Unbreakable

by Will McIntosh

  As the conversation quieted, Celia and Anand found a seat up and off to one side of the camp. It was more than big enough for them to share. Celia sat with her back to the wall, hugging her legs, the city stretched out in front of her. The stiff, steady breeze was unnerving; she knew it wasn’t hard enough to blow her off the perch, but it was enough to give her the sensation that it might.

  “So you were right about Bage. I guess I wanted to fit in so badly I didn’t want to see the truth.” It still stung, to think they’d just pretended to be her friends.

  Anand shrugged. “Seems like some people here are bastards, others aren’t. Just like on Dominion.”

  “They really made us in their image.” They made us. That was another thing that ached, right down to her bones. “I still can’t believe they made us for their TV shows.” She looked down at her hands. “When I was younger I used to study my face in the mirror, looking for clues about who I was. You know—where I was from, who my parents were.” Celia laughed. “It turns out I didn’t have any parents. I’m not from anywhere.”

  “It doesn’t matter how we got here. It’s how we live. That’s how we know what we’re worth, not whether we had parents or not.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just need it to sink in.” It was easy to feel like nothing, like a fly, a mosquito, when you could barely reach a door knob. The smirks from strangers on the street didn’t help.

  “If they made me, and they can control what people look like, why did they make me look like a hamster?”

  Anand burst out laughing. “You don’t look like a hamster. Who told you you look like a hamster?”

  “No one,” she said, thinking of Constantine and his nickname for her. “There are mirrors, you know.”

  “I can’t believe you think you look like a hamster.” He turned to study her face. “You’re beautiful. You have the most unique, most striking features I’ve ever seen.”

  “Unique among humans. Among hamsters I blend right in.”

  “Can I kiss you?” Anand asked.

  The question took her by surprise. “I don’t know, can you? I would have been cool with it pretty much at any point from the swamp on.” She immediately felt bad for making a joke of it when she saw the stinging hurt in Anand’s eyes.

  She leaned in, let her lips barely brush his. Just a whisper of contact, an instant of warmth. She caught a whiff of wood shavings from the pencils he was always sharpening with the little sharpener he kept in his pocket.

  “That contact wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No,” Anand said. He was shaking, as if it was a freezing wind cutting through them, not a warm summer one.

  Celia leaned in again, kissed him quickly. Anand leaned in as though he’d been walking in the desert and she’d pulled away the canteen after only allowing him a sip.

  “I’m touching you,” he said, “and it’s wonderful.”

  He leaned in and really kissed her, their lips gliding together. She drew back. “We’ll take it slow. Until touching means something different for you.”

  He was slightly breathless. “I think I made some real progress just now. But, seriously, thank you for understanding, for being patient with me.”

  #

  In the morning Maurio took them to the ground to meet a woman. It felt strange to walk on solid ground after a day and night on the wall.

  Celia was expecting the meeting to take place in some back alley, but instead he led them into a suite of offices. Genetic Justice International was stenciled on the door. They were greeted by an orange and black more or less human-looking robot wearing a French beret.

  “Please have a seat,” it said amiably, pointing to a grouping of chairs and a low bench. “Calysta will be right with you.”

  Celia had barely made it into her seat when a forty-something Latina woman burst through an inner door. She took in Celia, Anand, and Beaners.

  “Oh, my God. It really is you.” She rushed to shake their hands. When she got to Anand, he held both of his in the air. “I’m Calysta Delacruz.”

  She turned to Maurio. “Mr. King, I can’t thank you enough. I have to admit when you came here earlier I wasn’t sure I believed your story.” She gestured toward the door. “Please, come into my office.”

  “I think I’m going to take off,” Maurio said. “You’re in good hands now.”

  Standing on her chair, Celia gave Maurio a fierce hug and thanked him profusely. Anand thanked him profusely without the hug, and Beaners shook his large hand.

