by William Cray
Floss ran his hands across the top of his head, tousling the tuft of pulled back brown hair. “I’ve run a couple of undercover ops up there.” He shook his head, part disgust, part dismay. “They all ended bad. That’s where we found your partner.” His voice trailed off. “That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”
Duran closed his eyes and leaned back against the backrest in silence. He had seen enough.
Within a few minutes the car approached an octagonal building suspended from the trench walls on four massive arches near the center of the chasm. The building was clear of any other structures in its immediate vicinity, giving it the appearance of a stained black egg hovering in space with four iron hooks stabbed through its center.
As they entered the structures centerline garage, Duran evaluated his prospects of a forced exit from the building. It was isolated enough that disappearing into the city would not be possible on foot. The four spokes into the building, with top and bottom travelway paths would restrict an escape from that direction and it would be a simple thing to shutdown the exits completely. Other than a few sprouting lifter pads, the roof of the building was obscured, and it was a very long way down for a jump. A jailbreak from here would be highly hazardous. It might have been better to smash Floss’s narrow face at the train station and make his own exit. Floss was just doing his job, but so was Duran. If they came into conflict with each other, So be it, Duran thought. People got hurt just doing their jobs all the time.
Constabulary Patrolman Anderson sat at his Dyna-Scan module as Duran and Lieutenant Floss stepped on to the security conveyor. His shift at the security station would be over in another fifteen minutes but Anderson had been told to watch for Lieutenant Floss and the man he would be escorting in. He hated this duty, so he counted down every minute he was there, filling out his final log entries of the day as he monitored the Dyna-Scan unit,
Word was, the Commissioner was interested in the man Floss was escorting. He tuned the device up and waited for the results to scroll down the screen as the broad shouldered man next to Floss was electronically dissected. The return took twice as long to download, stalling in a screen of blues and yellows. Anderson made a few slight adjustments on the display cranking up the sensitivity to near maximum but the download continued to dribble in.
If I turn it up any higher I’ll fry this guys balls off, Anderson thought.
The 3-D hypersonic cross-section scrolled down slowly. Before it was halfway finished Anderson muttered, “Whoa. Tick-tock muthafuka”.
His supervisor, Sergeant Mustafa leaned forward to get a closer look, muttering his own curse. “Where did this guy come from?”
They both looked up at the conveyor, looking for the blue and yellow monster beside Floss.
“Give me a hard copy Anderson, for the records… and zip this up to the Commissioner.” He pointed to the clutch of officers sitting at a nearby table, chatting and drinking Jiri. “Get out on the concourse. Now!”
Duran stepped off the conveyor and went through another set of doors passing through the cursory security checkpoints that were purely for show. The close search probably occurred on the conveyor, to minimize movements and control the speed at which he passed through a scanner. If the equipment was good, there could be complications. There were many eyes on him now.
Floss guided them past the secondary security areas and into the central elevator. Duran was impressed by the architecture of the building. The presence of marble and duridium molded arches gave the place a regal presence. This was a building of the Old Empire, when the Imperial stamp meant more than just another bureaucratic assembly. The abundance of valuable natural resources from the Tharsis Bulge allowed for most of the Imperial buildings to be made of the finer things, before the troubles cast pallor on their loyalty.
The Lunae-Tharsis Constabulary had an old history when they were little more than volunteer frontiersmen that kept the peace on the early Martian settlements near the empires Tharsis Bulge mining camps. The orange sash across their uniforms had identified members as Constabulary since the early days when a volunteer would pull it out of his pocket, slide it over his torso, and assume his role as peacemaker. As the volunteers became professionals, they took on more responsibilities for the local government. They adopted the motto “Qui Vive Pro Bono Publico,” “Alertness for the Public Good.” The motto was etched into the floor of the LTC main plaza with the traditional shield and orange sash embossed across it.
As the Tharsis Bulge and its surrounding settlements became more important as a major contributor to the Empires material reserve, the Constabulary served to bridge the gap between Imperial concerns and local matters in criminal investigations. They maintained a large degree of independence and stature throughout the old Empire and later, the Commonwealth, as a professional law enforcement agency for the Protectorate of Mars. As the movement for Martian independence grew, the Constabulary walked a fine line, although many of their officers were sympathetic to the Red Thinkers and their more radical counterparts, the Red Liberation Brigade. Because of the Constabulary’s refusal to take a more active stance to suppress the independence movement, the old Emperor abolished them and brought in one of his outer rim Demi-Brigades to act in their place. The Martian Rebellion began soon after.
Decades later, with the revolution over and the Commonwealth taking the reigns from the old Empire, Mars was established as a loose protectorate of the Commonwealth. The Martian Congress’s first act was to re-establish the Constabulary as its lead investigative authority.
After a final security check, the doors of the elevator rolled open and Duran followed Floss into the nerve center of a massive investigation.
