Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) (2 page)

I spun, swore louder and more fluently this time, and jumped off the side of K
ái
tech without the necessary preparation. Skimming the corner of the structure and dislocating my shoulder with the glancing blow, then losing consciousness for a split second.

I woke to the disorientating feeling of wind rushing past and lights dizzyingly flashing by in ever increasing bursts of illumination. It took a split second to comprehend that I was tumbling out of control, and then a few more precious moments to find right side up. The scream that escaped me, when my arms extended trying to find lift enough to halt my rapid descent and tearing something that had to be vital in my shoulder in the process, resounded out in the night air.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, joining the lashings of rain water as it pounded into my eyes, making vision an impossibility. The surface of a building came rushing towards me, and then I was skidding across a mall's roof, one arm cartwheeling as I tried not to overshoot the landing and plummet the five stories down to certain death on Broadway.

The usually popular shopping street had not been a go-to location for me. I didn't know the schematics of the building I was on, and finding my way off its roof without linking in to the Net and being tracked was a tall ask. Especially when I tried to lift my injured arm and found it uselessly hanging by my side, refusing to obey any mental commands.

I sucked in a ragged breath, aware I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself, let alone administer first aid, and glanced back up in the direction of where I thought I had dropped from. I couldn't call that escape dignified flight, it had been a disaster of which I still wasn't entirely free from.

I caught the tell-tail glint of night vision goggles on the rooftop of K
ái
tech. My rival watching me, but not insane enough to follow my hellish flight-plan even if he desperately wanted what now lay securely in my vest pocket. I checked for the outline of the flash-drive through the thin material of my wingsuit to be sure, relieved beyond measure to find it sitting where I had put it. To have gone through that, and not have anything to show for it, didn't bear thinking about.

Well, if he wasn't following, then I had time to catch my breath. Appearances were essential in our society. Even for those breaking the rules. I crouched down, tipped my head up to the night sky and let the rain wash away my sins.

The Overseers would have you believe we live in a sinless community. Consume your rations and all is forgiven. Follow doctrine and all will be rewarded. Wánměi above all others. Wánměi leads the way.

I knew otherwise. And I was betting my silent observer was of the same opinion. Shame I never shared my ill-gotten gains. Wánměi may be above all others, but Lena Carr was number one in my books.

And I intended to keep it that way.

"Who is she?" I asked, pacing behind the vid-screens clearly showing what Alan was seeing through his night visions. A sleek black figure, gleaming white hair tied back in a non-regulation braid down her spine, crouched down on a rooftop in the pouring rain, head tipped back enjoying the moment, as if she hadn't just thwarted our plans.

Plans that had been in the making for two whole bloody months now.

"Who the fuck is she?" I repeated slowly, in case there was any mistaking my foul mood.

"Working on it, boss," Simon replied, unaffected by the growl that was gaining volume from the back of my throat.

A fucking rogue. She wasn't one of ours. I'd know. I knew every single member of our pitiful group of revolutionaries. Every man, woman and child recruited for the greater good. And that girl, in a cat-like suit that contained her body like it was painted on, was not one of mine.

I'd have known if such a reckless person existed on our side. So, who the fuck did she work for? And had they suspected we'd be going in tonight?

Who had sold us out?

"Well?" I demanded, sounding every bit like my father and not appreciating that fact.

"Um," Si offered, in a very un-Si-like tone. I stopped pacing long enough to look at him. He was staring at the ID Recognition screen, linked into the Net, so the most up-to-date data there could be.

And it was coming up "unidentified."

"iRec doesn't have a record for her," Si announced unnecessarily.

"That's impossible," I whispered, feeling the first stirrings of intrigue mixed with a healthy dose of fear.

Only the Overseers could doctor iRec like that. We'd been trying to circumvent the system for years, to no avail. It was impossible. Completely and utterly not done.

And yet the screen was telling us this cat-woman did not exist.

"Can Alan follow her?" I asked.

"If he was suicidal," Si replied casually. "Debatable, but not a guarantee," he added.

"I want to know who she is," I felt compelled to say.

"I'm trying, Trent," Si countered in a long suffering voice. "Let me go offline and see if she appears in an old backup of iRec."

"Why would that work?" I asked. She had to be in her twenties at least, therefore it went without saying she had to exist in the iRec of today.

"I'm grasping at straws," Si admitted. "But having seen her jump off that building and somersault through the air like a fucking ninja ballerina, I'm feeling inspired."

