“I thought this was from lost and found.”
“You actually fell for that?”
Zoe smiled, relieved that he hadn’t stolen the clothes. There may yet be hope for him. She observed how Adi’s dress clung to her form, leaving nothing to the imagination. “How did you know what size she wears?”
“I didn’t. I just know women’s bodies.”
“You do, huh?”
“Just another one of my awesome talents.” He looked to see Adi tie a makeshift gun holster around her inner thigh.
“You’re so much like your father,” Zoe blurted out.
The slip was a surprise to both him and her. “You knew my father?”
She bit her tongue. “Yeah.”
“What was he like?”
Clearing her throat of an overabundance of imaginary phlegm, she said, “Arrogant... full of himself... just like you.”
“No kidding?” he asked rhetorically. “Way to go, Pop.”
She wanted to laugh, but didn’t, thinking it would encourage his sardonic attitude.
He saw that he could easily get a rise out of her. Feeling smug, he smiled as he tapped his tel-link earpiece. “Hey Dinx, you ready?”
The call connected. “Let’s get this over with.” By the tone, the kid was still upset.
“Okay guys, we got to do something about your marks.” He held up several tapered adhesive strips.
“What are those?” Zoe asked.
“They’re masking strips. They’ll hide the radiation from your marks. The Hi-8 has scanners looking for undesirables.”
“Like us.”
“You said it, not me.”
Adi had no mark, so she helped cover Emil’s while Max helped Zoe. The fleshy opaqueness of the strips blended well with their complexions.
Nearing the end of the line, he removed two small oval-shaped discs from the bag and handed Emil and Zoe each one. They had no clue what to do with them. He ignored their puzzlement and attended to Adi first.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It’s your tag-chip. It gives you access to the network, under someone else’s I-dent of course. Without it you’ll stick out and get security called on us. Now, open your eyes big and hold still.”
He held the disc close to her left eye. A mild red pulse illuminated the malleable iris.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it. Now, you will be able to see anything you want to access. It works just like a tel-link.” He pinned the device to her dress, just above the vale between her breasts. “By the way, you have nice eyes.”
She enjoyed his bold attention, but pretended to accept his compliment with good humor.
After scanning both Emil and Zoe’s eyes, he let them pin their own discs to their clothes.
“Pavel, you’re I-dent is some dink named Karl McRuff. And Chacon, you’re Deloris Fabeler.”
“Who am I?” Adi inquired.
“You’re Candy Sweet.”
“Sounds like a pole-girl’s name,” Zoe remarked.
“I tried to match the names with the person as best as I could.”
“Deloris?”
“Yeah, you kinda look like a Deloris.”
“What is a — pole-girl?” Adi asked.
Max blushed from a self-conscious sense of getting caught doing something wicked. “It... it means a dazzling woman.”
She didn’t buy the explanation. “I’m sure it does.”
The elevator halted with a jolt on the eightieth floor. Max stowed the bag, loaded with their clothes, in the ceiling. The doors opened.
“Alright, old man and ladies, this is it.”
They followed him into a lobby. Hi-risers brushed by, too self-absorbed to notice the intruders in their world.
Accustomed to seeing the elitists slumming in the Lo-5, Zoe wasn’t mesmerized by their kitschy decadence. She tugged on the slack of her shirt. Its conservative blandness in this ultra-liberal playground made her feel ironically nude.
Emil couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Back in his younger days, Americans weren’t as outlandish. Two men in loin cloths paraded by, both covered head-to-toe in morphing dermo-glyths. Nearby, a topless woman leaned against a railing, smoking a long sloping pipe. A thin chain ran from a bulging nipple piercing, along her gaunt body, and down to the exposed patch of pubic hair. A man in a solid white leather outfit approached and groped her without introduction. Emil had no relief from the disgusting lewdness.
These Americans indulge in complacency while the world falls to tyranny. Fools!
