Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (27 page)

Caleb leaned casually against the door, watching the whole scene. Apparently, Palmer
did
do cop work once in a while and had read Caleb's weekly reports. Of course, Palmer only gave a shit because the precinct had made him look bad, but at least something was getting done about it.

"Captain," Kenji stepped forward, his eyes hard. "We're patrol units, not SWAT--"

"I don't give a damn if you're Granny Knock-Knees, when there's an emergency, you DISPATCH TO THE FUCKING EMERGENCY!" Palmer looked around the room at the fifteen officers he'd just undressed, Loka Torv and her dispatch among them. "All of you are suspended without pay. Don't even
sniff
around here unless I call you. Now get the hell out of my face!"

Dejected, the line of disgraced filed out the debrief room. Many of them shot angry looks and rude gestures in Caleb's direction as they left. He smiled.

Palmer turned and kicked over the front table. "I can't even fire these bastards because we're so understaffed! What the hell is happening to my precinct?! Trying to kill me, trying to fucking kill me, that's what!" Palmer muttered angrily to himself until he finally looked up at the rest of the debrief room. "Did at least one
of you assholes pick up any information on the raids?"

"I did."

Everyone turned at once, and Caleb stepped forward, holding up a stack of dossiers. He looked around the room. "And we've got a shit storm of problems."

"And who, exactly, authorized you to investigate the raids?"

Caleb turned in the direction of the new voice and found it in a shadowy corner of the debrief room. He raised an eyebrow as Xakiah stepped forward into the light. He certainly hadn't been there before. How long had he been listening in? And what the hell happened to using the door?

Xakiah's eyes flickered, their gaze boring through him as he approached. He was still a dick, apparently. He had even grown a permanent scowl which laid tight over his face like a foreskin. "You're on restricted duty aren't you, dollhouse?"

"You're goddamned right he is!" Palmer swung his gaze towards Caleb. "Jake promoted you to Special Forces Tactician,
not
to patrol officer!"

"If I hadn't gone, the trail on Koa would be cold by now. None of your cops followed up on the leads I gave them. Train your officers better next time, Palmer, and I won't have to break the rules."
 

Palmer grunted in response, and Caleb turned back to Xakiah. "And to answer your question, Cotch, the moment the precinct's phone lines were routed to a silent alarm, Demesne Five was
put
in my jurisdiction. But I don't even know why you have shit to say about it anyway; you're not on the fucking payroll, and you sure as hell aren't my superior officer."

"Rai--" Jake warned.
 

"That's a matter of perspective," Xakiah replied coldly, stepping up to him. "One that I'm willing to adjust if you don't watch your mouth, boy."

Caleb held his hands out to the side. "Adjust it, sweetheart. I'm right here."

Xakiah approached, but Jake beat him to the punch, sliding in between the two of them. Xakiah seared Caleb with frosty gaze.

"We don't have time for this," Jake snapped. "Now either you two have something to report or not."

"The biological warfare, the man responsible, his notes." Xakiah flicked a flash drive to Jake like a bone.
 

"How nice of you to share," Caleb muttered as Jake passed the drive to him.
 

"Only at the behest of my Vassal. As for the remainder of the investigation, I have more pressing matters to attend to. I'm sure dollhouse will oblige in my stead."
 

Xakiah's cold gaze passed over Caleb once more before he walked back into the shadow he came from, leaving the team to their meeting.

"Show off," Jake muttered. "Caleb?"

Caleb squeezed the flash drive in his fist, it feeling more like a dog biscuit than he'd liked to admit. He was still glaring at the shadow that Cotch had disappeared into. He had never seen someone exercise their powers so brazenly--

"Caleb."

"I examined the video surveillance from the Lakeside Diner. Koa is using the bodies of children as a new form of biological warfare. You all can take a look at the video later. I'm sure the data on Cotch's drive will confirm that. Also, after speaking to dozens of witnesses from the lot raids the other night, it's becoming clear that Koa has not only grown roots in the Protecteds, but they are stocking up, probably for smaller, more local hits. They're also training and recruiting new soldiers. Some Civilians report recent runaways, deserters, and people that've gone missing. Especially children. It's possible that minors are either being lured into Koa or forced in."

"Are you sure?" Jake pressed, his brow creased.

"At least half of the raiding party at Lot 3 was comprised of kids. Stragglers from the other eight raided lots said the same. Not that I could find many people. Koa cleaned those lots out."

"Did the Civilians run, or...?"

"Hard to tell. People who were wounded or critically injured were taken to the hospital, others abandoned their homes. The rest are dead." Caleb looked around the room. "Thanks to us."

"Well, we're just patrol, not detectives, not
special forces, not military," Kenji spoke up again. "What the hell do you want us to do about all this?"

Caleb's gaze hardened. "Aside from the obvious? Be a cop. Start tracking down the missing ghosts of war from the Protecteds. If we can trace their disappearances, we'll also probably find the Koan cells who are turning them into soldiers and bombs. Where are the case files of the missing, and why aren't any of you pursuing them?"

Kenji matched Caleb's gaze, unfazed by the criticism. "The reason no one is looking into the missing kids is the same reason you didn't even know there
were
missing kids. Because it's civvie business. So if you're working up to some from-yonder-high speech, don't bother."

