The Forever Ones (The Iduna Project)

by DeLuca, Marjorie

  There’s a silence. We planned how to get out but the after part was vague. I step forward, anxious to get everything going. “Let’s hide somewhere so we can still see who’s doing the pickup. That might lead us to the people who are running this whole operation.”

  “Great idea,” says Junius, “this all looks so rundown and out of the way it seems like someone wants to hide what’s going on.”

  “Yeah – I was expecting some big, flashy corporate building,” says Ida.

  “I mean – does anyone actually know there’s a whole world down there underground?” I say, suddenly feeling as if we’ve been abandoned by the rest of the humanity.

  “I don’t think so,” says Carl. “All they can see is a metal grating at the end of a long sewage drain and this no-name warehouse that looks like every other piece of junk around here. The money’s changed hands already. All I do is leave the car and the goods and come back for it in an hour to drive the empty limo back.”

  A big hollow in the overhanging roof makes a comfortable hiding place that fits us all. Within minutes we’re clambering up a rusted service ladder onto the corrugated metal sheets. If we lie stomach down nobody can see us. We wait, anxious to see what kind of person would actually buy another human being for their own use.

  “We need to find a base afterwards,” whispers Junius.

  “Maybe Carl knows somewhere,” I say, as he scrambles like an agile kid onto the roof.

  “Can’t help you,” he says. “”It’s not safe for me beyond this street.”

  “Why – I thought you were a regular up here,” I say.

  He settles into position. “I told you it’s complicated out here. You’re gonna find out soon enough.”

  I’m just about to ask another question when we hear the sound of a car engine purring towards us. We huddle down.

  A small silver bullet-shaped car swishes noiselessly along the street and turns into the alleyway behind our warehouse. It pulls up behind the limousine and waits for a moment before the doors click open and a man and woman get out. They are different. They’re old. Dressed in severe black suits, eyes shaded by sunglasses, they walk towards the warehouse door. The man is short, stocky and completely bald – his head tanned like a polished leather helmet. He carries a silver attaché case chained to his right hand. The woman is tall but stooped at the shoulders, her hair covered by a black wide-brimmed hat, a sheer veil softening the blood-red lips beneath it. I can see big diamonds glittering on her fingers. She starts towards the limousine but the man holds her back. “Not yet, Diana.”

  They wait by the window and incredibly, out of the darkness comes a familiar voice. A bluish light floods the area as a holograph of the IDunaCorp CEO appears in front of them. She stands there like a blonde-haired doll with pale face and sugar pink lips.

  “Facial ID required,” says the voice that still sends a chill down my spine.

  The man turns to his wife. “Diana, please take off your veil.”

  She hesitates and the man squeezes her hand. Slowly the red painted fingernails grasp the veil and pull it up to reveal full crimson lips in a white face so lined and creased it looks like the shell of a walnut. Eyes moist, she bows her head.

  “My wife was a rare beauty,” the man says. “I was twenty five and she was forty when we met.”

  “I see,” says the CEO, “but physical beauty fades, sir. Inner beauty is eternal.”

  “Sentimental crap,” says the man. “You know why I’m here.”

  “You have the balance of the payment?” says the voice.

  Impatient, the man unlocks the chain and flips the silver case open. A row of gold bars glints in the blue light. “When I want something I usually get it. My contacts told me you have the goods so let’s not waste any more time.”

  Chale gasps and I stick my hand across his mouth. The CEO continues. “Unfortunately there’s been a security breach so the unit you requested is unavailable at present. We’re doing all we can to locate it. In the meantime we can offer you a month’s supply of Iduna cells until we find a replacement.”

  The man snaps the briefcase shut. “I’ve already given you half my net worth and you don’t come up with the goods. Why should I trust you?”

  His wife pulls at his sleeve. “Don’t spoil it, Jimmy,” she begs. “Not now.”

  “These people are crooks,” he says, his face growing purple. “They get some cheap little whore to lure us in with lies, then they bring us to this god-forsaken dump of a place to steal our money. Well I want my money back.””

