Changeling

Stories

### Chapter 1: 12

Nestra woke up in her bed. Her back hurt. Her shoulder hurt. Her forearm hurt a lot more. Her mind felt groggy, starving in a way that food couldn’t sate. Her stomach growled though she barely had an appetite. She used her visor to check her messages. This one was a light model that covered just one eye, rather cumbersome. Com contacts were better but Nestra couldn’t stand them.

Summoned at 10AM by Mazingwe for a checkup, then the admin at 11. One day of respite was too much to ask. The bureaucracy demon demanded that ink be shed and pacts signed in triplicate. Well, electronic ink but whatever.

Nestra followed her usual morning routine. Stretch, shower, brush teeth, dress, gobble down two essence bars— 100% of your daily intake of everything in convenient packages! — drink coffee. Ignore the ghost of her mother’s voice that told her she should brush her teeth after coffee. Climb on her old electric car and drive to work.

Her apartment was in a nicer district, not a wall one. That meant a forty minute drive through the remnants of the morning rush. That also meant a reduced risk of gang wars spilling over her favorite coffee shop. The weather was nice, clear, still cold from winter’s weakening’s grasp. A news feed blared info until something caught her attention. She turned the autopilot on and listened.

“A Threshold police officer lost his life in a clash with an unknown gang in district fifteen yesterday evening. Officer Regis was a baseline with over fifteen years of experience but he fell to a gang user. Opposition Councillor Schofield reacted to the news with a dire warning.”

“Gang violence has increased by 21% over the last year in the outer district in general. In district fifteen, crime is so high that authorities have deserted it entirely! This is the direct and predictable result of the politics of abandonment Mayor Kim Soon-Jae has promoted over the last decade. Our population swarms in arcologies, leaving our outer shell disused and abandoned to marginalized groups ripe for induction by unscrupulous actors. If nothing is done, we will lose the entire outer ring to crime lords!”

“The mayor’s office announced a plan to address the issue by giving police duties to guilds, compensating them with tax rebates. Opposition denounced the measure as unconscionable because it would leave state duties to private entities and force portal raiders to play a role they are not trained for. However, the mayor office’s representative remarked that public safety must take into account new realities such as the rise in the number of criminal users. They noted that the proportion of users in the 16 to 18 age bracket has recently reached the historical amount of 20%. The process only seems to be accelerating, demanding a change in the way law enforcement functions. In other news, pop star singer Mizuha officially signed with —”

Nestra tuned it off. She changed channels to pre-incursion music and sat back as comfortably as her bruised back allowed. That was it, really. Always fun to learn about one’s contract termination in the morning news.

The autopilot informed her she had arrived shortly after. She let the police compound take over her parking and exited the nice, modern local branch of the TPD to the shithole that was the MaxSec annex. The underground parking was mostly empty. She passed the biometric scan to find Ines serenaded by Mazingwe himself, two streaming cups of coffee waiting between them. The towering doctor turned and pretended to only notice Nestra now. The golden gleam of his iris contrasted nicely with a skin so dark it was almost blue. Mazingwe shaved entirely and the white scrubs he wore did nothing to conceal his lean muscles. Nestra still had no idea what the old gleam was doing here. She was pretty sure he was moonlighting or something.

“Miss Palladian! Just in time for your ten o’clock. Good morning to you!”

Mazingwe went for a handshake. He was old school like that. Nestra obliged.

“I bet you were Lion Nierere. He was a user from Tanzania, during the incursion.”

“Once again I regret to say that even if you were right, I would not tell you,” he replied with a smile.

“Miss Palladian, please,” Ines said with terrible embarrassment. “Show some propriety! Mr. Mazingwe is—”

“A servant of our dear mother Threshold just like the rest of us,” Nestra interrupted with a fake smile. “I’m sure he does not insist on honorifics.”

“I know how to pick my battles, Nestra. Thank you Ines dear. I will see you later. Enjoy the coffee. Duty calls!”

Nestra followed the tall man but not before shrugging at Ines’ judgemental look. The old lady was pale and rotund and fretful, always worried about appearances and Nestra’s continued single status. She meant well. So Nestra didn’t give her too hard a time. Mazingwe was fair game though, the old doctor’s unflappable demeanor a challenge to her. She followed him to the medical room and waited while he fiddled around with a scanner. That one was quite nicer.

“While we proceed, I need to ascertain your identity. Are you —”

“Must we?” Nestra moaned.

“It is the protocol and as a doctor—”

“Yeah yeah fine. I am Clytemnestra Palladian, named by an idiot father with an ancient Greece fixation backed with no real knowledge and who didn’t consider that sending a girl to school with a name that starts with ‘clyt’ was a shit idea. There you are. That’s me.”

