She moves her replacement arm and then I know. I can almost hear her thoughts. She’s probably thinking Uplanders think they’re better than her. Because they can now make humans, or something better than human.
“What now?” I ask.
Her eyes focus like a laser on some invisible distant horizon I can’t see. “Now, I get my family back.”
“But how? I mean, if they are where we think, it’ll be tricky.”
I let my eyes linger too long on her, waiting for a reply. When her eyes reach mine, she blushes. “I have a few ideas,” she says.
“Do they include very bad things? I have a feeling you are thinking of committing a few more infractions, a felony perhaps?” I laugh.
“You’re catching on, Synch.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For including me. Using my chosen name.”
“No problem. You could have sent me to containment by just whispering to a guardian at any point that I was holding you against your will. But you didn’t.”
“I thought about it. But I don’t think they’d listen to me. You’ve a way with people.”
And she laughs.
“I would never do that,” I say. “Not now, knowing what I do.”
Silence stretches between us like a massive black hole. Nothing to say, nothing to do, we just take in the surroundings and, for a moment, relax. She isn’t good at relaxing. I don’t think her body ever has, running on adrenaline since birth. But she seems to slouch a bit, so that’s encouraging.
As we sit, I feel a sudden buzz and another Info-Run cascades over the right corner of my vision. From the way Ashiva cocks her head, I know she’s reading it too.
INFO-RUN
URGENT ALL
The Minister of Communications is mourning the loss of her son to the extremist group the Red Hand. His kidnapping took place early yesterday morning. Due to the SA law, no negotiation will take place, no retrieval of the kidnapped Uplander. If they are seen, they should be reported to authorities right away. Ashiva, AKA, CHROME TIGER, has been spotted in Central. She is armed and extremely dangerous. If anyone sees them together, or apart, notify Central immediately.
Under the Info-Run is a picture my identification card and a blurry image of Ashiva entering the AllianceCon tent that Solace took just moments ago. They are watching us. I feel the world closing in.
Ashiva takes my hand and lifts me to standing. “Let’s go.”
“What’s happening?”
She pulls me into a crowd and down a dark street. “That’s your mum, then? The flitting Minister of Comms? Ravindra’s right hand?”
I can’t tell if she’s pissed, scared or both. Probably both.
“I didn’t want to tell you. I’ve been trying to get away from her my whole life . . .”
“It doesn’t matter right now who is chasing us. We need to get out of here right now, before we’re seen.”
A buzzing surrounds us from above and some UAVs lock onto our location as we run. But we don’t stop. “Halt!” They call after us in their flat, computer-tone voice. Ashiva moves straight into a crowd and we lose a few UAVs that busy themselves with trying to identify visitors. But there’s one that sticks to us, like a predatory bird coming in for the kill. It dives down and nearly touches us. “Halt!”
I know it’s sending our location to Central as it flies, transmitting everything through its camera. Suddenly, Ashiva stops running and pushes me aside. She stands like she’s steadying herself, and pulls her arms to her side, right fist higher, closer to her body than the left, ready for a fight.
“C’mon machchar, you piece of dung. Let’s go.”
It comes to her level and she crouches, then pounces upwards, just high enough to rip the drone from the sky and tears its rotors off like she’s peeling wings off an insect. Then she tosses it to the ground and with one smash, she crushes the bastard to bits. That’s about a gazillion infractions.
“Yes!” I yell, cheering for her.
“C’mon.” She smiles and we run as fast as we can to the edge of Central, down in the elevator and into the darkness of Strata One. As the levels of Central pass us, I realize something.
“I’ve nowhere to go.”
“Neither do I. Now we understand each other,” she says. “We need to get out of Central. Then we can regroup with the others.”
“Right.” But a sick feeling creeps across my body. An endless weight of heartbreak. The idea that I’ll never see my flat again. The idea that I’ll never eat real food. The idea that my mother put out an Info-Run that declares my lack of worth. That her words may have sealed my fate as a criminal of the state. By the time we descend forty Stratas, I’m coming to grips with my future.