Max removed a data-plate from his jacket and tapped commands on its screen. When he was ready, he snapped his fingers. “Stand back.”
He tapped the screen again and their tag-chips beeped upon linking to the network. Holographic bubbles formed in ethereal currents around each of them, streaming live images and data. Colorful advertisements bombarded their senses. Buy this — look here — don’t think about it — and a hundred other inundating messages orbited inside each confining sphere.
Unfazed by the distracting pop-ups, Max discarded them without a second thought. Zoe, having trouble adjusting to the user specific commercials flooding her sphere, swatted at the images as though they were bugs. Several Hi-risers gawked at the strange conduct.
He grabbed her arm. “Stop that before you get us caught. The pops are linked to your optics. No one else can see them. Just finger the edge and they’ll disappear.”
Using his fingers on the holograms in his own bubble, he demonstrated how to exit the bothersome pop-ups. When they were ready, Max hurried his tour group out to the delirium of the city’s crown.
Thousands of walkways connected hundreds of shimmering skyscraper tops and free-floating structures together in a flimsy web of reflective light. The skyscape past the horizon flowed into different shapes, creating a mirage which was detached from the reality which inspired it.
They arrived at the World First Plaza after the commencement of the festivities. Named in honor of the ideals for which the Hi-8 was founded, the elliptical plaza floated at the hub of Chavelle, the largest of the Hi-8’s districts, and Claremont. In the space above a central chasm, sheets of levitating water transfigured into spiraling jets. Flags from dozens of Alliance countries flapped in the breeze on the outer rim.
Upon the forehead of almost every reveler was a sunburst ora. Those unlucky stragglers without the latest must have accessory, waited in long lines at Zolarian kiosks to buy their own crystals.
The crimson ora in his pocket made Emil nervous. Could these shards expose his possession of the superior crystal? He got close to Max and yelled over the crowd’s howling noise, “What’s happening?”
“It’s the World First Celebration! They’re celebrating the end of the war!”
Overhead on giant floating screens, a three-dimensional broadcast played. More than a minute passed before the crowd settled and the presentation’s somber music could be heard.
A melodramatic feminine voice spoke. “August 12, 2079: A day that will forever live in the annals of infamy. Twenty years ago, the former United States perpetrated the worst act of barbarism in recorded history.”
The holo-cast showed an atomic mushroom cloud blooming over the night sky. Below its terrible glory was a fiery backdrop.
“During the Battle of Bucharest, the peacekeepers of the Global Alliance were on the verge of victory against the invading forces of the American Coalition. Unable to accept defeat, U.S. President Charles Haden ordered the unthinkable - the unleashing of nuclear terror on America’s own ally, Romania.”
Emil tensed at the mention of his homeland.
The propaganda showed President Haden and his baleful officers standing on a raised platform while thousands of faceless American soldiers goose-stepped in an endless formation. Scenes of more atomic devastation followed. The music turned ominous.
“Millions perished. A sovereign country — a people — a way of life forever wiped from the face of the Earth.�
��
On the screens, international protests and rioting mobs burning American flags played out.
“From the tragedy arose an outcry of unified voices declaring, America would not escape her crimes.”
Brave Alliance troopers stormed the Oval Office and arrested Haden. Some in the crowd cheered during the scene. The questionable footage continued with the arrest of American and ally soldiers. The heroic image of General Serov staring off frame materialized as the shackled war criminals were hauled away in the flatbeds of ground-trucks.
“The Alliance institutes transitional law. Under General Order Seven of the Paris Convention, all Coalition leaders and combatants were designated war criminals. The United States was dissolved and an interim government formed. Those who committed evil were punished.”
Hoots rolled through the crowd at the Plaza. The brigends amongst them felt vulnerable.
The holo-cast continued with the processing of war criminals by French bureaucrats. The veterans, with their heads hanging low, endured the laser-branding of brigend marks on their necks.
“On this day, we celebrate the end of tyranny and the beginning of a better future for our children.”
