The Killing Jar

by RS McCoy

“Yes, I would like for you to find out why these files are classified.”

  DASIA

  SHUTTLE DOCK HEL-41, HELENA, NORTH AMERICA

  AUGUST 8, 2232

  For the first time in her life, Dasia was alone.

  Sure, she sat on a transport shuttle with four hundred other people, but still she was alone.

  Dr. Pastromas had escorted her to the shuttle dock, a metal platform encased in a low metal tube. The lights shone a honey color that reminded her of the haze, but inside the tube, the air was processed and clean. He had slapped some metal band around her wrist as they arrived at the shuttle door. When prompted, she held it to a scanner and was allowed access onto the shuttle.

  “It’s coded to take you to the complex. It’ll alert me if you try to leave.” That’s all he said before turning back down the tube.

  As if she had anywhere else to go.

  “Aren’t you coming?” she called after him. He was hardly a friend, but somehow, he was the only person she knew.

  He pushed his hands into his pockets and smiled some half-hearted grin. “No, I have a few things to do here yet. Just a few loose ends. I’ll take a later flight and meet you there in a few hours.” And then he left.

  Dasia found one of the few vacant seats remaining, a narrow seat against the shuttle-wall. A tight-faced woman sat beside her with five-year old boy in the aisle seat. Both were occupied with their tablets, her with the news stream, and him with some sort of math problem. Both wore tight-fitted indigo body suits.

  Must be Scholars.

  Dasia felt so out of place. Her dusty work pants wouldn’t release the last traces of orange no matter how hard she rubbed her hands across them. Her shirt was beyond wrinkled from a second day’s wear. Even her blue knit cap was stained with haze.

  Her eyes were puffy and sore, so dry they ached each time she blinked. A fog filled her head. The longer she went without anth, the more fog there was, until now her head felt like it would explode. Her hands shook and her foot bounced no matter how she tried to sit still.

  She looked about as good as she felt.

  She carried nothing with her, had nothing to her name. She could never go back home. Aside from the clothes she wore, she had nothing.

  A quiet vibration traveled down the arm rests, the gentle hum of the shuttle launch. Somewhere inside her, buried under everything else, she still held a glimmer of excitement. It was her first shuttle ride after all.

  It should have been a good day. She should have woken up in Cole’s arms and spent the day on the farm with her dad. Her mom would have made them lunch and they would have laughed.

  Instead, she had ruined it. It would never be that way again. The Daughertys lost their son. Her parents had lost their daughter. More than likely they’d be forced to sell. She could only hope they would make enough profit to live out their days in comfort. Away from the haze.

  The lights dimmed and quiet conversations emerged throughout the cabin.

  A woman in an olive-green shirt came down the aisle. “What would you like to drink?”

  The boy lifted his metal band and the woman scanned it with a handheld device of some kind. Dasia hadn’t realized it until then, but everyone on the shuttle had the same band.

  Without taking her eyes from her display, the tight-faced woman lifted her own wrist and let the scanner transmit her drink order.

  When it was Dasia’s turn, she asked instead, “What is this for?”

  The woman in green huffed. “It’s your travel voucher. If you’ve prepaid for concessions, I can scan your order.” She lifted up the device and shook it as if to prove it was real.

  Dasia lifted her metal band in hopes Dr. Pastromas had arranged a drink for her. She was more hungry than anything, but a drink would at least hold her over. A bottle of water would do.

  The woman scanned the band and walked on to the next row without a word. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when the woman returned with a vodka tonic that Dasia was truly surprised.

  Dr. Pastromas had been through her entire file. He knew she was seventeen. It had to be a mistake.

  Rather than give it back, Dasia aimed to take full advantage. She sipped it slowly, the bubbles fizzing against the heat of the alcohol. Several minutes passed before she could drink it easily. Somehow, the woman knew to bring another, though Dasia hardly cared. She savored the blur in her mind once more, and at last, she sat back and relaxed.

  Far from home and headed for a new life, it was almost possible to feel like someone else. Someone who’s life wasn’t quite so ruined.

