by S J Hunter
They started walking again and reached the extension of the hall into the City Central building. “I’m assuming you flew in Sunday, and then yesterday and today you came in on an UGH and up on one of the swift-els straight from there. When McGregor took you out on your call you used the fastest route to the motor pool and back the same way, with few deviations. From now on you can come in this way when you have time. Even Chris does it, when he’s not in a hurry, which is all too infrequent.”
“UGH?” Livvy asked with only half of her attention on the answer.
“Underground Hop. The local underground conveyances that feed Metro are all called that, whether they’re Coasters or Paceways.”
They had emerged from the hall to stand in the middle of the topiary garden, and they threaded through the cross traffic of people moving at a wide variety of speeds until they reached the railing at the edge of the cliff.
“So, like it?” Meg asked.
“It’s magnificent,” Livvy said.
“City Central’s Atrium is its architects’ one concession to aesthetics. If you come in on an UGH, you can come in to the Atrium Station and walk up to the ground floor courtyard. From there you can walk, if you really want some exercise, or take one of the slow Atrium els up to 17 where we are, then find the garden here, take the hall back, and follow the route we just came. Enforcement, and more specifically LLE may be, as you saw, in one of the satellite buildings, but other than having to traverse the longer entrance hall and the bridge, we get the benefit of the Atrium all the same.”
Seeing Livvy’s face, Meg laughed and added, “Don’t worry, I’ll be going back with you this morning.”
It took Livvy a few moments to adjust to the height, and then she began to appreciate the whole scheme. The City Central building itself was a gigantic cylinder with an open core that was bout 75 meters across at the base and widened gradually as it reached the 20th floor. Broad, cantilevered stairs spiraled up the sides of the Atrium, clinging to the glass walls, and on very floor there was a long – 45 meters Livvy guessed – garden-bedecked landing. When Livvy looked down, she could see an extensive pond and what appeared to be a tea garden with flagstone paths and arched bridges in the ground floor courtyard. The suspended gardens spiraled up from there in a green ribbon with bright splashes of other colors. Two stories above them was a radiant garden designed to look like a rainbow, and on the third, sixth and 12th floors there were small waterfalls that cascaded down to a pool in one of the gardens below. With the sun at the right angle they looked like sparkling silver ribbons.
“As you can see, all of the gardens are different, and when you come up the interior els, you pass through one every five floors. These are the slow els, and because so many people like them, they stop a lot. I try to take a different el every day,” Meg continued, “unless I have time to walk up.”
Livvy looked up, beyond the three floors above them, to see open sky.
“What happens when it rains?”
“Usually not a problem, but if absolutely necessary, there are panels that come out of the roof and constrict over the opening like a pupil.”
They settled in on a bench that was surrounded by a family of topiary geese. A topiary fox nearby looked ready to spring, and a larger goose faced him with spread wings and an outstretched neck. Meg said, “I’ve always loved this bench. The work of a landscaper with a less-than-subtle sense of allegory, I know, but I still love it.”
She brought her gaze back to Livvy, and cocked her head again. “I’m curious. You weren’t expected. Not only do you transfer in out of the blue, but you get partnered with McGregor, who hasn’t had a partner in, well, decades, really.”
Livvy decided she was going to have to be honest about this one. The Chief knew the truth, and it was probably obvious to every one else on the squad that she had used some leverage to get her assignment.
“It’s a little embarrassing. My family has strings, I guess you’d call them, and one of them connects to the Commissioner. But McGregor hasn’t really accepted me yet. He said we’d give it a week, and I respect that.”
“Well, just so you know. McGregor seldom gives up on someone once he takes them on,” Meg said. “Which is one reason he doesn’t take partners to begin with, I think.” She looked down, leaving Livvy to wonder about the history between LLE’s two most veteran detectives.
Meg took a deep breath. “But the Chief asked me to give you the history on Josephson.” For someone who seemed so articulate, she was taking a long time to find a place to begin.
“There are quite a few practitioners and researchers who honestly disagree with the Laws,” Meg said finally. “They’re scientists, not ethicists, after all. And to be fair, even those who are mainly doing it for the money… I think most of them have their ethics gradually peeled away without noticing how insidious it is until it’s too late. Not this guy. Not this bastard Josephson.”
“You dislike him,” Livvy said mildly.
“A slight prejudice. I admit it.”
“It was your case? What did he do?”
“It was mine and Chris’,” Meg said. “In 2052, everyone was an LLE rookie, although Chris had been in Enforcement for twenty years and in LLE for one. Karen and the baby had been killed less than a year earlier…
“I met her once, when she came to the Academy to lecture on the Laws, and of course I’d listened to her at some of the peace rallies during the Riots. Karen DeVoe was… amazing. Passionate, eloquent. Brilliant, really. And ultimately optimistic, which we badly needed at the time. A huge loss.
“But back to Josephson, who is a totally different animal.” Meg paused and then laughed and took a sip of coffee. It had grown cold, and she set the mug down on the bench. “All these years and it’s still difficult to talk about it. Sara Ann Torkelson. Sound familiar?”
“Vaguely,” Livvy said.
“Try this. The Right of Maturity Law.”
