Chapter 26

 

The sky filled with an inky blackness.

The storm clouds had rolled over our position as thunder tore through the air. I’d been so focused on training with the phrases and gestures I hadn’t noticed the change. Rain continued to fall.

I was forced to close one eye as a droplet landed directly into it, one of the many tiny, spherical diamonds in the wind.

Statistically, I'd read somewhere it was a proven fact, open spaces and greenery affected the work output of an employee. It became a practical necessity when you lived inside what amounted to big metal boxes stacked on top of each other, but the green spaces near Block D were tiny things.

Set within the mazelike plastcrete and metal canyons of the Stacks, most locations featured a bench, memorial plaque, or other small decorous detail to mark their purpose, which was usually singular or hyperfocused.

Block P had an ENTIRELY different design philosophy.

The expansive vegetation far outstripped the deficient shrubbery and grass-covered spaces I'd visited in recent history in Block D. Even by the standards of the Spire and the surrounding hillside, the entirety of the area's footprint was enormous; not large enough to swallow an entire Block, but close enough.

I was presented with a breathtaking view as we crested a berm. There was a dense fog covering the grounds. Islands of trees poked above it but only served to enhance the perception of a literal sea of green to me. Emerald waves danced along treetops as the rain continued to pelt their leaves and anything else exposed to the sky.

A thought floated. An echo of childish wonder.

So much space.

This particular green space was HUGE.

The location ahead of me was set within a plateau, the landscape laid out in planned, tight geometric patterns with differing elevations leading into a bowl-like center. What tree lines and vegetation I could see through the fog were laid in ordered clusters, with maintained grass lines cut in squared angles and ordered structure. The outer edges toward the Canal Zone to the west stood out in stark contrast with its chaotic smattering of curves and abstract shapes adjacent to the organized lines.

We were in a darkness preceding the approaching dawn. Even now the streams of moving water were roaring inward, like a man-made reservoir with slides and pathways solely designed to direct and focus the surge into inlets and outlets set between the sections of a central collection zone.

“It leads to the farms.” Rob said. Yet again, he'd taken notice of my expression.

“What farms?” I said. I carefully followed his footsteps along the outer edges of the bowl. I'd already slipped twice and didn't want to barrel down the side of the berm.

Rob paused. He stopped in his tracks to turn his eyes to mine. "The Spirelands underground. You’ve never actually been down there before. Have you?”

“If I’m going to be honest?” I admitted, “ No. Everything I know about the Spires came from marketing materials."

His head tilted in questioning curiosity, "Corporate University?”

"Yeah."

“So you’ve never even seen still images of em?”

"No."

Rob's face grew stony. A deep rumble came from within his chest. He seemed upset but didn't comment further as he continued on without another word.

I resumed following, our path picking out along the edges of the bowl as we worked our way around.

The rain always had a smell. I loved it, especially when I could take the time to savor it. Petrichor: Stone and “blood” of the gods—at least according to myth.

I breathed more deeply. Slowly. Allowing the redolence of the wind to mesmerize me. It was green and fresh, a slight hint of sweetness beneath a sourish tinge. The tinge was always unique to areas where there were people. Unique to the Stacks.

The scent triggered a memory, the first one strong enough to present itself since leaving Rob's pod. My hand tremulously gripped my mother's, tiny fingers wrapped around two slender ones as I was tugged gently along.

Sights scrolled around us, a promised land in a featured streamroll.

The Green Space. Inaccessible yet larger than life. A representation of an area I'd only been told of. A mere concept. A place I hadn't—couldn't—visit until I'd earned the right and apparently never had.

Scents enveloped me. Weeping moisture. Lightning and thunder. Loam and seed. The erstwhile beginning for my future Corpo-structured existence. I was left shivering as the memory faded.

How ironic. To smell it so strongly here and now, near its end.

I surveyed the location ahead. A wave of emotion washed over me, interrupted as Rob came to a sudden stop.

