by T. C. Edge
I’ve never complained to her directly, though. I mean, she’s getting my medication after all, so I can’t be ungrateful. I’d just prefer to go myself, to be honest, rather than putting either of them in harm’s way.
“So, that’s what you were talking about?” I ask him. “In her room…that’s what she told you not to tell me?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “She knows you don’t approve, and told me not to tell you. That’s all it was.”
He’s lying.
For one, he’s doing that shifty-eye thing that he does when he’s not telling me the truth, his murky brown eyes dancing around the room, looking at just about everything but me.
Secondly, it just doesn’t make any sense. Sure, she knows I don’t approve of her taking Drum, but that’s never stopped her before, and it won’t in the future. Frankly, she does what she deems right, and doesn’t care two hoots for anyone’s opinion.
“So, you two just went to the market, that’s all?” I ask. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Drum? You know you’re like a brother to me, don’t you?”
I lay on the sentiment nice and thick. I can see the battle raging behind his eyes.
“I’m…I’m not lying, Brie.”
“Promise me.”
“Promise,” he mumbles, looking at his giant feet.
I have no choice but to accept it. Frankly, if it were that important, Mrs Carmichael would surely tell me.
More to the point, I heard Drum promise to keep the secret, and don’t really want to make him break it. In a way, it’s nice to know that he can be so loyal to the woman who gave him sanctuary.
And on top of that, I suspect that he’s only got this job right now because he’s willing to prove that loyalty. If he should tell me, his last chance at keeping his spot here might well be gone.
And above all else, that’s the last thing I want to see happen.
So I accept, and tell him I believe him. The relief in him is obvious, a long breath let out from his lips.
I guess, if I want to know, I’m going to have to find out another way…
18
“I’ve had enough of this. I’m going out for a walk.”
I’ve reached the end of my tether. I can only stay cooped up inside for so long.
“You can’t,” says Tess. “Brenda said…”
“Oh…really, you’re going to use that line now!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you didn’t seem to mind last week when we went down to Culture Corner. You were all for just going and not telling Brenda then…”
“That was different. We’re all, you know, famous now. It might be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How? It’s daylight! And since when did you care about that?”
She shrugs, all snuggled up in bed with her nose in an old book. Clearly, she’s just being lazy. Unlike me, she’s been thoroughly enjoying this time off.
“Look, I’m not asking for your permission, Tess. Just…cover for me if someone comes calling. Unless you wanna come too?”
I don’t know why I bother asking. She looks about as comfy as it’s possible for a person to be, and outside it’s bitter cold.
“I think I’ll stay here,” she says, to no one’s surprise.
“Suit yourself.”
I pull on another jumper to protect against the cold, and head downstairs to grab my jacket from the closet. Since being blasted by the acid rain several nights ago, I haven’t taken a look at the damage. Other than a few extra burn marks where the anti-toxic wax had worn off, it’s not too bad.
With the hall clear, I quickly slip out and pass onto the street, the surge of cold air immediately wrapping itself around me. Dragging my hood over my head to ensure I remain hidden from prying eyes, I set off on a stroll towards the market, several blocks west towards the boundary wall of the city.
The market, unlike the black market in the northern quarter, is an official place of trade, and is therefore heavily monitored. As I go, I note the additional security on the ground, and in the air, Con-Cops and City Guards stationed at populous areas, and armed security drones buzzing about in the sky.
It’s all on another level from what I saw the day after the attack at Culture Corner, an impressive show of strength for sure. Yet, it begs the question of just how these Fanatics are operating under their nose.
Surely, with such a presence, a few crazed Unenhanced should find it impossible to function? You can barely walk more than a few metres without coming under the scrutiny of some sentry or security drone, hovering above your head and scanning the world below for any hint of revolt.
It certainly makes one thing clear: these Fanatics are far more organised and dangerous than anyone gave them credit for.
And in my head, the words of the mystery man once more spread.
The Fanatics are not who you think they are…
I press on, sucking in cool air from underneath my cowl, noting how the streets have changed in my brief absence. It’s not a physical change, per se, but one of atmosphere. It’s as if there’s a blanket over the city, trapping in the sense of fear that shivers and hovers about the streets.
People walk around with wary eyes and sunken faces, checking and re-checking anyone who appears suspicious. There’s a questioning, probing ambiance, no one quite sure who might be a Fanatic or where another attack might come. Even with such security measures on show, that sense of fear remains fixed to people’s hearts and souls.
And as I walk, I feel their worry seep into my own veins, the city suddenly so claustrophobic, so cloaked in dread. And with that feeling comes another.
I’m being watched again…
It’s different from last time, though. The streets are busy, the sky bright if a little misty. The neon signs glow and the holograms dance and entertain us as they jump from their projectors. It’s completely unlike the dark alley, the quiet solitude.
And yet, I feel the eyes on my back, and turn to inspect my surroundings.
So many people, so many moving bodies. An impossible task to check them all.