Sunshine, a cool inviting breeze, and people celebrating with songs and dances finished on the screen.
Max fiddled with his plate, oblivious to Zoe’s upsetting anamnesis, which was noticeable to anyone who cared to see. She could still smell the laser burning the mark into her flesh.
Streaming vid-feeds from the Zolarian Spire appeared. The crowd went into a frenzy when President Orock’s face dominated every viewer. Surrounding him were dozens of politicians and world dignitaries. The mob at the Plaza fell silent, leaving only the broadcast of partiers at the Spire chanting his name. The American statesman milked the admiration before raising his hands to quell the praises.
“My fellow citizens of the world, today marks the official end of the failed experiment known as America.”
The crowds erupted in thunderous applause. Orock waved again to settle the masses.
“We are no longer the warmongering, oppressive hooligans holding the world in darkness. This is our time to step forward, not back. Let us from this point on strive to make amends for our past wrongs and show we are truly citizens of this world.”
The visiting dignitaries raised their fists and punched the air with primordial fervor. The mobs mimicked their example. Orock, the political master, waved to people below and flashed his million euro-marks teeth. When he was ready, he regained their attention.
“The road getting here has been tough. As Americans, we lacked the civility necessary to bring real change to a morally corrupt system. For generations, our arrogance enslaved the natures of our better angels. Through greed, we stole from the weak. Through hatred, we diminished individuality. Well, no longer I say!”
The crowds applauded.
He spoke above the noise. “I am eternally grateful for the help the Global Alliance has provided us during these past two decades of uncertainty. Their drive, their determination is the reason why we stand here today. They are the reason we celebrate our first steps toward a better world!”
The crowds chanted Orock — Orock — Orock!
The Plaza trembled from something other than the jubilation. The brigends looked to the sky and were overcome by the sight of three Alliance battle cruisers taxing between the towers. Each warship was top of the line, immaculate and menacing.
The largest of the three, the Leviathan, ruled the red sunset. By the elongated shape of its ghost-white hull and its formidable weapons batteries, there was no denying it was Serov's flagship.
The murdering coward is here, Emil said to himself.
His anger threatened to explode. For the first time in years, his reviled enemy was within reach of his blood-lust. Whether by Zolarian trickery or God’s will, there was a purpose to both men being in the same place at the same time. Emil affirmed a vow — I will end this.
He tugged Max’s arm. “We have to keep moving while everyone is distracted. Are you sure you can find Nerees?”
“Yeah. It’s just a walk in the sky, grandpa. Nerees was last tagged at Jaures Tower.”
“Then you have point, kid.”
The Hi-risers celebrated their peace and harmony, ignoring the outlaws on a mission of obvious mischief.
Chapter 12
The princess in the tower
Their uneventful trip from the Plaza was brief. Emil used the lull to study the architecture. He noted, for being three hundred meters above the ground, amazingly there wasn’t a strong air current blowing across the walkways. He reasoned it had something to do with the overall layout. The towers weren’t randomly floating, but were deliberately distributed in a set order to disrupt high winds. How the levitating structures resisted budging from their invisible anchors was beyond his understanding.
They arrived at Jaures Tower as the last of dusk-light painted the clouds in somber shades of grayish orange. The crescent bridge connecting the main thoroughfare to the tower isolated Jaures from the district, giving the building an impressive veneer in comparison to the sky.
Max craned his neck to take in its enormity. “Wow. That’s one ugly piece of work.”
“We’re not here to sightsee,” Zoe reminded him.
He keyed the tel-link. “Dinx, sweep the place.”
His timid friend replied, “This is going to be easy. Scans show no one home except for the target. Oh, by the way, since I have your attention, I want to renegotiate my cut of the pay.”
“Standby... getting... interference...” Max tapped his link, ending the bargaining. “Alright, we’re good to go.”
