Scarcity

by Robert Calbeck

  The cheers grew as the impressive M1A2 Abrams tanks followed the Moles. Perhaps nothing could be more intimidating than a twin-cannoned Abrams in pristine Antarctic camo, Luthor’s personal favorite configuration. A traffic jam followed composed of Bradleys, Strykers, mobile defense stations, and the venerable M1A1 Abrams. More missiles buzzed overhead, clearing the way ahead for the sudden surge of allied armor. The Chinese had no answer to stop them. Evidently, the other paratroopers had successfully harried Asian air support. Enemy missiles exploded overhead harmlessly as the mobile defense stations fulfilled their purpose.

  Luthor sighed and slumped down on the ground away from the dragons. Finally, it was over. He could let the grunts take it from here. The machines kept rumbling past, burning an almost unfathomable amount of fuel to do so. They seemed to rattle the entire continent with their power. The Chinese would fall before their might.

  The rumble of the passing armor column abruptly grew to a violent shaking. Luthor was thrown to the ground. The ice shrieked and began to crack and splinter in spidery slivers in every direction. With a boom, a geyser of steam and smoke erupted from one of the cracks, enveloping Jake’s dragon, and completely obscuring it from view. Luthor stumbled frantically away from the frightening scene. More eruptions burst forth from the ice, jutting jagged pillars of smoke high into the air. It was like someone had instantly vaporized all the ice underneath the surface, forcing the steam violently to the surface to release the pressure. Luthor watched in horror as the cracks spread, in a terrifying line parallel to the defenses as far as he could see in either direction.

  The ground shook again. The individual pillars paused, as if taking a deep breath. Then all at once, the entire line exploded in a great wall of steam and fire. The explosion swallowed Luthor, stealing his breath. He couldn’t see, his tinted goggles were completely blinded. The ice cracked and huge chunks fell into an unseen chasm below. He tried to escape, but it was too late. The ice beneath him broke and he fell, sliding into a newly formed canyon.

  Like everything else in Antarctica, Luthor’s vision whited out and he lost consciousness.

  #

  Hudson River Station, NY, United States of the West

  It didn’t take long to arrive at the Acela transfer station. The subway was decidedly faster than walking. It also happened to be on the same line. Luthor had no desire to switch trains and risk more forays with the carps. Vika had since removed her bandage to reveal a grisly, but no longer bleeding wound. Hopefully getting on the Acela to Chicago would not be a problem. The squeal of the train’s brakes indicated they were approaching their stop. The annoyingly soothing female voice declared they had arrived at 207th street station— the closest one that intersected with the high-speed railway.

  The city had become so dense that it had been nearly impossible to find a location for the high-speed rail station. So engineers had built out onto the water and created an additional bridge to accommodate the East West travel. The whole project had been ludicrously expensive but had kept the life blood of travel flowing in a zagging line between New York and Chicago and the few surviving cities in between. They exited the subway into the newly made station that issued out of high rises ringing Inwood Park Farms and out onto the water.

  Luthor entered the utilitarian, concrete structure with more confidence than the subway. It was like the last half mile of PT from his training days. If he could just push through a few more minutes then they would be out of this damnable city. He could do anything for a few more minutes. There would still be the terrorist label to shed, but invincibility from Mark scanners and a new city would be a nice start.

  Hundreds of people crowded the tiled foyer, buying tickets, waiting for trains, or meeting passengers. They contrasted sharply with the homeless clientele he had been associating with as of late. The suits, ties and briefcases stank of credits every bit as much as the rickshaws and other human-powered forms of transportation reeked of sweat and were just as repulsive. Some were even fat. Fat!

  A particularly rotund man waddled by in a tailored suit. An artificially beautiful woman held his arm and glared at Luthor. With food this scarce, obesity equated wealth, and this man wanted to show it off. In contrast, the slim woman seemed more intent on showing the largest percentage of her legs possible while still technically wearing shorts. “I wonder how many weeks his daily food intake would feed Father Roc’s group?” Tanya muttered under her breath.

