Variant

by T. C. Edge

  "Aren't I lucky to be so loved," I said, growing bored of this same routine. I performed a semi roll of the eyes and looked at Becca. "You should go," I said. "We'll talk tomorrow."

  My best friend nodded, and moved towards the door. She offered me a supportive smile before slipping away. She was unfortunate, of course, to have no parents. Yet at times I thought she was lucky too. They could be overbearing and overprotective. I knew it was all because my mother loved me, more than anything else in this world, but there had to come a time when she would let go.

  Becca's departure left behind a silence.

  I stood near the door as my mother sat in the chair.

  Her eyes were on the bed, where my gear was laid out. Perhaps, in a way, she had a point. Becca didn't need to know about everything, did she? I suppose, in the end, I just wanted to share. It was refreshing to speak to someone who found it all exciting.

  "I guess it's done now," my mother said, as though she was trying to figure out a way to erase all this, but couldn't. "You'll be there at the warehouse each day, nattering about what you've been up to." She shook her head, and looked right at me. "How long before someone overhears something? How long before you slip up?"

  "I haven't slipped up once, mum. Not at school. Not at work. Why would I now?"

  "Because you're different. You take risks now. And you can't account for Rebecca."

  "Oh come on, mum. You know Becs. She's very responsible and mature. We'll only talk about it here, I promise."

  She didn't seem convinced, but there was nothing I could do about that. I hated that I made her feel like this, but I had to be myself, didn't I?

  She stood from the chair, turning her eyes back on the gear. "You should hide that away. You're not...going out tonight, are you?"

  I shook my head. I'd been keeping my head down since last week. I wasn't yet ready to go back on the hunt.

  "OK." She stepped towards me and drew me into a hug. "We'll be hearing about the housing license soon," she said, clinging onto me. "Within the next few weeks, with any luck."

  She drew back and smiled. I tried to match her expression, but it didn't come out as genuine. My mother had been trying to get us a double unit for some time now. It would mean moving to another street, where we'd be able to live together. The space allowance was more generous, and the prices were slightly better.

  But money, I knew, wasn't her motivation to live with me. It was to keep an eye on me, and nothing more, no matter how she tried to dress it up.

  She left me alone at that, moving only a couple of floors down to her own little unit. I moved to the bed and began packing up my gear, hiding it away in its secret compartment. I had a little more chocolate afterwards to distract me from the conversation, and endured, rather than enjoyed, a tepid shower.

  And then, turning off the lights, I clambered under my blankets, and dropped into an uncomfortable sleep.

  I woke, late, my body drenched in sweat.

  My heart was racing, the drama of the day seeping into my dreams.

  My mind had brought up troubling imagery. Death. Destruction. People being tested on. Custodians in their black armour. Reapers with their terrifying bionic upgrades. Nightmares of fire and smoke and pain. They were nightly terrors that came from time to time, when I suspected that the enemy was closing in.

  I drew up from my bed, panting. My sheets were soaked through, my skin glistening. I stood up and pulled on a nightgown, shivering. I felt cold all of a sudden, the chill of the autumn night penetrating my little unit.

  It was silent, and that meant it was late. The repair works had concluded for now, yet would start up again soon. I drew a breath and found myself nervous. Something inside me, something primordial, told me I was being watched somehow.

  I moved for the door, my legs a little brittle. Though I was close to the Skytube line, and therefore in the loudest unit on the block, I still thought I had the best seat in the house. None of these units had windows, yet there was one in the corridor just outside. I liked to go there, when I felt afraid. This small space became so suffocating sometimes.

  I stepped into the corridor, dark and foreboding. Turning left, I crept quickly towards the window. My eyes worked through the glass, slightly frosted around the edge from the nightly chill. I searched below, turning my eyes down the street, lit in patches by the sickly-coloured street lamps.

  And as I did, my heart lurched, and my breath felt caught in my lungs.

  The guy from earlier...

