Their words echo in my mind like a taunting child: We can't find a body.

My ass hurts after sitting on this stiff metal chair for hours. It's bolted to the floor across from another identical one with a metal interactive table in the middle. Two holographic fact cubes float in mid-air: mine and Stella's. The police haven't checked a single digital peep about AlphaGalaxy, of course, even though I told them her last words.

Those corporate gluttons are untouchable.

The police have already confiscated my holojector. They're trying to extract the last video feed I've received from Stella, or so they say.

It's taken them hours.

But we're still no closer to finding Stella's body or the woman who killed her. It doesn't help that my memories are fuzzy at best.

Stupid, Tara!

I'm nursing a headache that would split a crater in half. Damn! Why the hell did I drink so much last night? I've already vomited into the self-cleaning wastepaper basket twice. The stale stench of acidic wine and cleaning bleach seep through the room, threatening to make me sick again.

The door slides open to reveal the grumpy female digital officer.

Great. Just what I need. The mean one again.

AG-520 sits across from me with a disdainful sniff. "We have a few follow-up questions. First off, are you sure you weren't too...intoxicated?"

"The Steeltoes killed her, Officer." I narrow my eyes. "I witnessed Stella's death. It wasn't a hallucination."

Even though I can count on one hand the number of times I've gotten this polluted, these officers don't know that. A cursory glance at my fact cube will tell them I come from a respectable Niner family who can vouch for me. Right now, though, they must think I'm some kinda boozehound.

AG-520 leans forward with interest. "You saw them shoot her?"

"Through Stella's holographic camera, yes."

"You saw the bullet enter her body?"

What kind of stupid-ass question is that?

"Well, no. It was a reverse capture."

"Are you sure you heard a gunshot?"

"Yes, and then Stella fell to the ground. They killed her, Officer."

"Why can't we find a body?" AG-520 folds her hands. "Are you sure it wasn't a prank? A doctored video? A joke in poor taste, perhaps?"

"Why would Stella—?"

I heave a heavy sigh and try to regain my composure. It ain't easy, though. The police don't seem to give a shit what I'm saying. It's like they're trying their best to cover up for the Steeltoes any way they can.

Why am I surprised?

AlphaGalaxy has sponsored the Greater Boston area for a long-ass time and basically owns it all. Not just the land. They pay the salaries of the people and programs, too.

Why did I bother coming here?

I lower my voice to a respectable register. "Officer, with all due respect, I've known my quartner for over a decade. Stella has an even higher social rating than me. She comes from an established Niner family like I do. She respects me and the law."

"I see." She presses a few digital keys on the table. "How would you describe Mx. Gotthard's demeanor?"

It's a polite way to ask: Was your quartner as drunk as you were?

"Are you serious?" I scoff.

AG-520 doesn't deign to answer my question. She draws herself upright, giving me a look of contempt.

"She was terrified," I insist. "Running for her life."

"What made you think that?"

"The camera movements." Every answer cuts through me, angry tears burning in my eyes. "Stella's panting. Her last words."

"Remind me again."

My answer ain't gonna change. Even if you ask me five hundred times.

"'Promise me you won't go after them. They'll kill you.'" I grit my teeth. "These aren't the words of someone who's been invited to teatime, Officer."

"Mx. Walters, I'm just doing my job."

The rational part of me knows my attitude won't exactly ingratiate myself with them. I should calm my ass down before they dismiss me outright.

I exhale another calming breath. "Look, they shot her. In front of me. Like I said, a Steeltoe picked up the camera and threatened—"

"But other than brown eyes, you can't describe this person, correct?"

Which describes about ninety percent of Bostonians, her tone implies.

Her question triggers vivid flashbacks to that night. Stella falling. My pained shriek. The killer's light-brown eyes, twinkling in triumph at Stella's demise.

I shudder.

"Well, they were tall. Curvy. Most likely a woman..." My throat clenches as the killer's evil glare tears through my mind once more. "They wore a balaclava, so I couldn't see their face."

"Do you have any idea where Mx. Gotthard was when she called you?" AG-520 asks with a quizzical uplift of her brow. Very human. They've programmed these officers well.

"No, it was dark..."

"No landmarks? Nothing?"

"Like I said," I say through gritted teeth. "It was dark."

"We've combed the entire AfterLife campus, sent hundreds of drones flying within a twenty-mile radius, and found nothing."

