Prequel

by T. K. Malone

  “A bit, Roy. Kin’ell.”

  “Just wheel her out. This one might heal before we get a good few shots of her, eh.” Teah felt her hair grabbed, her head pulled up. Roy’s face swooping down. “Doubt it though,” he sneered.

  Teah mustered her hatred for the man, she looked at him, her rage centering in her mind.

  “Staring me out, are ya, ya bitch?” he screamed, his face hanging in front of hers.

  She spat the blood in her mouth out; it’s red splattering on his face. She saw his arm rise in anger and shut her eyes and waited for his reply.

  The wheelchair squeaked as it trundled along the corridors. Teah slumped in it, edging unconscious. It was as if her neck had turned to rubber and now her head bobbed around like it was floating on the waves that licked The Black City docks. Inside, the hurt was too much for anymore than one thought, so she concentrated on Roy. She memorized his face, his every feature, his every mannerism. Her list was double what it had been, the doctor having recently joined it, but Roy was still top, by a long, long way.

  Lurching sharply to the right, they took a new path. The floor was no longer plain concrete, but light blue vinyl, creased, curled where it ended at the walls, torn and patchy. This corridor was wider and lighter. A couple of folks walked past, one spat at her, muttered something. The other laughed. They wheeled her along for a while. Though she couldn’t look up, she knew there must be lights above, electric lights. They must have tapped into a line…somehow.

  The wheelchair turned, her knees smashing against double doors, pushing them open, the room brighter, much brighter. She passed more folk, their shoes, trousers, telling her how many, and then they ducked one way and then the other and ground sharply to a halt, spinning her ninety degrees.

  “I said, ‘Make her look like she’s been in a fight’,” a woman’s voice, familiar. It was May.

  “I said it, May, tried to calm him. Said ‘Kin’ell, Roy, what ya doin’’, but he just carried on.”

  “Shut it,” growled Roy. “Weren’t like he says, May. ‘Shamed to say she got the jump on me. ‘Shamed to say that. Had to put her down. Sorry, May.”

  May’s hand reached out and pulled Teah’s chin up, pain shot to Teah’s temples. May looked into her eyes. “Shit, Roy.” She looked closer. “You in there, Teah?”

  Teah nodded, grasping onto the vision of May. May was nice, May wasn’t on the list…yet. May took her hand, holding it. “You hang in there, I’ll get you back to Doctor Jevans soon.”

  “No,” Teah muttered.

  “What dear?”

  “No, no doctor.”

  “But he’ll fix you up.”

  “No, no doctor.”

  May nodded. “We’ll talk about this after the shoot.” May’s face retreated, but her hand still held firm. Teah tried to look up, the pain in her bruised neck immense, like some giant had grabbed her skull in his massive hand and was crushing it. Dried blood caked one eye shut—she only realized when she tried to blink. Her vision was blurry, black dots swimming all over.

  She was in a room, behind a small, narrow table. In front was a camera and two lights glaring directly at her.

  “That’s good. Roy, can you and your mate get out of the shot?” a female voice behind the lights called out. “Can you open your other eye, Teah?”

  Teah shook her head.

  “May…?” the voice questioned.

  “Hold on.”

  May got up, pulled a cloth from her pocket, licked it, and then dabbed Teah’s eye. Teah winced, the pain more an annoyance against the rest which continuously pulsed through her body, the movement more a flinch against the intruding cloth. Her eye popped open, the harsh light making Teah wince.

  “Better, Kate?” May asked.

  “Better,” the woman behind the light confirmed.

  “Ready?”

  “Three, two, one, and…go.”

  May cleared her throat. “This message is for Josiah Charm. Stop sending your enforcement agencies into the civilian sectors. We are declaring these free of The Black City and therefore under the direct authority of the State Defense Force. Failure to comply will result in this officer’s prolonged and painful death. If you wish to stop the smuggling of goods into The Grid, we would suggest you cease your own import operations first, by way of a gesture of goodwill.”

  “Cut,” Kate shouted, and the lights faded and died, leaving the room in semi-darkness.

