Implanted

by Lauren C Teffeau

  I can’t remember a time when I was that carefree. Not down here.

  The further out I go, the quieter the streets, the wider spread the street lamps. People are still out and about, but I can’t expect them to step in and help a stranger if things get bad. Not that I’d blame them. Keep your head down and keep going is the Terrestrial District motto.

  Despite all that, some businesses make a go of it down here – those with infrastructure tied to the land before the dome went up, or more often, manufacturing and engineering firms that would be unseemly in the upper levels of New Worth. In the distance, I can just make out the greenish glow from the windows of one of the city’s vertical farms, reaching up into darkness. They often span dozens of levels to make distributing food more efficient. My parents’ apartment used to face one of them, a stripe of windows running down its side. From our living room we could see the robotics shuttling back and forth as they harvested plants, and even the condensation of water vapor and nutrients that inevitably collected against the glass. The grow lights in the distance always helped me navigate to and from home before I got my implant.

  But the familiar sight doesn’t help my nerves as the streets get less crowded, checkpoints further apart, and rent-a-cops guarding storefronts increasingly visible. Concrete transitions to packed dirt. I forgot how different it feels underfoot. Solid, in a way concrete can’t replicate.

  Finally, I can make out the apartment complex in the gloaming. Well, more like a stylish capsule residence. But it looks like a ghost town at the moment. Empty storefronts on the ground floor wait to be leased out for essential services for the tenants. Surprising, given the demand for housing down here, even if it’s a bit off the beaten path. A good twenty-minute walk to the lifts and even further for the trains.

  Through the front gate and across a courtyard in desperate need of landscaping, I find the rental office. I’m swiftly ushered into a conference room by an unsmiling woman in a business suit way too nice for the lower levels. Probably thinks this job’s beneath her in some way. Rik works down here too, but I can’t imagine him acting like such a snob. Actually, it’s probably better I don’t imagine him at all.

  A male technician of some sort has the scrubbing kit already laid out for me.

  I take a deep breath. No one here needs to know this is my first job. I push up my left sleeve and fit the medical cuff over my arm. The tech carefully connects me to a modified scrubber unit. Unlike the one Tahir made me practice on, this one includes another piece of equipment that converts the data-encoded blood back into digital info they can access while I’m scrubbed. As the tech turns on the scrubbing unit, I try not to think too hard about the blood being pulled out of my body. At least it doesn’t hurt – it feels like more the constant suction of a tiny drinking straw.

  The woman moves to the tinted window overlooking the street, arms crossed, sentry-like in her silence. A few minutes later, the tech grunts, “First bit’s decrypted. Should be in good shape.”

  The woman turns back to the table. “Excellent.” She looks in my direction, somehow managing to avoid my eyes as if she wants as little to do with me as possible. Despite my training, I suppose some people will only see me as someone in the service industry. A very rare and expensive service, but a service nonetheless. “Once the scrubbing’s complete, someone will come by to see you out.”

  Her lack of interest in me is mitigated by Tahir’s approval as I report in. <
  My stomach swoops as scrubbed blood loops back into my body. Now for the hard part – sitting quietly for an hour of hemodialysis. Thank goodness for implants.

  I must’ve dozed off because I jump when the scrubbing unit chimes and automatically shuts off. The tech flashes me a smile before returning his attention to the data readout.

  “Everything as it should be?”

  He nods, and I happily disconnect myself from the machine. “You know your way out?” he asks.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  I retrace my steps, eager to get back to HQ, but when I reach the courtyard hundreds of people have gathered in front of the complex. My implant’s proximity sensor would’ve told me there was a concentration of signals so close, but this…

  Then it hits me. Disconnects. Hundreds of them. Someone sees me and points. That can’t be good. I turn on my heel and duck back inside. The woman in the suit’s nowhere to be found, but the tech’s where I left him in the conference room.

  “Umm, did you know Disconnects have the entrance surrounded?”

  He groans. “Again?”

  “What do you mean, again?”

  He gets up from the table, and I follow him down the hall. “Management refuses to lease to Disconnects. We can’t afford to since they have a higher risk of defaulting on the rental agreements. This place needs seven years of full occupancy just to break even. So they’ve been picketing and harassing our residents and any potential renters that come this way.”

  “Not every Disconnect’s a degenerate.” They’re hurting themselves by not renting to even the highly motivated ones who’ve found steady work despite not having implants. “Besides, this location isn’t particularly desirable, even if it’s brand new.” Making it harder to recruit the type of renters they want.

  “I know, but I don’t make policy.” He nods out the window, where the demonstrators are lined up. “We hoped all the updates would convince people to move out of some of the more central slums, but it hasn’t happened yet. And the protesters have made it that much harder to get things up and running.”

