City of Darkness

by D P Wright

  “Ok Kes, will do.” Macy said, squeezing in the reply amidst her various activities.

  Kessler slammed the door behind him, nearly shattering the frosted glass as he did so. He paused, standing in the hallway and, before continuing out of the building, looked back at his office door.

  ‘Mr S. Kessler. Private Investigator.’

  He was feeling particularly annoyed today.

  DOMESTIC BLISS

  The plastisteel door gave way to a cacophony of noise making Kessler stagger back. The hordes pulled, crawled, pushed and crowded the streets. Thousands of hands clawed, fists punched and feet kicked their way through the mass of bodies as citizens went about their daily business of survival. From above, the upper districts of Midtown and, eventually, Hightown towered and below, Downtown and the lower depths festered. The city encased everyone in a toxic urban sprawl. In all directions it spewed out a carbonised iron and plastisteel nightmare all dressed up in the reds, yellows, greens and blues of garish neon lights. This urban tomb pressed hard against Kessler’s senses, his comedown raging with more and more ferocity with every second he stood in amongst the chaos of Dis.

  From the shelter of the doorway he peered out into the rain. The city bled it’s filth from above, a constant chemical torrent poured from the factories, houses and sewers in the upper districts, covering everything in a thick layer of sludge. He checked his hood, tightly secured his coat and peered into the eternal gloom as the hooded cowl of the Grand Director peered down on his subjects from a vast glimmer board which hovered above the sector, his booming voice drowning the citizens of Midtown with his mantra, “Ox, light, life. The Council provides all to its citizens.” From an inside pocket he produced a pair of optics and placed them over his eyes and immediately the weak, dull light from the city was replaced with sharp, more vibrant colours. He coughed as the dense foul air lay thick in his lungs and quickly took a hit of Ox from his inhaler before heading out into the turmoil.

  Kessler pulled up his sleeve to reveal his inked bioware panel, pressed down hard with his thumb and immediately flashing yellow lights and a blaring alarm joined the surrounding commotion. The masses shifted in a sudden wave as a small section of the pavement began to rise from beneath their feet to reveal a battered blue junker which Kessler quickly entered. The driver’s door only half closed to a series of groans and creaks from its motor and, to a series of rants and curses, he pulled it closed with some difficulty. Eventually it was locked in place allowing the blue light of the body scan to pass over him. The dashboard came alive with a series of green and red lights. Once the coordinates of his destination had been entered, the thrusters, with a violent shudder, ignited in a cloud of thick smoke.

  As Kessler’s altitude increased, above him the underside of Midtown’s District 4 came into view. Thousands of communication aerials, antennas and webs of cabling swung in the wind and rain together with the vast arrays of network hubs flashing and crackling with energy, all reaching out towards him from the darkness and, amongst it all, the gates to the Skyway emerged.

  Kessler joined the large queue of traffic and was immediately greeted with the usual stares of citizens glaring at his battered junker through their canopies wondering how anybody who owned such a wreck could afford to travel the Skyway. He tapped the dashboard affectionately, it was a piece of scrap, Kessler admitted to himself, but it was his piece of scrap.

  Hovering in place, waiting for his turn to move through the hypertube, Kessler listened to the impatient roars of engines and thrusters as citizens jostled for position. The Skyway was always busy and travelling up city always felt manic and aggressive. Those citizens who had the permits to live higher up never liked spending too long in the lower parts and were always desperate to get back up top. Too much time in bad air and filthy rain did not agree with their delicate constitutions.

  Peering out of his canopy, he could see the cluttered skies over his district. The huge letters and logos of the many corporations hung in the air reminding those below who exactly was in charge. Those who had a seat on the Council such as Dai Lung Technologies, Federated Arms and Cycorps, as well as the many smaller outfits such as Draxton Berry and Red Line, all dominated the skyline. Hundreds of infobots, holo boards and audio drones swarmed above each district and were a constant reminder as to the corporation’s grip on the city.

