Free Landfall (The Reach, Book 2) by Mark R. Healy

from the camera.  “One moment.”
    The intercom went dark and Knile heard the sound of doors opening inside the apartment.  A moment later the entrance swung open and Honeybul stood before him, flustered and wide-eyed.  He was dressed in a dishevelled white bathrobe that had been hastily fastened around his waist.  Beneath it his skin was reddened and slick with sweat.
    “What do I do?” Honeybul said, evidently not recognising Knile in his grey maintenance coveralls and sunglasses.  “Am I in danger?”
    “Not if I get this done quickly.  Mind if I step inside?”
    “Indeed, go ahead,” Honeybul said, standing aside and gesturing urgently with his hand.  “Should I leave?”
    “No, I’ll need your help, sir.”  Knile followed the corridor to where it opened into an expansive living space, full of plush appointments and glittering ornaments, typical of an apartment in Lux.  “Is there anyone else on the premises?”
    Honeybul seemed to hesitate.  “Well, there is one–”
    “They should get out of here.  No need to endanger more people than necessary.”
    Honeybul made a show of tightening his robe, clearly unimpressed, then nodded stiffly.
    “Very well.  One moment, please.”
    He moved through a nearby doorway and Knile heard the hushed sound of voices.  Knile gave the living area a once-over, ensuring there were no surprises waiting in store – no bodyguards or tardy guests in the kitchen or passed out behind the sofa – and then Honeybul returned with a sandy-haired youth in his mid-teens at his side.  The old man placed his hand gently behind the boy’s back as he guided him past.
    “Go straight to the dorm, please,” Honeybul instructed.  “And don’t stop to talk to anyone.  I don’t want a repeat of last week with the Jensens, thank you very much.”
    The boy’s face remained emotionless as he went by, but as he glanced awkwardly at Knile it was evident that he was fighting hard to remain in control of his feelings.  Knile thought he could see hurt and shame there, as well as something else.  Hopelessness?  Fear?
    Knile didn’t even want to contemplate what Honeybul had been doing to the boy before he’d been interrupted.
    The youth went on his way and Honeybul returned to the living area as Knile made a show of inspecting one of the walls.
    “Do I need uh… eye protection?” Honeybul said, waving his hands in front of his face.  His eyes lingered on Knile’s sunglasses uncertainly.
    “No, it’s fine,” Knile said, and he slowly drew the sunglasses from his face.  “In fact, that’s probably the least of your concerns.”  He turned to face Honeybul but the old man showed no sign of recognition.
    “Well, go on then,” Honeybul said, flapping his hands at Knile in a shooing motion.  “Get to work.  I want this fixed immediately.  And after it’s done I want a full report from your supervisor.  This whole development is just ghastly and–”
    “Shut up,” Knile said quietly, and Honeybul’s eyes widened in disbelief.
    “How dare you,” he breathed, his voice full of shock and indignation.  “I’ll have you sent back to the slums for that, you little upstart–”
    “I want Roman removed from the Candidate program.  Now .”
    “Roman?” Honeybul said, confused.  “What’re you–”
    “Stop wasting my time! ” Knile bellowed, and Honeybul flinched at the sound of his voice.  “You know who I’m talking about.”
    Recognition finally dawned on the old man’s face, and he raised a trembling finger at Knile.
    “You’re Mr. Remington,” he said, aghast.  “You’re the one who beat poor Mr. Glover to within an inch of his life.  You shot that man at the party.”
    “Nice of you to remember me.  Now, unless you want to be next on my hit list, I suggest you do as I say.”
    “What do you want with Roman?  I told you he was already allocated–”
    Knile stepped forward and gripped Honeybul’s bathrobe with two hands, then hauled