“There's nothing wrong with us being out here,” Calvin informed David. “This is public land, up to the fence. As long as we’re casual and pose no apparent threat, we're nothing more than a curiosity. Follow me but keep your hands visible.”
The two cautiously approached the man and his shack. The small building stood about ten feet high and covered only about a hundred square feet. It held no windows, and only had the one door accessible from outside the perimeter fence, in front of which the guard perched. He appeared in his mid-sixties, his crows' feet accented by the deep shadows cast from the light above his chair. His dress consisted of a dirty brown jacket and worn blue jeans, reminding David of cowboys from photos of the Old West. The man glanced in their direction at the sound of their footsteps but didn't rise from his seat.
“Preservationist? Is that you?” the man asked, with a gruff Irish accent.
Calvin stopped and bowed slightly. “Indeed, it is,” he replied. “I didn't realize you had decided to up and join The Reconstruction,” he added, more as a question than a statement.
“Aye. I figure I’ll fare better on the winning side, if you catch my meaning.”
“Oh, come off it, Finniman. You and I both know you wanted easier access to the crops.”
“Right as always ... right as always. It's a lot easier than—” Finniman stopped suddenly, eyeing David. “Who's that with you?” he asked.
“This is Mr. Sparks, and to be honest, I’m not quite sure who he is. Then again, neither does he. I vouch for him though; you can speak freely.”
“Hmph. Well, as I was saying, it's a lot easier than poaching, and the pay's not half bad either. I actually have a place of my own now. Not in the city, mind you, but in the coast village on the other side of the fields. And how about you? What are you doing here?”
“We’re on our way back to the city. We were planning on cutting through the fields, but I see security’s been upgraded. No more dogs, only miles of fence. It was easy to pass by the dogs.”
“I reckon that’s why they got rid of ‘em.”
“I hate to ask, but can you help us through?”
“Depends. What do ya plan on doin’ once you’re to the other side? They’re not going to let you back in the city.”
“I have some ideas. Is Applegate still around?”
“Listen, Calvin. I don’t want ta get mixed up in whatever you’ve got planned. I have a hard enough time staying under the radar here, swiping and selling on the underground without getting caught. If I’m found out as sympathetic, that’ll be the end.”
“All we’re asking for is passage and a reintroduction, friend. You’ll have done a lot to help The Cause, without anyone being able to accuse you of such.”
“I’ve no idea what you’ve got planned, Preservationist, but I trust ye. Come on then you two, we’ll take the freight elevator.”
The door to the cabin creaked as it opened, as was to be expected from the rustic shack it appeared to be. But, as David reminded himself, looks can be deceiving. Instead of dusty plank wood and a worn bearskin rug, they found a shiny metal room, devoid of any features other than brushed aluminum walls and a sleek obsidian floor. The three men entered, Calvin first, followed by David, with Finniman bringing up the rear. As Finniman entered, the door closed behind him and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key card. He waved the card in front of a small sensor affixed to the wall next to the sliding elevator doors and a panel opened.
“Ocular recognition required,” announced a disembodied mechanical voice. David thought it sounded female.
Finniman stepped toward the blue circle of light on the wall and reached his hands up to his face. Using his right hand to hold the lower eyelid of his right eye in place, he stretched his upper eyelid up to expose the retina fully to the light.
“Commence scan,” he said. The light flashed brightly with a sort of phosphorescent glow, like the black lights of discos and hippies’ basements, and the elevator began to descend.
“Welcome to the freight elevators, my friends—the quickest way to travel through the Eyefields. If you two don’t mind, I’d like to travel through here as quickly as possible, so I can return to my post without being missed.”
“That’s what we’re looking for. This isn’t a sightseeing venture,” Calvin replied. David remained silent.
“Then we’ll go straight through; avoid the stops up to the fields,” said Finniman. “I wasn’t sure if you were… here for some gathering,” he added, speaking to Calvin.
