by T. C. Edge
I felt some pity for her as I watched on, the eyes of the warehouse drawn to her attempted escape. She didn't get far. Before she reached the rear exit, the custodian was on her, dragging her back towards the front, kicking and screaming.
The warehouse had gone deathly silent and still aside from her frantic shrieking. Her reaction was indicting, and the custodian was already treating her like a criminal. He had her hair between his black-gloved fingers, dragging her mercilessly along behind him.
I saw Mr Beecham shift nearby, as though preparing to step in and try to put a stop to things, but he merely stood his ground and watched on like the rest of us. There was nothing he, or anyone, could do. This was far beyond his remit.
It was a painful sight, though she'd brought it upon herself. No, this world of ours wasn't pleasant, and it wasn't fair, but it was clear in its intentions. We all knew the rules, and it was our choice if we wanted to keep to them.
And a drug offence, if that's what it was, was plenty to severely damage her life.
I looked at her again, shaking my head. The custodian was holding her upright now, while another one ran a scanner up and down her body. It began beeping, glowing red.
It wasn't the colour you wanted to see.
"Please, I didn't do anything," Layla called out through her sobs. "I...I won't do it again. I was forced to try it. I was spiked. It wasn't my fault!"
She was pleading at the two custodians, though her words would have no impact. This was their life, dealing with those who stepped out of the system. Some may have gotten off on it, learned to enjoy the desperation, the begging. Others may have merely tolerated it, seen through their duty as all others were required to.
Either way, her words were empty. They rang out around the warehouse, loud but futile. All they really did, was reinforce the Controller's words, often called out upon the public speakers, often seen upon the public screens.
Boundaries are set for your protection and purpose. Stay within the lines. Do not deviate from your path.
Behind her now, during her rampant whimpering, a third custodian stepped forward. He drew a thin, semi-circular band - locally known as a para-band - from his side, and swiftly lifted it up towards her head. She twisted her neck around just as he came, noticing him appear. I could see the wide-eyed fear on her face as the custodian reached out and placed the para-band on her forehead, the device clinging on and glowing a light blue.
The reaction was immediate.
Her wide eyes suddenly flickered and turned inwards. Her head tipped back. Her legs reformed to jelly as they gave way beneath her, her entire body collapsing down upon them as she fell towards the floor.
A custodian was there to catch her before she hit, reaching out and pulling her paralysed body onto his powerful shoulder. He turned immediately and began marching from the warehouse, ready to add her to the rest of the offenders they'd caught out that day.
And, as though nothing had happened, the other custodians resumed their checks.
The atmosphere took on a subdued tone for the next few minutes. The line shifted along, the packers shuffling forwards with heads down until they had their turns. I was last to go, my body scanned, the green light given. And then the custodians, shining black in their armour, marched away without a word, setting off to continue their duties in another warehouse nearby.
"OK then," called out Mr Beecham once they'd departed through the doors. "Back...back to work now. Lunch is over. We have a long afternoon ahead."
His voice was a little fractured and strained. No one liked to see the custodians catch a prize.
The workers began ambling back into their positions, some of them appearing mildly haunted by the scene, others - especially the older ones - rather more placid and indifferent, having seen it all before.
Still, I could sense the numbness in the room, the cloaked fear as I returned to my workstation. My eyes caught sight of Becca, already in position. She watched me curiously as I came, though I kept my gaze from hers. The conveyor belt was beeping, a little more quickly with each passing moment. It was the countdown before the line would start moving. Before all those hundreds of boxes would need to be filled.
I stepped back in, and took my place. The early chatter was absent now, not a murmur or whisper taking to the air. I glanced to the left and right and saw that all eyes were down. It was rare for anyone from this warehouse to be taken. It wasn't a pleasant thing to see.
With a quick glance up to see that Becca's attention had moved off me, I reached under my workstation, ready to fetch my microchip and secretly return it to the base of my skull.
My fingers felt for it, but touched only the smooth underside of the metal...
My chest thudded with concern and confusion as the countdown beeper started to build to its crescendo, my fingers rushing left and right, searching for the chip.
The beeping stopped, and the belt suddenly began to move.
My eyes rushed up as the boxes started coming, and the packers around me began to set back to their work.
The chip. Where was it? Had it fallen off? It could't have, not with that adhesive...
I can't say what drove me, but something pinged in my head. I turned my eyes up to Becca. Her hands were working to pack a box, but her eyes were up, staring right at me once more.
"Missing something?" she asked calmly, raising a single, mousy brown brow.
I stared and said nothing. But her face, her voice, confirmed it - she knew.
Slowly, I began to nod.
"Then I think it's time you told me the truth," she said.
4
The weather was grim, typically autumnal. The rare trees found here in Southbank were shedding their leaves, the skies a churning mix of rainclouds and smog. I walked alongside Becca, as the wind swept down through narrow streets, buffeting us as we went. My housing unit was about twenty minutes on foot from the warehouse. Becca's place was just down the same street.
