Implanted

by Lauren C Teffeau

  >>When I was little, a friend took me to one of these places after school. When my parents found out her family were Disconnects, I wasn’t allowed to play with her anymore.>> We still hung out at school, but after I got my implant and she didn’t, we grew apart.

  <
  Some would go further than that. With the rallies, the network’s been flooded with chatter about how the Disconnects are on an evolutionary track that diverged from the majority of New Worthians a long time ago. A contentious stance that’s only added to the unrest plaguing the city. But some of the Disconnect hardliners are descended from those who fought coming to the domed cities in the first place. A while ago, I read a New Worth News feature profiling a Disconnect whose grandfather was convinced the domed cities were a plot to enslave the population. Such conspiracy theories must be enjoying renewed interest with all this talk of Emergence.

  >>You make it sound like implants are a bad thing.>> After all, we wouldn’t have found each other without them. Or be able to have this conversation right now in the heart of Disconnected territory if we were speaking aloud.

  He’s quiet so long I wish I knew what he was thinking. <
  >>No.>> I was counting down the weeks until I was old enough for the procedure. I couldn’t wait to feel connected to the city, my parents, my friends. It felt so grown up. A way to escape my surroundings. >>It’s just what you did, what everyone does, if you’re going to have a chance at succeeding here.>>

  <
  It’s true connection has a cost. Just look at me and Randall. The messy infrastructure can barely keep pace with the demands implants place on it. Not to mention security risks, malware, and emotional bleed – the kind that incapacitates or breeds paranoia instead of bringing people together.

  Drawbacks we blindly put up with in our search for efficiency and escape.

  I guess the conversation’s over because Randall disconnects from me again. As though he can’t bear to be connected to me any longer than strictly necessary. I did come barreling into his life when he least expected it. And pushed him away before that. We can’t exactly go back to the way things were, though I can’t deny how good it feels to have him back in my head, even with the connection temporarily severed. But what kind of future can we have after this?

  If that brief glimpse of his anger at me is any indication, I’ve done irrevocable damage to all my relationships. If Rik can’t forgive me, how can I expect Brita, my parents, or anyone else from my old life to?

  The deeper we venture into the Bower, the emptier the streets. Most of the franchises have shuttered their doors, the corporate honchos upstairs cutting their losses while they still can, maybe. A couple of places remain open, but with added security at the door – big burly guys who eye everything with suspicion. As we near a corner bodega, the kid tailing us whistles an intricate pattern, and one of the thugs manning the door comes out, blocking our progress.

  “Just pretend nothing’s wrong,” I whisper. I put one foot in front of another as though I belong here. I’m not that rusty, and if these guys want to force the issue, my training will be the answer to that.

  Randall stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Brazening it out won’t work.”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “Just… wait a minute.” Wait? While who-knows-how-many thugs join us? He closes his eyes with an eyecast command. “Trust me.”

  Every instinct in me tells me we’re going to have to do things the Aventine way. But I wait, even as the guy from the bodega pulls out a knife, mimes slitting my throat. Is that what these boys do to people who dare to come here? I stare the enforcer down. If so, they’ll be in for a surprise.

  Randall cranes his neck, peering past the thug through the gloom. “Good. Just in time, too.”

  A young girl comes tearing out of a tenement building up ahead, darting in and out of the streetlights’ beams. “Randall!” she shrieks as she hits him with a flying hug.

  I’m not sure who’s more mystified, me or the thugs.

  The muscle relaxes his stance a fraction as Randall swings the girl around and around in the air. “How are you, Natalie?” he asks, finally setting her on her feet.

  “I’m fine.” Her blue eyes widen on me. “Who’s that?” she whispers loudly.

  “A friend of mine. I’ll tell you all about her later. Your mom home?”

  She gives him a solemn nod. “Uh huh.”

  Randall gives the thug a hard glare over the girl’s head, and he slowly returns to his post in the store. “Then lead the way.”

  “OK,” she chirps happily, pulling Randall along by his hand.

  She’s a year or two past the age where kids first get outfitted with implants. Too soon, and the brain’s development could be affected. Too late, and some of the more sophisticated implant features are worthless. Early on, the stimulation overload takes a couple of years to get used to, but she’s so obviously in the present, her steps practically buoyant, I’m certain she doesn’t have one even without pushing aside the curly blonde hair along her neck to see for sure.

  Our tail falls back, watching but not interfering as Natalie leads us into the building she came from. Randall gives me a wink that leaves me cold as we troop up a set of stairs off the main entry.

  On the second floor, Natalie opens the door to one of the housing units. “Mommy, Mommy, guess who I found!”

  A faded forty-something brunette greets us, her brow wrinkled in surprise. “Randall, what brings you here?” She glances around the room, a brief flash of embarrassment on her face. “If I knew you were coming…”

  “It’s all right. My friend and I happened to be in the area. Thought we’d stop by.”

