The droid tilted backwards, servos and gyroscope whirring as it maintained balance by quickly scooting backwards on its two wheels. These droids were very well designed. While technically it was possible to tip one after exceeding a certain tilt angle, nobody was known to have done it. (This, despite the best efforts of teenagers who made sport of ambushing them by hiding unseen, then tossing a cover over the sensor dome before being detected. Push as they might, nobody could successfully tip this unit.)
The droid closed the distance and continued to wail. Virnig wondered what angered him more - the pain in his ears or the droid not recognizing his authority. Enough of this. In a fluid motion, he flipped his coat back and unholstered his sidearm. Kicking the droid backwards, he sighted his weapon as it moved to reestablish balance.
He pulled the trigger of the slugthrower repeatedly, sending a shower of sparks, metal fragments, circuits, and frayed wires in a cone behind the droid until the weapon’s magazine was empty. Maddeningly, it stood perfectly upright even as most of its components lay shattered on the ground behind it. He could clearly see a building through holes in the droid’s casing, and in the distance, people cowering among the shards of its lobby windows. Then, before Virnig could kick it again, it fell over, its cylinder body making a metallic ringing sound as it struck the pavement.
“Hands up!” a voice behind him demanded. Dropping his weapon and raising his hands, Virnig turned slowly to see an armored man flanked by two others, the three identical in appearance with weapons drawn. The polished, cherry red armor they wore was emblazoned with the Public Safety Officer crest on the chest. On the left shoulder, a logo indicating the downtown division. Bright points of sunlight reflected off the smooth surface. The faces of the helmets were the same color, opaque and shiny. They had no transparent visor as wearers relied on sensors and three dimensional displays contained within. Voices projected from the helmet were all modulated to sound identical. Faceless, uniform. They were the perfect representation of officers standing united against the enemies of society.
Upon seeing Virnig’s face, they lowered their slugthrower carbines. The point man’s helmet rotated from his left to right, obviously scanning the scene. “What a mess,” he said shaking his head. The other two chuckled in the same voice.
###
“By the Founders, what have you done this time, Virnig!?” The chief stopped pacing to slam his fist on the desk for emphasis. “This is going to be all over the netreporting! Have you lost it?” He picked up a small glass off his desk and threw his head back, drinking the contents in a few short swallows. Slamming it on his desk, his nameplate that simply read “CHIEF” jumped. (His name literally was Chief, just as the man who sat in that desk before him. It would remain so until he retired or died.) Green residue pooled at the bottom of the glass. The chief was on a health kick. Constantly ill these days, he decided he wanted to live as long as he could during his retirement. Apparently he decided that meant daily vita-inhalers and algae drinks as often as he could stomach them.
Virnig looked beyond the chief at the wall, scanning family images, awards, pictures with politicians. One photo stood out of Chief as a young man, thinner, serious, and making eye contact with the viewer. He looked dedicated, like a man who got things done, even with the ridiculous moustache. The chief took a breath to speak again. As bored as Virnig was, he still tried to appear serious and engaged. Always show respect. “I did what I had to do, Chief. Nobody else saw the incident.”
The chief’s face was red with tension. He glanced at the dented garbage receptacle and thought about kicking it across the office. “Do you know what I have to put up with? I don’t need this headache. I have officers biting at my heels trying to be the next chief. None of them would do a sufficient enough job to keep me from being recalled. Meanwhile, the City Manager is trying to keep me in this office until I die so he doesn’t have to pay retirement!” He pulled a bottle from his desk drawer and poured another algae shot. “Not a chance in the hells! When my service clock hits zero, I’m out,” he declared, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ve been a faithful servant, and I’m owed my due.” The chief jabbed a fat thumb at his chest. “I don’t need you stirring up some clusterfrag when I’m trying to get a foot out the door!”
“Sir, I-” Virnig tried to interject, apologetically.
“Don’t even start,” Chief interrupted. “You’re making me look like the division is falling apart. If this situation inverts, they’re going to keep me until it’s fixed. You receiving my stream? They’ll bury me with this desk.” He pulled at his shirt collar and resumed pacing behind his chair. “You. Two time recipient of the Paragon ribbon. Second oldest veteran in this division. How does this look? If Virnig can’t keep it together, then who can?” Exasperated, he flipped his hands up and looked toward the ceiling, as if to invoke one of the Senators. “Help us all,” he added, in mock seriousness.
“Doesn’t my service count for anything?” Virnig asked, trying to sound as humble as possible.
“Are you serious? A frag-up of this magnitude and that’s forgotten in a blink.” Chief snapped his fingers. “People are asking questions. Some are pushing to have you decommissioned. Make an example of you. The citizens of the Freezone need someone to chew on, to show that we are accountable and keeping our own house clean. You just might be the bone I toss them. You chew on that,” he stated matter-of-factly and pointed at Virnig. The chief liked metaphors, but wasn’t very skilled in wordplay.
He sipped his algae drink and continued more calmly, “Listen, you’re my top earner. If I lose you, my budget is cut by 17%.” Chief poked at his touch screen and turned it around for Virnig to see.
