Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (11 page)

A walk in the sky

Zoe, Emil, and Adi arrived at the rendezvous behind schedule. They hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the 84th one-hour earlier, and the trek was tedious because of it. A couple of near run-ins with some wayward hunters forced her to plot a less direct path getting to their destination. The travel companions were growing edgy.

While she went in search of something only she knew what, the General stood in reverence to the monument towering before him. The Empire State Building, once a grand symbol of a powerful nation’s ingenuity, had become a decaying edifice of neglected exceptionalism.

Every access and window of the unused skyscraper, for the first thirty floors, was welded shut with thick metal plates. The obvious purpose for sealing off the building was to keep out undesirables.

Zoe loosened a chunk of granite marked with a painted red diamond on its surface, exposing a narrow black gap. Emil knelt next to her and beamed a light into the hole.

“Private door, Captain?”

“After you,” she offered.

He and Adi crawled inside. Zoe waited until they were through before squeezing into the outlet and cautiously replacing the broken piece. After a short crawl, they came out into the pitch black lobby. Using torches, they waved beams around to inspect the interior. Decades of dust adorned the fixtures, masking any trace of majestic beauty the landmark may have once possessed.

“It’s a quarter to nine. Your boy is late.”

“Relax. He’ll be here.”

The elevator chimed. They drew their weapons, ready to face the threat. The door slid to the side and Max came out carrying a large duffle bag over his shoulder. Zoe flashed her beam, causing him to jump.

“Whoa,” he shouted. “It’s just me.”

They holstered their weapons. She ran the light on him to get a better look at his attire. He wasn’t wearing the slept-in clothes from earlier. His current ensemble of cut slacks and a form hugging blouse had him resembling a Hi-riser kid coming down to slum in the ghetto. The disguise would have been foolproof if not for two things: he didn’t ditch his snytho-boots or his riding jacket. Despite these conflicting themes, he somehow succeeded in creating a chic to call his own.

“You’re late.”

“No, I’m on time. You need to wind your chrono, old man.”

“Did you bring the stuff?” Zoe cut in.

“Yep, and some other goodies. Here put these on.” He opened the bag and handed out bundles to everyone.

She unwrapped hers to find clothes similar to his in price and taste. “What are these for?”

“You can’t look incognito dressed — well, like that.”

He was right. The urban commando style would be a dead giveaway.

“Where did you get these?”

“Lost and found,” he cheekily answered.

His lack of guilt with stealing what he wanted disturbed her. She forgot he had lived his whole life in the Lo-5, where the rules of morality were warped by a brutal culture. Her empathy wanted to reach out and nurture him, but he was not an innocent boy. He was a drifter — a hustler — an opportunist — bred by his environment. She doubted what he must think of the parents he never knew. Did he believe they abandoned him to live out this life? Did he hate them for it?

While she lost herself in what-ifs, the other two stripped out of their rags. The General donned a stylish ensemble of grey, complete with a retro smoke-colored tailcoat. What he lacked was a hat to sit atop his head.

Baffled by the finer fabric, Adi stood unadorned as she wrestled with the mechanics of a slinky dress. Zoe looked to her partner and saw he was preoccupied with something in the bag. She was going to give him credit for being a gentleman, but realized he was stealing peeks of the girl’s curves when he thought no one was noticing. She moved to help Adi get dressed, intentionally blocking his view at the same time.

Uncomfortable with undressing in front of the others, especially Max, Zoe changed off to the side. To her relief, he didn’t steal looks until she was done, and only then to check on her appearance.

Once everyone was ready, Max ushered them inside the lift-car. The grinding of the doors indicated an unsettling ride ahead. As the car traveled up the shaft, the old cables moaned. The three older passengers held their collective breaths, fearing the frayed cables would snap at any moment and drop them to a crushing death.

Max eyed his wrist chronograph. He turned and did a quick inspection. He hadn’t expected miracles with these three, but he did the best he could on such short notice. Old man Pavel cleaned up nicely. Chacon looked alright. But, Adi was a stunner in her strapless number. It may have been a little conservative for the Hi-8, but it still showed off enough of her best parts as not to attract the wrong attention. In comparison, Chacon’s baggy black slacks and two-piece business formal made her look like a man.

The difference was not lost on her. “Did you pick this stuff out yourself?”

“Yep.”

“Good job. I love mine.” She lied. “In fact, I think I’ll keep it.”

He believed her, much to his disappointment. He had hoped for a different reaction. “Good. You owe me for it, by the way. I had to dip into my own pocket to buy this crap.”

“I thought this was from lost and found.”

“You actually fell for that?”

Zoe smiled, relieved that he hadn’t stolen the clothes. There may yet be hope for him. She observed how Adi’s dress clung to her form, leaving nothing to the imagination. “How did you know what size she wears?”

“I didn’t. I just know women’s bodies.”

“You do, huh?”

“Just another one of my awesome talents.” He looked to see Adi tie a makeshift gun holster around her inner thigh.

“You’re so much like your father,” Zoe blurted out.

The slip was a surprise to both him and her. “You knew my father?”

She bit her tongue. “Yeah.”

“What was he like?”

Clearing her throat of an overabundance of imaginary phlegm, she said, “Arrogant... full of himself... just like you.”

“No kidding?” he asked rhetorically. “Way to go, Pop.”

She wanted to laugh, but didn’t, thinking it would encourage his sardonic attitude.

He saw that he could easily get a rise out of her. Feeling smug, he smiled as he tapped his tel-link earpiece. “Hey Dinx, you ready?”

The call connected. “Let’s get this over with.” By the tone, the kid was still upset.

“Okay guys, we got to do something about your marks.” He held up several tapered adhesive strips.

