One of Drasko's shoulders hitches up noncommittally. "I'll see what I can do about that."
"Fried is fried. Can't undo what's been done."
"Sometimes," he admits. "So the EMP blast wiped out any potential footage of his final freefall."
"Right." As if the guy didn't want anybody knowing the extent of his abilities. Anybody besides the low-level enforcer doing her overzealous due diligence.
"Why'd he wait so long? Could've knocked your eyes out long before he started leaping tall buildings and whatnot."
"Ask him."
"So he survived."
"Pretty sure."
"Just your run-of-the-mill patriot/dust addict/curfew violator on the loose. Another night in the life of Sera Chen." He shakes his head as he angles the aerocar toward the roof of HQ, lit up for his eyes only in IR grids and outlines across the full width of his windscreen. "Bishop's gonna eat you for dinner."
"Early breakfast." I note the time on his display: 0300.
She's there to meet us as Drasko touches down. The wind stirred up by the aerocar flaps her coattails, and she squints against the flailing gusts. She stands just outside the elevator doors with her coat clasped at her throat.
"Ma'am." I nod to her as I step out under the rising side door.
"Commander," Drasko salutes, already out of his seat and retrieving my exo-suit.
"Walk with me," Bishop says, turning on her heel. The elevator doors open automatically, sensing her change of direction—or activated by her sheer force of will. After tonight's weirdness, not much would surprise me.
I glance back at Drasko. He gives me a look that says he's got my equipment covered. He'll get my drones, shocker, and exo all up and running again in no time. My augments, on the other hand, will have to be reactivated by a trained professional of the MedTech variety. Or a robodoc. I'll have to wait and see who's on duty.
"Thanks." I nod to Drasko. Then I jog into the dimly lit elevator right before the doors close.
Immediately, I feel underdressed. Commander Bishop's black coat, high-collared uniform, and shiny boots look immaculate. I've never seen her wear anything else, and she always looks so well put together. Maybe a little severe with the shaved head and steely demeanor, but I've always admired her commitment to law enforcement and the hours she puts in. Not sure whether the woman ever sleeps.
I don't know where to look. I glance at her for a clue as to the direction my early morning is headed—how severely I'll be reprimanded, what I should brace myself for. But she's tough to read, standing with her spine ramrod straight and her arms behind her back, her face set like stone. Her eyes are fixed on the digital display over the polished plasteel doors as the floors count backward from thirty.
My gaze shifts to my dusty stocking feet and the skin-tight bodysuit I'm wearing. Also black, so we have that in common. But so unprofessional. Perfectly acceptable in the locker room; not so much in an elevator with your superior officer.
"Ma'am…" I'm not off to a great start. Because I'm not sure where I should.
"Tell me about your recent promotion, Chen."
"Uh…" I'm about to dig myself further into a grave of stupid comebacks when a lone neuron fires in my brain, alerting me to the fact that she's being ironic. Or maybe sarcastic. Either way, she's not happy, and I know why. "No promotion, ma'am."
"So you're still an enforcer."
"That's right."
"Not an investigator. Not a tracker."
"No, ma'am."
"Your job is to do what, exactly?"
I exhale as quietly as I can without it sounding like an exasperated sigh. "I enforce the curfew."
"Explain."
I join her in watching the digits scroll by. We've already passed the 15th floor, and we continue downward.
"No citizen shall be permitted to walk, ride, or drive about the city between the hours of 2400 and 0500, any day of the week. Lights in all residences, businesses, and government buildings must be off for the duration, along with any other electrical device or machine, unless directly related to life support. The only exceptions are aerial patrol vehicles whose sole purpose is the enforcement of the curfew and assistance in the enforcement of said curfew by officers on the ground," I recite my duty word-for-word from the academy rulebook.
"And why is this curfew in place, Enforcer Chen?"
"To conserve the energy required to keep the Ten Domes fully functional, and to ensure a prosperous lifestyle for all Eurasian citizens." To maintain that precarious equilibrium between the consumers and everything we consume.
