The Naked World

by Eli K. P. William

  “What is it?” Rick whispered urgently, clearly startled by the suddenness of Amon’s return, and picked up his gun.

  “The CareBots are here! They’re in the alley and all around! What should we do?”

  “Shit,” said Rick, taking aim at the slit in the door. “I guess we’ll just hunker down here for now. We can go search for a feeding station once they clear out. My leg should be better by then.”

  Looking at Rick’s still-exposed swollen ankle, Amon frowned with concern, doubting that he would recover as quickly as he seemed to believe. He sat against the wall across from Rick again, wondering how they might get him something to drink. In spite of Rick’s hopefulness, the flow of tears seemed to be picking up now, a droplet making its way down each cheek nearly every second, the cold metal shell of the elevator so unnervingly quiet that Amon could hear each one spatter onto the floor. The firefLyte above began to dissolve, little flecks of light drifting down into the space between them and extinguishing into nothing before they hit the ground.

  When a few minutes had passed and no drones appeared, Rick lowered his gun to the floor beside him but kept his hand on the grip, poised to whip it up in a hurry if need arose.

  “Oh, I hope we can get out of here in time,” said Amon. “If we don’t make it to Xenocyst by midnight, we might not get another chance.”

  Rashana had a special agreement with the venture charities that allowed her to pick up giftless crashdead for her Er facilities and gave her media access to Delivery only under the condition that she refrain from overly subversive activism. As the exposé was clearly a violation of this agreement, she would soon be forced to withdraw all Atupio agents from the District of Dreams, and there would be no way to reach her if they failed to meet.

  “Are you still sure that’s a good idea?”

  Amon had been hoping that Rick would see that Rashana was trustworthy and reliable after she assisted them with the mission, but her position wasn’t that clear anymore. Nothing was clear anymore … “Let’s not jump to hasty conclusions.”

  “Then what the fuck do you think happened back there?”

  “Shit, I don’t know. Those freekeepers came on fast!”

  “Too fast. Weren’t they supposed to be stationed ten floors up? They were gathering around the supply table before Vertical even got out the door. It was like they knew exactly what she was going to do and were just waiting for her to do it. Then without even blinking, they started firing on us. Don’t they need authorization from the top to invest in violence here? How could they have been so prepared?”

  “Maybe they picked up our plans through surveillance.”

  “In the council chamber? That Tamper guy’s devices worked beautifully at Delivery. Why doubt his digital quarantine?”

  “True. The hacks he used in Free Tokyo work so well he’s been living off the machines for years, still haven’t caught him … So maybe a spy then? Hippo says he trusts everyone on the council, but there’s so much less to lose these days by ratting us out.”

  “But what’s there to gain? Maybe they could make a deal with the venture charities for a supply bonus to ride out this crisis, but in the long run they’d never get anything better than what we already have at Xenocyst: security, community, culture, respect. The charities can’t offer anything like that, which is exactly why we all stick together. Xenocyst really is the best deal any sane bankdead could hope for. Surely our councilors would agree with that?”

  “Okay. Maybe. So what about Kitao then?”

  “Fuck … That was really weird. What the hell was that guy doing there?”

  “Remember I told you I saw him talking to one of the freekeepers? That was right before the backup busted into the hallway. So maybe he was warning them about us.”

  “But how would Kitao know what we were doing? I mean, even if there was something obviously wrong with the uniforms we made, all that would tell him is that we were frauds, and he could complain to the freekeepers all he wants about our little masquerade, but why would they care? Plus their response was way too quick if he’d only just told them.”

  “Hmmm.” Amon thought for a moment as Rick frowned in his direction, his tears and the fireflies falling out of synch as though visually representing different beats. “So what if … Well, it seems way too coincidental that he’d be there, an OpSci priest that we know, that we cash crashed, suddenly appearing on the day we dress like OpScis to frame them for sabotage. Don’t you think? So maybe … Could Barrow have been working for them all along? Then he might have told his old political buddy about our plans to curry favor with the Quantitative Priesthood.”

