Chapter 1: Barto and the Machine
Human society is a great machine. When parts of it break down, the resulting defect disturbs all who make use of the vital component, and may cause the entire apparatus to shudder and smoke. The loyal employee, the naive and trusting citizen, its defenders and detractors, the leaders; none are spared the hindrance of the malfunction. The bigger the part, the greater the upheaval and cost of repair.
This is how Barto Khuni thought of things. He knew, based on the decision he made today, that the damage to the ever-turning gears of civilization would be extensive and lasting. When the bill comes due for the repair, we may have to invent a new unit of measure to quantify it. Then harness all of our human ingenuity to correct it, Barto thought to himself, feeling the slickness of sweat begin to build on his hands.
He sat alone at his desk in a suit tailored to match his large round frame. He felt the cool breeze of the air conditioner tickling his scalp. It easily wafted through his thin grey hair, caressing his partially exposed brown scalp beneath. The skin on his face was remarkably smooth, the jolly eyes fit for laughter. Lines around his mouth and eyes told half the tale of a lifetime of telling and reacting to bad jokes, mostly at his own expense. His lips were thin, and arched slightly upward, telling the other half of his story. But today, his normally jovial features were veiled in apprehension, reversing the direction of the normally upward lines of his face.
Small glowing lines of light filtered into his office via thin openings between the industrial-sized shades covering the windows. The morning sun and the bustle of downtown San Francisco hundreds of feet below were blocked out, minimizing his distraction. Barto’s eyes tracked a single beam of light from the window behind him. It bounced off of a metallic umbrella holder near his sealed office door, forming a small shadow behind it. The dark diversion held his attention for several seconds. Then a light from a small screen on his desk caught his attention.
The device was black with a thin rectangular shape, able to fit completely in the palm of his hand. It had been manufactured by Samsung, and like the smartphones of his youth, housed a universe within a galaxy of potential. Barto was old enough to remember the days of single purpose cellphones. Now, he was old enough not to care about anything other than the basic functions of the gadget everyone referred to as a ‘device.’
There was a message from Lili on the screen. It read:
Don’t hesitate. You’re making the right call and I support you. We will deal with the fallout together. The other two will have to get over it.
He grinned in response, grateful for her friendship and support even after all of these years.
Really, there wasn’t much that he had to do. A simple voice command and it would be done. Yet he hesitated. Waiting for a phone call, a beep from his device, or some other source to act as an excuse to delay the inevitable.
Barto slackened his tie to allow cool recycled air to reach his chest, then cursed under his breath. Why do I always tie the damn thing so tight? Even after all these years, I still make the same mistake almost every day.
He interlaced his fingers together and rested his chin upon them as he leaned forward, thinking, stalling. As one of the Founders of the organization others viewed him as an intellectual, a leader. George Washington of the modern age. Yet, he had never been a decisive person. For many decisions in his life big and small, he often relied on decision trees to weigh and consider his options. Under each canopy, time froze, providing him with ample time to contemplate potential actions and futures. He must have planted thousands of trees in his life. I am a planter, just like Washington. He smiled to himself. The amusing observation made him less aware of his thundering heart and the dots of sweat on his forehead.
The tree for this decision had already been planted, and he had selected the superior option hours ago. The only thing left to do was execute. He had run the numbers, consulted with Lili, done his customary toilet time thinking, and after each activity, had come to the same conclusion. The others may not be ready, but this was what we agreed on. How it has to go down. I never thought it would have to be me, but it must be done.
He sat up straight in his chair with new confidence and sureness surging through him, then picked up the device from the surface of the desk. After punching in a series of long codes, and bypassing the authentication gates, he came to the executive approval screen. Are you sure you want to proceed? It asked, in a small gray text box. Barto stared at the box then gave the voice command “Yes.” Then the final screen appeared on the device. He had to say the name of the order precisely or it would not work.
Enter executive order number. It prompted.
The authoritative tone resonated from somewhere deep inside of him. The sound from his lips seemed to mix with light waves sneaking into the great room, providing weight and sonority to his words.
“Execute order DD-5428.”
There was a pause as the device fulfilled his request. As the machine worked, Barto’s mind began to create a list of the possible events that could follow from his decision. Each one more catastrophic than the last. Overwhelmed by the abundance of probable scenarios, he abandoned the effort. There’s no way to tell what will happen now.
Device still in hand, he dictated a voice message to Lili and the other Founders then sent it off. In under a minute, they would know what he had done, and nothing would ever be the same.
Then he reached for his desk phone and called the number for air transportation, casting aside his acrimonious thoughts about flying, to focus on his desire to leave San Francisco as soon as possible.
A sweet sounding, yet untrained artificial intelligence (A.I.) assistant answered the call. Their exchange was brief, but littered with awkward starts and stops, another minor irritant for Barto. After three minutes, the voice asked, “When would you like to be in the air Mr. Khuni?”
Barto scratched his head, “By this afternoon.”
“Got it, sir. It will be standing by at 1300 hours.”
Chapter 2: Father and Daughter
A distant buzzing drifted through the air, floating into her consciousness. Initially, she thought it was a component of the bizarre dream that her sleeping mind had conjured to entertain her, so she listened. Seconds faded into minutes as she strained the limits of her hearing. Frustration gave way to fatigue as she stood silent, unable to find the origin of the tone.
The noise was accompanied by recurring visual elements of the dream: fields of grass tinted with the color of ocean water, her father, herself, and an ancient computer monitor with a flashing blue screen awaiting an input command. With hopeful trepidation, she approached the glowing terminal, extending a trembling hand to a yellowed brownish keyboard. Without hesitation, her young fingers began gliding across sticking keys, attempting to manipulate the machine. Yet each keystroke failed to bring the machine to life. It remained dormant, unyielding, with only a blinking cursor winking mockingly at her entries, void of caring or empathy.
It’s broken. The thought flashed in her mind, repeating itself with the rhythm of the blinking command line cursor. Then the beeping sound began. First faintly, barely above an audible frequency, but eventually the volume increased to an almost deafening tone after a few seconds, only to fade away until it became a quiet whisper again.
Where is it? Why can’t I find it? Her inability to find the source of sound, made her feel lost in the blue void. A prisoner of the expanse, subjected to an unexplained wavering tone. Her vexation rising along with the awareness of her thumping heart drew her back into her conscious mind. She lay there with her eyes closed for a few moments more, grasping in vain at wispy dream fragments. It was an exercise in futility, but she forced herself into a momentary calm seeking to extend her limited physical senses. After several seconds, she still heard the beeping. It was close, closer than she had ever been.
What!? Wait! It worked!?
Her eyes shot open. In a flurry of motion, she threw her thin sheet off of her and rushed to the window of her room flinging open the curtains, squinting through her sleep-clouded vision to see past the wide lawn, and the imposing black gate at the end of a long driveway. The source of the sound had been a garbage bot performing his collection duties. The machine’s shape in the form of an old-timey silver trash can was an ironic reality, not lost on her. It made her picture the old world of her father. A mixture of mismatched fashion styles, green lawns, and for some reason mustached men, converged in a sepia tone in her mind’s eye. A caricature of a past she never knew or fully understood.
The bot used alloyed arms to lift the black bag of refuse into a gaping dark hole in its center, letting the door glide shut after the waste was deposited deep within its interior. From her vantage point, she could not see evidence of the tiny explosion inside of the machine, turning the garbage into ashes and energy. But she was always curious about it. Wanting to understand how they packed such a powerful explosion into such a tiny space. Ignition method? Fuel source? How? The unanswered questions left her with an uncomfortable ‘in the dark’ feeling. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, but she preferred the bright illumination of knowledge to guide her steps.
The garbage bot continued its movement down the street, taking her tension with it. She let her shoulders relax, and took a deep breath to fill her lungs. False alarm. How silly of me to think that I would be able to hold on to it, she thought, pondering the dream again.
Her disappointment was quickly displaced by a strong desire to get her day going. Moving away from the window and around her bed, she picked up her device from its appointed position by her bedside. Her device was gold, adorned with a sticker of a rocket spitting a flame from its exhaust, another of a black infinity sign, and a third of a single white gear on the back. The decals were scratched and faded from countless transfers in and out of her pockets. A vocal command from her lips brought the limitless device to life.
“Calendar.”
Setting the device in an old yet functional robotic circular swivel, she angled it toward a barren wall behind her nightstand, waiting to view her calendar, but nothing appeared.
Oh dammit. I forgot to set it to project mode. She was still getting used to the new model with improved projection features. “Project mode.” Her voice produced a tiny echo in the room, a clear sign of sleep fog lifting from her mind’s surface.
The calendar flashed onto the wall in a complicated matrix of social and academic suspense dates. A hidden code only she and possibly her best friend and rival, Harpreet, could decipher. They had competed in all things academic ever since their fateful meeting during the Basics of Language committee some twelve years prior. Both having been tutored at home by the finest artificial intelligence teaching programs optimized to their unique learning preferences, they became fast friends, leaving the other five-year-olds behind. With perfect grades, both agreed to race to see who could test out of the committee the fastest. Her competitive nature manifested early on, and she won the contest by one day. That had been the beginning of a rivalry that continued to this day, with each girl taking the lead in every other contest year after year. Both enjoyed the shared rivalry and friendship. It drove them to greater heights, and kept life interesting.
She found her mind wandering, but managed to focus it back to her projected calendar. Her vision focused on the date: June 14th, 2062. Two events, one with a green rhombus, the other with a red pentagon in front of it, populated the line. A calculus lesson at 1000 and dinner with Dad at 1900. A light day.
Feihao. Plenty of time to chill.
Sunlight, warm and bright, made its way through the window, heating her skin. I should get going.
