Lenaara
Dreaming of honey cakes.
DanDanDan
The car halted to a stop abruptly as it pulled up to the parking lot. The car shuddered in protest, groaning in displeasure of the rough handling. It remained still and silent, wedged between two dark grey vehicles stained with mud. Rust spread across the wide doors and over the high roofs, dented in from age and lack of care.
Ahead, the Guardian Task Force Centre No.4 cast a dark shadow over the parking lot. A block of glass, concrete and metal; the smooth surface of the walls curved into an oval-shaped roof high up above where a thick cover of smog obscured the vision of those on the ground. Through the thick grey cover, lights flashed in many colours, trailing behind the passive overhead cars.
Lack of sunlight darkened the ground level of the city. The asphalt was dark and damp, barren of any greenery. Fluorescent lights flickered in iridescent hues, playing over the rippling wards circling the Centre in a perfect and impenetrable fence. Holographic logos hovered above the walls of surrounding buildings in a brilliant display of optics, familiar corporate logos so vivid in their iridescent hues that they were blinding at such a close distance.
Ellenia shivered in the driver’s seat of her car. Slowly, she breathed in and struggled to shrug off the way her muscles tensed up and ached.
I hate wards.
The digital clock on the front window display ticked two o’clock in the afternoon. The meeting was supposed to have started ten minutes ago. Being late, however, did not bother Ellenia in the least. Indeed, she remained in the driver’s seat and continued rolling her shoulders, pulling against the tight leather of her coat.
Some dozen feet in the air a platform protruded from the Centre – the parking lot for the cars upgraded with flight units. Several cars hovered at the fence, akin to boats docked at a harbour. Their matte black surface was immaculate and smooth. Guardian Task Force appeared in holographic letters across the car doors, accompanied by the Division’s number the vehicle belonged to.
Twelve. Twenty. Five? Someone’s important enough to visit?
Ellenia looked around, taking in the glowing numbers. She had to crane her neck and move up an inch on the seat in order to look over the car just above hers and spy the number on it. Sixteen. The numbers meant nothing for none represented a division of officers she knew personally or on a first name’s basis.
After having noted the numbers, Ellenia looked away from the cars and her lips were drawn into a thin line.
It is only a classification of divisions. Nothing more. They mean nothing.
But they did not mean nothing.
Despite all that she told herself, despite everything that her colleagues told her, the numbers meant a great deal in her line of work. They represented the quadrants within the city, beginning from the centre and going outwards. They began from the lowest, one, and ended with thirty-six, and the farther the quadrant was from the centre the bigger was the area as it outstretched to cover more ground. The system was simple, so simple that it could be explained in one mere sentence – the closer you were to the centre, the safer you were. The divisions of the Guardian Task Force surrounded the areas of offices and penthouses in the heart of the city, the centre, protecting those who had the money, influence and power to reside in the tall skyscrapers and work in the glass giants of office buildings. It was a privilege to work there, in the safety of the city, where muggings and shootings were non-existent and only a rumour. There, wards overlapped one another, casting invisible bubbles of protection.
Thankfully, the Centre was south from the city’s heart, and the wards were only placed around certain establishments where people had the money to hire those gifted with the power to cast the barriers.
Ellenia rested her back against the leather seat and her gloved hands scrunched as she hardened the grip on the steering wheel. The air conditioner was on full blast in her car and yet it was hot. So hot that she had to open one of the windows only to be greeted with hot air that reminded her of how humid the summers could be. She looked up and stared at herself in the rear-view mirror.
Despite her best efforts to look presentable she looked like someone who had just woken up. A tired woman stared back at the driver from the rear-view mirror through narrowed turquoise eyes. Pale skin contrasted with the golden brown hair that fell in messy waves over the woman’s shoulders, reaching down towards her waist. Fine lines fanned out at her almond shaped eyes, upturned ever so slightly at the temples and framed with thin dark brows; she looked to be around thirty. Lack of sleep had done a splendid job in enhancing the Ellenia’s age, tinting the skin dark under her eyes. A frown creased the skin between her brows. High cheekbones and a refined jawline would have been considered to be her best features had they been exposed to the light; the golden waves framed her cheekbones in a way that made the hollows of her cheeks deepen, made the curve of her always set jaw rougher. The hair needed a hairbrush as much as the ends of it needed product and a trim.
Searing pain pulsed through Ellenia’s side and her head throbbed with each movement. And she still had to meet her new partner, who was either already waiting for her, or was being late to the meeting himself. Regretfully, there was no painkillers in the glover compartment.
After running her gloved hands through her hair and rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger, Ellenia climbed out of the car, closed the door behind her, and did not bother locking it.
It was an older model. Scratches and dents marred the surface of once smooth doors; a particularly deep dent at the back rendered the one of the rear doors inaccessible. White letters of the Guardian Task Force were faint beneath a layer of dust; several letters flickered or were too dim to see. And yet, the number thirty-six glowing on the rear and the front of the car was vivid and bright. It felt like a sick joke.
