Ross noted in his report that the Squad Leader of his district had turned into a liability, and that the Justice Administrator should take the steps he deemed necessary. Then Ross leaned back in his seat, convinced he had done the right thing. The City’s guaranteed security relied on men like him.
The following days brought nothing special. The weather was quite normal, mostly overcast with an occasional sprinkle of sunshine, no rain, and just a light breeze. He did not spot any intrusions in his district, even if he checked everything with renewed rigour. It appeared this kind of weather indeed rendered living conditions easier and the population more subdued. It was true that there was no trace left anymore of the revolutionary atmosphere of a few weeks ago.
One day there was a small incident after the public lunch in the mess-hall. Since the contamination of the food supplies, their lunch consisted of an indefinable clump of grey material that lacked taste and looked pretty unappetising. Still, most people were glad they were back on regular portions. As a group of workers prepared to go back to their districts, one man held up his hand and said:
“Wait, please. I need to ask something. Does anybody know what we’re eating? Does anybody know what that stuff we’re served is made of?”
“Does it matter?” someone replied. “It’s safe and hygienic. It’s healthy and nutritious. What else do you want?”
“I just need to know what it is made of. It can’t contain meat or vegetables, as there are no animals or plants in the City. So it must be synthetic. But how does synthetic food attract cockroaches, as they said? How do you explain that?”
“It may be synthetic, but it’s edible, right?”
“Are you sure it’s edible? Have you tasted that stuff?”
“This discussion is leading nowhere,” another man said. “We should be happy we have sufficient and adequate food supplies again. No more questions need be asked.”
“I’m not calling for a revolution,” the man said. “I just want to know what we’re getting to eat.”
Nobody bothered to reply, and they all went their separate ways, eager to go back to their jobs. Ross was neither surprised nor unhappy to find out the man was no longer among them the following day. It could only mean one of his colleagues had taken up his responsibility and passed on the information about this case of socially unacceptable criticism to the authorities. As a matter of fact, he had considered doing so himself.
A few days later he spotted a bird at the edge of his district on his early inspection round. The animal was sitting in a portico and did not fly away when he approached. Upon closer inspection he found the bird was injured, perhaps even dying. That explained why the bird had landed here, as in principle there was nothing in the City that might attract birds or any other creatures. This animal must have been too weak to continue its flight, and had come here to die. He called for the Cleaning Squad, adding that this was not an emergency requiring the full Squad.
Shortly afterwards a handful of men arrived, led by his district’s new Squad Leader. It was the first time they met in the field. He had of course been informed of the “replacement” of Thomas, thanks to his report, but his successor had not yet been officially presented.
“Good morning, Inspector. How can we be of service?”
“There’s an animal over there. I’ll show you. It’s a bird, and it’s dying, or maybe already dead. This should not be difficult.”
“A bird.” The Leader’s face had abject horror written all over it. “An animal, in our city. How disgusting. We’ll deal with this, Inspector. Give us a moment and this district will no longer be soiled.”
Ross was satisfied to see the men carry out their duties flawlessly. As they clambered back into their vehicle their Leader walked over to him.
“Mission accomplished, Inspector. Is there anything else we can do?”
“No, thanks. I’m sure we’ll have a long and fruitful professional relationship,” Ross said. “The City needs more men like you.”
“Thank you, Inspector. I’m proud to live and work here. In a city built for man, and for man only. Freed of the presence of lower life-forms. Unsoiled by vegetation. This is where we belong, where we can live without fear of infection. Where no cracks in the concrete are overlooked, and each sign of wear or tear is spotted, reported and repaired. A City of bricks and mortar, a landscape of unspoiled concrete, without a strip of the colour green to be seen. It’s a dream come true, and we’ll do whatever is in our power to keep that dream going.”
“I’m glad to see you’re a firm supporter of the City Council’s views,” Ross commended him. “It will be a pleasure to work with you.”
“I will never fail you or the City,” the Squad Leader assured him. “I believe we will see each other regularly. The City Council has issued this new directive, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yes. It’s part of their programme to raise the security measures in the City. They learned their lessons from the recent upheavals. Of course I’m fully behind them.”
“So am I, Inspector. Goodbye.”
The City Council had indeed decided to reschedule and intensify all security measures. He was glad that the Cleaning Squads had been given new responsibilities. Especially with a Squad Leader like this new guy in his district, things would move in the right direction. The Units that sprayed all the City’s streets and squares with disinfectant every fortnight had been disbanded, and their personnel added to the various Cleaning Squads active all over town. From now on the enhanced Squads would spray the City twice a week, so as to make sure not even the tiniest life-forms, including those too small for the eye to see, would stand a chance at surviving in the City.
This City was built for man, and for man only, Ross thought. We’ll do everything we can to ensure our survival. There would be zero tolerance for any other life-forms that might threaten the City’s security, and for any citizen not fully in line with the City Council’s doctrine. Too much was at stake. No crack in the concrete would be overlooked, as the official slogan had it.
