Hence the nickname Frenzy.
The thought of seeing him again makes my blood run cold. He’s the reason I ended up in the Prison.
But this isn’t about me. It’s about Lily. I study her serene face, the way she clings to her lover as she sleeps. This is the woman who risked her life to save me. She didn’t even know me at the time. I was an orphan running from a street gang that was going to cave my head in if they caught me. Out of breath, terrified, I ducked into the restaurants kitchen, hoping they’d run right by and I could double back. Lily had been working here for over a year, sweeping the floors and cleaning the windows. When she saw me run in she motioned me into a storage closet and locked the door.
The gang broke two of her fingers and nearly strangled her to death. Coughing and sputtering, she desperately told them that I’d run out the front door. After they left, she hid me in her small room above the restaurant. I remember how she and her brother reset her bones. They didn’t have credits for even the worst doctor, so she tied her fingers to mediocre splints with dirt stained rags.
I still don’t understand why she saved me. I was a worthless street kid, and I’d stolen food from the gang. They had every right to destroy me. But Lily, brave and compassionate, defied the brutal rules of the Criminal underworld. The harsh streets had toughened me. I was impenetrable and cold, always ready to fight for my next meal. But that night I cried myself to sleep.
Hyde is waiting patiently for my answer, but he already knows I’m not going to abandon Lily to the impersonal machinations of the system.
If Lily goes ghost she has to leave her life behind and be completely dependent on him for everything. She isn’t suited for the Criminal life, Hyde and I both know it. On the other hand, if he becomes an alias, Lily will still have to have a child; there’s no guarantee that B Sector will accept his application.
“Ghost or alias…?” I finally ask again.
“Alias,” Hyde answers. “I’m willing to take the risk. Lily doesn’t know I’m asking you and I’d like to keep it that way. She thinks she’s shipping off to the breeding house and she’s almost come to terms with it. I don’t want to get her hopes up, all right?”
I nod wearily. I would never hurt Lily; Hyde is counting on that. “How much are you offering?”
“I can pay him fifteen thousand.”
“So that’s how much I was worth to Madman. Seems like a lot of credit to offer for a half-dead. Give me a day.”
We sit in silence for a while, finally digging in to our apple pie. Truthfully, I don’t know if fifteen thousand will be enough. Frenzy has been crushing on Lily for years. There’s no way to know how he’ll react when I ask him.
Exhausted, I let my eyes drift shut. A pleasant sinking sensation takes over and I’m floating, gliding along without a care in the world. I jerk myself awake before my face hits the table.
“Got a place to stay?” Hyde inquires. He still looks as though he got his full eight hours.
Every smart Criminal has a stash set aside for hard times. Mine includes a small box that’s paid for indefinitely, a little present from Frenzy four years ago. Unfortunately, it’s with the Accountants in E Sector (otherwise known as the Bank). I have business here in B.
I toss an idea around in my head before answering Hyde’s question. “Is Kentucky Jim still living in his tomb?”
“I haven’t heard about him moving,” Hyde answers, “but no one’s heard from him for a while. He could be dead for all I know.”
“That old bastard can’t die. He’ll have a bed for me.”
“Stay clear of the north section of B,” Hyde warns as I get up. “Cops have been raiding there all week.”
Nodding my thanks, I go into the kitchen. Lenny’s nowhere to be seen so I grab my bag from under the table. An uneasy feeling settles ruthlessly in my stomach; my breakfast is threatening to make a sudden reappearance. Reeling, I fall against the kitchen wall.
There aren’t any outs. I’m fucking trapped.
All at once, my skin starts to burn. Desperately trying to keep a hold on my sanity, I slide to the ground and put my head on my knees. Without a second thought, I dig my nails into my forearm. The sharp pain helps bring me back. The room slowly comes into focus and my body temperature returns to normal. A moment passes, and then another. I’m calm now; I’ve got it together.
