Implanted

by Lauren C Teffeau

  I wasn’t the most willing of recruits. I’ve thrown myself into the work, it’s true, but they can’t be sure I haven’t been biding my time all these months for an opportunity like this. And with my implant out of commission… I’m so screwed. I need to figure a way out of this mess. I need an ally down here, someone I can trust to shelter me long enough to sort out what went wrong.

  And how to fix it.

  There’s a chance friends and neighbors from my time growing up in the Terrestrial District are still around, but it’s been years and not everyone was happy for me when I found a way to move up to the Canopy. Could I really trust them with this? I already know the answer to that.

  Dammit. Why does everything have to come back to Rik?

  I have to draw on every aspect of my Aventine training to not shock the people who pass by the bench I’ve commandeered outside Vector Agronomy’s headquarters with my bulky clothes, my sodden hair, and bruises that scream domestic incident. But there are all kinds in the Terrestrial District, which is my only saving grace.

  No matter how many times I try to talk myself out of it, Randall’s my best bet down here. With my implant not working, I have no way of contacting him or finding out his home address. Aventine safe houses are too risky until I know where I stand with them. And then there’s the whole botched drop. Whatever happened up there, it’s big.

  The streets grow more crowded as the end of the workday approaches. My gaze haunts the entrance to Vector, waiting for Randall to make an appearance. As the first wave of employees exit, I force back questions. What if he’s not working today? What if he left early? What if… he doesn’t want to see me? I can only blame myself for that.

  Finally, he exits, chatting with a female colleague. Mid-twenties, tall with curly dark hair braided away from a tawny, heart-shaped face. Her shoulder brushes Randall’s companionably as they walk by. My chest squeezes, and I remember to breathe again.

  I ease myself into the crowds behind them, careful not to follow too closely. But close enough to hear the woman’s bright laugh and see her playfully swat his arm. Their discussion continues for another block, then Randall’s “friend” turns right, while he stays on the main throughway. Still too many people around to approach him directly.

  My hands itch. Wish I had my gloves on instead of them all wadded up in my bag. At least I’ve put the jumpsuit’s overlong sleeves to good use, covering up my unprotected hands with the excess material.

  I stay with Randall through the next intersection where he turns left. Here, the crowds lessen. This stretch is actually nice, well lit and clean looking, with a number of air plants to soften the crumbling, industrial edges. Not giving myself the opportunity to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t, I close the gap between us. Coming around his side, I disrupt his peripheral vision just enough to earn his notice. He glances over, then comes to a hard stop.

  His disbelief’s diminished by a flash of anger, quickly dampened. “It really is you. What the hell, Emery?” He gives the jumpsuit a curious look. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need your help.”

  He sucks in his cheeks and, for a second, I consider bolting. I was a fool to come here, to even consider…

  “You could’ve messaged me.”

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t. Not this time.” I glance around. People swerve to avoid us. We need to get out of the open. And soon. “Just take me back to your place, and we’ll… I’ll explain everything. Please.”

  He’s quiet so long I’m afraid he’ll say no, but then he gives me one short nod and gestures for me to follow.

  We continue down the walk lined with tidy shopfronts and cafes. A coffeehouse on the corner pumps out enough brew to scent the air, covering up the more unpleasant smells. Myself included. The neighborhood has a young professional vibe. Many of the people we pass have only been out of school a couple of years. As a result, it’s a veritable oasis in the squalor that typically comprises the Terrestrial District. Randall glances over. “My place isn’t much further.”

  I only nod, not trusting myself to answer verbally.

  Randall heads toward a nondescript building, the entrance giving way as he approaches. I duck in behind him into a deceptively understated foyer so most people wouldn’t give it another thought. That’s one way to survive down here: not being too flashy about what you have.

  The elevator responds to Randall’s signal and takes us up three flights. His apartment’s not much bigger than my Aventine-issued quarters, but with touches of his personality here and there to warm up the otherwise austere architecture it’s a lot more comfortable. An envirosuit crumpled up in the corner must be from his last planting trip beyond the dome. A set of watercolors decorates one wall in the living room, the battered frames marking them as a family heirloom. A display case full of knickknacks…

  Before I can fully process everything, Randall’s voice cuts through my wayward thoughts. “You look ridiculous, and you smell even worse.”

  “Yeah, about that–”

  He ducks into the bedroom and rustles through a drawer. He pulls out a pair of pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and waves me toward the bathroom. “Whatever you have to say can wait until after you get cleaned up.”

  I don’t want to make things worse between us if I leave without explaining, but he’s right. Despite my rinse-off earlier, I’m still rank. With a mumbled word of thanks, I shut myself in the bathroom. Under the hot water, I slather myself with Randall’s soap and shampoo. Herbal, more medicinal than flowery, but at least it cuts through the layers of grime still clinging to my body. When the timer shuts off, I start it up again, lathering myself over and over until my wrinkled fingertips protest. He’ll be docked some credits for excessive water use, but at the moment I can’t bring myself to care.

