by Liam Clay
But when it comes to obtaining further intel on Kingston, we fail utterly. Most people blame the Designer for the plague and basically everything that has happened since. But beyond that, no one can tell us a damn thing about him. So unfortunately, my fifteen-year-old description of his Hex remains the best info we have to go on.
To help coordinate our efforts, the platoon starts to use the link more than ever before. It isn’t long before Tikal notices. But when we tell her what we’ve been doing, she laughs. Turns out she received an identical retcom. After a few false starts we get her synced into the pool, and before long she’s as comfortable with the technology as anyone.
This period also marks the first time we’ve been able to go more than five minutes without arguing amongst ourselves. Of possible explanations there are three. The first, and most obvious, is that we now have a clear leader. (Tikal even accuses me of masterminding her rise to power, a charge I vehemently deny.) The second is that we also have a concrete plan, however farfetched. And the third is that due to our increased use of the link, our personalities are merging into a singular consciousness which will, for obvious reasons, have less cause to argue with itself.
And then, abruptly, the seventh day is upon us. I’m mobile again, and my face looks like it’s been bitten by a dozen fire ants instead of the whole nest, so things are looking up on that front. But it’s a frustrating day just the same. The sunlit hours are consumed by a string of quasi emergencies, culminating in a near-riot when two men accuse Nina of being a Designer spy. Night has fallen by the time we calm them down, and then there is nothing more to do except get drunk and wait for morning.
We convene on the tipi’s top floor, where the mob has insisted Tikal take up residence. Kalana is hosting a victim support session with Nina, and the siblings are with their father, but the rest of the platoon is here. The fermented cow’s milk is disgusting but functional, and after the week we’ve had, all of us are ready to blow off a little steam.
Devin and Tolam, two of our fratboyish solos, have invented a drinking game to help things along. The rules are as follows. To begin with, two competitors are chosen at random. Using their retcoms, each tries to project a holo of two other people in the room engaging in a lewd act. Everyone else tries to guess who is being depicted, as well as the name of the sexual position in question. The first projection to be guessed correctly wins, the loser has to chug, and the couple shown in the winning holo go next.
Devin insists on describing their invention as a training exercise. (People are still laughing about my holo self-portrait during the windfarm battle.) And he’s right: it is good practice. But it’s also pretty fun.
One highlight comes when Aiyelo, who has been hooking up with Emily, gets mad at someone (me) for recreating her and Francis’s escapades during our last party. Emily then points out that Aiyelo was fucking his tech at the time. Tolam mentions that he saw the tech shove a finger up Aiyelo’s ass on that occasion. Francis then laments the fact that he and Aiyelo hadn’t exchanged partners, which defuses the situation entirely by causing Peace to piss herself laughing. She is promptly dubbed Pees by the group, and it’s a measure of how much she has acclimatized that this doesn’t bother her in the slightest.
The session winds up around three hours before sunrise. As no one retains the coordination necessary to operate the elevator winch, we decide to leave via a ladder that runs down one side of the shaft. Having drunk myself lethargic some time ago, I opt to let the others go first. This takes quite some time. Eventually though, it’s down to just me and Tikal. Realizing that my sluggishness might be taken the wrong way, I make to depart as well.
“Hold up there, soldier.”
I turn to find her standing three paces away, eyeing me over the rim of her drink. Like me, she stripped her armor to the waist a few hours ago, so that the sleeves hang down almost to the floor. Also like me, the singlet beneath is sweat stained and yellowing. A far cry from how she looked when I first met her, glammed up and dressed to kill that night at Wen’s party. Of the two, I think I prefer this new, rawer version.
“What’s up, captain?”
She responds by stepping closer, much closer, and taking hold of my wrist. I half expect her to break it. Then, when I see the heat in her eyes, I wait for her to shove my hand between her thighs. Which is fine: I want her enough to play whatever role she has in mind. But Tikal is not to be pigeonholed. Placing my hand gently on her waist, she lets me get used to the idea of touching her. I manage to refrain from saying anything - it would only ruin whatever this is. My other hand finds the skin between armor and cloth, traveling across her lower back until my fingers meet.
When our lips touch, I expect to taste the fermented crap we’ve been drinking all night. But somehow her mouth is all lavender and roses. Her body melts into mine, and we sway in time to an imaginary slow jam. Then the sweetness breaks and we’re ripping off singlets, tearing at armor, frog stepping toward a futon. She tumbles down on top, naked now except for a perfectly white lace thong. (Proof of premeditation?)
It’s always a nervous moment when a girl finds out what you’re packing for the first time. Tikal saves me from overthinking it by ripping my briefs down without warning. Whether staged for my benefit or not, her reaction is gratifying. Without further ado she conjures and applies a condom, pulls her thong to one side and slides down onto me. We start slow. There is more eye contact and smiling than expected, and I have to remind myself not to read too much into this. She will probably still kick me out of the tipi as soon as we’re done.
