‘Gods help me,’ whispered Hiresh. Foam spilled from between Chakrapani’s lips in a constant stream. The pupils of his eyes were huge and an animal moaning noise came from somewhere deep in his chest.
Hiresh felt a warm trickle down his legs.
And then Chakrapani fell past him onto his face and Hiresh saw that his back was peppered with small darts. A squad of armoured men and women lowered their weapons and slapped each other’s palms. From behind them came a tall, elegant man, stepping carefully over the mess that had been made of the room, his face expressionless. Dr Narindi.
He shook his head over the sight of Purami, weeping in the arms of her body-servant, and tutted at Chakrapani. Finally he turned away from the fighters. ‘You must be’ – he closed his eyes to access the virtual reality known as Roofspace – ‘Hiresh?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ It was funny how he used to think ‘Doctor’ was the man’s first name. Instead it had turned out to be a sort of profession from a time in the distant past before humanity had learned to let technology look after its health. Although why somebody would claim to be one now was beyond Hiresh.
The man pointed at Chakrapani. ‘Before the Crisis we’d have had him put down. Can’t afford it now, sadly. Elite are too valuable. I’ll have to waste Medicine on the idiot.’ He shrugged. ‘Get him cleaned up, Hiresh.’
‘Me?’
‘Who else?’ The doctor waved towards the corner where the body of Chakrapani’s servant still lay. He was twitching, but Hiresh already knew nobody would waste Medicine on an Apprentice. Times were hard and there were other priorities now.
‘Your main job is to keep young Chakrapani out of trouble until he balances, all right? If you can last longer than his previous two body-servants, well, I’ll make sure you’re on the Upgrade List.’
The doctor spun on his heel, leaving the newly-promoted servant to see to his terrifying master.
‘You wet yourself,’ said a voice beside him.
‘Hi, Tarini.’ He was still panting after his ordeal. ‘Thank you for noticing.’
She was from the same generation as him: another ‘Crisis baby’ with uneven teeth and one eye slightly smaller than the other. She poked Chakrapani with her bare toe. Apprentices didn’t qualify for boots and most wouldn’t have wanted them anyway. ‘Don’t take the promotion, Hiresh.’
Was she mad? ‘This is my big chance for an upgrade.’
‘It’s a death sentence. Do you think Chakrapani won’t find out who it was that brought him down? An Elite knocked over by a Crisis baby? He won’t like that humiliation one bit. Gods, you shouldn’t even stay in the Academy!’
Hiresh shrugged and knelt down to remove the tranquillizer darts from his master’s back.
‘You’d only miss me if I left,’ he said. The darts were sharp little things, and for a moment he imagined himself with a bandoleer full of them to keep his master in check. Would anybody be looking to get them back?
‘I would miss you,’ said Tarini. She kicked him lightly. ‘But I’d prefer it if I could see you again with all your limbs in the right place.’
He met her eyes, his only friend. ‘You know I can’t leave.’ He quickly returned to his task.
‘You’re not the only one who’s suffered, Hiresh, yeah? We wouldn’t be here otherwise – we wouldn’t even have passed the loyalty tests. Those Rebel scum – they …’ Her voice was thick with pain. When a thousand wildly different religious groups had finally united in rebellion against their Secular rulers, Tarini’s parents had been among the first to be murdered.
The Rebels had been well organized. He knew she still dreamed about it: warrior sects armed with glowing truncheons, with knives and home-made axes, charging skirmish-lines of Wardens. The Religious had been complaining of discrimination for generations before that, and Hiresh knew they had good cause – smaller apartments; forced Secular education of their children and so on … But the shortages of the Crisis, and the supposedly unfair rationing that had followed the destruction of the Upstairs, had finally pushed them over the edge. Way over. Their revenge had destroyed whole districts and cost millions of lives before the Elite had finally crushed the Rebels.
A lot of people at the Academy had similar stories to Tarini’s, and Hiresh had allowed them all to think the same thing had happened to him. But nobody asked too many questions. They all knew the Religious were just waiting for another chance to rebel; that any day now they’d make another attempt to take control of the Roof for themselves.