  Next she knew, a hand shook her shoulder. Her eyes flashed open to find the shuttle empty, the lights bright, and her drink gone.

  “Are you Dasia King? Your ground transport is waiting.” The woman stared at her like vermin. The look made Dasia’s skin crawl.

  She darted from her seat and headed for the exit. Reaching the doors, she waited for them to open but nothing happened. Then she remembered the scanner.

  Down another length of empty honey-colored tubing, Dasia found a pod waiting.

  A young man, maybe twenty, waited. He leaned his back against the pod with his ankles crossed, a tablet in his hand. He looked up when he saw her, his eyes hidden by thick sunglasses that had to be at least a century old.

  “Dasia King?” Despite his general good looks—a dusty-blonde shaggy do, a chiseled chin, and grey eyes—he was considerably shorter than her. She had a good three or four inches on him.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

  The stranger removed his glasses to reveal sandy brown eyes. He wore sleek grey slacks with a black dress shirt and matching grey vest, though it didn’t look as though he’d had them long. While the clothes fit like a glove, he didn’t look comfortable in them, as if he’d borrowed them. The guy stuck out his hand to shake hers. “Hey there, I’m Osip. I’m taking you back to CPI. No bags?”

  Reminded of her losses, Dasia shook her head and slid into the passenger seat, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  Oblivious, Osip laughed softly and said, “Yeah, that’s the way it goes. You’ll have everything you need when we get to the grounds. Where ya from?” He spoke with faint traces of an accent, but she couldn’t place it.

  It didn’t really matter. Dasia couldn’t think of anything she’d rather talk about less. Instead, she pretended not to hear him and stared out the pod glass.

  “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” Osip grew quiet, and Dasia felt as if she had disappointed him somehow.

  Osip pulled a bronze coin from his pant pocket and flipped it in his hands. The motion annoyed her but at least he was distracted and didn’t bother her with more questions.

  She didn’t know what to do, what to say. She felt like a shell of a person, as if someone had come in and scooped out the meaningful parts of her, leaving only the husk. Without Cole, her parents, her farm, her perfectly planned future and whispers of anth, there wasn’t much left. She didn’t know if there was enough.

  Poor Osip might as well be in the pod alone.

  Outside, a vast, sprawling city flew by. Other pods whirred by at their pre-set speeds, each carrying a bored passenger or two. People walked along the streets without respirators, their clothes fine and dust-free. In the glass-front buildings, there were shops and restaurants full of patrons. It was like something out of one of the old vids.

  As far up as she could see, the buildings stretched into the blue sky. Dasia had never seen such a thing. A bright vibrant yellow orb hovered above the city. It took her several seconds to realize it must be the sun, free of the haze’s distortion.

  “Never been to the city before?” Osip asked after her wide, gaping mouth.

  “No, where are we?”

  “New York.”

  Dasia’s hopes faded instantly. “There’s a dome,” she realized. She’d read it somewhere during her Youth classes. New York was one of the forty six American cities to be protected by full domes. “It’s artificial.”
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  “Yeah, it’s the city,” Osip replied. “Man, I thought I was sheltered.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d never been above ground before Nick recruited me.” Osip laughed at the memory. “There was a little culture shock.”

  “That’s where you got the accent?”

  “Ya,” he said laying it on thick. He smiled wide at her, but it soon faded when he realized she wouldn’t return it.

  Osip cleared his throat and said, “I know it’s hard to transition. You had to really go through something to get here. If you don’t want to talk, we don’t have to.”

  He looked hurt, his features fallen. He switched off the autodrive and grabbed the handles, concentrating on driving the pod.

  Dasia wanted to feel bad, to tell him it was all right and that she could talk to him, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. The wounds were too fresh. Maybe they always would be.

  They arrived soon enough. Osip rolled the pod into a garage and popped open the doors. Dasia stumbled out and waited for him. She had no idea what to do, where to go.

  Osip tried on his warm smile again, but it was damaged this time. “Come on. Jane’s waiting to take you on a tour. She loves that sort of thing.”