“Clytemnestra was a powerful figure, the queen of Mycenae.”

“Assassinated her husband in a fit of jealousy.”

“I withdraw my remark and concede your point. Minor bruising but otherwise you are in remarkably good shape. Did you take a regen capsule?”

“Yesterday before bed. With a mild painkiller.”

“Get another one tonight and you will be fine. Painkiller if you need it. No training until I have performed another exam tomorrow. And no mission. You’re on the bench.”

“Me and the others,” Nestra grumbled.

And Regis. That poor fucker.

“I am sorry about what happened to your friend Regis. He was a good man. His loss leaves us all poorer and the world duller.”

Nestra shrugged. She didn’t do well with emotional stuff like that.

“There will be a service on Saturday, if you can attend. Regis was a Christian. We are going to church.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Mazingwe sighed.

“Look, you are still young and you can recover from trauma overnight but that will not last. Your dedication and skill with the sword are remarkable, to have landed a position in the alpha squad as their CQC expert, especially as a woman.”

“That’s sexist.”

“Nestra, please. For baselines, reach and muscle mass matter a lot when it comes to close quarter combat. Technique will only carry you so far. My point was that you are burning the candle from both ends. You need to consider… another activity.”

“Not you too.”

“Danger is rising. Your numbers are dwindling.”

“But that didn’t stop you,” Nestra replied with conviction.

Mazingwe flinched. That was the first time it happened.

“That was different.”

“Hah! I knew it. You’re a first-gen gleam.”

Mazingwe tsked and his gaze hardened. Nestra felt immediately chastened. It was weird how quick he’d turned from cool doctor to, well, high gleam. What he really was. Oh, he had his mana under complete control but Nestra was no fool. Only old monsters could control themselves to that extent.

“Sorry.”

“I cannot fathom what you see in pushing me to the limits of my patience. That drive is almost… but I digress and your psychological profile is not my prerogative. I suppose it is time to tell you about your inquiry.”

“You got an answer?” Nestra replied, only for her hopes to die stillborn. Mazingwe wore the commiserating face that meant he was the bringer of bad news.

“It’s a no, isn’t it?”

“I am sorry. I swore on my honor as a practitioner that my observations were true. I gave them charts. Pictures. Cortisol levels. Everything. The final argument is that your case being unique, the city is unwilling to create an exception for you. They suggest, and I quote, that you pursue inquiries with private entities.”

He raised his hands to forestall any protests.

“I am sorry and I agree that they are failing their obligation to provide medical care. There is just no guideline to handle your cases since all the other children of users who are not users themselves come from comparatively weak parents. However, I suspect something may be at play. Possibly a stubborn individual.”

“Damn,” Nestra whispered.

“Ah, I expected a lot of swearing.”

“It’s just…”

She shrugged.

“Everything.”

“I get it. I am making enquiries with my contacts. And no, you may not know who it is or my super secret identity.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that felt comedic on such a serious face. Nestra chuckled. He was a good guy.

“Yeah. Guess that’s one more closed door.”

“Do not lose heart. You were next to an open portal yesterday, yes?”

“The power surge faded as soon as I left the area and the long-lasting relief was gone this morning.”

“So…”

“It’s getting worse.”

“Perhaps you are merely accumulating a deficit. Let’s not get carried away with the doomsaying, yes? I am on your side and I will try to help more. In the meanwhile, I believe I have taken enough of your time.”

“Thanks, Mazingwe.”

“Is your gratitude enough to finally get a ‘doctor’ before my name?”

“I don't know. Are you sure—”

“No you may not know my super secret identity. Off you go now, mtundu. You are trying this old man’s heart.”

“Ok ok!”

Nestra fled, trying to recall what he called her but realizing she didn’t know how to spell the strange word. And that was cheating. Or was it not? In any case, he had successfully distracted her from her pain. She needed mana, and the city would not provide. What to do? Unfortunately, that lasted long enough for her to reach her cubicle. It was a safe haven with an actual lock on it. An ancient holographic display hummed alive. Someone knocked on the door behind her.

“Palladian.”

“Chief.”

Chief Ruben was a tired old woman in an equally tired suit. There were deep pockets under her eyes and a weight in them that told Nestra she’d given up, yet the flawless haircut and rigorously ironed outfit said she hadn’t. Ruben’s position was a punishment. For what, Nestra didn’t know. Chief Ruben acquitted herself of her duties with grim determination. She’d also handled Gorge’s second to internal affairs for being an absolute piece of shit. Nestra and her had a truce going. It was nice.

“We have a member of special affairs and a user from internal affairs here to see alpha squad, starting with you. Miss Kim and Ilar. No given last name. They’re waiting for you in room 2.”