I press on, walking a little faster, working my way towards the usually burgeoning market. Not today.
Today, it’s quiet and slow, almost as many police as there are customers and merchants. A marketplace, of course, is yet another signal of our apparent greed, a place to buy all manner of goods to provide pleasure and joy.
I hadn’t really thought of that. It’s a prime target for the Fanatics.
I hover around the edge and don’t go in, feeling stupid for forgetting to bring that blue dress to sell on. The market fills a large open square, set up with dozens of little pop-up shops that are packed and unpacked by their owners each night. Here, a lot of the food produce that they manufacture over in the eastern quarter is sold, along with the various other products deemed ‘appropriate’ by our masters in Inner Haven.
Unfortunately for Mrs Carmichael, cigarettes and alcohol aren’t among them. With our species so under threat, products that have the capacity to kill you are generally considered to be outlawed.
Still, they clearly don’t understand the human psyche. Take something away from us, and we’ll continue to make it on the sly. It’s the very reason why the black market continues to do such a good trade.
Quite why Mrs Carmichael gets my pills there, though, I’ve never worked out. Medications are readily available throughout the city at a number of places, although I suspect that they’re a little more expensive when bought ‘over the counter’. Buying them at the black market is probably just a money saving exercise.
As I do a quick circuit of the market, still hidden under my hood, I note a few Con-Cops looking at me in a funny way.
“You there, come here,” one tells me.
I have no option but to obey.
“Why are you hiding under that hood? Take it off.”
“It’s cold, sir,” I reply.
“Do it.”
I pull back the cloak and reve
al my face.
“I know you,” says the man, his dull eyes moving from my chin to my forehead like a robot. “You were at the ceremony.”
“Yeah…and I’m trying to keep a low profile.”
He glares at me through his shark-like eyes. All Con-Cops have them, black and sleek. It’s a side-effect of the therapies they go through, turning them into loyal drones with more in common with the Savants than us.
“Well, you can’t go hiding your face like that,” he says. “Not at a time like this. You could be mistaken for one of them.”
“A Fanatic?”
“Yes. Please remove it.”
“But I told you…I don’t want people seeing me. I just want a quiet walk…”
“Do it,” he says, cutting me off.
A breath of exasperation escapes me.
“Fine…you’re the boss,” I say sarcastically. “I bet your life was better when you were a criminal…” I add under my breath.
“What did you say?” he growls.
I roll my eyes and slide my finger across my lips.
“Nothing,” I say flatly.
An ominous buzzing sound crackles down by his waist. My eyes sweep to the source and an immobiliser appears from behind his inner jacket.
“Say one more word,” he warns, “and I’ll zap you. I don’t care who you are.”
I stare right into his black eyes, open up my lips, and mouth one of the curse words that Mrs Carmichael is so keen for us to avoid.
Then I step back, smile smugly, and turn away.
A rushing noise behind me has me turning straight back. I look down and see his arm outstretched, the immobiliser only inches from my body. There’s a hand around his wrist, gripping tight. I follow it to a tall frame, and then up to a face, and see Rycard staring right at the man.
“Now, officer, let’s not go causing any unnecessary problems,” he says calmly, his piercing eyes cutting right into the Con-Cop’s black ones.
The Con-Cop is quick to draw back his arm and fix his immobiliser to his belt.
“Sorry, sir,” he says. “I am only acting under orders.”
“And what orders are those?”
“To act upon anything suspicious. She was wearing a hood and acting disrespectfully.”
“Hard to act respectful to a guy like you,” I challenge. “For all I know, you’re a murderer or a rapist.”
The man doesn’t respond or react. If the rumours are true, not even he’ll know what he did to deserve this life of servitude. Apparently, the criminals have their memories altered to make them more subservient as part of the process.
So, he could be a murder or rapist, or he might have just stolen some food to feed his family, a family he won’t remember.
I regret the comment immediately.
“Sorry,” I say. “I know you’re just doing your job.”
The man nods but doesn’t speak. Behind his eyes, I can see him searching for the truth, some fragment of his past. It’s no use. There’s nothing there anymore.
“Right then, all’s well that ends well,” says Rycard. “Come on, Brie, you should be going home. You know it’s not safe around these parts.”
He leads me away from the Con-Cop and over to the other side of the market. When we get there, he stops around a corner, his face crinkled into a look of admonishment.
“Brie, what are you playing at?” he asks forcefully. “Don’t give me that look, I saw what you mouthed to that man. How did you think he was going to react?”
“I know…it was stupid. I just hate those guys. They’re brain-dead.”
“They’re here to protect you, Brie. Cut them some slack.”
I try to not roll my eyes. It’s too hard. I fail miserably.
Rycard shakes his head at me.
“You do realise that you’d have been zapped in the back if I didn’t intervene? And you know what that means?”
“They’d take me to holding…”
“Exactly. They’d take you to the edge of town, throw you in a cell, and work out whether or not to let you go. I’ve seen people turned into Con-Cops, or worse, for a lot less.”
