State of Order

by Julian North

  “Ah, my sister’s pale-skinned savior,” Jefe said, favoring Nythan with a crocodile smile. “And the indomitable champion runner of Bronx City, Daniela Machado. My guests, my friends, please sit. Help yourselves if you are hungry.” My stomach rumbled, but I held my hands on the table’s cool, smooth surface as I sat. “What can I do for you?”

  I looked over at Nythan. This was my world, but his relationship. I’d never spoken to Jefe Black before.

  “We need to punch the kaka negri in the eye,” he said, using Barriola to refer to the Authority.

  Jefe Black’s thick, iron-colored brows rose. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Machado siblings, Nythan, yes? What’s a nice richie boy got against some goons? They aren’t interested in you. I made sure your clinic’s safe. Better if we let things settle down. This is all bad for business. Why stir the hornet’s nest again?”

  Nythan placed both his hands on the table, palms flat. “Believe it or not, this may help get things back to the way you want them. It’s just one truck. It’ll be over quick.”

  “Perhaps you should stick to medicine, Nythan, yes? One truck, one drone—to the kaka negri, it is all the same. There must be order. Which means more explosions, more round-ups of folks. More curfews.”

  “There’s something valuable in those transports. Very valuable. Valuable enough to use hydroTran ships and prefab structures so surveillance drones and satellites can’t see what’s inside.”

  Jefe Black’s mouth contorted sideways in a twisted mess as he laughed. “You want to do a heist in the barrio. You’re making a joke, yes? You steal something from the kaka negri, they’ll be even angrier. Unless there’s fresh meat or gold inside, I’m not interested, even for you. You can ask for my blood, but I am father to the Trinitarios. There is a responsibility, yes?”

  Nythan smiled his arrogant, knowing smile. “We don’t need to steal anything. I just need a look inside. And they won’t know we did it. Quite the opposite. They’ll assume it was another corp, or a political rival. They’ll think their secret is out, whatever it is. We can use that, I think. Secrets are better than gold.”

  The leader of the Trinitarios stared at me. Then he slowly raised an inked hand and pointed two long fingers at Nythan’s head. “You believe this ghost kid? He’s a crazy one, yes? He wants to blackmail the kaka negri! And blame someone else. Oh, he’s a crazy one. I like that, yes.” Jefe Black rubbed his chin. “Okay, Nythan. You saved my sister. Give me your plan. If I like it, I’ll lend you some boys. Then we’re square, yes?”

  Nythan nodded, his mouth stretched wide. “I need one more small favor.”

  Jefe Black threw his hands up in the air. “You want a kidney? What you need?”

  “Some meds dropped off at St. Barnabas.”

  He laughed. “My sis, she’s doin’ great. Girl loves you, man. Her angel, she says. Okay, angel. You got your meds, give me the plan and we get this done, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 22

  We lay in wait. Wolves on the prowl.

  Jefe Black had given us five of his men, making seven of us altogether. The one in charge had wide, baby-like eyes and silky chocolate skin that made him look younger than me, but the illusion was spoiled by the ludicrously thick beard that covered the lower half of his oval-shaped face. Everyone called him Grizzy-Gee. He said seven was a lucky number. I was surprised that someone from BC still believed in luck.

  Halleck Street was a narrow, rutted mess near the Fulton Transshipment Port. The place had been taken over by the government two decades ago from its bankrupt owner, who had once used it as a dock for fishing trawlers and a distribution point for their cargoes—back when the oceans yielded an edible bounty. Whatever the BC administration had planned on doing with the place at the time hadn’t worked out, and no corp wanted it either—too old, too costly to maintain. Traffic was light in this area during regular times. With the unrest, it was virtually nonexistent. The exception were Authority vehicles. Vans with the ominous red slash of the Special Threats Force rumbled in and out of the euphemistically named Fulton Rehabilitation Facility located nearby.

