CHAPTER SIX
“Attention all guests. The Betelgeuse has finished docking procedures with the New Nectaris City spaceport, Polaris Traveler branch. Local time is nine hundred fifty-one. Skies are clear and wind velocity is negligible. The external temperature is a balmy twenty-nine degrees Celsius with a high today of thirty-three. Please dress appropriately if venturing outdoors.”
“Already got that covered.” Isaac grinned at the others. He walked over in a pair of flip-flops and adjusted his wide-brimmed hat. He wore a cloud gray shirt over a pair of black swim trunks with purple glowing runes down one side.
“Oh no,” Susan gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Nina asked.
Isaac stopped next to the two women near the midpoint of the three-level boarding tunnel. Other passengers hurried past them, though some stole glances at his companions. The two had chosen bikinis for their beach excursion, with Nina in a red-and-white polka dot number and Susan wearing black with a sarong covered in animated wisps of smoke.
“I just realized something,” Susan answered. “Don’t we need to be careful when going outdoors? And by we, I mean the two of you. The extreme temperatures won’t bother me.”
“I’d hardly call thirty-three extreme,” Isaac said. “Maybe a little toasty for my liking, but we are going to the beach.”
“Yeah, but what about later in the day? Won’t it get unbearably hot?”
“Not unless the forecast is way off.”
“No. Not later today, Earth time. I mean later today, Luna time.”
“What?”
Nina and Isaac exchanged confused looks.
“I’m sorry,” Isaac said to Susan. “You’ve completely lost me.”
“What I mean is Luna has month-long days. So that beach is going to get fried or frozen depending on where the sun is. Are we sure we’re visiting it during the right window?”
“What are you talking about? A day is a day, not a month.”
“Not on Luna it’s not.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
Cephalie popped into existence on Susan’s shoulder, dressed in an old-fashioned, striped bathing suit. She held up a sign that read REMEMBER YOUR HISTORY CLASSES!
“My history…” Isaac snapped his fingers. “Oh! I remember now. Luna used to have longer days.”
“It…used to?” Susan asked, her eyes growing wider.
“That’s right. But now Luna and Earth share the same day and night cycle.”
“What? Are you saying you people…changed the angular momentum of Earth’s moon?”
“Of course we did,” Isaac said matter-of-factly. “As you noted, who wants to get cooked during extra-long days? Kind of defeats the point of terraforming the place.”
“When did this happen?” Nina asked.
“During the whole terraforming process, I believe.”
“Ah. Makes sense.”
“How?” Susan asked, clearly struggling with this latest revelation of SysGov technical mastery.
“Oh, let me think.” Isaac crossed his arms and bowed his head. “Weren’t there these big mirrors involved?”
“You’re asking me?” Nina replied.
“Ah yes. Graviton reflectors. That’s the ticket. Massive graviton reflectors. They work on a principle similar to graviton thrusters, but since they’re reflecting gravitons shed off a stellar body, they don’t require much in the way of a power source.”
“And that sped up Luna’s rotation?” Susan asked.
“Eventually. The whole process took decades.”
“A century and a half,” Cephalie corrected.
“Right. What she said.”
“Huh.” Susan shook her head.
“All I’m hearing is our beach trip is still a go.” Nina thrust her arm forward. “Come on! No dawdling!”
The trio headed down the boarding tunnel toward the counter-grav tubes at the far end. Virtual arrows highlighted the path to their car rental.
Cephalie appeared on Isaac’s shoulder and jabbed him in the neck with her cane. Even though she was an abstraction, his virtual sense of touch communicated the poke to his brain.
He took a weary breath, then glanced over at her.
<What am I doing wrong this time?> he asked privately.
<Just so you know, Susan stressed over what to wear today.>
<I suppose that makes sense. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t want to go swimming in her Peacekeeper blues. She seems to wear her uniform everywhere.>
<Well, not to the beach, she won’t. She even asked Nina for advice on picking out her swimsuit.>
<That would explain the bikini, then,> Isaac replied with a frown. <I was wondering about that. Couldn’t see Susan picking something that revealing all on her own.>
<Don’t you think she looks nice in it?>
<Of course. And your point is…what exactly?>
<That you should give her a compliment, you big dummy!> Cephalie thwacked his earlobe with her cane.
