by Anthology
What if they knew Saul Anders? It was just luck that him and Kopper had the same shock of blond hair, but Anders’ was jet black. He was half tempted to dart back inside and find some hair dye, but it was too late now. Besides, this could be a test. If something was out of place, he would know soon enough. Better here than staring down the wrong end of a gun.
He ambled past them, his heart lodged in his mouth. He prayed they wouldn’t look too closely. Thankfully, they were too drunk to pay any attention. They gave him the briefest of nods as he headed out the door, the vicious cold wind biting at his face. So far so good.
*
Preferring not to traverse the labyrinth of back alleys, dark streets and shady market stalls that led the way to City Central, Anders caught a transport pod, depositing a few credits into the slot as he climbed aboard, barely earning a glance from the driver as he punched in his requested destination. The pod was empty, bulletproof windows and brown leather seats pristine and clean. You never saw pods in this condition in the low-assest zones or in the City Central. It seemed they were only reserved for the wealthy suburban areas and the people with the money to pay for them.
Anders started out the window, glancing at the neat sprawl of houses and apartments, lovingly designed and built with polished wood, boltglass, rich steel and pure metals, all lavishly dressed up in pure paints and fine alloys, pristine marble swimming pools and gardens of perennials, clipped hedges and looping gravel pathways. They traveled closer and closer to the City, the view started to decline, offering rows of rectangular apartments with gap-toothed windows, slathered in flaking grey paint, connected with a network of rusty steel and eroded concrete.
And he was leaving it behind for good.
He had been planning to leave for a while. He told Lauren that there was only so much to be done fighting the government. He saw it bit by bit. Everything they did, everything they destroyed, everything they spread, every effort they made barely seemed to make a dent in the Council. And if it had an effect, they’d brush it off and rebuild themselves, twice as strong. He explained how relocating somewhere else where the Council had a looser grip was a hell lot safer. But she had been determined to stay and continue fighting against the Council, to finish what they started. For a while he had listened, but as time wore on he saw it gradually declining. He didn’t know why she didn’t see it. Dedication to the cause, he supposed.
And it got her killed in the end.
And he wouldn’t be sticking around to join her.
He might have been a heartless bastard, but he wasn’t going to be a dead one. His stands were stained just as much as her’s. He wasn’t going to add to it.
They were approaching the city now, soaring skyscrapers, gigantic billboards and flashing holodisplays clogging the night sky. Colour-coded cables slithered up walls and across roofs, strung up in a suspended web. The streets started to narrow as people swarmed around the pod, some of them stepping directly onto the bitumen road, painted a deep gold by the overhanging street lamps.
After nearly half an hour of crawling through the uncaring crowds, Anders hissed, ‘Can’t you go any faster?’
The driver gestured at the milling crowds zigzagging on the road. ‘I ain’t mowing dozens of folks down for you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
At this rate it would take all night. They’d have caught on by then, if he didn’t come to a sticky end here first. He stared outside at the river of flesh that trickled by the pod, stealing glances his way. He was just waiting for the crowd to get ugly. Start pounding on the windows. Pulling him from the pod bleeding and beaten. Dragging him to a back alley. Planting punches in his jaw and tearing away his valuables, sticking a .44 in his mouth…
Anders fumbled in his pocket and brought out a thick wad of notes. ‘How about now?’
The driver didn’t think twice. He slammed his palm down on the siren, scattering most of the crowd back to the sidewalk. The remaining people followed suit once the pod bore down on them, nearly crushing them into the tarmac. Anders liked to think the driver would have avoided killing anyone, but in this city who could say?
He leaned back in his chair as the city became a sweeping blur of brothels, eateries, moonshine brewers, pharmacies, flashing concave screens and vehicles, only jostling from his trance once the pod docked at the port an hour later, a hulking dome of silver and sleek grey. He flicked a couple more notes the driver’s way and disembarked, standing in front of the monstrous building. The blast-furnace heat raked at his skin, the air thick with cheap wheat beer and jabbering voices. Yet he ignored it all, a sickly coldness pooling in the pits of his stomach. It wasn’t over. Not by a longshot.
*
Man, this line was long. The entire port was packed full of people from all walks of life. They all shuffled towards the dingy control booth where a Council employee would either permit or reject access to interstellar travel. He didn’t know why these people even bothered; the chances of actually getting through were sickeningly slim. There would have been zero chance of him ever leaving this place if he didn’t have this face, along with the asset level that came with it. Engineers were ridiculously useful, and thus came with a high asset level that was not given to other civilians. Part of that package was permission to travel.
Anders forced himself not to trace his cheek with his finger for line marks, a habit that would get him a lot more attention than he actually wanted. The air vents had blocked up, turning the air into syrup. A man in front of him took a deep drag of his cigarette, a spiral of smoke ribboning off the tip. He noticed that the line hadn’t moved for a while now. What the hell was happening? He strained his neck to the front desk where an irate man was making wild gestures to the employee. Her face could have been chipped out of solid granite. He watched as the man was dragged away by two armor-clad androids, boots skidding on the polished floor, shrieking obscenities.
