Sam Fuller P.D.

by Karen Goldrick

It was raining the first night Mitch came to see her. Sam couldn’t see the rain. Her basement flat held no windows. But she noticed the two perfect mud prints left on her floor. Made by a pair of expensive snake skin boots. Rain, she reflected, was unusual in Sydney in the late 2280’s.

Protocol demanded that she stand, shake his hand and offer him a seat. Protocol did not allow for the creature — now in her eighth month of gestation and kicking violently at her ribs. Sam remained seated, hiding her ample belly under the brown polyplas desk. She did not want the movement to disconcert this man. He was to be her first client.

Sam watched him as he shifted uncomfortably in the antique vinyl sofa, plucking a used facial tiss from under his thigh and placing it on a shelf nearby. He was small and lean, with tight stringy muscles restrained by his olive and black synthsuit. His skin was porous and gleamed dully in the overhead tube light. His pale eyes were lashless. and his lips pulled into a thin grimace which may have been a smile. Sam watched him as those eyes met hers, registering mild surprise then wiping it away with a cough. He had not been expecting a pregnant P.D.

She let him make the first move.

“Sam Fuller. Path Detective I presume.” Formal. No hints.

“Sam Fuller. Path Detective. At your service.” Matching his formality. Confident and business like. Just as it should be.

She waited for him to identify himself. He had found her credentials in dusty brass hanging on the wall behind her head.

“And you have experience, Sam Fuller.”

Sam maintained her confident and business like facade. “Several successful outcomes.” Still she waited. He folded his legs — left over right — then folded his arms the same way. Must be left handed.

“You can call me Mitch.”

In her imagination Sam flicked back her silver blonde hair, slid around the desk and perched on it’s edge, caressing a Silk Cut. In reality she brushed back her annoying brown fringe, lit up a De-nic and leaned back in her chair.

“What can I do for you, Mitch?”

Mitch’s narrow eyes were darting around the room. Presumably, Sam thought, searching out any primitive listening devices. Without a word he handed her the small translucent Confidentiality Declaration. Sam obligingly cut her forefinger on it’s razor edge and deposited the required drop of blood in it’s centre — waiting for it to change to green before handing it back. Her finger left a small red well of blood on her cigarette.

Mitch still hadn’t relaxed — and his paired jugulars bounded. However in a smooth controlled voice he revealed that he worked for the Department of Fair Trading. The Department was following up reports that the Vice President of a prominent global company may be an Ectopic Path. In the interests of fair trading — if this proved to be so — she would need to be removed from office.

Sam stubbed out her cigarette.

“Who is she?”

“Barbie Wright. Vice President of Pepsi Co Global.”

Sam knew. PepsiCo Global: Securities, Munitions, Interstellar travel and Soft Drinks. This was a little bigger than she had anticipated. Nevertheless ...“How much?”

“Three bill off your creds — on completion.”

This was good. Sam lit up another de-nic as she considered. This would significantly reduce her cred card bill. She may even be able to afford third class hospital when the baby came. Maybe a flat with some windows.

She wondered why the Department had come to her with such a big job.

“OK.”

A blade; of light sliced through the ‘Hellhole’ as someone opened the door, then left. Sam waited at the bar for her rum and Pepsi(de-alc of course.) Ralph Sponge, behind the bar, was making a mess of it, spilling rum, Pepsi and ice over the counter and wiping it with his elbow sleeve.

“They give you twins in there, Sammy girl?” He winked at his joke as he handed her the drink.

It was common knowledge at the ‘Hellhole’ that the Creature was the result of a big night on too many P’s and Q’s — and a dare to visit the IV Parlour. Geraldine, her partner in crime, had deserted when Sam became pregnant, leaving her with a huge bill and no furniture. So Sam had resigned her posting as a very small animal veterinarian, and studied to become a Path detective( at once more a more lucrative and more risky occupation).

“There’s a bunch of them pale folk in tonight.” Ralph accidentally spat on Sam as he confided this latest. Sam was not a voyeur. She hated having a look. But this time she couldn’t resist. She turned and slid off her stool and walked heavily over to a private booth.

