Crossroads, page 6
part #1 of Hollow Island Series
Nash got the impression that John Wayne thought that was a good thing. That he could do what he wanted without repercussions from the law. “What about the Five Laws?” asked Nash, not sure if they even applied.
John Wayne chuckled. “Laws are restrictions, not rights.”
That seemed so obvious. Why did Nash not think of it before? “Why do they say Five Laws if there are only three?” he asked. “No electricity, no emigration, no escalation.”
“You’re proving my point. First off, it makes you think you can do anything you want as long as you don’t break three laws. Second, they make you think that once you get here, you’ll hear the other two. But there are no other laws. Not yet. So they can add more laws when they figure out how else they want to control our lives. Ready for the kicker? There are hundreds of laws. Each king makes laws for his side of the island. Cities make their own laws, as long as they don’t disagree with the kings.”
Put like that, it deepened the weight Nash had been feeling since everything went south yesterday. He didn’t want to dwell on it. “So back to the reason people immigrate,” said Nash, “We have modern plumbing here, no taxes, and no technology. That’s gotta count for something.”
“The grass is always greener,” said John Wayne. “Out of ten billion people in the world, it’s not hard to find half a million misguided imbeciles.”
Was his sister one of those misguided imbeciles? When she immigrated a year ago, she’d done so without knowing if she’d be a Jennie or not, and there had been no communication between her and Nash since. Maybe that was how so many unmodified people came in: under the hopes of winning the lottery, so to speak, and being selected to become a fantasy creature of one sort or another.
For the past year, Nash and his best friend Army had watched a broad range of hollow channels, but there was no sign of her. And if someone didn’t show up on the hollows, there was no way to know anything about them once they immigrated. Karolina might not even look the same, whether from effects of genetic engineering, or manipulation of the hollows by H.I.P., as Nash was beginning to expect they’d done to John Wayne.
“You said you watched the Ranger Channel,” said John Wayne. “You saw a lot of conflict and fighting, so that’s what you think Hollow Island is. Other people watch the makeup channel, Sprite network, or real housewives of Hollow Island.” Nash had never heard of those, but he got the point John Wayne was making. “They see this as a fun, fantasy world. And for the most part, they’re right.”
The final person in line in front of them stepped up to the window. “Here’s the bottom line,” said John Wayne. “People surf even though there are sharks in the ocean. There’s a crowd in the water, and few enough hungry sharks that most people will have a good time and never die. Maybe a Wizard thug shakes you down for a few coins once in a while. Maybe you don’t get famous on the hollows and never get more than a few mils in ratings. It’s still fun to surf with us big fish.”
Put that way, it was easier for Nash to see why so many people came to live here. He came in as a kid looking for a new life, hoping to help a few people along the way. As a Ranger, he had power to make a difference that he couldn’t make on the outside. Maybe he would have immigrated even if the Ranger application hadn’t gone the way it had, since all of his family in the world lived here.
The front of the line stopped a good three meters away from the counter. That seemed like a lot more space than necessary.
“What’s the big deal about privacy?” Nash asked. “It’s not like I can steal someone’s identity, can I?”
In a low voice to match Nash’s, John Wayne said, “Imagine if you didn’t have that metal eye in your head and couldn’t know everything about a person just by staring at them for three seconds. Maybe that Marauder at the counter doesn’t want people to know he’s famous on the outside, because then they’d know he’s not a simple chandler.”
“But he’s not a Marauder,” said Nash. “I scanned him and he’s just a regular Joe.”
“Forget the eye,” John Wayne, sounding frustrated. “You and I know he’s not, but without it, anyone of these people could be a sub rosa.”
“An incognito Jennie?”
“Yup. Maybe he’s out at night pillaging and doesn’t want his daytime friends to know it. Or maybe it’s a woman who tells the future for a price, like the one who just walked away. On the surface they look like any other person, and only their clients know what they really are.”
