Deprecated

by Michael Karr

  “Are you clear on the plan?” he said. Of course she was. Her PNU-enhanced memory ensured she wouldn’t forget the slightest minutia of the plan. He still liked the verbal confirmation. “Once you’re in the labs, I won’t be able to contact you without putting both of us in jeopardy.”

  “I’m clear,” she snapped.

  Still he persisted in his redundant instruction. If nothing else, it made him feel better. “Remember that the PNUs can only reliably process so much data at once. If you have to fight another Elect, use that knowledge to your advantage. If all his processing power is focused on dodging bullets, for example, he’ll be slow to respond to a different kind of attack. Creativity and surprise are your allies. Though, please do use Adrianna’s gun as a last resort. I know how you like to—”

  “When were you planning on telling me that you were the CA’s son?” she blurted out.

  The question came out of nowhere. Perfect. Just what he needed right now. He sighed. “What difference does it make who my father is?”

  “Well, when he’s the most powerful man in the Alliance, and the one responsible for ordering the Deprecations and the ration cuts, it makes a big difference. You’ve been lying to me this whole time. Your name’s not even Grayson.”

  “Actually, Grayson’s my middle name. So, it’s not a complete lie. Besides, doesn’t this just make it easier for you to hate me more? That’s what you want, anyway.”

  It was not a fair response. She’d acted somewhat civil—for her—the last few days. But he was in no mood to try and seek forgiveness for his deceits.

  “If your father’s the CA,” Rylee went on, apparently not willing to let the argument go, “then couldn’t you just get him to release Preston and stop the Deprecations? Or are you too much of a coward?”

  Grayson looked away, out the darkened windows of the car. Shame burned within him. Yes. Yes, I am a coward. He’d always been one. Not tonight though. He would face his fears. Face his father, or whoever wished him dead.

  “I don’t always agree with my father,” he finally said, softly. “I seldom do, in fact. Coding is the one topic we can share without breaking into a heated debate. The problem is, I suspect my father might be behind the murders. And if that’s the case, then he wants me dead, too. So, I guess you have something in common.”

  “Why would he want you dead?”

  Was that concern in her voice? Or just incredulity? He shrugged his shoulders. “That I don’t know. I’m still putting all the pieces together. Maybe I’m wrong. Lander’s death…there’s something screwy going on.”

  The car pulled to a gentle stop in front of Steele Tower. The lights from the building’s lower floors shown out into the night like a beacon. A beacon of death. Grayson shivered.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry I kept my identity hidden for so long. You haven’t exactly made it easy for me to tell you things.”

  “You do realize, that you just blamed me for your actions.”

  “It’s a talent I have. Ready to go meet my dad?”

  “Only if I get to shoot him in the head.”

  “Well, before you do,” he said, pulling out the can of Mountain Dew, “drink this.”

  THIRTY

  In all her life, Rylee had never beheld such extravagance. The great room, a hall really, with its sweeping double staircases and marble floors, sparkled with thousands of soft golden lights. From deeper within, music thumped out a mesmerizing beat.

  But nothing dazzled as much as the people themselves. Especially the women, whose gowns shimmered and flaunted their figures, just as Adrianna’s had. The hairstyles were as varied as the cacophony of colors from the dresses. Wrapped around their heads. Braided in intricate patterns. Piled up, and held together with flowers or feathers. The men too were finely appareled. Though, their appearance was severely muted by the women’s.

  Rylee felt a surge of insecurity. She did not belong here. This dress she wore did not belong on her body. Even though it covered more than Adrianna’s, she still felt naked.

  “Stay calm. You look stunning,” Grayson whispered in her ear, as he hooked his arm for her to take.

  Despite the fact that she was angry at Grayson, his words made her heart momentarily flutter. No, she was just nervous being at the party. She hated Grayson, so much. She was doing all of this for Preston and her grandfather.

  Taking his arm—only because they needed to look like a couple—she and Grayson weaved their way deeper into the sea of glamorous people.

