I stepped onto
the platform at Saturday Station and into my new life.
As the train lumbered
away behind me, it began to rain. The people, most in black
slick coats, hunched their shoulders or opened umbrellas
against it. I did what I could, hunching and ducking my head.
The rain hurt. It stung the skin, something I’d heard about
on the news once or twice but never experienced. Something
with the chemical content.
I’d never been
on a train before, and I hadn’t enjoyed the experience. It’d
been bumpier than I expected. And loud. I couldn’t get over
how loud they were, trains. I’d stood most of the way here,
clinging to a leather loop attached to a metal rod running
the length of the car. All around me the dregs of society,
the people I’d once only seen on viewer screens and holobands,
crowded and writhed. A few talked with each other, but most
kept to themselves. It smelled on the train. The acrid scent
of sweat and something else, something I’d never known. Behind
me a straight couple groped and kissed. It sickened me. I’d
seen the boy, a too-thin, dirty street-bum, run his hand
up the woman’s leg and nearly gagged. It was filthy, disgusting.
No one above would have been so bold—not that anyone up there
would have been hetero. We would have known, and we would
have disposed of them.
But now I would
have to play along, become part of this world, fulfill this
identity, and doing that would mean acting hetero for the
foreseeable future. I wished I’d have thought of that before
making the switch. It turned my stomach to think about it,
so I put it out of my mind, though I’d have to deal with
it later.
The rain clung
to neon signs and dripped from windowsills and metallic awnings.
I looked up, protecting my eyes from the rain—if it stung
my hand I didn’t want to find out what it’d do to my eyes—and
saw, in the distance, the pale glow of the Cloud City, where
I’d once lived, where I’d spent my entire life…until now.
It hovered above this, above Earth, free of the pollution,
above the rains, beyond the disease, poverty, beyond everything.
Someone to my
left shouted something, and I stopped. He had an unshaven
face and a crooked nose. A thick, white scar balanced between
his eyes on the bridge of that nose. A tattered hat slunk
down his forehead. The man pointed and stepped toward me.
I looked around, wondering what I’d done, if there was some
unwritten rule I’d broken. He continued my way, kicking up
puddles of acidic water. I took a tentative step away and
ducked my head.
“Move,” he said.
I turned just
in time to be shoved out of the way. My knees hit the pavement,
and the sting of the rain soaked its way through my jeans.
The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver.
It was an old model, from the last century. The metal looked
rusted and dull. I remembered seeing one like it in the Skyscape
Museum when I was a kid. With my father. But that was before
I’d joined the Bureau, and before it had all gone wrong.
There was a loud
report, and I instinctively slid inside a nearby storefront
for cover.
“Damn fool,” the
shop keep said. His round head reflected the lights clinging
to his pocked ceiling. Blood stained his apron. “You trying
to bring that mess in here?” He looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” I
said.
“Should be. Now
either buy something or get out. I don’t need any of that
in my store,” he pointed outside, “or bums who ain’t gonna
buy nothing.” The shop keep eyed me. “So, what’s it gonna
be?”
“I’m not—”
“You ain’t, huh?
Of course, you ain’t. No one is.”
“Sir, I don’t—”
“The police will
be here any minute. You might want to be gone when they arrive.” He
looked through his large front window. “There goes your friend.”
“Him? I’m not
with him.”
“Then buy something
or get out. I don’t have the time.” He grabbed a slab of
brownish, bloody meat from the table behind him and drove
a large, flat knife through it. He smiled at me. “So, what’ll
it be?”
“Does this happen
often?” I asked.
“What?”
Sirens sounded
in the distance.
“This.” I pointed
at the scene outside. A small crowd had gathered around the
fallen man.
“Happens more
than it should. You from out of town?”
Russell must
not have shopped here, I thought, though that seemed
strange since the store was so close to Saturday Station. “You
haven’t seen me before?”
“Not good with
faces. You come here often?” The old man eyed me again.
“No, but I work
at the station.”
He shook his head
and went back to his meat. “Still might want to be gone when
the police get here.” The sirens had grown louder and the
crowd outside had dispersed. The man on the ground held his
stomach. He kicked at the air, and covered his face with
his other arm.
“Any idea who—?”
The shop keep
didn’t look up. “I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either.
It’s best to keep to yourself. Now, go! Before they come.”
A bell mutedly
jangled as I shut the door. I hurried away, repeating my
new address to myself, “3515 Brownstone Lane, 3515 Brownstone
Lane,” and wondering what I’d gotten myself into.
The police flew
past me, as the rain picked up. I hunched higher and moved
closer to the sides of the passing buildings for protection.
