Out of Sight (Progenitor Book 1) Read online

  Sayed’s expression yelled ‘wow really?!’, but he didn’t hesitate to pull his pile close and pack it handful by handful into his pocket. “Those guys woulda taken my tunic and beat me up.”

  She glanced at the olive-drab fabric, all the embedded electronics in its sleeves aglow. “Looks new.”

  “It is.” He smiled.

  “Did you steal it?”

  He shook his head. “No. Begged.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She scoffed.

  “A woman bought it for me.”

  Sima narrowed her eyes. “How do you beg a hundred-glint tunic?”

  He shrugged. “Lucky, I guess.” The boy lifted up his tunic to show off a threadbare set of tiny shorts, and ribs that hinted he hadn’t eaten well in a while. “She saw me shiverin’ ’cause the wind, and pulled me inside a store. I don’ think it cos’ a hundred glint. The man there said it was old models.”

  Grumbling that this boy with his giant brown eyes and innocent face could guilt a Citizen into feeling so bad for him that they bought him a tunic, Sima pulled the paper stuffing out of her shirt and threw it aside. The whirr of drone fans approaching made her pick it back up, fearful she’d been caught on camera littering. Though, a six-month stint in jail might not be a bad thing given how her life had been going—at least the EGSF would feed her. But if she got arrested, she’d have a record, and then every time the security officers saw her, they’d give her a hard time. So far, she’d stayed out of trouble. They’d look at her, but nothing came up in their computers, so they let her be.

  Once the flying menace disappeared around a corner at the end of the block, she chucked the paper over her shoulder. In the secluded alley, she transferred her glint from the tunic’s front pocket to a pouch she wore under it around her neck. There, it stood far less chance of falling prey to thieves or spilling out all over the ground if she tripped. She counted forty-one total after adding the day’s haul.

  It never lasts long enough.

  “How much do you want to walk me home?” asked Sayed. “I’m kinda scared of the dark.”

  She tried to get mad at him for accusing her of being so mercenary, but the truth hurt. Sima swallowed the urge to ask for money and muttered, “Don’t worry about it. Where do you live?”

  “Coupl’a blocks south. Tunnel next to the fat man shop.”

  “Fat man shop?”

  He held his arms up. “Got a big fat man outside with a big white hat.”

  “Oh.” She figured he meant a donut/coffee counter with a holographic cartoon chef mascot. As best she could remember, it sat near an old access shaft down to what had once been a subway a few blocks away. No one used the tunnels for much since the overhead tubes, or O-Tube, went in. “Come on.”

  She stood and started walking, ignoring his attempt to take her hand.

  “Aww, but Mom, I’m scared.”

  Sima scowled at the wall. As tempting as it might be to keep him around, she felt no better than her mother for it. That woman had used Sima as a device to exploit a man. Using Sayed as a tool for begging bothered her almost the same way.

  Ugh.

  If she never encountered another child in her life, it would be too soon.

  3

  Five Glint for Dead

  Sayed waved and darted off down the stairway leading underground. Across the street, the coffee shop’s life-sized holographic chef waved a donut around. Sima squinted at the brightness of his white outfit and hat, certain she’d be hearing the comically jovial voice say, “Free black coffee with three donuts” in her dreams.

  She pulled her hood up, stuffed her hands in her front pocket, and hurried along back to her squat. For the past several months, home was a section of decommissioned sewer tunnel that became accessible after a patch of road caved in. All things considered, its proximity to a former sinkhole probably didn’t make it the safest place in the world, but it had held up so far. Dozens of other kids around her age and younger made a home of the underground chamber as well. Fortunately, trouble had been sparse. Only two deaths and six assaults in three months.

  She walked a few blocks before hooking a right turn onto a wider street that could handle gee-vees passing each other going in opposite directions, though at the late hour, only two whirred by.

  Head down, Sima hurried along for a few minutes before two hulking forms, a pair of EGSF officers in armor, wandered out of a side street on the left. Tiny spotlights mounted to their shoulders flicked on and bathed her in the pale glow of intense LEDs. She kept her gaze on the ground, trying to project innocence.

