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Chapter 13

THE ALLEY WAS IN ONE OF THE SEEDIEST NEIGHBORHOODS of the Quarter, a narrow lane formed by buildings with boarded-up doorways and empty windows. The structures would have been real firetraps, Fontana thought, if it weren't for the fact that the First Generation colonists had built them out of native stone and a lot of high-tech, fireproof materials imported from Earth before the closing of the Curtain.

"Jake will probably still be asleep at this hour," Sierra said. She had her purse slung over one shoulder. Elvis, nattily attired in his white cape, was perched on the other shoulder. "He's not what you'd call an early riser."

Fontana surveyed the alley. The lane smelled like a lot of other alleys he'd had occasion to visit, an aromatic mix of stale garbage, stale urine, and stale booze. Shards of broken bottles guttered on the ground.

"Great location for a mugging," he said, checking windows and doorways. "Come here often?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Sierra sounded irritated by the question. "It's safe. Jake and his friend Hank have staked out this alley as their personal turf. They were both powerful hunters once upon a time. They can still defend their territory when necessary."

"The fearless lady reporter."

It took every scrap of his considerable powers of self-control not to start yelling at her. What the hell did she think she was doing meeting washed-up hunters in grimy alleys?

He knew that Sierra sensed his simmering anger. She tightened her grip on the sack of cookies she had brought with her.

"As it happens, I'm an excellent judge of character," she said. Every word was iced with invisible frost.

"Yeah?" And then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "if that's true, what went wrong with Pemberley? Why didn't you figure him out right away?"

She gave him a repressive glare. "I've always heard that it is not a good idea for a couple to dissect prior relationships."

A couple. She'd referred to the two of them as a couple. Maybe that was a good sign.

Elvis was excited. He clung to Sierra's shoulder and leaned forward with an air of anticipation.

"Looks like the bunny enjoys strolling through dark alleys," Fontana said.

"Elvis knows this particular alley. He and Jake are buddies. Jake makes toys for him, and we give Jake cookies in return. Works for both of them."

"But not for you?"

"Let's just say that I blame the Guild for not taking better care of its men. Jake should not be living in this alley. He needs rehab and counseling to get off the juice, and then he needs a job. He's very good with his hands. In another life I think he could have been an artist."

"Instead, he came to a bad end as a retired ghost hunter, right?"

"You have to admit that, while the benefits are great, a lot of hunters end up drifting like Jake after they leave the catacombs. The Guilds take them in young, use them up, and then toss them out onto the street. They don't do a good job of preparing them to lead productive lives in mainstream society."

"You made your point in that series on burned-out hunters that you did for the Curtain" he said.

"You read that series?" She looked pleased.

"Hell, yes. Everyone on the Council, including Jenner, read it. Caused quite a rumble in management."

"Evidently not enough of one. Nothing was done about the problem."

"Jenner was still in charge at the time. He saw the series as just another PR issue. He figured he took care of it by giving the Herald an exclusive interview that highlighted all the work the Guild Foundation does with teenage boys."

"Hah. All those Hunter Scout programs are nothing more than thinly veiled recruitment operations for the Guild, as far as I'm concerned. It is a totally self-serving charity."

"The Guild sees the programs as a way of keeping young dissonance energy para-rez talents from experimenting recklessly with their budding ghost-rezzing abilities."

"In other words, you don't want a bunch of young hoodlums forming gangs and using their talents to intimidate people, because it would be bad for the image of the Guild."

He smiled. "You've got it."

"All that those scout programs do is glamorize life in the Guilds. I doubt if any of the troop leaders bother to tell the boys that it would be smart to get some higher education under their belts before they go underground or maybe even consider a real profession instead of ghost hunting."

"You've made your negative opinion of the Guild's outreach efforts crystal clear in the Curtain" he said.

"I've certainly tried."

"Speaking of outreach, how did you meet Jake Tanner?"

"I told Simon and the men at the Green Gate that I wanted to talk to any hunter who could tell me about the alien abductions and the secret lab rumors. They suggested Jake because he was a juicer who had recently retired from the Guild. I tracked him down."

He decided it would be better for his nerves if he did not ask her exactly how she had set about tracking down a burned-out hunter.

"I'm surprised that Tanner was willing to talk to a reporter," he said instead.

"He and Elvis took to each other right away. Jake trusts me because he likes Elvis. The problem is that because Jake uses juice, you never know how much of what he says is a fantasy from his most recent juice dream and how much is real."

Elvis muttered uneasily. Fontana glanced at him. The dust bunny was no longer a scruffy fur ball. He was partially sleeked out, all four eyes showing.

Sierra stopped abruptly.

"Something's wrong," she said.

Elvis stared intently at a doorway halfway down the alley. He muttered darkly.

Fontana followed his gaze and saw what looked like a portion of an old blanket or sleeping bag sticking out of the entrance.

"That's Jake's crib?" he asked.

"Yes," Sierra said.

She started forward, her face urgent and intent. Elvis chattered unhappily. She stopped again.

"This doesn't feel right," she said, talking so softly that she might have been speaking to herself.

Elvis mumbled, clearly disturbed.

This doesn't feel right. Fontana made a mental note to go over that odd comment at a later date.

"Wait here," he said, automatically sliding into the voice he always used when he wanted instant and unquestioning obedience. It was the voice he had employed underground when the safety of a team was at stake.

Somewhat to his amazement, Sierra obeyed. Elvis appeared strongly disinclined to move forward, too. Maybe Sierra was simply trusting the bunny's instincts instead of actually following a Guild man's orders. Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe Sierra was trusting her own instincts. Now, that was an intriguing thought.

He walked to the grungy bedroll and looked down.

"It's empty," he said. "Probably ran out of juice and went looking for a dealer."

"No," Sierra said with shattering conviction. "He's gone. Just like the others."

"You don't know that. Not yet."

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure of it. Come on, we've got to see if they took Hank, too."

"See if who took Hank?"

"The aliens."

"Tell me you don't really believe Jake was abducted by aliens."

She did not respond. Instead, she rushed toward the large trash container at the far end of the alley. Fontana followed. By the time he got there, she had disappeared behind the container. When she reappeared a few seconds later, her face was stark with dread.

"He's gone," she said. "I've got to find him."

"What makes you think he wasn't abducted, too?" Fontana asked.

"Because his bedroll is gone. He packed up and moved, maybe because he saw what happened to Jake."