Controlled Operations for Police Systems

2064

With the sound of footsteps pounding the pavement it felt like Sergeant Rochele Close, 34, would have her heart burst from her chest. She kept running and running. The perpetrator ducked into an abandoned house. He breathed. Sergeant Close trained her weapon far from her person.

“Time has come for you. You have failed,” she announced in the grim-looking dwelling.

The dingy place allowed him to squat and ruminate. He moved slightly. She heard glass shatter. Sergeant Close shone her flashlight towards the man. He raised up with his laser pistol in his hand. She fired two shots into his chest. He dropped like a hair clipped from a barber.

When the rest of the unit in the Wilmington Police Department in Wilmington, Delaware arrived on the scene, Sergeant Close shook. She had never fired her weapon.

“You goddamn right I’m shook,” Sergeant Close shot back at her colleague and friend Sergeant Coral Bem. She contrasted her alabaster white skin with his dark complexion.

“It’s like this in all of our first times. It took me eleven years before I fired my pistol in anger. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Really. I definitely would recommend you talk to chaps.”

“A chaplain is definitely not on my radar screen,” Sergeant Close replied. She caught her breath.

“Let’s get to the captain,” Sergeant Bem said.

Once they had allowed forensics professionals to pass through and for the coroner to remove the body from where th suspect laid, the two veteran cops found their cruiser. Sergeant Close stood in Captain Selena Duncan’s office. She was six feet tall and towered over Close’s five foot four frame.

“I want you to take some time off.”

“Ma’am, it’s not that serious. The perp aimed his weapon at me and I hit my target.”

“I know that’s why I want you to go on leave for an eval and some R&R,” Captain Duncan relayed.

“Respectfully, ma’am, no. I’m fine the way I am without headshrinkers poking their noses through my psyche,” Sergeant Close replied.

“I know. I know. This is all serendipitous though. I’m happy to say you’re being promoted to lieutenant along with Bem,” Captain Duncan smiled after saying this.

A mixture of bewilderment, pain, and satisfaction crossed Sergeant Close’s face.

“Thank you, ma’am…I….” she managed to say just that.

“We’re starting a new program. The crime rate has ticked up in the city again. It hasn’t been this way in fifty years when Newsweek declared Wilmington ‘Murder Town USA’,” the captain’s smile vanished.

“We’re piloting an implementation of what we’re calling ‘human drones.’”

“I’m sorry ma’am, what?”

“We’ve outfitted officers with jet packs and lasers. They will be equipped with night vision, infrared and augmented reality devices to curb the violators of the initiation of physical force. It’s called ‘Controlled Operators for Police Systems.”

“COPS….” Sergeant Close replied.

“That’s right. It’s completely idiot proof. Easy to remember.”

She processed all of this. “Okay, so I’m going to be off the force indefinitely and there are going to be flying cops hovering over the city…noted.”

“You’ll get two weeks away from everything. Just go to a spa, look at old movies, just get your head right. We’ll let you work from home,” Captain Duncan reiterated.

“Yes, ma’am,” she announced and left the room.

Sergeant Bem stopped her in the hallway.

“You didn’t tell me about the eyes in the skies. Damn.”

“I didn’t even consider the case I have on Vecker.”

“Wait, you’re not about to miss out on a two week vacation to rustle up some numbskulls, are you?”

Sergeant Close brushed past Sergeant Bem.

“Rochele!”

Sergeant Close drove her cruiser to her home in the city. She lived in a small walk up in a sleepy area of Wilmington. Once she parked, she glided up the steps and found her makeshift command center. She had set it up by herself. She felt like a household during and after COVID-19. Captain Duncan had provided her with information and equipment to monitor the activity of the various COPS in the air. She set up the screens herself and the rest of the software which seemed easy.

Huge windows into their world made it possible for her to do work and not be on the beat.

The electric hum of the machines on her desk all made Sergeant Close wonder if the department would be paying her light bill, too. She forgot about it and honed in on the various flyers zipping through the summer skies like fireflies.

Four screens showed quadrants of each flying police officer. The sixteen cops had trained for weeks to be able to assess the inner workings of the inner city. They bore armor and helmets and used the hydrogen packs as their sole power against striking the ground.

“You all look good,” Sergeant Close admitted.

Then, an elderly lady walked out. A dying street lamp shut off completely.

“Corporal Dyer, zoom in on your scopes. I think there’s a possible robbery in progress.” Corporal Dyer placed his sights on the face of the woman, then the figure lurking behind her. The figure wore a ski mask and all black down to the construction boots. What Sergeant Close noticed, however, was the fact that a green dagger tattoo appeared on the suspect’s neck.

“I’ll be goddamned,” Sergeant Close’s heart thumped once more. Her controls continued to be linked to Corporal Dyer.

“Holster you blaster,” Sergeant Close commanded.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get that. What was that Sar’ent?”

Sergeant Closer leapt up. She gathered herself. “Corporal Dyer, use only non-lethal force on this suspect.”

“I only have weapons that will cause serious injury or death,” Corporal Dyer replied, a sense of gravity hung on every word. “What is it, Sergeant?”

“It’s my nineteen-year-old l cousin, Jameis. Jameis Howers. He was flirting with joining the Vincent Murder Gang. Now….” Sergeant Closer wiped away a tear.

Howers ran up on the woman and brandished a firearm. “Lady, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just trying to get into this gang. All I need is some money or jewelry or something.”

“Put your weapon down and put your hands in the air,” Corporal Dyer commanded. His voice remained stern and cold as a pick chipping away at ice. The woman turned around and hit Jameis with her purse. Jameis ran into an alleyway. This action emboldened the other officers to descend upon the young man. Corporal Dyer pointed his laser blaster at the teens back and fired.

“No!” Sergeant Closer shrieked. She pressed on the pause button. The screen looked dark, but the light from the laser illuminated Jameis’ back. Like a nest of angry hornets, hooded figures came out from the crevices of the street. Lasers blazed. The police officers silenced the six of the other gang members. Sergeant Closer began to shake once more. She called Captain Duncan.

“I know already,” she said in a low, solemn tone.

“It was his back, ma’am,” she spoke with quiet intensity. She steadied herself even though she continued to tremble.

“No it wasn’t. The first death was like the rest.”

“It’s been recorded!”

“We can edit it to show that the perp was armed,” Captain Duncan rationalized.

“That ‘perp’ was my cousin. Sure, he was troubled but he didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“That’s just it, Sergeant. he didn’t go out like that.”

“Ma’am, there’s fifteen other officers who saw the same thing.”

“I can make them turn their backs on you. You’re still in shock after your own traumatic experience of discharging your firearm for the first time, resulting in a fatality. No one’s going to believe you. Your equipment has no replay functionality. Unless you want to go out as a cop with a strike against her name and a forced retirement, I suggest you just go with what we’re doing here.”

“Respectfully, no, ma’am.” She wanted to slam the phone on a receiver like telephones of antiquity. She dried her eyes and looked at the screen. It was stuck. The exact moment the blast from the laser cannon met him, she had paused it. She snapped a screenshot. Her tears she wiped again. A sigh and a small laugh came up from her soul. She called her lawyer.