The Naked World

by Eli K. P. William

  Over the past few weeks, Amon had observed Barrow ingratiating himself rapidly into the community. A lover of anadeto, he could be seen in the library chatting with Book about the collection and perusing the shelves. From what Vertical had told him, Barrow had already rotated through several jobs, earning high praise from his supervisors and co-workers, and Amon spotted him soon after talking with Hippo in the Cyst hallway, a sign of just how high his respect was rising. He had even witnessed Ty allow Barrow to touch the gears of his tricycle while they were chatting on a rooftop at night, Ty’s hatred for anyone with connections to the OpScis forgotten in their mutual appreciation for old mechanisms.

  While all other storytelling gatherings had degenerated into glum, irritable, muttering affairs and eventually dispersed, the one Barrow attended was still going strong and actually seemed to be growing. On the way to his room after work, Amon continued to spot him at the center of the group, listening and laughing and sometimes patting one of the other men or women on the back with a smile.

  Amon guessed that part of the reason for his instant acceptance was general gratitude for the equipment he’d provided, as it was generally recognized that Xenocyst would have already been overrun by the OpScis without it. No doubt his innate charisma and work ethic had played a major role as well.

  Initially, Amon kept his distance from Barrow, assuming that he would never forget what Amon had done to him despite his help liberating him from the Opportunity Scientists, and feeling ashamed to be in his presence. But one night, when Amon was passing by such a gathering, Barrow called him over and invited him to join. Unable to refuse this offer of reconciliation, Amon took a spot across from Barrow and watched him guide the conversation with his firm but personable aura. Under his influence, everyone was eager to contribute and the speakers seemed to summon the faith and cheer they had possessed in brighter days.

  When others told tales, even intriguing ones, there would always be a few people whispering here and there. When Barrow spoke, everyone was hypnotized—his husky-blue eyes sparkling with exuberance as they seemed to look at everyone in the audience at once, and yet made Amon feel they were somehow directed specifically at him. Barrow clearly had a talent for languages, as he was already fluent in Hinkongo after only studying the basics in banklife (to make rooting out anadeto in the camps easier) and speaking it for the past few months since his bankdeath. During a lull, Barrow had asked Amon to share the story of his cash crash and Amon had accepted despite his great tiredness that night. Though Amon’s words didn’t seem to enthrall the group like Barrow’s did, everyone still gave him their full attention from start to finish, and Barrow’s gaze never wavered, as though he were eager to understand and grow closer to Amon.

  “You do know what the unique character of your cash crash means, don’t you?” said Barrow after Amon was finished and the audience was sitting quietly, digesting his tale.

  Amon thought for a moment. “Hippo once pointed out that, because I was never liquidated, I still have the bankdeath codes. Is that what you mean?”

  “Not exactly. What I’m thinking of is the fact that your genome was never deregistered even though you still retain your BodyBank.”

  “I guess that’s true. But I’m not seeing how it’s important.”

  “Well, first of all, I’m confident that you can trust Rashana. Through Atupio, she strived to raise bankdead self-sufficiency by supporting organizations like Xenocyst, so it’s impossible for me to believe that she would try to eliminate me, as my redistribution policies were perfectly in line with that objective. In other words, I don’t believe for a second that Rashana funded the Gyges Circle, and now that I know you committed ID suicide I would urge you to meet with her.”

  “Why? Do you think she can help me get out of here?”

  “The chances are very slim, but in your case not impossible. As you know, the only viable way to live in the Free World is as a Free Citizen, and usually the sole gateway to becoming one is for marketable babies.”

  During Liquidator training, Amon had learned that only babies under the age of one could have their genome registered with the Ministry of Access, only those so registered could use a training bank and acquire a BodyBank when they reached twenty, and only those with a BodyBank could receive an identity signature from an Identity Vitalator. These requirements were strictly maintained, as any attempt to register the DNA of someone of the wrong age, surgically install a BodyBank in someone under twenty years old, or give an ID signature to someone unregistered all warranted the bankdeath penalty.

