by Liam Clay
The water starts to roil and bubble beneath us. It’s hard to see what’s happening, but from experience I know that polluted canal water is being pumped out and replaced with the good stuff. When the process is complete, the lock’s inner barrier sinks out of sight, providing me with my first view of the casino since the ‘incident’ seven years ago.
The Kaleidoscope is a stepped glass pyramid composed of seven levels, suspended upside down in a circular lake of pure, crystalline water. The structure’s sole entrance is located on an artificial island at the lake’s exact center, and as such can be reached only by boat. This gives new arrivals time to gaze down into the pyramid’s top level, where patrons navigate a fantasyland of high tech games, neon-drenched nightclubs and various other forms of credit-sucking mindfuckery.
Trading her pole for a pair of oars, Kalana paddles us out onto the circle. On a normal day there would be hundreds of pleasure craft plying these waters, but now the lake’s surface is so still that it seems almost sacrilegious to disturb it. This sensation is intensified by the presence of the Kaleidoscope’s famed acid jelly fish. The official story paints them as a naturally occurring species, but I’ve got a thing for old nature shows, and none of them featured a creature like this. Their spherical bodies trail spiral streamers that pulse with shifting light - often slowly, occasionally fast enough to pose a threat to the epileptic. They idle in the space between the casino roof and the water’s surface, adding to the hallucinatory aspect of the scene below.
Ten minutes later we’re closing in on the island, which resembles the slender glass gnomon of an aquatic sundial. And directly behind it, forming part of the ring of buildings that surrounds the lake, is the architectural curiosity known as Girders. A 3D maze of interlocking steel bars, Girders was once a grafted-on shantytown up around 80, until it tore free during a storm and fell to earth, killing thousands. But the dust had barely settled before the first Underworlders were moving in, and the place is just another piece of scenery now. It provides a suitably forbidding backdrop as we make our approach.
But before we enter the casino, there are some things I need to tell Kalana. I’d rather Tariq wasn’t around to hear them, but it’s hard to say when I will get another opportunity. I consider clearing my throat to get her attention, panic a little, and end up blurting it all out in a rush.
“Kalana, I want to apologize for some of the things I said to you, that day at the hospital.”
She doesn’t stop rowing, but the set of her shoulders changes, and she avoids looking at me as she replies.
“You mean when you accused me of having transferred my feelings for the Designer, a person we both despise, onto the Form Constant, whom I have been dating ever since? Because if that’s the conversation you are referring to, there is no need to apologize.”
“I - what?”
She shrugs, and then uses the movement to send us skimming over the water. “I had just broken up with you, and effectively stolen our child for my own. A certain degree of pushback was inevitable. Plus, there was some truth in what you said.”
“There was?”
“Certainly. The Constant belongs to a personality type that I am naturally attracted to: the leader, the visionary, the futurist. And as much as I hate the Designer, he had those traits too.”
“And where does that leave me?” I ask, hating how bitter I sound. It takes some time for her to reply.
“You have... a different set of strengths. More than anything else, Anex, you are a survivor. And that’s as good a trait as any to have these days.”
We lapse into awkward silence as the skiff comes alongside the island. Up close, the casino’s point of ingress looks more like a chipped glass dagger than a sundial, with two elevated concrete docks forming a crossguard above a corkscrew elevator shaft hilt. Tariq jumps out of the boat, ties us off to the dock and strides toward the reflective spire. We hurry after him.
Our guide reaches the spire’s entrance portal a few steps head of us. He presses his palm to its ivory surface, and the aperture irises open with a hiss of escaping air. We step into a spherical elevator, the door shuts behind us, and my ears pop as the pressure changes. I remove my mask with a sigh of pleasure. (Very few Topside buildings can boast air purifiers to rival the Kaleidoscope, never mind the Underworld.) Tariq presses a button and then we’re spiraling into the depths. In my agitated state, our downward progress seems frustratingly slow. But the circuitous descent does afford a view of each successive floor, with the layout progressing as follows:
Level 7 aka The Shit Show - the largest and most affordable area of the casino. The games here are mostly out-of-eye action titles like haptic fist mecha boxing, goggle-and-gun first person shooters, liquid immersion fighters and muscle twitch racing sims. The nightclubs are chambers bathed in psychedelic holo, fringed by glass cubicles where exhibitionists fuck each other blind for the dancefloor’s benefit.
