Chapter 20: Tom

Chapter 20’s here with Tom’s final POV chapter, and now he’s just Tom. No Officer Pardy, no Pardy, just Tom. I hope you’ve been enjoying everything, because next week I’ll post the final final chapter for book one of the Infinite Limits series (or, as usual, you can buy it on Amazon through here). Thanks for joining us. And have a good weekend.

< XIX. Ellie     [Table of Contents]     XXI. The Scientist >

XX. Tom

“Ansel, wait!” Tom called as the children ran away. They were so small he only had to jog to keep up, but he knew it was no use. “Pidgeon!” he called, sprinting to catch up with the boy—who was lagging behind—and grabbing him by the shoulder to stop him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” the boy said, holding his hands up in front of his face. A little puddle formed at the front of his pants.

“I’m not—I won’t—” Tom said. “You’re Pidgeon, right.”

The kid was shaking still, but he dropped his hands. “R—Richard, sir.” He nodded.

“But they call you Pidgeon, right? She does, Ansel does.” The name tasted like guilt in his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” Pidgeon said, nodding. “All the kids at school do.”

“I don’t care about the kids at school, son. I care about Ansel. Now I need you to catch up to her and protect her with everything you’ve got. You understand me?”

“I—uh—I was, sir,” Pidgeon said, shaking more violently. “But you stopped me.”

“No, kid,” Tom said, stepping closer and looking him in the eyes. “I mean you stick by her side no matter what. I’m coming back here, and I will find her. If you’re not there with her when I do, then I’ll find you next, and it won’t be to protect you. You got that?”

“No. I—But—Why me?”

“Someone has to protect her while I’m not there.” Tom shook his head. “You’re the only one who’s left, so you’ll have to do.”

“But what am I supposed to do?”

“I said you’ll do. You’ll do whatever it takes. And don’t let me find out that you didn’t.”

“But, I—”

“Go!” Tom stomped his foot to scare the kid away. Pidgeon’s eyes grew wide as he fled clumsily away. He looked like he probably pissed himself again.

Tom took off the old model helmet that Rosa and Anna had given him and carried it by his side, roaming the streets of 6. What good was the helmet to him now? If anyone wanted to shoot him, they could go right ahead and do it. He didn’t care. He had failed and failed and failed, and he was on his way to face the consequences of that failure. At least if someone shot him now, they would keep him from that experience. In fact, he didn’t know why he was still carrying the stupid thing at all. He tossed it at the building closest to him and felt better for having the weight lifted.

Why did he need any of it? He unbuckled his plated vest as he walked and tossed that on the ground, too. Now they would have an even bigger target to put him out of his misery.

He didn’t know where he was, but he kept walking. Without his helmet and vest, people didn’t recognize him as a protector. The streets filled up as he wandered through them.

Maybe he didn’t have to go back and face the consequences after all. Maybe he could stay here in Outland 6 and blend in as one of them. He was a lot taller than they were, sure, but they didn’t seem to notice or care. No one even glanced at him twice now that he was out of his protector uniform.

He plopped down on the sidewalk with his back leaning on a rough brick building and untied his heavy white boots, throwing them on the ground next to him with a thud. Why not? He didn’t need any of it anymore. And maybe if they found him shoeless and half-naked they’d be easier on his punishment. Probably not, but he was beyond caring.

He got up and tried out his socked feet. The ground was rough, and every few steps he’d hit a pebble, or a shard of glass, and feel a shock of pain shoot up through his foot, but he almost liked it. It was freeing. Or, no, that wasn’t right. It was grounding. He could feel the ground underneath his feet, and he finally knew where he stood. He tore his undershirt off, too, and walked on with nothing but his white protector cargo pants and white cotton socks.

People did start to look at him then. He had gone over that line of blending in right back to standing out more than ever. Now, though, instead of running away at first sight of him, people either pointed and stared, or tried to avoid eye contact as they scurried by. The crowd parted in front of him however they reacted. He felt as if he were afflicted with some contagious disease. They all steered clear of him until a little boy ran out and offered him a bright red poinsettia.

Tom looked down at the kid’s dirty, smiling face and the flower in his hand. He extended his own hand to reach for the flower and it shook with the effort. He put the poinsettia to his nose and smelled it. Tears welled up behind his eyes and something caught in his stomach. “Thank you,” he whispered. The kid smiled wider then ran back into the crowd of people.

He did still care. Of course he did. He cared about his son back home, he cared about setting a good example for him. That’s why he had done all of this in the first place, to protect his son, not to protect Ansel. She was collateral assistance. He was supposed to be setting an example for his son, building a world that was safe for him to live in, but what was he doing instead? He was half-naked in the streets of Outland 6, giving up on his life. What kind of an example was that?

He put the flower in his pocket then tried to find some landmark to show him where he was. So few of the intersections had signs, it was impossible to find out that way. He didn’t recognize anything. He tried the next street, and the next, then turned a corner and went down another street or two.

He was starting to regret taking off his shoes. His feet burned. Every step now was like walking on glass, whether he actually stepped on a piece or not. At the next intersection there were still no signs in sight. He checked the bottom of one foot, and as suspected, his sock was soaked in blood. Great. Exactly what he needed, open wounds on the bottom of his feet so he could catch whatever diseases the streets of Outland 6 carried. Still, he had no choice but to carry on. Going back to find his shoes now would only open him to more risk.

It was three more blocks before he found a sign, and he didn’t recognize the street name. Still, it was a sign. He followed the street he had a name for until he came to the next named street a few blocks away. This one he did recognize. He knew where he was, and he knew where he had left to go. He sighed in relief and his feet ached less because of it. It was four blocks to the Neutral Grounds, then there was a transport bay every fifteen blocks along that. This street was right in the middle of two transport bays—of course—but it was somewhere, which was a lot better than nowhere.