  I stood at the edge of a broken ground-floor window inside one of the two warehouses that the Trinitarios had arranged for us. Halleck Street was packed with nearly identical structures, all abandoned over time to the denizens of the barrio. Ours was the largest, with giant sliding doors big enough to accommodate at least two heavy transports side by side. The ceiling was badly patched, the floor more dirt than actual floor, and it stank like lurkers. But that was what Nythan wanted. My viser vibrated as seven o’clock arrived. Curfew. That’s when the transports started running from the port after being delivered by hydroTrans. They were all headed to the same place: the newly cleared land next to Fishkill that Nythan had seen on his hacked satellite images.

  The first truck passed through precisely thirty minutes after curfew began. Jefe Black had been kind enough to loan us several pairs of night vision scopes as well as the other equipment necessary for the job. The transport’s cab windows were tinted black—no way to see directly inside. Its paint was a perfectly smooth white and it rolled on eight unblemished wheels, each the size of a man. The mysterious cargo on its back was sealed in a rectangular durasteel container that resembled a standard shipping container except for its larger size—these were three times as large as anything else I’d seen hauled on the road. There were no logos or other markings on the vehicles or the containers—unusual for corps who were usually so conscientious about branding their merchandise.

  “It’s using the standard nav-comm public channels for guidance—just like a U-cab or sedan in Manhattan,” Nythan said from beside me. He was looking only at his viser as he spoke.

  “There’s someone inside the cab,” I told him. “The goggles are picking up a heat signature.”

  Nythan nodded, as if I was merely confirming things he already knew. “It’s not a driver, although there is a person in there. I doubt these ancient vision units Jefe gave us could detect human body heat through the transport’s exterior.”

  “Then what am I seeing, Nythan?”

  “It’s cold out, Daniela. Those cabs weren’t designed to carry people. They have to exist for emergencies, like if something happens to the satellite navigation, but they don’t have climate controls. That would be a waste of money. You’re seeing the energy signature of a portable heating unit.” He was smiling.

  “This is what you wanted, then?”

  “Yes, I told you to trust me. I’ve got the readings I need. Let Grizzy-Gee and the rest of the boys know I’m ready. They need to be as well. The next one is our target. Should be about twenty minutes.”

  Another transport approached exactly as predicted. It was identical to the previous truck: pristine, huge, ominous.

  “Getting the same readings on that heat source,” I said.

  “Keep watching.”

  I did. “It’s getting brighter, hotter…”

  “Yes, it certainly is.” He laughed, keeping his eyes on his viser as his fingers twitched.

  The transport screeched to a halt a moment later. Smoke leaked from the cabin. The door of the truck’s front cab swung open and a pair of black boots rolled out, as if shoved by the massive wave of billowing smoke that followed in their wake.

  “The Authority really shouldn’t get such cheap space heaters. Easy to overload and catch fire,” Nythan intoned. “Grizzy-Gee, your boys are up.”

  “Cover your eyes, ghost-man,” he warned.

  I yanked off my night vision and covered my eyes also. Even with my arm shielding my face, the powerful blast of light that followed crept in. The initial flash would’ve blinded anyone—or anything—unprepared for the enhanced magnesium flares the Trinitarios unleashed. I flipped on a pair of cheap deep-shade glasses. Outside, an intense white brightness blanketed the roadway. The Authority men were on the ground, incapacitated either by the smoke or the unexpected intensity of the flares above.


  “The drones above are blind,” Nythan said. “Let’s go.”

  We all ran out from the warehouse, glasses over our eyes, bandanas concealing the rest of our faces. The transport, the smoke, the Authority officers, even the Trinitarios boys—they resembled net sims under that surreal rain of magnesium light. Jefe Black’s men dealt with the black boots efficiently. They were injected with a sedative, blindfolded, and hauled into the second of our temporary warehouses. At least that was the plan. I didn’t want to kill them. Damn, they deserved it, but it would just bring retaliation. And I didn’t want any more blood on my hands. Jefe Black agreed—if his men were found to have killed a black boot, the price would be far higher than a hijacking. Better for everyone this way. At least that’s what they thought.

