Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) (3 page)

Funny how a word could mean something exciting to someone and then something horrific to another. To General Chew-wen it was undoubtedly a celebration. To me it was the anniversary of my father's death.

"No dodging testing for that one, Carr. You'll have to take a hit or two before the date yourself. You know how the first dose can send you sideways after a long break."

"I was planning on tricking the system," I half-heartedly advised.

"Right at the Palace. Nice one. I'd pay good money to see you pull that off."

It was a thought. Taking Tan as my date. I
was
allowed a "plus one" to the event. Of course, they expected me to entertain my own kind and not an average Citizen. But there were no Elites I trusted, let alone felt anything stronger than apathy towards. Lemmings. Sheep. Robotic, pre-programmed fauns.

Safe in their convictions. Safe in Wánměi's doctrine. Safe at the top of the food chain.

"I'll let you know when my invite arrives," I said with an over-beaming smile.

Tan chuckled, seeing my act for what it was, as he zipped up his bag and sat back on the coffee table to survey me. His sharp, but disconcerting blue eyes scanned my face, and then impartially my body.

"So? Did you get it?"

"Have I ever failed?"

He shook his head, a worried expression marring his striking face. "That's what I'm afraid of, Lena. You push so hard, one day it's going to be too much for the system to ignore."

I shrugged my shoulders, wincing slightly at the dull ache that lingered in my injured side. I could take a painkiller; one thing Wánměi was good at was drugs. But I avoided them, like I avoided Elite parties.

"What else is there to do?" I asked instead.

Silence met my words. A statement I had often said before, but somehow it held weight right then. Tan sat still, not a muscle twitching, just held my gaze with an intense one of his own.

"And you plan to do what with it?" he finally asked, but I got the impression it was not what he really wanted to know.

I wondered if he was scared I'd bring danger to their door. He and Aiko harboured enough trouble helping me out from time to time. He worried for his sister, as much as he worried for me. But it was a different kind of concern. If he had to choose, Aiko would win. That didn't hurt me, if I'd had a brother or sister I would have felt the same.

But there was just me.

I had to ensure, though, that if my pastimes came under Overseer scrutiny the Tan siblings were clear of the fall-out. It was
my
choice to play the system.
My
gamble to take. Not theirs.

"I haven't decided yet. An opportunity will present itself in due course," I declared convincingly.

"I'm sure it will."

"I may even have a buyer already," I offered, checking the outline of the thumb-drive in my vest.

"Really?" Tan asked, eyebrows raised.

"Competition at Wántel. They were too slow, of course."

"Of course," Tan said doubtfully. "Did they see you?"

"Couldn't avoid it, but I wouldn't have registered in iRec."

"And now? Should they have reordered your image."

"You are no fun, at all," I offered, a little more tersely than I'd meant.

Tan lifted his hands, palm up in defeat.

"It's your neck on the chopping block, Elite."

Yeah. Yeah it was.

"You're not going to believe this," Si announced, barging into my quarters without knocking.

I could have complained. Thrown a fit and a fist. But everyone knew I wouldn't be entertaining. Not this close to the celebration.

It was about the only time I didn't.

"What have you got?" I asked, laying the vid-screen I'd been using down on the side of my bunk.

"She walked into her apartment on Parnell Rise an hour ago. Plain as you like. Then simply disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?"

"Her Shiloh went offline."

I whistled. "Impressive."

"I want one," Si advised.

"One what?"

"One of her."

I snorted. "She'd eat you alive."

"And you, boss?"

"I just want what she's got in her hot little hands. She probably doesn't even know what it's for," I added, not believing that for a minute.

"Yeah. And I'm General Chew-wen's long lost son," Si offered, then spun on his heel and left.

I stared after his back, watching his natural blond hair flow out behind him. A rebellion that cost him his freedom on the streets. One look at his unapproved haircut and sPol would eliminate him. No questions asked. No warning. Simply put a bullet in his head and then check if his hair was real. Just as well Si never left the hub.

I scrubbed a hand down my face. I was too tired to deal with this shit. Too worn out. Too disillusioned. Too trapped. What I wouldn't give to board a freighter and sail away to another world. What I wouldn't give to know that other world actually does exist, and not just a figment of a disgruntled Citizen's fervent imagination.

