Sovereign City does that.
The thought derailed every though she had considered. And that was fine.
What Desmond was doing was really different from that… straight-forward, suicidal strategy. Instead of using brute force to foist the Council out, he wanted to make them… well… irrelevant.
That was it, irrelevant.
And according to him, the Council just about made themselves irrelevant, simply by trying to do more than is realistic. If they couldn't even keep the streets clean, the streets only a decade old, already mashed with litter and bile, then how could the Council expect to change the very nature of humanity?
Sela knew that many crimes went unpunished in Megora. Some less than others. It made sense though.
So focused on dissent were the Guides, they had no capacity left to prosecute against anything else. In a police state, the police could only handle so much and were forced to prioritize.
That freed the Guides to pursue whatever they thought best. So they'd leave alone those black markets they liked, ignore them until the Council demanded a crackdown, requiring a shift in resources.
The Guides would focus instead on hunting down dissenters and Unmakers, anyone who dared to directly challenge the power structure and the ruling class.
Meanwhile, Desmond was not seeking to declare war on the Guides or the Council. He wanted to slip under the radar, and slowly squeeze away the power that the Council had accumulated. Until…?
Sela wondered if she had found a flaw in the plan. Although, she had no idea how Desmond and his group were hoping to do the squeezing. It was one thing to talk about it in the abstract. But just how did they expect to put that type of pressure on and do it properly so that the Council relinquished more authority?
The real question was more advanced though. If the Council let go of power, then it would shrink. That tradeoff would make it more effective with whatever power it retained, and ultimately, the bureaucrats would never let go of their stranglehold on Megora.
What then? What was the plan when every bit of inefficiency had been drawn out of the council and they still held enough might to do as they wished?
She would have to ask about that.
Their magtrain car joined with others and sped to a platform. Desmond said it wasn't the stop he preferred, but it would be fine. "It's good to get some extra walking in from time to time."
Sela followed him up and out into daylight. That storm to the north had drifted east, out over the lakes, relinquishing a warm, hazy sky. The sun was just now scooting above the buildings, glaring through the foggy firmament. The naturalights in this district would rest for the following few hours.
As her eyes adjusted to the brilliance, Sela blinked and shaded the glare of the sky with a hand. "Wait, we're…?"
She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say that they were near the Tower of Hope.
"Yeah, it's a dozen blocks over," Desmond said, glancing each way. They waited on the street corner for a lull in the traffic. It was cars, not bikes. The traffic forced them to cross at a jog.
Sela glanced upward and saw the elevated running path she had ran on just the day before. It was high up, two hundred feet or more. Height was hard to gauge from directly beneath the path.
Here, the streets were much cleaner, and the pedestrians well-attired. This was one of the districts reserved for the elite. One of the portions of Megora where those who praised the Council were allowed to live worry-free, affluent, deluded lives. They got along fine. 'Why, oh why couldn’t the rest of the city just do as instructed and be happy?'
Of those walking by, two had expensive suits, one was arrogantly dictating instructions to an underling over an earpiece, and another was walking a dog.
Having a pet required a permit, which was incredibly difficult to get, since the Remaking had classed animals and humans as equals. The wilderness was given to all wildlife. Humans were restricted to their supercities, while the natural world was left to nature.
More contradictions. Sela remembered her father's voice quoting… someone, Rules for thee, but not for me. It had been a bit of a joke at the start of his turning away from the Remaking. He had become more and more disgusted as the examples mounted.
Desmond led Sela through a bright network of tunnels that formed a ritzy mall at the base of a skyscraper. Past that was a sunny park with joggers, a few more dogs, people reading on benches, and a vendor selling expensive drinks out of a small booth.
The park was overly-manicured, with every single leaf of every bush and tree was sculpted into unnaturally-perfect shapes. The grass could have been fake, for how exquisitely it was shaved and combed. It reminded Sela of the turf her father used to play golf on, and indeed, one side of the park was sectioned into a miniature golf course. Several groups putted away, laughing and enjoying the mid-morning.