Around us, others marched along, returning home from the industrial district. It was the same each day, the great migration of the warehouse and factory workers, miserably moving through the grey streets. There was little colour here, the dank, uniform tones only broken up by the occasional advertising board, or the bright graffiti that the more rebellious types painted on the walls.
Most of the people here lived and worked within the same small stretch of the city, their simple lives marked by this same march twice daily, except for Sundays when they got their only full day off. There were no extended holidays, no breaks from the oppressive repetition of the system. The only escape I saw from it came in my extracurricular activities. Most weren't so lucky to have an outlet like that.
It was odd, but in some ways that's exactly how I saw it. Any day, I might be found out and caught. Any day might quickly become my last. But, at least that gave me something to live for. At least it gave my life some purpose.
I looked around at the sea of dull, pallid faces. Could any of them truly say the same?
"So..."
The word came from Becca's lips, the first for some time. I looked at her, and saw an awkwardness on her face. I'd been feeling something similar since we left the factory, neither of us yet daring to draw attention to the elephant in the room.
Becca had, of course, handed me back my microchip by now. I hadn't yet confirmed its specific purpose, but I suspect she probably knew. It was widely rumoured that Variants still hid within the system. The use of specialised technology and other such tricks, it was believed, was the only way they could achieve it without getting caught.
We locked eyes with each other as we went. There were too many people nearby, and too many watching cameras, to speak about things openly here.
"So," she went on quietly, "it's true?"
I quickly examined her expression. Becca was my best friend, and had a deeply kind heart. I trusted that she'd take the news without judgement. I trusted that her feelings towards my kind weren't the same as most of the
rest.
I saw it in her eyes; the openness, the understanding. If I was wrong, she might stand back and point, calling at the top of her lungs, "Variant! Variant!"
It would be the reaction of most. But not her, I knew. Not her.
I nodded.
I watched for her reaction.
For a few seconds, her eyes shaded away, as though needing a moment to herself. And then, with confirmation given, a smile began to rise on her lips, and a whisper crawled out through them.
"I knew it," she said, nodding to herself. "I just..." She looked back at me, her grin broadening. "I knew it."
I considered her reaction as we walked on, passing by the low-slung housing blocks, mostly only four or five storeys tall around here. It was a part of the city that had been completely decimated during the war, nothing of its old charm and beauty remaining. The following decades and centuries had seen it rebuilt for a single purpose, providing housing for those who worked around the industrial sector. Elsewhere, of course, there was a great deal more colour and life, but not here. It was dull, but mostly safe.
Where the people still tried to live, so crime and danger lurked.
It didn't take long to establish why Becca seemed so pleased with the revelation. Most of he life she'd been something of an outsider herself, her mild heterochromia ostracising her in part. Any mutation like that, any divergence from what was considered normal, was enough to make her a freak.
Now here she was, learning that her best friend was the biggest freak of all. I suppose that's all it was, really. It put her entire life in perspective.
We ventured onwards as the people dispersed, turning down streets, heading to their cramped little homes. Before too long, the large river of grey-cloaked workers had split into much smaller streams and tributaries, branching off around the district. It was dark already, the sun fading during the late afternoon at this time of year, the streets lit by the ugly, yellow light of the street lamps and the neon graffiti that often glowed in the dark.
Ahead, the street we both lived on loomed. It wasn't anything to look at, one of a thousand just like it. The only thing that set it apart, I suppose, was the fact that a Skytube line ran right above it, making it a little noisier than others nearby. It didn't alter the rent, however. We still paid six daily credits, just like everyone else.
The repairs were still ongoing on the tracks, a constant din that went late and started early. I could see the disgruntled looks on the locals as they ventured towards their homes, shaking their heads, mumbling obscenities.
A small group had gathered nearby, engaging in some sort of silent protest. Anything vocal would be far too dangerous. Repair of the city systems was government business, after all. Criticise that and you were criticising the Controller. And that was tantamount to open revolt.
I scanned the group as we worked towards my building. There were a dozen of them perhaps, arms folded, heads shaking. They were passing a few quiet words between them. It was about as far as they'd go to show their disgruntlement.
I knew most of them, by face if not by name. Everyone on this street worked in the warehouses and factories. Everyone held roughly the same working hours. Yet among them, someone stood out. A face I didn't yet know.
And one that looked like it didn't belong.
"Do you know who that is?" I asked Becca. She stopped at the front entrance to my building, and glanced towards the group. "The young guy. Do you recognise him?"
My description was simple, but enough. The rest of the group were much older. He stood out for his youth alone, dressed in grey overalls like the rest of them, but much younger and slightly detached, standing a little to the rear and off to one side.
She looked at him, shrugged, and shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I guess he just moved in."
She didn't think any more of it, and continued towards the door. I stood my ground. There was something out of place about him that I couldn't put my finger on. The shape of his mouth, curled into an almost undetectable, yet knowing, smile. The narrow but keen framing of his eyes as they worked around, quietly analysing.