The doors of the elevator open when we reach Strata One.
“I just want you to know,” I say, “that I want to help. I can help. I’m sorry.”
Ashiva nods, nervously.
In front of us stand three figures: two armed thugs and a woman. Geena, my mother’s assistant.
“Hello, Riza,” she says.
This will not end well.
31 //
Ashiva
Run and fight. These are the two things that keep me alive. It’s important to use them in that order. Running works best as the first line of defense from goondas, guardians, and general trouble. Fighting is effective only if I can’t outrun them. Hiding, though, is my last resort. Most recently I hid from a C.O.R.E soldier and in Synch’s closet. Nothing good comes from hiding. I should have fought on both accounts.
“I’m sorry,” he says, but I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for.
The three people pull us from the elevator and toss us against the wall. The woman looks like an Uplander, probably upper management, not fancy enough to be super-rich, but employed by them, nonetheless. The other two are just guards, hounds, good as dead as I calculate their height and weight, and lack of martial abilities. When they put the restraints on my wrists, they tighten them until my skin bruises. I can’t show all my cards yet. If I fight now, Synch could get hurt.
Synch says, “Geena, just let her go. She didn’t do this. I came of my own volition.”
The woman strokes his cheek. “Why, Riza? Why’d you do it? Your mother gave you everything. Most would’ve killed for your place. Why’d you go and steal from Solace and trade with trash?”
One man holds him. They don’t know about my replacement. Even though I tore the gloves punching a wall, the chrome is still nicely covered by the shadows.
“She’s not trash.”
“Do you even know what’s on the data packet you gave her?” Geena asks.
“I’m getting tired of your talk. Just get on with it,” I say with a smile. The guard makes a move to grab me, but I dodge him and laugh.
“Kill the Downlander scum and leave her body somewhere visible, somewhere the cameras will see. You, bring him. We’re going on a ride to Ahimsa.”
“No,” Synch says.
The woman hisses, “We’ve been looking for you, Riza. What a pain you’re turning out to be. But no, you have to be alive, and hanging out with a Downlander kachara. Your mummy can’t be without you, so we’ve got to take you to Ahimsa and clear you of all this nonsense. So much extra work. Would have been so much easier if we could have pulled your body from the sea.”
“She’s not garbage, you fake, mindless woman. When was the last time you had a thought on your own? The funny thing is, you don’t even know,” he spits his words at her as she pushes me forward through the crowd.
The woman signals to the others and puts a hood over Synch’s head. They’re going to get rid of both of us. Quickly, they load him into a transport and leave me with the other guard in the shadows. I catch the code on the transport and memorize it. 48594. 48594. I repeat to myself over and over again.
Where’d they come from, so fast? They must be following him, following us. He said his mother would be looking. He’s right. I’m so carele
ss. Distracted. Was this what Khan was afraid of? Did he set me up for failure here? They aren’t heading toward Central and Solace. The transport is moving towards the Narrows.
Nothing good will come of this.
But before that, I can’t let Synch throw his life away. Not for them.
“I can make this quick, girl,” the idiot guard says, turning me around to face him. “Or I can make this painful.”
I shatter the restraints with a tug, relishing the shock in his eyes when he realizes I am not some meek little girl. “I vote for painful.”
He takes a step back.
I move into first offensive position, one leg in front of the other, fists ahead, balanced and ready. “You first.” I wink.
The goonda looks confused, but takes the shot. His top-heavy, body-builder’s form tosses fists over hips and before he sees what’s happening, I kneel and bring my elbow out, arm bent, and let my hook fly at his leg with all my power. He collapses like fractured glass.
“My leg! You broke it!” he screams.
So weak. What a killer. Muscles without skills. I almost feel sorry for him. But then he takes out a handgun, an M50, an illegal weapon for sure, and aims it right at my face.