That made sense. “But if everyone sees them collecting huge amounts of money at the depo …”
“They’ll know there’s something in that person’s life that people out there want to watch, and it ain’t dipping candles.” John Wayne winked. “Unless you’re talking about dipping a different kind of candle.”
The person in front of them in line finished the transaction.
“Come on,” said John Wayne. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”
The counter resembled an Old West bank counter with bars separating Nash and his trainer from the teller inside. The woman was wearing a white uniform and had her dirty blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Him first,” said John Wayne. “Look for him under Mongoose.” He laughed then said to Nash, “Just kidding. It’s all automatic.”
The woman pointed a scanner of some sort at Nash’s face and he saw thin red lights.
A computer beeped, and the woman said, “Nash.” She tapped buttons for half a minute on a touchscreen Nash couldn’t see, then said, “Zero ratings.”
John Wayne laid a hand on Nash’s back. “Aw, son. Not famous yet.”
Fame was the last reason Nash had come here. Hopefully there was some other way to make money.
The woman pointed the scanner at John Wayne’s face in between the bars. Red lasers criss-crossed his features momentarily. “John Wayne Liu.”
“Don’t repeat that,” muttered John Wayne to Nash as the woman tapped her screen. “That’s one thing you were smarter about than me—dropping your last name.”
“One kilo, twelve cents.” A machine spit out a small pile of coins and she slid it across the metal counter.
Nash had immigrated with fifteen kilos. After spending some in the market, his coin purse held more than twelve kilos when it was stolen.
John Wayne slid the coins into a pouch and tucked it into a pocket. Then he stepped over in front of a plain metal door. “Be right back.” The door beeped and he pulled it open then went inside.
The idea to ask one of the people in line what went on inside there crossed Nash’s mind, but if John Wayne was doing Ranger business, it might not be smart to bring attention to it. So Nash spent the time waiting trying to nonchalantly scan the people in line and practicing scrolling through the info without looking like his eyes were having a seizure. The line didn’t move at all, so Nash figured there was only one clerk inside.
A prickle kept nudging Nash in the center of his back and he realized he was resting his hand on his gun and looking over his shoulders every few seconds. The world felt different without John Wayne around. Even though he could be a sonabitch, his word, at least there was someone on Nash’s side.
A few minutes passed. Just when Nash started to wonder if he’d been abandoned, John Wayne returned.
“What’d you do in there?” asked Nash.
“Made a deposit. It’s how you keep people from stealing everything you own.”
Nash stared at the door, wishing he had a few coins to try it out.
“You’re thinking about the bounty money we could have made,” said John Wayne.
“No, I wasn’t—”
“I suspect that’s a lie, but here’s how it works. For two weeks, I’m training you. You’re my apprentice. It’s basically slave labor, but I don’t make the rules.” He shrugged. “Today I’m feeling generous. Tell you what, pard. Since you’re the Mongoose, I expect you deserve something.” John Wayne fished a coin out of his pouch and flipped it to Nash. “Here. Give it a try.”
Nash snatched the coin out of the air and looked at it. A tiny brass coin, a mil. The smallest coin on the island, but at least he had something he could try out a deposit with.
“Get those dollar signs out of your eyes, Mongoose. You can’t even buy a slice of bread with that.”
“I’m going to get back in line,” Nash said.
“No need, pard,” said John Wayne. “This fine citizen wouldn’t mind letting you go up.”
The middle-aged man at the front of the line took a surprised step back and motioned for Nash to go ahead.
Nash didn’t like it, but they had just waited in the line. Also, he didn’t want to start the day by going toe-to-toe with John Wayne again. The person at the counter cleared out of the way, tucking some coins away, and within seconds Nash found himself inside a small, stark cinder block room facing the same woman in white.
The process with the scan was repeated, and Nash slid over the tiny coin. The clerk stared at it, then looked at Nash like it was a joke. He just smiled back. With a great sigh, she pulled the coin in, and went through an apparently agonizing process of depositing it.
