Neon Sands Trilogy Boxset: The Neon Series Season One

by Adam J. Smith

  For there they were. At each other’s mercy. The rock and the hammer, interchangeable at notice.

  Now at her mercy.

  “You have an incoming call,” said her assistant. What flashed up on screen was simply ‘K’.

  She double-checked her status and confirmed that she was ‘offline’. The room around her vanished and tunnel-vision focused on that K, K, K, K, K, K, as it flashed and beeped relentlessly. It grew larger on the screen until it filled it. Each beep sent volts through her heart, which stuttered and started in convulsing arrhythmia.

  Then the walls of the hotel room begun to bleed with light; the green and grey curlicues of vines and ornate leaves speckled gold and silver shone from the wallpaper, and the shadows receded behind the cracks and beneath the dead black carpet. Everything from the lamp on the bedside table to the empty cartons of Chinese toppled at the end of the bed turned, like eyes watching her, or more specifically: lenses.

  He can see you, they said.

  She shunted to the foot of the bed, kicking the cartons to the floor in the process, and planted her feet on the floor besides her boots.

  He can’t see me.

  He’ll know you’re here, they whispered.

  I was on my way out and I didn’t see the incoming call.

  Boots on, she stood and grabbed her longcoat and took a deep breath, so she would look calm, so she could exit with the natural decorum of someone just popping out for some milk. Not the panic of someone running from danger.

  Out in the hallway it was even brighter; just when she wanted to blend in and disappear into the shadows, this subterranean well of darkness was all glitz and glamour with crystal pendants dangling from flamboyant light fixtures, tincturing the corridor with rainbow light-drops. She imagined each as an eye as she glanced towards them, unsure where the cameras were, if there were any at all. The door closed with a thud behind her and she tried to appear calm as she made her way for the stairs. She shook her head – all that time at the top had tainted her expectations. She could have had a roomette with a dirty basin in the corner. But no, she had to have silk sheets and room service.

  Fools

  From here, Calix could see the rotorblades spinning in great, slow arcs; their blades beaded with drainage holes that sprinkled water down upon the lower city as rain. As adjacent blades passed, they almost kissed, with one spinning clockwise and the next counter-clockwise, and it was an odd sight; you looked up and expected to see sky – somewhere, eventually sky – instead were these dispensers of cool embedded in a ceiling of smooth concrete, black as night. The daylights hung low and were almost too bright: all the glass up here was tinted, he noticed; the windows varying shades of grey and blue.

  This was the uppermost street level, reached after another two hours of solid travel. Each trainlink seemed to sidle along the tracks on the same level for forever, before rising to the next. It was as though travel was discouraged. The inner elevators in the towers didn’t cross; each street level was its own microcosm and as far as he could tell – you may have to cross a bridge or two – but things like schools and other services served its own level only, their catchment a three-by-three block of towers. Important things like markets and law enforcement, and the schools, were centralised in the middle tower; each sector with its own numerical designation.

  “I don’t see a way up,” said Elissa.

  “I imagine it’s through the towers, like, up the centre or something.”

  “That would make sense.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and ducked through the crowds on the street towards the tower.

  “Hold up, I’ll lose you in this,” called Calix, jogging to catch up. “How you feeling?”

  She pushed through a set of heavy double doors that lead towards a large, open lobby. “Tired and hungry. You?”

  “Same. Do you wanna rest?”

  “Where?” she asked, jumping out of the way of someone rushing out.

  “Watch where you’re going!” the stranger shouted back, coattails flapping as the door closed behind him.

  Calix could see the tension in her face as she edged to bite, but she controlled herself and turned away. “Somewhere. Anywhere.”

  “It seems busier up here. The people are better dressed. I’m not sure we’d find somewhere that easily, and besides – don’t you feel that?”

  “What?”

  “The air: it feels normal. Less sweaty. I can almost taste the other side. The lack of sunlight really did something to the air down here. I didn’t quite realise, but it was suffocating.”

  He knew what she meant; maybe it was the open and brightly lit lobby with marble or marble-esque walls, or probably the proximity of the air conditioning ventilation to the outside, but there was a sense of being able to breathe deeply. Of filling your lungs. “We’re close,” he said, “but we do need to rest. Is that more likely down here or up there, do you think?”

  She turned down a wide corridor, joining the carousel of tapping and clacking as commuters – if that’s what they were – went about their business in a disorganised manner. “I don’t know,” she said, and they walked along in silence for another hundred metres, taking in the gilded sconces and ornately curved coving where wall met ceiling. Everything was so clean; even the rubber-soled scuff marks on the ground looked fresh, like a toddler’s strokes of paint on a masterpiece. Desecration.

  An exit loomed, marked by a barrier of people moving left and right, who would need giving way to. They came to them, momentarily distracted by waiting for a gap they could duck into, and only looked up once they were safely one of the moving masses.

