Chapter Eleven
“So, he’s a Number,” Susan said, standing outside one of the NFPD’s interrogation rooms. The precinct building was a tall cylinder on Shelf One, situated close enough to the shelf edge for the city’s artificial sun to gleam off its metallic walls, and the interrogation rooms were located on the bottom floor.
“That’s right.”
Isaac glanced into the room; the door was an opaque steel gray, but cameras provided a one-way “window” inside for his virtual vision. Nathan Skylark alternated between slouching in his chair and fidgeting with his abstraction goggles. Isaac saw what he surmised to be a recent growth spurt in the teenager’s sunken cheeks, long neck, bony shoulders, and scrawny arms. He looked like a stretched, elongated piece of putty, his silhouette not yet filled in with the muscle and body mass of adulthood.
The kid lacked any wetware implants, which made those goggles his gateway into the surrounding infostructure, and the precinct’s selective data isolation had rendered them useless. Citizens of the Saturn State became adults at the age of twenty-five, the age when brain growth halted for most people, and only adults could legally receive wetware. That didn’t stop some gangsters from wet-wiring their still-developing brains, and Isaac was relieved to see Skylark was, at the very least, not that sort of problem. The pink scar tissue circling his eyes and along the bridge of his nose indicated he relied heavily on his goggles for day-to-day interactions.
“And the Numbers are a gang,” Susan continued.
“Yep.”
“One of the bigger gangs on Janus.”
“And probably the largest Lunarian gang around here. They don’t seem to have a strong presence in New Frontier, but they’re a major problem higher up the Shark Fin.”
“But this same gang is affiliated with a religion?”
“The Sect of the Divine Randomizer. It’s a Lunarian faith.”
“How does that work?”
“Which part? The sect or the gang’s relation with it?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, the sect preaches that there’s divine intervention in every random event, be it quantum fluctuations spawning virtual particles or random numbers generated through software. All randomness isn’t, according to their faith, and that’s how their deity—the Divine Randomizer—enacts its will.”
“And the Numbers?”
“They’re a violent offshoot of the faith.” Isaac grimaced. “You see, if you believe the divine can be witnessed in random events, what might you want to see less of?”
“Umm…preplanning?” Susan tried, not sounding sure of herself.
“Order in general. The more chaotic our society is, the closer we all come to the divine, or so their deacons claim. Hence, societal constructs—like laws and police—are impairments to the free exercise of their faith.”
“And they really believe that?” Susan asked incredulously.
“I’m sure there are some true believers—the higher-ranked deacons, for example—but it’s my opinion that most of the rank-and-file join because they’re looking for an excuse to do whatever their hearts desire without having to feel guilty about their crimes.”
“How does the sect feel about all this?”
“Officially, the Divine Randomizer Sect and the Numbers are unrelated.”
“The sect’s full of holier-than-thou jerks, if you ask me.” Cephalie’s avatar blinked into existence atop the LENS. “If they really cared about the gang problem, they’d denounce the Numbers loudly and proudly.”
“But they don’t,” Isaac said. “And likely never will.”
“Why do you think that is?” Susan asked.
“Because, in their heart of hearts, those jerks agree with what the Numbers are doing!” Cephalie snapped.
“I feel like there’s some unspoken history here,” Susan ventured.
“Oh, you’d better believe it! ‘Vow of silence’ my digital ass!”
“Cephalie had a few run-ins with the sect before we met, and one involved a deacon concealing evidence from her.” Isaac cleared his throat. “And on that note, let’s see what Skylark has to say for himself.”
He used the keycode the desk sergeant provided him, and he and Susan sat down at the table opposite Skylark. The LENS floated in after them, and the kid’s eyes darted to the drone.
“State your name for the record,” Isaac began, opening a private interface.
“I’m not saying a word while you have that fucking thing here!” Skylark pointed at the LENS. “You’re threatening me, and I don’t have to take this! I have rights!”
