“Then we met Barrow and he actually did recognize me. His cash crash was unique because I hesitated and actually talked to him for a while. Unlike all the others, he had time to commit me to memory. I’m guessing it was my voice as much as my appearance that called it all back for him, because I hardly resemble my former self at all without digimake. But even if that was a total fluke, the fact that one target recognized me proves in principle that others could too. My paranoia was justified! So you’d think I’d be even more afraid than before. But that’s not how I feel at all. Just the opposite …
“I’ve stopped worrying they might recognize me. Maybe you’ll think this is crazy, but now I’m so guilty I sometimes hope that they do. So whenever I see a face that carries that familiar feeling and their eyes meet mine, it always seems like their gaze lingers over my face too long. And in the moments when I really just hate myself completely, I see our targets lurking everywhere, hiding in shadows and little nooks, just waiting for the right moment to ambush me … and I want them to do it so bad, to strangle me or bash my skull in, blow my head off, and soon I’m imagining all these different ways they might repay me …
“I know this is morbid. What I’m trying to say is that I understand how you feel about wanting to give up. But isn’t the fact that this place makes us feel this way all the more reason to get out as soon as we can? We can’t just let the weight of being here crush our spirits. We’ve got to go, Rick. Let’s go!”
“Amon,” said Rick, shaking Amon’s hand off his shoulder. “You’re misunderstanding me, so let me be clear. I’ m not saying that life is pointless in general, though maybe it is. What I’m saying is, I don’t want to go back anymore. You have your promise to the PhisherKing and your questions about jubilee and your desire for justice and all that. And I don’t want to discourage you, but I just don’t share your curiosity or your faith … Maybe life in the Free World will be more comfortable, for you … for both of us I guess … but what’s left for me there? Now that I see how it all works, there’s just nowhere for me to go, and nothing for me to work towards. At least here we have friends and our relationships with them don’t cost even a single hundredth of a yen. These people took us in and taught us and gave us everything we need. I have no illusions that we can save their souls in the way Hippo expects of us—I know you agree that his hopes for us are beyond unrealistic. Still, if there’s any way for us to make up for what we’ve done, it’s by supporting those around us in any way we can, in little ways if that’s all were capable of, not by running away when the going gets tough and chasing after vague dreams and ideals.”
Suddenly Amon remembered Vertical’s story and what she had said about focusing on the day-to-day. Could Amon accept it? Could Rick and Vertical be right?
“So where’s the really good reason that balances out the risk of meeting Rashana?” Rick demanded. “Why should I take the gamble? It’s not worth it.”
Because Mayuko is going to be waiting there for us, safe and sound, Amon wanted to shout, but bit his lip. For he knew that even if the unconfirmed third-hand story meant what he wanted to believe it meant, Mayuko wasn’t going to be there for Rick in the way that he wanted. Definitely as a friend, but not as the lover and mother of the child he desired. She had expressed her feelings for Amon, and telling Rick would only add new cracks to his already fractured sense of purpose, perhaps shatter it completely. Not only would it mean the death of his only aspiration—to start a family with Mayuko—but it had the potential to drive Amon and Rick further apart when they needed each other more than ever.
Then suddenly a flicker of clarity came to Amon like a firefly springing to life in the darkness, and he realized how selfish he was being, keeping his mendacious silence to ensure that Rick stayed by his side. Wasn’t it this very deception that was driving them apart anyways? Wasn’t every second he delayed just prying the rift between them wider? Now was the time to speak, the time for truth.
Amon opened his mouth to say something when a shooshing crack and rumble of earth, air, and water all at once announced the typhoon’s resurgence. The rains began to whip and the slum was pried first one way then the next under the gale, each shaft creaking as it wrenched to the limit, each room quaking violently as they all bashed rattling into their neighbors. Spray fizzed in through all the cracks with a great hissing roar as though the sky itself were smashing down on them. No longer safe to recline on the floor, they got to their feet and clung to each other with their blankets wrapped around them, cold water pooling at their feet as they combined their warmth to fend off the wet chill that subsumed them.
