Burn this City: A Dystopian Novel

by Brenda Poppy

  Burn put her pillow over her head to drown out the noise. She took a minute to breathe and adjust her mental shields until the sounds quieted to a murmur in the back of her mind. Mornings sucked. Or, in this case, afternoons.

  Burn cocked one eye open, removing the pillow from her head and glancing out the sliver of a window in her room. It didn’t really help her discern the time of day, as it looked out onto another house, but she could see that a hint of natural light was still poking through.

  Their tier enjoyed a dim, hazy sunlight that made the world appear like a dream, except far dirtier. When the light from the suns died, lamps throughout Kasis would spring to life, illuminating patchwork circles on the streets and sending long stretches of the world into shadow. Several stories below, lamps were all they had. Sunlight, however brittle, never reached them.

  Burn groggily sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She glanced around the small room, taking in its meager furniture and decorations. This room, the larger of two bedrooms, had been her father’s. Naturally, being older, Scar should have gotten it after he died. But – due to some combination of her strange gift and her generally anxious personality – she didn’t sleep much and gave the room to Burn instead.

  It still felt like her father, with the same rickety bookshelf and dresser, although Burn had added a small desk underneath the window. It was a room focused on practicality over prettiness. That basically summed up Burn, as well.

  It’s not that she wasn’t pretty. Well, she wouldn’t call herself that, but she’d heard others say it once or twice when they thought she couldn’t hear them.

  Instead, she considered herself fairly average – average height, average complexion, average features. Her straight brown hair was cropped at her narrow chin, while her raised cheekbones and dark eyes gave her a hard, intense aura.

  When she smiled, though, her whole face would transform, the sharp edges softening to gentle curves and her eyes alighting with passion. But Burn hadn’t smiled like that in a very long time. To be honest, she no longer knew if she could.

  Rolling off the bed, she slowly made her way to the small communal bathroom. It wasn’t much, just a tiny tub with a shower, a toilet, and a compact pedestal sink. It was, however, one of the only areas in the house not filled to the brim with her sister’s computerized gadgets. Only the bathroom mirror boasted one of Scar’s special upgrades.

  When Burn stepped in front of it, the mirror sprang to life, reflecting not only her own image, but also her current weight and health stats, headlines from the Peace Force-controlled news, and private messages synced with her goggle feed. The great thing was that if anyone but Burn or Scar were to step in front of it, they would see nothing but themselves. Handy for the occasional “random” Peace sweep.

  Today, Burn’s headlines included such gems as “Peace Officers Distribute Food to St. Astiphan Orphans” (probably moldy bits of bread) and “Peace Board Ratifies New Laws for Cleaner Air” (which they’d been promising for years with no actual follow-through). No mention of the Peace Force’s unsuccessful raid in the Corax End last night. Of course not, Burn thought. They wouldn’t want the force to look incompetent, now would they?

  Her own feed, on the other hand, was full of messages either checking in on her or bashing the Peace Force for their general idiocy – or both. After scrolling through a few, she swiped them away, returning once again to her own reflection.

  The night in the cell hadn’t done her any favors. Dark circles had formed below her eyes, while her hair had gotten a mind of its own and was sticking straight out in several directions. She tried to flatten it down, but soon gave up and opted instead for quick shower.

  A quick, freezing shower. Warm water was not a luxury their zone was granted.

  A few minutes later, invigorated by the jets of icy water that had pummeled her body clean, Burn made her way to the kitchen. Scarlett was still hard at work on her robotic companion, who was now equipped with a new scrap metal head. It apparently possessed a new voice box, as well, since as soon as Burn entered the room, she heard a nasally voice shout, “Stop! No unauthorized personnel are welcome. Retreat immediately.”

  Burn cocked an eyebrow in Scar’s direction. At first Scar tried to look innocent. But acting wasn’t her strong suit. Burn continued her stare, unfazed, and Scar finally broke.