“As a Themis Detective, I’m fully within my authority to have my LENS nearby in case a prisoner turns violent,” Isaac stated in an even tone. “Furthermore, you’re required to identify yourself when asked by a police officer.” His tone grew more forceful. “State. Your. Name.”
Skylark crossed his arms and slouched deeper into his seat.
“How’s the data isolation treating you?” Isaac asked.
“It sucks!” He tossed his goggles onto the table. “Why the fuck won’t you let me connect?”
“I ask because I’m a hair away from walking right out that door and letting you cool off overnight in your cell.”
Skylark tried to put on a tough face, but a worried frown leaked through, and he gazed longingly at his goggles.
“Therefore, this is the last time I’ll say it.” Isaac leaned forward. “State your name for the record.”
Skylark bit into his lower lip, eyes locked on his goggles, but then he rediscovered his courage and puffed up.
“Like any of this matters.” He shook out his shoulders, trying to act big. “You want my name that badly, you can fucking have it. I’m Horizon-Four.” He wagged his eyebrows at Susan. “You know, four is a very sacred number.” He pressed a splayed hand to his chest. “It’s a sign of good fortune and…virility. Care for a taste?”
“That’s your gang alias,” Isaac said. “State your legal name.”
“Why the fuck you care? You already know what it is.”
“Do you want to spend the night here or not?”
“Fine! For fuck sake!” He threw up his arms. “It’s Nathan Skylark! There! Are you happy now?”
“And, Nathan, have the state troopers informed you of your rights?”
“Yes! Are we done yet?”
“And do you fully understand those rights?”
“Like I care what you cops say. Boring! Can I go now?”
Good enough for the record, Isaac thought and ticked a box on his window. Skylark’s file indicated the SSP had already run through the correct procedures—along with a note about his uncooperative attitude—but it didn’t hurt to verify, especially when working in an unfamiliar precinct for the first time. What would Raviv say if he botched the case because of inadmissible evidence?
“You talk at all?” Skylark asked Susan, then bobbed his head toward Isaac. “Or does he just keep you around as scenery?”
She didn’t dignify the question with a response.
“Nathan,” Isaac began, exasperation edging into his voice, “the sooner I have what I want, the sooner you can be on your way. Assuming you’ve done nothing wrong, that is.”
“Really nice scenery.” He looked down at Susan’s chest and smirked. “Let me guess. He’s the brains of this little duo and you’re the boobs, am I right?”
Isaac glanced over at Susan to find her normal stoicism intact. If the obnoxious kid’s taunts bothered her, she didn’t show it.
He cleared his throat.
“Let’s start with some basic questions. Why were you at Oasis Apartments earlier today?”
“You know why. I was shooting hoops.”
“Do you live there?”
“No.”
“Do you have friends or family who live there?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else with you?”
“No.”
“So, let me see if I have this straight, Nathan. You went over to Oasis, alone, solely because you wanted to play some basketball.”
“Yeah.”
“All by yourself.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Where do you live?”
“Redstone Estates. Block Three.” He smiled at Susan. “That’s a gated community, if you didn’t know. Very upscale.”
Isaac confirmed the information against Skylark’s record and ran a quick search. “That’s up on Shelf Seven,” he noted.
“Yeah. So what?”
“You’re telling me you went all the way down to Shelf One, alone, because you wanted to play basketball.”
“Sure.”
“Does this gated community you live in have recreational facilities?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And do those facilities include a basketball court?”
“Dunno.”
“You don’t know,” Isaac echoed meaningfully. “You live in an upper-class gated community and you’re so clueless about its amenities you traveled to the bottom shelf of this city to an apartment complex where none of your friends or family live, all to play some basketball alone.”
“What’s so strange about that?”
“Then, if all you said is true, why did you run when I looked at you?”
He turned away and crossed his arms.
“Why did you run?”
“Hey, cutie, I’m dying to know.” He gave Susan a lewd smirk. “Is that body real or metal on the inside?”
“Why did you run, Nathan?”
“Come on, no one likes a quiet bitch.” He grabbed his crotch. “Betcha I can make you squeal.”
