Prophet of the Badlands (The Awakened Book 1) (69 page)

Sunlight flooded the apartment. Morning had snuck in during her fleeting nap. She lifted her arm to block the sun and cast a pleading look to her nightstand. The holographic clock again mocked her: 06:45. Now wide-awake, she ran to the door. It slid to the side with a faint squeak as she slapped the panel. Vincent waved. After planting a hasty kiss on the faceplate of his helmet, she ran to the rear of the apartment without a word.

“Good”―He blinked as she ran right out of her pajamas and disappeared down the hall ―“morning.”

The garments had not even floated to the carpet when a distant door slammed. Vincent removed his helmet and set it on the table, stretching his arms as he wandered about. Scratches and scuffs across the otherwise shiny blue armor gave away the five-year tenure of his assignment. He often told Nina he liked patrol division because it kept him close to the people he wanted to help. The sound of the shower unit starting up rumbled through the wall, and he paced. His boots thunked as he moved, despite the indigo carpet and his attempt to be considerate to the downstairs neighbor.

“You ok?” he yelled.

“Crap, what time is it?”

“If anyone else was driving, you’d be late.” He laughed and grabbed his helmet. “I’ll be out front.”

Despite living here his entire life, Vincent still found the expanse of West City an impressive sight to behold from a high-up perch within a glass bubble elevator. Hurtling without sound along a magnetic track on the outside of the building, it carried him down into the rising grasp of the city. Shimmering towers of steel and glass devoured the horizon, until the sounds of the street-level flooded the compartment, mixing with the life-sucking noise that tried to pass itself off as music. By the time he reached the street, the sky had vanished behind nearby buildings, floating advert bots, and a steady stream of pedestrian traffic. Even unoccupied, Vincent’s patrol craft seemed to scare civilians into giving it a wide berth.

Dark blue and white, the vehicle was half again the length and width of an average car. Armor shrouded its four ground wheels and numerous pods bulged from here and there with sensor and communication equipment. The gull-wing door opened upwards with a pneumatic hiss as it sensed Vincent’s transponder approaching. He dropped into the driver’s position but left the door up and one leg hanging out, watching people go by.

Nina stood in the clear tube of the shower unit, tapping her finger on the plastic shield in an impatient beat as a mixture of cleaning agent and warm water sprayed from the orbiting jets. She held her arms over her head and turned to allow the machine to clean her. When the water stopped, she grabbed the handrail. Someone had mistuned the dry cycle, and she did not fancy being blown off her feet again as the dry cycle was stuck on a setting too powerful for someone her size. Cringing, she struggled to keep her toes in contact with the floor through the gale. Her weight settled back onto her feet as the fans died down, and she sprinted from the bathroom.

She ignored the frigid air and slapped the button to open the cabinet. In less than a minute, she was dressed and armored. Nina checked her UCF MP21 on the elevator down, flipping the switch to the ready position. Blue LEDs lit up above the trigger in sequence before it chirped and clicked as a caseless round moved into the firing chamber. Every morning she hoped she would make it through another day without needing it. After flicking the safety on, she slipped the gun into its holster and tapped her foot until the door let her sprint out across the courtyard.

He started driving before the door closed. Nina sagged in the seat and stared at Vincent’s smirk with the accusatory glare of someone left out of a joke. He pulled back on the control sticks and the road fell out of view below the hood. Nina was thankful at having overslept and not eaten anything yet―the maneuver would have left her breakfast all over her boots. Vincent drove recklessly enough when he wasn’t rushing. The car pivoted up at a sharp angle, and the acceleration crushed her into the seat with enough force to make breathing difficult for several seconds.

She stared at his stupid grin. “What?”

“I’m just happy to see you.”

They edged past three hundred miles per hour, and the civilian traffic below them changed from individual objects into a stream of color.

“Bullshit.”

She narrowed her eyes, smiling, finding it difficult to sound menacing with a two-handed grip on the “oh shit” handle. He allowed the patrol craft to settle in at a beyond-casual 275 mph and flipped the bar lights on, but left the siren off.

“You’ll get pissed.”

“It’ll piss me off more if I have to find out on my own.” She cringed through a hard sweeping left turn.

“It was the way you came running down the steps with your helmet in your hands.” He winked. “You looked like a kid dressed up as a cop for Halloween.”

Even after two years, short jokes still got a rise out of her.

“How―”

The remaining “could you” changed into an unladylike combination of noises as a sudden loss of altitude and speed caused her stomach to upend itself.