  Kessler’s headache thundered and his heavy eyes itched as the last remnants of the poison ebbed out of his body. He reached over to the passenger side, opened a compartment and, from in amongst the rubbish, took out a half-empty tube of pills and threw them down his throat with a large gulp of Piper’s. He threw the empty bottle onto the passenger seat just as a drone whizzed by and glared its spotlight right at him, illuminating his cabin in bright green light. Within moments the brightness turned into a projection as Kessler’s retinas were scanned. He groaned as the image of a happy uptown family smiled back at him. Kessler had seen this one many times before and batted his hand through the holographic image in frustration.

  To the sound of birds singing and a dulcet slow electric melody, mum, dad, son and daughter all waved at the detective. The young daughter laughed, turned and looked up admiringly at her mother. Each member of the family recalled what they liked about living in Hightown where you ‘can leave all your troubles behind’, or rather ‘below you’, Kessler thought cynically. He always winced when it came to the son’s turn to speak, he could not have been more than eight years old. “I like it here because the corporations look after all our needs. I am safe to breathe the air, play in the park without worry and eat delicious health rations without the fear of contamination. All provided by the Council.”

  “Great,” Kessler muttered under his breath, “get them while they’re young.” The infomercial ended with the boy playing with a pet dog, another reminder of the wealth and lifestyle of Hightown. Kessler had seen a real dog once, when he was young. It was old and the Midtown air soon finished it off. In a flash, the projection vanished and the bot flew on to its next target. Kessler rubbed his eyes as the low hum of his engines and the dull light from the canopy returned.

  The peace, however, was short lived as another image, this time from a huge glimmer board that hovered just above his vehicle, showed a newsreel of one of the many riots near the Rim. Rank upon rank of the Dis Police Department, with gleaming black armour, pristine white cloaks, towering shields and glowing blue spark flails, marched forward fighting back the ragged masses of angry Dregs. The impoverished denizens of Downtown threw themselves fanatically at the DPD wielding an assortment of primitive and makeshift weapons as rain cascaded down over a hooded reporter who appeared on screen wearing a DPD armoured vest, “More violence reigns down on the Dis Police Department as Humanity First radicals take out their frustrations. Power shortages, lack of clean water and bad air top their list of complaints. However, the Council tell all citizens not to worry as these terrorists will soon be dealt with quickly and effectively. Live productively citizens.” With that the reporter waved goodbye, a large smile appearing from behind her respirator.

  The traffic began to move and Kessler was soon at the gates of the Skyway. To enable access to Hightown, Mrs Grubaker had given him a permit which the hypergate now scanned, acknowledged and billed her for the toll. Once the payment was processed, the gravity drive took control of his vehicle and he entered the tunnel which was lit up in an electric-blue glow. As he waited for the vehicle to be placed into the correct position, another scan penetrated his cabin and, to images of a golden sun he had never felt and beautiful pale blue skies he had never stood under, the soothing female tones of the Dis City Lottery girl sang about dreams and the chances of winning settlement permits up city. “Waste of creds,” Kessler sighed aloud. Eventually the console came to life as the drive powered up and everything outside became a blue blur as the mag rails took control and Kessler’s junker picked up speed.

  As he travelled higher and higher up city, Kessler passed through the dis
tricts of Midtown and at each border the canopy again filled with light as his clearance to travel was verified. The low hum of the gravity drive and soft light from the console made him feel drowsy. The pills he took were finally beginning to dampen the pain in his head, sooth the aches in his joints and numb the fire in his eyes. He began to drift into unconsciousness when a blaring alarm sounded. The holo display appeared before him and a voice indicated that he had arrived at the border to Hightown 5. DPD officers lined the route from the hypertube and the border control point bristled with cameras and an array of heavy weaponry. Kessler’s vehicle came to a stop as two stood stiff to attention with assault rifles at the ready as another, with a more delicate frame and brimming with self importance, stepped up towards the detective and signalled for him to open the canopy. “Damn Venters,” Kessler sighed.

