16

En la calle

Rosa walked as quickly as she could with Mari in her arms, but she and Arrulfo still trailed the rest of the group. “Which company sent the Sinnombres?” Rosa asked him in Spanish, breathing heavily.

“Nobody knows which company. They all look the same. That way nobody can link the employer to whatever bad stuff they do. But more important, Rosa, why are we still alive? Why did the Demonios fight for us—or at least for her?”

Rosa’s feet made coarse shuffling sounds as she forced her way over the gravel. “Everyone believes in her, that’s why. Even the Demonios.”

“Look at this, now she is taking us out of the Zone. Soon the night will be fully dark, but where outside the Zone could a group like this hide?”

RickerResources Building, CBD

Chairman Ricker sat facing the door. Behind him, the sprawling gray city stretched to the horizon. A black-suited man entered the room and stood before the desk, eyes directed downward. Fading daylight still shone in through the glass roof and was reflected in the gleaming marble floor.

“I see you’re alone,” Ricker said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me guess.” Ricker stared at the man for a moment. “You got into some trouble. She was more difficult to apprehend than you thought. Somehow, you ended up killing her instead of bringing her to me. Hmmm?”

The man inhaled as if to speak but Ricker cut him off. “I bet you’ve brought me an ear! Or a blood sample that matches her school records? An eye that matches a facescan? What damned thing in a jar have you brought that proves you took care of what I assigned you to do?”

“We do not have anything yet, sir. We lost eight men trying to capture her, sir, but—”

“You lost eight men? A nineteen year-old waitress outsmarted you and you lost eight men?”

“We … followed the Negro to a hotel in the Zone, sir, and there was a Fiend raid. The Fiends killed the team at the hotel and the team that had been called as support. By the time our reinforcements arrived there were only naked corpses, which the locals were carrying off for carbon recycling.” The man cleared his throat. “Our two teams were no match for a raid, when a hundred Fiends popped up shooting, sir. There was nothing we could do.”

Amelix Retreat

A SUBSIDIARY OF AMELIX INTEGRATIONS

 

Reconditioning Feedback Form

Seeker of Understanding

INVOLUNTARY, GRADE TWO

 

Subject: #117B882QQ

Division: Corporate Regulations

 

1. Please describe today’s combat simulation exercise.

Today I was taken prisoner.

I don’t know how it happened. One minute our team was moving through the Zone, scouting, and the next I’d been bayoneted in the back and dragged into a building with guards all around me. They cut my clothes off and one of the guards urinated in my face.

The stab had collapsed my lung, I think, so I couldn’t breathe well and I was compelled to ball myself into a fetal position to ease the pressure in my chest. I had to breathe through my nose because they repeatedly gagged me with urine-soaked fabric. They had two metal paddles connected to a machine, and they kept repeating the same pattern: Wave the paddles in front of my face, apply them to some part of my body, and shock me with enough electricity to cramp every muscle and black out my vision. Every time I regained focus, they waved the paddles in front of me and began the process again. I don’t know how many times they did this before they started asking me questions.

They wanted to know about my team, how many of us there were and who was with me. They wanted to know what I did at my job, who I worked with, and where in company housing I lived. Everything.

If I spoke as soon as they removed the gag and kept talking about what they’d asked, the paddles stayed out of my vision. Whenever I hesitated or changed the subject, the sequence would begin again, and nothing I could say would stop it from running its course.

Then I realized that my team must be just outside somewhere. The Heaves hadn’t carried me far. I yelled and screamed for them when the gag came out, making as much noise as I could before they shocked and re-gagged me. Still, I knew it was my best chance at staying alive, so I screamed again the next time the gag came out.

My team arrived! They sniped several guards and made a rush inside to get me, helped me stand and stagger toward the exit. Another group of A-Heaves came running. Every one of us was hit by gunfire, and Burt died, but they got me out. About an hour later the A-Heaves caught up with us again. We’d all been bleeding and we’d lost Curtis, but we held our ground a long time. Eventually we were all gunned down, but we prevented them from taking even one of us prisoner. I’ve never felt so honored to be part of any group as I was at that moment. That feeling disappeared later in the day.

2. Please share some details of your experience in group therapy today.

I asked if anyone else felt like they weren’t sleeping enough, as if our allotted six hours of sleep might be more like two or three. They all said they were sure they were getting their full six. At the time I thought it was just exhaustion from the nightmares. Now I’m pretty sure that’s not it.

