Disparity Page 7

  “What is that?” Arista asked.

  “Tongu,” he replied. “Mix of fresh cut and steamed vegetables, my own personal spices, and four different types of cheese.”

  “That sounds delicious,” Arista said.

  “Would you like a sample?” he asked, spooning a small amount in a little bowl before she even answered. She held out her hands, her hunger overcoming her common sense. The man withdrew, his eyes wide as he took a few steps back, muttering something she couldn’t make out. Arista glanced down at her metal hand.

  “Oh. Sorry.” She turned as quickly as she could and ran across the street as the man yelled for the police.

  NINE

  IT HAD TAKEN HER ALMOST AN HOUR to circle back to where the station was in view again. In addition to the mag-lev garage where she’d stolen the car there was a larger garage on the ground floors, leading to what looked like an underground parking area. Outside was a much larger type of vehicle, motionless, on the street. Most likely an armored SWAT truck. It didn’t have any markings but it was clearly covered in a heavy black armor. What would require a vehicle so heavily fortified? As far as she could tell there wasn’t much crime in the city. Not enough to require something like that.

  And what crime there was, seemed entirely self-inflicted. She’d witnessed more than a few people littering as she’d made her way back to midtown, but as soon as they did usually a person, dressed in black behind them, would step out and pick it back up, discarding it wherever it needed discarding. It was like they were being wasteful just for the entertainment factor. Arista assumed the people in black either worked for them or were part of some kind of rental program. She couldn’t really tell, and she wasn’t about to ask.

  The people here just didn’t seem to care about anything except whatever they were engrossed in on their head devices.

  Arista kept her head down and her hand in her pocket. Even with the sun down, the city was still alive with light and she made sure to stay to the shadows, especially as she approached the police station. There was one main entrance on the street and she hoped Jennings would leave through it and not the upstairs garage.

  It’d been a risk, coming back here. But she didn’t have much other choice. It was either this and use Jennings to her advantage or amble around aimlessly for days searching for both Frees and Echo. She needed his resources and his ability to access police records in order to hopefully find something. Frees couldn’t last forever with those bullets in him and sooner or later someone would figure out he wasn’t exactly human. If they were as paranoid about artificial lifeforms as they were about artificial limbs, then it wouldn’t be too hard to find him.

  Arista stayed hidden in the alley a block down from the entrance to the station, keeping herself behind a large dumpster. It gave her a great vantage point on the people walking along the streets. And with the exception of the people in black she could almost pretend like this was Chicago, back home. People moved along their pre-prescribed routes, all of them in a hurry to get to their destinations.

  She could switch them out for husks and not be able to tell the difference.

  She’d always thought The Cadre had over-exaggerated the humans’ reliance on their routines, making the husks imitate them in almost a comically absurd fashion. But as she stood there watching, she realized it was true to life. She had the perverse notion to go out and ask someone to come into the alley and help her find her purse, just to prove to herself they weren’t husks. But that made her think of Max which turned her stomach. Max—who she’d accosted and stolen from and accidentally turned autonomous. Perhaps it was better she didn’t have that tongu after all.

  A group of officers came out of the main entrance and Arista had to squint to see if any of them were Jennings. Two were laughing and another patted a fourth on the back as they turned away from her and made their way down the street. None was her target.

  This was stupid. He might not even come out this door. Or there could be a dozen more exits. She would wait for another hour then devise a new plan.

  It turned out she only needed to wait twenty-two minutes.

  Jennings lumbered out of the doors alone, his feet heavy on the steps as he glanced in both directions, then crossed the street to the far side and started walking, holding his shoulder like it pained him. Was that her fault? At least he wasn’t under arrest, so that was a good sign. She’d been afraid he might be blamed for letting her out, but he’d had a good enough story to cover his ass.

  She ducked out from behind the dumpster and trotted after him, keeping enough distance so she could keep eyes on him without being obvious. Surprising him was a bad idea but confronting him so close to the station could also be a problem. She’d have to follow him and wait until she could get to him alone. And he might not be that excited to see her.

  Jennings turned the corner and Arista jogged to keep up, slowing as she approached the same corner. Just as she poked her head around the edge she caught the top of his head disappearing down into a subway station. She trotted further, quickly taking the steps down. A pungent odor reached her as she descended further and she had to steel herself to keep going. It wasn’t exactly the smell of death but it was something close. Like old, rotten meat that had festered somewhere.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs but Jennings was nowhere to be found. Shit! It hadn’t looked like he was moving that fast. Where could he have gone?

  “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  Arista turned to see Jennings appear from a dark alcove behind her. “You knew I was following you.”

  “You’re not very subtle about it.” His face sported two bruises and he continued to rub his shoulder.

  “Are those my fault?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. You might have saved me from insubordination and treason.”

  She glanced at the floor. “Is everyone else okay?”

  Jennings clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Foley had to have some reconstructive jaw surgery, but he’ll be fine. And you didn’t seriously injure anyone else. But you could have killed those people with all those stunts in the cruiser.”

