Chapter Three
Isaac and Susan crossed the boarding tunnel between the SysPol corvette and the much larger Arcturus, a luxury saucer owned and operated by the Polaris Traveler corporation. Both craft hovered near each other with drives off and artificial gravity on, though the Arcturus would ease its gravity back to zero once it resumed acceleration toward Saturn. None of the passengers would feel a thing, since its five wide, circular decks were aligned with “up” as the direction of travel.
Two Polaris employees, one physical and one abstract, waited for them at the far end of the boarding tunnel. The tunnel sealed off and retracted back to the corvette, which began to ease away from the larger vessel.
“Welcome aboard, Detective. Agent.” The abstract greeter gave them a polite bow of her head. She was using the avatar of an attractive baseline woman in a pastel green Polaris uniform. “My name’s Amelia. I’m in charge of Guest Services here on the Arcturus. If there’s anything you need while within our care, please don’t hesitate to call on me. I guarantee I’ll come ‘running.’”
“Thank you, Amelia,” Isaac replied. “We’ll do our best not to cause you any trouble. Has my IC arrived yet?”
“Yes, Detective, Encephalon transmitted in ahead of you. She’s already checked in. Now”—Amelia summoned an interface with their itineraries—“I have you both down for transport to Kronos Station. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Wonderful.” Amelia checked a few boxes. “Our next stop will be Ballast Heights on Janus. Would you like me to arrange a connecting flight for you or shall I contact the station directly and have them pick you up en route?”
“The latter, please.”
“Very good, sir.” She jotted down a few notes. “And I take it you’d like the young woman’s cargo container to follow the same route?”
“Her…cargo container?” Isaac asked.
“That would be my kit,” Susan clarified. “And yes, it should come with me.”
“How much stuff is in your kit?”
“Just the standard equipment for a STAND in the field, sir.” She looked over at him. “Do you wish to inspect it?”
“Yes, actually.”
“That’s easy enough to arrange,” Amelia assured them. “I’ll have it moved to a satellite cargo hold where you can access the contents in private, though”—she held up a stern finger—“I must ask that you not remove any of its contents from the cargo hold, given what’s inside.”
“Of course,” Susan said. “That won’t be a problem.”
“Thank you for your understanding.” Amelia dipped her head again.
What exactly is in that kit? Isaac wondered. And why does everyone here seem to know what’s in it besides me?
“Here are your room keycodes and a map of the ship.”
Isaac and Susan accepted the files.
“The ship is currently operating under Janus Standard Time, and our dining halls will be opening soon. Just to point out a few of your options, there will be live classical music in the Deck One Observation Dome, while Deck Five’s Cyber-Acoustic Rave is geared toward guests in a more…energetic mood. We’re also hosting an amateur karaoke night in the Deck Three Starboard Hall, with some very exciting prizes for the winners.”
“Would you like me to show you to your rooms?” The physical greeter placed a hand over his heart and dipped his head. “My name’s Jamal, by the way.”
“No, that’ll be all right,” Isaac said. “We’ll make our way to her cargo container next.”
“Understood, sir.” Jamal indicated the location on their maps and provided an access keycode. “Here’s everything you’ll need.”
“Is there any other way we can make your stay more pleasant?” Amelia asked.
“No, I’m sure we can manage the rest.”
“Very good.” Amelia bowed once more, a little deeper this time. “Again, welcome aboard the Arcturus. Please enjoy your time in our care.”
Amelia vanished, and Jamal headed off down the gently curving corridor. Isaac pulled up the container’s location and started down the corridor in the opposite direction.
“Is that typical?” Susan asked once they were alone.
“What do you mean?”
“They didn’t seem bothered by the fact we’re cops.”
“Should they have been?”
“I suppose not,” she conceded. “I’m just used to a different kind of reception.”
“Less friendly and more combative?”
“Sometimes. It depends on who we’re dealing with and which planet we’re on. Mars and Luna are particularly bad where I come from.”
