Science Fiction: GU: Justice Net (Science Fiction, Dystopian, The G.U. Trilogy Book 1)

by David Archer

  It was certainly enough to launch an investigation, but Martin knew he had to go about it carefully. Normally, such an investigation would be in the purview of the Special Unit itself. Martin felt it was necessary that he keep control of the investigation, however, so he would have to seek the approval of someone higher up than his own supervisors.

  Fortunately, Martin was a man who collected favors. The Chief Deputy Director of the arcology branch of CDPA was one of the people who owed him a favor, stemming from an incident a couple of years earlier that involved the director's teenage daughter. The girl had been picked up at a party, one she was far too young to attend. Standard procedure would have called for her to be arrested and booked, but Martin had been the inspector who supervised the raid. He recognized the girl instantly, having seen her with her father on several occasions, and quietly took her out of the apartment and called the director.

  The director had immediately sent an Uber for her. Martin had personally put her into the car, using his Police Authority to lock the destination as her home. She couldn't get out of the car until it got to her father's apartment, nor could she change the destination to somewhere else. Martin had made certain that her name never appeared in the arrest reports, and the director had been grateful. That was precisely how Martin had gotten the cushy assignment to Ground Level.

  He poked up the director's private COM code on his holo-tab, and made a call. It took him only minutes to state his case, and he was granted permission to open an official investigation under his personal command.

  He spent the rest of that day doing exactly that, and left his office just before two PM to pay a visit to Inspector Hansen. He took an Uber up to Hansen's station, and was frustrated when he arrived to find that the inspector was out on a call. He told the desk sergeant that he would wait, and took a seat in their lobby.

  Hansen arrived almost an hour later, and was surprised to have a visitor. He shook Martin's hand, and led the way to his own office.

  “I'm sorry to drop in on you unannounced like this,” Martin said, “but I'm afraid this matter is too important to trust to calls.”

  Hansen's eyebrows went up. “I assure you, Inspector, it's no trouble. How can I help you?”

  “I've been made aware that you have had some recent dealings with Inspector Pennyfarthing from Unit Z. Can you tell me what they have been about?”

  The eyebrows rose up another quarter inch. “Pennyfarthing? He was very helpful in a recent case, the University Rapist case. It was Pennyfarthing who found the evidence I needed to make an arrest. Is there something wrong?”

  Martin tried to appear sympathetic. “I'm afraid, Inspector, that the evidence to which you are referring may have been falsified. It seems that Inspector Pennyfarthing had some sort of personal agenda that required Professor Pace to be out of the picture. We don't yet know what that agenda was, but I have been provided with incontrovertible proof that he altered DNA codes in order to make Pace appear to be guilty.”

  Hansen leaned forward, staring at Martin's eyes. “Oh, my God,” he said. “Are you telling me that I helped send an innocent man to J-Net?”

  “Inspector, please relax,” Martin said. “You did your job, very professionally. It's not your fault someone else kept feeding you falsified information. What I need from you now is everything you can tell me about Pennyfarthing, such as how he contacted you, and anything he may have told you about how he came by his information.”

  Hansen shook his head, as if bewildered. “My only communication with him was by email,” he said. “I've never met the man, or even spoken to him by phone. He contacted me a few weeks ago, suggesting that I take another look at the professor. I had actually interviewed him once before, because one of the victims had suggested that the rapist was about his same size and build, but at the time he seemed to have an alibi. When I looked again, he had no alibis at all, not for any of the rapes. I was just absolutely certain I had the right guy.”

  “Don't beat yourself up about this,” Martin said. “A guy like Pennyfarthing, he can manipulate anything, including inspectors like us. Can you think of anything else about him I should know?”

