02: Encrypted Surprise

Urban attempted to steady her breathing. “Ms. Qing?”

No response.

Urban waited for Troy’s angry voice in her ear again, but he seemed to have disconnected. A moment later, instead of a rating appearing on her screen, an encrypted file popped up.

[For employee 1207930018.]

Impossible. Tendrils of fear curled around Urban’s chest. How does she know my employee number?

She studied the file, hesitating. Was Angel a malicious hacker? A troll? Everything about the file screamed a phishing attempt. Every other week she’d been forced to endure more obligatory trainings on cybersecurity from Gene-IQ. While the company hadn’t had any breaches, the surge in rising data leaks globally was cause enough for caution.

Urban slowly unzipped her XRD suit. I made it all summer at this job without one incident. Then my last client, on my last day—Qing Angel—hacks into our system to deliver this . . . file?

Had Angel guessed her secret? What was in that file?

Voice shaking, Urban ordered a search in QuanNao, the all-encompassing VR knowledge center, be conducted on Qing Angel. With a score of 95, it didn’t take Urban long to find her. She was on several of the top trending articles.

Angel was from the Western Federation, and her key words were singing and music. There were check-ins for multiple virtual concerts as well as live ones but all in the Western Federation.

None of this adds up. Why would a famous musician, one from the West, be hacking into Gene-IQ to deliver a message to me?

If this were a phishing attempt, it wasn’t a very good one. Urban knew who the culprit was. Since all the sessions were recorded, she even had video evidence.

Heart still beating hard, Urban reexamined the file. Someone smart enough to hack into Gene-IQ would know a manager would be watching their session. If this were an attack, why attract more attention?

Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the file.

A gray box with six spaces popped up in the retina display of her left eye.

<Password needed.>

Urban frowned. She thought for a moment, then entered her birthday.

The box blinked, then another message appeared.

<Incorrect. Three remaining attempts before engaging lock-out protocol.>

At least Angel didn’t have access to her birthdate. That Urban knew of, anyway.

Urban bit her lip. What else was six digits long that she would know and Angel had access to? She almost didn’t want to guess.

Her PIN? She’d set that up ages ago in case her bio-PIN ever malfunctioned. Urban wasn’t even sure if she remembered it.

No, that number had only ever been used once when she set it up. If Angel had access to that and had attempted to steal her identity, Urban would know. Entering it as a second guess, if Angel didn’t possess it already, wouldn’t be wise. No need to hand Angel her PIN on a lacquered tea tray.

What else was there? Almost everything used biometric screening. Urban couldn’t think of any other passwords it could be. Maybe the digits were coordinates? For Gene-IQ?

A quick search in QuanNao pulled up the coordinates for her current location. There were too many numbers to match 6 digits. But maybe with just the first 6 numbers . . .

<Incorrect. Two remaining attempts before engaging lock-out protocol.>

Out of ideas and not wanting to be late for the evening’s event, Urban thought best to leave it. She’d finished the job. That’s what mattered. She’d never see Angel or her encrypted file again.

Logging out of all her Gene-IQ accounts, she signed her official resignation paperwork, then deleted her notes. She pulled her multicolored sketches off the wall, staring at them a moment.

If it weren’t for her desire to be an artist, she wouldn’t even be here. No one from the Metropolis so much as set foot in the Outskirts.

No one but her.

Unlike all the other Natural employees barely scraping by, Urban’s Enhanced family had more than enough to sustain them. They just refused to share that wealth when it came to her dream.

“You don’t have the genetic enhancements to be an Artisan,” Father’s words still rang in her ears. “If you keep pursuing this, we’ll send you to the AI Factories for the summer to get a taste of what people working without enhancements live like. That will teach you a lesson.”

They hadn’t expected her to keep pushing the matter and were shocked to find her gone the next day, interviewing for a role at Gene-IQ. Her parents had spent the summer reeling, covering up for her so that none of their affluential friends found out their daughter was working a low-life job.

Her parents were right about one thing though. Working grueling monotonous hours in the Outskirts had taught her a lesson. Only, it wasn’t the lesson they had hoped for.