One of the following days he ran into the Squad Leader as his men were spraying the streets.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” the man greeted him. “You should forgive me for not having a complete Squad right now. A few of my men have been sent to prison and no replacements have been appointed yet. I’m sure we’ll be back in full force soon.”
“Fine,” Ross said. “What was the problem?”
“They questioned the City Council’s food policy,” he explained. “They complained they were getting unpalatable stuff, wondered in public what it was made of, and accused the Council of needlessly going to extremes regarding the food supplies. It goes without saying that such views cannot be tolerated from men directly involved with the City’s security. I’m happy to say they were removed from my Squad and duly sentenced.”
Ross nodded approvingly. “I must say I witnessed a comparable case recently,” he said. “A fellow level D worker voiced similar complaints after lunch in the mess-hall. He wasn’t seen again.”
“You denounced him as you filed your report?”
“A colleague of mine must have done so. It’s good to see people take up their responsibilities and commit themselves to maintaining the City’s security.”
“You’re absolutely right, Inspector. Now, I must return to my duties. Good afternoon.”
Later that evening, as Ross had finished his inspection round, he considered going to the Level D Pub after supper. He had just taken out the food tablets he was entitled to as the door of his place was brutally shattered and a group of Security Forces stormed inside.
“What is this supposed to mean?” he exclaimed, totally taken by surprise.
“You are relieved of your duties,” the Forces’ Leader replied. “You must come along. You will be imprisoned according to City Council decree. There will be no public trial, as the Cou
ncil still applies its swift crisis procedure.”
Ross could hardly believe what he heard. “This must be a mistake,” he stammered. “I’m a loyal level D City worker. I’m fully behind the Council’s views and committed to carrying out my duties to the best of my capacities.”
The men paid no attention to his words. He was handcuffed and led away. As he was dragged along on the street, the Forces’ Leader said to him:
“This district’s Cleaning Squad Leader denounced you in his report. Apparently you confessed to him having witnessed a case of unacceptable behaviour. A colleague voicing protest against the City Council’s food policy. You admitted not having mentioned this incident in your report.”
“Someone else did,” Ross said in his defence. “That man was sentenced.”
“But you failed to take up your responsibilities. For a Level D worker that is unacceptable. You have become a liability. The City Council prefers not to take any chances. Too much is at stake. Now, follow us in silence.”
Ross followed the Security Forces without one further word. The City Prison awaited him. He had reached the end of the line, and it was entirely his fault. Why hadn’t he realised that? Why had he mentioned his failure to act to his new Squad Leader? He knew the man was a hard-liner who would take up his responsibility. As he should have done. After all, there was a lot at stake.
As they reached the City prison, he thought: No cracks in the concrete are overlooked, each sign of wear or tear is spotted, reported and repaired. That’s official City Council doctrine, Ross. You of all people should know that.
SYSTEM ERROR
BY JAY FAULKNER
“Betrayal isn’t something easily overcome, but...”
“Betrayal,” Advocate Deaver Banning interrupted, his hand hovering motionless over the lightly rippling information screen. The images displayed on his side of the holographic projection showed the man in front of him from different angles, each image framed in various hues and colours. Lines traced his biometrics, alongside the images, as everything that could possibly be diagnosed about the man, was.
Banning stared intently at the terabytes of information, streaming constantly across the infonet to his fingertips, before flicking his gaze up to the man across from him. “Is that why you did it?” he asked, trying hard not to stare at the angry looking scar that throbbed, in staccato rhythm with the man’s displayed heartbeat, on his temple.
Doctor Morgan Black leant back as far as the electro-statically charged Chair that held him in place would allow, and eyed the jittery man sitting across from him. “It?” he asked, a small smile belying the innocence of the question.
“… erm … is that why you killed them?”
“Come, come, Advocate Banning,” Black tutted. “You really have to phrase your questions more stringently, you know, if you want to get a definitive response within the accepted percentile for judgement.”
“I know that …”
“You don’t, obviously!” Black interjected. “If you did then you would frame each question in such a way that it ensured that my answers could be interpreted correctly by the Scanner and thus the validity of my statements proved, or disproved, accordingly.”
“… but …”
“It is all well and good having me in the Chair, Deaver, but unless you ask the right questions there is no way for the Scanner to pick up the nearly infinite amount of electromagnetic responses that my mind and body will put out. You will simply be wasting both of our time!”
“You got somewhere else to be, Mister Black?”
The baritone voice, softly spoken yet full of strength, brought both Black and Banning up short. Banning looked past Black’s shoulder and he leapt to his feet with a short, sharp salute. Black, held as he was in the grip of the Chair, simply smiled.
“That is Doctor Black, please,” he quipped. “I didn’t work hard, all those years, to be called simply ‘Mister’.”
