“What I wouldn’t kill to have Uplander tech. But a good mechanic doesn’t share her secrets. I got a first-class deal. It’s used, of course, but I’ve tested it. It’s spotless. No trace of Solace code. It’ll run with your tech offline.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I throw my arms around her and she steadies herself against the worktable. I’ll never know how she has such vast knowledge and connections, but it’s something we all accept, happily.
“Can’t have you complaining about your replacement drawing attention to itself. What use would you be to any of us locked up in containment?” She smiles. “Now, can you sit still?”
I nod through my smile. Her workshop is small and filled with parts and pieces of experiments, things that make us whole. Masiji replaced her own foot before I met her. She said it was deformed by arthritis and hard living; she knows what it’s like to live with a replacement, and constantly need to repair and mend it.
“Masiji?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever think about just leaving to the North? It’s been a quarter of a century since the bombs. It must be recovering. What if the fort is still there?” I fall into a daydream of flying over the Himalayas to Red Hand operatives in the North.
“It could be. Northern Fort could be there, buried in a mountain, in the valley with the river, and the village like mushrooms on the mountain. But we can’t go now.” The clank of metal on metal tells me she’s put her tool down.
“Why not? What if we could unite the Hand and launch our assault from somewhere they don’t expect?”
She smiles. “We can’t leave the Narrows. We would still know that we walked away from fixing a problem that we created. We can’t just leave this injustice the way it is. Problems would follow us.”
“What do you mean, ‘we created’?” Masiji’s body language bristles at my question.
“It’s just that we can’t walk away knowing how people are suffering here. If we don’t do everything to stop the SA and disable the PAC, they’ll just as soon kill everyone outside their gates. Their biggest regret is the truce.” She picks up her tool and says a prayer.
She’s right, but she’s sometimes hard to read. “Sometimes I wonder, you know, about all this and can’t help but think that people made these choices. They did this. Why haven’t they been held accountable? Shouldn’t that be our number one agenda? As the Red Hand, that is . . .”
She whispers, “They will be . . . in time. Every wrong will be righted. But first we need to get through to the world about our plight. Our biggest priority is the children. They need to survive this at all costs. Even if . . .”
“Even if what?” I ask. Masiji’s face is half covered with shadows and half in the light.
“Even if that means we make difficult choices to get there.”
“I understand,” I say, but I don’t. It seems clear to me. What’s happening here is wrong. The New Treaty is wrong. Where is justice? Why isn’t the world revolting?
Masiji stands upright and uses a clean rag to wipe her forehead and clean her goggles. “War is not easy to understand. The Red Hand has been fighting since before WWIII, but our mission changed as the world changed.”
“How do you mean?”
“Before WWIII, we were recognized by the SA government as a legal community group. We were nationalistic and wanted to help usher the SA into the future along with its population. We were idealistic. We wanted to save everyone.”
“Don’t we still?”
She nods and her lips turn white from pressing them together. “Yes, but everything has a price. We had to fight. Shankar’s militia joined the Red Hand. We became bigger, stronger. We will be strong again.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
She smiles as though she’s caught up in a memory. “Doesn’t matter now.” She leans over my body and I hear metal turning and a satisfying clicking sound. “And—just about done. Ready to test. Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
“They’re not . . . oh.” I realize my eyes were closed tighter than tight.
“Well, child, synch, and let’s see your best stretch. Gently at first.”
It’s been so long since I’ve had a perfectly working limb that I’m not ready for the disappointment. I sit up and look at my reattached arm, a good model titanium alloy and steel. The silicone skin was removed before the surgery and my cyborg arm is in full view, every inch of it. It hisses as the motors react to my suggestions. I push my plexus at my temple and let the machine bridge both systems: human and machine.
My mind fills with images of stretching my replacement to the sky. “Is it moving?” I don’t want to look. But suddenly I feel the fire of my ghost limb wanting to come to life.
“Open your eyes, girl. And see for yourself.”
It is. At this moment, the world seems possible. Smiling feels good, and only then do I realize it’s been a long time since I’d allowed myself to do so.
The workshop lights flicker again, and then go completely out. “Ach, useless things,” Masiji says as she turns on a few battery lanterns. “We still have work to do. I need to set the regulator and recalibrate the new plexus. It will take another hour or so. But you can relax. We are through the tough work,” she says as she lifts little Chota and puts him safely in his box. He spins his wheels, blinks his big camera lens eyes, then shuts down.
Finally I have an arm that works without giving itself away on my undercover trips to Central.
“Could we reattach the silicone too?”
“Of course. And I’ve installed a new liquid disc reader as well.”
“Nice upgrade! Thanks.”
She sits at her station and attaches cables to my arm and the computer. I close my eyes and listen as Masiji prays. This is the miracle portion of her surgery. No one else knows how she calibrates our replacements. It’s her secret. I’ve watched a hundred times, but never understood the final step. It has to be her prayers. She strokes beads on her wrist.
Just then, my wrist comms flashes with a message.
From Lord Zamir: The packet was delivered. We got it. Kid Synch came through. Next step, the world!
“What’s so funny, Ashiva?” Masiji asks.
