Chapter 4: Orders Are Orders

Senate Law 37a: To keep the peace, all homes will be subject to random sweeps. All Citizens will comply with this procedure or face relocation.

TIME: 1945

None of the officers liked the necessity of giving their Colonel bad news. His temper was legendary and could be flared by the smallest of inconveniences. It was for this reason that a lone Private now stood petrified before the door of that Colonel.

Morrison held in his hand a report of the incident from curfew that evening. A young girl no older than 19 had been found, nude and terrified, on the streets by Morrison and his own team. What had happened afterward had already sparked a paperwork nightmare that everyone involved simply wanted to forget.

“Morrison, I know you’re out there.” The Private jumped, not expecting that to come from the room. “Please enter.”

Slowly, Private Morrison opened the door, ready for a scythe to lop off his head. Seated at a desk off to the side was the Colonel. A legend in his own right, this man was tall and imposing, with cropped gray hair and a light shadow of facial hair coloring his face. The sound of bombastic music could be heard softly, along with lyrics in a language Morrison was unable to recognize.

As the music reached a triumphant conclusion, the Colonel looked up, removing his glasses.

“Sit.” The order was simple, and the Private immediately complied. His superior stood and turned away, looking outside at the city below.

“Do you know Mahler?” Morrison shook his head lightly.

“I’m disappointed. He was a true genius for his time. The language is German, a dialect that died about 100 years ago. Only scholars can speak it, though I understand this piece. Do you?”

“No, sir.”

“It speaks of one’s inner conviction, and a man’s ability to overcome fear and despair on a journey to find God. Personally, I think overcoming fear is a waste of time, as is the attempt to find God. If there is one, He abandoned us long ago.”

“I agree completely, sir.”

The Colonel looked back at the young man cowering before him. A smile played on his lips.

“Of course you do; that’s your job, is it not? To agree with everything I say?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong.” The Private gulped. Of course that was the wrong answer. Why wouldn’t it be? The Colonel sighed heavily before continuing.

“Why did you join the force, Tyler?”

“To make my father proud, sir.”

“Your father served in the Marines during the Dilapian War, right?”

“Yes, sir. He was killed in action seven years ago.”

“I remember him from boot camp. He was a good man, and you should be proud to wear a uniform with that name stitched on it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, that’s what I would say if you deserved that jacket. However, tonight your unit displayed such an abhorrent disregard for your own oath that I won’t even say it. Is yours an isolated incident? No! However, this is the first time any of you has even considered admitting to it. For that, you five have earned my trust and respect. It takes a strong man to admit to such a serious breach of contract.”

Morrison was on the verge of a breakdown. Was this the Colonel’s ability: breaking down a man’s deepest sense of security? Is that how he became such an effective interrogator?

“I’ll ask you once again—and think back to basics for this one—what is your job?”

Back to basics…the oath we all had to memorize? “To protect and serve the Citizens of this Nation and maintain readiness at all times.”

“Very good.” Sigh. “You seem to have some hope for rehabilitation. Now, answer me this: in what way is confronting a scared girl holding to that oath?”

“I didn’t make that decision, sir.”

The Colonel raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Please explain.”

TIME: 1733

“Well, gentlemen, I think we’ve done a good job of sweeping the area. How’s about we report back and ask for some down time before the next one?”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Watch your language, Fallor. And sure, thing Cap!”

“Alright, let’s just grab some chow first.”

The small band of DAP waltzed into a corner diner, approaching the counter and the now-stiff cashier manning it.

“C-Can I get you gentlemen anything?” she asked, the fear in her voice palpable.

Captain Declan Rodriguez took up a front position.

“A round of coffee and sammies for all five of us, if you don’t mind.”

“S-Sure thing. J-Just take s-seat.”

As they sat down, the other patrons took in the sight before them. A Hispanic man with a thick mustache and burly arms, Captain Rodriguez was a terrifying man if you didn’t know him well enough. To his right sat Corporal Daniel Fallor, a slight man with little to him except bug-eyes and immaturity that could shatter any scale. Across from them sat the twins of the group: PFCs Forest and Walker Dapler. Both were muscular and brown-haired, with psychotic personalities and a shared proclivity to hit rather than ask. Finally, the runt of the litter: Private 2 Tyler Morrison. His demeanor was that of a child, but his articulacy and organizational skills had earned him a reputation as a brutally honest negotiator at a young age, and the Captain had requested him personally.