Level 6 aka The PvP Pits - professionals battle it out at Level 7 games, while spectators place bets and drink codeine gin through candy coated straws.
Level 5 aka The Strategium - hard core gamer (read: nerd) paradise. Home of turn-based and real-time strategy games, puzzle quests and RPGs. Played on interactive hologlobes for the strategists, and in deep hypnosis suits for the role players. Pits Kaleidoscope patrons against their counterparts in rival Underworld casinos and, it is whispered, far beyond.
Level 4 aka The Dilated Pupil - solely for the wealthy connected. In other words no credit, no retcom, no service. Less a gaming hub than a haunt for Topside expats with a lingering taste for A-list media.
Level 3 aka The Clubhouse - roulette, poker, blackjack and craps played on crushed velvet and varnished mahogany, with nary a hologram in sight. Frequented by an exclusive group of technophile high rollers.
The elevator passes these floors without slowing, stopping only when we reach Level 2, aka the Sanctum. In addition to being the Constant’s private domain, this area also houses the extensive engineering facilities required to make the Kaleidoscope tick. For obvious reasons, it is strictly off limits to the public.
The elevator door opens, and we step into a room that looks like the lobby of a heinous megacorporation from the previous century. (You know, the kind that tried to wreck the world and did a pretty good job of it.) A birdlike man in a tweed suit sits behind an elegant reception desk to our right. Across from him, four chairs have been arranged in a half square around a coffee table strewn with e-readers. Jellyfish and lake water act as an accent wall; potted plants sit in empty corners.
Three doors lead off the lobby. The first opens onto a dim stairwell with an airtight door at its bottom. (Speculation abounds as to what the Kaleidoscope’s lowest level is used for, but very few people actually know and I’m not one of them.) The second leads to engineering, I think. But it is through the third door that Tariq takes us.
The casino control room resembles my imagination’s version of a military command center. It is a perfect cube, ceiling lost to shadow, with wallfeeds displaying the full spectrum of network news. A table in the shape of a hollow circle occupies most of the floor space. Starkly ergonomic chairs ring its circumference, each with a microphone placed before it. The Constant is seated in the chair furthest from the door. She is studying a data stream emanating from a mini-projector built into the table, seemingly lost in thought. But I know that she is watching us as well. There is no one else present, nor any sound. Tariq leads us into the room.
Physically, there is nothing to distinguish the Constant from a thousand other middle aged women. Shoulder length gray-blonde hair, uninflected brown eyes under thick brows, broken capillaries around the cheekbones. Her navy pantsuit is well tailored without being showy, and her pumps - while expensive - aren’t new. What she does do, though, is radiate dignity in spades.
She is the wise authority figure personified. Her mere proximity can lift responsibility’s weight from your shoulders, leaving you secure in the knowledge that everything
has been attended to and always will be. It is a drug of sorts, this sense of safety - one that has earned her the love of an entire district. I have extremely mixed emotions about this woman, and even I can feel its pull.
We halt before her, Tariq already fading into the background. She swivels her chair around, and I force myself to watch as Kalana moves forward to kiss her on both cheeks, and then briefly on the lips.
(I know what you’re thinking, by the way. You want to know if it bothers me that Kalana left me for a woman. Well the honest answer is that it probably would have, once upon a time. I fear what I don’t understand just like everybody else. But it gets a little hard to stay homophobic once you’ve ridden in - and who in Opacity hasn’t? - on pornography of all descriptions, experiencing mind shattering orgasms from every viewpoint and partner combination imaginable. Which isn’t to say there aren’t still raging bigots out there; just that hate has become more of a lifestyle choice than an underlying norm.)
