Citizen D

by wade coleman

  Mother stops knitting, pulls down her wire-rim glass so she can look over the top at me. “I see your point. But it doesn’t hurt to be nice. In fact, you might find that people hurt you less if you’re nice.”

  “How about I just keep my big mouth shut?” I say.

  “That’s a good place to start,” she replies.

  CHAPTER 12

  I don’t leave the building for a few days. I got my door fixed and paid the forty-eight-gang collector. He was nice. I told him I got a busted knee fixed.

  It seems a lot of people in D-block save their money and take a medical vacation. The collector suggests letting him know that next time I’m gonna leave. I can pay in advance the twenty credits a week. I think it’s cheaper to go the door unlocked. If he shits on my sheets, it’s twenty credits for Mother’s robot workers to clean it up.

  Too bad I can’t join my own building’s gang. My crew didn’t get along with the local group so I can’t participate. That and I nicknamed one of the lieutenants: his name was Nesmen. I called him Less-man because he was missing his left testicle. Like all my nicknames, it stuck.

  Now he’s in charge. That should last about two years. Then he’ll O.D. or get murdered, and someone else will be in charge. Until later, I’ll pay for protection.

  The last two days has helped me get my head back into D-block. I eat at the first-floor cafeteria and exercise in the gym.

  But I’m bored. I don’t have the Mars tablets to work on anymore. That damn engineering program took all the fun out of research, and I can’t think of another project right now.

  What I want to do is try out my new fists. But where? I’ve been out of circulation for the last six months, and a lot can happen.

  I don’t trust those guys that walked me home. They were too friendly for a twenty-credit bribe.

  Every year there’re fewer orphans and more violent felons entering D-block. That’s why I need a gang.

  But what I want to do is shoot synth bone. I want to work with my hands - do something, anything.

  I have money, but I can’t buy equipment without a license. Even if I could buy the stuff, I can’t keep it in my room.

  It all goes back to joining a fight club to meet men. So I open the door, go down the elevator and nod at the 48 gang enforcer at the door.

  My feet find the way to the peoples’ market while my eyes watch faces and hands. Always stay away from anyone who hides their hands.

  Maybe Garry has cooled off so I can go back to shooting synth bone.

  It’s cold, so I’m wearing fake leather gloves that fit snug. You can get them in a drug store for ten credits. That way everyone knows they’re padded and made for warmth and not fighting.

  I stopped wearing boots and got a pair of training shoes. They have sturdy ankle support and a soft heel.

  Everything about me says I’m not looking for a fight.

  I pump my arms and walk fast. Before the bone augments, my skeleton weighed twenty-six pounds; now it’s forty-three. I can feel the difference in my hips and calves. It takes more effort to lift my legs. That’s why I’m thinking of getting a muscle augment.

  I make it to the people’s market that’s an old gutted ten-story building. The Gov was going to blow it up, but the people protested. So instead the Gov zoned the area into D-block.

  I walk inside, dodge the milling crowd and find the elevators. I get off on the fourth floor. Augment shops are set up with plastic tubing and painted canvas storefronts.

  I pass the bone shops and keep going down. Nose jobs and hair implants are big. Four places do muscle augments. I walk into the first and walk back out. The guys behind the counter are too big.

  The second place has a picture of a guy in white shorts playing tennis. At the med clinic, a lot of the gay guys wear white shirts. I don’t know how they keep them clean.

  I never paid attention to clothes. All my life I’ve worn Gov issue. When clothes get trashed, I turn it into the Gov clothing store and get new ones.

  The last aug shop is called Power Lifting Pros. These two guys are not gay. You can tell ‘cause their tank tops are stained and their armpit hair sticks out the sides.

  I walk up to the counter and look down at their feet. They’re wearing black boots and shorts. Then I check out their name tags: “Hans” and “Franz.”

  “Hello, Hans, I’m Adam.” I hold out my fist, and we bump.

