Acts of Humanity
Saouda's Docket #60350
A MORFS Universe Tale
by Ray Drouillard
Connie Abla Saouda and Beverly Trowbridge are two ordinary cops on the beat – or are they? After providing so much help to the Doctors Martin and their friends, they have been assigned the unenviable task watching after their fellow MORFS survivors.
From the unofficial log of Officer Connie Abla Saouda, Police Telepath
December 15, 2060
Officer Beverly Trowbridge and I have been pulling afternoon shift for a long time. Ever since we have been semi-officially given the task of watching over the various MORFS survivors, we have been stuck with this shift. No more morning shifts that allow us to get off in time to have a life. No more nice, quite midnight shifts. Nope, we are purposely put on duty when most people are getting off of work and hitting the malls, restaurants, and places of evening recreation. That is the time when our fellow morfies are most likely to be get into trouble.
Today promises to be a long day. We had to go in early for a court appearance. While we don't mind the overtime, it makes for a tiring day.
I detected the usual mixture of emotions as Bev and I entered the courtroom. There was plenty of anger and despair, along with some hope and vindication. We sat quietly as the judge went through the cases that didn't involve us. I used the time to poke around the minds of the cases that do involve us. The information pulled from the mind of an unwilling witness may not be admissible in court, but that doesn't stop me from gathering it.
Ahmed Jahad is an Islamic pure. I have little use for any of the pures in general, but the Islamic pures are much more likely to be militant and extremely violent. Looking into his hate-filled mind was not pleasant. I almost wish I could use what I see there as evidence that he's too dangerous to be running around. What did his wife Clara ever see in him? From what I could detect in her, it was a case of having stars in her eyes over the dark, handsome, suave, and debonair man who was paying attention to the young, dewy-eyed high school girl.
Their daughter, a very pretty partial squirrel hybrid, was scared out of her wits. Her father and brother were very close to doing the 'honor killing' that used to claim so many young rape victims, and is now used as an excuse to kill morfed children. Fortunately for young Samira, her mother called 911 from her cell phone. We had gotten there just in time. Bev had to use her considerable speed and strength to keep the knife from being plunged into this young girl.
*Don't worry,* I sent to her. *You're safe. He can't get you now. Just tell the truth and I'll back you up.*
She looked at me with gratitude.
When Ahmed took the stand, he skillfully wove a web of lies. I quietly conferred with the prosecutor, as I had done many times before. I could feel Ahmed's smugness. He was sure that it would be a case of his word against hers. When Bev and I gave our factual testimony, it fit all too well into his web of lies. Like I said, he had woven them skillfully.
Next, his wife Clara was sworn in. The prosecutor asked her a series of questions that were designed to directly refute the web of lies of her husband.
*Answer them truthfully and plainly, and I will be able to back you up,* I sent to her before she took the stand.
Finally, I was asked to take the stand again. The prosecutor directly asked me about every point in Clara's testimony. At each point, I replied that Clare was telling the truth. Ahmed, red in the face, jumped up and yelled out, "You can't use a telepath in court!"
The judge banged his gavel. "Sit down, Mister Jahad; or I will have to hold you in contempt." After he sat down, the judge continued, "Testimony extracted from an unwilling mind can't be used, but a telepath can read any willing witness."
The process was repeated with young Samira. She shook violently and broke down into tears several times. It wasn't easy for her. In the end, Ahmed entered a guilty plea. In return, the court reduced the sentence and didn't prosecute him for perjury. We didn't stick around to watch them work out the details. We had given our testimony, so the court dismissed us.
We smiled as we got into our aircar. The novelty of our new toy still hadn't worn off. Ever since we were given the task of handling incidents involving MORFS survivors, we were assigned an aircar to allow us to cover a wider area.
I made practiced use of my empathic senses – listening for the telltale mixture of excitement and righteous disdain that was displayed by a pure supremacist, or the fear displayed by someone being attacked. Unfortunately, it didn't take long. I felt the mixture of emotions that I know all too well. With practiced ease, I gave the location to Bev. She turned the aircar and headed to a small shop at high speed while simultaneously alerting the dispatcher. I monitored the situation and looked for a good place to land.
We were out of the aircar and running as soon as we touched down. We headed through the thickest part of the crowd, which parted to let us pass. A group of six teen boys was kicking something on the ground. Bev and I both drew our handguns and yelled "Freeze!" Five of them stopped, and one tried to bolt. I stopped him by overloading his motor cortex, and attended to the victim.
Why do the pures always seem to pick on the helpless little girls?
She looked pretty banged up, but was still conscious. I used telepathy to ease her pain and calm her down. It took about three minutes for the ambulance to arrive. By the time they had her loaded and on her way to the hospital, the ground units were here for the prisoners.
I wrote the report as Bev flew the aircar. I'm used to listening for trouble as I fill out the routine paperwork. Fortunately, the next few hours were uneventful. We were called to take some statements, and to handle a couple volatile domestic situations. People tend to be more truthful when they know that a telepath is listening in.