  “What are you doing outside at this hour?” called a thick-voiced woman. “You’re an inch from breaking curfew.”

  Sima stopped, her heart pounding. An Outcast had about a forty percent chance of death in any encounter with the EGSF. Girls had somewhat better odds. “I’m sorry! I had to hide from some Scathers! I’m going home right now.”

  “Pull your hands out slow,” said a man, his voice crackly with electronics.

  She extracted her hands from the front pocket on her tunic and raised them.

  The female EGSF officer crossed the street and walked up to her. “Do you have any contraband?”

  “No, ma’am.” Sima kept her head down.

  “What’s in that bag around your neck?” asked the male officer as he walked up from behind and grasped her left wrist, studying her hand. “No Dreamdot?”

  “No, sir. I was too young for one when I lost my home.” She knew the officer could see her pouch courtesy of scanners, and probably also the UMU chips in it. He asked only to test her. “Just a little money.”

  “You steal it?” asked the man.

  “No sir,” she said to the sidewalk. “I’ve been begging.”

  The female officer looked her over once more, then stepped aside. “All right. Don’t let us catch you up to anything. And get off the street. You’ve got four minutes before you’re in violation of curfew.”

  “I won’t, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Sima scurried onward, lightheaded from anxiety. She hoped that one boy with the red hair and permanent glazed eyes had been right about karma. Every time she resisted the temptation to break the law, she banked on that coming back to help her out if she had to deal with the EGSF. Then again, some rumors also accused the cops of using Outcasts for rifle practice when they got bored. But stories like that sounded (and often were) purely tall tales to scare kids.

  A few streets later, she rounded a leftward corner into the pink-purple glow of Oman’s Oasis, a cheap bar that also specialized in plugs, narcotic inserts for those with permanent cybernetic injector implants. The technology came about for those in need of medication for chronic issues, but, naturally, the unsavory element within society adopted it for vice. Since the Oasis sold the stuff, it attracted Pluggers, a street gang that got its name from their drug habit.

  She crossed to the opposite side of the street to give the place some distance, since a handful of light-skinned punks leaned against the wall, their faces glowing various shades of neon from LEDs in the collars of their tunics or courtesy of phosphorescent tattoos.

  “Hey, sweetie,” yelled one.

  “Paz, check that out.” A guy with a bright raccoon mask of green light swatted the man next to him and pointed at her. “Want a little dark meat?”

  Sima walked faster, regretting her choice not to carry a knife. Although, if she had a weapon, she wouldn’t have needed to worry about these morons. Those two EGSF would’ve hauled her in for possession. Outside of a kitchen, carrying a knife without a permit would get her at least a year. Probably more for being a minor, and another year or two for being an armed Outcast.

  Don’t be stupid. My best weapon is running.

  “Yo, beautiful,” called another Plugger. “Give ya five glint for head. Right here, right now.”

  Sima walked even faster, not the least bit tempted. Ignoring the sheer disgustingness of his request, she had little trust they’d let her w
alk away alive, and even less trust they’d pay her. The End of Nations had resulted in a ‘One Earth’ government, but it hadn’t done much for prejudice. Six pale guys one tiny notch up the social rung from a girl like her would do whatever they wanted to her without fear. A group of men had assaulted Anahita, a girl she knew a year older than her and not even as dark. When she went to the EGSF about it, they treated her as though she’d done something wrong. Then again, those men had been Citizens, so naturally, an Outcast girl lied about being assaulted, only trying to get money or sympathy. Why would Citizens want to have sex with a filthy street rat?

  The Pluggers, the youngest of whom looked past twenty, pushed off the Oasis wall and started after her. With a gasp, Sima broke into a run, but didn’t cry out. A frightened young woman screaming would often attract more danger than help. The rest of the Pluggers decided to chase her, the whole pack whooping and hollering—except for two dosing a chem so strong they couldn’t walk.