She doesn’t, though. There is even some mild snuggling afterward. Followed, quite quickly, by more sex. (This is not me trying to brag - the sight of Tikal naked would make a brick wall horny.) Less restraint is shown on this occasion. We work ourselves against each other with increasing urgency, her sweat sheened stomach sliding across mine. The awkward, feeling out stage ends and we let ourselves go: rotating through positions, getting creative. There is considerable moaning. The session ends with her in reverse cowgirl, having one of those screaming orgasms that demands reciprocation. I am more than happy to oblige.
Have you ever come so hard your spatial orientation goes haywire? Too bad if not, because it’s awesome. And what’s this, I’m hearing voices now too? She’s fucked me to the brink of spiritual enlightenment! It seems odd that the voices sound like Aiyelo and Emily, though.
“Get dressed you sluts, we’ve got a serious problem down here!”
Regaining my equilibrium, I see Emily beckoning to us from the elevator shaft. Tikal is already halfway back into her armor. I try to do the same, and succeed in putting my feet through the arm holes. Shit. By the time I get things sorted out, the others have already vanished below. I follow in a stumbling rush.
A crowd has gathered around the tipi’s front door. Nina stands at its center. She is bleeding heavily from a pair of head wounds, and would probably already have fallen if Kalana wasn’t supporting her.
“What happened to her?” Tikal demands loudly. The crowd lapses into silence, and Kalana speaks into the gap.
“She was attacked by the same men who accused her of spying earlier today. They waited until dark, then dragged her out into the street and beat a confession out of her.” She touches the shear at her hip. “I stopped them.”
“And she confessed to what, exactly?”
“Spying for the Designer. But it was a false confession, made under duress.”
“Didn’t sound fake to me!” Someone shouts to general agreement.
Tikal isn’t sold. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that this woman is, in actuality, a high level Kingston operative. Cloak and dagger, license to kill and all that good shit.” Her voice drips with sarcasm, and I feel the crowd’s opinion shift with it. But Nina chooses now, of all moments, to speak for the first time.
“I am no spy.” She declares in a faraway voice. “Not anymore.”
Tikal groans under her breath. “But you used to b
e?”
The older woman seems to realize where she is for the first time.
“Y - yes. But that was many years ago. Long before the plague.”
“Well fuck me.” Tikal breathes. And then, “Take her inside! I’ll see what info we can drag out of her.”
“No!” Kalana shouts. “Can’t you see she’s hurt? Without medical attention she might not last the night.”
Tikal shrugs. “Dumb bitch should’ve thought of that before she admitted to being a spy in front of half the camp. My hands are tied now. And besides, this might be our only chance to get some proper intel on Kingston.”
This is a conversation best had through the link. But the mob has already heard too much; whatever is going to happen, it will go down in front of everyone.
Kalana must realize this too, because she looks desperate now.
“What if I could offer you a better source of information?” She says suddenly. “Would you leave her alone then?”
“Sure, I guess. But how are you going to do that?”
“By letting you interrogate me instead.” Kalana indicates the woman in her arms. “Nina was just a low ranking informant based in the old Russian Hex. She never even set foot in Kingston. But I was decanted there.”
“Wait.” Tikal says. “Just hold the fucking phone. You’re one of the Designer’s experiments too?”
“Yes.”
Up until now, shock has kept the mob frozen. But unrest is starting to grow, and I sense that we’re about to be in serious trouble. Then Delez sends a command through the link and we’re being hustled into the tipi at top speed. Someone pushes me onto a couch while Tikal addresses the crowd outside. Whatever she’s saying, they don’t like it much - but I eventually hear them disperse. Then she’s back and pacing the room, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
Kalana is seated on a couch across from mine, features waxen in the candle light. Her fellow spy is slumped beside her, breathing shallowly. Tikal paces for a few more seconds, and then rounds on my ex.
“You chose a hell of a time to come clean, lady. Do you know much trouble this is going to cause us?”
Kalana nods.
“Of course you do. Now, I believe we had a deal.” She points a finger at Nina. “I want you to start talking, and if I think you’re lying, I swear to god I’ll gut your friend here like a fish.”
“I’ll cooperate.” Kalana says quickly. “Just don’t hurt her, please.” She pauses to collect herself and when she speaks again, it is as though me and her are the only ones in the room. “Anex, your entire life is founded on a lie, one that I helped perpetuate. You didn’t escape from the Designer’s labs as a child; he let you and the other Genesis batchers go as part of a long-term experiment. His goal was to create survivors, lone wolf types capable of operating without oversight for extended periods. And he succeeded - 12 of you returned to him after years spent living alone in the quarantine zone. I was brought in to manage you. It was a good posting and I was excited for the opportunity. It was me who arranged to have you made into scapegoats following the American Hex massacre, and me who had you transferred to the coast for execution afterward.”
My entire body has gone rigid: muscles locked, back arched, hands and feet bunched into claws. I don’t think I could move to save my own life.
“But then you freed us.” I manage to croak.
“That was done under orders too.” She replies hollowly. “After the massacre, the seven of you were drugged and subjected to hypnotic conditioning. My task was to get you to Opacity afterward, where I was to push you along paths that would grant access to Carlel Korezon’s inner circle. Your conditioning would then have kicked in, forcing you to kill him.”
