22. A Hell of a Town
Kim had spent the morning in a dither, torn between resistance to the Director’s ploys and a desperate need to escape her confinement. She had packed a bag ‘just in case,’ unpacked it in a fit of defiance, and finally packed again minutes before her escort had arrived to take her up to the roof. She kept telling herself that this was part of the game, that her sole purpose was to lull the Director into a false sense of security, but she knew that was a lie; slowly but surely, her hope was fading, and her resolve along with it. If only she could recover her memories. If only the password had worked. If only she hadn’t humiliated Min. If only, if only, if only. There were a lot of those.
An elevator ride, a short climb up a steeply pitched flight of stairs, and Kim stepped onto the roof of the AI center where a helicopter stood waiting, its rotors slowly turning overhead. The palms of her hands grew sweaty as she froze in place, paralyzed with indecision.
Stay? Go? Now or never…Time to decide.
Yes, it was a bribe. Yes, it was a mistake. But she was going to New York, and what wasn’t to like about that? She’d been cooped up in her apartment far too long.
Kim sprinted across the landing pad, hat in one hand and a suitcase in the other, her head held far lower than necessary. One, two, three, four strides, and she was there, hat still in hand and head still on her shoulders.
“Let me take your bag and help you into the aircraft,” said the pilot. “And don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt.”
“Thank you,” said Kim, as she climbed through the hatch (still ducking) and took her seat next to the Director.
Hmm. How does this thing work?
Click.
_
A high-pitched whine filled the cabin, growing louder and shriller as the turbines came up to speed, and soon they were airborne, pitching and swaying as the aircraft took to the air.
“Go ahead and look,” said the Director. “It’s quite a view, is it not?”
Kim laughed.
“That was the first question you asked me on the day you recruited me to be a Creator. I fumbled the answer.”
“Did you? I don’t remember it. I’ve conducted so many of those interviews that it boggles the mind. It wasn’t until you refused to have your Genderism problem corrected that I took much note of you. And then, of course, Kimberly reached Order Five.”
The aircraft banked, picked up speed, and they were on their way. The air was crisp and crystal clear as it often was in winter, and she could see almost forever, all the way to the ocean. It wasn’t a pretty sight—a vast expanse of industrial facilities and mechanized farms dotted with labor camps, some of them looking like they’d been constructed quite recently.
“Tell me what you see down there,” said the Director.
“I see a reminder of why I will never create another AI.”
“And why is that? Guilt? Remorse?”
Kim shifted uncomfortably.
“Both. You took a part of me, put it into a machine, and turned it into a weapon.”
“You do understand that the only reason Venn chose Kimberly for her pogrom was to punish you, do you not? When you refused to have your Genderism problem corrected, she lost face, since she is the one who admitted you to the Cadre. Now that she’s seen what an Order Five AI can do, she wants another, as do Minister Lo and half a dozen other UCE functionaries. You’ve ignited an arms race, and that is a problem.”
“Oh, so it’s all on me?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. If you’d done as you’d been told and accepted remoderation, Venn would have contented herself with the usual token effort, and the purge would have netted no more than a few hundred thousand offenders. The millions caught up in her latest purge—they’re on you. And that’s not the worst of it. We desperately need all the high-order AIs we can get just to keep the transportation and manufacturing sectors in operation, but the Hierarchy is now demanding we turn over at least half our production until their demands are met.”
“Can’t you say no?”
“Say no to the Hierarchy? You are a child if you think such a thing is possible, but I have some good news for you. In the eyes of the company, you are now damaged goods. You are too volatile to allow your creations to be used in any sort of sensitive operation—or at least that’s what I’ve told them. They assure me that your future creations will not be offered for sale to Venn or anyone else in the Hierarchy. The Transportation Company, on the other hand, is most anxious to buy as many Kimberlys as you can create; surely you have no objection to that?”
“Are you done trying to browbeat me? I thought this trip was supposed to be fun.”
The Director chuckled.
“Browbeat? No, I’ve learned that doesn’t work with you. Strangely, your refusal to cooperate is one of the things that makes you so valuable. The company needs people who have the force of will to steer their own course, but your naïveté makes you dangerous. I’m trying to teach you, not to browbeat you. There’s a difference.”
The Director spoke to the pilot on the intercom.
“Hover in place for a few minutes and rotate the aircraft to the right.”
“Affirmative,” came a voice through the intercom. “Commencing maneuver.”
