The Rebel

by Gerald Brandt

  They’d been split up almost right away. Kai had been sent off to see if there was anything they could salvage from ACE, human or otherwise.

  Kris was given a room and left alone. They didn’t trust her. Every interaction she’d had with them had turned out badly.

  Pat had been assigned to the food detail. It was an important job, there was no doubt about that, but it wasn’t where she had wanted to be. Working with Kris and Kai on Miller’s rescue had proven that she had skills in high-level planning of black ops missions. She also learned that managing those ops had helped her PTSD. During the few days they’d spent on the rescue mission, her symptoms had dropped dramatically. It was the closest thing she’d seen to a miracle, considering how far out of control she’d gotten earlier.

  She hadn’t had any episodes since joining the insurgents, but then she hadn’t encountered any of her regular stressors. The planning and monitoring of missions had created all the stressors that normally triggered her PTSD, but somehow being separate from the actual action allowed her to control her symptoms using the mental exercises her therapist had shown her. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but for the first time, she had seen the light at the end of the tunnel.

  By placing her in charge of the food, the insurgents were taking that away from her.

  She jammed the comm unit back in her pocket, ignoring the call for now. She would deal with it later. Right now, Kris needed all the friends she had. It was bad enough losing your first love like she did. It was even harder when you were carrying his child.

  Time to get in touch with Kai and bring him back.

  LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 5:09 A.M.

  My dreams were of Ian, how his hand felt in mine, the scent of his skin after we made love. The dreams changed into nightmares as I watched him die all over again. As the early morning rolled around, the dreams shifted once more. I wasn’t there when my mom and dad had been killed, but in my tortured sleep, I watched the men hit them with fists and boards and pipes until nothing was left.

  The Ambients hadn’t risen to their daytime levels when I jolted awake, tossing the sheets off me into a puddle on the floor, blurry images of Mom and Dad fading from view. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood. My comm unit showed it was a bit after five in the morning.

  The water in the bathroom was cool. I dipped my cupped hands into the bucket and drank until it was half gone, using the rest to wash the sleep from my eyes. For the first time since Ian’s death, I didn’t use any water to wash puke down the toilet. The nausea was staying away, at least for now. When I was done, I left my room, closing the door quietly behind me. Uncertainty rose through me like a thick fog. I didn’t know if I wanted to stay here or go out on my own.

  The single guard at the parking garage entrance gave me a strange look as I rode out. I guess she wasn’t used to seeing anyone leave this early. It bothered me that there was only one person here. Even I knew there needed to be more sentries placed around the building. Maybe there were and I just didn’t see them.

  Once I was on the street, I turned left, away from Chinatown. Away from anyone who might have known me, almost wishing I could just ride on forever. I had thought I wanted to get back to work, to get out there and help fight the corporations. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to find Bryson anymore. All I wanted now was to be left alone.

  As I was speeding past the alley across the street from the insurgents’ building, movement in the shadows caught my eye. By the time I looked, the alley was behind me and I couldn’t see anyone. Another homeless person searching for scraps in the garbage, I thought. Too proud or too weak to take the short walk to the Chinatown food lines. I made a mental note that if I came back, I would try to find them and help. If they wanted it.

  I had no idea where I was going. Up was the only certain thing. Level 1 had never been a place I wanted to be. Not willingly. A destination formed in my head, creeping out from my subconscious at first, then exploding with the sudden intensity of desperation. I wanted—I needed—to visit Ian. To rest against the tree we had buried him beside and just sit. To let the stillness of the forest sink into me. It would be my first time back.

  It was still too early to get into the shinrin-yoku. All the public greenhouses closed for the night, and I’d have to wait a couple of hours before they opened for the day. I preferred to do that on Level 5.

  I rode through Level 2 to an up-ramp as a light mist started falling from the ceiling. It was the only thing the lower levels had for weather. Level 7 would have to have had a full-on thunderstorm overnight for us to get anything. Would the insurgents try to collect any water? It wasn’t good for drinking after it had filtered through all the crap above us, but it could be used for other things.

