The City Outside

One Heron placed a fresh koffee on the desk in front of Grace. “Your customary bullet and a half, Commander Buteo.” He gave a little flourish of a bow. His dark hair fell forward, cutting across his cheeks as he flicked his blue eyes up to meet her gaze. Her heart stuttered. It had been doing that a lot lately, when she made the mistake of meeting Heron’s eyes. But Grace Buteo, co-commander of the Zone 2 precinct, was a consummate professional. She wasn’t going to let something as silly as attraction distract her from her job. “Thank you.” She took the koffee and sipped. “It looks like two of the junior units need us to check in with them.” “What’s going on?” Heron sat back in the chair, lacing his fingers over his lap. “Nothing too dangerous, I hope.” Grace knew this was a lie. Heron thrived on chaos. “There seems to be an issue at Yorkshire Cryogenics. And Premier Solutions, too. Both experienced a security breach of some kind. Workers are complaining that data has been corrupted.” “That could simply be the result of malfunctioning components. Or user error,” Heron said, those relentless eyes still on her. “It doesn’t necessarily mean data thieves are to blame.” “You’re right,” she agreed. “Still, it’s our job to assess the situation and see if it merits a full investigation. So I want to head over to Yorkshire Cryogenics after the eleven hundred debriefing.” “As you wish.” Her eyes trailed to the photograph on her desk. Her dead husband, Davion, with his bright smile and kind eyes, looked back at her, his arms draped around Grace herself. It felt like a lifetime ago when she was that Grace—unscarred and whole—enveloped safely in her husband’s arms. When Davion had been alive and she’d been his wife. When they’d shared a son, Kaiden. When she’d been happy. Not carefree, exactly, but her greatest concerns had been hackers, radicalized outzoners, money launderers, and whether or not everyone she loved was healthy and well. That Grace would’ve never imagined that her husband could be murdered. That her son could be taken from her. That everything she’d thought she’d known could be a lie. She shook these thoughts away. “After the debriefing, I want you to order an auto for us. Then we will—” Her voice was swallowed by a commotion outside. Someone was shouting. Grace lowered the transparency on her office wall and saw that it was Lore Duchovny, the assistant inspector whose desk was closest to her office. He stood behind his desk, having brought himself to his full height. It was clear by the color of his face he was furious. No—he was afraid. “She’s not here, I’m telling you!” he cried. Lore Duchovny. An excellent inspector and the first line of defense between would-be interviewers and Grace. But while it was true that sometimes citizens had to be redirected from Grace’s office to more appropriate channels, none had evoked such a strong reaction from Lore. “What’s going on?” Heron asked. “What are those?” Three hulking forms stood over Lore’s desk. They weren’t bystanders insisting that they speak to the police commander. They weren’t even human. They were jailers. Three robotic jailers of hulking proportions, their bodies metallic and shining. “We have a warrant for the arrest of Commander Grace Buteo,” one of the jailers said. “Why? For what reason?” a woman asked. Celebrity Smith came to Lore’s side, her face scrunched with concern. “That information is classified,” the robot said, its head pivoting again in the direction of Grace’s closed door. It couldn’t see through the door because of her privacy settings. Grace was grateful for that. But the piercing stare certainly gave a different impression. Her skin iced under the lit green gaze. Celebrity moved to Lore’s other side, standing in the direct path between the desk and Grace’s door. “If you’re going to arrest a public servant, I think I, as a public servant, deserve to know why.” The robot seemed to consider this. It must be the pack leader then, Grace thought. There was always one that served as the primary mind. The other two were its support team. They would hunt their target the way hyenas hunted. In a coordinated, unwavering attack, until their target was captured and brought to jail. A hand clasped over her arm, and she jumped. “We have to go.” Heron pulled her from the desk. “They’re trying to buy us time and we’re wasting it.” They—Celebrity and Lore. And now two other agents, Grace saw. All of them asking questions, stalling the machines. They must know, as surely as she did, the robots were programmed to respond to law enforcement agents when questioned. “It must be some mistake,” Grace said, her heart rate rising. “Someone set you up. Let’s go.” The robotic jailers were trying to step