“What can I do?”
Rohen pushed against the boulder. “Help me, Joe. Gentle Joe.”
He knows who I am, thought Joe, smiling ear to ear and making his way around the nose of Rohen’s hoverbike. He got as far as he could before the metal rested against rock, and saw that blood had spattered up the side. Not too much, but enough to worry him. It was almost black in the shade.
“Are you bleeding?”
“What does it look like, Id–?” Rohen stopped short, and pulled his mask from his face. Beneath, a smile gushed out. “Yes, Joe. Will you help me now, please?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Joe turned his backside to the hoverbike and pressed his legs up against the boulder, and pushed. The hoverbike creaked, rocking back. And Rohen screamed.
“Are you okay?”
Rohen continued to scream – it echoed in the canyon, replacing the silence that had encroached upon the dimming thrum of the racers – but managed to get the words “Hold it” out of his mouth, while using his arms to pull his leg up and away from the rock. He pulled on it some more until he could lie it flat on the metal top. “Don’t move,” he managed to say after a while, sucking in deep breaths. The foot at the end of the leg moved – Rohen was testing it out. Blood plastered the side of his trousers, but none seemed to be leaking right now. Perhaps just a bad graze. Patches of red skin were visible where the material had torn.
“Can you walk?”
Rohen gave him a look; one that made him feel good. Rohen would be thankful that he’d saved him. By Grace, he’d probably saved his life. And now, they could head off together, be last together, so neither of them would get trapped.
“I don’t know,” said Rohen, and swung his good leg to the ground. Gripping his other tightly behind the knee, he gently lowered it, and bit his lip as he put weight upon it.
“Good, good,” Joe shouted. “Maybe nothing’s broken!”
“Hold it,” said Rohen. He took a couple steps, hobbling, towards Rosie.
“See? You’ll be right as rain.” The tension in his thighs began to build. “Can I let go now?”
“No, no. I don’t want it falling back on me.”
Gentle Joe didn’t understand, but nodded anyway, a grimace on his face now.
“Just hold it, until I’m there.”
“Where?”
“On… what’s your hoverbike’s name?”
“Rosie.”
“On Rosie then. Safe and sound.”
“Okay. You don’t wanna get yours going again? Whatever its name is?”
“It’s all smashed up.” Rohen reached out and put his hand on Rosie, leaning over with exhaustion. For a moment, a pang of odd jealousy, or envy, or something Joe didn’t quite understand, bubbled to the surface. He’s touching my Rosie. And then it was gone.
“Oh.” It was getting painful now. “Can I let go, then?”
“In a minute,” said a climbing Rohen. “Just hold it a little longer.”
Sweat dribbled into his eyes, stinging. He was hurting. But at least Rohen could walk. As soon as he was safely on Rosie, he could let go and together they could head out of this place. He never wanted to come back. He never wanted to do this race again.
Rosie’s engine heated up and she rose into the air. Joe – Idiot Joe – looked around, just as the kickstand hooked itself up on the underside, and just as Rohen eased forward, left leg hanging almost limp to aft. Joe shouted after him but heard no response.
His legs crumpled. The hoverbike fell back into place, but without Rohen’s bracing leg, fell a little further, pinning Joe in. It pressed on his back while the full face of the rock pushed back on his sternum. A rib or two broke, but worse, he could not breathe. Tears fell from his eyes and built up in the space where squashed cheek met boulder, and overflowed, running red down the dusty crevices as they collected dirt.
Not once did it cross his mind that Rohen may have been one of his tormentors back in the orphanage. Not once did it cross his mind not to help him. Not once did it cross his mind that Rohen would leave him for dead.
Kiril
lion
As Leora crossed the finish line in first place, Kirillion let the darkness in.
Old habits die hard, but this one had taken some time to pick back up. He fumbled with the extension plugged into the base of his spine, hating the vacuum of feeling and numbing paralysis that inflicted his body between the two states of consciousness. It was a purgatory of solitude, and his heart always stammered until he felt the secondary connection plugged in behind his right ear disconnect, and pull out, allowing the flesh-and-bone senses to flood back in.
