QUANTUM MORTIS: A Man Disrupted

by Steve Rzasa

  “Let me be clear,” the lawyer declared. “Permission was most certainly not granted and the Embassy will file a complaint immediately in protest of this contractual violation.”

  Hildy cleared her throat and ignored the poisonous look shot at her by Swirsky. “Sir, my understanding is that Prime Captain Kotant has indicated he has information vital to our double homicide, and I request we—”

  “Enough!” Swirsky barked, his voice resonant with his self-importance. “This interview is over and I am directing the remanding of Prime Captain Kotant into the custody of the royal embassy. The charges related to the Prime Captain’s arrest will be dropped and expunged from the record. Mr. de Fosters has already filed a motion to suppress and delete any information disclosed in the course of this interview and I expect all recordings turned over to him for the purposes of review.”

  He nodded to the queen. “The Prime Captain is yours, your Majesty.”

  “Rise, Captain Kotant,” Queen Beatrice spoke for the first time. Her voice was chilly with disdain. Kotant obeyed, although not without an apologetic glance at Tower. “If you wish to have any further discussions with any member of our staff, Mr. Tower, you will do so through the auspices of the embassy.”

  She turned and glared at Hildy. The queen’s icy blue stare was very nearly as intimidating as being on the wrong side of the barrel of a cobalt cannon.

  “Detector Hildreth, we will require you to bring Annaliese van der Boer to the embassy when you are finished questioning her with regards to her involvement in our son’s murder. While we recognize that she is not among the persons granted immunity per the Sanctuary contract, if she is neither arrested nor delivered to us before midnight, Mr. de Fosters will be registering a second series of complaints with regards to the maltreatment, wrongful imprisonment, and abuse of our embassy staff.”

  Tower was proud of Hildy. Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t blink and she didn’t back down before the imperious older woman. “You try to interfere with my investigation or my witnesses, Mrs. Jagaelleon, and I’ll haul your bony royal butt right back here for obstruction of justice! Do you think I don’t know what you’ll do to her?”

  The queen ignored her. At her gesture, one of the bodyguards pushed past Tower, pulled Kotant’s arms behind his back, and bound them with an autobinder similar to the one Tower had removed only a few hectasecs before.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Tower started to protest, but Kotant caught his eyes and shook his head. Well, if the Prime Captain wasn’t alarmed, Tower wasn’t about to get worked up about it either. He closed his mouth and flashed two fingers where Kotant could see them. The Morchardese officer nodded quickly, and Tower stepped back, satisfied. The Prime Captain would abide by his word, if he was able. Under the circumstances, that was all Tower could reasonably expect.

  “Her Majesty can rest assured that Detector Hildreth will return the Morchardese subject to the embassy at the very first opportunity,” Swirsky was babbling at the lawyer. “The case of Prince Arpad’s murder is of the highest priority to this department and Commissioner Coleman is absolutely determined that our detectors will find his killers and bring them to justice.”

  The queen was unimpressed. She glanced dismissively at Swirsky, who nearly fell over himself in his attempt to get out of her way. Hildy, on the other hand, remained where she was, in the doorway. “We commend your efforts to solve our son’s murder, but we will seek justice through our ways now, not yours. Step aside now, young woman.”

  Hildy squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. But when she glanced at Tower, he shook his head. Not here. Not now.

  Hildy’s shoulders sagged and she retreated out of the room. The bodyguards swept through first, with Kotant, and Queen Beatrice and her pet lawyer followed behind. Once they were out of the room, the assistant deputy commissioner reached out and shut the door. He turned to face Tower, glaring at him with all the fury his piggy little eyes could convey.

  “This isn’t MCID’s case, Mr. Tower. Detector Hildreth’s request for military assistance is henceforth revoked and I don’t want to see you here at headquarters again unless you’re in binders and behind bars. In fact, I don’t want to see you within 20 meters of Detector Hildreth unless it is an indisputably personal and private matter, do you understand me?”