  “OK, OK,” she said, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “So I may have reprogrammed an old PeaceBot control unit to work with a personal droid interface.” She looked at Burn with wide, pleading eyes, like a kid asking to keep a puppy they’d found on the side of the road.

  “And the PeaceBot came from where?” Burn countered. The last thing she needed was the Peace Force to track it back here, especially so soon after her arrest.

  “It’s probably better if you don’t know. But, hey, I think it will come in handy. You know, after a few more modifications. Besides, you can’t tell it’s got PeaceBot parts. Well, unless it speaks. But that should be a snap to fix.” Scar stared at her creation for a beat before attacking the neck region with gusto.

  Burn turned to leave the room but stopped in her tracks with a sudden realization.

  “Uh, Scar?” This wasn’t going to be good. Her sister popped her head back up, already annoyed at the interruption. “Is there any way you could get rid of your workroom for a few days?” Burn motioned around, indicating Scar’s mess of motors and computer chips and wiring.

  It was Scar’s turn to stare incredulously.

  “It’s just that, I think I pissed off Illex Cross. And that never tends to end well,” Burn went on quickly, trying to explain in a way that Scar would take seriously. “I have a feeling our street is going to be subject to one of his ‘random’ searches. And it wouldn’t be the best idea to have your gadgets lying around.”

  Not that the Peace Officers would know what they were. But if any items looked suspicious or out of the ordinary – or valuable – they’d be subject to seizure.

  Scar sighed heavily, obviously displeased with the suggestion. But she managed to spit out a sharp “fine” before completely decapitating the robot and throwing its head on the floor.

  Well, that went well, Burn thought as she dashed into the kitchen and out of Scar’s direct sightline. She made a mental note to pick up some extra batteries for Scar the next time she was out. That always put her in a better mood.

  She rifled through the cabinets in the small kitchen, mentally adding fruit and salt to her ever-growing shopping list. (Seriously, what kind of people ran out of salt?)

  Burn and Scarlett weren’t exactly the domestic type. There was a lack of anything resembling home cooking in their house. But that didn’t bother them. There were enough food stalls and shops nearby that they were never in danger of starving. Plus, the shopkeepers made sure to take care of them, adding a little extra to the sisters’ orders when they could.

  She finally settled on a can of tinned soup, opening it and sloshing it into a pan on the stove. A few minutes later, soup in hand, she quietly snuck past her sister, who was still ignoring her, and into her room, sitting down at the desk.

  Burn grabbed her computerized tab from the top drawer and unfolded it. In between bites of scalding soup, which she had somehow managed to burn, she got to work.

  Her organization, as she liked to call it, was comprised of a motley crew of citizens, some gifted, some not. It wasn’t really hers; it had existed before her and would continue on after she was gone. But due to her unique skill – and the information she gleaned from using it – she’d naturally assumed a leadership role.

  Somewhere along the line they’d acquired a more formal name: the Lunaria. But she rarely used it, opting instead for vague titles that were less trackable and, if overheard, wouldn’t lead to questions.

  The Lunaria’s goal was simple, or at least it sounded simple on paper. (Not that they’d ever written it down, as that would be an act of supreme idiocy that would no doubt lead to mass incarceration if it w
ere ever discovered.)

  Their aim was to overthrow the Peace Force. Simple, right?

  Not that they’d ever gotten anywhere close to achieving it. It turns out that the road to a complete government takedown starts with many, many small steps.

  Like ferreting out spies in the organization.

  The Lunaria were selective. Discovering their existence was hard; getting in was a different matter entirely. Due to some of their members’ unique abilities, the Lunaria had a very specific set of safeguards to ensure that their secrets stayed that way.

  Currently, there was only one pending member in the vetting process: Amblys. A low-key grifter, he had a unique ability which made him of interest to the Lunaria. Through some kind of speed element and an actual lightness of the fingers, he was a master thief. He’d plied his trade for years as a pickpocket, branching out now and then for larger jobs, stealing from the rich and, well, keeping for himself.