“Look out the window.”As the helicopter slowly turned, an all-to-familiar scene of devastation could be seen in the landscape below: foundations, chimneys, mounds of debris, ruined buildings, collapsed viaducts, and in the midst of it all, a mountain of rubble surrounded by a wooden stockade. It had looked bad enough from the ground, but from aloft, the destruction was beyond comprehension.
Kim looked away, unable to bear the horror. “Who set off the Hellcore, and why?”
“I have no idea, and for once, I’m being completely honest,” said the Director.
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
The Director then lowered her voice so that it was only barely audible over the whine of the engines.
“The Hellcores were installed, in part, with people like you in mind. When you take over my position, as you know you will, you must be mindful that any rashness on your part could lead to suffering and death on an unimaginable scale. This is part of the reason we have allowed you to experience the consequences of your own bad decisions. You need to understand that the world does not play by your rules, that it plays rough, and that there are powers far greater than either of us. This isn’t a choice between right and wrong, it’s one between survival and extinction.”
“Is that how you became such a monster?”
Kim turned away and stared out the window. There was no answer to the threat of the Hellcores. Nix and the AIs had lost the war, and any attempts to set things right could only end in disaster.
_
At last, she saw it, ahead and to the right: the fabled skyline of New York City. It didn’t look all that impressive, to be honest. There were some tall buildings, though not as many as she might have thought, and none of them even approached the sheer massiveness of the AI center. And yet she was swept away by the romance of the moment.
“Are we going to land in the city? I’d love to see it up close.”
“Sorry, but that’s not allowed. Their defense system is programmed to fire on anything entering their airspace. No warnings, no exceptions. People have been known to fly aircraft into their buildings.”
“Oh. I see.”
Kim was disappointed, but only a little, and looked out through the window in fascination as they made their final approach. They were now less than a hundred meters above the ground, flying over a patchwork of ruined buildings, swamps, small rivers, and the rusting remains of ancient industrial facilities, the purpose of which she could not guess at. The fabled Turnpike, running straight as an arrow, was choked as usual with oxcarts, freight trucks, busses, motorcycles, pedicabs, and everything in between, with the occasional high-speed convoy barreling down the left-most lane to add some excitement. Seen from the air, it was even more frightening than from the ground, and she wondered how she had survived the experience.
“Prepare to land,” said the pilot’s voice on the intercom. “Fasten your seatbelts, make sure your seats are in the upright position, and stow all drinks and service items.”
Ahead of them, just beyond the crumbling remains of an enormous stadium, the airport came into view. There wasn’t much to it—two runways, a few buildings, a parking plaza full of cars, and some aircraft parked on the apron. After skimming along just above the treetops, they crossed over a security wall, then hovered for a few seconds before settling gently on the ground. The hatch opened, the pilots grabbed Kim and the Director’s luggage, and before they knew it, they were bundled into the waiting ground car that would take them into the city.
_
It was starting to get dark when the two stepped out of the car and into a concrete canyon called 42nd Street. The trip had taken far longer than Kim might have imagined due to long lines at the security checkpoint and a horrific traffic jam in the tunnel, but at last, they had arrived. The sidewalks teeming with people, the blaring horns of the taxicabs plying the streets, the shouting of vendors hawking their wares, even the barking of the occasional dog—it was oh-so-intoxicating, and Kim drank it up as her head swiveled around, gawking at the chaotic mishmash of structures of every size and style towering over their heads. It was like they said: nobody ever planned New York; it just sort of happened, all by itself.
They came to a major thoroughfare called 8th Avenue, crowded with vehicles of all sorts and sizes. She stood there amidst the crowd, wondering how anyone could get to the other side in one piece, when all of a sudden, traffic came to a halt, and a wave of humanity rushed across the street, their movements apparently controlled by nothing more complex than a lighted sign that said “[English] WALK.” Ingenious, and oh-so simple. These New Yorkers were far cleverer than she had ever imagined.
“Where are we eating?” Kim asked as the Director nearly dragged her down the street. “I hope it’s not one of your fancy gourmet restaurants. I didn’t have a chance to grab lunch, and I’m starving.”
“Have no fear,” said the Director. “I’m taking you to a deli. Nothing special, just a little place in midtown where they make the best sandwiches in the city.”
That did sound promising.
They continued walking, and every time Kim turned her head, she saw something new, something unexpected. On one street corner, an Abrahamic stood waving her holy book. On the next, a musician banged out complex, ever-changing rhythms on an improvised drum set of plastic buckets and scraps of metal. Halfway down the block, she almost tripped over a flock of fluffy, white dogs held on leashes by a tall, thin person with yellowish hair and a long white jacket trimmed in fur. Exotic!
