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 9: Does That Mean Armageddon Is Officially Here?
Nakamura escorts Wayne into City Ops. Most of the many, many monitors around the room are working. Wayne is both revolted at and enthralled by all of the activity before her.
“Wow! I’ll bet you know everyone’s dirty little secrets.”
“No audio, remember?”
“Who needs audio?”
“Good point.” Wayne immediately notices the ceiling-mounted flashing red light in the corner of the room. “Are we being recorded? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Relax. It’s just for looks. I call it my Pelkey Repellant. Don’t ask.” Relenting. “Let’s just say some people are watchers and some people are doers. And I don’t think doers should also be watchers; it’s a conflict of interest.”
“How do you know what to focus on?”
“Most days certain cameras are more active than others. Right this way to tonight’s main event.”
“I feel like I should have brought popcorn.”
Nakamura grabs Wayne’s hand and pulls her along. “Time’s a-wasting, girlfriend. The boys are getting sweaty!”
They settle down in front of an 18-inch monitor displaying a black-and-white image of the high school gymnasium.
“You probably wanted color,” Nakamura apologizes.
“This is happening right now?”
“Yep.”
“And they don’t know we’re watching?”
“Nope. Well, the chief probably knows. You can tell because he looks up at the camera and smiles sometimes.”
Cody has changed into gray sweatclothes. He is clearly in his element. Two officers approach him from behind, and he takes them down to the wrestling mats with a few well-delivered swings.
“Who’s the new guy?” asks Nakamura, leaning in closer, interested. “He’s good!”
“That’s my secret.”
“Let me guess: you made him in the lab.”
“What’s the point of all your intrusive cameras if you’re not watching when I’m doing the really cool stuff?”
“‘I’m boring.’ Your words.”
Wayne places her open palm over the monitor, effectively interrupting their programming. “Have you ever watched me? I’ve got to know.”
How honest should I be? “Once or twice. There wasn’t much to see; you keep the lights so damn low.”
“I have light where I need light.”
“Anyway, I cheered and encouraged, but you didn’t have any idea.”
“Don’t do it again!”
“I hear you.”
“I mean it, Lucy.”
“Okay. Unless I get specific orders. Now move your hand.”
“Lucy!”
“Which I will probably never get. Move your hand.”
Wayne does. Once again their attention is drawn to the nearest monitor as Cody manages to get a nightstick away from Petrillo and use it against him.
“That’s got to hurt,” says Wayne. “Now we’re even, tough guy.”
“Petrillo? What did he do to you?”
“Let’s just say, you’ve got Pelkey and I’ve got Petrillo. My office is my office, not a movie theater. Enough said.”
“So, let’s get back to the subject at hand: tell me about the new kid.”
“Nothing much to tell.” Enjoying the attention, Wayne stands, stretches, acting completely unimpressed. “Just a professional soldier from another time who I successfully thawed from his cryogenics tube, based on a combination of good guesswork and brilliant deductions.”
“That’s amazing!” Nakamura is thinking about the man, not the science.
“It is, isn’t it?” Wayne is thinking about the science, not the man.
“So, what’s his name?”
“Sgt. Jefferson ‘Jeb’ Cody. You didn’t hear it from me, but the chief knew all about him. Was saving him for Armageddon or something.”
“Does that mean Armageddon is officially here?”
“I hope not.”
Wincing at the scuffle on the screen, “Petrillo’s going to be sore tomorrow,” says Nakamura.
“That’s what happens when you get too big for your britches.” Wayne and Nakamura giggle at the unexpectedly off-color remark.
“Hey,” Nakamura wonders aloud, “if this guy Cody’s new around here, then he doesn’t know the rules.”
“What rules?”
“The ones that kept us off the force and shoved us into boring desk jobs.”
“I didn’t say my job was boring,” says Wayne.
“I want to learn to kick butt. They could use the extra help. What about you?”
“From him? He hurts people. For a living. Which means he’s good at it.”
“But he owes you! You brought him into the future. Nobody else could have done that. He’d be a human popsicle long past his expiration date if it wasn’t for you.”
“Do you think the chief would allow it?” asks Wayne.
“Why do we have to tell him?”
“Because he’s the chief.”
“Do you tell him everything?”
“Do you tell the mayor everything?” Wayne and Nakamura laugh again, harder.
“Where’s he staying?” asks Nakamura.