<Fine.>
Isaac’s pace had slowed while he spoke to Cephalie, placing him a few strides behind the two women, and granting him a view of the abstract art on Susan’s back—a depiction of a woman in flowing white robes with a crowned skull for a head.
He quickened his pace and came alongside her, then cleared his throat.
“Susan?”
“Yes?”
“You look nice. That swimsuit…suits you.”
Good grief! he thought. I’m so bad at this.
“Oh.” She paused for a moment, as if unsure how to respond, then flashed a friendly smile. “Thank you. Yours suits you, too.”
The two nodded to each other, perhaps waiting for the other to say something else. But then, each sensing the conversation had reached its terminus, they both turned away at the same time.
Isaac glanced over at Cephalie, who rose from his shoulder and started clapping, the sound only audible to Isaac. The clapping grew louder, multiplying into what resembled an entire theater rising to its feet in a thunderous standing ovation.
Isaac rolled his eyes.
He appreciated what he thought his IC was trying to do, but the truth was he was already in a relationship with Susan. A professional relationship, and it was abundantly clear to him that’s all it would amount to, regardless of any inclination he might (or might not) have in other directions.
Certainly, Susan was an attractive young woman, and not just physically, though there was that. It was hard not to notice how the low Lunar gravity made parts of her more…buoyant, especially in that bikini.
But beyond basic physical attraction, she’d earned his respect for both her work ethic and her knack for presenting out-of-the-box approaches to problems, even if her solutions leaned a bit deeper into the use-of-force category than he would have preferred. On top of that, she was almost completely unflappable under pressure and never hesitated when decisive action was necessary, a trait which had already saved his life.
But it was clear to him she was laser-focused on her career, to the exclusion of all else. That was a personal choice of hers he both understood and appreciated since it resembled his own path to becoming a SysPol detective, and as her colleague, he had no desire to complicate both their lives. He respected her too much to do otherwise.
It wouldn’t work out, anyway, he told himself.
They took a grav tube down to the car rentals where automated vehicles sat in neat rows along the wide underground street, waiting for their passengers with open gull wing doors. They followed virtual markers to their rental and had almost reached it when a high-priority alert appeared in his virtual senses.
He and Susan stopped walking at the same time while Nina continued on for a few paces before turning back.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Work.” Isaac opened the alert. He read through it, his face growing dark. “Cephalie?”
“Yes?” she asked, appearing on his shoulder once more.
“Where’s our luggage?”
“Somewhere in the spaceport’s logistical center. Why?”
“Can we get to it?”
“I don’t think so. Not easily, anyway. I set it up so everyone’s luggage would be delivered to the hotel while you were at the beach, remember?”
“Yes,” he said with a frown. “I remember.”
“What’s going on?” Nina asked again.
“Here.” Susan removed the privacy filter from her copy. “Take a look for yourself.”
“Direct orders from Commissioner Tyrel!” Nina exclaimed.
“So it would seem.” Isaac cleared his throat. “Susan and I are to head directly and with all possible haste to the Crimson Flower where we will take charge of the unfolding situation. One of the Admin players, Miss Elena Sako, has received a death threat, and DTI security and LSP are butting heads on how to deal with it.”
“Sounds like this could get worse any number of ways,” Susan remarked.
“Yes, which is why we’re taking the rental and heading straight over,” Isaac said.
“What?” Susan gestured to her bikini and sarong. “Like this?”
“I’d prefer not to, but we have our orders direct from the commissioner.”
“Do you honestly intend to head there in a pair of flip-flops?” Nina asked.
“My dignity will survive.” Isaac frowned again. “Somehow. Cephalie?”
“Yeah?”
“Do what you can to expedite our luggage. If it takes too long, head for the nearest LSP station and print out uniforms for us. Also, a sidearm for Susan and a LENS for yourself,” he added, referring to a SysPol detective’s standard issue Lawful Enforcement and Neutralization System. “Go now.”
