The City Boxset

Chapter 3-1

Three

“We will arrive at your destination in two minutes, Commander Buteo. The temperature outside our cabin is thirty-five degrees Celsius today. Sunny. Today’s air particulate rating is forty-eight. Acceptable. Today’s UV rating is moderate. Protection is highly suggested. Our records indicate that you have not yet listened to today’s Informed Citizen report. Would you like to play it now?”

“No, thank you.” Grace recognized the large, luminous building up ahead with its flashing sign.

“Announcement delayed for four hours.”

The auto pulled up to the auto stop adjacent to Viscosity Inc. and its door lifted, revealing a woman and three children waiting to climb in after her.

“Enjoy your day, Commander Buteo. And we thank you again for your patronage.”

She excused herself, maneuvering around the cluster onto the covered walk. Her eyes kept straying to the ostentatious sign on the front of the Viscosity skyscraper.

Slowly, her ears detected the ripple rolling through the crowd.

“Commander Buteo.”

“Oh Springer, that’s her.”

“Her poor face—”

“And her son was only—”

Someone called after her. Fortunately, unlike in the police precinct, it was easy to hide herself in the crowd.

Whoever wanted to speak with her was swept away by the tide of bodies.

When the pedestrian sign illuminated and the AI commanded WALK, she crossed the wide boulevard toward the building’s large paneled door.

Viscosity. Securing your future.

“Please stand on the sensor and be as still as possible,” the AI instructed. The small videogram by the front door blinked and flashed in unison with the voice.

The exterior door slid open.

“Verified. Welcome to Viscosity, Commander Buteo. Please enter reception for complete scanning.”

This was a tedious part of her job. Most city employees had only to deal with the biometric scan of one or two secured buildings in the course of their day. But the precinct and nearly every other building that she visited in her line of work was secured and bio-sealed to one degree or another. She felt like half of her job was simply presenting herself to the network for confirmation.

But they have good reason to be cautious, don’t they? she thought. At present, the precinct was only half secured, the other half open to the public so that officers remained accessible to the constituents they served.

That might change now after the attack.

The unsecured portion of the precinct building was where the first of two IEDs had been hidden: in a storage closet near the center of the precinct, just seven meters from her own office. Had she missed that explosive as well as the second . . .

She pushed down the thoughts before the MindCare program could activate itself again. If she had to spend another second describing the beauty of flowers today, she would lose it.

She assumed the scan position, hands loose at her side, palms open, and legs spread, while the scanner recorded her biometrics and compared them against those stored in the network.

Her ear shape, the veins in her palms, iris and retina recognition, facial recognition. She wondered if the new arm, the replacement they’d created for her in the hospital, would pass this test. The hospital assured her they’d updated her new biometrics in the network, zonewide, to include the new arm. She’d passed the inspection at the precinct, but this felt different.

“Please state your name.”

“Commander Grace Buteo.” She hated declaring herself. It was ridiculous. But all network signatures included full titles, and saying something as simple as “Grace Buteo” might trigger the alarm and delay her entry.

The light changed from red to green. “Welcome to Viscosity Inc., Commander. Please check in at the front desk in section A2.”

Her lenscape automatically linked with the building’s private server. The network overlaid her reality with a guiding arrow, blinking, showing her where to find the A2 desk as she crossed from the foyer into the receiving area.

Once the reception desk came into view, the arrow transformed into a green checkmark beside a pretty receptionist’s face and disappeared, leaving her field of vision unhindered again.

Without the checkmark, she was able to see the tall man standing at the desk for the first time. He leaned against it, flashing perfect, obviously altered teeth at the woman behind the counter. She laughed riotously, throwing her head back.

Grace stepped up to the counter. “Hello.”

The pretty receptionist blushed crimson as she met Grace’s eyes. “Welcome, Commander Buteo. Thank you so much for coming. We’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

I can tell.

The man’s demeanor changed. The relaxed, roguish posture he’d adopted for the receptionist stiffened. The devilish smile took on a formal grimness, and before Grace understood what was happening, he was brushing his hand against the back of hers.

Her reader accepted his profile share, which provided his name, zone of origin, and current business in the zone.

“Commander Buteo, I’m Inspector Jane. Heron Jane.”

“My assistant?” she said, pushing the profile aside.

He flinched at the words. “Yes.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, Inspector,” she said. She hoped the appropriate honorific helped.

“I’m not insulted,” he said, the stiffness only worsening as he withdrew his hand. “I am here to assist you.”

The pretty receptionist looked down and away as her earpiece lit blue. Then she met Grace’s gaze with a fresh smile. “They’re waiting for you in the east laboratory. If you would be so kind as to accept our welcome cache, a map will automatically be downloaded to your lenscape.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I do anything else for you?” the receptionist asked. She finally let her smile glide toward Heron hopefully.

“No, thank you,” he said. The formality with which he now regarded her made her pretty eyes flutter, the disappointment obvious.

Grace turned away. She completed the network onboarding and received Viscosity’s welcome cache.

“Map,” she said. An overview of her position on the ground level appeared in her lenscape, laid seamlessly over her reality.

“East laboratory,” she requested, and another dutiful green arrow guided her toward the elevators located at the center of the building.

Inspector Jane caught up to her at the elevator doors, stepping in after her.

