<div style="width:38em;line-height:1.5em;text-align:justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With a flick of my wrist, the match flared to life in a sputtering, sulfuric burst. With a few breaths, the cigarette was lit. Another flick of the wrist, and the match was out. A snap of the fingers, and it went flying towards a wastebasket. Dangit, a miss.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A blue cloud of smoke floating behind me, I headed out. All about me the hustle and bustle of HQ continued on. People heading toward a destination, people coming from a destination, people busy, as busy as could be.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hey, AJ, great job on the Howwel murder!" called out a peon. I nodded back to him cordially. Smith? Swinsky? Samith, yeah, Samith was his name.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Thanks Sam," I drawled back. "He never had a chance."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The man grinned, and went back to work. I took a drag on my cigarette, and blew the smoke into the air in a thick stream. It certainly did feel good to get the Howwel purp down. Never did like a woman-killer, myself. Only weak men did that.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The clack-ity clack of secretaries busily working on their workstations was beginning to get to me, as it always did, so I stepped to it and hoofed my way out. Directly outside HQ I almost ran over the prettiest girl in the station, Emma Dickerson.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hey, baby, you - me, dinner tonight?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"When the stars turn green, buddy, when the stars turn green."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Aw, snap. By then you'll be so old I won't want that date!"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She winked again, flashed a grin, and left. I admired the scenery for a moment, before remembering that she was a married woman, and her husband was a jealous man.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Perhaps I should introduce myself. I'm A.J. Michalson, House Detective for The Department, an investigation agency. Occasionally The Department works with the coppers, but for the most time we're competitors. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rumor has it that Fitch and Farley, Fitch is the Deputy Director for the Department, have a private meeting once a week, and there the looser buys the winner a drink. Rumor also has it that Fitch has been getting free drinks for the last two months. I certainly believe it, those coppers couldn't find a dead star destroyer.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Looser of what, you say? Why, of conviction quota's, obviously. It's a real live game of Detectives VS Coppers, without the blood and gore that the holo version contained.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hey, AJ! I've been looking for you man."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I turned, and blew out a stream of blue smoke. "Yeah?" The poor sucker blinked, and coughed in the cloud of smoke. "Yeah, yeah, man, I've been robbed."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shavit, who was this guy? I couldn't for the life of me remember. That was the problem with being the most visible detective in the joint, everyone thought I was their personal fetch boy.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"What'd ya loose, son?" The guy looked awful. Tousled hair, twenty-four hours of beard on his face, clothing a mess. He looked like he had spent the night sleeping on the crapper.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"My wallet man, my wallet. I had several grand in there, man, I can't afford to loose that!"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I looked him over. The chances of him having several grand was pretty low, but what did I have to loose? I reached over, and grabbed him by the shirt collar. He tried to back off, but I tightened my grip.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"What the hell man! I ain't done nutthen!"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Sure, sure kid. Sure you haven't." I dug my hand into the front of his pants, that really got a reaction.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"What the fuck, get your fa-- --"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He stuttered, and came to a stop when his little eyes spotted what I had retrieved from his pants. A wallet.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Wha.. .. aa?" he stammered. I let him go, and he staggered back.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Look kid, let me let you in on a little secret." I opened the wallet, and let him see its gloriously empty insides. "Whenever you get your paws on a few grand, don't carry it in your wallet, see? Espescially if you head to the lower levels, alright? You're lucky, you know."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"L...luc.." He reached a pare of shaky hands out toward the cheap faux leather billfold.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, lucky." I grabbed his belt buckle, and lifted a bit. He let out a squeal.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Did she buy you a drink?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He stared blankly, then as realization dawned, muttered a "Yeah."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Thought so. See, she buys you a drink, you fall asleep, and you either wake up dead, or you wake up with your wallet down the front of your pants."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He jumped. Poor fella, he was new here. He had probably been shuttled in with his rich grandy, and somehow he had found his way out of the plush up up rooms, and into the seedier underbelly of the station. Many a fatty had met an untimely death down here, his throat cut, or a small hole in his neck from an injection. There were so many places to hide a body; oftentimes no one even knew a murder had been committed until a resident complained of the stink.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Look kid, here, let's take a walk." I grabbed his arm, and pulled him along. I almost had to carry him, but the threat of carrying him by his willy put some life into his pencil legs.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"See, just keep yourself to the upper levels, ok? I would hate to have to wake up tomorrow, and find your name in the recently dead list."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He nodded, and gulped.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Here, get in here," I shoved him into an shifter. "Now push the largest number on the door. When you get there move over to the next shifter, and push the next number."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As the doors closed I was about to yell out, "Keep going up!", but a call on my comlink interrupted me.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, this is AJ."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"AJ, get on up to the blue room on the seventy-second floor. Section J. We've got one hell of a mess up here."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'm on my way. Gimme the details."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Man.. you just get up here, you're going to have to see this yourself.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'm on my way."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As I put my com back, I noticed that I had lost my cigarette. Grumbing about the cost of keeping this vice going I dug out another little brown tube, and lit it. Snap, missed the trash again.
</div>

