by Michael Ford
Kobi frowned, trying to read Mischik’s impassive face. He wondered if there was another reason for using Asha to keep tabs on their thoughts. If one of them was thinking about running away, Asha would know and report it back to Mischik. Kobi—and Mischik—knew from experience that Asha would do what she thought was right, even if it meant turning on Kobi.
“We’ll be monitoring you through ocular cameras as well,” said Okafor. “You’re not on your own out there.” He threw a glance at Mischik as if to say, Are you really sure about this?
Kobi held his breath for a second, but Mischik turned away from the general and clapped his hands. “Okay, if there are no more questions, report to the mission Hub on A-Level for your apparel and equipment. And good luck.” He looked at Kobi. “I know you won’t let me down.”
Kobi’s heart beat faster as they prepared to leave the base. They were all dressed in slightly grubby civilian clothing to help them blend in, and a Sol agent had helped apply makeup and putty to their skin. Leon had mottled scarring across his cheeks, and they’d made Rohan’s forehead protrude unnaturally. Fairly standard Waste-related side effects. Kobi had been given a hunchback. They left Yaeko as she was—with her camouflaging skin pigmentation she could stay out of sight.
The “ocular cameras” were like contact lenses. After the briefing, Spike had showed them how to fit the devices over their eyes. “We’ve been working on these for a while. We can see what you’re seeing all the time. Don’t need to be taken out or cleaned ever. You don’t feel a thing. Neat, huh?” He lowered his voice. “Mischik wanted you guys to wear these permanently in the base, but we managed to persuade him that might be a little too creepy.” The lens implants felt weird at first, but Kobi had soon gotten used to them. It was an odd feeling knowing others were looking wherever he was, almost claustrophobic.
As they headed along the corridor toward the exit, Kobi imagined Spike, Mischik, and the others gathered around a screen watching the feed from his ocular camera—right now, just the back of Leon’s head. They reached a sturdy metal door, which Kobi guessed led to the outside.
This is it, Kobi thought. There was a fingerprint pad on one side and a large metal wheel on the door itself.
“Okay, team,” said Okafor. “You have your instructions. And remember, if you run into any problems, call us in.”
He pulled his chair up alongside the fingerprint pad, touched it, and nodded to Leon, who spun the wheel to open the thick steel door. A set of metal steps led up the other side, where a faint light seeped around the edges of a closed hatch.
Kobi’s heart raced. Everything seemed to slow down around him. It was the odd clearheadedness he got in dangerous situations.
It was time to go.
Kobi went first and pushed the hatch open at the top. It let out inside what looked like an old school bus, the windows covered by thin curtains. As the others emerged behind him, he walked slowly to the front and stepped through the open door into a garage. Mechanics were working on several vehicles nearby, and a couple nodded or even winked when they caught sight of Kobi. They were all Sol people, he knew. The garage was a front for the access point—though it was a working business too. A battered van was jacked up at one side, with a mechanic’s legs sticking out from beneath. She slid out, nodded to Asha, and indicated the rear doors.
Asha turned to Kobi. “Good luck,” she said. “I know you can do this.” After a second, she gave him a hug. Kobi, taken a little by surprise, patted her on the back.
“Thanks,” he said uncertainly.
“Whoa. Easy, guys,” Leon said with a smile.
Kobi shook his head at him, and Rohan grabbed them both in a hug. “Don’t leave me out!”
Yaeko just rolled her eyes.
“Let’s do this,” said Kobi.
They emerged from the smell of engine oil and fuel into open air—a steep street lined with hardware shops, electrical supply stores, tool rental places, and businesses collecting and selling scrap metal. Someone was sharpening a blade on a whetstone, filling the air with a high-pitched buzz. Random machine parts were scattered among the stalls—generators, spools of cable, pumps, engines, computer servers sprouting wires. No one paid any attention to Kobi and the others. Another kid passed on a hover scooter. Kobi instinctively ducked, and he caught Leon scoffing at him. Kobi noticed, as the boy whizzed over the corrugated iron rooftops, that his back was bent over and the hair was missing from part of his head. He felt thankful for his immunity to Waste.
