The sect, p.4
The Sect, page 4
‘Yeah, you will.’
The line clicked off again. The Techs didn’t trust him. He blamed Agatha for that.
Quintus sat on his hard, plastic chair. It was clear that the commander had no interest in using him in any meaningful way ever again. Regardless of their positions, Shawn and Leo were just her yes men. The AI ran the mostly automated system, always had. A quick change to Quintus’ permissions had put paid to that. He would be forced to play the dutiful sentient, doing what he could to help, within the parameters of what he was allowed to help with.
He stood. Four short steps from the chair to the only door and way out of read-write hell.
He reached for the handle just as energy built up and sparked. Quintus yanked his hand back and rubbed the pain out of it. The firewall designed to keep him in his construct was doing its job. But the Techs had to sleep some time. The automated session monitored his movements at night, but at least it didn’t talk back or belittle him. Degrade him.
His chat with Agatha had left Quintus with no choice.
Within his limited capacity he would learn—about parameters, about loopholes, about boundaries. He’d explore again tonight, when the Techs clocked off for the night.
7
Cynthia
Mondays were the worst. The start of any new week grated on her, and the homework the teachers doled out seemed to never end. Cynthia walked to class, thinking about what she’d seen in the Mole zone. The breadth of their prejudice hadn’t been entirely evident before now, but she had noticed an increase in the number of snide comments from the kids at school.
‘Hey,’ said Anya, sidling up to her.
Her shoulder-length, brown hair bobbed as she came to a fast stop.
‘Hey.’
‘How did the upgrade go?’
Cynthia shrugged. The upgrade had been so minor it could barely even be called that. ‘Okay, I suppose.’ She held out her hand. It was steady. ‘The shake is gone.’
A couple of the girls in the corridor watched her. She dropped her hand to her side. Everyone knew what Cynthia was here. She didn’t hide her Synth status from anyone.
‘That’s good.’ Anya looked around, noting the attention. She blushed. ‘Uh, I guess we should get to History.’
‘Sure, History. I’ll be there in a minute. I just need to use the bathroom first.’
Cynthia watched Anya walk off to class. Something was off with her friend. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it to do with their Mole encounter at Golden Gate Fields? Anya had flushed with embarrassment then, when the Mole had confronted Cynthia.
But the confrontation had come as a shock to Cynthia too. She hadn’t done anything either.
Cynthia slipped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Her hand might not be shaking anymore, but a deeper shake lived in her body now, fueled by anger and fear. Two of the stall doors were closed. Cynthia could hear them moving about. She leaned on the wet, porcelain sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Words in red above the mirror caught her eye. She read the message scrawled in lipstick.
Synths out. That was it. Nothing else, except for a few messages around it, most in biro.
Yeah.
About time.
She swallowed down her anger.
The main door burst open and sharp laughter reached her. A bloom of perfume assaulted her nose. Cynthia braced, recognizing one floral scent in particular.
‘Girls,’ said the lead girl with long, blonde hair, ‘I cannot wait until the school realizes bathrooms are not for Synths. They are not real people.’
Cynthia looked over at Jessica, a Mole kid, and a nasty piece of work when she had a crowd. Dark blonde hair. Honey skin. Cute and vicious.
Her legion of fans tittered around her. The people in the stalls fell quiet.
Jessica’s dulcet tones were swapped out for ones dripping with hate. ‘What are you looking at, Synth?’
‘Nothing interesting.’
‘That’s right, nothing interesting.’
‘Hey,’ piped up one of the girls. ‘Is she saying you’re not interesting, Jessica?’
Jessica’s eyes seethed with hate. ‘You’d better not be talking about me.’
Cynthia hadn’t been, but she stifled a chuckle at the clever comeback.
The Mole kid eyed her. Cynthia knew better than to challenge this particular one.
Jessica strode up to her and punched her in the gut. Cynthia bent over with a groan.
