Digital Venous (8 page)

Anxiety Bug

A FEELING OF constant panic, a state of breathlessness, a sensation that a great calamity was about to happen, and a fear of fear. It was a chemical, a hormone in us all, a gland over-stimulated, secreting eight droplets over so many hours. It was enough to turn Mia’s frail body in on itself. She scratched, tore, pulled her hair, and bit herself, and in the end she was a poor, cornered wild creature. Utterly exhausted, like over seven thousand other Napeans, mainly women, she died.

The anxiety bug had been designed in the underworld and unleashed on the Napeans while they were using ETP. For those Subs consumed with ending Napean dominance, this was a victory.

ETP was shut down in Napea and when the war-like element in their community were convinced of the origins of their misfortune, a gas not unlike those used in World War I, was pumped through a dozen skylights, deep into the underground streets of the real world. The results were catastrophic.

Shane and Mia’s secret had been difficult to keep, but the last year had been such a happy one for them both. Now that she was gone, Shane didn’t know what he was going to do. An eighteen-month-old boy and his job were about to get very demanding. Thank God for Robbie.

That same day, Shane noticed one of his Service Commanders, Jeffery, trying to reach him through ETP. He engaged.

Jeffery:
Commiserations Wing. I figured that if anyone on the guard would be itching to find the culprits, it’d be you. It may not say this is in the “one mind” guidebook for modern Napeans.

Jeffery was highly amused with his own joke but managed to continue his thought:

Revenge can be a good starting place for the healing process.

Shane made no reply—which was lucky. Jeffery wasn’t interested in dialogue.

Wing, you’ve been a loyal and steadfast captain—Magellan informs me and records show that you’ve personally cleaned up, what? Over seventy escapes in Napea? Subs, kamikazes, nutjobs. I know it’s a tough time, but I’m giving this assignment to you. We traced the source of the virus and it was local. We even know the launch machine. It’s some kind of Napean Octo-processor from the twenties with enhancements stolen in the last ten years. Find that signal, and you find the perpetrator.

Shane:
Local? My jurisdiction?

Jeffery:
They used a T-dock near the Stirling gate—launched the virus from there. So technically, no, but Magellan and Pato both agree that you’re the man for the job. Only our Napean population was affected. What do you say?

Emotion started to well up as Mia appeared in his mind. But his passions had cost him parts of his body—on more than one occasion. Quickly he compartmentalized her to another part of his brain.

A born salesman, Jeffery sensed Shane’s reticence and pushed harder:
We know the author, Wez Carter, who works with someone called Alia—and others, who all seem to be female.

Shane:
How do you know?

Jeffery
: View file 707 BR—contact me as soon as possible.

Jeffery liked to think that he managed individuals like Shane rather well. Push aggressively, and then back away. Leave the ball in their court.

Single Again

THE ANXIETY BUG left Shane without his wife and Ryan without his new mum. The baby had been a strange creature but one that he had grown to wholeheartedly adore. In the early days, it had seemed like a mistake because it was impossible to please the little fellow. He’d cry for hours, as if he had known they weren’t his parents. Ironically, after seeking suicide for so long, Mia began to fear death—the penalty for having a child. Shane knew the punishment better than anyone; he’d sent a few that way himself. But it had all been about Mia—Mia’s depression, Mia’s boredom, Mia’s need to feel complete. To nurture seemed to be the key. So he got the baby for her.

Now she was gone.

It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with a personal crisis. Forty-odd years in fact. This wasn’t meant to happen.

Eternity without Mia had not been an option. But now eternity had a whole new meaning. Man and small man grew close like flesh and blood.

There was sleeplessness, temper tantrums, and crying. And that was just Shane. But the

baby cried for his mother. Robbie always seemed to know what to do. Most of the time the baby wanted to be fed, sleep, or be held.

Obviously no one knew he had a baby. No one he knew could advise him on the topic, and no one could help when something went wrong. He was well and truly on his own.

Things sailed along quite well for a time, and then Ryan started crying and crying a lot. It wasn’t any of the usual things. A nightmarish few days passed before Shane realized that the baby’s teeth were coming through. But what to do? He gave him a mild dose of painkiller, which worked instantly. The child slept. But when he woke up again, he started screaming. None of the usual things seemed to work. Shane had a look at the gums. It was a horror show; they were all red. And the tears continued. Shane put his finger on one of the teeth that was showing through. Ryan chomped on the finger, locked on, and started gnawing, silently.

Shane did some research: history, baby humans, remedies.

Shane was pleased to find that there was a plant—a seed—which, when ground up, could stop a baby’s gums from hurting. To his list of black-market desirables, Shane added cloves and olive oil.

