"You're always too busy to call your mother. Of course, when I was your age, I never called my mother at all. I couldn't because she was dead, so I guess I should be grateful for small mercies." Lilia let that one go. "I just told Eva that you hadn't called—"
"Hello, Lilia!" Eva called.
"Hi, Auntie Eva. Save some leftovers for me." Eva was such a fixture in her mother's house that Lilia called her Auntie Eva, even though technically she wasn't related.
"Not much chance of that!" Eva chortled out of sight.
"As I was saying, I told Eva that you hadn't called yet and that I should go over and check on your unit..."
"It's fine, Mom. I'll only be gone for a week anyway."
"You were only gone for the day at Gideon's funeral when it was broken into before."
"But there was a notice in the daily upload about the funeral. Some opportunist was just enterprising enough to look up my address. The police said it happens all the time."
"Someone robbed your unit."
"No, Mom, someone broke into my unit. Nothing was stolen. I didn't—and don't—have anything worth stealing."
"It can't hurt to check on things."
"But you don't need to bother." Lilia yawned.
"I should need to bother, Lilia." Her mother punctuated this with a savage gesture to some innocent foodstuff out of sight. "You should have houseplants or a cat or even a parakeet, something alive in that unit to keep you company, something that I need to take care of while you're away."
"You know I'm not good at nurturing."
"On the contrary, I think you'd be wonderful at it, if you'd just let yourself try."
Lilia didn't argue. There was never any fire in her mother's commentary. It was all just suggestion, and suggestion made because she cared.
What kind of a mother would Lilia have been?
She'd never had the chance to find out.
"You look glum," her mother said.
This is why she hated calling her mother—the woman missed so little. "No, I'm fine. Really."
"I hardly think so, but I don't know what you expected, going to that conference with those people. Lilia, I still can't imagine what made you want to be a Nuclear Darwinist..."
"We've been over this, Mom." Lilia yawned again, knowing it was rude but unable to help herself.
"And you've never once given me a decent answer. It never made any sense. For years, you know, I was certain you had done it just to piss me off."
Lilia jumped a little, but her mother was too busy to notice.
"But then you brought home Gideon and I thought that maybe there had been some kind of divine plan." She sighed.
Lilia forced a smile. "And here I thought you'd cheer me up."
Her mother fired Lilia a glance that could have singed a lesser mortal, despite the flour on the end of her nose. "You aren't doing anything foolish, are you, Lilia?" She held up a hand when Lilia might have protested innocence. "I know how much Gideon's loss hurt. But that doesn't mean that there's more to his death than you've been told, or even if there is, that it's wise for you to pry into matters better left unexplored."
Lilia fumbled for an excuse, but her mother had had thirty-five years with which to observe her idiosyncra-cies. "I'm giving out the award they renamed for Gid. You know that. They invited me."
"And I know that a year ago if they'd invited you to do any such thing, you would have told them to go to hell and not come back. You might have even given them a map."
Lilia didn't know why it always surprised her when her mother revealed just where she got that gift for plain talk.
"Well, it seemed rude," Lilia hedged. "After all, Gid was serious about his membership."
"Another mystery," her mother muttered. "How anyone so apparently sane as Gideon Fitzgerald could find anything of merit in an organization of self-serving—"
"Mom, the line might be monitored."
Her mother shook a finger and what looked like fresh pasta on the end of that finger waggled. "Don't poke your nose into business that isn't yours to investigate, Lilia. I want you to promise me."
Since Lilia had already done what her mother had advised her not to do, she changed the subject. "You know, the food is terrible here. What are you making for dinner?"
Her mother turned and looked down at the counter with some pride. "Tortellini. Rodrigo brought some organically raised chicken today, and it was so plump and pink that I couldn't resist. I cooked it and diced it, then mixed it with cream and a little Asiago cheese."
"I'm salivating already."
Her mother spared a smile for the feed. "The basil in the window greenhouse was just about to bloom, so I made a pesto sauce, even though you weren't here to peel the garlic."
This was Lilia's only job in my mother's kitchen: she was allowed to peel and chop garlic.
And to eat.
It was a good deal.
"And Eva brought some of her cheny tomatoes for a small salad. I think we're just about ready, actually ..." The doorbell rang in the background and Lilia heard Eva's high voice at a distance.
Some points belatedly got together to make a line. "Wait a minute. Is this the full moon?"
Her mother smiled. "Of course, Lilia."
"I forgot." Lilia hid yet another monster yawn behind her hand and fought the sense that she was being enveloped by cotton wool.
Or devoured by it.
Her mother shook her head. "To think I imagined that I had raised you right. I only make time on the full moon to make tortellini. They're so much trouble, and need just the right twist of the wrist to look right."
Lilia knew this story. "To look like the navel of Aphrodite."
Her mother's smile was quick. "A salute to the beauty of the Goddess." She glanced down and her smile broadened. "Who evidently doesn't have an innie."
Lilia laughed.
