I, Cassandra

by E A Carter

  There's no mirrors where I bunk, even Zee doesn't have one, but my broken reflection tells me what I suspected. I'm thinner than I was the last time I worked here. I'm not surprised since I have been using my rations to keep Miro alive. I won't take the opiates, even though it would kill the hunger pangs. I keep thinking: what if I get a chance to get out and I miss it locked in a drug haze? No. Better to suffer, and wait, than give up like everyone else.

  I pull on the one piece, cut like a strapless swimsuit. The black latex wraps itself around me, snug, catching on the garish blue strip lighting shining in from the corridor. My breasts were never big, but they are much smaller now, just like the rest of me. I don't look sexy, I look bony and malnourished. Before I got sent to work at The Jackpot, Zee told me behind the barrier only the elite of the elite have human partners—GC's idea of population control. The rest have robots to attend their physical needs. For the soldiers who can't stomach sex with machines, the exclusion zone is their only option. Some of them were alright, some were even kind. One was a virgin, and came almost as soon as he was inside me. One was a total bastard. He hit me, hard, over and over while he was inside me. Carney, waiting outside got tipped off by Zee and took care of him—a knife across the throat, warm blood all over me, stinking of metal, and a dead man still inside me. I got extra rations that night. Even Zee left me alone.

  Apart from Maddox, they killed them all once I was done with them. No one ever got to leave except for Maddox, a Delta Force Captain. He was valuable, and he talked, enough to keep Zee and the higher-ups happy. I had six mad, passionate months with him. And then he died and left me in this shithole, alone and aching for him, my heart silenced.

  I pull on the wig, savouring the feel of its long blue tresses gracing my bare shoulders. Once, before I was captured by the UFF I had had long, dark hair, hair which hung halfway down my back in wavy lengths, but now I kept it cut close to my scalp. Not shaved, but not far off. Kept the lice at bay. There was nothing to wash hair with anyway. A memory slips free of Maddox kissing the crown of my head as we lay wrapped in each other's arms in a post-sex haze, of him telling me I'm beautiful, and meaning it. I close my eyes and force the memory away. It's over. He's gone. Tonight it starts again. I fuck a soldier for information all night and in the morning, as he leaves, Carney will kill him.

  Booted footsteps approach. It's Zee, I can tell. I try not to, but I stiffen, defensive. The other girls stop talking, their murmurs hushed, reverent in the presence of the one who controls what's left of London. He takes hold of my arm and turns me around. I look up at him, hoping I look submissive enough, even though I hate him with every cell in my body.

  'Got the stuff?' he asks, glancing at me then away, his eyes moving over the girls. His attention lingers on one of them. She giggles, nervous. I know he's doing it to try to make me jealous. I'm not. I never will be. I hope he fucks her fifteen ways from Sunday so he has no energy left for me.

  I open my fist, a lurid green capsule nestles in my upturned palm. He looks at it, then closes his hand over mine, folding my fingers over my palm, burying the R7 capsule back out of sight.

  'Same drill as before,' he says, his eyes going back to the other girl. 'Our sniffers have him on the way. He's already eaten two opiates and he's desperate to fuck. Don't waste time, get the shit into him. I want him talking right away, he's not high level like Maddox but higher than the shit we've been getting lately. We've had no useful intel for far too long. You remember what to do?'

  'Twenty minutes,' I say, knowing the timing off by heart. 'From the time he finishes his drink until I can ask questions. You'll get your intel. I haven't forgotten how this goes.'

  'I'll bet you haven't,' Zee says, acrid. He pulls his attention from the one behind me and runs his forefinger across the slick material encasing my chest, circling one nipple and then the other. 'This one's ugly as fuck though. A bit of a downgrade from your handsome captain. You'll be glad to have me inside you tomorrow, to get rid of the memory.'

  I say nothing. What can I say? It's like he thinks I want this. His hand slides down to my waist. He pulls me closer to him. 'I'll go easy on you tomorrow,' he says, low, so no one else can hear. 'Been thinking maybe that's where I'm going wrong with you, maybe you need a gentler touch. Now kiss me, Vallis and get out there and fight the good fight.'

