“I don’t know what to say.” The words are lies, thick in my throat, and I wish I could make it right. But if she went to the External Hand, I wouldn’t be able to take care of her. I know what she feels, even though I won’t say it. If I had to stay inside the Narrows day and night, I’d lose my mind in twenty-four hours flat. But I can’t take care of her if she’s not here. When I leave to work for the Liberation Hand, I need to know she’ll be safe here.
“Why do you get to go?” she asks.
Now it’s my turn to hold it in. “I’m built for this, my replacement. To run the missions.”
“Why didn’t she build me for something? Why can’t she fix my skeleton to be stronger, so it will never break again?”
I look at her and melt. Guilt fills me like poison and for a second I think about just telling her everything. But I’m in too deep. If she found out how I’ve orchestrated her safety, I’d risk losing her even more. “You’re brilliant. Masiji only fixed your body to make walking easier for you. You are exactly as you should be. I’m the freak. You know I weigh ten pounds more with this arm?” I shake my head. “Toss me in the water and I’d sink.”
She laughs a little. “Nah, you’re still the best swimmer in the Narrows. I hate you, Ashiva.”
“I know, Lomri, my little fox. I hate you too,” I say.
I feel a small, cold thing slide into my hand, a necklace.
“Made this for you,” Taru says.
“Now, I feel even worse. All I brought you was this wrinkled old mango.” I pull it from my pocket.
“Wow, it’s amazing . . . I’ve only heard about them.”
“What is this?” The charm on the necklace is all twisted metal, like a nest of stars.
“It’s us. See, the gear is a star, and the edge is a smaller one. Me and you.”
I bend down and she slides it over my head, around my neck. “Thank you. Not that I deserve it.”
“You don’t.” She smiles.
“Just the same, I am sorry.”
I consider hiding the powder vials from her, but I’d never forgive myself. “Here, the gatekeeper gave me these to give to you.”
Her eyes widen and she rushes to take them from me. “Amazing!”
“What are they?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” She winks.
“Smart-ass. Probably true.”
“I can finish my project. It’s big. When it’s done, it’ll be very useful. I’m going to keep it just outside the Narrows at a safe distance to avoid any accidents. In that place we hid when I was little. You remember?”
I nod. I know she’s making an explosive. I can’t stop her from dabbling in the dangerous. The whole world is dying around us; how could I tell her not to?
“Just promise me—” I start.
“I won’t run with Ravni’s crew again. Okay? Can I go now?”
“Not that. Just take a weapon with you wherever you go. Use this big brain of yours to puzzle things out first. If you get in a tight spot, grab a weapon, find a ration, something. Do everything to keep yourself alive.”
“Promise,” Taru says.
We lean our foreheads gently on each other’s and it’s all I need, even though it’s impossible to know if she takes me seriously. I’ve done my work to protect her, maybe too well. If only I could watch her all day and still do my job, I’d believe everything would be okay. But it won’t be. It isn’t. Which is why I fight. If I fail at saving Taru, I’ve failed at everything.
And this world isn’t worth saving.
8 //
Ashiva
The meetings of the Red Hand Council are brief and virtual for a reason: We don’t exist and, if we do, we don’t exist in the same place at the same time for too long for security reasons. An in-person council means a representative from each cell of the Hand is in attendance and that’s never happened before. Not since before the Red Hand split into cells after the Last Vidroh, when we were still connected to the same body. I know because I’ve run security for the meetings the last year alongside two other runners about my age: Chand and Maigh. Before the split, we ran coordinated missions together. But since the UAVs and the SA’s anti-terrorist gray-collars have been around, we had to go underground. The communications have been sparse and coded. We’ve been waiting, like tigers sleeping in thick elephant grass, for just the right time to connect our cells back together to form a powerful, united group.
