Implanted

by Lauren C Teffeau

  Just about everyone else has lined up with at least one bag. A handful of people have stolen automated carts loaded down with more supplies. Some of the Disconnects look serious, others hold an air of expectation about themselves with Emergence finally within reach. Then we start moving forward, down the tunnel of blasted rock. I don’t know how long we walk, slowly but surely climbing upward. The path gets more difficult, rocks only partially cleared away in the Disconnects’ haste to leave the city behind.

  Shouts of joy filter back, and the people in front of us quicken their steps, scrambling through the rubble. Rik leans down, his voice finding me in the rush to the surface. “This is it. Ready?”

  I am. Despite everything that’s happened, I’m eager for my first lungful of unfiltered air.

  We finally emerge from the tunnel, blinking over and over again in the bright afternoon light. All my trips to Skychapel didn’t prepare me for the immediacy of having the sun overhead. No glass refracts its rays before it reaches me. The pure light renders the foreign landscape in vibrant color – plants in the Canopy desaturated in comparison.

  Rik sheds some of the tension from his frame as he takes his first breath outside. I do the same. He’s right. There’s nothing like it. The lightness of it, scented with strange growing things that I desperately want to familiarize myself with. It’s hard to explain. All I know is I want to keep breathing it in, chasing suitable descriptions with each inhale that can encompass all this… feeling.

  I’m not the only one slack-jawed at our surroundings. Wild, rugged green, not carefully manicured city parks, continue as far as the eye can see. Trees, shrubs, and spiky grasses radiate out from the dome, reflecting so much sunlight I can’t look at it properly. Turning away from New Worth, I find Rik’s gaze on me. “What?”

  “I wish…” He shakes his head.

  “What is it?”

  He taps his temple. “I wish I could feel what you’re feeling right now. The first time’s special.” He steps closer, our bulging packs pressed up against one another. “Your face tells me only some of the story.” He reaches out, places his palm against my heart. “The rest I can’t access,” he says wistfully.

  The feel of the sun’s warmth on my skin, the clarity of light that makes everything sharper somehow, the unreality of being out from under glass for the first time… Things too new and wonderful to put into words.

  “Before…” Before we left the city, before Aventine, he means, “I could always tell when you were near one of the city’s parks by the joy that leaked across our connection. Because I felt the same thing on my planting trips.”

  I lean into him. Watch his face, realize I want him to kiss me despite the dozens of people around us. Wonder if he feels the same pull between us. Without my implant it’s hard to be sure.

  Nearby, one of the Disconnects sneezes, shocking us apart. He sneezes again more violently. Randall turns toward him, concerned.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Probably nothing.”

  The man sneezes again, this time clutching his chest.

  Randall swears under his breath. “Hey!” he shouts. “Can we get some medical supplies over here?”

  Someone does, as Charon stands with Denita and a handful of others who eye the horizon impatiently. “What’s wrong?” Charon calls out, as Randall sorts through the supplies. Despite the air of authority in his voice, Charon still hunches his shoulders, unused to having the space to stand tall.

  Randall doesn’t answer, not until he slams an autoinjector full of epinephrine into the man’s leg. “He needs to go back,” he finally says with a nod to the man, gasping for breath.

  Charon trudges over. “Why?”

  “He’s allergic. Seen it before. Won’t be able to live comfortably out here, not without a constant supply of antihistamines, maybe even more heavy-duty meds.”

  “We have supplies.”

  “And he’ll be a constant drain on them until he dies,” Rik replies harshly. “You told me you read up on the risks.”

  Charon rears back. “I did.”

  “Well, this is one of them. If this exodus is going to work, your followers need to be able to tolerate the environment.”

  “But it’s not his fault.” Charon’s sweeping gaze takes in the pristine landscape. “Something must be out here that doesn’t belong.”

  “Not necessarily. Living under glass for the last couple generations, maybe we’re the ones who’ve changed.” Randall shakes his head. “It’s a kindness to send him back.”