One punch to his chest, and he’s gone. I’ve got no choice. Maybe he’ll survive, maybe not. He’s not my concern. The gun goes flying into the water. Dhat. Would have been handy.
I run fast, my lungs cut with the wind. Jumping over curbs, around transport rickshaws, and through people. I push, shove, and run. I nab a small transport as the driver helps his fare to the curb. I’ve lost their position, but follow their direction.
Speeding down the road, I’m already about a quarter kilometer behind the transport, but I know the way better than they do. I swerve around and take one, two, three alleyways, and spot their vehicle about twenty yards ahead.
Something inside me is wild. Even though I have the coordinates, and I can get away back to my team and regroup for our next mission to the island containment and get Taru, I’m frozen. Something consumes me that I’ve never felt before.
I have to get him back, no matter the cost.
What I feel is strange. Obligation?
I made a promise to him to keep him alive. And I keep my promises.
32 //
Kid-Synch
The hood over my head is heavy and made from some sort of polymer fabric—I can breathe, but seeing is impossible. I count the bumps on the road and realize we are driving fast through Central.
I say, “You know my mother. You’ve known me since I was a kid.”
Geena’s voice is venom. “Shut up, Riza.”
“At least take off my hood. Don’t treat me like an animal.”
When someone lifts it, I can breathe again. Three people: my mother’s assistant, and two bulked up men. One is driving and the other is giving me a good once-over with an evil eye.
“Take me to my mother.”
“Not in ten thousand lifetimes,” Geena says. “The farther away you are from her, the better.”
“We should gag him. Shut him up right,” the evil-eye man says.
“It’ll be over soon,” she says. “Once we do the full reset and get you far away from here.”
“You can’t do this!” I shout as she signals to the evil-eye man, who pulls a gag between my teeth.
The transport races over the last street past the Liminal Area and down a filthy, wet path toward the Narrows. It zooms through the unmanned gates and into the two centimeters of water that covers the ground everywhere. All I can think is that this is where Ashiva is from. This is her home. I can’t let them take me to Ahimsa. I know what they’ll do there. I won’t be the same. They will do a complete reset. I’ll never even remember that Ashiva existed. All of my memories of the past few days will be gone. And all that will be left is a useless, empty, compliant Uplander loser.
We reach the edge of the Narrows. A C.O.R.E soldier is posted at the main entry in front of a twisted and broken metal fence, like a temple icon. As it moves aside, the robotic suit screeches and moans. I watch the curve of its helmet, the lift in its boots, the hydraulic pumps that run outside the back of every joint.
It looks like my mecha, the one I built in the Mecha Wars game. The one I made that was inspired by Kanwar Uncle’s plans. I look at the machine and see my mecha come to life before me. The care in the layers of armor, the heat-resistance paneling, all made for his agribots to withstand the heat and extreme weather.
Mother stole the plans from my secure network?
I did this.
“Geena, did you know too? Did you know she stole my plans?”
She flushes. “It doesn’t matter, Riza. Anything you make is proprietary and owned by Solace Corp. Employees are all subject to the same laws, even the useless interns. Didn’t you read the fine print?”
My heart races. It can’t be. “But she built war machines. She’s using the mechas to quiet the people in the Narrows before AllianceCon.”
“Solace ran the numbers and decided it was likely there would be an uprising. Statistically, it was only a matter of months before the Downlanders would decide to overthrow the balance, to demand more. We needed to clean up the area. We couldn’t take the chance because of AllianceCon.”
“Do you hear yourself?” I say. “You just said that Solace decided. Solace can’t decide. It’s not self-aware. It’s an algorithm. And even if it were, you are still a human with free will.”
She glares at me and out the window, like my words don’t make sense, like I’m speaking an old tongue. Like she isn’t able to compute.