For the next few hours, they spent most of their energy trying to stay on their feet as sudden blasts hurled them about, careful not to collide with each other bone to bone and sustain injuries. Shivering through the night with their skin touching, Amon had never been so physically close to his friend and felt their hearts drawn together like never before, warding off the misery of that night with their shared flesh and love. They might not have been able to agree in words, but their bodies were in agreement that they were still friends.
At the same time, Amon could sense something in his mind that stubbornly resisted their full communion, and knew it was his secrets—an invisible but unbreakable dividing power like the membrane that sometimes separated his two selves in his dream. I’m sorry Rick, Amon whispered to himself too faintly to be heard above the din as he embraced the fragile quivering being that was his friend in the night. I’m sorry.
16
THE COUNCIL CHAMBER
Bedding 10%, incubators 13%, antibiotics 12%, catheters 8% …” Sitting to the left of Hippo at one end of the council circle, Book read off a list of supplies and how much they had been reduced since the previous month, prompted by the tapping of Little Book on Hippo’s right. “Bandages 9%, disinfectant 11%, intravenous fluid 9% …”
Amon sat with Rick outside the circle near the back right corner of the room, listening to Book’s dry enunciation as the last few councilors came in through the door and took their spots on the floor. An inspector stood just inside the threshold and waved a small wand over the body of each person entering. It occasionally let off pulses of bluish light, disabling any electronic devices they might be carrying—even dormant ones that could not be seen by the naked eye—so they would not be purposefully or accidentally carried in. In combination with the nanodevices that warded off PanoptiRoaches, this completed the digital quarantine and Amon felt grateful for Tamper’s work, as privacy had never been more important than it was that day, given the dire topic they would soon broach.
“Thank you for your report,” said Hippo when Book had finished, sweeping his gaze slowly around the room to acknowledge the presence of everyone in attendance. Ty and Vertical sat facing each other inside the circle. With no applicants to oversee, the usual guards were not with them. The inspector bowed to the circle once the final councilor had been checked and departed, leaving about fifteen people in total in the room, including Amon. The wood floor was cold on his buttocks and heels as he sat with his knees propped up, feeling a chill creep up his spine. Yet he didn’t let this uncomfortable sensation trouble him, not any more than his hunger or exhaustion. Mostly, he was just glad to be there, and to be included, even if only at the periphery, in the momentous choices they confronted.
“Now that we’re all assembled,” Hippo continued, “let us move on to the main issue at hand. I have called this emergency council today to discuss the future of Xenocyst. As the Books’ data illustrates, the quantity of our supplies has been dropping steadily since the first day of fall. We have dealt with supply fluctuations in the past and this has sometimes forced us to re-negotiate our terms with the venture charities to secure what we needed. But this time their representatives deny that any such drop is occurring and obstinately refuse our requests for negotiation. Moreover, the reduction is much greater than we have ever experienced before, to the degree that our capacity to provide medical assistance and b
asic administration is being severely challenged.
“While our internal conditions deteriorate in this way, escalating conflict with the Opportunity Scientists is further straining our resources. Under pressure from the OpScis, several of our proxy enclaves have already defected, including most notably the TriTinkers. Other southwestern collectives such as the CrestBloods have been toppled and occupied. With the situation so precarious, it is difficult to know who to trust. The number of reported kidnappings coming from those territories that still call us their ally increase by the day. Although we have stuck to the policy of forbidding our residents from wearing branded clothes outside the walls of Xenocyst to discourage this from happening to our own, the Opportunity Scientists seem willing to take anybody now, on the off chance they might be gifted and have supply privileges that can be milked. None of our sources can confirm what is motivating the Quantitative Priesthood to pursue such aggression, but the desperation with which they seek supplies makes it clear that they are suffering from shortages as well. In fact, the reductions seem to apply to the entire District of Dreams. True, they have been less extreme for the gifted, but this only deepens plutogenic lines. Unfortunately, we suspect that, due to increasing tension between our gifted and giftless residents, a gifted exodus to the Triangle has already begun. This is the most worrisome development of all. While the exodus may have freed up more space in our compound, it has left us with even less hands to assist with our already patchy defense and illustrates that morale is dropping within our ranks. Already rumors have reached my ears of secret cells discontent with our ruling order. I do not know how imminent or likely it is that they will act. Nevertheless, their movement is not something we can ignore. If we cannot maintain solidarity here and these trends continue, the fate of Xenocyst is obvious.”
