by T. K. Malone
Chapter Three
“You heal real quick,” May said.
Teah sat up on her bed, May edging around the cell door, plate in hand. “Don’t worry, it ain’t rat.”
“Thank you,” Teah mumbled, taking the plate.
“As close to gridder food as you’re going to get,” May explained, she turned and grabbed a stool tucked in the corner of the cell, pulling it over and sitting at the side of Teah’s bed. “Some of it's smuggled out of The Grid—does that surprise you?”
It did, for some reason it had never dawned on her things would be smuggled away from The Grid. Her whole department’s focus had been to stop things coming in from the outside; booze, smokes and pills—mostly.
“Yes,” she let slip. She looked down at her food; it looked like an anaemic pizza.
“’Course, we haven’t got the luxury of making it taste exactly how you want it to, or look like it either, for that matter, but it ain’t bad.”
It tasted like crap, but Teah was ravenous. She bolted the bread down. May raised an eyebrow. “Blown up, broken or bruised ribs—shot just the other day, from what I hear, and yet you continue to progress as though the days were a month and the hours were a week. What’s your secret, girl?”
Teah chewed until the last of the dry bread was down, “Always healed fast,” she said, but knew it to be a lie. It had all changed that day with Connor, in the tunnels. The day he’d died…
“Liar,” May said, and crossed her legs. “But, we all deserve our secrets. Smoke?”
“Please.”
“See, there’s my point exactly. Most folks' lungs would have been so packed full of dust ‘n shit, they wouldn’t want a smoke for a week, but you… Did you know, you were unconscious for a whole day? For the first few hours we had your head turned so all the stuff oozing out of your mouth wouldn’t choke you. Gray, black, disgusting, it was as though your body was cleansing itself—remarkable. So tell me, are we holding an ordinary stiff, or are they so good at manufacturing babies now, you can suffer no harm?”
“The others…”
May took a long drag on her smoke, exhaling slowly. She focused on Teah.
“Your fellow stiffs didn’t fair so well. From what we could gather, the girl was alive when the rescue came; the two who were dragged out the front were a mess, another in a bag—well a few. So, there you have it, you feel the loss we feel every day.”
Boz, she thought, damn. He would have leveled the place. There was blood on Jeb’s hands, that was for sure. “If you didn’t smuggle…” she began, but let it trail away.
“If we didn’t,” May said, staring at her. “What would we do? How would we survive? Don’t you see the conundrum of your city? You want your paradise, but need us to clean up its mess. You don’t want us here, but won’t let us leave and live outside.”
It was a paradox which had lurked in the back of Teah’s mind. Day after day she’d been intercepting their smuggling routes, arresting, killing the perps, but to what point? Zac summed it up. “If they didn’t want the pills, we wouldn’t bring them in,” he’d always say. Likewise the booze and smokes. She took a drag on hers, letting its calming influence spread through her.
It was futile; she knew that. Folk would always find what they wanted, drink what would quench their thirst, swallow what brought them peace. One tunnel destroyed merely opened another two or three. And then there was Zac again, and his cockiness, his surety he wouldn’t get shut down. Boz had lost his life for nothing, they all had.
“Why?” she asked May. “Why won’t they let you leave? Why don’t you all escape through the tunnels?”
May took a long draw on her own cigarette. “Some of us are just plain city dwellers—we don’t care for the outside. Others fear it, like a spider, or a yellow jacket. Most only think of today, not yesterday, nor tomorrow, but mostly they stay because they want to live.”
“To live?”
May nodded slowly. “If we broke free…even dribbled out of the tunnels two by two, Josiah Charm would notice, and he would oversee our death—by drone on the freeway, through the brush, maybe even in the forest itself. He may miss a few, but he’d get enough to stem the tide. No, we’re here until Josiah Charm decides we aren’t needed for his grand design. Then, and only then, will we be disposed of.”