The command center was lined with displays and maps with red and blue symbols scattered on the revolving display. Another bank of displays showed real-time imagery from roving cyclo's and active interrogations. The room was centered on a large communication console with uniformed officers routing and receiving reports. Plain clothes LTC officers worked the edges nearest the displays, pointing and checking information as it came in and whispering in hushed discussions with others. As Duran and his escorts passed, his eyes were drawn to a third wall, the one closest to the elevator entrance. The first impressions were of a great mosaic of reds and cream tones. But as he examined the wall closer, his stomach tightened.
The dream.
The great mosaic display revealed the death faces of over thirty people. Each face was tormented and twisted, with horrific damage. Each body was torn or mutilated in a different expressive manner. Some were cut open and organs spilled, others burned almost beyond recognition. Images flashed by of bloody contortions and splintered bone, severed extremities and sexual mutilations were pasted onto the wall for all to see.
A naked man and young dark haired girl lay spattered in a sea of blood. Another horror of a female victim, cut open from trachea to crotch, organs leaking out, suspended by her feet from the ceiling of a second story balcony. A young red haired man, every inch of his body burned to blackness, all except for his face and left upper torso, his death mask peering at Duran with empty eyes.
Duran slowed as he examined each of the images, drawn by the torment of his dream. But these were more than just gruesome deaths. They reeked of malice and contempt of life. Each image revolved in sequence, attempting to reveal patterns or sickening consistencies by reviewing the faces from different angles as victims with similar mutilations darted adjacent to each other like puzzle pieces of dead animals.
As Duran strolled down the macabre gallery, a final image darted past, stopping him. Duran grabbed the image on the touch screen with his hand, fixing it as the bloody collage whipped around it. Duran stared at the image.
Axe.
The wound was from a large caliber weapon directly into the right temple. He was seated in the driver's compartment of a travelway car, his head splintered and grotesque from the violence of a gu
n. The crime scene image revolved in a three dimensional axis, blowing up and zeroing in on the entry wound.
The image was marked, Hansen, Eric, Ukn, 2318 Telco-Blvd. Duran stared at the image, devoid of feeling, or emotions, staring at the crumpled head of his friend. An instant later his hand released the image and his friend was gone, lost with the others in the bloody flow.
Floss waited in silence until Duran let go. Duran looked at him, and there it was again in Floss’s face, frustration and a hint of failure. It was on everyone’s face in the command center.
Floss led him to a large office in the corner of the command center. Residual light streamed from desk lamps and projectors that highlighted the standing figures inside. Floss motioned for Duran to wait as he knocked once with a quick rap of knuckles then stepped inside the dark office.
Duran noticed the people in the center while he waited. Most wore civilian professional attire, like Floss’s, but a few orange and blue sashed uniforms moved about or sat hunkered over terminals. The men and women of the center scurried about, moving from one console or communication bank to the next, with clingy filament papers or flyers. Two men and one woman stood in front of the big city map, making silent gestures with a nod or two. No one looked at the wall of death.
Duran looked into their faces in the darkness. Harried, unshaven, tousled hair, with clothes hung on their shoulders loosely, like they had been slept in. Duran didn’t know if the faces on the wall were related to his mission. Surely Axe’s death was connected somehow, but they didn’t seem to tie in. The images continued to tick across the monitors in front of him, staring back. He took a moment, feeling for the taint of the Intruder. The taint of the Intruder was absent but he still treaded dangerously in unfamiliar territory as he entered the poorly lit office. Anyone in this room could susceptible to their influence.
Nothing. The room was clear.
Lieutenant Floss rolled the office door open and motioned for Duran to enter. Duran stood, straightening his dark suit and amber tie. He stifled the alien feeling of the civilian suit as he followed Floss in. He looked the part of an MCE Special Agent. But he didn’t feel like one.
A prism of light from the central desk switched off and faded as Duran stepped in. The office interior was about ten meters wide, another six lengthwise. The curved back window held a commanding view of the city behind it, looking down the length of the trench. The various buildings and running lights of the travelway flicked off and on below, New Meridian City fully transitioned to night.
The room was well appointed, but the decor was old, and of a style from fifty years ago. The old red oak desk that centered the room seemed to enforce its will on the other features. It’s weight and deep stain color gave it a sense of gravity, like a black hole commanding the heavens to reckon with its presence. The person seated behind the desk exuded the same maximum authority.
The men and one woman in the office appeared relaxed but it was an ease of respect and immediate attentiveness. The looks on their faces mirrored the worn look of the men and women outside. The occupant of the chair, the singularity really, faced away, overlooking the Meridian nighttime cityscape.
A hand stretched out from the chair, retrieving a piece of filament paper that sat alone on the credenza behind the Olympic desk. The occupant held the filament sheet up high in a long fingered hand as if to use light from the ceiling to make out its details, but there was none, only a single old fashion lamp that burned on the credenza.
James Floss, still holding the door, motioned Duran into a chair opposite the desk. As he sat, he read the traditional name placard, front centered on the desk. Everything here had its symmetry. The placard read “Chief Constable Commissioner Elijah Cole” in a deep stylistic font.
The dark hand from the chair motioned towards the door and the others gathered their filament papers and left, leaving just one stout looking blonde man in civilian attire and Floss along with Cole. Floss rolled the door closed behind them. Duran sat in silence, but time was ticking away in his mind.
