The Remaking

by J. T. O'Connell

  Sela glanced at her watch and saw her heart rate, distance run, time elapsed, average speed, calories burned, and time of day. Her average speed was slightly elevated above her usual, which was fine. She wanted to be able to run faster and farther.

  The previous night, she had lain awake, wondering whether it was really a good idea to get involved in Unmaker activity. Not from concern about the Guides catching her, nor was it her antipathy toward the rebels.

  In fact, she could understand their objections to the Remaking better than most who lived in Megora. The Council had actually broken her family up, forcing Sela into hiding, nearly killing her mother.

  What if the Unmakers found out who Sela Mason actually was? What if they discovered that Alan Wallis was her father? Even being shut out of most Provisional Council activity, Alan Wallis was still an important figure. His work was considered crucial by the Council, crucial enough to kill for.

  Sela could imagine the Unmakers using her to target her father. That would only be logical. So few Unmakers would ever have an opportunity to actually attack the Council directly. They would jump at any chance that fell into their lap.

  Her ghost time as Sela Mason was dearly purchased though. It was incredibly expensive compared to the ghosting she used for most missions. Maybe the Unmakers would never find out that Sela Mason wasn’t her real name. She hoped the ghosting would be enough.

  Rounding another corner, she jogged back into the bright sunlight, tasting the fresh air carried on another gale of wind. It smelled fresh and natural, scents carried into the city from the wilderness past the lakes.

  Sela smiled and blinked in the wind. She reached up a hand and dragged a strand of hair back from her eyes. It had escaped the pony tail and would probably pester her vision for the rest of her run. That was fine.

  It was such a nice day way up here between the skyscrapers. She glanced over the side as she ran and saw streams of people moving about down below, spotty in the reflections and naturalights that sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t.

  Way up here, you could almost believe the Remaking progressed as intended. Half a mile to her left, Sela saw the Tower of Hope stabbing toward the sky, higher and wider than every other building. The Council was nestled so high above everyone else, they could never see anything wrong with their Remaking.

  The Wallis family had lived in the Tower of Hope for several years. Sela knew well that the bureaucrats and VIPs had their own markets in the sky. Choicest items and an unlimited selection, because those who were fixing the world certainly didn't need fixing themselves.

  She had been shocked to discover that the Council had been making rules meant to restrict and regulate everyone else, while exempting themselves from those rules, as well as select supporters.

  The running path snaked along next to a building that dodged in and out with broad, vertical ridges. A shadow fell across the path as it worked its way around to the other side, obscuring the sun and the Tower of Hope.

  As she ran, Sela saw a train moving on the elevated rail system far below. The el didn't travel between districts. It was exclusive to the high-class areas of Megora, reserved for those who supported the Remaking. Sela had ridden those trains last year.

  She turned away and glanced at her watch, and then began planning a route back to her own building. She had never run on all the paths. In fact, about two thirds, she had never explored, because they were too far out.

  On occasion, she would run half a dozen miles out and then take the magtrains back. That was usually unpleasant, sitting on a train, drenched in sweat, crammed up against other people, everyone bringing a separate odor to the car. The final mix was never pleasing.

  Her mind drifted back to the Unmakers. Something deep in her stomach twisted; knotted and clenched on… what? Was it only that they might target her father? Would Unmakers even know the name Alan Wallis? Probably not.

  So what was it then?

  Going after the government was an intimidating undertaking in the first place. The Provisional Council could do anything it wanted. And that was essentially true for the Guides as well.

  Something in her just cried out that it was a mistake to work with Unmakers. She couldn’t back out now, though. That would destroy Gaines’ trust in her and put her out of work.

  Well, there was another option. She could price herself beyond what the Desmond Tine would be willing to pay. But then, that would make Gaines look bad for recommending her, if she demanded an insane fee for any little task they wanted done.

  What would her father think of his daughter working for the Unmakers? She wondered sometimes whether he would have joined one of those groups himself and fought against the Remaking from the inside.

