Starke cut off the sarcastic laugh that swelled in his throat.
Dubois must have noticed his hesitation. “If we didn’t act, we would all starve. You have to understand. This is a hard choice but it’s the right one.”
Starke forced a grin. “Of course. Don’t worry, Dubois.” He stood up, forcing himself to keep from shaking. Shaking with anger? Yes, he was angry. What gave the City the right to just shave off the ‘unworthy’ portion of mankind? There was no such thing. They talked about it like trimming the fat. Losing weight.
He wanted to ask how they would do it, but it was too much. Besides, Dubois needed to feel like Starke trusted him.
“I guess that’s that.” Starke headed towards the door, careful to avoid Dubois’ eyes. They were hot on his back, even still.
“What about the Picasso?”
Starke flashed the most convincing grin he could back at Dubois. “She’ll wait. Don’t worry. No one else can appreciate her quite like you can.”
That’s the very least punishment that the man deserved. Here he was, going about his luxurious, pointless existence as if the world was at ease. Meanwhile, he held the death warrant on five hundred lives.
As soon as Starke had the chance, he’d figure out how to shoot the legs out from under their plan. For now, he had to get to work. He could only bribe his foreman with moonshine so much before the rest of the team started to get suspicious.
Tonight, he’d make sure that Markus knew to get Dahlia to safety.
Chapter Four: Warning
Starke ducked under the trailing leaves of a creeping grape vine. More and more, the gardens were bursting out of their boundaries and seeping into the rest of the Tier. It was beautiful to see. In the Hub, people plugged their brains into VR to get a glimpse of the computerized shadows of these very things. Here in the Farming Tier, the plants weren’t just tiny, potted jewels in an endless expanse of clean, monotony. They were part of life itself.
It was almost understandable why Markus had wanted to come back so much. Sure, the living spaces were not ideal. Housing came in the form of tiny, cramped apartments built into the walls, often sharing kitchens and bathrooms with their neighbors. That, or the housing units attached just outside, where multiple families crammed into single-room pods. And food was not nearly the quality or the low prices you could get in the Hub.
It was still better than anything in the lower income Tiers.
A burly farmer passed by, pushing a wheelbarrow full of golden squash. His beard stuck out of his chin like a collection of wires. Starke chuckled at the child that dodged between his feet as he walked.
The smell of wet earth drifted up from the center of the Tier, where layers of gardens hung in space like jewelled chandeliers. Workers buzzed around the pathways, tending the plants, checking the lights, turning over piles of compost. Which ones would be dead in the next couple of weeks?
A month. That was the estimation he’d gotten from Cowl. It was impossible to hide the details from him, but Starke managed to keep him out of it for the most part. He’d gotten the information he needed and Cowl tucked them away in the recesses of his little cyber world.
The City tolerated a lot. After all, they were trying to keep humanity alive. As long as it wasn’t a threat to their regime, or the safety of Bunker, they went pretty easy on people. Especially if their crimes were kept within the private spaces, away from the eyes of the public.
Starke had once had a Guard come sit in the apartment with him and smoke a joint. If that same guy had found him toting the contraband up from the Pit, Starke would have been in buzz cuffs and heading for lock up.
The City had no mercy for anything they deemed “rebellious.” Indulging a vice in the secrecy of your pod was just stupidity. Walking the halls like that, showing others how easy it could be to break the rules, was defying the City itself. Looking into something like what Starke was trying to uncover; that was domestic terrorism in the City’s mind.
Shaking himself loose of the thoughts, Starke jumped up on a simple, metal stairwell and started up the rows of nearly identical pods. A graffiti artist had picked up a bucket of paint at some point and gone uncontested and now many of the homes were painted with detailed, mandala-type swirls. It added a bit of wonder to the closed in space, as did the joyful shouts of playing children climbing the balconies overhead. The Hub was never this loud and joyful. The people who had less always lived life with more joy.