A prickling sensation spread over his scalp. Hi, Asha, Kobi thought.
They hurried forward in loose formation, Kobi’s eyes darting around. The voice of Jonathan Hales drifted across his mind.
“Everything is important. See everything at once, but don’t get distracted.”
“No flesh-eating ivy here. Don’t worry,” he muttered.
“What was that, Caveman?” Leon whispered into his mic.
“Nothing.”
Nearly all the people in the slums had been deformed by some kind of Waste side effect. He tried to control his shock, but Kobi couldn’t help staring. Apparently, that kid on the hover bike had it good. Almost every face was scarred, some seeming partially paralyzed. Many people had missing or misshapen limbs.
Kobi clenched his fists. The Waste in the slums, Spike had said, was ten times as concentrated as in the central, wealthy districts. CLAWS didn’t care.
“What’s up?” said Leon in his earpiece. Kobi glanced back and saw him and Rohan pretending to inspect a storefront selling battered holo-TVs.
“Nothing,” Kobi said, pushing on, and concentrating on navigating. He’d memorized the route to the clinic. “Just . . . all these people—I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
“Yeah,” said Leon in a hushed voice.
Kobi took a turn through a narrow alley full of faded laundry hanging on lines from ramshackle two-story homes. He looked around. “Where’s Yaeko?”
“Above you, two o’clock,” came the girl’s voice. “Can we move a little faster, please?”
Kobi looked up and saw her lying low against a corrugated roof, her skin blending in to the gray metal and red rust. She was wearing a plain dull gray tunic and shorts to help with the camouflage.
He set off up the street in a casual walk. Okafor had told them CLAWS had human spies as well as drones. Any unusual behavior was liable to draw attention. Again he felt the pins and needles across his head as Asha tracked his emotions. He tried to feel a sense of confidence and focus to reassure her.
At the top of the street, the shop stalls gave way to more housing, a mishmash of construction plastic and crumbling concrete. The smells of spices and frying oil filled the air. Kobi noticed no wildlife—no insects or stray cats or dogs. Pets were exterminated by CLAWS drones in case they’d mutated from Waste contamination. Insects were kept from the city by great burning chemical fires that occasionally blew over from the outskirts, and Spike had said there were ultrasonic deterrents too, out of range of human hearing.
A woman hurried past carrying two buckets of water across her shoulders. Others had small wheelbarrow carts, some motorized, loaded with everything from loaves of bread to pieces of furniture. At the intersection between two streets, Kobi looked to the side and paused. In the far distance, the skyscrapers of New Seattle rose like gleaming needles in the sky. Flying vehicles swarmed between them like insects, and a monorail snaked several hundred feet above the streets, bisecting some buildings like a tunneling caterpillar.
“All clear to the west,” said Yaeko. Kobi had no idea where she was, but he trusted her judgment. Rohan and Leon were sticking to their orders, following at about ten paces back. But occasionally he overheard their whispers to each other over the mic. “Man, I feel sorry for that dude. He’s got three eyes.” Leon’s voice.
“Hey, I wouldn’t mind another one.” Rohan.
“That would be a scary image. Think them being yellow is freaky enough.”
Keeping the modern ci
ty straight ahead, Kobi made his way along the street, ducking to the side as a motorbike zipped past, cutting through a puddle of filthy water. After another turn, they came to a high point, affording a view of much of the slum below. It was like a shanty mountain, with thousands of dwellings tightly packed together. A city in itself—the forgotten people who couldn’t afford to live in the sterility of New Seattle in fortieth-floor apartments. Kobi shook his head. He knew what it was like to struggle for food every day, but here it felt so needless.
Between the slums and the new city extended a vast plain filled with industrial buildings. New Seattle had been constructed less than a year after the Waste disaster, a hundred miles east of the original city. A place to house survivors. A symbol of hope. Kobi remembered Mischik telling him that most of it belonged to CLAWS and their various business interests, whether in pharmaceuticals, food production, or technology. The biggest brand in the world.
Across the sky over the central district, Kobi could make out the floating dark silhouettes of drones, like a plague. Most of them, he knew, were CLAWS drones scanning for Waste infection. It seemed they didn’t bother scanning the slums.
