About The Laws of Space (Added Content)

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The Laws of Space: A Novel By Tyler Wood

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Chapter 1: Drinking and Vaporized Humans

            He stood in the alleyway, cast partially in shadow, watching them rush by. His frame was covered by a cloak as the sun descended and the air chilled. A few defunct souls noticed but none would approach; no one approached anybody here. Only his piercing eyes could be seen by the Hopers and the Breathers as they made their way back to the Doms; he cut a rather menacing figure, scarf over the face, bottle dangling by gloved fingers. The little ones scurried along the sides of the thoroughfare, probably anxious to avoid anyone, most of all the specter in half-light.

            It was vexing to see a person drinking in public, though it wasn’t against one of the Laws. Strange is all, whispered one of the Breathers. He didn’t mind their mutterings, not right now. Another pull from the bottle. It spilled and soaked through the scarf, prompting self-mockery and laughter from the alley man. The sound of it was foreign, foreign as him, an unwanted candle amidst murk and gloom. Pull it down, then drink. The mistake was the product of distraction and weariness. Then came a subtle self-reminder that he was there by choice. This was his spot, day after day, for months now.

A Spacer lived just across the way and over a large hill, behind walls that would never be used, behind fences left from the time before. Most of the people walking by were aware, knew to keep their distance and then some. You couldn’t know when a Spacer might move; your proximity chip might call out late or simply be defective, so you had to be careful. The alleyway was far enough. That’s why he was there, watching, drinking. In truth, unlike the hapless masses traipsing across his field of vision, most of the time he enjoyed himself.

            The man turned his face from the thoroughfare a moment, pulling down the wet fabric so as not to repeat his foolishness. It tasted like venom and kicked like fire. For a moment the good life begged back. As the alcohol burned its way down his insides he peeked at his left palm. A digital imprint imbedded in the skin read Minus Seven Credits. “Is that all,” he smiled, once again covering his face to turn back to the languid, plodding crowd. Some looked haggard, some pale, some ill-used and all underfed. This was the worst section of City Five, and City Five was the most forsaken of what remained. It didn’t make sense to put one of them here, adjacent this sad, broken highway. It was probably a neophyte or one that was on the way out—that’s how things worked.     

            The sun was nearing the horizon, making it hard to see clear across the way. He could hear two little ones yelling in the distance—exactly what he was afraid of. Setting the bottle down, he stepped carefully into the crowd, keeping distance from those around him. There were so many. Meandering through the river of Hopers and Breathers, he struggled to source the tiny voices. “Sorry, sorry,” he repeated, hands raised, trying to seem as innocuous as possible. Most of them shied away; he was a moving statue imposing itself against a stream of the frail and weak.

            At long last he spotted the kids in the failing light. They were roughly thirty yards away, yelping about some food, each tugging on an end of a tough loaf of bread. Oh God. “Boys!” he screamed, speeding up his pace, continuing to avoid contact.

            “Stay out of it,” brayed the one with his back turned to him.

            “Stay out of it,” echoed the other. They hadn’t noticed, but in their fracas they had made their way outside of the designated safe path.

            “I’ll leave you be gents, but my signal says you’re too close. That’s a Spacer up there, right over that hill. Have you been tested?”

            “Stay out of it,” said the one farthest away, yanking on the bread. His adversary didn’t let go. Momentum was taking them closer every second.

            “Have you been tested?” he repeated.

            “I have,” snapped the one farthest away.

            “Dammit,” he screamed, diving for the kid he could reach, clattering onto broken concrete. It was too late for the other one—in a breath there was nothing left of the little body but ash and dust. The boy he saved wriggled wildly in his arms. No one was allowed to touch the untested. They had no chips, after all, no protection. He looked up for a moment. Sky Eyes.

            “Boy,” he said, shoving the struggling youngster a safer distance away. “Why didn’t you listen? You see what’s happened?”

            “Who cares? I got the bread. Stay out of it.”

            Still sitting on the pavement, the man eyed the intractable urchin slinking into the crowd, holding up his loaf like a trophy. He turned back to the pile of ash, cursing himself and mourning the life he failed to save. Killed by hunger and an unknowing Spacer. For a moment he wondered after the lives he might have taken.

            Rising up, he dusted off, not knowing how much was dust and how much was, well…

            “Hey,” said one of the Hopers. It was one of many now surrounding him. A crowd had congregated.

            “It is. You were right,” said another. Breathers and Hopers alike began to point and mumble in their disbelief, their amazement. The dead child was of little consequence. The man was news.

            He needed a drink more than ever. Licking his lips, he realized the scarf had fallen. They knew. Annoyed but not afraid, he shrugged his shoulders. The crowd wouldn’t hurt him, couldn’t. No one dared break the Laws.

            “By all that’s—you’re right,” said a jagged faced Breather. The mumbles grew louder. “You don’t forget the most famous face in the world. That there is Alder Tate.”

Chapter 2: Lice, Good Conversation, etc.

            “Did you see the report?”

            “Terrible, just terrible.”

            “Down with the rabble. So filthy.”

            “I know. I saw.”

            “Who?”

            “Alder. Alder Tate.”

            “I saw that on my Worldview. Sky Eyes recorded it.”

            “Terrible.”

            “Just terrible.”

            “He’ll be dead.”

            “Within a week.”

            “The disease. The air.”

            “Dead for sure.”

            “Just imagine the lice.”

            “Dead. Likely murdered. Miscreants. Thieves. Banditry.”

            “Just imagine the smell.”

            “Can you imagine?”

            “He’s so—famous.”

            “It’s disgusting. Who does he think he is?”

            “Not the Alder Tate we knew.”

            “You know I admired him once.”

            “Smart.”

            “As anyone. And handsome. That face. Strong jaw, big blue eyes…”

            “You can’t trust anybody.”

            “He actually touched the child. I almost did once when my number fell.”

            “You poor thing. The thought I could be next gives me fits.”

            “Rogues.”

            “Vagabonds. Backstabbers.”

            “People.”

            “I know. It’s disgusting. At least it’s one less person.”

            “Disgusting. People.”

            “Administrator signing off.”

            “Why?”

            “The thoughts.”

            “Yes. Be mindful of your thoughts.”

            “Yes. Mindful.”

            “Just thinking about it, you could get a fever.”

            “Everyone detoxify.”

            “No sense taking chances.”

            “Detoxify. Surely a necessity.”

            “Mind your Space.

            “Mind your Space.”

            “Very well. Mind your Space. Administrator signing off.”

Chapter 3: Teaching—A Biohazard

            It was simply her time. For the lucky it never came, for others it came more than once; her number had fallen. The Laws stated she be tasked with a group of dirty, uncouth Charges for a period of one month. It was not punishment; your number fell at random, based on a complex algorithm. Plucked from a life of health, isolation, productivity and achievement, here she was.

Educational Facility 25.

            It was punishment.

            Day fourteen.

            She was counting.

            Looking at her Charges through a protective biohazard helmet, a mixture of suppressed memories flooded her cerebral cortex. She’d been one of them, after all. Everyone started from the same place in the Five Cities. After Continuation all were brought here for rearing, raising, and learning.

            “Children, settle in. We have much to cover today.” The unruly youngsters ceased fighting and prattling, slumping into their desks. It was healthy and good to facilitate pugnacious physical interfacing. Years of study showed that only through genuine conflict interaction could the little ones truly learn to loath each other. It was a way of getting it out of their systems, before the System.

Hers was a decent bunch, petulant and bitter, but there was much more to teach. This group, like every other, shared the same birthday; in two weeks they would be 8 years old and the Test would be administered. Chips would be implanted.

            “What will we be learning today, Susa Burke, L9?” asked a little one. Despite the contrarian sentimentality of the class, they had a level of reverence for their instructor. She was a Level Nine Spacer, after all. There were only ten levels, and nobody got that high, save the Administrator.

            “Today we will be discussing your upcoming birthdays.” The clear plastic of her visor started to fog; just thinking about the Test made her sweat. More memories came, a patchwork of images and emotions playing in her head. Susa couldn’t remember taking the Test but recalled the fear that surrounded it.

            “Where does the chip go?” asked Lucie, one of the brighter charges. Susa believed she would do well, but it was hard to predict the ways of the System.

            “Lucie, you know where.” The instructor patted her right shoulder with two gloved fingers.

            “Can we see yours?”

            “Now, you know that’s not possible; if I took off this suit for even a moment I could be contaminated.”

            “Contaminated. We’re not contaminated. We don’t have suits.” It was Kiernan, by far the most truculent of all her Charges. He questioned everything and nettled everyone in his path, even Susa with her Level Nine. She should have despised the little creature but she harbored an ironic fondness for the tiny snipe.

            “Enough, Kiernan. Let’s try to get through the day without anymore outbursts. You can argue and fight, bite and scratch to your heart’s content. Just save it for later. This is my time.”

            For seven hours, the Charges listened and took notes about what was to come. The Test was a flawless predictor of human potential, able to solidly place a person in their appropriate caste. Of course, the Test was not the end. One could be granted more or less Space based on their service and devotion to the good of the System from that day forward. She only had to use the example of the disgustingly famous Alder Tate to illustrate the point; Susa had watched that incident the day before her arrival at EF 25. After a fall of such magnitude, it was only a matter of time before he made news.

            “In closing, what are your fundamental Laws?” she asked.

            STAY OUT OF IT. MIND YOUR SPACE. TO TOUCH IS TO DIE.

            “Good. Now run along. Tomorrow is another day.”

            After dismissal, Susa made her way through the backdoor of the classroom. The building was quite large, shaped like a barracks, with three distinct areas. She taught in the common area, where the children were free to roam and scrap after classes broke. The center section was the decontamination and preparation area, solely used by whatever Spacer was in service. Past that was the largest section, a sterilized, hermetically sealed chamber. This was and would be Susa Burke’s home for the next fifteen days.

            Finally cleansed, she entered her quarters and took her first deep breath of the day. Despite all the precautions, despite her untrammeled character, she was terrified. Go wash your face. Calm down. Susa did as her thoughts commanded, but the tension kept rising. It’s natural. It will all be over soon. A slight buzz in her left palm as it read BP—RECOMMEND CALM AGENTS.

            “No kidding,” she said, staring into the mirror. A look at herself usually dissuaded anxiety. She’d been told she was perfect for Continuation. Hundreds of suitors had tried to break her Space, but all had been rebuffed. Lying down, the thought of her Charges precluded any peace. Am I frightened for them? Susa wasn’t supposed to care, but she knew the System and knew what was coming. Ninety-five percent of the little ones would be Regulars, given nothing but their personal Space for the rest of their lives. Forced to live alongside people, and people are the enemy. Theirs would be an existence of mindless toil, producing goods for the other five percent, those lucky enough to be named Spacers.

            Susa Burke, L9 tossed and turned that night at EF 25. In that facility alone, she was one of five hundred Spacers teaching in their own barracks. Hundreds if not thousands of facilities just like it were online all over the Five Cities. She wondered if any of her kind were experiencing the same emotions, the same doubts. Another buzz. RECOMMEND SLEEP AGENT.

            “Fine!” she yelled, pressing her right thumb over the message. The chip deactivated her natural melatonin inhibitor and her eyes began to droop. Susa felt cowardly, using her body’s own chemistry to avoid the questions. More pictures swirled in her consciousness but they were done in by the chemicals. Damn you, she whispered, her last words of the day. They were meant for one person in particular.

Chapter 4: Three Men and a Bunch of Other Crap

            Alder Tate sat in the center of the square amongst the other members of his designated Dom, surrounded on all sides by like-for-like hovels that housed the Regulars. The day had been long and hard at the mech factory, pressing buttons and moving materials into place for electric MFGs to do their work. Despite the normal tedium and exhaustion, most of his fellow residents were there as well; the square had the Dom’s only Worldview, a community screen one hundred feet square.

            “Ironic.”

            “What is?” Alder asked. He was staring at his hands. They were beginning to resemble his companion’s.

            “Uh, look around guy. You go from the heights of isolated glory and safety to find… whatever the Space you wanted to find.”

            “People. A person. Something. It’s hard to describe. Alone is hard.”

            “Yeah, you’ve mentioned it. Every time you do, it makes less sense. Look at you now. For a Regular you seem to have a lot of Space. Only me and this moron will come near your broke ass.”

            “Hey!”

            “Shut up, Merchant.”

            “You shut up, Webb. I’m not a moron.”

            “Both of you take it easy,” Alder said. The pair sat on either side of him, but as he looked around he realized Webb’s point. Though the majority of the common area was densely packed, the three of them were surrounded by a thirty-foot perimeter of nothing. Merchant and Webb were more affected by it than Alder. He was used to having a wide berth.

            “What’s on tonight?” asked Lerner Merchant, L1.

            “The same mindless drivel that’s on every night. Some pathetic attempt at storytelling, further inculcating the minds of these sycophantic no-accounts with the opiate of stupidity,” answered Travers Webb, L2. “Then a boring series of pictures with names, reprobates like this guy who have fallen from Space to live amongst the hateful, self-hating, and hated.” Webb worked at the communications center of City Five, and though assigned only to menial tasks, he’d managed to pick up on the nuances of Worldview programming.

            “I have no idea what you just said, but I’m sure it was mean,” said Lerner. Alder smiled and gave up on the grime stuck to his fingers, looking over at Travers. The things he said, the way he said them—the guy didn’t sound the way a Regular was supposed to sound. He was sharp, sharper than any Spacer he had ever conversed with. Travers was an angular, stubble-faced redheaded man of 30, the first to discover Alder’s identity nearly a month ago. He told no one, save his hovelmate Lerner. For five months the two men stored the secret, and it was a heck of a secret. After having his picture plastered on every Worldview in the Five Cities, everybody wanted a chance to mock and deride Alder. Tate accorded their confidence as something positive; not that they really knew—theirs was not a world that ran on positives.

            “There’s the Administrator,” finished Lerner, taking a puff from a cut-rate cigarette. He didn’t bother to look at his palm; Lerner was a Breather and wouldn’t let the cost stop him from his favorite habit.

            “Administrator,” gritted Alder. “Clement Pope, L10, in charge of the Five Cities.”

            “Could have been you,” said Lerner, looking crookedly at him. His face was all innocence, pudgy and wide-eyed. Hair regularly fell down around his little mouth, igniting when he tried to light his smokes. It happened at such a clip Lerner was known at work and at the Dom for his fragrance; a mixture of burnt hair and coal residue. He was a shovel man; had been since his eighth birthday.

            “If what you say is true,” added Webb, wiping dust from his cropped hair. “And frankly I wish it were—I’m getting tired of seeing that ugly face look at our ugly faces. If I’m to be the subject of his schadenfreude, the least he could do is not be so squirrely. What’s with the hair grease? You people had hair grease?” Again, Lerner wasn’t following.

            “We had anything we wanted,” answered the former Spacer. He stood up to stretch his legs and to pat the dirt off his pants. There was only the one pair and the cotton was becoming increasingly threadbare. His movement drew the surrounding Regulars’ attention away from the Worldview but he paid them no mind.

            “Go back to your show, you rapacious ingrates!” yelled Webb, sensing the rumblings of the Breathers and Hopers. “Sit back down, man. You’re going to have to acclimate to sitting on concrete. It’s all we got around here.”

            “Never sat in a chair before,” said Lerner, finishing his smoke.

            “Hey, don’t say things like that around the aristocrat. He’s bound to get depressed.”

            “It’s okay,” Alder said, settling back down. “I chose this life, after all.”

            “And one day you can explain why. I mean, I know you’re a genius, but you can boil it down for me in Regular’s terms. Once that happens I’ll use hand gestures so Merchant here can understand.”

Travers talked tough toward Lerner, but Alder knew there was something else in it. Webb’s care and concern for his hovelmate was transparent enough, though the simple shovelhand was mostly blind to it. Other people weren’t so bad; this simple sentiment was becoming less opaque to them, but to those watching it was like the three were playing in radioactive waste.

            When Webb first stumbled on Alder, the once great man was drunk, supine, face uncovered in the middle of a seldom visited alley near the Doms. Out of sheer curiosity he revived him, dragging him back to his hovel without anyone noticing. Lerner found out when he woke the next morning and saw the body of the most famous Space Waster in history passed out on the floor. It started as awkwardness and probing, almost infantile interactions. Now it was good nature, ribbing and fellowship. These terms were not part of the common language, lost since the time before, but they were in fact friends. They conversed regularly, these disparate men, about all manner of things. It festered in the minds of their fellow Dom residents, especially now that Alder’s identity was out: Why can’t they just shut up? What are they talking about? Aren’t they afraid? Don’t they hate each other? I hate them.

            Tate started to respond to Travers’s previous question, but shut his mouth at the site of the Administrator. Clement Pope. By Space, it really is him. Seeing the face made it real, though he’d known about Pope’s appointment for weeks.

            “That’s right,” Webb said, rubbing his fledgling chin hairs in recognition. “You haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

            “Not like this.” Alder had seen that face for twenty-five years, had seen it up close and personal, but nothing could prepare him for 10,000 square feet of the guy. Travers was right; he did look squirrely—like a huge oily squirrel. The face imposed itself over all; every tooth was a monolith, every nose hair a nightmare.

As Administrator Pope officiously droned his administrative points, Tate found himself fixated. It was the Face of Humanity. He scanned around, looking at his fellow Regulars. They too were fixated, but not in the same way. In the desolate dark of night the light projected off of the Worldview was the light they bathed themselves in. How could they not despise themselves? They think this squirrel is the zenith, some queer confluence of all that is within them.

            He stopped scanning, turning back to the giant squirrel who now was clearing his sweaty, cadaverous throat.

            “It is a bit irregular, but since the official mandates and news items have been seen to, I’d like to make a personal statement. I’ve asked a woman, uh, and she’s agreed—to let me enter her Space.” The Administrator was growing pink with joy—Alder grew red—the Regulars grew excited. “As is the custom, it is only virtuous for the Administrator to be known and known of, that is, what they called Fame in the time before…” Pope cleared his throat again, reading out of some extant rulebook written long ago. “But if the Administrator is to become Spacemate with another for the purposes of Continuation, or, for other purposes, it is customary that the partner should become known as well.” Even Alder was confused by the syntax, but he got the thrust. “Her name is Susa Burke, L9, an ingenious engineer and important producer in our society who I have been acquainted with for some time.”

            Lerner, sitting cross-legged to the right of Tate, was confused again. “Hey, isn’t that the one…” Before he could properly finish Alder was falling backward.

            The most famous man in the world had fainted from the news. Travers and Lerner went to grab him out of some long deactivated instinct but couldn’t; if they touched him and he wasn’t conscious to press his palm, they’d be vaporized.

            Alder hit the dirty pavement like a downed landmark.

            A Regular soul overwhelmed by a squirrel.

Chapter 5: The Hydroponic Blues

            Clement Pope woke up the next day feeling strained. He rose from his hypoallergenic bed and set his pale manicured feet upon antibacterial stained marble. His legs didn’t seem to want to move. It was stress, had to be stress. His left palm wasn’t recommending any inhibitors or enhancers, so it had to be a creation of the mind. Pope leaned forward and steered his way down a small set of stairs to an elevator. He hit the button for the second floor, home to his kitchen and workout facility. Breakfast will set me right, he thought, still enfeebled.

            Fresh fruit and toast were waiting for him when he arrived; hot coffee was being poured. The room’s Worldview came on as he sat down at the table—another sterile, safe environment. Like all Spacers, Pope’s chores, cooking, cleaning, gardening, etc., were all done by special mechs. Everything he needed in his home, a fifty-acre sphere constructed out of impenetrable glass panels, was simply requested via the System and delivered within twenty-four hours. All it took was a scan of the left palm. Credits were deducted for every purchase, but that was no worry to a man of his value. Of course, anything coming into the sphere was first decontaminated in a clean room that separated him from the outside world. Some Spacers preferred to have a house and adjoining grounds where they could go traipsing about, but Clement felt no need for that sort of nonsense. When he was elected as Administrator, the first thing he did was completely encase himself in the fifty acres of Space the Office allowed. The dome was set upon a hill overlooking City Five to the east—it could be seen by everyone. He’d even heard reports of his Shangri-La being spotted at night by City Four, forty miles southwest.

            Safety and vistas weren’t buoying his mood at present. The last thing he wanted was to see that infernal city or for it to see him. “Set to private,” he groaned, picking a cereal flake from his teeth. On command the entire massive structure turned black, fully tinted to the outside world. The sunlight too was kept out, but the artificials were synched to come on at the same command. “She won’t be pissed,” he said, admitting the problem and denying it in a single statement.

            Finished with breakfast, the Administrator decided to dress and ride down to the first floor. Among other things, it was the level where all the fresh produce he enjoyed was farmed. Pope liked to check on the tomatoes, to see how they were coming in. No Regular could ever hope to see a tomato; even for a Spacer they were a dalliance. Pope enjoyed that, even more than he enjoyed eating them.

            On one of the steel catwalks of his artificial farm he came across the tomato section and stopped. Some were ripe and ready to perform their function; others needed a little more time. “She won’t be angry,” he said again, leaning almost close enough to touch his prized hydroponic delicacies. Suddenly the insecurity overwhelmed him. He even forgot to look at his palm. She is ready, isn’t she? Sure, I didn’t tell her about the announcement, but I thought it would be a surprise when she finished her month. Oh God, what if she hates it, hates the fact that I told the whole world without her being able to see it? Why do they ban Worldviews at the EFs anyway? Stupid. I need to change that. I think I have the power. How could she be mad? I have the power.

            Finally the scales fell from his eyes. Clement Pope realized he’d been locked onto fruit for a while, staring at fruit just short of fruition. Oh God, I think she’s going to be pissed.

Chapter 6: Intestines and Fortitude

“Can you tell me why I’m stealing baby food?” She was dropping bottles as dirt and rocks flew all around them, the product of a missile strike from one of the Sky Eyes; it was too close for anything resembling comfort.

            “To hell with it, the tunnels are just ahead.” They were running wildly, the four of them, changing course every few steps to confuse the drone above.

            “Great,” she said, letting go of the glass bottles, readying herself for the next blast. “This is really productive.” I should have stayed home today.

            “Here it is, twenty meters straight on,” the leader said, following a beacon as he swiftly negotiated the crags and the mines around his feet. They called him Walsh, an appellation bestowed by their boss. Approaching the metal hatch he felt dread. Storms always seemed to hit worst when land was sighted; it seemed he remembered that from one of the books. Lifting the heavy portal he yelled for his people to double time it. One hand held it ajar while the other was raised over his brow, looking for the mindless hunter riding in the yellow firmament.

            “Great mission, boss,” she said, making herself small enough to drop straight down to the tunnels. It was ten feet in the dark, but she was experienced and didn’t feel like staying any longer than necessary. Hitting the bottom hard, she rolled, waiting for the next one down.

            “Are you kidding me, Blake? The ladder? You’re gonna get them killed. Just jump, I’ll catch your fat ass.” She pressed on her torch to make it easier for him; he let go, falling clumsily in the muck of the tunnel.

            “Thanks a lot, Addie.”

            “Yeah well you’re a big boy. Now get out of the way.” She looked up into the blinding light of the opening. “Let’s go!”

            From the aperture above Walsh could see the Sky Eye readying itself for another launch. He spurred his last man on, knowing the time was up. “Come on, Charlie!”

            “Coming boss!” He could barely get the words out. Charlie was laboring from a deep gash he caught on the wall coming back over. The pain was overwhelming his senses; the boy wasn’t thinking of anything else.

            Fifteen feet was as close as he’d get. Reeling from the wound, Charlie tripped a mine and in a breath was nothing but his parts. The explosion rocked Walsh back for a moment; the leader was stung by knives of sand, rock and bits of bone. He crawled to the hatch and closed it behind him. The dark and silence were sudden against the windswept tumult he’d left behind.

            “Where’s Charlie?” Blake asked, still wiping off his trousers.

            “Here he is,” Addie said, handing him a sampling of seared intestines that had made its way down the shaft. Blake vomited forthwith. She left him to it and shined her torch up at Walsh making his way down the ladder. “Well I’m really glad we did this. Yeah, I’m satisfied. We got nothing of value, almost got killed, and Charlie’s in pieces. Good stuff. Well conceived and executed—is that a way to put it?”

            As Addie carried on, Blake continued gagging. Charlie’s intestines, along with the mission, were things that happened. It wasn’t that Addie didn’t care—she cared too much, maybe. She just didn’t believe. Beliefs could give you hope, or they could make you puke.

            Walsh was a believer, subject to emotion, but as he descended the ladder toward the base of the dank labyrinth, he directed the loss inward. His soul was puking, so to speak—Charlie had begged him to come along, though Addie had warned against it. She shined the torch at his boots as they hit the tunnel floor. “Come on, let’s move out. We’ve got eight miles to the first checkpoint.” Walsh marched by Addie and Blake like they were columns, paying no mind to anything but the journey back.

            “So that’s it?” Addie screamed. It echoed down the tunnel for what seemed miles. She was the only one who could get away with rank subordination toward Walsh. He was, after all, militia commander of all the Ones Between. She got away with it because hers was also an important family—and in her brash way she was seldom wrong. The man in charge stopped walking but did not turn, knowing she deserved an answer.

            “I’m sorry about Charlie, he was a good lad. It was his choice.”

            “He was too stupid to make choices. I warned you about this.” Addie’s tone was still brazen, her voice hot with breath.

            “You did—I know you did.” He seemed moved but would not manifest it, shining his light forward into the gloomy darkness that would serve as their path. Walsh was a leader, looking forward because he had to. Forward to the checkpoint. Forward to home, to regroup. Forward until he could get to Alder Tate.

            “Alder Tate,” Addie mumbled, pushing Blake ahead to follow the boss. She was intractable, vivid, wild as ever. “Hope this moron is worth it.”

            Me too, thought Walsh, bearing down on his teeth. Me too.

Chapter 7: Between the Other Ones

            “I’m so excited.”

            “Oh me too.”

            “Yes, a smart match, precautions taken.”

            “Thank you, I think it’s the right time.”

            “She’ll have a welcome homecoming from that awful place.”

            “Yes. Awful place. Can’t even remember being there.”

            “You’re lucky.”

            “Yes, lucky.”

            “Everything seems to be in order. Everything.”

            “Well, there have been reports from Sky Eyes. I get L8 access.”

            “Yeah we know, you’re an eight. I’ve seen the same things.”

            “What are you again?”

            “He’s a L7, like me. No need to rub it in our faces.”

            “Oh don’t use that expression, it’s disgusting. But like he said—”

            “Well they’ve picked up on some troubling things. The pictures…”

            “Hey everybody, sorry I’m late. What are we talking about?”

            “Late as usual. Do you even want to be apart of this club?”

            “Of course—I’m just late a lot, give me a break for Space’s sake.”

            “Anyway, we were talking about them.”

            “Oh you mean—”

            “Yea. The Ones Between. It seems like more and more every year.”

            “They say that every year. What could they do? They have nothing.”

            “I don’t know. It upsets me. What if they breach the cities?”

            “That’ll never happen. A few raids here and there. They’re primitive.”

            “Dying young, I mean, they must. And weak. How could they live well?”

            “Impossible. There’s nothing of import out there. I’m L9. I’d know.”

            “Anyway. Stop carrying on. Administrator, I have some work, but…”

            “Oh yes, thanks again. I’ll pass along the message to Susa.”

            “Susa. So smart is that one. Couldn’t do better. If there’s a child...”

            “Oh it’ll have the highest test in history.”

            “How could it not? Not that it’s your problem.”

            “Well, thanks very much. It’s for the Continuation, that’s first.”

            “The Continuation of course. That’s why you’re in the big chair.”

            “Yes, the big chair. You’ve filled it well. No frills, just business.”

            “Well, I hate to interrupt, but what about the Ones Between?
            “Minimize your communications block on your Worldviews.”

            “What is it?”

            “Just look. What were they doing?”

            “It appears to be Cities One and Four. Sky Eyes took one out.”

            “Why not the rest already? Oh this is just not acceptable.”

            “Not acceptable.”

            “Mind your space people.”

            “Administrator out.”

Chapter 8: One Glove

            Susa Burke was in serious need of calming agents. The message never seemed to go away. She was wearing a glove on her left hand to cover it up; sometimes that was the only way to get on with things. No doubt there would be hundreds if not thousands of messages waiting on her Worldviews when she got back home—she almost didn’t want to go back. When she first arrived at EF 25, the Spacer was heavy with dread and apathy. Now, waiting for her transport back home, the burden remained, albeit from a different source.  

            It was a strange scene to behold. There were hundreds of Spacers lined up all around her, columns and rows of uncomfortable creatures. The arrival and departure of an educational facility was a singular event (hopefully) in the life of her kind. In no other circumstance were they forced to be so close; their proximity chips had to be powered down to do the work of training Charges. Though brief, the experience was a stark view into the world of the 95%. She resolved herself to create a better system when she got back home. No one should have to go through this.

            A hover shuttle took off in the distance, taking another back to whatever reclusive nest they came from. The process was slow; one at a time, one at a time. At the sound of a bell they all took two steps, some to the right, some left, some forward. It was the way of things. Finding her new spot, she stood as still as possible. The Spacers in her midst tried to do the same, but Susa noticed them fidgeting about, trying their utmost to avoid invisible malevolent microbes and pathogens. It was almost comical, exposing the unexposed to the world, the world left behind by the people from before.

            While others wrestled the unseen, Susa stood relatively still. Many of them were looking at her, for they knew what she knew. Her body was the rigid subject of a strange voyeurism. No doubt their Charges had told them the same news as hers told her. The Administrator’s announcement was giving Susa her first sense of Fame. It was disquieting, disgusting, disruptive. She looked down at her palm again, unable to circumvent the habit. Though it was covered she could see a faint red light—no doubt more Calming Agents. She ignored the light and thought about thicker gloves.

            Another shuttle took off, this one louder than the last. She was getting farther along in the cue, and each departure meant more unease. Susa Burke, L9, was actually apprehensive about leaving. Yes, she had agreed to the match with Clement Pope, but his reckless public message formed thorns in her heart. Pope was ideal, of course, the only Level 10 on the planet. Their progeny would no doubt be a great benefit to the Continuation. Susa knew this was all that mattered—still, the thought of them being Spacemates was unnerving. Would they have to spend a lot of time together, live together even? There were Laws for almost everything in the Five Cities, but very few governing the process of Space Breaking and… whatever went along with it.

            Another shuttle. She moved up once again in the cue, looking up at the acrid xanthic sky as it made room for another Spacer’s path. Here, in the heart of the city, the air was filth—seemingly all the way to the stratosphere. On the outskirts of each metropolis, where the higher level Spacers lived, the yellow gave way to more azure tones. Another shuttle. She was getting close.

            Susa gave herself heart, thinking of her estate, the gardens, the blue sky wrapped around it. Back home she would feel better. She had to. It was an honor to be with the Administrator. He was obviously better than the countless suitors of the past—he had the credits, after all. He was suitable, more worthy, and theirs would be a dutiful and worthy offering to the Continuation.

            Finally, her shuttle. She stepped on and turned back to look at her peers. They looked skittish, like MFGs with bad wiring. Susa was well rid of them. If anything, she would miss the Charges—their restive natures, the meanness, the willingness to soak up the Laws. She had done her duty, gotten them to the Test. Strangely, none of the ones she predicted made it to Spacer status. She thought little of it—as the Shuttle took off she thought only of the day of her own Test.

            Hers was an auspicious birthday: Susa’s class was only the second in history to have three Charges score L9s. That class included mostly idiots; it just happened to include Clement, herself, and yes, everyone’s favorite, Alder Tate.

Chapter 9: Strolling Through Graveyards

            “You’re telling me you blew a million credits?” Lerner Merchant asked. He was baffled, mouth ajar. He couldn’t believe Alder had been so negligent with his gifts. Lerner wouldn’t admit to it but he didn’t even understand the concept of a million.

            “Yeah, it took a lot of work, if you want the truth,” Alder said, strolling along. It was a thing now—his strolling—having come to the realization that walking was a gift, a pleasure. Tate strolled while Merchant and Webb walked beside him, through some abandoned section of City Five. They were shadowed by a teenager, a girl around fifteen who had become fascinated with the three men’s interactions. They didn’t know her name; in fact she had never spoken a word to them. The girl had short brown hair, cut at strange angles. Like most in City Five, she was skinny and small. Unlike most, she had a glint of joy in her wide eyes.

            Alder didn’t mind the girl a bit.

            Lerner thought she was suitable for Continuation, but that was nothing new.

            Travers appeared to loathe her. Whether it was bravado or real, Alder couldn’t quite tell.

            They stopped for a minute and Alder got low and quiet.

            “Oh no—he’s doing that thing again,” Webb moaned. “What exactly are you doing down there?”

            He was studying a building, a unique structure for the area. It was once steel and concrete; now it more resembled punched out papier-mâché. “I’m imagining. You know, filling in the blanks, the glass, the glean—the thing it was intended to be.”

            “Yeah well I guess that makes sense. You were an engineer, or whatever.” Webb shrugged and looked back at the girl with his thin, discerning eyes. “What’s she doing? It’s like a stray cat or something.”

            Alder stood back up. He was still imposing next to his friends, but his robust frame was beginning to slacken due to the reduced diet.

            That and the strolling everywhere.

