"You okay?"
"I'd be okay if I hadn't been forced into wearing this stupid disguise," I mumble, feeling a few stray strands slick against my skin, made sticky from the replicated summer humidity. "This stuff's like straw and the weather's doing me no favors."
My frown worsens as my fingers brush the leather belt, cinching me in at the waist. I'd rather have a voracious python wrapping itself around me, at least it would eat me and end my suffering.
Sin nudges me in the arm, smiling. "At least you're well enough to complain."
"I think I'll only stop complaining when I'm dead and even then, I'm sure I'll find something to bitch about, so don't fret."
Sin slows his gait so he can stare down at me, his lips losing their smile from seconds ago. I guess macabre wasn't the right attitude to have during a run.
Clearing my throat, I continue to blather, hoping what I'd just got said gets buried in an avalanche of incoherent nonsense. "Hey," I place my arms behind my head, both bags of Elysium pressing down on my shoulders and bouncing off my hips. "I read on the Network, real cities made it hard to see the stars. And then all the company buy-outs of lower sectors and littering those sectors with product advertisements, made it hard for the stars to be seen so eventually, they stopped programming the lower sect's night skies with them."
Craning his neck plate ware, Sin says, "Never really paid attention." Unencumbered stars reflect in his brown eyes. He smiles. "Guess there's an upside to everything."
I snort. "I wouldn't exactly call it an upside. More like an unexpected perk." I stare up at Sin, whose head is haloed by an overhanging sign. "Kind of like how a fork can have the unexpected perk of being jabbed in someone's eye."
"Wasn't an eye." Sin points to his throat. "Jugular."
"So our anatomy lessons came in handy?"
He nods. "An unexpected perk." The corners of his lips curve upward. Sin motions to Jonathan and Marava who walk arms linked in front of us. "You avoiding them?"
"One-zero. Forks."
I eye Sin. "Forks?"
He shrugs. The four satchels slung over his shoulders slap against his sides, like ants ramming a mountain. "It stuck."
"We're to meet at the Viper Nest," Keran says sidling up to me. She's got two satchels, each filled with Elysium slung in a criss-cross over her body. Underneath, her clothes are oddly contemporary - a long, duster, black, falls to mid-calf. A crop top covers enough skin to be considered a shirt but leaves enough exposed to warrant quick glances and lip smacks from passersby not comatose as they peruse the Network. "Local tech bar, nothing fancy."
The words tech bar conjure images of expensive tech - the latest neural headsets and Network NavDots, attached to peoples' temples. Men and women laying out on plush lounges in a haze of scented smoke, while the drip trays straddling their chins catch excess drool as one by one their wishes were fulfilled in virtual space.
Other people frequented these places too, seeking to drown out their realities through cheaper and less creative avenues. The bars always came stocked with top-shelf liquors, some imported from ally nations, others smuggled.
Of course, outfitting such places with millions of dollars worth of tech meant exorbitant entrance fees, but apparently we need not worry ourselves. The Codas had things under control and if they didn't I'm sure Keran would take control at the end of that shiny gun nestled under her arm.
Sin places his arms behind his head, as if we're out on a leisurely stroll, the five of us chatting away as though we were old friends, and not accomplices looking to hock illegal drugs to a club of sedated upper-plate elites. Marava walks with her arm looped in Jonathan's. Ever since his wound healed, he looked better and relieved that Marava had stopped bothering him so much.
I stop under a lamppost as the breeze whips my hair into my face. My fingers tighten along the strap of my bag.
"One-zero?" Keran turns to look at me, and the others, much like dominoes, fall in line.
"It's been a while," I say, watching as a wisp of digitized cloud floats in front of the moon.
Keran slaps my back, not forceful enough to make me tumble, but hard enough to knock the thoughts from my head. "We need to make the drop."
I shake my head. "I know. No dawdling." I scoff. "Really. Some day, I'm going to buy you that dictionary so you can add some new words to your mental lexicon." Glancing at Marava as she struts about in a red, form-fitting dress that falls to mid-calf and feels unnecessarily fancy for our outing, I add, "Think they have an expression store?" Keran sighs. "If so, I could pick up another expression to add to Mars' collection. You know, so she has something to do besides scowl, grimace and--"
"Fuck you, Ten," Marava says.
"Snarl," I finish.
"Remember," Keran says slowly. "We do the fighting so no one else has to."
I blink. I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or to herself. Then, Keran swung her head and gave me a long, expectant stare. I swallow. "So, you become what others need you to be."
She nods and tries to smile, though her lips don't quite turn up enough.
"I know you'll hate me for this," I take a step toward the city, where Alexios waited for our arrival. The bags seemed heavier now, unseen weight bogging them down and taking my shoulders with them. "But the Collective and the Law are a lot alike."
Keran shrugs. "Where two groups of people are passionate enough, there's bound to be similarities." She motions toward the others to keep moving. I do the same, taking one step at a time down over the hill, toward the city.
"Let's go." Keran tugs my arm, a little too hard, and I stumble a few feet before my shoulder clips her in the back. "We're almost there," she adds, pointing at the hazy, neon distance. "Third building on the right."
