The Vorkian [a dystopian novella]: The 2250 Saga

by Nirina Stone

  “What future do you reckon she’ll have in Apex? With her father working out of a Clothing Factory?”

  I don’t expect what he makes to be much. His credits have to be far less than mine, that’s for sure. They always pay the worst jobs the better wages. And you don’t get too smelly, working in a Clothing Factory.

  “I can assure her a better future,” I say. Though I’m not sure where I’m going with them, the words roll off my tongue. “I have quite a savings,” I say. “And much more coming. Along with whatever you have left, we can make sure she has a decent future.”

  Shen leans back into his chair, his eyes not moving from mine. “You—you would do that?” he says.

  I nod. My credits weren’t about to go to anyone else, anyway. I don’t need to spend much, I never have. When I die, it will sit in a vault until a random Prospo decides to claim it, maybe to buy their second or third heliplane.

  “I have no heirs, Shen,” I say. “I have no kids. I’m happy to give your daughter everything I have and everything you have. She will be set. She won’t have to worry about working for any of the Prospo. Ever.”

  I’ve heard about what our girls have to do. I’m sure it’s not all rumour, any more than the fighting pits are rumour or the Vorkians are just a rumour. I’m certain it’s all true. At least, I’m hoping Shen knows it’s not all rumour.

  “How can I trust you’d do that?” he says. There’s no way he could.

  “Vorkian’s honour,” is my reply. I don’t bother talking about his sacrifice or his name. If he believes all that, and all the book spews, he doesn’t need me to yammer on about it.

  His eyes flash again, and I realize he’s fighting tears.

  “My daughter could have a good life,” he says. “Well better than it is, than it would be.”

  “She would,” I promise. “I’ll make certain of it.”

  “Huh,” he says, placing the ROSiE on the table and sliding it towards me. “I guess you win.”

  I pick up the weapon and aim it at his outstretched neck.

  “I promise you,” I say, “you have my word.” Then I push the button.

  After transferring the funds to Shen’s daughter, I commemorate my old roommate with a brand of a hooded skeletal figure holding a sceptre. Seems fitting. Shen would appreciate the humour in that.

  And I couldn’t make myself get a brand of a donkey, no matter how much of a Smartass he was.

  Then, before I talk myself out of it, I make my way back to Celeste and her big purple bed.

  Part Two

  Before long, I don’t need to shadow Benta anymore.

  And just three years later, I am my own contractor, with my own ROSiE. I call her Penny—a flower name is too obvious.

  I also own a full Vorkit: a foldable mini-vacuum and small scentralizer for the nose, for the moments when people dispense their goods after Penny does her job. It plugs the nose completely, which is why most Vorkians breathe through their mouths, smiling as they do.

  I never use it though. There are worse smells than death.

  And the last thing in my kit: a syringe and vials for a concentrated hit of jane, to help relax the more strung-out clients.

  I stroll around Prospo City early in the morning. Can’t sleep past four, anyway. It helps me prep for my day, the walk. This is a far better job than I’d ever imagined.

  Since the final, I’ve purchased several colourful bowties, opting to wear simple dark shirts on days I think of quitting. Those days are few and far between, lately.

  There’s something about the way people react when they see me walk by that makes me grin wider. What’s on their faces is a mix of fear, awe, and respect; but mostly fear.

  If only they knew how much they should fear us—a Vorkian’s even scarier than you’d think. I should know. What’s scarier than death? Death Doctors who sell the idea to you as the only viable option.

  There was only one time when I wanted to quit all this—to run away, to find a way to escape, hopefully with my life.

  I’d shadowed another Vorkian named Vratch for a half a day. All was well—he was fast, efficient. He comforted his clients, he negotiated well with them, I was learning quite a lot. He made it all seem easy, doable.

  Unlike Benta, Vratch spoke a lot. “I’m a sensor,” he’d stated.

