Sifters

by Shane Scollins

  The hammering on the door grew more frantic. Tallon stood on the other side looking at this watch. The last seconds of his scheduled break were counting down. When the second hand reached the end of its cycle, he opened the door.

  “Didn’t you hear me knocking?” the man in the black suit demanded. His balding head bubbled with sweat, and his tiny glasses fogged at the edges.

  Tallon nodded once. “I heard you.”

  “We have a situation.” Lester Paulis held up a small tablet computer and shoved it into Tallon’s face. “Did you see this message?”

  Tallon flexed his jaw. “I saw it.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Lester looked around and said quietly, “There’s some reporter, some Sifter sympathizer, starting all kinds of trouble. He knows things he shouldn’t know.”

  Tallon crossed his muscled arms. “So what?”

  “So what? Are you stupid?” Lester pushed the tablet closer to Tallon’s face, bumping it into his nose. “Look, you fool!”

  Tallon flashed an arm out and slapped the tablet out of Lester’s hands, sending the device flying across the large, bustling office. Everyone stopped to see the commotion.

  Then he took hold of Lester’s arm, twisted it until he was begging for mercy, and brought him to his knees.

  “Ouch—owwe—owwe okay—okay.”

  Tallon touched his finger to the tip of Lester’s nose. “Don’t put your hands in my face. Do you understand?”

  “Yes—yes—yes, okay.”

  Tallon released him with a shove.

  Lester struggled to his feet and fixed his suit. “You just made a big mistake. I’m going to have your job for that, you steroid eating Neanderthal.”

  Tallon twisted a smirk. “Good luck with that.”

  A few others in the office looked at Tallon but then quickly averted their glances. He was six-foot-two, stacked with muscles, and had a searing, hazel-eyed glare that people didn’t challenge.

  He headed down the gray and red hallway. The reporter thing wasn’t new. He knew all about it. Handling situations is what he did. But he didn’t like these bureaucrats telling him how to do his job, and there was no way he was drinking the Kool-Aid on the table.

  If they wanted to control the world through their drugs and fear, that was fine. He didn’t give two shakes of a sewer rat’s ass, as long as they kept pumping his bank account full of money. The politics of the oppressed didn’t mean anything to him anymore. He didn’t care about the people pulling all the strings, and some reporter was always about to blow the whistle on something, trying to incite an uprising, so this wasn’t a big deal.

  Tallon got to Arlon McQuaid’s office and knocked.

  “Enter,” Arlon said from behind the heavy, red steel door.

  Tallon entered, crossed his arms, and stood in front of the gray-haired man he reluctantly called his boss. Arlon wasn’t heavy, but he also wasn’t muscular. He had one of those jogger bodies that just seemed weak even though he appeared to be in good health. His wire-rimmed glasses were unremarkable other than the fact they seemed to have been made for his face.

  “Tallon, it’s so very nice of you to rile up Lester for me. I don’t appreciate you getting him all wadded up, because then I have to listen to him cry about it for hours.”

  “He asked for it.”

  Arlon looked up from his computer. “Yes, he often does, but you can’t just abuse him in front of everyone. He’s demanding that I fire you.”

  Tallon shrugged. “Go right ahead.”

  Arlon wrote some notes on a yellow pad. “I just might if I could find someone better to do your job.”

  “It wouldn’t be easy.”

  He placed his pen on the desk. “Yes, well. I think we both know that’s unlikely.”

  Tallon stretched his neck. “Highly.”

  Arlon stood and walked around the desk. “That does bring me to our first order of business. What do you plan on doing about that reporter?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Arlon smirked. “As usual, you’re not going to tell me.”

  “No. Plausible—”

  “I know—plausible deniability. Just once, I’d like to go with you on one of these adventures. After all, I do run the wealthiest corporation on the entire planet, and I rely heavily on your ability to, how should I say, administer our policy.”

  “I don’t think you’d enjoy it very much.”