There were four of them, seated around a table. Drinking soft drink of course.They were distinctive, even without the distinctive cerise and sky blue synthsuits of the SPR. Path’s were on the tall side, generally, with black hair,pale eyes and very pale skin. Probably not enough sun. Of course there were some slightly different flavours — Caucasian, Asian. Negroid. But for the most part they were tall, thin and pale. Sam was surprised to see them talking, then bit back her surprise. She supposed they wouldn’t just sit around with solemn faces having telepathic conversations. It was 9.30pm. Close to their curfew.

Sam settled in her booth and checked the permalink was functional. She unclipped her blue cred card and slipped it in.

“Function?”

Today’;s web voice was thin and ready. A slight improvement on the guttural seduction of last week.

“Webnet research please.” Sam couldn’t help being polite to the soulless voices.

“Search Data?”

“Barbie Wright. PepsiCo Global. Inclusive.” Sam hoped that was specific enough for the sometimes temperamental Webnet search. It took only a few seconds.

“Barbie ( Barbara) Wright. Date of Birth 14th march, 2268. Mars. Earthside 5th May 2271. Combi prep and OC secondary. Tertiary Honours Economics Law Engineering graduated 27th November 2288. Initial appointment PepsiCo Global regional manager. Burma, 1st January,2289. National Manager, Sydney, 1st May 2291. Global Vice president, Sydney, 6th May 2293.

“Pause.” Mitch, and his Department were right to be suspicious. Barbie was very young, female, and an Offworlder. Either she had had many friendly liaisons, or she had to be a Path.

Sam ignored the rumblings of the Creature and lit up a de-nic cigarette. She needed to plan her strategy carefully. Barbie was smart. It wouldn’t be easy to trap her. She rubbed her hand over the stainless steel bench top and regarded her scratched reflection. Her nose was OK. Slightly flat, but OK. The rest: flat brown hair, ruddy complexion and the roundness of her face( exacerbated by the pregnancy) she would gladly exchange. If she’d had enough creds she would have done.

“What about her family?”

“Mother: Sally Lister Date of Birth 24th December 2245 deceased 16th April 2271. Mars. Father unknown. NO known siblings. Foster parents Guy Ling and Archibald Wright. Earth.

“Pause.”

Barbie’s uncertain parentage increased the probability. Her mother may have been a latent.Her unknown father a full path. It was thought many ectopic Paths had exiled themselves Offworld.

Sam had been brought up, by her strict authoritarian parents, believing as most Lays did that Path’s belonged safely in SPR institutions. For their own safety. To help train and enhance their abilities. And in the interests of the global economy and interstellar peace. It would not do to have Paths in positions of authority in power trading activities.

Sam had never given much thought as to whether she really believed all this, or not. She never worried that their may be renegade Paths running around threatening to take over the universe. But now of course, she needed the creds. Patting her belly she thought about the latest expense, lessons with a vast ethereal Earth Mother who was teaching her to embrace the pain. (at the Creature’s request of course — no electro analgesia.)

She needed to nail Barbie.

Sam had secured a job interview at PepsiCo Global. A position as a regional soft drink manager. She congratulated herself as she sat, knees drawn up as high as possible, on the old vinyl sofa. She could get used to this lying. It hadn’t been hard to find an underground facility and dredge up the appropriate CV chip. This morning, a message on her voice mail. Requesting an appointment for an interview with Barbie herself. It was almost too easy.

She needed to check her gear. Courtesy of the IUTC Distance Ed in Path Detection. A collection of mail order gadgets sure to nail that renegade path anywhere anytime. Just quietly, Sam couldn’t help feeling that any Path worth their neurons would see through any attempt to reveal them. Surely they just inserted the straw through the meninges and sucked out whatever they desired. But apparently Pathing didn’t work like that. Or so she ’d been told.

Sam retrieved her red plas satch from under the chair. Amongst the toothless combs, used facial tiss’s, spare cred cards and something nameless that was last weeks lunch, she pulled out a pink plastic box. It resembled an antique transistor. A small pink,plastic box which fit nicely in her hand, complete with chromed pull out antennae. Sam had named it Dolly. Dolly’s centrepiece consisted of a dial with a rather large ‘red zone’. This was supposedly indicative of telepathic wave activity. Sam watched as the needle nudged the edge of the ‘red zone’ — teetering dangerously over the edge. Of course, interference from tube lights and EM radiation may result in false positive readings.

