Sympathy/pity. “I can’t alter your level, but my building supervisor can. Would you mind waiting?”
“Not at all.”
She trotted away and disappeared down a long hallway.
As the minutes dragged by I took the opportunity to study the building. Pleasant, organic architecture with round edges and muted shades of beige, light green, and lavender. Was the entire city painted in pastels and taupe?
I paced the entryway impatiently.
My clerical girl had been gone far too long and I started to formulate an alternative plan when she came trotting back.
Her face was an unhealthy mix of distraught/harried.
“Um, your file is updated to level 40 again. Here is your apartment number. Can you palm my screenboard and I’ll take you up?”
I quickly pressed my palm to the screen and a chirp indicated I was now officially a resident of the Watership building.
“It’s this way,” she said, glancing over her shoulder nervously.
“You have been very helpful,” I said, stopping her with a touch of my hand. “But please, don’t let me take you away from your duties. I can find the way on my own.”
She was ready to cry with relief as I strolled toward the stairs.
Evidently, she had used her supervisor’s office and altered the file herself, which could get her demoted to a 9.
Something I had been only a few hours ago.
The rapidity of my rise to a level 40 was probably unheard of, but somehow instead of feeling satisfaction, I only felt irritation and impatience.
My memory functioned perfectly when I faced simple logistical difficulties or survival situations. And my perception, mysterious ability to know what a person was thinking and feeling and my seemingly flawless adaptability were uncanny. I was completely at a loss as to how I had acquired these skills, but it didn’t matter.
Questions could wait. Right now I needed to blend in, disappear, and hope that Flick was looking for me in the wrong place.
After ascending the stairs to the second level I managed to find the inclinator. When I palmed the call panel it chimed pleasantly instead of clanging disturbingly with some horrendous alarm announcing my fraud to the entire city. It seemed I was in the computer system of the building, recognized, and welcome.
The building stood 40 stories tall, and my new home was on the 20th floor. I located number 2033 easily and palmed my way inside.
As the door closed behind me with a soft metallic snick, I wasted no time.
A quick scan of the apartment rewarded me with the knowledge the place was furnished, so I wouldn’t be sleeping on the floor, which was agreeable.
The kitchen was small but stocked with everything a person needed to prepare food, store food, and wash up after cooking. However, there was no food supplied in the prep area. I would need to acquire that myself.
A single bedroom with a bed, closet, small bathroom and desk looked out on a very attractive balcony overlooking a garden area below. I palmed the windows and held my hand there until they faded to a smoky brown, concealing the room from the outside.
The sun was close to setting, casting a haze of shadows over the skyline.
A clock face on the desk told me it was now passing 6, and my stomach reminded me I needed to eat something.
After seeing the kitchen, fixing food became a sudden priority. I hadn’t had solid nourishment since leaving the Hammermill medical bay and I was running out of energy.
With a new job and a new apartment, summoning food delivery would be easy.
In the small living room area, a blank screenboard hung on the wall. I palmed it and selected delivery options, then chose four items of prepared food and placed an order. A harsh chime indicated I did not have any credit, and I suppressed a groan. I had employment, but no accumulated funds.
I had forgotten about establishing an account.
“Marvelous.”
Complaining sarcastically wasn’t going to solve my problems. Creating the proper accounts would have to wait for the next day. Until then I would have to resort to thievery, which I wasn’t proud of at all but willing to do under the circumstances.
I stepped out into the hallway and strolled with purpose through the building. I took the stairs down one floor and knocked on the door directly beneath my apartment.
A woman, older, impatient/annoyed arranged on her face, pulled open the door.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “You are not Kami.”
“Kami? Don’t know her.”
She shut the door without another word and I moved on.
I knocked at the next door, and when no one answered, I stood listening to the building for a moment. The sounds of movement could be heard, but they were faint and sporadic. It occurred to me the vast majority of the place seemed to be empty.
Empty city and equally empty buildings. Curious.
My ear detected nothing when I pressed it against the door. If anyone occupied this particular apartment, they were not there now.
Even if I did have the physical strength necessary, which I did not, breaking down an apartment door with my shoulder would be a catastrophic error.
Far better to simply let myself in.
I went back upstairs, through my apartment door and slipped outside onto the balcony.
The empty apartment one floor down and one to the right of mine also had a balcony, as they all did. Keeping someone out was not the function of the attractive spaces. They were designed to allow in light, and provide an attractive view, not prevent burglary. The wide balconies had low, thin railings and would be easy to access from above.
I climbed over the side of my balcony, checked the distance, and jumped.
For one horrible moment I thought my hands would slip off the rail, but I managed to grab it and pull myself on the balcony.
If anyone in the garden far below had seen me in the process of acrobatic larceny it wasn’t immediately apparent, since nobody screamed while pointing up in my direction.
