Free Dead Roots (The Analyst) by Brian Geoffrey Wood Page A

him. Keda, how far are we?”
    There was a pause.
    “About twenty minutes,” Artie said back. His voice was lower than usual.
    Tom lowered his voice as well. “Is it under control?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Can we talk privately?”
    “Yeah. I'll hit mute.”
    “Okay. What do you know about this guy?”
    “Give me your phone,” Artie said. Tom pulled his out and handed it over. Artie set the bottle down next to him then turned the phone sideways and slid it open, making it into a small tablet computer. He rubbed his finger across the screen and fiddled one-handed with the keypad. Tom waited, opening the mini-fridge and getting himself a bottle of beer. It was some kind of local stuff. It went down easily, but at the expense of some flavor.
    “Got the DPSD file right here. What do you want to know?”
    “Anything important. How long he's been with the DPSD, how he got started, any problems on his record. You-- don't understand, Artie, he took chems before we got on the plane, and on the way to the hotel Aki got out. I had to beat him into submission.”
    “Jesus...”
    “Tell me anything you can.”
    There was a long silence as Tom nursed his beer. Artie finally spoke up after another half minute.
    “There are no problems... just... Well, he's kind of a loner. He never talks about his personal life. He's refused all but the mandatory psych evaluations.”
    “So they only get a report of his mental health every few months?”
    “Yeah.”
    “The fuck? Don't most Mediums snap those up as much as they can? If only to stay relevant?”
    “Yeah, exactly. The better and more consistent your psych profile, the longer they keep you on... but like, a lot of professional hosts usually take a year, two years, sometimes even three year sabbaticals over the course of a six to ten year career. It's taxing stuff.”
    “Keda's different?”
    “In his thirteen years of being a host, he's never taken a sabbatical. He's taken the mandatory week and month long vacations after missions, but he's never, ever applied for leave.”
    “That's insane. How can someone's mind keep functioning like that?”
    “That's the kicker, isn't it? His psych profile has remained totally clean and consistent the whole time. He's sought after, really.”
    “Any evaluation details? Give me dirt.”
    “He never talks about his personal life during his evaluations. Doesn't have any family he's in contact with... says he hasn't even been back home to Japan in over a decade. ”
    Tom rubbed his chin, stubbing out his cigarette. That didn't sit right.
    “Wait. Never?”
    “Let me look at his... nope. Says he's basically been exclusively Stateside since 2000.”
    “That can't be right. When we were talking in the airport... we were talking and he offered to show me where he grew up. Then when I said I'd rather stick around the city, he said he could visit his family anytime.”
    “Well. Sounds like he wasn't being totally honest.,, Or he was avoiding something.”
    Tom lit another cigarette angrily.
    “I don't trust him, Artie.”
    “Well. You'll be free of him after a couple of days, so just try to bear with it a bit longer.”
“Something tells me that's gonna be easier said than done.”
     
    ********
     
    The cab pulled to a stop outside of a block of upscale apartments. By now the rain was almost obscuring the view of the street, but it was easy to make out the multicolored signs blazing in the darkness, and reaching up from the street floor. They stretched well to the tenth and eleventh stories of nearby buildings. They couldn't have been far from the CBD.
    “No office?” Tom mused, zipping up his jacket and bracing himself for the weather. “Come on, Artie.”
    Artie put the bottle back on the shelf and hung up on Keda. With a curt thanks to the driver, Tom opened the door and the two of them stepped out onto the pavement. They hunched up their shoulders, and rushed quickly to the shelter of the apartments' entranceway. Keda soon followed