by Y A Marks
“Paeton, you have to take care of yourself.”
She worried about me more than I worried about myself. I was cautious and smart. I stayed away from everything that could hurt me. Sure, I took a few gambles here and there, but I was doing ten times better than most kids my age.
“I am. I really am,” I said. “It’s just been hard at the Stadium lately, and there is not much food.”
“Have you been… playing your imitation game?”
Her eyes cut into mine, and I gazed at the cinnamon sprinkles sitting atop my drink. She didn’t like me playing “the imitation game.” It was her name for the trick I used to make the banking system believe I was someone else. The trick was something only I could do, involving my left hand and its mysterious power.
I shrugged. “Just once… every few weeks.”
Dhyla’s face tightened. “Paeton, you’ve got to figure out something better, something safer. Sooner or later, they’re going to catch you.”
I met her gaze as my mind replayed the events from earlier. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I almost lost today. “They haven’t caught me so far. I’m smart and quick and pick only the best idio—uh, unsuspecting rich people.” I forced a grin. “What do you want me to do, starve?”
She meant well, but I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t like I wanted to steal. I didn’t. Not to mention, those who counted on me couldn’t live without me.
“I could put you on here for a while until…” she trailed off.
“See, you can’t think of anything, because there are no jobs, especially for me. No one wants a homeless sixteen-year-old orphan. Every day, the news reminds us of the rising unemployment rates. Now up to fifty-six percent!” I gave her my best sales pitch voice although the statistic saddened me. “I can’t put you out, or Sun Hi or Jacob. Doesn’t he have like, a kid or something?”
“I’m… I’m really scared for you, Paeton. You’re like my skinny, never-takes-my-advice daughter.”
“Well thanks, my always-giving-me-unhelpful-advice mom.”
Sadness crept into my heart, cutting tiny holes in the surface and allowing my hope to drain away. Dhyla meant well—wished for good things in my life—but at the end of every day there was nothing she could do to help me. I had to keep stealing, even though it was wrong and extremely dangerous.
Our stares locked. I wished Dhyla was my mother, and sometimes I think she wished I was her daughter. She lost her husband and child during the Five-Day Restitution. Her restaurant and those in it became her family. After falling in love with her chocolate mochas, I fell in love with the owner and was lucky enough for her to love me, too.
I reached out and grabbed her hand. “I’ll be okay. I promise. I’m real careful. I only take what I need, and I make sure that I’m always hitting a new ATM all the time. Okay?”
I gave her my biggest grin and made sure to thin my eyes to deepen my sincerity.
“And wearing a new costume?” she asked, her eyes teasing.
“Why, yes. I do that too. Today I went au naturel, but my outfit from last month was absolutely fabulous. I had a fake beard and everything. I’ll spare you the details of my brilliance.”
Her face brightened for a moment before her expression fell.
“What?” I asked. My heart emptied as our eyes met. I wanted her to be proud of me.
“Nothing.”
I grabbed her hand. “You know I don’t like secrets. If you have some kind of advice I can use in my little world, I’m always open to hear it, even if I can’t do anything about it.”
She glanced at the skyline and withdrew her hand. The motion seemed a bit odd, but I didn’t want to pressure her. Evidently my witty conversation wasn’t reaching her.
“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “What do you think about Escerica, the Rebels?”
Her body stiffened. She leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. “You want to change the subject to that?”
“What? It’s just the news.”
“It’s no good news, that’s what it is.”
“Why do you say that?” I pulled the cup up and ran the tiny straw along the bottom, searching for any leftover drops of chocolate mocha.
“Everything has a price, some higher than others. Sooner or later, these Escerica Rebels are gonna start something that will be too large for the government to ignore.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“There you go again, bringing premonitions of joy into my small world.” I grinned, but her gaze fell to the table.
Her head shook in tiny movements as though she was remembering something horrific. “You weren’t there when the first uprising happened.”
As her eyes searched mine, fear grabbed and held my spirit.
“It was a slaughter. Hundreds of thousands of people died on the streets. There were so many bodies that the government set fire to them to keep them from becoming a biological hazard,” she said.
“You don’t think anyone should ever fight?” I asked.
“I’m not saying don’t fight, Paeton. I’m saying we have to be smart and pick our battles. Right now, the Upper-Cs couldn’t care less if we were washed off the face of the planet. There’s still a lot of pain and frustration in people’s heads.”
“It’s been seven years,” I said.
“Seven years for you may seem like a lifetime, but for someone as old as me, it feels like yesterday.” Her eyes averted again.
Something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. She was keeping secrets. A scream rolled around in my stomach and threatened to explode. I leaned forward and decided to try my wonderful wit again.
“Well, because of my awesomeness, you’ll never, ever have to worry about me. I don’t like rebels. I don’t like the government. I just want to be left alone with my fake mom and drink chocolate mochas.”
Dhyla’s expression warmed. It was the first true expression I had seen from her. She stood and walked over to me. Her arms tightened around my torso. I put my hands over her arms and hugged her back. Forever passed between us until she let go. Afterward a lingering memory hung in my mind.
