The high-pitched whine of a saw cutting through bone shot from an open door and pulled Marcie’s shoulders into her neck. They left it behind, the sound drowned out by the booming beat of a brothel, cyborg men and women dancing in the windows. Even now, at seven thirty in the morning, life coursed through the place. Whatever your fancy, the Blind Spot provided. If you had the credits, they were open for business. They didn’t discriminate as long as no one got hurt or exploited. Once a year, someone might push their luck and ask a brothel if they had children available … they were sent back to Scala City with their anonymity mask removed. If they were caught by one of the few CCTV drones, they could expect a visit from the city’s police at the least. They’d often get a mark on their record for life. It didn’t take long for most of them to find their way to the shadows beneath Obsolete Bridge. Too fucking right. If they were caught in the Blind Spot asking for a second time, they were sent home in pieces.
The neon sign on the next shop pulsed from deep purple to warm red. A dub bass shook the ground directly outside. Mattresses covered the floor, many of the slack-jaws passed out on them. Their anonymity masks hid their identity. If Marcie believed the hype, every one of those limp bodies were riding the astral highways of their own private utopia. And that might be the case, but the addiction was real. Utopia or not, when they weren’t on it, they were running scared through the collapsing tunnels of their own private hell. But they were adults; they paid their credits and made their choice.
Heavy breaths from maintaining their quick march, Marcie followed Frankie around the next bend and into a larger shop than many of the others they’d passed. Obsoletes everywhere. Bald men and women, tattooed Os on their foreheads. They were cleaning the clothes of the Blind Spot residents. At least, the Blind Spot residents who could afford to have their clothes cleaned. On quite a few occasions, when she’d been staring out of her bedroom window, dreaming of going somewhere other than her house, Marcie had seen obsoletes drop off their clean and pressed washing. So many of them so close to her sent her pulse racing. Only natural considering what had happened.
A palpable change in atmosphere rippled as Frankie and his anonymous sidekick walked through the place. Although the obsoletes clearly tried to focus on their work, many of them threw glances their way.
A Blind Spot resident appeared from the back room. In her sixties at least, she had a grey bob, and her skin was so wrinkled her mouth looked like a puckered arsehole. Clearly the owner or manager of the place. Although she flashed a smile at Frankie, her narrow green eyes betrayed her true sentiment.
While Frankie talked to the manageress, two people moved in the shadows of the back room. Marcie’s eyes saw them as a threat. Nothing new there, but the red circles remained red rather than shifting to amber and finally to green.
“We know you haven’t been paying the obsoletes a fair wage …” Frankie said.
The red circles pulsed. Although the woman replied to Frankie, clearly arguing her case, Marcie didn’t hear her words, her focus on her two friends drawing their guns. Citizens of the Blind Spot were allowed to carry weapons. They were even allowed to kill if they had a strong justification for it. The two figures hiding in the shadows hadn’t drawn their weapons for self-defence. Besides, Frankie and Marcie were Blind Spot officials. They were almost as untouchable as tourists.
“How do you expect us to run a business?” The woman’s voice rose in pitch.
Marcie’s pulse quickened.
Frankie moved so fast, Marcie’s eyes worked overtime to keep up. He grabbed the woman, spun her around, and slammed her, face first, over the wooden table in front of them. She winced and screamed, her shoulder blade standing out from where he pushed her arm towards breaking. “You’re flouting our rules and have just admitted to it. We don’t have many, but we have zero tolerance when one of them is broken.” He pushed the sharp silver tip of his knife against the base of her skull.
The targets in Marcie’s eyes swelled and flashed.
Two people burst from the back room, wearing anonymity masks. Marcie jumped at Frankie. Propelled by her cybernetics, she tackled him, her velocity sending both of them away from the spray of bullets. The woman he’d pinned to the table didn’t fare as well, standing up into the line of fire. One of the bullets hit her in the side of her head, exploding out the other side with a spray of blood and brain matter. The woman folded to the ground. The obsoletes screamed and dived for cover.