Isaac shot a quick sideways glance over to Susan, concerned Skylark might be getting under her skin. He certainly felt the urge to reach across the table and thump some sense into the kid, though he’d never do such a thing. He could only imagine how Susan, as the target of these disgusting remarks, felt at the moment. She’d handled herself well so far, but the difference between them—the very important difference that Skylark seemed unaware of—was their training.
Isaac knew how to question uncooperative prisoners within the confines of the law.
Susan knew how to use a flamethrower.
An incident involving her losing her temper and painting the walls with the kid’s blood might prove…problematic on so many levels. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became, but then she turned her head his way ever so slightly and raised a subtle, questioning eyebrow. She seemed unperturbed by the juvenile remarks, at least on the surface.
Good, he thought with mild relief. Good. Perhaps I’m worrying about nothing. She’s a professional, after all. A professional in a different field, but that still counts for something. She’s dealt with worse scum than this dumb kid.
By…blowing them up.
Hmm.
Darn. Now I’m worried again.
Susan saw the concern on his face, and her brow creased in an unspoken question.
Isaac shook his head and turned back to Skylark, more determined than ever to get this interrogation back on track.
“Nathan, I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of your situation.”
“You don’t scare me,” he spat. “You’ve got nothing on me, cop!”
“On the contrary, I have plenty of justification to press charges. When I arrived at room 516, I found evidence of a crime. That alone gives me added authority to issue orders to civilians in the area, yourself included, and the order I gave you was to stop running. But you ran. I could charge you with ‘disobeying a lawful order,’ but I think I can do better than that.”
“So, some guy had his apartment ransacked. So what?” Skylark sneered. “I had nothing to do with it. You can’t pin this on me.”
“Oh.” Isaac sat back and regarded the gangster with cool eyes. “You don’t know.”
And there’s the crack I needed, he thought. Time to wedge his defenses open.
“Don’t know what?” Skylark asked.
“This case isn’t about burglary.”
“But…” The kid gulped down a breath.
“The apartment belonged to Joachim Delacroix.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Chief Engineer Delacroix of the Gordian Division. And recently deceased.”
“It belonged to a dead cop?” he squeaked, all the bravado draining from his face.
“Correct.”
Skylark leaned back and put a hand to his mouth. His eyes darted around erratically, and he bit into the back of one finger.
“Let me lay it out for you. A SysPol officer has been murdered. Someone broke into his apartment. You were outside watching the place, and when a cop arrived, you ran! Now how do you think that looks to us? Huh, Nathan? How bad does it look for you?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with it!”
“With what, Nathan?”
“I…” He looked away and chewed on the side of his long finger.
“You think a few hours in here is bad?” Isaac asked. “You’re in way deeper than you know. You can look forward to spending the rest of your youth in a panopticosm. And this”—he held up the kid’s goggles—“won’t work in there. No games. No shows. No nothing. Just you, the other inmates, and a lot of counseling.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” He sniveled, tears dripping out of his eyes.
“Then why were you there?”
“I was only supposed to watch the place!” he blubbered. “I swear! That’s it! The Numbers didn’t even do this job! I can’t fucking go to jail! I can’t!”
“Then who did the job?”
“The Fanged Wyverns! Shelf One is our turf, but they stripped that guy’s apartment, so the deacon asked me to watch over the place in case they tried hitting another. If they did, I was to call in backup so we could scare them off. That’s all, I swear!”
“Then the Numbers weren’t involved in the theft.”
“Fuck no!”
“And the Fanged Wyverns robbed the apartment.”
“Yes!”
“Did the Fanged Wyverns murder Delacroix?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“And you claim you weren’t involved in either the burglary or the murder.”
“No! A million times no!”
“Then why did you run?”
“You scared me!”
“Why?” Isaac pressed. “You claim you committed no crime. Why did the presence of a police officer scare you?”
“I…I…”
“Why did you run?”
“I…” Tears traced down his cheeks.
“Why did you run?”