Locking this car was pointless. Even if someone dared to steal it, they would not be able to start the engine. And, even if by some miracle, the thief managed to start the car and figure out which button meant what, the car would crash into the nearest object, possibly the lamppost.
Ellenia headed across the parking lot, her destination the large reinforced doors that served as the main entrance to the Centre. They were closed, with no lock or even a doorknob in sight.
Inwardly, Ellenia sighed and halted by the doors. Her hand hovered over the door, hoping that it would react to an Officer standing before it and open. It did not. Thinking the contraption to react to a bare hand instead of a gloved one, Ellenia removed the glove off her right hand.
The skin marked with an odd tattoo of a light blue colour that cut across in smooth and even, about a centimetre in width, lines. A line began from the bottom of each fingernail and went over top of her hand downwards, meeting somewhere in the middle at the wrist and disappeared beneath the sleeve of the coat. When Ellenia raised her hand and pressed it against the door – which, to her surprise, was warm to touch – the shadows shifted within the markings. They were scars, light blue dents in the skin.
The door opened with a soft hiss.
Beyond the doors, halls of crème coloured walls and navy carpeted floors and high ceilings opened before Ellenia. Barren of furniture, the hallway spanned several dozen feet of emptiness until it curved deeper into the Centre and branched into many rooms to the sides. Ellenia headed for the elevator to take her a floor up and arrived at a wide vestibule.
People scurried about behind the glass walls framing the vestibule. Some carried metal notepads with holographic surfaces, their gazes focused on the quickly scrolling words, others had their hands full with boxes of equipment. Accents and tastefully placed furniture lined the walls; splashed of silver and navy blue against the backdrop of pristine white.
Most members of the Centre’s staff preferred the plain grey Task Force fatigues. As several armed men trotted down a hallway past Ellenia, she spotted a neon bright badge on the shoulder of one of the uniforms. A Guardian. He did not look at her as they pushed their way through the crowd of busy office workers. Why would he, in any case? She was not wearing the uniform or the badge.
Finally, the Chief Officer’s door appeared in her line of sight. Unlike the uninviting metal panels of the surrounding doors, the one leading into the Chief’s office was of a plain wood with an old fashioned stained glass in the middle. Ellenia stopped for no more than a moment to catch her breath, straightened the dark grey shirt, pulled the leather coat closer to her sides, adjusted the scarf and ran a hand through her hair. Then she knocked on the door and was called in with an impatient voice from the other side. She could see the silhouette of the man through the glass, he sat at what appeared to be his desk across from the door.
Air rippled above the threshold. Another ward. When Ellenia stepped over it, entering the office, she felt hairs stand at the back of her neck. It felt like she’d just touched a small current of electricity.
“You look like shit, Orlova,” the Chief Officer groaned as he glanced up from holographic screen on his desk to give a quick look to the woman in front of him. “Arthur?”
“Arthur.” It seemed like there had been a mutual understanding between the Chief Officer and the woman, as neither of them mentioned or added anything else as to elaborate further on what Arthur meant.
“Your partner’s got delayed. Something about an attack on the Fourth and the Sixth. We had to change patrols and block the highway an hour ago.” The Chief Officer shifted his attention back to the monitor. In that moment Ellenia found his eyes curiously linger on her gloved hand.
“Fourth and Sixth? Isn’t that Leonid’s division?” Ellenia pulled on the bottom of the glove to hide the bright white bandages wrapped around her wrist in a hurry just a few hours ago.
“That it is. Keeping track of competition?” There was a tone of amusement in the Chief Officer’s words, and Ellenia could have sworn she noticed a momentary smirk partially hidden beneath the Chief’s heavy moustache.
“Aren’t we all?”
The Chief Officer didn’t reply. After a moment of silence, he jerked his chin at the corner of his desk. There, placed on top of many gadgets and holographic pads, was an small PDA. “Transfer order,” the Chief Officer clarified after Ellenia did not reach for the computer, “for your partner. You got informed I hope?”
She was. Well, if giving a piece of paper with a messy handwriting stating a man’s name, age, and transfer I.D was enough of being informed, then she was informed just earlier in the morning. But she could not remember the details at all. She would have looked at the piece of paper before walking into the Centre, but the paper was lost sometime last night.
It had been a very long day, and, prior, a very long night.
As the Chief spoke Ellenia glanced around the office. It could be considered vintage. A small square room with crème walls barren of decorations. Bookcases displayed awards encased in metal and polished wooden frames. There was an armoire by the window, by it a cabinet with all sorts of items on top that ranged from a forgotten half emptied coffee cup to a golden goblet, its bottom engraved with 1st Place Golf Open Championship.
“He better be here within the next ten minutes,” the Chief grumbled as he glanced at the clock in the top right corner of the monitor. “I want to get this shit over with.”