Hippo paused to sweep his urgent gaze slowly across the assembly before continuing.
“Although no one has been able to determine exactly why the supplies are dropping, clearly the Philanthropy Syndicate is cutting back on its investment here for whatever reason. From what we’ve gathered from our sources, including a crashnewb recently interviewed by the Books, this is related to the political situation in Free Tokyo. Would you mind filling us in, Books?”
“We have been aware for a considerable length of time,” said Book, tap-tatap-tap … “that GATA has been affected by a coup d’état. Former Chief Executive Minister Lawrence Barrow, who is present in the chamber tonight”—Book’s uneven eyes flicked to the left corner of the room at the back across from Amon and Rick, drawing the gaze of several councilors along with it. Amon too looked over and saw Barrow sitting on his shins with his hands folded in his lap—“was recently ID assassinated in the preliminary phase prior to an election. Moreover, one of the members of his cabinet, former Minister of Records Shota Kitao, who is currently rumored to be a Lab Reverend, was subject to cash crash only the previous day. Subsequently, both men were portrayed as perverts in media reports as one component of a campaign to undermine the credibility of the Moderate Choice party to which they belonged. The preceding is all news we have reported previously. More recently, we have learned via interviews with an incoming crashnewb that an extreme right faction of the Moderate Choice party led by the Minister of Liquidation, Yoshiyuki Sekido, has splintered off to form its own party, Full Choice, in response to the scandals, thereby dividing the Moderate Choice party immediately prior to the election. As the leader of the the remnants of the Moderate Choice Party, Yoshino Sawanoi, has proven himself extremely inarticulate, Absolute Choice was thereafter able to increase its share of votes significantly in the election. However, it nonetheless failed to secure the majority of seats and was consequently forced to partner with Full Choice in forming a new coalition government.
“Due to our new crashnewb source’s high level of affluence until shortly prior to her liquidation, she enjoyed access to gold search engines and was able to tell us with a high degree of certainty that this new coalition government has been enacting policies that are connected to the supply quantity shift. Rather than legislate Absolute Choice’s campaign promises, including privatization of urination, defecation, and heartbeating, the ruling party instead moved firstly to reduce a particular set of credicrime fines. This policy is not particularly surprising in and of itself, as it is consistent with both Absolute Choice’s and Full Choice’s avowed fiscal conservatism. Their lobbydealogy perceives any decrease in disincentives on performing criminal actions as an increase in total freedom. However, the fact that the fine reduction was not universal is surprising. According to the crashnewb’s account, the party only reduced fines for crimes within an exceedingly narrow category, namely crowdcare and the like, including semi-lethal assault, corralling, CareBot operation, and mass intimidation. This is the extent of the information we have at this juncture.”