  She didn’t need him to tell her that. And she knew there had been at least a fifty-fifty chance she’d killed someone back in the station. It was what she did. Who she was. But Jennings didn’t need to know. Her eyes met his. “You saw?”

  “Lots of people saw. It was broadcast from the news units. They almost shot you down. First for going after the jet lanes, then using the car like a cruise missile. Your precision was…telling.”

  “Telling?”

  Jennings dropped his voice. “Look, I get it, come over here.” He retreated back into a darkened part of the station and began lifting up his shirt.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Arista said, clenching her fist.

  “Calm down, it’s not that,” he said, untucking the shirt from his pants. As he raised it Arista noticed his tissue had been scarred around what looked to be a polymorphic plate attached to his left abdomen.

  “What is that?”

  “Work injury. I almost died. But then I got it fixed.”

  “You have bionic implants? And you’re giving me a hard time?” she snapped.

  “Keep your voice down! I have to give you a hard time, it’s my job. No one else knows. I could be fired, jailed, or even executed for this.”

  “Then why are you a cop?”

  “Because it gives me the opportunity to find people like you. I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” Jennings said.

  Arista’s eyes slid to the right. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

  He held his hands out. “You’re free, aren’t you?”

  “No thanks to you!” He glared at her. “Okay, yes, you did bring me my arm and get me out of the cell. But I did all the heavy lifting.”

  “I thought you’d disappear in the wind. No way you’d come back,” he said, tucking his shirt back in.

  “I need your
access. We have to find my…husband.”

  Jennings gave her a knowing smile. “Husband. Right.”

  “I’m serious. And it needs to be right now.”

  “I hope you’re not planning on going back in the station,” Jennings said, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m on medical leave and if I go back it’s gonna look suspicious. But I know someone who might be able to help.”

  “Who?”

  “The person who did this for me,” he said, tapping his abdomen. “He’s good at finding people.”

  “Good. Because I was serious about what I said. Echo Dante is in danger. She needs extra protection until we can find her doppelganger.”

  “One thing at a time,” Jennings said. “Follow me.” He strode into the main part of the station and put his hand against a small pad beside an old turnstile. He motioned for Arista to go ahead. He followed behind her as they passed through the caged partition.

  “This doesn’t really seem to match the rest of the city,” Arista said, noting the dirt and grime on everything.

  “That’s because this isn’t for them up there. It’s for all of us down here.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s only three ways to get into Manhattan if you’re not a resident,” Jennings said, tilting his head up. “Which I am not. I’m a couple billion light.” He turned and led her down a second set of stairs to where two mag-lev tracks straddled a center waiting platform. “One, you purchase a one-day visitor’s pass. The city doesn’t like a lot of tourists. Two, you apply for sponsorship.”

  “What’s sponsorship?”

  “The rich like to have people do little tasks for them. Jobs they’d rather not do for themselves.”

  “Like pick up their trash?” Arista asked.

  “See, you already know,” Jennings said. “And three, you have a permanent or semi-permanent work visa. Civil servants, emergency workers, and sanitation workers all have permanent visas. Restaurant owners, bookstore operators, etc. all have semi-permanent. They can only spend a certain number of hours in the city per week.”

  “Why? That doesn’t make any sense,” Arista said.

  “It makes sense to the rich,” Jennings replied. “And they own the island so they make the rules.”

  “They own the island?”

  There was a deep rumble and a bullet train all white and gleaming blew through the station, not slowing at all. The blast of air almost knocked Arista off her feet. Seconds later it was gone.

  “What the hell was that?” she asked. A couple of other people glanced in her direction.

  “Try not to be so conspicuous,” Jennings whispered. “That was the express, it doesn’t stop here. We’re waiting for the A.”

  “We’re riding the subway?”

  He nodded. “Have to. I can’t go over my hours this month and the man we’re looking for doesn’t live here. He’s out in Queens.”

  “Ah,” Arista said. But all she could think of was what would happen if the gate opened right now. This would take her even further away from Central Park. She wouldn’t leave without Frees so it would do her no good to go back. But if she couldn’t find him quickly she might just have to accept they would be staying here. All this talk about Manhattan being some kind of exclusive country club was not endearing her to this universe. Though she supposed it was better than war. “So it’s all privately owned. For how long?”

  “About eighty years or so since the first super-rich paid off the city’s debt by buying parcels of land. Now they all just compete with each other for who can build the largest building anymore.” He paused. “It’s no different than say Sao Paulo, Paris, or Abu Dhabi. Same deal.”

  “And where does everyone else live?” Arista asked.

  “You’re about to find out.”

  TEN

  ABOUT TO FIND OUT turned out to be a bit of hyperbole on Jennings’ part as they had to wait another two and a half hours for the A train to finally show up. Meanwhile forty-six other trains came through the station: all clean, white, gleaming and fast. And most of the passengers getting on and off were dressed in their finest clothes, each with one or two sponsored following behind. One man who got off his own car had eight trailing along behind him, watching his every move. Arista couldn’t comprehend how someone would operate with that many people at their beck and call. What about privacy? What about having time to yourself?