I was tempted to refrain from writing this. Pathway amplification is making me retch right now, and whatever I say will only make you tighten the screws more, but you require complete disclosure and I find I can’t resist. The only option you’ve left me is to confess that I see this and let you purge such thoughts from me.

After group I began to wonder about my experience here, my connection to the group, my exhaustion. Why had nightmares developed into waking fears, and why were those fears so incredibly intense? And how had I come to rely on a strange image of the workings of an old-fashioned clock, with little gears turning and marking off the time, to get control of the pathway amplification again? Where did that image come from in the first place? Why did it make me feel so happy and reassured that everything I am experiencing here was beautiful and right?

I was fixated on the guard and my disgusting, humiliating captivity. I reminded myself that it hadn’t actually happened, no matter how real it had felt; it was just a hologram. But then I realized everything here is a hologram, and that’s when it clicked.

I used to think it was strange that I had to fill out these forms. Why make us give feedback when you weren’t changing anything in response to it?

But that wasn’t true. Something did change: my nightmares.

I “go” to group meetings, combat simulations, and religious services through the computer. You control every aspect of my interaction with the world, and there can only be one answer. You’re putting in subliminals! YOU are feeding me the nightmares!

It’s just like the job I used to do: You data-mine these answers and insert programs to change whatever thoughts you don’t like! That’s why you won’t let me write on paper. Humans aren’t even reading these responses, and in fact, I’m starting to wonder whether the other Seekers in my group are human. Why rely on the influence of erratic, unpredictable, flesh-and-blood people when computer-generated companions would be so much more reliable and effective?

3. Please consider other events of the day, such as religious services, mealtimes, and interactions with your Accepted advisor, and explain how these experiences helped you grow and change.

After I realized that my heroic team might be just a set of programs, I lost interest.

4. Please share any additional thoughts or comments.

Computers are reprogramming me.

Trying to hold on to my own thoughts here is pointless.

McGuillian Diner

“Look at that, Diane,” Mr. Stuckey said, leaning on the kitchen door. “I was afraid the incident had scared folks away for good, but the customers seem to be back today. This’ll help me when corporate jumps down my throat about the whole mess.”

“Yes, sir,” Diane said. “This is the first time we’ve been packed since Eadie’s been gone. Same ol’ crowd. Students and a few nostalgic corporates. It’s sorta late for a dinner rush, though.”

“I’ll take ’em.” Mr. Stuckey touched a dirty shirt sleeve to one eye, laughing sadly. “I just looked around the place for her. Couldn’t help it. I’m so used to teasing her about how she brings in the big crowds.” His eyes welled up a little. “Excuse me a minute, will you, hon? I think the carbon recyclables need to go out.”

He picked up the half-full bin and hauled it over to the rear entrance. He leaned toward the tiny window in the closed door to check the alley outside. There was no such thing as being too careful when one’s business was this close to the Zone.

He gasped, dropping the bin and sloshing its contents onto the floor. He looked again through the window. The eyes were still there. And a face. With a long wound down one side. He cracked the door open. “Is that you?” he whispered.

Eadie nodded. She had strategically placed herself off to the side of the door where the camera would have only a shadowy image of her. “We need a little help,” she whispered.

He opened the door a bit wider. A wedge of light spread across the alley and damp night air came rolling into the stuffy kitchen. Eadie was not alone. The rest were also positioned just outside the camera’s gaze. Behind Eadie, a man with his back to the door was helping a young man in a tattered student uniform with a nasty injury on his forearm. Next to them, a bum was downing a bottle of sodje …

The two who helped her out of the diner that day!

He thought he glimpsed a few others, too, hanging further back in the shadows …

Mr. Stuckey winked at Eadie and rolled his eyes up at the camera mounted above his head. “I thought you were my delivery man,” he said brusquely. “I don’t do handouts, especially for a whole pack of vagrants. Now beat it before I call corporate security.” He winked at Eadie again and closed the door.

Returning to New Union territory

Feeling a sense of calm satisfaction, Sato addressed the other man in his head. “This potion makes concentration easier. I can block you out completely, now. But I hold no hostile feelings for you at this moment. Your new lust for blood has reunited me with the General, and for that I am grateful.”

Sato patiently guided his remaining Elements back toward the New Union’s headquarters, following in the path of Lux’s Round.

“It was her will for me to go. I shall eventually serve her in the battle to save the Life Force, and you will not stop me. But you will have all the blood you want.”

In the mine

“He’s turning it into a mercenary house, Jack,” Li’l Ed whispered. “All Unnamed! It’s crazy! Look, he’ll be back in here soon. We’ll tell him we appreciate the offer, but our answer is no.”

