by Matt Doyle
The reason this interests me is there is nothing in these purpose-built buildings that wasn’t pegged for what was deemed to be a necessary function. When I helped out with the TS Murder Files, the weapons storage facility was at the bottom of the first ramp. The second ramp went down another floor to the area Donal O’Brien is currently heading for. It’s an important space because, while a couple of humans can fit into the elevator to get down there, hybrid-style Tech Shifter gear adds a fair bit of length to the user’s legs. The same can be said of the full animal suits as both styles use the same stilt setup to improve appearance and balance, but it’s only the hybrids who have trouble with the height of doors as a result.
Even if you put aside the possibility the PD were already looking at forming a TS division during those cases, the station has still been around for a lot longer than Tech Shifting has existed. That area must have been used for something before Donal and his team came onto the scene, but I don’t know what. And for that matter, if it was so important it needed a dedicated area when the station was opened, where has whatever was going on down there gone now? Was it no longer needed? Was there enough spare space to keep it going? Is there another floor? These are all questions I’ve asked before, but the usual answers I get are either “I don’t know,” or “You don’t need to know.” Curiosity damn near killed the Caz, though, so I don’t do any more than occasionally nudge people in the hope they’ll tell me. As it is, I’m still in the dark.
We enter the darkened war room at the end of the hall, leaving the mystery ramp tantalisingly in view, and Devereaux flicks a light switch. Once everything has been illuminated, I’m quite taken aback. The map on the wall immediately catches my eye. When I stroll over and do a quick count, the enormity of what we’re facing suddenly becomes apparent. “I see seventeen attacks in the city.”
“Eighteen,” Devereaux corrects, placing a new marker in an alley on Main Street.
I shiver. “How have I not heard anything about this before?”
“You’ve heard about the recent increase in muggings, eh?”
I turn to Devereaux and frown. “A cover-up?”
“Yeah. It has its own problems, though. You know what this city’s like. People hear there are more muggings, and they start to try their luck.”
“So, you’ve created your own crime epidemic.”
“It’s…easier to control that way.”
I can tell from his tone that Devereaux is repeating the official stance on the PD’s actions, but he isn’t entirely convinced it’s the right way to handle it all. I’m mixed on the whole thing, but years of navigating the wasp nest that is New Hopeland have taught me how important it is to hide some things. Life here is like a game of cards; you bluff and manipulate until, by fair means or foul, you have a winning hand. “Muggings are familiar to people, so while knowing there’s a spate of them will be scary for people, it’s a lot less scary than what we’re actually dealing with. Plus, if it’s blood that’s being taken, it kinda is a mugging.”
“Yeah,” he replies, but he’s still not entirely buying it.
I’m beginning to like Corporal Devereaux a lot more. In a way, he reminds me of me when I was back in Vancouver. He’s not been corrupted by the system yet, and the way he’s acting, he likely won’t be, not to any great degree. It’s just a shame that’ll damage his career mobility.
“I can guess it’s pretty easy to tell which cases are actual muggings and which are part of this,” I say, waving at the map. “But what about the victims?”
“Doctor Sanderson treats all of them. He tells the majority of them they had traces of psychotropic drugs in their system which likely caused hallucinations. Drop in a few similar but false descriptors from alleged similar cases—black hair and clothes, oversized dark glasses and so on—and people start to believe it.”
“Mass misdirection. Okay, so have there been any cases it didn’t work in?”
“One or two, but we’ve been monitoring the situation and they all start to disbelieve their memories after a day or two. Our explanation makes more sense, even if it’s fabricated.”
I nod, walk over to a chair, and drop myself down with a sigh. “I can’t deny that. What about the trackers?”
“They’re small enough that we can tell most people they’re just shrapnel from the surrounding area or the attacker’s weapon. Doctor Sanderson gives them some antibiotics—placebos—and says they’ll work their own way out, but if they don’t come out within two weeks, to come and see him again and he’ll remove them. He’s removed three so far, not including Hanson’s.”