‘Don’t worry,’ whispered Hiresh. ‘We’ll be ready for them next time.’
‘But we don’t have to be here for that, do we? We could join the regular Wardens instead.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m going to be Elite. It’s always the servants who get onto the Upgrade List, isn’t it? So it’s the first step. I just have to stay on top of this idiot for a few weeks or so until he straightens out. Then I’m in. I’m Elite.’
He was surprised when she suddenly kicked him in the side, doubling him over. Then, gasping for breath, he felt her spittle on his face. In the illusory background, trees and vines jostled together for space. ‘You won’t last a week, you selfish turd – not a week. And for what? That stuck-up bitch, Purami?’
That wasn’t it, but he hadn’t the wind to speak. Again she spat at him, and all he saw from the floor was her bare feet disappearing out of the lecture hall.
It took him a good ten minutes before he could breathe properly again. He didn’t waste the time. Well, not much of it. First he closed his eyes and fought for the concentration necessary to log on to the virtual world of Roofspace. He sent his thoughts scurrying after Tarini, but she had blocked his calls and the best he could do was to leave a message she could delete later without playing. Next, still gasping, he laid one of the darts from his master’s back down on the floor. Living inside the planet-sized computer had certain advantages. Actually, thought Hiresh, it was bigger than planet-sized – the Roof had enclosed within itself an entire world whose surface swarmed with carnivores. The processing power that filled almost every wall, every object, allowed it to answer all questions that did not interfere with the politics or the privacy of its inhabitants.
And so, with total confidence, Hiresh closed his eyes to make his request. I want to know what this is made of. The dart sank into the ground, where tiny machines could analyse the chemicals on its tip. A moment later, he had an answer that the Roof would store for him.
How long will Chakrapani be unconscious? he asked next. The information slid into the back of his mind like something he had always known and only just now recalled. Three days. Good, good. It would bring him that much closer to his goal. He could be on the Upgrade List in a few short weeks. And if he had to keep Chakrapani drugged until then … well … he would find a way. He shoved one of the darts into the pocket of his Apprentice’s uniform for now.
He climbed to his feet and ordered the floor to rise up under his unconscious master. It re-formed itself into a trolley and led him out of the room towards the quarters he’d now be sharing with Chakrapani.
Hiresh had always wondered if the Elite Academy had been designed deliberately to induce feelings of acrophobia and nausea in its residents. The first thing a new student noticed was how empty, how quiet the place felt. A series of imposing rooms and lecture halls surrounded a small park at the centre. The whole complex housed fewer than a thousand people at a time – why, the place could almost be a wilderness! Most of the Apprentices asked the Roof to augment their vision a bit so that when they looked around, they saw (or rather, they imagined they saw) more comfortably crowded spaces.
Hiresh never did that.
He left Chakrapani in his quarters and discovered he could claim an entire cubby all for himself, with room to lie down and even stretch out a little. It was more than almost anybody outside the Academy had these days; more than he had owned since childhood. ‘Mirror.’ He spoke aloud for the sound of another voice. The ceiling obeyed, refle
cting him back at himself, a skinny, skinny boy who looked barely half the sixteen years of age he was supposed to be. A flaring broken nose poked out from under little eyes.
He whistled sarcastically. The likes of Purami would never be sighing after him, but it didn’t matter. What came next always served to remind him of his life’s true purpose, the justice of his cause. He removed the top of his Apprentice’s uniform. There was somebody from his old life who needed him more than Purami, oh yes. The sticky leggings came next, absorbed into the wall to be cleaned. He stretched out naked beneath his own reflection.
Scars covered the boy in the mirror, all the more horrible against the dark skin of his Dravidian ancestry. A line of pale and twisted tissue ran straight down the middle of each arm, as though some maniac had hacked away at them with a blunt knife. Which was true. The same maniac had then set to work on Hiresh’s legs and feet before turning his torso into a twisted mess of knotted skin. He remembered the pain very well – and the other pain, the one that had come before it.
