+++

Serious…

A police station with no police?

Trig gave the room another scan, just to make sure.

Apart from Salvo nearby, with hands wiping against her jacket again, and Jemba muttering something about ‘being past this kind of shit,’ the whole place was deserted.

Decoration was minimal.

Two floating desk terminals on the left hand side, one behind and slightly higher than the other. Eight poles dug into the centre area of the floor. Projections of [presumably] legal literature on the wall behind them, with ‘DID YOU…’ stamped across the top of each one. Above that mess, four hieroglyphic-esque symbols of pale blue light acting as the main light source. The beginning of a passageway on the right side.

Confused at most of it, and outright suspicious of the poles, Trig instead focused on the floating desk terminals, expecting some humanoid or holo-form to rise up from behind one of them eventually. If he had to guess, and he did as his two comrades were currently mute, he would say the one at the front was the main booking point, where the criminals were brought in and forced to give prints, sign up, admit guilt etc., while the one behind it would function as the Security Chief’s base of operations.

In the case of frontal attack, it would be useful too; allowing the lower-rank officer to take the first shots while their superior found cover [and maybe an escape route, the fascist coward].

However, that was all just a human-centric guess. In terms of aliens, specifically the ones on this station, who knew what any of it meant? Both desk terminals could be cells. Or self-arresting machines, for criminals who felt especially guilty and wanted to run through the process themselves. Or maybe that’s what the eight poles were for?

He switched to the panoramic view again, bored of scrutinising unmanned terminals.

Things had altered marginally, in a spot the difference kind of way.

Jemba was still camped next to the forcefield, checking the crowd outside, while Salvo was leaning against the right-hand side wall, pretending to read her electronic pad.

As if sensing he was being watched, the hologram turned his head back and said, ‘five minute break.’

‘In here?’

‘Just need to check something…without all that going on.’ He motioned towards the mass of surveillance/bodies outside. ‘Won’t take long.’

‘Then we go to the second floor?’

‘Yes, but not out that way.’ Jemba pointed to the passage at the back part of the room, his shoulders briefly attracting more green specks of forcefield. ‘There’s a pod through there that can take us up. In five minutes. No, four now. Maybe even three.’

‘Is that where all the security is?’

Jemba flicked his head back towards the crowd outside, as if he’d just heard something. He shook his head then, clearly unsatisfied, placed his right hand on his cheek and shook it manually. A normal thing for holograms perhaps.

When that was done, he propped his forehead against the wall next to the forcefield and did nothing.

‘Is that where the security officers are?’ repeated Trig, changing the phrasing a tiny bit to avoid any awkwardness.

No reaction.

‘It isn’t where they are?’

Nothing.

‘Jemba?’

It seemed almost like he was frozen, or some controller had recorded their strange escape into the Trivial Security Office and turned him off remotely. Was he malfunctioning?

And if he was, would they bother to send a-…

Jemba’s head pushed away from the wall and did a one eighty turn to take in the prime parts of Trivial Security. The posters, the poles, the cuneiform-style lights. It obviously matched what he’d expected as he beamed out an incongruous smile, then a congruous frown when he heard more commotion from the crowd outside.

‘Looks like they’re dispersing,’ said Trig, looking through the entrance and seeing one no-legs alien walking away.

‘Re-intro haze,’ Jemba muttered, so quiet that Trig couldn’t be sure if he’d heard correctly.

‘Are you okay?’

Jemba turned, focusing first on the empty security terminals and then the pair he was supposed to be guiding around. ‘What was the question?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘No, before that.’

‘Err…where’s security?’

‘That one, yes. I’m not sure. In truth, I’m not even sure who’s in charge anymore. It’s been a while since I’ve been around these parts. Maybe the protocol has changed.’

‘Those aliens outside seemed to recognise us.’

‘Hmm. Crowd brain. Aggregated shadow mass.’

Trig waited for the master elaborator to elaborate but nothing else followed. He just went back to monitoring duty. As well as putting his hand against his temple, which couldn’t be a good sign.

Trig walked over to Salvo and asked if she’d found anything interesting on the pad.

‘Alien profiles.’

‘Ah, study, good idea. Which one?’

‘None at the moment. Can’t get onto the right menu option. Keeps swiping past it.’ She swiped and failed again, flicking at the screen lightly with her fingernail. ‘Fuck, it worked before. I got the map up, but now…it’s not doing anything.’

Trig checked on Jemba, then leaned into her ear. ‘You think he’s okay?’

