The skin ink was the final orientation into her Air identity before her deployment. The Designer had been instructed to embellish her with a typical pattern, authentic but not conspicuous. The Air Elemental had rolled her eyes at Anaiya, grumbling about sterile Water Technicians with no understanding of art, and then she had asked Anaiya what it was that she wanted to be marked with.
Like her limbic realignment, the mark would be temporary, the superficial decoration removed and her body healed upon completion of her mission. So when the Skin Designer had asked her for her preference, she had not properly considered it. She had toyed with the idea of something to remind her of her Fire, but in the end, had submitted to her Air identity.
The Skin Designer had worked without pause, hand flashing over the mobile screen in direct response to the music transmitted from Anaiya’s wristplate to her ears. Once finished, she had uploaded the design into the skin printer and positioned Anaiya’s arm in the small gap between it and the steel bench. At the last moment, she had offered her earphones to Anaiya.
Music from Anaiya’s time at Last Defence, the music she had created in transition from Fire to Air, played over and over on repeat, while the prick of twenty fine needles stitched their way along her forearm.
Even now, despite the angriness of tortured skin, the talent in the design is remarkable. As it was that afternoon in the Nursery, her music is perfectly visualised.
She sighs and pulls the sleeve down over her forearm. The mechanical worm passes through three precincts before anyone else boards her segment. Two Air Elementals sit in the seats closest to the door. Their voices carry to Anaiya, drunken squeals about the night’s adventures in Air izakayas. Anaiya plugs in the earphones connected to her wristplate, closes her eyes and lets the sound of the music and the motion of the worm wash over her. Precinct 18 is still forty minutes and a changeover away.
Fifteen minutes later, Anaiya changes at Riverside Station, pushing through the throng of other Elementals trying to board. Turning the sound down on her wristplate, she listens for announcements on platform departures and worm disruptions and begins to weave her way through the crowds towards Platform B. Lower-caste Water Elementals, with their kydex satchels and polyester suits, scurry with their heads down, jostling each other as they race to make the express service from the affordable residential precincts in the South East to the main administrative precincts of 1 and 2. Anaiya bristles at the invasion of her personal space, but does not react, forcing her head down and her feet to keep moving.
The crowd eases as she makes her way down the connecting tunnel; the sparsely populated space of Platform B a welcome relief to her fraying nerves. Finding a spot in the middle of the platform, she allows herself to lean against a structural post connecting the bitumen floor to the tiled ceiling.
She closes her eyes, and the sounds of the platform crystallise into an undulating melody – the staccato of footsteps, the fading in and out of voices as they near and then pass her, the steady hum of aluminate lights kept charged by the friction of the city’s worms against their tracks.
It is an interesting symphony, full of both familiar and unfamiliar sounds, but with a cohesive rhythm that pulls all the noises together as a single piece. Anaiya gives her mind over to the music, letting it wash over her without analysing or deconstructing it. Just enjoying it.
Without warning, a discordant, high-pitched squeal breaks the easy rhythm of the platform, echoing in the mouth of the tunnel. Anaiya turns towards its origin as the noise bounces against the enamalite tiles and builds in timbre.
Peacekeepers in dark kevlar uniforms are already free-running towards the sound, vaulting off the tunnel walls and turning aerials to evade the messy throng of mixed Elementals. Anaiya watches their precise choreography, the sight catching her breath and culminating in a familiar longing. There is something beautiful and complex underlying the natural simplicity of their movements. She twists to follow their dance, watching transfixed as they close in on the disruption.
An older Earth Elemental, stumbling and cursing, is swinging wild punches at a cowering Water Elemental. Younger Air Elementals stand to the side, wristplates in a mock salute, recording the spectacle for uploading and rapid distribution to the masses.
Her eyes glaze past them, her focus consumed by the rough tears in the Earth Elemental’s skin, the scars along his forearm and the emptiness in his eyes. He is an outcast in a microcosm of Air and Water Elementals, staring down the wrath of Fire Elementals alone and disoriented. His stance falters and his attempts at violence present as harmless swings.
