Raindrops Rising
"We are many. We are one. We have seen what has become of this world, and who is responsible. We demand punishment. We demand repayment. We do not forget."
The message blared on almost every screen in the city, but few paid it any heed. Revolutions came and went like the rain in Incaster. Things were Bad™. They always had been. Anyone who tried to make them better Disappeared™. It was a wonder that people kept trying.
Trevor shuddered in the pouring rain as he jabbed at the vending machine blurred by the downpour. He just needed sugar, and cheaply. Booze would be better but you couldn't get it from a vending machine and he needed it now.
He chose the cheapest item on the menu, whatever run-off sugary mess they decided to brand as budget.
"Wouldn't you prefer an ice cold Mora-Cola™?" the machine chimed.
"I would prefer you to fuck off," he muttered, flicking the option away.
It had been another day in paradise™. A day where he had worked in pain for hours and was expected to be grateful that the benevolent Corporate Family™ had taken him under its wing. They couldn't pay him enough, of course. They had so many people to look after that they couldn't possibly pay them all well– regardless of the company profits. His second job paid better, but it came with its own risks. Smuggling in a city like this... he wouldn't even know if they had found him, he would just Disappear™.
It was why messages like the one blazing on every possible screen made him angry. How could he risk more than he already did? It was always the same. "Say no to your boss", "reject the corporate machine", but what exactly did that achieve? Those that did just... stopped existing, all trace of them erased. And for what? Yet another stillborn revolution? He slurped his sugar hit angrily. The people leading the revolutions were almost as bad as the corporations in charge. How could they not see that there was nothing the everyman could do? Not quickly enough, anyway.
More people were unhappy in Incaster than not. It was unsurprising, giving the strict class divides, long working days, and general grime and slime of the less affluent areas of the city. People were always unhappy, people always spoke up, and people were always arrested. A long, long time ago, it had stopped being worth trying. And yet... there were always speakers and always people who listened, even in the pissing rain, like today.
He almost went into the back of someone as he rounded the corner into a modest crowd. A speaker stood on a box a few feet in front of them and everyone was captivated. Trevor could only sigh. Another one.
There was no point in pushing through the crowds, it would only cause trouble, and trouble would be here soon enough. He just needed to be gone when it arrived. But then, it was never the crowds who got caught, it was the speakers. Nice words were nice up to the point you were risking your life for them, at least, that was the sentiment of Incaster. It was for survival. Trevor certainly couldn't blame anyone for it, but he did resent the way they acted as though they would support the speaker until the shit hit the fan. The least they could do was be honest from the start.
But then maybe everybody knew better. The speakers stood up here saying the same things again and again, to the same results. It was almost another part of daily life. The weekly revolution, just going through the motions.
"We are the majority in this city," the speaker said. "We are reality. We are power. We have infinite potential. We can make the world what we want. Reality can be what we make it."
The words were cheap, like his drink. Good for only for a little hit to keep you going. How many people had said them before? The speaker continued anyway.
"How do you think this was set up? By one person? By one group? No. By many. I am not the only one speaking in the city now. There are dozens of us. People helped us prepare. Others brought us safely here and will take us safely away. And you will carry the message on.
"You don't need to be a hero. It doesn't take a lot to be a part of a revolution. Well behaved people seldom make history, it's true, but we create a foundation on which the change can occur, and that's more important. It's the change they never see coming. And all it takes is something small, like driving someone to their soapbox or passing on a parcel."
In a world of nice ideas they were some of the more sensible, but sensible didn't stop the buzz of law enforcement approaching. As the crowds began to scatter, he heard the speaker say:
"I may disappear, but we will not."
It was a nice idea, it really was. The idea that you could be part of something greater, but why would this time be any different to the last dozen times? He held a certain kind of admiration for the people who could open themselves up to hope again and again only to have it shattered. What was that life like? Though he did wonder how many actually believed it and how many were just there for the show.
The square was finally clear and he crossed it. It was time to get back to reality. As if on cue, his phone buzzed with details of a new job, from a regular customer. Trevor didn't know what the so-called "Lady of the Depths" had to smuggle, but her orders alone almost kept him afloat. She was some kind of information broker, he knew that much. Did he want to know more? Probably not. Plausible deniability and all that. She's just some lady I deliver packages for, he could plead, if he ever needed to. The main disadvantage in working for her was having to pass through the wrecked, stinking excuse for a bar that she worked above.
Her rented rooms – he knew that no matter how she made them look it would not be her home – were a stark contrast to the rest of the place. Even from outside of the door he could smell the incense she used to try to cover up the stench, and in the dark corridor the door betrayed the disconcerting fuchsia pink glow that she chose to light the place with.
He rapped on the door and it was swiftly answered by the familiar, painstakingly perfect woman. She smiled and allowed him in. There were no hellos, no goodbyes, no small talk or pleasantries. This wasn't even business. It was a transaction that didn't exist. This whole thing was an illusion. A living room? No, it was a comfy office. Were the rest of the rooms even furnished, or was this all the illusion she cared to set up? He didn't know. Again, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Still, his mind always asked the questions, without ever really expecting an answer.
She picked up a package from a low coffee table, but as Trevor held his hand out for it, she did not give him it. It seemed she had other plans. She picked up a bottle of alcohol and a pair of glasses and began to pour.
