Now, before we start, I hate doing this because it shows you are a weak storyteller. But, dammit, I am also not afraid to admit that!
Please understand this is all in jest and in good fun. So, I am sorry Dryden, but someone had to get the shaft. I mean, why do all these stories happen there?! As someone said on Craigslist, in defense of Dryden, "Crazy people live everywhere." Well, true, but, the damage has already been done. I'm not saying Dryden is the county's version of the Wild West, but if I am going to send my crime fighting team somewhere in Tompkins County, well, then, I only got a few options. Besides, this story is set on The Commons.
Onward...
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The July heat comes off from the cement surface of The Commons. I stay in my half-crouch atop the Bank of America building, eight stories above all the perps and civvies. The whole team is off in Dryden, because, well, it's Dryden and something is always happening there. Sitting here in the sun, I realize I have hung around those kids too long. Made me soft always having to bring Flutter always back to reality or keep Clancy from blasting into the Common Council meetings during each public comments section.
It feels nice to work alone. To have the entire heart of a great Central New York city under your care. I give back to this community every time we bring in a perp to Pete or Lauren, sometimes both. Just for the hell of it. I give back every time I teach the kids on the team something about a back-alley switchback or that Crazy Ivan I pulled in a commandeered IPD cruiser. I give back to the community every time that....
A SCREAM!
From down below, I hear a tussle in the Bernie Milton Pavilion. It's hot, but it's still early morning. To early for the goth-skater punks and the hackey-sack kids. I took one of those hackey-sacks in the solar plexuses once. I was getting over the flu and the kid caught me off guard. Flutter later told me the best hacky-sacks have small beads. They handle better. That one must have been a small-bead one. I still took the perp, even though Dawn had to pop in with her shape shifting at the end. It was a lesson for both of us.
I jump off from my half-crouch and unfurl the cable line from my belt. I swing it into the locust trees in front of me and send three dozen Starlings flying away in fear. I feel the rope. Nice and tight, around a heavy branch. Then I fly.
The IPD SWAT does some repelling from the building every year for Christmas. One of the guys dresses up like Santa Claus and scoots down delivering presents to kids. I got no problem with kids. Did a bunch of work with Make a Wish and GIAC. It's the "scooting" I hate. It's a quick drop from the building and since it's morning I don't have dodge the lunch time crowd under the trees.
I hit the Commons running and hear some whispers from behind me.
"Captain Gorges!"
"I thought he was only an urban legend!"
"Someone call the paper! NOW!"
I ignore them. I hope I don't appear callous, but I see the trouble. She isn't hard to miss.
FG-1000 has the tourist couple cornered. That android from Elmira has been ravaging the city since 1989. Screaming and yelling, she has all the time to complain and intimidate. I always found Dr. E's evil creating ingenious. Using the city's progressive label against it. She's everywhere. Every rally. Every pow-wow. Every discussion group and drum circle. FG-1000 is there. My portfolio for the IJ has dozens of pictures of her. She is usually holding a cardboard sign.
The android's voice carries clear and strong. It's a bit raspy, probably from lack of maintenance. The FG-1000 can't operate any vehicle besides a bike. And Dr. E knows never to show up in Tompkins County since "the incident."
"WHY DID YOU LEAVE YOUR WATER BOTTLES OUT IN THE SUN!?" The FG-1000 screams this to the tourist couple. The couple cowers in a corner of the pavilion, a Dasani bottle at their feet and in the sun. From their clothes, I can tell they are financially well, but don't want to show it. Some smart khaki shorts and polo shirts. Teva sandals over their feet. The husband has a ratty Boston College cap. The wife's polo is the BC colors. Probably some folks passing through looking at Cornell or the wineries. FG-1000's perfect prey.
"DON'T YOU KNOW WATER BOTTLES IN THE SUN CAUSES CARCINOGENS!?" She continues. "INSANE! MADNESS! PEOPLE!"
The wife speaks up. "Hey, why don't you mind your own business!?"
Bad idea. The FG-1000 is inflamed. "WHAT!? I LIVED IN THIS TOWN FOR 18 YEARS!"
Luckily, she can't see me in her state. I unfurl an escrima stick from my side holsters. Never had to use it against her, but then again, she has next to nothing in hand-to-hand training.
"Hey!" I scream. "Leave the nice folks alone, FG."
"WHAT!? YOU!? I DESERVE YOUR JOB! I SERVE ITHACA BEST. CORNELL DID THIS TO US. THEY BRING THE CRIMES WITH THE STUDENT'S DRUGS!"
She swings at me with her yellow bike helmet. This is a first. Dr. E. must have sent new protocols to her. However, she swings from the shoulder. Swings hard and clumsy. I dodge it easily. However, she keeps on coming. "ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!"
I duck another helmet swipe, bending forward as I were picking up some change. Unsnapping the strap for my shield, I whip the old girl onto my wrists. The helmet strikes the face of the shield. A low thud fills the air around us. "NO STUDENTS ON COMMON COUNCIL!"
My shield is made of recycled-ceramics pulled from discarded terracotta pots and treated to be high-impact machine grade. It then has a thin layer of recovered plastic, designed to be ablative and diffuse the impact. I really wanted a shield made of metal, but some folks at Greenstar got a wind of it and protested. Some kid from IC was at the presentation, listing off air pollutants saved by going with the ceramics. They won. I deal.
FG-1000 follows through with her swipe and I come up to slap the helmet out of her hands. I just tap it, using the same strength I would if I were yawning. Just with a bit more grace. my shield just taps her in the chin, but it sends her reeling. FG-1000 is pear-shaped, a design I always assumed was poor. What did she keep down there? Speakers. She wobbles before hitting the pavement.
I turn to the tourist couple, who blast down the Commons Bank Alley. The wife turns her head back and smiles at me. Gives me a wave. The husband just pulls her farther away and closer to her car.
In the meantime, FG-1000 waddles away down the Commons. I am always surprised how fast she actually moves on those legs. A kid comes up to me and asks for my autograph.
"Are you really Captain Gorges?!"
I see FG-1000 jump on her bike. It's parked where the Commons Bug uses to be. They got rid of them when they made me. I kind of missed them today. She pedals away, but she screams, "NO MOPEDS IN CITY PARKING LOTS!"
But I also hear the kid say, "Excuse me, but are you really him?"
"Yeah," I say, grabbing his pen. I sign the autograph, "Captain Gorges. Giving back to the city."
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Peace!
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