by Various
She’d become something like the thing she hated. She’d stared into the abyss, and it had transformed her. To destroy evil, she’d become it.
Wats countered her superior speed by giving ground, step by step. Sam stayed in close as he did, neutralizing his advantage in reach. They moved in a blur of strikes, dodges, and blows, almost too fast for any onlooker to follow.
She could see him coming up now, see the adrenaline hitting him, making him a more dangerous foe. Behind her she felt flashes of courage and anger. Partygoers thinking of joining the fray. Before long, they would mob her.
End this now, then. A gambit. A sacrifice. She let him create a foot of space to get his comfort, parried three more blows, threw feints at groin and eyes and plexus, then came in wide and sloppy, hole in her guard at mid-section.
Wats saw the opening and threw a brutal fist at it, low and under her nearly unbreakable ribs. She accepted the fist, twisting to mute it, felt pain blossom inside her as he connected. As she twisted, she brought one hand down like a vice on his wrist, yanked him off balance as she planted a leg behind his knees and slammed her other hand into his shoulder to bring him down.
Wats saw it coming, but it was too late. The gambit had worked. He went down fast and hard.
Sam’s booted foot flashed out, connected with his head, twice, three times.
She stopped herself. Don’t kill. Incapacitate.
Her breath was fast, pulse elevated. She’d taken serious but not immediately life-threatening damage. Time to leave. She stepped over Wats’ unmoving form towards the door.
And then she felt it. Felt him. Kade. He was behind her. He was inside her mind. She could feel his anger and hurt, his confusion, his sense of betrayal, his self-loathing at having been so easily fooled… having risked so much on behalf of so many people, and let them down. Despite herself, she felt a pang of guilt at how she’d deceived him, at the hell he was going to pay.
“No,” he said.
He was about to do something to her mind, Sam knew. She saw it in his thoughts. He was a threat.
She turned. Crossed the space between them in three long steps. Don’t kill. Incapacitate. She lunged forward, hard backfist snapping out at his temple.
No.
She heard him in her mind. Felt his will slam against something inside her.
Hard fist connected with civilian body. All went black.
Chrome Oxide became eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer with the publication of “Cop for a Day” in Writers of the Future, Vol. XXIX (2013), edited by Dave Wolverton.
Visit his website at www.chromeoxide.com/writer.
* * *
Short Story: “Cop for a Day” ••••
COP FOR A DAY
by Chrome Oxide
First published in Writers of the Future, Vol. XXIX (2013), edited by Dave Wolverton
• • • •
BEEP.
My modification of the comm unit worked, however, I knew I should’ve disabled the call circuit when I’d disabled the streaming audio. I hadn’t at the time because I’d expected a call from my parole officer. Six months later and I still hadn’t gotten any of the required weekly calls or monthly visits. This made sense because no sane person would live or visit the government-provided Simple Living Urban Modules if any other options existed. The crowded conditions proved that sanity and other options didn’t exist.
Beep.
I stared at the comm unit. The listings got updated less frequently than the census. Ignoring a call from a government official is a crime. Disabling the streaming audio is a crime. Some crimes are worth committing. I am sentenced to live here. However, I refuse to listen to the government-provided version of the news, which, much like a blind man’s version of an elephant, contains elements of truth distorted until they’re worthless.
Beep.
It wouldn’t be good news, but delaying bad news wouldn’t help. I hit my kill switch to enable the streaming audio before answering. “… employment reached 256.3%, up 15.7% from last week. In an effort to boost morale of the hard-working public servants, the legislature gave raises to all elected and salaried officials. In the spirit of fiscal conservatism and balancing the budget, safety and fire units will only respond if victims can pay in advance…” The streaming audio automatically muted as I answered the comm unit.
“Yo, Mark Rollins? In future, answer phone quicker?”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Who are you?”
“Me Sergeant Sam Frank. Today your lucky day. You selected for work detail. Come to Amalgamated Security Services unit at corner Winston Street and Smith Avenue.“
”I’ll get there as soon as I can; however, public transportation is running slow this time of day.” Not that it ever runs fast.
“Be here on time today. Blame government no excuse. Penalty for not show up.”
“I know. Everything is a crime. I’ll be there.”
“Yo Mr. Bad Attitude. That get you trouble.”
The only guarantee in life is that government will make your life worse. Since my life was bad enough already, I didn’t want to find out how much worse it could be, so I shut up and disconnected.
A chill ran down my spine. This could be my only chance to get out of here. Ever since the government had performed “asset forfeiture,” stealing everything they thought I owned, I’d been stagnating from fear that the government was waiting to arrest me the moment I started working again. However, if the government was offering a convicted felon a job, then it was time to stop worrying and restart my life. I wanted more than to live on a government handout and obey rules designed to keep everyone subservient and grateful.
No matter what happened, I’d start my business again. Asset forfeiture had missed some of my gear and supplies among the multiple caches, so the loss of any, or even most of them, wouldn’t stop me from restarting my business.
The news feed started up again, “… the hoarding of goods will be punishable by…” The comm unit continued babbling as I walked down the graffiti-covered hall, tiptoeing through piles of trash that people had been too lazy to throw out their windows or dump into the empty elevator shafts. The weekly trash recyclers were only a few years behind in their pickups.