  I kiss him, obedient, my heart encased in ice. He lets me go and I follow Sarz as she lurches on her eight-inch heels down the dim corridor towards the heavy thump of bass coming from the club. I push open the metal door and see the soldier coming in with the sniffers. I go to the bar and pick up a bottle of fake A and pour him a drink, cracking the R7 into it while he gropes Sarz who is ready and waiting to distract him. He leers at me as he takes his tainted shot from the bar. I smile into his ugly face, and let him fondle me across the sticky counter, Sarz forgotten now in pursuit of riper fruit. He tugs the top of my swimsuit down so my breasts fall out. I bite my lower lip, and smile, encouraging him. He leans forward and picks me up, lifting me over the bar to him as though I am nothing more than a doll. He settles me between his legs. I can feel his erection pressing against my belly through his trousers. His mouth is already on my breasts, and he suckles me like a starving thing, hurting me. I hang on to his shoulders, catching Zee watching us near the doors, hate burning in his eyes. I turn my face away from him, retreating into myself, reliving the memories of when Maddox was the one sitting on this stool.

  The soldier's fingers are between my legs now, probing, frantic. It has happened before. I have been fucked at the bar, in front of everyone. I'm not allowed to stop it. Trust is everything. I close my eyes and retreat further into myself as he busies himself with unbuttoning his fly. The crotch of my suit is jerked aside and he is inside me, hammering into me in time with the pounding of the bass, my spine ramming hard against the bar. I bite my lip and endure the pain and humiliation, sensing Zee watching, jealous, and bitter; Sarz staggering back to her locker to get one of her precious opiates for me, and Carney, somewhere in the shadows, feeling himself, enjoying the show. From far away, I hear the soldier's grunts as he rides me, greedy, like a beast. I think of Maddox, calling down the strike, taking himself away from me forever. And deep inside, locked in silence, I watch my heart curl up and die.

  FOUR | AMADI EZENWA

  * * *

  February 2051

  In breaking news, Global Command has today named former President of the United States, Ezeudo Ezenwa, the Secretary-General of the United Nations. Highly regarded for his capability in overseeing the timely completion of Global Command's Alpha and Omega cities in 2048, and the selection and migration of its fifty million residents into its safe harbour, former President Ezenwa is deemed more than capable of ensuring the society we now inhabit continues to thrive and—

  'Hey I was watching that!' I say, turning around, indignant, to see who turned off the wall screen. A view of the Canadian tundra replaces the news, layers of smooth undulating rock coats the furred, marshy flatlands. In the distance, a lake glistens in the pristine sunrise, from its shore several herons take flight. Orange-pink light filters through the window, bathing the living room in a soft, warm glow.

  'You already know all this,' my father smiles as he moves around the sofa to join me. 'I told you last night at dinner.'

  'Yes, but,' I shrug, and glance back at the wall screen longingly, 'I like to see it. It makes me proud, you know, to be your son. I mean,' I continue, racing to get the words out quick before my father stops me, 'you were our first real African-American president, the son of Nigerian immigrants, and were voted in twice, and now you get to be the Secretary-General of the UN. It just goes to show—'

  'It goes to show what?' my father asks, soft, a hint of rebuke in his dark eyes. 'We are all the same, in here,' he touches his fingertips to his head, then over his heart, 'and here. It just happened to take a very long time for a certain group of people to understand what the rest of us have known all along.'

  '
Yeah,' I roll my eyes, 'and then they left you their mess to clean up.'

  My father smiles again, placid, literally nothing fazes him. He's—what's the word I learned at school just the other day? Oh yeah. Indomitable. I wish I were more like him, but I'm not. According to my father, I take after my mother: full of ideals, powerful emotions, driven by a deep sense of justice. I wish for the billionth time I could have known her. She would have understood me, and not just smiled, like my father. She would have let me watch the news, I'm sure of it.