She made her way to the body length mirror fastened to the back of her door and admired herself for longer than she wanted to. A single gold colored shirt and an old yet reliable pair of purple panties were all she wore. Her long black hair was a mess, falling in every direction except down. Gangly long arms appeared to sway in the breeze of the air conditioner. Her eyes, umber brown, shining and thin, reflected brilliance, hinting at unrealized greatness. She allowed a small smile onto her lips at the thought of her eyes. They projected her presence and intellect, and made her more memorable. Unforgettable. Some told her that her gaze was as intense as it was beautiful; she tended to agree with that observation. Her face was slim and flat, with a small nose set in the center. Her eyes scanned downward, toward her (in her opinion) unremarkable breasts, when she noted a tiny red swell on her cheek. It was sensitive to the slightest prod from her finger, and stung whenever the muscles of her face moved. She twitched her face several times to confirm its presence
A pimple. Great. She reached for nearby facial cream in her nightstand and began to methodically apply it to the red menace. As she made tiny swirls with her finger, a knock on the other side of the door startled her.
“Jinhua? Are you up?” The voice of her father resonated clearly from the opposite side of the door.
“Yeah I am. I’ll be out in a minute.” Jinhua finished applying the cream, then hurried to her closet and to dress herself. The night before she had set aside a simple green t-shirt and shorts. The clothes swayed on plastic white hangers, undisturbed, until Jinhua hastened to rip them down and throw them on her body, after changing out of her sleepwear. She hadn’t realized how behind her usual schedule she was. Damn dream. Stupid trash bot.
When she opened her door, her father stood before her, a neutral expression on his face.
“You have to get ready for committee.” He paused, noting his daughter’s uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. “Did you sleep alright?” There was concern in his tone. He knew that she was usually ready to go by this time in the morning.
“I slept great. Are you heading to the office?”
He was dressed in a sharp looking steel-colored suit accompanied with a sky-blue dress shirt. The tie was neatly pressed, accented with cerulean and white stripes. It looked new even though she had seen him wear it off and on ever since she was little. His face shared Jinhua’s features, but was wider and rounder, making his brown eyes less pronounced to a casual observer. A full head of grey hair sat above the chiseled wrinkles carved at specific points on his face. Her father’s face reminded her of a weather-beaten statue. After decades exposed to the elements, it had history, and related a different story when viewed from distinct angles. Every Wednesday he made the two-hour journey down to Sacramento to meet with the city government down there. Though he never really discussed the details of the meetings, he always came home with a mantle of sadness about his slim shoulders.
“I’m about to leave right now. You know how slow the bus can be,” he said.
“Slower than the orbit of Mars.” Jinhua covered her mouth to conceal a giggle. Her father chuckled as well.
Li Ma looked at his daughter, the little girl turned young woman, now 17-years-old. In a flash of nostalgia, he recalled the first time that he took her to the Powerhouse Science Center in Sacramento. She was only a girl then, but she already had a sparkle in her eyes whenever she viewed something she liked. The sparkle appeared as soon as they entered the planetarium. The infinite collection of projected stars seemed to stretch beyond the walls of the physical space, swallowing him and his inquisitive daughter by his side whole. Though the room was packed with a sprinkling of other parents and a class of elementary school children with chaperones, it felt like they were the only two in the room. At that moment, it was Li and Jinhua’s planetarium.
Li had watched her eyes glowing with wonder, captivated by the endlessness and untold frontiers of space. Swirls of overwhelming emotion, threatening to break the surface of his stoic veneer, manifested as a hint of satisfaction and silent joy on his face. Jinhua was oblivious to his gaze. Her entire being was focused on the astronomical projection. To her child mind, the blanket of stars beamed back at her, calling her to wonder, imagine, and explore. My future is up there, she had thought.
Ever since that day, Li had tapped all of his connections within and even outside of the organization to find her the finest resources and mentors to fuel her interest in space, science, and mathematics. First, he started her out on books for children, but she quickly devoured them and subsequently surpassed all of her peers in her honors basic Space Science Committee. He found his old Arduino robot kit, thinking that it would serve as a suitable challenge for a nine-year-old. But by her tenth birthday, she had designed three of her own projects with no assistance from him or any of her committee scholars. It was unheard of within the organization for someone so young to study directly under a scholar, but with a few back-door connections, he had made it happen for her. She was truly gifted.
“Dad…are you ok?”
Jinhua nudged Li back from his thoughts.
“Fine, fine.” He smiled warmly. “Don’t forget dinner at seven tonight.”
“I’ll be there.” Jinhua looked back at her device in the swivel, feeling slightly embarrassed. “You know, we don’t have to go out… we can just eat something here.”
“No, we should. It’s not every day they let teenagers into the Junior Space Cadets. It’s a big deal.”
She didn’t protest. Despite all of her academic success throughout her life, it still felt awkward when others talked about it directly, even if it was her dad.
“Don’t be late.” He leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead, then walked down the long corridor toward the staircase to go downstairs. His small, yet powerful footsteps left faint impressions on the thick carpet as he walked away.
There was a time many years ago when she would walk behind him to try and fill those footprints with her own tiny feet. Jinhua felt the urge to follow him now, but stopped herself when she remembered that her feet were slightly larger than his now. Instead, she stood and watched the impressions for a few seconds until they were completely swallowed by the carpet material. Have a good day dad. I love you.
Chapter 3: Frivals
As soon as Jinhua stepped outside of her house a blast of heat slammed into her face, causing her to gasp. It took her body a few seconds to adjust to the drastic difference in temperature.
Before she left the house she had picked up an object that appeared to be an ocean blue colored bar leaning in a dusty corner of the expansive entry way of the house. The pole was two and a half long, smooth, and was her preferred method of transportation around town. Perfect day for rippin’.
Jinhua smiled at herself as she gripped the bar. It reminded her of how far she had come since she had purchased it for her birthday three years prior. In those days, all she had wanted to do was finish her homework so she could ride her ripboard with Harpreet. She spent days learning how to deploy the board’s retractable wings from the bar. At first, treating the device as a delicate object, then trying to add flair to her board deployments. After about a week, she moved on to the analysis phase. She had meticulously documented the make-up of the various composite materials of the personal transport: aluminum alloy, painted fiberglass wings, and some kickass grip tape. After another few days she was ready to ride.
The first race against Harpreet had ended in crushing defeat. Jinhua hadn’t quite worked out the optimal positioning for her levcer, the vital balancing component without which there was no levitation. No levitation, meant no rippin’. A misplaced levcer meant an uncentered magnetic field, which bungled the ripboard’s fickle glide profile when the wings were deployed. These were facts unknown to Jinhua the first time she stepped on the board. Real world gems of experience that her scrutinizing analysis could not account for. During that first race, her slipshod foot placement and graceless handling of the levcer had left her off balance and slow. A sharp turn at a high speed was all it took to send her flying onto the street, leaving a deep gash on her knee. It was a mistake she never made again.
The bitterness of that loss fresh in her mind, she grasped the pole and hastened out of the front door, locking it behind her. By the time she reached the imposing black security fence at the entrance of the driveway, she was already beginning to feel beads of sweat forming on her exposed forehead. Wiping the perspiration away with the back of her hand, she continued to move as if she had no place to go.
She pulled out her identification card from her pocket and held it toward the gate’s scanner. The card was tomato red in color and housed her picture, social security number, driver’s license number, links to her major bank accounts, medical records, as well as money. All of the information had somehow been smashed within its microscopic computer components. I can’t believe my entire life is on this card. She always had the same thought whenever she used the thin slice of technology. The all-in-one card was convenient, yet it made her feel vulnerable to have the entirety of her person housed within one easily pilfered or misplaced item.
The security panel made a series of beeps, signaling that her card had been accepted. The old black gate emitted the sound of aged metal on slightly oxidized tracks as it slid open. Jinhua sidled through the opening to hasten her trip. The heat of the morning was already beginning to make its ever-warm presence known to her face and skin.
Upon reaching the street, her device chimed in her tiny shorts pocket. With practiced skill, Jinhua pulled it out and examined the screen. The message from Harpreet was brief, yet provoked an excited smile onto her face.
Barter race? Meet at the Old Veterans’ Park in 10?
Jinhua dictated a voice message reply: I’ll be there in 5. A small sticker of a checkered flag accompanied her words on the display screen. Within a second the device was back in her pocket.
In a fluid motion, she used an underhanded swing to fling the blue pole in front of her, while simultaneously activating the wing deployment. Sky blue wings extended from the pole ready to accept her feet. Before it hit the concrete with a dissonant clang (a noise she had named the sound of shame), Jinhua expertly positioned and activated her levcer at the precise moment, then leapt toward the hovering board with style. The sun gleamed and the ripboard took flight just as her feet landed on the safety of reinforced grip pads. She was suspended only by the harmonious equilibrium between the balancing forces of the levcer, her stance, and the board.
I won’t lose this time.
With a determined look on her face, she kicked at the ground, propelling the board forward.
Five minutes later, Jinhua arrived at the park to find Harpreet waiting under the shade of a large tree. In her jean shorts and burgundy tank top, she stood tall with her arms at her side, hands open, eyes closed as if she were an offering to the sun. Just as they had competed in all things related to school, so too did the two young women often compare their physical characteristics, as if they were professional athletes preparing for a championship. As Jinhua approached the unaware Harpeet, she mentally compiled a list of random attributes, assigning herself or her best frival (friend-rival her own created word) as the victor. Height: Her, only by two inches. Weight: definitely her, by several pounds. Chest size: Harpreet. Hair length: draw. Intelligence: don’t make me laugh, ME. Smile: I guess her. Ripboard skill: Me by a mile. The mental exercise made Jinhua grin to herself as she floated toward her friend, whose cinnamon toned skin glistened with a film of sweat in the morning heat. When she was close enough, Jinhua jumped off to the side of the ripboard at the optimal position, retracting the sky-blue wings, and kicking the pole back into her right hand in a smooth fashion. It had taken her months to master the movement, and she was proud of it.