  “Are you sure you don’t want the doctor?” May whispered in Teah’s ear.

  “No doctor. Doctor bad.”

  “Honey, there ain’t nothing wrong with Doctor Jevans. Don’t think you know what you’re thinking. I’ll take you to the doctor.”

  “Don’t worry,” Roy growled. “I’ll do it.”

  “You done enough damage already,” May snapped, and stood, pulling Teah’s wheelchair around. Teah’s knees crashed into the doors again, pushing the doors out. May wheeled her back down the lit corridor, this time Teah watched it go by. She was sure she was in a barracks, some kind of military installation. But that didn’t make sense—not if these were smugglers. They turned back into the derelict corridor, and around into Doctor Jevan’s room. He was behind his desk.

  “Well,” he said. “What on earth happened to you? Roy?”

  “Got a bit…over enthusiastic,” May replied in Teah’s stead.

  “Well, you leave her with me, and she’ll be just fine.”

  “No,” Teah hissed.

  “Poor thing,” May said. “You’re just delusional. I’ll visit tomorrow.” May reached around and patted her hand. “Look after yourself.”

  Teah heard the door close. Doctor Jevans rose. She heard a drawer open and saw him reach inside. He took out a large syringe. “I’m not sure we got to the bottom of everything yesterday,” he said, and rounded the desk.

  May spooned the soup into her mouth. “Been a day, and you haven’t healed yet. Maybe the other day was just a fluke.”

  Teah swallowed, her head pounding from Jevans’ drug. Her memory of the previous day was patchy, like a stranger’s random pictures. She remembered Roy’s face twisted with his anger, the bright lights, and the corridor as she was wheeled along, squeaking. She remembered Doctor Jevans and the point of his syringe, primed, dripping on her neck, the smell of antiseptic.

  “What does he do to me?” Teah asked.

  May stirred the soup with the spoon. “Jevans? He’s trying to understand you.”

  “Understand me?”

  “Sure,” and May spooned some more soup into her. “You’re a gridder who hangs with carnies. Your programming’s off.”

  “What programming?”

  May scoffed. “Eh? You really don’t get it? Charm—or maybe even Oster Prime, they must interfere with these AIs in your head. Ain't no way you lot comply and live like you do without some form of control. Do you know, some gridders barely stray more than two blocks in any direction?”

  “So?”

  Putting the bowl down, May took a seat on the end of Teah’s bed. “So? It ain't natural, so. It ain't right, so. And then there’s you. Equally happy with them or off-grid—not fussed either way.”

  “Other gridders drink in the bar.”

  May nodded. “That they do. Some go there out of boredom, because they haven’t settled. We’ve watched them and can count them on one hand. Some are just plain made wrong. They crave the smokes, the booze and the pills. They always need more. Worse than the shiners, those. Hiding their addictions, trust me, it’ll all fall down on them. And then there’s you…”

  “Me?”

  “Oh yes, you. You aren’t addicted to smokes, nor booze or pills, and you aren’t terminally bored. You, Teah, actually like the Clay brothers—hell you’re sleeping with one. And that’s what Jevans is trying to understand.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Smoke?” May asked, lighting her own.

  “Please.”

  “Have this one. It matters because we are trying to
turn more gridders—to make them sympathetic.”

  “And you think parading me in front of a camera will do that?”

  May shook her head, and lit another smoke. “No, but it buys us some time with you.”

  “How?”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you? They’ll wonder about that. The stiff who consorted with carnies becomes the first we take hostage, some might say that’s convenient, coincidental. Others… Hell, we’re using your uniform on a run later. If they pick up the heat signature, they’ll guess you’re helping us.”

  “From a wheelchair?”

  “You heal quick—it’s been noted in your files. Nope, the longer we have you with us, the more we’ll make it look like you turned.”

  “And, I won’t be able to go back.”

  “Meh, Zac can come and find you. You just might not be welcome back at your division.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  May took a long look at her. “Tell me, just hypothetically. If you were to break free, how badly would Roy suffer?”

