Dead World 1, page 5
5
Situated in what used to be grasslands of Montana, the gold dome of the IPTT Headquarters rose like a hundred-and-fifty-foot-tall leviathan out of the dead prairie.
Massive concrete dormitories, which housed a thousand people each, jutted out like spokes on a bicycle wheel from a central hub.
Living quarters were broken down into sections that were divided among officers, trainees, and support staff. Fortunately for Red, officers received a spacious twenty-by-twenty private living area.
The dome protected the entire complex from the brunt of the sun and regulated the ambient temperature. Carefully cultivated plants dotted the landscape within the biosphere to give life inside the bubble a semblance of normality. Red snorted. Had they really wanted to do that, they would’ve left the place barren.
Red entered the imposing military structure via a twenty-man electro-dynamic shuttle (EDS), since her two-seater transport had been damaged in the firefight.
The initial technology for the transports had been developed in the Twentieth Century for maglev trains, which used high temperature superconductors in conjunction with magnets in order to run.
The EDS technology had been altered several times since then in order to eliminate the use of tracks and increase speed. That added boost allowed the tactical team to get anywhere on the North American continent in five hours or less. From the Republic of Arizona, it had taken three hours to reach IPTT, located in the Republic of Montana Alberta.
Three very long hours with Bannon bitching in her onboard headset the whole way. Red rolled her neck, trying to ease the tension knotting her shoulders, as she strolled out of the docking area toward the central hub. God that man loved the sound of his own voice.
Rows of stainless-steel beams, resembling silver incisors clenching a kill, marked the entrance to headquarters. The thick, sloping, lead-flaked outer glass walls appeared vaguely pyramidal in origin, but the reality was much more mundane.
The glass filtered the sun’s harsh rays while the sloped walls helped dissipate blasts from hydrogen car bombs and other projectiles.
Started at the end of the last world war—which brought about the dissolution of countries and the formation of self-governing republics—the tactical team was in its hundred and fiftieth year of existence. The agency’s main job was to curtail open aggression between areas, investigate unusual deaths, and keep the boundary secure.
At 100,000 square miles each, the republics took up seventy percent of the landmass in the world. The other thirty percent fell to No Man’s Land, a place of lawlessness and utter chaos. Those areas were so dangerous that boundary walls had been erected around them to keep the violence from spilling over.
Due to the constant threat of upheaval, each republic created its own unique computer chip, which was implanted and used to identify its citizens. People could travel freely from place to place as long they were registered with one of the republics.
If too many registered individuals from one republic crossed a border checkpoint into another, it would be considered an act of aggression and IPTT would step in, whether the republic wanted its help or not.
This didn’t make the officers popular around the world, but since the tactical team had gathered ninety percent of the weapons left over after the war, protests were kept to a minimum.
Murder, having been all but eliminated, qualified as unusual. Killing Unknowns fell into the “acceptable action” category and wasn’t considered murder because lack of registration was a criminal offense. As far as the world was concerned, Unknowns did not exist, so therefore they had no rights.
Red strode to the weapon detectors, noting the extra guards posted nearby. It wasn’t drill day, so what were they doing here? She began to disarm, crinkling her nose at the sharp lemon odor the A.I. filtration system pumped into the air to keep everyone alert.
She laid her laser pistols onto the conveyor belt first, then her malfunctioning navcom Rita. Her pencil bombs, emergency oxygen inhaler, ultrasonic whistle, throwing knives, and rib splitter came next. Red patted her pockets and utility belt to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, then stepped into the arched scanner.
A green beam shot down from above, slowly traveling the length of her body before shutting off. A machine located on the other side of the scanner displayed the results.
Red slipped Rita back on her wrist and quickly scanned the screen, before gathering her weaponry. Her vitals were on target. The only marker readings that spiked were from her bloody combat boots. She stared at the graphs that represented McCallan’s and Lisa Solomon’s DNA. Neither one had deserved to die.
She glanced down at the offending objects on her feet. She’d have the boots incinerated immediately. She wanted no trace of their deaths on her. Red didn’t want to consider what number this pair would make. Pretty soon the commander, Grandfather or not, would dock her pay.
A hatch to her right opened. Red removed her boots and dropped them inside. The unit closed with a slight hiss. A pair of sterile blue booties sprang out of a tube next to the incinerator.
She slipped them on and continued inside. Red headed to her desk, trying hard to ignore the snickers coming from her fellow team members who’d caught sight of her feet.
“Gina, your feet are not properly protected,” Rita chastised.
“I know, Mom.”
“I am not your mother. It is biologically impossible for me to have created you.”
Red rolled her eyes. “I’m aware of that.”
The console to her compunit sat atop the flat three-by-five metal table that served as her desk and workspace. A cursor blinked, reminding her that the unknown individual deceased report needed to be filled out.
Red sat down and noticed another copy of the scan, sitting on her desk. She crumpled the synth-paper in her fist and dropped the document in a recycle bin.
