The Blind Spot

by Michael Robertson

“What’s going on with you today? I said, can we continue now?”

  Her hands resting on the table in front of her, Marcie clamped them together in an attempt to prevent her shaking. What had she nearly done? So fucking certain Frankie was the rat, she nearly exposed him when he hadn’t been doing anything wrong. He might still be the rat, but what proof did she have? And if she called him out now, it would give his partner in Scala City a chance to get away. A chance to make sure this war still happened.

  “Well?” Wrench said.

  “Sorry, yeah.”

  Wrench shook his head. “I have to apologise on behalf of my daughter, she appears to have stored her brain in her arse today. I wanted to bring you all here to discuss what’s on the agenda for tomorrow.”

  Her dad’s words turned into white noise. Marcie’s brains were in her arse. She’d been too fucking certain. Too impulsive. She needed concrete proof before she called Frankie out. She needed to know more about his partner in the city.

  Jean smiled at her. If Marcie didn’t say anything about the slack-jaw in the alley, she wouldn’t either. Marcie offered a tight-lipped smile in return before dropping her attention to the dark wooden table. She had to do a lot more digging before she called out Sal’s dad for being a rat.

  Chapter 36

  His hair still wet from the shower, Nick sat at his breakfast bar, the pop and bubble of his coffee machine making his first latte of the day. He’d used full-fat milk. His phone beside him, he’d not yet listened to his lifts or even checked how many he had. Maybe for the best. Yesterday had been an all-time low with just nine. Had he become irrelevant to most people already? Maybe Graham had a point about the app. Especially when Nick’s happiness hinged on it. And why should it be any of his business what other people thought of him? Why should it be anyone’s business? But then most people understood how the Wellbeing app worked. If they said something about him, they expected him to hear it. By playing a part in how this society operated, they’d made it his business.

  The coffee machine continued in the background as Nick pressed his finger against his phone to unlock it. Two taps later and the yellow and red Wellbeing logo dominated the screen. Thirty-two! They called them lifts for a reason!

  The dark snow clouds from yesterday had gone, the bright winter sun beaming in through the large kitchen windows. The white surroundings turned the brightness up. Had it been this bright before he saw thirty-two lifts? He pressed play.

  Adam came through first with his usual praise about how Nick made him laugh and how he supported him at work. He loved his boss and couldn’t wish for a better one. Then Jane, the background noise similar to Adam’s. Were they out together last night? When a stream of random people—probably drunk and probably on the same night out as Adam and Jane—came on, Nick smiled to himself.

  While the lifts played, many of them from intoxicated strangers, Nick grinned. “I’m so lucky to have such good friends in Adam and Jane. What more could I need in these hard times, but the support of those two? They’re such a gift.”

  Before turning the app on, Nick had grown roots on his stool. Now he stood up and grabbed his tie. He’d chosen a black tie today, which he tossed aside and swapped for his red one. While throwing it around his neck, he said, “They think they’re lucky to have me as their boss. I have Stuart. He’s one of the most generous people I know. Smart, funny, kind.”

  Seven twenty-five, he needed to catch the bus in ten minutes if he stood any chance of being on time. “Coffee machine, switch to a takeaway cup.”

  Yet to pour, the machine obliged.

  By about the twentieth lift, Karla’s voice came through. Tentative and almost pained. “A good man in his heart. He had a lot of love to give.” Past tense. As more lifts came through from Karla, each one dragged a lump up into Nick’s throat. On the fourth it burst, his vision blurring, his eyes stinging. His hands shook while he finished doing his tie. When he bit the knot to hold it in place, his jaw wobbled.

  Even with tears running down his face, he still sent out lifts. “Michelle makes the day more fun. She’s such good company. I’ve never met anyone—” he had to pause to draw a stuttered breath “—as funny as Adam.”

  And then Bruce’s voice came through. “He’s a good pal. He’s always been there for me.”