Only Medicine would ever be able to smooth that flesh again. Purami would be getting some for her broken leg, no doubt. And she’d be walking inside a day. But none would be spared for a mere servant. And Hiresh didn’t want any. These scars were his proof. He’d paid full price for them and nobody was going to take them away.
After a while he found himself growing maudlin. That would never do. Others – billions and billions of others – might have amused themselves with the Roof’s many entertainments. Its corridors and plazas, its sprawling parks and artificial beaches, thronged with citizens who lay pressed up against each other, eyes closed and hiding from their misery. Dreamers, they were called. Hiresh had tried Dreaming many times since he’d run away from home. It was easy enough: a simple thought would log him on to Roofspace, a virtual environment where all was known and anything was possible.
One night he’d lived as a king, battling giant snakes and their slimy-skinned human slaves. He’d explored the depths of space and loved women far, far more beautiful than Purami. He’d been a sports star and had hunted as one of the savages of the surface. After a while he’d discovered a better game: the Roof would allow him to relive his own memories, editing out the horrors and righting the wrongs … But none of it was real. He’d wake sometimes in a stinking, crowded public square filled with hopeless refugees from the Upstairs, and he knew – he just knew it wasn’t enough for him, that no mere illusion could heal him.
He looked in on Chakrapani – still nicely unconscious – and decided to find Tarini and make it up to her. She continued to block his calls, but he knew where she must be. He curled his lip.
The argument between his new master and Purami had started over the plight of one of the murderous surface-dwellers. As the Crisis brought hard times to the Roof, the real life-and-death struggles of the savages evoked an excitement that no virtual entertainment could match. Many of the cannibals became famous, with fan clubs and graffiti bearing their names spreading across the Roof. Never mind that their ancestors had nearly destroyed the Earth with their greed! After poisoning everything, the scum had run away, abandoning the poorer nations of their home world to die in the wasteland the Deserters had created.
Now, one of their descendants, the stuttering killer known as ‘Stopmouth’, had become the latest heart-throb. That story would probably come to an end today. His fans would gather to cheer him on, or to mourn his passing.
Hiresh shuddered. He’d watched a few times just to keep Tarini company, but the whole spectacle disgusted him. Nevertheless, it was rare enough for them to fall out, and when they did, it was always Hiresh’s job to come crawling back.
He retrieved his clothing and got himself dressed. One last check on Chakrapani revealed that the Elite was still sleeping, although he was twitching a bit. Interesting. Hiresh ordered the bed to grow wider just in case his new master should endanger his precious self by rolling onto the floor. And then he was off.
A few servants roamed the hallways, but no sign remained of the Apprentices. Their training, virtual and real, had been cancelled in honour of Stopmouth’s last stand. They had packed their thin uniformed bodies into the trainee common room, laughing or joking or tense. They came from all over and spoke a dozen different languages, but with the Roof perfectly translating every word, nobody noticed such things. Nor were they paying much attention to the walls that were projecting the ruined streets of Man-Ways.
The Crisis generation felt more comfortable in crowds like this. They loved the comradeship and didn’t know enough to miss the privacy. Bets changed hands – how long would the Deserter last in his fight? How many would he kill or injure?
Tarini, as always, had gone into the corner of the common room and was pretending to be interested in the conversation of a pair of other girls – as if she had any friends apart from Hiresh! He grinned, and saw her trying to take no notice of him. Crowds meant nothing to those who’d grown up since the beginning of the Crisis, and he passed easily through this one until he stood right at her shoulder.
‘Ladies.’ Hiresh bowed.
Tarini’s companions smiled at him. Both were nearly as thin as he was, meaning they were probably newly admitted to the Academy. They’d be glad of the extra rations here. Even Hiresh had put on some weight, although his body remained stubbornly puny. That would change when he got the Elite augmentation. He couldn’t wait. He squeezed in beside them.
‘Congratulations on your promotion,’ said the taller of the two girls, giving him a smile. Tarini scowled.
‘Is it true what they say,’ continued the tall girl, ‘that it’s really a double promotion? That they’ll raise you up as soon as your own master graduates?’
