30 The Smallest Price

 

North Harbor San Diego Bay. Aug 17. 2033

32°41'22.0"N 117°08'41.3"W

 

Garance studied the digital street signs as the autonomous light-rail progressed down Harbor Boulevard. She had always taken great pride in her English, but the speed at which the signs blurred by made it almost impossible for her to interpret. She pressed her face to the glass, focused on the upcoming intersection and recognized the words for “East Harbor Drive” and “Cesar E. Chavez Parkway.” Yanking the cord for a stop, Garance gathered her few belongings and prepared to exit the light-rail. As she set foot on the steps, a mechanized female voice said, “Thank you for riding with us. Please, enjoy your day.” Garance jumped at the sound of the computer—her concerns about the newly forged RFID chip still not completely alleviated.

She’d arrived in San Diego two days ago, via tourist bus from Edmonton, Alberta. Christoph had hacked the data of her original chip enough to get her on a plane to Canada, but she was obliged to abandon her own identity in favor of a counterfeit one after she cleared. Christoph ’s new connection in Point Roberts had provided fake documentation and an implant to override her own chip, and although Christoph believed that this unknown hacker who went by the user name of “Sithlord07” was legitimate, Garance clung to her usual skepticism. However, with few other feasible options available, she injected the implant and assumed the alias of “Josette Lefèvre.”

 

The August heat in southern California was oppressive and Garance felt perspiration collecting at the back of her neck. She looked around and noticed that she was the only pedestrian in sight. Vehicles raced by with their tinted windows rolled up, and yet no humans were visible out of doors—nor any animals, for that matter. “Merde, il fait chaud,” she muttered. Glancing at the compass on her new mobile, she gave an exasperated sigh and tried to find her bearings. The slight breeze from the west smelled heavily of fish and seaweed, Garance assumed the harbor must be in that direction. She hoisted her pack and set off down Cesar E. Chavez Parkway. After several lengthy blocks, she found the entrance to East Harbor Marina at a dead end of a narrow alley. The chain link fence was in bad repair and the “No Trespassing” sign swung loosely from the gate. Garance checked her notes to confirm that this was indeed the address. She pushed the squeaky gate open and walked down the main dock of the marina. “Hey—you there! This is a private marina. Do I know you?”

Garance turned to see a middle-aged, pudgy man in denim overalls. He leaned out the doorway of what she had initially assumed was a portable restroom. On closer inspection, she realized that the tiny metal shed had a hand-painted sign above the door that read, “Marina Office.” She flashed him a phony smile and replied, “Ah, pardon me. I should have perhaps checked in with you first. My apologies, sir.”

The manager looked her up and down and grinned; won over by Garance’s thick accent. “You aren’t from around here are you, ma’am?”

“No, I’m Canadian actually—uh, French Canadian,” she hastily replied. “Perhaps you could help me… I’m trying to locate an old friend. His last name is Corbett? Do you know of this person?”

Before long, Garance had secured not only the gate location of the Persephone’s first officer, but several items of gossip concerning the mate’s newest houseguest—a youngster of about three or four-years of age. “He’s pretty close-mouthed on that matter. My guess is some ‘wild oats’ he sowed came home to seed, if you know what I mean.”

Garance thanked the manager and took her leave. She followed his directions; turning left down the fourth pier and again at the second-to-last boat underneath the covered moorage. Pausing at the gangway of a fifty-foot Chris-Craft vessel, she searched for a doorbell or knocker—unsure as to the proper etiquette for calling on someone’s boat. “Bonjour?” She leaned across the water and rapped on the hull. “Hello, is anyone at home, err… onboard?”

Garance felt the boat move and saw a man’s shadow pass by one of the ports. Eventually a door on the fantail opened. A man in his early 30’s stepped on deck. His hair was tousled and he wore no shoes. “Can I help you?” he asked Garance.

“Yes, I am looking for Daniel Corbett—the first mate on the ‘Persephone,’ you wouldn’t be him by chance?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Who wants to know?”

“My name is Josette. I wonder if we could talk for a few minutes about the incident last month—with the refugees?”

“I’m done talking with you people about that. I’ve said everything there is to say.” Daniel backed into the cabin and started to close the door. “You people should just leave us alone.”