“So, four then. If he’s getting them to leave it two weeks…that’s a lot of attacks in a relatively short space of time.”
“Yeah. There’s never more than a day or two between attacks. Sometimes, it’s an attack every night for a short burst. It’s been a busy three weeks.”
“I bet.” I lean back into my chair and ask, “So, what do we do know that I haven’t been told yet?”
“Honestly?” Devereaux pulls up a chair of his own. “Not much. Everything’s theoretical at the moment.”
“I get that, but I’m still gonna need to be caught up. Like this vial thing. How did you recreate it?”
“That’s interesting actually. Okay, training academy 101. What do you know about non-lethal weapons?”
I shoot Devereaux a wicked grin and reply, “There are none, Will. All weapons are lethal if you use them right.”
“They must have loved you in training,” he laughs. “Seriously, though, what can you remember?”
“That non-lethals are the preference in most situations. Or, that’s the official line as far as the public is concerned anyway. To be honest with you, I was booted out before I could spend too much time with them, so my knowledge of standard-issue weaponry mostly extends to stuff I was able to replace with similar items when I started out as a PI. Which means guns. Funny, eh? The police preach about the use of non-lethal weapons, but the ones readily available to the public fall into the lethal category.”
“Sad but true. Okay, so do you know what LED Incapacitators are?”
“Light-based tools designed to subdue.”
“Correct. They work kinda like flashlights, but rather than a gentle illumination, they send out bright, rapid pulses in different colours. The idea is the changes are so quick that human eyes can’t adapt, causing intracranial pressure…”
“Intracranial pressure?” I cut in.
Devereaux taps his head and clarifies, “Pressure inside the skull. It feels like it’s right inside your brain. Anyway, it causes a lot of grief for targets; severe headaches, nausea, vomiting, disorientation, irritability, and temporary blindness are the most commonly reported.”
“Which sounds a lot like what I experienced.”
“And a lot like what other victims have experienced too.”
“So the light I saw has to have been adapted from an LED Incapacitator, then.”
“That’s what I thought. I think the only reason no one else thought of it is they’ve all been out of the academy a lot longer than me here. And, as you said, the preference for non-lethal weapons is a public-facing façade. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a necessity in a city like this, but it means no one really thought along those lines to start with. When I brought it up, Lieutenant Hanson raised a good point. LED Incapacitators are inconsistent.”
“Inconsistent, how?”
“The effect they have on targets is quite varied. The list I gave you wouldn’t all apply to one person in every case. In fact, in some cases, they don’t work at all.”
“Which, given the frequency of attacks, means there was the possibility the attacker would have already come across at least one victim who was unaffected.”
“Exactly. So, Lieutenant Hanson pointed out that LED Incapacitators technically fall under the category of Dazzlers. The weapons all use laser-based lighting operating in different areas of the electromagnetic spectrum, though. When used on
humans, most Dazzlers either work with a red laser diode or a green diode-pumped solid-state laser. Historically, the green light models have been more consistently effective than the LED Incapacitators.”
“If you’re telling me about both, then it means the broader Dazzlers don’t entirely fit either, do they?”
Devereaux nods. “Dazzlers are designed to cause temporary blindness and disorientation, but nothing else.”
“Makes the Doc’s optogenetics thingy sound more plausible, doesn’t it?” Lieutenant Hanson says, sliding in through the door.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing paperwork?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her.
“Yup,” she replies with a grin and pulls a chair up next to Corporal Devereaux. “Dev told you there was no evidence for the protein virus theory, right?”
I fight to suppress a smile at Devereaux wincing at Hanson’s nickname for him. She told me once that she only shortens his name to Dev because she knows he hates it. “No, but Hoove did. So, if neither fits entirely, what are we thinking?”
“I thought it may be a combo,” Devereaux says. “Like a linked-up system of light disruption.”
