The Forever Drug Read Online Free PDF Page B

her—that I wasn't a police detective. But since I had access to the station—certain areas of it, anyway—I could probably grab one of the interview rooms.
    I expected a protest, or at least a polite demurral, but the woman just shrugged. "I don't mind."
    I radioed back to Hunt. "Romulus here. I'm on the west side of the island, and have the para contained and ready for transport. There will also be one civilian to transport back to the station: a witness who might be able to shed some light on where another of these creatures might be located. Over."
    Hunt's voice crackled back over the commlink. "Roger that," he answered. "One contained cat, one wolf, and one civilian for transport. I'll be there in two shakes. Over."
    I hefted the cage in my hand. The blackberry cat only weighed about five kilos, but each of those kilos was worth fifty nuyen. If I could locate the people who were importing these animals to the UCAS,
    I stood to make a fortune. Not only that, but I'd be cracking a "case"—just like a regular police officer. Sergeant Raymond would have to commend me for that.
    Jane stared at the limp body of the cat. "They're very beautiful," she said in a soft voice. "It isn't right to cage a creature so regal."
    I sure as drek didn't share Jane's sentiments about blackberry cats. The only good cat is a caged cat, in my opinion. And that's just what I intended to do, to each and every one of the little fiends. At two hundred and fifty nuyen a pop.

3
    Once I got Jane back to the station, she went uncooperative on me. She claimed to know nothing about blackberry cats being brought into the UCAS, nor was she willing to provide any information on the "friends" who were illegally selling them. She wouldn't even give me any personal data. When I asked for her full name, address, occupation, and date and place of birth, all I got was the same answer, over and over again: "I don't know."
    Exasperated, I let her cool her heels in an interview room. I was about to tell her to head on home— wherever that might be—and call it a night. But when Dass happened down the hall, I decided to go with my hunch. There was something unusual about Jane; her body language didn't quite match the timbre of her voice, or her scent. I decided to ask Dass for one more favor. She agreed, and we stepped back into the interview room.
    "This is Detective Mchawi," I said. "Do you mind if she sits in on our interview?"
    Jane shrugged. "I don't mind." Her eyes were locked on Dass' shirt, following the drummers as they strobed through their patterns. As Dass sat down, Jane reached across the table and stroked the fabric with a fingertip. The gesture—and the expression of awe on her face—reminded me of a child discovering something new and wonderful. It made her look quite beautiful.
    "Do we have your permission to use magic?" I asked. "You have the right to refuse."
    "Magic?" Something sparked behind her eyes as she glanced sharply in my direction. She seemed about to speak—and then the twinkle faded. She nodded. "You have my permission."
    I nodded to Dass. She wove her fingers together in a complex pattern, spoke a few words of Swahili, and cast the spell. Then she peered intently at Jane.
    I asked Jane the same questions I'd asked earlier. Once again, her answers were the same: "I don't know."
    We ran through the preliminary questions—a process that took less than a minute—and I tried prompting her by recapping what she'd told me earlier. I was asking leading questions—something a good interviewer avoids—but by this time I was desperate. When I got the same non-answers, once again, I excused myself and motioned Dass out into the hallway.
    "Well?" I asked.
    "She's telling the truth. She has absolutely no idea who she is or where she's from." Dass stared in through the one-way glass at Jane, who waited patiently in the empty room, her hands neatly folded in her lap. No, not neatly folded. Her fingers were locked in a gesture identical to