Inkers

by Alex Rudall

  “You know,” she said, “I’m pretty sure you’re just trying to annoy me. A lot of people would get their implants reset for that.”

  “Yeah, well,” Emily said. “Good luck getting anywhere with a new admin.”

  Amber shook her head. “Got any recent footage of the guy?”

  “Assuming you’re referring to your new boss, yeah,” the voice replied after a moment. “A lot of identical speeches, actually. There’s one in a high school in Ohio from two days ago – want to watch?”

  “Yes,” Amber said.

  “You might not like it. On your mark,” Emily said, and Amber dived forward into the waves.

  She opened her eyes dry, clothed, wearing a suit, sat in the centre of a high hall, three rows from the front, in the midst of dying applause. A tall man in the black ITSA uniform, silver stars glinting on his lapels, was standing at the wooden podium in front of her, smiling broadly. His gingery hair was cropped close about his ears, kept a little longer on top. The air smelled of cleaning fluid.

  “I would just,” he said, his accent Texan, voice ringing too loudly over the packed hall, “just like to say something about a topic which I have become somewhat notorious for, at least in certain circles. And perhaps not without good reason.”

  He paused. There were chuckles from a few members of the audience. He did not smile now: he seemed to be looking straight at Amber. Amber shifted in her seat.

  “The topic, as some of you are perhaps aware, is the inclusion of certain members of society in the ranks of ITSA. It is a fact that these people possess unusual and possibly unique attributes. It is also an undeniable fact that these people are, without exception, current or former criminals. We can know this with one hundred percent certainty just by looking at them. Now, normally, we do not hire anyone with a criminal record. This is because our work is extremely sensitive; it is melodramatic but it is not an exaggeration to say that the fate of the entire world may rest on the work that ITSA performs. Therefore, however useful these former criminals might be, there are always many more worthy candidates, all eager for a chance to join up. And, just as in the military, when hiring and training our troops we look for brains and brawn, yes, but also, crucially, a strong basis of character, a basic knowledge of the difference between right and wrong. A basic self–discipline. I believe, and there are many like me, that it is this basic character which makes a good soldier; and a basic lack of character cannot be compensated for by physical attributes, however potentially useful.

  “Normally, therefore, we do not hire criminals. But, an exception is made, a key exception, for immunes; that is, ink addicts who have taken so much ink, and, through hardiness or luck, managed to survive for long enough that their entire body is permanently desensitised to the effects of the drug. And not just that terrible drug – as it turns out, most recreational drugs, and many which are used for medical purposes. This is a blessing upon these creatures, freeing them from the devastating addiction, but their irredeemably discoloured skin is also a curse, permanent evidence of their past or present problems. As a result of their staining, rightly or wrongly, immunes find it very difficult to find gainful employment following the end of the addiction.

  “But, on occasion, ITSA does hire these people. They are selected on the basis that, as part of their work, our brave soldiers must regularly go to places where the most dangerous drug on Earth is sitting around. Sometimes it is sprayed into the air – sometimes it is thrown. Sometimes the soldiers are touched by large quantities of the ink and they die immediately, in a manner which I do not wish to or need to describe to you here. Immunes by their nature are, of course, immune to this danger. But it is a fact that, if these people did not have their ill–gotten immunity, they would not be hired into roles at ITSA. Their criminal records would be painted on their skin; they simply would not be hired. And yet they are, and quite often. I personally consider it to be a pernicious kind of discrimination against those with no criminal record whatsoever, who are, make no mistake, losing out on jobs and careers in favour of the immunes. As a result, it is one of my long–term objectives to stop this unfair hiring procedure. In doing so–”

  The General froze mid–sentence.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Emily’s voice said from next to her, “but the man himself is approaching. Might want to pull that hood over a bit more…”

  “Exit,” Amber said abruptly, and the room, the faint smell of cleaning fluid, and the people sitting on wooden chairs around her were replaced instantly by the heavily conditioned air of the jet. The General’s podium disappeared, too, but the man was still there in front of her, dimly lit in the aisle, wearing a black greatcoat over his uniform. He was approaching, bending to check seat numbers. Amber’s heart began to beat faster. She pulled her hood further over, so that her face would be as hidden as possible, and turned away to her side so that she was looking at the closed window. Her seat adjusted to try to keep her comfortable.

