by Rien Reigns
With Paxton’s wrist still in hand, I easily maneuvered him in to the standard arrest position. I reached into compartment 14 and removed a black collar with metal nibs on the inside. I placed the Taser™ restraint around Paxton’s neck. If he was stupid enough to attempt to run he’d receive an excruciating shock at five meters distance from me. If he somehow managed to get more than seven he’d receive a large enough shock to render him unconscious. As a built in safety measure for me, if Kali detected that I’d suffered bodily harm she would automatically deliver an incapacitating dose. If I were to receive lethal harm, so would the person under restraint.
‹Shall I notify the local authorities that you’ll be bringing Mr. Thrass in for processing?›
Not yet. I want to interrogate him. Bring my pip to us.
With Paxton properly under my control and at my mercy, I pushed him out the door and onto the street corner.
A few minutes later my personal interrogation pod arrived.
The pip was almost identical in external appearance to my pod, except that it had markings identifying it as a plumbing service/repair vehicle, and the doors were in the back, rather than at the side-front.
As I approached steps extended out from underneath, and the door opened automatically.
“So, you’re an Inquisitor by day and a plumber by night?” Paxton said with a little laugh.
This one’s got a mouth on him, I thought.
I gave him a good smack in the back of the head. “Get in and shut up,” I said, shoving the insolent shit forward.
The inside of the pip was a round room, and all but bare except for a small square table in the center with a dreadfully uncomfortable looking steel chair on one side, and a plush blood red recliner on the other. In order to keep out prying eyes, as well as to make the occupant of the steel chair a little more uncomfortable with the feeling of being boxed in, there weren’t any windows or wallscreens. The only illumination in the room was a single low lumen light bulb dangling from the roof.
Hope he isn’t claustrophobic.
A few years back I had a detainee who had been severely so. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, for either of us. Though I had thoroughly enjoyed rendering the man unconscious in order to calm him down.
Paxton moved towards the recliner. I had Kali give him a little jolt through the collar, putting him in his proper place.
“Jeez, can’t you take a joke?” Paxton rubbed his neck and took a seat in the steel chair.
“Oh I like jokes just as much as anyone. You’re just not that funny. Plus, it seems I possess a different brand of humor than you,” I said with a smile.
He didn’t reciprocate.
Once we were both seated, the entry portion of the wall closed, and we became locked inside.
‹“Kali, take us to Texas.”›
‹As you wish, sir. We should arrive in approximately six hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-seven seconds.›
There was a slight sensation of motion as the pip accelerated. But after a moment I felt nothing. I still found myself amazed at how well the motion stabilizers worked. I never could tell when we were actually moving after that initial sway. I found it a little unsettling sometimes.
While reclining in my chair I reviewed more of Paxton’s bio, while also keeping an eye on how he reacted to his environment. Paxton, like most visitors to the pip, was finding it difficult to get comfortable in the chair.
I pondered what Paxton might be thinking, which made me wonder if Huginn and Muninn would allow me the ability to read others thoughts and memories without permission.
I asked Kali if indeed there were any Inquisitor invasion policies written into the Huginn and Muninn architecture.
She said there were, but currently the Republic of Colorado hadn’t agreed to allow its use on its civilians.
Too bad.
After a few minutes of silent, yet entertaining observation, and so far satisfied with the man, I asked him, “How’d you like to earn enough credits to clear your debts?”
5: Inquisitioned
Paxton stopped wiggling in the chair. “What are you talking about?”
I shrugged. “I thought the question was pretty self-evident. Apparently I was wrong. Let me rephrase it for ya. I’m offering you a job.”
Paxton chuckled. “Is this some sort of trick?” He looked around the room and his eyes passed over a couple of cameras. He pointed to one and smiled.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Yes, it’s all a practical joke. Jim, tell this young man what he’s won.”
There was no Jim. It wasn’t a joke. There wasn’t going to be random strangers popping out of hidden corners yelling, ‘Surprise!’ Even though there were hidden corners, as it was a round room within a rectangle after all.
It was amazing how naïve some people could still be. Cameras were everywhere, and most were hidden in plain sight. Nothing anyone did was private when they were out in public. Even in the comfort of their own homes people weren’t alone. They were always with their CerAs who recorded everything.
“Did you seriously think that seeing some obvious cameras would prove that you just happened to steal your way onto a trixster show? You came to me, remember?”
“Maybe I made a mistake,” Paxton said.
“Maybe you did.”
I brought my recliner into the up-right position and opened a hidden compartment in the armrests. Inside were two small boxes, from which I drew forth my scythe gauntlets - beasts born of leather and razor sharp steel. Attached at the tip of each finger was a 7cm miniature scythe blade.
The gloves had actually been conceptualized and created after the nickname reaper came about, which is why they were made to resemble something out of a nightmare. In truth, they were just for show. Dreamt up by another Inquisitor as a gag for parties and ceremonies.
But I found them much more intimidating than the real gloves we used in the line of duty, which were non-descript, as that was the main goal of an Inquisitor.
