Darkweb

by Lia Laserre

  DARKWEB

  Lia Laserre

  C. Turner

  Copyright 2020 Lia Laserre, C.Turner

  Cover Art: Shutterstock

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these stories are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

  Chapter 1

  Gym class, bright and early, every Tuesday and Friday. I L-swipe the chip in my wrist. A holographic panel the size of my hand pops up, shows me weather, solar radiation index, storm warnings, time, date. I’m only fifteen minutes late.

  Karie gives me the palm slap. “Whatsup, Ellan?”

  “Not much. Too early to rise,” I say. “Need some sleep. You?”

  “Could be better.” Her chubby-cheeked face crinkles in a sympathetic grin.

  We hustle to the locker rooms. Soccer practice is scheduled for 8:30am. Normally this is a good thing, but our school’s earned a reputation as a rough place, tension never far away.

  Zandra intercepts us in the end section near the showers. She struts toward us with her two besties and manages to jostle both Karie and me as we’re digging socks, runners and T-shirts out of our lockers.

  “Clumsy much?” I rasp.

  “Yeah.” Karie glares through slitted eyes.

  Zandra’s dressed in a suede jacket and skin-tight pants. The sides of her head are shaved and raven-black waves of hair spill over her gleaming brow and down to her sleek shoulders. The bully that she is, I have to admit, looks devastatingly beautiful, and as intimidating. Her figure’s stacked, as the guys would say, in all the right places.

  My kickboxer’s fists tingle for a showdown. One thing I never reveal is how well I can fight. These lamebrains might think I’m a coward, but that’s their problem.

  I pick up my tank top and runners and chuck the rest back into the locker. If it comes down to it, I can take her out with a mean kick to the ribs. With my speed and training, that’s all it would take, even though she’s got twenty pounds on me. Nah, easier to just ignore them. Like a pack of pesky dogs they’ll stop yapping and go away.

  “Karie, quite contrary, you look scary,” Zandra croons. She gives Karie a shove. “Spit it out, I know you have something to say.”

  I’m ready to snap the lock when I see Karie contemplating a rash move.

  I grip her arm. This situation can escalate fast. “Let it go, Karie. Isn’t worth it.”

  Zandra tucks in her elbows and flaps her arms like a chicken. “Yeah, back off…bok, bok, bok.” She contrives to bump hips with me. “You and your small tit girlie friend can go make out in the shower. We won’t mind.”

  Hoots come from her entourage of followers, Bess Gee and Kyla Little, another couple of ignoramuses. I ignore them, but Karie’s fit to be tied, clenching fingers fast turning white.

  I don’t care. It is all kind of comic drama except for the people I know who are bullied or don’t fit in. The ones forced to work harder to make their way and keep a low profile because of scary creeps like Zandra.

  Karie’s voice drops to a sullen murmur. “One of these days we’re going to kick those girls’ asses, right?” A crooked smile tugs at her lips.

  I return the grin. “Yeah, we will. But maybe not today.”

  Karie and I make our way to the steel double doors that lead to the playing fields at Visgate High. Not before scooting past the caf and its sickening sweet odors of refried beans and hash browns.

  Out in the yard, there’re a few dozen teens milling around, rallying each other and trading high fives as we assemble in our designated spots. A separate field is arranged for the guys. Ms. Gates, our thick-boned gym instructor, has the soccer balls laid out by the north net. She’s bouncing one from hand to hand as she prepares her morning pep talk. The horizon’s smeared with a dull yellow of perpetual smog, while an acid-wash blue dominates the zenith with the promise of a scorcher at high noon. Our outdoor fitness time is scheduled early for a reason. Isn’t wise to be out in the sun during the height of day for too long. The rays are strong enough to bring on severe burns. Ten to two is considered high risk. Neither is it cool or practical to wear caps while running full tilt on the field.

  The grass turf’s a bit wet from last night’s rain.

