The Line

by K J Southworth

  There being no cameras, I should be able to get into the workspace through the air ducts. As a kid, when my mom couldn’t watch me, I decided to face my fear of the dark. The best place for that was in the Perimeter’s walls and ceilings. I’d get lost every once in a while and pop up in the strangest places. Those years of exploration are going to come in handy.

  I’ve already neatly glued brown fabric over the black boots that I’m wearing to prepare myself for the job. No sense changing footwear and wasting precious time. I don’t have the standard black Cop uniform; I’ll be blending in with the clerks.

  My mom always warned that the clerks were the unluckiest Cops in the City. They’ve pissed off some Cop politician and are now doomed to sit in little booths for the rest of their lives. They’re also the only ones you’ll see out of uniform in the Perimeter. They’re not even allowed to own one because it’s illegal for them to leave A. Dressed in citizen clothing and wearing black boots, I’m hoping that no one will question that I’m a clerk.

  Up ahead I see lights flashing against E tunnels cement walls—I’m almost at the Perimeter.

  When I spot the guards my heart leaps into my throat. I suddenly lose all my confidence, so I drop to one knee and pretend to tie my shoe. Fidgeting desperately with the fabric glued to my boot, I struggle with the fear. I want to run. More importantly, I want to slap myself for stealing the hover-board. If I’d just stayed in my box I wouldn’t have to walk straight into the jaws of the beast. Cursing Luck, I slowly gather the last vestige of my courage.

  I casually glance up at the guards. They’re leisurely waiting for me to get up, unconcerned with whether I come or go. Getting to my feet, I consider retreating—but where to? By the end of tomorrow I’ll either join Madman or finally die at Locket’s hands. No, I can’t accept either of those options. Forward is the only way to move.

  Tightening my grip around the straps of my bag, I stride towards the guards. According to my identity card I’m Yulie Thorp from E Sector. I’m a normal Accountant who has a complaint to register with the Cops. They have no reason to believe otherwise.

  Nervously reaching into my pocket I take out my card. A guard holds out a black-gloved hand for my bag so I carefully pass it over. While she rummages through my stuff the other one waits for the go ahead. All I have in there a change of clothes, a nutrient bar, my canteen, and a flashlight. After carefully searching the contents, the Cop nods to her partner. He swipes my card through a silver machine.

  The system’s calm, feminine voice identifies me. <0589. Yulie Thorp. E Sector. Access Granted.>

  Waving me through, the Cops give me back my stuff. The door behind them slides open and I step through the X-ray frame. No warning bells go off and no lights start flashing. According to the machine I’m completely clean. The easy part is over.

  The system thinks Yulie Thorp is in the Perimeter. It’s waiting for her to leave. I have one hour to make my complaint. If I don’t swipe out before time runs out the guards are notified that I haven’t left the building. That’s when they lock it all down until I’m found. If they don’t find me they send a team over to my E Sector box. By then I won’t need a place to live anymore.

  As I examine the Perimeter’s E Sector foyer, my fear melts away. The job has begun. Shutting out distractions, I focus on the task at hand. To my left and right thick cement walls prevent citizens from gaining access to other sectors of the Perimeter. Directly ahead of me clerks sit inside their small booths, busily helping people register their complaints. There are maybe thirty citizens waiting in the lines. None of them look my way as I pass by on my way to the washroom. Two guards flank the door so I groan and clutch at my stomach as I race in. They won’t be expecting me to come out any time soon.

  Once inside I immediately check for other people. Closing my eyes, I reach out with my psychic talent. There’s only one person here. In the second stall a middle-aged Accountant is silently crying. This situation isn’t optimal, but I don’t know how long I have before someone else comes in. One person isn’t bad and he doesn’t look like he’s coming out any time soon. Drawing strength from my rising excitement, I search the ceiling for access. The metal panel isn’t hard to spot.

