Dan Fairview [Fairview - Finding Clarissa

Develocorp Planetary Police Headquarters

New London, Earth 2053 AD

John Finder stepped off the elevator. Conversations stopped instantly in the unusually dark squad room. Rain pelted the large windows on the outer side of the room. He paused to smooth his wrinkled black suit and lock eyes with people he had once thought of as friends, only to have them look quickly away.

He sighed and weaved his way through the desks toward the captain's office. Holographic interface computers chimed, and conversations resumed in hushed tones. He checked the time on his comm unit against the chronometer on the wall that displayed galactic standard time. He was late.

John knocked on the mirrored glass door to Captain Brysons office and then pushed in.

You wanted to see me? John said.

Chet Bryson, who had been his supportive superior for the last five years, sat behind a plain metal desk, identical to the others out in the squad room. He was in his fifties, gray hair, thick around the middle, and very easy to underestimate. He motioned to the seat before his desk. Sit down. I've heard from internal affairs, and I'm afraid it isn't good news.

The chair creaked and groaned as John slumped into it. He rubbed his stubbly face with both hands. The reception out front was a giveaway.

Don't be too hard on them. Most are good eggs and don't care about this telepathy business with you wife. Its a tired argument if you ask me, but I suppose you will always find those that hate telepaths for some reason or other.

John closed his eyes to the family pictures on the walls. How did they find out about her?

I can't tell you that.

John focused on the ceiling. I suppose they figured it out during her autopsy.

Bryson said nothing.

What now? John asked, My wife is dead because of this. Am I going to lose my job too?

Her death was officially ruled an accident and thats that, Bryson said firmly, Im just thankful your daughter wasnt with her.

John nodded.

Bryson shifted in his chair and wouldn't make eye contact. You are officially removed from the cloning case, and any others you are currently pursuing. With consideration for past service, internal affairs is giving you the option to retire instead of facing the indignity of a trial.

You mean they don't want a scandal, John said loud enough to be heard outside.

Bryson looked away. Don't shoot the messenger.

John sank further into his chair. Can they even make a case against me?

Bryson nodded. Someone has come forward.

John shook his head, took a deep breath and stood. He removed his firearm and his badge and laid them on the desk with a resounding thud.

I'm gonna show you something, Bryson said, but you didn't see it, understand? John nodded. It may or may not have bearing on the case, but I felt you should know about it. He unlocked a pad with his thumbprint, and passed it to him.

John looked up sharply after he read it. Why?

Doc doesn't know, but hes certain it occurred before the accident.

How does he know?

Says it was starting to heal, so the cut has to have happened earlier. Did she have some sort of medical procedure while she was away?

She said nothing to me about it.

I'll let you know if I find anything out, but you stay out it. He pointed a finger at John. If I find you poking around, I'll have to arrest you.

John handed the pad back and nodded. Without another word, he turned and left.

All eyes in the squad room turned to John as he exited the office. The door closed behind him, and the symbolism wasn't lost on him. His friend Ancil Harwood stepped in front of him.

I've heard, Ancil said.

John started for his desk. Ancil followed. Lightning flashed outside, bathing the room momentarily in white light.

Grapevine says it was your partner who sold you out.

John paused. Figures. Thats what I get for trusting. He continued to his desk.

You have to trust somebody. Do you need a box?

No. John unlocked the top drawer, reached in, removed a small object, and stuffed it into his pocket. He tossed the key on the desk and headed for the elevator.

Someone whispered. No wonder he was promoted so quickly.

Ancil followed him onto the elevator. Two other occupants moved back to make room.

The elevator's glass walls revealed a spectacular view of the open interior of the building. The artificial sunlight ran at a low level, matching the weather outside.

John put his back to the glass and focused on the control panel, as the elevator lurched and began its decent. Twenty levels down, the elevator stopped and one passenger got off, leaving the last passenger alone with them, then the elevator continued down.

Good riddance to you. The man said from behind.

John kept his eyes forward, but cocked his head slightly. What did you say?

I said, good riddance to you, and your filthy secret stealer.

Ancil turned to speak.

Keep out of it, the man said.

John slowly turned to face him.

The man puffed up and said. She got what was coming to her.

John lunged at him, but Ancil stepped between them.

The man threw Ancil aside and swung at John.

John dodged, caught his wrist, twisting it behind him, making him cry out in pain.

The elevator stopped and opened.

This must be your floor. John tossed him out, and he rolled face down into a heap.

John straightened his suit, the elevator closed and continued. He resumed his position at the control panel.

That was fun, Ancil said.

John rolled his eyes at him.

Ancil slapped John's shoulder. I hope you know you can trust me to stick by you?

Why would you even want to?

Because you were that twelve year old kid who saved my life.

The elevator opened, and they made their way out of the building into the rain. Ancil adjusted his coat, closing it tighter. Sheets of rain highlighted by the streetlights danced on the wind coating them in a fine mist even though they were both under the awning.

How is Clarissa taking all this? Ancil asked.

Luckily she is too young to understand. She thinks her mother is gone on a trip or something.

I hope you don't mind me asking, but has Clarissa shown any signs of telepathy like her mother?

No.

Is there anything I can do? Do you need money?

John shook his head. Thanks, no.

What will you do about a job?

Detective work is all I know, so it looks like the private investigator racket.