“Got it.” She gave him a quick wave then vanished.
“Nina, I know you’re technically on vacation, but—”
“Say no more.” She held up both hands. “I’ll grab a taxi and pay LSP a visit on the way to the Crimson Flower. Once I’m uniformed and droned up, I’ll join you at the crime scene. Raviv can refund my vacation days later.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Nina headed over to a different lane of waiting cars and found an empty taxi to board.
“You see the part where they temporarily made you a DTI investigator?” Susan asked.
“Yes, but I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means when you tell our agents to jump, they say ribbit and leap into the air. Also, it should cut through any legal red tape on the Admin side when it comes to pursuing this case.”
“Sounds useful.” He gestured into the rental car. “After you.”
* * *
The automated rental car pulled up to the Crimson Flower, which rose from the forested slopes that had once been a crater wall. The elaborate structure resembled a cross between a sprawling fantasy castle and a brilliantly red flower. A narrow cylindrical base rose upward before blooming into seven massive, angled structures shaped like flower petals, each attached “precariously” to the base by thin joins, made possible via a combination of advanced material sciences and Luna’s low gravity, which gave the entire complex a delicate beauty. A narrow tower rose from where the petals met, and a translucent, domed stadium at its apex formed the Crimson Flower’s pistil.
“Wow,” Susan breathed, craning her neck as she gazed out the window. “It’s bigger than I thought it’d be. How many people are staying here right now?”
“About a hundred thousand, give or take, but that’s just for the hotels. The Crimson Flower also includes office space for numerous companies as well as a variety of entertainment venues, including the stadium at the top, and it’s large enough to rate its own LSP precinct, located at the base of the pistil.”
“Which part are we headed for?” Susan asked.
“The Gentle Rain Hotel in Petal Four. That one.” Isaac pointed out the window. “A whole floor plus that petal’s hangar have been set aside for Admin use.”
The rental car followed a high-speed boulevard toward the base of the Crimson Flower, then veered away from the main flow of traffic and took an off-ramp, leading them to a circular street around the base.
“What’s that?” Susan asked. “See the commotion up ahead?”
“Yeah, I see it,” Isaac said, noting the mass of hundreds of people standing in the street, blocking easy access to the Crimson Flower’s main ground entrance. “Vehicle, let us off here.”
“Stopping,” said the car’s nonsentient program.
The rental car slowed down and pulled onto the curb. The door opened, and Isaac and Susan climbed out.
“Vehicle, find a parking space and shut down.”
“Destination set. Departing.”
The rental car dropped its gull wing doors and drove away, turning down a ramp that Isaac presumed led to the underground garage complex. The two detectives took a sidewalk over toward the entrance, and Isaac used their approach to scope out the crowd.
A few hundred people in black chanted and shouted at a line of state troopers while within the confines of a designated protest zone, delineated with virtual dashed lines on the ground. The protesters didn’t seem to be engaged in anything beyond a few petty crimes, judging by the smart graffiti on the nearby sidewalks, barriers, and walls, and LSP drones were already cleaning up the most obscene examples of the crowd’s “artistic expression.”
Virtual signs floated over the crowd with phrases like REMEMBER THE DYNASTY! and TRADE YOUR HUBRIS FOR HUMILITY! Almost everyone in the crowd wore funeral black. Even their scarves, normally a vibrant way to express one’s personal sense of SysGov fashion, were uniformly a static black. Others had eschewed scarves entirely, opting for headbands, hoods, and masks. The crowd trended toward the young and organic, if lack of synthoid skin variety was any indication.
A tall silhouette stood on a counter-grav platform at the head of the crowd, and his voice boomed over Isaac’s shared virtual senses.
“What do we want?” shouted the leader.
“THE ADMIN TO LEAVE!” replied the crowd.
“When do we want it?”
“NOW!”
Isaac took them along a wide, arcing route around the crowd.
“Who are they?” Susan asked him after switching to SysPol security chat. His wetware translated her words via a shared key, but anyone else would only hear gibberish.
