The Free Citizen

by T. J. Sedgwick

  “We’ll be fine—I’ve done this type of thing a lot,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Right. Same as you knew what you were doing when Ferg and Chrissy came over for dinner. Epic fail on the soufflés, Chef Cal! Should’ve just left it to Harry. That old Servile was great ‘til his expiry.”

  The last bit—about Harry the Servile—killed the buoyant interlude he’d been feeling. It reminded him that things weren’t the same as before This was still a dark facsimile of life in the United States of old.

  “Let’s move,” he said, not looking at Cora.

  She’d picked up on the way his smile had dropped for sure, but she said nothing, hearing only her footsteps behind him. They tracked at half-pace along the ledge above the flowing effluent. It hadn’t rained for a while in the city, but watersheds didn’t respect the perimeter and the sewer system had been designed to draw water out of the city, away from the lake and eventually to end up in the great Mississippi. In other words, out of Sanctuary City, towards its perimeter. They travelled steadily through what seemed like a never-ending tunnel, until up ahead the roof sloped upwards, towards a grill-covered opening, shafts of street-light spearing through the ornate wrought iron. They stopped. Rae looked up and saw a few passing pedestrians and heard footsteps and the electric whizz of cars and trucks.

  “Where are we?” asked Cora.

  He checked his watch and awaited a GPS signal. It was a simple model, the only potential electronic emissions weak and short-range. He’d switched off those functions to before leaving to avoid detection. GPS was passive. No way to track the device. The map zoomed to their location—right where he’d expected.

  “I know where we are. We need to keep going.”

  “Wait,” she said, grabbing onto his backpack. He stopped and turned to face her. “You said you’d tell me what was going on… Now seems like a good time, Cal.”

  “What d’you want to know?”

  “It doesn’t add up… What the cop asked through the drone… About the Alliance trying to recruit you. About going straight to Lakeshore Hospital. What are you not telling me, Darling Husband, hmm?”

  She was being her authentic self now they were out of the surveillance bubble, but was it an act too? Was she under the control of Intel and leading them to some unwitting Alliance operative? He had no way to tell. With luck, her mindchip was out of communication with the Net. He couldn’t get a GPS signal down there except right below the opening to street level where they now stood, so maybe they had lost track of her mindchip. He went with his gut feeling.

  Now for a leap a faith.

  “I got a message… from the Alliance…”

  He told her some of it. The key parts. Not how they’d gotten the message to him. No need to reveal their MO. And not about coming alone. She already knew about how his perceptions had changed and what had happened on the Space Station Erasmus—he’d told her in the shower, away from Ruby the home spy. But Dr Muller’s short message from the wasp-drone was consistent with it, reinforced it, convinced him along with his own reflections that he wasn’t being played as the Alliance’s Manchurian Candidate. Quite the opposite. He’d been living as a puppet of the despicable Regime. All the evidence said so. He told her about going to El Paso-Juarez and the Alliance contact their codenamed, Governor.

  She bit her lip, her face etched with worry before taking a deep breath. “You believe them… the Alliance?” she repeated, having already asked the same seconds before.

  He nodded.

  “And Cal, what do you think they mean about time running out now the American Union has ASTRA?”

  He didn’t know himself but hazarded his theory.

  “It’s an Artificial Intelligence build by the Alliance,” he said. “Whatever it does, both sides think it’ll give them the upper hand. I suppose whoever holds the most powerful AI in the world would dominate. Everything is networked. Win the cyberwar, win World War III.”

  “But we already have the most powerful military in the world,” said Cora. “If we wanted to take on the rest of the Alliance or any other enemy we’d win easily.”

  “Maybe we’d win—though not easily. War is never easy,” he said stony-faced. “Millions, if not billions would die. And if it goes nuclear, there’ll be nothing left to fight over…”

  “What have we gotten ourselves into?” she said, her earlier lightheartedness gone.

  “Come on.”

  She nodded acceptance and followed him onwards, into the darkness. They progressed at jogging pace—well within his capability, even with the twenty-kilogram backpack. He could hear Cora laboring slightly, but he knew she’d manage fine so long as she didn’t hurt herself.