“I see.” Isaac scratched at his temple. “Haven’t you been briefed on SysGov culture?”
“A little. To be honest, my appointment to this position was approved before I even realized what was going on. The whole process just flew by, and then I found myself here. It gave me the impression things were being rushed through before anyone had time to object. That said, sir, let me assure you I have the utmost enthusiasm for this post. It’s an honor to be here.”
“I had a similar experience with my appointment being rushed.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s something we have in common.”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“You can stop that, by the way.”
“Stop what, sir?”
“The whole ‘sir’ thing. I know you’re assigned as my deputy, but there’s no need to be so formal. Please, call me Isaac.”
“Is that an order?”
“I…” Isaac stumbled mentally. What sort of question was that? “Well, no. Not an order, per say. More like a suggestion or a request. Yes, that’s it! A request. From one coworker to another.”
“I see, s—”
His eye twitched.
“I see…Isaac,” she replied slowly. It sounded like it took effort.
“There. That’s not so bad, now is it?”
“No, s—” Her jaw tightened. “No.”
“And would you mind if I called you Susan?”
“If you prefer.”
“I—” He paused again and frowned. “What would you prefer?”
She let out a long, slow sigh.
“Agent Cantrell?”
“Susan is fine.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, s—” She cut herself off and sighed again. “Yes.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“I’ll adapt.”
Isaac grimaced at the nonanswer but decided to move on. He offered her two files.
“What’re these?” she asked, copying the files.
“The first is your badge,” he explained. “The transmit feature will identify you as a SysPol officer to anyone in your general vicinity. The second is my personal key for SysPol security chat. It will allow the two of us to converse about sensitive matters while in public, if it proves necessary. We’ll be able to understand each other, but our speech will come across as gibberish to anyone else.”
“Thank you. I’m sure both will come in handy.”
“Also”—he looked her up and down—“about your uniform.”
“What about it?”
“In Themis Division, we’re allowed to wear civilian clothing while on duty.”
“Is that a requirement?” Susan eyed Isaac’s own uniform.
“Well, no. Simply an option.”
“Do you wear civilian clothing while on duty?”
“Uhh, no. I normally wear this.” He tugged on his SysPol blues.
“Then I would prefer to wear my Peacekeeper uniform while on duty.”
“Are you sure about that? You’re going to stick out in that outfit. The virtual badge will suffice as official identification.”
“But that’s the whole point of the Peacekeeper uniform. To mark me as separate from civilians and to identify the organization I serve.”
“Yes, granted, but…” Isaac trailed off and shook his head. “Never mind.”
What was wrong with her?
They arrived at the satellite cargo hold, and Isaac palmed the door open. A rectangular cargo container sat upright in the middle of the stark chamber. It stood taller than both of them, though not by much in Susan’s case, and the outer surface declared its origin in bold Peacekeeper blue with white borders and a silver shield on the front.
“Your kit?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, indeed!” Susan’s eyes gleamed with excitement. She jogged over to the container, crossed her arms, and leaned her shoulder against it with a broad smile on her lips.
The crack in her strict demeanor caught Isaac by surprise, and he wondered why she seemed almost giddy in the presence of her equipment. Clearly, this represented a part of her job she took pride in.
“Would you like to see what’s inside?” She knocked on the container.
“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”
“All right, then!” She palmed a control pad, and the container’s exterior turned transparent.
“Oh.” Isaac’s eyes widened. “Oh dear.”
“This”—Susan thumped the side with her fist—“is my Type-99 STAND combat frame! Brand-new model! Better than the venerable Type-92s in every respect!”
“A…combat frame?” Isaac asked, feeling numb.
“Yes! For use in operations too hazardous for my general purpose synthoid! When needed, my connectome case is manually transferred to the combat frame, and I take direct control of this beauty!”
Isaac had seen video of Admin combat frames in action, and those skeletal machines must have been modeled after someone’s idea of death incarnate. This one represented a departure from those earlier designs. Its humanoid body possessed a lithe athleticism, and its current variskin configuration gave it a blue body with white racing stripes and a small silver shield at the shoulder.