  I don’t give myself a chance to think. Quickly moving into the stall below the panel, I carefully step onto the toilet and reach towards it. I remember these panels from when I was a kid. They aren’t screwed in or nailed down. It’s easy to slip in and out. But it seems so much smaller now; my hands look gigantic next to it. Sliding it to the side, I push my bag through first. I place one foot on one side of the stall, my opposite hand on the other and push myself up. A moment later I put my other foot on the stall. My head and shoulders disappear into the ceiling. I’m just about to pull myself in but chills of disaster race up my spine—someone is staring at me.

  My fear is quickly replaced with acceptance. There’s no way to explain my actions. This job was over way before it began. Looking down into the bathroom, I prepare myself for the inevitable. But the guards aren’t there. I’m staring straight into the Accountant’s confused, blood-shot eyes.

  The worst part about this situation is that I might have to kill him. If I’d been quicker, quieter or luckier I wouldn’t have to consider it. But he isn’t running out and sounding the alarm. He’s studying my compromising position, intrigued with the inelegant way I’m balancing on the sides of the stall.

  “I’ve…never met a Criminal before.”

  Relieved that I won’t have to hurt him, I quickly reply. “Sure you have. You just didn’t know they were a Criminal.”

  “Daryl…?”

  I don’t have time to chat. Shooting him a cocky grin, I throw him my identity card and get back to work. Effortlessly pulling my whole body into the ceiling, I silently replace the panel.

  The narrow space is disorienting. My knees are practically at my ears. I used to have enough room to move unencumbered up here. The Accountant titters excitedly, washes his hands, and leaves. I listen nervously as the door opens and then closes. If I was wrong, the Cops will rush in and pull me out. There won’t be any opportunity to escape.

  I hold my breath and count to five, deliberately placing giant gaps of time in between the numbers. Somebody walks in and goes directly into a stall. For the first time in years, Luck has favoured me.

  Stealthily moving through the ceiling, I focus on the rays of light shooting through other panels up ahead. I remember this area. I’m crawling through a relatively empty space between the main storey’s ceiling and the second storey’s floor. If memory serves, my destination is straight ahead.

  The workspace is the biggest and most confusing area in the Perimeter. It’s where guards go on break and wait for shift change; it’s where patroller crews gather before heading off into their sectors; it’s where bounty hunters gain legal access into a sector. It’s where protectors, Cops who work independent security, swipe in and out of A; it’s where the Criminals are processed before they’re sent to the Prison; it’s where you’ll find the clerk locker rooms.

  Pulling my bag along behind me, I carefully stop over a panel and peer through. Directly below I see a metal bench—I’ve found a locker room. Clerks don’t leave anything valuable in this place. The locker rooms are where they store what they don’t want in their booths.

  Closing my eyes, I reach into the room with my psychic talent. A red-haired woman closes her locker and walks away. A bored looking man puts on his jacket and shuffles in the opposite direction. A moment later he’s turned a corner and I take my chance.

  Tense but focused, I rip off the fabric I have glued to my black boots. Stuffing it into my bag, I take one last look with my mind before making my move. I grab the panel, lift it up and carefully slide it to the side. Before I can doubt my decision, I slip my bag over my shoulders. Holding onto one edge of the hole, I soundlessly lower myself onto the bench. Nobody comes around a corner and nobody calls for help.

  I put the panel back in place and step
off the bench. Noting how quiet it is, I take a quick look around.

  Everything seems so small. Running a hand over the dented metal of a locker, I remember my eyes being level with the cheap, dial locks. I finger one absent-mindedly, feeling clumsy and over-sized. I never expected to be disoriented in a clerk locker room. It doesn’t feel like I’m in danger, but I’m standing in the one place where I should never feel secure.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I force myself to concentrate on the task at hand. My skin prickles with anticipation. When I walk out of this locker room I am looking for a gate. If Frenzy has done his job I’ll walk through without a scratch.

  Whatever I do, I can’t look like I don’t know where I’m going. At this point I’m hoping to recognize something that will lead me in the right direction. Maps are universally illegal, no matter where you are. There won’t be anything on the walls to give me a clue.