  As they walked, Rylee’s feet began to protest. How did women bear to walk in heels? They were torturous. And there was no way she could run in them. What was the point? Despite the pain of them, she managed to walk without making a fool of herself. A trick of the PNU?

  Eyes. So many eyes. The eyes followed her and Grayson, turned in their direction, as the couple passed. Several men smiled at her, their eyes furtively taking her in. These smiles weren’t friendly smiles. There was something hidden behind the glowing white teeth. Rylee understood well. And coming from Elects, it sickened her. She knew what men like this were capable of—all too well. She’d killed men like this.

  Several people called Grayson’s name. It wasn’t Grayson, though. Just as Adrianna, they called him Will. Grayson ignored most of the shouts, and kept moving them deeper in. Rylee felt like she couldn’t breathe. So many people. So many smells, lights, and sounds. Notifications bombarded her PNU. Probes of her profile. Images of men she didn’t know without their shirts on. And other things she didn’t understand. It was maddening.

  Don’t accept anything. Not even a probe. The words—thoughts, really—came into her mind, as though Grayson had spoken to her alone in an empty room. The last thing we need is for you to be infected with a virus that has you getting friendly with random strangers.

  They walked over to a long wooden table brimming with more food than Rylee had ever seen in her life. The entire slums population could live off of that much food for a month. Most of the food she didn’t even have names for. Compared to this, the people in the slums ate like dogs.

  One thing was for certain, that table didn’t contain anything with peanuts, recalling what Grayson had told her and her grandfather about his own father’s peanut allergy. It seemed ironic to her now that the most powerful man in the Alliance was deathly allergic to something so small and innocuous.

  Grayson took two fluted glasses filled with a bright blue substance and handed one to her. Don’t drink it, he spoke into her mind.

  If she wasn’t supposed to drink it, then why the blazes had he given it to her? She liked to keep her hands free. If she had to draw her pistol quickly, she didn’t want a glass of undrinkable blue liquid slowing her down.

  She looked at him expectedly, waiting for an explanation about the drink. But he didn’t notice. Tension accentuated his jawline, and his eyes were fixed elsewhere. Rylee followed his gaze, but through the crowd she didn’t see anything that should merit Grayson’s reaction.

  “My father doesn’t waste time,” he muttered aloud. Then he took her hand in his, and communicated through the PNU. Remember to stick to the plan—whatever happens.

  With a subtle nod, Rylee acknowledged the instruction. She might have said something, but she felt inexplicably frazzled by finding her hand clasped into his. If he had attempted to touch her like that a week ago, she would have kneed him in the groin. Now? His touch felt warm and…sweaty. Or maybe that was her hand. Regardless, now her heart was working harder.

  Two men in gray suits emerged from the crowd, and planted themselves in front of the pair. They wore impassive expressions, though one of them attempted a smile. These men carried handguns beneath their suit coats. Hip holsters. The minutest bulge of the fabric gave it away. Most people would never give it a passing thought.

  “Your father’s quite anxious to see you, William,” the man with the false smile said. “Allow us to escort you to him.”

  It was more than evident in the man’s tone tha
t this was no request. It was an order. One that these men were prepared to carry out by whatever means they deemed necessary.

  “Your friend may come, too,” he added, inclining his head toward Rylee.

  With a squeeze of her hand, Grayson shouldered his way through the two men, pulling Rylee with him. “No need fellas,” he said in a jovial tone that belied the tension streaming from his hand into hers. “We’ll find him just fine. You stay here and try some of the punch.”

  As much as she disliked having her back to the two men, she allowed herself to be led away by Grayson, and managed not to glance back. A man with a gun didn’t bother nearly as much as a man at her back with a gun. Within a few feet, however, she and Grayson were engulfed in the sea of revelers, cutting them off from the two men.

  Grayson weaved them through the crowd. More shouts and eyes and intrusive PNU notifications assaulted her from everywhere. Rylee’s head spun from it all. Soon, they mounted one of the sweeping staircases, which led to the second-floor mezzanine. A furtive glance down into the crowd showed that the two gray-suited men were following. Noting the extra weight and pressure on her upper leg, Rylee again felt relief at having Adrianna’s pistol—however small. Maybe she would need fewer rounds now that her brain was PNU-enhanced.