“They were very sick weren’t they—your survivors?” she shouted. “Did they have any frothing blood coming from their mouths?”

The mate stopped with the door partially closed. “How would you know this? Nobody ever mentioned it.”

“Because they aren’t the first to have this type of sickness. I’ve been tracking it for some time now.”

Daniel looked up and down the length of his finger-pier and squinted into the water that surrounded his boat. “So, who are you with?”

“Nobody—I am on my own now. My editor was murdered when we started digging too deeply into this matter. May I come aboard and talk with you?”

Daniel was silent for a few seconds, then the hatch door opened a crack wider. Garance seized her opportunity and scrambled over the gangway. She followed Daniel into the small cabin and shut the door behind her. Dishes and bottles were piled on shelves and clothing strewn across the sole. Daniel noticed her observation. “Pardon the mess, this isn’t my usual living quarters. I’m kind of laying low from prying eyes… and other entities.”

“Perhaps HighTower?”

“You shouldn’t say that word too loudly these days.”

Garance cleared a spot on the sofa and sat down. Daniel returned to the door and looked outside before pulling up a stool across from her. “What exactly do you know?”

“Well, I know that the Persephone rescued 43 survivors—it was recorded in your vessel’s digital log—by you.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“The official count, per HSA Customs office that met your ship on August fifth was exactly 37 refugees.” Garance pulled up an article on her mobile and placed it on the table. “And, I know that the number HighTower accounted for at their press conference on the eighth of August was only 30.”

Daniel perused the article and then shoved the mobile back toward Garance. “OK, yeah. ‘No comment’.”

“Listen, I’m not wanting an exclusive story or anything—I’m done with that. I am simply trying to link these unexplained death tolls to HSA and I need some hard evidence to do it. Your survivors were not the only ones made sick by this disease.”

“Sorry Miss, I’d like to help you, really I would—but I’ve got to watch my back on this one. Our entire crew has gone into hiding—most of ‘em have sought refuge at the ATHENS facility; Seems to be the only place HighTower can’t penetrate.”

“Why have you not gone there?”

“I’ve just got some stuff… Some things I’ve to take care of, that’s all.”

A cough echoed from the passageway. Daniel turned and looked down the hallway. Garance watched his movements, he seemed preoccupied. The hoarse coughing spell occurred again. “Is someone ill?” Garance asked.

“No. It’s nothing—look, I really have to ask you to leave now.”

Garance rose and tried to look past him. He blocked her view and began to usher her out the door. “Please, go now.”

“Danny?”

Garance and Daniel spun around to face a tiny child wrapped in a blanket, staring at them. His eyes were sunken, his skin looked damp and pale. “Danny?” he repeated.

Garance moved toward the boy but Daniel grabbed her by the elbow. “Don’t... he’s probably contagious.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Since we picked him out of the water… almost 23 days.”

“If you haven’t become sick by now, then the boy isn’t contagious,” Garance replied, removing his grip from her arm. She bent down in front of the child and looked into his face. “Has he spit up any blood?”

Daniel nodded his head. “Not a whole lot, but yeah, after a bad coughing spell, sometimes…”

“Why did you not report him to the Customs officers when you arrived?”

“Lady, Customs is HighTower. You are aware who fired that missile, aren’t you?” Daniel sat down on the stool and the little boy waddled over, climbing onto his lap. “I just couldn’t hand him over—not to them.”

“I understand.”

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked, hugging the toddler closer. “Listen, I’ve been treating his cough—it may need stronger meds than I’ve got, but I have a source who can get me…”

“Non—I mean, no. It would do no good to report this.” Garance sat back down on the settee and folded her hands together on top of her lap. “I can see that you are very fond of him. Tell me, does he speak any English?”

“I’m not sure how much he comprehends, really. He’ll say a few sentences every now and again, but for the most part I have to make simple gestures to get him to understand what I’m saying.”

“Ah, I see.” Garance pondered how to proceed. “Daniel, do you know any French?”

“Yeah, I’ve picked a little up over the years, working on various ships.”

“There is something I must tell you… I assume the boy does not know any French?”

Daniel looked down and whispered, “Comprenez vous, mon petit garçon?” The boy continued to finger the trim on his blanket, displaying no sign of comprehension. Daniel looked at Garance and shook his head.