I huff, not believing him. I mean, I know the Consortium are strict, but seriously…
“How did you see me anyway?”
“Brie, I see everything,” he answers matter-of-factly. “You need to screw your head on properly. It’s dangerous around the streets now, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by acting stupid.”
“FINE! Jeez, Rycard, I get it. I’m just in a funny mood, that’s all.”
“Well, as long as that’s all it is. Look, I need to get back on duty. Can I trust you to get back home on your own?”
I sigh and shut my eyes, take a deep breath, and tell myself not to rise to his taunt. When I open my eyes again, there’s a little smile on his face.
“Good,” is all he says. “I’ll tell Sophie you said ‘hi’.”
Before I can remember how to be polite, and thank him for his intervention, he’s gone.
Why is it that every time I leave the academy, something crazy happens?
Thinking it better that I just return to my room and never leave, I begin making my way back again. Hardly the most successful of walks, but at least it got me out of that damn room and away from Tess’s snug smugness for a little while.
It doesn’t take me too long to navigate my way home. As I go, the light starts to fade as a heavy blanket of cloud swamps the fading daylight, bringing about a premature darkness.
I make certain to check all the toxicity posts I pass to ensure that they remain a vibrant green, which they do. Still, some people consider the clouds a harbinger of an impending deluge of acid rain, so quickly retreat home.
I see a couple looking anxiously to the skies, their faces scarred and burnt from previous exposure. They must have been caught out real bad before.
Soon enough, I’m walking back down Brick Lane, the academy about half way down. The little residents and shops are closing up for the night, the darkness now bringing a deathly silence to the streets. I see a couple of the older kids from the academy step over the threshold, and make sure to hide beneath the cover of my hood again.
If I can avoid it, I’d rather Mrs Carmichael didn’t know about my little prison break.
Once the coast is clear, I creep back into the academy, shed and hang my coat, and make a hasty return to the second floor by way of the winding staircase.
When I reach the long corridor, I see a little figure hovering outside my room. I take a few paces forward and the cute button nose and baby blue eyes of Abby come into view.
“Abby, what are you doing up here?” I ask her. “You know you’re not meant to go above the ground floor.”
“I…um nothing,” she says, dipping her eyes and hurrying straight past me.
I watch her go, shuffling on short spindly legs towards the stairs and circling her way down.
Odd.
I open the door to my room, expecting to find Tess inside. She isn’t, the room empty and her bed a mess. She must be in the shower, making use of all the hot water, no doubt, before anyone else can take advantage.
I shut the door and move towards my bed. Unlike Tess, I like to make my bed impeccably, rarely happy until there are no wrinkles in sight.
But there are. Towards the top, by the pillow, it’s obvious the bed has been tampered with.
I step forward and pull back the blanket. And beneath it, lying on the sheet, see a letter.
In the silence of the room, I reach down and pick it up. It’s an old fashioned type, not the electronic notes that are usually delivered by the drones. This one’s made from paper, and can only have been hand-delivered.
My fingers curiously open it up, ripping at the edges and revealing a folded paper note within. I draw it from its sheath, and read the interior.
The first words send a strange chill down my spine.
I’ve been watching you, Brie.
I read on, my eyes
scanning the sparse words written in old ink.
I’d like to meet you, alone.
Come to the shelter in your district at midnight.
Don’t tell anyone, not even your friend Tess.
And don’t be afraid, Brie. It isn’t me you need to fear.
Holding the note in my hands, I hear a footfall outside the door. Then, suddenly, it opens wide and Tess appears in her bathrobe.
“You’re back,” she says, drying her hair with a towel. “How was your walk?”
I don’t answer.
She rounds on me.
“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Her eyes find the letter in my hands. “What’s that?”
The words within echo in my ears.
Don’t tell anyone, not even your friend Tess…
“Erm, nothing,” I say, folding the letter back up and slipping it into my pocket.
She looks at me quizzically.
“Is something wrong? You’re acting weird.”
“No…no, of course not. I just had a run in with another Con-Cop.”
“Oh God, not them. What the hell happened?”
I let out a little breath as she turns and takes a seat on her bed. It gives me an opportunity to shift my pose and quickly shove the empty envelope beneath my blanket.
“He almost zapped me,” I say. “But Rycard was there to help…”
“Rycard! You saw him again?! I knew I should have come. Right, come on, details please. Tell me all about it.”
I settle more comfortably on my bed, as Tess does the same on hers.
And while my mouth begins recounting my latest run-in with the authorities, my mind begins working on something else.
Because in only a few hours, I need to sneak out once more.
Dangerous or not, I need to know who sent this letter…
19
Come on Tess, fall asleep…fall asleep.
Most nights she’d have been out long ago. Early mornings and long days of hard graft will do that to a person.
Recently, however, she’s turned sloth-like, keeping to her bed for the most part and only leaving it when it comes time to eat or go to the bathroom. Too many days off have turned her idle, her lie-ins growing longer and longer.