  An intimate gathering of partygoers occupied a portion of the mezzanine overlooking the lower floor. Though dressed as finely as anyone at the party, these commanded a more serious air. The women’s skirts covered more of their legs. Their necklines left more to the imagination. And overall, between the fabric of their dresses and their comportment, they sparkled less. The men, too, bore a certain gravity about them. One, who seemed to grip everyone’s attention held up his glass of champagne when he saw Grayson and Rylee approaching.

  “There’s my son now,” the man said. “I told you he wouldn’t miss his own father’s birthday party.”

  The CA. Chief Administrator of the Post Desolation Reconstruction Alliance. Despite her loathing for this man, she suddenly found her legs felt like rubber. And it wasn’t her shoes. With a quick inhale, she steeled herself and walked forward.

  Briefly, she wondered what would happen if she drew out Adrianna’s pistol and shot their illustrious leader in the head. She knew precisely what would happen. Those men in the gray suits, they would gun her down before she put her finger on the trigger. Along the periphery of the group, she spotted other men in the gray suits. Bodyguards. No doubt with the most advanced PNU capabilities possible.

  The CA broke free from his flock and clapped a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, smiling. But his words lacked any warmth that one might expect from a father-son reunion. For a moment, he and Grayson had a private conversation—or battle—with their eyes. Eventually, the CA’s gaze broke off and fell on Rylee. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

  Grayson pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Father, this is Leah.”

  Rylee forced a smile.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before,” the CA said. “Welcome to my little celebration.”

  “Thank you,” she said, wanting badly to spit in his face.

  “Ms. O’Connor was just asking about you, Will,” the CA went on more loudly, as he clasped a firm hand on Grayson’s shoulder and ushered him closer to the little congregation of followers. “She’s been worried that you might have disappeared for good.”

  Grayson let out a chuckle. “Well, you know me and my work,” he said. “Sometimes I get so consumed that I forget to go to the bathroom.”

  “I can see that you’ve forgotten to shave, as well,” the CA said.

  The little group shared a laugh. All but the gray-suited bodyguards and that woman…Ms. O’Connor. Her lips were pressed tightly together into a smile that was miles away from reaching her eyes. Rylee recognized that woman. From Workers Square…that day they announced the cut in rations and increase in Deprecation. Oh, if only she could kill the whole lot of them!

  An alert within her PNU startled her from her mass murder daydream. Time for her to make her first move. She excused herself from the group, under the pretense of needing to use the lady’s room. As she left, Grayson placed a gentle kiss—a believable kiss—on her cheek.

  Rylee felt both cheeks burning as she strode away from the group. That kiss had felt so…What did it matter what it felt like? It came from Grayson. It felt like slime on her skin. Slime. Really terrible slime that she wanted to forget immediately.

  Focus. She needed to focus.

  Her PNU guided her to the women’s restroom. It was located down a long carpeted hallway with dark wood paneling and soft lighting. The lavish hallway reminded her of her dress. In both, she felt out of place. Entering the bathroom only served to heighten her sense of not belonging. Never had she been anywhere with a separate bathroom for both men and women. And as she pushed open the door, heel’s clomping loudly on the polished tile floor, she noted that she’d never seen a bathroom like this before. Everything shined, bright and clean. So big, too. Bigger than her entire apartment.

  Locking herself into one of the stalls, lest someone come in and wonder what she was doing, she waited. Seven minutes to go.

  When those seven minutes expired, she would have precisely sixty seconds—one minute—to exit the bathroom, walk down the hallway, turn down a different hallway, and enter the main doors to the laboratories nestled within the building. In that one-minute window, she would be free from the prying eyes of the CA’s security crew. At a specific time, Grayson planned to set off a small device—an EMP bomb. Electromagnetic pulse bomb.

