Chapter 2
From the seedy depths of City Central, our shift always ended back at the squad room. It was like flicking on a light switch in a dark room; waking to the familiar and comfortable from a restless, anxiety filled sleep. The precinct occupied the bottom three floors of one the densely-packed sections of skyscrapers. Throughout the city, scrapers pushed up towards the dome--mostly residential--with our police station jammed in between. There was always a lot going on in City Central, but outside the precinct was usually deserted, except for the cops coming in and out--sometimes with unhappy guests.
Approaching from the street, the precinct was distinct. The outside of the main floor was like a cut out; covered with a one inch thick bulletproof, laser proof, spit proof plexiglass. Everyone could see in, but it was impenetrable. At the same time as Andy and I, Martina Lever and Doug Lloyd were coming in from their nightly shift. The three of them passed in front of me. Andy was the tallest and most imposing figure among us. He struck a cop poster boy image. Martina too, was strong and athletic; her sometimes serious look did not diminish her attractiveness. She had a strong aura around her. She had fewer issues on the streets than a lot of female cops. Doug was smaller and always slouched a little bit, appearing timid and out of place. Like Andy and Martina, I too, took a strong interest in my physical conditioning. Despite being a little smaller than Andy--maybe I was the poster boy more than him. We passed from the street into the precinct's glass entrance. There was a security checkpoint just as you walked in. We all waved our identity passes in front of the laser interface, I heard three approving beeps as Martina, Doug, and Andy passed in front of me. A hologram of our personal record appeared for the career cop guarding the entrance. Old Sergeant Waverly's glazed eyes didn’t seem to register anything. He knew all of us and just grunted a tired “hello” as we passed.
I swiped my card, and I heard the familiar beep. My name, Tyler Jonz, and my record details appeared in front of the Sergeant's glazed eyes. I tried not to laugh.
“What was your night like guys?” Doug asked.
“Same crap as usual, Dougie boy!” Andy answered.
Doug frowned. “Just asking.”
“Jonz shouldn’t be a cop. He should be a social worker.”
“Oh no, here he goes again,” I groaned. We walked past the open precinct; many cops doing their paperwork--some arguing with captured criminals.
"Welcome back to Hell Central," one cop sarcastically said to us. He was stuck listening to a particularly upset detainee. At the back of the open precinct was a hallway that took us to the cop's lockers; rows of narrow, metal containers-- rows of benches in front. It was the end of night shift and there were already many cops in there changing.
“Tonight he was heartbroken over a little prostitute with cute eyes. I thought he was gonna take her home and give her a bowl of soup. He’s too soft for the job man.” Andy fell heavily onto the bench in front of his locker.
Martina laughed. “You two are worse than a married couple; it must be all the sexual tension. Maybe you two should just consummate the relationship and get it over with.”
“I’m sure I'd go to Earth and get some mutant nuclear fallout woman that would be much more appealing than this guy” I said.
“Don’t be so sure Jonz. Those mutant women got standards too you know” Andy replied. “Mind you, you could probably get one of those City Central night stalkers, right Jonz? Just like the one tonight. Why do ya waste your time crying for every whore on the streets?”
“Look, I can’t help--” I stopped myself.
Martina stood up between us and clapped her hands. “That’s good enough girls. Jonz, you’re a social worker, and Stoneman, you’re a caveman. It’s settled now. Let's get changed and go for a beer and forget the night.” She grabbed her clothes out of her locker and went to one of the changing rooms, muttering: "we should have our own changing room--away from you perverts--to hell with this team spirit crap".
“Sounds good to me!” Doug said, more interested in her plans for the night than her comment about women's changing rooms.
“Beer’s always good,” Andy said.
“Sorry guys, I’m too tired. I need to crash,” I said.
“Come on Jonz, don’t be sad, we all love you,” Andy said.
I looked at him in surprise. I knew he was being sarcastic, but it was still surprisingly affectionate for a caveman, much better than the usual verbal club to the head that I got.
“Like I said guys, I’m really tired.”
