Digital Plague

The Stormer looked down and took the cig from his mouth. After a moment he nodded. “Yes, sir. Was on the team in the Bronx a year ago. Beatin’ on the Kabeer Gang in the bowling alley.”

Hense nodded. “Your name’s Kiplinger, right?”

The Stormer didn’t look menacing anymore. He looked embarrassed. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t fucking talk to her,” a round-faced girl snapped. She was red cheeked and healthy looking, a big girl who was comfortable in her skin. She spoke in a stretched drawl, as if she liked tasting the words. “And don’t call a busted ex-officer sir, eh?”

Hense waited a few beats, keeping those terrible eyes on Kiplinger and ignoring the girl completely. “You know this is bullshit, trooper. You know you’re being played by the Spooks. We’re SSF. We’re cops. You’re going to side with the fucking Spooks?”

Kiplinger studied his cigarette as if the secrets to the universe were contained in it. “We were assigned by direct order of-”

“Fuck the direct order,” Hense said, her voice rising in volume. All the Stormers were staring at us now. “This is bullshit. We are SSF. That freak in there is not a cop. You don’t think this shit stinks?”

“Fuck you,” the round-faced girl said, taking a breath between the words, looking right at Hense-which I could personally attest took balls-and blowing a strand of her limp brown hair from her face. “You were burned by the Worms, eh? You’re not cops anymore.”

Hense turned her head with a birdlike, precise movement, her eyes on the girl, who tried to stare back but looked away after a moment. It was hard, I guessed, to forget that Gold Shield. “We were? We were? What’s your name, trooper?”

The girl studied her fingernails. “Name’s Lukens,” she said, visibly stopping herself from adding sir to the end. “You want my digits, too, Colonel?”

“Trooper,” Hense continued, “if the King Worm burned us, where are the Worms? You really believe Internal Affairs decided to fuck us and then sent the fucking Spooks to collect us?” She looked back at Kiplinger. “Use your fucking heads. You’re being played. And when Marin finds out what’s going on here, none of you are going to survive the encounter. If nothing else, he’s going to have to delete all of you to keep this sort of embarrassing bullshit quiet. Police, helping the fucking civvies fuck with police.”

Some of the Stormers were looking at each other. They didn’t like this. I could feel a new tension in the room-hell, I was starting to feel outraged, listening to Hense’s clipped, commanding voice. I glanced at Happling, and he was sitting up straight, breathing loudly through his nose. He looked like a man who could burst through his bonds with a shrug.

“Kiplinger,” Hense barked, “get the fuck over here and release Captain Happling and me.”

The Stormer was looking at the floor miserably. “Colonel, I-”

Hense sat forward as if willing him up. “Trooper, when this shit hits Marin’s desk, the King Worm is going to be angry. He is going to be pissed off, and if you think any of you are going to survive the experience, you are fucking sadly mistaken. This is fucking treason. We are police, and that freak up front is not, but you’re taking his orders like a fucking faggot because he has a scan of a fucking memorandum? Are you seriously that stupid, trooper? Fuck you, then. Once we handle this situation, I’m going to personally break you and ship you off to Chengara, trooper, where I’ll keep you on ice until shit settles down and then I’ll take some goddamn vacation and spend a few weeks there pulling your teeth out and breaking your fingers.” She turned her head to the Stormer next to Kiplinger, a younger woman with frizzy black hair and a bad, greasy complexion. “You, what’s your name, trooper?”

“De Salvo,” the Stormer stuttered, dropping her own cigarette.

“You know what’s happening in New York, trooper?” Hense demanded. She was perfectly calm and still, her eyes the only part of her that were animated.

De Salvo blinked, her face slack. “Disease. A plague, or something.” She shifted in her seat. “It’s turned up in Philly, too.”

“Baltimore,” one of the other Troopers rumbled.

“Fuck, I got a sister in Baltimore,” someone else muttered. My mind tripped over that. I’d always assumed the System Cops were assembled somewhere, soldered together.

“Forget that,” Hense snapped, raising her voice. Everyone went silent. “This is fucking treason. This is civil war, troopers. This is the Spooks setting shit on fire and making us chase our own tails. We’re not the only officers in hovers right now, being carted off on phony orders. They’re making their move against the SSF. If the SSF is pacified, who’s going to stand between them and the System? This is a coup, De Salvo. You know what a coup is, or did your education end with handjobs and yes, sir?”

The whole cabin was silent. The Stormers, including Kiplinger, were all looking at Hense. Some were even nodding. My own heart was pounding, thrilled at the fantastic, huge lie Hense was spi

“You have a choice, trooper,” Hense said, her voice going low, almost friendly. “You can be stupid and just go along with this bullshit, in which case you’re about as useless a fucking cop as there could be, or you can think for yourself and figure this shit out, and stand up for the Force.” She shrugged. “Your fucking choice. You’re all cops. Act like it.”

Shit, even I was pulsing with patriotic fervor. A few moments of absolute stillness passed; I thought I could hear the cigarettes burning. Then Kiplinger stood up, dropped his cigarette on the cabin floor, and cocked his head to one side until his neck popped.

“Fuck it,” he said, striding forward. He straightened one arm out with a sudden gesture, a blade sliding into his grip. The other Stormers just watched in silence as he stepped behind Hense. He was close enough for me to smell him, rancid sweat inside that smothering ObFu. He paused to look around at his patrolmates. “We’re cops,” he said, and sliced through Hense’s restraints, pausing to stare down at the round-faced trooper.

She put a cigarette between her chapped lips and shrugged. “I spoke my piece,” she said, sending a cloud of heavy smoke into the air. “Y’all go

Hense was up immediately. “Thank you, trooper,” she said. I blinked. It may have been the first time in history an officer had thanked someone. She rubbed her wrists as the Stormer cut Happling free, and then she nodded at me.

“Him, too,” she said. “He’s in our custody, and he’s important. We can’t have him getting killed because he’s tied down.”

The Stormer hesitated, but then nodded curtly and with a jerk I was free, my own wrists burning. Hense and I looked at each other. I was still throbbing with patriotic fervor, my heart racing, and I smiled at her. To my amazement she smiled back, and for a second or two looked young, like a kid. Then Happling, his hands curled into permanent fists, took up position behind her and on my right, glaring around, and she blinked.

“All right,” Hense said in a low voice. The whole cabin went silent. “Form up. De Salvo, you’re on weapons detail for the captain and me. Trooper,” she said to Kiplinger as the rest of the squad stood and began pulling on their stifling ObFu face masks. “Give me the rundown: who besides the Spook is up front?”

“Just Bendix, sir.” As Kiplinger started giving her a terse, professional briefing, I stood up and put my hand on Happling’s shoulder, gri