  “Whoah. Just what you’d expect from a politician I guess … I’m surprised to hear you talking shit about him when you’re usually all over his knob.”

  “Hey! I respect him for what he did as a leader, but I’m not some brown-nosing idiot!”

  “Okay. Fine. Calm down. So let’s assume he’s linked up with the OpScis. Then why’d he make that speech about going to war with them?”

  “Maybe he meant to destroy Xenocyst by luring us into a fight we couldn’t hope to win.”

  “Devious. I wouldn’t put it past him. But I never took Barrow for a believer. So maybe it was all a big act, but that speech he gave was just full of hate. You couldn’t hear it in his voice because he’s got that perfect control; it was something about the way he emphasized certain words, you know, you could just tell. I really think he despises them. For how they treated him. Maybe the way they treat anadeto too.”

  “I guess I got the same impression from him. If I think about it, there are other reasons to believe he was genuinely behind our plan. Like his history with the Philanthropy Syndicate. They were the ones who partnered with Anisha to have him ID assassinated, so he probably hates them even more than the OpScis, and I can imagine that having the chance to disrupt their plans in the way we tried must have been exciting for him.”

  Rick nodded and then hung his head, apparently thinking. “So what about Rashana then?”

  “I doubt it,” said Amon. “Just look at her interests. They seem perfectly aligned with ours. We get that viral seg out there, the coalition maybe goes down, the Philanthropy Syndicate loses some funds and influence, and she gets to mess with her sister by screwing with the Gyges Circle.”

  “But that’s exactly why I think it might have been her,” said Rick, raising his head. “Forcing the Charity Brigade to unleash their full brutality on video would make for an even more persuasive seg. What could suit her interests more?”

  “I’m not sure if it’s fair to be that cynical about her. I mean, if Hippo and Barrow can be believed, then she would never let all those bankdead get hurt for her own purposes. Plus those weapons are designed specifically not to look brutal on video.” Amon remembered the lack of screams on the bridge and supposed that each dose of dust of whatever kind had been laced with mute dust. This would minimize the appearance of suffering to any Free Citizens that might by chance be observing the scene or watching naked segs of it. In general, since the non-lethal crowdcare weaponry employed by freekeepers and drones left no visible wounds or bruises, their effects looked merely uncomfortable rather than damaging—especially if footage was edited—and could be promoted as a necessary means to protect anarchic rioters from themselves. “Her reporters got cleared away before the attack got started anyways, so if that was her plan it failed miserably.”

  “Okay,” said Rick. “So what about Anisha then?”

  “What about her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe word got out to her about what her sister was planning and she arranged to have the Brigade ready to interfere.”

  “Could be. But now we’re just speculating. We have no idea what’s going on between the sisters. We don’t even know one hundred percent that Rashana is Rashana.”

  Nothing was certain, nothing ever had been, and Amon began to doubt his resolution to see Rashana on the roof of the Cyst that night. There was no way to ge
t in touch with her to cancel the meeting, so his decision whether to honor it or not would likely be final, for he would have to blow it off or trust her fully, as all of Xenocyst had trusted her in bringing her in on the sabotage. But had that been the right choice? Could the whole plan have been doomed from the start?

  “Aw,” Amon sighed, his spine quivering with toxic pulses of guilt. “What a disaster I created.” Or was it the sky, the seeming profundity he’d discovered, that had led them astray? Somehow he couldn’t believe that. There must have been something he misunderstood.

  “You shouldn’t blame yourself,” said Rick. “It’s not your fault we were betrayed. And overall, I’d say the mission was a success.”

  “A success?! How?”