  His phone a blurred red and yellow glow, Nick shook his head. “Fuck you, Bruce, you piece of shit.” Shame Bruce didn’t have the Pandora hack. Nick would send a constant stream of poison to him if he did. “You fucking rat. I ought to come over to your house and show you what your selfish actions have done. How you two bastards have broken me.”

  But he had to go to work. He couldn’t do this to himself. Couldn’t give them the satisfaction. After a long wet sniff, he nodded several times. “Jane’s a good person. Adam’s the best employee someone could hope for. He’s going to go far in the city.”

  Nick had knotted his tie so the thick side ended up shorter than the thin side. He dragged it from his neck and launched it across the room. It hit the window and fell to the floor.

  After he’d wiped his eyes, Nick typed a message to Stuart. I’m really sorry to do this, but I’m not going to be coming in today. This whole Karla and Bruce thing has hit me harder than I first thought. I’m worried my current state of mind will put a downer on the entire office. I’ll be back tomorrow.

  Although he’d typed the message, Nick stared at his phone.

  A car beeped outside.

  “Bruce?” he said, his heart lifting as he moved closer to the window. His driveway sat empty. The sound must have come from somewhere farther away. What an idiot. Why would Bruce pick him up? Why would he ever see him again?

  Nick returned to the breakfast bar via the coffee machine. A sip of the bitter and fatty liquid, he wrapped his hands around the thin cup until his palms throbbed with the heat. He then pressed send.

  Chapter 37

  After the day Marcie had had yesterday, from the tense meeting with Sal, to being stuck in a dark dungeon with a corpse, to being accosted by a slack-jaw, and then finally coming close to accusing Frankie of something she couldn’t prove, she’d gone home that night and slept. Maybe Sal had been expecting her to go out in the city. Maybe he sat alone in his room, the click, whir of his steel lungs breathing for him while he waited for her to turn the camera on in her glasses.

  A foggy head from where she hadn’t yet woken up properly, Marcie’s cybernetics were both a blessing and a curse. They took her where she needed to go, but because she moved on autopilot, they did little to stimulate her mind. Were it not for the cold bite of winter, she might have drifted back off again. Her heart heavy with guilt for letting Sal down, her stomach alive with anxiety because she had to go out with his dad today, maybe she should just go back to bed. Maybe she should sleep until this whole damn mess sorted itself out.

  “Hey!”

  Marcie jumped and spun around.

  Jean represented everything Marcie hoped she could be as a woman. Strong, smart, and maternal. When she talked, people listened, and when she walked, they stood aside. She had feline grace coupled with a predator’s poise. Even Wrench admired her. Not a misogynist by any means, he avoided women because they reminded him of the one he’d lost. “Hi, Jean.” Why didn’t she get to spend her time with her today rather than Frankie?

  “How are you doing, kid?”

  Lost in the grace of the woman, Marcie looked at the curve of her hips. Sometimes she wore trousers, sometimes she left her cybernetics exposed. Today she had tight jeans on. So tight, that whatever she carried in her pocket stood out as a lump on her hip.

  “I said,” Jean said, “how are you doing?”

  Marcie shrugged.

  “Going out with Frankie today, huh?”

  Marcie nodded and pressed her lips tightly together. It didn’t matter what she thought of Frankie, she shouldn’t be rude about him. When she had the evidence, she’d call him out, but as a member of the top table, she owed him the same resp
ect she’d give to the rest of them.

  “He’s an acquired taste. He loves his boy, and although we can all see you won’t be a threat to Sal’s happiness, he’s too overprotective.”

  But she would be a threat to Sal’s happiness. She’d leave him behind when she went to the city.

  No snow today, but not even the fierce glow of the sun made it down to the shadowy alley leading to the locked steel door. Marcie flicked to night vision. She wouldn’t get caught unawares again. No slack-jaws, but Frankie stood waiting in the darkness. A wide man, his tense shoulders so broad he needed cybernetically enhanced legs to cope with his weight.

