Killswitch, page 7
“Freaks and geeks,” Rin said, and laughed. “Every few days we pull some of this stuff and haul it onto trains to the Outside. And, of course, that’s a perfect cover to bring stuff in, too.” She laughed again and I liked it, even though I knew she was a fanatic and she was laughing about something illegal and possibly sinister.
“Rin,” Trino said. “Tick-tock!”
She grimaced but nodded. “Right,” she said. “Time for you to meet the Ghost.” She led me up and down aisles between heaps and stacks of things. Some were ordered; others just seemed to be lumped together into trashy piles. When we reached one far corner, I saw a sort of lean-to cobbled together from plastic siding. A curtain on a wire covered the opening.
Rin went up, raised a fist and punched the curtain.
“Knock, knock,” she said.
There was a rustle, a snort, and then a shuffling sound. A hand reached out and pulled aside the curtain. A man stood there in his underwear.
“Sorry,” he said with a yawn. “I needed to sack out. Just got in from Albuquerque.” Then his eyes lit on me.
“Mavo!” he said. “This is an honor, freeb. What you did...” He shook his head. “A blow for freedom!” He held out a hand. I took it and he pulled me in and crushed me in a hug. Unlike the others, he did have that swampy, sweaty terrorist smell.
Rin stepped forward.
“Richard,” she said. “We’re ready to move him.”
Richard released me, a little reluctantly, I thought. Then, to my shock, he reached up and began to peel off his face.
It was a mask, complete with hair. Richard held it out to me with a grin. Underneath, he was a tough-looking man with ruddy, seamed cheeks. “Ever worn one of these?” he asked.
“No!” I blurted. Only criminals tried to fool the Unity’s facial recognition systems. It never worked.
“Uh, I don’t think...” I began.
“This isn’t your average, garden-variety dumbass crook mask,” Richard said. “It’s one-of-a-kind. And I designed it.” He beamed.
“Richard is our Ghost,” Rin said. “The Ubiquitous Man. We used a real person from the Outside, who works with us. He went through processing and became a Unity citizen. Then he went back. We call him Eduardo. When we need to sneak anyone somewhere, we use this mask. Richard and a few others take turns being Eduardo. Between missions, they stay in our safe houses.”
“I haven’t seen the real Eduardo in months,” Richard said. “Every so often he comes in so I can update the mask.”
“So I’m going to be Eduardo?” I asked.
“Yep,” Richard said. “A pair of sunglasses, a hardhat, and a pebble in your shoe and you’re good to go, if nobody scans too hard, and they won’t because you’re just a Civic.”
“A pebble in my shoe?” I asked.
“Changes your gait,” Trino said. “Everybody has subtle differences in the way they walk. So Eduardo has developed a limp.” He chuckled.
“All right,” I said. Richard slipped the mask over my head and neck and gave it a few tugs and tweaks. The mask felt thin and nearly weightless. It pulled down the corners of my eyes and seemed to bunch up slightly around my cheekbones but otherwise seemed comfortable.
Richard stepped back and gave me an appraising look. I looked back questioningly.
“Perfect,” Richard said. “Naturally.” He turned, went back into the lean-to, and returned with a grimy jumpsuit and a pair of scuffed, tough, self-sizing work boots, the kind that were ubiquitous among laborers.
“Suit up,” he said.
“No offense,” I replied. “But couldn’t I get a clean jumpsuit?”
“No,” Trino said. “You’re Eduardo. You walk in with smudges, you walk out with smudges.”
“Inside’s clean,” Richard said. “You know, micro-mesh, self-wicking, yadda yadda.”
I made to go into the lean-to but Richard put out an arm to stop me.
“I love you, man, but that’s my room,” he said. “My research is in there.”
“Well, where should I change?” I asked.
Richard, Rin and Trino looked back and forth at each other with puzzled expressions. They might be Realists but unlike me, they had grown up Immersed, and people in Immersion had very little concept of privacy. I was reminded again of how different I was from other people.
