Considering he was facing a minor infraction at best, Johril’s stress readings were so high, one would think think he’d just murdered someone.
“Mr. Kaela, you’re sweating like a pig at a barbecue. What’s the problem? You’re looking at a CiVal penalty of 0.2 at most, and no rehab,” I said, trying to calm him down. CiVal signified a citizen’s “worth” to their CiviLibran society, and more importantly, how much they would receive as a wage.
“You look like you want to hit me,” Johril said shakily. He could barely make eye contact with me and had spent most of my visit staring at a spot on the floor directly in front of him.
Truthfully, I had no ill will toward the man, and I’m sure he was just reacting to my so-called resting bitch face. That, along with my ninety-fifth percentile height and weight, heavily muscled frame, and long head scar (which I kept defiantly exposed by shaving that side of my skull), had always had a generally emasculating effect on a lot of men, but was actually a great filter for determining which ones I definitely wanted nothing to do with.
“Let’s run through this from start to finish,” I said. “You’d been managing an education center for roughly ten years, following every rule to a tee. Then, two years ago, you hacked one of the core modules, reducing the required learning period by half, which essentially allowed you to graduate twice the number of students per given period of time. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct,” Johril responded sulkily, still refusing to make eye contact with me.
I assumed that running through these details would cause his cortisol and adrenaline levels to bump up, or at least affect his heart rate and breathing patterns, but they were all pretty maxed out already and had barely changed since my initial readings.
“Please explain how you did that.”
“It wasn’t too hard, to be honest,” Johril began reluctantly. “Once I hacked into the module, I removed every second submodule, adjusted the testing questions to ignore the missing sections, and changed the submodule completion check to be via percent complete rather than total number complete,” Johril explained, sweating profusely and clearly wanting to be anywhere but here.
Wow, this had to be the most boring crime I had investigated in some time, and that was saying something. If it wasn’t for the unsettling way this man was acting, I probably would have fallen asleep by now.
“Mr. Kaela, I’m going to ask you again, what is causing you so much stress? And please don’t say it’s me this time. I can tell there is something else going on here.”
“I … well, it’s just my first time going through something like this,” was all he offered.
Since I was getting nowhere, I decided to put in a memory analysis request for Johril with LibraAI, the big, arrogant, artificial brain behind maintaining balance within CiviLibra’s CiVal system. While that type of analysis wouldn’t provide an overly trustworthy view of Johril’s recent experiences, it would certainly be better than what I was getting from him at the moment.
Searching through the contacts on my heads-up display (HUD) while heading out into the hall, I found Libra, and over my built-in comm said, “LibraAI, requesting 168-hour memory analysis for citizen Johril Kaela, ID183284865. His stress levels are far above what is reasonable for a citizen who has not been involved in a traumatic, possibly violent situation.”
After waiting several seconds before responding, which I suspected Libra was just doing for effect, it replied, “Request from Detective Freya Blackwood is denied. Citizen Kaela is considered low risk, and as such, valuable computing resources will continue to be prioritized for other, more important tasks.” Typical.
If this had been a more serious scenario, say for example, if Libra were to notice several citizens in close proximity suddenly exhibit the telltale signs of a life-threatening situation—spiking heart and respiration rates, high stress hormone levels, increasing blood glucose levels, etc.—it would have initiated its own analysis automatically, including live monitoring of visual and auditory data, then followed that up by requesting arrest warrants. In this case, since Johril had been misbehaving for some time and had not shown any of those markers until just before I showed up, I was probably going to be on my own. Also, his crime was remarkably benign.
I knew it would not do any good to waste more time pleading with this uppity sociopath, so I decided to tap my best resource at the office, and endless well of favors, Trace Holloway. Detective Holloway and I went back a long way, spending years together in the Defense Division (DD), where I had once heroically saved his life (hence the endless well of favors).
Over my comm, I said, “Trace, I need a favor.”
“Of course you do,” Trace replied. “By the way, how far off am I from repaying the crushing debt I owe you?”
“Well, considering your life is priceless, I am guessing never.”
