by Y A Marks
“Home!” I screamed. “I’m going home. I’m trying to get home.”
The android moved closer, trying to read my D-Tag.
“Paeton Washington, sixteen, Lower-Class, eight misdemeanors, six counts of shoplifting, two counts of theft,” the android said.
I glanced at the smooth face of the android cop which looked more like a black helmet than a human’s face. Its three blue cameras refocused on me as it moved closer. With every step it took, my body’s tremors increased.
I hated the androids.
I detested them more than anything. They were freakish amalgamations of robotic and human tissue. Because of the instability of Artificial Intelligence, the government had allowed bits of humans to be used to stabilize the androids. Like everything in this warped world, the government and Upper-Cs decided that using Lower-C body parts inside those things was acceptable. Behind that black helmet was a person’s face or their brain and eyes. Even though it was covered, I felt the human spirit within the android. The thought made my whole body itch.
“Get back! Get back!” The screams tore from my throat as the android moved closer.
“Paeton Washington, calm down. I’m reading abnormal increases in heart rate,” it said.
“Probably because she’s one of the people who bombed the drone,” the human cop said. “I’m thinking this little birdy is about to be caged.”
My whole body pulsed. Every cell in my body screamed.
“No, no, I didn’t do anything!” I yelled. “I’m trying to get away from them.”
The human cop threw me on the ground, but the colors in my mind blended into a white mix.
“I’ll take over, Officer,” the android said.
It was protocol for the androids to frisk pending an arrest. Citizens couldn’t countersue the court with sexual harassment or any other charge if a human never touched them. The androids didn’t care about human anatomy. They simply acted based on their programming.
However, I didn’t care about lines of code or rules and regulations. I didn’t want those cold fingers on my skin. I reached forward, trying to crawl away. My chin scuffed against the concrete, and blood oozed out of the dozen or so tiny wounds.
“Stay away!” I screamed.
“Please be calm, or I will have to sedate you, Paeton Washington,” the android said.
Tears ran down my cheeks as a bionic knee landed on my back. I couldn’t go to jail. I had to get home. I shouldn’t have been here. Why was this happening to me?
A fizzling noise radiated through the air, followed by a heavy thump. The hard whine of an engine shutting down echoed along the street. The grip on my hands loosened, and I pulled them under my body. I spun around to see the android laying on its side. The three camera lights were no longer glowing—they were dead to the world.
The human cop crouched down and unsnapped his gun. He turned to the right and left, not concerned about me anymore. As I stood and saw the EMP bolt that was locked into the back of the android’s head, I understood why the human cop had forgotten all about me. He was only concerned about who had attacked his partner.
Wiping tears from my eyes and trying to steady my ragged breath, I charged my ringer.
It vibrated softly on my middle finger. With venom in my blood, I cupped my hand to the human cop’s unguarded ear. The cop turned in frustration, but I stayed behind him. I had done this maneuver many times with thieves and kidnappers in the past. He wobbled, trying to fight the pain growing inside his skull. I pulled my arms back and threaded my fingers together so that my fists were bound. My entangled fist swung across the back of the cop’s head.
He fell down to the pavement—knocked out.
Once I regained my balance and my heart rate slowed enough for me to think, I sucked up the thickest, slimiest wad of saliva I could, and spit it on the both of them. I hated them. I hated everything about them. They were people who should care, but didn’t.
I turned, checked my few possessions, and took off running down Marietta Street. I didn’t get two full blocks away before a faint clamor of footsteps overtook me. I craned my head back and saw Gray-Eyed Fox’s grinning eyes.
“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” he said.
“Thank you?” The words had no meaning to me. What did he mean by that? Did he not know what was going to happen now? “Are you one of them?” I asked.
“One of them?” He asked as he neared.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Are you a rebel?”
“Well, if you would hold up for a moment, I could tell you.”
My mind tangled. I didn’t need to be seen with a rebel, but he had just saved my life. Despite my better judgment, I stopped.
I put ten steps between us and watched him closely. I would listen to what he had to say and then get out of here. I had been trained to be polite. I needed to say thank you or something nice. Unfortunately, the words wrestled with my tongue.
He paused and put a hand up on a lamp post, trying to regain his breath.
“Thanks for… saving me,” I muttered.
His eyebrow flew up. He smiled even though his mouth was covered. The slight tug of the skin around his eyes gave his expression away.
Worry gripped me with every moment that passed. “Well, get on with it.”
He put up one finger and exhaled loudly. Afterward, he drew himself up to his full height.
“So are you a rebel or not? Your merry friends down there, did they take out the drone?”
“Hold your horses, my lady, one question at a time,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. The arrogance in his tone shot nails in my forehead. “So answer the first one then.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I am a rebel.”
“Crix.” I took another step back, enlarging the tiny distance between us. Everything I had worked for was in jeopardy. My whole body crushed under the weight of what was happening. “Answer the second question.”
“Well, yeah, on the second question too.”
“Crix!” I growled. This wasn’t good at all. I shouldn’t be here with this, this Gray-Eyed Fox fool. “Why? Why do this? Do you know what the government will do now? You’ve put this whole area in danger. They’ll put this place under a microscope. Do you know how many homeless are here?”