“I want my lawyer,” he sniveled.
“Why did you run, Nathan?” Isaac snapped, rising from his seat.
“I want my lawyer!” he shouted back.
Isaac paused for a long, deliberate moment, then sat back down in his chair. Skylark started sobbing uncontrollably, all his earlier puffed-up arrogance gone. He wiped under his running nose with a baggy sleeve.
“That’s within your rights.” Isaac gestured to the LENS. “Cephalie, open a hole in the firewall for his goggles, but lock it down if he tries anything.”
“Done,” Cephalie said through the LENS’s onboard speaker so Skylark could hear.
Isaac pushed the goggles forward with a finger.
“Go ahead.”
The kid blew his nose into his sleeve, then picked up the goggles with trembling hands and fitted them over his eyes. He gestured his way through unseen menus.
“He’s putting in a legit call,” Cephalie said. “And…the Skylark family lawyer just transmitted into the precinct. He’d like a word with you.”
“I’ll bet.” Isaac rose from his seat and left the interrogation room.
* * *
Susan followed Isaac and the LENS out of the room, impressed with how her partner had reduced the gangster to a spineless puddle.
Slimy little brat deserved it, she thought, and she smiled inwardly at how Isaac had shattered the punk’s fake bravado. She’d wanted to reach across the table and thump some sense into him, but Isaac had remained cool and in control the whole time.
They stepped into an empty interrogation room, and the abstract lawyer appeared before them. He wore an antiquated three-piece suit, black with a long gray tie, and a pair of rectangular wireframes over his dispassionate eyes. In fact, the AC’s avatar seemed to be composed wholly of rectangular shapes, from his rigid posture and squared shoulders to his long face and buzzed haircut. He made a show of adjusting his tie, then set his virtual briefcase on the table.
“And you are?” Isaac asked.
“Mister Wall,” the abstract lawyer said in a dour tone, “Of Wall, Block & Pachelo. I’m on retainer to the Skylark family, and I’ve come concerning young Nathan Skylark’s detention. I’ve just finished reviewing his file with the NFPD, and I must say, I’m already disturbed by what I’ve found. I’ll need to speak with him in private after this, but I can clearly see his arrest was unwarranted. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it represents an overreach of SysPol’s authority and provides the family with grounds for a lawsuit, should they choose to pursue one.”
“You really want to go there?”
“Want has nothing to do with this, Detective Cho. The facts are what they are. Nathan Skylark hasn’t committed any crimes, and you have no basis for either his arrest or his detention.”
“Then you need to check your facts,” Isaac challenged. “I caught Nathan fleeing the scene of a crime, and when ordered to stop he continued running. That grants me probable cause to make an arrest.”
“I’m sure that was a simple misunderstanding on his part. Did you properly identify yourself as a police officer?”
“I was in uniform and I pinged him with my badge.”
“Then perhaps he felt unduly threatened.”
“Regardless of how he felt, it’s his civic duty to follow lawful commands by the police.”
“Indeed. Lawful commands,” Mister Wall stressed. “But does you shouting at him fall within that category?”
“You can twist what happened into a pretzel for all I care,” Isaac said. “A forensic specialist is looking over the apartment as we speak, and you better hope there isn’t the slightest sniff of him inside. Until I see the results, Skylark isn’t going anywhere.”
“You haven’t charged him with a crime. And you can’t retain him for longer than twenty-four hours.”
“Then I have that long to make a decision.”
“And in response, I’ll ensure the remainder of that time is as fruitless as possible. Young Nathan will be exercising his right to remain silent from here on out.”
“Have it your way.” Isaac crossed his arms. “Let’s assume for the moment he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“No assumptions necessary, I assure you.”
“Oh, but I insist. Not only did we catch him fleeing a crime scene, but he’s demonstrated a complete lack of respect to authority figures during his detention. And his criminal record shows he has questionable taste in friends.”
“Those are problems for his parents and are, to be frank, none of your business.”
“You and I don’t seem to be seeing eye-to-eye on where my business ends.”