“Your balance is one mil,” she told him, then buzzed him out.
Nash felt like a new man as he stepped out into the sunlight. He might not have anything in his pocket, but he had money in the bank.
“Thanks,” said Nash, then added sarcastically, “it’s nice to have that security.”
“Don’t mention it,” said John Wayne. “In addition to the curse of good looks, I also suffer from the curse of generosity.”
Nash watched for a smile, but didn’t see any sign of joking.
Easy, cowboy. I don’t know how much more generosity I can take.
They started off down the street in a direction Nash hadn’t been before.
“So tell me,” said John Wayne. “Why are you here, rookie?”
Nash wasn’t sure how much John Wayne wanted to know. Or how much he wanted to say without going into details about his sister, how they both pretty much just wanted to help people, but had different ideas of how to do it. While Nash had never considered anything but Ranger, Karolina wanted to be an Angel—a member of a secret society on Hollow Island of people from all Castes who banded together to perform anonymous acts of service.
“Don’t overthink it. Just answer.”
Something he’d heard in training came back to his mind. Save a secret, save a life.
“Spit it out, son,” demanded John Wayne.
“Fairness. Justice.”
John Wayne laughed. “Good one. I’m sure the entrance exam people ate that up.” He slapped Nash on the back. “Now tell me the real reasons.”
“I just did.”
John Wayne shook his head and spit in the road. “Where did they dig you up? The last true white hat. That’s a better name for you than Mongoose. Still, I give you two months until you realize that with the kind of power we have, there’s so much better in this world than justice.” He stopped and looked at Nash like he was a puzzle. “Unless there are a couple of Sprites named Fairness and Justice. Weird names for girls, but if that’s the case, then I get you.”
Nash just looked back blankly.
One of John Wayne’s eyebrows shot up. As he started walking he asked, “She is a girl, right? I mean, you do like girls?”
“Yes, it’s a girl,” countered Nash. “No wait. It’s not a girl. But yes, I like girls. I’m talking about treating people right and stopping bad guys.” That sounded so juvenile so he had to go on. “There’s a lot of bad in this world. I’ve experienced some of it. I’ve seen a lot of it. And I know there’s so much more out there. And if I can be the guy that’s standing up and saying I won’t let someone take advantage of another person because they’re stronger, or richer, or meaner … then I’ll stand up.”
“Why not do that on the outside?”
Nash was just a kid from nowhere on the outside. Somehow he’d been picked out of who knew how many applications to be a Ranger and been given power he never would have had out there. Most Jennies had to pay a lot of money and pass the application phase. Being selected as a Ranger was by far the biggest moment of Nash’s life. He just hoped he could settle in to this world and do what he’d always dreamed of.
“Here I mean something,” Nash said. “Here I can make a difference.”
They walked in silence for a while then John Wayne put an arm around Nash’s shoulder. “You’ll make me proud someday, son.” In a lower voice he added, “And that speech will shine like gold in the hollows.”
Nash could see that. Over the years he’d seen enough vignettes about individuals where they showed snippets of dialogue, or replayed part of a speech they’d given. Or even pulled taglines out of a monologue. He assumed they pulled certain lines out, unless people randomly exclaimed one-liners here.
“Perfect,” muttered Nash. “My tagline will be, ‘I’ll stand up.’ Without context, it’s pretty unimpressive.”
“It’s not bad, actually,” said John Wayne. “Especially with the whole white hat act you got goin’.”
It wasn’t an act at all; it was the opposite of that. He wanted to be the guy making a difference, not the guy in front of the eyes looking like he was making a difference. The less attention he could draw to himself, the better. The white hat thing was starting to bug him, but he knew the best way to cement a nickname was to get mad, so he just ignored what John Wayne had said.