There was no one to challenge them when they entered the lobby. As they proceeded to the lift-shafts, their footsteps echoed. Newborn moonlight shining through the encompassing windows left their shadows distorted on the polished floor.
Activated by the intrusion, a holographic ghost greeted them. “I welcome you to Jaures Industries, a proud new subsidiary of Zolaris, home of innovations and progression,” said the French avatar. “I regret to inform you our offices are closed for the celebration and ask that you return at a later time. Merci, et bonne journée.”
Max reacted on the fly, “Uh yeah, we’re here to fix the ventilation ducts on thirty.”
“There is no scheduled maintenance for that level. I must insist you exit and return at a later time. Merci, et bonne journée.”
He tried to sidestep it, but the hologram refocused directly in his path, this time with its polite demeanor replaced with one of continental rudeness. “I see you are a stupid American and unable to comprehend simple directions. Leave at once! Stupide morceau de merde!”
“Max?” Zoe shifted into a defensive stance. How she would fight a hologram, she wasn’t sure.
“Dinx?” Max tapped his tel-link repeatedly.
“What?” asked the voice in the earpiece.
“We got a problem here.”
Seconds ticked by. “Greeter hologram, huh? Don’t worry. I got this.”
“I will notify security!” The beam of light flickered and disappeared. A second later, it reformed with its original pleasant temperament. “Welcome my friends. How may I assist you today?”
Emil asked, “Where is Markus Nerees?”
“He is on the top floor. Use the lift and it will take you there.” One of the lift-cars opened. “Merci, et bonne journée.”
They boarded the pod while the creepy ghost waved goodbye.
Zoe nudged her partner, “Get your friend to scope ahead. Look for anything that might be a problem.”
“Dinx, clear the top floor.” He waited for the report. “He says there’s something up there pulling a crap-load of power, but it doesn’t show up on the grid or in the schematics. It’s a dead zone.”
“Stay alert,” Emil warned.
“So far this has been easy,” Adi remarked.
“Too easy,” Zoe countered.
“Not really,�
�� Max added. “Dinx was one of the outsourced workers hired by Jaures to recode the grids a few years ago. He installed some backdoors and crazy hidden stuff in the code. That’s how we got past the doorman.”
“It’s a real key to the city,” she joked.
“Yeah, but the bypass won’t last forever. Eventually the system will reboot.”
“Then let’s get this done and get out.” She cocked her gun.
The car chimed. The doors opened and the three soldiers got off with weapons raised and ready. Max walked out with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head in disbelief.
The floor’s layout was similar to the lobby, antiseptic and cold. The spacious passage curved along an inner concave wall. Large vaulted windows provided a clear vista of the starry night. While the others went in search of potential dangers, Max ambled to the portals and looked out on the remarkable spectacle. Clouds drifted on a void beneath the window. Sprinkled across were metal peaks poking through the white blanket. He was an ancient god from a storybook, gazing down from a celestial throne at the mortal realm of man.
The brigends had disappeared around the bend, leaving him alone with the neighboring moon to watch over him. The mood of tranquility eased his prevailing anxiety. He wanted it to last, but he worried about his cohorts causing trouble without his guidance. He moved from the glass. “Let’s find this Neeres guy and get the hell out of here.”
Strolling along the track, he maneuvered close to the inner wall. Stretching out his arm, he ran his fingertips over its cool sheen. He soon found the others pressed against the barrier as if trying to hide from someone. He was about to ask what’s going on when Zoe signaled for him to hide. He quickly flattened his backside against the wall next to Adi.
Zoe peered and ducked her head back. She turned and raised a hold sign to Emil. He wasn’t as cautious as he looked around the curve, much to her irritation.
Not far from them, a short elderly man stood in front of a vault door. With no protrusions or visible control-pad, it seemed to lack any conceivable access. The man in the tailored suit raised his hand in a sweeping motion. The door unsealed and rolled outward, saturating the vicinity in a brilliant white light. He crossed the doorsill.
Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) Page 10