“I can assure you that, in this case, I draw the line exactly where it belongs.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree. But I’m not unreasonable.” Isaac turned to the LENS. “Cephalie, prep a release form for Nathan. If the forensics come back without any surprises, we’ll let him go early.” He turned back to Mister Wall. “Happy?”
“I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”
“You do that.”
The lawyer dipped his head and vanished.
* * *
“Do you think the Fanged Wyverns broke into Delacroix’s apartment?” Susan asked.
“I believe Nathan thinks so,” Isaac said. “Nina’s forensics report will clear it up, one way or the other. But our guest looks to be little more than a local nuisance. A spoiled rich kid playing at gangster life. All he has is vandalism on his record, so he’s the loser they stuck with staking out the apartments.”
“He’s also wrong about his name,” Cephalie said. “To the Numbers, four is considered unlucky because of its phonetic connection to the word for death in Old Chinese.”
“Good catch,” Isaac said. “His ignorance reinforces my impression he’s a nobody.”
“He did seem…” Susan searched for the right description. “Like a scrawny little peacock. Without much plumage.”
“Yeah.” Isaac coughed out a laugh. “I was wondering why a gang member would hang out after the apartment had been robbed. Nathan’s story fits the facts, regardless of how much of a pain it was squeezing it out of him. If the report shows any Numbers were involved, we’ll charge him formally. Otherwise, I don’t see the point. SSP can deal with him however they like.”
“Know much about the Fanged Wyverns?” Susan asked.
“Not at the moment.” Isaac opened a virtual window and searched the precinct’s database. “Jovian ethnic gang. One I haven’t dealt with before. Looks like they’re an occasional problem in New Frontier but have a larger presence across the lowest reaches of the Epimethean Expanse. Makes sense.”
“Why’s that?”
“Large Jovian populations in these parts of the Shark Fin. Quite a few cities around here were founded by Jovian companies looking to branch out into the Saturn State, so like New Frontier, they attracted an immigrant populace.” He closed the window. “I get the impression they’re a rowdy, if small, gang in this city.”
“Why wouldn’t the Numbers use a drone or other remote device to keep an eye on the apartment?” Susan asked.
“Because of drone licensing,” Cephalie explained. “Only certain types of drones are allowed in certain areas, and you need to be licensed to pilot one. That licensing can be very expensive and time-consuming to acquire.”
“Would a gang care, though?”
“They would because drone violations bring SysPol down on their heads,” Isaac pointed out. “Those are federal crimes, and we don’t take kindly to remote-piloted crime. State troopers might have trouble tracking down unlicensed drones, but our forensics teams don’t mess around. That’s not to say some don’t try, but why risk it when you have people like Nathan to boss around?”
“Huh, interesting.” She wondered if she should mention SysGov’s attitude about drones back home at the DTI. She’d assumed most aspects of SysGov law were laxer than in the Admin, but here the opposite was true. How many crimes could be prevented by tighter restrictions on drones back home?
Then she remembered something else she wanted to ask him.
“Isaac?”
“Yeah?”
“Back in the interrogation room, I noticed you kept looking in my direction.”
“Oh.” Isaac appeared a little embarrassed for some reason. “That.”
“Were you expecting me to help out in some way? I only ask because I want to be sure I’m supporting you to the degree you expect.”
“It’s nothing. I thought you might rough him up, is all.”
“Oh.” She considered his comment, then said, “Was I supposed to?”
“What?!” Isaac’s eyes grew wide with shock and indignation, and she regretted her words immediately. “No!” he snapped. “No, you should not have used your advanced synthoid body to physically assault the defenseless seventeen-year-old kid in our custody!”
“I only meant…” she began, but her foot was firmly planted in her mouth, and she grimaced as the verbal drubbing continued.
“How can you even suggest something like that? I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Haven’t you been paying attention? Didn’t we go over this on the saucer? Why do you insist on acting like this? You really need to get your…”
Susan winced as he laid into her, and she knew she only had herself to blame. But then she realized he was watching something past her. The indignation in his eyes flickered out, replaced with regret, and his mouth gaped open in what might have been in horror. He forced himself to look her in the eyes.