“You really should keep your mouth closed for those kinds of maneuvers, hon.”

As soon as she felt safe enough to let go, she punched him twice in the shoulder. He laughed harder, and she hit him a third time before pouting out the window. Every so often, a line of static appeared in the “glass.” The car had seen its share of rough and tumble, and the system that turned inch-thick armor plates into windows had the occasional glitch. From him, she took it as the friendly poke it was meant to be, but no one else took her seriously as a police officer.

Even Nina did not take Nina seriously as a cop.

The past two years had been an uneventful drudgery of patrols in quiet sectors. Everyone knew the captain gave them a cushy route; she was only here because she had to be. Vincent knew it, too, and she loved him more for not complaining about the easy ride.

Her hand hit the “oh shit” handle hard enough to go numb. “Vince! Vince! Vince!”

The parking deck of the police complex came in fast―too fast. She would have pointed if she could have let go.

He rolled the car upside down and slammed on the lateral thrusters, sending it into a sliding sideways arc through the parking garage. They careened along the ceiling before a spiral roll around a column dropped them into an open parking space amid a sea of ionized fog and coolant fumes.

He leaned over and kissed her sweaty forehead. “Two minutes to spare.”

Embedded in the seat, she had stopped breathing, and her lips curled into a creepy grin. Her darkening eyes tried to burn the side of his head.

For a minute, the car remained silent, save the sound of her gasping breath.

“Was it going from 250 to stop in four seconds or the sideways spinning across the ceiling that bothered you?” He sounded as calm as if he were discussing which wrapping paper to use. “If you don’t get moving you’ll be late for your meeting.”

The bubbling mixture of fear and anger exploded into panic as the dread of Division 0 wiped away the thought of their almost-crash. She kicked the door open and tore off through the parking garage. Vincent put his feet up and laced his fingers behind his head, grinning as the echoing footfalls of her boots grew faint.

ina ducked through the bustling Division 1 command area, ignoring a handful of patronizing comments from her squad. The din continued through the central hub of the police complex, but ended once she reached the Division 0 wing. The clear, sliding doors closed behind her, and the onset of an eerie silence distracted her from her worries.

At the end of the hall, a pleasant looking red-haired woman in a neat black uniform sat behind a desk. Nina approached, feeling as if she had strayed into the wrong part of the building and braced for a scolding. Before she could open her mouth, the woman spoke.

“Good morning, Officer Duchenne. Lieutenant Oliver is down the hall to the left, fifth door.”

Nina’s eyes widened with fright as she wondered if her mind had just been read. She tried to say something but managed only a weak gasp.

The redhead lifted her gaze to look Nina in the eye.

“There is only one appointment today with a patrol officer, and your name is on your armor. We don’t always have to read minds.” She flashed a wry smile glancing once more at her terminal.

Nina composed herself and soon arrived in front of one of many jet-black doors set into a featureless grey hallway.
Great start; offend their front-desk person.
A series of clear triangular panels extended from the walls every fifteen feet, their edges glowing with intense light that sprayed onto the ceiling. A little further down, a few plain black chairs stood silent guard over a fake plant nestled among them.

Tall, silver letters on a black tile next to the door spelled out ‘Lieutenant N. Oliver’. She knocked with two soft taps.

“Lieutenant Oliver?”

She closed her eyes after she spoke, hoping she had not sounded too squeaky.

“Come in.”

The door slid open, revealing a room smaller than she expected. A gloss black desk dominated the area in the center, flanked by shelves on both sides that held an array of data pads, small faux plants, and other decorative objects. Lieutenant Oliver appeared to be in his late thirties with short close-cropped black hair and tanned skin. Thick eyebrows hung above his dark brown eyes, and his entire presence conveyed calm encouragement.

“Officer Nina Duchenne reporting, Sir.”

“Lieutenant Nathaniel Oliver. Pleased to meet you.” He stood, extending a hand. Her arm moved out of numb reflex, offering a limp version of a shake. He gestured at a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Nina settled into the chair and stared at the little bonsai tree on the edge of the desk. She could not help but feel like a schoolgirl sent to the principal’s office. Oliver looked at her for a moment with an expression that radiated a peculiar combination of calm and intensity.

“First, please relax. I want you to know that this meeting is not any form of disciplinary action.” Lt. Oliver smiled his most reassuring smile, speaking in a relaxing tone Nina had not expected.

“What? I mean, why did you…” Her nervousness peaked one last time, stealing her voice.