by Jason Hutt
“Not funny, Reggie.”
She felt a pull as the ship slipped through the wormhole and suddenly the Guardian was in atmosphere, flying just above the tree canopy of a thickly-wooded forest. As hoped, no other ships appeared to be in range. Reggie maneuvered to the coordinates that Ironheart had provided and lowered the silver ship into a small clearing.
Hannah was up and moving fast. They likely had only moments before the Republic sent someone to investigate. The side hatch slid open. Hannah pulled up the hood of her stealth suit and stepped to the opening. The ship was barely a meter off the ground.
“Thank you, Reggie,” Hannah said, “You’ve done well.”
Reggie didn’t smile or nod. He stared at her impassively before finally saying, “Good luck.”
Hannah jumped down and started jogging into the woods. She touched a spot on her wrist and she became invisible. She would leave no heat trace, no visual trace, and if she had had one, the suit would block the broadcast of her identity chip. The only evidence of her presence was the rustling of leaves and ferns as she ran through the forest and even that was barely distinguishable from the movements of the wind.
She heard a bit of a sucking sound as the Guardian jumped away. Moments later, she could make out the whine of the engines from two Republic patrol craft. She crouched next to a tree as the ships circled the area for the next half hour. Their flight patterns never betrayed any outward sign that they had spotted her, yet Hannah felt the urge to duck and cover whenever the craft flew over her position.
Once they broke off their search, Hannah started running again, wanting to put a couple more kilometers between her and the drop off point. When the display on her HUD contacts told her that she was ten kilometers from the drop point, she gave herself a chance to rest. She sat at the base of a large tree as the muscles in her legs twitched.
She listened and heard nothing but the sounds of the forest. Night was falling and the small pinpoints of stars emerged in the dusk sky. Hannah sat there for some time, staring into the darkening sky, listening to the sounds around her. The air chilled considerably and Hannah adjusted the thermal controls on the suit.
Her memories drifted to campouts under the night sky on Maisha. She heard her mom’s voice chastising her for forgetting a sweater. Hannah laughed; she could hear her mother’s shrill nagging with perfect clarity. She leaned her head back against the tree and tears streaked down her face. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her suit.
“No,” she said, “Focus.” The tears stopped. Hannah stood back up and started jogging.
She reached the edge of the workers’ district just as the sun peaked above the horizon. The forest ended abruptly and gave way to a vast expanse of ramshackle huts that stood at the foot of the towering skyscrapers of the Capitol. The sun glinted off the environmental field that enshrouded the city proper. Here, outside the field, there was no protection from the elements or any other effects of hundreds of years of humanity’s carelessness.
Hannah was about to step out of the woods when she looked down at the distorted transparency that covered her. A large tree, twenty meters back into the woods provided her with the cover she needed to adjust the suit. The fabric loosened and took on color, with the entire suit taking on the appearance of workman’s coveralls. She tied her hair up in a more practical bun. After a brief onceover to make sure she looked the part, Hannah stepped out of the woods and into the city.
She wandered the streets for a bit trying to get her bearings. There were no signs and no markers and she kept referring to the maps on her wrist computer. It didn’t take long to realize that the maps were out of date. She could solve the problem easily by connecting to the local network nodes, but she hesitated and an admonishment from Ironheart passed through her thoughts.
“We’ve put all the data we have on your wrist computer – maps, schematics, codes, everything you could possibly need. Try to leave your computer offline, unless it’s an emergency. Don’t search for anything, don’t download anything. Don’t give them opportunities or the means to find you,” he had said.
Hannah’s finger lingered just above the connect icon. She looked around one last time and only then noticed the slow trickle of people emerging from their huts, all walking in the same general direction. She decided to fall in-line and after a few minutes of trudging through the sand-swept streets felt confident in her decision as the slow trickle turned into a steady flow of people.
