Upon Stilted Cities - The Winds of Change

by Michael Kilman

  She was told from the get-go that most of the time she wouldn’t even see Runners, and it would be an extremely rare occasion to see more than one at a time. In fact, the security advisor who had briefed her on her duties had told that she might only see a Runner once or twice a month. She had asked, what then were her duties in those slow times? She was told that she was to stay vigilant and to do her part. But in the month she had been there, she had encountered not only a dozen or so Runners but now even one of the oldest Runners.

  Despite her long battle with boredom and the overwhelming pressure from her family, Alexa knew she was in the right place. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to take shape, though the picture still wasn’t clear.

  “Alert, Runner 494 deployment.”

  “Of course.”

  Alexa grabbed her electronic tablet and searched for 494’s profile. She walked out of her office and toward the EnViro suit platform. 494 was emerging from the tunnels. He was, unlike 17, clothed from the waist down. Several tattoos of red lines of concentric circles painted around his nipples and cascaded outwards across his chest.

  Alexa reviewed the profile as she walked. 494 had a warning label attached to his profile. “Convicted Serial Rapist” it stated. She shivered. There wasn’t any real danger to her since the dozen or so armed security guards would incapacitate 494 if he so much as breathed the wrong way, but she still disliked dealing with individuals like this. It was the thing she had dreaded most about the Runnercore.

  Alexa approached with her clipboard, “Vitals are all looking good, 494, how are you feeling?” She tried to hide the quiver in her voice. She didn’t want this one to know that she was afraid, but it was too late.

  494 turned and stared at Alexa, his face expressionless but his eyes hungry. He glanced up and down her body, “Fine.” It was a long, drawn-out word, and his lips spattered saliva just a little bit. He licked them to keep the moisture from becoming drool.

  She felt his eyes consume her, and every part of her instinct told her to get away from this man. She felt that at any moment he would lunge for her. Her fingers drifted toward the emergency assistance button on her tablet, a button that would call every guard in the dock and potentially activate 494’s shock chip in the base of his neck if the AI felt he was too aggressive or out of line.

  Her heart was racing. He kept staring at her. Now he was taking in every detail of her face, and she didn’t like it. She could tell by the way his eyebrows worked in concert with the slight changes in his eyes that he was considering something. Alexa hoped to the gods that he wasn’t considering what he should do to her. She decided to stay out of this one's mind. It wouldn’t help any to skim him.

  Even still, she felt exposed and even a little violated. She moved her feet a little closer together, narrowing the space between her legs. Her thumb moved to a hair's breadth above the emergency button. One sudden movement and she would press it.

  “Um... Your EnViro suit... It’s in station 12,” she said, forcing the words out.

  She thought he was about to say something, but instead, 494 turned without further interaction and began walking toward the platform where his suit waited. She let out all of her breath, so hard in fact, that she worried he would turn and look back. But he didn’t.

  Then she lost control of herself, and Alexa felt 494’s mind overwhelm her with images of violence, anger, and lust. She felt nauseous, dizzy, and had to stop herself from fainting. 494 was truly a terrible human being. She was glad to see him leaving.

  Some of the Runners she had encountered so far had definitely deserved to be there but 494... he was exceptional. Sure, most of the Runners were slimy and could even be malicious at times, but 494’s mind was the very definition of insane. She hoped that the Barrens consumed him, that he disappeared in the winds forever.

  Her mind returned to 17 as she watched 494 walked toward the lift that led out into the Barrens. What had 17 done to deserve his tenure? Were all Runners true criminals, or were some in the wrong place at the wrong time? She would have to do some more reading up on it. It’s not like she had much else to do while waiting for Runner deployments, and if her boss asked her, she could simply say she was learning about each Runner for her own protection. He would probably approve of that; it would probably fit into his narrow definition of “being vigilant.”

  Chapter 4

  Security Detail

  There was a rage in the noise. The rhythmic, angry bleating of the proximity alert and the noises of the room created a cacophony of convergence that drew Major John Daniels’ attention to the center of his heads-up display.

  Centuries of sitting in his sentry post as head of security had blurred his memories of the early days of the stilted cities. Memories, like seeds caught in the wind, danced and twirled in the air, breaking apart at the moment of grasping. Some older members of his detail had said similar things, concurring that their memories swirled and mixed like milk in tea. And how could you separate them again?

  Daniels blinked. His shift was almost over. It was a hell of a time for a proximity alert, but he had been dozing. His senses had dulled as he watched the clock, ticking off the 17th hour of his shift. The AI took care of almost everything. So, what then, was this alert all about?

  It wasn’t an urgent alert. It was a kind of seismic activity 200 kilometers in the distance. Daniels moved his arms swiftly, but carefully, upwards. It was hard to move much when you had a cable plugged into the base of your skull. His visor froze. He tapped on the sides of the large plastic headgear, and the data stream resumed. There were always occasional glitches in the system. It was nothing serious, of course, but a system that was almost 1300 years old, even one that was as well designed as the city’s OS, was bound to have a few glitches.

