The Future Was Now

by J. R. Harber

  When he was back in the hallway, Daniel sealed behind him in a pod, Gabriel took a shaky breath. “Medical autom to pod 3575892,” he said loudly. “Authorization voice print Gabriel Ward.”

  “Acknowledge voice print, Gabriel Ward,” said an automated voice.

  Gabriel started quickly down the hall, back the way he’d come. After a moment, he heard footsteps behind him. He didn’t slow his pace as Joan caught up.

  “What was that?” she asked breathlessly.

  “It was an accident.”

  “I know, I was watching. That’s why you shouldn’t leave me out of these things.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I meant the questions. What’s a mayfly? Why were you asking him about it?”

  “What he said was true. It’s an old-world insect.”

  “Right. Because you have a reputation for asking irrelevant entomology questions of detainees. Seriously, Gabriel, who is he, and what were you talking about?”

  Gabriel hesitated, then relented. He scanned the wall of pods until he spotted an unoccupied one. “Come on, partner.” He grabbed Joan’s arm lightly and escorted her to the empty pod.

  “Are you detaining me?” she joked, but there was an edge of fear in her voice.

  “No. I want to talk privately.” He positioned himself in front of the facial scanner.

  “Everything in the pods is recorded,” Joan pointed out as he guided her inside and let the door close behind them.

  “Yes,” Gabriel said. “And so is everything out there. But the records from in here are more highly classified.”

  “So, anyone eavesdropping will be qualified to do it?”

  It was the third time in a row she’d framed something as a joke, he noted; he couldn’t tell yet if it was a habit of hers or something about him.

  “Yes,” he said in response. “Mayflies, in addition to being extinct insects, are untraceable credits.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I haven’t explained. A mayfly is an encrypted line of code, essentially, that transfers credits into or out of an account. Most transfers are direct, right? I buy tea at the supermarket, the cred goes from my account to the supermarket account, and anyone looking at either account can see what happened.”

  “I understand how banking works,” Joan said dryly.

  “Good,” he said, ignoring her tone. “Say I wanted to buy something I didn’t want anyone to know about. I’d buy a mayfly from a dealer, at a markup. Money transfers unaccountably out of my account. I pay for whatever it is with the mayfly, and money goes unaccountably into the other account.”

  “So, you’re just covering where money goes and comes from.”

  “Yes, if I use my State account, which of course would flag it as suspicious. But most people doing any kind of major trade in the underground markets aren’t using the State bank. There is an illicit, untraceable banking system, and it runs on mayflies. It’s what feeds the trade in unsanctioned technologies and a number of other enterprises that undermine our communities and the State.”

  Joan was looking at him wide-eyed. “You think Daniel is involved in that?”

  “I know he is. We all know he is. But we don’t know how, and we can’t prove it.”

  “Then how are you so sure?”

  “Did you hear him in there? He was playing with me.” Gabriel ground his teeth. In the moment he had been holding steadily on the surface, playing the game as Daniel set it out. Now fury rose in his chest. “Talking about bugs. ‘Innovative technology’—that’s not what we call it up here. It’s a trade term.” Gabriel sighed and leaned back, pressing his hands to his temples. “Joan, we—stalkers, I mean—have known about him for almost twenty years, and this is the first time anyone has had a reason to bring him in and question him.”

  He sat up straight, meeting her eyes. “And I have to let him go.”

  “I said stop touching the nettles.”

  Asa lurched out of a restless doze at the sound of Joan Ward’s voice. He quickly got to his feet. He had fallen asleep on his knees on the floor, resting his head in his arms on the bench. His pants had a few pinpoint holes, but they were sturdy canvas, and he hadn’t felt the sting of the nettles.

  He looked Joan straight in the eye. “What nettles?”

  She shook her head, seeming to suppress a smile. “Most people can’t sleep there. It’s designed that way.”

  Asa shrugged, deliberately casual, and gestured at his pant legs. “Most people don’t wear quality fabric.”

  “Well, you can go now. Your record has been updated.” She walked out of the pod, leaving the door open behind her.

  “Wait, what?” Asa rushed after her, his legs stiff from the cramped position he had slept in.

  She didn’t slow down, and when at last he caught up with her, they were walking down a hallway filled with squarish pods, all presumably identical to his own.

  “Do all of these have people in them?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Hey, wait!” Asa stopped walking, and after a moment Joan did as well.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening. You’re saying I can just go?”

  “Through that hallway. Your personal items will be returned to you before you leave.” She pointed to a gap between two of the pods, which opened into a small hallway Asa had not noticed before.

  “Okay. Thank you,” he said automatically.

  Joan gave him an odd look. He nodded and started down the hall, feeling her eyes on his back.

  He passed into the hall, and behind him a sliding door closed swiftly. Asa spun around; where the door had been was only a blank wall. He looked around. There was no door at the front. What Joan had referred to as a hall was actually a closed room, similar to the pods but without the benches—the complete featurelessness was disorienting. He bent over and touched the floor. It was smooth and did not sting, at least.

  “Asa Isaac Rosewood?” said an automated voice.

  Asa straightened. “Yes,” he said loudly. I’ve heard my own full name more times in the last two days than in my whole life, he thought.