            “I believe it’s nothing more than healthy curiosity,” he said, smiling at Webb.

            “What is, Alder?” Lerner asked. He always tried to stay current in the conversation, whether he understood or not.

            “Curiosity. It’s the thing that makes her follow us. The thing that makes me study that building. The thing that makes Webb question her motives. The thing that makes you want to know all the answers. Curiosity. Everyone’s got it. Nothing wrong with it at all I’d say.”

            “So what’s so curious about that old building, Alder?” Lerner asked.

            “Oh… nothing and everything, I suppose.” He kept staring at it, like an old friend recognized from long ago.

            “Tate—I think you might sympathize with the building. You seem to know nothing… and everything.” Travers was pleased with himself for the jibe.

            “Maybe, Webb.” Nothing could break his concentration. “But look around, fellas. This whole section—this is a graveyard of terrible greatness. Everything here came from the time before. People just like us built this, just to tear it down.” Tate finally removed his gaze and began to stroll again.

            “Hey.” Something had addled Travers. “You can call them people, but they weren’t like us. You call them creators and destroyers, I think maybe if you’re going to define them, you might want to stick with the latter. We survive, despite everything they did. We are evolved, and despite everything I say about this twisted-ass life, at least it’s life.” It was the first time Webb had ever cut hard words with Tate. He paused, calming slightly. “Hell man, we don’t even know anything about them. Like you said, it’s all just a graveyard. You can’t get a sense of a man or woman by standing over a tombstone, last I checked.”

            “You’re right,” Tate said. “Maybe you’re right.” The jocund countenance was gone, silenced by what hit like hard truth.

            Webb was sorry. That countenance was what made Alder so unique—though it frustrated him, stopping it was not his intent.

            The fallen Spacer moved along the street, just walking now.

            “Hey,” Webb called, running up beside his companion. Merchant followed and the girl trailed him in turn. “I didn’t mean to rile up like that.”

            “No, it’s okay. You made a great point. Sometimes you’re too smart for me, I think.”

            “Yeah right. Don’t play with a simple L2’s emotions.”

            “L2, L9, L5. The more time I spend down here, the less significant those numbers seem. One thing, though. You said you couldn’t get a sense of a man or woman…”

            “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

            “Maybe when I look around places like these, I’m just reading epitaphs.”

            Webb laughed. “Bastard. You always finish with a good one. I’d embrace you if it wasn’t weird and also life threatening.” Alder flashed a straight-toothed smile back at his companion, happy in the moment.

            “Guys. We better get back soon. Tomorrow’s a work day.” It was Lerner, culling them out of their exchange.

            Soon they started back to the Doms. It was late and they were a long way from home. Lerner mentioned that he’d never been so close to the border before. None of them had. They increased their speed to get back in time for curfew when Webb stopped. “You notice something?”

            “What?”

            “The girl. She’s gone. Must be the first time in days she’s left us alone.”

            “Maybe she went ahead,” Lerner said, doing his best.

            “I think we would’ve seen her backside sprinting away from us, you knucklehead.”

            “She’ll be fine, I think, but we better keep moving. Around that corner to the right and then it’s a straight shot back to the Doms.”

            They sped up again, but only briefly. Making the turn they were met by five men standing in their path. They were big like Alder, and none of them seemed to be in a hurry. Webb couldn’t define them except to say Trouble.

            Before they could turn from danger, all three were being grabbed from behind. In their conscious lives they’d never once been handled. The sensation was insuperable—they were pitiable children in the grips of their captors. Some attempt to fight was made but they had the coordination of desert dwellers coping with ocean breakers. Why weren’t the villains getting vaporized? This was a serious problem.

            “You’re coming with us.” It was a female voice—that was all Alder could make out. Bags were put on their heads and they were thrown into some sort of cart. The three men were buffeted against the walls of the machine as it began to move. Fear gripped them the same; it was all too much. Bound at the wrists, heads covered, chained to the cart floor, they bounced to the rhythm of the broken street.

            “Tate, you there?” It was Travers muffled voice calling from beneath the bag.

            “Yeah. I uh—”

            Before he could finish his companion cut him off, screaming. “I knew this strolling bullshit was going to catch up with me!”

Chapter 10: Stepp Into My Office

“Come on, then! Step right up and get some! Come on, what are you waiting for, Space? That’ll be the day, no—step right up and get what you can while you can get it. You there, you there, why deny yourself the pleasures of life when they are set before you today? Just a few credits and you can float away. We got booze, and if you’re feeling saucy, we’ve got inhibitors and chemical enhancers that’ll make you feel like Spacer of the Month, even if it’s only a few hours!” The people laughed—as much as Regulars could, anyway.

            The sales pitch was coming from the chapped lips of the sometimes vaunted and sometimes hated Mr. Stepp. As evidenced by the throng of Breathers vying for his wares, Mr. Stepp was the greatest purveyor of all things suspect in City Five. He had started his business in the very spot he now stood: It was some kind of bunker, left from the time before, between two Doms and down far enough to evade the always lurking mechs and Sky Eyes. Mr. Stepp had no idea what it used to be, but now it was his—a way to get rich, a way up the credit chain and into real Space of his own. Mr. Stepp was a true Hoper.

            “Where do you get all this stuff?” yelled one of the Breathers in the crowded “store.” Mr. Stepp, separated from his clientele by a slipshod glass counter, cleared his grizzled throat for a retort.

            “If I told you that, I’d be out of business. What do you take me for, an idiot?” Stepp hated people the way everybody else did, but having to sell—to feign genial affectations, he’d come to a keener understanding of the dark side of man and the need to get away from it. “Now, you buying or what? Twenty credits. Come on, people waiting.” He eyed the Breather, an insolent rube with a pocked face and freckles, knowing it was a sure thing.

            “Okay,” answered the rube, running his hand over the credit scanner. Stepp punched twenty into the keypad beside the square section of the contraption and then scanned his own hand over it. This was the only method for transacting business between Regulars. The machine itself was worth more than the store and everybody in it, save Mr. Stepp. To have a scanner meant you were a power broker in the world of the Regulars; anytime people needed to trade credits or services outside of City Five’s purview, they had to use one. It was why Stepp had it chained to a thirty-pound weight behind the counter. Usually the old were the only ones with enough credit to purchase one of the coveted contraptions; Stepp was no exception, age wise. Everything above his shoulders was monochrome gray, save a bent red nose and failing black teeth that came out during transaction time.

            Though he looked like he’d recently climbed out of a sarcophagus, Mr. Stepp was sharp enough to get the best of almost anyone. Besides, his stuff sold itself.    

            It was almost time for curfew when he announced he was closing up. Though of course he couldn’t push the Breathers out of his bunker, they fled at the dint of his brackish voice. Soon I’ll be out of this hellhole, where I belong. Once the crowd had scurried away he peeked at the clock and began placing his sundries into an old sturdy safe hidden underneath the counter. The old man was spry, having made another killing. He started humming a tune, dreaming of retirement—a real retirement. Stepp checked his palm and smiled his black smile. He saw his obscured reflection through the grime of the glass countertop—his face looked like the opening of a cave. Never mind, he thought. I’ll get that seen to when I make Spacer.

            Spit polishing the glass with a shirt sleeve, he heard someone coming down the brittle steps to the bunker door. “Closed!” he yelled, continuing with his polishing. It didn’t make sense to focus on that one spot of the counter; the bunker was a veritable cesspool. Again he started humming but someone started knocking on the rusty bunker metal and wouldn’t stop. “I won’t open, you go on pounding. Mind your space you degenerate!”

            “It’s me, Mr. Stepp. Please let me in. Please.”

            With surprising quickness Stepp was around his counter, opening the door. The new arrival wasn’t a customer. It was Tate’s stray cat. “What’s this?” he asked. “You’re bleeding. How did this happen?”

            “I was following them like you said, easy as can be.”

            “And?”

            “Please, please let me have some of the good stuff before I have to be back for curfew.”

            “Never mind that. Now you tell me, what happened?”

            “I don’t know, they were walking around, doing nothing like always. Then I heard some machine, sounded like nothing I’d ever heard.” The stray was rubbing the back of her head; it was starting to ooze puss.

            “And?”

            “And then this,” she said, showing Stepp her bloody hand. Something hit me… I don’t know, I woke up and came straight here.”

            “Oh no.”

            “That’s okay, I’ll be fine—just give me some stuff.”

            “Not you, you witless— What’s going on! This isn’t good. Get out of here, girl. Go on!”

            “But the stuff.”

            “No stuff. Now get.” The girl made a desperate face and pattered out and up the steps. The old man fiddled at his argentine hair. It had almost been a good day. As he closed the bunker door his saggy shoulders sagged some more. What am I going to tell the Administrator?

Chapter 11: Susa’s Place and Susa’s Pad

            Susa Burke was an unquestionably adroit engineer. Her status as L9 had been solidified owing to her hundreds of improvements, inventions, and designs implemented all over City Five. Every new breakthrough, every flaw corrected fed her confidence and her credit score. Why then, as of late, were so many of her production facilities underperforming? She couldn’t understand—now days into vetting out the systems, and no closer to finding a solution.

            Staring at schematics and worker production charts, Susa started nodding off. Her left hand was most assuredly blinking RECOMMEND SLEEP AGENTS, but she didn’t know for sure—the glove over her left hand was now a permanent fixture. She walked out of her workshop and into one of her estate’s ten bathrooms, seeking the Medicine Pad. From the vanity she pulled out what seemed to be a regular drawer, only this one was covered and secured with a lock. Susa was agitated, fumbling with the key before managing to open the cover. Inside, there it was, an ingenious contraption made from a finely engineered carbon polymer. She took off her glove and sure enough: RECOMMEND SLEEP AGENTS. Rolling her eyes, she placed her hand on the Pad. While it scanned her print she cycled through a list of options until she found what was necessary. With her right thumb she pressed the screen over ADRENALINE ENHANCER and immediately felt a surge of energy.

            After locking up and sliding the device back into its place, she felt a bit of shame—that was normal. Medicine Pads were frowned upon in the Five Cities, as they were only used to countermand what one’s own body chemistry recommended. Many a Spacer had fallen victim to the Pad, overdosing on usually benign and beneficial substances found at low levels in the body. It was an incredibly expensive habit—the enhancer Susa had just self-administered cost four thousand credits—more than most Regulars could dream of in a lifetime.

            Full of gusto but not much brain power, Susa found herself back in the workshop, rushing through footage of one of the factories on her Worldview. Her MFGs (Manufacturing and Fabrication Gadgets) were running true, the conveyors were steady and stable, and the workers… Wait a minute, she said. The workers. She changed camera views. This factory, which produced high end furniture for upper-crust Spacers, was very familiar. She had designed it from the floor up; it was a form of entertainment for her—watching a creation performing at its utmost. Even some of the Regulars wore familiar faces. She scanned to catch one such face, and there it was.

            He was Smiling! Not working, not head down, not eyes tasked, but Smiling! Finally it was clear. The people at this facility were not functioning at the average output level (AOL). She started digging through, logs, data sheets, more video—it was the damn workers. You had to factor in occasional anomalies, but this—this was a trend. A bad one. Something outside her power to correct.

            The good news, if one could call it that, was Susa had found her problem. The Administrator would have to be informed, another reason to be apprehensive about tomorrow’s physical meeting. She let the worry brush past; for now—sleep. In an instant the adrenaline boost seemed a bad idea; forgetting that it had provided her with the zest for discovery, she cried, “Damn Medicine Pad!”

Chapter 12: Alder’s Bout With Crack

            “Alright you Spacer scum, hit me then! I said hit me!”

            What was he saying? Alder didn’t understand at all—he was replete with disorientation. Geez it’s bright. Blinding, almost.

            “Come on, you’re the big shot, I’m right here in front of you. I’ll let you have the first crack!”

            First crack? What’s a crack? Geez it’s bright. I wish they’d put the bag back on my head. Alder still couldn’t see much of anything, but he could tell from the din in his ears that he was in and amongst a great many onlookers. Noises of all kinds—loud, disdainful, celebratory, he couldn’t distinguish—came from all angles. He tried to bypass the sensory overload with his intellect but it was too much.

            These people weren’t much like people.

            Gradually his eyes adjusted to the onslaught of sun. He looked up to see a blue sky—beautiful beyond words. He looked down to see a shaggy, hulking man—ugly beyond adjectives. “I’m sorry, by crack, are you intimating that I strike you, good sir?” Tate was doing his best under the circumstances.

            “Can you believe this guy?” asked the man, stepping about playfully and looking around at the others. By now it was clear to Alder that he was the subject of the group’s mockery. It didn’t happen often, but he was getting mad.

            “I’d love to crack you, my friend, but I’m not a suicide case.”

            “What?” the man asked. The question was followed by more foreign noises from the surrounding herd. “Wake up, big time. You’re not in City Five, your Laws don’t apply here, and I’m not some chipped slave.” Apparently the beastly man was done conversing, as he delivered a menacing left to Alder’s midsection. Tate took to his knees, looking at his palm, then at his assailant—nothing.

            “Well then,” he grimaced. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve wanted to try this.” Alder rose up and threw the first punch of all his thirty-three years. Not exactly pugilistic, the brute easily sidestepped and shot a straight right hand to Alder’s face. It was enough to lay him out but not enough to put him to sleep. Spread eagle, he coughed on pain and blood. The spinning sky was all he had. So blue. So blue.

            “Alright partner, let’s get you up. You’ve been summoned.” It was a female voice, the one he heard during their abduction. “Partner, can you move? Help me out a little bit. Bob’s just having some fun with you.” Blinking rapidly he looked over to see who was talking. It was a girl. A beautiful one, at that. The sky and the girl—and being beaten to death.

            “What is that incessant noise coming from those people?” he asked her, struggling to sit up.

            “What do you mean, partner? Come on, we don’t have all day.”

            He moved listlessly to his feet, peering through the crowd at his surroundings. “That noise. It smacks of pleasure, but only exasperated pleasure.”

            “It’s called laughter, Mr. Tate. “They’re laughing at you—at your expense.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “Yeah well you’ll get used to it. Welcome to… never mind. Just come with me and I promise no one else will give you any more beatings for at least five minutes.” This seemed a very fair proposal—Alder followed the girl through the obloquies of the crowd and out the other side. After thirty or so paces he stopped. The noise and pain had abated enough for him to admire his surroundings. A field, grass, mountains, air.             “You’re the Ones Between, aren’t you? Is this your home? It sure is something.” The girl turned sharply to answer, clearly amused. The bright sun played with her long brown hair, turning it lighter and darker as she moved back to him. She was strong, full figured, but very much in keeping with the lovely surroundings. The girl. Her hair. Her eyes. The Sky—

            “Partner, wipe that grin off. No, we don’t live here. We come out and play sometimes, but your Sky Eyes mean we stay underground for the most part. There’s another patrol coming in an hour, so let’s move.”

            “Okay. I’ll go with you. Just tell me your name. I’m Alder Tate.”

            “Alder Tate. You say that like it’s supposed to mean more than it does.” She wished it didn’t. “Let’s go.”

            He stood still and firm, trying to gain some small victory in the confusion. She looked him over and sighed in frustration. His sandy hair was a mess, his face was bleeding, but there was something about him—dignity, kindness, good cheekbones—whatever it was, she didn’t have time for him or his idiotic Spacer ways. “My name’s Addie. Adelyne. We good, partner?”

            “Nice to meet you Addie,” he said, walking on ahead as if he knew where to go. For ten minutes Alder tried to engage further but was met only with annoyed silence. After a spell he resigned himself to following along, admiring the swishing hair and shapely form before his squinting eyes. Coming to the side of a gentle hill, Addie brushed aside some growth to reveal a metal door sunk into the earth. She knocked three times and Alder heard a tired latch turn. “You ready, partner?”

Chapter 13: The Obligatory Cave Reunification Scene

            Lerner Merchant and Travers Webb were on their knees, side by side. They knew nothing—the only information conveyed to them by their captors had been instructions—stand up, walk, stop, etc. Still covered by coarse bags from crown to neck, wrists bound behind, it was becoming torturous. Exiting the cart, Webb could tell that they had walked across some soft, untrammeled terrain. Then down. Down had a way of making him feel uneasy. Down was rarely good news.

            “Trav, what the heck is going on?” It was the first time Lerner had spoken coherently since their abduction. Until then he’d been rigidly shivering in terror—

Webb could smell the urine.

            “You know what? I should have known,” Travers said, spitting out burlap fibers from the bag.

            “Knew what?”

            “You’ve been conspicuously silent throughout this entire situation. I haven’t had much to do, so all the time we were being transported, barked at, walked, and pushed around, I had to find something with which to while away.”

            “Yeah?”

            “So—during all that time, however long it’s been, I happened upon something. Though not productive, it was at least mildly diverting.”

            “Webb, please tell me what’s going on.” A little more pee came out.

            “So in my mind I pushed aside just enough fear to make room for a little game, call it a wager.” He spit some more. “Call me insane, but I’ve been sitting here for Space knows how long, betting on what you’d say first. I had a huge chunk of credits on What the heck is going on, but then I balked. My final guess was Webb, I’m hungry. Eh—should always go with your first instinct.”

            “So—”

            “Well, we’re bound and shrouded in a miserable, humid repository somewhere underneath the ground, I think. Then there’s the fact I’m forced to endure the pangs of captivity with you and only you—I’ve got to say it’s a nightmare.”

            “It’s not a nightmare.”

            “Who’s there?” cried Webb. The voice was foreign. The only words he could expect were Lerner’s, but they weren’t his. Webb adjusted his brain enough to realize that it wasn’t foreign—just unexpected. As he began to speak the hood was removed from his head and his wrists were unbound. Quickly acclimating his vision to the dank environment, he saw his friend standing before him, patented smile and all. The grin which precipitated so many verbal jabs was now a warm welcome, a sign that their ordeal was ending.

            “Alder!” crowed Lerner. His hood too had been removed and his frazzled appearance went well with the unrestrained joy at seeing a friend.

            “What are you smiling at, by the way?” asked Webb, dusting off his pants and shirt.

            “I’m sorry,” said Tate. “I was only here for a moment, but seeing you give him the third degree through a burlap sack was pure entertainment.”

            “Ah, screw you.”

            “Hey. I got beat up,” Alder said, walking toward Merchant to make sure he was okay.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. Beat up.” Tate wore a face of bruises and pride—for a moment it silenced his intractable friend.

            “Beat up,” Webb repeated, shaking off stiffness. “These people. Who the Space they think they are?”

            “I think you know the answer to that question. That is, if you’re the clever one.” The charge came from behind, and Travers turned to see a woman obscured in the shadows. Looking down at her hand he could see the bindings. She must have been the one to release them.

            “The Ones Between.”

            “Yeah, I’ve heard that’s the name for it,” she said, walking briskly by. For a moment the three friends were united and alone.

            “She’s pretty,” Lerner said.

            “Quiet. Where are we Alder? Why are we here? What do they want from us?”

            “I think it’s their lair, or home, or one of them. As far as why, I have no idea. That lady, her name’s Adelyne—she said that we are to meet the Old Man and somebody called Walsh.”

            “Oh yeah, the Old Man and Walsh. Why didn’t you say so? I somehow thought that being purloined from our home to some hinterland cave was weird, but as long as we see the Old Man and Walsh—”

            “What do you want me to say?”

            “Webb, what do you want him to say?” Lerner echoed.

            Before he could respond, Alder put a hand on Webb’s shoulder. Travers flailed and parried, looking down at his palm to turn off the signal that would vaporize his friend. In the darkness he panted, staring and staring.

            “Nothing,” he said.

            “Yeah, apparently the signals don’t reach out this far.”

            “So we’re like the ones from the time before,” Merchant said, dumbfounded.

            “Or like the Ones Between,” Tate smiled. “I know, the whole thing’s crazy, but I figured if they wanted to do us harm, they would’ve done it already.”

            “No problem,” Webb said, stepping out of the shadows. “This exact thing happened to me last week.”

Chapter 14: In Love and Space

            Susa announced her impending presence with the touch of her portable worldview, a watch-like device around her wrist. Almost immediately, she saw the Administrator’s face on the tiny screen. “It’s safe, Susa. My Space has been deactivated.” She did the same, then took a heavy breath and made her way up the winding stone walkway leading to the behemoth that was the home of Clement Pope. It wasn’t her first visit, but familiarity did little to suppress the inimitable grandeur of the Administrator’s monument to isolation. Susa knew to walk right up to the front entrance; Clement wasn’t one to come out for anything less than an emergency. As she neared, the door whispered out the trapped air from the sealed atmosphere of the dome. When it was finally ajar, she stepped into a “foyer” where she would be scanned for pathogens or any other harmful contaminates that might endanger Pope. Susa found the entire process onerous—ironically so. On her first visit she had been smitten with envy at Clement’s fastidiousness and wanted a similar contraption installed at her own estate. Now it only frayed at what was left of her nerves.

            Entering the sphere, she was met by Pope. Mechs diverted from his path in jarring motions as he made a straight line toward her.

“How are you? I know it can be off-putting, but allow me a moment of boorishness… I’ve missed you. I’m so very anxious to start our partnership—surely the Continuation will be substantially buoyed by our contributions.”

            Susa could hear him talking but she had drifted somewhere between Continuation and Contributions. The beautiful L9 had come with two things to say; everything else was noise. Noise kept bouncing off her, noise from Pope’s leaning big-toothed mouth. She didn’t want to look at his face, all pink and powder white. Looks weren’t supposed to matter; productivity was the only thing—yet they mattered all the more every straining moment that passed.

            “I’ve got some news about the facilities,” she said, breaking into whatever Pope was rattling on about.

            “Eh—okay,” he sputtered, taken aback by her manners more than the words. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not a big deal.” The Administrator gathered himself, momentarily recapturing his Administrative visage. “Just tell me about it.”

            Susa tried to relax her lissome body; as she breathed deeply, Pope found himself aroused by the movements of her chest and neck. He had wanted her for twenty-five years, since their first class at the EF. “Well, it seems that all the engineering is sound. Conveyors, processors, packagers—I checked and rechecked everything.”

            “And the MFGs?”

            “Operating at an optimal level. I couldn’t understand, couldn’t see it, but then I realized…”

            “What?”

            “It’s the Regulars. They’re not performing. Not even close, actually. They seem… distracted. I don’t know how to say it, I don’t have the expertise. Their minds seem to be otherwise engaged, I suppose. It’s not like I can go down there and talk to them.”

            “And this is specific to one facility?”

            “No, that’s just the thing. This problem seems to be city wide.” Susa pulled out a folder from her overarm satchel and showed him the figures. He gave them a cursory glance, knowing Susa always did her due diligence.

            “And did you check the numbers from the other four cities?”

            “I did. Their production levels are down, too, but only slightly—still within the AOL margins.” She handed Pope the full set of statistics and while he looked them over she took a moment to look at her surroundings. No doubt it was the very pinnacle of Spacer safety, a crowning achievement by any sane standard. The mechs were top notch, and everything was white and clean. Cold. So cold. Susa bit down on her lip and looked at the polished floor. Things were upside down.

            It was like her mental polarity had been switched; clean was now cold—prudent was now annoying. Her way of looking at the world was becoming skewed, but why? She had her theories, of course. The time at the EF, the strain of working out the production problems—the Medicine. Susa knew she was abusing it, incessantly ignoring her palm to win tiny shreds of fleeting peace or stability on selfish terms.

            “Well, I suspected this might happen,” he sighed, walking to a nook with uncomfortable looking furniture. “Come and sit, Susa.” She followed him and gave one of the chairs a try; it felt like a stone slab.

            “What do you mean you suspected?” she asked, pulling her long blond hair back into a knot. For a moment she was working again, problem solving.

            “The thought hadn’t occurred to you? You’re too brilliant. Come on.”

            “What thought? Apparently I’m not as brilliant as you assume.”

            Pope’s mouth straightened and opened up to spit out one syllable. “Tate.”

            “What? What does he have to do with this? Look, we both know he’s crazy, we’ve known since we were little ones, but he’s not even working in these facilities.”

            The Administrator’s face was all red now, flushed with self-regard. “Ah, to be an L9 again, no civilization to run, no hard truths to tackle…”

            “I’m sorry, what are you tackling again? I still don’t see what that Alder has to do with my run shortages.”

            “It’s an infection. His mere presence in the city, down and amongst them—it has a deleterious effect on the psyche of the Regulars.”

            She fidgeted in her chair, like trying to find comfort in a pile of bricks. “I don’t think you’re right, Clement. The people hate him.” Susa’s tone was increasingly scathing; she could not restrain her temperament. Pope’s explanation was going to make the second thing she had to say all the more difficult. Her resolve weakened. Dissembling was not in her nature but suddenly there was an almost overwhelming need to nibble around the edges of the situation.

            Pope seemed to be acting inversely to Susa. With gusto he said, “They hate him Susa, but trust me, I’m the Administrator. They hate because they are told to hate, reminded to hate him and each other and everybody they’ve ever known… but they can’t see or look at the why behind the hate—not really—therefore it only goes so far.” He sat back in the chair opposite Susa, apparently very comfortable. “They carry with them that inbred, ingrained animosity, as you say. But then they see him, watch him, smiling and enjoying himself down amongst them. Making friends for Space sake.” Clement stopped to accept a cup of tea from one of his polished kitchen mechs, then went on. “Seeing someone so accomplished, so perfectly isolated, once so close to the job I now have…”

            “I think I know what you’re getting at,” Susa said, looking defeated.

            “Of course you do,” Pope retorted, eager to get past the subject. “Even though they don’t know it, ever so slightly the Regulars are questioning the System that was engineered to keep them and society functioning and safe.” He took a sip of tea, looking over the cup at his future partner. He was having a hard time feeling her out. Clement Pope was an excellent reader of the people but terrible at reading persons. “It will pass,” he said, now with a calmer tone. “And if not there are things that can be done. The fool might simply need to be eliminated.” He took a few more sips of tea and looked over at his Spacemate to be. She did not look the impervious paragon of grace and beauty; on the contrary, Susa was sinking into herself.

            “Is there something else bothering you?” he asked. “Besides the run shortages, I mean?”

            “Yes,” she snapped, sitting up and erect with her answer. “I don’t want to do this. I’m uncomfortable… I really don’t like saying it but I don’t like being here with you. I’m—uncomfortable.” She started crying faintly, showing weakness never before witnessed by another soul.

            “When did this start?” Clement asked, genuinely concerned for himself and obfuscating a brewing anger. He leaned forward and watched a woman he had admired for twenty-five years waffling like a little child. He wrapped his words in forced sensitivity. “We’re told right from the beginning that having a Spacemate is the most difficult thing in life. It runs counter to everything we’ve ever been told, but listen… it’s necessary for the Continuation. That should be your primary concern.” He stopped, handing her a tissue handed to him by a machine. “We’ve talked about this. The rest will work itself out.”

            She took the tissue, careful not to touch Pope. “You don’t understand, Clement. I don’t want you… in that way. It was always Alder. I know that now. I can’t escape it. There’s no manual for this, I don’t know what you want me to say.” At this point her gesticulations were becoming increasingly dramatic.

            “And you wait until now?” Clement said, showing his formidable teeth.

            She stood up. “I didn’t tell you to announce our union to the world. You made that decision unilaterally. I kept my feelings for him at bay, but now, especially now, with you talking of eliminating him. You can’t!”

            He stood up. “I’m the Administrator!”

            “Yes you are. Yes you are.” Susa’s voice and body were equally tremulous as she gathered her things to leave. As she did so, Pope watched with scorn.

            “So what are you going to do? Go down to the Doms and find your precious Regular? My God, it’d be the most disgusting scandal in the history of the Five Cities.”

            She stopped and looked up at Pope. There was no more powder white—his face was all red. “I don’t know about Alder. He probably wants nothing to do with me.”

            “Yes,” scoffed the Administrator. “A rancid, disgraced Regular parrying the advances of the most beautiful and accomplished Spacer in City Five. I doubt it—this whole thing is disgusting!”

            “Why do you think he left?” She asked the question straight, cutting suddenly the histrionics.

            “He screwed up, lost it, I don’t know. I never understood him, not since we were little ones. He was always a bit…”

            “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Or was taught to think. Or whatever.” She was growing bolder. “Before you ever made advances, Alder Tate did everything in his power to make me believe in him. I wanted to. We were making plans for a future together, but when he started talking about taking himself out of the race for Administrator—”

            “You sent him packing. And left me to clean up. Yes, I get it now. Well thanks but no thanks.”

            “No thanks to you.” Susa turned and made for the dome’s exit. As she did Pope watched, surrounded by a small army of mechs waiting to comfort him in his time of need. Susa could feel his eyes on her back, and suddenly the full gravity of the situation became clear. By denying Pope and professing her heart’s amenability toward Alder, she had further endangered the fallen Spacer’s life. Susa cursed herself for her stupidity and lack of foresight. There was only one thing to be done: she had to find Alder and warn him.

Chapter 15: The Old Man and the Three

            When Addie came back to retrieve them, she looked annoyed.

            “Everything alright?” Tate asked.

            “Yep. He’s ready, let’s go.” Sensing more questions, she held up a restrictive hand. “Everything will be explained in a minute, so don’t ask.” Addie led them out of the anteroom and into a massive underground courtyard, half grotto, half tenement. Around the perimeter of the natural high-vaulted chamber there were spaces cut out, little apartments reinforced with timber, concrete and jutting rebar. Some living spaces were adorned with fabrics not seen in the Five Cities. Drapes, shades of all colors—it was a sight to behold. Alder, Lerner and Travers were stunned at the makeshift ingenuity, swiveling their heads so often they forgot to mind their footing. On the left was an elongated food preparation area, complete with an ingenious meat smoker punched into the cave wall. Adjacent the kitchen was a well springing clean, fresh water. The water was syphoned off to various points of the cave through a system of mini canals. It was all a sharp contrast to the murk of the anteroom; everywhere they looked lanterns burned. The mineral laden walls seemed to dance with the light, sending it back about the chamber in efflorescing tones.

            “This way,” Addie said, turning toward an opening to their right. It led to another tunnel that opened into a smaller yet still marvelous cavern. In the center of the room sat five men and two women, positioned around a small pit which hosted a dying fire. They looked steadfast and imperious; Alder could sense that these were people of substance—hard people made harder by hard decisions.

            All except one. The man farthest from them in the circle, directly facing Alder and the rest, seemed otherworldly, unaffected, even numinous. His hair was white and puffy with dark streaks, like a storm cloud. Over his eyes were brows of an irregular size and thickness, highlighting every move of his face. “Welcome, Alder Tate,” he said. The sound echoed through the cave ceremoniously but no one sitting around the pit moved a muscle. Addie and the group stopped at the power of his voice, and then for a moment a strange silence sat atop the scene. Alder and his friends assumed the speaker was the Old Man, but he was not the slumped, tenuously built figure they expected. In fact, the stormy haired man appeared to be younger than all but one that sat before them.

            “Yeah, nice of you to invite us,” Travers said. “Oh and great to meet you too. We really should do this again. I’m Webb by the way, and this is Lerner. You know, the guys tied up and left in the dark while you lot were apparently sitting in circles. Good stuff.”       

            “Are you the Old Man?” asked Alder, trying to balance his friend’s sarcasm with a tinge of seriousness.

            “I am. Well, that’s what they call me, anyway.” Tate tried to get a sense of the strange character but he was different, separated. Different than the ones he sat with, different from Webb, Lerner, even Addie.

            “You’re not very old—for a, well, you know,” Lerner mumbled. The words were stunted but his observation was apt and worthy of query.

            “No I’m not that old,” he responded. “You see age doesn’t really have anything to do with my title.” For once, Alder and Webb shared in Lerner’s bemusement. Standing side by side, they wore identical faces. Addie shook her head and moved toward the circle and the square-headed individual to the Old Man’s right. Just get this over with, she thought.

            “Come a little closer, into the light,” he said, still cordial. The six others remained fixed on the center of the circle, as if dying embers held the secrets to all life. Alder and his friends inched forward, stopping about five feet from the group. “That’s better.” He smiled warmly.

            So many signals from so many directions—they were at sea, in a cave.

            “I can see you’re confused. My name derives from the fact that I was once like you, and now I’m not.”

            “You lived in one of the Five Cities?” Alder asked, exchanging a cursory look with Webb. “How is that possible? I mean, you can’t just leave for good. A day or two maybe, but the System would eventually find you.”

            “And if it’s feeling lazy it would use your chip against you. Vaporized,” added Webb. “You know, like we’re going to be… any minute now.”

            “That’s true. But if you have no chip then you can’t be tracked, not by Sky Eyes, not the System, nothing. You’re free.”

            “No no no,” Lerner brayed. A childhood at an EF and a lifetime of programming and rote memorization told him that the Old Man was full of it. “Even the little ones know, you can’t try to remove the chip. Any tampering causes immediate—”

            “Vaporization,” Travers said.

            While Webb finished the point the Old Man was removing his cloak. He was giving them their answer.

            “Wow,” Travers gasped, looking away. “The hits keep on coming.” Webb was mortified at the condition of the man’s body. He had no right arm, almost no right side. A large piece of his upper shoulder was missing and he appeared to have a maimed foot as well.

            “Yes, I’m sorry for my appearance. It couldn’t be helped.” He let them gather their wits. “I’m what you might call a happy accident.”

