The Kota

by Sunshine Somerville

  They stood on the corner of an intersection. White stone and glass buildings rose around them, reflecting the light of a warm summer day. Everywhere Zaak looked, the city was clean and filled with people. The locals wore elaborately styled clothes (although the Elizabethan era took Zaak’s prize for most complicated clothes in history). Their hair was either multi-colored, cut bizarrely, or shaved.

  A loud, mechanical noise caught Zaak’s attention, and he looked up to see several levels of air traffic. Vehicles in the lowest level lurched forward as the light changed green. Back at the ground intersection in front of Zaak, he now saw that these streets were used mostly by pedestrians and cyclists. Only an occasional vehicle slid along the track system affixed to the middle of the roads.

  “Dominion cities use air streets for most transportation,” said Trok.

  He pulled on Zaak’s arm to lead him on down the sidewalk through the crowds. Once again, Trok walked as if he had no connection to the environment, and Zaak hurried to keep up.

  “That place,” said Trok, pointing across the street, “is what I’d call a fast food restaurant, but now they’re called food stopovers. That building ahead is a news station – Dominion controlled, of course.”

  Zaak looked back and forth along the street. “Wait, is this Boston?”

  “Resistance City now,” said Trok. “The time I took you to earlier was the final skirmish between the Dominion and what was left of America’s military. The rebels lost everything after Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and D.C. fell. Now, the entire eastern seaboard is controlled by Cruelthor personally, and this region is one of the nicest places on the planet. Not all cities are this beautiful. Not most. The Elite who govern Earth’s regions tend to be greedy and incompetent, but Cruelthor has no equal when it comes to running a region…efficiently. He’s invested in this place so people actually want to live here. He’s provided beautiful metropolises, stability, and opportunity. As a result, his region has the highest population on the Northern Continent.”

  “So I’d be smart to live in this region once I move here. I’d be close to where Cruelthor rules from, so I could more easily do damage to our enemies. And I’d blend in because of this region’s multitudes?”

  “You learn quickly, young apprentice.”

  “What’s that?” Zaak pointed to a hovering orb that floated over the crowds on the sidewalk. His eyesight caught a Dominion sign painted on its metallic surface, and its underside projected an infrared laser.

  “That’s a Dominion patrol machine. They sweep the crowds to read ID tags. There are hundreds of them in cities this size. They scan for wanted criminals, mostly, but they also send back records of their scans to the Dominion Capitol. If anyone later is being tracked, the Dominion can go through recorded scans and backtrack people in question.”

  “What’s that?” Zaak stepped around a line of people waiting to use a blocky-looking stand with a flipped-open screen and an antenna coming out its back.

  “That’s a public terminal. You’ll see them every few blocks. Unless you’re rich enough to afford personal household terminals, the Dominion’s public terminals are the only access citizens have to worldwide communication. The Dominion, of course, owns the majority of Earth’s satellites. An orbiting station, Solarus 5, controls privately owned satellites, but the Dominion still monitors half the frequencies transmitted through the ionosphere. That’s just one example of how Cruelthor finds a way to exploit a system trying to get around him. The Solarus Company is all that’s left of the World Space Program from back in my day. They’re taxed so heavily it’d be more profitable to sell to the Dominion, but the owners have rebel alliances. Cruelthor lets them stay independent because he knows he can keep making money off them through taxes and fines, and he can monitor half the frequencies anyway. Besides that, Cruelthor isn’t worried about the rebels communicating because they’re no real threat to him.”

  Zaak understood. “So if I want to have any decent way to communicate, I’ll have to get a personal…whatever you called it. And a Solarus transmitter that operates on the undetectable frequencies. I’m guessing they’re rare?”

  “Extremely rare. And, like I said, expensive.”

  A pretty girl with long, blond hair crossed paths with Zaak, and he turned sideways to watch after her.

  “That,” said Trok, “is what people call a teenage girl.”