  “Do you believe what I told you?” he said as he continued at pace.

  “Which part?” she said between breaths.

  “About what I saw on the Erasmus. About my understanding of how we’re the bad guys and we’ve been brainwashed and mind-controlled in a web of lies. About how the whole damned American Union is a lie! We’re slaves, Cora, pure and simple. All of us, whether Citizen or Servile. The only free people are the Regime’s elite or people in the Badlands—and who’d wanna be them? It’s all one big clever lie.”

  He thought he’d said his piece already, but anger had compelled his rant.

  “Well…” she said, carefully weighing her response. “I guess it’s hard to tell.”

  The combined rhythm of their footsteps echoed relentlessly along the never-ending tunnel lit only by their flashlights, jigging up and down as they ran.

  “Do you trust me?” he said.

  “Yes, of course! I do trust you. I love you. It’s just that… I can’t feel it like you. I’m just judging on the evidence I see before my eyes. I have freedom. You have freedom. We all do… I mean, within reason. But any civilized place has rules, Cal. Rules and constraints. We can’t just do what we want to do. The president is right—places with no rules and too much freedom are shitholes. It’s how Mexico and Central America and so many other places are so fucked up.”

  Rae said nothing. He thought he’d won her over but now she sounded unconvinced.

  “Don’t you agree, baby?” pressed Cora.

  “No, I don’t agree.”

  She pulled him back, slowing him. They stopped, and he turned to face her.

  “Why not?” she said. Annoyance but not yet anger. “Look, I’m putting my faith in you even though I don’t see what you see.”

  “That’s what faith is, Cora.”

  Her eyes were locked on his as they said nothing. Then she swallowed, exhaling, her eyes averted, before nodding.

  “Yes. Faith,” she said quietly. “Let’s keep moving.”

  He nodded, her response putting him more at ease, although it was slightly mysterious, a little inauthentic. Was it artifice, a show of resistance for the sake of realism, to convince him her mind was free when it wasn’t? Was being underground blocking access to her neural implant? He wasn’t sure, but he doubted they had a direct quantum link to her chip as they’d had to his. That was high-end technology and simply not required, save for those in distinct roles like Special Forces and diplomats.

  “Cora, you know when you went to the hospital and had your neural implant installed?”

  The sound of their wet footsteps echoed around the tunnel as they jogged.

  “Sure, it’s helped me greatly in my work.”

  “Did they tell you anything about its comms capability? Does it have an Instantaneous Quantum Link? IQL?”

  She pursed her lips, eyes up, thinking.

  “Err … no, not that I know of. Never been aware of that functionality. Pretty sure it’s a standard ANI-3b chipset. Why’s that?” she said from behind him.

  “Need to be sure they’re not tracking us.”

  “And are they?”

  “Right now, down here I don’t think they can. Come on, keep up the pace.”

  “Sir, yessir,” she said jestingly.

 
They ran on for another thousand meters before reaching a circular grating in the ledge floor. Looking down, he saw a ladder leading into the depths of the earth.

  He reached down and jerked the rusty grating free, hauling it open, then climbing in.

  “We need to get to the new part of the sewers.”

  “If you say so,” she said, sighing.

  Down another ten meters, the much newer, big-bore concrete tunnel carried only an ankle-deep flow but smelled even worse. He struggled to understand how that was even possible.

  He helped Cora off the ladder, and she pinched her nose.

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  They found their way southwards, following a combination of the new main tunnel and older stretches of crumbling brick. They weaved a winding route, forced to retrace steps from dead ends—gratings blocking the way and, in one place, a completely collapsed tunnel. The place was a labyrinth. They stopped to rest, and drink water purified by the bottle in his backpack. Nearly four hours had passed.

  “The city perimeter shouldn’t be far now.”

  They went on via a crumbling brick bore, damp and disused, a vestigial appendage, long-since replaced by a newer tunnel. His tactical flashlight caught what looked like a mound of rubble up ahead. Getting closer, it resolved into a pile of bricks and rocks and earth from the collapsed roof. He surveyed the debris pile with his light.