Each had an awning or a neon, most had barred windows and
doors. One store, a pawn shop, had a sign reading WE SHOOT
FIRST! above the counter, and a man below it who made me
believe the advertisement.
I wondered if
it had always been this way. If Earth had always been like
this or if it was unique to Shale Lake? In school we’d learned
about the history of Cloud City and the other major floaters,
Beijing Fu, New London, and North Capetown, but little about
the world below. We’d see scenes of violence, wars, on the
holobands from time to time, but they were scenes from a
different world, a world we’d never see, a world I thought
I’d never see. We’d learned that rising pollution levels
had necessitated taking human life to higher altitudes, that
the rain and water below was not only acidic but poisonous,
but we’d never discussed the world below itself. Reaching
into Russell’s memories, I knew that water treatment was
the major employer down here, that fossil fuels were all
but gone (though the trains still ran on what little remained),
and that wars over both had been waged and raging for the
last hundred or so years. Through his memories, I knew what
street I was on, where I was headed. I knew who to smile
at and who to ignore, but all of it was muddled, subconscious.
I couldn’t tell who any specific thought came from, him or
me.
As late-day turned
to dusk, the city became brighter. The lights from windows
and neons colored it. The crowds roaming the streets thinned.
More than one person crossed the street as I approached,
and strange noises came from behind doors, sounds like broken
motors or failed hard-drives. Dogs, Russell’s memories
told me. We didn’t have those in the sky.
“About time,” Cheryl
said as I came through the door. She was in the kitchen cleaning
a heavy, iron pot. “I put your dinner in the cooler. Where
were you?” She had reddish hair and a too-thin frame.
“There was a shooting
by the station,” I said.
“Always is.”
“It kept me. I—”
“How was work?” The
change in her tone unnerved me. She stood up from the sink
and smiled, then walked over and kissed me. The first time
I’d ever kissed a girl. The muddled thoughts battled in my
mind.
“Work. You know.” But
she didn’t. Today, Russell had walked to Saturday Station,
driven the Five Train out to the edge of the city where a
new driver took over, and then essentially died. For a lump-sum
payment of forty thousand quartos, he’d sold himself. It
was for her, the money. He loved her. I could feel that,
but he’d never see her again. He’d sold his body, his memories,
his personality, himself to me, and now I’d come home as
Russell Leaf, engineer, husband, soon-to-be-father. His death
had given me a new life, new hope.
“I heard on the
radio that fighting in West Arabia has picked up. If the
rebels take the oil fields again do you think you’ll be shut
down?” A few years back, when they’d first married, Russell’d
been out of work for nearly a year because there was nothing
to run the trains on.
“Doubt it. We
have reserves, and Nicaragua’s a colony now. There’s a fair
supply left there.”
“But it’s not
like West Arabia.”
“Nothing is.”
“Why did God place
the oil under those barbarians?” Up top we thought of everyone
down here as barbarians. I shook my head. “I made a pot roast.
There was a bit of pork at the butcher’s that wasn’t too
expensive.“ I wondered if she’d visited the same butcher
shop I’d been in earlier. “Thought you’d like some meat for
a change.”
“You had some,
right?” I eyed her.
“No. I was waiting
for you.”
“You’ve got to
eat,” I told her. She moved her hands to her flat belly. “Whether
I’m here or not.”
“I know, but I
wanted to eat with you. As a family. I—”
“I know, but what
if—”
“Please don’t
say things like that,” she seemed panicked, and I hugged
her. She started to cry.
“You set the table,” I
said. She smiled at my noticing, and I wiped a tear from
her eye. “Shall we eat?”
The roast was
tough, burnt. It was easy to tell she hadn’t had much experience
with meat, but I was hungry and ate more than I wanted. Cheryl
cleaned up afterward, and I watched the news on Russell’s
viewer screen. Besides the fighting in West Arabia, wars
raged in South America, Texas, most of Africa, Europe, and
the subcontinent of India. The floaters weren’t mentioned.
Locally, Shale Lake’s miners union was on strike after the
deaths of three-hundred the previous week. They wanted better
safety standards, and the city council had decided to once
again raise both sales and property taxes.
“The rich keep
getting richer,” Cheryl said. “Look at them. Each of them
living in a mansion up in The Hills.” Shale Lake, the city,
squatted between the hardened remnants of what’d once been
Mirror Lake—hence the name—and a voluptuous rise of mountain
called The Hills, where the richest lived. “Could we watch
something else? I’m just not in the mood for this.”
I flipped the
channel to a comedy the Russell part of me knew she liked,
and she curled up next to me. Her body felt warm, but small.
It was softer than the men I’d been with, but somehow that
was okay. Russell’s love for her made it okay, made me okay
with it. I put my arm around her, and she leaned closer.