  When I’d asked what a sensor was, he said, “I’ve been at this long enough to have instincts you’d envy. I know—simply by looking in a person’s eyes—that they’re ready to die. Even if they haven’t called one of us yet.”

  Well that’s a unique talent, I’d thought at the time.

  When his eyes landed on me, I put on my best I’d-like-to-keep-living-please face. One might wonder what that looks like, and I’ll confirm it’s harder than you’d imagine. It involves bigger eyes and a small tight smile. Not too big to give off a desperate impression, but not too small to smack of sarcasm.

  And he’d been a Vorkian for even longer than Benta. So I thought, Sure I can do this.

  Up until the moment he sliced a client’s tongue out of his dead body and proceeded to chew on the thing like it was a mid-morning snack.

  “Want to partake?” he’d asked, in between bites.

  This is so not what I was forced to sign up for. I said, “No thank you,” like a polite Citizen.

  Making a mental note to myself, I thought, If it ever occurs to me this sort of activity is okay, it’s time to retire. I ignored the fact that, by the time I’m past the point of knowing this was wrong, it would be too late.

  Then I made my way out the door into a waiting autocar, spent a stupid amount of credits to get away from him, but not nearly enough to take me off planet. I went back to my old underground home, but couldn’t get past the veda doors.

  Something blocked my Alto from unlocking them, which meant the flat was no longer mine.

  That’s when she called me on the communibot, my Celeste, urging me to come back. Seducing me with her eyes, promising me things she hadn’t done before.

  But I couldn’t take the image of Vratch out of my head. So when I didn’t reply, she became more threatening.

  On my way back to the Vorkian site, I realized she’s gotta be the best Vorkian they have coz she’d accept nothing less than a resounding yes for an answer.

  I’ve had to learn over the past years to overcome all that. Because my only other option is elimination. I’m not ready for that quite yet, thank you very much.

  Anyway, I used to be nothing. Look at me now.

  I used to be an invisible stinky barrier when I was in Recyclables Science. We always started out early in the morning, so we weren’t around to be smelt or seen by the more important people in Apex. We were no more than shadows. I used to be the lowest rung on the ladder.

  Now I’m at the top of the food chain—not really, but it sure feels like it.

  Now, there’s something else that makes me stand out. I’m a shadow to be reckoned with. Well I don’t mind it one tiny bit.

  I don’t even think of them that often anymore, as long as I stay busy.

  I’m also getting faster at the job. We contractors don’t get paid on the days we have no clients, so I make sure to have at least ten in a day.

  Despite what Benta taught me, I don’t bother learning clients’ names or anything to do with them other than their face, location and if their credits transfer.

  Things are easier that way. Faster. I can’t afford to get attached or I will want to retire early.

  I’m set for life already. Still, getting my name referred over and over again is a much bigger boost to the old ego than the credits or any visits to Celeste, no matter how good she is.

  So I make my way to the top floor of a Prospo building, about to help my eighth client of the day. I walk through the front door as instructed and a running girl with a flushed face skids to a halt in front of me.

  She’s certainly not the client. But hey, no harm in offering her my aid too, if she’s so inclined. I’ve had two
fers before—it’s rather efficient, and easy to carry out, if you think about it.

  Her big dark eyes grow wide as saucers when she glances at the door behind me, then back at my mouth, which is now nice and big and toothy. I’m proud to note, I’ve perfected it after all this time.

  I shut the door and slink into the room, taking my time, relishing in my effect on her.

  She frowns and backs away, still keeping her eyes on me.

  Then a man I recognize as my client finally enters the room, through a cleverly hidden trap door in the wall to my right.

  The girl speaks to him, but I don’t pay attention. Maybe it’s a goodbye convo—it’s none of my business, and I hope it’s fast.

  I follow him into the living room where he takes a seat and gestures to the other white couch facing him, until I sit too.

  Bringing Penny out to charge her up, I realize the girl’s still around the corner, watching us. So I ask if she’d like to learn more or if she knows about heaven.

