by J. Thorn
Some days Gerry wondered whether his parents weren’t better off as pre-City Earth survivors. Though they’d died before they hit fifty, they’d still known what it was like before the Dome—before the control.
He blinked, clearing away the crusted blood.
He twitched his right eyeball side to side. It felt like it was submerged in treacle. The welt just above his eye from the stun-baton itched and throbbed.
Through this distorted vision, Gerry saw the shape of a man hunched over him. This person held a bottle of home brew in his fingerless gloved hand and wore a large-brimmed hat. Gerry exhaled a deep sigh. The only people who wore those kinds of hats were priests.
“Heugghhh,” Gerry said. His throat was dry and uncooperative.
“Chill, man. Y’ain’t gonna talk for a while. Relax, just listen.”
The man leaned further into Gerry’s red-cloaked vision and smiled. Dreadlocks swayed in front of his scarred face.
“Who…”
“Ya’ve been poezest by a devil, Gerry Cardle. But I’m gonna get it outta ya.”
Gerry tried to speak, form questions, but his throat clutched tight, his entire body bound by what seemed like a magnetic force. His muscles vibrated with fatigue, making his movements slow, painful.
The sound of a voice projected through his mind-interface interrupted his thoughts. It was Mary Magdalene: the name he gave his AIA. Mags for short.
“Good morning, Gerry. Congratulations, you’re a D-Lottery winner. Your time starts now. Please ensure your personal affairs are in order and that your Last Will and Testament are filed with the City Earth Council and the Family. You’ll soon receive information on funeral rates, and a counsellor will be in touch with your next of kin to finalise your arrangements. Please enjoy your last week with us. Your sacrifice is appreciated by us all.”
A week left. Seven damned days. Gerry sighed. This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t be happening.
A searing wet sensation burst across his nose, making him yelp. He swiped his left arm across his chest, knocking away the gloved hand of the dread-locked pseudo-priest.
A bottle smashed onto the street.
“Ya crazy fool!” Dreads said, reaching for the bottle.
Gerry’s vocal cords relaxed as he shouted, “Leave me the hell alone. Get out of here!” Energy flowed through his muscles again. His heart beat harder, pumping blood around his beaten body. He tried to get up from the gutter, but before he could stand, a gloved hand gripped his shoulder, holding him in place.
“That was ’Stem, man. It’ll help ya. You understand? Ya’re poezest and need my help.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I see it in ya code, man.”
“See what? Who are you?”
“I’m ya new best friend. And I see a devil crawling through ya internal networks, switching bits, parsing code, and poking your AIA. Call me Gabe, short for Gabriel.”
The man took a step back, brushed down his duster jacket, and bowed theatrically so that his dreadlocks flopped down, covering his face.
It dawned on Gerry in an instant. This was no priest. He noticed the triangular dots of scar tissue on his neck and the embedded chromed pin sockets in his temples. Even those mad staring eyes gave it away: hacker, burned-out, crazy hacker. He’d obviously lost his mind—got too deep into code, lost touch with reality. But how did he know about his D-Lottery numbers? Gerry had only found out himself earlier that morning.
Gerry noticed something odd: his dermal wrist implant was now flashing. Embedded into its flat square fascia was a tiny red dot the size of a pinhead. A thin concentric circle of blood surrounded the dot: a sign of a security breach.
“You’ve hacked me?”
“I had to see what’s inside ya. And trust me. Ya code is in bad shape, man.”
“I… what… you…” Gerry couldn’t find the words. He’d been violated, his internal systems poked at. So wrong, so… unnatural. The consequences were unimaginable.
Gerry struck out a fist, but Gabe caught his feeble attempt.
“Relax, man. Just come with me, and I’ll explain everything. We ain’t gotta lot of time. Security’ll be sweeping any minute.”
Gerry shrugged his hand away and promptly wobbled side to side, still dazed from the stun-baton. He tried to fling out a fist or a foot, anything to strike Gabe, but the exertion was too much. He leaned over and vomited.
With his head down, he started to pitch forward as the dizziness overwhelmed him.
Gabe caught him, pulling him upright.
Giving in, Gerry allowed himself to be led away. At the very least he could wait until there was somewhere to rest and then figure it all out. It was still morning. The street was deserted. Tall buildings freshly cleaned and devoid of dirt or any signs of industry lined each side. They seemed to loom inwards almost accusingly. Everywhere was just so perfect, and Gerry had spoiled the place. A pang of guilt welled up in his stomach when he looked at the ugly patch of liquids on the floor. He hated littering. It never took much effort to look after one’s surroundings. Vomiting one’s breakfast on the floor was not the behaviour of a good citizen.
Behind the guilt something gnawed at him: regret. He’d left too much of himself behind, too much DNA.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Just chill, man. We’re gonna fix ya right up. We’re gonna exorcise ya.”
