CHAPTER FOUR
“What do you mean they’re not letting you in?” fumed Lieutenant Cameron Lotz of the Lunar State Police.
He was a tall, well-muscled man who filled out the dark grays of his trooper uniform well. He held one hand on his hip and leaned in that direction, giving onlookers the impression he was perpetually about to either tip over or sprint into action. He reached up with his free hand, took off his dark gray cap, and smoothed out his reddish buzz.
He and a half dozen other troopers had assembled in a wide, circular room lined with public grav tubes that could whisk visitors to most parts of the Crimson Flower within minutes. Gray, stony walls gave way to lush, green carpeting, while a crystal fountain burbled in the center. Water trickled down some of the stone walls, catching in a sedate stream around part of the room’s edge, and a fine, fragrant mist cooled the air.
“That’s just it, sir,” Trooper O’Leary said. “We tried going into Miss Sako’s room to scope out her printer, just like you ordered, but then the head of her security detail—a big synthoid named Pérez—came over and told us to leave.”
“So what?” Lotz asked, fitting his cap back on.
“Sir?”
“You just let him have his way?”
“Not at first, but then he forced us out.”
“Forced you out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How, exactly?”
“One of their big dog drones came over. You know the type. The ones with guns for faces.”
“Did the drone attack you?”
“Well…no,” O’Leary confessed. “But it started counting down.”
“Counting!”
“In a threatening manner.” O’Leary looked to his fellow troopers, who nodded in agreement.
“You afraid of math?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why did you turn tail when a brainless drone started counting at you?”
“In a threatening manner.”
“Fine,” Lotz growled. “You found its numbers threatening. And then what?”
“We decided to head back here and inform you.” O’Leary glanced to the other troopers, who again backed him up with head nods.
“This is just great.”
Lotz blew out an exasperated breath, then reached up and rubbed his temples.
This was all he needed right now. Day-to-day crimes didn’t stop just because a bunch of foreigners decided to visit. If anything, it’d grown worse, what with all the protesters outside causing a ruckus and other unsavory sorts mixing in with them. Never mind that he was supposed to be on vacation right now! His wife Sara had always wanted to visit Venus, and he’d spent the last year hoarding his time off so they could take a romantic tour through the planet’s most decadent aerial cities. He’d locked in the trip months in advance, too, but then this tournament came up, and suddenly everyone found their personal plans put on hold by the captain.
Lotz was really looking forward to the Admin going home so the Crimson Flower—and his own life!—could return to their normal rhythms.
But now this.
Where the hell is SysPol when you actually need them? he thought bitterly. No one bloody trained me on cross-dimensional law enforcement!
He didn’t understand what made this Pérez think he could keep state troopers away from a crime scene. The resort fell under the jurisdiction of the Crimson Flower Police Department first precinct—his precinct, and he’d be damned if he’d let some foreigner tell him where his team could or could not go.
“Henschel! Knudson!” Lotz called out, picking out the two members of his team with synthoid bodies. He didn’t think this Admin numbskull would be stupid enough to resort to force, but then again, stupid came in many shapes and flavors.
“Sir?”
“All three of you, on me.” He started down the corridor. “We’re going to sort this out. Right now!”
The three state troopers hustled to catch up, falling into a rough formation behind their lieutenant. Together, they headed down the rounded hallway until they came face-to-face with one of those four-legged Admin drones.
“You have entered an exclusionary zone,” warned the dog-drone. “Move back or I will be forced to subdue you.”
“Subdue this, you tin can.” Lotz extended a finger.
“You have ten seconds to comply. Ten. Nine.”
Lotz crossed his arms and stood his ground. Behind him, the other troopers put their hands on their sidearms, but they took no other aggressive action.
“Three. Two. One. Zero.”
An uncomfortable silence followed where nothing happened. Lotz raised an eyebrow at the machine.
“You have entered an exclusionary zone,” the drone repeated. “Move back or I will be forced to subdue you.”
“Thought so.” Lotz pushed past the drone, and his team followed. “Good to see this Pérez isn’t a complete moron. Where’s the girl’s room?”
“We’re almost to it, sir. Just up ahead.”
The room was on the inner curve, so he saw the two security synthoids in Admin Peacekeeper blues before he saw the door. The bigger of the two scowled at him and moved to intercept.
“Stop,” the Peacekeeper barked.
“You Pérez?” Lotz transmitted his police badge.
“I am.”
