Cyrrux
Where the hell is she? It’s already been a full day since I met her in that alley. Since I saved her damn neck.
Why did I do it?
I’ve already asked myself this question at least a dozen times. And I think it was that look of defiance on her face. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. An Original contact. But still. I shouldn’t have done it. My patience is wearing thin. I pace back and forth in front of the window and look out over the Sector. I saved her life. You’d think she’d be more receptive to a personal invitation to gain some information. She’s probably afraid. I was forceful with her. But how could I have been anything else? The way she stood there like she was actually going to stay and fight. Please, what was she going to do, yell at them like she did me? That would get her far.
But fine. If she doesn’t want my help then I have better things to do. I grab my jacket and head toward the door. But when it slides open, she’s standing in front of me. Like I had conjured her with my annoyance. Her hand is poised in the air, about to buzz the presence alert button. The look on her face is a mix of defiance and surprise. How she can manage those two simultaneously is beyond me. Lowering her hand she extends it to me instead.
“You’re Cyrrux?” She doesn’t so much ask as demand. Her voice is clear, self-assured and commanding. Not really what I was expecting. I stand mute, contemplating a number of responses before I decide not to start off on a bad foot.
“Yes,” I shake her hand. It’s soft and small in mine but her grip is firm.
“I’m Inara,” she says. I repeat the name in my head. It’s oddly fitting. She’s dressed like a Cog. If I saw her on the street I’d never guess she was an O. And damn, she’s beautiful. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice yesterday, but here, now, she’s even more striking than I remember.
“You don’t have to try and break my hand,” I tell her after the crushing grip. “You’d better come in.” Before I can even close the door she asks,
“Why did you help me?”
“You certainly don’t beat around the bush, do you?” I look her up and down. Arms crossed over her chest. Aggressive stance. No nonsense.
“You’re an Extractor, how do I know I can trust you?” she demands, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you kidding me? I saved your life, little girl. You should be thanking me, not badgering me. I don’t owe you anything.”
“I’m seventeen years old so I’ll thank you to stop calling me ‘little girl.’ And I don’t owe you anything either.” She takes a step toward me but I hold my ground. “I didn’t ask for your help, and you didn’t save my life, you saved your own because if you’re talking to me then you clearly aren’t the kind of Extractor that the X-Agency values so dearly.” She spits the last word with derision. I stare at her a beat and try to stop the grin that’s threatening to break through. I like the girl.
“You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that,” I say, leaning against the wall. We haven’t moved past the entryway but her eyes dart past me, taking in the apartment.
“Oh thank you, because I was so ardently searching for a compliment from you,” she says, rolling her eyes. Her foot is tapping the floor and tension radiates from her. Her shoulders hunched, fingers curled into fists. Is she nervous? For some reason, this chink in her finely wrought armor softens me towards her.
“Okay,” I say slowly, “let’s start over.” I motion to the big silver couch in the center of the floor. “Please, have a seat and let me explain.” I watch as she tentatively moves away from the door. Her movements are lithe. She reminds me of a cat. Wary, suspicious. She sits down and discreetly fingers the material of the pillows. I’m suddenly acutely self-conscious of my apartment.
Each Extractor is issued a living space that’s furnished by the organization, but knowing that this girl lives in secret, and probably underground, does not do much to ease my guilt at our vastly different circumstances. Whereas I want for nothing, I know for a fact that O’s commonly steal just to get by. Thinking about this further strengthens my resolve. Sitting there, motionless with her olive skin and wild hair against the silver, she looks like a juxtaposed portrait. A splash of riot and defiance against a backdrop of modern serenity.
I watch as her eyes continue to travel around the room, taking in her surroundings. I try to see it through her perspective. An entire wall of floor to ceiling windows that looks out over the metropolis. Vaulted ceilings with a floating chandelier made of cogs and gears. A moving mural of a PreSec country landscape that takes up an entire wall, complete with rolling hills and swaying stalks of wheat, the likes of which no one has seen in many years.
