All Rights Reserved

by Gregory Scott Katsoulis

  Before I could even see what Kel had done, a door cracked open in the wall. Margot and Henri moved quickly inside. It was another Squelch. I hesitated, but what could I do but go inside? I had to hear what Kel was going to say.

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  Kel shook her head, and Margot and Henri stood stock-still. Had I really messed things up so badly?

  “The first thing we do is reconnaissance,” Kel said, breathing out slowly to center herself. “Reconnaissance first, then specifics. Prepare, plan and execute.”

  I was ready to burst into tears. If they usually prepared, why hadn’t they done it tonight?

  “But I wanted to see how you would do without preparation. I wanted to gauge your natural talent, because it is not possible to plan for all contingencies.”

  My brow furrowed. Kel squinted at me.

  “You understand, there are a hundred, maybe a thousand kids in this city who would give their right arm to have this chance,” Kel reminded me. “Kids on the brink of Indenture. I know of four kids shipping out in the morning to spend the rest of their lives baking in the field sun, or withering in factory shadows until they die.”

  I know, I wanted to say. She kept watching me. Did she not like the expression on my face? What was she looking for? Her hard look flickered, and for a brief flash, she seemed concerned.

  “This is where I lost it,” Margot whispered to Henri, but obviously it was loud enough for me to hear.

  “Margot!”

  “What?” she asked. “Speth is only going to stand there and look at you. She is not going to defend every action like I did, or fall over herself to apologize like Henri.”

  Kel looked from Margot, to me, and back to Margot, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. “I could have used ten more seconds, Margot, to measure her reaction.”

  Margot suppressed a smirk. Relief flooded over me. Kel was testing me. I hadn’t freaked out.

  “I didn’t apologize,” Henri whispered back to Margot, “that much.”

  “No, Henri. You begged. Please, Kel, tell me what I did wrong, please, please, please,” Margot mocked. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  “I only said sorry once,” Henri said, red-faced.

  “But you didn’t apologize.” Margot grinned.

  Kel rolled her eyes and stepped to my side. “I can read your face. Remember that. The Rights Holders can’t charge for expressions. It may not be an exacting method of communication, but it will do in a pinch. Understand?”

  I almost nodded in return. I raised my head, but didn’t drop it. Instead, I forced a smile, nerves interfering with letting one form naturally.

  “Look,” Kel said, showing me her Pad. She typed my name in its search box. Her finger hesitated over the ENTER button. “It isn’t tethered. The Agency designed this Pad to be self-contained. It quietly loads information without leaving a trace. They had to be sure it would work regardless of where we are or what we are doing. It’s exempt from word fees or tracking, like a Lawyer’s computer.”

  I’d been taught that software always needed to connect to the tether to function. I remember seeing diagrams in school that showed how all programming was interdependent, checking for digital rights management and payments. I suddenly felt foolish for believing it.

  “I am taking an awful risk, bringing you on,” Kel said, tapping the ENTER button at last.

  Did that mean I could stay? My heart skipped a beat.

  She turned the Pad to me. A map of my apartment came up, with its modest layout. Saretha, Sam and I were listed as occupants. Large red letters through the map text read:

  Placement Scheduling Window: Invalid. Continuous Occupancy: Saretha Jime.

  “Coming and going will be difficult for you. Your family can’t know you are a Placer.”

  I swallowed hard. As exciting as the idea was, she was right, and I was uncomfortable realizing she knew about my family. Of course she would have researched us. She tapped on my name and pulled up my profile.

  “This isn’t a glowing endorsement.”

  Speth Jime

  Age:15

  Height: 5’2”

  Consumer ID: 319-02-6651A

  Hair: Chestnut, Unremarkable

  Hair Style: Public Domain Style #14A-Short “Pixie Style”

  Rating: D

  Eyes: Brown, Unenhanced, Unremarkable

  Body: Standard, Thin, Unenhanced, Unremarkable

  Physical Condition: 96/100

  Rating: A

  General Appeal: C: Unremarkable, Disagreeable

  Personal Style: Generic, Unremarkable

  Socioeconomic status: 34/1000: Poor

  Debt Score: Fluxed -.101 to -.081

  Default threat: High

  Credit Score: 312/850

  Default threat: High

  Consumer Index: 32/500

  Rating: F

  Volubility Index: -Error

  Speech profile: -Error

  Loquaciousness Rating: 0/5000

  Social Influence Score: 88/100; Trending

  Emotional Index: 9/10

  Assessment: Volatile

  Gullibility Index: 3/10

  Assessment: Low

  Market Influence: 24/800

  Rating: F

  Geodemographic Group: P3-788: Portland Outer Ring

  Branding: None/Failed

  Rating: F

  Educational status: Grade 10 of 12

  Employment status: Purged/Redacted*

  BL Agency Profile: Irregularities in behavioral and consumer profile. Problematic obduracy. High probability of nonconformity and/or rebelliousness.

  Assessment: Disregard

  Keene Services Profile: Contractual irregularities. Irregularities in communication profile. Incongruity between influence and appeal ratings. Unpredictable behaviors. High probability of antisocial/anticonsumer action.