“What are those?” Zoe asked.

“They’re masking strips. They’ll hide the radiation from your marks. The Hi-8 has scanners looking for undesirables.”

“Like us.”

“You said it, not me.”

Adi had no mark, so she helped cover Emil’s while Max helped Zoe. The fleshy opaqueness of the strips blended well with their complexions.

Nearing the end of the line, he removed two small oval-shaped discs from the bag and handed Emil and Zoe each one. They had no clue what to do with them. He ignored their puzzlement and attended to Adi first.

“What is that?” she asked.

“It’s your tag-chip. It gives you access to the network, under someone else’s I-dent of course. Without it you’ll stick out and get security called on us. Now, open your eyes big and hold still.”

He held the disc close to her left eye. A mild red pulse illuminated the malleable iris.

“Is that it?”

“That’s it. Now, you will be able to see anything you want to access. It works just like a tel-link.” He pinned the device to her dress, just above the vale between her breasts. “By the way, you have nice eyes.”

She enjoyed his bold attention, but pretended to accept his compliment with good humor.

After scanning both Emil and Zoe’s eyes, he let them pin their own discs to their clothes.

“Pavel, you’re I-dent is some dink named Karl McRuff. And Chacon, you’re Deloris Fabeler.”

“Who am I?” Adi inquired.

“You’re Candy Sweet.”

“Sounds like a pole-girl’s name,” Zoe remarked.

“I tried to match the names with the person as best as I could.”

“Deloris?”

“Yeah, you kinda look like a Deloris.”

“What is a — pole-girl?” Adi asked.

Max blushed from a self-conscious sense of getting caught doing something wicked. “It... it means a dazzling woman.”

She didn’t buy the explanation. “I’m sure it does.”

The elevator halted with a jolt on the eightieth floor. Max stowed the bag, loaded with their clothes, in the ceiling. The doors opened.

“Alright, old man and ladies, this is it.”

They followed him into a lobby. Hi-risers brushed by, too self-absorbed to notice the intruders in their world.

Accustomed to seeing the elitists slumming in the Lo-5, Zoe wasn’t mesmerized by their kitschy decadence. She tugged on the slack of her shirt. Its conservative blandness in this ultra-liberal playground made her feel ironically nude.

Emil couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Back in his younger days, Americans weren’t as outlandish. Two men in loin cloths paraded by, both covered head-to-toe in morphing dermo-glyths. Nearby, a topless woman leaned against a railing, smoking a long sloping pipe. A thin chain ran from a bulging nipple piercing, along her gaunt body, and down to the exposed patch of pubic hair. A man in a solid white leather outfit approached and groped her without introduction. Emil had no relief from the disgusting lewdness.

These Americans indulge in complacency while the world falls to tyranny
.
Fools
!

Max removed a data-plate from his jacket and tapped commands on its screen. When he was ready, he snapped his fingers. “Stand back.”

He tapped the screen again and their tag-chips beeped upon linking to the network. Holographic bubbles formed in ethereal currents around each of them, streaming live images and data. Colorful advertisements bombarded their senses. Buy this —
look
here
—
don’t think about it
— and a hundred other inundating messages orbited inside each confining sphere.

Unfazed by the distracting pop-ups, Max discarded them without a second thought. Zoe, having trouble adjusting to the user specific commercials flooding her sphere, swatted at the images as though they were bugs. Several Hi-risers gawked at the strange conduct.

He grabbed her arm. “Stop that before you get us caught. The pops are linked to your optics. No one else can see them. Just finger the edge and they’ll disappear.”

Using his fingers on the holograms in his own bubble, he demonstrated how to exit the bothersome pop-ups. When they were ready, Max hurried his
tour group
out to the delirium of the city’s crown.

Thousands of walkways connected hundreds of shimmering skyscraper tops and free-floating structures together in a flimsy web of reflective light. The skyscape past the horizon flowed into different shapes, creating a mirage which was detached from the reality which inspired it.

They arrived at the World First Plaza after the commencement of the festivities. Named in honor of the ideals for which the Hi-8 was founded, the elliptical plaza floated at the hub of Chavelle, the largest of the Hi-8’s districts, and Claremont. In the space above a central chasm, sheets of levitating water transfigured into spiraling jets. Flags from dozens of Alliance countries flapped in the breeze on the outer rim.

Upon the forehead of almost every reveler was a sunburst ora. Those unlucky stragglers without the latest
must have accessory
, waited in long lines at Zolarian kiosks to buy their own crystals.

The crimson ora in his pocket made Emil nervous. Could these shards expose his possession of the superior crystal? He got close to Max and yelled over the crowd’s howling noise, “What’s happening?”

“It’s the World First Celebration! They’re celebrating the end of the war!”

Overhead on giant floating screens, a three-dimensional broadcast played. More than a minute passed before the crowd settled and the presentation’s somber music could be heard.

A melodramatic feminine voice spoke. “August 12, 2079: A day that will forever live in the annals of infamy. Twenty years ago, the former United States perpetrated the worst act of barbarism in recorded history.”

The holo-cast showed an atomic mushroom cloud blooming over the night sky. Below its terrible glory was a fiery backdrop.

“During the Battle of Bucharest, the peacekeepers of the Global Alliance were on the verge of victory against the invading forces of the American Coalition. Unable to accept defeat, U.S. President Charles Haden ordered the unthinkable - the unleashing of nuclear terror on America’s own ally, Romania.”

Emil tensed at the mention of his homeland.

The propaganda showed President Haden and his baleful officers standing on a raised platform while thousands of faceless American soldiers goose-stepped in an endless formation. Scenes of more atomic devastation followed. The music turned ominous.