As Kau broke into his first building, he finally saw the appeal. Why friends of his growing up had cultivated trouble and been classed as ‘uncontrollable’. And the irony was, the UA wasn’t against a bit of breaking and entering themselves. They had no problem storming in, wreaking havoc and destruction. But there was no need to storm in. Celeste’s workshop would kindly oblige with the manual fob he’d taken yesterday, meaning he could unlock the door and bypass the wrist chip-locking system. He planned to enter quietly and leave just the same. Getting the BioDome was one of the last things to do before his new life began, and a shit-ton of fury, reigned.
The workshop’s blue-tinged lights peeled his eyes raw like onions. The expulsions from the air conditioner stripped the slick of sweat from his back. It was 14.30, though the building was felt much like a wormhole; it could be any time, any day. But it was Saturday, and no one would be there. They would be relaxing with the family or only just sprung from sweat-soaked sheets, lips still gasping for more. He hadn’t known either of those things in the past week; he was still smarting from how he left things with Celeste yesterday. That was his first failed goodbye. Cellllllleste.
He walked through the vestibule to rustling and faint movements from behind the workshop doors. There was someone in there. He prised the door open slowly and looking inside, he couldn’t help but smile.
Her corn-coloured hair was pulled messily into a bun. Her elbow darted back and forth like she was playing the violin. There were pencils splayed on the desk in front of her. He knew Celeste liked to draw. He had seen her sketching once after he’d stayed at hers. It was early, the sun had barely risen, and he’d woken to a cool groove in the bed. He’d padded around three rooms till he’d found her, silently hunched over on a stool, her vertebrae poking out beneath the skin on her back. Her hand was swooshing over the paper, a luxury that UA employees could fancifully enjoy, but there was nothing fanciful about Celeste at that moment. He’d wanted to hold her, absorb the moment, but he hadn’t wanted to spoil it.
It seemed right somehow that he saw her drawing now, the thing she loved, which maybe she kept more secret than anything else. He went to open his mouth, but she turned around and saw him. Her scrunched forehead and the hint of a smile left him wondering whether she was puzzled or pleased to see him.
‘What are you…?’ She began to say but Kau, remembering the cameras and audio, interrupted her.
‘You’ve got to get out!’ He shouted and beckoned her to him.
She ran by his side, concern dappled on her face.
He hustled them both outside to the corner from before. ‘I haven’t got much time,’ he said and wheezed air into his lungs which had rebelled since he’d stopped swimming. How things had changed quickly. ‘What are you doing here?’ He went to touch her arm and remembered he didn’t have that privilege anymore.
‘There’s a lot to do, so I thought I’d work, but when I got here…,’ she ran her hands through her hair, scoring her scalp as she was prone to when there was too much running around in there. ‘What are you doing here?’ She looked as tired as he felt.
‘The less you know, the better, right?’ he said, and immediately regretted it. He hadn’t come to joust.
Celeste gave him a look she usually reserved for Epomenzoic’s legal team. ‘There are no cameras, no recording equipment…’ she said looking around.
That was hardly the point, and she knew it. But he’d had enough lies, double-crossing, and holding back information to last him a lifetime. ‘You can’t un-know once I’ve told you,’ he said looking at her, but thinking of his mother. She had been the exception and paid the price.
Celeste nodded.
Kau told her everything; that he’d been sending information about Mars and the UA’s plans to his mother and the Ghetto, to Kodi and about the virus.
‘Anton’s been phasing me out. Kodi won’t be the UA’s lab rat, so there’s zero incentive for him to keep me around. You know better than anyone what his next move is likely to be…’ he said, remembering their last conversation.
‘I won’t make myself invisible as though I’ve done something wrong. And I won’t wait like a sitting duck, wasting away like my father.
‘I’ll be the opposite. I’m going to be so visible the UA wished I was dead – and I’m sure they’ll try – but they won’t succeed, not if I can help it. I’m going to blow the lid on everything.