“LAST,” he answered in security chat. “The League Against Stupid Time and Transdimensional Travel.”
“That’s quite a name.”
“They changed it recently, after transdimensional flight was discovered. Used to be the League Against Stupid Time Travel. They’re not exactly fans of the Admin.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Susan snapped one of her bikini straps. “Guess we lucked out not being in uniform.”
“I suppose so.”
“Think one of these idiots is behind the death threat?”
“Let’s not be hasty. We need to speak with LSP and DTI security first.”
“Of course.”
Isaac stepped up to one of several doorways leading into the Crimson Flower. Abstract signs alerted him that only hotel and event guests or local employees were permitted to enter. Isaac transmitted a copy of his tournament event pass, and the prog-steel doors split open.
* * *
The grav tube dropped Isaac and Susan off in a circular transfer station with lush green carpeting and a crystalline fountain in the center. Half a dozen Lunar state troopers stood around the place, some with arms crossed and unhappy expressions on their faces. One of the troopers saw them arrive. He held up a hand and hurried over.
“I’m sorry, but this area is off-limits. You’ll need to head back to the main concourse.”
“This should clear up matters.” Isaac transmitted his SysPol badge.
“You—” The trooper paused and summoned the badge over his hand. He frowned at it, then looked up at Isaac, then glanced to Susan, then studied the badge again, then back to Susan, then the badge once more before he turned over a shoulder. “Uhh, sir?”
A senior trooper with a reddish buzz under his cap and lieutenant bars on his shoulders walked over.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Trooper, get these civilians out of here!”
“That’s just it, sir. They’re not civilians.”
“What do you mean they’re—” The lieutenant paused, his eye drawn to the SysPol badge hovering over the trooper’s hand and all the power that symbol conveyed. He then took in their barely dressed status, his eyes lingering slightly longer on Susan. “The two of you are our support from SysPol?”
“That’s correct,” Isaac said.
“The hell?”
“We were diverted on short notice,” Isaac explained. “Our uniforms and equipment should catch up with us shortly.”
“I should hope so!”
“In the meantime, I need to speak with Lieutenant Cameron Lotz. Would you kindly direct us to him?”
“Easy. You’re looking at him.”
“Good.” He placed a hand to his chest. “I’m Detective Isaac Cho, and this is my deputy, Agent Susan Cantrell.”
“Agent?” Lotz asked.
“Of the Department of Temporal Investigation.”
Lotz pointed. “She’s with the Admin?”
“I am,” Susan replied evenly.
“She’s also a part of the officer exchange program and holds the rank of deputy detective within SysPol. Do you have a problem with this, Lieutenant?”
“What?” Lotz shook his head. “Uhh, no, of course not. Just surprised. I didn’t expect SysPol to respond so quickly.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Or to show up in swimwear and flip-flops.”
“A situation which will be remedied shortly,” Isaac assured him. “Now, Lieutenant, I’ve read your report, but I’d appreciate hearing your take on the current situation.”
“That’ll be easy, because it hasn’t changed. DTI security still won’t let us anywhere near the victim’s room or the victim herself. Until we have one or the other, we’re at a standstill.”
“Then let’s see if we can’t resolve the impasse. Which way to Miss Sako’s room?”
“Down this hall on the right-hand side.” Lotz pointed. “But the Admin agents aren’t going to let you through.”
“We’ll see about that. Lieutenant, would you mind accompanying us?”
“Not at all.”
The three of them headed down the curving hall until a Wolverine drone blocked their path.
“You have entered an exclusionary zone,” warned the drone. “Move back or I will be forced to subdue you.”
“You can ignore the dumb thing,” Lotz said. “It won’t actually attack.”
“Ten, nine, eight.”
Isaac transmitted his new DTI investigator badge.
“Sev…”
Lotz gave the drone a confused look. “Why’d it stop counting?”
“Drone, stand aside,” Isaac ordered.
The drone sidestepped out of their way.
“The hell?” Lotz breathed.
Interesting, Isaac thought to himself. That actually worked.
“It seems we may proceed,” he said, then continued down the corridor.