It isn’t over yet, the fearless voice whispers. There’s a choice here, Madman or Locket—slavery or death. Choose. Choose before they choose for you.
But I can’t answer that question now. I need sleep before I decide which dead end to hit at full speed.
10
Kentucky Jim doesn’t mess around. He changes the traps in his hideout every time someone leaves. There’s a little paranoia in his work, a touch of madness that gives him the title genius. Anyone who’s ever been caught in the foyer of his hide-out will give him a different name, which is why I was one of the only people who ever came around here.
When I slip into a back passage and open a small access tunnel, the air smells unusually stale. The old man doesn’t leave his hideout unless it’s absolutely necessary. He usually has enough supplies to last him a few months and he has an errand boy that I’ve never met.
How long has it been since someone’s come through the front door? Weeks? Months?
As I stare into the dark passage, a comforting sense of security envelops me. Kentucky’s hideout was my home after I managed to get off the streets. The old man took me in. He wasn’t easy to live with, far from it, but his ornery nature was a luxury compared to the uncertainty of not having a box or a hideout. After a while, I realized that if he spoke to you it meant he liked you. He ignores people he hates.
I step down a metal ladder and hear the telltale clicking of a firetrap. That noise is enough to send most people running. At the push of a button, Kentucky can burn somebody alive in this small entryway. Most people believe that he would without a second thought, but I know he’s not the type to kill without reason. Amused, I stand my ground in his foyer and wait for the familiar whir of video equipment. It takes a minute for it to kick into gear. Lights turn on and a camera comes out of the wall. It bleeps at me before shoving itself into my face.
“Need a bed,” I say, knowing he’s going to let me in. There’s a long pause before he answers. I wait patiently. He isn’t going to make this easy.
“Give over, Kentucky, we both know you’re going to open the door.” I throw my bag nonchalantly over my shoulder. “I’m only coming through the front entrance out of respect.”
Nobody but Kentucky’s errand boy and I know about the back door to his hideout. That’s how I met him; I stumbled upon it accidentally. Kentucky nearly took out my eyes but I eventually convinced him that I was more use to him alive than dead.
The camera retreats back into its home. The wall in front of me slides away and I step into Kentucky’s massive hideout.
Dozens of tables, laden down with what looks like junk, spread out to my left and right, a quarter mile or so to the walls. Robots of all different sizes are sorting through scrap metal and rusted parts. They’ve all been constructed from this crap and look like they might collapse at any second. I know better, though. Kentucky is a man of infinite talent. These robots will be in tip-top condition long after I die.
Reassuring bleeps from the frantic robots are a soothing lullaby in this crazy place. The familiar sights and sounds add to my fatigue. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I finally let my guard down. It’s easy to forget about the outside world when I’m here. It’s one of the only places I feel completely safe.
I can hear Kentucky moving from a mile away. The hydraulics of his robotic legs makes a terrible racket. He’s coming up on my left and I turn to watch him clunk towards me. While inside his carefully constructed suit he stands about six feet
. (I suspect that when he still had legs he was only five feet four, but I never mention that to him). The legs bend backwards instead of forwards and robotic arms stick out of a rounded core. The old man’s only good arm deftly taps away at buttons inside the round compartment that he calls home. It’s an intimidating contraption; Kentucky definitely didn’t build it to look human.
He stops right in front of me, staring down with unmasked contempt. His grey hair sticks out of his head like wires and his white moustache droops over his lips. No matter how ugly and mean he seems, Kentucky has a gigantic heart. There’s a look in his eyes that gives him away. Brimming with happiness, I meet his unimpressed gaze. He extends his only remaining limb through the steel bars of his suit. He grips my hand tight enough to hurt my bones and then drops it. The old man missed me.
“I don’t like disappearing acts,” he growls. “Next time you’re not welcome back.”