  Teah puffed on her smoke. “At the minute?” She tried to smile but winced from the pain. “It’d be open-ended. It’d depend.”

  Shuffling around, her knee resting on the bed, May smiled and said: “On what?”

  “On what I’ve got on hand, and time. Those mainly. I suppose my imagination, though that’s pretty limitless.”

  May nodded. “Fuck being Roy.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Next? I was kinda hoping to show you something.”

  There was a knock on the door. May looked up.

  Teah scrambled into the corner of the bed as Doctor Jevans poked his head around.

  “Doesn’t seem quite so huge from up here, does it?” May said, looking down. “In its time, this was the number one tourist attraction in the area.”

  They were standing atop the Bay View’s dome—a circular viewing gallery about twenty feet in diameter, higher than the uniform black blocks of The Grid. From here, she could see all around, from the old Angel Bay Hotel along the coast to the sea, and behind her, the vast sequoia forests that clad both the foothills and mountains rearing up behind them.

  Teah judged it was about noon, though she felt disorientated. She grabbed at the handrail to steady herself. Her legs still hurt like hell—her jaw too. May was right, for some reason she wasn’t healing so fast. “I can see why,” she muttered.

  “What I want to show you is this; no matter how imposing The Grid is when you’re on it, it’s quite small in comparison.”

  Teah shrugged. “There’re more people packed into it than the rest of the land as far, no, further than the eye can see.”

  May drew aside her. “And that’s a good thing? Nine million people crammed into that?”

  “You’d say imprisoned,” Teah pointed out.

  “I would. Caged with invisible bars.”

  “There are no bars, invisible or no, none. Nine million people could walk out if they wanted.”

  “I don’t think you follow me. They don’t even know they’re slaves.”

  “They might be happy.”

  May turned to her. “That’s what worries me.” She lit a smoke. “If you don’t see the world for anything more than a tall, glass block, a shop or a pavement, how can you value it? Those nine million folk chose Oster Prime to be our leader—the leader of The Free World. Oster Prime, a warmonger if there ever was one. Tell me, if they had walked among the redwoods, sat by a mountain river, fished a lake, would they have chosen him to lead them?”

  “Country folk don’t get a vote, not now, not since the cities cut them off.”

  “And why?”

  Teah shrugged. “Never was good at history. Heard they didn’t care.”

  May scoffed. “Weren’t that. The city folk just thought they knew better, so they passed a law that only gridders could vote. Truth was, the country folk were living a different life by then.”

  “Thought they knew better?”

  “Better educated, Teah, the city folk thought they were better educated. And they live in that shithole.” She threw her smoke butt off the balcony. “Beats me how they gotta right to think they’re smarter.”

  “Can I have one?”

  “A smoke? Sure, but you might get hooked. These ain't the synthetic crap we smuggle in. We ain't got no health monitors to fool.”

  “At the moment, I doubt it’ll kill me.”

  “True, that,” May said, and passed Teah the pack.

  She lit one and leaned back on the railing. “So, what have you got in store for me? You know, now that you’ve alienated me from The Grid.”

  “Alienated? Oh, you could go back there, take your chances, maybe even get just a few months in the pen. Hey, what do I know, you could come out a hero. Depends…”

  “Depends?”

  “On who saw the tape. We uploaded it, but they had it down fairly sharpish.” She swept her hand in the direction of The Grid. “They kind of outnumber us.”

  “So, I might have a career.”

  “You might.”

  “And Zac?”

  “Well, he’ll be fucked. I highly doubt Zac Clay or Billy Flynn will relish the spotlight that’ll follow you around. If the stiffs don’t come down hard on him, there’ll be questions asked. It’ll confirm what we all know; Zac Clay and his gang are in cahoots with Josiah Charm, but that’s old news. Our little video ensured Zac couldn’t come and rescue you.” She tapped the side of her temple. “See, not just a pretty face.”

  “So, I’m screwed.”

  “With Oster Prime running The Free World, we’re all screwed Teah, every single damned one of us.”

  Chapter Five

  The door opened, and Roy stepped into her cell.