He had hoped to see a protector and be able to hail them before he got to the Grounds, but he didn’t see anyone between where he was and the closest transport bay, a transport bay which wouldn’t open without his comm link. He sat down with his back on the bay doors and checked his feet again. The entire bottom of both socks were soaked in blood, so he had no way to tell how bad the injuries were. For all he knew he could be soleless. He wanted to peel his socks off to get a closer look, but he thought that would only make things worse, especially if he ended up having to walk some more.

What to do now? He could sit there and wait for someone to come out of the bay, giving his feet a rest in the process, but there was no telling how long that would take. He looked at his feet one more time and tried blowing on them to ease the pain, but it didn’t help, the socks were in the way. It did stretch his already worked muscles, though, so he went on for a while anyway to give them a cool down. Then he leaned back and looked at the trees in the Grounds.

What was he going to tell the Captain when he finally got back? How could he explain this? His nakedness? How could he explain being ambushed by tiny troll ladies?

Okay. He got hit in the back of the neck and knocked out. That was a fact. He wouldn’t be lying if he said it. And there was physical evidence to back that up. Then they took his gun, comm link, and all his gear, and they sent him off to fend for himself. He walked for blocks and blocks, until his feet were bloody, and he finally found a transport bay. They had to believe him. Look at his feet.

Or they knew it was him at the Feast. Then what would they do? He didn’t want to think about that. He was lucky he didn’t have to, because the transport bay doors opened behind him, and he fell backwards at the feet of three protectors.

“Well, well, well,” one of the protectors said through bright, shining teeth.

“Pardy. You make our job easy,” another said in the same modulated voice.

“Home base, we have the golden egg. Be back in five,” the third added.

“Already?” came a voice over their comm links. “Congratulations, Officers. Bring him in.”

“Tom Pardy, you are under arrest for attempted assassination and dereliction of duty. Surrender now or face justice.”

Tom stood and backed away from them, wincing at the pain. “I—what?” he said, holding his hands up. “No. I didn’t—”

One of them took out their stun gun. “Just come quietly, or we’ll do this the hard way. You were a protector once, Pardy. You know how this goes.”

“No. You can’t,” Tom said. “You don’t understand. I can explai—”

Tom felt the pinch of taser darts sticking like tiny fishhooks into his bare chest, a shock of electricity surging throughout his body, and the hot pressure of a deafening explosion behind him which flung his body into the back wall of the transport bay where the three protectors broke his fall before he blacked out into nothingness.

#     #     #

Tom awoke for the second time in his life bound to a chair and gnashing at his restraints. A bright white light blinded him. It was much whiter than the yellow light Anna and Rosa had used to blind him. This wasn’t their dump hideout in Outland 6. The seat here was harder and colder, though it was about the same height. The air smelled antiseptic, sterile, overcleaned. This time it wasn’t Sixer scum who held him in captivity, it was his fellow protectors.

He heard the door open and close, but here it didn’t affect the brightness of the light that blinded him. Here a camera digitally tracked his pupils to ensure maximum light exposure with a light that was bright enough to penetrate eyelids. The protectors had blinding down to a science.

Whoever opened the door walked in and sat at the chair across from him. That’s all he could tell by the sound. All protectors wore the same boots, so all their footsteps sounded the same. The person didn’t say anything for a good long time. They let Tom struggle in vain until he gave up, clenching his eyes tight against the rays which he couldn’t stop.

Pardy, Pardy, Pardy,” the voice finally came, Captain Mondragon’s voice. “You should know by now that this struggling is useless. You are a protector after all. Aren’t you?”

“You killed Rabbit,” Tom said, his eyes still clenched against the hot lights.

“Watch your mouth, Pardy,” the Captain snapped. “That’s a heavy accusation to be lobbing at a superior officer. Now, we can chalk that one up to duress and move on. But before we do anything, can we turn these lights off, please? I think he’s had enough. Thank you.”

Tom’s eyelids turned from red to black. He opened his eyes slowly, and it was still blackness until they adjusted to the room. It was an interrogation room. There was a metal table, big black two way mirror, and the Captain sitting across from him, raised up a little to look down on him in his too short seat.

“There, Pardy,” the Captain said, grinning. “That’s better. Isn’t it?”

“Why are you holding me?” Tom demanded. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Pfft, Pardy.” The Captain laughed. “Please. Give us some credit. You know our capabilities.”

“I know you’re capable of killing an officer on duty.”

“Then you should know what will happen to you if you try to get in the way.” The Captain smiled. “Pardy,” she said, shaking her head. “Come on. I tried to help you. I’m trying to help you. I gave you the world on a platinum platter. You simply have to work with me, Pardy. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Work with you?” Tom scoffed. “After you sent me into that shit shift?”

“You asked for Outland 6, Pardy.”

“Not the solo Street beat right after my initiation.”

The Captain laughed. “No, Pardy. You didn’t ask for that. But when you asked for 6, you showed me that you weren’t willing to cooperate. I made it clear which precincts I thought would be most profitable for both of us.”

Tom shook his head. He struggled against his cuffs again then slammed his fists on the table. “I have my reasons! I had no choice!”

“Yes, Pardy.” The Captain smiled. “Good. You had no choice. That’s what I told them. Everyone else thought you were a rebel mole, or you went insane after killing your first Sixer, or something. But not me. No. I told them, Not Pardy. Pardy goes by the books, that one. He’s got his reasons and they support Property, Liberty, Life or I’ve never done an honest day of protector work in my life. That’s what I said, Pardy.”

“You’re mocking me.” Tom sneered.

“No, Pardy.” The Captain looked offended. “No. Well…” She chuckled. “Maybe a little. But I did say that. And that is what they think.”

“That’s why they think I came back without my gear?”

“Oh. Sweetheart.” The Captain gave him a wry grin, shaking her head. “That’s precious. But no. That’s why they think you tried to assassinate Lord Walker. They think you had a hand in all that other stuff, too—and Amaru are they looking for a head to take over that one—but I know you better than that, Pardy. Don’t I?”

“Lord Walker?”