The building Keran speaks of is as classy as any other Tech bar I've seen advertised on the Network - it looks like a crystal palace smothered between twin smokestacks of steel and opaque glass. Three stories high, all curves and etched glass, a dim rose light pulsating from inside.
My fingers tighten around the straps of my Elysium bags. Almost there. Almost done.
As we turn the corner, an e-billboard, assaulting us with the latest aviary weather conditions and local news, blinks, its feed interrupted, before beginning to strobe a violent red. One by one, other billboards follow suit. The few neon signs gracing the sky go dark. We all freeze. It's not until I hear the metallic voice drone over the speakers that I realize what's happening.
People of the Sect: You have been summoned to an emergency meeting. All Sector residents and temporary visitors are required to attend. Failure to comply will result in detention by Sector Police and lead to further action being taken. Please proceed to the Community Hall in Homestead Four with caution.
"Dammit," Keran spits. She slaps her thighs and turns around to follow the crowd of people ambling in the direction of the Hall.
"Are you serious?" I say, eyeing the tech bar in the distance. "We're going?"
Keran throws me a quick nod while she continues to march away from the Viper's Nest.
I sigh. " That's a surefire way to get caught."
"We have no choice," she says.
Her hands twitch at her sides, her trigger fingers flexing, closing around invisible guns that could somehow blow the situation into something sensible, something within her control.
Whatever happened to us next was up to luck, or fate, if such things existed.
...
The gun feels heavy tucked into my waistband as we approach the glistening Community Hall. Like the one from Homestead One, prior to when Matthew's homemade bomb had blown one of its walls to bits, it sits on a hill, white pillars on either side of the entrance, the wide, double doors etched with a small depiction of the Aviary.
Militia stands guard at Hall's entrance, as still and imposing as the pillars they lean against, guns cradled in their arms, muscles tense. Visors mask their eyes. I gulp when I notice the distinct blue of Accuracy-Assist pooling in the sunken hollows of their cheeks.
There's a noticeable thickness to the air, as the burgeoning crowd exchanges whispers and sideways glances among one another as they spy the guards. Such meetings at a Sector's local Community Hall typically weren't monitored and for good reason - disruptions to the flow of foot traffic, delays in the Tram's scheduled routes, or emergency maintenance usually were the only reason citizens were forced to wait in the Community Hall. But there was no team inspecting plate stability or unclogging the major sewage drains that snaked beneath our feet. This was the exception - we were the exception - given that we were fugitives hiding among their ranks.
"Shit," Keran mumbles.
For some reason -- a Sect-wide scheduled rainfall, perhaps?-- the air had cooled drastically as we huddled in front of the Hall, the wind forceful in its attempt to knock my wig off-kilter. Another breeze sweeps through our group and manages to worm its fingers under the wig's netting and push it to the left. I hurry to adjust it and then pull my coat collar up in an attempt to defend against the biting cold.
"So," I say, sidling up to her. I shove my hands into my pockets. "You look as though you have everything under control."
In front of us, more people crowd around the entrance, mothers cradling their sleeping children, businessmen all in a huff at being sent here instead of going to some 'meeting' at a seedy V-cafe, fat fingers tapping their visor headsets on and off as though the repetitive act would spur time to move faster. Keran, looking to have resigned herself to a fate worse than death, steps forward. Without thinking, I reach out and grab the sleeve of her jacket.
She stops dead in her tracks. Her hands stop jerking.
"I know I joke," I say, eyeing her back. The coat was one, maybe two sizes too big for her but she stood tall, keeping her shoulders straight, forcing herself to look bigger, more imposing, than she actually was. "But all kidding aside, we got a plan here?"
She glances over her shoulder. "You guys go in. I'm going to sneak away, scope the place out. Maybe there's a window that will be easy to climb through or a door hinge that could come free given the right push." Keran turns and points toward my waistband. Again, I feel the added weight, and it's like I'm being pulled down, down, into a place where I'll end up drowning. "You protect them," she says. "No matter what."
At this sudden ominous turn in the conversation, I can't help but chuckle which instantaneously causes Keran to frown.
"What's funny?" Jonathan, who'd been standing a few feet back, Marava adorning his neck like a noose, looks from me to Keran to the guards. Rubbing his hands together, he sighs. "This isn't a routine meeting, is it?"
I clap him on the back. "Sewage pipe burst," I say. Keran's eyes widen, but I'm quick to step on her foot and flash her a look I hope makes her rethink her next works. She clamps her mouth shut and turns to survey the surroundings again. I'm inwardly thankful she has enough delicacy to take a hint.
It was time to don my best Liar pants.
I take a steep inhale, the cold adding a sharpness to the air sucked through my teeth that causes them to ache. "Just informed us about the ruptured sewer pipe. Apparently, it affects three Homesteads, each of which have been told to gather at the Hall. From her intel, it shouldn't take long to fix."
Jonathan nods, though Marava looks anything but convinced. With one of her shiny blue nails, she points out the guards. "And what's with them?" Oh, how astute, Miss 100%. "They're not protocol."