“I’ll pick up what I need at the other side.”
“Very well then. Elevator: fast-forward.” With those words the elevator lurched forward, having already come to a halt at the bottom of its descent below the fields. David’s teeth gnashed, and he ground them as the elevator sped along. The initial movement nearly knocked him flat to the floor, but he soon regained his footing. It was obvious they were traveling at extremely high speeds, likely in excess of a hundred miles an hour, but without any visual cues to reinforce this hypothesis he couldn’t be certain. What he was certain about, was that between the movement and the lack of an outside marker for his brain to focus on, he quickly began to feel ill. Finniman took note but didn’t say a word.
“Trip’ll be done shortly. Only takes a minute or so to cross when we’re traveling in fast-forward. This thing’ll top out at almost two-hundred miles per hour when we’re zipping through the fields, although you wouldn’t ever guess we’re moving at that kind of clip. Sure, you’ll experience a jolt when we start moving, but after an initial shock the ride’s a quick steady build and you hardly can tell you’re moving.”
David tumbled forward as the elevator came to a sudden stop. The air brakes hissed as the forward movement ceased and David had nearly regained his balance when the elevator started to rise back to the surface. Both Calvin and Finniman laughed as he crashed back down to the hard floor.
“Here we are, coastal side. Bandleshore’s a few clicks from here, and the city’s not much further.”
“Finniman, could you open the back door?” Calvin asked.
“Sure…” Finniman hesitated. “But only take what you absolutely need. Anything more and it’ll be noticed.”
The metal doors through which Calvin and David had entered the elevator opened again, revealing direct access to the Eyefields. Calvin stepped through the doors and approached the nearest bog. There he reached into the water and plucked out a pair of sleeping eyes, like grapes from a vine. He put the eyes into his jacket pockets, one in the left and one in the right, turned on his heels and marched back to the elevator. The doors closed as he returned, and another set of doors opened on the metal room’s opposite wall. Calvin stepped out of the elevator and David followed.
“Godspeed,” said Finniman.
“Thank you, friend,” Calvin replied. “Don’t worry about us. Everything’s already in motion. You’ve done more for The Cause than you realize. But trust me, you’ll learn more soon enough.”
The elevator doors closed, and Calvin shut the door to the wooden shack the elevator hid within. David heard the bolt of the electronic lock slide into place. There was no way back.
SIX
A ROUTINE OPERATION
In the distance, voices rang out in the air. Night had fallen less than an hour ago and it was still quite early. The moon shone brightly on the fields from its low perch and its full shape would soon light the entire hillside like a faded milky sun. Several buildings were visible about a half mile from where David and Calvin stood—the edges of a small town. David could make out lights in the town—flickering yellow and orange from gas lamps marking the streets and walkways to illuminate the night life. Bandleshore lay before them.
At first glance the town reminded David of a movie set representation of downtown London as it appeared in the late 1800s or early 1900s. Like something out of Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd or the Hughes’ brothers From Hell or any of those other similar films where Johnny Depp al
ways seemed to hold the lead role. Very little existed in terms of outlying areas. The town itself felt cramped, much like a city’s downtown, and it was filthy and smelly like one as well. Definitely a blue-collar place: a place for the workers of the fields and those who couldn’t afford to live in the city but were forced to commute in on the mag-trains each day. A few taverns dotted the streets, and judging by the sounds emanating from them, this was clearly where the townsfolk spent their evenings.
David and Calvin entered one of the taverns, a little place called Vonshine's. At least a dozen people crowded around the small bar, and two dozen more milled about, elbow to elbow in the open space between the bar and the entrance. No music played, and there wasn’t even space for a band—the only sound was the murmur of patrons, almost all men, talking and arguing. The stink of alcohol and danger hung low in the air, like a fight was always brewing among these men, ready to erupt at a moment's notice. Calvin elbowed his way through the crowd, up to the bar, dragging David along by his hand. When they reached the bar he tapped on a man's shoulder.
