by C.S. Stinton
* *
‘We do a physical check of everyone coming in,’ said Cheng, the weedy man in a suit who’d introduced himself as the head of Mayor Kelvin’s security. ‘It might be a public venue but the plaza’s got only a few entrances and exits so we can post a team at every one. Anyone walking in gets their mugshot checked and gets patted down. If they have something on them or if they ping up with any kind of record, they don’t get in. We’ve got eyes in the high spots, and the HCPD have closed the nearby traffic so nobody’s flying a car in the immediate area.’
‘Good,’ said Ramirez, in step with him as they walked the square. First Landing Plaza was a memorial site which exemplified, she thought, the nature of Hardveur perfectly. Some two hundred feet off the ground, it was a huge metal platform with a rising pillar of rock at the centre, upon which were etched the names of every crewman on the first exploratory team to set foot on Thor centuries ago. The smooth stone even declared it was at this site that they had landed.
Of course, they had landed on the surface itself, which by now was likely a dumping ground for corporate waste. But nobody, especially not tourists, wanted to go to Thor’s ground level, and so the more public-friendly venue had been built high amongst the city’s silver towers. At the far end of the plaza was the huge memorial centre, a hallway with a small museum giving the history of the discovery and settlement of Thor, and a gift shop twice the museum’s size. The hall had been cleared out and was today where the security of the event was based. Directly outside the hall was a permanent stone stage for shows and expositions, plain and flat so it was unobtrusive when not in use. Today it was the focus of all the fuss as workers buzzed around to set it up for the event, complete with microphones and cameras to allow for audio and visual feed to speakers and screens across the plaza - and the ultranet. Up there was where Mayor Kelvin and Graham Locke would make their joint appearance, but she still had time.
‘The grating. Limits visibility?’ Ramirez gestured up. Above the plaza in a dome was a temporary but intricate array of metal wire mesh. It didn’t block the view from the outside entirely, but it did make vision difficult. A fine reason to use a targeting module to help human skill.
Cheng nodded. ‘We can’t enclose the entire plaza. It’s difficult, and would you know the laws change the moment we do that? For security, safety, everything, it stops being an outdoor venue and becomes an indoor venue and - it’s hassle. You have to get lighting and ventilation rigs in… it’s just a mess, leave it at that. Mister Locke’s people wanted to keep this open air, so we provide open air security.’ He looked at her. ‘What are you expecting?’
‘I’m not sure. Though I would assume any threat is going to come from outside. I have that covered. What security do we have in place to check up on the staffers behind the scenes?’ Ramirez frowned at the hall. If the targeting beacon was going to come into play anywhere, it’d be from them.
‘Mister Locke’s letting us run the show, thankfully, so though he has his own people they’re just for his protection. Everyone who’s operating backstage runs through the museum’s metal and electronics scanners.’
‘Including the speakers?’
Cheng shrugged. ‘The scanners are at the doors to get backstage into the hall. Anyone passing through is going to be scanned, including the Mayor and Mister Locke.’
Ramirez nodded, lifting a hand to block out the mid-morning sun’s broken glare as it filtered through the grating. The plaza was quiet for now, nothing but the shadows of dark suits of the Mayor’s security moving at the edges and entrances and the workers at the stage. Normally it would be buzzing with tourists or locals finding somewhere in the sun to sit and enjoy their day, but not today. And with traffic already redirected for several blocks, for once she could stand somewhere in Hardveur and not hear the hissing rattle of traffic zooming around, or the murmuring swell of people.
It was peaceful. Deceptively so.
‘I’d like to have the scan feed patched in to my pad, Mister Cheng,’ said Ramirez. ‘I don’t need any remote control but remote access will suffice.’
‘It’s against policy to allow anyone to see outside of -’
‘It might be against policy for your security but I’m not part of your security. I’m a Confederate Marshal.’ Please accept this as a loophole instead of making me force the issue. She gave him a polite smile, trying to not sound overbearing, but she let the implication linger. Better for him to acknowledge it subtly before she had to wield it as a sledge-hammer. And if anyone was going to have the beacon, either near or on Mayor Kelvin, she was going to need to know.
He sighed. ‘Very well, Commander. But that’s the end of the tour. If there’s nothing else, then I’ve got set-up work still to do. If you have any more questions you can grab anyone.’ The implication that she was to ask anyone but him was clear.
