bit shyly.
“Saturday? We’re going to meet out by the Grabber, about seven in the morning.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll be there.”
She hurried off, and he went on to statistics, wondering why his step felt a little lighter. He made it through class, and managed to absorb a moderate amount of what Professor Diebold said. When the buzzer sounded, he headed, as usual, down to the West End MetaPol station.
The MetaPol Central Station was in the administrative complex. Students weren’t barred from the area, but they were discouraged from it unless they had a specific assignment. The West End office was smaller, more intimate, and much more accessible. There were usually only six cops stationed there, and three of them were on assignment at any given moment. A long-boned man with a heavy, angular face one shade lighter than ebony greeted him with a fierce, somewhat disconcerting smile.
“Ah, Mr. Bester. And how are you on this fine day? Come to make your usual rounds?”
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant Van Ark. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. But… I’ll let you in on a little something.”
“Sir?”
“We don’t call each other by rank. That’s for Normals. We teeps, we know who we are.”
“Oh. But on the vids…”
“Well, Yes. But a lot of Normals watch vids, stuff like John Trakker. They feel more comfortable with titles and ranks and that kind of thing, so we leave them to their illusions.”
“Got you,” Al said It made sense.
“So what do I call you?”
“Mr. Van Ark will do.”
“Okay. Mr. Van Ark.”
Van Ark chuckled.
“How long have you been coming in here anyway, Mr. Bester? Four years now? You follow these Blips like some kids follow baseball or soccer.”
“Yes, sir. When I become a Psi Cop, I want to know who they are.”
“When? Not if? You’ve certainly got no problem with confidence, Mr. Bester. Anyway, it’s good to see a youngster taking such an active interest. You’re a good example. Still…” he widened his hands expressively “…you’re in hem every day, rain or shine! Don’t you ever just take a day off? Fly a kite, take a girl on a picnic? When you get to be my age, you’ll regret it.”
Al reflected-very carefully, very controlled - that when he got as old as Van Ark, he intended to have a much higher rank than lieutenant, whether the title was spoken or not “I’m going hiking this weekend,” he remarked, to cover any hint of his reaction.
“Hah. Sounds like more work to me. But to each his own.”
Then he glanced at his computer screen.
“Well, the monitors are there, if you want to look.”
It seemed to Al that the big man had adopted a devilish look on his face.
“Wow,” Al said, his eyes widening as he scanned down the list of names.
“They got Kashiwada, D’Amico, and Enoch. They’ve been on the hunt lists forever.”
“Enoch since before you were born,” Van Ark observed.
“All at the same time, too, it looks like. This morning. Hey, and there’s Deitz, too.”
He frowned at the screen.
“Something’s up, isn’t it? Something big.”
Van Ark’s laughter boomed for a few beats.
“Well. I shouldn’t be telling you this before it hits the vids, but I will if you swear to keep it quiet”
“The Corps is mother, the Corps is father,” Al observed “I would never betray the Corps.”
Van Ark lowered his voice a bit.
“They just hit a big underground cell in the United Islamic Nations-Kazakhstan, I think. The reports are still coming in. That’s where they got those three.”
“Can I see some more of it? Some of the reports?”
“Sure. Provided your oath of silence covers this, too.”
“It does.”
Van Ark reached his indenticard over and slid it through a slot.
“Okay,” he said. “You have access. Have fun.”
Al nodded, and Van Ark moved to a seat nearby. What appeared before him was a precis of the strike, a list of Blips suspected to be at the site, and then a progress report. It was only level 4, of course,
“Saturday? We’re going to meet out by the Grabber, about seven in the morning.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll be there.”
She hurried off, and he went on to statistics, wondering why his step felt a little lighter. He made it through class, and managed to absorb a moderate amount of what Professor Diebold said. When the buzzer sounded, he headed, as usual, down to the West End MetaPol station.
The MetaPol Central Station was in the administrative complex. Students weren’t barred from the area, but they were discouraged from it unless they had a specific assignment. The West End office was smaller, more intimate, and much more accessible. There were usually only six cops stationed there, and three of them were on assignment at any given moment. A long-boned man with a heavy, angular face one shade lighter than ebony greeted him with a fierce, somewhat disconcerting smile.
“Ah, Mr. Bester. And how are you on this fine day? Come to make your usual rounds?”
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant Van Ark. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. But… I’ll let you in on a little something.”
“Sir?”
“We don’t call each other by rank. That’s for Normals. We teeps, we know who we are.”
“Oh. But on the vids…”
“Well, Yes. But a lot of Normals watch vids, stuff like John Trakker. They feel more comfortable with titles and ranks and that kind of thing, so we leave them to their illusions.”
“Got you,” Al said It made sense.
“So what do I call you?”
“Mr. Van Ark will do.”
“Okay. Mr. Van Ark.”
Van Ark chuckled.
“How long have you been coming in here anyway, Mr. Bester? Four years now? You follow these Blips like some kids follow baseball or soccer.”
“Yes, sir. When I become a Psi Cop, I want to know who they are.”
“When? Not if? You’ve certainly got no problem with confidence, Mr. Bester. Anyway, it’s good to see a youngster taking such an active interest. You’re a good example. Still…” he widened his hands expressively “…you’re in hem every day, rain or shine! Don’t you ever just take a day off? Fly a kite, take a girl on a picnic? When you get to be my age, you’ll regret it.”
Al reflected-very carefully, very controlled - that when he got as old as Van Ark, he intended to have a much higher rank than lieutenant, whether the title was spoken or not “I’m going hiking this weekend,” he remarked, to cover any hint of his reaction.
“Hah. Sounds like more work to me. But to each his own.”
Then he glanced at his computer screen.
“Well, the monitors are there, if you want to look.”
It seemed to Al that the big man had adopted a devilish look on his face.
“Wow,” Al said, his eyes widening as he scanned down the list of names.
“They got Kashiwada, D’Amico, and Enoch. They’ve been on the hunt lists forever.”
“Enoch since before you were born,” Van Ark observed.
“All at the same time, too, it looks like. This morning. Hey, and there’s Deitz, too.”
He frowned at the screen.
“Something’s up, isn’t it? Something big.”
Van Ark’s laughter boomed for a few beats.
“Well. I shouldn’t be telling you this before it hits the vids, but I will if you swear to keep it quiet”
“The Corps is mother, the Corps is father,” Al observed “I would never betray the Corps.”
Van Ark lowered his voice a bit.
“They just hit a big underground cell in the United Islamic Nations-Kazakhstan, I think. The reports are still coming in. That’s where they got those three.”
“Can I see some more of it? Some of the reports?”
“Sure. Provided your oath of silence covers this, too.”
“It does.”
Van Ark reached his indenticard over and slid it through a slot.
“Okay,” he said. “You have access. Have fun.”
Al nodded, and Van Ark moved to a seat nearby. What appeared before him was a precis of the strike, a list of Blips suspected to be at the site, and then a progress report. It was only level 4, of course,
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