“Practicing your mountain pose?” Jinhua said in a soft voice.
Harpreet’s eyes fluttered open. A big grin formed on her lips. “Gotta do something in this heat. It’s so hot! And it’s only 9:30!”
“Yeah it is. I think it’s supposed to get up to 116 degrees today.”
“Hot enough to cook a whole meal on the sidewalk!” Harpreet said. Both girls laughed.
Harpreet put her hands on her waist, sticking her chest out. “You ready to lose?” Her tone was challenging, defiant. She reached for an orange pole leaning against the tree, then twirled it in her hands, thrusting it down near her feet in dramatic fashion. Waiting for Jinhua’s usual reaction. A reaction that never came. Something’s on her mind. I wonder what? “You alright?”
“I had the dream again…”
“Which one? The one about Derak?”
“No!” Jinhua slapped her arm with enough force to sting, but not to bruise. “And, ew!”
“Ok, ok! Just had to be sure!” Harpreet said laughing. “You mean the one about the broken computer, right?”
“What could it mean?”
Harpreet stood silent for a moment. Striking a pensive pose with arms crossed, chin on fist, she looked at Jinhua, wanting badly to find answers or explanations where both knew there were none. She looks so vulnerable sometimes. After a minute of the ambient noises of nature, people walking by in low conversation, and the occasional vehicle passing by, Harpreet spoke.
“You know what would help you right now?”
“What?”
“A little bit of rippin’! You always feel better after that!” Harpreet placed a warm, slightly sweaty hand on her shoulder. Jinhua smiled. The unexpected contact was helpful.
The details of dream fragments still lingered in her mind, but she was ready to let them go. To allow them to drift away in the wind behind her board.
“You’re on.”
“That’s my girl!” Harpreet said, jumping with excitement.
With flair, she waved her orange pole around her head and tossed it at the ground, while in the same instant activating her levcer with the opposite hand. Jinhua flinched when she heard the sound of metal clashing against the sidewalk. Harpreet fell backwards onto her backside, letting out a string of exaggerating expletives in English and Punjabi.
“Goddammit! One day I swear I’m gonna get that thing that you do down!”
Jinhua giggled. “One day. Good thing you fell on your oversized ‘safety cushion’.”
Harpreet stood up, as a group of crows vacated a nearby tree at the sound of her laughter. “No kidding. If it were you, you would’ve probably shattered a hip.”
“Hey! Mine’s just taking longer to inflate!” Both girls laughed, extending the moment of levity.
Harpreet redeployed her ripboard, activating it with more caution this time. As she stepped her right foot onto the wings, a look of surprise made her eyebrows arch and her eyes grow wide. Her hand dug her device out of her shorts to check out the notification. “Shit!”
“What is it?” Jinhua asked with concern.
“Committee time got moved up. Apparently old Master Scholar (MS) Rhodes is bringing in a new student from Sac, and wants us all there early.”
“How long do we have?”
Harpreet brought the device closer to her face as if she were an old woman with a vision impairment “Uh…five minutes.”
Lines of determination drew themselves onto Jinhua’s face. “Then we’d better rip it.” Her frival mirrored her expression, returning a challenge-accepting smirk. She lowered her center of gravity, ready to begin the contest. “Ready?”
Harpreet nodded, hovering her right leg at a 45-degree angle above the widened sidewalk for a stronger first kick.
“GO!!”
Chapter 4: A New Society
The feeling was electric. Jinhua felt the fresh rush of adrenaline propelling her long legs to thrust her through the open air in front of her. Each kick was precise, optimized to give her maximum force, while keeping the amount of time off of the ripboard to a minimum. Half an inch in front of her, Harpreet’s attention was just as focused on winning the race. Her balance was questionable. But what she lacked in grace, the power and length of her legs more than made up for, making her an even match.
After passing under the old highway ninety-nine, Jinhua nearly lost her balance as she weaved through a throng of elderly walkers casually enjoying a morning chat. A man with a sun-spotted, warm beige complexion mumbled obscenities as she and Harpreet cut through.
“Going left!” Harpeet shouted from up ahead.
Jinhua, quickly adjusted her trajectory, wondering why she had not taken a right on Gray Avenue toward the old mall and their committee meeting, which was scheduled to begin in three minutes by the time on her device. Where is she going?
Let’s see if you can keep up. Harpreet’s thoughts rushed by like the wind under the wings of the board, as she gave a hard kick, widening her lead.
Jinhua’s board edged only six inches behind, gliding over large cracks and great circles of discolored gray in the sidewalk. The filled holes were grim reminders of a flood disaster that had killed millions and left the entire city underwater for months, years before her birth. When was the flood? Was it in the twenties? Or maybe thirties? She never could get historical numbers right. Unless the figure was attached to science, her memory, like an efficient computer operating system, flagged it for disposal, then tossed it into the digital dustbin.
They had reached the intersection of Washington and Gray Avenue. Distracted by her thoughts, she gasped as Harpreet made a sudden U-turn, cutting across the width of the street, without pausing to look for oncoming people or cars. Safely on the opposite side, she resumed her kicking and gliding, throwing up tiny rocks every time her foot touched the concrete.
“Got you loser!” Harpreet yelled over her shoulder.
Damn you Harpreet! I’m not gonna lose!
Jinhua made a swift U-turn across the street to follow her. She looked right, becoming fixated on a large white pickup truck that was headed right for her. Panicked, she sped up, narrowly reaching the other side of the street before being struck by the honking vehicle. What she hadn’t seen was the hapless middle-aged cyclist who had turned onto the street between her and Harpreet’s rapidly shrinking frame at this point some fifteen feet down the sidewalk. By a narrow margin, Jinhua avoided the man, who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with a dumbfounded look on his face.
She attempted to shift her balance, but acted too late and plummeted onto the sidewalk, her roll dampened by dry grass under a small tree. As she staggered to her feet, the sting of a cut registered in her brain, warm blood trickled down to her shin. Harpreet rushed back down the street. A look of triumph was quickly replaced by concern.
“Wow, crazy wipeout. You ok?” Harpreet reached out her arms to clasp Jinhua’s slim shoulders. She looked her up and down, performing a motherly scan. “Nothing looks broken.”
“Thanks Doc,” Jinhua said.
Harpreet dusted clay-colored dirt from Jinhua’s shoulders and arms, as a devilish grin crept onto her face. “…Looks like I won…”
Jinhua gave her a playful slap on the arm. “Looks like it.” Her eyes fell to her bleeding knee. The gash looked like a jagged red mark, oozing a steady stream of dark blood. She applied pressure using a single tissue from a small plastic pack she carried in her back pocket. A habit she had picked up from her father at a very young age. Always good to have them on you, he had told her on some random day in the distant past. Now, she was thankful for the advice.
Harpreet clenched her teeth and tensed her jaw at the sight of it. “Looks pretty deep. Might have to hit the market to get it wrapped up.”
“Ugh. I’ll probably have to give his daughter ripboard lessons in exchange. So boring! She just runs around with the pole the entire time and can’t even open the wings!” Jinhua complained.
Harpreet shrugged, “Maybe you can trade the babysitting time for something else?” The mocking tone bled skepticism.
“Doubtful.” Jinhua exhaled frustration, glancing down at her device with her free hand. She remembered that the committee meeting had begun five minutes ago. “Shit. We’re late.”
Harpreet’s expression remained unchanged. She was undaunted by the threat of being tardy. “Is that right? Ok then, let’s get going space cadet.”
It didn’t take long to make the short walk to the old Yuba-Sutter Mall and make the exchange. Jinhua recalled through rose-tinted nostalgia endless hours roaming the rows of stalls of the barter market with her father as a young girl. The experience left a lasting impression on her psyche and stoked a sense of home within her. A comforting feeling.
The open-air market of the old world clashed in broad daylight with mid-twenty-first century technology. The result was a uniquely distinct ambiance characteristic of all comvil barter markets nationwide. It was possible to trade money, credit, or any type of service, for almost anything here. Biohacked humans hawked t-shirts, beside heavy-set clear-skinned middle-aged artisans, craftsmen, and specialists of all disciplines. A group of farmers traded baskets of almonds for the latest digital entertainment, a source of infinite pleasure and intrigue. Music from various sources mixed in the air around the girls as they walked the main path through the market, greeting friends and neighbors along the way. Harpreet raised her nose, large nostrils flaring, in response to the smell of fresh baked bread, honey cinnamon rolls, mangos, and chocolate drifting in the air around them. Her eyes followed her stomach’s calling. Though hungry too, Jinhua urged her forward through the increasingly dense packs of early morning shoppers and traders. Her bent over position, holding bloody tissues over her knee, was beginning to attract unwelcome attention.
The trip to the doctor’s stall hadn’t lasted long. He was an old man with a stubborn looking face, but was caring at heart. His bushy white mustache contrasted with dark brown skin, but also made his teeth appear brighter than they were. Dr. Ross had been a longtime friend of Jinhua’s father, Li, and always made time for his daughter’s cuts and bruises.