She tapped a finger on the keys as she considered what to write. Maybe some synth-chocolate would help her think? Red opened the drawer, pushing aside her personal items to see if she’d buried any chocolate near the bottom.
“Your body is giving off a cravings signal,” Rita said.
“It’s not a crime to need something sweet.”
“If you’re searching for the chocolate, you’ve already eaten it...along with thirty-five other bars in the past two weeks.”
“Terrific.” Nothing like a diet reminder to kill a craving, Red thought. She took one last look under her extra throwing knives just to be sure, then shoved the drawer closed.
Her comlink, which allowed anyone in the building to contact her directly without having to route the call through the old phone systems, sat on the corner of her desk where she’d accidentally left it.
Red considered ignoring the device for a while longer, but thought better of it. Wearing it inside the building was mandatory after all, and she did follow some orders, even if the team didn’t believe it. Red slipped the oval plug into her ear, then removed the navcom from her wrist.
She opened her drawer. “Rita, you need to wait here.” Red placed her inside.
“I cannot assist you if you are not wearing me,” Rita said.
Without her, Red felt naked. “You can’t assist me period, when you’re broken.” She rubbed her empty wrist.
“That is a valid point, but…”
“I’ll put in a call for repairs. Be back in a few.” Red shut the drawer, cutting off Rita’s rebuttal, then quickly typed in a repair order.
She didn’t need to put in any details, just her name. The tech team would know what it was about the second they received the request.
The comlink earpiece clicked on. She heard a deep intake of breath and knew who it was before her grandfather spoke. “I want you to come to my office immediately. We have to talk.” His clipped voice left no room for argument.
Uh-oh. Red weighed her options. She could sneak out and claim exhaustion. She was truly beat, so it wouldn’t be a total lie. She stood, eyeing the distance to the nearest exit. Maybe if she moved fast she’d make it.
“Don’t bother trying to slip away, Gina. I know you’re at your desk, and I know you can hear me.” Humor softened his tone.
The man must be psychic.
Red rested her hands on the keyboard and closed her eyes. She wasn’t prepared to discuss the case with her grandfather. He would only agree with Bannon. And she wasn’t ready to hear that right now. Not when she knew in her gut that there was something wrong with Lisa Solomon’s crime scene. She opened her mouth to excuse herself, but he cut her off.
“That’s an order, young lady.”
She groaned and blew out an exaggerated breath. The officers around her looked up and then quickly away as Red made eye contact. What did they think, that if they stared at her too long she would turn them to stone?
If she had Medusa’s power, Bannon would peeing out recycled water as the new centerpiece in the lobby.
“Right this minute!” the voice in her earpiece barked.
Red jumped to her feet. So much for putting off the inevitable.
Her footsteps whispered softly on the ancient marble floor as she hurried to her grandfather’s office. She rushed through the quarter of a mile’s worth of corridors until she reached the last one. Red rounded the corner and froze. Was that...it couldn’t be...could it?
Her gaze locked on the distinguished silver-haired man shaking Bannon’s hand. He looked like Roark Montgomery. The Roark Montgomery. Outside of her grandfather, he was the only man she considered a role model, a true hero. Her palms began to sweat, and Red couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
What was Roark doing here?
Red inched closer to get a better look. It must be important if Roark took time out of his busy campaign schedule to drop into IPTT.
She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and rubbed her moist palms on her pants. Red didn’t want him to know that she was nervous. It wasn’t every day you encountered a living legend.
One of the best marksmen to ever grace the halls of the tactical team, Roark had single-handedly changed the training system so its members could become the most elite team in the world. His accuracy record remained unbroken, though many had tried over the years to beat it, including her.
A terrific speaker with charisma enough for ten men, Roark had parlayed that success, using his strength and natural leadership, to move into politics. Rumor had it that he was trying to unite the republics. He wanted to form one nation.
If anyone could do it, Red thought, it would be him.
His silver head dipped toward Bannon, as the men shared a private joke. The laugh he expelled rumbled like a sonic boom of pure energy, attracting everyone within earshot.
Roark certainly had her vote.
Red took a deep breath, then continued down the hall. The two men hadn’t noticed her yet, so she slowed her steps, not wanting to miss the opportunity to meet her idol.
“You have my support.” Bannon released the politician’s hand, then glanced at Red and scowled.
He indicated for her to move on.
Red ignored him.
“I appreciate it, lieutenant,” Roark said. “The continuation of the tactical team is a top priority for me. I won’t forget you when I unite the republics. I can always use a man like you on my security detail.”
“Thank you, sir.” Bannon grinned in anticipation. “It would be my honor.”
Envy wound its way into her. She wanted to be the one who’d caught Roark’s attention. She wanted the chance to work at his side.
Roark looked at her and smiled. “Lieutenant,” he said in greeting, before his gaze dropped to her feet. “Nice booties.”
Red’s confidence crumbled and heat infused her face. In her excitement, she’d forgotten all about her missing boots. So much for making a good impression. It was the perfect end to her otherwise crap day.