We had just gotten off the ground when I heard a desperate cry for help. I recognized the mental voice immediately. Young Miss Shepherd is not one to exaggerate. *We're on our way,* I sent to her.
Bev turned the aircar toward Countryside Mall and hit the Emergency Response switch. The transponder went to emergency mode, the central routing computer was alerted, the flashers lit up, and the Synergy Thrusters pushed our speed up to a little over six hundred miles per hour. Within minutes, Bev was skillfully landing just outside the north-east entrance. We hit the ground running. Bev's physical enhancements allowed her to race way ahead of me. I rounded the corner just in time to see the perp plunge a knife between the breasts of a young absolute alpaca hybrid. Before I could react, all of the perpetrators dropped to the floor and curled up as if in agony. I winced and closed my mind to their pain. Apparently, Miss Shepherd dropped them by hitting the pain centers of their brains hard.
I had almost reached the victim when I saw a flash of golden wings, followed closely by a human flyer with velvety black wings. I recognized Jerry Wright and Tina Shepherd on sight. I got to the victim just as she flared, landed, and knelt down.
As soon as she was on her knees, I saw the knife pull itself from the girl's chest and land next to me; still covered with blood. I telepathically linked myself with miss Shepherd and lent her my strength. She used that energy to pull the wound in the victim's aorta closed and heal it. I blocked the pain and telepathically calmed her while Tina pulled the rest of wound closed and healed it. Doctor Gordon, one of the ER docs, was supervising the procedure via Tina's telepathy.
Jerry handed Tina a small interveinous stim pack, and she used her surgically precise telekinesis to infuse it into the victim's vena cava. Then, she used her bio elemental powers to direct the nutrients where they were needed to replace the blood and repair the damage. By the time the ambulance came, the victim was pretty much as good as new. Tina and I comforted her while Jerry and Bev guarded the prisoners. Tina volunteered to ride with her to the hospital.
Soon, the evidence and all the the prisoners were on their way to the police station. Jerry stuck around for a few minutes to make his statement, then flew to the hospital.
Jerry and Tina knew the victim from school, so they were able to tell me that her name was Lydia Stanwick, and to give me her address and phone number. We sent the report to headquarters and flew to Miss Stanwick's house. Her parents were very worried when they saw a police air car land in their driveway.
"Mr. and Mrs. Stanwick?" I asked them. They nodded. "The first thing I have to tell you is that Lydia is OK, and not in any trouble." Once I felt relief wash through their bodies, I told them the story. Because she was so anxious, we ended up giving Mrs. Stanwick a lift to the hospital. She grabbed Lydia's gym bag and rushed to the aircar. Mr. Stanwick ushered the rest of their kids into their minivan and drove to the hospital at a more sedate pace.
Having had experience with cases like this, I radioed ahead and had someone meet us at the aircar entrance so that Mrs. Stanwick could be taken to her daughter without delay. I went with them while Bev parked the aircar and followed.
Mrs. Stanwick just about freaked when she saw the blood that was still caked in Lydia's fur. Lydia jumped up off of the examination table and wrapped herself around her mother. Tina put her arms and wings around both of them and assured Mrs. Stanwick that everything was OK. After a little while, Tina offered to use her telekinesis to help Lydia wash the blood out of her fur. Two minutes in the room's shower did wonders for Lydia's appearance and everyone's sanity. By the time her father and siblings arrived, she was clean, fresh, and dressed in her street clothes.
The final step, of course, was the paperwork. Lydia snuggled back into her daddy's strong arms. Tina and Mrs. Stanwick held her hands as she told the story of how she was cornered by her attackers and pushed around. Tina followed up by relating how she had heard a desperate call from Lydia, and had gotten there just in time to see her get stabbed. She used her paint trick to create very detailed drawings of the damage done to her friend. Those pictures, along with the photographs of Lydia's blood-soaked fur, should be enough to get the perp convicted of attempted murder. His friends were accessories. I assured everyone that Bev and I would do our part when the case came up for trial.
We were about finished when Doctor Herbert Josephson, Lydia's pediatrician, came in. After a brief examination, he signed the discharge orders. "I wish all my patients were this easy," he commented.
After a few minutes, the nurse came in to explain the discharge instructions. She looked at them and chuckled. "Doctor Herb says that you need to go home, relax, do something fun, and talk with your friends. No homework until tomorrow after school." She handed Lydia a prescription slip with those orders and said that she should take it to her teachers.
We all left the examination room together. They stopped at the checkout desk and I went straight to the aircar. Finally safe inside, I started shaking. Bev looked at me with concern, then lifted off. We have both been there before.
"This job is no bed of roses. I can't imagine what it must be like for a telepath," she said sympathetically. I just gave her a wan smile. We have been over this ground many times.
The entire MORFS Universe can be found at http://morfs.nowhere2go.org/
More writing and photography by Ray Drouillard at http://ray-d.deviantart.com/