SLAM (6 page)

Abial looks over at her laugh, and seems to
want to ask what she finds so funny, but thinks better of it.
Serena sighs and flips the card toward her, using a wisp of power
to guide it right to Abial’s hands. The other girl looks surprised,
but takes it out of the air and then smiles a little before wafting
her own card over to Serena. The picture isn’t much better, and
Serena smirks; it seems that they’ve agreed to a truce, without
saying a word. If they’re going to spend the next week or so
together, speaking terms will help the days pass. It doesn’t mean
Serena’s forgiven her, or will ever really forgive her for that
betrayal, but suddenly – in the light of an actual mission, and the
danger of death – she figures it’s better to be on the same
team.

Suddenly, Kion’s face fuzzes onto the screen,
he also looks like he’s been up all night. He grins half-heartedly
at them. “I just wanted to say good luck, not that you need it.
You’re gonna do great.” He sounds a little scattered, like he’s
concentrating on a dozen things at once. He probably is.

But he’s made the time to come around and wish
them luck, and Serena grins back at him, feeling reassured. His
stoic presence has been a constant in her life for as long as she
can remember.

“Thanks, Kion. If you wanna give me something
to make it back for, move the C4 classes to next week. I’ve been
looking forward to them for ages!”

He smirks, tucking his long hair behind his
ear. “Ah, maybe. Jue’s pretty excited about them though, so how
about she just catches you up?”

“You jerk!” Serena grins, forgetting for a
moment that her commanding officer is there to see her teasing his
third in command. Her father clears his throat, though, and Kion
colours ever so faintly, then nods to her and Abial, who is
standing with an expressionless face.

“Take care. Remember your training.” He cuts
the communication before Serena has a chance to respond.

She turns to shrug at Abial, wanting to feel
the comfort of their old camaraderie, willing to set aside what
happened in the Arena, for now at least. She starts to smile, and
freezes when Abial yoinks her card back, dropping Serena’s on the
table, and sending a thought right at her.

If you think we’re friends again
now, get your head out your ass. We’re not even.

The amount of hatred wrapped up in Abial’s
thought form makes Serena take an actual step backwards. There’s
something hidden under the message – a deep, stirring feeling that
Serena can’t make out, a shadow in the deep waters of Abial’s
emotions. She knows her bewilderment shows clearly in her face; she
has no idea what she’s done to earn such revilement. Worse, Abial
offers no explanation. Her face twists in a cruel sneer and she
shoulders her pack, long legs carrying her swiftly out of the
room.

Serena stares after her.
We’re not even? What did I do? She’s the one who
nuked me up!

Her father rests his hand suddenly on her
shoulder and squeezes gently. When she looks up, his eyes are kind,
and she lets herself lean against him for a moment.

“Whatever happened between you two is going to
have to wait. I wouldn’t send you with her if it wasn’t the only
choice. We’ve got a contact for you on the other side – one of
Kion’s boys. Known the family forever, apparently. He says you can
trust the guy. I wish the situation between you girls was
different. But it’s too risky to send either of you alone, and
everyone else is compromised for facial recognition. We don’t have
long enough to take the dust roads through the dead land. Two young
women aren’t going to rouse much suspicion.”

He sighs deeply, rubbing the back of his neck
as though to relieve a headache. “If we could just get into their
damned systems.”

She twists her mouth to one side, nodding in
agreement. If they could get into the Institute’s systems, they
wouldn’t have to guess at the meaning of garbled communications. If
they could hack the tube security, they could erase some of the
data from the facial recog programs, and he could send Kion or
another experienced operative. Instead, he’s being forced to send
his own daughter to a place where he won’t be able to help her if
things go wrong.

She shrugs a shoulder, forcing lightness into
her tone for his sake. “Eh, we’ll be fine. We’ll go, find out what
they’re up to, and snake whatever or whoever they’re after out from
under them. I’ll be back before you know it.”