Someone called Lillian's name in greeting and Lilia's mom cast that smile over her shoulder. She leaned closer to the feed and let her voice drop. "Don't imagine that you've fooled me, Lilia. You didn't make that promise, which means you've already broken it. If you can't be good, at least be careful." She gave Lilia no chance to interrupt. "And go to church. Please."
With that uncharacteristic reminder—as sure a sign of her concern as anything could be—she touched the monitor with a decisive fingertip and killed the feed.
She was gone.
The hotel unit felt cold and empty. Lilia imagined being at her mother's home on garlic duty, joining her mother's friends at their feast. She could see the beeswax candles burning in her mother's kitchen, the warm golden light they cast, the laughter on those women's faces.
If home is where the heart is, Lilia's was in her mother's kitchen.
She sighed, just as the vid display faded. It was midnight. The image faded, as always, to the graphic of those two watchful eyes. It was an unwelcome little reminder that the Republic's fingers were shoved into the pies of all citizens' lives.
The image lingered for a long moment, just long enough to burn itself onto the retina, then the display faded to black. The room fell into shadow, but Lilia saw the eyes still. They were yellow against the darkness, a trick of physiology, seemingly watching her from whichever direction she looked.
It made her shudder.
She thumped her pillow, turned out the lights, and was dreaming of tortellini more quickly than anyone might have expected.
Lilia awakened sometime later, although she couldn't have said how much time had passed. It was late, because the hotel was quiet. But some threat had awakened Lilia. Her heart was leaping and her mouth was dry, her senses on full alert. She thought she had had a nightmare, but couldn't remember one.
Then she realized she could barely move.
She was in the nightmare.
There was a slight sound, a whisper of a footfall on carpeting. Lilia turned her head, moving in slow motion, and saw the silhouette of a man framed in the open door of her room.
She
knew the door was closed.
She knew the door was locked.
But he stood there, framed by the light of the corridor, all the same.
Then he slipped into the room, closing the door behind himself. The darkness swallowed his shape as he turned the lock. Lilia heard it click home and knew they were trapped in the room together. She tried to force herself to wake up, but she felt as if she was already awake.
If powerless. She tried to scream and made only a slight moan.
Her pulse went wild. She could hear him breathing, could feel him drawing closer. She could smell him.
This was no dream.
She was being robbed.
Or worse.
She wanted to blow him away. She wanted to surprise him, jump him and hurt him badly.
But she was paralyzed, trapped in her own skin as if she was encased in lead. Only her thoughts were free to race. A man was in her room and there was nothing she could do about it.
Except panic.
He moved to the closet, flicked on the light, began to rifle through her things. He went into the bathroom and Lilia saw the light come on, heard the tinkle of toiletries as he rummaged. He made no attempt to be stealthy, which meant he knew that Lilia couldn't do anything to stop him.
How did he know that?
The bathroom lights went off and Lilia knew things would get worse. He returned to the bedroom and walked toward her, purpose in his step. Lilia fought against her uncooperative body. She managed to lift her hand two inches from the mattress before it fell limply back down again.
He chuckled, just a little, not enough that she could recognize his voice. She did know, though, that he wasn't surprised by her state. She couldn't see his face, although she tried.
Just to make sure, he grabbed the bed linens at the foot of the bed and threw them over her head. She was bare from the waist down, restrained by a thin cotton sheet cast across her face.
It made her want to roar, but she couldn't even do that.
She was terrified. Her heart nearly jumped through the ceiling when he took her hand in his. He was wearing gloves, Lilia could feel the faux leather. She realized that he didn't intend to leave any fingerprints. There'd be no evidence of his presence except what he did to Lilia.
But what would be his crime of choice? Lilia feared one particular outcome, but he surprised her.
It was her left hand he held, a detail that should have warned her. Lilia moaned when she felt the metal probe slide into her palm. It snicked home and a tear rose to her eye when she realized his intention.
He was downloading everything she had.
Her breath came in anxious spurts and she fought to scream or save herself. It was pointless and he knew it. He took his time, so much time that he must have copied every single file. Lilia could see the faint glow from her palm through the sheet but nothing else.
He abruptly pulled out the probe when he was done.
Lilia felt violated and dirty and helpless. There were angry tears on her face, even as a wedge of light became visible through the sheet.
The door to the corridor closed behind the intruder with a decisive click, leaving Lilia in silence and darkness.
XI
Friday October 30, 2099
Montgomery changed into street clothing at the end of his shift, choosing purple lace with his customary black trousers and jacket and cloak. He'd blend into shadows better without the flash of white cuffs and collar.
"Big date?" Thompson teased but Montgomery just winked as he pulled up his hood.
His gesture wasn't accidental: it plunged his ear stud into darkness, so any interruption in the signal wouldn't be immediately noticed. He returned briefly to his cube, purportedly for his gloves, and bumped his desktop with his hip. He heard the slight snap of the connection to the wall port being broken. He couldn't remove the new ear stud and he couldn't damage the buried receiver, but he could still disrupt the signal.
