A Hard Rain Part 21

Again, the clock was ticking. Fourteen hours was the calculation of the time until we were pulled across that deadly line and into the area of no return. The first restart of the impulse engines had bought us fourteen hours.

Six long hours after we escaped death the first time, our outward momentum stopped and we started drifting back toward the Blackness, slowly at first, but gaining speed with every pa.s.sing moment.

I must commend the work of Chief Engineer La Forge and Mr. Data. They again, after seven hours of the impulse engines' failure, managed to get the impulse engines working, and this time to bring them up to power slowly, stopping the s.h.i.+p over a thirty-minute period, and then moving it away with everincreasing speed.

Mr. Data now a.s.sures me that even if the impulse engines were to fail again, our speed and momentum would carry us out of the effect area of the Blackness. At that point we would be able to restart both the warp drive and the impulse engines. I will not be relieved, or satisfied, until we are a great distance from this area.

Three days, six hours after the Heart of the Adjuster was recovered Captain's Log. Personal.

Chief Engineer La Forge informed me that the moment we crossed out of the effects of the Blackness, all standard features of the Dixon Hill program were automatically reset, and all safety features were back in place again. The program then shut down.

It has taken days of hard work to repair the s.h.i.+p from all the damage caused by the brush with the Blackness, and I am now again beginning to feel rested, only just barely.

At some point I know I must face the world of the city by the bay again. I am having difficulty accepting the fact that the world that I use as relaxation almost cost every life onboard this s.h.i.+p.

I mentioned this to Dr. Crusher, who actually laughed. She said it was that world, and Dixon Hill's ability to see that world, that saved us. She said that Spot could have easily ended up playing with the Heart of the Adjuster in a jungle climate and we never would have found it.

I agreed that she had a point.

She told me we were lucky that the holodeck, when it malfunctioned, went back to the most recent program it had been running, and that I knew that program.

I understand her thinking, but I still think I will wait at least a few more days, maybe a week, until I return to that world.

Section One: When Is a Game a Game? And a Toy a Toy?

It had been almost two weeks since Dixon Hill had been in his office. Outside the window the streets were filled with people going about their normal daily activities. Cars swished by on the street, splas.h.i.+ng the puddles left from a recent shower like so many kids on their way home from school.

Dix stood at the window in his second-floor office, watching the normal traffic, listening to the sounds of the distant s.h.i.+p's horns. There was just something about this place, this city, that he loved. And he figured it was his imagination, but the city also felt better now, as if cleaned and washed and hung out in the wonderful weather to dry.

Imagination or not, it was a wonderful feeling.

He pushed open the big, wooden-framed window, letting in the sounds as if turning up the volume of a radio. The fresh air swirled around him with the street noise, bringing the reality of the city inside, hugging him, pulling him outward, as if a beautiful woman calling him to her bed.

He would go out there soon enough.

He took another deep breath of the fresh ocean air, then turned back to his desk. First he had some questions that needed answers.

He picked up the phone from its cradle and by memory dialed the short number for the downtown police precinct.

Detective Bell, as always, was busy. And it took a few minutes for him to come to the phone from the interrogation room, where no doubt he had been sweating the confession out of some robber or murderer.

"Hey, Dix," Bell said, "glad to hear you're back from vacation."

"Glad to be back," Dix said, understanding suddenly that time had pa.s.sed in this city as well as outside the city.

"So what's the honor?" Bell asked. "You in trouble again? Wrong woman chasing you?"

"Not yet," Dix said, laughing. "But I do have two quick questions that might sound stupid."

"Dix," Bell said, "if a friend can't laugh at you, who can? Ask away."

"Is Cyrus Redblock still in charge of the city?"

Bell laughed as promised. "You're right, stupid question. Of course he is. No one would be crazy enough to challenge him. What makes you think anyone would? You got information I don't have? Come on, spill it."

"Nothing," Dix said. "I just had a dream about Redblock losing control."

"Nightmare would be more like it," Bell said. "You sure don't want any of the smaller crime bosses taking over."

"You can say that again. How about the Marci Andrews killing? Anyone arrested for that?"

"Her husband is in jail," Bell said. "They arrested him yesterday when some guy gave us letters she wrote saying she was afraid of her husband killing her. From what I understand, they found a gun with her blood splattered on it hidden in his car. Open and shut case."