  He led her down a bright corridor, the lights white and clean. When they arrived at the doors, he held his palm to a scanner and waited.

  No sooner had the doors swung open than a tall brunette materialized, her hair cut into a severe bob with a low-hanging bang. “Hi, you must be Dasia! I’m Jane, welcome to CPI!” Her full red lips smiled over her crisp white teeth. She had long, slender arms and legs that went on for days. Her eyes were sharp, as were her cheekbones. By all accounts, Jane was beautiful.

  “Uh, thanks,” Dasia replied, completely lost as to why her arrival was so important to the girl. To Dasia, it was the end of her old life.

  Jane turned to stare at Osip. When he didn’t move, she said, “Don’t you have something to do?” Her words dripped with disdain.

  Osip sighed and walked off, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Dasia watched him leave, wanting to say something, to apologize for being rude, but she didn’t. She didn’t have the energy for it.

  “Thank goodness you’re here. We need a few more girls around here! Ugh, so many boys. If only they were cute,” Jane said with a romantic sigh.

  Dasia stood frozen, her arms crossed across her chest. What the hell was this place? She couldn’t make sense of it. Then again, she was one step away from catatonic. Even in her state, she could tell Osip was handsome. Apparently, Jane had absurdly high standards.

  “Come on, I’ll show you around.” Jane slid her arm through Dasia’s and pulled her along like a best friend.

  Only Dasia didn’t have a best friend. Not anymore.

  “This is the lobby. No one comes here except when they’re new. Who recruited you?” Jane asked as if it were a perfectly plain thing to ask.

  “Oh, uh, Dr. Pastromas.”

  Jane’s giggled. “Doctor Pastromas? You mean Nick? Ha ha! I’m going to call him that from now on.”

  Dasia blinked. “You call him Nick?”

  “Yeah, everyone does. Everyone’s pretty lax around here. Except Dr. Arrenstein, but he’s all right. This is the elevator, but we’re only allowed on the first two floors.” Jane pointed to a column in the middle of a round room with a pair of double doors that looked like all the others.

  “Why?”

  “Only handlers and agents are allowed. It’s like, strictly forbidden.” Jane’s eyes widened as if they were keeping man-eating sharks up there.

  “Agents and handlers?” Dasia asked. It was all so new, she didn’t even know what to ask about first.

  “Oh, if Nick didn’t tell you yet then I probably shouldn’t. There’s a meeting scheduled for the day after tomorrow. There’s one more girl coming in tomorrow morning and then I guess we’re really going to get started. Pretty exciting, huh?” Jane squeezed Dasia’s arm against her torso.

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Exciting.”

  “The cleaning station is down there. You’ll have the morning there tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll come get you. It sounds horrible, all the procedures, but it’s kind of nice, actually.”

  Procedures? Dasia walked on with her eyes locked on the doors, apprehensive to receive any procedures. She didn’t sign up for that.

  Jane didn’t notice her nerves. Instead, the two continued down the long corridor.

  “This hallway is mostly for staff. Building maintenance, servers. At the end is the galley. Hey, you want to go see if Knox is cooking? What am I saying? He’s always cooking.”

  Jane tugged her along down the hall and Dasia let her. It was easy to let Jane tell her what to do, where to go. It was better than thinking about anything.

  Besides, as much as it shocked her, Dasia kind of liked Jane. She was new, she was different. She didn’t remind her of Cole.

  MABLE

  SHUTTLE DOCK CHI-31, CHICAGO, NORTH AMERICA

  AUGUST 9, 2232

  The monster Arrenstein offered her much more freedom this time. No guards. No escorts. He gave her a transport code and let her be, let her make her own way to CPI.

  If that’s what it was still called.

  Mable’s eyes took in each exit, each door, each maintenance corridor that could be used as an exit. She had a dozen opportunities to run.

  But she couldn’t.

  Not now. Not until it was safe.

