Urbis

O’Rourke was drinking a quiet beer in the patrolmen’s mess on the fourteenth level of the Security Commission building. It was the end of his shift. He was feeling good. After his show the previous evening, he was unusually popular with his mates - and he was also unusually flush with funds.

But there were two flies in the ointment of his content. One was the flak he expected to cop over Granby’s untimely demise. The search and rescues mission for the two missing chopper jockeys had been legitimate. But the charred ivory which would have been salvaged from the wreckage of Granby’s machine would be difficult to explain away.

And the other quarter from which he might expect aggravation was…

Brandt. Standing in the doorway, glowering like a thunderhead. The room was suddenly quiet as the big, barrel-chested man made his entrance, fixing O’Rourke with a hypnotic stare that burned with venomous rage. Brandt inhaled deeply, his whole abdomen swelling until the seams of his tunic looked as if they might split. He held his breath for long seconds, then exhaled in a sibilant hiss like escaping steam.

When he spoke, his voice was filled with suppressed menace. “I have a bone to pick with you, Officer O’Rourke.”

“Lieutenant Brandt. I wouldn’t have expected to see you on duty today,” O’Rourke quipped, hoping to defuse the man’s explosive temper with a joke. His humour was lost on Brandt, who crossed to O’Rourke’s table in a couple of strides and closed a ham-like fist round his collar, hauling him to his feet, sending chairs and beer crashing to the floor.

“Don’t give me your bullshit, O’Rourke,” he snarled. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Wha-what’s the problem?” stuttered O’Rourke, struggling for breath as his face turned puce.

“The problem,” said Brandt, measuring his every word, “is that you assured me the bird was a virgin. Patently, she was not.”

“I didn’t know,” O’Rourke whimpered. “We…”

“If you didn’t know, why did you tell me she was?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice. I didn’t think it would matter.”

Brandt lifted him bodily off his feet. “Well, I did notice, insolent puppy, and it does matter. To me.”

“But Lieutenant, a virgin…”

“I don’t care if they are as rare as hen’s teeth!” Brandt roared. “If I pay for a virgin, I expect to get a virgin!”

“I’ll pay you back, I’ll pay you double,” O’Rourke pleaded.

“You’ve done your last double-cross, O’Rourke,” said Brandt, his voice suddenly reduced to a sinister whisper.

With sheer brute force, he lifted O’Rourke like a rag doll and flung him against a window, shattering it and scattering passers-by in the street below. O’Rourke was impaled on daggers of plate glass, half in and half out of the window. He twitched for a moment, the death rattle audible in his throat, and then he was still.

Chief Commissioner Mackie left Brandt sitting on a bench in the corridor, stewing in his own juice for half an hour. Finally he had a lackey summon the chastened Divisional Lieutenant into his office.

The door slid shut with a discreet click. Mackie, dux of the school of hard knocks, sat contemplating Brandt until the latter began to shift uncomfortably under the steely gaze.

“Well?” the Chief Commissioner snapped, sounding for all the world like an irritable headmaster. “What do you think you were doing? Do you think we’ve got so many men that we can afford to just throw them away?”

’O’Rourke was a wrong ’un, sir,” Brandt said sullenly. “A bad cop.”

“He was a cop, nevertheless,” said Mackie, exasperated. “Ane we are in dire need of cops, good, bad or indifferent. I have just had the new Security Minister on the line, bending my ear for some forty minutes.” It was a small lie: the minister had called the previous day. “He is a new broom, and he wants to impress by sweeping clean. He wants us to crack down on the Underground, thinks they might be planning some sort of major subversive action against the Presidium, and he wants us to pre-empt that by picking up the ringleaders in each sector and getting as much out of them as we can. We will need every man we have for such an operation. It is not a time for petty squabbles between officers over - what was it? - a woman? Do I make myself clear?”

“As crystal,” said Brandt.

“Good.” Mackie’s tone changed. “You’ve put me in a difficult position with this, Brandt. You’re a good Security man, but your uncontrollable emotional outbursts make you a rogue. Unpredictable. There’s no way I can keep the Minister from hearing about this, and I suspect he’s going to hang you up by your balls as an example.” He paused. “You’re going to have plenty of time to enjoy your woman, Brandt, because as of now you are suspended on full pay, pending a personal investigation by his nibs. And his plate being full to overflowing, you can bet it will be some months before he gets round to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all, Brandt.”

Brandt stood up, clicked his heels together, and snapped off a smart salute. He spun on the balls of his feet and left the room.

Mackie watched him thoughtfully as he departed. Crass though he was, Brandt had unwittingly done the Commission a favour by dispatching the last survivor of the ultramontane sortie before he could blab about what was really over there. Had it not been for this saving grace, Mackie would have made mincemeat of him.