  As Maurio headed for the exit, they followed Calysta into a small office with a window that looked out on a public playground, where boys were kicking around a soccer ball on the pavement. Calysta offered them water in pouches and trail mix before settling behind her desk.

  “You people have had quite an adventure. And I do mean people. I sincerely believe you’re people.”

  “Thank you,” Celia said, straining to keep it from coming out sounding like a question.

  “I know you’re not familiar with our organization.” She handed them each a pamphlet. There was a baby dolphin on the cover, with hands and feet, riding a tricycle. “GJI is dedicated to fighting for the civil rights of genetically engineered beings. We want to make it illegal to own a sentient being. We’re petitioning to get you the right to vote. It’s been a long, ugly fight, and I’d be lying if I said we’re winning. But we’re trying.”

  “You got any chocolate?” Beaners asked. Celia wanted to kick him in the shin.

  “I don’t,” Calysta said. She looked around before opening a desk drawer and pulling out a tin of mints. “This is all I have.” She offered them to Beaners.

  Calysta talked for a while about GJI over the crunching of Beaners working his way through the mints. Finally, she leaned back and said, “The first thing we need to do is get you to France.”

  “What? Why?” Celia asked.

  “Dominion can’t reach you there. Not legally.”

  Celia absorbed this. “So we run away?” And abandon everyone in Dominion to their fate.

  “You’re not running. You can help us tremendously from France. If you’re willing.”

  “Doing what?” Celia asked.

  “You’re celebrities,” Calysta said. “Maybe not A-list celebrities, but a portion of the population knows you well. We can capitalize on that by giving the three of you your own micro-channel.” She waved her hands in the air. “We mix in entertaining slice-of-life segments with information about the plight of the people Dominion is exploiting.”

  Celia held up her hand. “Wait a minute. So we’d still be a TV channel?”

  Calysta seemed surprised by the question. “The only way to shift public opinion is through entertainment media. If it’s not a show on the net, it’s pointless.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll be giving you a lot of guidance once the channel is up and running, but Celia, I can’t stress this enough: you have to get the viewers on your side. That’s how you beat Dominion, not by fighting them.”

  Celia wasn’t sure she wanted the viewers on her side. She wanted them to feel ashamed, to hate themselves for watching people suffer for entertainment. She wasn’t sure how to do that, though.

  “It’s all about the viewers. They’re pulling for you, now get them to love you. Once they love you, we can convince them to boycott Dominion’s shows.”

  “Boycott.” It sounded one step removed from standing outside Dominion headquarters carrying signs.

  Calysta could apparently read the disappointment on Celia’s face, and probably on Anand’s as well. “That’s our best chance to bring them down. It’s not like we can firebomb their offices.”

  Calysta’s words conjured an image of Sander, the explosive going off in his hand. Was this as close to winning as Celia could hope for? It definitely wasn’t the finale Dominion was hoping for, but it meant giving up any hope of saving Molly. She looked at Anand.

  “At least we have some allies. I wish I could think of some way to
break Dominion’s back tomorrow, but I can’t.”

  Celia hesitated. She didn’t want to agree to this, but what other choice did they have?

  Beaners cleared his throat. “You planning to ask my opinion?”

  “Sorry. What do you think, Beaners?”

  He gave her a thumbs-up. “France. If Dominion can’t touch us there, that’s where I want to be.”

  Chapter 22

  Tall buildings crowded the banks of the River Liffey, if you could call them banks, because the river was hemmed in by stone and concrete on both sides, with dozens of bridges spanning its length. Their boat was run-down and small, the engine sputtering, bubbles rising from the water by the back propeller as if the boat had gas.

  Standing on the narrow stone dock, Calysta handed Celia a handstrap. “Contact me if there’s trouble. I’ll help if I can.”

  Celia went up the steel gangplank, found a bench at the back of the boat and climbed onto it. She couldn’t help feeling Dominion had won. It felt like they were giving up. Celia hated giving up. It made her sick.

  Anand sat beside her, leaving only an inch of space between them. “You okay?”

