Shelf Life

by Bob Crosley

  Roberto Gutierrez was in New Detroit.

  ***

  Jacob sat on a long bench in the holding cell. Legs apart, forearms on his thighs and head down, he was looking at the cuts on his wrists and trying to rub the blood off of his hands. There was no way he was getting the blood off of his shirt. Four other men shared the cell, but they all looked to be in far better shape than Jacob. The cell itself was grey. Grey walls met a grey floor, and a grey bench faced a set of grey bars. Grey seemed a proper reflection of his mood.

  “Yacob Alders?” A tentative voice spoke from the other side of the bars.

  “What?” Jacob responded.

  “Yacob. Yacob Alders?” the young man repeated.

  “It’s Jacob.” Jacob stood and walked toward the door. His hard, emotionless face must have intimidated the young guard, because he stepped back half a step.

  “Oh, you’re not Amish. Your name sounded Amish. I’m sorry. The lieutenant is ready to talk to you.” The young guard’s nametag read ‘Yoder.’ “Please put your hands through the opening in the door.”

  Jacob did as he was told while the guard put cuffs, metal ones this time, around Jacob’s wrists. Then he unlocked the door and led Jacob out into the hall.

  “Yoder. Isn’t that an Amish name?” The only time Jacob ever saw that name was while reading the Transport reports from the Amish Zone.

  “I was raised Amish.” The young man was suddenly walking beside Jacob, rather than behind him.

  “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

  “How do you know?

  “I don’t think they’d want you to be friendly with the prisoners.”

  Another guard passed them in the hall and called out, “Donavan, the lieutenant is waiting. Pick up the pace.”

  Donavan blushed and resumed his place just behind Jacob, and prodded him forward. They reached a door marked ‘Interrogation 1,’ and Donavan opened the door. Inside the room was a table with a chair on each side. Another chair sat in the far corner of the room. On one side of the table, a stainless steel bar ran its entire length, held by brackets an inch above the table top. At one end, a lock held the bar in place. The opposite wall was one big mirror, just like in the movies. “Sit there.” Donavan indicated the side with the metal bar. Jacob sat in the chair. Donavan took a set of keys from his pocket, unlocked the bar, and slid it through the chain on Jacob’s handcuffs.

  Locking the bar back in place allowed Jacob to move his hands, but not to get up from the table.

  “The lieutenant will be with you shortly.” The guard left the room.

  Jacob stared at the mirror, knowing he was being watched from the other side. “Who is taking care of my mother?” he yelled at the mirror. “I need to see her!” Jacob didn’t expect a response, and he wasn’t disappointed. He had no choice but to wait, again. Since arriving at the New Detroit Transport Detention Center, he had waited. He waited in the intake area to be processed. Then he waited in the holding cell, and now in the interrogation room. There were no windows or clocks in the prisoner areas, and a jammer was blocking his BICE access. Jacob couldn’t know how long he had been in custody. It could be an hour, or a day. Jacob was becoming aware of how unnerving it can be to have no indication of the passage of time.

  Without warning, the door opened and a middle-aged man strode into the room, carrying a tablet, and sat down across from Jacob. His jet-black hair was streaked with grey at his temples. Jacob recognized him immediately from his research, and his stomach clenched. Expecting the infamous interrogator to shoot him, strike him, or torture him, he was not prepared for the smile — the wide, toothy smile.

  “Mr. Alders. How are you? My name is Lieutenant Roberto Gutierrez. We appreciate you coming to talk to us today. I’m sure this is just a big misunderstanding. As soon as we clear this up, we can get you back home with your mother. So what do you say? Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “What am I being charged with?” was Jacob’s only response.

  “Well, right now you’re not being charged with any crime. We simply needed you to come in and answer a few questions, so we can clear up some things.”

  “I wasn’t exactly asked to come in. I mean, look at me.” Jacob glanced down to indicate his blood-spattered shirt.

  “We’re so sorry if our field agents were a little…overzealous in asking you to come in. Now, I’m looking at your records here.” Gutierrez scrolled through page after page of documents on the tablet. “Let’s get started. How do you know Marcus Weatherly?”