"If we're working in a Civic Demesne, we also should protect Civilian interests. Else, why the hell are we even here?"

"We're here because we get paid to be here. But I'm not getting paid enough to save the whole damned world. How about you fellas?" Kenji looked at Bly and Joseph. "Are any of you getting paid enough to track down missing civvies?"

"Nope," Joseph replied.

"Not even a little bit," Bly responded loftily.

"See? No one but you is getting paid more than crumbs to do his job. So, yeah. We tend to let the civvies cops handle civvie business. We, on the other hand, deal with Azure shit. We track Azure Alchemists, dispatch to Azure emergencies, and stop violence from spilling into
our
streets. That is... Joseph and Bly and the rest of us do. Not you. You're a bluer Azure than we are, so you don't deal with much of anything, do you?" Kenji muttered with a smirk.
 

Caleb bristled and turned to Kenji, full-body.

"Come on, Ken, give it a rest already," Jake said, sighing.
 

Kenji ignored him, never breaking his gaze with Caleb. "You have no clue what it means to get your hands dirty by breaking heads or doing any real cop work. Rich kids like you don't really need to know what's shaking beneath them except the next broad, am I right?"

"Back off, Kenji. If you all were a bit busier doing your jobs and not worrying about my paycheck, we might have solved some cases already."

"We need special ops training. Patrol isn't going to be enough to take on Koan cells growing in the Protecteds. Instead of using us as your personal foot soldiers, why don't you and Palmer use some of your fancy influence to get us better funding and a bigger staff?"

Caleb shot an exasperated look over at Palmer. "Captain?"

Palmer had been standing there the entire time, his arms crossed, watching Caleb get creamed, and now, he shot him a look of absolute boredom.

"Our funding was frozen in the Halls of Pact last week. All public institutions from hospitals to schools are clawing each other's eyes out for money that ain't there. The Civic Order's going bankrupt, and until they get back on their feet, funding for law enforcement's in the fridge."

A chorus of groans and curses shot up from the officers in the room.

"This is bullshit," Kenji hissed.

"You can't do anything, Cap?" Jake started. "Kenji's right. We're understaffed. No money, no resources. Nothing. Can't you at least put out a call for transfers?"

"I did that while I was in the Fifty-Second. They said they'd see what they can do, but in truth it's all fucked. That's the only reason they called me over there in the first place: to give me fucked-up news about how they're screwing over my precinct. Then I come back to this misconduct bullshit!" Palmer threw an accusatory glance around the room.
 

"Bottom line: the Civic Order is dying," he continued. "The three "Protecteds" are weakening, and with Koa blowing the shit out of the other twelve Civic Demesnes, people are fleeing, and they're taking their money with them. There's no work, no taxes being paid, no money being generated to fund public services like law enforcement or military. Holding the Protecteds is the last hope for the Civic Order."

"I'm not sure if I would say that, Captain. Last hopes do sound so very depressing."

The new voice drew attention to the door, and everyone turned to see who had crashed the party. In walked a silver fox, hair combed and smoothed behind a widow's peak. He was impeccably dressed, slacks creased, shoes shined to a squeak.
 

"Who the hell is this?" Bly muttered, pulling up next to Caleb.

Caleb narrowed his eyes. He knew full well who it was. The devil himself would have been better company.
 

"Excuse me, sir, but this is a confidential briefing," Jake intervened gently. "Can we help you with something? Administrative offices are back up front to the left--"

"I'm here to help
you
actually." The silver fox took in the tired crowd, noticing Caleb for the first time. "Well, well. This
is
a treat." He bowed his head in respect. "Highness. It's been too long."

Caleb frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Of all places, I never expected to meet you here in such--" The man glanced around, smiling. "--esteemed company."

Bly folded his arms, unamused. "Pause. Let's try this again. Who are you, and how'd you get in?"

"My name is Morgan," the silver fox said. "Salvatore Morgan, at your service. I'm the new Councilman for Demesne Five, and the former local tax collector."

"Tax collector, my ass," Bly huffed. "Were you sleeping on the job the past five years or sumthin'? Where's our money then?"
 

"Right here, gentlemen." Sal smiled, lifting a file of papers for all to see. "Your money is right here."
 

"It's snowing, Zeeky!" Manja whispered in awe as they stepped back outside.

The snow was coming down thick, and Zeika hadn't been prepared for it. Had the Canopy not returned, she might have balked at the fact that it was snowing in mid April. But now nothing was weird anymore.
 

She shook herself and lifted the papers in her hand to catch some of the light. The receptionist at the citizenship office had given them some preliminary information, and now, snow kissed the paper along its edges, leaving a lacy veil over the squat bold letters.

"What's it say?"

Zeika began to read aloud:

"What's all that mean?"

"It means 'better luck next time', kid."
 

Zeika sighed, crumpled the paper, and slipped her hood over her head before turning away from the citizenship office. Obviously, becoming Azure was out. Besides them being too poor, too young, and too everything else, the "genetic sampling thing" threw her off. Why would they need to get into their DNA anyway?