Lotz came face-to-face with the big Admin synthoid. Or rather, face to neck.
“Then how about you explain to me why you’re obstructing my people,” he demanded, looking up at the man.
“You seem to misunderstand what’s going on,” Pérez replied.
“Then make me understand.” Lotz put a hand on one hip and leaned into it. “Because it certainly looks like obstruction to me.”
“I’m protecting the crime scene. Nothing more.”
“From what?”
“From outside interference and contamination.” Pérez indicated the troopers behind Lotz.
“Just to be clear, that’s our job.”
“I’m well aware of who you are and what you think your job is. Nevertheless, I will not let you pass.”
“You see this?” Lotz pointed to the badge on his uniform. “It says CFPD. That’s Crimson Flower Police Department. You know where you are, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then you should realize we have jurisdiction here.”
“Again, you’re mistaken,” Pérez countered. “A threat has been made against a citizen of the System Cooperative Administration, which means my team has jurisdiction, not yours.”
“The hell it does!”
“And, in accordance with that jurisdiction, we’ll conduct an investigation into the threat made against Miss Sako. You’re welcome to our findings, but I must insist you not interfere with our work.”
“What about questioning the witness?” Lotz asked. “You have problems with us doing that, too?”
“It’s not so much a matter of having a problem as lacking a need. We’ll interview Miss Sako ourselves. Your services are not required.”
A pair of gray-skinned synthoids took up position behind Pérez, and Lotz felt his jaw muscles tighten. Pushing past a lone synthoid was one thing, but now there was a fucking wall of gray-skinned belligerence in his way. He thought he saw Pérez crack the smallest of smiles, as if to say “Go ahead and try it, sucker.”
Now all Pérez and his men had to do was stand in the way. The Peacekeeper already had what he wanted, which forced Lotz and his team to be the initiators if they were to gain access to the crime scene. And, oh boy! That wouldn’t look good. Not for the CFPD and not for him, especially if some sort of…scuffle ensued. In fact, an altercation like that could land him in front of a SysPol detective.
Or worse.
Perhaps even end his career.
Maybe even get someone hurt. Even killed in the absolute worst-case scenario.
“And now, Lieutenant Lotz, would you kindly explain to the judge your rationale for what happened next? At which point did you feel assaulting our guests from the Admin was the wisest course of action?”
Lotz gritted his teeth and glowered at Pérez. The synthoid’s face remained almost passive.
Almost. There was still that infuriating hint of a smile.
Because he knows he’s won, Lotz thought. I really don’t know if I have authority here or not, and I’m not about to take it by force from the well-armed representatives of a scary foreign power.
“I expect to see a copy of your report.”
“Of course.” Pérez dipped his head ever so slightly.
Lotz let out a noncommittal grunt, then spun around and headed back up the hallway.
“Is that it?” O’Leary asked once they were out of earshot.
“Hell, no,” Lotz grunted. “We still need to get this situation under control.”
“Then what do we do, sir?”
“What else?” Lotz cracked a savage smile. “Escalate the shit out of this!”
* * *
Panoptes Station in orbit around Luna was one of the oldest SysPol bases in existence, having its original frame completed back in 2459—shortly after the founding of SysGov itself—before expanding outward from there in concentric, spherical layers as it grew over time.
Panoptes wasn’t the largest station in the solar system by any stretch of the imagination, but it was perhaps the most famous.
Or infamous, depending on one’s point of view.
Luna was on the smaller side when it came to SysGov member states, and Panoptes’ 1.2 million officers represented the highest per capita deployment anywhere in the solar system. Additionally, if backup was ever needed, Earth’s Argus Station, L4’s Arestor Station, and L5’s Mycene Station were all in close proximity with a grand total of 9.9 million officers available for support.
All of which meant Luna enjoyed a comfortable status under SysPol’s protective umbrella. Panoptes was overstaffed for the area and population it covered, and extra aid was nearby if a special need ever arose. However, the reason Panoptes was so heavily staffed was because of the Panopticon—SysPol’s one and only maximum-security prison.
The prison existed as a compact nodule deep within the station’s isolated core, but this was but one aspect of the full range of services the station provided to the member state under its protection. Certainly, the guards, wardens, counselors, and correctional officers of the Panoptics Division formed the bulk of Panoptes’ officer count, but all the other divisions were represented within its halls.
Including Themis Division.
“Yes, Detective,” Dispatcher Sara Lotz said over the secure channel from her desk on Panoptes Station. “I have an LSP hazmat team routed to your location.”
