Outsiders were another story, hothead cynetics and emulates in particular. They’d grab a maglev, zoom a hundred or more kilometers and be here in thirty minutes or less to bother our women without consequence. At least that’s what parents said when they thought we weren’t listening.
I was deep in thought when Vynce punched me in the shoulder. “You listening, dude? What do you think?”
He must have been standing there all along. “I think we should help find Merie’s killers,” I said. “Those bastards can’t get away with this.”
Elly appeared in the doorway. Crap. “Shh.” If Elly heard, she’d rat us out.
“I want in,” she said, as if reading Vynce’s twin mind and knowing we were up to no good. “Merie is Vovi’s sister, and I want in. Vovi too. Tonight?” She scratched her button nose and twirled her golden-brown curls—her nervous tell.
No way. My jaw dropped. Vynce looked just as shocked.
“Yeah, tonight,” I answered for both of us. It felt good to be the impulsive daring one for a change. And Elly always looked out for me.
We talked timing before looking at each other. No one said a word. If we got caught, we’d be dead. Mom would kill us. She was a tornado when she went off, destroying everything in her path.
The afternoon dragged on. I couldn’t concentrate on my Political Theory homework. I should have done it last night, but forgot. Then again, it was propaganda BS, at least that’s what Vynce said. He’d heard that from one of his friend’s dads.
Mom called dinner. Sweet potato soup, again. Ugh. If we were mouseish, it wouldn’t be a problem, but the bland, earthy aroma was embedded in our biofabbed walls after countless nights of the tasteless medley. Always potatoes or soup or veggies, the cheap stuff. Meat was a rarity. In a world where half the population had cheap, high quality, lab-grown meat, you’d think we could afford some too. And we could, if it wasn’t for the town tariffs. Plus a hunting permit was out of the question, way too expensive, and Mom wouldn’t risk much poaching.
During dinner, Mom gave us the spiel—the be careful and don’t do anything stupid spiel—as we stared into our orangey, day-old soup. Somehow, I kept a straight face.
After eating, Mom left with the leftovers and we put our heads together before Elly went to make cocoa.
“Wow, cynetics. It’s happening,” Vynce murmured once she was out of earshot.
“I know. We probably won’t find ‘em though.” I hoped we didn’t. They must have gone home...
His eyes lit up. “We might though, we’d be heroes.”
I didn’t care about being a hero. “I just want to stop those guys, those pigs.”
A noise. I was supposed to be keeping lookout. I didn’t smell anything but sprinted outside to be sure.
It was dark out, pitch black. The Moon was a sliver of itself in the night sky. The cold night air gave me a rush, fur on the back of my neck rising as the wolf in me readied itself.
Mom took forever paying her condolences. They weren’t close, but that’s how Mom was. She helped everyone.
Fifteen minutes later, I headed in. Elly was at the table, two virtual screens open, typing fast. She was smart, always had been. Not much of an outdoorsy girl, but boy did she love her books, the exact opposite of her rebellious twin. While Vynce hated school, Elly had read all thirty physical books in the three closest libraries, even though they were boring governmental ones.
Two hours to kill. What could I do? I had to burn this nervous energy in the pit of my stomach.
The web. I hopped on our family’s one computer. It was an old clunker, 2050s or 2060s at best, and couldn’t handle the VR Neuroweb. Probably a good thing, might be too tempting.
Blinking twice and raising my eyebrows, it verified my secure sign in and decrypted my account.
What was I looking for?
“Show me the news.” Nine glowing screens appeared filling my view. The story at the top right caught my eye and expanded, others floating to the side.
Animote Rebels Involved in Firefight with DNS.
Interesting. Did they have video?
‘This is Grahme Yipel reporting live from Faelig. Today, the Department of National Security (DNS) raided the apartment of a group of known animote terrorists. While details are sketchy, officials report the terrorists were targeting several large schools and hospitals. The damage would have been catastrophic.’
The camera panned to a small apartment filled with munitions and explosives, even a couple bulky anti-aircraft guns. ‘An anonymous tip allowed officers to apprehend the suspects before the attack. We won’t be seeing these traitors any time soon, other than the execution... And we have a short message from Minister Fury himself.’
It cut to a lofty wood-paneled office, a statuesque hard-eyed man with charismatic intensity sitting at a mahogany desk. He radiated power and there was something familiar about his abyss-black eyes. It gave me the creeps.
He stood, now even more imposing. ‘Remember, helping or harboring possible fugitives is a capital crime punishable by death. If you see or hear anything suspicious, contact your local DNS office. It is our job to keep you safe.’ His icy stare engulfed the camera and Grahme jumped back in, signing off after a foreboding silence.
I was skeptical of reports like these. We’d seen enough banned dystopian films—thanks to Mr. C—and read enough contraband sci-fi to know propaganda, violence, and government control went hand in hand. Either way, most of the story was bogus. The rebels—at least how they’d always been described to me—would never hurt kids. Bombing a school, no way. Sure, children might be injured blowing up government buildings or a police station, but a school? I didn’t buy it.
That led to a rabbit hole.
Vynce tapped my shoulder, scaring the daylights out of me. “I’m ready, I’m ready.” I gave him an angry look to hide my fright and took a few deep breaths. That was one thing about a real computer versus a band connection; the sound field. Somehow, focused sound waves shielded you from all but the loudest of outside noises. Great for concentration and flow.
He smirked and nudged me in the ribs. “Good. Hope you put your big boy panties on.”
I rolled my eyes. He liked to play tough, but I could take him. That was new. Before I’d turned sixteen, I’d been a lot smaller. Vynce had always won when we brawled. But I’d gained ten centimeters and five or ten kilos the last twelve months. Now we were both about 185, although he was a dork and would stand on his tiptoes to say he was taller.
Everything was ready. Plates were cleaned, dishes washed, and Vynce had stopped watching his Zone Five reality show—some survival thing elites loved where animotes competed for a job in Caen.
I listened for Mom’s rhythmic breathing. She was out cold. “We’re good. Let’s go.”
We headed out.
It felt like the night I’d found Bruce and I had a bad feeling about this. “Where’s Vovi?” I asked.
“We’re meeting by the school,” Elly said. “She thought it would be safer, behind the old field.”
Smart. Wooded enough to avoid attention but not so thick with pines we couldn’t find each other.
We took one last look at each other before setting off, creeping down the winding, unplanned street. It was quiet, dead quiet. No one was out and all but a few homes were dark. It was one of those nights. No one wanted to be out.