John Moralee - Future Imperfect - A Collection of Science Fiction Stories

I was still thinking about her when my sister came home swaying like she had drunk every bottle of liquor in the New Commonwealth. Her scarlet skin-tight dress had lost a strap and her azure eyes were fully dilated by some form of narcotic. She saw me in my police uniform and held out her hands. “Whoops! Busted! Take me away, ossifer .”

“You’re drunk,” I said.

“Guilty!” she said. She laughed and flopped down on the couch, kicking off her high-heels. “You missed a wild party, sis.”

“Clearly, you didn’t miss anything. Looks like something ran you over. What drugs are you on?”

“Relax, Chara. I glanded some euphoria and emotica—nothing illegal.”

Every citizen in the New Commonwealth could internally manufacture mood-altering biochemicals perfectly legally, making their glands produce drugs—but I hated seeing my sister drunk. I worried about her getting in a dangerous situation. “You’ve got to be careful, Shada. Dad would freak out if he saw you like this.”

Our dad still lived in the village where we had grown up. After his marriage to my mother was legally dissolved, he remarried and had more children. These days our dad was so busy with his new family that I often felt like I had lost both parents—but I knew Shada would care what Dad thought.

“Give me a break, Chara. I’m an adult. Don’t try to make me feel bad. You’re harshing my mood.” Her dark green eyes narrowed. “Wait a sec. This isn’t about me having fun. You’re not normally a nag. Something’s upset you. What’s wrong?”

I didn’t feel like having a serious conversation while my sister was high. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“Hey, it’s me. I know something is on your mind. Talk.”

“Okay. Fine. I got an unexpected present. A very expensive book. It’s waiting at a shop in The Scrawl. I don’t know if I should collect it or leave it.”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“It could be from Mom.”

“Mom? I don’t believe it.” Shada pouted. “I can’t believe Mom sent you a present—but she didn’t send me one!”

“Count yourself lucky. Shada, I don’t know what to do. Mom hasn’t contacted us for twenty years. She abandoned us like we didn’t matter. Why would she send me something now? What does it mean? What does she want?”

“I don’t know. Look, sis, if Mom’s trying to get in touch with you, you have to find out. The book could contain a message telling us how to contact her.”

Shada had forgiven our mother a long time ago because she could not really remember her. She had been too young. It was a raw wound for me because I remembered what it was like to feel betrayed.

“Why would I want to contact her? She’s a criminal and an adulterer. She fled the planet. I am so mad at her. I should report what’s happened. For all I know, the book is stolen and she wants to drag me into some kind of con.”

“You don’t know that,” Shada said. “Listen to me. You’d be crazy to refuse a free gift, even if it is from Mom.”

“I don’t want anything from her.”

“I’ll have it even if you don’t. I can resell it for a sweet ride. My bike’s lost a power cell and I’d love to get a new one.”

“I’ve got work now,” I said. “But I’ll collect the present later.”

“Great! I’ll come with you shopping,” Shada said. “I haven’t been shopping with you for ages.”

“Okay,” I said. “See you later.”

Shada yawned and stretched out her long legs. “Need a few zees. I am totally wrecked after last night. Think I need to gland a hangover cure.”

My sister curled into a foetal position and, a minute later, I heard her snoring. I covered her with a blanket, then crept to my lockbox to retrieve my police-issued weapon, an Omni Version 4.0 Ultimate Pacifier 75mm. It was a smart pistol capable of firing stun or lethal rounds, depending on the setting. I attached the Omni to my belt before leaving.

My police flier was parked on the roof, its sleek black wings unfurling from the body as I approached. A side-hatch opened, lowering a tongue-like ramp, and I boarded. While I settled into my seat, reading up on crime reports, the autopilot engaged and flew me the six klicks over the bustling streets of The Scrawl to the matt-black Justice Building on the west bank of the mud-brown Gazo River, which split the city in two like a knife. My reading was interrupted by a proximity alert warning. A space plane was passing low over my flier, heading for the spaceport on the other side of the river. The craft cast a shadow over me that lasted for several seconds. Then a dark cloud of drones swarmed below me, ready to shoot down any craft not sending the right verification codes. My flier transmitted my ID code. The cloud parted to let me land on the roof without getting killed.

From there, I descended into the bowels of the building, infamously known as The Tomb because the ten bottom levels were Dorado’s biggest prison, holding over sixty-thousand convicted criminals. The police headquarters occupied the top three floors. I was early for roll-call—so I glanded caffeine to keep my senses alert during my shift. My partner, Vito Darelli, was late as usual. Vito didn’t show up until Sergeant Walker had started roll-call. His big, bear-like form slipped into the seat next to mine and asked me if he had missed anything important.

“No,” I said.

“Did you hear the ship last night?”

“Hard to miss it,” I said. “It woke me up.”

“Me, too!” he said with weird enthusiasm. “Guess what? It’s a Nexian cruiser. You know what that means?”

“No. What?”

“There’s going to be amazing alien stuff on sale in The Scrawl.”

“I’m not interested.”

Vito’s eyes widened. “Not interested? It’s not every day a cruiser comes here from the Archipelago. Tonight the bars will be overloaded with hot aliens looking to hook up with local guys. You could act as my wingman. The ladies will trust me if I have a female friend telling them I’m a great guy. As a thank-you, I’ll buy you beers all night and get you tickets to the volex game on Saturday. What do you say, partner? You in?”

Vito was grinning like his jaws were dislocated.

“No,” I said. “I’m not being your sleazy wingman. I say we should concentrate on solving some crimes.”

Vito stopped grinning and scowled. “You’re in a bad mood. Gland some sunshine, partner. Be my wingman tonight. Do me a solid.”

I resented him asking me to support his seduction of other women. I knew he was recovering from a divorce and not looking for another serious relationship, but that didn’t mean he had to turn into a jerk.

“I won’t be your wingman,” I snapped back, a little too loud.

Cops turned to look at us, including Sergeant Walker. He was standing in front of a screen showing a live aerial view of the city, with recent reported crimes highlighted in red. Most of the crimes were thefts and assaults on tourists in The Scrawl.

“Hey! The talkers at the back—shut up and listen. We’ve just got a report of an incident in Reunion Station. A teenage girl jumped on the tracks in front of the northbound express. You two talkers can get over there and search for the body. Don’t forget to wear bio-suits. It’s likely to be a splatter fest. You’ll probably be picking up pieces all day. Good luck!”

Every cop in the room sniggered at us—the poor fools given the worst assignment. I felt like I had stepped on a mine. I hated suicides. I was hoping to reason with Sergeant Walker—but he was staring at us. “Did you hear me, Detectives?”

“Yes, sir!” we said.

“Then why are you still sitting there?”

Reunion Station was across the river. It looked like a giant white golf ball attached to the crater-shaped quarantine zone around the spaceport. It didn’t take long to fly there – but my partner made every second feel like an hour. Brooding in silence, he somehow blamed me for our assignment, when he was entirely at fault. We landed on the rooftop emergency vehicle parking zone, where we were met by Chief of Security Radford, a stocky red-haired woman from a high-gravity world. Reunion Station had plenty of security cams inside, so I expected it to be easy to figure out what happened—but Radford gave us bad news.