  I towel off and slip into his clothes. Still baggy, but not as bad as the jumpsuit. I brush my hair with his brush. Look at myself in his mirror. My hands are shaking. Could I be any more pathetic? I have no right to be here. To ask for his help. To assume I’d be welcome after pushing him away.

  But I still need to unlock the bathroom door, cross the room, and give Randall the answers he’s earned – along with those he thinks he deserves.

  When I finally leave the sanctuary of the bathroom, Randall looks up from his seat on the couch. “Your clothes are being cleaned and will be ready in an hour or so.”

  “Oh. Um… thanks.”

  He stands, and some of that anger I caught a glimpse of before is still leashed up tight inside him – making his steps jerky and forceful. “Well, you’d better start from the beginning.”

  “This morning?”

  He makes a face. “No. The day you supposedly died.”

  Randall doesn’t ask questions, just retreats deeper into himself as I talk in fits and starts. I’m so raw with it all, I hardly know what I’m saying anymore. When I reach the part with the gun in the Understory alley, his eyes flash, but he gets himself under control by the time I tell him about the garbage chute and my decision to find him.

  I’ve run out of things to say so I look at my hands, still sore from the scouring I gave them. Infinitely more interesting than the dark look on Randall’s face.

  “Aventine set you up.”

  The conviction in his voice takes me aback. “What? No.” At least I don’t think so. Not until I know more.

  “You said yourself they threw you into the deep end with a new client with trust issues.”

  “Yes, but catering to our clients’ needs is what we do.”

  Randall shakes his head. “Then what about your handler? This is two of his couriers attacked in as many jobs.”

  “No. Tahir wouldn’t do that.” He was just as surprised as I was about the job being compromised, wasn’t he? Calibrated emotions are practically impossible to fake. “If my implant was up and running, I could be more certain.” But the damage my implant’s sustained would be a red flag at any clinic in the city. If Aventine’s not wat
ching them, that woman from the drop certainly will be. Way too risky.

  “And you have no idea what you’re carrying?” Randall finally asks.

  I shake my head. “Not supposed to. Security feature.”

  He sighs. “First thing we need to do is get that,” he points to my head, “checked out.” His eyes roll back into his head, then he nods. “Good. Charon will be able to meet us tomorrow morning.”

  “What? Who’s that?”

  “A friend who knows a thing or two about implants. Off the grid. After that, we’ll pay a visit to one of my colleagues. She’s into plants, but her background in genetics should help us figure out what you’re carrying.”

  “Randall, stop. I just need a place to regroup, and then I’ll be on my way. They’ll be looking for me. It could be dangerous for you.”

  He shakes his head, mulish, resolute. “You came to me for help, so let me help.”

  “But…” It’s already too late to not involve him, isn’t it? “No one can know I’m here. Whatever contacts you have…”

  Randall chuckles bitterly. “Don’t worry, Emery. You’ll be my dirty little secret. Besides, I scaled back my connections with everyone months ago.”

  “Really? Why?”

  He shrugs with deceptive casualness. “I was a mess when Liv left.” The blatant loneliness staring out of his eyes steals my breath before he blinks it away. “No one deserves being shackled to that.”

  You can be anyone or no one, but regrettably not yourself.

  I can’t be who he needs me to be, even if my implant was working properly, but I can’t bring myself to say the words and add to the darkness he already carries.

  He gestures vaguely to the bedroom. “Get some rest.” He waits a second then adds, “I’ll sleep out here, don’t worry.” His sardonic smile makes everything seem worse, but I don’t know how to fix it… anything.

  “Thank you. I mean it.”

  Something inside me twists tight and snaps away when he doesn’t respond. I retreat to the bedroom. All this is just an exercise in agony. I shouldn’t have come here. Torturing myself with a ghost from a past life. One that’s no longer mine thanks to Aventine.

  Back when Randall was simply Rik to me, things weren’t so complicated. After Partners in Crime ended, we kept synch chatting. Wide-ranging conversations that moved past the confines of the game, no longer reliant on it as a communication crutch as we got to know one another better. Now we don’t even have that to fall back on, thanks to me.

  I’ve dreamed of this moment – I won’t say I haven’t – standing in Rik’s room, with his scent everywhere begging me to inhale and hold it inside until I have it memorized. But it was never like this, where we’re little better than strangers separated by more than the wall partitioning this room from the next.

  It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

  When I wake, my clothes are laundered and hanging on the back of the door looking practically brand new. Even my gloves as I fit them to my fingers. I dress quickly and peek my head out before exiting the room.

  No need for such caution. Randall’s not even here. I feel oddly dejected at that, then freeze at the bag of croissants on the kitchen counter.

  Part of me wants to ignore whatever this… offering signifies. I can’t promise Randall anything, not until I know where things stand with Aventine, but the rest of me is starving. My stomach grumbles in anticipation as I take a bite, then another. Not as good as the ones you can get in the Canopy, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially in the Terrestrial District.

  I’m debating whether or not to eat the second croissant when Randall returns. His hooded gaze skates over me, lands on the pastry bag, then darts away with a guilty start.