Instead, it had sharpened her resolve to never take a job she hated again. Rare moments when she had time to sketch and paint were the only thing that had sustained her over the summer.

Urban carefully folded her sketches and tucked them away. With a final sweep of the tiny XRD, she climbed out of the dome.

Instantly, a weight lifted from her shoulders. She smiled for the first time that day, then climbed down the ladder. I’ll do whatever it takes to be an artist, she promised herself.

She strapped on her black filtration mask, and her retina display flashed a warning as she left the building.

<Entering yellow zone. Exercise CAUTION.>

While New Beijing Metropolis’s air was regulated and clean, the Outskirts didn’t have that luxury. Since Naturals were too poor to afford enhancements, that meant they couldn’t get specialized jobs that paid enough for them to live in the Metropolis. Thus, they were stuck living in the yellow zones wearing masks or else breathing the toxic, polluted air.

Adjusting her mask once more, Urban made her way to an abandoned shack where she’d hidden her motorcycle. Even though she’d installed a complex antitheft device, there was no reason to tempt fate by flashing her wealth around these parts. She’d nearly been mugged her first day in the Outskirts and knew better now.

The leather was hot as she took her seat and strapped on her helmet over her mask. With the gentle whirr of her electric engine, she rejoined the sea of workers sweeping away from the factories. The motorcycle kept the throngs of bodies from crushing her. Even then, the summer heat and the warmth of the crowd emanated around her.

They, too, wore matching filtration masks, which revealed their tired, empty eyes but hid the rest of their faces. Some of them unlocked bikes lined against the street, while others headed for the nearest Bolt line.

Watching them, Urban was reminded why a good sosh score mattered. This was the year she’d be getting hers. Everything from her social life, job opportunities, where she could live, who her friends were, would all hinge on that one number. Most importantly, there wasn’t a chance her parents would allow her to be an artist unless she had a high sosh.

I have to get a 60. I have to.

The well-maintained tech facilities faded into buildings with peeling paint and moldy sides that towered overhead. Sagging walkways and tangled powerlines ran between them, blocking out the sunlight. Holographic signs cluttered the remaining real estate. One sign flickered and buzzed, then popped and went dark.

With the little overhead space left, rusty hoverdrones zoomed around delivering packages through dingy alleys and leaning homeless shacks. Dark windows with nothing but shards like jagged teeth smiled crookedly at Urban. The motorcycle crunched over takeout boxes and glass. The alley reeked of urine, but countless pedestrians and bikers seemed oblivious to the stench. Urban was glad for her mask, though she could still catch traces of the smell.

Urban’s gaze snagged on a figure sitting in the middle of the road. People flowed around him like a stream, oblivious to his hollow eyes. Beggars weren’t uncommon in these parts but what made her do a double take was the fluttering by his side. Two huge wings, once alabaster-white but now a muddied gray, lay next to him.

“Please, some water?”

“Why would we help your kind?” a passerby scoffed. “Get a job. Or are you too lazy like the rest of the Metropolis’s Farmed?

The man didn’t even flinch at the insult. “Please.”

Urban’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to be caught anywhere near the Enhanced man for fear of what the Natural crowds might do to her if she helped. If he were a criminal and someone took a picture of her helping him, it could make her sosh drop. But her heart thumped uncomfortably with the need to do something.

The man’s desperate eyes searched the crowd. Sensing her gaze, he looked up, and their eyes locked.

Urban stiffened. Could he sense that she was pretending to be from the Outskirts? That she was really from the Metropolis?

But then he broke eye contact and lowered his head. For the first time, Urban noticed how skinny he was. His tattered clothes hung loosely around his bony frame. He pulled his wings up around himself.

That would be her if she wasn’t careful. All it would take is one person finding out her secret. Her sosh would tank, and she’d end up like this homeless beggar. She shuddered.

As she passed, she heard quiet sobs from underneath the feathers.

She closed her eyes, trying to remind herself of why she shouldn’t stop. An image of last week’s story on the feeds came to mind. It was about a beggar who had robbed and stabbed to death someone who’d stopped to help him. It had been only one District away from here.