“Hell and damnation,” Livvy said after a moment. “That was Sara?”
“Yes. We worked it as diligently as we could, trying to find an angle, but in the end, the sick bastard walked away with nary a black mark on his name to match the gaping hole in his soul.”
“Tell me.”
People, moving at every speed between a stroll and a jog, passed within three meters of their bench. A few entered and left the stream at the bank of els, and some diverted into the hall.
“Sara’s parent’s had lost two children already. Sara was their third, which of course meant they had given up any chance of resets after the age of fifty. I suppose one has to be able to imagine what that was like, and to be fair, I think losing the children was a huge grief compared to losing the years.
“A son in his late teens drowned in a boating accident about 10 years earlier. Then their daughter was hit by a malfunctioning car while she was walking to work and died instantly. The Torkelsons had the resources to have resets for life, but they had chosen to have a family and accept the minimal allotment. In 2052 they were 50 chrono and 35 biol. Sara was 11 chrono. And 4 biol.”
Livvy swallowed. “How could they? Living with her day to day, watching her achieve awareness of what they were doing. And what doctor steps into a situation like that and doesn’t consider the moral implications of what they’ve asked him to do?”
“One who’s mining a strong vein of egoism, I imagine. I think he was considering it an interesting experiment. Longevity wasn’t a process meant to be used on children, so there were lots of…kinks… to work out.”
“I understand they may have had some compulsion to keep her safe, but…” Livvy shook her head slowly.
“They’d already lost the two, and there was a complication with Sara’s birth. They couldn’t have any more children.”
“So they tried to keep Sara a child forever.”
“No, not forever. I can still remember sitting there while Sara’s mother, Julie, I think her name was, earnestly showed McGregor the timeline they had worked out.
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“’See,’” she told him. “’When we were fifty we couldn’t get any more resets, so we started aging naturally. Biologically we’re still 35 years old. Sara will be 4 and can stay there until we are 45, and we can let her grow and go to school. We’ll have a natural family from then on, just like people used to have. We’ll live to see our grandchildren.’ She expected us to understand. It was pathological, her need to keep Sara a child that she could keep at home and sheltered.”
“It had to be more than just kinks. Sara was supposed to be growing, not aging. Even I – and molebiol is largely Cantonese to me – even I know that it’s a whole other thing. Whatever happened to her?” Livvy asked.
“At the time I first met her, she was excessively quiet, and… sickly, I think we could say. I’m not sure that didn’t suit her mother’s plans for her, because they had no notion of enrolling her in school with other children. Once Family Welfare got her away from Josephson and several of his hormonal manipulations were reversed, she started to age normally. I followed her progress for a while. Physically, she seemed okay. I think psychologically it was more difficult, until she had a child of her own, and then she could understand a little more. When I last met her, she wasn’t doing resets.”
“I don’t understand. Josephson is a doctor. Setting aside what it says about his moral compass, how did he get away with it?”
“He’s not only an M.D., but also a PhD with a molebiol license. His lawyer, and the Torkelson’s lawyer, both argued that Sara was ill and Josephson was trying to help her. He had some medical records to back it up. Molebiol Forensics never could get a handle on it, and Chris’ interview with the Torkelsons wasn’t enough to support prosecution. I suspect their lawyer could have argued for insanity as well.”
“That poor baby. At least the law was created,” Livvy said. “No resets before 21. I’ve always thought that was a little young to start, but I suppose they had to pick an age.”
“Yes. Something you’d think we’d take for granted, wouldn’t you? When the Laws were originally written, no one even thought of that one.” For a moment she seemed lost in pensive memories. “Not even Karen DeVoe, who did a good job thinking of everything else.”
She shook it off and said finally, “I really hate to say this because of what it implies about how well we’re doing with the Laws, but I think Josephson… I think he just likes to tinker with people. He’s been out there still doing research and clinical work for decades, and until now we haven’t had a lead on anything irregular in his work. Maybe he’s been clean, or maybe we just haven’t had a whiff because he’s learned more discretion.”
Meg stood up. “We’d better get back. You’ll want to meet McGregor in the motor pool so you can go from there.”
As they were walking back, Meg was still looking thoughtful. “Look, there are things about LLE work the Chief can’t actually tell you and McGregor won’t. If you do have questions, feel free to come to me.”
“I appreciate that. I’m not complaining, but my new partner… not a training officer.”
Meg smiled briefly. “You know, he’s never been a training officer.”
“Been said.”
Chp. 5 Engagement (Tuesday)
“Hey, McGregor!”
Chris spun around. He’d just gotten off the Paceway coming from the clinic and was heading for the LLE swift-el. It was Livvy leaning against a car door, and when he spotted her and started to walk over, she tossed a ball straight up, grabbed it out of the air, and then threw it into the depths of an underground corridor.
Louie, who’d been sitting at her feet, intensely focused on the ball, gave her a brief “That’s all you’ve got?” look and bounded after it.
“What’s this?” Chris asked.
“He needs exercise,” she said. “I think we’re going to find that chasing a ball is a bit simplistic for him, but there must be some canine Olympics or something.”
“No good. They’d test him. No, I mean why are you here waiting for me?”
