No, she chose not to think about that right now! It was too dangerous to let those emotions seep in and further erode her thought process. She was already on edge.
She had to back down from this nervousness. With a quick breath, she answered him, mid-stride. "Oh, that won't be necessary." Sela scrambled in her mind to come up with a reason why she was in a hurry to leave, while she was declining help from Harrington. "I… I was hoping to freshen up before going to my meeting."
"Of course, of course!" Harrington cooed. Reaching a hand out, he combed his fingers over her forearm and drew her to a stop. "You can use my wife's bathroom. It's right over here." He let go of her arm, gestured, and led her through another room.
Sela followed reluctantly, her mind reeling for a way to gain the upper hand. She couldn't just run from him. Her instructions were to get at least two minutes worth of his voice recorded. Under no circumstances could he be allowed to find out what she was really here for.
Of course, the instructions said nothing about being abducted.
Could he kidnap me? she wondered fearfully.
It depended how powerful Harrington was, and truthfully, she didn't really know. He was powerful enough that hackers couldn't get his voiceprint by breaking into his network or monitoring the dinners where he was schmoozed or did his own schmoozing.
He wasn't a good person, she knew that. But would he hold her against her will? She didn't know, and she didn’t want to find out.
Sela knew he didn't have a wife. He couldn't have a bathroom for a wife he didn't have.
"I really… don't want to impose." Sela felt her heart pounding in her fingers and toes.
"No imposition, my dear." Harrington pushed the door open and turned a look at her. His smirk was darkened with victory, a victory she guessed he had had before.
She looked through the doorway and saw that it was a bathroom, and did indeed look like a woman's, heavily-customized setup. Plush, soft tones, plenty of cabinets for creams, soaps, makeups, powders, and everything. The bathroom was along the side of the building. The whole back wall was one-way glass, thick-tempered.
Sela stepped hesitantly through the door, and heard it close behind her as Harrington drew it shut. She grabbed at the handle and tugged gently. It opened a crack and she could see Harrington moving down the hallway, his card out in his hand.
She noticed distinctive panels inset into the frame. Maglock, she guessed. A push closed the door again.
Sela shifted nervously over to the sink. Not looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered what she should do.
No, Harrington would not kidnap her, but he would force her to use his Fen or his car, deliver her right to the Agency of Vision. That would put her in an awkward position, as you needed identification even to approach the Agency. Her ghosted credentials would not work. They were far too cheap.
Sela rooted into her purse and located her emergency card, the one she had never used. As she was typing in the access code, she paused.
No, she thought. There's still a way out of this. I don't need to go this far yet.
She replaced the card and then looked her face over in the mirror.
It was so alien.
Honestly, Sela felt she was average looking, perhaps bland even. She had straight brown hair that fell a few inches down her back, and full lips. She didn't like her eyes, had no strong emotion about her nose, and thought her cheeks were a little thin.
That was why she had applied extra material to her cheeks. Cosmetics were a thriving industry under the Remaking. Those who could afford it wanted to look perfect.
The makeup around her eyes was carefully crafted to shape them and hide her plainness. Her contact lenses illuminated her irises, making her eyes almost shine and glitter with color.
She had spent several hours in the morning preparing her hair, giving it so much wavy body that it framed her features. There was nothing she could do about her nose. She was wearing thin cheek pads to change the shape of her face.
Sela had spent some time training with an affordable image consultant, months ago when she began this work. She had learned numerous tricks and secrets to create precisely whatever image she wanted for any purpose. Such specialists were used to people in Megora wanting to vary their appearance a great deal. They didn't ask questions. Even some men were image-smiths.
Sela didn’t feel naturally pretty, but she was confident that she could manufacture attractive features, when necessary.
Pulling out her cosmetic kit, Sela went to work, scraping away the eye liner and shadow. She leaned over the sink and scrubbed her face clean of even the foundation, leaving only the cheek pads untouched.
Then, she carefully applied just enough foundation to smooth over the seam between the pads and her skin. It would hide enough of her real face that Harrington's security team couldn't produce a reliable photograph of her, even if Harrington had a camera in the women's room.
Sela shuddered at the thought, as she worked.
No matter what, they would not be able to use facial recognition software to find out who she really was.
The ghost time purchased for this operation was not the only layer of ghost time she had. It would better, though, if Harrington did not even find out the name she went by every day, Sela Mason.
Hopefully, Harrington would be so off-put by the sudden change in her appearance, he would cast her out of his mind immediately. She prepared an explanation that would help Harrington to ignore her.
Sela wiped off her lipstick and put on a simple lip-gloss. All the while, she rehearsed the various directions the conversation could go.
At best, it would be only a few lines, just enough for Harrington to escort her to the elevator and see her off. At worst…
Well, that was best not to consider.
Her hands were steady, yet she could feel the rapid tremor of her pulse, felt a lump in her throat. It was still there after she washed her hands and repacked her makeup. Then she took a ring out of her purse and slipped it onto her ring finger.
