Murder in New Eden
by Charles C. Cole
Welcome to New Eden, an isolated city floating in space, whose founders believed the start of the 20th century was as good as it would ever get. Gun-free police supervise from atop their penny-farthings, carrying only batons. Aggression has been chemically suppressed for years. But then violence erupts. In response, the chief of police weighs the prospect of thawing secret soldiers. In the middle of it all, two bright young women push for equality and recognition.
Chapter 5: Soldiers Need Orders
Wayne slips into Schiavelli’s office without knocking, closing the door quickly behind her and leaning heavily against it as if she requires complete confidentiality. There is a smugness about her.
“He’s ready to cooperate now. You owe me.”
“What did you give him?”
“Just a little something to cut the edge off.”
“Can he still answer questions?”
“More than that, he’ll want to. He’s a little more introspective than when he first came to. We had to develop trust and empathy. Not my strong suits, being surrounded as I am by self-absorbed men with low-hanging utility belts. My advice: the sooner you get him out among the real people, the better. Take him to the hospital to see sick children. Or maybe visit a pet store.”
Shocked. “You took him home?!”
“I had to check on my kittens. What kind of mother am I? They’re only eight weeks old! What was I going to, let them starve?”
“Eartha, with everything else going on, you rescued a litter of kittens!”
“I rescued them first, then the world fell apart. I didn’t know I was going to be working overtime. You said I needed a hobby. Besides, I’m telling you, it made all the difference. He may be a killer on the outside, but he’s a pussycat on the inside.”
“Are you going to rescue him>, too?”
“Are you asking me to?”
“No, I’ll take him. Otherwise, you’ll end up getting attached. Which, in this case, may lead to some serious torture: Brandt says if he doesn’t work out, I’m supposed to put him down like the feral animal he is.”
“Jesus, Chief! Would you really do that?!”
“I don’t know. I have my orders. I suppose we can always put him to sleep. But that doesn’t sound any better, does it?”
“Well, he’s your problem now. I’ve got to hit the store before it closes: get some cat food. Call me later if you need me. I don’t care when it is.”
“Are we overreacting? Am I overreacting?”
“I knew some of those people, and they didn’t deserve what happened to them. Don’t let it happen again. If anyone can figure this out, you can.”
They nod at each other with an unspoken understanding, and Wayne exits.
As Sergeant Cody, now in his dress whites, is escorted in, Chief Schiavelli jumps to his feet, brushing crumbs from deskside breakfast off his pant legs, not sure of the protocol and intent on making a good first impression. Cody snaps to attention, all business, while very obviously studying the details of the room and making no effort to feign eye contact.
The chief is unabashedly impressed. He moves his empty plate into a lower desk drawer. “Tall glass of water, aren’t you? You didn’t look nearly so big in that covered bathtub thingy we found you in.”
Behind Cody’s back, the chief’s secretary makes a confused, furrowed-brow look and silently mouths, “Who is he?” She, too, is admiring the well-preserved trooper.
“Thank you for your help today, Lois,” says Schiavelli. You can go. We’ll catch up tomorrow.” Lois starts to close the door. “And, Lois, let’s try to keep news of our guest on a need-to-know basis, for now.”
“Who needs to know?”
“Not a blessed soul.”
“That’s what I thought.” She gives a thumbs-up and leaves.
“Sergeant Cody, I presume. This is new for me. Am I supposed to salute?”
Cody’s reply is no-nonsense. “It’s up to you.”
“Let’s assume I did. I’m not one for formalities. You can put your hand down.”
“The proper command is: ‘At Ease’.”
“At ease, officer.”
“I’m not an officer.”
“At ease, soldier.”
Cody spreads his legs to shoulder-width and clasps his hands behind his back, a position called parade rest. Though not at formal attention, he is very much still on high alert. Schiavelli sits.
“First off, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for not killing Eartha Wayne. She shared some of your conversation. I’d be lost without her.”
“You’re welcome.”
“She’s one of the good guys around here.”
“It sounds like you have a lot of them.”
“Good guys?” asks the chief. “We do. Quite a few. Is that unusual where you come from?”
“What do you want with me?”
“Right. Soldiers need orders, am I right? Or is it missions? If you haven’t heard, we’re having a rough spell here in New Eden. Until this week, the most common ‘weapon’ used by my men in active crime prevention, day in and day out, was a stern talking-to. Make your voice a little louder and a little deeper with just a slightly patronizing tilt of the head. Works every time.” He’s getting into it. “And eyebrows: don’t forget to arch them, at least one. And point your finger: that sends the message home.” He imitates the gesture. “Got me?”
Not reacting. “Got you. Sounds like you have everything under control.”
