Erik ground his teeth with the frustration of not knowing. The information seemed like it was close, but it was leaking out of his hands. “I don’t get it. What are you saying happened here? Who killed my people? This isn’t a metroplex. Those people had to be sent here from another location.”
Governor Anders shrugged. “Someone with enough resources to end-run a major corporation, the UTC bureaucracy, and the military.” His eyes pointed out that even Erik’s group had been sandbagged. The blame for not knowing touched multiple groups. “I don’t know what this is about, but I don’t intend to find out, and I suggest you leave as well, Major. I imagine it’d be easy for either of us to fake suicide, given what’s going on.”
“My soldiers deserve justice,” Erik countered. The anger in his voice wasn’t directed at the governor, so much as the universe as a whole. “I have served the UTC for thirty years. I’ve seen my share of corruption and bribery and crap out on the frontier.”
Erik growled, his words an accusation, “But I’ve never seen an entire special forces platoon slaughtered and then had people act like it’s no big deal, or that it was just some garden variety terrorists getting lucky.”
“I understand.” Governor Anders ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve already helped you as much as I can. You won’t do anyone any good pushing this farther here, not when whoever is responsible has the upper hand and we have so few resources, but I’ve got an idea. It’s my understanding that you were born in the Greater Detroit Metroplex on Earth. At least that’s what your records said. The unclassified part, anyway.”
Erik shrugged, not sure where he was going with this. “Yes, so? What does that have to do with anything?”
Governor Anders smiled. “I was born in the United States, too. New York Metroplex. I used to be a lawyer before I entered government service. One of my first jobs involved doing regulations research for the government. It’s been one hundred and twenty-seven years since the UTC was founded, and every member state pledged to better coordinate their laws, but, yeah, lots of things left over. Lots of things we need to prune or modify. Most of it isn’t all that important, but every once in a while, something comes up, and a member state ends up embroiled in a legal controversy.”
The original curiosity was losing ground to Erik’s desire to stick his gun into someone’s chest and pronounce forty-nine names, pulling the trigger with each one. “No offense, Anders, but why should I care? UTC laws have nothing to do with my men.”
“You should care since one of the more interesting laws I came across,” Governor Anders leaned forward, a conspiratorial smile on his lips, “was the so-called Obsidian Detective Act of 2095.”
Erik pursed his lips. “How the hell did we go from talking about my soldiers to old laws?”
Governor Anders chuckled. “Knowledge is the ultimate power in a bureaucracy, Major, and the UTC is the grandest bureaucracy ever to grace humanity. All of the subordinate countries are still twisting themselves to try to fit with it. The law was passed after the Summer of Sorrow. It’s almost funny in a sick way, considering we’re talking about Neo SoCal.”
Erik nodded slowly, still confused as he pondered the governor’s words. However, he knew enough to believe the man was trying to help and offering a back door. Perhaps.
And right now, the front door was locked and guarded.
Few historians doubted the Summer of Sorrow was responsible for changing the entire course of Earth’s, and, arguably, galactic history.
In 2090, terrorists used a stolen nuclear weapon to destroy the greater Los Angeles area, killing tens of millions. The men responsible belonged to a militant transhumanist group called Second Spring who objected to the heavy restrictions on genetic engineering and cybernetic modification that had arisen in the preceding decades.
The action represented the largest-scale attack by the group since their founding in 2070 and was part of their goal of creating enough chaos to force humanity to turn to Second Spring’s messianic transhumanist vision for survival.
The destruction of one of the largest cities in the world not only crippled the economy of the United States and deeply shocked the nation, but it also threw the entire world into a depression.
Chinese intelligence was instrumental in tracking down the major Second Spring bases after a few lucky intercepts, and joint Chinese and American military forces then proceeded to ruthlessly track down and eliminate the terrorists.
Without mercy.
In addition to forging a new, close bond between China and the United States, the incident and the following years also led to the rise of the anti-transhumanist Purist movement, and a strong pushback culturally and legally against genetic engineering and so-called unnecessary and unnatural cybernetic modification.
Despite the need for a government to also handle the offworld colonies in the Solar System, arguably, without the incident, the United Terran Confederation wouldn’t have been formed in 2100, since China and the US formed the heart of the new pan-human international and interplanetary government.
By the time humanity was ready to start reaching for the stars, with the help of the newly developed hyperspace transfer point a few decades later, they were unified and ready to face the challenges of spreading beyond the Solar System.
The Neo Southern California Metroplex arose from the ashes of the destroyed greater LA area at its core, helped along by international aid, particularly from China. over the following decades.
Over the following decades, Neo SoCal grew and absorbed many of the other cities of Southern California, all the while also being a hub for overseas arrivals hoping to make their mark in an unusual if not unique urban environment.
“What is this Obsidian Detective Act?” Erik asked.
