“And your son was working at one of them, right?”
“Yes,” she exhaled, “My eighteen-year-old son Sujay along with his friend that got us to move here. Gopal.” Bita shook her head. “Sujay just recently graduated high school and planned to take a year off before going to Boulder for college.” She paused a moment before saying, “thank God he was in the bathroom when the place blew up. He only had a few minor injuries.”
“But Gopal was one of the dead,” Masaru said.
Bita looked down sorrowfully, “yes.”
“Do you know why you might have specifically been targeted?” Masaru asked.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Bita shook her head, “the people at LoC Security said they had a theory it might be Benecorp. They were known to fund domestic terrorists that like to harass local competitors. But why they specifically targeted me, I’m not sure.”
“I’m looking at the time,” Masaru said, “and I think you need to be going?”
“Yes,” she smiled, exhaling slowly, “turns out having your business bombed is bad for business.”
“Well, thank you for stopping by,” Masaru said, “we definitely hope the best for you, and that you can get back on your feet after these terrible attacks.” He turned to me, “maybe we’ll have to visit the remaining Triple B store sometime soon.”
“Thank you,” Bita said, “and thanks for having me on your podcast. It was nice to get to talk to someone about all this. And you were a gracious host. I hope what I’ve been able to say can help both of us.”
“Me too,” Masaru said, “It’s been my pleasure.”
The next day, Colonel Aaron Reynolds visited the house. He came around from time-to-time as we attempted to coordinate the Easter mission. I found that he sweated over a lot of details, often coming to talk about things Akira and I already considered settled. But it seemed to comfort him to go over it again. He was also very prompt with information his people obtained from their reconnaissance missions. That’s what he came by to discuss.
“I’ve just received word that one of the houses was liberated,” Colonel Reynolds said, taking a sip of the instant coffee I’d made for him through his tightly clenched jaw.
“More vigilantes?” I asked.
The Colonel set the cup down on the counter and shook his head, “my people. House was abandoned. All the vehicles up and left. Nobody was comin’ in or outta that house.”
“The kids too?” Akira asked, pushing strands of lengthening hair back behind her ears.
“Kids were still there,” he said, leaning back against the counter, “my people went up for a closer look. When they got in, all the traffickers were gone. Basement door was still locked. Fourteen kids down there, in much the same state’s the ones brought in back round Christmas. Said they was left there alone almost two days before.”
“Where’d you bring them?” I asked.
“I got on the line with Commissioner Greenfield out in Denver,” Reynolds said, “he wanted ‘em brought there, so that’s where ther headed.”
I exchanged a look with Akira.
“That’s probably for the best,” I said, “Cortez is already swamped with the ones we have.”
“I figured as much,” the Colonel nodded, “traffickers musta got spooked. I got my guys scouring the area in a thirty-mile radius, but them traffickers had torn RFID chips out, smashed ‘em and doused ‘em in DNase. Probly long gone by now.”
“Any of the other houses about to fold?” Akira asked, taking out her pack of cigarettes.
“No visible signs we can see,” he said, twisting to pick the coffee back up, “but weren’t any at this one, neither.”
“Leaving the kids there makes it seem like the traffickers left in a hurry,” I said.
Reynolds shrugged, “maybe so. But without anyone to question, no way to know for sure. My people ran a wand over the kids to make sure there weren’t bombs sewn in ‘em or nothin’ and came back clean. The other houses gettin’ more kids showin’ up, too.”
“How’s that possible?” Akira asked, taking the last cigarette from the pack, “I thought you said you haven’t seen any trafficking coming from the border wall since the Brazilian occupation.”
“We ain’t seen none since we started watchin’,” the Colonel said, the cup stopped near his lips, “but that weren’t till after the Brazilian occupation.” He cleared his throat, “seen transports comin’ from the CSA. The PRA. Even Canada.”
“They’re buying children from those places now?” Akira asked, crushing the empty pack in one hand.
“Not that we’re aware of,” Reynolds said, exchanging a glance with me over his coffee cup. Even he saw it. Akira wasn’t catching on as quick as usual.
Something I’ve noticed quite a bit recently. Her intelligence is clouded by her emotional state…
“Seems they’re returns,” Reynolds explained.
“Returns…” she said, the realization coming to her as she set the crumpled cigarette pack down on the counter.
“Pimps ‘n creeps that bought them kids before,” Reynolds said, setting the cup back down without taking a sip, “ther gettin’ spooked too, with all these vigilantes and what have you. Plus, ain’t no way they haven’t seen us watchin’ ‘em, no matter how careful we are. So, people sendin’ them kids back before they get caught with ‘em.”
“Christ,” Akira looked to me, slowly shaking her head.
“This might be a good thing,” I said.
Akira’s eyes widened, “how? You know how shitty those people treat them. You were one of them for a while.”
“He’s not wrong,” the Colonel said, “if most the kids get sent back, we can round up a lot more of ‘em from our one mission. When they’re spread out all over God’s green earth, it makes it a lot harder to track ‘em down. Specially if they’re off in the other regions.”