  Assessment: Threat

  Sloan Agency Profile: Uncommunicative. Obdurate. High probability of nonconformity/antisocial action. Volatile.

  Assessment: Threat

  “Her pixie cut is not a D,” Margot said, leaning in.

  “Margot, go set up your gear,” Kel growled.

  “Yes, Kel,” Margot said and saluted.

  It was a little startling to realize Kel could look up anyone on this Pad and get this level of information.

  “You need to prove yourself, Speth,” Kel said, clearing the information with a quick tap. “I probably wouldn’t give you a chance, except I happen to hold the obdurate and the volatile in high esteem. But that doesn’t mean you can get away with not listening to me, and it does not mean you have permission, or latitude, to do anything on your own.”

  She waited, then pointed down to the carpet. “Have a seat.”

  I did as she said, though part of me felt a little like a dog being trained. Kel knelt down before me. Her dark eyes locked on mine.

  “You have to promise never to steal—not from our sponsors, and especially not from the homes we will be in, no matter how tempted you are, or how much desire you feel.” She spoke with a seriousness and intensity that frightened me. I didn’t know whether she was morally opposed to theft, or if she did not want to jeopardize her job, or if it was something else entirely. I thought back to what Henri said that first night about her cutting the WiFi. Did that fall under a different moral code for her?

  “The places we are going...it will boggle your mind to see the scale of what some people have acquired.”

  Margot let out a delicious little hum, like she was tempted even by the thought of it all.

  “You will think they won’t notice, but they will. These people—every little thing is precious to them, and they’ll remember it, especially
if it is gone. They forgive nothing.”

  “Nothing,” Margot echoed, frowning.

  “Do you understand?” Kel asked me, refusing to be distracted.

  We looked at each other. My throat ached to say yes. She searched my eyes for the answer. What expression did I need to wear to convey my understanding? She stretched her legs, stood over me and asked again.

  “Do you understand?”

  “How—?” Henri started, but Kel shushed him, her eyes looking down at me. Why was she towering over me like this?

  Then, with a start, I realized what I was supposed to do. I leaned forward and pushed myself off the floor and stood up straight, my shoulders back, my expression determined.

  Kel nodded the smallest nod I could possibly imagine. Relief washed over me.

  Margot grinned. “This makes things simple. So Speth,” she said, tapping her finger to her lip like she was thinking. “Sit back down if you drink coffee.”

  What? Whatever relief I’d felt evaporated. Did they expect me to start communicating like a trained seal?

  “Margot,” Kel said, intervening between us, shaking a finger.

  “But you just—”

  “I didn’t do anything. I am assuming that Speth will not respond any differently in a Squelch than she would outside. If she ends up sitting, or standing, or jumping or itching her nose in answer to every question, everything to this point becomes meaningless.”

  I swallowed and waited to see how Margot would react. She grimaced.

  “I only meant to point out it would be much easier to communicate if we could...communicate.”

  “Does this mean she’s in?” Henri asked, like he’d been holding his breath.

  I was glad he’d asked—and for the change of subject.

  Margot frowned and elbowed him. “Henri the subtle.”

  “No,” Kel said quickly.

  My heart sank.

  “She needs to be cleared. I’ve put in with the Agency to ensure she doesn’t get any pop-up Ads that could disrupt a job. We will see where things are after a few weeks. If nothing goes horribly wrong...” Her voice trailed off, but the tone of it seemed to indicate there was hope. I didn’t want things to go horribly wrong either. I smiled as best I could. I would have crossed my fingers, but that gesture was Trademarked by Sands Inc.™ I looked at my Cuff, slightly giddy at the idea that it might never bother me again.

  “We start by looking at our targets,” Kel said, signaling that it was time to move forward and get to training. She tapped at the Pad and showed it to me again. I let myself relax slightly and focused on what she was showing me.

  The Pad showed the names and addresses of the night’s Placements, as well as a wealth of information about each individual’s buying habits, liquid assets, social networks, employment history and any preference or predilection you could dream of. It also had minutely detailed blueprints of every home and business we were assigned. The amount of information our Agency collected was astounding.

  “We can look up anyone and learn when they are likely to be home or away, awake or asleep,” Kel said. “So we can plan when to hit each spot and what route is best to take.”

  I tried to take it all in, but my heart was suddenly thumping. The Pad could look up anyone. It should not have been my first thought, but I realized I could look up Carol Amanda Harving. I could find out where she was, and maybe, somehow, get her to desist.

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  Slowly, I learned. After that first trial, Kel had me watch how the team worked. She showed me how to survey a space, step quietly and climb without sound. The Pad, however, she kept to herself.

  Henri helped me with acrobatics, showing me moves my gymnastics teacher never could. Mrs. Micharnd could not afford to clear the rights. Margot taught me the intricacies of arranging products and lighting them to the specifications of the Advertisers, all the while keeping an eye on me for trouble.

  Each night at half past midnight, I had to sneak up to our roof and wait for the team to get me. I made the mistake of thinking that, because I didn’t speak, it would be easy to keep my plans secret. But Kel had been right—our home was too small for me to easily sneak away unnoticed.