“Ha! Well, in that case, how can I assist my favorite creditor?” Trace offered sarcastically.
“I am currently working an extremely boring, insignificant fraud case on citizen ID183284865. It’s the kind of case that makes you want to just pack it all up and move out into the wilderness.”
“You’re really not getting me motivated to help you here,” Trace cut in. “Plus, you talk about running off and living in the woods all the time, so I’m not sure what your point is.”
I continued, ignoring his comment. “Anyway, the weird thing is, despite looking at a mere infraction, the citizen’s stress hormone levels are through the roof, and his heart rate hasn’t dipped below 145 since I arrived. I put in a memory analysis request with Libra because I think there is something else going on, but you can probably guess how that went. I was hoping you could put in a word with the good captain and have him place an order to force Libra off its lazy ass and get this done as soon as possible.”
“You could ask him yourself, you know,” Trace countered.
“You know very well how that would go,” I responded. Captain Tavas and me didn’t have the best working relationship, if I was being honest. I attributed it to the whole “feeling emasculated around me” thing, and definitely not the “concerning levels of insubordination” thing that he pushed back with.
“All right,” Trace sighed. “Give me five minutes.”
Walking back in the apartment, I noticed that Johril was now looking even more anxious, and I caught him glancing at the other side of the room.
I went over to where he had been glancing and quickly peeked in the rooms there. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“What were you looking at?” I asked.
“My cat just startled me.” Sure enough, as soon as he said that, a cat came darting out of the bedroom.
While waiting to hear back from Trace, I wandered over to one of the apartment windows and gazed out at the distant northeastern mountains. It didn’t take me long to start wishing I was out there, instead of here with Johril.
That particular area held an important place in my heart, being host to some of my most cherished early life memories with my father. He had taught me most of my wilderness survival skills, and maybe most importantly, how to eat well and enjoy myself while out there.
“You do any camping, Johril?” I asked, trying to distract him.
“A bit, when I was a kid.”
“How about up in that area?” I asked, pointing vaguely.
“Never. Have you?” This was good, he was starting to engage a bit.
“Yeah, it’s one of my favorite spots, actually. I can still remember the first time I camped up there, clear as day. I was around five years old. My father and I hiked up along that river you can just make out, to a nice spot overlooking the valley below. It was autumn, and the alpine forest had that crisp, pleasing smell of damp moss and fallen leaves, which married perfectly with the wood smoke from our crackling campfire.”
“You describe it very beautifully,” said Johril. I glanced back to see if he was being sarcastic, but he appeared genuine. So, I continued, returning my gaze to the mountains.
“We spent the late morning foraging in the forest and small clearings and brought in a bountiful haul of maitake mushrooms, wild garlic bulbs, and huge buttery pine nuts. In the afternoon, I watched my father hunt with his goshawk, Whisper, who brought down three fat pheasants, showing off his impressive stealth and maneuverability skills in among the mature trees.”
At this, I looked back at Johril and said, “Just so we’re clear, I am not referring to my father here. That man had all the grace of a baby giraffe dancing on ice.” This actually made Johril laugh.
“Why use a hawk?” he asked.
“Since projectile weapons are illegal, falconing has actually been used in hunting since way back when the pioneers arrived,” I explained. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know this. Hardly anyone on CiviLibra6 hunted these days.
I continued what I hoped was a relaxing story. “Anyway, we spent a quiet late afternoon cooking our bounty and listening to the river bubbling away below us. Then that night, we sat in our tent watching the crackling fire, and listening to an owl hooting up in the canopy. It’s funny, there’s nothing really remarkable about that day, but I can walk through the whole experience as if I am there.”
“I think experiences like that ground us,” responded Johril. “They remind us of what’s most important to us, which might be why your mind spends so much effort keeping the details intact.” I nodded at this. It was a nice way to think about it.
Our story time was interrupted by Trace. “Freya, are you there?”
“Yes. How did it go?”
“Poorly, as you might have expected,” Trace responded. “Maybe it’s time to just move on, my friend.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Probably just overthink—” Suddenly my comm connection dropped out.