The intersection ahead was familiar, just outside of the immigrant market. There was the mango tree they’d waited under and across from it was Immigration House, a hostel for new immigrants to get settled in for a couple weeks before going out on their own. Since Rangers got dedicated trainers, they weren’t welcome at Immigration House.
As they entered the intersection, the street they’d followed Chiel on came into view. Nash got a sick feeling in his gut and hoped this didn’t turn into a repeat of yesterday.
John Wayne walked right past the mango tree—past the delicious-smelling barbecue chicken stand—and into the bustling market. The entire market consisted of two short rows of close-pressed shops. The live feeds Nash had grown up on made the markets look as big as a city block. Not live feeds, actually. Experts of some sort had done some fancy figuring, taking into account the position of the sun. They estimated the live feeds were usually delayed about twenty minutes.
Fixing his eyes on a point at the far end of the market, he waited three seconds until his display read 182 feet. That was about forty meters. He wondered how long it would take until he stopped thinking in the metric units he’d been using his whole life.
“Scan people, range objects,” he said, remembering the words of Instructor Goodkind from training.
The only visible cameras were posted high up at the four corners of the market, but there had to be dozens more spread throughout to cover the intricacies of the market. Hundreds of people crammed into the space, shopkeepers vying for customers and new immigrants anxious to barter.
The ocean was just there at the far side of the market, close enough to smell the salt and seaweed. A blend of aromas of cooking meat reminded Nash that his body demanded food.
“I thought you said everything here was overpriced tourist garbage?” said Nash. If he had money he’d buy more food, no matter the price.
“It is,” said John Wayne. “And since you’re broke as a swayback horse, it’s safe to bring you here.”
A few of the merchants were familiar from the hollows. Yesterday, when he had just gotten off the boat, they had felt oddly like old friends. Today, he felt like the ones who weren’t busy with customers were watching and judging him.
As they made their way deeper into the market, the crowd thinned. It had been a couple hours since the morning ferry had disgorged its passengers, and the new arrivals were making their way out of the market by now. The back parts of the market had cleared out first.
Chiel’s leather goods booth was at the end of this row, one of the first booths immigrants saw when they got off the ferry. Nash didn’t want to see her again, not this soon, and frankly, not ever.
A few booths shy of Chiel’s, he spotted a vendor he’d wanted to stop at yesterday, which conveniently gave him a perfect excuse. “I’m just going to check this out.” He detoured as John Wayne continued down the row.
The booth sold an assortment of containers, mostly pottery. Nash picked up a measuring cup and turned it over. The imprint he expected to see on the bottom was there in the center. Mayhew, written so that it read the same upside-down or right-side-up.
The shopkeeper piped up. “All of our measuring cups are Mayhew certified. One-hundred percent guaranteed accurate.”
For some reason, holding this hand-crafted cup in his hand and seeing that symbol grounded him again. This was made by a person, not mass-produced by machines. There were no scientific measurements in this medieval-style world, unless you scavenged old measuring cups or glasses from before. Everything on the table was made by a human, according to measurements calibrated right here on Hollow Island, then stamped with the seal of approval.
Nash smiled, not understanding and not caring why he suddenly felt like he was home.
“Isn’t that right, Mongoose?” The voice shattered his semblance of wellbeing.
He looked over to see Chiel cupping her hands around her mouth and calling to him.
She went on. “He’s going to save us all!”
The group of people around her laughed at him.
John Wayne was right there with her, slapping his knee. “He walked up and tapped his shoulder.” His voice went high pitched. “Excuse me, sir. If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind putting these handcuffs on?”
More laughing and pointing. Nash felt about an inch tall.
Chiel was saying something he couldn’t hear, except for the tail end of it. “… loser and wannabe hero.”
Nash looked away and gritted his teeth, reminding himself again to not take the bait. It felt more like he’d fallen down a rabbit hole; everything was flipped on its head. He wanted to come in quietly and help people. Instead he was becoming famous for making things worse for people, in front of the whole world for all he knew.
