Upon Stilted Cities - The Winds of Change

by Michael Kilman

  “Sir, the coordinates are the most likely location of the two required resources.”

  “Uh huh. And since when am I given coordinates for a resource recon?”

  “As you know, sir, access to resources in the past few decades have become increasingly scarce. Major Daniels has decided that our best chance of resource extraction is to pinpoint specific locations that appear, at least by previous mineral surveys, to be resource-rich.”

  “So Daniels is the one who made up that bullshit story? You know, I’ve been at this for more than a thousand years now. The only time you send me out at 6:30 p.m. is when there's something much more important going on than resource recon. How ‘bout you tell me what’s really going on at that location?”

  “I am sorry, sir, but the only thing, ‘going on at that location'," the AI switched to an exact copy of his own voice to quote him, “is a rich vein of resources.”

  “I’m sure. Can you tell Major Daniels that I know he is full of shit, please?”

  “Sir, Major Daniels is not receiving messages at this time.”

  “Then leave him a message and make sure you include a smiley face in it. I know how much he loves them.”

  “As you wish, sir. Please proceed to Inspection.”

  17 walked forward again toward the end of the long narrow tube without argument. He wasn’t in the mood for a shock in the base of his skull. Without being aware of what he was doing, he rubbed the place on the back of his neck where they had implanted the chip more than a thousand years before. He looked up at one of the security cameras. No doubt that Daniels or someone else from security was watching him. He raised his right hand and gave them the finger and then a salute.

  17 reached the end of the tunnel, and like a thousand times before, an iris whooshed open. He stepped forward into the light, squinting while his eyes adjusted, pupils shrinking. He swished the little saliva in his mouth and spat out the remainder of the stem cell mixture from the alcove. A hint of the greenish mixture blotted and swelled on the metal floor. There was no getting rid of that chemical taste. He thought for a moment that maybe stealing a meal from a dock worker or inspector would be worth the pain of a shock. He longed for some mouthwash or a toothbrush. The pain he could handle, the grainy taste of goo in his mouth was far more intolerable.

  Then the inspector walked toward him, tablet in hand. With a single glance, he forgot everything else. He swallowed hard. She was stunning. She raised her right hand, holding a small wireless scanner linked to her tablet, and checked his vitals. She waved it like a magic wand up and down, left and right, muttering to herself the technical jargon of the readout.

  17 could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Her long blonde hair almost shimmered in the brutal fluorescent light of the docks. Those lights made everyone look ugly, so the fact that she was still radiant caught 17’s attention. Her deep bluish-green eyes accented her bronzed skin. Her mouth had an almost natural upturn, and he traced the curvature of her tiny jaw with his eyes. He watched her lips as her mouth moved and felt his breath escaping him. For the first time in centuries, he felt butterflies in his stomach.

  “Runner... 17? Wow, that’s the lowest number I’ve seen so far.” Her voice was light and curious.

  17 focused. He shook his head. He couldn't imagine their life together, or even just what it would be like to bed her. It would only serve to remind him that he was a prisoner.

  “Ain’t no lower number now.” He tried to make his words sound hollow and dry.

  “Sorry?” The young girl blinked at him.

  “You’re new, aren’t you?”

  “Is it obvious?” She frowned, her whole face flattened, but a smile hinted.

  17 paused and looked her up and down again, this time making it obvious what he was doing. Her face flushed a little. He couldn't help it. Chances were, he would only see her a few more times before she moved on. Inspectors always moved on. Hell, he may never see her again, but something in him resisted that idea, something in him said he might see a lot of this one. He pushed the thought away. It was nonsense.

  “How many years do you have?”

  She hesitated a moment. 17 knew inspectors weren’t really supposed to talk to Runners, but he wanted—no, needed—to chat with this one.

  “I... only... 23 years.”

  “23 years? Are you kidding? I didn’t even know they let anyone that young away from their parents anymore.” He hesitated a moment, deciding if he should ask the next question. It burst from his lips. “Uh, what’s your name?”