‘If Mars is the new start from the mistakes of the past, and we’re supposed to take forward the learnings, then everyone should know that the biggest threat to civilisation is letting the UA pull the strings.
‘The only chance we have of the Global Governance Alliance eradicating the UA is calling them out on their shit. Make them accountable; stand up, and without hesitation, say no.
‘I’ll talk about all of the shady dealings that the Heads of the UA, Provinces and Departments have done; all of the shady things I’ve done. I’ll tell everyone the truth, and to prove I have nothing to hide I’ll live in transparency in the BioDome. With cameras 24/7 recording me to the world, and a chip that publishes if something happens to me.
‘If those UA fuckers try anything, everyone will know it was them and why. They’ll paint me as crazy… well, let them try.’ He realised he was panting. He did sound crazy.
Celeste’s silence spoke volumes. Perhaps she was overwhelmed, even scared, or maybe she’d swallowed so much shit from Anton and everyone, she didn’t know what was real.
‘Well I didn’t expect that,’ she said finally. ‘Who says you can have my BioDome?’ She laughed. Kau hadn’t heard her throaty cackle since this all started. It was good to hear her laugh again, but it soon broke into tears.
There was one more thing he needed from her. Even though they weren’t together, and her loyalties lay with Anton, she was the only person who could help him, and what did he have to lose now? ‘Celeste, who wrote the reports on the Antarctic and the Earth’s habitability?’
‘Why do you want to know? Are you planning on talking about them?’
‘Is there a reason I should?’
Celeste turned away from him, and he wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but she had to see there were people’s lives at stake. Though they didn’t comply with the UA, it didn’t mean they deserved to die. ‘Please, Celeste. The names? My mother and friends, not to mention the world-wide Ghetto Network will be left here to die, while the rest of you survive on Mars. I have to help them…’
She sighed, and more tears fells with it. ‘I don’t know who wrote the Antarctica report. They’ve called it the ‘AST – Antarctica Sustainability Team’ to look credible to the public, but nobody knows who it is. Miles Philo compiled the Earth’s habitability report. He’s based here, of course… but he’s a UA-er, through and through.’
She bowed her forehead into his shoulder, and let it rest there as she cried herself out. It wasn’t the goodbye he had in mind; the last thing he wanted was to cause more upset, but it was now or never, and never was too awful to contemplate. The time was now, and it was his.
* * *
Sparse cappuccino clouds frothed in the sky; the sun stroked his face through the Intuimoto’s glass. An archaic electronica mix boomed from the dashboard. Kau re-read everything as if it were a mail on his phone. He wouldn’t experience it again for a long time, if at all.
As he made his way back to the Ghetto to complete the final pieces of the puzzle, every so often he brought his forearm to his face. Celeste’s neroli perfume had left a faint glaze on his skin.
They had been right when they’d said to him, ‘You’ll love Celeste, everyone does. She’s a visionary.’ He hadn’t known the extent that it would be true.
Celeste hadn’t understood, at first. It told him all he needed to when it wasn’t the extreme stories and the UA’s lies that shocked her, but why he would put himself in such danger, and what he had to gain.
‘But you might make people question the UA… they might not move to Mars. And th
at’s the only way they’ll be able to survive,’ she had said.
He’d thought about that too. But there was another way if people would only demand it, if the Global Governance Alliance were pressured; if people stood up and said no. And that’s what he would do.
‘I just don’t see how you can win,’ she shook her head. ‘And being visible for 24 hours a day… I designed that bathroom – it protects the minimum of modesty. You’re isolating and exposing yourself simultaneously.’
He wondered if, like him, she realised that this was the final nail in the coffin of ‘them.’ Yesterday, they agreed it was over. She was going in one direction, he in another. But this meant it really was over. Celeste left, she had turned around to wave to him, a final goodbye, before walking away. Just like that, it was over.