I peered inside through the balcony door and scanned the interior. The glass was clear, but unfortunately, so was the living room. Not even a small piece of furniture occupied the space.
It was empty of tenants and that did not bode well for my interests, but I was determined to get inside anyway.
The balcony door probably operated on the assumption that any human standing there had the authorization to be there. If a tenant locked themselves out of their own apartment accidentally it could be dangerous and so it simply wasn’t possible to do. If any person palmed a door panel 19 stories up, it would open automatically, no matter who they were.
At least, that was my theory. I pressed my palm to the access panel.
The door whisked open, rewarding my intuition. I stepped inside and pulled open the food storage and cooling unit. It was empty.
I palmed the screenboard to request delivery, but the apartment had been deactivated, and it disallowed my access. Whoever had once occupied this place had left no open credit account attached to it.
Reluctantly, I went back outside and jumped down to the next apartment. The moment I landed, my mistake became apparent. Movement from within let me know someone was home. I froze in place and waited until I was sure the tenant turned their attention on something other than the outside, and then I slipped over the edge quickly.
Three floors later I finally managed to locate an occupied residence, and there did not appear to me anyone at home. I entered through the balcony door into a disaster of an apartment.
The living area was untidy, strewn with food containers, a few articles of clothing, some sort of craft project and what looked like toys and several forgotten beverage mugs.
The pink colored clothing, tailored for a female, indicated the person who lived here was a childcare specialist.
I wouldn’t be able to use any of the woman’s work clothes, but when I searched her food preparation area I found a fantastic array of choices.
Ins
ide the food prep storage cabinet, I managed to scrounge a heavy string bag and began filling it quickly with whatever I could grab.
I loaded up with dried meats, preserved fruits and what looked like dried noodles with a sauce pack. When the bag was heavy with supplies I darted into her bedroom and scanned the messy area.
She lived like an untidy squirrel. Clothes and discarded drinking cups lay scattered everywhere. Beside the bed, on the desk, in the bathroom, and on the floor I found cosmetics, undergarments, shoes, hair adornments, and several pieces of jewelry.
The jewelry was not real precious metal, not by any means. But it was attractive and I snagged one very eye-catching silver ring and slipped it on my right hand.
Adornment would add credence to my stature. The ring was tasteful and looked valuable, and provided an impression of professionalism.
Her cosmetics were not to my taste, but I located lip enhancement and eye coloring that were not too offensive, and those followed the foodstuffs into the bag.
A small tube of hair soap and smoothing gel joined the other supplies, and then I stumbled across a coloring product that would change my hair from brown to deep black. I took the hair color without a moment’s hesitation.
Although it felt positively vile, I also pilfered socks, a pair of flesh-colored leggings, and a giant shirt that would provide a very nice outfit for sleepwear. Finally, I located the tiny laundry area with its sanitizer and dryer machine and took two small packs of washing liquid.
Then I headed for the door.
A still-frame image sat on a small side table beside the front door. A woman, dressed in pink, with plump cheeks and a broad smile beamed at me from the image. Underneath it, two shiny silver stars were stuck to the still-frame along with a hand-written caption. First day N.A. training!
She had signed her name at the bottom, with a flourish.
“Thank you, Canda. And, I apologize.”
I’d been inside the apartment for perhaps six minutes.
Time to go.
Instead of heading for the balcony again, I decided to simply walk out the door and hope that I was not seen.
A quick glance outside indicated the hallway was deserted and I left the apartment, walked back to the inclinator, and returned to my rooms without seeing another person.
As the door closed behind me I managed to feel the first sense of genuine relief I’d experienced in more than two days.
What next?
“Eat first, plan later,” I said.
The food was easy to prepare and tasted wonderful, and after the machine had sanitized and dried my new clothing, I carefully hung the black dress inside the small closet, donned my baggy shirt and leggings and settled into my new residence, doing what I could to act as though I had every right to be there.
Now, it was time to think.
I curled up in the small bed, pulled the single blanket over my legs, and stared out at the city lights while pondering my situation.
And what a situation it was.
What were my assets and what were my liabilities?
The liabilities were obvious.
And disturbing.
I had no memory of my past at all. I didn’t even know my own name.
Twenty-seven hours earlier, three individuals had rescued me. From…what? Where had I come from? There simply was not enough data to make an accurate deduction concerning my origins. Things were too unclear to draw any conclusions yet.
Moving on.
My moment of regaining awareness on the ocean base might offer a clue about what had happened to me, but again, there was not enough information to make a definitive supposition. The fact that I’d not so much awakened, as spontaneously and suddenly developed awareness while running beside three people was disconcerting. It suggested I was drugged prior to the incident but was still able to function on a rudimentary level. Troubling, but not very enlightening.
What about my unusual exhaustion last night?
I’d slept twelve hours, and the entire time I had not awakened once or apparently moved at all. What could cause a person to sleep in that way?
Unknown.
