by K. C. Sivils
“This is personal,” I told him, pushing the image toward him.
He picked up a mug and began wiping it dry as he took a closer look.
“Yeah,” he replied, squinting at me as he looked up. “I see the resemblance.”
FROM HER VANTAGE POINT on the rooftop, Sarah was able to watch the goings-on in the neighborhood. For the most part, the people who lived in that part of town were safe at night if they stayed inside or stuck to the streets with working lights.
It was in the shadows where the evil took place: just local small-scale drug dealers and a few pimps working their strings of girls. There were a couple of guys Sarah made for muggers. The decline of the neighborhood wouldn't take long now that the small timers had set up shop. Families that could leave would. Businesses would fail or leave, and those who had no choice would be trapped.
It is a story that had been told time after time where ever humans lived. At least that is what Sully told her Sarah thought. He called it the broken window syndrome. It starts small, a broken window here, a broken window there. Nobody repairs the windows, and before long graffiti appeared. Then people began littering, and things went downhill quick. Neighborhoods died because nobody cared enough to take care of the small stuff.
A scream for help got Sarah’s attention. She ran across the flat roof of the old factory building, long closed and converted to other uses. Sarah stopped at the retaining wall and looked straight down. Three thugs had grabbed a young couple and dragged them into the alley behind the building that had served as a place of employment years ago.
It was apparent what the goons had planned. Two of them worked over the young male while one held the female still. After beating the man nearly to death, the pair turned their attention to the young woman. Sarah looked up and down the alley, looking for anyone who might be coming to help.
The efforts of the three thugs brought back horrible memories of cruel times past, making Sarah’s stomach turn.
Standing in the light of a streetlight on the corner of the street and the alley was a uniform cop, hands in pockets, looking in both directions. Precisely like a lookout would do if a gang rape and robbery were about to take place.
Unfortunately for the cop, a fire escape was attached to that corner of the building. Shadows covered the rusty metal staircases, making it easy for Sarah to scurry down. Sarah shifted her cellular frequency, making herself difficult to see. Five meters from the pavement Sarah pulled a steel police baton from its resting place in her coat and with a swift swinging motion of her arm, extended the weapon to its full length. A subtle click sounded as each segment locked into place.
With her long hair flowing behind as Sarah jumped off the fire escape, her boots struck the cop on his shoulders, slamming him down face first on the sidewalk. In a flash, Sarah regained her feet. One good kick to the back of his head and the satisfying sound of a good crunch was audible as the man’s nose broke, and the dirty cop departed from the ranks of the conscious.
Intent as they were on the helpless woman, the three rapists didn’t notice Sarah’s approach. One of them had unfastened his pants and had lowered them to his knees. The first flow from the police baton was dead center on the spine in the small of his back. He screamed in shock and fell to his knees and toppled forward onto his hands. With both hands a second hard, downward blow was delivered to the punk's left kidney. If he were lucky, he would stop peeing blood in a week.
The second thug caught one square in the chin, breaking it into several pieces. He bit through his bottom lip, and his eyes went up into his head as he passed out, collapsing on the pavement next to his partner in crime.
The third thug tried to run. He got all of five steps before Sarah shoved him into the wall of the factory building. Deep in the shadows, all he remembered later was the black shadow standing over him as the steel ball of the baton slammed into his left kneecap. As he laid screaming in agony and clutching his left knee, an equally hard blow shattered his right knee.
Sarah ran back down the alley to check on the victims.
With caution, Sarah approached the sobbing woman as she sat in the filth of the alley, holding her lover’s face with both hands in her lap.
“Is he alive?”
She squinted, trying to focus on the shadowy form standing in the dark of the alley.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Who are you?”
“Don’t worry about who I am,” the form answered in a whisper. “If your friend can walk, you need to leave."
"I have a comm," she told the mysterious form. "I'll call the cops."
The form pointed at the body lying in the pool of bright light on the street corner.
"The lookout was a cop." The voice pointed at the injured man. "Call someone you know who can help you if he can’t move.”
Using her right hand, the woman fished her comm from a pocket in the light jacket she wore, watching the shadowy form vanish into the shadows before catching a brief a glimpse of the willowy form of a woman with long hair passing through the dim light of the street lamp.
Words of warning from the apparition carried clearly down the alleyway, warning the woman, “Whatever you do, get out of here fast.”
Chapter Ten
A soft beep sounded as the door closed behind Father Nathan. He looked about at the large open area of the repurposed factory. Rows of chairs facing a large projection screen served as the makeshift sanctuary. Double steel fire doors behind a homemade counter looked as if they led to other areas, possibly a dorm or a large soup kitchen to feed the indigent and homeless.
The left door of the two opened, and a short man appeared, his worn face adorned with a smile. It vanished as soon as the man spotted Father Nathan.
“You have a lot of nerve coming here dressed like that,” the man exclaimed.
Father Nathan took a moment to take stock of the shorter man. The man wore the clothes of a laborer on an assembly line, dark navy work pants and a light blue shirt with long sleeves that the man had rolled up to mid-forearm. Several days worth of stubble on his face displayed a mixture of brown and white whiskers. His close-cropped hair was thinning and was more grey than brown. Intense green eyes matched the tenor of his voice.