  Nythan, Grizzy-Gee, and I ran at the transport cab. Grizzy had a fire suppressor, which he used on the still-smoldering space heater. I kicked the blackened remains of the climate unit out of the cab as Nythan flicked his viser like a piano sim on high speed. His eyes danced as he worked. The boy might not be highborn, but he wasn’t normal either. He called himself a nope, but deep inside I think he knew it wasn’t quite true. Just like when I insisted I was a barrio girl. In less than a minute, Nythan had control of the transport’s navigation system. He engaged the manual control and got behind the wheel.

  “You can drive?” I asked as I slid into the cab, Grizzy-Gee beside me. Even with the doors open and bandanas covering our faces, the air burned.

  “Sure,” Nythan declared, coughing as he fumbled with the giant wheel.

  “Get the hell out of there, ghost-boy,” Grizzy-Gee declared, climbing over me to get to Nythan.

  “I got it,” he insisted through hacks.

  “You got nothin’, boy,” Grizzy declared. The polluted air didn’t seem to affect him. “Both of you get your skinny butts out of here. Use the beams on your visers to direct me into the warehouse through this smoke. Let’s get moving. Those flares will fade in a couple of minutes. And you can be sure reinforcements are on the way once they figure out what’s going on.”

  Nythan wasn’t ready to relinquish control. “But, I know I can—”

  I grabbed him with both hands and pulled him out of the cab. He didn’t put up much of a fight. It only took one person to drive once the manual controls were engaged. I was confident that Grizzy would do a better job. After a moment, Nythan stopped complaining.

  “I’ll guide him in,” I said. “Grab the burnt-out heater so it’s not lying in the street. We need to cover our tracks.”

  I set my viser’s pointer beam as bright as it could go and guided the transport into the open doorways of our warehouse. Grizzy-Gee was no expert driver—the transport jerked violently under his control, but he got it going. In fits and starts, it rolled forward. The flares’ light began to fade.

  “We’re running out of time,” Nythan called out unhelpfully.

  The beast of a machine turned slowly toward the warehouse’s open door, coming around like a drunk whale. I couldn’t see Grizzy behind the blackened window. It was just a giant hunk of cold metal bearing down on me. I waved the truck forward with increasing urgency as the sky turned from brilliant white to a dusty yellow. Grizzy must’ve noticed the change as well. The transport lurched forward in a sudden spasm of speed. I dove out of the way as it barreled into the warehouse. The truck’s massive tires screeched as if in pain as Grizzy slammed on the brakes. The odor of burnt synthrubber filled the air. The warehouse doors slammed shut as I pulled myself off the filthy ground. No one paid attention to me. They were focused on our hijacked cargo.

  The truck was impossibly large up close. The sides of the cargo container spilled out even wider than the massive flatbed on which it rested. The sides were polished, without a single visible dent or scratch. They had never been used before. I felt my pulse accelerate.

  Grizzy-Gee stumbled out of the truck’s cab. He gazed at the vehicle he had steered inside with something like awe. He shook his head. I ran toward him. He saw me coming.

  “Dee, sorry ’bout that, I—”

  “Forget it. The black boots will come looking soon. We need a few more minutes for Nythan to work his magic.”

  Grizzy shook his head, as if he could shake away the effect of the noxious air he’d been sucking in. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” He pulled a clunky, palm-sized device with an attached flexible metal cord from his pocket. The contraption looked like something from a museum—or something Nythan could’ve cooked up, a radio transmitter. It used a channel that the Authority monitoring devices would never bother to even try to detect. Grizzy pressed the button twice.

  “Let’s see if ghost-boy’s toy actually works,” Grizzy said to me.

  We both stared at the device. Grizzy’s hand was shaking, his eyes drawn and red.

  “You should see a doctor,” I said.

  He scoffed. The machine in his hand beeped back at him four times in quick succession. Message received.

  “They’re on it. Random explosions will start popping up all over BC. A couple more magnesium flares too. That should keep them busy. But ghosty still better hurry. We only got a couple more minutes if we want to get out of here alive. Or less, if we’re unlucky.”

  I ran to the rear of the transport. I always expect to be unlucky.

