I study the rope system below the platform again as I pass it. It looks sturdy. I tug on the closest rope and confirm I’m right. Then I continue to the top and hoist myself over the rail. Brad’s hired help gives me a hand.
“Good news,” I say as I show him my full bag. “Now, if only I had a place to cook them.” Since I’m not a permanent resident, I’ve been crashing on the upper floor of the museum.
A normal person would question why I didn’t have a kitchen. The fact he didn’t ask confirms he knows exactly who I am and was assigned to watch me. “You can cook at my place. I know my buddies would appreciate some fried fish. By the way, my name’s Rick.” Again, he doesn’t ask me mine.
“Blake Sundry. Nice to meet you. Lead the way. I’m hungry.” We have to maneuver through the throngs of people. The city’s so overcrowded that it takes a while to get to his place, the rope bridges being quite the bottleneck in the busy evening hours.
Rick lives in a compound with his twenty “buddies,” aka Brad-plants. I clean and fry up the fish while listening to them tell tales of life in the camps—tales that don’t match anything I saw while I visited. Brad is so confident that he makes stupid mistakes. If he wanted to credibly infiltrate, his plants needed to be bona fide Exilers who suffered through the camps with the rest of the people, gaining their confidence and trust along the way. I’m sure he figured no one would notice since people were coming from six camps. But their cover stories are crap, and people will notice.
Still, it doesn’t quite add up. Ethan told me that the Ten had planted agents from Information City in the camps a couple months ago. So there are undoubtedly two sets of people to worry about here—Brad’s cronies and the Ten’s more sophisticated insertions.
I excuse myself when it gets late and head back to the museum, knowing I’ll be followed. My tail waits to make sure that I went where I said I was going and then takes off. I’m exhausted and decide a nap’s in order, so I curl up by a modern art atrocity and nod off.
My watch vibrates a couple hours later—at 1100 hours. I grab what I need and stuff the rest of my belongings under the blanket to approximate a person to someone not paying too close attention. And then I head down the back stairway and out a seldom-used door. I peek out and make sure it is clear. It’s middle-of-the-day, and most people will be sound asleep. But not all, and in the bright sun there’s no hiding, so I’m not going to take any chances. I don’t see anyone.
The building backs up to the edge of the platform with only a narrow walkway before the rail. I put on a pair of gloves and my harness. Since I can’t risk leaving a rope up, I scan for any kind of abnormality along the platform that I can use as a foothold or grip. It doesn’t take long to find one—in fact, there are several rope ties built in that the previous residents likely used for fishing. I slip over the rail, use the grip to lower myself down, and then grab hold of the closest rope under the platform and clip myself to it.
I slowly move from rope to rope, investigating the underside of the platform. There are some thin fault lines of concern. I wonder if the platforms can truly support the weight atop them. Much more concerning is what I find at each pylon. Each bearing has a six inch hole carved out—and placed within each crevice is an explosive device. There are no timers associated with them, so they must be remote activated. They appear to be fairly simple. I’m sure they could be deactivated, but I’m not going to attempt it. There could be a trip wire that would cause detonation or set off a remote alarm.
It takes me thirty minutes to get back to my starting point. My arms are spent, but I use what little energy I have left to get back over the rail after I confirm the walkway’s clear. I go back inside for another nap. A quick glance at my watch tells me that I’ve been gone for nearly three hours. I collapse onto my bedroll. Any thoughts of how I’ll break the news to Doc and Bailey will have to wait until evening.
Dr. Christo once told me that he was using Bailey and I to help facilitate a “minor” course correction with the SCI. Well, it’s not working. The SCI respond tit-for-tat to every attempt to persuade them to return to their original charter, with every move taking them further in the opposite direction.
I surely hope the Arbiters have a plan B in the queue.
Nine months prior: Heart, Thera
“Welcome, Blake. Welcome back, Bailey.” Dr. Christo greeted us. “I see that Paul found and got you here.” Dr. Christo had sent Paul to find us at the Exiler camp, and then we’d been transported here by a most unusual method. It appeared the Arbiters could create their own portals. If Kira was with Dr. Christo’s son—then they could be anywhere. Did the SCI know about their capabilities?
Dr. Christo pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The Arbiters have not interfered in SCI business for centuries. But we feel compelled to at this time. The current administration of the SCI is not aware of what we are capable of…and I expect that the two of you will not change that fact. Understood?” What, can they read minds, too?
“Yes, yes we can read minds.” Great. “Getting right down to business… The SCI is exercising unrighteous dominion over the Second Chancers. Because the Second Chancers don’t remember their time previous to Thera or their arrival here, they are at a disadvantage. They don’t know they are being manipulated.”
Bailey interjected. “And you want us to help shift the balance of power. At least, that’s what I’m assuming. Otherwise, you would have erased my memories.”
“In a sense,” Dr. Christo responded. “The Arbiters would like to give the SCI the opportunity to right their wrongs and return to the original conditions of their charter…without our involvement. It would be…better for them that way.”
If the Arbiters had the power to fix things, why didn’t they? “Why wait? Why not involve yourselves now?”
