Corroded Cells, page 16
part #2 of Cyberpunk Saga Series
Moss knelt, fumbling with the battery, trying to angle it just right into the charging station when he heard footfalls approaching from behind.
“New guy,” he heard Twelve’s voice say.
Moss worked to get the battery in, but it was even more difficult with someone watching. “Just give me a second.”
“One,” the warden counted. “That was one second.”
“I didn’t mean—” Moss said, his hands beginning to shake.
“Didn’t mean what you said?” Twelve pressed, looming over Moss, boots entering his field of vision.
“It’s an expression,” Moss hissed. He knew he had to humor his boss, but he was in no mood for it. His hand vibrated with ire.
“You said one second, not me,” Twelve said, superiority hanging on every word.
“I know you didn’t,” Moss said, utterly perplexed by the aggressive stupidity of the man. He jammed the battery in and stood to face Twelve.
“So, now you are putting words in my mouth?” Twelve said, stepping closer. He was centimeters from Moss’s face, his hot, sour breath hanging between them.
“What? No. What?” Moss stuttered.
“You said, ‘one second.’ Those were the exact words, and I gave you one second, and now you are arguing with me?” he snarled. Moss didn’t know what to say. There seemed to be no answer which made sense. He hoped Twelve would play it off as though he was joking again, but he seemed to be in a bad mood.
Moss knew what the man needed to hear. “Sorry, sir.”
“That’s right,” Twelve said. He stood with balled fists on his hips.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Moss asked. He tried to make himself small so the man would feel more powerful. It seemed to work.
“Update,” Twelve demanded.
“Resolved a fight, sir. Other than that, all quiet,” Moss informed him.
“A fight? And you didn’t inform me?” Twelve said with a threatening tone.
“It was small, sir, not worthy of your time, busy and important as you are,” he flattered and hung his head. Much as it pained him, playing the sycophant seemed to work best.
“I’ll decide what’s important. But you are right that I am busy. I expect a full report,” Twelve said.
Moss nodded vigorously. “You will have it.”
“Good,” Twelve said, looking Moss over. “What were you doing with that battery?”
Moss stiffened. “They are for my legs, sir.”
Twelve snorted. “You know you can charge in your room?”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” Moss said. Twelve eyed him suspiciously.
“Something you want to tell me?” Twelve asked. Moss could tell the man was taking a shot in the dark, but he didn’t want him to grow more interested. He calculated what answer would get the man off his back.
“No, sir. Just happy to be aboard,” he said, wearing a false smile. The man nodded his approval.
“Good. Get back to work,” he said and stomped off. Moss sighed. He knew Twelve’s suspicious nature could cause problems if he wasn’t careful. He went and gathered Gibbs from the bathroom, and they made their way to the mess hall.
“Just ran into Twelve, fucking prick,” Moss said.
Gibbs turned with an eyebrow raised. “He suspect anything?”
“No,” Moss said, “but we need to be careful with him.”
“But Thomas said,” Gibbs began, and Moss held up a hand to stop him.
“I know what he said, but Twelve is like a dog without a bone, and if we give him anything, he’ll latch onto our asses so quick we won’t be able to get anything done here,” Moss said.
Gibbs nodded as they entered the mess hall. Rows of plastic tables were set under fluorescent lights, the room glowing bright white. As Carcer didn’t trust drudges, human guards were tasked with keeping the place clean and serving the food.
They waited in line, shoes squeaking on the floor as they shuffled forward. Everyone picked up trays and plates as they went and were served a warm lumpy porridge which smelled like medicine. Gibbs grimaced at the food as Moss surveyed the room.
“What now?” Gibbs asked, holding his tray with one hand and poking the gray substance with a spoon. It jiggled slightly, and Gibbs moaned.
“Now we make friends,” Moss said and lifted his head in the direction of a table of young bruisers.
Gibbs looked and sighed. “Why not start with those old-timers,” he said, pointing a spoon, the affixed blob of food hardly moving.