  The CEO continues calmly. “I am afraid, sir, that refunds are impossible. Once the contract has been signed it’s binding. We are ready to honour our agreement at a later time.”

  But Jimmy won’t be persuaded, even by his wife’s who’s whimpering and pulling on his sleeve. “Take the month’s supply, Jimmy. I can get a head start on things. Please.”

  “Cut it out Diana,” he says pushing her away, “I bet there’s a few people round here who’d like to hear about this operation. I’ve gotten to know a whole lot of important people since I moved to Golden Heights.”

  The CEO’s tone changes to an urgent one. “You signed an agreement that all transactions would be completely confidential. That is a condition of our deal.”

  “Well there hasn’t been any transaction – so what’re you gonna do about that?” says Jimmy escalating.

  “This behaviour is inadmissible,” says the CEO. “Our agreement is now terminated.” The holograph disappears.

  “No,” screams Diana. “You bastard – you took away my chance to be young again.”

  “Stop it,” says Jimmy grabbing Diana by the shoulders. “Don’t you know I love you whatever you look like.” Diana starts to sob, her body heaving against Jimmy’s and at that moment the warehouse doors open, letting out two dark masked figures with Iduna emblems on the back of their black bodysuits. I see Jimmy and Diana’s eyes open wide in terror as the figures shoot them point blank in the head, the blood spattering in a crimson fountain across the warehouse wall and their bodies slumping like limp dolls onto the ground.

  I cover my mouth to stifle the gasp that threaten to escape from my mouth as the two figures drag the bodies into the warehouse and close the door. The other four are frozen in shock.

  “We have to get out of here right away,” I whisper. “Before the same thing happens to us.”

  13

  Anxious not to meet up with the two masked killers we creep upwards and across the rooftops until we reach the last one, then quickly shin down a dripping drainpipe to the street below. Everything’s quiet. Not a movement anywhere and I’m puzzled. “I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t they have sent couple of their masked killers after us in another car?”

  “I agree,” says Ida. “It’s like they just let us go.”

  Junius scratches his head and thinks. “Maybe they don’t want to make a scene out here – you know – draw attention with some big car chase.”

  “And maybe they’ve got something else lined up for us,” says Chale. “Something we wouldn’t even suspect.”

  “You’re probably right there,” says Carl. “They’re a twisted bunch of …”

  “People?” I say. “That’s the problem. We don’t know who or what they are.”

  “That’s what we have to find out,” says Sileas.

  “So let’s get going before the Masked Murderers get wind of us,” says Chale starting off down the street.

  Junius grabs the sleeve of his jacket. “You can’t go anywhere in this – it’s a walking advertisement.”

  “Shoot,” says Chale shrugging it off to reveal a white tee-shirt. He throws the jacket into a rusted old garbage bin. “Best place for that piece of junk.”

  “And just slow down, Chale,” I say. “Hang back and follow us.”

  “What’s our first move?” asks Ida.

  “Let’s find people – check out the place,” says Sileas.

  Carl looks round nervously
. “Keep a low profile out there. You don’t know who’s looking for you.”

  “What about these?” I say, pulling my sleeve back to reveal the tattoos there.

  Sileas rustles around in his backpack. “No problem,” he says producing a small spray bottle. “Spray-on skin. I’ve been playing around with this for the past year.”

  We all bare our arms and Sileas sprays them. It’s a cold, sticky feeling that pulls my own skin tight. I look down and my wrist is clear. “Amazing.”

  “Would the tattoo show up under a scanner?” asks Junius.

  “I tested it in the compound but who knows what they have up here,” says Sileas packing it away again.

  “What about you?” I ask Carl who’s testing the door of a nearby warehouse.

  “I’m gonna hole up here in this empty place,” he says. “I’m beat and besides I’m not welcome out there.”

  Though I’m curious there’s no time find out why Carl has to stay here. We have to get moving. We find a dry deserted storage area. “Let’s use this as a temporary base,” says Junius. “We split into groups and meet back here by morning at the latest.”