“Matt Ricker is dead,” Jack said. “His friends are still in the academy—they’re graduating and taking jobs with the company right now. They’ll be our bosses when we graduate, and they’ll stay our bosses for our whole lives. Sett’s dad is right, Ed: This isn’t some minor data slip-up or inventory error. It’s a much bigger deal than that, and to those guys, it’s personal. They’ll never forget it.”

“They will. Reconditioning wipes the slate clean—everyone knows that. We all get a chance to prove our loyalty and start over—”

“Start over where? How? We both have enemies for life inside McGuillian now. You don’t seriously expect them to just forgive and move on?”

“Yes, I do. And anyway, how do you know it would be any better here?” Li’l Ed lowered his voice even more, to a whisper so soft it almost disappeared. “Sett’s father might not be any more stable than Sett was. He doesn’t seem particularly sane to me.”

“You go back if you want,” Jack said. “I’m staying here.”

In the Federal truck

Agent Hawkins kept the EI’s intercom in voice-only mode as he drove.

“Daiss,” he said. “We got ’em. Infra-red cameras picked up dimensions matching the girl, the Williams kid and the bum. They’ve got some others with them, too. They’re behind the diner right now. Must not know we’ve got IR back there.”

“Who’s closest?” Daiss asked.

“Agent Reda from the Thirteenth—he’s on his way. I’m close to you so I’ll pick you up. Be outside and ready to jump in.”

New Union residences

“Quite stimulating, this Juice.” Sato said, pouring sodje for the patrol leader and the Frontman. “I am sad to feel it disappearing.” They were in the Frontman’s quarters, with Sato on the floor across from the other two, who sat on a leather seat against the wall. Both men were staring at Sato with unabashed suspicion.

“That’s why we drink, Samurai,” the Frontman—Lux—said. His long ropes of hair swung as he tilted his head for a deep drink. “As the Juice works its way out of your system you’ll need more sodje to keep yourself stable. Sometimes Elements sob, thrash around on the floor, even shit themselves when it goes. But there’s nothing to do about it except wait for the next battle. Just keep reminding yourself that there will be more.”

“All right, Samurai,” the patrol leader said. “Tell us. How did you know the Unnamed were following those two?”

“I saw them, of course, Patrol Leader. It was obvious they were following that purple man but they were too entrenched for us to attack where they were. I unfaded and approached their targets, hoping that I might provoke the merchants. When they stayed hidden I faded again.”

“What did the targets do?”

“My appearance made them nervous. They went home. I followed with my Round and we caught the armed merchants as soon as we could draw them out.”

The Patrol Leader shook his head. “Unbelievable. Each of the Unnamed had two of those little machine pistols … that’s sixteen of them taken today—in mint condition!” His drunken eyes narrowed in an expression that, to Sato, looked much like jealousy. “No new Rounder has ever taken so much—and on a training mission!”

Kill them now! They’re just sitting there drunk! Grab them! Knife them or break a bottle and slit their throats. Their blood should already be oozing through the cracks in this shitty concrete floor! Sato grimaced, pushing the other man’s thoughts down again.

“I would prefer that the matter be forgotten, Patrol Leader. I am merely a servant of the New Union.” Sato lifted the bottle, pouring for the others first, by rank, and then poured another drink for himself.

“And a samurai,” Lux said, laughing slightly in what might have been a friendly way.

Sato did not smile in return. “Yes.”

Now Coiner laughed, just enough for Sato to wonder whether he was being mocked. “Tell us, Samurai,” Coiner said. “How did you come all the way here from Japan?”

Sato cocked his head slightly. “Did not the Divinators inform you of this? I killed five warriors when it was my place to suffer silently. For this transgression I was ordered to commit seppuku—to cut open my midsection in ritual suicide.”

“Show us your scars!” Lux said, taking another drink and pointing at Sato’s belly.

“I have no scars. That body died many centuries ago. My mentor Akihiro severed my head to keep me from crying out dishonorably.”

Coiner set down his glass. His expression turned serious. Serious enough for a drunken man, at least. “Your friend cut your head off?”

Sato nodded deeply. “It is the most sacred duty of a friend, bringing swift death to one with whom you have served honorably. In this way, dishonor can be avoided. Death, of course, cannot.”

Coiner stared at him. “You honestly believe you’re a samurai, don’t you? It’s not just bullshit.”

“There is nothing to believe. I am as I am. Samurai.”