Anaiya’s heart beats faster and heavier with every disconnected attempt, every metre gained by the approaching Peacekeepers. She watches as a younger Peacekeeper in virgin kevlars lands a flawless aerial just metres from the stumbling Elemental.
Anaiya sees the outcome before it happens – her mind future-searching in a hybrid mix that is neither the short-term, clinical approach of a Peacekeeper, nor the vague and imprecise wanderings of her Air limbic brain.
She sees the enthusiasm in the Trainee Peacekeeper, sees her precise movements fusing into a single blow delivered in strict compliance with protocol. She sees unsteady feet failing the Earth Elemental, hears the crunch of his head on impact with the hard floor tiles, smells the reek of genievre spilling from his shattered bottle.
Anaiya doesn’t watch as the situation unfolds in real time. She pivots away from the scene, dragging her finger upwards along her wristplate to increase the sound function’s volume and fill her ears with dense, synthetic sounds. Even so, she cannot evade the altercation completely.
The distinctive aroma of the genievre reaches above the musty smell of the tunnel to fill her nose and scratch her throat. She gags unexpectedly, but still keeps her eyes down.
Moments later, the worm slowly pulls into the platform. Anaiya catches sight of standard-issue Peacekeeper kevlars in her peripheral vision and turns her head to block them from view.
She remembers herself as a confident Peacekeeper – assured and decisive in her actions, righteous and incorruptible in her protection of the Orthodoxy. As a Peacekeeper, she had always pushed to be the best, to undertake her duties flawlessly and without question. But now, with the rigidity of her Peacekeeper mind softened by realignment, she feels the threads of doubt coil around her conscience, hinting at the once-invisible line between competence and aggression. She had seen no beauty in the Peacekeeper response to the harmless Earth Elemental.
The dense feeling at her core intensifies as the passengers disembarking the worm exit onto Platform A. She endures the interminable passage of minutes, silently cursing the aimless bumbling of Elementals viewed through the warped glass of the segment’s windows. Finally, the doors facing Platform B open and Anaiya is grateful for the pressing of Air Elementals at her sides and back, cocooning her as she makes her way into the segment.
Two stations on and the connecting worm to Precinct 18 is full. Anaiya stands pressed against the door of the designated Air segment, staring absently out the window as the view shifts from the black walls of the worm tunnel to brightly lit platforms. At each deceleration of the worm, Anaiya’s fingers pick at the metal ridge of her wristplate and her gaze darts across the platform, searching for and avoiding signs of conflict. Each time the worm pulls out of the station without incident and back into the darkness of its tunnel.
Thirty minutes and nine stations later, the worm emerges into the soft light of the morning, the muted whirring of its engine a welcome soundtrack. By this time, the segment is mostly empty, but Anaiya remains standing next to the door – keeping vigil as the mismatched, haphazard collection of structures and materials of her new precinct come into view.
ELEVEN
THE AFTERNOON AIR is still and wraps around Anaiya like a keffiyeh. The insistent heat of the afternoon pulls at her to free-run but she tempers the urge, her feet plodding along in slow, measured strides.
Sweat and dust set her skin itching, he
r discomfort growing with every step. A minor inconvenience. A simple price to pay for escaping that room.
Her new accommodation – a modest studio – is located in a rundown, ten-storey apartment complex. Situated near the Northern Border, its rent is cheap and the building is populated by a mixed and ever-changing complement of Elementals. The room itself is large and fully furnished with comfortable Air pieces, but it is not the size or quality that makes it oppressive. It is the waiting.
Three days she had cocooned herself in it – waiting for instructions, intelligence, anything that would kickstart this miserable mission. Hours spent staring at her wristplate, scrolling through her glass screen, maintaining a silent vigil in anticipation of the ping that would give her permission to escape her confines.