She ambled along, milling about in the middle of the pack, keeping her eyes mostly on the street in front of her, but taking in as much as she could without standing and gawking. The street, the shacks that lined it, and a good deal of people’s clothes were covered in a layer of grit that puffed up with each shambling step. Already the ends of her pant legs were a bit lighter tan than the fabric above it.
Everyone around her trudged forward in the same slumped posture, heads low, some wrapped in scarves to protect themselves from the swirling dust. The faces she could see were tanned from long hours under the blazing sun, many had liver spots or other moles or freckles that covered their skin. Frown lines were etched deeply into many of the foreheads of the older men and women, who shuffled forward with little muttered between them.
Hannah marched on, only realizing after several minutes that she was staring at a food cart that lined the path. She smelled something, something sweet and tangy. Her stomach rumbled.
“Care for a brat?” A short, squat man with a thick, dark mustache asked her.
“No,” Hannah said with a shake of her head.
“Oh, come on, you look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”
Hannah bit the inside of her lip. She should keep walking, but her feet wouldn’t move. A lion roared in her abdomen.
“Okay,” she said and took the sausage.
“Enjoy,” he said. He tapped a spot on his wrist computer and it emitted an audible squelch. “Ah, something’s wrong with this thing.”
Hannah took a greedy bite of the sausage, ignoring his words. Juice dribbled down her chin as she ripped off a warm, sweet and spicy chunk of meat. The taste was wonderful.
“Miss,” the man said, tapping her on the shoulder, “I’m sorry my scanner’s on the fritz, mind stepping closer.”
The words didn’t penetrate the momentary euphoria of the hot food and she did as asked. The man repeatedly tapped his screen.
“Still not working,” he said.
That he was trying to scan her finally registered. Hannah tensed, unsure if she should run or be prepared to fight. What should she do? There were too many people around to fight him and no way to slip away unnoticed if he started to make a scene. Without being able to think to do anything else, she held the sausage back out to him, minus the large bite she had already swallowed.
He waved her away. “Ah, you keep it. Damn thing never works when I’m behind on software updates.”
“Really?” Hannah said.
“You look like you need it more than I do,” he said. Then, he leaned in and whispered, “Just don’t tell anyone I gave it to you for free.”
“Okay,” she said and started to walk away.
“If you like it though, make sure you tell folks you got it from Tony’s, alright?”
Hannah smiled and nodded but continued to walk away. She turned a corner and then ducked down an alley. Her heart was beating ferociously. She pulled off her pack, found the small pouch of false ID chips. She slapped one on the back of her neck and then looked up at the sky, cursing her stupidity.
Moments later she blended back into the stream of humanity and she started to hear the whine of transports lifting off the landing pads. Despite it being just after dawn, a huge crowd was already gathered.
Large signs were mounted on poles on the corner of each pad. Hannah craned her neck to try to read them. She was standing in front of one that flashed ‘Coastal Cleanup’ followed by ‘Potential Chemical Exposure’ and ‘No Pregnant Women’ in quick succession. Hannah mo
ved on.
The next sign flashed ‘Construction’ and Hannah sighed with relief that she was in the right spot. The crowd in this pen could easily have been two hundred people deep. Hannah ambled in just as the sign flashed ‘Must be able to lift 50 pounds’ and then ‘No Back Injuries.’ She shuffled closed to the fence; the men and women around her all cueing up in an orderly line. Every twenty minutes, a shuttle landed, an admin stepped off the shuttle, announced the job and number of people needed, and then a few lucky souls filed onto the shuttle.
Hannah edged toward the front, keeping her ear tuned to each announcement. She looked for one particular worksite. She eventually filtered to the front of the crowd, but the next job was at a hydrothermal plant and she stood to the side, letting people behind her go.
“Hey,” a woman yelled at her, “If you’re not feelin’ up to a job then get the hell out of here and quit takin’ up space.”
Hannah stared at the red-haired woman and noticed several people behind her nodding in agreement.
“Sorry,” Hannah said, “Was hoping for something other than the plant.”
