Free city blues 01 - dome city blues by jeff edwards Page A

myself staring through the dome at the night sky.  It was one of those rare nights where the air was clear enough to see the stars.  A three-quarter moon hung low over the western arc of the dome.  The transparent polycarbon panels of the dome facing repeated the moon’s image hundreds of times, a brilliant collage of ghostly silver orbs.  Each image was slightly different, the distortions growing more pronounced in the reflections farther removed from the single perfect moon at the center.
    This eerily beautiful collage reminded me that there was an entire world outside the domes.  I hadn’t been out there since the night Maggie died.  I wondered how many other people were caught in the same rut, going through their daily routines without ever considering the world outside.  How quickly the rats become accustomed to the cage.
    I yawned and started walking toward the Melrose Avenue Lev station.
    By the time the sun was dragging its hundred reflections up the eastern panels of the dome, I was in bed.

    House woke me up less than two hours later with his someone’s-at-the-door routine.
    “Who is it?”
    “Two persons, identities unknown.”
    I asked House to throw a projection of my visitors on the bedroom wall.  No real help.  One woman, one man.  She was in her early thirties and looked like a professional body builder.  He looked like an aging used car salesman.  I didn’t recognize either of them, but their body postures and off-the-rack suits said “cop.”
    “House, scan them for weapons.”
    “Both persons are armed with semi-automatic hand guns, stun wands, and handcuffs, all of which appear to be standard police issue.  The gentleman is carrying a briefcase-sized object that is emitting low levels of electromagnetic energy, consistent with active electronics.  If you like, I can run a signature-analysis of the electromagnetic emissions, and attempt to identify the contents of the briefcase.”
    “No thank you.”
    I was pretty sure that I already knew what was in the briefcase: a Magic Mirror.  That was the street slang for it, anyway.  The technical jargon was a string of polysyllables about a kilometer long: Multifaceted-Electro-something-something-something.
    “Uh... give me two-way audio.”
    I waited for the chime.  “Can I help you?”
    The woman turned her head and stared into the camera.  “David Stalin?”
    “Who are you?”
    She leaned toward the camera.  Forced perspective made her image seem to grow larger and closer.  It’s a good trick if you do it right.  It feels threatening, even when you know it’s a projection.  She did it right.
    “Don’t fuck with me,” she snapped.  “ Are you David Stalin?  Give me visual.  I want to see your face.”
    Her partner pulled out a badge.  “Los Angeles Police Department.  We’re here to...”
    The woman glared at him.  “We’re gonna kick this fucking door down.”
    I took a hit off the cigarette.  “I wouldn’t.  My house is equipped with an extensive anti-intrusion system.  Starting from stun level and escalating to lethal-mode in ten seconds.  All registered, and all perfectly legal.”
    She flipped out a badge, flashed it at the camera for a millisecond and put it away.  “We need to...”
    “Name and badge number?”
    She glared at the camera.  “Detective P. L. Dancer, Alpha Two Seven Six One.”
    Her partner leaned in.  “Detective R. Delaney, Alpha Two Nine Two Four.  We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    “Do you have a warrant?”
    For a second, I thought Dancer would explode.  Then she visibly swallowed and spoke in a tense voice.  “No, we do not have a warrant.  I can have one transmitted to me in about five minutes.  Is that what you want?”
    “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
    I told House to open the front door and start a pot of coffee.
    I met them at the door and led them into the living room.  “Sorry there’s no coffee ready; I’m just getting up.  I’ve