I can tell by the shifting feet and clearing throats that no one, not even Masiji, is comfortable here. She called us suddenly to come to exit drain 11 for an emergency meeting. A coded message went to those far across the entire SA Province, from our Central District to the Eastern District, to the Western District and up to our border with the Asian Province, in case the Northern District can still hear us. Those in the Narrows received a brisk shake on the shoulder by a child runner. Not all came; some can’t risk the trip. Masiji said there was a security breach on the all-channel coded comms, which means the SA’s gray-collars or the PAC was listening in now. The Red Hand had to stop even the coded comms until they could find a better mode of communication between the three cells. But for now, Masiji was clear there is an urgent matter they need to discuss. Everyone knows she wouldn’t call a council meeting if it wasn’t imperative.
The drain is massive, and there’s a small room, just before the water falls to the ocean, where we stand. The rushing water is loud enough to cover speaking voices. And the thickness of the concrete and metal surrounding us keep our heat signatures from being picked up by a UAV. I peek out at the water pouring over the edge into the sea and my stomach is in my throat at the thought of going over.
“Don’t like heights?” Chand asks, looking down at me. Tallest by far, Chand is intimidating, but I know he is just a big softie.
I shrug. “I like them fine. I don’t like us all here together.” I whisper that last part.
“Take a peek over the edge, Ashiva. It’s not that far down.” Maigh says and I laugh. She’s always trying to get my spot as the top smuggler. But she’ll never catch up.
“It’ll be over soon,” Chand says.
Maigh has a look on her face like she just ate the biggest sweet. “Spit it out, girl.” I say.
“Okay, word is there’s a shipment coming to Central of rare earths. It’s on a tech transport from the PAC with batteries and other supplies. But this one has it all. And I’ve got a contact who can let me inside the cargo bay for five whole minutes.”
“And how do you know this?” I ask. If we could get our hands on some neodymium it could fund us for years.
“I have my ways. I hope this meeting ends early so I can catch it. My contact won’t wait for me.”
“Okay, Big Time.” Chand laughs. Everyone knows Maigh revises the truth. But sometimes I wonder if she’s real. We all run cargo for the Narrows, but it’s usually tech, batteries, food, and med supplies. There are sanctioned donations from international charities, gifts from the Eastern and Western Districts of the SA, and some crap no one wants or needs. Sometimes we make a contact for the real stuff. Like my contact for the children. Chand is really good at getting high-level tech. Maigh has been bringing in some expensive metals lately. I hope she’s not a double-player. After training our whole lives, the more daring among us have the Liberation Hand in our sights. There are only a few positions every year because the journey is extreme. They say they smuggle the new lieutenants to their secure and secret location. Rumor has it that it’s a trip that takes being drugged and smuggled in a cargo box. I’ve heard they don’t even tell the new lieutenants if or when it’s happening to cut down on potential braggard kids. Even knowing how dangerous the journey is, I’d do it. I want to fight.
Anonymity is our best mode of survival. The Red Hand is everywhere, is nowhere, is everyone, is no one. It’s necessary to maintain our power, our reach across the world. Sure, there are those who are known in Central, power figures like Masiji. And if President Ravindra and her government kille
d her, it would start a war they wouldn’t be able to stop. Besides, she’s a literal ghost. Never left a print or traceable picture. There are only poorly-rendered drawings of her being ten feet tall and having weaponized mecha armor. Propaganda inspired by WWIII when war mechas wiped out nations and millions of people. Masiji let those rumors fly because it builds fear, hope, the reasons for fighting certain death. With a leader like that . . . maybe we can overcome the impossible.
But the rest of us have dual identities for our sakes and for the betterment of the Red Hand’s mission: to undo the Upland; to defend all lives, as all are worthy of saving; to redistribute wealth and tech across all classes; to lead the revolution to allow natural survival of the fittest; to find a better solution to the PAC’s New Treaty. External Hand connected to different resistance efforts across the globe in the African Province, Asian Province, and even as far as the South American Province. Anywhere a government’s response to the New Treaty was to pick and choose a few lucky to survive on this dying planet, we made allies fast. The rest of us move quickly, lightly, with cloaking tech, sleight of hand, and our wits. To get in and out of Central. To work as gatekeepers, as comms managers, and smugglers. To fight.