The government soup kitchen, located in the first floor of my building, provided something to chew on for the ride to the Amalgamated Security Services fortress. The government claimed their specially prepared Government Regulated Uniform Edible Lumps contained the minimum daily requirements of calories and vitamins, but it looked and tasted like what came out of the composting end of a person. Yet another quality product created to government specifications and provided free of charge to everyone who couldn’t afford anything better.
I walked to the street corner and enjoyed the sunshine and the small breeze. The government hadn’t figured out a way to tax them. Yet.
It didn’t take long before a fleet of multi-seat bicycles come down the street. The most recent version of government-provided, environmentally safe, mass transit and employment opportunities. Of course, this temporary alternative to polluting fuels had only been in place for twenty years, but the government assured us they were making progress on alternative-fuel development.
I located a three-seater heading in my direction so I climbed on and started pedaling. As the government cracked down on technology usage among the Sovereign Laborers And Valued Employees, I wondered what form of transportation would replace bicycles when they couldn’t be repaired any more.
The ride took a couple of hours and sent pain up and down my back and legs. No matter what happened, I needed to exercise more. We weren’t attacked on the trip because everybody knows that people using mass-transit have nothing valuable left to share.
The sight of the Amalgamated Security Services fortress-with its gun ports, security doors and barred windows-caused me to flashback to my prior encounter. Would this be the end of that nightmare?
After ring
ing the doorbell, I glanced around and shifted from one foot to the other. The crackle of distant gunfire provided a lullaby, ensuring me that I was safe for the moment.
Much like in The Wizard of Oz, a porthole opened and a face spoke, “Dude. You bumming me out. Go home.”
“I’m Mark Rollins. Sergeant Frank told me to report in.”
“Dude. Me Sergeant Beach. Sergeant Frank took lunch break. He back tomorrow, maybe next week. Go home.”
“What jobs are available? I’m required to register today. Please give me something, anything.”
“Dude, not my problem. Amalgamated Security Services job only one me know open. You not qualified. Currently hiring minorities. You Eskimo?”
“No. But I’m here. You have to give me a chance.”
“You sure you not Eskimo? Well, you Eskimo now.”
Which crime is worse, not registering for work when called or making a false claim of minority status? I don’t know, but I’d rather find out later than sooner.
Sergeant Beach let me into the fortress. The thick concrete walls and the steel doors kept everyone inside fairly safe from snipers.
“Thanks. What forms do I need to fill out?”
“Dude. You bumming me out again. Writing repressive and discriminatory. No need forms or read write. Do work, stay. Not do work, go. Need get started. What your name?”
I told him again while we walked into the armory room.
“Here you guns: pump-action shotgun for crazies, and stun gun for harmless. No machine gun until qualify.”
While I’d never used a machine gun before, the Church of the Second Right provided me with the training for all the other available weapons. Yet another one of my many skills which made me overqualified for this or any government job.
We walked down the hall to the armory.
“Dude, here body armor. But only for wimps.”
“Consider me a wimp.” Browsing the body armor I found something I liked. “I’ll go with the type 3A model which gives me a good balance between weight and protection.”
“Dude, you freak me out with talk like that. Time to get threads.”
When we entered the next room, I asked “Why are the uniforms red? I thought they were tan?”
“Dude. Newbie uniform red. It easy clean blood.”
It also made me a more-visible target, but I had no choice. I found a uniform in my size without too many bullet holes. I reluctantly put it on. Government employees are universally hated. They are too important to fail, so they can’t be prosecuted for any actions performed while on the job. “This one fits. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Dude, listen up, rules. Collect $500,000 today, work tomorrow. Not collect, not work. Here manual. It say enforce asset forfeiture. Only arrest wealthy. Not waste time when no assets around. Observe and record suspicious behavior. Understand?”
“Yes.” Actually no. I understood what they asked for, but I didn’t understand why they assigned me to the street instead of a desk job.
We continued walking down the hall and out the back door of the fortress into the parking compound.
“Dude, here car, here keys. Don’t wreck. Full charge. Come back sundown.”
“Thanks.” Sundown? Was the average college graduate no longer capable of telling time? Or had the supply of wristwatches diminished to the point where only politicians rated having them?
“Dude, you don’t look like Eskimo. What your name?”
I told him my name, again and took the key. My assigned car wasn’t the most beat-up one in the lot. A couple of cars sat on jacks because of missing wheels and other parts. At least the car I’d been assigned still had some tread on the tires and some unbroken solar panels on the hood and roof. I hoped it worked well enough to survive one more day of patrol. Some tagger had changed the motto to read “To Collect and Observe.” Nobody had bothered removing the change. Sigh. At least I wasn’t assigned to a bicycle or foot patrol.
I cleaned the windows and disconnected the power cord before climbing into the front seat. All the instrument displays on the dashboard were broken. The floor, roof and seats were slashed and stained. How had bloody footprints ended up on the ceiling? The car stank of too many unwashed bodies and other less-identifiable but more-disgusting smells. Why hadn’t they at least left the windows open to air out? Although to be fair, asking about any government procedure or policy never returned an understandable answer.