If she thought anything of the sort, she didn’t let on. She kept it close to her like everything else. But she didn’t stand in his way; she had even been helpful and given him the manual fobs for the forklift and truck to transport the BioDome. Celeste’s fob would stabilise any monitoring checks from security. He would still be captured on CCs, but by tomorrow, everyone would know what he had done anyway.
He figured it would be safer to leave the BioDome truck outside of the workshop, rather than park it by the Ghetto or randomly in the vicinity where it could draw attention. As he forklifted the BioDome to the truck, his regrets played on repeat. That he never would know what might have happened with Celeste, that he hadn’t told his father his plan; that after tomorrow, he probably wouldn’t see his mother again. He’d compressed them into the corners of his mind, but now they were unfolding, they couldn’t stop.
And when he pulled into the Ghetto, knowing that Anton would be counting down the final hours, something strummed in his chest, like strings pulled by the divine, reminding him of something he’d thought earlier when he was with Celeste.
It was now or never. The time was now, and it was his.
CHAPTER 36
Saturday 20th May 2062
2 hours to hand over Kodi
As Kau paced the tunnels with a fury unlike Jun had ever seen, she wondered how well she really knew her son, or how much working for the UA had changed him. She’d expected resistance and arguments, of course; but this was as unfamiliar as snow on the plains. The guang lights hung expectantly for the planned filming; the tripods were silent witnesses. There was a hint of something in the air, maybe whisky – had Kau been drinking?
They neither one of them could live with the other going through with it. But, Jun reasoned, she was his mother, his protector, and it was only the natural order that she died before he did.
‘I’m not planning on either one of us dying!’ he shouted, but he couldn’t be oblivious to the risks; best-laid plans didn’t always work out.
‘We need you for the fallout,’ she said. ‘You can galvanise people.’ In place of his long hair was a prickly-melon, like Kodi’s had been, only on him it looked aggressive, primitive. Every time she looked at him, her eyes expected the familiar; they couldn’t adjust to this unhinged man in place of her son.
‘What about, Kodi?’ he said, exasperated. ‘No one else can unlock her mind the way you can.’
Jun truly thought that Larisa could work with Kodi, the question was whether she would. When Jun had mentioned it earlier, Larisa stayed stonily silent. After Batz, Solo, Larisa and the others returned from the Circle, Jun had announced her updates to Kau’s plan. Kodi had held her tightly, enough to make Jun’s heart bruise. Solo looked crushed. The others had looked to their General; Chandra, for once, didn’t take the mantel and had stayed quiet.
‘What about Celeste?’ she asked in desperation, but as soon as she said it, she felt Kau’s hackles rise. Jun didn’t know much about Celeste, other than the tiniest scrap Kau had mentioned, and what she’d overheard from Anton.
‘I won’t let you do it, do you understand?’ Jun shouted, and heard her own mother’s voice echo in the tunnel.
Kau batted off her protests with a look that said he wouldn’t budge.
‘We won’t transmit it,’ she gasped, though she hadn’t wanted to. It was the last hand to play if everything else failed, but she was failing.
Kau spun around; his face scrunched tighter than a fist, the veins in his neck plumped like leeches. Jun knew she’d crossed a line, and there was no coming back from it, but it was as necessary as self-defence.
Chandra had all but argued with her about it earlier, when she had mooted withholding transmission of the PSA if Kau didn’t relent. He’d shaken his head, and there was something missing from behind his eyes when he looked at her. ‘He’ll hate you for it.’
If Chandra had children, he’d understand. Jun had even felt a pull to Fan, but she was immediately repulsed that he had told their son in the first place, knowing what Kau was planning to do. It was a death sentence, and she felt it from her very bones to stop him from doing it. Her need was as primitive. She’d bitten back her tongue when Kau began working for the UA against her better judgement; she wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
‘Why can’t you trust me to make my own decisions?’ he raged.
Jun shook her head. It wasn’t him that she didn’t trust. Whether it was right or wrong, she wouldn’t let Kau do something that could never be undone.
If it was the last thing she did, even if Kau hated her for it, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let him live in that BioDome.