  My father checks his watch. He's wearing his vintage Rolex, the Zephyr Oyster Perpetual 6582 that's going to be one hundred years old in four years' time. I eye it, admiring the creamy surface of the watch's face, with just gold dots to mark the hours. It's elegant, just like my father. Even the way he moves is graceful and relaxing to watch - like the water that flows along the pebbled brook in the school's cafeteria. I know I'm not elegant and probably never will be. I would rather play sports and run around outside than sit in school and learn stuff. But I try cause it makes Dad happy.

  The Rolex was a wedding gift from my mother. It had belonged to her father, and then his father before him. Dad told me he intends to give it to me on my twenty-fifth birthday. I sigh, desolate. Fourteen more years to go. It feels like forever. Why does it have to take so long to grow up?

  'Aren't you going to be late for school?' my father asks. 'It's just gone seven-thirty. The monorail won't wait for you.' He stands and holds out his hand. 'I have a little time before my first meeting, let's walk together and you can tell me all about your favorite subject.'

  'The only thing that matters is soccer,' I say. I'm not kidding. It's true.

  'Ah,' my fathers nods, 'that is without question an important pursuit, but tell me son, I'm curious what have you been taught about regarding recent history. You were too young to remember any of the things that led up to us living here, so what is your teacher telling you?' He opens the door. I follows him out into the warm February sunshine. Even this early in the morning, it's already warm. I decide to leave my jacket behind and follow my father down the pavement past the other homes towards the monorail stop.

  'Well,' I begin, screwing up one eye, looking up, idly searching for the blue shimmers which occasionally ripple across the massive, clear dome over Alpha V—the most I have seen in one day was five, I would love to break my record. 'Ms Banjupantham said something about how, a really long time ago, like, I dunno, twenty-five years ago?' I look up, feeling uncertain, realising way too late, distracted by trying to break my shimmer record I've swum into dangerous waters. But my father nods, soft, and urges me to continue.

  'Well,' I go on, cautious, dropping my attention to my sneakers, where there are no distractions, 'there was this president, and he made bad choices which made the problems in the world worse, right? And somehow even though he was bad at his job—not like you—he still got to be the president twice . . . so things got even worse, like for the animals, and the trees, and like, even here,' I wave my arm around encompassing the neat cul-de-sac with its garden and lily pond, 'where it's supposed to be frozen, like totally, miles deep according to Ms Banjupantham. So like, the polar bears died cause the ice melted, and there were no rain forests left cause people wanted to make money, and anyway he said what the scientists said about the polar bears dying cause of what the people were doing to the trees was a lie. He said people could do whatever they wanted to the planet, and it would be ok, and—oh look!'

  A pair of jewelled dragonflies no more than an arms' length away hover before me, just watching me with their big eyes. I can't help myself, I lift my hand, hoping one will land on it, but no luck. They dart off to the garden to hover over a tiger lily, then shoot away, quick as anything into the depths of the gardens surrounding the pond.

  'Go on,' my father says not looking at the dragonflies. Apart from the muscles of his jaw clenching a couple of times, he looks calm. Indomitable. I wish I were indomitable. I decide not to say the name of the president, even though I know it. The guy who killed Mom had been a supporter of him and didn't like that she used her power as a Supreme Court Justice to punish politicians who stopped everyone from being equal. My heart hurts a little, so I let out a heavy breath, it helps, a bit. But then, at least none of the dead president's children or relatives were chosen to live in the restriction zone. Now they were with all the other people in the exclusion zone, exactly where they belonged—with the people who didn't care about Earth, or the animals; who had called the scientists liars, scientists who, it turned out, had been right all along.

  'Well he was wrong about everything,' I say as we approach the stop, several other kids are waiting there, a couple wave at me. I wave back. 'Ms Banjupantham said he was probably one of the most dangerous people in history because right when he had the power to make things better, he didn't. He just wanted to make money for himself and his rich friends, and too bad for Earth and the people. And then,' I can hear myself starting to talk fast again. I try to slow down but I can't cause this part really annoys me, since it's just so unfair. Dad waits, patient and calm like always and lets me have my rant.