“What is that?” she asks, pointing to a small wall panel next to the front door.
“That’s my VCC. Voice Command Center. I can control everything in here with simple commands. ‘Start me a shower’ or ‘lock the front door.’ That kind of thing.”
“Wow. High tech.” Her voice is laced with scorn but underneath, there’s a hint of…jealousy, perhaps?
“Listen,” I say, trying to get back on track. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have even asked you to come here. It’s dangerous for both of us.”
“You didn’t ask me,” she reminds me. “You threw me your card and I decided to come of my own accord.”
“Pretty ballsy,” I tell her. “But I don’t know where to start with all of this.” I run a hand through my hair. Down my face. The stubble scratches my fingers. I need a shave.
“Let’s start with, you telling me why you helped me,” she says, leaning back against the cushion. She crosses her legs and her eyes can my face. “I’m not saying you saved my life, but you did help me. I’ll give you that. So why did you do it? What’s in it for you? This could be a set up all I know.”
She can’t exactly have dealt with many overly helpful Extractors so I can’t blame her for being suspicious. I’m going to have to earn her trust. And anyway, I’ve got nothing to lose. It’s not like she can turn me in. I’ve got the high hand here. So instead of answering the latter, I address the former.
“I’m an X-12 agent. I don’t know how much you know about our ranking but – ”
“I know that’s the highest rank there is,” she cuts me off.
“Well, I’m also one of the X-Agency’s top cognitive analysts.”
“Are you giving me your credentials?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Hardly. I wouldn’t want to take up that much of your time,” I say and she rolls her eyes again.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “So what exactly do you analyze and what does it have to do with me? With the O’s?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. They keep giving us small tasks and hypothetical situations but the ultimate goal hasn’t been revealed to us yet. But a couple of days ago they asked us if we had the ability to create memories. It’s something we’ve been toying with for a couple of years but the way they asked seemed...wrong somehow. I showed them the developments and they scrapped the rest of our projects. Told us to focus on that. I don’t know what they’re planning yet but I’m assuming it’s not going to be good.”
“Create memories?” she asks, her eyes going wide. “Create to sell? Why? How does this benefit them?”
“I think they’re trying to develop something, a new kind of program that will have a big impact on the population and even more so on your people. I’ll find out soon, and when I do…I think you should know. I think your people will be hit the hardest by it.” And they’ve already been through enough.
“I don’t get it. Why do you want to help us? Extractors are our enemies.” She starts chewing her lip with a pensive look on her face, like she wants to say something else but can’t bring herself to.
“I respect your way of life. As Agents we don’t need to sell our memories all that often. We’re provided everything we need by the Agency. I remember what it used to be like. Before the Nihil completely took over. There are a lot of positive factors we’ve lost since then. The more involved I become with the Agency, the more I feel that they’re cooking up some kind of plot that’s going to take us even further away from the past.” If any of my colleagues heard me talking like this, they’d send me to the infirmary to have my head checked. But the longer I’ve been in my position, the more I’ve moved up the ladder, the less I like what I see.
“I don’t know how it can possibly be any worse than it is now,” she laughs without mirth. “Especially for us. The Nihil and the Agency have infiltrated every aspect of our life. They track us and hunt us, they torture and kill our people. We’re considered common criminals because we cling to the PreSec ways. We’re not allowed freedom of choice, even though we can exist without doing anything illegal. It’s a control issue, they fear us because we won’t give into their ways. So they punish us. And no offense, but I don’t see how you can possibly help us.”
“I can help you by getting supplies, telling you their plans and when other Agents are near. I can help you stay safe.”
“But that still doesn’t answer the question of why you want to help us. And thank you for the offer, but we’ve gotten along pretty well so far on our own.” She sits back up now, back straight, eyes hard, lips pursed. Damn. I knew she was going to be stubborn.
