The Sapphire Shadow

by James Wake

  Nadia yanked her arm back, but nothing gave; his hand was clamped tightly around her wrist.

  “What’s happening?” Tess said in her ears. “What’s happening? Is that the guard?”

  He was clawing at his belt, scrambling for a radio. Nadia twisted and pulled, all for nothing. She was trapped; she was going to prison because she couldn’t get away from some old, fat buffoon in a cheap uniform with the strongest hand the world had ever known.

  Something nasty and sharp wound up inside her, cutting right through the high-pitched yelping in her thoughts. Her eyes narrowed, and she kicked at his leg, stomping at his shins over and over.

  The guard grunted but didn’t let go.

  “Oh, my God,” Tess said. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

  Without anything like a conscious thought, Nadia jabbed the glass cutter into his wrist. Shrieking, he stumbled back and fell to the floor, slamming into the back wall of the hallway. Nadia flew down the corridor as fast as her legs would push her, so fast each step stung the soles of her feet.

  “Get out!” Tess yelled. “Now!”

  Nadia barely heard her as she pushed off the wall to round the corner, past the office where the guard had been sleeping, then past the office she had hid inside for a moment.

  “Wait, the transmitter! Don’t leave the transmitter!”

  Too late. Nadia burst through the back door, stumbling and falling to her knees outside. She sprung up to her feet and ran—flat-out ran—sprinting down the alley and not stopping no matter how badly her lungs screamed.

  She’d made it a block already. She glanced over her shoulder: nothing. A puddle splashed up madly around her as she dashed through it; back doors and stoops and cross alleys passed by her unseen.

  “Okay, okay. Calm down. This is fine. This is all fine,” Tess said.

  Nadia screeched to a stop, ducking into a doorway and peeking back toward the store. Cold sweat drenched her mask as her heart roared in her ears. “Can they…” She cleared her throat, hating the quavering in it. Nothing to be done about her gulping for breath, though. “Can they trace that thing if they find it?”

  “No, no. It’s fine. Just go.”

  She did, a bit more cautiously, still running but crouched low, stopping to check corners. There were no police cordons, no tactical teams rappelling from the rooftops to surround her. In fact, she saw nothing but a regular beat-up civilian car moving down a road past the end of an alley.

  Several blocks away now. She was getting closer to her scooter.

  “I think I’m clear,” she said.

  “You need to be miles away from there.”

  Nadia slowed down, slipping into the narrow space between two dumpsters. She changed quickly, dumping her criminal garb back into her bag and popping the heels back onto her boots. Her left glove had a small smear of blood on it. Very small, nothing to be upset over, certainly no reason to feel queasy and lost.

  She shook her head. A second later, she was a normal young woman in a nice coat taking a walk. At four in the morning.

  “That bag is going to give you away,” Tess said. “Hurry!”

  She didn’t. No, she was simply a regular customer of this wonderful city. No reason to run. Nothing to be concerned about with her disheveled hair or the sweat shining on her face. She strolled casually to where her scooter was parked—out into the lights of a main street—fighting the sharp stitch in her side and willing her pulse to slow down.

  She popped the seat open, pulled out her helmet, and stuffed her bag in there. Of course she would be wearing her helmet, even if she honestly preferred not to, preferred the wind in her hair and the senseless thrill of it. Right now she was extremely law abiding. Not that there were any witnesses—that she knew of anyway. They had chosen this parking spot because there were no cameras in the area.

  Nadia’s scooter slipped into light traffic, with only a car here or there. She drifted along as casually as possible—going a tiny, calculated amount over the speed limit.

  Sirens. Growing closer. She started to speed up but caught herself, keeping the throttle low.

  Calm. Stay calm, so incredibly calm.

  They were moving toward her, speeding down the road toward the jewelry store. She didn’t even pull over, forced herself not to look or acknowledge their presence at all.

  Oh, police vehicles, you say? I hadn’t noticed.

  They blew past her, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

  It was only when she was certain they were well behind her, certain they weren’t pulling around after all and catching up fast, that she let out one long, shaking, burning breath. Thinking of the bag under her seat, she allowed herself to smile. The files copied to the tiny drive concealed in her sweater didn’t please her as much.

  At least Tess would be happy. Hopefully anyway.

  She took the long way home, checking with Tess every few minutes to make sure no drones were following her.

  Chapter Three: Law of the Land

  Officer Jackson hated these calls.

  Auktoris security already had the scene cordoned off, a picket line of men and women in a ring around the front of the store. Not the rent-a-cop schlubs that were so common around the fashion district—a real Auktoris Private Security team, their answer to police SWAT units. All black, full tactical armor, each face covered with a blank shell of a helmet.

  She landed her bike nearby, feeling the warm draft of the engine exhaust off the street even through the thick armor of her boots. Her partner, Officer Ortega, was waiting, ready with coffee. It was the least he could do, after dumping the follow-up from the last call on her and taking off to God knows where. Wordlessly they walked toward the picket line.

  People called APS officers lots of things: thugs, corporate pigs, henchmen. Jackson had taken a liking to “Domes.” They looked inhuman, as cold and impersonal as the drones hovering above, taking pictures and chasing off any rogue drones trying to record their own video.