Turning away quickly, he moves down one row of tables, robots jumping out of his way as they continue to catalogue his junk. His grumpy reception doesn’t bother me. If he’d greeted me any other way I’d be suspicious of his motives. In fact, his harsh ways have a strange way of making me feel welcome. He hasn’t changed one bit. If he didn’t look so menacing, I might give him a hug.
Glad to be back, I follow Kentucky to his living quarters. I always like to take in the smell of this place. The air is crisp, somehow smoother here than anywhere else I’ve been. I asked him about it once and he told me to mind my own damn business. Since then, I’ve minded my own damn business.
Half way across his warehouse a set of stairs descends into a carpeted room. Carpet is a luxury. Excited and relieved to be here, I fly down the stairs and throw my bag on a small table. The lights turn on automatically and I see Kentucky’s half-sized cot to my right. He’s added a few bars to the ceiling since I was here last. I turn to look at him when he doesn’t follow me down.
He gives me a hard look before speaking. “You know where your cot is; don’t say good-bye before you leave.” He tromps away and doesn’t look back.
“I knew you missed me!” I toss cheerily at his retreating form.
Kentucky answers with a low snarl.
When Heathcliff Jackson found Kentucky the old man was half dead and missing his legs and left arm. The wounds had been sewn and disinfected, leaving Jack more than a little mystified. Kentucky was no help because he couldn’t remember his name or what had happened to him. All he did know was how to build. Hiring Jack’s first crew to find the parts for him, he built his suit in a little over a month. They started calling him Kentucky because he kept muttering the word to himself, over and over. Nobody knows what it means. The old man only made sense about half the time anyway, so they just made it his name. He chose Jim for himself. When he was ready, he found this hideout and started collecting.
The walls bleep at me. As usual, their off-orange colour makes me slightly ill. The table and chairs wobble on broken legs and water damage is still soaking through one of the corners. The brown stain has doubled in size and has a mildly putrid odour. There’s nothing like a small sewage leak to cramp a hideouts’ style.
I press a button on the table and a cot folds out from the wall. The linens are fresh.
Like I said, the old man missed me.
11
Gasping I sit up and grab at the darkness. There’s something here, watching me. In the walls, in the ceiling, in the floor, in the fucking air—I can feel it staring. My psychic talent is screaming at me.
It’s here, it’s fucking here.
What’s next? What has it got for me this time—fire, water, blade, blunt, cold, heat, shock, seclusion, or worse. Has it brought the chair? Sweet sky! Stop staring and go away.
Terrified, knowing I’m caught between dreaming and waking, I ram my fist full force into the wall. Pain shoots through my knuckles and up my arm, jarring my shoulder. It hurts like a sonofabitch, but it wakes me up.
During my nightmare, I made my way to the other side of Kentucky’s sleeping quarters. It isn’t dark, I never turned out the lights, and it’s not here. My heart won’t stop pounding, but it’s not here. Wiping the cold sweat from my face, I shakily return to my bed. It isn’t even warm. How long was I standing on the other side of the room?
It’s the same thing every night, over and over again. I don’t even know I’ve closed my eyes until I’m back in my cell…waiting… waiting for the Prison to start another round of how-much-can-she-take-before-she-starts-trying-to-gouge-out-her-own-eyes.
Shoving the horrific memories into the darkest recesses of my mind, I search for a distraction. The object that I stole from Marietta is peeking out from under my jacket. I grab it and hold it to my chest, letting its cool outer surface soothe my terror. Rocking back and forth, pressing the object hard into my skin until my chest hurts, I force my fear to retreat. My death grip on the strange rectangle slowly eases.
This mysterious object is still making my head buzz. Carefully opening it with my shaking hands, I study the curious markings within. I don’t know what they are but I do recognize numbers in the top corners. It must be some kind of code. There’s only one person I know who lives, eats and breathes codes—Frenzy. If I bring this thing to him he might be able to make some kind of sense of it. Considering that I need him to put together Hyde’s alias and approve the procreation application, I’ve got more than enough reasons to swallow my apprehension and seek him out.