            “Accident, yes. Happy, tougher sell,” Webb cringed, still unable to muster a solid look.

            “A long time ago, when I was trying to escape, I got hit by a Sky Eye blast. It took—well a good chunk of me, including the chip that used to reside here.” He used his good arm to point to the lacuna in his anatomy. “The System assumed I was gone—I would’ve been, if not for some decent people. People like the ones sitting before you. They patched me up as best they could and here I am.”

            “Why did you try to escape?” Alder asked. I mean, these people seem to hold you in high regard, so I’m assuming their veneration is not directed at a fool. You had to know you’d be killed.”

            “Salient point,” he answered, looking over at the square head, exchanging some furtive, shared understanding. “The truth is dark, but you deserve it. I knew about the underground system between the Five Cities—overnight explorations and day trips over the wall provided me with that. I thought I could get underground and away.”

            “But even so…”

            “Yes, after an unknown period of time I would be turned to dust.” The Old Man sat back down, visibly in pain from his mangled foot. “Or not,” he said, shrugging his remaining shoulder.

            “Or not?” Webb asked, glad to see the cloak going back on.

            “Or not, Travers Webb, L2. Since childhood we’re told these things, but I’d never seen anybody try to get away. Maybe I was just rolling the dice, calling their bluff.”

            “You weren’t gambling,” Tate said, moving closer. “You wanted to die.”

            He looked down and continued. “I told you the truth was dark. I figured if I was going to perish it would be better to do it in freedom, not a prisoner caged in a city.”

            “Man, you must have had a shit job,” Webb said glibly. The Old Man laughed silently. His wild eyebrows danced on his head. Alder watched the strange cripple, realizing none of this story had anything to do with him—unless it did.

            “No, I don’t think he had a bad job. I think he was a Spacer, just like me.”

            “Why would you say that?” This time the question came from Addie, suddenly engaged. Alder took her reaction as a sign that he was on the right footing.

            “Adelyne, I’ll be happy to answer that. But first, what’s with these folks here? I mean, I’m standing in a cave with one not-so-old Old Man and a conclave of cataleptics. Do they speak? Move?”

            “They move if you they’re interested. You haven’t been interesting.”

            “Okay. Well let’s table that.” Alder started walking around—he always thought better moving. Peering over the inert bodies that were his audience, he forged on. “Webb, I don’t think he was running from some mindless job or low level existence.”

            “Why not?”

            “Cause I’ve never heard of it before. People always want to move up.”

            “Hopers,” Lerner said.

            “Or they want to stay the same.”

            “Breathers,” Lerner said.

            “There’s only one soul I can think of that’s ever been disillusioned enough to want out—to escape the paradigm of our existence.”

            “You mean you?” asked Webb. “I mean you screwed up your life, but I didn’t think there was that much to it.”

            “Yeah you did,” Tate smiled.

            “Yeah, maybe so.”

            “So I went down, finding a hint of happiness, shirking the isolation, finding you guys.”

            “We call them friends, Alder. But that’ll wear off,” the Old Man interjected. It was the first thing he had said with any force.

            “Yeah I thought you might say something along those lines,” Tate cracked, enjoying himself in now, the way only he could.

            “I’m sorry Alder, could you explain a little easier for me please?” Merchant begged. He tried to cover his eyes with his long hair; they were tearing up in frustration.

            “Sure thing. These folks nabbed us because the Old Man here thinks I’m him—or on the way to being him.”

            “What?” Lerner pleaded.

            “They have a plan, and they need our help.”

            Finally, the other six members of the circle moved, simultaneously looking up at Alder.

            Apparently the last bit was interesting.

Chapter 16: One Sadist to Another

            Mr. Stepp was breathing hard—it was more like gasping. He had to contact the Administrator, had to tell him that he and his little network of spies had lost Alder Tate. Clement Pope had commissioned Stepp to keep a weather eye on Tate, no questions asked. The job paid well, and the mech patrols stayed away from his business. It was a good deal.

            Until last night.

            Generally the girl was very reliable, but her news had brought the perfidious miser to an even darker state of mind. “Come here,” he barked, pointing at her. She was back, ready for new orders, ready to do anything to get her fix of the stuff. They would be alone a little while longer—work shifts had recently ended in City Five but Stepp didn’t open until after sunset. “Now girl.” He needed his fix too, had to have it before the dreaded call to Pope. Mr. Stepp had no idea why Alder Tate was so important, but he was. The Administrator didn’t have time to dabble in trivialities; clearly there was something of weight in the offing. His failure would not be looked on lightly.

            She walked over with little steps, whining. “Do we have to?”

            “You want credits?”

            “Yes.”

            “You want your stuff?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then shut up and stand there. You know the drill.” The frail junkie of fifteen stood before him, then placed her right thumb at attention over her left palm. She was shivering, but Stepp paid no attention. He just focused on her palm and readied himself. Before another plea could be made he did it: an open-handed slap to her face. She buckled, but managed to deactivate the signal that would vaporize Mr. Stepp. The hits continued, some with closed fists. With every blow she pressed, shaking more with every strike.

            “Are you withering on me, girl?” He was sweating and sneering, watching her spare, spent frame on the brink of collapse. “Don’t you wither on me!” The sick old man was in the midst of his high, entangled in the release. He fired another series of blows then abruptly stopped, pulling himself away out of sheer exhaustion. He would feel a modicum of remorse later, but that would be pushed aside. The addiction had been with him a long time—attempts at stopping had only served to make the habit a more pertinacious presence in his life. Nothing he sold could best the feeling of physically assaulting someone—another human accepting his punishment.

            The girl was whimpering, hands covering unholy marks. She would have to wear a scarf over it for weeks, like the man she followed used to do. Stepp told her to be quiet and threw a bag of her favorite at her feet. “Come back tonight, if the Administrator hasn’t killed me by then.” The urchin pulled her frayed jacket collar up and went for the door, thinking less of present pains and more of coming euphoria.

            Mr. Stepp watched her scurry out and pulled out a portable wrist Worldview from his pocket. It was much like Susa Burke’s, given to him by the Administrator with an explicit order not to use it for anything but communiqués between the two parties. To ensure it was not abused, Pope had rigged the device with only one button. Turning it on sent an automatic signal to the Administrator. As he pressed the button Stepp made a silent plea to the heavens, hoping to find the leader in good spirits.

            It was not to be.

            Pope’s face appeared on the screen within seconds, answering with a cantankerous “What?”

            “Hello, Sir. Um, hope all is w—”

            “What?” Pope repeated. Things were not looking up. The man in charge of the Five Cities seemed askew; his bulging eyes were particularly bulgy. His thin lips sneered through the screen.

            “I’ll get right to it then, Sir.” The peddler’s voice trembled though he tried to fight it. “My people seem to have lost Tate.”

            The Administrator ran sanitized hands through greasy hair. “You had one job. I expect you to be incompetent, but you’re supposed to be the most able incompetent in the underworld… that’s what you told me.”

            “And that’s what you were told, if I may, Sir. I know you asked around, checked me out.” The old codger could not believe his own brass, but he was not accustomed to being a subordinate.

            “You shut your disgusting mouth, you Regular scum. Another outburst like that and I’ll have some mechs come around and end your pathetic existence right now.”

            “Yes Sir.” In an instant Stepp reassumed his place. His high had completely worn off.

            “Do you know where he is now?”

            “No. One of my people was following him last night, but…”

            “What?”

            “It doesn’t make sense. She was attacked from behind, made unconscious. I saw the marks, but, I don’t understand.”

            “Of course you don’t, you ignorant louse. They took him.”

            Stepp was still confused. “Who are they?

            The Administrator had almost forgotten—Regulars had no knowledge of the Ones Between. They were not allowed to access to personal Worldviews and thus had nothing but System sanctioned news. “No matter. I’m assuming he’ll turn up soon. I want to know when he does. Hire more people. Get every low grade piece of Breather filth you have on it. Don’t lose him again. If you do, I think you can guess after the consequences.”

            “How do you know he’ll be around? I mean, if he was taken?” Stepp was doing his best but ignorance precluded him. “And can’t you just track his chip?”

            “No. Unlike you I can do more than one thing at once, and I checked the System the minute you called. He’s somewhere outside of it.”

            Outside of it. Something else for Stepp to wonder about. “Okay Sir, I will do exactly as you say. But I need to understand something.”

            “And what is that?”

            “You’re saying that Tate is outside the System, but you’re also saying that soon he’ll be back. At that point won’t you be able to track him yourself? What do you need me for?”

            Pope weighed the wisdom of disclosure. Stepp was starting to think—that could be dangerous. “You never asked that before, did you?”

            “No. I guess I was just following orders.”

            “You were following the credits I paid you. Of course I can track him once he’s here; your entire purpose was to prevent what happened from happening. Don’t let it happen again.”

            “So that’s it. Follow him, don’t let him get outside the System, whatever that means…”

            “Precisely.”

            “Then what Sir—I mean, where does this go?”

            Pope showed his teeth, literally and figuratively. “I’m going to find out what he’s been up to and what he knows. Then I’m going to kill him.”

Chapter 17: Should You Choose to Accept It…

            Tate was sitting now, on a rock next to the Old Man. The only people left in the cave were Addie, Walsh, Alder, and the maimed leader. Apparently he had done enough to impress the others; after some sort of parting ritual called a “handshake,” they had left the four to discuss matters further. Webb and Merchant were gone as well—invited on an extended tour of the cavern network. Tate was reluctant to see them go but thirsty for answers. Five minutes into their extended conversation, he could not have been asked to recount the number of why’s that had escaped his lips.

            “So who were they, those sphinxes at the fire?” he questioned. Walsh rose to prod the embers back to life; as he did so Alder’s eyes followed him; the man was huge, imposing in both stature and musculature.

            “They have no former titles, Alder,” the Old Man responded. “It’s a sort of ad hoc council, unelected but trusted to advise the Ones Between on certain matters that effect us all. Sometimes their—our advice is heeded, sometimes not.”

            Tate was listening intently to the Old Man but now his gaze was fixed on Addie. She was staring off into the darkness, eating an apple, apparently completely bored with the situation. Her wild beauty was undeniable, made more so by the elusive firelight. After a passing moment she realized he was staring.

            “Hey partner, you want to maybe stop making eyes at me?” The out of place man from City Five was jolted by the comment but thought fast.

            “I’m sorry Addie—I… actually I don’t mean to be rude but in all honesty I was lusting more after that apple than anything else.”

            He was lying.

            “True enough,” said the Old Man. “My apologies. We’ve been remiss in our duties as hosts. Adelyne, would you be kind enough to procure a few things for our guest here. We don’t want to send him and his friends back on an empty stomach.”

            “Sure thing, OG.” She hopped up and left the scene.

            “Does she always follow orders that quickly?” Alder asked.

            “Never, actually,” Walsh said. They were the first words Alder had heard from the square-shaped man. He smiled coyly. “Pretty sure you embarrassed her there, city boy.”

            “I doubt that very much. She doesn’t seem to care one iota for anything I say”

            “She hasn’t shown to, anyway. You’re right about that part. But right then I think she was showing something.”

            “Well, I didn’t mean to offend. To speak with all veracity, I’ve never had much acumen in communicating with the opposite sex. It’s part of why I find myself in this predica—situation.”

            The Old Man decided to reenter the exchange, laughing. “Mr. Tate, you are unique, but I’m afraid you fall into the same category as the rest of us when it comes to that area.”

            “Why did she call you OG just then?”

            “Many between the cities do. The name the System gave me was Garrick. The first letter is for Old.”

            “Isn’t it a bit irreverent?” Tate queried.

            “We don’t mind a certain degree of irreverence, do we Walsh?”

            “Nope. As long as it don’t hurt nothing, it don’t hurt nothing.”

            “Well put. Now… let’s get back down to brass,” Old Garrick continued. “I realize this is a lot to throw at you, but there is no getting around it.”

            Tate was troubled and did nothing to hide it. “What you’re asking is audacious—audacious isn’t the right word—more like crazy, more like suicide. I mean how the heck do I figure into the downfall of the Five Cities?”

            Walsh was adamant to move things along. “Come on, city boy. You know the System better than anyone alive. You engineered most of the updates. If you can refine the thing, we figure you can destroy it. Take out the Core, and the whole System collapses.”

            “No more chip control,” the Old Man said plainly.

            “No more control, period.” Walsh threw a rock into the fire.

            Silence took over the discussion for a moment. Alder looked over his new acquaintances, not wanting to mince words. There it was again, that question. “Why?”

            “Why what?”

            “Why do any of it, assuming it can be done? I know you think I’m some damned revolutionary, but I didn’t do what I did out of some latent desire to be a freedom fighter. We can talk all day long about the System and its flaws but at the end of the day it saved humanity. Without it we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

            Walsh was riled and rose to start pacing around the fire. Clearly Tate had struck the wrong chord. Through the dissonance, the Old Man stayed calm.

            “There is much you don’t know, Alder. We have information that the people of the Five Cities lack.” He took a moment, adjusting on his rock. Clearly the man was in pain—the myriad wounds he carried had to trouble him constantly. “After the bombs and the disease and the famine threatened to eradicate humanity from the globe, there were very few left. This was the only arable, habitable land left on any of the planet’s continents.”

            “Yeah. I know all this,” Alder said.

            “Do you know when?”

            “Do you?”

            “We have a pretty good idea. Roughly three hundred years ago.”

            “Good a guess as any, I suppose.”

            “It is not a guess.” The Old Man turned around with his only arm and grabbed an object, setting it down at Alder’s feet.

            “What’s that?”

            “It’s called a book, city boy,” Walsh interjected, sitting down on the other side of Tate. “The Ones Between have thousands, hundreds of thousands.”

            “What exactly is a book?” Alder asked. “I mean it’s great that you have so many, but you have might hundreds of thousands of rocks as well. What’s the value—I guess is my question?”

            “Books are like information files you used to receive on your Worldview. Or like the tales you were told in your Educational Facility. Only they are in permanent, written form, thoughts and histories and ideas bound together by paper, written by people from the time before. Books are why we talk different, act different, continue to defy the kind of “life” that the Five Cities offer. At some point that remaining few went in two directions. One segment decided to erase every hard drive that had any reminder of the past but kept the processors. The other chose a different path. No empty hard drives. No hard drives at all. There was a bifurcation of the remainder, and what turned into a disagreement erupted into a war.”

            “A war?”

            “Startling isn’t it? Survive all that horror only to start more.”

            Alder was interested, nothing new. Everything interested Alder. “I’m sorry to say this, but what you’re telling me sounds like further vindication of the System. With the System there can be no war. It makes it impossible. Inhumanity is recognized and accounted for.”

            “Three hundred years ago I might have agreed with you, Mr. Tate. I’m telling you all the truth I know, and with the truth comes much to think about. Think about this: Inhumanity cannot be solved in a non-human way. The Five Cities model has proven it. A System of mindless electronic control can no better solve the problems of human nature than an animal can. A person living with animals, obeying nothing but basic animal laws of survival can only be made into an animal.”

            “Keep going.” He was trying to keep up with the Old Man.

            “That same axiom holds true with the System. If you live ruled by mindless wires and networks and machines, you are bound to become nothing but another mindless component, as lifeless as a mech, but with less power. When you walk around City Five, do you feel surrounded by human beings? Do you even know what that means? And when you were L9, thinking about taking over the whole damn show, did you feel human?”

            “I don’t know,” Alder whined. He was becoming overwhelmed; it was a lot to swallow, even for a man with his IQ. “I blew my credits because I felt lacking, something missing, I guess. I tell Webb I just wanted someone around, besides myself.”

            “You were missing yourself. A self. Humanness, it’s what makes you stand out amongst the rest of the Five Cities—it’s why we’ve fought and died to get you here.”

            “Fought and died?”

            “They’re have been casualties,” Walsh whispered solemnly. “To divert attention away from City Five we’ve systematically conducted raids on the other cities. The plan worked. They were not prepared for us to find you. Unfortunately, some had to pay the price. Some in my charge.” Thoughts of blood and sand beckoned the big man’s conscience.

            Tate felt a drowning of the soul. He had been charged with a sin impervious to expiation. “I need to get out of here,” he panted.

            “Indeed.” You only have five hours to get back inside the System. You and your friends must go.”

            “How do you know—so precisely, I mean?”

            “I don’t,” he answered. But in five hours you will have been gone as long as I ever was when I journeyed outside the System’s bounds. You and your friends could have longer, but do you want to chance it?”

            On the heels of the question Alder adamantly projected his answer. “Not for a second. Mr. Walsh, can you retrieve my friends?”

            “I think I can manage that.” Walsh got up to leave through one of the cave’s many exits. As he did so Addie was reentering, holding a tray full of food.

            “Looks like I took a little too long,” she said.

            “No, that’s alright, Adelyne,” said the Old Man. “Let Alder and his friends eat on the way. And I want you to guide them back. Take as many people as you need. You know the timetable.”

            “Sure thing, OG.”

            Alder could already hear Walsh returning with his companions. Lerner’s strained voice and Webb’s sarcastic jibes grew louder coming down one of the portals. He looked down at Old Garrick and held up his hands. “So that’s it? I just go back? I haven’t agreed to anything. I’m ambivalent at best. It’s a lot to spring on a person.”

            “I know it is.” The Old Man crookedly rose to his feet and extended his remaining hand. It was that thing again. “We will give you time to make your decision. Your path is not for us to dictate, you must come to it on your own volition.”

            “But I have so many more questions,” he answered, awkwardly extending his own hand.

            “Of course. Addie will fill you in, and for the rest, you will have friends inside City Five.”

            “Friends?” That word gets bandied around, I guess.

            “There are many groups inside the Five Cities—free people, like us. They are there to gather information, disrupt, and protect the future. We call them the Ones Inside. Their leader will find you. Now go.”

            Before he could even get a solid look at Webb and Merchant they were being whisked away. Addie gave him the tray of food and grabbed him by the arm. As they made a hurried way through one of the corridors, Tate looked down at her. “Couldn’t you’ve just had this Ones Inside guy knock on my door and explain all this stuff to me?”

            “I guess we could’ve,” she answered. “But I guess OG figures seeing is more dramatic than hearing.”

            “How are we getting back?” Alder asked.

            “Same way we got here. In a truck.”

            “What’s a truck?”

            “You need to read more books, Tate.”

            “I’ve never read a book at all.”

            “Point me. And I know what you were really staring at back there.” She still had his arm but her grip tightened a bit a she was talking. Alder felt it but didn’t mind.

            “Well, I didn’t want to give you too much credit.”

            “No games Tate. I don’t like games.”

            “Well I…”

            “No more talking partner. If you like me, you like me, or whatever. Don’t prevaricate. We’re a little more direct in between.”

            “I’m beginning to understand that,” he said humbly.

            “Understand it,” she said curtly. “Or I’ll snap you in two. You may fancy yourself a lover but from what I’ve seen you’re certainly not a fighter.”

            “Point you,” Alder said, forging ahead.

Chapter 18: Couth or Not

“Did you hear?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Well I assumed, but…”

“Oh, assume away.”

“What’s the story?”

“You heard him.”

“Who?”

“You again. Will there ever be a time when you’re not late?”

“Maybe not. I guess I’m the late guy.”

“Might as well be named the late guy.”

“So I’m the late guy. Who were we talking about?”

“The Administrator.”

“Yeah that was crazy.”

“I wonder what the Regulars were thinking when they saw it?”

“Probably not much. They can’t think, after all.”

“That’s true. But to withdraw from his arrangement with Susa…”

“So publicly.”

“I’ll say. You don’t get any more public than that. Every Worldview going.”

“She must feel awful.”

“How would you feel—spurned in front of the whole Five Cities?”

“Sounds like she deserved it.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Still, I don’t know.”

“You better watch it.”

“What?”

“You can’t question the Administrator. He knows what he’s doing.”

“They say that. But it’s not one of the Rules.”

“It’s implied.”

“It’s implied.”

“Message received. I was just saying, she sounded like a perfect match…”

“It’s not like you knew her.”

“Nobody really knows anybody. That would be disgusting.”

“Disgusting. To really know a person? I recoil at the thought.”

“Well she was good enough for him a few weeks ago.”

“That’s all I was trying to say. And what reason did he give?”

“For what?”

“You know, backing out of the deal and all that.”

“He cited her recent lack of dedication to the System.”

“And her production plant’s diminishing returns.”

“Diminishing returns. Yeah that’s not attractive at all. Can’t blame him.”

“Clement Pope could have anybody he wants. He wants the best.”

“I guess. Is anyone here in a comm group with Susa?”

“I wish. I’m L9, but not her kind. Besides I hear she’s not in one.”

“How would you know that?

“Word gets around. Rumors and the like.”

“Yeah people have been trying to find out more about her ever since…”

“Ever since she was announced to Clement.”

“Now I want to know even more.”

“Now that really isn’t very couth at all, is it?”

“I know. But it’s all so interesting.”

“This is why being unknown is so wonderful.”

“True. Can you imagine all the attention she feels?”

“Well, that’s what Space is for. She has plenty after all.”

“You know what I heard?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Tell me…”

“I heard that Pope, Susa and Alder Tate all came from the same class.”

“How could you know that? Knowledge like that is forbidden.”

“I’m just saying I heard it. Don’t quote me or anything.”

“Who would we quote you to?”

“You know—the Administrator.”

“He hardly gets on here anymore. He has higher level groups now.”

“Just don’t get mouthy.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s back up. You’re not saying Alder Tate has anything to do with it?”

“I’m not saying anything. Just awful interesting is all. What are the odds?”

“Astronomical.”

“Incalculable.”

“Unreasonable.”

“Wait, what part is—all those things you just said?”

“Three L9s in the same class. I don’t think it’s ever happened.”

“How would you know? How would anyone know?”

“It’s forbidden.”

“What’s forbidden? To know, or to have three L9s in a class?”

“The knowing. That’s what’s forbidden.”

“Forbidden.”

“It is. Which begs the question: how did you hear about it?”

“Rumors.”

“Rumors. Disgusting. People talking about other people.”

“I agree. That kind of conversation is unacceptable. It’s really not couth.”

“Couth or not—there’s a bit of weird business going on.”

“I’ll agree there. First the Administrator’s break off with Susa…”

“And this plan of his. A System Culling?”

“I’ve heard of them. Just haven’t been alive to see one. Crazy.”

“He’s decisive, and he knows what he’s doing.”

“Well he thought he knew Susa Burke. Now he doesn’t. So…”

“That’s quite enough from you. Why are you always stirring things?”

“Stirring things. Really it’s not couth.”

“The Regulars aren’t going to like this Culling business.”

“It’s not like they have a choice.”

“None whatsoever. It’s their own fault. You heard the Administrator.”

“Production is down.”

“Simple as that.”

“We can’t have a drop in production. It’s unheard of.”

“Hence the Culling.”

Chapter 19: No Greater Love…

            It was the second day back at work for Lerner Merchant, L1. He and his mates had returned from an ordeal, disoriented to say the least. Just keep your mind on your shovel, Webb told him the night before. It seemed a simple request, but with everything going on, nothing was that simple.

            Merchant did not have a complicated job. Everyday the same thing: sent out along with thousands of other Regulars to work the terraced hills on the eastern slope of City Five. The hills were rich with a black, sooty substance called coal, important for some reason or another. Lerner inquired after what the substance was a time or two, but not understanding, he gave up. He did what he did and it paid what it paid. Lerner was by all accounts an able and adept shovel man; though small and wiry his hands were calloused and strong, able to take the abuse offered up day after day. Most times he could get lost in the rhythm of the toil for hours, grinding metal into earth, dumping whatever came out into retrieval mechs stationed around him and the other workers. Not today.

            Today his hands were trembling and his work was slow. Keep your mind on your shovel. He forgot himself and looked up, scanning the faces of the ragged people he worked with. They appeared as he felt; nervous and agitated, distracted at a time when distraction was absolutely out of the question. Damn the Culling.

            The news had been delivered on the community Worldview the night before. Sky Eyes and mechs were being deployed at every major work site in the Five Cities. Apparently there was some sort of breakdown in something the Administrator called the AOL (Average Output Level) of the Regulars of the Five Cities. There were too many people not carrying their weight, playing the System, earning more credits than they deserved, using more resources than the Five Cities could support. Alder tried to explain the terms unsustainable population and relative productivity values after Clement Pope had used them as reasons for the Culling, but it didn’t make anymore sense to Lerner then or now.

            Then it happened. An older woman of about fifty lost her grip on her shovel and fell ten feet down the slope. Scarred and burning from the minerals seeping into her wounds, she sat there, moaning in pain and bemoaning the insane pressure that she and those around her were facing. Lerner heard the cries of the woman, about forty yards to his right. He yelled at her to get up and get back to work, but it was too late. The mechs had identified her as underproductive and read her chip: biometrics, muscle tone, nutrition, longevity projections, dopamine, blood sugar, etc. Apparently whatever metric needed passing was not met; A Sky Eye exploded her off of the hill in the midst of her wailing. She was the first to be culled that day, but those around her knew she would not be the last. Merchant tried not to look, but the circle of burning flesh and coal where the woman once sat was paralyzing to the eyes. Mind your shovel, Lerner.

            Lerner redoubled his efforts to focus, framing his body to dig into a carved out embankment. Dig. Load. Dig. Load. He fought to find the old rhythm, but fighting was not the way to find it. His fellow workers were undergoing the same psychological torment; the metrics for being worthy were so vague, and apparently the Culling could last for up to one work week according to the Laws. This much was explained by the Administrator, but not much else. He simply mandated that the Regulars be worthy. As the day rolled on, worthy felt like a distant planet or a fairy tale.

            By midday ten Regulars had been culled on Lerner’s terrace alone. The sun was hotter still; it seemed to penetrate the lungs, stunting his breathing. The spate of vileness affected all the Regulars differently, but they were all affected. A true sea change—the System, their bosom, their saving grace, was now a monster picking them off one by one in what seemed an arbitrary game. Every so often a mech would creep up behind you, all bulky cumbersome metal, turning you inside out with its sensors and scanners. A citizen of the Five Cities learned to live with the machines, but that was co-existence.

            This felt more like slavery. Some had that very thought, though the word slave did not exist in the System lexicon.

            It was not a thought to be having—the mechs and the Sky Eyes could read your brain waves, your thought patterns. They could see which areas of the mind were firing off; the synapses signaling rebellion and agitation were ones that needed suppressing if one was to survive the Culling.

            This being the case, the Breathers were at a great advantage on the hillside and everywhere else in the Five Cities. The term Breathers was not an official label, nor Hopers, but every Regular was one or the other. Breathers were more or less resigned to the status quo, moving along through their life at a pace that allowed survival and not much else. Hopers, conversely, had more in their step so to speak—drive to rise above their Level. This meant extra work for extra credits, and more importantly, it meant an extra desire for Space and a certain degree of self-determination. If anyone had the brains to figure it out, they would realize that the Culling served to exacerbate the very problem Pope claimed it would solve.

            The weak and submissive were more likely to survive.

            The stronger, higher producing Regulars ran a high risk of being culled.

            Lerner Merchant L1 was a life-long Breather, but his recent friendship with Alder Tate and the recent jaunt into the world of the Ones Between had changed things, namely his heart and his mind.

            Merchant and a cohort of shovel hands had been working the same terrace for hours now, and it was time to move up to the next section of the hill, a freshly pummeled area where the pickings would be loose and ready for extraction. A narrow, make-shift walkway was provided for their ascent, but the footing was shoddy when it wasn’t treacherous. He and his co-workers clung to a coarse rope as they climbed single file. Boots with missing or worn down heels were all most people could afford—not exactly ideal accouterments for mountaineering.

            Lerner could hear the man behind him grumbling, going on about the Culling, the job, the endless toil. He made a quick turn and gave a stern look, hoping it would quiet him.

            It didn’t. The grumbler was a weathered little man, with a coat and sweater just a bit dirtier and more frayed than everybody else. The grumbling continued, and as the little old man concentrated his mind on life he forgot about his own, stepping off the path to rub arthritic toes with arthritic fingers. Merchant looked back as everyone else continued up the path and onto the next terrace.

            “Come on, you!” Lerner yelled out, holding up the line. “There’s a mech at the top of the hill. You got a death wish?”

            “Stay out of it,” he said, now lying against the hill on his back. Merchant looked up and saw a Sky Eye circling overhead, probably scanning the old-timer and readying itself for another culling. The men and women at his back pleaded with Lerner to keep moving. They had good reason: the path was too narrow to walk around him and they didn’t want to be blown up for loafing on the job.

            “All right!” Lerner screamed, fed up with their shrill whimpering. He stepped to his left and off the path, sliding on uneasy ground toward the disgruntled shovel hand.

            “Get out of here kid,” he said, feeling Lerner’s approach. “Stay out of it.”

            “Enough with the ‘stay out of it,’ alright? Enough. You sound like a little one. Get your boots back on and let’s get up this hill before we get fragged. You pick this day to literally lie down on the job?”

            “Fifty-eight years is long enough.”

            “So you just give up because you’re fifty-eight?”

            “No kid,” he answered, sitting up slightly, resting on his elbows. “I’m sixty-six, so I’ve been on this hill or one just like it for fifty-eight years.” The man’s tone was no longer caustic, and on another day Lerner might have been interested in his biography, but this was no time for the folksy reminiscing of a geriatric. Merchant looked up and saw the Sky Eye. Its orbit was becoming shallower by the second, directly above their location on the hill. If I could just grab this geezer, Lerner thought.

            “Mister, I know it’s been a long day, but let’s just get through a few more hours. I really think you want to listen to me on this one. Just a few more hours, and we’ll be back at the Doms—I’ll bring the bottle. We can complain all night long, get drunk, and try again tomorrow. This thing won’t go on forever, right?”

            The man was staring up at the sky, smiling all the while Lerner plead his case. “Kid, I’ve seen you around before. Just another Breather, like me. What’s with all this give a shit you got going on? What happened to minding your damn Space?”

            “Well I’d like to tell you, but—”

            “Never the mind. For a minute there it felt like I cared, but the feeling passed. Just let me enjoy the sky. It’s the one good thing about coming out here, dying a little more every day. At least the sky’s got some blue.” The old man was flat on his back again, head resting on cracked, interlaced hands.        

            “Nothing to live for?” Lerner asked, looking at the sky for different reasons. He wiped the hair from his eyes, and saw a Mech making mechanical gestures from above.

            “Was there ever? To live is why you live. Then you die. I’m tired now, dying sounds reasonable. Maybe I was waiting for this Culling all along.”

            Lerner knew he had to get moving—sad as he was, there was no time to lose. He ran for the path and grabbed the line, negotiating the rocks and the wood beams, trying not to look back.

            “Good luck ki—” Then an explosion. Merchant bit down hard on his lip. The next terrace was twenty yards ahead. Just up a few more craggy steps and back to work. Mind on my shovel. Mind on my shovel. Why did I have to go down there with that crazy old fool? Why don’t I just listen to Webb and Alder? Mind on my shovel. Mind on my shovel.

            Lerner clenched his left hand. It still held the tool of his trade. A few more steps to go. He was almost there. Just a day, just a normal day. Why did they kill that poor old fool?

            It was the last thought of Lerner Merchant, L1. He died thinking of another, something rare in the Five Cities. He had made a sacrifice, a conscious decision to dissuade a fellow human being from self-immolation. That decision was read by the nearby mech and the Sky Eye. They could read that give a shit firing off in his brain, and giving a shit was the greatest of all sins in the Five Cities, more worth culling than anything else.

            Lerner’s exit was both noteworthy and singular. Noteworthy, as stated, for the fact that at the moment of death his thoughts were of another. Singular, because Lerner Merchant was the first person to ostensibly die for someone else in the history of the Five Cities.

Chapter 20: Talking and Peeing

            Alder Tate closed the door of his hovel behind him and took a deep breath. His long overcoat was covered with grease—his gray scarf was almost black from sweat. The first day of the Culling had come and gone; he had worked himself almost to the point of passing out to insure his survival. The usually arduous labor of the mech plant where he labored was now intolerably hard—the psychology of it was beyond him, watching the very machines they were assembling snuff out lives not worthy of their fabrication.

            Irony.

            At least I’m home, he thought, throwing his coat onto the concrete floor and undressing the top half of his body. Tate’s “bed” was nothing but a slab and a dirty blanket, but it looked a welcome site now. Since his descent into the world of the Regulars, it was the first time he was glad to be alone. Alder plopped down and curled his big body into a fetal position, too tired to think about tomorrow, another trial by fire. He was thankful for the exhaustion; on any other night he would have been kept up by the sounds of apoplectic neighbors railing against the Culling. His big eyes weighed heavy but the chance at sleep would not be afforded.

            There was someone pounding on his door.

            Tate did not move a muscle at first, praying he had simply dreamed the sound. Then again, more pounding. Has to be Lerner and Webb. Fine.

            Still wearing his boots and pants, he rubbed his eyes clear and rose to open the door.

            “Guys, I know you’ve got to be as tired as me—”

            As the heavy door skidded ajar, he looked up and jumped in shock.

            “Let me in, would you?” It was her. Susa Burke, L9. “Alder, close your mouth, let me in, and put a shirt on for Space sake.”

            He still couldn’t speak—couldn’t move.