“Really?” I ask, eyebrows raised. Challenging her. “Because it doesn’t seem that way. And things are going to get worse. I can feel it. I don’t want to be involved in it but I am, so I want to use my position to help. Listen, the Agency and the Nihil think O’s are a bunch of kooks, trying to hold on to the past in an era that’s headed straight for the future,” She opens her mouth to interrupt with what I’m sure will be a less than pleasant retort, but I barrel on. “I’m not saying I think that, just that they do. It’s nostalgia. And nostalgia is denial. You think that PreSec is better than what you’re living in now. It’s an unrealistic romantic ideal of people who find it hard to cope with their lives. But the way I see it, the citizens of Memoria are doing exactly the same thing, they’re just hanging on to other people’s pasts instead of their own. They’re finding escape in their present by losing themselves bit by bit, memory by memory, and creating a new self through other people’s experiences.”
“So you’re saying we’re no better than the Cogs?” she demands, affronted at the very thought.
“I’m saying you’re both trying to achieve the same end through different means. And because of that I think you should be afforded the same rights and responsibilities. There shouldn’t be discrimination based on different value systems. I want to help you get a place in society. Equality.” It’s the first time I’m putting voice to the thoughts that have been swirling in my head for months. But now that they’re out, I’m even more convinced it’s the right thing.
“That’s completely unrealistic,” she says, laughing again, and this time there’s some humor in it. Like equality is the ultimate joke. “ Our whole…everything, is built on the expectation of the Nihil, and they won’t condescend to view us as anything other than, as you put it, ‘a bunch of kooks.’”
“That may be true, but at least us talking is a starting point,” I say, hoping she can come to believe that this could be the beginning of something.
“Oh yes, I can feel society starting to shift already,” she says with a sardonic raise of her eyebrow.
“Listen, the whole reason the memory marketplace was created in the first place was for control,” I tell her.
“Says who?”
“Says history! It’s been almost a century since it was instated.”
“I’m aware, I went to school,” she says through clenched teeth.
“Do you know why it was created?” I ask, losing some of my patience.
“I feel certain you’ll enlighten me.”
“Only if you want me to. Feel free to leave at any time. I’m not making you stay.” I gesture to the door to make my point.
“I’d like to see you try,” she says, and damn it all, but I laugh.
“I wouldn’t. You’re kind of terrifying,” I tell her. She bites her cheek and if I had to bet, it’s to hide the smile that’s itching to show itself.
“Fine,” she says now, “tell me why it was started.”
“Only if you ask nicely,” I say, leaning back against the couch and crossing an ankle over my knee.
“Will you pretty please tell me how it all started, oh grand, wise Extractor?” she asks in a syrupy sweet voice as she bats her eyelashes.
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but yes, I will. Basically, the Nihil no longer had the actual money to back up the monetary value of what was in print. So they got rid of the hard money and switched over to using a VFS.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“A virtual financial system. Everybody received a portum in their wrists and started trading in fids. The government could virtually create as much credit as they wanted by simply keying in a few codes.”
“So honorable,” she cuts in with a huff.
“It’s the government. What do you expect? The black market techs started counterfeiting fids and the system counter got screwed up. The government wanted more control anyway so they instituted memory trading. That way they could have a view into everything their citizens were doing.”
“What, so basically they’re just being nosy? How did they justify it to the population?”
“They didn’t give them a choice. But to put a positive spin on it they said that crime rates would go down because they could predict trends and catch illicits by monitoring their memory deposits.”
“Which was clearly just propaganda. It’s not like they’d actually follow through with that.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. We don’t really know. At the end of the day I don’t think people cared about that. Because their other selling point was that any time you had a bad day you got paid for it. All you had to do was sell the memory. Not many people would turn that down.”
“I would,” Inara says quickly.