  His knack for thieving would have come in handy, especially when it came to getting their hands on Peace Force files. Burn wasn’t a fan of Amblys’ shady morals, but she had to admit that it would have been convenient to have more info on what they were up against.

  The night before had been set as the start of his induction process. After hearing about him through one of their contacts, the team had scoped him out for two weeks before officially inviting him in via one of Scar’s untraceable goggle hacks.

  They’d been planning to test him. After meeting at their Corax safe house, they were going to send him out into the city to procure a sample of tainted ManniK and bring it back for inspection. It was one of several trials concocted to verify his skill set and his allegiances. But, as it turned out, that was unnecessary. Burn had known his true allegiances the instant she’d spotted the first Peace Officer in the Corax End.

  Naturally, since he hadn’t been fully vetted, he’d never met any of the group in person, so their identities were safe. Only their essential “safeguard members” were set to attend his indoctrination. But even then, the group was dedicated to secrecy.

  Burn wondered how long it had taken Amblys to sell them out. Had he approached the Peace Force right after they’d made contact, or had it taken him a few days to weigh the price on their heads against freedom from tyranny? She’d been naïve to think a thief would choose morality over coin.

  It wasn’t the first time someone had betrayed them. Just like they had rules in place for secrecy, they had rules in place when someone betrayed it. They weren’t as brutal as the Peace Force; they’d never kill to keep their power. But they weren’t gentle. And they gave no second chances.

  Fortunately, Burn wasn’t the one who would be administering this not-so-gentle lesson. But it was up to her to coordinate it. She quickly typed out a message to her top-level compatriots updating them on the situation. She sent separate messages to her two main enforcers requesting their presence at Amblys’ house later that evening. She would do the talking, and they would do the rest.

  Her business complete, she folded up her tab and went to work equipping herself for the day ahead. Or rather the night, as the suns would no doubt be setting soon. Mask, backup goggles, portable lightweight taser that looked like a pen. The last had been a gift from Scar since Burn wasn’t a huge fan of guns. Thankfully, it was more powerful than it looked.

  She pocketed a few more of Scar’s gadgets, just in case. Her stomach roiled with unease – and burnt soup. This was not going to be pleasant. Contrary to popular belief, she did have a heart and even some degree of empathy, although they were buried beneath a few generously sized mounds of rubble. She wished, not for the first time, that she had been blessed with Scar’s detached steel exterior – and the steel heart that went with it.

  Chapter 4

  Burn strolled down the main thoroughfare through their tier, stopping occasionally to browse a window display. She had already picked up a few pieces of ripe fruit and some salt, stowing them in the wooden basket she carried.

  She was being followed. And not very well. The Peace Force really needed to train their officers better when it came to suspect tracking and evasion tactics. Her father would have scoffed.

  She spent 20 minutes making her way down to the next sector, chatting with a few familiar shopkeepers and browsing their baubles as she went. Burn was aware of one male, tall and wiry, following half a block behind her. There may have been others, but she didn’t want to alert them by overtly scanning the area.

  Her brown thigh-length cloak, paired with her long-sleeved light shirt and rust-colored pants, gave her a sort of urban camouflage, helping her blend into the shops and crowds around her. Bright colors made you stand out in Kasis – and standing out was something most citizens wanted to avoid.

  She took her time, being deliberately slow as she made her way across streets and down stairs. She wanted them to follow. No sneaking, no hiding. Disappearing in a busy market wouldn’t be difficult, but she had a better system in place.

  Burn made her way to a blue-doored dwelling situated in a row of nearly identical houses. She knocked lightly, then waited as footsteps shuffled inside. After a few moments, a plump brunette opened the door. Her lined skin and the shocks of gray threading her long hair put her a few decades older than Burn, and she stood a few inches shorter, as well.

  “Auburn!” she cried happily, sweeping her up in an enormous hug. “I’m so happy you’re here. Come in, come in. Shall I put on some tea?”

  “Of course, Meera! I want to hear everything. I have all night.” With that, Burn entered the house, closing the door behind her.

  Once the door was latched, Meera’s smile dropped. In the blink of any eye, her attitude shifted from genial grandmother to army general.