“Good,” Detective Joseph Tonetti replied. He sounded shaken. “Yeah, that’s…that’s good.”
“Would you like me to remain on the line in case you need further assistance?”
“Uhh, no. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. The victim isn’t going anywhere. At least, not without me using a mop.”
“On that note, I’ve routed a forensics team to your position as well. They should be there in about half an hour.”
“Uh oh.”
“Detective?”
“The floor here must be angled. The victim is…I mean the puddle is starting to ooze toward a storm drain. Oh, I think I’m going to be sick. Oh dear. Oh no…huck! Huck! Huuurrrck!”
“Please don’t contaminate—”
The detective dropped the call.
“—the crime scene,” Sara finished with a frown, then leaned back in her chair.
“New guy?” Marlee asked from the seat next to her.
“New guy.” She nodded. “Fresh from the academy.”
“Why was he on the line and not the senior detective?”
“I think his mentor wanted this to be a ‘character building’ experience for him.”
“Oh. One of those deals.” Marlee shook her head, then answered her next call. “Themis Dispatch. How may I be of service, Detective?”
Sara saved the call log and attached it to Tonetti’s case file. She wasn’t sure what kind of person he was, but if a liquefied body freaked him out, then perhaps he was in the wrong line of work.
Sara knew. She’d once been a Themis detective herself, but she’d grown tired of the never-ending slog of one case after another, of one heartrending interview after another. It wasn’t that she’d hated her job or anything along those lines. She’d been a solid detective who could honestly say she’d made Luna a slightly better place for her efforts.
It was more a matter of fatigue. Of doing the same job for thirty years and needing a change of pace, though she was hesitant to quit SysPol entirely. Cut her open, and SysPol blue would pour out instead of blood (not literally, of course, even though she’d transitioned to a synthoid after being injured in the line of duty and didn’t, technically, have blood anymore).
That was when her boss recommended a transfer to Dispatch.
The career shift had worked out better than she could have dreamed. It was the perfect compromise. It offered her a level of detachment from the grind in the field while still allowing her to make a difference, small though it might be. Plus, she certainly had the skill set and experience to make the life of a detective just that little bit easier!
She may have been a small cog in the vast apparatus of Themis Division, but she was an important cog, and that mattered to her.
Another message came in, and Sara gave this one a disapproving eye, since it was to her personal connection string and not through the dispatch center. It was from Cameron Lotz, her husband, and bore the title: “NEED YOUR HELP!!”
She gave the message a little shake of her head, but then opened it anyway. How bad could it be?
The first part read: I need this case escalated to your commissioner. Can you take care of that for me, honey? Thanks! XOXOX—Love ya!
Sara buried her face in her hands and let out a muffled scream. What was he thinking?!
“You okay?” Marlee asked.
Sara shook her head in her hands.
“Anything I can help with?”
She shook her head again.
“Suit yourself.” Marlee opened another call. “Themis Dispatch. How can I be of service?”
Sara raked her fingers down, temporarily lengthening her face. She stared at the header once more, a million thoughts racing through her mind.
Her family had warned her when she’d started dating Cameron. He was too young for her, they’d said, too wild, too untempered by life and experience. She was half a century his senior, for goodness’ sake! But that’s what had drawn her to him. She’d fallen in love with his energy, his passion, his zeal for life. She’d been in a rut, and he’d help drag her out of it.
But it wasn’t all positives. As with many relationships, the thing that had made her fall in love with him was also the thing that drove her up the wall.
“Sometimes, you just don’t get it, do you?” she muttered to herself.
But then, because she was his wife and she loved him deeply (even if he drove her nutty sometimes) she began reading the case log, and, to her surprise, her opinion changed.
Normally, she would never even consider sending a message straight to a commissioner, but the problem Cameron faced was anything but normal. She could have forwarded it to the Panoptes superintendent who oversaw Luna’s Themis Division. That would have, at the very least, followed a standard and acceptable escalation path.
But this case involved the Admin. What was a mere superintendent supposed to do? Besides forward it to the station commander, who’d then reach out to one of Tyrel’s vice-commissioners, who would then—finally—go speak to the commissioner directly.
This case was going to end up on Tyrel’s desk one way or another.
Plus, an Admin case could be a ticking time bomb, politically at least. Sure, she could follow standard procedures and forward it to the super, but was that really what the situation called for? Why not cut through all that bureaucracy and send the message straight to where it needed to go?