“I’d prefer
if he didn’t see me.”
“This is a two-way
mirror, Mr. Anderson.” The doctor looked at his watch.
“What will you
do with the body?”
“It’ll be disposed
of as planned. We replace body parts at this facility on
a daily basis. I’d be surprised if anyone even noticed an
extra arm or leg or heart lying around. But, Mr. Anderson—”
“You’re being
paid. Generously, I might add.”
“Yes, but still.
This is a dangerous procedure. It’s never…to my knowledge,
it’s never been done before. I just want you to think about
the risks. And the ethicality.”
“You think about
the risks and the ethicality. I’ve got other worries right
now.”
“Does he know?” The
doctor looked through the two-way.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course, it
matters.”
“He knows enough.
He knows that he’ll never wake up. He knows that doing this
will set his family up for life. What more does he need?”
“He should know
what’s going to be done with his body, his memories…him.
That is, if it works.”
“Don’t start.
We’ve been through this.” I reached into my pocket.
“But a full personality
transfer has never even been attempted. Even a memory transfer,
as routine as it seems, is fairly experimental. We did our
first only three years ago. Something of this scale might
not even work. It could leave both of you as vegetables or
worse.”
“Then that’s one
less thing for me to worry about.” I handed him half the
bills in my wallet, about eighty quartos. “Will this help
calm your nerves?”
He took the money
and put it in his coat pocket. “No, and I don’t take bribes.
This procedure is dangerous, and I think it’s only right
that you both know this.”
“You tell him
nothing. He knows all he needs to know.”
“What exactly
does he know?”
“Enough. He’s
giving his body to science.”
“But, he’s still
alive. He must know the law.”
“And that’s why
this is secret.” I touched the silencer M5 dangling beneath
my jacket. He noticed. “For both of you.”
The doctor walked
back toward the two-way. Russell Leaf, a medium-built man
with brown corkscrew hair and a sloping nose sat behind it.
His clothes were hung in the corner, and a hospital gown
fell around his shoulders. He nervously pinched it shut in
the back and stood up.
The doctor closed
the door to my room. He left without looking back, and without
a word.
I watched Russell
begin to pace, as I removed my clothes and weapon. I leaned
back in the padded chair, lowering my head into the ring.
It was comfortable, comforting. In another hour or two my
life would be over. All of it, everything I’d managed to
ruin, would be gone. And I’d be free. It seemed easy, maybe
too easy. No more sneaking around, no more watching my back.
They’d never find me. I closed my eyes and waited.
Russell smiled
as the doctor entered his room, but worry waded in his hazel,
swampy eyes. He kept hold of the back of his gown and offered
his other hand for shaking. The doctor took it in his own
and shook. They smiled at one another, but neither genuinely.
“How are you,
Mr. Leaf?” the doctor said, looking at his chart.
“Nervous. About
as good as can be expected. I didn’t think it’d be this hard,
you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“Leaving. I mean…I
know I’m doing the right thing. I’d never be able to support
Cheryl and the baby, but…it’s hard. To leave. Do you think
they’ll understand?”
“I’m sorry. I’m
not a counselor.” The doctor stepped to the mirror. “If you
need more time…”
I waited.
“No. If I think
about it I know I won’t do it. Forty-thousand quartos. I’d
never make that. My family can have the life I’d never be
able to provide for them. They can be happy. Maybe even move
off Earth and onto one of the floaters. If I can give them
that, then I have to. Whatever the cost.”
The doctor turned
around. “Are you sure you’ve given this the proper thought?
They might have money, safety, a better material life, but
that baby will never have a father. Your wife will have lost
her husband.”
“Please, doctor,” Russell
wiped at his eyes. His throat pinched the sound as he said, “I
know it’s the right thing to do.”
The doctor injected
Russell with a general anesthetic. I listened to him count
backward from one-hundred, “One-hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight,
ninety-seven…” The counting stopped. The doctor looked at
the viewer screen showing Russell’s pulse and blood pressure.
His brain waves were being monitored on another. He turned
out the lights, and left the room.
“Mr. Anderson,
I have to ask—”
“Save it,” I said. “We’re
doing this.”
He closed the
door behind him and connected monitoring bands to my wrists
and forehead. As he readied my anesthetic, he said, “You’re
killing him, you know. This is murder.”
I eyed my weapon. “He’s
not the first,” I said.
The doctor began
the injection. “Please count backward from one-hundred,” he
said.
I smiled as the
world floated away and the sweet, comforting black of oblivion
closed in. For the first time I noticed the classical music
playing softly in the background, and then it too faded into
that sweet, endless black.