"Officer, she never came home."

"If I filed a report every time a partner didn't—"

"Quartner."

"Every time a quartner didn't return home on time..." AG-520 clears her throat and looks down her nose at me. "Let's just say: Most aren't dead."

My shoulders slump.

"We've analyzed the data on your holojector," she says, "and although we have found a ping at ten forty-two, we can't replay it or find the source."

Shit! That's it. We're dead in the water.

"Why not?"

"Apparently, you deactivated automatic recording, which means there's no digital black box, so to speak."

Yeah, because of the confidential nature of my business.

Do they seriously think I'll buy this crap? A tech giant like AlphaGalaxy can reconstruct those feeds if it's in their best interest. The police don't want to help me. Maybe they even wiped my holojector so no one can see it.

I shouldn't have given my device to them.

They didn't exactly give me a choice.

"Now, I'm sure you meant well." AG-520 taps my file, projecting at least a dozen holographic screens, each of which shows scenes from my life. "I've checked your record. You're a level-nine journalist and businesswoman who pays her taxes, donates to the local plebe foundation, and doesn't have so much as a late solar bill."

I squirm uncomfortably in the chair. Fail to see how that's relevant.

"Everyone can make a mistake, even a Niner." With a single pinch, she makes it all disappear. "We have decided not to file a false accusation report to AG headquarters."

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" I leap up but promptly sit back down after the officer frowns and reaches for her metal baton. "I didn't—I would never—officer, they threatened me! They killed her! Ya gotta believe me!"

She relaxes. "But you have no proof, correct?"

"I—"

"Any recordings?" AG-520 shakes her head in disbelief. "A capture at least? Surely a journalist of your integrity would have caught something?"

Shit! I was so polluted I didn't have the wherewithal to record it. That's so bad, it's not even a rookie mistake. When it mattered the most, I failed.

"It happened so fast..."

"So, no concrete evidence? Your quartner...just disappeared?"

I hang my head in shame. Stella will never get justice because I downed a bottle of wine like a drunken fool and didn't keep my wits about me. "No, Officer, but I swear they wore Steeltoe uniforms. AG must be involved!"

"Mx. Walters, if you care to keep your record clean," she says in a firm tone, "I suggest you hold your tongue before I'm forced to do a shit-ton of paperwork."

Tears of frustration burn in my eyes.

"And before AlphaGalaxy makes a massive dent in your savings account." She pauses. "They take false accusations very seriously, especially from the press."

It's a thinly veiled threat.

And she's right. AG funds not only the police station, but also every major newspaper in the Greater Boston area. If I so much as breathe the wrong way about them, I'm out of a job. Not to mention they threatened to kill me if I wrote a word about it.

It was a really stupid decision to rat on them.

Normally, I stay silent.

Weekly contributions to the local plebe shelter help to ease my guilty conscience. As a writer, I could have spoken out against AlphaGalaxy's influence, the rating system, all of that bullshit. It pains me to see so many suffering when we Niners have so much.

Even though I got into this business to help people—to change things—I've ended up supporting AlphaGalaxy all the way. To help my career. To help Stella's. Nope, I haven't said a word against them, no matter how I feel.

Until now.

This is Stella, the love of my life. I can't stay silent. Not anymore.

At least I'm not foolish enough to tell her.

"I'm sorry, Officer. I could have sworn..."

"It's all right, mexem," she says with a kindly smile, using the polite gender-neutral form of address. "I'm sure you meant well. No harm done."

I give a contrite nod. Hopefully it's convincing.

"I'm sure Mx. Gotthard will turn up at work later today, safe and sound."

Rage swells within me. It takes every ounce of strength to hide it away from her, but I need to play the long game. If the officer thinks she's won, she might back off.

"Besides, it's always best if you report what you think may be a crime than if you don't report one that is," she adds, extending her hand to me.

Yeah, sure. Report a crime. As long as it doesn't attack your boss.

It almost burns when I return her handshake. What I really wanna do is delete her sorry AI ass. Permanently.

But it won't solve anything. Like AG-520 said, she's only doing her job.

It's AlphaGalaxy who needs to pay.

___

Word count: 1,656
Total word count: 3,503/2,000 (Yay! We made the first milestone!)

Thank you so much for reading. ♥ You're all stars! Thanks for giving my story a chance despite the raw nature of the draft.