“I see, Doctor Black,” the speaker replied, as he moved into view and sat down in the chair that Banning had vacated. The younger man stepped back to stand impassively behind him. “Well, I am Jacob Rusch …”
“Chief Magistrate of the World Judiciary, I know,” Black interrupted. “I am honoured; who would have expected to get the head of the Judiciary himself dealing with something like this? I have to say, though, that I do hope that you are a little better at this than young Deaver here – no offence, of course.”
“Well, Mister …”
“Doctor.”
“… Doctor Black.” The Chief Magistrate corrected himself with a dismissive wave. “The reason that you have garnered my attention is no doubt the same reason that you have Advocate Banning here so flustered.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Rusch admitted, steepling his hands in front of him as his gaze flickered across the information displayed on the screen. “You are a celebrity, after all; the first person to commit murder in seventeen years!”
“Has it really been that long?”
“Yes, Doctor Black, it has,” Rusch nodded as his hands danced across the moving images. Banning, from his position behind the older man, stood in awe at the skill being displayed as images and information wove together in a lattice of light and data. “The twenty-ninth of April, in the year two thousand and forty-eight.”
“Mercedes De Souza,” Black stated. “A failed actress who made her real fame by being caught in that Senator’s bed, before his wife took a kitchen knife to her face. Horrible business, really, but from a personal point of view I have to admit that her death was a sort of silver lining, for me.”
“What!?” Banning blurted out in shock, and then blushed as he glanced at the Chief Magistrate. “Oh, sorry sir.”
“Remarkable memory,” Rusch ignored the young Advocate. “But then I suppose that, for someone involved in the development of the technol …”
“Involved in?” Black choked out. The display in front of Rusch changed dramatically as the colours around the images of Black’s face darkened into hues of red and purple and the biometric lines – heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity – all peaked closer together. “I wasn’t ‘involved in’ anything, Rusch; I single-handedly revolutionised the criminal justice sector and brought crime to near extinction! ”
“It says here …” Rusch started, glancing at the information running in front of him.
“I know what it says there …” Black interjected, sharply, biting of the words. At the tone in his voice Banning took a step forwards, putting himself between Black and Rusch as he pulled a cylindrical object from a holster at his side. Black’s laughter, and Rusch’s raised hand, brought the younger man to a halt and, with embarrassment evident on his face, he stared sheepishly at the high backed chair that kept Black statically held in stasis.
“Don’t worry, Advocate,” Black laughed again, watching as Banning placed the device back at his side. “I am pretty sure that you won’t have to use your Pacifier; I am no threat ‘tied up’ as I am. It would take a molecular bolt cutter to free me from the chair without the proper access codes and, even then, it would probably take more skin than I would care to part with!”
“How do you know this stuff?” Banning asked, his voice rising.
“As I was saying,” Black continued, non-plussed, “and despite what I know it says in the official records, I know ‘this stuff’ – I know about the Chair, the Scanner and the Pacifier – because I created them. In a way I created you as well because, if it weren’t for those devices, then there wouldn’t be a Ministry of Justice for you to be part of. ”
“C’mon!” Banning argued, reaching out and, with a single touch of his finger, allowed Black to see what was displayed. “Even a second grader knows who invented those things! We all learned about the people who brought a new age of peace and prosperity to the World and, believe me, your name wasn’t even
a footnote!”
“Oh, I do believe you, my dear Deaver,” Black smiled, no humour reflected in his eyes. “Though, actually, you are wrong – a footnote is exactly where my name was.”
“I don’t understand …”
“Well then let me make it simple for you, boy,” Black bit of the words through clenched teeth. “Everything that you think that you know about this so called ‘Golden Age’ – everything that you think that you know about the brilliant and wonderful people who supposedly ushered it in – is a lie; I know because they stole it – they stole everything – from me!”
“Doctor Black,” Rusch interjected, running a hand across his tired eyes. “According to our records you were a lab assistant at Queen’s University’s IllumaDyne Futures, working with Diane Rodgers and Daniel Kline – the people actually credited with the creation and development of the technology that you claim to be your own – and then, two years after that, you dropped off the radar until tonight … until …”
“Until you found Diane Rodgers-Kline and Daniel Kline,” Black smoothly picked up from where Rusch’s voice had trailed off. “The blissfully, happily married couple – the double Noble Peace Prize winners – the ‘should have been sainted, walk on fucking water Messiahs’ - shot dead?”
“Yes, Doctor Black,” Rusch’s face blanched as the crime scene images of the bodies – vacant eyes staring as small entry wounds in their foreheads exploded into gaping gore at what remained of the read of their heads – flashed in front of him. “I find it quite a coincidence that you walk into this facility, murder weapon in hand, asking to speak to one of my Advocates, about a crime involving people that you obviously claim you had some involvement with …”
“You asked me,” Black suddenly interrupted, staring at Banning, “if I had done ‘it’ because of betrayal, Deaver, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.”
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