  While the distant drone of a helicopter brushes the sky, I stoop to palm the ground, looking out upon our disparate team of eleven stragglers. Beyond the stone fence it’s a battleground of rubble, skeletal girders and old memories—a graveyard. I recall Ms. Gates telling us the small sports field came into existence after they tore down the block of crumbling tanning factories sometime after the cataclysm. There are still some remnants of the oldest buildings beyond the north wall. No one goes there, unless they want to get in serious trouble. We’re content to play team sports here and use this questionable oasis as a track and field meet.

  Of all the sports, track and field is my favorite. But we only get to practice during the fall.

  Soccer season’s in full swing. Okay, I can run with it—no pun intended.

  “Okay, up and at it, ladies.” Ms. Gates claps her hands. “Hustle up!”

  Our team separates into groups. Eleven on one side, eleven on the other, and a handful of others on the sidelines. Karie, Leta and I are on the same team. Thankfully all the other girls who don’t like me, like Zandra and Bess, are members of the opposite team. It’s bound to be rough going. When Gates isn’t looking, any chance to land an elbow in the face or a kick in the shin while sliding by with the ball is fair game.

  I’m a naturally competitive person, I’ll admit. I like winning. But not the scuffs and bruises. Kickboxing has toughened me up enough for the inevitable collateral damage.

  Zandra has the ball and at the moment has daggers set aside for me. Probably because of a guy whom she likes has been making eyes at me. Maybe Joey for all I know. While we’re milling around, she wheels and chucks the ball at me. I see it arc out of the corner of my eye so I duck, but it slams into Karie’s chest, knocking her over.

  Karie gets up, snorting out her wrath. “Hey, watch it, you dumb bitch.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Zandra coos. “My hands slipped.”

  Karie scoops up the ball and hoofs it back at her. Zandra catches it hard on her shoulder, deflects it away, but I can tell it stings.

  Ms. Gates comes running. “Hey, enough of this horseplay. It’s a collaborative team effort, not a war ground.”

  Could have fooled me. I snuffle out a cynical grunt.

  We shuffle back into our positions and cream them as payback. Zandra’s not happy about it and she’s mouthing ugly words at me. We’ve been rivals ever since primary school. I’m not sure today’s aggression is because of Joey, but I’m captain of my team and she’s captain of the other. A bit of rivalry’s expected, but this type of grudge, vindictive mentality is stupid.

  Still a half hour to go for drill practice, passing and penalty kicks with Ms. Gates, but I cut out early on an extended washroom break, changing back to jeans in the locker room then hitting the library in an effort to bone-up for the upcoming presentation. I stare fixedly at the small collection of books stacked in the ten or so aisles. All have been published only within the last thirty years. Not at all useful for what I have in mind.

  I pull up a seat at a table overlooking the dusty quadrangle. Pale light winks off the school admin office windows that face the library. I reach for my makeup kit. I apply more mascara, though I don’t need it. I’m pretty enough, though I’m thinking I’m only a shade above plain with my long oval face and V-chin, willowy build, innocent eyes and sun-browned nose, but Karie and my other friends think I’m gorgeous. Look at your slender figure and height, girl, they say. All natural beauty I’ve inherited from my mother.

  I swipe my wristlet and search the web for information about any se
mi-historical events, but only discover recent entries. Only so much on the ‘resurgence of commerce and technology after the Cataclysm’ I can fake my way through today if Mr. Peters calls me to speak. The material’s dog-dull.

  I still cringe as I stare at that pale grey, button-sized chip under my skin, knowing that every few years the devices are surgically removed and upgraded to the latest chip technology. They’re our means of communication and link with the digital community. Fewer lost children with their tracking capability. Greater ‘social cohesion’, so they say. With Starcom networks able to service millions of the units in real-time with the new 6G+ systems, they can feed us big data, record our location on a minute-by-minute basis, and tabulate our profile. Business as usual.

  This is getting nowhere. I’m no further ahead on this project than I was when I stepped in this damned library.

  I crinkle my brow, tug at my lip. Then I remember Bram, my hacker brother, who’s promised me a password to sites off the grid…the grey net, or dark net or something. Hopefully, it’ll help me find more interesting material for this assignment. I’ll bug him again tonight.