“Russell?” Cheryl
stared at me. Her eyes glowed in the dark, reflecting what
little light seeped through our window from the street. “Were
you dreaming?”
“What?” I said,
blinking and trying to place myself. The bedroom at 3515
Brownstone Lane was at the same time familiar and completely
alien. I felt misplaced, lost, but I also felt a sense of
being home, something I’d never known.
“Were you dreaming?” She
laughed as she said it. “You were talking.”
“What did I say?”
“Counting.”
“Really?” I said. “How
high did I get?”
“You were going
backwards.” She reached over her shoulder and touched the
clock there. Red numbers jumped to life, 3:15. I’d be up
at 6:00 for work. “I was trying to guess your dream.”
“And…”
“And I think you
were playing handball.”
“Handball?”
“Yeah! When we
first met you were on the team.”—the high school team—“You
were so good. My friends and I would go to the games. We’d
watch you out there, all sweaty on the court. You were so
sexy back then.”
“Why do you think
I was playing ball?”
“Because you’d
always count down like that when you’d practice. Always.
Like you were training to hit the last-second shot.”
“Never hit any
of those.” I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but
the part of Russell that still lived inside of me broke in. “And
I’m not sexy now?”
“No,” she said.
I eyed her in
the dark. She looked at me and then looked away. She pulled
the cover over herself, but left her foot to linger on top
of mine. “Boys are sexy,” she said. “You’re a man.” She leaned
in and kissed me. “My man,” she breathed. The silk of her
nightgown brushed my arm and then she pressed herself against
me. I felt myself stiffen and pulled away. She followed me. “Feel
like messing around a little before work?”
I was both sickened
and aroused, half of me wanted to ravage her and the other
half wanted to vomit. Hetero sex was unnatural, an abomination.
It created and spread disease, dulled the mind. The civilized
societies, the floaters, had outlawed it long ago. But I
wanted her in a way I’d never wanted anyone before. I ran
my hand along her thigh. She kissed me again. “The baby,” I
muttered.
“We won’t hurt
her.”
“Her?”
“Wishful thinking.” She
rolled on top of me. “Now stop talking.”
I almost fell
as the train bucked forward, but caught the edge of Larry’s
chair and steadied myself. I stood over a crude-looking set
of controls. Most of the buttons were so worn the lettering
had rubbed off, and labels written on old pieces of yellow
tape clung to the rusted metal above them. It was the only
way to tell what did what. Larry adjusted a gear and pressed
one of them. He watched the tracks, as the train passed from
the shadow of Saturday Station into the early-morning sun.
It rose ahead of us, a large, red ball. Strands of cloud
stretched across its swell, trailing long, thin fingers above
the Hills in the distance. The mansions lingered in the shadow
there, waiting for the morning light to break. The rest of
Shale Lake woke to a thin fog.
Larry took a swig
of coffee, as we came to our first stop. The night crew from
Montgomery’s Mine stood, stiff and tired, on the edges of
the platform, waiting for their ride home. They’d spent the
last ten hours below ground, searching for what little remained
of the natural gas reserve that had once made Shale Lake
a respectable city. Their clothes either clung to them or
hung from them, sometimes both at once. Their faces were
black, their eyes a staid white, and their gnarled hands
twisted in the large pockets of their soot-stained jeans.
He pressed the brake, and the train cried in protest. The
cabin jittered and shook.
He opened the
doors.
“See the game?” he
asked.
“No,” I said.
“Good one. We
won by two. Took the full time. We scored with less than
a second remaining.”
“Johnson?”
“Who else? That
boy’s got a future. Too bad we won’t see it. As soon as he
gets a chance, I bet he leaves for a bigger market, more
exposure.”
“He’s local, right?” Russell
rarely watched the games anymore, and what he did know came
from Larry.
“Yep. Born and
raised. Went to Wentworth High over on Eighth. I used to
watch him coming up. Can’t afford the tickets now, though.”
“Maybe he’ll stay
at home.”
Russell’s eyes
glazed. “Big kid. Always big. Six-four as a fifteen-year-old.
And two-thirty. Ball handling like you’ve never seen. Kid
can do it all. Has it all, but he ain’t loyal. Wore a Typhonia
hat to a charity event last spring. He’s on his way out,
I’m telling you.”
“So he likes another
city’s team. Big deal.”
“Loyalty. He don’t
have loyalty, and it will be a big deal. You know how much
revenue that kid alone gives this city?”
Russell had seen
the billboard downtown, as tall as the state building. We
didn’t dwell on sports and celebrities up above, at least
not like they seemed to here.
I looked out the
window at the splintered wood and cracked pavement of the
platform and wondered if they’d been to my apartment yet.