“Susan, I’m so sorry,” he said, every word overflowing with genuine apology.
“Uhh?”
“There I go again making bad assumptions.” He shook his head, scolding himself. “I should have known you weren’t being serious, and I hope you’ll forgive my hasty words.”
“What?”
A tiny voice cleared her throat.
Susan looked behind her back to find Cephalie standing atop the LENS, a big sign held overhead in her hands.
The sign read: THAT WAS A JOKE, YOU DUMMY!
“Umm.” She faced Isaac again. He appeared unsure if he’d smoothed things over adequately.
“It’s a bad habit of mine,” he confessed. “Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my work I take everything too literally.” He gestured to the LENS. “Cephalie, back me up on this.”
“Yeah, it’s true.” She folded the sign and stuffed it in her purse. “He can be really dense at times.”
“That’s not the first time she’s used her signs, believe me.” He chuckled, then shook his head again. “And your joke was rather funny.”
“My joke?” Susan asked, a moment before what felt like a tiny cane jabbed her in the butt. “Yes. My joke. I’m glad you liked it…eventually.”
“But”—Isaac held up a finger—“all that said, I do need to pass on a word of caution.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not sure how this works over in the DTI, but we, as Themis detectives, should do our part to uphold our division’s public image. Jokes about beating up prisoners, as you can imagine, reflect poorly on both Themis Division and SysPol as a whole. Especially if they’re overheard by the wrong people.”
“Of course. I understand. I’ll keep such suggest—jokes,” she corrected quickly. “I’ll keep such jokes to myself in the future.”
“That’s for the best.” He sighed. “Now, since I’ve managed to make a complete fool of myself, I need a breather. Maybe get some coffee. Be back in a few.”
He stepped out of the interrogation room, leaving Susan alone with Cephalie.
The door sealed shut, and the two looked at each other expectantly.
“That wasn’t a joke,” Cephalie said as a statement, not a question.
Susan frowned. She wasn’t sure how she felt about an AI saving her from yet another social gaffe; she didn’t have strong feelings about unregulated AIs, but they were still outlawed in the Admin, and she’d torched a rogue infosystem or two in her time with the DTI.
“Why did you do that?”
“Eh?” Cephalie shrugged. “Why not?”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“I suppose it isn’t.” Cephalie leaped to her shoulder and sat down there. Her virtual senses felt the imaginary weight. “But now I’m curious.”
“About what?”
“Would you beat up that punk if Isaac ordered you to?”
“Well, not now.” She rolled her eyes.
“But rewind a bit. Forget this last conversation. Would you have?”
“Maybe,” she admitted, somewhat surprised by her own honesty to a bunch of ones and zeros. “I suppose I wouldn’t have a problem trying to scare him into cooperating.”
“Have you ever roughed up a prisoner?”
“Personally? No.”
“Been part of a team that did?”
“Yes, but he was a really bad person.”
“How bad is really bad?”
“Ever see a toddler’s brain leak out of her eye sockets?”
“Eww!” Cephalie exclaimed. “Okay, that qualifies as bad.”
“Our squad was up against the clock. We needed to find his second microtech bomb before it was too late.”
“And so”—Cephalie spread her palms—“you extracted the information by any means necessary.”
“Because it was necessary. Otherwise, the bad guys would have won.”
“Isaac would disagree. Doing something like that is letting the bad guys win. At least in his mind.”
“I know.” She gazed down at the floor.
“Look, I’m not saying either of you is right or wrong. He’s never faced a scenario like that, and you’re new to this kind of work.”
“That much is certain,” Susan sighed. “I’m still not sure why I’m even here.”
“But who knows?” Cephalie nudged her chin up. “A different, less rigid perspective might prove useful.”
She turned to face the AC. “You think so?”
“Sure, I do!” The tiny avatar smiled at her. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”