The Farthest City

by Daniel P Swenson

  He remembered little of the walk with Abby back to his apartment.

  “Not going home?” he asked. Her family lived in the habs. They’d be worried.

  “I can’t go home looking like this,” she said. “I’ll call them from your place. Is it okay if I stay the night?”

  Kellen glanced at her edgewise. No woman had ever stayed the night before.

  “Sure,” he said going inside.

  She followed him in and headed straight for his bathroom.

  “What was that back there?” he asked. “That light and the noise?”

  He tried to ignore the splashing sound from behind the bathroom door as she relieved herself.

  She came out and curled up on his couch. “That was a screamer.”

  “Screamer?”

  “A high-power light-emitting diode with built-in sonics. My mamma made me carry it, since I’m off alone so much.”

  He still wasn’t sure he understood, but whatever it was, it had saved them.

  “Tell your mamma I said thanks,” Kellen said, but Abby was already asleep.

  #

  “Abby?” Kellen said the next morning, his voice rising with uncertainty as he looked around at the empty living room.

  Kitchen sounds greeted his ears, calming him. Something smelled delicious. Bad guys didn’t cook you breakfast. The scents stirred long-dormant childhood memories.

  “What is that?” he asked, coming into the kitchen.

  Abby smiled. “You should know. It’s your egg and ground pork. I’m just making it yummier.”

  As he ate, his thoughts drifted back to the prior night’s events. It all seemed like a bad dream. Ekeroth, Nicolas, their escape. “What happened to—”

  “They’re okay. They’re still at the hospital. Iz called.”

  “The woman. She was singing back there.”

  Abby raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  Family of freaks. Yet he felt satisfied. I guess it’s my real family.

  After breakfast, she went home. Kellen shut the door after her. How must it feel to have a family to miss, to have ever had a time where they were there, really there, with no need to miss anyone?

  He sat in his work chair and tried to put those thoughts out of his mind. Turning on a screen, he picked up a pen, but inspiration deserted him and he could not make a stroke on the waiting surface.

  Another night passed, and the next day, Kellen answered his door. He stood blinking in the morning sun at Izmit and the woman. What name had Ekeroth used for her?

  The woman leaned against the rail, looking up at him with jet-black eyes, her heart-shaped face drawn, circles of fatigue etched beneath her eyes. “I’m Sayuri.”

  It wasn’t the name he remembered Ekeroth saying. “Tokuma?”

  “Yes. Sayuri Tokuma.”

  Her voice was scratchy, one of those voices you never forget.

  He welcomed them in.

  Izmit called Abby, said to join them. By the time Abby arrived, Kellen had prepared a meal of black bean chicken with potatoes and greens. Sayuri ate little, and Izmit suggested she rest. Kellen took her to the bedroom, where she lay down and closed her eyes. He observed her for a moment and imagined painting her clean-shaven skull, pock-marked by freshly sewn scars. The gentle arcs of her eyelids, full lips, a smooth forehead. A body thin, emaciated. Her breathing was barely perceptible in the otherwise silent room.

  Back in the kitchen, Izmit cracked open a cola and took a long, slow swallow. He sighed with satisfaction, and Kellen and Abby laughed.

  “Are you okay?” Kellen asked.

  Izmit was thinner than last he’d seen him. Still bald, but hair had already begun to recolonize his face and head. Kellen had difficulty matching him to his memories.

  “I’m fine. Thanks to you, my friends.” He looked at them, all levity gone from his eyes. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I thought it would be the end for me. And for Sayuri.”

  “Who is she?” Abby asked.

  “She’s a Singer. That’s all I know. She didn’t have anyone she wanted me to call from the hospital. She seems to be alone.”

  Someone so fragile, all alone? Kellen had felt the urge to protect her as soon as he’d seen her, strapped down and plugged into that machine, like a tiny bird pinned in some naturalist’s collection.

  “Those chine cultists. Ekeroth. Why did they do that to her, to you?” Kellen asked.

  “They study people like us. The Four,” Izmit said between mouthfuls of food. “Study our brains.”

