By tomorrow, she reminded herself, every door in Korpora will open for me. She pushed against the heavy glass with her entire body and entered the intimidating structure.
With its gilded walls and Nero Portoro marble tiles, the lobby exuded opulence. In the center, three glass tubes extended from the floor to the crystal covered ceiling, from which hung a large banner with the golden words “MAXIMIZE YOUR POTENTIAL”. The image of a handsome Sumrect accompanied the slogan. His brown hair fell perfectly over his electric blue eyes, and his chiseled features could have been carved from the finest stone.
Amber rolled her eyes.
Ansel Cassadian’s face graced almost every public space the government used for propaganda. One of the Sumrects responsible for elevating mankind by bringing to Earth advanced alien technology, Ansel gained celebrity status among humans as the champion of Sumrectian Duels, a series of tournaments that featured powerful Sumrects battling one another.
Unlike his entourage of fan girls, she did not swoon over him. His cockiness negated his good looks.
Of the three glass tubes, two were fenced. When Amber inspected them closely, she noticed long cracks in the glass. That’s strange. I wonder what happened? Frowning, she headed to the only glass tube still functional.
A list of floors appeared on the glass as she drew closer. Great, lucky number thirteen. She tapped the words: Tagging Services, and the glass vanished to allow entry. From her few experiences inside the tube, she knew the ride was not for the weak of stomach. With a deep breath, she stepped onto a round metal platform and braced herself for a speedy ascent. The glass reappeared around her, trapping her inside. Just as she closed her eyes, the platform blasted off.
Five seconds later, Amber stumbled out of the chute, hands over her mouth, legs trembling. She reminded herself to take the stairs on the way down.
“Here to be tagged?” A raspy male voice exploded over the speakers in the hallway.
She scanned her surroundings. Wooden doors. Musty carpeting. Yellow walls. The thirteenth floor looked and smelled like it came from a history book.
A big-bellied, bespectacled middle-aged man poked his head out from behind an open door. “Come on in. You are the only one this week.”
Only one this week? Amber’s gut turned. She knew the number of untagged humans were few, but she had no idea just how few. Apparently, she was more of an anomaly than she previously imagined.
The man stepped aside to let her into the room before he shut the door behind them.
“I’m Officer Sanders. I have a few questions to ask you first.”
Amber sat down on the rickety wooden chair the man gestured to. On the desk in front of her, a hologram screen lit up—an anachronism in the outdated room.
“You got the payment?” Officer Sanders wobbled to his swivel chair opposite Amber.
“Yes. I do,” she said with hesitancy. After today, she would fall behind on rent again.
“Great.” He pointed to the box that had appeared on the hologram screen. “Thumbprint there.”
“Mr. Sanders,” Amber said, scooting forward in her seat. “Is it possible… Can you reduce… the fee? You see, I-I won’t be able to make rent—”
“Thumbprint. Please.” Sanders peered over his glasses at the fair-haired young woman before him.
It was no use. Stiffly, Amber raised her thumb to the box where her thumbprint was registered almost instantly.
“Name?” Sanders typed away on another screen in his hands.
“Amber Chesterfield.”
“Age?”
“Nineteen.”
Eyes squinted at the screen, Sanders muttered, “Nothing on record… No identification… No bank account…” He examined Amber more closely. “You don’t exist in the system. How did you manage to stay invisible until now?”
“That’s why I’m here. It hasn’t been easy.” That was the truth. Each year, it became harder and harder to survive as an untagged.
“Alright. If you so choose. Three thousand triets.” Sanders set the screen down.
From her purse, Amber took out a pouch of copper coins and dumped its contents onto the desk resolutely. A look of exasperation fell upon Sander’s face. Slowly, he counted the coins one by one, separating them into two piles with his stubby fingers. The old clock behind him ticked on, and for a full minute, the only sounds in the room were the sliding of coins over the desk and the “tick, tick, tick” of the clock.
