Chronicles of Han: Preserving Creata: Part 1: Learning Curve
Chapter Thirty-Seven

My consciousness slowly returned to my body.

It felt cold and damp and it was a downright horrible feeling.

Hearing returned to me and so did the voices beyond the door. Racewater had come back from wherever he had gone.

After forcing my eyes to open, I could see that the incense I had lit before I had started on my journey was burnt out. The candle was almost out too, indicating that I had been away for far too long.

After intense effort, I managed to get my fingers and toes to respond to my instructions. The rest of my body followed suite as I stretched before standing up.

I was so cold that I shivered and my teeth did not want to stop chattering against one another. Slipping out to my bathroom, I took a warm shower.

Feeling much better afterwards, I could face the new day.

The dull ache between my eyebrows was understandable from all the travelling I had done the last few hours.

I joined Tucker and Racewater in the kitchen. None of us had a lot of rest the past twenty-four hours and we all looked frail. The sun had just risen and everything was infused with soft golden light.

Tucker handed me some sweet, strong coffee.

Racewater gave me a long, hard look before speaking.

“I have spent the rest of the night organizing warrants for searching the premises you have given us on your Kingpin, as well as informing the Planetary Security Forces regarding the location of their terrorist.

They wanted to know my source, but backed down when I reminded them of the Planetary Security Forces Confidentiality and Privileged Information Act.

Tucker knows what I want you two to do. I am going home now for a few hours’ sleep and will catch up with you later. Good luck.”

With that remark, he abruptly left.

I looked quizzically at Tucker but no explanation was forthcoming. He turned his back on me while dishing up some steaming porridge. We ate in silence after which I cleared the dishes and switched on the dishwasher before we left.

It was only when we started driving that Tucker gave a huge sigh before explaining.

“There were three people shot dead in an ally while we were playing ‘Saving the City’. One of the people is known to us as a regular informer, a snitch working as a double agent with several of the drug gangs. The other two’s fingerprints did not show anything on the Planetary Data System.

We need to replace out what had happened in that ally. Whether they were all actually killed there, and who else was involved in the situation.

If it turns out that you are right about our little Low-life, that he was one of the drug lords, the whole underworld system is going to be running red with blood as everyone scrambles for a new position.

We won’t need a missile to flatten New Haven. It will happen from ground-roots up.”

The morgue was situated in the Hospital’s basement. It was a puzzle why a hospital would be situated opposite the end of the airport’s western runway. It seemed the most unlikely place to have a hospital.

The building was cold and I did not look forward to what I was asked to do.

Tucker completed the paperwork and we were led to a separate section where the three bodies were lined up on standard mortuary slabs. The assistant left us with the bodies. He apparently knew we were coming and went about his business.

Tucker made sure the door was locked from the inside so I would not be disturbed.

My palms were sweating and I rubbed my left hand dry on my pants. We had no idea what would happen, as this was only the second time that I had to touch a body.

Tucker unzipped the first body-bag. Presented was a large man with short-cropped hair and bullet entry wounds to the chest and one to the forehead. The back of his skull was missing. It looked like a typical gang execution.

“This one was the snitch,” Tucker informed me.

I took a huge breath and found my hand directed to the bullet hole over the heart. It made sense, as most of us on Creata believed that the heart is the seat of the soul-spirit.

I touched the bullet wound – and found myself in an ally . . .

It happened so fast that I was flung into the life-memory of the man I was touching.

I was unloading the second body, silently regretting that I had been forced to kill them both. They had found out about me and my special contacts. I stood to lose too much money.

Regent was helping me. My friend always helped me, no matter what the situation.

Dumping the bodies here would help to put pressure on the family that runs the South Side. These were their people and the police would be sniffing up the wrong ally, at least long enough for me to get away with it.

I turned to Regent and saw the firearm in his hand.

I was surprised to see it buck as he pulled the trigger.

I felt the bullet hit.

It was strange, there was no pain.

I touched my chest with my hand.

It was a heart shot, my mind said.

My body started to fall. I felt the next bullet enter my forehead . . .

Tucker was crouching over me.

I was back in my own body, lying on the floor.

This would not do.

Struggling up, nausea overwhelmed me and I dashed for the basin in the corner of the room. Afterwards, I rinsed the mess and my mouth and sat down on the cold floor.

Looking up at Tucker, I tried to stay as professional as possible. Tucker took notes as I related the facts as I saw them in the life-memory of the man I had touched.