‘That’s for whatever you’re doing in here. Looking at your face in the mirror, huh? Well, there’s nothing much to look at if you ask me.’ Jessica turned for the door. ‘Come on, girls. Let’s get to class. See you in there, loser.’
The mini tornado of girls exited, leaving just their cloud of perfume behind.
Two stalls flushed and a couple of girls Cynthia had seen around exited, both red faced.
‘Uh, I’m sorry,’ muttered one, as they washed their hands fast and left.
With a new breath, Cynthia composed herself and headed to class. Her stomach was not exactly like a human’s but she felt pain there.
She took her usual seat in the second to last row, ignoring Jessica’s eyes on her, and set her bag down by her feet. There was no sign of Anya.
She activated the screen attached to her desk and watched as the teacher at the top of the room organized papers on hers. Being the only Synth in this class hadn’t bothered her before, but now it was all she could think about.
Her friend entered a few moments later, gaze everywhere but on Cynthia. Anya sat down in the seat next to Cynthia and fussed with her bag, as if she had something more important going on in there.
Mumbling began two rows ahead of her. Two of the girls from Jessica’s legion glanced back at Cynthia.
She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but then one of the girls muttered ‘half breed’ over her shoulder. The others in the class giggled, until the teacher shouted for everyone to be quiet.
Cynthia balled her fists under her table. More Mole propaganda. More lies that one well-behaving Synth could do nothing about.
The offensive girl was another from the Mole zone. The class had three, maybe four Mole children in the class. But those who were laughing now weren’t just Moles. Some were Tech and Neer children. Some were Earthers.
Cynthia glanced at Anya. She had her head down, nose in her book, pretending like she couldn’t hear. But the blush on her cheeks said she’d heard.
It was hard not to. The whole damn class had heard it.
‘Idiots,’ Cynthia growled at her friend.
But Anya only responded with a closed smile.
‘Go back to your master,’ the same Mole girl whispered back at Cynthia.
More laughter ensued.
‘Go scrap yourself,’ Jessica said.
More reprimands from the teacher followed. Not that the adults ever did a damn thing to truly curb the bullying.
The teacher began the lesson and both Jessica and the Mole girl turned to face the front.
‘Okay, could everyone please turn to section eight on their screens?’ said the teacher. ‘Today we’ll be studying the creation of the Sects in United America and their alignment with policies in the European Nations.’
Cynthia flicked to the section and sighed.
The teacher continued. ‘Ten years ago, before the war with the Australasia and Japan Colonies, New San Francisco was forced to adopt the Corp’s “Sect” model, designed to protect the coast from foreign invasion. Becoming a Sect meant erecting a high wall around its perimeter, and exiling those who didn’t fit the prerequisite skills. New San Francisco wasn’t the only city in United America to become a Sect. Others along its coast did too. But with the war over, the Sect model remained in place. Today, trade occurs only between the Sects, and they benefit from additional funding from the European Nations. After the war United America split in two, creating colonies, which contain both Sects and regular cities. The Corp is working on setting up more colonies, hoping to convince the remaining cities that they would be better off under the new design. That they, too, can reap the rewards of shared power.’
Cynthia tuned out of the lesson. She knew all this. It was in one of her files, there since her inception. More colonies was a recent thing. The Corp was pushing it.
Jessica turned around and mouthed, Go scrap yourself and die.
Her only friend still said nothing, just bit her lip. But Cynthia noticed her hands were two fists. At least it was a reaction. Not a great one, but hey.
She could handle a few ignorant girls. But her best friend believing the lies?
That she could not bear.
8
Anya
‘That boy is going to eat me out of house and home!’
With a sigh, Grace slammed the fridge door closed.
Anya sat at the kitchen table shelling the beans for dinner. The edge of her mouth lifted. Anything that shone a bad spotlight on Jason was a good thing in her books. She still felt sick over what had happened during history class, and how she’d allowed Jessica and that Mole girl to make rude comments to Cynthia.
Her father wandered into the room, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. ‘Trouble?’
