Guardian's Rise

by Matthew Renard

  ‘Oh, damn!’ Sammy threw his hand over his eyes to shield his vision. ‘What the hell? Turn that light off.’

  ‘What?’ I grinned at him, turning my head. ‘Why do you think it’s called The Shining City?’

  ‘I thought it was metaphorical!’

  ‘It’s a city made of glass and steel...’

  ‘It’s not glass!’ Sammy smirked at me. I ignored him.

  ‘It’s called The Shining City, and it’s in The Sunshine State. Didn’t you put two and two together?’

  ‘I’ll put your head and my foot together in a minute.’ He rummaged around his pockets. ‘Where’re those damn sunglasses?’ He continued to pat down his Capehill University jacket until I reached into my carry-on bag and produced the wayward pair of shades. He put them on, and I reached for my own as Sammy whistled a long, low sound of admiration.

  I had to agree with the sentiment.

  Sitting nestled in pristine fields and, to our right what had to be Tarkenden Forest, was the Shining City itself. Looking like something out of an old Science Fiction show from this distance Capehill shone and sparkled, a diamond in a sea of green and yellows, marking the horizon where the water met the shore. It dwarfed even my most unrealistic expectations; to our left, Sammy pointed out the three residential districts. I had imagined at worst, a few houses and at best, some neighbourhoods - Maple, Willow, and Meadowbrook were sprawling towns unto themselves. They each fed a single highway into the city, each grey artery pulsating with light, which I guessed had to be the cars as they hovered down the massive roads. Capehill was the first city on the planet to get the Fusion Cars - vehicles that hovered from anything from six inches to three feet above the ground, suspended there by a science I didn’t understand. “Danti-Tech” was becoming a catchphrase used by anyone to describe something that was unable to be explained easily and had replaced “A wizard did it” on the Net some time ago. Hearing Mr Windsor, our next-door neighbour, complain about how his Borleath computer with super-fast WiFi was “Danti-Tech” made both Sammy and I laugh. Out of earshot, of course.

  We made our way to the taxi-rank, suitcases rolling behind us (we used handles, they didn’t move of their own free will - I didn’t want to pay for that upgrade, despite Sammy’s complaining) and flagged down a driver to take us to the heart of Capehill.

  Honestly, even now, looking back on it all, I can’t really properly describe how I felt as we glided into the City Centre. The road from the airport took us around the back of Haddenfalls, and Sammy made a slight noise of displeasure as the city dropped out of sight as the taxi pulled behind a rocky outcropping. His nose pressed against the glass, I could see his head making minute movements, and assumed he was taking in all the sights he could - even when those sights were rocky walls and thick drops of water. He cheered... actually cheered... as we burst through the waterfall, following the road through the pouring block and faced Capehill, the driver gaining speed as we made it safely out of Haddenfalls.

  ‘First time to Capehill?’ He asked, smiling knowingly.

  ‘Yeah.’ I nodded once. I hated small-talk like this, but in America I guessed it was a part of every-day life.

  ‘That always gets the tourists.’ The taxi driver smiled more broadly, guessing there would be a bigger tip for him for his efforts. ‘Hey, you guys are English, right?’ He pronounced it “En-ger-lish”.

  ‘We are!’ Sammy piped up. He was always much better at this inconsequential chit-chat than I was.

  ‘Far out.’ The driver nodded. ‘My friend Bill went to En-ger-land a few months back. Do you know Bill? How’s he doin’?’

  Sammy, delighted with the politeness and friendliness of the taxi driver, continued in a meaningless conversation, whilst I settled back and watched the world go by, and Capehill loom closer and closer.

  Crystal. That was the first thought that popped into my head. If you’ve ever been to Capehill, I’m sure you know what I mean. Not that the city was made of crystal, or the buildings were somehow grown out of it - the skyscrapers and towers were clearly man-made, either too rigidly tall and symmetrical or round and perfect to be considered a natural formation. But the way the light reflected off the buildings, casting a sheen of light around them, made it feel like nothing so much as flying through an intricate crystalline formation. The taxi roof was one big sunroof, and as I looked up, I saw birds flying through the buildings, and occasionally larger birds, although I didn’t recognise the-

  Flying people. There were people flying. Unassisted.

