Future Crimes Part 28

Among the nickering computer screens and background hiss, the soft tap-tap of keypads and the crackling static of loudspeakers Jerry Lane was no one. Just one more number in the army of workers.

Yet another fruitless day stuck in the bowels of h.e.l.l and nothing to show for it was coming to an end.

Lately he'd been growing resentful of his recent promotion to the Biometrics Information Corporation, considering it a bad move. He'd taken umbrage at his wife's interference in obtaining the move. A move he didn't want in the first place. His career in the Criminal Intelligence Section had been an enjoyable time.

The B.I. section was for dead-headed, keyboard tapping drongos.

He looked up at the clock--another five minutes and he could log off and get home. He began closing down his workstation, feeling his muscles at the back of his neck tense as they always did when finishing for the day. The act of turning off the monitor was like the final turn of the screw before all the tension could disperse.

He had actually made it into his jacket when the monitor screen sprang to life.

"Card gone active. Card gone active," the speaker boomed.

"Ah, s.h.i.t!"

Lane threw off his jacket and went back to his workstation.

"Details," he ordered.

The screen flashed up a large-scale quadrant map where a tiny red speck oscillated in its center.

"Mile End Gate, Citizen 246317216 using smart card at credit facility."

The computer announced.

Smartcard? The citizen was well behind the times.

Lane ordered an enhancement of the street plan. The computer showed him the junction of Mile End Road and Burdett Road. It was just on the limits of the Outer City; any further and Lane would need to call for armed backup. But this was one he could handle himself. This particular citizen had slipped out of his grasp on two previous occasions. Lane had programmed the computer to download a tracking device into the smart card the next time it was used, so maybe he could get lucky this time. Happy to be actually doing something, he ordered up a patrol car as he strapped on his webbing belt.

So what if I get caught?

All he could think of was getting something extra to eat and drink; getting back to the safety and comfort of his hideout and shutting out the rest of the world. He knew that he shouldn't have used his card, 102 Mike Sutler but there was no other way, no other legal way, of getting those extra rations. The center had provided his one meal for the day, but his stomach growled in protest. Now he wished he hadn't left home, A stupid row with his parents and now look at him.

No home, no parents, no comforts, no love.

What they fought about was long forgotten, only the fact remained that they didn't want him back and had even relocated. For the last eight months he had had to fend for himself.

The sky darkened dramatically, and a few spots of rain splattered down on to his unprotected head. A jagged fork of lightning lit up the street for a split second He began to count: one, two, three, four, five ... the crash of thunder rolled and echoed against the buildings.

ian Palmer wondered who taught him to do that to count the seconds between the thunder and lightning to guess the distance of the storm.

He hunched his shoulders against the sudden tropical downpour and protected his food against his body.

The rain fell harder, driving people off the street to scuttle for shelter. With no protection, ian was soaked through within minutes.

The rain plastered his hair against his head, ran down his collar, and seeped through his cheap footwear. He turned down a side alley away from the cars and people, finding himself a little bit of protection within a shop doorway.

A car stopped at the mouth of the alley. It was too narrow for it to get down, so it pulled up a couple of yards farther on, and stood idling for a minute before shutting down. But ian was too busy to notice; he had popped the can and was drinking the water like he'd spent a week in a desert.

"ID card."

The voice came out of nowhere.

ian almost dropped the can, but instincts got the better of him. His other reaction was slow.

"ID card," the voice repeated.

Playing for time, the youngster rumbled in his pocket then tried a sudden break, but the man was ready for him. With his arms trapped against his body, he was shoved back hard against the door.

"One more stupid move like that .. ."

Defeated, ian brought out his ID card and held it for inspection.

"You think I'm going to do all this standing out in the rain and getting p.i.s.sed on?" Jerry Lane took ian by the arm and frog-marched him over to his patrol car and threw him in the back. The locks went on automatically.

From the driver's seat Lane turned around and demanded ian's smart card The boy handed it over. It was fed into the computer console and both waited for the results to come spilling out.

As they were waiting Lane said, "A few questions for you, citizen."

"Depends on what questions."

The answer came with an att.i.tude. It never ceased to amaze Lane that his job could arouse so much animosity.

Lane said, "I'm with Biometrics, not the law."

"Same difference."

"Believe what you want." He leaned over the console, checking out the name.

"Citizen Palmer. I'm not going to go into the whys and whatfors for you."

"Cops, Biometrics Cops, what's the difference?"

Lane held his breath for a beat, then said, "You've not been at the facility for five months--why?"

Palmer shrugged.

"You know we'd come out and get you. What's the problem?"

Again the shrug.

"Aw, cut the c.r.a.ppy tough guy image, son. You aren't old enough to shave yet, so let's have some answers."

ian made eye contact with Lane for the first time.

What he saw was a pale-faced older man, who was probably around his father's age, with hard gray eyes 104 Mike Staffer that seemed to bore into his very soul. His hair was regulation length, and his mouth had a down turn which made him look sour.

ian quietly said, "I didn't feel so good when I come out of there last time."

Lane was suddenly struck with ian's childlike quality. The simplicity of truth.

"You go there, get your vitamin shots, a medical, you're fed, and then you're freed- That's it."

The console beeped. Lane tore off the strip of printout and read it.

"Hmm," "What's 'hmm'?"

"I've got to take you in. Smartcards are no longer valid. You need to go through a biometrics reprogram."

ian sank back in the seat.

"Hey, don't get all worked up. It's not as bad as you think."

"Have you had it done?"

"Course," he said easily. In explanation he added, "You don't get to be my age without having entered the program."

He stood by the large picture window and looked out over the cityscape.

Night was taking over the city, and the lights from the tower blocks started to blink on. Every now and then he would catch a brief glimpse of firelight out beyond the city walls. Then the white beam of light from the watchtowers would blind him for a second before pa.s.sing on.