by Britt Ringel
The trio left Reception.
Kat brought her fingers to her temples and rubbed. The visa violation. Of all the crimes committed over the last twenty-four hours, to be caught for spending the night in Waytown without a visa seemed trivial. She tried to recall the penalty but failed. She found herself hoping that she was the suspect in question and not Maggie Reynolds. The ex-citizen doctor had already suffered enough because of her. How much trouble was Sadler in if corp-sec suspected him of covering for them? Inspiration struck and Kat began searching on the local network for information about Waytown visa laws. A comm relay placed high on the foothills had just enough strength to tap the Waytown grid.
“That’s curious, isn’t it?”
Kat jumped slightly at the voice emanating directly behind her. She swiveled her chair to find Tabitha grinning like a wolf.
“Citizens don’t need visas,” Tabitha expounded. “Now who could Sadler possibly know that may have committed such a serious crime?” She stepped from behind Kat’s station and moved to the door with her own lunch bag. “Know anyone like that, Kat?” she taunted over her shoulder while strolling from the trailer.
After twenty minutes of research, Kat found the penalties for visa violations ranged widely, from fines to incarceration. She couldn’t find information about what happened to citizens conspiring with violators. She abandoned her search and forced herself to focus on her job the rest of the afternoon while waiting for Sadler to return from Waytown. He never did.
By quitting time, Kat was beyond anxious. She wanted to call Sadler’s apartment but was worried that corp-sec might search his comm records and hear any message she left. She resolved to try contacting him at a comm console near the Eastpoint gate in Shantytown while walking home from the mag-rail station. Outside her window, the dayshift miners gathered in the courtyard and, minutes later, Kat saw the mag-rail coasting to a stop at the mine’s crude station. After returning from lunch, Tabitha had remained cloistered in her office, seemingly content to let Kat guess when her shift ended.
Just as Kat was about to dash to the mag-rail, a frazzled redhead burst through the door. She was short and petite, dressed in the same garb Kat wore. “I’m sorry I’m late.” The diminutive woman marched around the counter. “Hi, I’m the nightshift receptionist, by the way, and I would’ve been here ten minutes ago but my husband was called back to work so I had to pick up our son from school.” She dropped her purse onto the counter. “I’m Lacy and you’re Kat Smith. I assume you need to catch that mag-rail?”
Kat grabbed her satchel and nodded.
“Then we can talk more tomorrow morning. Go catch your ride.”
Kat waved and uttered a farewell before bursting out the door and dashing across the courtyard for the mag-rail. She was the last person to step aboard and the enormous line of cars was already in motion as Kat entered the last one. In front of her was a sea of filthy miners, covered in a film of coal dust the shade of the deepest night. She became immediately aware of her clean pants and spotless white shirt. She walked to the nearest available seat, once again concerned about not fitting in. As she approached, she expected the stygian apparition sitting next to the empty seat to place her bag on it, thwarting Kat’s intrusion.
Instead, the woman looked up and grinned. Her teeth contrasted brightly with her blackened face and hair. “You can sit here, if you want.”
Kat sat down gratefully but immediately worried that the dirty seatback would stain her shirt. I need to throw on my old shirt before I leave the office next time. “Thank you. My name is Kat.”
The woman’s smile grew wider. “I know who you are. You stand out quite a bit in here.” She reached across her lap to shake Kat’s hand but stopped and raised it, palm up. It too was stained nearly black. “I’ll consider it shook. I’m Reneta and it’s nice to see one of us better herself.”
Chapter 5
Reneta Jones had worked as a laborer for five years with Porter Mining. She’d won an employment lottery to gain her job when several Waytown companies held a public relations campaign to foster good will between Trodden and citizens. Kat’s garrulous companion started work as a Tom catching rats under Sadler Wess’ supervision when he was just an assistant foreman, and Reneta shared several anecdotes of his caring leadership over the years. While listening, Kat realized she couldn’t discern a thing about Reneta’s true appearance. Black dust and grit etched the lines of her face, highlighting every nook and crease in her skin, and seemed to add decades to her age. Yet the woman’s talkative and buoyant nature made Kat believe she was much younger and she couldn’t help but smile as they bantered. By the time the mag-rail pulled into Waytown, the pair agreed to look for each other tomorrow morning at the station.
