Neon Sands Trilogy Boxset: The Neon Series Season One

by Adam J. Smith

  “I think he’s dangerous.”

  “All the best ones are.”

  “I’m not joking.”

  She nodded and plated his second pancake. She went to start a third but Rylan stopped her by waving his hand.

  “You’re not, are you?” she said. “If I taught Clare anything, it was good judgement. She knows how to read people. I wouldn’t be so concerned.”

  “You should be concerned.”

  Her face tightened. Eyes sharpened.

  The hustle and bustle of pedestrians and shouting vendors seemed distant. A bubble had formed around them. It always felt that way with Misty – but right then it was tangible.

  “Okay. What’s his name?”

  Rylan chewed on the answer longer than he needed to. “Corbin Wardle.”

  “Wardle? The one with the speeches?”

  “That’s the one. You heard of him?”

  “Only hearsay. Nothing solid.” She glanced at a photograph on the wall above a waist-high refrigerator, smiled and shook her head. “That’s my girl, always attracting trouble.”

  “Or causing it.” He swallowed his final piece of pancake. “I just thought I’d let you know, anyway. Not that you can do anything about it.”

  Misty went silent. She did that thing with her eyes again. “You knew that, yet you told me anyway.” She pointed the ladle at him. “They want you.”

  He leaned back, belly bloated. A beer would wash that pancake down just right. “I’m just worried about Clarisse. Thought she could do with a mother’s touch.”

  “Even if she did pay me a visit, what could I do? Whatever’s going on, I’d probably take her side. You know that.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him.

  “And I don’t want to know what’s going on.”

  “Even if your daughter is in danger?”

  She glanced over his shoulder, then took her cloth and cleaned the hotplate. Leaning towards him, she whispered; “You came to me for approval. It’s not mine to give, son.” Standing straight, she said; “One pancake or two?”

  “Two,” said a familiar female voice. “Hi, neighbour!”

  “Neighbours? He’s not keeping you up at night with his snoring is he?”

  “What would you know about his snoring?”

  “Oh, a woman has her secrets.” She laughed and started a pancake.

  What was her name again? he thought. She must’ve decoded his quizzical look – Was he really so obvious? So easy to read?

  “Caia.”

  “Ah, yeah. Rylan.” He stood to leave – it was time for that drink.

  “I remember. Something I said?”

  “Staying for one more, Rylan?” Misty flicked an eyebrow at him. He knew what it meant, forever the matchmaker.

  “I have a date with an empty glass.”

  Caia put a hand on his shoulder as he tried to squeeze past. “Can I ask you a quick question?”

  “Fire.”

  “Do you link? I’ve looked for you in the boardrooms for R35 but never see you.”

  “Sorry, not my thing.”

  She nodded, not hiding her disappointment. Beneath the bright light of Misty’s shop, he could appreciate how pretty she was. His apartment doorway had been dark with shadows. Perhaps her eyes had appeared deeper than they were. Here, they shone. Her bottom lip even pouted her disappointment.

  “Well,” he said. “I’ll catch you round.” He walked off into the night. The last thing he heard was Caia telling Misty that she assumed he linked, because she never hears a peep from him.

  Surveillance

  Powers of oversight. That’s what Kirillion called it. There were no barriers to impede her work. The usual privacy settings did not apply to her. Everyone could be tracked. Their bodies and faces scanned and recorded. Wherever she looked she was likely imposing on someone’s right to privacy.

  It was raining again – it always seemed to be raining here. She missed being topside where it hardly rained at all. She didn’t miss the sun, though. Years beneath cloud had acclimatised her eyes to dull and overcast, and even filtered through the dome, the sun could be unbearably bright, particularly since her home was in the ring.

  Something she didn’t particularly miss, either.

  Hanging so high above the city.

  Surrounded by elite who cared nothing for her, or too much. Looking for any excuse to demote her.

  “You’ve done a great service to this city,” Kirillion’s words came back to her. “We’ll never forget.”

