Fin

by Larry Enright

  “I have more,” Fin said, “many more. The agency pays me well. I just do not have them on me. I will repay you later, if that is all right.”

  “Don’t worry yourself over it. How about I make you one of Mama’s famous Recon pancakes?”

  “I would like that very much.”

  They waited in line at a booth selling low-grade, unseasoned Reconstitute. Mama preferred it that way. She liked to do her own seasoning, and it was cheaper. After haggling over the price, she bought enough for dinner. They left the market and walked home.

  Do not abandon me. Do not abdicate your duty as stewards of this world. Squander not the gifts I have given you, take them not for granted. They are not a right. They are a privilege. And never forget that they are not limitless. Do not separate into sides and factions, draw no lines, mark no territory, and demand not of others that to which you yourself have no rightful claim. For thus will begin the arguments, the squabbles, the conflicts, and the wars. And if you fill your hearts with hate, there will be no love left in mine for you.

  “Fin?” Mama said. “Fin!”

  Fin paused his Commlink. “Yes, Mama?”

  “If you could stop listening to that thing long enough to take this package, I need to get something out of my purse.”

  Fin took the package of Reconstitute.

  Mana drew a gun from her handbag. “A body can’t be too careful. We’ve had some unsavories hanging around the lobby lately,” she said. "Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

  When Council first authorized the construction of housing units for the Cybernites, they determined that clearing the entire Artificial Sector of debris was an unnecessary expense. So the Cyblocks, as they called them, were built among the ruins. They were massive, bomb-hardened buildings erected during the first century A.B. They were dilapidated, timeworn structures surrounded by squalor. Each took up an entire city block. Each was designed to hold thousands but each held many thousands more than that. They were all numbered. Home for Fin and Mama was Cyblock-101.

  The stoop light was out. The 101 etched into the stone above it could barely be seen. The thick metal front door hung askew on its hinges. It had been that way for months since the police had broken it down during a raid on one of the apartments. Three Grays were sheltering in the dim hallway. Fin recognized them as three of the many homeless who roamed the streets by day and retreated into the alleys and hallways of the Cyblocks at night. They greeted Mama, but when they saw Fin, they lowered their heads and moved out of the way.

  “What’s the matter with you?” said Mama.

  “What do you think? He’s a cop,” one of them muttered.

  “Not that kind of cop.”

  “Good evening and God be with you, gentlemen,” Fin said.

  One of the Grays replied automatically, “And with us all.”

  One of the others elbowed him. “I guess it would be if we had some of that Recon.”

  “I would offer you some, but it is not mine to give.”

  “Look at you in your fancy clothes. Spare a few credits? We haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  “I do not have any credits on me.”

  “Right. You sound just like the Man.”

  Mama scolded them, telling them to stop begging in her building. She would have none of it and they shouldn’t either. It was beneath them. She threatened them with her gun and told them to get out. They left, and she and Fin took the elevator up to their floor.

  She put the gun back into her bag. “I gave Kron the money to buy a few more bullets. I only have the one and that doesn’t go far with three unsavories. That was months ago. He,” she stopped herself and sighed. “It doesn't matter. One bullet or three, the likes of those Drabs don't have the guts.”

  “Are you sure your husband won’t mind if I have dinner with you?” said Fin. “I do not think he likes me much, though I am not sure why.”

  “Kron doesn’t like a lot of things, but you’re not one of them, honey. He just has a little trouble expressing himself. That’s all.”

  “I see. In that case, what time should I come over?”

  “Seven. That gives you a half hour to freshen up. I should have everything ready by then.”