Kat followed the herd of workers from the mag-rail to Eastpoint, the boundary between Shantytown and the eastern side of Waytown. She waved her wristwrap over a scanner at the gate, logging her exit. Entering the slums encircling Waytown was far easier than gaining access to the town proper. On the Shantytown side, she joined a line for a comm console near the gate and donned her oversized shirt to fit in better with the crowd. Once it was her turn at the console, she called Sadler’s apartment. After seven unanswered rings, she disconnected.
Although the sun now hid beneath the horizon, there was still enough light to keep the solar streetlamps from activating. Uncertain what to do, she began the only trek she knew. The prospect of spending the night alone in Rat’s alley was deeply unsettling. Even Starlet, the unpleasant woman who once lived in the back half of the alley, would have been some comfort. The sudden, grotesque memory of the woman, torn apart by Jamison gunfire, flashed through Kat’s mind and made her stomach sour.
Retreating into herself, Kat wondered if the depressing night ahead would be the first of many. The beggars on the streets, the kids peddling for handouts, the families in alleys shooting looks of fear or hostility at anyone daring to cast a glance in their direction were all tuned out as she considered her future. She wanted nothing more than to be safe in Sadler’s arms. How many nights would she be forced to spend alone in a dangerous alley before she gained her citizenship? What if she never got it at all? By the time Kat dried her eyes with the back of her sleeve and refocused on her surroundings, she found she had missed the turn to her alley. Instead of doubling back, she continued an extra half block and entered through Starlet’s vacated side.
She walked cautiously down the center of the narrow backstreet. It seemed deserted. A glance into the shattered brick building on her right told her that the fire crew was not assembling tonight. Perhaps they never would again. She placed her hands on the trash wall dividing the alley in half and climbed over, landing in a crouch.
“What do you think you’re doing, bitch?”
Kat looked up to see three males huddled around Rat’s fire barrel. The oldest was middle-aged. His dark beard hung long and scruffy, matching his hair. Grime painted every line in his face and his clothes appeared to have never been washed. Standing next to him was a young man in his late teens and perhaps a boy of eight. The older men had the hostile looks of Shantytown predators. The boy, clutching a tattered and soiled stuffed animal, seemed more fearful than fearsome.
“You deaf? I asked what you’re doing in our alley, you bitch?” the eldest man spat out. He took a threatening step toward Kat and brandished a metal pipe.
A week ago, she would have been terrified. This evening, she felt nothing. She slipped her right hand into her satchel, past the bundle of new clothes inside and felt the comfort of a Jamison pistol’s polymer grip. “This isn’t your alley,” she declared in a steadfast tone. “It belonged to Rat.” She searched Rat’s side of the alley. The blue tarp that had served as their shared water reservoir now hung over a clothesline, offering a modicum of shelter from the rain or sun. She also spied items along the dilapidated building’s brick wall, unrecognized belongings placed there by the intruders in front of her.
The man took another step forward. �
�Rat who? Never heard of him. We’ve been living in this alley for years.”
“No we haven’t, Daddy,” the youngest said.
The teen savagely shoved his brother to the ground. The ragged bear in the boy’s grip flew free. “Joseph Tory, shut yer mouth!”
Kat’s eyes flicked back to their father. The man’s mouth turned upward into a cruel smile. “You got no business being here, lady. Unless you’re looking for a place to sleep. I’m sure I could give you a real nice deal.” His free hand moved obscenely to the front of his pants, a clear message.
Her agreement with Rat had been a safe spot in his alley in exchange for some cheap booze twice a week. He’d lived up to his end of the bargain, never making a move on her. In fact, he had protected her once from a likely prowler, scaring the interloper off before trouble could develop. Kat thought of Rat’s waning health, how he forlornly prophesied that once he was dead, nobody would notice his absence, let alone remember him. His body was gone now, hopefully taken by corp-sec before human vultures could descend upon his corpse for his final belongings.