But the hunch in the man’s back, the look in his eyes . . . She tried to reason with her feelings, but Urban knew she wouldn’t be able to ever forgive herself if she kept walking.

Her pulse quickened as she made her decision. A ping to the Jingcha for help wouldn’t do her any good out here should the beggar prove violent. While the Jingcha technically served both the Metropolis and the Outskirts, Urban was convinced they could screen pings from the Outskirts and never even answer them.

The Naturals around her wouldn’t help her, either, should things go wrong. She was attempting to help an Enhanced, after all.

She was on her own.

Urban parked her motorcycle, then made her way to a nearby dispenser and scanned her tatt. She selected two bottles of water and a package of dried tofu.

As she made her way back to the beggar, those around her cast furtive glances. Urban hesitated when she reached the man. He was cocooned tight in his wings like a silkworm.

She was afraid touching him might frighten him, so she cleared her throat.

Slowly, one dusty wing lowered, and the man peered over it. His eyes were red rimmed and glazed. He took a moment to register Urban and the extended supplies.

With trembling hands, he took them. He gave a teary nod of gratitude and held her eyes. “Watch out for your social score. Don’t end up like me.”

Urban went rigid. Did he know her secret? That she would already be facing an uphill battle to maintain a score allowing her into the same social circles as her family?

But his wings furled over him again, and Urban was left with a fleeting thought to link with him to help boost his sosh. She instantly discarded it. Not only would it do nothing since she wasn’t eighteen yet, and didn’t have her sosh score, but once she did get it, if she was seen to have linked with him, that could hurt her. If he were a criminal and she was associated with him, others might unlink with her, and that would tank her score completely.

She continued on, emotions churning as she zoomed through the Outskirts. As she made a sharp left, Urban’s retina flashed a warning.

<Entering orange zone. Exercise CAUTION.>

At least it wasn’t a red or purple zone. Red zones were extremely dangerous. And purple zones were so toxic, they caused instant death. Though Urban had never actually seen one, she’d heard of prisons and hospitals creating purple zones for euthanasia.

She accelerated through the orange zone until she was back in a yellow zone on the Speed Way. Trees slowly began to appear on the roadside, and a brown river snaked its way beside her. The sun dipped out of sight, and soon the only thing lighting the way was the bouncing beam of her headlight and the silvery moon overhead.

To the south a long brick structure stretched along the mountain—the Great Wall. This part wasn’t a tourist trap like the restored parts near the Metropolis. It was abandoned and, in certain areas, reduced to little more than a pile of lone rocks. Yet, this wild and rugged part of the Great Wall was even more beautiful to Urban.

She felt a connection to it. Like she, too, was alone and a relic of the past.

A squat structure to her left caught her attention as something metallic flickered in the moonlight. With a mechanical hiss, the MagLev super-speed train pulled out from the stop. It began making its way toward the Metropolis.

Urban grinned. Perfect. I’ve been needing more practice.

She set her retina stopwatch, twisted the throttle toward her, and shifted gears with her foot. A jolt and she was off.

The MagLev crept up on her until they were parallel.

They stayed even for a moment. Neither seemed to move as they flew over the terrain, perfectly synchronized.

Urban crouched lower in her seat, the wind beating against her with tremendous force. At this speed, she was powerful, invincible, and strong. And yet, she was one unsteady movement, one millisecond of lost concentration, away from losing control of her motorcycle.

Slowly, the MagLev pulled ahead.

Urban eased off the throttle, shifted gears, and checked her stopwatch. She’d stayed even with it for forty-three seconds. A new record. Soon, I’ll be able to enter one of the races with this speed. That will for sure boost my sosh.

She pulled up her final external, client-facing profile of her avatar for Gene-IQ. Her overall rating wasn’t bad: 4.4. Not that it mattered anymore. She was about to navigate away from her profile when she noticed something odd. There was an asterisk next to her rating.

What could that mean? What would cause her rating to be pending?

Selecting the asterisk led her to a private chat room only she had access to. After a virtual-bot confirmed her identity, Urban entered. It was dimly lit inside, very uncharacteristic of Gene-IQ’s usual, overly bright facilities.

Hovering in the middle of the room spun the encrypted file from Qing Angel.