  The girl, her eyes soft, looked around. Doubtless, she'd been lectured on fraternization with Runners, warned at great length how evil they were. 17 gave her a little smile, trying to encourage her, but that only seemed to make her more nervous. Was she nervous for the same reason he was?

  “I’m not supposed to... I...”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. They told you the big bad Runners might hurt you if they find out who you are, might steal you in the night like the Boogeyman. Told you we are all dangerous criminals on a life sentence, right?”

  The girl nodded. Her face was bright red. Her eyes kept sinking downward, admiring 17’s naked body, but she was trying to hide her curiosity.

  She bit her lip.

  He shivered.

  “You know what my crime was?”

  She shook her head.

  "Do you want to know?"

  She nodded.

  “I pissed off the wrong woman, an Upper. Least that’s what they tell me, but hell if I can remember. Been too damn long. Everything bleeds together after a few centuries.”

  “But I thought...” she hesitated again, looking around to see if anyone, probably her supervisor, was watching. She lowered her voice just above a whisper and moved closer. “I thought that to become a Runner you had to commit a violent crime?”

  17 laughed. The girl jolted back, looking around again.

  “You’re shitting me, right? Is that what they are teaching up in that... what do they call it these days? College? University?”

  “Um... scholar school... Sir.”

  “And she gives me a Sir. Wow, I like you," he chuckled. "You know, it’s been at least a millennium since someone called me Sir? What’s your name again?”

  The girl looked down at her feet and then met his eyes. Her soft eyes made his heart ache a little. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him that way; centuries, at least.

  “Maybe we better just get on with the inspection,” she replied. She looked back over her shoulder again.

  “Come on now, don’t be like that. I just woke up, and I’ve been sitting in that alcove for several months. Do you have any idea how lonely and boring it is in there? You know we don’t fully sleep in those things, right? It’s more like an acid trip or something.”

  Her expression softened a little, and her left cheek slanted upwards just a hair. She hesitated, and the words almost seemed to leak from her soft lips. “It’s... Alexa.”

  “Alexa, you don’t look like an Alexa, you look like a...” He stopped. No. She couldn’t possibly look like... He didn’t dare make that comparison. A deep sense of anguish welled up in him. His memory was trying to surface, but he pushed it back down. There was a sense of mockery and injustice in this girl’s presence. He tried to shake it off. Now he was starting to understand the effect she had on him.

  “Uh... Never mind. Alexa it is, then. Tell me a little more about yourself, Alexa. Are you a Lower?”

  Alexa shook her head. “Mid, actually.”

  “A Mid? What the hell are you doing in Runner dock then?”

  “I...” she hesitated, her eyes again dipping down 17’s well-scarred body. She looked up into his face again. “That’s none of your business.” She shifted her weight from one leg to another.

  “Uh, you’re right, sorry. It just seems like a lovely young Mid like yourself wouldn’t bother with the big bad Runners down here in the docks. If you're a Mid, I bet you got lots of opp
ortunities and probably a lot of interested men too, huh?”

  She frowned. “I’m not some object for a man to possess, you know. And my career choices are my own.” Now determined to focus on the task at hand, she fixed her gaze on her data tablet. He could tell that it was hard for her not to look back up at him. She peeped over the tablet, caught his eyes again and smiled. She forced a smile down and with it, her eyes. It made his heart flutter a little. He swallowed, thinking of his wife from many lifetimes past. Only the hair color was different.

  "I'm sorry Alexa... I... this isn't a good place to be."

  She looked up at him. Her eyes moved back and forth across his face and then her eyes locked with his. “I think... I think I'm done with my inspection. You have to move along now, Runner 17. And..." Her face turned bright red, and she looked down at her feet. "And put some clothes on. None of the other Runners come out of their alcoves naked. Um, your EnViro suit is in station 9.” She pointed her finger in the direction of the EnViro suit platform.