“No,” Moss said. “The folks who have been here a while won’t want to hear what a couple of kids have to say. They’ve been at this too long, and while I’m sure they have more reasons to be pissed than anyone if they are still here, they are lifers.”
“Smart,” Gibbs said.
“We will get the other new people on our side first and work on the veterans once there are more of us,” Moss explained. He led Gibbs to the table where the young people were all sitting around, joking and laughing.
“Mind if we join?” Gibbs asked, not setting his tray until they agreed.
A young, immensely muscular woman looked up at them. Her head was shaved clean, glistening in the bright light, and a scar bisected her face. Her cybernetic ears tilted and moved, the metal dishes shifting to face them. She smiled amiably, but Moss could tell she wasn’t enthusiastic about the intrusion. “Sure,” she said and gestured for the two men opposite her to scooch over.
“You two new?” she asked to fill the void.
“Yeah,” Gibbs said, setting his tray down with a bang.
“How you finding it?” she asked. Moss found it interesting that she had invited them to sit on the side opposite her when there was plenty of space on the bench next to her. With all of them gathered opposite, it was as if she was holding court. He knew she would be the one to get riled up.
“So far, so good,” Gibbs said with a smile. “The food leaves a little bit to be desired.”
She laughed. “You get used to it.”
“Doubt it,” Gibbs said without missing a beat.
“I’m Dan, and these two are Kevin and Kyle, but everyone just calls them the Ks since they are always together,” she said and pointed to the two strong, pale men with flat top blond hair. Moss made a note that Kevin had brown eyes and Kyle blue so he could tell them apart later. He wanted to be sure to play nice.
“How long you guys been here?” Moss asked.
The Ks did not answer. “A few years,” Dan said, scooping a large spoonful of the porridge into her mouth and chewing loudly.
“What should we know?” Moss asked, not wanting to get ahead of himself.
“It’s a tough job, but you have to be tougher,” Dan said, the gray mush moving in her mouth as she spoke. “The guests mostly do their own thing, but you have to be vigilant. Let your guard down, and they will be quick to take advantage.”
“And the bosses?” Gibbs asked and took a spoonful before making a sound of disgust which the Ks chuckled at.
“Bosses will ride your ass since they don’t have much else to do,” Dan said, turning her big, dark eyes on them. “Just keep your heads down and make it through the days.”
Moss saw his opening, “And just wait for payday?”
Dan made a sound of annoyance with the back of her throat. “Right.”
“What?” Moss asked, happy he had hit the nerve he had hoped to. He had worried he was rushing it but figured that disgruntled folks might be keen to share their grievances.
She looked at them with pity. “You guys that new?”
“Pretty new,” Gibbs said.
“Well, let me fill you in on a little something. Our pay here is supposed to be automated but,” and here she used air quotes with her fingers, “the system is down.”
Moss played at being surprised. “We don’t get paid?”
“Oh, we get paid,” she said, “but it’s often late, or the wrong amount or bonus you earned hasn’t been filed yet. There is always some nonsense. Some bullshit which keeps your family hungry and you from being able to quit.”
“Well, that sucks,” Gibbs groused. He played disgruntled perfectly.
“It does,” the Ks agreed as one. Moss was surprised by the uniformity of the way they spoke. He looked down, finally deciding to try the meal. He was shocked that despite its strong odor, it tasted like nothing. A gray blob which had as much flavor as it did appearance. Posters hung around the room, lauding the nutritional value of the “specially formulated diet,” but Moss laughed that they forgot about taste.
He had meant to ask Gibbs about the posters which lined the walls. His friend had always considered himself quite the poster aficionado, and Moss wondered what he thought about all the ones here which promoted service to the company.
He gulped down the bite and looked at Dan. “Is there anything we can do about our pay?”
“We’ve tried, but they don’t listen. They hold all the cards,” Dan said miserably.
“Do they?” Moss asked, letting an implicit tone say more than his words.