‘Pah!’ said Tarini, and suddenly her voice was a perfect mimic of the girl who had spoken. ‘Is it true, mighty Hiresh, sir, that there’s a bigger betting pool on your death than there is on Stopmouth’s?’
‘How dare you!’ spluttered the new girl.
Hiresh only laughed.
‘Oh, Tarini … Tarini, it’s little wonder you have no friends.’ He could see she was about to leap to her feet to do her usual storming-off trick. But the crowd had pressed him right up against her shoulder, and a slight lean on his part was just enough to keep her trapped on her backside between her new companions and the wall.
Hiresh smiled at the new girls and continued speaking in a normal voice as Tarini kept up her struggle. ‘So, don’t bet against me, ladies. I assure you—’ He paused with a grunt. Tarini had managed to free an arm and punch him hard enough in the thigh to deaden his leg. ‘You see,’ he managed, ‘I’ll be Elite soon enough, and when I am, I’ll have a chance to pick my own servant— Ouch!’
‘And who will you pick?’ asked the girl. She’d turned out really well for a Crisis baby, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him.
‘It would have to be … somebody … who hits very … very hard … Harder than necessary …’
And then Tarini was speaking inside his head – using the Roof to transmit her thoughts to him. It’s only because I care.
He replied in the same way, still trying to smile for the other girls. I know. But stop blocking my calls, will you?
Why won’t you tell me, Hiresh? Why won’t you tell me why you’re doing this? It’s like … it’s like no price is too much for you to pay.
It isn’t.
You’d sacrifice anything? Anyone?
His smile grew painful and he dropped it. ‘We should log on,’ he said aloud. He waved a hand. All around the room, conversation was dying. Young men and women, a mixture of gods and Crisis babies, were closing their eyes and settling back against each other. ‘Your beloved Stopmouth will be needing your support.’
Then he closed his eyes, his knees pressed up against hers, his back supporting that of some trainee he barely knew.
The surface appeared far, far beneath him, like a carpet of hills and river-plains. It all looked so innocent from up here; maybe even beautiful. A
nd then he was plunging towards the ground, air whipping past, hurtling like a rock fallen from the heavens. He felt the others gasp around him. Except Tarini. She was laughing like a maniac.
Slowly Hiresh’s eyes came to rest on a particular rocky patch of ground that grew and grew until, in the midst of it, he could make out a single human figure, fleeing for its life. Things were about to become serious.
‘The savage looks tired,’ said Hiresh. He knew his comments annoyed Tarini, yet he could never help himself. But she said nothing. She must have been totally focused on the plight of her cannibal.
Hiresh could see sweat on the man’s skin. If he listened hard, he could hear the breathing too, rapid, hoarse, constant. The hunter skidded on a patch of wildly coloured moss before righting himself, and Hiresh caught a glimpse of even paler scars on every part of his body. We have that much in common, he thought. In spite of his exhaustion, the hunter pushed on towards a distant hill. He meant to face his enemies at the top.
‘Oh, but he’s only a boy!’ cried Tarini.
‘By all the gods,’ said Hiresh – he couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. ‘Can’t you see that carnivore still has blood on his teeth? Am I the only one who sees that?’
Tarini said nothing. In real life, however, she shifted, as though trying to move away from him. Good luck with that.
But he wanted to say he was sorry. Sort of. He knew how much she adored the savage. ‘Don’t you feel anything for him?’ she’d asked him once.
Hiresh had moved the palms of his hands from one part of his own chest to another. ‘Maybe … Wait! Wait! … No … I thought there was something, but no. I don’t feel a thing for him, I’m sorry.’
That wasn’t entirely true, of course. He felt disgust. He felt horror. What the cannibals got up to on the surface reminded Hiresh all too much of everything he’d run away from. Things he didn’t like to think about. And yet … in spite of the muscles he now possessed, the hunter could only have been about a year older than Hiresh and was just as much of an outsider. Other surface-dwellers had called him Stopmouth, mocking his stutter. The traumas of his life made even the experiences of the Upstairs refugees seem light in comparison.
The Deserter Page 4