  An announcement from an overhead speaker echoed down between glass tubes of pure-white escalators: “The authorities thank you for your due diligence and the fortitude you display every day in following out your assignments and reporting anything suspicious to the governing agency.” The words bounced between the hexagons and squares of negative space between the escalators, something of an almost crystal nature was Calix’s first thought. “We continue to provide everything you would ever need. We are clear that we will not tolerate undue dissent, and urge those with complaints to come forward and speak to a representative at your earliest convenience.” Rigid bodies rose on moving steps; going up, going down – the meat caught in the web. The strands stretched high and wide within this hollow centre, taking people to glass-lined rooms at the circumference that stared down upon the whole charade, and he imagined being one of those; as if this overexposed light and glass and chrome wouldn’t give you a daily headache.

  “Thank you for your co-operation.” The words hung in the polished air, plucked by eager ears.

  He felt a tug on his arm and Elissa pulled him out of the masses. They stood beneath the forty-five-degree angle of an ascending escalator, each keeping their head extra low. Elissa, with her collar high, and Calix, with his cap pulled low.

  “I don’t like this,” she said.

  “I don’t, either.” He then noticed the guards standing around the perimeter, guns in holsters on full view. “Let’s get out of here. We don’t know what we’re doing or where to go. We can come back when we do.”

  She just nodded and hooked her arm in his as he made for the nearest exit, head down but eyes keeping watch of the guards; waiting for the smallest of movements. A hand to the ear. The flick of a glance. He then noticed the enormous screen on the wall displayed a rolling advert for Meno-Cause – a procedure that would Turn your life around. No more annoying kids! He envisaged the screen going black, fading in to his image, the words Deadly! Kill at all costs! appearing above his brow-darkened visage. Thank you for your co-operation.

  It didn’t happen. And the guards never flinched a muscle. They found an exit and walked as quickly as they dared until they were out in the street again.

  Destruction

  The welding torch burned through the handle of the isolator valve, its flame spitting red-hot, melting the metal. The handle clanged on the floor, glo
wing.

  Rylan glanced at the camera at the end of the corridor. Shame you’re not working. I’ll have to get maintenance to take a look. He felt like offering a smile but his face wouldn’t move. It wasn’t his anymore, not really. Just like these arms weren’t his. His whole body had been on automatic ever since waking up in the corridor outside his apartment – and her apartment – and accepting that somehow, he’d been marked. He’d lead Caia – or whoever she was – to Clarisse. He’d been the authority’s mole.

  He didn’t know why they hadn’t cleaned him up, but he was going to make them wish they had.

  In the scheme of things, he thought, this would be a fitting tribute. And the only way it would ever have happened. So you got your way in the end, Clarisse.

  He reached inside an inner pocket of his overalls and pulled out a flask. Synesty, the good stuff. Went down smooth, with a little burn; those scent antigens burrowing through his system to keep his brain on the straight and level. He didn’t just need a clear head for this, he wanted a clear head for this. To see the destruction it would cause.

  But he also needed to be slightly outside of himself. The Synesty was doing a good job of lubricating his mechanics.

  All that remained was to set the bombs off.

  He waved at the camera and exited through the back door into the crawlspace where hundreds of pipes, normally hidden behind the cinderblocks, ran vertically. He shuffled along, in the same space as countless times before. Stains on his overalls meant he had picked up an old pair, and he could sure smell them now. “How’s that for you, Clarisse? Guess you’re not gonna be cleaning up after me anymore, so there’s that.” His tone scared him a little. The pain could come later, however, if it had the chance.

  For the moment, he was wired like one of the autoservers in the more expensive establishments, all form and function. Though, he supposed, they didn’t come with an emotional bypass. As his nose passed centimetres from some pipes, he supposed he could have used the tower itself as an analogy; everything about it serving the needs of its inhabitants, regardless of an emotional connection.

  Time for the tower to go on a diet.

  ***

  And shit itself. He looked at the final loop of putty around the central exhaust pipe, with its silver flakes of aluminium embedded into it, and then poured his cocktail of Synesty and diluted hydrochloric acid over it.

  No going back now, he thought.

  It began to sizzle immediately, throwing out a white smoke and sparks from the aluminium dust. Hand over mouth, he turned back towards the exit, ducking under and stepping over pipework, the smell of petroleum on his hands. It was low-grade stuff reserved for public consumption only, but it still burned. He made sure not to step in the trail he’d created.

  Outside of the room, he took deep breaths and looked left and right up the corridor. The light bounced strangely in the wet puddles on the floor that stretched the entire length.

  Cameras hung, wrung at the neck.

  “Thanks for your offer, Clarisse, but I didn’t need it.”

  The monitoring station was a panic of red, flashing alerts. Link connections were failing. There were reports of no hot water, and no water at all. Whole apartments had gone black, and others were filling with smoke.

  On the network grid, a skew of key isolator valves were flashing red. Good. The gas he’d isolated and the pipes were almost empty now – he didn’t want to chance a gas explosion – but electricity, transfer fibre-optic cabling, water, and exhaust, were now all under embargo.

  Calmly, he stepped out of the main control unit room and turned. The puddle began at his feet. He struck a match and flung it out onto the floor, and stepped back, allowing the heavy double fire-doors to swing shut. As the gap between the doors narrowed, so the orange flames grew.