  Sima leaned into her stride. The electrical wire holding her sandals on pinched at her ankles each time her heels struck the ground. Wind in her face pulled her hood back and let her long hair fly loose. The men continued yelling at her, everything from “Hey, wait up, we won’t hurt you” to threats of a severe beating if she didn’t stop.

  Where are those cops? She bolted around another corner but realized too late that she’d gone the opposite direction from where she’d run into the EGSF. No guarantee they would’ve been there anyway, so she kept on going. Only getting away from those Pluggers mattered. Much like Sayed had feared from the older boys, those gangers would likely steal everything she had that stood even the smallest chance of being sold to buy more plugs. If she survived, she’d probably be left semi-conscious in an alley somewhere with only her sandals. Or maybe they’d drag her back to wherever they slept and keep her as a pet.

  A fearful whine leaked from her nose; she ran as if Death himself chased her.

  Streaks of light from small LEDs embedded in the walls smeared by on both sides. Dark doorways offered little hope of escape. No one with any sense in this lower-end residential district dared open their doors at night.

  One ganger surged up to a hard sprint, gaining on her. He got a grip on the trailing end of her hair, and pulled, trying to drag her to a stop. She screamed in pain, her sandals clomping the pavement as she slowed. Before the man could get an arm around her, she abruptly spun around and drove her knee into his groin. He barked like a goose going under the tires of a gee-vee and let go of her hair. Another guy dove at her; she leapt aside, avoiding him—right into the grip of a third man.

  He held a composite plastic knife at her throat, his rapid breaths pulsing at the back of her head. “Easy there, girl. This’ll only hurt a lot.”

  The other four men circled up around them.

  Sima glanced down at the forearm over her chest, staring at a square metal well grafted into his flesh two inches above the wrist. A teal green narcotic plug, about the size of a corn kernel, sat in the chamber, the electronics gradually liquefying it and feeding the drugs into his bloodstream.

  The guy holding her shifted left and right, as if he couldn’t decide which of his buddies to ‘offer’ her to. “This one’ll probably bite.”

  “Best not use the teeth, lovely,” said a guy with a snow-white strip of hair over the middle of his otherwise bald scalp. “A dead girl can still do what we need her to.”

  Eyes wide, Sima grunted and pushed her feet at the ground, trying to back away from him. Out of desperation, she reached up and grabbed the man’s arm, mashing her finger on the implant’s ‘dose plus’ button. The man muttered an incoherent non-word and fainted over backward, dragging her to the ground. His arm went limp, the knife flopping away from the soft skin of her throat.

  Sima kicked her legs up, adding to the momentum of falling, and rolled in a backward somersault to her feet. Their reaction time dulled by their high, the Pluggers stood there for a second or two in confusion before they realized she’d gotten away.

  Too terrified to scream, Sima ran to the first possible corner and raced around. A block later, she ducked down an alley to the left—which turned out to be a dead-end. She spun to go back, but the Pluggers had already entered the mouth of the alley, trapping her. Sima backed up, eyeing the wall behind her for a way to climb. Everywhere else in the city, mismatched wall panels offered plenty of places to grab or put feet to climb. She had the wonderful luck of finding the one alley in the entire city still with intact original construction—no seams. However, a narrow ventilation grille offered a tiny scrap of hope. She darted over to it, sliding to a stop on her knees.

  The cover came away with a desperate pull and she leapt headfirst into a square duct only an inch or two bigger than her on all four sides. It went in about two feet before bending a corner to the left. Her hands squeaked over the bare metal as she pulled herself forward. Sima screamed at the sudden tightness of fingers clamped around her left ankle.

  “Hah! Gotcha!” yelled a man.

  Shrieking, she grabbed on to the corner, fighting the guy pulling her out. Near total panic gripped her as she stomped backwards in a wild, flailing frenzy. Her heel connected with something solid after a few kicks at the air; the man let out an oof, and lost his grip on her other leg.

  Sima crawled forward as fast as she could move, scooting around the bend. Once she got past the corner, she lay there gasping for breath. Her present surroundings ranked about an eleven on a scale of one to ten for claustrophobia, but in that moment, she adored it. No way would any of them fit in there.