Ugh. Pardy.” The Captain frowned. “You’re not helping my case here. You’re not helping your case. If you don’t know the name of the man you tried to kill, how could you have a legitimate reason to kill him?”

“That’s—No. I didn’t—”

“We know it was you, Pardy. Our tracking capabilities don’t end at guns and comm links. You might as well come clean now. We know where you were during your entire shift—ahem—and beyond. And we know your boots and armor were in the Feast Hall when the assassination attempt occurred. Taking into account the size of the shooter and your absence from duty, it was obviously you. Now that we have that out of the way, why’d you do it, Pardy? And make it good this time.”

“I don’t even have my boots. I didn—”

“You did it because…”

Why’d you kill Rabbit?” Tom demanded.

“Pardy.” The Captain shook her head. “I told you. Watch your mouth. Now I’m the only one on your side here. You’d do better for yourself not to alienate me. Being honest with me is the only way that I can help you.”

“Did you kill anyone else besides Rabbit?” Tom asked, gritting his teeth. He had never hated a fellow protector before. It seemed wrong to do it now, but he couldn’t hold back his anger.

“I shot the scumbag trash, low-class Sixer that dared to draw a gun on a protector. I shot the wannabe person that shot your Rabbit. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, Pardy. Why do you care? They murdered an Officer of the Law and they’re dead because of it. Case closed.”

“No. But the woman—”

“So it is about her, then,” the Captain said, shaking her head. “Pardy, we kill people in the line of duty. It happens. If you can’t deal with that, then you’re not cut out to be a protector. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable doing housework.”

“She said she had a husband,” Tom said, ignoring her. “Was he the one who you killed?”

The Captain smiled. She leaned closer over the table. “Why do you care so much, Pardy?”

“Just tell me!”

“This isn’t a negotiation, son. It’s an interrogation. Or did you not notice the shiny, new bracelets we gave you? Silver is your color, boy.”

Tom swung his fist at her and moved his chair forward with the force of it against his handcuffs.

“Well, now you notice them for sure,” the Captain said with a smile.

“What do you want?”

“I told you. I want to know why you did it. But make it good this time. You have an audience.”

He looked over at the black mirror. “I was protecting a little girl,” he said to it instead of the Captain.

“A little girl?” the Captain said. “By shooting Lord Walker?”

Tom looked back at the Captain. “Is her dad alive?”

Her dad.” The Captain scoffed, shaking her head. “Of course. I should have known. We should have known. We do have a department for this type of thing, don’t we?”

“Is. He. Alive?” Tom demanded.

“How old is your son now, Pardy? Ten, eleven years old. I must confess, I don’t know much about your personal life.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“How can I?” the Captain said, shaking her head. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? I should have known when you started talking about that trash’s daughter earlier. This is my fault really. I’ll pull in the favors required to pay the consequences, but that’s all I need to know from you, Pardy. I wish you had thought of a better story, though. I had a lot invested in you, son. Well, good luck anyway.” She stood and made to walk away.

“Wait!” Tom called.

She stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Her father. Tell me. Is he alive?”

The Captain took a few slow steps back to the table and leaned over it to get close to his face. “For now, Pardy,” she said. He could feel the heat of her breath as she spoke and smell the liquor she must have drank before the interrogation. “But not for long. You get caught with that many printers in Outland 6 and there’s nowhere left to go. I’ll hurry it along now that I know he’s so important to you, though. You can count on that.” She pushed herself up off the table and walked out chuckling.

“I want to see him!” Tom yelled after her, but the door closed and she didn’t respond.

He fought against his chains until he bled, then he gave up. There was no use. His life was in their hands. Whoever they were. The Captain and her superiors, whoever was listening behind the black mirror, they decided his fate now. Not him. The door opened, and a pair of Officers he didn’t recognize marched in. One of them tossed the clothes out of Tom’s locker onto the table while the other undid his cuffs.

“Change into your clothes, citizen.”

Citizen? “The names Pardy,” Tom said, rubbing his bloody wrists. “Officer Pardy.”

“Not anymore, citizen. Dress yourself.” They pointed their guns at him.

“Alright, alright.” Tom slipped out of his white cargoes and into the jeans and t-shirt he had worn to his first day at the academy. They were fresh, and clean, and hadn’t been worn since. They felt soft and comforting against his skin. He only regretted the circumstances under which he had to put them back on.

“So. What now?” he asked when he was dressed. “Is that it? No trial?”

“You’ve been tried, citizen. Come with us.” One of them shoved Tom towards the door which the other had opened. They marched him at gunpoint through the halls to the transport bay where the Captain was waiting by the bay’s open doors.

“Well, Pardy,” she said. “This is the best I can do for you.”

“What?” He said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to punch her.

“You’re clearly not stable enough to be a protector. Look at how worked up you are now. Dangerous, really.” The Captain shook her head. “And even more clearly, you miss your darling son. So it’s back to housework for you, Pardy. The only thing you’re good enough for.”


The two officers pushed him through the bay doors into the elevator and got in with him. The doors closed, the floor fell out from beneath them, then the doors opened, and one of the protectors poked Tom in the back with a gun. “Out!”

He stepped out of the doors, and they slid closed behind him.

He looked up at the sky then down at the courtyard around him, spotting a tree that he wanted to climb. He ran over to it and sat at the bottom, taking off his shoes. He got one off and his sock was still bloody. It reminded him of everything he had just been through, everything he had just done.

What was he doing now? He felt like he had been here before but with less clothes. He remembered it like it was a bad decision made a long time ago. He thought it was probably still a bad idea. There was something—something—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. A little black cat scampered across the sidewalk in front of him and disappeared on the other side.

His son.

He stood and limped—more from having only one shoe on than from having bloody feet—down the few blocks to his house. He checked his pockets but didn’t have a key, and he had to knock on his own door to get in. He was banging excitedly when his wife yelled at him to shut up, she was coming, then opened the door. “Tommy,” she said when she saw him. “I—”

Chels.” Tom hugged her as she squirmed away, surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

“I—uh—” It wasn’t the reaction he had expected. But what did he expect?

