Planet Cheron, 50,000 Years Ago:
Chief Inspector Bele had stopped watching the light shows that had seemingly entranced the rest of Cheron since they began three nights ago. The astronomers and physicists on the news media had assured everyone that they were just meteorites disintegrating into dust as they entered the planet's atmosphere, and the Commission on Political Traitors weren't paying him to gawk up at the discordant blasts of pink and blue and green that seemed to distract the rest of his squad - at least until he raised his neurobaton menacingly and barked at them, "Lights in the sky can't hurt you, cretins! But the Half-Whites can!" He focused on his latest recruit, who appeared focused on the datapad in his hand. "Akos! Watch pornography on your own time!"
Akos glanced up at his superior officer, looking shocked. "I'm not, Sir! There are reports coming from all over Cheron! People are exhibiting strange... abilities! Rapid recovery from injuries, energy projection, psychic powers-"
Bele scowled, especially as others on his team seemed to be leaning in over Akos' shoulder to view the drivel; science fiction was for the simple-minded. "Return to the carrier! I'll have you reassigned to Racial Purity Records! GO! And if the rest of you don't want to join him, I suggest you check your weapons and body armour! Luja, Moric, you'll take the first floor! Sarolt, Vida, the second! Haras, Polc, the third! I'll deal with the rabble on the roof! We move in on my mark!"
Bele turned back to stare at their target, a rundown tenement in the filthy dilapidated Half-White ghetto where they kept this loathsome sub-breed away from the civilised parts of the city, while behind him, his men complied with his orders - while also not trying too hard to keep their feelings about him to themselves, managing just a few barely-audible mutterings.
He knew he wasn't popular among them, or indeed the rest of the Commission, that he was seen as humourless and zealous and ambitious, keeping his private life hidden from them. He was an enigma to his colleagues - hence their secret nickname for him, the one they thought he didn't know about: the Riddler.
He didn't care. The truth was that he didn't speak about his private life because he had none. No wife, no children, no hobbies, no interests apart from attending Veneration every Povaday like any good Cheronian would.
His job was his life, his life was his job. And he was not content to remain a lowly Inspector and deal with this genetic trash until retirement. No, he would climb the government service ladder until he finally made Commissioner. And he
would
do it, even if it took him an eternity.
He activated his neurobaton. "MOVE!"
The raid proceeded smoothly; the most disagreeable part of it for Bele was the smell of these animals' homes, their cooking, their squalor. It was something he never grew accustomed to, no matter how many times he had to perform this unpleasant but necessary task, and he knew he would have to take a long, relaxing exfoliation afterwards.
He heard the cries of the residents on the lower floors as his men burst into their apartments below, breaking furniture and breaking skulls of any who dared resist their superiors. He had no pity for them: they were ignorant animals that his people had tried to raise up, to civilise. But they were parasites, lazy, shiftless parasites whose very genes were suffused with a propensity for crime and chaos, and they had taken the generosity that Bele's race provided and turned it against their benefactors. Culminating, in at least the occupants here, of aiding and abetting a known agitator, an incendiary anarchist.
He reached the roof, finding a half-dozen of them, young instigators, hidden from the street patrols and using the illumination from the astronomic display above to embody their sedition on protest signs: END SEGREGATION, EQUAL RIGHTS FOR HALF-WHITES, FREE ALL POLITICAL PRISONERS, POWER TO THE PEOPLE.
Animals.
Ungrateful animals!
They began panicking, trying to get past him to the stairs behind him, the only egress from the roof. Bele struck out at them, sending them sprawling to the rooftop as the neurobaton delivered agonising shocks. This was the part of the job he loved most: delivering
justice
. He never felt so alive-
He also felt the hand on his arm, turning him around.
Bele stared hard into the face of his quarry, the terrorist Lokai: saw the vicious, unwarranted rage in the young Half-White's face, the animal bloodlust, knowing nothing but violence.
Bele raised the neurobaton, turning the level up to Maximum to inflict a lethal charge.
Lokai was quicker - shoving him hard over the edge of the roof.
Bele twisted in the air, at a loss for words and action, watching as he tumbled through the cool dark evening air, rapidly approaching the cracked, dirty pavement, certain that his helmet and his body armour will not protec-
-Bele woke up, surrounded by bright lights and chaos, and the pungent smell of chemicals. He sat up on what was obviously a medical gurney, seeing his helmet beside him, cracked open like an egg, with some blood spattered inside it.
He reached up and touched his skull, finding... no injuries. No. It couldn't be. He should have died, far beyond the abilities of medical science to heal him.
An unaccustomed confusion, and fear, overtook him, and he swung his legs out to stand up, just as the curtain surrounding his immediate area parted, and his associate Luja stepped in, his eyes wide with a naked astonishment. "Inspector! You're alive, and awake!"
"Of course I am! What happened to the terrorist Lokai?"
"Never mind him! You fell over eighty cubits to the ground, and you not only survived, you healed! They're right! The Miracle's real!"
"Miracle? What are you talking about?" He looked around. He was in what looked like the Emergency Ward of a local hospital, but everyone - doctors, nurses, patients - was running around as if the place was on fire. "What's going on?"
Luja's mouth widened into a grin. "Something wonderful has happened, Inspector! To all of us! Those reports that Akos was reading about were true! The meteors have brought with them a Miracle! Gifts for all of us! The Sovereign has been on a global broadcast, declaring it real! He calls it God's Rain!"
Bele glanced around again. He saw strange red energy, coruscating around people, like they were on fire, without being harmed. Others were touching medical equipment, and making them short out. He was as devout as the next Cheronian, truly believing that they were God's People, something the degenerate Half-Whites could barely comprehend, let alone emulate. But still, a miracle?
On a wallscreen, the image of the Sovereign was talking, as a generated simulation of the planet rotated beside him, still bombarded by the meteors - or was it being called God's Rain now?
"How do you feel, Inspector?" Luja asked.
Bele breathed in. He felt...
strong.
Powerful. Like he would live forever.
Perhaps he would, if the reports were true. And if he could live forever, work forever...
He could become Commissioner. He could deal with the threat of the Half-Whites, once and for all.
Starting with Lokai. Bele would track him down and bring him to justice.
No matter how long it took.