“And I was hoping to wake up and be Queen today, but that ain’t happenin’ either. Quit wastin’ space.”
An announcement was made. “Potomac Tower. Twenty people.”
The woman brushed past her, hitting Hannah with her shoulder and driving forward. This was the job Hannah needed. She heard the attendant counting off – seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. The woman in front of her would be twenty.
“Miss, I’m sorry,” Hannah said, “This is what I was looking for.”
The woman looked at her and smirked. “Tough shit.”
She took a half step forward. Hannah gritted her teeth. She reached into her back pocket and then grabbed the woman’s hand.
“Hey,” the woman said. Other people stopped and looked. Hannah pressed a small patch to the back of the woman’s palm and she suddenly threw up everywhere. People shouted and jumped back.
“Need a twenty,” the attendant yelled as he rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Hannah jumped over the puddle of vomit and the heaving woman who was now down on all-fours. The scanner at the gate beeped.
“All right, Lizzie Torman, you’re number twenty,” he said, “Get on-board.”
Hannah nodded and boarded the shuttle.
***
Security drones ushered Max from his cell, prodding him to follow the yellow line that illuminated in the floor. He trudged ahead, turning when they said turn, stopping when they said stop. In the corners of his vision, he noted other prisoners also being led out. He didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to know them, so he kept his eyes glued to the pulsing yellow stripe.
He preferred to be back in his cell, lying on the mattress. Prison code demanded that he get exposure to sunlight and exercise. The requirements were born from the need for the prisoners to stay healthy and keep the overhead costs of the prison low. Max would’ve preferred to sit and rot, but the sharp ends of the drone’s armatures emitted convincing low voltage shocks.
The two gleaming-white security drones dumped him into the exercise yard, built into the small courtyard of the prison. The smooth, white monolithic walls of the prison bordered the yard on all sides. The prisoners couldn’t see any of the lush forest beyond the prison’s outer walls, but they could look up into the blue sky. Max shuffled his way to the right of the yard, avoiding eye contact with anyone else, and looked up into the bright blue morning sky.
Small clusters of men congregated around the yard, talking, joking, like they were on a break from the job. Some men played an unseen game on the screens attached to treadmills arrayed around the yard. They had to walk to keep the screen active. Another group of men started playing a game of basketball with about ten other prisoners watching them.
A large countdown timer ticked away above the return door to the prison. They had just under an hour out here before they returned to their cells and the women prisoners would be shuffled into the courtyard. Max sat on the ground and rested his arms on his knees. He shouldn’t be here. He should’ve been in some holding cell somewhere or some other temporary arrangements, but someone must’ve decided he needed the extra security this facility provided.
He breathed deep, feeling chilly air spread through his lungs. Then he heard a scream, something guttural, full of rage and hatred. Max started to turn his head toward the sound, when something slammed into him and he was pushed hard onto the concrete floor.
Max’s head bounced off the ground and the world became fuzzy. The person who had hit him was now kneeling on his chest. His fists were raised and he screamed at Max, no words, just screams of hate. He started pounding his fists down on Max’s face.
Each blow hurt. Tears welled in Max’s eyes as he felt his nose broken. A cut opened on his left cheek, but Max could only lay there and take the beating. His right eye closed and only then with just one open eye could Max make out his attacker.
“Roger?” Max said. The word was slurred as blood seeped from a burst lower lip.
“Goddamn you, Max,” Roger Shaw shouted, “I’ll kill you.” Roger raised his fist, intent on punching Max until his strength left him.
“I’m sorry, Roger,” Max said.
“This is your fault, Max! You’re the reason they took her! You! You destroyed her life,” Roger said. His words started to fade, lost in a curtain of tears and hate. “It wasn’t enough that she wanted to work with you even though my wife died on Nexus. I never wanted her to see you again! But she wouldn’t have it! She said it wasn’t your fault! She believed in you! And this is how you repay her…”
Roger suddenly spasmed just as he was about to bring his fist down again and pitched forward, landing on Max, blocking out what little view of the bright blue sky Max could still see. Max laid there, pain wracking his face, pinned by Roger’s fallen body.