“Excuse me,” Father Nathan replied, a bit surprised at the lack of a warm welcome. “Oh,” he said, getting the man’s point, “the collar.”
“We ain’t a denominational church,” the man growled.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Father Nathan answered with a neutral tone. “Ecumenical work often produces the most fruit.”
A puzzled expression spread across the man’s face. “What do you mean?”
"My apologies," the priest replied. "Here I am speaking in Anglican jargon. What I meant to say was it would be nice to have another church close to my parish to help with the poor and the street kids. I am afraid the need is too great for the community of believers at St. Paul's where I'm the rector.”
“There ain’t no St. Paul’s in New Paris,” the man observed aloud. “There’s a St. John’s and a St. Luke’s but them’s Catholic.”
"Actually, there are two Anglican parishes here in New Paris, but yes, you are correct. There is no St. Paul's. My parish is in Capital City on Beta Prime."
“What are you doin’ here then? Slummin’?”
Father Nathan sighed and ran his right index finger under his clerical collar. “Look, it would seem an apology is in order. I had no intention of either insulting you or your church here. I simply stopped by to talk shop with another pastor.”
“Okay,” the man answered, unsure of what to make of Father Nathan. “Muh name’s Vick. I’m the associate pastor here at New Hope Church. What can I do for ya?”
"Tell me about the neighborhood if you don't mind," Father Nathan answered, genuinely interested. "My parish is located on the border of an industrial area and two different types of neighborhoods. Some of my parishioners are working class. And the others are more middle class. We have a mix of local busine
sses and restaurants, but there seems to be an air of decline.
"My parish was essentially dead when I was installed as the rector. With the help of a few faithful parishioners St. Paul's has been able to grow as a parish. We serve meals to over a hundred homeless three times a week, and I've been able to provide shelter to some forty or so street kids at night. We now have two services on Sundays and one on Wednesday night.”
“Money is a problem,” Vick informed Father Nathan, surprised at his admission. "We could do more, but people 'round here don't want much to do with God. Most of ‘em don’t believe even in the idea of God. The people who do come mostly come just to get a meal out of the deal and to sit in air conditioning for a bit.”
"I know the feeling," Father Nathan replied. "Beta Prime is a frozen world," Vick grunted in understanding. "People need to eat," he said. "Need protection from the elements, don't matter if it's hot or cold."
Vick gave Father Nathan a tour of the facility, and the two pastors shared ideas about their everyday problems in dealing with those in need. Back at the entrance, Father Nathan checked his comm. "It's getting late. You've got duties to perform before you can go to sleep."
“Yeah,” the gruff assistant pastor replied. “You interrupted me while I was gettin’ things ready to cook breakfast.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” the priest said with a friendly smile. “Before I go, would you mind telling me if you’ve seen this young woman before?”
Father Nathan produced a copy of the image of Katrina and handed it to Vick. The man glanced at the image and gave it back, his friendly demeanor changing back to the gruff, suspicious manner.
“Don’t know her,” Vick lied. “If she’s from around here, how do you know her?”
“I don’t, Vick,” Father Nathan answered. “But I know her father very well.”
UNABLE TO SLEEP, AMBASSADOR Marshall finally got up and went into his bathroom. He ran cold water in the sink and cupping his hands, filling them with the liquid. Leaning over, he splashed the water onto his face, letting it run off and into the sink. Standing up straight, the diplomat stared into the mirror. He watched as the last of the droplets of water ran down his face, pausing at his jawline before dripping into the sink below.
With the index finger of his right hand, Marshall pulled down the bottom eyelid of first his right eye and then the left. Noting their bloodshot appearance, he opened the cabinet in the wall to his right and fished through several bottles of medicine before finding what he was looking for. The eye drops stung as he applied them, causing him to blink several times.
After cleaning up the bathroom, Marshall returned to his room and looked out the balcony window, taking in the view of the city skyline. The one that Athens II advertised off-world, the one with bright lights of the high-rise apartment buildings and office complexes. Not the old horizon to the northern side of the city, the one that emitted black smoke and carbon emissions.
Things had not gone as he'd planned. The arrival of Sullivan and company might make things a bit more complicated than Marshall liked. He was surprised the man had agreed to take the case. His sources had been wrong about the degree of the vindictiveness of the Inspector. Sullivan should have taken one look at Saundra and left in a fit of anger.
That one miscalculation hadn’t been anticipated. Marshall pondered the matter in frustration. The human variable was always the most difficult to control with complete certainty. Mainly when the individual in question was not well known. Saundra had been easy to manipulate, but then Marshall knew her well.
The financial dealings had been a surprise. Everything Marshall learned about Sullivan indicated money didn't motivate the man. That made the actions of the attractive partner all the more puzzling. Something about the way Sullivan had let her push the Chancellor around in the haggling process was unsettling. The priest was a problem too.