  Frankie glared at Marcie like he knew something. What had Sal told him? As much as she loved him, he couldn’t keep secrets from his dad. When she got close—the shimmering twitches of her cybernetics working with her every step—she paused. Jean patted her back as she went to the large steel door and knocked three times.

  Marcie’s voice shook. “So, where are we going today?”

  A lingering glare, Frankie grunted, walked towards her, and then continued straight past without a word. Did he want her to follow him or remain in the alley? She followed him. He could always tell her to piss off if she’d made the wrong choice.

  They left the dark alleyway and turned away from the main strip. They passed the tunnel through the thick wall. No more than fifty metres long, another world waited at the other end. The agricultural wastelands. The escape from the Blind Spot. “I know that tunnel allows us to get supplies in, but it makes me uneasy to know it’s always open.”

  Steps so heavy they damn near shook the ground, Frankie’s arms hung by his sides as they passed it. A man much closer to their primitive ancestors than Marcie, and thank god Sal had gotten his mother’s looks. Although, whose shitty lungs had he inherited? Her shoulders slumped. No way could she and Sal have a future together. She sure as shit wouldn’t be staying in the Blind Spot.

  Two large guards stood on either side of the tunnel. Much like the ones who stood by the entrance to the Blind Spot. Just give them an excuse to break necks … “Shouldn’t we worry about one of the militant groups trying to come in? It’s happened in other cities. At least, if the rumours are to be believed.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to rumours, kid.”

  Marcie bit back her response.

  “Anyway, the militant groups have their hands full fighting one another for possession of the agricultural lands. I can’t imagine they would have the time or wherewithal to stop long enough to mobilise a force capable of taking over the Blind Spot. And apparently, when they did take over a city and killed everyone inside, they then turned against one another. The city now lies abandoned. The fact that they got together in the first place was a miracle. I can’t see it happening again. And if it does, we’re protected. See that button in the guard’s hand?”

  She hadn’t until then. One of the guards had a fist wrapped around a six-inch-long tube about an inch thick. It had a red button on the top. She had her thumb pressed down on it. “Yep.”

  “The guards take turns holding it. If either one takes their finger off the button, it’ll explode and the tunnel will collapse. The militia know that. They’d have to get in unseen, which is almost impossible when they have to walk fifty metres with no hiding place, and then they’d have to get the explosives off the guards while keeping pressure on the button.”

  “That seems impossible.”

  “Obviously.”

  Did he have to be such a prick? “And what do the guards do if Blind Spot residents want to go out?”

  “Let them. It’s their funeral.”

  “I suppose sometimes there might be a reason to leave.” Like when you’ve sold the Blind Spot out for the sake of you and your own.

  “If you’re not doing a trade run to another city, I can’t see what that reason would be.”

  “Maybe someone might want to get out of the Blind Spot because they’ve done something they shouldn’t have? What do you think?”

  Frankie stopped and squared up to her. “You got something you want to tell me, girl?”

  She wouldn’t be intimidated by him anymore. “Have you got something you want to tell me?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” He stepped closer.

  If she revealed too much too soon, he’d cover his tracks. She didn’t have enough evidence. A red ring circled Frankie’s face. Like she needed her automated warning telling her he posed a threat.

  Frankie eventually turned away, walking deeper into the Blind Spot. She had him over a barrel and he knew it. The next time he made a misstep, she’d tear his fucking leg off.

  Chapter 38

  It might have only been a minor victory, but Marcie had won. Not that Frankie would ever admit it, and not that she needed him to. When she had enough evidence, she’d bury him. And if anything, his heightened hostility confirmed he had something to hide.

  Marcie walked a few steps behind him as they moved through the Blind Spot, his gait loose, his wide shoulders swaying. “I do care about Sal, you know?”

  Frankie halted.

  “He means the world to me.”

  “Then why fill his head with such nonsense?”

  “I want him to come to the city with me.”

