The sunlight came in big, thick-cut sheets through the windows. They were blank save for the places where the tree shadowed. There was no dust. Malin had noticed that. The warehouse was a fair sized building but the whole place was spotless. It almost unnerved him. Nothing was that clean. For a moment he felt the wheels turn in his head, then his eyes found the blood. Not totally spotless, he remembered. There was just the one.
It was a fat, hazy smear of dull-red, like someone had seen the pristine floor, decided it had really ought to look disgusting, then simply poured on blood until it did. It would have taken such a genuinely huge quantity that Malin had felt revulsion and horror slowly work themselves into a morbid kind of academic interest. Who had that much blood? That much human blood?
It was human. Local medics had tested it thoroughly after requests from the militia first responders. Only Malin and a few others knew that - somehow - it was the blood of one person. Somehow a single man had bled a few hundred gallons onto a warehouse floor and then disappeared into the night. It would almost seem rude if it wasn’t so confusing. No doubt reality wouldn’t agree with the assessment, but damn if any of the militia officers could offer a better explanation. Damn indeed.
One of the medical orderlies crossed in front of him, big tubes of cryogenic sample sheets under his arms, and the movement brought Malin out of his head.
“What if it was synthetic blood?” he asked. It was to no one in particular, but the captain’s bars on his collar made it a question for general consideration. “Or from a clone farm.”
There was nothing for a few moments. He looked behind himself and stared at the tight-lipped faces. He cringed at his own fleeting suppositions. Lieutenant Kimzi spoke, and it was clear enough in her tone that it was more to make Malin feel better about wild speculation than a real desire to join the ranks of the imaginative.
“Maybe some kind of genetic engineering? Blood from something made to produce big amounts for illegal resale or the, uh- I think they use blood in certain xeno-narcotics.”
Malin frowned. His ideas had been far more sensible than that, he thought. Now he just felt like a humored idiot.
“I’m just speculating,” he said, and shrugged. “Not saying I know.”
“It’s not our job to know,” another voice, approaching from the far side. Lieutenant Rasso, drawn out of his caffeine. “There’s no crime here. It’s not illegal to make a mess.”
“With a small town’s worth of blood.”
“It’s not illegal to own blood either.”
Malin’s face screwed up in annoyance.
“Don’t act like you aren’t interested,” he said.
“I’m not. Neither are the militia investigators,” Rasso said. “I appreciate you coming out, but this isn’t anything other than slightly unusual.”
“At a minimum.”
“At maximum.”
“That’s just a few letters difference, Ross!”
There was general laughter in the small cluster, only slightly forced. Rasso smiled.
“If you’d like to put in a transfer request to Judicial Affairs we can talk it over. Until then,” Rasso gestured to the wide, sliding doors. “You and your people can go. We’re going to get our samples and then head home. Thanks for helping get things secure.”
The two officers tapped their knuckles together, then at a nod from Malin the group broke up in a shifting of long, grey coats and black jackboots. Rasso stayed for a moment longer, and he stared into the blood pool with Malin, then they both turned and went on their way.
Lieutenant Kimzi was waiting outside of the far entrance, tucked between the wall and bushes so the wind broke before it found her. When Malin had put on his gloves and come out into the chill, she was beside him.
“Oh,” he said, and turned to look at her as they walked. “Did you need something?”
She shrugged.
“You probably parked the closest, and I don’t like the cold. Figured I’d see if I could bum a ride for extra make-work duty.”
Malin laughed as she smiled.
“You might regret it when you see the pile that’s waiting.”
“I haven’t been able to stand anything below pleasantly cool since last year. I’ll get over it.”
“I understand.”
Malin’s speeder was a block from the warehouse, up on Sansipal Street where the factories and storeyards gave way to grimy commercial slums. The day was still young, and the morning chill kept the smog low and sedate so the air felt clean. The speeder was sleek amid the older models, with flat blue paneling and the declarative white stripes of the Civil Militia. It sat at the front of a small shop, and at Malin’s suggestion they stepped inside for pints of hot broth and taliqe pastries.
“You really think it’s part of some cloning ring?” Kimzi asked while they waited. It was so abrupt that for a moment Malin forgot he’d been turning the idea over.
“I don’t know.” He furrowed his brow. “I mean, it’s got to be something suspect, right? I’m not crazy, you don’t just have a ton of blood lying around if you’re a law abiding citizen.”
“I mean, obviously.”
“Clearly not! Ross doesn’t think so!”
“I’m sure he does, but who wants all that work? It would be on his shoulders, he’s the investigator.”
“Would you not?” Malin asked, and looked for something in Kimzi’s eyes.
She frowned. There was only a familiar vexation.
“You do?”
Malin groaned, and Kimzi sighed at him.
“Doesn’t this get boring to you?” he asked, and collected their breakfast. “I mean, how long has it been since we had a big go of something? This is all we do anymore. Who the hell wants to spend their life eating pastries and doing paperwork?”
Kimzi raised her hand.
“Well, not the paperwork part,” she amended, and licked the jam from her lips. They drank the broth and nibbled at the pastries once they were in the speeder, and eventually he asked her again.
“When was the last time we did something big? I mean the whole district big.”
“The Moon War,” she said after a moment, and they both were quiet. “I get why you’d miss it.”
“Okay, well, that’s not what I meant.” The speeder came on with a sound like rain on a metal roof. They lifted, and slowly merged into the street headed back to the district office. “I’m just…bored.”
“Are you saying I’m boring?” she tried to joke, but he ignored her.
“Something interesting finally happens and then it’s just shut down like it doesn’t matter. I’m just bored of it.”