The real gloves of a reaper came in many fashions and were all designed to match whatever the reaper was wearing for the assignment. What made them special though was that they were designed after a stinging nettle plant. When the Inquisitor wanted, hundreds of tiny hypodermic needles would protrude, loaded with various substances. An Inquisitor would simply walk by their mark and casually brush their hand somewhere on the victim, delivering whatever dose they chose. The Inquisitor would have already locked on to their victim’s Chrono, so then all they had to do was sit back and monitor the person’s cellular activity.
I slowly pulled on the intimidating gauntlets, leaned toward Paxton, blades extended, and asked, “Shall we begin the Inquisition?”
“Fuck you,” he said.
With a quick flick of my wrist, I cut him across the cheek. Not too deep. Just a little scratch. A thin red line appeared.
Paxton put up his hands. “Okay. I’ll do whatever you want. Just put those things away.”
I leaned back into my seat. He relaxed ever so slightly.
“I wouldn’t be so hasty with a declaration of that magnitude,” I said. “But that’s more like it.”
I didn’t put the scythes away, but I rested my hands on the arms of the chair.
Paxton warily put his hands down.
“I received a new assignment this morning and I could use a little assistance, which is why I’ve decided to recruit you.”
“Recruit?”
“You do understand standardized English, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes,” Paxton said. He sat up straight with proper posture for the first time.
“So then you’re just mentally slow?”
Paxton slammed a fist on the table. “I ain’t a tard.”
“Then why do you keep questioning what I’m telling you?”
“You’re blabbing dribble.”
“I’m making perfect sense, boy, so how about you keep your blow hole shut and let me finish explaining things. Think yo
u can do that?”
Paxton gave a slight nod, folded his arms, and tried to lean back in the chair. He was still somewhat at unease.
I still had my claws out after all.
“As I was about to say when you opened your mouth before your mind could tell it to shut the hell up; you say you need my help, well, I could use yours. It’s why I let you lead me to that sham you call a bar. That reminds me. You owe me a drink, and I mean a real one.”
“But you’re a reaper, what could I possibly do for you?”
I clapped my hands. “Finally, a decent question. But, I counter - how much experience do you have in dealing with reapers?” For good measure, I scraped the scythe blades against each other like a cat sharpening its claws in anticipation of pouncing for the kill.
Paxton shrugged. “None, really, I just assumed.” He’s said it with only the faintest, almost undetectable, hint of fear.
“Exactly!” The sudden exclamation caused more of a jolt in Paxton than the previous attempts. “First rule of reaping, don’t ever assume. Suspect, but don’t assume. Now, let’s get down to business.”
Finished with my game and to put Paxton at a little more ease, I took off the gauntlets and put them away. “I suspect you’re not a Corrupter, but I’d hate to assume and be proven wrong later on. So, are you? A Corrupter, that is, just so we’re absolutely clear”
Anticipating that Paxton would blurt out a programmed ‘no’ response, I held up my hand. “Before you answer, I highly recommend you be forthright, because by the time we’re done, I will know, one way, or another.”
“No, I ain’t no Corrupter,” Paxton replied, and I detected a note of pride in the way he said it. “I ain’t a hacker, and I can’t even pay my normal debts, how the fuck would I be able to pay for a procedure of that magnitude?”
“You’d be surprised how many people become Corrupters because they’re in over their heads in debt. You said you had a family, how much do you pay in premiums?”
For the first time I saw that Paxton had an old physical CerA interface implanted in his wrist, because he began to fiddle with it.
Damn, he is a poor ass mother fucker, I thought.
“No need playing with yourself,” I said, interrupting him stroking his interface. “I have the figures already.”
“So then why’d you ask?”
Instead of answering him, I said, “Do you know any Corrupters?”
He shook his head. “Yeah right, it’s not like people go around bragging about that shit.”
“Some do.”
“Not anyone I’ve come across.”
“Do you know where to go if you wanted an alteration done?”
Paxton got to his feet and circled around to the back of the steel chair. “It’s a nifty little trick you got going with this room.”
“Excuse me,” I said.
“The constant rotation. Making it difficult to track the direction we’re going in. I can’t physically tell myself, but I know what’s going on.”
“Really?” I asked. “How so?”
Paxton told me how he’d come to his discovery, how just a minute ago, when he had appeared to be getting the figures of his premium debts on his CerA, he’d noticed that he was temporarily cut off from the aether. When he then attempted to determine the direction we were heading in, using the built in compass of his CerA, he realized that something was off and came to the conclusion that the room was rotating.
The boy had some brains after all. Needed some training, but nothing I couldn’t fix.
I was impressed. Not once in the history of the pip had anyone ever had the gall to stand up from that chair without being commanded to do so, and as far as I knew, no one had ever discovered the room rotation.
“I got some notions, but nothing solid,” Paxton said, answering my question about getting an alteration done.
I positioned my chair back into the reclining position and placed my hands behind my head. “Let’s hear them then.”
He shook his head. “Not until I have your word that you’re actually going to help me.”
“My CerA and Mnemosyne distinctly recalls you saying, and I quote, ‘I’ll do anything you want.’”