  We all agree though when it comes to breaking into teams it’s not so easy. In the end it’s me, Chale and Sileas in one group and Junius and Ida in the other. Apparently Chale has now become my responsibility since Junius and I are the leaders of each group. His group has to bring back food and communication devices while we’ll check out the area to look for evidence of the Iduna operation or find any word of Yul who was apparently shipped out yesterday. We settle Carl down in a deserted office with our backpacks and some food then head out towards the city and the bluish glow on the horizon.

  We jog a few blocks, turn a few corners always following the blue glimmer but none of us is prepared for the sight we see when we reach it. There’s a burst of bright lights and suddenly we’re on the strangest street we’ve ever seen. The air smells like apples, and flowers and the street is a digital circus. Giant elephants tramp past graceful necked giraffes their images projected onto the walls of the buildings. A man on stilts in a scarlet jacket and black top hat cracks a flickering whip at a roaring lion. Real people – or I think they’re real people - mingle with the images. Everyone is decked out in some type of costume: rainbow-haired acrobats, sequined dancers with feather headdresses, clowns in white satin pyjamas and geisha-style Barbies, their faces illuminated by the bright pink and blue lights, all heading towards a long line-up that stretches almost a block from outside the flashing lights of a dance bar.

  There are no cars. Only bicycles and the occasional electric scooter zip by and the air is clean as a sheet of new glass. I’m so stunned by all I can see, hear and smell I barely register Junius and Ida as they head off in the opposite direction. My stomach lurches as Junius turns the corner out of sight. I hope they’ll be safe but Chale’s urgent voice interrupts me. “We so look like we don’t belong here,” he says.

  “We need costumes,” I say, scanning the street for stores.

  “Over there,” says Sileas pointing to a market stall draped with all kinds of crazy costumes. A sign says Mara’s Retro Movie Suits.

  The girl at the stall has a purple Mohawk and vinyl bodysuit. “You just in from the country?” she asks, looking us up and down.

  “Sure – yeh –we’re from the country,” I say. “You’re Mara?”

  “”Yeah,” she says. “Where you from? My folks still live out in the boonies.”

  I have to think for a moment and then Lynette’s story comes to me. “Minnie-Apolis,” I say. I can hear Chale breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Way up there?” she says, frowning. “I thought they’d banned travel to Tinsel-Town.”

  So Lynette’s home town really existed. There’s an uncomfortable silence as I choke then swallow back my grief. Luckily Chale steps in. “Well they’re thinking about maybe starting it up again so they sent us to check out the place.” As he speaks he inches closer to her, flashing his beautiful smile.

  Mara backs down and basks in his gaze. “Well I hope they send more of your kind here,” she says, fluttering her jeweled eyelashes at him. “Now what can I interest you in? Everyone here wears recycled clothes from the old days – retro makes environmental sense – and besides we barely get any new stuff here – at least not for as long as I can remember.”

  In a few moments we’re trying on costumes. Chale ends up in some kind of pirate outfit. Mara makes a big deal of tying a red bandana around his loosened wavy hair and threads strings of beads through it. He fastens on a white shirt with billowy sleeves and a tight-waisted black leather vest. While she paints black eye liner around his eyes, Sileas and I rummage through the pile of clothes. “This is a real vintage outfit,” I hear Mara say. “Used in a famous movie from long, long ago.”

  When we’re done we stand laughing at each other. Chale actually looks amazing in his outfit and I barely recognize Sileas in his slim greeny black bodysuit and green mask.

  “I’ve never had a six-pack before,” he says, checking out the shaded markings on the front of his suit. I’m all decked out in this tiny green sparkly tutu with a pair of iridescent wings attached at the back. A thin band of green sequins shimmers in my hair. Chale can’t seem to take his eyes off me. “You look beautiful,” he says and I feel that familiar pounding in my chest. The girl shoots a poisonous look at me.

  “How much?” Sileas asks and to our relief we can use our money here. We settle up with Mara and pack our own clothes into small bags.

  “Where’s the hottest club around here?” asks Chale.

  “Right in front of your eyes,” she says. “The Shoshu. You can dance the night away to the best Japapunk.”

  Chale gives her another wink and we’re just about cross the street when there’s a sudden surge of bodies. “What’s going on?” I say, afraid that someone’s showed up here to capture us.