  Ortega handed Jackson a cup of coffee, which she accepted but didn’t look at, didn’t acknowledge at all, didn’t have any intention of drinking. She’d been up all night, her shift supposedly over any minute now.

  “Scene’s pretty picked over already,” Ortega said.

  “Figures.”

  He shrugged. “How it always is. Still going in, la pit bull?”

  She threw him a glare. “Don’t call me that.”

  Ortega shook his head. “Yes ma’am. El perro negro, ma’am.”

  Jackson ignored him, forging ahead. Ortega was the one who looked like a pit bull anyway. Shorter than her and much wider. Top-heavy. He often said he used to be a boxer, but a bad one. No reach.

  She shouldered her way through the thin group of people who were already ogling the store, what surely would turn into a crowd as the morning rush started. The arm holding her coffee seized up a bit, like it did sometimes when she held it up without moving it for too long. She switched hands and worked the kink out of her arm. The synthetic fibers buried deep under her skin were wearing out, maybe.

  It had been top-of-the-line experimental technology. At the time.

  The closest Dome tried his or her best to glare her down as she passed, even through the expressionless mask. Jackson paid the Dome no mind, which she would’ve done even without the badge on her chest. Sure, Auktoris owned the city, but it was still part of the United States, at least on paper. That still meant something. To Jackson, anyway.

  Techs in clean suits were scurrying in and out of the store, scanning emptied display cases. Bright red, all of them with the Auktoris logo on their chest: a swooping, hawk-like capital “A.” Three corporate lackeys were huddled together out front, sticking out in their white suits.

  Tapping the badge on her armored vest and waving, Jackson went up to them. None of them moved. They all stared into space, blind and deaf.

  “Excuse me?”
she said. “City police. Thought you might—”

  The one nearest held up a finger at her. She saw light moving behind his glasses. Surprising—she’d thought all Auktoris suits had those new retinal implants.

  Jackson narrowed her eyes at him. In another time, and another place, she would have taken that finger and pulled him into an armlock with it, slammed him into the pavement, and asked him if maybe, please, he required any assistance from the local police department.

  She just stood there instead. Her goggles automatically highlighted his face, scanning and reading out a line of dots while consulting the police databases. After a few seconds the line ”Classified Auktoris Personnel” appeared in tiny text under the compass at the top of her head-up display.

  Fucking Auktoris suits.

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, nodding and holding that same finger to his ear. “No, we don’t know the exact amount yet.”

  Another suit next to him shook his head.

  “Ah, that,” the first one said, still ignoring Jackson. “Yes, we…I understand. No, the individual didn’t physically breach the office, only the jewelry store. Yes, they…Yes, sir.”

  He grimaced, as though the other side of the conversation were going extremely poorly for him. Very satisfying to watch.

  Another suit, a woman, blinked a few times and actually looked at Jackson instead of through her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. Her eyes flickered. “Officer Jackson, can we assist you?”

  “I’m here to take a report on the robbery.”

  “Of course. I’ll be happy to forward a statement to you.”

  “Thought I might ask a few questions myself,” Jackson said.

  This seemed to trouble the suited woman, but she hid it well. “Our official statement will be ready shortly.”

  Jackson glanced over the woman’s shoulder at the jewelry store. Nothing on the exterior appeared to be damaged. “Only a single individual?”

  The woman stepped in front of Jackson, blocking her view. “This is private property. Our official statement will be ready shortly. Thank you.”

  Jackson shook her head. Like robots. In another few years, they probably would be, either replaced piece by piece or wholesale.

  Ortega caught up to her. “You’ll have to forgive my partner, ma’am. We appreciate your statement, whenever it’s ready.”

  The woman smiled at them, and then her face went blank again, staring off into thin air.

  “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” Jackson muttered, backing off and trying again to get a look at the store.

  “And you said I had a lot to learn,” Ortega said.

  Jackson sighed. “Just trying to do my job.”

  “What are you gonna do? Storm over and declare it your crime scene?”

  Jackson grunted. She hadn’t enjoyed being parked at her desk for weeks last time.

  “This isn’t the slums, Jackson. On this side of the walls, we don’t run the show.”

  “You saying we run the show outside the walls?” Jackson kept looking around the scene, then finally settled her eyes on an ambulance parked nearby. A man was sitting in the back, with an EMT worrying over his arm.

  “I keep telling you, kid. This is a cushy gig. Collect reports, present reports, keep the white shirts happy. If it weren’t for third shift, this job would be heaven.”

  Normally she would have snapped at him for calling her kid. She was older than him, if only by a year or two. But that bit was getting stale. “If you’re so smart, what are you still doing on night shift with me?”

  “Been working nights for years,” he said, sipping his coffee with a thousand-yard stare. “Can’t stop now. I’d probably burn up out in the sun. Look, I’m hardly even brown anymore!”

  Jackson ignored him. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard his quip about his brownness. It was nonsense anyway; he was almost as dark-skinned as she was.

  She threw a glance at the suits—still wrapped up in their call.

