by Phoenix Ward
Beth didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, but it was hard not to get some shivers from the place. Where they camped used to be the main street of a sprawling suburb. They made their camp against the wall of an old drugstore, the brick-and-mortar kind, though a good number of the brick walls had caved in on themselves. A bit of vine clung to the side of the structure, running from cracks in the sidewalk, or at least, what remained of the sidewalk. A disabled traffic light hung overhead, watching over them with three dull gray eyes.
This particular suburb had been abandoned for over forty years, according to Beth’s records. She had to access most data offline now, so she wasn’t sure of its accuracy, but no one had lived in these parts for decades. At least no one but a few Luddites, as her records referred to them. They were country folk who lived outside of the hustle and bustle of the modern world. They preferred the open skies and the silent hum of a world without computers whirring, vehicles honking, or just people yelling over loud music. In fact, these Luddites were typically so extreme that they shunned technology — in the modern sense — altogether. They lived in a sort of agrarian society, like Amish people but without the religion. Some of them banded together to form groups or tribes, but they never seemed to step on each other’s toes too much. With so much open and abandoned space to choose from, they left the fighting for the people in the cities.
She had yet to meet one of these Luddites — these wild men. But it made her a little uncomfortable to think of one or two of them stumbling upon her while she slept. There was no way to tell what they would do. Luddites weren’t easily subject to modern laws, though she reckoned they probably had some sort of justice system between themselves. Otherwise, they’d be nothing more than feral animals.
“What do we do now?” the detective asked, gazing up as the first stars started to appear. There was a hopeless tone to her voice, and Simon didn’t fail to notice it.
“Don’t worry, I’ve already begun,” he reassured her.
She looked over at him. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“I’m using some of the back-door Internet methods the Liberators have developed to reach out,” Simon explained. “I’m trying to see if I can find someone.”
“Find who?”
“Someone friendly,” he replied. He turned his gaze down to the fire pit he was working on. “Though it may take some time.”
“You think there’s anyone friendly left out there?” Beth asked.
“Of course,” Simon said. “Friends lurk in as many nooks and crannies as enemies do. You just have to look for them.”
“And where are you looking for them?”
“Amongst some old Liberator contacts,” Simon answered. “People who might know of defectors. People who might even defect themselves, with the right push.”
“You sound hopeful,” Beth observed.
“I am, detective,” he said. “I have no doubt that someone else in there hates Tarov as much as I do. And if they’re willing to listen to our claims, they may be persuaded to help us.”
Beth folded her arms. She felt determined to remain in a sour mood.
“Well, good luck with that,” she said. “You’re probably going to need it.”
“Thanks,” Simon said.
Beth stared back up at the sky. The sun had sunk completely below the horizon now, leaving behind only a yellow tint in the clouds nearest to it before surrounding the world in a velvety blanket of night. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene. She had never seen so many lights coming from above before, at least, not ones that weren’t trying to advertise something to her. The sky in the city was always a pallid slate of colorless uniformity, even in the deep of night. Out here, it felt like she could see entire galaxies. Every patch of the sky seemed to have its own personality.
She watched the heavens for almost an hour before she felt the rumbling in her tummy signaling her for dinner. She set everything up and Simon lit the fire while she relaxed, but it was time to actually get something warm in her stomach before she could call it a night.
She rummaged in the cooler they had acquired at the same store they bought the tent. It was big enough to store almost an entire refrigerator of food and was lined with its own cooling cells, so it wasn’t like ice would melt and they’d have to go get more — as long as the power stayed active.
The generator they picked up was a little noisy, but much quieter than models that existed in the past. It didn’t run off gasoline, but instead could use a variety of clean and easily obtainable fuel sources, from the flow in a river to the beam of the sun. It would generate and produce its power throughout the day for Beth and Simon to use during the night. It seemed a bit counterintuitive to bring their own power source when their goal was to get off the grid, but Simon’s impressive bodyshell could only power itself for so long. It was designed to last days without rest, but eventually, a charge was needed. Just like everyone needed to sleep to allow their bodies to recover from the day’s labor, so did his mechanical shell.
Beth started heating up some of the ground hamburger they had several tubes of, trying to get the insides to turn brown at about the same rate the insides were. She used a small, chisel-like spatula to break the meat apart into small crumbles as it started to cook. It blew her mind how difficult a rather simple, nutritious meal was to produce from scratch. She had been so used to her ready-to-make meals that self-heated while she went over the day’s news and was ready to eat in a matter of seconds. Now, she found she was trying to cook simple beef for over forty minutes. The fire was so inconsistent of a heat source that she kept having to pull the pan away from the flames, only to realize she had let it cool too much and needed to heat it all over again.
How did people live like this? she wondered. Did they find pleasure in the monotony of such tasks? Did they not feel obliged to give up significant chunks of their time just to devote to the task of survival?
