Star Harbor Nights

Standard protocol called for any police officer who had contact with the villainess Rhyme in the field to be put on paid leave pending an indefinite period of psychological evaluation. Karen knew that. She knew better than to get her hopes up even as she insisted on going in for her first session the day after.

She got a standing ovation when she walked through the door of the 7th precinct at the start of her scheduled shift that night. She blushed sheepishly. She'd hoped to slip in quietly, find out if they'd reassigned her yet--there was no way that Officer Dare would be returned to duty a day after being doused with Rhyme's psychoactive blood--and try to get back into the swing of things with minimal interruption. Apparently, that was not going to be the case.

She made a beeline for the coffee pot so she'd have an excuse to keep her head down until her cheeks returned to their normal color, but she began to backtrack when she saw a group of plainclothes detectives gathered around the table. They seemed more interested in the TV, tuned as always to the Global News Channel. If she backed away now, she could avoid embarrassing herself in front of...

"Officer Seven, I wanted to talk to you... I wasn't sure you'd be in today."

Detective Lieutenant Stacey Bishop was one of the big dogs of the NCPD. She held the highest arrest-to-conviction rate of any investigator in the history of the city, but was almost as well known for the number of disciplinary hearings she'd faced. None of them had gone anywhere. Everybody seemed to have their own opinion about the woman. Karen hadn't really met her, so she'd tried to avoid forming one.

"Uh, yeah, I wasn't sure, either. I just had my psych eval today," Karen told her uncertainly. "It went a lot better than I expected."

"I know you didn't draw Drew the Screw," Bishop said.

Drew Stoddard, who'd put himself through school working as a corrections officer, was one of the NCPD's most loathed staff psychiatrists because somewhere along the line he'd acquired a perverse level of sympathy for the criminal element... sort of a reverse Stockholm syndrome. Karen had been forced to submit to his examination when she joined the force.

"No, it was somebody new... a Dr. Liszt," Karen said.

"Never heard of him," Bishop said. "What's he like?"

"Like a she, actually," Karen said. "She was kind of pleasant. A little intense. Made me call her Annie, like we were old friends, but I guess a lot of the head shrinkers probably work that way nowadays."

"Wait, is she the kind of tall brunette with the black nerd glasses?"

"No, she was... well, a little shorter than me. On the skinny side. Pale blonde hair, almost white. I kind of thought she might have been an albino. Very thin lips. Oddly shaped pupils."

"Don't think I've seen her around, then," Bishop said. She shrugged.

"Honestly, she wouldn't stand out in a crowd," Karen said. "She asked me a lot of questions about what Rhyme said to me, what she did... well, mostly about what she said, then told me I was cleared for duty. I couldn't believe it, but the papers were waiting on the fax machine when I got back here."

"That was it?"

"That was it," Karen said. "It was like she asked, 'Why do you think someone like Rhyme would be interested in a space rock?' and I said, 'Because she's fucking nuts.' and she pronounced me sane on the spot."

"Maybe I'll be lucky and pull Dr. Liszt for my next psych evaluation," Bishop said. "Once you make detective in this town, they never stop with them."

"It'd be nice, but she said she was only filling in temporarily."

"In other news, representatives for Callisto Records are denying reports that 'Hex Kittens' drummer Tigerlily was arrested in Nebula City last night and held on a drunk and disorderly charge..."

"You hear that, loo?" one of the detectives said. "Your little date's national news."

"...even as Nebula City's chief of police came under fire for being blindsided by a villainous plot..."

"What's that about?" Karen asked.

"Oh, last night, I ended up giving someone a ride home from Sully's," Bishop said. "It was nothing big, just somebody who started partying a little too early. Turns out she's some kind of... rock star, or something. Don't know how the media got a hold of it, but Global News aired the story with archive footage of somebody wrestling her into the back of a cruiser. I wasn't even on duty yesterday, but the chief still got ambushed on the steps of the Battle Center by a bunch of bottom-feeding reporters demanding to know why we were wasting manpower 'persecuting celebrities to grab headlines while the city was under siege.'"

"Bunch of vultures," Karen said. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Didn't anybody tell you?" Bishop asked. "For the next little bit, you and I are going to be saddling up together."

"What?"

"Department regs require detectives to patrol as officers one month out of the year, so we don't lose our touch," Bishop said. "My off-month starts tomorrow. Since your assigned partner's not going to be fit for duty again for at least that long, I requested I be paired with you."

"So who am I riding with today?" Karen asked. She was a rookie cop, and still within her probationary training period. It was too much to hope that she'd be allowed to patrol by herself... wasn't it?

"Me," Bishop said.

"You're starting your rotation early?"

"No. You're going to be shadowing me for the night," Bishop said. "It's no secret that you've got your eye on a detective's badge, Seven. I've had my eye on you, and I have to tell you, I think you're probably going to make it."