  An middle-aged female clerk walks into the locker room. Opening her locker, she stiffly pulls on her jacket and grabs a small bag. She sighs dejectedly before retreating back into the workspace. I make a quick decision. Following her is my best option.

  Silently asking Luck for one more favour, I move deeper into the belly of the Perimeter.

  At first, I don’t let my surroundings overwhelm me. The bustling, spacious centre of Cop life hardly penetrates my focus. But what I didn’t count on was my memories. It’s the smells that hit me first. The familiar aromas wafting through the air ensnare me—a strangely gratifying mixture of coffee, multi-purpose cleaners, warm food and recycled air. Somewhere amidst it all, I recognize the spicy sausages I begged my mother to buy me every morning. They were delicious with warm, buttered bread and freshly cooked eggs. She would pull me along, grumbling that she would be late for work, but always got them for me in the end. We weren’t wealthy, but we could afford certain luxuries. Those sausages were my favourite indulgence.

  Flashes of messily eating breakfast while my mom enjoyed a cup of her favourite tea sweep my original plans away. Overcome by the dangerous familiarity, I follow the mouth-watering smell. The middle-aged clerk disappears into the crowd as I walk in the opposite direction. The restaurant was just around this bend, I think. It had orange paneling and yellow furniture. Some of the tables were outside, which is where we used to sit. Mom made her own tea, so she wasn’t allowed stay inside the restaurant.

  My excitement mounts as I search the open design of the workspace. There are tables and chairs everywhere, but I can’t find the restaurant. The Cops, walking around with their helmets hooked to their belts, almost looking like normal people, lull me into a false sense of security. I grew up here. Everything seems so tiny now, but I know this area of the workspace. There are only a few restaurants in this section. It’s dominated by rental space. Privates, Cops who work alone, rent the space and put up makeshift walls. Packs, groups of Cops who work together, rent space as well. They always set up shop in this area because it’s so open. It’s also where there’s the highest concentration of guards: professional rivalries can cause problems.

  I step around a group of people and spot the orange paneling up ahead. It’s just the same! The smell of the sausage grows stronger and I race towards it recklessly. The yellow tables and chairs are still here. It’s been over fifteen years, but they’re still here! Sitting down, I tenderly stroke a familiar table, remembering how my mother, agitated, traced the rough top.

  This was where we spent our last morning together.

  One of her superiors had sponsored me into a bounty hunter academy. Mom was proud but sad, and gently explained that I’d be living with the other trainees. I’d be too busy to see my family. It was a great honour, she kept saying, it was for the best.

  I was seven years old. Two years later, when my mom died, my dad couldn’t make enough credit to pay the academy’s fees, so I went home. Mom was gone, but I never forgot our morning ritual. The memory made—makes—me happy.

  Something fierce awakens inside of me. Careful not to draw attention to myself, I watch the Cops meander towards restaurants and rental spaces. Some wander up to the second floor while others chat with friends and colleagues. Surrounded by the enemy I am completely invisible. With my abilities as a Criminal I could live comfortably in the Perimeter, free from both Madman and Locket. All I need to do is steal a few credit balances.

  I carefully consider the idea. The Perimeter wraps around Cop Sector, it’s gigantic. I could keep travelling around it, sleeping in air ducts, using their facilities and stealing my food. With a little diligence, I could make it work. Getting to my feet, I eagerly study the workspace.

  This is my way out.

  My first task is to know my environment. Emboldened by my new plan, I move into the steady flow of Cops walking through the workspace. I quickly investigate the layout of this area, noting restaurants, locker rooms, air duct passages, and rental spaces. Grinning wolfishly, I make a small but vital mistake… I make eye contact with someone.

  The Cop runs his eyes appreciatively over my body before flashing me a ravenous smile. Shocked, I stumble over my own feet—he’s a bounty hunter. Trying to pass myself off as shy, I bow my head and walk away. The last thing I want is to be noticed.

  “It’s okay to run away from Rodney,” an alluring voice remarks. “I react that way to him all the time.”

  Startled, I quickly look around to find the owner of the voice. A tall, striking man is walking next to me. Obviously amused by my quick retreat, he chuckles at my confusion. Meeting his captivating gaze, I reply without thinking.