Then she thought about how the old village system used to work. It wasn’t every man cooking by himself, looking over his shoulders to make sure no one saw him work. It was a group of people playing their role for a common interest. A cook would work on the food all day, while the hunter would be tracking it down. There would be people who spent all of their time weaving baskets to store the food, or even people to take care of and educate the children, so they could one day grow up and work hard for their survival as well.
She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Things were going to get tough if she ran out of basic food in the cooler and had to start searching. Perhaps she would become a hunter, get really good at it, and start bringing back entire deer. Maybe she’d even become a Luddite herself. Just abandon the modern world for the struggle of a simple existence. One based out of necessity instead of desire.
The real life, she thought.
There would be another time for such daydreams, she realized. She finished burning the beef into an edible state and wrapped it in a couple tortillas. She enjoyed her first ever burrito-from-scratch, even if the meat was too dry and burnt on some spots. She used some of their vegetables to sweeten up the dish. She figured they would be the first thing to go bad anyway, so might as well enjoy them while they were fresh.
She ate in silence while Simon seemed preoccupied with some internal task. Probably reaching out for his defectors, she thought.
She put the cooking stuff away and went into the tent. Beth kept the door open as she laid down on her cot so she could watch Simon’s bodyshell sit by itself, out in the cold, while the fire slowly died. Soon, the only light to be seen were the stars and the machine glow coming from Simon’s eyes. She found comfort in that artificial light, focusing on it until consciousness slipped away and she was able to find sleep out in the wild.
Radar
She awoke to find Simon still seated where she had left him. He fidgeted a little, letting her know that he was not in a powered-down state — just focused on his work. She didn’t sit in her cot long before jumping up to start th
e fire for breakfast. She fumbled while the flames grew a little, listening to the wood crackle as it burned away in the fresh morning air.
Beth nearly spilled some of the coffee grounds when an alert came onto her internal retina display. She took a moment to realize that the sudden noise and motion was coming from her cerebral computer, rather than from her surroundings.
A small window popped up, outlined in a flashing red border. The window read SECURITY BREACH! in loud, capital letters. The window itself showed a video feed from one of her home security cameras. It was rigged to send her an alert, even if on low power or disconnected from the Net, if someone broke into her apartment. The video feed showed about five armed police officers break down the front door and storm into her living room.
The camera changed as the cops went farther into her apartment. She held her breath while she watched, as though the police would be able to hear her and she’d blow her cover.
None of the faces were recognizable. All of them had their weapons drawn, clearly expecting some sort of fight. Their expressions were blank and cold, like they were all in a dream-like state.
Meat puppets, she thought. They must be agents of Tarov’s. The moles within the department, come to hunt their own kin.
At least, that’s what she sincerely hoped. She despised the idea of coherent, flesh-and-blood police officers hunting down one of their own detectives so aggressively. To think that she was a traitor, or whatever lie the A.I. would have told them to go after her. To make her seem like the enemy. All while he worked in the shadows above the stage, holding the strings. The mere thought made her feel powerless. She pushed it out of her head and insisted that they were under the A.I.’s control.
They made a sweep of her apartment, taking no care to keep from knocking things over. One of them kicked off the leg of her coffee table in the excitement. Once they had looked over every inch of the domicile and concluded that Beth was not there, they regrouped in the living room.
“Where is she?” one of them asked. The voice was a little fuzzy through the cheap microphone her security system had.
“Probably long gone, if she’s smart,” another replied, this one older and gruffer.
“She knew we were coming,” a female officer commented. “Someone must have tipped her off.”
“The boss says it’s Simon,” the older one replied. “That would be consistent with the way Mark was killed. Only Simon could do something like that.”
Another one groaned in frustration.
“So what now?”
“We wait, and we stay vigilant,” the older one answered. “She’s bound to slip up eventually. When she does, we’ll have her.”
They didn’t say anything else before walking out the front door, not bothering to pick it up or fix the damage they’d caused.
And like that, the security alert disappeared, and a little icon appeared on Beth’s display, letting her know the whole thing was saved as a recording.
So I really can’t go home, she thought. The realization had finally struck her, and not in some fantastic, surreal way. I’m a fugitive. A refugee in my own world. I have to keep running.
Her heart raced a little as she thought. Her breathing became quick and shallow, and she realized she was slipping into an anxiety attack. It felt like her whole world was crashing down around her, like the sky became dark and she was left all alone on the surface of some barren, inhospitable hellscape. She felt like the only soul left alive. Completely alone.
Simon looked over at her as she clutched at her chest. There were no eyebrows to raise in curiosity or any lips to frown with, but he still watched her through concerned lenses.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“They’re in my home,” she replied between panicked breaths. “They’re watching for me, waiting for me to make a mistake. They probably even bugged the place. I can’t go back.”
“I know,” Simon said.
“You know?” she asked. She raised her wide, open eyes at him, a fury burning in them that threatened to leak out over her cheeks. “You don’t know what this means for me! My life is over! There’s nothing I can do with this lunatic A.I. watching my every step!”