Sara opened the directory and searched for Vesna Tyrel, but nothing came up.
“Marlee?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have Tyrel’s direct string? It’s not listed.”
“Of course, it’s not listed. We’re not supposed to send cases to her directly. That’s a serious breach of protocol.”
“I know, but this one’s different.”
“You’re going to get into trou-ble,” Marlee warned in a singsong manner.
“Do you have her string or not?” Sara pressed.
“Of course, I do.” Marlee held out her hand, and a small file appeared over it. “I still have it saved from when I worked with Detective Tyrel. Hell, you should have seen her in action back then. Why, there was this one time—”
“Thanks.” Sara grabbed the file and turned back to her virtual screens before Marlee could begin regaling her with another story from her “glorious” past.
“Hmph!” Marlee shook her head. “Don’t blame me if this lands you in hot water.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Sara spent the next ten minutes drafting the letter. She read it, reread it, then reviewed it a third time, growing more nervous with each pass.
This really is going to land me in a heap of trouble, she thought.
But she took a deep breath and hit SEND anyway.
* * *
“Dauntless?” Vesna Tyrel called out. “Hey, Dauntless?”
She twisted around in her chair, searching her office with piercing gray eyes. Her silken white hair, bound in a long braid, fell down one uniformed shoulder as she placed a delicate hand on the artificial sapphire desktop and turned in the opposite direction.
A long, glass-fronted curio cabinet took up an entire wall of her office, its glass shelves filled with mementos from her days as both a detective and a chief inspector in charge of a whole department of detectives. They ranged from replicas of murder weapons to her many service awards to everyday items—including a bright pink pillow, an old-fashioned windup clock, a fork bent into a triangle, and a flame-animated scarf—objects that held no clear significance until one read the hovering abstract plaques explaining their background.
The disembodied eye from the cat synthoid was her favorite out of all the mementos. She liked how it followed visitors around her office. Quite literally. She’d set up the stand so it would do that. It amused her to see who noticed and who didn’t. Also, it served as a reminder that no matter where a criminal hid, there was always an evidence trail to lead her to them.
The other walls of her office were physically bare, yet filled with abstract reports, charts, schedules, and many other reminders of her duties as a commissioner.
Which was what she wanted to talk about.
“Dauntless?” she tried again. “Where the hell is he?”
“Sorry! Sorry!” Her IC materialized in front of her desk, his avatar cloaked in a brown duster. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, a silver star on his chest, boots with shiny spurs, and a revolver at his hip. “Commissioner Peng was chatting my ears off, and I didn’t realize you were calling. Need something?”
“Yes!” Tyrel said brightly, sitting up in her seat. “A momentous event has occurred, and I feel compelled to share.”
“Oh?” A wooden rocking chair appeared before her desk, and Dauntless dropped into it, playing with the waxed end of his mustache. “And what might that be?”
“Behold!” She spun one of her screens around with a gesture and removed the privacy filter.
Dauntless frowned at the screen. “You called me over to show me your inbox?”
“It’s not the inbox.” She spread her hands grandly. “It’s what’s in the inbox!”
“But there’s nothing in it.”
“Precisely!” Tyrel stood up. “It took me two solid weeks of staying late to chip my way through it, but I have finally—finally—worked through my entire backlog!” She struck a pose with a hand on her hip, closed her eyes, and lifted her head. “This is the part where you shower me with praise.”
Dauntless began to slow clap.
Her inbox dinged.
“You’ve got mail,” he said.
“Oh, for crying out loud!”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Dauntless sniggered, and vanished.
“Uhh!” Tyrel dropped back into her seat and spun the screen around. “This had better be good.”
She opened the message and read it. Then read it again.
By itself, this was a serious breach of protocol by the dispatcher. She had no authority to circumvent her direct superior on Panoptes, to say nothing of the station commander or Tyrel’s own vice-commissioners!
Normally, Tyrel would forward a message like this back to Oscar Ackermann, the Themis superintendent on Panoptes, with a stern note to make sure his dispatchers followed the chain of command. The chain was there for a reason, damn it!
But the nature of the incident…yes, she needed to know about this one as soon as possible, and the dispatcher had alerted her in a most expeditious way.
I’m not sure if I should discipline this Sara Lotz or congratulate her on her initiative. She pondered the problem for a moment. Maybe a little of both, but I’ll deal with that later.
She opened a comm window and called Jonas Shigeki.