Risa squeezed the doll. Could I have a normal life?
A single step brought her closer to the edge of shadow. Shiro could get me away from this war. Her attention found every couple in the crowd. Some walked in polite company, others with a continuous adoring stare. I don’t feel anything for him. She shivered. Would Pavo want what’s left of me? He showed little reaction to seeing her naked. No more than troops in the same shower room. No big deal, they were merely a couple of soldiers ‘in the shit’ together. He never did look her in the eye. Did that mean something?
Another step, she emerged into the light, jostled by a man in a rush. A hasty apology came without a look over his shoulder. She clutched the doll, not caring how people looked at her. Everyone thinks I’m Cat-6 already. Her walk among the crowd brought as much worry as it did hope. At any second, someone might recognize her―recognize the MLF’s famous Black Phantom, the Angel of Death, the Broken Doll. She fought for these people. They must know that. They would keep her secret.
A grey pylon of metal and draped wires near the middle of the courtyard offered a convenient place to lean. The tower of technology bathed everyone within twenty meters in endless media, flickering light and sound. From beneath a poster-sized transparent panel, a physical screen played a repeating cycle of adverts. So close she could perceive individual pixels in the ancient display, she stared, stroking the doll’s hair. The advertisements lost meaning, becoming patterns of dancing colors.
Floating planes blared local news, gambling scores, and several Gee-ball games as well as recaps. The amorphous mass of color at her left went black between ads, light blobs replaced with her reflection on the plastisteel. A pale-faced wraith with glowing violet eyes glared at her from the darkness, childlike and eerie. Risa shied away from herself. Her daydreams of a normal life shattered from the wail of a nonexistent baby. My own child couldn’t bear to look at me. Having my eyes regrown would be too expensive. She stroked the doll’s hair, studying its gem-green eyes. Shiro could afford it.
Fantasies played in her mind of running away with the rich businessman. He could give her a life free from worrying that a bullet with her name on it waited around every corner. He could provide an existence not built around politics or a war that could never be won. She’d sacrificed everything for the people of Mars, but they didn’t seem to care.
Kree wasn’t afraid of me. Risa felt better for a moment, until thoughts of what the little girl must have seen on the streets crept in. She’s as broken as I am. No, she can’t be. Her eyes still looked alive. She leaned back, banging her head against the viewscreen hard enough to draw a few stares. Stop it. What is wrong with me? One mysterious doll and I start feeling sorry for myself all over again? Kree is the exact reason I’m doing this. She deserves a better planet to live on. I don’t even know who sent it. Who could have known I wanted it when I was little? Only…
“Daddy…” she whispered, sinking into a squat with her back against the pylon.
Nearby, a handful of people scattered, careful not to make eye contact with the crazy woman clinging to a doll like a little girl. Impossible only began to describe her thoughts on a gift from her dead father. Then again, if Raziel existed, there must be some kind of afterlife. Was the doll a message to get out before she got hurt?
She looked up as a murmur swept over the crowd. Instinct tensed the muscles in her legs. People migrated toward the center, attracted by a large, loud holo-panel with the image of an older man, native Marsborn by his utter lack of color. His skin looked too big for his skeleton and his two-toned hair, black on the ends, grey at the roots, shifted like a dead animal as he gestured at a small picture-in-picture. Images of mangled bodies and smoke drew the crowd in tight. The video focused in on bleeding women and children, screaming chaos, and tragedy―even a dog trotting off with someone’s severed arm in its mouth.
“This is exactly the kind of senseless violence we have come to expect from the so-called Martian Liberation Front. If you recall, Moht, this was recorded during the Dominion Day celebrations three years ago. One hundred forty dead.” A nameplate under the man identified him as Avo Imren, supposedly a political scientist.
A red field bearing the yellow letters ‘MLF―Free Mars’ burst forth from static on several holo-projectors visible in the background.
“Yes, yes, tragic.” Moht Daran, political commentator for Mars Media Corp, clucked his tongue. “Have the Defense Forces made any progress yet?”