  “What are your goals, Adam?”

  “I need to get stronger.”

  “Why do you want to get stronger?”

  “I’m looking for a job in space, or Mars if their hiring. So I need muscles that won’t waste away. And I’m looking for a place to meet people and connect. And flight clubs are the only place I know. So I have to punch hard.”

  Hans and Franz look at each other.

  “How much do you have to spend?” Hans asks.

  “What you got?”

  “That depends on how much you have to spend.”

  I made good money gambling and maxed out my savings, twenty-five thousand credits, then put another fifty in a medical account. Then there’s the thirty thousand credits in gift cards hid in various layers of clothing. I can’t leave them in the room. It would only be a matter of time before someone stole them.

  “I have ten thousand credits to spend.”

  “You have ten thousand credits on you right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me see,” Hans says.

  I reach into my jacket and find the rip in the lining. I finger two gift cards and pull them out.

  Franz uses his phone to check the amounts. He shows his phone to Hans, and they look at each other. Franz puts the cards on the table. “Have you ever thought of going to a gym?”

  “I go to the gym in my building.”

  “You can join a fitness club. There’s a Gold’s Gym in building twelve-forty-seven. It takes up a whole floor.”

  “Okay, how much?”

  “If you get a lifetime membership, you will get twenty free sessions with a personal trainer.”

  “How much?”

  “Three thousand credits.”

  I do the math. Regular membership is fifty credits a month or six hundred credits a year. Three thousand divided by six hundred is equal to five years. If I live to be thirty, I’ll break even.

  “Okay.”

  Franz picks up one of the cards on the counter and holds it up to his phone. It beeps, and he puts the card back down. “Your trainer can introduce you to the regulars.”

  I hold my phone up to his, and it beeps. I look at the screen. There’s a new app called Gold’s Gym.

  “Now that you’re a member,” Hans says, “let’s talk about training programs.”

  I nod, and Hans continues: “Best way to build lean muscle strength is with mitochondria. They’re the tiny cells inside cells that make energy for muscle. The more you have, the more energy your muscles have, and that makes you stronger.”

  “Do they have mitochondria made for space?”

  Franz looks at his phone and scrolls through a list. “Yeah, I got an all-around mito cell, good for every environment but not great in anything. It’s thirty years old and generic.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “It’s a thousand credits for the nanites plus another three thousand for therapy.

  I know they’re doing everything to drain my two gift cards. If this saves me from getting punched in the face to meet people, it’s cheap.

  I nod. “Okay.”

  Hans picks up the first card, shows it to his phone and bleeds it dry. He puts the card in a recycling bin and picks up the other. After Hans swipes the plastic, it has two thousand credits left. He puts it back on the counter.

  He didn’t give it back to me. He’s got something else to sell.

  ‘Storage is hard to come by in D-block,” Hans says. “As a lifetime member, you can purchase a locker.

  “Two thousand credits?” I ask.

  “That price gets you the
smallest locker available.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  Franz picks up the card, holds it to the phone and then puts it in the recycle.

  The two men smile, and their eyes crinkle.

  “What’s in those vials,” I point to vials of yellow and blue serum in glass bottles.

  “It’s steroids. You don’t want to mix drugs. Come by building twelve-forty-seven after ten tomorrow, and we can start your first treatment. You can’t miss it. It’s the entire third floor.

  We bump fists, and they lead me outside. I walk towards the exit and get into the flow of the crowd.

  “Adam,” a voice says from behind.

  It’s Garry, so I turn around.

  He’s smiling, but he looks nervous. “Hello, Garry.”

  “Adam, long time no see. You look buff. You ready to fight?”

  “No, I joined a gym. I’m gonna lift weights and meet people that way.”

  His right lip curls and then straightens out. “Hey, that’s great. Say… you wanna get a drink?”

  “You still shooting bone paste?” I ask.

  “Ah… no, sold the business. Into something else now. I’m giving you a chance to get in now before it gets big.”