  “Please confirm that all your personal items have been returned to you.”

  A drawer appeared in the wall and slid out. Asa went to it. Inside was his backpack, and he opened it and went through his possessions swiftly, trying to remember what he had packed in the first place. In the front pocket of the bag was his phone.

  “I guess that’s the most important thing,” he said.

  “Please confirm that all your personal items have been returned to you.”

  “Um, confirm. All my personal items have been returned to me.”

  “Asa Isaac Rosewood, you are now free to go. Your record has been updated to reflect this incident.”

  The front wall of the room slid open, revealing an unfamiliar street.

  “Thanks,” Asa said, grabbing his bag and hefting it onto his back. He was at the door when the autom’s words registered. “Hold on. What did you say about my record?”

  “Your record has been updated to reflect this incident,” the autom said pleasantly.

  “What does that mean?” Asa felt the blood drain from his face. “Do I have a mark?”

  “Asa Isaac Rosewood, you are now free to go.”

  Asa waited, but nothing more was forthcoming from the autom. He stepped out into the street and turned back to watch as the door closed and vanished. From the outside, the wall was ugly gray concrete.

  “Now what?” he muttered and was slightly relieved not to be answered by a calm automated voice. He looked up and down the street. Nothing was familiar, so he turned left and started walking.

  Asa had gone less than a dozen steps when he heard the door hiss again. He turned to look, stepping into an alcove between two buildings, as a man emerged from the door, shielding his eyes with one hand. Asa drew back farther into the corner. It was the man from th
e night before—Daniel James Horizon, the stalkers had called him.

  He was tall, and his clothes hung loosely on him. He looked exhausted. Asa watched as he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, then felt around in his breast pocket for something. After a moment he took out a flask and took a quick sip from it, then sighed heavily. He straightened, looking a little less drained, and started walking in Asa’s direction. Asa stopped breathing, trying to make himself smaller, but Daniel walked on past without breaking stride, not even looking in his direction. Asa remained motionless for a long moment, then peered out cautiously. Daniel was gone. Asa tugged on his backpack strap nervously, then set off in the opposite direction.

  Asa walked for what felt like hours without paying attention to where he was going, turning corners at random and scarcely looking up from the pavement.

  “Your record has been updated to reflect this incident.” Updated how? I didn’t DO anything.

  The thought filled him with a useless rage. Asa had never considered the possibility that it was possible to break his Social Contract without intending to—without even realizing he was doing it.

  He attacked me. How can I be responsible? I didn’t even hit back, did I? He stopped walking and closed his eyes, trying to picture the scene. I was talking to the girl, Eve, then he grabbed me—he hit me—Asa touched his eye lightly and winced, wondering briefly what his face must look like. He hit me again, then I slammed him into the wall. Okay, I did hit back. But he started it!

  Asa opened his eyes just in time to leap out of the way of a fast-moving family of four talking animatedly among themselves, apparently as unaware of the rest of the world as he was.

  Asa sighed and looked up at his surroundings for the first time. He had reached a break in the closely packed buildings and was standing on what he now realized was a bridge arcing over an enormous park, or maybe a garden.

  Leaning over the low wall of the bridge, he could see the whole park from where he stood. It was a rough oval, with clearly marked paths where people were walking. The perimeter was planted with a kind of tree Asa had never seen before, the leaves small and pale pink. In the far corner he could see some kind of animal moving, maybe a deer, and he felt a pang of homesickness.

  Maybe this was a mistake. Less than a day in the city, and he’d been hauled off by stalkers. All I did was talk to a girl. Maybe I should go home. Asa turned away from the park beneath him and leaned back against the bridge wall. I’d have to find my way back to the rail station.

  He pictured it, climbing back onto the train, the journey back, arriving home to the relief and mild scolding of his parents. The very thought of it was comforting, and the tension in his chest eased a little.

  But then what? Find a girl, get married, live just like my parents? I’d rather get sent to Work. I’d rather go to the Waste.

  “Are you all right?” a woman asked, and he pulled himself out of his ruminations.

  “What?”

  “I said, are you all right?” She was a little younger than his mother maybe, a short-haired woman in a bright red dress. “Your eye.”

  “Oh,” Asa said. “Yeah, fine.” He turned away, back to the garden below.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he heard her say, and he couldn’t tell whether she meant to be sarcastic. He hung his head.

  A pretty woman asks a question, and you’re rude to her? But after last night, who knew what might happen—he didn’t know the rules of this city. He didn’t know his own Social Contract as well as he thought he did. He glanced up. The woman who had stopped had reached the end of the bridge.

  “I’m sorry!” he said, knowing she was too far away to hear him.

  A high-pitched tone sounded, and Asa jumped. It sounded again, and he realized it was coming from his own backpack. He fumbled open the front pocket and took out his phone. The screen was lit up, displaying the name Eve Layla Ashland.

  His heart skipped, and he answered the call.

  “This is Asa?” he said and heard a laugh from the other end of the line.

  “Are you not sure?” Eve asked.

  “I’m sure. I … just got this phone,” he admitted, just stopping himself from saying, It’s my first call. “How did you call me?”