  Maybe. If he didn’t have a wife and a daughter to protect. Maybe that was why he wanted her to go to Sovereign City! With Sela out of danger, he could risk a lot more.

  Of course, if that were true, it might mean Sela’s mother was already…

  She bit back the thoughts and shook her head as she ran. That nagging tangle of hair tickled her face again. She shouldn’t speculate so far out on a limb. Nothing she knew could possibly back up those terrifying thoughts of her father putting himself in harm’s way.

  Sela would have to play it by ear with Desmond Tine, and make sure he didn’t find out her last name was Wallis. She could back out of anything she didn’t feel completely sure about. Nothing would force her to jeopardize her parents.

  After taking a right, she ran for a quarter mile, crossing another bridge and then another that angled off from that building. The Tower of Hope came back into view, this time on the other side, a white and glassy spire dwarfing everything nearby.

  Somewhere in that citadel was Sela's father, daily striving to keep her mother alive. Sela wondered whether her mother’s condition had improved. She wondered whether her father was plotting to leave the Tower with his wife, reunite the family, and flee to Sovereign City.

  She hoped he was looking out from the Tower, and wondering about her, too.

  Loud music thumped through the dining room, rebounding off the thick window-pane walls. Groups of friends shared tables and stories and jokes and drinks and appetizers.

  Some of the meals violated regulations, though few Guides in Megora would enforce all of those rules. Too many of them enjoyed the banned dishes themselves. Some regulations just weren’t worth bothering about, with everything else the Council wanted to change. Guides were patrons too.

  Sela glanced around the room, not recognizing anyone who could be Desmond Tine. Maybe he was late. A peek at her watch told her, she was a little early still.

  Selecting a booth, instead of a table, she slid in, hoping the canvas-covered cushions had been wiped down at some point that day. Laminated menus leaned against the wall, held in place by a pepper shaker and tray of salt packets.

  Noise pervaded the dining room: laughter, mingled voices, the clink of plates from the dishwasher station, the thump of tumblers on the bar, the crack of each impact on the pool table, and music.

  And music, music, music. Competing to dominate her attention, the music roared out of speakers mounted high in the corners of the room.

  Sela didn’t care for this place. The food wasn’t very good. She didn’t often eat hamburgers, which was their primary dish. And the noise was often overpowering.

  But that was the point. She and Desmond Tine could talk freely without fear of anyone overhearing. Nano-swarms could never form in the restaurant, because the noise buffeted them too much. An eavesdropper would have a tough time listening in, even if he hid right under Sela’s table.

  A pair of eyes at the bar caught her attention. Tine! How had she missed him?

  He smiled thinly and turned, stepping off the stool he had been sitting on. A faded ball cap, dark grey jacket over a black button down, untucked. Cargo pants, and boots that looked like honest leather. Where could you get leather boots these days?

  Desmond Tine came over to her table,
carrying a mug of coffee, black. He held out a hand gracefully over the side opposite Sela, “Is this seat taken?”

  She could just hear his voice over the cacophony. It was a strong voice, confident. Sela shook her head, and said, “Help yourself.”

  Sliding into the seat, he pulled off the hat and jammed it into a pocket in the jacket which he kept on. His hair was wavy despite being a little too short. Brown, streaked with lighter shades. On his chin was the shading of stubble. It seemed several days old, like it didn't grow fast enough to bother shaving very often.

  He was handsome in an odd sort of way, with thin features that spread smoothly between a few sharp lines: his thin-lipped mouth, his Euro-Asian eyes, and his small nose.

  He smiled again, "I'm Desmond."

  "Sela," she replied. She didn't want to smile, unsure of what to think. He was probably a year or two older than she was, although it was hard to tell with his unique face.

  "Did you want to order something?" he asked, drawing out a menu and unfolding it. "I've never been here before."