  “Roger, Commissioner.” Swirsky might be a civilian, but Tower had been in the military long enough to recognize a perfumed prince with connections when he saw one. “If TPPD doesn’t require assistance, we’ll keep out of the department’s affairs, Commissioner.”

  Swirsky nodded, vaguely mollified. “I understand you have different ways, different rules of engagement, Mr. Tower. I respect that. The commissioner respects that. But when there is jurisdictional overlap, bright lines have to be drawn.”

  “Roger that, sir.” Tower clipped his words, knowing how much the civvy cops ate up playing soldier. Especially desk jockeys like this overweight fool. “You need the cavalry, Commissioner, just whistle, sir. Until then, MCID has things to break and other things to kill.”

  Swirsky nodded firmly, in what he obviously thought was an appropriately military manner. “I appreciate your understanding, Mr. Tower. No hard feelings, I hope.”

  “None at all, Commissioner.” Tower took the liberty of reaching out and opening the door. “After you, sir.”

  There was a small, but noticeable spring in the fat man’s step as he strode down the corridor with his baggy suit trousers sagging. Tower managed to avoid laughing out loud himself, although Baby’s chortling didn’t make it easy. He was a little disappointed Hildy hadn’t waited for him, but he wasn’t surprised. That would have just earned her pretty backside an even more irate chewing from Mr. Assistant Deputy Commissioner. Well, it was about time for him to return to his office, update the major, and discover what his next assignment was now that he’d been officially bounced from the Morchardese investigation.

  He hoped it wouldn’t be the low-grade gang war that had recently started up again between the Krasterii and the Unmork. He didn’t fancy finding himself in the middle of a blood feud between two alien races, both of which prized human flesh as a delicacy.

  He took the lift up to the parking platform level and strode outside, shading his contacts against the sun. He was surprised to see the Morchardese group nearby, until he realized that in their hurry to descend upon the police department, they had forgotten that a successful return trip would involve an additional passenger. Not that the four-door Fraisier, twin to the one Kotant had left over at the Tearmann, couldn’t carry five passengers, but Tower doubted Morchardese protocol permitted one to cram a lawyer and a captive security officer in the backseat with the queen.

  “Need a lift to the Prime Captain’s vehicle?” he called out in a mock-helpful manner. “The taillight is out, but I’m told TPPD overlooks that sort of thing these days.”

  De Fosters started to say something that, judging by the expression on his face, was less than grateful, but the queen dissuaded him. She graciously inclined her head the merest fraction of a centimeter toward him and allowed that it would not be beneath the dignity of Morchard if one of the bodyguards was transported to the other vehicle’s location by a member of the Rhysalani military police. Tower was pleased to hear that, not so much because he cared for the queen’s dignity on the ride home, but because it indicated the Prime Captain’s bound wrists were likely a mere matter of honor. Tower didn’t like the man, but he respected him and it would have galled him to see the big veteran shot out of hand.

  Kotant himself didn’t appear overly concerned. He was smiling at the lawyer’s discomfiture; de Fosters clearly didn’t like to feel beholden to Tower, but the queen had spoken and clearly there was nothing more to be said. Then Tower caught a flash of sunlight out of the corner of his eye; a moment later Baby screamed a silent warning so loud inside his head that it nearly scrambled his brains.

  Tower’s heart froze.

  Not here. Not out in the
open.

  He dove instinctively toward the closest vehicle and rolled the rest of the way to it. A green burst of light lanced across the bright blue sky, quickly followed by another. Tower drew his Sphinx and rose to one knee. Where was the shooter? Where? A third particle beam vaporized a patch of the landing platform in between him and the Morchardese party. Steam hissed from a gouge bigger than his head and scorched black.

  One of the two bodyguards had gone for his weapon and was pointing it toward the sky, but his failure to fire told Tower he couldn’t find the shooter either. The other one was shouting in their native tongue and forcibly dragging the screaming queen backward toward the Fraisier, attempting to shield her with his body. The lawyer was crawling behind them on the ground; Tower didn’t see where the Prime Captain had gone but it was safe to assume Kotant had taken cover nearby.

