non-citizen…”
“Uh oh. Any non-citizen found violating City law is subject to execution.”
“And you signed the custody paperwork acknowledging you would accept the same punishment she receives for crimes she commits while in your custody.”
“Excuse me,” broke in Nina, “what are you talking about? Are you saying I could be executed because I don’t have a BB gun?”
“What I’m saying,” replied Marlowe, “is that we could BOTH be executed because you don’t have a BB gun. House, what about the special powers assigned to me by the Governor?”
“Investigatory powers only. They do not authorize you to operate outside the law.”
“Then what good are they?”
The car had taken its time stopping, a delaying tactic while Marlowe and House conferred. But it had stopped now, and the flitter with its blaring siren and strobing lights settled down right behind them.
“House, if you have any ideas, now would be the time to throw them out.”
“Do you still have your spare?”
“Spare? Oh, my spare! Good thinking! Nina, pop open the glove box.”
Marlowe kept one eye on the rear view mirror and another on Nina, which would have been a mean feat if he hadn’t had that roaming eye surgery a few years ago. The nano probes secreted all sort of chemicals to normalize his heartbeat as he watched the hatch pop open on the police flitter. The nano probes bumped up the dosage several milligrams as a huge, ham-fisted and barrel-chested trooper clambered out, his combat belt bristling with weaponry. The trooper wore the standard issue fear-inspiring black body armor with a mirror-visored riot helmet that extended down over his eyes and nose. Only his mouth was visible, a grim, malevolent sneer on his face as he spoke into his throat mike.
“OK, what am I looking for in the glove box,” asked Nina.
The trooper detached a particularly nasty-looking piece of ordnance from his holster and pointed it at their car. It took several, chest-tearing beats of Marlowe’s heart before he recognized it as a VID scanner and not a weapon. The trooper held the Vehicle Identity scanner up for several seconds as it captured an optical image of the Studebaker and sent an Identify query to the black box that all cars in the City were mandated to have. Tell-tales on the dashboard notified Marlowe that the car had answered the query, sending license, registration, and proof of insurance to the trooper.
Marlowe returned his focus to the eye watching Nina. Her hand rested on the folded down door of the glove box. “Shove all the papers out.”
She scooped all the papers onto her lap, then shoved them onto the floor.
“OK, now what?”
The trooper reholstered his VID scanner and started to swagger up to the car, his hand now resting on the butt of a plasma pistol jutting out of another holster. Marlowe kicked up the mag to read the trooper’s ID badge. It read “Maj. Biff,” a fuzzy gray stenciling over a deep black patch. Intentionally hard to read.
“Push the bottom of the glove box down. A compartment will pop open in the back.”
“OK, it’s open.”
“Car, allow access.”
The horn softly honked once.
“Now reach in and pull out the gun.”
Nina pulled out a squat, chrome-plated pistol. Her voice sounded relieved. “OK, I’ve got it.”
Trooper Biff was at the back of the car now.
“Good. Now reach in again, pull out the BB gun at the bottom of the compartment, and then return the illegal ion pistol you’re currently holding back in the compartment. Then close the glove box. And hurry, or he can legally shoot us both on sight.”
“Crap!” Nina thrust her hand back into the glove box, grabbed the second gun, and shoved the first back in. She closed the glove box just as Trooper Biff tapped on Marlowe’s window.
Marlowe reluctantly thumbed the window lever, rolling down the comforting protection of the polarized AntiProjectile armored
“Uh oh. Any non-citizen found violating City law is subject to execution.”
“And you signed the custody paperwork acknowledging you would accept the same punishment she receives for crimes she commits while in your custody.”
“Excuse me,” broke in Nina, “what are you talking about? Are you saying I could be executed because I don’t have a BB gun?”
“What I’m saying,” replied Marlowe, “is that we could BOTH be executed because you don’t have a BB gun. House, what about the special powers assigned to me by the Governor?”
“Investigatory powers only. They do not authorize you to operate outside the law.”
“Then what good are they?”
The car had taken its time stopping, a delaying tactic while Marlowe and House conferred. But it had stopped now, and the flitter with its blaring siren and strobing lights settled down right behind them.
“House, if you have any ideas, now would be the time to throw them out.”
“Do you still have your spare?”
“Spare? Oh, my spare! Good thinking! Nina, pop open the glove box.”
Marlowe kept one eye on the rear view mirror and another on Nina, which would have been a mean feat if he hadn’t had that roaming eye surgery a few years ago. The nano probes secreted all sort of chemicals to normalize his heartbeat as he watched the hatch pop open on the police flitter. The nano probes bumped up the dosage several milligrams as a huge, ham-fisted and barrel-chested trooper clambered out, his combat belt bristling with weaponry. The trooper wore the standard issue fear-inspiring black body armor with a mirror-visored riot helmet that extended down over his eyes and nose. Only his mouth was visible, a grim, malevolent sneer on his face as he spoke into his throat mike.
“OK, what am I looking for in the glove box,” asked Nina.
The trooper detached a particularly nasty-looking piece of ordnance from his holster and pointed it at their car. It took several, chest-tearing beats of Marlowe’s heart before he recognized it as a VID scanner and not a weapon. The trooper held the Vehicle Identity scanner up for several seconds as it captured an optical image of the Studebaker and sent an Identify query to the black box that all cars in the City were mandated to have. Tell-tales on the dashboard notified Marlowe that the car had answered the query, sending license, registration, and proof of insurance to the trooper.
Marlowe returned his focus to the eye watching Nina. Her hand rested on the folded down door of the glove box. “Shove all the papers out.”
She scooped all the papers onto her lap, then shoved them onto the floor.
“OK, now what?”
The trooper reholstered his VID scanner and started to swagger up to the car, his hand now resting on the butt of a plasma pistol jutting out of another holster. Marlowe kicked up the mag to read the trooper’s ID badge. It read “Maj. Biff,” a fuzzy gray stenciling over a deep black patch. Intentionally hard to read.
“Push the bottom of the glove box down. A compartment will pop open in the back.”
“OK, it’s open.”
“Car, allow access.”
The horn softly honked once.
“Now reach in and pull out the gun.”
Nina pulled out a squat, chrome-plated pistol. Her voice sounded relieved. “OK, I’ve got it.”
Trooper Biff was at the back of the car now.
“Good. Now reach in again, pull out the BB gun at the bottom of the compartment, and then return the illegal ion pistol you’re currently holding back in the compartment. Then close the glove box. And hurry, or he can legally shoot us both on sight.”
“Crap!” Nina thrust her hand back into the glove box, grabbed the second gun, and shoved the first back in. She closed the glove box just as Trooper Biff tapped on Marlowe’s window.
Marlowe reluctantly thumbed the window lever, rolling down the comforting protection of the polarized AntiProjectile armored
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