Returning to his bathroom, Marshall ransacked his medicine cabinet a second time. He found the hypospray he was looking for and administered the sleeping meds. As he drifted off to sleep in bed, Marshall's mind focused on Sullivan and the problems he presented.
Even with the sleeping aid he’d self-administered, Marshall wouldn’t sleep well.
Chapter Eleven
Jennifer never could understand why her master brought home other women. Especially that blonde bimbo named Cassandra. It was true that as an AI Jennifer existed only in her matrix cell and was limited in how she could interact with her master. After extensive study of everything she could get her metaphorical hands on, Jennifer concluded that her Chief had base needs that, while she found them somewhat disgusting, humans such as Markeson and Cassandra did not.
With full access to every financial account Markeson had, on world and off, Jennifer decided it was time to do something about the human competition. It had been easy to do. Her Chief trusted Jennifer blindly when it came to his money mainly because part of Jennifer’s code included a safeguard against her stealing from Markeson.
The workaround to defeat that bit of code had been simple. Jennifer categorized the order as one of Markeson’s more personal purchases. To her delight, the simple financial sleight of hand worked. Feeling smug about outsmarting the humans and AIs that had designed her matrix and written her code, Jennifer decided to spend more than she had planned.
It wasn’t like she was hiding anything from the Chief. Everything Jennifer did was to serve her master and please him. With the stress he was under lately, what with the murder of Mayor Xue and Councilman Tarver by those horrible terrorists, and Governor Rankin being more trouble than usual, the last thing her master needed was trouble from some floozy. Especially that nasty blonde Cassandra, the bimbo Jennifer hated more than any other of Markeson’s steady stream of women.
The signal from the oncoming delivery vehicle delighted Jennifer. She opened the door and directed the two humans delivering the package to position it exactly where Jennifer wanted it. Taking a chance, Jennifer promised the two a handsome tip if they would plug in several cables and wifi receivers in the base of the unit. Happy for the extra money, the two men followed Jennifer’s directions exactly. Upon leaving they checked their credit tubes and were pleased to note the hefty tip.
The Chief would not be home for hours. Time Jennifer needed to finish the work she had started. Even with no human at home to talk to, Jennifer vocalized her thoughts through her sound system, enjoying the sound of her voice.
“I did it for you! I hope you like it,” the AI cooed seductively, practicing for Markeson’s return home that evening. "Your dinner is ready, and I've drawn your bath. Now just relax and forget about all the horrible things you had to deal with today. Let Jennifer take care of you."
THE BREAKFAST WASN't bad. I felt better with some food inside me, and the good Father certainly wasn't slowing down. Sarah had yet to arrive at the diner she'd picked as our meeting place the day before. My partner arriving late wasn’t a regular thing, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary either. I just brushed it off as her roaming about a strange, new city and being unfamiliar with the layout of things.
A beep from the irritating buzzer attached to the door sounded, announcing Sarah's arrival. She hurried over to our booth and stopped to stare at me. After a second or so of waiting impatiently, Sarah made a face and motioned with her hand for me to get up. As soon as I stood up, she slipped into the booth and pressed herself against the window, looking outside as the world began to wake up. Sarah let her hair fall in front of her face, making it difficult for anyone to see her features.
“Good morning to you, too,” I muttered. Sarah could be hard to take at times, and this morning was one of them. I was tired, frustrated, and needed to sleep.
“You’re going to be angry with me,” Sarah whispered, not looking away from whatever it was she found so fascinating outside.
I clenched the fork and knife in my hands, my knuckles turning white while I finished chewing my last bite of food. Father Nathan wisely ignored
both of us.
“Mornin' Sugar," the obnoxious red-headed waitress bellowed, hurrying over to our booth. "What can I get you to eat young lady?"
Sarah shot a dirty look at the woman to no avail. She merely stood next to the table at our booth, armed with an empty mug in one hand and a pot of black coffee in the other. To make matters worse, the woman was not only smiling; she was genuinely cheerful.
Realizing there was no escaping the issue at hand, Sarah looked away again, staring out towards the street. “I’ll have some toast, please.”
“Okay, that’s one order of toast,” the waitress replied cheerfully. She looked at me hopefully and upon being ignored, replaced the smile on her face with a frown and departed.
Father Nathan glanced in the direction of the retreating waitress. “She’ll be back,” he informed me. “It would be funny if she wasn’t such a caricature from those ancient movies you like to watch.”
“How funny? What do you mean?” I mumbled, my head beginning to throb from lack of sleep.
My friend laughed at me in response. “Are you that blind, Sully?”
“I’m tired, what is it you’re getting at.”
“She’s flirting with you,” Sarah snapped. “Now please, I need to tell you what happened.”
Sarah needing to tell me something usually wasn’t good.
“What happened?”
My partner seemed to shrink before my eyes. Sarah looked at me fearfully from behind the long hair covering most of her face.
“I may have beaten up some thugs.”
There had to be more. Sarah has a vigilante streak that I believe is a result of her life prior to my saving her from a serial killer. On occasion, Sarah would carry out street justice on deserving criminals. She, in particular, took issue with sexual predators.