“With the chief, of course, though I offered.”
“So... you offered?! When the chief goes to work, we’ll go to work.”
“How do I break up the band? They’ve been more or less tethered all day. I don’t see why tomorrow would be any different.”
“Think like a medic for a minute. Tell the chief you need to do some bloodwork, some follow-up, to make sure Sergeant Cody’s body is acclimating to the station after lying on his back for a couple of generations.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” acknowledges Wayne, “especially after tonight’s rough-and-tumble workout. I’m getting tired just watching.”
They stare at the monitor.
Wayne sighs, “Life just got interesting.”
“And nobody else had to die. I approve.”
* * *
Chief Schiavelli and Sergeant Cody enter the chief’s bachelor pad, a two-bedroom apartment. The place is small, humble. Dirty breakfast plates still sit on the dining room table. Presumably, the unfinished food was returned to the refrigerator.
The chief apologizes. “Must have been the maid’s day off.”
Cody is worn out and unable to notice, or at least care.
“You did good tonight, soldier,” says Schiavelli. “Glad Lois could find some sweats for you. Hate to see you smudge your dress whites during playtime.”
“Permission to collapse on your sofa, sir?”
“Absolutely! Collapse at will.” The chief manages a now-familiar command. “At ease, soldier!”
Cody collapses. Through closed eyes, he smiles. “You know it doesn’t mean ‘relax’, right?”
“Close enough for a dilettante like me. How do you feel, Sleeping Beauty?”
“Like Rip Van Winkle. It feels good to be able to share what I know, what I was trained for.”
“With the added benefit — just my perspective — that you didn’t have to assassinate anybody.”
“I was saving that for the second class, after their guards are down.” He’s joking.
Schiavelli moves the dirty dishes to the sink in the kitchen. “Do you think we should have covered your face? There was a lot of staring. They’re not used to new people who show up out of nowhere.”
“Only Ninjas cover their faces, but I’ve been known to use black face-paint for night missions. If you learn to control your breathing, you can get close enough to shove the knife right into their—”
“I don’t need to know.”
“Did you ever kill anyone, sir, in the line of duty, if I may ask?”
Schiavelli joins his guest in the cozy living room. He sits down heavily, the weight of his little world always on his shoulders. “Never. Remember, these are our friends, most of them. Maybe not close friends. The worst crime around here is probably vandalism: kids get bored, you catch them, make them paint over their handiwork.
“Or maybe there’s a crime of passion. The husband or wife got caught doing something they already regret. I’ve seen a slap or two in the heat of the moment. But, eventually, we talk them down, redirect their energies, and start them on a path of reconciliation.
“When the world is as small as ours, you can’t hide in a corner and sulk. First of all, there are no corners on a floating tin can. Second, this isn’t a penal colony; we don’t even have a prison. If I started locking away everybody who ever broke the law, then who would power those engines of enterprise you asked about? The turbines and giant gears that grind and groan around the clock still need human intervention.”
Cody is breathing deeply, rhythmically.
“You still with me?”
Cody doesn’t answer.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, son.” Schiavelli stands, reaches for the light switch.
“Sir, when can I see my men?” Cody is suddenly awake, but he hardly seems alert.
Giving him a noncommittal answer and hoping he’ll fall back to sleep promptly: “Let’s give it a few days.”
“Proof of concept?”
“Right. In the morning, if I wake up and you haven’t killed me in my sleep—”
“I give you my word.”
“Now there’s an interesting conundrum. You understand ‘I give you my word.’ means ‘I stake my reputation.’ And, in your case, your reputation is to kill people. So, if you don’t kill me, then you risk your reputation, but if you do kill me, you’ve broken your word.”
“I promise not to kill you.”
“If I’m still alive in the morning, then I guess we can trust you.”
“Then Phase Two?”
“That’s the idea. But look, don’t touch. You’ve got to promise. I’ll show you your men, under the terms we discussed, but there’s no way the mayor is going to be ready for a team of super-soldiers running around town intimidating the city folk. We live in virtual peace and prosperity.”
“Is that Phase Three?”
“Sure.”
“Sir, why did you wake me if you live in peace and prosperity?”
“I don’t have an answer for that right now. Get some rest. I imagine mornings can come pretty fast when you’re accustomed to century-long catnaps.”
Copyright © 2018 by Charles C. Cole