The man turned around, anger welling up in his eyes, his fist clenched ready to strike out at whomever had interrupted his drinking. When his eyes registered Calvin, however, the man relaxed his fist and his eyes shrank from their look of anger to one of dread.
“Preservationist! What a pleasure to see you!” The man's voice quivered as he spoke.
“You may dispense with the pleasantries, Devon,” Calvin replied. “I'm in need of your services,” he continued, pointing subtly at his eyes as he did so.
“I'm sorry ... but I can't. I—I can't.” Devon stuttered. “They've been watching me close—they suspect me! If I’m found out I'm going to be done. You’re fully aware they're not holding trials on this. They'll call me a terrorist and that'll be it for me.”
“Devon ...” Calvin's echoed a warning.
Devon stood from his bar stool and attempted to leave but was stopped when Calvin grabbed him by his shirt collar.
“I'm not a doctor anymore! I can't! I can't!” he shouted fearfully, his eyes twitching from place to place around the room, eager to find an exit.
“Come on David, we're leaving.” Calvin tugged hard at Devon's shirt, dragging him toward the door. “Devon, you're going to help me.”
Once outside the bar, Devon managed to calm down and Calvin released his grip on the man. Devon brushed his hands down his front, smoothing his shirt as best he could. “Have you got the, um, supplies?” he asked.
“I have the parts, but I need your tools and your hands.”
“Very well,” said Devon. “This guy with you?” he asked, tilting his head in David's direction.
Calvin nodded.
“Okay then. Both of you follow me.”
The three men walked down the streets of Bandleshore, away from the noisy bustle of the taverns, clear across to the edge of town. Surf crashed nearby, its constant hum buzzing like a distant, muted beehive. He looked in the direction of the sound and met moonlight glimmering on cresting waves. A beach spread out in both directions here at the end of town, broken up by what appeared to be a massive train station, positioned on the ocean's edge.
An immense structure built of gleaming metal beams and massive glass windows, the station stuck out in contrast to the wooden shacks of Bandleshore. A single track stretched out from it, running out across the sea. David's eyes followed it until the night's lack of light hid it from view. Off in the distance he could make out a small glowing orb.
Calvin noted David's questioning gaze. “Plasticity. You honestly haven't been there?”
“No.” David shook his head. “No—not that I can remember at least.”
As they talked, Devon took his chance and darted off in the direction of the train station. A stone hurtled through the air, catching him in the back of the head, and he crumpled down into the sand.
“You know better than to run, Devon.” Calvin hoisted him to his feet and slapped him on the back of the head where the rock had hit. “Let’s keep moving, or next time I’ll make it hurt.”
---
A door creaked open and Devon ushered them into a room full of medical equipment. Much less a doctor’s office than a disused morgue, a rusted gurney sat abandoned to one side and yellowed sinks stained with rust dripped sporadically in the back. It obviously had not seen active duty in quite some time. Either that, or it was one highly unsanitary doctor's office.
Calvin reached into his pockets and pulled out the pair of eyes he recently picked from the Eyefields. “I need a swap.”
“You've done this too many times already!” Devon replied, his voice thick with exasperation. “I'm begging you, do not risk this again,” he pleaded.
“Devon, I need to make it to the city and you and I both know there's no way I'm going to make it onto the mag-train without swapping my eyes. These eyes,” he pointed forcefully to his face, “they're in the system. There's no way I'm going to make it through security with them.”
David chewed at his lip. “How am I going to bypass security?” he asked. “I don't think I'm on file at all, they won't register me when they scan. Or, worse yet, maybe they will recognize me and I'll be arrested on the spot.”
“Definitely a possibility. The thought had, of course, crossed my mind. I hadn't given it much credence though since. Now we're here though, I'm beginning to worry. Scan him, Devon,” he commanded.