Harpreet stood by with the vigilance of a well-paid mercenary, as the doctor sanitized and wrapped the afflicted knee. After the services were rendered, he scanned her all-in-one life card. Though his daughter was at home sick, the scan digitally obligated Jinhua to provide ripboard lessons at some unknown date in the near future. She was thrilled to escape the lessons for the moment, but dreaded the day when she would have to make good on the debt. There was no getting out of it. The consequences for trade-jumping (as it was colloquially known) worked on a tiered progression system. The first offense was a suspension of services from the aggrieved person’s specialty (in this case medical services) for one week. The second, was a thirty-day suspension from all similarly categorized services throughout the entire comvil, which in her case would be no access to local medical care at all. The third, and final offense, was potential expulsion from the comvil. Though Jinhua had never heard of anyone actually being removed, she imagined that getting back in and reestablishing trust within the community was a monumental task that few were willing to undertake. So it was better to keep your promises, and pay your debts as quickly as you were able.
Her knee wrapped, Jinhua walked with a slight limp behind Harpreet, weaving through the growing crowd with quick steps on their way to the community center. Once inside, it took them another minute to reach the back of the building. The committee room was located in an old furniture store. The large open space, where once upon a time, eager retail workers showcased overpriced sofas, beds, dining room tables, and cushions, had been partitioned off by tall white room dividers that did not quite reach to the ceiling. The dividers could be rolled by a very strong person or a machine to rearrange the layout of the committee rooms at any time. This allowed them to be adaptable for almost any academic purpose. Jinhua had heard that it had even served as a physical fitness committee room at one point in time. The rumor crossed her mind as she and Harpreet arrived outside of the door to their committee room. A simple door housed within one of the wall dividers. Jinhua felt as if she had completed a brisk warm up in a gym committee, heart thudding and breathing uneasy from the exertion of the race and her power walk.
Made it. Only 15 minutes late. Jinhua thought.
She opened the door and walked casually to her seat in the center of the space, ignoring the pairs of eyes of her ten committee mates. Most gawked at her wrapped knee and overall disheveled appearance with curious glances, each forming a personal narrative concerning the cause of her rough image.
“Mind your own business!” Harpreet snapped, in an echoing whisper.
Jinhua flashed her a grateful glance as they both sat and adjusted themselves into their seats, and began to remove their needed supplies from a locked compartment under the desk top. Jinhua held her all-in-one card to the desk then heard the click of the lock, concentrating on organizing her supplies to take her mind off of the events of her morning so far. When she was ready, she straightened her back, and her face switched into academic mode. Her pupils widened like a camera aperture, facial muscles relaxed, her lips formed a perfectly straight line. It was the position of a model student, one any teacher would be delighted to see on the first day of school. Eyes staring straight ahead, she realized for the first time that their instructor was not there. Jinhua swiveled her head as if it were a security camera around the front of the room, but saw no sign of him. “Hey, where’s Master Scholar (MS) Rhodes?”
“Hasn’t showed yet.” A dark-haired man with a brown complexion and a serious face spoke. “No idea where he’s at.”
“Thanks Derak,” Harpreet cast a flirtatious wink in his direction. He seemed not to notice the gesture and returned his attention to a video playing silently on his desk screen.
“He’ll come around eventually. He knows he wants all this,” Harpreet said, bringing a flask of water from under her desk to her lips, viewing him out of the corner of her eye..
Jinhua shook her head. Her mind was still on MS Rhodes. Creeping concern replaced the look of academic readiness on her face bit by bit. “He’s never late. I wonder if something happened?”
In the next moment, they both heard the heavy footsteps of MS Rhodes approaching just beyond the thin wall. The door opened slowly and MS Rhodes entered the room, squeezing his fat body through the door frame. A few steps behind him, a young man with a quiet countenance walked in.
Instantly, Jinhua felt a large quantity of blood gather in her face at the sight of the youth.
Who is that!?
Chapter 5: The New Kid
The boy was gorgeous. He towered over MS Rhodes at about six something feet tall with well-groomed brown hair. He wore plain white jeans and a royal blue t-shirt that revealed the slight curves of a developing muscular chest connected to his two noticeably thinner arms. His two hazel eyes gleamed under the humming fluorescent lights while they scanned the room.
Don’t stare! Jinhua said to herself. But the warning came too late. She felt the keenness of his gaze lock on to her, running over the skin of her face as if etching every detail of it into memory in order to reproduce it with flawless accuracy at a later date. The intensity of his glare made her face grow warm under the buzzing lights of the room. Her eyes darted to the empty space on her desk in front of her, providing a grounding moment of calm. Next to her, Harpreet noticed her discomfort, mouthing the words ‘he’s hot’ with hushed lips. She was entertained by the mystery boy’s effect on her best friend.
The boy was a paragon of youth and strength, which made their instructor, MS Rhodes, appear older, fatter, and more drained than usual. In Harpreet’s mind, she made an attempt to picture her committee scholar as a young man. Perhaps he had looked like the new boy at some point, and was a young scientist with hopeful dreams of being a changemaker in physics? Maybe he had lofty dreams of ending water scarcity and destroying the millions of tons of plastics in bathtub warm water oceans? She envisioned the root of his descent into academic corporate stupor. What went wrong? Too many compromises? Too many empty promises? Too many false victories? She tried to see his former greatness, yet, could only see a man curved and bitter from a lifetime serving as a key component in a sputtering machine. A wave of sadness washed over Harpreet at the thought. She returned her eyes to the boy, to make it go away, intrigued by Jinhua’s visible response to his entrance.
MS Rhodes began to speak in a droning tone.
“Students, this is Daniel. He’s been approved to join our committee by the citizens’ council.” A sudden coughing fit interrupted his speech. He pulled a small miserable cloth out of his pocket to spare his audience from the expectorants shooting from the depths of his lungs. Damn smoking. I knew I should have given it up years ago. After several seconds, he caught his breath, using a high amount of restraint to suppress more coughs. “He’s just moved here from Sacramento, so please welcome him to our committee with open arms.” He gestured unceremoniously toward the youth. The boy gave a small smile accompanied with a slight waving of his hand to acknowledge his new classmates.
Jinhua pretended to busy herself on her screen to avoid his eyes. Out of the corner of her eye Harpreet observed her, entertained by her rattled state. The other students gave a curt acknowledgement of Daniel’s presence, but quickly returned to their respective personal worlds of physics notes and videos. They didn’t seem excited for another person to join the committee, no matter how good looking he was.
As she did her best to avoid Daniel’s eyes, Jinhua thought of a cartoon she used to watch when she was very young. It depicted old world school life with farm animals representing all of the characters in the school. The show focused on Wendell (a talking pig) and his friends as they teamed up to foil their antagonist teacher, a cyborg human named Mr. Jones. Most of the episodes ended in Mr. Jones’ humiliating defeat in comedic fashion at the hands of Wendell and his friends, which always brought a sense of joy and justice to her then young mind. One day, her dad watched an episode of the show with her. The only thing she remembered was his comment after the credits were rolling. “Things are different now here in the comvils. But many things about human nature remain the same. People will always be people and fight for dominance over others,” he had said. The words stuck in her head for weeks afterward. It would be another decade before she clearly understood the weight of his words. Nobody wants another competitor, Jinhua thought. The reaction of the committee reflected this sentiment.
The rest of the morning’s events were an afterthought for Jinhua. It was rare for MS Rhodes to lecture for an entire session. He simply did not have the stamina for it. However, he seemed to be especially passionate about their unit on thermal physics and talked in short bursts in between violent coughing fits for the entire time.
Daniel had taken an empty desk closest to the windows of the committee space and arranged his digital notebook and two digital ink pens with geometric precision in front of him. He occasionally looked to the bustling barter market outside, but was primarily focused on listening to MS Rhodes. Jinhua did her best to focus during the lecture, but the pleasant seed of attraction flowering inside of her distracted her usually laser-focused academic brainpower. She caught herself daydreaming about Daniel, in desperate need of more information about the mysterious boy from the city.
As soon as MS Rhodes dismissed the committee for the afternoon, Jinhua collected her belongings and walked outside into the main concourse of the old mall. Harpreet followed close behind, flashing a wry smile, looking at her in a way that mocked and demanded to know what she was thinking. Out of earshot of the other students, and Daniel, she pulled Jinhua aside and said in an ear-splitting whisper, “Damn, you were practically drooling when you looked at him during the entire session! You like him don’t you?”
Jinhua’s gaze fell to a cracked tile on the floor beside her right foot. The crack exposed a layer of brownish old concrete in what would have otherwise been uniform patterns of teal triangles. “Maybe I do…I don’t know. I guess I don’t know anything about him yet.” A small smile crept onto her face.
“What do you mean you don’t know anything!? You know he’s super cute and looks like Captain America from the old Marvel movies. What more do you need than that?”
Jinhua laughed louder than she expected to. “Good point,” she admitted, her gaze rising to meet Harpreet’s eyes once again. “What should I do? Physics and ripboarding I can handle. But boys aren’t really my thing.”
“That is true. You are hopeless when it comes to the male species. Remember that boy Davian at Space Camp back in the day?” Harpreet shook her head, “That was poor form.”
“Hey! I was like ten back then. Who knew he would turn out to be a booger eater!” Jinhua protested.
“You’re welcome that I saved you from that one.” Harpreet said triumphantly.
Jinhua looked back toward the committee room. Daniel seemed to be discussing something privately with MS Rhodes. He looked like he was shifting his weight to leave the room.
“Be serious for once! What should I do?” Jinhua said, her tone pleading.
“Well…you should start by inviting him to come to Star of India with us for lunch.”
“What if he doesn’t like Indian food?”
“Everybody likes Indian food!”
“I don’t know. What if he’s one of the few people in the world that doesn’t like it? Maybe we should just go to the river or maybe to the movies.” Jinhua’s face distorted with confusion. A rare emotion for her.
Harpreet gave an impatient sigh. Jinhua’s tolerance for risk was high in almost every area of her life except when it came to people. Her friend was cautious, almost overly so. Afraid of the potential messiness that was often paired with close relationships (especially potential romantic ones). Sometimes she wondered how they had become close friends at all. She pushed those thoughts aside, and adopted her gentle big sister tone.