Stepping over to the window, she looked out over Megora, seeing hundreds of tall, thin buildings, numerous parks, and dozens of streets. At this height, she could even see the enormous districts outside Megora dedicated to growing crops, most of it automated.
She could see new representations of nearly everything left behind in the old world; theaters, pools, stadiums, a college, markets, galleries open to the public that almost rivaled Harrington's. All of these things had been created to entice and subdue the people into supporting the Provisional Council.
It had worked in this area.
Sela remembered how her family had come to Megora earlier than most. Eight or nine months prior to the disasters that drove so many others to seek refuge in the sleek fortress of the supercity. Life had been different back then. That was before people were banned from leaving Megora
Harrington's suite was high up, and still quite a few buildings rose even higher. Across the sky, dripping red, orange, golden, yellow, and purple, a few puffy clouds were splattered with the afternoon glare. The sun was descending on an angle, actively disappearing behind the vast spire of the Tower of Hope.
That was where Megora's chapter of the Provisional Council was centered, where the highest echelons toiled away shaping society, Remaking society. She knew the building, or at least a few portions of it. She had been there.
Another distraction. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Leaned her hand against the glass and slumped to relax. Through her eyelids, she could see the glow of bright sun dwindle as the disc moved fully behind the Tower. The glass panels automatically adjusted, blocking out less light, now that the room was in shadow.
Okay, Sela thought. Now she was ready to get out of Harrington's life.
She grabbed her purse and strode through the door. Harrington was pacing in a room across the hallway from the bathroom. He was in a conversation, using a Bluetooth earpiece.
Harrington looked at he
r and frowned, still on the line.
Sela jabbed a thumb down the hall, toward the main elevator. Her face asked the question, I'll just head out now, okay?
But he held up a hand for her to wait. He quit the conversation, coming back into the hallway.
"Freshen up?" He noticed the diamond ring right away.
Sela made sure to grin, not to smile, keeping it lopsided and overly humorous. "There's too much gossip at the office. I don't want anyone to bother me about what I was doing this morning."
"Which was?" Harrington asked.
"My fiancée and I spent it together."
They came to the elevator as Harrington said, "That explains the ring, but why didn't you have it on earlier?"
This would be a hard lie to pull off, Sela knew. She shrugged and started, "Eh, it's sort of…" Her heart was thumping as she calculated the proper length of pause. "Sort of foolish, I guess." Taking initiative, Sela leaned forward and pressed the call-elevator button.
The doors opened immediately and she stepped in, hoping Harrington wouldn't follow. He didn't, but he did put a hand on the doors to keep them from closing.
"Try me, Miss Williams," Now all the lust was gone from his eyes. He was truly curious, which was an improvement, although it wasn't the effect she had intended to generate.
She squeezed her hand on her purse as it dangled from her shoulder. "Well," she started again, slowly. "See, when I was in college, I really was… in love with art. Drunk with it, I guess."
Sela bit her lip and continued, "When I heard you had a Morin, I thought… thought maybe I'd feel that passion again. At least, I thought I might, if…" she trailed off and grinned sheepishly.
"Ah," Harrington said nodded, his eyes distant and filled with understanding, lost in his own long-gone past. Then he returned to the moment, "Did you?"
Shaking her head she said, "No, not really. Not like I used to. I'd never been in love for real, back then."
His lips thinned with a stern expression, and his eyes squinted, this time not the look of a predator. He looked uncomfortable for a hair of second, wanting to shut out the light exposing his discomfort.
Suturing up his face again into a pleasant mask, he commented, "Well, as you affirmed for me, the painting is a fake. Could've been that too."
"I suppose," she replied, her mind practically begging him to step back and let the doors close.
Harrington sighed and asked, "You have my assistant's number, right?"
Sela nodded.
Harrington said, "I'll tell him, anytime you want to come see the real stuff, you're welcome to. He'll let you in whenever."
Having success, she felt the knots in her stomach loosen and then retighten. Loosen because Harrington stepped back to let the doors close; tighten because she could see he was being genuinely compassionate, and she had done all this to steal his voiceprint.
Sela reassured herself that he wasn't a good person, that he used a corrupt system to his advantage. Harrington helped make things worse for everyone else. Someone who helped the Remaking should not have the luxury of being protected from similar intrusion.
And besides, she had no idea what the voiceprint would be used for. Not that many people used voice passcodes anymore. It would probably be used to create a forged statement or something. Could be anything, really, she thought.
The maglift elevator descended, slipping outside the building for a few hundred feet of the descent, providing a grand view through the wrap-around glass wall. Moisture in the air, illuminated by the sun, glared in a sheet that extended from the edge of the Tower of Hope.
From way up here, Megora looked almost wonderful. Even with all the meddling regulations, harassment, and propaganda; it was hard to forget that the Council, for the most part, actually wanted to create a better world.