“You need to get on back soon. It’ll be dark in an hour or so.” She walked back toward the ladder and descended.
“Dhyla?” The word barely escaped my mouth. She continued to walk away and gave me a soft smile as she descended the ladder’s rungs.
I sighed and spun toward the skyline. The Five-Day Restitution was enough to depress anyone. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It was too painful, and she had lost everything. Technically, I had too. It was our bond.
As I watched the hovercars fly over the skyscrapers, a prick cut my heart. The sun’s orange glow slid behind one of the buildings, announcing the last hour of light. As the sky turned purple, sliver clouds widened their fluffy bodies. She was right. I was out of time, precious time, and needed to get home.
As I ran my finger inside the paper cup, making sure I removed all of the leftover drops of coffee, I wondered about the Five-Day R. Poverty had grown to record levels, and the government had turned a blind eye. On a nationwide tour, Newly Elected President Chan had come down to Georgia for a visit to congratulate Governor Read and to initiate a new policy that derestricted the use of androids as employees. Two million Georgians rose up in protest. No one knows what spark lit the powder keg, but when the smoke cleared, over a million Lower-Cs were dead, including my mother.
CHAPTER 4
The doors to the train slammed shut about a quarter to seven. The sun had already set, and I was about four blocks from home. The escalator took me to ground level. A few pedestrians entered magnabuses which floated off to their respective destinations. I put my earbuds in my ears, making sure the sound was low enough for me to hear anything coming, but loud enough to listen to some slow rock music.
I took North Avenue toward Northside Drive, because the East-West trains stopped running five years ago. I personally think it was just a way for the
government to not maintain the tracks since most of them led to the Lower-C areas. I wasn’t too worried about anything because I had my ringer with me. It was a high frequency weapon that looked like an old-fashioned hand buzzer. If I cupped someone’s ear with it, they’d have a nice splitting headache for a few hours.
The streets near the Georgia Meadows Apartments were calm. People call the region between the 85/95 Connector and Northside Street “the Meadows,” but truthfully, the name is for apartments that were created from the buildings of an old technical college. Most of the buildings were rented out to Lower-Cs who just wanted a place to stay within the law. Sure, there’d always be the one person selling cocaine or R-Eye-P, but the owners were pretty good about sniffing those people out. The R-Eye-P users were easy to distinguish. The stuff made your skin turn blue. Dhyla said the skin discoloration was a symptom of the drug cutting off blood to your brain.
I didn’t expect much trouble along this path, and because I lived on the other side of the Georgia Meadows, I was glad it was relatively safe. I could have taken Ivan Allen Jr. Blvd, but I decided against it because there’d been four shootouts over there in the last month and a half.
Before I made it to Luckie Street, a rumble roared over the sidewalk. I scanned the buildings and pulled my backpack tighter around me. The sound drew nearer, and yelling echoed against the brick-walled businesses. It had to be a gang or something worse. People killed for food, credits, medicine—everything.
Adrenaline blasted into my veins. My heart raced, the heavy beats thundering in my ears.
I popped off the earphones. Circling, the sound bounced from everywhere and nowhere. Frantically, I searched for a place to run. I had most of the money that I had stolen on my fob, and I needed to get back home to make sure it was safe.
I didn’t like surprises. I’m not even sure I liked people. I’d learned that most of them don’t want to help. They want to hurt. With distant voices drawing closer, shivers spread down my spine and lodged in my knees.
The sound intensified like thunder. The hairs along my neck rose.
Panicked, I exhaled and decided to run for it. If I could make it to Marietta Street, I had a chance. Before I made it ten yards, a horde of teenagers and twenty-somethings whipped around the corner. They all had on face masks. Some masks covered their eyes, some covered their mouths, and some were painted on. Ripped jeans, faded shirts, and torn jackets clothed their bodies. Rumbles vibrated through the concrete.
My body twitched. My breath tore in and out of my lungs. Panic radiated over my being.
A gang attack was the worst thing that could happen. They would strip everything from me, kill me, and leave my body to rot on the street.
Before I could take two steps back, the first stranger passed by me, a second, then a third. All of them dashed by me as though I wasn’t even there. Even so, my stomach turned. If they weren’t going to rob me, they would trample me to death and take my few possessions. I jolted toward the building nearest me and put my back to the wall. I would at least put up the best fight I could.
My body trembled. A million ideas ran through my mind. Death had finally caught me, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I closed my eyes for a brief moment to prepare for the first blow.
Nothing came.
I opened my eyes. Slight shoves bobbled my body, barely moving me as the teenage horde passed by, heading up North Avenue toward the heart of the city. After they were gone, I took a step out onto the sidewalk and watched them run away.
None of this made any sense. I was used to being invisible to Middle and Upper-Cs, but they were Lower-C. They saw me. Why didn’t they attack me? What were they so excited about? Nothing was ever that important. My mind filled with all sorts of questions and concerns. I had existed on these streets for two years and no one was this fortunate—no one.
One of them turned back toward me. His eyes smiled, but I couldn’t see his mouth. Even in the midst of the aqua street lights, I could tell his eyes were a pure gray.
“Gray-Eyed Fox,” I whispered.