In a practiced motion he shifted his jacket to pull his revolver free of a hidden holster near his left side. A heavy cylinder dropped outward from the revolver's body via a large hinge. From my vantage I could see it was already filled with bullets, nestled within bored chambers like tiny golden dots. With his left hand he slowly rotated the cylinder, focusing his eyes on each to inspect them as if he were examining a servocasing for structural flaws on a microscopic level.

Rule 9: Don't assume. Confirm.

Satisfied, Rob swung the cylinder back into position with the snap of a wrist. He turned to face me. The revolver was held in a loose grasp by his side. Action star style. What he needed to confirm exactly, I wasn't sure. I wasn’t a gun guy, but I knew enough to realize he looked cool while doing it at least.

“Okay, Price, listen." Rob reholstered the gun with the same fluidity he'd used while drawing. If I hadn't known it was there, I wouldn't have spotted it. "No matter what, the “Barking Dogs” phrase will get you hidden, even if you forget everything else. Got it?”

I nodded. Even if I didn't understand, I knew how to follow directions without question. After everything Rob had done for me, I owed him at least that much.

Rob moved, and I followed.

We crouched and headed further into the Green Space as trees began to cover the skyline. Some were in clusters and clumps, others in entire sections to provide ample concealment from direct line of sight as we picked our way between them. The ground was treacherous. The rain made some areas almost too muddy and slippery to walk upon, exposing rocks or gravel in some sections where the topsoil had been washed away over the years. I marveled at all of it.

Most of my experience with outings to Green Spaces had been with Dora tied to events thrown near our Stack. The flora there was the equivalent of a patch of grass with a grand total of seven trees, one of which I assumed had been dead for years.

This space had trees. A LOT of trees. And bushes. Far more greenery than I'd ever seen outside of a holo-still.

Tally another mark in the “I feel cheated” column.

There was a white noise, one I found hard to identify within the sound of falling rain and thunder. It became more pronounced the deeper into the Green Space we traversed.

“You hear that?” I asked, tilting my head from side to side trying to identify the source of the noise. It sounded like it could've been wind but had an echoing quality, making it difficult to exactly pinpoint. The sound acted as dull ambient noise for the general area. In other circumstances I might have even labeled it as idyllic or peaceful, but without knowing the source, I wasn't sure if I needed to be concerned or not.

“Canals,” Rob said, pointing toward the treeline to the west, “run off for the storms like what you saw near the plaza. The Spire has an entire system designed to capture and redirect the excess water not being processed so it doesn’t flood everything. The trees and berms are acting as a sort of sound dampener. Makes it sound like that."

I looked at him quizzically.

"I grew up Canalside, remember? The noise always sounds like that after a certain distance. There's an explanation for it, but it's not necessary to know what it is. Just don’t fall in when we get to it, okay? I don’t want to have to run around trying to find you on the opposite side of the Glow.” He smirked, “That is, if you don't drown first. Those whitecaps can be dangerous." He stopped talking, not offering more as he looked off into the distance, likely reminiscing about a childhood I couldn’t even imagine.

A flash of lightning illuminated the area.

The thunder rumbled loudly above and caused the hairs on the back of my neck, arms, and face to stand on end. Shadows cast by the lightning illuminated the copse of trees nearby as they danced and played tricks with my optics. I had another trill of childish fear; my brain crawled at the thought of someone hidden arising out of the bushes like a horror vid monster.

Rob punched my arm, and I was snapped back to the present again.

“Hey. Game face.”

"Sorry!" I muttered. Embarrassed like I'd been the first time I'd gotten lost in thought. After the flashes it was always difficult not to fall into old habits. Rob moved us forward to the edge of the Green Space. The scent of wet leaves was strong in the air as he led me forward to a collection of trees surrounded by a dense cluster of bushes and foliage near the top of a berm. Ample coverage and line of sight.

"We've reached the—" He said a word. I wasn't sure I heard it right.

"Hang on." I said, holding up a finger in question.

Rob stopped to look back at me.

"The heck is a Ron Dey Vhoo?" I asked.

His eyebrow shot upward. I felt embarrassed again.

"It's a rendezvous." He said, repeating the word, "A prearranged meeting place."