Martina wandered back to slap me on the back. “That’s okay, I’m sure you’ll get a real good chance to relax tomorrow on your day off, training with your dad.”
They all laughed. I grinned.
When Martina came back from changing, the others were already ready and Andy chided her:
"Always waitin' for the female."
"Get used to it Stoneman," she said, "it'll only get worse when you're an old married man--that's if you can find anybody to settle for you. Jonz, you sure you won't join us?"
"Naw, like you said, gotta get up early for my relaxing day off."
"Daddy's little whipping boy," Andy said.
I smiled. I was just happy the day was over, but Andy was right. I couldn't get that girl out of my mind--not that I would ever admit that to him.
"See ya later, alligator," Andy said as they left. The three headed out without me.
I sat in the squad room a few more minutes and then headed down to the Personal Transport Pod system under the city. The PTP access stairwell out front of the station was more or less deserted when I finally got myself in gear and went out.
At one of the cross streets nearby, there was a clear booth. When you walked into it, you immediately dropped down to one of the underground PTP access rooms. The room was small and simple; if there was a line up of people they'd usually wait up on the street--only two or three down at the same time. Through the room ran a clear tube which was part of the transport system. Beside an opening in the tube was a pod, ready to be shot in the tube. The traffic and integration of the new pod was controlled by the PTP information system. As soon as one pod was occupied and the travel coordinates were set; the pod shot into the system and another popped up from underneath for the next traveler.
When I was strapped into my pod, the holographic interface popped up, inquiring about my destination. There was a map of the city and the network of tubes underneath it. All the stations were mapped out.
The Space Station underneath the domed city was a large flat utilitarian shape. Within it were the infrastructures for climate control and warehouses for food and other essential storage. The Domed City was built on top of the main Space Station. It was where all the average citizens lived and worked. Underneath in the Space Station, access was usually reserved for military and governmental personnel; or others who had a specific function to gain access to the main Space Station. The main population stayed in the Domed City; many never travelling below to the Space Station. If average citizens did travel, it was on the shuttle to Earth; to manufacturing or farming jobs in the tunnels underneath the Earth base.
Within the PTP system, the different lines had different colours, and at the bottom of the map, was a short black line with only one destination marked—Station Entrance. In italics underneath, it stated: Authorized Personnel Only.
I tapped on that destination and my personal pod was quickly sucked into the web of tubes. Different pods went by and over me in different directions, making a soft whooshing sound as they passed. At this time of the morning, I was traveling against the rush as I headed to the space station entrance; so I dropped down below the city with no one in front of me.
As I got out of my PTP, the soldiers at the main space station entrance didn’t even get up to check my credentials. I suppose I couldn’t blame them. T he system wouldn’t let me through the main steel sliding door without a positive ID check. I did get my positive check, and the doors glided open soundlessly. Before me lay two long round hallways each leading towards different halves of the space station. I went to the left and started the long walk towards the end of the hall--towards my apartment.
Even though the shiny metal, perfectly lit hallways of the space station were cold and lifeless compared to the domed city above, the portholes provided clear and breathtaking views of space outside. A view like that was normally reserved for the rich and privileged in the city. City Central dwellers had to almost bend over backwards to get a view of space and stars high above their heads, above the scrapers. My head always turned to stare out the long line of portholes as I walked towards my place. On my right were the combines in the climate control warehouse for the city above. The rumble and metallic clicking of my work boots on the metal grid walk path always hypnotized me as I passed here.
My apartment was located just before the maximum-security section of the space station at the end of the hallway. Past this point was a restricted area, reserved for government and military officials with top level security clearance.
People like my father.
I didn’t want to live down there, but free rent was certainly nothing to be scoffed at. My father arranged it and I guess it was an easy commute now that I had more and more military training down in the space station. All the military gymnasiums, fields, and classrooms were down there. It didn’t have much atmosphere, but it was functional and practical for the needs of my life, my planned career. Inside the apartment, it was much like a tiny army barracks. I had bunk beds despite the fact I lived there alone. It would not win any interior design competitions. Clothes and food containers were everywhere.