“Hey, why don’t we just invite him to the river with us.”
“Us?” Jinhua’s bewilderment gave way to levity. “What is this us all of a sudden? Why do you need to be there?”
“You know…so I can make sure he’s not an asshole or something. He’s the product and I’m quality control. I have to make sure he’s not defective, y’know. If he is, then we’ll return him.” She swung both of her arms as if tossing a dripping bag of garbage into a waste chute with little care for where or how it landed.
Jinhua’s lips formed a lighthearted smile, “You mean so you can be nosey and see if anything happens between us.”
Harpreet feigned astonishment, “Me! Nosy? Never! Buuut, somebody has to look after you—”
Suddenly Harpreet fell silent, then made a small pointing gesture toward the door to the committee room. Peeking out of the side of her eyes, Jinhua followed her finger to see Daniel emerge from the room. He adjusted the straps on his small backpack and began to rotate his head from side to side, most likely searching for the exit of the community center. Despite her effort to avoid them, his hazel eyes locked with hers for a second. A fleeting grin ran across his face.
Dammit! He’s seen me! She felt the urge to leave the community center, but her thought process was interrupted by Harpreet’s boisterous voice. “Hey Daniel! You need some help finding the way out?” She waved at him with excitement. Oh no he’s coming over here! Damn you Harpreet! Jinhua felt the muscles in her back and abdomen tense, bracing herself for the now inevitable first encounter with the boy.
Daniel’s smile beamed as he cadenced steps toward them. His almond hair swayed to an inaudible rhythm as he appeared to glide across the floor. Harpreet reached out an eager hand to shake his. “Hi, I’m Harpreet and this is Jinhua, welcome to the only physics committee in Yuba City.” Her hand remained suspended in the air for some time as Daniel studied it. He seemed unsure how to respond to the gesture. Harpreet held her hand out. Jinhua held her breath. Seconds later, he returned the handshake. The firmness of his clasp projected strength and confidence. So far so good. Harpreet thought.
“Hello, nice to meet you.” The tone of his voice was resonant and clear, with a touch of bass. He would have been a successful podcaster back in the day, Jinhua mused. Standing to the left and slightly behind Harpreet, she could see him in stunning detail. Up close his erect posture was evident, transmitting poise and dignity. A detail Jinhua had not noticed before from the seated vantage point of her desk. The skin on his face glowed with a touch of tan, perfectly unblemished. A well sized nose and a flawlessly cut jawline contributed to his attractiveness. His good looks and serious demeanor made him more than a little intimidating.
“So Daniel…” Harpreet began, with a playful tone. “Would you like to come with us to Star of India?”
“What is that?” Daniel gave a perplexed look.
“It’s only the best Indian restaurant this side of the Feather River! Y’know, we figured you might be hungry after listening to all that boring lecturing back there.”
Another long pause punctuated the silence between them. The only things Jinhua could hear clearly were the sound of a loud echoing conversation towards the intersection of the concourse of the mall and her own fluttering heartbeat. She feared it might be visible to Daniel and any onlooker.
“I’m sorry but I can’t. I have soccer practice this afternoon.” He shifted his weight to turn and go. Harpreet opened her mouth, most likely to protest, but the sound of Jinhua’s voice cut through the silence and the ambient sounds of the old mall.
“Hey, maybe we could meet at the river after your practice…uh what time does it end?” She managed an inquisitive tone, despite the overwhelming desire she had to shut up and let Harpreet speak for her.
Daniel stopped and turned to face her. He seemed to be unsure if he should answer the question or not. “At 3PM.”
A look of alarm appeared on Harpreet’s face. What is she doing!?
“Ok…do you mind if…,” Jinhua had to consciously prevent her words from spilling out of her mouth, “…I meet you near the river bank at River Front Park at four?”
Daniel smiled brightly, “Sure, let’s do it.” He extended his hand in a smooth gesture of acceptance. This time it was Jinhua who delayed five seconds before returning the handshake. To her it was a long time, but Daniel didn’t seem to register the odd gap. “It was nice to meet you Jinhua. I’ll see you later at the river around four.” With that he turned and walked toward the center of the concourse. Jinhua watched him depart, eyes glued to his athletic buttocks. The tightness of his jeans made her breath catch in her throat, freezing her temporarily in place. It wasn’t until he turned right toward the exit and disappeared from view, that her breathing returned to normal, reanimating her entire body.
Harpreet stared at her friend, mouth open in disbelief. Then she began to clap her hands, in a congratulatory manner. “Wow, I must say, I’m impressed! Didn’t expect for you to go for it straight out like that.” Jinhua returned a confident toothy grin. “You know I have to go to temple at 4 right? So I won’t be there to back you up.”
Jinhua let out a low giggle, and slapped her arm. “That’s why I chose the time.”
Harpreet shook her head while her laugh reflected off of the walls. So magra.
Chapter 6: Protest - Part 1
Li walked with purpose toward the bus stop. It was only a ten-minute walk, but he was already running late for an early meeting in the old city. He needed to make up for lost time. He carried a small black briefcase with him. What it lacked in volume it more than made up for in utility and portability. Besides, it’s more than enough for everything that I need, he thought to himself as the bus approached.
The bus coughed and sputtered as it lumbered to a stop, emitting thick black smoke and a vaporous sigh when the autobrake engaged. The once white sides of the vehicle had an old-style ad for a local dentist who promised whiter teeth with just one bleach treatment. The phone number was so faded that Li couldn’t make it out. Under the windows, the ad strips appeared to have been attached by hand and clung to the side as if they might fall into the street at any moment. A video image flickered onto the strip closest to Li, advertising the latest summer action movie. It was the remake of a popular movie released ten years ago that the film studios down south were hoping to make another big pay day on. Some things never change.
An elderly woman with a grim expression on her face and a cane hobbled toward Li and stood beside him. There both waited, under the sparse shelter of the otherwise abandoned bus stop. He couldn’t tell if her vision was impaired in some form or if she just didn’t want to acknowledge his presence. Upon seeing the bus, she removed a worn pair of red glasses with cloudy thick lenses and produced a small silver case from her purse. With shaking hands, she clicked open the case and pulled out an unblemished pair of silver glasses. Not long after she put the glasses on, the stern expression on her face molded itself into a crooked smile, showing yellowed teeth. Li wasn’t sure what advertisement she was viewing, but whatever it was had instantly changed her mood.
He silently stepped around the woman and entered the bus. A blast of cool air from the overworked air conditioner helped to relax his turbid thoughts. The frigid air made him reminisce about how he had gotten started in his current line of work.
* * *
Born in Fuyang, Zhejiang Province in Eastern China, Li Ma had come a long way from the small mountain town of his youth. At the age of 9, Li’s father uprooted his entire family from China and moved them all to San Francisco. A reticent boy with a brilliant mind for pattern recognition and mathematics, Li excelled in the American public school system with ease. He found the curriculum mildly challenging, yet tedious when compared to the rigid academic and cultural standards of the Chinese educational model, but still put maximum effort into his school work. Upon his high school graduation in 2018, he was accepted to the California Institute of Technology (Caltech) as an engineering major. Like any other college student from an immigrant family, Li endeavored to study hard in order to earn his degree then get a good job. However, for Li his transition from the son of a poor Chinese immigrant, to the son of a wealthy self-made business magnate, would come to be a footnote in the biography of his life.
Two years after enrolling at Caltech, on a balmy September afternoon, Li was walking back to his dorm room after a lecture, when a woman approached him. She had pale-ivory skin with dark auburn hair and intelligent jade green eyes. Her full lips were angled ever so slightly upward into a friendly grin. Even at his young age Li could tell this was no ordinary woman. She walked as if she were accustomed to carrying heavy things long distances, yet her posture was straight as a board. Her clothes: snug pink jeans, a white t-shirt, revealing her navel deep-seated in taut abdominal muscles, were too new and clean for her to be an average college girl. She carried a black backpack with no logo that flopped on her back as she moved toward him, indicating she carried little or no books at all. By the time she flashed a quick smile and introduced herself as Sarah, Li knew she was not a college student.
During that first encounter, they only exchanged pleasantries and some small talk, before Sarah continued on her way. The entire meeting lasted less than five minutes, and left Li wondering who she really was and what she wanted from him.
Over the next six-week period, Li ran into and noticed Sarah in the oddest of places. During his early morning runs, he would see her auburn hair bouncing on an adjacent route, slowing only to greet him with a smile and a sharp wave, as she sweat and took lengthy strides to maintain her pace. While walking on campus, she appeared on benches and in common areas. Sometimes she was reading on her phone, or listening to music; other times she just seemed to be hanging around. Anytime he saw her, Li gave a small wave, then went about his business.
On the few occasions that he had time to stop and speak with her, strangely, he found himself doing most of the talking. Sarah was a good listener. Smiling and nodding at the proper intervals, contributing her own perspective and jokes at ideal moments, and occasionally even flirting a little with him. But despite the fact that she was an excellent conversation partner, Li didn’t know much about her, for she rarely talked about her past. Without explicit revelations about herself, Li was forced to assemble her identity based on contextual clues he had gathered. After weeks of observation, he knew the following information: age: late twenties early thirties, marital status: definitely single, interests: running, Billy Eilish music, playing chess, weightlifting (he had seen her doing all of the above at least twice), personality: astute, introverted, hard-working. He also knew she had probably grown up in nearby Orange County and most likely had close family members in the area (he had watched her talking on the phone animatedly one day without her being aware).
