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  "Cute,” Bellow said.

  "Abandoned subway switching station,” Kara said. “Chin-Hae took it over from the homeless about two years ago and has been developing it ever since. Magnetically shielded from surveillance. Holds about four hundred, if you squeeze them in."

  "Where's the power coming from?"

  "They're tapping into New London's central artery. The draw's so low compared to what they use, the company doesn't even notice."

  A baby was crying somewhere out of sight as the boy shot a rubber band at them and ducked back behind the stove. “Quite an army,” Bellow said. “When are you planning your coup?"

  "Come on,” Kara said. She led him down a winding passageway through the cubicles with Charlie and the other guard taking up the rear. Men and women stared at them as they passed; they left silence in their wake. By the time they reached the other side, the entire room had grown noticeably quieter, and most of the eyes were on them.

  "They like you,” Kara said. “They think you're closer to God."

  "I'm just a hired gun. I go where the money is."

  "Chin-Hae thinks highly of you."

  "We go back a long way,” Bellow said. “He owes me one. I'm about to collect."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  -6-

  "William Bellow, after all this time. How good to see you, my friend.” Chin-Hae stuck out his hand. “I'd get up, but you see it's become rather more difficult."

  Bellow stepped into the crowded room and took Chin-Hae's slippery grip. He was a hugely fat man who wheeled himself around on a specially designed motorized chair, pale as a ghost from so many years without the sun, white rolls straining the sleeves of his shirt and pant seams. His head seemed to balance in a pocket of fat, and the smell of him was like old shoes left out in a rainstorm.

  Still, he was a man of rare vision and talent. Too bad, Bellow thought, that his views had become so extreme they had tipped him over the edge and landed him down there, off the grid, one of the company's most wanted men. He was good enough to stay one step ahead of them for now, but they would get him eventually.

  He took the board Bellow had brought and held it up to the light. “Hewlett Packard, 1998,” he said. “Am I right?"

  "I wouldn't bet against you."

  "Ha. I'll use this, Will, and I thank you.” He turned his chair to a pile of junked equipment in the corner and lifted a magnetic clip, which he attached to the board. To Bellow's left, a tower of computer casings had become a giant caterpillar weaving a cocoon made of yellow wires, and above it hung a graceful crane in flight, woven from hard drives and old DVDs. In another corner stood the sculpture of a man in full body armor made from theater speaker housings and receivers. Multi-colored wires peeked out like veins beneath a plastic shell of forearm muscle.

  "You've been busy,” Bellow said.

  "This? Simply a form of meditation. My real passion is out there.” Chin-Hae swept his arm toward a bank of computers and what lay beyond the wall. They were alone in a small room off the larger chamber, a room that might have once been a storage area or conductor's office. Through the thick metal door, Bellow heard the faint sounds of the people milling around. He wondered if Kara was among them.

  "Do they know what you're trying to do?"

  "Oh, yes.” Chin-Hae nodded, rolls of fat jiggling in his neck. “This is all about the revolution, my friend. We spend many hours deprogramming those who find their way to us. New London has scrambled the minds of millions, but we can undo the damage."

  "They're not much to look at."

  "What can I do?” Chin-Hae held up his hands. “'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’ I can't turn them away if they're looking for the truth, and anyway it keeps them from Gutenberg's church. But there are warriors among them, make no mistake. Someday freedom will mean something again. We could use you, Will."

  "I'm a mercenary."

  "No.” Chin-Hae shook his head. “You're an opportunist. There's opportunity here. Think of what we could accomplish with you fighting at our side! Think of the damage you could do to their networks from inside, with your talent. There's no one quite like you. The world would be changed forever."

  "They have a security force of thousands and the best programmers in the world."

  "They don't have me."

  It might have sounded boastful, Bellow thought, if it weren't the truth. Chin-Hae had been New London's shining star many years ago, until he had begun to question their motives and methods. When they discovered he had started sabotaging the company with crippling viruses, Bellow was hired to undo the damage. He did so, but he also helped Chin-Hae escape, although New London had never suspected it.

