For the first few hours, guardians patrol the area. As a C.O.R.E walks the streets of the Liminal Area and shakes every bit of the structures, my body quivers from teeth to toes. But I hold my breath and pray to no one in particular that they can’t access my plexus. Masiji designed it to be offline, and I have to trust only the Info-Run and comms can intercept my plexus.
I cry, but my tears evaporate before they fall.
When I’m hungry, the nearest glitched-out goonda’s pack is wide open and a quick look gets me a ration pod and a quarter-full water bladder.
I have to find the elders of the Lal Hath, get help, free my family. But first, rest.
Resting is never easy for a tiger.
Suddenly, an Info-Run shoots down my vision, leaving me with no other choice but to read it.
ALERT
From: Minister of Communications
Thanks to the excellent policing, Central was able to stop a terrorist attack before it began in the Narrows today. All parties involved have been taken to an off-site facility, where they will be questioned. AllianceCon and Central’s 25th Anniversary Celebration will take place as promised. Thanks go out to those who keep our neocity safe. Our newest tech, built to keep the peace, assisted in the mission. As per the New Treaty, the limited casualties were for the greater good.
Frustration builds until tears come. A terrorist attack? Newest tech? Their mecha-suits?
Now it’s clear. Central’s lies can’t hide the truth: The Minister is done with the Narrows and everyone inside. It all makes sense now. They wanted to test the C.O.R.E before the AllianceCon to gain the graces of the PAC. And their money. But most importantly, Central wanted to clear the Narrows to wash their hands of the guilt. I wish we could put out a comms to tell the truth to Planet Watch. Even when we do, though, Central will spin it as a lie.
But we won’t be forgotten.
15 //
Riz-Ali
My internship training prepared me for every situation Solace Corp could foresee. From how to calculate issues of scalability with our energy sources, to managing the data capacity of the network, we studied everything. Everything Solace Corp deems vital information for the development, maintenance and survival of our chosen society in the South Asian Province, that is. I’ve never been allowed to deep-dive into Solace’s algorithm to search for the primary guidelines that formed her code. Why one person is better than the next seems an impossible choice to make. Solace’s original code is confidential. But it keeps changing anyway, every day, learning, growing from those initial few lines. Supposedly improving. But humans wrote the original code. What those few people valued, what they considered important to determine who would continue onto the next apocalypse remains a mystery.
Regardless, kidnapping isn’t in her program and I’ve no idea what to do.
We aren’t supposed to leave Central. We aren’t supposed to want to leave it. Even as the last in my class, I am trained to use my neural-synch to calculate code, data, and solve large problems. And, yes, this is a very large problem. Uncle would say to keep puzzling out the pieces and not give up. But I keep coming up zero. This all began with my attempt to connect with the Red Hand. At this point, they might still be my only hope.
Tongue intact, thankfully. Jai is all threat and little bite. But he is filthy and smells unwashed.
“Jai, is it? My parents are looking for me. Doesn’t that worry you?” He has seven scars on his face alone. One curls from his chin to his lip, like he got caught by a fisherman’s hook. His thick curly hair is a mop.
He doesn’t even look up. “Are they now?”
“Yes, of course they are.”
“Huh,” the goonda exhales spite.
I try to look him in the eyes, but he doesn’t budge. “Why do you think they won’t be? I’m an Uplander. There are a hundred ways to track me, to monitor me.”
“Sure there are, yaar. But these walls are made of ancient concrete. It just happens to be so thick and airtight that not a single bit of data can get in or out. It’s like a tomb. You’re on your own, so let’s get on with it.”
“At least tell me where you’re taking me.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?”
The way he walks, I can tell he’s had a few parts replaced in his legs, and that they desperately need tuning. I can hear the gears and electronics push and reset every few steps. It amazes me, the resilience of the Downlanders. Without a thing, they’ve figured out how to operate, adjust and calibrate. Imagine what they could do with access to our tech.
“What are you looking at?” Jai spits his words at me. “Don’t get funny and think about trying something, eh?”