  He was down there, staring right at me.

  6

  I stared down at the young man on the street, standing in the cold night air a few buildings away. His eyes seemed to be on me, narrow and keen as they were before.

  My heart thrashed inside me, several violent beats. Whoever the hell he was, I wasn't going to be intimidated.

  My mouth twisted into a scowl.

  Screw this.

  I turned, spinning on my heels, and marched immediately down the corridor. I hit the stairs at a gallop and fled quickly to the ground floor, turning and marching with intent towards the main door. I didn't slow or let myself think too much about it. This guy was up to something, and I needed to know what.

  I pulled the door open and swept out into the cold night air, a shiver tracing up my spine. My eyes worked swiftly up the street to where the young man had been standing. I half expected to find him gone. He wasn't. He still stood right there, unruffled as I stormed towards him.

  "OK, who the hell are you?" I hissed, careful to keep my voice down, yet deliver my words with enough menace. "Why are you watching me?"

  I stamped hard towards him, yet he continued to hold his ground. That barely visible smile held to his lips, his face partly illuminated by the light of a nearby street lamp. It cast a few shadows on his visage, making his stubbled jaw and strong cheekbones particularly prominent. I couldn't yet determine the colour of his eyes, but their shape was clear enough; sleek and narrow, cunning like a fox.

  "Well?" I said, tightening my voice further. "Speak!"

  Still, he refused to budge in either his posture or his expression. He stood patiently, as if waiting for me to get close enough for us to speak without raising our voices.

  I took the extra moments to continue my quick appraisal. He didn't have the look of a Reaper, that was for sure. He looked too normal, too mild to be one of their kind. But a spy? A snitch? Either was possible.

  I got to within a few metres. I scanned to see if he might have a weapon on him, before realising I'd left my own pistol back in my unit. Damn. He didn't seem to be armed, though weapons could be easily concealed these days. He wore the same simple overalls that I'd seen him in earlier, factory garments like most people wore around here. His skin, however, was clean and unstained. The outfit didn't fit him. It looked to me like a ruse.

  Finally, he shifted.

  He tipped his head back and took in a long breath of cool night air. Then his lips worked into a more obvious smile. It remained sly, hard to read. Not friendly, exactly, but not overtly malicious either.

  "You are an excitable one, aren't you?" he said. "Have something to hide, do you, Paige?"

  I startled at the mention of my name. My eyes narrowed. "You know who I am?"

  "Sure," he said.

  He offered nothing more. I waited.

  "How?" I growled.

  "Hmmm, how? An interesting question." He stopped once more. He seemed to be enjoying himself. "I suppose you want an answer?"

  I felt compelled to nod. I did so with as much explicit frustration as possible.

  "Well, perhaps I learned it from the local residents?" he said. "Perhaps I work with your mother? Or, perhaps I knew you from school. Southbank Academy, right? You left last year, assigned to work ration packing?" He shook his head. "Far too mundane work for a girl like you. You were the smartest person in the Academy. The smartest in years, perhaps ever. You did well hiding that fact, I'll give you that. It can't have been easy, doing it all o
n your own."

  My breathing was growing strained, slightly abbreviated. In the back of my mind, I was searching forward. Considering contingencies.

  Yet, there was something about him that didn't shout 'threat'. Anyone working for the enemy wouldn't draw things out like this. He seemed to have another agenda.

  I needed to know what.

  "OK, you have my attention," I told him. My eyes turned up the street. We were in a surveillance blindspot here, out of sight from any cameras. Is that why he chose this place? I wondered.

  "Don't worry," he said, drawing my eyes back to his, "there are no custodians out tonight." I could see the colour of his eyes clearly now; a warm, chocolate brown. They seemed to hold their own natural light, gleaming a little from within. They were striking, I thought. He was striking.

  "How do you know?"

  "I know."

  The street clung to a deathly silence, a light breeze coming from the north. It was bitterly cold, my breath beginning to cloud before me. A few autumn leaves rustled quietly along the ground, before the air stilled once more.