For now. He left the precinct quickly.
None of his coworkers would have been surprised that Montgomery's steps turned toward the pleasure fringe. His standard excuse when he was late or unavailable was that he had been in the pleasure fringe. The other cops assumed he went there for the usual reasons, but the simple truth was that Montgomery preferred to be unobserved, no matter what he was doing.
The watchfulness of the Republic bothered him, on principle.
He and Lilia had that in common, at least.
Montgomery strode through the silent streets. It was two in the morning and the respectable avenues of the Republic were empty. He moved through the darkness confident that if he was observed, no one would be able to identify him. That silvery fog was creeping along the street again.
There were a thousand ways to disappear, even in the watchful streets and alleys of New Gotham. Montgomery was aware that Rachel had showed him all of the ones he knew. In fact, how to disappear had been the first lesson she had taught him.
He slipped from the street to first level of the nether-zones, making random choices with practiced ease but steadily heading toward his destination. He felt Rachel's presence keenly, as if she was sitting on his shoulder, guiding his impulse. He followed every whim that he might otherwise have thought was his own.
Upon his arrival on earth, Montgomery had accepted the illusion that all was just as he'd seen it, quite literally, on the surface. He'd never thought about what made the commuter conveyors work or what made elevators go up and down or what kind of fuel powered the many labor-saving devices of the Republic.
Rachel had enjoyed opening his eyes to this slice of reality. The netherzones had been a shock to Montgomery and he'd never fully recovered from his first journey into the Republic's underworld. Rachel had revealed a hidden network of avenues and passages to him. Every street on the surface was echoed belowground and most buildings had basements that opened into the netherzones.
The hidden labyrinth was where the dirty work got done.
Rachel had told him of a rumor that a person could walk the length and breadth of the Republic without ever seeing the light of the sun. How else could the Republic move military equipment and troops without any evidence appearing on satellites? Montgomery had learned that there were passageways for police use only that did not appear on any maps, passageways with hidden and locked accesses known only to a few senior personnel.
In urban centers, there were characteristically two layers to the netherzones. The first layer, closer to the surface—often jokingly said to be between heaven and hell—was where the commuter conveyors were installed. Parking garages might have been on this level in former oil-rich incarnations of the Republic, but those vehicles had been supplanted by bicycles and rickshaws.
Petty crime was a persistent problem on this level, given the poor lighting conditions. Norms and shades whose defects were sufficiently minimal for them to work as domestics could be found on the upper level.
The second and deeper level was the exclusive domain of the shades. The doors were locked and posted with No Admission signs so citizens couldn't wander in and take a peek.
Rachel had taken him there, as part of her orientation lour.
There were usually fluorescent lights hung at intervals, because they were comparatively cheap to operate, but the intervals were long. There were no skylights: light coming down meant views available to those above. For shades, this dark realm of concrete and steel might be the only world they knew.
Montgomery could still hear Rachel explaining that the development of the netherzones had been a rational result of economic crisis. As the Republic collectively ran out of crude oil ("scraping the bottom of the $25,000 barrel of oil by 2030," in Rachel's words) there was an impetus to find other sources of energy.
It was still possible to buy gasoline, but it was expensive, even on the black market. There were still those who could afford automobiles and air transit, but a contrail high overhead would bring a crowd of norms to open-mouthed silence.
Who better to enslave than those believed to be inferior? By 2030, as if by divine plan, the human gene pool was filling with simpletons. That those children were the result of radioactive fallout was not an issue. Norms— notably like Ernest Sinclair—took what "nature" had given and put it to work. Those children with diminished IQ and mild deformities were perfectly good at generating electricity.
One of the most popular rationales was that they never knew the difference. Montgomery didn't believe it. He'd been shocked on that first trip to the netherzones, appalled to see shades harnessed to equipment, drugged and exhausted and compelled to work to the death.
Maybe that was why no one was allowed into the deep netherzones. Montgomery's overwhelming sense was that of the injustices that humans served upon members of their own species.
The shades were like the norms. They were human.
But norms made shades what they had become.
In the netherzones, the truth of human nature was inescapable. His first doubts about the merit of his quest had come to him in the netherzones and those doubts still haunted him. Should mankind be saved from itself? Was there enough good to merit the sacrifice made by him and others?
Montgomery wanted to believe that it was so.
He walked through the netherzones quickly, avoiding glimpses of what he didn't want to see, and felt an overwhelming kinship with Lilia. Her fierce rejection of this world and its implications was one of the first sensible objections he'd heard since his arrival.
Maybe all humans weren't the same.
Maybe that was justification enough.
Lilia awakened, feeling like something one of her mother's cats might have left on the kitchen floor.
At least she could move, although her body's response was still more lethargic than she might have hoped. She wondered whether her neurons were patching through a third world satellite feed instead of using her internal highways and byways to get the job done.
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