“What just happened?” Lotz asked, stealing a glance back at the motionless drone.
“Exactly what it looked like,” Isaac explained. “The Admin drone recognized our authority in this situation.” He flashed a wry grin at Lotz. “Flip-flops or no.”
“But how?”
A big, gray-skinned, yellow-eyed synthoid saw them coming and hurried over.
“Stop!” he barked.
Isaac sent his investigator badge.
The synthoid stopped in his tracks. He opened the badge over his palm, scrutinized it for long seconds, then looked Isaac over.
“In flip-flops?”
“We were diverted on short notice,” Isaac explained again.
“Huh.” The synthoid studied the file once more, then murmured to himself, “Approved by Director Shigeki? Doesn’t get much more official than that.”
He closed the file then clasped his hands behind his back and stood up straight.
“Sir!” he snapped with rigid formality. “How may I be of assistance?”
“The hell?”
The synthoid’s eyes caught sight of Susan, and his mouth cracked open in surprise.
“Agent Cantrell?” he asked, his expression warming in her presence.
“Agent Pérez,” she replied with a slim smile.
“You two know each other?” Isaac asked.
“We do,” Susan said, then shrugged. “It’s a long story. Perhaps later?”
“Of course.” Isaac turned back to Pérez. “Agent, I’ll be taking the lead of this investigation. Do you have any problems with this?”
“None at all.”
“What is going on here?” Lotz asked. “Did I miss something? What kind of magic are you working?”
“The kind that comes with a badge,” Isaac replied.
“Sir,” Pérez began, “do you have any orders for me and my team?”
“A SysPol forensics specialist is on her way. I’d like your team to stand aside and grant her and her drones full access to the crime scene. While I’m sure your team is quite capable, our specialists have substantially more experience with SysGov infosystems, such as the printer in question. Do you have any concerns with this approach?”
“No, sir. I’ll take care of that right now.” Pérez opened a comm window and transmitted a quick text message. A few moments later, a pair of synthoids stepped out of what Isaac presumed to be Elena Sako’s hotel room. “Done.”
“Thank you, Agent.” Isaac turned to Lotz.
“The hell?”
“Lieutenant, the matter of competing jurisdictions has been resolved, at least for the moment. As you heard, a SysPol specialist will be granted access to the crime scene. I believe that addresses the immediate concerns voiced in your support request. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I—well, yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a perplexed expression on his face. “Yes, you seem to have everything moving in the right direction. Somehow.”
“Then I believe your team is clear to stand down from this case. We will, of course, keep you informed of our progress and will let you know if we require any additional support. Do you see any issues with this course of action?”
“Uhh, no. No, that’s, uhh, quite all right.”
“Then, Lieutenant, I thank you for your time and for bringing this issue to SysPol’s attention. We’ll take it from here.”
“Sure thing. No problem.”
Lotz backed away, swinging his arms aimlessly. He took one last look at the detectives in their swimwear, then frowned and headed back the way they came. Shortly after he disappeared around the bend, Isaac heard a faint:
“The hell?”
* * *
“We’re using the Cutlass as our command center for tournament security,” Pérez explained, leading them into the Petal Four hangar after two synthoids posted at the entrance finished checking their documentation.
Isaac was almost disappointed they didn’t react to his flip-flops, but he assumed Pérez had alerted his team of what to expect from the new arrivals.
Chronoport Defender-Prime sat offset to one side with enough room for two or three more within the spacious, enclosed hangar. Modular weapon and equipment pods hung from its thick delta wing, and the long spike of its chronoton impeller extended out the rear. A wide ramp led up into the craft’s belly, while a smaller ramp connected to one of its modular pods.
Most of the pods were gun or missile launcher mounts, but this pod was a thick wedge with a pair of ports for its own thruster and the ramp leading to a hollow interior.
“The Cutlass?” Isaac asked.
“A Type-6 drone hangar,” Susan explained. “Can also detach from the chronoport to serve as a troo—” She made a show of unnecessarily clearing her throat. “A personnel transport.”