  "You've been watching me," I said. "How did you know I'd wake up and see you just now?"

  He smiled. "A hunch," he said. "You looked rather spooked earlier. I'm surprised it took you this long, actually."

  "So you've just been standing here all night?"

  He looked at me carefully, but offered no answer. Instead, I posed another question. It seemed logical to ask it, though I feared what his answer might be. "How long?" I asked, as he raised his eyes for clarification. "How long have you been watching me?"

  A smile broadened across his face. "For some time, Paige," he said. "You've been of interest to us for a while."

  My eyes narrowed on him. "Us?"

  He nodded slowly, and drew a small memory device from his pocket, twiddling it casually between his fingers. It caught my attention, setting a frown to my face.

  "Would you mind following me?" he asked. "There's something I need you to see."

  He took a step back and prepared to turn, before stopping. He turned to me again and shook his head. "Sorry, this is all so cloak and dagger, isn't it?" His tone lightened suddenly, and he stepped right towards me. "I'm a friend, Paige," he said. "Let's just start there, shall we." He reached out with his hand. "Ford Carson. Nice to officially meet you."

  If he was trying to put me at ease, it was working, at least in part. Though I remained tentative, I reached out and took his hand. It felt rough, but strong, enveloping mine between his fingers.

  He drew back and smiled. "So, shall we?"

  7

  I followed Ford down the street, walking just a pace or so behind him. Though this part of Southbank wasn't overly policed, it remained under surveillance to ensure that curfew wasn't regularly broken, even if it wasn't actively enforced.

  It was another part of the Controller's 'keep them on their toes' philosophy.

  Clearly, however, it was of no concern to Ford. I watched as he drew a small scanning device from his pocket, turning it around the street as we went. He seemed to already know where the hidden camera placements were, though the scanner picked them up as well. Some were capable of being bypassed, with a number of blindspots around here. Others covered the entire street and needed to be interfered with before we could pass by unseen.

  "So, you're an ill-tech?" I whispered to him, following behind. "That's not custodian gear. You make it yourself?"

  He glanced back with a smile. "I'm not so gifted at that as you are, Paige," he said. "My gifts lie...elsewhere."

  We didn't have to go far, only a few streets down and towards the northeast. It was a route I commonly took when heading to the Bends, and one I knew well. He guided us expertly and unseen until we came upon another quiet, residential block.

  I frowned as he approached the door to a regular housing building and led me inside. His overalls had seemed out of place, but perhaps I'd misjudged him. Perhaps he does work around here like I do? Perhaps he's just like me, hidden within the system...

  I stopped him as we entered the silent corridor. I needed an answer right there and then.

  "You're a Variant, aren't you?" I asked him directly.

  It was obvious to me now, and especially so as I spoke the words. I felt a connection to him that I couldn't rightly explain.

  He nodded and smiled at me. "That obvious?" he asked.

  I had no answer. I could only look up at him with a strange swelling of emotion stirring inside me. "I..." I tried to form words but found my tongue suddenly tied. "I've never..."

  His smile showed he understood. "You've been isolated too long, Paige. It can't have been easy."

  His words brought it all home.

  Isolated.

  Yes, I had my mother. Yes, I had Becca. There were others I might call friend at a push. But, my own people? I'd lived alone, aside from them. Their numbers had dwindled over the years, a once thriving population vilified and persecuted. There may still have been hundreds, maybe even thousands in hiding in the city, yet those that remained had become harder to root out. It was a process of survival of the fittest, of natural selection, that had made those that remained particularly resourceful, smart, and cunning to have kept themselves alive.

  And now here I was, looking at one in the flesh. I couldn't help it, stupid as it was; it almost brought a tear to my eye.

  Ford smiled affectionately at my reaction. "Come on, let's get inside," he said softly. "It'll be safer to talk in here."