Dan seemed unimpressed, “They do.”
Moss decided he would get the ball rolling, even if just in a small way. He had time to get people motivated, but he needed to start laying the foundation. “We used to work for BurbSec at ThutoCo, and you may have heard some things changed there recently. That was all because of the little people,” he said and scooped some more food into his mouth.
Dan smiled genuinely for the first time since they sat down. “I’m listening.”
PART 3
Chapter 18
The next week was spent sowing more seeds of anger around the facility. While Moss and Gibbs worked on the guards, the rest worked on the inmates. Anders had appeared on the second morning and was doing his part to help. Moss appreciated all the man had done for relative strangers though Gibbs continued to look on him with annoyance.
Doing recon on the city, they had learned more about the VIP area. Set into one corner, it was built atop an old factory and could only be reached by a single staircase which ran alongside the control tower. Drones and cameras watched the whole city, but this area had around-the-clock, intensive surveillance. As Mr. Greene had informed them, only managers were allowed in, bringing food and supplies to the hovels separated by electrified chain-link. Moss had figured that once they began getting the guards riled up, he could break in but needed to get someone with computer skills into the tower. Ynna said she could be helpful, but if they wanted to do it quickly, they needed Patchwork.
As they all sat around in the turn of the century themed bar, a frail shape shadowed the door and collapsed to the floor. They all rushed and saw Patchwork, gaunt, and beaten. His eyes were swollen shut with blood, and he looked as though he had not eaten for days. They rushed to his side and pulled a few chairs together so he could lay down. Ynna ordered him some toast and brought a cup of water over, letting him sip at it slowly.
“Jo is gonna kick my ass,” Ynna half-joked.
“You are not wrong,” Moss said, looking with sorrow at the abused body of his friend.
“Probably kick Burn’s body’s ass while she’s at it,” Ynna said. Patchwork gave a weak smile, and Moss was happy to know he could hear them.
“Patch, you’re with us now,” he said, and the young man tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. Blood coated his face from where they had pulled strands of dreadlock from his scalp.
“Monsters,” Mr. Greene said, looking at what they had done to him.
Stan cracked his knuckles against his hip bone. “They haven’t met us yet.”
Moss knew that tone and turned to try and calm Stan down, but Judy was already on it, placing a hand on the massive man’s chest and getting on their toes to whisper in his ear. Looking at Patchwork lying there, Moss was also enraged. He wanted to take down Carcer, destroy their allies in the AIC who controlled everyone’s life and free the world from the yoke of the corporations. He knew his grandmother would help them with that, and he needed to free her and get his friends clear of this place. He felt his body begin to shake but took a deep breath to calm himself.
After a while, Patchwork finally spoke. “They got nothing,” he wheezed in a whisper.
“That’s great,” Ynna told him, kneeling at his side and placing a hand on his chest.
“Good job, Patch,” Moss added. He was proud of the young man and could not even imagine what he had endured to keep their secrets.
“I told them I had wiped,” Patchwork said. “I told them.”
“It’s okay,” Ynna whimpered. Moss had never seen her like this. Even when she had been shot and thought she was going to die, she remained tough and determined, but seeing her friend like this appeared to be breaking her.
“Moss,” Patchwork said so quietly that Moss had to lean in. He took the young man’s hand in his.
“Yes?” he asked, not caring how it appeared that a guard was holding a prisoner.
“They want you,” he said. A chill went down his spine. He had known it, everyone had told him as they came out, but this was different.
“I know, I know,” Moss stuttered, his heart breaking. All these people had been through so much to keep him safe from Carcer. It was almost too much to bear.
“Why?” Patchwork asked the question which Moss himself had been considering nearly every moment.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. He offered the one answer which made the most sense to him. “ThutoCo must have one hell of a bounty on me.”
“Seems like more than that,” Judy stated.
Stan nodded. “They want you for something. They kept asking, kept pressing. Like my information didn’t matter unless it led to you. You have something they want.”
