Chapter 7: Chase
“Lieutenant Vaslor, I’d like you to meet my daughter.” My dad directed my attention to a tall man in a blue uniform. His face was kind and younger than my dad’s. He had a rugged handsomeness, with a strong jaw and deep blue eyes. The only flaw was a scar on the right corner of his forehead. If Lacey was here, I’m sure she would have made some comment about his good looks.
“Hi, I’m Pene. I really appreciate you letting me come here to see the Justice Building. I have a whole list of questions from school I’m hoping to ask.” I smiled up at him. He motioned for me and dad to follow behind. He had a disciplined walk, and we matched his steps.
“Well Pene, you’re getting a rare glimpse today. We don’t normally give tours, but your father is such a stand-up guy, I was happy to oblige. My only problem is my time is extremely limited. We’ll have to walk and talk.” We traveled down a long hallway, passing several people. Some looked like the lieutenant, officers in uniforms with low black stripes down their legs. Others wore lab coats, probably technicians or investigators examining crime scenes. Still others looked casual, in t-shirts and jeans. One guy looked like he was reprogramming a tablet. A man and woman in suits walked by, likely lawyers like my dad.
“So how do you know when a crime has been committed?” I asked. A door opened to the right and he directed us to follow. I turned a corner and stopped dead in my tracks, looking up at the biggest room I had ever seen. It was several times bigger than a football field. There were banks and banks of cameras, thousands mounted in the walls, thousands more floating in the air. There were hundreds of stations — men and women sat in front of clumps of cameras, examining hundreds of scenes. We walked over to one particular station, and I could see a camera looking down on the street as dozens of people milled below.
“Welcome to the nerve center,” began the lieutenant, “where no crime goes unrecorded.” Another camera was at street level, where people walked by without seeming to notice it. A third camera was moving past a window as a family were making their supper.
“How do you find a crime amongst all of these cameras? There’s so much noise.” I pointed high up the wall. It felt like sensory overload, and I imagined that I would go insane trying to sift through so much information. Vaslor motioned to one of techs assessing the monitors.
“Simpson, show us how you review your data.” A skinny tech guy with long black hair motioned to a computer. He flicked his hand down and moved several computer screens to the right so he could focus on two cameras angles on his center view.
“The cameras and drones record terabytes of video every second.” The technician turned to look at me and my father. “There is too much information for us to review it all so the computers run scripts listening to keywords, analyzing facial expressions, looking for weapons and so on. Anything that is remotely considered threatening is tagged by the computer.” He scrubbed through the screen and brought up one of two camera screens he had saved.
A group of teenage boys was walking down an alley. It looked like the back of a schoolyard. Three of them stood in front of a camera while the fourth looked like he was spray-painting graffiti on the wall.
“Simpson, can you send in a nearby drone to that location?” Vaslor pointed to the computer.
“Affirmative.” He tapped a key and an icon of a drone bird flashed on the screen. It was flying above the school and zeroed in on the location of the boys. Its bird’s-eye view crossed a football field and then looked down on the boys in between two school buildings. The fourth boy was tagging the wall with some type of signature. It was hard to make out from the angle but the other three were looking around as if making sure no one could see them. Suddenly one of them looked skyward.
“Drone!” he yelled and pointed. The three boys scattered while the graffiti artist froze in place. The drone came up to his head as he tried to cover his face.
“Come on. Smile for the camera. We can wait all day,” laughed Vaslor. The boy uncovered his face, as if he could hear. His face was crestfallen when he saw the bird hovering in place, a few feet away. He turned and ran towards his friends.
“Transmit the image and send it to the principal of the school. The kids will be disciplined. This was a pretty small-time crime.” Vaslor turned to my dad. “Now, your father handles a lot of the serious cases, usually theft over $10,000, fraud and robberies. Once we give him the footage, he always gets his man.”
“Or woman,” my dad answered, looking at me. “Crime knows no gender.”
“Dad, have you ever tried a murder case?”
“No, dear, above my pay grade. Maybe someday.”
“As long as my team provides the proof, your dad can bring any criminal to justice,” Vaslor bragged. I looked at the dozens of cameras, eyes on the city. As I watched, I noticed a common theme. I raised my hand like an obedient schoolgirl.
“Lieutenant, when a criminal is captured, is it always the drones that go after him?” Vaslor looked thoughtful and sat down in an adjoining chair.