I continued to look at him a moment longer, wondering who he was. He was older than me, I thought, but not by much, quite tall and strong of shape, his face dusted with dark stubble and hair neatly trimmed. Handsome, definitely, though that probably didn't do him justice...
He looked right at me.
The movement was sudden, as though he knew I'd been staring. Our eyes connected, for just a second, before I turned to look away. My gaze fled elsewhere, trying to hide the fact I'd been staring at him. I turned back to Becca, standing at the door to my building, and stepped right towards her, feeling a little flustered..
I could sense his eyes tracing my step as I went. A slight feeling of disquiet began to brew in me, as his penetrating eyes refused to relent. I drew a breath as I stepped towards the door, joining Becca there and moving immediately inside.
I stopped, out of sight, and before the door fell shut, glanced out through the opening once more.
Still, he was staring.
The door swung fully closed, blocking him off. The ingrained paranoia that was ever my ally kicked into gear.
Does he know me? I wondered. Does he know what I am?
"You all right, Paige? You've gone pale. Even paler than usual."
Becca's voice drew my attention. I shook my head and managed a faint smile to cover my unease, and then walked right past her towards the stairs. My unit was on the top floor, five levels up, right at the end of the corridor. There was a small window up there, giving a view over the street below. I hurried quickly up and towards it and looked down to where the small crowd had gathered.
They were still there.
But the young man was not.
Behind me, Becca came hurrying, catching up. "What's gotten into you?" she asked, panting a little. "Are you sure you're all right?"
I scanned the street below.
Nothing. He was gone.
"Paige?" I turned around to see Becca looking at me enquiringly. "What's wrong?"
I managed to block out my paranoia and place a more natural smile on my face. "Oh, nothing," I said. "Just thought I spotted someone I knew, that's all."
She frowned, as though the answer wasn't particularly convincing, but didn't push it. I shook it all from my mind and stepped to my door, unlocking my unit and moving inside. Becca followed, the air filled with the sound of the engineering works above.
A short silence grew between us as we moved into the tiny space, as the noise above went on a sudden, concurrent hiatus. The lack of sound made the entire thing awkward. We were alone now, and safe from prying eyes and interested ears.
There was no delaying anymore...
"So," Becca breathed, "a Variant." Her eyes turned a little concerned. "I...I can say that here, right? There's no one who might hear us now?"
I smiled and bobbed my head. "Becs, it's fine. We're safe here. I talk about it all the time with my mum, don't worry."
"Oh...of course. Patricia knows." Her eyes darted to the door.
My mother, Patricia, also lived in this building, and worked over in the industrial district. It was both a blessing and a curse to have her around.
"She's my mum, Becs. Yeah, she knows."
"Right, right." She frowned. "And...she's a Variant too?"
I shook my head. "I got it from my dad."
"Oh, your dad." Her voice great smaller, more tentative. She knew it was a sensitive subject. "His name was Maximus, wasn't it?"
I nodded. "Max. Maximus sounds silly. Too old fashioned."
Becca crept forward to the bed and sat down, folding her legs like a child eager for a bedtime story. My unit, like all those here at six credits a day, was little short of tiny. There was no kitchen, because no one ever cooked. Just a small bed, chair, simple wooden table, storage unit for clothes, and tiny affixed bathroom with a shower that did little more than dribble out dirty water. It's safe to say, it wasn't
exactly luxurious. It made the snitch's place look like a palace.
"So..." Becca went on, taking off her glasses and putting them on the bed. She could see just fine without them. It was a shame she had to wear them, just to hide her different coloured eyes. "So that's why your dad's not around? Was he...taken? For being a Variant?"
"Not the way my mum tells me," I said. "Apparently, he went looking for help when I was just a toddler or something. Clearly, that didn't work. He's probably dead now. No one gets off this island, we all know that."
She nodded sombrely. Secrets and speculation were rife in this city, yet there was one thing that we all knew, one thing that was deeply embedded into the collective consciousness...
There really was no escaping this island.
For a couple of centuries at least, it had been blocked off from the outside world, the coast protected and watched over by a great, towering wall. It was impenetrable, they said, impossible to sneak through, impossible to breach. And if, by some miracle, you did, and you managed to cross the sea beyond, and reach the lost continent, then there was one final, irrefutable truth that no one could deny.
There was absolutely no getting back. .
"Well...at least now all your guessing games can stop," I said, trying to lighten the mood and shift the focus. I stood up and walked to the storage unit. Inside, I kept some chocolate for occasions such as this. I broke off a few chunks and flung them to Becca. I returned to my seat, munching on my own piece. The sweet taste always tended to help.
"Where did you get this?" she breathed, eyes on the chocolate. "This is the good stuff, isn't it? Proper chocolate. How did you..."
"Up in the Bends," I said casually. "You can get all sorts over there."
"The Bends." Her eyes abandoned the chocolate for me, widening. "You've been to the Bends?!"
"Sure. Loads. There's plenty you still don't know about me," I winked.
