Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  'It's just a raccoon coming to say hello! You'll be staying in here, make yourselves at home. There's a shower in the other room. I recommend you get cleaned up, you'll find towels and gowns in the drawers. Arturo, you best get them filthy overalls off and we'll get them washed for you. Once you're done we'll have something to eat and we'll talk some more,' Jardine says.

  Snippets of Truth

  Activating the holoscreen I access my email account to ease the undoubted concern of someone who will be mad I did not immediately seek her out, following our prison escape. I copy the gang into the message which my semi-literate sister will struggle to read:

  Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated! I am alive and well, but we may not be back for a while. Keep the place tidy, don't let any undesirables in and if anything happens I wanna be the first to know.

  There is a seven week old message from a Citizen friend and although he who I could have been in another life is now a distant memory, we have unfinished business. Vytali's note reads:

  I thought you were taking me on a slum safari. You're not too chicken are ya?

  The lack of reply means Vytali has probably forgotten the impostors he befriended and continued his life of privilege as though he never met us, but I am not one to shirk a challenge nor give up easily. He and Eyris can show another side to life and if it is not too late I want the fantasy to continue with or without a Citicard. My response reads:

  Sorry about the late reply. I've had to head home to take care of my sick mother, bit of an emergency but I'll be back in a few weeks. Tell the Order to brace themselves...

  Grabbing a towel and a dressing gown I take a lengthy shower, scrubbing until my skin is raw as coal dust dissolves in the cubicle. Finishing up, I dry my wonderfully dirt-free body in the fluffy towel, then I wrap myself in the equally fluffy gown and rejoin the table whilst Mila showers. The removal of grease from my pores is a welcome relief and I pick remaining specks of muck from beneath fingernails.

  'Wow, you're unrecognisable! These'll be washed and dried in thirty minutes.' Jackson bravely carries my rank prison overalls to another room.

  'Great, I'll be the height of fashion!'

  'I'll see if I can find some clothes in your size, Arturo. You can't be running round in those garments for too long,' Jardine says.

  A short while later Jackson and Mila rejoin us at the table and a whirring sound can be heard which I presume is coming from the machine washing my clothes. Our cleaning regime at home consisted of dunking clothes in a tub of water and drip drying for a couple of days so it will be nice to wear non-foisty garments which can be kept clean for more than thirty minutes.

  'I've always wanted to use a washing machine! You'll have to teach me how to use it,' Mila says to looks of bemusement.

  I salivate at the sight of a feast prepared and served by Nyota, which has the novelty of being properly cooked and looks almost as good as the food we had in Sky City. I dig my fork into golden turkey skin garnished with herbs and tastebuds dance on my tongue as I swallow my first mouthful of proper food in too long. Wolfing the meal down, I swill red wine merrily and start to feel at home in this rural setting.

  'Until I went to the city I never realised eating could be so pleasurable. It was just a function like sleeping or taking a dum-'

  'Arturo, some of us are still eating!' Mila snaps.

  'Hey guys, how long was I gone?'

  'Nearly nine weeks,' Jardine replies.

  'Nine weeks! It felt more like nine months. That place was a living death, I'd rather be hanged than enter the workcamp again.'

  'Stop being melodramatic, kid. We had fun in there! You got to pilot my pod, how many kids can say that? Believe me, some have it a lot worse. The lucky ones become a gang leader's special friend! I spent the last twelve months down there and ya don't hear me cry,' Anguson says.

  'Arturo, we owe you a lot. That's why we made sure we came back for you. The armoured transport we used is valuable, but we risked that and our own lives without a second thought. The fact we pulled it off should tell you everything you need to know about our capabilities. With the virus you installed we've accumulated useful data but I can only say so much for your own protection... Mila, Dynah, I know you already understand this, but the three of you must not so much as hint to your friends about the rebellion,' Jardine says.

  'I'd never tell the gang in any case. Big mouths them lot, but not us. We'll keep our mouths shut,' Mila replies.