*

Her bravado is still in place an hour later,
when they head out of the hidden entrance to ARC, deep in the
least-frequented area of the slums, far from the City Wall. The sun
is still low and gauzy in the red dust of the desert as they sneak
through the sleeping townships. The broken buildings and rickety
shacks are quiet, the population sleeping or out of sight. The
oppressive heat of the outside always comes as a bit of a shock,
even this early in the morning, and both girls are sporting
attractive sweat stains by the time they reach the Wall. Still, it
helps them look the part, Serena thinks.

A tentative mental scan of the area, and brief
mind-to-mind conversation, and they agree that there are no psionic
Readers at the Wall. So they join the queue of ragged individuals
heading through the Wall itself toward the factory district, or to
clean the streets of the higher-class neighbourhoods. Serena checks
her mental shields, nervous. Entering the Wall is always a little
breathtaking. Towering into the sky, hundreds of metres tall, the
sparkling white monstrosity defies belief. There are no lines or
marks to hint at the method of construction. It’s an impossibility,
proof of power beyond the understanding of most citizens. To
Serena, it is the physical manifestation of the inequalities
between the slums and the City itself, which is somehow always
clean, even on the outside, where the sun bakes the ground and the
dust blows freely.

The guards are like the Wall –
emotionless, efficient, and totally indifferent to what goes on
around them. Serena’s heart is in her throat as they approach those
soldiers, and the barrier that guards the gaping maw of the main
City entrance. It feels like she’s swallowed a rock. Keeping her
nerves from her face takes all her attention, but zapping through
takes only a few moments, and then they head into the City itself.
She makes sure she releases her breath slowly as they join the
queue of people going into the City to work, trying to
blend.
Just another day collecting
credits, nothin’ to see here, friends.

The stark differences between the
City and the slums never fail to make her insides squirm. Outside,
the population are huge-eyed and too thin. Children play in the
dust and cough their lungs into bloody scraps as their parents try
to eke out a living however they can. The houses are built from
recycled materials scrounged from the dumps. But, oh, inside.
Inside, the gleaming buildings are unnaturally clean and shining.
The main streets are shielded from the worst of the sun’s rays by
clever interlocking transparent sheets, which protect the delicate
skin of the cerebrally rich. The superstructures are huge,
beautiful, flowing edifices that create abstract shadows on the
solar-paneled roads. Apartments meld seamlessly in rolling curves;
gleaming silver and reflective, like the skin of a huge dragon.
It’s no wonder people long to be invited into this clean and
wholesome world.
I’d stay, if I didn’t
know better.

Abial nudges Serena gently in the side,
indicating that she should stop gawping, and they turn down a side
street, walking as if they belong there. Their clothes are a
careful selection of browns and greys, and didn’t stand out from
the clothing of the workers as they came through the Wall. They’re
also new enough that nobody blinks an eye when they detach from
that trudging line of the downtrodden and slip out one of the
separate barrier exits for citizens, instead of remaining and being
sorted onto a shuttle for work. Hopefully, right now, they just
look like two teenagers coming in for training.

Honest, buddy, I just wanna be
part of the Watch when I grow up, so I can meet Gav Belias and have
his beautiful, dimpled babies.

They duck out of view into a preselected
garden square, the sheer waste of which almost makes Serena swear
out loud. The fresh water used to keep this nook alone green and
fresh could have grown food for several families. The girls quickly
neaten their clothing, clip their hair into the latest City
fashion, and clean off their shoes on the thick grass. Their
leggings need a good slapping to remove the dust of the townships,
but a little bit of Talent takes care of it quietly. They scan each
other for any tiny clue that might give them away, in the same way
all trainees have practiced a thousand times, and nod,
satisfied.

“Ready?” Serena forms the word
carefully, letting the soft vowels of an educated citizen change
her pronunciation from her normal, rough accent. Elocution lessons
are the
worst
,
but now that she’s out on a
mission and needs to soften her coarse speech, she’s glad she had
them
.