Soon, a red-haired waitress delivered the group’s orders, scurrying away before any of them could thank her. Forest, the taller of the twins, was the only one to say what they were all thinking.

“So anyone else think she had a great ass?”

Walker immediately erupted in laughter, with Fallor quickly following suit. The Captain was reluctant, but managed to crack a smile while maintaining his professionalism.

The only one of the group who failed to find any humor in the remark was Morrison. Still new to the force, he had yet to assimilate into the culture of the DAPs. The young Private had passed basics only two months previously, and was still getting used to regulations, the grid, and his name.

Good God, to have a name.

Until joining the force, Morrison had been known as FEL 8709. His childhood had been rather uneventful, barring the death of his father, which prompted his own interest in serving. There were many perks to being a member of the District Armed Police such as extra money for supplies, immunity from most crimes, and especially a name.

Real names were rare in the Nation, as they were deemed dangerous when the Senate took over. Now there were only two ways to gain a name while still alive: military service or politics, and only the latter was public knowledge. To reveal that military drones had names to a Citizen bore the penalty of relocation, as did most crimes committed in uniform.

“Hey, Ty!” Morrison jerked his head up, finally snapping back to reality. The others were eyeing him peculiarly.

“So,” Forest said. “What do you think?”

“About what, Bruiser?”

“That chick’s ass: you like?”

Time to put on the pig act again.

“Of course. What did you think, man?”

Forest sighed heavily. “Thank goodness! I thought for a minute…”

Morrison tuned back out, slowly nibbling at the sammie in front of him. Suddenly it didn’t seem so appetizing. Sure, it was good and everything, but he still felt wrong taking it. Why did a uniform mean he didn’t have to pay for anything? If that leniency was out of respect instead of fear, it might not be a problem.

He wanted to be looked up to by his brother, but not if it meant being feared by everyone else.

After a few minutes, Fallor ordered a round of beans for everyone, proudly yelling something about a celebration. Morrison assumed it concerned the man’s latest conquest in the world of women. The young Private was the only one to not drink, choosing instead to watch his fellows slowly get buzzed.

Please just let me get home so I can enjoy the reruns.

The group left after finishing their meal, thanking the hostess for her hospitality. Morrison was sure he’d seen Fallor try to cop a feel on the poor girl, but kept walking. It wasn’t the first time that man had shown himself to be a complete pig. The brisk air usually calmed him down anyway—they had been inside for longer than usual that day.

The five rushed back to their grid after noticing the time: 1757. In three minutes, the teenie curfew would go into effect, and the first ten minutes were always the most interesting; a few kids overestimated how much time they had left on a near daily basis, making for an interesting experience on the force. Rounding up teenies was never anyone’s favorite, but it was the law. Remembering this, Morrison thought back to his first day of basics.

“If one thing will show you how ugly this job can be, it’ll be your first round-up. The first time you have to deliver a kid for relocation sticks with you, haunts you.”

“General, do you remember your first?”

“Yeah. 12-year-old by the no of SEF143. She cried the whole way to the station, begging for freedom at any cost. Trust me, there are worse stories than that one. You’ll undoubtedly make some bad ones yourselves. What you need to remember your duty to the DAPs and the Citizens who abide by the laws every day.”

Those words reverberated through PVT Morrison’s head every day, through every round-up he’d helped conduct. The deep green eyes of his first still hung there, lifeless, terrified, seared into his conscience for all time. They would never leave, never cease to remind him why he punched in every day.

The troupe patrolled silently for nearly ten minutes, encountering the eerie silence of concrete walls. As they rounded a corner, there she was.

A slim girl with rainbow-colored hair was wandering around an alley, a lost look on her face. Her deep magenta eyes darted around, attempting to process everything in sight. Her mouth hung slightly agape in awe, and her nostrils flared as she panted—she had obviously been running.

She certainly was a strange girl wandering such a secluded neighborhood at this hour, and all five men found themselves staring at her continuously. Her movement—drunk and disjointed—was awkward at best and indicated little or no coordination.

The most astonishing thing about this girl was her clothing—or rather, lack of it. It had taken a few seconds, but the DAPs in the alley noticed she was completely nude. Being so was not illegal, but it was unfavorable to much of the populace. The sight of a woman’s breasts tended to make men uncomfortable in a way that slowly became more noticeable to everyone around them. On the other hand, women tended to think of their children and any potential moral corruption.