* * *
Chandra tried to bury his face behind the camera, but its smallness meant it barely covered his nose and half an eye. ‘We don’t want the edit any longer than three minutes – people will zone out,’ he said perfunctorily, like an Ai-ssistant doling out commands. He was obviously still angry with her.
The East Bunker had undergone liposuction. With the tunnels covered by lyocell, and the sheer number of bodies in there, the space had shrunken to a fifth of its size. Larisa jerked her head from behind Batz’s shoulder to focus on the monitors. She stole a quick look at Chandra; he pursed his lips. Since they’d come down here, there had been a silent language between them – was there something she needed to worry about?
‘Ready when you are,’ Chandra mumbled.
But Jun wasn’t ready. She tried to remember all of Fan’s stories that Kau had relayed to her. Like in the past five years, the UA head of Russo-Chin had ordered the assassination of at least 50 people; that last year, 5% of declared suicides worldwide were in fact murders committed by the UA.
Kau stood next to Chandra; his aggression had simmered to a steady boil, but she was still in danger of being scolded. Come on, she could feel his eyes saying. You denied me this, and now you’re not even doing it.
Kodi, Solo, Lucas and Batz were horse-shoed around the camera. Larisa had edged a little further away from them; she gave Jun a gentle nod, willing her along.
It was now or never; the time was now, and she was ready. The words that she thought wouldn’t come, came. They avalanched out of her, rebounding and ricocheting, one pulling down the other, pulling down another. She had to remind herself to breathe. Sweat gathered on her forehead, and her cheeks burned. When she had finished, there was nothing but relief and the feeling that she had crossed another line that she couldn’t come back from. Jun was collecting them.
She was about to stand up and help pack down the lights when Chandra’s eyes flicked up to the tunnel ceiling. She saw him react before she heard it. A whining, pitchy siren scratched her ears; a flashing red light said there was trouble. Chandra and Larisa stole over to the monitors, Kau and Solo not far behind. Everything became a parody of itself. All movement went into slow motion. Jun felt out for Kodi and wrapped her arms around her. Lucas and Batz tore up the stairs to secure the manual barricade. Chandra, thankfully, switched off the siren.
There were five, maybe six Force Intuimotos strewn across the Interface screens; men and women in dark short-and-shirt-uniforms filed out holding Voltarms and Immobilisers, striking anyone left or righ
t who came within a metre of them. They spread like pathogens, infecting one screen and then moved on to the next.
‘Can you turn on the audio?’ Jun said.
They must be looking for Kodi, Kau, or both. But they still had time before the deadline to return Kodi. Jun thought of Kau’s moto, not to mention his health chips. She looked at him; this wasn’t good. Fear punched her guts and wouldn’t stop pummelling.
‘I have to get back up there,’ Kau said and rushed to the stairs.
‘You can’t!’ Jun shouted after him, ‘they’ll figure out that something’s wrong!’
‘He can’t stay here, Jun,’ Lucas shouted.
‘Let me out! Let me out, before they come!’
Jun ran up the stairs after Kau, but Lucas and Batz had let him run out, locked the door, and were pulling down the manual barricade.
Jun tried to push and shove her way through, but Lucas and Batz wouldn’t be moved. Batz went to put a consoling arm around her shoulder, but she ran back to the Interface screens and watched as Kau ran in the direction of the Circle. Chandra’s fingers were already gliding across the Interface, focusing in on the Circle.
‘I suppose it was only a matter of time,’ Solo said quietly, more to herself than anyone else, ‘that they would come again.’
Batz had followed Jun down the stairs and tried to put his hands on Kodi’s shoulders to usher her to a stool and away from the craziness, but she wouldn’t be moved.
‘What will they do?’ Larisa had lost that steady, agreeable tone in her voice.
‘They’ll be searching for them,’ Lucas said, and popped his knuckles. The noise bubbled in Jun’s ears.
Kau had blended into the group of Ghettoites at the Circle, so you couldn’t tell one person from the next.
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