Suddenly we aren’t talking about being outside any more.
We head east, toward the center of the city. Commandeering a maglev car isn’t really an option to ascend all the way to the Canopy since a group this large will immediately alert the authorities. The lifts and the lines they’re famous for are bound to be monitored as well. That leaves the access stairs.
“Are we heading toward the northeast stairwell in the next sector?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” Charon gives me a wink, but it does nothing to ease my anxiety or that being broadcast by Rik.
Overhead, the weight of the city crashes down on me. So many levels to climb, I’m dizzy with it all. Every block, someone new attaches themselves to our little procession. When we don’t take the turn for the stairs, I scan our environs in earnest. The only possibility in a square mile is this sector’s air handling structure.
Even in the early days of New Worth, when poisonous clouds blocked so much of the sun, heating the dome was never a problem – not with so many bodies trapped under glass. Same with energy, thanks to the molten salt reactor powering the city. But air conditioning, keeping all the public areas at a livable temperature, was a huge engineering hurdle. To clear it, each sector is outfitted with a skinny building that rises from the Terrestrial District into the Canopy, dedicated to pumping cool air out to counteract the dome’s inherent greenhouse effect.
And ahead is the one for this sector. No windows, just a plain concrete façade decorated in holographic projections and digital billboards, their shimmery LEDs dispelling some of the gloom.
I catch Charon’s eye. “We’re using the air handling structure to ascend?”
He nods. “It’s in the process of getting an upgrade. Most of the crew are Disconnects. So it’s just a matter of convincing the supervisors to let us borrow the construction elevator.”
A group of ten or so people take the first carriage, led by Denita. Five minutes later it returns for us, and we file on. Not as fast as the lifts, but I’m still impressed at the Disconnects’ ability to use the city against itself.
As the elevator doors open, Charon shuttles us past a bewildered staffer surrounded by Disconnects. They’ve zip-tied his hands together and mounted a metal and plastic collar to his head to block his implant. As least they didn’t kill him outright.
Ducts thunder overhead as cold air’s pumped into the Canopy. The vibrating cacophony lessens slightly as we move toward the exit. The concourse’s crawling with enough Disconnects already in position that our arrival is quickly swallowed up by the whole. Rik takes my arm and maneuvers me into the center of the chanting mass. The protesters close ranks around me and Rik, our faces blocked from view by the protesters’ signs and digital placards.
Following the concourse, we move deeper into the city. Our escort scares away anyone who gets too close. Denita elbows me and gets into my face, plucking at my gloves. Ah, shit. She’s right – it’s a dead giveaway.
Rik’s already had the presence of mind to ditch his gloves. I rip off mine and drop them to the ground, where they’re swallowed up by the churning feet below.
The protesters sweep us along on their convictions. More people join the march at each intersection. The energy from so many bodies whirs through me like the aftermath of too much caffeine. The concourse takes us to a wall of escalators leading to the uppermost levels of the Canopy. I duck my head as we crawl up them, avoiding the checkpoint overhead. This is the most exposed I’ve felt, what with the Echelon just beyond, scaffolding the sides of the dome, staring me down.
A ripple goes through the protestors at the top of the escalators, now getting off. There are so many of us any impediment of traffic could transform the rally into something more ominous. But looking at Charon and the others, at the anger barely banked in their eyes as they chant, they’re probably counting on that. Riots, mass panic in the Canopy… Sure to draw the attention of the news feeds and the police, if it hasn’t already.
Rik and I near the top of the escalator, Charon and Denita right in front of us. We join a writhing mass of Disconnects and sympathizers. The distinctions disappear in the wake of so many people in one place, their voices united in shaking the very concourse and the surrounding buildings to their foundations.
A woman with the same glossy brown hair as Cache moves through the crowds. A man blocks her from view, and I lose track of her in the crush. Damn.
Rik catches my eye. <
>>Thought I saw an old friend.>>
<
I nod. >>We need to find an opening – or make one – in case we need a quick exit.>>
Someone’s enhanced voice rattles the concourse. “Disconnects against the dome!” Then they pause, the crowd joining in with “Lottery lies!” before the sequence repeats, call and enthusiastic response.
Rik’s doubt trickles through, like ice between my shoulder blades. <
>>Which won’t do us any good once the police get here.>>
As soon as I think the words, sirens peal, momentarily drowning out the chants. “People of New Worth, we’re at capacity for this sector. Please vacate the area in an orderly manner.” The chants grow louder to combat the police presence, each battling for sonic superiority. Even adjusting my implant to help filter out some of the sounds, it’s still deafening.
Charon turns back toward us. “Well, we got you this far,” he practically shouts. “Now it’s time for you to do your part.” Over his shoulder, a dozen protesters away, there’s no mistaking Dash’s grim face, his gaze trained on me.
“Citizens, please disperse. Capacity is at unsafe levels.”