“Thank you, sir,” she said in a small voice, then continued on without another word, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her.
6
A set of wooden doors marked the end of the hall. Her grandfather often spoke of how prevalent wood was back in the old days, before the thinning ozone coupled with the last war annihilated all the forests and the oxygen generating machines became a necessity.
She ran her hand over the smooth surface. What had the planet looked like covered with trees? Red closed her eyes and tried to imagine. All that lovely green must have been a remarkable sight.
The Earth she’d grown up with had more in common with its cousin Mars. No wonder she occasionally saw sadness lurking in her grandfather’s eyes. He missed the blue-green world.
Red straightened the front of her black uniform, then raised her hand to knock on the door. A camera popped out of the wood in front of her face before she made contact and scanned her retina.
“Come in, Gina.”
The door swung open with a barely audible swish. The harsh lemon-scented air fell away, unable to cling to her as Red stepped into the spacious Old World room. She glanced around the commander’s office, admiring the holographs of long extinct animals lining the walls.
So many colors. So many species. Such a waste.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves held volumes of rare works, tomes made of paper and bindings. Nothing like the e-books she grew up reading. Red loved the smell of this room. Modern, yet ancient in origin. It was like a living, breathing extension of her grandfather.
Commander Robert Santiago sat behind a large maple desk, his white head buried in the synthetic documents clenched in his hands. He inhaled and his chest widened.
Red watched, smiling to herself. The man gave the best hugs. Not that he was free with his affection while on duty. Quite the contrary.
He regarded her as he regarded any other tactical team member. If anything, he held Red to a higher standard than the others.
She stared at his face. A mole the color of his alabaster skin dotted his right cheek, giving him a perpetual tilt to his mouth. When he laughed, the contagious sound electrified the air. You couldn’t help but join in. Red would carry that joyful sound with her forever.
He looked up as she strolled closer. His sharp gaze strayed to her wrist. “Where’s Rita?” he asked.
Red shrugged. “I left her in my drawer.”
“Why?” he asked.
“She’s currently malfunctioning.”
“Again?” He arched a snowy brow. “When are you going to get a new A.I. unit? You’ve had that one for nearly twenty years.”
Red stiffened. “I like Rita. She’ll be fine after a few minor repairs.” Or at least Red hoped she would.
“Sometimes I wonder if that navcom knows you better than I do.” His eyes warmed with affection. “Anything else you’d like to report?”
“No, sir.” Red knew she wasn’t going to get away with that answer.
He frowned as he glanced at her blue bootie-covered feet. “Where are your boots?”
Red fidgeted.
“Gina, not again. Do you know how many pairs this makes?”
She shook her head. Rita would know the answer. In this instance, Red was glad that she wasn’t here.
“I’m going to have to dock your pay if you keep this up. Next time, try getting them sanitized. They’ll be like new,” he said. “I promise.”
They wouldn’t. No matter how many times the boots were cleaned, Red could still “see” the blood. On a few occasions, she’d swear she could even smell it. It was a ridiculous notion, but impossible to disregard.
She pointed at the door to change the subject. “I passed Roark Montgomery in the hall. How long has he been here?”
His expression soured. “Long enough.”
“What did he want?” she asked.
“IPTT’s support,” he said. “Like every other politician running for office.”
“He’s better than most.” Red smiled. “At least he supports the continuation of the tactical team. That’s more than I can say for the other guys.”
The commander ran a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled. “Yes, he certainly backs our job. No surprises there seeing as though he used to be one of us, but I still couldn’t in good conscience endorse him.” He avoided her gaze after he dropped that bombshell.
“What? Why? Roark is trying to unite everyone.”
Robert shook his head. “Not everyone.”
“How can you say that?” she asked. “He’s the best thing that’s come out of the republics in years. Surely you can see that.” Her grandfather’s stance didn’t make sense. Roark stood for everything the tactical team believed in.
“I’m well aware of his impressive credentials.” Robert Santiago straightened the papers in front of him. “But I have my reasons.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You know the tactical team’s backing would practically ensure his victory. How can you withhold that? The other guys want to shut us down and leave law enforcement solely to the republics. It would be chaos.”
“We’re done talking about this, lieutenant. You won’t change my mind.”
“B-b-but?” Red sputtered.
“That’s an order,” he said.
Red debated whether to argue, but then caught sight of his expression. Gone was her grandfather, in his place sat the commander.
“Yes, sir,” she said, biting her tongue.
He dropped all but one of the synth papers he held onto his desk. “I’ve been reading Bannon’s UID report. His account seems to differ from yours.”
“My account of what? I haven’t finished my report yet.” She shifted. “Besides, we both know that Bannon is prone to exaggeration.”
“As I recall, the same could be said about you.” His gaze grew distant. “I remember when you were five and were convinced that a dragon lived under your rest pad. I told you I would slay it. Your little lip trembled as you stopped me and said you’d take care of it yourself.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”
