Trash crunched under his feet as Zen walked down the empty street. He had heard that this was once a bustling high street, full of people and shops and traffic and commerce, but it was hard to believe that now. Windows were glazed with plywood and brick or, where those materials had been liberated, nothing. The sky was gone, walled out by the first level of the new city that had been built above the crime and decay of the old city in a bid to start afresh. Only the faintest rumor of daylight glimmered at the furthest ends of the street; every elsewhere was lit by denial lamps – cold beacons that flickered with a harsh frequency, specifically installed to discourage the denizens of the under-city from showing their faces in the street. Zen wore dark glasses, and looked at the ground.
Presently he arrived at one of the great banks of elevators that provided access to the upper levels. The denial lamps yielded to more humane illumination, but even though Zen knew a large population lived in this area, he could see only one other person: Shawnee, loitering in his usual spot in a doorway across the street from Elevator 8 South. Zen took a deep breath; today was the big day.
“Hi Shawnee. I’ve got the papers. They’re flawless.” He handed over two data cards to Shawnee, who did not return the greeting, but took a leashed shackle and a submission hood from his briefcase. “Ready?”
Zen nodded, but winced nonetheless as Shawnee forced the hood over his head and snapped the shackle onto his wrists. His vision restricted, Zen was entirely dependent on Shawnee to guide him. Shawnee smoothly adopted the slaveowner’s role by jerking the leash and cursing when Zen stumbled. They eventually settled on a locomotive rhythm, but by then they had entered the elevator. Shawnee performed the elaborate ID ritual that kept people like Zen in the basement and then Zen felt his stomach lurch as the elevator lifted him higher than he’d ever been since his arrival in the city.
Presently the doors slid open and Shawnee half led, half dragged Zen outside. Even with the hood on, Zen could appreciate how different this level was from the ground floor he was used to. The ground was empty of garbage and dust. The hallway was lit with a pleasant ambient light that came close to Zen’s memories of sunlight. Everything was perfect, as if flaws and smudges had been banished by official decree.
Zen hurried to catch up with Shawnee to ask where they were going, but he had barely opened his mouth before his captor backhanded him across the face. Shawnee said nothing until a few moments later, when they were in an access way that had less traffic.
“Ninety-eight percent of the public areas in the city are covered by cameras. Don’t ever break from your role again, or we’ll both get busted. We’re headed for a separate elevator that will take us to the upper city and the shuttle port.”
Sure enough, they soon came to a new elevator nexus, but they did not get in before Shawnee clipped Zen’s ear for gawking at the lurid advertising playing out in hyper-real color on the wall. Shawnee danced with the ID scanner, and once more Zen felt the ground drop away. This elevator was faster and more lushly appointed than the first, reflecting the tastes and stations of the citizens who had access to the exclusive upper levels of the city.
When the doors slid open Zen was expecting to see the busy hallways of the shuttle dock, where he and Shawnee intended to catch a flight to the offshore space port. He was therefore disoriented when the doors revealed a richly decorated apartment, and Shawnee swept him inside before Zen could say anything.
“Welcome to my home,” said Shawnee. “I regret to say that there has been a slight change in plan.”
Zen instantly grasped the implication, and swung his shackled wrists at his all-too-real captor. Shawnee, anticipating the attack, jerked the leash and Zen found himself staring at the ceiling. Suddenly he felt as if his head was being crushed in a vice, and realized that Shawnee had activated the submission hood. Conceding defeat, he went limp.
“Very good,” said Shawnee. “You can see why I don’t particularly have any reason to go offworld. The colonies are still rather short on luxury at this stage. However, I could use some help around here. I think you’ll agree it’s a better life than on the ground … ?”
Zen ground his teeth. “At least on the ground I was free.”
“Pah,” Shawnee snorted. “Free until the Grates caught you. Then you’d be deported and back out in the cold where you came from. What do you know of free? Work makes you free. So work for me.” He pressed a button on the leash, and the shackles fell off Zen’s wrists. “We’ll keep the hood on you for n…”
But Zen had already made his move with an agility, speed and grace that Shawnee had failed to anticipate. His trachea cracked with a sickening pop, and Zen was free.
Five minutes later, Zen had modified one of the data cards – using black-market equipment that he himself had procured for Shawnee – and used his late host’s net account to reserve a seat on the next shuttle flight.
A third elevator ride finally brought Zen into fresh air at the apex of the city. It had recently rained, and the whole city glistened like a jewel below him. The late-afternoon sun burst out from the clouds, and a golden shuttle approached Zen like an eagle, ready to carry him away to the spaceport, the colonies, and freedom.