Reaching into a metal cabinet mounted to the wall, Devon retrieved a small white device with a screen in front. Like my first iPhone, David thought. Devon pressed the device's touchscreen a few times, then held it in front of David's face.
“Look at the circle.”
David stared at the screen. It was blank except for a small black dot in the center. He focused on it and was blinded when the screen flashed a brilliant white.
“I can't see anything!” he exclaimed.
“Don't worry, it'll take a few minutes 'til you can see again. This baby here is a hack job, but it's all we've got. You'll be fine in a few minutes,” said Devon, looking back to the device in his hand. “No file. He should be clear.”
David stood in blind silence.
“You're clear for entry, David.” David recognized the voice as Calvin's. “I, on the other hand, am not. I need Devon here to do a quick transplant or I’ll be held at security. This far out they're not too concerned with safety measures. There're too many people traveling in and out of the city these days, what with the start of terrestrial repopulation. The only checks now are for red flags. All registration takes place in the city, so we'll be able to pass inspection without any questions.”
“What happens once we're in?” David asked. “Are we going to have to register? I checked my pockets earlier and I don't have any kind of identification on me at all.” He started to see the familiar outlines of the room begin to reappear.
“I don't think that'll be an issue,” Calvin replied hastily. “Well then, Devon, shall we get on with it?”
“I keep telling you, Calvin, you've done this too many times. The nerve signals start to fade after too many swaps. I don't want to blind you.”
“Do it Devon. This is my decision, and you'll have completed your debt. Besides, this is my last swap.”
“Your eyesight back?” Devon grumbled.
“Me? Yeah, mostly anyway. Why?” asked David.
“I think you're gonna want to leave. You don't wanna see this.”
SEVEN
A MAN ABOUT TOWN
David left the two of them to go about their surgery. They were right, he didn't want to see it, whatever it was they were doing. The makeshift surgical space was far from sanitary, and besides, David couldn't stand the sight of blood. Sure, fake blood in the movies was no big deal, but real blood—the kind flowing within him, pumping through his heart and arteries and veins, giving his body life, that was a different story. David could stomach it when he knew the red mess consisted of nothing other than corn syrup and food coloring. But
the real deal, thick with platelets and swimming with unknown disease, that was a whole different story.
It was still fairly early in the evening—no later than ten o' clock by David's guess, so he headed back to the bar. As he made his way back down the street, he heard the clinking of glass and the raised, drunken voices filtering their way through the doors and onto the deserted streets and alleys. The wet slap of David's feet against the pavement echoed in the night.
First thing I'm going to do when we reach the city is buy a pair of shoes, he thought. Maybe I can rustle up a pair here before we leave in the morning—if we're waiting until morning to leave.
Inside Vonshine’s, bodies pressed tightly against one another and the stink of hot breath and bad beer permeated the atmosphere. He pushed his way through the crowd, back to the same spot at the bar Devon occupied earlier. A new patron now sat on Devon's stool and silently scrutinized David.
“You a friend of Devon's?” he asked.
“I guess you could say so. I'm actually here with Calvin.”
“Shh!” the man hushed him. “You don't want to be talking about him too loudly. If people knew you was palling around with The Preservationist you'd be in a world of trouble. Even out here in the Edgelands not everyone is sympathetic to The Cause. You catch the ear of a Progressive and that'll be the end of you—and trust me, they do come out here once in a while. Business mostly, but they're here and you never can be sure who's who.”
“Sorry,” David replied. “Thanks for the tip.”
“So, friend of Devon, what's your name?”
“David. David Sparks.”
“Glad to meet you. I'm Conor. Let's have a drink.”
“Love to, but I'm afraid I don't have any money.”
“No need for money. Flaherty, the man tending the taps tonight, he recognized your ... traveling companion ... and I'm sure he'll take care of you.” He waved his hand and hailed the bartender, who brought over two mugs of warm golden ale.
The Unfortunate Expiration of Mr David S Sparks Page 3