How the Meditationists could spend all hours of the day in that state, he would never know.
He blinked his eyes a few times to adjust to reallight, and to remove the spectre of brown-red dust that remained from the optics of the drones. He felt heavy on his feet after the sensation of floating above the Liberty Trials track, not really enjoying the race, but relishing the illusion of out-dome life, and not an illusion of an illusion like sandy shores with lapping oceans, but the illusion of the real thing. A tangible thing, like Sanctum – somewhere he had no desire to return, despite his odd homesickness. Watching the race and spying the sand-peak tipping its brow far above the contestants – far above and beyond even their dreams and expectations – had satisfied his strange hunger to see the sands again. This side of the mountain, in the boiling sun, it was almost beautiful – far more beautiful than the endless sea of same-shade red he’d spent the last few years overlooking from the watchtower.
Goddamn, he thought… so many years. He wondered briefly how Linwood was getting on without him. If there’d been an uprising. He’d tried contacting Sanctum but had no response. Either Linwood was dead and didn’t pass on the codes, or he was ignoring him. Kirillion couldn’t blame him, in either circumstance. Nor did he really care.
Across the room, Annora slept before a full-glass wall overlooking the rooftops of Neon City, nestled snugly beneath thick blankets on a soft mattress of springs. The city lights; purples and blues, deep reds and garish yellows, streaks of violet like slashes of a painter’s brush, splashed the ceiling and gave Annora’s cheeks intermittent hues, soft on her dewy skin. Veins of rain streaked down the window and ushered in the only sound in the room: a soft pattering. Fingertips tapping gently on glass. The faint chemical smell of the air-co wafted on a convection current, and pale plumes of condensing air grew from her lips.
Kirillion watched his reflection in the curved window as he knelt beside her bed. She looked peaceful. He’d dimmed the lights and set the temperature to cool to keep her as comfortable as possible, because comfort meant she would heal quicker. He lifted her right ear; the jack was surrounded by bruised, black and purple skin, with a thin, scabbed ring at its edge. All cosmetic, and as far as Kirillion could tell it was healing nicely. But it was the internal healing that he cared about, and that took time not only to heal, but for the latent neural pathways to become active and bond with the link, creating a pathway.
There was also the matter of her heart. She had almost died, and they had nearly lost the most valuable thing on the planet: as soon as they arrived she was propped on a gurney and wheeled to the laboratory for heart surgery. Of all the defective orphans that had been sent to him, it had to be her to receive the honour of the Arc. Should’ve just fixed her before shipping her out, he had thought. But that would not have been worth the resources. Otherwise what was to keep them from fixing every problem child that was born?
He stood and walked over to the window. It was night, and high above, the ceiling of the dome stretched with a near imperceptible curve, and from above that shone down the stars. Below, the high-rise rooftops were square stepping stones of Elite neon-lit twenty-four-hour parties; far below the super-Elite ring in which he stood. His residence was at the northern end of the ringed corridor that floated on giant, steel girders attached to the dome ceiling. He looked out into the distance; he couldn�
��t quite make out the perimeter wall, but he knew at this time of night the illusion of a thunder-struck and inhospitable landscape would be casually repeating.
***
“How about a little evening’s entertainment?”
She hadn’t said a word for days. She just sat there with her knees curled up, staring out the window. What did she make of all this? Kirillion had wondered, and asked, and got no response. He could only imagine the kind of wonder that must course through a mind after having such a huge veil removed from your reality. To go from endless sand and vast voids, to concrete and steel and life teeming below like scurrying beetles. If he was to tell by her eyes, he’d get nothing.