It had come without warning or fanfare, a simple brief with accompanying coordinates. It hadn’t mattered – she had been halfway down the stairwell by the time she had read the full message.
Walking through Precinct 18 takes on a surreal quality – the afternoon heat has stilled activity along the narrow streets and laneways, and for a moment it is as if time has stopped. The Precinct is a hybrid – roads crowded with Air izakaya and galleries intersect with Water administration buildings and offices, overshadowed by tall Earth residential complexes interspersed with large drinking halls. This close to the Edges, Fire izakaya and training gyms are also dotted around the streets. She drags her feet past them all, taking in their differences, their unique identities.
A sudden movement to her left and the cold rush of conditioned air startles her. A lone Border Watcher exits one of the gyms, pausing briefly at the sight of Anaiya. Her breath sticks in her chest, her eyes unable to look away from the Watcher.
“You selling, putain?”
Putain. Whore.
Anaiya blushes. It may or may not be an insult – Sex Workers are among the least respected Air Elementals, but there are many of them and they are popular with solitary Border Watchers. It doesn’t matter; Anaiya’s neocortex, still governed by her Fire identity, registers the offense and triggers a flood of shame. She shakes out of her stupor and hastens away from the Border Watcher.
“What’s wrong, putain?” the Border Watcher calls out after her, her laugh dominant in the quiet street. “Are you playing hard to catch?”
The laugh follows Anaiya, pushing her to walk faster and faster until her feet threaten to lift from the pavement and run. With each thundering step, she feels the tension, like a scream, welling up inside her.
I hate this.
The unexpected emotion, and the vehemence with which it pierces her mind, pulls her up. Her step falters and she stands there, sucking in shaky breaths and looking around at the unfamiliar territory.
The Border Watcher is streets away. And Anaiya is streets away from where she should be. Her neocortex has moved on to telling her to focus on the mission, but the residue of her anger and shame lingers and keeps her from moving.
Move, Anaiya. Just move.
The words echo in her head, but do nothing to motivate her.
If you don’t move, you will be stuck here forever.
Slowly her mind clears, the last vestiges of emotion fading enough to be overpowered. Her legs pull her forwards like a synthfly in silicone. Each step is weighted with resistance, but she keeps moving until she reaches her destination.
The silent, still streets of Precinct 18 are immediately thrown into contrast as she steps into the Red Clock Gallery. The space is crowded to capacity. Scores of Air Elementals move and mingle around the small space – talking, arguing, flirting, laughing.
A phantom itch brushes between Anaiya’s shoulder blades. She glances around for the other Peacekeeper she knows will not be there.
No. Not other. There are no Peacekeepers here.
The absence of a patrol partner is accompanied by an unfamiliar sting. She grimaces. And then shakes it off. There is no time for these distractions.
“Midellodioxy? Veniamph?”
An Earth server proffers a tray of sparkling liquids in tall flutes. Unfamiliar with Air cocktails, Anaiya reaches for the nearest glass. Taking a sip of the sweet-scented liquid, she checks her wristplate to assess the changes to her body chemistry. Elevations in oxytocin and anandamide levels announce it as a feel-good synth – a ‘bliss’ alcohol. She readily takes another few sips, feeling the tension of the last hour shimmer and liquefy.
The chaotic movement of the Air Elementals slows, finally allowing Anaiya the opportunity to begin her appraisal. While she doesn’t have a specific target to monitor, Niamh’s intel has provided a general profile – fifth to seventh lustrum, Graphics-based competency, history of Unorthodoxy offences, and socially active across competencies and precincts. The gallery is full of potential targets.
I just have to find the right one.
She scans the room, looking for a pull – something that seems a little different, that flashes a little brighter. It is a Peacekeeper tactic, one that Anaiya has used countless times before when managing crowds. There is always something – a tell that draws the eye, a hint of disturbance that alerts the senses. She just needs to zone out and let the signals lift from the white noise.