  "Alexa?" A man's harsh voice rang out over the intercom. "Alexa, please return to your office immediately. You know the policy about speaking with Runners."

  She turned and ran off. He watched her go. She dropped her data tablet on her way back to the tiny office in the corner of the Runner Docks but did not stop.

  He frowned. It had been the first time in decades that someone besides the AI had spoken with him and he went and screwed it up. He shook his head. What did it matter anyway, not like a Runner could ever have a normal life. After he returned from the barrens, he was debriefed and then straight back into the regeneration alcoves until the next mission. He was lucky if they allowed him a real meal instead of that nutrition drip they ran through his EnViro suit.

  There had been a few moments in his Runner career when he had tried to date the female Runners, but it proved impossible. The timing of re-activation never quite matched up. Sometimes months or years would pass between encounters. He found over the centuries that the best he could hope for was a quick fling, which also proved difficult out in the harsh conditions of the barrens. It was hard to get your pants down when they were under thick layers of metallic armor, but somehow, they managed. Caves were helpful in that regard.

  17 turned toward station 9 and walked forward. He glanced back in the direction Alexa had gone and frowned. Then he moved forward and stepped into worn yellow outlines of feet. A machine both above and below made a guttural whirring noise, sputtered, and came to life. The platform on which 17 stood lifted several meters into the air. Cracks had begun to take shape in non-symmetrical patterns on the platform. The whole place crumbled from age.

  From above and below the platform, large metallic hands with three fingers and an opposable thumb extended outward, each with its own task.

  The arms dressed 17 in undergarments and then a thin, electronic, protective spandex-like coating that resembled a wetsuit and protected him from heat and cold. The boots enclosed his feet, granting him nearly a half meter more in height. Next, the arms pieced together an exoskeleton that tripled the user’s strength. Bone joints glistened, waiting for connections to metal plates. Around the exoskeleton, the mechanical arms assembled the exterior armor. It started at his shins, attaching one piece at a time, moving upwards. Each piece resembled the armor of a knight, but it was perfectly connected, perfectly sealed like that of an astronaut’s suit but much more flexible. For the final step, a helmet descended from above and enclosed the EnViro suit. Everything clicked on and came to life.

  “EnViro suit activated. Welcome back, sir. It has been four months, three weeks, and four days since you were last in an EnViro suit,” said the suit AI. “I have taken the liberty of uploading your system preferences and the required mission data into this suit.”

  “Good, I don’t suppose you can talk to someone about the Runner activation AI, can you?”

  “Is there a problem with the activation system, sir?”

  “Yeah, that system is an asshole.”

  “I... apologize, sir, we may not customize—"

  “I know, I know. It told me already. Tell me again, why can’t I use your system for activation?”

  “I am flattered, but my systems are based on the chip in the base of your neck and only works when in direct contact with an EnViro suit or another external uplink.”

  17 sighed. “If you say so.”

  “Are you ready to depart?”

  “Yeah sure. Being out there in the Barrens is a hell of a lot better than in those damn alcoves.”

  “I am sure I would agree if I had a body.”

  The outer bay door opened. Before he stepped forward, he looked back. Was Alexa watching? He hoped he would see her again. He frowned and turned forward toward the lift.

  As he descended toward his Dugger, 17 had his first glimpse of the Barrens in months. Dunes and rocky wastes filled his gaze. The wind changed the landscape right before his eyes. There was nothing but death and possibilities out there. He glanced in the corner of his heads-up display and noticed the wind was only 80 kph, a mild evening at least.

  He missed trees. Even though they had some here in Central Park, he hadn’t seen one in centuries and wondered if there would ever be a day when he would see one again.

  Before the end, he would see many.

  Chapter 2

  A Return to Nowhere

  “I think you should let her go.”

  It was the third one this week, and Mimi was exhausted. She couldn’t remember a time she had been so tired, at least not since Shannon’s conversion into a reserve Runner. Four decades had passed since the terrible day, yet the intensity of those moments had never lost their edge.