Moss stood, scratching at his neck as he considered the words. “They don’t know the program my father gave me was destroyed. Maybe they want that? Maybe they think I still have a way to break their systems?”
“That sounds right,” Patchwork grumbled and turned his head to the side to allow Ynna to give him more water.
“Moss, if they figure out who you are,” Mr. Greene began, but Moss interrupted.
“I know, I know,” he said. He didn’t want to think about that too much. The week had been nerve-wracking enough. It had been easy to get the other guards to consider making trouble, but every conversation he had made him nervous. He would constantly look over his shoulder, expecting someone to be listening. He worried that he would try to get the wrong person involved and they would turn him in. It was a high-risk gambit, and it only made matters worse that they so desperately wanted to find him.
Perspiration beaded on his forehead and he pulled Ynna aside. “Still no word from Grimy?”
She shook her head.
“Any idea how long it will take Patch to recover?” he asked.
“Not really my area of expertise.” She shrugged. “I know he’ll need longer than we can give him. Things are working out here. Turns out that a city full of prisoners is not a difficult place to motivate a group into rioting—shock of shocks. It actually feels like we almost have to hold them back.”
Moss smirked. “Right. The guards, too. We are closing in on a tipping point.”
“But he’ll need time. Shit, man, he can’t even open his eyes. Plus they’ll have shut down any hardware in his head. Judy will need to work on him and who’s to say when he’ll be in fighting form,” Ynna explained, tucking her hair behind an ear.
“In a pinch, maybe he could talk you through it?” Moss asked hopefully.
Ynna considered it for a moment. “Maybe, but you’ll need me out there. Better to have Gibbs watch his back so I can cover Judy while they hotwire us a van.”
“Yeah,” Moss agreed. “This situation is getting really fucking complicated.”
“In news to no one,” Ynna mocked.
The door to the bar slammed open.
“What. Is. This?” a familiar voice demanded. Moss didn’t even have to turn to know it was Twelve. He darted over quickly and stood at rigid attention. Gibbs was by his side a moment later.
“Sir,” Moss acknowledged.
“Looks like One was right that you two just want to make friends,” he said, pointing a finger, the accusation clear in his tone.
Judy hurried from the bar.
“No, sir,” Gibbs said.
Moss jumped in before Twelve could send them spiraling into a semantic game. “This guest was injured,” Moss pointed to Patchwork, “and we were making sure these others were staying calm and not trying anything funny.”
Twelve’s eyes narrowed. “You think I’m stupid?”
“No, sir,” Moss said, keeping his body at attention though his hand shifted slowly toward his sidearm.
“And you,” he said, turning to face Gibbs, “you think I’m stupid?”
Gibbs’ face was red, and he was visibly shaking. Moss knew that while it made them appear guilty, fear was what Twelve wanted to inspire and Gibbs nerves might actually keep them safe.
“No, sir,” Gibbs forced from his lips. “Why, sir?”
“Why?” Twelve mocked. “I was told one thing about you, and now I see this. What am I supposed to think?”
Questions like this from Twelve kept tripping Moss up, and he worked to figure out the answer the man wanted to hear. The rest of the crew busied themselves behind him, watching for any sign of trouble. Moss knew that they weren’t ready, though. He knew he couldn’t start anything just yet. He needed to buy them more time.
“Well,” he began, trying to find the words.
The radio in Twelve’s helmet crackled and, at that moment, Moss loved Judy more than anyone on the earth. Twelve pressed two fingers to the side of his helmet to hear, and his eyes shifted.
“We have a situation,” he informed them gruffly. “Follow me. We’ll see where your loyalties lie.”
Moss and Gibbs followed him out on to the street without saying a word. He guided them through the people in their matching striped outfits. They cleared the way as the three passed, but they watched with interest to see where they might be going in such a hurry. Some even followed, keeping enough distance in an attempt not to be noticed. Judy hurried in the other direction, giving a slight nod to Moss as they passed.