One afternoon, under a steely gray sky in November, they met for tea off campus. Outside in the nippy open air, Li wore a light jacket over an orange Caltech shirt, and jeans. Across the table, Sarah sat in black winter leggings with dark red rectangles on the sides, wearing a coal gray Caltech hoodie. Beside their cloth face masks, steaming cups of tea had been placed before both of them. Li ordered red tea, while Sarah had black herbal tea. At the proper moment during their chat, Li disclosed all of the personal facts he had gleaned about Sarah’s personality, background, and hobbies. When he finished, Sarah’s face flushed with uncharacteristic embarrassment, providing a momentary glimpse at her genuine self. The real girl behind the mask. Seconds later, she recovered her usual cool facial features, lowered her voice, and made him an offer.
She said she represented important people in the United States government. Her people were looking for scholars and young college students like Li, to help them get a better understanding of Chinese culture in America. She also explained how the coronavirus pandemic of that year had already claimed nearly a quarter million American lives, and that Li’s support could possibly prevent another quarter million more from being lost. After the pitch was complete, Sarah blinked her pretty eyes casually, crossed her legs, sipped her herbal tea, then leaned back in her chair, hands folded in her lap, eyeing him with anticipation. Her refined jade eyes reflected anxious impatience beneath their composed luster.
Li had been only mildly surprised by her proposition. He had watched enough American movies and read enough articles online to know somewhat how these things worked, without having experienced them first hand. There was no doubt about it, Sarah was some type of U.S. government agent, most likely working for the infamous Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). She (They) wanted to recruit him because he was born and raised in China, spoke Mandarin fluently, and was an engineering major. He was also a young 20-year-old male at the time, which was probably why they had specifically chosen her, an attractive, White female, with jade colored eyes for his potential recruitment. They had thought of every detail. His school schedule, daily routine, even down to the cultural nuance of the jade eyes to remind him of his birth country. Had they really gone through so much trouble for him? Possibly.
Li sat at the table as Sarah’s eyes bored into him. The way her foot bounced in the air, and her neck muscles tensed, Li could tell she was very uncomfortable when she had no control over things. He did not want to trouble her, but this was now about him. It was his decision. With her true purpose unmasked, Li wondered what he should do?
It took him a week to mull the decision over. Sarah offered to pay a hefty sum in exchange for Li’s junior intelligence gathering efforts. She told him his talent as a brilliant engineering student, and native Mandarin speaker, would be helpful in keeping America safe. Li thought long and hard. Though he had no need of extra money thanks to his father’s wealth, he found his engineering path dull and monotonous. When he was honest with himself, he enjoyed the study of engineering, more than he did the application of it in a sterile laboratory or corporate office. Although it had been strange being followed by Sarah for almost two months, he had been able to figure her out with only his powerful instinct as a guide. Sarah herself had reluctantly admitted that to him. How good could he get if he actually had her training? He decided to find out. A week after they had met for tea, he contacted Sarah and formally accepted her offer. He had no idea that decision back then would lay the foundation for a long career in the intelligence world. A career that would take him around the world, allow him access to society’s labyrinthine under chambers, back alleys, and sewers, and culminate in his current position as Chief of Intelligence of Cereus.
* * *
Comfortable in his bus seat, Li’s mind focused on the message he had received only an hour prior.
Could it really be happening? Order 5428?
After all these years, he never thought it would occur so unexpectedly. No training scenario or exercise had prepared him or any of his colleagues for this situation; now, essentially, they were all flying blind.
He rubbed his temples with his fingers in a circular motion to help clear his head. He needed to focus on who he should meet with first when he arrived at the capitol building. Should he speak with the governor? Or maybe the mayor might be the better choice? He allowed himself to lean back in his seat and relax his shoulders as he developed a concrete plan of action.
First, he needed to call a meeting with the state leadership to calm and reassure them that he and the organization had everything under control. Next, he would need to get on a conference call with the other remaining Founders, to determine how they could conduct an organized transfer of power and leadership to all of the comvils.
That will be the hard part and it might not go as smoothly as we surmised.
Outside of the window, the bus sped past patches of open farmland south of Yuba City and was quickly approaching the newer suburbs on the west side of Lincoln. Most were single family houses that repeated themselves in a uniform pattern after a block or two, with a few wealthier properties sprinkled in for those fortunate enough to be able to afford them. The entire area north of Sacramento had seen explosive population growth in the early twenty-first century. This necessitated a large number of homes to be thrown up fast with little regard for how to sell them. As a result, Li knew that over fifty percent of them were vacant, with few to no pending inquiries. The thought and the sight of the homes made him feel like a failure. If only we had intervened sooner.
His moment of regret was interrupted by the distant chime of a bell from deep within his inner ear. The chime echoed softly, slightly beyond the edge of his awareness at first, but loud enough to make itself known. He had personally chosen the tone because it was calming and neutral, which made it easier for him to focus when he needed to use it.
Identify caller. His thought triggered a prompt response from the device resting in the jacket pocket of his suit.
“Call from Rodan.” A distant male voice spoke into his ear. Li’s neutral expression now gave a hint of uncertainty. With the events of the morning, he was unsure about the conversation he was about to have with his closest colleague and long-time friend.
Whenever he thought of Rodan Mitchell, the ox came to mind. Loyal. Steadfast. Diligent. Indomitable. These were the classic positive traits of one born in the year of the ox. Born in 2021, Li knew that the element associated with Rodan was metal. The elemental pairing brought the image of a detailed pewter figure to Li’s mind. Crafted with precision, but heavy and hard to move, especially if it was very large, like Rodan. According to dominant belief, oxen were also introverted, indecisive, and skeptical people. So focused on their gradual and unbroken march toward their objectives, they were prone to self-centeredness and sometimes had difficulty understanding and expressing their true thoughts. Li knew all Chinese zodiac traits were anecdotal. They were based on thousands of years of Chinese folklore, superstition, and countless generations of parents’ attempts to frighten unknowing children into becoming good people. Even with that knowledge and decades of lived experience, he still found kernels of truth in the old-fashioned beliefs. He had seen Rodan’s personality and, at times, the trajectory of his life and career, manifest just as the animal wheel of fate had ordained. Rodan, as an ox, was oblivious to these things. It was only natural.
Call from Rodan. The voice repeated itself three times, providing Li with a moment to collect his thoughts.
Answer call.
Rodan’s voice boomed in his mind, inciting a brief feeling of nausea. Must be the new implant, Li thought.
“What’s your ETA?” Rodan asked.
“I’m on the bus right now. Should arrive at the capitol by 1030.”
“Gotcha. Just wanted to give you a heads up that there’s an active protest scheduled for today.”
“Is that right? What time?”
“Our sources are sayin’ around 1100. But you know how reliable they can be.”
“Right. Peaceful or armed?”
“Right now, word says it’s one of the peaceful groups. Some treehuggers from Napa. I don’t think they should be much of a problem. But we’ll keep an eye out.”
Break. He put a mental stop in the conversation to consider Rodan’s words. A protest? Today? Most peaceful protests were scheduled weeks in advance, and he hadn’t read any reports or received any notifications from any of his sources about one this morning. Something was off.
Continue.
“You still there?” Rodan’s voice pierced his thoughts and coincided with an abrupt lane change that the bus had to make. Li felt bile surge up his esophagus, he swallowed hard to force it back down.
“Yeah still here. Have they said anything about next steps?”
“Naw not yet. Still waiting on word from one of the big bosses. We still don’t know which one pulled the trigger yet.”
“Got it. We’ll find out more soon enough. Ok, I’m signing off.”
“Li, one more thing…watch your back out there. We don’t know what’s gonna happen from here.”
“I will.”
End call. Li’s eyes moved to the slim black briefcase stowed on the floor of the bus between his legs. It had been nearly ten years since he used his service weapon while on the job. He stared at the case and hoped that he could add another day onto that number, although he had his doubts. In nearly thirty years of service with the organization and prior to that in the military, he had received countless hours of various kinds of training. During all that time he knew that his greatest asset in any foreign situation was his instinct. It was a skill that rarely failed him and had even saved his life on more than a few occasions.
Once again, his internal alarm was active and warning him that today was going to be a very long day.
Chapter 7: Protest - Part 2
Thirty minutes later, Li peeled his attention away from his device and gazed out of the window as the buildings of Sacramento’s city center came into view. To him, the downtown corridor seemed to open its jaws and devour the bus as it rumbled off of Interstate Five and on to J Street. The morning sun reflected off of the shining glass window panes of the US Bank Tower. Once a centerpiece of human economic progress, the nearly half-century old building now stood as a fractured beacon among crumbling skyscrapers. Many of the other high-rise buildings that made up the city’s skyline looked no better than weathered old apartment complexes and were replete with shattered windows, failing power, and dilapidated interiors. Li had taken tours of a few of the towers over the years and it wasn’t pretty. The entire downtown area reflected old world values. Obsolete. Broken. Ineffective.
As the bus pulled toward its stop at the Golden One Center, the sky appeared to darken. A small patch of clouds blocked the blazing sun in an effort to stifle the heat of the morning. Li spied discarded trash and food wrappers blown by hot gusts of wind tumbling down fissured sidewalks. The people outside of the bus seemed not to notice or care. Desensitized to the filth at their feet, they scurried by in haste toward some unknown destination, hands concealed or holding large signs, wearing improvised face coverings for obscure purposes. Some walked, others jogged. The scene produced a tightness in Li’s throat. He knew the feeling well. It was his body’s physical signal of readiness. The equivalent of a warning sign in red letters before a hazardous road, prone to rock and mudslides. While his bus decelerated, the roar of its engine drowned out the sound of voices out on the street. But when it began to idle, and passengers began to trickle out, the unmistakable commotion of many vocal cords gathered in one place arrived at Li’s ears. They didn’t sound happy.
The protest.