Commander Bishop raises an eyebrow as she pivots her head to look at me. Simultaneously, the elevator reaches the 10th floor and eases to a halt. The mirror-like doors slide open automatically, revealing the HQ command center. The big screen mounted front and center displays an aerial shot in IR from one of the aerocars, but not much is going on out there tonight—or in here.
A couple analysts are seated at their posts, brainjacked into their terminals, eyes staring blankly at the screens of code populating and repopulating line by line in front of them as they monitor surveillance data from across the Domes. Otherwise, the place is silent and empty.
"So I don't need to tell Chancellor Hawthorne about your little rooftop pursuit?"
"No, ma'am."
Bishop nods to herself, pensively. "Remind me, Enforcer Chen. Why is it that you were assigned a position with minimal risk?"
Now this is getting awkward. I don't like talking about it. I don't even like thinking about it. If I had my way, I'd go about my life completely forgetting it.
Like I try to do, every freaking day.
"Chen?"
I duck my chin and mutter something I hope she'll assume is the right answer.
"Try again," she says.
"Because I'm one of the Twenty."
She nods once, crisply. Then she sets her eyes straight ahead. "My office. Now."
She disembarks from the elevator, and I follow behind, unable to quell the feeling that I'm a kid again, in trouble with the teacher. Bishop doesn't say another word as we pass through the command center, and it's not until we're in her spacious office with the double doors shut that she holds a finger to her lips and activates what sure sounds like a static disruptor. She sets the pen-sized device she withdrew from her pocket on her desk, and it whispers away, masking anything we say with white noise.
Because, apparently, the commander's office is monitored.
"Have a seat."
I'm still staring at the disruptor. "Ma'am?"
She shrugs out of her coat and drapes it over the back of her ergonomic chair, black like every other piece of furniture or tech in the room. The walls and floor are an industrial grey, the wide window behind her desk providing a view of the same urban shadow-shapes I saw from Drasko's vehicle.
"Sit down, Sera. Please." She extends a hand toward the two minimalist armchairs facing her desk. She doesn't take her seat until I collapse into one of them.
"You're monitored, ma'am?"
Chin raised, she lowers herself into her chair, and it molds itself automatically to support her. "You think a commander would be above the law?"
Of course not. I just thought the law would be more lenient toward those who've devoted their lives to protecting it.
"We have two minutes before the Chancellor's analysts will become suspicious. Audio glitches during curfew are not entirely out of the ordinary. We are running on very limited electrical resources at this time of night." She almost smiles, but her face quickly resumes its stoic look, as if pretending that momentary lapse never occurred. "What happened tonight will not happen again. You are too important to put yourself in danger like that, Sera. All of you are too important. The Chancellor has allowed you to live normal lives—"
I scoff at that. But since time is precious here, I don't elaborate.
Normal. Right. Going to the doctor every month since I was twelve. Being one of only twenty people in Eurasia my age. G
oing to boarding school with them, growing up with them like siblings, only to be split up across the Domes when we became of age. Not being able to see them or even communicate with them for years now. What are they doing with their lives these days? Getting lectured by their superiors?
"—in time for the banquet."
I curse out loud. Then I cover my mouth.
Commander Bishop is not amused. "Don't tell me you forgot about it."
I've had a lot going on lately.
"Probably can't go like this." I pluck at my bodysuit.
"You can't go anywhere like that. It's indecent." She shakes her head. "Promise me, Sera, that you will be more careful. I would hate to lose you. But if the Chancellor finds out about your rooftop chase and decides the role of enforcer is too dangerous for you, there will be nothing I can do about it. Her word is law."
"And she only wants what's best for me," I mutter.
"For all of us." She gives me a direct stare until I nod. "Now tell me why you pursued that curfew violator."
I glance at the disruptor. Apparently, she wants this discussion to be off the record. "I was following a lead, ma'am."
"A lead. I see. And why did you fail to notify an investigator about this?"