  “I don’t know anyone named Marcus Weatherly, and I need to find out about my mother. She’s very sick.”

  “Hmm…let me see…” The lieutenant looked at the screen. He glanced up at Jacob and his right hand left the screen, shot forward, grabbed Jacob by the hair, and slammed his face into the table. He pulled Jacob’s head back up by the hair and put his face inches from his prisoner’s. Staring into the bloody mess that was Jacob’s face, he growled. “Where the hell is Marcus Weatherly?”

  Reeling from the sudden change in tone, not to mention the sudden impact, Jacob couldn’t answer. The blood running down from his nose into his mouth didn’t help. The door opened and a medic in white entered. He shone a small light into each of Jacob’s eyes. Then he took a swab and brought it to Jacob’s nose. The chemical smell was overwhelming as the medic inserted it into each nostril and wiped it around the inside. Jacob felt like he was on fire, and would swear he smelled burning flesh. The medic packed up his supplies and left the room.

  “You’re no good to me, Jacob, if you can’t talk. Need to keep you able to speak. That’s the doc’s job. I’m sorry, but he’s not very gentle. Now, let me explain. Help me find Marcus Weatherly, and we’ll clean you up and send you home, with nothing more than a few… reminders of the need to obey Transport law. However, if you don’t help me find Mr. Weatherly, we can charge you with cyberterrorism and conspiracy to commit terrorist acts. You may not be aware that those are death penalty offenses. So, let me ask you again, where is Marcus Weatherly?”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know where he is. I’ve never seen him in person. I’ve only ever talked to him over the net.” Jacob knew he was confessing to one lie, that he had never heard of Marcus, but this statement, at least, was the truth. “Are you going to charge me?”

  “Well, Jacob, once we charge you, it goes out over the net, and all of your friends and family will know you’re a terrorist. So let’s not rush that. I’m still hoping we can sort this out. Now, I have to take care of a few things. I hope you’ll think about how you want to handle this while I’m out.”

  And with that, Roberto Gutierrez was gone.

  ***

  Jacob couldn’t tell how much time passed before the interrogator returned, but it felt like several hours. Gutierrez had no noticeable stubble, and his uniform looked freshly pressed. Either it was the next morning, or the lieutenant was freshening up just to maximize Jacob’s confusion about the time of day.

  “Jacob,” he began, “first, I’d like to apologize for that incident earlier. I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll understand. Marcus Weatherly is a very dangerous man, and I’ve been chasing him for a long time. I was certain you knew where he was, and when I thought you were lying, I lost control.” He paused and waited for acknowledgement from Jacob. But his prisoner remained stone-faced.

  “Jacob, I think it’s time you know a little more about the man you’re protecting.”

  “I’m not protecting anyone. I’m telling you, I have never met Marcus face to face. I have no idea where he really is.”

  “Come on, Jacob. You need to think a little bit harder. There weren’t clues? Bits of data you may not even realize you’ve seen? You’re a naturally talented snoop.”

  “I have no clue where he is.”

  “Well, let’s talk a bit about Marcus and see if that doesn’t jog your memory. Let me walk you through who my old boss really is.” Gutierrez activated the pad in his hand and turned it so Jacob
could see the screen. “Marcus Weatherly was the assistant director of Transport for this entire region. You don’t get to that level by playing nice with terrorists, like he decided to do before he disappeared. No, Jacob, you get that way by doing this.” He tapped a spot on the screen and a picture of a young Marcus appeared with billy club in hand, bringing it down across the neck of a young man about Jacob’s age.

  Gutierrez swiped his fingers across the screen and the picture changed. “And this.” This pic showed Weatherly cuffing a man, his knee on the man’s back, the man lying face down on the ground. “And this.” Swipe. “And this. And this.” Each picture showed Marcus brutalizing someone, and each one was worse than the previous.

  The lieutenant set the tablet down and looked Jacob in the eye. “Jacob, why would you want to protect someone like this? Wouldn’t you be better off protecting someone more worthy? Like your mother?” The implied threat was clear.

