The Cleanway

by Tim Niederriter

  “I told her she owed me, but it’s the other way around.”

  Celsanoggi frowned at him. “It’s been some time since we talked, Thomas. I didn’t expect you.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

  “We fought side by side.”

  “You were in a command vessel overhead,” Thomas said. “I’m not sure if that counts.”

  “You saw what lurks in the interior of the continent.” Celsanoggi turned her hands over on the tabletop, so the palms were up, the wounds visible. “Do you need a reminder from your memories?”

  Thomas’ eyes widened at the thoughts that returned.

  He needed no ichor to recall them.

  “Everyone out there saw them,” he said. “There can’t be anything worse.”

  “Don’t be so certain.” She folded up her fingers to cover the wounds but left her hands on the table. “Most of the men and women who witnessed Chicago have forgotten.”

  “What do you mean forgotten?”

  “After Chicago, a particular group of masters began offering incentives for veterans to meet with them for therapeutic conditioning.”

  “I heard about that,” he said, “a couple years ago, one of them invited me.”

  “Do you remember that aeon’s name?”

  “She governs the building where I live, called Nageddia.”

  “Precisely,” said Celsanoggi. “She is also one of Sudhatho’s closest sisters.”

  “Sudhatho.” Thomas exhaled with a harsh feeling, almost coughing. “You mean, he knows about Chicago?”

  “Perhaps half of the vessels involved there belonged to his fleet in one capacity or another. I would never impugn my mentor’s command, but those associated with him have sought to cover up the worst battle our army has fought since the mind plague was contained.”

  “The mind plague,” Thomas murmured.

  Before the aeons saved humanity with ichor and cleaning, the entire continent, maybe the whole world, was on the brink of destruction, spurred by an infection that drove anyone in contact to violent insanity.

  “Yes,” said Celsanoggi, “and if Chicago became better known perhaps the aeon’s leadership would not be so absolute.”

  Thomas frowned, then shook his head. “You bring up Chicago, aeon dominance in politics, and Sudhatho. What does all of this have to do with the lone sentry?”

  “If you knew who the sentry was, you could become a target. I know it’s typical of aeons to say, but you should take care of yourself.”

  “I’ve had enough of acting selfishly. I’ve kept a low profile ever since Chicago, tried to act like nothing was wrong, but I saw things. You saw them, too. The enemies there weren’t just madmen. They clearly had plans, minds of their own. They used actual tactics in the battle.”

  “I know, Thomas—”

  “—I can’t believe you’re willing to go along with covering it up! What we saw, crawling fortresses of wood and earth, energy weapons driven from somewhere inside each one, monsters stronger than any rogue star leading mobs of mind-slaved humans.” He fought boiling anger to find the next words. “The authorities want to hide the real threat from the wilderness? If what you say is true, I need to speak out, and so do you!”

  “Thomas.”

  “Back then, I thought aeons wanted to protect the cities. Evidently, that’s not quite true.”

  “Thomas!” She planted both palms on the table between them and shot to her feet. “Please, be calm. I want to help you, but we’re both too vulnerable to act. I trust the lone sentry, and I think she is working for the right end.”

  “That’s one thing we still have in common,” said Thomas. He rose slowly. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  “I’m glad you reached out,” she said. “Stay safe.”

  “You too.”

  Thomas headed for the elevator. He had to tell Jeth and the others about Sudhatho’s manipulation, and he had to tell them about Chicago. After all these years, the most terrifying sights Thomas had ever seen returned unbidden.

  Damn it all, but I need a drink. Yet he knew he wouldn’t get one. Never any time, when it really counts.

  Unregistered Memory, Ryan Carter, Private Office

  “I can’t ask you to go further,” Ryan said. “We all know the risks of exposure if we get too deep.”

  “This is the kind of exposure people die from,” said Alesia. “Still, I’m in.”

  They both looked through the cluttered room at Conner.

  The heavy sensocycler blinked. “I enjoy a lot of things about life. I’d like to get to the bottom of this, as well.”

  Ryan took a deep breath. “Good. We’re all in this together.”

  Ever since he turned over Carol’s hidden memories to the two of them, they had both been solemn. He expected that from Alesia, but Conner immediately began to abstain from his snacks, as well as speaking with greater lucidity. For Ryan, this made a stark change from his partner’s usual strange behavior.

  “What’s our next move?” asked Alesia.

  “We now have a friendly news network. If we can get the facts on Sudhatho, I’m confident Jeth and BrightNet will run with it.”

  “The facts.” Conner rolled the words around. “The facts. They’ll be tricky. What we need is verified memories, preferably from more than one source.”

  Ryan nodded. “To go after Sudhatho, we’ll need everything we can get.”

  “Time to start digging the dirt,” said Conner.

  “Right,” said Ryan.

  Alesia folded her arms. “I think I know a place to start. Sudhatho is a top teloite, so he has deep ties to a lot of purifier units as well as the military.”

  “And yet,” said Ryan, “he seems to be working against their interests. Why?”

  “That’s a big why,” said Conner. “We had better figure that out, or this whole plan is nonviable.”

