Shadows

©Blink’s nostrils flared several times as he stepped onto the down ramp from the intercity shuttle. The Shadows had a distinctive smell of corruption that clung to visitors and oozed out of the stone walls of buildings. Large multi-colored neons that illuminated the sidewalks advertised whatever services lay hidden behind them. In this permanent half light, dark alleys and doorways were trading areas for the latest engineered drug, or peep shows of available women, mostly Orians. Outside of this seething mass of debauchery and gullible visitors, just a two-mile ride away was the city center and Government House, where politicians who passed the planet’s laws collected taxes from the populous and shake-downs from the Shadows. Blink drew breath deeply and took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“I know it doesn’t matter here but as a police officer you should be setting an example for your own people,” said Craddock, joining him.

“Bollocks,” grunted Blink. “I may have to abide by Thoras’ stupid formal living laws and regulations but I do as I please here. This may not be as clean or law abiding as Tranquillity but at least, we still enjoy personal freedom.”

Craddock agreed in principle. Although smoking anything into the body was considered a health hazard, people were entitled to make up their own minds.

The Senate had tackled the pollution problem several years beforehand after smog started building up as industry expanded and began to cover the industrial valleys that lay outside each of the planet’s cities. Personal smoking had been included in the Senate discussions to please the pharmaceutical companies who were looking at an enormous market for Nicoprel, a new once a day pill that stopped the craving for nicotine – but only for a day. The Senate’s tax regulations governing the pharmaceutical manufacturing industry meant a minimum increase in revenue of twenty billion credits per annum. It was too good a ‘bribe’ as the tobacco industry, situated in the hot climactic Saphine district on the other side of Orian called it – for the government to refuse. The tobacco giants were looking at massive losses and the smaller companies closed. The bigger companies continued to supply Jander and Luran, the two nearest planets in the solar system. They were also supporting the terrorists by supplying tobacco products to the smugglers.

A deal was soon done behind closed doors and legislation concerning the new tax was rushed into law. The population rebelled when it was announced a total ban on smoking would come into effect a month later. There were protest rallies and several incidents of violence that Craddock’s office had to deal with. In the end, smokers were given a months supply of the new pill and a small discount on their future needs if they signed a company petition supporting the new law. What Craddock feared most came true. A black market in cigarettes and tobacco sprung up overnight and the police department, already stretched thin on the ground, filled the Peoples Court cells with all kinds of criminal and amateur smuggler trying to make some fast credits.

“Well just don’t blow that smoke over me,” countered Craddock. “And by the way – less of the bad attitude and a little more respect.”

Blink grunted without apologizing.

Craddock hailed a taxi, an old electric three-wheel town car that seated two passengers, and noted it had not been cleaned in quite a while. “The Nightstar Hotel,” he told the driver. “You do know you are supposed to keep this vehicle clean. There’s a fine of fifty credits if you don’t.”

The driver nodded but said nothing.

“You aren’t going to make many friends here with an attitude like that, boss. Remember we’re not on Thoran now. If you want their respect, you have to go along with a few things and turn a blind eye.” Blink folded his arms defiantly.

Craddock exploded. “Who the hell do you think you are – especially talking about attitude. As far as respect is concerned that’s something you bloody people don’t understand.” He waved a hand at the street scene outside. “Can you see respect – can you hear it? I see a lot of attitudes – bad attitude. How many people are breaking the law out there? You’re a bloody policeman and you’re telling me, your superior, how to conduct myself on this lawless bloody moon.” He fanned the smoke away from his face. “And put that bloody cigarette out or walk.”

Blink wound the window down and flicked the cigarette out as they drove on in silence.

The narrow street was crowded with pedestrians, some from Thoras but most from Orian. Excited and noisy, they gathered in front of brothels to view the women who paraded in front of upstairs windows. Other visitors entered the gambling houses or restaurants, each one manned outside on the pavement by a hustler trying to coerce their quarry inside. Above the throng, garish neons blinked, flickered, and changed color, reflecting in the windows on the opposite side of the street and rippling across the roofs of cars as they traveled slowly below.

The taxi worked its way through the traffic and turned into a drive leading up to the Nightstar Hotel – a non-discript tall three-story building that showed signs of age. A large neon on a roof frame changed from green to red – the letter G missing each time it turned green. As they pulled into the curb, a plastic cup popped loudly as they rolled over paper and plastic garbage and stopped.

“Police business. Here’s your voucher to collect the fare from the Civic Centre,” said Craddock, handing a small card to the driver.

“It’s still normal to give a little tip,” replied the driver.

“If you had a clean taxi you might get one,” snubbed Craddock, turning away.

Blink leaned over the driver’s window. “Don’t mind him, he’s dying for a smoke, poor bastard,” he said out of earshot.

They both laughed.

The reception was at the end of a long dirty first-floor passage. One out of three overhead bare neons worked or flickered and flashed, illuminating graffiti on the walls and worn linoleum strewn with cigarette butts and the odd drink can. Craddock looked disapprovingly at the filthy surroundings. The place stunk of the lowlife humanity it housed and he wanted out of it as soon as possible.

The receptionist, dressed in a dirty T-shirt, looked up as Craddock and Blink approached. His broad smile revealed a row of yellowed teeth and sweat shone on the bald crown of his head. Behind him, an electric wall heater glowed red. His cats eyes blinked slowly, the vertical pupil widening slightly to sharpen his sight.

“Welcome, Sirs. I’m Zent and I’m here to look after you. You have a room booked?”

Craddock showed his card. “We’re on police business. The name is Chief Inspector Craddock and Sergeant Triton Bliker. We have two rooms booked.”

Zent’s finger traced across the booking computer screen. “Ah, yes. You have rooms 325 and 326.” He reached for the keys hanging on a board behind him without getting up and tossed them onto the counter. “Second floor.”

The smile had disappeared. Without waiting for the two men to leave, he dropped his head and carried on looking into a computer screen. As Craddock disappeared up the corridor, Blink grabbed Zent by the throat and pulled him up and half-way across the counter.

“Chief Inspector Craddock likes cigarettes. Make sure he gets some on the house but don’t tell him I told you – got it?”

Zent gulped and nodded.

(Ch 2 – to be cont…)