  “He’s got to be packing in four thousand calories a day to maintain that shape,” Michael said.

  Not everyone tried to imitate a beach ball, but many still offered disapproving glances to Luthor’s unkempt band. Eyes seemed to bore into him from everywhere even though he strained to blend in.

  “Why are they all staring at us?” he asked.

  “We haven’t showered or changed in a week, we look like Markless.”

  “Shit. We are never going to make it. We stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Be quiet,” Vika said sternly. “Act like you aren’t committing a crime. Quit whispering.”

  Luthor stood up a little straighter, they would surely have the eye of security, but their scans would be clean. No reason to act strange and draw even more attention to themselves.

  “I’m used to seeing people stare at you Vika, but not with that look,” said Tanya.

  “Like they say, every guy’s either got a dick or a wallet in his hand,” said Michael.

  “Which one do you have?” Vika quipped. “Last I checked, Ostafal took all your credits.”

  Luthor could have sworn that Michael blushed. Of course, the lucky bastard’s dark skin hid it too well to be noticed.

  “Well, it was a figure of speech,” Michael replied, “I mean, nobody’s carried a wallet in years. Even credit cards are digital.”

  “That would explain a lot about men today,” Vika said.

  “Damn it, that’s not what I meant!”

  Luthor laughed like taking the Acela to Chicago was the most normal thing in the world for him, but the stares still made him uncomfortable.

  As they moved along the line the distribution of people became increasingly skewed toward the carp side. It seemed like every third person wore the green and black of the carbon police. Luthor had never seen so many in one place. One of them was bound to notice that his face was the same as the image gilding the top of the Most-Wanted list.

  The 126 around his belt made it worse. Luthor never could tell what the subtle change in gravity did to others. He noticed it, but he knew to expect it. Garcia hadn’t seemed to notice anything different until Luthor had floated him to the ceiling. Everyone reacted differently to the odd distortions it caused in the inner ear. Who could know if subtle changes magnetically drew their attention or caused them to focus inwardly on their own endeavors?

  Luthor moved forward, sneaking glances to evaluate the situation. Unlike the subway, each line had its own dedicated carbon cop ensuring rule compliance.

  “Qwiz knows to meet us at the station in Chicago?” Tanya asked.

  “We can only hope, otherwise we’ll have a bit of a walk,” said Luthor.

  “Where are we going to stay?” Michael said.

  “Street living will be sufficient,” Vika said.

  “No, seriously. We have to find something else,” Michael replied. It was the first time Luthor had ever seen him openly contradict Vika. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m not just saying that because I want a bed. I don’t care about a bed. We have been spending so much time just trying to smogging stay alive that we have forgotten the whole point of getting to Chicago. Those damn bastards blew up our computer and we need to get our research back. And the whole point of getting our research back was to publicly announce our findings. I don’t see how we are going to be able to do that if we are homeless, look like Markless, and have no goddamn resources.”

  “He is right,” Vika said, looking as surprised to be saying it as Luthor was to hearing it. “We need connections. Resource
s. We need to fight back.”

  “Yes, fight back!”

  “So let’s figure out what we have to work with,” Luthor said. Things became so much simpler when they were broken down to their elements and analyzed. “We have Qwiz, who has both our data and the rest of the 126. There’s our primary resource. But apart from him, we also have the best sniper on earth,” Luthor hoped Vika would appreciate the compliment, but that didn’t make it any less true, “and we have our brains, and whatever connections we can bring to the table.”

  “Speaking of the best sniper on earth,” Tanya said, “Vika still hasn’t ditched her pistol, that thing is going to light up the metal detectors like a—”

  “I will,” Vika snapped, “but not before I have to.” Vika paused, looking intently into the distance. “Look over there.” She pointed at the periphery of the chamber. A police dog strained against its master’s leash as it prowled, sniffing out lawbreakers. Another K-9 duo appeared on the other side of the hall.

  “What are they doing here?” Tanya asked.