“Zami just surprised me, that’s all.” I switch off the comms. “We sent a hack challenge on the underweb and some techie actually did it. They sent the data packet Himalaya to us. The hacker must be an insider at Solace—it’s just impossible to break in from the outside. We might actually have found ourselves a techie at Solace Corp to . . .”
Masiji gasps. “Himalaya? Why—?”
“You mentioned it a long time ago.” Caught in a trap, I realize I wasn’t supposed to have heard the information when I ran security for a Red Hand Council meeting in the past. “I thought it would be old and dusty and no one would miss it.”
“That’s dangerous. Solace knows every bit of data, where it goes, how it moves. That’s what she was made for. Trust me, I know.” Something in her changes. She is actually scared. The Commander is never afraid.
“Sure, but it’s just an old bit in off-site storage. The hacker is the one who would get caught, not us . . . they’re taking the risk. Anyway, now we have someone inside Solace. I thought you’d be proud.”
Her voice catches. “Why would someone agree to dig into Solace’s storage?”
“I promised a digi-pet.”
“Girl, what the hell is a digi-pet?”
“Ugh, it doesn’t matter. And anyway, the Red Hand has built a sort of name for ourselves on the underweb. There’s a lot of cache that comes with winning a challenge.”
“I don’t like you drawing attention to—” Masiji is about to start into one of her treatises on safety when the world shakes.
BOOM.
It’s the kind of sonic burst that drops your stomach to your feet. A bin of metal tools falls off the shelf, scattering across the floor.
BOOM.
“What in the gods’ name was . . . ?” Masiji ask
s as she picks her things up.
Still attached to the wires, all I can do is crane my neck out the window. A plexi-wall that wasn’t there before stands about ten yards from us.
“What the—?”
BOOM.
Guardian aircraft land in each corner of the Narrows. Suddenly, my comms flashes in emergency mode. The flood lights pour in from outside, a brilliant 3D image illuminates the sky outside, spinning for all to see.
I’ll never forget President Ravindra’s careful, even-toned, better-than-you voice. Her penchant for red is out of control. Red lips, red cheeks and eyes. Even her center part is painted with red powder. She looks beautiful and dressed in blood.
“This is an unsanctioned living quarter. By the ministers of the South Asian Province, you are ordered to quarantine.”
“Why is this happening?” I scream to Masiji. Though she’s a few feet away, she can’t hear me over the comms.
“Our planetary history has taken us on a unique path. Before the willful separation of our districts, we were embattled and on the edge of nuclear annihilation. Since the establishment of the PAC, the Earth has a chance. Solace and Central are burgeoning. New technologies are launched daily. And our position on the global market has been secured once more . . .
The sound of scraping, moving metal brings a bad taste to my mouth.
“However, again, we are faced with a new enemy in the Narrows. An area built without law, without morals, the Unsanctioned Territory must be removed. It is a hotbed for terrorism and hate. And now, sickness. The Z Fever is now a pandemic, and it has been detected in the Narrows, as was suspected. Because of the danger our guardians face with this new challenge of securing the Narrows, we have decided to employ the mechas of the future. Named after our goal, our future must be determined by our willingness to protect the peace: Shaanti. We present the C.O.R.E - Combat Operations Resistance Envoy mecha-suit. They will uphold the peace through their envoy and protect us from the imminent threat of disease. Under the New treaty, they are armed only with the newest non-lethal weapons.”
President Ravindra’s smile is wide, and behind her stand all the ministers of our Province.
I detach myself from the wire clips. “Mechas? Central has mechas?”
They finally come into view: four monstrous-sized, black robot shells with guardians at their helm. They are nearly twenty feet tall, solid black metal and emblazoned with Central’s symbol on their shoulders, and Solace Corp’s logo.
“The newest addition to Solace Corp. What they’ve been talking about. I never thought that war could be mistaken for peace,” Masiji’s voice is pain. “Shaanti. What have I done . . .”
Peace.
“But mechas?” I yell to Masiji. “What about the Treaty?”
“They must have found a loophole. Maybe they’re saying it’s a peace mission, with non-lethal weapons.”
We watch the guardian ships hover and land in the area, dropping more C.O.R.E soldiers in place, making it impossible for us to exit. They place transparent temporary walls on the edges of the block, sealing our passage, our fate.
“You need to go,” Masiji says as she hides her valuables and the Chota baby bot in a small hatch beneath the ground. “Now!”
“We need to go, come on. There’s still a passage in the Narrows road through the undermarket,” I say and drag her through the rear door into the alleyway. She is frozen by the sight of the C.O.R.E.
It’s dark, at night, and we can hear the screams of children and adults as they are being pulled from their communal houses in the Narrows. As we run, guardians line people up and test them for disease. Diseases they don’t have. An easy excuse to say the slums house the disease, the Z Fever. For once, I pray that Zami isn’t home. I pray that Taru ran away to the Liminal Area. That the Red Hand Council members are safe. But they’re not. I know. Because I tracked them all. They’re in and around the temple area in the underground catacomb. Dhat.
An old man takes a little girl in his arms and tries to run, and a C.O.R.E soldier hits them. The sound is terrible. I know the result. They’ll say they were resisting, to justify all of this, all the deaths.
