Out of Sight (Progenitor Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Sima could only blurt, “Thanks,” her mind too burdened with contradictions, fear, and the need to get away from the damn bomb. Even if Nalas promised not to set it off, she wanted it gone.

  “Now, you should probably run and get that nasty little thing off your neck.” Magdalena tapped the choker with a loud metal click-click-click that made the hairs on the back of Sima’s neck stand on end. “It would anger me greatly if he were to accidentally harm such a pretty young thing.”

  The nauseating thought that this partially-human woman radiated more of a sense of motherly protection toward Sima than her actual mother ever did bubbled in the back of her throat. Could she ever be that desperate for protection that she’d cling to a figure like Magdalena for shelter?

  After her run-in with the Scathers, she horrified herself with the answer.

  Yes.

  With a tentative nod, Sima muttered, “Thank you,” and scurried out of the room.

  9

  Moment of Opportunity

  Her near miss with the Scathers caused Sima to stick to more populated streets on her walk back to meet Nalas.

  True, the EGSF might detect the explosive device. True, despite it being locked around her neck, a chance existed they would charge her for possessing it. Hood up, hands in her front pocket, she kept her gaze on the ground, hoping they didn’t notice her and finding it difficult to care that much if they did.

  Magdalena somewhat offered a potential mother figure, but what mother would ask a girl as young as Flora to sell herself to men? She doubted ‘Flora’ was the girl’s real name, but maybe using a false name helped her not think about what she had to do. The kid could be playing a role like an actress, thinking ‘Flora’ did all the nasty things, but her ‘real self’ remained innocent. Perhaps she could do that as well, stuff all the horrible sights and feelings away into some made up name. She pretended to be thirteen or fourteen all the time to beg; she could play a role, too.

  “Ugh.” Sima shivered.

  As tempting as it would be not to have to worry about gang punks using her as a murderball in some twisted sport, she couldn’t quite get past that woman’s creepiness. With each step farther away from the brothel, the more inhuman Magdalena seemed. Not a woman, not a mother, merely some creature pretending at both. In some way, she or it may care about the physical health of her charges, but perhaps only because a dead (or mutilated) teen couldn’t work for her.

  She fidgeted at the holocom between her hands. The small hunk of plastic would trigger a call to the nice EGSF officer. Even thinking ‘nice’ in the same mindspace as EGSF barely computed. Sure, the few times she’d encountered them as a young child before she became an Outcast, they had been reasonably civil. Her mother hadn’t been rich, quite far from it, but she had been a Citizen.

  As a minor, she would legally fall under her mother’s social class until eighteen. At least, unless the woman had disowned her. If the woman died before she reached eighteen, Sima would’ve revert to her biological father’s level. However, since the man wanted nothing to do with her, he’d certainly reject her. She’d wind up as an Outcast legally, at least until eighteen when she could apply for citizenship. Normal kids with normal parents became Citizens automatically upon completion of advanced school at eighteen, provided they entered university or trade training. Considering she hadn’t touched schoolwork since twelve, she’d never pass any citizenship exam.

  Her three choices wound up being:

  Die (brutally) on the street.

  Die (inside) at Magdalena’s.

  Die (painfully) at whatever sick science project the EGSF wanted her for.

  The only reasons she could think of for the officers to be nice to her all painted vivid, nightmarish scenes in her mind involving medical experimentation. However, a little nibble of doubt remained. If they meant to hurt the young Outcasts, why ask her to go? Wouldn’t they have simply arrested her and forced her into that ‘Progenitor’ thing?

  Did they get Cassie at the Crash? Sima lifted her head and scanned the crowd. A few people made for prime begging targets, but she lacked the motivation to bother. She still hadn’t stopped shaking from her scare with the Scathers, and thoughts of becoming either a prostitute or a guinea pig left her mood dragging along the ground behind her. Plus, the only somewhat-friend she had, Cassie, might be in jail or worse.

  Her tunic remained dead, so she couldn’t try to call her.