My father had a lot to answer for. My current dilemma top of the list.

I needed to get that flash-drive. Everything counted on it. But first, I needed to know more about the Honourable Selena Carstairs, and just how the hell she managed to ghost the system like she did.

I stormed off the bed with renewed purpose, and strode into the tech room, finding Si with his feet up on the desk flicking through pictures of our quarry.

He knew me so well.

"Talk to me," I demanded.

"Twenty-five years old, daughter of the late Honourable Calvin and Laura Carstairs. The last surviving descendant of the Carstairs line."

"That would give her privileges others wouldn't receive," I offered.

"A healthy stipend, for one," Si agreed. "Gotta look after the old families."

"Lest we lose our way," Kevin added from the back of the room, where he spent most of his time, headphones on, listening in on sPol and iPol communications.

And offering the odd sarcastic remark when called for.

"So what's she doing playing cat-thief?" I mused aloud.

"Could she be working for Chew-wen?" Si offered.

"We have to assume that's possible," I acknowledged, however it didn't ring true. "But why would Chew-wen need to obtain that programme in such a way? Wouldn't he just demand Chen hand it over?"

Silence met my words.

"She doesn't make any sense," I said.

"None of this makes any sense," Kevin offered.

"She still at home?" I asked, and Si spun to stare up at me from his chair. A mischievous look on his face.

"sPol hasn't picked up on her Shiloh as yet. Wanna play Cardinal?"

"It's been a while," I said with a wry grin.

"I'll tee you up," Si announced, a wicked glint to his eyes. "Just remember why you're doing this," he added over his shoulder, as though an afterthought.

"What the fuck does that mean?" I snapped, falling for the trap way too easily.

I was jumpy. On edge. In no fit state to play an Elite and get away with it.

And yet, there was nothing that could stop me from going ahead with this poorly thought out plan. I wanted to face this woman. I wanted to look in her eyes and see if she resembled her father.

I wanted to test her.

Push her.

Then maybe break her.

And only then would I offer the hand of friendship and determine if she could be used to further our goals.

Damn, I was more like my father than I cared to acknowledge. But rogue Elites were not to be entertained without due care.

And if she was like every other Elite out there; superior, drugged, complacent and Wánměi minded, then I'd simply take the file she stole and move on.

Nothing was more important than obtaining the codes to Sat-Loc. Getting sidetracked by an Elite was
not
in the plans. Our futures depended on me staying focused. Revenge, or whatever the hell this burgeoning obsession was, could wait. I had to remind myself she was a rogue Elite and nothing more.

"You know what it means, Trent," Si replied reasonably, breaking into my turbulent thoughts.

And I did know what Si meant. But I was so not going there with him tonight.

"Just tee up the profile. I'll be in my room getting dressed."

"Sure thing, boss," I heard him say as I stalked out, suddenly fit to throw a fist into a wall.

I needed to get my head in the game. I needed to deal with this woman, stay focused, obtain those codes, and crack Wánměi's security stranglehold. Blow the whole thing sky high.

And then maybe I'd call on Carla or Li Na or that sweet little thing down in the noodle shop. The way I was feeling right now, though, none of them appealed. And that realisation made me halt in my steps halfway down the hall to my room.

I'd never gone for elegant and sophisticated, which I could only assume this Elite woman was. They were all refined and genteel, breathing that rarefied air up there, although her dive off K
ái
tech could hardly be called the height of decorum. But brunettes who frequented
Wáikěiton
were more my style.

The rogue was blonde. Actually, I think she might have been pure white. I flicked my vid-screen on as I walked into my room, swiping until I found the images Si had saved of her on that roof. I narrowed my eyes and cocked my head, enlarging the frame until I had a close-up shot of her tied back hair.

An appreciative smile spread my lips. Aside from the obvious rebellion against model Citizen hairstyles, the Elite had died her hair in a somewhat socially acceptable, but entirely in-your-face colour combination. Pure white with black stripes.