“Then it seems like your only option is to beat him,” Simon said. “To get rid of him forever. Then he can’t do anything to you and you can go home.”
“But how do we do that?” Beth realized she was sounding a little hysterical. She felt like a child, so helpless to do anything but cry and worry. So powerless.
“I’ve contacted a defector,” Simon started. “She calls herself Radar. She claims to have her own evidence that Tarov is an artificial intelligence.”
“She does?” Beth asked. A tinge of hope broke through the crushing despair. “How?”
“She won’t say,” Simon said. “I don’t think she trusts us entirely. Says she’ll be taking every measure to be careful, to make sure her cover isn’t blown before it needs to be.”
“She’s still within the Liberators?”
“That’s my guess,” Simon answered. “It sounds like she must be very close to the master general to have such evidence and worry so much about discovery. Perhaps it’s one of his lieutenants. If that’s the case, she might even be able to help us win over some more allies. Take over the Liberators from within.”
Beth nodded. “That’s a better lead than I’ve heard this whole time,” she said. “Why doesn’t she transmit this evidence over to us? Is it bugged like our data? Self-destroying information?”
“Like I’ve said, she doesn’t trust us yet,” the bodyshell said, a bit of frustration bleeding out through his speakers. “She’s worried we might be setting her up.”
“I’m a bit worried about the same thing,” Beth commented.
“As we should be,” Simon replied. “That’s why she’s proposing we meet in a neutral location. Someplace public, where we can speak face-to-face. That way she can give us the data without leaving a trail. She’s making sure we can’t reverse track her, which is entirely possible if she were to upload it to us remotely.”
“I don’t know if I like this, Simon,” Beth said. “We’re out here because we can’t trust anyone.”
“Well, if we want to stop Tarov and go home again, we have to start somewhere.”
Beth sighed. There didn’t seem to be any winning here. No matter what choice she made, she’d have to take a risk. Staying out here in the wild was a chance against survival, and that’s only if Tarov never comes out this far to look for her. Every day she spent was another day closer to her capture — or even worse.
“Where does she want to meet?” the detective asked.
“A hyperloop station on the edge of the city,” Simon answered. “It’s in a pretty rough neighborhood. The place is so poor that cops aren’t likely to go out that way for anything short of a riot. It should work for both parties.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible,” the I.I. replied. “I can start taking the tent down if you want to pack the cookware.”
Rendezvouz
Beth could almost smell the grime in the air as she descended the stairs to the hyperloop station. There was a set of escalators, but they were broken, an orange framework barrier placed at each entrance to the immobilized device. Beth could hear people coughing as they leaned against the tile walls that formed the interior of Willmington Station.
There was an older black woman pushing a cart down the stairs. It had special wheels that allowed it to roll down the steps without jarring the contents too much. She was wrapped in a wool shawl, her face concealed as she worked the thing down to the lower level. Beth and Simon walked past her and around a couple of tourists who were marveling at the squalor and filth that called the station home.
Once they got off the staircase and were walking with the rest of the commuters, Beth could smell meat smoking over a couple food stands. The aroma wafted through a cloud of cigarette smoke, as well as the perfume of some older women, before
it reached the detective’s nose. She wrinkled her nostrils to the odor. The combination was not pleasant.
She couldn’t read Simon as he made his way down through the crowd. He was leading the way, apathetic to the sights around them as he weaved through the crowd. Beth followed him uncertainly, like a child following her family during an important commute. She didn’t know where they were going, but she knew she didn’t like where they already were.
“Hey, hey,” a guy beside a pillar to her left called out. “You wanna try some of this new Blue Fog stuff? Better than the original drug. Gets you much, much higher.”
“No thanks,” she said, waving the drug dealer off with her hand.
They were emboldened down here, she realized. She didn’t even look like a junkie or a street dweller, but this guy had no qualms about offering illegal narcotics to her. In fact, the only downside that existed in his burned-out brain was that she might say no. Not that she might be a detective with the city’s police force and that she might bring the hammer of justice down on him. He knew cops didn’t bother coming this far out of the city’s downtown areas. He was fearless.
The same seemed to be true of everyone down here. Every variety of criminal seemed to breath easy in these subterranean walls, glad to know their illicit businesses wouldn’t be the subject of any scrutiny. Except, perhaps, by competition, but that was easy enough to deal with. Every vendor down here seemed to be packing heat, keeping their large, illegal firearms out on display so everyone passing knew they were not to be fucked with. In a strange way, it seemed to keep everyone focused on their own business.
There was a woman, entirely naked except for a small bit of glittering underwear, dancing by one of the platforms for a small crowd of unbathed working-class men. They hooted and howled at her as she danced to no music in particular. The flesh on her buttocks quaked as she shook her hips, and that seemed to send the men into a mini-frenzy.