Finally, when the last coin had been counted, Sanders planted both hands on the table and pushed himself back in the swivel chair. The desk drawer screeched when he pulled it open.
“Think twice, young lady. Once this chip is in, the State determines your future.” He wiggled his hands into a pair of rubber gloves, humming as he did so. Then, carefully, he extracted a wad of cotton, a bottle of alcohol and a silver-barreled gun from the drawer. The barrel shone oddly under the flickering fluorescent lights, almost as if it were made from liquid.
Amber stiffened at the sight, filled by sudden dread. It’s for the better, she reminded herself.
“Now, do you have any requests?”
“What? Excuse me?” Amber rubbed her right eye to stop its anxious spasms.
“Requests. Like what would you prefer for a career…?” Sanders tilted the bottle of alcohol over the cotton in one fluid motion before putting it down.
“I don’t know… Wouldn’t the State decide that for me once I become tagged?”
“Sure. Of course. That’s why I’m asking you now.” Taking the cotton wad in one hand and silver gun in the other, Sanders moved to stand behind her. “Maybe I can tweak the chip a bit before its implanted.”
The comment struck Amber as a bit odd. What did he mean by tweak the chip? But when she glanced back at Sanders for clarification, he placed a hand on her crown and twisted her head back to face the desk.
“So? What is it?”
The alcohol-drenched cotton wad felt cool against her neck. “My dream was to be a concert pianist,” she said, but she knew, even the State could not help her achieve that dream, let alone Sanders. Ever since the State began tagging people—to maximize their potential they claimed—they banned most artistic pursuits. Anything that had no utilitarian value was banned. According to the State, the arts distracted people from being productive and thus, useful. But the speciousness of the argument bothered Amber. She always thought the arts exposed too much truth the State tried to hide. In her gigging life, she witnessed firsthand the joy music brought to the bar customers and their need for it.
Sanders sniffed then sighed. “Better give up on that dream. I wanted to play the trumpet… Look at where I am now.”
A faint buzz sounded in her ear.
“But I love what I do,” Sanders added quickly. “Head down.”
Jaw clenched, eyes closed, Amber did as she was told. Something in her screamed in protest. Leave! Now! While you still have the choice! But her body remained frozen, committed to her decision to abandon a past she loathed. How valuable was the right to choose when she had nothing to choose from? Currents ran through the silver barrel, pulsing against her skin at the base of her skull.
“It’s only going to hurt for a moment. On three.”
Every muscle in her body tensed up.
“One. Two. Three!”
The blast knocked her out for a split second. Her head felt on the verge of exploding. She could not move from the all-consuming pain as the gun injected the chip into her skin. Vibrations spread from the injection cite to the rest of her cranium. Even her ears rang with the sound of a high-pitched siren—
Siren? Her eyes snapped wide open. The floor beneath her feet rumbled. The fluorescent lights above her head swayed. What’s going on?
Without warning, Sanders ripped the silver gun from Amber’s neck, severing the newly established connection.
“Earthquake!” he yelled above the alarm, stumbling toward the door.
The ground shook so violently Amber toppl
ed over from her chair. Instinctively, she reached to the back of her neck where her fingers found a wet mass and the hard surface of the half-inserted chip. Around her, the world spun. She could not be sure whether it was due to the earthquake or the botched chip implant.
“Get moving! To the stairs!” Sanders held the door open while he threw a dirty towel to Amber.
Dazed, she scrambled to her feet, catching the towel on her way up. She pressed the towel against the base of her skull as she maneuvered around the sliding chairs to where Sander stood waiting impatiently. While the two crept along the wall to the stairwell, the lights turned off, throwing the entire floor into darkness save for the eerie, red “exit” signs.
Amber trailed behind Sanders, trying to think clearly through the pain. At least the stairwell, lit by emergency lights, sounded like it was packed with frantic people. Though she could not see them yet, she heard their rapid footsteps and panicked conversations. Amber and Sanders descended as quickly as they could, keeping their hands on the rails. Soon, they joined the rest of the crowd.