  Two things I realize in this moment: one, the lie comes easily to him. And two, being called Randall’s friend carries more than some currency.

  “Well, welcome. Michael’s shift doesn’t get out for a while yet, but…” She gestures to the room vaguely.

  Natalie plucks at Randall’s shirt. “Did you bring me anything this time?”

  He hunkers down so he’s at eye level with her. “No, I didn’t. Sorry. But next time I’ll bring you something extra special, OK?”

  The woman’s embarrassment grows more pronounced. “Nat, why don’t you see if Maisy wants to play? Her mother’s shift should be over by now.” She practically shoves her daughter into the hall and shuts the door behind her. “Sorry about that. Kids that age are a handful.”

  Her eyes narrow on me. Not unkindly exactly, more assessing. I want to tell her that I grew up in an apartment similar to this a mile away, but Randall’s right. She already knows I’m connected and, as such, I’m automatically suspect.

  “What can I do for you?” she asks.

  “We need a place to stay for a few hours off the radar,” Randall says. “Not here, of course, but if you knew of somewhere else, I’d be grateful.”

  “Randall, we owe you for getting Michael a position at Vector, and for getting Jaxton into a good school but…” Her eyes slide to me again, the distrust palpable. She bites her lip and moves to the window. With jerky movements, she closes the blinds. Just simple strips of plastic with no other function. “The local organizer saw you coming. So did half the block. You may be a sympathizer, but that doesn’t mean you’re welcome here.”

  “I have credits.” It’s all I can offer, but the look the woman gives me says even if it were welcome, it’s not nearly enough.

  “You and the rest of New Worth
think if you throw enough credits at a problem it will go away?”

  “I just thought–”

  Randall stays me with a hand on my arm. I fall silent as he gives her a farewell nod. “It was good seeing you, Jenna. Say hi to Mike for me, OK?” He pushes me to the door.

  “Wait.” Jenna sighs. “One of the residents was arrested last night. Lives on the fourth floor. You could stay there, but you’d better be gone by tomorrow. Things are heating up.”

  And the Disconnects are closing ranks.

  “Thank you, Jenna.”

  She waves him off. “I just hope you two know what you’re doing.”

  So do I.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Randall wrenches the doorknob and mutters a curse. “Locked.”

  “Here, let me take a look.”

  He backs away so I can attack the lock with my pick kit. “Where’d you learn– never mind.” He glares up and down the hall as if daring one of the doors to open.

  With a satisfying click, the lock gives way. The coast still clear, Randall and I hurry inside. Immediately, I regret my haste. The smell of trash overwhelms the tiny space, cluttered with a bachelor’s carelessness. Old produce rots on the counter, cans and plastic meal packages lay where they were left, crusted with remains.

  “I thought she said he was arrested yesterday?”

  “His crime was being a Disconnect, not a poor housekeeper.” Randall sweeps a couple of items down the trash chute in the kitchen and futzes with the air circulator’s controls. “See if that helps.” He heads for the lone window next, his hand reaching for the sash.

  “Come away from there.”

  “Really think someone’s looking for us here?”

  “Your friend thought so.”

  He frowns but pulls down the crooked window shade. It’s distinctly lo-fi. Even when I was living in the Terrestrial District with my parents, we had holoblinds in the living room. I miss the soft light they cast, the ambiance provided. “Well, there’ve been talks of a major demonstration in the next few days. One that’ll make all the others look small in comparison.”

  “Violence?”

  He shrugs. “They have a lot to be angry about. Being blamed for the attack on the government storage facility yesterday hasn’t helped the situation.”

  Tahir mentioned something about that. “I thought Disconnects were behind the explosion.”

  Randall shakes his head. “Why would they attack a facility that stores their records? Well, everyone’s records, but theirs are so much more vulnerable. They don’t have implants maintaining all their personal, legal, and administrative information.”

  I check the feeds. “I don’t see any reports yet about the extent of the damage.”

  “Probably because it’s bad,” he says grimly. “And the government’s in damage control.”

  Whether it’s true or not, a cover-up would be like dumping gasoline on a fire. “Just adding to the list of reasons for Disconnects to cut ties with New Worth once and for all. But you’ve been outside. You know what they’ll face if they leave the city prematurely.”

  He nods. “I do. I’ve done my best to educate those who’ll listen, but even if they could travel to their family’s homes, it’s been decades. They’ll face damage wrought by the weather, war, and if not that, they’ll need to clean up the pre-dome infrastructure that’s surely failed by now. Not to mention the need for basic survival gear. Without water or a source of food, they’ll be screwed.”

  “Guess it’s telling they’d rather try their luck outside the dome than stay put.”

  Randall shrugs. “Some of it’s rhetoric to push for fairer treatment, the prospect of Emergence just the means. But in the process they’ve tapped into the hopes and dreams that have been instilled in us since birth.”

  We all want fresh air on our faces.