“Maybe it you.”
Main gripped the wheel tight, and sighed. They left the inner district and pulled away from the street, coming up into the sky lane and cruising off toward the sprawled distance.
It was a fat, hazy smear of dull-red, like someone had seen the pristine floor, decided it had really ought to look disgusting, then simply poured on blood until it did. It would have taken such a genuinely huge quantity that Malin had felt revulsion and horror slowly work themselves into a morbid kind of academic interest. Who had that much blood? That much human blood?
It was human. Local medics had tested it thoroughly after requests from the militia first responders. Only Malin and a few others knew that - somehow - it was the blood of one person. Somehow a single man had bled a few hundred gallons onto a warehouse floor and then disappeared into the night. It would almost seem rude if it wasn’t so confusing. No doubt reality wouldn’t agree with the assessment, but damn if any of the militia officers could offer a better explanation. Damn indeed.
One of the medical orderlies crossed in front of him, big tubes of cryogenic sample sheets under his arms, and the movement brought Malin out of his head.
“What if it was synthetic blood?” he asked. It was to no one in particular, but the captain’s bars on his collar made it a question for general consideration. “Or from a clone farm.”
There was nothing for a few moments. He looked behind himself and stared at the tight-lipped faces. He cringed at his own fleeting suppositions. Lieutenant Kimzi spoke, and it was clear enough in her tone that it was more to make Malin feel better about wild speculation than a real desire to join the ranks of the imaginative.
“Maybe some kind of genetic engineering? Blood from something made to produce big amounts for illegal resale or the, uh- I think they use blood in certain xeno-narcotics.”
Malin frowned. His ideas had been far more sensible than that, he thought. Now he just felt like a humored idiot.
“I’m just speculating,” he said, and shrugged. “Not saying I know.”
“It’s not our job to know,” another voice, approaching from the far side. Lieutenant Rasso, drawn out of his caffeine. “There’s no crime here. It’s not illegal to make a mess.”
“With a small town’s worth of blood.”
“It’s not illegal to own blood either.”
Malin’s face screwed up in annoyance.
“Don’t act like you aren’t interested,” he said.
“I’m not. Neither are the militia investigators,” Rasso said. “I appreciate you coming out, but this isn’t anything other than slightly unusual.”
“At a minimum.”
“At maximum.”
“That’s just a few letters difference, Ross!”
There was general laughter in the small cluster, only slightly forced. Rasso smiled.
“If you’d like to put in a transfer request to Judicial Affairs we can talk it over. Until then,” Rasso gestured to the wide, sliding doors. “You and your people can go. We’re going to get our samples and then head home. Thanks for helping get things secure.”
The two officers tapped their knuckles together, then at a nod from Malin the group broke up in a shifting of long, grey coats and black jackboots. Rasso stayed for a moment longer, and he stared into the blood pool with Malin, then they both turned and went on their way.
Lieutenant Kimzi was waiting outside of the far entrance, tucked between the wall and bushes so the wind broke before it found her. When Malin had put on his gloves and come out into the chill, she was beside him.
“Oh,” he said, and turned to look at her as they walked. “Did you need something?”
She shrugged.
“You probably parked the closest, and I don’t like the cold. Figured I’d see if I could bum a ride for extra make-work duty.”
Malin laughed as she smiled.
“You might regret it when you see the pile that’s waiting.”
“I haven’t been able to stand anything below pleasantly cool since last year. I’ll get over it.”
“I understand.”
Malin’s speeder was a block from the warehouse, up on Sansipal Street where the factories and storeyards gave way to grimy commercial slums. The day was still young, and the morning chill kept the smog low and sedate so the air felt clean. The speeder was sleek amid the older models, with flat blue paneling and the declarative white stripes of the Civil Militia. It sat at the front of a small shop, and at Malin’s suggestion they stepped inside for pints of hot broth and taliqe pastries.
“You really think it’s part of some cloning ring?” Kimzi asked while they waited. It was so abrupt that for a moment Malin forgot he’d been turning the idea over.
“I don’t know.” He furrowed his brow. “I mean, it’s got to be something suspect, right? I’m not crazy, you don’t just have a ton of blood lying around if you’re a law abiding citizen.”
“I mean, obviously.”
“Clearly not! Ross doesn’t think so!”
“I’m sure he does, but who wants all that work? It would be on his shoulders, he’s the investigator.”
“Would you not?” Malin asked, and looked for something in Kimzi’s eyes.
She frowned. There was only a familiar vexation.
“You do?”
Malin groaned, and Kimzi sighed at him.
“Doesn’t this get boring to you?” he asked, and collected their breakfast. “I mean, how long has it been since we had a big go of something? This is all we do anymore. Who the hell wants to spend their life eating pastries and doing paperwork?”
Kimzi raised her hand.
“Well, not the paperwork part,” she amended, and licked the jam from her lips. They drank the broth and nibbled at the pastries once they were in the speeder, and eventually he asked her again.
“When was the last time we did something big? I mean the whole district big.”
“The Moon War,” she said after a moment, and they both were quiet. “I get why you’d miss it.”
“Okay, well, that’s not what I meant.” The speeder came on with a sound like rain on a metal roof. They lifted, and slowly merged into the street headed back to the district office. “I’m just…bored.”
“Are you saying I’m boring?” she tried to joke, but he ignored her.
“Something interesting finally happens and then it’s just shut down like it doesn’t matter. I’m just bored of it.”
“Maybe it you.”
Main gripped the wheel tight, and sighed. They left the inner district and pulled away from the street, coming up into the sky lane and cruising off toward the sprawled distance.