  Charon stands there with his arms crossed.

  “You wanted my expertise, Charon. I’m giving it to you.”

  They glare at each other for a long moment before Charon finally relents. Two of his followers volunteer to help the man return to the city back the way we came. When no one else exhibits a violent allergic reaction, Randall gives Charon the all-clear.

  “What’s our heading?”

  A remoteness shrouds Randall’s features as he faces his one-time friend. “East, northeast. If we hike until nightfall, we should reach a good place to camp.”

  Charon nods. “You heard the man,” he says to the others. “Onward!”

  Low voices and laughter hover over our makeshift camp spread out under the stars. We walked as far as we dared before daylight abandoned us. Rik seemed pleased with the group’s pace. It helps that everyone’s motivated, excited at being outside, beyond the city’s reach.

  He’s been run ragged, though, overseeing all the preparations for the evening, pointing out plants to avoid, the right way to stake tents for the less experienced – all things he must have done countless times on his trips for Vector. He scarfs down the lumpy, dehydrated vegetable stew we were given for dinner that I can barely stomach. He’s still fielding questions between bites.

  After I hand him the rest of my portion, a man comes running into camp. I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean much. There’s at least a hundred of us, and I overheard Charon saying there are even more people from the Underground who’ll be joining us once they find an appropriate site to start over. The man heads straight for Charon and Denita who sit at a folding table near one of the solar-charged lanterns struggling to beat back the encroaching shadows. Charon’s face contorts at the man’s hasty, indistinct words, then he’s on his feet shouting for Randall.

  Rik groans. “What now?” We make our way over, past haphazard rows of tents.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Charon says as soon as we get near.

  “Why?” I ask.

  Charon hands me a touchscreen preloaded with the latest news stories from New Worth. They are all variations on the same thing: the Vesa lottery winners have been chosen, and everyone who was selected lives in the same two blocks of the Terrestrial District in the Bower. Claims the lottery was hacked are rampant, with Disconnects the prime suspect. After all, they’re the ones who want to leave the city by any means necessary. But without proof, the government’s in a quandary: let the manipulated results stand or start over. Supporters for both outcomes have been demonstrating non-stop in the time we were gone.

  And I thought things were bad before we left.

  Rik frowns. “I’m guessing that wasn’t part of your plan?”

  “We didn’t hack the lottery, if that’s what you mean,” Charon says.

  “Then who did?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Charon rubs his face. “But what do you want to bet it’s the same people behind the registry breach?”

  “The Department of Economic Development? But why? We must be missing something.”

  “Agreed. That’s why I want Randall to lead us to Vesa. Maybe we can get some answers there.”

  “Or we could go back and bring all this to the City Council. Let them sort this out.”

  Denita rolls her eyes; Charon just shakes his head. “We’re committed to leaving the city behind. But we’re close enough to Vesa we might as well check it out.”

  “
Why, when you’re just going to run away?”

  Rik gives my forearm a squeeze, begging for silence. “Vesa’s fifteen miles west of here, give or take. The rough terrain might slow people down though,” he says with a nod to the tents around us. Families with small children make up a significant portion of the expedition.

  Charon waves that off. “Only a few people, then. Recon. The others will stay here, keeping the lines of communication open with my operatives back at the dome.” Like the runner who brought him word of the lottery results. He looks over the camp, grim but resolute in the lantern’s light. “We’ll leave at dawn.”

  I’m not sure what to say as we trudge back to our shared tent, just a simple tarp set up over trampled grass to cushion our bedrolls. I kick off my boots and collapse onto the blanket. Rik follows me in. He removed his gloves at some point today to make his work easier. I watch his hands as he smoothes the flap of the tarp closed and hunkers down beside me. “Well, tomorrow just got more interesting,” he says wearily.

