The Collector (5 page)

Adrianne’s heels clatter on the laminated floor as she rushes to a conference room within Headquarters. Here Mazer stands before a panel of suits, each Board Member’s face cast in shadow and barely illuminated by light from a projector as Mazer presents this month’s numbers: population growth rates, headcount, and available resources.

“Can’t we borrow from Yesenia?” one suit asks.

“No one is going to give up their rations for us,” another suit responds bluntly. “Before the dam, we never gave up any for them.”

“And afterwards we still won’t,” jokes a third suit. The majority of the panel laughs.

“We need more volunteers,” the first suit says, stating the obvious.

Mazer interrupts and points to a new slide, “If you turn your attention here, you’ll see that since our expanded marketing campaign our volunteer numbers have increased.”

“Expanded marketing or decreased hope? Both work just the same,” the third suit jokes again.

Mazer notices Adrianne peering in from the hall. He shakes his head that now is not a good time, but her eyes urge him of the importance of the matter. He excuses himself and steps out into the hall.

“Fourteen O’Five and Fourteen Seventy went dark,” she reports.

“How long?”

“Within the last hour.”

“The slums?” Mazer’s brow furrows as Adrianne nods to confirm. He considers his options, though there are not many as he knows it is hostile territory. “We’ll follow protocol. Twenty-four hours before sending out a rescue team.”

“But sir…”

“It could be just a blip,” he interrupts. “Their PDAs dying or shutting off. We won’t risk more lives until we know for certain.” Mazer’s plan of inaction doesn’t make Adrianne feel any sort of comfort or any less guilty, her shoulders unknowingly slumping until he reassures her, “Protocols are established to create order. They must be followed.”

The angelic melody fills the air as Neil’s eyes flutter open. He lies on a cot in a t-shirt with a bandage around his arm, while the wounds on his face have recently clotted. It’s been at least a couple hours since the blast. He spots Inna barefoot in a rocking chair stitching up his combat uniform. With her hair up, she bites her lip while humming the melody, her loose fitting sweater exposing her shoulder. Neil remains silent. He knows it is against penal code to have exposed shoulders and he knows he shouldn’t look, but her innocence and grace combined with her song provides a sense of peace. She’s beautiful, and for the first time in a long time, Neil’s mind is at ease.

The melody takes an eerie turn just as Neil notices the outer edges of a deep purple bruise near her shoulder. Then, on the backside of her neck near the hairline, more bruising. His eyes narrow, curious, until the humming stops.

“Hey there. How are you feeling?” Inna asks.

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

“You kind of did,” Inna giggles as she focuses on her stitch job.

“Where are we?”

“Upstairs at my shop.”

“Must’ve been hell dragging me here in that wagon.”

“Not everything survived the blast,” she says.

“I can tell.” Neil refers to his torn uniform. He groans as he sits upright and watches Inna reattach his 3-stripe arm badge. “You don’t have to do that. They’ll issue me a new one.”

“And just let this end up in the trash?” Inna responds.

Neil reaches for his PDA on his utility belt. The screen is cracked and the device won’t power on. He knows what this means – he went dark on the Agency’s database. He tosses it aside. “Has my partner come by?”

Inna shakes her head no.

“You have a phone?”

“Plenty downstairs. Just no lines to connect them to.”

Neil rises to inspect his surroundings where everything is made of rotting wood, like a medieval peasant’s shack. Even the bowls and cups resemble a forgotten era, each from a different set and salvaged together.

He spots a framed picture of a young couple’s wedding in a church with a prominent angel statue behind them. “They actually did a ceremony?” he asks.

“It was before they issued partners. Those were my grandparents,” Inna says. “I tried to visit that church, but it’s restricted now.”

Neil sets the photo down and continues with his tour. “Does your partner know I’m here?”

“It’d be awfully hard to hide you.”

“Bet he ain’t too happy about that.”

“He said some things.”

“Is that all he did?” Neil touches her arm, calling attention to the nasty bruise.

She adjusts her sweater to cover it up. “It’s from the truck.”

“I can have him arrested for that,” Neil offers.

“I don’t need saving, Neil. Right now you should focus on yourself.” She stands with the finished uniform. “Here, try it on.”

