Border Patrol
By
Shane Griffin
Smash Words Edition Published by Poupichou Press
Copyright Shane Griffin 2011
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Bob ambled down the stairs to the main garage, where all the patrol vehicles were parked. He made his way over to his unit, number forty seven, a nice solid hydrogen powered Limited Hover All Terrain Vehicle.
The noob was already there, peering through the windows, salivating at all the equipment in the back. His face was eager, his stance enthusiastic and full of energy. Bob rolled his eyes at the thought of having to train the little squirrel. Rookies were always so gung hoe when they first started out.
Bob on the other hand was in his mid fifties, a shade under six feet tall and also a shade overweight. His left knee needed a reconstruction, something he had managed to put off for the last two years. He had spent nearly twenty years as a border patrol officer and was one of the few people left on the job that had been doing it when borders were still physical things.
The kid didn’t seem to notice Bob approach, even when he was standing right behind him, so he cleared his throat with a deep rumble.
“You Sam?” he demanded in his gravelly voice. The kid spun around, startled at first, and then he furrowed his brow.
“Yes, but it is Samuel not Sam.”
“You know you’re supposed to be at the morning briefing before you come down here?”
“Yes I do, but I only started this morning and the admin lady said to wait for you down here. They had some issue with my paperwork and she told me not to be late when I was working with you.”
“Good advice,” grumbled Bob. “Tomorrow you be at that briefing or you’re not going on patrol. I don’t care what the admin lady says.”
“Yes sir! Whatever you say.”
Bob wondered if he was getting paranoid, but he could have sworn he detected just a hint of sarcasm. Not knowing for sure he figured he’d just play it safe and keep acting like a hard ass. At least that way the kid might have a chance at surviving his first day.
“So Sam, since you don’t know shit about this job or our assignment for today, how about you just do what I tell you when I tell you and you might just learn something.”
Bob adjusted his heavy utility belt and lumbered around to the back of the ATV. He hit the remote to pop open the rear door. Without waiting to be asked Samuel followed eagerly behind him.
“You see this vehicle here, this is my office. When you are in my office you will treat it with respect and you won’t touch anything unless I tell you to. Understood?”
Inside the ATV all the rear seats had been removed. Along one side was a bank of electronic equipment, used to track down the illegal border jumpers. On the opposite side were various metallic storage boxes and an assortment of pull out draws and trays. Anything and everything Bob needed when out on the road was inside the ATV. He kept it all in immaculate order. Everything had a place and everything was in its place.
With some effort Bob climbed into the back and placed his palm onto the front of one of the boxes. There was a light tingling in his hand as the security metal extracted DNA from his skin cells and identified him. The box then promptly hissed open, its top folding out into a small table and revealing several weapons strapped to the inside walls.
Bob pulled out a nasty looking silver-grey pistol that was scored with vents all the way along its long sinister barrel. He grabbed a red energy clip and inserted it into the base of the hand grip with a sharp snap.
“This is a fusion cell powered disintegrator pistol. It will turn pretty much anything organic into ash instantly. We use these only in extreme circumstances,” he said as he slipped it into a belt holster on his left hip.
“Where’s mine?” asked Samuel, his blue eyes sparkling in anticipation.
“Noobs don’t get one. You’ll earn the right to carry one when I think you’re ready.”
“I have handled one before. They do teach us things at the training school.”
“Six weeks training and a day at the shooting range doesn’t teach you jack about going on patrol Sam!”
“It’s Samuel,” he insisted, “So I’m just left defenceless then? How is that safe?”
Bob grabbed another pistol from the box. It was black with a short squat square barrel. This one was more bulky than the first. He grabbed an equally bulky looking blue energy clip and clicked it into place. He spent a few moments adjusting some controls on the side of the weapon then tossed it to Samuel.
“You get that.”
“A stasis gun,” groaned Samuel as he caught it.
“Yep,” said Bob as he grabbed a second stasis gun for himself, set it up and slipped it into a second holster on his right hip, “If you do your job right a stasis gun is the only weapon you will ever need.”
Bob climbed out of the ATV, shut the rear door, lumbered around to the driver’s side and climbed in behind the controls. Samuel scurried around and leapt into the passenger seat as Bob fired up the engine.
Bob was about to throw the ATV into gear, instead he stopped and stared at Samuel. Samuel fidgeted impatiently under Bob’s silent stare. The kid was so eager he wondered if he’d be better off zapping him with the stasis gun for the day just to keep him out of trouble. He wanted to like him, but there was no use in getting attached when seventy percent of trainee’s flunked out in the first week.
“By the way if you ever point that stasis gun at me you will be the first person to ever see me fire my disintegrator!”
“You’ve never fired it?”
“No,” said Bob uncomfortably then under his breath, “Not officially anyway.”
“What?”
“Nothing, let’s go, we’ve got work to do. Gonna be a busy day, our patrol is south western suburbs. Always lots of action in amongst those housing commission slums.”