“Yeah, well, I recall you saying not to be so hasty with such a decision.”
I smiled. “That’s not exactly what I said. Are your bitches not working properly?”
“Ha ha, you’re pretty funny. I had no idea you were a comedian as well as a plumber.”
I beckoned him to sit back down. “Do you want my help or not?”
“Yeah, but if you turn me over to the cops, you’re just signing my death warrant. You might as well just kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you. And I’m not turning you over to anyone. So sit down and relax.”
“Then what was that shit back in the bar about arresting me? And what the hell is this thing doing around my neck?”
I gave a sigh and waved my hand in the air in a brushing away manner “A simple show of theatrics to allow you an alibi to disappear for a while. And the collar is because I wasn’t sure if you’d be a good dog and not bite. I still haven’t made up my mind on that last one.”
Paxton rubbed the collar. “Best leave it on, my bite’s way worse than my bark.”
“And you say I’m the comedian. I hope you’re telling the truth on that, otherwise you’re useless to me.”
“So you’re not pressing charges.”
“Not at the moment. Besides, it’s not as if you actually stole anything. The way I see it, you’re in a predicament and I have an out. I consider it a win-win situation. Just because I’m not charging you now, doesn’t mean that I can’t, and won’t, later on. Did you understand that, or do I need to repeat myself?”
Paxton reached into his jacket and produced a six-inch blade. “I ain’t going to be your slave. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. Best kill me now.”
I was off my game. I hadn’t even bothered to do a weapons check before I brought him into closed quarters.
“So now you’re threatening me. Would you make up your mind already, because I was just about to give you a passing grade.”
Paxton kept his mouth shut and held out his hands, indicating he was waiting for me to speak.
“Excellent, I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. You’ve passed the test. Had a few rough spots, but overall, I’m impressed. Look, as much as the myths say about us, Inquisitions aren’t always about torture. In fact, most aren’t. Actually, most of the time a person doesn’t even know they’re being inquisitioned, which is why when a judgment occurs people mysteriously go missing and aren’t seen again. So, how does it feel to have been inquisitioned? Or, more aptly put, acquisitioned?”
“Seriously?” Paxton looked around again. “But you didn’t do shit.”
I sighed. “I’ve never really gotten off on anal. Giving or receiving. Just doesn’t feel quite right.”
This last remark rendered Paxton speechless.
I prayed.
Please, Odin, the All-Father, grant this man a little wisdom. Enough, anyway, to keep him from getting himself killed. More importantly, for him to not get me killed in the process of using him.
“I’m just fucking with you,” I said. “Stop taking everything so seriously. I’ve already gone through all your official records, as well as everything about you in the aether, both public and private. I believe I’ve rendered a fairly accurate psych profile. I’ve determined that you’re a product of bad luck and untimely circumstances, but overall a most respectable man at heart. Sure, it was stupid of you to get involved with a Purist girl, and then to get her pregnant. Definitely not smart. But then again, you were a Purist yourself. I have a question though, why didn’t you marry her and stay with your people?”
“I thought you already knew everything,” he said with a smirk.
“Not everything is in the aether, especially when it comes to Purists. They’re a secretive lot. Notice how I didn’t say ‘you’re,’ co
nsidering you aren’t one of them anymore, on account you’ve tech-sinned and gone and got yourself integrated.”
A flash of sadness washed over his face. “I wanted to marry her. I asked for permission even, but her parents wouldn’t allow it. They said I wasn’t good enough. That her getting pregnant was all my fault. That I’d corrupted her.”
“I see. And so because of what happened, you went and got yourself myted-up. Joined the rest of us heathens.”
“What do you know?” Paxton said angrily, bringing the knife back up. As if that were intimidating to me.
Actually, I already knew all about Paxton’s predicament. Enough bits and pieces were scattered in the aether to form an impression. I also had known that it was a sore spot for the man. Not that I could blame him. Hell, my own marriage was for me. Just one more thing we had in common.
Don’t flub this up bub, I told myself.
I’d spent the last few minutes chiseling away at Paxton’s defenses, but if I wasn’t careful, he’d catch on and begin repairs. Knock down a man’s wall, screw him over, and he’ll rebuild it ten times stronger. Men could be stupid, except when it came to building walls.
As I was about to apologize and change the subject by asking more about Van Horne, the pip jerked violently like it’d been in a collision. I was thrown forward from my chair into the table, and then fell to the floor. I caught sight of Paxton flying backwards, slamming into the wall.
6: Don’t Let This Man Vomit on Me
Grabbing hold of the table and pulling myself up I said, “Kali, display vehicle diagnostics.”
The surface of the table came to life and showed various schematics of the pip. Everything was working within their finely tuned parameters, but sensors indicated there was some external damage to the rear of the vehicle.
“Kali, what in Tartarus just happened?”
‹It would appear that the pip was in a minor collision with another vehicle.›
“What do you mean, appears? Was it, or was it not?”
‹I believe that it was, sir.›
“What the fuck do you mean, believe? I want facts. Were we, or were we not, just struck by another vehicle?”