Desmond paid no attention, striding through as though the park was empty.
Following a step to the side and behind, Sela took notice of Desmond's outfit. Every item of his ensemble seemed carefully chosen so that he would look nicely dressed in Sela’s district, while appearing just a shade sub-average in this district.
His attire was fine. The only thing that kept it from fitting in perfectly was just how much gaudiness was on display around the park. Everyone wanted to show off their wealth and their trendiness. Eccentricity ruled the day. Sela saw several things she liked on the men, but on women, the styles seemed awkward and unappealing.
She had not missed the endless grasping after elusive style changes that was essential among the younger girls living in the Tower of Hope.
All of a sudden, Sela felt incredibly awkward and out of place. She wore a simple button-down, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her pants were simple khaki, her shoes utilitarian flats meant more for hiding under a table than for showing off. Her purse was old, given to her by her mother, it too screaming uncultured.
She caught several stares in her direction and shivered with discomfort. Even though she wanted to ignore it, the judging eyes dredged anxiety up into her consciousness. What would they think of her? Of course she was obviously not from this district. That was plain as day, even though she was with someone else who could fit in.
Did the staff who worked for these Council-preferred people come into the park with them? Somehow, she doubted it. They would all be in the apartments and at the businesses, waiting hand and foot for the next whimsical command.
Desmond walked with purpose, ignoring everyone, though he had a pleasant look on his face; docile and content. Sela tried to manufacture the same confidence and independence over her own features, and she worried that it was too awkward. Anyone could see it was a manufactured look!
But then, who cared anyhow?
With a quick gesture, Desmond pointed out one of the screens on a building overlooking the park. The broadcast boasted of the upcoming Conference of the Remaking, listed different events scheduled to impress the visiting dignitaries, show off Megora’s glory. Desmond smirked at Sela, his eyes twinkling, as though they both knew what a joke the Council was.
Sela almost smiled, but the Council wasn't a joke! They ruined people's lives, made the poor fund the extravagance of the rich. The Council trampled anyone who annoyed them, or anyone that might. Never mind what they did to people that actually took a stand against their mythical view of the world.
After leaving the park behind, Desmond and Sela strolled up another street, through another tunnel and down yet another busy street. It seemed these elite people had more time to do as they wished, and didn't have to spend every single minute working. Less work, more money…
The rich get richer, Sela thought. Then she wondered what Desmond had meant when he said that was almost true.
Before she knew it, he steered her through a rotating door of thick glass. The lobby was bright and enormous. Wood paneling, polished tile, real plants in brass stands, baffled plaster ceiling with hanging canister lights.
De
smond summoned an elevator with a gesture of his hand, even as they were still halfway across the lobby from the long bank of silver hatches. It opened, waiting just for them.
Turning around inside the spacious elevator, Sela saw another person walking through the lobby, using the same gesture to request an elevator. The doors still closed.
Desmond stated aloud, "Hannan Consolidated." A voice confirmed the destination and the elevator began to move upward silently, swiftly.
Sela began to feel a nervousness last felt in the elevators at Harrington's building. This was a nice lift, spacious and smooth and fast.
Seeing her muted reflection in the polished steel, her sensation of being underdressed surged again. What would Desmond's friends think of her if she walked in looking like this?
Her makeup was too plain, her hair simply tied back in a pony-tail, her clothes awful… Whoever these people were, they would not look highly on her preparation skills when Desmond introduced her looking like a… a commoner! You're supposed to be more careful than this! she chided herself angrily.
Her fingers reached up to brush away a bit of fuzz that had settled onto her shirt. She wished she had polished her fingernails, even as she pressed her collar to reshape it properly. Nothing could be done about the purse, but she zipped it closed.
"Sela, there's no need to be nervous," Desmond said, his reflection staring into her own.