  Zaak rolled his eyes. “Teen…teenage g…girl?” he said as if this was a foreign language.

  Trok laughed. “Okay, smarty pants. Go talk to her.”

  “What?”

  Trok stopped and leaned against the side of a building. “Tour’s on pause. You’re supposed to be learning how to interact with people, so let’s see how you do.”

  Zaak gulped but hurried after the girl as she walked to the back of the line for the public terminal. Standing behind her, he took a deep breath and tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, miss.”

  The girl turned and looked him up and down. She raised an eyebrow. “Miss? What did you miss?”

  “Huh?”

  “Huh?” she mimicked snottily. Then she turned her back on him. “Flush away, loser.”

  Zaak walked to Trok. His cheeks were burning. “Come on, back to the tour.”

  Trok was kind enough not to laugh. He resumed their walk. “If it makes you feel any better, I was never very good at that myself. I wish I could say practice helps, but…”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.” Zaak looked at his uncle in annoyance. “Do you really expect my people skills to improve if I keep practicing that kind of humiliation? What did I do wrong, anyway?”

  “’Cha’ is the word people your age use to refer to young women. There’s a whole new lingo you’ll have to learn.”

  “Like ‘groovy,’ you mean?”

  “Don’t ever say that.”

  Trok stopped on the sidewalk and crossed his arms with a scowl, and Zaak looked where his uncle was gazing. Across the street, fences surrounded a Dominion security station and what was left of the building next door. It appeared a fire or explosion had destroyed the building not long ago.

  This was more Zaak’s speed. “What happened here?”

  “That building was a Dominion medical facility.” Trok still scowled. “The Underground went all out setting up the Dominion on this one. They convinced the Dominion that the rebels stole equipment and were using this medical facility right under the Dominion’s nose. But the Underground never really used this place. They tricked the Dominion into blowing up one of its own buildings. It’ll cost a lot to rebuild. And, now Resistance City’s executives are a little rattled that their nice, secure city isn’t as protected as they thought.”

  “Well… That’s a good thing, right?”

  Trok said nothing at first, then led Zaak away. “Come. I want you to meet some people. We need to get somewhere isolated so I can open a portal.”

  Zaak looked back at the charred remains of the building, wondered what Trok knew that he didn’t, and jogged to catch up.

  A portal jump later, they were in El Miret, or what had been Detroit. This city was clearly not blessed with Cruelthor’s personal supervision. Everything was in a far worse condition than what Zaak had seen in Resistance City. Trok had brought him here to show him the real effects of the Dominion on the world. Those in the nicer cities forgot or ignored the oppression; those in cities like El Miret were much more aware.

  Now standing beside Trok in a dark warehouse basement, Zaak tried to mirror his uncle’s confident stance. In front of them, three men spoke in low voices over a table. The table was covered in organized arrangements of cases. Zaak wasn’t yet sure what they contained.

  Quietly, Trok told him, “Cruelthor has tight control on civilian life, and Dominion executives control most legal forms of business. So, you’ll first and foremost have to find a way around Cruelthor’s system in order to get what you’ll need to fight him.”

  Zaak glanced at the three men as they too car
ried on a whisper-y conversation. “Is now the best time for an economics lesson?”

  Trok smirked. “The black market is a valuable tool, and you’ll have to work with these people.”

  “That’s who these people are?” Zaak lowered his voice. “Trok, are you trying to get us killed? We don’t exactly have money to-”

  Trok opened his coat and revealed a pocket full of finger-long tubes with glowing fiberoptics. “I’ve always kept a stash of kronar, so it’s time we put it to use.”

  Zaak reflected on what he’d seen that day. “But I thought financial transactions all had to do with ID tags and palm scanners? You said the public terminals-”

  “The tags and scanners are the easiest way, and the safest. Loose kronar can be stolen. It’s pretty much only used for small, person-to-person transactions. The only businesses that deal exclusively in loose kronar are the ones not under Dominion control. That’s because they’re forced to use the tubes – they legally can’t even have palm scanners. Kronar tubes are taxed whenever they’re deposited into business accounts, so it’s hard for a private business to stay afloat.”