Someone screams. Frantic voices bounces off pristine floors and buildings. The echoes transform the charged crowd into a roiling mass. A swell of protesters slams into our little group, nearly knocking Denita off her feet. Her shoulder slams into mine, but Rik keeps me standing.
“You wanted a distraction. You got one,” Charon says.
“There’s just the small problem of my employer.”
“We’ve got you covered.” His eyes roll back into his head with a flurry of eyecast commands, and the Disconnects in the immediate vicinity pull out a crudely printed collar they fasten around their necks. With the press of a button, my face is projected onto all of theirs, along with a facsimile of my implant’s signal as they fan out into the crowds.
Dash’s eyes widen as he’s shouldered aside by a protester. More couriers have to be around, but between the police and the protesters, hopefully Charon’s ploy will pay off as the rally tips over into riot. Rik pales at the agitated crowds, and Charon and Denita exchange a panicked look. But for the first time today, I relax. As a courier, navigating the inevitable New Worth crowds is my bread and butter.
Time to go to work.
Shouts and protests continue, but now they’re interspersed with screams and the police’s automated voice still commanding us to disperse. Then the crackling sound of a stun gun ripples through the area. The atmosphere buckles into hysteria as people start pushing.
Charon’s nearly swept away by the tide. Another protester knocks into Denita, and she curses. The next wave pulls me bodily away from Rik. >>Whatever you do, don’t fight the current.>>
I’m pushed past Dash, struggling to get around a wall of protestors. He slogs after me, against the flow, as I duck, weave, and position myself so the crowd pushes me roughly in the direction I want to go. Which is away, first and foremost, then to the edges, and, after that, the spillways off the concourse intersections. At this point, it doesn’t matter which one.
Dash’s incoherent shouts reach me, and I turn back. His wild gestures draw the eye of a police officer who’s waded into the thick of things. People back away from both of them in fits and starts, and the crowd slowly gives way. Then the current’s dragging me along again, bringing me closer to the edge of the concourse, where I’ll have a fighting chance to escape the clusterfuck once and for all.
A police officer’s stun gun gets knocked aside by a protester, and her shot goes wild, static slamming into one of the checkpoints mounted to a girder overhead. Fireworks cascade along the wires connecting it to the rest of the security system.
Screams echo through me as the sparks and smoke flutter down onto the panicked masses. I’m nearly body-slammed into the front window of a cafe. The workers and remaining customers have barricaded themselves inside, watching on with bewilderment as another woman who isn’t so lucky thumps against the glass and slips to the ground, unconscious.
The familiar nausea rises up at the blood oozing from her temple as I jump over her, intent on getting myself to the next intersection just a storefront away. I can’t afford to stop for her or my stomach.
>>How are you doing?>> Rik’s still on the concourse, but he’s closing in on one of the arteries away from the heart of the rally. I send him the location for a gift shop down a connecting walkway. >>We’ll regroup here.>>
Someone knocks into me, dragging me the rest of the way to the intersection. I keep my feet moving, despite the breakneck pace and the loafer I stomped on accidentally a few people back. Scraping my shoulder along the wall, I maneuver myself past a woman helping a man with a broken nose.
Rik’s waiting for me in front of the store. “The police set up a barricade. There’s no way to reach the New Worth News offices.”
“Then we’ll have to bring them to us.”
He blinks down at me in disbelief. “How are we going to do that? We don’t have a lot of time, and I’m not sure what we could say that’ll convince them to come.”
“Brita. I need to talk to Brita.” I pull up the directory with an eyecast command. Aventine severed my link with her so I have to do this the old-fashioned way.
“What does she–”
“Her dad runs New Worth News. She can convince him to get a journalist with enough clout to help us.” When anyone with an implant can record events, the big stories have to be vetted by a bona fide journalist with press credentials. I could upload my story to the network myself, but it would just be one signal in the competing noise. Not strong enough to effect the change the city needs in time. “A team’s probably already been dispatched to cover the rally. Maybe she can get them redirected to us. Ah, here we go.”
After sending her account a synch request, I get an automated rejection. Unsurprising but annoying. With millions of implant users across the city, you quickly learn to block anyone you don’t already have an established relationship with. But desperate times.
I send another request. |||Brit, it’s Emery. I need your help.|||
Her reply’s instantaneous. |||You twisted fuck. Can’t take no for an answer? Reporting you for abuse.|||
|||Wait. Please, it’s me. I swear. You have a leaf tattoo on your shin to disguise a scar.||| Crap. That might not be enough. |||You told me once you were the only story in New Worth your father wasn’t interested in.|||
No response, but she hasn’t reported me for abuse. Yet.
<
>>It’s me.>>
She upgrades the connection, allowing me access to her nonverbals, gifting me with parts of herself I thought I’d lost. <
I wince at the relief and fury competing across the line. >>Long story, but it’ll have to wait. I need you to convince your dad to send a press team to my location. We have information that needs to get out there. Like, right now.>>
<
>>Rik, I mean Randall, and–>>
<
>>Only recently.>>
<
>>I know it’s a shitty situation, OK? And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. But I need you to do this for me.>>
Silence. She has to feel my desperation – those kinds of things can’t be faked. And yet, the seconds tick past between us.