"Thank you."

"But there's some things that no training can prepare you for and no test can check for," Bishop continued. "Some qualities that I don't think you have... yet. That's why I've decided to make you my next project. You'll stay in uniform... you're not a detective yet... and you won't touch anything or talk to anyone unless I tell you to. Clear?"

"Clear," Karen said, doing her best not to grin like an idiot. The night before, it had seemed her habitual good luck was on the fritz, but this was turning out better than she could have hoped for.

"Good," Bishop said. "You handled Rhyme fine last night. You up to facing her again?"

"What do you mean?"

"We're headed to Dunwich. She caught us flat-footed with her Police Appreciation Day scheme, made the whole department look like a bunch of idiots asleep at the wheel. Drugged doughnuts knock out police force... nobody's laughing right now, but when the shock wears off we'd better have some how and why for people," Bishop said. "The official word is hands off, brought to you by the letter B and the number 4... but my loyalty belongs to another department."

"You're not afraid of crossing them?" Karen asked, her admiration for the D.L. ratcheting up another notch.

"Crossing them how? Didn't I tell you? I'm not even scheduled today," Bishop said, winking. "And starting tomorrow, I'm just another beat cop... and nobody makes this beat cop's police department look like fools. Plus, have you seen the new rules on catering and take out food? We're all going to have to brown bag it from now on, at least until this blows over."

"Talk about closing the barn door after the horse is gone," Karen said. "I don't know, though. It seems like there's plenty of people on the force who wouldn't be hurt by a few weeks without pizza or Chinese take-out."

Bishop laughed at that.

"That's true. There's a lot of cops walking around who barely fit in their uniforms."

"How about me?" Karen asked.

"Ask me in a month," Bishop said.

It took the better part of an hour for the two policewomen to be screened and cleared by the asylum's security force, even though they were also an arm of the NCPD. Security at the Howard P. Dunwich Asylum had been stepped up following the break out, which had been doubly embarrassing for the institution's administration as it turned out it had actually been a break in followed by a break out. Their star patient had somehow disappeared before their eyes an undetermined amount of time in the past, somehow arranged for a duplicate to keep anybody from realizing she was gone, snuck back in, and released a sampling of the house of healing's more irritating permanent residents... all without anybody noticing.

It was only natural that the staff would be a little paranoid.

Eventually, they were admitted into the inner sanctum of the asylum and ushered down a succession of corridors to the small bare cell where the villainess was being kept while her usual room was being checked for bugs, traps, contraband, and anything that might explain why she wasn't already in it. Rhyme was propped up against the rear wall in full body restraints, with a clear plastic shield over her mouth and nose. Her eyes were closed, but Karen didn't believe for a moment she was asleep.

"What's that on her face?" Karen asked their escort.

"Sneeze guard," he said. He opened the door, but stood directly in front of it. "Stay behind the red line at all times," he said, pointing to a line painted on the floor a good six feet from Rhyme, dividing the room in half. "This door does not open from the inside. If she gets loose, we'll flood the room with gas, but it'll put you out long before it begins to affect her."

"What good does that do us?" Karen asked.

"You'd be grateful for it, believe me," he said, standing aside to let them through.

Rhyme's eyes were still closed when the door clicked shut behind them. Bishop strode right up to the edge of the red line.

"Ms.... Rhyme, my name is Detective Lieutenant..."

"Stacey Bishop," the villainess finished, before opening her eyes and looking up. "You became a media darling on the arson task force during the tenement fires three summers back before being investigated for use of excessive force. Nothing was ever proven, but we both know how badly a nasty rumor can sting, don't we?"

"I wouldn't worry about excessive force, sweetheart, because you've been designated A.F.N.... Any Force Necessary."

"You're read my file. I'm so flattered," Rhyme said. "I know Lucky here has the whole thing memorized... it's quite a mutual admiration society we've got going here, isn't it? Have I mentioned that I'm a big fan of your work, Detective Lieutenant? What I've managed to piece together is quite breathtaking. I have to say, I've been expecting to see you here in the Howie Dunwich Home for the Criminally Not Altogether There for quite some time..."

"You wrote a series of letters under the name Diane Crief calling for a special day of appreciation for the police department... to the papers, to city hall, to various civic associations, to big corporations," Bishop said. "The first of these letters dates back to Memorial Day. Is that how long you've been out of your cell?"

"They call them 'treatment suites' here, actually. Haven't you heard? This is a hospital, not a prison."

"How long were you loose?"

"Oh, I had my wild phase back in my college years, but who didn't? I'm an honest woman now, though, saved by the love of a good man."

"What did you want with the meteor?"