With a series of well-practiced silent movements, he keyed in his suitcase combination, unlatched the briefcase, and slid a silver three dimensionally (3D) printed M1911 into a shoulder holster sewn into his suit jacket. He took extra precaution not to alert the drowsy younger man staring into his device across the aisle from him. His weapon equipped, he stood up and made his way off the bus.
Li walked with a brisk pace down a side street, eyes forward, yet scanning, avoiding small bands of people with agitated faces on J Street. After rounding the corner, he could see the backs of dozens of people holding signs, shouting, and shaking their fists in the air with vehemence. The throng of protesters was so thick there was no way he would be able to take his usual direct route up to the capitol. He needed an alternate approach. His eyes shifted down L Street. He could continue that way, but it appeared that more and more of the angry mob was spilling over onto the side street. Although his face wasn’t very recognizable to the average person, he had been in the media a time or two in the past. Every time it had been in relation to the organization, with each occurrence giving him more exposure to its enemies and detractors.
I need to get off of the street. The tension seemed to be escalating rapidly on the other side of the block near the capitol. I thought this protest was supposed to be peaceful.
“Hey, hey! I think that’s one of em’! One of the weird commune freaks from the news!” The voice blasted from a large man with a protruding gut and full head of greying brown hair who separated himself from the group of protesters half a block from Li. “Let’s go beat his ass!” The man and two of his friends, both tall and lanky, advanced in Li’s direction, fists clenched, eyes of fury. Two held protest signs. The other appeared unarmed. Though he saw no weapons, all three looked like the type to fight dirty, and probably would not hesitate to use the wooden rods of the sign to beat him down if given the chance.
Li thought about engaging the three men and subduing them, but in quick fashion abandoned the idea. He couldn’t risk more bad press falling onto the organization’s shoulders because of his actions. Due to his textbook knowledge of the downtown area, the perfect hiding place stood out clearly in his mind. With long strides he turned back in the direction toward the highway and sheltered himself in a battered old parking garage. Secure in his hiding spot in the shadows of the structure, he peered from around the corner just in time to see the three men standing where he had been only seconds before. One faced in each direction. As a result of the exertion, all three panted with open mouths, like a pack of wolves on the hunt. They were drenched in sweat and had consumed most of their stamina running down the short block. They darted their heads from left to right searching for him. From his place of concealment, Li could read the protest signs. On the simple white board in handwritten red lettering read the words: “Down with Cereus! Down with Limnic!” The other sign read: “Give me liberty and land, or I give YOU death!” From the signs, Li’s vision floated to the man with the gut. Then he saw the gun. The large man gripped a glock so hard that the veins in his bloated forearm were visible.
So much for the peaceful protest.
Li’s left hand slowly moved to the sidearm concealed within his suit jacket. His instinct caused his body to tense and sharpened his senses. It was a familiar feeling that overcame him anytime he drew his weapon, even if it was only on the practice range. It reminded him to exercise extra prudence while holding the power to end a life. Li waited for several seconds. One minute, then another thirty seconds passed before he dared to peer around the corner again. When he did, his pursuers were nowhere in sight. He scanned both sides of the street twice before returning his firearm to the holster in his suit jacket.
Too close.
A sound in his inner ear caused his muscles to go rigid. It was a call from his telepathic communicator, or TP comm for short. He dropped his shoulders, in a bid to relax himself and his mind. The technique took some of the edge off, but his body was still in alert mode.
Answer call.
Rodan’s voice echoed in his head. “Where are you?”
“I got chased by some protesters. But I evaded them. Who told you this protest was going to be peaceful?”
There was an awkward silence before Rodan gave his response. Damn, I’m not sure who provided the intel! I just read the first report that I received. Ah fuck, how embarrassing! I should have fuckin’ verified that shit. Now other people might be in trouble too!! Gotta think of a way to unfuck this…why did I drink so much coffee this morning, I really need to take a leak.
Rodan’s unfiltered thoughts filled Li’s mind. It was giving him a headache.
“Rodan…your ‘mic’ is on…” A soft musical tone played, then the connection went silent. Li sighed heavily. As amusing as it was to hear Rodan’s inner dialogue, he had no time for it right now. The mass of voices, screams, and yells from the protesters seemed to be inching closer with every passing minute.
The melodic tone sounded again, signaling Rodan’s return to the call. “My bad Li.” The volume of Rodan’s voice was lower than before.
“It’s ok. We need to verify that intel source. I saw an armed protester.”
“Is that right? You think someone slipped us bad info?”
“Yeah. And I want to find out who it was.” Li put a mental break in the conversation. Had it been Rodan’s careless oversight that gave them the incorrect information? Or had one of his sources gone rogue? He had made plans to meet with one of them that afternoon. Perhaps he needed to contact him now and request an emergency meet? The questions gave way to more questions, each one making him feel increasingly uneasy about the bizarre events of the morning. The only thing that he was sure of was that he needed to get off of the street. Now. Continue. “Can you send me a data map with the locations of the protesters? That will help me avoid them.”
“Sorry Li. Network has been shaky since the order went out this morning, so no can do.” The bass had returned to Rodan’s voice just in time. It was accompanied by a mocking tone. “You a super soldier though, so you should be able to get around a bunch of lightly armed protesters right? Compared to the shit you did in the war, this oughta be a walk in the park.”
Li rolled his eyes and forcefully exhaled air from his nose, forgetting to mentally block out the laugh that resonated in his and Rodan’s minds.
“You’re right. I’m getting too old for this.”
“Aren’t we all. Might be time to get some of those happy augmentations and retire in a digital haze. You know how a lot of people do nowadays.”
“I’m not quite ready for that. Not my style.”
“Oh yeah that’s right. You Mr. Integrity after all.”
Li became silent. The unmistakable sound of footsteps scuffing the pavement made tension return to his body. His hand went for his gun. After thirty seconds, the sound faded. He dared not peek around the corner.
“You still alive over there?” Rodan asked. More impatient than concerned.
“Yeah. I need to move. I’ll see you, in say…twenty-five minutes?”
“Look if you can’t make it in under fifteen, you’re gonna buy me lunch.”
Li allowed himself to laugh. “You’re on.” The tone went dead, signaling the end of the call.
He pulled out his device and gave it the vocal command to open the map. A 3D holographic map of downtown Sacramento appeared to hover above the surface of his device. He rotated it with his finger in midair and mentally mapped his planned route to the capitol service entrance. When he was sure he had memorized the turns, he closed the map and took a deep breath before he stepped out of his place in the shadows. Now or never.
No one seemed to notice him emerge from the old parking garage. His eyes scanned left, then right with practiced discernment. Years of training converged, allowing him to detect potential threats while maintaining constant steady steps. The sirens of several patrol cars rushed past him. No doubt they were rapidly mobilizing to establish a perimeter around the block surrounding the Capitol Mall. Taking advantage of the increased police presence, Li took long strides down 8th street, then took a sharp right turn on K Street. Upon turning the corner, he witnessed a group of protesters throwing bottles, cans, and whatever else they could get their hands on at a group of uniformed officers manning a checkpoint. One of the officers, a blonde woman with an ample chest and a thin waist, resorted to secondary force in defense of herself and clubbed an angry demonstrator on the side of his head. He fell to the ground in a heap of sweaty flesh, no doubt unconscious from the unexpectedly heavy blow. At the sight of their fallen comrade, five of his friends became enraged and looked prepared to tear the woman and her squad mates to shreds.
Li’s heart bled at the sight of the overwhelmed and (most likely) outgunned cops, but he had no time to go to their aid. His destination was less than two blocks away.
He hurried down the street and turned the corner onto 11th Street. With the capitol building in sight, he slowed his pace to a brisk walk. He was so focused on reaching his objective that he narrowly avoided being hit by an old Tesla that was speeding away from the direction of the protest. Too many close calls this morning.
The final push to the capitol’s service entrance went without incident. One sentry blocked his path when he reached the side of the building. He was well armed, much more so than standard street cops. Li wondered who he was working for.
“You have some business here?” he asked. He was tall with thick black eyebrows and a matching mustache on a dry sand toned face. It was the face of one who had spent long hours standing in the sun for no good reason. Probably ex-military or local cop turned mercenary. Both were bad news if they fought for the wrong reasons.
Mustache seemed as if he had been waiting for an excuse to draw and use his weapon all morning. But Li did not provide him with one. With diplomatic decorum, he produced his Cereus organizational badge, signaling that he was a high-level member. The guard scowled in response, but allowed him to pass.
The chaos of the protest continued to unfold outside as he walked into the building. The black service door slammed behind him, leaving an echo in his ears. Inside the poorly lit service corridor he could no longer hear the screams, shouting, and the unmistakable pops and bangs of small arms fire on the other side of the door. As he moved toward the service stairwell, he questioned the details of the morning, wondering why the protest had become violent and who fed them the bad intel. He had a feeling that he wouldn’t like the answers to either of those questions.
Chapter 8: Strategy Meeting
Rodan knew he should close the browser, but his scattered thoughts wouldn’t allow it. Research, I’m doing research. Words he repeated to convince himself of his work ethic and commitment to detail. The sustained half-truth made him feel better about how he had spent the last fifteen minutes.
Seated at his desk, in his battered dark blue suit pants, with white dress shirt and midnight blue necktie, he recalled his younger days as an eager and idealistic beat cop in the Sacramento Police Department. Serving as a police officer in the city that raised him was a great honor, and prepared him for his current role as Director of Operations in his small liaison office for the organization. In those days, he was fresh off of his first and final enlistment in the U.S. Army, and was keen to commence with the next chapter of his life. After four years of drudgery and ‘embracing the suck’, he returned to his beloved hometown, and filled out a job application to become a cop the day after his plane landed. Nine months later, he was standing on the corner of Grant Avenue and Marysville Boulevard. He stood on that corner, gun on hip, lean and trim. Clothed in a crisp uniform, a shining seven-pointed gold star badge over his heart, he observed traffic with gleaming eyes. He had been fortunate to be assigned to North Command, District 2, Beat A. The location of his alma mater Grant Union High School (Go Pacers!). He beamed with pride on that day and every day he was on the job.