She scattered a handful of litmus patches over the chair, absently scratching her skin where it itched through the synthsuit. The Litmus Patches were small hard beige discs. Apparently the skin of a Path was more acidic than that of a Lay. She picked one up and turned it over. To her amazement and slight amusement it turned a deep shade of fuschia pink. Hadn’t she heard somewhere that if you were pregnant ... annoyed she tried to recall the reference.

She checked the unused vidchip on her blue card and clipped it back on. Standing in front of a full length mirror Sam tried to loosen her black synth suit as it stretched tightly across her swollen breasts and abdomen, and newly curved hips and thighs. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t trying to impress anybody. She just had to nail a Path. She made faces at herself as a reminder of the telltale signs of Path activity. Eyes glazing over, not blinking, teeth grinding, nail chewing, clenched fists. She hoped no Path detective ever came after her.

Barbara( Barbie) wright, Vice President of PepsiCo Global, Securities, Munitions, Interstellar Travel and Soft Drinks, sat at her desk, smiling. Behind her stretched the enormous panoramic vista that was Sydney Harbour. It was another glorious day in paradise. For, in these days of the late 2080’s it seldom rained at this latitude. Tall chrome and plasticase skytowers gleamed dully in the sunlight. Stray CBD workers dawdled across the grass strip of the Harbour Bridge, sitting on park benches or simply lost and lying watching the clouds. Hover yachts slid effortlessly underneath. Green aerotaxis - annoying moths, flew haphazard in all directions.

Sam sat opposite, transfixed by the view. She wasn’t used to windows. As she watched — somebody began the long slow suction climb up the inner arch.

“Do you climb?”

Sam started. Had Barbie also been watching the ascent? “NO. I can’t really. Not at present.”

Barbie’s smile widened into a laugh. “No, of course not.” She paused. “Would you like a drink?”

On offer was a selection of PepsiCo soft drinks. Sam selected a decaffeinated variety, with a dextrose and antioxidant boost. She took a small uncomfortable sip, and shifted beneath Barbie’s gaze. For a brief instant, Sam thought she saw Barbie’s eyes glaze over. But the feeling passed. Sam wondered if the vidchip had picked up on it.

It was easy to believe this small commanding person was a quick mover. Sam was beginning to have doubts about her mission.

“Where do you see yourself in ten years’s time?” The question, fired quickly, caught her a little off guard. Sam envisioned the small windowless flat, littered with unwashed suits, broken toys and instant GM food wrappers.

“I see myself working with a team of dedicated employees reaching out to new global colonies to show them the way. I see PepsiCo Global Soft Drinks consumed in every country, in every Offworld colony of the civilised galaxy.” Even to Sam this sounded ridiculous. She was trying too hard.

“Do you?” Barbie sounded almost incredulous. Sam thought she might laugh again.

“Well. Maybe not. I’d like to see myself in a secure position in a challenging job, with a comfortable cred limit. Able to afford Combi prep and secondary school. Able to afford second degree health cover.’ This sounded better. Sam wasn’;t so sure it was closer to the truth. What about that Offworld trip.?

“Yes. We’d all like those things.” Barbie was tapping a small red disc on her desk. “Samantha. I have your CV. I know your credentials. What I need to know is — what can you — as an individual — bring to PepsiCo Global as a regional Soft Drink manager?”

“Well. There’s my extensive experience in marketing GM technology to instant food companies. A network of international and global contacts. And ...”

“We know all that.” Barbie was taping the disk almost frenetically. “What about you — Samantha?”

Sam felt she needed more time. She remembered she wasn’t seriously applying for the job. The Creature was stirring quietly — prodding her bladder.

“Umm — would you mind if I used the Relief Room?”

“Of course not Samantha. Down the corridor first on the right.”

Sam returned a short while later, flushed and out of breath. The corridor had been a long one. But now she was prepared. Dolly now had her antennae raised as high as possible in her satch. And up her sleeve- wrapped in a facial tiss- she had hidden one of the litmus patches.

“I have a certain degree of cunning and intuition,which may be a valuable asset to a global company. I have an excellent memory. I liaise well with other personnel. I believe in working hard to achieve the possible — and using my imagination to achieve the impossible.”