"Meteorite," Rhyme corrected. "A meteor is what you call a meteoroid when it's falling through the atmosphere, and if any part of it hits the ground it becomes a meteorite. The parts that miss, of course, are meteor wrongs."

"What's so important about it that you felt the need to take out the whole police force..."

"And tie up all the mutants in town by inviting a national convention to town," Rhyme said. "Or had you not figured that part out? Dear me. Shoddy police work."

"Why did you want the damn rock?"

"Be glad I'm not telling you," Rhyme said. "It could be dangerous information to possess."

"Maybe we'd be able to appreciate your grand scheme better if we had some idea of where you were coming from," Karen said.

"A census taker tried to quantify me once," Rhyme said. "I ate his liver with an overused movie reference and a clichéd slurping noise. I don't want your appreciation, Lucky, nor do I require your understanding."

"What happened to your parents..." Karen began.

"Will be redressed in time," Rhyme said. "In the mean time, I carry on my work in my father's name..."

 "That's bullshit,' Bishop said. "Your father was a hero."

"My father was a great hero, but society didn't have a mold for men like him so they threw him out," Rhyme said. "Like me, he refused to be categorized... but one way or another, we all end up in a box, don't we?"

"Your box could get a lot smaller," Bishop said. "And a hell of a lot less pleasant."

Rhyme laughed.

"You're threatening someone who has nothing left to lose," she said. "Did you know that they flood my room with microwaves for an hour every time they have to come in and fix something? I don't feel much pain... not the way that you do... but the sensation is decidedly disagreeable... and that's to say nothing of the smell, which lingers in the nostrils for days. My toilet is a chute that leads straight into the hospital's incinerator. I'm not permitted pen and paper or access to anything electronic. I'm allowed half an hour of television viewing per day, although the banal offerings I'm permitted are barely worth opening my eyes for. Once a week, a pre-screened reading material of my selection is held up to my window one page at a time so I can read for one hour."

"There you go," Bishop said. "You do have something you could lose."

"Oh, I really don't think you want to go there," Rhyme said. "Heaven only knows what I'll do if I'm forced to make my own fun..."

"Let's go," Bishop said to Karen. "I don't think she even knows why she did it. She doesn't know anything."

"Did you look in her eyes as she went, Detective Lieutenant? Did you see betrayal there?" Rhyme asked. "Or was the physical pain too excruciating for the emotional pain to even register?"

Karen turned to ask the detective what Rhyme was talking about, but instead watched to her horror as Stacey charged across the line, balling her hand into a fist. "Bishop, no!" she shouted, but was too late to stop the furious woman from pounding Rhyme in the face with a bone-jarring punch that crumpled the plastic shield like it was made of tissue paper. Rhyme only giggled and grinned like the cat who ate the canary before spitting a mouthful of blood and saliva Bishop's way.

The whole world seemed to shift into slow motion as Karen watched a glob of bloody spittle arc through the air at Bishop's head... but of course, she couldn't move do anything to stop it. Disaster was about to come crashing down upon them, as inevitably as nightfall.

Suddenly, the illusion of slow motion broke and Karen was looking at a clenched hand that had appeared from nowhere to catch the toxic projectile. Minerva Wisdom stood between them and the bound criminal, her beaded braids swaying and clacking.

"Pallas," she said, eyes narrowed.

"Don't call me that," Rhyme replied. She looked at Minerva's fist. "So today's a force field kind of day, is it?"

"Every day's a force field kind of day with you, Mary Poppins," Minerva said. The look in her eye was almost as frightening as the one in Rhyme's. "I have some questions for you."

"Get in line," Bishop said.

"If you're not going to be grateful for the save, be grateful that I forget what made it necessary," Minerva told her. She jerked a thumb in the direction of the now-open security door. "My sister and I need some family time."

"You think you can just fly in here and start giving orders..."

Minerva glared at her, but Bishop held her ground.

"Let's take a coffee break," Karen said gently. "You could probably use some fresh air."

"Yeah, okay," Bishop said.

Minerva kept her eye on the detective as they left, but once the door was closed she went right up to Rhyme.

"It's funny," she said. "I was probably going to come see you tonight, anyway..."

"Oh, and if I'd knew you were coming, I'd have baked a cake!"

"...and then this morning I got a call from a friend..."

"And how is the redoubtable Mr. Ibis?" Rhyme asked. "Still playing at being a detective, no doubt? I made a sign for him, you know. It said 'Twenty-five cents a day, plus expenses.' Do you think he put it up?"

"...and he told me some rather interesting things," Minerva said. "About the Aces."

"I didn't figure you were big on gossip," Rhyme said.

"The decoy you left in your cell is plastic, but it moves and talks like a real person, up to a point. How?"

"It's amazing what they can do with electronics these days, isn't it?" Rhyme said.