  A small yellow bird in a cage made a chirping sound, and Chin-Hae dipped his pudgy fingers into a painted china bowl on a desk and lifted seed through the bars. The bird hopped to his hand and ate rapidly, flicking husks with a violent twitch of its beak.

  "My canary in a coal mine,” he said, “in case they find us and choose to pump the sewers full of nerve gas. Now, do you mind? Just put this on for a moment, if you will. I'm sorry.” He picked up a plastic helmet next to the china bowl and gave it to Bellow, who slipped it over his head. The plastic felt cool against his skin.

  Chin-Hae engaged a holodeck from a slot on the desk, then began manipulating the wave signature settings that began to dance across its glowing surface. “Your name?” he said.

  "William Bellow."

  "You are how old?"

  "Forty-three."

  Chin-Hae studied the wave signatures for a moment, then tweaked a line with his pointer finger. “Do you know who I am?"

  "Chin-Hae, former software developer and programmer for New London Industries. Leader of the Underground, artiste and revolutionary."

  "Tap the clip reader there, that's right.” Chin-Hae sighed. “And your business here today?"

  "I'm here to find out if you had anything to do with a series of electric pulses that have disrupted New London's network recently, resulting in the deaths of three users."

  Chin-Hae's pudgy fingers paused for just a moment before resuming their activities across the holodeck. “Remarkable. Your waveforms seem completely unaffected by any dark marketing techniques. You are truly unique, Will. But you already know that."

  "And I'm telling the truth."

  Chin-Hae nodded. “It appears that way. Your alphas speak of honesty, and yet there is something unusual going on. Your brain signature doesn't match your stated age. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a toddler."

  "Young at heart,” Bellow said. “Or in mind. Can we get on with it now?” He took off the helmet and handed it back. “Since when have you been recruiting clones?"

  "You mean Kara? She's the first, as far as we know. The most sophisticated these days are nearly impossible to identify. She came to us not long ago—wanted to get out of the sex trade. She read sincere, and her wave patterns suggested an aptitude for our kind of work, so we welcomed her."

  "I found vats of her in a warehouse not far from here."

  Chin-Hae looked surprised. “Not ours. We don't engage in unnatural births. Our goal is antisprawl, as you know. Returning our Earth to her natural state. But once Pandora's box has been opened, it's difficult to close it again."

  "Just be careful. New London's security force is everywhere, and those looking to Transform won't be too happy with you, either."

  "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me."

  "We go back a long way."

  "Indeed.” Chin-Hae smiled. “Where have you been, Will? I heard you died on a job six years ago, fried up dark as toast. It was a great surprise and a true pleasure to hear from you yesterday."

  "You never answered my question."

  "What, the pulse deaths? No, we had nothing to do with that. Although I won't deny it's serving a purpose, waking up the population. New London Industries is as evil an entity as has ever existed on this planet
—responsible for mass destruction of natural resources, support of organized crime, brainwashing countless citizens, the collapse of the polar ice caps. Now their answer is space colonization. Blast off and leave the mess behind. Have you heard that?"

  "This latest victim, Stephanie Vaille,” Bellow said. “Her father is one of yours."

  "David is a valuable ally to the resistance, yes. I knew him way back when. He's gone dark now. I have no idea where he is."

  "Killing his child with technology would make a point."

  "We didn't do it,” Chin-Hae said. “That's not our style, Will, and you know that. I'd be offended, but I know you're just doing your job."

  "I believe you,” Bellow said. “I need another favor."

  "Name it."

  "There was a witness to Stephanie's murder. I want to get at the security files, find out where this witness is and anything else I can about her."

  "You can get all that yourself,” Chin-Hae said. “Why come to me?"

  "Because you're off the grid. Untraceable. I don't want them to know I'm looking. And I don't know who I can trust yet."