  “The GATA system also rejects any DNA that has been deregistered, so crashdead don’t have the slightest chance of getting back their BodyBank—I’m speaking, of course, of identity rebirth. Only if someone gave up their banklife for someone else could this be possible, and good luck convincing someone to agree to that.

  “But you and Hippo are in a slightly different category than other crashdead. Since you cash crashed without being liquidated, your genomes were never deregistered, so you are both in the unique position of being registered BodyBank wearers over twenty that happen to have no ID signature. Theoretically, this means that you might use a training bank if someone leashed you and paid for all your actions, and since you kept your BodyBanks you could acquire a new ID signature if someone convinced an ID Vitalator to give you one. All the bribes, fines, and bureaucratic string-pulling would be enormously expensive, so Hippo would have no chance. But for you? Perhaps Rashana might be willing to pay. She certainly does take a special interest in you that is rare for the Birlas.”

  Amon was reminded that Barrow had started out his career as a Liquidator and then Identity Exectioner like Amon, but clearly his expertise in the liquidation system had been sharpened by his years of administrative experience at the higher levels of GATA as Amon had been unable to put together the implications of his situation in this way. While Amon had thought of leaving the District of Dreams in a vague, hopeful sort of way, this was the first time it seemed truly possible, and immediately he felt his breath quicken with excitement, seeing that Barrow’s assessment was correct.

  “Thank you,” said Amon with a slight bow. “What you’ve told me gives me new hope.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  Amon frowned quizzically at Barrow. “Why? You don’t owe me anything.”

  Barrow locked his eyes with Amon’s. “You must understand,” he said, “that part of me still bears a grudge against you for what you did to me.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “But I’m doing my best to forgive you in light of what you did for me. If it hadn’t been you who assassinated me, it would have been some other chump, no offense intended. Here, you gave me another chance, and no one else could have done that. Why else do you think I would have called you over tonight?”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “No. There’s no need for gratitude. We have more important issues than grudges. There’s the Opportunity Scientists and the supply shortages. Friction between our members will only wear us down when what we need more than anything is our strength.

  “So I can’t promise I’ll ever fully forgive you. What you stole from me was far too precious. But won’t you join with me in letting bygones be bygones?” Barrow said, extending his hand. “We can work together for our own sakes, for the sake of Xenocyst, and for the sake of all bankdead.”

  Recently, Amon had heard Hippo refer to Lawrence Barrow affectionately as Larry-kun, and now he had invited him to the council even though he was still on a trial period. Amon wasn’t surprised that Barrow was getting along well with Hippo. Both were adept leaders in their own way and seemed to share similar concerns for the welfare of bankdead. It relieved him to see that he had come so far so quickly, for he deserved to have success, to have exactly what Amon had taken from him …

  “By all means, please tell us what you have to say,” said Hippo. “All opinions are welcome here.”

  “Thank you kindly
. Let me begin by saying how much I appreciate your allowing me to be here at this council and to speak before you on this most dire occasion. As most of you know, I was an OpSci slave for several months and it was only by your good graces that I escaped my bondage and was accepted into this great community. I am forever in debt to your kindness and cannot express how grateful I am for the chance to attend today.”

  Barrow held the circle with his husky-blue eyes and bowed his head to the floor. He remained prostrate for a few beats, sat up straight, waited another moment to gather their gazes again, and continued. “Now then, my proposal concerns the OpScis. Having spent time living in close quarters with them, I know first-hand just what they’re like. The superstitions they use to justify their plutogenic castes; the slavery and the deception of those blind followers they milk for supplies; the farming of women and the rape incorporated into their rituals; the human sacrifice they perform in the name of salvation in the Free World; and although I have not witnessed it myself, there are rumors of cannibalism that I don’t doubt for a second. I’m sure we all agree how despicable it is that the venture charities cooperate with this sick cult. The Opportunity Scientists should never have been allowed to exist for as long as they have, and certainly not to flourish as they do now in spite of the shortages.”