  “Where are the pictures of you with the Amish?” Jacob taunted his captor, his anger barely contained.

  “Don’t believe everything you read, kid. And don’t believe everything Marcus tells you. Did he tell you about the battle of Gettysburg?”

  “Yes, he said TRACE kicked your asses.”

  “Did he? Take a look at this. Tell me what this looks like to you.” The lieutenant tapped another spot on the tablet screen and video clips started. Transport troops overrun a warehouse, and a vicious firefight follows. A transport is blown out of the sky. A group of rebels flee into the woods.

  “Marcus isn’t a freedom fighter, Jacob, he’s a propagandist. He lies and distorts the truth to get people like you, good people, to believe him and to take action. Now Jacob, why don’t you tell me everything you can remember about your net conversations with Marcus, and maybe we can use that to find him and bring him in. Make him pay for the things he’s done to good people.” Lieutenant Gutierrez looked sincere and genuine. And Jacob was certain he was lying.

  “Marcus isn’t like that. Maybe he lied about Gettysburg, or maybe you did. But none of that matters, because I have no idea how to find him!”

  “Okay, Jacob.” Gutierrez looked defeated, and his shoulders slumped. His expression and posture were of a man resigned to accepting bad news. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to sort this out. I’m going to have you taken back to your cell now, and we’ll start again later. I think I need to warn you, though. Marcus Weatherly is considered a danger to state security, and because of that, Transport interrogation guidelines can be suspended.”

  Jacob wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he was certain it wasn’t going to be good.

  The lieutenant stood and opened the door. “Donavan, is it? Yes, take the prisoner back to his cell.”

  Chapter Ten

  Within minutes of returning to his cell, Jacob was fast asleep. The massive dose of Q wearing off left him exhausted, and he couldn’t stay awake. In what felt like only moments later, Donavan was waking him. While Jacob was still exhausted, Donavan looked wide awake, freshly showered and pressed. Without a clock, there was no way to tell how long he had slept, but he suspected it wasn’t long.

  The young guard took him through the same routine: hands through the opening on the door, cuffs, escorting him to interrogation, and locking his cuffs to the table. “The lieutenant will be here shortly.” Donavan explained, but Jacob was already asleep, his head on the table.

  Some amount of time later, Jacob saw the flash of light. His first thought was that Marcus knew where he was and managed to break through the BICE jamming. “Marcus? Are you there?” he asked in his head.

  Nothing.

  Jacob waited as long as he could, but started to fall asleep again. He put his head on the table and closed his eyes.

  BAM!

  Jacob started awake, sitting bolt upright in his seat. Blinking, he got his bearings and saw Roberto’s wolfish grin. In his hand, the interrogator was holding a hammer. The dent on the metal explained the noise.

  “Wake up, sunshine! You have a visitor!”

  “Is it morning?”

  “Morning, afternoon, night, I can’t remember. Jacob, be polite and greet your visitor.”

  Jacob looked toward the door and was shocked by the sight of a familiar face in a familiar chair. “Mom? What are you doing here? How did you get here?” His shock was replaced by the shame of her seeing him under arrest, battered, and blood-spattered.

  “Aaa-ooh,” was the reply. So they didn’t give her a shot before bringing her in. Jacob was grateful, because it meant she likely wouldn’t remember seeing him in jail like this.

  “Jacob,” Gutierrez began, “your mother is here. She wants to encourage you to be cooperative so you can go home, and she can too.”

  “Where are you keeping her? Is she getting everything she needs? What about her tea? Are you giving her medicine?” The questions flowed out as Jacob forgot about his own problems.

  “Jacob, Jacob. Your mom is being taken care of.” Gutierrez was back to his nice guy routine. “We know she would be more comfortable at home, and so would you. So, why don’t you help us find Marcus, and we can get everyone home.” The lieutenant’s sounded concerned. “I can’t imagine the stress of being in a strange place is good for her. So, Jacob, let’s figure this all out and get your mom home.”

