A Heaven for Toasters

CHAPTER 5: Old Town

2:53 p.m.

Half an hour later, we stopped before the blue door that led into the Hydra police station. I caught a whiff of fried fish, probably because of the next-door tavern. Still sniffing the air, I stopped a moment to run my fingers over the door's rough surface, savoring the feel of real wood under my fingers. With trees prized for their carbon-reducing properties, most doors back in the States were made of plastic or iron. A lifetime of salty air and a couple of centuries of painting plastered over the wood had taken their toll on this one and I almost yelped in surprise when a splinter pierced my finger.

I suckled my finger as we entered the station, which consisted of a total of three rooms and a cell that could hold two people at most. The doors to all of these, even the cell, were open. It was obvious the island suffered little crime, save perhaps for the odd drunken tourist.

The only person in the room was a young policeman wearing the Greek police olive branch and cross on his lapel, sitting behind a desk across the entrance. His cloudy eyes revealed him to be enthralled by something he was watching on his hololenses. He looked up from his desk. A look of mild annoyance at the interruption flashed across his face. "Nai?" he asked in Greek.

May I help you? a woman's voice translated in my head. Despite my argument with Richard, there were aspects of life in the twenty-first century I simply could not live without. The hololenses' translating program was one of them. How people communicated before them was beyond me. "I'm Mikaela Pensive. I was asked to see you."

"You're alive," he exclaimed. His eyes clouded for a second, while he was presumably scanning us through his hololens. Before I could respond, he shot up from behind his desk. "Sarge will be pleased to see you." He waved us to the second room. "Please."

We paused before the open door as he knocked. A familiar-looking officer, like a middle-aged version of Guide, looked up from a battered tablet in his hands. Despite the prevalence of hololenses, some claimed it was easier to read the old-fashioned way. His uniform was identical to the policeman's at the entrance, only his insignia was silver, identifying him as a superior.

Great. Another clone. I swallowed my distaste and extended my hand. "Mikaela Pensive."

This clone was the second person in the space of minutes to shoot up at the mention of my name. Somehow, that made my stomach sink. His gaze traveled up and down my entire body, his eyes wide with surprise. He took my hand and shook it. "I'm so glad to see you, Detective." His joyful words failed to match his sour expression. "When we heard of the accident, everyone thought..."

He did not finish his sentence, nor did he need to. The zoomer's flight plan had registered both our names. It was obvious what they had assumed.

"Right now, our captain is bringing back your zoomer and the..." He paused. "Body."

Richard. I flinched at the thought.

The sergeant must have thought he was hurting my hand and dropped it, an apologetic look replacing his previous apoplectic one. I was grateful; his handshake felt like a wet fish had just sneezed on my fingers. I had to stop myself from wiping my hand against my chest as soon as he freed it.

"I'm fine..." I quizzed him with my eyes.

"Sergeant Morgan."

Of course you are. Half the people on this island are probably called Morgan. I motioned to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. "May I, Sergeant?"

"Sure," he said. "Please, sit down, Detective and..." He cast a questioning look at Leo. His gaze caught at his earlobes and the sour expression returned to his face. "A toaster."