  The answer is a simple, “No.” Quick, curt, though I’m surprised she’s replied at all.

  The way she answered leaves me amused, and now curious.

  “What do you think happens after death?” I ask. I never bother asking clients their thoughts. I don’t normally care. Still, she’s interesting. People don’t stay around this long if they haven’t called us.

  Her answer’s so soft, I’m not sure if she’s spoken at all. It sounds like she says “Peace,” and she’s gone.

  Too bad. She and I might’ve had more to talk about.

  When she’s finally out the door, I turn back to my client.

  “What made you become a Vorkian?” the old man asks. This is the first time the question’s been posed to me. Clients don’t care about me—they just want to get their transition on.

  And I wonder if he’s actually curious to know or if he’s trying to buy time.

  In any case, my time is currency. So I say, “I’m here to help you with a smooth transition. Your sacrifice is great and you will be emulated forever in the Omega book.”

  “But why?” he insists. “Why do you do it?”

  Something Benta had said once flashes in my mind.

  “Well,” I say, “you don’t need me to do this, do you old man?”

  My lack of diplomacy gives me pause for a moment. Still, his eyes stay on me and I don’t think I’ve said anything that should make him uncomfortable.

  He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.

  “Here’s my thought,” I say, as I bring Penny up. “There’s a certain beauty in death done right. A certain elegance to it. I’ve decided to embrace it.”

  For a moment, he doesn’t speak, and I wonder if he’s finally ready. Then he says, “Would you like to know why I want to die?”

  I can see he’s well on his way. He’s probably close to two centuries old. Who knows, maybe his nanites are too good, too strong, and he’s impatient to move on.

  I’m allowed to deny anyone the honour if they’re this far gone but I’m here already. Why waste the trip? I grant him a slight nod, encouraging him to continue.

  “The world’s about to end,” he says. He leans his head down, turning to offer me the back of his neck.

  “The world ended a long time ago, old man.” I place Penny against the nape of his neck. He won’t feel a thing, the process is fast and painless as long as I hit the right points.

  I’ve heard some people see a wall of smoke and shadows at the end, followed by a small flash of bright light from a corner before they die. Maybe it’s a visual echo of the spark of death from the ROSiE?

  It doesn’t matter, anyway. I realize there’s no real way to determine if that’s a true story, but I’d like to think it’s something pretty to see.

  “I wish you a peaceful transition,” I say, then pull the trigger.

  Afterwards, I scatter the old man’s ashes in the gardens facing his room, and get a brand on my skin for him. It’s a tiny grey bird with big black eyes. The eyes give the bird a curious, clever, but also innocent vibe. Just like him.

  I still think of him as I sit in the mess hall with some of the fellahs including Chang.

  “You not going to her anymore?” he asks. He doesn’t have to say who. I know he means Celeste. I don’t bother answering—it’s not any of his business.

  Ever since Shen’s transition, I barely chat with the others anymore. Who knows what other tests we may have to endure in future? Shen and I weren’t close, but I think we were starting to become friends.

  None of these guys are my friends. Since our final exam and licensing, some of them have moved to apartments in Prospo City. I tried it out, and lasted all of two months before I moved back on site.

  It happened after one of the other fellahs ended up stealing a commission from me. If I remember correctly, his name was Jacko.

  “There’s only one way to solve this dilemma,” Benta had said at the time.

  Half an hour later, we were all in one of the fighting pits.

  Jacko and I were surrounded by our brothers as we went after each other with whatever weapons they threw into the ring. Jacko was stronger than me, leaner and meaner and far too clever.

  He had me good and beat, to be honest. I can’t fight to save anything, I’m slow, and hate confrontation, but I was pissed. He’d stolen my commission—a big one too. One that should have been mine as all of them should have been mine.