Cheng left, leaving Ramirez alone in the middle of First Landing Plaza. In the next thirty minutes the crowds would be let in. Followers of Locke’s movement, fans of the Mayor, and anyone simply curious would arrive, and in less than an hour the square would be fit to burst with the teeming masses all clamouring for the news. The ultranet had been buzzing with wonder as to the subject of the day’s event, whether they were due a special announcement. Ramirez assumed that it was nothing more Locke having somehow convinced Kelvin, who by all accounts was not running for re-election, to give him a public appearance that would lend legitimacy to his cause. But nothing drew people in like a mystery and so, soon, all would come and see.
She just had to hope the day would not end in disaster. No, not hope - hope implied she would be passive. She would work to make it so. Her hand came to her earpiece. ‘Harrigan, you hear me?’
A pause, a crackle, then his voice. ‘Loud and clear. How’s it looking down there?’
‘Calm and quiet. Are you in place?’
‘I know I said “leave it to me”, but there’s a lot of cops around here. You sure you couldn’t, I don’t know, deputise me or something? Can Marshals do that?’
Hypothetically we can do anything. ‘Even if I could give you authority, I can’t give you proof of that authority. All I can promise to do is get you out of jail again.’
‘Except if this goes wrong, you get shot.’
‘That would make it hard for me to get you out, yes.’
‘So I was thinking I take the gun, take the car, and go.’
Despite his jocular tone she stopped her pacing. ‘Remember that promise about shooting you in the balls?’
She heard his breath catch, but when he spoke again his voice was a wry, reassuring drawl. ‘I ain’t going nowhere, Ramirez. This is going to go smooth so long as I’m up here. Your guardian angel.’
‘With feet of clay.’ She hesitated - then her pad beeped at her. Another call coming in, and her brow furrowed as she saw who it was from. ‘I’m going to have to call you back.’ She switched the line over, but before she could even begin her greeting the voice of Miles Beyer came barking through.
‘Ramirez, where the hell is my lieutenant?’
Her frown deepened. ‘Commissioner, I contacted you six hours ago -’
‘And I have a venue of major importance to secure this morning!’
‘And you’re doing a superb job.’ She didn’t bother to fight the sarcasm, and looked at the call source on her pad. ‘Overseeing operations from the Central Precinct, I see.’
‘I have to, as I’ve lost Navarro. Where the hell is he?’
‘In my custody. My message explained this. My message also explained why. Did you receive that list?’
‘You mean the list saying some of my best officers are working for Ragnarok, with little further explanation? What am I supposed to do with that? It’s not evidence!’
‘But it should be enough for you to bench them on a sensitive operation like this -’
‘And how am I supposed to make the venue secure without the manpower?’
‘How are you supposed to make the ve
nue secure with crooked officers?’ She was pacing again, hand pressed to her earpiece, voice raised enough that some of Cheng’s security looked her way. ‘I sent you this message hours ago, Commissioner, and you didn’t reply. You’ve never worked closely with Navarro, you kept him at arm’s length - why? He didn’t implicate you in working for Ragnarok. He did say you took bribes from the crime bosses who ran the city before they showed up. Is that why they never approached you? They took down your old paymasters?’
There was an awkward silence. ‘These are all half-baked implications -’
‘I don’t care who you used to work for, Commissioner. Certainly not today. I care about saving Mayor Kelvin’s life, and so should you. Not just because it’s the right thing to do, but if he dies when your officers are on watch, who do you think they’ll blame?’ He didn’t answer, and she drew a sharp breath. ‘Find officers you can trust. Bench the ones on the list. Come down here and help me!’
‘I can’t make these last-minute changes. Everyone knows their role, everyone has their place. Shaking it up will make the security provided by the HCPD less than useless and if I do that and something goes wrong, that is what the public will blame, the press will blame! No, it’s done, Commander. You should have come to me sooner instead of running around industrial districts with Navarro and getting your partner shot.’
Ramirez’s chest tightened. ‘Are you so terrified of being blamed you can’t possibly take a risk and do the right thing?’
But only the low buzz of a dead comm line answered her, and she scowled, shutting it down. Some of Cheng’s security continued to look her way, but she shook her head and carried on with her pacing. She was going to have to deal with the situation on the ground alone and so, in the calm before the storm, she stood at the centre of the wide, open pavilion, and waited.