  Zaak understood. “So that’s another incentive for folding to Dominion control. If a business signs over control, they get palm scanners so it’s cheaper and less dangerous to conduct transactions. It also probably means attracting richer clientele, since no one risks walking around with a ton of loose kronar when you can instead use your ID tag.”

  “Exactly. The black market, however, uses loose kronar so they can’t be traced – it’s not like they have Dominion accounts. Most black market dealers have surgically removed their ID tags to avoid tracking. They buy and sell using loose kronar tubes, stacking up vast piles of tax-free fortune. But that’s dangerous, and they steal from each other constantly. Still, it’s not a bad way to live outside the system. The black market thrives in cities like El Miret.”

  “They’re not afraid of getting caught?”

  “Well, it’s complicated. The Dominion doesn’t control the black market, obviously, but Cruelthor is smart and uses it to turn a profit on old vehicles and outdated technology. The citizens know he does this, but they’re desperate and need whatever they can get. Cruelthor makes kronar off the organization that’s trying to get around him. He lets the black market thrive in cities like El Miret. Sometimes Dominion operatives even come to places like this and sell valuable goods. That’s one way these guys get supplies, anyway.”

  “And another way is?”

  “Stealing.” Trok motioned with his head toward the table. “I’m hoping what they have here is from the Dominion research facility in Capital City. Scientific advancements were astounding when I was on Earth, but the Dominion long ago ceased experimentation by civilian establishments. This was originally done to control research on the long-lived virus and its unknown treatment measures. Now, I think Cruelthor oversees the pace of research in all fields because he doesn’t want the citizens to get more than he can control. So, the only way to get any technology worth having is to steal it from Dominion facilities. Undercover rebels have infiltrated the Dominion, and they work with the black market dealers to smuggle out equipment however they can. Some experiments are reported as failed, some equipment conveniently gets lost in shipment…”

  “Falling off the back of a truck,” said Zaak.

  “Uh-huh.” Trok looked at the cases on the table again. “Last week, Cruelthor ordered Capital City’s research facility to develop a new kind of ID tag. He wanted it kept under wraps and limited to only one batch, and the scientists assigned to the project fortunately were Underground double agents. They completed the project but reported to Cruelthor that it failed. Now…”

  “You’re hoping these guys have the new ID tags? Why?”

  Before Trok could answer, the three black market dealers finished their private discussion and turned to Trok and Zaak. One man looked at a piece of paper and then isolated a particular case on the table. Another man crossed his arms and seemed ready for trouble. The third man came to shake Trok’s hand.

  “This your son?”

  “Nephew.” Trok’s tone was friendly, causing Zaak to look at him in surprise. “Good to see you again, Lamott.”

  “And how is your wife out in…Vancouver, is it? I can never remember.”

  “Vancouver, yes. My wife is great, thanks for asking.” Trok smiled. He clapped his hands together. “So, do you have what I asked for?”

  He knows they have the tags, thought Zaak. My all-seeing uncle probably tracked them here. We wouldn’t be here otherwise. But I still don’t get why we want them.

  Lamott turned to the case his companion had set apart. “I do indeed. You’re the first person to know about them. First come, first served. There’s never been anything like them, and I doubt Cruelthor will risk making more. Truly remarkable little things, and they’ll help a lot of people. Pretty handy for rebels on the run. Of course, once word gets out about the tags, I imagine I’ll run out quickly. I could charge anything I want for them, but for a friend like you…”

  Quite the sales pitch, thought Zaak. Even I can see through this guy. These dealers are just out to make a buck… Er, kronar. If they really cared about helping rebels, they’d give them away.

  “I can afford it,” Trok was saying. “How do they work?”

