The Blind Spot

by Michael Robertson

  “Thank you, Pierre.” A look at Marcie, the woman’s eyes bright yellow, she nodded. “And what a pleasure it is to meet you, young lady. May you be as brave, noble, and fair as your father.”

  The woman missed out controlling. Although Marcie understood; he feared he’d lose his daughter like he’d lost his wife. But she didn’t have to like it. And when she moved to Scala City, she didn’t have to abide it. She nodded at the smiling woman, or at least, the shine in her eyes suggested she was smiling, and followed Pierre back out into the lashing rain.

  They’d turned down several streets, Pierre continuing his fast march and Marcie having to keep pace. When they turned off the next street, Marcie said, “So what made you work for my dad?”

  Other than a workshop specialising in cybernetic enhancements, there were no shops or businesses before they reached the brothels and slack dens of the red-light district. The Blind Spot’s largest industries, many of them were clumped together for convenience. “Your dad found me and offered me a way out.”

  “A way out?”

  They navigated several masked citizens, all of them swaying as if they were walking the decks of different boats in different storms. “My family are all either pimps, slack dealers, or prostitutes. Male and female. As much as I love them, I hated being around that, you know?”

  She didn’t. She shrugged.

  “A lot of pimps take slack all day and night to keep them going. They have to deal with nasty shit on a daily basis. I dunno, maybe I’m too sensitive to live that kind of life. Besides, I didn’t want to turn into a slack-jaw like most of my family.”

  Marcie jogged a few steps to keep pace with him.

  “Some of the johns were horrible.” His gruff voice cracked when he said, “My own mother was a sex worker. The number of times I saw her covered in bruises from a night’s work …” His words trailed away and he stared off into the distance. A glaze covered his black eyes before he shook his head. “I dunno, it kind of got to me after a while.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to live with. So why doesn’t something get done about it? The treatment of the sex workers, I mean.”

  “The johns get told they’re out of line, and the ones who are violent get refused entry when they try to come back, if we can spot them.”

  “The anonymity masks?”

  “Right. But as you know, the Blind Spot’s economy is built on the credits that come in from the city. We wash them, take our ten percent, and the city dwellers get away with whatever they like. Within reason.”

  “And beating sex workers is within reason?”

  “You have to give warnings before you can act upon them. And, like I said, it’s almost impossible to know if it’s a repeat offender.”

  A group of eight people walked past. Every one of them wore an anonymity mask. Based on their frames, Marcie could guess their gender but nothing else. They laughed and joked, their voices modulated through the masks to protect their identities.

  Jean then emerged from the engineer’s workshop on their left. All three of them halted.

  “What are you doing here?” Pierre said.

  Jean winced. “I wanted to make sure they weren’t doing anything untoward in there. There’s a big trend of FGM at the moment in the city, and rumour has it that some of the engineers are facilitating the sick bastards. Can you pay extra attention to the engineers’ washing machines in case you see any anomalies?” She then smiled at Marcie, leaned forward, and rubbed the top of her arm. Her smile dropped again. “There are some horrible people in Scala City.”

  “I always pay extra attention,” Pierre said.

  “Of course you do,” Jean said. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Jean then winked at Marcie and walked away. A second later, Pierre entered the workshop and Marcie followed.

  After they’d taken the Blind Spot’s ten percent from the engineer’s washing machine, Pierre and Marcie continued towards the red-light district. Every drop of rain now stung the top of Marcie’s head.

  “So you left the game?” Marcie said.

  “Your dad saw how good I was with numbers, and he needed an accountant. Maybe he could sense I was unhappy where I was.” A lowered voice, he covered his mouth with his hand. “I didn’t exactly hide the fact.”

  “So he gave you a job?”

  “He did.”

  “A job that meant you had to come to your family to collect their taxes? That must have been awkward.”

  “You saw how that shopkeeper reacted earlier, right? And then the engineer?”