  Arlon scratched his chin. “No, I suppose not.” He stepped over to the wall and removed a picture of a snow-capped mountain, revealing a wall safe. He pressed the numbers, opened the notebook sized door, and removed a brown envelope. “Here,” he said and handed the thick parcel to Tallon. “Last week’s bonus.”

  Tallon didn’t count the cash; they’d never shorted him before. His contract paid out a healthy salary, but he also got some nice stacks of pure untaxed and untraceable cash for every side job. This stack was middle five figures for about two hours’ worth of work.

  Arlon turned to him. “Make that reporter go away. Too many people are worried about him.”

  Tallon stuffed the envelope into his side cargo pocket. “What makes him so dangerous?”

  Arlon waved a dismissive hand. “He’s just another Sifter sympathizer with a high-ideal of social reform. But he’s apparently got a bit of a following, and there’s some concern that he’ll get to the ears of too many people. It’s one of those real grassroots things.”

  “They all are. What makes this one so special?”

  Arlon placed his hands on his hips. “It’s nothing. He’s got some bug up his ass about something. He feels Cortech is going to ruin the world. You know how all these corporate watchdog whistle blowers are. They think anyone actually cares about their causes. Frankly he’s no different than the others, but you know how it goes. These Sifters are easily manipulated, and this man has some pull.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Please do.”

  Tallon turned and headed out of the office.

  Chapter 3

  After an exhausting ride in the humidity of a sweltering summer day, Dia stopped at the checkpoint into the city annex and waited in line. It had to be close to one hundred degrees. She was sweating from the heat and the uneasiness.

  Two guys stepped in line behind her. The taller one made a rude comment about her ass, and it took some restraint not to smash his teeth in. She had to be more civil in these parts. This wasn’t the place. Lucky for them she’d hidden her club because those kinds of things were not allowed in the annex.

  Beyond the large wall that surrounded the annex, she could imagine the tall buildings in the distance. She knew this area before it was part of the New York City annex. It used to be called Denville, and her grandparents Demarco lived here. Now it was one of the western annex gateways. They’d basically drawn a twenty-five mile radius around the cities and erected a twenty-foot tall modular panel composite wall. That way they could move the walls and annex more as they needed it. Word was they were ready to double the size and move the walls out fifty miles from the center of the city after the next election.

  From this vantage point, she could see the once familiar buildings of the East Hanover drug companies pushing steam into the air from their giant stacks. They were still busy manufacturing drugs.

  Dia was tall enough to see over some people’s heads, but not tall enough to see all the way to the front. She could easily distinguish the red signs that marked the four intake lines. Once it became clear she was in line number four, she breathed a sigh of relief. Four was her lucky number. She was born in April, on the fourth, and when she used to play soccer as a kid she wore number four. It was always a lucky number, so she hoped that played out today. Luck was going to have to be a big part of this.

  One-by-one they ushered people into the annex. But they also turned people away. She hoped the sector card she’d stolen was still active. If it were no good or simply expired, they’d turn
her away. If it had been red-flagged for some reason, she could end up in jail. It was not something most people would risk. You didn’t want to end up in jail these days, especially if you were from outside. But she had no choice. Ray was her only living relative, and if she didn’t save him soon he would be lost forever.

  Her nerves started to bind as the bustle of the crowd grew louder. Dia touched her pocket, making sure the pass card was still snugly in place. She felt the ridges, the rounded edge, rolled her fingers over the numbers that were pressed into the face.

  This simple card could be the key to her future, or a death sentence. She stepped into the staging area and leaned her bicycle up against the machine. The burly guard with a full, short-cropped beard waved her into the body scanner.

  “Roll your bicycle through too, please,” he said.

  She took hold of her Mongoose mountain bike and rolled it into the scanner. The machine hummed, chirped, and dinged.

  “Please proceed to the pass officer.” The guard motioned her ahead.