  Hansen thought for a moment, but then shook his head again. “Nothing comes to mind, I'm afraid. Oh, wait, I did get another call once about this case. It was another inspector, let me look at my notes.” He called up his HD and scanned through a list of files, then opened one. “John Harrison, that was the name. He said he was a friend of Pace and his DP, told me he'd seen signs that Pace might be roughing the girl up. Funny thing was, I tried to look him up not long after that, and couldn't find him. You think it might have been Pennyfarthing?”

  Martin had forgotten that call, and was suddenly glad he had given a false name. He sent up a silent prayer that Hansen wouldn't recognize his voice, then grinned. “I wouldn't be a bit surprised,” he said. “Well, Inspector, if you do happen to think of anything else, please give me a call. I'm running the investigation on this, and I'm certain I'll be needing your help in the near future.”

  Both men stood, and Martin shook Hansen's hand before walking out the door. His nervousness subsided when he got back into another Uber and headed back to his own office.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Carson stepped out of his building the next morning to find only Anita waiting for him. He looked around for Johnny and Roscoe, but didn't see them anywhere. “I guess it's just you and me for breakfast this morning,” he said.

  Anita smiled. “Guess so,” she said. She slipped her hand into his, and they walked together to the chow hall. They had just gotten into line when Johnny suddenly appeared and fell in behind them.

  Carson looked back at him, and instantly knew that something was wrong. “Johnny? What's the matter?”

  Johnny opened his mouth once, but nothing came out. He swallowed, then said, “Roscoe's gone.”

  Carson's heart dropped.

  “Sampson Niles killed him last night. I just found out a few minutes ago.”

  Anita gasped, and looked between Carson and Johnny. Neither of the men were making eye contact with anybody.

  After a minute, Carson shook his head. “But he was so sure. He was certain he could take the guy. What the hell happened?”

  Johnny shrugged, still sort of staring off into space. “All I heard was that Niles caught him off guard and managed to get an arm around his throat, then just sort of did a flip and snapped Roscoe's neck. It all just happened so fast, or at least that's what I'm told. I still don't want to believe it, but just this morning they took his name off the roster. That only happens when you...” Johnny struggled for the words. “When you die.”

  The three of them went through the line, but when they got to a table none of them felt like eating. They sat there for a little while, occasionally talking about something they each liked about Roscoe, but it was less than twenty minutes later when they got up and turned in their trays. None of them had even taken a bite.

  “You got one more day to train, and that's today.” he said. “Roscoe wanted you to make it, and I'm going to do my best to make sure you do. Let's get busy.”

  The idea of keeping busy, and not dwelling on the obvious heartache they all were feeling, sounded like a good plan to Carson. They walked over to their practice area, where a much smaller crowd awaited them. They spoke to a few of the people standing around, and learned that everyone had already heard about Roscoe, so they wasted a few more minutes talking about their fallen friend. It seemed Roscoe was well liked, even by people who may have had to fight him sooner or later.

  Carson and Johnny began working out together, with Johnny throwing every new kind of swing and punch and kick he could think of. The day passed slowly, with Carson having to think hard about how to counter all of the new attacks, but by the time the day was over he had managed to stay on his feet for the most part.

  At dinnertime, he and Johnny and Anita sat together one more time. They used the time to reminisce about Roscoe, and Johnny told some
stories about the big man that actually made Carson and Anita laugh. When they were finished, Johnny shook Carson's hand and said he didn't think he was going to be up for breakfast in the morning. Instead, he would go on to the guard shack as soon as he got up.

  “Remember, right after breakfast you have to go to the guard shack.” He glanced at Anita. “I'd suggest that you two might want to spend as much time together tonight as you can. I'm not suggesting anything, but I know that there have been a few times when a guy got to keep his girl with him the night before a fight. I guess as long as you're not out after curfew, they don't really care a lot where you sleep.”

  Johnny turned and walked away, and Carson took Anita's hand as they walked back to his room. They were both fully aware that it might be the last time they would ever be together, and they didn't waste any time. Their passions were high, but their hearts somber. It felt good to be together, and Carson tried to push back the thought that this could be the last time he saw her.

