The Complete Karma Trilogy (2 page)

The subway finally reached his stop. He got up and became one with the mass of people that was let out into the basement of a station one kilometer away from where he lived with his wife. Upstairs and outside he could see the diffraction pattern of the sun through the Solar Kite that extended out past all of the pollution in the atmosphere. “It’s going to be one of those beautiful days, isn’t it,” he said. “Some sun in the sky and some dinner on the way. Just lovely.”

Decay 2

Severed at the Knees

Will watched intently
as a child wandered back and forth along the edges of a subway platform. It was a little boy, and his mother had her back turned, gossiping all too vacuously with another woman waiting for the next train and completely oblivious to her child behind her. It was a thing of beauty, he thought to himself, it was how all parenting should be done. The kind of neglect that kept the world running. In the distance he could hear the sounds of the train on its way, and he prayed. The child was literally playing a balancing game on the concrete ledge that was four feet above the tracks below, which was about a foot taller than the kid appeared to be.

And suddenly it happened—hardly without a sound the kid fell over, arms flailing, and disappeared from view. Will looked to his right, where the train was still out of sight but loudly approaching, and kissed his cross around his neck before he stood up and ran. As he got closer to the ledge, he realized that the train was much closer than he had thought it was, so he vaulted over the ledge and turned in midair. He hoped to land directly behind the kid, where he could just pick him up and hopefully make it back onto the platform before dying.

The kid was still lying on the ground, body across the tracks, stunned and looking into the lights of the train that was only twenty feet away. Will landed awkwardly on one of the track rails, his ankle twisting slightly so that he dropped to his knees. Desperately he tried picking the kid up by a leg and a shoulder, and heaving him up onto the platform. And for the most part it worked, although he accidentally hit its head against the concrete barrier on the way up. But he did save him, after all. And before Will could do anything else, the train hit him from the side.

The next piece of consciousness he had was sitting in the back of an Emergency Helicar, two men talking over his body. His legs were a giant, searing pain that he could hardly comprehend the intensity of. It was so much pain that it became abstract, something else entirely. He waved at it.

He wasn’t much aware of what they were doing, but one of the men had taken Will’s Karma Card out of his pocket and put it into some kind of reader, and was saying to the other, “How much do you think it was worth, a Good Work like that? Want to place bets before I read it?”

“That’s at least two thousand, no doubt about it,” the other said.

“It would be quite a laugh if it wasn’t in the system at all, wouldn’t it? That does happen sometimes,” the first man said. “You think you’re doing the world the greatest favor it’s ever received and it turns out you get nothing for it, that’s always a laugh. I’m sure this guy would think it was funny. I’m putting my money on… two thousand and one.” He then pressed a few buttons on the reader, and looked surprised at the machine’s response. “A solid three thousand,” he said. “I know he nearly died over it, but that’s still quite a bit for one Good Work. Either way, I was closer.”

“Yeah, congratulations,” said the other.

The fact that Will was on an Emergency Helicar boded well for him. The people that responded to the accident had decided that it was at least possible he would be selected, otherwise they would have just sent him on another subway to the closest hospital and wished him the best. It was at least possible. In the end it was the decision of Karma and Karma alone, but he was feeling fairly confident, when he was coherent enough to feel at all. He drifted out again.

The next moment he was in a Medachine, and he could smell burning. It was working on his legs below him. Whatever it was doing, he didn’t feel like burning was necessary. It seemed rather inappropriate. He realized then that there was pain in other places, that he couldn’t move his right arm, and that the entire length of his back itched horribly. Outside the glass of the machine he could just barely make out several men that had tablets in their hands, all staring at him. That time it felt like sleep that he went toward.

When he finally woke up completely, he was in a white room with another man that seemed to expect that he would be conscious, because right away the man began to speak. “You have been selected by Karma to represent the World Government as an officer of the law. I’m sure you are aware of what that means for you, and with your Karma Record I assume you knew that it was bound to be the case, but as a formality I will say the rest.

“All your personal belongings are currently being moved to your new residence at 4973 West Hampshire. No need to remember the address, you’ll find it on your Karma Card. All rates for Good Works of which you are the agent are henceforth to be doubled, in accord with your new position. Starting tomorrow you are to report at 6 a.m. World Time for training, which is to be completed within a month. And congratulations. The entire world could benefit from your example. You’ll accept, I imagine?”

“Yes, of course.” Will sat up, a deep headache immediately blooming as he moved his head. He held his hand up to his forehead and looked down at his legs below him, which felt strange. Below his knees, everything was metal. Prosthetics. They had the general shape of human legs, but they were wiring and plates and bolts, grafted unnaturally where they met the skin. He quickly averted his eyes.

“Why don’t they look like legs?” he asked irritably. “Can’t you put skin on them?”

“That’s cosmetic,” the man replied. “They’re legs, not your face. If you feel that it matters that much to you, then save up some money and you can pay for it yourself, later. Until that point just wear some pants. I suppose I should mention a few things about them too, since you brought it up,” he continued, indicating Will’s new legs. “They may feel unusual at first. Expect to trip a few times. But in a month or two you shouldn’t even notice the difference anymore.” He placed a bottle of pills on a table that was between them. “Four times a day, orally. You’re not going to want to miss a dose.”

The next day, he woke up at five in the morning and took the first real hot shower he’d had in his entire life. Because his balance was so poor, he had to hold on to a bar that ran along the length of the shower the whole time, and still he fell once. Even then, it was an extraordinary experience for him. He never would have imagined how nice hot water could be.