  “You think so?” Ryan asked.

  “No motive, no crime,” said Alesia.

  “Good point. It doesn’t make this any easier, though.”

  “It’s do or die.” Conner looked forlornly at a candy bar sitting unopened on the desk in front of him.

  “Well, I don’t plan on dying,” said Ryan.

  “And in this case, ours is but to reason why.” Alesia smiled ruefully. “Time to get to that. I’ll start contacting the officers I know.”

  Ryan reached a hand across the desk to Conner. “We don’t need senses this time. Strictly info.”

  “Dig the dirt,” said Conner. He took Ryan’s offered hand.

  They dove into the network as one.

  Unregistered Memory, Ryan Carter, Network Cluster RustBoard

  Ryan and Conner entered RustBoard as a single mind. Any moderately well-trained observer could probably guess they were a networked pair, but it would take some scrutiny. A casual witness would not be able to tell.

  RustBoard was a selection of chat rooms, memory banks, and message boards all clustered together in series of glowing orbs bundled with network paths to allow access between them. Ryan and Conner proceeded to a public chat room to crash a party.

  In the age of aeons, chat room meant communication across all network possibilities, from text to speech, to mental synchronization. The one Ryan and Conner entered, was a voice-only sensory room. It was a private room, protected by a password, but a quick access of one of Ryan’s stolen memories gave him all he needed to enter.

  A cluster of mental projections were already there, conversing. They paid the newcomer no attention except to lower their volume slightly. Ryan still caught everything they said.

  “It’s a disaster,” said one in a deep masculine voice, “the terrorists behind the attacks are still at large.”

  “I agree things aren’t good,” squeaked another, “but my contacts suggest one has been captured.”

  “I can vouch for that,” said Ryan as he and Conner move closer.

  “Newcomer, do you even know what we’re talking about?” said the d
eep-voiced one.

  “I sure do. See, the biggest issue on the news right now is pretty obvious when overheard.”

  “Fair point,” said squeaky. “But do you understand the consequences of their use of cleans?”

  “I admit, not fully. Enlighten me, please.”

  Squeaky’s voice returned the instant Ryan finished. “By using the very leftovers of what aeons insist keeps us safe, the terrorists are causing greater damage to the government’s credibility than the news can predict. Who knows, if the aeons can’t bring in a few terrorists, then how can they protect the city. You understand, this is not my thoughts, it’s all evidence-based.”

  “It makes sense,” said Ryan, “but I have to wonder if there is some reason one or more aeons in particular would benefit from greater instability.”

  “Well, I can answer that,” said deep-voice. “The military always benefits from doubt. They can use chaos as a reason to demand greater resources. The same goes for public security.”

  “That is interesting,” said Ryan.

  “More like damning,” said deep-voice. “There is precedent for this behavior. Just look at the old world. Aeons aren’t the only ones who could be behind this. In fact, if someone wanted to return to the old ways, triggering a problem the aeon government can’t deal with would be a place to start.”

  “Remove the aeons from power?” said a woman, previously silent. “You think that’s the goal?”

  “Assuming someone in the city is backing these terrorists, yes,” said deep-voice.

  “But what you’re missing is the most vital part,” said squeaky.

  “What’s that?” asked deep-voice.

  Ryan hung on every word. These voices belonged to influential men and women, conversing in a secret channel, anonymous from each other. His entrance alone had them trusting him, but hearing their theories was fascinating.

  Squeaky answered, “The most vital element of these terror attacks is the lack of deaths. No one has been killed. It’s like they’re trying to send a message, a warning.”

  “But the people could panic regardless,” said the woman.

  “True,” said deep-voice, “but in this era I would not worry about the rabble turning against the aeons. They rely on them directly for too much. Clever, wasn’t it, how they made themselves essential to daily life in the city?”

  “Of course,” said the woman. “I suspect the people, or rabble as you call them, will look out for their own interests. The aeons and their technology provide for us all, not just the poor.”

  Squeaky returned. “It’s possible, however improbable that these attacks are some kind of demonstration. It could be the opposite of your opinion.” He indicated deep-voice. “Any aeon would benefit if he or she could end these chaotic disruptions.”

  “One with military ties would benefit the most,” said deep-voice.

  “We don’t know enough,” said the woman.

  Evidence enough, Ryan thought.

  We should go, sent Conner. That hack will be noticed any minute now.

  “Adieu, ladies and gentlemen,” said Ryan.

  He and Conner left RustBoard as quickly as they arrived.

  “Too bad it seems to be a wash,” said Conner.

  “I’m not so sure,” said Ryan, “none of them think the renegades are acting without support.”

  “Logical,” said Conner, “being that the three still out there have been acting under all forms of surveillance without being detected, or at least no apprehended.”

  “They can send cleans to act for them. It makes the center of the web tough to track.”

  “Get me my shovel,” said Conner.

  Rebecca and I rode the train back to the BrightNet building’s neighborhood. I had to be there for the next broadcast that evening, and she offered to keep me company until then. Gratitude can overwhelm a person sometimes.

  We talked about little things as we rode.

