Torn From On High: Free City Book 2 (The Free City Series) (2 page)

Halfway
through their slow and unfortunately unescorted tour of the University's Ultra
Energy Lab, the wide-eyed preteen stopped to handle some lab equipment left
unattended on a workbench.

“What's
this thingy?” Dilma held up the oddly shaped metal widget.

Ryo
studied the strange curvy object for several seconds before shrugging, “I have
no idea. You can ask Dr. Fesai when she not too busy.”

Dilma
glanced back towards Jana's office where the overworked scientist was shuffling
through a tall stack of paperwork.

Ryo
noticed that the youngster had her all too common look of curiosity and
annoyance as she returned the implement to the table. He had seen the
expression enough recently to know that the former slave girl craved to learn
of every tiny detail about the fascinating world in which she now lived and was
exasperated when she could not gain the precious knowledge immediately.

An
hour ago they had stopped by the lab to take Jana up on her standing offer of a
tour. But a frantic grad student had waylaid the woman with some anomalous
results in a massive particle collision study that threatened to disrupt the
ongoing experiment. Jana had profusely apologized to Dilma before retreating to
her office to deal with the minor catastrophe.

Now
the old investigator found that he was unwittingly leading the inquisitive
little girl through the lab.

She
stared up at him with dark, saucer-shaped eyes. “What shall we look at next,
Daddy?”

Ryo
smiled at the girl, “There's a small particle accelerator in the basement that
we can peek at, I have no idea of how it works but it has plenty of pipes and
wires.”

“OK,”
Dilma pouted a bit at the prospect of seeing more great things without
receiving sufficient explanations.

Ryo
pointed to a door and they shuffled off.

The
old Investigator sighed as they walked down the hallway together; he had to get
some help for the formidable task of raising the girl.

• • •

It was
about 3 AM, she groggily estimated.

The
tiny apartment that they shared was uncomfortably cold, Keira realized as she
snuggled closer to Lev in a sleepy attempt to purloin some of his body heat.

The
chilliness of the last several days matched her mood.

After
months of relative peace between the two of them, Lev had gotten restless again
and decided to take a break from his efforts to complete his doctorate studies
at the University.

The
relentless tug of the Enlightenment Crusade seemed to be pulling him away from
her.

Keira
dreaded his involvement with the mildly subversive student group not only
because it drew his attention away from their relationship but also because the
organization contained a great many attractive and promiscuous women.

Before
Ryo Trop had introduced them, Lev had bed-hopped with far too many of the
Crusaders. It had taken months of effort on Keira's part to get Lev to settle
down and pledge monogamy to her. They had even talked recently of engagement
and eventual marriage.

She
shivered in the cold apartment.

In the
morning, after stopping by to see his mother in the Old Town District, Lev
would leave for New Rome with a group of activists to agitate for slave's
rights in EurAfrica. Many of the Crusaders had been jailed in New Rome in the
last few months and three had even been killed in skirmishes with the locals.

Keira had
made him swear that he would exercise caution and remain faithful but she
certainly had doubts.

She
stroked the profuse hair on his chest as he slept and listened wistfully to the
slow cadence of his breathing.

The
physical hazards of social activism seemed minor compared to the carnal perils
presented by pretty young women.

• • •

Well,
that's odd.

Chief
Inspector Helga Bennet slowly reread the Daily Unsolved Crimes Briefing in her
dim workroom at the Free City Inquisitor's Office.

An
unusually high number of suspicious deaths had been recorded in the Space
Salvage Industry in the last three weeks.

The
curmudgeonly woman thumbed through a stack of reports on her desk for a file
that she'd read two days earlier from Mariner's Station on Mars.

Helga
scanned the rather routine Crime Scene Report.

The
description of Decedent Number 2 listed the poor soul's occupation as
“Grappler's Mate” onboard the Salvage Ship
Defiance
.

The
recent murder on Mars seemed to fit right into the crime wave.

Why
would someone target junkmen? They were a rough-and-tumble group but otherwise
fairly innocuous.

She
would certainly alert the Prime Minister to her suspicions during this
morning's daily update.

Undoubtedly
the Prime Minister would direct the Inquisitor's Office to investigate further.

The
bigger problem, Helga ruminated as she stacked the reports together, was that
the inquiry would require an Investigator of the highest expertise.

Unfortunately
her best man was currently unavailable.

• • •

They
stood together in the little foyer of the townhouse on Breton Street where Jana
had raised Lev, he in his traveling clothes and she in her bathrobe and
slippers, both dreading the icy harshness of the dawn just beyond the front
door.

Jana
Fesai briefly glared at her son, “I have to say that I'm rather disappointed
that you've decided to put off your studies again.”

“Sorry,”
Lev cringed at the scolding.

Only
she was able to induce guilt in him for his occasional misdeeds. Try as she
might, certainly Keira couldn't invoke the same sense of shame that his mother
could effortlessly produce. “I like to think that I'm helping to improve the
lives of others, Mom.”