Outside the bathroom, in the kitchen and his bedroom, were real appliances he’d only ever seen in stores. A refrigerator, an instant microwave, a television—it was all a dream. But he only had enough time to get himself dressed, and then slowly wobble down the hallway of the apartment complex towards the elevator at the end. He took along a walking stick that he had almost refused out of pride, back at the hospital, but was soon deeply thankful for. In his pocket was the morphine the doctor had given him, and his Card.

Even the subway was nicer, which he found to be amusing. Since it only serviced the wealthier neighborhoods, it was perhaps to be expected, just so that it would match the rest of the buildings and people. But surely a lot could be said about how well it was treated by everyone that rode on it, as the quality of person was much higher on average than all of the places that Will was used to. The women wore dresses, and the men wore suits. Government people.

The person riding across from him, a young woman, seemed to recognize his face, and smiled and whispered something into her friend’s ear, sitting next to her. The other girl also turned and glanced at him quickly, but averted her eyes again when she saw that he was looking at them. “Do I know you?” he asked the first girl. “I don’t really know how that could be possible. This is my first time riding this subway.”

“You’re Will Spector, aren’t you?” she asked, somewhat shyly.

He was fairly startled. “Well yes, but… who are you?”

“Didn’t you know?” she replied, and stood up to get a newspaper from the end of the row of seats. She opened it up in front of him when she returned. “Only second page, but that’s pretty impressive still,” she said as she laughed without much confidence. And there he was, second page of the newspaper.

The picture was a fairly strong composition, he had to admit. In the foreground was the top half of his torso, his face displayed clearly, damaged and very much unconscious but easily recognizable, as medics were taking him away from the scene. In the background, the negligent woman from the day before, tightly holding her son and crying, facing the camera. The far wall of the station could be seen as well, which made him wince, since it was the wall of the subway tunnel, on which could be seen his own blood splattered against it in an impressive mural. He wondered how it was even possible—it looked like an enormous, rotten tomato had exploded. And it was pieces of him.

It made Will laugh. All in bold caps were his name and the word hero. In the article it mentioned that, for his heroism, he was to be made an officer of the police. “That is me,” he said, as he handed the paper back to the girl. “Would you like to see something else?” he asked. Both of the girls nodded slowly, unsure of what he meant. He pulled up the legs of his pants, to expose his metal lower half. “Those are new.”

The girls were surprised, and visibly unsettled. “Was it really worth it?” one of them asked, the one that hadn’t spoken yet.

“I really don’t know yet,” he responded. “But so far looks good. This subway is nice.”

They laughed, and then the conversation was over. He got off at the stop indicated by his Karma Card, at a place where his training to be an officer was supposed to start. He was genuinely excited to find out what that would be like for him.

The foyer of the building was much larger than any he had seen before. Real marble ran six feet up the wall, and then the ceiling was another thirty feet above that, at least. A large number of people were going in and out the main doors, and groups were standing in front of all four of the elevators that lined the far wall as he walked in. In the center was a large fountain, in the shape of a hexagon. He followed the map on his Card, which told him to take the first elevator on his right to the ninety-third floor.

Even though he started out with a large group of people, by the time he got to his floor he was the only one left in the elevator. It was starting to make him feel nervous. It felt like a mistake—he thought that at least one person should have been going to the same place that he was. The door finally opened up into an empty, long hallway, which, following his Card, he took to the end. Then there was a staircase going down into a room, where he found three people, two wearing bullet vests and earpieces, the other wearing a suit and tie, all standing in front of a door. The one with the suit greeted him.

“Mr. Spector, pleasure to meet you. At the very least, you are prompt, and that’s good to see.”

“And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. …”

“My apologies, it’s Wake. Edgar Wake.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wake.” After looking around the empty room, Will added, “This isn’t quite what I expected. Is this really where I will be training?”

The man laughed politely. “No, no, we like to start the first day off specially, to give you a taste of what you will be here for if you make it through training. And it really is a rare opportunity. Chances are that you might never be in this room again. You’re going to talk to Karma.”

“Talk to Karma? Karma is a machine, isn’t it? What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll find out on your own,” was Edgar’s reply, and he gestured to the two men that accompanied them. One of them stepped forward to address Will.

“If you’ll please hand over your Card and the bottle you have in your left pocket.” Will hesitated for a moment, but then set his walking stick aside and did as he was instructed. “And your shoes, please. Safety precautions.” Will had to wonder what was so unsafe about his shoes, but he handed those over too. It left his robotic feet exposed, since he had decided that he was done with socks for life.

“Is that everything, then?” he asked, as he took his walking stick back in hand.

“Put that back where it was, please. You’re not allowed to have it in Karma’s room.”

That frustrated Will, but he did as he was told. He was going to fall over in front of everyone, he was convinced. The other man opened the door they were standing in front of, and waved Will forward. He dragged his feet along the ground to keep stable, and slowly made his way in. The door was shut behind him, leaving him alone.

The room was dark, but lit in places by a startling shade of green. All the surfaces he could see were smooth and rounded, with the light emitting somewhere between where they met each other. None of it seemed necessary to his practical mind, since a single decent light bulb could have done the same amount of work, and none of the surfaces seemed to have any utility other than to be there. He proceeded forward to a small clearing that was surrounded by a circle of green.

A voice came out of the walls. “Welcome, Will Spector.” It was a deep, resonating voice, one that used all of the sounds necessary to make clearly intelligible words but could never have been the voice of a human.

“Karma?” he asked.

“Of course. Do you have any questions?”

It struck him as a very strange way to start a conversation, which he attributed to the fact that it was, after all, a machine he was talking to. Strangeness aside, he wondered if he did have any questions. There before him was the machine that, in a sense, he had been serving his whole life without really knowing anything about, but nothing occurred to him to ask it. “I don’t know,” he finally said.