"I saw you at the rally," she commented, offering him a drink. He declined it, as always. It didn't hurt to be careful, particularly after a question like that. Who knew which side she was on?
It all made Trevor weary. He didn't ask how she knew. The Lady of the Depths knew whatever she wished.
"This one, in particular, holds some interest to some potential employers if you're interested."
"Nah, Lady," he began nervously. He needed to be careful not to burn any bridges here. "I was there by coincidence. I'm not dirtying my hands with this. Pay is only worth something when you're alive to spend it. You couldn't pay me to do it."
"I wouldn't want to." She settled herself on a low couch, lounging. "Revolutions are built and driven on hope. Still, it wouldn't be pro bono. That would just be unrealistic." She paused. "Though I must admit, I am surprised."
"What?" That stopped him. "Why?" he asked. "It's the revolution of the day. Tomorrow there will be another one. They were convincing, but they always are. They spoke well, but they always do."
"You want me to put it plainly, Mr Burman?" she said, setting down her glass. "You're a con man. You already manipulate things to suit you."
"Not quite, Lady, not quite." He sighed and rubbed his head. "You think I'd be doing this if I had a choice?"
"Have you heard the phrase "well-behaved women seldom make history"?" He nodded. "The reality is we eat our food because people still work in the factories. Have light and heat because engineers keep the power on. You don't need to make any grand gesture, Mr Burman. Deliver a package here, deliver one there... You'll be doing your part."
Trevor sighed and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
"If they're still about in a few days, I'll consider it," he concluded.
"And if everyone waits a few days, what do you think happens?"
"We live," he replied simply.
"Do you?"
A moment of silence followed in which he refused to break eye contact, even as she lounged so comfortably, drink in hand. She was so confident about the whole thing... it was almost an endorsement to the revolution in itself. But what did she know, in this tiny little bubble that seemed so separate from the grim reality of outside? Probably quite a lot, he considered, but that didn't make her right.
Eventually, he held out his hand for the package again. She sighed and handed it over.
"If you change your mind, in a few days or whenever, you know where to find me."
She didn't watch him go. She seemed annoyed, or maybe she was just disappointed.
He lingered for a moment outside her door, processing everything that had just happened. He couldn't help but feel like he'd given the wrong answer. But it was his choice and his life and for all it was grim he was quite attached to the idea of continuing to live it.
Through the door he heard her say: "Another no. What about your guy? We're running out of options."
Well, what was he supposed to do? Put his life at risk for something doomed to fail? Who decided a smuggler was a good choice of character, anyway?
He could turn her in. That was the reality of it all. That was his power. He could turn many people in, and he'd be better off for it. Better than any revolution would leave him. No matter how good the overall outcome was, change always affected those at the bottom of the chain the worst. But... that wasn't who he wanted to be. He didn't want to sit on high on a pile of corpses.
It really was a nice idea. Some deep part of him believed her, believed the speaker. Somewhere deep inside he wanted to believe it but... it contrasted with everything he thought he knew.
He wasn't a bad man, but neither was he a special one. There was nothing unique about his skill set, nothing only he could do, and if he stopped, people would assume he'd Disappeared™, and without a second thought would move on to find someone new to smuggle their items in.
A drop of water didn't drown a man, didn't save his life. It was nothing. He was nothing, just another drop in the ocean. It was just the reality of his situation.
Reality can be what we make it.
It was just... when had one smuggler of his scale done anything that changed anything?
How many people had Disappeared™ as a result of what he'd brought them (not that it was his responsibility to stop people being stupid)? How many had hurt someone else? How many have survived? Part of his brain spoke up. He smuggled medicine as much as anything else in this dystopian hellscape. Medicine was expensive and smugglers were cheap. How many people had he helped? Maybe it hadn't changed the world, but it had changed theirs, hadn't it? Maybe that was good enough.
His head spun as his brain and his heart argued. Every heavy drop of rain that hit his head seemed to ring through his mind.
Did he want to change the world? Maybe a better question was did he want to live in a world where he could.
He'd always followed the status quo because it seemed like the better option. But for what? Two jobs, a cupboard apartment, and knock-off fizzy drinks? The fear of it not being enough, the fear of disappearing, never daring to look up at the city above? What kind of life was that?
Maybe it was time to do something, rather than seeing where nothing would take him.
He supposed he could drop off a few packages. Could he plead plausible deniability if the revolution died? Probably not. But maybe it would only work if everyone was committed. It was a slow decision to come to, but he got there. By the time he had delivered the Lady's package he had decided. He was going to turn around and do something that even she hadn't predicted.
He couldn't see the future they saw. He couldn't see how they would make it. But maybe he didn't need to. Maybe all he needed to do was smuggle these parcels in, and that was something he could do.
***
Over the next few days, more than one of the speakers Disappeared™, but where one Disappeared™, another seemed to take its place. No matter how many drops were drained away, the ocean rushed to fill the gap.
Revolutions came and went like the rain, but this one fought like a storm. Soon, where one speaker Disappeared™ two took their place. Where there had been a dozen rallies in the beginning, now the city was lit by them. Slowly but surely, waves of people rose as part of one entity.
They were many, and they swept away the few.