“So he was some kind of sleeper agent?” Tikal says.
“Yes. The Designer couldn’t risk the reprisals an open attack on his brother would have precipitated, so he created the Genesis batch. If you had been caught and interrogated, all the Opacians would have found was a disgraced former islander with homicidal tendencies. And more importantly, no tactical information on the Designer’s activities since taking control of the Hive.”
“But why go to all that trouble?” Tikal breaks in. “There must have been simpler ways for Sheva to off his brother.”
“Simpler maybe, but better? No. You have to understand: the Designer doesn’t think the same way we do. Every move he makes is mapped out years in advance, and he never relies on a single tool to achieve his aims. I’m sure the Genesis Batch was just one of many strategies. And think how much value he would have gotten out of them if the plan had worked. Their role in the massacre I mentioned helped cement the Designer’s rule here. And afterward, instead of wasting them on execution, he arranged to aim them at his brother.”
“But something went wrong.” Tikal guesses.
“It did. The old Opacian navy intervened during the escape I had orchestrated, and the entire Genesis batch was killed except for Anex. It was a catastrophic failure on my part. I should have scrapped the mission right then and gone back to the Hive, but I couldn’t face the prospect of returning in disgrace. So I convinced myself that my orders were still achievable, and we carried on to Opacity just the two of us.”
Now that she has started, Kalana seems driven to reveal the full extent to which my whole life has been a sham.
“When we first arrived in the city, I was still determined to carry out my duty. For two years I tried to set Anex on a path toward Korezon, even though none of my status reports to the Hive were ever answered.”
Unexpectedly, my voice decides to return.
“Is that why you kept me at arm’s length those first few years - because you were busy trying to send me off to die?
“Yes. For a long time, all I wanted was to complete my mission so that I could return home.”
“So what changed your mind?”
A sad smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You did, Anex. During those first two years, we never earned enough money to go out at night. But then you met Five, and when he bought the Church you dragged me along to his grand opening. It’s hard to believe now, but back then you were quiet and withdrawn, always trying to fade into the scenery. And to be honest, you didn’t talk much that night either. But it didn’t matter.”
I nod as the memory kicks in. “Five was feeding us both free drinks, and of course they went straight to my head. I remember I couldn’t stop staring at you.”
“Yes, until I finally asked what you were looking at. But you just gave me a smile I’d never seen before, and pulled me out onto the dance floor. After that... it was just lights and heat and me and you.” She shrugs. “The next morning, I finally admitted to myself that the Underworld was my home. That you were my home. I never sent another status report, and I stopped trying to push you up the ladder.”
“Excuse me for interrupting this heartwarming story,” Francis says, “but wasn’t Anex at a party up in the two hundreds when all this started? That sounds a lot like climbing to me.”
Kalana bows her head. “You’re right - yet another task I failed at. For years, I told myself that keeping Anex in the Underworld as a hired killer was better than sending him up to hunt Korezon. Even when I broke up with him to shield Sophie from his drug addiction, I thought that. But after the Kaleidoscope incident, I decided that a change of scenery might do him good. I never thought Anex would actually reach Korezon, you understand... but he turned out to be a little too good at what he did.”
Cyan is holding her head like she’s afraid it might explode. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but this is way too much for me to handle all at once. So can someone please just tell me what this means for our plan?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Tikal answers. “Aside from making the rabble out there harder to control. And since we’ll be moving out in a few hours, I suggest that everyone get some rest. Now.” And then she stalks over to the tipi’s ladder and disappears without so much as a glance in my direction.
CHAPTER 29
I don’t talk to anyone for the next three days. It goes without saying that I’m angry at Kalana, and Tikal too for abandoning me when I needed her. But mostly (and it’s crazy that this is my overriding emotion, but what can you do?) I’m just embarrassed. Has there ever been a bigger idiot in the history of the world? Turns out every decision I’ve ever made was dictated by someone else, with the possible exception of my choosing to become a massive drug addict. Not exactly a crowning achievement of autonomy, and I’m clean now so even that’s been taken away from me.
And why did it have to be so damn public? The platoon probably thinks I’m just a program now, blindly following my coding through to its logical conclusion. And the worst part is they’re not even wrong. I want to kill Korezon as much as ever, and knowing why doesn’t change a damn thing.
Thankfully, I’ve got the marching to occupy myself with. That, and the landscape. I keep expecting to recognize some ridge, gully or stream, but the island has been altered so completely that it never happens. Even the Hexwall foundations have been removed, down to the last concrete block. But the change is undeniably an improvement. In the rare moment that I’m not wallowing in self-pity, I can’t help thinking what a nice place this would be to live.
At night though, there is nothing to do but stew. A few people try to talk to me, but I ignore them until they fuck off. It’s actually quite possible that I’m losing my mind a little bit. Which isn’t good, obviously, but things could be worse. It’s when I don’t realize how crazy I am that I’ll know things have gotten really bad. Except that I won’t, of course - bit of a catch 22 there.