Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  'Hey Arturo, you should've seen it. When you were gone they came out and showed us their magic. It was amazing. Animals came right up to us. An owl sat on Jacob's finger, then a weasel came running between our legs, then a huge snake slithered along. Oh my goddess, it was scary! Look who's back,' Sylvie gasps.

  A weasel scurries from the undergrowth and reveals a white underbelly as it stands on hind legs before Sylvie who crouches to stroke its twitchy nose. Cooing girls clasp hands but their bottom lips drop as Scoop tries to grab the furry critter. The buffoon is easily outsmarted by his larger brained rival which scuttles through his legs, causing him to tumble head first to howls of jubilation.

  'Up there!' Oscar yells, pointing to a treesnake slithering through heart-shaped leaves, which is barely visible until soulless eyes capture dim rays. Cringing girls are strangely not so enamoured with this scaly serpent as it flicks a fork tongue and hisses in a crisp and pronounced manner: 'Sssbeee sscarrrefulll sswhooo youu sstrussstt.'

  'Did you guys hear that? It spoke.' I rub my eyes.

  'Sure it did! Hey Arturo, Jacob said we can be their friends. How cool is that? First Dynah, now these guys as well. They said we can com... What happened, Arturo? You look a bit iffy!' Sylvie says.

  'I just wanna get back, I feel drained. Come on, let's go.'

  'You'll need time to digest what you've seen, Arturo. Knowledge is the key to your future. You'll open up to the truth in your own time and this truth should be dictated by no-one. You've witnessed things which violate your sense of normality, but this is not to say anything goes, only that our understanding is, and likely always will be incomplete. It's time for you to leave, but you can return when you need to. You'll know when the time is right,' Lily says.

  'Hey guys, you'll need this to guide you out.'

  The ginger-dreadlocked boy blows a fiery orb from his palm which flies ahead of our group to light the way as his arm waves loosely. There is a nerdy charm to his toothy grin, but Lily looks unimpressed by his forthcomingness. I get the impression he is a low-ranking misfit here; an oddity due to his merriment rather than his gawkiness.

  'Thanks Jacob! Goodbye Bella. Goodbye Rupert,' Sylvie says as the bohemians descend into their enclave and the gaping shrub seals to conceal the stairway. We trundle through the jungle and repressed emotions are stirred as I ponder whether I really communicated with the ghost of my father, feeling both reluctant and compelled to speak:

  'She showed me something, it was an apparition. It told me there's going to be a war. It said we must fight or die. Maybe it was some trick or something, I dunno. It was weird though.'

  'War? You mean we get to kick arse on the Nyberuns again?' Killow asks.

  'Apparently, we're supposed to fight against San Teria.'

  'Let'sth overthrow the bastardsth! They don't give a shit about us,' Scoop interrupts.

  'Apparently, they've moved past indifference. It said they'll try to enslave minds and eliminate non-believers. War's an inevitable part of the pattern it described, but despite what it said I'd rather stay clear. Let 'em kill each other's what I say.'

  'Agreed. We only get one life, why would we jeopardise it?' Mila asks.

  'Unfortunately, some don't believe we only get one life and it's gonna be hard to hide if war consumes the entire world. Non-participation would be a challenge in itself,' I respond.

  'We jeopardise our own lives every day! You sound confused, Arturo. Are you saying you wouldn't fight for us?' Emmi asks.

  'Course I'd fight for you, Emmi, but despite all we've suffered and the threat they may pose, I'd rather not get involved. Not unless my hand is forced. If they threaten my team...'

  'Too right. Pacifism is all well and good until you're placed under threat.' A laugh whistles through Killow's lips.

  Chapter Six

  Opportunity of a Lifetime

  Since Dynah's return two days ago she has been relentlessly pestered about what she learnt with the 'hippies' but is strangely reluctant to reveal anything. I have faced regular questions about my next job for the 'gangster' and our tale of the flying pod has led to accusations of cowshit. Stuffing my gob on this fine Friday morning, I lick remaining morsels of black pudding and dog meat from my plate and mumble to Killow and Mila:

  'Bailey still hasn't come to see us about the security upgrades and we really need to get this place sor-'

  'Arturo, Mila come here. I need to talk to you a sec.' Turbo beckons us to the stairwell where he quietly continues: 'Jardine has some work for you. He needs a girl and a boy to pose as two eighteen year olds. You two are a little young but you're the closest we've got. The job is totally safe, he just wants you to walk into a college, upload a disc and walk straight out. He'll explain more but it's a simple task and it'll pay well. Are you two up for it?'