<div style="width:38em;line-height:1.5em;text-align:justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Well, what do you have Micky?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It was one heck of a mess, Micky had been right about that. I pulled in one last drag off of my cigarette, and then flicked it toward a trash can. Score! Micky gave a chuckle as a copper squealed like a pig, and fairly leapt toward the trash to dig the butt out. They didn't like it when someone 'tampered with the scene of the crime'. Bollocks, I said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Age twenty-two, female, species uncertain. Dead on arrival, manager reported the death in when she didn't reply to his knocking."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"What, did he just barge in when she didn't reply?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Rent has been past due for three days."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Right, right. Well.."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I looked the mess over. Blood was everywhere, there was almost as much red as blue, with the coppers were doing their usual photograph and evidence-gathering spree.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You know, put that new fellow, whatshisname, on this case. Let him cut his teeth on something hard, he looks like a decent enough fellow for the job."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You mean Johnson?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No, no, the one we got yesterday, blondie."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, Johnson. It's a different Johnson though. His first name starts with an M, I think."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, M Johnson. Give him the job."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Micky grunted in reply. I stepped out of the room, it was crowded enough. If Johnson wanted to solve this case before the coppers he would really have to put the pedal to the metal, it looked cut and dry to me. Enough blood and other body juices splattered all over that the perp would be covered in it. And contrary to popular belief, not everyone can ignore a man covered in blood.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lucky for us at the Department most of the dumb criminals had been killed off ages ago. The only successful murder was the murder no one ever found out about, unless you were into gore killing for the shock factor.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I lit up again, shav, this made four just this morning. That Howwel case had been more of a burn on me than I had anticipated.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A copper walked out of the room, blood on his shoes.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hey, blue, look what you're tracking," I said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Screw you," he replied with a snarl. His superior had already busted him good for stepping in the evidence.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Section J was one of the more mid-lining sections. The rooms were decent enough, but you only got one, plus bath. The carpeting was beginning to show wear though, unlike virtually every other more ritzy block. I scuffed my foot a bit on the carpet. Then I noticed a bit of blood on my shoe, so I leaned down to wipe it off. The flash of a bulb caught me in mid-stance, my posterior high in the air.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"A beautiful shot of our fearless detective," said a sweet, tinkley voice. I turned, and addressed the owner.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The ever beautiful Emma, first reporter to the scene, as always. Tell me, how do you do it?
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'm psychic," she said, and then winked. I chuckled along with her.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Though I laughed, I was a bit uncomfortable about her psychic jokes. Some times she seemed all too serious about them, as if she really believed she had 'mind powers' like the mythical Jedi.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Can I go in?" she said, pointing toward the now-closed door leading to the scene of the crime.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Nope, restricted area. Absolutely no access to anyone but a Blue."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Then how," she said sweetly, "Did you," she said as she moved close, to me, "get that red stuff," as she moved her finger out to trace my jaw line, "all over your fancy shoes?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She was so close we could have been kissing. Leaning forward, I whispered into her ear, "That blood was from my last victim."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Oh!" she cried out. She stepped back, her face twisted into a pout. "Would you stop it with that whole vampire business? The jokes got old a long time ago."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"So did the whole psychic thing," I said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"But you don't know that I'm not psychic," she pouted.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"And you don't know that I'm not a blood sucking vampire who preys on beautiful girls the station over."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I do too," she replied snappily.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"How?" I said, even though I knew the answer.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Psychic," she said with a giggle.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Snap. Yeah, you can go in. Just ... don't step in anything." I pointed toward the floor, and the bloody tracks the last copper had left. "I think he got a suspension."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Right AJ, I'll be careful. Oh, yeah, aren’t you supposed to be giving Jonathan an interview right about now? Wasn't he going to get the scoop on the Howwel story?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shav! She was right, I was close to twenty minutes late by now.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Later sister," I said as I farley sprinted toward the nearest shifter. As I entered I passed Johnson and his mentor, heading toward the crime scene. "I hope you like blood," I called out after them as the shifter doors closed on my face.</div>