  “Identification citizen.” He flicked his white cloak behind his shoulder to reveal his shining black plate armour with the gold cog, the Council’s seal, gleaming on his breastplate. He held out a black gloved hand and waited.

  Kessler looked at his reflection in the officer’s black optics which confirmed how out of place he looked. Not only was his car an ancient wreck but so was he. Taking the permit out of the console, Kessler handed it over, his mood growing darker by the second.

  “You are a long way from Midtown 5, citizen. State your business.” His voice came from lips that sneered out each syllable.

  “Private Investigator. I’m on business for Citizen Grubaker. It’s all in the permit.” Kessler had expected this.

  “You have a plasma carbine in your possession, I need to see your ownership certificate and right to carry documents.”

  His head began to throb again, despite the pills, “Of course, officer.” Kessler handed over the correct documents and they were immediately scanned.

  “Exit the vehicle. Now.” The other two Venters stepped forward and powered up their rifles. The power cells emitting a high pitch squeal as they charged with energy.

  “Oh c’mon.” Kessler sighed and pointed to the Venter still holding his permits, “I have the right docs, I have a right to be here.” He knew his words were meaningless, they did what they wanted, interpreted the Council’s laws in their own unique manner. They levelled their weapons at him and he immediately released the canopy and exited the vehicle, “Ok, ok. No need for that.” As soon as he had climbed out the two officers slung their rifles and pinned him against the cracked blue panels of his vehicle, “Mind the body work,” Kessler mumbled.

  “We do not appreciate trouble here in Hightown. Your Midtown ways have no place here.” The officer holding his documents threw them onto the empty passenger seat and began to search him by roughly patting him down.

  Kessler started to turn around to face him but was immediately slammed hard back against his junker, “I’m just a good citizen trying to earn a living. Nothing more, nothing less.” He stared out at all the vehicles, all expensive shiny fiberplas and chrome plate, being waved past undisturbed by the police. Each driver slowed to stare at him. He gripped the edge of the junker’s roof hard, trying to control his temper as his face was forced against the cold plastisteel bodywork. He shook with rage.

  The officer finally finished searching him, “Move along citizen.” His two goons released him, giving him one final shove in the back, and returned to standing to attention in their original positions.

  Kessler turned to stare at them, burning with anger. He briefly thought about his weapon which was still holstered by his side but quickly dismissed such thoughts. He had enough problems in his life to deal with.

  The drive system in his vehicle was initiated and Kessler quickly left the DPD behind and sped down the highway that would lead him directly to Duma and, eventually, Keblako Drive. He gripped the controls tightly, resentment still pulsing through his veins. “Focus, Kes,” he muttered to himself before punching the junker’s console in frustration, “damn Vents,” he cursed again and lowered the canopy to take a couple of deep breaths of the clean, rainless air and slowly began to calm down.

  Even in this low district of Hightown life was better. The darkness of Dis remained and still, above Kessler’s head, people lived and worked in the city above, however the garish neon signs and manic masses were gone instead replaced by static street lighting and a dead calm. No stalls littered the sidewalks, no vendors begged citizens to part with their credits. Hightown 5 was mostly a residential hub for low-level corporates who worked higher up city and as a result an empty silence shrieked from every street and vacant building. However, as he drove into Keblako Drive, he immediately noticed one resident who was not at work today.

  Parking at the entrance to the street, Kessler picked up his viewfinder from the floor and exited the vehicle. Elbows resting on the roof, he peered through the lenses at the familiar image of Mr Grubaker’s bright yellow chopper parked outside number 66. Its fiberplas body shone under the light of the street lamp and the chrome plate detail sparkled. Beyond it, a small, square, plastic green lawn was neatly laid out and from it a small tree was placed. Kessler paused at the sight of this mock vegetation, briefly zooming in his viewfinder to focus on the dark green leaves stiff in the breeze and the small pink shiny buds. He always wondered what use plants had in life, imitation or otherwise. What function did they play? He had heard stories as a child of a place right at the top of Dis where hundreds of miles of lush vegetation flourished under a burning sun and blue sky. He looked up at the blanket of darkness he knew was hiding the underbelly of Hightown 4 and thought of how unbelievable such tales were.

