Implanted
Page 2
I hand the taser off to her. I’m moving before I even register the action. As though he’s just another thug I need to end in an arcade scenario, I snatch up a discarded brick and slam it into his head. The impact rattles up my arm, buzzes into my shoulder. Definitely not a simulation. But that doesn’t stop me from doing it again.
“Hey.” The girl grabs my arm, gives it a shake, and I drop the bloodied brick. “Pretty sure he’s out after that, if you didn’t kill him outright.”
Hands shaking, I take a step back, trying to look anywhere except for the trickle of blood oozing from his scalp. The alley presses closer, moldering brick and old flyers, the stench from a nearby dumpster wreaking havoc on my stomach. This isn’t what I planned. I thought–
Police sirens peal, and I practically jump. Get it together. I turn to the girl. She’s stopped crying. That’s good. “I was never here, OK?”
She nods slowly, then gives me a look that bruises. “I get it.”
Some of it perhaps, but not all. Not enough. I don’t bother correcting her. She’ll have enough to worry about when the police arrive.
“But tell me, how did you know?”
I squeeze her forearm, as if by touch alone I can impart as much fortifying sympathy as possible before I bail. “Doesn’t matter after today.”
Chapter Two
A complicated sort of lightness fuels my steps toward the train station, boiling over with commuters making their way to the lower levels after a long day spent in the offices and businesses overhead. Fewer of us are traveling to the city’s upper reaches. A security gate pings my implant and deducts the fare as I pass through. The other passengers are lost in their own little worlds, their eyes half-closed, rolling through eyecast commands.
I grab a seat in a deserted train carriage, and the weight of what happened this afternoon comes crashing down. Self-righteous victory burns in my heart, but it comes with a cost. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. I couldn’t stand if I tried.
Advertisements crawl up the windows on pinpoints of light as the train glides out of the station. Beyond, the gloom of the Terrestrial District slowly gives way to the merely drab Understory as we climb. The train spirals between buildings connected to one another by a network of concourses and skybridges. I’m glued to the window, waiting for that ineffable moment when we breach the Canopy and true daylight shines down.
With Breck arrested, the Terrestrial District is saved from another scrapper. Then I remember the comforting weight of the brick lodged in my fist, the wet thump it made against his skull, and I’m no longer sure of anything.
The right thing done for the wrong reasons has a way of poisoning everything around it. But he won’t hurt anyone else again. Not after the cops took the girl’s statement and bundled him away in handcuffs. Isn’t that what matters?
When I get off the train, I’m tempted to hurry back to the arcade and drown myself in another simulation to work out my frustration. But no. Sunlight’s the only answer for today, and I know just where to go.
Whenever I pass through Skychapel, a little ache blooms in my chest at the unknowable expanse beyond the dome. For a moment, I can forget all the things clamoring for attention and simply look up at the largest span of uninterrupted glass in all of New Worth.
No synch requests. No news alerts. Nothing but me and the vermilion sky.
For a moment, I can even forget what happened down below before my implant’s proximity sensor protests at the sudden surge in the evening crowds. Tourists from the lower levels and Canopy-dwellers alike flock here for the sunlight, spreading out on the manicured swaths of sweet-smelling grass or commandeering the benches that line either side of the walkway. Usually, I come for the thunderstorms. Nothing’s more exhilarating than the lightshow or the hammering of rain against glass. The heartbeat of the city.
Right now though, the sunset slides into twilight, but it’s enough to clear my head as I work my way against the current. Most people are shuffling toward the lifts in the opposite direction, ready to descend after a day spent shopping at the Canopy’s high-end boutiques or dining at the best restaurants the city has to offer. I should know better than to come here at this hour, but I can never resist the opportunity to see the sky through the clear panels.
Finally, I’m able to dart through a gap in the press of bodies. Personal space regained, I take a deep breath and hold it in my chest. Instead of the overly recycled air of the lower levels, in the Canopy everything’s fresh and clean, touched by the plants that cover nearly every surface with frothy tendrils. Even after four years, the air up here’s still a marvel to me.
Rik pings my implant. I jump guiltily, knocking into the woman walking next to me. “Sorry.” Still cringing at the accidental contact, I lengthen my stride and open the connection to Rik with an eyecast command.
<
Perceptive as always. I don’t know why it still surprises me. We’ve grown as close as two people who’ve never actually met can be. >>Something like that. How did you know?>>
<
>>So? I get some of the same thing whenever you take a shower.>> A slight tingle along my forehead nearly every morning. >>But at least I have the good manners not to mention it.>>
Somewhere out in the city, he laughs, the sensation across our linked implants effervescent, as though bubbles fizz against my skin. I rub my arms to banish the sudden goose bumps.