It looked…friendlier than those mechanical death skeletons.
Yes, friendlier.
Except for all the weapons.
“The Type-99 is an absolute speed demon, with powerful maneuvering boosters in the legs, shoulders, and forearms. It’s the fastest combat frame yet, featuring modular weapon hardpoints that can be configured to handle any situation. Here you can see the default configuration: heavy rail-rifle on the right arm, shoulder-mounted grenade launcher, and left arm incinerator.”
“It has a flamethrower?”
“Yes!” Susan beamed at him. “Perfect for when things get up close and personal with the bad guys!”
“Susan?”
“The rail-rifle comes with a precision stabilizer mount. Perfect for long-range sniping, and the guided grenades provide options for enemies hiding behind cover. With this loadout, the Type-99 is lethal at any range!”
“Susan?”
“And it’s not defenseless, either! Besides its agility, which is considerable, the armor is composed of over two thousand independent microplates of malmetal, capable of reconfiguring on the fly to form useful, solid objects or seal any armor breach almost instantly!” She thumped the container again. “In conclusion, the Type-99 represents the pinnacle of Admin law enforcement lethality!”
“Law enforcement?” he echoed weakly. “Lethality?”
“Yes!”
“Susan?” Isaac strained.
“Yes?”
“Has anyone explained to you what we do in the Themis Division?”
“Well, not in detail, now that you mention it.” She took on a thoughtful look and rubbed her chin. “The under-director described your division as analogous to DTI Suppression counter-terrorism ops, but with a scope that covered the whole solar system.”
“And what do those operations entail?”
“Well, first we investigate terrorist attacks. Try to track down the perpetrators.”
“Okay. Good so far. We do some of that, too.”
“And then we head over to where the baddies are hiding and blow them up.”
“Right.” Isaac nodded. “I think I see where the disconnect is.”
“The disconnect?” Susan tilted her head.
“We in Themis Division—which you are now serving in, by the way—are the detectives of SysPol. We investigate crimes, we collect evidence, we identify the guilty, and we bring them in so that justice may be served.”
“Of course.”
“Alive,” Isaac stressed.
“Oh.” Susan took a guilty sidestep away from the container.
“We in Themis do not dispense justice. We indict those we believe are guilty, but we do not decide their punishments. That duty is left to the courts, while any punishment is doled out by the Panoptics Division. Lethal force should only be used as a last resort. Yes, we are authorized to use it, but its application normally means we have failed in some other way. I don’t even carry a gun while on duty, let alone an abomination like this!” He indicated the combat frame.
“How do you bring in criminals, then? With your bare hands?”
“I utilize a LENS. A Lawful Enforcement and Neutralization System. A nonlethal neutralization system. It’s a SysPol drone specific to Themis, which Cephalie controls for me most of the time.”
“I see.” Susan gave the combat frame a forlorn look. But then her eyes brightened and she turned back to him. “What if the criminals counteract the LENS in some manner?”
“Then we call in the SysPol’s heavy hitters for backup. The Arete First Responders or—God forbid—the Argo Patrol Fleet! When a situation escalates to the point where brute force is required, we step aside and let the experts take over, but it’s our job to do everything in our power to ensure matters do not escalate in the first place.”
“I see,” she repeated. She gave the combat frame one more glance, and her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “Does this mean I can’t even carry a weapon while on duty?”
“No,” Isaac corrected, trying not to sound annoyed. “Themis detectives are permitted to carry sidearms while on duty, though they must select from a preapproved list of SysPol patterns. A very limited list.”
“May I see the list, then?”
“Why?”
“Because I like to be prepared.”
“We’re on a luxury saucer in the middle of open space. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“That may be so, but I’m…ill at ease without a weapon.”
“You inhabit a cutting edge synthoid. You are a weapon!”
“Still…” She gave him a sad look.