Still, I looked back at Rin. I was uncomfortably aware of my body. Behind the mask, I blushed as I envisioned her watching me undress.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, and scuttled around a corner and hid behind a stack of bedraggled phony plants, from palm trees to giant jungle begonias. I pulled off my clothes as quickly as I could and stepped into the jumpsuit, keeping my own underwear and socks. The suit was too large for my short, gangly frame but it was made intentionally baggy to conceal body distinctions among its wearers. I tucked the cuffs into the work boots, wincing as my heel hit the rather large pebble in the left boot. I sure wouldn’t forget to limp. Then I pulled some sunglasses out of the pocket and put them on, gathered up my old clothes and the pink backpack and stepped out to find Richard, Rin and Trino giving me worried looks.
“Are you okay?” Rin asked.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“We thought maybe you were going to be sick or something,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It’s, um, it’s a privacy thing?”
They looked even more worried.
“It’s an Outsider thing,” I said lamely.
“Oh, right,” Rin said but she seemed a bit doubtful.
Richard came to my rescue.
“Yeah, those non-Immersives got some weird ideas,” he said. “But hey, when we take down the system, we’ll all have to get used to that.”
I wanted to ask why they thought taking down Unity would be a good idea but decided now was not the time.
The other three simply nodded.
Richard clapped his hands. “All right,” he said. “Looks like we’re ready to go. You feeling good, Eduardo?”
“Pretty good,” I admitted.
“Excellent,” he said. “Now just a word of warning: You’re important, Mavo, but this mask is more important. If there’s a choice between saving you and saving this mask, you lose. The mask always wins. It’s one of a kind. We can’t do our work without it. Some of the components are almost irreplaceable. So, we’re putting a lot of trust in you.” He leaned forward and slapped a hand hard on my shoulder. I flinched but, thankfully, he didn’t hug me again. “It was a real pleasure.” Then he nodded at Rin and Trino and disappeared back into the lean-to, pulling the curtain closed. A moment later, I heard snoring.
I turned back to Rin. She folded her arms and her head bobbed as she looked me up and down.
“I think it works,” she said at last, turning to Trino. “What do you think?”
Surprisingly, Trino gave me a warm smile. “You look good,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”
I concealed my astonishment. Wasn’t this the same man who had voiced his suspicions of me not long ago? I couldn’t figure him out. Did he have a change of heart? Or was he playing with me, or maybe trying to ingratiate himself because I was some kind of hero? Or was he using me to cozy up to Rin now that nobody else was around? I couldn’t read him, and I was usually great at reading people.
Rin, for instance, I pegged as a natural leader: someone who was well-liked and thus could get things done without actually holding any authority.
But these were Realists. I didn’t know their game. At the core, I suspected they were all crazy.
Even Rin?
I decided not to think about that right now. But I also decided to keep a close eye on Trino.
Rin held out her hands for my clothing and the backpack. Evidently my worried expression showed through the mask.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “These are going with you. We’ll take care of them.”
“Where am I going?”
“Someplace safe,” she said. “Someplace where your real work can begin.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
We took the ferry across to Seattle and boarded a train. The train went east because there were several new Unity cities there. At each stop, a group of us Civics helped unload donated items destined for the poor, benighted Outsiders. I helped. It would have appeared odd if Eduardo was seen boarding a train and then never left it. We reached the Cascades and bored through the mountains, rolling through the dark tunnel until in a flash, the sun-blasted landscape reappeared. The route was checkerboarded with Outside wastelands. My own former home was farther west and south: a barren, burned-over stretch of land that once had been California’s wine country. But all Outside lands had the same texture of desperation, the same desert, weeds, foul-smelling ponds and sluggish, polluted rivers surrounded by clumsy villages of patched-together houses. The imperishable steel rails cut straight through them, a sword blade stretching toward an endlessly retreating horizon. We stopped at some villages to offload our donations, heaping them in piles which were perpetually surrounded by squabbling, bargaining scavengers. At some stops, there was a semblance of order, whether a ragged queue or a few tough-looking Outsider guards making sure everyone had a chance at the spoils. At others, the largest and fiercest bullied their way to the front. In either case, nobody bothered us Civics. Our green jumpsuits were eyed with a measure of deference and respect I had never received before. It felt uncomfortable and at the same time gratifying. Usually, I was the one kowtowing.
