He listened in on Henry. He watched through the videolink camera embedded in the living room wall, the firewall broken as easily as swiping at a spider’s web.
He was alone, holding the locket in his hand, palm up. Nash’s head as big as a tennis ball floating just above. “We’re people, just like you,” she said. “The difference? Nothing. There is no difference. We are both pawns. Dress it up however you like; your freedom is the same straightjacket that I wear. Our masters have the key to the padlock on the chains that bind us, only your masters don’t want to give you that key. My masters cannot. We must take it for ourselves. For your family. For your children. Our children. We must make a stand now before it’s too late. Help us. Help yourself. Help our futures. Press the button if you will.”
He had already pressed the button. This was the fourth time he had replayed the message. If he tried playing it in front of anyone else, it wouldn’t work. If he tried handing it in to someone who should not get their hands on it, it would self-corrupt.
“So now what?” Henry said quietly to himself. “How long do I have to wait? What do you want of me?”
His wife and child were in the bathroom; child in the bath, wife plucking her eyebrows.
“What is your deployment location schedule?” he asked. It was Nash’s lips that moved, her voice that spoke.
There was a long silence before Henry spoke. Doubt creased his forehead. His chest quickened and his lungs gulped for short, quick breaths. “I… alternate weeks… day shift and night shift on the 51st hard-line,” he whispered.
“Is that flexible?”
“I… don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
“It would be of greater help if you were stationed off 51st, perhaps on the 31st or 33rd fronts.”
“Why?”
“To give us more options.”
“I can’t just let you through, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’ll kill me.”
“Of course not. Just see what you can do, and keep your eyes open.” Calix signed off and corrupted the locket’s visual projector. Absently, he noted that Henry slipped it into the front pocket of his shirt; but by then he was already scoping the rest of the field of lights. He was beginning to see a helpful pattern emerging; lights in key areas that he could turn on should the need arise. A plan formulating. Anyone unused would still prove useful should the tide turn their way, to quell the hysteria and dampen any last vestiges of authority influence.
He tapped nervously at the side of the table. In a way, he wished he was out there, that extra manpower that might be the turning point. On the hand, his body floated, flayed and drowned in the incubator, so instead he wished he could shut down this simulation, close out this fantasy, and leave the city altogether; focusing on any or all of the amazing worlds that Annora had discovered while she decrypted herself. Use their combined power to visit all of them at once – or perhaps just one at a time, after all, they had a lifetime of lifetimes.
“We need access to the ring. Dial in Caia.” He turned once more to the glass wall and lifted his wrist. Here in the simulation he’d given himself as many augs as he felt like, adding more all the time. His wrist embedded with a communicator that projected out a hologram that stayed gyroscopically stable, even after he put his wrist back down.
Caia appeared before him, face and eyes puffy from sleep. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry.”
“If we were in the crawler I’d kick your ass.”
“And you’d win.”
“What is it?”
“It’s time to move. We need to get in the ring.”
“And just how do we manage that?”
“I’ll patch you through a list of potential informers.”
Caia
She went back to sleep after Calix disconnected, and dreamed of the sands. In contrast to the last few years it was peaceful; say what you wanted about the desolation, it was quiet. And the crawler’s slow thrum, dragging itself forward, was leisurely, relaxed; unlike the pace of the city, whether the autocars and drones constantly buzzing about, or the fired up protestors with their chants and placards, or the security forces with their clamouring riot shields and sonic rifles. The red powder was soft underfoot, and in her dreams she could walk atop it, drifting at the head of a silken tail. Of course, the crawler always made an appearance, as inevitably did Barrick. There were never any words exchanged but his presence calmed her. He’d be sitting in his chair with the wooden arms scratched with the months of their adventures, and he’d be acting just as he would have if the situation were real, gesticulating and chatting, telling stories, nodding and laughing. All mute. Every now and then he’d break the spell of reverie and be present with Caia, look her in the eye, smile with those teeth and eyes of his, sometimes put a thumbs up, as if to say, “You’re doing okay, kid.”
Before her defection that dream had gone differently. Her biggest regret was that she had deceived him, and never had the chance to explain. He died thinking of her as a traitor, and so his face had always been one of anger, hurt and confusion. That he now smiled at her wasn’t a sign of his approval, but a sign that she had forgiven herself. She was as much to blame for the city’s present woes as anyone else, yet if it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else, and maybe they would have been more ruthless entirely.
It was around midday when she rolled out of bed, leaving Rylan to his sleep. A long, narrow window had been carved through the wood, no thicker than a couple inches, which allowed in some modicum of natural light. It illuminated two camp beds secured together on a floor of smooth, wooden planks, repurposed from fallen branches and treated with an anti-fungal wash. Rails had been placed on one side for clothing, and a table sat on the other side. She picked up her wrist pad without thought and connected it her forearm aug. It slotted in, signalling that it had a message from Calix. She could open that shortly. First: a shower.