            “Fine,” she said, walking into the hovel and yanking the door closed. “You just stand there like an idiot and I’ll do the talking. Jump in at any time.” She looked around his home: one room, nothing but dirty concrete, no table, no chairs, just a wretched cell. “Goodness, I can’t believe you live like this.” She stopped her assessment and walked up to him, inches from his face. They stood, silently staring, a powder keg of emotion and months of longing occupying the sliver of air between them. Finally he reeled back, not knowing what to do or how to feel.

            “Susa. How are you here? Why are you here?” he asked, sitting gingerly on the side of his bed. He looked around the hovel, much the way she did, suddenly embarrassed. “A Spacer can’t just walk down into the Five Cities. It’s against the Laws. How did you not vaporize the entire neighborhood getting here? Susa, did you vaporize the entire neighborhood getting here?”

            “Are you vaporized, Alder Tate? Use your brain man.” Her words were curt but there was a little life at the end of each one. I knew she cared.

            “So you’re telling me you deactivated your Space and just came down into the Doms to see me?” As he asked she removed a hooded cloak, her idea of a good Regular disguise. Underneath was her usual skin-tight pants and shirt, white and immaculate as always. Alder coughed and obscured his face to hide an admiring gaze.

            “Don’t get excited, Tate.” He was not sure what she was referring to—her body or her presence. “And yes, I deactivated. But you know it works, I’m still in the System, still being tracked. But I figured I could survive one night in the City.”

            “Still, it’s dangerous. Deactivating means anyone can touch you. If anyone saw who you were…”

            “They didn’t. Alder—they didn’t.” Her voice was more soothing now, sensing his concern for her.

            He looked up at the moldy, stained ceiling of the hovel, trying to understand. “Okay, so that’s the how. What about the why?”

            It was a rare moment for Susa. She wished for time, frivolity, a feeling out process. But Alder deserved the why—the Spacer went straight for the heart of it. “I think you’re in danger. And I’m afraid I’m a big part of it.” She tried not to blink, to show her own fears. That would only make things worse.

            Tate was still gazing at the ceiling. He started to laugh, first quietly, then with more fervor and frequency. It was both resounding and galling to Susa, who stood rigidly awaiting a reply. Has he lost his mind out here?

            Still laughing, Alder stood up, walking a short distance to the corner of the room. Without hesitation or ceremony, he unbuttoned his trousers and began to urinate in the rusty old toilet in the corner. He has lost his mind.

            Finally, the laughter stopped. “I’m in danger,” he said. “Well that’s pretty obvious. Every Regular in the Five Cities is in danger.”

            She had her head turned as he continued to relieve himself. “I know that part of it Alder, but there’s more. Clement specifically wants you dead. You’ve set something off in him, it would seem… are you ever going to finish? How long does that take for Space sake?”

            “As long as it takes.” He was forced to talk loud over the sound of liquid piercing liquid. “And yeah Susa, I know you’re a big part of it. We could have had something together, friends, well, you don’t know that word but—you know, and all the rest. We’ve been through all this.” He finally finished, buttoning up and returning to his bed.

            “Couldn’t you have done that later?” she asked.

            “It may not be my Space anymore Susa, but it’s my hovel. I’ll do what I want when I want.” Tate’s tone was scathing, something Susa had never heard before.

            “You know what Alder, stand up and look at me. You’re going to listen to what I say because there are things you need to know. After that, if your only desire is to go around like a buffoon well—no one can stop you.”

            Alder stood and put his hands in pockets. “Well?”

            “I’m not talking about the Culling. That may or may not be about something else—I’m not sure, and to tell you the truth, that might be my fault as well.”

            “What are you saying?” Alder could see she was fragile, not her normal assured self. He tried not to enjoy it.

            “I told Clement that I couldn’t be with him, not around him, not in his Space, no Continuation, nothing. I told him that I wanted you… that I always had—I was just too dense to understand it at the time.” Her head was down, hiding flushed cheeks. It was no small thing she just said.

            Alder was taken aback. Again he struggled for the thing to say. “So, you—eh, told him all that? To his face? I imagine he was none too pleased to be forsaken for a guy that doesn’t have a proper bathroom.” The comment forced a smile from Susa. Levity was rare from her, and it made it all the more precious when it came.

            “Yes, you could say he wasn’t happy.”

            “So I imagine he made some threats toward me?” Tate asked, beginning to pace and think about the bigger picture. “And that’s why you’re here. To warn me that the Administrator of the Five Cities wants me dead. No big deal.”

            “In a nutshell,” she said, looking down at her feet. Talk about bearing glad tidings.

            Alder continued moving, rubbing at his dirty brown hair. “What did you mean about the Culling?”

            Susa stalled at the inquiry, taking the place on the bed once occupied by Tate. She watched him pacing, shirtless, dirty, nevertheless realizing it was indeed the man she knew. She could see the wheels turning in his brain and had no desire to throw another wrench in the works.

            “Susa?”

            “I… might have presented him the information that precipitated this whole Culling thing.”

            He stopped pacing. “What?”

            “You don’t understand, I was just doing my job.” She stepped back defensively. “I noticed production levels down all over the Five Cities, especially City Five—I realized it was the workers. They weren’t performing within the margins. It was just an observation… or so I thought.”

            “So you thought.”

            “So somehow he thinks this whole productivity problem is related to your presence, your demeanor, I don’t know—you.”

            “This is crazy. All of this is crazy. Pope and I never saw eye to eye but I never knew him to be so irascible. Has he taken leave of his senses? Have you? What were you thinking?” She started to cry into her hands, turning her face from Alder and his inquisition. He did nothing to quell her pain. “Do you hear that? Listen. Stop thinking about yourself and listen. Stick an ear out that tiny excuse for a window and tell me how it strikes you.” Alder was outside himself—he ached for her to absorb the sounds of the destitute, the frightened. It was all around them. Those that still had hovelmates were bickering, trying to make sense of the senseless. Those who had lost hovelmates were talking to walls, trying to adjust to the supposed greatest of all gifts, loneliness.

            While Susa continued to sob, Alder paced some more. How could she do this to me? Whenever there is misery in my life, whenever there is pain, Susa Burke, L9 is always the source. Damn her. Damn her… Damn me. The last thought hit Tate like a slap in the face. He put his hands on his head, standing in the center of the hovel. “This is my fault.”

            She could hardly hear him through her own cries and the sad symphonies of the Regulars. She wanted so badly to go back to her estate, her Elysium, far from desolation and despair. Still, something told her it was right to be there. “What—what did you say?”

            He sat on the bed beside her, careful not to touch. With her chip off, any contact would do nothing to him but it would vaporize her. She did not flinch. She just looked at him with puffy red eyes. “What did you say?”

            “I’m sorry. That’s what I’m saying. I didn’t mean to be contemptuous.”

            “I’m contemptible.”

            “No. You showed bravery and selflessness coming here. I know how hard it is go against these things that have been ingrained in you at every stage of your life.”

            “You do?”

            “Of course. I had to fight to see the truth.”

            “What truth?”

            “We can talk about that later. For now, please stop crying. This isn’t your fault—it’s mine.”

            “Would do you mean?” she asked, wiping at her tears.

            “If I had just done what you asked, taken the position after the previous Administrator’s death, none of this would be happening. No Culling, no enmity with you, perhaps even some sort of compact with the Ones Between.” Maybe I said a little too much there.

            It proved not to matter. There was another knock on the door. Alder looked at Susa, wondering if she had been followed. “Tate, it’s Webb. Let me in for Space sake man!”

Chapter 21: The Wires

            “She’s definitely in there, Sir,” Mr. Stepp said. He was standing below a tall, gaunt tree, talking into his wrist Worldview. His urchin girl was positioned between brittle branches above, looking into the tiny window of Alder Tate’s hovel. Stepp did not like being exposed in the courtyard, but he had his orders.

            “I know she’s in there, you fool,” said the toothy Administrator. “I’m tracking her right now. You are there to tell me what they are doing.”

            “Couldn’t you just use Sky Eyes—”

            “What are they doing?!”

            “What are they doing?” Stepp whispered, looking up at the girl.

            “What?”

            “What are they doing?”

            “I can’t see much, but it looks like they’re talking, maybe crying,” she reported.

            “Talking and crying, Sir.”

            “Crying,” Pope scoffed. “So weak, these people. Is that all?”

            “I’ll check. It’s a bit hard for her to see. Between the dust and the pollutants the vision gets pretty hard out here.” Stepp called back up at his frail little minion. “Anything else? Give me something.”           

            She wiped some dirt from her eyes. The wind was blowing through the courtyard and spiraling all kinds of particles into the air. “Well… he doesn’t have a shirt on. He looks pretty good.”

            “No shirt Sir,” Pope repeated.

            “What?” Are they… ?”

            “Hey. Are they… ?”

            She put a hand up over her brow. “No. I don’t think so. Unless crying is a part of their routine.”

            “Doesn’t look like it, Sir. Just talking and carrying on. I wish we could get closer, but it’s three floors up. Even the girl can’t climb the face of a Dom. Trust me, I gave her enough stuff for courage. If she could, she would.”

            Pope was tetchy for multiple reasons. Of course he loathed the idea of Susa and Tate in a room together, but he wanted more information. Stepp and his little helper were proving to be quite useless. If only he could hear what they were saying. He began to turn off the connection, but the crook stopped him.

            “Sir, hold on. She’s saying something. Are you picking up any more signals from his hovel?” The Administrator stalled his disconnection and drew a frustrated breath. He sat back up in his chair and turned on another Worldview. He was sitting in the Command Center, located twenty feet below the flooring of the dome. Worldviews reaching ten feet high were set up in a circle all around him. The room was huge, servers running half the length of Pope’s “home.” From here he had the ability to surveil the whole of the Five Cities and much of what was in between. The Command Center was old, at least twenty Administrators old. The previous leader of the Five Cities had lived above the Command Center, like the one before him. Each new ascendant tore down what was above and replaced it with the dwelling of their choice, but the underground room was a mainstay. Pope’s predecessor had chosen a tasteful villa that favored aesthetics over function. It had shrubs.

            Clement had no fondness for shrubs. Cumbersome mechs ripped them up while others tore down the pretty villa. The price of dome living.

            No one knew why the Command Center was placed in that particular location. He wished it was somewhere else. Being born and raised in City Five, the churlish leader thought it ridiculous that he was without options when he made it to the throne. The price of Administrative living.

            He knew, like all others before him, the Command Center was not something one could simply move.

            It was the wires.

            Millions of wires ran underground and up into the servers housed in the room. The engineering was ridiculous; antiquated schematics of convoluted configurations and circuit routes detailed the whole set up. Wires from all the cities. Wires from Sky Eyes hangar base. Wires from Mech Central. It all fed to that room. It was not the nexus of the System, but it was where you needed to be if you wanted to use it. Pope peeked his greasy head through a few Worldviews and looked down the endless rows of whirring machines. The light and heat they put off was intense. He hated them. They were a distraction from his passionate voyeurism, his meddling. In truth, the Administrator hated the Command Center, its noise, its activity. It was all very unsettling. Had he the engineering acumen, he would have upgraded and moved the entire thing long ago. Unfortunately, Clement Pope, L10 lacked the know-how. Only Alder Tate could take on a task that grand in scope.

            He was remembering.

            A few months before the previous Administrator passed on, Tate and Pope were invited to tour his home and the CC. At the time, Alder was way ahead on credits and all but certain to succeed. But being strange, as he always was, he invited Clement to come along after getting Spatial Consent from the tired old leader. Why do you want me there? Pope remembered asking. Come on, it might be neat, Alder said.

            Strange as he always was.

            So they went. He remembered a little more. The way Alder poured over the old digital schematics, the way he talked softly to the waning Administrator, asking him all sorts of perverse questions about the life of the man in charge of everything. He remembered them whispering, smiling, talking like it was okay to be cordial. He remembered expecting the Administrator to be imperious and hard and being completely disappointed. Most of all he remembered the jealousy. The emotion jerked his mind away from the wanderings.

            Back to reality, but still in that room. And still jealous.

            Setting himself back on task, he loaded a fresh screen. What was Stepp saying? Something about more signals. “Why? Is the girl seeing someone else in there?” With a keypad Pope scrolled down to the closest Mech in the area, commanding another scan of the Dom.

            Mr. Stepp looked up at his urchin. “How many you say?”

            “She saying one. I just did a scan. There’s only one more body in there. It’s that Webb character, the one he’s always going around with.” Travers Webb’s picture and bio were enhanced on one of the Worldviews, along with all of his biometric data. Elevated heart rate, blood pressure. Pope smiled at the readings, knowing what precipitated them.

            “Who else are you picking up, Sir?”

            “What do you mean, who else? No one else. The machines don’t lie.”

            Stepp squinted his eyes to make sure he was seeing it right. Four fingers. “I don’t know what to tell you, but the girl says four more bodies just went into that place.”

            The Administrator had a feeling for who it was, but there was nothing else he could do. He lacked the ability to hear into that room. Ridiculous. “We’re done for now, Stepp.”

Chapter 22: Meet the Parents?

            “That insidious bastard! That rodent-faced, malevolent sociopath! Culling?! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!”

            “Webb, calm down. Tell me what’s going on. We’ll figure it out.” Alder was confused and scared. Scared by his friend’s obvious pain, confused by the presence of Addie and the two unknowns in his hovel. He stood frozen in the middle of the room while Travers continued with his ranting. Susa sat curled up on the slab, trying her best not to be frightened by all the people.

            “It’s Merchant,” Addie said, putting her hands on Webb’s shoulders to still him from his pacing. “He’s dead. Culled. On the eastern slope, earlier today.”

            “Just blew the idiot right of the mountain. What did we tell him? Mind your work, keep your head down. We should have known. He couldn’t last out there.” He paused, exasperated. “It’s my fault.”

            “What does that look like? What were you going to do, walk off your job and hold his hand up there? You city boys can’t walk where you like, and you certainly can’t hold anyone’s hand. Don’t put this on yourself, Webb. It’s the System. The Administrator. Come here.” Addie turned the stricken little man around and hugged him. It felt strange to Travers but it seemed to calm him down for a moment. “Mom, dad. Take him for a second will you?”

            Addie’s two companions seemed to be called mom and dad, but Alder had no idea why they were standing there. Why is she here?

            Tate was still nailed to his spot, now turning a ghostly white from the news. The last few months had taught him how to care for somebody, but he had no experience with true loss. The losing made it feel more like love. Addie could see the solemn rigidity of his body, stepping up to face him while mom and dad continued to console Travers by the door.

            “You with me, partner?”

            “I—I don’t…”

            “It’s okay. It’s called shock. Look at your left hand. I bet it’s recommending calming agents.” It was one of the sick little ironies of being a Regular. Everyone in the Five Cities had chips that provided corrective medical recommendations, but no Regular could afford to have them. A sea of people with up-to-date medical diagnoses and no means for remedies. Torture’s a word for it.

            Currently, Alder was experiencing a new kind of torture. And there was no chemical inhibitor or enhancer that could viably correct the malady of grief. Without a word he grabbed Addie and hugged her, emulating what he saw her do to Webb. He wasn’t thinking; it was simple mimicry, hoping to hold back the tide of feeling that was overcoming him. She was taken aback by the gesture but went with it; Addie didn’t grow up in the Five Cities and was well aware that she had no understanding of what these men were going through. Right now they were more like children. “Hey partner,” she said. Her words were hardly discernable—Tate had her face pressed tight to his bare chest. “I want you to meet my folks.”

            Alder was looking at her “folks.” His head was resting on top of Addie’s, pointed straight at them. They looked a decent sort; the woman especially—she was beautiful in a dignified way, whispering something to Webb that seemed to be steadying him from the storm. The man was aging, a shock of gray hair on his head, but there was a force about him—strong in the legs and the shoulders, as tall as Alder, with thin, knowing green eyes. They were focused straight at Alder.

            After a final squeeze, he let Addie go, leaving her to engage with Susa, still huddled in the corner. “Hello Mom, hello Dad. My name is Alder Tate.” His voice was shaky as he walked toward them. “I’ll grab your hands and shake them if you would like. I know that’s a thing. You are… like Adelyne, I assume?”

            “More than you can imagine, Mr. Tate,” the woman said, taking his hand and smiling. Her other arm was still wrapped around Travers, consoling him. “My name is Cora Fredericks, and this man here is Tabor Fredericks.” Alder performed the ritual with him as well. Compared to the gentle embrace of the woman, it felt like rocks clamping down on his hand.

            “I thought your names were Mom and Dad? I’m almost certain I heard Adelyne say that.”

            “No, we are her mom and dad,” answered Tabor. He spoke with an abruptness that Alder hadn’t heard before. It sounded like he was leaving and had one more word to get in before walking out the door.

            At this point there was a lot going on in the room, if one could measure emotion per square footage. Addie was making her way to conversing with Susa in the corner, Webb was calming down under the direction of a mom, whatever that was, and Alder felt like he was being sized up by a dad, named Tabor Fredericks. But it was his home, his hovel. He felt the sudden urge to take control of the room and release control of himself. “Come here, Webb. Let’s have a drink and a smoke. Like we would if Lerner was here.”

            “You never smoke,” Webb said, trying to stunt his weeping.

            “No, but Lerner left a half-pack over here the other day, and I’ll smoke one for him. And you know I’ve got the booze.”

            “I do know that.” They stepped over to the side of the room with the toilet and Tate picked up a dusty bottle sitting next to the wall. They took pulls back and forth, thinking about their simple, good friend. Alder smiled through teary eyes at Webb and looked over at Susa and Addie, then at Cora and Tabor Fredericks.

            “Why did you bring them here? I mean, it’s okay, but who are they?”

            “I’m not sure. I got home from work and Lerner wasn’t there. I let enough time go by to get worried, so I went out looking. The lists of the culled don’t get displayed on the Worldview for a couple of hours so I figured I’d ask around, check if anybody had seen him.

            “Makes sense.”

            “Then they show up. The girl grabs me up and tells me he’s dead, tells me these are her parents, not to mention the leaders of the Ones Inside.”

            “Oh. The Old Man said something about the Ones Inside. But I’m still tracking this whole thing.” Alder coughed to clear his throat for a loud exhortation. “Questions!”

            The whole room stopped. Three separate conversations came to a close and everyone in the hovel focused on Alder. “Okay, someone explain to me how you knew—know about Lerner, how do you even know he’s dead? Secondly, why did you come here to tell us, and finally, what in the name of Space are parents?” It was at this point that Tate realized that in trying to sound estimable, a man worthy of the truth, he was still only half clad. His pride shrunk as he asked Cora and Tabor Fredericks if they could take a few steps to the left so he could put his dirty shirt back on.

            “Addie’s our child. What you call Continuation, we call sex. We keep what happens. Value it. You people throw it away to the scrap heap.”

            “Laconic. But I still don’t understand. You are the people that made Addie by Continuation?”

            “Not Continuation. Love. It’s called a family. Get on board. Your ways are not the right ways. The right ways are family, home, people you can depend on. Now that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

            “Yeah, I can see how that could’ve been exhausting, except for the fact that you just shifted my entire world’s paradigm in six seconds. You used at least fifteen words in your summation. Are you always this loquacious, Mr. Fredericks? I was told by the Old Man that I would find friends in the Ones Inside, but I have to say that you are about as unfriendly as any regular old guy I’ve ever met. And I do emphasize Regular.”

            Before Mr. Fredericks could respond, Cora grabbed her husband’s hand. “Alder, we are your friends, and we may be the only ones you have in this world. That’s why we came.”

            “How did you know about Lerner?”

            “We have resources. People that know how to hack into the outer layers of the System. Nothing too secret. The info that gets passed around electronically through the Five Cities. The list of those culled today was intercepted.”

            “How many in all?”

            “At least 100,000 Regulars.”

            “Oh no.” The gasp came from Alder’s left. Susa was head in hands, reeling for so many different reasons.

            “Webb, meet Susa Burke, L9.”

            “Uh, hello. Heard a hell of a lot about you.”

            “Hi.”

            “And this Addie.”

            “Yes. We’ve been getting acquainted, thank you.”

            “And this is Cora and Tabor Fredericks, the people that copulated Addie into existence and strive to keep some sort of attachment with her, the nature of which still alludes me to some extent.”

            “Excuse me, I don’t know how you did it back in Spacer Land, I don’t know how you do it spy village, but acquaintance time is over. I’m suddenly feeling very alone here, and I get it. I’m the only real Regular in this room. I’ll be next. Tomorrow you’ll be talking about me, or whatever’s left of me. My friend... I lived with that idiot for ten years. He never did anything wrong. Never. What are we going to do about this? Tell me there’s a plan here.”

            Alder looked down at the cracks of his concrete floor in shame. He had no plan. Nothing to assuage Webb’s sorrow, or his own. “I’m just as upset as you. We figure out a way to take down Pope. Take down the System. This can’t continue. I’d like to tell you I have some ingenious scheme, but the only things coming to me are suicidal, at best. Anyone want to help? Maybe it’s time we just trust in what the Old Man said.”

            “No.” It was the ever garrulous Mr. Fredericks. “I mean, of course we must stop the Culling… but must not, cannot trust the Old Man.”

            “What? Why not?”

            “Because he’s you, Alder Tate.”

Chapter 23: Cancer for Cancer

            Walsh woke startled. Though in great need of sleep, he was a soldier, able to gain his bearings immediately. Time. Late evening. Place. Crystal Cave, the one nearest City Five. Now what the devil is going on out there?

            Some of the residences had fixed him up a place for his current stay, a nice little cutout dwelling in chamber seven. This was common practice; Walsh was a highly respected member of the Ones Between. He never asked a thing from the people he fought for and protected, didn’t want anything. Except sleep. He had nodded off early, that was for sure, but he was weary from a twenty-hour day, pining for a protracted respite. He tossed and turned for a few moments, hoping the clatter would die off.

            “Come on,” he grumbled, grabbing the linen “door” to his cutout and tying it off. He looked around, trying to spot the noise. Like most cave chambers, the living spaces were mainly on the perimeter, embedded into the walls, with a common area in the middle. Chamber seven was no different.

            He could hear it better now. It was the sound of children at play, fooling about over some game with a ball. He walked down the slope toward the kids, throwing a roughly hewn garment around his shoulders for warmth. “You lads mind letting an old man sleep?”

            The boys stopped. There were three of them. The oldest spoke up first. “Sorry, Mr. Walsh. We had no idea you were here tonight.”

            “Well, don’t be sorry. Even I have a hard time keeping up with where I am sometimes.” Walsh rubbed the kid on the head, disheveling his hair with a disarming playfulness. His reputation preceded him and could tell the boys were nervous, but that was not his desire. “Let’s make a deal. I know it’s still pretty early, but I’m going to take a little walk around, say twenty minutes. After that, you guys mind wrapping it up so I can get some sleep?”

            “Yes sir,” they answered, almost in unison. He smiled. “You’re good boys,” he said, strolling away. “And kid. It’s just Walsh, no mister required.”

            “Sure thing,” answered the oldest, resuming the ball game without another thought. Walsh stuck to his word and commenced with an evening perambulation. Maybe I should check in with OG. He hadn’t seen the sagacious leader all day—and it was never a bad idea to catch up. The big man stepped carefully down the rest of the slope, ducking his square head into a long, narrow, manmade corridor connecting two chambers. He used his torch for light, passing stalactites and weeping walls as he went. After another chamber and a few more corridors, he had to admit that he was a bit lost. Glad I brought this, he thought, pulling out a rectangular device from his back pocket. Walsh pressed a button on the side of the gadget and in moments he had a full layout of the cave and his location in it. He kissed the screen, knowing without it he could be wandering around the subterranean labyrinth in perpetuity. “Amazing,” he said, following the map to where he figured the Old Man would be. Walsh was an able hand when it came to leading men, but he had no acumen for the marvels of technology. He was told the device worked using sound waves. That it was actually a primitive remnant of the time before. The Five Cities weren’t aware of the old tech; if they had been, the Ones Between would have been extirpated from their underground hideaways long ago.

            Following the map through a series of passageways and turns, he finally found himself in the corridor leading to the chamber of the Conclave, the same place they had taken Alder Tate. He turned off his torch as he saw light ahead, but stopped short when he heard what sounded like a heated argument between two men. Walsh slumped down in the darkness of the corridor to get a sense of what he was walking into.

            “And what of the Culling? There could be a million dead before it’s over, and Tate could be one of them.” The voice was recognizable. It was a member of the Conclave, though he couldn’t tell which one. They all looked and sounded the same.

            “I have faith in Mr. Tate.” It was Old Garrick, speaking in his typically measured voice. Immediately Walsh felt guilt for snooping. He started to walk into the light of the chamber but halted when the Old Man resumed, this time in pitched tones. “And as for the dead, let them die. Don’t you see what’s happening? This is a war, and the fewer there are of them, the less we’ll have to kill or subdue.”

            “But it’s genocide, unjustified murder. You’re condoning this?”

            “It’s not a matter of what I condone. It’s a matter of history, a matter of realism. We have the books, we know what happens. One group triumphs, another falls. This is the way of things. If people have to die so we can live in freedom, so be it.”

            “You can’t mean that. You almost sound like you want it.”

            “I do. And your naivety is starting to sound like appeasement. How many of us have died from their machines? How many brothers and sisters are entombed in this subterranean shithole? Now is the time. The perfect idiot is in charge of the Five Cities. And we have the perfect inside man. Smart, capable, most important, emotional. His heart will bleed and he will become the perfect tool for our victory.”

            “What does it look like, this victory? Say we are successful, the System falls. What takes its place?”

            “Enough! This is why we are down here, free, but only free to hide. You ask what takes the System’s place? That’s like asking what takes the place of cancer. It’s an evil, a malignancy, something that has to be destroyed. What comes after is secondary to the disease.”

            “Garrick, your point is valid in a world of philosophy, but this is real. Real people. What we are doing is going to affect the millions living and the billions yet to live.”

            Walsh was no craven, but he felt a cold tinge of fear running up his spine. He wanted to recede farther away from the chamber. I don’t want to hear anymore. He tried summoning the will to move but was paralyzed as the debate continued.

            “How’s this for real? When the System goes down, I predict that many will want to join us, many will want to fight us, and many will die because they simply won’t be able to handle the social integration or the need to fend for themselves.”

            “We’ll have to help them, guide them in acclimating to a way of living they’ve never been taught. It’s that simple.”

            “It may be. For the children, especially, I think there is real hope. The adults may be too indoctrinated. They may be useful as workers that do our bidding.”

            “Slaves, you mean.”

            “Yes I do. That’s what they are. They may have the same DNA, but this is a different species. You don’t know. I was there. I lived in it for years.”

            “This sounds like trading cancer for cancer—nothing more. You know what I think?

            “I can’t imagine.”

            “This whole thing, all of it, it’s all about you. Your vendetta against the System for choosing the other guy. I sat there like all the others when you told your little story to Alder Tate. You failed to mention that part, didn’t you? A little white lie of omission, perhaps?”

            What the hell are they talking about? He was still rooted to his spot.

            “He didn’t need to know. It’s superfluous to the cause. He’s an over-thinker, that one. No sense in cluttering his mind with things he doesn’t need.”

            “I don’t know. Ever since he fell from Space, you’ve been a different animal. We’ve always resisted, done what we could, but most of the Ones Between have lived and died, simple, free people. No overlords. No one watching them. If we were to win this madness, we will need government. Laws of our own. Enforcement.”

            “Not the simple dictates we live by now?”

            “No way. Too many people, and like you say, the majority will be completely at sea in their freedom. With laws and government, there comes hierarchy. Corruption. The people at the top will be nothing more to the masses than replacement mechs and Sky Eyes.”

            “Not if the right people are on top.”

            “Like you said. We have the histories. It never ends well. I’m sorry, but this entire operation needs to be put on hold. Tomorrow I will recommend that we take a step back.”

            For a few moments there was only silence. Walsh felt his body tensing up with every passing second. What do I do now? He could hear the sound of footsteps approaching the corridor, and suddenly he was staring right at Calder, a man venerated by the Ones Between for his equanimity and kindness. I’ve never heard him talk so much, that’s why I couldn’t recognize him. It was clear that Calder could not see him; he was still hidden in darkness. Walsh could think of nothing else but to start walking into the chamber as if he had just arrived.

            “Stop.” It was the Old Man. Walsh knelt back down and watched as Calder turned around to answer. As he did so, Garrick came into view. With all the strength his broken body allowed, the Old Man struck Calder in the skull with a rock. Walsh slinked farther back into the shadows, covering his mouth. He watched as the two men went down together, one from a deadly blow, the other from a lack of balance. Calder was leaking blood out onto the cave floor as his crippled attacker pawed again for the rock. Spitting something unintelligible, Garrick reigned blows down until there was little left resembling a head. Bone was dust. Brain was paint. The only remnant was the little quartz necklace that Calder wore around his cloak. He was never seen without it on. Now it was on the on the ground, lying as inert and motionless as the human tissue around it. He watched as the Old Man picked up the necklace and put it into his sleeve pocket. Evidence. Then, somehow, the cripple started dragging the corpse in the opposite direction, looking about, clearly on a mission to cover up his misdeeds. It was amazing to watch the will of the half-man at work.

            Walsh was equal parts dumbstruck, dismayed, and scared. His first inclination was to beat the OG into submission, pick him up, and have him chained to a wall to rot. Who would I tell? He stopped himself, backing quietly away from the ghastly scene. He once again thought about rolling the dice, taking the leader into custody. Who will believe me? If he’s willing to kill Calder, he’s willing to blame it on me. Still retreating, watching his mentor turn monster, the thought reoccurred. Who will believe me? Silently and shamefully, slinking farther into the shadows, he didn’t know if he believed it himself.

Chapter 24: Susa’s Face and Clement’s Brain

            “For Space sake, answer me. Answer me.” It was her third to time reach out to him on her wrist Worldview. She walked over the rubble and the cracked concrete, pulling her cloak tighter and tighter against the scathing wind and fleck-filled air. Again she pushed the button on her device, pleading for an answer.

            “What!?” The screen lit up, an unlikely beacon in an unlikely place. “In the name of Space, what makes you think—Susa, for all that’s… look at the state of you. What happened to your face?” Pope had dozed off in the control room, the result of sheer boredom.

            “I’ve done something so stupid. So stupid. Just kill me now, along with the rest of them. I deserve to be culled. Kill me now!”

            “You’re being hysterical. I’ve never seen you in such a way. This isn’t you, Susa.”

            “I haven’t been me for quite some time now.”

            “I’d have to say I agree,” he yawned. “But tell me where you are? I can’t locate you on my—wait, I’ve got your Worldview tracked.”

            “My chip is off.”

            Pope was more than aware, but feigned ignorance. “Why is your chip—”

            “Oh I’m so stupid. And I’m in so much pain. I should just let myself die out here, but I couldn’t help calling you. Tell me to die and I will. Tell me what to do. Please Clement.” The vestigial emotional efficacy buried deep within the Administrator was stirred. Her tears, her blood, her tragic voice. Her need. It was all very exciting.

            “You’re not going to die. Just come to the dome. I’ll have my med mechs take care of you and we can talk about it. There’s no need for this. It’s why we have a System—stick to the System. You should never have to go about feeling unsafe.”

            Susa was still crying. Every gasp hurt the bruised muscles in her face. “Clement, you don’t want me there. You don’t know what I’ve done. Can’t imagine what I’ve done.”

            For a moment Pope had to mull it over. He knew what she had done. She had humiliated him, first and foremost. She had run off to be with that moron Tate. Susa Burke had crushed his grand design and walked thoughtlessly away from the rubble.

            More tears. “All I can say, all I can beg, is that you take me back.”

            “Just come over Susa. We can talk about that later. First you need to get looked at. Those injuries could be serious.”

            “No. I’ll do anything. We can broadcast it to the Five Cities. I’ll say I was coerced. I have information, Clement. There are things going on here. You need to know.”

            He knew about the Ones Between. He knew about the Ones Inside. To some extent he knew about Alder Tate, enough to know the crazy bastard was knee deep in something. What didn’t make sense was Susa, all bloody and battered, crawling back to the proverbial nest. He’d been watching all night. What did I miss?

            “Just get over here, Susa. You can explain everything. Maybe we can work it out. Tell me one thing. All of your injuries. Who did it? Some Regular, trying to steal?”

            More tears, but calmer now. “It was a Regular. Alder Tate. I got out just in time. I thought he was going to beat me to death.”

            It didn’t make sense. He would’ve heard something from Stepp and his little spy. “Alright. I’m lighting up the dome. You should be able to see it, you’re about three miles away. Can you make it on your own?”

            It was impossible to miss. Pitched above the gloom, it looked like someone turned on a light in a bad version of heaven. “I can make it. It’ll give me time to collect myself. Thank you Clem—”

            Before she could finish he was off the transmission, trying to connect another one. “Stepp, what’s going on down there? Did you see Susa getting beaten? Where are they? Do you not have eyes on Tate?”

            “I don’t… know. I seem to be lying on the concrete.”

            “Thought you’d take a nap I suppose? You moron.”

            “We were doing like you said, watching. The last thing I remember, the girl told me there was some arguing…”

            “And?”

            “It was getting pretty heated. That guy looked like he had it out for your girlfriend, but that’s all I got. Something happened.”