I had a thirst quenching glass of juice from the healthy selection in my fridge. I sighed as I kicked off my boots and removed my clothes while lying on the bed, staring out my tiny porthole.
As I stared at the stars, thoughts drifted back to my childhood as an only child. These memories sometimes felt like they were from another lifetime, slivers of comforting life memories placed there to make sense of a more stressful, driven present. Those memories enveloped me, reassured me, took me away from this metallic, cold space station and brought me to the root of what makes a human content, to the happy family I was raised in; my loving mother, my dad, and me--an only child. I missed my mom terribly, gone so young; but like a warm blanket, I was comforted by the memories. They lulled me to sleep behind the constant din of the climate control system's turbines.
**
“You’re late,” Brad Jonz barked as I walked into the gym. My father was taller than me. His short grey hair was always freshly trimmed. He was in the same shape as me or any of the young, athletic recruits. The only time I saw him out of uniform was in the gym; and he was still in the official military sweats..
“Sorry Dad,” I sighed. “I need to rest some time, you know.’
“That’s enough soldier, I don’t want excuses.”
Compared to the densely packed city streets that I patrolled above, the gym was huge and open--especially when I trained alone with my dad. It could hold hundreds of soldiers and they'd still have room to work out. The ceiling was three stories high and it stretched across a hundred metres each way--my dad's voice would resonate throughout the large empty gym as he barked out orders:
“When you come here, you come with a military attitude. I want to see some sharpness in your senses. I want you to be ready for the challenge.” His conditioned physique flexed as he made his point. “Discipline is the key. Do you think terrorists are going to care if you’re tired in a battle? You have to keep these signs of weakness out of your mind. Look at your physique, it is perfect. You are a fighting machine soldier, but you need to condition your mind.”
He made a slow, deliberate motion of pointing his finger forcefully towards his head. “That is what you have to work on. Now let’s warm up. Ten minutes of light running and then we stretch.” He slapped his hand on the running machine beside him. I looked in his hard, steel blue eyes. His uncompromising gaze stared right through me. I jumped on the running machine and heightened the preset pace which my father had programmed. He laid out a satisfied guffaw and put his hands on his side. I glanced sideways and saw his look soften.
**
Walking up to street level from the PTP system underground, downtown seemed especially lively for a Sunday night. There was always a lot of activity, but the air had an extra charge of electricity. I scanned the clubs for my friends and found them in Martina’s favourite dance club. It was a popular place but not extremely large. They had funky clear glass pillars filled with water and lit from underneath. It was one of the many visual effects that set the tone. Poor Doug looked like a fish out of water, leaning against the bar, trying to look cool. When he was in an environment like this, he got clumsier than ever; usually spilling one or two drinks a night. Whenever he approached a girl, it did not go over so well. Like his military uniform, his civilian clothes always seemed a little ill-fitting. The look he gave was an attempt at aloof coolness, but it looked more like constipation. I came up from behind and knocked his leaning arm off the bar, jostling him off balance and slightly spilling his drink on his fancy new duds.
“Aw man” he said, “watch what you’re doing!”
“Sorry dude, you can’t go into a bar and not expect some spilt alcohol on you.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He dabbed at the stain on his shirt.
I spotted Martina. She was on the dance floor. She was in her full glory moving rhythmically to those electronic dance tunes. Watching her, she almost made that music sound good. She cleaned up very nicely for a cop. I laughed to myself. I felt sorry for any lout who tried to get farther than she wanted him to go. I whistled to gain her attention and waved at her. After a couple of attempts she noticed me and tried to wave me out on to the dance floor. I feigned deafness and incomprehension. She rolled her eyes and continued dancing for a few more minutes.
"So Dougie," I said, "did you guys have fun last night."
"Sure, after Stoneman stopped bitching about your softness--it was alright."
"That's okay. He talks like I'm the one all nervous about the Exodus, but he's whinier than ever."
"I guess we're all nervous," Doug twitched on his seat, trying in vain to catch the eye of passing girls.
The club was alive with action that night--seemed more so than usual.