“Obviously. You’re an O. Which is why the X-Agency and the Nihil are after you. They can’t have you walking around with all your memories still in your head. It’s a danger for them. To the society they’ve created.”
“I know. But I don’t get it. We can’t be the only people who are defying the system. What about the rest of the world, the other Sectors?”
“What do you know about the other Sectors?” I ask suspiciously. It’s not exactly common knowledge. Unified Sectors give more opportunity for collaboration and uprising. Knowledge in the hands of the people must be limited.
“Not a lot, but I know that Memoria is Sector I and used to be North America. All of South America got completely destroyed. It’s uninhabitable. Even here a lot of the land is sectioned off and illegal to enter because it’s supposedly still laced with minefields and radiation from the last world war.”
“Why do you say ‘supposedly’?”
“The Nihil is all about control, aren’t they? How do we know what’s truth and what’s lies? The only thing is, no one will venture past the limits because what if they are telling the truth?”
“Exactly. And I for one am not really willing to risk the radiation to find out. And the other Sectors? Where did you hear about those?”
“Some of our elders worked for the government before they turned rogue. I know that Sector II is called Promisseum and used to be Australia. They trade in promises. Sector III is Spectrum and used to be Europe. Their currency is ideas. I was never told about the other two.”
“Interesting. People have usually heard of the other Sectors but don’t know too much about them. The Nihil doesn’t want to breed discontent by having people think they’d rather live somewhere else. Do you want me to tell you about the others?” I ask with a grin. I sense that her craving for knowledge outweighs her desire to be disagreeable.
“Please,” she says after a moment of hesitation.
“You know, I’ve broken the law about a dozen times since I’ve met you,” I say with a sigh, shaking my head.
“I tend to have that effect on people,” she says in a deadpan voice.
“Yeah. I can imagine. The thing is, I want you to know that you can trust me.” And it’s true. Because that’s the only way any of this will work. It really is a starting point, and rebellion always has to start somewhere.
“Just giving me information isn’t going to automatically make me trust you,” she snaps.
“But will it pave the way?” I ask with a grin. She stares at me for what feels like too long.
“I guess we’ll find out,” she says finally.
“Fair enough. Sector IV used to be Africa. It’s called Somnium now. They trade in dreams. And Sector V, that’s the most disturbing, maybe even worse than here.”
“It’s hard to believe that’s possible.”
“Decide for yourself. Iracundia used to be all of Asia. It’s much smaller now but still enormous. They trade in unhappiness.”
“What do you mean ‘unhappiness’? How can they do that? Who would buy unhappiness?”
“No one. That’s just it. The poor bastards don’t think they need anything. The way it works is, they’re paid in fids for the menial jobs they do. And whenever they get upset, angry, annoyed, they sell it. So they think they’re happy. They have a ton of fids, but don’t spend it because they think they don’t want for anything. They live in shacks and wear rags and smile like they’re the luckiest asshole’s in the verse.”
“Have you been there?” she asks with a look of horror.
“No. You can’t travel to other Sectors unless you’re on a diplomatic mission or you put in for a transfer. And that takes years, a lot of fids, and a very thorough background check.”
“No wonder. There must be a Ripam on every corner in Iracundia.”
“Exactly, because if they hold on to their unhappiness for too long they’ll realize it’s all a lie.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. I remember when we first learned about the Sectors, the absolute shock, the horror. The outrage I had to hide because Extractors aren’t supposed to care about things like that.
“I can’t decide who has it the worst,” she says, and her voice is smaller now. Laced with sorrow.
“Every place has its own hell,” I say with feeling. “So, do you want my help or not?”
She audibly sighs and I can see that she’s actually considering not taking it. Unbelievable. After another ten second pause she answers,
“How about this. I thank you for your…help…from yesterday and then we forget this whole thing ever happened.”
I’ve never been at a loss for words before. This is a new sensation for me. I sit in stunned silence for a moment.
“You’re serious?” I say just to make sure.