“I wasn’t. It’s just . . . I could help you with your limp. It’s a flash easy fix edit—”
His fist is hard on my face as soon as the words come out my mouth. A rush of blood fills my mouth, leaving a strange metal taste. So much blood. My hands are covered in it. I’m not sure if it comes from my nose or mouth or where. I’ve never seen my own blood before, let alone tasted it.
He pushes me against the tunnel wall. “Do you think I want anything from you? Do you think for one second that your life is worth anything to me? It’s not. I’d sooner toss you into the sea than have to babysit you. But I’m a good soldier. I do as I’m told. And right now, you’re going to keep your mouth shut and make this journey a lot more pleasant for us both. Nod if you get me.”
I nod my head.
“Don’t cry, Uplander. This will all be over soon. I’m not going to kill ya. You’re not worth much to us dead, eh?”
My shirt catches the blood. For a second, he almost looks like he feels sorry for me.
“You have no idea what’s coming, do you?” Jai says before he pushes me to walk ahead of him. “What they’ve done to you, to us all?”
No way to answer that one. But maybe it’s not even a real question, so I just stare.
“You think I’m pathetic. But it’s worse for you. So sad.” He flicks my neural-synch and says, “No control, kid.”
“I’m not like them,” I say.
“Everyone thinks they’re on the right side. Scary thing is, even the villains think they’re right. If everyone’s a zealot, who can be right?”
When we reach the end of the tunnel, we climb a makeshift ladder that leads to the world above. The first breath of air is life-giving, but the second smells just as badly as the air below. I don’t know how the Downlanders do it. A violent coughing fit chokes my lungs, but Jai doesn’t notice or, more likely, he just doesn’t care.
He wraps a piece of fabric around my eyes. A door creaks open, heavy, metallic, old. Then it locks behind me with a permanence only metal can achieve. Someone pushes me to sit on the cold, wet ground and then I wonder if I am left alone.
“Hello?” My voice echoes in the silent, cold room. My mind races without sight. Every inch of my skin crawls, and my head spins, up or down is anyone’s guess. I try to focus, but the chills catch me. I’m going to be sick.
Footsteps, if they could be called footsteps, drag and scrape the concrete floor. Then someone takes off my blindfold and the rush of light blinds me even more.
I size up the room. Two boys, bigger and dumber looking than the next, with Jai at the helm, spinning a fist blade against the filthy floor, dulling the tip with each rotation. A few cheap-looking Downlander girls draping themselves across an expensive-looking, mismatched living room outfitted with expensive rugs, chairs, lamps. Pilfered things from Central. Thieves, all of them.
My eyes land on the sun around which these people orbit: a massive, fleshy boy sitting atop a chair made from the finest materials, extinct wood, cashmere fabrics. “You must be the techie. What’s your real name, techie?” His voice clicks at the end of his words, like he’s sucking some old bit of food from his tooth.
I bite my tongue, then remember the name of my flatmate. “Sidharth. What’s yours?”
Jai jabs me in the ribs with the butt of his blade. “If
we want a two-way conversation, we’ll ask for one.”
“Chup, you ape,” the Sun says to Jai. “Take off, eh?” He signals to the entire room and his people flee like street dogs.
“So, tell me, Sid, what do you do in Central?” He leans all the way back in his chair and it creaks under his weight.
“Data,” I say. “I work for Solace Corp.”
“I see.” He looks pleased. “What brings you to our edge of the network? It’s not every day you find an Uplander slumming it down here.”
“I was just lost. I’d always heard of the Liminal Area and got lost trying to find the ruins.”
When he smiles, it’s clear he’s replaced his two front teeth with translucent gems. “No connection must be driving you crazy.”
“Actually—”
“No matter. Baitho!” He points his massive hand to a small bench across from him and I sit. “Lost, you say? No one gets lost down here because no one’s dumb enough to come down here in the first place. It’s dangerous, being out of your element, but you know that now.”
“I am not like the other Uplanders, sahib.”