“And you only have one shoe on. Tom, what happened? Are you alright?”

“Chelsea,” Tom said, grabbing her hands. “Chels. I—I’m fine now. Where’s Jonah?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head, clearly still confused. “He’s outside playing or something. Settle down and tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I—I don’t know,” Tom said, avoiding eye contact. “I did something. I—I’m not a protector anymore.”

Chelsea crossed her arms and frowned. “Not a protector?”

“There was this girl, Chels. This girl.” He shook his head. “She reminded me so much of Jonah. I just had to see him. Where is he?”

“What girl, Tom? What are you talking about?”

“This—This girl.” Tom sighed. Water welled up behind his eyes. “I…I killed her mom, and I had to—”

“You killed her mom?” Chelsea’s arms uncrossed.

“I—I didn’t mean to. I thought she had a gun.”

“She had a gun!” She embraced him in a long hug. “Sweetheart.”

Tom felt his heart drop to his stomach. The tears came. He had never cried in front of Chelsea before, but he couldn’t stop himself now. “N—No…She didn’t.”

“Sweetheart,” she whispered in his ear, patting his back. “It’s okay. I’ll get you back up and on your feet in no time. Then you can get back to protecting the worlds.”

He pushed away from her, tears still in his eyes. “No. You don’t understand. I can—I can’t go back. They won’t take me anymore.”

“What?” She didn’t sound as understanding as she did before. Her arms crossed again.

“They took my badge. I won’t be a protector ever again.”

“No.” She backed away from him. “How? Why?”

“I had to,” Tom said, shaking his head and looking at his feet. “The girl. If it was Jonah, we would have wanted someone to do the same for him.”

If it was Jonah, Tom. If. But it wasn’t. It was some Sixer trash. Are you telling me you threw your life away for trash?”

“I—No—” Tom said, shaking his head. “I didn’t throw my life away.”

“Well, you’re never going to be a protector again. Right?”

“I…” Tom shook his head again, eyes still glued to his feet.

“Then you threw your life away, Tom.” She stomped into the house.

“Wait!” Tom called. She stopped herself halfway through closing the door. “Where are you going?”

“To submit my application to the Protector’s Academy,” she said. “You don’t expect me to live in a two housekeeper family, do you?” She didn’t wait for an answer and slammed the door behind her.

Tom turned around and slouched onto the stoop with his head in his hands. He had thrown his life away, hadn’t he? Being a protector was the only way to build a respectable life in Outland 1. He knew that. It had been drilled into his head since before he understood words. What was he now? A housekeeper, the lowest of the low in 1. Better than any Sixer, sure, but that wasn’t saying much. And all for what? A filthy, scrawny piece of trash from Outland 6.

“Dad?” a voice came, breaking him away from the world inside his head.

He looked up from his sorrow to see Jonah standing there in the yard with a friend who Tom didn’t recognize. “Jonah?” he said.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

“Jonah.” Tom stood up, realizing how ridiculous he must look wearing only one shoe. “I, uh…”

“Hey, I’ll see you later,” Jonah said to his friend who scurried away, giggling. “Dad. What are you doing here?”

“Jonah,” Tom said, trying not to cry. “I missed you so much.” He picked Jonah up in a big hug, but Jonah squirmed away.

“Dad, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“No, son,” Tom said. “I shouldn’t.”

“But you told me—”

“Jonah. Listen to me. Everything I told you was wrong.”


“It was all based on bad information, son. Red herrings.”

“Red herrings?” Jonah was obviously confused. Tom couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah, you know, something that sounds like a clue but—”

“Yeah, dad.” Jonah scoffed. “I know what a red herring is. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh. Well…” Tom had to gather himself for a moment. He hadn’t seen Jonah in so long he had forgotten how old he was now, how much he already knew about the worlds. “Of course, son. But school, and television…The news—Those are all red herrings,” he said.

Jonah laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, son. It’s all wrong. You have to think for yourself. Pretty much do the opposite of whatever they say.”

Jonah chuckled some more. “Alright, dad. Is this some sort of test or something?”

“No.” Tom shook his head. “I’m serious. Red herrings.”

Pffft. Sure, dad.” Jonah smiled. “That’s why you’re wearing one shoe, right?”

“I, well…”

“Alright, dad,” Jonah said, skipping up the stairs and inside. “I’ll keep that in mind. But come on inside. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Tom sighed. No one was ever going to believe him. Still, what was there left for him to do? He followed Jonah inside to see if he could help with dinner.

#     #     #

< XIX. Ellie     [Table of Contents]     XXI. The Scientist >

Thanks again for reading this far. Don’t forget to join us for the exciting conclusion of The Asymptote’s Tail next Saturday, and don’t forget to pick up a copy of the full novel from Amazon if you want to support future novels in the Infinite Limits series and beyond. Have a great weekend, y’all.


Chapter 06: Officer Pardy

Today’s chapter, number six, brings us Officer Pardy and an animation–the first I’ve ever made–of what a protector’s facemask looks like when talking. Enjoy, and happy Saturday.

The mask of a protector.

< V. Ellie     [Table of Contents]     VII. The Scientist >

VI. Officer Pardy

Officer Pardy checked himself in his locker mirror one last time. He wanted his uniform to be perfectly up to code for his first day on the job. Assured that it was, he brushed his finger across the picture of his wife and son on the inside of his locker door, decided he would take it with him after all, stuffed it in his cargo pants, and slammed the locker shut.

Another Officer, putting socks on beside him, jumped at the sound of it. “Amaru above, Tom!” Rabbit said. “As if I didn’t have enough going on to destroy my nerves already.”

“Settle down, Rabbit,” Officer Pardy said, picking up his helmet from the bench. “You’ll have nothing to be afraid of out there. I’ll protect you.”

A couple of others getting dressed in the locker room laughed. Everyone knew Rabbit was meant to do housework. He didn’t have anything that a protector needed in him except for the blood of his hero mother. Rabbit was a liability to the entire operation, and that was a secret to no one.

