Chapter 25: The Missing Enforcer
The morning after Venn died, I disposed of the evidence.
The bloodied stillsuit went into a chemical waste container in the lower industrial district. The kind smugglers used for destroying contraband. I watched fabric dissolve into sludge, then walked away.
Venn's knife stayed. Hidden in my locker behind false paneling I'd installed weeks ago. Trophy and reminder both. I needed to remember what I was becoming.
The syndicate was buzzing when I returned to headquarters. Small groups clustered in corners. Urgent whispers. Venn's absence had been noticed.
Turok called a meeting that afternoon. Everyone crammed into the main chamber.
"Venn didn't return from yesterday's investigation." His voice was flat. Professional. "Anyone have information about where he went?"
Silence. Eyes darted. Nobody wanted to be the one who knew too much.
"Morvani." Turok's gaze locked on me. "You were out yesterday. See him?"
"At the market edge. Early. Before I left for my run." I kept my voice neutral. "He was watching the eastern routes. Looked focused."
"Focused how?"
"Like he was tracking something. Someone. The way he gets when—" I caught myself. "Got. When he was investigating."
Turok's jaw tightened. "Did he say what?"
"No. We didn't speak. I saw him from a distance, then headed to my route."
"Which route?"
"Northwest sector. The spice deposit you assigned. Venn went east."
Turok nodded slowly. Made notes. Looked at the next person. "Anyone else?"
More silence. Mala spoke up. "He asked me about Harkonnen contacts three days ago. Wanted to know if anyone in the syndicate was feeding them information."
That got attention. Murmurs rippled through the room.
"He was paranoid," Turok said. "Since the Harkonnen interrogation. Seeing threats everywhere." He stood. "We give him until tomorrow. Then we search."
The meeting broke up. I made my way toward my quarters.
Turok's voice stopped me. "Morvani. My office."
Shit.
I followed him. He closed the door. Poured two small cups of harsh liquor. Pushed one toward me.
"Venn followed you."
Not a question. Statement of fact.
I nodded. "I suspected. Saw him at my route edge. Told him the deep desert was dangerous. He went anyway."
"And you didn't help him?"
"He didn't want help, sir. He wanted to prove something. To himself or to you, I don't know." I met Turok's eyes. "Venn thought I was hiding something. He was probably right—everyone hides something. But he went into the desert alone, on his own investigation, without backup or route planning."
"The desert kills everyone eventually," Turok said quietly.
"Yes sir."
He stared at me for a long moment. I held his gaze. Let him see whatever he needed to see. Concern. Regret. Truth mixed with lies.
"Venn was too stubborn," Turok finally said. "Too convinced he was right. Got him killed in the end."
"Maybe."
"You've been useful, Morvani. More useful than Venn was lately." He drank his liquor in one swallow. "Keep being useful. Don't make me regret trusting you."
"I won't, sir."
He waved dismissal. I left.
The story held. But Turok's trust had changed. Not gone—but different. Questions lived inside it now. He'd accepted the explanation but hadn't forgotten the pattern.
Venn investigating me. Venn vanishing. Convenient.
I'd have to be more careful. More valuable. Make sure the benefits of keeping me alive outweighed the suspicions.
That evening, Jorik found me in my quarters.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah."
He closed the door behind him. Sat on the edge of my cot without invitation. Friend privilege.
"Venn following you," he said. "Venn vanishing. People notice patterns."
"I know."
"Do you?" His voice was low. Serious. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks bad. Real bad. And I don't want to know what happened. Genuinely don't. But you need to be careful."
"I am."
"Are you?" He looked at me. Really looked. "You've changed since you came back from the Harkonnen raid. Everything about you. The way you move, talk, survive. You're useful—Turok sees that, everyone sees that. But useful men still die if they become more trouble than they're worth."
I sat next to him. "I'm not trying to cause trouble."
"I know. But trouble finds you anyway." He stood. Moved toward the door. Paused. "Whatever you're hiding—and I know you're hiding something—just... make sure it's worth dying for. Because people are noticing."
He left.
I sat alone in my quarters. Stared at the wall where Venn's knife was hidden behind false paneling.
Jorik was a genuine friend. Probably the only one I had. He was warning me out of actual concern, not manipulation or self-interest.
That made it worse somehow.
Night settled over Arrakeen. I lay on my cot. Stared at darkness.
My hands started shaking.
Not during the kill. Not during disposal. Not during Turok's interrogation. Now. Hours later. Alone.
I gripped the blanket. The shaking continued. Tremors running through fingers that had held Venn while his life drained away.
Was this guilt? Post-combat stress? HR decay manifesting physically? I couldn't tell anymore.
I reached for my water flask. Drank. The shaking slowed. Stopped.
The water was from my own supplies. Not Venn's. I'd poured his out after taking his knife. Hadn't been able to drink from a dead man's flask.
Some lines I still wouldn't cross.
That was something. Small. But something.
The System chimed softly.
[PSYCHOLOGICAL INTEGRATION: PROCESSING]
[KILL TRAUMA: DELAYED MANIFESTATION]
[HR STATUS: 91% (STABLE)]
[ASSESSMENT: EMOTIONAL RESPONSE INDICATES REMAINING HUMANITY]
[RECOMMENDATION: MAINTAIN SOCIAL CONNECTIONS]
The shaking was a good sign. According to the System. It meant I still had enough humanity left to be disturbed by killing.
I didn't know if that was comforting or terrifying.
Probably both.
I closed my eyes. Tomorrow there'd be work. Runs. Intelligence gathering. Playing both sides. All the things that kept me valuable and alive.
Tonight, I'd process the fact that I'd killed a man who'd been right about me. Who'd died calling me monster. Who'd deserved answers instead of mummification.
Venn's empty quarters would be reassigned within a week. Someone new would sleep there. His name would fade from daily conversation. The desert erased everything eventually—tracks, bodies, memories.
I just had to survive long enough for the erasure to complete.
Monster, the word echoed.
I pulled the blanket tighter. Let exhaustion drag me toward sleep.
Tomorrow there was work to do.
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