  I don’t remember the whole fight too well, and it took a good long time for my nanobots to fix the damage Jacko did. I do remember he was running to pick up a knife someone threw into the ring, probably to finish the job. I leapt onto his back, wrapped my legs tight around his waist, and dug my fingers into his eyes until his screams drowned out the yells of our brothers.

  No one’s tried to steal another sale from me again. Afterwards, I moved back to the Vorkian site. It didn’t take long to move. I’ve never owned much.

  At least here, I’m surrounded by others like me, not by a bunch of scared Apex people. I like my effect on them, but only a little bit at a time.

  I just tuck into my meal, not thinking about anything but today’s schedule.

  Today, I aim to have twenty clients.

  I’ve already gone to Benta to ask him how it’s done. He introduced me to a Doctor in the black market who injected me with a banned nanite-booster. It will stop me from falling asleep for as long as a month at a time.

  “It’s called Herocodacaine,” the Doc had said. “But there are several side effects. It’ll thin your skin, turn it grey, the more you use it. Eventually your teeth will fall out. Oh and food will taste weird—”

  No matter. I can buy new teeth, made of material much stronger and shinier than anything we humans can grow on our own—just like Benta’s teeth. Like Vratch’s too, I think, before pushing the memory aside again.

  As for food, well that’s what black market sugar and salt and fat are for, aren’t they?

  Sleep used to take up eight hours of my work time. I could easily fit eight or nine more clients, from start to finish, including travel. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

  The extra four hours will involve all the other stuff I need to do during the day—eating, playing, and whatever else I choose.

  I’ve also started praying though I’m not sure if I’m doing it right since I’m not yet qualified to read the Omega book. Still, I pray. It keeps me calm, it’s a meditation of sorts.

  So I’m all Hero’d up and ready to hit the town.

  “Say you had a choice,” Chang says to the guys. “I mean you prolly won’t,” he chuckles. “But say you did. What way you wanna go?”

  One of the others says, “Quietly, in my sleep.”

  Yeah. Sounds good. Peaceful.

  Chang says, “I hope to die in bed too, when I’m two hundred. Inside a gorgeous brunette at least a century younger than me.”

  The laughter turns into coughs and I finally look up. They’re eyeing me expectantly, waiting for an
answer.

  I’d never thought about it—the way I’d die. It’s not something I’d care about. I still don’t answer. I just stare back and end up grinning until the laughs and coughs stop, and they all turn their heads away.

  Uncomfortable, I guess. Whatever, I’m not interested in chatting with them.

  I’m picky with my time. Time’s credits.

  There’s only one sale so far that I almost lost since Jacko, it would have been two months later. Where I nearly failed at an assignment. I showed up to an unoccupied house and realized my client made a run for it before my arrival.

  When that happens, could you believe we don’t just take the credits and move on? No. Because that’s terrible customer service. We’ve been commissioned and we have a job to do.

  So I logged into my virtual satnav—I got the fellah’s face, name, his Alto number, everything I needed to track him down. I was miffed at this point. Coz I had three other clients waiting patiently for me to arrive after this one was done.

  My satnav showed me he was five blocks away but, whatever vehicle he was in was making good time. However long it would take me to chase him down was time taken from my other clients.

  So I got on my communibot to see who was working near the area. My luck, it was a fellah named Biff. I barely knew him, but he was the closest so I pinged him.

  When his face popped up behind my right eye, I told him the sitch.

  “I can slow him down fer ya, mate. What are we talking?” He was asking how much this commission was worth to me.

  After Jacko, he knew better than to take it off my plate, but he was not stupid. Time’s credits.

  “How’s about a quarter?” I said, thinking I would need to go handle another client nearby first, so this would have taken about an hour of Biff’s time.

  “Hmm,” he’d said. “How ‘bout—gratis now, and you hand over a full commission to me next month.” A full commission of his choice, is the unspoken agreement.

  Oh. Tricky little bastard. He could clearly see the client’s credits didn’t amount to much, compared to most of my work.

  “Deal,” I said and his face was gone.