  “Probably just standard drug sniffing dogs,” Luthor said, “most smuggling between cities is going to come by train.”

  “It isn’t that simple,” Vika said tersely. “In Europe they have been trying to train dogs to smell out CPI chips, and more importantly the lack of CPI chips.”

  “There is no way it could smell that you’ve had yours removed,” Michael said.

  “It is a possibility. Perhaps American dogs have mastered that task.”

  “Let’s hope they haven’t,” Luthor said.

  “There is no need to panic,” Tanya said. “Vika got her chip back, and ours haven’t been removed. Even if the carp brings the dog right by here, we’ll be fine. And CPI chips can’t have that obvious an odor. And it will be trying to tell the difference between one inside the skin versus one outside the skin. If Vika just heads to the bathroom as the dogs approach, she shouldn’t have any problem.”

  “I can’t think of any better solution,” Vika said, striding away without a second look. She leaned against the restroom wall, while the rest of them continued to wait in the security line.

  One of the dogs passed within 4 meters of her, but didn’t seem to notice. The carp began meandering in their direction, letting the dog sniff wherever it desired.

  “It isn’t going to smell that our Marks are being blocked, will it?” Tanya asked.

  “Dogs can smell lots of things, but I doubt they are ever going to be able to smell variations in electromagnetic radiation,” Luthor said. Tanya seemed to relax.

  Across the room Vika took a sip of water from a fountain to justify her continued presence against the wall. Meanwhile, a businessman tried vainly to make conversation with her. It wasn’t hard to imagine the conversation. A rich white man offering to lift up a poor, pathetic, but beautiful suburban refugee to higher status in return for certain services. Watch your balls buddy, they’re liable to get stomped. Mental note: overhear next such conversation for comedic entertainment.

  The dog slowly sniffed its way farther from Vika, it hadn’t seemed to notice her. Luthor relaxed. We just need to hold out a little longer. Then we’re home free. It continued to wander the grounds casually, its simple steps belying the powerful muscles underneath the fur.

  A minute later, the shepherd’s casual sniffing became more insistent. It did a nice impression of a bloodhound as it smashed its nose to the floor, following unseen olfactory trails. Probably the scent of some illicit substance. Luthor would not want to be the poor soul who tried to smuggle drugs through today, with that animal on the hunt. He also had a sadistic desire to see someone get busted that wasn’t him for once. Yes, that would be nice.

  The dog sniffed incessantly, drawing ever closer to where they stood. No one around them looked much like a drug dealer, at least in the stereotypical sense. Luthor never would have suspected the suits and briefcases to be hiding cocaine and heroin. But that was likely what they counted on for their success. The carps probably wouldn't suspect them either.

  The dog suddenly lifted its head from the ground, its lips peeled back, and it growled. It snarled and foamed, people backed away in fear. It dragged the carp straight at Luthor.

  What the hell is going on? Vika isn’t here! What is the dog yammering about?

  It reached them and barked ferociously and continually. The carbon cop’s expression quickly morphed from startled, to suspicious, to downright angry.

  The carp reached down and said something to the dog. It stopped barking, but did not relent its straining on the leash. Its canine lips peeled back in a snarl. “I’m going to need to scan you and search your bags.” Another dog farther away started barking too. It leaped against its master’s grip up on its hind legs.

  Luthor’s mind sprinted like a greyhound. He had no idea what to do. Should he surrender? Would the inverter work if they did? If they ran for it, he doubted they could get away from these dogs. They could get to the door, maybe, but outside in the open they would be run down like foxes. And why were the dogs flipping out anyway? It didn’t make any sense, they didn’t have any drugs. Vika looked on, alert and ready for action.

  Suddenly, the second dog snapped the leash of the carp holding it, and closed the distance between the three of them with blistering speed. Its jaws snapped like it intended to break bones. Adrenal glands quickly took over and erased any doubt as to the correct course of action. Thankfully, PTSD had not impaired those instincts. A rabid dog going for the throat reliably produces the same response in all humans, PTSD or not: run.