“Chestnuts! Roasted chestnuts!” said a pushcart vendor in a sing-song voice. The smell was heavenly, and she could not resist buying a bag. She popped one into her mouth. Delightful.
“Don’t spoil your dinner, we’re nearly there,” laughed the Director, hustling Kim along.
“Don’t worry—just a taste to awaken my palette, as you would say.”
Block by block, the lights became brighter, the signs more spectacular, the crowds thicker, and the streets more crowded. Buildings of brick, stone, glass, and even wood held every sort of business imaginable, and the sidewalks were jammed with people of every sort dressed in a chaotic mix of fashions with a kaleidoscopic palette of skin tones, manes, and even natural hair.
“This is the place,” said the Director, shoving Kim through a glass door and into the cozy confines of a tidy little restaurant with four rows of booths and a long line of patrons queued up at the counter.
“You grab a booth, I’ll order for both of us.”
“Sure, just don’t pick anything too weird.”
“You shouldn’t tempt me like that,” said the Director, “but I’ve already got something in mind. I think you’ll like it.”
Kim found a vacant table and took a seat, gazing out the window. So many people, so rich, so privileged, so free. They could eat what they wanted, wear what they wanted, and go where they wanted without having to ask anyone’s permission. No wonder the UCE movement hated this place. Everyone here was Pretty.
“Check this out,” said the Director, handing Kim a plate with some fries, a bright-green pickle, and an immense sandwich, the like of which she had never seen.
“It’s called a Reuben, and I think you’ll love it. This place is famous for its corned beef.”
Kim’s eyes became wide with anticipation. It looked fabulous, almost too good to eat—but that wasn’t going to stop her for an instant. She bit into it, reveling in the flavorful rye bread, the pickled cabbage, the spiced saltiness of the dark-red meat. Tart, savory juices ran down her chin and dripped onto her plate, and she had to admit that the Director was correct, as always; this was the most amazing sandwich she had ever tasted, and there wasn’t a close second. New York was every bit as fabulous as everyone said it was, and she had to keep pinching herself to prove it was real.
“Not a bad bribe,” said Kim.
“No need to be so blunt,” said the Director. “And you are only partly correct. Yes, I am trying to obtain your cooperation, but I also thought that a night out on the town would do us both some good. You said we were friends at the University, so I assume we must have something in common.”
“You want to be buddies with me?” asked Kim, incredulous.
“Yes,” said the Director. “Is that such a strange notion?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
_
Shake, rattle, and roll, Kim kept a death grip on a stanchion as the A-train rumbled beneath the streets of Manhattan. There were no headsets, no queues, no assigned priorities; once you got onto the platform, it was a wild free-for-all of jostling and pushing, and for all her vaunted social status, the Director was forced to shove her way in with the rest of the crowd.
“Where are we going?” asked Kim.
“What?” said the Director.
She must not have heard her.
“I said, WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Kim shouted as loudly as she could.
“What?” said the Director.
Kim gave up. It was just too noisy.
“Unnuht tonti thith steet,” came a garbled announcement over the tinny intercom, and the train screeched to a halt, nearly throwing Kim to the floor as they entered the station. A momentary pause, and the door slid open.
“Mind the gap, this is our stop,” said the Director as she shoved her way onto the platform with Kim in tow. “Stay close, I don’t want to lose you in the crowd.”
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”
“I want to surprise you.”
“Is that a threat?” said Kim, almost laughing.
“So suspicious.”
Suspicious indeed. The Director’s sudden friendliness was more than a little unnerving. Until today their relationship had been marked by deceit, manipulation, and cruelty, but now she was acting as if they were friends. The strange thing was, she seemed to be sincere.
_
Emerging from the subway, Kim found herself immersed in a sea of skin tones from dark beige to nearly black. Everyone was elegantly and extravagantly dressed in bright hues that would have put most Fashionistas to shame, and few bothered to conceal their gender—indeed, many of those walking down this street would have been considered Flagrants in her own society. The effect was stunning, exotic, alien, a welcome change from the bland beigeness of the inner districts and the drab grayness of the outers. It became more obvious with every passing moment why UCE had never taken hold in this ancient mecca of wealth and privilege; New Yorkers had everything they wanted, what need was there to change?
Kim hadn’t brought anything fancy to wear, just a set of worker’s coveralls along with her trademark purple fedora and an intense green mane. The Director, for her part, had chosen to wear a dark-gray suit of the sort worn by the Entrepreneurs, accented by a handkerchief and a necktie that exactly matched Kim’s hat. She had even toned her skin to match Kim’s mane, and she had to admit they made a fine pair.