  Of course, I knew that some PIs and Auggies could fly. I had seen them on film, documenting the changes the Danti had brought upon some of the population, and propaganda shorts with Emily back during the war itself. However, it always looked somehow fake; as if the constant stream of special effects and Hollywood trickery had somehow lessened the reality. Not now. Not when I could see them with my own eyes. I reached to my side and shook Sammy lightly by the shoulder. He was still talking to the taxi driver.

  ‘Jay, what?’ He snapped. I pointed up, and Sammy’s gaze followed my finger. I couldn’t wait to hear his response.

  ‘Oh. Cool.’ He turned his attention back to the driver. ‘So, they’re just going missing, you say?’

  We arrived at the City Centre shortly after. I paid the driver (and tipped him quite well for his efforts) and I grabbed our bags from the back of the taxi. As it sped off, floating down the road, we took in the sights. As someone who had never been to America, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I knew what I had imagined - people selling hot dogs out of white carts, newspaper sellers on the corner, people hustling by and the occasional person swearing at a taxi. Maybe a few brightly coloured costumed people here and there, to brighten it up and give a real superhero-y feel. It was really nothing like that at all, save the people hustling by. Men and women in suits, people in jeans, bicycle couriers, fast-food delivery people, people smoking and shouting and barging past with earphones wedged in tight. Most people were hunched over slightly, hands jammed into pockets and a body language that screamed ‘Don’t touch me!’. A few people walked with their heads held high, and some of these, I saw, had gleaming metal on their heads. A few had parts of their hair shaved off and had been replaced with silver caps, but most had a few lines of circuitry near their ears, or close to their eyes.

  Sammy nudged me. ‘Look, sir: Droids.’

  A few of the people turned to glare at us, despite Sammy’s best attempts to keep his voice down. I guessed these were people who had received hearing augmentations. They never slowed their pace, however, and I gestured to Sammy that we should probably move on and find the place that Michael said he would send someone to meet us.

  ‘I don’t get why we didn’t take the taxi straight there.’ Sammy whined as we continued to search, the Maps app on my phone directing us in the opposite direction yet again.

  ‘You wanted to see Capehill, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then shut up and look at it.’

  Sammy frowned, but took in the sights anyway. ‘Hey, that looks like...’ I glanced over and saw a short woman with auburn hair hurry into a nearby coffee shop, past a man that was unmistakably Mark “Aleph” Wright, the self-professed Smartest Man Alive.

  ‘Want to go meet him?’

  ‘Huh?’ Sammy looked confused for a second. ‘Oh! Yeah... yeah.’ We started to cross the street when Aleph looked up at us. ‘Look out!’

  ‘What?’ I saw a glimmer of something red loom towards us, but before I could do anything, I felt a shove as Sammy knocked me to the ground. A red bolt of energy darted over my head, inches from where Sammy was now stood and directly where I had been seconds before.

  ‘What the...?’

  I watched as Aleph put his hand on Sammy’s shoulder. He’d crossed that road faster than I could have imagined someone moving. ‘You did well, citizen. Now, I must track down the villain who shot at you.’

  ‘Uhm...’ Sammy nodded dumbly. ‘’Kay.’


  Wright kept a cool gaze on Sammy. ‘Another Brit! Splendid. But is your tongue lacking proper locomotion, sir?’

  ‘Is my what?’

  ‘Ah. I expected more from fellow Englishmen. I see. Such a pity.’ Wright looked down at me imperiously. ‘Your friend, sir, is suffering from witless brevity, which one must assume only be matched by his brevity of wit.’

  Aleph nodded to me and left, without offering to help me up, and Sammy muttered to himself, ‘What the hell did he mean by that?’, as a man in a black suit came over to us. I stood up slowly, and he smiled ingratiatingly at us as I dusted myself down. ‘Messrs Anson and Edwards?’

  ‘Yeah?’ Sammy smiled back at the man, who held his hand out. ‘Who’re you?’

  ‘I’m Johnston, Mr Anson. I’m your driver.’ He shook Sammy’s hand. ‘Would you permit me to take your bags, sir?’

  ‘That would be nice.’ I growled. ‘I’m Jason Anson.’