  “Maybe we can get over the top,” said Cora, pointing.

  He scrambled up the debris pile and turned to Cora who’d followed him up.

  “Give me your hand,” he said, extending his, before helping her up to lay beside him near the tunnel ceiling on the uncomfortable mess of hard rubble.

  They began tossing brick after brick, rock after rock, behind them, creating a gap. A small opening between the ceiling and pile opened enough for the smaller Cora to attempt. She nimbly wriggled through and down the other side as he continued hurling lumps of masonry behind him. He crawled through the tight gap at the top, ignoring the brick and rock digging into his torso. He got to his feet and joined Cora who’d already adjusted her headlamp to point down and was listening intently, concentrating. She put her finger to her mouth. Hush… He switched off his tactical light and listened too. Movement up ahead. Footsteps crunching on a gravelly surface. Then from nowhere, a piecing scream followed by a man’s voice. Angry, indiscernible. Then the crack of a single gunshot, echoes resonating until they faded to nothing.

  Small caliber gun.

  He reached in his pocket and passed the 9mm handgun to Cora.

  “You remember how to use this, right?” he said, knowing she did but asking anyway.

  She gave him that look. Not impressed.

  “Well enough to have saved your ass before.”

  “Ok, ok… Just… Never mind.”

  “Grip like this…” she said, parroting his words from many years ago with unnerving accuracy, right down to his tone and cadence. “Now, take aim and squeeze firmly, keeping the gun level. There’ll be a kick, but just ignore it. Go for the chest—easier to hit. Two shots.”

  He watched her take up a competent stance, raising the weapon, and mimicking the recoil of a double-tap.

  “Pow! Pow!” she whispered.

  He said nothing, just nodded with a smiled.

  “Did I pass, Captain?” she said.

  “You’re good,” he said. “A smart-ass, but good.”

  She came over and kissed him, then flicked off the handgun’s safety. Light bled around the bend from whatever was up ahead. Rae kept his tactical light off and reached over and clicked off Cora’s headlight.

  “My lead. Be ready to cover me.”

  “Got it.”

  Weapon raised, he advanced quickly and silently, ghosting his steps, his M4 trained, illumination up ahead. From around the bend came artificial light, faint and diffuse, photons reflecting off the tunnel walls. Cora followed, a few meters behind from the soft pad of her footsteps. Slinking along the inside wall of the bend, they remained in darkness.

  A gentle whimpering echoed along with the drip-drip of water, then the bark of the same angry guy they’d heard earlier.

  “And that’s what you fuckers get for not listening! I am a Citizen. I am your fucking master!”

  Then a slap and another male scream.

  “We’ve got a job to do motherfuckers! I need to earn enough to get my own fucking Servile—one a lot better looking than you ugly fucks. We gotta get this fucking thing blocked off before the end of tomorrow and they’ve sent me useless assholes! Worst Serviles ever!”

  Rae edged closer then saw the victim—a young man, skinny, dirty and dark—maybe of Indian heritage. Dead with a single shot to the forehead, his black eyes staring lifelessly at the tunnel roof. A miserable death. A miserable existence.

  Rae gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched. Back flat against the wall, the narrowing shadow ending just ahead. He edged forwards, eyeing more of the floodlit workspace. Kneeling along the side of the tunnel, heads bowed, were half a dozen wretches in rags and footwear in various states of disrepair. Standing over them was a bulky fortysomething man, brutal-looking, no sign of hair beneath his white hardhat. He wore red coveralls matching his angry skin.

  Need safety gear to keep Citizens safe, thought Rae sardonically.

  Behind the slavemaster sat a pile of steel bars, welding and cutting equipment and a partly-built grating across the three-meters-wide tunnel. Pick axes, long-handled hammers, a ladder and several shovels stood propped on the wall nearby. The worksites he’d seen elsewhere in the developed world had robots and workers in exoskeletons. No need for that kind of tech here when they’ve rendered people as androids. Low-cost, throwaway humans. Millions more where they came from.