  Much cursing and threatening continued outside, but the Pluggers lost interest after a while and got quiet. She didn’t trust the silence, so made no effort to move. Shivering from fear, she wondered if Sayed had been this frightened of those older boys. A kid his age had no concept of what the Pluggers would’ve done to her. To him, the worst thing in the world was getting beat up and robbed down to his shorts.

  How scared had he been to risk running up to her, an older Outcast and total stranger, to beg for help?

  Sima wiped her eyes, sniveling. With those gang thugs chasing her, she wouldn’t have hesitated dashing straight up to an EGSF officer. The worst they’d have done to her would’ve been a quick death, but more than likely, they would’ve arrested her for bothering them—certainly, a better fate than what the Pluggers had in mind for her.

  In her mind’s eye, she saw herself pushing Sayed away, and felt like a total bitch.

  Minutes stretched into an hour. Still, she lay there in the dark vent, breathing slow so as not to make any noise. Living on the street had sounded like such a great idea four years ago. Really though, how much forethought did she have at twelve? If she knew back then what it would really be like, would she have still done it? An indifferent mother and a creep of a potential stepfather compared to running for her life three nights a week?

  Maybe I should go home… if I could even remember where it is. Would Mom even let me come back? Did she even notice I’m gone?

  Sima traced lines in the dust in front of her face with her finger, wondering if her old room still existed. Not that she had all that much, a simple bed and a small desk, some toys she’d gotten from a boyfriend or two her mother had when she’d been too young to attend school. Men who had little reason to pay attention to a kid had shown more affection than her own mother. They’d been different from the creep, more genuine, though none had stayed around long enough to form any sort of relationship with her. All had merely been nice to the kid of the woman they wanted to sleep with. Would her mother have left her room as is in case she decided to come home? After four years, did the woman give up on ever seeing her again?

  It didn’t seem likely she would care. In the twelve years she had lived with her, Mom hadn’t spoken to her much more than to yell about her using too much protein gel or not cleaning up the bathroom. If they traded words, it had always been a complaint or an order. Never any ‘unnecessary’ conversatio
n and most certainly no comments of affection or curiosity about her daughter’s life.

  No. I can’t go home. I might be able to go back to where I lived, but it wasn’t ‘home.’

  She sighed, and listened to silence for a few more minutes before crawling backward. Keeping a good grip on the corner in case the gang had been unusually determined to catch her, she shimmied back until she could peer out the opening. No sign of the men remained.

  A long breath of relief slid out of her throat.

  “Karma…”

  This must have been the universe chiding her for trying to be mean to Sayed. Certainly, if she had gone through with her initial jealousy and refused to help him, this vent wouldn’t have opened, and those Pluggers would’ve gotten her.

  After a guilty stare at the pavement, Sima pulled herself out of the cramped space and trudged down the alley. Soon after she emerged on the street, another gee-vee, a large cargo truck, rumbled by. She flattened herself against the wall to let it pass, the high-pitched whine of its electric wheel motors vibrating in her bones. The ponderous machine trundled off into the night, leaving her in a rush of air and swirling trash.

  Head down, she fast-walked to the end of the block and made her way back to the street that led to the Crash, her present home. The collapse of either sewer or old subway tunnels had opened a hole in the road with a convenient ramp of paving. She held her arms out for balance on the way down, walking past jutting pipes and wire bundles sticking out from the walls.

  Her sandals slapped on wet concrete at the bottom. She ducked a low-hanging steel support beam that bowed under the weight it held up, and proceeded through a doorway created by a slab of collapsed concrete.

  The room beyond held many fragmentary walls that divided it into dozens of little alcoves and chambers. Outcasts had set up their beds among them with the older, bigger teens claiming the ‘better’ enclosed spaces that offered more room and privacy. Sima nodded in greeting to those who noticed her as she went by, but not a word passed between them. This shelter offered as much safety as anything in an Outcast’s life could. Anyone caught stealing or messing with someone else’s stuff in here would face a vicious beating from everyone, then be exiled.