  She heard him take off his coat and store it in the locker above, and then felt him settle down next to her. Amber didn’t move.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, his Texan accent somehow less pronounced and obvious than it had been in his speech. He was breathing heavily.

  Amber didn’t reply. As if in response to his apology the plane began to roll away from the terminal.

  “No problem,” Amber said quietly.

  “Eight minutes,” he said. “They’d court–martial a private for being eight minutes late to a deployment. Taxi breakdown, if you believe it. Damn thing just stopped on the exit to the freeway, no power at all, had about two hundred cars stuck behind me for at least three minutes before they managed to reroute properly. Then the doors wouldn’t even open, so I couldn’t get into the replacement for ten minutes. I was ready to kick the window out.”

  He wanted to talk. Amber knew she would have to turn to him soon or risk being rude. She had no words or pictures on her face, just a light grey tone over her already dark skin – before she got her immunity she had been able to hold down a normal job for a long time, even while doing four or more vials every night, because she was always careful about her face, neck and hands. In the dark, with her hood up, it was quite conceivable that he wouldn’t see; but it was ridiculous. He had taken part in her selection.

  “Still, I should have left a little more time. Shouldn’t blame the tech. I always feel guilty about the whole first privilege thing,” he continued. “I’ll be getting off first on the other side, too, before they even switch the lights on, probably.”

  Amber remained silent. If she could just pretend to be asleep, maybe she wouldn’t have to turn to him, and he wouldn’t see her, he’d leave before the lights went on.

  “Are you in the new batch?” he said. “I think almost everyone on the flight is.”

  She couldn’t not speak, now, so she turned to him. She kept her hood up, a slight breach of etiquette, but not completely rude these days. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Ah, good. Why else would you be going to Kathmandu, eh?” he said, grinning at her, his teeth very white and straight, showing no sign that he’d seen her skin. Or maybe he had seen and didn’t really mind. Maybe the speeches were purely political.

  She smiled back as best she could.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to you, anyway,” he continued. He was handsome, in a lean sort of way. “Not personally. They don’t want me to prejudice my views. Personally, I don’t see how getting to know the trainees better could ever be a bad thing, to be honest.”

  Amber turned to the window after a moment, lifting the shade again. They were lining up on the runway, coming to a halt, about to start their take–off run.

  “Did you see the immune on here?” he said, after a moment, and her heart almost burst with the adrenaline rush. “They made us take one. The higher–ups are obsessed with it, for the PR, I think. But we’ve never had a immune trainee. Don’t know much about him.” He chuckled.

&
nbsp; Amber was frozen. He had assumed she was a man. He’d not even looked at her record. Before she could respond the plane started to move forward, the building roar of the take–off engines providing a moment’s stay from having to respond. She straightened in her seat as the jet accelerated and then lifted off the ground. She watched the dusk lights of San Francisco falling below, bright around the bay. Several winked out on the water. She caught a final glimpse of the Golden Gate before they rose into the clouds and turned towards the west.

  The captain’s voice came into her ear implants. “Good conditions,” he said, “Supersonic in t–minus two minutes. Please brace for acceleration.”

  Amber wriggled and squared herself in her seat, glancing at the General, who was doing the same.

  “I didn’t see him on my way up,” he said.

  “Ten seconds,” the captain said. There was a moment of silence as the take–off engines switched off and the plane glided unpowered, and then a building rush as the SCRAMjets kicked in. The acceleration pushed them both back in their seats. Amber tensed until the acceleration tapered off.