  “Yeah, that did puzzle me. Aren’t people supposed to hate the taxman.”

  Pierre pulled on his lapels. Despite at least half an hour of rain, it hadn’t dented his immaculate presentation. His hair had to be synthetic. “When I first started working for your dad, the top table took twenty-five percent.”

  “So why only take ten now?”

  “Because we get more money by taking ten percent.”

  Marcie stopped in her tracks, several more city dwellers passing them as Pierre stopped with her. “But if you take fewer credits, how can you have more money?”

  “We take more credits.”

  “But you dropped from twenty-five percent to ten.”

  “And took away the desire to avoid paying tax. When we made it fairer, a lot more people weren’t prepared to take the risk of avoiding it. We punish fewer people, we receive more money, and they greet us with a smile on their face.”

  “Ahhh. Clever.”

  “We had to promise the residents that we would wipe the slate clean and forget about who had paid what in the past. We gave them the opportunity to start again, so if they were skimming credits before, they didn’t have to worry about being found out.”

  “But if they do it now?”

  “You saw the woman in the dungeon beneath the top table.”

  They reached the red-light district and Pierre sighed. “This is my family’s alley.”

  It had looked different when Marcie had been there last, but not so different she didn’t recognise it. They were close to the crossroads where she’d tricked the slack dealer into taking her to the Eye.

  Because she had no mask on, and most people knew Marcie’s age, more people stared at her here than they had anywhere else in the Blind Spot. Minors weren’t allowed in these parts. Having Pierre at her side kept the questions away.

  “Although this is my family’s alley, they all work independently of one another. One pimp has two sex workers at the most.”

  Marcie’s paranoia quickened her pulse as they moved along the street towards the crossroads. Surely the dealer she’d tricked wasn’t related to Pierre. “To avoid monopolies in the Blind Spot?”

  “Right.”

  Because she didn’t want to look in the direction of the crossroads, Marcie took in the people and androids on either side of the street. Sex workers danced in windows. Fat men and women, skinny men and women, men and women with amputations and strange devices where limbs once were. Dwarves, giants, and if she looked hard enough, she’d probably find a slathering orc in a dark corner. Each one had its own booth, the red lights mixing with the neon, reflecting in the puddles pooling on the street. Many of the sex workers knocked on the glass at the passing punters. Some tried to be alluring; some promised violence. Almost half of the booths had their curtains drawn.

  Pierre’s presence brought many of the workers into the street with their washing machines. Most of them greeted him with hugs. A lot of them, although lacking his grace, shared his pale, angular appearance.

  When a woman, younger than most of those who had come out to see him, greeted Pierre, Marcie’s breath caught in her throat. As well as the familial resemblance, she wore a concerned frown.

  “What’s wrong?” Pierre said.

  The woman shook her head. “Horace has gone.”

  Marcie’s heart flipped as Pierre looked in the direction of the crossroads. “Gone?”

&n
bsp; “Gone. We don’t know where he is. He vanished a few days ago and we’ve not seen him since.”

  Pierre scowled. “This is my sister, Becky. Horace is our brother.”

  The woman and Marcie stared at one another.

  “Do you think he’s run away?” Pierre said.

  “No. Why would he? I think something’s happened to him.”

  Marcie breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Maybe they weren’t talking about the same person. The urge to run shuddered through her legs, the cybernetics twitching and firing. Maybe she should just tell him what happened. But the Eye had done her a huge favour. She couldn’t sell him out to save her own arse.

  When Pierre marched off towards the crossroads, Marcie fought the urge to run the other way.

  Chapter 25

  All three of them walked at Pierre’s pace. Becky’s eyes were black like her brother’s and they bored into Marcie. Hard to read her thoughts. Did she want to question Marcie or punch her? Becky walked with a practiced sway before she finally said, “I bet you’re wondering what my cybernetic enhancement is.”

  Heat flushed Marcie’s cheeks.