Rodriguez gave a signal to the rest: intercept with intent. Basically they were to ask her how old she was and her business in this area of the city. If she was found to be a teenie, she would be brought in for relocation without hesitation.

A dangerous look flashed across Fallor’s face, but disappeared before anyone was able to take notice. He took the lead, shoving Rodriguez out of the way.

“Hey, gorgeous. Where’s a pretty young thing like you going this time of night?”

TIME: 2007

The Colonel leaned back into his chair, a vacant look in his eyes. Slowly, he removed his spectacles, a single tear appearing for the briefest second. Turning to face Morrison, he was greeted with the deepest look of shame that had ever entered this office.

Who can blame him?

“Well, you know the rest,” the young officer said quietly. “Do I have to repeat it?”

“Tyler?” Morrison looked up. “You’ve said enough for tonight. Thank you for coming forward. You did the right thing.”

“Thank you, sir.” He was shaking now, close to tears. What he had seen should never have happened, and could affect anyone in the worst way. The Colonel walked around his desk placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Go home, son. You need the rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just as Morrison stood to leave, someone burst into the room, taking both men by surprise.

“Colonel,” the newcomer said through deep breaths, “We have a lead on that girl Team E7 encountered earlier tonight.”

Morrison remained quiet, trying not to hear what was being said. The Colonel, on the other hand, appeared awestruck, struggling to respond immediately.

“Wh-Where is she?”

“A house near downtown. She was let in by a local.”

“Well, set up a perimeter and bring them both in!”

“Well, there’s a problem with that plan, sir.”

A pair of grey eyes narrowed. “And what might that be?

“Well, the thing is, that house was cleansed four years ago. It should be empty.”

The Colonel wasn’t surprised; vagrants often inhabited cleansed houses. In fact, the number of people who did that was too high for the DAP to even care. He voiced this fact to the man in front of him.

“I realize that sir, but hear me out.” The Colonel thought for a moment, then nodded. “The young man in that house is the son of its original inhabitants.”

TIME: 2127

Somewhere near the boy’s home, a pin dropped. Over the past hour a perimeter had silently formed around the dimly lit house and was nearing completion. The Colonel had reasoned that, while the girl might be clear of wrongdoing in light of actions taken, this boy was violating the law by harboring a non-relative and occupying a cleansed structure. Sure the DAP didn’t normally care about such activities, but the girl was already on their radar.

The spraid was to commence at 2130. None of the officers enjoyed the notion of raiding a cleansed house, especially since many had thought fondly of the boy who still lived there. However this girl was the cause of a nightmare downtown, so that gave the DAP cause to bring her in for questioning.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tower struck 2130. Silent orders given, the officers began a soft run toward the light. The first man to reach the door followed simple procedure: three sharp raps to request entry.

When no answer was received within ten seconds, breach protocol was initiated. In less than a minute, twelve officers were through the door with twenty more on the way. Slowly, each room was cleared as the empty space became smaller and smaller. By the time the Colonel entered the house, there was only one room left: the bedroom under the stairs.

Ten officers converged on the door, and soon cleared room for the graying senior approaching the force. He slowly opened the door and felt for the light switch. Turning on the small bulb, he was met with the sight of two mannequins, both dressed up, lying in a large bed. The cigar dropped from the Colonel’s mouth as his jaw hung limp. What he was seeing was indescribable.

“Sir, they’re not here.”

None had ever seen the Colonel speechless; it seemed impossible or him not to have something to say. The thought of finding the two now left his mind as he tried to process the sight in front of him. After a few minutes, he turned to face Morrison, who had materialized before him.

“Your friend and her new companion appear to be fugitives of the District Armed Police. You will give her description to the Detectives and they will initiate a search-and-acquire. That is all.”

The Colonel turned to leave. As he reached the door, he turned back.

“And someone bag all this. It’s evidence in an active investigation.”

A murmur of “Yes, sir.” could be heard from somewhere in the group.

Morrison exited the house, wondering where the poor girl could be, and how sly this boy must be to evade their force so easily.

Two hours later, the DAP officially pulled out of the home, sealing it and placing a 24-hour watch on it.

No one thought to look under the floorboards, where two teenagers now hid, their breath slow and soft.

Author's Note

Sammie: Sandwich
Bean: Beer
Spraid: Spontaneous raid