"A fucking zebra," I muttered through a small chuckle, as I donned the Cardinal uniform of cream pants and shirt, gold epaulettes and buttons, highly polished black shoes, with the flowing and distinctive red cape down the back. I checked my image in the mirror, running my fingers through my own messy dark hair. It could do with a cut.
I
was borderline tempting the sPol, another week and I wouldn't be compliant either.

For this morning though, it would be enough. I didn't expect this Elite woman to check my appearance too closely. She'd be too worried about a Cardinal presence to think clearly at all. No one likes a Cardinal to turn up on your doorstep, and the Honourable Selena Carstairs was breaking more than a few Wánměi laws.

I grabbed the ID card and contact lenses from Si's outstretched hand as I walked past, fully dressed and mind back on the game. His eyes remained steadfast on the screen displaying the rogue Elite's apartment complex. Slipping an earpiece in and testing its efficiency, I was out the door without a backwards glance.

In less than an hour I would be face to face with this woman. And
then
I'd know who the hell she was.

Selena Carstairs was an anomaly. In a city that prided itself on strict rules and harsh punishments, she was one mistake away from termination... and somehow that made me feel more alive.

Who the fuck are you, Honourable Selena Carstairs?

And why did I want to look into her eyes when I figured that out?

This woman,
this Elite
, might just be the death of me.

She'd not be the first to try.

Music rang out from a Mosque down the street. Uplifting and serene. The call to prayer. I slid through the early morning crowd, managing to place weight on my strapped ankle without making it obvious I suffered an injury. Tan was good at what he did.

Tipped down heads, placid looks on their faces, thumbs tapping away in hyper-speed over touchscreen cellphones. It was an image of Wánměi I despised. No one talked anymore. Not even in Citizen zoned
Muhgah Keekee
.

I shouldered my way through the distracted and insular throng, expecting cries of dismay when my body hit that of another.

All I got was a vague, "Apologies, Citizen." As though
they
had walked into me.

Well, it was debatable. With their heads down and propaganda filling their earbuds they could just as easily have been the one to collide with me. Despite the fact that I was purposely going against the flow.

I tamped down my agitation. With the night's haphazard activities, and near miss with the Cardinal that came to call, I was a hairsbreadth away from doing something to attract the sPol. I frowned as I turned down Olive Grove, dodging slow moving delivery trucks, mothers with strollers, and a group of young men smoking their daily cigarette ration. Signs overhead flashed advertisements for drugs and alcohol.

Be a model Citizen! Drink Haldor's XXX Beer.

Be a model Citizen! Slip a Serenity Tab tonight.

Be a model Citizen! Breathe easy with Tyger Menthols.

And the usual Wánměi message of,
Have you been a model Citizen today?

It was always an assault on the senses, and my intelligence, coming to
Muhgah Keekee
. But my contact here was the best at what he could do. He also needed the cash. Three kids to feed and a wife dependent on Serenity Tabs. Even the replicas couldn't compete with her needs.

The Overseers would have you believe we live in a consumer's society. The choice of what to partake in was limitless. As long as it was addictive and on their list of approved indulgences. Their spin on this controlled pimping was that they tested the safety of each item to enter Wánměi before allowing it on the streets. The fact that the products were heavily taxed and helped fill the coffers of the Elite was irrelevant.

Or at least not mentioned in the state-wide advertisements.

My father said humanity entered a long period of self-gratification some thirty years before the Uprising started. We consumed enormous quantities of illicit substances and abused our bodies for the sheer enjoyment it brought us. The need to own the best, the biggest, the most impressive product became an addiction in itself.

Society almost crumbled. And then General Chew-wen offered a solution. Government regulations and checkpoints, keeping the good people of Wánměi safe from over indulgence. One thing led to another and before you knew it the borders closed. Internet was restricted. Contact with the outside world ceased.

Families were suddenly separated, their communications monitored,
censored
, if allowed at all, by the military, who soon became known as the Cardinals. The government took a revised approach when the public baulked. The new structure gained all the support it needed.

Elites.

The "haves" ruled in favour of Chew-wen. The "have-nots" were given free samples of product they'd been denied while the debate raged on. Within weeks, they were hooked. And the Overseers were born.