‘See, nothing. Who?’

‘Our holo-guide.’

‘Ah, him.’

‘I don’t know, it feels weird. Soon as he saw that crowd, he runs in here. Didn’t even wait to see if we were following him in.’

‘It is quieter in here.’

‘Yeah, I know why you like it, but why does he?’

Salvo swiped something on her pad, cursing when it brought up the menu screen again.

‘If he weren’t a hologram, I’d guess he had some kind of panic attack. But…he is a hologram, so…why would they program that into him?’

‘Yeah.’

Trig nodded at the response then, five seconds later, realised it didn’t make sense. Yeah to what? Giving a quick glance at his friend’s frustrated finger swiping, he thought about offering assistance, but the three lines of concentration stress on the bridge of her nose told him the answer would most likely be fuck off.

Better to give her a minute. Check out the room and circle back.

As the poles sprouting out of the floor still looked suspect, he took a long arc around them and read the light projections on the wall. It turned out that the screaming ‘DID YOU…’ text was actually quite neutral, the rest of the material explaining the various rights related to each crime. DID YOU get drunk in Bar Trauma? Then you should expect a night in the cell. DID YOU assault a comrade? Then you should expect a six peer trial with majority decision. Punishment ranges from pylon maintenance to three years committal. DID YOU attempt pad fraud? Then you should expect two weeks in a cell plus a temporary reduction of Salaf-ka.

Trig gave up on the last one, deciding that he’d given Salvo enough time to work through her struggles and heading back over. She seemed to be more relaxed now, the pad steady in her hand and her eyes vaguely watching him as he walked over.

‘Any luck?’ he asked, peering down at the pad.

Vague watching changed to direct staring, as if he’d just asked her the value of ethics. Her eyes searched his face, then his neck, then veered abruptly back to his face again. ‘Do you think that was its eye it was prodding at me?’

‘What?’

‘The aggressive atom-stalk alien before. Was that its eye?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘I’m trying to bring up its profile to check, the Canni Tut, but it doesn’t seem to work when I swipe it. I can get to the general alien profiles…then it just stalls on me.’

Trig put his hand over hers and took it away from the pad. ‘Maybe it’s best if you skip that one.’

‘And look up the earphone thing that sexually assaulted you? Or the creepy one that looks like a Curly Wurly?’

‘A what?’

‘The chocolate bar.’

Trig stayed confused for a moment longer than got it. Ah, the thing they used to eat sometimes in high school, looked like a chocolate lattice…yeah, she was right, the alien in the Registry Office did have a passing resemblance to it.

‘That’s what it looks like. A chocolate bar that talks and does things, operates a teleporter…’ She stopped, putting her hand against her forehead. ‘Fuck, it’s coming on again. The weirdness…’

‘You’re not feeling good?’

‘No. Yes. I mean, I was okay for a while, after the red light, but then that alien appeared and I felt bad again, anxious. No, not just anxious…distant. Weirdly distant, detached. Wah, that’s not it either. It’s just a-…this really odd feeling, really skewed. I don’t know how to explain it. Like we’re here, physically, but not really…not completely, mentally…our DNA.’

‘Okay.’

‘Like that teleporter left some of us behind or something. Some of our atoms. I don’t know. Do you feel it too? Even a little bit?’

Trig opened his mouth to let out another lie, to assure her that he was panicking inside, but he knew his face wouldn’t match it so what was the point? Better to follow what the hologram said, pre-panic attack.

‘Maybe Jemba was right about this one, you should try focusing on the humanoids. Wait for your brain to catch up.’

‘I tried that.’

‘Did you?’

‘Just before we came in here. I started picking them out of the crowd.’

‘And?’

‘Yeah, he’s right, there are way more of them, but…they’re weird too. Don’t know why but they seem wispier…like the filler stuff between bathroom tiles. Or echo-ghosts. Like they’re also here but not here.’

‘Okay. We’ll get Jemba to introduce us to some of them, maybe that will help.’

Salvo drilled into him, right into his pupils.

‘The friendlier-looking ones,’ he added, looking left at some kind of curved control panel on the wall. Ah, where did that come from? He couldn’t remember seeing it when they’d first come in. Maybe it was embedded with some kind of cloaking technology? He turned back, ready to drag Salvo down that conversational path, and was a little unnerved to see that she was still staring at him.

No, wait, not at him. Past him.

He turned again, figuring Jemba was doing something odd, but he was in the same position as before, arms folded, watching as a tall alien figure covered in patches of green moss passed through the forcefield.