  Baby! I need a target! Tower swept his aim around the landing area. There were black-and-whites parked in neat rows all over the place, including under the canopies that shielded the individual hangars. He could find no suspicious activity on the skytowers facing the police building despite the zoom and motion detectors Baby had activated in his right eye.

  He was ready to fire, but at what? There was nothing. His breath came hard and steady; his chest heaved despite himself. He heard the door on the Morchardese aerovar slam and heard the engine start up.

  “I got nothing,” the bodyguard who remained outside the vehicle shouted. He slammed on the back of the vehicle twice with his left hand. “Gaan, gaan, gaan!”

  The var was just beginning to leave the ground when a fourth blast struck the seam between the port engine nacelle and the body. But the force of the particles were mostly ablated as the var’s electro-armor dispersed the charge that held them together in a bright explosion that was harmless but for the violent rainbow light it produced. The effect was as blinding as if someone had set off a firework in his face.

  “Red vehicle ten clock two!” Baby shouted.

  The force shield ablation had left purple blobs in Tower’s vision. He couldn’t see much of anything except for Baby’s crosshairs crisply overlaid in green upon a hazy whitish fog. Alarms were sounding and he could hear the sound of pounding boots behind him as TPPD finally began responding to the attack. Still half-blinded, he crouched again behind the blue var he’d used as cover.

  “Get to the var, Tower, I’m tracking the shooter’s vehicle!”

  He blinked a few more times and his vision cleared, and he saw the Prime Captain’s body lying on the ground to his right. The big Morchardese officer was dead, there could be no doubt, as the particle beam had struck him on the right temple and burned right through his skull. Tower swore silently to himself.

  The Morchardese bodyguard finally stopped scanning the skies and lowered his GHK. He turned back toward Tower, and something must have alerted him something was wrong because he immediately glanced at the ground. When he saw his fallen superior, his face turned ashen. He cried out in dismay. The laser fell clattering to the tarmac and the man dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

  His despairing grief awoke something in Tower. Something angry. Something murderous. He slammed the unfired Sphinx back into his holster and ran toward his var. “You still tracking him, Baby?”

  “He’s flitting in and out of the building cams, but I can find him. If we hurry.”

  The cockpit door opened automatically on the passenger side and Tower leaped in, then slid across to the wheel. The engine was already roaring and the var was off the ground before the door had even closed.

  “Then let’s get that sniping son of a bitch now!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “When a lot happens in a short time, the brain may make simplifying assumptions.”

  —from “Consciousness Refuted” by D.D. Clement

  Tower didn’t take over the controls, but he did tell Baby to override the governor that kept the var’s speed down below certain altitudes and within the city limits. He also triggered the lights and sirens, not that they actually mattered much at the speeds she was driving, but that invoked the auto-alert routine that broadcast a warning to every vehicle within 750 meters of his drive path.

  After being thrown almost into the passenger door when Baby took a hard left that narrowly avoided taking out the side of the Leichthansa Bank building, Tower managed to crawl back into the now-inappropriately named driver’s seat and buckle himself in.

  “That was a little close there, Baby. You sure you’re on top of this?”

  “That wasn’t even close, Tower.” She sounded excited. “God has not given you a spirit of fear, but of power! And love! And a sound mind!”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that last one. I let you drive, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t be such a baby. We had six point three two four seven meters to spare.”

  Tower decided it might be less terrifying if he closed his eyes. He tried it. After two more hair-raising, stomach-turning, excess G-force turns, he decided that he was wrong. He also decided to ignore the speedometer, which was considerably closer to altitude cruising speeds than was usually recommended for city driving. At least it would be fast, he tried to console himself.

  “Baby, if this is your way of attempting to help me find religion, I just thought I’d let you know it’s working.”

  She may have responded but Tower didn't hear. He was too busy praying to God, science, and anything else in the universe that might be inclined to lend an ear that her parallel processors were powerful enough to let her chatter without reducing her ability to correctly calculate collision vectors at speed.