  Despicable.

  With the M4’s stock tight to his shoulder, scope filled with Angry Bastard’s head, Rae emerged from the shadows. The nearest Servile turned, drawing the slavemaster’s attention. Angry Bastard paused, gun still by his side. Rae watched his body shape change, muscles in his arm about to contract.

  “Drop it!” Rae commanded, his deep voice booming in the confines of the sewer.

  Inexplicably, the nearest Servile jumped to his feet and darted in front of Angry Bastard, shielding him. Another two did the same, joining the first either side. Angry Bastard bent his knees, so his head was level with the shorter Serviles, wrapping his left arm around the middle Servile’s chest. It made Rae’s shot nearly impossible.

  “Fuck you!” said Angry Bastard, raising the pistol, a sneering grin plastered over his doughy face.

  Shit!

  Rae kept Angry Bastard sighted, but his aim felt somehow less precise than before, his deactivated mindchip leaving him unwilling to risk the shot at the thin vignette of enemy face. As Rae lowered his weapon, he saw Angry Bastard’s eyes shift. Cora.

  Crack—crack, came the shots from behind, leaving two perfect holes in the side of Angry Bastard’s hardhat, its high-density polyethylene no match for 900 meter-per-second lead. His eyes went dead, all electrical activity ceased as his muscles turned to jelly. A second later he collapsed where he stood, the faint crack of gunfire still reverberating through the tunnel network. Rae turned to Cora, who’d taken up position on the outside wall to get a better angle on the now-dead slavemaster. He nodded in thanks. She acknowledged, her look focused, determined as she joined him, covering the Serviles all the way.

  “What do we do with these guys?” she said.

  Blank looks from the standing and kneeling Serviles greeted news of their master’s demise. The three human shields returned to the row of Serviles, kneeling at the end of the row. He couldn’t trust these guys—they were chipped and if they weren’t underground, they would probably have no choice but to report in and reveal their location. But he couldn’t kill them either.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered, still fearing they might make a run for it.

  No response. Blank looks, still as statues.

  “Right you
guys, I need intel,” he said.

  They remained silent.

  “Who’s in charge here when that asshole isn’t around?” he said, pointing with his gun at the dead slavemaster.

  One of the Serviles stood, his look still blank and straight-ahead. He looked the oldest of the group—maybe fortysomething, but hard to tell. Scraggily beard, small, malnourished, dark-skinned like all the others.

  The spokesman was no orator; his words were flat, simple sentences, single-words, never expanding his answers, responding only literally. Part of Rae felt frustrated at this convoluted dialogue, but the larger part felt sadness for what the Regime had done to these men. Rae learned of the final stages of the project to shut off the remaining tunnels running below the perimeter. For the Regime it hadn’t been a priority—according to the worker, nothing could survive the buffer zone outside the perimeter. Rae knew himself of the minefields and patrols. He also knew that the Regime liked to use deterrent to conserve resources. Nevertheless, they were all in a prison of sorts, captives of the Regime.

  He stepped over and shook hands with the spokesman-worker who’d helped him. Rae thought he caught a glimmer of a smile but wasn’t sure if he’d just willed it to be true.

  Poor guys.

  “Ok guys, get up and climb over the rubble pile back there. Keep on walking. If I see you guys again, I won’t be a happy man. Got it?”

  They stood, almost as a collective, there robotic, emotionless faces a disturbing sight. Unlike Serviles programmed for other roles, these guys were just physical labor, cheaper than robots. There was no need for the human touch.

  So sad...

  “Ok, whatya waiting for? Go on.”

  They walked in file towards the rubble and climbed over bricks and dirt as ordered.

  Rae and Cora left the worksite behind, jogging towards the sound of flowing of water up ahead. A short distance later, the tunnel sloped downwards. Up close, the flow sounded like a torrent. He explored the way, homing in on the source of the noise, his tactical flashlight scanning the darkness. A flood of water was cascading from above, filling the tunnel ahead. He crouched down and shone his light across the choppy water surface, which extended to the ceiling twenty-something meters away.