Unable to help myself again, I blurted out, "Why not just call it a 'meeting place' then?!"

He was fighting a smile. I could see the damn thing in the way his face was straining to keep that side from moving.

"We—," he said, "—will have to come back to this subject later."

With his left hand he pointed toward my jacket. "Adjust your hood. Keep your face hidden. Might only give us a small chance, but if the Goons don’t know you’re still here and talking to me, they won’t be able to alert anyone else about it. Maybe it’ll give us a bit more breathing room later.”

I readjusted my hood, pulling up the half-mask hidden in the folds over my mouth and nose. I looked at his back as he walked away. "Where are you going?!"

"Clearance," he said plainly. He disappeared into the treeline. He was like a cat slinking away into the night as he pulled the ghost technique I still hadn't had time to ask about.

I settled in to wait. The jacket and hood did a decent job at keeping the rain, which was beginning to pick up, from soaking the inner part of my clothing. The uncovered parts of my face and hands were cold, but the outfit did a marvelous job of keeping me warm.

Rob reappeared.

He pressed a finger to his mouth to signal silence—one of the simpler Port Hand signs—then pointed to a line of bushes on the berm across from me with another rapid flash of Port Hand: Sit, Stay, Good, Dog.

Hey! I signaled back.

He smiled once, sending another signal. Two hands tossing upward with a hand in a downward circle toward a spot: Unpack. Here.

I gave him a returning series of hand signals to tell him where he could shove the foliage as his head shook in mirth. He disappeared again.

It didn't take long for me to pick my way over to where he wanted me. I nestled myself chest down, wiggling in for a long stay at the base of the foliage like a nesting duck. Despite clear lines of sight, there were no more signs of Rob or his passing in the clearing ahead. He suddenly reappeared along the treeline to the right of me, quite a distance off, as he flashed me another set of signals:

Take. Back. Off. I. See.

Shoot!

I rolled, eventually managing to remove the pack in a silent struggle before laying it down beside me. I glanced at the area Rob had been in.

Nothing. The man was good.

Thinking for a second, I began using my arms and the side of my hand to pull dead leaves and sticks into a small pile around the pack and my legs. While it wasn’t going to win any camouflage awards, it might help keep me from being so easily spotted. Maybe Rob also wouldn’t give me so much flak once he came back.

There. Done.

I saw a tiny amount of movement, barely visible through the rain. Rob’s head reappeared, this time far enough that I had to increase magnification on my optics to track him clearly. He stood still for a moment, scanning the embankment near where I was sitting before giving a quick thumbs-up.

Like a shark in murky water, he dove back down, and I yet again couldn’t tell where he’d gone. His positioning made it seem like he was circling the area of the meeting place methodically.

Nothing else moved as I tried to control my racing heart.

I swear to you for what must be the fifth time, you never can tell how loud you’re breathing until you’re trying not to be heard doing it. I tried to focus on exhaling and inhaling again.

In.

Out.

In.

Ouuuuut.

The rain continued to fall. My jacket, pants, and boots still shed the water with little issue as the torrent intensified to my left. It sounded like a veritable river as the runoff flowed onward and out of sight, down the side of the berm and into the green space's drain-like design to feed the farms I'd never known about.

More silent moments.

More ambient noise and scents.

I sensed my eyelids drooping and fought to stay awake.

The lull in action, the peaceful sound of falling rain, and the odd echoing quality of the canal sounds all combined with my lack of sleep. I felt quite drowsy.

Until the moment I wasn't.

Like a shock to my nervous system, all of my senses clocked into overdrive. I was alert now. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. Smelled nothing. Yet, for some indescribable reason, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end as if I were near a static field. A bad feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach. I'd learned to follow it.

I tried not to make any unnecessary movement as my eyes darted from area to area. I wasn't sure what had triggered my sudden adrenaline spike, but—

The sound of a snapping twig caused me to freeze.

I turned my head ever so slowly around, fearing the worst. The spiraled barrel of a gun pointed directly at the side of my temple partially obscured my vision.

“Don’t move!” A voice said sternly.

Uh-oh.