Troubadour

Chapter 02:

Chapter 02:Somehow, she managed to keep her claws retracted during the extremely stressful exchange. DOA agents were renowned for using deception to push a query into a corner from which they could never escape. Trap a suspect into making a false claim, then charge them with the falsehood. Each interaction with the DOA carried the feelings of guilty until proven innocent.

Ginger knew this was the first move in a game for which she didn’t know the rules. She was their prey, and she knew it.

The door closed. She took a moment to steady her breathing and control her heart rate. More than anything, she wanted to run away, seek out the safety of her home, and ignore everything she’d just learned.

Unfortunately, her responsibilities weren’t going to allow a moment of peace.

The students passed by the agents and knocked on the door. Rather than exclude them, Ginger pulled open the door and let the youths file into the classroom. At least the class was smart enough not to question the officials’ presence in the building. She wasn’t sure what story she would tell the six. Each juvenile wore their school uniform with the precision Ginger expected. At least the DOA would find nothing to report on that front.

“Start your discussion on what went wrong with your plan. Try to be constructive in your criticism.” Ginger gave the direction from her podium. She needed to remain in control. Later she might be able to have a breakdown, just not now.

The students huddled around the table the agents had just sat on.

She thought the agents had told her a great deal, but on further consideration, she admitted to herself she knew nothing other than her sister might be in trouble somewhere in the interior. That was a vast expanse of landscape, far from the cities that dotted the coast, through swamp and jungle, up to and including mountains tall enough for snow.

Ginger needed to monitor the students’ activity, but with emotions running high and dark thoughts forcing their way into her mind at every turn, she couldn’t focus on her work.

The agents rattled her a good one.

While the students worked, she risked a search of the news service. She didn’t dare use any specific search terms. She knew the network was monitored for questionable activity. Instead, she did a general search of the headlines, never lingering on any one story.

Her terminal only yielded the same dribble most intelligent creatures came to expect. Cute videos of puppies, monkeys, and other animal babies flooded her feed. She found nothing to make her think events in the interior had changed. It was still the place of outcasts, ferals, and others banished from the cities.

If anything, from the reports of alien contact in the capital, the cities appeared to be growing in popularity. The wires were filled with reports of new and exciting alien life and the Committee’s response to the latest threats they might pose.

Off-worlders promised to bring new technologies and knowledge to her world. Anything exciting would take ages to reach her small city, but things should change. No one knew whether it was for better or worse.

First contact had happened while Ginger attended university. Foreign style and culture made a splash on her world. First in the capital, then spreading out, and finally out to the smaller cities like Sayvan, the city Ginger called home.

She’d never seen an alien in person, but pictures of them and Committee-approved anthropological studies had filtered into her search history. After all, she was a professor. It was her duty to maintain a certain level of knowledge of current events. With hundreds of races, there were just too many to learn them all.

Ginger’s people were not entirely backward. Their scientists discovered long ago they lived on a moon that orbited a huge green giant planet. They shared the local space with other moons and more planets at differing distances from the sun.

They knew of the outsiders long before first contact. They picked up their transmissions as they explored the surrounding area. There were heated debates about what the coming aliens might mean for her people. Thankfully, it was not the end of the cities, despite some of the more vocal doomsayers.

The flow of information remained under constant scrutiny. Anything that seemed seditious was censored and the parties responsible punished.

The Department of Truth and DOA worked hard to keep any fake news from reaching the population. Theirs was an unending task. The simple act of searching some subjects might land a Scrit on a dreaded watch list.

“Ma’am?” The team leader drew Ginger’s attention.

The professor blinked back to reality. “Yes?”

“Are you all right? Our period has completed… May we leave?”

Bewildered by her distraction, Ginger was quick to recover. “Yes. I’m sorry. You are dismissed. I will see your presentations next meeting.” She clapped three times, and the students stood. They filed out, leaving her to her dark thoughts.

She glanced about the room. Her eyes drifted to the recorder placed behind her. It was too late now. If the agents were interested in her actions, she just gave them a considerable amount of questionable behavior.

Feeling the need to escape, she left. Rather than change, she departed the school dressed in her chameleon-suit. It wasn’t that different from her everyday light-green jumpsuit. Only this expensive high-tech suit belonged to the city.

