He opened the closet door and gave the clothes hanging there a cursory, disinterested inspection. As he was sliding the door shut, a faint gleam caught his eye. He parted a pair of hanging bodysuits, realizing the closet was deeper than standard, and saw the little desktop work area the woman had made for herself. The comp console was an obsolete DDC manual model. He looked at it, turned away, then looked at it again and thought it over.
It was fairly commonif unspokenknowledge that some archivists were allowed a wide latitude in the performance of their duties. Owning a cast-off comp wasn’t a capital crime. It was against the rules, but anyone who ranked high in any of the divisions bent them to some degree or another.
Morales himself had acted on scraps of Intel that came his way from time to time. It was a quick and subtle way to requisition more personal goods before they became generally available or to apply for an upgrade in housing.
Reporting the comp to Salvo might result in a reprimand for Brigid Baptiste, or at worst a lowering of her seniority. Of course, that action might leave her apartment vacant. He brightened at the possibility, though he knew Salvo would hardly be satisfied with a comp-possession charge. He’d need more to obtain a reward.
Sitting down in the chair in front of the machine, Morales turned it on, waited until it had warmed up and the monitor flashed the request for the password. He tried several, hoping the DDC wasn’t equipped with an automatic lockout after a certain number of failed attempts.
After the third try, he paused, reviewing the little he knew of the woman, of the sparse clues to character he might have seen in his search of her apartment. A notion registered and he pecked out “Mom.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle when the screen flashed and displayed the files. There was only one available on the desktop, so he tapped the keys to open it. Text appeared on the monitor, and he began to read. He only scanned a couple of paragraphs before his breath caught in his throat.
Possible Origin of Magistrate DivisionSource DoD Document, Dated 4/30/94
The concept of a one-world government was known in predark vernacular as the “New World Order.” The globalist view was opposed by many American citizens as a conspiracy to remove legal and civil rights granted to them by the Constitution (re. file 01405).
The conspiracy theories were given a degree of plausibility by the so-called Black Helicopter Phenomenon, circa 1970 through 1997. Black and silent, these helicopters were unmarked and therefore unidentifiable. At first reported in remote areas, the aircraft seemed to be engaged in clandestine missions
Morales muttered, “Well, bitch, you just bought yourself a one-way ticket to Shit City.”
The contents of the file fit perfectly within the parameters of “anything.” There was only one explanation.
Brigid Baptiste was a Preservationist.
Chapter Fifteen
She stepped out of the elevator, through the archway and into the Historical Division. She passed other archivists going off shift, and most of their facial expressions mirrored her ownsomber and serenely detached, with perhaps a touch of cold intellectual resolve. The primary difference between her and the other historians was the awareness that her center of interest had changed completely in the past sixteen hours. Brigid Baptiste was increasingly thinking of a place called Dulce and a man named Kane.
The man had presented her with a mystery to solve, but she wasn’t sure if that prospect stimulated her as much as Kane himself. Even though she had never exchanged words with a Magistrate before last night, she doubted Kane was typical of the breed. She had seen plenty of Mags stalking the promenade in search of laws to enforce, and they had always reminded her of tigers on loose leashes.
She was pretty sure Kane possessed a set of fangs, but he hadn’t bared them at her. Instead, he displayed a wry humor and even exuded an almost reluctant kindness, touched as it was with reserve and introspection. She hadn’t expected that.
Of course, she chided herself, you hadn’t expected him to be shit-faced, either.
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