Unlike the Unity food and blanket drops, these drops kept to no schedule and had no train guards. We just dumped and moved on. I didn’t remember having such dumps at my old home.
Five hours out of Seattle, the train made a dogleg and headed southwest. We ended up in Yakima, which had survived surprisingly unscathed despite an urban uprising. Then we jagged back to Medford and finally made a straight plunge toward Sacramento, California.
We were pretty tired by the time night fell. The Civics had our own sleeper car and dining car. I was last in for the meal because I had waited to shower alone. The diner was long and narrow and had booths along both sides. The Realists were sitting around them. They looked up as I entered and then, to my surprise, there was a universal jostling. Everyone at each table skooched over to make room for me. Their heads all swiveled and they eyed me expectantly. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t sit in every offered seat and yet I didn’t want to offend anybody. All I wanted to do was eat, but suddenly even sitting down seemed to be a political choice. It wasn’t even like high school, where at least you knew the cliques that controlled each bench. (I usually sat alone, anyway.)
They were waiting. I decided. I took the nearest available seat. I could almost feel the disappointment from the other tables, while the people around me gloated. I hadn’t met any of them, which I realized later was probably the right choice. That way, I hadn’t shown favoritism to the people I had met. But I gave a quick glance at Rin’s table. She didn’t seem offended. In fact, she seemed amused. I looked around at my tablemates.
“Hi,” I said lamely. “What’s good?”
“Well, they’ve only got two choices tonight,” said a man with a tuft of ginger hair. “Spaghetti or vat veal.”
“No, three choices,” a pug-nosed woman replied. “On the spaghetti, you can get tomato or cream sauce.”
“It’s still spaghetti, Jen,” insisted a man who looked like a piebald tortoise. His skin was mottled brown and white and his leathery throat was wrinkled.
“Not,” Jen said firmly. She looked at me with large, wet eyes. “Mavo, what do you think?”
“I think I’ll have the veal,” I said.
They laughed. I seem to have passed another test. I breathed an unseen sigh of relief, but I was irked, too. These people seemed to squabble about everything, and here they were looking to me to settle their disputes. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the trip playing politics. I just wanted to keep my head down, but it seemed I didn’t have a choice. For the moment, anyway, I was the golden boy, the revolutionary idol who had single-handedly brought down Pallburg. I was only sixteen and most of them were a decade older— much older in piebald’s case— but they acted as if I were some grey-haired leader dispensing justice and wisdom, which I’d have to make up as I went along. And what would happen when I finally toppled off my pedestal?
“I’m Spiral,” the pug-nosed woman said. “Because of my curly hair,” She dimpled at me. “No, actually, it’s short for Spirulina. My parents are algae farmers.”
“Boze,” the piebald man said. “Family name.”
“Racco,” ginger-hair said. “And no, I’m not a raccoon.” He made circles with his hands and put them in front of his eyes to imitate a raccoon’s mask. The others rolled their eyes. Apparently, it was an old joke.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said.
The food was delivered from the kitchen and I was about to tuck in but stopped when I realized nobody else had lifted a fork. They shared a look and then Jen turned to me and asked: “Mavo, would you do us the honor of choosing the taste?”
“Um,” I began, perplexed, and then I got it. They wanted me to Immerse. There was probably a list of taste overlays to spice up the food, the way I had overlaid my cheap coffee in Victoria with the classier taste from a recorded memory. They were Realists, but they’d all been raised on Immersion. They hated the system, but obviously not when it came to a meal.