Coming back to the present, I see that the Constant has turned her gaze on me. “I’m glad you’re here.” She says, and I barely keep my mouth from dropping open.
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“Because your services may be required.”
And this, more than anything else, makes me afraid of what I will hear at the upcoming meeting.
“I’m told you have information for me.” She adds. “Please proceed.”
So I explain everything to her. She doesn’t say a word the entire time, even though I digress more than once.
“And why weren’t you charged?” She asks afterward.
“Because I agreed to bring you their offer. Help the police track down the terrorist, and they will destroy a rival cartel of your choosing. I thought it seemed like a good deal.”
She purses her lips thoughtfully while I hold my breath.
“Agreed.” She says at last. “And this other news you bring... I knew about the generation ship attack, but these details are invaluable.”
Relief washes over me, followed closely by anger. Why do you always have to be so damn fair, I want to scream at her. Oh, I know that sounds like a good thing, but believe me, it’s not. I am being thanked because I delivered. But if the Constant had felt I was wasting her time, Tariq and his boys would probably be rupturing my spleen right now. It’s not easy, being held to that high a standard.
A bell sounds overhead, and the Constant leans into her microphone. “Let them in.” She says before returning her attention to us. “Both of you are to remain here. I have some hard truths to impart today, and your testimony may be required if I am to convince the weaker ones.”
As we take positions against the back wall, I wonder what she could possibly be planning to say that her own people will find hard to accept. Until the first guests start to file in, that is, at which point I become distracted by an urge to cover my balls with both hands. We’re talking every heavy hitter in the West End - many of them ex-colleagues from my second career. Thankfully, Kalana and I are hidden in shadow so nobody notices us.
The ratio is split fairly evenly between Fractals (the VPs of the Constant’s organizational chart) and independent business owners in whom the Constant has invested interests. A brief search reveals Five at the back of the crowd, looking intimidated and mad at himself for it. Typical. When everyone is seated, the Constant stands up.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Her words are amplified by the microphone in front of her, but she doesn’t really need it. “By now, you will all have heard rumors concerning the cause of this morning’s blackout. Unfortunately, the truth is worse than most of them. Just over three hours ago, an unknown group shot its way into a power plant up on 140. The insurgents were carrying explosive payloads, which they detonated upon reaching the plant’s primary chamber. The entire facility was destroyed.”
A murmur runs through the crowd; nothing like this has happened in recent memory. But the Constant isn’t done.
“The entire city lost power for over a minute, and most of 120 to 160 is still in the dark. Even worse, many private residences at those levels run on internal oxygenation systems. With no power supply, people are asphyxiating in their homes, unable to escape because their doors won’t open. Many have jumped through windows and fallen to their deaths.”
I swallow as I realize what the splash we heard earlier was.
“How come we haven’t heard about this on the feeds?” A welding shop owner asks.
“The authorities have been keeping the attack hush to avoid mass panic. But my sources are solid. They estimate casualties to be in the thousands.”
If pennies were still a thing, you could hear one drop in the absence her words leave behind.
“Who?” Someone asks finally. “Why?”
As if in answer, every wallfeed in the room switches simultaneously to the image of a man’s face. A surge of mindless hatred kicks in when I recognize him. He’s in his sixties, balding, with slablike cheeks and a cleft chin that underscores protruding purplish lips. I can literally see the sweat stains on his collar expanding before my eyes. The Constant flips the sound on just as he starts to speak.
“My name is Carlel Korezon. And as the mayor of this city, it is my duty to keep you apprised of the current situation. Over the past 24 hours, not one but two unprovoked terrorist attacks have been carried out against the good citizens of Opacity. The first targeted an esteemed member of the media community, while the second was aimed at our society as a whole.”