I frowned at the back of his head but didn't admonish him. It had been reckless, not inspirational. Yet, I was feeling strangely invigorated by her free-fall as well.

Who the hell was she? And why did I have the feeling I'd met her before? She wasn't one of ours, I knew that. She wasn't a Cardinal or an Overseer. But her face was familiar, and for the life of me I couldn't place why.

I started pacing again as word came in that Alan had made it to ground level and was trying to pick up a trace of the girl. She'd been injured, he was sure. But she wasn't leaving a trail, had just vanished into thin air. I was guessing she was pretty damn good at that.

An incongruous smile spread my lips. I just wondered what else she was good at.

"Got her!" Si sounded out. All heads in the room swivelled towards him and the name that had appeared on the offline version of iRec we had.

"The Honourable Selena Carstairs," Si announced into the strained silence. "She's a fucking Elite."

My smile broadened. An Elite. Now what the hell was a woman like
that
doing stealing highly secured information from Wánměi's most prominent private sector telecommunications company?

"Carstairs," Kevin said from the back of the room. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"Calvin Carstairs," I offered. "Died defending the Chief Overseer in the Uprising."

The room went morbidly quiet.

Yeah. The Honourable Overseer Calvin Carstairs died for his beliefs. But not before he took out my father.

I reached forward and tapped my index finger purposefully against the screen, right where Selena Carstairs' figure stood frozen in a crouch on that rain swept rooftop.

"I see you," I whispered into the eerie pall that had enveloped the room. It even creeped me out a little.

I stood upright and looked around, noting the guarded expressions on my innermost team.

Clearing my throat I demanded, "Find her!" Then stormed out of the room.

The Honourable Selena Carstairs. I knew I'd seen her before. Ten years ago, almost to the day. Crying at her father's funeral, hanging on the arm of General Chew-wen.

The Chief Overseer.

Now I just had to figure out how to use her. Because there was no way her godfather knew what she'd been up to tonight.

A rogue Elite. Why did that thrill me so much?

Pain like hot pokers stabbed through my ankle when I landed off kilter at the base of the mall building. Panting through the agony and swallowing the few choice swearwords screaming inside my head, I unhooked the rappelling rope with a trembling hand, my vision dangerously close to blacking out. I sucked in lungfuls of desperate air, willing myself not to collapse where I stood. Stopping now would surely mean being picked up by the sPol. Wántel's security would have sounded the alarm. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the black clad man who stumbled into my escape.

I left the rope where it hung, there was nothing to link it to me. Normal window cleaning stock, not even black market purchased. Scanning my surroundings and trying to get my bearings, I tested my weight on my bad foot, feeling the ground lurch up towards me when my ankle gave out. Bile surged up my throat as knife-like pain shot through me.

My hand came out and rested against the building's wall, damp where it met marble. I took a few precious seconds to find my equilibrium, ignoring the nauseous sensation making me feel cold, when the air was super hot. Tonight had not gone as smoothly as I had hoped. Still, I had what I'd come for, everything else would be insignificant once I made it safely home.

Rechecking my surroundings I realised a fatal flaw in my plans. I was closer to my "official" abode than the one I had been planning to recover at. And making it to
Wáikěiton
now would be damn near impossible. I fingered my cellphone in my pocket, currently switched off to avoid tracking by the Overseers. To use it could prove fatal. Not to use it, in my current compromised state, could be just as hazardous to my health.

There was no choice, though. I couldn't make it to
Wáikěiton
on foot; the trains shutdown due to mid-week curfew, only taxis and limousines would be using the streets. All of which would be on-grid. Bipedal travel was the only solution, which meant my home in Parnell Rise was my only option.

Pushing the thought of scaling
those
walls from my mind for now, I started limping as quickly as I could in that direction, being sure to keep close to the shadows, hidden behind strategically placed greenery, an eye out for street-cams and sPol at every turn.

The pain became a numbing accompaniment to my thudding heartbeat. A ringing started up inside my ears. Mist from the rain was compounded by my blurred vision. I gritted my teeth, my jaw locking as I moved with natural but uneven speed through the night.

I could do this.

I'd survived much worse.

I'd made it about halfway when the only warning I got was the flash of red. Strobe lights swirling through the sheets of stinging rain. It actually hurt when my heart missed a beat, but I didn't let it slow me down. I threw myself sideways, thankfully finding shelter behind a row of perfectly manicured box hedge. Lying flat on my stomach, panting as quietly as I could manage, I waited for the sPol unit to pass.