  “You told me your full name, remember? Asa Isaac Rosewood.”

  “Right. I guess some parts of last night slipped my mind,” he said ruefully.

  “Yeah. I’m really sorry about that.”

  Asa searched for words. “It wasn’t your fault,” he finally said.

  “I know. I’m still sorry it happened. Listen, I’m calling because I want to see you again. Can you meet me at my apartment tonight?”

  “What?” Asa stared at the phone, startled. That guy attacked me for talking to you. Won’t he kill me if he catches me at your apartment?

  “Asa? Will you come over?” Eve repeated.

  “Yeah, yes, of course.”

  “Oh, good.” She sounded relieved. She gave him the address. “Will you be able to find it?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Asa said. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Great. See you later tonight, around eight.” Eve hung up, and Asa stared down at the phone in his hands.

  What just happened?

  CHAPTER SIX

  “YOU HAD TO LET HIM GO. YOU DIDN’T HAVE A choice,” Joan pressed, managing to keep up with him stride for stride, though he was half a head taller.

  “There’s always a choice,” Gabriel retorted.

  “In this case, your other choice would have been to detain him without merit,” Joan said harshly, and he glanced at her.

  “Fair enough. But there should have been something I could do.”

  “You couldn’t have asked him anything else. You can’t stray beyond the bounds of the incident investigation.”

  “But we know there’s more.”

  “Then you have to find more,” Joan said placidly. He glared at her, then sighed. “What?” she asked, looking nervous again.

  “Nothing. You just keep being right. It’s annoying.” He smiled at her, and after a second she smiled back, still looking uneasy. “Come on,” Gabriel said, picking up his pace as they rounded the corner and Municipal 7 came into view.

  “Why?” she asked warily. “We have to file.”

  “You’re going to file.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find more on Daniel James Horizon,” Gabriel said grimly. “I’ll be in the Crypt when you’re done.”

  Joan nodded. “Okay. I’ll come find you.”

  Without waiting for a response, she veered off toward the main entrance. Gabriel stopped for a second, watching her walk briskly inside, before he headed for the sunken side entrance to the Crypt.

  Officially, it was the Archive, but it was dark and cool for the preservation of all kinds of historical and contemporary materials, and it was underground. People had started calling it the Crypt almost as soon as the building was finished. Gabriel waited impatiently as the door scanned his face, then slid open to admit him. He breathed in deeply. He had always liked the smell of the place—some combination of chemicals for preservation and the cool air, probably. The Crypt underlay the whole of Municipal 7—all the municipal buildings had Archives, but this was the largest—and it was laid out like a maze.

  New Bureaucrats and fresh Authority Figures sometimes wandered lost for hours, too stubborn to ask the automs for help. Gabriel had memorized the schematics before he ever had to set foot in the Crypt, and by now it was like navigating his own home. He made his way through a series of hallways to a wall lined with soundproof viewing booths and let himself in to the one at the farthest end.

  “Welcome to the Archive’s viewing facilities. Please let me know what I can show you,” the booth said pleasantly once he’d shut the plastic door behind him.

  The booths were shaped a little like the detainment pods, though they were painted in various pastel colors and lacked the po
isoned carpets and uncomfortable seating. This one, which Gabriel preferred, was light green. The front wall was taken up entirely by a video screen, and a movable control desk was pressed up against one wall, a variety of green chairs lined up on the other. He selected a straight-backed, armless one and pulled the desk out to face the screen.

  “I need drone feeds for habitation 47BQ9J,” he said.

  “Authorization voice print required for that request,” the booth said.

  “Authorization voice print Gabriel Ward.”

  “Acknowledge voice print, Gabriel Ward.” The screen flickered on. It was divided into quarters, three of them lit up with video. The fourth was blank.

  “I want to see all the drone feeds for habitation 47BQ9J,” Gabriel said, irritated. “I’ll select from there.”

  “Drones Gamma-631, Sigma-487, and Mu-248 are pictured. Those are the three drones allocated to the surveillance of habitation 47BQ9J,” the booth replied.

  “A building that size should …” Gabriel broke off. Of course he’s somehow managed to limit the drone activity around his home. “Never mind. Leave these up.”

  “Acknowledge, Gabriel Ward.”

  Gabriel turned to the controls and flipped through the feeds. They all showed the same thing: the reflective exterior of the building where Daniel James Horizon lived. I wonder … Gabriel took control of the drone whose feed was on the screen and pulled it out from the building, trying to orient himself. As he moved, the sun glinted off the wall, blinding the camera.

  The building’s covered entirely in plasmonic solar panels. Very civic-minded, whoever sculpted that one. Probably generates power for that whole sector of the city. Coincidentally very good at preventing surveillance. Still, it can’t prevent everything.

  Gabriel pulled out farther, flying the drone down to ground level and making it circle the building until he came around to the door. He angled it to show the sidewalk in front of the building as well and set it to hover. “You stay right there,” he murmured, then more loudly. “Leave that feed up, please,” he squinted at the letters in the bottom left of the screen. “Leave the live feed up for this one, Sigma-487, and show me archival footage of all three drones.”