Titan Song Dan Stout (top 20 books to read txt) 📖

sure doesn’t mind bragging about going down there.”

She shook the paper. “This could be anything. The handwriting—”

“It’s a transcription,” I said. “And we have the original recordings.” That wasn’t exactly true. I had three tapes, and the transcription didn’t match up. But someone had the rest, and that meant the threat to Paulus—and Gellica—was genuine.

Paulus stared at me, then at the dead camera. “Why are you here?”

“Because two weeks ago you skewered a man on live television,” I said. “And then went home for cookies. You’re cold and unshakable. But this transcript? That’s got you shook.” I popped an arm over the chair back, the picture of nonchalance. “I know the sinkhole isn’t your fault. And it’d be fun to watch you try and deal with that and this transcription at the same time. But I need to stop whoever is actually messing with the vents before more people die.”

“You’ll destroy this?” She held the letter.

“No,” I said. “But if I find the real culprit behind the vent tampering, it’ll fade away and be forgotten.”

She stared at the transcript, lip curling, and I could sense the rage build inside her.

“This is turning into a murder investigation,” I said. “And it will drag down everything you’ve created. Everyone you’ve created.”

“Nothing created lasts forever.”

“And yet, you did dream of it.” I turned, holding her gaze. “Didn’t you?”

She didn’t drop her eyes in shame, didn’t pull back her lips and snarl in anger. She merely said, “No, Officer, I did not.” And then she smiled, ever so faintly and ever so briefly.

That brief echo of a smile chilled me more than a million screamed words ever could. Because Paulus, for all her concerns about peace and stability, was a monster. Any kindness she showed the world was balanced by her reasoning: she only cared about winning, about achieving her goals, even if those were as arbitrary and self-contradictory as helping the poor and suppressing the vote. Paulus’s morality was formless and fluid, like whiskey poured into an improvised container. Like her daughter’s ability to shape-shift into a shadow creature.

“How many of your children died down there?” I asked.

“Really, Carter, I don’t know how many times I need to deny your overactive imagination.”

“Were they canaries in the mine? Warning you where not to send your more valuable assets.”

Her face hardened. “A child is a parent’s most valuable asset. They are the future.”

“And a chance at immortality?”

“The closest any of us will ever come,” she said. “So no, I did not send my imaginary children into your imaginary pit of doom, to talk to your imaginary Titan.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her jumpsuit. “Is there anything else you’d like me to clarify for you? I have quite a bit of free time. We might even make inroads on ignorance that runs as deep as yours.”

“Yeah, actually. Just one thing. After you were arrested, your house was searched.”

“Yes.”

“They didn’t find anything there, despite Gellica telling me that she’d been raised in your home.”

Paulus rolled her eyes. “Well, first of all there was nothing to find, because I didn’t do anything wrong. Secondly, Gellica may say she was raised in the most severe circumstances, but you’ve seen my home. Would it bother you to grow up there?”

Paulus came from old oil money, and owned a mansion at the foot of the Mount. There was only one honest answer to that question.

“Not in the house, no.”

“And if I were going to do something to the vents, which I did not, I certainly wouldn’t have done it in my own home.”

“Then where?”

She didn’t answer, and I leaned into the table. Paulus flinched. I realized that when Jankowski left, some of Paulus’s bluster had gone with her. Paulus was certainly still dangerous, but she had the same hesitation she’d shown when I confronted her in front of her home. She’d at least guessed some of what I could do, and it made her nervous. Good.

I pressed her again. “I can fix this. Tell me what you were up to, tell me all of it, and I might be able to fix this.”

“And let me out of here? You’d never do that.”

“I’d do it for her.”

She studied my face. “Yes, you might.” Paulus blinked, and seemed to come to a decision. “Tanis Klein was a trusted associate. My right hand, in those days. He was intensely loyal.” I must have made a face, because she added, “Loyalty is simple. Pay your people extremely well and keep track of their secrets. It works wonders.”

“Sure.”

She tsk-tsked, but continued. “As you already guessed, if I were to conduct legally questionable research, I’d have used a secure facility and hired an expert in these things.”

“Heidelbrecht?”

“I wouldn’t know. This is purely speculative.”

“Speculate faster,” I said.

“If an experimental subject had gotten loose, she would have gone in the direction where there was the least security.”

“The vents.” I pressed my palms into the table surface, to keep from forming fists.

“And a motivated employee such as Tanis,” Paulus continued, “would have gone after her. Hypothetically.”

“But the vents are a maze,” I said.

“Yes.”

“They’d get lost.”

“Indeed.”

A moment’s silence. I couldn’t bring myself to ask what happened next. She told me anyway.

“After that,” she said, “the experiment would come to a halt. Any access would be sealed over, anyone involved would be given motivation to leave the city.”

“You left them to die.”

“What else could I do?”

“Call for help.”

“And throw myself on the mercy of the hardhanded men of Titanshade? No, I think you know better than that. Look how you’re treated, and you’re one of their own.” She hesitated, her dimpled chin clenching and relaxing. “You asked where a facility like that might be located. It would be a building with its ground level used for storage, or left vacant.”

“This is Titanshade,” I said. “Nothing’s vacant for very long.”

“Even in Titanshade, there are vacancies. Full occupancy means your rents are too low. In any case,” she cut off further objection, “I would have used a separate company to buy and hold