<div style="width:38em;line-height:1.5em;text-align:justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I had never liked the shifters. I preferred a regular old turbolift, or even old fashioned walking. Walking, however, would get you no where fast aboard the Astral, and even the concept of a turbolift seemed incredibly backwards to all the people here.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Inside the shifter, I punched the number twelve, and braced myself. Some people could shift like there was no tomorrow -- bludgers claimed there was nothing strange at all about the concept of being bounced throughout space without actually having to move. Me, I felt a cold chill that ran from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whamo, and it was done. I opened my eyes, the numerals on the door read twelve. Push a button, wait a moment, and you appear at the floor you desire. Had I desired to, I could have spoken the destination, and the shifter could have taken me straight to the bar where Jonathan Sparks was waiting.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I prefer not to rely upon technology too much. A detective ain't a detective if he can't chase down the perp. Besides, the bar was only two dozen meters from this shifter anyway.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hey hey, look who decided he would show up, after all!"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, yeah, cut it Sparky."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Look man." Sparks looked at me, dead serious. "It's Jonathan. Not Sparky, Sparko, Lighter, Match-boy, or any of that jive. The name is Jonathan, or Mr. Sparks."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, just messen with you Johny."
He looked like he would spit up his drink all over me, so I backed off. "Right, Jonathan."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Have a seat."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I slid into the small booth, and waved off the droid waitress. Interviews were good for the press, and the press only. Up until now I hadn't even given a statement, let alone let my picture be taken for any of the myriad of news agencies that resided here on the Astral. This time, the situation was different.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Look, John, is John ok?" He nodded. "John, see, I'm giving you this interview under duress, understand?" He nodded again. "It's like this. This is off the record, by the way. If I were to let every news agency in the joint snap a photo of me and print BRAVE DETECTIVE NAILS ANOTHER ONE all over their flashy every time I got some small time hood for purse snatching or groping, what do you think would happen?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Every small time hood would chip in to the pot already on your head?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No, but close. Every small time hood would know my face. My beautiful face would be imprinted into the memory of several thousand people -- not that I mind them knowing beauty when they see it, you see, it's just that I don't appreciate having potential leads scramming on me when I turn the corner. Got me?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, I got you," he said. He really seemed to, too. "No photo's, no descriptions, no name. Just an interview with an anonymous dick. You already told me this through your secretary."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Sometimes secretaries get things wrong. I want the record set straight. Do you mind?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I pulled out my package of lights, and pointed. He shook his head.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No, I don't mind. It'll kill you though."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Kill you first," I said.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I ain't the one sucking that trash into my throat."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Your paper printed a story about second hand smoke last week. Don't you even read your own paper?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Nope. No funnies."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I had to chuckle at that one. Same for me, if the paper didn't dish out to get some funnies in there, I wasn't goijng to bother to read it. All potatoes no gravy makes for a poor meal."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Well, according to them, second hand smoke kills more people than Hutt farts and Devorian gorings combined."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jonathan just stared at me for a while. "You pulling my leg?" he asked.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Absolutely not," I deadpanned.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Really. I never would have guessed..."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Too easy, I thought to myself. It was like telling a child that Jedi were real, and then watching them run around with a broom stick smacking everyone in sight.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Alright, let's get to this," I said, while taking a drag on my addiction. The hot smoke seared a way down to my lungs, burning me up again. Shav, this really was going to kill me one of these days.


