“Also perfectly normal. I’ll get you some water. Congratulations, by the way, you’re the only one who passed.”
Half an hour later he was sitting up in a ward surrounded by about twenty empty beds. The woman who had spoken to him was not dressed like a nurse as he had expected but wore a formal grey suit, with trousers and lace up flat shoes. Even in the masculine attire, there was no disguising her beauty. She had dark hair pulled neatly back into a tight whorl. Her skin was pale and her face, without either make up or lines, was exquisite. She looked familiar and he was glad.
“How are your eyes now?” She asked as she stood beside his bed.
“Better. A little haziness around objects. Do I know you?”
She laughed at that.
“You ought to. I’m the one who’s been making your life hell for the last few months of your training.”
“My memory is really sketchy.”
“Give it time. My name’s Dr. Weaver.”
“Weaver?”
“Correct. Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s just that I was expecting you to say Shuckman or Fiori. Maybe even Angelina.”
He searched her eyes for a trace of intimacy but there was none.
“You trained with cadets by those names but they all failed the final exam. You probably imprinted some of them into your test. You won’t be seeing any of them again, I’m afraid, they’re all back in the lives they had before they applied for the job.”
“I take it I’ll be staying.”
“Only until your debriefing is over. Then you’ll be on the streets enforcing this nation’s illegal substance laws. Welcome to the Narcotics Squad, Officer Johnson.”
She held out her strong small hand and he shook it firmly. A trace of perfume wafted his way leaving a hint of sweet spices and he realised that it was a long time since he got laid; somewhere back before his training had started.
Chapter 15
Sergeant Beckeridge handled Johnson’s debriefing. It felt more like an interrogation.
“State your name for the record.”
“Officer Robert Johnson.”
“Thank you. Do you know where you are?”
“These are the halls of the Justice and Harmony Department, Tier Two.”
“Okay, so you can read signs and badges. That’s a start. What is your mother’s maiden name?”
“Smith.”
“Lucky guess. Current president?”
“Crawford B Sinise.”
“What planet are we on?”
“Get real.”
“What planet, Officer Johnson?”
“Earth.”
“Country?”
“FSA.”
“Okay, Johnson, I want you to fill in these multiple choice questions. You have five minutes.”
He accepted the pencil and paper from Beckeridge and filled in the answers in less than thirty seconds before handing it back.
“Sure you don’t want to check for mistakes?”
“Positive.”
Beckeridge passed the test paper to a white-coated assistant who took it out of the small interview room. Conspicuously placed cameras watched the proceedings. A one-way mirror was also in evidence but Johnson felt cool. His conditioning kept him focused and calm. The questions continued for another forty-five minutes during which time he gave information about his past, his previous employment, his relationships and his current physical and mental state. Nothing that Beckeridge could say threw him. His only problem was impatience.
“You know, all I really want to do is get out there on the streets and put my training to some use.”
“I realise that but we can’t have you experiencing a psychotic episode out there. Although you’ve completed your physical and academic training, the psychological endurance test you’ve recently undergone could still cause you problems.”
“But I’ve passed the test and made officer.”
“True. However, a small percentage of graduating Narcotics Squad officers experience mental breakdowns within a few hours of ‘passing’. The incidence of mental side-effects lessens the more time there is between you and the test. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re indestructible just because you’ve made it this far. On the street you will be undercover. You will be obliged to take many prohibited substances in order to enter certain groups before apprehending them–”
“Come on, sir, I know all this.”
“Listen to me, Johnson. You have to know who you are, you have to know where you are and you have to know
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s continue, shall we?”
Chapter 16
It was a simple arrangement.
The JHD gave him two card accounts, one for expenses and one for his salary. They provided an apartment just beyond the limits of the East Gate side of Tier Two. It meant he was living right on the edge of the action but could come home and sleep in ‘civilisation’. He didn’t need to show up for ‘work’—unless he was called in for debriefing. The less he was seen around JHD, the better. If he provided information leading to four dealer arrests in a year, he kept his job and got paid. Users were to be his pawns. More dealer arrests would bring bonuses. Any less than four and his contract would be terminated.
The relief of escaping his psychological endurance test was short-lived. What had seemed so terrifying while he experienced it was no worse in recollection than a simple nightmare. Instead he wondered if the experience had truly prepared him for the job.
The first night in his flat he opened a bottle of Wild Turkey and drank large mouthfuls to steady his resolve while he looked out the window at the city. He was on the fortieth floor and still he could not see the sky. Though it was technically dark, lights lit the rampways and streets, poured from uncurtained windows. Ads flashed from every available surface of brick or concrete and floated past every level of apartments on billboards that completely obstructed the view every few minutes.
People walked and used traction scooters on the rampways. Between the buildings, driverless buses and taxis followed beacons to programmed destinations. A few motorised vehicles still ran on the surface but they were more for show than serious use; they had no way to access higher levels.