“Call me Khan Zadabhai.”
My heart shakes like glass. Caught by the notorious gangster. His crew runs the Liminal Area and the Narrows, and works with the Lal Hath. He is the only one profiting off of the division of the South Asian Province. And he is really profiting. Hands in everything, they say.
“Yes, Khan Zadabhai. Right, I’m a freelance coder.”
“A double player. Never heard of one of those. Why would you risk everything you have in Central? Oh wait, let me guess: You like to have a little fun on the underweb. Maybe got into some gambling or drug edits or something else? Maybe parents are pressuring you too much to be, I don’t know, perfect? Getting close?”
“What are you going to do with me?” My voice feels small.
“Not kill you, if that’s what you mean to ask. Everything down here has a price, and you, techie, could probably fetch an island-sized pile of marks on the undermarket.”
“Sell me? Who’d want to buy an Uplander?”
“You’d be surprised what people want down here. Body parts, testing. Hell, I heard of some Liminal desi who came into a sudden inheritance and bought a whole Uplander family, just to toss ‘em in the Sea. Who knows? It’s not my job to ask. These are strange times.” His laugh is full of echoes and scrap metal.
The thought of being sold and dissected like a science project makes me want to throw up. “Look, I’m sure I can be of benefit to you somehow. I mean I have connections to money. People would pay for my release.”
“Who, and what would they pay?” His gapped-tooth grin is too cheerful.
“I don’t know, maybe Solace Corp would. Or my family.”
“Solace and Central have a no-negotiation policy,” he says.
“But they do. They tell people they don’t. But everyone knows the last thing they want is for the body of an Uplander to turn up dead. It would be such bad comms.” I stand. Khan motions for me to sit.
“Or maybe that’s exactly what they want.” His lack of laughter invites chaos.
“That would be insane. Why fight for balance and the future only to blow the whole thing up?”
He lifts his massive body off the chair and moves too close to my face. He isn’t obese, just gigantic. I freeze. “Some of us do quite well with chaos and war.”
Then I know. He holds his blade to my temple and presses right beneath my neural-synch. “You’re not worth anything to me, but this, this pays on the undermarket.”
“Wait! I have money saved. I’ve got 10KR marks. And I can code. I know Solace. I must be worth something.”
Khan’s expression shifts. Like he sees something in my neural-synch that gives him pause. “Interesting choice, with the dull finish on your neural-synch. You’re from the high Stratas in Central, aren’t you?”
“No, I . . .” I say, but he doesn’t buy it. I should have made mine flashier like everyone else. He’s reading my choices.
“You’re ultra-rich, yaar, aren’t ya? Trying to convince everyone that you’re just an average Uplander. But you really hate it. You’re embarrassed by your money. You hate your neural-synch, your privilege. You want to hide it. Blend in. You’re trying too hard.” Khan calls out, “Jai, get your sorry bum in here!”
Jai enters the room like a scared dog.
Khan turns to him and says, “This one won’t pay, Jai, you ullu ka patha. You brought us an uppy, but the wrong kind. Get this one back inside Central without a scratch. I’ll let his family know of the favor so they can bury his trouble-making. That’s how we get paid. Chalo, Jai!”
“How do we do that?” Jai asks.
“I’ve got a job for Tiger. Need to get this uppy back home before the boss gets worried. White glove ‘em.”
Jai points a tube-like device at me and shoots.
“Hey, what the—?” The needle-sharp edges of a small round disc sink into my chest with metal clamps.
“It’ll keep them off of our trail as we go. Just causes noise in your tech, is all.”
I know Khan and Jai are talking, but I can only make out a few of their words. Something about Uplander and return and the Minister of Comms. They know.
A fabric hood falls quickly over my head and I am blind, again.
16 //
Ashiva
Being alone, after not being alone for so long, feels like someone removed my organs and skeleton, and stitched me back together. Empty. Like I’m not real. Like none of this could be real.