  Barrow paused for just long enough that Amon felt almost unbearably eager to hear what he had to say next.

  “But now we have a chance to right this injustice. We have the weapons, we have the personnel, we have the strategic knowledge, and we can be certain of the support of our residents in this grim crisis. The time has come to declare an all-out war on the OpScis and destroy Opportunity Peaks once and for all. Then we can form a coalition with all the enclaves that remain to strengthen our bargaining position as Ty has proposed, and if the Philanthropy Syndicate wants resources, they’ll have to come to us.”

  A few heads nodded slightly in agreement, but everyone else was frozen, stunned by this powerful new idea spoken in a powerful voice.

  “This proposal is just reckless,” said Vertical, addressing the council. “Fine, so maybe we have new weapons, but we can’t underestimate the OpScis. They outnumber us, and if push comes to shove, we’ll be overwhelmed. Then it would be Xenocyst that gets destroyed once and for all.”

  “But we’re almost warring already,” said Ty. “The border fights are getting rougher and, with the way things are going, they won’t just be isolated incidents anymore. Soon I could see them flaring up into something big.”

  “Don’t you see that this is exactly what the venture charities want,” said Jiku, “to make us bankdead fight among ourselves? Then they can distract us from who’s creating the conditions that gave rise to the conflict in the first place. As you yourself know, Ty, the reason for our soft-handed approach to the OpScis has been to resist such top-down manipulation. We haven’t worked out the Syndicate’s grand plan, but allowing them to divide us now would—”

  “Divide?” scoffed Ty. “Since when were we ever close enough with those OpSci pieces of shit to be divided?!”

  “Listen to his rage!” cried Vertical, pointing at Ty and flicking her gaze around the circle. “Ty and Barrow are trying to sway us with their personal vendettas, but we can’t lose sight of what’s good for everyone. A war right now could destroy us all. Win or lose, the supplies we use up in the military efforts will leave us with a full-blown famine. Then what if the supplies drop further? We might start the war thinking that more supplies will come eventually, but our negotiations could fail for all sorts of reasons. I can’t imagine a worse ending to what we’ve created here. A suicidal war? It’s just too risky.”

  The intensity of the dispute between Ty and Vertical disturbed Amon deeply, the rift between the two of them seeming to reveal the rift between all of them.

  Ty sneered at Vertical, and looked ready to deliver a tongue-lashing when Hippo intervened. “All risks aside, there is a far more important reason why this plan is folly. I appreciate your contributions, Larry-kun, Ty. In my time here, I have considered fighting back in the way you’re describing, not just against the OpScis, but a guerilla war against the venture charities as well. In all honesty, part of me wants that right now … but the temptation must be resisted! Xenocyst was not established to take lives. It was established to save them, and our best protection of all is our status as a neutral haven. Yes, defense of our borders is important for our continued existence. We cannot simply provide medical help and pray no one interferes with us. But we must avoid bloodshed at all costs and a direct assault on the Opportunity Scientists will be a bloody affair indeed. Thousands of innocent lives will be lost in battle and many thousands more in the aftermath. If we initiate the war, all of that suffering will be on our hands. Then what will we be? Not healers or teachers or leaders by example, but murderers. No. If we are drawn into a war against our will, then so be it. But so long as we have the space to choose, we must seek another way.”

  “Of course war is not a good in itself,” said Barrow. “It is a last resort. But making a futile effort to avoid violence now that we have been pushed into this corner is only going to perpetuate the systemic violence that reigns over innocent lives. Instead, we must take the initiative while we are in a position of strength and make this bold sacrifice—to improve the security and welfare of all people in the District of Dreams as Xenocyst has always sought. Once the OpScis have been brought down, we can free the men, women, and children straining under their yoke. We can unite the various collectives in harmonious cooperation. We can send out medics to far-flung communities that have been unfairly cut off from services. So I say, for the sake of true compassion, order, and a deeper commitment to pacifism, we have no choice but to seize the day and face the demon we have tried too long to ignore!”

