Chronicles of Han: Preserving Creata: Part 1: Learning Curve

“Vehicle 23, please respond.”

It was the operator at the precinct.

Tucker picked up the hand-held from the table. “Vehicle 23, go ahead.”

“Domestic disturbance reported at 105 Fishery Road.”

“We’re on our way. ETA 3 minutes,” Tucker replied.

The comm disconnected.

“Let’s go.”

I had drained the last of my coffee while Tucker was speaking on the comm.

“This is your home turf,” Tucker said, handing me the keys.

I drove around the block to Fishery Road. The address was at one of the old packing plants that had been converted into apartments, providing much needed accommodation for the working class.

People were standing around outside the apartment building.

I carefully drove through the crowd that separated to allow us through. We stopped in the clearing the crowd had left in front of the building.

Only one man was standing in this clearing, broken glass, furniture and clothes scattered around him and on the pavement. A woman was screaming from the first floor, hurling a bottle of alcohol at him.

He ducked, the bottle missing him by a whisker. Hitting our vehicle, it shattered.

Tucker kept his cool. “You go up and fetch the lady for a little chat. I’ll speak to the boyfriend.” He left the vehicle and started interrogating the man. It made the woman livid. She hurled abuse at Tucker and the man.

I received a scowl from Tucker and hurried over to the building. Running up the stairs, I quickly found the apartment.

“NHSF, open up!” I called in my most authoritive voice.

I saw the bullet coming through the door before it actually happened, jumping out of the way right as the bullet tore through the door, slamming into the wall.

It was a small calibre, but would have killed me if I had not moved. In any case, any sized bullet meant for you sounds and looks huge.

Not waiting a moment longer, I drew my own firearm, kicking the door open.

The woman seemed to be in shock. She threw the weapon away from her, where it discharged as it hit the floor. Thankfully, the bullet slammed harmlessly into the opposite wall.

I replaced my firearm in its holster at my hip and arrested her on the spot. She was so high on drugs, I was not sure she comprehended anything I said to her anyway.

Still struggling to get my heart rate below a gallop, I heard Tucker calling me on my comm, concern clearly audible in his voice.

I dragged the woman over to the window.

“You okay?” Tucker wanted to know, calling up from the pavement.

“Yes,” a flash of small scared faces under a bed invaded my thoughts. “We’d better get Social Services in here as well,” I finished.

I knew Tucker had picked up on the slight lapse between sentences, realizing that my ‘gift’ was working overtime again.

I dragged the woman to the bedroom and sat her down on the bed, feeling sure she was not going anywhere.

Three small boys were hiding under the bed. I tried to calm them as best I could.

“Stay there. We are bringing someone that can help you,” I advised them.

A short while later, Tucker entered the apartment, followed by the man.

The woman started screaming and swearing again, making it necessary for me to manhandle her out of the bedroom.

I did not stop to speak to Tucker, but took her straight to our vehicle, fighting her all the way. She was a handful and I was thankful when she was finally secured in the back seat, where she continued to scream and hurl abuse at me and everyone else in the vicinity.

When I saw Stacey driving up, I knew Tucker had called for back-up.

Stacey brought their vehicle to a standstill next to ours. Her Sergeant made his way over to Tucker in the apartment, while Stacey came around to me.

“Wow. You are really keeping us busy. What is it with you? By the way, you’re looking better than this morning.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling better.”

It took both of us to transfer the intoxicated woman from one vehicle to the other. She struggled and kicked and head-butted us.

Eventually we had to pick her up and dump her into Stacey’s vehicle.

Breathing hard, we finally slammed the door on her. She was still going insane in the back seat.

“Drugs” Stacey breathed out. “I’ve seen them like that before. My mother used to volunteer at a re-hab centre. I visited a couple of times. It is not a pretty picture.”

“It makes one think twice about starting” I commented.

Substance abuse was a common occurrence on Creata, especially within the Cities. The Planetary Security Forces had marginal success in eliminating some of the drug plants.

Privately, I felt sure that the Government took some of the profits of this extremely lucrative industry. They definitely had the power and resources to eliminate the problem totally, it they wanted to.

Social Services arrived and we directed them up to the ruined apartment. Tucker came out as they went inside.

“Sergeant Picanté is looking for you,” he told Stacey.

She nodded at me and went into the building.

Tucker gave the still ranting woman in the back of Stacey’s vehicle a hard look.

“I hate the cases where children are involved. It always feels personal.” He straightened up. “Anyway, time for us to go. Picanté will finish up here.”