“Yeah. Right, Tom,” Rabbit said absently, putting on his boots. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Rabbit,” Officer Pardy called as he walked out of the locker room. “Rabbit!”

“Huh? Yeah, Tom?” Rabbit said. “What is it?”

“You gotta put your pants on before your boots, boy. I know it’s not regulation, but it is common sense.”

The locker room burst into another bout of laughter. Rabbit looked down at his feet, realized what he had done, then got to untying his boots and getting redressed properly. Officer Pardy—the first dressed because he was the first there—marched out to the sound of Rabbit jokes.

The stark white briefing room was empty. Rows and rows of stadium chairs sat facing a tall podium on a stage in front of a screen that covered the entire wall behind it. Officer Pardy marched to the front center seat and sat with perfect regulation posture. He had to make a good impression, to set an example for the other rookies to follow. He wanted to show everyone that he was the epitome of a protector. He slipped his helmet on, and his vision shifted into darkness for a split second before the goggles measured the exact location of his pupils and projected the image of the world around him onto his eyes with far more detail—and a much wider range of vision, a full 360°—than he could ever pick up helmetless.

Slowly, the other rookies filed into the briefing room, taking their seats around him. They talked to each other, and joked to relieve their nerves, but—unlike in the locker room—Officer Pardy was all business. There was a time for play, and there was a time for work, and when your helmet was on, you knew you were working. The aura of officiality he put off was so dense that no one sat in the seats next to him. At least until Rabbit came in and plopped himself into the chair to his left.

“How do I look?” Rabbit asked, sounding out of breath.

Officer Pardy looked over at him. His helmet saw through Rabbit’s, and he could see that Rabbit was pale and frightened underneath. The helmet scanned Rabbit’s heart rate and temperature. There was nothing there but housekeeper. His chest plates were off balance and his helmet too large, but it was too late for Officer Pardy to help him with that now, so he stared straight ahead again and said, “Regulation, Officer.”

Amaru,” Rabbit said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Why am I here, Tom? Why am I here?”

Officer Pardy wouldn’t have answered if he could. The Captain marched in with her mustached helmet and took the podium anyway, so he didn’t have the option. The entire room stood to attention. The entire room, that is, except for Rabbit who first made a ruckus getting to his feet—almost knocking the entire line of protectors to his left down as he did. When Rabbit had finally gathered himself, the Captain said, “At ease.” and the room sat in one fluid motion, even Rabbit. Officer Pardy couldn’t help but think that the error would have been made an example of if it was made by any other Officer, but he wasn’t about to question the judgment of his superiors on his first day as a member of the force.

“Protectors of Outland,” the Captain said in a modulated voice, the mouth of her facemask flashing red, yellow, and green under her bristly, dark mustache. “Let me repeat that, Protectors of Outland. From this day forward, that includes you. You have sworn to uphold the sacred duties of Protectorship, and you will uphold those virtues or perish in embarrassment. Now, don’t get me wrong, children—because, truly, you are all still babies when it comes to the force—the worlds out there are much different than the worlds you’ve seen on TV. Life out there is real. It’s nothing like the fairy tales you learned about in school. We’re here for one reason and one reason alone: To protect the ideals of Outland. Protectors, what are those ideals?”

“Property. Liberty. Life,” the room said in unison.

“I said, protectors! What. Are. Those. Ideals?”

“Property! Liberty! Life! Sir!” the room sang.

“And without these basic freedoms what are we? We are not civilization. We are not human. We are nothing.”

“Hoo-ra!” a lone voice called.

“Hoo-ra,” the Captain repeated. “That’s right. Hoo-ra! Are you ready protectors?”

“Hoo-ra!” the room sang in unison.

“Today you are tried by fire. Every protector is baptized into the force the same way. If you cannot make it in Outland 6, then you are not strong enough, you are not fit enough, you are not enough to protect any of the Outlands. Do you understand me? This work is dangerous, protectors. You know what you signed up for. You’ve heard the stories of your ancestors. You’ve been trained. You know as well as you can what awaits you out those doors. So I’m going to ask you one more time. Protectors, are you ready?”


“We’re sweeping the Neutral Ground, today, rookies.” A map of Outland 6 with the section of the Neutral Ground that they would be focusing on came up on the screen behind the Captain. “We have one hundred rookies here in this room. We have countless rooms like this around Outland 1, all with the same mission. You’ve been through the drills. You know your vows. You’ll be paired with another rookie and led by a Sergeant. I suggest you listen to your Sergeant if you want to make it through this alive.”

Rabbit swallowed loud enough for Officer Pardy to hear it.

“You’ll find your partner and Sergeant assignments on your comm link and in your viewscreens. Go meet your Sergeants and do your jobs, protectors. Hoo-ra!”


Before Rabbit could check his assignment, Officer Pardy pulled him up by his collar and dragged him to stand in front of the Captain.

“Tom, what are you—” Rabbit pleaded as he did.

“Captain Mondragon, sir,” Officer Pardy said, standing to attention in front of the Captain and saluting. “Officer Pardy, reporting for duty.”

Rabbit looked at him then at the captain and half saluted. “Er—Ra—No—uh—Officer Jefferson, uh—sir, or—Captain.”

“At ease, Officers,” the Captain said, ticking off a salute herself, her arm brushing against the dark mustache adorning her facemask with the motion. Rabbit was already at ease. Officer Pardy followed orders. “I selected the two of you for a special operation.” The mouth of her facemask flashed as she spoke, but the voice modulator was off. “I’ll be joining you because I want to see how you do with my own two eyes. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Officer Pardy said, looking through the black mirrors of the Captain’s eyes.

Rabbit nodded.

“Then load up and let’s go,” the Captain said.

They got into the transport bay with three other teams, twelve protectors in formation waiting for the doors to open. When they did, the sun came in bright through the skyline and oak trees, and Officer Pardy’s helmet had to adjust his viewscreen to compensate. The trees reminded him of a park back home in Outland 1, one tree in particular he used to climb. He was caught off guard when Rabbit marched out with the rest of the troop, leaving Tom to play catch up.