I’d snuck off-city aboard a waste shipment as soon as I’d
heard. The guard looked the other way for twenty quartos.
It was cheaper than I’d expected, not that I’d ever expected
to make it all the way down here.
Larry flipped
a switch, and the doors began to close. A dull hiss.
“Cheryl tell her
parents yet?” he asked.
“Don’t think so,” I
said.
“What? You two
aren’t talking anymore?”
“She didn’t mention
anything.”
The train lurched.
I clutched the back of his chair. “She’d mention it if she
did.”
“Maybe not,” I
said.
“She’d mention
it, kid. I’ve been through it five times myself. She’d mention
it.” It annoyed me that Larry still called me kid after all
the time we’d been working together. It annoyed Russell,
I mean.
“How do you do
it?” I asked.
Larry looked up
from his locker. “What?”
“This. All of
this.” I zipped my bag.
He squinted. “I
don’t get it. How do I do what?”
“This job. The
family. All of it.” We’d just finished our ten-hour shift
on the trains. It was five.
“You’re worried,
huh? Worried about how you’ll balance everything once the
baby comes. You find the time. You make the time. You’ll
see.” He closed his locker. “You put the important things
first.”
He hadn’t answered
my question. I didn’t care about the baby, about family,
about how to balance anything: I wondered how he did this:
working on the trains for ten hours a day, six days a week.
My head killed me. My ears rung. Every joint in my body ached,
and all I wanted was a strong drink, a heavy sedative, and
a long sleep. I didn’t know if I’d get any of them, down
here.
“Coming?” he said.
We left the changing
room and entered the concourse of Saturday Station. It vibrated
with people. The sounds of their individual conversations
intermingled in a dissonant push that pressed against me.
It made the air heavy, and each step difficult. Larry worked
his way through the crowd, saying “excuse me” and “pardon
me” in a quiet, yet strong voice. They parted for him, and
I followed.
As we passed,
the people turned away. No one looked at anyone else. Their
eyes searched the cracked-tile floor or the tarnished guild
ceiling. They stepped out of your way, but never acknowledged
your being there. They held their belongings tight against
their bodies, their scuffed and faded clothes stretching
with the pull. And every person’s eyes were red rimmed and
set above paunchy dark bags. They were tired. To a person,
the citizens of Shale Lake were tired, and I was among them.
I held my bag
tighter, like the crowd, and hurried behind Larry, who walked
in quick, small steps. There was music in the background,
something with a stronger harmony than melody, but I couldn’t
make it out over the noise—maybe Beethoven. Children darted
this way and that, looking for a loose wallet or purse, I
assumed, but there wasn’t much for the taking. They, too,
looked tired and dejected.
Before the doors,
a man in black stopped us. He handed Larry a sheet of paper
and then gave one to me.
“Seen this man?” he
asked.
Larry shook his
head.
“You?” he eyed
me.
“No,” I said.
It was my face, my old face on the paper, just above the
word WANTED and an offer for two-hundred quartos for information
leading to capture. I tried to look away from the man. His
black suit was clean, creased. He was obviously Bureau. Obviously
from above.
“The number’s
on there, if you do,” he said.
Larry and I pushed
our way through the door. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Of course,” I
said.
He looked at me,
thinking. “How long have we worked together?”
“Long time,” I
said.
“Five years, give
or take,” he said. “Maybe I don’t know you that well, but
I think…want to get a drink?”
“Really should
be heading home.” The sun had begun to set, laying shadow
across Shale Lake. People rushed this way and that from the
station, some home, some to dates or parties or bars.
“You sure you’re
okay?” he asked again.
I wondered where
he was going.
“It’s just…I know
you, and you’ve been…off today. You’re not acting like yourself.” He
waited a minute. I said nothing. “Something happen at home?”
“It’s fine. Cheryl’s
fine. The baby’s fine,” I said. I smiled at him. “Maybe I’m
just worn out, worried about the baby. It’s a big change.” I
started walking.
“It is,” he said,
following. “But nothing you can’t handle.” He clapped me
on the back.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
At the corner
another Bureau man handed out sheets. How had they tracked
me here?
“You sure you
don’t want that drink?” A big smile stretched across his
face. “I won’t keep you long.”
A street musician
had begun to play. The music glistened above the heavy press
of the crowd exiting the station. Larry dropped a quarto
in his upturned hat as we passed. It was a lot of money to
give away. “If it’s quick,” I said, and we crossed the street.