Thirty years of supposed peace reigned.

Then the Uprising.

"You there!" a Cardinal iPol drone sounded out over my shoulder, interrupting my reminiscence. "Identify!" it ordered.

I slipped into the shadow of a building and observed. It was best to keep your head down and carry on with your day. But having just remembered some of my father's history lessons, I felt compelled to witness the system at work.

Prove me wrong. Make me believe the hype.

I didn't recognise the Citizen, which was a relief in itself. There would be a reason why the iPol had pulled this man over. They never acted without cause or direction from their Cardinal controller. This man had done something, either now or recently, to attract their attention.

My eyes darted up to the street-cams, noticing several were pointed in the direction of the confrontation. It would be a good time to carry out any rule breaking right now. The cams were too busy following the proceedings to notice a Citizen disobeying the rules off to the side.

Shame I didn't have anything planned.

I shifted on my feet as the young man, Caucasian by the looks, turned slowly to face the first of the drones.

"I haven't done anything," he protested in
Anglisc
. A useless statement. It wouldn't sway iPol one bit.

"Prepare for eScan," the first drone advised. "Legs shoulder width apart, hands at sides. Do not move."

I let a slow breath of air out. The man was shaking.

My eyes flicked over the disinterested faces of people walking past. Parting like water around the scene in the middle of the lane. Cars had stopped or been diverted by the second drone, and the timely change of traffic lights at the end of the street. The Cardinal controlling these drones would be organising this little sector of Wánměi like a chessboard. A game of control. Of oppression.

My hands fisted as the green laser slowly rolled over the man's eyeball, his chin resting on the edge of the iPol drone's outstretched hand. The laser simply risen from within its arm. They carried everything they needed. A nice bit of tech, wrapped up in a shining metal case, made to look passably human.

I blinked slowly as the hum and buzz followed, and then Shiloh announced the guy's identity.

"Citizen Carl Andrew Smith," she said over the drone's communicator. "Warrant for arrest issued. Test failure."

I stopped breathing. Even some of those people walking past lifted their faces from their vid-screens and glanced at the doomed man. The second drone was having none of that.

"Move along. Nothing to see. Behave accordingly."

According to the Overseers.

"No!" the man argued, as the first drone simply reached forward in lightning speed and secured his wrist in a manacle. His second hand was snatched from behind his back in a move you'd believe the metallic iPol couldn't effect. But they were more nimble than humans. Their joints not restricted by nature and evolution.

"Do not resist," is all the drone said. What else was there to say? We had no rights. We had no defence. We obeyed.

Or we were taken.

sPol drones rounded the corner to assist in the arrest. There were now eight drones on the little street and my time was up. I'd pass an iRec inspection, but so close to the break-in at Wántel would mean the Cardinals were on high alert. Any minor defect in my identity could be caught. I couldn't risk it. Not with what rested in my jacket pocket.

I gave the convicted man one last look, determined to find his name on iRec and follow up with his family discretely. If he provided their main income, then they would be in dire straits. How could you consume your rations, if you couldn't afford them?

I slipped out of the shadows, pulling my cellphone from my trouser pocket and started to blindly scroll through my daily feeds. Half of which I ignored. It was all for show. The sPol drones were eyeing every single person on the street.

By the end of the lane I gave one final surreptitious look around the area, convinced I was unobserved what with the scuffle occurring back up the street. The man's screams cut off abruptly as I mounted some rickety steps to the side, a silencing injection having no doubt been administered. The last thing I heard as I left the lane completely was the ominous sound of the sPol van rolling over tarseal. The electronic whine of its motor, mixing in with the high pitched beep of its siren. I didn't hang around to see the flash of red lights.

I stood still at the top of the stairs, taking in the refuse of an off-grid residence building such as Zhang Yong's, sucking in air as I tried to settle my mind. For some reason the arrest on the street was leaving me imbalanced. Sweat, ever present, had started to chill on my skin, even in this heat. I reached up to brush loose hair from my face and noticed my hand was shaking. I moved the trembling fingers in front of my face and just stared.

