Chapter II

Two weeks ago

‘Sorry about this, lieutenant.’

The rain was coming down hard, beating a harsh rhythm into the pavement and metal rooftops of twenty-ninth precinct. The bureau’s warning sirens and public announcements warred with nature’s fury – and so did Morgan, who struggled to hear Sergeant Crane’s tremulous and apologetic voice.

‘You were the only one nearby with the best set of tools for this kind of thing,’ Crane said, shaking the rain from his grey hair. His jowls also shook rather perilously. ‘We didn’t have the time to call anyone else. But at least we can get this out of the way now rather than later.’ Crane waved to someone standing in the rain off to the side, their features obscured by an umbrella except for a pair of legs. The officer – they wore the standard black trousers and boots of the bureau – came over into the overhang of the apartment building and lowered their umbrella, revealing a young woman.

‘Sergeant.’ She looked over Morgan once with a respectful nod, ‘Lieutenant.’ She wasn’t green – she would not have been slated to be Morgan’s partner if she was – but she was green in the very literal sense. Either because of the rain or the emergency lights, her skin had a rather mossy complexion. She wore her hair – a rich, nutty brown – in a short, practical bob that revealed a pair of tapered Kelaani-like ears and discerning amber eyes. ‘I’m Corporal Shalia Balmaris. Did Sergeant Crane give you all the details?’ Shalia’s tone was just as no-nonsense as her hair, but however much she tried to hide it, she had a foreign sway to her words. Off-worlder, he guessed.

‘No, he did not.’ Morgan took off his glasses for a moment to clean the rain-smeared, foggy lenses on the end of his jacket. ‘Standard hostage situation, right?’

Disdainfully, ‘…Yes. However, it isn’t “just” a hostage situation – sir.’

Morgan placed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. ‘Then by all means,’ he swept his arms out to the apartment building, ‘do explain.’

‘Ah, why don’t I do this one?’ the sergeant interjected quickly. He produced a puck, a kind of temporary storage device the size of a biscuit that held a sum of money to be transferred from one account to the account of whoever was holding it. With his other hand, he brought up the bureau-issued Glass. ‘The uh, criminal in question is an expatriate who was relocated to this precinct a few months ago. Report says he had a disagreement with the allocation but looks like nothing was done about it.’

‘Species?’ asked Shalia.

Crane scrolled up quickly. ‘Erm… Ah. Well. Officially listed as ex-deceased. That’s odd…oh. Yes, necrosite, it says. You thinking that’s important, corporal?’

The corporal tapped a finger against her chin, brows now creased in thought. ‘It might be. Go on.’

The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘More complaints to a lot of people, it looks like. The bureau, his landlord, his neighbours – there’s reports from a dozen civilians here.’

‘And what were they about, most of them?’ asked Morgan.

‘Uh, rent prices, I think.’

Shalia clicked her tongue. ‘There has to be more than that, sir. A man wouldn’t take a hostage if it were just over rent.’

‘I dunno, I’ve seen some pretty outrageous prices,’ said Morgan.

‘Sir, with all due respect –’

‘I’m messing with you, Balmaris’ Morgan nodded toward Crane’s Glass. ‘Expatriates don’t have a say in where they’re housed. And after a certain amount of time, they stop getting funding and support from the bureau – unless they’re criminals. Then they get as much of the bureau’s attention as they could want, though it might not be what they asked for. It’s worse for non-humans, too. And Tapes. Non-human expatriates – hell, even people that have lived in Joudai for years – just get the wrong kind of attention.’

Shalia blinked slowly. Recrossed her arms. Glanced away. ‘…I do agree with you, sir. But how does that help us right now?’

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Morgan shrugged. ‘It doesn’t. You asked why someone would take a hostage over rent prices. I think that’s only a small part of a much larger problem, is all. Sergeant? That puck there is for an exchange?’

Crane startled. ‘Y-yes, indeed. The uh, target in question requested we hand over one hundred million cen in exchange for the landlord of this building.’

‘When did you last contact them?’

‘Erm… about ten minutes ago. We told him it would take time to gather the money necessary for the exchange but…’

‘That doesn’t take much time at all,’ finished Shalia. ‘You needed the lieutenant.’

Crane nodded, jowls wiggling. ‘We need your uh, negotiation skills, lieutenant. And, well, our lieutenant is currently away right now…’

‘“Negotiation skills”, huh.’ You mean you need someone that would survive getting shot at, or mauled, thought Morgan. ‘When’s the exchange supposed to take place?’

The sergeant checked his Glass. ‘About three minutes from now. We’re cutting it pretty close.’