Dr. Christo contemplated how to respond for quite some time. He looked tired. “The SCI has all the rules they need to operate. They’ve had them from the beginning. They must be given the opportunity to make mistakes, realize they have done so, and fix them. If we were to intercede at every turn, how would they ever learn?” He paused to let it sink in. Apparently, Dr. Christo never met or counseled my father. My father never failed to get in my business.
After a few moments, he continued. “However, if the SCI fails to learn from their mistakes, we’ll be forced to…course correct. Consider the two of you a minor course correction—a nudge in the right direction. You need to help the Second Chancers remind the SCI that the SCI’s mission is to help them achieve a rewarding second chance at life.”
“Just call me Blake Sundry, Course Corrector. Happy to help. Do you happen to have a detailed job description or handbook on how to do that?”
His lip might have turned up slightly, but I got the sense that Dr. Christo did not have the best sense of humor. “Let’s start by having you watch a crossover so that you can see why we do what we do…and then we’ll go from there.”
We followed him through long red corridors. He abruptly stopped at a door, placed his hand on a panel, and we entered some sort of lab. “Wait here. Don’t say a word. Just watch and follow as directed.”
A tall, blond guy dressed in white entered with a petite dark haired girl wearing what looked like a potato sack. “That’s Jackson,” Bailey whispered to me. He’s the one taking care of Kira? Ethan’s best friend? A pang of jealousy stabbed me through the heart, and I see now why Ethan was less than happy about the arrangement.
Sensing our presence, Jax turned and looked at us. He gave Bailey a look of sheer contempt. She blew him a kiss in return, which caused him to shake his head. To me, he gave a curt nod. Then he returned his attention to the girl. He put a comforting hand on her arm and whispered to her before helping her up onto an exam table.
A nurse entered and tended to the girl. Jax walked over to us. He held out a hand, and I shook it. “Nice to meet you, Blake.”
“Hi, Jax,” Bailey said, her eyes dilated with lust. She scanned his body and
raised her eyebrows. “It’s just delightful to see you again.”
“I wish I could say the same…but alas I cannot lie.”
Dr. Christo said, “Jackson, why don’t you brief Blake and Bailey on Madison’s case?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the girl and sighed. “She came from a solid home. Two older brothers and two younger sisters. Parents who loved her. She was a sophomore in high school in a rural area of the Midwest on Earth. On the track team. She went out on a run one morning and never returned. A guy took her and kept her locked in his basement for more than two years—chained to a wall. She had to use a bucket to relieve herself. He raped her repeatedly every day. When she got pregnant, he handled the abortion with a metal hanger based on instructions he found on the Internet. It would have been more merciful had she died then, but she didn’t. He got more aggressive as time went on…liked to asphyxiate her as he took her—at first with pressure around the neck, but he escalated to plastic bags over her head. That last time he took a little too long to finish and she suffocated.
“As you can see, she deserves a second chance more than most.” He looked pointedly at Bailey who flinched. “She also deserves to completely forget every horrible thing that has happened to her, and we are going to make that happen. She’ll get to start over here on Thera. The problem is that gun control is a hot topic on the campaign trail for Henry King back on Earth. He wants hard and fast data about the right way to lean. And Madison’s going to be one of their test subjects. She’ll be placed in Western City—where the SCI is studying death and crime rates amongst a population where everyone owns a gun. They’re going to contrast the data against those in the adjacent Eastern City—where meditation and mutual respect are promoted, and Free City—a literal free-for-all in all respects.”
He pulled out a pocket map to show three cities, each about a night’s walk apart about a hundred miles inland from the sea, each at about the same latitude as Las Vegas. Even though there was a relatively large lake close, I imagine that the area had brutally hot desert conditions. Of course, they’d reenact the wild, wild West there.
I felt sick to my stomach for this broken girl—for the stuff she’d already dealt with and what was on the horizon. “Why not place her somewhere else—somewhere she will be safe?”
“The SCI controls the matching since they have to manage the population of each city. We deliver accordingly. It was never an issue before they started their political experiments.”
The nurse interrupted and told us the girl was ready to move on to the next step. I got a better look at her. She was the complete opposite of Bailey but equally beautiful. Bailey was tall, had stick-straight blonde hair, and blue eyes. This girl was short (perhaps five foot two inches), had wide-set deep-brown eyes and dark wavy hair that reached her mid-back. She seemed timid, not raising her eyes once to look at us.
We trailed behind as she went through her crossover process, culminating in the removal of her memories at the last stop in a round room. She was secured in a chair, a helmet-like thing was placed over her head, and minutes later every burden—and every good thing from her early years—were gone for good.
When it was done, and Jax had released her from the chair, she smiled brightly, eagerly following him through one of the many recessed doors in the room. What I didn’t know was how long that smile would last.
Present
The “private” Exiler board meeting is about to start and Doc’s AWOL. There has been animated debate going on for nights over how to effectively scale the current “government” or whether things should be started from scratch. Since everyone has come from different cities with hugely different ways of doing things, it’s not a surprise that no one can seem to agree.