&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Ok, only three more questions AJ."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Hurry up, hurry up. The ash tray is getting full, and these things don't grow on trees, you know."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah. Ok, with your position on the haunted floors in section C-15 being that it's nothing but a myth, what about the alligators in the airvents in RF-3?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Never heard of it."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Right. And, what about the persistent rumor that there is a Drug Lord using the Astral as his personal hide out?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Never happened, doesn't exist. Though, the version I've heard most over here in the J section is that he's a Crime Boss, and that He, is actually a She."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Ah, interesting," said Jonathan, as he jotted that down. "One more," he said, holding up a finger.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Ok. What about the one that theorizes on who actually owns this space station?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I looked at my now stubbed cigarette with regret. "Do I get any options?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Well, the most popular are, Simon Kaine, the Jedi, Jabba the Hutt, his reincarnation or son, both are about the same, or the Vong."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"If I had to pick, it would be no one."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No one?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah. No one. No one owns this ship, everyone just thinks that someone does. It runs itself. The Department and the Agency police it, the underdogs keep whacking each other off, and no one runs it at all."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"That's your official stance?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No, my official stance is that the Empire built this hulk of junk two years ago, and that it's really a superweapon, and that they're using our body heat to build up the laser's charge. Are we done now?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Yeah, that's it."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;While he tried to thank me, I grabbed my hat and left. "Just send the money to the Masher," I called out over my shoulder. I had a hefty tab at the Masher, and every little bit helped.</div>

<div style="width:38em;line-height:1.5em;text-align:justify;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Once I was on my way, I checked my watch. Two hours left, until the Caretaker attempted a jump, whatever the frack that meant.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ledged has it that this station had once been capable of bouncing across star systems, like some glorified ping-pong ball on crack. I don't believe it, but then, it isn't my place to believe in wild stories told by drunks at the bar, during the wee hours of the morning. Not that the Caretaker was a drunk, mind you, I'm just say'in.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I made my way between the patrons of various bars, looking for a shifter that didn't have a waiting line. Here, in the bar district of the lower levels, there were very few group shifters, only single occupant devices that were constantly clogged with people waiting to get on. While I personally didn't bother with anything political in general, I had donated money to a few lobbyist groups who were petitioning for the installation of group shifters. Up until I heard that the leaders of the group I had donated to had used the money they received to pad their own apartment complexes, rather than get some shifters installed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I checked my crono again. Two hours, just like thirty seconds ago.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I keep a small apartment midway between the lower levels, where I work, and the mid-levels, where I spend my free time. It isn't much, but it's home.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Lights," I said as I entered. With a soft whoosh of power, the ceiling went from flat black to a dusty-gray glow. The color permeated everything, giving the place a slightly depressing look. I must have really been stoned last night, I thought, as I addressed the lighting system with an order for something a little more cherry, and not so dominant.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The lighting broke up from being the entire ceiling, to being five hot spots that glowed a pleasant white.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"That's better."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I moved through the place quickly. Past the entry-way table, the sitting room, and into my office. Two desks were situated here, mine and one that had once been occupied by my partner, rest his soul. The message machine beeped as I entered, proudly declaring that I had five messages, two of them marked as urgent. I ignored it, they would wait until later.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Two hours wasn't a lot of time for a single man to comply with the Caretakers order of securing all valuables and breakables. I doubted that half the members of the Astral, and no one really knew how many sentient beings made there home here, were bothering to secure their breakables.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I, however, knew better. The last time this station had shuddered, from an engine restart attempt no less, I had lost a vase worth more money than I made in a year. I wasn't about to let that happen again.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Almost two hours later, the answering machine beeped. I ignored it, until the voice on the other end came on.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"AJ, you there? Um.."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It was Emma. She sounded really shaken, enough so that I stopped what I was doing, and stood listening.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"AJ, Mike's dead..." Her voice caught, and I headed toward the com.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"They just found him, stuck in a shifter. He.. he.."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I grabbed the set, and slapped the on button.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Emma. Where are you, I'm on my way."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Fourth and east, blue district, seventy-second," she said. Her voice was beginning to break down.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Stay there, I'm coming."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"No.. AJ, the jump.."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Screw the jump," I said bluntly. "I'm getting my coat. What happened?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Shifter... something happened to a shifter. He.."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"I'm on my way Emma, just hold tight," I said, as she broke down completely. "Just hold tight."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I didn't do much thinking as I busted down towards the nearest shifter. Emma and Mike were like adopted siblings to me, well, Mike was. Emma had almost been more, one day long ago.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There were people lined up to use the single-man shifter that I needed, so I flashed my piece, and took cuts.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Damn shifters I thought as a chill flew up my spine, and the doors opened. They were always failing, somewhere on the station. The overworked crew of mechanics could never seem to keep up with the disrepair, let alone implement any preemptive tactics. Their only excuse was that the station was just too old, and the parts just too difficult to find. That seemed odd to me, considering that Mike's brother was a mechanic, and he said that all the parts they used were brand new.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"AJ!" someone called out, as I barreled down a hallway.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Not now," I said automatically, before my brain kicked in. It was Emma's brother, Thomas. Almost without thinking I spun on my heel, and ran back to where he was.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Shortcut, c'mon. Timer reads five minutes."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Screw the timer, move boy."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He looked at me funny for a moment, and then led the way.

