"Now that you mention it," said an older woman passing by—Mrs. Parker, if I remembered correctly. She stopped, adjusting the basket on her arm, its contents shifting with a rustle of paper and cloth. "I haven't seen Clemon in a few days. Not since Tuesday, maybe? I walk past his place on my morning route, and his lights haven't been on."
A cold feeling settled in my gut. After everything that had happened—Craig's murder, the attack on Ruby and Teddy—I couldn't ignore something like this.
"Where's his place?" I asked, though I had a general idea from studying the settlement maps.
"Far end of the settlement," Harris said, gesturing vaguely eastward. "Past the Henderson farm, near the eastern boundary. It takes a good while to get out there—twenty, thirty minutes on a hoverbike."
I glanced at Ruby and saw she was thinking the same thing I was.
"I should check on him," I said. "Make sure he's alright."
Ruby's hand found mine briefly, a quick squeeze that conveyed everything she couldn't say aloud. "Be careful."
"Always am." I turned to Harris, pulling out my comm. "If he shows up here, send word immediately."
"Will do, Peacekeeper."
I finished the cinnamon roll in a few quick bites, barely tasting it now, and started making my way through the crowd.Even with the hoverbike, the trip to Clemon's place and back would take most of the afternoon.
I glanced back once and saw Ruby watching me, worry etched across her face. She gave me a small wave, and our eyes met—everything passing between us in a heartbeat. Love, fear, hope, and the unspoken promise that I would return to her.
I turned away, acutely aware that anybody with eyes could tell what was going on between us. That's when I spotted Charlene standing nearby, her gaze slicing back and forth between Ruby and me, a sour expression twisting her features. Her brother Peanut loomed at her side—a human man nearly as massive as I was but possessing the mind of a child. I offered a nod of acknowledgement, but she turned away with a huff, Peanut stumbling after her.
The cold feeling in my gut grew stronger, spreading tendrils of unease through my chest. Two attacks in as many weeks, and now Clemon Peters was missing. Craig's records had painted Tau Ceti as peaceful. Aside from the corruption with the old mayor, there'd been almost no crime here. The occasional drunk and disorderly, property disputes, petty theft. Nothing like this.
Now we had one murder and one attempted double homicide. If something had happened to Clemon Peters, that number was about to go up.
I picked up my pace, heading back to the office to grab the hover bike. Whatever I found at Clemon's place, I had a feeling it might give me answers I didn't want.
???
The hoverbike hummed beneath me as I guided it along the dirt roads that wound through the settlement's outerreaches. Farmland stretched out on either side. Neat rows of crops, the leaves a dozen shades of green and purple. Fields of golden grain swaying in the breeze. Orchards heavy with fruit that hung in clusters, red and orange and deep purple. The sun cast everything in warm light, making the whole landscape glow.
It really was beautiful here. Different from anywhere I'd visited before. Not the sterile corridors of space stations or the harsh industrial sprawl of other colonies. I could see why Ruby had chosen to stay, why she'd built a life here. And now it was going to be my life too. Mine, Ruby's, and Teddy's. A real home, not just another mission.
The thought should have made me smile. But the knot in my stomach wouldn't let it, wouldn't let me feel anything but this growing sense of dread.
I passed several well-maintained homesteads, the yards tidy, buildings freshly painted in cheerful colors—blues, yellows, and soft greens. Children played in some of the yards, their laughter carried on the breeze. People waved as I went by, and I raised a hand in return. The further out I got from the village, the more space there was between properties, the cultivated land giving way to wilder growth, until finally I spotted the marker for Clemon Peters' place—a weathered wooden sign with his name barely visible, the paint faded to ghosts of letters.
The difference was immediate and jarring.
Where the other homes had been neat and cared for, Clemon's house looked tired and defeated, as if it had given up trying years ago. The paint was peeling in long strips, exposing weathered wood beneath. One of the shutters hung crooked, dangling from a single hinge. The grass had grown wild, knee-high in places, tangled with weeds. The garden beds were choked with invasive plants, whatever vegetables might have once grown there long since strangled. A broken fence post leaned at an angle near the road.
I slowed the bike, taking it all in, my eyes cataloging every detail, a side effect of my past as a spy. The old man had seemed spry enough at the market, his hands steady when he poured his moonshine. But maintaining a property like this alone at his age? That was a tall order, maybe an impossible one.
If Clemon was alright—and I was praying to whatever gods and goddesses might be listening that he was—I'd come back out here and help him get things squared away. Maybe bring Teddy along, make it a project, and teach my cub about responsibility and community. That's what communities did, right? Looked after each other.
I cut the engine and dismounted, my boots crunching on the overgrown gravel drive. The house was quiet. Too quiet. No video playing, no sounds of movement, no smoke from the chimney despite the morning chill.
"Clemon?" I called out, my voice carrying across the yard. "It's Peacekeeper Cristox. Just checking in on you."
No answer.
The cold feeling in my gut turned frostier.
I approached the front door, the porch boards groaning under my feet. The door was slightly ajar, which set off every alarm bell in my head.
"Clemon Peters? I'm coming in." I announced clearly, giving him every chance to respond.
