Racers of the Night by Brad R. Torgersen

Author:Brad R. Torgersen [Torgersen, Brad R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Hard Science Fiction, Adventure, Heinlein, Hugo award
Publisher: WordFire Press
Published: 2014-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Blood and Mirrors

Camarro Jones dipped the control bars on her bike and floated quietly under the scrolling orange text of the police caution holo. EvSeaBelTac in February was its typical gloomy self. Dense clouds generated a perpetual spray of tiny rain droplets that coated structures and people alike, until everything and everyone had a clammy, damp sheen. Camarro deployed her bike’s ground wheels, coasted to a stop, took off her helmet, then slid out of the saddle and punched the shutdown—her riding leathers sweating visibly in the gray mist.

A duty patrolman in a blue poncho stepped away from his squad car to intercept Camarro, until he saw her badge clipped to the lapel of her belted jacket. At which point he waved an okay and stepped aside, allowing her to stride past and sprint down the stairs into the sex bar.

Dark red fluid was splashed obscenely across the bar’s central stage. Not all of it human in origin.

“Got another one for yah,” said a plainclothes officer from the ESBT Metro Bureau. He indicated the two bodies piled naked and awkward at the base of the central stage’s single brass pole. The house lights had been turned up and the air still stank of burnt cannabis and spilled liquor. Camarro knelt and ran her eyes slowly over the bodies, dumping gigabytes of super-hi-res video into her solid-state server. She moved around the victims, methodically taking it all in—careful not to disturb the evidence—then stepped away and crossed her arms over her considerable breasts.

“Just because I used to work the Scene,” Camarro said, “doesn’t mean I enjoy these cases, Detective. After the Awakening, I got out of this racket for a reason.”

“I know, Cam. But you should go see the bathroom.”

“What for?”

“Come on …”

Camarro followed the policeman to the unisex lavatory, which was decorated with more fluid and two additional naked bodies: one natural, one not.

“God, Al,” Camarro said.

COME BACK TO ME, MISS JONES was written in gore across the wall over the urinals.

Camarro took a step back, her eyes wide as she studied the crude writing. It appeared to have been done by hand.

“Any fingerprints?” she said.

“No. And no hair or DNA either. Perp was wearing a damn clean suit for all we can tell. Cam, what the hell does this mean?”

Special Detective Camarro Jones didn’t speak, nor blink, as she continued to stare at the writing.

“Cam?”

“Alberto …how long since the first patrolman got here?”

“Thirty eight minutes, give or take.”

“Was anyone still in the bar when officers arrived?”

“No, though there was a mighty big crowd out front, scared out of their minds.”

“Let me guess, nobody admits they saw anything.”

“Per usual.”

“Cowards. Please tell me someone thought to get an image of the crowd.”

“I can ask the guys. Maybe get some footage from a trafficam. Why?”

“I need to check the faces against my memory of old clients.”

• • •

Once she’d cleared surface street traffic control, Camarro let her bike merge with the regional net: just one flying vehicle in a huge cloud of flying vehicles, each orchestrated by the NTSB’s hypercomputers at Old Being Field.

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