Neil pulls off the t-shirt, exposing the numerous faded scars on his torso. Inna’s taken aback, both from the scars and from his chiseled body, her eyes fixated on them, and his on her.

“Do they hurt?” Her fingertips near a scar across his chest when suddenly Damian appears in the doorway.

“Just ‘cause he’s here I don’t get breakfast?” he scowls.

Inna steps back from the half-naked man while Neil promptly puts on his uniform, their moment shattered.

“And burn that shirt. I don’t want it back,” Damian adds as he moves through the kitchen and heads for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Inna asks.

“Marty’s,” Damian shouts back. “Tess never missed a meal you know.” His footsteps trail off.

“He’s a saint,” Neil notes sarcastically. He notices Inna’s hand subconsciously caressing the bruise on her neck. “Just say the word and I’ll send for an Enforcement Officer,” he offers again.

“It was nice meeting you, Neil,” Inna responds. For the first time there is a sense of coldness to her voice.

Reality strikes. Neil gets it. “I should report back.” He straps on his utility belt. “The Agency thanks you for your help.”

On the SectorLink line out of the slums, Neil admires Inna’s stitch job along the edges of his arm badge. Unless one is specifically looking for any sign of repairs, the uniform looks brand new.

The closest person on the crowded tram is Zack, nineteen, an off-duty Security Enforcement Officer. As Zack sits with his blue uniform shirt untucked, he fidgets in his seat, clearly wanting to talk to Neil. He finally works up the courage and leans forward excited.

“Pssst, hey. I just signed up,” Zack gloats.

Neil keeps his focus on the arm badge, not one to talk unless required. He issues his standard response without much care, “The Agency thanks you for your sacrifice.”

“Not as a volunteer. For training. I applied to be a Collector.”

Neil glances up and notices Zack’s outfit. “You an Enforcement Officer?”

“Up at the Wall,” Zack confirms. “Boring as hell too. Rarely anyone comes up there, let alone is allowed through.” Zack reclines back with a beaming grin across his face. “I want to be just like you.”

Neil sizes the kid up. He’s seen the likes of him before. Ever since the Agency’s creation the city has been divided on what exactly it stands for: good or evil, hope or despair. To those like the Brigade or Frank the Machinist, Collectors are nothing more than death-dealers. To others like Zack, they are rock stars, doing only what a select few are actually mentally and physically cut out for. Neil doesn’t want to lead the kid either way so instead he responds bluntly, “I’d start by tucking in your shirt.”

Zack complies, not trained on the strict standards Collectors abide by.

Just then, the tram comes to a screeching halt and a pre-recorded message blares over the SectorLink P.A. system, “Random identification check in progress. Please remain seated.” The inflection in the digital voice is ironically calm and soothing while the words strike fear into many of the passengers. The security announcement repeats every few seconds.

The passengers murmur amongst themselves as two SectorLink SEOs step aboard the tram, visually checking IDs and taking blood samples to verify identities against the database.

“Think there are any Breachers?” Zack asks. “I want to see you in action.”

Neil watches the SectorLink SEOs conduct their sweep. It continues without issue, like the majority of them do, until near the back of the tram the SEOs find something wrong with a passenger and drag him away kicking and screaming.

Neil sits at the same conference table the Board of Directors sat at just a day prior. Mazer is next to him, while Slayter looms by the door.

“Frankly I’m surprised you’re alive,” Mazer states.

“Has Wade reported in?” Neil asks.

“I think it’s safe to assume the worst.”

“We have to look for him,” Neil insists.

“It’s been twenty-four hours and no contact.”

“So according to protocol now is the time to send in a rescue team.” Neil leans forward to argue his case. “If the truck was the only target then Wade could still be alive.”

Mazer glances to Slayter before powering on the projector. It displays Jimmy’s profile from the identity database.

“That’s the boy we collected,” Neil observes. “Wade turned him in.”

But something is off. Neil notices the three words no Collector ever wants to see on their volunteer’s profile:

Collection Date: -1 Days

Status: Breach of Contract

“Your assignment is now officially in Breach of Contract,” Mazer reveals. “Whoever attacked you also got to Wade. He never made it to the tunnels.” Neil shakes his head in denial as Mazer continues, “We’re losing too many Collectors. We need to crack down on the Brigade.”