  How could Izmit be so matter-of-fact? He remembered the bloody wires and felt sick to his stomach. “Why?”

  Izmit shrugged. “They want the chines back, Kel. Just like us.”

  “What use do they think we would be to them?” Abby asked.

  “They think the chines left something behind. Something in here.” He tapped his head. “They don’t know about the sphere. Yet.”

  Abby frowned.

  Kellen shuddered at the thought of Ekeroth digging around in his brain. The surgeon’s implements glittered, and his appetite deserted him. He pushed over his share of breakfast, and Izmit cracked another cola. From the walls, within his paintings and drawings, the chine symbols pulled on him more than ever.

  #

  Wherever she’d come from, Sayuri did not go back. She took up residence at Kellen’s apartment. Izmit convinced him it was the best option. She couldn’t stay above the repair depot, and Abby’s family had little room. She appeared the first morning after taking residence, wearing a blue dress Izmit had brought for her. She seemed to have no possessions of her own, and if she did, she was in no rush to reclaim them.

  She and Kellen said little to each other that day after perfunctory greetings. He got the impression she was making an effort to be unobtrusive. Not that he had much going on to be interfered with. His job as a commercial artist didn’t take as much time as it used to. Business had tapered off as the war with the Hexi ground on.

  He’d never had a roommate. Sayuri slept late into the mornings, and when she wasn’t sleeping, she sang. Pop songs, jazz songs, blues songs, country songs, jingles from commercials, and songs in other languages. Pearl’s songs had been more consistently sad and less eclectic, and unlike Pearl’s voice, Sayuri’s held hints of hope and ebullience. Lying in bed, he’d often hear Sayuri’s raspy voice laying bare a disturbing vulnerability, humming some children’s song, the notes spun out in the night, sending him to sleep.

  Sayuri’s singing never stopped, and soon it began to drive Kellen nearly mad until he began painting one day. Caught up by her singing, he painted her song, and his drawings and paintings exploded, giving life to the music on paper and canvas.

  Hours would go by until Sayuri grew tired of singing and would retreat to the balcony, where she would rest in a chair until she woke up with cold sweats and shakes and inhaled the next batch of drugs Izmit had brought her. Where did his friend find the drugs, or the money to pay for them? Like so many things about Izmit, Kellen didn’t know and never asked. The drugs seemed to calm her. He assumed it was for the best.

  He joined Sayuri on the balcony one morning as mists rolled through the city, retreating before the rising sun.

  “I like your place.” She rubbed her eyes and sipped some tea. “How long have you been here?”

  “I came from Grand-Mère five years ago.”

  “You’re a traveler, too?”

  Kellen thought he saw a new glint of camaraderie in her eyes. Something about her took him back years. Was it just that she was a Singer? He remembered Pearl’s wonderful smile before the taunts had escalated, when she and Cesar had been his only light and warmth in a cold, dreary world.

  “I knew someone like you.” He hadn’t meant to speak, but the words insisted on tumbling out.

  Sayuri leaned forward, watching him closely. She set down her mug.

  “Back in Grand-Mère, as a teenager, my best friends were a Singer and a Digger. My parents didn’t like it. Any
of it. It was bad enough, me drawing all the time, but when my friends started coming around and my mother heard Pearl singing…” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I had to see them in secret so my parents wouldn’t make trouble. The kids at school…well, they wouldn’t talk to us, unless to embarrass and humiliate us.

  “After a few years, Pearl couldn’t take it anymore. The bullying, trying to be somebody she wasn’t, wanting to sing and sing without knowing why. She slit her wrists one night. Cesar and I found her the next day. She looked so pitiful. It was the worst thing I’d ever seen. But Cesar, he just broke down. Dug his way under the mayor’s office and caused a lot of damage. I tried to stop him, to get him to run, but he wouldn’t, and the police came. They took him to the hospital, and I never saw him again.”

  Kellen had never told anyone about those days. Why now? It felt good to get it off his chest, to have someone who might understand.

  Sayuri remained focused on him, eyes wide, expectant.