“Very well,” Garance switched over to French. “You see, I’ve been tracking a bizarre illness. It only affects populations in certain areas—the poorest regions; places of conflict; where water is scarce; countries where land is disappearing… Precisely the areas where refugees originate. The symptoms of this disease are predictable and the outcome is always the same.” Garance drew a deep breath and softly said, “I am very sorry Daniel. His signs are unmistakable.”

“What?”

“There is nothing that can be done.” Garance cleared her throat and looked away from the child. “It is irreversible—no cure has been found. The only result is death.”

“I can’t believe this,” Daniel replied in English, hugging the boy. “Are you sure? What about the CDC or… what’s that other organization… ‘Doctors without Borders’? Have you spoken with them?”

“Yes, I have—in round about ways. You must understand Daniel, many of the physicians who have been trying to determine the cause of this have also suffered the same fate.”

“But you said it wasn’t contagious!”

“I am saying that they ended up the same way—but by other means.”

“HighTower?” he whispered. The boy looked up and grabbed Daniel’s chin.

“Yes.” She replied, switching back to English. “That is why I’m so desperate to find evidence. If I can bring this to light, there might be someone out there who would have an answer. Maybe there is a way to help these people. But I won’t know until I can prove that HighTower is behind it and can safely ask for help.”

“Those ruthless motherfu..,” Daniel muttered before catching himself. The little boy smiled and wriggled out of his lap. He crawled to the settee and sat near Garance’s feet. All at once, the child began to cough, his body doubling over with the force of his fits. Daniel rushed across the room and held a towel to the boy’s mouth. Phlegm stained the cloth in Daniel’s hand. “Take it easy there, buddy. Just breathe for me, OK?” he looked up at Garance imploringly.

Garance placed her hand on the boy’s head as his coughing spell continued. She returned Daniel’s glance with an expression of helplessness.

 

 

Point Roberts WA. Aug 19. 2033

48°59'18.178" N 123°3'24.729" W

 

Biyu walked down the stairs slowly, bowls of tomato soup balanced on top the cans of soda. “Hey Douglas, I brought down some lunch.”

“Hhnnnhuh,” he mumbled without looking up.

Douglas was planted amid monitors, cables and servers in the same position as when Biyu awoke earlier that morning. She wondered if he would eventually just morph into the table and its components; his skin becoming one with all the electronics. That’s how the first android will be born… With Douglas as the prototype. She set the tray on top of several crates and threw a blanket over a keg to use as a seat. “What’s goin’ on? Are you online with your sensei again?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, we’re messaging right now.” Douglas moved his head back and forth as he scanned the information. Reaching across the desk for his mobile, he muttered, “Biyu—grab me another one of those burners off the shelf. Apparently, I’m about to receive some serious shit here and we’ll need to do the old cut-and-run after I download it.”

Biyu pulled a box from the cupboard underneath the basement stairs. As she sliced open the packaging, she counted the remaining units. “This is the fifth mobile we’ve gone through this week. How many more burners can you get?” She pressed the power button and handed the device to Douglas. “Where are you getting the funds for all of this technology?”

Douglas glanced over at her briefly as he accepted the new mobile. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I sold the car and a few old laptops and parts to some buddies of mine. There’s a vast network of techies we know who have no love at all for the Man. Trust me, they’re happy to help us out when they can.” Douglas returned to his monitor and Biyu sat back down on the keg. She slurped her soup and waited for Douglas to pass on any news from their Viennese contact. It seemed to Biyu that she spent most of her days just waiting—for information, for orders, for footsteps on the stairwell, for her life to get back to normal. The typical teenage restlessness bit at her heels as she spent countless hours hidden away in the basement, waiting. She hated it, and resented feeling useless—consigned to fetch and carry detail. But she reminded herself that Douglas was doing this for her family—her’s and Jun’s. She was grateful for his loyalty and told herself they were lucky to have such an accomplished hacker on their side. Biyu knew enough about Jun’s capabilities to appreciate the skills that Douglas demonstrated daily. And this Austrian savant—the one that had both Jun and Douglas so impressed… Biyu thanked her stars that they had enlisted his help. Their combined efforts had recently discovered that Uncle Kim was alive and that he was somewhere north of Vancouver—that he was trying to reach them through one of Jun’s expired email addresses. Surely now, something will break open and we’ll all be together again. In her mind, it was worth the terrible wait.