  'Well... er... you said the last job would be straight forward and we nearly got caught,' I reply.

  'There's a couple of thousand credits in it, but all you have to do is use fake Citicards to access Sky City,' Turbo says ever-so-casually.

  'Wait, you said Sky City?' Mila gasps.

  'Yeah, if you two are interested come and hear Jardine out.'

  'That's a lot of money to consider.' My voice breaks into a whisper of intermittent syllables. 'What do you think, Mila?'

  'I think we should meet this guy and see what he has to say!'

  The three of us sneak into the vestibule and climb aboard Turbo's jeep without the baggy-eyed whippersnappers noticing to avoid them pestering to tag along. Mila yaps the entire journey and I rest my head against the window, smiling contentedly at the dew drops which have prettied our urban surroundings. The significance of our previous close scrape has been subdued and our selection for a second mission feels more official as we await a verbal contract in the simmering underbelly.

  'Will this really be easy, Turbo? We better not get caught, I'm too pretty to go to a work camp!' Mila asks.

  'I wouldn't have asked you if it was risky, just think of the credits,' Turbo replies.

  'Oh my goddess, I can go shopping. I can't even imagine what I could buy in Sky City with two thousand credits!'

  'Remember, you won't get paid until afterwards, Mila. When you're in there you need to keep your mind on the mission. There'll be plenty of time for fun later.'

  'Hey Turbo, don't discourage her!' Laughter splutters from my belly.

  'So is Underworld really as bad as they say it is? They won't do anything, will they? I mean all that time living underground without female contact. They might not be able to control themselves!' Mila asks.

  'Don't worry, there are one or two women down there. You'll have a hard job telling them apart from the men though!' Turbo replies.

  Upon arrival at our destination the overt chauvinism in circulation rips the chirpiness from Mila's voicebox. Gestures which would not normally twitch an eyebrow are now offensive even to my coarse skin and I glare at the whooping vagabonds in this suffocating criminals' den.

  Mila is likely the first young girl to enter these chambers in decades and she is understandably edgy as grey-bearded bikers, some of which are old enough to be her grandfather, wink and pull sexually suggestive faces. This is no doubt harmless fun to them, good natured humour and trying to just explain otherwise would be like talking an enemy language.

  'The things we must do for money.' Mila's pointed fingers tremble. 'Suddenly, the slums don't seem too grim.'

  We knock at the non-female friendly quarters, then the door automatically unlocks and we are called into the same back office as last time. The paleness of Mila's face is suggestive of second thoughts with one corner of her mouth curling downwards as she treads warily. The semi-naked dancing hologram now appears uncomfortably inappropriate but I admire it regardless.

  Turbo and Jardine scuttle to the corner of his office, muttering with a rapid exchange of words and sharp nods, leaving Mila and I to stand hesitantly in the doorway. A plaque on the wall catches my eye and I quickly scan the engraved words
as the men whisper:

  The Ten Decrees

  1. We must not physically hurt another... rape... murder and genocide... never justifiable...

  3. ...slavery of any form is unacceptable... prejudice has no place in a civilised society... including, but not limited to racism, homophobia...

  10. Accept no scientific claim on faith alone... superstition and pseudoscience have no place in government.

  'So slave-ownership is a graver sin than failure to pray on a Sunday?' I mutter.

  'Arturo, and you must be Mila.' Jardine smiles with pink cheeks as he takes Mila's hand to finally acknowledge our presence. Our awkwardness is eased by his gentlemanly manner but an air of suspicion lingers as the rebel continues: 'Why don't you three take a seat? I take it Turbo's already given you a brief summary.