“Run, Ashiva. Run and don’t look back. You have to live, otherwise all my work was for nothing.” Masiji pushes me with all her strength.
“I’m not going without you, Masiji.” She’s slower than me, so I jog a few yards ahead, scouting what’s to come.
We keep to the shadows and hurry along the alleyway between the shanty structures as it snakes and finally turns into a single-file passage down, underground. A wave of relief washes over me. We’ll get out and then we’ll free Zami and Taru somehow. I can use my connections on the underweb. We’ll find a way.
“Halt!” A guardian’s voice from behind us slashes my heart.
“Run. Hide,” she whispers. “When it’s clear, get to the undermarket. Seek out the Lal Hath originators. They’ll help continue the work.”
The concrete holds my legs.
“Stay strong. Stay strong for all the children,” she says and takes a few steps back.
Before I can protest, she pushes me forward and then runs toward the line of guardians.
“No!” A thousand screams say no, but I know she’s right. I have to run. If I am free, maybe I can help everyone, even her. Carry on the work. Thoughts spin in my mind like pulses of electricity.
And so I run.
My boots hit the ground as I run through the puddles in the tunnels. Masiji’s screams echo as the guardians beat her with their electro-pulse batons.
The sounds of nightmares. I want to turn around. But a fire carries me through the tunnels, deeper and deeper under the city, until my legs burn and my breath is ash.
When I’m at a safe distance, the horrific sight is clear. The entire Narrows that houses a million people—children and adults, Red Hand members and civilians—is on fire. The C.O.R.E uses some kind of sonic cannon to blast the crowd. Some people fall to the ground, clutching their heads or their ears. Another C.O.R.E uses a sort of heat-ray at the crowds and to burn the structures as people flee. None of this can be legal. Screams fill the air. Lines of people are being sorted, put into transports. Finally, the smoke moves and I can see that the temple structure is leveled and what’s left is a smoldering pile of rocks and rubble.
The Red Hand Commander is captured. Who knows how many were killed in the raze? Please, please, let them be safe.
I run. And all I have with me is regret.
12 //
Taru
I’m on seva duty when the little ones’ cries begin. They were sleeping. All of them. But suddenly they became uneasy, all the children in the nursery. Sunny, the good sleeper, starts fussing and crying. At only two and a half, she’s already had a few surgeries to repair her left eye, and inner ear. She had injuries when her Uplander family tried to have her modified to pass Solace’s tests.
It’s like Sunny knew something was coming, like she felt the vibrations in the ground before the monsters even reached our village.
I go to her cot, to comfort her with a song, a lullaby, her favorite.
Sleep baby sleep,
Sugar, roti, milk,
Milk and roti are finished
Sleep baby sleep . . .
But a child never cries alone when others are near. Soon, everyone is waking up, crying, asking questions.
Nothing soothes Sunny. Her cries are different, too, deeper. Her thick black hair reminds me of an endlessly dark night, far away from any city’s lights. A place I dream about going to with Masiji, Ashiva, and Zami. Somewhere far away from here. Where we can live on our own. Grow food. Surely a place like that exists in the Northern District; the Red Hand’s fort has to exist. Or maybe beyond the mountain ranges in the hill stations. Somewhere where it’s still cold. One day . . .
“Taruji, I hear a nightmare,” Sunny says in her smallest voice.
The ground rolls like an ocean wave.
“Earthquake?” I ask. Mrs. Zinaat, w
ho’s on nursery duty with me, shakes her head.
She is solemn. “Can’t be. All comms would have reported seismic activity. This is man-made. We must gather the children. Take them to the catacombs.”
“What if it’s nothing?” I ask, still rocking Sunny in my arms. The process of leading all of these half-awake children into the dark for a drill is the worst idea. “It’s too dangerous. We could lose one in the dark. There are only so many we can carry. We’re safer here.”
Her gaze and voice are concrete. “Do what I say, Taru. Now.” She lifts an electro-rifle over her shoulder, transforming immediately into a soldier.
“But—let’s wait for Ashiva. She’ll come and . . .”
“And what? Save us? Taru, we have to protect the children. Get going!”
The twelve children we have in the nursery are all under the age of six. The oldest children carry one infant each. Leaving four for her and myself. I carry two and she pulls the rest in a wagon made from metal siding scraps. I stash pieces of roti and ration pods in my pockets and the older children’s pockets as well. Inshallah willing, we’ll survive whatever is to come. Apocalypse or not, they’ll need to eat sooner rather than later.
We go into the darkness without a solar lantern. That’s why we can’t see them clearly at first as we climb above the shanty town. When the first mecha soldier enters the Narrows and smashes the gates, it’s lit by the entry torches. Like a demon coming to life, the monster soldier storms through the gatekeeper’s tower, armor glinting in the night. At least two people are inside, Sunny’s adoptive father, Sunil, and her mother, Gaura. They don’t emerge from the rubble. She is now a double orphan. Most of these children will be. We work so hard to place them in homes in the Narrows once they are ready. My screams are drowned by fear.
Rise of the Red Hand Page 11