“Um yeah, on the third and last question.”
“Unbelievable. Why?”
His joyful eyes cooled and peered deep into mine. The excitement left his voice and all that was left was a steady monotone. “Because… change is coming. Fear nor pacification will stop change. It is inalienable.”
“What?” I stood, trying to absorb the weight of his statement.
A bright light blinded my eyes. It expanded over the area. Everything around me glowed. The faint sound of helicopter rotors chopped the air, and a concentrated breeze blew my hair forward onto my face.
A fractured scream radiated in my throat. My knees buckled, and my stomach dropped. Panic froze my body as my eyes gazed into the bright death looming above. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Why was any of this happening to me? I was so good, so smart. I had to get home. I couldn’t go to jail. The drone wasn’t my fault.
CHAPTER 5
I came to my senses and spun out of the light. A dual-rotor helicopter hovered above us. A spotlight swept the area. I took another glance into the Gray-Eyed Fox’s face. His once joyful expression faded. His body curved into a pole, like one of the blue streetlights around us. It was as though he belonged in the lonely background.
I wanted to care about him, just like I wished I could have cared about any of the Lower-Cs, but I couldn’t worry about them. I couldn’t jeopardize what I had to protect. I had to take care of myself. Neither I, nor Gray-Eyed Fox, had a chance if more cops showed up.
I grabbed the straps of my backpack and ran. I refused to look back. This event was a mistake. Everything from the Gray-Eyed Fox to the drone, it was all a mistake. I shouldn’t have seen it. I shouldn’t know anything abou
t it. I didn’t know what all the horrors of even being close to a rebel would mean for me, but just looking at a cop the wrong way could get you thrown in jail. I prayed God would get me through this. If I did get through, I never wanted to see the Gray-Eyed Fox again.
By the time I turned the corner, the spotlight had left me. I guess it decided to follow the Gray-Eyed Fox, which was great. I didn’t blow up a drone or bring a hundred idiots out to riot in the middle of the street. Tomorrow this horrible day would be a memory, and the Gray-Eyed Fox would be back in the hole he came from.
I might need to get away for a few days. I wasn’t sure what would happen with the two cops, and this whole area might be placed under investigation. I wasn’t sure how far the police would create their perimeter, but I didn’t want to press my luck. I still had to go home first though. There was urgent business that needed to be taken care of with those who depended on me.
I arrived at the Atlanta Football Stadium, which was once a shiny icon in the southwest part of the city, but had become a safe haven for forty-thousand homeless people. After crossing the north ramp, and heading under the silver, triangle-like roof, I entered into the concrete path that took me into the heart of the bleacher area. I made my way to the mid-seats, which were located in the section above those that led to the field.
Wooden planks were laid across the seats. There were table-like legs underneath groups of fastened boards to create larger platforms. I continued to section C-3, which was where the cot I called home resided.
I took five deep breaths to remove the foolish memory of the Gray-Eyed Fox from my mind. He was no longer in my life. I just needed to come up with a plan to get past the cops when they came hunting for clues. The EMP that hit the android cop should have erased its internal hard drives. I could only hope that it didn’t have time to uplink with the drone. I guessed that because two were down, the other one would have been overloaded with requests. So only the human cop might retain something about me, but I’d heard that a knockout can remove short-term memory. I didn’t want to take any chances. Another spot would be needed to lay my head for a few days, just in case.
A rotund, pale woman made her way toward me as I neared my cot. Her curly, graying hair bounced as she pulled out a small box attached to a keyboard embedded within her arm.
“Hi, Ms. Cooper,” I said.
“Well, seems you lived another day, Paeton. One of these days, maybe I’ll get to rent out your cot to someone else.” She smiled at our inside joke. Just like with Dhyla, I was known to be a loner and people generally didn’t live that long in that lifestyle, especially when they were sixteen.
Most kids my age had parents, but unfortunately, I didn’t. Most teens didn’t have to worry about their next meal, but I did. And most didn’t live in a dilapidated football stadium with forty thousand other homeless people.
I really shouldn’t have called this place a homeless shelter. It was more like a generic half-way house. Once upon a time it did give shelter to the needy, but as the numbers of unemployed spiked over thirty percent, almost every shelter started charging. Here, the cost was 50 credits per head. The 3,000 credits I stole from Mr. Cheater were just enough to ensure I protected my cot and two other cots for the next fourteen days.
The shelter provided food, but just enough to barely get by. Sometimes I thought the place was trying to starve us to death to get more cots opened. I had a million and one conspiracy theories about the government but none where they cared about the Lower-Cs.
Ms. Cooper smiled with her eyes wide as far as humanly possible. After a moment, I realized she wanted payment. Getting home was always important on payday, because a girl’s got to protect her cot.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Cooper,” I said.
I dug into the zipper on my pants, and pulled out the fob. After tapping the fob onto the black, square computer she was holding, a series of three quick beeps alerted me that the money was transferred.
“Do you want a receipt?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said and held out my PCD.