“Hoover said you made the vampire connection,” Hanson adds. “Do you know why?”
“Not really,” I concede. “It makes sense now I know about the blood-taking, but there was something about their helmet that made me think it. I just can’t quite pinpoint what.”
Hanson nods. “A couple of the victims described large fang-shaped protrusions at the base of the helmet. The design was probably intentional, to evoke that particular image. Nothing like being sent back to fearing the monsters under the bed to cause panic, right?”
“My theory,” Devereaux says, “is one fang is an LED Incapacitator, and the other is a different type of Dazzler. They work in tandem, with the Dazzler making the initial hit due to consistency, then the LED Incapacitator joining in afterward once the victim is already feeling the effects.”
I nod. “That makes sense. So, how does this fit with you knowing it was a vial in the photo?”
“We’ve had the light theory since around attack ten or eleven, but we’ve had the photo longer. Our initial thinking was it was simply a control system that had become exposed on the glove, but it seemed a little small for that. Once we retrieved the vial from you, though, Lieutenant Hanson made a possible connection.”
“I grabbed a spare vial from Doc Sanderson, stuck it to a glove, turned the lights off, and waved my hand in front of a high-power torch held under my chin.” Hanson shrugs. “The effect was close enough to confirm it.”
“I felt it touch my neck,” I grunt. “The glove takes the blood and implants the tracker.”
“Looks that way,” Hanson replies and gets to her feet. “Well, I better get back up there before the good Captain misses me. I’m glad you’re okay, Cassie. If you need to borrow a top or anything before you leave, let me know.”
Chapter Two
BY THE TIME I leave the station, we’re heading into the afternoon. I could have technically left sooner, but Corporal Devereaux offered to take my official statement before I headed up to finalise the paperwork. While that made for delays in my exit, I was gonna have to do it sooner or later, and I’d rather get it all done in one go than have to come back in later. The paperwork itself was easy enough. My terms were pretty much the same as when I worked the TS Murder Files; full pay for the duration, expenses covered, and access to police resources within reason and with suitable supervision. I took Hanson up on her offer of borrowing a top too. She’s better toned than I am but muscular enough that the sleeves fit me fine, even if the top itself is half a size too small. I don’t recognise the logo on it, but from the text, I’d guess it belongs to an Australian brewery. I mean, what else would a kangaroo drinking a can of lager and giving a thumbs-up be?
Scanning my phone reveals I have two missed calls, both expected. The first is from Lori, no doubt checking I really did get home safely. The other is from the offices of Familiar Enterprises Ltd. I was due to visit them at half nine this morning, and their call will have been to ask where exactly I was. Luckily, the CEO of the company, Jonah Burrell, is fairly understanding when it comes to me. He once hired me to find his kidnapped daughter, reasoning that getting the police involved would make the mess far more public than I would. And find her I did, in the arms of her lover. As it transpired, she had faked her kidnapping to be with the guy. Unfortunately for her, she wasn’t the only dishonest one in the affair, as her lover had intended to use the ransom money to buy out a majority share in FE Ltd and usurp her father’s power base. Long story short, he was very grateful, even if it did hit the news sites in the end, and he provided me with an otherwise far-out-of-my-price-range luxury item in return: Bert, my gargoyle-esque Familiar Unit.
I respond to Lori first. She’ll be working right now, helping to cover today’s political open house question session, so I don’t want to disturb her too much. So, instead of calling, I drop her a quick message.
Sorry, something happened that made calling difficult. I’ll explain later. Wanna drop by mine around eight?
I stop outside my apartment block and return the call to FE Ltd. The answering voice is that of a bored-sounding receptionist. “Welcome to Familiar Enterprises Limited. My name is Brenda, how can I help?”
“Hi, Brenda, I was just returning a call from earlier. I know what it’s about, I had an appointment at half nine, but I missed it.”