  “Teah,” he said, keeping his distance.

  Though cursed with a misshapen back, he appeared even more bent over than normal and a little subdued. Teah glared at him. “Where’s your friend?”

  “Him? Shouldn’t need the wheelchair today.”

  “I meant the club.”

  “You gonna behave?”

  Teah wanted to do anything except behave. She wanted to cleave an ax through his skull, splitting his head clean in two. No, that would be too quick. She would use his own baton, that would be justice, but for now, she nodded.

  “Then I don’t need my baton, 'sides, Doc wants you calm.”

  “The doc?”

  “Jevans, yeah, wants to put your AI back.”

  “Back?”

  From behind his bushy eyebrows, Roy’s eyes glinted. “You didn’t know he took it? Sneaky bastard that doc—bet he knocked you out with that swirly, swirly drug first. He’s done most of us. Likes to experiment, the doc.”

  “On folk?”

  “On anybody. Reckons he can perfect us. Didn’t get far with me.” Roy scoffed and turned. “You coming?”

  Bemused by his turn of mood, Teah rose. She wanted to kick the back of his knees, to make him fall like he’d made her. She wanted to slam the cell door shut and have some one-on-one time with him. She didn’t have an ax, but reckoned she could get creative enough without one.

  “Why the change of mood?”

  Roy stopped in the doorway, his hunched back facing her. “Why?” Reaching right, he grabbed his machine gun. “I’ve still got old faithful here. Still got my baton back in my room. Still itching to use both. But orders is orders, he wants to talk to you first, and then you’re off to the doc’s, and he told me. ‘Roy,’ he said. ‘Go easy on that bitch. I’ve got you covered’, that’s what he said.” Standing to one side, Roy let Teah past. She noticed he’d leveled the gun.

  “Who’s ‘he’?”

  Roy chuckled, a sinister laugh that sent a dread feeling through her. So that was it, she thought, he was just being nice because he’d been warned off.

  “He,” Roy said, coaxing her along with the gun’s nozzle. “Well, put it like this. I’m a saint compared to him. He wanted to see you ‘fore the d
oc got to you. He wanted you in mint condition. ”

  They turned into the lit corridor with its pockmarked blue vinyl, and walked past the room with the double doors. Roy was silent now, his baiting obviously done. Whatever was waiting for her, the anticipation of it seemed enough for him.

  This was the busier part of the complex. A few folks walked past her, some cast a glance, others didn’t even notice her presence. And then she saw him. He was a stick of a man, and overdressed, like Jevans, for the place. His head was completely bald and oversized for his neck, his shoulders. Two brutes strolled alongside him, moving people aside to make way for the wiry man.

  “No, no, no,” he shouted from twenty yards away. “Is that her? Tell me that’s not her,” and he turned, burying his face in his hands. One of the brutes lurched forward, a black piece of cloth pulled out of his pocket. He put his other hand up, as though seeking anonymity, and before Teah had gone another few steps, her world turned black as a hood was yanked over her head.

  “Dammit, Roy. She’s not supposed to see us.”

  “Why?”

  Teah stumbled forward at the insistence of Roy’s gun.

  “Because, he doesn’t want the chance of being ID’d. Why d’you think? Numbskull.”

  Two arms, strong arms, grabbed her, lifting her from her feet, her toes dragging along the vinyl, snagging on its tears. She heard the clatter of a door being forced open, then its swoosh as it shut, and then silence, her world now just noise. Then an overpowering smell, like cleaning fluid, like the freshly washed marble floor that had greeted her arrival at work every morning. One of her hands was pulled up, the zip of a cable tie constricting around her wrists. Her other pulled up, tied too. Her legs were kicked apart and fastened. “What?” Teah shouted, but knew her morning had taken an infinite turn for the worse. She heard the door open and shut again.

  “I always find,” the bald man’s squeaky voice rasped. “I always find that the supposed tough men in this complex balk at my methods of eliciting information, that they can’t wait to leave. Teah, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said, unable to keep the fear from her voice. “What do you want?”