Starke walked along the balcony-like walkway to the pod where Markus had settled. He caught the eye of a little girl playing in the open door of another home. She blushed bright pink and quickly collected her dolls close to her, blue eyes like teacups as they returned his gaze.
Someday, when Cowl was old enough to keep himself out of trouble, and when Mom could keep herself fed and clothed, maybe he’d have a chance for something like that. At family. If he could do it right. Maybe he didn’t want it, if it could all be taken away at the whim of men like Dubois.
He clenched his jaw until it ached as he stood under the scanner of his father’s small home. After a long moment, the lock disengaged with a loud tone and the grungy wall swung open.
. The rest of the Farming Tier was homey, beautiful in its own way. It was hard to believe that Markus was capable of creating that kind of comfort, but the pod was oddly charming.
It was small, but clean and uncluttered. In the corner, under a humming light, a thorny plant grew along a simple trellis. A few green berries peeked out of the razor edged leaves. Beside it, a standard sofa was pushed up tight against the wall, decorated with what could have only been a hand-woven blanket. On the far wall, set against the tiny kitchen counter, a row of hard-backed stools probably served for family dining. Just inside the kitchen, Markus peered under the cupboards.
“Starke, I didn’t…uh. “ He put down the chopping knife in his hand. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Come in. Please. Come in.” The smell of fresh-cut onion followed him out as he rolled down his sleeves and waved a hand towards the couch. “I’m so sorry for the mess. We just got home from shopping. Can I get you anything? Anything at all?”
It was hard to believe that he was related to this stammering, nervous man. To be fair, Markus hadn’t done much towards raising him.
“We?” Starke narrowed his eyes and looked back into the tiny room attached directly behind the kitchen. The door was open, and a pale light shone from inside.
“Uh, yeah. Dahlia came back. She was…ummm. She liked what you…what you offered. Is that what you are here about?” Markus sat on the couch, his hands clasped in his lap and immediately jumped up again, trying once more to offer Starke a seat.
Dahlia. The dead woman. Or she would be soon enough. For maybe the hundredth time since punching out of work, Starke let himself imagine her just disappearing. It could happen, if he minded his business. But that would be outdoing even Markus in selfishness.
If she was here, would he have to meet her? The thought made his throat constrict. She couldn’t be anything special. Not better than Mom. But here Markus was, eager to leave behind his family for her. Not just practically, now. Legally as well.
“Is there…I mean, do I have to sign something or…?” Markus scanned his face, his blue eyes so much like Cowl’s.
Cowl was just a kid but despite all his cracks and splinters, he was already more of a man than Markus would ever be.
“About that.”
Markus’ face fell immediately.
“I talked to my contact and we ran into a bit of a problem. But I think that you should be more concerned about this problem than your plans. For now.” If this were anyone else, the words would have come smoothly. He was a self-made salesman, and he was good at it. There was a reason why no one else was running the type of contraband he was.
“So, it’s not…we can’t…”
“The City is going to kill your girlfriend.” He couldn’t force himself to say her name.
Markus blinked dully,
as if Starke had just switched to a different language. “You…what? I don’t know what you mean.”
Starke rubbed his hands over his hair, tugging the tie further up. “They are trying to cut down the population, and for whatever reason, that woman is on the list.” He shrugged. “I tried to handle it directly, but they seemed pretty adamant.”
Terror welled up in Markus’ face and he stared in horror back at the dimly lit room where Dahlia apparently was. His mouth moved comically for a moment before tears shone in his eyes. “Oh, shit. I mean…I’m sorry. I’m…” He rubbed his hands rapidly over his face and sucked in a sharp gasp. “What am I…” He paced for a second before dropping into the chair and then jolting back up. Finally, he grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter and leaned over it as if he couldn’t breathe.
“You…we…have a month,” Starke said, trying to shove away the pity that bled into the corners of his mind. This was the man who destroyed his life, Cowl’s life, and the woman he’d chosen over them.