  I cast about the room. Besides the window, the door’s the only exit. Grunting, I pull the refrigerator in front of it. That way we’ll gain a few precious seconds to decide what to do if we’re found out. All out of precautions to take, I finally sit down. The lone couch crinkles underneath me, but I’m tired enough that I’m just glad to give my legs a break.

  Randall drags a hard-backed chair over.

  “There’s room if you want.” I scoot closer to the armrest.

  “Nah, I’m fine.”

  Fatigue settles over me, overwhelming and undeniable. From here, I can see Randall up close. The slight bump on his nose, the small pox scar on his cheek, the shadow of his implant under the skin on the back of his neck.

  He glances at me before I can pretend I wasn’t looking. “You’ll be able to sleep?” he asks.

  “Think so; you?”

  He stretches out his long legs and resettles his feet on the couch cushions beside me. “Oh sure. Even though we’re camped out in the Bower, on the run from an organization I never heard of until yesterday, I should sleep like a baby.” He tries to keep his tone light, but it’s edged with anger.

  “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to leave.”

  He scrubs his hand over his face. “I know. And you know I wouldn’t do that.”

  Isn’t that why I risked so much by going to him in the first place? I could have kept at it alone. That’s what Aventine’s trained me to do. But I was feeling vulnerable, frantic, and there was no one else I wanted to see more. Selfish of me, perhaps, but I can’t deny Randall’s connections have gotten me further than I could have managed on my own.

  Aventine might have trained me, but the deck’s been stacked against me since the beginning, hasn’t it?

  “I’m sorry things are such a mess.”

  He gives me a searching look. “Are you?”

  “What do you mean? Of course I’m–”

  “Or are you only sorry you’ve been found out?”

  I knew we’d have to hash things out once and for all. I guess it was too much to ask that we’d be able to put us on hold till all this was over. Still, the vehemence in his voice takes me aback.

  “You would’ve blithely done your work for Aventine, continued to keep the truth from the people who care about you, if this hadn’t happened,” he continues. “Do you deny it?”

  I blow out a breath. “It would’ve made things easier.”

  “For you.”

  “No. For you. You, Brita, my parents.” I beat my fist against my thigh. “Everyone who has any meaning in my life. Aventine could’ve–”

  “They threatened you? Using us?”

  “I couldn’t risk it. Even if I got clearance to reconnect with everyone, there was no guarantee you’d want to do the same. The way we left things…” My throat’s not working properly. “I thought maybe everyone would be better off.”

  “That wasn’t for you to decide.”

  “Maybe not. But I was trying to protect you from Aventine–”

  At the name of my employer, something in his face wavers and breaks, fragile as glass. I fall silent, wanting desperately to make him understand, but I don’t know the first thing about the stranger before me. Before Aventine, I could simply show him what I felt, and eventually all would be made right again. But we’ve regressed so much, sniping at each other like we did throughout much of Partners in Crime when we were newly acquainted and still figuring out how to work with one another.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I lean forward, reaching out with my gloved fingertips. Randall freezes as I find the implant along his neck hiding under the skin. Then I take his hand and press it against my implant, his gloved fingers cool but warming as they settle against me. “That brief glimpse of your mind… Tahir’s call. It’s messy and confusing right now, but you must’ve seen, you must know what I feel. And I know what you feel, despite…”

  A slight tremor works through him. He squeezes the hand touching his implant as if he can’t decide whether to hang on or pull me off him.

  “So why aren’t we synching right now? What’s keeping you from–”

  He jerks
away, and my hand falls. “I had to figure out a way to live without you. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. To let you back in… How do I know you won’t run away? Or that Aventine won’t make you disappear? What if I have to figure out how to live without you all over again?”

  “You think it wasn’t hard for me?” I ask in a dangerous tone. I knew I was throwing away any chance at a future together that day on the concourse, but I did it anyway. To protect him.

  He sighs. “I don’t know what to think any more, Emery.”

  And I can’t make up his mind for him. I settle back against the couch, cross my arms, and try to remember what really matters here. “Then I’ll make it simple for you: help me get through the next day, and I promise I won’t trouble you again.”

  He stares at me for a long moment, but I have no idea what’s going on behind his unreadable face. “Get some rest.” He sounds ancient as he says that, collapsing back in his seat as if suddenly exhausted by the whole thing.

  “If anything happens…”

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Geeta just contacted me.” Randall’s voice is a gunshot in the dark, wrenching me from sleep.

  I flail about, ready to fight the shadows, until I remember where I am. It’s a little after three in the morning, the tenement building finally quiet around us. But the bustle above, the slamming doors, the heated conversations through plastipaper-thin walls, didn’t keep me from sleeping.

  He glances over, his face illuminated by the touchscreen he took from Vector. “How are you feeling?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  He sits down on the couch next to me with a grimace. The call to Geeta’s relayed through a half-dozen network access points just in case. “Ready?”

  I nod, trying to shake the cobwebs away.