  'And then—wait till you hear this—he goes to his rich friends and says, 'Oh maybe it seems like the world isn't going be so good to live in after all, at least not here in America. I say we should build a place where we can go when things get really bad, where we will be safe from the heat and storms, and we can eat baby dolphins.' So he gets together with a bunch of rich people and they start to build a place in Greenland where it's all melted and the polar bears are dead—you know a fancy place, just for them. And then, well, and then, because things were so bad all over, the US military went in and took over the building work, and the government seized the billionaires' money and used it to build all the Alpha and Omega cities in Nunavut and Greenland so it wouldn't just be for a few thousand rich people but for fifty million people from all over the world who are smart, and use science and stuff and want to fix this whole big mess guys like him made.' I lean over the barrier to see if the tram is coming yet. It's not. 'And then you became the president, took over the project, picked all the people, created one army from all the armies of the world called the Global Command Force, and then we moved here, and the bad people stayed behind, and now everything is going to get better. The end.'

  My father bites back a smile. 'Baby dolphins?' He lifts a brow. 'Really?'

  'Okay,' I admit, although I feel no shame as I look back down the tracks, 'Ms. Banjupantham never said that part. I might have added in a little. I just, you know, wanted to make a point. Anyway, there's no way we can know if he didn't say that.'

  'Amadi,' my father says, quiet, 'not all the people who were left in the exclusion zone deserve to be there. Millions of worthy people were left behind, and it's a terrible thing to know I am the one responsible for their fate. You must not think it's as simple as the good guys being here and the bad guys being there. Do not do those people such an injustice. You are better than that.'

  His rebuke cuts a swathe through my sass. I glance up at him. The haunted look in his eyes makes me feel terrible. Shame fills me. Me and my big mouth. 'I'm sorry. Really, I didn't mean it, sometimes I just talk without thinking. You're right, it's not that simple and I will do everything I can to learn stuff and make myself worthy of being here. I'll make you proud, I promise.

  My father nods, his eyes going to the tram as it glides down the rail towards us, white and silent. 'I know you will, son,' he says, soft. 'I know you will.'

  The doors open. I step in and turn around to face him. 'I mean it,' I say as he nods and backs away, having seen me off. A beep starts, warning me the doors will soon close. 'I wanna be a soldier when I grow up,' I call out to him. 'The best soldier ever, with medals all over the place.' The door slides shut. Through the glass window I salute my dad. As the tram pulls away he salutes me back. Crisp, perfect. Like a president. But he's not smiling. He just looks sad.

  ‡

  July 2070r />
  I gaze at my reflection in the mirror as I unbutton my uniform's jacket. Halfway through my thirtieth year and already a major—promoted for discovering a serious fault in the design of the barrier wall, saving Global Command billions, and single-handedly driving the project to its end in record time. Once and for all, the raids against the southern A&O cities and industrial parks in Nunavut would end, or at least would now be manageable. The barrier had been designed to be near impossible to breach: sheer, armed, and patrolled by military drones. It would take a lot to get through, organisation, coordination, and a serious amount of explosives. And even if the UFF did manage to attack, we would be waiting for them. No more easy pickings for them, no more running around in circles after an elusive aggressor always one step ahead. Today, along with my promotion, I had been given command of the forces controlling the barrier's nearly eight hundred kilometre length. A huge responsibility. One I would not fail.

  'Major Ezenwa', I say and salute my reflection, sharp, precise. The title sounds good in my mouth. I say it again, the Rolex glinting on my wrist as I drape my jacket over my arm. I smile, my even white teeth brilliant against my deep complexion. My smile fades as I recall the request I made to my CO, thinking of Adiana, the neuroscientist I met a year ago, the chemistry between us palpable—the woman I intend to marry no matter how many barriers stand in our path.