Josiah Charm, Teah thought, she had seen him briefly at her headquarters, seen him on the screens which were hung throughout The Grid. He’d even stopped by Connor’s hospital bedside while he recovered. He’d said something to her, but like that day, she could see it…almost…and just as she thought she’d remember his words, the memory vanished as though it had never been there. He had called her something, a name, but what?
“You really think Charm is that evil?” Teah asked May.
“Evil? What is evil? Charm follows some plan, but I’m not privy to it. Is he evil? I’m no judge. Ask any carnie, and Charm is the devil himself. Ask me, and I say it’s yet to be judged. Does he do evil things?” She swiveled from her stool and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yes he does, but to what end?”
Teah shrugged. “Why haven’t you killed me?”
May sucked a breath through her teeth. “Now that’s a tricky one to understand. Call it a feeling. I picked through the debris, before the dust had even settled. Ask me why, and I couldn’t give you a straight answer. If I gave you any answer at all, ask me again, and I’d probably change it. A roundabout way of saying, I have no idea.”
“And you’re sure the others…”
“Like I said, the girl was alive, but I doubt the others would have survived. Did you mull over my question?”
“Question?”
“Why try and attack a hotel with only five folks?”
Teah swivelled around, resting her back against the wall, pulling her feet up. Her ribs barely hurt anymore, but she had moved tentatively, anyway. For some reason, she didn’t want the woman to know quite how quickly she healed.
“Mostly, it’s all we ever needed. They rarely fought back with any skill—the smugglers, even if they had decent guns, they couldn’t shoot straight.”
“’Bout sums it up. Thing is, you’ve got a tactical unit. Whole different thing taking out a warehouse on the docks, or an abandoned factory in the manufacturing sector, to the Bay View—they knew that.”
“So,” Teah said. “Why do you think they sent us in?”
May reached down and stubbed her smoke out. “Me? I think they were trying to kill you. I just don’t know why.”
“Kill me?”
Getting up, May picked up Teah’s empty plate. She kicked the stool away, back into its corner, and then stood in the doorway, hesitating.
“I’ll be back in a while. Maybe I’ll take you for a shower, get you freshened up a bit. You asked why? Because you consort with carnies? Because you hang around with Zac Clay and Billy Flynn? Or is it because they fear you Teah? I get the feeling you wouldn’t be shy of pissing people off, and nothing’s gonna piss ‘em off more than when you turn up alive as our hostage.” She smiled. “Now that’s one thing you can count on,” and she left, the cell door clicking behind her.
That familiar sick feeling had returned. It seemed her body reverted to it as soon as it was healed enough to forget worrying about the other things. It was, quite possibly, the food. Whilst it didn’t taste rotten, didn’t taste of hardly anything, she doubted it was prepared with a similar sterility as grid food. Rumors had circulated for years that gridders didn’t last two minutes off-grid—if the drones didn’t get you, a simple cold could end your dreams of a different life. She didn’t know one gridder who wanted to escape; they all appeared content with their lives. Boz, for instance, had held nothing but contempt for anything off-grid. He’d thought them all uncultured heathens.
It was odd how she had simply accepted his passing. Devastated at first, naturally, but it had soon passed. Friends and acquaintances were easy come, easy go, on The Grid. Zac thought it was down to having no family, but then
he could say that, couldn’t he, being a Clay and all, having a mother and father.
She studied her naked body in the cracked mirror. The showers May had promised were truly basic. A partly tiled room, open stalls of which she was assured only two worked, and a bench down the middle. It reminded her of a school shower, of those intense times, except this one had a pile of rubble swept to one corner and only one out of six basins hadn’t been smashed up. Still, the water was wet—cold and wet—and May had left out a clean, orange jumpsuit for her to wear. She knew why—the color—she knew exactly why. It was the same color used to transport convicted felons to the correctional. It was a statement for the ransom demand, a stunt for the cameras.