  Chin-Hae chuckled again, rocking back in his chair. “Ain't that the truth, my friend. Hold on.” He began to manipulate the data on the holodeck, his fingers a blur of motion.

  "Do you ever find it strange,” Bellow said as he watched Chin-Hae work, “that you've decided to devote the rest of your life to fighting technology, and yet here you are using it when it suits you and sculpting art from the refuse?"

  Chin-Hae chuckled. “Technology is only a tool. It's the people who decide how to shape it. I used to believe that our perception was solid, that I could believe what my eyes saw, what my skin felt, and what my nose smelled. Now I know that isn't true. With the proper alterations you can smell a rose when it's really dog shit. I think people are like that. Don't you agree?"

  "Not all of them."

  "No,” Chin-Hae said. “You, for example. You could pay to look twenty again. Fix that broken nose and rebuild your collagen. And yet you don't. Why?"

  "I can't afford it."

  "Come now. We both know you could if you made that a priority. I think perhaps you want to live as God made you. No hiding. You, William, are antisprawl in spite of your talent. Just like me.” Chin-Hae let out a satisfied sigh. “Here we are. New London's security files. Your witness is a woman named Deborah Acevedo. She's a historian with Central Holdings, on vacation. Virtually inexperienced, very frightened. New London has her flagged as high risk: a potential maven whose alphas are not easily influenced. She's being kept in Tower security on level G. They're very worried about the damage she might do should they release her."

  "And the victim's body?"

  "Stephanie is being kept in the morgue under a security detail. I don't expect she'll get up and walk out. So who are they trying to keep from getting in, do you think?” Chin-Hae closed the holodeck abruptly. “That's all for now, I'm afraid. Can't stay online for too long or they'll lock in on me, regardless of my precautions. Is that enough for you?"

  "Thank you, Chin-Hae."

  "My pleasure. You come visit us anytime.” The big man wheeled away from the desk and over to the birdcage where the little yellow canary sat with its head tucked under one wing. “I want to show you something, before you go."

  He opened the cage door and wheeled himself back next to Bellow. They watched as the canary woke up and cocked its head, then hopped to the edge and peered out into the room. There was a moment of silence, pregnant with the possibilities. The bird fluttered its wings, and then hopped back to its perch.

  "Cage them long enough, they don't know what freedom is anymore,” Chin-Hae said softly. “You see?” He put a soft white hand on Bellow's arm, and when he looked up, his eyes were shining. “You might try to figure out what happened to you after Mexico City. I think it's important somehow. This retirement, was it voluntary? You were never one to sit idle for long."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  -7-

  Back at his cubicle, Bellow stripped out of his sulfur-smelling clothes and slid into a vitamin shower. He was grimy with muck from the sewers and his whiskers had started growing again. He felt filthy inside and out.

  After his shower he removed the OLED display he always carried from his valise and tacked it to the wall. He lay back on soft foam cushions and stared at an image of the night sky, huge and pregnant with stars. It never failed to calm him. The idea of the vastness of space while humanity was a mere speck on the screen kept him humble. He was nothing but an ant crawling through the earth, his pursuits to be forgotten instantly, their importance negligible compared to this.

  When his heart rate had calmed to 50 beats per minute and his breathing was level and deep, he blinked into the web, crawl-scanning through thousands of files until he came to the one he wanted: movie stars from the twentieth century. He brought up a clip from one of Kara's Oscar-winning roles. It didn't matter what she did onscreen, he found himself studying her lips, her eyes, her delicate fingers as they held a cigarette. She was devastatingly beautiful, her mouth soft and sensual, her body smooth, tight, and rounded in all the right places. It made sense they would want to clone her, now that her rights had become public. Who wouldn't want to go to bed with a woman like that?

  But who had done it? None of the usual suspects made much sense. Something nagged at him, and he didn't like the feeling. Perhaps he was spending too much time and energy trying to decipher her role in all of this. If her appearance in his life was random, then he was wasting time.