Little Book’s tapping stopped, Book gave a slight bow where he sat, and Hippo took over. “Last night we assembled a committee to discuss these findings, so allow me to tell you our conclusion about the relation between these political developments and the Philanthropy Syndicate slash on investment in supplies. The Syndicate seems to maintain peace and stability in the camps by keeping a balance between generosity and ferocity. The venture charities provide enough supplies to make us bankdead relatively contented, which works as an incentive towards complacent good behavior. The Charity Brigade implements violent responses severe enough to make us afraid to lose the contentment we have, which works as a disincentive towards dissent; the fewer supplies we get, the less we have to lose and the more worthwhile it will seem to resist. The Syndicate is aware that with less being given out, the bankdead are more likely to riot and that the Charity Brigade will need to utilize more crowdcare in response. Such violence would incur credicrime fines greater than the revenue saved from reducing supplies and lead in turn to a loss of profit, if not for the reduction in crowdcare-related credicrimes. Therefore, it is clear that the rise of Absolute Choice and their reduction of these fines is what is making the supply reduction possible, and that the change in government was orchestrated by the Syndicate in advance to realize this. To be more specific, the change seems to have been orchestrated by Syndicate executives working together with Anisha Birla.
“This partnership between the heads of the Syndicate MegaGloms and the head of Fertilex has been called the Gyges Circle. The GATA coup d’état they funded must have been astronomically expensive, so they no doubt have a well-plotted agenda that justifies such expenditures, although we know nothing more about them at the moment and have yet to guess at their motives. However, I have not called this meeting to inquire into the whys of it all. We are here to discuss the how. How can we respond to our current predicament and keep Xenocyst, this great community we have all built together, from falling apart? I wish I had a brilliant proposal to make, but I’m afraid this quandary goes far beyond my wits. Xenocyst has done much for the bankdead here and continues to do so in spite of what the Philanthropy Syndicate did to us. Mothers, infants, orphans, and others who have been neglected are safer, healthier, and more autonomous in spite of the education and contraceptive restrictions placed on us. Hundreds of thousands depend on us and it would be irresponsible of us to let them down. So let’s open this up to the floor. All ideas are welcome. What do you all think we should do?”
The past few weeks leading up to this meeting had been tough for everyone, no less so for Rick and Amon. The air was getting colder, the daylight hours were shrinking, and the sky had been covered in clouds for so long that Amon almost wished another typhoon would come just to have the one clear, sunny day that always followed. Amidst chill and gloom, the vendors had gone from dispensing five meals every two days to two per day, and Amon felt consistently weak and hungry, his eyes taking on wills of their own to jitter anxiously across every vista that confronted him in search of food; even crumbs would have been welcome. With more and more buildings collapsing and further medical equipment shortages, Amon and Ri
ck’s reproductive waste disposal and undertaker responsibilities began to blur into each other, with many pregnant women, as well as babies and children, no longer able to hold on.
In the hospital, he noticed that they were serving mothers a mash of their own placentas for a bit of extra nutrition in their depleted state. At the same time, as there was no longer enough water flow for thorough cleaning, the floor in the hallways were covered in a layer of scuff-marked grit, the walls mucked with handprints. With less PeelKlean coming in, even patients were starting to look visibly dirty and the stench of body odor filled the wards as much as the jam-packed byways outside. On his various errands, Amon often spotted kids with distended bellies, and even those that looked better nourished seemed little interested in flying kites or playing games anymore, though he continued to see gangs on sprees of bullying and senseless destruction.
The storytelling circles were nowhere to be seen, and the sounds of lovemaking around Amon’s room no longer woke him at night—though the swelling racket of crows sometimes did. These scavengers, who had always remained hidden in the heights, now seemed to crowd every perch. They stayed well out of reach but close enough to watch the crowds, as if expectant of an opportunity to swoop in. Frail figures could be seen huddling together in almost every available nook and shelf, fending off the cold in the open now that embyrbryck stocks and room replacements were dwindling. Although city planning in Xenocyst made traffic smoother, certain stretches of the lower passages were so crowded it was nearly impossible to move along them, while the external enclaves Amon crossed on patrol and supply runs were crushes of grimacing heads and flailing limbs, each body squirming and clawing just to shuffle one step down an alley. Even the Road to Delivery and its many branches, usually tended by the Charity Brigade and CareBots, were becoming so perilously clogged as to be nearly useless. This delayed people from acquiring new roombuds, which forced more onto the ground floor and led to more crowding, creating a vicious cycle.
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