Her father had made that clear many times, even as he stood against most of what they did. His brother, Sela's Uncle Steffen, had not inspired her confidence that the Council had good intentions.
After all, how could a government with so much power fail so miserably to make things better? Her father wasn't exactly a willing participant anymore. Not after he had realized just what they were doing with his research.
And then there was Sela's cousin Leon, the boy a year younger than she. She knew for sure that his intentions were malicious. That was beyond doubt.
All of it was beyond her power to change. Suddenly, the view of Megora cut off when the elevator receded back into the building near its widening base.
Sela breathed a sigh of relief and felt the tell-tale sweat that always broke out when she finally knew she could step out of character.
The name Alice just didn’t suit her. It felt nice to be Sela once again. See-lah; it was a nice name, one that reminded her of her parents.
Sela…
She took a few deep breaths, eyes closed. The nervous jitters began to ebb, as did the light sweat. She ventured a small smile to relax further.
The elevator opened. Sela started for home.
Chapter 2
Down on the first street level, the sun was reflected with carefully-placed mirror panels. They were programmed to turn and illuminate the valleys between buildings so tall that direct light could only reach most streets for perhaps three or four hours a day. Added to the reflectors, naturalights were programmed to fill out the day anywhere it was needed.
Bright and warm, the streets were crowded with important people. A few high-class vendors peddled expensive adornments and edibles along the roadways, where actual cars swept past. Nearly every block, the slate gray and crimson uniform of a Guide weaved amongst the elites travelling home from short workdays.
Sela made a beeline for a stairwell, leading down into a sub-street level, where more naturalights tried in vain to warm up the cold concrete and brick and steel.
Walking several blocks over, Sela went down one more level to the transportation deck and stepped through the turnstile. It automatically deducted payment for access from her biometric account, which was ghosted twice over.
She wondered if anyone actually paid real money to ride the maglines. Probably, that was why the transportation system constantly needed supplementary funds from the Council.
This level was taller than the others, nearly thirty feet high. Above the platforms, walkways, and tracks; piping, thick electrical conduits, and vents spaghettied every which way.
On the wall, a billboard screen showed a sleek notification regarding the upcoming Conference of the Remaking. It was an annual gathering of many Provisional Council members from around the world. This year was Megora's turn to host the event.
Sela expected the nicer districts would be polished up even more before the Conference which was still weeks away. Why bother with the poor areas though? Few Council members would consider leaving the lap of luxury surrounding the Tower of Hope.
Maybe fifty people dotted the platform, waiting for the next train to arrive. Some were in groups, others alone. Some talked on their cards, while others waited in sullen, annoyed silence. In this sector, the wealthy hired assistants from other neighborhoods. Only people from elsewhere came to this station; no one local ever used it.
The elite could get permits to own vehicles. What working person with a family had time to file a route schedule? Most of the elite acquired exemptions from such bureaucratic drudgery. The rich could always buy their way around a foolish government. Everyone else had to suffer it.
While making her way over to the right color code for her car, Sela reached a hand into her purse and felt the empty side-pocket, pined to have its usual occupant back.
Due to high-res security checkpoints at the entrance to Harrington's building, she had been unable to bring along any protection, but a measly pepper-mace spray, which was also technically illegal.
Not many people in Megora had a gun, and she would never have been able to get one, if her father had not arranged it. It was his way of grudgingly accepting that she was not going to
leave Megora.
He wanted his daughter to be protected. That was why he had sent her out the Tower of Hope, away from the family.
Two weeks passed before her father could get a message to her safely. He arranged for her to leave Megora. That was no small feat, in effort or in price. But to go where?
Sovereign City…
Just the name sounded wonderful. A place where people had control of their own lives. It was a place that protected people from the Remaking, from all the infinite and infinitesimal tampering of the Provisional Council. Sovereign City had sparse, sensible laws and their government enforced them effectively.
Sovereign City.
It sounded like a wonderful place. The only problem was, she could not leave her father and mother behind. She choose not to go, and missed the window of opportunity that her father had gambled so much to procure.
She had no way to contact him. That was just too risky. Even now, the better part of a year later, it tore at her soul to think how hurt he must have been, and maybe even angry. Especially so soon after…
Sela closed her eyes and sighed through clenched teeth. Not right now, she nearly whispered the command.
The train arrived and the safety gates opened to admit people a few paces to board the cars; all exiting was done on the opposite side of the track.
Each of the sixteen cars displayed a color on an LCD strip. Each of the cars would split off from the train, and select tunnels based upon the color code. Four of the cars in any train were always the color of the district you were in. Those would rotate through the stops in that district. Different color cars would go to the district assigned that color.
Sela had selected a brownish yellow color. She strode down the line and boarded, glancing around the cramped cabin. Only a few years in use, the seat cushions had been removed due to slashing. That was one amenity vandals had wasted no time in destroying.
The Remaking Page 2