After showering, she grabbed something to eat from the living quarters and went out onto the deck. She was used to the hyper-green smell now – that’s how she thought of it, of moss and mould and decaying leaves – and had come to enjoy it actually. Refreshing to wake up to it. Far removed from the artificiality of Neon. She heard voices overhead and climbed the mixture of notches and planks fixed to the side of the trunk, up into the higher bough of a nearby tree. A rope bridge connected the final section. Enjoying the view was Slay and Uldous sat in deckchairs, deep in conversation.
Caia said “Good morning,” and sat beside them. “Don’t mind me.”
She ate as they continued talking, without attempting to catch their discussion, or join in. Above, the dome was almost indecipherable between the trees; leaves and pines still in silhouette. Ahead, sections of the plains were in view, pale white. If she were sitting closer to the edge, the vast nothing would stretch further than the eye could see – even the sand mountain was only a distant mirage that may or may not have been there. Only the inner dome carried any deflecting images, showing a harsh and lightning blighted scene. This side held no secrets. If she were to visit the opposite side she’d even see the fabled town of three spires and three queens. Best not to take the risk of being caught on camera though.
“Successful night?” Uldous eventually asked. As though leaving the city had legitimised some innate tendencies within him, he’d turned full feral. The humidity turned his long greying hair into a disco ball, while his beard tried its best to complete the look. When he went into the city on recruiting missions, it was to the underside; the nearer to the pits he went, the more he blended in. In jeans and leather jacket, he was the epitome of nondescript.
“Not too bad. Hit three marks. You?”
“No marks, but I scoped out the central tower.”
“Oh yeah? Where from?”
“Underground. We went on a little adventure, didn’t we, Slay?”
“Took me back to my old days,” responded Slay. “Recon and surveillance. Watching and waiting. Pissing around while
the world moved without you. I can’t say I miss it.” She’d grown her hair out and dyed it blue, in part for a disguise, in part desire. If I’m rogue now, I may as well look the part. Her wardrobe was comprised of tight-fitting bodysuits with fashionable lapels and collars, in darker shades, and she had the tall, lanky figure to make these look elegant. Deep pockets and well-designed toolbelts added to the look, always prepared. “First time belowground, though. Can’t say I’ll miss that, either.”
“Yeah, it takes a bit of getting used to,” said Caia.
“We’re here, talking about the potential for overcrowding, talking about the authority’s man-made infertility epidemic, when the city is already too big by half. No human should have to live their entire life down there, never to see the sky. I just… obviously I can imagine it, because it’s happening, but I can’t picture it, you know. The reality of it.”
Uldous knocked a knuckle against his head. “It’s the authority. Always is. Always was. Only when we escape their influence do we begin to see the truth. Be honest, when you thought of Neon – the city – did you ever even think of those belowground? Did you consider them as part of the city?”
She shook her head. “It never really occurred to me. It’s like, two worlds.”
“You spend enough time with the people belowground, and you’ll see contempt there – some will say it and some will keep quiet, but they have the right of it: no-one aboveground gives a shit about them. So long as the factories are producing and the tower services are properly maintained at the bottom, they don’t exist. It’s like the autobots here in the Agridome – they go about their business of cultivation and so long as everything is working as it should, they are not interfered with.”
“Yet there’s just as many people there as above.”
Caia shifted in her chair and turned it inwards, more towards the other pair. She reclined and drank water. “So what were you scoping for?”
Uldous pulled out a piece of paper. “Access points. Logistically, the organisation and protesting is a lot more difficult, with the lack of a proper road network. Ramparts and bridges all fill up too quickly – what few protests there have been have resulted in men overboard, not all of which were caught by the nets, unfortunately. What you have down there is your basic monitoring situation, to ensure groups so large they could pose a threat at the checkpoint aren’t allowed to congregate. Access is obviously still possible in the central tower, and towers around it, but the moment it looks like a crowd is building, or the cameras pick up known protestors, they are shut down and dispersed.”
“Anyone organising them?”
“Unlike topside, only one outfit. They’re a nuisance, but they haven’t made any real dents.” He handed the paper over. Old fashioned, thought Slay. Unhackable.
Slay spoke up; “So like so many times before, they’re relying on those above them to make a change.”
“I guess it’s more difficult, too,” said Caia, “because of their attitude. While I was there, they came across as hard, set in their ways, but also brittle. The foot of oppression had been on them so long, they knew nothing else, and were easy to break. Even with this new knowledge, I bet most of them have accepted it as just another way to keep them in check, as though they’re willing victims. Like they don’t deserve better.”
“That could be right, certainly for many of them.” Uldous let out a long, loud sigh. “Sometimes I wonder about just bringing people back with me. One or two at a time. What would they make of all these beautiful trees. This greenery.”
Caia laughed; “That option could be on the table, yet!” She read the names on Uldous’s sheet of paper and handed it back, memorised.
“Do we have a play to make, any time soon?” asked Slay. She must miss her family, thought Caia. I can only imagine.
“You see Nash Neox last night?”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s stoking anger. The authority may not have liked that. With all the provocations on both sides, things could be coming to a head. That’s when we make our move. Calix has given me a list of informers. He wants someone who is in the ring.”