  And yet it was to her that his mind kept drifting back, her face he could not dismiss.

  A knock on his cubicle door, like an alarm clock jarring him from a dream.

  He blinked out and focused on the ceiling, regaining his real-time balance. The walls seemed stiflingly close. At first he thought that the MSNetwork had found him, and he considered not answering at all, but when he opened the door it was Kara.

  She pushed in past him and whirled. “Lock it."

  "What do you want?"

  "Just lock the fucking door!” She sat on his bed and put her hands to her face, her voice coming muffled through splayed fingers. “They're after me. They want to take me back in for brainwashing. They're saying I'm a bad seed."

  "You're off the grid and working for the resistance. I'd say that in their minds, that certainly qualifies. And while we're at it, who is ‘they,’ anyhow?"

  She looked up at him. “My employers. Look, I don't want to go into this."

  "You're in the sex trade. I understand."

  "No.” She shook her pretty head, glossy hair shimmering in the lights. “It's not what you think."

  "How old are you, anyway?"

  "Eighteen."

  "But when were you incubated?"

  "I don't know!"

  A newborn clone of a twentieth century film star complete with teenage memories. No wonder she had joined the resistance. “How did you find me?"

  "Chin-Hae checked the hotel records. He's happy to have me keep an eye on you, if you want to know the truth."

  Bellow went to his door and peered through the peephole. That was all he needed, a visit from a couple of bio-pimps. As if he didn't have enough trouble keeping a low profile.

  "You looked shocked to see me, underground. You could at least have apologized for the way you treated me in the club."

  "I never said I was a gentleman."

  You're so...” she made a frustrated sound. “All you originals are alike!"

  "Listen,” Bellow said, sitting next to her. “You're having adjustment problems, and that's perfectly natural. In your mind you've lived eighteen years, you've got eighteen years of memories of a life nothing at all like this one, and trying to figure all that out has got your head in a vice. You're a flesh and blood sex worker in a world that has started trying to convince everyone to go virtual to avoid pregnancies and venereal disease. So you've gone out on the lam and gotten yourself wrapped up in Chin-Hae
's obsession as a way to find yourself. It's understandable."

  "Don't be so smug,” she said. “I don't know who I am or what I'm supposed to do, and neither do you. I just want people to treat me like a human being."

  "We all want that. You're no different from the rest of the world."

  "Aren't I?” Her chest hitched. The tears started rolling down her face.

  Bellow put his arm around her shoulders. Even now he was conscious of her unbearable sexual energy. He felt like a miserable shit.

  "You don't know what I've seen in those clubs,” she said, swiping at her face with her sleeve. “What the human mind convinces itself is a good idea."

  "Like mutilants?"

  "There are those, sure. Funny name, not so funny results. Wounds created and torn apart so the scar gets worse. I've seen people begging to have their noses broken or earlobes removed, tongues split, toes or fingers amputated. But you know what really scares me? The ones who want to do it to someone else."

  "There are drugs to handle that. Or alpha wave manipulators."

  "These people don't want to be helped. They don't think it's a disease.” She sniffled adorably. “I think it's an evolutionary kill switch gone haywire. You ever heard of caged mother rabbits that eat their young?"

  "Jesus."

  "They do. I'm not making this up. When they feel like they don't have enough space, they eat them. It's probably an instinct to protect the warren when resources get tight. I think that's what's going on with humans. Our self-destruct button's getting pushed, but people don't quite know what it means."

  "How do you know about rabbits?"

  "I read it somewhere. You know, they thought the world would be a perfect place by now. Look at Transformations: gene therapy to tweak disease, targeted drugs to change mood, wave manipulators to influence decisions, virtual reality to entertain us. So many people joining up every day, hoping for the miracle, their ascent into the new humanity. And yet here we are, still trying to kill each other and damaging ourselves in the process. Now we're spreading out in space. I wonder if we'll infect other planets, too."