"I wouldn't call myself nervous. I'd call it anxious. I'm ready to go."
"Still, can we trust everything the government says? How safe will it be?"
"Aw Doug, take it easy man. Do you want to be cooped up here forever? Think positive!"
I slapped his back and caught the sight of a fine young thing looking back at me. She reminded me of the girl from the other night.
"You're right Tyler, but you know me--worry wart--I guess."
"You ain't that bad Doug--you're a cop--takes some balls--especially now!"
"True. Man, this place is rocking tonight."
We looked around. More people were flowing in to the cramped club. I tried to keep my eye on Martina, but now there were too many people around. In a place like this, she always had guys around her--though she rarely paid them a moment's notice. She came to these places to blow off some steam from her stressful job, not get picked up.
When Martina was getting a little tired, she wandered over to us--leaving a string of disappointed guys who had been dancing around her.
"Wow, I'm sweating."
"You're blowing too much energy Lever," I said, "should save it for the job."
"Don't worry about me Jonz. I got plenty to spare."
"I'm tired of yelling. Do you guys want to go someplace quieter?" I said.
"Sure why not!" Martina said.
Doug took one last look around and then agreed.
**
“Did you hear that the Exodus is starting?” Martina asked me after we got a table on one of the terraces facing the downtown roundabouts. “They’re announcing an initial list of citizens for the first round of shuttles.”
“No, I didn’t hear anything,” I said. There was still plenty of noise from the busy downtown, but not as deafening as the nightclub.
“Yeah, they say that they’re going to start with City Central dwellers. That should make our lives easier, eh boys! It makes sense though. The overpopulation is starting to get ridiculous in those neighbourhoods. It looks like the World Government is doing things properly for a change. A lot of those people are desperate in the cramped City Central. Nobody knows that better than us cops who have to deal with these conditions first-hand. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty excited about it.”
“Awww,” I said with raised eyebrows. “Excited! Do I hear positive sounds coming from Martina Lever, the queen of cynicism?”
“Realism, Jonz, realism is the proper term.”
“Soldiers are not paid to think.”
“I thought you said we were cops?”
“In this transition phase, I don’t even know which we are.”
“We’re World Government Policing and Military recruits,” stated Doug.
“Let’s drink to that,” cheered Martina, and we all clinked glasses.
“Look who doesn’t have any dates?”
The voice was Andy’s. He stood over us with a female piece of arm-candy draped around him. It was the sort of girl you always saw with Andy. He cruised the bars every chance he got, always looking for the same type. Fashionably dressed, with the serious gaze of a model, the girl had to have the stance and posture that stated that they were chic and hip to all the latest trends. But if you looked deep into their eyes, they had to have nothing of substance beyond their "overly-caked-with-make-up" faces. It was always the perfect match. I sometimes wondered why he bothered to change girls--they all looked the same.
“This is Tiffany,” he said.
He took two chairs from another table without asking the couple sitting there whether he could. The man gestured as if he would say something, but Andy didn’t give him the time. He motioned for Doug to move over so we could all fit uncomfortably at the one table.
“I think there’s a nice romantic spot over there.” I motioned to a table at the far end of the terrace.
“If it’s romantic, then I guess you won’t need it, ehhh Jonz?” He chuckled.
Tiffany looked quizzically at all of us. I figured she wouldn’t even know how to get involved in the conversation if we didn’t discuss clothes or make-up; then again, looks can be deceiving. Yet she fell for one of Andy’s lines--so probably not.
“I woulda guessed you three woulda been huddled together, discussing proper settings for your laser guns.”
“Listen to the scholar.” Martina laughed. “I didn’t know that you had depth enough to notice intellectual variances in your co-workers.”
“Why don’t you go lift some bar-bells butch?” Andy barked.
“I don’t want to embarrass the big, strong man by out lifting him.”
“My, my, the conversation certainly takes a turn for the better when you show up Stoneman,” I said.
“Can’t you guys take a joke? Relax, have a drink on me.” Andy waved his arm towards the waiter.
Martina turned to me. “I suppose if we can handle this guy. Terrorists will be a cake-walk.”