  “How many out there?” she queried as she double-checked that her shades had been drawn.

  “Two,” Burn answered after listening outside. The men, stationed across the street and down an alley, had just radioed in about Burn’s whereabouts and her intention to stay put for the foreseeable future. They’d been told to set up camp, just as Burn had hoped.

  “Do you need any supplies?” Despite her soft appearance, Meera was all business.

  “No, I’m set. Just give me a sec to change.” Burn tossed off her light shirt in favor of a darker gray one from her basket. She pulled a black cloak over her head, tucking in her hair. “Hold on to this for me,” she instructed Meera, giving her the basket with the discarded clothes.

  Meera nodded. “How long will you be?”

  “Maybe an hour. Maybe two,” Burn said, making her way down the hall. Knowing better than to ask questions, Meera followed in silence.

  The hall split into two rooms, but instead of entering either Burn bent down and dug her fingernails into one of the wooden planks on the floor. After struggling for a few seconds, she pulled the plank loose, then did the same with the boards on either side until the hole was large enough for her to squeeze through. Gazing down, she could just make out the shape of a ladder in the darkness.

  “Put these back when I’m down,” Burn said, indicating the planks. “I’ll signal when I get back so you can open it up again.”

  Even though they’d done this before, Burn liked to go over it again. Just one misstep could land them both in serious trouble.

  Burn switched her goggles to night mode before slipping into the darkness. The descent was a long one, and it was a good thing Burn wasn’t afraid of small spaces, since the tight shaft boasted barely enough room to turn around. Meera, true to her word, replaced the boards above her, blocking out the only light source.

  With night mode on, Burn could just see the rungs above and below her, as well as the sharp fragments that made up the walls. As a security measure, the tiny chamber had been constructed from scrap metal. If anyone ever stumbled upon the space, without night vision and a thorough knowledge of the layout they’d run a serious risk of filleting themselves before reaching their destination.

  After a few minutes of clim
bing, Burn finally reached the bottom, her arms aching. Before pushing the door open, she closed her eyes and listened. This passageway let out into a seedy alley a few tiers down from Meera’s house, one with blessedly little foot traffic. Once she was satisfied that there was no one outside, she eased the door open and shut it firmly behind her.

  On this side, the door blended almost perfectly into the block wall around it. If a certain section of the wall was pressed, however, a small biometric scanner would appear, which allowed access to the tunnel.

  There were a few such houses strategically placed around the city, manned by Lunaria operatives, although this one was Burn’s go-to. She always enjoyed seeing Meera, even if it was only for a few minutes.

  Meera had been the one to suggest that Auburn become a member. The Lunaria were, by nature, opposed to Peace Officers or their families joining the ranks. But they trusted Meera. And she had known Arvense and his family since before Burn was born. So she knew Burn had as much reason to want the force destroyed as any of the Lunaria – if not more.

  Burn double checked that her hair was hidden under the dark cloak, pulling the fabric as far as possible over her face. Before exiting the alley, she sent a message to the others to update them on her position. With any luck, they would be a few minutes behind her, giving her enough time to scope out the scene before they arrived.

  It was much darker down here and the smog was thicker, making everything appear gray and hazy. The dust and dirt hanging in the air tickled her nose, and she pulled her mask tighter around her face. There were still plenty of people ambling about, so Burn did her best to blend in with the crowd.

  Despite Amblys’ success at pickpocketing and minor crime, he had never managed to pull himself out of the lower tiers. She wasn’t surprised. When the rich and powerful ran your city, facilitating others’ upward mobility wasn’t in their best interest. Her family had been lucky. Others hadn’t.

  Burn glanced around at the shops as she walked. Vendors with carts and stalls hawked food on sticks, not all of which she recognized – or wanted to. Other shops sold cheap goods, stolen jewelry, shoddy electronics. Here and there, scantily clad women stood on street corners selling a different kind of ware entirely, while grubby children sat with their hands outstretched, pleading for food.