After flashing me a curious expression, he spun back around and jumped into the air, screaming along with the others.
My mind twisted trying to put together all the pieces. I began to create a backstory for the Gray-Eyed Fox. He had to be at the Perimeter Market because he wanted to see the news feed. So he was either new to the organization or was the arrogant jerk that led it. In my mind, people who did these things are always arrogant jerks, and so far, I hadn’t been wrong. But why was he here, and what was he doing with the eighty or so others?
I started to consider it, but dismissed the idea from my mind. Whatever trouble he was starting wasn’t my concern. More than likely half of that horde would be dead by morning or in jail. I was alive and free. I still had my fob, and I was only a few blocks from home. Those were the only things that mattered.
My hand covered my heart to steady it. After a deep breath, I spun around toward home.
A fluttering sound quickened through the sky and a flash dashed through the darkness. A second later, a gigantic explosion lit up the sky right above me. A deafening boom echoed off the buildings and streets.
White and blue flames shot out in all directions, brighter than anything I had ever seen. As my head craned to follow the blaze, a few small pieces of debris shot past me and bounced on the pavement. The explosion had to be at least a mile above my head. The burning object screamed across the sky, dark smoke billowing behind it. The object crashed in the same direction the teenage horde ran—the bottom tier of the Interstate.
My chest swelled and contracted in quick pulses. I shrank down to the ground.
Then, without another thought, I dashed toward the impact site. The flames lit up the night sky. Smaller explosions thundered from the impact, rumbling the ground. I ran up a small incline. The object landed onto the lowest level of the Interstate system connector which runs through downtown.
The teenage horde screamed and yelled as they climbed down and up the stacked highway. Magnacars screeched to stops or turned around. Hundreds of civilians sped away in all directions, including toward me.
I had to see the wreckage. I had to see it for myself.
I reached the edge of the Interstate and rammed my fingers into the chain-link fence. Below me was the same thing I had watched earlier that day on the news. A large, white object cracked in pieces. The wings, tail, a few solar panels, and fuselage were all visible. My heart refused to beat, sitting like a rock in my chest. The broken object was a surveillance drone, the same as the one in the news feed.
“How?” I asked no one in particular. “This is crazy.”
Everything from excitement to fear to pure joy blasted through my veins. I was confused on what I should be feeling. This was impossible—monumental, yet here the drone lay, destroyed in the street.
A twenty-something boy zipped atop a car-sized chuck of debris and began waving the fifty-two starred flag. I hadn’t seen that flag since I was back in middle school. I had seen it in pictures, yes, but not live, in the flesh. Just waving that flag was an invitation for the government’s wrath.
What were these idiots doing? The government had eyes everywhere. Police flew down to a crisis in the blink of an eye. Which was why I stayed under the radar and avoided danger at all cost. I survived. If you challenged the government, they came and slapped—no, knocked—you back into your place. Upper and Middle-Cs hurt Lower-Cs. They destroyed us all the way down to nothing, to Class Zero—to death.
Class Zero meant freedom from all of the classes. It meant the origin, but over the years freedom became almost synonymous with dying. Leaving this plane of existence was the only true way out.
I stood there for a moment, curious and spellbound to the events happening around me, but in the back of my mind, I heard Dhyla telling me to run—not walk—but run home. I couldn’t. My feet locked to that spot. My brain churned trying to understand what this would accomplish. I wanted to know, needed to
know.
My heart raced inside of me. Dhyla’s voice screamed within my mind. Soon I yelled her words aloud as if they were my own. “Get away, Paeton. Get away, now!”
My limbs energized as the statements escaped my mouth. My right foot took a step backward. I turned away. With my chest aching, I dashed down North Avenue, away from the wreckage. When I was a few yards away from the Tech Street underpass, sirens blared. The concrete buildings strobed in blue and red.
Curses tore inside my throat. My mouth clamped down to hold them in.
How did the police get there so fast? They always arrived in a blink of an eye, but was I there that long? It couldn’t have been that long, two, three minutes tops.
I was usually discreet and cautious. Why didn’t I rush home? I’d already had one miracle today. Did I really think I’d get another?
Behind me, several police officers placed orange barriers onto the street and turned on force field generators. Energy from the generators bubbled outward like a liquid. The field slowly slid to the left, right, and into the sky. The field crackled into other fields, containing the whole region.
I was out of the field area. Maybe, I had gotten away. Maybe, they secured their line at Piedmont.
Something grabbed me, and my feet lost contact with the ground. In a blur, I whizzed through the air only to be slammed into a metal door. Pain pulsed from my left shoulder. A trickle slid from my eyes as terror took hold of me.
“Where you going, girl?” a rough, male voice said.
The world blurred around me through the tears sliding over my eyes. My mind buzzed. Two cops stood in front of me. One was human, the other was android.
This couldn’t be happening. I was so careful. I had used up all my luck.
The human cop shook me. “I said, where you going?”
My breath shot out of my mouth in waves. With vibrations sliding up my back and down my legs, the human cop grabbed my chin and forced me to face him.
“Okay, I’m going to say this one more time. Where are you going?” the human cop asked.