  I look at the clock. I realize I’m ten minutes late for science class. “Shit.” With a muffled curse, I boot it out of the library. I’m down the hall past the east wing and wrench open the door. Maybe not the smartest move, if I’m trying to be invisible.

  I stumble into class a little breathless, wondering what punishment Peters’ll dole out. But he is late too, so I pause and breathe a sigh of relief.

  Chapter 2

  Welcome to Room 3B, science class for disinterested teens. Some shuffling in the back today centers on Torv, class bully #2 who holds the freckle-faced, braces-and-smiles kid, Hock, in a headlock in his muscular arms while dragging knuckles across his scalp. Ouch. It makes a dry, scraping sound. A drawn-out moan comes from Hock. Some are laughing. Some aren’t. Torv’s best buddy, Vin, is pissing himself laughing.

  Ordinarily I don’t push my nose in other people’s battles but this incident with Zandra has inflamed my blood. I stalk over and grab Torv’s arm.

  “Like beating on kids weaker than you?”

  “When they steal girls’ lunch money, yeah, sure.”

  He shakes off my hand and I hesitate. Since when did he become a vigilante? But then who am I to talk? I make my way to my seat in the third row, face set in a scowl. Let the holo monitor deal with Torv. I admit, he is a striking rogue in his dirty-blond, bad-boy sort of way, but he scares me. A scar on his left cheek runs toward his nose, just an indicator of rough dealings in the past. Makes him look sexier, but scarier. A lot of kids would like him better if he’d just take the roughhousing out of doors rather than terrorizing kids in the classroom. No secret that he runs with the Spikes on the west side of town.

  Puerto Rican, Mexican? He’s deep-tanned, with a cat’s grin and half-inch dark thatch of beard and matching mustache. His golden bronze-dyed mass of hair is tucked back with a red headband.

  Mr. Peters, our science teacher, at last glides in with a heavy sigh on his lips and a bundle of papers under his arms. He shakes his head and drops the sheaves on his desk before he marches to the back.

  “Knock it off, you two. First and last warning.”

  He looks comical with his flushed face and baldish head with cauliflower patches of yellow crowning his ears. He flicks a switch on his baton looped in the belt of his white lab coat. A figure materializes out of nowhere. The image coalesces into finer detail. A sporty, phys-ed type with black ponytail, brown piercing eyes and tanned physique, hands on hips. She has an unnatural glow to her skin and seems to shimmer with every move. Enter Nelly, one holographic robo assist, or holo monitor. Torv immediately releases Hock. They both go silent.

  Peters mills about, a smug breath whistling through his teeth. “Very good. Now can we begin?”

  “No objections, Teach,” says Torv.

  “This morning’s agenda.” Peters slaps the viewscreen with his baton. “A lesson on metamorphic rocks, followed by the presentations. We’ll start the day with a geographic overview of igneous intrusions, then some looks at the dwindling insect population. Followed by an introduction on light and its refractive properties.”

  Groans. Face palms.

  A real treat for us today. I look over at Karie with a deep sigh.

  While Peters slides into his sleep-inducing monologue, I stifle a yawn. The images on the screen come and go: lava on a scorched mountainside, middle-aged geologists with hardhats pointing out warped strata on a dry riverbed, snapping closeups of the fossils that help confirm the rock’s age. Peters points his laser baton at whatever object deserves appropriate attention.

  Ben Gilsen puts up a hand and asks a semi-serious question about the probability of ancient sea beds forming the sub-stratum.

  Peters is about to answer when Vin mutters, “All geeks should have the boots put to them.” He brushes back the dirty red dog’s muff of hair on his scalp and attempts to control the easy grin on his bland, pink face.

  Peters draws a deep breath. “It’s part of the curriculum, Vin. Pay attention.”

  All of the images are available on wristlets to review at a later time, so at least we don’t have to take notes by hand. Taking notes is optional, but not wanting to pair myself with the unpopular geeks, I opt not to. Though I continue to do covert research on my wristlet, trying to brainstorm material I’m supposed to present today, I can’t concentrate. I haven’t even picked a topic yet. Not good, Elly.