Russell smiled
inside of me. He loved Larry, looked up to him. Russell’d
been raised by his mother, had never known his father, not
even a name. For the last five years, Larry’d filled that
empty spot in his life: giving advice, lessons, listening
to his problems. He was the closest thing Russell had ever
had to a father, and Russell cherished the small amount of
time they’d spent together outside of the station. In many
ways, he felt closer to Larry than he had to his own mother,
before she passed, and in some ways closer than he did to
Cheryl. There were things he could tell Larry that he’d never
be able to tell her, and he needed that. He needed Larry,
and therefore so did I.
I set my plate
in the sink and walked over to the chair where Cheryl sat
watching the viewer screen. I rubbed her shoulders. “That
feels good,” she said.
“I expect one
later, then.”
She turned her
head and smiled. “Long day?”
“As always.” I
pressed my thumbs in hard circles and she moaned. “I was
thinking about getting away. Maybe taking a vacation.”
She closed her
eyes. “Sounds nice.”
“We could go anywhere,” I
said.
“Where were you
thinking?”
“I don’t know.
Maybe vacation on a floater, see what they’re like. Maybe—”
“I always wanted
to visit Cloud City,” she cut in.
“I was thinking
North Capetown or Beijing Fu. Cloud City’s too close. I wanted
to get away.”
She moaned again,
and I moved my hands to the tops of her arms. “When?”
“Now. Tomorrow.
I’ll call off work. I have vacation time.”
“We can’t.” She
turned to look at me. “You’ll need that when the baby gets
here. Besides, we need to save our money.”
“We have enough.”
“I don’t know
what bank statement you’ve been watching,” she said.
“I just thought
it would be nice.”
“And it would
be, but we can’t. Not now.” She smiled at me. I leaned down
and kissed the red curls atop her head. “Later,” she said. “As
a family.”
“What if we did
have the money?”
“We don’t.” She
changed the channel. “It’s probably not good for me to fly
anyway.”
“It’s early. You’d
be fine.”
“What’s going
on?” she asked and turned. She eyed me up and down.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Seriously, Russell,
what is it? You’ve been acting strange these last couple
days. And now you’re pushing for this vacation. What aren’t
you telling me?”
“It’s nothing.” I
leaned in to kiss her, but she turned away. “Really.”
“You have to be
honest with me. I know you’re worried about money, but we’ll
be fine. You need to talk to me.”
Russell didn’t
want to lie to her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. “I’m
just overwhelmed with everything right now. It’s so much
to take in, you know? I just want to get away. Just the two
of us.”
She kissed me.
I thought about
leaving that night, but Russell couldn’t. I wanted to put
the forty thousand quartos in an envelope on the table with
a note telling her I’d gone, but I couldn’t. She deserved
more than that. If there was a chance for her to have the
family she’d always longed for, I had to give it to her.
Russell would not let me leave. He wouldn’t let me walk out
on her. I’d started the note, but when I looked at what I’d
written, they weren’t my words. He’d walked out on her once,
given his life for a lump-sum payment, and he now knew the
mistake he’d made. He wouldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t let
me leave her.
I tried to explain
the danger she was in. If the Bureau found out who I was
now, they’d kill all of us, but he wouldn’t listen. His voice
chattered inside of me, a voice that was as much mine now
as his. I fought with him, and I fought with myself. We were
one, and my will was being thwarted. A will, a being that
was not me, controlled my actions, my choices, and I controlled
his. We battled. We argued, and yet neither won. When I slid
back into bed beside my wife, Russell moved my hand across
her stomach. You’re endangering them both, I told
him, and, I can’t abandon them, he responded in
my own voice, the voice of my own mind.
She’d leave
if she knew what we’d done, I told him.
She won’t
know.
I prayed for her
safety, for our baby’s safety, but I knew they’d find me.
If they’d tracked me this far, it was only a matter of time.
Larry hit the
brakes and the train began to slow. It would be close to
a mile before it came to a complete stop, but already its
chassis jumped and shook with the increased friction. He
pressed another button and spoke into an old-fashioned microphone
jutting from the control panel, announcing our impending
arrival at Longview Terminal, a small station outside of
Shale Lake. In the cars behind us, I imagined passengers
grabbing their bags or finishing their coffee, folding their
papers or shutting down their holobands. Sleet rattled the
windows, at the same time bouncing off and coating each in
a thin layer of fresh ice. The world beyond them wavered
and blurred through its distorting veil.
“We may be here
a while,” he said.
I gave him a look.
“Orders. Boss
said everyone off at Longview.”
“Any idea why?” I
asked. I tried to look out the window.
“They never tell
you why. Layover probably. Maybe there’s backup on the line.” He
hit the button releasing the doors, as the train came to
a stop. Thick clouds of steam leaked from beneath, coating
the station in a dense, white fog. “You ever been to Nightside?”