“A month?” Markus gasped.
“I am working on a plan. I have some people in place, and I’ll do my best to work on keeping her off the chopping block. And I have a contingency.”
Markus shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to show the City’s hand,” Starke explained, trying to keep the details vague. Markus was half-panicking. That wasn’t safe for any of them. He had to calm him down or there was no knowing what he could say or do. The man was far from trustworthy. “I have a few contacts in the lower Tiers. If I play this right, there will be riots in the streets if the City makes a single wrong move. But, it needs to be subtle.”
Markus’ mouth hung open. Could he even do ‘subtle’? What if he decided he had to pass on the word or tell a friend? If he started a panic, their bargaining card was shot and the City would probably pick off more than double their quota between quelling the riot and killing off the leaders.
Maybe he’d shot the gears by telling him?
“Worse case scenario, I can get you down to the Pit, get you set up as comfortable as possible,” Starke said.
“Oh, hello.”
Starke looked up as a woman stepped out of the room, towel drying her hair. She must have been Dahlia. He’d imagined she would be prettier. Short and curvy, her eyes bulged, as if shoved between over-swollen cheeks. Her face was dominated by a manish chin.
She smiled broadly, reaching back to drop the towel in the room and brushing her hands down her tight-fitting tracksuit.
Mom was a hundred times more attractive than her.
“You didn’t tell me you’d invited someone over, honey,” Dahlia said, turning her bug eyes on Markus. “Who is this?”
Would Markus even cop up to the relationship?
Markus sat up, brushing his hand over his hair. The motion made Starke’s stomach drop. It was so familiar, a gesture Cowl made often. Even if Markus had no part in their lives, there was still echoes of him left in the family.
“Dahlia, this is…um. This is Starke, he’s…”
“Your son.” Dahlia’s voice took on a polished tone, the plastic words falling off her lips to hit the floor. “It’s so nice to meet you, Starke. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Starke laughed out loud at that. “Both lies,” He said, climbing to his feet. “Don’t worry, I don’t want anything from you. I’m just taking care of my end of a deal.”
Dahlia’s face darkened and she leaned back, as if preparing a verbal bomb. Starke wasn’t waiting around for it. There was nothing she had to say that was worth his time.
“Wait.” Markus stumbled as he pushed himself up and hurried over to Starke. “Is there…I mean, can I do something?”
Starke shoved his hands into his pockets, rubbing the smooth edge of the shotgun shell he’d accidentally left in there a few nights ago. It must have lasted through the wash.
“Just stay the hell away and keep quiet. I’ve enough to take care of.”
Part Two:The Downward Spiral
Chapter One: How to Save the World
The soft ache of smoke, curling in the back of his throat, made Starke’s blood rise.
He tapped the top of the tablet on his knee and stared out into the buzz of business as usual in the Farmer’s Tier.
“Why no work today?” Cowl asked, reaching to snatch the joint from Starke’s fingers. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the railing of the balcony they had taken possession of.
“Why no apprenticeship today?” Starke mimicked.
Cowl shrugged and took a long drag. “Fair enough.”
Starke had shot the gears letting Cowl come along. The kid was in enough trouble as it was. If any guards caught him hanging out around the known “high risk” people Starke planned on chatting with today.
“This is shit weed,” Cowl said, handing the stuff in question back to Starke.
“Why you bothering, then?”
“You traded all the good stuff.”
Laughing, Starke finished a long drag and dropped the remnants through the grated squares below, watching the smoke trail disappear into the active vents. “That’s what it’s for. We don’t take from the merch.”
Cowl dragged his wrist under his nose and squinted up into the lights hanging over the crops. “Why do all that work if you can’t get a decent high every once in awhile?”
A good few feet below, a red-orange mess of fake dreadlocks bounced above the crowd as they weaved through the criss-crossed walkway. Three hours, that’s how late this loser was.