  She stepped to the desk where a female officer with a gold badge around her neck and her black hair tied up in a tight ponytail on top of her head asked for her card. “Please slide your card into the receiver.”

  Dia took a breath, said a little prayer, and slid the card into the scanner. The LED light on the scanner turned from red to yellow, then it held while the computers searched the database.

  It was an agonizingly long wait. Out of habit, her hand slid up to her neck and gripped the tiny heart locket. She flipped it open and smiled at the picture of her mother. She was such a beautiful woman. A half-Japanese beauty queen back when those sorts of things mattered. Aiko Hoshi was her full maiden name, which she never relinquished fully. She just hyphenated it. Not out of disrespect to her father but out of respect for her Hoshi family. Aiko was gone. The guerillas who claimed to be peacemakers killed her father and took her mother. Dia preferred not to know what terrible fate probably befell her mother, but standard operating procedure for those clans tended to be rape, murder, or sale to the highest bidder, which would probably result in the same end anyway.

  Finally, the light on the scanner turned green and relief splashed into her. It worked. The sector card was in good standing.

  Dia adjusted her backpack and pushed her bike down the aluminum ramp to the street level. This was the first time she’d been inside the annex walls since her father was killed. Anthony Demarco wouldn’t be happy she was embarking on this quest alone. They’d planned it together, and without him this was probably a suicide mission.

  Dia had nothing left in this world except her little brother. There was no way she was going to let Ray end up shipped off to some island, to be experimented on like a lab animal. He was a good kid. It wasn’t his fault he was born at a bad time.

  She looked up to the distant skyscrapers of Manhattan. She knew it was probably another hour of riding until she got there. But that’s where Ray’s school was. In just a few days he would turn fifteen, and when that happened, his life would be over.

  Chapter 4

  Mayor Gabe Schumer looked at his graying hair as it reflected back at him from the polished picture frame on his desk. He took hold of the manila folder and leaned back into his plush leather chair. “Is this the complete list?”

  “That’s all of them.” Matt Mallory, the young, fresh-faced man across the desk, nodded. He was the Commissioner of Education and Children Affairs. He reported directly to the mayor.

  Gabe scratched his head. “This isn’t a very long list.”

  Matt shook his head. “No, it’s not. Fortunately, fewer are slipping through the cracks these days. And there are three younger ones on that list who are very close to a diagnosis with parental consent.”

  “What with?”

  Matt shrugged. “Garden variety spectrum disorder, oppositional defiance disorder types. We should be able to get them on a regimen soon and get them locked onto a path. And you’ll be happy to know we have the votes to approve the drug for that newly created PID condition.”

  Gabe thought for a moment. “What’s that one again?”

  “Persistent Inquisitive Disorder. And that one might allow us to get these few kids who’re slipping through into a program at a very young age. Parents are hot on the idea of that one. Initial tests show that it’s a problem that needs solving.”

  Gabe closed the file. “You still have significant time left on some of these. Why’re you flagging them so early?”

  Matt leaned back. “I’ve been considering lately, should we perhaps begin the path harvesting at a younger age? We seem to have a few unruly older kids, who at a younger age would benefit from being on a path. And this new PID will open a lot of doors, kids love to ask questions, and many parents are encouraged that we’ve addressed the issue.”

  Gabe pondered the question with a search of the ceiling. “Do you think it’s prudent? Might that raise flags and unintended suspicions? We don’t want to appear too stringent. We still have a few adults who’re not on board with a drug regimen for their kids.”

  “Well, those parents can move their kids to the private system if they’d like. Our only concern are those in the public system. If they can’t afford private, that’s their problem. Some of the execs at Cortech believe we could get better results at age ten or eleven as the cut-off. It’s harder to get a diagnosis as they get older, and quite frankly, fifteen is way too old.”

  Gabe bristled. “Too old?”