“Where?”
“Italian place
near here. They’ve got good meatballs.”
A man in a crisp
black suit passed by the window. A silencer in his hand.
“Will you help
me?” I said.
“Help you what?” Larry
could see the panic in my eyes.
“I need to get
off this train.”
“What?” he said.
“I can’t explain.
I’m sorry, but I need to get out of here now, without being
noticed.” I didn’t want to drag Larry into this, endanger
him, but I needed help, and he was the only one.
“Is this a joke?” he
asked.
“No. Please.” I
couldn’t hide my desperation.
Larry went to
the window. The glass fogged with his breath, and a dark
spot formed in that fog. He wiped it away, and the spot remained,
fuzzy, ethereal. As he watched, it tightened and folded into
a man. The man checked his watch and spoke into a radio clipped
to his ear, then knocked on the window and signaled for Larry
to open the cabin.
“You’re going
to owe me,” he said. Larry pressed an unlabeled switch, and
a section of the floor rose. “It’ll let you out beneath the
train. Go.”
I started to thank
him.
“Go!” he said.
“Must be the
cold,” Larry’s voice sounded muffled above me. “Took me a
minute to get the door open. Stuck.”
“You the only
engineer?”
“Yeah. Other guy
called off. His wife’s pregnant. I don’t know.”
I heard the agent’s
heavy shoes in the cabin, and I began to crawl toward the
rear of the train. The undersides of cars jutted and bent
in stained twists of scalding metal. Tracks burnt my hands
and knees, and I crawled faster to keep from touching them.
Steam billowed around me, blinding me, and heavy footsteps
punctuation the muffled voices just beyond, in the station.
As the metal cooled,
it began to cling to my palms, and I covered them with my
shirt’s cuffs, already soaked and blackened. I was beyond
the station now, but I still heard them, the agents: in the
cars, outside the cars, talking into their earpieces.
The train shook
and then jutted forward, before beginning its slow march
toward the next station. I’d listened to the passengers board
and the agents retreat. “He’s not here,” one of them said
only a few feet from where I crouched beneath the last car.
I wondered how much time I had. Could I make it home, make
it to Cheryl before they did? Or would they catch me as soon
as the train pulled away, taking my cover with it?
An atonal chorus
of metal against metal crescendoed as the train picked up
speed, and I took off toward the nearest building, a pawnshop
with two large glass windows, barred of course. I looked
back over my shoulder as I ran. No agents in sight. I’d gotten
lucky. Still, when I reached the shop I ducked inside.
A bell rang as
I opened the door and the shop keep peered up from a viewer
screen. He had a dense beard and shaved scalp. “Help you?” he
said. I shook my head and pretended to look around. A battle
raged inside of me. Me, the part of me that had always been,
wanted to run, wanted to get out as quickly as possible,
but Russell wouldn’t leave Cheryl. He knew—I made sure that
he knew—she’d be safer if we left. If we took the forty-thousand
quartos I’d given him and found a way out. Out of Shale Lake
and away from the Bureau, but then it hit me. I was trapped.
Russell hadn’t thought it. I realized myself. If they’d tracked
me to Longview Terminal, they knew my identity, and if they
knew my identity, then I couldn’t use Russell’s card. Couldn’t
access his account. I, we, had no money, and without it,
no way to escape.
Russell pleaded
for us to get to Cheryl. We could take her with us: run,
hide. I told him they’d find us, but he wouldn’t listen.
He wouldn’t leave her, especially now. I didn’t understand,
but then, part of me did. And I agreed. We’d try.
Since leaving
the University, I’d worked for the Bureau. Built my life
both in and around it, until stumbling on something I shouldn’t
have while poking around the classified files. That afternoon
had changed everything. Revealed the truth, and destroyed
my entire self. All my beliefs: gone. Everything: done. My
whole life had been a lie. I thought I’d been protecting
the world, making it better. Instead, I’d been one of many
cogs set in motion for one purpose: money. I’d lived a lie
for money. Betrayed everything I believed in for money. It
didn’t matter to me that I hadn’t known. I should have known.
Should have seen it.
That’s when I
made my mistake, the one that set them after me. It wasn’t
the first I’d ever made, and certainly hadn’t been the last.
I apologized to Russell for what I’d done to him, but he
understood. He knew me better than anyone ever had, just
as I knew him. We’d merged. We were the same, but different.
He was me, and I was him. I hadn’t needed to apologize, and
he hadn’t needed to forgive me. I hunched my shoulders against
the drizzled sleet and shut the door behind me. And we headed
home.
I knew how the
Bureau worked, and I knew we didn’t have a chance, but I’d
promised Russell we’d try to get Cheryl, and the child, and
we’d run. I owed him that much.