  “Run away…?” My voice warbles anxiously. I clear my throat. “What are you talking about?”

  “Rodney gave you the look. It sends nine out of ten women screaming for their lives.”

  “And the last one…?”

  “…is looking for trouble.”

  I laugh quietly; his sense of humour is disarming. A gentle yet enticing smile spreads across his face. His soft manner, however, can’t conceal the arrogantly charming glint in his eyes. Unfortunately, it’s that glint that I’m finding so beguiling. Cursing myself for being too friendly, I carefully study his armour. The superior shock plates are a dead give away. This guy is a bounty hunter too. And like any good bounty hunter he’s thriving on the chase.

  “You must be a new clerk,” he says. “I’m sure I would have noticed you otherwise. If your shift is over we could…”

  “…I’m sorry.” I put up a hand to show my resistance. “I have to go home.”

  My immediate refusal intrigues him. His smile broadens. “All right, I’ll walk you.”

  “Hey, Selim!” a voice calls. My admirer turns around. A brash looking man runs up and punches him in the arm. “Are you coming or what?”

  “Not today, Ellis.” Selim’s captivating gaze brushes over me. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Right, right, tomorrow,” Ellis echoes. Unabashedly looking me up and down, he gives a low whistle. “You know, gorgeous, you don’t have to be impressed just because he’s a bounty hunter. Has he gotten to his it’s a dangerous life speech yet? Don’t fall for it. He gets himself a new woman every week. A humble patroller like me has way more to offer than this clown.”

  Selim chuckles good-naturedly. “You can get out of here now.”

  “I’ll tell the others you’re indisposed.” Ellis offers me a conspiratorial wink. “Remember, a new woman every week. Look me up when he breaks your heart.”

  Despite myself, I smile at Ellis’ retreating form before looking to Selim. “What are you missing for the pleasure of my company?”

  “Friends and alcohol,” he answers. “Shall we?”

  I motion for him to lead the way. Luck might give me a chance to lose him. This area of the workspace is bustling with activity. Every few moments someone hails Selim, preventing him from focusing entirely on me. But when I think I see an out he looks over, making sure I’m still with him. Admittedly, I’m not exactly suffering; it’s entertaining to watch him soc
ialize. His greetings are understated but he obviously thrives on his popularity. Despite myself, despite this fucked-up situation, I’m enjoying his company. I’m slowly being lulled into a false sense of security. As if I never left A—as if I’m still a Cop.

  “Where do you live?” Selim finally manages to ask.

  I wasn’t prepared for any questions so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “3rd block.”

  “That’s a close-knit community.”

  I burst out laughing. “Are you trying to put a positive spin on one of our crummiest neighbourhoods?”

  He answers with a shrug and a lazy grin. “I’ve been to worse places in this City.”

  “Is this the beginning of the speech your friend warned me about?”

  “Not even close. I would never rush into genius. You’ve got to let me warm up first.”

  My admirer holds a door open for me. I step into the small restaurant beyond and a strange vibration assaults my bones. My teeth rattle in my mouth. Looking back at the door, I flash Selim a curious look.

  “It makes my flesh crawl, too,” he says, before walking through himself. “They should be replacing this one soon.”

  I stand there with a dumb expression on my face. That was an older gate, they replace them when you start to feel the scanners. My eyes widen when I realize that I’ve just made it into Cop Sector.

  Horrified, I try to retreat from the nearly empty restaurant. “What time is it?”

  He looks at a small screen stitched into the base of his glove. “0619… No, wait! 0620. Forget something?”

  “No,” I answer. Swallowing my disappointment, I force myself to stay calm. “Everything’s fine.”

  “That sounded convincing.” He studies me as I stare longingly at the other side of the gate. “Let’s go back.”

  “No, seriously, there’s nothing I need back there.” I flinch at my abruptness. “It can wait.”

  “All right,” Selim replies. “How are you getting home?”

  I shoot him a suspicious look. “Walking.”