  I missed the rain and the sun and the clouds, my time at the ACE compound. They reminded me so much of Ian. Maybe too much.

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts and wiped the helmet’s visor with the back of my hand, smearing the dirt around until I could see. With my mind made up, I headed for Level 5 to wait for morning to arrive, then sit with Ian for a while. After that, it would be time to move on. I couldn’t live in the past forever. The world wouldn’t let me.

  As I hit the Level 4 up-ramp, two SoCal military vehicles tried to race ahead of me. I hit the throttle and the bike leaped forward, weaving between them. They pulled in behind me and stopped, blocking anyone else from coming up the ramp. One of the drivers jumped out and aimed a scanner toward me, yelling at me to stop and trying to read my tracker ID. I zipped around the corner before he had a chance. I slowed and thought about my options.

  They couldn’t know who I was, and chances were they didn’t care. Still, I could feel the old paranoia setting in. It was Meridian and IBC that had wanted me, and Meridian was gone. That meant this was probably a generic spot check or sweep, and not about me. Maybe they had found out some boarders had taken over the ramp? Maybe they were waiting for them? I doubted it though. Boarders weren’t worth the effort.

  Maybe they were finally blocking access to the upper levels. A first line of defense before hitting the fortified approach to Level 6. It didn’t make sense that they were doing it here. A Level 5 up-ramp would be easier to control . . . closer to reinforcements.

  More likely it was another draft. It seemed a bit early in the morning for it, but what else could it be? I didn’t have too much choice but to continue up. It didn’t dawn on me until I was almost at the top that I didn’t have anything to worry about. SoCal had blocked the up-ramp at the bottom. If they were planning something, it would happen on Level 4, not on the ramp. They were blocking a potential escape route.

  A shiver swept through me and the bike wobbled. I had just missed being caught in a draft.

  There was nothing at the top of the ramp, and I sighed in relief. I rode through the still-sleeping Level 4. More military vehicles sat at the bottom of the Level 5 up-ramp, but they weren’t blocking the entrance. Huge prefab fibercrete walls sat on flatbeds, waiting to be deployed. The same kind they’d used to block the hole in the wall on Level 1. I rode past them, and they barely gave me a glance. The closer I got to the greenhouses, the more military and police I saw. The insurgents wouldn’t be able to pull off another food heist, not for quite a while.

  I slowed down, taking my time. When I rode into Pasadena, the Ambients had reached their full strength and people had started appearing on the sidewalks. I slid the bike into a spot behind one of the many restaurants, most of them closed, and waited for the doors to the shinrin-yoku greenhouse to open.

  A motorcycle whipped past, too fast even for the nearly empty streets. I took a hasty step back onto the sidewalk. The idiot was going kill someone. On top of that, the rider didn’t have a helmet on. All I saw was a flash of brunette hair. The bike leaned around a corner as the greenhouse across the street opened. I double-checked for traffic and crossed.

  Wa
lking through the doors yanked me back to the day Pat, Kai, and I had brought Ian’s ashes in with us. The small box had been cradled in my hands and I’d been scared of dropping it. I had never felt so alone. This time, the deeper I moved into the trees, the more I felt him beside me, holding my hand. Leading me to where he lay. I took off my boots and walked across the grass barefoot, letting the conflicting feelings of love and loss and pain and remorse course through me. I didn’t take a direct route to where we’d buried him, instead wandering in amongst the white trunks of birch until my racing heart slowed to a more manageable pace. When I reached Ian’s tree, I almost felt at peace.

  The heart I’d carved was still fresh. Sap had leaked out and covered the wound, giving the inside time to heal. The scar would always be there, but the tree itself would continue. I only hoped I would be able to do the same. My back slid down the smooth bark as I sat and closed my eyes, breathing in the calm that seemed to fill the man-made forest. Even the sounds of a city waking became muffled and distant.