“Got any change?” came a voice from Kobi’s left. A face peered out from a pile of ragged blankets. It was a young woman, both eyes pale and blind, and as she reached out, Kobi saw her hand had only three fingers. He mumbled he was sorry, and wandered on.
“Hey, you missed a left turn,” said Rohan in his ear. “Stay sharp.”
Kobi backtracked and took the alleyway. It too was crowded with people, many of them carrying groceries in huge bags slung over their shoulders or bundled across their backs. Acrid smoke drifted from a yard where it looked like a man was boiling tar. Kobi tried to keep focused. They met a crowded crossroads, and Kobi looked back for his escorts but couldn’t see them. His heart sped up.
“You still with me, guys?”
“They’re about twenty yards back,” said Yaeko, watching from on high.
As Kobi turned again, his way was blocked by a sharply dressed woman with gray hair chopped into an immaculate bob, and cold, penetrating eyes in a small and sharp-featured face—a face Kobi recognized immediately with a stab of horror in his gut.
“Melanie Garcia,” hissed Kobi into his radio. All his survival instincts had gone out the window. He felt paralyzed, unable to move, as helpless as when he’d been strapped to the operating table at Healhome and Melanie had given the order to cut him open—alive. Seeing her face brought that terror flooding back. The ruthless CEO of CLAWS took a step over to Kobi. “We’re looking for terrorists,” she said. “Perhaps you can help us.”
Kobi, still moving backward, banged into a cart of fruit.
“Hey, watch out!” said the man pushing it.
Melanie advanced, thin lips stretching out in smile. “We can make it worth your while,” she said. She reached into her pocket. Kobi expected a weapon, but the woman drew out a handful of hundred-dollar bills. “Think about it—the reward could be yours. . . .” She threw the bills in the air, and they fluttered down, then pixelated and vanished.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” Kobi stammered.
Melanie smiled, then a phone number flashed across her face. “Call the CLAWS tip line now,” she said. “Call us today!” And then the entire image flickered and shrank in on itself to reveal a small drone, only as big as Kobi’s fist. It shot up in the air.
“It’s just a holo-ad,” said the man with the cart. “Chill out, buddy.”
Kobi’s heart began to slow again. “Stay in control always. Never get flustered, Kobi,” said Hales’s voice. Kobi gathered himself before heading on, giving the all clear on his radio.
The street soon opened out into a patch of bare scrub, where a few shoeless kids were playing soccer.
“Think we could take them?” asked Leon, catching up with Kobi. Kobi sensed he wanted to reassure him that his backup was still close by.
“Team Sol take anybody?” answered Rohan, strolling up behind them. “Not a chance.”
“I don’t know,” said Kobi. “We have a few advantages.”
“You’re almost at the clinic,” interrupted Yaeko curtly. “Cross the square ahead.”
Makeshift cafés had been set up around another open space, with an assortment of battered tables and chairs. People were chatting or laughing, enjoying themselves. A couple of cheap holoscreens played what looked like music videos or news feeds. But across the field, Kobi saw a long line of people—men, women, and children of all ages. The line snaked around blocks of buildings, twisting and turning down a slope into the distance. Kobi couldn’t see its end, but just what he could see had to be hundreds of people on its own.
As Kobi got closer, he saw that many of the people looked desperately ill. Some were moaning in pain or had mutations far more pronounced than anything Kobi had seen making his way here. He peered toward the front and saw a green cross painted over a doorway.
“I guess that’s the clinic,” he said. “Look out for any sign of CLAWS, everyone.”
He moved past the line, avoiding the baleful looks of the waiting patients.
Now he understood why Mischik had let them come here. He must have wanted Kobi to see this. To witness the suffering with his own eyes.
With that realization came anger—and not just at CLAWS. Kobi had spent his whole life being manipulated—first by Hales, then briefly by Asha—even if her intentions were good and she was being lied to at the time—and then Melanie. Now it was Mischik. He wanted me to know why Sol’s work matters. Why my safety matters. It was probably the only reason he had allowed Kobi to go on this mission, to renew Kobi’s commitment to the cause, to keep him focused. Kobi scowled. I’m nothing more than a resource to them, he thought. No—I’ll prove them wrong.