Except this time there is no white noise – no unremarkable background to provide contrast. Details, vivid and striking, abound. Her gaze flits to the loud male posturing to her left, before being drawn by the tinkling laugh of a younger female. Her focus switches, pulled and pushed with every new distraction – the impatient gesturing, the animated conversing, the playful flirting.
It all calls to Anaiya, every detail demanding her attention equally.
A throbbing begins to pulse at her temples.
This isn’t working. This isn’t working.
Closing her eyes, she shuts out the chaos.
Inhale. Exhale. Hold. Inhale. Exhale. Hold.
A sudden jolt at her side interrupts the meditation. She struggles not to scowl as three females brush past her, laughing loudly, weaving clumsily through the crowd. Their chaotic journey draws no ire or amusement from the rest of the crowd. To them, it is unremarkable. It is merely the way of Air Elementals – messy, impulsive.
Irrepressible.
It is everything that Anaiya has never been. Will now become. But only if she lets go of the Fire rationality still lingering in her brain.
The thought galls and not for the first time her belly tenses with a kind of regret – an irrational wish that someone else had been chosen.
But then someone else would get the glory.
And Anaiya needs the glory if she is to finally rid herself of Kane 148’s shadow. If she is to come out from under Niamh’s.
The reminder strengthens her resolve and she lets the scenes in the gallery come back into view. Unable to identify a pull, she tries a different tactic. Starting with the Elemental closest to her – a younger male appraising a wallscreen display – she attempts a speculative profile.
Fifth lustrum – old enough to be confident, young enough to be reckless. Flying solo…which means what? He’s conditioned to a more independent competency? Gaming, maybe? Or that he is from another Area? Has limited contacts in the Northern Area? Or is just confident attending alone? Or…
She clenches her fists and gives up, defeated by the amorphous nature of the Air Elementals around her.
With the other Elements it was easier. A Fire Elemental was easily identified by their respect for authority, dark threads and quiet confidence. It was the same with Water and Earth competencies – each typically announced itself through style, attitude, demeanour and habit.
Air Elementals were different – a Sound Creator was just as likely to attend a Music event solo as they were to attend a Graphics exhibition in a large group; or to stand, quietly contemplative, in front of one piece as they were to passionately debate their interpretation of another; or to gravitate towards solo projects one minute, collaborative pieces the next.
This is futile.
Her P
eacekeeper techniques for identifying and assessing targets are useless in this new environment. Clinical observations and rational assessments are just as likely to yield false positives as they are the truth.
Anaiya digs her fingernails deeper into her palms, releasing her frustration into the soft skin. She was naive to think she could spot a Heterodox Elemental as easily as she could a corrupt Administrator or thieving Retail Officer. Naive to think that a Resistor would leave an obvious trail of Heterodoxy in public pieces of art and entertainment, like blood spatters or fingerprints at a crime scene.
Indications of Heterodoxy will be subtle – an offhand comment here, a controversial piece displayed there. Something she won’t be in a position to witness standing on the periphery.
As a Peacekeeper, she had always existed on the periphery. Never engaging in the worlds of other Elementals, always watching from her position of authority with an objective eye and cool head. It was cleaner that way. More efficient.
She looks around the gallery again, taking in the messy diversity of Air Elementals, baulking at the chaotic emotions that ebb and swell between them. Reflections of these emotions are simmering inside her, behind her carefully constructed barriers.
The realisation she will have to liberate her own messy limbic emotions leaves a dead weight in her stomach. She is not ready to push aside the only thread connecting her to her Fire identity.
She is not ready to relinquish control.
TWELVE
THE REST of the fortnight grinds by in a haze of pain and confusion.
The Task Force is no closer to identifying a lead and Anaiya’s daily forays into izakaya, galleries, studios and design hubs yield nothing but the constant conflict between her limbic brain and neocortex. Some days, she dulls the tension with nurozav, but mostly she just tries to get by.
Resistance: Divided Elements (Book 1) Page 9