The quakes persisted, sometimes so intense people piled onto one another like dominoes. Through the chaos, Amber heard steel beams bending and concrete cracking. How long until the building collapses?
“Two more floors!” Sanders shouted into her ear. He huffed and puffed beside her, grumbling to himself, “Ridiculous… Third time this month!”
The crowd carried them down to the ground floor and into the gilded lobby. Upon entering, Amber’s eyes fell on the two damaged glass chutes. Her stomach dropped. The cracks she had seen earlier lengthened all the way to the ceiling.
“Sanders,” she said, her eyes glued to the fenced tubes, “the elevators—”
The words hardly left her mouth when a strong tremor forced her to her hands and knees. Meanwhile, screams erupted as the sound of breaking glass echoed in the marble lobby. They needed to exit the building. Fast. But she could not regain her footing until the vibrations subsided.
When the vibrations finally ceased, Sanders grabbed her by the arm. “Come on! Let’s go!” Together, they started toward the front entrance.
And stopped midway.
A group of black-suited men in dark sunglasses spilled into the lobby, each carrying a gun.
“Move out of the way!” the leader bellowed.
Government officials. Amber noted the triangular pins on their suits. Her eyes traveled to the tall, brown-haired Sumrect sandwiched between two officials. Him! She gasped. As did many around her.
Rarely seen in public except at tournaments, Ansel Cassadian maintained a very private life. For a moment, people in the lobby stood still, watching the Sumrect, some with their mouths open. Amber knew everybody was wondering the same: What on earth is he doing here?
He wore an expression of the utmost disgust. Next to him, an official whispered in his ear, which prompted him to begin walking briskly forward. The ground shook again, but he continued, completely unbothered. As he passed Amber, he turned his head slightly and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Amber swallowed, her heart skipping a beat.
What’s he looking at?
As though he read her mind, he suddenly swerved from the suited officials and headed straight to her. A grave seriousness replaced the look of disgust on his face. Sanders’s grip on her arm tightened when he approached. Behind Ansel, the officials exchanged looks, not sure what to do next.
Amber remained motionless, her heart pounding inside her ribcage. Does he know I’m untagged? He was close enough now for her to see a strange white fog over his usually blue eyes. Without a word, he snatched away the towel she held against her neck and placed his palm over the half-buried chip. Inches away from his chest, Amber caught the mixed scent of burnt wood and spices. The pain at the base of her skull dulled, then disappeared entirely within seconds. It dawned on her then that he had somehow healed her wound. But why? How did he know?
“Move!” The leader gestured to Ansel with his gun, his tone not at all friendly.
Ansel glared at the leader but did as instructed.
At that moment, a thunderous boom reverberated in the lobby, followed by the strongest tremors yet.
This time, the two broken glass tubes shattered from ceiling down, and Amber watched in horror as a million glass shards rained down upon the screaming people.
Chapter 2
They fell in slow motion.
How can that be? Amber squinted at the glass shards, only to see them morph into drops of water before her eyes. Next to her, Ansel’s arms were raised above his head. He had turned the glass into rain.
Though drenched from the sudden shower, people in the lobby looked relieved. Some came forward to thank Ansel for saving their lives, but the suited officials pushed them back.
“Leave now. It’s not safe,” the leader shouted into a voice amplifier.
Meanwhile, the other officials marched Ansel to the back of the lobby where they lingered, guns aimed at the wall as though waiting for something to appear.
Another tremor shook the lobby, causing everybody to sprint for the glass doors, but Amber could not pry her eyes away from Ansel, who was running his hands over the gilded back wall in a zigzag pattern. Soon, she and Sanders were the only ones still left in the lobby. He, too, had taken an active interest in Ansel’s strange behavior.
“Move! Young lady!” The leader waved his gun at her menacingly.
“Come on.” Anxiously, Sanders pulled at her elbow.