Yesterday’s raid has turned the undermarket into a ghost town. The few people remaining are starving, and if they can’t sell their wares, they’ll have nothing to eat. Faced with the two choices of death by starvation or death by guardian, some make the choice to stay in the undermarket in case the violence lets up. Guardians are patrolling and their battle in the Narrows continues—the flying transports buzz, their soldiers smash. The mechas crunch earth. The air is bitter with smoke. Usually, the tunnels that connect the Narrows and the Liminal Area is packed with people trading goods, food, spices, electronic parts, even medicine. All things we can’t get easily like the Uplanders. But now, after the raid, it’s sickly quiet and dark. Dark and safe. Those who remain are scared. I can feel it. It’s like it already happened here too. How am I supposed to find people who don’t want to be found?
The wall catches my body. The world is spinning so fast; my face feels hot. Heat suffocates me. But something catches my foot, and I fall to my hands and knees into a puddle. Hot, foul water splashes my face.
The first thing I see are her eyes.
They’re open. Lifeless.
“Taru?!” I gasp. Her face. My heart.
But no, not Taru. I wipe my eyes of the filth. A woman. A dead woman. I back away from her body and sit a minute. Was it the Fever? I don’t see a blue rash. She doesn’t seem sick. It’s as though she went to sleep and didn’t wake up. I look for wounds, but no, it was the heat. Her skin is blistered, burned. It kills just as easily as a sonic cannon, as starvation.
Her family is probably dead already. No one to care for her even after death takes her. I lift her body in my arms and carry her to the side. Cover her face with her dupatta, a sign the corpse-bearers will understand when they do their daily rounds. They will take her to the Dakhma, the high tower away from the Narrows, where they burn the bodies. Once used for exposing their dead to the carrion birds, the Dakhma is now empty of the birds that have long fled. So, everyone has accepted fire as the final change. We have no earth to bury our dead. The water would just carry them back to us. Cremation eliminates the risk of disease. It’s all we have. Die from the heat, leave in the flames.
I think of my sister as I wash my hands in the market stall. I hope I haven’t made her weak with my lies when all I wanted was for her to be safe, to protect her. I changed her health records to make it seem like she had a form of juvenile osteoporosis. I forced Masiji to sign off on i
t. I was planning on telling her she grew out of the disorder when she was older. But I only wanted her to be safe. Alive.
What have I done?
No one here will turn me in. But they won’t die for me either. They’ve suffered enough. Thousands of Downlanders could have escaped here too. They must be hiding.
A well-worn voice calls to anyone passing, “Divination, here. Astrology, raashifal, here!” He sings like the world isn’t burning all around us.
The voice speaks in many dialects. When he speaks in Masiji’s language, I pause in front of his stall. It’s a lesser known language, an old-speak. Suddenly, I’m just fighting to find a way to survive this. I’m right back to feeling her ripped from my hands by the guardian. The voice belongs to a man who’s probably only forty, but looks older because of the particulates and toxins that penetrate the Narrows and every cell of those who live within it.
Keep going. My boots slam hard against the wet concrete. Just what everyone needs, to waste what little they have on false hope. Maybe it’s not so bad, maybe I actually believe in the horoscope and divination readers too. But . . . not today. Today I have to find the originators of the Red Hand.
A man the size of a child stands in my way. His dhoti is carefully wrapped around his thin waist over military-grade cargo pants. He wears a well-worn vest as a shirt. “You, girl, you’re showing some bright colors today.” It’s the astrologer.
“Save it for someone who has a few marks to spare, Uncle.”
His hand rests on my shoulder, not something I usually allow. But he is an elder. “Girl, this is free, a gift. Why would I want your marks when I know you don’t have any?”
He reaches out to touch the necklace around my neck, my gift from Taru, and I push him away.
“Old man, I’m obviously from the Narrows, so that isn’t really prophetic,” I say. But there’s something alluring about him, like he has a secret. Gifts, in my life, are few and far between. More like nonexistent.
“Eh, maybe I read you wrong.” His smile is rich, full of buried secrets. “It happens once in a while.”
Rise of the Red Hand Page 13