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There was a surprisingly large crowd around the shifter where Mike had died. Considering that the biggest event in the history of the Station, recent history that is, was about to take place in two minutes, I thought it odd to see members of the press standing around taking pictures of a dead man.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Emma was no where to be seen, which was understandable. The medics were working on the body, though it was obvious that nothing could be done. Mike had been cut clean in half. I winced slightly as one of the medics probed the mess that had once been inside his chest cavity, but were now strewn all over the floor.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"We think it was malicious," said Thomas. I glared at him. "No, I'm serious AJ. Shifters break, yes, but how often do they initialize when someone isn't even all the way inside?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Almost never," I answered.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Never, you mean. Kind of hard to initialize the shifter when the doors are open, don't you think?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Murder then."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"yeah," he said, nodding. "Someone either pushed him out, pushed him in, or cut him in half with the biggest friggen knife I've ever seen.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I sighed. Damnit, this was going to be a pickle. There was blood everywhere, at first glance I could tell that Mike fallen out of the Shifter like this, that meant that somewhere on this station his second half was laying inside a shifter, equally bloody.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Three!" cried someone.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Two," I said without thinking. "Only two halves."
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"One!" cried someone else. I glanced up, annoyed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"One for what?"
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The jump," whispered Thomas in my ear.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Moments later, I shrugged. "Didn't think anything would happen," I said. "Maybe the Care--"

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A sudden jolt threw everyone in the hallway to their knees. A horrible, terrible screaming sound rent through the air, it was the sound of metal stressed beyond the point it wanted to be stressed
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then, all was still. I stood up, and glanced around. One of the medics was covered in blood and intestines, and was vomiting on the floor. Other people were dazed, and one reporter was hurriedly snapping pictures, looking as if he was trying to simultaneously capture a panoramic view of the hallway.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"What the frack was that?" I said.</div>

With a cup of Caff in one hand, and the other delved deeply into his trench coat pocket. Detective Chief Inspector Kesser turned the corner to witness three things simultaneously, (to his dismay). Number one; that the supposedly closed and secure crime scene was crawling with people, (people, that is, who shouldn’t be there).
Number two; that most of these people had failed to heed the station-wide announcement of the pre-warned station-jump. As a result , most were sprawled out on the floor after being taken by surprise at the ferocity of the jump.
Number three; The crime scene itself.