  She transmitted directly into the pimp’s mind, trying to frame it in a way that he would think. It had taken so much practice to learn to anticipate others’ thoughts. Doing so had turned out to be one of the keys to persuading people to act in a way you wanted them to.

  “This girl isn’t worth the trouble, look at her man, why would you waste time on someone who isn’t gonna last selling herself?”

  The pimp appeared to consider. He had a young girl by the arm and was tugging her. It reminded Mimi of when the recycled Runners had tugged on her and Shannon. It was a moment that she had dreamt of so many times, had woken to in her empty bed, had sent her running down to the underground to where Shannon lay in stasis. There was always relief seeing Shannon in her alcove, even if she couldn’t speak with her but a few days a month.

  Mimi skimmed. The girl, a small, frail thing with dark brown eyes and auburn hair, had come to him for a steady supply of drugs. Eventually unable to pay, as they so often were, the woman had turned to sex work. The pig reminded Mimi of that low-life Andrew, the one that had caused all the trouble and was the reason that Shannon had become a Runner in the first place. Old anger sparked. He was the reason that two of her sisters had fallen to the army of the Recycled.

  A pallid, light-haired greasy thing with bone-thin limbs and track marks up his arms like freckles, the pimp’s grip loosened on the girl’s arm for a moment as he stared at Mimi.

  “I think you should mind your own damn business,” he said. Though, there was less conviction in his voice now.

  Mimi frowned. She skimmed the pimp’s mind again and found that he was attracted to the girl, that he wanted possession of her. That would make the convincing harder. Though she had occasionally practiced with the red veil, the ability to mind control another human being, she wasn’t confident in her ability, and she didn’t much care for it. Besides, the Order frowned on its use, except in times of emergency. There were other routes.

  She closed her eyes and pressed into the pimp’s mind once more. She made herself look crazed and unpredictable. Considering her tattered garments, it wasn’t a stretch. Sure, her sisters had offered her new clothes, but she always ripped them, always made them look worn and dirty. She was on the streets for a reason, and clean clothes made you stand out.

  She spoke a
gain, saying, “I think you should let her go or you might find yourself in a world of trouble.” As she said the words, she made herself appear bigger, made him imagine that her shadow was longer, that he would regret tangling with her. She suggested that she would bite and scratch and scar him like a cornered cat. She pushed the images into his mind to mingle with his thoughts.

  She opened her eyes again. The pimp was barely holding on to the young girl’s arms now, a thin thread of control and desire so fragile that a light wind would break it. Mimi stepped forward and she saw the pimp flinch. She projected the image of jagged teeth, dripping with blood, drool running down the corner of her mouth. The pimp stepped backward, letting go of the girl’s arm and tripping over a piece of trash behind him. He crawled, crab-like, backward away from Mimi, never taking his eyes off her.

  “You can... you can have her, man. Just leave me the hell alone.” The pimp crawled to his feet, still a clumsy crustacean. He stood, turned, and bolted. He risked one last glance backward before he rounded the corner out of the alley.

  Mimi turned her attention to the girl. She huddled in a corner, and Mimi realized she had cast her net a little too wide. It was the one thing she still struggled to control after so many years of training. She routinely targeted additional people with her suggestions. Noatla had suggested that this was because Mimi was so powerful, but Mimi just found it frustrating. The girl was weeping and shaking in terror as Mimi approached her.

  Again, Mimi closed her eyes. This time she projected the sense that Mimi was an angel, a being that while sometimes terrible, was there only to assist her. Noatla had told her that idea of an angel was so deep in the psyche of the city, that it was a powerful tool to soothe people. Symbols were powerful persuaders; the more ancient the symbol, the more powerful. Noatla had suggested that all sisters of the Order of the Eye read up on ancient mythology and religions, as it would help with their abilities.

  The girl noticeably relaxed and Mimi moved forward, reaching out a hand to help her up.