Shalia’s frown deepened. ‘Sergeant, you aren’t just sending the lieutenant in without protection or some kind of plan? What if he’s injured? There must be more than this.’

Crane studied his Glass carefully. ‘Well…’

‘There isn’t,’ said Morgan when the sergeant failed to provide an answer. ‘Think of it like sending a tiger to kill a mouse.’

The sergeant and corporal, in unison: ‘What’s a tiger?’

‘Never mind.’ He pulled up his jacket sleeve to reveal a shackle-like device flashing red and yellow – a B-class Tape bracer. ‘Battering rams. You’ve heard of those?’

Neutrally, ‘Of course I have – sir.’ She directed her distaste at the sergeant. ‘So, you mean for us to take down this criminal – by any means necessary?’

The sergeant eyed the bracer. ‘…If that’s uh, what it takes. I forgot to mention. The criminal is uh, well…’

Morgan: ‘Spit it out sergeant.’

‘Well, it’s just. He’s a Tape, er, lieutenant. C-Class.’

Morgan felt Shalia’s gaze. ‘Less paperwork that way, I guess,’ he said, feigning calm he didn’t really feel.

He took the sergeant’s puck and tucked it away into a compartment on his jacket, then made for entranceway of the apartment block – a depressing seven-storey building of brick, concrete and grimy plexiglass that was not at all improved by the rain.

Shalia did not immediately move to follow.

‘Corporal? You coming or what?’

‘Or what…’ she mumbled under her breath and joined him.

The hallway immediately to their left was lined with a series of cheaply-painted mailboxes, some overfull, the doors to others hanging by just a single hinge, and others still whose locks had been broken. A fluorescent light blinked rapidly overhead, illuminating stained linoleum and cracked, heavily graffitied walls.

‘What a shithole,’ remarked Morgan, nose clogged with the scent of piss and rusted metal. Shalia stepped in carefully behind him, pulling her Austere from its holster and setting the barrel to stun. She stayed silent. Even her thoughts were quiet – Morgan heard not a sound from the corporal, not even an undercurrent of subconscious thinking. It made him uneasy. From experience, Morgan believed that people whose thoughts were hidden from him usually ended up becoming a problem. He drew his own Austere and ploughed on.

After ignoring the four apartments on the ground level and climbing to the second floor, Shalia said, ‘The sergeant didn’t tell us where we would find the target, did he?’

‘You didn’t ask.’ The second storey came into view. No one here, as well. The entire building must have been evacuated earlier – Morgan could not sense another living creature for at least another two floors. ‘Corporal. You been on the scene for a while?’

‘I arrived when the sergeant did.’

Morgan started climbing to the next floor. ‘Place was evacuated?’

‘It was. Standard protocol.’

‘Sweet.’

The third floor, as he expected, was also empty. He could sense some small creatures with rapid heartrates nearby – pets, most likely, or wild animals – but not the deeper, louder tell of a human heart. They continued on. Morgan tightened his grip on the Austere’s handle.

“Sweet”?’ echoed Shalia. ‘I don’t – never mind.’

‘No, do go on.’

The fourth floor was similarly empty, but the anxious beating of a human heart filled Morgan’s ears from somewhere above them, followed by a current of frantic thoughts – two of them, from two separate individuals. But only one heart. Morgan felt a chill down his spine.

‘To be frank, lieutenant, the way you conduct yourself isn’t very professional –’

‘Quiet for a sec.’

She pursed her lips, but her eyes gave away barely restrained frustration.

Morgan nodded up to the next floor and whispered, ‘He’s up there. The hostage, too.’

The corporal’s irritation quickly evaporated. Excited now, ‘The XT-901 thermal-optical lenses with personalised head’s up display, right? I desperately wanted a pair, but the department didn’t want to cover the cost. “Unnecessary expense”, they said.’

‘Corporal. Please keep your voice down.’

‘How much were they? Where did you get them?’

‘These are normal prescription glasses. Lieutenant’s salary isn’t that good.’ Morgan crept up to the next floor. The target and hostage were in the second apartment on this level, and the hostage’s breathing was definitely more laboured than before.

‘…Oh.’

Morgan gestured to the door on their left. ‘Number thirteen.’

The corporal paled. ‘In there?’

‘Yup. I’ll lead, alright? If he has a gun or knife, you stay behind me. Got it?’

‘But what about you?'

‘I’ll be fine. Have you got it, corporal?’

Shalia pursed her lips. ‘…Yes, sir.’

Morgan flashed a grin. ‘Cool. Get ready.’

An uneasy nod.

Readying his Austere, Morgan turned the handle.