“I’ll go find him,” I tell Bailey. “I’m sure he’s in the hospital. They have been keeping him busy.”
I jog along the walkways and across the dozen rope bridges that lead me to the “hospital,” which is more like a large clinic. Given the number of people who arrived injured, they only had a fraction of the beds needed. So they took over a number of communal apartments close to the hospital to manage the caseload.
It takes a while to find Doc. He had “just left” everywhere I was pointed. I see him through the window of the single intensive care unit room and almost don’t recognize him. His long grey hair has been shorn and he’s cleanly shaven. I knock on the window and he motions for me to scrub in. I do so and notice that six patients are stuffed into the room. Doc’s attending to someone I recognize.
Madison. I close my eyes to try to compose myself, remembering the timid girl from Heart who’d been brutally raped and killed by her kidnapper on Earth. When I open my eyes she’s staring at me but without a single bit of recognition. If possible, she looks thinner and more devastated than how she arrived at Heart.
“Blake,” Doc says. “What’cha need?”
“What happened to her?” I ask. There’s no Hippocratic oath on Thera, so Doc doesn’t hesitate to invade her privacy and share.
“Infected gunshot wound. She lived in Western City…apparently killed a guy in self-defense when he decided to ‘act on his attraction to her without her permission.’ Unfortunately, he got a shot off at the same time she did. The medic barely taped her up before sending her off into Exile. The camp didn’t have the facilities to perform a clean surgery, so she arrived here on her deathbed. I removed the bullet and we’re pumping her full of what antibiotics we have on hand. The hospital wasn’t exactly well stocked when we arrived.”
I lean in to him and keep my voice low. “Will she make it?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve done everything I can. Only time will tell. So…I don’t think you came here to hear this poor girl’s life story. Make it quick, so I can get back to my rounds.” You don’t know the half of this girl’s story. Or the further dangers that lurk under the city and threaten all of you.
“Doc, the Board meeting’s starting up, and I do believe you are supposed to be running it. They’re all waiting on you.”
“It can’t be time already.” He looks at his watch and grumbles. “Well, look at that. Past time. Okay, well, I’ll be right along. Think you can play nurse for a minute and get a teaspoon of this into her?” He hands me a bottle of liquid and a dropper, and I slip a small note into his hands with the words, “Destroy this. Platforms rigged with C4. Will inform the As.”
I approach the girl. “Hey, sounds like you’ve been through the ringer.”
She nods but doesn’t speak.
I crouch beside her bed and measure out the correct dosage. “I’m no nurse, so I’m not going to sugarcoat this. Coming from Doc, this will probably be the nastiest thing you’ve ever encountered in your life. But I can assure you that he wouldn’t give it to you if you didn’t need it. Okay?”
That earns me a small smile. I push the liquid into her mouth, and she grimaces and gags on it but manages to finally swallow.
She gives me a piercing look that gives me shivers. Her voice is so quiet that I almost don’t hear her. “That’s not the nastiest thing I’ve encountered.” I wonder whether she’s talking about the man who tried to rape her in Western City or whether she remembers. For her sake, I hope it’s the former. With help and support, she can probably get over the fact she shot and killed the person trying to rape her. But the stuff that happened to her on Earth? I don’t know how anyone could get past that. Maybe it’s possible. I surely hope it is, but I can’t even seem to get over the story of it, and she had to live it.
I pick up her hand and give her a light kiss on it. And then I say, “Hopefully, it will be the last nasty thing you encounter.” Doc’s probably waiting on me, and I know Brad expects me to be taking notes at this meeting, so I have to go. Hate to leave her here all alone though. “I’ve got to run. I hope you get better soon. If possible, I’ll stop back by this morn.”
“Thank you,” she whispers and then closes her eyes. Gads, will she even make it until morn?
/> On my way out, I find Doc barking orders to nurses. I pull him away, and we walk together towards the meeting. Neither of us speaks. I can tell he has seen my note and is probably deep in thought over it.
The meeting is as long and dull as I’d have expected. At the end, there’s a newly revised board with various people handling their areas of expertise. There’s no mention of further conflict against the SCI—everyone knows they are listening. For now, all the focus is on getting this city functional and keeping more people from dying.
“Here you go.” I hand him the chicken scratch notes I’d written during my trip to Art City. Brad didn’t trust me to not “lose” my SCI-issued tablet and password amongst the Exilers, so he sent me with a small notebook containing exactly twenty-five pieces of paper that “would be counted” upon my return. Thankfully, I had thought to bring a couple post-it notes from Ethan’s apartment, which I used to write notes to Doc.
He gave me a skeptical look. “Take a seat while I review this.” He first counted the pages, then looked over my notes. “Very thorough.” Clearly, he was surprised that I was so detailed.
“I do aim to please. And being a secretary has always been my dream job,” I say in a snarky tone. “There’s overcrowding—in the housing and the hospital, the food’s rather…bland, and the board’s pretty chaotic but other than that…”
He taps his finger on his chin. “I hear Kira Donovan was there.” Well, by all means Brad, jump right into the difficult topics.
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