            The Administrator cut him off. Obviously, the Ones Inside had spied his spy. He needed better people. He stood up momentarily, sifting all the information back and forth in his brain. It was operating at full capacity. First thought—an obvious one. He did a quick System search for Tate and his friend Webb. The two screens to his right made abrupt sounds and blinked N/A in large red letters. What? He ran the search again but received the same message. That’s a new one.

            There were two possibilities. Actually, there were about a million, but Pope could only think of two. Either Webb and Tate had managed to get themselves killed while he was napping, or they had somehow found a way to get circumvent the System, hide from it. The latter seemed more likely. Yes. Tate found some way to escape, and Susa wanted to go with him, only they wouldn’t let her, or he wouldn’t. Either way, he had to beat her back. He never liked it here. He’d do anything to get away.

            It made Pope a little sad as he slumped into his chair. Susa was only running to him after being rejected by Tate. He let it niggle at his ego for a few seconds, then made his way to the living level of the dome. He tried to think of the Continuation while aesthetics mechs bathed, shaved, and oiled him up. This is good. Licentiousness overtook him. Her body against his, being her savior, getting his reputation back. This is good, he thought again.

            He should’ve been thinking a little harder. That was Pope’s problem. He was one of those most wretched; a big brain, not quite big enough.

Chapter 25: Post-Fight Analysis

            It was a risk, but Walsh had to tell someone. The shock of it was still overwhelming as he tried to explain. He’d seen many men killed, but betrayal and death in the same moment was a pill too difficult to swallow.

            “Why would he do it? It doesn’t make any sense.” It was Blake doing the asking. He wasn’t the best of Walsh’s soldiers, but he was probably his best man. They’d known each other their whole lives and the leader had never seen or heard him do anything dishonorable. Blake was one who had the heart for a fight, but not the stomach. A man that would get stuck in, throw up from fear, then get back after it. Walsh saw it as brave. “Maybe there was some ongoing thing going on between the two of them.”

            The two men were huddled against the cave wall of Walsh’s cut-out. The coarse linens that formed the exterior of the tent-like structure muffled their voices, but they whispered all the same. It was late. Most if not all of the chamber’s inhabitants rested peacefully while they wrestled with the best course. “Have you ever known Calder to have a thing with anybody? Or Garrick, for that matter? All of a sudden, then whack. Like he enjoyed doing it.”

            “Yeah, you said that. Just kept pounding away. Makes my guts turn—the way you describe it.” Blake was looking down, trailing off as he spoke.

            “You believe me, don’t you?”

            “Well, yeah. Yes.” His eyes rose back to meet his commander’s. “It’s weird though. If I just listen to the story it doesn’t register, then I look at your face. It’s white. You’re like a ghost. Never seen you like this before.” He paused. “Yeah, I believe you, boss.”

            “Don’t call me that.”

            “Come on, what do you mean?”

            “I mean until I know who I’m working for, you don’t either. It’s every man for himself.” Walsh rubbed his bristly hair and tapped the back of his square head against the wall.

            “To the winds with that. We figure out what’s going on. If there’s bad business, it’s your job to stop it. And where you go, I go. Been that way, it’s going to have to stay that way.”

            Walsh smiled at the loyal sentimentality. He put a bulky hand on Blake’s shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

            “And you’re the best. The people trust you, they’ll listen.”

            “No. We say nothing. You don’t tell your wife, any of the guys, nobody. I need your word. It’s an order, actually.”

            “Oh now you’re the boss again. Well, permission to speak freely?”

            “Go ahead, you prick.”

            “Eventually we have to act. I mean, there’s got to be a body. We have to find it.”

            “I don’t know. He’s clever. Clever enough to fool all of us since… ever. I think he can probably hide a corpse. Anything else?”

            “Nope. Except that we have to do something.”

            “Sturdy advice. Not exactly inspired, but you touch it with a needle.”

            “Thanks.”

            “First we have to snoop around. Watch Garrick, see what he’s really up to. Get as much information as we can. We can’t go screaming through the caves with only part of the story. We don’t know what he has, or who he has.”

            “Good point.”

            “And Adelyne needs to know.”

            “Oh, hell.” Blake rolled his honest blue eyes. “I thought you wanted to keep it quiet. Good luck with that one.”

            “No. Addie’s clever. We need her. And her parents. And she’s never loved the Old Man the way the rest of us have.”

            “She doesn’t love anybody. I think she beats puppies.” Walsh looked up at the last comment. For a moment he was lost in Blake’s oval of a face. It was stern and serious. Finally, he cracked a smile. They began to laugh, trying to muffle it as best they could. It was a welcome moment for Walsh. He’d been on a psychological trip the last few hours.

            Gathering himself, he told Blake to go get some sleep. He needed to think. “Meet me here in the morning. We’ll get to work. And rememb—”

            “I hear you. And one thing you can trust. I won’t be telling the wife. We haven’t had an actual conversation for years.” 

Chapter 26: Horseplay

            “I’m here.”

            She’s here. He ran sanitized hands through greasy hair. The habit was too hard to break. But other habits would have to be sidelined. It was time to beat back all the learning, the conventions, the indoctrination of thousands of days and countless creeds. It was time to be amorous, whatever that meant, however much it gnawed. “Come on in. My chip is deactivated.”

            “I don’t think I can take another step. The pain… I’m swooning, I think.” He looked at her image on his Worldview. She appeared to be collapsed on the walk approaching the dome. It was pitiful. He tried pity, in his own pitiful way.

            “Can you just make it a little farther, Susa?” You know I don’t like going out there—I’m compromised after all.” He waited for a beat, but nothing. Just her broken body and the cries, the cries.

            “Please?”

            Pope looked around his sanctuary and the mechanical family that surrounded him. Maybe I can send a mech out to pick her up. No. Too impersonal. Too… me. “Alright,” he said, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m coming. Just hold on. You’re deactivated, right?” He was already on the move, down the elevator to the ground floor.

            “Of course. Just hurry. I’m so tired.”

            He made a clumsy way to the entrance, minding nothing but the picture on his wrist. In seconds he punched a code next to the portal which told the home and everything in it to stand down. He was forgetting himself, maybe for the first time in his life. Through the interior seal and opening the outer door, Pope was met by the cold, crisp air of the world. It felt endless. Hopeless. “Where are you?” he called out.

            “Over here. Just ahead.”

            He stepped cautiously toward the sound, not able to spot her. His eyes were not used to the outside, even with the light of the dome glaring at his back. His approach quickened, so eager to get her back inside where it was safe.

            “Over here.”

            Finally he spotted her around a slight downward curve of the walk. She was trying to sit up, near some vegetation that bordered the clean concrete. “I’m coming.” Only steps away, a thought occurred. Where are my security mechs? The override code did not apply to the outer machines. As he knelt down beside her he spotted one. Big and bulky, it wasn’t moving, but the mere sight of it lent some peace of mind. “Oh Susa. Let’s get you up.” His words fell kindly, natural as he could muster.

            She looked up at him, surprised by the compassion and the measured tone. Watching him attempt to help, Susa felt a tinge of guilt. Guilty for putting him through the trouble. Guilty for what was about to happen.

            Lurking in the bushes, just beyond her, Alder Tate and company were waiting to pounce. As Pope put an arm over his shoulder to help her back to the dome, they crept up behind, seizing every extremity they could. Addie and her procreators lent special attention to his hands, keeping them stretched wide apart as Susa slipped out from underneath. They had him spread-eagle on the concrete, pinned and completely incapacitated. He screamed for his mechs. He screamed in confusion.

            Then he pissed himself. From leader of the Five Cities to ignominious squirrel in a matter of seconds. It was rather sad. Webb, who had firm hold of his legs, was laughing hysterically. The downed rodent looked up at his captors, still screaming. Some of the faces he knew: Tate, Susa and Travers. Addie and her parents he could only wonder at.

            Confident that he couldn’t activate his chip and kill them all, Addie’s father deliberately knelt down by Clement’s right shoulder and pulled a menacing instrument out from his cloak. Without a word, he set the end of the device against Pope’s shoulder.

            “Stop. Mr. Fredericks, put that thing away. We’re going to need him in play.” The device made a hideous noise as Fredericks pulled it off Pope’s body.

            “What the hell is that thing?”

            Addie’s mother responded. “Manumission.”

            “What in Space’s name is that?”

            “It’s a term from the time before. That device sets you free. Soon enough your chip will be fried. No longer a part of the System. No more Space. No more a Spacer.”

            Clement was boiling from the anger but he laughed at the words. Denial and all that. “Ridiculous. You can’t just—this is outrageous. You’re all dead. All of you.” The words were aimed right at Susa, standing above him as he wriggled about.

            “I know you’d like to kill us,” Alder said. He motioned for Webb to retrieve a stick they had brought with them. Together with Addie they picked him up by each arm. Without hesitation, Pope tried desperately to press finger to palm, but he didn’t have the strength. He childishly dreamed of ashes falling to the ground. Addie shoved his left palm up in front of his eyes: RECOMMEND CALM AGENTS.

            Soon Webb was back with the stick. They placed it underneath Pope’s armpits and tied a wrist to each end. His pasty hands dangled safely away from each other.

            “This can’t be. This can’t happen.” The initial stages of shock. It would have overwhelmed any Spacer or Regular not ready for it.

            “Breathe, Clement. You have to breathe.” Tate knew Pope better than anyone and knew what this was doing to him. He would sympathize for as long as he could, but there was work to be done. “Let’s get you on your feet. Webb, let his legs go.”

            They watched as he staggered up, shaking and muttering senselessly as he tried to run back to his blessed dome. Big Mr. Fredericks stood in his way. “No.”

            “Don’t tell me what to do. That’s my house, I’m the leader of the Five Cities!”

            Webb lacked his friend’s patience. The memory of Lerner was still burning a hole in him. “That’s enough, you friggin flake. You’re done. Better start getting used to the idea. Try to run, and I’ll beat you down.” Travers grabbed Pope and spun him around, holding a clenched fist to his face. It was a strange sight in that the former Administrator was a full six inches taller than Webb. It didn’t matter. Pope had never been touched, and there was menace in the smaller man’s eyes.

            “Okay, settle down. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to invite us all in, we can all see what’s what, then me and you have a date with the Command Center.”

            “What are you talking about?” He’d already forgotten that Alder had visited it before.

            “Come on.”

            “What happens when we get there?”

            “We stop the Culling. That’s item one. We’ll go from there.”

            Suddenly dread crept into Pope’s mind. He finally understood. Soon they would use that machine and there would be a big N/A blinking for him. Alder put an arm around his old acquaintance’s shoulders and led the way back to the dome. The rest of the group followed, awed by the massive structure before them.

            “I can’t believe it,” Addie said, walking alongside Susa and Webb. “The old Trojan Horse bit actually worked.

            “What’s a Trojan Horse?” Susa asked.

            “You were… forget it. We have to get you people some books.”

            Just ahead, Clement was gritting away next to Alder. “How did you get past the mechs?”

            “That manumission thing. Apparently it puts out some kind of focused electromagnetic signal that blows anything with a circuit. I guess it’s a reengineer of a tech from the time before.”

            “Clever,” Pope mumbled.

            “I know. Can’t believe I never thought of it.”

            “I hate you, Alder. I mean, not just the way we were taught. I really hate you.”

            “Aw. You’re just saying that.”

Chapter 27: The Shackles of Freedom

            Two, maybe three months away from getting out of the Doms forever. That’s what he had been looking at, planning for, plotting for. Now this. He tried again to reach the Administrator on the wrist Worldview. Nothing. All he had was his wanly little “assistant” and in her he would find no answers.

            “Still nothing on your hand?” She shook no. “Yeah, me neither. Your back still burning?”

            “It was like before. My head. But not my back. From when they hit me, I mean. Remember when I told you about—”

            “Yes, yes. I remember.”

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Stepp. They are quick and quiet. Quieter than me. Quicker too.”

            “Obviously. Go on home.”

            “Can I get som—”

            “Go.” He wanted to hit her, but as she ran off he realized the desire for violence was not quite the same. If he hit her now, there would be no consequences. Nothing to fear. It was clear that his chip was somehow shorted and he hadn’t died. He was curious for an explanation but the effect was obvious. All that time, the graft, the shadiness—it was all for naught.

            Stepp could go anywhere, do anything now. That was the point. He wanted status and Space in the System, not freedom from it. Comfort and hope had always come from knowing he had risen to heights others couldn’t. The looking down was the point, down at the Breathers and the losers he had beaten. Now the robber had been robbed. His stomach was sick. His old pocked face was grim. Where would he go? What would he do? Sitting under the tired tree of the Dom courtyard, watching the dust fly by, only one thought struck him. If he couldn’t have his Space, he would have his revenge.

            Never should have gotten involved with the Administrator he thought, wrenching himself up to walk back to his bunker. He cursed Pope, cursed his little urchin, but most of all, cursed Alder Tate. He was imprisoned by this new freedom they had given him. The only liberty he could embrace was the one dancing in his worn out imagination.

            Lots and lots of murder.

Chapter 28: Bad News Good News

            “So it’s over?”

            “Yeah. Supposedly it’s the shortest Culling in history.”

            “How do you know?”

            “Well, that’s what people are saying.”

            “People.”

            “I know.”

            “It’s sad. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

            “He can think whatever he wants. He’s the Administrator.”

            “But it was only a hundred thousand or so. Not enough.”

            “No. Definitely not enough.”

            “Well every little bit helps.”

            “Such an inspired idea. Did you see some of the deaths?”

            “Oh I know. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.”

            “The looks on their faces.”

            “It was the first time I ever enjoyed the look of a Regular.”

            “Really? Yeah I guess that’s true.”

            “I wonder how it worked. How he decided.”

            “Decided?”

            “Decided who died.”

            “It’s the System.”

            “He’s the Administrator. Not the programmer.”

            “He Administrates.”

            “You think he’ll be on today?”

            “You mean here, or addressing the Five?”

            “Take your pick. I’d like to know what he was thinking.”

            “Maybe you should have a little faith.”

            “Faith?”

            “Sorry. Bad word choice. Just relax.”

            “Yeah. Relax. Some Regulars are dead. The rest are motivated.”

            “All is right with the world.”

            “Could’ve been righter.”

            “Well, we deal with what we’re given.”

            “What about the raids?”

            “Haven’t seen much on the Worldview about that business.”

            “Yeah. Who cares. A Culling, and you care about them?”

            “Speaking of a Culling.”

            “Oh I know. Let’s line them up.”

            “We would if the cowards would come out of hiding.”

            “Can someone message me if they hear from the Administrator?”

            “Where are you going? Always late, now leaving early?”

            “Sorry. I heard prices were down today. Thought I’d buy.”

            “Buy what?”

            “Everything. With the output in production, supply is high. Prices low. Check it.”

            “Oh my, you’re right. I need some things.”

            “Now’s the time.”

            “Same time tomorrow everyone.”

            “Yeah. Looks like you broke up the party.”

            “Go. Buy. If you can’t take advantage of the dead…”

            “You’re right. Signing off.”

            “Me too. Signing off.”

Chapter 29: The One-Armed Man’s Arms

            “What are our capabilities, once all is said and done?” Old Garrick needed specifics. He was trying to get them from the general of the new Army In Between, a man called Sweeden. General Sweeden was neither intelligent nor particularly capable. To the Old Man he was a glorified quartermaster. The man had some skills but they were of little consequence or concern. Sweeden occupied a puppet post. Garrick wished he could call upon Walsh to lead the new army, a real commander of men. He had considered it—was still considering it to some degree. Something was holding him back. Time would tell.

            Looking over lists of names and armaments, the pallid and portly general tried to gather himself for a concise summation. OG tried not to look at his flappy jowls and overbearing moustache while he spoke. “Well, it looks like we have about ten thousand infantry. Some, I’d say most, have guns. We’ve got around thirty refurbished tanks, some incendiary launchers—look, if they shut down the System, I have to think that’s more than enough to take over and subdue City Five.”

            “Try not to think too hard. And get every man armed. Amp up production. You could get the call at anytime. A sense of urgency is paramount.” He sat down gingerly on a large rock overlooking a chamber in the Black Cave, a huge network long thought abandoned. It was here that OG was building his army, secretly, away from the prying eyes of any who might oppose him In Between. His body was sore, more than usual. The murder of Calder the night before had taken a lot out of him, and there wasn’t much left to take. He rubbed aching stumps under his cloak and held out his left arm for Sweeden to help him back up. The underling general fumbled with his lists and dropped them in a puddle, apologizing as he lent a hand to Garrick.

            “Sorry, Sir.”

            “I hope the invasion goes a little smoother.”

            “Yes. Of course, Sir.”

            “Just keep manufacturing. Use the big chamber for target practice, and whip all your lieutenants into line. There hasn’t been a war for hundreds of years, and if we do this right, there won’t be another one. We’ll be bringing force down on a people that don’t even understand the concept. Organization is key. Projecting is key. We kill a few sheep, the rest will fall in line, ready to be penned up.”

            “Oh I agree. What happens after that, might I ask?”

            “Do you trust me, Sweeden?”

            “Of course, Sir.”

            “Then let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, the System. Then we can talk of occupation.”

            “Okay. Clear.”

            “Let me make one more thing clear. Nobody leaves this place, not until the day you embark for City Five. And keep running the classes, two a day. We want them in shape but we also need them full of purpose. They have to have a sense that they are fighting for something bigger than themselves. That’s the key. You hearing me?”

            “Nobody’s leaving. And yes. The key. I understand. Something bigger than themselves.”

            “Exactly. So protect the exits with your best men. Men who’ve had people killed by Sky Eyes. The real patriots. Nobody comes in, nobody goes out. You’re well supplied and should devote your time to nothing but the task at hand.”

            Without saying goodbye he hobbled away from Sweeden, pushing himself and his cane along with purpose. Garrick needed to get back to Crystal Cave, back to the other members of the conclave. There was much to do. A revolution without a predetermined constitution was unwise. He intended the new order to be one specifically tailored to his every whim. The Old Man had lost half of himself getting away from the System. His return would make him whole again.

Chapter 30: Dinner Then

            “So what do you think is going to happen?” Susa asked, rubbing the site of her fried chip. She was walking along the clean metal catwalks of Pope’s hydroponic heaven, conversing with Addie as they searched for dinner materials. The freedom was strange. It felt… free. And difficult. No more medicine pad.

            Addie with an apple. “Heck if I know, sister. Just glad your boy up there stopped the Culling. On to the next thing, I guess.”

            Susa with some peaches. “I’m not sure I understand you. Shouldn’t you hate the Regulars, hate the System, Spacers, the whole lot?”

            “I wouldn’t say I hate anybody. That word means different things to me and you. You were raised on it, raised by it. From your perspective, I can see how you’d expect me to hate the people in the Five Cities. But I don’t.”

            “Why not?”

            Addie with potatoes. “They’re just people’s why. Now the System, you might say I hate it, but that ain’t the right word for it.”

            Susa with a plum. “Why?”

            “It works as a word for it,” she sighed. “Look, I was trying to relate it in ways you would understand.” Addie put a gentle hand on Susa and stopped. “You’re taught to hate people, so the word, as long as you’ve known, has been reserved just for that use. Now the System is my enemy, it wants me dead. So in that sense I hate it, but it’s not an animate object, so hating it doesn’t really work the way it does for your type people.” She could see Susa was only more confused. So was she. “To hell with it. Yeah. I hate the damn System. I think this is what they used to call culture shock.”

            Susa with some carrots. “We’ll get accustomed to it. We must.”

            “Yeah, suppose.”

            “So. What do think of Alder?”

            “He’s not bad. Smart. Cute. Kind of weird.”

            “Yes, he’s always been a little different.”

            “How long have you been doing it? Oh yeah. What’s the name you call it… Continuation, or whatever.”

            Susa dropping lettuce. “Never.”

            “What? Come on.”

            “Never.”

            “Geez, they really got you people brainwashed.” Before she finished Addie could tell a nerve had been touched. “Okay, I won’t ask. It’s just strange, you know, where I come from.” She stopped Susa and had her put down the bushel. They had picked a surplus. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I think I try to understand city folk, but maybe it’s been Alder’s the one really trying.”

            “He does that. Empathy. Very rarely used word, we refer to it when trying to relate to mechs, mostly. Alder does it with people. Ever since we were little ones.” Susa’s mouthed leaned as she scanned the face of her new companion. “He’s gotten to you with it, hasn’t he?”

            “What are you talking about? Enough with the nonsense. Let’s get dinner started.”

            “Why are you suddenly having trouble looking at me, Addie?”

            Addie squeezing a pear. “You’re full of it. Let’s get going.”

            “Hey. It’s okay. People like Alder. Even in our world, people liked him. Strangest thing.”

            “What do you think it is?”

            “He likes people. They like him back. Maybe it’s that simple.”

            “So why did you deny him all that time? You obviously feel something for the guy. It’s all over your face too, you know. I mean, besides the bruises.” Addie didn’t really have a handle on the conversation and was feeling vulnerable. A rarity for her.

            “Well I’m glad something else is there,” Susa said, dabbing at her cheeks. The ruse had been her idea. She ostensibly had to use Alder’s hands and punch herself to create the wounds. He screamed more than she did. “Look, it’s hard to tell with him. This new paradigm. Tate gets excited about everything.”

            “It’s ridiculous.”

            “I know.”

            “It should make me sick—but it doesn’t,” Addie trailed off. “Not that it matters. He’s like a puppy with you.”

            “A what?”

            “Never mind.”

            “You didn’t let me finish. He gets excited, but I’ve seen the deference he gives you, Addie. There’s something there. And it’s not easy for me to say.”

            The two women stood under the fluorescent lights listening to the fluorescent humming, trying to figure out what else to say.

            “So what do we do?” Addie asked.

            “At this point, what matters more? Dinner, or Alder Tate?

            Addie with her bushel. “Dinner.”

            Susa with hers. “Let’s make dinner then.” She was starting to understand the meaning of getting along. The talks with Addie had been enlightening. She wanted more interaction, more of the new. That’s why she was going out with her later, danger be damned.

Chapter 31: Improvisation

            Sky Eyes and a mech were stalking Walsh.

            Not good.

            He had made it over the walls into City Five without incident, but now it was a run for his life. He’d sent word that he needed to talk to Addie, but the word itself was something he could only relay face to face. The mindless killers were trying to relieve him of his face. The big man couldn’t let that happen.

            The mechs and Sky Eyes worked off the same recognition programs. They could scan and therefore locate any person with a chip in the System, but they had no means of locating non-chipped organic life forms, other than their cameras, or “eyes.” You were fine if you kept out of sight, but once spotted, the bastards were almost impossible to lose. Careless. Too wound up. Careless. Walsh had made the amateur move of being seen on the bleak outskirts of the city, making his way to the underground bunkers where the Ones Inside operated from. He rolled right to avoid another blast, taking refuge behind an old abandoned something or other.

            The only weapons at his disposal were a rocket launcher and a useless sidearm. It was better than nothing, but in this particular case, it wasn’t much. He had two hunters on his ass and only one rocket. Destroying one would ultimately seal his fate. Call for help. He felt around the canvas bag hanging across his body, clutching the shape of the radio. No. This was his mistake, his stupidity.

            Walsh was hunkered against what was left of the wall of a corner building. There was some rubble directly in front of him and a block of dilapidated buildings on the other side of the street. He could feel the whir of the mech rolling up around the corner to his left. He could sense Sky Eyes coming up over those buildings any second, leaving him truly done for.

            Instinct kicked in. He grabbed a chunk of rubble at his feet and threw it to his left, across the path of the mech nearing the corner. The bulky beast swiveled and followed the object as it cleared the corner, blind to the fact that it was passing Walsh. Sky Eyes. The deadly machine was setting up for a shot, having just cleared the buildings across the way. Walsh said something like what the hell and sprinted for the mech, jumping on its metal back. The cumbersome iron and steel twisted and torqued to free itself, but it was too late. Already Sky Eyes had fired, sending a pulse toward the earth. Walsh was already off and running back to his original spot, readying the rocket launcher. He heard the mech explode behind, and knowing another shot was coming, he knelt down and fired his one rocket at the hovering machine. It wasn’t a direct hit, but it did enough to send it spinning away, down behind the buildings. Walsh heard an explosion and looked to his left, seeing the smoking remnants of the mech. He started laughing out loud, utterly stunned that he was still breathing. More will come.

            It was an amazing escape, lucky and brave, but he had no time for self-aggrandizement or ceremony. Pull out your map. Get there by nightfall. It was only two or three miles away. The spot was well chosen, away from any area trafficked by the Regulars, a place so forlorn patrols rarely took the time. He took a sip of water from his canteen and steadied himself for the remainder of the journey. The rest of it had to be smooth. Leading the machines to the others would be a sin too grievous to contemplate. Finding a manhole cover, he dropped down into the darkness. It would be a noisome trek, but a hell of a lot safer.

Chapter 32: PSA and the Right Hand Man

            Nighttime. People all over the Five Cities were bursting with anticipation for the statement that was to come from the Administrator. Nobody would miss it. All the tattered masses streamed into their respective Dom courtyards to hear what Pope had to say. Trauma was visible on the faces of the old and young alike. The Culling, the dead, and then nothing. When the Regulars woke that morning, they expected it to be another day of trying not to die. But it was over. They were safe.

            Nobody felt safe. Nobody felt anything, except maybe that same old general hatred for the one sitting next them. Or maybe not. Maybe something different.

            Back at the dome, Clement took his chair in the Command Center, same as always. This time though, he had Alder and Webb flanking him on each side. The stick was still digging into his shoulder blades, keeping his arms at, well—arms length. Numbers next to the camera counted down five, four, three… Pope looked back uncomfortably at Tate, perhaps seeking a reprieve from his travails. None was coming. Alder was not the vicious type but there was no getting around the fact that his former classmate had sanctioned the death of over 100,000 people. Tate held fast to that thought every time he looked at the withering, dolorous face before him.

            Cue the Squirrel. Big as life, bigger than life, and smaller. Bigger because the damn screens were so enormous, smaller in his dejection and the ridiculous posture he had to maintain from the stick. The people looked on in bemusement. They saw the same face but not the same man. Alder and Webb were still at his sides, just out of the frame. Pope felt a kick reverberating up through the bottom of his chair and like a broken pony was spurred into doing his job:

            “People of the Five Cities. I know what you are thinking. I know how you feel. You feel alone, unsafe, unwise to what’s going on around you. I say I know because I too have fallen to such a tenuous position. First: The Culling. Of course you know that instead of continuing, today it ceased. Let me assure you that it will not start up again in any fashion, ever again. It may seem that it ended as arbitrarily as it commenced, but we will get to those reasons in a moment. For now, I must say to you that we are in a time of change. The society that has been handed down to us has its problems. The System takes us when we are born, nurtures us, shows us the path that we are to walk. It was not always so. There was a time when people forged their own path, when being told where to walk was considered an act of force, of coercion. In those days people, for the most part, were taught to love each other, care, hold each other close. We don’t do those things anymore. We don’t do them because for all they said they believed in, the world was nearly destroyed. Decimated doesn’t accurately describe what happened to the ones from the time before. Some of it was their doing, perhaps all of it. The question now is, what shall we do going for—”

An interruption. It gave the masses a disorienting start. This was the Administrator’s time. His face. No other faces. And yet another face. Less squirrely.

            “Hello everyone.” It was Tate. They recognized him but were baffled—convention was being trampled on. “Look, I know this is strange.” He peered over at Pope, who had been rolled out of frame. “The Administrator was about to start talking on the future, so I thought I’d step in and say a few things about the past.” Alder took a slow breath and let slack the muscles in his face. More than anything he despised the idea of coming off imperious, dictatorial. “There is a lot we don’t know about the past, about the people from the time before. Recently I’ve learned a little more about our history and have come to know the people that keep remnants of that history alive in the way they live, the way they behave and interact with each other. You’ve all heard rumors of the Ones Between, and I can tell you, they are not rumors. They are real. Real people. They live outside of the System. They rely on it for nothing, except the dread that it inspires.”

            He could almost feel the rumblings of the millions of souls within the Five Cities. Regulars. Spacers. This had to seriously be stirring their shit. Some were probably riotous, but they could do nothing. The System was still in place. The chipped. Violence impossible. He’d considered that.

“The history of the time before is something that we can all learn from, and we must. But for now, let us consider the history of the last few days. We all watched while people we worked with were killed for reasons unknown. I know it bothered you, I was there, a Regular, listening to the cries of woe and suffering that the mindless Culling precipitated. It could not stand. It took people we care about. It took someone close to me.”

            Alder gave himself a moment to remember Lerner’s face and how crazy he would have thought this was.

            “Tomorrow evening we will be addressing you again. For right now, here are the facts. The Culling is over. Everyone can relax. Take a breath. The program has been deactivated and decommissioned, thanks to Mr. Pope.”

            He snuck a glance over at Clement while Webb pulled playfully on their puppet’s dangling right hand. Using that hand, they could scan in and get into virtually any part of the System. It was invaluable and the reason why Alder stopped Mr. Fredericks from frying his chip; it would have rendered the hand useless.

            “I realize that change can be upsetting. The System is still running as it always did for now, but as we move along adjustments will come. I can’t tell you for sure what those adjustments are. I’m not the Administrator. I’m simply an advisor, someone to help Mr. Pope with the innumerable challenges that his post faces on a daily basis. For now, because of the hard and brutal nature of the last few days, we will be taking five days off from our labors. I’m told this was what they called vacation in the time before. Do not fear. Food deliveries will continue as always, and normal mechanized services will run on time without interruption. Turns out there’s a surplus. Take the time away from your duties to think about the nature of our world and your place in it. The important thing is, you will be alive to do so. Mr. Pope will be back tomorrow evening at the same time for more information and I hope to see you then as well. Good evening to the Five Cities. Mr. Pope?”

Webb kicked the rollers of his chair, sending him back toward the camera. The way they had him bound, it was clear he was uncomfortable but not clear why. Alder stopped the chair and moved off camera, sending a foreboding look Pope’s way. Cowed and mentally beaten, the squirrel succumbed. “Uh—yes. Five Cities. Good evening. Rest, and we will see you again tomorrow.”

             Transmission terminated.

            “Do you even have a plan? When you wheel me in here next time, what will I say? What are you going to do? Burn the whole world down? I just don’t get it.” Clement’s face was all red and sweat in embarrassment. The three of them looked at each other, all wishing they had something good to say. The servers sang out their one note in the background, countless members of a monotone choir. Alder felt a bit one note as well. Stop the Culling. They had accomplished what they had set out to do, but what now? He hated to admit it, but Pope was right.

            Webb broke up his thoughts. “You keep your mouth shut, Mr. Right.” This was Travers’s new name for Clement. The hand and all. “I think you should be a little more grateful. He could’ve told them that you basically ordered mass murder because you felt like it. Why are you dissembling, by the way? Let the bastards have it, unedited.”

            Alder looked at both of them, then down. “No. Too much, too soon. I don’t know, Webb. I don’t know!”

Tate was under a lot of pressure. He had his own morals telling him to help the people of the System to not be massacred. He had the Ones In Between telling him to take down the entire System. Then there were the Ones Inside, telling him not to be believe everything the Ones In Between were selling. Alder Tate needed more information than he had.

            He needed a break.

            He needed a vacation.

Chapter 33: Dropping Some Knowledge/Maybe Just Bad Ideas

            “Well, that will definitely get the people’s attention.” Susa turned off her wrist worldview, trying to imagine what she would have thought mere months ago, seeing Alder Tate sidling up next to the Administrator for very vague reasons.

            A metallic knock echoed through the room. It was ill-lit, badly in need of cleaning, altogether dank. Though underground, little slits of sunlight pierced down through the dust and the darkness, made from little holes on the surface. It was the central bunker for the Ones Inside HQ. She was there with Addie, her parents, and a host of other strange people looking strangely at her. They were the Ones Inside. Susa had to admire the bravery of this lot. Behind enemy lines, always in peril, etc.

            Another knock.

            Mr. Fredericks went to unlatch the rusted cast iron door and in stepped Walsh, looking a little a worse for wear. Susa kept herself to the back of the room, watching the new arrival shaking hands and exchanging hugs with everyone present. He was big, but not unpleasantly so. He had an honest face, square chin and catching eyes. Finishing with the hellos, Walsh stopped and put a hand out for Susa. She shook it nervously, but was surprised by the gentle nature of his touch. “I apologize. My hands are a little dirty,” he said.

            “That’s fine, Mr. Walsh. I’m—”

            “Susa Burke. I can tell,” he said with a smile. She blushed at her foolishness. Of course he could tell. Here she was, playing the fish out of water, still dressed in her spotless skin-tight white outfit. It was the only clean thing in the place. Instinctively she looked for her cloak to fit in. Fitting in was a new concept, and though Susa was very bright, her social efficacy was still in its nascent stages. “Ms. Burke,” he said, snapping her from her mental wandering. “You’re a brave person. I appreciate what you’re doing. Thank you.”

            She didn’t respond. Words came to mind, but they probably weren’t the right ones. Silence. Smile, and silence. One step at a time. She was an outsider. For the rest of time spectating would have to be sufficient. Taking a dirty old stool, Susa sat while the rest stood, letting her subtle transmutation take its course. It was why she was here, after all. To learn.

“So Walsh, what happened? You forget how to clean your clothes?” It was Addie, as usual, showing no quarter.

            “Something like that.”