Marcie sprang to life. Her eyes fed information to her microprocessor, which drove her movements. She could override it if she chose to, but it always made the better choices. Pure objective calculations. She drew their attackers’ fire. The bullets followed her path, tracking her as she ran for several steps along a wall. Before the bullets caught up to her, she leapt at them. Feet first, she slammed into the chest of the first one. Her legs hit the person like a jackhammer. Their neck made an audible crack, their head falling limp as they slumped to the ground.
Her arms as powerful as her legs, Marcie punched the mask clean off the next one’s face. The blow left his chin hanging limp.
Rocking from her adrenaline-fuelled pants, Marcie stood over their two attackers. Frankie had only just sat up. The obsoletes watched her from their hiding places.
“What are you doing?” Frankie shouted, getting to his feet and walking over.
“Most people would say thank you.”
“Most people would say what the hell are you doing? Imagine if I had to go back to Wrench and tell him his daughter died while out with me.”
So much for her anonymity. Although, in a room filled with obsoletes, what did it matter?
“Imagine if I had to go back and tell Dad I’d watched you die,” Marcie said. “Imagine if I had to tell Sal.”
Frankie’s frame sagged and he turned to the room of obsoletes. “We came here to make sure you’re getting a fair wage. That didn’t happen under your old management, and they clearly weren’t open to changing it. We’ll get new people in, and we’ll make sure you earn a living from working here.”
A sea of bald heads and faces, their mouths hanging open like the Os on their foreheads.
“You know,” Frankie hissed at Marcie as the obsoletes returned to their work, “your dad said we needed to look after you. That you’re only a kid and you’ll probably get under our feet, but we have to use every drop of patience we have. I can see why he thinks you’ll be a liability. What you just did was stupid. Now let’s go before you get us both killed.”
The glazed glances of obsoletes followed Marcie and Frankie from the laundry. Her dad might want her to remain in the Blind Spot, but she’d yet to see a single reason to stay.
Chapter 10
Marcie and Frankie hadn’t spoken since they’d left the laundry. They’d been asked to do that one job and return to the top table. From the pace Frankie maintained, it couldn’t be over soon enough. Although the exercise helped combat the early morning chill.
They took a different route back. Marcie had lived in the Blind Spot for her entire life, but she’d spent so little time on its streets, she could still get lost. She knew the city better and that was over ten times the size.
They walked alongside one of the city’s huge external walls. So tall it made her dizzy to look up it, although its height had nothing on the Apollo Tower. Even at the slimmest parts, the walls were fifty metres thick.
When they came to a crude tunnel leading out to the wastelands, Marcie stopped and gasped. Two guards stood on either side of the entrance. “What’s that?”
“It’s a way out.”
“A way out?”
“To the agricultural lands.”
Or the ‘wastelands,’ as many people called them. “Why would anyone want to go there?”
“Where do you think the kidneys go that we harvest from our corpses? We don’t need them all, and they’re worth a fortune to Prime City. They pay well for them, and that trade helps keep the Blind Spot afloat.”
&nb
sp; “Do any organs come in? Like, say, lungs?”
Frankie balled his fists and ground his jaw. “Lungs are available to those who can afford them. If we could harvest them here, we would, but we don’t have the skills to do it. Prime City controls the organ trade and supplies a lot of the satellite cities with machines designed to remove specific organs.”
“And we got kidneys?”
“Correct.”
“So why are lungs so expensive?”
“All organs are. The cost reflects how dangerous they are to transport. You’re risking your life in the agricultural lands as it is. If you’re carrying organs, you might as well have a target on your back.”
“So the organs get left out in the wild when the courier dies?”
“No, the organs always make it across, but rarely in the same hands that took them out of Prime City. They reckon every organ delivered to us kills at least three couriers en route.”
“Why don’t we just kill a courier for their organs and save the other two?”
