Chapter Four
Avoid the Harpy Threat, Live in an underground Elder compound. Safe, secure and radiation free—guaranteed.
The thing about Harpies is you can’t tell what they are until you’re being torn apart and eaten alive. Years of evolution have allowed them to keep their identities secret. In the times just after the war they’d cut holes in their backs, their rapid cell regeneration covering their folded wings. Now it’s evolved into just another skill to add to the list.
For years the eyes were a problem, these incredibly bright eyes that glowed in the dark, but as science reinvented itself, so sprouted some of the simpler inventions of the past, like colored contact lenses. It was almost too easy. The Elder touters, those hard-core fundamentalist preachers, praise Elder Corp like rabid dogs, thanking the Hunters for protecting humanity from those monstrous Harpies. But it’s really not that simple. Hunters aren’t super-human. Sure, our reflexes are faster and our eyes are sharper, but the real difference is in the blood. In Hunters exists a Harpy allergen, which left alone would leave the enemy with a bloody nose and a sore stomach, but, augmented in labs all throughout the Elder Empire, that blood becomes a weapon, the only way to make a sure-fire kill.
I never said Hunters were perfect, powerful beings. Even I’ve been guilty of letting a Harpy escape alive, but that’s something I can never tell anyone. Ever.
As a joke I nearly suit myself up in Shelley’s new pink rad suit, but decide that humor probably isn’t the most appropriate thing right now. Instead I lace up in my old gear, worn-in black leather pants, dark brown combat boots and a white long-sleeve anti-rad shirt. I stuff my bags with pills for radiation sickness and a rad mask—just in case. I lock the door before I leave, my stomach flipping from nerves and who knows what else. It’s always before a big event that there’s the most tension. Once it’s begun, you just have to follow the wave until it’s over.
The streets are quieter in the evening, the Holo-sky fading into the same deep sunburned pink as yesterday and the day before that. I could go on. I hop on the streetcar and ride near the back, hand gripping the cold metal bar until I reach the underground Elder Corp building. Glancing up at it, it’s obvious that it’s the only building that surpasses the sky, the grey bricks seemingly rising forever. Even though it’s Ichton and the Corp knows where I am, I still keep my face down as I enter the building.
As usual the main lobby is swarming. Some older people with radiation sickness hold up protest signs asking for a cure while young Corp initiates pass out flyers outlining their latest projects, always asking for money. To think that after years of war, we still can’t figure out money. I make a bee-line to the elevator, thankful that when the doors slide open, most of its inhabitants scurry out into the lobby. There’s a sign above the doors that reads: Please be courteous and let passengers exit before boarding. As soon as it’s clear I shuffle in. A young girl stands next to the button controls, and looks at me patiently as the doors slide shut. I fumble around in my pockets until I find the address.
“Umm, A7 please,” I mumble. She presses the button, but her gaze doesn’t waver from me.
“So you’re going above ground?” she asks. Her long hair is tied in pigtails and her denim shorts are covered with cheap plastic gems.
“I guess so,” I reply vaguely. I’m not good with kids, never have been. She tilts her head and smiles at me.
“Don’t worry, it’s not so scary up there,” she says. Then the elevator stops just before we breach the surface and everyone but me steps off. As the doors close I watch the girl’s pigtails bounce away among the crowd.
A5. A6. As I climb higher my mind imagines the air getting thinner, my lungs struggling to obtain oxygen, face turning blue. Ding. A7. I step out of the elevator into a long windowed hallway, the last rays of the real sunset shooting through my eyes like daggers. I crouch quickly to the floor and cover my face. Even the legendary Holo-sky can’t truly imitate real sunlight. I reach into my bag and pull out a pair of sunglasses. Once I have them on, the bright light fades until I can see the shape of the hallway, the walls painted a plain light blue, the floor layered with tile. Neutral paintings hang evenly spread down the hall between windows. I look at my crumpled paper again. A7. End of the hall. I start walking. At the end of the blue hall, the corridor curves until I can see the entrance to a restaurant. Dinner. He wants to have dinner.
I see him before he sees me. He’s planted at a table for two—a window seat— looking out into the vast, dead city. He wears a smart suit with a black tie, still as simple as always. His blond hair’s a little longer, his jaw a little sturdier, but beneath the fuzz of facial hair and the expensive watch is the same little boy I’ve known since I was eight. I can see us playing in sandboxes in the small underground parks with fake trees and not an ant or worm in sight.
I almost smile at this, but then my adult brain takes over and I’m rushed back to some of our last moments, when our friendship changed us into lovers, how David hated it even though they were colleagues. Nights out dancing, early morning breakfasts in bed, the pale light of dawn shining in. And then when it all ended.