  But some had never known in the first place – looking upon her with their noses high and mouth curled into a scowl, wondering who she was and what she’d done to deserve her place next to them.

  Oh, she’s one of K’s.

  K brought her back from the wasteland.

  You can’t dress up a lowcase.

  She caught sight of her reflection in a panelled mirror in the entrance to Sleepy Jake’s. The leather jacket on her back glistened with spots of rain, right lapel drooping across her breast. A T-shirt beneath was plain white, and her jeans were black.

  And her feet felt a thousand times more comfortable in these boots than they had in the high glass heels she’d worn in the ring. Nothing but the heavy clod of heel on well-worn carpet echoing down the halls. The soundtrack of the elite.

  She missed the scampering bare feet of children running around the corridors of the orphanage.

  She missed the enclosed feeling of security in the crawler alcove.

  She missed tossing out insults and drinking ‘shine that tore apart your throat.

  She missed Barrick. All these things were easier to ignore, up there.

  Down here, with his kind of people, not so much.

  They could’ve made a living together, shooting shit and drinking Synesty ‘til the bells rung for closing time. Until the bed springs could take no more. Died old and dreaming of the good times out on the sand when life was so much simpler.

  Clarisse was alone.

  She should take a seat down the end of the bar and become a casual observer. Caia even headed that way, until, at the last minute, she grabbed the top of the bar stool and swung it her way, sitting down next to Clarisse.

  She flicked a hand to the bartender and said “Your finest synth.”

  He nodded and turned his back. Caia eyed Clarisse’s bowl of fried tortilla chips, with dip, and asked “Any good?”

  Clarisse, who had been scanning news on her holo-display, looked up and said “Try ‘em.”

  She thanked her and took a chip. “And another one for my friend here,” she said to the bartender. “And some more chips while you’re at it.”

  “You waiting for someone?”

  “No. Make yourself at home. You?”

  “Always,” she laughed. “He never seems to turn up though.”

  The bartender, an old guy, she noticed, with a grey moustache curling at the tips, placed two glasses and filled them to the brim. “Enjoy.”

  She tipped her head at him and picked up her drink. “Kinda cute,” she said, sniffing the synth. It had a mild, menthol taste that cleared her airway.

  “To cute bartenders,” said Clarisse, raising her glass for a toast. They clinked and drank.

  The bar was bright, brighter than the ones she liked – not a shadowy corner to be seen. A wall of screens showed a variety of sports games or advertisements for the latest link experience, like zero-G weightlessness – What is space, you ask? Find out for yourself! – or Maid’s in Heaven, a spa-experience like no other – Feel as good as you look and look as good as you feel.

  “I hear they seat you down in a row with a bunch of other women and plug you in,” said Caia, aiming her drink at the ad. “You think you’re on the beach or some shit, and when you wake up they’ve given you the full works.”

  “Sounds like a good deal. Thanks for the drink.”

  “No worries. I’m Caia.” She stopped short of offering her hand. Instead she leaned back as thoug
h to absorb the atmosphere, and gave her eye a rub. Why not – she might learn something.

  “Priya.” Clarisse stuffed a chip in her mouth. “Coming off shift?”

  “Yeah. Just been transferred over from K-sector. Factory security.”

  “Oh yeah, which factory?”

  “I dunno, they all look the same to me. I just make sure there’s no trouble at the entrance, you know?”

  Clarisse nodded. She still wore her work overalls and had her hair held back in a scruffy looking ponytail. Hands were clean though. Scrubbed free of grease. Could easily have washed them in the lockers at work, or even here. “Building maintenance,” she lied.

  “Ah,” smiled Caia. “You keep the world going round.”

  “Yep. Just grabbing a bite before heading in.”

  “Oh, figured you’d be coming off shift. People don’t normally drink going in to shift.”

  Through a mouthful of chips, Clarisse said “I’m not most people.”

  “I see. Well if we lose power I’ll know who to blame!” she placed a hand on Clarisse’s shoulder and gave a little shake.