  He smiles for just a tenth of a second. His eyes dart down, and then they look at me again.

  Garry’s lying.

  “No thanks, I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, Adam, no hard feelings.”

  Garry opens his hand and blows a white powder into my face.

  CHAPTER 13

  Someone pokes me in the side with a boot. “Hey, sleeping beauty, you missed the first round.”

  Instinctively, I reach for my phone and it’s missing. I open my eyes and sit up. I’m in a cage with two other guys. It’s a tight fit. I stand up, and that gives us more room. The two men are holding rebar with a tap for a handle.

  In D-block, the Gov goes to great lengths to make sure D citizens don’t get hold of weapons. D citizens can’t play any sport with a bat. The cafeteria silverware is plastic. The most common club is the metal bars they put in concrete. Stealing a left-over piece on a construction site happens all the time. Concealing with long sleeves is easy.

  Outside is the sound of people clapping. The only light inside this space is the exit sign.

  People say the stupidest things. Garry drugs kidnap and imprison me, and he says, “No hard feelings.” There’s plenty of fucking hard feelings.

  My head clears, and I ask, “What’s going on?”

  “Ultimate gladiator combat,” a guy says that’s shorter than me.

  He’s got a crest down the center of his head. Probably a titanium synth bone skull.

  Do not butt heads with him.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Fight to the death,” Crest-head says.

  “I’m gonna fight you guys?”

  “Not yet,” Tall-guy says. He’s wearing boots just like Crest-head. “First we fight as a team. Then the winners are pitted against each other. In this round, you’re my best buddy. Next round we’re enemies.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  The door opens, and a man walks in. A drone follows him with a light and a camera. He steps up to the cage holding a wireless mic in his hand. “Are you guys ready for Ultimate Gladiator Combat?” He has a big smile and crinkling eyes.

  “Why do we have to be in a cage?” Tall-guy asks.

  “Because it makes you look ferocious, don’t you think?” he says and laughs.

  “I don’t want to play,” I say. “I was drugged and brought here against my will.”

  “If I had a credit for every time someone told me that, I would have twenty credits.” He smiles and looks at the camera drone.

  “At least give me a weapon,” I say.

  He folds his hands. “Sorry, round one is five weapons stacked in a pile for six people. We missed you.”

  The doors open, a cart backs up and hitches us to the trailer that’s holding our cage. The driver pulls us out onto a soccer field lined with fans. They cheer and wave as he drives us down the center of the area. Another cart pulls another cage with three men. We make eye contact as we pass each other.

  They think I’m the easy kill. But I have a real super-power now: magnetic bones. When there’s radiation, they automatically turn on. It’s all tied into my skull computer.

  I blink three times in a row, and the screen comes on. I look through the menu.

  The man stops the cart and opens the cage.

  I get out and look around. There is no way out through the wall of fans. You try to leave, and they will beat you down and throw you back.

  I find the mag-bone settings and select “all.” Then I choose full power: 1.6 Tesla. That doesn’t seem like a lot.

  I get some distance between the two other guys and me and turn on the magnets. A rainbow forms over the soccer field and my eyes blur.

  Three men, a half of a soccer field away, walk towards us.

  My two teammates walk forward, and I follow. We form a line.

  The other three guys form a line. And now I know who I’m gonna fight. It’s a big fat guy. Big fat guys have one thing in common, bad knees - unless they get new ones.

  But this guy has a bad knee. It’s slight ‘cause he’s trying to hide it, or he’s on drugs or both, probably both. Now he’s getting closer, his eyes round saucers.

  Yeah, I know how this is gonna go.

  Fat guy comes down hard with his rebar, and I block it with my left arm. The blow hits square on my bone but doesn’t break. Space bone isn’t combat bone, but it’s denser than regular bone and much stronger.

  I kick his kneecap just as hard as I can, and it makes a satisfying pop.

