Simoom Rising

Chapter Sixteen

DORIC

After Ann fell asleep in the infirmary, I spent a long boring rest of the day doing paperwork at my desk. Mac came by to tell me the interrogation would resume tomorrow morning. He was not in a talkative mood, so I let him be. When my shift was over, I was expecting Mac to make his usual invitation for drinks and grub at the Officer's Club, but he didn't. He left without a glance my way. I guess this interrogation has taken its toll on both of us. I ate something bland and forgettable from the cafeteria for dinner, returned to my quarters and fell into bed with a book. I didn't expect to sleep—it was still early and my mind was unsettled.

But I must have fallen asleep because next thing I knew it was three years ago and I was on patrol in the High Ridge Mall. I was a mall Pat—a stint we alternated with our duties patrolling in the Pit. There I was in uniform again, swaggering through the cavernous food court on subfloor one. It was crowded, but the Pit Rats were easy to spot.

This was before the Pit blockade was implemented, before the riot, when Pit Rats occupied a legal grey zone—not technically forbidden on the Plat, but not exactly tolerated either.

The three Pit Rats at the food stalls seemed quiet enough. So, I decided to watch, but not approach them. When they headed to the escalator, I followed them at a discreet distance.

They went up to the ground floor; I assumed they were heading for the exit. But they weren't—instead they took the escalator up to the second floor. They seemed nervous, like they were up to something. I followed, radioing in for back up as I did. I stopped them just as they were approaching the escalators for the third floor.

"Gentlemen," I said, keeping my voice neutral; I knew how to handle these delinquents. "I think you've taken a wrong turn. May I help you find the exit?"

The three boys were filthy, covered in grey dust; their unwashed bodies stank. "No, no wrong turn, Pretty Patty," said one with an arrogant toss of his head. He was obviously the leader of this little gang. "Just heading up to the top to see the blue out the sky lights. Maybe have a beer at The Skyward. Care to join us?"

"Watch your mouth!" I said in my best imitation of my drill sergeant. It was critical that I maintain authority in these types of situations. "Now, I'll ask you again, are you boys lost?" Their eyes had turned hostile. Their leader was seething. I sighed, but tried to hide it. If only they would just co-operate. I barked an order: "Show me your IDs"—knowing full well they had none.

"Why?" asked another, with a defiant shake of his chin.

I smiled. "Because the High Ridge Mall is a private facility, for the exclusive use of WAVE Corp. employees and their families. Show me your IDs."

"Officer Doric, any trouble here?" said a colleague of mine, appearing with three other Mall Pats at my back.

"No trouble," I told him. "These boys were just about to leave. Come along now." I reached for the arm of their leader.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!" the Rat exploded, pulling his arm away, just before the other officers tasered him and his companions. My body jumped with a sympathetic buzz of electricity as the boys fell in jerks to the floor.

Odd. I don't remember feeling that buzz at the time, but I do remember tasering Rats who refused to move along in the years leading up to the riot. It was always the same. It's not like we wanted to use force on them. We were just doing our job, and quite frankly most of the Rats were entirely unreasonable about it. Such encounters were common place, so much so, I wondered why I remembered this particular incident—let alone dreamt of it all these years later.

"You're not really dreaming," said Ann. The scene had shifted, and now I sat across from Ann. She was in a low-cut clingy red dress, her silver blonde hair flowing down her back in curls. We were in The Skyward on the mezzanine of the atrium, on the top floor of the Mall. Looking over the railing I could see below us the floor of the atrium with its grove of synthetic lemon trees and its real rose bushes around an opulent fountain. I could feel a faint spray from the fountain and hear the clack, clack, clack of high-heeled shoes on the polished floor. Above, through the glass ceiling not a whiff of dust could be seen—just a bright afternoon sky.