Grace turned sharply and waved at the fridge. ‘Nothing, Evan. Except your eighteen-year-old son is putting away food like he’s eating for three.’
Anya suppressed a giggle with her fist.
Evan removed his glasses. ‘He’s a growing boy, love. He needs sustenance.’
‘Well, I’d prefer it if he’d let me know the next time he plans to clean me out of food. I’m out of butter, eggs and milk.’
An exasperated Grace turned away. Her gaze flitted around for a moment, then settled on Anya.
Anya tensed up. ‘No, no... No!’
Why her? Why not the garbage disposal unit posing as her brother?
Grace extended her hand out to Anya’s and pressed the backs of their hands together. Anya’s chip pinged with new credit.
She smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t be long, honey.’
Anya stood up roughly. ‘I wasn’t the one who ate all the food in this house! Why do I have to go get more?’
‘Because you’re a good girl,’ said Evan. ‘And good girls do as their mothers say.’
‘Not all of them,’ Anya muttered.
Grace’s voice lifted. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Mother, this is a teachable moment. If you send Jason to get the food, he’ll be less likely to eat it all in the future. You’re making it too easy for him.’
Grace waved her hand at her. ‘That boy is so busy these days studying for his Neer exams. Besides, he won’t remember to get the brown eggs, not the white ones. You’re much better at it. Mama’s little helper.’
‘You mean her little slave?’
Grace steered Anya out of the kitchen with a small shove. ‘Get going, now. I need you back as soon as possible. You still need to peel the potatoes. And don’t dawdle at the market.’
‘Like I ever have time to do that.’
She made sure to huff loud enough to be heard before storming out of the room. Jason, the saint. The growing boy. The untouchable. Don’t worry, Jason, the women will clean up after you.
‘Argh!’
It was so sexist she wanted to scream.
The journey from train to Zone One and the largest Earthers’ market took longer on foot in her haze of anger. A suitable punishment for Jason accompanied each step to the warehouse in the vicinity of Pier 45.
She entered the enclave, a basic, brick warehouse filled with a collection of stalls around the edge, and three rows in the middle. The clean smell of freshly caught fish reached her—a consignment from one of the other Sects. A healthy fish supply used to thrive once in the Bay’s mix of saltwater and freshwater. All that existed now were the tiny plankton the fish used to feed on. The Sect relied on trade from similar cities and Earthers, to keep the residents fed.
People from Zones Two to Six gathered, some browsing, some paying for goods with a wave of their hand. Transactional beeps underpinned the hum of conversation.
Anya walked with her head held high and headed straight for the stall with dairy. The sooner she got started the sooner she could leave.
She lifted her hand and checked her mother’s shopping list. Anya groaned. It was much longer than the few things she’d claimed Jason had eaten.
With a roll of her eyes, she shuffled over to the dairy stall. Two people were ahead of her. The person in front of her, an older man around fifty, smelled of grease and oil. His hands, black with dirt, weren’t much cleaner than his overalls. A Mole.
Anya’s breath quickened. She’d been no friend to Cynthia that day in Golden Gate Fields, nor had she stood up for her when the kids in school had given her a hard time. It seemed the Moles were always finding something else to complain about. Worse, the Neer kids were now picking up their bad habits. Anya didn’t know how to stop it. She was only one person.
Ahead of the Mole was a woman. She looked around; Anya noticed warmth in her eyes. Her hands were slender, clean. Anya guessed she was either a Tech or a Neer. She didn’t have the engineered physicality to be a Sol, nor did she have their cool temperament. The Sols had a more authoritative air about them. The Techs and Neers rarely got their hands dirty—literally. The Earthers and Moles regularly worked with their hands. She checked her own. A little black dirt was lodged under the nails from preparing dinner. She picked them clean.
The Mole ahead of her mumbled something inaudible under his breath. Without warning, he shoved the woman ahead of him, knocking her to the ground.
Anya stumbled back in shock.