  “Giving them the lateral grace until fifteen is way too old. Many kids already form personal opinions at that age and don’t want to start on a program. It’s much easier to massage the system when they’re younger. Studies have shown that the parents and guardians don’t question the younger diagnoses and usually agree with the designated path. But as they get older, it’s harder, especially if the kid is staying out of trouble. Kids get idealistic. We have to crush them before they become overly independent of thought. We don’t want unrest over the situation.”

  Gabe nodded in agreement. “Won’t that limit the number of subjects who go to the island?”

  Matt narrowed his eyes but then quickly nodded. “It will, but isn’t that the entire point?”

  Gabe had to be careful here. “Well, let me speak with Arlon and the execs over at Cortech and see what their research suggests.”

  “I already talked to them. And all due respect, Mister Mayor, but aren’t we supposed to do what’s best for the children, for society as a whole? These pathways we’ve designed are meticulously vetted for a productive society. And I’m not sure there isn’t some conflict of interest where Cortech is concerned.”

  Gabe raised his chin. “Matt, I appreciate your concern. But I’ve worked closely with them, and Cortech absolutely has the children’s best interest in mind.”

  “Of course they do. That’s not what I meant. I just—”

  “Matthew, I’ll discuss it with Arlon and the other board members and let you know. Good day.”

  Matt Mallory almost waited a beat too long before gathering his things and getting to his feet. He turned toward the door. “Good day.”

  Gabe picked up his phone the moment the door closed and placed a call. “Arlon, how are you this morning?”

  “I’m good, Gabe. What can I do for you?”

  “Did you get the list of students from Matt Mallory’s office?”

  There was some rustling on the other end of the phone. “Yes, I’ve got it right here.”

  “There’s one of note. He’s about to turn fifteen, so he’s at the end. His name is Raiden DeRomeo. It appears he will definitely remain undiagnosed. He’s already refusing the medications they’ve set for him for allergies and general health. He’s apparently very gifted and well adjusted, and he’s influencing others. Some of the teachers have started talking.”

  “I’m aware of him. In fact, I’m told he has good leadership potential.”

  Gabe cleared his throat. “I’d agree.”

&nb
sp; “You’ve met him, correct?” Arlon asked.

  “I haven’t. But my assistant has, and he was very impressed with the kid. He was secretly hoping the kid would remain resistant because he could be an invaluable asset.”

  “Let me ask you, what is it about him that people are worried over?”

  “It’s probably his likeability. People seem to gravitate toward him. He’s apparently quite brilliant, and they’re treating him differently, giving him special assignments, and in some cases he’s teaching the other kids. It’s too risky. We have to get him out of there right away.”

  “No need to worry. He’s going to be shipped out immediately. I’ve already taken care of the payout. He will be joining the class.”

  “Arlon, there is that other small problem.”

  “Which is?”

  Gabe huffed. “That damn reporter, Alex something-or-other. He has people talking in my office. He knows way too much, and there’s a feeling he could inspire an uprising, which we don’t need right now.”

  “He’s on the radar. He won’t be a problem for long.”

  Chapter 5

  Dia was faster on her bicycle than everyone around. She was quickly passing the other riders. With gasoline costing upwards of ten dollars a gallon, not very many people were driving anymore if they didn’t have to.

  Small electric cars and scooters were readily available but expensive. A lot of people had electric assist motors that hooked to a bicycle. But Dia didn’t have any money for something like that, even if that kind of stuff made its way back outside. Most factories and farms operated outside the city annexes, but they were under complete control, walled in, and goods went out by armed truck, plane, or helicopter.

  It was hot, but thankfully the sun had been obscured by clouds, which cooled it down a bit. It was actually a nice day for a ride. She’d been riding everywhere since she was about four years old. Her father was an avid cyclist even back when everyone had two cars per household and drove to the store a half mile away. Her mother would go riding too, up until Raiden was born. Ray’s real name was Raiden. It was the Japanese name for the mythical god of thunder and lightning.