14 //
I was an animal fighting to survive when I woke from my first replacement surgery. I was five. I didn’t know where I was. I struggled and scratched and hissed at the wires and tubes. Masiji had to sedate me. When I finally came to, she laughed and called me a chrome tiger. Disoriented, I couldn’t feel my body, but she said I was filled with a raging fire to live. Not everyone makes it through the surgery. Many bodies reject the replacement or can’t synch with the plexus. I’m lucky Masiji nearly finished installation of the plexus before the raid. My replacement is functional, but needs a final tuning.
I’ve made up stories about my replacement arm. One of my favorites is that I was a small child on the migrant train, one of the falling-kids sitting atop the train. That when I crashed to the ground, the train wheels took my arm off, clean. Another story I told nosy people was that a guardian tried to take me and my mother, and his electro-pulse baton melted my arm away. We all make up stories because none of us really know the truth. The Children of Without have been injured by this world, by disease and war, and terrible tests. They are not less for their injuries; they are beautiful just as they are. Some require lifesaving surgery, while others don’t want replacements. No one is made to feel less. But I need to join the Liberation Hand and so I augment my body to fight. The truth is my replacement took care of the wounded arm I had at birth, Masiji said. She told me she found me on the streets, arm shattered, born of a mother who had Z Fever and died. Sick mothers once gave birth to sick children. And sickness wasn’t allowed in the protection of Central’s Ring. Back then, the Fever was contained. They stopped in-utero transmission with medication. Now, the disease doesn’t transfer to the child, but it causes other systems to fail. Genetic mutations, injuries, brittle bones, poor weight, all the things Central doesn’t want in their optimized population.
When I left the Narrows and ran into the tunnels, leaving Taru and everything I knew behind, it took everything inside me to keep running away. To know that Masiji was taken, beaten. To not know where Taru and Zami are. And the children . . . my blood turns to an impossible fire. But I can’t do anything. Not yet. Not until I make my way to the outer region. I keep going.
Fighting tears, I run harder, faster. My home is gone; I imagine what the C.O.R.E soldiers will do to the area, to the children. I need to find the Red Hand leaders. There’s a protocol that I don’t know for dire circumstances like this. If they are alive, they’ll know what to do, where to go, and how to reconnect with each other. The protocol is above my rank. Masiji’s reminder plays in my head: “Red Hand needs to continue. Go find the Lal Hath originators.” But how? So many inside the Narrows are gone. The image of the mechas standing guard, their jet-black armored bodies creaking dangerously, like they can crush us without even flinching, snuffs out any fight I have. For now.
The crazy thing about heat is how slowly it kills. First, you get dehydrated and dizzy. Then, thoughts become muddy, meaningless and thick in your mind. Soon you get a headache and a horrific stomachache. Then suddenly, some just die. Without my mask and the cover of the structures in the Narrows, I’ll be dead in a day. When I stop sweating, I’ll be in trouble. I make it to the edge of the Narrows and up against the Liminal Area. They’ll have trouble finding anyone here; it’s a maze and full of goondas. I force open the first door with my fist. The abandoned building is dark, quiet, and if I’m still, it’s cooler than outside.
But I’m not alone.
A few junkies and a couple Liminal goondas strung out on designer drugs they can’t afford take the first floor, so I go down into the basement. They don’t even seem threatened by me, they’re so glitched. Enviable carelessness.
For the first few hours, guardians patrol the area. As a C.O.R.E walks the streets of the Liminal Area and shakes every bit of the structures, my body quivers from teeth to toes. But I hold my breath and pray to no one in particular that they can’t access my plexus. Masiji designed it to be offline, and I have to trust only the Info-Run and comms can intercept my plexus.
I cry, but my tears evaporate before they fall.
When I’m hungry, the nearest glitched-out goonda’s pack is wide open and a quick look gets me a ration pod and a quarter-full water bladder.
I have to find the elders of the Lal Hath, get help, free my family. But first, rest.
Resting is never easy for a tiger.
Suddenly, an Info-Run shoots down my vision, leaving me with no other choice but to read it.
ALERT
From: Minister of Communications
Thanks to the excellent policing, Central was able to stop a terrorist attack before it began in the Narrows today. All parties involved have been taken to an off-site facility, where they will be questioned. AllianceCon and Central’s 25th Anniversary Celebration will take place as promised. Thanks go out to those who keep our neocity safe. Our newest tech, built to keep the peace, assisted in the mission. As per the New Treaty, the limited casualties were for the greater good.
Frustration builds until tears come. A terrorist attack? Newest tech? Their mecha-suits?
Now it’s clear. Central’s lies can’t hide the truth: The Minister is done with the Narrows and everyone inside. It all makes sense now. They wanted to test the C.O.R.E before the AllianceCon to gain the graces of the PAC. And their money. But most importantly, Central wanted to clear the Narrows to wash their hands of the guilt. I wish we could put out a comms to tell the truth to Planet Watch. Even when we do, though, Central will spin it as a lie.
But we won’t be forgotten.