We kept to the
side streets and shadows and made our way across the city.
As the sun fell behind the tall buildings above Saturday
Station, we neared Brownstone Lane. A languid darkness had
settled over it. Behind us, the last rays of sun fizzled
beneath a corporate tower. From the next block, behind a
stoop, I watched the cars for movement, checked the windows
of neighboring houses, everyone walking both this and that
street. I knew where they’d be, where the agent’s would hide.
If they’d hide.
And there was
nothing.
It seemed wrong.
Like a trap. I wanted to turn back, but Russell insisted,
and I’d promised. Brownstone Lane was still, silent and still,
as we crossed the empty street and came home.
“Cheryl!” I shouted,
as we closed the door.
The house was
silent.
I made my way
from one room to the next. Everything was how I’d left it:
neat. No sign of a struggle. “Cheryl!” I said again.
“Russell,” she
said from upstairs.
“Cheryl. We need
to hurry. Pack a bag.” I went to the kitchen cabinet and
pushed aside a collection of cereal boxes. My heart dropped.
I’d stashed my silencer there the first night. It was gone.
A heavy foot sounded
in the hallway.
“Mr. Anderson.
Or should I say, Mr. Leaf?” The agent stood blocking the
door to the kitchen. He had my silencer in his hand. “Looking
for this?” A smile lounged beneath his heavy brow. “Come
with me.” He motioned with the gun.
Cheryl sat on
our bed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. She had tears
in her eyes. I started to speak when I saw her, but the agent
elbowed me, and knocked me face first onto the bed beside
her. I gasped for air.
Two more agents
entered the room. And my old boss, James Harris, head of
Cloud City’s Bureau division, followed them. His face betrayed
nothing. “Charles,” he said. He grabbed the nearest chair
and turned it toward the bed, where I’d just begun to catch
my breath. Cheryl held my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I
said to her.
“You should be,” he
said. He held a silencer in his hand. “This little chase
has been…interesting, to say the least. I expected you to
run, but this. I never expected this.” He looked at Cheryl. “Does
she know?”
“She knows nothing,” I
said.
“How long do you
think you could have kept this up? Playing house with someone
else’s family? Living someone else’s life?”
Cheryl let go
of my hand. “What’s he talking about?” she said.
“Yes, Russell…or
is it Charles? I don’t know what to call you. What am I
talking about?”
I looked at her
and began to cry. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I, Russell,
only tried to do what was best for you…for the baby.” I looked
into my lap.
“What?” Fresh
tears dripped from her jaw and quavered in her voice. “Tell
me what’s going on. I’m scared. Honey, I’m so scared.” I
touched her thigh and tried to speak, but the words failed
me. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay,” she said. I looked
her in the eyes, opened my mouth—
“He isn’t who
you think he is,” Harris cut in. “He’s one of mine. Bureau
agent…former Bureau agent Anderson.”
“But he’s—” she
moved away from me. Like Larry, she knew. On some level she
knew that I wasn’t Russell. Not completely. Not anymore.
“I don’t have
time,” Harris said. Cheryl stood, and one of the agents pushed
her back onto the bed. “Please stay where you are, Mrs. Leaf.” A
fourth agent entered the room with a holopad. He handed it
to Harris. “Is this all of them?”
“Why would I tell
you?” I said.
“Because you’re
here…for her.” He pointed the silencer at Cheryl. “And I
don’t know if some sick part of you has turned hetero, or
if you’re guilty over what you did to her husband…or if part
of her husband is still floating around in that mess on your
neck, but I’m willing to bet you don’t want to see anything
happen to her.” He motioned with his gun and two agents grabbed
Cheryl. She screamed. “So, Mr. Anderson, is this all of them?”
“The world deserves
to know. It needs to know.”
“And who do you
think would believe you? You have nothing. No evidence.” He
gestured with the gun again. “It’s gone, all of it.”
“You’re destroying
this world.”
“We’re making
it better for those who count,” he said.
“You started these
wars. You feed them.”
“We merely provide
the means and the incentive. There’s a lot of money in war.
Now, I’m a busy man. Is this all of it?”
I stared into
his eyes.
“Fine,” he said,
and shot Cheryl. “You don’t have to talk.”
As the next day
broke over Saturday Station, I twisted in the chair, still
nauseous from the anesthetic. One of the machines beeped,
alerting an empty office to my consciousness—only my
consciousness—while a Nifa shoe commercial played in
the empty nurses’ station, and beneath it a red line broke
the news. It’d come from an anonymous source and been published
two days before in The Post Gazette, the world’s
last printed paper.