            Tabor Fredericks sighed at his daughter. He’d given up trying to control her years ago, but still cringed at her rough manners at times. “The runner came yesterday, saying it was urgent. We’re glad you made it safely.”

            “Yeah. You need to hear this. I would have passed the message along but I don’t know who I can trust. Besides you.” At this Mr. Fredericks made a slight gesture with his head. All but Addie and Cora Fredericks left the room. Susa got up to leave as well.

            “That’s all right. You can stay, Ms. Burke.” She nailed herself back to the stool. It was all very exciting. Dark rooms, secrets, plotting… things. The trauma of leaving the old life was beginning to wear off, bit by bit. The normal, the Spacers and Regulars, now they were astonishing. These weird, astonishing, lively creatures living on the fringe seemed more normal than anything she’d known. Or that’s what it was starting to feel like. Maybe there was no sense in the sense she was making, but it felt good.

            Walsh continued. “I’ve never disrespected you, Tabor, but we haven’t always seen eye to eye. I can say now that you were right all along. I—he killed him, right in front of me. Still it weighs me down just thinking…”

            “Back up, boss. Who killed who?”

            “Garrick. I watched him put a rock through Calder’s face and pound away ‘till there was nothing left. Your parents had him pegged, Addie.”

            “Well shit.”

“Yeah. He was talking about making people slaves, killing people, all kinds of crazy.”

            The placid Mrs. Fredericks leaned on the stolid Mr. Fredericks. The daughter Fredericks made little circles in the floor dust of the bunker with her foot.

            “And that’s not all.”

            “Yes?” asked Cora, by now, clearly the most stable one in the family.

            “Just before I left, Blake got back to me. We heard rumors—anyway he hopped an unmarked truck—turns out there’s something going on at the Black Cave.”

            “Something?” Addie stopped making circles.

            “He couldn’t get inside.”

            “Shocking.”

            “Give him a break. Managed to smuggle himself onto one of the return trucks. It was full of weapons. Blake said there’s some kind of secret cache at Crystal Cave.”

            “Militarizing. Arms build ups.” Finally Tabor spoke.

            “It would appear.”

            The elder Fredericks began pacing around, talking to himself, picking up random objects from the roughshod tables set about the bunker. It was unnerving to see the steely demeanor melt away. “I didn’t want to be right. I realize that now.”

            “It’s a little late for that, dad.”

            He turned to face his daughter and wife. “And you know what I’m going to say. We have to deal with Tate.” They both put their heads down.

            Walsh’s head was up. “Clue me in, if you don’t mind.”

            “Very well. I’ll go back. You know that before Garrick, there was no council. I assume you’re too young to remember.”

            “I heard as much.”

            “Ever since he gently suggested the idea of an advisory council, I’ve been suspicious. Before that, really.”

            “I’m not sure I’m following.” Walsh was trying for clues. The older man spoke in dribs and drabs. At a time like this, it was especially irksome.

            “Our Old Man was not just a Spacer wishing for freedom, as the story goes. He was in line to be the next Administrator.”

            “You’re shitting me.”

“No. It was all set, his predecessor was dying off, he had the credits, and then something happened.”

            “What?” The militia leader was pushing the pace.

            “Somebody better came along. Invented some new gadget or method, you know how the System works. The other man’s credits shot up, and Garrick was left outside looking in.”

            “My dad’s trying to tell you that he left City Five because he wanted to die.”

            “He’s always hinted at that.”

            “Yeah, but he’s never included the real reason. The theory goes, and it looks pretty much fact now—he lusted for power. Couldn’t have it, and you know the rest.”

            “So all this time, sending us out, all the missions looking for Tate—it’s all just some scheme to get another shot at being…”

            “In charge.” Tabor set himself down on stool in the corner of the bunker and crossed his arms.

            Walsh had heard enough. Action was his thing. He was militia. Didn’t belong with the Ones Inside with all their theories and their secrets. He started rooting around an old aluminum double-paneled locker for another rocket and some ammunition for his sidearm.

            “What are you doing?” Addie asked.

            “What are you people doing?” he fired back. You’ve known this for how long, and you never bothered to tell me? Move at your pace, I’ll move at mine. I’m going to go kill the son of a bitch and stop this whole thing right now. I should’ve done it back at the cave.”

“Mr. Walsh?” It was probably the only thing that could’ve stopped him in that moment. The sheer unlikeliness of the speaker. Susa was standing up now. She’d been listening, learning.

            “What?”

            “I’ll go back with you, to—wherever it is you’re going. But clearly you cannot kill this man. Not yet.”

            Walsh was still staring at the locker, his back turned to Susa. “Forgive me, but just what could you possibly know about any of this?”

            Everybody in the room was eager for her response. “I think my lack of emotion and penchant to rely solely on logic allow me to see things clearly right now. We come from different worlds, but indulge me.”

            “Get on with it.”

            “From what I’ve heard, they couldn’t tell you because they didn’t have definitive proof of this man’s duplicity. You were obviously loyal to him, if you were carrying out these ‘missions’ on his behalf. Casting aspersions would probably serve to alienate you from the Ones Inside. They obviously value your character and didn’t want this to happen.”        

            “She’s good,” Addie said. “I’d keep listening.”

            “You were right to come here, to tell a few select people. But you can’t let it go any farther without sufficient information. If the reports from your friend are anywhere near the truth, you don’t know how many people In Between are with him, how many weapons they have. You know enough to know something needs to be done. But you are far from knowing exactly what needs to be done. If that makes sense.”

            “She’s good,” Addie repeated.

“And from what I gather, the only reason Mr. Fredericks told his wife and daughter are because they are his family, and this carries a great deal of weight. According to your customs, that is.” Susa sat back down, completely aware of what had gotten into her. Looking at problems, finding solutions. It was what she did, after all.

            Walsh slammed the locker doors shut and turned toward his lecturer. She was everything he wasn’t: beautiful, calm. All of her actions went on underneath her skin.

            “You see now, don’t you?” It was Tabor, speaking to his wife and daughter. “It’s her. Not the other one.”

            “There’s one thing I didn’t understand,” Susa interrupted. “You said earlier that you needed to deal with Alder. What exactly does that mean?”

            Cora Fredericks decided to step into the conversation. A great deal of information was flying through the room. This last part needed to be handled with a deft touch. She walked over to the former Spacer and took a stool next to her. “This is going to sound strange. A little over thirty years ago, one of us, one of the Ones Inside, managed to hack into the System.”

            “Doesn’t that happen all the time? Addie was telling me—”

            “Yes, but this was a beta test, something of a trial run for a program that a brilliant man had developed. He managed to reprogram the Test.”

            “You mean, the Test.”

“Yes.”

            “So what happened?”

            “Well, it only had one shot. The man managed to change the parameters for the scoring, but it was only one class, only one time.”

            “Why?”

            “He was killed during the trial. He had to be close to the Educational Facility to splice into their grid. He manipulated the results for one group of students but was killed in the process.”

            “Where was this?”

            “EF 144.”

            “Well that’s—wait, are you saying that my Test results were altered?”

            “Yours, Alder Tate’s, Pope’s, and everybody else in that class. Ever wonder why three so disparate people all came out L9?”

            Susa was aghast. “I don’t understand.”

            “He figured out that to Test well, the student had to score high in intelligence, mathematical ability, problem solving, etc.”

            “Yes.”

            “But also, and even more important, a student would go through the roof if they had proclivities toward emotional detachment, sociopathy, isolation, and the like. We don’t know how successful he was. He was the only one to understand the program. Many of the Ones In Between and the Ones Inside knew about the operation. For thirty-three years we’ve been watching to see what came out of that class.”

            “So his goal was to create a Test that rewarded intelligence and creative thinking but also kindness and what you would call more humane virtues.”

            “Nailed it,” Addie chimed in. “Only the results died with the programmer, so they had no clue what to look for. How many Tests he’d hacked, how many were just standard issue Regulars, nothing. Zero to go on.”

            “But then Alder Tate becomes the most famous Space Waster in history.”

            “Yep.”

“So it’s clearly him,” Susa said. “The hack worked on him. Addie, you’ve been around now. Alder’s more like you people than he ever was a Spacer. And he’s brilliant.”

            “Yes, he is brilliant,” Tabor said. “But so are you. And so is Pope, to some degree. Only you weren’t passed over for the most powerful position in the world. In Alder Tate I think we have the second coming of the Old Man. In you I think we have somebody that can help bring peace between the Five Cities and the Ones In Between.”

            Susa put her head in her hands. “You can’t be serious. Alder’s not some monster with a plan for domination. He’s—Alder. I’m cold, bitter. I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

            “My dad thinks Tate is playing everybody. Just like Garrick would.”

            “Do you?”

            “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Addie said it matter-of-factly, like she hadn’t decided and was in no hurry to. She’d decided.

            Tabor stood up with conviction. “Well, I was right before. And here you are, risking your neck on the outskirts. Where’s Tate? Looks to me like he’s in the driver’s seat of the whole Five Cities. In a dome. It’s a coup with a smile. Oh, he’s clever all right.”

            She wasn’t buying it. “So what do you plan to do?”

            “I don’t think there’s any getting around it. If we want peace, Tate and Pope have to die.”

Chapter 34: One More Stepp

            The miserly codger was looking down on the people now, but not in the way he had envisaged. He was standing at the edge of his Dom roof, watching Regulars skid along to the food area.

            Past the alley and his bunker. Vacation. It was the most depressing sight he had ever beheld. This vacation thing would have made him a killing. Now it was killing him. Spare time—the idiots and their free time could have made him enough money buying junk to get his own villa on the outskirts. The letter L and the number 6 danced in his head.

            That was all over now. The last few days had taken him away from his murderous leanings and leaned him more toward suicide. It seemed the only reasonable thing to do. He was beaten. Unlike the morons below him, he knew what was really going on. The Administrator had been usurped. Mr. Stepp was the only Regular in the Five Cities with that information. One minute he’s running errands for Pope, following Tate and his tart, the next he’s fried and Tate’s on the Worldview, buddying up with an obviously beleaguered Pope. He couldn’t blame it all on everybody else—after all, somebody had gotten the drop on him.

            He did the best he could. Not that it mattered. Not now. He was going to jump, splatter all over the dirty concrete, hopefully crushing more of the useless in the process. Stepp inched his toes toward the edge, looking out over City Five. It was the first time he’d ever come up to admire the view. What a shithole. Dust flew all around as the wind picked up, catching his cloak and parachuting it out in front of him. It nearly took his body with it. He stopped his momentum, but just barely, instinctively.

            Then something from behind.

            It was her, the pet, the scrawny, scratchy little urchin. She spoke. She rarely spoke. “Mr. Stepp, can I please have some stuff? I’m dying here.”

            Ironic. Like all addicts, she was oblivious, even to the fact that he was about to actually die. He couldn’t help but laugh. She was about twenty feet behind him, and as he listened to her soft footfalls on the roof coming ever closer he readied himself for the final pathetic scene of his miserable life. Okay, now. Come on. Now.

“Mr. Stepp? What are you doing up here?” The little urchin was really messing with his concentration. This was harder than he thought it would be. As meaningless as life could be in the Five Cities, it was rare to hear of a suicide. Being indoctrinated to hate everyone but yourself, to protect your person and well-being over and above any other concern, it made some sense.

            Dear, precious, vapid life.

            “Stay back,” he yelled, not knowing why. She going mess up the fall? No. He just wanted a little privacy for his last moments, he thought. Born into a hell. Striving for more, just a little iota more than was given to him. That’s all he ever wanted. Not like the losers down below. If they had the same thoughts, he didn’t know or care to know. This was his world, his view, if only for a tiny mome—”

            “Mr. Stepp?”

            “Dammit girl. Go away. Take whatever you want from the bunker. I won’t be needing it anymore.”

            She was elated, already dreaming of her next fix. The wind whipped across the roof and she began to venture off toward her newly promised treasure trove. Something stopped her. If you asked her, the girl wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Some reason. An addict’s reason. No reason. Whatever. “You’re not going to fall off, are you?”

“No.”

            “Oh. Okay.”

            “I’m going to jump off, you idiot. Now go.”

            She was standing back and to the left of his withered frame. He snuck a look, wondering why she hadn’t gone.

            “Is this about not having a chip anymore?”

            He said nothing. Rolled his eyes, then continued looking toward his “landing zone.”

            “Because if you’re going to kill yourself over that, it just seems like a big waste.”

            “Go aw—a waste of what?”

            “Freedom. We can go anywhere. The machines can’t spot us easily, and, I don’t know, it’s really kind of interesting if you think about it.” There was a dignified, even polite manner to her tone. Nothing preened magnanimous like a junkie on their way to another high. “Plus, knowing what we know, there’s got to be something we can extort from Alder Tate.”

            “What?”

            “Or Pope. Or both. You know I was thinking about it and I think we’re the only peop—”

            The scurvy urchin was in mid-sentence when Stepp grabbed her by arm and like a geriatric, pallid Hercules reborn, hurled her over the side. He didn’t take the time to see whether she hit his “landing zone,” but a splat and the subsequent screams of the Regulars put a period on it.

            He was thinking two things as he walked back down toward his Dom. I have something valuable that nobody else has. A smile formed, cavernous as always. Then the second thought: Who would have guessed the urchin was so insightful?

            The people below were distressed by the bloody, bouncy death of the young girl.

            They thought it was a suicide, and those were rare in the Five Cities.

Chapter 35: Class Warfare

            “That was Addie on the radio thing,” Alder said, throwing on his cloak. I’ve got to go down to the city.”

            “What do you want me to do?” Webb asked, flicking Pope in the back of the head.

            “You look like you’re finding ways to occupy yourself.”

            “Yeah. Don’t wait up. I’m starting to like my new dome.”

            Pope was about to answer but was stopped by another thump on his head.

            “Be back as soon as I can. Make sure he doesn’t get loose.”

            “Go.”

            Tate was up the stairs of the Command Center and outside in seconds. The morning sun reminded him to put his scarf and hood on. Concealment was more important than ever, now.

            Below the dome, amidst the whirring machines, wires, and lights, the Administrator finally spoke. “Travers Webb, L2.” Another flick.

            “What?”

            “Does it bother you to be in the presence of someone so superior? For days, having to be in such close quarters? It must be exhausting, constantly surrounded by your betters.”

            “You mean you? Webb asked, swirling Pope’s chair around to face him. Even splayed out on a stick, the Administrator had a pompous air about him all of a sudden.

            “Yes. Me. And even if you have diluted yourself into thinking that the Test doesn’t matter, that you are my equal or even my better, then there’s the rest of them.”

            “Who?”

            “Your so-called friends, L2. Did it ever occur to you that Alder is just using you? Can you possibly understand what goes on inside his head? And Susa. It must make her sick to have to be around someone as base and low as you.”

            “Who do you think you are?”

            “Me. I’m the Administrator of the Five Cities. Clement Pope, L10. Who are you? Nobody. Just like your dead hovelmate. Another nobody.”

Travers clenched his fist and reeled back to throw it into the squirrel’s face, but thought better of it at the last second. They needed him looking Administrative for their nightly announcements. Plus, Alder wouldn’t like it.

            “What’s wrong? You afraid your boss might get mad at you if hit me? Pathetic. I know you’re a nothing, but at least be your own nothing. I never thought I’d say this but now that I’ve had the opportunity to know you a little, my opinion of the Ones Between has even gone up a bit. At least they have the audacity and the pluck to make it on their own. You Regulars. There is a reason for the Test. A reason why you toil, a reason for the Space of your superiors, a reason for all of it.”

            Webb was sitting inches from all the teeth and the oily hair and the pride. He tried not to let it get to him, but it was. He was letting his captive rile him. Awareness didn’t seem to make it any better. Pope seemed to be looking right through him. Self-doubt, bruised ego, the usual crap Webb was normally immune from. “Mr. Pope. I’m going to make an early lunch. You want anything?”

            “Thank you no. I’ll just be down here working away. Take your time.”

            “Yeah.” Webb checked the bindings that kept Pope’s wrists attached to the stick. He also looked over the tape and the wire lashing him to the chair. Satisfied, he walked up the stairs and made for the kitchen. With every step he let go another breath filled with jealousy and Space knows what other emotions. The words didn’t bother him so much. It was the look. Pompous, aloof, something he didn’t have. More self-doubt. He tried to let it wash away as he began to prepare lunch.

            Travers shouldn’t have been insulted. Pope had been looking at something else entirely, and the mockery was a form of distraction. Behind the chair where Webb had been sitting, he noticed a little light blinking on and off. It was his wrist Worldview. They had taken it off and set it on the table in the corner of the Command Center. There was no way to know who was calling but he had to answer it. He used his toes to roll over toward the table and the blinking light, making slow but steady progress. It was a ridiculous sight. His unwieldy arms were flung out in a full crucifixion pose as he caught lamps and got hung up on wires along the way.

Finally, he reached the table. The Worldview was at the edge, right at eye level. Knowing Webb might be back at any moment, he began to mash his prominent nose down onto the gadget, hoping it would trigger the button and answer whoever was calling. “Come on,” he whispered, gnashing those famous teeth and sweating like a Spacer teaching Charges. “Come on, damn you.” He looked back toward the stairs, checking for Webb, then slammed his whole face down onto the device. The blow drew blood, causing him to bite his lip to keep from screaming. That also drew blood. Eyes closed, body clenched in pain, he almost didn’t notice the voice calling out to him on the screen.

            It worked.

            It was beautiful.

            It was his salvation.

            It was Mr. Stepp.

            Salvation never looked so bad.

Chapter 36: People That Matter

            “Vacation?”

            “Whoever heard of such a word?”

            “Apparently Alder Tate.”

            “This is crazy.”

            “Oh, it’s you.”

            “Yes it’s me. Now what’d I miss?”

            “Guess.”

            “Well it’s either Alder Tate, Pope, hell, all of it.”

            “All of it.”

            “This is going to end badly. They’re going to get ideas.”

            “Who?”

            “The Breathers.”

            “The Hopers.”

            “Yeah. They’ll be the worst of them I’d venture to guess.”

            “Maybe it’s not so bad.”

            “It was kind of nice to see Alder up there. So handsome.”

            “Women.”

            “I know. Pathetic.”

            “This guy is talking about supplanting you from your life.”

            “No he’s not.”

            “Then what’s he doing there?”

            “I don’t know. Helping out with things.”

            “Regulars don’t help out Administrators.”

            “Idiot.”

            “What world am I living in? Who helps?”

            “Exactly. We have to do something.”

            “Something must be done.”

            “What did I just say?”

            “So what are you suggesting?

            “I suggest everybody just settle down. Let them have their vacation.”

            “Then what?”

            “Then nothing. What can change? I mean really, what can change?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Me neither.”

            “Who knows?”

            “That’s what worries me.”

            “You’re always worried. And nothing ever changes.”          

            “What’s it like in City Two?”

            “What do you mean, what’s it like?”

            “You know. How are things?”

            “Well. I’m at my estate. For all I know the city is on fire. Idiot question.”

            “Yeah that was a pretty stupid question.”

            “I think we should all keep our heads, stay calm. See how this plays out.” 

            “You said the same thing like three times in a row there.”

            “We should keep calm. But we might have to do something.”

            “Don’t be getting crazy.”

            “Well, evil triumphs if the people that matter do nothing.”

            “Is that a saying?”

            “An aphorism. From the time before.”

            “Really?”

            “No. I just made it up.”

            “Figured. It sounded made up.”

            “But mark my words. There may come a time very soon where action is needed.”

            “Action. Listen to yourself.”

            “Listen to yourself.”

            “Action causes fever. Action causes violence. Action is dangerous.”

            “I recommend inaction at all costs.”

            “Me too. We have our Space and that’s something no one can take.”

            “I suppose.”

            “Suppose all you want. That’s the way of things. We aren’t barbarians.”

            “We’ll see. Mind your Space, I say.”

            “Is there another announcement tonight?”

            “These are starting to get tedious. Talking and saying nothing.”

            “Yeah, whoever heard of such a thing?”

            “Apparently Alder Tate.”

Chapter 37: One Two Three

            It was taking longer than expected. Through the trees, down the craggy slopes of the outskirts, past rocks and bushes he made his way carefully, so much on his mind.

            It was taking her longer than expected. Through the Hopers and Breathers of City Five, staying out of view of mechs and Sky Eyes she made her way carefully, so much on her mind.

            The sun was well past its zenith as he finally made it down to the streets. He’d almost forgotten how dirty and broken it all was. No more trees to maneuver. Only dead things now. The plan was to meet just outside Dom 52, a location roughly half the distance between the two of them. He hoped she was safe. More and more she was on his mind, though he didn’t know what to do or say about it. Now, with the fate of so many hanging in the balance, it probably wasn’t the time to start exploring his emotions. He was hiding, like he was hiding his face from the Regulars that walked by. It wasn’t working. The emotions were working him. Who knows?

            She looked up and then ahead, trying to check for mechs whilst looking like another Regular without a care in the world. Many that passed her along the thoroughfares had an extra bounce in their step. Not her. She wasn’t on vacation. Careful. To even touch one of the passersby would be a disaster. Having no chip meant she could not be vaporized, but not being vaporized, she would be found out. A commotion would ensue, the tattered masses, blah blah blah. Then the machines would come. Then nothing. It should have been her only concern—not dying and all, but it wasn’t. Her thoughts drifted to him, to what she was starting to feel. It was stupid. Not me. She wasn’t exactly the type to go in for flights of romantic fancy, especially with… whatever he was. There was a lot to consider and she had a job to do, a family to protect, and all the rest. It was complicated. Arch villain? Certainly not, she thought. But she was in the minority right now. Anyway, a lot to consider.

            An announcement. Passing by used up warrens he could hear the message over the corner loudspeakers: “Message from the Administrator in fifteen minutes. Please report to your Dom Worldviews. Message from the Administrator. Thank you.”

            “That can’t be,” he said into his worldview, hurrying his pace, cutting through an alleyway that he once used for drinking privacy. “It has to be Webb, fooling around. I’ll talk to him when I get back. Yeah I know… are you sure? Alright, so don’t tell her? This is crazy. I don’t know what to say. Fredericks. What a… here she comes. We’ll talk later.”

            “So what do you think that’s about?” He wheeled around to see the sure figure of Addie. She pulled down her own scarf for a brief second to show her face and took a few more steps toward him. They were alone, tight between two high walls. “Hey, who was that on the wrist thing?”

            “Susa. I was wondering how your meeting was going. She basically told me to mind my own business.”

Yeah well you can be a little intrusive sometimes, Tate.” He blushed at her response underneath the scarf. He’d just told his first lie to Addie.

            Trying to change the subject, he feigned a cough. “So the announcement. That can’t be good.”

            “Message from the Administrator in thirteen minutes. Please report to your Dom Worldviews.”

            “I was thinking the same thing. You haven’t been away from the dome that long. What happened?”

            He shrugged and made a face she couldn’t see. He didn’t know. That part was no lie.

            “Let’s walk to where can get a view of one of those damn screens. Walk and talk.”

            “Walk and talk?”

            “God. It’s an expression, Alder.”

            “God?”

            “Don’t even start.” She rolled her big brown eyes as they stepped out into a road leading to Dom 52. “We’ve got problems.”

            “Okay. How can I help?”

            “Look. I’m just going to ask you straight out. You blowing your Space and—pretty much everything since—hasn’t all been some furtive plan for world domination, has it?

            “What?” he answered. The dumbfounded look, the slumping shoulders, the whole package told her what she needed to know. She felt stupid for even asking the question, for letting her anal retentive father plant the seed of doubt in her mind.

“My dad thinks you’re trying to take Pope’s spot. To rule the Five Cities and finally eradicate or rule the Ones In Between. He wants you dead, Tate.”

            “Dead? That can’t be.” He was lying again. That’s what the conversation with Susa had been about. Fredericks’ ire was on his radar. The disappointment he was displaying wasn’t coming from the accusations—it was disappointment that she even had to ask.

            “It can. And if he wants you dead, that means all the Ones Inside want you dead. There’s a manhunt about to start.”

            “Okay, let me get this straight…”

            “Message from the Administrator in Five Minutes. Please report to your Dom Worldviews. Message from the Administrator.”

            “There’s nothing to get straight. Shut your mouth and open your ears, partner.”

            “Okay.”

            “Sorry. It’s just—I know you’re smart and you trying your best, but you need my help and letting me guide you a bit might be the best course.”

            “I understand.”

            “Hopefully. Anyway, I just came from Walsh and he confirmed the worst about the Old Man.”

            “What’s the worst?”

            “Murder. Mischief. Diabolical schemes. Armies of invasion and enslavement.”

            “That qualifies.”

            She went on to give Alder the full rundown. The murder of Calder, the stockpiling of weapons. Finally, the strange and bewildering circumstances of his Test at EF 144.

            “So Mr. Fredericks is operating under the theory that because I almost became the Administrator, I will almost certainly exhibit the same pattern of behavior as the Old Man.”

            “Exactly. It makes sense, in a way.”

            “Actually it makes no sense. The circumstances are completely different. But I can see how he might be riding a serotonin wave due to the confirmation of his aforementioned theory about Garrick. Being right about one thing does not make a person right about everything. It’s fallacious. He barely knows me.”

            The pair stopped at the corner entrance to the courtyard of Dom 52. A dense crowd was packed in but they kept their distance from the majority of Regulars packed in to hear whatever message was forthcoming. Finding a spot against a wall, they made sure they were safe to continue. Tate looked down at her, frustrated and vulnerable about prevaricating, about the truths he really wanted to tell. “Are you sure about me?”

            Addie didn’t respond immediately. It wasn’t because she didn’t have a ready answer. On the contrary, she was completely sure. The lack of doubt gave her pause. “Yeah, partner. I’m sure.”

            He smiled in relief. Her eyes had a way of telling him. “Yeah. You like me.”

“Shut it. You’ve got a small army after you, and when Garrick finds out you’re not playing for his team, it’ll be another. That’s two armies. I’d say a guy in circumstances that precarious might not have time to bask in some conflated sense of romance.”

            “Try living alone your whole life. Besides… two armies? No problem. I’ll think of something.”

            They stopped talking as the courtyard went silent. The transmission from the giant Worldview was about to commence. Alder almost screamed when he saw the old squirrel appear on the screen, smitten with himself as ever, back in the saddle again. How in Space’s name?

            “People of the Five Cities. It is good to be speaking to you again. I know things have been a bit strange lately, protocols have been bent, new faces have emerged on this screen. I apologize for any confusion. I blame myself.” He stopped, faking a miniscule moment of regret. “But it’s time for the truth. Several weeks ago, my dome, my home, my very Space was taken from me by Alder Tate and a band of his new cohorts.”

The crowd gasped. They sighed. A few fainted. Nobody could ease their falls.

“It is true what he said. There are others out there, but they only mean to do us harm. It seems because I made Administrator, Mr. Tate has formed some kind of a deal with the enemies of our way of life, wanting the office for himself. Using tactics too duplicitous to mention, he and his allies unlocked my Space, forced their way into controlling this facility, and initiated the Culling.”

            More gasps. More imprecations. A “We hate Tate” chant was in its infancy. Alder could hear Addie saying very strange things behind him. He was in disbelief but had the good sense to be truly worried for Webb. Another friend dead?

            “I believe Mr. Tate was trying to curry favor with you and cast me in a negative light, eventually handing me over to these nefarious friends of his from beyond the walls of our great cities. In truth, it was I who managed to sabotage the process of the Culling and end the slaughter that this obviously sick man initiated.”

            A cheer. Sounds of allegiance. They loved their squirrel.

            “I managed to drive him and his people away, and am in full control of the Five Cities once again. I must say that the danger is not over. These people that are not from our world may mean to do us harm, so we must be vigilant. Furthermore, it is your duty to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity, and foremost, to report any sightings of Alder Tate and his people. He’s out there right now, probably among you, planning his next rage-filled plot.”

The Regulars looked around out of instinct. Like Tate himself was actually right next to them. It was paranoid. Suspicions were abounding. The fact that he was there beside the point.

            “We got to go, kid. Just start backing up slowly, hug the wall, and don’t make any sound.” She was right. Two hooded, face-covered individuals didn’t look the part of openness and propriety.

            “Where are we going?” he whispered. “I hope you’re about to say the dome? Webb could be hurt. Or worse.”

            “I know a place. We’ll be safe from all three armies that want you dead. We can get a minute to think, at least.”

            “Three armies…” She was right. The Ones Inside, The Ones Between, and now the mob of Regulars and the mechanized killers that roamed among them were pitted against him.

            “I hate to say this, but you are royally screwed.”

            “What’s that you say?

            “It’s an express—oh God help me, I never learn.”

            “What’s God again?”

            “I might have to teach you. He’s about the only one who could pull your butt out of this fire.”

Chapter 38: The Soldier and the Spacer

            “That was Addie. It’s the last we’ll be hearing from her for awhile. They’ll be out of range.” It was Walsh, placing the radio in his backpack. He was pacing about ten feet away from Susa Burke, three or four kilometers outside the walls of City Five. The terrain was rugged and barren, filled with strange, spare vegetation and dust. For Susa it might as well have been another planet. She tried to look at the sky every few minutes. At least that was beautiful.

            “Well, it’s not good. She’s with your friend Tate but somehow Pope has retaken control of the Command Center and has put out a System-wide manhunt for him.”

            “I don’t understand. What about Webb?” Inside there was panic, even if it didn’t register to Walsh. The feelings boiled but the steam wasn’t quite manifesting.

            “Who?”

            “Travers Webb, Alder’s friend.”

            “Oh yeah, sorry. If Pope’s back in control, we have to assume he’s been neutralized.”

            “You mean we have to assume he’s dead.” Susa didn’t know Webb very well but it didn’t soften the blow. She’d seen the man earlier that day, for Space sake.

            “Apologies. I know this is cold but we’ve got to keep moving. Sky Eyes patrols usually come through here close to nightfall and we’re losing the light.”

            She followed the big man as he negotiated the rough ground in front of her. He was impressively agile and seemed to be capable enough. Competency would be needed. As the sun fell lower the ground grew greener. Soon rocks were replaced with grassy slopes and fecund trees. It was captivating. Unfortunately, the waning light and their rapid pace made it impossible to stop to admire the scenery. “Will we make it before it turns completely dark?”

            He stopped and offered her some water. “Even if we don’t, I can find the way. Done it a hundred times.” He nodded and continued on, slower now, letting her catch her breath. “I’m sorry about Webb. And Alder. But the plan remains. It really doesn’t change anything. You’re the key here, Ms. Burke.”

            “There’s a lot of keys. Alder. You. Addie. Is it right, my plan? Keeping things from her?” She looked back up at the dimming sky. “Mr. Walsh?

            “Just Walsh. And it’s our plan.” He was clearly over it, looking forward to the next thing.  

            “Just Susa.”

            “What?”

            “Susa. I think we can dispense with Ms. Burke.”

            “Fair enough.” She was right. Keys, moving parts, whatever you wanted to call them. There were lots. He wasn’t too crazy about their prospects for success, but then again, he wasn’t the one with the big brain.

            As they continued on their trek, the duo stayed mostly silent. Walsh remained ever vigilant of patrols and the terrain, wanting nothing more than to reach their destination safely. Susa was hardly aware of her surroundings after the news about Alder. She was inside herself, trying to calculate variables and probabilities, all the while reconciling the new life that had been so recently thrust upon her. History was being displaced by the present, but even more so by the future. She didn’t even notice when her companion stopped and knelt down, grabbing her by the hand.

            “Sorry,” he said, noticing a flinch.

            “What is it?”

            “That’s the entrance. We’re here.”

            “I don’t see it,” she said, eyes fighting.

            “Yeah, that’s kind of the idea.” He let go of her hand. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, waving her along. It was the same hillside entrance to Crystal Cave that Addie had led Alder into a lifetime ago. He pushed back the brush and opened the latch. “After you.”           

“Okay.” She knelt down and entered, trying to find her footing in the dark. Walsh handed her a torch and told her to shine it down the tunnel as he closed the stiff metal door behind. “So what now?”

            “First, we find my guy Blake.” He opened his pack and pulled out the mapping device for the labyrinth. “Then we go see Garrick and give him the news.”

            Susa was back in the moment. Her breathing was heavy. The journey and the lack of medicine was pulling her down. “Yes. Garrick. That should be interesting.”

            He started down the tunnel, shrugging his bulky shoulders at her Spacer ways. “Interesting. Yeah, that’s a word for it.” 

Chapter 39: Jokes and Stories

            Stepp was reinvigorated, to put it lightly. Here he was, in the redoubtable monument on the hill. The decision not to kill himself was proving the wiser course with every passing breath. Furthermore, his lust for beating people had returned, and he had carte blanche with the miserable specimen before him.

            Pope watched in the Command Center with mixed feelings as the old man pummeled the face of Webb. He had no compunction about violence. It was the nearness that was disconcerting, all the blood. The reborn Administrator pondered reactivating his chip with every punch and slap he witnessed.

            One swipe and push of the palm. The torturer would be dust in an instant.

            He thought better of it, at least for the time being. Clement had a tiny feeling of loyalty to his rescuer, disgusting as he was. The creature proved himself useful and might be once more before it was all over. He needed as many allies as he could find until he again found himself in a position to kill them all. Furthermore, he might need Stepp to get rid of the body. Now that Webb’s chip was fried, turning his Space on would have no effect on the former L2.