I’ve never seen the Liberation Hand leader. And I mean never. You don’t meet him until you’ve survived the new lieutenant transport. General Shankar is a mythological person whom I heard about, but never knew was real. His group focuses on militant modes of resistance and doesn’t report to anyone until after the fact. They are doing the hardest work, after all, risking their lives to blow up bridges and transports, all to save Downlanders. He looks sweeter than I imagined, though weathered by war. Both his arms are replacements, covered by silicone disguise, and he has an air of impermeability about him that is awe-inspiring.
To bring us all together with the Liberation Hand in one space is to build a target on our heads and send our location on an all-comms to the world.
“You all know it must be serious otherwise I wouldn’t have called,” Masiji starts the meeting. “I’ll make it brief, so we can all get the hell out of here and back to work.”
“Where’s the fire, Mechanic?” Romil, the gatekeeper and Internal Hand’s head of spies, looks around the room with his back-lit blue eyes. He winks at me from across the room.
Beside Romil stands kooky Poonam Auntie, our weapons specialist and medic. She’s fiddling with a small piece of scrap metal. She folds and unfolds it, and it whines with each bend, sending a tiny shiver up my spine each time.
Leaning against the wall is Mrs. Zinaat, the educator and head of recruitment. She looks like she’d rather do a million other things than be here, like have her trainees do studies on the environmental impacts of radiation, or teach the children how to disarm each other in hand-to-hand combat. Her tall and thin form is even taller and thinner as she stands beside Daadaji, the head of our Internal Hand in the Narrows. The old grandfather, who spoke up in Open Speak, looks wide awake, even excited by the urgency. Even with the lack of resources, his face is shaved of stubble and his “Cheer-Up!” T-shirt is clean. His voice was always gentle during our training, which was always philosophical: how to communicate the plight of the people of the Narrows to the world. His task is to keep the message alive here and around the world, to somehow plant the seeds of unrest even in Central. He has trainees infiltrating Central in the lowest levels of society.
General Shankar stands in the shadows. I can’t believe how close I am to him. I must have a goofy grin on my face because Chand elbows me hard.
There are others I don’t know, but I guess they are the leaders’ lieutenants. Many more aren’t here; some are imbedded in companies and governments around the world. Those who are in deep cover will never surface. They only help as they can, but if things go south, they’ll do what they have to, to survive like the rest of us.
“As I mentioned, our all-channels comms was hacked. An Internal tech found a trace on the line. We’ve been very careful, and they didn’t get any info. It was a ping that originated with the SA. They were trying to locate our comms line. It looks like they’re using the satellites on the Space Colony to track us now.”
“Arre, kya?” I whisper louder than I intended. That would give them range, that’s for sure. But anyway, what the hell.
“It was vital we come together here. I would have sent a comms or we would have had a holo-meeting as usual, if circumstances were different.”
General Shankar clears his throat with a growl. “Out with it, Commander.”
Masiji paces. “We’ve all spent the better part of our lives dedicated to the Red Hand. We’ve gone dark, we’ve been patient.” Masiji looks around the room at the different leaders. “I know that not all of us agreed with our separation in the first place.” She stares at General Shankar, who grunts. “We even lost some members through the separation. But we continued because the mission is too critical to let go. We have sown the seeds of dissent. We have fed the civilians, trained the next generation of fighters. Some of you have smuggled arms, placed spies inside other governments and PAC research teams. There are now thousands of us around the globe.” She stops pacing, squares her shoulders, and turns to face the leaders. “It’s time to come together again.” The words escape her mouth breathy and heavy—like she wished to say those words for so long they grew covered in dust in her lungs.