Try as she might, the urge to check for a tail kept her on her toes. More than once, she considered activating the suit to hide. She knew that would only serve to make matters worse.

Few pedestrians traveled the sterile streets of the city. Her eyes quickly scanned each person she met. Any stranger or friend might be an agent for the DOA.

Certain any tail wouldn’t be dressed in the familiar dark blue jumpsuit, she inspected everyone she passed while not making eye contact. Few wore any covering at all, instead allowing their markings of fur to show proudly. This section of town was of higher status than Ginger. Only her professorship bought her standing.

Never one to risk standing out, she wore her professor uniform as a shield against questions. Too many of the upper class waited to gleefully interrogate a newer member of the city. Her yellow pelt betrayed her pedigree.

At each corner, she paused, stopping at several storefronts to inspect her fur in the windows. Confident her dark markings remained hidden and no dark roots showed, she continued on her way. Walking rather than risking forced confinement on public transport.

She chided herself. If the DOA wanted her in custody, they would have taken her at the school. If anyone wanted to find her, the space assigned to her was a matter of public record. After all, in a small way, she worked directly for the Central Committee. Her life was an open, if boring, book.

Finally outside her apartments, she took a deep breath. No unmarked transport pulled alongside and scooped her off the street. Best she could tell, no one followed her. The pedestrians must have had quite a show of her twitchy behavior. Several probably made a report of the strange female peering into every shop window she passed.

Her nerves calmed slightly. She risked a glance up the tall structure as she stood at the base. More like a tree, with intermittent limbs jutting out from the central core. Each flat received some sunlight. She loved her space provided by the city. There were plenty of places for relaxation. Right now, that was what she needed most: to lock the door and forget her sister ever existed.

With a motion to the familiar guard at the door, she hurried inside. The safety from the streets beckoned her.

Skipping the lift once more, she took the sloped ramp that spiraled around the central core. Her rooms were only five floors up, and the exercise was needed to burn off the extra energy from the encounter.

Her wish for peace and safety of home wasn’t meant to be.

She stopped cold, reaching her ajar door.

The unheard-of had happened.

The door normally closed on its own.

It was impossible to be locked out, as her voice was the key. It was impossible to not close the door, yet here her door sat partially open.

She keyed the building manager. “I’m sorry, there is something wrong. Can you send security?”

“Can you be more specific?” the voice on the monitor asked.

“My door is open… I think I might have been robbed.”

In a city where crime was unspeakable, the response was faster than she expected.

First, an unarmed building guard and manager came up to make sure her door was, in fact, open. Both refused to enter her rooms to see if the criminals were still there.

Out of frustration, Ginger pushed past them, claws on both forepaws fully extended. If the intruders were still there, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

She didn’t get far. Once inside the main living space, it was evident the area was trashed. Even her cushions had been shredded, the stuffing thrown about the room. Artwork had been torn from the walls and destroyed.

Her claws slowly retracted. She had no one to attack.

Ginger paused. To see such destruction of her meager belongings turned her emotions upside down. At once, she was furious at the intrusion of her space. The next, petrified that someone would do so much wanton demolition… and for what? It looked like everything she owned was gone. She didn’t dare go farther into her rooms. She doubted her ability to survive the shock.

Possibly to send a message.

Whatever the intent, Ginger didn’t understand the reasoning.

The Committee enforcers showed up much quicker than Ginger expected. In a small city with no crime, the enforcers moved through her rooms, trampling on anything that might remain.

The inane questions never stopped. From Ginger’s perspective, she was treated like the criminal, not a victim.

“What had she done to deserve this treatment?” was the demanding line of questioning.

When the agents from DOA arrived, Ginger’s heart sank further.

The local enforcers gave up the scene. No one would stop the DOA from taking over an investigation. To do so was suicide.

“They must have been searching for something…” said the male.

The female asked, “What aren’t you telling us?”

Ginger must have answered the battery of questions with at least plausible answers. After the crime scene was documented to the finest detail, they left her standing alone in the hall. Her door was locked shut so she couldn’t even gather a single item. A thin line of tamper-proof foil lined the entire door. Impossible to enter her rooms now.