  When the curfew buzzer sounded, she was curled up beside him, her head on his chest. They lay like that throughout the night, each of them sleeping only in short spurts.

  When morning came, they walked out of the building together and headed straight for the chow hall. Having breakfast together would be the last time they would see each other, unless Carson survived his fight. He spent the time promising Anita that he would come back to her, and it suddenly struck him that he hadn't even thought of Charlotte since he had met this girl. There was something about her that drew him, in ways that Charlotte never had.

  Thinking of Charlotte, he hoped that she would go on with her life. If the most incredible of miracles were to happen, and he ever made it out of J-Net alive, he planned to move on with his own. Anita even told him that, should she make it through her next two fights, she would be waiting for him outside. He didn't believe her, but it was nice to think about.

  And then it was time. They turned in their trays, and Anita kissed him goodbye right there in front of the chow hall. He held her for another moment, then turned and started toward the guard shack.

  When he got there, the guard that took him inside was one that he recognized. Georgie smiled at him and showed him the way to the waiting room. The door had a window in it, and Carson saw Johnny through one of the doors they passed. Johnny saw him and waved, and Carson waved back.

  In another room, Carson saw the large white man that Roscoe had pointed out as Lou Malkovich. Malkovich saw him as well, and snarled at him as he walked by.

  There were many other such rooms, and most of them already held someone. Carson had learned that there were several arenas, one for each of the major districts. This compound held inmates from all of the districts in North America, which meant that there would actually be dozens of fights that night. Which one people chose to watch usually depended on where they lived.

  Georgie opened a door and Carson stepped into the room. As he had been told, the room was incredible. There was a large, very comfortable bed, a recliner and an HD on the wall. A small refrigerator held soft drinks, and there was a coffee dispenser on top of it. Carson took a bottle of sweet tea and sat down in the chair.

  He spoke to the HD and began scanning the available programs. He wanted to avoid the news, but there were a couple of movies on that sounded interesting. He selected one and sat back to watch. It was every bit as good as he had expected it to be, and when it ended he started another.

  At lunchtime, one of the guards brought around a tray. Carson took the top off and saw that it was a fairly simple meal, tuna salad sandwiches on rye bread. He took the tray back to the chair and ate his lunch while he finished the second movie, then started a third.

  There was a slot in the wall for the tray, and he pushed it through when he had finished eating, then went back to his movie. When that one ended, he got up and went to the bathroom and saw that there was a pair of the shorts that would be worn in the arena waiting for him. The bathtub looked inviting, so he decided to take a bath. He ran the tub full of water as hot as he could stand it, then climbed in and sighed in relief as the hot water made his muscles relax.

  When the water began to cool, he reached out and grabbed the bottle of shampoo and body soap and washed himself. He ducked under the water to rinse, then climbed out of the tub and used a large, fluffy towel to dry off. He had already shaved that morning, so he climbed into the shorts and went back out to the recliner.

  Dinner came early, and when he opened the tray they brought him, he was surprised to see a large T-bone steak, a baked potato and a pile of steamed vegetables. “The condemned man eats a hearty meal,” he said to himself, and then fought down the wave of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. He sat down and ate, watching a comedy program as he did so. He savored every bite, washing it all down with another bottle of tea.

  His fight was not the feature of the night. That honor was Johnny's, but his fight couldn't begin until Carson's was over. On a whim, he tuned the HD to Justice Net, Chicago District, and sobered when he saw his own name scheduled for the first fight that night. The fight was supposed to begin at six, which meant he had less than an hour to wait.

  He left the HD on Justice Net, because there was a clock that counted down until the next fight. The minutes went by slowly, and Carson grew more nervous. A lump in his throat grew larger and larger as the seconds ticked down, and no amount of tea could wash it away. It seemed like six o'clock would never arrive, and yet when it did, it seemed it had come too soon.