Sam wondered if Barbie would laugh. She did not. She simply sat. Still smiling. Still tapping the CV disc on the desk.

“Very well Samantha. That’s all we need. We’ll be in touch.”

That was it. No hand shake. No more questions. Sam felt the beginnings of dull panic. She didn’t have nearly enough evidence. Would she still get paid? When would she get another opportunity to confront Barbie.

“Are you sure you don’t need any more information. My experience. My qualifications.”

“All in the CV.”

“Well. OK. Nice to have met you.” and Sam slipped the facial tiss into her hand , and extended it to shake that of Barbie. The facial tiss promptly fell on the floor.

“Sorry.”

“I’ll get it.” And Barbie reached under the desk with her boot and kicked the tiss over to her side- then placing it neatly in her wastevac.

“Thank you.”

Sam left. She walked down the long corridor - wondering if she had enough creds to port home .

Mitch was displeased. He paced the room slowly, sliding his snakeskin boots noisily along the synthwood floors. His lips were thinner than before, and his yellow eyes narrowed. Sam noticed that his skin held a faint greenish hue under the tube light. They had played the vidchip back three times, but there was nothing. Sam resisted the temptation to give Mitch the pink litmus patch she had accidentally handled. She waited, as he wiped some dust from the vinyl seat and sat down.

“You’ll have to see her again. We need more.” He had folded his arms, now right over left. His long thin tongue darted nervously over his lips.

“How?”

“Well that’s your specialty — Sam Fuller. Maybe you left something in her office?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her — and his pupils became slits. Then he sighed, coughed, and stood to go.

Sam watched him as he walked toward the door. She felt slightly peeved being dictated to by this arrogant reptile. Confident and business like.

“I need more creds.”

“No creds until the job is done.”

“I can’t do the job without more creds.” Sam stared at him, unblinking, until he dropped his gaze.

Barbie Wright, Vice President PepsiCo Global, had left another message on Sam’s voice mail. She wanted to see her again. This solved a few problems, but created a few more. Sam agonised that she might actually have landed the job. She attached a fresh vidchip to her blue card. She tunnelled Dolly’s antennae up the inside of her satch strap. She placed a handful of patches in her satch. She wore a dress — black synth stretched thinly across her pregnant form. Sam did not know why she wore a dress.

Barbie also wore a dress. The effect of the buttercup yellow and fuschia pink was stunning.The taut synth left little to the imagination. Her blonde hair was brushed slickly across her left eye. The pale blue of the remaining eye looked almost lilac in the overhead tube lighting. Behind her, the masterpiece was steely grey with rain, cloud and drizzle. An unusual Sydney day. She sat in her seat, arms out folded in front of her, smiling.

Sam was offered a seat — and another decaf Pepsi Plus Plus brought in. Taking only small sips, Sam felt ever so slightly like a guilty prep girl in the principal’s office. She resisted the urge to fling a patch at Barbie’s outstretched hands and run back down the corridor with the evidence. The Creature was turning somersaults under her ribs — reminding her that there could be no running.

“You left something behind.”

“I did!” Sam felt stripped naked. As if Barbie knew her every thought and feeling. Knew she was a Path Detective. Knew she worked for Mitch. Knew Mitch ... knew Mitch had made the very same suggestion. Sam held her breath and silenced the voice in her mind. She wanted to stop any further thoughts from leaking.

“Yes. In your facial tiss. The one you dropped.” Barbie continued to smile as she retrieved the offending tiss from her drawer. Sam thought her face might split in two from the incessant smiling. Barbie unwrapped the tiss to reveal a small beige litmus patch.

Then Barbie gave Sam a gift. She picked up the patch and caressed it with her fingers, turning it over several times, until it’s colour had deepened. matching that of her sleeve. Then, saying nothing, she rewrapped it, and handed it back to Sam.

Sam took it, and placed it in her satch. She tried to think of an appropriate reply. Thank you? Why? Barbie was still smiling. Sam simply got up and walked out. Walked down the corridor. Waited for a port. Ported back to her flat.