  The driver looked from Sammy to myself, before dropping Sammy’s hand as if it were radioactive, and proffering his to me. ‘Oh, I... do apologise, sir! I just expected... well.’

  I looked over at Sammy; he stood tall and regal, handsome as ever and smiling his cocky, arrogant smile. I saw myself reflected back in his sunglasses: shorter, built decidedly more averagely, not anywhere near as handsome and covered in dust, a thick globule of chewing gum now stuck to my jacket.

  ‘Yeah. I see. Let’s go, shall we?’ I grabbed my bag. ‘How did you know we would be here?’

  ‘I didn’t, sir.’ Johnston’s smile turned sheepish. ‘You were late, so I drove around. I saw that there was a Stat blast nearby, did you see it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I replied. ‘I saw it.’ He looked me up and down and made the connection between my appearance and the Stat blast.

  ‘Oh! Well, sir.’ He took my bag off me and turned. ‘Shall we go to the car?’

  The car ride was short, and quiet; punctuated only by Johnston pointing out that, on the left was the corporate headquarters of SabrexTech International, and to the right was where the hero Kunoichi defeated twenty muggers through her patented “ninjakick”. ‘Of course,’ Johnston felt compelled to say, ‘she didn’t actually use a kick from Ninjitsu. I believe it to be Tae Kwon Do, which is obviously not Ninjitsu, as it is Korean in origin.’

  ‘Oh, obviously! That’s fascinating, Johnston!’ Sammy enthused. I wasn’t sure if anyone but me would have been able to detect the sarcasm that was practically dripping from his voice. ‘Please, do go on.’

  Go on, Johnston did. I tuned him out and looked around. Part of me was unsure why Sammy was suddenly so blasé about Capehill and the sights, when he’d been so eager to get here previously. However, I was getting more and more excited about looking around Capehill. I looked out as we drove past the river that bisected the city, watching people on sailboats gliding through the pristine waters. As Tarkenden loomed in the distance, I saw specks of what had to be a flock of birds far off fly out of the forest. The whole thing looked tranquil and peaceful...

  ‘We’re here, sir!’ Johnston interrupted my rested musings as the car pulled up a slight circular driveway and came to a rest under a sheltered area, for which I was grateful; as I’ve already noted, I was definitely not a person built for heat. Next to a couple of potted plants either side of the huge electric doors stood a familiar figure, whose smile rivalled the side of the doors when Sammy and I stepped out of the limousine.

  ‘Jason!’ Michael stood, arms outstretched, and enveloped me in a warm hug. ‘It’s great to finally have you here.’ I glanced behind him to the inside of the building, and at the giant sign in red, on a polished onyx background. The Anson Foundation. ‘Thanks, Michael.’

  ‘And Sammy!’ He grinned at my friend, who struck a pose and slowly turned, showing off his gold, brown and orange glory. ‘We need to put you up on billboards! You’re definitely the poster-child for Capehill.’

  Sammy smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, and gestured towards the same sign I had been looking at. ‘You mis-spelled Edwards, Mikey boy.’

  ‘Well, when you win the next Global Lottery, give me a call.’ Michael let me go, and we entered through the doors, Johnston bringing the bags. When I was over the threshold properly, I slowly turned around, taking in the lobby of the expansive building. White tiled floor which gleamed and reflected every perfect person who strode in and out of the building, as well as the wood-panelled and grey marble effect walls. Everything was spotless, shiny, and looked as if it had been installed that morning. Michael himself was wearing a light grey, elegantly tailored silk suit, with a crisp white shirt and purple tie. There was a hint of a matching pocket-square peeking through his blazer. His dark blond was closely cropped, and his blue eyes twinkled with a warm mischief. He was every bit as handsome and confident as he had appeared over the video-calls. He gestured to his left. Slightly behind him was a short, curly haired blonde, dressed in a grey dress that matched Michael’s, who gave us an uncertain but still happy smile. ‘This is Anna O’Reilly!’ She nodded. ‘Anna,’ Michael continued, ‘is my PA. Anything you need, you let her know and she’ll get it for you, no questions asked.’