  “Trouble,” says Mara. “Get behind my stall.”

  A small black car, strangely out of place around the bicycles, crawls down the street. Suddenly it seems that everyone outside the club has some kind of phone out and little screens light up along the lineup. A strange chant starts up and I strain to hear it. ARPS on the loose. ARPs trespassing. A blond chauffeur in navy suit checks out the multi-coloured mob through the windshield as they close in, and promptly accelerates the car as two pink-haired acrobats leap onto the car roof and start to stamp across it. The crowd cradles the sides of the car and start to rock it chanting, “Greyhaired pigs, grey-haired pigs – get back to your trough.”

  Inside the limo a small man with white hair and a smooth, young looking face and sharp silk suit motions for the driver to move on. Beside him a doll-faced woman in a fur coat sinks down into the seats. The car pushes through the mass of writihing bodies as fists pound the sides and roof and clownish faces glare through the tinted windows sticking out multi-pierced tongues. No wonder Carl didn’t want to come with us. There’s no place for anyone but young people here.

  “Must’ve taken a wrong turn,” says Mara. “Bad idea.”

  “What’s the problem?” blurts Chale without thinking.

  The girl looks up at him, her brows knitting together. “Where did you say you were from?”

  “I guess it’s not as bad where we come from,” I say, not even knowing what I’m talking about.

  It seems to be the right thing to say because she relaxes. “They’re not welcome here. They’re all bloodsuckers – all those rich old creeps. Hanging onto their money – poisoning the water and the land and the food and now they don’t want to let go – now they’re finding ways to keep their filthy money forever. Hell – how do I know you’re not one of them.”

  “Check out my wallet,” says Chale. “That’s my life savings.”

  By now the car has passed the end of the street and the riot’s over. We say goodbye to Mara and cross the street. The whole place is so lively Sileas gets brave and does a couple of cartwheels. I gather up my strength, ta
ke a run and do a string of somersaults that finish up right by the lineup. I flip onto my feet and take a bow to a loud burst of applause, at which I do a deep curtsy. The line opens up and a guy in blue vinyl ushers us to the front.

  “I thought we were going low-key,” whispers Chale.

  “Oops,” I say. “I got caught up in the moment.”

  The guys hold their arms out to me and we walk, arms linked into the flashing lights of the Shoshu Dance Club and right up to the desk where guests line up to have their arms scanned. I look at the place where Sileas sprayed new skin and hope to hell his stuff really works.

  14

  I nudge Sileas. “What if they see the tattoo?”

  “Cross your fingers and get ready to run,” he whispers back.

  As usual Chale refuses to stay low key and starts talking to a girl ahead of him in the lineup. “Hey – we’re from the country. What’s with the scanner.”

  The girl, dressed in a dazzling black and white checkerboard outfit almost chokes at the sight of Chale in all his glory. “Security told us some diseased kids have escaped from an isolation ward. They have some kind of tattoo. Personally I couldn’t care less – don’t trust those guards anyway.”

  My heart feels like it could leap right out of my chest. If Sileas’s spray doesn’t work we’re going to be grabbed by some crooked guys in uniform. Chale steps forward and I push him out of the way. “Me first,” I say feeling a bit safer with his hand steadying my shoulder. Glancing quickly around to check where the exits are, I reach out my arm, close my eyes and wish I could be somewhere else. I hear a quick zap and then a voice. “Hey – wake up Tinkerbell. You’re done.” I open my eyes to see a guy in a rainbow clown wig waving me on. It worked and we’re through.

  Inside, strange, throbbing music blasts out and the walls on all four levels move like liquid crystal, shading the dancers in tones of blue, pink and silver. We have to turn sideways to push our way through the crowd towards a glass elevator. A trapeze artist in white rhinestones glitters as she swings in an arc high above our heads and I stop to watch, thinking how much she reminds me of my donor mother, Hilda. Chale catches my arm and pulls me towards the open elevator. Sileas follows behind. The elevator opens onto a room in the sky. Glass on all sides reveals the Tinsel-Town skyline, its tall buildings all glowing with a dull bluish glow.