The line inched forward. Barely.
At least there were no more complications. People stepped forward, presented their IDs, got their faces scanned, had their profiles checked out, were rejected. They begged for permission to board, gave some lengthy sob story about their family, money, why they needed to get out of here. And they were rejected.
This happened almost every single time. Only five people—four of which belonged to a family—could pass. The other one was a black-suited businessman who either had special permission from the Council or simply had bribed his way through.
It was his turn next. The guy in front was kicking up a fuss. ‘Listen, I have the files with me. They’re Council-approved. Look at the stamps! Just let me in.’
‘The files are not the issue,’ the employee stated, her voice level and calm. ‘The date is incorrect; you were meant to be here almost fourty-eight hours ago.’
‘I got held up.’
‘Sorry. I cannot let you through.’
‘What?’ The armored androids swiveled their heads at the man’s rising voice. ‘I’ve got the seal. Just let me in.’
‘The decision has been made.’ The woman was cool as ever. ‘Please leave immediately.’
‘Listen to me—’
‘I will call security.’
‘You stupid bitch! Wait—’ his words were cut off as the android on the right clamped a heavy hand on his shoulder and started to drag him away. He struggled to get to his feet, shaking them off. ‘I can walk! Let me go!’ He gathered up his tattered dignity and strode out on his own accord.
‘Next.’
Anders stepped up to the booth, eyes fixed on the woman. She scraped her hair back behind her ear. ‘IDs?’
‘Here.’ He placed the various cards, codes and seals required for the process on the bench. The machine sucked them up greedily. He had nabbed them from an unlocked drawer in Anders’ apartment, where they had all conveniently been placed together. It was great when people made your life easier like that.
The woman glanced at the monitor and gave the slightest of nods. He stepped to the right an
d placed his head in a circular mould. He felt the cold metallic bands fold over the back of his head, holding him in place as a blue-green light hovered in front of him, sweeping across his face. This was the crucial moment. If the machine detected an inconsistency, or if the scanners could read that something wasn’t quite right, then everything would go to hell. And these things weren’t failsafe. He’d seen banned footage where some guy struggled to get out of the clamp before the machine was done, and it had retaliated by tightening its grip, crushing his head like a mango, blood spraying, skull cracking, while he twisted and thrashed and struggled and—
‘Scan complete.’ The pressure lifted from the back of his head as the securing straps were removed and the scanner folded back into its place. The machine spat out his cards and IDs, like it was disgusted them with. He took them gratefully, nodding at the woman as the security doors in front of him parted like angelic gates of heaven. He strolled through, relief gushing out and flooding through his body.
*
He chose the earliest flight he could.
It would take him to Toh, almost as far away from here as possible. Even better would be Elva, but that flight wasn’t scheduled for another five days. He wasn’t planning to stick around that long. He might have gotten past the scanners and be wearing someone else’s face, but it didn’t hide the fact that he didn’t belong here, in this playground of rich families and loaded businessmen. It would be easy to get a new ID and face in Toh. The Council’s grip on the planet was so loose that contraband floated around the city like a disease.
He bought a meal while he was there. Chicken pamajama slathered in mushroom sauce. It cost a hefty price, but he remembered that it wasn’t his credits that he was spending. The food wasn’t fantastic, but would do for now.
Boarding was an effortless task. Everyone had been checked out already, so there was close to no security. They just took one look at his IDs and ushered him through without a word. He had the feeling they wanted to wash their hands of him. The feeling was mutual.
Anders settled back into his seat, clipping the seatbelt together. The flight would take around thirty hours or so. It had been an age before he’d had truly good sleep. Thirty hours with nothing to do except doze off was perfect.
There was almost no one else on board, just him and a handful of passengers and the family from earlier. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been many in the departing lounges, either. It seemed that the Council were only letting a trickle of regular asset civilians go through. It was getting less and less each year and would likely only continue to lessen until no one could get through.
Not my problem.
Not anymore.
It might have been selfish, but he was done with it all. There was no point in trying to fix anything there. He saw that now. The best he could do was go somewhere far away where they’d never find him. He should have done it years ago. He was done with killing, done with it all.
Anders gazed out of the tiny window as the spacecraft booted up. He noticed a couple of figures in the distance, sprinting towards them. He leaned forward and squinted in the gloom. The two androids from before were galloping across the tarmac at frightening speeds, a trio of human security guards sprinting behind them.
And they were all clutching pulse rifles. One of the androids even had a railgun, slapping in a clip.
He suddenly felt light-headed, his vision swimming. No. This couldn’t be happening. He’d come so close. He’d—
The sudden movement of the spacecraft jolted him back to the present. The guards were screaming now, waving their arms, turning the heads of everyone around them. But the spacecraft had already pushed off the ground, slowly accelerating through the air. He seemed to be the only one who’d noticed them. The other passengers and crew were completely oblivious. The guards on the ground tried to shout out, but the scream of the engine drowned them out. He gripped the sides of his armchair and tried to calm his frantic heart as the spacecraft glided over the city, the frantic figures becoming smaller and smaller. He leaned back in his seat, breathing hard. That had been so, so close.