“Saving time. We have a missing doctor. The Chief told me how to find you, and I’ve already arranged an interview with the girlfriend.”
“Fill me in while you drive. Louie!” Chris said.
The tennis ball came bouncing back towards them, with Louie in full pursuit. He made an exaggerated leap and caught it out of the air just as it reached the car.
“Good boy,” Livvy said as he climbed into the backseat. “You see, I think he’s going to be a wiz at this stuff. I’ll bet he’s a shark with a Frisbee.”
“A what?”
“Now you’re joking, right?” Livvy looked at him across the top of the car.
Chris ducked to slide into the passenger seat, so she couldn’t catch his expression, although she thought she’d heard some amusement in his voice.
“732 MacPherson Circle, Potomac Falls. Normal speed,” Livvy said.
“Okay. Give me the long version,” Chris said.
Livvy cleared her throat. “The missing man, Dr. Milo Josephson, was last seen entering his home last Thursday evening at about 8 pm. The neighbor who saw him says this was typically the time he got home, although he frequently spent the night at his girlfriend’s.”
She’d expected some initial reaction at the name, but there wasn’t any that she could see, and she wondered if Chris could have forgotten. Fifty-five years was a long time.
“He called his clinic Friday morning to ask that his appointments for the day be cancelled. Then he didn’t show up again on Monday, and one of his clients came in for an appointment for an enhancement and got upset because he wasn’t there. Absolutely heartwarming, how the staff missed him. Apparently he’s quite the charmer.”
Chris was staring straight ahead, looking thoughtful. In the lengthening silence in the car, Livvy found herself wishing she could turn off the automatic drive just to have something to do.
“Josephson,” Chris said finally. “I’ve always wondered when he’d bob back to the surface.”
“Meg Dalton filled me in on the history.”
“So we have a doctor who is brilliant, in a sick way, and he has all of the skills needed to do both Longevity and other molebiol procedures. And he’s apparently missing,” Chris said.
“Someone with the moral laxity to prove useful in someone else’s perverse plan,” Livvy said. “You don’t think he was actually kidnapped?”
“That’s doubtful. His history… if Meg filled you in, you know already that he’d be willing enough to co-operate in just about anything. This is sloppy, though. If he’d given an appropriate warning at work, or even a reasonable excuse at work and taken care of his appointments, we wouldn’t be involved.”
“Autodrive zone ending. Left turn in 500 meters,” said the car.
“He always did have a disregard for anything and anyone not directly useful in his experiments. I suppose someone could have kidnapped him out of revenge, or spite. But I doubt it. He’s working for someone, and they called him out on something urgent.”
Livvy took the wheel and held it tightly.
“Destination on left,” said the car.
“And this is the girlfriend. I’ll bet she’s a real sweetheart, too. I’ve always considered it one of the highlights of the Laws, that they actually discourage some people from reproducing,” Livvy said through clenched teeth as the car jerked to a stop.
For someone who had put effort into making her face look anything but fierce, Livvy managed to create an expression with an impressively feral quality.
*****
“My, my, my,” Isabella said in a husky drawl, “you two should have children together.”
The girlfriend, it turned out, was Isabella Meadows, the actress. Chris remembered the name from her career as an ingénue when he was young, which meant that she was close to his age but had probably started getting resets as soon as they were available, settling her biological age at around 28. His memory was of someone fresh-faced. A fragile blonde. In the years since, lik
e Livvy, Isabella had had a lot of work done on top of good material, and the coloration was now superbly smoky-eyed and platinum, but the effect was magnificently statuesque rather than lovely. Although her eyes sparkled suggestively, not much else in her face moved.
They had been ushered into her presence by a straight-backed and graying woman in a black dress and starched white apron, through a stately late 19th century home that had also had a lot of work done to add all the modern conveniences of voice-op doors and lights, while still hanging onto all its marble and mahogany. The entryway alone could have encompassed Chris’ efficiency, with enough overhead space remaining to still contain a/assive diamond and crystal chandelier. In the reception room, as Chris found himself calling it, Isabella was sitting in a cream brocade-covered Empire-style armchair that allowed her to create an impressive display of her crossed legs.
Neither Chris nor Livvy reacted to Isabella’s suggestion, and Isabella laughed.
“You must forgive me. Guessing people’s chronos when I meet them is a hobby of mine, and your reactions, or lack of them, help.
“Let me see,” she went on. Her eyes had quickly flicked over Livvy, assessing her in the way one woman checked out another when she was both dismissing her and admiring her style, but she took her time with Chris, surveying him from head to toe.
“A natural,” she said, then looked more carefully. “No, of course, your position with the city entitles you to resets, and you are a dedicated man. You have chosen to avoid enhancements – how fortunate for you that you have so little need, and how rare. Where have you been all these years? But as I said, you are dedicated, so I’m going to guess you started getting resets when you could, which would put your chrono at close to 100. Marvelous. A contemporary.”
She leaned forward as though talking to Livvy alone, in confidence, although she kept her eyes on Chris. “You must keep an eye on this one, my dear. He has no idea, which makes him that much more attractive. What we used to call ruggedly handsome.”