  Nythan had already hacked the lock. That was the easy part. It was still a damn heavy door. He and another of the Trinitarios—Kasel was her name—were hanging off the top of the container, trying to get it open with the weight of their bodies.

  “How’s it goin’ up there, little boys and girls?” Grizzy asked.

  “We need your fat butts up here, amigos,” Kasel shouted back.

  I took several steps back then ran back at the container, leaping upward. My fingers latched onto the top of the giant rear hatch, which was already partially ajar. It shifted down a bit further as my weight and momentum were added.

  “Grizzy, we need you if you can do it,” I called.

  The bearded ruffian leapt upward. His girth was enough. The hydraulics of the hatch began to move. We glided downward as the door opened, revealing the secrets inside.

  It was a ready-made laboratory of some kind. Every inch of its two long walls were covered from floor to ceiling with displays and interfaces. The one directly opposite me was completely bare and looked to be made from a different material than the rest. A couple of red lights flashed inside, illuminating the interior like a pulsing heart, but for the most part the collection of technology slumbered like a dangerous giant. Nythan entered with eager steps. I followed warily, shining my viser’s light on the walls. The air was stale but laced with the odor of newly fabricated materials.

  “What do you think all these gadgets and circuits are worth, ghost-man?” asked Grizzy. He didn’t come inside.

  Nythan didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the machines around him. He placed a hand on one of the displays and ran his fingers gently across its surface.

  “What is it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I had no idea, but something about this place was wrong.

  “It’s a piece of a larger construction. Like a preassembled portion of a Lego set. All the complex equipment has been installed and tested.” He banged against the bare wall. It rang out. “This wall comes off, and this piece is fitted with another. It’s the fastest way to assemble a sophisticated laboratory.”

  “But why bother? Why not just build it where you want it?”

  Nythan continued to ignore me, absorbed in the tech around him. He did a leisurely circuit around the rectangle, never taking his hand from the wall. His hand stopped on a lever secured in place by a piece of red tape. He placed his hand on the handle.

  “Nythan, our time is running out. Do you know what this place is?”

  His eyes met mine. I shivered. I’d not seen such a tortured look on his face before, not even on the night of the assassinations when we’d nearly lost Kortilla. So very un-Nythan. Whatever he had expected to find in h
ere, this was worse. He yanked the handle down. I jumped as a thunderclap erupted. A long panel folded down from the ceiling, dropping against the metal floor with a thud that sent a tremor through the whole container. It was just over the width of my shoulders and about seven feet in height. There were maroon cushions on its surface. It reminded me of an examination table in a doctor’s office stood up on its side. Except there was an empty section where a person’s head might rest. And there were restraints. For the arms, legs, waist, and head.

  I heard sirens outside. They were close but not on top of us yet.

  “Time’s up, kids,” Grizzy-Gee called from outside. “Jefe says to keep you two safe. Which means we leave—now.”

  “What is this place, Nythan? What the hell are we standing inside?”

  He smacked the strange bed. “This is where they would secure the subject. He or she would be sedated, of course. The precursor chemicals damage the mind. The restraints are merely a precautionary measure.”

  My mouth dropped. I understood, even though I wished I didn’t.

  Nythan’s eyes locked with mine.

  “It’s a chipping facility.”

  Chapter 23

  “We need to burn that place to the ground.”

  “That’s the third time you’ve said that,” Nythan reminded me.

  We were crammed into a hidey-hole beneath the basement of a Trinitarios safe house. The air was hot and stale, space was sparse, and my legs ached. Neither Nythan nor I smelled very good. We were safe for the moment, but also stuck. I had chewed my lower lip raw during the first hour.

  Once the Authority had figured out one of the chip supply trucks had been hijacked, they had erected a security cordon around the area. We didn’t know its exact boundaries. The Trinitarios controlled enough tunnels, rooftops, and illegally-connected houses to get us to this wrecked, old brownstone, but it was too dangerous to cross the security perimeter tonight.

  “Jefe Black might lend us men again,” I said desperately. “They won’t expect a direct attack. Maybe Jalen will help.”