  She sighed, and kept on walking.

  Twenty minutes or so later, she sidled up to the corner noodle bar. Nalas sat on the same stool, only with his back to the counter, observing people walking by.

  “Hey, Sima.” He raised an arm in greeting.

  She tried not to scowl at him for putting a bomb around her neck. “Hey.”

  He tapped one of the numerous bits of electronic hardware sewn into his tunic, and a holographic panel opened beside his shoulder. After two finger pokes, the display collapsed and a beep came from the choker. The back end popped open with a sharp snap. Sima grabbed it at the front of her neck and yanked it away, tossing it to him.

  “So…” She fidgeted, nauseous at the smell of ramen.

  “Nice work, kid. Much faster than I expected.”

  Sima rubbed her neck. “I thought I was running out of time.”

  “Nah. I almost never actually hit the bad button over a courier taking too long. Unless they go where they really shouldn’t.”

  “Tracker,” muttered Sima.

  Nalas grinned. “Hah. You’re pretty smart for an Outcast. How’d you figure it out?”

  “Huh?”

  He held up the thin choker. “This thing’s only a tracker, kid. I ain’t stupid enough to carry explosives around the city. That’ll get me forty years. Besides, the last thing I wanna do is blow some little girl’s head off.”

  Sima doubled over, almost ready to puke. As soon as she no longer feared vomiting if she opened her mouth, she sprang upright and yelled, “You lied to me! Do you have any idea how terrified I was?”

  He leaned back with a rogue’s grin. “I can estimate with a reasonable degree of accuracy.”

  Ooh! She balled her hands in fists, ready to punch him straight in his lying face—but he still owed her a hundred glint. “That was… mean!”

  Nalas chuckled and took a plastic case about the size of a soap bar out of his left pocket, offering it with a well-practiced smile. “As promised.”

  She took it and gingerly lifted the lid, gasping at the sight of five neat rows of UMU chips in foam. Never before had she possessed so much glint at a time. A hundred was almost a large enough sum for a middle-class Citizen to have to debate spending.

  “I could use an honest runner,” said Nalas. “It’s not a glorious life, but you’d do much better than begging.”

  Her head started shaking before she even thought about it. “I dunno.” The shaking migrated until her entire body trembled. “I don’t think I wanna do that again.”

  Nalas tilted his head, a look of concern in his hazel eyes. “What happened?”

  “Well, uhh, thinking I’m gonna die at any second from a bomb. Getting chased—”

  “The bomb was just a story to make sure you came back and didn’t steal.” He took a sip of hot tea.

  Sima glared at him. “Still! You let me think I was gonna die! And explosives! The EGSF would’ve arrested me for having explosives even though it was locked around my throat!”

  He nodded. “Yeah, they probably would… if you’d had actual explosives on you.”

  “I almost got killed by a gang…” She ranted at him about the pit, and feeling trapped between the bomb and Scathers, so terrified she attacked people.

  “Whoa. Damn, girl. Hey, look. You passed the test, okay? If you work for me again, I promise, no jewelry will be involved.”

  But he’d still ask me to carry stuff that’ll put me in jail. Couriering drugs, whoring, or trusting the EGSF. That ledge over the landfill started to sound like the least painful option, si
nce all roads appeared to lead to death. “I got a lot in my head right now. Need to think, okay? Maybe I will, but I don’t know.”

  “Understandable. I’m here three days a week, so if you decide you’d rather sneak around alleys than sell yourself for Mag, come right on back. Ain’t all about moving special boxes either. Sometimes, you’d only carry messages or try to slip in somewhere and listen in on stuff.”

  She nodded. It sounded both interesting and dangerous as hell, the sort of thing she’d love to read about in a story, but not actually live. Maybe Cassie had a point after all. Sima tried too hard to be the ‘good girl,’ despite what life had done to her. Deep down inside, she remained the frightened twelve-year-old who ran out her mother’s door. The way she continued clinging to begging—like a child—only proved that point. She’d been sixteen for a whole month already, time to grow up. The good girl act would only get her killed.