I didn’t feel like risking a migraine by Immersing.
“Oh, thanks, I’m good,” I replied. “I’ll just eat this.” I pointed at the plate.
They looked at each other with shock.
“But,” Jen blurted. “But that’s train food!” She looked as if I’d said I was going to eat my own socks.
There was a moment of silence around the table. People shot each other quick glances. Then Racco spoke up.
“Wait, I get it,” he said tentatively. “Mavo wants us to prep for the future, right? For when there is no more Immersion.”
“Of course!” Boze said, the light dawning in his face. “Mavo, you want us to realize our own Realism!”
“Wow,” Jen said, shaking her head in pleased wonder.
“You don’t have to—” I began.
But then Trino spoke up from the other end of the dining car.
“You heard him,” he said loudly enough for all the tables to hear. “Mavo has a point. How can we lead the new way if we don’t live it ourselves?” And he ostentatiously picked up his fork and dug into his plate of pale noodles, chewing enthusiastically. Everybody looked at me and followed suit, although their expressions didn’t indicate any genuine delight. I saw a few people twirling their spaghetti endlessly around their forks as if working up the courage to put it into their mouths.
Actually, the food wasn’t bad. Maybe, I dared to think, I really was showing these people a good thing. But then I realized what their goal was: the utter destruction of a system that was keeping the entire globe from starvation and war.
The food turned tasteless in my mouth.
I told myself that no matter what goofballs these people seemed, they had dangerous ideals. They were not, repeat not, good people. But I caught myself glancing surreptitiously at Rin.
WE REACHED SACRAMENTO before dawn.
Rin came up to me with a friendly look. I suspected she’d become my de facto handler because she was closest to my age. It didn’t make me trust her any more than the others. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.
“Put the rock back in your shoe,” Rin advised. “We’ll be scanned as soon as we enter.”
I must have looked unhappy because Rin suddenly said: “Or I could just stomp on your foot and you’d have a real limp.” She grinned and arched her eyebrows.
I groaned but did as she said. The train rolled smoothly up and we disembarked, filing through glass-windowed wooden doors.
The station was a long, high-ceilinged room lit by ancient chandeliers. It had been restored to historic glory. The Unity province of California may have lost its once-mighty stature— its buildings crumbled, its once-green Central Valley now choked with salt and dust and its population either fled or destitute— but it still took pride in its history. California train stations were lovingly carved, gilded palaces. I had no idea what AI horse-trading had led to provision of the necessary resources. I supposed some psych expert system had argued that it was necessary for the emotional health of the occupants. And, of course, California was rich with artifacts. Sacramento was a popular drop-off spot for archaeologists and history tourists to begin their Golden State tours. In summer, the population of 100,000 swelled to ten times that number. Except for the thoroughly modern high-speed tracks and Immersion node, the station wouldn’t have looked out of place two centuries ago. The ceilings had dark, carved wooden beams. The walls bore watermarks from ancient flooding but their top halves bore an original mural. It showed a lot of people listening to a man with a gray beard and a black suit. One guy was kneeling, and everybody seemed riveted. Written above it was a caption: “Breaking ground at Sacramento, January 8, 1863, for first transcontinental railroad.” There was an old-style American flag draped over the platform where the man was speaking. Above the mural was an old clock that looked analog but probably kept time digitally via satellite. It glared down at benches of apparently real wood.
The place was full of people. I noticed a cluster of passengers waiting to board the train we had just left. They were tall, fair-haired and chattered in a language I didn’t know, since I wasn’t Immersed.
They wore identical outfits with big tulip symbols on the back and gave hawk-eyed glares at the porters loading what appeared to be diving gear. I guessed they were headed to the deep-water ruins of Los Angeles.
“They’re from the Netherlands,” Rin said. “Big divers. Have been since their own country was drowned.” She shook her head and glanced at the station clock. “Come on, we have to go.”