  I talked to Ian most of the morning, telling him about our unborn son and my daily nausea. About how I’d been fine this morning, and how maybe it was a sign of better days ahead. He listened in silence as I told him how I didn’t want to—couldn’t—deal with people and their sympathy. They were trying to help, but they didn’t know how I felt, how I was trying to cope with losing him. With losing us.

  When I got tired of hearing my own voice, I sat quietly with my eyes closed, remembering the good times we’d had. By the time I was ready to leave, I knew what to do next. That I was better than what I’d let myself become without him. I ran my fingers through the grass that covered his ash-filled box and moved my other hand to my belly. Ian was still with me, and he always would be.

  I stilled a quiet laugh. What did normal girls my age do? Probably not sit and talk to their dead boyfriend. Or maybe they did.

  I pushed myself into a standing position, leaning against the birch as the blood flowed back into my legs. My knees buckled from sitting so long, and the muscles tingled. I waited until things were normal.

  Though it made me uncomfortable, I was heading back to the insurgents. They were the best chance for making the world a better place. But first, there were some loose ends I had to tie up. I needed to see Doc Searls and talk about his son, Bryson. The only way to do that was if he was in his Level 5 offices. Pat, Kai, and I had agreed to search for Bryson, but I hadn’t done anything to help. I wanted Doc to know I cared, that I felt bad about losing Bryson that night.

  I also wanted to find Kai. I’d treated him like shit the last time I’d seen him. He didn’t deserve that.

  I’d have to sit down with Pat and figure out what my next steps were, ask why she and Kai hadn’t talked to me about Bryson. The conviction I’d felt after we buried Ian was still there, but it was tempered somehow. Pat was a good enough friend to help me with that. I would have to tell her and the insurgents about my baby. Just the thought of it scared me.

  I strode away from the tree, My connection with Ian lessened with every step I took, but I knew I’d be back as soon as I could. When I reached the gravel path, I pulled my boots on and tightened the laces. I was ready. Maybe for the first time since Ian had died. Like the tree, it would take time for me to heal, but it seemed as though the process had finally begun.

  The doors to the greenhouse were barely behind me when I saw someone I hadn’t expected. My breath caught in my throat.

  Janice.

  LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 5:52 A.M.

  Much like every night since she’d figured out where Kris was living, Janice had watched from the alley across the street. The garbage could be made into a surprisingly comfortable mattress once you got past the smell. She’d managed to get a blanket off of Jason. He was just about ready to ask for more from her, she could feel it. Some things never changed. Even in times of great turmoil and stress, the human life cycle continued. Now it was time for her to decide whether to let him ask and use him for whatever he could offer, or dump him and cultivate another source of extra food.

  No matter how comfortable the garbage pile felt at night, by early morning she’d had more than enough. Her back hurt in strange places, and the stench had become even more unbearable. She sat in the shadows with the blanket draped over her shoulders and watched the building Kris was in, keeping an eye on two windows in particular. Patience was the key. It always was on a stakeout. One day, a chance would come. Kris would head out alone or be too preoccupied with something, and Janice would be ready.

  One of the windows lit up. It was the one on the fourth floor, only a few doors away from the stairwell and the exit into the parking garage. Janice’s pulse quickened and she sat up straighter. Today might be the day. The light from the window flickered, proof that someone was moving around inside. When it turned off, she quickly folded the blanket and hid it a few steps down the alley. If it wasn’t there later, she could always get another one.

  Her heart raced when the sound of a motorcycle came from the garage. Janice moved to the front of the alley, still keeping to the shadows cast by the failed Ambient. As Kris’s bike drove past her, she turned and ran to the street at the other end of the back lane and pulled the moldy mattress off her own bike. Her patience had finally paid off.

  She checked the inside of her jacket again, patting the gun Miller had given her when the compound had been attacked. She didn’t have many bullets left, but all she needed was one. It gave her an odd sense of satisfaction knowing she would kill Kris with that particular gun, almost as if that’s what he had wanted. The bike pulled away from the curb, and she followed Kris to the up-ramp.