A clear deep resonating voice came from behind the chair. “Special Agent Rory Duran, Ministry of Codes and Enforcement …”,
The chair revolved around to face Duran. A large man, clean-shaven and bald, sat in front of him. The lamp created a dramatic halo behind the chair. Commissioner Cole slid the filament paper towards Duran, and then leaned forward, showing more of his impressive frame.
He continued, “I wasn’t aware the Ministry of Codes and Enforcement was using cyborgs as investigators these days.”
The image on the filament paper displayed the three dimensional scan of Duran. It revealed the schematic of the invasive modifications to his arms, legs, spinal cord and the cerebral cortex. The hyper-scan showed a little less than twenty-six percent composed of non-organic matter. Microscopic reflections suspended in tiny clusters within the body indicated the location of tiny nano-molecular machines grouped together, performing autonomous maintenance tasks within Duran’s reinforced body.
Duran barely looked at the filament, he knew what he was. He saw it every day when he ran his diagnostics. Duran returned his gaze directly into the waiting brown eyes, saying nothing.
Cole leaned back in his chair. Now to business, Duran thought, as Cole continued, “Why is the Commonwealth Ministry of Codes and Enforcement conducting an investigation in New Meridian City without notifying this office?”
Duran answered, “It’s a matter of Commonwealth security.”
Cole pressed, “What is the nature of this investigation?”
“I’m sorry, but I am not at liberty to discuss my current activities Commissioner,” giving Cole a standard blow off which was returned with a condescending smirk.
“Agent Duran … I have the body of an MCE Agent in my freezer. Your partner I believe. I have two young females confined in a weapons locker at the Imperial armory and two of the officers I sent to check on them disappeared twenty minutes later. We found their LEST’s at the bottom of the lake this morning but no bodies.” His voice went up an octave as Cole’s temper grew, “I am already in the middle of a fatal drug epidemic that I believe you may have noticed when you came in …”
Duran’s mind jumped, two females, confined in a weapons locker. The diridium-reinforced armor would be standard for containing an Intruder carrier wave, but, young females, two? It didn’t add up.
Cole’s crescendo increased again, “Now I suggest you start from the beginning because I don’t have time for this intra–agency bullshit!” he said as a growl, and then repeated the question with violent authority. “Why is MCE conducting an investigation in my jurisdiction without notifying this office?”
Duran reached into his coat pocket, noticing Floss and the other non-uniformed man flinch as he pulled out a copy of his order cell. The thin metallic card skidded across Cole’s massive desk as Duran tossed a copy of his orders to the incensed Commissioner. “Put that through your ICE-40 and it will confirm my orders. The nature of my investigation is classified.”
Cole picked up the card, twirling it in his fingers, the light sheared off the gleaming metal, creating a crazy reflection on the wall. “Our ICE-40 is down and I understand it will be down for the immediate future…”
Duran smiled, perhaps too coy. “Then send it through when it’s fixed.”
Cole’s brow rippled. He puffed out his chest as if he were about to explode, before regaining his composure. He wasn’t reacting well to being told to piss off, Duran theorized.
Cole sat back down, pulling the filament paper back, holding it up and scanning it with his eyes, examining Duran's modifications with mild curiosity. He spoke in a hushed tone. “Agent Duran, perhaps you should see things from my perspective. You and your partner are unregistered cyborgs, which are illegal on Mars.”
He reached into a drawer and pulled out an M335 Talon. It was Eric's weapon.
“You were carrying a military grade pulse gun with explosive sub munitions, also illegal on Mars. Our local C
odes and Enforcement office doesn’t know anything about you and I have received no notification of your investigation, as is the courtesy that Commonwealth law enforcement agencies expect, not to mention the disappearance of two of my officers and the apparent suicide of your fellow agent.”
Cole paused. “Now your ID is valid, so for now you are who you say you are, but I could still hold you until I receive confirmation. In fact, nothing you have said today gives me any inclination to do otherwise. We are a bit busy tonight but I think we could find you a comfortable room, don’t you think Flossy?” He looked back a Duran, “Comfortable being relative of course.”
The threat was implicit. Duran calculated before he responded, using a calm tone but lacing it with his own threat. “Commissioner, I respect your feelings, but if you detain me you will be interfering with an investigation authorized by a Commonwealth agency on an internal security matter. That is a criminal charge in itself.”
Cole snapped back, “If it’s on my planet, its not internal.”
Duran leaned forward. Enraged cyborgs tended to back most people down, but Cole didn’t budge or break eye contact.
Duran continued, “The local Ministry office has no knowledge of my mission. My authority to conduct this investigation is issued from the home office. Now, unless you intend to arrest me, I wish to see Agent Hansen’s body and collect his property without delay.”
Cole grinned like a guilty cat as Duran began to suspect not all the cards had been played yet.
“Of course Agent Duran, you may go. I will not detain you any longer since you have cleared up this misunderstanding…” Duran stood to leave, “…but there is one thing.”