But at that moment, the gilded wall Ansel touched vanished to reveal a dark passageway lit only by burning torches. Mouth open, she could not pry her eyes away from the tunnel. Where did that lead? What is it doing in the back of the HRC? The fires burned in a strange, hypnotic manner, and Amber’s feet remained glued to the ground.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Three loud gunshots roused her from the trance.
“Get out!” the leader barked, pointing his gun at the ceiling. Eyes ablaze with rage, he started toward her.
Amber saw Ansel follow the group of officials into the tunnel before Sanders yanked her away. The ground rocked beneath their feet as they dashed through the open door. Once outside, they kept running. An open park was just around the corner down the street, and that seemed to be where most were headed.
Amber ran under the scorching summer sun until her sides hurt, but she did not stop. Finally, when they joined the anxious crowd at the park, they slowed to a walk.
“Have you ever seen that tunnel?” Amber whispered to Sanders, not sure if it was information she should be sharing with others.
Sanders did not look at her when he responded. “Young lady, the fewer questions you ask, the longer you live.” He nodded and waved to a few people in the distance.
Amber swallowed. His words were vague, but his message was clear. Some secrets were meant to be kept. She had always known the State withheld important information from its citizens, but what she saw in the building fired up a fresh intrigue about what that information might be.
She did not press the matter further.
“Did you see how Ansel healed me?” The base of her skull felt smooth. No dried blood. No open wound. No bump where the implanted chip should had been.
“Yes. When the first batch of humans were tagged, he and his brother did the tagging themselves. Sumrects can heal flesh wounds with ease. They let us in on their technology so we can tag large populations at once. Say...” He suddenly examined her neck. “Where did the chip go?”
Amber blinked a few times, trying to recall. “The chip was buried inside my skin, but when Ansel healed it...” She stopped. Either the chip had fallen out during the commotion, or Ansel took it. Whether he did so intentionally or by accident, she had no idea.
“Oh my...” Sanders rubbed his forehead with his beefy fingers. “I have to account for each chip...”
Through the speakers at the park’s edge, a male voice blasted, “All clear. You may resume your daily activities. All clear. You may resume your
daily activities.”
“When we get back to the building, can you finish tagging me?”
The look Sanders gave her was one of regret and exasperation. “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to come back another day. I doubt they will let us back into the building if this was anything like what happened last time...”
“I can wait with you until—”
“Until you can bring in another three thousand triets.” Backing away, he finished the sentence for her.
“What?” Panic exploded inside her chest. Was she hearing correctly? “That was my month’s rent!”
Sanders only retreated further and further away into the shifting crowd. “I’m sorry. Rules are rules. Every chip must be accounted for.”
“No!” Desperate, she pushed through people filling in the gap between her and Sanders. “I need to be tagged!” Some looked at her strangely as she screamed the plea.
But Sanders had already disappeared into the crowd that now started to migrate out of the park.
Amber tried to chase after him, but he was long gone.
Where is Sanders? Furious, she ran back toward the Human Recalibration Center. All along the way, she searched for him without success Perhaps, he left from the park and never returned to the HRC. Wiping away the sweat that had collected on her forehead from the sweltering summer heat, Amber arrived at the towering building for the second time that day.
From outside, the building appeared completely undamaged, its tinted windows glistening under the midday sun. However, suited government officials barricaded the front entrance. She slowed her steps as she climbed the stairs. A long-haired Sumrect was deep in conversation with one of the officials. When Amber approached, she suddenly stopped speaking to glance her way.
The high-floating eyebrows, beady eyes and up-turned lips reminded Amber of someone she knew yet could not remember. Where have I seen her before?
“We’re closed,” the female Sumrect said curtly.
“I had an appointment this morning... to be tagged,” Amber said, frustrated. “Then, the earthquake forced us out.”
“Come back next week,” the Sumrect replied impatiently before she returned to chatting with the human official.
The Eye of Elektron: A Clean Urban Fantasy (The Sumrectian Series Book 1) Page 31