  Later on when stars are shining through nuclear fallout and the magnificent misfits are sound asleep, I struggle to appreciate my first night of freedom despite being a million miles away from the troubles we have no need to return to. I lie on a top bunk with aching eyes closed but my mind will not switch off thanks to the snoring and incessant insect noises. Mixed emotions lead to fleeting positions in my mind and part of me wants to trust these rebels in spite of logic.

  The creak of the lower bunk is followed by gentle footsteps and with one eye open I watch a bulky silhouette closing the bedroom door. Moments later whispering voices arouse my desire to uncover their secrets, to investigate the timing of the rocket attack and the bizarre coincidence regarding my cellmate.

  As I scan the sleeping quarters all eyes are tight shut and the gaping mouths which display an unfortunate lack of dentistry, confirm nobody is likely to wake. I tiptoe to the door and press my ear against varnished wood, catching fragments of what the conspirators talk about when they think no-one is listening.

  '...the whole situation is crazy...'

  '...was the best chance of installing the virus... given us new insights... the brilliant thing about using kids... no-one suspected a thing... looking for a pair of teenagers...'

  '...you know what kids are like... can't keep their mouths shut... tell their friends and they tell their friends...'

  '...ten million kids in the slums... high on drugs, telling tall tales... Even if they tell their story... one of millions... This Arturo kid... smart, fearless, trustworthy... twice I've slipped 3-QB into his... not given one indication he is anything other than reliable... and impressionable...'

  '...forces know their faces though... these kids are at risk.'

  'Only if they enter the hubs... pros outweigh the cons... young and naive, this means they have potential... to win this fight, we have to recruit... twice he has demonstrated his worth... almost killed by our rockets. We owe him... We have Dynah, a biological weapon! And the mech... struck gold with these kids... not convinced by the other girl... keep a close eye... assess her capabilities. She may surprise us...'

  '... will never be able to enter the city again...'

  'Not until we win, Nyota... downstairs... check on a few things...'

  The whispering fails to satisfactorily elucidate as it comes to a halt with the sound of a door catch clicking shut and my questions may never receive straight answers, but I prepare for a potential backlash. Bursting through the door I stomp around the shack in search of confrontation, but the conspirators have disappeared and adrenaline slowly ebbs along with confidence because I am too sleepy to keep the words fresh in my mind.

  There is no sign of a staircase in the kitchen nor in the storage room where Ivor is resting, but I hear faint noises beneath floorboards in a near empty back room. Vague window light reveals a ruffled bearskin rug which I lift to uncover a handle. Opening the trapdoor, I sneak down roughly carved steps and peer around a muddy corner into a low-ceilinged cellar - a dugout filled with crates. Nyota and Jardine are sitting at a desk with a holoscreen, flicking through pages of data.

  'With the installation of the final virus last week, we've accumulated enough info to bring down their security systems at will. The rocket attack was just a taste of what's to come. I need to check a couple of things... It's been confirmed by tech lab. Like I thought we can access the security controls on Orbital City. Once we bring it down every city in the country will revert to more vulnerable backup systems. We can then co-ordinate EMPs t
o knock out the power grids and droids. We can even the odds,' Jardine says.

  'What do you mean - bring down Orbital City? You're not planning to destroy it, are you?' I venture into the room, uncertain how these rebels will react to my audacity but too horrified to care.

  'Arturo, what are you doing down here?' Jardine jolts in his seat.

  'Answer the question, please. Don't tell me I'm going to be part of a genocide.'

  'Of course not, Arturo. We're not the bad guys, remember? We're just going to knock the power out. It's part of our plan. I trust you can keep this information to yourself. Bad things could happen if it falls into the wrong hands,' Jardine insists.

  'Of course I can keep it to myself. But the rocket attack, that was you?'

  'Arturo, you may as well know, this is going help us win the war. We brought down their missile defences and had to ensure it worked. We know they are vulnerable now. This will enable us to seize control and build a better future for you. For all of you. You do understand how important this is?' Nyota asks in reply.