There was a lot to unpack there, starting with the fact chief Ruben was not invited to the show. That was a slap to the face and not a small one. Nestra decided to dig a little more. The chief had not moved yet. That meant she wanted to talk. Or say something.

“I thought my appointment was at 11?”

“It is. Mr. Wilson was supposed to come at 10. He has not arrived yet.”

“Bard left a gleam and the rat squad hanging?”

“Yes, he did. And they outrank us all. I am placing you in a difficult situation but, please, for once, use honorifics?”

It was a tired request made in a hopeless voice, yet Ruben’s face betrayed only bored calm. Nestra found the dichotomy jarring. Shouldn’t the chief look angry? A face should match a voice should match a poise, in her opinion.

“I’ll be good, chief.”

“You are very accommodating today, Palladian.”

“Oh just realized that Regis is dead, both squads are down, and we’re about to be shuttered so, compared to that, politeness is a very small thing.”

“No defeatist speech here please. And as for the squads, we are merging alpha and beta. You and Mr. Wilson will be under Gorge unless I fire the little fucker. Off you go now.”

“Riel fucking dammit.”

Nestra huffed through the corridor, clad in her annoyance. Gorge was an asshole. A grumpy, sexist, abrasive twat who was unfortunately also highly competent — the combination remained common in Threshold. She’d have to hope he stuck to professionalism during their hopefully short collaboration. Her feet carried her through the tired corridors of the MaxSec building. It smelled of disuse and antiseptic. Some of the paint had peeled off on the ceiling, leaving the concrete bones exposed behind. Many of the rooms had been converted to storage space by other departments with Ruben unable to justify the space since their numbers had dwindled. Nestra knocked on room 2’s door three times, loudly enough to be assertive but not loud enough to be aggressive. It took the people inside ten seconds to let out a reluctant come in. Short enough to assuage their impatience yet long enough to inform her they didn’t give a shit about respect. This was entirely expected. Nestra walked in with perfect poise then stopped near the rickety chair at parade rest. She did her best to stare ahead while the pair inspected her like market cattle.

She would have been mad if she expected anything else.

The woman finally gave her permission to sit. The general impression she’d got crystallized as she took both of them in turn. Kim was a middle aged woman, most likely of Korean origin from the name. Her face made her look in her mid twenties but that was the result of an anti-aging treatment, as hinted by the old-school tailleur, navy blue with dull gold outlines. Nestra just knew how to spot the signs: always a little too smooth, too perfect. Kim’s nails were tastefully manicured. There was not a hair out of place on her head. Minimalistic makeup enhanced a conventionally attractive face that screamed of plastic surgery, the really high level one. Not a cheap nose fix. She was either from money or higher on the totem pole than she let on, possibly both. Her poise mirrored Nestra’s own, rigid in her seat despite the dilapidated surroundings. Sometimes, internal affairs took out pens or similar old tech to have something in their hands but Kim had opted for immobility. Nestra knew with certainty that this woman could decide to throw her out of the force and that would be it.

By contrast, Ilar sat in a relaxed fashion, back resting against his chair. He wore casual streetwear that fit him too well to be mass produced. Understated wealth was always a sign of power but, well, he was a gleam. His iris pulsed softly with a green hue, turning from dull to distractingly bright on a two seconds cycle. He had black hair, combed back and slightly slanted eyes. Mixed blood, maybe. Just like Kim, Ilar was also picture perfect but he pulled it out effortlessly and that screamed high gleam to her. Definitely an active user from the muscle structure.

“Good morning, Miss Palladian. I am officer Kim from the internal affairs and this is user Ilar from the special affairs.”

“Kim nim. Mr Ilar,” Nestra greeted.

She finally got a fix on their perfumes. Amber for him, floral for her. Again, understated stuff but pleasant. More pleasant than dust and old coffee at least.

“We have some questions for you concerning the theft of medical grade mana lenses, but first, let me congratulate you on the arrest of Jonas Wong and the successful recovery of the stolen item. Those are some impressive results.”

Nestra nodded. In her experience, if a suit gave you a compliment, that meant they were pulling back for a haymaker.

“We have reviewed the footage from your helmet’s camera. In your own opinion, what more could have been done to apprehend the other culprit?”

Ah so that was a good opening. Either Nestra admitted to her own fault or Kim got an admission that crunchies simply couldn’t stop users and were therefore condemned to obsolescence.

Thing was, it wasn’t a real hearing. Nestra knew the city had already decided to defund them. It was in the damn news. She still disliked Kim’s maneuvering, not because it was disingenuous — that was part of the course for an interrogator — but because Kim underestimated her a little bit too blatantly.