  I sit up slowly. “Whatever’s going on begins and ends with Vesa.” The courier job gone wrong, the changes to the registry, the hacked lottery, crooked government officials, and the Disconnects. A rats’ nest of possibilities, and none of them good. “Since we’re stuck out here, we might as well see what all the fuss is. But after that…” I shake my head.

  “What?”

  “It’s just we could be working with the authorities to bring the registry changes to light right now instead of playing house in the wilderness.”

  “Maybe, but try convincing Charon and his guards of that.”

  “I know,” I say with a sigh.

  “But you’re not wrong.” He pulls something out of his pants pocket and presses it into my hands. A datastick. He must’ve grabbed it earlier when he was given free rein of the Disconnects’ camp. I’m rubbing off on him. “Tomorrow, at Vesa, there’ll be less people to worry about. I’ll create a diversion, and you can return to the city.”

  “But what about you?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.” He closes his mouth, his Adam’s apple working. “Whatever happens tomorrow,” I say, “we stay together, all right? We’ve been through too much to give up now.” My career with Aventine, the emotional cruelty of popping back up when I did in Rik’s life, the physical toll of the curdle. I get a fleeting smile before it’s gone as though he’s too tired to maintain it. “I mean it.” I unbutton my right glove.

  Immediately, I have his attention as I push it down my forearm, work it off my hand, fingertip by fingertip. “I know I hurt you. I know was too stubborn and scared before, and it won’t make a difference out here now.” My words rapid so I won’t lose my nerve, I start on the second glove, set it aside, and reach for him. “But it’s always been you.”

  Implants blocked, miles away from the nearest node of the New Worth network, there’s nothing the data receptors can really do, but the zing of feedback as they align still steals my breath. Experimentally, Rik pulls back his hand, then lines it up against mine once more. Heat and sensation and something more as our fingers knot together, even as subdued as it is without help from our implants.

  With my free hand, I trace my fingertips over his heavy brow, the line of a shadowed cheek, the slight bump on his nose, hesitating to smooth them over his lips. He turns into my hand, pressing a simple kiss to my palm that would turn my legs liquid if I weren’t already sitting down. “Liv…”

  “Yes?” I say unsteadily.

  “You’re driving me wild.”

  Relief spreads through me at the admission. Without my implant, I’ve been second-guessing my intuition. Too reliant on our connection to tell me what to do, what to say. Too scared without it to risk getting it wrong. I shift my hand to the pulse in his neck just below the horrid collar, fluttering madly just for me.

  “I can see why Brita likes this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All body, no brain. Just feedback from our data receptors when… you know.”

  “Like this?” He tightens his grip on my hand, sparking our receptors again.

  I nod, mouth suddenly dry, imagining what it must feel like when we’re connected for real. Our implants thrumming with emotion, the shared intensity creating a feedback loop taking us higher together than we could achieve on our own. Though even now, unenhanced as I am, what I can feel is already devastating.

  He reaches for me with his other hand and cradles the back of my head, pulling me close. I rise on my knees, meeting him halfway as our lips fit together. Awkwardly at first, then he makes an adjustment that sends my blood roaring, a flush spreading across my skin. I gasp against his mouth, our hands clasping each other over and over again, electricity building up under my skin.

  All that energy needs to go somewhere. And we figure it out, together.

  When morning comes neither of us is ready for it, but Charon doesn’t care. He bellows for us to prepare for the hike to Vesa, a frenetic intensity to his words. With a groan, I disentangle myself from Rik. He gives my hand one last squeeze before I put my gloves back on and shoulder my pack.

  Charon’s assembled eight other Disconnects to join us, and Denita makes twelve. After a hurried breakfast, we make our way west, Rik dutifully stopping every now and again to check our progress against the map as we march. With fewer people and supplies, we’re able to move more quickly through the scrubby brush and fragrant grass that disguise the terrain.

  A couple of hours in, trees surround us on all sides, filled with a stately beauty the columns in New Worth’s Canopy can’t touch. “You did all this,” I say to Randall.