  Yesterday, we kidnapped two eighteen year old Level Two students. They are being held in a safe location and will be released unharmed once the mission is complete. I hate this term, but we are doing this for the greater good. We've obtained their Citicards and biometric data. This means you'll adopt their identities. The students have just taken up residence at the college campus. I reckon we have two or three days before anyone thinks about reporting them missing.

  You'll need to take a tram to Nimbis College, place a cartridge into one of the terminals and then return here. If anybody obtains the cartridge it is filled with academic data and will appear to be perfectly legitimate.

  We'll need to alter your eyes and fingerprints so they match the data on the Citicards and then you'll have access to many Level Two buildings, including Nimbis College. These cards will also provide access to bank accounts so you can withdraw from any ATM - the credits are yours to spend. You'll have to buy some new clothes so you blend in. Arturo, you'll have to take that off your hand. No Level Two Citizen would have need for a cast.'

  As Mila and I stare into each other's dreamstruck eyes our triumphant thought patterns diverge. We are going to Sky City after years of fantasising and the appeal may lie in what is forbidden, but these inaccessible refuges will not disappoint. Portals into another time, generations ahead of our undeveloped class, the idea of intrusion only adds to the sense of excitement and undercurrent of anger.

  'So, do you two think you can do it?' Turbo's question brings an end to reverie as my spinning head is reminded of his presence in the room.

  'Of course we can. All we have to do is insert a poxy disc, what could go wrong?'

  'Excellent. Arturo, give me your fingers. I need to alter your prints. This may sting a little.'

  Jardine places a container onto the table and unclips the lid, then hands me a pen knife. Sawing into the degradable cast, I remove the binding to wriggle my stiff, but wonderfully free fingers. Swelling has gone down but my sweaty, red flesh is still tender. Jardine places each of my digits into a small white device and one by one, pieces of my identity are lost forever. Searing pain accompanies an undue feeling of downcastedness but I conceal any sign of weakness.

  'You'll need to put these contacts in.' Jardine hands over a small case which I prise open to carefully remove one of the delicate, green-tinted lenses. My right eye streams as I struggle to fit the first lens with half-numb fingertips and the process renders me partially blind which makes me reluctant to fit the other.

  'I can't get it in properly. It doesn't fit.'

  'It's fine, Arturo. You just need to get used to it,' Jardine suggests.

  As tears clear and vision readjusts, I watch Mila wincing and murmuring during her fingerprint alteration. She snatches her hand from the device but annoyingly fits her contact lenses without issue. Mila's artificially brown eyes gaze provocatively as she ditches the girly demeanour, appearing ready to implement our stratagem and the subtle change is unnerving, like I am looking at a different person.

  'Congratulations, you two are now fully fledged Citizens. And you did not even need to say a silly pledge to the goddess! Turbo will take you to the city. Once inside, the navigation system will direct you by voice command. You need to head to Nimbis College, then the library. Got it?' Jardine says.

  'Navigation system? That sounds a bit complicated.'

  'Don't worry, even a five year old could figure it out! Now where are you going, Mila?' Jardine asks.

  'Nimbis College library, got it!'

  'Good luck. Remember you can visit an ATM to empty the balances on the Citicards, but don't stick around in the city. If the kids are reported lost, they'll track you,' Jardine explains and I await the instruction to leave the rebel hideout but he continues: 'Just one more thing, I nearly forgot...'

  The rebel leader rummages through a metal box on the table, then approaches with another gadget in his flesh and bone hand and tilts my head with his mechanical limb. He places the steel tip against my neck, then presses his thumb onto a button at the end with a click. Jolting as a needle penetrates my skin, I feel a strange sensation as though a tiny object is squirming its way up through my jugular vein.

  'What was that for?' Pursing my lips, I rub my punctured neck.

  'It'll help reduce your risk of detection. Mila, your turn.'

  Mila backsteps from the suspicious device, raising her palm as she bumps into a paper-covered side-table but Jardine snatches her wrist to inject her neck, then she too rubs the afflicted area. 'Owww!'

  'Come on, you two. Time to play your part in the liberation of Anatolia,' Turbo instructs.

  Destination Sky City

  We embark on a short trip to a transport network linking affluent strongholds and ivory towers. Giddy enthusiasm relegates our mission to a secondary concern as we continue our spectacular ride without need for financial motivation because my heroic impetus is going to contribute to the toppling of San Teria during a fated romantic conquest.