  “Have you seen the state he’s in? The city don’t welcome freaks like us.”

  “He’s not a freak!”

  “To the city he is. We all are.”

  Then why was he working with them? Marcie ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth while dragging a deep breath in through her nose. “So maybe I’m guilty of not thinking it through.”

  “You reckon?”

  “I love him.” Her heart quickened. The first time she’d said it aloud and she’d used it to get his dad onside. Hardly how she’d expected it to play out.

  Frankie’s frown lifted. “Look, I know you think you have his best intentions at heart, but please stop talking to him about the city.”

  “I already have.”

  “And you still think you’ll move there?”

  “Do you know what the Blind Spot represents to me? It makes me think of seven years locked away in my house so an obsolete couldn’t get to me like they did my mother.”

  “Do you blame Wrench for that? An obsolete turned your mum into a pincushion. They stabbed her so many—”

  “I was there, remember.”

  “Sorry.”

  “This place is filled with bad memories.”

  “But to go, you have to leave my boy behind.”

  “Maybe I’ve never wanted to accept that until now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Marcie moved back a step. “What for?”

  “For being honest. I get where you’re coming from, and I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit harsh. I’ve spent close to a decade protecting my boy. But no matter how hard I fight, I can’t change what’s happened to him. Now come on.”

  Every other time Marcie had approached the place, she’d come through the red-light district. So when she saw the Eye’s workshop, she slowed down a step.

  Not so easy to build trust with the hacker if she kept showing up with people from the top table. It didn’t matter that they brought her rather than the other way around. The Eye wouldn’t see it that way. But why did they always come to him? Surely they had more than one hacker in the Blind Spot? Had she accidentally told Sal something she shouldn’t have? Had he told his dad?

  “Your dad wanted you to see this,” Frankie said. “This is the Eye’s workshop. He’s the best hacker in the Blind Spot. And the one who puts the Pandora hack on the city folk.”

  The Eye had someone with him. A woman in a suit, she wore an anonymity mask. If his clientele looked like this, it was no wonder he fell for Marcie’s disguise. The woman sat in a chair Marcie hadn’t seen before; it must have been buried beneath the mess of wires and motherboards. “Why would anyone want the Pandora hack? I mean, the Wellbeing app sounds bad enough, but who would want
to know everything said about them?”

  “It probably seems like a good idea until you do it. Much like moving to Scala City.”

  Marcie clenched her jaw to hold on to her response. She then said, “Maybe some people have a strategic reason for doing it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe they need some information they’ll only get with the hack.”

  The Eye must have been in post-procedure care because he looked at Frankie and held up two fingers. He’d be two minutes.

  It ended up being even quicker than that, the Eye tugging on a wall of wires to reveal a back door, which the woman left through.

  “Frankie,” the Eye said. A sideways glance at Marcie. “And the princess of the Blind Spot, Miss Marcie Hugo.”

  Marcie shrugged.

  “How many people have had the Pandora hack reversed lately?” Frankie said.

  The Eye shifted from one foot to the other, the gentle tock of his feet against the metal hatch. Did he still have Horace down there? “Not many. Just one in the past month.”

  “You know we rely on the hack being reversed. The last thing we want is for the farmers to feel like we’re taking more than we’re giving. We need to live up to our part of the deal. Are you not selling it to the users?”

  “I shouldn’t need to sell it. The desire to remove the hack has always been motivation enough.”

  Marcie interrupted them. The Eye wouldn’t tell her, but maybe Frankie would. “What happens when people reverse the hack?”

  It halted the conversation, but neither of the men answered.

  “And how many users do you have on the hook at the moment?” Frankie said.

  The Eye tapped a screen on the wall, flicking through several menus of green writing on a black background. “Two hundred and sixteen at present.”

  Frankie stepped forwards, his foot slamming against the metal hatch with a boom.

  The echo seemed to not only run through the basement, but the entire city beyond. Marcie shook where she stood.