H-1 UMAN-1

Chapter 11

"That's for us to know and for you to not find out. We're watching you, Miss Stehlen. Keep that in mind." Then, a click! sound, then nothing.

Well, that was freaky, I thought. That certainly wasn't what I was expecting, but really, what exactly was I expecting? I don't really know the answer to that one, either, but what I do know it that I gotta tell the cops!

With that, I tore out of my house, not bothering to lock it behind me, letting the screen slam shut as I tore across the porch, down the stairs, down the drive, and down the road into town as fast as my sore feet could carry me.

--

As soon as I pulled up in front of the police station, exhausted, out of breath, and with aching feet, I sprinted just as quickly as I could (as I'd just run three and a half miles) up the front stairs, slamming them open with the palm of my hand, then stood stock still. Apparently that puzzled the coppers- they always are looking for action, so it puzzles them when something doesn't move, like me. After standing there like a statue for several moments more, apparently one of them decided that the silence was freaking them out.

Next question in three, two, one...

"Whoa, there, young lady, what's the matter? You look as if you've been running for your life from some rabid wolf or something."

Geez, buddy, learn some grammar. But of course I didn't say that, because someone with skin like mine is already a villain in the eyes of the law. They say justice is blind, but both you and I know that that's just one big sham. Justice isn't blind, it's people, they have eyes, and they use them. If they don't see something that matches their bigoted view of the world, well, then that's a whole other can of worms, and I think I've just opened it. Shit. But there's no point in just standing here like a dumb-dumb. Go on, Electra, I tell myself. But I'm so scared.

'Yeah, you are? You don't want to confront the problem? Then you're just like your parents, always settling for what was easy and giving up on their dreams. I heard them talking to each other several years ago, talking about money troubles. My mom was griping about having to settle, she was such a free spirit. My dad's retort- 'That's right, we settled hard.'

You don't want to be like them, Electra. Go on, tell them. Ugh, fine.

"Guys, I need help!" That got their attention. "What with?" one of the officers, and older man, asked.

"Promise me that you won't dismiss what I'm saying? You'll believe me?"

"Now, why wouldn't we?" the same officer said.

"Well, if you look at what I look like, do you think that people are going to readily believe a black girl? Especially with the race riots in Toronto and Calgary last year?"

"Look, miss," he told me, "your skin color has nothing to do with how I do my job. Not in this department."

"Well, sir," I said, still panicking slightly, "here's the problem: you ever have your TV act, oh, I don't know, somewhat sentient?"

"I thought that was something the tech giants had been working on, yes," he said, "but you're going to have to tell me more so that I can help you better."

Come on, Mister. Just help me, okay? I thought. I have enough going on in my life right now, I really, really don't want to be treated like I don't have a brain just because of the amount of melanin that my skin produces. Sheesh, can't anyone realize that we're not idiots?

I'm really starting to think that the answer is no, but what the hell. I can't snap, we all know how that goes, and if you don't, let's just say that I wouldn't be on the winning side, and that's presuming I survive.

"Well, Mister," I continue, "would you mind coming to my house? I think that showing you would be easier than trying to explain all of this to you, I mean, this stuff got messed-up fast."

--

Twenty Minutes Later

Thank goodness my parents aren't here, they'd probably scold me for talking to strangers and for leaving the house without their permission. But that doesn't really matter, now does it?

"Well, Miss Wilde," the officer, whose name I've learned is Officer Pietro, says, "I see what you mean, but in all honesty, I don't have a damn clue what I should do. I've never seen anything like this, have you?"

But I don't get a chance to reply, because the same voice I heard earlier starts broadcasting itself from the speakers.

"Well, well, looks like I'm going to have even more fun. You know, the Pentagon really ought to be more secure than it is. Ah, well. Well, at least I have your file, Miss Wilde. Goodbye now, enjoy!"

Oh, shit. And what does that thing mean, my file? I get the feeling that I'm about to find out, and that I have exactly no power to stop it.

"You have any idea what the hell that was?" Officer Pietro asks me, obviously spooked.

"No, Officer, I don't. That was why I came down to talk to you guys. I was hoping that it might just be a virus or something like that."

"Yes, it probably is, Miss Wilde," he tells me, "but it's sure as hell something different than I've ever seen, and by different, I mean worse. Much worse."

Well then. Just what, exactly, are we supposed to do now?

I don't have a single damn clue, and I have sinking feeling in the bottom of my gut that I'm not the only one...