“But what happens when the traffickers realize they’re market is drying up?” Akira asked, fidgeting with the unlit cigarette between her fingers, “What happens to the kids?”
Colonel Reynolds shook his head, “they’ll probly try ‘n wait this all out, ya ask me. But I never trafficked humans before. Maybe you can ask someone who has.”
I looked to Akira, knowing Darren came immediately to her mind. He probably wouldn’t know the protocol any more than any of us would, but Akira wouldn’t let that stop her from getting angry at him about it.
“Anyway, just thought I’d bring this to yer attention,” Colonel Reynolds said.
“Thanks,” I said, looking back to him, “but I have another question.”
“Shoot.”
“The kids being sent back from the PRA…any idea where in the PRA they’re coming from?”
“Not sure,” he said, “hard to track where they’re comin’ in from.”
“And do the kids from the PRA exhibit Shift withdrawal symptoms?”
“Like I said,” Reynolds shrugged.
“Alright,” I said, “thanks anyway. Should we be expecting a bill anytime soon?”
Reynolds smirked, “I try not to think about money too much. But I’ll alert the big wigs in Denver.”
I let the Colonel out and went back to Akira in the kitchen. She stood in the same spot, cigarette unlit.
“You okay?” I asked.
She looked to me, taken away from whatever preoccupied her.
“Not really,” she said, “I’ll take your turn in the lab.”
Akira tossed the unlit cigarette onto the counter and walked to the basement door, closing it behind her.
She had taken every one of my shifts since breaking down in front of me. Working on batches of chromosome treatment wasn’t my favorite thing to do. Even still, I tried convincing her to let me cover my lab duty, but she was insistent. So, I didn’t bother arguing anymore.
“It’s finished,” I said, looking out my bedroom door.
Laura sat in the chair, just beginning her fifth project. She set the nascent work down gently and got
up, strolling over into my room. Her gaze landed on the canvas. This time I had done it all in pencil, using different lead sizes and shapes to make a detailed black-and-white sketch.
“What’s this one?” she asked, studying it.
“These are the Andes Mountains in what’s now Chile,” I said.
“During Inca times?” she asked, a hint of pride in her voice at knowing something about history.
“This was long before the Inca Empire,” I said, “this is from maybe twelve thousand years ago. It’s a sight I remember seeing when I was in a tribe down there. It was very early on in the human migration into the area. This was actually a good memory of mine. It wasn’t an easy life. Quite a few people died from diseases, but I recall that everyone seemed happy more often than not.”
“Why did you go all the way down there back then?” Laura asked.
“That’s a good question,” I said, “I’m not sure you can pin it on any one impetus. People in the present like to look back on things in the past that took thousands of years and try to figure it all out like there is some single, monolithic driving force. One generation might have been well-fed and simply just curious, wanting to see how far they could go. The next might have had a shortage of food and needed to move on. The next might brush up against another tribe that doesn’t see eye-to-eye with them – on food or just simply your alien culture – and the tension causes them to flee. The next generation might have a flood or a bad winter or a drought come through and have to move on. Sometimes you get somewhere only to find you can’t go back for any number of reasons, so you just have to keep going. All these little things add up over many generations and to people in the future, it looks like a great migration led by some guiding creed.”
Laura stood staring at the picture for some time without saying anything. Finally, she spoke, “it’s amazing how much you’ve been through. I can’t…I wish I could have seen that with you back then.”
I shook my head, “it was amazing. But it wasn’t worth everything that came with it.”
“You always say that. But still…”
“There is a romantic sort of idea people have about going through hardship to build character,” I said, “and that’s almost certainly true. But there is a certain point where hardship stops building character and starts tearing it back down. And when you’ve had hundreds of thousands of years of it, hardship is just atomizing the fine powder that had once been your character.”
“You always talk about how damaged you are,” Laura said, her eyes now on mine, “I don’t see it.”
“You’ve seen me having my panic attacks before,” I said, “in the truck coming back here. In the hospital in Mexico…that’s the real me poking through this…this façade. That’s what I should be like all the time. It takes every ounce of…I don’t know, willpower, that I have…not to just turn into a drooling, quivering mess laying in the corner all day every day.”
Laura looked like she wanted to say something, but both of us were distracted when a familiar voice reached our ears from downstairs. I gave her a smile to reassure her that things were alright and then both of us headed down.
In addition to the podcast guests, people working to help us with the rescued children, the occasional local asking how they can get involved, and LoC Security agents coordinating the Easter mission with us, we could also expect Aveena to show up every eight days. But even she showed up more often than scheduled. Aveena grew fond of our company – particularly Masaru and Yukiko. She came this time, beaming with characteristic joy.
“She’s not scared of me,” Aveena said, scooping up and tickling a laughing Yukiko with her bright orange fingernails as she entered the living room.