  “Do you still have him?”

  “Dead to rights, Tower. He’s tried to shake us off, but I put out an alert and a scanner read his transponder. Now every cam, scanner, or passive reader in the system lights up when he passes by. Look!”

  The windshield abruptly displayed a holomap of the city. Brilliant green dots were lighting up like popcorn, giving Baby an indelible track to follow. A series of numbers below were rapidly declining; Tower ascertained that they indicated the gap that he and Baby were rapidly closing.

  “We should have visual as soon as I make this next corner,” she announced excitedly.

  Tower found himself thinking that “if” might have been the more strictly accurate description as the var twisted on its right side and somehow narrowly avoided taking out the 223rd story of a residential tower. Then he saw the shape of the speeding red var ahead and his state of near-catatonic terror abruptly disappeared, replaced by anticipation.

  “MCID Base, this is Chief Warrant Officer Graven Tower. I am in hot pursuit of a vehicle that is refusing to slow down or hover despite my lights. The passengers in the vehicle are believed to be responsible for an assassination attempt on the Queen of Morchard. Request permission to bring it down. Over.”

  “Tower, this is MCID Base,” the reply came almost immediately. “We are in sync. You are authorized to fire one warning shot at this time. Do not, repeat, do not bring the vehicle down until authorization is given.”

  Tower tapped the controls and they formed into a multi-buttoned gunstick. A blue reticle appeared; it lit up green when he passed it over the image of the fleeing var before them. But he eased it to the right of the var and gently squeezed the trigger, firing a short burst from the Degroet Tacticals in the nose. The tracers flew harmlessly past the red var, but despite the clear warning, it did not respond.

  “MCID Base, the vehicle did not respond to the warning shot. Please advise.”

  “Tower, this is Baylor,” he heard the colonel’s familiar voice announce. “How much collateral are we looking at?”

  He glanced at the holomap. They were already out of the finance district and they’d left downtown far behind. The skytowers were a good 150 stories shorter now, and there was considerably more space between them. “Not much if I hit him with a pair of Meteors. But I’d rather try to shoot him down with the cannons and see if I
can’t bring him in.”

  “Too risky,” the colonel pronounced. “The black box will survive and tell us whatever we need to know. Permission granted. You are cleared to fire two missiles, Tower.”

  “Roger that, sir. But colonel, this guy is just the hitter. If we take him out, we won’t know who hired him.”

  “It’s a political, Tower. If they don’t have the sense to stop, we’ll have a new lead to chase soon enough. In the meantime, we’ve taken one more pro off the street. Just take the shot, Mr. Tower.”

  “Yes, sir!” Tower grumbled a little under his breath as he switched over to the air-to-air missiles and selected simultaneous launch. He could feel the rack cover sliding back beneath the stub-wings on both sides. Baylor’s decision made sense, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Target is acquired.”

  A familiar high-pitched noise sounded. “Target is locked.”

  “Firing.” He squeezed the trigger again. “Two, repeat, two missiles away.”

  The two slender Meteorites covered the 600 meters between the two vars in less than a decasec. Both struck home at precisely the same time, and the red var disappeared in a huge fireball. Scratch one assassin, thought Tower as savage exultation course through his body. Baby banked hard right to avoid flying through the cloud of metal and plastic debris that was now falling to the ground. But it was hardly necessary. With warheads packing 12 kilos of PBX-7 high explosive apiece, the Meteorites had reduced the var to little more than harmless confetti.

  “Two hits,” he reported. “Target destroyed.”

  “Bravo zulu, Tower,” Colonel Baylor said. “Why don’t you return to base for a debriefing over lunch. I’ll arrange for someone else to find the black box.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Tower appreciated the colonel’s gesture. Hunting for the tiny, near-invulnerable data recorder was close to the last thing he was in the mood for now. But why? He knew he should have felt some sense of relief. Kotant’s killer, and quite likely Prince Arpad’s killer, was dead. Justice had been served. So why did he feel as if he was missing something?