She glanced at him directly and then looked away, starting to unfold one of the shirt sleeves. "I didn't expect to end up…" The sleeve unfolded, yet the single button refused to find its home, refused to slip through the hole.
"Leave your sleeves up," he said, raising a hand to calm her down. "You look fine. Really."
Sela sucked on her lips and thought about refreshing the lip gloss she had put on before going to breakfast. It was nearly all gone, eaten with the bagel, or left on the glass of milk. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, you look…" Desmond turned to face her fully, and smiled after a moment. "You look radiant."
"Oh right!" she grimaced. "I look terrible. I should've taken some time to freshen up at the diner."
Desmond shook his head, "Don't worry about that. You really do look fine. Very pretty."
A resigned sigh passed her lips as she let her hands move down to her sides. All at once, she doubted and appreciated his reassurance.
She still had not agreed to join this group. She was just meeting them; that was all. Desmond was right, of course. There was no need to worry about impressing them.
They came to her, not the other way around. Well, at least Desmond came to her, asked her to be involved in… whatever they were doing, this Hannan Consolidated.
It had such a bland sound to it. Hannan Consolidated. It sounded boring, and mundane. It sounded like a paper-pushing corporation. It sounded like the sort of organization the Council approved of and ignored, because whoever owned it was well connected, whether a single person or several.
Definitely not the ragtag, shallow-thinking Unmakers the Agency of Vision always mocked and ridiculed.
The doors opened to another lobby, this one only a dozen feet across. A few expensive lounge seats were placed along the walls, each offering a tablet to any potential occupant. At the end of the lobby was a receptionist's desk built into the wall with minimalist letters stenciled across the front, Hannan Consolidated Solutions.
"You have the whole floor?"
Desmond shook his head, "Just a quarter of it. The elevator rotates and opens to whichever suite you need."
Sela responded vaguely, "I didn't feel it rotate."
"It had a lot of time to make the turn. We're on level one twenty-one."
121 floors up? They had to be in the top half of the building. Probably the top third, Sela corrected the estimate.
"'Morning, Ginger," Desmond said as he approached the desk.
"Hello, Desmond." The receptionist was early forties, with a complexion from India and a very subtle Indian accent. She looked up from a tablet docked on the desk. "Oh, is this the girl you were telling me about?"
"Yes. Sela, this is," Desmond paused to pronounce the name carefully, "Gitanjali, but she graciously allows us to call her Ginger. She keeps a lot of our paperwork up to date."
Ginger smiled smugly, "If you want to say it that way. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sela."
"You too," Sela answered, angling her head. "What do you mean?"
"About the paperwork?" Ginger asked. "Oh, I handle inquiries from any of the agencies the Council has looking into everything and everyone."
"Ginger is a master at giving the bureaucrats a headache. She sort of… turns all their paperwork against them."
"If they are going to make life a nightmare for everyone, they will get it right back." Her smile was sly.
Desmond grinned at her, "That's why we love having you here." He turned to Sela, "What Ginger does is sort of a miniature version of what we're trying to do to the Council as a whole."
"Give them headaches?"
"Make them throw up their hands and quit trying," Ginger clarified.
"No one knows how to beat the bureaucrats at their own game like Ginger, and if we can just do that on a larger scale…" Desmond gestured emphatically even as he let the sentence end there. "See ya, Ginger."
Desmond led Sela through a side door into what appeared to be a conventional office. It was plush, with nice paneling, expensive lighting, soft carpet, and glass walls around most of the offices. Still, it wasn't what Sela had been expecting.
Perhaps a dozen workers toiled away, no different from any other corporate staff. If anything was different, it was that around half of the work areas were empty, both of employees and equipment.
A man of about sixty waved from behind his glass office, keeping his other hand on a keyboard, his eyes fixed to a screen. Desmond waved back, "That's Ed, our security lead."
"Ah," Sela answered, not sure just what that job included.