  One of the guards opened the door and called him out, and he followed the man along the hallway. They stopped at what appeared to be an elevator, and he stepped inside. The guard entered as well, and the elevator whooshed downward.

  Suddenly it stopped, and then changed direction. The car was moving sideways. The guard didn't seem the least bit perturbed, so Carson figured it must be taking him to the arena. Shortly thereafter, it stopped moving sideways and began to rise.

  “As soon as the doors open,” the guard said, “you step out and you'll be in the arena. Your opponent was taken by another car to the opposite end. When you hear the buzzer go off, that's your signal to start moving. Good luck.”

  The doors opened then, and Carson hesitated for only a second before stepping out. He heard the doors close behind him, and the elevator descended into the ground.

  It seemed like he stood there for an hour, but he knew it could only have been a few minutes. He looked around, noting the positions of the many stands of bushes and choosing the one that seemed to have thick enough branches to do him some good. A loud buzzer, something like a gigantic fire alarm, sounded off. That was his cue, he knew, and he burst into a sprint toward the bushes he had chosen. His bare feet, made tougher by all the days of practice in the compound, could still feel every rock and pebble, but he didn't slow down. He reached the bushes within seconds and dove right into them.

  He was out of sight of the drones that were flying around, trying to keep a camera lens aimed at him. He used that moment of invisibility to reach into the bushes, feeling for a branch that was as thick as the stick he had used in practice. It took him only seconds to find one, but this bush was more durable than the one in the compound had been. It took him a full minute to break off the branch and pull it out to himself, and then several seconds more to snap off an end.

  He clamped his new weapon into his fingers the way he had been taught, and then rushed out of the bushes. Unlike Waller, he didn't think the element of surprise would do him much good, so he jogged straight toward the center of the arena.

  After a minute of running he arrived, and looked around for Malkovich. The man casually sauntered into view after only a moment, and the two locked eyes. Carson could feel hate beaming through his eyes, right into Carson's very soul. Only then, standing face-to-face, did Carson truly appreciate just how large Malkovich was. The man was nearly a giant, with arms huge and powerful.

  He thought back to Waller, and the story of David vs. Golia
th. Only Carson didn't have a sling, just a stick, and the man taking the role of Goliath was starting to move.

  And he was coming straight for Carson.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Carson suddenly broke into a run, straight at Malkovich. The big man's eyes became wide, but then he grinned and spread his arms out. It looked like his prey was coming straight to him, and maybe he could get this fight over quickly. That suited him perfectly.

  “Here it comes, you son of a bitch!” Carson yelled at the top of his lungs. He continued straight at Malkovich, but just before he would have reached him, he suddenly dropped and rolled, ending up in a sitting position at the big man's feet. He jabbed upward with the stick, driving it as hard as he could into Malkovich's crotch, then rolled away as the muscled giant roared in pain and grabbed at his balls.

  Carson bounced to his feet and rushed back in, managing to drive the stick into the man's side hard enough to break the skin. If the stick had been pointed, the fight might have been over, but Malkovich roared again and swung an arm at Carson's head. It almost got him, but Carson ducked under it at the last second, dancing away as he did so.

  “You little…” Malkovich couldn't seem to remember what he wanted to call him, but the rage in his face was obvious. He took a step toward Carson, but his face reflected the pain his testicles were still feeling, and it seemed to get worse with each step. The man had already been slow, but now he was glacier-like.

  Carson ran around, making three complete circuits before Malkovich stopped trying to turn and watch it. That was what he was counting on, and as he passed around the man the fourth time he changed direction and drove the stick with all his weight behind it into Malkovich's right kidney.

  Malkovich screamed again, and his knees almost buckled, but he managed to stay on his feet. He whirled around to try to watch Carson, reaching out with his hands to try to grab onto him, but Carson stayed out of reach. He stopped running around the man, and started dancing back and forth, coming just within reach and then backing out of it again when the huge hands came flying at him.