Fragments by Dan Wells Page A

looked up at them, breathing deeply, pointing out the few he remembered from
     school: Orion was the easiest, with his belt and his sword, and there was the Big
     Dipper. He closed one eye and traced the handle with his finger, looking for the North
     Star.
    “You’re going the wrong way,” said a girl’s voice, and Marcus jerked in surprise.
    “I didn’t realize anyone was out here,” said Marcus, hoping he hadn’t looked too stupid
     when he jumped. He turned to see who it was, wondering suddenly who would be hiding
     in Xochi’s backyard, and yelped in terror when a woman stepped out of the shadows
     with an assault rifle. He stumbled backward, trying to find his voice—trying just
     to process the unexpected appearance—and the woman held her finger to her lips. Marcus
     backed into the side of the house, steadying himself against the wall. The gesture,
     and the gleaming gun barrel, caused him to close his mouth.
    The girl stepped forward, smiling like a cat. Marcus could see now that she was younger
     than he’d surmised at first—she was tall and slender, her movements full of power
     and confidence, but she was probably no more than nineteen or twenty years old. Her
     features were Asian, and her jet-black hair was pulled back in a tight braid. Marcus
     smiled back at her nervously, eyeing not only the rifle but the pair of knives he
     now saw clipped to her belt. Not one knife—a pair of knives. Who needs two knives? How many things does she have to cut at once? He was in no hurry to find out.
    “You can talk,” said the girl, “just don’t scream or call for help or anything. I’d
     prefer to get through the evening without running—or, you know, killing anybody.”
    “That’s great news,” said Marcus, swallowing nervously. “If there’s anything I can
     do to keep you from killing anybody, you just let me know.”
    “I’m looking for someone, Marcus.”
    “How do you know my name?”
    She ignored the question and held out a photo. “Look familiar?”
    Marcus peered at the photo—three people standing in front of a building—then held
     out his hand to take it, looking at the girl for permission. She nodded and held it
     closer, and he took it from her hand, holding it up to the starlight. “It’s kind of—”
    She flicked on a small flashlight, training it on the image. Marcus nodded.
    “—dark, thank you.” He looked closer at the photo, uncomfortably aware of the girl’s
     gun so close beside him. The picture showed three people, a man and a woman with a
     little girl between them, no more than three or four years old. Behind them was a
     great glass building, and Marcus realized with a start that the sign on the side of
     it said PARAGEN . He opened his mouth to comment on this, but realized with another shock that the
     woman in the picture was someone he’d known for years.
    “That’s Nandita.”
    “Nandita Merchant,” said the girl. She flicked off the light. “I don’t suppose you
     know where she is?”
    Marcus turned back to face her, still trying to figure out what was going on. “Nobody’s
     seen Nandita in months,” he said. “This is her house, but . . . she used to go out
     on salvage runs and stuff all the time, looking for herbs for her garden, and the
     last time she went out, she never came back.” He looked at the picture again, then
     back at the girl. “Are you with Mkele? Or forget who you’re with, who are you? How
     do you know who I am?”
    “We’ve met,” she said, “but you don’t remember. I’m very hard to see if I don’t want
     to be.”
    “I’m getting that impression,” said Marcus. “I’m also getting the impression that
     you’re not exactly the East Meadow police. Why are you looking for her?”
    The girl smiled, sly and mischievous. “Because she’s missing.”
    “I suppose I walked into that one,” said Marcus, suddenly aware of how attractive
     this girl was. “Let me rephrase: Why do you need to find