  Arise

  Up

  When the seeker seeks no more, the sought become an afterthought.

  What nonsense, thought Caia. Unfortunately, the authority serviceway was scarred by reams of philosophical musings, etched into the granite stone shaft through which it ran, each as useless, pointless, or meaningless as the next.

  You’d think after years of nothing but time on their hands, that at least one philosopher would have grown from their ranks. Unless immortality rendered everything meaningless.

  Half-way up the tower, Kirillion had tried calling again, and she gave in, finger poised over Accept, and then the link became severed. All the information on her readout just vanished.

  Her heart had stuttered and her hands clammed up with sweat, and she kept rubbing her fingers together in an aimless, absent way.

  The lift’s gentle thrum had lulled her.

  The rising platform had jolted her, scraping against rails embedded in the wall, but she had not recovered.

  She checked again, turning her wrist over, even raising her hand into the air and turning, slowly. But still nothing.

  And then her heartbeat quickened. Was this it? Is this how they ended it? How they… disappeared you?

  That wouldn’t be so bad, she’d thought. Fuck it.

  No.

  Yes. I can be with you.

  No. It’s too late for that. This is just an error. Use it. Take it.

  Barrick – aka she – was right. This was her first taste of freedom since she’d arrived.

  You miss the sands just as much as I miss you.

  You’re dead. Stop talking to me.

  Freedom. She breathed deeply, rubbing her forearms, her heartbeat easing.

  The walls continued to fall around her. When the platform stopped, there would be no armed guards waiting to gun her down, for she had done nothing to warrant it – yet. It was pure paranoia on her part, a sense of self-guilt, to think that there would be.

  Rising, rising; parables and advice falling, falling. Hammered into the granite here: Preservation of self comes before all else. You must pervade. You will.

  “The gibberish of madness.”

  ***

  “In a city of a million people, and I’ve never felt so alone.” Elissa raised her palm to Calix as he looked up at her, his eyes lying somewhere between upset and confused. “That’s not anything to do with you. Obviously I’m not alone. It’s just this place. It’s a bad place. No-one feels connected. It’s like everyone is alone.”

  She knew she wasn’t explaining herself very well, which was probably why Calix just nodded and took another bite of the jerked chicken-meat sausage, chewing laboriously. It was tasteless stuff but the smell of all the frying and steaming food around them helped to lubricate her throat. This too felt out of place; a constant supply of cooked food on tap as if at any moment they could run out, and this would be the final chance to eat. The final meal. Or else these vendors were troughs and everyone else – quite healthily rotund, she noticed – were pigs.

  “There’s not many slim people around, eh?” she said.

  “I guess not,” said Calix, eyes darting from one person to the next. “This is my final bite from my bag. I wish we could have some of what they’re eating.”

  “I’m not sure the pits delivery service extends all the way up here. Keep an eye open – maybe we can intercept if we see someone taking food away.” She’d saved some food back, but it wouldn’t last long. If only she could get to a directory of some kind; contact Leora, or Guinan, or any of the past winners. They’d be sure to help, if only for food and somewhere low to lie – up above, preferably.

  “By grace,” she said. “Do you think any of the Liberty Trial winners would’ve been put down here?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. I doubt it – I mean, why would they?”

  “I’m getting the impression a lot of these people aren’t here by choice. That room, with the moving staircases; everyone looked official, somehow, not like most people we’ve bumped into.”

  “Could be another way up. One we ain’t found yet.”

  She scratched her neck. “I dunno. Seems to me like a little of the topside d
ripping to the underside. We start ‘experimenting’ we could get ourselves noticed.”

  The daylights began to dim – up here it was more noticeable – and she glanced up at them, orbs of faux-sun; a false, sickly yellow. Almost immediately, the place seemed smaller and those tinted tower windows like voids or doorways to another realm. Lower down, the garish neon- and argon-fuelled bars of rainbow lights that blistered on reflecting surfaces; through hovering mists and exhaust steam; were as self-contained in their atmosphere as their services. This level was fast dying; people thinning, light losing the battle with the science of shadows.

  “Give it a little longer,” she said. “Let’s see how quiet it gets as ‘night’ falls. Head back inside and look around. At the very least we might find somewhere to sleep or some information about where we can go.”

  Calix smiled at her. “What we need is another you. You took me under your wing. Made sure I ate and drank. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

  “Yeah. Only problem there is no-one knows we’re here. Except those who do want us dead.”

  ***

  The doors opened on Negative One. Panic etched onto faces as those here formed ever larger groups, asking each other “Are you online?” –

  – “Are you online?” –

  with heads turning frantically. Even the guards were intermingling with the public. They noticed her and their loud voices hushed to whispers.

  “It’s the authority.”

  “Something’s happening.”

  “It’s them – it must be.”

  She stepped out of the service exit and stood still until the doors behind her had closed. Mustn’t forget protocol, she thought. She nodded at the eyes watching her, waiting for the first move. She could see their eagerness – it was so transparent she could almost feel their questions as though through telekinesis. Do you know why we cannot connect?