            “Are you enjoying yourself?”

            Stepp took a moment to wipe some skin and blood from his hands. “Oh yes Sir.”

            “I can’t believe I let you get the jump on me,” Webb muttered. He was in more physical pain than he knew was possible, but shame at his incompetence made it even worse. With the security to the dome down, City Five’s purveyor of poison had snuck in and knocked him out with something blunt before he knew he was there.

“Yeah. Too bad for you kid.” Another punch, this one to the ribs. “Excuse me if I don’t feel sorry. You and your little friends stole my life when you blew my chip.”

            “You’re an idiot.”

            “I’m not the one tied to chair with his face all mush. Thought you could get the best of old Stepp. Obviously not.”

            “Stepp?” Webb’s head was in a daze but he recognized the name. “I’ve heard of you.”

            “My reputation proceeds.”
            “Yeah. You’re the scumbag that deals stuff. Hey Clem, nice friends you got.”

            Another punch.

            “Well it takes all kinds, Mr. Webb.” Pope stood up and shook out his arms. It was a relief to be able to breathe again, to move with full function. To know he could shortly disinfect. “Now. Just tell me what I want to know.”

            “There’s nothing to tell.” Stepp yanked on his hair and struck him flush on the nose, breaking it sideways.

            “Of course there is. What’s the plan? Tate obviously formed some kind of pact with the free peoples. I want to know exactly what they are up to. Where’s Susa? Where are the Ones Inside? Tell me and we’ll let you go. I’ll give you a villa. You can live your life out in style, like a real Spacer. No chip, but it won’t matter. You’ll have all the credits you need. No more toil. No more Doms.”

            “It’s the deal I’m getting,” Stepp smiled.

“Well, give me a second. I didn’t know we were negotiating.” The words came out nasally and muted. His eyes were water from the shattered bones. Thirty seconds went by. Then a minute. Then two. “Sorry, what was the question?”

            “That’s it.” Stepp went up the stairs of the Command Center to fetch a bag. He returned with vials, needles—a plethora of nefarious substances. “This will get him talking.” He injected a drug into Webb’s neck and waited for it to take effect. “Sir, I’ve seen a lot of dopers on this stuff. It really lowers inhibitions. Perfect for this kind of thing, I would imagine.”

            “Imagine?”

            “Well, I have to concede it’s only theory. Can’t admit to a lot of experience torturing people. It’s a chipped world out there.”

            “Funny. I was going to say that your alacrity for this is bordering on alarming. Like you’ve been doing it for years.”

            Crooked as ever, the miser stared into his benefactor’s eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

            “How long?”

           “As long as it takes.” They waited for roughly five minutes. Pope sat back down, as far away as he could from all the mess. The smell was getting to him; he didn’t like being in the proximity of such filth when he had just gotten so clean.

“All right. Hit him again.” Stepp lashed out with a slap across the ear of Webb. It served to wake him up from the brutal drug-induced stupor he was swaying in. They were startled when their captive began to laugh.

            “Man. I feel good. What’d you give me? Can I have some more?”

            “Great. You’ve made him feel better.”

            “No, no. He only thinks he feels better. He’ll talk now. Tell the Administrator what the plan is. Do it. This will all be over. He’ll be generous.”

            “I will. I will be generous.”

            “Okay.” Webb’s expression was white where it wasn’t bloody. “What you want to know?”
            “Where is Susa? Where did she go this morning, with that other woman?”

            “City Four. They were going to City Four. Something about the resistance.”

            “See? I told you. Enough pain, enough dope, anybody will talk.”

            “I thought it was all theoretical.” He paused. “How are they getting there? It’s fifty miles just to reach the outskirts. Canyons, mountains, not to mention patrols. To what end?”

            “That’s not important. Let me tell you what’s important.”

            “Go on,” Stepp said, getting back in Webb’s face.

            “There’s people out there. Lots and lots of people. They’re crazy, I’ve seen. Live up in the mountains, with beasts of all kinds. Mate with beasts. Dance all night, drink each other’s blood, sleep all day. I was taken up there, way up, where the sky’s so blue and you’re up in the clouds. It’s surreal. These people, and I have a hard time calling them that—they have plans for the Five Cities. And you are right, Clem. Alder’s one of them now. He made a sacrifice to their tribe, cut off one of his testicles and fed it to one of their elders. It was disgusting. Anyway, I watched but I cannot say that I approved. Proud to say that my testicles are intact.” Pope and Stepp looked at each other in bemusement. “But that’s not important. Let me tell you what’s important.”

            “For Space’s sake, get on with it.”

            “What you really need to know, and Clem, believe me when I say this… everything I’m telling you right now is completely made up. I mean, not one thing I said is true.”

            Stepp punched down on the already broken nose.

Webb laughed through it. “I figured at least I could give you a good story. Beats the drivel I was forced to watch every night of my life in the courtyards.” He kept laughing. “I don’t know anything. There’s nothing to know. I came up here to stop you, because, well, you’re a psycho moron degenerate who can’t get his own girl, and Alder Tate is my friend. Lerner Merchant was my friend.”

            Before Stepp could throw another fist, the Administrator was flying toward the broken body of Travers Webb. The blows he reigned down were awkward but effective. He was a much bigger man than his captive and the power served nasty damage to Webb’s slight little body. He hit his face, ribs, kicked at his legs. Nothing could stop his rage.

            “A friend, Clem. You know what that means?”

            Another punch.

            “You’ll never have one, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

            Another. Webb’s words were getting slower.

            “Susa never wanted you. You’re a joke to her.”

            Another. This time a knee to the chin.

            “A—joke.”

            Now they came at a faster clip. Around the eyes. Pope became aware of his hands long enough to grab for a screwdriver, meant for tightening down server connections. He stood over his battered victim and shoved the thin metal down into the top of Webb’s head.

            No more jokes. No more stories.

            Puss spurted out from the wound and into his face. A pool of human suffering surrounded the body. That was all they would ever get out of Travers Webb, L2.

Chapter 40: Not the Best Word for It

            There were no funerals, no dirges for those in the Five Cities. These concepts were foreign to Alder and all who were grown to be apart of the System, like friendship, like love. Still, he felt the weight of it all, and not knowing that Webb’s death had already come to pass, readied himself to rescue his mate.

            It was the following day. More hiding. Another underground burrow, something Addie called a basement, from the time before. Apparently there had been dwellings above here, places where single units of people would live together, happy, independent from the other people units. Another word. Neighborhood. It was all very hard to imagine for Tate, like everything else he was trying to get used to. There were basements all over the Five Cities, Addie said, literally thousands. You just needed to know where to look. The system of bunkers that sheltered the Ones Inside were ostensibly nothing more than these basements with drilled out tunnels connecting them.

            The one they found themselves in at the moment hadn’t been used in ages. It was dirty, dingy. It looked like Alder felt. Dark. Used up. Old blankets, furniture with the insides bursting out. Abandoned. A wreck. Like his life. No light could make it down from the surface. Addie had a lantern that was their only source of illumination. She had used the light to point things out, things that might have been. 

“A family probably played games there.”

            Great.

            “Children probably played a game called hide and seek down here.”

            Wonderful.

            “All this old stuff. It doesn’t look like much, but it was a part of people’s lives.”

            Fantastic.

            “I bet they were happy here. No clue how bad it would get. Just happy.”

            I’m not.

            Fruit and some dry foods were their sustenance. The whole thing was pretty miserable. Alder’s apoplexy was not something he was used to. Addie wasn’t used to it either. She wasn’t gifted with his naivety, and thus wasn’t cursed with his disappointment.

            Expectations.

            She watched him as he packed a few edibles into a hundreds of years old backpack; they had just awoken and clearly he was off to do something. Knowing him, she knew immediately.

            “Probably not a good idea, partner.”

            “Webb’s in trouble. We don’t even know. I can’t raise him on your radio. He knew how to use it, didn’t he?”

            “Yeah, I taught him. He knows the secure channel, man. If he got out, he’s on the run, hiding. If not, then you need to prepare yourself for the fact that at this moment, this moment, there is precisely nothing you can do about it. Dammit Alder, look at me.” She sat up from her makeshift pallet and clapped her hands together. He stopped but didn’t avert his gaze from the pack.

“I can’t accept it.”

            “World does not care what you accept. He screwed up. Somehow. He let that bastard loose. It’s his own bed he’s laying in.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “The expression?”

            “Yes. And the point. Both things. I don’t understand.” Alder’s long hair was a mop, covering his whole sagging head. Addie rose to her feet and put her hands on his face, brushing back the locks obscuring his eyes. She could see angry tears in the shallow light.

            “Look at me. We go back there, and if we make it, there’s no way of knowing what we’re walking into.”

            “Who cares? He can’t stop us, his Space doesn’t apply to us.”

            “You don’t think he’s procured an extra legion of mechs and Sky Eyes patrolling that dome? We’ll get blown to nothing before we even find an approach. Trust me partner. I’ve been doing this kind of thing a lot longer than you.”

            “Yeah. Good for you.” The mocking tone didn’t sit well with her at all. She was out on a limb with the guy, and he was acting like it was nothing. Not to mention, saving his life. Later that morning a new list was being posted on the Worldviews: A list of the Cullers. It had two names.

            Travers Webb, L2. Deceased.

            Lerner Merchant, L1. Deceased.

            In an extraordinarily ironic attempt at retribution and a rather ingenious strategy for pissing of Tate, Pope decided to electronically plaster the list for him and all the others in the Five Cities to see. The Administrator was hoping to draw Alder out. Just like Addie said, he was holed up, waiting for his old classmate to make a mistake, a rush to judgment. Eventually they would find out. Right now, it was just one man with his emotions and one woman with her reason, stalled out in an ancient rumpus room.

“Don’t dare cut an attitude with me,” she said.

            It wasn’t his intention. It wasn’t her intention to snap back. They looked at each other, beat down, hungry, wanting the whole ordeal to be over whilst living like it would always be.

            They kissed. It was awkward. Alder’s first kiss, she could tell. These people. Still, she liked it. It was comfort. Maybe misplaced, maybe a deflection or distraction from what was coming or what had already come to pass.

            The guilt was with her. She was a real person, after all. She knew what this was, what it meant, the pleasure of it.

            He felt the pleasure more; it overwhelmed him so that he couldn’t see or feel anything else. Later it would haunt him. Had he known, he might have stopped.

            Probably not.

            More kissing, and with every passing minute she could feel him getting better at it, more comfortable. Human after all. Addie helped him down into the dirty blankets she called her bed and in the midst of all the misery and the plans and the craziness of the world Alder Tate experienced what he would call his first attempt at Continuation.

            Considering the length of the proceedings, Continuation probably wouldn’t be the best description for it. On the other hand, after Continuation, they continued.

Chapter 41: New Reasons, Same Reasons

            General Sweeden was nothing if not a hard worker. He was nothing if not a dutiful soul. Nothing if not doing his damnedest. In the end, it all added up to pretty much nothing.

            Sweeden was better and worse than he figured. The only thing that stuck out about the man was perhaps his ability to go there, to assess himself. He was not particularly fond of assessing troop proficiencies, supplies, weapons, or anything else concerning war. He did think about himself, however. He’d read a few books on the great generals from the time before. It seemed like the propensity for thinking of oneself was the common denominator for all those conquering heroes.

            So he tried.

            It was a lot to do. He had the business of raising a force that had to be ready at a moment’s notice, attack an unknown target, and then of course, the main concern: not dying. Dead generals rarely made the history books, unless other generals fell at their hands. Sweeden had no generals to fight. Just a nameless, soulless electronic System. The contrast of styles was so obvious it wouldn’t even be worth writing down.

            Garrick had chosen Sweeden for a reason; he was an excellent hunter. The Ones In Between loved hunters—they were a big reason why individual communities survived. Everyone had their roles. People like Walsh and Addie Fredericks could do all the resisting they wanted, but the folks back home had to eat. Sweeden could stalk, slowly and carefully. He was far too fat to go climbing fences and evading Sky Eyes. On the other hand, the man had a knack for finding the right place, for walking his prey down, slowly, lightly. Mostly he was commissioned, according to Garrick, to train the young men of the army to shoot. This he could do. But the questions. Ah, the questions. He was constantly burdened by his three colonels, Reff, Stine, and Bulker.

            Reff was asking something now, again, seemingly for the millionth time. The three younger men followed him around Black Cave like ducklings. He’d tried to find a passageway or secret unmapped antechamber to get away from his retinue, but to no avail. Reff was short, unpleasant, all too eager. “So, any word from Garrick?”

            “No. Not for some time. Just keep making weapons and things that explode. Keep the shipments to Crystal Cave going.”

            “I’m getting stir crazy just building up an army. Do you really think this inside man will be able to shut down the System?” It was Stine. Tall, gaunt, a badly drawn upside-down pyramid for a face.

            “He better. Otherwise this is all for nothing.” 

“That’s what I was about to say.” Bulker. It was an ironic name; he was the most fragile looking man Sweeden had ever seen. Bulker was a tedious sycophant, at all times trying to impress the general. In their minds they were all doing something quite extraordinary. In reality they were. But they had no idea what they were about, at least not exactly. No one was more aware of this than Bulker, so no one tried harder. The general blamed him, but in the end it was to be expected. After all, he was the same kind of lapdog to Garrick.

            The way of things.

            Four main sources formed the basis of all the theoretical military knowledge of the officers In Between. The Secret History of the Mongols, by somebody secret, The History of the English Speaking Peoples, by one Winston Churchill, and a few ragged volumes by someone called Thucydides and another called Herodotus. The first history was entertaining but mostly fiction, the second history was not written by a historian, and the third and fourth dealt with a lot of ships and spears and men in sandals. All very pertinent. Chambers of books remained from the time before, but for obvious reasons the ones containing coordinated violence had all but been eliminated.

What was it all for? Ask Reff, Stine, and Bulker, and they would offer up the same few answers. Revenge. Peace. Justice.Three hundred years after the time before, the reasons for war remained fixed and futile as ever. The more weapons they made, the more troops he made ready, Sweeden was beginning to understand it, though he was ignorant to the sentimentalities of the past. It just made little sense. In his lifetime, a few thousand souls had been lost to Sky Eyes and the mechs. They were forced to live mostly underground, going up to raid, farm hidden fields, or hunt. But if asked before all this started, the general would have admitted to having a generally happy life. A simple wife, a simple family, what else was there? Now, staring into what could be, it was possible that hundreds of thousands would die. Maybe it was worth it, to breathe free air without worry, to dance on the broken short circuiting limbs of their metal hunters. To be in charge, looking down on the Spacers and the Regulars alike. Maybe not.

Reff was so close behind him he thought it was his own radio cracking. It wasn’t. He listened as the smallest of the colonels said okay a few times, each one getting a little louder and more anxious.

            “What is it?” Sweeden asked. He was tired and his words came out hard and quick. It was his right to be rude. He was in charge, after all.

            “The Old Man is coming,” answered Reff. “And he’s got some people with him.”

            The general was in no mood for a surprise visit. He had been doing his duty, and things were going as well as anyone could expect. But it was Garrick.

            He was in charge, after all.

Chapter 42: Blah! Blah! Blah!

            Indeed, there he was, OG himself. Doing a lop-sided saunter down the carved out steps of the main chamber of Black Cave. Yeah, there was an exigency about his bounce; the two-hundred foot decline took mere minutes for a man who could barely get himself out of bed in the morning. Great, thought Sweeden, standing in the center of the enormous chamber, surrounded by drilling troops, and of course, his ducklings. The general noticed a train of ducklings behind Garrick as well, some he knew, some not.

            In a simple effort to be polite to the cripple, he made his way toward the foot of the long stairway. The sound of claps and hollers of men doing exercises in the background were really everywhere. It was sometimes called Caller’s Cave for the echoes. The chamber was enormous. Almost a half-mile wide, about the same in length, with a ceiling you could hardly make out. Sweeden was hit by an echo emanating from the mouth of the leader. It was indiscernible, so he and his ducklings waddled at full steam.

            “General!”

            “Yes, OG?” They stopped their waddling.

            “I have some people here I want you to meet. They bring news. The moment has arrived.” Garrick’s train had come to a halt and swiveled to face Sweeden and his minions twenty feet from the foot of the stairs. The general and colonels were standing in a depression that made them appear shorter than normal. They looked up at the new arrivals, waiting for the good word.

Reff’s breath was bated.

            Stine was tenuously optimistic, if that is possible. If not, he was inventing it.

            Bulker wasn’t thinking. He was next to the general, trying to adopt his exact posture.

            This was the first time Sweeden had met the big guy in front of others. It was the first time he felt like a real general. His chest swelled with a stupid sort of pride. So did Bulker’s.

            “We have the intelligence, Sweeden. I think you know Walsh, here.”

            He didn’t. “Only by reputation, Sir.”

            “And this is Susa Burke, L9—formerly L9, from City Five. She is going to be the key to the whole operation.” The general and his colonels were rigid and almost embarrassed. They’d never seen a woman so beautiful, so clean, so untouched by the hard and dirty.

            “Ms. Burke,” Sweeden said, nodding ever so. Bulker did the same. The other two followed in turn. She was tall, almost as tall as the formidable Walsh. He’d heard for years about the great square-head and his numerous derring-dos. The general had always pictured the man to possess a scarred, monstrosity of a face. The reality was actually quite underwhelming. Besides his physique and a few insignificant scars, he looked the normal sort.

“And this is?” Garrick asked, turning behind, snapping with his good fingers.

            A pudgy, moon-faced fellow ran up, in line with Susa and Walsh. “This is Blake, Sir,” Walsh reminded.

            “Yes. Blake. A good man by all accounting. Just met him myself tonight.”

            Two rows of four stood looking at each other. One row, fairly uninteresting, the other, much more so. Claps from the trainees continued to ring out in the background. At the completion of this or that exercise you could hear the boom of a Revenge or Peace or Justice as the army cried out in unison.

            “Seems you have the boys in shape, General,” OG said. “Couldn’t have come at a better time.”

            “Yes Sir. I think they’ll do fine. Seems they’re starting to become of one mind, like you wanted.”

            “That’s what I wanted.” Garrick leaned on Walsh to steady himself. It made the warrior sick to act as crutch to a murderer, but he did so unflinchingly.

            Sweeden had questions. Those questions wouldn’t be answered here. He hadn’t been at the previous meeting between Susa, Walsh, and OG. The one where it was explained that Alder Tate had shunned the plan to take down the System. The one where Susa made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of doing anything but coopting the whole mess for his own purposes. The one about him going crazy after the Culling, saying that someone had to be in charge, that someone ought to be him.

            It had taken a lot of convincing. The Old Man wasn’t convinced until he found out that Susa was a fellow member of the class at EF 144, that the Ones Inside were hunting Alder Tate. Walsh confirmed the story, which helped ease his mind. The fact that Tabor Fredericks and the Ones Inside were onboard made it hard to argue with. Of course, a man as clever as Garrick was perpetually suspicious, but at this point he had to go with whatever was going to get him from A to B.  

Kinks were for later.

            It was a sea change, nonetheless. One that Sweeden was completely unaware of. He felt he had to speak. “So can I ask about the Tate guy, and who the lady here is?”

            Garrick snapped straight as his body allowed. “You don’t worry about the details. Just get your colonels in line, tell them to get their captains in line, and all the way down the chain. The lady here is going to make all of your jobs a lot easier. And don’t let me hear about Tate again. The name is dead to you. Clear?”

            “Sir.”

            “Good.” The cave continued to boom with chants and claps emanating from army drills.

            Peace!

            “So are these lads ready to kill so they can live again?”

            “Yes Sir.”

            Justice!

            “Are they ready to dole out punishment without mercy to establish order?”

            “Yes Sir.”

            Revenge!

            “And are they ready to take out fifty for every one they’ve ever taken from us?”

            “Uh—Yes Sir.”

            “Perfect.” Garrick was showing his cards, unable to contain his glee. Walsh, Blake and Susa did their best to show no reaction. Sweeden did the same. “Of course we hope it doesn’t come to any of that.” He creaked his neck to look up at Susa, standing to his right. “Believe me when I say that. Much violence shouldn’t be necessary. Not after you turn it all off, my dear. No, I’m sure it won’t be.” He sank back into himself, switching to the role of humble cripple inside and out once again. “But there’s nothing like being prepared. Wouldn’t you agree?”

            Walsh and Susa nodded steadily to the sounds of peace, justice, and revenge playing in the background.

Chapter 43: Electronic Balls

            Mr. Stepp was back in the black, but he knew that success could be a passing trifle. Power was see-sawing and the old miser was keen to hold onto what he had. The Administrator had already shown him his gift: ironically, Alder Tate’s old residence. It was all the Space he would ever need, along with mechs and walls and all the good stuff for keeping everything out. For minutes at a time he would go there in his mind, imagining the air that would be his, the land, the Space.

            Unfortunately, he wasn’t there yet. There was still work to be done, according to Pope. The Administrator’s rescue had won him favor, but according to the boss, until Tate was rooted out and proved dead, he couldn’t take his prize.

            For the job, Stepp was given a credit pad with almost unlimited resources. With it he could buy the services of every no-account addict and junk user in town, a well of dirty miscreants to inform him of any possible hiding place of Tate or his retinue of free-breathing scum.

            Hadn’t he done enough? Stepp thought so, but he didn’t have an army of machines to compel the same opinion of Pope, so there he was, back where he never thought he’d be again.

            His old bunker.

            He would have picked a more scenic locale, but everyone who knew him knew him to operate from there. It just made things easier. The cranky crook put out feelers the day before and the willing were pouring in faster than he could send them out. Already there were a thousand Regulars looking for Tate. The enlisted were given a small stipend of credits and the promise of untold riches if they could gather information on his whereabouts or just plain kill the guy.

            Work together, he would say.

            Work alone, he would say.

            He didn’t care how it got done, as long as it did. He had heaven to get to, everything else be damned.

The boss didn’t want to know any of the details. You’ve lived with the scum, I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. I need you Stepp. In a way it felt good to be useful to the most powerful man in the game, but the luster had worn off to some degree. In the service of Pope he had lost his chip, almost committed suicide, been beaten unconscious, and watched as the great man drove a tool down some poor sap’s cranium. Not that he cared. It just seemed a little undignified for the leader of the Five Cities and the controller of the System.

            Controller of the System, he laughed, handing out more credits to the next smelly Regular in the cue. Stepp asked what he was doing to find the enemy, and Pope told him that he was going to reengineer the security mechs to find heat signatures of any life form, chipped or not. When the old man asked how this was to be accomplished, he was answered with a terse and enraged none of your business. By this, it was obvious that his boss had no idea how to do it. For one in control of the System, he was far from in control. Why else would he need an old loser like me?

As he watched one dirty degenerate loser after another exit his place of business with an extra bounce in their step, he wished he had an underling he could trust to facilitate the search for Alder Tate. Looking back, he almost regretted the decision to throw her off the roof.

            The biggest regret was not having someone to beat. Like any addict, he was pining for a fix. Old Stepp was finding himself in a sort of torturous irony. He could kick, slap, punch anyone in the whole Five Cities now that he was unchipped. Doing so, however, would alert his “community” that he could also receive the same treatment, consequence free. Besides blowing their tiny brains, this could prove dangerous indeed. His predilections would have to be put on hold until the appropriate time.

            Clement Pope wasn’t worried about predilections or sating weird fetishes. He’d never been that interesting. His only concern was Tate, Susa, his little band of allies, and how to kill them all. Times were dire, but they had been a lot worse mere days ago; this gave the squirrel hope that the future could be even better. Back to normal.

Currently he was running diagnostics on the System, trying to figure out how Sky Eyes and mechs could be used more effectively for killing people without chips. Whoever designed the thing had obviously wanted it this way for the children. Killing them off before they could be useful producers would have been counterproductive. The current protocols stipulated that if a machine visually spotted an unchipped form of life, it was to delay for several seconds, identify the age of the subject, then decide whether or not to blow them to dust. This was all well and good, but not very proactive.

            Pope was no fool, but his programming wasn’t as good as some. He had already tried to design three workarounds, but to no avail. Something was keeping him from going into the deeper subsets of the code. A hidden firewall? He had no idea. He threw down a wrench and plopped into his chair. He flinched a little; it was, after all, the chair that Travers Webb had been tortured to death in. Bad memories weren’t staying his comfort—he’d simply forgotten for a moment that the sanitation mechs had completely sterilized the thing.

Now that he was a murderer in an “order death from afar” sense and a “hands on” sense, the Administrator might have been in a state of existential wandering. Nothing could be farther. He was more determined than ever to be the man of destiny. Sharing it, with Susa or anyone else, was a thing heaped upon the refuse pile of ill-gotten memory. So many Laws of Space had been broken over the last few weeks, so many taboos and mores thrown down, all he wanted was to again be a stalwart for the System—the thing that had kept the world alive when nothing else could.

            Pope called for a kitchen mech to bring him something cold to drink. He’d been at it for hours, days now. Something was coming, though he wasn’t quite sure what. The best news, the best of all news, was his Space was back on. At the very least he could feel safe.

            It had been a huge error on Alder’s part, leaving me with my chip. It was like taking down an enemy and leaving him with all his weapons. He laughed through sips of cold minted tea, relaxing in his murder chair. Tate’s not so clever. Where is he now? Hiding in some cave, some bunker, some dirty ugly place, hunted by everything living and everything electronic under the sun?

            Suddenly the programming and engineering problems of the last few days melted away. There really was no comparing. He was simply way better than Alder. The sipping and laughing continued. Pope pictured his old classmate crawling through sewers and evading capture like a rodent. Another mech climbed down the stairs and patted his sweaty brow, not too hard, not too light. Just the way he wanted. Pope began to swivel back and forth in his murder chair like a little child, enjoying himself the way most children do: at another’s expense.

            A true product of the Five Cities.

Sipping, swallowing, swiveling, the squirrel shot his eyes to the stack of old papers and schematics that outlined the wiring of the System. Memories of that same day came back, the day where he watched Alder talking to the former Administrator, ready to take up the mantle. Suddenly a thought occurred. Tate had done something else that day, right there where he was sitting. The old boss had gone up for tea and Pope had zoned out as Alder went to work on something, punching keys and screens and rewiring something.

            FIREWALLS.

            Pope began punching in keys, knowing already what he was about to find. He did a diagnostic and cross-checked the list of changes with their dates.

            There it was. He’d known all along. Even that day. According to the readout, the audio sensors on all security mechs and Sky Eyes had been hacked and shut down. That explains a lot. He’d known all along. Knew he’d be out there, didn’t want to be listened to. Knew the dying old boss wouldn’t even notice. Guy was deaf anyway.

            Looking farther down the list, he noticed several more updates. Among them was an anti-intrusion algorithm. Any attempt to break down the firewall and adjust the security procedures or protocols for the System would result in a crash. Alder Tate had Clement by the balls, electronically speaking.

            Suddenly the squirrel was all red and sweat again. He finally had some answers, all the good it did him. He still didn’t know Tate’s end game. Was he trying to take down the System from the offing? Was the old boss in on it at the time? Why didn’t he just take the post of Administrator and use the access to change anything he wanted? He finally had some answers, but the answers only bred more questions.

            Damn you Alder Tate.

Chapter 44: Tunnel Vision

            “So you knew that day that you were going to take yourself out of the game?” It was Addie, about to receive the answers Pope would have paid a king’s ransom to obtain. The pair were still in the basement. It had been days now—what should have been miserable was nothing short of heaven for Alder. The death of Webb was still an unknown. Intimacy, physical and emotional, had him in an ecstatic kind of state. Addie wouldn’t admit to it so easily but her heart was in the same sort of space. “Hey. Stop staring partner. It’s not polite to ignore a girl’s question.”

            “What now?” he asked, moving in for an adolescently enthusiastic kiss.

            “Seriously?”

            “Yeah, I knew—well, kind of. Not like… there wasn’t a real plan or anything, if that’s what you mean. I got called to the big house needing some questions answered. Once I got the answers, it was clear.”

            “What did it for you?”

            “Really, I just asked the old Administrator if he thought it was a good job.”

            “What’d he say?”

            “He told me to run as fast and as far as I could. ‘It sucks.’ Those were his words. He was a pretty decent man. Maybe he was just dying and growing soft, but I thought he was decent.”

            “So then you embedded the code?”

            “Yeah. It was easy. The whole System was open—the old boss was giving me a little tutorial—and he forgot to log out. I could pretty much do anything I wanted. Pope was right behind me, didn’t have a clue what was going on. I just wanted to downgrade some of the security features. Mess around a little bit. I should’ve done more.”

            “Yeah. You should’ve.”

            “Like I said, I knew I was getting out, but I didn’t know this was going to happen. I didn’t know about your people.”

            “Untrue.”

            “Okay. I knew, but I didn’t really know. We’ve been over this. Your idea of a greeting was to throw a bag over my head and have some oaf beat me to the ground.”

            “Good point.” 

“I was being short-sighted. And perhaps selfish.”

            “Selfish. You may have done the right thing for yourself but you gave the Five Cities to captain douchebag.”

            “I don’t know what that is, but I get the point.”

            Addie looked into his gentle eyes. There was no lying in them. She knew that already. Sometimes his earnestness just pissed her off. “Alright pal, past is prologue. Let’s just get packed up. We need to move.”

            Indeed they did. It had been a long time since any contact from Susa or Walsh. Listening to radio chatter, they knew of the intensive search being conducted by the Ones Inside. Mr. Fredericks really had it in his mind that Tate was next version of evil incarnate. He had no idea that his daughter was harboring the very man he was trying to kill. No idea about the plan Susa and Addie had cooked up. Everybody involved thought they were on the right side, like it usually goes. Everybody involved thought they were operating with all the facts, like it usually goes.

            Despite what everybody thought, there were only a handful of people that were privy to the real. It was a tiresome burden. Addie felt it as she collected her things to move on to the next hideout.

            “Did you hear that?” Alder asked, pulling up his pants. The whole being naked with another person thing was very appealing to him. He hadn’t put them on in days.

            Another noise, like the one before. It was coming from the eastern wall of the basement. It didn’t make any sense. Addie started rooting around her bag for her knife and gun when a section of the wall burst open, sending bricks and dust into air. Alder grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back from the opening, having no idea as to what they were dealing with.

Dust. Darkness. It was impossible to tell. They waited for the air to clear and their eyes to adjust. Finally, a voice pierced the haze. “Oh man. What a waste.”

They couldn’t see the source of the complaint but it was obviously a man. Apparently he had a clearer view than they did. “I thought this would open into another tunnel. Space’ sake. I’m never going to find this Tate guy. Frigging sewers. Basements. I think I quit.” The atmosphere in the room was finally clearing, revealing a comically squatty fellow with a long salt and pepper beard. “How long you guys been here? Sussed it out I imagine? Uh,” he grunted, stomping about, taking a pull from a rusty flask. “Maybe I should work with a team. People. Well, you know.”

            Alder was about to speak when Addie snapped her fingers in his face. “Yeah. People. Trust me, partner, it’s no vacation.”

            “Don’t get me started with that word. Bunch of morons up there walking around with nothing to do. I figure, give this thing a crack, but I don’t know anymore.” He took another pull, apparently his last. The disappointment on his face told the tale. “Guess I’ll find another way to keep myself in booze. Been doing it for forty years.”

            Alder began to speak again. Another snap. It was getting irritating. Why does she keep doing that? It must another one of their things.

            “So,” she said. “How long you been at it?”

            “Oh, few days, like everyone else. Ever since the word came from Stepp. That guy’s got the goods. Known him for years. What a jerk.” The squatty man came a little closer then walked right by, examining the wall behind them like it hid a portal to the afterlife. He never even looked at their faces. He had a satchel over his shoulder and a large hammer that he wielded with a surprisingly powerful authority. Tapping at the wall, he appeared satisfied, having found a weak spot.

            As he moved to smash at another wall, he arrested his swing at Addie’s request. “Hold on there chief. You got any idea what you’re doing?”

            “Look little lady. I know I don’t look like much but there’s a method to my brute force madness. Map I stole off a fellow searcher showed a tunnel network right around here. I think I just missed it by one basement.”

            “What makes you think he’s hiding around these parts?” She asked.

            For a moment he set the hammer down with a heavy thud. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude… well, maybe I do, but I’m not an idiot. The map I stole is pretty rare. Not a lot of people know about these tunnels and basements. I figure Alder Tate is no idiot either. If he’s hiding, chances are it’s in this section of City Five. And no. I won’t split the money with you. If and when I find the bastard.” Again he moved to swing his cumbersome tool. “Now if there are no more questions?”

            “Just one,” Alder said, now fully dressed and fully aware why Addie had silenced him. “When you do find him, what will you do?”

            “Well, I don’t know. Smack him with this thing, I suppose. I don’t have any leanings toward killing the guy, but if what they’re saying about him being behind the Culling, not like he won’t have it coming.”

The new arrival began to smash away at the wall. After several well placed blows a hole formed and he stuck his mostly bald head through to see what lay ahead. “I think I foun—”

            Before he could finish his eureka, Addie shot her pistol at the wall next to new hole. The bullish little man dropped the hammer at the sound and the tiny explosion mere feet from his head. It was the loudest thing he had ever heard. It was the loudest thing Alder had ever heard. Addie was used to it.