He joined her at the window, nestling down on the edge of her bed. The sun – the real one that was – had vanished from view at the top of the dome a few hours ago, to be replaced by the replica, interspersed with storm clouds and hidden by the occasional dust storm. Either way, it was falling over the horizon and twilight was moving in.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching for his wristband. The view disappeared, replaced by a TV show. If Annora realised she was now navel-gazing a good-looking, shaven-chested, hair-slicked presenter with a microphone, she made no indication. “You’ll like this,” smiled Kirillion.
The presenter’s mouth moved but no sound came from the window.
“This is a very popular TV show here in the city. Popular, because it’s state viewing. Takes over all the monitors and VR and television sets. See, it’s a glimpse of the outside world.” He reached out and touched her ear, to check the recovery, but she flinched away. “The people – they need to know how it is, out there in the big bad.”
He unmuted the volume. “… so if we head live to the receiving pen right now,” said the presenter, “we can see the brave soldiers returning from their adventure into the wilds. Felicity, how does it look?”
The image switched to Felicity, barely able to contain her excitement, and barely dressed, teeth white and skin perma-tanned; she was larger than life on the screen, with Annora’s face but a few inches from her bikini-clad breasts.
Kirillion watched for a flicker of eye movement, hoping for some discomfort. There was none.
“Thank you, Borocca. As you can see behind me, the soldiers are just returning.” Over her shoulder, two giant doors swung slowly closed as a troupe of trucks fanned out on hard-packed earth. “Here they are now, battle-scarred, tired, starving, thirsty; these brave young men and women who put their lives at risk for us every six months; praying, hoping, fighting to regain what’s rightly ours from this dangerous, hostile world we live in. Let’s talk to Chief Lozenge.” She stepped aside to allow a man clad in camouflage fatigues, deep reds and oranges, with a flatcap on his head emblazoned with a gem-encrusted gold star, to enter the shot. “How was it out there?”
She offered out the microphone, and Chief Lozenge dipped his head to speak into it. “Terrible, Felicity. Absolutely terrible. Every time I go out there I hope and I pray to the super-Elites that this time things have changed, but it just seems to get worse!” He let out a little laugh. “I mean, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were breeding.”
Microphone back by her mouth. “You found more then?”
“Yeah we...” he started nodding, and then waited for the microphone to continue. “Yeah, we found some more. A little family supposedly, though how they don’t wind up eating each other... well, I guess the scientists just haven’t worked that one out yet. But we got ‘em! And we got our usual show for you guys to prove that we are trying. That there is hope to one day escape this hell we call home.”
“Well,” smiled Felicity, teeth glistening under the lights, “I don’t know if I’d call it hell, Chief Lozenge.” She nudged her elbow into his side. “I’d sure prefer to be inside, than out there.” And together, they started to laugh. Her voice grated, their laughter sent spiders up his ear canals; if not for Annora, Kirillion would have turned this off already.
He turned the volume up.
“Over to you,” Felicity managed to spurt out.
The screen flicked to a close up of a large vehicle with grey, squared off sides. On voiceover, Borocca began describing what they were witnessing. The camera – a drone – swung through the air, skimming the cool metallic surface of the van. Faint red dust could be made out momentarily, and then the camera was facing the rear, looking back at double doors. Two soldiers, dressed the same as Chief Lozenge, opened the doors. Behind the doors was a metal grid – a cage with a padlocked door. “...and witness this,” rasped Borocca as the drone zoomed in, “what we have here are four very dangerous Mutations. Particularly evil ones, by the look of it; see their red, shining eyes and snarling, crooked mouths. Did you hear that? Did the camera pick it up? By Elite, I could hear that roar from here! Are we okay?”
Another voice, perhaps Chief Lozenge again, said “We’re perfectly safe, Borocca. Nothing can happen to us here.”
“Phew! I do this every time and yet, I just never get used to the noise.”
“Well, they are beasts, Borocca.”
“They surely are.”
One of the soldiers reached out and disabled the padlock, allowing the door to swing open. The camera panned out to show an arc of ten gun-wielding soldiers, all with their aims on the back of the vehicle. “They are dangerous, but they are also cautious.”
“Yes, Borocca. Of course, this is not the first time that they have seen a gun.”