  “That’s uh, Mach six and a bit,” the captain said in her ears. “We’ll make up the time, no problem. Enjoy your flight.”

  “No, they know what I think about it all,” continued the General. “And I don’t care who hears me say this stuff. The Agency’s good like that, you wouldn’t get away with it in the Army, but these multi–nationals are much softer on personal opinion. And my personal opinion is, you can never tell.” The General seemed unable to leave the topic alone. Amber wondered if he was playing some kind of game with her.

  “What do you think, soldier?”

  It wasn’t too late to come clean, just say who she was. Amber searched for the words. “I – I’m not sure, sir,” Amber said. “I’m going to hit the VR and get some pre–reading done, if that’s alright,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said. “No problem. Very admirable. I’ll see you tomorrow, I expect.”

  “Enjoy your flight, sir,” Amber said. She turned once again to her side, her heart racing. She could VR for the rest of the flight, and maybe there was a chance he wouldn’t recognise her tomorrow and she could at least try to make a positive impression. She couldn’t introduce herself now, it would just be too awkward. She blinked on the VR. The beach returned.

  “So,” Emily said, but she was interrupted by the captain’s voice and the beach disappeared once again.

  “Sending the bots down with your dinners now,” the captain said. “VRs off.”

  Amber blinked as lights came on along the cabin. She sensed the General looking at her and turned. He was staring right at her in the bright light. She slowly pulled off her hood. His face was contorted in hatred.

  They ate their meals in silence, and as soon as the many arms of the boxy meal–bots had taken the trays away Amber went straight into VR. She spent the rest of the flight testing her recall of ITSA regulations, reading the docs on the current situation in Kathmandu, and hoping the General wasn’t still staring at her. She wanted to speak to Robert but Emily couldn’t seem to get a line out. Eventually she slept in the sand. By the time Emily woke her up and she switched out of VR, eyes aching, the General was gone and the cabin was half–empty. Amber deplaned feeling that somehow she had ruined her chances before she had even left US airspace.

  Kathmandu airport was modern and clean enough, glass and white concrete. Her bag did not appear on the conveyer belt until every single other person on the flight had disappeared with theirs. She rushed through arrivals, was waved through security with a flash of her ITSA badge, and dashed through the crowds of Nepali locals and Chinese tourists.

  The street outside was a warm, stinking shock.

  Underfoot was filthy and strewn with plastic rubbish. Every visible wall was covered in layers of bright moving images of soft–drink logos and pornography. A great metal foot slammed down in front of her. A huge palanquin robot, the sort reserved in the US for safaris and the wilderness, here stomping down the road, striding over the tops of rickshaws and taxis, legs painted all over with Mandarin and Nepali symbols, the windowed box on top draped with great swathes of bright cloth to hide the occupants. Amber staggered back and scanned the crowd.

  “There,” said Emily, projecting a green arrow briefly onto her vision. She spotted them, a gaggle of ITSA uniforms crowding around a pair of black cars further down the road. By the time she’d hauled her big bag to them the last few were getting in the car.

  “Sorry, no room,” the last man in said, a blond American, himself standing up inside the taxi, bent over next to the sliding door so as not to hit his head on the roof.

  “I’ll get my own,” Amber said, and the blond man nodded and slammed the door.

  She called the most expensive cab available via Emily and, although it took over a minute to find its way to her through the chaotic street, when the black and yellow vehicle pulled up it looked in good condition, clean and hardly dented. She jumped in.

  “Lock the doors, straight to HQ,” she said. The doors clicked and the taxi pulled away. Amber relaxed back into the silence.

  “Keep an eye on the car,” Amber said, and closed her eyes. “Darken the windows and call Robert, please.”

  She was on the beach again. After a moment a short, skinny man with a beard stood next to her.

  “How was the flight?” Robert said, grinning at her.

  “Don’t ask,” she said, drawing a shape in the sand with her toe.