"Well," Dix said, "I guess that case is solved."

"Completely," Bell said. "Got to run. Got a guy under the light sweatin' like a leaky fire hose. How about dinner soon with you and the Luscious Bev and me and the wife?"

"You got it," Dix said.

"Great," Bell said, and hung up.

Dix put the phone back in its cradle and took another deep breath of the wonderful fresh air.

The world had reset.

Or at least the criminal part of it, which relieved Dix. Dealing with Redblock was bad enough, but dealing with Harvey Upstairs Benton, a used car salesman given too much power, scared Dix more than he wanted to admit.

He moved to the window. The fresh air and the street sounds were like a comforting concert of smells and noise, all mixing to ease his tension. This world, this city by the bay, hadn't been to blame for the loss of the Heart of the Adjuster. That had been just bad luck.

And the playfulness of a cat using the wrong toy at the wrong time.

"Okay, one more question to answer," Dix said to the empty room and the active street below. "Just one more and I can get on to the next case, whatever that's going to be."

He turned and headed out through his outer office and into the hallway. There he turned left and went down the hall to the small area that had been boarded off.

The wall was again smooth, with only the loose board near the floor where Spot had crawled inside playing with the Heart of the Adjuster. Even the physical parts of this world had reset after the night that seemed like it would never end. And in resetting, the wall had been put back as it was before Mr. Data had ripped it down and filled the hallway with dust.

But the question was, had the skeleton been there before the changes? Or was it part of the craziness of that long night?

"Boss?" Mr. Data called out from inside the office. He had asked permission to join Dix when he went back to work, and Dix had gladly said yes. The Luscious Bev would also be joining them any moment.

"Out here, Mr. Data," Dix said.

Mr. Data, dressed in the same suit that had smelled so bad before but now seemed fresh and well-pressed, stepped into the hallway and came toward him.

"It has been reset," Dix said, pointing to the wall as Mr. Data neared.

"Logical, boss," Mr. Data said.

"You still think there's a skeleton back there?" Bev asked as she came out of the office and moved down the hall to join them.

She looked even more stunning than Dix could ever remember. She had on a tight dress, a stole, and a wide-brimmed hat that gave her a hidden and mysterious look.

"I honestly don't know," Dix said. "But the hole in the wall is still there."

Bev touched Dix on the shoulder, smiled at him without taking her gaze from his eyes. It was a promise of much, much more, and considering how she looked tonight, he liked that promise.

After a moment she broke away and looked at the hole in the base of the wall. "I am still amazed you found the Heart, especially in a place like this."

Mr. Data took his gangster stance. "As Dexter Drake said, "The solving of almost every crime mystery depends on something which seems, at first glance, to bear no relation whatever to the original crime.' "

"Well put," Dix said. "I could not agree more. This was just luck."

"It was more than luck," Bev said, stroking his arm. "It was the ability to see Spot in Mr. Data's arms, link it with information from a witness earlier, and come to a logical conclusion. Detective work at its best."

"Well, thank you," Dix said, smiling back at her. "But we still don't know who the skeleton belonged to, and how it got back there, or if it is even still back there."

"The cla.s.sic loose end," Mr. Data said. "It must always be tied up at the end of a story. I can give you a list of a hundred loose ends, for example, in the story-"

"No, thank you, Mr. Data," Dix said, stopping his friend. "I think the one we have is more than enough."

"I suppose there is only one way to find out if there really is a loose end here," Bev said.

"Mr. Data," Dix said, nodding at the wall, "would you do the honors?"

"With pleasure, I'm sure," Mr. Data said, stepping up to the wall. "Besides, it was Felix Norman who said, "No man is qualified to remove the skeleton from his own closet.' "

Dix and Bev both laughed.

"I think that was meant in a different fas.h.i.+on," Bev said.

Mr. Data looked at her, clearly puzzled.

"I'll explain it later," Dix said. "Now to the task at hand."

Mr. Data nodded and turned to the wall. "I will attempt to raise less dust this time."

"Thank you," Bev said as she and Dix both stepped back into the main hallway.