Raising his meaty hands, Korezon slaps fist into palm. “So let me now be clear. My government will not rest until these criminals, and those who stand behind them, have been brought to justice!”
Someone hands him a tablet and he glances down, as though just now beginning to read from a prepared document. “An autopsy has been completed on the suspect from the first attack. And although the man’s DNA did not exist in our records, the body itself tells a story.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Based on deterioration found in the lung tissue, our scientists believe that the perpetrator was an Underworlder.”
The room erupts, forcing the Constant to crank the sound so we can hear the rest.
“We have also identified the explosive used in the power plant attack as one common to Underworld building demolitions.” His eyebrows draw down, lips compressing into a bloodless line. “Citizens, it is with great sadness that I say this, but the message seems clear. Our own people have declared war on us. We have no choice but to respond in kind.” He snaps a whipcrack salute. “Korezon out.”
“Oh fuck.” I hear Kalana whisper into the ensuing uproar.
Over the minutes that follow, the Constant puts her true colors on display. She stalks the room like a caged tiger, calling out names, issuing orders, directing traffic. Organizing our defenses, I eventually realize. The Fractals depart first. They are to collect their crews, head up to the abandoned floors and guard the border. The business owners leave next with orders to round up their employees and report to the district’s perimeter barriers. Kalana is dispatched with an armed escort to bring Sophie back to the casino. Which leaves me at something of a loose end.
To tell you the truth, my first inclination is to run. Underworld problems are no longer my concern, I find myself thinking; the world I now belong to involves parties thrown by the likes of Letiva Peron. Sure I got drugged, strangled, blown up and almost drowned, but that’s beside the point. Then I catch sight of Five. He is looking everywhere but at me, like a band geek working up the courage to ask a cheerleader to the spring dance. Poor bastard might as well have a Murder Me sign taped to his back. With a sinking sensation, I accept two pistols from a passing Fractal and walk over to join him.
CHAPTER 9
“What do you mean, soldiers? The Korezons disbanded the Opacian army years ago.”
“Well they’ve fucking undisbanded it!” Five replies in a voice edged with hysteria. “Reports are coming in from districts all over the Underworld.
They’re even mounting an assault on the Prison, for god’s sake.”
We are crouched atop the concrete barrier that separates the West End from Belltown, the district adjacent us to the northeast. A similar wall stands about a hundred meters off - Belltown’s version of the same. The space in between is no man’s land. West Enders are lined up to either side of us, fingering an assortment of weapons with varying degrees of familiarity. A bunch of them keep glancing my way, a mixture of distaste and expectation in their eyes. Fucking hypocrites.
Everything is quiet on the Belltown side, which I take as a bad sign. Shouldn’t they be watching their borders in case the Topsiders attack horizontally? Or maybe I’m way off; tactics were never my area of expertise. But, as you may already have guessed, physical violence is.
My first career was bootlegging. The third, drug dealing. But my second career, the one that defines me to most Underworlders, is rather more unsavory - even by those admittedly low standards. Some people call us contractors. Others, garbage men. Personally, I prefer ‘guy who shoots people for money’. Less beating around the bush.
But this... this is war we’re talking about here. My only relevant recent experience was one big firefight where we ran out of bullets and I’m pretty sure they did too, but no one was willing to risk their lives finding out for sure. In the end we all just snuck away and pretended like the whole thing never happened.
But that is about to change. It starts when a head pops up over the Belltown parapet. Someone shouts an order, and then dozens of figures are vaulting the barrier into no man’s land. Turns out Five was right: these guys are proper, honest to god soldiers. It’s all in the presentation. Their armor is the burnt gold of prairie wheat, as are their guns and the masks that hide their faces. They even move in unison, rushing from cover to cover across rafts and the decks of tethered boats. It has already been made clear that we are not the aggressors in this fight. And now it looks like another amateurish free-for-all is off the menu too. Damn it.