“Good question — wasn’t that long ago that I was in the field.” He motioned to me to sit down next to him. “When all of our cameras were stationary, detachments were stationed around the city to respond to crimes as they were recorded. I used to be attached to the western precinct about five years ago. When footage for a crime was relayed to us, we’d play a game of follow the crook. Depending on how quick we got the call after the crime was committed, we had a success rate of about 70%.”
“Why not 100%?” I asked. My dad gave me a funny look as if I was commenting on Vaslor’s ability.
“A number of reasons, actually. Remember that cameras were not on every corner; there were a lot of dead zones where someone could hide from a security cam. Public areas were always covered, but inside hospitals, offices, washrooms etc., some measure of privacy is expected.”
“A criminal could just duck into these areas and you would lose the trail?”
“Sometimes. If we didn’t get good video footage, the criminal could travel through one of the dead zone areas and change direction or appearance. By the time we figured it out, they would be gone. Now, with the addition of the drones, it’s a lot harder for a criminal to disappear. These machines are faster and never tire. They stick to you.”
“Like gum on your shoe,” my dad felt the need to add.
“So when did you let the drones start pursuing the criminals as well? Was it too dangerous for you?” I asked.
“What my charming daughter is asking,” my dad gave me a look, “is when did it become more efficient to have the drones pursue the criminals?”
Vaslor smiled as if he had answered the question many times before. “There is an element of danger to law enforcement — there is always a risk when we pursue a runner. But what people forget is that there is also a risk to the criminal because since he wants to escape, sometimes he’ll do things that won’t only endanger us but could also hurt bystanders as well.”
“Like a car chase?” I offered.
“Exactly! The collateral damage is not worth the criminals’ capture if innocent people are hurt in the chase. But what if you could let the criminal run for as long as he wanted, like a fish on a hook? Watching his every move, every decision. Watch the desperation drain out of his body, turn into fear, exhaustion and then acceptance. Then the drones are just clean up, once criminals see them, they are resigned to their fate. There is no struggle, no innocents are hurt, just acceptance.”
I thought about Lou’s denial and escape — I saw no acceptance for his supposed crime.
“Makes a lot of sense. Must have changed your role a lot. Instead of being on the ground, you have to watch the chase unfold.”
“I prefer the term ‘directed’. The drones have to be moved like chess pieces on a board. I take a lot of pride from the fact that my team always get its man and no one gets hurt.”
“Better yet, the footage enables me to present to the courts actual evidence of the crime,” my dad chimed in, proud of the process.
“Well, just don’t forget who does all the heavy lifting.” Vaslor nodded. “You must be near to 100% with the evidence my team provides.”
“Well, 99% to be exact — even your drones have a glitch now and then,” Dad replied.
A glitch. Glad to hear the drones aren’t perfect, although falsifying footage is no glitch. Someone here in this warehouse must have doctored Lou’s footage. But who and why?
“Lieutenant?” I looked up into his blue eyes. “Where are the drones stored? Are they in an adjoining warehouse?” He looked at my dad with a smug grin.
“That’s classified information, young lady. We could get into trouble just discussing where they’re housed.” Simpson gave him a look as if he was enjoying an inside joke. Vaslor leaned in closer, as if to whisper a response. “The fact is, we don’t know where they are stored. That information would reside with the Judges.” Even my dad looked surprised.
“Really — how do you manage your assets if you don’t know where the drones come from?” Dad asked. Vaslor nodded to Simpson, who typed in several commands. A schematic of the city came up, with thousands of flashing dots representing all types of drones.
“Think of the city as a living, breathing chess board. On every street, a pawn is watching, awaiting instructions. Depending on where the crime takes place, those drones closest to the scene are used first. If there is more than one criminal involved, going in several directions,” Simpson waved his hand over several dots, “then more drones are put in play.”
“But where do the drones go for repairs? Where are new ones built?” I asked. Before he could answer, a siren blared. I cupped my hands over my ears. The sound died down immediately.
“We have got a runner! Sector five — south end of the city!” Simpson pointed at a screen that was flashing red.
“Enlarge image,” Vaslor commanded. The camera screen grew ten times larger, taking up most of the wall. A man was rushing through a crowd of people. The camera cut several times as it tried to predict his direction. I began to get motion sickness from the jerkiness of the camera jumps.
“Are we allowed to be watching this?” I asked.
“Here.” Vaslor handed me an eyewear apparatus with a similar setup as the re-enactment equipment. “Don’t interrupt us until the criminal is captured.”