“By quite a margin,” she yawns. “Can you confirm your name and the name of the person you had the appointment with please?”
“Sure. My name’s Cassandra Tam. The appointment was originally with Jonah Burrell, but he said he’d be farming it out to one of the techs. I didn’t get confirmation of the name.”
Brenda tuts down the phone and replies, “Sounds about right. Men. You can’t live with them, you can’t throw them in a river and drown them. Ah well. You were due to consult with a Mrs. Faraday. She has some time free at three today if that would be suitable?”
“Yes! Definitely! Sorry to be a pain, Brenda, but do the original notes state whether I need to bring my Familiar Unit with me?”
“Uhm…no, they don’t. Would you like me to check?”
“Yes, please.”
“Please hold.”
The line cuts to hold music. Some companies have a pretty good selection going in that department. A bank I had to call on a case last week even gave the option of choosing my hold music by genre. FE Ltd, it seems, is not one of these companies. Instead, I’m treated to what I can only assume is “Elevator Music Classics Volume One, as performed by one person with a songbook and a high school quality keyboard.” Thankfully, Brenda cuts in partway through a rendition of something that may have been Elvis but could just have easily been Marilyn Manson.
“Mrs. Faraday says that, in light of how recent your Unit’s last maintenance check was, there’s no need. If it turns out to require urgent attention, she can simply summon it or arrange a pickup.”
“Okay, thank you, Brenda.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice day.”
And with that, my call is cut short. Well, that was easy.
My phone lights up again, just as I start to push it into my pocket. I smile when I see it’s a reply from Lori.
Sounds good. I’ll bring doughnuts.
I hit reply but can’t think of anything cool sounding to send back, so go with a stock Great. See you then. Yup, lame, generic texts are my middle name.
“Well,” I tell myself. “That gives you time to shower and check through the stuff Devereaux’s sending you.”
BERT IS CLEARLY less than pleased about my unannounced overnight absence. I can tell, because the moment I open the door, he clambers up onto my work table and half closes the metal rings at the top of his eyes to make it look like he’s glaring at me. He then proceeds to run a flexibility test on his left foot claws, essentially drumming his nails on the table. “Caw,” he says
.
“Don’t ask,” I reply. “Let’s just say that I’m perfectly capable of getting in trouble without trying at the moment.”
Bert relaxes his eyes and lowers himself off the table with a clunk. He makes his way over to the kitchen and clambers up the side of the worktop to take position where his charger is currently situated. I take the hint, pull the chord out of the wall plug, and slide one of his back panels aside so I can click it into place. Bert’s body relaxes into the statue-like squat that is his “off” pose. Charging should take between six and eight hours, depending on how much battery he’s spent while I’ve been out. Given the lack of visible damage I can see, he obviously wasn’t too bored, so that’s something.
With the metal menace shut down, I’m free to clean up uninhibited by anything other than my own self-imposed time constraints. First things first, though. I tap the voice command button at the bottom of the tablet sitting on my work desk, and the screen flickers into life. The wall-mounted speakers immediately state, “Good afternoon, Cassandra. How may I be of assistance?”
“Email check. Sender, Devereaux.”
“Please wait… You have one unread message matching this criterion.”
“Any attachments?”
“Zero attachments detected. Scan indicates that message contains a secure gateway to an isolated file storage system.”
“Is it a police storage system?”
“Data indicates that storage system belongs to New Hopeland Police Department. Access is restricted without gateway use.”
“Okay. Set up new subfolder. Destination server six, open case files. New folder title, ‘Orlok,’ spelling O-R-L-O-K. Confirm when action complete.”
“Please wait… Complete.”
“Copy contents of gateway storage system to Orlok. Once complete, store gateway access point in Orlok, set synch settings to automatically scan for altered and new files in gateway storage, and copy to Orlok. Set file settings in the folder to store previous versions until told otherwise. Once complete, run test and, if successful, securely delete the email containing the gateway.”