  Anna stepped forward and offered her hand. We both shook it. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Mr Anson, Mr Edwards.’ I noted that she, unlike our driver, had got our names correct. Michael must have briefed her. ‘It’s a pleasure to welcome the founder of the Anson Foundation. Might I suggest a tour of the facilities? And then, perhaps,’ she took in our clothes, ‘we could persuade Mr Noch to make a house call before...?’

  ‘Yes, that’s an excellent idea, Anna!’ Michael cut in, before leading us to the elevators. ‘We need to get these two looking the part.’

  ‘Who’s Mr Noch?’ I glanced at Sammy, who shrugged.

  ‘He’s a tailor, Jason. If you’re the richest man in the world and the founder of a global organisation to help people, we need you to inspire confidence. A well tailored suit works wonders, to make people trust in people.’

  I was going to respond in a negative way, when I caught myself in the reflective doors of the elevator. Hair wildly out of place, t-shirt under a beaten up, chewing gum marked jacket (I had scraped the gum off in the car but the residue remained) and old, dusty jeans.

  ‘Oh. Yes. Good idea.’ I ran my fingers through my hair. ‘And maybe a barber?’

  Michael grinned at me. ‘The boss has spoken, Anna. Let’s get a barber over here, too.’

  The elevator stopped at the top floor, and the doors slid open with the faintest of hisses. If there had been music playing, or anything other than an uncomfortable silence, I probably wouldn’t have heard it.

  ‘So!’ Michael said, trying to fill the void of noise. ‘What do you think of the Anson Foundation so far?’

  ‘It’s odd.’

  ‘Odd how?’ He tilted his head slightly, although he seemed pleased that there was noise again.

  ‘It’s like... I own this.’

  ‘Well...’ He shrugged. ‘Sort of. Without getting too technical, you own the trust that paid the think tank that put together the Foundation that-’ He must have seen my eyes start to glaze over as we walked. ‘Essentially, yes. You own this.’

  ‘Like, the building. The doors! The carpet. The furniture.’ I stopped at an open doorway and glanced into an office where a man was video conferencing with an Asian woman. The timestamp on the bottom of the screen read “+14hrs - Tokyo”. I pointed at the screen. ‘Do I own that TV?’

  Michael chuckled, a deep and warm sound, more at the fact the video conference had ended because of my interruption. ‘Yes. And the one on the other side of the conversation.’ He leaned in through the doorway and said something in Japanese. I caught my name, but that was all I could understand. The woman responded in kind, smiled at me, and nodded. ‘Good morning, Mr Anson.’

  ‘Uhh... good morning.’

  Michael put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Come on.’ He looked back at the screen. ‘Domo.’

  As M
ichael pulled me away gently, guiding me back on the tour, I continued. ‘It just feels strange. I’ve never been here before, but this is all mine.’ Seeing the look on Michael’s face, I stopped talking. ‘I must sound like a crazy person.’

  ‘No more than normal.’ Sammy smirked.

  ‘Not at all, Jason.’ Michael glanced at my best friend, and then back to me. ‘I’ve heard similar things from people who have inherited estates, houses, fortunes in the past. Intellectually they know it’s theirs, but emotionally there’s no connect with it.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s pretty much it, yeah.’

  Sammy piped up again. ‘So, if Jay owns all this, wouldn’t that make him some kind of big shot?’

  ‘Yes, which is why we need to get him properly attired before the press conference.’

  I froze before the large double doors at the end of the corridor. ‘Press conference?’

  ‘You’re here. You made it to the Foundation Headquarters! You’re the founder of a global enterprise that is helping hundreds of thousands of people every day. Of course there’s going to be a press conference, and we’ll introduce you to the world properly, not in some crummy little English newspaper. It’s important that you be there!’ He looked over at Sammy. ‘Both of you, in fact.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Yeah. Why Sammy?’

  Michael smiled. ‘It’s a wonderful story. The founder and his chief adviser?’

  ‘You’re my chief adviser.’

  ‘No, I’m your chief counsel. Samuel Edwards is on the record as Vice President, as per your request.’

  I frowned, casting my mind back. ‘When did I request that?’

  ‘You signed the paperwork. I thought you’d read it all.’

  ‘I... uhh...’

  Sammy cackled. Literally cackled, like a witch. I turned to him. ‘Did you set this up?’

  ‘Hell no. But I wish I had. Then I would have made sure I got paid for it.’