Today I’d managed to think clearly, but would I lose consciousness in such a way again? And if I did, how long would that condition last?
All I could do was hope that my mental state was stable now. Time would bear that out.
Next question.
Who were the three people who had tried to rescue me? I closed my eyes and called them to mind.
They had worn brown, which was a surprise. That fact had not registered then, but at the time I’d been running for my life so perhaps that oversight could be forgiven.
They had seemed observant and articulate, as well as quite desperate.
And armed.
A brown service level 5, or even a level 9, wouldn’t have access to weapons, so they were disguised. Or they were criminals. Either way, the implications of that were not reassuring.
What about the others?
The enforcement squad sent after us had consisted of at least ten men, which seemed excessive. Highly trained, heavily armed, and able to deploy rapidly, they could have dealt with four lightly armed fugitives with half that number. Someone out there had desperately wanted to see my rescuers dead, and they were not interested in taking any chances. Enormous resources were expended to carry out that goal, and that meant the person directing the rapid-strike squad was powerful.
Not a cheerful thought.
What about the enforcement officer who had helped me?
It was a mystery how Skee recognized me, but he had. It was why I was still alive. If Skee had not known who I was he would have shot me on sight and I wouldn’t currently be capable of carrying on with an internal conversation. I’d be dead.
But Skee had recognized me, and he was sympathetic to my cause, or had simply taken pity on me. Perhaps he knew me in a personal capacity and maybe we were even friends. He knew me well enough to pass my name along.
Keeley. Apparently, that was my name.
When I had more time, and when I was safely installed in my new position in archives, I would research that name and see what I could discover. Until then, it would not be a priority.
Now for the last, and most alarming liability.
A Grey pursued me.
How had that situation developed?
Obviously, my kindhearted enforcement officer, Skee, had sent Flick to assist me.
Skee had asked someone whom he knew and presumably trusted, to retrieve me from the abandoned ocean base.
That was how everything had become a bit tricky. If I were simply a refugee needing transport to a center, then Flick would have performed the favor and that would have been the end of it. But I was obviously more than a refugee, and in spite of my attempts to look the part; Flick had noticed that something about me was not right.
After only a half hour spent in my company, he’d determined I was not what I seemed.
Greys were not ordinary, not by any means. And instinctively I knew that a Grey was capable of extraordinary things. It would be a mistake to underestimate him.
Undeniably, Flick had reached the conclusion that he should detain me, if for no other reason than the fact that my circumstances were something of a mystery. Fortunately for me, he came to that conclusion after I’d gotten out of his helicar and escaped, otherwise I would be in custody.
It did me no good at all to presume that he would abandon his search. Once a Grey set a goal, he would not be deterred. If I wanted to evade Flick, it would require me to maintain a hyper vigilant and flexible state of mind, as well as morph my persona quickly, often, and radically.
The disappointing liabilities were now identified.
What were my assets?
Primarily, and inexplicably, I seemed to possess an uncanny ability to know what an individual person was thinking at the precise moment they were thinking it. I also seemed to have a knack for steering a person’s behavior to my advant
age. Also, I’d been incredibly, even wildly, lucky.
Perhaps.
Perhaps luck had nothing to do with it.
Although my memory seemed to be quite impaired, my skills were not. I had training that gave me a heavy advantage over the average person. Where had I received that sort of training?
That would also remain a mystery until I’d gathered more data.
Now, what about this city? How had I managed to make it this far without being detected by Flick or flagged as an imposter?
New Dublin was conspicuous for its lack of population. There were not very many people, and consequently, not a great deal of competition. Things seemed to come easily to the citizens here and that must have contributed greatly to my success. People here did not expect someone to lie and cheat, and were, therefore, trusting and gullible. There was probably no such thing as crime, so shopkeepers didn’t watch for thieves, and clerks were pliable to suggestion because they all seemed eager to help, not worried about fraud or treachery.
This complacency had obviously allowed me to take advantage of the system shamelessly. But it seemed that primarily my success was due to a lack of checks and balances.
For example; surveillance. Well, there wasn’t any. Not that I was able to see.
If Flick had access to monitors, and DNA readers, and if my palm print had been scanned and filed, it would have taken him about ten minutes to locate and detain me once I’d started moving around the city. Perhaps he didn’t have access to those technologies, or for some unknown reason, I was not being monitored. He would, therefore, need to find me through hard work and perseverance. This would slow him down marginally.
But it wouldn’t stop him.
Greys had an indomitable nature, and I didn’t doubt for a moment that Flick would search for me until he found me, or until I managed to leave the city and escape his orbit of influence. For the moment I was safe. How long that lasted would depend on how well I managed to hide.
What did that mean for my future? How wide was the orbit of influence of the average Grey agent?
Wide. Very wide. Of that I was certain.
The New Authority Conspiracy (The Keeley Dorn Adventures Book 1) Page 5