I nod in agreement, raise my hands, and give her a single, purposeful clap. "No, they're not." My voice conveys a smile that hasn't yet reached my lips. Marava scowls. Planting a hand on my hip, I add, "You want an accolade for pointing out something so obvious?"
She growls.
"Dove," I say, my voice lower. "Knows we're here. Of course, Militia is stationed outside the Halls. It would be perfect if we showed up and fell into their lap, just like that."
"Like we are now." Marava sighs,
Instead of making some snide remark and getting Marava fired up, I decide to be more diplomatic. "Don't worry," I say. "It's nothing."
The crowd outside the hall had dwindled as we'd chatted, whole groups swallowed by the automated entrance doors. I push forward. "Come on," I say, motioning the others to follow. "Standing here will just lay more suspicion at our feet."
They each give me a nod, Marava's head moving as little as possible. As the four of us make for the Hall, Keran gives me one last glance before slipping out of sight behind a dumpster, the guards maintaining their positions by the doors.
...
The normal tables that usually furnished a Hall, had been shoved and stacked into a corner and all the chairs that'd be seated around them, had been put in several rows, all facing a raised platform where three holo-players were recessed into the wood paneling. Most of the seats were occupied by still-shivering citizens who chittered away, spewing nonsense into the silent void.
A few seats remained empty toward the back. I point to them, which in turn, causes Jonathan to grimace. Leaning toward me, he whispers, "They're not together."
I nod toward the crowd. "That's the best there is." After during a quick scan of the room, Jonathan finally nods his approval and makes for the chairs, Marava latched onto his arm.
"You sure about this?" Sin asks. The guards enter the Hall, inputting a key code into the doors' control panel which prompts a light to shift from green to red. Locked.
I breath out. "Doesn't matter if I am or not." I reach behind me and run my fingers up and down, hoping I look like I'm relieving an itch.
Feeling eyes still on me, I look up. Sin's gaze is direct and intense, that was for sure. I shift from one foot to the other. It's not an intrusive stare that's trying to unearth answers -- like Jonathan's -- nor is it condemning, ala Marava. It's an honest look, twinged with sadness.
"We better take our seats," I say, after his gaze becomes unbearable. He nods and we make for our seats, the overhead lights beginning to dim.
"Looks like the shows about to begin," he pipes up.
A nervous chuckle pushed through my lips. "You think there'll be popcorn?"
The people I have to squeeze past in order to reach the seats, grunt as my added presence forces them to lift their legs and hold their knees into their chests. As I flop into my seat finally, the lights turn off all the way. With a metallic hum and a few, rapid-fire clicks, the holo-players' eyes turn on. Projected light floods the crowd, before shooting toward the ceiling, the individual beams converging into a single point that hovers a few feet above the stage.
The crackle of static fills the room and then an image appears. It's the interior of an office, well-kept though minimalist in design. It's all sleek angles and glass. Polished tabletops and plush leathers. Sunlight streams through a large window, skirting along the marble floor and across the top of a desk. An FUA flag stands in the corner, near the door. The coveted dove soaring high on thick stripes of red, white, and black. Air from an AC unit causing it to wave.
The image stays like this for a while. With no explanation as to why they were seeing what they were, the crowd erupts into a cacophony of questions. Jonathan glances at me. I shrug, trying to remain composed even though the longer I stare at the image, the more dread balloons inside me.
It's only when the voice-over starts, that I notice the guard has quadrupled. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. When had they arrived? And how had they moved without a sound?
"Citizens of the FUA," the voice says. I freeze. It's as though everything has begun to fade away. The crowd. The guards. The Hall itself until it's just me and that voice. That voice that cultivated more fear inside me than a gun pointed at my temple ever could.
I grab Sin's wrist. His eyes widen ever-so-slightly. "We need to go," I say, though I had no concrete plan where we could go since every corner of the place crawled with armed guards.
"What about them?" Sin nods toward Marava and Jonathan.
I lean between a man and woman sitting in front of us, their faces pressed forward, giving the projectors their rapt attention. They looked like we had during lessons at the Facility. Of course, our rapt attention had been faked and theirs was...honest.
"Hey," I whisper-yell.
Jonathan turns around.
"We need to go," I mouth, exaggerating each syllable in hopes of getting my meaning across. His eyebrows arch. Marava turns and I mouth the same sentence.
Without wasting a second, she jumps to her feet, and Jonathan, sensing something amiss, makes to follow her. As I do the same, my gaze scouring the Hall for someplace to escape, my mind counting and recounting the bullets in my gun's chamber, the voice returns, and a single word erupt through the Hall, freezing us to the spot.
"ELOHIM," Councilman Dove bellows.
The crowd hushes, their jaws slacken, every eye in the house glazing over with that eerie shade of violet.
Just like before.
The four of us stand as the only ones unaffected by Dove's trigger and all at once, the Militia's guns focus on us, red dots flitting between our foreheads. They march together, closing in around us, encircling us, trapping us. There was nowhere to hide and I didn't have enough bullets to kill each of the bastards.
For the first time, I couldn't be what the others needed me to be.