Blowout 3: John Law

by Walt Staples

Reichter was conscious of the crowded feeling the four environment suited figures gave the battered, but still expensive looking living room. Before them, a large rectangular hole gaped blackly. With Ceti 94 on the other side of Eclectia, sunfilters were unnecessary, which suited the Investigating Peacekeeper just fine. He liked to be able to watch the eyes of people when he talked with them. This carried over to all his contacts with his fellow man; something that probably explained his lack of second dates. At the moment, he watched the black eyes of the firefighter whose bunker gear displayed the name, “’Dollman’ Takku.” “Okay, Dollman, you were first on the scene, right?” It was a habit of the peacekeeper that he used the first or nickname of the person he talked with. The easy camaraderie had caused more than one slip on the other’s part.

Dollman nodded. “Yes, sir. I was on ‘suited watch’ at the station. So, I got out the door first. ‘Gamecock’ Pelman from 53^rd was my number two coming in.”

“How long did it take you to rig the emergency airlock?”

Dollan grinned. “Took us 38 seconds, sir.”

Stony Oreman, the local Enforcer whistled. “Not too shabby, Ty.”

Dollman’s grin widened and he sketched a mock stage bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be appearing all week.”

Reichter made a mental note that the two knew each other. He also agreed that the smoke-eater had reason to be proud. He continued, “And what’s changed since you came in, Dollman?”

“Absolutely nothing, sir—other than us standing here, of course.”

The peacekeeper glanced around. “When did you turn the lights on?”

The firefighter raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t, sir. They were all on when I got here.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the open doors with his hand. “They were all open too, when I got here.”

Yoshi Takai, Reichter’s enforcer, asked, “Why didn’t they close when the window blew out?”

Stony spoke up, “The Cleaner, DuPont, had them overridden.”

“Why’d he do that?”

The local enforcer was short and broad in contrast to Yoshi, who was tall, broad, and blond. Stony was also clean shaven, where Yoshi wore a handlebar mustache. He shook his head. “Don’t know, sir. He was pretty much of a wreck when they took him away. The medicos had to sedate him. Want me to go see him?”

Reichter thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. Guess maybe I’ll take care of that. What I want you to do is work the scene with Yoshi here. I’ve cleared with your peacekeeper.” He turned to the firefighter. “Dollman, you can take off now. Thank you for walking us through this thing. I’ll mention the 38 seconds in my report and when I run into your chief next.”

The smoke-eater grinned. “Thank you, sir.” Reichter watched him go and turned to the two enforcers. “One more thing; get a hold of an engineer and see what he comes up with.”

Stony said, “Jill Forman is on duty. Should I get her?”

The peacekeeper tipped his head and squinted one eye. “No…I think I want someone independent.”

Yoshi looked at him questioningly. “Is there a problem with her?”

Reichter made a face and shook his head. “No, I don’t know her. I just want somebody from outside the system. Something just doesn’t smell right.”

Smoke-Eater: Hero

by Walt Staples -

“Fresh Fish, door!” the squad leader bawled.

Tyler Takku, Fire Team 6’s “Fresh Fish,” was an ugly little man--though his mother didn’t think so. He was short and squat, as were the others of the fire team. It was a must as they hauled heavy equipment into Avenir’s tight spaces and survivors or bodies out.

The atmosphere feeding from his “bunker gear” or fire armor’s life support system tasted faintly of smoke and burning volatiles; something he’d ceased to notice while in training. It was only at times like this, when he should be concentrating, that the sensation snuck into his awareness. No matter how often the filters were changed out or the bunker gear was cleaned, the bouquet remained. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs.

The shop’s door was the normal atmosphere-tight kind found on the other businesses on the mall. The large temper-plast windows attempted to not remind patrons that hard vacuum waited its chance outside.

He ran through the Snuffy’s Alphabet—C-A-E-S: Contain the fire-cut Air circulation-cut Electrical current-Search for victims—in his head as he helped place the temporary airlock over the door. Behind the windows the shop looked frightening close to flashover. He bulled his way into the lock ahead of the other firefighters. It was this aggressiveness to get to the fire that caused the Snuffys to refer to each other as “Idjits”—they ran toward danger rather than away.

“Fresh Fish in the lead,” sounded in his earphones from both the internal radio and his gear’s external mikes. One corner of his mind reminded him how happy he’d be when he wasn’t the new guy and had a proper nickname. Then the next new guy would be “Fresh Fish” until christened by the squad.

The atmosphere in the lock was evacuated and replaced with inert nitrogen. There’d be no backdraft when the door was opened. He dropped to his knees and scrambled forward as the emergency charge blew the door halves back into their slots in the jamb. He was conscious of someone behind him directing a heavy stream of CO2 and soda above him through the door as smoke billowed in to mix with the lock’s atmosphere. Vision being useless, he relied on the heads-up display on his visor’s interior for his view of the shop. It occurred to him that he hadn’t noticed what sort of shop it was. Well, if anything had been explosive or oxidizing, he would have been warned forcefully by dispatch.

The picture produced by his radar showed a body on the floor to his right. The thermal overlay showed it as well above 37 degrees C. He sighed as he grabbed it and began to back out, dragging the body behind. He’d hoped his first experience would be a rescue instead of a recovery.

Outside, he cracked his visor and turned away as the med team took over his burden. He stood, looking at the mall’s carpet as he felt the letdown. The heavy slap of a hand landed on his shoulder. “Why so blue, kid?”

He glanced at the squad leader’s smile, then back at the floor. “Guess I just wanted the first one to come out alive.”

“Oh? Well, that one never was.”

Tyler looked around at the squad leader in confusion. “What?”

“You rescued a dressmaker’s manikin.” The other pointed to where a mousey-looking woman was putting a variable geometry dressmaker’s smart-dummy through its paces surrounded by the grinning med team.

The new man cringed. Oh, Lordy, could it get worse?

As if reading his mind, the squad leader gave his shoulder a rough shake. “You done good, kid. That gizmo cost that lady a lot of credits. You probably saved her business.” He walked over to talk to the Fire Marshal.

The lady broke away from the other group and approached Tyler. She smiled at him and he wondered why he had thought her mousey. “I want to thank you so much for saving ‘Edda.’ She’s not covered by my policy yet and it would have taken months to replace her.” He couldn’t decide whether her eyes were blue, gray, or green--and, for some reason, this suddenly seemed very important to him. She colored slightly and looked down. “I was wondering if…if I could thank you with dinner and a vid? Oh. I’m Amy.” She smiled that smile again.

As he helped break down the lock, a blond firefighter jerked on his bunker gear’s rescue strap and grinned at him. “Hey, ‘Dollman,’ great work.”

“Dollman” Takku returned “Bucket-Head” Schmidlap’s grin, as Squad Leader “Rabbit-Tooth” Morgan looked on with a smile and “Fancy-Pants” Brenan continued knocking down the lock’s other side.