<
Giving the sky one last look, I cross the columned boundary separating Skychapel from the rest of the city. The massive things tower overhead, terminating in hyperbolic arches that mimic an actual forest canopy. Or at least as far as I can tell from my ecology modules at school. The architecture in the Canopy’s supposed to evoke nature, but one of my professors said once it’s more like an epitaph. A mere copy of what was – like so much else in New Worth – to hold us over until Emergence, the day we can finally leave the dome behind.
All I know, fake or not, the Canopy’s better than the Terrestrial District in practically every way.
I angle for a small overlook, my steps slowing as the city of New Worth spreads out before me. Terraced rooftops overflow with leaves cascading like waterfalls. Elevated concourses and skybridges link various buildings together, lined with vine-covered handrails. Further down, maglev trains glide along guideways connecting the different sectors of the Canopy to the levels below.
Growing up in the Terrestrial District, I never really appreciated the design of the domed city. The poor light and cramped conditions hide so much from view. But from up here, I’m always amazed at how the engineers were able to construct the skyscrapers and chain them together, all the while keeping us safe from the elements that seethed on the other side of the metallic glass.
As with anything, I guess it all depends on if you’re the one looking up or looking down.
<
>>Don’t mean to be.>>
His amusement dissolves, leaving only a slight tremor of uncertainty. An unconscious transmission from him, but it doesn’t change the way my stomach lurches in response. <
Biting my lip, I veer toward the railing. Below, the green of the Canopy eventually gives way to the gray cement of the Understory, then darkness. No help there.
I’m taking too long to answer, I know it. Just as I know I can’t blunt all the anxiety I feel – have felt – since Rik first proposed an in-person meet. And after that thing with Breck today… >>I’m not upset. It’s just that things between us are fine the way they are. More than fine, even…>>
He sighs, a slight ruffling that fills my ears. <
; >>But that’s just it. You can’t take it back.>> Through my gloves, I run a thumbnail over the ridges of the handrail, made to look like a tree root emanating from the trunk-like column at either end. Back and forth.
<
I push back from the edge and start walking again. >>Part of me really wants to. You can feel that much, right?>>
A smile this time. A slight tug at the corner of my lips tells me as much. <
My neck prickles, and this time it isn’t Rik. I glance back at the concourse, but no one’s paying undue attention to me. Not that I can be certain since everyone’s preoccupied by whatever their implants pipe into their field of vision.
<
I face forward once more, still unable to shake the crawling sensation of being watched. >>Nothing.>>
<
The immersive online game we met in a few years back. I was desperate to play the detective thriller after it won all kinds of awards. The only catch was I needed a partner since it wasn’t configured for solo missions. Rik and I were paired up, and the rest is history.
>>I don’t think my gut’s very reliable today.>> Going down to the Terrestrial District always makes me paranoid. That’s probably all it is. Rik’s familiar presence hovers at the edge of my awareness. Patient as always. >>Sorry I got distracted. You were saying?>>
<
Right. Not everyone finds someone to let into their mind. To formalize our relationship as confidants, we have to calibrate the data receptors on our hands, which means finally putting the face to the person we’ve been synching with for years. There’s no guarantee we’ll actually take things that far, but meeting face to face is the first step on that path.
I breathe out slowly. >>I just don’t want to break what we have.>>
<
>>I’ve heard too many stories of people who can’t reconcile the person they’ve constructed in their head to that of flesh and blood standing before them. Connections severed just like that because of unrealistic expectations. I don’t want that for us.>>
Rik simply lets the silence build, the connection between us alive with feeling. Synching can be surprisingly intimate, depending on how a user customizes their implant settings. The length of delay between thought and message. Whether or not nonverbals should be broadcast. The priority of the interaction over other tasks and contacts. We’ve become so attuned to one another over the years, now our connection practically vibrates with what’s left unsaid. My doubts, his certainty, yes, but also a desire for more – a strange sort of friction as we run up against the limitations of our current configuration, like a snail that’s outgrown its shell.
<
I feel it too. It’s why I took a chance and started talking to him outside of Partners in Crime. It’s why we’ve grown as close as we have despite all the very good reasons not to. You don’t let someone into your mind with no safeguards in place.
The next step, calibration, will further bolster our connection through shared feedback from our paired data receptors, making it even more immediate than synching. I’ll still be able to set limits on our interactions, define what Rik can or cannot see, as can he. But given how close we already are, calibration will make it harder to hide from one another. And goes against the whole idea of having a confidant in the first place – someone you can share practically everything with, good and bad, the awkward and the amazing too.
<
>>Can you blame me? The arcade attracts a certain subversive element.>>
<
I am, I nearly say, but manage to tamp down the impulse. >>Look, I gotta go.>> Then like a coward, I shut my eyes to close the connection, both welcoming and mourning the resulting emptiness in my head. But I wasn’t lying. I do have to go. I promised Brita I’d come to her party tonight.