“Alright,” the Captain said. The Sixers around were starting to clear out of the area, but Officer Pardy noticed a little boy going up the tree he wanted to climb. “Beta team, Sector G,” the Captain said, pointing. “Gamma team, Sector D. Delta team, Sector E. Go, go, go.”

The other teams moved out into the city, away from the Neutral Ground.

“Pardy, Jefferson,” the Captain said. “Follow me.”

They followed along the park. As they went, word of their coming passed in front of them, and the crowds dispersed like flies when swatted at. Officer Pardy was beginning to wonder how they would catch anyone doing anything if everyone knew they were coming when the Captain veered off into an alleyway.

“Alright, boys,” she said, unlocking a padlock on a door halfway down the alley. “While they’re out there, stirring up the population, we’re going to do some real protector work. You hear me?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Officer Pardy responded automatically.

“Um. Where are we, sir?” Rabbit asked, stumbling through the dark doorway.

The Captain flipped on the lights. “You just walked here, Jefferson,” she said. “You should know where you are.”

“Sector F, sir,” Officer Pardy said. “An alley two blocks east of the transport bay, sir.”

“Okay, Pardy,” the Captain replied, giving a thumbs up and nodding. “No need to show off. Just get out of your gear like a good little Officer and put on some of these plain clothes.”

The room looked like a giant costume closet for a theater company in Outland 3. There were shirts, shoes, and dresses piled everywhere, on top of cupboards and cubbies and hanger racks, and there were carpet-covered benches in between piles of clothes. Officer Pardy thought that there was no way that what they were doing was regulation, but he couldn’t rightly ignore a direct order from a superior officer, either, so he set to picking out a costume and changing into it.

“Um. Right here, sir?” Rabbit asked, appalled by the idea. “Right in front of—but there’s no—”

Pardy laughed as he slipped on a pair of sneakers. He wanted to remind Rabbit to put his pants on before his shoes, but he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate while on duty, even without a helmet on. When the Captain started redressing herself, Rabbit relented, too.

“We’ll be posing as your typical Sixer scumbag,” the Captain said as she got dressed. “The type of person who’s too lazy, stoned, or stupid to work, so they resort to stealing from those of us who have the common decency to earn our own living. We have intel that says there’s illegal printer activity on this very block. Jefferson and I will enter the establishment—posing as a family looking for food. Pardy will enter five minutes later as back up. Jefferson and I will procure an illegally printed commodity and arrest the operators of the stolen device. When Pardy comes in, we’ll confiscate all the printers on the premises and make arrests as needed. Now, are there any questions?”

“I—I’m supposed to be your husband?” Rabbit said.

“Yes, Jefferson,” the Captain said with a grin. “Can you handle that?”

“I—uh—yes, sir.” Rabbit blushed.

“You got any problems, Pardy?” the Captain asked.

“Sir, no, sir,” Pardy said. Not on his first day he didn’t.

“Good,” the Captain said. “Jefferson and I are heading out. You tail us and enter on your cue. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Pardy said.

“Let’s go protectors,” the Captain said, slapping Rabbit on the back and leading him out of the closet.

Pardy walked as far behind them as he could without losing sight. The sidewalk was full now that they were out of protector gear, so he had to stay close. The Captain and Rabbit entered a nondescript door in between two apartment buildings, and Pardy walked past it, bending down to tie his shoe and count away the seconds in his head. He whistled the Protector’s Alma Mater to keep time as he observed the area around him. He was closer now to the tree that reminded him of his favorite one to climb as a kid, and he looked up to see two little forms sitting high up in the branches. He had almost lost track of his whistling while watching them when someone bumped into him from behind and he did lose track of it.

“Watch out,” the person said, pushing Pardy away.

“Stand down, citizen,” Pardy said, standing and holding his fists up in a defensive stance.

“What was that?” The person looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“I said—uh—excuse me, sir,” Pardy said, dropping his hands.

“Right,” the person said, walking away and shaking his head.

Pardy tried to calculate how much time he had lost to find out where he should be in the tune, but his eyes kept going back to the kids in the tree and he couldn’t think. He decided it had been long enough and went for the door. He turned the rusty knob and pushed, but it didn’t budge. He looked around, and a little girl smiled at him then ran away to her mom. He turned the knob again and pulled this time, almost falling over backwards when the door swung open.

The hall was dark and short. It led to a steep staircase. Pardy wondered why no one else had come in or gone out since Rabbit and the Captain had. He tried to quiet his steps but the staircase echoed everything back at him. He was at the top of the third flight, reaching out for the doorknob in front of him, when the gunshots rang out. One. Then two. Then one more.

His heart skipped a beat. He shoved the door open and swung out his gun. The Captain’s gun was pointed at a man who had his hands on his head. Rabbit was bleeding on the floor, maybe groaning, maybe not moving. A flutter of motion disappeared out a back door.

“Follow her!” the Captain ordered, cuffing the man and calling for backup.

Pardy’s legs moved before his mind did. He didn’t have to be quiet anymore, and his presence stormed through the back staircase. He was at the last flight of stairs before the purple flower pattern of her dress disappeared around the corner of the door. He scanned left and right when he emerged from the building, then followed her wake into the still busy sidewalk. He slid to a halt, almost passing the alley she went down, before following her, his footsteps echoing like a war cry. She got to the end of the alley and tried to escape into another door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“No!” she screamed, beating her fists against the door. “Damn you! Let me in! No!” She started to cry.

Pardy pointed his gun at her heart. “Freeze.”

“Fuck you.” She didn’t turn around. She just kept banging on the door.

“Put your hands in the air and turn around.” Sweat started to pool on his forehead.

“Fuck off!” the woman yelled, not looking at him.

“Please, ma’am. I don’t want to have to hurt you. Turn around slowly and put your hands on your head.”