  “That bad, eh?”

  “Yup. My new boss hates me.”

  “What? He picked you, didn’t he?”

  “They made him. He thought I was a man.”

  “Oh.”

  They walked together in silence. Ahead the beach ended and green hills rose invitingly, thick with tropical trees. Bright birds flew in and out of the foliage.

  “Well,” she said. “It’s still my only chance.”

  “You could get another job,” he said.

  “No, I couldn’t. This is it. If I don’t get the promotion I retire in two years with all the others, and then nobody will employ me at all.”

  Rob sighed. “I’ll look after you,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, turning and kissing him.

  “But I don’t want to make you poor. So I’ll do my best. Even if he hates me.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Robert said.

  “You don’t think I’ve got a chance.”

  “There’s always a chance.”

  “I’ll just do my best.”

  “Yeah,” Robert said. “You’re good. You deserve it.”

  “Huh,” she said. “Missing me already, eh?”

  He was about to reply, but stopped walking suddenly and his face went slack.

  “Trouble, gotta go, sorry!” he said, after a moment. “Good luck, speak soon!” Robert reached out and touched her arm and disappeared.

  “Exit VR,” said Amber. The beach was no fun on her own.

  She saw the HQ building half a mile before she arrived. It was ten storeys of white and black ceramic and glass, looking modern and out of place next to the older, lower concrete and metal buildings surrounding it. The red and blue ITSA logo stood huge and proud near the top floor. Distant hills and the dark peaks of the snowless Himalayas provided a stunning backdrop.

  She left her bag in the taxi and told Emily to make sure it got to her new flat safely. She trotted up the wide steps to the building, feeling tired from the flight and too much VR, but a little excited as well, despite the bad start. Rob was right —she was good enough to make it, immune or not. She passed through the automatic doors and strode purposefully to the receptionist, but the Nepali woman’s eyes were VR white and she could not be brought out of it by waving or a raised voice.

  “What floor?” Amber said, in the end.

  “Fifth, I think,” Emily replied. “Something’s going on up there. Highly classified but lots of people seem to be involved. Including that re
ceptionist, I’m guessing.”

  Amber found the lift, shot up several stories and arrived at an office in chaos. A huge man in a dark suit charged across the aisle, eyes pearl white, slammed into a desk and fell to the ground, grabbing his shin in pain. Others were running, shouting at each other, while still more just stood between desk and VR seat, eyes white.

  Straight in front of her, down the central gap between the desks, a door opened. General Dryer stepped out. He looked furious. He made eye contact with her, somehow contrived to look even angrier, and then abruptly his eyes went white as he VR’d for a few seconds. When the iris and pupil returned, everyone stopped, and the white eyes that Amber could see regained their humanity. Several people stumbled in their haste to stop moving. To emphasise whatever he had just broadcast, the General shouted “Attention!”, but it was redundant. He already had the attention of everyone in the room, and, Amber suspected, the attention of quite a lot of people not in the room.

  “All Area Commanders and Trainees, in here!”

  He disappeared into his office.

  “You’re up,” Emily said quietly.

  “Thanks,” muttered Amber. She walked across the office and filed through the black doorway with the rest of the trainees and several soldiers whose single lapel star indicated their rank of Area Commander. About twenty of them took their places in high–backed leather seats surrounding a table of dark wood. Others continued to fill the room, standing behind the chairs. Her seat was directly facing the General’s. He glared around the room. A single tall window behind him showed either the real view outside or a vivid reproduction. The buildings of Kathmandu spread ochre and brown in all directions. In the distance Amber could see slums, and then bright green terraced hills rising beyond.

  The General said “Close the door,” and Amber recognised the blond man from the airport taxi rank shutting it softly.

  “That guy really likes closing doors,” Emily said. Amber blinked hard to make her shut up.

  For a moment the General’s eyes went white again. When he returned he began to speak.