At the same time, I felt intense pain at the base of my spine, followed by a brief sensory lapse. I initially thought I might be passing out, but then my vision returned.
But I wasn’t in the same part of the room anymore.
Instead, I found myself inexplicably on top of Johril, hands gripped tightly around his neck.
He was dead.
I pushed backward off his body, gasping in shock. What the fuck just happened?
Racing back through my memory, I was surprised to find a clear recollection of my actions since I felt the sensation in my neck, even though it had seemed like just a fraction of a second since it happened.
Apparently, as soon as I had felt the pain in my neck, I had turned, or tried to turn, anyway, toward my backside to see who or what had caused the pain. Only, my head had turned the opposite way and stared straight at Johril.
“Please don’t …” he had said. His fear was palpable. “Please! You don’t need to do this. There must be another way!”
It was like I was watching myself, or at the very least like I had no control over my actions. I had lunged toward Johril with surprising speed. He, in turn, had staggered backward, trying to avoid my advance, but I was on him before he could take two steps. Then, I had slammed him hard in the chest with a brutal push kick, his lungs collapsing violently. “Please,” was all he could whisper raggedly as he lay squirming on the floor.
I had then jumped on top of him, gripping tightly around his neck with both hands and squeezing until he stopped breathing.
It was all over quickly, but watching myself kill this helpless man for no reason that I could think of was horrifying. Why the hell would I have done that?
I stood and staggered backward, eyes not leaving Johril’s corpse. I tripped and crashed through a glass table and felt a deep, penetrating pain as shards of glass cut into my back and shoulders. I stood, now feeling the hot, wet blood already running down my back, and lurched mechanically toward the door, and out into the hallway.
Halfway down the hall, I made eye contact with an athletic brown-haired woman who looked like she had just returned from a jog. Just about to unlock her door with her prox card, she did a double take and began screaming, dropping her card to the floor. Pinballing from wall to wall, I bowled over her accidentally and slammed straight through the exit at the end of the hall, deciding to take the stairs rather than risk the elevator.
On the second set of stairs, I tripped and rolled down a full flight, feeling one of the shards of glass lodged in my back push even further into my already badly damaged body. I screamed in pain. The adrenaline was now wearing off rapidly, and the pain was excruciating.
I stood and pushed through the door and out into the lobby, where even more shocked faces greeted me, including an incredulous young food-delivery man. “Get the fuck out of the way!” I roared as I barreled through the lobby and out into the street.
Barely able to control my direction, I plowed straight into the side of a parked tech services shuttle just outside the door. Two technicians stood by the front of the shuttle, holding their tool bags and gawking at me. Pushing off the side of their shuttle, I tried to lunge past them but clipped one, a tall bearded man, who remained quiet as I headed away from the building.
I needed to get out of Novaluxia immediately and head toward The Fringe, an area separating the land that had already been terra-detailed, with the inhospitable, brutal landscape beyond. While CiviLibra6’s monitoring systems would be able to pinpoint my exact location here, allowing me to be tracked relentlessly like a dog, out there those systems were not nearly as accurate.
Careening down a pedestrian lane, I ducked into a street market so I could determine the state of my systems. My first task was attempting access to LibraAI with my detective’s permissions, so I could request a memory analysis of the incident. The whole thing made no sense, and I needed to see if there was some detail I had missed.
“Detective Blackwood’s access to LibraAI’s memory playback feature, along with all CiVal Administration Division privileges, have been revoked,” was the message I received. Well, shit, the witch hunt was already on.
Even though my CAD detective’s privileges were now gone, meaning I was most likely relieved of my duties, I was sure I still had access to my social feed and comm services. I sent a message to Libra requesting my current CiVal score.
“Your score has recently been adjusted from 1.4 to -4, following the issuance of an arrest warrant for the murder you have just been charged with,” Libra responded.
My heart sank. Murder charges always resulted in very thorough and immediate reactions from CAD. For one, any citizen looking at me via their HUD would see a “Dangerous citizen, keep distance!” warning above my head. Secondly, and of far greater concern, an elite Collections team would already have been dispatched and would be heading to this location right now. Thankfully, as per protocol, they wouldn’t be able to fire their Neural Inhibiting Devices (NIDs) at me if there were any citizens within ten meters—which there always were in this damn city. Still, I knew how quickly those bastards moved, and I probably had ten minutes at most before they arrived and tried to take me down any way they could.