"But there wasn't anything electronic in it. It's plastic, through and through, except it's been impregnated with some weird organic slime."

"Ooh! Impregnated. Do we know who the father is?"

"Before the feds swooped in and cleaned it up, they showed the stuff to one of the science wonks who happened to be in town and he said it was remarkably similar to some images that 4B had just e-mailed to him, that had been pulled out of the blood of the Aces just last night. That's the same weird glop showing up in two places in one night. How'd it get there, Pallas?"

"Oh, the usual way, I'd expect... but all four of them?" Rhyme said. "My, the cad gets around, doesn't he? Is he at least planning to stand by her? Things can be so hard for a single dummy these days..."

"Cut the crap, Pallas. The doc said the stuff the Aces was drugged with was more refined, and some of the refinements had your fingerprints all over them."

"Congratulations, Detective Minerva. You've managed to link me to a chemical found in my own cell," Rhyme said. "Maybe I should be making you a sign next."

"I've worked out more than that," Minerva said. "You didn't come up with the goop, and you sure as hell didn't whip up a life sized model of yourself while on the inside..."

"'The inside,' she says. Somebody's been watching those gritty cable prison dramas," Rhyme said. "They won't let me watch those, but they allow me to view cartoons. Considering I hold the world record on comically-oversized-mallet-related-murders, does that seem like an intelligent policy to you? Or an even remotely sane one?"

"Somebody made you an offer. They'd get you out and provide a stand-in so the escape wouldn't be noticed, and in exchange you helped them make their little zombie cocktail."

"One ounce white rum, one ounce dark rum, one ounce golden rum, one ounce spiced..."

"They already had all the ingredients, they just needed your unique spin on molecular chemistry to put it all together. How am I doing so far?"

"You're exceptionally boring."

"You haven't said anything interesting, either," Minerva said. She turned to leave. "I'll send Cagney and Lacey back in... but I'll be nearby. Try anything cute and I'll see that you spend the next month in a HAZMAT suit with the arms crossed in the back."

"Watch your back," Rhyme said. "They picked the Aces for a reason. They'll come after you and Athena next."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Minerva asked, over her shoulder.

"I suggested it to them," Rhyme said. "Where's Athena right now?"

"Athena's supposed to be paying a visit to the Dummy Corporation," Minerva said. Rhyme had her attention now. "She met with their president this morning and said he was this harmless old grandfatherly type."

"The sort of person our dear, sweet Athena responds to almost instinctively, coming from a broken home as she does. So now she'd be walking in the front door," Rhyme said. "Instead of investigating with stealth and caution. But it's not like she doesn't have powers to protect her."

"She's invulnerable to physical harm," Minerva said. "I left her with Mother's reflexes and my dad's strength..."

"But those would only help her in a fight," Rhyme said. "Not against toxins and gases. Did you know that vaporized Lysenkol is almost as effective as a direct injection? It's fascinating stuff, really. I don't have to ask you who has superspeed, and I'm sure you wouldn't be here facing me if you didn't have our mother's so-called wisdom. That's playing against type as much as Athena having Mommy Dearest's reflexes is, isn't it? Maybe if Athena was working with the level of insight she's accustomed to, she wouldn't let down her guard when dealing with something as suspiciously named as the Dummy Corporation. Hmm... dummies do seem to be cropping up all over this little caper, don't they?"

"Nice try, but I already know you want me to go rushing off to her rescue," Minerva said. "If she even needs rescuing."

"I can't put one over on someone who has 'universal wisdom', can I?" Rhyme asked. "So why would I even try? Of course I want you to go rushing off to her rescue, but my reasons are my own."

"You said going after us was your own idea."

"I offered my expert opinion on a number of matters in exchange for my freedom," Rhyme pointed out. "You may have noticed I'm not exactly free. You'd know if I lied about anything, Minerva. Jokes aside, I've only outright lied to you once since you came into this room."

"Your first comment about the decoy," Minerva said.

"A pedant would say that it wasn't a lie since I didn't actually say the dummy was electronic, but your power deals with intentions, not semantics," Rhyme said. "I, of course, knew that you'd already know the dummy was nothing but hollow plastic when I said it, so let's say that remark was for calibration purposes, in case you had any doubt your internal lie detector was functioning against me."

"That seems true enough," Minerva said. She knew the truth was rarely an either-or proposition when dealing with her twisted half-sister, who could have all sorts of conflicting reasons for doing any one thing.

"So, with that in mind, let me make the following three statements: Athena is walking into peril. I would not be unhappy to see those who are targeting her foiled. The longer you wait to go to her aid, the bigger a challenge you'll face."

"Would you be unhappy to see them succeed?" Minerva asked.

Rhyme said nothing.

"Damn you."

"We're all damned, dear sister," Rhyme said. "I'm just the only one sane enough to enjoy it."