  “I got a couple things I might do. Just trying to figure out what I want, yanno? If you mean it about no more, umm, jewelry, maybe I’ll work for you.”

  “Sure, sure.” Nalas gave her a confident nod, as if he knew already she’d be back. “Take a couple days, enjoy that glint. Go get yourself a nice meal and spend the night in a mod bed.”

  She hadn’t even thought of that. Near the district center, hotels offered cheap beds in chambers a little bigger than coffins. It had been a long time since she slept on something nicer than ripped up plastic bags. Frivolous as that sounded, she couldn’t help but be tempted.

  “’Kay.”

  He smiled again as she wandered off, not really sure where to go. Around and around, her brain spun, weighing Magdalena, the EGSF, and Nalas. Flashes of screaming Scathers flickered by, along with the horrible, heart-melting sadness lurking in Flora’s eyes. It hadn’t struck her at the time, but she felt certain the girl had been staring at her asking for help. Or maybe Sima simply refused to believe a girl that age could be capable of existing in that situation without being broken. A fantasy stirred in her mind of sneaking in to ‘rescue’ Flora, but she couldn’t exactly offer that girl much of a better life.

  What’s wrong with me? She wiped a tear she hadn’t noticed until it tickled her cheek. I hate being around kids.

  She wandered for a while, numb in the head. When it started to get dark, she ducked into a small restaurant named H355. The last time she’d gone into one, she tried begging, but the manager kicked her out. Unlike the outdoor food counters that charged between one to four glint a meal, these places charged ten or more per plate—though they claimed the food came from grow tanks rather than printed by fabricators from protein slime.

  A woman behind the order counter in a white tunic with bright cyan hair shot her a dirty look. She had vaguely Chinese features but snowy skin, and unnatural eyes the same shade of blue as her hair.

  Sima approached. “I can pay.”

  “What perfume is that?” asked the woman with a catty tone. “Smells familiar.”

  Ignoring the comment about how she still reeked of trash, Sima read over the menu. “Can I get the chicken parmesan please?”

  The woman folded her arms.

  “How much?”

  “Ten.”

  Sima pulled out the case Nalas gave her, took ten UMU chips out, and held them up.

  “At least sit in the corner over by the window,” said the woman while taking the money.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  The woman tapped at the holographic screen. “Please have a seat. Your food will be out in a few minutes.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Sima headed over to the corner table by the front window and sat with her back to the wall.

  A little while later, a man entered with two preteen boys following. All three wore neat, black tunics with blue electronics and white pants. The boys glanced her way out of curiosity, but neither spoke. They hovered at the counter murmuring with the woman for a little while before moving off to a booth on the other side. Sima couldn’t help but notice the man hadn’t handed over any money.

  Minutes later, a robotic cart rolled out from a back door and brought plates over to the guy and his sons. Sima sighed. She waited a little while more before getting annoyed enough to complain, but as soon as she started to stand up, the robo-cart emerged from the back and headed toward her.

  She relaxed, waiting as the machine set a plate of food and cup of water in front of her then glided off to its door again. It had been years since she had an actual meal while sitting at a real table. The sight brought her back to being a kid at home, even if she had to cook for herself. Her mother never ate at the same time, since Sima couldn’t use the fabricator and stove while Mom did, but naturally, she wound up responsible for doing all the dishes.

  Sima took her time with the chicken parmesan over pasta, savoring every mouthful. She could’ve eaten five meals for what this one cost, so she damn sure wanted to enjoy it. The man and his sons finished eating. He approached the counter again, this time to pay, but she refused to let that woman’s treatment of her ruin the meal.

  Even if she had to prepay for it, the food tasted amazing.

  The man and his boys left. Sima finished her meal and remained sitting at the table, leaning against the corner wall.

  “Are you planning to sleep there?” asked the woman behind the counter. “We’re not open all night, you know.”

  “Sorry.”

