. He’d screwed everything up. Between his scrunched eyelids, tears began to leak.