Jana
softened a bit as she straightened the wide collar of his chartreuse Pea Coat;
“I suppose that is a noble cause.”

He
brushed her fidgety fingers away from his finery, “Thanks; I wish that Keira
felt the same way.”

“Well;”
Jana groaned, “you
are
leaving your rather temperamental fiancée in the
lurch to head out to the dangers of New Rome. I can't say that I'm
unsympathetic towards the poor sweet thing.”

He
stared at her in consternation for several seconds, “It's important that I help
to free the enslaved and better the lives of the disadvantaged in EurAfrica.”

She
nodded.

The
young man hoisted his knapsack and pulled open the door.

“Be
careful;” she caught his arm and reached up to kiss his cheek, “and remember
that you're the most important person around for both Keira and I.”

“Don't
worry Mom;” Lev finally smiled, “I know.”

4. News Item:
One year on: The destruction of Arusha

Dateline: 2nd of August, 2446;
Free City, Earth

In a
grim testament to its significance in the recent history of humanity,
essentially all members of our lowly species recall where they were one year
ago today when they learned of the barbaric destruction of the opulent
EurAfrican capital of Arusha.

At the
time of the colossal aerial blast high above the Maasai steppes, no one knew of
the treacherous and vengeful plot by the now thankfully slain Supreme Imperial
Warlord of the Outer Reaches, Dimitri Verhovnyi against his half-brother,
Daniel Kufuzu, the Exalted Warlord of EurAfrica.

The
petty sibling squabble instigated by Verhovnyi caused the madman to engage
several bands of space pirates to fulfill his wicked desire to slay his
brother.

The
murder weapon was, of course, the huge matter/antimatter explosive device that
destroyed the jewel of East Africa.

The
most horrific of deeds also massacred nine million residents of the capital
city: unfortunate innocents slaughtered by a maniac.

The
wide swath of death and devastation had begun exactly two months and one day
earlier when Verhovnyi's vile henchmen stole the volatile antimatter used to
make the bomb from the Lunar Ultra Energy Research Lab on the plains of the Sea
of Crisis, kidnapping several scientists and obliterating the facility to boot.

Amongst
those captured by the space raiders was Free City University's most talented
researcher, Dr. Jana Fesai. Fortunately, she and most of the other abductees
were freed months later by a tenacious and clever band led by Inspector Ryo
Trop of the Free City Inquisitor's Office. Most of the exploits that preceded
the return of the hostages and the mysterious death of the Warlord of the Outer
Reaches remain hidden behind an impenetrable shroud cast over the inquiry by
those at the highest levels of Free City Government.

We may
never know what really happened in this most horrendous of human affairs.

Those
that wish to honor the murdered citizens of Arusha are encouraged to attend
memorial services held this evening at the War Atrocities Monument in Roscommon
Park.

She
slowly twisted around in the warm, dark room and opened her eyes.

Where
was she?

For a
good half-minute, twenty-year-old part-time Experimental Studies student Sabra
MacFarland tried to silently discover where she had spent the night.

She
was sandwiched uncomfortably between two others who were still slumbering. By
the particular body odors she guessed that there was a sweaty man to her left
and perhaps a recently aroused woman to her right.

Citrus
and vanilla? Sabra frowned.

She
could barely detect the two fragrances that mingled with the earthy smells of
her mysterious bedmates.

Citrus
and vanilla were the current favorite variations of incense amongst the loose
group of her cohorts in the Enlightenment Crusade.

It was
slowly coming back to her now.

Her
pudgy fingers glided lightly over what she guessed was the woman's waist. Fine
beadwork on a loosely fitting vest, nothing underneath.

It was
probably her older sister Desiree, she decided.

In her
thick and over-imbibed state Sabra recalled meeting up with Des and several
others at a wild counter-culture club last night.

Screaming
Supplicants
,
Sabra winced.

The
club was called
Screaming Supplicants.
There had been strange music and
plenty of dancing; certainly stimulants and hallucinogens as well.

Her
head throbbed from the recent debauchery.

It
would be best if she left before the others awoke. Hopefully no one would
remember that she'd been here.

Desiree
in particular wouldn't want her cute little sister catching the attention of
the warm and sweaty man softly snoring next to her.

She
located her clothes and skulked out into a cold adjoining hallway before putting
them on.

Sabra
tepidly brushed back her grimy brown hair and slipped on her shabby fake fur
knee high boots.

Her
stomach growled and she was developing a splitting headache.

Sabra
tiptoed past several locked doors before she finally found an exit.

Just
outside she stood shivering in the chilly early morning gloom on the high front
landing of a run down apartment building in one of the seedy outlying districts
of Free City.

She
still had no idea of where she had ended up.