I dry-swallow uncomfortably. "Because it...wasn't an official matter." I lean forward. "But now it is. That grenade was proof he's a dangerous criminal with access to illegal weapons. A terrorist, most likely—"
She holds up a hand to stop me. "Explain this unofficial matter."
Right. No way I could distract her from that.
"I've been looking into…" I drop my gaze. Pick at my fingernail. "My parents."
Silence. Can't tell if it's the judgmental or surprised variety.
She knows.
My heart almost stops. Then it lurches into overdrive.
Before, when I heard that jumper's voice inside my head, I dismissed it as a symptom of high-stress. But just now, I heard two words from Commander Bishop when she didn't say a thing.
Did I read her mind? Of course not. That isn't possible.
The EMP really did a number on Wink and Blink. It affected me as well, and I won't know how severely until I check in with MedTech. Could be just a glitch in my augments, that's all.
So why am I trembling?
"And you thought this curfew violator had useful information." Bishop's tone is flat, like always.
"He said he did."
I cited him for his violation on the street outside a lights-out cube complex and told him to go home. Standard procedure. He smiled casually and apologized with a lame excuse, in no hurry to follow my order. Also standard among some nightlifers who think they're too pretty to obey the curfew.
Then he leaned in to read my badge and said, "Chen? You don't look Asian."
I've gotten that now and then over the years. It usually doesn't bother me. But coming from a loser like him?
I was a professional, so I kept my act together.
"My dad is. Not my mom." Common enough in Eurasia. "Goodnight, citizen. Be on your way."
He winked at me. "They're not your parents, Enforcer Chen."
I should have ignored him, put on the cop face until he made tracks straight to his domicile. Instead, I ordered him to explain himself.
"Trace your DNA." He shrugged, backing away. "Then you'll know for yourself."
He ambled off. I ordered him to stop, but he picked up the pace instead, grinning at me like an idiot. Then he charged into the complex, dashing up fifty flights to the roof and beyond—with me right behind him.
"Why did you believe what he said?" Bishop brings me back to the moment at hand.
I shake my head. "I didn't see any reason not to. What would he have gained by lying to me?"
"Was this before or after you realized he was a dust addict?"
"Before." I frown. "I had no idea…"
"Your first encounter with one of them."
I nod.
"In ten years on the force, I have never seen anything like that—what he was able to do. Dust addicts in the past have been known for certain...parlor tricks, for lack of a better term. Entertaining, but not altogether dangerous." Her gaze turns inward, as if she's thinking out loud: "It could be that more potent strains are now being produced, with longer-term physical abilities." She frowns pensively. "Or it could all be a lie…everything we've been told…"
"Ma'am?"
Abruptly, she deactivates the disruptor and pockets it. Turning her attention to her desk, she swipes the obsidian surface, and it glows to life, populating with multiple frames of data, images, and muted videos. Without looking up, she orders, "Report to MedTech, Enforcer Chen. Then clock out for the day. Dismissed."
I leave her office, unsure whether I got off easy this time.
2 Daiyna
5 Years After All-Clear
They're gaining on me.
I grip the steering wheel with both hands and floor the accelerator, squeezing out whatever juice is left in my jeep's solar batteries. A shot rings out, blowing the mirror off the driver's side. That's alright. I didn't need it anyway.
I don't have to look to know how close they are.
Sweat trickles down the inside of my goggles. The heat is oppressive this time of day, the sun a merciless tyrant hovering above. I bounce and swerve in my seat as I maneuver the jeep across a rough patch of lifeless terrain. Then I send up a fresh cloud of dust in my wake as I veer around a boulder and drift the jeep sideways, skidding twenty meters before I even things out and continue westward.
Another shot from one of their rifles, and I duck instinctively. But the round was wide, completely missing my vehicle. And me inside, thankfully.
I should have known better than to try anything in Sector 31. But I couldn't help myself. They've always had the best stuff.
Used to, anyway.