  “I’m pretty sure Rashana’s reporters got a clean shot of Vertical’s drama and everything before that, which was what we set out to do, right?” Rick’s voice sounded hopeful as he said this, but then he wiped his tears away and Amon saw his hand shake for just a moment. Seeming to notice Amon’s searching gaze of concern, Rick averted his eyes to the corner of the elevator, as though that might help him dissemble his emotions from a friend he knew could read them like no other. Amon could sense Rick’s fear anyways, in his tense posture and the tightness of his breathing, and suddenly realized the mortal danger he was in. For the flow of tears was not dwindling as one would expect with a normal dose of tear dust. No, the flow was increasing steadily, the size of each succeeding droplet seeming to grow.

  Like other crowdcare weaponry, tear dust could be set to different levels of non-lethality. At level one, it overstimulated the tear gland. At level two, it additionally paralyzed the gland that coated tears with oil, increasing overflow onto the cheeks. At level three, it induced swelling of the tear ducts to cut off drainage from the eye. Additional exposures simply increased tear gland stimulation, raising the intensity and duration of the effects cumulatively. The symptom outbreak speed was also adjustable, ranging from “instant outpour,” which had been applied to the lineup inside Delivery, to “gradual flood,” which Rick seemed to be suffering.

  Although the crying only lasted for a few hours at the lowest setting, when applied repeatedly it could continue anywhere from days to weeks to months. In such cases, dehydration and malnutrition became a serious risk, especially in summer, as water and electrolytes drained from the body more rapidly. If enough beverages could be secured, some people were said to live for an entire season with this condition, though buildup of residue could often cause pain, tear duct infections, vision impairment, and even blindness. Rick too might be kept going for a long time, even if he’d been exposed to multiple doses as his intensifying symptoms suggested, but he had already lost plenty of fluids in the intense exertion of the sabotage, ensuing battle, and their flight here, so if they couldn’t get to a vending machine soon—

  “I’m going to check and see if the drones are still there,” said Amon, getting to his feet. Leaning towards the elevator doors to stick his head through the gap, he scanned the lobby. It was still vacant, but so too now was the alley, no hovering glints anywhere. Pulling back into the room, he met Rick’s eyes. “Looks like we’re all clear for now,” he said. “Let me just peek outside and be back in a minute.”

  Rick nodded, flicking tears off the twin rivulets draped down his cheeks. “Here, take this,” he said, picking up his machine pistol from the floor and proffering it to Amon. “Your duster’s no good on drones.”

  “Thanks,” said Amon, taking it by the handle, “you take mine,” and pulled his duster from his holster to hand it to Rick. “In case someone shows up while I’m gone.”

  “Okay. But Amon?” said Rick, his voice lilting with urgency. Amon stopped at the door and looked back. “There’s no need for you to come back here.”

  Amon was speechless as Rick glared at him with defiant terror.

  “I was trying to be positive about my ankle, but I won’t be walking to Delivery tonight. You have your appointment with Rashana and, all the things we talked about aside, I think you should honor it. I’ll look after myself.”

  Stunned, Amon stood there frowning, his mouth agape, lips twitching wordlessly until, “What?”

  “Amon. I’ll be fine. By morning—”

  “Fine? Just look at yourself! All the water is leaking out of your body and you can’t even stand. What if you fall asleep, alone, in the middle of—”

  “Amon! Can you just do what I ask? It’s not a good idea for you to stay here.”

  “Don’t be crazy. Why?”

  “If you don’t go now, it’ll be too dark and you’ll never make it. Like you said, this is your last chance.”

  “But what about—”

  “GO!” Rick bellowed suddenly, the elevator booming with his voice, spit and tears flying, his body shaking, his eyes wide with distress. “Just fucking GO! You hear me, GO!”

  “What’s the matter with you?” Amon whisper-hissed, trying to imply Rick should quiet down. “You want—”

  “No more arguments. Go already, please.” Rick’s voice cracked with emotion. “I’m begging you. It’s what’s best for you. For both of us. You’ve got to get out of this place.”

  What’s happening? Amon wondered. It harrowed him to watch his friend, who had struggled so bravely that day—saving his life and the lives of Ty and his crew—break down so incomprehensibly like this.

  “Look. I’m stepping out now. But I’m just going to get you a drink and then I’m coming back.”