Stage 4 disaster. Structures are shattered, empty, and the roads are covered with sand, dirt and broken bricks of asphalt. Sandbags line the area, piled six high in places, probably to keep the Narrows above water since the sea wall was destroyed in Central’s effort to get inside the area. There are workers busy moving materials from one section of the Narrows to the next. If they’re Downlanders or from the Liminal Area, I can’t tell. But either way, they’re not here by choice. Lights are staged and lifted high above everything so they can work non-stop. They are living and working under surveillance, like they are prisoners, terrorists, or both.
What the hell are they doing here?
We move through and past them. Up and down. And yet, I don’t care. Not anymore. Whatever I am supposed to feel, I don’t. I can’t. If the feelings that are supposed to happen came to me, I think it could kill me. Numb is the only other way to go.
I am a fugitive.
I think I’m in love.
Mother wants me alive, but rebooted.
None of these thoughts goes with the other, but they leave me dizzy.
“Stop there!” Geena yells to the driver. The transport pulls over on an empty, cemented path overlooking the Sea. “If you could have just come home without entering Solace Corp, our orders were to get you to an extraction point to meet your mother. To leave all this mess behind. But since you went ahead and got tangled up with the terrorist group, we have no choice but to keep you here and do a total reset. There’s no spa, son. It’s all lies.”
“Ahimsa is a lie? Wait, then what are you going to do with me?” I ask.
“I connect you to Solace and she runs a system factory reset. It’s a new program courtesy of the SA. They’ve been worried about an uprising inside Central, and we can’t have that. Too much is at stake. Don’t worry, it’s painless and you’ll be right back to where you were when you got the neural-synch implant.”
“You do realize that what you are doing is illegal, right? That you’re tampering with the memories of the son of a minister? Your neural-synch will record everything. What if she’s setting you up to take the fall? She’d do that, you know. She doesn’t care a shit about you or anyone else. If she’s willing to reset her own son, what do you think she’ll do to a lowly assistant?” My voice is a growl and I don’t care.
“Get everything ready,” she says to the driver and the evil-eye man.
She turns on a tablet and uncoils wires to connect to my neural-synch.
“I’m doing what I’m told because without this, without her, I’m nothing. It’s not personal, Riza. I’m just following orders.”
I laugh. “What’s not personal about this? Your Downlander roots are showing. Don’t be so gullible.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. She has my son, Sunil.” She looks out at the two men. They lay down a tarp on the concrete, beside tools and a tablet. She moves close to me and whispers. “I’ll distract them. They just want to get paid. Stay away from them, and I’ll do what I can.”
Suddenly, a screech of tires tears through the air, and the van flips. We both fall to the floor and flip with the van, over and over and over. When I land upside down, I fight to focus. Geena is unconscious and pinned under the seat that fell on top of her. I crawl to the broken window and pull myself outside. My face aches and my shoulder is in agony.
A hand appears out of nowhere: It’s all chrome. “Ashiva.”
She pulls me to stand and says, “Next time, listen to me, okay?”
I try to nod, but my everything hurts. “Let’s go.”
“I need the money. No kid, no money,” the voice of one of the guards is gravel. The guard picks up a piece of metal and takes a swing at Ashiva. She blocks his attack, but slips and the guard’s arm moves toward me instead.
“Wait, I can . . .” I begin, but as the words leave my mouth, I feel a bolt of lightning burn through my chest and see a scrap of metal pierce my shirt. All breath leaves me. I gasp and fall to my knees.
“No, I’m sorry. No!” The last thing I see is Ashiva moving toward me and the evil-eye man with a shocked expression.
Then all goes black and red.
33 //
Ashiva
“NO!”
I’m too late. A thin man stabs Synch with a sharp piece of metal, some old scrap of rebar. And he goes down hard.
I can’t tell where Synch is hurt. His blood’s everywhere: through his clothes, out his mouth, over me as I lift him. Must’ve hit an artery; the spray is ridiculous, terrifying.
Rise of the Red Hand Page 22