  “Jimmi.” Lamott snapped his fingers, and the second man opened the case as Lamott explained. “Each tag is less than half the size of an eyelash.” He lifted a sheet of plastic from the case. A pattern of dots on the page suggested the sheet held over one hundred of the tags. “To activate one, you just peel it from the backing paper. They have an adhesive that’ll stick to the palm of the hand for up to six months, but they’ll disintegrate once removed. They work just like a regular ID tag and are indistinguishable from the real thing by patrol machines and palm scanners alike.”

  “And they all share the same ID info?”

  “Yes, sir. The scientists didn’t want to risk making things more complicated by having to cover up so many different accounts, so they’re all the same ID.”

  Oh, thought Zaak. They can’t go to multiple rebels, in that case. It’d be too obvious that the account was fake if it started popping up all over the place at the same time. –Sand! That means in order for this to work, Trok’ll have to buy all of them!

  Lamott was on a roll. “The ID account has an operative classification. The scientists thought that’d be the hardest to decipher as a fake, since operatives have high-security restrictions placed on who can see their files. So, if anyone was suspicious about the tag, they probably wouldn’t have clearance to check. If they did have clearance, they wouldn’t find any real information in the file. Also, the operative classification means these little babies are linked to the open operative account. That means you can draw straight from the main Dominion financial account without throwing up any red flags.”

  So it’s a ghost key into Dominion finances! thought Zaak. Brilliant.

  Lamott seemed pleased with his spiel. “So, how many do you want?” He set the plastic sheet back in the case and pulled out scissors, ready to cut off as many ID tags as Trok ordered.

  “Oh, I’ll take the whole case, thank you.”

  Lamott’s double-take nearly made Zaak laugh. “All of them?” He chuckled. “Trok, each of these babies costs a thousand kronar. This whole case is ten million. And they’re one-of-a-kind saviors for rebels on the run. Even if you had the kronar, I’m not sure I could let you hog these treasures. Think of the good-”

  Trok opened his coat, causing the man watching for trouble to start before he saw Trok had no weapon. Instead of a weapon, Trok drew out one kronar tube and then another and another. He went on drawing out tubes until he’d placed a neat row on the table. The three dealers looked down as they counted the green and purple tubes. Zaak, having never seen kronar until today, had no idea what denominations the colors represented.

  “I trust that’s a sufficient bonus to keep you quiet ab
out this?” Trok smiled.

  Lamott licked his lips, still staring at the kronar. “I always wanted to retire early.” He smiled back at Trok and closed the case of ID tags, spinning it around so the handle faced Trok. “Nice doing business with you.”

  Trok nodded his thanks, motioned for Zaak to take the case, and turned to leave the basement. Zaak grabbed the case, smiled uncertainly at the men, and hurried to follow Trok. He scampered up the stairs and caught up with Trok as he opened the back exit.

  Once on the sunlit, dirty pavement behind the warehouse, Zaak looked at his uncle. “Okay, where did you get ten million kronar?”

  “Twelve million, with their bonus.” Trok smiled. “Let’s just say, there are advantages to being over five centuries old and knowing a little something about investing.”

  Zaak was still amazed, plus upset now. “And I’ve lived in a tent all these years?”

  “Well, consider the tags your future birthday presents for the rest of your life.”

  Zaak looked down at the case. “They’re for me?”

  “Of course.” Trok chuckled at Zaak’s confusion. “Like I said, you’ll need a way around Cruelthor’s system – without funds, you’ll never get anywhere. Now, you can tap directly into the Dominion’s own account and take whatever you want.”

  Zaak was stunned to silence.

  Trok looked ahead to the street, where a few ground vehicles drove by. “Wait here a second. I need to check on something. Then we’ll get out of here.” He walked away toward the front of the warehouse.

  Zaak looked down at the case and realized the value of what he held. Think of the life it could provide! He could live however he wanted. Like a king. He’d never dreamed of this! His whole life, Trok had expected him to just accept his destiny as a Kota Warrior. But…

  The decision before him made Zaak stop and think.