The Call

[Eclecticon]

Even at this height there's still the fog.  Bitter and caustic, it chokes the canyonlands between titans of concrete and steel, the iridescent crap in hanging in the air drawing out the neon colours into wild blooms that meet and blend into the fever dream of some long-dead painter.  No sign of anything human up here but the spinner heaving its way through what passes for air.  Behind it, garish mist fading to the same bland greenish-grey.  In front, shadowy monoliths cast suddenly into stark relief by the brilliant white of a drive flare as a hauler shuttle blasts its way clear of the spaceport. 

Los Angeles, May 2037. 

Inside the spinner, awkward silence.  Jephthah Crowe, ostensibly driving but hasn't moved his hands in a quarter of an hour, by LE1-1.3's count.  Hasn't said a word or looked at her since she climbed in.  Didnt have to.  The call came in before they were even on shift: priority 1, break-in at a Sector 12 warehouse, briefing from officers on the scene.  All ongoing investigations suspended until further notice (not saying much). 

Crowe stares at the drive flare until his eyes rebel and force themselves shut.  He doesn't know why he's been given this assignment.  Doesn't occur to him that it's been given to 'Elly' just as much.  Assumes it's because Deputy Chief Holden doesn't think it's really a job for Rep-Detec.  Isn't wrong. 

Blinking red lights through the thinning fog and a ping from the nav-panel announce they're nearly on the scene.  Officers in uniform waving them toward a landing pad, haphazardly maintained and stuck like an afterthought on the edge of a structure as massive and ugly as the tomb of some old Soviet leader, if the dead man was somehow twelve meters tall. 

Descent, engines whining.  Time to do the work.