You wanted this, she reminded herself. To be out in the world, yes. To give her restless mind something to do, absolutely. She’d wanted pure distraction. The peopling part was the price she had to pay for it.

“Heron Jane is an unusual name,” she said as the doors closed. She tried to ease her shoulders away from her ears. “Yet I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere.”

“My mother was a famous ornithologist,” he said simply, his hands in the loose pockets of his pants.

Jane.

She turned and scrutinized him. “Dr. Victoria Jane?”

He smiled, looking almost amused. “That’s the one.”

“Why didn’t you pursue science?” she asked. “With your mother, I suspect that no door would’ve been closed to you.”

“And spend the rest of my life trying to live up to her?” He laughed as if this was an old joke he’d grown tired of telling. “I could never do her justice.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t see it that way.” Naturally, Grace’s traitorous mind slid toward her own son.

I want to be a commander like you, Mommy. I want to keep the city safe too.

She leaned her weight heavily on the elevator’s wall.

“Are you all right?” Jane asked. He’d reached out to her and froze, realizing what he was doing midmotion. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.

“It’s just the . . .” She searched for the word that wouldn’t come.

“Acceleration? Velocity? Ascension?” he offered.

She shook her head, desperately wishing he would step back more and give her some air.

“It’s just the elevator,” she finished weakly.

His posture relaxed. “Yes, I find them offensive myself. It’s one of the least evolved inventions to exist today. The modern elevator has been in use for over seven hundred years and yet it’s had few improvements. Talk about resting on your laurels.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to this, so she said nothing. Obviously he was trying to cheer her up, but he seemed nervous. She saw it in the way he kept coming up onto the balls of his feet.

Was she making him nervous? Likely. She was the boss, and it was his first day.

When she heard his sharp intake of breath, she intervened. “Why Heron?”

He froze. In fact, he looked terrified, his wide eyes shining.

His reaction didn’t match her question, so she clarified the best she could. “Why did she name you Heron? Of all the birds?”

“Oh,” he said. Whatever he’d thought she meant by why was obviously worse than mild curiosity regarding the origin of a name. “When the sea levels first rose, before we started to move inland and rebuild, a lot of the animals died—mammals, birds, fish—either through habitat loss, pollution, or starvation. But one of the birds that did best, despite the terrible conditions, was the heron. Do you know what herons look like?”

Grace admitted that she did not.

“They’ve got a spear-like beak and very long legs, both of which are pretty useful when fishing in high waters. They’re waders, which means they can walk out into deeper water in order to find their prey. They don’t mind heat, and they can migrate. And they do as well in the wild as in more cosmopolitan environments. They’re very resourceful birds that can survive just about anywhere.”

“Your mother has faith in your abilities.”

He laughed. “My mother is an optimist, yes.”

Grace surveyed him with the corner of her eye. An expensive suit. A clean, handsome face. When he reached up to scratch his nose, she noted the individual signal booster ring fitted to his right hand. Something like that must have cost twice Grace’s salary. She suspected that like his avian namesake, he was surviving all right.

“I don’t mind the name,” he said. “It was better than the alternative.”

“What was the alternative?”

“If I’d been female, she was going to name me Egret,” he said with a grin. And, realizing she didn’t get the joke, added, “It’s another wader. Snow-white feathers.”

It occurred to her he might be evaluating her, measuring her as ruthlessly as she was him. Her profile must have been useless for this task. When he’d brushed her hand, he would have learned only Grace Helena Buteo, Commander, Zone 2.

Some profiles were ostentatiously detailed. Favorite music, favorite food, favorite stores, education history, marital status or partner affiliation, family or friend connections, gender expressions, languages spoken, political stances, group affiliations, and so on.

For Heron, anything he wanted to know about his commander, he would have to ask.

And what did he think of her?

Her stiff form. Her borderline inability to smile. The scars along her right temple and cheek. He must see the scars. It was her diminished right side that faced him.

“What about your name?” he asked. “Did your mother want you to be a dancer or something?”

“Grace was her grandmother’s name,” she said.

The elevator opened, and they were greeted by a scientist marching toward them. A small, dark woman with onyx eyes and open arms. For a terrifying moment, Grace thought she was going to be embraced, but instead, the scientist punctuated the exaggerated gesture by clapping her hands together.

“Welcome, welcome. I’m Dr. Loba Cyrah, I would like to thank you for your service—”

Please don’t.

“—Commander Buteo. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The perfunctory “Thank you” was managed despite her tightening throat. Heron offered to brush hands with Dr. Cyrah, but Grace saw the scientist hesitate.

Only reluctantly did she finally offer her profile. Grace politely refused. There were many ways to access public profiles, and she’d reached her limit of physical contact for the day.

“This way, if you please.” Dr. Cyrah waved them toward the large glass chamber of the lab.

Grace caught Heron watching her with a strange expression she couldn’t quite place.

“After you,” he said and gestured toward Dr. Cyrah.

“It’s my understanding that two dozen organs were stolen?” Grace began.

The door opened for the scientist after she paused long enough to have her body scanned for clearance. She held the door so that Grace and Heron could follow her before the chamber sealed itself.

“Twenty-six to be exact. Well, twenty-seven if you count each eye individually,” she said. “Eight kidneys, six livers, four hearts, three pancreases, three lungs, a thymus, and even a pair of eyes. What a monster they wish to make!”