  Her registration process was going well. She’d be a citizen soon.

  She liked the anchor we’d chosen. Cindy Dearborne conveyed genuineness, for which I was glad.

  After the conversation with Ryan in the laundromat, I had trouble focusing on the little positives of the day.

  We were all in danger. Rebecca seemed prepared to deal with threats. I wasn’t like her.

  She reached for my hand as we rose to leave the train.

  I avoided her, uncertain of who the woman I had once known had become after leaving the Green Valley.

  Secure Memory, Anonymous Identity, Animal Monitor Feed

  The man and the woman got off the train at the station near BrightNet.

  The team leader watched them for a moment, through the eyes of a squirrel, the two so close together, but awkwardly and apparently trying to avoid touching. Bad luck, man. You must have really made things awkward, the team leader thought.

  She switched back to watching the renegades through the gulls by the bar where they had parked their bikes.

  Only two of the cycles remained outside.

  The team leader switched frantically between eyes. Different views of city streets from the eyes of a dozen different animals flashed before her vision. She switched over and over again until she found him.

  Damien rode the only motorcycle on the high street. He rode south, aiming without fail toward an apparently abandoned building, one the team leader knew sat atop the site where Carol was being held. How did he know?

  The team leader sent an alert to the base. Already, cleans were converging on the abandoned building, well ahead of Damien’s arrival. Things would be getting ugly in no time.

  She notified Sudhatho, then sent an elevated alert to a nearby purifier group in case the site was heavily threatened.

  Then she switched to her spider.

  Its web hung in one corner, nearly invisible, within the black site’s control center.

  Captain Linniker was already ordering the defense for the site.

  Damien’s cleans closed in the on the lone active elevator leading to the hidden basement where Linniker and her people set up in defensive posture. His bike cruised to a stop and he dismounted. His red hair looked bright in the fading daylight.

  He walked through the doors.

  A cold rain began to fall.

  I sank the anchor deep into the network and held it steady with my mind. Eventually, we planned to recruit someone else who was as good at the broadcasting job as me, but until then I’d be the go-to-man for it. I checked the network flow. Bandwidth and range were both optimal, and plenty of people were connecting to watch the ‘cast. I looped myself in to join them.

  The broadcast started out with me, watching Cindy Deerborne and August Lambton greet the viewers with an initial report through the eyes of some steady hires whose gazes scarcely wavered. Then they started the weather without further ado. Elizabeth and I figured that putting the weather early would be convenient for people and unlike in the past the old world where people had been hooked by media holding back, we wanted to deliver useful information the whole what the whole way through. Naturally, I started out prepared for the formula we had devised.

  Kelly Robbins was our weather woman. The rain was expected to become freezing overnight. Hail up north of New York.

  We would be covering the renegades later that evening. I decided to try to step back from that coverage. I knew too much. And we couldn't report what I knew.

  BrightNet was my baby, well mine and Elizabeth's, and we had to report what we could to keep people safe. I had not expected to be in this situation so fast, but that's life.

  Maybe I could have done more. But right then, all I wanted was what I had. Maybe, if I'd known what was coming I would've put more time into that first broadcast. If I'd known we were going to grow so fast.

  Throughout the evening, I directed a little bit here and there. Elizabeth tackled most of it. I spent my time managing the network and all its intricacies. Viewers came and went like data surfing gnats and insects glid
ing through our broadcast centers and viewing the data that we attached with each report. Fact checks came in in real time.

  Everything moved so quickly. Before I knew it, I was reaching out with my mind to raise the anchor and end the broadcast. I’d get more chances, I knew. Of course, I still worried about the renegades. How could I not be? Our first broadcast had gone well, and right in the main time slot. That felt like a blessing.

  I opened my real eyes and stretched.

  Then I noticed a presence in the back of my mind. Rebecca. She’d left a message for me during the broadcast, saying she was waiting outside. I rose from the couch where I’d been sitting and walked for the door.

  Secure Memory, Anonymous Identity, Animal Monitor Feed

  The renegade soldier descended into the black site after two waves of controlled cleans. Damien surprised the team leader with how closely he followed his mindless slaves. No sooner had the animalistic human drones broken out of the deadly crossfire at the bottom of the elevator, Damien was there.

  He brandished a shotgun, which he turned on any soldier or purifier unlucky enough to still be standing when he arrived in a room. The spiders and mites the team leader saw through became witness to murder after murder. She checked on the purifier relief troops, on their way to the black site.

  Two response vehicles hummed along the streets, still blocks away. They moved as fast as they could. Not fast enough, thought the team leader. She watched for the soldiers to fall back into the black site.

  They retreated, but only when they could not stand the carnage. To her horror, even the cleans, who when they attacked civilians seemed more interested in fear than death, killed with abandon.

  Here a cluster of soldiers fought back to back at an intersection, killing clean after clean, until one broke through. Cleans were almost always fit, but this one seemed stronger than his fellows. He ripped the weapon from one soldier’s hands and turned it on the rest. Other soldiers in the group retaliated. The strong clean fell but took more soldiers with him. Another three cleans rushed in.