The man in front of Kat massaged himself, taking eager steps forward. A profound sadness took hold over her. Rat had been a drunk and, most likely, a murderer in his past but he had also shown Kat a code more honorable than anyone else’s in this part of Shantytown. And he was now gone. And nobody noticed, or cared. And only she remembered him.
Fury exploded from within her sorrow. Her hand materialized in front of her, clutching a Jamison. “Just stop!” she raged. Her words echoed in the narrow alley, easily carrying into the streets beyond. They were just another plea in Shantytown’s night.
The man’s face fell as quickly as his club. “That thing real?”
Kat took several, forceful strides toward her prey, unbridled. She let the weapon’s barrel tour over all three targets before settling back on the primary. “I’ll fucking kill the lot of you.” Psionic energy effortlessly spooled in her head, unbidden, unwanted. The force gathered and grew, unstoppable. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in uneven spurts.
The man backed away, abandoning his pipe. His eyes were wide saucers. “Just take it easy now. Maybe this isn’t our alley after all.”
Kat fought valiantly against pulling the trigger. Her entire body shook. She gasped, suffocating under a blanket of wrath. It both numbed and heightened her senses. It carried her like a sail, soaring her high into the sky until she was just a distant observer looking down upon the alley. Three trigger presses, two seconds and she could avenge Rat. She could write his epitaph in blood and claim a dozen alleys in his name. She could make them remember him; carve a crimson eulogy that all these miserable, pathetic, worthless sons of bitches would remember for the rest of their rat-consuming, lice-infested lives. Corp-sec aircars would respond during her rampage. She’d massacre them too. She’d been blessed with abilities and forged into a weapon. The scorch hadn’t destroyed that weapon, only tempered it. She could be Rat’s avenging angel and oh, how she could fly…
Her hands continued to tremble around the Jamison as another set of hands emerged within her mind’s eye. Calm and methodical, they moved with a surgeon’s precision to save the lives of Trodden every day. Maggie Reynolds’ hands. An explosive sob burst from Kat. Her three targets blurred into dozens as tears leaked from her eyes. “Run,” she choked out.
She watched the Tory Boys flee the alley in absolute terror. When they disappeared around the corner, her eyes moved from the alley’s mouth to the boy’s discarded stuffed animal and finally, to her pistol. The dark instrument waited patiently. Death was its purpose. Was it hers as well? Did an object have meaning if it never fulfilled its purpose? Was the same true for a person? She collapsed backward, crashing against the trash wall until she sat, crying on the parched, compacted dirt. She let the pistol slip from her hand and covered her mouth as she wept hysterically. Terrified of what she had almost done. Petrified of the person who had held that gun. Horrified of who she might have been. The pressure inside her head had evaporated, leaving only a desolate void of black.
The slice of sky above the alley gradually darkened to match that void. Light from the fire barrel cast wicked rays of orange and red over her as she curled into a ball and sobbed herself to sleep.
Chapter 6
In a hazy dream, she saw herself place a report onto a tabletop and push it away.
A voice from across the table sounded more like a rumble than actual words. Impossibly low in both pitch and volume, it contained a gravitas that most men could only dream of possessing. “It’s damning.”
She continued to glare at the short document. Unfortunately, she agreed with the man’s assessment. “Maybe, but it’s not true,” she replied while folding her arms defiantly. “I’m not sabotaging Doctor Wagner’s efforts.” Her eyes raised from the table to the man across from her.
He was in his late forties perhaps, handsome with a clear and tanned complexion. The wrinkles around his eyes and between his dark eyebrows only enhanced the grit of an already rugged face. His parted hair was long enough to flow over his ears and land just above his tailored suit’s collar. His mustache was bushy but meticulously groomed. Both were dark brown but flecked with white and grey. Matching grey eyes studied her from under his creased brow. She knew those eyes could gleam with a playful friendliness but now, they coldly regarded her with unfathomable intent.