Douglas crouched forward with a jolt. He made a low whistle and ran his hand over his chin. Biyu moved behind his chair, careful not to interrupt his concentration. His eyes processed the information much faster than hers, but she spotted the words “detention center” and “old Seattle Center location.” Biyu stifled the urge to squeal. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she waited for Douglas to finish scanning the entire message before she blurted out, “Have they been found? Are they OK?”

Douglas jumped, startled at the proximity of her voice. “Dammit Biyu—how many times have I told you to quit sneaking up behind me when I’m working? Christ, I’m going to keel over one of these days when you do that.”

“Sorry Douglas… Did they find out where Mamma, Ba and Nai-nai are being held? Can we send Jun to check it out?”

Douglas switched the screen off and turned to face her. “What they found is a HighTower detention facility that is off the grid, as far as being official or recognized. Don’t get your hopes up, Beez. It could be nothing… We’ll dig a little deeper first—OK?”

“Yeah, sure.” Biyu spun around and skipped toward the stairwell. It might not be definitive proof, but it was the first shred of information they’d obtained since the night her family was taken. Biyu knew she shouldn’t make too much out of it, but she couldn’t help feeling heartened. “I’m going down to the beach. Don’t forget to eat your soup, Douglas.”

“Right,” Douglas replied as she sped up the stairwell. When he heard the door click shut, he reopened the document. Returning to the final paragraph, he read, “Body of 55-year old Asian male; discovered near old Seattle’s waterfront. Forensics unable to identify due to lack of biometric markers.” “Shit,” Douglas muttered to the empty room. There was nothing that significant about a dead Asian man in old Seattle—the International District made up the greater part of the population over there. But the lack of biometric markers troubled him… Murder victims occasionally appeared without an ID chip, but rarely did someone take the precaution to remove all forensic identifiers. Douglas drew his own conclusion about which appendages must have been removed to make a corpse unidentifiable. He reached for the bowl of soup and popped open the can of soda Biyu left for him. Douglas stared at the monitor blankly as he slurped at the soup, wiping droplets out of his thick stubble, he deleted the file and snapped the burner in half.

 

 

International District, Old Seattle. Aug 19. 2033

47°35'57.8"N 122°20'15.3"W

 

Jun tipped the brim of his Mariner’s baseball cap lower, covering more of his face and readjusted his sunglasses. He avoided being out of doors for lengthy periods--ever since the Austrian’s warning about HighTower’s surveillance capability. And in compliance, he made sure to destroy and replace his burners after any conversation that contained potential trigger words. Nevertheless, his anxiety increased with each day he remained on the run. And now, standing exposed on the open streets, Jun felt his pulse rate quadruple. A voice from behind him said, “Excuse me, I’m looking for a restaurant that serves shark fin soup. Could you point me in that direction?”

Jun turned to see a slight young woman with sharp cheekbones and cropped black hair. He recognized the code instantly and responded as he’d been instructed, “You can’t purchase that stuff any longer.”

“I was told that you can, if you know whom to ask.”

“You’ll want to head down the block and turn right onto Fourth Avenue, then there is a narrow alley on the left—go that way until you reach the second storefront. ‘Yuet Lee’s’ it’s called.”

“Merci.”

Jun watched Garance walk away. As she turned down the block, he shot a quick look around him and followed.

Pushing open the glass doorway of Yuet Lee’s Kitchen, Jun spotted Garance sitting alone in a booth. She held the menu in front of her face, but Jun noticed her glance up as he entered. He drew a deep breath and casually looked around the room. The lunch rush had ended and the space was almost deserted. Two tables were occupied with elderly Chinese couples and an old man sat at the counter reading the menu. Jun exhaled and proceeded to the woman’s booth.

“May I sit down?”

“Please,” she replied without lowering her menu. She continued to scan the items as she spoke from behind the paper. “You are the nephew?”

“Yes, I am he.” Jun adjusted his location on the bench to see more of her face. “You’re the journalist from La Balise then?”