Finding him won’t be a problem. He’ll still be with the crew: he’s got nowhere else to go. Besides, Jack would never let a manipulator that good slip through his fingers. Frenzy is the only one who can get the crew in and out of the Court.
An idea hits me with such force that I’m momentarily stunned. Unable to breathe I desperately grab onto it, praying it doesn’t leave as quickly as it came.
He could do it. It’s a possibility; a slim chance. Small, but it’s something. It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?
The brilliance of Cop Sector security is its simplicity. The designers assumed that, because no one can break in, there’s no one inside who will try to break out. They only have a semi-permeable energy field (SPEF) in the sewers. That’s how I managed to get through ten years ago: the field only keeps people out. So the trick to finding a line into Cop Sector is the SPEF. But first I have to get to the other side.
The other side…with the right information Frenzy could get you there. You could find a line into A.
I may have three reasons to see Frenzy.
Dread fills my chest like cement. I’ll be surrounded by Cops. Shaking off my fear, I remind myself that Cop Sector is not the Prison. Besides, there’s no guarantee I’m going to be able to get back in. If I admit defeat Madman rules me, if I go into hiding Locket kills me. Both options are dead ends.
The third, at least, gives me back a little power.
12
I wake up to metal clanking on metal. Groaning, I crack open an eye. I don’t remember falling asleep.
Kentucky is using his only arm to swing out of his suit. He grabs on to a bar on the low ceiling and hops into a chair. It’s amazing to watch what this guy can do with his one arm.
All through this place are hand holds and metal bars so that Kentucky can move around it if he’s not in his suit. He installed them after his metal body malfunctioned a while back. I found him heaving himself around, grabbing onto table legs to move. I couldn’t help him; he kept screaming at me when I came too close. In the end he taught me how to fix the suit, hollering orders from half way across the room. I try not to remember Kentucky helpless on the floor like that. He’s so damn huge in that suit you forget he’s missing three of his limbs.
Kentucky throws off his sweaty shirt and a little square robot, hiding in a cubby in the wall, whirs into action. A clamp attached to its head grabs the soiled garment and it pulls the worn fabric back into the wall, making bleeping and whirring noises the entire time. That’s a new one! Kentucky presses a button on the tab
le and another robot carrying a nutrient bar enters his living quarters. My one limbed friend tears off the wrapper and devours most of it in one bite.
“It true what I hear about Madman wanting you to find a line into A?” the old man asks.
I yawn and stretch as I slide my feet into my boots. Sometimes I forget how fast news travels. “Yeah.”
“Never did like that Lyons guy,” he comments, letting out a small belch. “Finding the line won’t be easy. You’ll need this.”
Kentucky turns around in his chair and takes something from a front compartment in his metal suit. He doesn’t even bother looking at it before he tosses it at me. The small metal gadget bounces off my palm and hits the floor. Scooping it into my hands, I examine the cloaking device. This little machine goes around someone’s wrist. When it’s activated it hides the wearer from Cop technology: motion detectors, heat detectors, carbon-dioxide level readers, and etcetera. These little babies don’t come cheap. Mystified and touched beyond words, I watch the old man swing himself onto his cot.
How did he know I was going to try to find the line?
“You know your way out,” he says.
That means I’m dismissed. Kentucky doesn’t like displays of affection, so I don’t throw my arms around him. Instead, I fasten the cloak around my wrist and take the steps two at a time.
The robots are still working. They don’t acknowledge my existence unless it’s to get out of my way. I want to head straight for Kentucky’s back door but I feel a presence to my right: someone else is in the room. Looking over my shoulder, I see a striking girl sitting in Kentucky’s dilapidated kitchen. She stares at me over a mug of steaming coffee, taking in my rumpled appearance with mild curiosity. She doesn’t look more than ten years old…what is she doing in Kentucky’s hideout?
The Line Page 8