  In the bottom left of his virtual heads-up display, a resource indicator flashed. The city was low on basalt and quartz. Whatever this object was, it attracted the interest of the AI, not just because of the seismic activity, but also it appeared ripe with resources.

  “Manhatsten,” he said, calling the AI.

  “Yes, Sir?” it said. The AI had a very human-like voice, but it sounded as if a man were talking down the end of a long tube; his voice gaining in resonance as it moved toward Daniels’ ears.

  “Send a Runner to do recon at that site. I want to know what that thing is. Don’t let the Runner know they’re doing recon, alright? Make ‘em think it is a routine mineral mission.”

  Daniels had learned the hard way to keep Runners in the dark. It made them more efficient at gathering intel. An informed Runner was likely to hide something or withhold information. And yeah, they recorded just about everything the Runner did, but there were still ways of withholding or distorting intel. Runners were, after all, a bunch of low-life slimy sons of bitches. Every single one of the shitheads had an agenda, and if they knew Daniels wanted something they would try to hide it out of spite.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Manhatsten. “The proximately alert indicates a likely mineral-rich substance. Should I send out a probe?”

  “No, a Runner will do fine. Just send them in a Dugger. Drop-off should be at a safe distance from the site. Are you getting anything from previous satellite telemetry?”

  “No, Sir, previous satellite data shows nothing unusual in this region, and we know from geological data that an earthquake is unlikely. However, the Dog Star satellite has not passed over this region in four days, nine hours, and thirty-three minutes.”

  “Ah hell.” Daniels sighed. “I’ll tell you AI, I’d give one of my toes for a few dozen satellites in orbit like the old days. One of those old pieces of shit just ain't enough. How in the hell am I supposed to assess threats without regular updates?”

  “Sir, if you are concerned about the infrequency of the intervals at which you receive data, may I recommend using the probes to—"

  “I wasn’t looking for answers.”

  “My apologies, Sir, I misunderstood and assumed you were making an inqui
ry.”

  The AI was helpful in a lot of circumstances, but Daniels wished that for once it wouldn’t be so dense. It was always so damned literal.

  “You know damn well that probes cost way too much. That Senate would shit a brick if I started using probes for recon. Sandstorms ate the last three. Besides, you know the data from a Runner is far better than a shitty camera and audio recording device."

  Daniels’ heads-up display opened up a viewer on the camera over Runner 17’s regeneration alcove. He saw 17 stand and walk down the corridor toward the docks. As usual, he was as naked as the day he was born. Most runners choose to wear undergarments, but 17 had said... what had he said? It was something like: “I don’t want to get that sticky shit all up in my skivvies.” Daniels understood that, at least a little. The goop in the alcoves was terribly sticky and tough to get out of a uniform. Runners didn’t exactly have an extensive wardrobe.

  Reliable 17. He was a pain in the ass, but always got the job done. 17 had probably been in more scrapes and battles than all the other Runners in Manhatsten combined. He had a knack for trouble. Daniels hated him, but also respected his ability to stay alive and finish his objectives. He avoided dealing with 17 directly as often as possible, which of course was most of the time. 17 was, at best, openly insubordinate, and goddamn could that man chatter.

  Over the decades, it had brought Daniels great joy to shock the shit out of 17. Funny enough, the moment he thought of it, 17 stopped and turned toward the camera and held up his middle finger, almost as if he could read his mind. Daniels scowled and felt temptation take him. He scrolled down the list of Runners and hovered over 17’s profile. In his heads-up display, the activator for the chip in the base of his skull came up. All he had to do was press the button, and 17 would be in for a few hundred volts, straight to his nervous system. Sometimes he just wanted to see the son of a bitch squirm a little. But he restrained himself. He couldn’t let the bastard get the best of him. Not again. He sighed. He had to set an example for the rest of his command and not abuse his power. There was enough corruption around already, especially down in the Lowers with his SOs.

  All Runners had a knack for trouble. Most of them had a bad attitude. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be Runners. Running was a punishment, a kind of social death. Being a Runner meant risking your life every time the city needed something or every time an Upper with a bug up their ass wanted something done in the Barrens. It was a job that no one wanted, a job that every man and woman feared. It was a job that meant being out in the elements, a jail sentence several dozen lives long, that is, if you were good like 17.

  The proximity alert activated again; he shifted his arm up and to the left and slid it in a downward motion, indicating that he wanted the alert turned off. The alarm continued to sound.

  “Manhatsten.”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “I want that alarm off. I’ve already got the notice.”

  “My apologies, Sir, but this is a secondary notice. There was an additional kinetic energy release at the same site,”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that either there was either an aftershock or a secondary explosion onsite. In either case, Sir, you may see several more alerts.”

  “Mute all alerts related to that site.”

  “Sir, I do not recommend this course of action. For example, what if—"

  “Just do it. 17's going to investigate anyway.”