  The shuttle was fairly standard, scratchy brown cushions, crowded passengers absorbed in their tablets. Mable found a quiet corner and sat her bag in the adjacent seat. She pulled her knees up to her chest, buried her face in her arms and cried.

  It was the safest place. It was the last time she would have some measure of safety, here in the shuttle. There were hundreds on board, but none paid her any mind.

  There was safety in numbers. In such a crowd, she was invisible.

  So Mable let herself cry, gave herself that bit of release before she was locked away with him. Sobs racked her until her chest ached and tears soaked the crooks of her arms. Mable allowed herself to cry one last time.

  Five minutes.

  That’s all she needed. That’s all she would allow.

  Mable picked her head up and wiped her sleeve across her face to dry her cheeks. She counted to calm her breath and settle the thumping in her head.

  A woman approached but quickly retreated when she saw Mable’s ice-cold glare.

  From her bag she fetched her sketchbook, a bound stack of manila pages with spiral binding. One of her treasures.

  She flipped past her completed drawings and in-progress sketches. They were her memories, her emotions, documented in chronological order. It was the history of her life in the underground.

  Her fingers traced over the pages as she turned them. A charcoal sketch of Rowen, his dark hair and eyes black from the coal, his features sharp and severe as he was. A blonde with a laughing smile, as Hadley always seemed to have. A blank page.

  Mable shuffled around her bag and found the first colored pencil she could reach. The carved label called it ‘bluebonnet’.

  She set the pencil to paper and sketched thoughtlessly, the ideas flowing directly from her mind’s eye to the aged paper.

  The shuttle shuddered as it landed, pulling her from the dreamspace. On the last page, there was a girl. Her long wavy hair was pulled back, but several strands fell elegantly around her face. A shimmering diamond hung on a jeweled chain across her forehead. From the irises placed in her hair to the subtle fullness of her lips, she was a stunning beauty.

  Hadley looked like a queen.

  The shuttle lights brightened to signal the time to exit. Mable packed her sketchbook into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and walked to ground transport. As she expected, a pod was waiting for her.

  “Mable Wilkinson?” a guy asked.

  She slid into the pod without a word.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.�
�� He got in and cued up the autodrive. “I’m Osip. Where ya from?”

  Mable crossed her arms at her chest and closed her eyes.

  “Long flight?” He was clearly not getting the hint.

  “Be quiet.” Her tone was harsh. She had no intention of making friends. Anyone lured into this trap wasn’t worth getting to know.

  As he was told, the guy was silent the rest of the way.

  When she let her eyes open, she found an oddly familiar sight. New York. She’d been here before, though most of her time had been spent underground.

  She knew people in the bellows of this city.

  Not that it mattered. If she ever left, Arrenstein would look for Hadley.

  Mable closed her eyes once more and waited to arrive. The boy parked the pod in a garage and led her to a pair of doors.

  Inside, a girl darted across the crisp white room, arms spread for a hug. “Hi! Welcome to CPI! I’m—”

  “Get away from me.” Mable side-stepped at the precise moment to dodge her completely.

  The girl took an awkward step as she missed. She looked at the guy who only said, “This is Mable. She doesn’t talk much.”

  Mable strode down the corridor in search of her room or cell, whatever it might be. The halls were all white, the lights too bright. The doors had no labels. Despicable Scholar layout. Mable pushed at the first set and found them locked. Moving on, she pushed at the second pair of doors.

  When those opened, she continued her wanderings. In the small side-wing, the lights were dim over a central desk. Empty chairs sat lined along the front wall. There were at least three doors to narrow, clinical rooms filled with strange equipment and machinery.

  No one noticed her. No one bothered her.

  Until Arrenstein found her. They must have told him she was here.

  “Maggie? Your appointment isn’t until this afternoon. Your room is this way.” Arrenstein trotted to catch up to her before leading her back to the main corridor.

  “What appointment?”

  “There’s a cleaning process all new recruits go through. You’ll see. It’s pretty low key most of the time, but you’ll have a hard time with it. I’m sorry about that.” His voice was low as if it bothered him.