  He turned to a small unit on the ground floor, and opened up the door. I stayed behind him, wiping away the burgeoning tear, and turned my eyes around. It was a standard, six credits a day unit, just like mine. The structure and basic furnishings were identical.

  "This is your place?" I asked. "You work around here?"

  "Well, not exactly," he said. "I'd call this place more of a safe-house, really. It isn't mine, per se. We have a few of them dotted around the city, registered under the names of 'active workers'."

  "Active workers?" I looked around. "And, where's the current occupant?"

  "Doesn't exist," he said matter-of-factly. "There are some loopholes in the system that we like to take advantage of. We create profiles, rent units under their names. Sometimes they get shut down. We're careful to stay one step ahead, though."

  I nodded along, trying to keep up. "And...we?" I asked. "There are more of you? More Variants?'

  "I'm sure you've heard of us," he said casually, moving towards a wall. He opened a small, hidden panel, and activated a concealed, wall-mounted screen. Now that certainly wasn't standard issue. He inserted his memory device into the panel, before turning to me, raising his eyes.

  A name came to mind, one my mother had spoken of before, a long time ago.

  "The Variant Liberation Army," I whispered, the name emerging from the recesses of my mind. "The resistance."

  "Resistance?" he said. "That's probably being overly kind. We try to resist, but we do more running and hiding than we'd like."

  "I...I didn't think the VLA were still in business?"

  "Clinging on," he said. "We do what we can, but our resources are limited, and so are our friends. Unfortunately, such a predicament forces us to cooperate with some...unseemly types. We work a lot in the Bends. I know it's where you get your parts as well."

  "I go there from time to time," I said. "More by necessity than anything else."

  "Then it seems we have that in common, amongst other things." His eyes narrowed on me. "I understand you've been trying to make a difference, Paige. That's admirable, but solo vigilantism isn't going to get you anywhere."

  "And this is where you invite me to join your cause?"

  My eyes flattened on him. I wanted to make a difference, yes, but giving up my autonomy wasn't something I'd do without due thought and consideration. I had my mother, and Becca, to think about. Anything I did could well affect them too.

  "I suspected you might be quite forthright," Ford said, "an
d a little distrusting too. I can't blame you for that, of course. Isolation breeds a skittish nature..."

  "I'm not skittish," I said, partly defensive. "I just like to know the facts before I make a decision."

  "Understandable," he said. "In that case, let me show you this."

  He turned again towards the control panel, and activated the screen. It bloomed to life, overly bright in that small unit, flourishing with an image of a dank apartment. It took me only a second to recognise the place.

  It was the snitch's unit, the footage taken from the week before, from some camera hidden on the wall, most likely within one of those picture frames.

  I looked at Ford, my posture tightening up. He raised a single eyebrow, and gestured for me to watch.

  I turned again to the screen. The footage began playing. The snitch was there in his chair, that episode of Reaper Wars playing on the TV screen. I recalled the particular scene. It was just as I arrived.

  My figure came into view, stepping silently through the door in my stealth suit. I'd been too distracted by my anger to have checked for surveillance in there, too committed to making my first kill.

  Stupid, Paige. Stupid...

  I glanced at Ford, who watched me as it played. "Why are you showing me this?" I asked him guardedly. "What is this about?"

  On the screen, the footage was showing the moment the snitch realised what I was. He accused me of being a Variant, spat blood at me as I dodged and rushed in. I moved with an unnatural speed, confirming his accusation. I'd never seen myself on screen before. I moved with a frightening pace.

  Ford shook his head, evidently unimpressed. "Untidy," he said. "You have a lot to learn."

  The footage continued to play out, until the snitch took his last breath, and the curfew alarm began blaring outside. I dashed off screen at that, slipping back home before I was caught. The footage then cut out for a moment. When it came back on, I saw a masked figure come into view, dressed in a black stealth suit similar to my own. He approached the camera and reached out, pulling it from its position and switching it off.