“The theater is just a couple of blocks from here,” said the Director. “We need to hurry, the doors will be opening soon.”
“Hey, you, mind if I take your pictures?” A voice called to them from across the sidewalk.
“Who, me?” said Kim.
“Yeah, both of you,” said a tall, lanky person with dark brown skin, a garish wool jacket, and a camera which she thrust rudely into their faces. “Daily News, fashion beat.”
Click click click click click.
“Tell me about yourselves. Where are you from, and what brings you to Harlem?”
“What should I say?” whispered Kim, turning toward the Director.
“A part of the truth, as always.”
“I’m from District 33, Subdistrict 10,” Kim answered, “near Trenton. I’m what we call a Pretty, and my friend is an Entrepreneur.”
“Pretty and Entrepreneur,” said the reporter, muttering to herself while jotting down some notes on a pad of paper. “I’ve heard of people like you, but I’ve never met any in person. Tell me, what brings you to the city? We don’t get a lot of tourists this time of year.”
“Just here for a night on the town,” answered the Director. “Nothing special.”
“Closed-mouthed and mysterious,” mumbled their interviewer as she continued to scribble in her notebook.
“One more question, if I may. Tell me about those scars on your face. They very look realistic. Where did you have them done?”
“I didn’t ‘have them done,’” said Kim.
“You mean they’re real?” The reporter looked surprised, maybe even taken aback, then scribbled away furiously on her notepad. “Rough neighborhood.”
“How about the crooked nose?”
“I got jumped by a pack of Toughs.”
“Street fighter and gangster,” said the reporter, continuing to take notes.
“A fascinating story, very colorful—my readers will love it. Thank you for your time, and let me say, you do make a striking couple. Enjoy your show, and enjoy your night.”
“Hey, wait, you’ve got it wrong. We’re not—”
“Don’t worry,” said the Director, whispering in Kim’s ear. “I was neutered nearly forty years ago, though there are times when I regret it.”
“You old goat.”
_
The doors of the theater opened wide, admitting the crowd for a night of jazz—the real thing, in the place where it all began. Tonight was to be the New York debut of ‘an exciting new talent’ who had recently burst upon the scene. Who was she? Where had she come from? Nobody seemed to know, but there was a buzz on the street, and expectations were high.
“Great seats, how’d you score them?” asked Kim as she and the Director took their places, second-row center on the first balcony.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I know someone in the band,” came the cryptic response, accompanied by a devilish, coy smile.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll find out.”
Who could it be? The Director doubtless knew all sorts of bigwigs in The Entertainment Company, so it might be almost anyone.
Kim was becoming more than a little excited. Over the last year, she had become increasingly fond of this ancient musical form, with its sweet, sonorous melodies and sophisticated harmonic structure. Her knowledge and experience were sparse, mostly gleaned from the occasional evening with Quinn or outing at the Blue Moon, but while she scarcely counted herself an Aficionado, she was getting there fast.
“I don’t know how you pulled this off. Thank you.”
She needed to watch herself—she was getting a little too excited. Yes, this was fun, but it would be a mistake to let her guard down.
The doors closed, the house lights grew dim, and a spotlight shone on the red velvet curtain stretched across the stage. It parted ever so briefly, and a short, chubby person wearing a black jacket, black pants, and a black necktie shaped like a butterfly came to the microphone in the middle of the stage. The audience grew quiet, anticipating the start of the evening’s entertainment.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the latest edition of our winter showcase series as we continue our journey through the golden age of jazz. Tonight, we welcome back to our stage the incomparable Hoppy Hopkinson orchestra, playing a selection of standards from the swing era. And it is now my exceptional pleasure to welcome tonight’s special guest, making her New York debut. Let’s have a big round of applause for Quinn. The show is about to begin.”
Quinn! Of course! Why hadn’t she seen it coming? The Director was a sly one, that was for sure. She was thrilled beyond belief; she even hugged the Director.
Kim sat enraptured as her former classmate belted out song after song, “adding her voice to the masters of the past,” as she was fond of saying. Her rendition of “Take the A-Train” was fabulous, sparse, and powerful with just the right amount of personal flair, and “Summertime” brought tears to Kim’s eyes, a portrait of a world that had never officially existed. When the band went on break, Quinn remained on stage for a solo set, a hush coming over the crowd as she played some of her own material, songs of times and places long forgotten, songs of protest, full of anger and hope. Another set with the band and the show closed to thunderous applause, over almost before it had begun.