  Each floor in the Cyblock was laid out identically for maximum efficiency. Every apartment had a common room that functioned as a living space and dining area. Each had one bedroom and one bath. They were designed to house two Cybernites. Four was a stretch. Many held eight or more. The apartments were all the same except Fin’s. The SIA had appropriated two adjoining apartments in Cyblock-101 for his use and had combined them into a single living space, much like what the citizens of Periculum would expect to find if they were looking for a small apartment in one of the residential sectors. It was modest by human standards, unheard of for a Cybernite. It had two bedrooms, two baths, plumbing that didn’t leak, a heater that worked, a study, recessed ceiling lights that didn't constantly flicker, a spacious common area, and a separate kitchen/dining room, all tastefully furnished. The SIA also provided Fin a full wardrobe and delivered his monthly allotments of specially processed Reconstitute. They satisfied his every desire save one—they could not give him the window he requested. Fin wanted to be able to look at the world beyond his walls, but the law permitted no windows in the Cyblocks. Not that there was anything special or beautiful to see outside. On a good day, Cytown was murky and raining. On most days, it was dark and dismal. As an alternative to a window, the decorators hung vidscreens in every room.

  When Fin entered his apartment, the screen in the common area was displaying a panorama of the Periculum skyline, majestic with its tall megascrapers and ever-blue sky. In other rooms were images of forests that had existed before the war, of rivers when their waters still ran clear, and of mountains from times past when they were perpetually peaked with snow that was white not black. One of the hangings in his apartment was not a vidscreen at all. It was a painting of a waterfall. Dr. Shepherd had given it to him as a gift. Fin hung it in the bedroom where he would often stare at it for hours at night wondering how something so powerful could bring him such peace of mind.

  Fin closed the door behind him awakening the apartment computer. His apartment was equipped with a state-of-the-art Homecom, installed by the SIA at Dr. Shepherd’s request. It controlled the lights, temperature, vidscreens, housekeeping functions, and security. Shepherd wanted him to be comfortable and safe, so he had insisted on it. The lights came up and classical music began to play a selection from a playlist Dr. Shepherd had personally configured for Fin.

  “Welcome home, sir,” the Homecom said. Dr. Shepherd had chosen a woman’s voice for the interface. Fin always thought of it as soft and pleasant, and imagined it to be much like a mother’s might be had he actually had a mother. He realized just then that its voice was that of Semperesse, Dr. Shepherd’s assistant. Odd, he thought.

  “Hello,” Fin replied.

  “Should I start your shower now, sir? It will take a few minutes to bring the water up to temperature.”

  “You ask me that every night and every night I say no.”

  “It will only take three minutes to warm the water, sir. You’re well within your monthly allotment.”

  “It is wasteful.”

  “The waste water is recycled, sir.”

  “The energy is not. Thank you, but I prefer to shower as everyone else does.”

  “As you wish.”

  Fin looked around the common area, focusing on the view of the Periculum skyline, wishing he were looking instead at the rain that was falling on Cytown just then. He couldn’t see it from inside his apartment, couldn’t smell it or hear it or feel it, but he knew it was raining. It was always raining, a byproduct of the climate shift brought on by the Great War.

  The Homecom began its nightly status report. Fin wasn’t paying attention until he heard it say, “I took the liberty of selecting something comfortable for you to wear this evening.”

  “What did you pick?”
Fin asked.

  “Something tasteful and clean.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  Fin changed out of his day suit and showered. Afterward, he put away the clothes selected by the Homecom, instead putting on a pair of poor quality pants, a secondhand shirt, and a pullover he had bought in a local market. The Homecom reminded him that these were the same clothes he had worn every night for the past week and that they needed to be laundered. It also reminded him that they were not standard SIA issue and could not be worn inside the city proper. Fin thanked the Homecom for the reminder.

  Like all Cybernites, Fin didn’t have a bank account. There were no banks in Cytown. It was considered too great a risk to operate one in such a high-crime sector, especially when the population had so little money to speak of. Fin was the exception. He had a great deal of money even by human standards, so much that he was advised by the paymaster at the SIA to secure it in a private account in a Downtown bank. Fin declined the suggestion, instead keeping his credits in a box hidden behind a loose wall panel in his bedroom. Mama had suggested he do that. It was how everyone hid their money. The waterfall painting covered that panel. Fin stared at it for a moment, wondering where in the world this beautiful thing might have been. He removed some credits from the box, stuffed them into his pocket, and left the apartment. Taking the stairs back down to the first floor, he found the three Grays hanging around outside. After an awkward exchange, he handed each of them a few credits, telling them to get themselves something to eat. They took his money, returning the favor with insults. He took the stairs back up to Mama’s.