  Curse it. Now her PNU was making her remember things she didn’t even want to remember. She didn’t even know what an electromagnetic pulse was. Only that it messed with electronics and—as it turned out—PNUs.

  For one minute, anyone within fifty feet of Grayson would suffer temporary PNU failure. Which meant that the CA’s guards, whose augmented vision received live feeds of all the cameras in the building, would not see one of the partygoers in a gold dress stealing into the laboratories.

  All Rylee had to do was get through the doors within that minute. After that time, the effects of the EMP would wear off, and the guard’s PNUs would resume their normal operation. No problem. She didn’t even have to break in. Just like the door to the morgue, the doors to the laboratories would recognize her security certificate and automatically unlock for her.

  Two minutes.

  Rylee longed to scratch at the back of her hand. Her tattoo lay concealed a layer of Adrianna’s makeup, to hide the fact that she was a Norm.

  The one part of their plan that they had not fully addressed was what would happen if anyone got suspicious when she didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time from the restroom. Grayson suspected—hoped, really—that no one would pay her a second thought. Out of sight, out of mind. Just to be safe, she would need to be quick.

  One minute.

  Time to move. She flushed the toilet for effect, unlocked the stall door, washed and dried her hands with hand towels that were impossibly soft, then stepped out into the hallway. She stopped in the doorway. Standing on the opposite wall, arms folded, was a man. He wore a shiny gray suit and a leer on his face. Rylee ignored him and turned to stride down the hallway.

  “The parties back this way, doll.” A rough voice came from behind her. It didn’t entirely match the word slimy that she’d already associated with him, but it was close enough.

  Rylee continued to ignore him, and kept on walking. Time was literally ticking. As much as she would love to introduce this Elect to her new friend hiding under her skirt, she simply didn’t have time. Besides, a gunshot would be too loud. Even from a .380.

  “I can show you a different party,” he said, this time his voice closer. “I promise you’ll like it.”

  Leave me alone! Rylee kept on walking, increasing her stride.

  Behind her, she could hear him still pursu
ing. Suddenly, a hand grabbed her forearm and jerked her backward. She found herself whipping around to face the smiling sleazeball—one of Serghei’s words.

  “Where are you going?” His breath smelled like one of Adrianna’s perfumes. Rylee gagged.

  She tried to jerk away, but the man held her with a viselike grip. “Relax. I won’t hurt you. Relax.”

  He reached for her with his other hand. Something pricked her arm. A strange sensation washed over her. Calmness. She relaxed her arm and stopped fighting to free it. Why wasn’t she fighting? Why did she feel so calm?

  “Good,” the man breathed. “See? I am as harmless as a newborn. You can trust me.”

  He was harmless. Yes, she could see that now. She could trust him. Why hadn’t she seen that before?

  “Come with me,” he said gently. “I will take you someplace safe.”

  He placed one hand on the small of her back, low. She felt herself moving with him, away from where she had been going.

  Something was wrong. But everything about how she felt told her everything was right.

  No, this couldn’t be right. Why was she trusting this man? Yet she couldn’t make herself do anything else. So she kept walking, moving farther away from wherever she had been going. And she didn’t care.

  THIRTY-ONE

  “You don’t need to worry,” the man repeated. Rylee felt herself slipping into deeper relaxation. “Your friends will not be worried about you. No need to tell them where you are.”

  Friends. Grayson. The PNU. Something clicked inside her brain—faint—but she knew what she needed to do.

  Focusing all the brainpower she could muster on her current state, she tried to regain control of her PNU. Not complete control. Only enough to shut it off. To deactivate it.

  Deactivate. Deactivate. Summoning the thought from deep within the fog of her mind, she struggled to push them to her PNU. Deactivate.

  Finally, something snapped. A flood of adrenaline consumed her calmness and docility. Not giving the man with his slimy hand on her time to realize what had happened, she lifted her leg and brought it down, stabbing his foot with the heel of her shoe. A trick she’d seen in one of Serghei’s movies. He’d be proud.