  In a split second, Luthor dodged a pillar and sprinted back through the crowd. Judging by the startled yells around him, Tanya and Michael had followed suit. Chancing a glance back, the dog slithered through the crowds, chasing only them. The other one now pursued them as well, only meters behind. Why? Luthor thought frantically. He tried to figure out what they might be smelling to set them off like that. Luthor vaulted the turnstiles leading to the subway and pushed through the lines, legs pumping as fast as he could make them go. The mass of humanity slowed down the dogs too, maintaining his narrow lead.

  Slamming through the breakaway doors, Luthor leaned into his sprint as he made for the street, hoping to jump the high fence that guarded a plush farm across the street. He dodged an old woman with a cane, hobbling down the sidewalk. As he passed her, she fell over as helplessly as only a geriatric can. He had gotten close, but hadn’t touched her at all. Why did she fall?

  In a flash of epiphany, Luthor’s brain went into overdrive. The 126! Its subtle effect on gravity wouldn’t be perceptible to most people, but would be obvious to someone as unstable as the old woman. It would be noticeable to anyone sensitive to a change in equilibrium. And dogs had far more acute senses than humans.

  That’s what happened in the Geneva terminal with the stupid purse dog! These dogs aren’t chasing me, they are chasing my 126 because they sense the gravity distortion!

  In the same moment, Tanya and Michael burst through the doors. The dogs were right on their heels. Luthor ran toward them, quickly taking all three of his BOGs and smashing them together. The gravity increased exponentially around it. He hurled the wad as far as he could toward the river. He lost his balance as the gravity dimple raced away from him.

  The dogs leaped over the fallen Luthor, ignoring him completely and bolted away after the offending 126. The BOGs sailed down the sheer slope into the water. The dogs stopped on the shore, barking continuously at the murky New York water. Tanya and Michael stood by the fence, bewilderment plastered on their faces. It only took a moment for Luthor to explain that he had discovered another of 126’s properties: dogs—and presumably other animals— absolutely hated the stuff.

  Vika appeared next to them. “Quick, blend in with other refugees!”

  They melded into the crowd, all but disappearing into the sea of other homeless.

  “With any luck they will think we jumped in,” Michael said.

  “Luck?” Lu
thor roared. “This whole thing is completely fubar! They had to have seen us, they know we’re trying to get on the train,” Luthor noticed that Michael no longer held the duffle. Luthor stabbed a finger violently into his sternum, “and you managed to lose the smogging inverter!”

  Michael didn’t back down, but shouted back centimeters from Luthor’s face. “Sorry if I wanted to stay alive! I doubt you would have had the presence of mind to pick up the bag either!”

  “I had the presence of mind to save your ass!”

  “Yeah and you lost, what, three more of beads of 126? Great job asshole. You just sacrificed a month of synthesis work.”

  “Maybe I should have sacrificed you in—”

  “Both of you shut up!” Tanya yelled. “You want the carps to find us?”

  Sure enough, both of the carps were standing by the river talking on their phones. They hadn’t kept up with their dogs long enough to see them flee the station. It was clear they believed their perps had gone for a swim.

  “We just need another plan,” Tanya continued. “We don’t need you two doing their job for them. What about the whole saving the world thing? It’s going to be pretty dang tough to do that with you two strangling each other. It’s going to be alright.”

  “No, its not,” Vika said, staring off blankly. Her voice cut through the city noise like a diamond blade. “Get down. Now.”

  She shoved them roughly behind a bus.

  “What is it?” Tanya asked.

  “It’s Pain,” Luthor and Vika said at the same time.

  Michael let loose a string of curse words.

  Luthor stared into the reflection of the windshield of a stopped electric car. If Vika said to get down, it meant Pain was out there somewhere. It took several moments, but he finally found what Vika had instantly seen. Several hundred meters away a figure perched unnaturally behind a billboard mounted on the side of an office building. To the untrained eye, it would have looked like a decorative gargoyle.