One of the beasts climbed out. Covered from head to foot in silvery fur, with long black talons protruding from the end of its fingers, it cautiously watched the soldiers’ movements, twitching its head left and right. Its deformed, humanoid head looked back to the others in the vehicle, then looked forward again, moving its mouth and issuing loud, barking snarls. It sidled towards the vehicle door to give room to the others behind it. They each stepped out in turn; varying in size – two of them were quite small. But each of them resembled something like the fabled werewolf, only minus a snout, and with those inhuman, glowing red eyes. They huddled together, looking up suddenly at the drone-spotlight that bathed them in amber light.
“Not big fans of bright lights,” reminded Borocca as they raised their arms in front of their eyes. “They don’t see much sun, from all the storms, and – correct me if I’m wrong, Chief Lozenge – they only hunt at night.”
“For the most part, Borocca. I mean, I would never feel entirely comfortable during the day either. The thought of being alone and wandering out there in the storms and endless lightning, with or without a protective hazmat suit, is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies, without worrying whether or not one of these Mutations was stalking me and about to rip my guts out.” Chuckles over the audio.
The group of Mutations moved as the soldiers moved with them, making their way around the side of the vehicle to the front. One of them reached a paw out, stepping out, but a soldier fired at the ground in front of them, making them all hiss and snarl and did Annora flinch just then? Kirillion smiled and turned up the volume some more.
Switching to a new camera, more lights drowned the patch of dirt in front of the parked vehicles, with the soldiers gently coercing the Mutations into it. Here, they were brightly lit, with every abomination plain to see; the camera even zoomed right in to their drool-wet lips and their snot-wet excuses for nostrils; to the fur that was shorter on their cheeks and around their eyes but stained blood-red here and there from past meals. The viewers could easily imagine this thing ripping apart some poor, defenceless animal with its extended incisors and sharp front teeth. And imagine it they would.
Keeping his eyes on Annora, Kirillion’s hand went to his wrist and he turned off the augmented reality.
For her eyes only, of course.
Some kids he didn’t know the names of were crying. Leora’s children. She was there now, with Deo’s large, muscular arm wrapped around her shoulder. They were shaking, all of them crying, the children pulled in close to their parents. Ann
ora’s eyes started to explore the screen, leaning back to take it all in. Muffled cries came from the speakers, and Kirillion turned the volume up once more.
“Look at them, one last time,” said Borocca. “The hunters of the out-dome world; vile, dangerous animals. I hear you lost one of our own, this time, Chief Lozenge?”
“Ah sadly, yes. A good woman, she was. Out of respect for her family, I won’t name her here, but rest assured, the powers that be will make sure her family is justly rewarded, and that her death won’t have been in vain. Vengeance is ours tonight.”
“Indeed, indeed. Shall we take a moment of silence?”
“Yes. Let us remember our fallen patriot, and all of our fallen patriots.” The Neon City anthem swelled up over the images panning across the faces of the humans. Unlucky fools, Kirillion thought of them. He winced, in part from the loudness of the music, but mostly because he hated the anthem.
Annora had backed away from the screen so much she was now almost off the edge of the bed. One foot planted to the floor. Visibly, her chest rose quickly.
Good job we fixed her heart.
The music ended and the loudest and longest peal of ringing gunshots vibrated the embedded speaker system. Heads, arms, legs, chests – everything – exploded in an instant on the screen. No time for a scream but Annora’s.
Town
Calix
Woke with a start. He’d been dreaming and in that dream Annora had been running away from him through Sanctum’s neon-lit corridors, chasing shadows with an aura of hair, kicking her feet. Every time he got close enough to almost, almost take her hand, she went around a corner and was far, far away again. Running through treacle. Corner after corner. Finally, they touched fingertips, and he reached for her palm, but she was around the corner again; he followed and was stopped dead by her face contorted in a scream.
Neon Sands Trilogy Boxset: The Neon Series Season One Page 24