  Every time I moved to leave, Saretha shrank a little more. She was often up late, playing her futile Free-to-Plays. Her posture betrayed a jealousy of my freedom to go out into the world. She didn’t ask where I was going or what I was doing. She acted as if she didn’t care.

  Sam, on the other hand, reacted very differently. Saretha woke him with a loud sigh one night—too loud for it to have been an accident.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, blinking through the soft light of the wall-screen. I made to leave, shrugging the tiniest amount so he would know I had at least heard him. Sam’s feet hit the floor.

  “It isn’t safe out there.” He put a hand under his chin to remind me of the injury that had left its scar.

  He wanted answers, but more than that, he wanted me to know he was concerned. He followed me up to the roof in his bare feet, like he was going to protect me from whatever danger he thought might be out there.

  “It sure is nice out,” Sam said, looking around. This was his roof joke. The weather in the city never changed, only the color of the light that filtered through the thick, frosted hexagons of the city’s dome. That night they were a dark gray. I wondered what the sky looked like beyond. Were there clouds or stars? Was the moon in the sky? I wanted to see it with my own eyes. They say the sky is safe to look at once night falls.

  “I said, it sure is nice out,” Sam repeated, elbowing me this time. I didn’t laugh. I always at least smiled when Sam joked, even if his joke was terrible, but that night I sat rigid and expressionless. I was worried what Kel might do if she found I wasn’t alone.

  Sam scanned the rooftops. “Nothing,” he said, looking for Placers. My insides squirmed, knowing they would arrive soon.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he said.

  My stomach dropped away. I struggled not to respond.

  “You’re hoping Placers will find us. But if you sit up here every night, you’re just going to scare them away.”

  Now, despite myself, I laughed—from relief that he hadn’t found me out, and fear that he was the one scaring my team away.

  Sam looked toward the outer ring. There were fewer cars out, but those few went faster, buzzing through the night with a sound like a distant saw. Were they just going in circles for the thrill of the speed, or were some of them rushing off out of the city? Affluents could do that. They could leave. They probably knew where to go; they could afford to pay for geographical information. Were other places better than this? Was this the worst dome, the best...or were they all the same?

  “I wonder how you get to be a Placer,” Sam whispered.

  I still didn’t know how Placers recruited. Obviously not the way they found me. Henri and Margot didn’t seem much older than me. Had they been Placers long? Had they applied somehow?

  Up the block, a door opened. Sam looked over the roof’s edge to see and, despite myself, I did the same. Two people exited Beecher’s grandmother’s building. Above them, the light in Mrs. Stokes’s lone window on the third floor winked out. The two figures scanned the street, then each went their separate ways. I recognized the one coming toward us as Mandett Kresh. What was he doing?

  He walked briskly along, passing our building and rushing to his own. A pair of Ads halfheartedly lit in his path, then quickly faded away. Mandett didn’t have a Cuff yet, but the system knew someone was there.

  “What’s he doing?” Sam asked.

  I couldn’t shake the impression Mandett had just been to see Mrs. Stokes. Go down and see, I thought. Leave me alone up here. Maybe Sam could find his way to Mrs. Stokes.

  It occurred to me there we
re scarcely any true adults left in the Onzième. I tried to think of which families were still intact. A few families with younger children were still around, peppered through the buildings on the North end. Weber Spood’s mother was still in our building, though I had no idea where Weber had gone after graduation. Sooner or later, it seemed, one parent would go, and then the other. Debts were collected or violations were found. A few grandparents remained, too, like Mrs. Stokes, but they hardly went outside.

  Who had arranged things this way? It couldn’t be an accident. Was there a plan? The very thought of it made me sick. I had always believed the illegal download Butchers & Rog found was our stroke of rotten luck. The Inherited Debt Act and its Historical Reparations Agency were created by the government, not Butchers & Rog. Yet, somehow, it felt like it was them—and, worse, like it was personal.

  I scanned the rooftops of our neighborhood. My brow knit. That had to be a paranoid thought.

  “Are you mad about something?” Sam asked.

  I shook myself. I gave him the best smile I could. I couldn’t hold his hand to tell him it was okay, but I risked putting my hand down just a few inches from his.

  Sam’s expression softened. He seemed to understand. I was mad about plenty, but not at him. I longed to tussle his hair. Instead, I looked at the door, to him, to the door again. I waited for him to make the connection. I needed him to go. My stomach felt like a rock, trying to get rid of him this way, but he got it.

  He stood, dusting off his hands, and he smiled bitterly, his cheeks flushed bright red. “This is no fun anyway. I have to do all the talking,” he said, a little sharply.

  He left. The roof door clanged shut. Within a minute, the team arrived. No one looked happy.

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  At the Squelch, Kel said nothing about Sam on the roof. Instead, she pulled out her Pad and thumbed through my neighborhood. After a moment’s consideration, she pointed to a 3-D rendering of a building a few doors down from mine and zoomed in.

  “I’ll have the Agency print a locker here.” She spoke quickly. I had put us behind our time. She pointed to a spot on the roof. “So we don’t have to keep bringing you your gear.”