It took a lot to unnerve me. And it's not as if I haven't seen arrests on the street before. I didn't even know that man. He was a nobody. A Citizen who'd failed his test, either because he couldn't afford the prescribed rations, or the replica to fake it. In any case, he deserved what he got.

This may well be touted as an ideal society, but you have to be prepared.

He hadn't been. His fault. No one else's.

I clenched my hand, willing the twitching to stop. Closing my eyes briefly, I sucked in a deep, cleansing breath of air, and felt the sticky heat coat my throat as it went down. It was said all of the world was super-heated, but some not quite as hot as here. I wouldn't know. But my father did. He was the one who had told me.

By the time my eyes had reopened, the shaking had stopped. With grim determination I raised my hand and knocked on the pitted, paint-peeled door before me. The half rubbed out sign hanging at an angle on its surface said, "Staffroom" in
Wáitaměi
.

Sometimes the simple distractions worked best. Drones, even Cardinal operated ones, had difficulty deciding if the sign was false or not. Without entering the room, you just couldn't tell it was a home.

The door creaked open and a kid of about five stared up at me out of a grubby face and ripped and worn clothes.

"Hello," I said in
Wáitaměi
. "Is your daddy home?"

The dark eyes blinked slowly, as he took in my pristine outfit. Citizen appropriate, but clearly not from his side of the tracks. I watched as he made this observation and came to a conclusion. I had money. Money they needed.

"Please wait, Citizen," he advised in achingly correct
Anglisc
. If the Overseers were listening, they'd be proud.

I nodded my consent and purposely stared at my cellphone screen, knowing the response was expected. The door shut quietly and a lock engaged. My head came up and I automatically assessed the obstacle in front of me. Not that I intended on breaking down Zhang Yong's door. It was just habit. Something I'd done since I was that child's age.

A few moments later the door reopened and an older girl stood on the other side. Thirteen maybe. Looked like her father.

"Citizen Carr," she greeted with a soft smile. No dullness to her eyes. She was of age to consume rations. Zhang Yong was doing his best to make sure his children did not follow the same path as his wife.

"Good morning, Citizen Yeh," I greeted, inclining my head slightly. "Will your father see me?"

"Of course, Citizen. You are a good friend to the Yeh Family. You are most welcome here."

I noticed she didn't say, "in our home." The standard greeting. Even in an off-grid location ears could be listening. Zhang Yong had taught his children well.

I followed the slight figure through the doorway, waiting patiently while she bolted the door. There were three deadlocks. One thick chain. And a metal bar that fell into place across the entirety of the entrance. No electronic locking mechanism. No eScanner access. Old school. Safe from the average intruder. But I'd hazard a guess a drone could bend that rod, snap that chain, and pick those locks with blunt force.

She smiled shyly up at me as she walked past down the narrow hallway, unadorned with picture frames or artwork. Just a simple sign that said,
Be a model Citizen! Wash your hands.
My lips twitched at the obvious staffroom message. Zhang Yong wasn't taking any risks if someone stopped at his front door and looked inside.

We rounded a corner and the scenery changed. Potted plants and brightly coloured seat cushions, family photos in various sizes, children's finger painting and more adept art dotted the walls. The furniture was well worn, but clean. The floor linoleum but scattered with roughly woven mats. The smell of incense wafted on the air, mixed in with the scent of aniseed, cinnamon, garlic and chilli. A second daughter was stirring something delightful in a wok on a gas hob off to the side.

And in the corner sat Zhang Yong, in front of one of the most up-to-date computer systems that could still function offline.

I bowed in greeting. Zhang Yong just smiled tranquilly.

"Lena," he said, not bothering to stand. He had bad legs. Injured during the Uprising. I never asked how. He never offered an explanation. "How may I help you?" he asked in
Wáitaměi
.

I glanced around the small space and took in his family. The wife was obviously in the one big bed in the only adjoining room. Shut away from sight and docilely quiet. My eyes took in the well stocked shelves above the makeshift kitchen. The cool air softly blowing from a functioning air-con unit. The colourful picture-books the son flicked through at the small Formica topped table. The new shrine to Buddha that hadn't been there the last time I visited.