I pulled up the navigation service on my HUD and plotted a route to The Fringe. Now I just needed transport.
Fifteen meters ahead of me, I noticed a standard commuter shuttle come to a landing on a designated pad. The pilot, a middle-aged man in work attire, opened the hatch and was beginning to exit the vehicle. I lurched toward the shuttle and grabbed him by the shoulders just as he was putting his leading foot on the ground. He turned, shocked, just as I whipped him around and threw him to the ground.
“Give me the fob right now,” I hissed.
I saw him glance just above my head, no doubt seeing the danger warning, and with hands shaking, he handed me the fob.
To make sure he didn’t try any hero shit when I turned around, I growled, “You try anything, and I will kill you,” and collapsed into the vehicle.
Following the route showing on my HUD, I flew the shuttle recklessly through the busy city, several times banging up against the sides of other vehicles and eliciting angry responses from their pilots. While I could have used the autopilot feature, that would only allow me to fly the shuttle at the approved speed, which was much too slow for this type of situation.
I was just outside of TerraBand1 when I noticed black spots forming in my vision, like pixels failing on a display. Looking down, I could see a dark pool of blood forming between and around my thighs on the bucket seat. Not good.
I had traveled another minute or so, when I noticed Trace calling. I knew I had to talk to him at some point, but I also knew that he was going to want me to come in, something I was really not comfortable with at the moment. Still, I decided to answer.
“Freya, what the fuck happened back there?” Trace responded. “One minute you are worried about this guy, then you kill him?”
“I have no idea what is happening, Trace!” I said, trying to match his intensity. “I don’t know if it is PTSD from our DD days or what, but it felt like I blacked out then woke up after I killed him.”
“Okay, well, you gotta come in. There’s nothing for you out there but death. Please, Freya.” He was begging.
“I … I just can’t, Trace,” I responded shakily. “I need some time to figure things out before I make any decisions like that. This whole situation is insane. I’m sorry. ”
“Fuck that!” he yelled back. “You’re acting like a soldier trying to survive behind enemy lines right now, not a citizen of C6. You have to come in!”
“Bye, Trace,” I said quietly, ending the call.
Just then, something caught my eye, and my heart sank. Straight ahead, matching my current low-level altitude, sat two high-powered Collections shuttles.
They hailed me. “Freya Blackwood, you have been charged with murder. Land the shuttle immediately.”
I didn’t respond. I ran through my options, landing not being one of them, and quickly realized I had no choice but to take a new route.
Banking hard to the right, I adjusted my course and headed due south. The Collections shuttles quickly began pursuit. I had bought some time, but I was beginning to realize I may not make TB10, let alone TB3—each TerraBand being ten kilometers.
I was shaken from my despair by an incoming comm request. It was my mother, so I considered ignoring it. I just couldn’t deal with another tongue-lashing from someone I cared for. Then, realizing it may be the last time I spoke to her, I accepted.
“Freya, what is happening?” my mother asked. “Are you all right? You’re all over the news feed!” She sounded choked up.
“Mother, it’s not what it looks like. I … did kill someone, as I’m sure they are saying on the feed, but it’s like something took control of my body. I need to get out of Novaluxia and figure out what happened back there.”
“Darling, they are clearing the streets ahead of you. They say your vital readings are critical, and you are at risk of passing out and crashing the shuttle. You’ll die if that happens!”
“I don’t have a choice. I need time to figure out what happened. Plus, if I get sent to a rehab clinic, I’ll probably never get out.” I was trying to sound as confident in my current plan as I could, but it was hard.
After a moment, my mother responded quietly, “I just don’t know what I would do without my chibi-chan.” She was weeping softly.
I immediately perked up. Chibi-chan was the nickname my mother had given me when I began helping with small jobs at her plastic surgery clinic a long time ago. Was this a hint that I should head there?