  “Ain’t never lost power on my watch before.” She stood, shovelling the last of the chips into her mouth. “Right – I’m actually covering someone’s shift so gotta go before I’m late. Thanks again for the drink!” She threw on a clear coat that had been draped over the back of her chair and raised the hood. Before Caia could say another word, she was gone, but that was okay. That was fine. She followed her out, leaving her plate of chips – and an empty glass – on the counter.

  Clarisse’s distant figure stepped up onto the platform for the southbound trainlink. She disappeared and reappeared as the crowd went about its business, halos of misted light following them around.

  Caia checked the holo-tracking on her wrist and yep; Clarisse – or Priya – was registering loud and clear, right on cue to go back down beneath the pits. Back down to the reservoir.

  She turned around and re-entered the bar, finding her place untouched at the counter. Food still waiting. She ate as she brought up the reservoir’s work routine for the last two weeks.

  Time

  “Nothing ever changes!” said Calix.

  “I know time is running short, but we still don’t know what that means. I think we need to wait for the right opportunity.” Elissa sat with her legs crossed and a thin blanket draped over her head, in the entrance of what amounted to nothing more than a tent. Solid metal underfoot.

  He knelt down next to her. “There’s no rush for you. You’ve made it! You could just head up there and join the party!”

  “Taking it out on me’s not gonna help. Keep your voice down.”

  “Why? Nobody here cares. Maybe we should get ourselves caught, it might get us somewhere. Might get us answers!” He sat down in front of her, scratching his inner thigh where his trousers rubbed. He hadn’t bathed properly for a couple weeks, not since the risk they took, and he was beginning to feel it in the grime on his face, the grease in his hair, and the way his clothes scratched at his skin. It had been Elissa’s biggest complaint for the past few days – not food or water or freedom. Just the inability to wash.

  “You’re not thinking straight.” She looked tired. Tired of him or tired of the situation, or both. He didn’t know. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and give her a shake, the way Walker did to him when he wasn’t listening to instructions back on the sands.

  “I don’t know how much longer I can just sit here.”

  “We could move again, if you like. Maybe it’ll be different, somewhere else.”

  He thought it over. Since getting out of what he imagined were the real guts of this city; the bowel where things were done and the inhabitants really got their hands dirty, they’d covered however many miles five or six hours of walking covered. Moving from one cesspit to the next. Each cesspit was honeycomb shaped and bordered by high, rust-coloured walls with just one single set of iron rungs embedded in the side that took ten minutes to climb. Or longer. It was hard to decipher the passage of time with your arms and thighs burning and taking your full concentration.

  The last shower had come because they took a risk. Thinking they had fled far enough away from the scene of their intrusion, they descended back into the bowel from a serviceway positioned in the exact same spot of the honeycomb as the one they had escaped from. Inside, faces hidden, they had searched the corridors for unoccupied locker rooms, passing posters with their faces on and words describing how criminal they were.

  How they had an image of him they could use, he didn’t know. Elissa’s was taken from the archives of the town, but the one they had of him looked like a still-frame from a video; a moment in time he didn’t recall being recorded.

  They were both wanted for execution.

  Two days after their initial escape they had returned to the depths only to see these same posters. It was then they had decided to go for a walk.

  Get as far as they could.

  He recalled a discussion they’d had with one of the men who lived in what he called the ‘pits.’ Calix thought cesspit was more apt.

  “If, say, someone was a wanted criminal. How long would he last up there?” he’d asked.

  The man had smiled at him, all gum, and said “You’re better off down here. If they don’t want you up there with ‘em, you’re better off down here where they don’t care. Where nobody cares. Nobody cares.” All the while, his head had bounced side to side and he kept smacking his lips together to generate some moisture or something, Calix figured.

  “So they’d capture him, then?”

  “Sooner or later, sonny. Them cameras am everywhere.”

  “What do you think?” asked Elissa, bringing him back to the present.

  He lay back, head to metal, and winced. That metal – why was it always so hot? He folded his arms behind his head and stared upwards. She was up there, somewhere. So close.