“Fine,” Isaac huffed. He looked away as he sent her the file. “Pick anything off this list. I’ll arrange for it to be printed for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check into my room.”
* * *
The door opened, and Isaac plodded into his room. It was a nice room, all things considered, with tasteful abstract and physical art dotting a spacious floorplan, all culminating in a wide view of outer space at the back.
“You certainly took your time,” Cephalie tittered from atop a complimentary fruit bowl on the table.
Cephalie’s words and the room’s decor barely registered in his mind as he trudged over to the bed. His knees made contact with the side, which acted as a fulcrum for his whole body to lever down until his face planted into the sheets.
“That bad, huh?”
“Mmm-fnng-rrgng-ghrmm,” he groaned into the sheets.
“What?”
Isaac rolled over onto his back and vented a frustrated breath.
“Something on your mind?” Cephalie teleported to his chest.
“Oh, my goodness! She’s such a thug!”
“Aww,” Cephalie cooed. “Is the big bad Admin Peacekeeper too much for you?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d been there.” Isaac sat up, and Cephalie floated down to his thigh. “Did you see what’s in her kit?”
“I might have taken a peek.” Cephalie twirled her cane. “Nasty piece of hardware.”
“It has a flamethrower!”
“Yeah, I saw. Kind of hard to miss.”
“What in the worlds does she need a flamethrower for?”
“I don’t know. Thinking back, I could have used a flamethrower on a few cases.”
Isaac glared at her.
“Only saying,” she defended. “You know, hypothetically.”
“Well, I have no intention of using it!” Isaac placed both palms on his forehead. “As soon as we get to Kronos, that thing is getting shoved into the deepest, darkest pit of our logistics centers, never to see the light of day again!”
“That seems a tad excessive.”
“And do you know what she said when I asked her to call me Isaac?”
“No.”
“She said ‘Is that an order?’” His mouth gaped as he shook his head. “What kind of person says something like that?”
“Would the answer you’re looking for be ‘an Admin thug’?” Cephalie offered.
“Exactly!”
“I think you’re being too hard on her.”
“Oh, there’s more!” Isaac continued, undeterred. “Guess the first thing she asked about when I stressed that it’s our job to bring criminals in alive?”
“Umm?” Cephalie held her cane across her shoulders. “I give up.”
“Guns. As in, can she carry one while on duty.”
“I don’t know. Makes sense to me. Girl’s all alone in a strange universe. Feels good to pack some heat at the hip. Even if it’s not a flamethrower.”
“Uhhh!” Isaac flopped down onto his back.
Cephalie walked up to his face and poked his nose with her cane. Despite the virtual nature of the interaction, his wetware allowed him to “feel” the jab.
“You think I’m overreacting, don’t you?”
“Maybe a touch.” She held her thumb and forefinger close.
Isaac sucked in a long, slow breath, then let it all out.
“Come on,” she urged. “Stop moping and get up.”
“Fine.” He sat up, and she floated over to his shoulder. He raised his hand and summoned the reports Lamont gave him.
“Going to do some reading?”
“Yeah. Maybe working through these will help me deal with Susan better.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Isaac selected the Admin cultural overview, opened it, even read the first line, but then stopped.
“You know what? No.” He closed the file abruptly.
“No, what?”
“I’m not going to read them.” He turned to Cephalie. “I’m not going to let some analyst tell me what to think of the Admin or its people. Because that’s part of the problem; I let all those news articles influence my opinion, and now my brain goes straight to the worst possible interpretation every time she opens her mouth. And look at me! I’m working with someone from the Admin who’s here because they want to coexist with us! Who’s in a better position than me to learn what they’re really like?
“So, no. I’m not going to read those reports. I’m going to leave my—and everyone else’s—biases at the door and let my experiences with her form my own opinion.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked. “Lamont gave you those files because he wanted you to review them.”
“Cephalie, if nothing else, the last day has taught me one very important lesson.”
“And what’s that?”
He turned to the miniature woman on his shoulder.
“Our leaders don’t have a clue.”