I knew the surgical bots she had there weren’t truly optimized for repairing the deep stab wounds I had, but still, they were capable. Additionally, the system AI was well equipped to determine how to proceed once I got on the table and told it what the problem was.
I terminated the comm, not wanting to risk my mother sharing any additional details, believing I needed more hints.
My mind was clearing a bit now that I had a plan that might actually work. Because let’s be honest—flying seven hundred kilometers across open landscape, followed by several well-trained psychopaths, and bleeding like a paint can knocked over by an excited puppy was probably not going to work.
I changed the nav destination to my mother’s condo tower, which was about five blocks away from her clinic. While her condo was a bit closer to my final destination than I would have liked, I at least knew the underground commuter routes between the two well. It would be much too risky to either head straight there or find my way from a tower I didn’t know.
Then, I reluctantly switched the shuttle over to autopilot. I knew Collections would unfortunately make up some ground at my slower speed, but I needed to quickly search the cabin for some items I would need.
Rifling through the glove box, I found a basic toolkit with several sizes of screwdriver and some cutters. From the back seat, I grabbed the shuttle owner’s jacket and hat. Not a bad start.
I put on the jacket with difficulty and took a deep breath, knowing this next part was going to suck. Taking one of the larger flathead screwdrivers, I jammed the end under the side of the pad shaped neural implant antenna/battery module above my ear. My mind immediately started racing, thinking about all the disadvantages that would come with being disconnected from an entire society’s worth of networks and comm services. I hesitated briefly, then gritted my teeth and started to pry.
The pain was blinding. The antenna/battery pad was physically screwed into my skull in four places, and I knew they were not going to come out cleanly.
Roaring in pain, I pried with all my strength until I felt the antenna start to give. I could feel pieces of my skull tearing, as small chunks came out with the screw threads. The antenna now dangling beside my ear, I used some cutters from the toolkit to snip the small wire harness connecting the antenna to my neural implant and watched as my HUD went blank.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
My mother’s condo tower now in sight, I took back control of the shuttle and brought it down to its lowest allowable flying level, then went into full burn. As I came within a hundred meters of the tower, imminent impact warnings started to scream and flash in the cabin. I knew the shuttle would resist my efforts to crash purposefully, so at the last second, I spun it 180 degrees and cut the power.
There was an eerie moment of silence now that the engine and system sounds were absent, followed by a roar of noise as the shuttle collided violently with the glass curtain wall of the condo building’s ground floor. An awful scraping sound followed, as the shuttle slid at nearly a hundred kilometers per hour across the polished concrete floor, slamming hard into a huge structural pillar.
I blacked out momentarily, then as my senses started to return, I immediately recognized the pungent smell of algae-derived biofuel. My educated guess that the fuel tank was located at the back of this particular shuttle model had been correct, woo-hoo.
I pulled my mangled body from the cabin and limped heavily away from the vehicle, just as the leaking fuel burst into flames. At my current tortoiselike pace, by the time I reached the door to the stairway at the other side of the lobby, the shuttle was engulfed in a blinding inferno. I crossed my fingers, hoping that this, along with my absent antenna, would lead the authorities to believe I had died in the crash.
I had traveled on foot from my mother’s condo many times before; however, what was usually an easy journey was now excruciating. Even with my relatively clean jacket and my hat pulled down low, I had to use every ounce of focus I had to try not to look like someone who had been stabbed six times in the back, tore off part of their own skull, and crashed a shuttle at high speed into a building.
Still, I was making progress and only receiving a few curious glances.
The clinic entrance now in sight, I used my last bit of strength to get to the door and open it using the optical scanner. Even though I knew my mother had added me to the system years ago, I was still very much relieved to find that I was still in there. Slumping against the door as it slid open, I staggered and collapsed into the lobby as the door closed behind me.
I thought I heard movement and glanced up as complete and total despair swept over me. In a line in front of me stood four Collections agents, glaring down at me with contempt as my head began to hang back down. The last thing I thought as I felt the blinding pain of a stun weapon discharge against my neck was, Mother, would you really betray me like this?