"And over here," Desmond gestured to a desk in the open. At it sat a younger woman, early thirties, "this is Alexandra—"
"Lex," the woman said looking up with an annoyed expression on her face.
"Yeah, Lex," Desmond confirmed. "She's our in-house ghosting broker."
"Personality and property," Lex said without a smile. She looked back to her system, as though they didn't exist.
Property? Sela thought. She had heard that some of the Council ghosted property as well as personalities, whenever the situation called for it. It was far too expensive to be useful for everyone else though. The funding for this place must be outrageous, Sela mused.
"Nice to meet you," Sela said meekly.
The only response from Lex was a dismissive wave of her hand.
As they walked further into the open area of the office, Sela whispered to Desmond, "Is she upset?"
He laughed lightly. "No, she's always like that. You get used to it.” Desmond stopped at a large cubicle housing four occupied workstations.
“These guys are Mike," Desmond pointed to each of the four in turn, "Troy, Mike, and Drew." One of the Mikes had glasses and took meticulous care of his appearance. The other had no glasses and was a bit heavier. All four were between twenty-five and thirty-five years old.
"Hi," Sela gave a nervous wave. How was she going to keep all these names straight?
They all greeted her warmly, though. "They lead our analysis crew."
"Remotely," Drew added, scratching two-day stubble.
"Yeah, we have some other offices around Megora," Troy said.
"Some are a legitimate front-company," glasses-less Mike said.
"I see," Sela said. "Well, what does…? What's your company's name?" She squinted, trying to remember.
"Hannan Solutions," said Drew.
"Yeah. What does it actually do?"
Drew leaned back in his seat and rubbed a palm from the front of his hair to the back, "Beats me. I never really looked into it."
"We spend so much time keeping
up with our obligations, we can't bother with anything else." Mike with glasses spoke delicately, as much as his styling.
"Don't you know, Dez?" Troy asked.
"Yeah, the company does something with quality-checking shipping manifests between the various cities. I think," he added. "I could be wrong. It's something like that."
Sela frowned, "Is there a lot of money in that?"
"Oh, sure!" Troy said now. "Something like that you get paid from the Remaking general fund. They hardly ever look at what anything costs, so long as you keep the bills consistent."
"Changing the cost gets attention, yeah," one of the Mikes said.
"Wait a minute!" Sela laughed. Desmond was already chuckling, knowing what she was going to say. "Are you telling me that the Council is funding all this? This…?"
"Yep," Drew grinned, knowing at least this much. "That's the easiest way to fund what we do. Get the Council to pay for us, while we find ways to pick the Remaking apart."
Everyone laughed, and something shifted in Sela. It felt wonderful to actually laugh, and to laugh at the Council, and to not have to worry about whether anyone would overhear. Surely, Ed the security guy kept the office swept of all bugging equipment and nano-swarms.
"Guys this is Sela. You'll probably see her around from time to time," Desmond led toward some offices with opaque walls on the other side of the room, Sela following in tow.
A few hallways stretched off this side. Desmond walked just a few feet into one before turning into a reception room for a private office. In passing, Sela read the plaque on the wall; Michelle Duncan.
A receptionist sat at his desk, male and middle-aged, looking more tough than professional. He had a tattoo peeking above his suit collar, drifting into a full beard kept trimmed. His head was buzzed of hair; the telltale pattern left behind indicated he was balding slowly, so the buzz might be to hide that as much as utility.
"Michelle busy?" Desmond asked.
The guard answered with his own demand, "What do you need?"
Desmond put a hand on Sela's shoulder, "Just wanted to introduce Sela to her."
The guard squinted and looked her over, evaluating whether she would be a threat. He had a hard, learned gaze that missed nothing, a gaze that found nothing to raise his suspicions. He stood, and strode around the desk to the office door. He was a tall man, a mixture of muscles and a slight paunch.
The Remaking Page 9