past Celebrity, her blond hair swinging as she was nudged aside. Only Lore replaced her on the path, becoming a new barrier. “I asked you to give me the warrant number and its signing officer,” Lore said. “It’s proper protocol.” They stopped again, that green light looking toward her office door as if it considered charging through. “If you don’t move, I will have to carry you,” Heron said. “We aren’t going to stay here and find out who wants you arrested.” “But I did nothing wrong,” she said, her mind dilating with shock. “Exactly,” Heron said. “That’s why it’s a setup. My money is on Khan or Adams.” Adams? Grace couldn’t imagine that her co-commander would turn against her. It was true that weeks ago he’d confessed his love for her. Had suffocated her with his unwavering intentions, which she’d rebuffed harshly when a simple no hadn’t sufficed. But rejecting his affections wasn’t enough to fabricate a crime against her, was it? Surely he wouldn’t have her thrown in jail for something as ridiculous as that. Heron grabbed the photograph of Davion off her desk. Then from the wall, the taped picture that Kaiden had drawn for her. It was the Earth, telling the moon a joke. “Is there anything else we should grab? There’s a possibility you won’t be able to come back here.” This can’t be happening. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” Grace was sure of it. She knew the laws of Zone 2 by heart, forward and backward. She had to as its highest-ranking law enforcement agent. She would know if she’d made even the smallest miscalculation or error in judgment. Who in the world would have enough evidence of a crime to not only accuse her but have the authority to issue three jailer bots to come and arrest her? “I know you haven’t,” Heron assured her. “But that isn’t going to matter in two seconds when those jailers come through the door. Let’s go.” Grace threw one last look through the transparent wall at Lore’s red, panicked face. He was running out of ammunition. Celebrity, too, looked all but pinned. Other officers were hanging back, their faces marked with confusion. Grace abandoned her koffee. “Through here.” Heart pounding, she stepped from her office into the adjacent conference room. They hurried past the long table to the door at the end. This opened a utility closet. The sharp sting of cleaning supplies hit her nose as they passed through this room into the breakroom. Several junior officers looked up from their tasks, saw that it was Grace, and began to rise. “Don’t,” she warned them. “Stay in your seats.” She didn’t go so far as to command “You never saw me.” She didn’t want to abuse her authority like that. If they were stopped and questioned, she didn’t want anyone lying for her on her order. Confusion spread across their faces, but she had no time to reassure them. On the other side of the room was the hallway leading to the Damascus Street exit. She threw the door open and there was Adams, coming up the hallway between her and the exit. His dark face had been pensive, his eyes distant until he saw her. Then the hard look softened with surprise. “Grace?” He looked around her shoulder and regarded Heron holding the photograph of her dead husband, her son’s drawing. “What’s wrong?” “Move, Adams,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening and I’ll—” “We don’t have time for that,” Heron said. “Move to the side and let us pass.” Adams started at that. Heron had made no effort to infuse his voice with respect, or at the very least the civility deserving a commander. “Do you want her to get arrested?” Heron charged on. “Did you do this to her?” Adams’s lenscape lit blue then, the helix of his ear illuminating as his eyes scanned the wall behind them. “There are jailers ransacking your office,” he said, his surprise expanding. “What the hell happened?” “Move, Commander Adams,” Heron said. “Or we’ll have no choice but to assume that you were the one who set Grace up.” Adams’s dismay—anger—came fast and hot. “I told you. I told you to stop fighting them. Look what you’ve done.” Look what she’d done? She clenched her teeth. “I’ve done my job.” “Adams, move. I won’t ask again.” Something in Adams’s face changed then, reacting to a scene she couldn’t see. Grace turned and lowered the transparency on the walls. The jailers were tearing apart the breakroom as terrified agents stood at attention, watching the scene unfold, exchanging nervous, confused looks. A hand grabbed her. She found Adams holding her arm, clutching her. He’s going to turn me in. Turn me over to them even though he knows I’m innocent. But Adams pushed her toward the exit, turning his body so that Heron could pass. “Go,” he said, stepping away from them toward the breakroom. “Run.”