Andy laughed. Tiffany appeared startled and looked around, perhaps to see if there was a clown doing tricks.
“I don’t think we should make jokes about that. We’re all going to be going down to Earth soon; and not to the safe areas where the Exodus will begin. We’re going to the front, to battle for more land from those terrorists. We shouldn’t joke about that. It’s too serious,” said Doug.
"Geez Lloyd, you're still as bad as high school. You may have gotten the best grades out of all of us, but you always thought too much," Andy said and looked at me. "Right Jonz?"
"I don't know. I wasn't there, remember?"
"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting. You're parents kept you locked in a closet until Police Academy."
"Not really Stoneman. Just home-schooled."
"Whatever. You were hidden from sight."
“Don’t think about it too much Doug; it won’t do you any good,” I said, turning to Doug.
“But still, you know what I mean,” Doug said.
“Yeah, we all know.”
“Waiter, waiter!” Andy yelled.
“Only order for the four of you,” I told Andy.
"Always the first to leave--eh Jonz?!" Andy said, "Daddy making you train early?"
"That's right--or I'd stay here all night listening to you three."
I made my way away from the bright lights and towards one of the checkpoints to the darker City Central streets. The career cop manning that checkpoint looked at me, puzzled, but let me by when I showed him my ID card. It was always the old guys at these checkpoints--barely awake. The dark streets left me blind after the brightness of downtown. I looked up at the cramped towers of apartments lining both sides of the narrow street. This close to downtown, it must be impossible to sleep for the people in there. I retraced my steps to where Andy and I had been on patrol the night before. I walked into the illegal bar that Andy and I had been in the night before. The one-armed bartender looked at me suspiciously, and then allowed himself a little smile.
“I didn’t recognize you without your uniform,” he said.
“I’m looking for someplace quiet,” I said as I pulled out a stool and sat at the bar.
“Are you sure you want to be seen in an illegal place like this?”
“If it’s good enough for war veterans, it’s good enough for me.”
The beers flowed easily and I found myself having trouble getting up from the bar. I didn’t know why, but this bar felt more real, more comfortable than any other place in the Domed City. There was no pretence about it. There were no illusions, no attempts to cover up the fact that we were orbiting around the Earth in an illusionary attempt to recreate an Earth City. It was ironic, this city.
It was two o’clock in the morning when I left. I walked out laughing to myself at the irony of what I was doing; breaking the same curfew I was sworn to uphold. The curfew that everyone ignored and we enforced only when it suited our purposes. It felt good to act like a regular person.
Near the end of my pit stop at the veterans’ bar, I had stopped drinking and was starting to sober up. I guess I didn’t like drinking that much. I had it in the back of my mind to get really crossed-eyed drunk for a change, but it just didn’t suit me. The idea of it felt better than the real thing. As I walked out I marvelled at the more seasoned drinkers in the establishment—how do they do it night after night? I suppose it’s nothing to be admired. It was the same gang as the night before, and they all bid me farewell like we were now long time buddies.
I suppose I didn’t consciously retrace my steps from the night before, but that’s what I did none the less. Something was drawing me in that direction and I have to admit I knew what it was.
That girl.
I continued out to the next street, not much lighter than the alleyway; and there she was, just around the corner, not straying too far from the point of our most recent encounter. I think I must have been looking for her. I knew any rational person would disapprove. I felt a twinge in my heart, and it angered me. What was I really doing there? I should be home.
“Are you okay?” I said as I spotted her.
She was startled at first. I'm sure it was not the sort of personal question that men asked her when they came up to her. Her expression became stern for a second as she looked at me. Then her face softened. “I didn’t recognize you without your uniform.”
“That’s okay; I didn’t think you would expect to see me again.”
“I guess not.”
“I never asked you, what’s your name?”
“Melissa. What’s yours?”
“Tyler. Those guys, did they bother you tonight?”
“Not tonight. They’re busy.”
“Where do you live now?” I asked and she took me by the hand.