  Celia shrugged. “Somewhat. Marginally.”

  The boat pulled out and rumbled down the Liffey toward the Irish Sea. Celia fiddled with the handstrap to distract herself from the brick in her stomach. She found the Record Breakers show. Her old team was the center channel, the highest-rated attraction, although from the look of things the high ratings weren’t helping their finances any.

  She tuned in on Molly, who was cleaning her room, which was so typically Molly that Celia chuckled. The camera panned out; Celia was startled to see a neatly-made bed against the opposite wall of the tiny room. Celia’s bedspread was on it, her stuffed animals lined up facing Molly’s bed. Celia’s brush, her purse, hair clips, and toothbrush were laid out neatly on one side of the dresser.

  Molly had moved Celia’s things to the new apartment. She was waiting for them to be roommates. Until Molly retired, of course.

  Celia turned off the handstrap, wishing she hadn’t looked in on Molly. Calysta had said they were going to take down Dominion eventually. It would be too late for Molly, though, and thousands of others. Exactly how soon was ‘eventually’? A year? Ten years? The pamphlet said they’d been at this for sixteen years, banging their heads against the impenetrable wall of Big Money.

  The river opened onto the waters of Dublin Bay. The farther they went, the sicker Celia felt. She closed her eyes, and once again saw that yellow tube exploding in Sander’s hand, the debris rocketing upward as if fired from a cannon.

  “You okay?” Anand asked.

  “I can’t go to France,” she whispered.

  Anand spun in his seat. “What? What do you mean?”

  Celia closed her eyes. The ocean breeze struck her, carrying the scent of salt and fish. “Molly has my things laid out in our room, all my stuffed animals lined up on the bed, waiting for me.”

  “What are you saying, that you want to go home to Record Village?”

  “No. I want to stop this, and not by being a prop in an advertising campaign.”

  Anand started to speak, stopped, exhaled in frustration. “I don’t understand you. People risked their lives to get us out of here, and now you want to go back to the island? To do what?”

  The words stung. “I’m not asking you to go with me. They can drop me off. You and Beaners can go on to Bordeaux.”

  Anand buried his face in his hands. “This makes no sense.”

  “I guess we’re all damaged in one way or another. You thought you were too damaged for me? Surprise.” Celia stood, called to the woman at the wheel. “We need to turn around. I’m getting off.”

  “What?” the woman and Beaners shouted in unison.

  Beaners, who’d been leaning at the railing by the bow, came storming toward her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Ignoring Beaners for the moment, Celia went to the captain, or whatever she was, and convinced her that she was serious. Profoundly confused, the captain turned the boat around.

  “Why? Why?” The whites of Beaners’ face were dark pink.

  “They were watching us run for our lives, and starve, and be terrified. Like it was a movie, only they knew it wasn’t.”

  “Do you have a plan of any sort?” His hands were balled into fists at his side.

  Celia shook her head slowly. “I keep seeing Sander. He keeps blowing himself up. Over and over again.”

  Beaners threw his hands in the air. “How is that a plan?”

  “It feels like it’s been about a hundred years since we lost Sander at that construction site, but how long has it been? A week?” Celia asked.

  Anand nodded. “That sounds about right.”

  Beaners gasped, his eyes wide. He pressed his face an inch from Celia’s. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What?” Anand said. “What am I missing here?”

  Celia stared out into the water, but she wasn’t seeing it—she was seeing explosions. “The plan is, I’m going to blow Dominion Island to hell.”

  Beaners waved a hand at her. “Good luck. I’m going to France and stuff myself with chocolate until I vomit. Every single day.”

  “And you should. You don’t need me anymore. You can take care of yourself. Anand, too.”

  “I’m going with you,” Anand said.

  “No—”

  “No!” Beaners shouted over her. “Do you think they’re going to take just me to France? One of you has to go.”

  Celia started to tell Anand to stay on the boat, but he cut her off. “Are you sure you have to do this? Because, till now everything you’ve done has made sense to me. This doesn’t. This feels like a different sort of giving up.”