  Forty five of us crowd this classroom. A lot, but it could be worse. The classes are way too long for me—two hours. Sheer agony. Math and English next. But what can you do?

  I peer over at Nelly who stalks the aisle. I’m never quite comfortable with that machine-like presence lurking. She graces me with prolonged eye contact and I force a stare back.

  I can’t help recall a few years back when two teachers had to take time off from knife wounds. Before that, many were getting rotten stuff chucked at them. So the school board opted to contract Starcom to engineer some electronic monitors to watch over us. A lot of prototypes built, so I heard, but the Starcom whiz kids figured this was more economical to deploy with holograms using basic AI, than have a physical robot.

  Enter Nelly, or some machine like her… An effective deterrent against classroom eruptions and disruptions. Authorized and programmed to step in to offer ‘assistance’ if needed.

  They’ve been in the schools for one and half years. Real charmers, if you ask me. Keeping an evil eye on everything, like having some fire-breathing parent or security guard hovering over you every minute. They programmed these things to interrupt the teacher too, in case the lesson plans could be ‘improved’.

  Much to Peters’ contempt that was happening now. He hates them, mainly for this last reason. I can only guess his silent wish is that Nelly, the dumb bot, can stay out from underfoot, and only appear whenever Torv, Vin or any of the other troublemakers act out. I’ve tried to figure out how they work, but I’m not sure I’ve succeeded. For sure, not a physical robot. Its CPU and processing power are located in some central basement or cloud space somewhere while the hidden sensors that are scattered about the room relay all the necessary information to the central store.

  The overriding certainty is, all events are recorded and Peters can hit the hot switch any time he likes. I’d seen it happen only once, and it wasn’t pleasant. Blood, broken teeth, fists flying. Security guards running in to drag three kids off. One kid even had brought in a spray can of toxic paint and started dousing everyone. The kid was high or having some meltdown. Either way, shit disturbers like Torv have learned to dial back the aggression while Nelly is active. Though hotheaded impulse can always push them over the edge.

  Speak of the devil. She turns and interrupts, pointing a manicured fingernail at the current image. “Don’t forget to mention, Mr. Peters, that igneous rocks make up the largest intrusions in North America.”

  “I won’t Nelly.” Peters gri
ts his teeth.

  Peters squares his shoulders and is about to flip to the next image when he chances to turn his head. Vin and Torv have taken to tossing paper airplanes at each other, like a couple of primary school kids. It’s enough to make me laugh.

  But I don’t.

  Peters flings down his laser cane and calls a halt to the lesson. “Okay, enough of this for now. Let’s begin the presentations.” He peers over at me. “You’re up first, Ellan. And Rosa, you’ll follow.”

  Panic kicks in. My mind blanks. Not even enough there to flub my way through a half-assed rendition of the resurgence of commerce. And I’ve been trying to cram information in my head all morning.

  A paper airplane glides through the air to stick in Peters’ ear, held there by wide tufts of yellow hair.

  He glares at the back row. Nelly tags at his heels as he troops down the aisle. He looms over Torv and Vin, brows drawn, his shadow a mile long.

  “You yoyos again?”

  Loud words and smacks erupt from the side as a kid gets pelted with something in the back of the head. Looks as if it’s Hock and he’s bawling like a baby. Maybe a rotten apple, or tennis ball, or some such. Vin has a chimp-like smirk on his face. Torv looks all innocence. Patting his knuckly hands on his brown leather jacket. Damn, he looks good: lanky in his ripped up jeans. While Nelly goes to investigate the infraction, Peters loses his cool. A full-fledged fight breaks out.

  What luck, just the diversion I need.

  “You two delinquents plan on learning something any time soon?”

  “Nothing in it for us,” Torv says. “Sic your bitch robo on us all you want.”

  “Higher education ensures greater chance of getting a job.”

  “Can get a job any day, Mr. Peters. Cement mixer, road repair rat, bag boy, corner store sweeper, you name it. My old man tells me I have to get through this year, then—” he spreads his hands in an I-don’t-care gesture “—I can do whatever the crap I want.”

  “Easy as that, just putting in time, eh?”