Carefully, Mr. Data pulled boards and plaster from an area of the wall, setting them to one side. There was still some dust floating in the air like steam in a steam bath, but not as bad as the last time. However, Mr. Data's clean black suit soon became pale as the dust covered it like bees to honey.

As Mr. Data finished, Dix took a flashlight from his pocket. He had brought it for this very purpose. Without stepping closer to keep from getting covered with dirt, he turned it on. The beam cut through the dust like a searchlight in the night sky, searching until it found its target inside the wall.

The skeleton, dressed in a fancy black suit and black hat, stared back at them from the opening, its eyes empty, dark holes staring from some unseen past.

The sign was still tied around its neck and lying on its chest.

"It seems this loose end just got longer and looser," Bev said, touching Dix's arm.

Mr. Data stepped through the hole he had made and took the cardboard sign off the skeleton, then moved back out into the hallway and handed it to Dix.

Dix shook the sign, then gently blew the dust off, sending particles swirling through the beam of the flashlight and around the head of the skeleton like a million tiny flies.

The words on the sign seemed to jump off at him.

Hah, hah, Dixon Hill. Next time this will be you.

"Wow, you do make enemies," Bev said, laughing.

Dix stared at the sign, then moved over to the hole, ignoring the dirt, and shone his light on the skeleton in the boarded-up closet. "Bev, how long do you think this skeleton has been here? I'm guessing at least ten years, since this wall was like this before I bought the building."

"Ten at least," Bev said. "I'd guess more like fifteen. So what was Dixon Hill doing fifteen years ago?"

Dix laughed. "You know, I honestly don't remember. I'll have to go check."

"Shame on you," Bev said, lightly hitting his arm, "forgetting your own past."

"Easy to do," Dix said, winking at her, "when you live in the present."

He looked at the sign again, and this time two words popped off at him. Next time.

He pointed the two words out to Bev and Mr. Data. "I wonder what happened the first time?"

"This person was killed," Mr. Data said, "and put in here for you to find. That would suggest, using logical deduction, that you are destined to be killed and your body walled up, to be found years later by a cat playing with a ball."

Dix stared at his friend and then laughed along with Bev. "Mr. Data, I'll leave the sayings up to you, you leave the deduction up to me."

Mr. Data frowned. "Of course, boss."

Sixteen days, eleven hours after the Heart of the Adjuster was retrieved Captain's Log. Personal.

I have again discovered the relaxation of the holodeck and the Dixon Hill program. The case that faces me is interesting, to say the least. Any time a skeleton is discovered locked into a wall, there are always mysteries afoot. And when that skeleton has a sign on its neck mentioning Dixon Hill, I am hooked into the case.

I have again recruited the help of Dr. Crusher and Mr. Data and Mr. Whelan in tracking down and finding who killed the man in the wall, and why. They have agreed, and each evening on our off duty time, we have decided to return to the city by the bay.

Granted, the feelings of the time spent in there searching for the Heart of the Adjuster come up at times, yet I feel the advantage of programs such as this one far outweigh the dangers and problems.

I have also filed a report with Starfleet, suggesting that another fail-safe be added to the holodecks. There needs to be some safety feature that saves anything brought into the holodeck from the outside when the holodeck is shut down. It has that fail-safe for humans and their clothes; it should be able to distinguish between matter brought in and matter created in the holodeck.

That simple safety procedure would never allow the loss of something important in a holodeck again.

But for now, Dixon Hill has a very important mystery to solve. A skeleton boarded up in a wall fifteen years ago wears a threat against him. I must discover what Dixon Hill was doing fifteen years ago, long before I walked into that world.

Somewhere in Dixon Hill's past there is an answer. It's just going to take time to find. And luckily, this time, Dixon Hill and his friends have the time.

Section Two: An Old Crime, A New Case It was raining in the city by the bay, the drops were pounding the pavement, wearing at it before flowing into the gutters and sewers.

Dixon Hill glanced around at the empty street, the cars parked along the sidewalk, the mostly dark windows of apartments. Then he stepped down into the street and pulled his collar up around his neck, blocking some of the pelting drops from reaching his jacket and s.h.i.+rt. The fog drifted in over the tops of the buildings, letting the lights from the street corners bounce back with the rain, clearly lighting his way.