The Out Side Story

The early morning death squads had been out already, washing the
streets of the blood that had run like water around midnight. It had
been a bad night. 56 suicides, 30 failed attempts and the
disintegration booths had been working over time. An air of funereal
splendour shrouded the city as the sun rose bulbous, orange, yet
lacking in heat as the air was thick with cloud. The sun glared through
the cumulus, ancient, hating everyone outside. I brushed ash from my
jacket, and stared into the middle distance, eyes unfocussed, staring
at the plaque hung on the wall. It had a black cat emblem below which
was printed the motto of the Brigade. "To destroy life is to waste
life." Not that many people really understood what exactly was meant by
this, being hell bent on self destruction. Ever since suicide had been
legalised, the human race had gone to pieces. No more tablets, no happy
pills, just burn out in a disintegration booth, yours for five credits.
I had heard they were thinking of increasing the charges for repeat
attempts.

Stewart flipped a newszine over to me. "Read something, your constant
introspection is giving me the willies," he said. Stewart was the
precinct Lieutenant on duty, he was old and grey and had seen four wars
since the Iraqi conflict at the turn of the century. I think he
preferred the trenches to this. He had lost half his squad in a
skirmish in Northern France, during the War of Separation. I had been
too young to fight, instead had followed the news at college where I
was studying English Literature - hardly the most useful of subjects as
a Brigade Patrolman, still, it helped at times. I was on duty in a few
minutes, as I had pulled a doubleshift after three of our patrolcars
had been set on fire in a riot on Eastside. I looked up and glanced at
the cover of the magazine where it lay. On the front was a picture of
Skulmann, our illustrious president of the republic, he was waving to
the crowd, hair combed just so, dark, Aryan and utterly mad. It was
Skulmann that had brokered the bill for Legal Suicide five years
previously. The window was open, and then as I picked up the magazine
intending to throw it into the trash we heard a loud scream and then a
small explosion. Stewart stood up, went over to the window and looked
out. "Jackson, look here, someone's just blown themselves up at the
corner of East 56th and Twomby Street, quite a mess, blood and guts
everywhere, looks like a mate of mine did after he popped a landmine."
I looked and felt like puking.

"Messy," I agreed. I didnt really want to discuss it any further. "I'm
on duty now, Sir. I shall be working Lower Twomby Street." Lieutenant
Stewart nodded. I grabbed my gun from the rack and left the Brigade
office. It was cold outside. I could hear the meat wagon sirens in the
distance, and further explosions. Honestly it was beginning to sound
like a small scale war was being fought on the streets. As I passed the
burned out post office, a body fell seventy feet from the roof. It
slapped the scarred concrete. I tensed, then went over to look, the
man's neck was broken already, he had been dead before the drop. I
looked up, but I couldn't see anything. A 2027 Cadillac rumbled passed
going far too fast and piled into the coach that had been firebombed
last week, it exploded in a ball of flame. Surprisingly, not a single
scream, so I guessed the riders had been popped out on the latest
street drug Crack Latte, a particularly vile way to go as it destroyed
half the brain, gave a feeling of extreme drunkenness in about ten
seconds flat, or so I read. I kept walking.

Finally I arrived at my patch, holstered the gun, and cast about for
lives to save. There was a long queue at the Lower Twomby booths, all
five of them in use and a long line stretching back. These were popular
with the kids, and sometimes I got lucky and saved some of them.
Sometimes they burned out anyway, having thanked me for my kind
thoughts. I began walking down the line. I was good at this, I could
tell if someone looked like they would listen just by their eyes. Then
I saw her. She was wearing a leather jacket, holding a crushproof box
of Imperials, cigarette alight, and her pants were torn at the knee, on
her feet she wore combat boots, and her hair was dark. She looked like
a downtown girl, maybe I would have some success. As I approached she
cast away the cigarette.

"You don't need to die," I said. "Come with me, I'll show you life."
She lit another cigarette. Tears caressed her face.

"I matter?" She asked me.

"Everyone matters," I replied "Everyone is kinda special - but I can
only save one at a time."

"But why me?" She asked.

I pulled out my badge. "Because I picked you first."

She looked at the badge. "Officer?" She asked, her eyes focussing
again.

"Yes, lady, we need to get you out of here, somewhere safer. You stay
here you are definitely going to die, and that would be a shame on a
day such as this."

"Are you for real?" she kidded, smoking her cigarette. Still, she had
stepped out of the line to talk with me which was a start. "I mean,
really?"

"Of course I am," I replied, attempting a smile and failing. "This is
my job. Persuading people not to burn in the booths. Of course it is
your legal right so to do, but, hey, the sun is hardly up, its fucking
cold, and I am sure you could do with a coffee. Be my guest."

"What's your name, Officer?" the girl asked.

"Jackson," I said simply.

"Mine's Teddi, just Teddi, I don't have a last name, haven't had since
my family took a one way trip to Paradise City last Fall."

"Sorry to hear that. Shall we go?"

"Officer Jackson, I have been queuing here for the last week, okay, I
stepped out of the line to talk, but?"

"You want to rejoin the line? Are you sure?"

"Nope. Maybe I will get that coffee. Maybe I won't. What do you
think?"

"I think you are fucking mad, but you are also the most beautiful chick
I have ever seen, and a pretty thing like you shouldn't want to
burn."

"You think I am beautiful? Really?" She looked shocked.

"Yes, baby, I think you're beautiful."

"Wow, nobody has ever told me that. Usually they try to fuck me before
even saying hello, or telling me their name."

I was right, she was a downtown girl. It didn't make a jot of
difference, she was beautiful. She mattered, and right now, I was doing
my best to persuade her to choose life over death.

She stood on boot tip and kissed me on the mouth. Then I put my arm
around her and we walked back the way I had come heading towards the
Brigade Office where a cup of coffee was waiting. Nobody else in the
queue noticed our departure, all too intent on the sign above the
booths that read "OUT".

She works for the Brigade now, sometimes we pull the same shift,
sometimes we don't, but she cleaned up really good, and we live
together in the compound out on Northside. It's a living I guess, but
maybe if we had more female Officers we could save more people, chicks,
dudes, whatever, just to get someone to choose life, that was what it
was all about. Not the Out Side.