Sam ordered a second de-alc rum and Pepsi from Ralph Sponge, hoping he’d spill less this time. She needed to think. She lit up her third de-nic and watched as Ralph scooped ice cubes from the bench into her glass.

“They’re not back tonight then?”

“Who?”

“The Paths. The ones from the other night?”

Ralph laughed — a loud explosive noise that exuded spit and saliva. “No. We don’t get their kind in here too often.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No. Why should it? They never drink much. Never spend much. And they’re ... well ... they’re a bit spooky aren’t they. I mean, you never know if they’re reading your mind, do you. Don’t want to put the regulars off.”

“But it doesn’t work like that Ralph. You need to want to have your mind read.”

“Yeah. So they say. But how do you really know. I mean, do you really believe all that, Sammy? I swear, when they look me in the eye, I get a real tingling in my head. like ... like ... they’re sucking all my thoughts out.”

Sam laughed, but felt a guilty pang. “Well, I could say something about all what thoughts, but I’m feeling charitable.”

“Thanks mate.”

But Sam wasn’t finished. “What do you suppose happens to the others? The Ectopic Paths, I mean?”

“You mean them renegades. They go off to the moon, don’t they. For reprogramming , or something. Actually, Sammy, you know what I heard.” — and Ralph leaned over the bar — his flying spittle uncomfortably close. “I heard they did experiments on them. You know. To see what they could get them to do.” He laughed. “I also heard they used them as spies. So who do you believe?”

Mitch paced the floor as they rewatched the vid. Sam could tell he was excited. His thin lips had almost stretched into a smile, and his nostrils flared with each breath. She wondered if he was resisting the urge to leap and yell with glee. He had her. Mitch had Barbie. He sealed the patch and a copy of the vid in a plasfoil bag and carefully placed it in his suit pocket. Then he turned to leave.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Sam handed him her blue cred card — smiling to herself as he boosted her credit by the agreed amount. She clipped it back on her suit.

“Would you like a drink?” The job was over. Sam was feeling benevolent.

Mitch considered, his eyes glazing over. Probably considering his next move. “Why not!” He sat back down on the vinyl seat, his hands slithering over it’s slippery surface to clean away any debris that may contaminate his charcoal and white synthsuit. Pincer like — his thumb and third finger found a small flat object. Sam watched — as she prepared the rum and Pepsi. He absently turned the disc over in his hands. Then he stopped — and his slit pupils dilated when he saw it for what it was. It slipped from his fingers, clattering clumsily on the synthwood floor until it came to a stop. It had turned pink.

They both looked at it. Mitch unblinking, his face more grey than green under the tube.

“Must be faulty.” Sam said, as she picked it up and absently tossed it in her desk drawer. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost — as he gave her one last long cold look, and quietly left.

“What can I do for you, Samantha?”

It had been hard to get another interview, but Sam had insisted she had something that belonged to Barbie. Something she might need. Behind Barbie was a kaleidoscope of flickering lights in the dark. Some blurred by the restless harbour. Stars moved across the sky- revealing themselves to actually be commercial space shuttles heading for Botany Bay Spaceport. These days there were more spacecraft then stars in the sky.

Sam gulped at her drink, wanting to light up a de-nic. But for some reason she wished to remain business like and professional.

“I never heard back from you, about the job.’

“Your application was unsuccessful.”

That was no surprise. “Then there’s something I should tell you.” Sam took another gulp — and a long deep breath.’I was contracted by someone from the Department of Fair Trading to collect some evidence. Evidence that reveals you to be an Ectopic Path,”

“I know.”

Also not much of a surprise. “I’ve handed over the evidence.”

“Did they pay you well?”

“Well enough.”

Sam wasn’t quite sure what she wanted, but she pressed on. The Creature, for once, was quiet.“I have something for you.” She placed a plasfoil bag, containing a pink litmus patch and a vidchip, on the desk, but she kept her hand on it. Barbie’s smile hadn’t budged. Her face was unmoving, unblinking.

“I was working for someone who calls himself Mitch. He never really told me much about himself. In fact, there was something important he never mentioned.”

“Mitch is a Path.”

OK. This came as a bit of a surprise. Sam pushed on.

“That;’s right. And ... I have the evidence here.”

“And you want to sell it to me.” Barbie gave Sam the assistance she required.