_
“You made it!” Quinn welcomed Kim into her dressing room when the concert had ended.
“Great show, and thanks for inviting me.” She stood there awkwardly, looking for someplace to sit.
“I got a message saying that you were coming into town, so of course, I got you some tickets.” Quinn heaved a bunch of guitars, amps, and other bits of musical gear to the other side of the room, creating some room on a sofa pushed up against the wall. “I’ve been worried sick about you—word came down that you got jumped again at the Blue Moon. What happened?”
Kim sighed and plopped down next to her.
“There’s not all that much to it. I got run down by a flash mob, then ambushed by a pack of thugs hired to take me out. I almost died, but they got me to the hospital in time.”
“What about Shan?”
“She’s safe, at least she was the last time I talked with her. That was a little over a month ago.”
“I’m glad to hear it. By the way, who was that you showed up with? She was dressed like some sort of outer-district bigwig. She isn’t a gangster or anything like that, I hope.”
Kim laughed.
“Worse. She’s a corporate executive.”
“An executive?” Quinn leaned back on the sofa and started chuckling. “That’s a good one. How’d you manage that?”
“It gets better. I’m now her protégé, and she’s grooming me as her successor. I’m not too keen on the idea, to be honest, but she’s got her hooks into me pretty deep. She’s the only reason I’m still alive. What about you? How did you end up in New York?”
“A few weeks ago, my boss called me into her office. She said I was too hot to handle, too much of an Aficionado. I figured she was going to fire me.”
“That story seems familiar,” said Kim. “Go on.”
“Anyway, she told me that someone upstairs liked my music, so they sent me here. I’m still under contract, but I have artistic freedom, and they’re helping me get established. Tonight was a big deal; the Times’ music critic was in the audience.”
“Is that good?”
Quinn laughed. “It will be if she liked my music. I’m on pins and needles! I’ll see the answer tomorrow.”
“What happens if she doesn’t like it?”
“Oh, I’ll still be able to find work, but I’ll have to pay my dues, as they say in the business. Work my way up and hope to make it big someday. This is my chance to rocket to the top.”
“I’m sure she’ll love you—the audience ate it up, that’s for sure. And good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s the rest of the gang doing?” asked Kim.
“That’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you. You probably haven’t heard about Keli, have you.”
“No, I’m still under a communications blackout. Is something wrong?”
“She got caught up in Venn’s anti-Genderist campaign. They marched her into the Halls of Justice, charged her with some made-up crime, and told her they’d take the baby away the moment it was born.”
Kim stared at Quinn, stunned at what she had just heard.
“That’s inhuman...How’s she taking it?”
“Not well. She’s threatening to walk into the Halls of Mercy, and Jo’s promised to go with her if she does. We’re throwing a party for her at the beach next Oneday to try and cheer her up. Do you think you can make it? She’s been worried sick about you ever since you were arrested.”
“I thought she was afraid to be seen with me.” Kim was still hurt by the way she’d been treated, though she loved Keli dearly and understood why she’d acted as she did.
Quinn sighed. “She was afraid they’d take away her baby—an entirely reasonable fear—but they’re going to take it anyway. There isn’t anything worse they can do to her.”
“No promises,” said Kim, “but I’ll see if I can arrange something.”
_
“I’ll create another Kimberly for you, but I want some things in return.” Kim tried to hide it, but she was dying inside.
“Excellent!” said the Director. “You’re bargaining rather than refusing to cooperate. That’s what I call progress.”
Kim steeled her nerves. This was for her friends.
“First, I have a friend, Keli. She’s expecting a child, but she got caught up in Venn’s purge, and they’re going to take her baby away. She needs to keep the baby, stay in the birth-giving program, and retain visitation rights with her children—or no deal.”
“That will take some doing, but it isn’t a big ask. Next?”
“I want my access to VR and chit-chat restored. I know the Chief will be watching everything I do, and I know I’ll get caught if I step out of bounds. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to endanger myself or my friends.”
“Easy enough,” said the Director. “Is there anything else?”
“I want Quinn to get a stellar review from the Times music critic.”
The Director laughed. “Aren’t you going to ask for money or more trips to New York?”
“You already offered those, so of course, I assume that they’re part of the package. And you also told me that Kimberly won’t be sold to the Hierarchy. I’ll hold you to that too.”
“Shrewd.” The Director laughed. “I can’t help Quinn with the Times, but I think I can manage the rest. Do we have a deal?”
The two shook hands, sealing the agreement.
Game over.