“That’s a bit ruthless.”
“Some might say practical.”
“Like I said, we don’t have the tech to remove lungs, and while the lungs are mostly organic, Prime City manipulates them with nanotech that makes sure they adjust to whichever host needs them. We’ve tried and failed many times. Prime City keep their techniques close to their chest.”
“I didn’t even realise there was a solution for Sal.”
“Because there isn’t.”
“But you just said—”
“It’s a pipe dream, Marcie. No one in the Blind Spot has the kind of credits needed, and no one will travel the wastelands to collect them from Prime City.”
“Why can’t someone take a hover car across?”
“Magnets.”
“Huh?”
“Magnetic fields keep the vehicles in the sky. The second you go outside the city, they’re useless. Jesus, girl, you have a lot to learn.” Frankie walked away from the tunnel, leaving Marcie to look down it at the light at the other end.
Around the next corner, Marcie caught up to Frankie and followed him down the dark alleyway she’d followed her dad down. The rusty metal door at the end brought back the tortured woman’s screams. Although, she must have known the consequences for bringing surveillance into the Blind Spot. She’d made a choice to take that risk. Probably let someone convince her she’d be one of those who wouldn’t get caught. Also, if the surveillance had anything to do with heightening tensions for the impending war, then she deserved everything she got.
Frankie threw three heavy bangs against the door.
Shank opened it and looked them up and down as they entered. She then led them to the stairs up to the meeting room.
The dead woman remained strapped to the table, her brains staining the wall behind her. She’d soon be dropped in the city as a warning.
Across the room, Marcie saw a doorway she hadn’t noticed the first time. “Um,” she said.
Both Frankie and Shank stopped mid-climb.
“Is that the bathroom?”
“Yep,” Shank said.
“Great, I’ll see you upstairs in a minute.”
Marcie walked slowly to the bathroom as they ascended the stairs. Their footsteps now above her, the door at the top clicking shut, she rushed to the corpse. She removed her knife from her belt and wrapped the dead woman’s grip around the handle. Her hands were clumsy with adrenaline. In the laundry, Frankie had told her she did nothing but got in the way. Now she had the woman’s prints, she’d show him. She’d show him exactly what she could do when she ended the threat of a war between the city and the Blind Spot.
Chapter 11
Most people didn’t smile when they walked into work, although they knew they were lucky. They had a job in a zero-hours-contract economy. When employers could terminate anyone without notice, you came to work with a heart filled with gratitude. But few people could say they loved their career like Nick did—and today of all days. He’d overcome his fears. He’d walked through Wellbeing Square with his head held high. He’d even stopped to chat to a cleaner, to thank them for keeping the place spick and span. Screw the onlookers, the cleaners deserved praise. And screw the rats from the Blind Spot, they wouldn’t stop him living his life.
As he walked through the front door of Standard Incorporated, the sharp bite of the air conditioning hit him harder than the fresh winter he’d just left behind. Not a grand building by any means, especially compared to some of the corporate monoliths overlooking Wellbeing Square, but Standard Incorporated’s offices sat in a prime location. They traded on the prestige of their area code.
The sixteen stairs took the breath from Nick’s lungs, as they did every morning. He paused at the top to recover and hopefully keep his sweating at bay, even with the air conditioning set so low. Whatever Bruce’s reason for lying to him, today would be a good day. He shoved the door open, walked in, and flung his arms wide. “Here I am.”
The three people Nick loved the most at work, Adam, Jane, and Michelle, were all standing nearby. All of them were smiling. “What’s the joke? I bet it was something Adam said. He’s the funniest man I know.”
Adam’s cheeks flushed and he batted Nick’s comment away. A short man, he had thick black hair, pale white skin, and slightly buck teeth. He brought the laughs. What he lacked in looks and stature, he made up for in abundance with personality. Everyone loved someone who made them happy.
“Thank you all for the kind things you said about me since the attack,” Nick said. “It made me sad they closed the square yesterday, so I couldn’t get into work. It made your lifts even more special.”