  66 Keblako Drive was like most apartments in Hightown 5, white plastisteel cubes with large windows allowing the occupants a view of their pristine streets and expensive vehicles. The cramped, shabby blocks of lower Midtown seemed a far distant memory. A couple, the man with fine delicate features, pale skin and clean-shaven face with sleek black hair wearing a sharp corps suit and the woman, with a long flowing purple glimmer dress and face sculpted to perfection, walked past Kessler and immediately raised gloved hands to their mouths with an audible gasp. He took off his optics and looked at them straight in their eyes, reached into his inside coat pocket and rummaged around for a cigar that had already been half smoked. Taking it between his fingers he dusted off whatever debris it had collected and lit the end with his lighter and took a long drag, exhaling the thick dark smoke into the air.

  “Filthy Getta!” The man’s pinched words were spoken quickly before he grabbed the arm of the woman and they hurried past.

  Kessler finished smoking and threw the butt onto a nearby lawn and got back in his junker. He briefly smiled, irritating stiffs was one of the few delights of his job but even this pleasure was short lived. His head pounded and even this fine air could not stop him hacking up from his lungs the bile of the past few days’ debauchery. He pulled the seat back and rummaged around the floor to see if he had another bottle of Piper’s with him. He quickly realised he did not.

  He took another disinterested look at 66 Keblako Drive and prepared himself for a long day.

  AN UNWELCOME DISTURBANCE

  Sleep. Such a simple word and a straightforward act. Billions of people did it every day. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing and leant back on his chair and allowed the warmth of unconsciousness to take him…

  Kessler jumped up with a start and slammed his fist into the desk in frustration. He was so close but every time, just as sleep began to draw him towards her, he was wrenched back to the waking world. He rubbed his eyes. They hurt. Throwing back more pills, he washed them down with some Piper’s and belched loudly. “Who needs sleep anyway?” He barked.

  With stinging, heavy eyes, Kessler focused on the light of the com which buzzed constantly, forcing an oppressive reddish hue throughout the room. He sat with his head in his hands silently staring at this constant irritation, unable to rest his thoughts away from what his life had become. He knew why the com was flashing. Every biting buzz was anothe
r smack in the face, each one harder than the last. It had been trying to get his attention the moment he had returned from the Heights. Mrs Grubaker seemed to have this innate ability to know when and where, down to the exact second, he was at any moment in time. He could not get rid of her, she seemed to be a better detective than he could ever be. Their lives were forever shackled together. He was an errand boy for a paranoid battleaxe that seemed to take pleasure in ordering him around like some servant, on call twenty-four hours a day to do her every bidding. Who was he kidding anyway? She was his only client and had been for longer than he cared to remember. He took another swig of Piper’s and slammed the bottle down hard on his desk spilling some of the brown liquid over papers scattered across its surface. She was wealthy and always willing to throw business his way. He knew he could not, should not, complain. Life had no room for principles and standards, just cold hard creds and survival, every minute of every day. That was what existence had become. Survival.

  Kessler snapped out of his self-reflecting trance by jabbing the receive button and was instantly greeted with the familiar tones of his receptionist.

  “Kes,” Macy exhaled air violently, as if it was a lot of effort speaking to him, “Mrs Grubaker has…”

  “I know Macy,” he spoke quietly into the receiver with a hoarse whisper, his headache thundered with a vengeance and even the slightest noise brought agony. He began to rub his temples to little effect, “Tell her I’m out following a lead on her husband, or some damn thing, that should keep her satisfied.” He pleaded. Hoped.

  “Ok, I’ll tell her that you are out for the rest of the day and unavailable but you know what she’s like…” Words were sandwiched between hits of nicotine as she sucked loudly on her nic stick.

  “Just tell her Macy!” Kessler yelled and the com was cut-off by his fist, sending the receiver crashing off his desk to the floor.