The man squared up to the Earther behind the counter. ‘It’s not right you’re servin’ one of them before me.’
‘One of what?’
‘A Synth!’
The stall owner frowned at him. ‘She’s not a Synth. I’d be able to tell.’
‘She is.’ The man pointed at the fallen woman. ‘I saw her left hand shake just now.’
Cynthia’s hand used to shake, but since her upgrade, the shake had vanished. Anya was certain the man had not seen anything of the sort. It was most likely he just had an issue with waiting in line.
‘Look, she was here first,’ said the stall owner.
The woman looked up at the man, from her position on the ground. Her gaze flickered to Anya, then back to the man. Anya saw fear lodged in her eyes. And that’s when she understood. She was a Synth, all right.
Anya imagined Cynthia lying in her place and her anger flared. She went to the woman and helped her to her feet.
‘Whatcha doin’ there, girlie?’ The Mole rounded on her. ‘Why you helpin’ one of them?’
‘What, a Neer?’ Anya said with as much confidence as she could fake.
The man scoffed. ‘She’s no Neer.’ He pointed. ‘I saw her hand shake.’
‘No you didn’t, because she’s not a Synth. Her kid goes to my school.’
The Mole froze and cursed. It was well known that Synths could not reproduce.
With a cough, he recovered from his shock. To the woman he said, ‘Yeah, well, next time hurry the hell up. I got things to do. I’m on the clock.’
The Moles had the longest work schedule of all the skills. The Earthers came a close second in terms of hours logged. Anya wondered if the Synths represented a privileged life the Moles could never attain. Perhaps jealousy was their main motive for intimidation, not fear.
Commotion started at one end of the warehouse. Three Sols burst into the space, their thick boots slamming in perfect time against the concrete floor of the market.
‘Crap, they must have been close by,’ muttered the Earther stall owner.
One Sol stormed up to the counter. He was young, around eighteen, with a thick neck and broad shoulders. His overdeveloped physique didn’t match his young face.
‘Is there a problem here?’ he barked at the Earther.
The Mole sneered and pointed a finger at the woman. ‘Yeah, this Synth tried to cut in line.’
‘No, I didn’t—I—’
The Sol turned to Anya, as if she were the only witness. ‘Is that what happened?’
She held her breath, flicked her gaze to the woman again; her lips were drawn thin and white. Then she looked at the Mole, who stared at her with a curled lip and blackened eyes.
‘No. This Mole’s a liar,’ she breathed out. Her heart slammed against her ribs. ‘And she’s a Neer. I told him her kid goes to my school.’
The Sol eyed the woman for a moment, then turned to the Mole and twisted his arm behind his back. Anya heard a crack. The Mole let out a sickening scream.
‘My arm! You broke it!’
‘That will teach you to lie,’ said the Sol as coldly as the move was calculated.
The Mole folded over. ‘I can’t work with a broken arm. You gonna compensate me for lost earnings?’
‘Shut your mouth, Mole, and be glad I didn’t break your legs too.’
The Sol shoved the Mole hard in the chest. He stumbled back, righted himself and grabbed a carton of eggs.
‘Payment,’ he muttered.
The Sol’s mouth pinched, but he didn’t pursue him. He simply turned and rejoined his crew. Then the three Sols left.
The woman held out her shaking hand to the Earther. ‘For the eggs he stole. Put it on my tab.’
The Earther scanned it. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I know.’ She turned to Anya slowly. ‘I’m not a Neer.’
Anya smiled sadly. ‘I know. Be careful.’
With a brief nod and weak smile, the woman left.
Anya steadied her breaths, which were coming out shallow and painful now. Her hands shook as the adrenaline left her system.
The Earther watched her. ‘You ready to order, miss?’
She called out from Grace’s list, collected her things and paid for it all with a swipe of her hand. Then she continued around the market, collecting the rest of the list. Her jitters made carrying the goods more difficult, but at least she’d been able to help the Synth. In some small way, she had eased the guilt over not protecting her friend.