  Time lost all meaning down here. Light was an ever-constant, somewhere between midnight and dawn, the tower lights and the lights rimming the metal gangways high above in continuous illumination, sending just enough to see by.

  A trainlink sailed past.

  All the things he’d seen. They seemed unbelievable. Had he stopped for one second to appreciate them? So much that hadn’t seemed possible at Sanctum. That had never even entered the realm of possibility. And to think, they were all still there, struggling, surviving on hemp and mushrooms, and all of this was just over the hill. Well, mountain. And they were connected by that damn water pipe.

  At least the people in the town knew what they were missing. Those on the sand had no idea there was anything to be missed.

  “Would you have rather stayed in the town, forever, knowing the city was here. Or been out on the sands none the wiser?”

  “I think… you give people something to hold on to and they’ll thank you. Hope, you know. What did you guys hold on to?”

  “What did we–?” He laughed. “We hoped to last another year.”

  “That’s no kind of existence.”

  He sighed. “It wasn’t so bad. I mean. With Annora. Maybe. Things could’ve been good. More than good.”

  “Maybe if you have someone, you don’t need anything else.” Elissa shuffled over and lay down next to him. “Or it really is true that ignorance is bliss. So I’d choose hope.”

  “A false hope. What if it held you back? Stopped you meeting someone? Making friends? In case, with the Trials, you won and had to leave them, you know?”

  “It never held me back, though. Always knew the score.” She thrummed her fingers on the metal and it sounded lightly in Calix’s ear. “I’m used to heat, but man, this is something else. I just feel tired all the time.”

  “I guess we should try and grab more food when it’s available. Especially if we’re gonna be on the move again.”

  Elissa hummed in agreement and took his hand. Squeezed it, and then let go. “You’re right. We can’t just stay like this f
orever. We’ll have to make a move soon.”

  “I was thinking; ask for directions to the outside edge. It might be less populated there. Or there might be, I don’t know; more opportunity.”

  “Worth a shot. Hope, you see.”

  “It’s a dangerous thing.”

  Fight

  Another day, another shift. While Wally talked shit, Rylan changed his clothes; stood before his open locker and staring at this mangled reflection and set dead eyes. Was that really him? Was that really his belly? He unhooked his father’s toolbelt and placed it on the shelf and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Keep going, kid. You’ll end up in the incinerator like me before long.

  He glanced across at Wally. He was talking but about nothing important; his mouth moving and his stubble-covered jowls jiving. Overall buttons clinging for dear life.

  Five more years, he thought, and that’s me. Heck, maybe three.

  He slammed the locker and left without a goodbye.

  Out in the entranceway, workers thronged towards the exit arch while loudspeakers said “Thank you for your work today. Have a pleasant evening.” The marching anthem rumbled through the ground. The march of captivity. Stomp-stomp-stomp. Already he could hear excited voices exclaiming about The Little Farm down by the River, or the Giants making it “five-and-oh tonight.” Stomp-stomp-stomp. Or the Elite Report – showcasing the latest exploits of the seemingly ageless. Stomp-stomp-stomp. He looked down at his belly again and then across at all the skinny figures around him. They worked no more than he did, probably less! But his guess; they spent so much time in the link they forgot to eat, and were simply happy with the supplements provided to them by the authority.

  He knew he was being harsh on himself – he wasn’t fat – but ‘yet’ was the key word there. He filled his time eating or drinking and one of them would be bound to catch up with him.

  Just give in.

  Is that what you did? he asked.

  His father was silent.

  It was particularly busy, almost shoulder to shoulder, keeping to the left while the latecomers strolled in along the right. Mustn’t cross that line. Mustn’t falter. There were guards but they were lowcases – the authority present in mind only. The control of the masses self-regulated. It was impressive, to be honest. Rylan applauded the way they controlled; you could be mistaken for thinking they were doing nothing at all, but try and prod that bubble – stick a finger out – and they’d prod you right back. Or hack the finger right off.