Virnig glanced at the graph and pie charts. He wasn’t one for numbers so he just grunted in agreement and nodded his head solemnly.
“You need to buy your way back into the circle.” Chief cupped his hands about a foot apart, as if holding a ball. “Make up for the grave injustice you perpetrated today.”
“I’ve been replaying the incident in my head. I know it’s not right but I don’t see how else it could have played out.” Virnig genuinely did feel bad. He respected Chief and hated to raise his hackles. For years, they had this wink and nod agreement, and watched each other’s backs.
For Virnig’s part, that sometimes meant taking an officer who wasn’t with the protocol and helping them meet a heroic death. A potential troublemaker gone and another name on the onyx plaque, evidence of the sacrifice that Public Safety Officers make for the greater good. Not a bad deal, having citizens light candles for you at the monument and whisper your name in prayers. Better than they deserve.
In return, sometimes Chief would underreport confiscations, so Virnig could help himself to the evidence vault. Getting his hands on goodies meant for one of the Senators made him feel like he was almost at their level, however briefly. If only I was born into the right family line.
“Don’t see how else it could of played out?” The chief questioned in a mocking tone, bringing the officer’s attention back to the present. “How about making your arrest without blowing up a patrol droid!? Is it really that difficult to understand?” He was getting wound up again.
“I had no choice! It wasn’t authenticating! Why is this on me when the droid was malfunctioning?” Virnig felt his temper flare. He looked over at the garbage receptacle and thought about stomping it into a flat piece of metal.
“You were played son.” Chief held up a small box with a sticky backing. The case was damaged, exposing a crude homemade circuit board inside. “This was attached to the bottom of the droid to jam its transponder.”
Virnig stared blankly, hesitant to admit he had no idea what that meant. Just look like you’re thinking.
Waving the box, the chief continued, “It means the AI evaluated your actions without considering that you were a Safety Officer, get it? It didn’t know who you were, so it thought you were abusing that lady and her whelp.”
Chief took a deep
breath. “A level four infraction is worth what, 5,000 notes? Add another N7,000 for the kid’s battery on an officer. Say the mother pleads out, pays the Restitution Fee of N12,000 to avoid incarceration and Re-Ed time. So maximum, N24,000, assuming she could afford it?” He paused to let Virnig get his head around the numbers then continued. “How much do you think that droid was worth?”
The sergeant covered his face with his hands, hiding the shame that made his face warm and red. He turned it over in his mind for what seemed like minutes, putting the pieces together. The chief waited patiently, giving him the space to come to the correct conclusion. Virnig looked up at him and asked, almost child-like, “You said I could buy my way back in?”
###
So this is where the Freezone ends. Virnig waited in line at the border. It was late in the day, the tall wall casting a long shadow that chilled him. Nearby, the shops and hovels of the Red Row lay darkened, the wall bringing sunset to this quarter hours earlier than those deeper in the zone.
The sergeant had taken the maglev train hundreds of miles to the other two cities, each walled and insulated from the lawless lands. Bastions of order and safety, the cities, along with the connecting maglev lines, were collectively known as the Freezone. On a map, it looked roughly like an equilateral triangle, with a city at each vertex. Virnig’s home city was more specifically referred to as Freezone SW. This would be his first foray into the lawless lands outside of the safety of the walls.
Senators are the stewards of the Freezone. Their caring, watchful gaze was always upon the populace, creating the laws that maintained tranquility. All citizens participated by voting daily, and it was with their approval that the Senators received their mandate. Truly representative of the people, their approval score was updated in realtime and visible on the net for all to see.
Virnig took great pride in his own participation. After packing for his mission, the sergeant knelt at his personal voteTerm with a hand on his heart and said a little prayer, grateful for the life the Freezone had given him. The fingerprint of his thumb registered his daily vote for Senator Gallus, the supporter of Public Safety Officers. Often, he would look at the approval score before and after voting, relishing how the number increased and knowing he was some small part of it. Out of millions, even one person can make a difference.
His vote tallied, he respectfully placed his hand on the screen so it could read the currency chip in his hand. He had doubled his usual note contribution, unsure of when or if he would be back to cast his next vote.
The line to leave the Freezone was long and slow. He could certainly flash his credentials and get into the fast track line (which was empty), but he didn’t look rich enough to pass as a Patron. Those around him would surely be suspicious and he couldn’t risk exposure. His mission would be a failure and embarrassment if he was discovered, and a painful death would likely follow.
Shuffling forward one step every several minutes, he had time to wonder what he would face outside of the wall. Here, people were safe to walk the street as long as they didn’t get out of line. Public Safety Officers made sure of that. But on the outside?
He stifled his doubts, patting the slugthrower reassuringly through his jacket. The officer passed the time thinking about the mission to come.
###
Virnig stretched and took a deep breath. The early morning air was crisp and refreshing. He noted how it tasted differently than it did back home. This was a radical departure from the permacrete and glass towers he was used to. Looking to the sunrise, he could see a mountain miles away that wasn’t visible the evening before.
He thought back to the previous morning when he looked to the sky and found it so open and accessible. Upon first stepping out of the vehicle he had collapsed, vertigo making him feel like he was going to fall up into the sky and be lost in space. He had to grip the door handle until the feeling left him.
