Variant

by T. C. Edge

  The screen went blank. I looked to Ford.

  "It was you," I said to him. "You were the one who killed him?"

  He dipped his head into a nod, quite happy to be called out as a killer. "His name was Walter Marshall. He'd gathered information on half a dozen Variants working across the industrial district, selling them out for money." His face formed into a grimace. "Not even much money," he said. "A few hundred measly credits, that's all. He deserved everything he got."

  I nodded my agreement. I felt no pity for the man at all. "But why? Why film it? You knew I was going to be there, after you? You set me up..."

  "That's a crude way of putting it, Paige," he said. "It was a lesson, that's all. What if Walter had his own secret cameras set up? You didn't check for them, did you? You were so careful getting to his unit, but once in the building, you lost your guard. You made a basic mistake that could easily have gotten you killed. You have a brilliant mind, but you are still fallible, and inexperienced."

  He turned to the screen again, and rewound the footage. He stopped at the moment I walked in, my face clear for the camera to see. "If the custodians or Reapers had gotten hold of this footage, they'd have tracked you down immediately. If a snitch working for the Reapers gets killed, you better believe that will trigger an investigation. Their first thought would be that it was a Variant that did it. They'd do all they could to track down the culprit."

  My heart was pounding. "But...it's been a week. Surely they'd have found me by now if they thought..."

  "They won't find you, Paige. Not for this, at least. I made sure of that."

  "You made sure of it? It was you who killed him, not me!"

  "And you think they'd care? They wouldn't care about bringing a charge of murder against you. They'd care about you being a Variant. That's far more important to them. I've been doing this for a long time. I came and went as a ghost. You were far too heavy handed. You let your emotion get the better of you."

  "So that's what this is?" I said, stammering a little bit, so unused to being put on the spot like this, called out for being foolish. "A lesson? Why would you bother? Why do you care?"

  My words spilled into the unit, swallowed by a sudden silence. Ford delayed in his response, looking at me with a hardened expression.

  "I care, Paige," he said eventually, "because you're my people. Because you have a lot to offer beyond this personal vendetta you've started. Because you're the exact sort of person we've been looking for. Someone who can make a real difference."

  I shook my head, hurriedly, overcome by an unexpected doubt. "What can I offer? I'm just one person."

  "Don't be modest," he said. "You're not just one person. You are special, Paige. You know you are."

  My eyes fell. I'd lived my life hearing how Variants were freaks and aberrations, listening to stories of them being rounded up and rooted out. Never once had I heard my kind being spoken about like this, at least from no one but my mother.

  It went against years of programming to hear such things. Were we special? I'd always wondered. Or were we just the man-made mistakes that had led to the collapse of the world?

  The quiet brewed, and my thoughts darkened within it. My isolation had been psychologically damaging in ways that were hard for me to express. Yes, I wanted to do good. Yes, I wanted to help my people. But I'd never expected such an opportunity to present itself so suddenly or so soon.

  The entire day, I had to admit, had been a rather hectic one.

  I needed to think. And I couldn't do it here.

  "I...I should get back to my unit," I said. I looked into Ford's warm eyes. "Thank you, for revealing yourself. For teaching me a valuable lesson. I appreciate it, I really do. But I have no answer to give you right now."

  He nodded, as though he expected that to be my response. A smile graced his face, an inviting and understanding expression. "Most react the same way," he told me. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But, however you choose to proceed, Paige, perhaps you'd be interested to know this."

  I waited for him to go on, intrigued.

  "You were hunting Walter because you thought he was a killer," he told me. "You know now, of course, that he was only a snitch. Would you like to know who he was working for?"

  My brows lowered. I knew already, didn't I? "The Reapers," I said. "Who else?"

  "Well, you're right, and wrong," he said. "How well do you know the crime lords in the Bends? Not personally, but by name and reputation."

  I shrugged. "Enough," I said. "I've never met any of them, but I know who they are. I think."

  He nodded, taking a moment to himself. When he spoke again he did so quietly.

  "There's one who is particularly violent," he said. "One who was once a Reaper, and yet has now taken to a life of crime beyond the system. In a way, however, he remains what he was, at least in his aversion to Variants. I think that's why the Controller tolerates him. He prefers to have a rogue Reaper running the Bends, hunting Variants from within."

  My lips pulled up, exposing my teeth. I knew exactly who he was talking about. A man who was hardly a man anymore. The most feared criminal in the city.

  "Mantis," I hissed through my teeth, lips curling in disgust at the thought of him. "He's the one who's been killing Variants?"

  Ford nodded slowly. "He does it for fun," he said. "And to keep in the Controller's good books. You want someone to blame for the deaths you've been investigating? It's Mantis."

  His taken title and name, and the image that came with it, stirred a renewed anger inside me. Mantis was feared across the Bends, as ruthless as he was bionically enhanced. Yet he was never someone I'd ever consider going after alone. Ford knew what he was doing. It was subtle manipulation, but effective all the same.

  Mantis has been on our radar for a long time," he finished. "We think he has information about a new weapon that's being developed in Northbank, one that will be used against our people. So far, we haven't been able to get close. But time is starting to run out, Paige. There's only so much we can do to disrupt the containment camps and testing facilities. We need more skilled recruits." He looked at me straight. "And our paths are aligned."