“Dead.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, standing up. “I’m offering to help you here.”
“And I’m respectfully declining it,” she responds calmly.
“Are you deaf? You must not understand the magnitude of what I’m saying here. Your people will be wiped out. There’s no time for pride, whatever’s happening is coming soon.” Immediately I can sense that this was not the correct thing to say. Her face has shut down and her eyes now cast a steely glint. I would not want to be on the receiving end of this girl’s wrath.
“I’m in full possession of my faculties thank you very much. And if it makes no never mind to you, I don’t find it necessary to accept the help of someone who works for the organization that has tried to kill us for years. What makes you so different? Just because you suddenly grew a conscience and want to help us?” Her words are laced with ice and, if she could, I’m pretty sure she’d shoot shards of them at my eyes. “Look at all of this,” she waves a hand around indicating my apartment. “Trust me, you’re not willing to give all of this up. You’re having a crisis and you feel like being noble. Big deal. Go help an old woman cross the graphene and get it out of your system. Leave us alone.”
Her anger has a balancing effect, and I find that it somehow calms me. This whole meeting is a series of ups and downs.
“Do not presume to know me, or what I’d be willing to sacrifice, little girl,” I say in a deadly quiet tone, using the nickname I know she hates. “Trust me when I say there will come a time in which you will come to me and ask for aid. And just know that I will still gladly give it.”
“Well, thanks for that,” she says in a challenging tone that says she’d rather die first.
“Your gratitude is overwhelming,” I say drily.
“I’m confused as to how you expect me to handle this. What, you want me to fall down on my knees thanking you? After all that the Nihil and X-ers have done to us? After you…” she breaks off with a pained expression.
“After we what?”
“Nothing, I’m just not sure why you expect me to jump into this with enthusiasm. Or why you think I should trust you just because you’ve given me some information. You still haven’t given me an actual reason as to why you want to help us. So I should just take it on faith? How do I know you’re not a spy?”
“Fine, you want to know why I want to help you? Why I’d go against the company I work for who would kill me in a nanosecond if they knew? Because I looked into the files when they gave us this assignment and found out that the experiments started fifteen years ago. My family was part of the original control group. It went badly. They killed them. My parents and my two sisters.” My throat is tight as the words spill out and I hate every one of them. “The only reason I wasn’t there is because I was at a friends house. They went through neighborhoods and stole people from their houses. Subjected them to too many kinds of evil to count. I grew up having no idea why I was an orphan. Then a couple days ago I watched the holos. They went insane with the memories they implanted in them. Started having multiple personality disorders and screaming that they didn’t know who they were anymore. I work for the people who murdered my family. So that’s why I want to help. Is that good enough for you or do you need a written statement?”
The whole time I’ve been talking she’s been sitting quietly, a look of attentiveness and empathy on her face. I’ve been holding it all in since I found out and now it’s like a pressure valve has been released.
“Revenge,” she says quietly. The word is hungry on her lips.
“Revenge,” I answer, nodding my head.
“Now that…that is something I can understand. Thank you for telling me.” There’s sincerity in her words but a hesitation, too. “I have to think about some things.”
“Of course. My door is always open to you, and if and when you’re ready, we’ll take it one step at a time.” I keep my tone level even though my very skin feels raw from revealing those truths. No one said this was going to be easy.
She nods her head and stands, slowly walking to the door. She opens it but pauses before she walks through. I have the slightest glimmer of hope until she turns around and I see the look on her face.
“I really am sorry about what happened. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. The O’s…” she shakes her head. “It’s not up to me, anyway.”
“I’d advise you to reconsider, Inara,” I tell her, and her name is strange on my lips. It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud and I hate that it tastes like hope. “Tell whoever you need to. Whoever makes the decisions. I don’t know much time the Originals have left.”
And then the door slides shut, blocking her from my view. The ball is in her court now. But if she doesn’t accept my offer soon, it’ll be too late.