S Hunter - Longevity

“Seriously? You’ll be incinerated,” the Fire Captain said.

Chris didn’t stop to reply, but he did squint at the flames licking at the Greater Potomac Reset Institute as he grabbed the firesuit from the supply van. It was a little after 10 PM and the fire was moments from turning the whole building into a gigantic red-orange lantern. Even he had some doubts that he could don the suit quickly enough to get into the clinic, do what he needed to do, and get out safely before it collapsed, but being who he was he kept an eye on the fire and called up half-forgotten dexterity. It had been over 5 years since the Allotment Riots when everyone in Enforcement was so practiced that they could get into a suit in 12 seconds flat or less, but he still found his fingers flying through the pattern of fasteners without conscious thought.

The Fire Captain, watching Chris work the suit fasteners, apparently decided on a more reasoned approach. “Look, ah… detective. It’s too late. Let it go, and the Arson Squad can figure it out later. What are you looking for, anyway? All the people were out before it started.”

“I’m from LLE,” Chris said.

“Ellie Who?”

“LLE. Longevity Law Enforcement,” Chris said, working expeditiously on the fireboots. Someday, LLE would be around long enough for the acronym to be widely recognized, and he could stop explaining. “Right now I’m not worrying about who started the fire. I’m responsible for anything that might be lying around intact enough to tell us if there is a ‘why,’ even if it hasn’t happened yet,” Chris said. His last words, uttered after he’d closed his faceplate and turned on the oxygen, sounded loud and strangely hollow inside the sealed suit. He headed for the burning clinic.

“If it’s CCS work, which it usually is in these cases, I can tell you that now,” the Captain shouted after him, “without you having to run into a burning building! They’re whacky Christian fanatics. That’s why.”

The clinic was on a slab, so Chris could at least count on the floor to be solid, although he could feel the heat through his boots. No time to dwell on it. His suit was supposed to be able to protect him from temperatures in excess of 800 degrees C, but not much above that, which meant that he was in part counting on the fire retardants that were being sprayed liberally onto the structure to negate the effect of any remaining accelerant. Near the hallway that lead to the rooms and the entrance to the reception work space there was an area that was flaring suspiciously, creating beautiful low, smooth, blue and green waves of flames. Somebody had known what they were doing on this one. He made for the front desk, admiring the lovely display from a safe distance.

Chris vaulted onto the reception desk – very hot – and then immediately into the work area behind it. There were a lot of tablets strewn around, all intact and looking as though they had been left in typical disarray from the regular workflow of a busy molebiol facility. He stacked all of them into one manageable pile on the desk as efficiently as possible, added the Central Unit, then vaulted back up and over. It was hotter yet, which meant the suit was getting dangerously stressed. Vastly relieved to see that no large obstacles of flaming roof or wall had fallen into his path, he grabbed his rescued tablets and headed for the door. He didn’t look back when he heard a loud crash behind him, although he felt the wave of heat through the firesuit.

When he got out the door, he kept running. That had been easier than he expected, but he wanted to create a respectable gap.

The Captain was there to greet him 25 meters out. “Hold still, your back is on fire,” he said, patting out flaming debris with a gloved hand. “I hope it was worth it.”

“I won’t know until I get a chance to compile the contents and check them against open fraud cases. Mainly future cases. LLE is a new unit.”

The clinic was now totally engulfed and skeletal, on the verge of disintegration. As they paused to watch, there was another tremendous crash, sending out a wave of reverberating heat and brilliant sparks up in a final magnificent burst. They floated for a while in showy currents around the firefighters’ heads and equipment until they gradually faded into dead cinders, renewing the peripheral darkness.

“Well, if what you did today is any indication, you’re going to have a high turnover in personnel. To job-related fatalities.”

“I hope not. My wife would not approve,” Chris said. Then he couldn’t resist adding, “She’s due to deliver our first in two weeks.”

“Congratulations,” the Captain said. “You know, children change things. In your case, the change can’t come a moment too soon.”

Chris smiled slightly. “I suppose so. Do you have any yourself?”

“Two. A daughter, thirty-two. And a son, three. Both happy and healthy. My wife and I have been blessed.”

Chris began peeling off the uncomfortable suit, keeping a satisfied eye on his pile of data sources and already planning what to mine for first. Recent appointments, probably. Any clients approaching their allotment. The staff registry, of course. Perhaps the fire was purely the random work of Children of Christ’s Sacrifice or another fanatical group or individual, but if so they had developed some unexpected expertise in arson. Also, he’d had an informant when he was still working in Major Crimes who had hinted, shortly before disappearing, that CCS was being manipulated by a major source of funding, so their domestic terrorism might actually be targeting specific sites in an effort to destroy records.

“A guy with way more money than is good for anyone,” the informant had said. “And he’s convinced them – the CCS nutcase brigade – that this new unit, you know, the Longevity Law unit, has been especially created to infiltrate them and put down protesters and protect the rich people who want to live forever. It’s kind of ironic, really. They’re rabid about hating you guys. You can’t talk to those CCS people once they get an idea in their heads. Fused wiring in there.”

Chris stepped out of the firesuit and picked up his rescued tablets. He was just turning back to the captain to ask for a copy of the Arson Squad’s final report when his comu tickled with an emergency call. He touched his ear to activate the messenger.

“Highest urgency. St. Claire’s. Incoming vehicular trauma id’d as Karen DeVoe. Recommend immediate…”

Chris was already moving, dashing past the startled firefighters, gripping the tablets like they still really mattered, and calling instructions to his car while he was 20 meters away. A light rain started as he pulled away from the scene of the fire, and for the first half block he was driving almost blindly because of the ashes smeared across his windshield. He sped up as the scrubbers got them and visibility improved.

He used his strobe and siren as soon as possible, and every shortcut he knew, but in the end it didn’t matter much. Karen and their baby were both gone long before he reached them. Sometime later in the long hours that passed afterwards in pervasive numbness, he couldn’t really say when, he realized inconsequentially that they died while he was in the burning reset facility.

“You can hold that if it makes you feel better but don’t even think about using it unless I tell you to shoot,” Chris said very softly, nodding at the Stinger the rookie had drawn. He also crooked his finger and then pointed to a spot behind him, so that he would be positioned between the rookie and the door.