Not a bruise now blemished her pale skin. She took a deep breath in—her ribs now healed, two days? Certainly no more. Maybe May was right, maybe she was some kind of freak. Teah doubted it though. Every gridder was implanted with a low level AI to monitor their health, wealth and general demeanor. Hers must just work a little harder than most, she’d decided. Though the AI never said a word to her, unlike most. Boz had reckoned his chatted away in the background, scolding him every time he had a smoke or took a slug of illicit booze. Yes, she smiled in the cracked mirror; Boz hated the smugglers, but sure liked their stuff.
She put the jumpsuit on and slipped into a pair of canvas lace-up boots which May had also provided. Damn, it felt good to be clean, well, cleanish. Strolling to the door, she gave it a hard thump and waited for the guard to let her out. Teah had expected May to escort her, like she’d said, but instead she’d got a carnie called Roy who was fifty, if a day, and walked with a stoop and a scowl. He wore pale blue combats and a pale blue shirt like he was some kind of sailor, and the shiniest boots she’d ever seen—even at the academy. He looked completely out of place in the rubble, rust and dereliction of the basement she was confined to—a conclusion she’d made due to the lack of windows and any external noise.
“You done?” he growled, clearly unhappy with his assignment. “Shoulda culled you while they had the chance—that’s my take. A living stiff is a no-good stiff, that’s my take, heh?” He peered up through his bushy eyebrows, his stoop making his head point toward the floor. “Shoulda killed you, you won’t do us no good.” He waved his automatic at her, steering her down the corridor. “’Course, one slip of my finger and we’ll see if the murmurings are true.”
“Murmurings?”
“That you are some kinda freak who heals. Still, doc’ll confirm it. He’s gonna look you up and down, poke and prod ya. You like being poked ‘n prodded girl?”
He looked like he was going to drool.
“Fuck off.”
The gun’s nozzle slammed into her back, pushing her down the dilapidated corridor.
“Think you're better than us,” he squealed. “All gridders think they're better than us, well, fuck you too. One slip of my finger and your full of holes. Recover from that, freak.” He pushed the gun into her back again. “Get on with yer.”
The more she saw of the place, the more it reminded her of an army barracks, the type seen on Connor’s old films. What was that film? Full Metal something. It was like that.
The place was all corridors and rooms, plus the cells; a barracks would make sense. Would that put her in or outside The Black City? Teah supposed it was possible the army had once been stationed near the city—the locals anyway—not the feds, more likely outside though. Shit, she thought.
“Keep going,” Roy barked, as she reached a set of double doors. Pushing them open, she saw the corridor ended in a hundred or so yards as another cut across it. Doors lined both sides. “Second on the left, and don’t think of doing anything tricky in there. I’ll be outside, waiting.” Teah felt him sidle up to her, felt his breath on her neck. “I only need the one excuse,” he whispered, spraying her neck with his saliva. They drew level with the door, he pushed the gun’s nozzle further into the small of her back, turning her to face the door, then shoving her through. “Don’t forget, I’ll be waiting.”
Teah put her hands up just in time to stop her face crashing into the door. She stumbled through, her feet struggling to catch up with the momentum of her upper body. Roy had just made the top of her new list. In fairness, he was the only one on it, but that aside, he was top. And she vowed he would pay, mostly for the spit; she could handle the other stuff.
Coming to a halt, she looked up to find herself in a small, sterile room, an examination bed to one side and a neat desk right in front. An equally antiseptic man looked up from behind it. He was dressed in what she assumed passed for smart here, wherever here was.
“Ah,” he said, “Teah?”
“Yes.”
“May…May asked me to look you over, though…” His voice trailed away as if he was confused. “Though…you look, how can I put it? Fine?” He made to get up, but decided to stay sitting. “You are the one who got blown up?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting. Please…take a seat.”
“You military?” Teah asked, grabbing the seat in front of the desk.
“God, no,” he said. “Used to practice out in the hills, Christmas, Sendro Verde, Morton Deep and the like. Still do my rounds there—quite hard without the drugs, but…we find ways.”
“Ways?”
He looked genuinely surprised by the question. “Old ways. Eye of bat, ear of…however it goes. We make do. Which is why I was peculiarly interested to hear May speak about you. The gridder who heals in no time at all. Could use some of your magic out here.”