  “Very well.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  “Get me the location of all the other cities, pronto. I want to be sure we aren’t dealing with some sort of ambush here. God knows some of those other city commanders are crafty sons of bitches. They would love to get their hands on Manhatsten and gut it for everything it’s worth.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  Daniels had a crazy thought, one that he couldn’t find any rational reason to justify. Could it be a human settlement? No one out there was crazy enough to stay stationary with the roaming methane pockets, apolicanes, or the sandstorms, were they? How would that even be possible? And rich in minerals? Something in his guts squirmed; this felt wrong.

  The head of security of Lundon had once told him that a Runner claimed he found human settlements. They eventually decommissioned the Runner after he had completely lost his mind. Daniels thought the guy was probably faking it to get out of Runner duty, but then he was recycled, and well, Daniels had thought that was a bit harsh.

  Most of the city had at one time or another whispered of human settlements. Even the children’s stories spoke of something they called New Eden; a place where humans could live in nature, free from the endless metallic death march of the 150-meter-tall legs at the base of each city. New Eden was supposed to be a place where enlightened humans would never again squander their resources and one day, the Earth would be green again. It was just another fairy tale. Hell, humans couldn’t even conserve inside a city designed to be an enclosed ecosystem. How in the gods’ names were they going to live on a fucking farm?

  Even if it was total bullshit, the idea was appealing, even to Daniels. Being born before migration and even before World War Three, he could imagine a world where cities no longer migrated; where human beings could live outside of an EnViro shield and breathe air without the taste of methane. He could imagine his 18-greats-granddaughter running in a field of wildflowers as his daughter had once done before the migration started.

  “It’s all terribly romantic, isn’t it?” he said aloud.

  “What’s that, Sir?” Private Fallman said.

  “Fallman, you think that New Eden stuff is crap, right?”

  Fallman sat at his station only three meters away. He was working on some specifications for city engineers. He closed the windows quickly. Daniels didn’t know or care what in the hell he was doing, so long as he didn’t mess things up. Fallman hadn’t been around long, but seemed to be fairly upstanding and eager to please.

  “I don’t know, Sir. I mean, I guess it seems crazy. But doesn’t the possibility at least provide you with some hope?”

  Daniels laughed. “Hope? I’m too gods-damn old for hope. Hope is something for the starry-eyed kids. No, I am about a thousand years past that hope crap.”

  For 1,296 years, Daniels had spent most of his time plugged into the security center within the city. When he did go home, a regeneration alcove revitalized his mind and body as he slept. Of course, he could leave his chair whenever he wanted, but it was far easier to regulate the city’s movements through the command chair.

  Major Daniels was all that passed for military these days. He had retained his rank of Major from his time in the military and assigned ranks to his staff. He felt that it helped to keep order. If you had a rank, you knew your place. The key to good security was a clear and orderly system of hierarchy.

  Despite Daniel’s background and significant combat during World War Three, most of the city’s occupants knew nothing about combat. It had been... what... since the fall of Mex? Something like 140 years? It was at least that long since two cities waged war against one another, and even then, Manhatsten wasn’t involved in the conflict. Despite the insistence of the Uppers, who Daniels firmly believed secretly had a silver spoon removed from their ass at birth, Daniels had managed to keep Manhatsten far away from that conflict under the guise of “routine upgrades and maintenance of the city’s systems.” He had heard through several communication channels later that every city that had shown up to salvage Mex had received heavy damage and a significant loss of their Runnercores. None of that shit would go on under his watch.

  Travers stood from his chair, turned and walked several meters toward him.

  “Major Daniels, Sir, I have some new data for you to consider,” said Lieutenant Travers.

  “What is it?”

  Travers frowned and said, “Well, Sir, it’s an analysis of migration routes, storm systems, and dig times.”


  Major Daniels turned and eyed Travers. Travers had been under his command for what, six centuries? Travers knew by now that bringing mundane data to him would simply get him waved away.

  “I take it you felt this was important?”

  “Yes, Major. I’ve been going over the data, and there are some disturbing long-term trends in our migration.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, for one thing, migration routes have needed fewer detours, especially in the last fifty years.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Well actually, Sir, more direct routes means that sinkholes are less frequent, resources are more difficult to find, and that the ground is... well, harder.”

  “I take it by your tone this is a bad thing?”

  “Yes Sir, it means that not only are there fewer resources, but that extraction of raw materials in the last few centuries takes longer. You know how dangerous it is to remain stationary, Sir. We went from extraction times in an average of four days in 896 A.C. to a current average extraction length of seventeen days.”

  “Seventeen days?” Daniels sat forward in his chair, tugging at the cable plugged into the back of his neck. It made him shiver, and he sat back a little, so the cable was no longer taut.

  How had he not noticed this before? Deeper digs were far more dangerous. There was a reason that migration was almost constant.

  “Yes, Major. I wasn’t sure that number was correct and so I cross-checked it a half-dozen times. Private Fallman and Lieutenant Johnson also ran the numbers for me.

  Daniels asked, “What’s the takeaway, Lieutenant? What are you trying to tell me?”

  Travers cleared his throat and hesitated. "...Well sir, when the architects began the migration all those years ago, their models showed that given enough time, and the extraction of only certain resources, the climate would begin to stabilize. They said it would take thousands of years, but...”

  “I know all of this Travers, get to the point.”