“Enforcement Officers can only do so much,” Neil explains.

“Exactly, so we’re going to help them out and expand our authority. Use this situation to our advantage.”

Neil looks between Mazer and Slayter for clarification.

“The mother,” Slayter chimes in.

“I want you to finish the assignment with the boy, then question the mother,” Mazer orders. “She must’ve notified the Brigade. Find out who she worked with and how she contacted them. Slayter will be going with you.”

“The Agency’s a public service. It’s against protocol to interrogate,” Neil protests.

“And it’s against protocol to split up in hostile territory. What kind of irrational decision was that?” Mazer fires back. Neil’s hand moves to his repaired arm badge. “You took an oath to uphold the mission of the Agency, now go fulfill it.” Mazer exits without need for further discussion.

Neil remains in the shadows of the conference room staring at Jimmy’s projection until Slayter slaps him on the back with a grin.

“Interrogation 101. Class in session.”

******

Don’t Walk Alone

There was a girl walking alone at night when she was suddenly attacked and taken to a transfer tunnel. There she was sold to a corrupt guard who ultimately had her hauled off to the facility for processing in exchange for a bounty.

They call these Bounty Hunter Collectors, and are completely unsanctioned. While the Agency has strict procedures, these individuals do not. Who wants to walk to the SectorLink as a group? Eeeeek!

-Quado

6

L
oraine peeks out the front curtain just as Slayter and Neil pull up in their truck. She panics. Within moments,
BANG BANG
, Neil knocks on the door.

“Lesson one,” Slayter instructs as he pushes Neil aside. He steps back and braces himself, about to thrust his foot forward and kick down the door when suddenly it whips open, revealing Loraine.

“Yes?” she asks, out of breath yet trying to mask it.

The Collectors storm in, the screen door still barely on its hinges. Neil searches beneath Ben’s cot. Ben looks worse than before, his stomach even more bloated.

“What are you doing?” Loraine protests.

Slayter rips through the cabinets beneath the water purifier and tosses jugs of urine aside. They spill over.

“Stop it! What are you looking for?”

“Just tell us where your son is,” Neil bargains.

“Ben? Michael? Thomas? They’re all here,” she pleads.

Wrong answer. Neil throws the cushions off the rotted sofa, then cuts back the lining to search inside its wooden base. This is clearly not the first time Neil or Slayter have conducted a thorough search for a Breacher, knowing all the hiding spots.

In the back room, Slayter flips over a twin bed as Thomas and Michael, the other two of the triplets, cry. Neil scours through the dresser drawers, finding Jimmy’s black flag stuffed far in the back. He shows it to Slayter. “He’s been here.”

Returning to the main room, Michael and Thomas huddle off to the side, devastated as Slayter violently grabs their mother. “Where is he?” he demands. Loraine flinches, her hands flailing for cover. “These flags aren’t magic. They don’t just reappear.”

Just then, Neil spots a thick crack in the floorboards near the table running perpendicular to the planks. Loraine sees this.

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” She waves to steal Neil’s attention. “You. Hey you. Come over here, I’ll tell you.”

Neil ignores her, drawing closer to the floor anomaly, resembling a trap door. He squats down to pry it open when suddenly,
WHACK
, the wooden flap bursts upwards and knocks Neil back. Jimmy leaps from the hole and bolts for the door, but Neil gets a hand out and trips him up, then pounces on him.

“Mom!” Jimmy shrieks.

“No, not Jimmy. Take Ben instead,” Loraine begs. She reaches for sick Ben, but Slayter yanks her back.

“He’s not worth anything,” Slayter growls. “Now who did this? Who brought him back?”

Loraine breaks into tears watching Neil bind Jimmy’s hands, first her partner and now her son.

“Who’s your contact in the Brigade?” Slayter shouts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mom, tell them,” Jimmy insists.

Slayter shoves her over the chair, then picks her back up. He’s violent as he manhandles her. “I’m not going to ask again.”

Just then Jimmy blurts out, “The Collector! He brought me back.”

Slayter looks to Neil. Neil shakes his head, taken aback. “I trained Wade better than that.”