  When the A train did arrive, it was packed already, and she and Jennings had to squeeze in. Arista was careful not to let her hand show and shielded it with her pocket the entire time. Jennings had been right: most of these people wore a uniform for service jobs or civil jobs. Arista caught the eye of another police officer at the far end of the car.

  “He’s looking at me,” she whispered to Jennings. “We might have to wait for the next one.”

  Jennings shook his head. “He’ll wait to see where you get off, but he won’t pursue you. He’s not on duty anymore. Maybe he remembers tomorrow and maybe he doesn’t, but you don’t have anything to fear on here. We’re all in the same boat.” He rubbed his shoulder again.

  “Was that my fault?”

  “Indirectly. You were right, it really was my own fault. I never should have tried to escort you out in the middle of all that. The Specialist was searching for your arm, that’s why he was up there in the first place.”

  Arista cast her eyes downward. “What did you tell them? About how I got out?”

  “I told them I happened to come upon you as you were escaping and you tossed me out of the way,” he said. “They don’t know how you got your arm back and I don’t have any answers for them.”

  She exhaled and when she breathed back in she stopped short of coughing. The smell in here was becoming noticeable. And the people were packed so close she was having difficulty breathing. In through the mouth. Out through the mouth. Count to four. The Device showed an elevated heart rate but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She just needed to keep herself distracted. To keep calm.

  “What about security cameras or surveillance? Didn’t it see you steal the hand?”

  “The Specialist doesn’t have surveillance in his office,” Jennings said. “I don’t know how he got that deal and I don’t want to know. He’s kind of off-limits. He’s also in charge of our Eugenics programs.”

  “Eugenics?” A couple of people glanced in her direction and she averted her eyes again, keeping them down.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Jennings said.

  The train rumbled along to the next stop where even more people piled on. And the next. And the next. By the time it had reached the last Manhattan stop Arista thought she was going to suffocate. She was being squeezed between a large man behind her in overalls and a hard hat, Jennings to her side, and two women in restaurant attire in front of her. They were chatting about something but Arista couldn’t focus on the words. It was taking all her willpower not to faint or lash out. The only thing keeping her sane was knowing she could knock all these people ten feet back with her arm if she wanted to. She just needed to hang on a little longer.

  As the train dipped down to go under the East River, a chill ran up Arista’s back.

  “Thermal counter,” Jennings said, without looking her way. “It counts how many of us leave each night. If the count is off, they send out search parties.” He finally turned to her. “I guess some lucky bastard gets to stay on the island tonight because of you. Somehow I feel like you weren’t counted when you came in.”

  “I wasn’t,” she said, strained.

  He grinned. “I thought not.”

  The first stop was High Street Station where the train slowed and an unmerciful few people disembarked. Jennings craned his head to see through the window to the other side of the station. “Look over there.” He indicated the side of the platform that led back into Manhattan.

  It was difficult to see, but through the glass of their subway and two more panes of the other subway train s
itting on the far side of the tracks Arista could see what looked like officers of some kind dressed all in gray, pulling people from the inbound train, beating them down with metal batons.

  “Poor people,” Jennings said. “They’d rather take the chance to receive a severe beating than stay outside of the city all night.”

  Arista noticed a few other people had turned to look as well. “They’re not supposed to go in?”

  Jennings shook his head. “Some of them are probably homeless and the others were hoping there wouldn’t be an inspection tonight.”

  “There’s an inspection every night,” the man behind Arista said. His voice was deep but tired. Like he was sick of the whole thing.

  The doors to their train closed and it jerked forward again, rumbling on down the tracks.

  ***

  By the time the train broke free from the tunnel and exited into the night air it was mostly empty. Many of the passengers had disembarked slowly, leaving only a smattering in the train car. The other officer had gotten off at Utica Ave. The man in the hard hat took his leave on Nostrand Ave.

  “How far are we taking this?”

  “To the end,” Jennings said. “He doesn’t make it easy to get to him.”

  Behind them through the windows Manhattan rose like a glittering jewel. Huge skyscrapers painted the night sky with lights like stars. If it had been clearer, she would have confused the two, but a hazy red fog held at the base of the horizon, reminded her this wasn’t her world. “What are the sea levels like here?”

  “Here?” Jennings asked. “You mean New York? They’re manageable. About seventy-five years ago they constructed massive seawalls that act like dams around New York Harbor. Some of the surrounding areas flooded as a result, but it kept the city dry. Dry enough anyway. But north of here it isn’t bad. Most places along the coasts have seawalls.”

  “Otherwise the city would be underwater,” she said, remembering the pictures she’d seen of New York in her universe. She’d seen pictures directly after the attacks, where most of the city was a pile of rubble. But the sea had come in and taken it back, flooding almost everything creating a toxic environment for at least thirty miles in every direction. Nothing lived there, at least it hadn’t for a long time. And Arista suspected the machines didn’t keep up with the environmental concerns of one city. Regardless, every place she’d seen so far was under ten feet of water in her world.