General Shankar speaks with a deep voice thick with skepticism, “What the bloody hell do you mean? Why now? What do you know?”
“AllianceCon presents a unique opportunity. To attack them here, where they stand, while the world watches on all networks,” Masiji says.
Muffled cheers are exchanged, people pat each other on the backs. Everyone except General Shankar, whose shadow grows exponentially.
Masiji says, “We’ve done our best to reach out to the GHO, but they seem to be preoccupied with what’s happening in the Americas. This will be our best chance to get our message to the world and connect with other groups, like the Planet Watch.”
“Not to mention the SA has the GHO in their pocket,” General Shankar says.
“Are you not pleased, General?” Masiji asks.
He shrugs and all heads turn to him, waiting for his response. “What do you know?”
“What I’ve told you.”
“No, there’s something that’s triggered this in you, Commander. I’ve been waiting, begging to unite forces again for years. There have been other times when it was favorable. Like when the SA went through the reconstruction on the wall and Ring supports. They left us an opening we could have marched an army right though. You’re not telling us something. If we’re risking our lives, you need to come clean.”
Masiji doesn’t flinch. “There might be an attack coming.”
I gasp and hit the wall behind me accidentally with my replacement arm, sending an echo through the room.
She continues, “The details are unknown. But our Internal tech who got pinged was tracking the SA.”
“They gave our location away?” Mrs. Zinaat speaks up. “Your tech revealed us?”
“It’s happened before. We all spy on each other. But this time we seized an opportunity to follow the ping and managed to enter the SA’s comms system. The tech intercepted an SA comms that showed the Narrows as the number one hot spot.”
“We’re marked.” I whisper.
“The SA are going to tighten their grip somehow. Damn,” General Shankar says.
Masiji continues, “Last time we were on the active list, the SA released the UAVs and gray-collars. We don’t know what to expect. We need to reconnect before we lose our chance.”
Quiet Poonam Auntie clears her throat. “Commander, may I?”
Masiji nods. “Of course, Poonam.”
Poonam Auntie moves to the center of the room. “You know, I was there, many of us were there, when the SA closed the gates. I was young. I watched as they used mechas against unarmed civilians. They lied and said that we, the Red Hand, put explosives
on our children to infiltrate their front line. They open fired on children and covered up their actions with lies. The SA did that. The things I’ve seen, I—” She shakes and squeezes her eyes shut as though she feels the heat and roar of an explosion in her mind. Then she takes a minute to steady herself. “I’m in.” And she presses her right hand to her chest.
“Thank you, Poonam.” Masiji presses her hand on her chest and looks around the room. “The Red Hand will rise again.” One by one the leaders each show their solidarity by pressing their hands to their chests. All except for General Shankar. The Red Hand is nearly reunited. Chand and Maigh and I turn to each other, almost forgetting we are on duty. But then Masiji’s voice brings us back to the planet.
“Shankar, let us continue our discussion. Perhaps we can address your concerns in private.”
He nods once then he puts up his mask and hood.
Masiji says, “Good. We will have a lot of work to do. We will regroup in our underground headquarters. It’s secure, for now. Let’s leave separately and meet there.”
Masiji signals us to step outside and close the doors behind us. So, we do.
“Tired of the kids’ table,” Chand says. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Shh, yaar, keep your cool.”
“Right.” Instead, we exchange hand signals.
“I’m taking off.” Maigh starts walking down the massive pipe.
“You can’t leave,” I say. I watch a pile of trash bounce about in the water like a child’s boat.
“Who’s gonna stop me? Anyway, looks like you two got this.” The girl gives me a thumbs-up and says, “I’ve got a big cargo to pick up right about now.”
Dhat. “Wait, aren’t you going to stick around?” I ask. She’s going to beat me to the next assignment and walk out with a chance to be involved in an assault on Central?
“I’ll be back before you know it. I wouldn’t miss a thing, trust me.”
Rise of the Red Hand Page 8