  'Yes of course I do, but innocent people have died. You could've warned me. I don't want to be a killer.'

  'What do you think this is? We're fighting for survival. This was a necessary step. Believe me, the alternative is much worse. When this war is over your name will go down in history. The sixteen year old who helped to overthrow San Teria. How does that sound?' Jardine asks.

  'Sounds... cool...'

  'You're not having cold feet are you? If you want to walk away then do so, but I recommend you think carefully. If our plans are unsuccessful this world will become one scary place. You'll need to know how to survive. Whatever you believe, I want what is best for everyone. You have a lot to think about. Go to bed. We'll continue this conversation another time,' Jardine says.

  Military Training

  Feeling sleep deprived despite a lie in, I sit at the breakfast table which is rattling due to a preposterous test of manhood. Anguson grunts like a distressed farm animal as he arm wrestles a smirking Ahran. Sweat trickles down Anguson's bulging neck veins and his trembling hand is lowered with surprising ease. Dynah raises eyebrows as my cellmate's face turns purple and Ahran slams his arm down, wobbling my cup of tea.

  'I would've beaten you if I didn't lose so much weight inside!' Anguson clenches fingers as he struggles to comprehend how the greatest cage fighter on Eryx has been defeated. The caveman bashes palms on the table cloth and hoots like an, erm caveman, egged on by a cackling Mila.

  Jardine comes to calm the bluster at the breakfast table with a chastising frown and a shake of the head aimed at the last two people on the planet you would expect to be rebuked. Ahran sits back with arms folded to soak up our admiration and I sip my half-spilt tea as Jardine clears his throat to address us:

  'Here's the situation - we are on the brink of civil war. The last war almost ended in our annihilation, we've had to be smarter. Meticulous plans give us every possible advantage. Worldwide allies amount to a fighting force of at least five million. We plan to bring down their defences and mount a coup. However if anything goes wrong we may be forced into full scale war and the last war will seem minor by comparison. Our allies will not surrender for a second time. And San Teria will not accept surrender. It will be all or nothing. If you choose to join the rebellion we'll teach you how to fight, how to survive. San Teria are planning a purge of their own people. Imagine what they're prepared to do to the enemy. Sooner or later you're gonna have to decide whether you're safer on your own, or as part of a collective. This will be no easy choice,' Jardine says, his statement impassioned and meticulously enunciated.

  'I'm still not sure who to trust, before I met you I was not a killer. Now I'm a wanted terrorist. I swore I'd never be sucked into anything like this. How are we safer when our own nation wants us dead?'

  'Arturo, they want you dead regardless. They perceive bottom levellers as vermin, a problem that can be solved via extermination. You can choose to hide in the slums. You have a natural ability to survive but how can you avoid biological weapons? They're immunising all Citizens as we speak. They plan to claim their plague is a punishment from their goddess,' Jardine replies.

  'I need you to be honest with us. Anything you teach us, anything you ask us to do, we need to be fully aware of the consequences. I don't want to be lied to again.'

  'Arturo, we will not lie to you. I hope you can understand we have security concerns. We can't divulge every last detail to every kid we recruit. Our trust has to be earned as well.'

  'Haven't I done enough to earn your trust?'

  'You have, Arturo. Going forward you'll be better informed, I give you my word on that. However, you must understand I'm not always privy to full details. A lot of what we do is kept on a need to know basis. If we breach that principle, we put the rebellion at risk.'

  'Fair enough, I suppose.'

  'You, Mila and Dynah should spend the next few weeks here for your own safety. We can then consider your next move. After one month I'll offer you the chance to formally join the rebellion and if you accept I'll teach you a lot more. In the meantime I'll show you everything I promised I would.'

  'Fine, so where do we start?'

  'First of all we need your cover story. Don't tell anyone who doesn't already know that you've got credits. Tell your friends you've been a drugs courier, they won't bat an eyelid. If the authorities catch you, tell them you work for a crook named Jardine. It doesn't matter, that name is one of many. If they drug you, they'll see you're telling the truth. If you let slip about the rebellion, they know about us regardless. Little they can find out will make any difference, but nevertheless try to keep what you divulge to a minimum. Let fact and fantasy become intertwined. The colourful life you've led means they'll have no idea where the truth ends and fantasy begins.