We walked down the block. Here was where all the poor people lived. She was far from where she had grown up. I didn't mention I recognized her from the Outskirts.
Despite the curfew, there was always some noise in these highly populated areas. I could hear a couple arguing a few floors up. You could almost walk into people in the street, everything was so poorly lit. Without my uniform, no one rushed back into the many entrances that lined the narrow streets. I looked over my shoulder, afraid to see other cops. It wouldn't look good for me.
When we arrived at her building, she led me into the entrance with a content smile. First thing I noticed was plumbing dripping from overhead and I almost slipped at the entrance of the elevator. Maintenance was not a top priority in these areas. Many floors up, we finally arrived at the her apartment door. Inside her place, there was nothing impressive. The walls were close and all the basic utilities of survival were crammed around a room with a tiny window and a double bed in the middle. The bed appeared to take three quarters of the open space. It was not pretty, but dull light shone through the tiny window, a faint ray of light beamed into the center of the bed. Floating dust particles danced in the beam of light, making it look almost solid.
We fell together on the bed, sending a current of air through the lightened dust particles. The current sent the dust clouds dancing in many directions while we embraced. Previously, it had been awkward and forced; a mating ritual that was more expected than desired. This was different. We fell into each other’s longing grasps easily, explored freely, and I felt more at ease than I ever did before. Sweat fell and intermingled, joining as one.
**
Afterwards, she nuzzled under my arm, her head lying on my chest. Her ear was right on my thudding heart. I thought she was listening to every beat, trying to be part of me. I looked around. There was nothing on the walls. Dark square marks and unused finishing nails marked where some previous tenant had hung their personal pictures or paintings. Her bedside table was old and rickety, constantly knocking with every movement. On it was a small picture. It was a picture of a very young child. The face was misshapen, deformed, but the smile was beautiful. I picked it up to look at the picture more closely. It was a young girl, whom, despite her obvious facial deformity, beamed with a positive energy and exuberance. Melissa looked up at me, and when she realized what I was doing, shrank away.
“What’s wrong?” I said. She didn’t answer. “Is it the picture? You don’t want me to touch it?”
“No, you can touch it. It’s okay. She’s not a very attractive little girl, is she?”
“Not in the traditional sense, but she has a quality—that smile is wonderful.”
Melissa sat up; a small, sad smile crept onto her lips. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m glad.”
She turned over, curled up, and I could see her body shaking, probably from tears.
“Who is she Melissa?”
Melissa turned around. “She’s my daughter, Heather. She was sick though. You can see she wasn’t normal. I was just a child when I became pregnant with Heather. A single teenage daughter did not fit into my mother and stepfather’s plans. They were terribly disappointed; and then, when Heather was born disfigured, it didn’t make things better. Her heart, it wasn’t right. She was always sick. She went into the hospital when she was a year and half; and she just never came out, didn’t survive.”
Melissa shrieked when the door was smashed in.
Shadows of men coming into the apartment appeared suddenly, breaking the contentment. I was caught off guard and it happened very quickly. I had fallen into a false sense of security inside the apartment--with Melissa. They moved quickly and before I had a chance to react. As one passed in front of the window, I could see they were in uniform, but they weren’t regular cops. They were elite combat troops. There were two of them and they were around us in seconds.
"Don--don't hurt me," Melissa pleaded.
"Don't worry, I'll deal with it," I said. "What the hell's goin' on?! You know I'm a cop?"
There was silence as the two stood looking at us, in military "at-ease" stance. One nodded to the other and then put his laser rifle onto his back, looking at us, his hands on his hips.
“Tyler Jonz, you’re coming with us.”
Melissa clung to me in fear, shaking all over.
“Not so fast! Who the hell are you?” I yelled.
“You should know who we are, and you should know that you’re not supposed to be here.”
"Maybe you're right, but it's an infraction--doesn't warrant a military operation."
I sat up in bed, my shock diminishing, but my anger growing.
"Jonz, this is for your own good," one said. Their faces were covered and the one who wasn't talking to me was looking around the small apartment.
"If my father knew what you were doing--"
"If?! Is that what you think?"