  The passion in his face was persuasive, enough to make me feel small and selfish. But it wasn't only me I had to consider. There were others connected to me, to what I was and what I was doing, who I needed to think about too.

  "I won't keep you any longer," Ford finished. "I understand it's a lot to take in, and you've had a long day. Just, think about it. I'll be in touch soon."

  He led me towards the door, guiding me back out into the cold night air. It was an abrupt finish, but necessarily so. The repair works would begin soon on the Skytube track above my unit. I needed to get back before then.

  I returned a few minutes later, slinking quickly between the blindspots. There were a few hours left before I needed to be back at work. I should have tried to rest, but couldn't. My mind was busy, laden with concerns. Questions came, but no answers were forthcoming.

  I sat, frustrated, upon my bed, caressing my pistol, thinking of all I'd heard.

  Ford.

  I wanted to see him again already. I wanted more information. I needed more answers.

  Mantis.

  His ugly, twisted form rose in my mind. I looked at my pistol, still yearning for its first kill.

  Perhaps, now, I'd found the perfect target.

  8

  The packing warehouse felt different. As dull as ever, as incessantly repetitive. But...different all the same.

  It was Wednesday, and the past two days had been more excruciatingly boring than ever. My eyes had been somewhat opened, and yet much more needed to be explained.

  Yet here I was, back in this lifeless place, mindlessly packing boxes.

  I'd explained everything to Becca the previous day, against my better judgement. When we walked to work on Tuesday morning after my rendezvous with Ford, she immediately noticed that something was up. It would be hard for me to keep her off my b
ack now, I knew. She was like a dog with a bone, and I'd given her a taste.

  Resistance, she told me, was futile. It was a slightly ironic choice of words.

  That Wednesday was a painful affair, my mind more distracted than ever, and yet my work requiring my focus. I may have had a supreme intellect when it came to certain things, but that didn't appear to transfer to multi-tasking. Several times that day, my mind wandered once more, and Becca was forced to draw my attention back to the ration box under my nose.

  Each time, I'd realise I was packing it wrong. Each time, I grew more thankful that Becca now knew what was occupying my thoughts, and could be on hand to offer her support.

  It was a fair enough trade - she'd watch over me at work, and make sure I didn't make too many mistakes, and I'd keep her up to speed on what was going on elsewhere in my life.

  Plus, chocolate. I promised I'd give her plenty of that, whenever I got my hands on some.

  The day dragged on, the weather expectedly miserable. It was that time of year, when the skies were clogged with rainclouds and the air ever damp with drizzle. We took lunch inside because of the rain, the cold air from outside permeating the open warehouse. The walls weren't particularly well insulated. It made the working day even more unpleasant with a constant chill in the air.

  We gathered under our raincoats for the journey home, splashing along through the darkened streets with the legions of others. Our coats, like our overalls, were standard issue, dark grey and thin, keeping out the rain well enough but doing little to combat the cold. It made everyone look identical, a thousand clones under their hoods, returning to their uniform units.

  I kept my eyes open, however, as we ventured towards our street. The Skytube works continued, and yet the grumbling committee of locals had relented, pushed back by the rains.

  I scanned in the hope of seeing Ford, standing casual in his coat, square jaw visible beneath his hood. Like the previous night, he was absent. I wasn't surprised, but remained disappointed. There were many things I wanted to know. I regretted rushing off so quickly two nights before.

  I split from Becca there, telling her I was tired and needed to sleep. I waited for her to disappear inside her building before making the short journey to Ford's safe-house. Amid the returning sea of raincoat-covered workers I was well camouflaged and disguised. I reached the appropriate building and slipped secretly inside, before knocking gently on the safe-house door.

  No answer came.

  I knocked again and got the same result. With a deflated sigh I left, ducking my head as a resident entered and made his way towards the stairs, eyeing me curiously.

  I returned to my own building and ventured to the top floor, where I took position at the window at the end of the corridor. I wondered, as I stood there looking out at the rain-soaked street, whether Ford had done all of this on purpose.

  Was all this a psychological trick, a bit of subtle manipulation? To tell me the things he did, and then step back and let it all brew. He must have known it would only strengthen my thirst. He must have known that I was yearning to know more.

  He didn't come that night either, though my mother, as usual, did. She caught me standing there at the window, staring out on the street below, as the time ticked towards curfew.

  "Paige, what are you doing?"

  I didn't startle at her sudden appearance. It was expected at about this time each night, as sure as curfew, though more commonly enforced.

  "Nothing, mum," I said tiredly. "Just looking at the rain."

  "Looking at the rain?" I could hear her shaking her head behind me. "The world may have changed, but teenagers never will. All long melancholic stares and silences." I turned to her and saw her smile. "Come on down to my unit, I've got some tea on the boil."

  Her own unit was, as mine, standard issue in its formation and furnishing, though she'd added a few embellishments of her own. Such things were permitted, so long as they were legally purchased and approved, allowing people to add their own personal touch to things. So long, of course, as they had the credits for it.