My luck had clearly run out.

The unit, made up of two armed and fully linked-in Cardinal drones, came to a stop just a mere metre away. Their communicators crackling in a poor imitation of old school radios. For some reason the Overseers liked to pay homage to old tech. Or it could just be to remind us how far we've come and what we should be thankful for.

Wánměi the provider of all good.

"Break-in at Wántel," Shiloh announced through the drones' communicators. "All units respond. Proceed with caution. Multiple Citizens seen fleeing from the top floor."

I wondered idly if the black clad man had been identified on iRec. Or if I had. Facial recognition was incredibly hard to circumvent, even surgical implants failed to fool ID Recognition software. The programme was touted to be fail-safe. Maybe it was. Maybe my blocks hadn't tricked iRec at all.

Maybe my home in
Wáikěiton
was being stormed as I lay here waiting for the Security Police to move on and "respond" as they'd been instructed to. There'd be no doubt they would follow the command. They lacked independent thought. Unlike humans.

And even they had been brainwashed and drugged to comply.

Mostly.

Finally their number must have been called up, as the two sPol drones started marching toward Wántel. I allowed myself a further minute after they'd turned the corner to rise from my hidden spot. Biting my lip as my shoulder screamed out in agony at the movement. With a type of sickening foreknowledge I crawled to my feet and accepted the sharp spike of pain in my ankle as I distributed my weight.

I was drenched. Not just from the persistent rain, but sweat from my excursions, from the agony and nausea it caused, and from the ever present humidity. Just another balmy night in Wánměi. I stifled a sarcastic bark of laughter and dragged myself further towards the more opulent homes in
Parnell
.

I'd never been one to stick hard and fast to a plan, which was just as well, because tonight was a damn near disaster. But by the time I reached my apartment complex, curfew was almost over. Ironic, and perhaps luck returning with a feeble apology for the craptastic way things had gone. I took a calculated risk, as those black spots had started to spread before my eyes, making vision out of my left side intermittent. I knew the signs, aside from a dislocated shoulder and a twisted ankle, I was coming down with a migraine. Luck, that fickle bitch, came with caveats.

I stumbled into the lobby scaring the ever-loving shit out of the concierge. Making him drop his cup of coffee at the unexpected and unscheduled arrival of one of the building's residents. I watched, through my one good eye, as he scurried around the desk and flapped his claw-like hands in an ineffectual manner.

My face remained impassive at the almost comical sight.

"Honourable Selena Carstairs. You have returned earlier than planned," he fussed, his widened eyes taking in my strange attire, inappropriate hairstyle and lopsided stance. "May I be of assistance?" he asked, recovering his composure admirably.

I slipped my good hand into my vest pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar credit, then limped over to where he stood; keeping himself at a good distance away from the clearly immoral Elite before him.

"Citizen Augustine," I greeted, slipping my hand into his already raised palm. The Overseers tried their damnedest to educate the masses in model behaviour, but bribery still lived. "Thank you for your concern. My car met with a rather disturbing accident. I was forced to walk three blocks in this wretched rain." I waved my fingers towards my drenched hair, hoping he'd attribute the braid to necessity and not rebellion.

He sympathised, even as he pocketed the bribe.

"I shall arrange for it to be retrieved," he offered.

"No need. My mechanic will see to it."

"Was it the roadster?"

He knew damn well the roadster was in the basement garage. I lifted superior eyes to his face and held his stare. He was the first to look away. You don't question an Honourable. Unless you're an Overseer or Cardinal.

"The elevator, if you please," I demanded in my best Elite tone of voice. My father had taught me well.

In many, many things.

The concierge immediately rushed to the lifts, turning his back on me and allowing a moment to limp unobserved behind him. He took his time pressing the button, as though he knew I required a few seconds longer to make his side unseen.

Our society was a confused one. We're trained from birth to obey the rules, model Citizens with no need to think for ourselves. But I see the longing in the dull eyes and turned-down lips. I see the burgeoning desire to break free.

It's what caused so much death and destruction during the Uprising. It's what killed my father.

We should not desire for more than we have. Wánměi provides all that we need.

Then why do I break so many rules? I blame boredom. Being an Elite is quite mundane.

The lift doors opened and I forced myself to walk in a sedate and refined manner past the concierge and into the box. I was shaking imperceptibly by the time I turned to face him.