“Why would I do such a thing?” she asked him.
“I don’t think you would,” he answered with his gravelly voice. “But Heinrich says you’re purposely fighting the techniques he’s using during the latest trigger tests. He says you’re thwarting his team’s efforts to unlock the secrets of your precognition.” He pointed to the papers at the center of the table. “The physiology metrics support his claim.” He leaned closer to the table and looked at her with profound concern. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really happening.” The earnest, fatherly expression made her not want to disappoint him.
She looked at him plaintively and insisted, “I swear I’m not. If I’m screwing up the techniques, it’s because I’m in a lab hooked up to a million machines like a test animal. Why don’t you try meeting his impossible milestones while you’re keyed up like that?” She frowned and shook her head, whipping hair over her face. It was annoyingly long but they told her that long hair made her less remarkable, more able to blend in. That factor overruled her comfort. Her eyes widened as inspiration struck. “Look. If you think I’m lying to you, get Lolz in here and have her check.”
The man crossed his arms and smirked. “We both know she’d lie for you without a second thought. Worse yet, the Chairman knows it too.”
She dropped her head but glanced up to the man. She desperately wanted refuge from his piercing gaze. It was hard to keep eye contact when he acted like this. “So, what’s going to happen?” She sucked in her lower lip and chewed on it.
He reached across the table to collect the document. “I’ll write an addendum to Wagner’s report stating my disagreement with his conclusion and forward it as a package to Mr. Westbrook. Eventually, he’ll side with his Director of Operations.” The man smiled, the simple expression changing his face from foe to friend. “I believe you. I still believe in you. You’re becoming one of our top operatives and once we get your precognition figured out, you’ll lead the entire Society into the future.” He rumbled out a bass chuckle. “No pun intended.”
“What about Marcus Gains?” she asked, switching to a safer subject.
The man’s expression soured instantly. “It’s not good. The information you recovered confirms our suspicions. We can’t have someone in that position harboring wavering loyalties. You may have to make a return visit…”
The man’s words became an echo as an elbow jammed into Kat’s side and her eyes fluttered open.
“Kat? Kat? Were you napping?”
Kat found herself slouched in her seat on the mag-rail. She’d been one of the first workers to board this morning, taking
a spot next to a waiting Reneta. Between her new friend’s banal chatter and the gentle swaying of the train, she’d been lulled to sleep.
Her breakdown in the alley the night before had turned into a cleansing purge. She had wept pitifully into the small hours of the morning while curled against the trash wall. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, she’d lain in that state shivering most of the night. Sleep had been impossible on the cold alley floor and after she had given up and risen, she resolved not to spend another night in the dirt. She had paced the alley, seeking warmth and vowing to regain control over her situation and her life. In the biting chill of predawn, a stray recollection had her picking at the trash wall, searching. Just when she had been ready to concede that corp-sec must have taken it, Kat felt her fingertips brush the sharp, polymer blade of the knife she had used on the first disposal team’s leader. Lolz had called the man “Peecho” but the name held no personal meaning for Kat. After adding the knife to her arsenal, she had taken a final look at the alley before promising herself that she would never return.
Now seated in the warm passenger car, she thought about her vivid dream. It had seemed real. In fact, Kat was nearly certain that it was a real, distant recollection fighting its way back from the scorched oblivion of her memory. She knew the greying man with the mustache, believed that she even liked him at one time. She’d wanted to please the nameless man like a daughter might her father, needed to impress him with her accomplishments and worth. Yet, she couldn’t quite grasp his name.
“Kat? Isn’t that weird? Why would they want him to haul all that brick one day only to have him move it back the next?”
Kat tuned back into Reneta and her monologue. The woman was talking about her brother. When not covered by a day’s worth of filth, the laborer was quite winsome and Kat revised her age estimate downward to late teens. Bleached blonde streaks running through her naturally dark hair had been hidden yesterday, but today gave the woman a touch of wildness. In contrast, her buoyant manner made her seem innocent.