The pod interior was brightly lit with four inert Wolverines docked into charging stations along one wall. Two synthoids sat at what appeared to be the pilot and copilot positions under different circumstances, their eyes and hands dancing across unseen displays and controls.
“I don’t seem to be able to access the local infostructure,” Isaac remarked.
“Right. Give us a moment,” Pérez said. “We’ll fix that for you.”
He stepped over to the two other agents and leaned down to speak into one of their ears. The agent nodded and—from Isaac’s perspective—mimed opening a window and fiddling with the controls. A few moments passed, and the room erupted with densely packed virtual screens showing static-position surveillance video, direct feeds from the eyes of security personnel, and the results from algorithmic monitoring software.
Nothing sentient, though, if Isaac was to hazard a guess.
I wonder if any of them will have issues with Cephalie, he thought.
“How’s it look now, sir?” Pérez asked.
“That’ll do. Thank you.”
Pérez nodded and rejoined them.
“It’s good to see you, Miguel,” Susan said, speaking less formally than when they were in the presence of the LSP lieutenant.
“Likewise.” He cracked a thin smile.
“Should I assume the two of you have worked together in the past?” Isaac asked.
“Oh, yes!” Susan turned to him. “Miguel was my mentor when I joined STAND,” she added, referring to the Admin’s Special Training And Nonorganic Deployment command. “We served together during my first few years in the DTI.”
“A period,” Pérez added, “in which she went from a very green rookie to surpassing this grizzled, old veteran in many ways.”
“Well…” Susan smiled bashfully. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“That said, I seem to recall a few growing pains along the way. Remember the Doctor Quiet case, where you blew up—”
Susan made a quick cutoff gesture across her throat.
Isaac glanced over to her and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She smiled and shrugged back at him.
“Right,” Pérez said. “Perhaps we can reminisce another time.”
“Agent Pérez,” Isaac said. “I’d like you to start by providing your take on events so far.”
“Certainly, sir, though there’s honestly not much to tell. Elly Sako reported receiving a death threat earlier this morning in the form of a fake severed head, and we’ve been unable to ascertain who sent it or how.” He swept an arm across the arrayed virtual screens. “As you can see, we maintain full surveillance coverage across the occupied sections of this hotel floor as well as the path between our three player suites and the hangar.”
“Do you monitor the suite interiors?”
“No, sir. We don’t intrude further than the hallway outside their rooms.”
“Has all that surveillance picked up anything?”
“Unfortunately not, though we cannot rule out infiltration of her room by a sophisticated drone or some form of abstract intrusion.”
“Did anything unusual happen prior to Sako reporting the death threat?”
“Just one thing.” Pérez paused with a grimace. “She did have a rather heated argument with GW Lacan.”
“Who’s he?”
“Another one of our finalists.”
“And what was the nature of their argument?”
“It revolved around Miss Sako having sexual relations with another man. Lacan didn’t take it well.”
Isaac and Susan exchanged a brief glance to each other.
“He’s already denied any involvement,” Pérez added.
“You’ve spoken with him?”
“I have. He was the last person to speak with Miss Sako, and he was visibly upset with her. It seemed a logical place to start.”
“Did you speak with anyone else?”
“Besides Sako and Lacan? No.”
“Anything else noteworthy about their argument or your interviews with the players?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Do you have a surveillance recording of their argument?”
“We do.” He turned back to the seated synthoids. “Agent Arlot?”
“I heard, sir. One moment.” The agent brought up a fixed-position angle of the two players standing near a hotel suite doorway. He selected a timestamp just before Sako opened her door, fast forwarded to when Lacan left, then selected the ending timestamp. He presented the new file to Isaac. “Here you are, sir.”
“Thank you.” Isaac transmitted the files to a new Themis case folder. “How long after their argument did Sako report the death threat?”
“Not long. Less than ten minutes. We can pull up the exact timestamps, if you like.”
“Please do. That’ll help us establish a definitive timeline.”
Pérez nodded to Arlot, who began trawling through the surveillance video again.
“How would you characterize Sako’s emotional state when she reported the threat?”