  “When the police announced they were looking for an accomplice, I had to leave home. I was twenty-three when I arrived in Jesup. I holed up here. Found some work as an artist, but mostly I just kept to myself. Tried to build a new life, meet people, but it was too hard…keeping it under control was hard enough. I settled for just staying out of trouble, but I couldn’t even do that.”

  Sayuri covered his hand with her smaller one. The bones in her hand were so delicate, the skin like tracing paper. He could almost see the blood threading its way through her veins. “Sometimes trouble just has a way of finding people like us.” She frowned, then seemed to recover from whatever had occurred to her. She tried a smile. “So you’re…twenty-eight now.”

  Kellen nodded.

  “We’re only a year apart then.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But I’m the eldest.” She laughed. “I’m a traveler, too. I got a ride up here a year ago. Snuck onto a supply flight from Xico. But I grew up in Suzu. I drove my parents mad singing all the time.” She stared off at the buildings, half-veiled in mist. “I got lots of attention. The wrong kind. My parents wanted me to stop singing, be normal. Just like yours wanted you to.”

  She bent over coughing. As she sipped her tea, her eyes gained a focus he hadn’t seen before, some clarity arising despite the drugs and pain.

  “I couldn’t stop singing, but I tried to kill myself a few times, too chickenshit to go all the way, then I found I could kill myself ever so slowly—I found drugs, ended up living wherever, sleeping wherever, with whoever, as long as I could score that next high. Even now. Same.”

  “Those cult people…” Kellen said, “how did you meet them?”

  “They found me. Offered me—” She coughed. “They had what I needed. But they didn’t mention anything about surgery. My mistake.”

  She touched the back of her scalp gingerly where the wounds had begun to heal.

  #

  Emergency sirens blared in the middle of the night. Kellen and Sayuri huddled on the balcony, watching the glow of distant explosions, half in terror and half in awe at the unexpected beauty of it. Kellen felt caught between the stress underground, the unyielding sphere, and the fear above, mouth dry, gut clenched, always waiting for the next booming echo.

  One morning, all was still throughout Jesup, a cold fog shrouding everything in a lace of fine droplets plucked from the air. No sounds of war, no bombardment, just an atmosphere of hushed anticipation pervading the city.

  Kellen and Sayuri were inside, gazing out at the mist, when the door chimed. Izmit had brought another package for Sayuri—warm clothes and a pair of boots. Abby had come with him.

  Izmit waited until Sayuri went into the kitchen. “We’ve got to bring her down with us.”

  “She’s still weak,” Kellen said, surprised by his own protectiveness. Pearl’s face came to him, crystal-clear. She’d seemed so happy, so completely relieved the last day of her life. The worry lines smoothed away, her eyes wide and bright.

  “She’s stronger than you think,” Abby said. “I carried her back that night, remember? She never let go, despite the drugs they had her on, despite having the wires pulled from her head. She never let go.”

  The next night, explosions shattered the glass in Kellen’s apartment.

  Izmit came for them. “It’s now or never.”

  “Ready?” he asked Sayuri.

  She gave a slight nod.

  They rushed towards the habs as the city’s last holdouts fled the explosions. Whistling rounds, shattering windows, and whirring metal dogged their steps. Kellen stopped to help a limping man to the gate, his face and shirt bloody.

  Soldiers and police waved them on through, down the stairs, and into newly furbished hab levels where cots and sleeping bags had been set up in each room. Stacks of supplies lined the halls. A besieged feeling seeped into Kellen’s head, making him claustrophobic.

  They slipped away from the other refugees and made their way down toward the sphere. Izmit hurried onwards, not slowed a bit by his heavy backpack. Kellen and Abby followed. Sayuri came last, wrapped in a blanket, her face shrouded within a hood.

  Their progress was much slower than normal, having to stop periodically for Sayuri to rest. Each stop made Izmit more and more agitated. He would bite his lip and crack his knuckles, pacing in circles as Sayuri caught her breath.

  By the fourth stop, Sayuri sat slumped against a large pipe, a sewer or water main. More pipes hung overhead, some turning and merging, splicing in and out. She looked at the floor between her knees and tapped her shoes against the damp concrete.