  “Hold this,” she said, shoving the coffee back at Ortega. “Delay them if they try to interrupt me.”

  He made some kind of protest, but she didn’t care. She was going back to the station with something other than a form letter from Auktoris.

  More people were gawking at the store. Jackson was unsurprised by the faces in the crowd: all clean, mostly white, all far-too rich looking. Fucking downtown. This wasn’t even really downtown, not to her. She had lived in this city since she was a small child and vaguely remembered actual downtown. All underwater now.

  She headed over to the ambulance. A burly security guard was sitting in the back. More important, Jackson knew the man.

  “Charles Carroll?” she said.

  “Dammit Jackson, you know it’s Chuck,” He shook his head at her, not moving his arm as the EMT worked. It looked like a small stab wound, not even bleeding at this point and barely visible as the medic slathered gel over it.

  “How’d that happen?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said.

  “Sir, I believe the purpose of this interview is for me to pretend to believe you, whatever crazy bullshit you throw at me.”

  It was a perfect echo of something Carroll had said to her years ago, back when she had first joined the force.

  He let out a dry, tired chuckle. “You’re a smartass, Jackson.”

  She grinned. “Very trusting, though. What wouldn’t I believe?”

  “It was a young woman. Tiny little thing.”

  “You’re worse than a civilian, with a description like that.” She glanced back at the trio of suits, who were still staring into space. “Did they wipe your cam yet?”

  “Not yet,” Carroll said, using his free hand to press a few buttons on the small camera pinned to his shirt. He glared at the EMT. “You didn’t hear nothing, right?”

  The EMT shrugged and shook his head.

  Jackson’s HUD froze for a second, loading a small video feed in the corner of her goggles. A ceiling appeared, foam panels and harsh fluorescent lights. The camera moved, slowly, rising and falling. A few seconds later, she smirked.

  “What? You never took a nap on third?” Carroll said. They both knew she had not, in fact, ever done that.

  When the camera finally stirred and got up, Jackson was surprised to be excited. Break-ins were uncommon downtown, and she found herself racking her brain to sort out a suspect profile. Employee, current or former, would be her first guess. Although she was sure the news crews were already speculating that undesirable elements from the outer boroughs were sneaking in and causing havoc.

  The last thing she’d expected was a slim young woman, all in black, jumping in surprise when Carroll had spotted her.

  “I spooked her good,” he said, looking far more old and tired and worn down than Jackson remembered. “Almost had her.”

  “Not good enough,” Jackson said, watching the short struggle play out on the screen. The suspect’s blue eyes were visible through the balaclava, full of panic then hardening into good old criminal determination as she lashed out with a weapon.

  “Glass cutter?”

  Carroll nodded. “Not as fast as I used to be,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe if APS actually paid me right, I could afford some fancy arms like you got. Maybe that girl wouldn’t have gotten away.”

  Jackson smirked again. “I’ll be sure to include that in my report. One raise for local security personnel recommended.”

  “For all the good it’ll do me,” he said, wincing as the EMT slapped a sterile pad over his wrist. “Don’t retire, Jackson. I don’t recommend it.”

  Jackson brought one hand up and poked the air in front of her, where button elements hovered in her HUD, saving the clip.

  “Heard about your mom,” Carroll said. “Real shame. I walked a beat with her back in the day. Never told you that.”

  Jackson went stiff, her fingers not movi
ng.

  “Sorry, kid. Forget I said anything.”

  She did. “Anything else?”

  “Why are you talking to me?” he asked, nodding toward the Auktoris suits. “You’ll get a report from them.”

  “So I’m supposed to just stand around?”

  “Thought that’s all cops were good for around here.”

  Jackson shrugged. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with wanting to actually do her job.

  It did feel like standing around was all they were good for sometimes. She had requested a posting out in the slums, out in some outer borough, any of them, somewhere full of violent crime and decaying buildings and roving gangs carving out territory.

  And yet here she was. A reward, they had told her. A highly decorated officer being recognized, offered a coveted position.

  “Thanks for the clip, Carroll.”

  He nodded. “Anybody asks, that didn’t come from me.”

  “What didn’t come from you?”

  He smiled and nodded again. Jackson backed away, trying her best to look like she was just strolling the perimeter of the crime scene.

  Ortega was staring at her, standing there with his hands full of coffee nobody wanted. She passed him, looking up, letting the growing sunlight sting in her eyes. The ads moving up the sides of the skyscrapers all around them grew dim and blurry as morning came.

  Her shift was supposed to be over. Any minute now.

  “Are you done sniffing around?” Ortega said, catching up to her.

  Her eyes wandered to the tower above the jewelry store. No signs, and anything that would have been a window was covered by a smiling woman’s face reminding Jackson to report illegal unemployed vagrants to her supervisor. The woman’s face flickered and distorted, replaced by a grinning cat with text underneath.

  NO HUMAN BEING IS ILLEGAL

  Jackson snorted, smiling a little as she shook her head. If they didn’t like being illegal, they could join the army like she had.

  Her goggles printed out a line of dots as she stared, thinking.