She turned fast. Pardy took a step back, his heart skipping a beat. “Oh yeah?” she said. “I’m sure she didn’t, either. Is that right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. Just put your hands on your head, and we’ll get this all sorted out. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have no reason to worry.”

Her!” the woman yelled. “That—that—that fucking woman! She was a protector. And you—you are, too. Aren’t you? You fucking pig!”

“Please, ma’am,” he said, adjusting his grip on his gun. “Put your hands up.”

“No.” She shook her head, stepping closer. “You. You put your hands up. Do you hear me? You!”

“Please, ma’am.”

“We didn’t have any guns,” the woman said, chuckling or sobbing, Pardy couldn’t tell anymore. “None of us. Just think about that, protector. Think about my daughter who won’t see her parents ever again because you were protecting us.”

“Ma’am,” Pardy said.

“You heard me,” the woman said. “Fuck off!” She took a step toward him, or reached for something in her dress, or—something—Pardy didn’t know.

But his finger reacted before his brain did. The gun blast went off and she fell. He caught his breath for a second, his gun poised, and reeled at what he had done. The world spun around him and he wanted to pass out. He fell to his knees at the woman’s side, pressing on her chest to stop the bleeding.

She coughed. “H—How—”

“No, I’m…” He pressed harder. What had he done? As she took her last spluttering breaths, he tore the silver butterfly off her neck and shoved it in his pocket.

A group of protectors in full gear swarmed into the alley around him. They asked him questions he didn’t remember answering. They didn’t seem to matter. They said that the Captain would be waiting for him at headquarters for debriefing. They said he was a hero, that they had found a stockpile of illegal printers waiting to be distributed. They patted him on his back for that, and no one asked him where his gear was or who the woman dying in the alley was. No one asked why he had shot her. No one told him how Rabbit was doing. He probably wouldn’t have heard them even if they did.

He made his way through the crowd of protectors, bunched up in the alley, out to the main drag that ran along the Neutral Ground. The sidewalks were empty again and he could finally breathe. He took a few deep breaths and sprawled out on his back in the grass, staring up at the trees, at the clouds that passed through the holes in their canopy. He laid there and stared at nothing, asking himself if this was what the job was. Was this protecting? Was this what he had signed up for? Why would anyone agree to this?

He stood and brushed himself off, taking a few more deep breaths. This wasn’t the reaction of a protector. He knew that much. He had followed direct orders. He did nothing wrong. He had nothing to worry about. The rest would have to wait.

But still. He wasn’t ordered to kill her. She reached for something, he told himself. She had said that they didn’t have guns, but that’s what a Sixer would say to catch you off guard. She was raving. What was she saying besides that? She must have been in shock from finally getting caught. That’s what it was.

She said she had a daughter.

Pardy wanted to sit down again, but he fought the urge. He pictured his son living in an orphanage because he and his wife were killed in the line of duty. He pictured the look on his son’s face when he heard the news, the tears and the crying. He swallowed hard, shoved it all back down into his subconscious, and marched to the costume closet to change out of those dirty rags of clothes and put back on his clean, white, regulation protector gear.

The transport bay was empty when Pardy got there. Everyone was either cleaning up the crime scene or still parading around their designated sector, putting on a show. He stared at the doors as they closed, imagining the Captain’s response to his actions, wondering where Rabbit was and if he was alright, and generally trying not to picture that woman’s daughter or his own son’s crying face. The transporter stopped, the doors opened, and Pardy realized he was facing the wrong direction.

“Rabbit. Is that you?” a modulated voice came from behind him, followed by eerie laughter. “No, eh. It’s Pardy,” the voice said. “But he looks like he’s seen the ghost of Rabbit, doesn’t he? Ha ha ha.”

More laughter. Pardy clenched his fists, marched between the two laughers, bumping their shoulders with his, and stomped down the hall to the debriefing room. They would have to wait until he was off duty before real justice could be served.

The debriefing room was smaller than the briefing room. It was more intimate. There was one long table with chairs all around it so the protectors could sit facing each other. It was empty when Pardy went in, so he took the middle seat to wait, straight-backed and full regulation. He had a long time to continue his cycle of thoughts concerning the Captain’s reaction, Rabbit’s health, and the woman’s son before an Officer came in and told him the Captain would speak to him in her office.

Her office was bigger than the debriefing room, and her desk was almost the size of that table. The Captain was sitting in a big, leather chair with her mustached helmet on the desk. Two low, soft stools sat on the floor in front of Pardy, and there were no pictures or decorations on the walls besides her Captain’s diploma and a copy of the Protector’s Manifesto: Property. Liberty. Life. framed on one wall. The Captain had her back turned, staring out a window that made up the entire back wall of the room, overlooking a beautiful snowy-white mountain view. Pardy closed the door, marched up to the desk, and said, “Pardy, sir.”

“Yes, Pardy,” the Captain said. “I know.” She didn’t turn around when she spoke. “Take a seat, please. And take your helmet off.”

Pardy struggled down onto one of the stools, his knees bending up to his chest. He slipped off his helmet and breathed a deep breath of air tinged with stale liquor. He had nowhere else to put his helmet but the floor next to his low seat, so he did just that.

“You did good out there, Pardy,” the Captain said after a long silence. “I’ll start with that. You did good.” She nodded, still looking out the window.

Pardy took another deep breath and nodded himself. That was one less stop on the cycle of worries.

“And no, Pardy,” the Captain went on. “I don’t mean you did well, either.” She turned around as she said it. “I know my grammar. You did good and you did it well. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Captain said, smiling. “Very good. Pardy… Now—before we get on with this debriefing, I need to ask you a question.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

“Good, Pardy. Good, good, good. I get it. You do it by the book. Chain of command. Follow every regulation to the dot. Do what you’re told not what you want. I get it. That’s why I chose you today, Pardy. You know that, right? You’re top of your class, a physical specimen, the perfect candidate for promotion through the ranks. Do you agree, Pardy?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

Haha. Of course you do, Pardy. I knew you would. Now, how much are you willing to do to get that promotion?”