  Sela took a menu and looked for the drink section. It was the back of the single folded sheet. "It's mostly burger stuff."

  "Ah," he replied, nodding as he looked at the menu skeptically.

  A waitress came over and introduced herself. Sela asked for a green tea.

  "I'd like an ice water, and do you have any apples?" Desmond asked.

  "Sure," the waitress said.

  "Could you slice up an apple for me, please?" Desmond raised his eyebrows hopefully.

  "No problem." The waitress turned to Sela, "You want anything to eat?"

  Sela blinked, "I… I didn't know you had apples."

  "Oh sure. We've got some stuff that's not on the menu. You want a sliced apple?"

  "Do you have tangerines?"

  "We have oranges," the waitress answered.

  Sela nodded, "That's fine."

  "Okay, gimme just a minute," she smiled and put away the notepad, having not even touched her pencil to the paper.

  After the waitress left to fill their orders, Sela turned to Desmond. "How did you know?"

  He shrugged, "I used to wait tables at a place like this."

  "Ah," Sela said. "How long ago was that?"

  Desmond smiled more broadly this time, "Not very, to be honest. It's tough, living out on your own, isn't it?"

  Sela leaned back half an inch, feeling the cushion compress against her spine. How much research did he do on her? Maybe he already knew that Sela Mason was a ghosted identity.

  Her eyes narrowed, "Just what did Gaines tell you about me?"

  Glancing around, Desmond leaned forward to keep his voice low, just audible over the screech from the speakers. "Not all that much. He said you're like me, you need some work, and you're good at what you do."

  Lowering her voice, Sela leaned forward too. "Yeah, I guess."

  Desmond licked his thin lips and asked, "Well, what did Gaines say about me?"

  "Just that I could trust you."

  Desmond chuckled, "Said all that, did he?"

  Anger flared up in her chest. Suddenly, she felt like Gaines should have given her more information on Desmond Tine before she agreed to meet him. If Desmond knew that she lived alone at so young an age…

  She tried to conceal the emotion, almost hiding the hiss in a whisper, "He said all the work he had involved you!"

  "Well, I don't know about that," Desmond reached up and scratched his neck where his collar had been rubbing. He had strong fingers, thin and wiry, like the rest of him. Fingers that had seen all sorts of toil. "There are some things coming up. Some help would be nice to have; good help."

  Sela frowned and then leaned back as the waitress returned with a platter. After the fruit and drinks were before them, the waitress asked if they wanted anything else, leaving when they declined.

  She picked up a slice of orange and bit into it, savoring the rush of juices. Desmond finished off his coffee and set the mug beside his ice water.

  “Are you interested, then?” Desmond asked.

  Swallowing back the fibrous pulp, Sela licked her lips. “That depends on what sort of work you need me for.”

  Crunching into a slice of apple, Desmond nodded. “Of course. For the moment, we’ll just be doing some research. Could I possibly trade you a slice?”

  Sela shrugged and then made the switch. “Research for what?”

  “So that our choices will be carefully made.” Desmond sipped his glass.

  She wasn’t comfortable with the cryptic response, but suspected that he would not be willing to give her all the information she wanted, not yet. She decided to ask outright, “What’s your ultimate goal?”

  Desmond stared at her blankly and without a single hint of sarcasm, he spoke, “Victory.”

  A smirk almost surfaced. Sela suppressed it. She let her eyes roll, though. Here comes the grand vision of nonsense, she thought.

  No, he would have to give her more information than that. Even in a discrete business, no one makes blind agreements. No one did it twice, anyhow. If the deal wasn’t what you supposed it to be, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

  “I’m going to need more than that, Mr. Tine.”

  “Desmond,” he corrected her. “My name is Desmond, Sela.” His eyes took on a sympathetic look, “And I would expect nothing less of you.” He crunched into another slice of apple.

  Sela tried her own as she thought. Desmond would give her some information, and yet he was being cautious about it. He wasn’t overly-forward and whimsical. When he trusted her though, he would tell her. “Well? Just how serious are you Unmakers?”