Although this one was humanoid, Trig couldn’t be certain with any degree of confidence that it was one of the friendlier ones. The green moss, on closer inspection, was more like fur, and its clothing was wildly dissonant. As in the arms material was tight and short-sleeved, while the torso and leg areas were similar to karate outfits.

Behind what Trig assumed to be the security chief were two of the no-leg aliens, both without helmets. It probably shouldn’t have been surprising, but their heads were pretty much the same shape as their protective head gear, with the four green slits turning out to be their actual eyes.

One of them was carrying a glowing blue ring with an earphone alien slumped inside it, most likely their prisoner.

Was this a case of DID YOU get drunk at Bar Trauma?

Trig thought about asking the green fur alien directly, but something told him that would be a bad idea as it was currently standing next to one of the eight poles with a device in its hand. Were they being scanned? That’s what it felt like.

Well, at least, it was only one guard focused on them. The other two seemed to be lost in their own activity, fiddling with a pole near the back wall. After a few seconds of jabbing and mumbling, it lit up in pale blue, the same colour as the weird symbols on the wall.

It was strange, each time Trig got drawn towards those lights, the more uncomfortable he felt. Something about the pattern, the discrepancy in the fourth one at the end. It was wrong somehow. Like a wolf hiding in a line of dogs, begging not to be picked out and shot.

That couldn’t be normal.

Not for a light source.

Unless they wanted him to feel nauseous?

The two guards continued their pole work, holding the glowing ring against the top and then letting go. Instead of dropping to the floor, the ring hovered, the earphone alien inside it still completely inert.

The green fur alien, meanwhile, continued to play with its scanner, looking up now and then to observe them without comment.

Were they ghosts?

What was this?

If it weren’t for the generic crowd noise outside, the silence would’ve been unbearable.

As it was, it was simply mildly oppressive.

Switching to the supposed hologram guide on the other side of the room, Trig made facial expressions that any human would’ve interpreted as say something, reduce the tension, get us the fuck out of here, but Jemba must’ve been more broken than he’d thought as he was just standing there, as if his arms were glued together and his vocal circuits had been cut.

‘Getting that feeling again,’ whispered Salvo, taking a step to the side and dropping her hands by her waist.

‘Yup, me too.’

‘We should leave.’

‘Tell that to the statue.’

There was a  series of low-pulse emissions – beeping sounds – forcing them back towards the green fur alien and its mysterious device. In surprisingly subtle fashion, it lowered its forehead and covered half its face with one hand.

More green fur and one extra finger, thought Trig. Okay. That was relatively normal. Now if it could just stop studying them like zoo animals, that would be perfect.

As wished for, the study stopped. The green fur alien adjusted its position, turning its head first then its torso, until it was facing Jemba.

‘This is not a tour location,’ it said, finally, the voice a little rough but by far the most human-like they’d heard up to that point.

‘No,’ replied Jemba, loosening his arms.

‘Yet here you are, touring.’

‘Just catching our breath, Anga.’

The green fur alien, apparently called Anga, grunted and shifted its position two steps to the left. It couldn’t possibly have been intentional, but from Trig’s line of sight, it looked like the four symbols on the wall were playing the role of flanking soldiers.

‘I see you got reassigned,’ continued Jemba, altering his own position a little closer to the eight poles.

‘Promoted.’

‘Ah, swimming upstream. Congratulations.’

‘This is still not a tour location.’

Jemba got closer to the two no-leg aliens, looking down on the apparent criminal hovering in the glowing ring. ‘My two recruits were curious.’

‘The pad is capable of visual schematics.’

‘Too bland. They wanted to see security in action. And now they have. The bold arrest of…let me guess…an Ee-Eeesh passed out in Doon Juice.’

Anga absorbed the jibe without flinching, if he were even physiologically capable of such an action, and put his focus on Trig and Salvo [he felt like a he somehow, the vibe he was giving off]. He studied them slowly, carefully for the third [surely redundant] time, then finally added words.

‘You are from Terzo Four.’

‘Where?’

Anga pulled his head back abruptly, which made Salvo snigger, probably because it looked like some of the acting on TVB, when the character was supposed to be shocked, the actor with two weeks dramatic training would move their face back half a metre. To Trig, it just felt left field. All the alien’s other actions up to that point had been subtle and deliberate, and now, all of a sudden, melodrama.