Lux leaned forward. “And would you cut off my head for me, if I asked you pretty please?”

“If I respected you enough as a warrior, I would.”

Lux smiled, wagging a finger at Sato. “Ah, but I outrank you. I could just order you to do it, hmm?”

Sato straightened. “To order such a thing would be dishonorable. The act of ordering me to do it would be pointless.”

Behind McGuillian Diner

“This is so great,” Eadie said, tearing another piece of bread. “I hope he doesn’t get in trouble with corporate for giving us this stuff.” After so long without a filling meal, stale bread tasted sweet as pure sugar. She held it in her mouth, letting it dissolve slowly, savoring it as long as she could.

“He should be all right, shouldn’t he?” Lawrence said. “I mean, it’s bactrocarb bread from a day or two ago, so he couldn’t serve that. The cheese is synthetic so it’d keep forever—he could keep it on the books for years before they knew it was gone—and he can just say he spilled the soup.” He took a huge bite of the bread, speaking around it. “Not that I’m complaining about the food. I just think he’ll be okay, is all.”

Eadie nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I hope so.” She reached into her pocket, grasping Kel’s lighter and pipe. “Oh, Kel,” she said, winking at Ernesto. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Awright!” a voice yelled from deeper in the alley. “Whatta we got here?” Five Zone kids emerged from the darkness, each wearing a bright orange vest and carrying a stick—private security thugs hired by local businesses to keep the alleys clear.

Kel sighed, setting down his bread and rolling his shoulders as he stood up. Arrulfo stood up next to him, and then Lawrence.

“Uh,” Eadie said, stuffing the rest of the bread and cheese into her bag. “Sorry. We’re leaving.”

Kel’s tall column of hair pivoted toward Eadie. He raised one shoulder and cocked his head, as if saying “It’s no big deal, we can take them.” She shook her head. Frustrated, he turned up his palms, making one more silent appeal. Eadie picked up the rest of her things and the others followed. “Kel,” she said, “any fight we can walk away from is one we will walk away from, all right?”

“Yeah,” the voice came again, probably from the biggest one in the middle of the group. “Ya better get on up an’ outta here. I’m tired a bustin’ heads today.”

Kel looked again at Eadie. She shook her head firmly. He grudgingly picked up his jacket and they all moved slowly down the alley. The security thugs caught up, one of them grabbing Arrulfo by the shoulders and shoving him forward to hurry him up.

“We’ve had enough trouble ourselves today,” Eadie said, as much to her group as to the ones in the orange vests. “We’ll just move right on out of the area.”

“Not through the alley,” another security kid’s voice said. “If yer walkin’ down the alley, then we got to follow you all the way out. An’ we ain’t followin’ you all that way. You gotta walk on the main street so the cameras can keep an eye on ya.”

Eadie sighed. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

Outside Eadie’s friend’s restaurant

The security punk shoved Kel out of the alley and into the bright light in front of the diner. Kel’s face was hot from being so mad, hotter than the damned broiling night, even. He could take out all five of these shitheads any time he wanted—by himself, even, not counting Arrulfo by his side. That dude could mix shit up, good as anybody, except Kel, of course. But Eadie said no fighting, so he let himself be shoved. Even stumbled a little so she saw how much it pissed him off.

He looked over his shoulder. The orange vests glowed from way back in the dark alley like five sweaty nutsacks waiting to be stomped on.

“Uh, Eadie?”

It was Set, the student fuck, staring at something in the street. Kel looked where he was looking. A fucking Fedmobile, parked right there in the empty street.

“Back to the alley,” Eadie said, talking fast. “Kel, you can fight. Back, everyone. Now.”

Kel laughed, turning back. The security punks were already heading up the alley again, leaving long shadows in the headlights of some car that was pulling up back there.

Eadie made a sound, like a grunt, or like sucking in a breath. Kel snapped his head back to see. A big hand was on her shoulder, turning her around. She bent her neck, looking way up at the Feds.

There were two, one Gold one and another with skin as dark as Dok’s. Kel kept his face down, refusing to lift his chin for them. It’d make them feel all important to have him bend over backwards just to look at them, so fuck that. So what if their mommies raised them on bactrovitamins and gene splices and all that shit? Lots of times those types found themselves looking up at Kel, anyways, after he took out a few knees, shins, and ankles.

The Gold Fed looked at Set, who had put on his baggy gunbug coat. “You’ll pay for running away,” the old Fed said. “But first there’s you,” he said, giving Eadie’s shoulder a shake.