“Shocked and rattled,” Pérez said. “Her response struck me as genuine, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It was.”
“What are you thinking?” Susan asked.
“Just checking some of the basics,” Isaac said. “It’s not unheard of for a celebrity to fake death threats like this for any number of reasons. If we can rule it out, then that’s one less avenue to chase down. Agent Pérez?”
“Sir?”
“I’d like to interview Miss Sako next.” He grimaced, glancing down. “Once our uniforms have arrived.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll arrange it.”
“Also, we’ll need to perform a forensic analysis on the severed head. Where is it?”
“We haven’t moved it yet. It’s still in the printer where she found it.”
“Then I’ll leave its handling to our specialist.”
“Also, there is one other matter I feel I should make sure you’re aware of,” Pérez said. “A second chronoport has been dispatched to the Crimson Flower. It should be here in about four hours. I understand they’re being sent to bulk up the player security.”
“I see. That seems like a reasonable precaution, given what we currently know.” An alert blinked in his virtual sight, and he opened it. “Ah, good. Cephalie stopped by the local station—the CFPD First—and already has some new uniforms for us. She’s still waiting on the more complicated gear like her LENS, but uniforms are good enough for starters. We should head there next.”
“Mind if I stick around for a few minutes?” Susan asked. “It’s been months since Miguel and I spoke.”
“Not at all, but don’t take too long. I’ll see you at the station.”
* * *
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Pérez put a hand on her shoulder and entered into a closed-circuit chat. “I don’t think we’ve talked since before the Dynasty Crisis.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Susan said.
“Were you involved in the assault?”
“No, and I consider myself fortunate to have missed that one, given how many people we lost.” She let out a slow, sad sigh. “I volunteered to go with the fleet but didn’t get picked.”
“Almost all of STAND did,” Pérez noted, “but they only took so many. Which made sense, I suppose. There was always the chance of a boarding action, but our superiors considered it remote, and STAND numbers in the fleet reflected that.”
“Were you there?”
“Yeah,” he said, and something struck her as haunted in his tone. “Yeah, I saw it. Watched as another Earth got eaten up by…hell, I still haven’t got a clue what it was, even after it was explained to me.”
“The tear in the Dynasty universe.”
“It was like the darkest, most voracious abyss you’d ever laid eyes on, and it drew their Earth in. I never thought I’d see a planet warp like that, become egg-shaped, but”—he shrugged—“that’s what happened. A whole planet, with untold billions of stories on it, just…gone. Devoured by out-of-control physics.”
“You okay?” Susan asked, a little worried about her friend.
“Yeah, but…changed, you know?” He shook his head. “And tired. The Crisis made me realize I’ve been doing this shit for a long fucking time, and it’s worn me down. I’m tired of it all.”
“Hey.” She nudged him in the chest. “You’re not going to join the Last STANDers, are you?”
The customary STAND service contract was for a twenty-year term, with each follow-up contract lasting ten years, and while STAND retention was exceedingly high, there were those among the elite force who grew weary of their synthetic existence while also having no desire to return to civilian life. Some STANDs opted for self-deletion, which was an accepted way for a STAND to exit service and would normally be preceded by a farewell ceremony and celebration given in their honor by their closest friends and comrades. However, that was sometimes too passive for the kind of people who signed up as STANDS, and for those individuals, there were the “Last STANDers.”
The Last STANDers were an informal group within STAND where individuals actively request assignments with the lowest chances of survival, basically choosing to commit suicide through combat. Although the practice was well known amongst the Peacekeeper hierarchy, it was neither encouraged nor discouraged. It was accepted and generally considered an effective way for STANDs to self-regulate their own ranks and to weed out individuals who might be edging toward instability.
“Oh, hell no!” Pérez assured her, laughing. “There’s plenty of fight still left in me, you’ll see. Not only am I not going anywhere, but I’m going to have your back through whatever this mess is. You deserve nothing less from me.”
“All right.” She smiled at him. “Good to hear.”
“Hey, Susan.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “It’s great seeing you again. It really is.”
“Good to see you too. You take care of yourself, all right?”