Abial smirks, her toffee-coloured hair neat
and her fighter’s calluses hidden by a pair of soft faux leather
gloves. “Certainly, my dear. We’d best get to the station.” The
cultured voice sounds strange and at odds with Abial’s flint-hard
eyes and the musculature visible in her folded arms. But she needs
to adjust her posture as well, or she’ll get them both
caught.

Stand less like a soldier.
Serena sends her a wisp of power, with an image
of her tensed body, poised on the balls of her feet like a cat. She
also forces
herself
to relax, sinking into the persona she’s going to have to
embody if they want to make it through the security checks at the
tube. She smiles – an open smile, the smile of someone with few
cares in the world – and offers the crook of her arm to her
companion. Abial returns the smile and they spin on their slippered
heels, leaving their rough selves and the small green garden behind
them.

As they walk, they chatter about nonsense,
making light-hearted conversation. No one even spares them a second
glance, except for a few young men they pass, some of whom offer
frank but unthreatening grins. Life really is different inside,
Serena reflects. Outside, those grins would be violence-promising
leers, and two girls wouldn’t be walking alone. Well, Serena and
Abial do have a few advantages the average slum-dweller doesn’t,
but still. Here, the doorways are empty, no sneering prostitutes
give them the once over, and no cripples crouch with hands
outstretched, braving the sun’s rays to beg, knowing their lives
are almost finished anyway, starvation or cancer a constant threat.
There aren’t even any bundles of rags marking slumped bodies that
may or may not already be corpses. The citizens walk the streets,
totally confident in their own safety.

And Serena and Abial appear to be
just like them; nothing out of the ordinary, except that their eyes
are scanning for threats and camera lenses. They spot members of
the Watch walking the streets with negligent ease, and evade them
effortlessly. It’s almost insulting how simple it is to walk around
the City. It’s like her years of training are being wasted on these
fools. Although ... she smirks as she remembers her first trip
inside, and the debacle that followed.
Alright, this time, I won’t forget where I am and catch a
pigeon for my lunch.

There’s a hum in the air around the tube
station when they get there. People who have just arrived hurry out
of the imposing square building, which squats like a toad at the
end of the shining street. Family members exclaim with delight and
greet their loved ones. Off-duty soldiers slap hands on the backs
of their crews, as they return from what must be out-of-City
assignments. The queue to enter the building stretches for four
blocks, with people waiting contentedly in the shade, and no sense
of irritation or urgency. Vendors – slumdwellers who hope to earn
enough credits to buy citizenship for themselves and their families
– walk up and down the sidewalks with trays of food and drink for
the citizens’ convenience. The air virtually vibrates with the
happiness of people who know that those in charge are working in
their best interests, and are looking after them.

Suddenly she spots a dwell she knows, and
twists a little so her back is facing the man who sells trinkets to
the kids at ARC every Sevenday. There are any number of ways to be
caught in the City, and being recognized is just one of them. She
needs to be more careful.

They join the line, trying to look like they
belong, and fill the time talking about the wonderful sights
they’ve seen, and how exciting the University courses seem. How
thrilled ‘Gabrielle’s’ father will be that she wants to follow in
his footsteps and study at Memphist University, home of the
greatest scientists for generations. The line shuffles forward, a
few older couples sparing them looks of condescending affection –
patronizing ‘Isn’t it wonderful to be young and have your whole
life ahead of you?’ sort of looks. A strapping lad in his twenties
spits something out into a handkerchief, and then drops it with a
look of disdain, throwing the rest of his food pack after it.
Serena watches him waste the food, wanting to throw him over the
Wall to see the six-year-olds combing through sewage, looking for
something they can sell so they can afford a few scraps of bread.
But that would blow her cover. So the food pack lies in the
filtered sunlight until a bony street cleaner picks it
up.