  Celia shook her head vigorously. “Don’t come. I don’t want you to come. That attitude will drag me down, and right now I need to stay positive.”

  “‘That attitude.’ You mean, being realistic.”

  Celia pointed at him. “Exactly.”

  Anand nodded. “We’re back to the guardian angel.”

  “Maybe.”

  Anand looked up at the sky, and sighed. “Well, I’m going with you whether you like my attitude or not.”

  Celia wasn’t sure what to say to that. She desperately wanted Anand to come with her, and desperately wanted him to go to France and be safe.

  Anand put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “If we go back there, blood will spill. They’re going to be shooting at us for real. Either we kill them, or they kill us.”

  “I understand.. I still want to go.”

  “What’s your plan, exactly?”

  The boat pulled up to the dock. Calysta was waiting. She looked pissed.

  “We blow the walls, get the people inside the towns to fight.”

  Anand pressed his lips together. “With what?”

  Celia threw her hands in the air. “Whatever they have. Axes, bats, butcher knives.”

  “You really think you can convince people with knives to go up against Redsuits with rifles?”

  Celia punched Anand’s shoulder, hard. “We’ll figure it out, all right? Don’t bring me down.”

  “Fine. Good plan. Let’s go blow up some walls.”

  Calysta met them on the gangplank. “What is this?”

  “We’re going back to the island to start a real revolution,” Celia said.

  Calysta slapped a palm over her eyes. “Don’t tell me this.” She let her hand drop and glared at Celia. “We took a risk getting you on a boat. Now you want to run off and storm the castle? No.” She pointed up the gang plank. “Get back in the boat. Please. We know what we’re doing.”

  Beaners was standing by the railing. “Come on. She said please.”

  Celia swallowed, stepped past Calysta, bumping her knee. “If you know what you’re doing, why are people still trapped behind those walls?”

  “Because this is more complicated than holdin
g your breath or staying awake,” Calysta shouted at her back. “The real world is messy, and complicated.” She got louder as Celia walked away. “This is a golden opportunity to hurt them, really hurt them, and you’re blowing it.”

  #

  Using Calysta’s handstrap to navigate, they headed to the intersection of Little Britain Street and Campbell’s Court, the corner where Dominion had been sending them the day they’d gone underground.

  It was a quiet area with a few shops. Celia had no idea where the camera was. She held her head high and looked all around, hoping the facial recognition program would pick her up and alert someone.

  She turned to Anand. “I just want to go home. I miss my friends, my team. I’m a record breaker—that’s what I do. This world is just too crazy, too complicated.” She was just a simple bumpkin runt who had realized her place in the world.

  Anand tilted his head, as if considering. “We broke out of there. Why can’t we break back in? Let’s go home.” He was such a terrible actor that Celia had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Now we have to find that tunnel,” Celia said.

  “Oh, come on. You don’t want to swim back?”

  “I don’t ever want to swim again. I’m not sure I’m ever going to bathe again.” She felt pretty good about that line. Hopefully it got a few laughs.

  So where was the tunnel? She called up information on the handstrap, and was greeted by a flat, perfect, woman’s voice. Celia asked for directions to the tunnel connecting Dublin with Dominion Island.

  “No problem,” the phone voice said. “Walk south on Guild Street. To your left.” The voice stayed on the connection, directing Celia and Anand as they walked two miles (which felt like six if you were two feet tall) to a stretch along the river that was lined with windowless, decrepit warehouses painted red, and marked Dominion in block letters. They walked past a bay door where workers were unloading boxes from a truck.

  “Look at the size of the boxes,” Anand said.

  Celia took a closer look. The boxes were strapped into groups of six to make them look and handle like one big box, but they weren’t. They were meant for small hands.

  “Let’s walk around.” If Celia’s message had been received and they were back to being a show, the producers might create an opportunity for them to stow away on a train to the island.