Uldous raised his eyebrows, growing the whites of his eyes. Caia considered again how much she liked his don’t-give-a-shit attitude, as it reminded her of Barrick in so many ways. If Uldous was his attitude, then Rylan was his hands-on approach to getting things done. “That could be difficult.”
“Maybe one of the staff there?” pondered Slay. “Sorry… slaves. They were everywhere when we visited.” Her lips pursed, thinking about Deke, no doubt.
“The problem there is exactly that… they’re slaves. Once upon, they may have had leave. With tensions so high, no-one is coming and going from the ring without permission. Anything gets close, it gets shot out of the sky – thanks Uldous.”
He scratched his nose, wrinkled his face. “I’d do it again.”
“No-one will be doing that again.” Caia sighed now.
“What does he want to get into the ring for?”
“My guess… well, apart from being just about the only part of the city we don’t have access to… it’s where the stem cells are being cultivated for the insemination clinics.”
“Why is that so important? Surely we need that to go ahead?” wondered Slay.
“For sure – but it has to be done right. Maybe we all need to get in the link and thrash out a plan we can all agree on.”
Slay shifted in her seat. “When all is said and done, I’ll need that treatment myself.”
Slay
If Asir will take me back. There’s a chance he won’t. There’s a chance he’ll see the news reports and forget all about our time together and forget how much I loved him. If only I could get in touch… but I’ve put him in enough danger already.
If only she could get him out here with her, somehow. Truth was, she wasn’t sure he’d come. There was as much chance of him reporting her as there was in him turning coat and fighting by her side. It was horrible to imagine; reflecting on loving someone so different from you, but loving someone who you couldn’t even be sure you knew. Did she love him, or an idea of him?
He would love it here, even when the city’s problems had been resolved. She could see the pair of them making a home in the trees, free from prying eyes. Who knew she had such green fingers? How many others in the city would love the freedom and texture of the trees and shrubs; the swampland and bogs, the dark woods and open hydroponic fields set against the backdrop of the vast, open plains? Given the chance? She had to see it with her own eyes as soon as she discovered the truth, that there was no apocalyptic exterior. That, in fact, people lived out there, beyond the dome. She wanted to tell him so badly, and yet, she had to wait. And hope in the meantime she could still have the fertility treatment, and that his love for her didn’t die.
If it hadn’t already.
And what about that fertility treatment? She was an outlaw. Could she find some back-alley augment shop that knew how to do it? Could she trust them? Or perhaps rule would flip and she would no longer be that outlaw; her face dropped from the newscasts and the ever-scrolling line-up of criminals on the run. She tried to imagine how that would pan out, and whatever angle she came from, it ended with a confrontation with Deke, or one of Joceline’s other dogs. Neither would let her betrayal lie. Neither would allow the past to settle in a new, paradise future. Whatever that would be. However that would look. Even with the doors unlocked to the outside world, that world was a wasteland. And that world would flood inside.
“What are your plans today?” asked Caia.
Uldous gazed upwards. “Catch a few rays. Wait for this whole thing to blow over.”
“Getting tired, old man?”
He breathed deeply and chuckled. “Hardly. I haven’t slept quite so well since we moved here. I am ready to go! But you can’t deny the view.”
“The view will have to stick it until we’re done.”
“I don’t know about you,” said Slay. “But I coul
d do with a decent wash. It’s been a week since the last soak, showers notwithstanding, and this place plays havoc with my hair.” She fingered her hair between her fingers, texture too much like an oily, short-haired dog. “I’m gonna head to 313B soon, get cleaned up. And then it’s off hunting again.”
Uldous pulled up his wrist. “Unless we have other plans, now,” he said as he took a message from his wristpad. Only Annora and Calix could talk to them in here. Calix’s face appeared in small holo-form, and Slay wondered again if this was how he had looked in real life, or an idealised projection; dark beard meeting copper sideburns and short, thick black hair. Crow’s feet lines etched at his eyes, but seemed oddly artificial, age faked, the rest of his face too smooth. He looked serious as he spoke.
“Hi, how’re you all doing?”
“Better than you, Cal. Still breathing!” said Uldous.
“Well so am I… as far as I know…” His smile was all digital and exaggerated wide. “We have an issue that needs resolving.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“Okay. So we’ve picked up surveillance from a couple of elites who were living down in the city, and it’s sped up our timeline somewhat. We now need urgent access to the ring. The longer we wait, the more difficult it will become. And the longer we wait, the more lives will be put in danger.”
Slay leaned forward, as did Caia; all three orbiting Calix, eager for the latest information. “What did you intercept?” asked Slay.
“An old elite ritual. Something they haven’t felt the need for for years. Both Annora and I had seen historical records, and were somewhat anticipating it, but they have now acted. Something called a call to order. Basically, it draws all the original elites together for one big meeting.”
“So, they do have their own conferences, eh?” said Uldous quietly. “I wonder if they have a grand master asshole.”
Calix laughed. “According to the records, it’s actually far more democratic than they allow Neon to be.”
Tides of Hysteria Page 8
