Foundation by Marco Guarda Read Free Book Online Page A

sunlight would flood everything for the whole day. It was quite a sight.
    He had first met Starshanna on the sunset of the spring equinox, when she used to work in the bars for a buck. She had come out of the Sangreal exactly when the dying sun had turned the Canyon into a golden dipper. It was warm outside and she wore just shorts and a t-shirt. For a brief moment, when she had walked into the amber glow, she had looked like a goddess of times past.
    Trumaine sighed from behind the wheel of his car. For the second time that day, the thought that he should move to the City came to him. He had seen the residential area assigned to bachelors; it was nice and blithe.

    Trumaine drove to an imposing building rising on the north side of the Canyon. It was all white, except for its base, which was paneled with glass the same color as police officers’ ordinance badges: blue.
    The police station had a wide front that gave on a long and flat square surrounded by ornamental trees and benches. Trumaine signaled, then pulled down the ramp that opened on the short side of the square, where a sign read: POLICE DEPARTMENT ONLY .
    A spiral ramp went down the many levels of the police department parking. Driving at a crawl, Trumaine turned into the first level.

    All kinds of police vehicles were to be found at level one. Not just the urban scooters and the squad cars that prowled the streets every day and night, but also the heavier patrol wagons and the vehicles for special use, like tow trucks and elevator trucks. Even a cumbersome, obsolete armor-plated rammer could be glimpsed, sitting in a forgotten corner, gathering dust.
    Power cables snaked out from under the hood of most vehicles, reaching into the endless rows of plugs that lined the walls of every level in the parking, endlessly recharging their batteries.
    Trumaine parked in the section reserved for the unmarked vehicles. He climbed out from the car, then stepped to the front hood, from where he retrieved a thick cable. He uncoiled it and he too plugged into the power network. He waited until the indicator LED in the plug turned green, then he walked away, toward the elevators.

    As the elevator climbed in silence, Trumaine threw his head back and looked up at the pebbled glass in the ceiling, from which a cold service light diffused.
    He lived in decent times, he thought. Crimes like rape, kidnapping and murder were now rare. People were happier. A widespread access to wealth had contributed to that. No doubt a thickly woven net of close circuit cameras as well as real-time satellite imaging had helped. Criminal organizations had left the street for the subtler and ruthless world of finance where, by supporting this or that political faction, they would be granted everlasting sanctuary. That went for big-time crooks, of course.
    What happened inside people’s home was another matter; one could never tell what went on behind the holy veil of domesticity. It was in their secluded apartments where polite, efficient men and women would dismiss the masks they wore in the world outside and become their truest selves. Behind the homely walls, spite would be born; out of envy, disrespect, thwarted hopes, forlorn love. Fed by anger, spite would rise, turning into a raging fire that would destroy everything.
    Man had walked long, tedious miles since his inception. He had become wise and a deft technician. Yet, wealth, good schooling and decent manners hadn’t wiped the animal within. Hardly submissive, never tame, it was always ready to rear its ugly head and jump out of the darkness where it dwelt to attack and gnaw at the reasonable mind. It was the beast of human nature.

    The elevator door opened and Trumaine stepped into the silence of the department office hall. It was as tidy, neat and bright as any office should be. The day sergeant sat behind his desk, typing away in his computer, when he looked up in surprise.
    “Tru? I thought you were off,” he said.
    “Yeah, me too,”