  Lacking the energy for an argument, or the desire to have the EGSF called on her, she stood and walked out. Two blocks later, she felt like an idiot for spending so much on one meal. Cassie always said as soon as a street kid got real money, they blew it all on nothing. One decent meal couldn’t be superfluous, but it still felt like a waste. Not as if she’d bought drugs or fancy clothing—though she still might drop twenty or so glint on real shoes, having become tired of power cables digging into her ankles.

  She trudged aimlessly for about an hour before realizing she’d auto-piloted back to her Crash. The place appeared deserted, so she went down the ramp of collapsed street into the multi-chambered hollow she’d used as a home for the past few months. With all the trash lying around, she couldn’t tell if much appeared out of place, but her personal space looked the same as she remembered it.

  The charger for the tunic remained in her little pile of possessions. She fished it out and stuffed it in her pocket before flopping upon her mattress of trash bags. After taking her sandals off, she curled up and closed her eyes. Despite having the most terrifying day of her life, she’d become so exhausted, she passed out in only a few minutes.

  Sima awoke in a fog.

  Before she could even sit up, her brain launched into the circular worry storm that had plagued her for the last half of the previous day. Magdalena. Nalas. EGSF. The three options went back and forth, rearranging themselves in order from least appealing to blah. She felt as though the universe mandated the end of her life and offered her a choice between gun, knife, or poison.

  Nalas, at least, left her survival more in her control. Working for him wouldn’t require she sell her body, and the chances of her being killed roughly equivocated to her degree of caution, skill, or luck. He offered decent money, but working for him could kill her or land her in prison.

  Magdalena on the other hand would require she abandon the deepest parts of her dignity to total strangers. She tried to understand why she felt selling sex somehow wound up being worse than her mother’s boyfriend wanting to take it. I’d be surrendering instead of being attacked. She hugged her knees to her chest, shivering at the memory of him touching her in the kitchen. That wasn’t my fault. I don’t care what you said, Mom. That wasn’t my fault. It was his. Working for Magdalena felt hypocritical. She’d run away from home to avoid that. Throwing herself into the life of a prostitute would make her mother laugh at her.

  No. Magdalena was out.

  The EGSF confused her. What they offered—insertion back into a ‘normal’ life somehow—sounded far too good to be true. But she still had n
o explanation for their asking instead of merely dragging her off against her will. Could she ask them more questions without being stuck?

  Sima decided she needed more information about that to make a decision. She’d either wind up working for Nalas or trusting the EGSF, which, based on past experience and rumor, would probably be a bad choice. Though, she couldn’t stop thinking about the oddity of them being friendly. It gnawed on her brain and made her distrust the situation even more.

  After tying her sandals back on, she climbed out of her ‘room’ and went down into the sewer tunnel to relieve herself. With the Crash abandoned, she enjoyed a sense of security she’d almost forgotten. Despite being in a wide-open hallway, she had privacy. Instead of the embarrassment of other Outcasts seeing her, she only had to worry about not falling into the effluent flow while balancing on the side of the walkway next to it.

  Upon returning to the surface, she pulled her hood up to protect against a light drizzle and walked out of the alley, turning right onto the street before falling in step with pedestrian traffic. A few minutes passed before she realized she’d lapsed back into her old routine, automatically going toward the area where she’d spent the past few months begging. She had to be carrying about 140 or so glint, though she hadn’t counted the contents of the pouch around her neck. She could last a week or two without having to do anything at all before money got tight and reality forced her to make a decision. The EGSF probably wouldn’t raid her Crash again, but being the only one there had been eerie.

  Sima stuck her hands in her front pocket and made a smaller decision: she’d buy real shoes, and then use the holocom to talk to the EGSF officer and see what he had to say about her suspicions. With a plan came a smile, and a slight increase in her stride. Now, she had only to find a store that both sold shoes in her price range and wouldn’t kick her out for smelling like an ORC bin. If she would wind up dead working for Nalas or dead in some lab, at least she’d have good shoes.