I don’t believe this…

Letting go of the handrail , Kesser strode up to the Constable in charge and did his best to restrain himself…The Policeman winced as he saw the DCI approach, already guessing what was coming.

“..what the hell is this!?..Constable…this is a damn crime scene , not a circus , get these people out of here!…seal off this area! I want these men on guard duty pronto, and you had better pray nothing has been interfered with…”

Nodding furiously , the Policeman sprang into action, passing on the orders to his colleagues, and soon enough they were moving on the morbid spectators, the corridor was filled with various shouts of ; “..move along!, move along!, nothing to see here!…this is area is now off-limits..”

Kesser removed the lid from his Caff-cup and took an audible sip, his mind eased a little as a bit of decorum descended upon the immediate vicinity. Gradually the various shouts of objections and disgruntled patrons subsided to the general background noise of the station.

Any piece of mind Kesser had managed to find, soon melted away, as his eyes fell upon the all too familiar figure of Michalson standing over the body of the victim in question. The DCI growled underneath his breath.

Now , this was nothing personal , but as far as Kesser was concerned , this was a Police matter, and Michalson, despite being a Detective for the Department, was a civilian , therefore not a Policeman, and therefore had no business tresspassing on a crime scene.
Kesser never understood why the Caretaker Prime allowed such an organization to exist , from his point of view, the Department only got in the way of real Police-work.
That said, Michalson was probably one of the very few he tolerated, and even he had his uses some times, but that didn't mean Kesser would make it easy for him, besides one cannot make exceptions , no-one is above the law.

Kesser shouted over to the same Policeman he had apprehended earlier and pointed to Mitchalson as the somewhat harrassed Policeman hurried over...

“…Constable, what is this man doing here?…I thought I asked you to remove all people from this area…”

The order was given in full earshot, as both the Constable and he approached Mitchalson and what appeared to be, an associate next to him both rubber-necking at the grim show on display....

&nbsp; &nbsp; "We're all gonna die!" screamed one man. The flash of a camera illuminated his horribly distorted face for a second, giving him the look of a dead ghoul.
&nbsp; &nbsp; "Shav it, ya blinkey," I barked. "No one's dying yet." I glanced at Thomas. "You alright?"
&nbsp; &nbsp; "Yeah," he said, with a gulp. His eyes were glued to the corpse. What had once been a relitavly messy death had now escaladed into something straight out of a holo-flic. The body, having been cut in half vertically, didn't exactly have anything to contain itse innards. There was blood and various internal organs strewen all over the hallway. Mr. Dickerson was contorted in a shape that only half a man could contort into.
&nbsp; &nbsp; The sight made me slightly queasy, though not as queasy as the medic who had been probing the body. He was passed out in a pile of his own vomit. I was about to grab Thomas and go find Emma, but a firmilar figure and voice stopped me.
&nbsp; &nbsp; "Kesser," I muttered.
&nbsp; &nbsp; "Wha?" said Thomas. He looked positively green.
&nbsp; &nbsp; "The copper, Kesser. Good enough guy, for a cop."
&nbsp; &nbsp; Like a true blue, Kesser immediately began to clean the place out. The reporter, his camera no dubitably full of disturbingly gory images, which would also no doubt earn him a very hefty chunk of change, was already gone. The medic was being dragged off by a pair of cops who had previously been standing and gaping. Nothing like a little authority to get those lazy blue's moving. Another dick was moving toward Thomas and myself, his intentions clear.
&nbsp; &nbsp; "C'mon Thomas, let's go find Emma." Thomas looked at me with incredulity. I knew what he was thinking. Of all the times that I had heckled coppers at the scene of the crime, of all the times I had bent the rules, trespassed, and pushed the limits of what the blue's would accept, this was the one time where I would have had a mediocrum of justification to stay. Mike had been like my brother. I just looked at Thomas, and shook my head.
&nbsp; &nbsp; "This part is for the blue's, Tom. Their army can find the ... the ... rest of Mike, far faster than we could. Let's go see Emma."
&nbsp; &nbsp; The kid nodded. As we were walking off, I glanced back at Kesser. I could already hear what he would say. "Like frell you're not staying," and then I would say something like, "Frell I am," and then he would threaten me, then I would say something smart, and then I would have to be bailed out of the can, again...
&nbsp; &nbsp; It just wasn't worth it today.