  “Well, Vector did, along with dozens of other agro firms over the course of many years.”

  “Still…” I gesture to all the plants and shake my head when I can’t find the words.

  “This region was rehabilitated maybe a decade ago. You can tell by the height of the trees. These are ash trees, modded to grow quickly to get established. That trait will fade in subsequent generations.” He affectionately pats the trunk of one of the trees we pass, and my heart wobbles. “My team was responsible for an area south of here. Prepping the soil for a rollout of native plants, then monitoring them as they grow and mature.”

  “What for?”

  “All the old pre-dome buildings and infrastructure didn’t just disappear, even if the elements battered them up pretty good. We had to break them down using chemicals and microorganisms and incorporate them into the topsoil, creating nonreactive filler essentially. Then, modded plants are introduced that’ll help break down the materials further and filter out contaminants.”

  “Leaving pristine land behind.”

  He nods. “That’s the plan, at least.”

  “Looks like you’re succeeding. No wonder the Disconnects have been eager to leave.”

  He deflates slightly. “It looks good. Hell, it smells good too. But it’s still dangerous out here. Without my equipment, we have no idea what’s underfoot. Some plants are here to filter out specific substances from the soil and groundwater. Lead, mercury, arsenic, radioactive particles…” He tips his head toward Charon at the front of the column. “They don’t know what they’re in for once their supplies from New Worth run out.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Well after midday, the trees start to thin out, and the soil grows sandy. Murmurs gain momentum as a lake of shimmery blue-gray water appears in the distance with Vesa spread out on the opposite bank. It’s just as picturesque as it was in the news feeds. Five cream buildings face the lake, like a diamond sparkling in a ceramic setting.

  Charon cocks his head, eying Vesa with curiosity. “I couldn’t find much about it on the network besides promo. No specs, no reports, nothing.”

  “If they’re hiding something, we’ll find it,” Denita says.

  We march around the lake, two scouts sent ahead to ensure there are no New Worth officials lying in wait. But the complex i
s empty. Charon instructs the others to rest for lunch while we take a look in the first building. Living quarters as advertised with offices and common areas on the main floor, smelling of fresh paint and new carpet. Waiting for the picture-perfect family to walk in the door.

  The next building is a different story. Charon goes first. I almost run into him when he stops stock-still. Then I see why. Rows and rows of bunks. Past the cramped aisles, a line of communal showers and a crude trench in the ground.

  “Underground shelters are more humane than this,” Randall says.

  “Maybe this is where the workers stayed?” I say. “They probably used prison labor for the project to keep it out of the news feeds until they were ready for the reveal.”

  Charon nods slowly. “Maybe.”

  The three of us walk to the next building in silence. But the same sight greets us. Barracks-style accommodations with cesspit-like bathroom facilities.

  “They said Vesa would have the capacity for hundreds of families,” Charon muses.

  “But they made it sound like they’d be getting one of those shiny apartments in the first building not… this,” Randall says. “There’s no way they can house all those people here.”

  “It’s a scam,” I say, disbelieving at first, then with greater certainty. “It has that too-good-to-be-true vibe some of the predatory housing developments have in the Terrestrial District. Everything’s faked for the advertisements to get people’s buy-in, then… gotcha!”

  Randall’s brow furrows. “Not everything’s fake. They’ve figured out a way to power this place. But what about water?” He sketches his hand over the pipes that run from the shower nozzles into the floor.

  Charon shrugs. “There’s a lake.”

  “No way,” Randall says. “I wouldn’t bathe in that stuff, let alone drink it.”

  “What do you mean?” Charon asks.

  “Even if that’s an aquifer lake,” Randall explains, “it’s guaranteed to be polluted with contaminants caught up in run-off from all the aging infrastructure in the area. There could be algae blooms or some sort of Frankenfish in there too. That’s why the plants are supposed to filter that crap out from the soil and groundwater.”