The crowds ease up as I cut through a neighborhood built around a lavish courtyard brimming with palm trees and orchids. The sensation of being watched flares back to life just as a man, thirtyish, with olive-dark skin and a satchel strung across his torso, steps out from one of the doorways in front of me. “Miss Emery Olivia Driscoll? I’d like to speak with you.”
How does he know my name? Only law enforcement and anyone I’ve designated as an acquaintance should be able to read that off my signal. Even though he’s not broadcasting any signal info himself, between his tailored clothes and the cut of his gloves, he could be anyone who lives in the upper levels of New Worth. But it’s the crafty look in his eyes that sets off alarm bells.
Immediately, my guilty conscience plunges me back down to the Terrestrial District. What if he’s a cop, following up on what happened with Breck? No, that’s ridiculous. I was careful. I’m always careful. Besides, the police wouldn’t approach me like this. They tend to round people up first and ask questions later. This is something else. “What do you want?” My underused voice doesn’t sound nearly as forceful as I’d like.
“To discuss a mutually beneficial opportunity.”
I keep moving. “Yeah, right.” Though scammers are rife in the lower levels, they usually steer clear of the Canopy, with its frequent security checkpoints. But clearly not always.
The man arches a brow. I glance behind me. Sure enough, he has a friend. A Hispanic twenty-something with muscles I’m certain are the real deal, not mods. What have I gotten into? “We’ll be happy to explain everything in a more secure location,” the first man continues.
“Not interested,” I say sharply, despite the fluttering of panic sweeping through me. By the time the police respond, it’ll be too late, even in the Canopy. But I’m not helpless. I’ve made sure of that. Instead of giving into my shaking limbs, I focus on my breathing – deep belly breaths – and try to recall everything I know about the area.
“I’m afraid I must insist,” the first man says.
His partner strides toward me, determined to cut me off from the walkway leading back out to the main concourse. Can’t let them corner me. I hop the knee wall separating the walk from the large planter bed dominating the courtyard. Kicking up pea gravel, I sprint across it, intent on a set of stairs on the opposite side that should take me up to the next level.
One of the men curses. My world narrows to the thudding beats of my heart as I take the stairs two at a time. Then dash down another walkway. I slam into the evening crowds filing down the concourse, but at least I know where I am.
And what I’m going to do about the two men following me.
With a sequence of hard blinks, I turn off my implant and dart through clusters of commuters. Then I do something I haven’t done in years. In the automated cart lane, I find one only partially loaded down and vault on. I crouch so I’m hidden by the topmost crate.
In the Terrestrial District, it’s often a game to see who can hitch a ride on the carts without upsetting the cargo. Such antics are frowned upon in the Canopy, but so many people are using their implants to escape rush hour, I only get a few exasperated looks as the cart whisks me down the walkway.
By the time I reach Brita’s apartment complex, my pursuers long gone, it’s hard not to feel mildly victorious. But the weirdness of it all lingers, something I can’t quite vanquish even in friendly territory as I push past the guests already crowding the small courtyard. The door security has been disabled for tonight, which makes it that much easier to shoulder my way in.
I’ve been going to Brita’s legendary parties since we met in freshman Biol
ogy at the College of New Worth. She knows precisely how many people can be crammed into her off-campus apartment. How long it takes for the police to respond once guests start spilling onto the concourse. How loud the music can be before the neighbors complain. And then there are the decorations.
Tonight, she’s outdone herself. Streamers cascade down from the ceiling, shuddering through all the colors of the rainbow in time to the bass that vibrates the room. Luminous paint has been spattered against the walls, so artfully it looks accidental. She’s also done something to the filters. The air tastes of lime with an herbal tang. Invigorating enough to keep the party going all night.
Brita’s eyes widen when her attention lands on me. “Emery! You made it.” She tosses back her curls, dyed silver and glinting like metal links in the dim light. “I was beginning to worry about you.”
Her concern’s a knife-twist in the chest. I would’ve been here sooner if I hadn’t been detained. All the anxiety I managed to bury on the way over surfaces in full force. “Sorry. Something came up.”
She’s shed her gloves for tonight, revealing fingernails that reflect the colors swirling across the wallscreen opposite us. She catches me looking and lifts her chin defiantly, daring me to say something.
I don’t see the appeal of calibrating with random strangers, but Brita claims it’s a fun way to pass the time without having to let someone into her mind. Managing a potentially intimate situation by setting limits. All body, no brain, by augmenting a hook-up through shared physical impressions. The reverse of what I have with Rik.
But last time… I don’t need my implant to recall her tear-streaked face, desperate to clasp my hand after a handshake gone wrong. Something about the person in question spooked her, and she needed a palate cleanser, and fast. You wouldn’t know it looking at her now. All cool confidence, the eye of the party’s storm.
“Come on.” She takes my arm and leads me to the drink table. “Try this.” She picks up a pitcher of… something, and pours it into my glass.