“A law named after a popular movie series from the era.” Governor Anders shrugged. “I tried watching one once, but they are…dated, and they aren’t all that relevant.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “The point is, around that time, the government was having trouble recruiting enough law enforcement personnel when they first started building Neo SoCal. That issue was compounded by the existing shortage of law enforcement officers because, among other things, the continued rise of cybered-up criminals and a lag in getting the police the resources they needed.”
“They came up with an idea,” the Governor continued. “They would recruit a ready source of disciplined men and women from military veterans, but they still had trouble, since a lot of veterans didn’t want to join a police department and work their way up from the bottom after years of earning their place in the service.” He pointed at Erik. “And that’s where this law comes in. It allows a veteran with commensurate rank and experience to not only be guaranteed a law enforcement position but a higher-ranking one.”
Erik stared at the governor. “You’re saying you want me to go back to Earth and become a cop?”
Governor Anders nodded. “I think, perhaps, they might need a new detective? You’ll never find out the truth of what happened here working from inside the UTC military, especially since they’ll ship you far away from here soon. The one clue we have is those suspicious messages that originated from Neo SoCal. If you’re a detective back on Earth, things will be different.”
Anders’ voice dropped from being official to more personal. “Erik, you will have access to different and better opportunities to pursue justice, especially if you’re willing to bend the rules a little. Even using this law is a little bit of a cheat. Last time I checked, it hadn’t been used in fifty years. I’m not totally sure it’ll work, but no one’s bothered to repeal it since it doesn’t conflict with UTC law.”
Erik snorted. “I spent thirty years following the rules and cleaning up after politicians and corporations.” He shook his head. “Now forty-nine of my soldiers are dead, and I want to know why. I deserve to know why. Bend a few rules?” His voice became granite. “I’ll snap them in half if I have to. The good little major died on that battlefield.
I don’t know who will be replacing him yet, but it’s someone who’ll do what it takes.”
Anders watched as the major withdrew for a moment.
Erik took a deep breath and looked back up. “Thanks. I know where I’m going now, but I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Governor Anders replied, his hands opening wide. “If it’s within my meager power here, I’ll do it.”
“Would you happen to know if they recovered my personal firearm from the battle site?”
Governor Anders nodded slowly. “They did. It was being stored as evidence last time I checked.”
“Can you get it for me?” Erik asked.
“Yes, Major.” Governor Anders managed a weak smile.
“Or should I say,” he asked, “Detective?”
Chapter Five
May 15, 2228, Civilian transport Ithaca near Alpha Centauri Hyperspace Transfer Point
“Attention, passengers,” said a soft female voice over the intercom, a transport attendant. “We are now on our final approach to the transfer point. Please remember you will experience discomfort, including vertigo, multisensory hallucinations, and possibly pain during the FTL transfer process. For your safety, and in full compliance with UTC regulations, please sit or lie down during the transfer. We anticipate initiation in two minutes.”
Erik laid down on the small bed in his cabin.
It’d been a bit cramped for his bulky frame during his time on the ship. The rest of the cabin was small too, containing nothing more than a small shelf masquerading as a desk and the tiny lavatory.
He didn’t mind. He’d stayed in far worse conditions during his military career, and there was no reason to waste money on a fancy room on his trip back.
It’d been a long jaunt from colony to colony and transport to transport, but now he was almost there. The final transfer before Earth, and then just one month of in-system cruising to get to the planet and Neo SoCal.
Erik reached under his shirt and pulled out his bent dog tag, the symbol of both his survival and the deaths of the soldiers under his command.
It was warm from his body heat. He tucked it back under his shirt. Somewhere in Neo SoCal was someone who knew why his men had been killed, and maybe even ordered it, and he would find them.
“Attention, passengers.” The attendant came over the speakers once more. “Hyperspace transfer will initiate in one minute.”
Erik stared at the gray metal ceiling. He had checked on his police application at his last port of call, and everything seemed to be in order. All he would need to do was show up, and he would become Detective Erik Blackwell.
Technically, the law required that veterans taking a law enforcement position practice “due diligence in acquiring the necessary skills for the position.” Since he’d spent most of the last year on transports, he had used that time to read up on local police procedures.
He might not step into his new station as the most experienced cop on the force, but he wouldn’t be a clueless idiot, either.
“Hyperspace transfer will initiate in thirty seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”
He closed his eyes. “And they say you can’t go home.”
“Ten, nine, eight…”
Erik took a deep breath and held it.
Here we go.
“Five, four, three, two, one. Initiating hyperspace transfer.”
Erik’s stomach flipflopped. The colors of the world inverted.
His left arm rippled, suddenly looking far closer than his right.
A few seconds later, both arms returned to normal size, but not normal color.
A riot of particles danced in his vision, spinning around him like tiny drunken faeries.
Swirls of patterned light circled him.
According to scientists, the things people thought they saw during a transfer were nothing more than neurological tricks, hallucinations that were a function of the brain trying to process bizarre sensory inputs it had not evolved to handle.