“Should round ‘em up and launch ‘em into space,” shouted a middle-aged man a few steps to her right.
“It’s the disparity of the societies,” said Avo. “On Earth, the UCF―”
“Bunch of killers,” yelled a woman.
“It’s all dustblow!” shouted Risa, drawing stares. “Half of those images are from Earth. That little girl in the brown coat was from the Revolution Day bombing in Moscow, 2408. Look at the glass behind her, that’s blue sky and you can see minarets. Those two women have never even set foot on Mars. That video’s from the ACC invasion of Mexico, centuries ago! That arm is fake too! Look at the dog’s shadow; there’s no arm in the shadow! It’s all propaganda. That… that MLF sign. It’s not even on a monitor, that’s a damn window! You people are being lied to by the government and they’re not even trying hard.”
She froze, one arm clutching her doll, one pointed at the holographic talking heads. Shit. Her gaze darted about searching for an exit, but the crowd had come to see the gore and walled her in. Her throat closed as if invisible hands choked off her air. People glanced from her to the screens. Some in the back, too far to hear her outburst, continued to call her brethren criminals and call for military action. Risa locked eyes with a well-dressed man in a maroon coat, briefcase at his side, who gave her a sympathetic look.
“They don’t attack civilians,” she said. “They want independence. Why kill the people you’re trying to help? Can’t you see that makes no sense at all?”
For a few seconds, she thought she had reached him. The look on his face turned to one of condescending pity. “What are they doing to you kids at the university these days? There’s more to life than overpriced coffee, Flowerbasket, and awful poetry. You look like you’ve hit the stuff a bit too hard, honey. Do you need help getting to a med center?”
“Think we got a terrorist here,” said a deep voice to her left. “You ain’t a sympathizer are yas?”
“She’s armed!” cried a woman.
A few people cringed, some pulled pistols.
Murmurs of discontent spread within the crowd. Everyone stared at her.
“Lies. They’re just lies.” Risa shivered, backing into the pylon, clutching the doll. “Don’t you realize what they are doing? They just want everyone complacent and scared. How can you not see that? It’s all lies. Any ten year old could come up with a better fake video than that, and you all stand there sucking it in like it’s the truth.”
She had risked her life countless times for these people. She had mutilated her body to help them, and now they turned on her. Angry faces and pointing fingers yanked the rug out from under her conviction. The political commentary continued booming from speakers, other screens flashed with Gee-ball games and sugarcoated statements of how well the war effort went. She slumped against the tower of misinformation, distraction, and pablum, sitting in a ball, staring with vacant eyes at the ground. Father believed in the cause, and they killed him for it.
“Hope they burn them all out of the tunnels like the scum they are,” said a voice overhead.
“No, they need to stand trial,” shouted a woman. “Killing them makes them martyrs. We’re still democratic.”
A male voice carried the telltale slowdown of a Flowerbasket high. “Democracy is an illusion, man.” He exhaled vapor. “We haven’t had that shit for centuries.”
Someone close threw an empty disposable cup to the ground, bouncing it off Risa. “This one’s just Cat-5. Probably high.”
“The UCF is a democratic stat
e, still governed by a senate and―”
The shrill, sanctimonious female voice, and resulting argument, pulled the crowd’s attention away from her. She tuned out the screeching until the words in her mind grew deafening. Is our cause doomed? These idiots don’t even want to be saved. Who are we to force freedom on people who think they already have it? I… don’t want to do this anymore. She snuggled the doll.
Two MDF officers, a man and a woman, emerged from the crowd. Their rush toward her slowed when it seemed unlikely she would become a victim of mob violence. At her cradling the doll, flat faceless helmets exchanged a glance. The female officer raised her left forearm and tapped at holographic buttons. They’re running my records. Risa lowered her head, burying her face in the doll’s hair.
I don’t want to do this anymore… Go ahead. Take me.