But he’d made it.
His ears popped as the ship reached space and booted up the warp drive, sending shivers down his spine, lights dimming above. The floor began to rumble, pulling him back into his seat picking up speed and winking out of existence.
Lauren C. Teffeau
http://laurencteffeau.com/
Forge and Fledge(Short story)
by Lauren C. Teffeau
Crossed Genres Magazine. Runaway Theme, Issue 16. April 2014.
“And how did that make you feel, Zhen?” Dr. Veler asks in that soothing monotone of hers.
I know every inch of her office on the upper level of the rig. The metal desk she primly sits behind, legs crossed at the ankles. Motivational posters in flimsy plastic frames. The eternal orange-tinted gloaming beyond the window. When the hydrocarbon clouds part, I can sometimes make out the rig’s shadow as it drifts over Titan’s frozen, craggy surface.
I look down at my work boots. Droplets of grease fleck the toe box. “Dunno. I mean the training’s all right, but I’d rather be in the machine shop.”
Dr. Veler taps something into her touch screen. “You feel safe there? The machine shop?”
Safe? That’s a strange term for it. But then again she’s always twisting around my words. “I like being there when I’m not in class, if that’s what you mean.”
“Why’s that?”
“What else is there for someone like me?”
Dr. Veler eyes me over her screen. “You’re angry.”
“What? No. I’m…” I look down at my hands, white-knuckled and knotted together. My chest heaves with each breath.
“We’ve talked before about your attitude.”
My head snaps up. “But I’m not…like him.”
“That’s why we have these sessions. To keep it that way.” She holds my gaze, then turns back to her touch screen. “You’ll be seventeen next month. You can be something more than your parents, Zhen, but you have to want it.”
I cross my arms. Usually, I don’t totally hate my sessions with Dr. Veler. When we first met, she told me she believed in nurture versus nature—otherwise she wouldn’t have signed on for such an unglamorous position with a remote mining facility. She seems like she actually cares. Although her line of questioning makes me want to cut things short today. But if I bail, she’ll say it’s just another example of the genetic heritage inside me we’ve been working so hard to keep subdued.
Dr. Veler drums her fingers on the desk in time to my heartbeat. “Let’s return to your vocational training. Your company trainer’s been pleased with your aptitude.”
I stare at the ceiling. Rig staff members take turns babysitting me and the other kids in a converted meeting room every day. When they run out of things to teach us, they farms us out to a vocational trainer for part of the school day to see what position on the rig we’ll be best suited for once we’re old enough to legally do the work. The company never planned for us to be here, they’re certainly not paying to ship us back to Earth, so they may as well find a use for us.
Win-win. Not.
Dr. Veler sighs, setting aside her touch screen. “At your request, I contacted your extended family.” She pauses, like she always does when she’s trying to come up with just the right words. “Your mother’s parents are dead, and your father’s…well, they disowned him before he was even sentenced here.”
Technically, I’m an orphan of Titan. But I know who my mother is—she just can’t claim me because she’ll always be a prisoner of the system. She told me once my father was another prisoner—they’d meet during shift changes and one thing led to another. That wasn’t so shocking. After all, every kid on the righas a similar story. But when she said my father was killed during the convict uprising on the rig a few years back, that was different. It meant I had to go to weekly meetings with Dr. Veler on top of my classes.
I l
ift a shoulder at the news. It was a long shot. Dr. Veler hoped to convince my relatives to give me seed money for a transport that could take me to one of the Martian colonies—if not Earth itself—where there’d be more education and employment opportunities. After all, I can’t help who my parents are. I don’t deserve to be shackled to the same fate. But no one seems to care that me and the other orphans are rotting out here.
“I’m sorry, Zhen,” Dr. Veler says.
“Are we done?”
She blinks away the hurt quickly, her professional self once more. “Next week, at our usual time.”
***
I should call it a day and rest up for my morning shift with the company trainer. But a live current hums underneath my skin, leaving me itchy and raw. Dr. Veler says whenever I feel one of these moods coming on it’s best to distract myself with something else. My father’s poor impulse control forever hanging over me.
It’s not like I can go outside. I’ve read enough Earth books to know what I’m missing. No green. No wide-open spaces.
I’ve been outside once, away from the rig’s artificial gravity field. Had to bundle up in a pressurized suit insulated to guard against the subzero temperatures. What surprised me most was the way the atmospheric pressure weighed down my body even as my steps buoyed me up thanks to the moon’s low gravity.
An odd combination one of the engineers told us makes it possible for the rig to hover above Titan’s icy surface. She winked and then said that the high pressure and low grav made even human flight possible. Not that there’s anywhere to go.
I settle on the machine shop—no matter what Dr. Veler thinks about that choice.
Tokala greets me as I suit up and get my goggles and gloves into place. Crunch times when they need stuff machined fast, I’ll pitch in, but mostly I work on my own projects. Tokala’s had some of them mounted to walls around the rig—says they brighten up the place. Not sure I believe that, but if it means I can keep working down here, that’s fine with me.