“We did until somebody found a gun. Hurt a lot of people. Killed a few.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Kind of ruined my day, to be honest. We don’t have guns here. It’s not that they’re not allowed, we just don’t have them, except in a highly secure armory and in an overlooked museum warehouse apparently. Nobody uses them. Even the good guys. There’s been no need for as long as I can remember. Your average citizen, seeing you pull out a revolver, might, very politely, ask why you need a flashlight in the daytime. I take it that you’ve used a gun.”
“More than once.”
“Killed a few people?”
“Only bad guys.”
“So you can tell the handle from the business end?”
“Would you like me to demonstrate?”
“Not quite yet, if you don’t mind; I’m not a fan. But I’ll bet my shiny five-pointed badge that you know some self-defense moves, hand-to-hand combat, and assault tactics. Am I right?”
“Would you like me to demonstrate?”
“Eager beaver, aren’t you? Great! We’ll set something up right away.” He pressed the intercom on his desk. There’s no answer. “It was probably a mistake sending Lois home.” He shrugs. “What can you do?” The intercom snaps awake.
“You want me, Chief?”
“Lois? I thought you went home.”
“I’m drafting your letters of condolence for the police officers we lost. I thought you’d want me to get a start on them.”
Sternly: “Lois, get in here!”
Lois opens the door quickly. “Yes, Chief!”
“Lois, thank you for everything you do around here, I mean it. Now get out.”
She starts to weep.
“And no more tears. This is a professional operation we’re running.”
“I’ll try, Chief. You needed something?”
“Yeah, set up a meeting at the high school gym for later today, after-hours. Thank Coach Warren and Principal Taylor for the use of the space. Tell all the available officers to wear comfortable clothes. And make sure the wrestling mats are rolled out.”
“Wrestling mats?”
“You heard me. All of them.”
“Yes, sir.” She closes the door.
“Sergeant Cody, I would really appreciate it if you could train my men. Make it harder to kill them. Make it easier for them to apprehend bad guys. They need to learn from the best. Is that something you can do, or does that go against your secret warrior code?”
“With or without knives and guns?”
“Let’s start by making them use the tool between their ears.”
“I can help.”
“Great. I suppose you’ll want something from me in return. I could put out a call for long-lost relatives, that sort of thing, though not right away of course. You’d be pretty busy, I think.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I could deputize you, if you want. Make you an official part of the team. Does that matter to you?”
“I have a team.”
“Right. I should tell you, we’re not used to strangers. Everybody knows everybody, more or less. I’m not looking forward to explaining where you came from. Most people on the station like routine, life the way they’ve always known it without any anomalies. Got me?”
“Are you really the great-grandson of Vincent Schiavelli?”
“Yep. And lucky for me, too, or I’d probably be dead on the floor about now, right? Or at least in a headlock.”
“You’re also the chief of police.”
“Sounds like a dynasty, I know, handed down from one generation to the next. But I was asked, and I accepted. Nobody else wanted the job, and I’d been living in my father’s shadow my whole life, so I knew what the role entailed. I’ve no delusions of power; I’m just a fancy librarian who keeps track of all the legal minutia. Quick question: You have any problems following orders or obeying commands? I know we’ve just met, but I’ve got know where you’re at, human hand-grenade that you are.”
Trying too hard and unconvincing. “I can follow orders like nobody’s business.”
“Great-grandfather respected you, according to a letter he passed on to my grandfather and my father passed on to me. You’re pretty special with particular skills that are, funnily enough, in significant demand right about now. So long as you haven’t spoiled while in storage, I take it you’ll do as you’re told.”
“Yes, sir!”
“If you watch my back, I’ll watch yours. You have my solemn promise on that. Any other questions?”
“Do you know why I was placed in the cryogenic tube?”
“No idea. I was hoping you could tell me.”
Cody shakes his head.
“Maybe it was to hide you from the wrong elements. Or maybe things got so peaceful so suddenly way back when, there was no longer an immediate need for a squad of efficient assassins. But it didn’t make sense to waste your abilities by turning you into elevator repairmen. If I had to guess, I think my great-grandfather hid you away so nobody would abuse you. Your kind intimidates the folks in power. That happens. I’m just guessing, mind you.”
“I understand my squad survives. When do I get to see them? When do they get thawed out?”
“Not right away, I’m afraid. There’s something called proof of concept. You keep your nose clean, and don’t hurt anyone unless I tell you to, and we’ll talk about phase two. Deal?”
“Deal.” The word sounds foreign coming out of his mouth.
“Let’s take a drive. I want you to get to know what you’re protecting. And then we’ve got to stop by the mayor’s office. I’m warning you now, Mayor Brandt takes a little getting used to. He’s fond of being in charge, so long as it doesn’t mean doing any of the dirty work himself.”
“Is he a good guy?”
“The jury’s still out on that one. Most of the time, yes. As for his Director of Communications, I’ll let you make up your own mind.”
Copyright © 2018 by Charles C. Cole