Back then, he embodied service for others over himself, often volunteering to take on extra duties or shifts to cover for his peers or to just become a better cop. His fellow squadmates called him ‘Brain’ because he always seemed to know random details about certain parts of the city, and would recite them to others even if unsolicited. His knack for taking in knowledge was only rivaled by his steadfast commitment to serving and protecting his community, a neighborhood notorious for crime and drugs.
In 2045, after a two-week period of non-stop rain, the neighborhood had been flooded. Schools were closed. The elderly, confined to their homes due to limited mobility, died. Hundreds lost their jobs or businesses overnight. Officer Mitchell viewed the scene with sorrowful eyes and a heavy heart. So moved was he by the scale of the tragedy, and his unfailing obligation to all things greater than himself; he immediately leapt into action.
He volunteered to lead a recovery effort that spring, mobilizing hundreds of hands within the local area, and coordinating outside agencies to assist with flood relief, even going as far to establish and head a food bank for needy families from within his dear Grant High. He had no idea how many lives he impacted or saved as a result of his effort during that and other similar emergency situations throughout his first three years of active service.
Little did he know, someone was watching. Li Ma had heard about his herculean endeavor to lift his beleaguered community up following a series of disasters, and as a result, had scouted him from afar, for an unknown amount of time (Li still would not tell him for how long specifically). Eventually, when he approached young Rodan, he told him he was destined for bigger things. Things that would not only help his community, but potentially help move the whole of humanity and society to a better place. Always called to serve at the highest level possible, with great hesitation, Rodan turned in his badge, and joined the ranks of Cereus shortly afterward.
Sitting there at his desk, his thoughts in a jumble concerning the roaring protest outside, and his closest colleague caught up in it, sometimes he wondered what happened to that slender youth. What happened over the years that had weakened his once fantastic brain’s ability to absorb, store, and arrange data? Was it early onset dementia? Had he burned himself out too early in life? On some days he worried he had been so focused on stacking disparate factoids and tidbits of information in the open space of his brain, that he had neglected any organization of the vast storage closet that was his mind, leaving a disordered collection of unusable litter. He was the equivalent of a sedentary hoarder—obese, confined to his home. Trapped, among piles and piles of once useful things. A prisoner of memory, who had no idea where to begin how to dig himself out from among the clutter. Staring at his computer, these were the thoughts that entered his mind. Maybe this was my fate all along.
Like many of his work tangents, his search began with purpose. He had been researching possible weaknesses in the perimeter of the California capitol building. He worried about the security of the old building, hoping to find valuable information about how to protect it and its occupants should the protest outside penetrate into the building. How did I fuck up the intel report?
After fifteen minutes he had learned various details about the ancient government building. Among them, novel tidbits he had never known, and would probably never remember. Began construction 1861,…granite archways…something, something, something…Corinthian columns…ooh! Something about the American Civil War…lead architect was accused of being a Southern sympathizer…Reuben Clark…oh shit!…died in an insane asylum in Stockton, California in 1868. Only the last detail planted roots in the hard earth of his mind. The others were washed away by the rising tide of tasks he needed to complete, flooding his overwhelmed brain like spring rains inundating a wheat field.
Rodan contemplated Clark’s tragic end as he stared at the sea of papers and electronic document readers on his desk. I might go insane if I can’t unfuck this. Unable to focus on his original objective, he abandoned it for a more attainable one. Find the previous year’s report and hope he included details about building security in it.
After another ten minutes of rummaging, he still couldn’t locate the intelligence report. Dammit, I thought sure it was here. He slid open a file cabinet to his right only to find documents for the previous year that he had yet to organize, file, and digitize. He knew he should clean and arrange, but it always felt like there were more pressing matters at hand. This time was no exception.
A ring from his desk phone interrupted his search and his thoughts. He flinched, then hit his forearm on the side of the metal shelf. Son of a—! He shut his eyes and let the throbbing pain dissipate, then reached for the receiver, arm still stinging with pain.
“Yeah.”
“It’s me. I’m at the conference table. Can you come over?” It was Li. He didn’t sound like he had just navigated his way through a violent protest. Damn him. Why does he have to make everything look so easy? Rodan stood, adjusted his tie around his bulging neck, and his pants around his curved belly. For some reason he felt the need to up his game whenever Li was around, even though he knew his glory days of youthful physical prowess and presentation were long behind him.
The meeting room was so small that an old oak conference table consumed most of the room, leaving only small aisles between the wall and the chairs at the table. Navigating the skinny walkway took sliding effort. At a towering 230-pounds, Rodan squeezed, while the svelte Li was able to spend hours reviewing files and even conducting liaison meetings in the space. Despite his physical discomfort, their small liaison office in the state capitol had become a home away from home after all of the time they had spent there together.
When he entered the room, Li stood behind the chair closest to the left of the head of the table, his eyes rapidly scanning electronic documents on his device. Rodan cleared his throat loudly to get his attention.
“You made it.” Rodan made no attempt to conceal a playful tone.
Li diverted his attention from his electronic documents and grinned. “I did. What was my time?”
“Looks like that lunch will have to wait for another day.” Rodan laughed.
The small smile that wrinkled Li’s face was quickly replaced by a straight line of seriousness. “I’m looking for any messages that I received concerning today’s protest. You find anything in the old intel reports?”
Rodan placed his giant hands on the back of a chair for support, feigning casualness. “Nothing yet. Still working on it.” Li flashed him a disapproving eye. Rodan pivoted to change the subject. “I just got word that the local cops are breaking it up already…with the help of local mercs of course.”
“That’s good to know.” Li straightened his posture and rotated himself toward Rodan, displaying a hint of puzzlement that made him look even older. “Which mercs?”
“They were mostly the Hornets from South Sac, mixed in with a few of the Fighters from Folsom.” Rodan chuckled. “The Fighters aren’t the strongest, but they’ve got some of the most advanced warrior bots in town to do the dying for them.”
Li mouthed a laugh, but no sound came out. He knew Rodan was right, but it still did little to calm the voice of his instinct that blared with sustained intensity as it had the entire morning. “The Terminator and his crew didn’t show up?”
Rodan’s eyes sank toward the floor. “Not that I know of. I wonder what’s up with him…he’s usually one of the biggest supporters of the local cops.”
A pensive expression dominated Li’s face. In all the years Rodan had known him, that face usually meant that some revelation was dawning in his mind that would be beneficial for both of them. Though technically they were both equal in position and pay, Li’s experience and strategic brain made him the de facto boss. The producer and approver of most ideas their small detachment came up with, and ultimately followed through on.
“What are you thinkin’? Is it possible that The Terminator, his boys and bots had something to do with this?”
“Exactly. Otherwise, why wouldn’t he show? He never misses an opportunity to flex his muscles or his machines.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Rodan reached in his pocket, produced an old smartphone with a visibly cracked screen, then extended it toward Li. Smartphones were outdated tech, but they were much safer to use when communicating with potentially untrustworthy sources.
Li gazed at the phone suspended in Rodan’s hand. Hesitating, as if an invisible force had frozen him in place. “…We said we wouldn’t use that unless it was an emergency…” Despite the rising impatience that he noted in his long-time colleague’s mannerisms, his doubt about whether to use the phone or not lingered in the air between them.
“Just make the damn call.”
Reluctantly, he sighed deeply, took the phone, and said, “If we’re wrong about this, it could endanger and possibly burn one of our best sources.”
“C’mon Li, with silence from HQ after giving the order and a violent protest right on our doorstep, I’d say this qualifies as an emergency.”
Li knew he was right, yet his instinct continued to silently tap him on the shoulder from the shadows of his mind. The Terminator had only been on the books for six months and in that brief period of time had been one of his most productive sources of information in the city. His network and clout extended all the way down to San Francisco, the surrounding Bay area, then up to as far north as the comvil in Chico. He and others like him were a big reason why the deconstructionist philosophy of Cereus had been able to survive against the daunting pressure of the old world after all these decades. It had garnered them major land and property acquisitions, which were then repurposed for practical needs like housing, community work centers, or social venues. In addition to land conversion, it also prevented old world companies from demolishing dilapidated structures and building anew on the same land. Many of the people protesting outside held this as their principal grievance.
The term ‘deconstructionist’ was something of a misnomer. It did not mean tearing things down, so much as it meant preventing the need to erect more structures for the sake of incessant old-world economic expansion. Information from sources like The Terminator had helped move deconstructionism from the philosophical realm to the real world. But he wasn’t always the easiest or cheapest person to work with.
I wonder what we’ll have to pay this time? Li thought as he keyed in numbers on the smudged screen of the smartphone.
The familiar tone of a ringing phone tingled in his ear. It rang once…twice…three times. No response. On the fourth ring, a deep voice that sounded as if it was being passed through a metal filter answered the phone. “Hello?”
“I could go for some Thai food today. How about you?” Li’s voice came out clearer than he expected, fighting mounting nervousness.
“Sorry…you must have the wrong number. I’m not hungry today.” The canned voice dragged his words, then abruptly ended the call.
Rodan watched Li, unaware that he was holding his breath. He noticed that his old friend looked physically sick after he removed the phone from his ear. “Well? What’d he say?”
Li looked up from the phone with sagging shoulders. A betrayal of his usual erect posture. “I think our source has been compromised.”
END OF PREVIEW
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