Later that Morning

Precinct Seven - Detective Chief Inspector's office



Kesser sat back into his chair and sighed at a pile of flimsiplast sheets that had been building on his desk of late.

This part he hated , but got on with it nonetheless, though recently, he had been putting it off.

Taking a sip from yet another cup of Caff , he grimaced as he read another 'reported' sighting of an Aligator in one of the ducting systems...
The joke was beginning to tire on him now...

...damned freaks, you'd think they'd have something better to do..

Shaking his head slightly, he screwed up the flimsiplast sheet and threw it towards the bin, a frown appeared on his face as it rebounded off the rim and landed on the floor. Sighing once more he got up from his desk to pick it up.

Muttering under his breath he picked up the screwed up report and threw it in the bin, point blank. Then sat down and took a deep breath, as if mentally preparing himself for the workload ahead.

Suddenly the door swung open, and Forrester burst in...(much to the annoyance of the DCI)...

"...Fitch and Farley want to see you!, heard about the half-a-body up top, they aren't happy!, best get over there!.." And with that , Forrester was gone leaving Kesser staring rather blankly at the empty space where he was last standing.

Kesser's frown deepened...

...damn punk didn't even shut the door after him!...

Wound up by the intrusion, Kesser bellowed out of his office to the rest of the precinct, but more specifically to Forrester "...DOESN'T ANYONE KNOCK IN THIS DAMN PLACE!?..."

He was about to turn away when , he thought of something else....

"...AND CLOSE THE DAMNED DOOR AFTER YOU!..." As he finished, Kesser found himself being stared at by everyone in the precinct, including a secretary nervously clutching another handful of flimsiplast documents standing barely two feet away from him...

"...I'll put it in a memo..." (she offered pragmatically)

Muttering a garbled "thanks" underneath his breath Kesser closed his office door , sighed once more, and gathered up his things...

Fitch and Farley didn't like to be kept waiting.

The door slid open, and she stood there as beautiful as ever. Her eyes were swollen and red, her hair looked like someone had hit her with a stun bolt, and her dress was wrinkled. But she was still beautiful to me.

She looked up at me with an unrecognizing gaze, her eyes glazed over with a film of unshed tears.

"Emma..." said Thomas gently. "It's A.J..."

Emma turned woodenly to look at him, and then back to me. Then she burst into tears. I did the only think I could think of (besides standing in the door staring like a moonke), and I held her, hard.

"'s Ok Emma, it's ok, it's ok..." I was lying through my teeth. It was not OK, but I needed to say something. I glanced over to Thomas, who was looking uncomfortable.

"Why dontcha clean the place up a bit, Thomas?" It looked like neither Emma nor Mike had done much in the way of preparing for the Jump. The place was trashed.

"Yeah, sure A.J."

While he headed out to busy himself, I gently moved the sobbing Emma forward a foot or so, and then hit the door controls. Then, I just stood there with her, letting her cry it all out.

Mike and I had been like brothers. We'd done a lot together in The Department. In fact, we were as close to partners as we could be without actually being partners. It wasn't that we didn't trust each other enough, we just worked better alone.

But Emma and I... well, as I held her the memories of a fierce love triangle came to surface. I smiled a bit, Mike and I had been fierce competitors for Emma's love, but I think I had known all along that it was Mike she loved. I just kept going to make it hard on the old man.

"D... d... did ... did the--y ff-f-f-find h.." Emma was trying to speak through the wave of sobs and hiccups.

"Shhhh... no, not yet."


But I would, and when I did, he would wish he hadn't, most desperately.