Read Halo: Contact Harvest for Free Online
Authors: Joseph Staten
other closed doors—the angry end of his parents’ marriage. His father had left his mother so distraught that she could no longer care for herself, let alone an active, six-year-old boy. He took one last look at the holo-still: argyle socks beneath neatly cuffed tan slacks; an unabashed smile, no less sincere for his aunt’s prompting.
Then he opened her bedroom door.
If the living room had felt like a refrigerator, the bedroom was a freezer. Avery’s heart dropped into his stomach. But it wasn’t until he saw the line of sixteen evenly spaced cigarettes (one for each hour of her waking day) untouched on a bedside vanity that Avery knew for sure—his aunt was dead.
He stared at her body, stiff as a board under the layers of crocheted and quilted blankets, as the sweat on the back of his neck froze solid. Then he stepped to the foot of the bed and lowered himself into a threadbare armchair where he remained, spine set against the cold, for almost an hour—until someone keyed the apartment door.
“She’s in here,” muttered one of the complex’s orderlies as he tramped down the hallway. A young man with a sunken chin and shoulder-length blond hair peered into the bedroom. “Jesus!” He jumped back, catching sight of Avery. “Who are you?”
“How many days?” Avery asked.
“What?”
“How many days has she been lying here?”
“Listen, unless I know—”
“I’m her nephew,” Avery growled, his eyes locked on the bed. “How. Many. Days.”
The orderly swallowed. “Three.” Then in a nervous torrent, “Look, it’s been busy, and she didn’t have any—I mean we didn’t know she had any relatives in-system. The apartment is on automatic. It dropped to freezing the moment she …” The orderly trailed off as Avery stared him down.
“Take her away,” Avery said flatly.
The orderly motioned to his shorter, plumper partner cowering in the hallway behind him. Quickly the two men positioned their stretcher beside the bed, peeled back the layers of bedding, and gently transferred the body.
“Records say she was Evangelical Promessic.” The orderly fumbled with the stretcher’s straps. “Is that right?”
But Avery’s gaze had returned to the bed, and he didn’t reply.
His aunt was so frail that her body left only the barest impression in the foam mattress. She was a small woman, but Avery remembered how tall and strong she’d looked when Zone social services had dropped him on her doorstep—a mountain of surrogate maternal love and discipline in his wary, six-year-old eyes.
“What’s your COM address?” the thin orderly continued, “I’ll let you know the name of the processing center.”
Avery drew his hands out of his pockets and laid them on his lap. The squat orderly noticed Avery’s fingers tighten into fists and coughed—a signal to his partner that now would be a good time to leave. The two men worked the stretcher back and forth until it pointed out of the bedroom, then bumped it noisily down the hallway and out the apartment door.
Avery’s hands shook. His aunt had been teetering on the edge for some time. But in their recent COM correspondence, she’d told him not to worry. Hearing that, he’d wanted to take his leave immediately, but his CO had ordered him to lead one more mission. A whole hell of a lot of good that did anyone, Avery cursed. While his Aunt lay dying, he was strapped to a Hornet, circling the Jim Dandy back on Tribute.
Avery leapt from the chair, stepped quickly to his duffels, and pulled out one of the fifths of gin from the duty-free. He grabbed his navy dress coat and stuffed the glass flask into an interior pocket. A moment later, he was out the apartment door.
“Dog and Pony,” Avery asked the hospitality computer on the way down to the lobby. “Is it still in business?”
“Open daily until four a.m.,” the computer replied through a small speaker in the elevator’s floor-selection pad. “Ladies pay no cover. Shall I call a cab?”
“I’ll
Then he opened her bedroom door.
If the living room had felt like a refrigerator, the bedroom was a freezer. Avery’s heart dropped into his stomach. But it wasn’t until he saw the line of sixteen evenly spaced cigarettes (one for each hour of her waking day) untouched on a bedside vanity that Avery knew for sure—his aunt was dead.
He stared at her body, stiff as a board under the layers of crocheted and quilted blankets, as the sweat on the back of his neck froze solid. Then he stepped to the foot of the bed and lowered himself into a threadbare armchair where he remained, spine set against the cold, for almost an hour—until someone keyed the apartment door.
“She’s in here,” muttered one of the complex’s orderlies as he tramped down the hallway. A young man with a sunken chin and shoulder-length blond hair peered into the bedroom. “Jesus!” He jumped back, catching sight of Avery. “Who are you?”
“How many days?” Avery asked.
“What?”
“How many days has she been lying here?”
“Listen, unless I know—”
“I’m her nephew,” Avery growled, his eyes locked on the bed. “How. Many. Days.”
The orderly swallowed. “Three.” Then in a nervous torrent, “Look, it’s been busy, and she didn’t have any—I mean we didn’t know she had any relatives in-system. The apartment is on automatic. It dropped to freezing the moment she …” The orderly trailed off as Avery stared him down.
“Take her away,” Avery said flatly.
The orderly motioned to his shorter, plumper partner cowering in the hallway behind him. Quickly the two men positioned their stretcher beside the bed, peeled back the layers of bedding, and gently transferred the body.
“Records say she was Evangelical Promessic.” The orderly fumbled with the stretcher’s straps. “Is that right?”
But Avery’s gaze had returned to the bed, and he didn’t reply.
His aunt was so frail that her body left only the barest impression in the foam mattress. She was a small woman, but Avery remembered how tall and strong she’d looked when Zone social services had dropped him on her doorstep—a mountain of surrogate maternal love and discipline in his wary, six-year-old eyes.
“What’s your COM address?” the thin orderly continued, “I’ll let you know the name of the processing center.”
Avery drew his hands out of his pockets and laid them on his lap. The squat orderly noticed Avery’s fingers tighten into fists and coughed—a signal to his partner that now would be a good time to leave. The two men worked the stretcher back and forth until it pointed out of the bedroom, then bumped it noisily down the hallway and out the apartment door.
Avery’s hands shook. His aunt had been teetering on the edge for some time. But in their recent COM correspondence, she’d told him not to worry. Hearing that, he’d wanted to take his leave immediately, but his CO had ordered him to lead one more mission. A whole hell of a lot of good that did anyone, Avery cursed. While his Aunt lay dying, he was strapped to a Hornet, circling the Jim Dandy back on Tribute.
Avery leapt from the chair, stepped quickly to his duffels, and pulled out one of the fifths of gin from the duty-free. He grabbed his navy dress coat and stuffed the glass flask into an interior pocket. A moment later, he was out the apartment door.
“Dog and Pony,” Avery asked the hospitality computer on the way down to the lobby. “Is it still in business?”
“Open daily until four a.m.,” the computer replied through a small speaker in the elevator’s floor-selection pad. “Ladies pay no cover. Shall I call a cab?”
“I’ll