As they passed through the open doors of the clinic, an elderly man tried to stop them. “I’ve been waiting overnight! You kids can’t jump ahead.”
Leon and Rohan appeared as if from nowhere, but Kobi gave them a quick shake of his head. “Sir, we’re just helping to deliver supplies. My—my mother works here.” The man frowned at him, but his mouth stayed pursed.
Kobi stepped inside. That was no better: people were packed in front of the reception desk, some pleading, as a few harried doctors tried to keep them calm.
“Please, my son’s too sick to leave the house. We need more drugs,” a woman was saying.
The doctor checked his tablet. “We’ve already given you the full recommended dose this month,” he said.
“But it’s not enough. Please, he’s really sick!” The mother looked around hurriedly. Kobi looked away so she wouldn’t think he was watching her. “I need the . . . other stuff.”
The doctor, mouth hidden behind a surgical mask, shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what you mean.”
The woman lowered her voice. “Please . . . I know we’re not supposed to say it, but I need it. Horizon. The . . . the CLAWS drugs aren’t working anymore. He’s getting sicker every day.”
“Keep your voice down,” said the doctor in a whisper. He cast his gaze around and took out a small scanning device that Kobi guessed was used to pick up drone signals. When it lit up green, he went on. “Let me see what we can do,” he said. “Wait here, please.”
“Thank you!” said the woman. “Thank you so much!”
“Hey, shouldn’t we get on with the mission?” Leon murmured in Kobi’s earpiece.
Kobi turned to where Leon hovered with Rohan just inside the doorway, occasionally peering out into the street. They had managed to blend in with the waiting crowd, although the old man was still grumbling in their direction. Kobi realized he’d been standing there watching for too long. Get in and out as quickly as they could: that was the mission.
Kobi glanced around and spotted an inner door that read: “PRIVATE. AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY.” He went to it, weaving through the crowd of patients, and was about to push it open when a hand caught his arm.
&nbs
p; “Hey, where d’you think you’re going?”
It was a woman in a lab coat and mask. She had a wild rush of thick red hair streaked with wiry gray. Her pale skin was unblemished from the Waste, but her eyes were ringed with redness.
Kobi made a useless gesture with one hand. “I—I mean, we . . . we’re here to—”
“You need to get in line like everyone else,” she said. “We’ll get to you when we can.”
“Password, Kobi,” Rohan whispered.
“‘We thrive in the sun’s light,’” he said, remembering the secret phrase Okafor had told them.
The doctor’s face changed, at first shocked, then considering. “‘And we lament as the sun falls,’” she replied. “Are you alone?”
Kobi shook his head. “There are four of us.”
With a quick glance toward the entrance, the doctor opened the internal door. “Follow me.”
“I’ll stay outside and keep watch,” said Yaeko.
Rohan and Leon abandoned their posts at the door and followed Kobi and the doctor deeper into the clinic. Beyond the door was a storage room lined with racks and shelves. As soon as they were out of hearing range of the patients, the doctor pulled down her mask. “You’re very young,” she said.
“We know what we’re doing,” said Rohan.
“You’re sure you weren’t followed? CLAWS has increased their patrols in the slums.”
“We’re sure,” Leon said. “We’re not exactly normal kids.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’re the kids on the run from CLAWS?” she asked. “I heard a rumor that they conducted experiments on you. You have some kind of augmented abilities. Should have known you’d end up with Sol.”
“At your service,” said Leon proudly. “Don’t worry. We know how to deal with CLAWS.”
Rohan caught Kobi’s eye, then puffed out his chest in imitation of Leon.
“Well, I’m glad you came,” said the doctor, “because we’re running low on Horizon. Demand is already high, and word is spreading. It works so much better than anything CLAWS has been handing out. Their drugs only suppress the Waste’s effects—Sol’s seem to wipe them out completely. Until the patient is recontaminated, anyway.” She shook her head. “The Waste is spreading out here, but no one cares.”