“You’d better hope so.”

“Of course, I—I’m not really on my game these days, talking face to face with people, I mean. As a matter of fact, you’re the first person I’ve verbally communicated with in over a week. It’s weird to hear the sound of my voice again.”

“I too, do better in print than spoken word,” she replied. “So, my friend tells me that you’ve heard from your uncle. I am glad to hear that he is alive—glad and surprised. He has made some very powerful enemies.”

“I’m relieved as well—but concerned.” Jun leaned forward and Garance set down her menu. “I’m afraid that if we were able to locate the place his email originated from, then HighTower may have figured it out as well. I have no doubt that they’ve dug through all of my old information—they’re bound to have uncovered most of my aliases and old email addresses.”

“Yes, you can count on that.”

“Has your friend heard of anything else?”

“He intercepted some HSA communication about ‘the cleaner’ going north to check on a lead. That’s not much, but given the timing, I’d say it has something to do with your uncle.” Garance turned her head toward the counter and observed a man seated alone. “I’m no longer hungry. Let’s get out of here.” Jun followed Garance, glancing at the elderly man as they walked toward the door. “He’s been reading that menu since I came in here,” Garance muttered. “Something feels wrong.”

“Where should we go?” Jun whispered.

“Nowhere—at least not together. I feel like I’m being tailed—ever since I got off the bus downtown.” Garance walked at a fast clip and Jun found himself getting winded just trying to stay apace. She made a sharp turn into the busy Iwojimaya market and wound her way through the produce tables before stepping into the walk-in cooler. Jun spun around to confirm that no suspicious looking people were watching and slipped in behind Garance.

“What’s going on?” he asked, zipping his blue and silver Mariner’s jacket up to cut down on the chill. “Tell me what you need to say and then let’s get the hell out—I’ve pretty much run out of safe places to hide down here.”

Garance reached into her shoulder bag and handed Jun a crumpled cigarette packet. “Put this somewhere safe. If you ever find your uncle, give it to him—only him, please.”

“OK—but what is it?”

Garance lowered her voice and placed her hand on Jun’s arm. “There are vials of tissue and some cells that your uncle will know what to do with. Look, I can’t go into details, no time.” She peered out the glass window of the cooler’s door and then continued, “Dr. Chen developed a way to change human DNA and HighTower turned it into a weapon—they’ve killed thousands with it so far. The only way to prove it is to…” Garance suddenly pushed Jun to the floor and ducked. “Stay down!”

“What is it?” Jun whispered.

“I just saw that old man—the one from the restaurant. We’ve got to find a way out of here now.”

Jun peeled off his jacket, turning it inside out. “Here, throw this on and take these…” he shoved the sunglasses at her. Garance put them on her face with trembling fingers. “Right,” he said, “I’ve got the samples and I’ll find a way to get them to my uncle. I swear it.”

“Be careful, Jun—the governments are wrapped up in this too. HighTower is getting rid of anyone with even a remote connection—we’re in this very deep.”

“I know—trust me.” He looked out the port one last time and muttered, “Now’s your chance. I’ll get hold of you through our mutual friends once I’m safe. Be careful.”

“Jun—good luck.” Garance ducked under his arm as he held the door for her. She sped through the aisles toward the front entrance. Jun tossed his Mariner’s cap on the floor as he exited the cooler. He walked slowly toward the cashier station and froze in place. From the store windows, he could see Garance being led away by two young men in dark suits.

Jun spun around, searching frantically for another way out of the store. He felt the icy grip of panic in his chest and his throat tightened. Be calm, be calm—don’t blow this now. He made a show of looking at some items on the shelves while his eyes darted around in search of an escape route. As he rounded the aisle, he spotted an entryway into the mall. Jun shut his eyes briefly and inhaled. Walk, don’t run. You can do this. He sprinted toward the entrance and slipped through the open doors, briefly touching his pocket to confirm the cigarette packet was safe. He caught his breath and noticed a young woman pushing a child in a stroller. She smiled as she passed him and June returned the gesture, falling in behind her. He walked near the pair as he made his way through the mall, alert for any sign of pursuit. Eventually he parted from the woman and left through a side exit door. Jun ran across the busy street and disappeared into the crowds of commuters in the bustling International District.