  Turbo drops us off at Ampfield Station at the outer hub and the giddying act of strolling up the stairway represents a quantum shift in our level of freedom. A duo of unsuitably dressed undercover operatives strive to blend into an unfamiliar way of life, swept up in memories of the times we used to stare enviously at Citizens passing through booths when the disconnection failed to dampen our dreams of entering their nation. The tram takes you to the true Anatolia and we inhabit the unwanted land in between.

  'Is this really about to happen, Arturo? Are we really just gonna walk in there like we belong?' Mila asks breathlessly.

  'You do belong, Mila.' A prolonged smile causes lips to ache as Mila swipes her Citicard to bring down a yellow energy barrier. She trespasses onto foreign concrete for the first time but my pursuit results in a painless jolt from the re-emerging forcefield. With my lesson learnt I swipe my Citicard and gain entry to the free-to-ride but restricted tram system.

  Piano music gently plays as we walk onto the platform and sit on a row of blue-checked sponge, facing tubular tram lines. Emerald words appear as though they have been magically written in the air but I know them to be the product of laser beams shining into my pupils. When I turn my head the personalised message follows my gaze. It reads: Zain Gilfoid, welcome. Next tram due in 3 minutes 7 seconds.

  'Hi, I'm Ana King.' Amusement lights Mila's eyes as she adopts a formal tone. 'And who would you be?'

  'Nice to meet you, Ana, I would be Zain Gilfoid!'

  Mila, or should I say Ana, sheepishly sniggers in response to the bemused glance of an old lady with an automated shopping cart by her legs as she mutters: 'How odd!'

  Precisely three minutes and seven seconds later (as confirmed by the timer on my holowatch) a vast green tram with a serpentine face hisses to a stop at the moderately populated boarding deck. Extra-wide doors are numerous enough to almost eliminate queuing and we follow behind the lady with the shopping cart to make our debut on Citizen transport.

  The spacious tram interior is cleaner than clean and passengers have taken up nearly half of the comfy chairs. As the last person steps aboard, the doors swish shut and Mila rests her feet on the opposite seat, attracting unimpressed stares. I shak
e my head until she sits upright in a more 'acceptable' position. Wide-eyed, she touches one of the transparent fish which are swimming across blue-tinted windows, creating the illusion of an aquarium without obscuring our view of the outside world.

  A three dimensional network map appears, detailing the routes and stations and a message reads: Zain Gilfoid, what is your destination?

  Mila says, 'Ekko Station,' and I repeat, 'Yeah, Ekko Station.'

  Another message reads: Estimated length of journey - 6 minutes 20 seconds.

  No sooner than the notification fades from the air, holographic fashion models make an appearance, floating within swatting distance to show off the latest trends. Pixies twirl and spread arms as outfits are cycled and their theatrical posing fails to be intrusive due to the novelty factor.

  A message appears: Zain Gilfoid, why don't you check out Zealand Clothing and Accessories on Level 14 of Sky City?

  'I wanna go to Zealand Clothing. The girls' clothes look amazing and I dunno about you, but I'm sick of wearing stolen gear. Level Two girls have real style. Well, the ones who shop in this place do.'

  'I wouldn't know, it only shows me boys' clothes!' I reply and tiny female models materialise in response. 'Not interested, thanks.'

  After a few stops the tram ascends until we are several hundred yards above ground level but seats adjust as our climb steepens. Buildings below the tracks are bright white and electric blue, curving into one liquid smooth superstructure with walkways joining the base of Sky City Tower One. I notice colourful specks dotted around window boxes and balconies, probably artificial plants, but air purifiers with filthy grills spoil the sterile beauty by bulging from the architecture like big ugly warts.

  A spaghetti-like network of tramlines twist between laser light advertisements and trams swoosh along at blurring speed. The lines connect the hubs to the various levels of Sky City as they spiral brilliant constructs which are over two miles high. I marvel at the Sky Elevator which stretches from the summit of the central tower all the way to Orbital City and looks like it could snap in half at any given tremor.