Gerry had no clue what he was getting into. He had no strength to protest. Besides, a security patrol vehicle had made its way up the road. A grey and blue box—the colours of City Earth’s security force, two square metres in size, hovered with a low whine, powered by a hydrogen fuel cell and vertical take-off and lift, VTOL, engine. A series of LEDs flashed red and blue along its side. It stopped, and a small floodlight illuminated the scene of the broken bottle and puddle of puke. A robotic arm with a swab on the end took a sample. His DNA would now be registered as a criminal. No jury needed. Bang to rights.
It was the least of his concerns. The D-Lottery would kill him within a week anyway.
Gabe dragged him down the street and round the corner.
Gerry lost his bearings after a few short minutes. These unfamiliar streets seemed more foreboding and darker than his upper-class district, but then Gerry rarely ventured into the communal zones. Had no reason too, either, being one of the Cemprom’s most gifted algorithm designers. Only the top echelons for him. He’d no choice now, though. Had to get word to his family, find Mike, and sort out this D-Lottery nonsense. The consequences of a compromised algorithm were beyond anything he’d contemplated before. City Earth’s systems and networks were rock solid. Impenetrable. Until now.
“Ya’ve got some bad mojo in ya, man,” Gabe said.
“Yeah? No shit.”
***
Gerry’s escort stopped him in front of a rough wooden door, waved his hand over the lock. It chirped, and a small clunk sounded. The door swung open, casting a wide beam of golden light onto the dull street. A pair of brass-rimmed goggles with darkened lenses appeared in the gap. They gave the fragile girl wearing them the countenance of a nervous lemur. She wore her hair in a bright pink Mohican with complicated, almost filigree style tattoos on the side of her head.
“Petal, I found him,” Gabe said.
The goggled girl checked both sides of the street and then stood aside to let them enter.
She was young and twitchy in her synthetic leather trousers and a fitted faux biker jacket. Her lips were tattooed bright purple. It always amazed Gerry how these young girls could put up with the pain. There were few countercultures in City Earth. Most were tame as the citizens wouldn’t, or didn’t want to, rebel against the norm. It mostly extended to a slightly different hair style or basic modifications to clothes.
He’d never seen a girl like this before. She screamed rebellion, danger. He was quickly getting out of his comfort zone. As he passed her, she cocked her head to one side, assessing him. He wondered what was behind the goggles. The thought intrigued and scared him in equal measure. Without seeing her eyes, it was difficult to read her intentions. What was she thinking? What did she think about him?
“Go through to the back, Gez,” she said quietly. “Don’t touch a thing.”
Her voice almost sang to him such was the lightness. The vowels had a slight rough edge to them, making her sound alien to him. It didn’t have the clear pseudo-English accent that everyone within the Dome had. Where did she and Gabe come from? He’d never met anyone within the City who spoke so differently, which brought up a series of questions that he didn’t, or couldn’t dwell on.
Inside, the room was far grander than what Gerry had expected from the grim aspect of the exterior. Panelled wood, probably mahogany, lined the walls. Expensive. Wood was so rare and to use it as wall decoration was so—the words escaped him.
“Careless? Vulgar?” she asked him.
“Wait, you can read my mind?”
“Nah, you’re on the network. Your AIA’s freaking out, spraying like a panicked skunk. Don’t worry. It’s secure here.” Her goggles switched from opaque to clear, revealing glossy black eyes, reflecting Gerry’s face like mirrored spheres. He caught himself staring, falling.
“I can see your code. It’s grim. You’re in a world of trouble.” Her head twitched.
Gerry blinked, looked away, and gripped the sides of his throbbing head. He reached into his jacket pocket. Empty.
“Where’s my comm?”
“Smashed to bits. Your security peeps crushed it when they kicked you out.”
“Great. Can I use yours?”
“Off the grid. Don’t have one.”
“Your network? I just need to get word to a friend. He can sort out this D-Lottery nonsense. And then you can let me go. I’ve got family. I’m—”
“Exempt?” Gabe said. “Aye, should be, but a devil got inside ya and messed with ya algorithm. And ya can’t go transmitting out onto the main network. Way too dangerous.”
“How the hell do you know all this? Just tell me straight. Who are you people?”
The girl spoke up. “We’re specialists of a sort. A little bit off the beaten track. We slip through the cracks in the system. We tracked a demon right here in the City. In you, and in your pal Mike.”
“He’s here? He’s okay?”
“Um… he’s kinda dead,” Petal said.
“Mike? Dead? No. This can’t be. You’re lying. Surely!”
Petal and Gabe stood watching, stony-faced.
Gerry hoped this was all just a lie or some kind of big elaborate joke. Mike was like that, always playing pranks, but would he go this far? It was funny, sure, about the D-Lottery numbers, but not for this long, and these freaks? Maybe they killed him, and he was next. A billion thoughts bloomed into life and expired almost instantly. He tried to access the logic portion of Mags, but she didn’t respond. Probably occupied with informing the various official channels of his imminent demise. They’d need cover at work. His daughters would need a new father figure. And then there was his wife, Beth. She would need a new husband. The family unit was an important part of City Earth’s society. It was how things worked.
A part of Gerry knew Beth wouldn’t be terribly upset. Their relationship, for whatever reason, was never particularly intimate. She had a ‘defined role in the family unit’ and was apparently happy with that. Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Turning back to them and trying to focus, Gerry said, “So tell me, what happened to Mike?”