<
Shouts and sirens echo down the concourse as a team of paramedics jog in the opposite direction. Rik gives the concourse a nervous look. “We can’t stay here much longer.”
He’s right. Too many protesters are scattered around. Injured, angry, and on the run. Bound to bring police with them. Or worse. >>Fine. We’ll meet the press team at Skychapel,>> I tell Brita. >>It isn’t far from our current location.>> But far enough away from the blockade.
<
>>Kinda. It’s hard to explain.>>
<
I groan.
“What’s wrong?” Rik asks.
“Brita’s going to meet us herself.”
“She’s a reporter?”
I’m already pulling up the staff listings at the NW Signal. She’s listed as an assistant to one of their senior correspondents. “Not exactly.” But she’s written a couple of articles for them these past few months. Gotta start somewhere, I guess.
“I thought you said–”
“I know. We’ll just have to make it work somehow.”
“Where to?”
“Skychapel.”
“Guess some things don’t change.” The tail end of his chuckle reverberates through me.
“It’s a public space,” I reply, feeling the need to defend my choice. “We’ll find a quiet corner and tell the truth.”
“It does have nice symbolism to it.”
“Hopefully Brita will appreciate it.” If nothing else about the situation.
Thankfully Skychapel appears largely untouched by the chaos only a few buildings away. I lead Rik to an area off the main path with tightly manicured hedges, providing the illusion of privacy. Inhaling, I hold the fresh air in my lungs, imagine it diffusing through my body, displacing the filth from the lower levels. The Canopy’s the only place in New Worth where you come out cleaner than when you entered, though it’s lost some of its sheen after being outside.
<
>>We’re on the southernmost corner, near the…>>
Hasty footfalls rush toward us. I have only a second’s notice before Rik and I are surrounded by stun guns. Not police. Government. Rik goes deadly still beside me at the sight of Joan Sheridan leading the charge.
>>Shit! Stay back. We’ve got–>>
Sheridan presses a button on a small device in her hand, and my implant’s blocked. No ingoing or outgoing messages. Rik steps closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine in silent support.
“Miss Driscoll, you’re a very hard person to find.” Sheridan watches me with an almost expectant intensity, neither angry nor annoyed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to have a private conversation with you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Now would be a perfect time for a witty comment, but for once I come up empty.
She chuckles. “You know, part of me thought we should just wait it out when you didn’t come in quietly. The body of one young woman who’s already alienated from her friends and family? What would it matter? But the curdle clearly didn’t take you out, so here we are.”
Rik practically growls, but Sheridan only gives him a dismissive glance. “Of course you must be one of Tahir’s,” she continues. “He always manages to find the ones with backbones.”
Brita cautiously comes up behind Sheridan’s security team, partially hidden by an overgrown peony bush. I catch her eye, and she gives me a quick thumbs up. What is she up to? She’s too far away to listen in, but if she gets any closer her implant will be jammed too, which won’t do us any good.
“You wanted the most inexperienced courier, didn’t you,” I finally say to She
ridan.
Her nod’s almost imperceptible. “You must have some idea of what you’re carrying, otherwise you would’ve run back to Aventine with your tail tucked by now.”
I give her a lopsided shrug. “Can’t trust them with this after what happened. You know too much about how we operate. How did you manage to get Harding’s buy-in?”
She clucks her tongue at me as if I’m just a wayward child. “I didn’t need him, not when I helped create the courier program to begin with.”
That’s right. Early on, Harding said Aventine started out as an initiative of the Department of Economic Development. It explains so much. How she was able to subvert our operation. Why she’s standing in front of me now.
She flashes me a picture-perfect smile. But after watching her kill someone, well, there’s no expression she could make that I wouldn’t be able to see through to the monster underneath. “Like a good soldier, Harding’s just trying to clean up your mess. I thought that’d be enough. But clearly we underestimated you.”
“Why are you doing this? Who are you working for?”
Her security team tenses, then I hear it too. Feet, lots of them, tramping toward us. Charon, Denita, and four more Disconnects halt in front of us, each one matched to a member of Sheridan’s personal force. Denita has a bruised cheek, and some of the others are sporting shallow cuts, but they appear otherwise unharmed by the riot as they brandish their own stun guns.
“Didn’t take you long to find yourself in trouble again,” Charon says to me. He turns to Sheridan. “Sorry, but we can’t let you detain Emery here.”
“You have been busy,” Sheridan says to me. “Leave, now,” she tells Charon and his Disconnects, “and we won’t leave you gift-wrapped for the police.”
Denita’s hand tightens over her stun gun, the others following her lead. “Let’s see you try it.”
Sheridan crosses her arms. “You must know the odds of you getting out of the Canopy after your display this morning are rapidly vanishing the longer you stand here, wasting my time.”
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