External recordings of the jump process seemed to support that conclusion. Energy readings, of course, spiked, but the recorded human range of visual and auditory experience revealed nothing more than flickering lights most of the time on the inside of a ship.
From the outside, a ship slid into the open transfer point, was enveloped by a blue-white energy web, and was spit out a minute or two later from an exit point.
How can they say this is all not real? I’m traveling over four light-years in a minute, and they say anything I’m seeing is in my head?
Sinister shadows skulked across the room, writhing and changing with each step.
An almost ethereal hum filled the air, growing in volume. Pain crawled from Erik’s extremities up his arms and toward his chest.
Everything snapped back to normal.
“WWWWWWuuuughhh.” Erik let out his breath and blinked a few times.
“Attention, passengers,” the attendant called. “We have completed our transfer. Welcome to the Sol System.”
Just to be disagreeable, Erik lifted up a single finger in salute to the voice while he got over his transition issues.
A moment later, Erik groaned as he sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then stood and stretched. They might be in the Sol System, but they still had a good month before they would reach Earth.
Due to complicated physics Erik couldn’t even pretend to understand, all HTPs had to be built a decent distance from the main gravity well in a system.
The Sol HTP was far from both the Sun and Earth, and while plenty of passengers might be departing at other planets and stations, he only cared about Earth.
After he tapped a code into the wall, a small panel slid back, revealing the two stored metal cases which contained Erik’s things. He pulled one out and entered the access code on the side, and it clicked and popped open. He tugged on the edges of the lining and pulled up gently to reveal a hidden compartment underneath.
The TR-7 laid there, nestled away from prying eyes. Governor Anders had recovered the weapon, but transporting a heavy assault rifle on a civilian liner in luggage violated more than a few transit laws.
“Just one of many laws I will be ignoring,” he mused.
There was also the small matter of him not bothering to get the relevant arms control permits for civilian transfer of assault weapons. It would have delayed him for months, and he already faced a year-long trip.
“Damn, going to need to source ammo.” Erik covered the hidden compartment and closed the suitcase. His stomach rumbled. Transfers always made him hungry.
It was time to hit the dining room.
Erik waited in line as the white-uniformed staff of the dining room dispensed the current meal, something approximating chicken alfredo. He wasn’t the only person to get hungry after a jump, and during his time on the Ithaca, it was rare that the dining room wasn’t busy anyway.
Long-distance space travel disrupted people’s rhythms, especially in cramped passenger transports, even with the healthy use of VR.
This situation resulted in people keeping all hours and a general need to be able to supply food to passengers regardless of shipboard time.
A man in a rumpled suit stood in front of Erik. He sighed and shook his head, glancing at the former major. “I know we’re still pretty far from the good old Big Blue, but it feels good to be back in-system, at least. I’ve been away for almost three months. How about you?”
“Thirty years,” Erik answered.
The man blinked and stared at him, this time for a bit longer. “Thirty years? Honestly?”
Erik grunted. “Yeah. I wasn’t necessarily planning for that, but it kind of worked out that way.” He shrugged. “You know how life goes.”
“Wow. When did you leave? I mean, how old were you?” the man asked as he stepped forward with the line.
Erik followed him. “Twenty-one.”
The man eyed him with a hint of surprise. “Apparently, you’ve got decent money or amazing genes
. You don’t look like you’re in your fifties.” He gestured at Erik’s gray hair with a chuckle. “Except for that.”
Erik smiled. “Yeah, I got the de-aging treatment about eight months back. They told me it’d take a while for it to fully work, but my hair’s being stubborn for some reason.”
Reaching up, he ruffled it. “New look for the return home, or whatever.” He smiled once more, even if he didn’t feel it.
The de-aging treatment was part of a plan he’d hatched in his first month of travel.
If he showed up and was too obvious about his intentions, whoever was responsible for killing his unit might catch on, or they might not care whatsoever.
He needed everyone to think he was a retired military man who was bored and moving on with life. Maybe even having a little midlife existential crisis—get younger, buy a car, date hot babes.
The more they underestimated him, the better.
The businessman ran a hand through his own thinning hair. “I keep thinking about getting it, but it’s so expensive. I mean, these days, de-aging is one of the few things you can do without people thinking you’re a total freak.” He laughed. “All that Purist garbage goes out the window once it comes to staying younger for longer, huh?”
Erik shrugged in agreement.
“You ever worry about how things have changed back home?” the man asked, taking another step forward, a curious look in his eye.
“Not really. People are people. Sure, they’ll have some new gadgets and that kind of crap.” Erik looked around at those eating. “But Earth’s just a colony with nicer buildings and more people.”
The businessman laughed, this time looking forward as he stepped but still carrying on the conversation. “I went on a business trip to New Pacifica in Ross 128, and I was ready to go home after two days. And that’s supposed to be a core world. Something about the food. It just doesn’t taste right.” He shook his head. “But I’ll need to get over the food issues.”
Obsidian Detective Page 5