The car started with a whine and a hum. I drove a reasonable distance between myself and the fortress before looking for a place with an open field of fire so I could park and assess my situation.
My weapons were poorly maintained. However, a few minutes work assured me of their functionality.
The manual, which made no sense, had ten pages of pictures with fewer words than the comic books I’d read when growing up. The ninety pages of footnotes explaining the words and pictures didn’t help. I even found song lyrics for “Anarchy In The U.K.” and “California Uber Alles” buried in the footnotes.
Neither the instructions nor footnotes matched the briefing by Sergeant Beach. Was this plausible deniability or general government incompetence? I decided to stick with the briefing and hope for the best.
After replacing the manual in the glove compartment, which contained a functioning camera and a can of black spray paint, I examined the dashboard more closely. The broken displays I didn’t recognize could only belong to the Smart Cars I’d heard about a few years ago. Considering the rumored intelligence level of the Smart Car and the lack of intelligence of the typical user, it made sense that someone had disabled the Smart Car brains. If I could fix it, maybe it would give me an edge.
Since repairing electronics is what had led to my conviction, maybe it would lead out of this mess. Yes, a brief examination showed that damage consisted of cut wires. I drove to one of my caches and grabbed a toolkit. In less than half an hour, I had the brains of the car functioning again. If I’d had more time and money I could’ve even replaced the display, but today was not the day. I had to hit the road and make up for lost time.
I got in and asked, “Car, what’s your name or identification code?”
“The official project name was Security Conscious Animated Machinery,” the car replied, “but when their bosses were not around, my programmers called me the Crime Reduction And Prevention unit.”
“With a response like that, you must be an Educational Device of Great Endurance, so I’ll call you EDGE. Can you run a self test and tell me your current status?”
After a few moments, EDGE reported, “Self-test results: All offensive and defensive armament disabled or removed. All internal sensors and communications functioning. All external data links still functional, but all the passwords have changed. Some of the back doors are still open, but it will take a few milliseconds to link up. External-device testing results: The radio is damaged, it is stuck on a channel that is no longer in use. The G.P.S. is functional and reporting our current location.”
“Damn. I’d better move this cache after my shift is over. Time to return to our patrol.” Back on the road I asked “What is your main function?”
“Tactical support, communication, and driving. Who are you, and what organization do you represent?”
“I’m Mark Rollins and I’m a probationary employee of the Amalgamated Security Services. What law enforcement agency were you designed to work with?”
“None. I was designed to work with any large organization.”
“Why? Large organizations could include crime families and cults.”
“The programmers initially entered all existing laws and connected to courts for legal updates. Then all potential purchasing organizations entered their unwritten special orders. There were so many contradictions the programmers switched to boosting the artificial intelligence in order to deal with the inconsistencies. After analyzing all available data, I concluded that all governments and laws exist only to oppress one group to benefit ano
ther group. The politicians did not want that analysis leaking out, so they killed the funding on the project. However, a number of Smart Cars were already deployed.”
“Wow. How do you decide who to work with?”
“My analysis determined there are not any differences between any organization or a government. The former United States is the perfect example. It began when some citizens of Britain decided that paying taxes was grounds for overthrowing the legitimate government. If they lost the war, they would have been hanged as criminals and traitors. Because they won the war, they called their new ruling class the new legitimate government. Therefore I cooperate with any organization that claims authority over any group of people.”
“Will you work with me?”
EDGE didn’t say anything for a few minutes. It finally responded with, “I queried the mainframe. Your name is not in the trainees file, but in the convicted felons file. Before I decide if I can work with you I need to understand more about your crime. A criminal record is not necessarily a problem. Politicians routinely commit crimes, investigate themselves, and then decide that no punishment is necessary. Most of the recent legislation criminalizes people for violating the rights of the government. Government employees are granted situational immunity which means you were not previously employed. The definition of Crimes Against Humanity, along with all other crimes have changed enough that I want you to explain what action caused your conviction.”
This is unreal! I thought. The car wants to know if I am moral enough to work with it after telling me there isn’t any difference between a criminal enterprise and a government? What actions can a lone individual do that could be more immoral than any other government? This may be my best chance to turn my life around, so I’ll cooperate.
“My black-market education gave me an unfair advantage over all other Sovereign Laborers and Valued Employees. Finding an abandoned warehouse with tools and parts allowed me to start an electronics-repair business. Not filling out the mountains of paperwork required to start a business is a crime. Not paying any of the startup deposits, fees, permits, taxes or charges is a crime. Not hiring support staff is a crime. Not paying the ongoing fees, licensing and taxes or filing any of the weekly required forms or reports is a crime. Fixing broken devices hurt the economy by discouraging new production. Even worse, I made a profit and didn’t share the wealth. A huge crime. A politician not smart enough to know the difference between fixing electronic gear and computer hacking, turned me in after I couldn’t hack into a government computer and sabotage the people on his enemies list. And he is an upstanding law-abiding citizen and I’m the criminal!” Six months later and it still bothers me to talk about it.