“Okay.” I slipped it over my head and suddenly my view changed and I was no longer in the Justice Building. I looked down at a sidewalk. Just like the re-enactment simulation, I became immersed into the environment as I became a drone bystander watching the chase enfold. The man ran by, knocking into the person behind me. The runner barely glanced at me but in the second I looked at him, I could see fear etched on his face. A drone dog galloped past me, chasing the man. I pursued.
The drone dog was rapidly gaining ground, but fortunately for the man, the street was full and he dodged around people, creating obstacles that prevented the dog from using its full speed. A bus came to a stop on the street and the runner jumped inside, with the doors closing behind him. The dog leaped at the entrance, trying to get in, but the automated driver seemed more interested in keeping its schedule and pulled out back onto traffic.
“Simpson, call transit authority and have them shut down bus 318,” Vaslor’s voice crackled over my headpiece. “Radio to other drones in the area to converge. The only drone powerful enough to bring suspect down is a K9. Sentry drones are observing the scene.” The disembodied voice sounded strange as the bus rumbled by. The dog circled the bus, leaping occasionally at the windows, alarming the passengers. The runner might have been safe for the moment but I had the feeling that the dog was going to jump into the bus at the next stop. I ran to catch up as the bus came to an abrupt stop. The power had been cut.
The top hatch on the roof popped open and the runner climbed up. The dog jumped at the bus but despite its augmented limbs, it couldn’t leap on top of the vehicle. The man pulled himself up and stood on the roof. He looked towards a storefront and jumped onto the overhang. But instead of climbing into an open window, he jumped several buildings towards an apartment building, smashing into a second-floor window. Why would he pick such an awkward entrance?
I stopped and looked around. People barely watched the runner go through the glass window. It was as if they felt safer ignoring him. Everyone avoided him so they wouldn’t risk guilt by association. It was assumed that anyone chased by a drone had committed the crime. I looked at my reflection in the window of the bus.
My red drone eyes glimmered. My body was small and bug-shaped, some type of flying beetle. I almost wanted to reach out and swat myself. It was like having an out-of-body experience but being repulsed by my appearance. I tilted my head to the right and my antenna flicked towards the bus. I desperately wanted to follow the runner. Suddenly my body floated up, as if my brain was controlling the bug’s actions. I flew into the window and turned suddenly around a wall. The motion was a bit jarring and I felt sick.
There was broken glass and what looked like a drop of blood. My hearing felt extra sensitive and I thought I could hear noise on the landing above. I flew down the hall, where apartment numbers adorned the doors. People start coming out, attracted by the commotion, and I narrowly missed flying into a mother’s apron. I flew on and came to a fire door, metal and heavy, too much for my form to push open. I looked around for another entry upstairs. My head turned back to the door and a red flash came from my eyes.
The glass melted from the lasers in my eyes and smoke billowed from the dripping beads of glass. I flew through the gap, careful that my wings did not touch the molten glass. I heard running on the stairs and flew up quickly, barely making it upstairs before the fire door closed to the top floor. The pandemonium from downstairs had ceased while the top floor was silent. Its layout was different from below; the whole floor was open concept, with few walls and lots of windows looking down below. A fitness area was to the right, with lockers and a change area. To the left was hallway that opened into a rec room with television, couches and small kitchen. I navigated around some balloons hanging down from the ceiling from someone’s birthday.
A tinny galloping sound echoed from behind and I turned to make out a familiar silhouette. Where have I seen that before? As I flew after it, a tiny piece of paper floated to the ground. My eyes instinctively looked at the writing. It was a bunch of nonsense words that didn’t make sense. I wasn’t sure if this was a password, combination or a serial number. Either way, it meant nothing to me. As I decided to pursue the direction of the galloping, the sound of a chair moving came from behind me. As I turned to look at it, my red eyes looked up into the bottom of a foot as it crushed me into the floor. A flick of static and then my camera went black. I took off my glasses.
“Good job, Pene. You’re a natural hunter,” remarked Vaslor. “Don’t worry about the runner, he’s trapped in the building. Other drones are on their way now.” He turned to the bank of monitors. Dad tapped me on the shoulder.
“Let’s go. Vaslor and his team need to finish their capture.” I waved my thanks as Vaslor was yelling additional orders to Simpson. On a screen, the man who was being chased was backing into a corner as several drones inched closer. He would not be getting away.
As we walked out of the Justice Center, the shadow’s shape became clear to me. I knew where I had seen it before. I have to find Austin!