Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM
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Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM
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The last few words of the mayor's speech were, mercifully, overwhelmed by the general applause. It was early in the morning for too big a crowd, but there were still a few hundred in attendance, according to the analysis running in a lower right window on his display. The media almost outnumbered the civilians, it seemed. Adrian sighed. The rush he always felt when he suited up had worn off quickly. He was still tired from the late night before, and this was going to be a long day anyway. Still, duty called. The gleaming armored form of Copper moved smoothly up to the podium where the mayor stood, dwarfing the politico. The onboard systems tied in with the microphone to figure out the proper volume levels, and the suit's electronic voice transmitted Adrian's words to the crowd. "Thank you very much, Mr. Mayor. Chicago is a great town, and it's always a privilege to serve its people." The expected ripple of applause moved across the crowd. After a moment, Adrian added, "I even feel a little bit guilty about taking the time off-duty to accept this commendation." Laughter. He'd worked out this speech with Jasmine a couple of nights before. She was a lot better at this sort of thing than he was. He continued, "I want to also remind everyone here that, as a member of the Chicago Police Department, I know first-hand that there are a lot of heroes out there who don't get this sort of recognition. They wear dark blue uniforms instead of metal armor, so maybe they don't stand out so much in a crowd --" Laughter again. "-- but the job they do is just as important, and even more worthy of commendation, because they do it without some of the advantages I bring to the battle. They're out there with just their wits, their guts, and their desire to serve. If I receive this commendation, it's really just in honor of all my brothers and sisters on the force. Thank you, Mr. Mayor." General applause again. Adrian smiled, though, of course, nobody could see it. The words were heart-felt, but they also ought to play well at the stationhouses around the city. Sometimes he did feel a bit guilty about being in the limelight. He knew too well from his own experiences that police work was often thankless. And if he sometimes found himself facing opponents much more substantial than a crack-head with a gun, there were still plenty of the latter, and they could kill any other cop dead in a heartbeat. "-- questions from the press?" the mayor's aide was saying. Adrian realized he'd drifted off a moment. That wasn't good. Crack-heads with guns were child's play next to reporters with cameras and tape recorders. "Cho from the Sun-Times," one of them was saying. The Heads-Up Display opened a small window zooming in on the speaker, while a quick analysis of his recent articles scrolled across the bottom. "You speak about serving the city of Chicago. With your upcoming trip, might there be another city in your future?" Damn. I told Ace advance publicity on this thing would be a problem. "Not in the least," Copper replied. "I'm off to New York to show them how we get the job done in Chicago." He waited until the laughter and scattered applause died down a bit. "No, seriously, Chicago is my home. With all due respect to the Gambler, I have no intention of moving. You folks are stuck with me." General clapping and appreciative cheers to that. Jasmine had been right about that one, too. The Q&A went on. Copper had heard it all many times before. He answered questions about the fire he was getting the citation for. He dodged around political questions and endorsements, as appropriate for an officer. He gave vague answers to questions about the armor's specs -- no use in giving those he would be going against in the future too much information. Let them look it up on the Internet. He had tried that one afternoon, and been greatly amused by some of the things he'd found attributed to him. It had also given him some ideas he'd suggested to Bowie for improvements. It was all going smoothly enough that he'd actually let himself get lulled into a groove when a little red flashing light next to the identification information on his HUD made him pay more attention to the reporter who was asking the next question. "'Copper,' why should the black community of Chicago, faced with systemic discrimination by this city's power structure, and abused by the white police, trust yet another white man, another white 'copper' to represent real justice to those people of color who continue to be downtrodden beneath the heels of the white money interests?" There was a whir of cameras clicking, as though they would be able to catch emotions playing across his face. Fortunately, it was a question he'd been waiting for. The Coalition for Rainbow Justice had been making noises in town for several weeks. Adrian couldn't entirely blame them -- there was enough truth in what they said to turn his stomach. He knew of dirty cops. He'd busted more than a few himself, as Copper. And he knew cops, white cops, who let the prejudices of what should have been a bygone era still influence what they did, how they treated people, what crimes they chose to pursue and what crimes they shrugged off as "just the way those folk live together." It was an attitude he fought as he could, but it was still an attitude that was out there, for all that it sickened him -- sickened him for reasons that the reporter, and the public, could never know. He also knew, from hard experience, that the CRJ was as interested in publicity and donations as in true justice, that among its leadership were those who wanted more to continue the conflict they claimed to fight -- because while there is a war, there must be generals, and being a general means power, and, not incidentally, wealth. That, of course, was not what he could say to this reporter -- Clifford Thomas, whose journalistic credentials were for the CRJ News Alert, surprise, surprise. The dynamics and complexities of race politics and injustice were much too tangled for a setting like this. Hell, they were too tangled for Adrian to fully grasp, let alone have any straightforward answer to them. But regardless, this was a press conference. Sound Bite City. Only the first dozen words out of his mouth would make the headlines, whether on the Six O'Clock News, or the Sun-Times front page. All this ran through his head just that quickly, partly because he was prepared (Thank you, Jasmine!), partly because -- Well, you don't last long in this profession if you can't think on your feet. And a good offense is always a good defense, with these sorts of folks. "Mr. Thomas," Copper said from a faceless helm atop the heavily armored battle suit, with an electronic voice that, nonetheless conveyed every emotion Adrian wanted conveyed, "why do you assume that I'm not a person of color. For that matter, why do you assume I must be a man? Would it be such a shock to you to discover that Copper is a Japanese-American Lesbian? Is that your prejudice showing through?" As the press started a real hubbub -- well-leavened with laughter -- at that, and Thomas was trying to sputter an answer over the tumult, Copper turned to the mayor. "Many thanks, again, sir." And with that he let the anti-gravs boost him up twenty feet, then kicked in the boot rockets to propel himself upwards into the sky. Ace is going to have my butt for that one, Adrian thought to himself, but his smile belied any regret. He'd argued with Jasmine about that particular response, but she'd prevailed, fortunately. She had a nasty streak in her. It was one reason he loved her. A small window, playing some of the live commentary on the press conference was yammering at him. He turned it off -- he could read about it in the papers tomorrow. Automatic launch-time systems check was completed. Weapons systems were at full. Defensive systems at full. Propulsion systems at full. Life support at full. Ready to rock. An alarm chimed softly, and a message played at the bottom of his screen. The shuttle was waiting at the Magnificent Six HQ for him and Sheila, to take them off to New York. Probably just as well, after that particular encounter, but, still, it was going to be a long week. He just hoped Sheila'd had a better morning than he had. |
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