Adam stepped forward. “And how are you? I saw the footage of the explosion. How did you not break anything?”
The side of his head still tender, Nick reached up to it and shrugged. “It was a good thing the impact knocked me out.”
“Yeah, probably for the best,” Jane said. A blonde woman in her late twenties, she had a body to die for and a dazzling smile.
Michelle fixed Nick with her warm brown eyes and gave him a hug. Jane did the same, pulling away when Nick held on that little bit too long. Before Adam could do anything, Nick raised his fists. “Don’t you even think about it. I ain’t like that.” They all laughed. Man, he loved coming to work.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Michelle said before she returned to her office.
A dip of his head, Nick said, “Thank you.” The rest of them returned to their desks. They needed to be close to their phones. Standard Incorporated provided a human on the other end of the line rather than automation. A service they could charge a premium for. They managed the calls for many of Scala City’s corporations. In a world of machines, they were the human touch. Some clients just phoned for a chat.
Nick only noticed the boy when he sat down. A young man with mousy-brown gelled hair. He wore a well-fitted suit.
“Forgive me,” Nick said, crossing the office to the boy. The kid couldn’t have been any older than eighteen. “I’m Nick, although, you can call me boss.” He couldn’t keep a straight face for long. He winked at Adam. “Only joking. Just call me sir.”
Behind him, Adam snorted a laugh.
“Seriously,” Nick said, “Nick’s fine.”
The boy shook his hand. “Graham.”
“Oh my god,” Nick said.
Graham raised his eyebrows.
“You know who you look like? Adam”—Nick pointed at Graham—“you can see it, can’t you?”
Adam tilted his head to one side and frowned. Within seconds, his smile widened as he nodded.
“It’s Bruce, isn’t it?” Nick said. “He’s the spit of him.”
“My god, it is,” Adam said. “Mind if we call you Bruce?”
Not his approval, but when Graham didn’t reply, Nick said, “Bruce it is, then.” Both Nick and Adam laughed. “Bruce is my best mate in the whole world. He comes in here all the time. You’ll meet him soon, no doub
t. He’ll be stoked to see he has a clone. You’ll love him.”
The new kid must have left his sense of humour at home that morning. The measure of a man often aligned with his Wellbeing score. Impolite to ask, but Nick had to know. “I woke up to seventeen lifts this morning.” While pointing at Adam and Jane, he added, “Those two are monsters on it. They get thirty plus every single day. Although Jane’s an amazing singer, and Adam is the funniest man I know, so I don’t expect to compete with that.”
Graham smiled. Polite while he listened.
“So how did you do today?” Nick said.
“Um …”
“Come on, don’t be shy.”
“I … um …”
The air thickened with anticipation. Nick shrugged. “Spit it out, son.”
“I don’t do it. I’ve never downloaded the app.”
“What?”
“I don’t do it.”
The attention of the room on them, Nick shrugged. “Why not?”
“What someone else thinks about me is none of my business. Unless they want to tell me directly. Besides, I can’t live my life looking for the approval of others. I try to be the best person I can, but to edit myself in case it stops people talking about me … therein lies the road to madness. Besides, you don’t believe that bullshit, do you?”
Rigidity snapped through Nick. He pushed his lips together. What kind of a person didn’t care about how their behaviour affected others?
“It’s all so fake,” Graham went on. “No one means any of the things they say on the app. If I was to ever get the Wellbeing app, I’d want to balance it out with the Pandora hack. Just to keep my feet on the ground.”
Nick scoffed, “The Pandora hack is the path to madness, not the Wellbeing app. Why would you want to know all the bad things people say about you?”
“Not just the bad things. It sends you the neutral ones too. Besides, it’s better to see the knife before you feel cold steel between your shoulder blades.”
After letting the silence hang, Nick said, “If you need anything, give me a shout, yeah?”
The Blind Spot Page 6