He walked to the machine vendor, which thankfully accepted notes, and bought a hot protein beverage after waving his hand in front of the currency chip sensor. N20 was much more than he would normally spend on a meal, but the chief had given him this account and fattened it, courtesy of the department. He’d also given him a sack of shiny coins in a few different denominations, but said they were to be spent as a last resort.
He had travelled the road for a couple of days, whisked along in what people were calling a Mag-P. It reminded him of the maglevs back in the Freezone, except this was only about eight feet long with room for four passengers. It travelled rapidly, hovering over the shiny black road that connected the towns he passed through.
He’d boarded it several miles outside of the Freezone, at an outpost with over a dozen for rent. A staffed cab had dropped him there, and after accepting a few extra notes, the cabbie showed him how to use the rental terminal and select his destination. Unfortunately the terminal did not accept notes, instead requiring just two of the coins in the smallest denomination he carried. Given the number of coins he carried and the distance he was traveling, it seemed like a great deal.
After finishing his meal he used the facilities, which were unusually clean for being totally free. Free restrooms in the Freezone were filthy, and some of the best spots for a Safety Officer to catch an infraction in progress. All those who said, “What do you expect for free?” had obviously never been here.
The sergeant walked back to his Mag-P, observing the variety of trees neatly planted around the staging zone. He noted a few birds that he was pretty sure he’d never seen before. Off in the distance, he could see fields with row upon row of plants. Is that a farm?
Settling into the vehicle, he hit “resume” on the terminal. As the door shut with a hiss, he found himself drifting off to sleep again.
###
He fidgeted with the chip in his pocket. The idea that it contained his biometrics unnerved him. What if they were checking his identity? He turned it over and over, considering the implications and wondering what that meant for the mission.
The sergeant had arrived at Core-5 a few hours ago. The city probably wasn’t as large as those of the Freezone, but it had to be close. It was so unlike anything he had seen before, he couldn’t be sure. Clever design had it laid out in concentric circles. Roads bordered each ring, intersected by others that ran perpendicular to them. Each ring had its own purpose. Since agriculture was in the outermost, Virnig decided he had been traveling through the city longer than he realized.
The middle ring was where he received the chip. He had been dozing on and off while passing through what appeared to be the industrial ring. Smoothly, but abruptly, his Mag-P had deviated to a station at the outer edge of the commercial ring. A sign on the station read “Visitor’s Center.” The fact that his ride has diverted there automatically made Virnig suspicious.
Walking cautiously through glass doors that slid open silently, he was greeted by a cheerful woman with short blue hair. “Welcome to Core-5! Is this your first time here?”
“Yes,” he replied, his eyes scanning the small center. Large, interactive screens showed maps of the city. To his left, a child was sliding his hand across one of them, scrolling the map far faster than was legible. Once he reached the edge of the map, he reversed direction to scroll the map the other way. Fun. Toward the back was a young couple, poking at a datapad and smiling.
When he approached the woman’s desk she spoke, “I’m sorry to interrupt your journey. We ask that all visitors review our terms and conditions before entering the inner rings.” Her voice was melodic and sing-songy in a way that was grating for the sergeant.
Nobody is that cheerful. “I’m not following you,” he answered honestly.
“It outlines basic guidelines of conduct agreed upon by residents of the city. You’ll also find a list of dispute resolution organizations, should you need them for resolving contract matters. Protection agencies are listed by zone, however you really needn’t worry about that as they’ve all agreed to basic standards and respond to inci
dents in a consistent way,” she recited. “For the most part,” she added with a wink. “The section on arbitration is very important, please don’t skip that. Rest assured, as the administrator, Cyprus Corp is committed to providing a framework for safe and productive interactions among residents and visitors to the Core cities.” She took a deep breath and smiled again. “You may download them here,” she said, gesturing to an illuminated square on the desk in front of her.
Surprised, he looked at her a moment and then took out his comm device and placed it on the square. Nothing happened.
“Oh my, I haven’t seen one of those in a while. I’m afraid our system is not compatible with it,” she said apologetically. Gesturing with an open palm to a nearby terminal she continued, “You can review them over there.”
“What happens if I don’t agree to these terms?”
“That’s up to you. You could certainly choose not to visit the city. Or you could disagree and visit anyway - just know that you will be subject to these terms while here. This is private property after all!” The woman opened her arms and gestured with palms facing upwards. “By accepting, you aren’t signing a contract, just acknowledging that we have provided them. We simply want to ensure that everyone understands our processes and values.”
When he finished reviewing the terms and conditions, the overly cheerful woman gave him a green, octagonal chip bearing the words Cyprus Corp. On the back was the company logo - a wide tree with symmetrical roots extending into the soil. “This token will be coded to your biometrics and signifies your reception of our terms. When entering Core cities, you will no longer be diverted at the entry scanners. If you find yourself with a compatible data device, this token can transfer authorization to it via NFC.”
“Biometrics?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Anarchy Rising: The Clarion Call, Vol 1 (Volume 1) Page 2
