Dhergabar Metropolitan Police Chief Vothan Raldor came into Chief Verkan's office with several spools. He was not only tall, but also thick like a gnarled oak; his iron-gray hair was cut short in a Metro buzz cut. " Verkan, I think you're going to want to see this."
"What is it Raldor?" Chief Vothan Raldor was a good administrator and very good cop. He'd been Metro's best Investigator until he was promoted to fulltime desk job some fifty years back. Vothan had been appointed Metro Chief three years ago and was in the middle of straightening out a mare's nest of corruption and police malfeasance. He'd always had a good working relationship with the Paratime Police and Verkan was pleased to give him any help he needed. These days Verkan was not only running short of allies, but friends, too.
"You know yourself, that Year-End Day has always been a busy time for us. A few times we had to borrow officers from your former boss, Tortha Karf."
"Is this your way of telling me you think you are going to need help tomorrow?"
"Think it. No, I know it. And, yes, thank you very much; I'll take you up on your offer.
Verkan laughed. "What offer? Here's my viewer. Let's see what your problem is. Then we can figure out how many officers I can loan you."
"First, have you heard of The Leader?"
"Yes, the Commissioner was telling me about him. A pocket Hitler, a real third-rater, who won't even identify himself. Other than that I haven't heard anything-but then I haven't spent a lot of time in the City lately."
"You won't hear about The Leader in the places you frequent, Vail. The sleazy dives, ecstasy palaces and tranq bars, those are his levels. We've been having a lot of problems with the young folk-not kids, but young adults. Mostly from families on the dole. I know we like to pretend that all Home Time-Liners have good jobs and work hard-and most do. But, the average Citizen doesn't realize there are millions of technologically unfit non-citizens and genetic culls on the streets and in the warrens. Old Dhergabar is full of them. And, despite the prohibitions, they have children-in some cases lots of them. In the past, they managed to either work at servile jobs or just disappear into the woodwork, but this new 'servant' fad that is bringing in tens of millions of Fifth Level Service Sector Proles is upsetting the status quo.
"Our non-citizens are getting their faces rubbed in the fact that they're not working members of First Level. It's gotten worse recently, since many of the second-generation proles are becoming Citizens. They have become the real underclass. Despite, the dole and their aimless lives, they've always felt superior to outtimers. But now, when they see former outtimers getting jobs and doing things they couldn't hope to do-well, it's an open fire in a drought area. Fortunately, no one-until now-has come up with a way to mobilize the growing anger and discord among the non-citizens. The Leader appears to be doing just that."
"Do you have any clues as to his identity?"
"No. We don't have any clues. He's a ghost walker. Take a look at this!" Raldor pushed in one of the spools and immediately the viewer was crowded with hundreds of marching young people shouting, "Hail, to The Leader. Hail, to The Leader." Most were dressed in blue clothing, a few in what appeared to be blue uniforms. The scene had been taken in Old Dhergabar, where there were still ground level streets and crowded buildings; many of them underground so they wouldn't be visible to citizens. Some of the youths were carrying truncheons and bats of some sort. The marchers came to a stop in front of a small grog shop, the One-Eyed Lady. "Death to Proles! Go home wogs!" shouted the voices. Someone tossed a stone against the window, which deformed and then popped back into shape sending the fragment back into the crowd.
The marchers went wild with fury, tearing the doors off their hinges and charging inside. There were screams from the grog shop. Suddenly about seven or eight people, men and women, with ripped clothing and bloody noses, were pushed through the door. The crowd fell upon them with their makeshift weapons. Even Verkan was forced to look away.
"It goes on like this for a while. The crowd scattered when my first squad arrived. All the proles, except one, were dead. Most of them weren't even proles! We got this recording from a neighbor who was out on a walk. We've already picked up two hundred of the rioters. All of them went under narco-hypnosis. None of them know anything. Someone overheard someone else talking about some prole at the One-Eyed Lady forging false ID for proles so they can pass as Citizens-that kind of stuff." Raldor laughed harshly. "As if proles could actually counterfeit First Level documents; it shows how ignorant and uninformed this bunch really is."
"Ignorant they may be, but in the wrong hands they could become a potent weapon."
"That's what I'm afraid of, Chief. This is a black eye for the City and not the kind of outtime nonsense I ever thought I'd see on the streets of Dhergabar."
"Any of them know anything about The Leader?"
"Not a thing. Sometimes people get real messages on their coms from him, but they really don't know who he is."
"This whole operation is very similar to a Fourth Level racket I ran into a few years back. It's called fascism-a state sponsored free-for-all at some minority's expense. Mass murders in the name of racial cleansing, and other aberrations. When the fascists won, we had to make that entire Sub-sector off-limits." Verkan, thinking back to his talk with the Paratime Commissioner, shook his head in disgust. "Didn't think I'd ever see its like here on Home Time-Line. The Commissioner warned me about The Leader, but I didn't take it seriously enough. What does Bur Psych-Hygiene have to say about it?"
"Bureau Secretary Latok rattled some jargon off about it, finishing with, "In summation, our Metro Mentalist claims 'it's an over-reaction syndrome, based on childhood stimulation-deprivation, combined with low self-esteem and xenophobia.' It sounds like they don't understand it either. He did say that involuntary admissions are at an all-time high and that he hopes we can solve the problem because most of their facilities are overflowing!"
"What's supposed to happen tomorrow on Year-End Day?"
"Mass demonstrations all over the capital and in outlying cities, too. There's talk about occupying the prole living sectors and moving them out-by force, if necessary."
"How many officers will you need?"
"Ten thousand if you can get them."
Verkan whistled. "Sorry, not even with a ten-days notice. Most of my troopers are stationed outtime. I can give you a couple hundred, if I cancel all leaves. Tell me where you need them most."
"Thanks Verkan. Maybe we can put the lid on this."