• • •

After
wandering through several nearly deserted blocks, Sabra located a run-down
corner bakery that was open.

She
smiled hesitantly to the stern and judgmental old man at the counter and
ordered a poppy seed bagel and a cup of hot tea.

The
skeptical clerk slid the shop's payment interface towards her.

Sabra
hoped that she still had some funds in her account to cover the snack.

She
swiped her fingertip over the interface.

“4.25
Standard Units charged to Sabra MacFarland,” the device replied.

Satisfied
with her solvency, the old man twisted around to retrieve a bagel and beverage
for her.

The
payment interface chirped an unwelcome addition, “Sabra MacFarland's account
balance is now zero.”

The
clerk shook his head disapprovingly as he pushed the order towards her.

• • •

It had
developed into a particularly crappy morning, Sabra bemoaned as she shivered on
the cold bench seat. Fortunately the Free City street transports had always
been free, she realized as she bumped along with a few dozing hourly workers in
the lumbering old shuttle. Her one essential class at Free City University was
in about an hour; hopefully she would be on time.

Sabra
felt especially crummy as stared out at the gloominess of the gray early
morning metropolis. She hadn't had a bath in weeks, her clothes were tattered
and filthy and she was still maddeningly hungry.

In an
all too common moment of selfless humanitarianism, Sabra had given away most of
her poppy seed bagel to a downtrodden street beggar that she'd met while
waiting for the transport to arrive; a noble deed that she now dolefully
regretted.

• • •

She
slipped into the Experimental Studies classroom at Free City University with a
few minutes to spare. About a dozen of her scraggily classmates were milling
around in the large rectangular room devoid of furniture.
Investigations
Into Alternative Lifestyles 501
was an experiential lab class with no need
for anything as inhibiting as desks and lecterns. The as-of-yet to arrive
instructor had promised that the students would genuinely “feel” their way
through the course, both emotionally and physically.

Sabra
ruminated on her current lack of funds and her general downward slide towards
vagrancy as she regarded her chitchatting peers. Certainly one or two of them
would be willing to help out.

She
skirted around several of the cattier and well-off teens who had engaged a
short high-spirited redheaded woman that Sabra hadn't seen before in the
classroom. Sabra sidled up to one of her casual chums; a tall, lanky and often
rather conceited fellow named Edlin.

He
smirked lasciviously at the possibilities that her arrival might soon produce.

Sabra
stroked the profuse hair on his sinewy arm as she cynically trifled with him.

He
pressed suggestively against her, “What's up, baby cakes?”

Her
eyes twinkled invitingly as she stared up at him, “I ran out of funds this
morning. Could you spot me some change for a few days?”

Edlin
beamed at his good fortune, his rough hands clasped her waist and crept up
towards her breasts.

“What's
in it for me?”

A small
catlike hand clamped tightly to Edlin's forearm; the long nails, not unlike
feline claws, dug into his blotchy flesh. He whimpered from the unexpected
assault.

Edlin
and Sabra turned in unison towards the assailant.

It was
the unfamiliar redhead, now with an especially scornful look of fiery
indignation.

“Get
lost, you pig!” she growled.

Edlin
let loose his hands and left in a huff.

Sabra
stared remorsefully at her rescuer, “I know he's a sleazy toss-pot, but I was
just trying to borrow a few Units to get me by for a week or so.”

The
mysterious woman softened a bit, “I'll help you out Miss MacFarland, without
the need to sell yourself to some greasy low-life for a bit of spare change.”

Her
savior produced a communication device, “Please credit one hundred Standard
Units to Miss Sabra MacFarland.”

Sabra
studied the visitor with a mix of gratitude and curiosity; her apparently
wealthy benefactor had the odd vocal inflections and word choices of a
foreigner.

The
communications device acknowledged the transaction.

“Thank
you so much,” Sabra whispered.

As the
woman turned to leave the classroom, Sabra caught her arm, “You're new here.
Where did you come from?”

The
redhead grinned enigmatically, “Long ago from the not-so-wild west, dearie.”

She
slipped away from Sabra and quickly left the room.

• • •

In the
dimly lit anteroom just across the hallway from the classroom now crowded with
boisterous
Investigations Into Alternative Lifestyles 501
students, the
mysterious visitor studied the screen of her communication device as it
connected to that of her colleague in the office.

The
face of the middle-aged man appeared, “Zmuda here. What do you have for me?”

The
woman grinned mischievously at the question; “I've been trailing her for two
days now. You were right Lieutenant; Sabra MacFarland is naive, unkempt and a
bit trampy but she has strong ideals and an intriguing underlying sense of
street-smarts.”

He
nodded at the woman's assessment.

“Overall,
I think that she's perfect for what you have in mind.”

“Good;”
he smiled, “we'll make the arrangements right away. Hurry back to headquarters,
Sabina.”

The
connection terminated and the stealthy redhead disappeared into the noisy
hallway.