It’s been a long time, but my stomach still gnaws at me, those dreaded past emotions bubbling up. I’m about to turn around and leave when he notices me. We make eye contact and his mouth bursts into a wide grin. I walk over to the table, sunglasses still perched on my nose, and he stands to greet me. Then he stares me, hands in his pockets, and his smile slowly fades, his gaze dropping to the floor. I swear to myself. This is going to be awkward. Sadness lines his eyes and he chews his lip forcefully. An unspoken word lingers between us. David.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I want to whirl around and run away. I don’t want to relive those fatal moments every time even a tiny memory is provoked. But Tor doesn’t let me run; instead he takes my hand and pulls me closer to him.
“Don’t be. It shouldn’t be like this. Please?” I look at him, his pleading face, feel the almost desperate grip of his hand, and I wish so much that things could go back to the way they were before, but I know they can’t. Still, I squeeze his hand back, still sit down across from him, exploring those eyes I once knew so well but are now like a stranger’s.
“How’d you find me?” I ask quietly. He sighs, but his lips tug a little at the corners, like he’s sharing a joke with himself. A tall, slim waitress brings us both goblets filled with clear, purified water.
“I won’t say it wasn’t hard. At first, I thought Ichton was the last place you’d be, but then I just thought about you, figured you’d keep moving and changing. So I waited. For six months. Then I saw you going into Shelley’s, and here we are.”
Here we are. If that isn’t a statement.
“So what now?” I ask, bringing it all up front. There’s no point in rehashing old shit now. The Corp’s got me back in its lap now, sitting pretty like a dog, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I need you,” he replies.
My eyebrows rise in surprise.
He stops himself, then clarifies, “We need you. Rupert needs you. A lot of shit has been going on. Attacks everywhere, above and below ground. We think they might be planning a massive revolt. We need all the manpower we can get, and let’s face it, you’re one of the best,” he says.
I sigh deeply, first at the mention of the President of Elder Corp, Rupert Elder. His image comes to me crystalline, tall and foreboding, thick moustache, shiny, bald head, and ears littered with piercings. Rupert used to be a friend and mentor. Being one of the only Elders with actual experience on the field, he was valuable as a president and ally. After David, he wanted me to take a break, thinking my trauma would cause me to make bad decisions on the field. He was right, and now he wants me back. I almost want to laugh, or cry, I don’t know. I face Tor, but I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.
“It’s been a long time, Tor. Elder Corp is something I wanted to keep in the past. You know that I don’t want to come back, and yet you sit here, giving me a choice that I can’t actually choose. What exactly do you want from me?” I ask. He takes a moment to reply and we return to the same old scenario: is what he’s saying from his own mind, or from the Elder collective, the Pavlovian training that’s made him into such a viable Corp loyalist?
“What can I say, Piper? The Corp needs you. Rupert will do just about anything to get you back, but it’s not just that. I miss you. I miss working with you. You took off so fast after everything, half the staff thought they’d never see you again. You’re my friend. You’ve always been my friend so I’m asking you to come back. Not for Rupert or me or the Corp, but for humanity. For your mom and Shelley and the families of all of the victims. You don’t know how critical things are getting,” he replies.
“And David?” I say quietly. Tor’s expression fades, his eyes turn downward and his jaw clenches.
“You don’t think David would want you to keep doing what you do best?” he asks. My eyes cross, the world around me fading as if into a deep fog. His words reverberate in my mind over and over. “Don’t trust them. Don’t trust them. Don’t trust them.”
“Piper?” I snap back at Tor’s insistent voice and wave off his concerned look.
“I’m fine. Sorry. Look, we both know there’s no point. You’ve got me now, so I’ll report in and do what I can, but we need to get one thing straight. I am not a dog of the Corp anymore. This is a private contract and my rates are very, very high,” I say firmly.
The mood breaks as Tor bursts into laughter.
“What?” I ask.
“Goddamn. Rupert said you’d say that. Guess he knows you pretty well,” he says, his eyes tearing a bit as he chuckles.
I want to growl in disgust but force out a tight smile instead.
“When and where?” I ask.
“Tomorrow, eight am, eighth floor, big office at the end of the hall,” he says.
“Here in Ichton?” I ask. My heart’s racing.Not Central?
Tor nods his head.
“We think the core of the Harpy revolt is somewhere around here. Rupert’s still in Central, so here we report to Myra.”
Myra Elder, the eldest of the Elders, and from what I’ve heard, a frigid and heartless bitch.Great.
I nod and begin to collect my things.
“Tell the cast I’ll be on at eight,” I say.
Tor stands up before I can, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’re not staying? I thought we’d have a nice dinner. I’ve missed you,” he says. I look around the empty restaurant, at the neatly folded napkins, the vase of lab-grown roses, the tiny single-serve packs of sugar. All of these simple luxuries Corp personnel have while the people in the tunnels are dying. I stand.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” I whisper, then briskly turn and walk back the way I came. I walk fast enough that Tor can’t catch up with me, and fast enough that I won’t look back.