Keeping the jeep steady with my left hand on the wheel, I reach for the 9mm tucked into my belt and pivot to glance over my shoulder. There's nothing but billowing dust back there now hiding my pursuers. Aiming the handgun toward my completely shattered rear window, I squeeze off a couple shots. Not expecting to hit anything behind me, just letting the Edenites know I'm still in the race. And I don't plan on making this easy for them.
Twenty hydropacks. That's the current bounty on my head. Insulting, really—as if I'm only worth that measly amount. But maybe it's more of a reflection on their dwindling resources, how much they're able to pay.
Wanted on a silver platter: the head of the woman who killed their dear Captain Willard.
I can't tell whether they backed off after those shots I sent their way. If they plan on returning to Eden without any punctures in their tires or their special suits, they'd better be more careful. There's an unpredictable female driving this jeep. Not only is she armed, but she's got nothing to lose.
That mirage on the horizon is mesmerizing. If it wasn't for all the jostling around at high speeds and the nerve-wracking gunfire, I might find it relaxing. Stake my hammock in a patch of shade and watch the optical illusion ripple. Let it hypnotize me into a false sense of security.
I smirk at the thought. There's no security on this continent. Anybody who thinks they can make a life for themselves here is delusional. The Edenites are the worst, hiding in their underground paradise and hoarding everything worth having. I wouldn't shed a single tear if they all ended up like Willard, with seven rounds to the head and chest.
But not courtesy of the gun I tuck back into my belt. Ending Willard was one thing. I felt cleansed afterward, relieved, like a boulder I'd been carrying had fallen off my back. And I haven't felt the need to kill anyone else since.
It's probably helped being alone. Less opportunity for someone to rub me the wrong way.
But I'm not alone. Not really. I have my spirit-pal Rehana riding shotgun. She's the best companion anybody could ask for. Always there during the tough times with an encouraging word.
"Not sure you've thought this through, sist
er," she says, arms folded as she lurches in the seat beside me. "What happens when you run out of power?"
"Hasn't happened yet." I keep my eyes on the terrain ahead, looking for an abrupt precipice to launch us off and lead the fools behind me sailing through the air—into a horrendous crash landing only I would survive, thanks to my gift.
"You think you can live moment-to-moment forever, Daiyna?"
"It's worked fine so far." My voice sounds raw, my mouth and throat dry. I need to remember to hydrate, but taking care of myself hasn't been my strong suit lately.
"What do you hope to accomplish here?"
Leave it to spirit-Rehana to start up a heavy conversation right in the middle of a challenging situation. It's not like her life's at stake. She's been dead longer than I care to remember.
"Well, for one thing, I don't want those idiots to catch me. In the process, if their vehicle goes kaput and they find themselves stranded out here, that would be a bonus."
"What if your vehicle goes kaput first?"
"Not gonna happen." I slap the dashboard confidently. I've kept this machine running for years. No chance it's gonna crap out when I need it most.
A warning light flashes on the console as the jeep decelerates without warning. It keeps slowing down, no matter how hard I jam the accelerator into the floorboard. I curse, pounding my gloved fists against the steering wheel.
"You were saying?" Rehana chuckles.
"Grab the Colt and extra clip—" I catch myself. "Never mind. You're useless."
Not real good with corporeal things, these spirit-types.
I lean over and pop open the dash compartment in front of Rehana's knees. Fishing around the few hydro and nourishment packs stacked inside, I find what I'm looking for. No, not the flask. That's for later.
"You plan to kill them?"
I've got the 9mm in one hand and the Colt .44 in the other. I must look like I mean business. Mission accomplished. "Only if they try to kill me."
"The bounty's dead or alive, isn't it?"
I face her as the jeep rolls to an eventual stop. "Can I assume you won't be lending a hand?"
She's been decidedly hands-off as of late, leaving me to fend for myself—particularly when I go looking for trouble. Not a single dust devil or whirlwind to help a girl out.
Spirits of the Earth: The Complete Series: (A Post-Apocalyptic Series Box Set: Books 1-3) Page 80