“He’s out back,” Gabe said. “Wanna see?”
Gerry wasn’t sure if he did. All the time there was no physical evidence there was a chance this was all a massive misunderstanding—a nightmare.
“Come through, Gez,” Petal said. “You’ll see.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s a little screwed up, to be honest.” Her goggles returned to their inky opaqueness.
Petal took Gerry by the hand and led him through an open doorway into a clinical kitchen: compact and barely large enough for four people. The cabinets and worktops were the usual self-clean white alloy.
As he ducked under the low door frame, he noticed masses of wire mesh running through the ceiling from room to room. Shielding perhaps? Or a Faraday cage of sorts? That probably explained the security of their internal network.
The kitchen smelled of alcohol. Numerous antique glass bottles were lined up on a wooden table. Next to them was an alloy container—about a half-metre square—filled with a writhing black liquid.
Petal must have seen his confusion. “NanoStem solution. Similar to the stuff that Gabe used to heal your facial wound. This one we’ve impregnated with defence nodes. It’s liquid virus protection. Cool, huh?”
Gerry didn’t know what to think. He just worked with numbers, factors, and probabilities.
Underneath the stench of booze, something rotten hung in the air. A putrefied, sweet smell tingled his nose hairs and stuck in the back of his throat.
Petal walked to a nook and opened a curtain. Sitting on his ass was Mike Welling. His skin had mulched to a grey-green mottled colour, as if it had rotted from the inside out. It sagged in disgusting black and purple lumps. He sat in a pool of black viscous liquid that dripped from every orifice—the NanoStem solution.
“You can see we’ve been trying to help him. For two days we managed to keep it out, but last night the demon breached the ’Stem defence, and… well, you can see the results. It’s a particularly brutal one.”
Waves of grief flashed through Gerry’s guts. His legs felt like rubber. He grabbed the edge of the table to support himself. “You’re mad. You’re all bloody mad.”
“That’s possible, my friend, but ya need us,” Gabe said from the doorway. “That thing there is ya pal Mike. That’s what’s gonna happen to ya. It hacked Mike’s AI first, changed the exemption list, and has chosen ya for poezession. Y’ain’t got long, man.”
“I don’t feel… Mags hasn’t changed. Nothing’s bypassed my security.”
“Not yet,” Petal said. “But you feel those shakes?”
Gerry nodded. “That’s just Mags doing her thing with the D-Lottery reg.”
“No. That’s the demon screwing the bejesus out of your Mags’s back door. It’s trying to impregnate her like it’s done with your pal Mike. Here, watch.”
Petal pushed Gerry closer to the zombified creature that barely resembled his old friend and boss. They’d known each other since they were toddlers. Came out of the same breeding programme. Selected for the same career path. Gerry had always looked up to him, and here he was, a shell. A rotting shell.
He blinked the tears from his eyes, breathed deeply—and then regretted it. He gagged on the stench of bad eggs and rotting meat.
Petal took a HackSlate from her breast pocket and swiped a three-fingered gesture across its neon-blue holographic surface. The device was barely larger than her palm and as thin as paper. She was connecting to their internal network. Gerry had heard about these devices. A few of his colleagues had worked on defence systems against them. They had the ability to bypass most front-line security systems. He’d have to ask her where they got them from, but now wasn’t the time.
Petal smiled at Gerry. Her full lips stretched wide, exposing sharp canines. She resembled a wolf pup on the edge of adulthood.
“Time to wake him up.” She drew yet more complex gestures across the slate until a few seconds later the body twitched. “Hey, Mike. Your old pal’s here to say hi.”
Zombie Mike lifted its head, focusing a milky eye on Gerry. A flash of recogni
tion slithered across its vision. Its swollen lips parted, and it spoke.
“Kill. Me. Kill me now…” And then the thing started to thrash against the restraints before a different voice spoke. “Ahhh, Mr Cardle, just the man I was sent to get—what treasures you’ll give to me… what secrets you’ll reveal. Now, come here!” The thing lurched towards Gerry, trying to claw at him, but the restraints held it back.
Gerry jumped back. “Oh, god, Mike!” Gerry screamed, shocked, unable to comprehend the horror of the situation. The thing moaned, then whined, seemingly in pain. “Can’t you put him out of his misery?”
“We’re tryin’, man.” Gabe pointed to the NanoStem solution. “The demon has royally screwed with his AIA. Got into his brain, neural pathways, nervous system. It’s like a living virus. An artificial evil. You guys, with ya goddamn brain-mods, are clueless as to what ya’ve done. It’s using him to get to the algorithm in ya head, in ya damned AIA.”
Gerry ignored the AIA argument. He’d monitored the anti-AIA groundswell for years, but the Family always handled it. Severe punishments for those who uninstalled them soon quelled the rebellion. And despite his wondering what it’d be like without a modded brain, there wasn’t a single report of anything detrimental to having one. He turned to Petal. “Have you tried—”
“Everything. Apart from one.”
“And you need me for this one thing?”