Risa squeezed the doll to her neck, clutching it. Maybe they would let her keep it in her cell until the day came to put her out of the world’s misery. If I run with this, they might believe I really am Cat-6. Maybe they’ll feel sorry for the crazy girl and not execute me. The only problem with that idea―in order to act, she would have to care.
Risa looked up at the MDF officers, her unintentional expression of sadness made them exchange another glance. Kree’s smiling face appeared in her mind, surrounded by the filth and debris of the MLF safehouse. Despite her awful start to life, the little one seemed happy. Guilt rose in her heart with the memory of the tunnel. I almost killed them all. I deserve this. Every time we use a bomb, the wrong people suffer.
They’ll interrogate me.
She closed her eyes. Her daydreams offered a waking nightmare of soldiers raiding the safehouse, shooting everything that moved: Garrison, General Maris, Pavo, Osebi, Kendrick, all of them… the kids. A chill shivered down her back. Men in green wielding the same fire that took her father would kill them all.
I have to protect them.
Fingers teased at her throat, a mere mental impulse to her Nano claws all that stood between life and a rapid bleed-out. The electronics had no suicide detector. A command to deploy didn’t check where they pointed. A twitch of a neuron and she would never hurt anyone else. Her secrets would be safe. Deep down, she knew she wouldn’t last under interrogation. In truth, she was still a terrified little girl hiding in the ventilation ducts of her mind.
Her fingers straightened.
“Are you feeling all right, miss?” asked the female officer.
Risa’s head snapped up. The sudden motion made them both jump. What? “I-I…”
The male officer’s hand hovered over his sidearm. “You shouldn’t be carrying weapons if you’re on something, miss.”
Risa curled her fingers away from her throat as the cop leaned closer. The woman moved slow, ready to react to sudden aggression as she extended a small metal wand. Risa kept still as the woman touched the device to the back of her hand. It beeped a happy-sounding tone.
The officer shook her head. “Nothing detected on the quick stick. She’s sober.”
“Cat-1?” asked the male officer.
“I―” Am an idiot. “I’m okay. I just had a panic attack. I’m agoraphobic. Crowds get me. My ex was being an ass. He sent me this doll as an apology.”
“You don’t seem to have a problem with that doll.” The female officer’s voice cut off with a brief crackle of static from the speakers in the helmet. “The way you’re holding it makes me think you’d kill someone trying to take it away.”
Risa stared at the little black dots where camera lenses lurked. Any trace of facial expression hid behind a flat, featureless helmet, dull red and scratched. “It’s the same style as one my father gave me before he died, years ago.” Why aren’t they pointing guns at me? They have to know who I am by now. I should be in deep shit. “I’m not usually like this. I’m not myself today.”
“What happened here?” The male officer pointed at the crowd, which had thinned.
Risa muttered into the doll’s hair. “Politicians. I said the video was faked. The government is trying to stir people up, get them scared. It’s a lie.”
“So, you’re an MLF sympathizer?” asked the woman, sounding amused.
“I think the people of Mars deserve honesty from whoever pulls the strings.” She spun the doll over in her hand. “Someone’s always going to pull the strings. If the MLF is as bad as they claim, they shouldn’t need to doctor the images. When they’re so obvious about it, it only strengthens the impression the government has something to hide, don’t you think?”
“I hate politics,” said the man, gesturing for her to stand.
Risa swallowed hard, some of her old confidence returned. She could kill these two before either of them got their weapons out, but the Defense Force wasn’t her enemy. They were only tools of the regime. Garrison had hammered the disconnect between the tip of the sword and the politicians wielding it into her head for years. She let the woman help her up and waited while they poked and prodded at their forearms. They’re on edge. Why haven’t they taken my guns? Both hands stayed on the doll. She debated adding a childish sway to seem innocent, but did not want to run with the crazy yet.
He held his arm in front of her face. Risa cringed from the bright light.
“Scans clean. No intoxicants.” He glanced at his partner before turning back to Risa. “Are you sure you’re not categorized? You look at least like a Cat-1”
“Have you experienced any recent traumatic stress?” asked the female officer.