  The most valued addition my mother had made to her unit was a kettle, along with two antique china cups and saucers. It was a tradition of this city, and these lands, from many years gone by, that she liked to uphold - the simple act of sitting down over a cup of warm tea, a drink that I, personally, had never really taken to.

  Still, I humoured my mother any time she offered me such an invite, knowing it was important to her. She had accumulated a few varieties - camomile, jasmine, peppermint, lemon and ginger - and several others. They weren't so easy to come by these days, and came at a bit of a cost. Given her increasingly light frame, I'd begun to suspect that she'd been foregoing ration boxes in order to be able to afford her tea. It was a treat, and a habit, that seemed to give her life some purpose.

  That thought, above all, upset me the most.

  I sat on her bed, as she passed me my cup, the aroma working up my nose. I preferred the smell to the taste, depending on the variety. This was jasmine, quite exotic. It was her favourite, I knew.

  She only tended to pour it when she had something important to discuss.

  I braced, expecting a telling off of some kind. Everything she did, from preparation to pouring, to handing me my cup, was well rehearsed and perfected. It was ritualistic, almost, the process respected. She poured her own cup with characteristic reverence and then moved over to sit on her chair opposite me.

  She sat, saucer in one hand, teacup handle in the other, and took a sip. She'd even changed out of her overalls, had a shower, and put on some of her nicer clothes. She didn't have many, but liked to dress up as best she could on such occasions. I worried for her mental health, but had never once questioned her on it. Lots of people had their rituals that helped keep them sane around here.

  "I've been thinking," she said eventually, after several long moments of silence. She looked up at me and smiled from behind her teacup. "About Rebecca knowing about you." Her face was pleasant and relaxed. I didn't see it like this often these days. "I've come to the conclusion that it's a good thing. I know how hard it is for you, darling, not being able to talk about this with anyone but me. You're lucky to have her, actually. How many people are that understanding?"

  "Few," I said. "Very few."

  "Exactly. Rebecca is trustworthy and responsible. Hopefully, she'll help to temper your worst impulses, where I seem to be failing..."

  I let out a sigh and shook my head. "So that's what this is about?" I asked. "Me going out and helping my people? You think Becca will advise me against it?"

  She lifted her chin, sensing my pushback. "I would hope," she said, "that Rebecca would have your best interests at heart, as I do. And that's not forgetting her own. You are playing with fire, Paige. If you get burned, we all will."

  "I know that, mum. You think I don't think about that every single time I go out there?"

  "I'm not so sure anymore, to be honest. I think this has gotten inside you now, right inside your head. You're just like your father, trying to play the hero. If he'd just accepted how things were we might all have been able to live normal lives."

  "Mum, you don't believe that," I stressed. "Dad was just trying to make things better for us all. Not just me and him and you, but all of my people. What's wrong with that?"

  "What's wrong with that?" Her face intensified, eyes straining. "What do you think is wrong with that?" She looked around the room, growing emotional. "He isn't here, Paige. That's what's wrong with that. And you won't be either if you keep up like this."

  Words came rushing to my tongue, but I managed to bite them back. I didn't want to have this conversation. I hadn't signed up for it. Not today.

  The room fell to silence. My mother's hands shook lightly as she took a calming sip of her tea. She pulled a long breath into her lungs and blew it slowly out. When in this sort of mood, there was little point in trying to reason with her. The problem was, this wasn't a mood anymore.

 
; It was just how she was.

  "I just...miss him, Paige." Her voice had grown smaller, whispering into the room. "I know it's been a long time, but I can't help it. It's been so hard, trying to raise you alone. And now, I see that you're becoming just like him. I don't want to lose you too, darling."

  "You won't lose me, mum," I said. "I promise. I'm careful, with everything I do. I..." My mind switched to Ford's lecture. Untidy, he'd called me. I needed to be better. "I know you worry, but you can't expect me to just live like everyone else. And this?" I looked around. "All this. It isn't even life, mum. Not really. It's not real living."

  "Better than being dead."

  "Is it?"

  She regarded me with an ambiguous expression. She had to hold by her conviction, the lessons she'd taught me to keep my head down, keep going, just get through, day by day. But, behind those words I saw the truth. She was just like everyone else. She had to devise ways to find value in her life. It wasn't how it was meant to be.

  Joy. Meaning. Purpose. They shouldn't have been so hard to come by.

  "This...this is our lot, Paige," she went on, sidestepping around the question. "We make the best of it. We do what we can while we're here."

  "And that's just what I'm doing," I said, my voice a little firmer. "I'm doing what I can, mum. Just like dad did. Just like you did, when you were with him. You...you lived beyond the system, didn't you? You weren't always like this."

  "I lived beyond the system because I had to, Paige. I had no choice, not with your father and you. But when he left, and didn't come back, I had to find a way to bring you up. To do so safely and in secret. They helped me. They made sure we were both assimilated back into the system. And every day since then, I've been grateful for that..."

  "The VLA," I whispered. Her eyes lifted to mine, a frown falling over them. "You mentioned them once before," I went on. "Dad was working with them, wasn't he? With the resistance?"

  "You...remember that?" she asked. "You were only a small child."