  “I told you, I don’t know where Marcus is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I have no idea where he is.”

  “OK, Jacob. I’m afraid I need to have you think harder.” The interrogator reached over and took Mrs. Alders’ wrist. He pulled it straight and her fist clenched automatically. He put her fist down on the table, and then brought the hammer straight down on it. The sound of a metal hammer on flesh, bone, and tissue was the most sickening noise Jacob had ever heard. Until he heard the moaning scream that came through his mother’s clenched teeth. Over and over the scream kept coming.

  Jacob leapt to his feet and lunged at the Transport officer, forgetting the bar restraining his hands. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed. The bar stopped Jacob abruptly and he lurched forward, off balance. Lieutenant Gutierrez took advantage of the opportunity and shoved him hard on one shoulder. With him already in the process of falling over, the shove sealed the deal. Jacob crashed to the floor, face in the filthy carpet, his arms pulled up and backward, still attached to the bar on the table. The pain in his shoulders was unbearable. But worse were his mother’s screams. They grew louder and more frantic as she witnessed his fall.

  The pain was extraordinary as he struggled to get to his knees. He knew the carpet should smell like sweat, blood, and worse, but instead he smelled orange. Then, in spite of the pain shooting through his shoulders and his mother’s screams, he pieced it all together. Orange smell, flash of light, his mother’s arrival; they were in his BICE. This wasn’t real. Or at least some of it wasn’t. Finally on his knees, he was able to stand. He used his foot to pull the chair back toward him and sat down.

  “Mom! Shut up!” he yelled at her. He would never talk to his mother this way, but he was reasonably sure this wasn’t his mother. She continued to scream. He turned to his captor. “Will you make her be quiet? Or get her out of here so I can think!”

  The lieutenant looked at him with suspicion, then realization crossed his face. He turned toward the mirror and made a slashing gesture across his throat with his index finger. Jacob’s mom disappeared.

  “I studied your file, Jacob. You’d never speak to your mother that way. You figured out we were in your head. How did you do it? I’m curious.”

  “So it’s easier to confuse your next victim?” Pain and fear gave way to anger and defiance.

  Gutierrez snapped his fingers and his face took on an exaggerated ‘Aha!’ expression. “It all makes perfect sense. A dirt-poor Shelf dweller and a mom with the Wasting.” He was pacing around the small room, putting on a show of his cleverness. “You have BICE Brain, don’t you, Jacob? Accessing the net without your Q? Where’d the
Q go, Jacob? Giving it all to mom to shut her up? Turning her into a Q-head? Is mom a junkie, Jacob?”

  Gutierrez was obviously trying to get under his skin, and it was working, but Jacob struggled to maintain an even expression and not betray his feelings. But he was pretty certain he wasn’t hiding anything from the skilled interrogator.

  “What’s your trigger manifestation, Jacob? A loud noise? A smell? Flash of light?”

  Jacob tried to not give it away, but his expression changed for a moment at the mention of the flash of light, and the lieutenant caught it.

  “So that’s it, a flash of light. OK, Jacob. We’re done here for now. I’ll have a guard take you to your cell. I have some work to do before we meet again.”

  He opened the door and gestured for the guard, who entered the room and started unlocking Jacob from the table. This guard was different; older, all hard edges and attitude. Once he unlocked Jacob, he forced him to his feet and pushed him toward the open door and his waiting cell.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jacob woke up naked in what felt to be a few hours later. He first noticed the bandages around his wrists, and then felt tape pulling at the skin on his face. Reaching up, he could feel a splint taped across his broken nose. They’re trying to make sure I don’t leave here appearing obviously abused. But he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He started pulling bandages and splints from his body, uncovering wounds and, in the case of his nose, causing serious pain. When he was done, he sat up on the edge of the bed. Looking at the scraps of fabric on the floor, he knew that they had cut his clothes off him while he was asleep. Next to the bed lay a folded orange jumpsuit. Outside the door, he saw something new. What appeared to be large lights on stands were pointing into the room. Jacob took the clothes from the floor and put them on.