  Mama’s mate Kron was just getting home when Fin got to their door. They were an odd couple—he a White and she a Yellow, she the housekeeper for a rich family in the city and he a factory worker in a particularly tough part of Cytown. Kron’s shirt was sweat-stained and dirty, his pantleg torn, and his pasty skin blackened beneath one eye. He was not a young man, but despite being bent from the years of toiling for the humans, he was still a proud one. Fin asked if he’d been in a fight.

  “That’s my business, not yours,” Kron replied. “What do you want?”

  “Your wife invited me to dinner.”

  “I’m uninviting you.”

  Mama opened the door, letting the aroma of Reconstitute frying in the pan mix with the persistent musty smell of the hallway. It was dimly lit inside their apartment. She always said they were careful to use only enough light to keep back the darkness, enough water to survive, and enough power to cook their meals and stay warm. Their furniture and appliances were ancient, salvaged from the remains of the old city. Their place had none of the luxurious appointments of Fin’s. It had no Homecom to watch over them, no vidscreens, and no functioning air-handler, but Kron kept everything in their place running and in good repair, and Mama’s touch made their apartment more a home than Fin’s had ever been.

  She gasped, “Kron, whatever happened?”

  “Nothing. One of the machines broke down and I got in the way. That’s all.” He tried to step past her.

  She stopped him to examine his black eye. “You look like you’ve been on the wrong end of the fist, dear. Are they giving you trouble about us again?”

  “I’m a Pasty and you’re a Slimer. You figure it out.” He pushed past her and headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up.

  “Mixed marriages are exceptionally rare, but they are permitted under law,” Fin pointed out.

  “I know that,” Mama said, “but do you think that’s going to stop those Pasty bigots at the factory from giving him a hard time? And you know what a temper he has. All they have to do is mention the word whore and it sets him off.” She sighed. “It’s on days like this I wish I had turned my poor Kron down when he asked me to marry him. Maybe it would have been better for the both of us.”

  “But you love him, Mama.”

  “Love isn’t enough to make it in this town, honey. You’ll learn that someday. Listen, how about I make up a plate for you to take back to your place? I don’t think dinner with us tonight is such a good idea after all.”

  “I can make something for myself.”

  “The way you cook? I won’t have it. Just hold your pants on. I’ll be right back.”

  Fin waited by the door until she returned with the food.

  “Just once you’ll have to have us over for dinner,” she said, then smiled. “Of course Kron wouldn’t set foot in your place, so it would just be me. What do you say?”

  “You know I cannot do that, Mama. Regulations do not permit me to have visitors.”

  “I know, I know, security and all that nonsense. I just want a peek. I won’t tell a soul. I promise. I’m just dying to see how the other half lives.”

  “I am not the other half. I am a Cybernite.”

  She patted him on the cheek. “Of course, you are. Now run along, honey. I have to tend to my prize fighter husband’s black eye.”

  Chapter 3

  Fin left for work early the next morning after a restless night. The smell of liquor hung in the stale downstairs hallway air. The homeless had left behind a slew of empty liquor bottles, used Creep vials, and broken auto-injectors. A trail of dried vomit led to the steps outside. It was chilly that morning and raining hard. Always the rain, thick and syrupy and smelling like an overfilled dumpster. Fin pulled the hood of his waterproof gray suit over his head and jogged to the train station. At the electronic newsstand outside the entrance he bought a fortified Reconstitute bar, a shot of black ersatz coffee, and the daily news upload for his Commlink. As he did every morning, he read the reports on the ride into the city.