Only a little. “I’ll be fine now. I just got scared by an angry crowd.” She found herself almost hiding behind the doll.
The male officer looked left and right at the dispersing throng. “Do you need an escort?”
I can’t be this lucky… Or them this stupid. “I think I have my head on again. I can get home.” They’re really going to let me walk?
“Be careful, especially in the east around the air purifier complex.” The man pointed to the right. “Something’s got the fringers riled.”
“Thanks.” She managed a weak smile despite her disbelief, and walked away without looking over her shoulder.
As soon as she’d gotten far enough down a street to be out of sight, she let her arms fall slack, doll dangling from her left hand. The crowd milled around her, one or two pausing to offer drugs, contraband skill chips, or banned hack-softs. She shuffled to the side, leaned against a grimy wall in a rolling cloud of salt ramen fumes, and tried to calm down. Sniffling into the hair of the doll, she decided to give in and entertain a daydream. Risa pushed away from her resting place and wandered into the flow of people.
Before she realized where her legs were taking her, she found herself on the concourse of a PubTran shuttle terminal, standing in line at an auto-ticket vendor. When she got to the machine, a holographic version of a young woman appeared.
“Arcadia City,” said Risa.
“Four hundred ten credits please,” chirped a teenaged voice.
At a swipe of her NetMini, an icon appeared indicating a fare token.
She sat in the waiting area with the doll in her lap, earning curious stares and raised eyebrows for twenty-six minutes. An unending stream of blue holo-panels scrolling over a bank of ten escalators called out boarding for her flight. Her NetMini chimed a notice as well, identifying Pad 9 as her departure point. Risa stood, cradling her princess doll like an infant, and made her way up the nearest escalator. She kept her eyes down, following a series of moving sidewalks through a security checkpoint and into a boarding tube. A seat in the last row kept prying eyes away. She tucked her legs up on the seat and let herself slip into a fitful sleep.
Thirty-four minutes later, Risa stepped out of a PubTran taxi by the entrance of Shiro’s apartment building. She plodded up the stairs, crossed the lobby, and sulked into an elevator. Her gaze remained on the carpet, tracking black diamonds gliding by in the slate-grey fabric, until she stopped by his door.
What the hell am I doing here? She smirked at the
number 84-08 on the door. I can’t do this.
She pivoted halfway through a turn to walk away when the door slid open. Shiro, bare-chested and in sweat pants, raised both eyebrows.
“A pleasant surprise.” He stepped back, gesturing into the room. “Come in. What’s wrong?”
Damn. She slipped past him, not looking back at the soft hiss of the door closing. A number of free weights littered the rug by the bed, and a fist-sized orb bot floated around in a figure eight. When Risa got within ten feet, it projected a wireframe hologram of a human shape, which launched itself into a spinning kick.
Risa ignored it.
“Sim off,” yelled Shiro. The hologram cut out. He moved up behind her, eyeing the doll. “Bad memory?”
“This?” She squeezed it. “I don’t know. I’m having a strange day. I”―probably stink―“Would you mind if I cleaned up a bit?”
“Be my guest.” Shiro walked backwards for three steps, arm extended toward the bathroom, and swung around to pick up his workout gear.
She set the doll on the foot of the bed, but hesitated.
“I’ll watch over her.” Shiro winked. “You don’t need to take her with you.”
A rush of warmth flooded her face. “Right.” Ugh, I am going insane. What am I, nine?
Before she could make even more of an ass of herself, she ran into the bathroom, closed the door, and stripped. The high-end apartment had a fancy autoshower tube, one without a door, where the entire cylinder came up out of the floor like a medical tank. It had a bevy of options she wasn’t used to, including various massage modes for the water jets as well as scented soaps. She picked one called ‘rain forest’ and basked in the spray. After the initial warm rinse, the sealed space filled with the synthesized scent of woodland rain, or at least what some chemist thought it should smell like.
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 22