  Pierre glared at his sister.

  “I’ll give you a clue, its reputation is much more visible than it is.” Becky winked. “It’s as tight as a pencil sharpener down there.” A leering grin, she added, “Tighter if I want it to be.”

  A slight tremble ran through Marcie and she dropped her focus to the ground. Life as a prisoner in her own home hadn’t prepared her for this. Beyond awkward conversations with Sal, where neither of them could truly say how they felt, she’d not gone anywhere near the topic of sex.

  As Becky’s cackling laugh died down, Pierre shook his head. “Remember you’re talking to Wrench’s daughter. Leave it out.”

  Becky’s smile dropped. She clearly hadn’t recognised Marcie. She faced forward, lifted her chin, stuck her tits out, and matched her brother stride for stride.

  They arrived at the same crossroads Marcie had been to in her anonymity mask. The same corner she’d found the slack dealer on. The washing machine he’d used to take her credits hung from the cable where he’d left it. Dealers weren’t allowed to make sales anywhere but in their designated areas.

  Pierre threw his arms up in a shrug. “Where the hell is he? He’s always here.”

  “I know, right?” Becky said.

  Pierre removed a set of keys and detached Horace’s washing machine from the wall.

  “What are you doing?” Marcie said.

  “We need to take his washing machine and get it hacked. I want to know who he’s dealt with in the past few days.” Pierre turned to his sister again. “Are he and the Eye still friends?”

  “Um …” Marcie said, and the other two looked at her. “Don’t you think we should take the credits back to the top table first?” She needed to get to the Eye before they did.

  “The Eye’s shop is just around the corner,” Becky said. “He won’t take long. He’s the best hacker in the Blind Spot. If anyone can trace the credits and maybe shed some light on where our brother is, it’s him.”

  Her throat too dry to reply, Marcie simply nodded.

  Chapter 26

  The Eye’s mouth fell open when Marcie, Becky, and Pierre entered his shop. An even lighter shade of pale than Pierre and Becky, the Eye flushed red and shook his head. “What’s up?”

  “You seen Horace lately?”

  The Eye glanced at Marcie again before he briefly dropped his attention to a large metal hatch by his feet. “No. Why?”

  “He’s disappeared.”

  While they spoke, the Eye handed his own washing machine to Pierre, who slipped his card inside, numbers flashing on the screen as he released his funds while taking the top table’s ten percent. He then handed Horace’s washing machine to the albino man. “I need you to trace all of the transactions on here and let me have them in the morning, okay?”

  Repeated nods, but no words, the Eye took the washing machine and glanced at Marcie again.

  “Will you be okay to crack this in a day?” Marcie said.

  “Of course he will,” Becky said.

  The Eye nodded slowly.

  Pierre said, “We’ll talk soon, okay?”

  “Yep. Fine.”

  And with that, Pierre and Becky walked out of the Eye’s workshop. Just before Marcie followed them, the Eye gripped the top of her arm in a tight squeeze and spoke through a clenched jaw. “If you didn’t want to keep our secret, you would have just ratted me out then.”

  “And?”

  “And you need to remember that I’ve got something on you too. I won’t tell them you paid credits to Horace, but you’d best have my back when I need it.”

  Marcie snapped her arm away from him and walked out of the shop.

  Chapter 27

  What did it matter if Nick rode the bus? Not much different from riding with Bruce for all those years. It went directly to Wellbeing Square on account of it being the most desirable and most important place to work. And the seats were fine, if a little dirty. He’d have to shower or at the very least wipe himself down when he got into the office. Being surrounded by so many strangers made his skin crawl, but the air purifiers did their best, a fresh hit of menthol lining his mouth.

  The bus around him was alive with platitudes. When people in Scala City had time to kill, what else could they do but try to make those they knew feel better about themselves? The first snow of winter fell as they weaved through the shiny metropolis.