  And probably why the complex has been working so closely with the Department of Economic Development. It isn’t good form to get too curious about the clients we work for. Tahir always says curiosity killed the courier. As a result, our focus needs to be on completing a secure data transfer, not the reasons behind whatever secrets we’re ferrying. But there’s no rule forbidding me from using prior or freely available information.

  “I usually just camp out down here until they leave,” the tech says with a shrug.

  “Well, I can’t do that. Is there another way out?”

  “Guess you could cut through the basement.” He leads me to a flight of stairs and down a hallway scented with damp and construction dust. “Keep going, and you’ll exit on the far side of the complex. Good luck.”

  When I reemerge on the street, no one’s in the immediate vicinity as I dart down an intersecting alley. Voices from the crowd reach me in snatches: “Don’t cut out the Disconnects” and “New Worthians no longer.” The chants grow stronger with every footfall. Along with my resolve. I won’t let this demonstration ruin my first courier mission for Aventine.

  Ahead, the faceted bank of lifts resolves out of the gloomy distance. My escape valve to the Understory. But my relief’s short-lived. An even larger group of protestors congregate there like a blood clot, the pressure growing as more of them pour into the street.

  >>Tahir, I have a problem.>>

  Immediately, his attention snaps to me. <
  I tell him and take a few pics of the rally with my ocular boost. Already an animated exchange between one of the onlookers and a Disconnect has morphed into a shouting match. I don’t want to be here when it graduates to shoves and punches.

  Tahir curses to himself. The sudden jump in intensity across our connection a dead giveaway. <
  >>You want me to hole up in a maintenance area?>> I open my map and start scanning.

  He sighs. <
  Immediately, my mind rebels. >>You’re kidding.>>

  <erstory, clear?<<

  >>Clear.>> There’s no point in arguing. I can feel how closed off he’s become, like a door slamming shut. Now it’s just a matter of finding the old access stairs that connect levels, usually located near the lifts. The set Tahir’s routed me to goes through a warehouse that transitions into an apartment building a few levels up. Mandated for public use, which means anyone can use them at any time.

  Two minutes elapse. >>I’m coming up on them now.>> The warehouse comprises the whole block, the doors shut up tight. One of them has a placard that reads, “For public stairs, use south entrance.”

  I creep along the edge of the building, but luckily I haven’t been followed. A rally this large will hit the feeds big time. Best to be gone before live coverage catches up. Empty hinges and a busted streetlamp herald the entrance to the access stairs. Only emergency lights at the base of each step illuminate the dark passage. At least I have my NAmp filter.

  I climb. Any access to the warehouse has been closed off, the brick now covered in luminescent paint and old-school flyers. Sour air surrounds me, sweat and urine and something else I don’t want to think too hard about.

  Given the housing waitlists and the overcrowded shelters that have been carved out below ground, access stairs are often used as a temporary – or not so temporary – safe haven for people with no place else to go.

  The police supposedly keep these spaces clear, and the first couple of levels are. But the further I climb, the more evidence of hard use increases. Trash heaps up in the corners. The walls have been busted open in places by people looking for wire and metal. A shift-working cop won’t come this high unless they’re in pursuit of a criminal. Heck, I’ve probably passed into a different precinct by now, and the homeless use that to their advantage.

  >>Level 4 and climbing.>>

  Tahir doesn’t answer, but the prickle on the back of my neck tells me he’s paying attention.

  Cardboard and ragged burlap cover a still-sleeping figure huddled up in the corner of the landing on Level 5. They don’t stir as I pass through, walking on the tips of my toes. I double-check my map. The warehouse turns into an apartment complex at Level 6. But when I reach the thankfully empty landing, there’s no concourse access. The door’s been chained shut. And unless Aventine installed bolt cutters in my hands, I won’t be getting through.

  <
  >>Door’s blocked on Level 6.>>

  His focus veers from me momentarily. <
  >>Lucky me.>>

  The apartment complex goes up thirty more levels before the building gets divvied up into smaller offices and storefronts. It doesn’t get difficult until I reach Level 15. My clothes have to work harder to keep me comfortable as I climb ever upward in the darkness. Definitely working a different set of muscles than I usually do powerwalking across the city.

  Rats and cockroaches scuttle out of my way. Thighs burning, I climb the last flight of stairs. Any residual fear from the Disconnect rally has been thoroughly drained out of me. Ahead, a door beckons. I try the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Well, shit.

  I hunker down in front of the lock. Good. I should be able to override it with the small transmitter in the fingertip of my glove. Still nothing.

  >>The door on Level 36 isn’t responding to Aventine’s auto-override.>> If I had to say the words out loud, they’d be between pants, but synching remains as fast as my thoughts. I send Tahir the lock’s signal.