“It was ... is ... part of the ten year plan.”

“Will four Bill off you cred card be enough?”

“That sounds more than generous.”

“Done. But ... before we finalise there are a few things you should know.”

Sam still hadn’t removed her hand from the plasfoil bag. Barbie kept smiling, but she stood up and started to trace footsteps along the floor.

“I have met the person calling himself Mitch. Pepsi Co Global was involved in a previous ... disagreement with the Department. He blocks very well, does Mitch. Too well in fact. But, you see, I’ve learned that there are pathways through many blocks if you know where to look. I cold see beyond the wall, see beyond the hate, right through to the shame. Mitch is a Path. He is doing a smuch as possible to hide it. To escape from it. But the fact remains. Do you know what it feels like when one Path mind collides with another?”

Sam shook her head.

“It’s like meeting a magnet. Of the same pole. With your mind. That”s what you have to overcome to penetrate a block. Mitch knew I was a Path. I knew about him. We are both a threat to the other. I’ve been waiting for him to make his move ever since.”

Sam watched as Barbie, still smiling, paced gently up and down the window. She watched the movement of Barbie’s skin beneath her white synthsuit. Watched her blonde hair as it never moved- even when she turned her head. A voice deep inside of her, which Sam did not recognise, wondered if she could ever get close to this woman. This ectopic path. This vice president of PepsiCo Global.

She had to ask.“ Why did you give me the litmus patch, if you have so much to lose?”

“More to lose than you will ever know.”

“Was that telehypnosis. Maybe you told me Mitch was a Path. Maybe you set a trap for him, through me.”

Barbie laughed and Sam almost joined in. Then Barbie turned her pale blue eyes ’full into Sams light brown. “I can’t penetrate you Sam. You put up too good a block.”

“I do?” Sam wondered if this could be true. Sure ... some Lays could block, but ...“If you can break Mitch’s block, why can’t you break mine — a mear Lay block.”

“I’m not really sure. But I know one thing. You’re a Latent — not a Lay.”

Sam didn’t believe this. No way. She had two normal Lay authoritarian parents somewhere in Ecuador.

“You’re a Latent, Samantha. One of your parents must have Path tendencies. Your little girl is a full Path.”

“She can’t be”

“Do you know who the father is?”

Sam thought this over. Suddenly, her place in life, which she’d always been so sure of( more —or less) was under threat. Suddenly she had to look over her shoulder, make sure her eyes didn’t glaze over at the wrong time. If ... if all this was true.

“Can you telepath with her?” Sam was referring to the Creature, still quietly sleeping.

“A little. She’s too young for cohesive thought patterns. Just warmth. Darkness, some lighter bits. But I can feel her. She doesn’t know how to block. It’s more like the opposite p[ole of a magnet. If I’m not careful — I get sucked right in.”

Sam still wasn’t convinced. Did not want to be convinced. She needed time. She needed some security. She wondered if Barbie had a vidchip going. Her hand still rested on the plasfoil bag.

“So let’s see where we are. Mitch has evidense against you — Barbie. You — I presume- have evidence against me. And I have evidence against Mitch.”

Barbie said nothing. Sam slowly placed the plasfoil bag back in her satch. Barbie had stopped smiling.

“So, if Mitch makes a move against you, you can ask for my help. I might be able to oblige. If you make a move against me — then I’ll tell Mitch I still have his vidchip.”

Sam got up.“ I don’t know if what you’ve said is true. I admired you. I wanted you to be one of the good guys. But I don’t want to be a path. I don’t want my daughter to be one, either. Life is going to be tough enough — without dealing with that.” Sam turned to leave.

“You’ll come back to see me, you know.” Barbie still hadn’t moved. “I’m the only person you can trust.”

Sam walked down the corridor. Slowly. Feeling tired. More tired than she had ever felt. Her lower back ached, and her legs felt like lead. She was beginning to feel afraid, and to feel the weight of her loneliness. She even considered — for a brief instant — that it would be nice for Geraldine to be home. Tidying up. Nagging. Someone there.

The corridor was long. At it’s end she gripped the wall, waiting for a port. Doubling over with a gasp. Her last thought, before it all started, was that this was an unfortunate place to have to embrace the pain.