  The middle of his lips rose a fraction of an inch, like a bad scent had wafted under his nose. “Serious enough that we don’t use that term.” Desmond leaned forward towards her, intensity radiating from his face. “Serious enough to understand what victory actually means.”

  "And what's that?"

  "Real victory means not lifting a finger when we destroy the Council." Desmond's lips tilted into a satisfied smile, almost joyful.

  Sela squinted. More cryptic platitudes. How could they possibly hope to destroy the Council without lifting a finger? "I don't understand what you mean."

  "Later," Desmond took a drink from his water and set it down gently. "We can talk about that later. For now, I need to know more about you."

  He's not evasive, Sela thought; just careful. "What would you like to know?" And what can I actually let you know?

  Desmond glanced around the raucous dining room just as another group of people crowded through the front door. "Kinda stuffy in here," he said. "Take a walk?"

  Sela felt her spine tense a bit. Could she trust him so quickly? They had just met. Her father's words of caution came rushing back.

  Desmond caught the caution in her eyes and said, "You can decide where we go, if that makes you more comfortable."

  "Well…" Sela stammered, scrambling for a response. "Aren't you worried about…?" She took a slow breath, "Isn't it awfully cloudy out?" He would understand she meant nano-swarms.

  "I'm wearing a Flee collar," Desmond answered.

  The slang referred to a device that cast a small shower of interference tailored to keep nano-swarms from organizing nearby. They were expensive. Incredibly expensive, especially if they worked well.

  "Oh," Sela blinked, taken aback. She had never even considered getting a Flee collar due to the price. Nano-swarms could be used to eavesdrop, but that was about it. The technology had not advanced to do any serious tracking or image-capture.

  Desmond put up a hand to signal the waitress, "This is on me."

  Sela was still stunned. "Oh," she managed.

  While Desmond was asking the waitress for the check, Sela racked her brain to come up with some excuse, some reason why they needed to stay at the restaurant. At least for a little longer. It wasn't that she distrusted him, already.

  It was that she didn't see any particular reason to trust him, beyo
nd the reassurance Gaines had given her. Tentative at best. What sort of person was this Unmaker? No, he didn't claim to be an Unmaker. What did that make him, then?

  The waitress left to write up the check as Desmond turned to face Sela again. "My treat tonight," he said warmly.

  "Thanks," she responded vaguely, knowing it was the proper response.

  Desmond grinned wide, "How else was I supposed to turn this into a date?"

  Sela scowled and sighed. She felt some of the tension leave though. Gaines vouched for Desmond. Sela would just be taking this leap of faith a little earlier than she had expected; that was all.

  Desmond paid and left a tip of absurd proportion, given that the bill was not very much for their meager orders. She goggled at the money he left, essentially matching the price of the fruit and drinks.

  "What?" he asked as they weaved through the room to the exit. He held the door open for her.

  "That was a pretty big tip," Sela answered. "I've never left that high a percent before."

  He shrugged, letting the door swing closed behind him. "As I said, I've waited tables before. It's nice to be generous sometimes."

  Sela didn't know what to say, and hadn't given a thought to where they should walk. Subconsciously, she dangled her fingers into the open top of her purse again.

  "Okay," Desmond pulled the edges of his unseasonable jacket, not asking the implied question. Where to now?

  "Uh, here," Sela gestured her free hand up the street, and started that direction.

  Desmond fell in beside her, staying toward the busier side of the street. It was all foot traffic in this area, except for the infrequent car creeping down the lane as fast as the pedestrians could move out of the way.

  "Tell me about yourself, Sela."

  She pursed her lips. "Well, what do you want to know?"

  "How long have you been working for Gaines?"

  "A little more than half a year." Gaines would have told Desmond as much already.

  "What sort of work have you been doing?"

  Sela replied curtly, "You already know what sort of work I do."