“Whatever it takes, sir,” he answered without hesitation.

“You need to think about this, Pardy,” the Captain said, shaking her head. “Whatever it takes leaves open a lot of possibilities. What if it takes breaking regulations? What if it takes ignoring your superior officers?”

“I don’t follow, sir.”

“I didn’t expect you to, Pardy. That’s why you’re so perfect for the position. It doesn’t matter anyway. I just needed to plant the seed, see how you’d respond. Regulation response if I’ve ever heard one, Officer. Regulation response.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The Captain laughed. “Pardy,” she said. “You’ll have my job yet. Hahaha. Now, let’s get down to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me what happened after you left the room in pursuit of the suspect.”

“Yes, sir.” Pardy nodded. “I followed the suspect down the back staircase and caught up to her in an alley a block and half west of the back exit. She was attempting to enter a domicile through a door in the alley, but the door was locked. She yelled at me, reached for something in her dress, and I dispensed justice. At that time backup arrived and I left the scene to come here for debriefing.”

“In her dress, Pardy?” the Captain said, frowning.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me ask you, Pardy.” The Captain grinned. “Have you ever worn a dress?”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Have you ever worn a dress?”

“No, sir.” He shook his head.

“Did you see me wearing a dress out there?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know why?” the Captain said, raising her eyebrows.

“No, sir.”

“Because it’s not easy to hide a gun in a dress, Pardy. Especially the kind she was wearing.”

“I didn’t know, sir.”

“I know you didn’t know, Pardy. But I know. And now you know. And, another thing. She yelled at you?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded.

“What did she say?”

“She cursed, sir.”

Haha. Oh, sweetheart,” the Captain said, smiling and shaking her head. “She cursed? That’s adorable. But we’re both adults here. What did she say?”

“She told me to fuck off, sir. She said you killed her husband, sir. She said they didn’t have guns and that she had a—”

“Alright, Pardy,” the Captain said, waving her hands. “Alright, I get it. But I’ll tell you this: If you ever want a chance of getting that promotion, you have to leave out the part where she said she didn’t have a gun. She had the gun out already. You can’t hide anything that’ll get through protector gear in a dress. You got that?”

“No, sir,” Pardy said, shaking his head.

“Pardy,” the Captain said, sighing. “She didn’t have a gun. We didn’t find a gun on her. She was telling the truth. You leave that part out in the official report and you come out better for it. You got it?”

“Uh—er—Yes, sir,” Pardy said.

Uh—er—Yes, sir,” the Captain mocked him. “You sound like Rabbit, Pardy. Get it together.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded.

“That’s better. And about Jefferson…That was a necessary casualty in the war on injustice. You understand that, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Pardy said. He didn’t understand, but he didn’t know how to say no again.

“Then you might survive yet, Pardy,” the Captain said, smiling. “If you stick with me you certainly will. You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now remember what I said and go fill out your reports. You’ll have your choice of patrol for the coming week if you play your cards right. And that’s the first step in a long line of them to your promotion, Pardy. By that time I’ll have a goatee and I’ll remember what you did here for me today. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Pardy said. They weren’t clear, but again.

“And do close the door behind you on the way out,” the Captain said, turning back to the view and waving him away. “So many people forget to do that it’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, sir.” Pardy struggled up out of the stool, grabbing his helmet and slipping it on, then took extra care to close the door as quietly as he could behind him.

The report form was already up on his computer when he sat down. He stared at it, not wanting to fill it out, not sure if following the Captain’s orders was up to regulation, and groaned. Of course he knew that following her orders was regulation, but was it still regulation if she was ordering him to break regulations? Never before had he been faced with such a paradox. All through school his education was simple: Follow the rule of law and protect the essence of society: Property, liberty, life. His teachers ordered him to complete assignments, and he followed through. That was how simple the job was supposed to be. But this, this was different. The Captain said that the woman he had killed wasn’t lying. She said they didn’t find a gun. Did that mean that none of them had guns? Who fired the shots? Who shot Rabbit?

He realized he didn’t even know if Rabbit was still alive and called down the room to another Officer who was doing busy work at her desk.

“Didn’t make it,” she said, happy to take a break. “Ironic almost, dying in action just like his mother. A hero’s bloodline, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Pardy said. “A hero.”

“It’s just a shame it had to happen on his first day, though, you know. We all ribbed him, but he was a good guy. No protector deserves that. Not even the least of us. But you and the Captain showed them, didn’t you?”

Pardy didn’t answer. He stared blankly at the forms on his computer until the other Officer went back to her’s.

If they didn’t have a gun between them, then the Captain killed Rabbit and they didn’t show anyone anything but that it was okay to kill protectors. But why would she do that? Why would she want Rabbit dead? She was a protector.

They did have a 3D printer. A whole stack of them, apparently. A printer was as good as a gun. A printer was an unlimited supply of guns, bombs, and any other weapon your heart could desire. If they had even one printer, then at least one of them would have a gun to protect it. The denizens of Outland 6 would do anything to get their hands on a printer, including perpetrating violence against one another, and they wouldn’t stop at violence against protectors. Pardy had learned that through his studies of the historical arrest records.

But she didn’t have a gun. That woman didn’t. She was unarmed, and he shot her. He killed her. He heard her yell at him, telling him to fuck off. He heard her crying and pleading to whoever was behind the locked door to let her in. And he pictured her daughter. He pictured his son. He was a protector. It was his duty to uphold justice and what did he do? He killed a mother, created an orphan, and had been praised as a hero for doing so, not only by his fellow Officers, but by a Captain who said that he had what it took to climb the ranks to his dream job. So why was he having such a hard time accepting it all?

He knew he had only one option he could live with, that there was only one regulation course of action he could take. He set to filling out the report. The orphan girl would have to wait just a little bit longer for justice.

#       #       #

< V. Ellie     [Table of Contents]     VII. The Scientist >

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