  They were past the habs now, down into the infrastructure levels where only city staff were allowed. No one would mistake them for engineers or scientists. They’d be kicked out or detained and questioned.

  “Can you go on?” Izmit asked Sayuri.

  She looked away.

  “Give her more time, Iz,” Kellen said. “She’s still weak.”

  Kellen could tell Izmit was ready to say more. The city was about to fall down around their ears and the sphere awaited, its mystery beckoning. Their whole lives had led them here to do something amazing. All of them excited to be at the threshold of deciphering this puzzle. And Izmit had been the architect, the coach, the impetus behind their effort. Without him pushing, what would any of them have achieved?

  But Sayuri was tired, and it wouldn’t do for her to fall ill now. Kellen sighed and rotated his pack from back to front.

  He crouched down before her. “Here Sayuri,” he said. “Let me carry you.”

  She looked up at him, and he thought he saw gratitude in those exhausted eyes. She wrapped her arms about his neck, and he stood up. She was just a bird. He barely felt her weight.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered in his ear.

  They set off again, Izmit setting a rapid pace. Down through the levels, one flight of stairs after another until Kellen stumbled and nearly fell. Sayuri’s arms tightened, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  Izmit brought them to a halt. “Rest.”

  Re-energized, they worked their way down past roads and train tunnels, until they reached the hole. Izmit pulled aside the drop cloth and secured the line. They lowered themselves down, Abby first, then Sayuri, wrapped securely in a harness Izmit had brought. Kellen let himself down, and Izmit came last.

  Sayuri gasped, and Kellen remembered she’d never been to the lower levels of the city, let alone through the labyrinthine chine tunnels. He remembered his first subterranean journey months ago.

  What a shock this must be for her, he thought.

  In the tunnels, Kellen couldn’t easily carry her. Sayuri walked on her own, but he kept an eye out, often catching her mid-fall when she lost her footing. Progress through the tunnels seemed to take longer than ever before. Kellen flinched at the first dull thumping impact from above. More followed, fading into threatening echoes. They all looked at each other and picked up their pace. Kellen hoped everyone was in the ha
bs now, that they could rebuild someday soon when all this was over, but by then would anyone be left? He plodded on.

  They arrived.

  “Climb through, Sayuri,” Izmit said. “Kellen, help her through. I’ll get her on this side.”

  Sayuri looked at him, and Kellen nodded.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said.

  She grasped the cold metal edges of the opening. Kellen held her waist to make sure she didn’t fall. She passed within as Izmit spoke encouragement. Then it was his own turn. Once they all stood within the ring, Kellen entered the now-familiar sequence of symbols and waited until they and the light box winked out.

  “Now, Sayuri,” Izmit said. “It’s your turn. You’re the last. Digger, Lighter, Drawer, Singer.”

  A luminous ring formed around Sayuri as she stepped inside the larger bounding ring.

  She looked at Izmit with tired eyes. Kellen guessed she was almost spent. She sang before he could say anything. A pop song, the lyrics jarringly cheerful in that dark place.

  The ring of light around her twitched and blurred like a plucked guitar string before resuming its prior symmetry.

  Izmit looked disappointed.

  “Try something else,” he said.

  She sang one song, then another, then another. Nothing. She ran through her catalogue of songs, and it was extensive, as Kellen knew from listening to her all those days in his apartment. The songs Izmit had coached her on, the ones she’d learned living her life. He’d had to study thousands of chine symbols before he’d had his revelation. Why would it be any different for Sayuri?

  She looked so frail. He wanted to take her back up to the surface, to reach out and comfort her. She had never looked so forlorn. Her voice was hoarse now. Abby brought her some water.

  Sayuri drank and wiped her mouth. “Thanks.”

  She began again, singing song after song, until her voice dwindled to a whisper. No answering change in the ring of light appeared.

  “Maybe we need to go back up, do more research,” Abby said. “Sayuri needs rest. She’ll find the right song. She just needs time.”

  “No,” Izmit said. “There is no more time. We keep on.”