  But Fat-guy is high and doesn’t notice the broken knee. He just looks down at me, smiles and shows me his teeth.

  Then he lets go of the bar stuck to my forearm and shoves two fingers into my mouth and hooks the inside of my cheek. With his other hand, he grabs me by the neck. Like a fish on a hook, he pulls me up.

  Oh, yeah. That’s right. I got nanite teeth.

  I jerk my head fast, and his nails cut the inside of my mouth. But it gives me enough room to turn my head and bite.

  With a satisfying crunch, I sever his index finger in half. He lets go of my neck and takes a step back. Blood pours from his wound.

  He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes pour rage into me.

  Suddenly, I notice I’m angry. It’s an unusual sensation, feeling something. But I don’t have the time to think about what that means ‘cause my feet are rushing Fat-guy.

  I punch him in the balls, but he’s got a cup.

  “I hope you broke a finger,” he says after my cheap shot. Then swings with his bloody hand and misses.

  I spit his finger into Fat-guy’s face. When he turns his head, I hit him in the jaw.

  His head rocks back, and he falls backward. The air goes out of him when he hits the ground.

  I reach down his pants, grab his cup and pull. The straps snap, and it comes free.

  I hold my prize high and the crowd screams. With each heartbeat, my vision blurs.

  The cup acts as an antenna, collecting the bloodlust in the air. I swing with a full arc and slam the cup into Fat-guy’s face. “Too bad it’s not made of metal,” I say. But I can’t hear my voice over the crowd.

  I cut his nose with the edge of the plastic, and he pushes me off.

  I roll and get up fast.

  Fat-guy is trying to get up, but he’s slow. Probably from my solid blows to the head.

  So I take a step back, wind up and kick Fat-guy in the ass.

  The force knocks him forward, and he lies flat. I jump up and land on one heal in the small of his back.

  “Crack,” is the sound his spine makes when my heel smashes his spine.

  I step off of him, and he grabs at my ankle, and I go down.

  Fat-guy tries to pull me towards him, but I kick his hands. He gets my shoe, and I get away.


  He looks up at me with wild eyes.

  I take a step back.

  “What are you afraid of, boy?” he says while showing me his teeth.

  “Thunk,” is the sound that a piece of rebar makes when it connects with the back of my head. The force knocks me forward, but I get jerked back because the guy holds on tight to his weapon. Fireflies dance in my vision.

  The iron bar sticks to my samarium, cobalt and iron skull. Out of instinct, I swing my arm back, and it connects with his stomach.

  The guy lets go of the bar just as Fat-guy grabs my ankle.

  While dropping to one knee, I cock my arm back. My knee pins Fat-guy’s arm while I punch Fat-guy in the ear a half dozen times.

  He twitches for a second, lies still and his grip release from my leg.

  Since he’s not moving, I hit him right where the jaw meets the skull. It pops out of place.

  He’s out cold because he doesn’t even twitch. So I punch his nose flat.

  Then someone kicks me in the ribs.

  Oh yeah, I forgot, someone else’s trying to kill me.

  Since I was kneeling, the force knocks me to the ground. I turn over and kick without looking. I connect with something, scramble back and then get to my feet.

  My opponent is a big muscle guy with a ponytail and 5’clock shadow.

  The skull magnets hold his weapon to the back of my head. Blood runs down my neck and wets my shirt.

  He smiles. “You don’t look so good.”

  “You don’t have a weapon,” I reply. “Why don’t you come and get it?”

  He circles me and says, “You can be the third person today to try out my titanium fists.”

  I size up Muscle-guy. Looks like he took a hit to the ribs. He’s keeping his elbow tucked to his side. So it looks like he took a hit to the ribs - a cut below his eye flows.

  He fakes with kicks to my knee and then jabs and misses.

  I move in close, and he raises his knee and connects with my groin. The boys are in hiding somewhere in my stomach, so it doesn’t hurt much.

  I punch his gut while he pummels my head with metal fists.