Roger’s words had stunned Max as much as the punches. Max thought of those moments at the end of the Nexus attack, when he wanted to throw Eleanor off the ship, when he wanted to run. Nick hadn’t let him. Eleanor was scared and alone and all Max had wanted to do was throw her out. He had wanted to run and hide. Eleanor lived through the death of her mother and made it her life’s goal to help other children, other families, so their lives wouldn’t be torn apart.
Tears leaked from Max’s eyes. He hurt less if he didn’t move.
“Is he dead?” Someone asked.
Max wanted to answer but the sound of air squeaking out of his broken face wasn’t encouraging to him or the onlookers. The last thing he heard before being carried out of the yard was, “Five bucks says he doesn’t live through the night.”
***
The lights of the club flashed red, blue, and green hues onto Akimbe’s glass, making the contents of his drink sparkle in the dimly lit room. He took a sip and grimaced at the overly sweet tang that punctuated the thick liquid. He gulped it down and felt warmth spread across his face.
From his seat Akimbe could see through the expansive picture window behind the bar that looked out across the city. He stared into the twilight sky at the flickering lights of aircars and shuttles as they journeyed to their destinations. Fort Washington lay forty kilometers ahead and two degrees to port by his reckoning. If he squinted he could make out the silhouettes of shuttles going to and from the base.
Beyond the base was the shadow of a mountain and every hour a bright flash of light signaled the launch of cargo into orbit via the rail launcher built into the mountain. The flash of light gave the club its name – The Wink. In a matter of hours, the place would be packed with writhing, sweaty, alcohol-fueled young people who had no idea of the privileges they’d been given.
Akimbe would rather be scrubbing the head after a pump malfunction than sitting in this seat in this place with these people. Spots from spilled drinks dotted the surface of the bar. Some of the labels on the bottles of alcohol behind the bar and in front of the window were turned away from the
customers. Two spotlights in the overhead lighting weren’t moving in rhythm with the rest of their brethren. This place lacked discipline.
A young bartender read through a drink recipe, bopping her head in time to the rhythmic thudding of music as she practiced putting together various drinks. She missed the glass when putting in a shot of vodka, brushed it off the counter with her hand, and poured in another ingredient. She dipped her finger in the liquid and swirled it. The contents of the glass sparkled; she pulled out her finger, and held it up to the lights, watching the small bursts of light on the end of her finger. These people were dumb.
A maintenance technician was lying on the floor behind the bar, arms deep in a floor access panel. He fiddled with something, looked up at the misbehaving lights, and watched them go out completely. He did something else that Akimbe couldn’t see that was equally ineffective. Then he shrugged, put the panel back, and walked away. These people were weak.
A young woman sidled up to the bar next to him, dressed in a skin tight red outfit that sparkled when hit with the spotlights. He glanced at her; she was someone he might have been attracted to a decade ago with her long dark hair and dark skin that had a slight golden glow. She offered him a nice smile and Akimbe felt conspicuously out of uniform. He absent-mindedly tugged at the collar of his shirt, which was in desperate need of a tie. He couldn’t stop pulling the collar closer together and it annoyed him every time the tips of the collar fanned back out.
“In from out of town?” She asked in a high-pitched voice that was difficult to hear over the pulsing music being blasted throughout the club.
“On vacation,” he replied.
“Here with friends…or wife?”
He smiled. “Not married. No friends here. I’m a Navy Commander with a few weeks leave.”
“Like, commander of a spaceship?” She asked.
He nodded as he sipped his drink.
“That’s pretty starry. Do you have your own ship?”
“The ship is never mine; it belongs to the Republic. Just as I do…”
“Oh,” she said, arching her eyebrows and nodding politely. “How long are you here for?”