Both Feds had that look—the weird thing in their eyes that all God-zombies got whenever they thought they were doing what they were supposed to. That look was always creepy but it looked even weirder on a face that reminded Kel of Dok’s.

“What do you want with me?” Eadie said. Her voice sounded all calm and cool, like she really did not know.

The Gold Fed bent down right into her face. “Yeah, cute. You think I don’t recognize you because you dyed your hair? I’ve watched that footage from the diner a hundred times. You’re about to see exactly what I want with you. Get in the fucking car.”

Eadie’s chin trembled a little. Her voice did, too. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dark Fed reached for her with a giant black hand, pulling back the hair from her ear and aiming a little box at it. A facescanner, like they had to get into the CBD. Once they scanned her, they would take her. They would put her in that car and they would take her, not just from here but from the whole fucking world. Kel knew it. Eadie would be gone from the whole fucking world but she could not be gone because that would mean she would be gone from him, too. He would never see her again.

The little box beeped. Dark Fed smirked, perfect gene-spliced teeth showing from his black face. He pulled out a gun. Looked like the size of a sidewalk square, that gun.

Nobody went fucking with the Feds, not here or nowhere. But now the old one was turning Eadie around and pulling out a plastic zipstrip for her hands and the dark one was holding that gun on her and this needed to stop.

Kel’s keys made a tiny jingle as they dropped from his sleeve, the other end of the wire sliding into his palm. He took aim and spun them toward their target.

Outside the diner

Kel struck before Old Fart could think of warning him not to. The Agent shifted slightly and the keys cut his cheek instead of his eye, but as he flinched Kel seized the barrel of the gun with both hands, twisted it in the Agent’s grip so that it pointed at his partner, and shook it hard. It went off with a sound like a building-sized sheet of metal being ripped in half, leaving the Gold Agent a gelatinous mass of dead flesh.

It took both of Kel’s hands to keep the gun from his face, with the Agent punching and kicking him over and over, his fists and feet seeming nearly the size of Kel’s head. Kel attempted a few kicks but landed none.

The Agent flung Kel against the building, slamming him so hard it seemed the bricks would break. Arrulfo attacked with a stick in each hand, scoring a single hit. It was a shoulder rather than the head shot he had tried for. The Agent was too fast. He blocked swing after swing of the sticks with Kel’s body, hurling him into the wall whenever Arrulfo paused. Arrulfo circled one way and the other but the Agent always managed to keep Kel between them.

Kel lowered his head to the man’s gun hand, sinking his teeth into the thumb while he used his weight to keep the weapon pointed at the ground. Every once in a while he let go with one hand and struck at the Agent’s face, even connecting a few times, but the Agent always turned just enough to make them merely glancing blows.

Old Fart glanced at Eadie, who was frozen in horror. Her face, so young and with a look of such pain, made something in Old Fart’s brain pop. He grabbed her, snatched the purse from her hands, and shoved her down the street, back toward the Zone. “Run!” he said, tearing into the purse and drawing out the old revolver he had used before. “Run, Eadie! Run away! Now!” He shoved the purse at Dok. “Go with her, Dok. Protect her.”

He turned and aimed the gun at the Agent’s head. “All right!” he shouted. “That’s enough!” The agent looked up for an instant, the cut under his eye dripping blood, and then went right on fighting. The action never slowed enough for Old Fart to get a clear shot; Kel and Arrulfo—and Lawrence, now, with that long knife—were always in the way. He kept aiming, waiting for a chance.

Ernesto was pointing a gun now, too, picked up from the dead Agent. It would not work. Agents had magnetic bracelets forged around their wrists, coded to match Federal weapons that would not fire without them. There were no clasps on the bracelets and they could not be removed.

Kel was thrashing around now at the end of the giant man’s arm, arching his back, flailing his arms, crouching and jumping and twisting. Nothing was working. In the fights Old Fart had seen, Kel and Arrulfo had looked almost like dancers—in smooth, constant motion, sequencing their movements into flashy patterns. The Federal Agent was different. Every movement was efficient and precise, wasting no energy at all.

Kel inhaled sharply and shifted both his hands to the gun, jumping at the Agent’s throat with both feet. He connected but the gun went off as it was ripped from the agent’s hand. The blast went through Kel’s body, cutting a deep groove into the pavement on the other side of him. The gun skidded toward Rosa, who scrambled to pick it up. What was left of Kel fell wetly to the pavement.

Old Fart pulled his own trigger.