  We plan to move fast. If we don't get this plan kickstarted within a few months it'll be too late. We have to think one step ahead, be security conscious, have escape routes mapped out. Take this place as an example. We have sensors and cameras throughout the mountains. The building is camouflaged from above, it has no heat signature. Every message we send through the holoscreen uses a hijacked system as a conduit. If they trace it, they trace it to the wrong person. We can change our appearance, our fingerprints. If we get caught we can instantly alert others.

  No matter how many of us they catch, there'll be others to take our place. They left half the nation disaffected, it was their biggest mistake - an endless recruitment line. And that's just in their own country. Fragmented forces worldwide are on our side. They're heavily armed, just as angry as we are and itching to fight... Arturo, Mila let's take a walk.'

  Jardine grabs a rucksack and we depart the shack to venture through one of the remotest locations in all of Anatolia. Our feet splash through a small cascade which permeates dense plant life as we climb a fissure of extraordinary majesty. Curving walls sweep into a brumous glow which tints jagged rocky peaks and the frothy stream below. Every living inch of forest squirms in response to our presence, ready to bite stray body parts.

  Thin air makes me slightly breathless, possibly due to the early stages of altitude sickness and light-headedness causes a delayed reaction as my sleeve brushes against a carnivorous plant which snaps shut, narrowly missing my little finger. As I tear my jumpsuit sleeve from spiny teeth, I notice a shadow screeching through branches which emerges to reveal a daredevil swooping over the gorge via a zipline.

  'I wanna know when it's gonna be my turn!' Mila gawps at the mysterious figure disappearing into greenery at the far side of the valley.

  'You'll get your turn soon enough, Mila.'

  'So Jardine, did you really lose your arm in a shark attack?'

  'Yeah, er what the hell? I can't lie to a pretty face. That's just a story I tell people for my own amusement. The truth is far less impressive. I clumsily sliced it off with my own circular saw. You can imagine how embarrassing it was when the men at Underworld found out!'
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br />   'So you lost your arm and your over-riding concern was embarrassment? Funny!' Mila covers her lips, laughing quietly.

  'On the plus side, the replacement is way better.' Jardine writhes his metal fingers.

  Our knees rise and gasps louden as the trail steepens. Dazzling glimpses of sky make it difficult to watch for footfalls but the anticline comes sooner than anticipated and gives partial respite. There is no sight of the log cabins below on the slope of gravity-defying flora; the full scale of which is hard to gauge as it penetrates deep into the crust of Eryx. We traverse rugged terrain, treading between wet rocks and reeds as we follow a shallow but hazardous streamlet.

  The sun is suddenly blinding as though we have stepped from night into day, upon reaching a sizable shack of moss-covered planks and broken windows. It looks far too dilapidated to still be in use and is likely over-run with pests. A smile warms my face in anticipation of the next part of this escapade as I shake these aching legs to loosen my calves.

  Jardine turns abruptly, looming forward with a puffed chest and I look for a smirk or any hint of irony, but there is only an antagonistic glint in his eye. The man who risked everything to rescue me now appears hostile and I am unsure whether this is a convoluted trap or a test.

  'Hit me,' Jardine instructs and my feet squirm on the spot. 'Hit me, now!'

  Eyeing my self-nominated master I envision the uncomfortable connection of fist and beard. I swing my arm unnaturally, afraid to risk retaliation but my lack of effort provokes him regardless. Jardine twists my arm behind my back then wraps his artificial limb around my neck. My throat is crushed as I yank his metal wrist to no avail - he could disconnect my vertebrae like a chicken's if he wished to do so.

  'Pathetic!' Jardine releases my gasping throat and Mila takes a nervous backward step. 'You can do better than that... Again - harder this time.'