  <
  >>Don’t mind me. I’m just breathing.>>

  The door lock disengages a few seconds later. I barely hear it over my gasping for air.

  <
  >>Unlocked.>> I walk through, relishing the fresh air that bathes my sweaty face. I emerge into a modest Understory neighborhood. People going about their business crowd the concourses, with no throngs of Disconnects in sight. >>Should be smooth sailing from here on out.>> I hope.

  <
  >>Understood.>> I wend my way down the concourse, having already identified my route to the lifts. My thighs are jelly, and it’s a struggle not to limp. >>So long as I don’t pass out between here and there.>>

  He grins. <
  >>No! Wait, that wasn’t–>>

  <
  Instead of a party, all that’s waiting for me at headquarters is an impromptu all-hands meeting in a large conference room on the third floor. Many of the other couriers file in, though Bandit must still be in the middle of the job, based on his absence. Tahir’s here, along with the other handlers, and Harding, grim and gloomy where he stands in the front of the room. In the far corner, I spy Diego as he surveys the room with his arms crossed. Haven’t seen either of them since recruitment.

  Once everyone’s seated, Harding raises his hand for attention. “Thank you all for coming. Recent events have made it clear we need to update our security protocols.”

  Behind him, the wallscreen fires up. A bisected map of New Worth slowly rotates through the different strata of the city. Different areas are color-coded. The blue sections match the quarantine zones on my map where a highly contagious virus of some kind has swept through, given the close quarters. There are red and green areas as well, but I’m not sure what they’re supposed to represent.

  “We cannot afford to look the other way any longer. We’ve been aware of flash demonstrations throughout the city, but today,” Harding’s gaze comes to a rest on me, “M-37 was chased off course and forced into a less-than-optimal route back to headquarters.”

  Eyes flick my way, curiosity and speculation in turn. One of the couriers I haven’t been introduced to yet wrinkles his nose. My hands clench. Do they think it was simply a rookie mistake?

  Harding clears his throat. “Nonetheless, it was a successful drop, and M-37 will be joining the ranks of active couriers, effective immediately. But we cannot allow the Disconnects or anyone else to upset our work.” He gestures to Diego. “As some of you have cause to know, Diego Martinez manages our support cells around the city.”

  They’re the backup teams who assist couriers who get in over their heads or clean up the messes they leave behind. At least I didn’t botch things up so badly today I needed one of his teams’ help.

  Diego nods to the room. “For starters, we’ve stepped up our oversight presence.” He turns to the wallscreen. “The green cells represent our current support teams’ locations.” He gestures to the handful of red cells on the map, the majority of them in the Understory and Terrestrial Districts. “The red represents new locations that’ll be gearing up in the coming weeks. We’ll be fast-tracking new recruits and taking on a few loaners from the government security force so we won’t be spread too thin for you guys out there.”

  Harding crosses his arms. “Unfortunately there’s no indication the Disconnects’ unrest will be abating any time soon. During the demonstration, a localized power outage cascaded through the Canopy, suspected to be their doing. Because of the escalation in tactics, there are some procedural changes that’ll go into effect immediately.” He gestures to Tahir.

  He faces the room, his expression devoid of any emotion. “Reporting in every ten minutes when you’re on a job is now a requirement, regardless of how routine your situation.”

  The couriers groan. Tahir always says a boring job is a job well done. This extra reporting just makes more work for both the couriers and their handlers, who sometimes have concurrent jobs running at any one time.

  “Certain routes and neighborhoods are now off-limits, primarily in the Terrestrial District,” Tahir cont
inues. “We’ll be pushing out an update for your local maps sometime this evening. You’ll have to go around these areas until further notice.”

  Surprise, surprise. A big chunk of the Terrestrial District I was in this morning is now rendered in yellow. Off-limits.

  “We’re also temporarily freezing approvals for outside contacts. The people you’ve already secured permission to communicate with won’t be affected. This is for all pending and new requests. The unit who does our background checks has been reassigned to support the government as they monitor the situation.” His gaze darts toward me briefly. <
  A sudden stab of loss streaks through me. >>How convenient.>>

  <
  That’s an understatement. I’ve only been agonizing over this ever since my implant was wiped. And now, when I’m finally in a position to start the process of reaching out to friends and family, it’s yanked out of reach, reminding me once again I’m just a puppet dancing to the whims of Aventine.

  Grimacing, Tahir returns his attention to the room. “Finally, given the political climate, keep your eyes open out there. Anything remotely suspicious needs to be reported to your handlers.”

  “What does that mean, specifically?” Dash asks.

  Tahir makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Your collective knowledge of the city is formidable. You know what’s normal and what’s not. We just want you to be our eyes and ears out there.”