She typed a few keys on her keypad and the LCD on my PCD lit up. I read over the receipt before I tapped the close button. Ms. Cooper was generally a nice, old lady, but she was a lady who lived by the rules. An unfortunate misunderstanding had me sleeping in the rain for two days a few months back. It wasn’t fun when the temperature was under forty degrees because of the looming winter. Luckily, after I scored some more credits, my cot wasn’t lost, and I was back on good leasing terms.
I turned back to Ms. Cooper who had a worried look on her face.
“Ma’am?” I asked. “Is anything wrong?”
“Paeton, I do my best not to put my nose into anyone’s business. I know what you do out there is, well, what you do. I pray every night for you and hope that you are doing the right thing.”
“Well, thank you,” I said, somewhat miffed.
“And I pray you come back safe to us, because we love you.”
“Well, I uh, love you too, Ms. Cooper.”
“I just hope—” She put her hand over her heart. “That you aren’t out there with those low-life rebel thugs.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m not, I mean.”
“Oh praise the Lord… Praise the Lord.” She grabbed my forearm and tightened her hands around it. “I’m so glad to hear that. Those Escerica rebel-thugs are nothing but trouble. They’ll get us all killed like it was… well, that’s right. You’re still too young to really know. But it was terrible. We have to do what the government tells us. Stay in our line, and in time, God will make everything right.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She put her hand to my cheek and took a long look at my face as though she was proud of me. I wondered if she would be proud if she knew where her payments came from. I smiled, and after a second, she withdrew her hand and walked off.
She truly believed in God and was a Christian to her little, southern heart. I, on the other hand, was what she called “lukewarm.” I did believe there was something out there, but I wasn’t sure if it was God or not. So on days when I needed a miracle, I’d pray and hope. Most days though, I didn’t. Sometimes it seemed like God listened to me, and other times, it seemed as though no one was there.
I stepped over Mr. Palmer. He was an old, thin man who had always been nice to me. After the Five-Day Restitution, he had turned to drugs to cope. When his money ran out, because drugs aren’t cheap, he moved on to alcohol. When he was sober, he would educate me on everything from American History to making sure I pronounced my words correctly. He loved to put books he found into my hands. Later, he’d worry me to death until I read the books and discussed them. I always thought that he may have been a teacher in his former life. Although I asked a million times, he never told me what he was before the Five-Day R. “What’s past is passed,” he would say.
He laid on his cot, grumbling to himself. I went into my backpack and pulled out the bottle of Tykol from Perimeter Market. It was an over-the-counter pain medicine. Mr. Palmer’s knees had started acting up last year, and the only thing he said that worked was Tykol. It was about 100 credits per bottle. Whenever I found a patron with large enough pockets, like Mr. Cheater, I made sure to get Mr. Palmer some.
I put it in his hand and balled his fingers around it. He barely opened his eyes and smiled before pulling a bagged whiskey bottle to his mouth. He took a swig of the alcohol and nodded.
“You need to stop giving him those drugs,” a scraggly voice said.
My shoulders slumped as Ms. Roller-Eyes weaseled her way closer. Of course she had told me her name a million times, but I didn’t care. Roller-Eyes was perfect because every time she talked, I ended up rolling my eyes.
“You always bring that old fart pills. Where you get ‘em? How you pay for ‘em?” she asked.
“Actually, by selling dead cats to the government. It’s what they make your dinner with.”
That always got to her. She was a white woman with a face as red as
blood and prickly, gray hair. She was toothpick thin. However, she wrapped herself up in so many blankets; you’d think she was three times the size. I imagined that in her former life, before the Five-Day R, she was what some people called a “cat lady.” I’d never seen her with a cat, but any comment about cats bothered her. So of course, when she asked me stupid questions about my life, being a little too nosy, I’d tell her I sold cats, killed cats, ate cats, made violin strings from cat guts, purchased a cat fur coat, and the like.
“I think you’re no more than one of those rebel-people. And you’re in here to spy on us. I only see a few other teenagers in here, and you’re never with them,” she said.
“Actually, I was sent by the dog aliens that want to take over the planet and rid it of cats. I’m here to spy for them.”
“You think you’re so funny, don’t you? There’s something goin’ on wit’ you, and I’m gonna figure it out.”
The statement pinched a nerve. My eyes shut for a full second before reopening. I’d already had a bad day. Stirring up Ms. Roller-Eyes wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve told you before that I’m just a normal person. I just have a few places that let me do odd jobs for them. I stay away from the other teenagers because they get into trouble, and I don’t like being in trouble.”
“Well, I still don’t believe you. You’re a quiet one, and I’m always leery of the quiet ones.”
This was why I never had a real conversation with this woman. Even my good intentions made her suspicious of me. “I’m only quiet because I strangle cats at night. I just can’t help it. Their loud meowing… it calms me.”
Her face burned redder than normal. I shrugged and shuffled toward my cot.
I thought about her earlier comment. It always amazed me that so many adults thought that just because you put two teenagers together, they were supposed to bond like magnets. The teens around me wanted to live fast-paced, stupid lives, fall in love with some cute stalker, or snort up drugs because they saw someone on cable do it. They had no self-control. I couldn’t be like them. In this world of high unemployment, relentless poverty, and android cops, teenagers like that get you killed.