            “What the Space, lady?” he screamed turning and slumping down against the wall. His question was answered by another shot, this one right next to his shoulder. “Stop! What in name of the Cities is that thing?”

            Alder was on the sidelines as he watched the new love of his life do her thing. “It’s called a gun—well, a firearm, more precisely. These things killed a lot of people back in the old days, and they still work. It won’t vaporize you. Just put a little puncture wherever I aim and you’ll bleed out, slowly, painfully.”

            “Where’d you get it?” he asked, teeth clattering.

            “We have gun makers. We dirty, unchipped, that is. This particular model is a .45 caliber, not that you’ll understand that. It’s based on a design called the 1911, not that you’ll understand that either.” She could see that the squat was about to relieve himself, so she lowered her weapon a bit. “Take a breath, partner. If I wanted to kill you… well, figure it out. What’s your name?”

            He couldn’t get seem to get it out.

            “Your name, Sir?” Alder asked, shifting the man’s attention away from Addie’s contraption.

            “Forde. Dyson Forde, L3.”

            “Hello, Dyson. I’m Alder Tate. This is my… companion, Addie Fredericks. Seems your theory was correct, about my location, that is.”

            Addie raised her eyebrows at being called a “companion” but went along with Tate. She’d let him do his thing, at least for the moment. Not like she had a plan for this, either.

            The round face of Dyson Forde squeezed a little tighter as he squinted up at the rangy frame of Tate. “Looks like you forgot to stop and smell the roses, chief.”

            “What?”

            Alder interjected. “Yeah, I don’t know what it means either, but safe to assume she’s alluding to the fact that you found what you were looking for but didn’t take the time to notice you had.”

            “So why don’t you kill me? You have that thing. Aren’t you people crazy?”

            “Would you like for us to kill you?” Alder asked.

            “No. Not particularly. I mean, life pretty much sucks, and I have this rash, but…”

           “Then don’t ask why we are not killing you.” He took a few soft steps toward her. “Sorry Addie, a natural bellicosity, even in the face of destruction, is to be expected. He is a product of the System, after all.”

“So were you.”

            “Maybe.” The facts were obscured now. He’d been told about the corruption of the Test. Maybe he was an anomaly. Maybe he was just a guy who wanted out. Maybe there were no anomalies. Lot of maybe’s.

            “So,” Alder said, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to their new friend. He patted him on a meaty shoulder, prompting the usual response. “Stop squirming. Be logical, man. You’re tumbling through sewers and tunnels and dingy old basements, but you’re honestly worried about a touch from another person?”

            “Guess I never thought about it?”

            “I understand. It’s amazing what you never think about—but think about it. In the meantime, you have two options.”

            “Hey there, Alder. You want to talk to me first, pal?”

            “It’s okay,” he said, nonchalant as ever. She rolled big, telling eyes. I’ve got the gun, don’t I?

            “Okay Dyson Forde, L3. You seem like a decent enough guy. So either you can come with us, or we can tie you up in this room. I really don’t think option two is a good one. You may never be found. In which case you’ll be dead in three or four days from dehydration. I don’t know how many credits you have, but the body can’t make more water for itself. Won’t be pretty.”

            “Okay?”

            “Or, like I said. Come with. We could use your help.”

            “Help with what?”

            “Well, and I can tell this will be obvious to you, because you’re a smart guy: evade capture. Seems like you can assist, seeing is how you are apart of the effort to secure said capture. Lead the way. Find us safe passage. Then there’s the matter of taking down the System and stopping the evil army that is coming for us all, not to mention toppling the maladjusted nitwit Administrator. Addie, am I missing anything?”

            Her mouth was wide open. Why am I so into this lunatic? “No, I think you summed it up. Sure there’s some finer points that need going over, but who’s counting at this point?”

“What do you say, Mr. Forde?” Tate stood up and held out a hand to help raise the L3 off the floor.

            “No vaporize?”

            “Nope. No chip. We can take yours out, too. If you want. Your choice, though.”

            Addie watched the scene from five feet away. Alder was typically genial, but she was in awe of his command of the moment. Once he found his bearings, there was little that could get in his way. The stocky, dome-headed Mr. Forde was looking up at Tate, shaking hands, seemingly entranced by the simple honesty of the proposition lodged his way.      

            “So the Culling? It wasn’t you. You know that’s what everybody thinks, right?”

            “I know. And that sucks. But hearts and minds we can deal with later. We’ve got a plan, don’t you worry.”

            Forde looked over at his hammer and checked his flask, as if by some miracle it had magically refilled itself. “I guess I’ll tag along, see how things go. Is that good enough?”

            “Good enough for me. A fair bargain. Addie?”

            “Oh, you remembered I was here? However you want to play it, partner. Just don’t go thinking I won’t put a tunnel through our tunnel man here if he gets wise.”

            “That was a threat. And an attempt at humor. She does that.”

            “Good to know,” Forde said. “You have to understand my fears. I don’t want to end up on the screens under the other names.”

            “On the screens?”

            “The Worldviews. All over. Pope’s got the executed conspirators name’s posted 24 hours a day. It’s scary.”

            “What names? Can you remember the names?”

            “Of course. There’s only two. I don’t think anybody in the Five Cities can forget. Lerner Merchant, L1, and Travers Webb, L2. They’re fixed, like they’ve been dead since the beginning of time.”

            So it was then that Alder Tate learned the regret that sometimes comes from loving one person too much at a time.

            So came the pain. Diagnosis: myopia

            The world could never be perfect, even naked in a murky basement with a beauty and a heart afire. It seems there’s always a man with a hammer busting in with ill-timed news.

Chapter 45: Stay Out of It

            “Did you hear the announcement this morning?”

            “Yes. The announcement.”

            “I feel so much better now that he’s back in charge.”

            “Back in charge. We never had to say that before.”

            “True. The old Administrator ran a tighter System.”

            “Yes. But the least we can say is it hasn’t been boring.”

            “Boring. What does that even mean?”

            “Yes. With all the back and forth, now this vacation.”

            “So you didn’t hear?”

            “What?”

            “The vacation is being suspended. The trolls are back to work tomorrow.”

            “About time.”

            “Yes. Free time is dangerous. It allows idiots time to think.”

            “Dangerous.”

            “Indeed.”

            “I myself am sick of thinking. What do we always say?”

            “Be mindful of your thoughts.”

            “Mind your thoughts.”

            “The worrying. It can lead to many maladies.”

            “Truly. I’ve almost stopped with my social clubs altogether.”

            “That can be unhealthy as well.”

            “True. Total isolation can bring on sickness too.”

            “Correct. It’s an unsafe world. But we’ve always known that.”

            “The only thing you can do is look out for yourself.”

            “Yes. I suppose.”

            “Well, production will begin again. Our supplies will be replenished.”

            “Of that we can be sure. At least there is that.”

            “But what of Alder Tate? Is he done? What about the others?”

            “What did I say about worrying?”

            “The Administrator has it under control. You heard him.”

            “Did he have it under control when he ceded the reigns to Tate?”

            “How could he have known?”

            “Can you believe Tate was responsible for the Culling?”

            “I distinctly remember us all thinking that was a good idea.”

            “I don’t remember that.”

            “Nor do I.”

            “Barbaric.”

            “No. I think I remember you lot saying that it was needed and appropriate.”

            “Well. If done under the auspices of the Administrator, then yes.”

            “But not if it’s done by Tate?”

            “Exactly. One has to pair action with actor.”

            “Yes. That’s what you have to do.”

            “I suppose. Still it all seems a bit haphazard. I’m not sure I feel safe.”

            “Tate is most likely dead. And the barbarians …”

            “Are nothing more than that. Barbarians. We have System. It will handle it.”

            “Don’t quote me, I’m simply saying I long for the boring old days.”

            “We have to change with the times. Adapt.”

            “Exactly what are you doing to adapt?”

            “In our minds, we have to adapt. Calming agents. We can afford it.”

            “That’s true. We can afford it.”

            “Stay clean. Stay true to the Laws. Mind your Space. What can happen?”

            “What can happen?”

            “Nothing ever has before.”

            “Does that mean it never will?”

            “Yes. I believe that. It never will.”

            “An Administrator never had his home seized before.”

            “You know, you’ve always been late to this group. Now all you do is bring fear.”

            “I’m just saying…”

            “You’re always just saying.”

            “Yes. Always. I’m tired of it. The rest of us are getting along fine.”

            “I call for a vote.”

            “A vote.”

            “For the expulsion of the worrier from this club.”

            “You must be joking? I’m simply asking a few questions.”

            “And we’re all sick of it. I second the motion.”

            “I’ll say it. Expulsion. Is the vote unanimous?”

            “Yay.”

            “Yes.”

            “Yay.”

            “Come on. Can’t we talk about this?”

            “Yes.”

            “Expulsion.”

            “This is ridiculous.”

            “Yay. You should have thought about that before fomenting recalcitrance.”

            “Yay.”

            “It’s settled. Be gone.”

            “Mind your Space. All seven levels of it.”

            “Pathetic. We never should’ve let someone so low be a member.”

            “Goodbye L7.”

            “Finally. It’s been a long time coming.”

            “You people. Who needs you?”

            “Hopefully not you. Because you no longer have us.”

            “Enough. It is done.”

            “Goodbye, L7.”

            “But…”

            “Stay out of it.”

            “Yes. Stay out of it.”

Chapter 46: Insight on the Inside

            Arguments. The men and women of the Ones Inside were a pugnacious group, physically, verbally. Their overall nature could be summed up in the person of Tabor Fredericks, the man in charge.

            The arguments were increasing of late. It wasn’t as if the members of the secret organization talked to talk—like Fredericks, they were mostly satisfied with terse dialogue. The terseness sometimes made it all the more scathing. Insubordination had always been tolerated to a certain extent, like it was In Between, but lately stones thrown toward Fredericks were being broken against the wall of his will. They had a part to play, a larger part than ever before. He would not see them falter.

            It would be failure to see the System continue on. That had always been their mission; to the end the bastard. And now they were close.

            It would be failure to let Garrick and his thugs take over and rule with the same kind of cruel indifference that the System provided.

            It would be failure to let Alder Tate live any longer. Fredericks had made up his mind. Susa Burke was the resource of choice. Tate was a subtle and tactful manipulator. It was obvious to him, despite anything he heard to the contrary.

            These were his missions. He would not fail. The Ones Inside would bring some semblance of peace to the land In Between and the Five Cities. It was the Fredericks’ birthright.

           The group had formed about a hundred years ago by his great-grandfather, Brimley Fredericks, a man revered through subsequent generations as a paragon of bravery and boldness. It was Brimley who had the idea to plant cells of the unchipped inside the Five Cities, to somehow find a weakness, something that could end the suffering of the Ones In Between and bring the electronic juggernaut crashing to its clunky knees. In the old days the only volunteers for such dangerous work had been the pariahs of society, people that had wronged others, cast out to live in solitary caves or live scraping about without community. Over time things had changed. Now it was an honor. Something sought after. Only the bravest and the boldest could make it on the Inside, and only they were selected for duty.

The mid-level leaders were chosen by the members themselves. Individual acts of valor or particularly damaging acts of sabotage could get you the respect required to become such a commander.  

            The only unchangeable was the top of the pyramid. It was always a Fredericks, always had been. He wanted Addie to be next, even though she was militia, serving under Walsh. Despite their clashing personalities, he was proud of his only child. She was still unvarnished, young and impetuous, but she had all the markings of a good and fair leader.

            As for the rank and file, the Ones Inside numbered in the thousands—three to four hundred per city. In the grand scheme it was a paltry force, but they punched far above their weight. Always had.

            The civilians living In Between regarded the Ones Inside as brave, but they feared them to a degree. They were a touch crazy to the average person just trying to live his or her life. Adrenaline seekers, fringe personalities and the like.

Life for the Ones Inside wasn’t spent entirely hiding out in the Cities. Soldiers were regularly rotated back for repast. It was a dangerous line of work—protracted time hiding from mechs and plotting schemes could have a deleterious effect. The average time spent Inside in a given year was about four months. Many had families back home. It was home they were fighting for, after all.

            But now home was a more complicated concept. Now home was being ruled by a conclave of weird creatures from catatonia. Now home was where a damn murdering half-man was bent on bringing full on war to the Five Cities.

            This was not the home the Ones Inside had fought and died for. On that, they could all agree. Everything else seemed to be up for heated and tetchy debate. Many were still having a hard time swallowing the idea that Garrick was a destructive force, but they hadn’t heard the tale directly from Walsh. Fredericks had a colorful history with the man, but knew was no craven and no liar.

            Tabor longed for his youth, when In Between was simply a place where no one told you what to do.

            “Thanks, my love,” he said, acknowledging the tea that Cora had brought for him. He looked up at her and turned on his stool. They found themselves in the radio room of the Ones Inside headquarters, checking on search teams, awaiting anything resembling good news.

            “Anything?”

            “Not yet.”

            “And what of our daughter?” Cora sat down next to him. She looked concerned. Lately her age was beginning to show, a few more grey wisps in her hair. Still, she was a more beautiful woman than he ever could have wished for.

“Nothing for days. But you know her. She said she was going out on her own, right?”

            “That’s what she told me. Said if anybody could bring us Tate, it was her.”

            “And I believe that,” Tabor replied, standing up to stretch his tree-trunk legs. Cora stood up and rubbed hand to cheek. It was coarse, seemingly always a day or two away from a fresh shave. He looked more aged than his wife, though he was actually a year younger. “But she told you that when he still had control of the Command Center. That’s the only thing.”

            Cora’s hand moved up to rub her husband’s wrinkled brow. “For somebody who isn’t worried about her, your face says otherwise.”

            “No, I’m fine,” he said, pulling away a bit. He looked down at the love his life, the brave fighter that had borne him his beautiful daughter. “It’s just my old fatherly instinct. And everything else. If you want me to be honest, I don’t know how this is going to work.”

            “You put your trust in Susa and Walsh. They will handle Garrick. You put your trust in your people and your daughter to find Tate and finally bring an end to the System. Faith, old man.”

            Her way and her words softened him a bit as his wife smiled wide. “Oh yeah,” he said, grabbing her arm to pull her close. “And what about you? What do I trust you for? Why do I keep you around anyway?”

            She smacked him on the face and gave him the firm, quick kiss of a wife of many years. “You trust me to keep you from doing anything stupid. We both know who the brains of this operation is.”

            He kissed her again. Tabor loved his wife. His devotion was total, the same that it was to his people and the cause. The freedom in that moment, the complete and total liberty to love someone with everything—that is what he wanted for everybody. As she gave him one last kiss and left him to his radio, he snapped back into the duties that lay ahead.

            One thing bothered him. That freedom, the thing that Brimley Fredericks had dreamed of for all people… how far was the leader of the Ones Inside willing to go to get it?

            Tabor had no answer. There were arguments on both sides. Some urged caution, some brutality. How could anyone know the wiser?

            How could he?

            He’d never been there.

            A test was coming. He could only hope he knew the answers when it came.

Chapter 47: Number Two

            “You got to be kidding me,” Stepp said, nearly turning one of his decrepit ankles. He was outside of City Five, along with three other Regulars. He was on a mission at Pope’s insistence. A scouting mission. What a joke. Just days ago he was the boss’ second.

            The men with him were useless and pathetic, like everyone else in City Five. He had chosen them because they were young and the least addicted of his addicted clientele. “Number One, come here. I have a rock in my boot.” They were new boots. Pope had sent over a delivery mech with all kinds of crap: new wardrobes, radios, torches… yay. As Number One unlaced the boot the geezer looked at the sky. Folds of his neck stretched out like an accordion as he took in the firmament, so blue.

            He found it disgusting. The whole plan, the whole thing disgusting. How many errands, how many times would he have to bailout the boss? Apparently as many times as necessary to ensure victory in the impending war. War. Stepp wasn’t convinced that war would ever come. It was lunacy, the paranoid delusion of a man once stripped of his power, doing anything to hold it firmly again.

            “Two. Get over here and give me some water. Three, check the map. Make sure our route is correct. I don’t want to die in the wrong direction.” He knew their names but refused to acknowledge them. They were insignificant fools, L1, L2, L3, whatever. Having to lead them was an insult. He had to find ways to make himself feel better in the wasteland beyond the walls; deriding his team was one such methodology.

            The short version of the plan: Find the secret evil army.  

The long version: Pope had managed to sift through days of security materials to find deliveries coming out of one place about twenty miles west of City Five. He believed that a buildup of some sort was taking place, and that was the epicenter. Stepp had to admit, the Administrator had done his homework. Long distance video from Sky Eyes flyovers showed that the position was well hidden but a little too well guarded—the entrance to a cave obscure between two steep canyon walls. Stepp’s charge was to somehow find a way in, observe, and report back. Pope couldn’t track the old man anymore but he could track the rest of the party. As long as the peddler stayed with One Two and Three he would be traceable. Of this he was assured. Whatever.

            The day before, all was well. His feet were up in the bunker, he was dreaming of his future villa, waiting on the news of Tate’s death. Now this.

He had no choice. It was clear that Pope was putting the responsibility for finding Tate and the other infiltrators on him, and in that task he’d produced nothing.

            “When are we going to get there?” asked Three.

            “Not today, you moron. It’s two, maybe three days walk. That’s if we don’t get blown up first.”

            “So we have to sleep out here? In the middle of nothing?” It was Two. He really hated Two. Longed for Two to trip a landmine. Steep shoved his weathered foot into its shiny new sheath and walked over toward the question. At least he could hit them. This he did, giving Two a backhand across the face. Two only flinched a little. It had been just one day, but he’d taken a lot of punishment.

            “I told you lot, it’s roughly twenty miles.” As he said it the problem was obvious: they had no clue what a mile was. Hand hurting from the blow, feet hurting from the terrain, back hurting from forever, the old man lingered forward, waving One Two and Three along. Every so often Sky Eyes would wing overhead and turn away. Pope had promised safe passage there and back. Apparently his ability to divert them from certain areas was not sabotaged by Tate prior to his fall from Space.

            The sun was getting low. “We’ll set up some sort of makeshift Dom in about an hour. I have instructions. I will drink while you three put it together. I’ll be surprised if you get it even half right.” The creaky-boned codger leaned his whole body to look right, then left. So much Space. It was the thing he longed for all of his life, but ironically, the sight of it made him sick. Space that wasn’t claimed, not owned—it didn’t compute in the gray matter of his old Regular brain. It was an unending feast spoiled by the fact that you might have to share.

Depression started sinking back in. The same feelings that put him on top of that roof. In this case, however, it was helpful. He and his little gang of miscreants were bound to die; whether it was from Pope screwing with the Sky Eyes or from being bashed to pieces by the barbarians, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. He was once again on that building, ready to jump off. Oh well. Might as well enjoy the simple things.

            “Number two, come here. And bring the paper. I’ve got to relieve myself. You’re going to wipe.”

Chapter 48: Cave Complex

            “This is a bit nuts.”

            “I don’t understand the expression, Mr. Walsh.” It was Susa, hiding in the dark while cave sweat dripped down on the three of them. Blake was a part of their late night jaunt as well—by now close to incontinence.

            Earlier that evening it had been decided that breaking into Garrick’s quarters might be a good idea. As Walsh looked down at his cave readout, shaking in the cold and the fear, it didn’t feel like such a good idea.

            “M-Maybe we should turn around. We could still turn around,” Blake posited. He tried to suck in his belly to hide it from lantern light coming from around the corner.

            “He sure puts himself up in a far spot,” Walsh said, waving them on to follow. Susa nearly had to peel Blake off the wall; he’d become one with nature during his latest bout with paralysis.

            “Yes. It’s almost as if he’s inclined to having ample personal space,” Susa said. She was just behind Walsh and the big man turned to answer with a possible revelation. As soon as he saw her sly grin he knew she was already there: the woman was far too clever for the likes of him. She didn’t mind Walsh’s gullibility. He wasn’t one for tricks of the mind or wordplay but he was brave, resourceful, and honest. Everywhere they went in Crystal Cave she was stunned at the level of reverence the people showed to him, more stunned how he brushed it aside like it was nothing. His presence was warming. She embraced it. Any good feeling was welcome presently. The old need for medicine was still nagging in the back of her bones.

At one point Addie asked Blake: “Why does everyone love Walsh so much?”

            “Honestly, he’s probably saved them or someone they know from the fire at one time or another.”

            It made her wonder. Where did he get the time? It’s not like he’s fifty. It was true. Walsh wasn’t much older than her and Alder, but he’d been an soldier with the Ones Between since puberty, getting more than a little stuck in ever since.

            “Are we sure he’s not here?” Blake asked. They were at a point in where two tunnels merged into one, dropping down a bit on a shallow grade.

            “Yes. He’s at Black Cave making his ‘final preparations,’ whatever that means.”

            “Okay,” bleated the fledgling third wheel. “Cause it looks like from here it’s a one way in, one way out type situation. You always taught me to avoid those.”

            “Whenever possible.”

            “Right.” The three of them stood there in the dim, looking down into passageway where Garrick’s quarters lay ahead. Blake was right, Walsh thought, more than a little scared himself. This was not an ideal situation, and he was operating with few facts and too many what-if’s. Ms. Burke had convinced him of the plot earlier that evening. When he pressed her for hard reasons, she said simply to trust me. To this he objected, but then Ms. Burke went into an elongated discussion about how she had given up her entire existence and probably her life to be in a cave with a bunch of strange people, a fugitive from familiarity and a fugitive from the only home she’d known. How she was putting her life on the line, how she was the central piece of a multi-dimensional deception, how she was the primary architect of a plan that was the only chance of any of them getting through the next few days alive.

            To this he said okay.

Not a lot could make Walsh a follower, but he found himself bending to Susa more than once. It wasn’t fear: he respected her, the way she saw things clear, had a mind for objectives, the way she at least tried to keep to her heart in the process.

            “Can I have the torch?” she asked, stepping into the tunnel. A door was ahead, thirty or forty paces. It appeared to have a lock. As they got closer Walsh examined the edges. The door was wood but it had steel hinges attached to a strip of metal bolted deep into the cave rock. Susa tried for the knob but it wouldn’t turn an inch. They were stuck. Somehow a draft of cold found its way down to them, down in the darkest of dark corners of the world. The walls perspired the way they always did. It was quiet. It was ominous. Then it wasn’t.

            “Blake!” Without asking permission, Walsh’s chubby-faced companion shoulder-charged the door, splintering the wood right through the hinges.

            “I knew being kind of fat would work out at some point.”

            “What are we going to do now, son? Can’t exactly cover this up?”

            Blake doubled over, rubbing his ailing shoulder. “I thought about that. I thought about how we were in the creepy tunnel that nobody’s supposed to know about, how we were on some secret spy mission that could get us killed. After I was done thinking, I thought we might as well get inside.”

            “And the door?” Susa asked. 

            “The army’s pulling out tomorrow. Heck, I don’t even think he’s coming back here. And if he does, he does. We say we don’t know what happened to it. Cave monster. What’s one more lie?”

Walsh walked by his compatriot, patting him on the unused shoulder. It was time to get this over with, whatever it was. “Alright Ms. Burke, what are we looking for?” He walked around chamber shining the torch at random. “Some secret weapon?”

            “Shine your light over here, please.” She was at an old bureau, covered with dusty books and pages and tokens. Lighting a match, she lit a candle that was sitting on the top edge of the chest. The room itself was in a state of disarray; OG wasn’t the tidiest of individuals. That, or as Blake had said, he wasn’t planning on coming back. “Look around for an old box, under the bed, in the corner, you know what I mean.”

            “Not really,” Walsh said, stepping as if he was at a crime scene. “What do you mean?”

            “Ever try to hide something? Have something precious that you don’t want discovered? It occurred to me that your people might have need of something of the sort. Not exactly useful where I come from—my whole life was a box… A hiding place, that’s what we’re looking for.”

            “I don’t have any secrets,” Walsh said.

            “That’s because you don’t have a wife,” Blake answered, stomping down on some out of place looking planks in the cave floor. After tapping around for a weak spot, he slammed his big boot through the wood. Susa came over and by candlelight the pair discovered a tiny chest underneath the boards.

            “Nice work.”

            “You don’t know my wife.”

“Open it up, I’ll hold the light.” Walsh walked over while Blake used his knife to jimmy open the latch. Susa began pulling things out, papers, letters, an old watch, scattering them around aimlessly.

            “You want to fill me in, Ms. Burke?”
            “The other day you were telling me about the night you found out who Garrick was.”

            “Yes, I remember.” Walsh stood over her, still wondering why she was burrowing so furiously through OG’s personal effects.

            “This is what I was looking for.” She stood up, holding the object near the flame so he could get a proper view.

            “I’ll be damned,” he said. Walsh had replayed the story a thousand times in his head, told it a few more. He never would have thought. It was Calder’s necklace. Bits of blood could still be seen in the firelight.

            “What do we use it for?” asked Blake.

            “Anything we damn well want,” Susa said, wiping off her now dirty white jumpsuit. She was smiling like she’d found the key to the Five Cities. A quick peck from her lips found its way to his cheek.

            “You’re something else, Ms. Burke,” Walsh said. He meant it. The woman was continuing to surprise, to make herself known.

            “Don’t get soft on me now. How do I put this in your vernacular? We got a world need saving.”

            Walsh still couldn’t believe the luck of it. “Why would he keep that thing? It’s proof for God’s sake.”

            She put the little necklace in her pocket. It poked out against her skin tight pants, and wasn’t very comfortable. “Here, Walsh, you take it.” He put it in his shoulder bag in a place he knew it would remain safe. Susa could tell by his expression that he was still mystified by the discovery. “Look, I’d like to say I knew it would be here, but I’d be lying. Played a hunch. You guys said that nobody has ever visited his little lair, right? Then I saw the lock. Why have a lock if you’re going to throw away anything that’s important to you?”

            “Why’s a dead man’s necklace so important?”

            “To me or you, it wouldn’t be. But having spent time with the Garrick, I suspect he has a serious inferiority complex.”

            “A what?” Blake asked.

“It’s nice to be on the other end of this,” she smiled. “An inferiority complex. It’s when a person is insecure about their station or place in the world. They do illogical things to try to compensate for that insecurity. It’s a common problem in the Five Cities. L5’s wanting to be L7’s, L7’s thinking they should be L9’s. That sort of thing.”

            “So… jealousy?” Walsh asked.

            “Kind of. It keeps people from valuing others, keeps people valuating themselves. All the children of the Five Cities are taught it. All the teachers are taught to encourage it.”

            “Sounds… kind of sick, actually.”

            “Yeah, well. I figure the guy that was once in line for the big job might have a special dose of it. Not to mention the whole living in a dark grotto with half a body thing.”

            “But the necklace?” Walsh asked. He was following, only he wasn’t.

            “It’s a trophy. It says that despite all of his flaws, he was able to subdue his enemy. He’s alive. Calder’s dead. I bet the creep takes it out and looks at it. It’s like a drug.”

            “That’s messed up,” Blake sighed.

            “Yes,” she answered. “Messed up.”

Chapter 49: Next to Something

            So another day had gone by, Alder and Addie and their new friend Dyson Forde burrowing through the underworld of City Five. Tate seemed to be led by his senses, though his companions could make no sense out of it.

            “Through this wall,” he would say, and Dyson would come running, slamming his hammer into another edifice of concrete or brick and mortar. Then again, another tunnel. Dripping sewers. Cavernous semi-circles of abandoned underground subway systems. Passages from former water works. Stale basement after stale basement.

            He was saying it again. “Through this wall.” Dyson shuffled up again, but this time he grimaced. The middle-aged Regular was growing weary. Blood smeared callouses were finding residence on his hands. The sturdy iron of his hammer was losing power as well. The metal had been worn down by constant thrashing.

            “What’s the point?” Forde asked. It was the first time he’d complained in days. Mostly he kept to himself. Though he had the time to catch himself up to speed, he’d opted to keep what seemed esoteric at arms length. With the outside of his meaty hands he rubbed at his beard. Dust and bits of rock left with every stroke. Glassy eyed from fatigue, the stout little man asked Addie for some water and sat down in the dark. They were in the subbasement of a warehouse on the extreme outskirts of City Five. It was inhospitable and foreboding. Catwalks creaked. Pipes made their little rusty noises at random. They were all too used to it.

“Before you say anything,” Forde said, finishing one of Addie’s canteens, “I have to be honest with you. However weird this whole thing has been, I feel I owe you honesty. I’m done. I’m taking you both with me topside. We’re back to Mr. Stepp’s bunker on the other side of the city and I’m going to collect.”

            Addie shot a menacing look at Alder, then swung her bag around to her front.

            “You’re not going to find that thing of yours.” Dyson pulled out Addie’s gun from his pocket. “Sorry. I swiped it earlier this morning. I’m tired.”

            “So you’re just going to hand us over?” she asked. Alder turned from the conversation, seemingly unaffected. He was rubbing his flat hands against the wall, leaning his body into it. “Tate. You want join in here?” Our little buddy’s jumped ship.”

            “Oh, Mr. Forde,” he said. “Haven’t you been listening? Your reward will mean very little in very little time.”

            “Oh, I’ve heard. And I’ve played nice. The truth is, I like you two fine, seem like a decent sort, crazy as you are.” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t matter. I’m going nuts. Feel like a cockroach with a hammer. Pack it up.”

The three of them were standing within twenty feet of each other, but with each passing moment Addie tried to inch closer to Dyson. He moved away slightly, their eyes locked on each other while Alder continued to court the wall.

            Finally he turned. His voice was firm and his eyes were fixed searchlights. “You’ll have a fight, then. Maybe you take one of us, probably me, but the odds of subduing the both of us are minimal, at best. You will die, because you don’t know how to use that instrument you procured from Addie’s bag. More likely you’ll kill yourself with it.”

            “Mr. Tate…”

            Alder could see Forde’s knuckles whitening against the pistol grip. “Like I said, you’re agile and good with that hammer. I will charge you, and you better hope you can cave me in with it. We didn’t come this far to relent.”

            “This far? You don’t even know where we are. Far relative to what?” Addie tried to inch closer but Forde backed away again, flexing even more now. His little eyes were squinting from sweat and stress, trying to calculate the variables. “Stay there, dammit girl.”

            “Since you came upon us in that basement, what’s been in your mind? That you’ll see where this takes you and if not, you always have us as prisoners? I assure you it’s the other way around. You should be thanking us for not killing you, Mr. Forde. You are our prisoner.”

            The Regular scoffed at the notion. It hadn’t occurred to him. Nonetheless, the tiny sliver of thought began to needle its way into his brain. More sweat. More flex. Another step back.

“But you’ve been fair and decent, up to this point. That is why I want you to break down one more wall, like I asked. We’re here.”

            Addie finally broke gaze from their adversary, eyes wide.

            “One more wall. If it isn’t it, we will surrender to you. You can tie us up, take us wherever you want to go. You’ll be the man that captured the famous Alder Tate.”

            Dyson Forde, L3 stroked his beard once more. “Just that wall?”

            “Or if your hands are tired, I can do it for you.”

            “Oh no, you’re not getting this thing away from me.”

            “Very well. Can we proceed?”

            “And I have your word?”

            “Have we been anything but upright since our first encounter?”

            Dyson wished they had been. “You haven’t been.”

            “Proceed Sir,” Alder said, stepping away from the bit of wall he’d been touching.

            To say that the Regular was vexed, taken by conflicting thoughts, would be accurate. He was chipped, indoctrinated, but nevertheless a person, a processor. That his life up to that point had been in the service of the System, absent the myriad decisions that come with free will, did not stay him from a complex of emotions. Dyson Forde had worked hard all his life, first in the quarries on the western slopes and then in the factories as a mid-level manager. Despite the drinking he had slowly accrued a healthy amount of credits. Every so often he thought of rising to L5 and his own Space. There was a time when a woman held high esteem in his heart. He’d participated in the Continuation willingly and then remorsefully, not fully understanding the reason for either emotion. In short, he was a person. He was not the blunt instrument that he wielded, and a life of doing his best to live was in the balance as he stepped forward to smash it to pieces.

The fight in his soul manifested itself in the taking down of the wall. With three sturdy blows a sizeable hole had been punched, and pulling the hammer back he brought with it a large section of concrete. As rubble settled Alder made his way by the little bull and patted him on the shoulder.

            “Well. It’s not good,” Tate said, poking his head through the puncture.

            “Another pointless hole in the wall?” Addie asked, kicking at some chunks of concrete.

            “Come and take a look. You too, Mr. Forde.” The opening was big enough for all three heads. “Let’s have a torch as well.” Addie handed him the light and he turned it on. Alder smirked at the sight while his companion’s eyes grew in wonder and disbelief. It was a sight never beheld by any living person, Regular, Spacer, or otherwise.

            It was the Nexus.

            The center of the System.

            The place where it all started.

            The bane of Addie’s entire life.

            The thing that had given Dyson Forde his life’s purpose.

            It wasn’t a thing, exactly, but much more. Alder had seen a rough sketch of it in the Command Center prior to the old Administrator’s death, but a two-dimensional rendering did little to prepare him for what he now beheld. As he pointed the torch the beam of light seemed to find no end, right, left or above. The room seemed to go on forever, held up by giant steel columns every twenty yards or so. To the right, Tate could barely make out the control grid, where endless rows of buzzing generators gave life to it all.