Shane found that despite his heavy security workload, he liked caring for the baby, putting the baby to sleep. He knew the kid needed him. When he was out, Robbie fed the little boy, read him stories, and played with him.

Shane managed, hunted, and, where necessary, dispatched Subterraneans by day and rushed home to Ryan in the afternoon. A usual day at work meant monitoring subs: scan in, transport to appropriate sector, perform appropriate task, scan, transport back to exit point, scan out, supervise exit.

A less usual day might involve an escape. Subs were often developing new forms of technology to thwart I.D. and other detection systems. They often worked.

For Subs, the system of subcutaneous identification was compulsory. No SCID tag; no entry. But as the Napeans had developed ID systems, the real people had developed ways around it. Napeans wishing to see more of the city than allowed, or those simply wishing an overnight stay, could have a friend take their SCID tag out with them and return it the next day. There were any number of places—scar pockets—where a tag may be inserted. Some workers had these pieces of metal in and out of the skin like jewelry.

Although it was illegal, Shane allowed a certain level of trade to exist between the Napeans and the Subs. To his mind this was always going to happen, so he figured that he’d allow it while controlling it, and maybe even occasionally scoring a win from it here or there. As Captain he could choose to observe you or look the other way.

Although Subs had a unique look, it was still possible for them to disappear into a Napean crowd. It had long been a problem for Shane: Subs who could masquerade as Napeans. Napean males were identical; Napean females were identical. However, within this framework of genetic sameness there were hundreds of ways Napeans could distinguish themselves through body augmentation to create individuality. It was easy for Subs to use these same methods of differentiation to disguise themselves to fit in.

There was often more going on in Shane’s regular day than he let on to his Service managers.

As long as there was no serious threat to Telesync, the Service was happy. If they could not process the planetary data necessary to find a suitable settlement location, then they would surely burn up on Earth. Resources were limited. Clean water was limited. Time was limited. How long would the sun continue burning benevolently? Another flare was predicted.

Today Shane watched Subs filing in from the Belair gate tower. He saw a man, unusually rotund for a real person. He zoomed in, and the face was familiar. He communicated with a guard below.

Shane:
Troy, check 402.

Guard:
What’s up?

Shane:
Well, have a look at him—don’t think any real person’s that obese, are they?

Troy stopped “402.”

“Oi, fatty! Hold it there!” Shane could see and hear everything from his post. There was no need for harassment.

Shane:
Troy! Have some tact. If he’s that large, get rid of him. Send him back. He’s a liability.

Shane heard Troy say, “I don’t believe this. Concealed stomach extension.” Some yelling—and a scuffle broke out. Shane heard Troy’s aggravated voice:

“Whatcha hiding in there, eh? ... Unbelievable!”

The man begged: “Please! This child has no parents! She’ll have no life down there.”

“Are you serious?” Troy was genuinely incredulous. He was a man who believed in the

Rules, following procedures, and punishing those who didn’t excited him. He unleashed his scorn on the rule breaker: “Aside from the fact that you’re in breach of a number of important laws, do you have any idea what having children means to the greater survival of all people? You and the child will go to the life center. You have eleven days.” The guard was intensely passionless.

Shane interrupted the proceedings from the tower:
Troy?
Troy:
Captain?

Shane:
Great work, but send them up first. I need some info on this.

The four made their way up to Shane’s office. The sub walked in front, followed by a guard holding a bolt gun perpendicular to the man’s spine. The second guard followed close behind, awkwardly carrying the baby—as though he was carrying a loose bag of oranges.

“Thanks, men. You can go,” said Shane to the guards. “What about the baby?” asked the guard.

“Leave it here; on the couch for now until I’ve decided what course of action to take here.”

“Captain, the baby is entitled to euthanasia—best not to condemn it to a life of starvation and suffering in the underworld…”

“Officer Pentland,” said Shane in a positive tone of voice.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Go back down and help escort the other scum to the Bauhaus precinct as you were instructed to do twenty-five minutes ago.”

“Yes, Captain.”   The two guards left.

“Well, this is a surprise, isn’t it, Mark? Sit down. Dear, oh dear … in a fat suit… ho, ho, ho…” Shane faked a chuckle. “Subs don’t get fat, Mark. You should know that.”

“I wasn’t fat. I was just... big-boned.”

“Er, no. You were very fat. I could see you from up here!” Mark sighed. Shane smiled before saying: “I must admit, I thought you’d have a rest for a while after your little busy period.”

“Believe me, this was going to be my last run. I wasn’t going back down.”   “What?” Shane feigned being flabbergasted. “Just thought you’d move in, did you?”