  Glowering at Barrow with that same expression of indignant disbelief Amon had seen in the hallway, Hippo took a deep breath, just as other councilors sat up straight, obviously raring to express their support for either side. Amon could sense the tension saturating the room as they debated a question about which there were no clear answers. All paths seemed to beckon evils, and Amon could imagine no way to determine which were greater and which were lesser in the crucible of deprivation they all found themselves. Judging by the mixed expressions of despair and determination on all the faces Amon could see, the disagreement looked ready to split the council, to rend asunder Xenocyst’s leaders, and perhaps Xenocyst with them. But before anyone could get a word in edgewise, someone seized the brief pause and spoke into the eye of the storm. “Can I suggest another plan here?”

  That someone was Amon. Surprising himself as much as anyone else, he had given voice to the nascent idea in his head and everyone now turned to hear what this other newcomer had to say. Rick’s surprised, searching gaze right beside him touched Amon with more tender intensity than all the rest put together, and he paused for a moment as the memories and feelings of the past few weeks bubbled to the surface of his mind.

  Much of what had led Amon to speak up in that moment, he had discovered in the sky, where he continued to seek respite when all else failed to settle his restlessness. During the day, whether at work or after, he sent his gaze upwards in search of roof canopy gaps at every opportunity, and in the evenings when he had no patience for reading he sometimes rallied his energy for the climb to the viewing platforms.

  Now that he had no access to weather reports, the unpredictability of the sky still made him anxious. Yet when he could find the focus and time to contemplate it more carefully, to breathe deeply and observe with all the equanimity he could summon, he began to feel intrigued by its impassiveness, by its indifference to him. The way clouds formed, rolled, and vanished in unending patterns. The way hues were always transitional and so subtly distinct that there were no words to differentiate them. The way a unique mood or half-hinted emotion seemed to seep into him depending on changes in the light at each moment and time of day.

  The naked sk
y was unlike anything he had beheld in Free Tokyo, where everything from the streets to the InfoFlux had arisen from human willing, formed within the constraints of anthro-consciousness and cognition and capital. It wasn’t completely devoid of artificial taints, even with the InfoSky peeled back. Sunsets were sometimes blue and green, perhaps from the faint nano-mist left by the decaying flakes, perhaps some other fume; azure days were littered with the blurring rotors of centicopters, the sparkling translucence of CareBots, the white streak of carbonjets; and the stars were cluttered with slow-scrolling satellites and space stations. The sky was altered by our excretions and pollutions and motions, no doubt, yet only in subtle ways we could never guess in advance. It resisted our control and unfolded according to its own principles, independent and unfazed by whatever we might paint and piss atop its transient ethereal canvass.

  Gazing skyward in this frame of mind, Amon felt as though his thoughts were escaping from the narrow tunnel that had always entrapped them, no longer echoed back to him by walls built by the collectivity of other minds. Then he could forget his exhaustion and his hunger and his body and his thoughts and lose himself in some spaceless outer strata between strata, where he began to see something else unsmeared with artifice and embellishment, another sky behind the sky. In such fleeting moments, he understood his desire to meet the forest in the flesh, to forego the chicanery of graphical simulation and finance and actually visit the place where it was found, as though he had sensed somehow in that phantasmagoric cavern of his former life the ever-present profundity that it obscured.

  Amon still wasn’t sure if color was “color” or if he had opened the right eyes, but veridical or oneiric, he was here now, wherever and whenever that might be, and the sky’s tireless play seemed to contain a lesson. The beauty of its protean transformation in the slivers between roofs seemed to reveal the beauty in the transformation of all things: the sublimity of the grooves in his dissolving ceiling, the music in the mumbles and groans of a sick ward, truth even in a river of shit. How many of these opportunities had the audio-visual jibber-jabber stolen from him?