  The first time in twenty years where he hadn’t had someone to talk to on the way to work. Who was Nick kidding? No matter how he framed it, the bus ride and Bruce’s car had very few things in common other than their destination.

  The compliments grew in volume.

  “… wonderful …”

  “… best friend ever …”

  “… great girlfriend …”

  They slammed against Nick’s skull like a woodpecker interrogating a tree. As much as he wanted to cover his ears, he didn’t have it in him. Such public statements were reserved for people like Graham. And if that little prick said anything to him today …

  “… wonderful person …”

  “… friend for life …”

  Maybe everyone’s gratitude would have been more palatable had he woken to more than nine lifts that morning. Not even double figures. His best mate and his love gone, and apparently the rest of the world had forgotten about him too. He leaned his head against the window. The cold press slowly turned his skin numb.

  Nick then straightened in his seat. He had to go into work today and be a boss. His role was to motivate and inspire. He couldn’t let his staff down. But the words kept coming.

  “… kind …”

  “… amazing …”

  “… best …”

  Every platitude had barbs that hooked onto him when they flew past. They stung as they lingered long enough to remind him they were destined for someone else; then they ripped free with an eye-watering tear.

  A car similar to Bruce’s flew over the top of them. The traffic zipped through the air, the vehicles a matter of feet from one another. The highway mainframe turned the sky into a cramped fish tank of flying steel.

  They passed the dome covering the Blind Spot down to Nick’s left. The grimy entrance poked from the bubble of anonymity. Who would want to go in there? Especially after the attacks?

  Nick heaved another sigh. Tears itched his eyes, and the entrance to sin and debauchery blurred. They’d go to war with them soon. It would be catastrophic. Who would have thought such a small section of a city could hold the rest of it to ransom? They should have crushed them before it got to this point. Now they needed to risk destruction so they could rebuild. Most of Scala City would agree; the Blind Spot needed to be taken down. Get rid of slack, prostitution, and crime. Get rid of the Pandora hack. Who in their right mind would use that thing anyway?

  They left the Blind Spot behind, Nick s
hifting around to continue watching it. What would it be like to have sex with a cyborg? Also, it must be nice to be free from surveillance, even if just for a few hours. To know you could speak without being conscious of Wellbeing Incorporated.

  A shake of his head, Nick faced the front again. The snow fell harder. The people on the bus continued their chatter. Platitudes flew through the air like the vehicles around them. Very little truth attached to them, many would still land and mean something to someone somewhere. Hell, they’d mean something to Nick if they landed in his inbox.

  Then Nick saw him in a seat on the opposite side of the aisle. Nausea locked his stomach. Someone like him. Well, someone very unlike him, but in that moment, they were kin. Both were sitting on the bus, tight-lipped while the world around them spewed empty words.

  A nod in the direction of Nick’s window as if to say he’d just seen where he’d been looking, Graham then winked at him before he turned and looked out of his own window, his lips tightly pressed in a smug smile.

  Chapter 28

  It didn’t matter how many times she’d visited, butterflies still danced in Marcie’s stomach when she approached the house. In the past, she’d laid the blame for her apprehension on her father as her chaperone. Since her mum had died, being around her dad wound her tighter than his controlling grip. But things had changed now he’d given her a place at the top table. Sure, they still had a long road to travel before the healing started, and he still tried to control her by telling her when she could and couldn’t run through the city, but she couldn’t blame him for her current giddy apprehension, which turned up another notch as she closed in on the large metal gates.

  Too much time had passed since she’d last seen Sal. At least it put her dealings with the Eye to the back of her mind, even though nothing would remove the mental image of the blood splatter from the slack dealer’s brains hitting the wall. Also, she’d put off returning to his workshop yesterday, but she had to get to him this morning before Pierre. She had to make sure everything went okay with the washing machine. A heavy snow that morning, it landed cold pinpricks against her skin when she reached out and pressed the doorbell for his bedroom.