“I believe in what the Napeans are doing…” said Mark.

“Subs are a blight on what remains of our planet—but at least some of them have the common decency to show some loyalty to one another. You seem to have all of their worst qualities rolled into one.”

Mark’s face darkened. Then he remembered that this was probably going to be his last chance. “You can’t send me back now,” he blurted out.

“Why not?”

“Everybody knows I stole,” said Mark, as if the truth of this statement were self-evident. Shane pondered the remark then changed tact. “The kid’s quiet.”

“She’s asleep.”

“Kids don’t sleep under peoples’ jumpers. What have you done to the poor little tyke?” asked Shane.

“She’s just sleeping, that’s all. Be awake in around twenty minutes…”

Shane made a disapproving noise with his tongue and shook his head. Mark continued pleading.

“Listen,
I’ve saved.
I can
buy
N.E.T. And I have somewhere to go.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve heard that one before…” Shane stood up, his gaze shifting around the room. “Listen, you have two options. One, I follow the rule of Napean law and send you off for a little nap at the Life Centre. Two, you go back. Back down. Run a few errands for me, and then we organize your resettlement in the states via satellite.”

“They aren’t options! That’s a death sentence—everyone knows it’s much worse in the States... and I can’t go back down. Word’ll get around. The kids parents’ll find out and I’ll be killed.”

“So the kid’s not an orphan?” asked Shane.

“No, she’s not.” Mark tried to change the subject. “Okay, if I agr…”

“What about my little chap, Mark? He was an orphan, wasn’t he?”

“That’s what I was told, yes.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“Look, it was a long time ago and I sure as hell didn’t stick around to find out.” Mark started to look distressed.

“Well, what’s it to be, Mark? Death or life?”

Mark was silent for a moment, and then said, “Even if I wanted to, how am I supposed to go back down?”

“No one saw you get caught today…”

The man spluttered, “Oh no, only about two hundred people…”

“With the baby, I mean. One or two people, maybe? Listen, I can resettle you down below in one of those affluent northern… villages, whatever they call them. Somewhere nice and cool... ‘cause I want you to help me with something else too…”

The real man, in a panic, exhaled loudly, trying to calm himself.

“Let me explain,” said Shane. “A guy called Wesley Carter was found to be the designer of the anxiety bug. I need to find that little prick. We know his name but that’s about it. Now I have heard that he works in a gang of women—nice work, if you can get it…”

“How do you know that?” asked Mark.

“He had transcripts of audio files on his computer—navigation records of the network. They broke in. Killed a Goth from Transylvania, castle sector, and used her eye. Did it all in one day. I need you to find me any info on a group of women, mainly anti-Napean, who are involved in planning attacks on the city. Does any of this ring any bells?”

“No.”

“They operate out of Belair or Stirling, or even Blackwood—underground. Woman called Alia is the leader. She was the main force behind the ETP killings up here. The anxiety program. The other names that came up were Claire, Madi, and Bes. We need to grab them ASAP.”

“I’ve become an outsider. I can’t stand living down there anymore.”

“Mmm. Well, here’s a way out for you. Find my information and there’s a whole life out up here for you, my friend. You help save the Napean state. The Service will love you and look after you.”

“I don’t know anyone important down there. I don’t have any friends.”

“For fuck’s sake, cheer up. Hey. Just use this arrest as an excuse. Tell ‘em we picked you randomly as a bit of fun. Tell ‘em we did some weird shit to you, experimented with some new ETP stuff, headgear, whatever. Tell ‘em you want revenge and you want to join!”

“Who? Who am I telling this to?”

“Just hang out where the gangsters hang. Get talking. Wham.”

“Heaps of people saw me getting taken away! It spreads around… the parents of the baby know…”

“Fuck the parents of the baby! They shouldn’t be breaking the law anyway!”

“Come on. Real people don’t live to your laws. People kill abductors. That’s me!

Someone will recognize me.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“Start me on N.E.T.”

“Can’t do that—not a lot of it around.”

“Oh, come on! You must have made more of it by now.”    

“Mmm. Let me think about it. It’s highly unusual and not my call.”

“How long does it take for physical changes to start?”

“Well, it’s a very slow process. There’s a few years grace before you have any physical changes…” Shane was obviously thinking about it. “Sit tight. Gotta contact a boffin or two.” Shane left Mark sitting with a view out over the southeastern expanse of yellowy–brown undulating hills. Shane strode down the corridor for a quick word with his colleague. He came back, closing the door quietly.

“Mark! Good news. There is a treatment available! If you agree to my request. Can you start right away?”