Aveena wore a button up shirt with the top three buttons undone, nothing but a bra on underneath. A blue armband embroidered with the gold double-helix of PanEvo wrapped around her right arm. Her black cargo pants were several sizes too large, pockets bulging with unseen tech. Her Mohawk, now dyed bright orange, tumbled down over the right side of her head, concealing her face up to the eye. She had thick, neon orange eyeliner on, the double pupils of her bright orange irises gazing toward me. Her nose, eyebrow, lips, and elongated ears were still interspersed with their plethora of rings, studs, and jewels.
“You don’t have nearly as many modifications as a lot of the other kids there,” I said as I reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Not ones that are like out in the open,” Aveena giggled, turning to carry Yukiko over to the couch.
Yukiko sat calmly in Aveena’s lap, staring at the transgenic teenager with open mouthed fascination. The toddler’s chubby hand reached out, touching Aveena’s face, both of them giggling. I sat on the other side of the couch, Laura between us. Masaru hobbled back over to the podcast equipment where he was working on installing some new hardware.
“Do we even want to ask what else you have done?” Laura asked as Yukiko tossed herself onto Laura’s lap, eyes still stuck on Aveena.
Aveena laughed, “I’m a tranny in more than one way.”
Masaru bumped into something as he turned, looking to Aveena. She lifted an eyebrow.
“You mean you’re transsexual?” he asked.
Aveena glanced to me then looked back to him, “is, uh, that a problem?”
“A problem?” Masaru said. After a pause he laughed, “oh, no, sorry. It’s not a problem. You see, Akira is transsexual.”
Aveena’s eyes shot open. “Oh, my God! Really?”
Masaru’s smile faded, “she’s kind of going through some stuff right now, though,” he sighed. After a moment a weak smile returned, “but maybe you can talk to her, since maybe you might understand what she’s going through better.”
“Yeah, of course! I’d love to talk to her sometime,” Aveena smiled, “She must’ve got, like, that new procedure if she was able to have Yuki I bet.” She lowered her gaze. “I’m, like…not nearly that far along.” She looked back up. “But it was actually when I started my transition that I like got into the transgenic scene and everything. They helped me a lot! They’re very accepting.”
Masaru gave her a sheepish smile, “I guess it’s not really my business to pry into your business.”
Aveena responded with her cheery laugh, “its totally fine! I’m not, you know, shy about talking about myself or anything.”
“It’s just that Akira is the only other transgender person I’ve ever met,” Masaru said, “and I’ve known her for so long I forget that not everyone wants to talk about it.”
“And I spend so much time with my transgenic friends that I forget some people have, like, you know, weird social rules and stuff about talking about it,” she smirked.
Masaru turned red, blushing. “Was it difficult for you, too?”
Aveena shrugged, “not really. My friends got into the transgenic scene early.”
“Like Salia?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said, “I’ve known her a long time. Like, since before she had all the modifications and stuff. And back when I looked like a scrawny little boy.” She snickered thinking about this, “I think we were both like seven or eight when we met. I was all worried about puberty making me, like, too manly, you know? But when we were like ten or eleven, Salia introduced me to this gene doping that would like stop the onset of male puberty and stuff. It like stops certain androgen receptors and lowers testosterone and stuff. Then I could take like this gene doping that increased female hormones.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “halt puberty?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I didn’t want to like get all hairy and stuff!” she giggled.
“Was it something Salia produced?” I asked.
“No,” Aveena said, “not back then. She had like just started getting into some like basic stuff by then. But she’s always been totally awesome at finding everyone who knew how to get the good shit. It was like, commercial gene doping or whatever, but…you know, like on the black market, I guess.”
“Do you
know what company made it?” I asked.
Aveena looked at me funny and said, “no, but I definitely could find out. Why?”
“The children we rescued,” I said, “they were given gene doping to halt the onset of puberty. The people that were giving it to them might have gotten it from the same place Salia’s connections did.”
Aveena looked at me wide eyed, “holy shit!”
“Would you want to give us a sample of blood to see if we can match it?” I asked.
Aveena sat on the couch, looking back forth between all of us with wide eyes. “I…well, yeah, I guess.”
I shook my head, “sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I just heard you say that and my mind went right there.”
She laughed nervously, “it’s totally fine. I just…I never thought there might be like, you know, some kind of connection between what I took and what they gave the kids, you know? But if I can help…”
“Maybe we can have Akira take a sample while you’re here,” Masaru said.
“Totally,” she said, “I, like, don’t really get to see her much when I come over here and everything.”
Masaru turned, going back to his work. “Well, like I said, she’s going through kind of a rough patch.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Aveena said, “I mean, I really am. I know Salia admired Akira’s work for so long. Maybe it would, like, cheer Akira up if we got ‘em to meet each other or something.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Masaru said, then looking over his shoulder with a hopeful smile, “from what I’ve heard about her, I bet Akira would get along with her great.”
Masaru wanted something to give him hope, but he was also aware that Akira would resist. Even if she wasn’t busy almost all day every day, rarely was Akira in the mood to meet with anyone she didn’t have to.
Incarnate- Essence Page 28