“Out here? Are we out of the city then?”
He smiled a sort of ‘got me’ smile, but gave nothing further away. “Let’s say not. But, if you follow my thread, a maintenance-free human being would be quite handy in my…profession.”
“Wouldn’t it just put you out of a job?” Teah countered.
“That would certainly be a side effect. Do you have an AI fitted?”
“All gridders do.”
“Indeed,” he got up. “And would you object if I took a little look at it? The objection is meaningless, of course, seeing as you are our captive, but it is polite to ask. We don’t have a lot of things out here, but we have manners—I hear they’re a thing of the past on The Grid.”
“Not so important, no, and what’s the point, you’re asking me something I can’t refuse.”
“Nonsense, you can always refuse.”
“And get a face full of Roy’s saliva for my troubles, no thanks.”
The doctor inclined his head. “Well, let’s get started. Could you lay on the bed?”
“Do I have to?”
He glanced at the door. Teah scanned the room. She was fairly sure she could take the doctor, probably Roy too. There had to be something she could use as a weapon in the room. She searched around for it, but could see nothing.
The doctor had turned his back to her. She needed more time. “You never mentioned your name,” she said.
“No, no I didn’t,” and he turned. “Nor did I think you’d comply. I just wanted to see your fight response, and I have to say, it didn’t disappoint.” He had a gun in his hand. Before Teah could move, he fired.
She looked down at the dart sticking out of her chest. “You could have just…” she began to say, but felt her mind swirl around, then roll like a wave and crash against the back of her head. Slipping from the seat, Teah felt his hands grab her under her shoulders, felt herself being dragged and then foisted onto the bed.
Shadows curled around her, distant memories, of a lonely childhood, of being one of an anonymous number, of being processed. She saw the wasteland belt which surrounded the city, recognizing it for the toxic dump it was. Pipes bursting from the ground at drunken angles, buildings now reduced to a few courses of brick, or block, or just twisted, reinforcing rods. Black pits of foul-smelling effluent surrounded by banks of cracked soil, caked white with lime in a feeble attempt to contain their corruption. She saw the rain falling diagonally, driving, mak
ing puddles of oil dance lazily. And she saw a young boy running toward a vast black tube, ribbed, dark, vanishing into the ground like a gigantic worm. And then her vision faded.
Chapter Four
Teah was dragged from her bed. She lurched to one side, instinctively fighting against her captor. Roy’s face came in and out of focus, leering down. Her legs felt like jelly. Her stomach roiled with intense sickness. She convulsed, near doubling over.
“Straighten up, you bitch,” Roy shouted at her.
He had a baton in his hand. She watched as he raised it in the air and brought it sharply down on the back of her knees. She tried to cry out in pain, but no scream came.
“Kneel, you bitch,” he said, his face now right in her own, nose to nose, spittle flying.
“What…” the words just wouldn’t come. Her mind was a mess of blurs. Another man entered the room, wheeling in what looked like a chair. He disappeared behind her, and she felt herself pulled up and into it. Ray’s face was back in front of hers. “Now stay put while we buckle you in.” She felt her chest tighten, felt her ribcage constrict, and Roy’s twisted face came back into focus. “Now to mess you up a bit. Don’t want you looking too pretty for the cameras,” and he drew back, baton raised.
Her cheek exploded in pain, her vision turning crimson instantly. She tried to cry out, but her jaw felt strange, loose.
“’Kin‘ell Roy,” Teah heard the stranger shout. “You’re going to f‘kin kill ‘er.”
“It’s a stiff, they shoulda killed her where she laid.”
Teah felt blood streaming down the side of her face, her neck. Shadows in the crimson told her Roy’s baton was about to fall again. This time, her stomach caved in under its force, she spluttered and gasped as her breath was forced from her. She tried to breath in, but it felt like her lungs had been pulled through her throat. Blood flooded into her mouth, spilling from her lips, dripping from her chin. She let her head droop forward and waited. Waited for the killing blow.