She knew the symptoms of shock, taught it to her students often enough, but now that it had become her life, she didn’t know what to do. She stood there, mouth agape, trying to decide about her next move.

A familiar voice asked, “Oh my goodness… are you all right?”

Ginger turned, and there stood Surgeon Milo, her neighbor from across the hall. She knew it was him, but the words escaped her. He carried a yellow pelt, not unlike her own. What might she say during a situation like this?

“Here, dear, come with me. Let’s get you something to help relax your nerves.” He gripped her arm with the gentle touch of a healer.

She found herself in no shape to argue with the male.

Her mind aswirl from the adrenaline released by the experience, her body was forced to deal with flushing the stress-induced cocktail before her brain would work like it should.

Ginger knew what caused the distraction but had no real way to cope with the mush brain she suffered. She was so used to being in control, but her world shattered around her. Her mind betraying her only made matters worse.

Surgeon Milo handed her a glass. Somehow, she’d found her way into the older male’s main living room. She sat on a low cushion, her tail hanging limp behind her.

“Drink that. It should help, I think.” He pushed the rim of the glass to her narrow lips.

The amber fluid set her mouth afire. She wanted to spit the liquid out and try to void the disgusting taste, but the burning drink soaked into her flesh before she even knew what was in her mouth. “What in the name of nature is that… substance?” Out of reflex, she licked the back of her fur-covered right forepaw. The taste stayed with her.

“Amazing liquid, isn’t it?” The older male grinned.

Ginger tried to stand, but the will escaped her. “Please tell me you are not experimenting on me…”

He held up an unmarked bottle. “Oh, hardly. This is a perfectly harmless compound.”

“But what is it?”

“An off-world beverage made of distilled fermented grains, a chemical name of ethanol. They call it whiskey.”

“What? That will make you go mad… or blind… or mad and blind…” Ginger was certain she’d now been poisoned along with her possessions violated.

“No, that is methanol… This is mostly harmless—in small quantities.” He sat the bottle on the table before her.

“Thank you, sir, for your help… but I think I should be going. It has been a… trying experience.” She made to stand, swaying slightly.

“Wait… where will you go?” His forepaw stayed her escape.

It was a valid question. With her rooms sealed, she was homeless. There was always a cot at the university.

“I almost forgot. This came for you. The guard left it outside your door. For some reason, it didn’t seem prudent to leave it simply lying around, so I picked it up for you.” He held up a small package wrapped in a dull brown paper. It looked suspicious. Any sane person would have left it lying on the hall floor.

He handed her the parcel, and she had a sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

The size and weight were vaguely familiar. There was no return address on the outside, but dread overwhelmed her. This small bundle was definitely sent from her sister. Her sibling’s underlying scent was unmistakable, despite the number of paws the parcel passed through.

She knew she should wait and open the thing in private, but since she no longer had a home, this was as good a place as any. A single claw split the seam of tape that held it all together. Inside was precisely what she feared.

The plain wrapper cast aside, she turned the book over in her forepaws like holy scripture.

It had to be from Amber. Ginger had its match, somewhere buried under the rubble that remained in her home. The bright blue leather jacket was unmistakable. This one was worn from frequent use, but Ginger knew it all the same.

Back when they still spoke, they had a liking for the archaic feeling of writing in a real paper journal. These were the last matching pair the girls received from their parents before… they died.

Ginger fought back a tear. Too many things had happened at once. She needed to gain some footing in her life, she needed a nap to recharge, and she needed the world to stop spinning. Instead of allowing herself to faint, the cushion beckoned to her. She plopped down with little to slow her descent.

If Amber sent her this, she must be in terrible danger. What can I possibly do to help her?

The glass remained in reach. She didn’t hesitate but took the warming liquid and drank about half of it in a single shot. With no need to swallow, the effect hit her quickly. After everything, she lay down on the cushion. The bright sun called to her.

The book clutched to her chest, she instinctively knew she should call the DOA and turn this clue over, but it was her only connection to her last family member. Now all she wanted to do was hold it tight and rest her eyes. But only for a moment, then she would figure out what she needed to do.

What else might go wrong?