  Janice hung back as far as she dared. This early in the morning, there wasn’t a lot of traffic. Having another bike following you would be pretty obvious. When Kris hit the first ramp, Janice slowed down even more. Ramps were the best place for an ambush. The enclosed space once you reached the inter-level section didn’t give you much of a chance to get away.

  When she thought she’d waited long enough, Janice raced up the ramp, the back tire of her bike slipping on the greasy road created by the mist. A single taillight flashed up ahead—Kris hitting her brakes before turning. Janice surged forward.

  The trouble started on Level 3. Kris zipped between two SoCal military trucks. They pulled in behind her motorcycle, blocking the Level 4 up-ramp.

  Shit.

  Kris was the least of her worries now. Janice could see only one reason the military would block access, and that was to prepare for another sweep, to find “volunteers” for their army. This wasn’t good. She swerved left, the bike sliding in the loose, wet grit. She fought with the balance, jamming her foot to the ground and releasing the throttle, trying to keep the damn thing from slipping out from under her. The bike’s rear tire tapped the curb and stood upright, coming to a complete stop before teetering and falling over.

  Fear made Janice stronger, and she pulled the bike back up, starting to move before she was fully in the seat again. She couldn’t get caught in a draft. Not now. Not when she was so close. Later, after she took care of Kris, she would most likely sign up, even if it was just to get three meals a day and a warm place to sleep. Unless she could find another way to get to Level 6. But now, she had a task to finish.

  The front tire lifted off the road as she wrenched the throttle. In front of her, the telltale gray vehicles blocked the way ahead again. She was close enough to see about twenty people in uniform enter an apartment block. Apparently, it wasn’t good enough to nab people off the street anymore.

  Janice slammed on the brakes, throwing the weight of the motorcycle onto its front tire. She was turning before most of the weight had resettled onto the rear. A thin gap, still dark in the morning light, sat between two buildings. It was barely wide enough for the handlebars to fit. She didn’t hesitate.

  The bike squeezed through the narrow slot. Gr
ay fibercrete whipped past Janice as she focused on keeping the bike steady, the walls only a handful of centimeters away on either side. She hit a mound of garbage and the bike wallowed and wobbled. Janice twisted the accelerator and kept on going.

  Thirty meters later, the motorcycle shot out of the gap, exiting on a narrow street. Janice stepped on the rear brake, locking the tire, and swerved. The street was empty. To her right was the road leading to the up-ramp. It was blocked by military vehicles. She had made it past the blockade. The military had only barricaded a small section off, as though they had a particular goal or person in mind for this sweep.

  The only problem was she’d also lost Kris.

  She turned left, racing to the next closest up-ramp five kilometers away. It was an express to Level 5, but maybe that was for the better. Kris had been taking the most obvious route up, and Level 5 was as good a destination as any. The bike careened through the quiet streets.

  The ramp exited a few blocks from the greenhouses in Pasadena. There was no point in looking for Kris anymore. The number of different routes she could have taken, the number of different destinations, would make it impossible. A few weeks ago, she would have asked Jeremy or ACE for help. Now she was alone. Last time she’d seen Kris up here, she’d been at the other end of the greenhouses. It was worth a shot.

  People started appearing on the sidewalk, the early ones that were so full of energy that they had to be up and about. Disgusting, really. She’d never understood the need for early mornings, unless a mission called for it. She slowed down, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself.

  With the end of the greenhouses in sight and less than a kilometer to the next down-ramp, Janice decided to wait. There’d been no sign of Kris. This was as close as she was likely to get to Level 6 for a long time, so she might as well enjoy it. She left the main strip, hoping to find a plug-in for the bike. It was getting a little low on power. Behind one of the closed restaurants she saw something she hadn’t expected. Kris’s motorcycle. Instead of plugging in, she headed back to the main strip. The greenhouses hadn’t opened yet, and that meant Kris might still be on the street.