His surprisingly bright brown eyes met mine and he said, " Wánměi above all others," clacking his heels in an imitation of Cardinal correctness.

"Wánměi leads the way," I dutifully replied. Cameras lurked in these public spaces. I'd pushed my luck enough today.

The doors closed and I swayed as the lift shot skywards, soft, ethereal music seeping from the unobtrusive speakers. By the time I made the uppermost floor, I knew I was going to vomit. It took all of my strength and willpower not to give in to the desperate need. I moved with snail-like pace down the lush hallway, pausing at my doorway to surreptitiously remove my contact lenses. Swallowing convulsively, I lowered my sweat-soaked face to the eScanner and counted off the seconds in my head as the green laser light flowed over my eyeball.

A soft hum, a buzz and then the click of the door opening, and I stumbled through to the cool and dim interior of my official home.

"Welcome, Honourable Selena Carstairs," Shiloh sounded out. "Have you been a model Citizen today?"

"Yes," I mumbled and staggered to my bathroom.

"Would you like to take your test?" she asked, helpfully.

"Override, Lena Carr, 241386," I managed to gasp out before I was on my knees and vomiting into the toilet bowl.

I didn't feel a hell of a lot better by the time I was through, the pain had turned into tingles in my fingertips, which was not a good sign at all. I fished out my cellphone, fumbling to remove the backing and replace the SIM card with the spare I carried sewn into the lining of my suit. I powered the unit back on and sent off a saved text. Nothing the Overseers could complain about. Something to do with the weather and fishing on the lake, but Aiko would immediately know I was in dire straits and required medical attention. The fact that I was using Selena Carstairs' cellphone would clue her in to my current location.

And that was it. That was all I could do. The blackness encroached as I slowly slid sideways, thankfully landing on my good shoulder as unconsciousness took hold.

For the first time in ten years I felt at peace. Even though I knew it was artificial and would end all too soon.

As it happens, it was over far quicker than even I suspected, but then how would I know? I'd been out cold until some enterprising individual pulled my shoulder back into its socket and sent me screaming up off the floor and practically to the ceiling.

"Easy, Elite," a familiar drawl met my ears. "Anyone would think you're a pansy."

"Tan," I managed, rolling to a sitting position, sucking in much needed air and gingerly testing the movement in my fingers, wrist and shoulder.

"Slow rotations," he instructed. "You'll pop it back out again if it's not secured first."

"I am
not
wearing a sling," I grumbled. "Where's Aiko?"

A shadow passed over his hawk-like features. Lee Tan had a long face, hooked nose and very un-
Wáikěinese
-like blue eyes in an otherwise stock
Wáikěinese
body. Courtesy of his unknown father. We think he might have been an Elite, but Tan's mother wasn't squealing.

"She dosed up," he said softly. No drawl. No quip. Just the cold, hard face of Wánměi. I didn't groan out loud, but internally I was dismayed.

"How long's it been?" I asked, as I lumbered to my feet. Tan hadn't had a chance to bandage my ankle yet, he'd only dealt with the most pressing injury, so the sharp stab of pain when I went to bear weight made me gasp. He immediately wrapped a muscular arm around my waist and helped me back into my sparse lounge.

Most Elite lived in opulence. I had the requisite luxury, but pared back to a minimalist look. Even then I preferred my home in
Wáikěiton
. You'd think it was the lack of a Shiloh unit, but it was the bare floors and worn furniture that made my
Wáikěiton
home so appealing. Overstuffed lush couches, modern crystal lampshades and extravagant marble statues just didn't hold the same desire.

"Long enough for it to send her into a tailspin," Tan replied, as he lowered me onto the white couch.

Black and white were in vogue. My hair met that current trend. With so many restrictions in our lives, we embraced colour. The Overseers let us have that one indulgence. Probably because they thought it would keep us quiet.

Tan turned and retrieved his med bag, pulling out crepe wrap. With all our technological advancement, we still hadn't mastered healing soft tissue injuries. Invasive surgery, however, and anything to do with laser technology, we'd made leaps and bounds in.

Just my bad luck I'd sprained an ankle and not been blasted in the stomach.

"Why?"

"Why do you think, Lena?" he shot back. "She has to test tomorrow or the sPol will pay her a visit. And there's no replica left."

"She could have had one of mine," I offered.

"You do enough for us. Besides," he added, deftly strapping my sprain while he talked, "you've got enough on your plate with the celebration coming up."