  Before I can ask, he says, “Had some things to take care of this morning. You ready?”

  “Yeah, if we could stop at a drug store on the way, that would…”

  He sets a small bag on the counter. “Got some toiletries. Didn’t know what you’d need but–”

  I glance inside. “No, this is great.” A toothbrush, thank god, lip balm, moisturizer for my poor hands. The masochistic part of me was glad there were no items for overnight guests in his medicine cabinet even if it meant doing without. “I’ll be ready in five.”

  I retreat back to the bathroom. When I’m done, Randall’s pacing, but he comes to a halt when he sees me. “Let’s go,” I say as brightly as I can manage. It’s early enough I have plenty of time before the curdle becomes a concern. Time enough to hopefully get some answers.

  Randall’s silent as we file out of his apartment building and trace our steps back to the main walkway we took last night.

  “Your place is pretty decent,” I say.

  “For down here, yeah. Vector’s housing allowance is generous enough I could afford a better place than what’s customary.” Capsule residences are often the norm for singletons right out of school unless connections or credits dictate otherwise. “I’m just lucky I got in when I did. A ton of places are trying to renovate but are tied up in litigation with current tenants.” And while they fight it out, the Terrestrial District continues to crumble.

  “It’s nice that Vector rewards you for having to work down here.”

  “Nice has nothing to do with it. They’re being competitive. No more, no less.”

  “Still. They must’ve wanted you to work for them very badly.”

  He shrugs, the action arrested by a frown as I dally at a street vendor’s stall selling scarves and glasses. “You’re on the run from your boss, and all you can think about is shopping?”

  I count to three, concentrating on the weave of the different scarves, their patterns and colors. Then, channeling Brita, I beam at Randall as though nothing’s wrong. “Buy one for me, won’t you?”

  His eyes widen. “What?”

  “Pretty please?” I grab a blue one at random and shove it under his nose. “This one’s perfect.”

  He hasn’t quite erased the confusion from his face as he settles with the vendor.

  I wrap my new scarf around my neck. I hold up one end, wave it back and forth, the gauzy material floating in the air, blocking my mouth from view. “Countersurveillance,” I say after we move on. “Changing my appearance in response to my environment.” Whatever that woman did to my implant, I have no idea if it extends to the tech under my face. Can’t be too careful. I’ve learned that the hard way.

  To make a point, I tuck my arm in his. His body turns to stone, but he doesn’t fight the contact. I smile up at him and giggle into my scarf. “Do I look like a rogue agent on the run to you?”

  He watches me for a long moment then looks away as if pained. “No.”

  I slowly put space between us once more. “We should stay with the morning crowds as long as possible on the way to your friend’s place.” If Aventine’s looking for me in earnest, it’ll at least make their job harder to find me in the crowds.

  He nods, scanning the Promenade. I have the distinct impression he’s avoiding my gaze. Finally, he faces me. “There’s something you should know.”

  His apologetic look sends unease tricking down my spine. “What is it?”

  “Charon’s place is Underground.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Underground. The domain of the Disconnects. Criminals even. People looking to get lost in New Worth. Or of such low status, the city wants them swept out of sight. And now me. Birds of a feather. I’m not sure which is more startling: that Randall knows someone who lives Underground or that someone down there can actually help me.

  “I’ve learned a thing or two living dirtside,” he says.

  I want him to elaborate, but I’m not sure what I can ask him without opening myself up to more questions that must be festering under his skin as surely as the encoded blood I’m carrying is under mine. Quid pro quo can be a dangerous game. Especially for us.

  Instead, I focus on our route to the Underground, doing my best to keep things compartmentalized. “How do we de
scend? I don’t want to risk an official checkpoint.”

  To manage the flood of homeless throughout the Terrestrial District, the authorities have set up shelters in certain sections of the abandoned infrastructure that otherwise lies dormant underground. But they’re heavily monitored by police. There’s no guarantee Aventine will keep my disappearance quiet. If they alert law enforcement to help locate me, things’ll get tricky in a hurry.

  “Don’t worry. I know how to get us down there undetected.”

  This time I can’t hide my shock. He grimaces. “Look, the people I work with… Not the scientists, but the actual workers? Most of them are Disconnects. They’re not bad people – at least the ones working for Vector. A few of them even–” He shakes his head.

  “That’s why you were in the Understory that day. You’re a sympathizer?”

  He gives me a sharp look. “Don’t say that word again. Not down here.” He rubs his face and stops me with a hand on my arm. The touch is innocent enough before the heat of his fingers sinks into the fabric. “I’ll tell you all about it when we can actually talk.” He taps his temple with his index finger.

  Our implants. My stomach swoops. Reconnecting with Randall. Having Rik’s awareness filling me once more.

  Something in Randall’s gaze sharpens. “Of course, you can set the limits to our connection.” The solicitousness in his voice is at odds with his eyes.

  “Of course,” I manage to say through the thickness in my throat. Once my implant is working again, there’s no reason why we can’t synch chat again, except for the pain I’m bound to cause him before this is all over.