  There had been a violent robbery overnight in the Industrial Sector—three dead, scores wounded, a warehouse burned to the ground, and a truckload of pharma chemicals stolen. Fin scanned the details, archived the article, and went on to the next story about the current military action against the Eastern Bloc. Things had reached a critical stage. Council had approved the use of tactical chemical weapons on the northern front. Scientists were downplaying the impact of the resulting poisonous cloud that would spread across the continent with the prevailing winds. They determined that the Periculum shield would neutralize any threat to the human population, and though the Cybernites would be exposed to elevated levels of the neurotoxins, only the older models lacking the latest enhanced resistance polyclonics would be appreciably affected. Projections showed casualty figures to be well within acceptable parameters. Officials at Polyclonic Technologies had been notified and were already ramping up production in anticipation of the increased demand for replacement units. Fin deleted the story and the supporting articles, and paged forward to a piece about Council. They were expected to vote that morning to continue the curfew in the exclusive Hill Sector of the city imposed two weeks ago after one of its residents reported a Cybernite prowler of unknown color. Police had the authority to recycle any Cy caught in that sector after 8:00 p.m. regardless of authorization.

  The lights flickered as they always did when the train passed through the Periculum shield. Fin felt the familiar tingle in his neck as his tattoo was scanned for clearance to pass. There was flash of light from the back of the car, a cry, a puff of smoke, an amber blink, and unintelligible static from the Lawspeaker, marking the end of another life. Fin put his Commlink away and turned toward the window to watch the tunnel lights flash by.

  When he got off the train at Lower Downtown, the station Lawspeaker announced, Cybernites to the back steps, humans to the front. Fines will be assessed, repeat offenders recycled. So Council has decreed.

  No one who got off the Northend train that morning took the front steps. No one ever took the front steps. Fin and the other Cybernites climbed the back ones to the next higher platform where they were greeted by the metered precision of classical music. He recognized the selection, period, and composer. Fin was familiar with most of the music on Council’s approved list and some that was banned because it had been deemed subversive. It didn’t seem to matter.
No one was listening. The music was more a beat they marched to than an art form to be appreciated.

  Fin stepped out of the procession of Cybernites continuing their long hike up to the street to watch the humans milling about that level, waiting at the kiosks for their designer coffees, chatting about their plans for the day over a morning pastry, coming and going as they always did with a sense of well-being and purpose that he found lacking in himself that morning. He considered buying a shot of real coffee as a pick-me-up, maybe an espresso, something with enough stimulants in it to give him the jolt he needed. He had proper authorization to do so and he had the credits, but the lines were long and by law he would have to give up his place to any human who came in behind him. So Council had decreed. He waved his ID over the escalator scanner, waited for the light authorizing him to join the humans on it, and took it up to the main concourse, where he boarded a glass elevator that carried him up to street level.

  The sky was blue and peaceful, the air refreshing and invigorating. Fin breathed it in, imagining the sun rising somewhere on that broken world. It could have been a beautiful morning or it could have been just another dismal day like every day in Cytown. He had no way of knowing, but he reasoned that the sun must be visible somewhere, anywhere. Surely it could not have been blotted out entirely? Perhaps he would go someday to where the sun shined. Perhaps he would find that waterfall in his painting and sit beside it to watch the sun rise and then set. Or perhaps not. Such reveries were irrelevant for a Cybernite. So Council had decreed.

  He returned to the lower sidewalk and headed for the Government Sector. At a corner, he was waiting for the light to change when he noticed Esse leaning on the railing of the elevated walkway across the intersection. She seemed to be watching him. She smiled. Fin felt an odd sense of déjà vu, despite having only met her the day before. In humans, déjà vu was entirely explainable as the concatenation and merging of similar memories and experiences resulting in the mistaken notion that exactly the same thing had happened before. Fin's brain was not made that way. His was orderly, structured, designed for the clarity required for investigative work. Yet, the notion was clearly there that he had seen her watching him before, though he could not recall where or when. He bowed to her and indicated he would join her on the upper walkway once he crossed the street. His hand motions attracted the Lawspeaker's attention. It flashed amber and assessed him a one-credit fine for up-looking. When the light changed, Esse was gone.