  “NO! That’s just what I mean. Don’t. Come. Back.”

  “I’m not arguing anymore,” said Amon, prying his gaze away with a shake of his head, and stepped out the door, Rick’s muffled howl of GO, Amon. Please just GO! making him cringe and tense his back as he crept across the still-empty lobby.

  Amon crouched at the doorway to the lobby and stared up at the overhanging jumble of shelters, watching out for flying glitters. Spotting nothing but steady flakefall, he slipped furtively into the alley and began to search around the condo perimeter for vending machines. He peered down the connecting squeezeways and zigzagged around to what he thought was the back of the building, but found nothing. He decided he would need a better vantage to scope out the routes and climbed a stairpath about ten half-stories when he spotted a DusterFly flittering by and rolled softly into a shallow alcove. Between the edges of the rooms that enclosed him, all Amon could see was a section of wall a meter away and couldn’t tell if more CareBots were passing by—though he thought he heard a faint echo of gentle flapping and the patter of raining flakes. The fact that his ears caught these subtle noises told him just how quiet the surround was. The sounds of battle had long since faded and they were well away from the Road to Delivery. No footsteps on the streets. No chatter through the thin Fleet walls. Amon could imagine the locals tucked away in their rooms, holding their breath, perhaps snuggling with each other in mutually protective embrace, and envied them. That was just what he wanted to be doing: cowering in a tight, out-of-the-way hole, like that elevator, or, better yet, their room in Xenocyst, as he had done with Rick during the typhoon. But such fantasies were not to be indulged. Not at least until he found Rick something to drink.

  So Amon waited until he heard no passing drones for several minutes before slowly peeking his head out from the nook. Although he was relieved to find no threats lurking about—just a roofway snaking upwards to the left and discontinuous jutting platforms separated by gaps to the right—his sudden dive into the nook seemed to have joggled his sense of direction and he was no longer sure which way he had come. Even after he crawled out and looked around more carefully from the ledge, he saw only a rabbit warren matrix of strange alleys and stairpaths. Careful not to drift too far, he wandered tentatively along each of them. Stooping, crawling, climbing, he wound back and forth through this unknown chunk of ephemeral city, terrified that he might never find his way back to the elevator where Rick needed him, even if he said otherwise. Thick layers of shadow petals swirled
round, obscuring the lay of the slumscape, some of it skimming Amon’s face and hands on its way down, as the dredges of sunlight that had seeped into the area faded rapidly. On the rooftop ground, Amon saw piles of shards like faintly glowing broken ice here and there, and guessed that DusterFlies must have shatter dusted the firefLytes to enforce a lights-out policy. Soon it would be too dark to see at all and he would have to wait until morning to find the condo entrance. Either that or he could climb to higher ground where the sun still glowed, and use the remaining light to do as Rick had demanded: return to Xenocyst for his meeting with Rashana. Only the residue of a vanishing day remained, and he would have to begin climbing immediately if he were to have any chance. His choice was now or never: keep searching or ascend.

  Yet Amon only considered these two possibilities for a fleeting second, as leaving Rick alone in his present condition—without at least finding him something to drink—seemed like no choice at all. Though he felt the heavy weight of despair settle in his stomach as his dreams winked out in the black emptiness of his consciousness—jubilee, Mayuko, the forest extinguished forever—escaping from the District of Dreams would mean nothing to him, no matter what he achieved afterwards, if it had been earned by abandoning his best friend. And to his relief, after a few minutes of wandering, he spotted the familiar stub of an alley below.

  After hang-dropping down the side of the wall to land before the condo entrance, Amon ran his fingers restlessly over his face and through his puff of hair with distress and confusion—What will happen to Rick? How can I help him?—dithering outside, unsure whether to continue on or return to the chamber empty-handed. But it only took a few seconds for him to accept how pointless and dangerous it would be to traipse blindly through the shifting labyrinth in the drone-infested dark, almost certainly to be separated from his ailing friend forever, and he reluctantly stepped through the doorless doorway.