“Ok. Time for you to head home,” Starke said as he shoved himself up. “Get that smell off you before you go into the Hub.”
Cowl chuckled. “Right, like I don’t know that already. What about I give you some back up?”
“What about no.” Starke frowned at the too-obvious lump under Cowl’s shirt. Carrying his gun that exposed in Bunker was just plain dumb.
Starke shoved Cowl back down as he tried to get up. “This isn’t some stroll to the Pit and back. It’s not worth it. Go get some food and I’ll see you at home.”
Cowl frowned, his expression heavy with concern. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t his job to worry. It was Starke’s.
“I looked at those files,” He said.
“I expected as much. I’ll take care of it.”
Crossing both arms over his skinny chest, Cowl met Starke’s gaze. “Point is, I’m already involved.”
The clump of red hair was getting steadily further away. “I wouldn’t say that,” Starke said, pushing past Cowl and heading down the stairwell. “I would call you an overly-observant third party.”
“You can call me whatever you want.” Cowl’s footsteps fell only inches behind Starke’s own. “But I’m involved.”
That was the biggest problem with filling in for a parent: it required that he also be a role model. He could pick a fight, push Cowl into going home, but he’d just find another way to cause trouble. As long he played nice, the characters that they would be meeting today weren’t much worse than Capricorn or any of the other crime bosses in the Pit. It was the guards that were the issue. But if he took Cowl on runs to the Dust Towns but turned him away from a simple errand like this, wasn’t that hypocritical?
Was that the worst thing he could be?
“Come on. I’m a better shot than you. You’re gonna miss your chance if you just stand here arguing with me. And we are on a time limit.” Cowl urged.
“They should have put you in government. You argue too well.”
Cowl laughed, probably too loudly, and hopped up on the slanted railing, speeding past Starke in a blur of black and gray. “They knew better than that. I’d be dictator in a month.”
Starke shook his head. “I guess they have a few more years until you take over the world.”
“I’m not looking to fight the Wreckers,” Cowl said. “I’ll just take Bunker.”
The walkways below, weaving in and out of a ripening crop of tomatoes
and wheat, were choked with workers. Getting through the crowds would be trouble, but maybe if they slid in just right, Red wouldn’t notice that he had a tail.
The man they were trying to follow worked for a criminal named Friedrich, a “revolutionary” whose talk was enough to put him in hiding, even if he was about as much of a threat as the cockroaches that never did disappear, no matter how much they sprayed.
This was an essential part of Starke’s plan. They couldn’t go right for the throat. the City was too powerful. But a couple guys like Friedrich could stir up just enough of an undercurrent to make the culling a dangerous move. The trick was to make everyone think that their name was on the list. If the guards couldn’t even walk through the Farming Tier without inciting panic they couldn’t pick out their targets. The threat of shutting down production, alone, might be enough to keep the City from their plans.
Go about it the wrong way, go to someone too powerful or push that fear just a bit too far, and the citizens would riot and the only result of that would be a massacre. The goal was to save lives, not to make a statement.
One of the biggest problems with being short was the fact that tailing someone was exponentially harder in a crowd.
The muscles in Starke’s neck ached as he strained to see around the mass of humanity pressing in. They were blue collar workers: good old-fashioned men and women who didn’t avoid his gaze and duck out of the way like ashamed children. They didn’t move very much at all. In the Hub they worried about appearances and class and brushing up against the wrong kinds of people. Here in the Tiers, everyone was on the same level, which meant no one was too eager to clear a path for Cowl and Starke, even if they did smell like one of the plants they weren’t supposed to grow.
Starke pressed the butt off his handgun into his stomach with one hand, doing his best to keep it out of view. “Here.” He snagged Cowl’s elbow and tugged him towards a passage that opened to the side. The bright plant lights faded into rows of yellow and orange-hued bulbs as they pushed through the hallway. The crowds were thinner here.
Infraction Page 3