Egregoros

Xypher continued, "But I can't say more right now. Not with that… thing in your ear. We have to get somewhere safe, and—"

"No," interrupted Roddy. "I'm taking you in. That's that." What little patience he had was spent. "Any more out of you, and you're tased. Don't blame me if your bowels can't handle the shock."

"You gotta listen to me."

"Tell it to the judge." Convinced that this line sounded sufficiently cool, even cinematic, Roddy pulled the trigger and the suspect vaporized. He looked at the vaporizer in his hand. He could have sworn he'd pulled his taser.

* * *

"A promotion?" Roddy was surprised.

"Bureau Inspector," repeated the District Chief, shaking Roddy's hand. "Bureau Inspector Roderigo Hernando Cortex." He smiled, satisfied with the sound of it. "Congratulations, Cortex. First Hispanic Inspector in the whole district. Even though the district was carved out just this year. Still. Quite historic." He handed Roddy a new badge.

Roddy opened his mouth to note that he was a full-blooded Spaniard, but instead he just smiled and nodded. The chief sat down and began arranging manila folders at right angles on his desk. Roddy supposed that a grateful remark was expected. "I'm honored," he said, "that you chose me."

"Hmm? Oh, NIQUA chose you based on seniority," replied the chief, gesturing flippantly toward his computer monitor. "You know that each District Office is required to have at least one Bureau Inspector. But Inspector O'Malley disappeared last month. And, well, Inspector Ugubwe lost his battle with cancer last night, in that massive gas explosion."

"Tragic," said Roddy.

"Yes, tragic." They were silent for a moment. "So anyway," his boss went on, "no more of these petty unplugger cases for you. That's kid stuff. We want you to work on domestic terrorism. See what you can do with this." The chief danced a finger back and forth over his folders, picked one, and slid it forward. Roddy took it up and flipped through the contents as he turned away. He stopped.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Yes, Inspector Cortex?" The Chief smiled again, forming his fingers into an expectant pyramid.

Roddy looked up from the folder. "The infovids say that the pod tower in Rainbow Unicorn District 3 imploded due to malfunctions in its aging anti-earthquake systems. Had to do with the, um, polarity of the underground super magnets. Or something."

"Yes?"

"But this file suggests that the likely culprit was a supremacist terror cell—possibly White Lightning, or Der Mond."

"Der M—" the chief scoffed. "You know, it's always a terror cell, officially. And, officially, everyone is supposed to be mad at the terror cell. But the near-constant activation of Mad hormones required by this string of incidents would only contribute more to the, ah," he searched for a word, "strife already swamping the heavily rediversified districts. So the infovids call them accidents, and NIQUA Central pumps out Sad hormones instead." He returned to rearranging his desk.

Roddy stood for a moment, processing the information. "So you want me to find out who did it?"

[continues]

"What? No," the chief chuckled. "No!" He laughed harder. Then he realized. "Of course. This is your first day as Inspector. You wouldn't know." He leaned back in his chair. "The collapse was indeed an accident, just like all the others. Tragedies, really." He paused for an obligatory moment of silence. "Your job is to find the undesirables who think it was on purpose, who want to join the group responsible. Real lowlifes, these guys."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Also, we have a quota from the Administration. So try to get a lot of them, Inspector."

Back at his own desk, Roddy felt the weight of his promotion. He had heard about the duties of an Inspector, and how one typically prepared for them with a great deal of field training under experienced officers. But his seniors had vanished mysteriously, like O'Malley, or were confirmed dead in recent accidents. "Tragedies, really," Roddy told himself.

Who would think that the accidents weren't actually accidents? Xypher's face flashed in his mind: "But I can't say more right now. Not with that… thing in your ear." Xypher had removed something from his front shirt pocket and placed it in Roddy's hand. Remembering this, Roddy reached into his own pocket and pulled out Xypher's strange present, a complimentary mood manager. It was an individually packaged pill, the sort left on a hotel bed, or handed out to preschoolers.

Out of habit, Roddy unwrapped the pill and tossed it in his mouth. It was actually a breath mint. He glanced at the packaging, upon which was printed the address of a business, BAR BELL, located in Smile Funtime District 8.

"Niqua," Roddy said.

"Mm-HMM?" she chimed.

"Ready an unmarked Bureau car," he said, putting on his coat. "I'm on my way."

"A'ight."

Roddy took the nearest pneumatic tube and was deposited in a work vehicle, nauseous.

Several hours later, the electronic chauffeur system guided the car along its programmed route. Dark, empty factories and warehouses lined the way, silent witnesses to the once active industrial sector on the outskirts of the tiered centropolis.

Roddy picked up the last of the documents that he had brought to consult as he rode along. He was particularly curious about the recent history of each pod tower prior to its sudden destruction.

Official records were of no use: Inspection and maintenance reports were routinely fabricated, as property managers paid off the bureaucrats tasked with approving and filing them. Roddy relied instead on unexpurgated social media postings on the public grid, without NIQUA Central's automated removals and emendations.

[continues]