Of course, in Anga’s culture, each move could be uniformly normal. Or maybe it was just him, his own idiosyncrasy. There was no way to tell until they got out of there and interrogated Jemba.

‘Ah, it’s Earth then,’ Anga said, moving behind the higher of the two terminals and lowering himself onto something invisible behind it [a seat?]. After adjusting himself into a more upright position, he raised his head another inch and looked down on them. Court was now in order.

‘That’s right,’ answered Trig, almost adding your honour on the end.

‘Hong Kong,’ added Salvo.

‘As far as I’m aware, there are no current recruitment policies for your…planet. Therefore, it is likely that you are illegal trespassers.’

‘We didn’t come here on purpose, if that’s what you mean,’ said Salvo, trailing off at the end when she saw Anga signalling to the other two with his arm.

‘Suspicion validated. You will be secured in a cell until legality is confirmed.’

The two no-leg aliens started shuffling over, their dresses wavering a little as they approached. Salvo and Trig held up their pads as shields, both shouting ‘Jemba’ at the same time and in similar pitches. Fortunately, he wasn’t malfunctioning this time.

‘Stop the dramatics, Anga. They’ve already been cleared.’

‘Authorisation.’

Jemba walked around the poles and put his pad face up on the terminal. Anga let a few seconds pass before reaching out a hand and perusing it.

‘Acceptable?’ Jemba asked, his tone more than a little caustic.

Another few seconds, another observation of the suspects, and then the pad was returned to the terminal surface. ‘An irregular case. In previous times, there would have been a stricter punishment, a warning to any other-…’

‘But not in these times,’ interrupted Jemba.

Anga leaned back on whatever he was perched on and brought his eyes almost level with Trig and Salvo. ‘Hmm. As Type Ones, you may find it difficult to adapt to the station. The technology is far superior to anything you are cognisant of. Therefore, I advise you to make digestion of regulations your top priority. Further mistakes will not be forgiven so easily.’ Anga shifted his gaze to the poles, honing in on the earphone alien, who was still out cold. ‘Having said that, you are still humanoid. Your species is not completely bereft of achievement.’

Trig and Salvo both tried to avoid putting their eyes on the tortured earphone alien in the glowing ring and mostly succeeded.

‘You will leave now.’

Jemba clapped his hands together. ‘Yes, we will leave. Through the pod at the back.’

‘That is for security use.’

‘But not exclusively, I believe. Unless there has been a change in regulations.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Good. Then we’ll be on our way. Congratulations again on your reassignment, I’m sure you’ll enjoy your new line of work immensely.’

The two no-leg aliens each moved one of their four eye slits, doing their version of a side-glance. It didn’t last long though, as their boss got up from his terminal and moved back round to the poles.

‘Speaking of reassignment, it is peculiar that Katrina is not performing this role today.’

‘The Icelandic girl? She’s on vacation.’

‘And you have taken her place. How odd.’

‘How procedural, actually.’

‘I suppose there must be a surplus of you up there, all twiddling your thumbs, waiting to become useful.’

Jemba let the line have its moment then covered half his face with his hand and performed an exaggerated salute. Once again, Anga suppressed the reflex to flinch.

‘Come on, kids, this way,’ Jemba said, sounding like a salesman again as he walked off to the passage at the back of the room.

Trig looked at Anga and decided it might be prudent for future relations if they parted on good terms. ‘Good meeting you,’ he said, wincing a little at the banality of it.

Salvo tried her own approach.

‘Your fur is quite pretty. Very strokable.’

Despite the softness of her voice, it did not translate well. Anga’s face seemed to spasm on its right side, and from behind him, one of the no-leg aliens made a sound like the clearing of its throat.

Salvo’s gut feeling was simple; they’re gonna put me in one of those glowing blue rings, and, acting on this supposition, she backed away slowly before spinning on her heels and chasing drone-like after the safety blanket called Jemba. Well, occasionally safe, when he wasn’t having a weird glitch episode like five minutes ago.

Trig lingered a few seconds longer, thinking about asking about the layout of the security room, why one of the four wall lights was different from the others, but it was three against one and, technically, they were cops, alien cops of unknown capacities, so better not to make yourself a target.

But also a good idea not to show fear.

Pulling the pad out of his jacket pocket, he followed his own advice and pretended to swipe at the menu as he casually strolled towards the passage.

‘… … … … … …’ said Anga, loud enough to be heard but not deciphered by the nanobots in Trig’s brain.

Whatever the phrase was, it probably wasn’t nice.