Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) (25 page)

I stood silently still on the balcony of my neighbour's apartment, a mere shadow in the humid night, and watched the electronic display across the street illuminate the heavens. Bright whites to catch your attention. Blues to calm you down. Reds for warning. It was clear the Cardinals weren't taking any chance Wánměi Citizens would miss their message tonight.

Heat made the air thick, the persistent drip of rainwater from the side of the building joined the buzz of electricity as the billboard changed to yet another scene.

I ground my teeth at the shot they'd chosen. Closing my eyes slowly and inhaling moist air deep into my lungs to calm my rapidly beating heart. There was so much to love about my country. The lushness. The heat that wrapped around your body like a lover's embrace. The vibrancy of the people. The cultural diversity.

And then there was so much to hate.

My eyes snapped open and I looked at the oversized image of Cardinal Chew-wen Wang Chao as he danced with his fiancée at the celebration ball. An elegant display of cultural unity, blacks and whites, complete harmony.

But it was fake.

This picture was a video of the waltz we'd performed; the exact instant Wang Chao spun me out to the length of his cream suited arm and then twirled me back into his broad chest. For a brief second or two the picture paused on the moment I returned to his embrace, the camera taking in all of Wang Chao's handsome face.

Taking in the look of adoration he had worn.

Of course, right after that I'd defied his father, set about a rebellion amongst the Elite in attendance, and then delivered a blow that compromised the Chief Overseer to such a degree he was subsequently killed.

I was thinking adoration wasn't the emotion Wang Chao, the new Chief Overseer, currently wore.

But the electronic display flashed a message persistently, one that boggled the mind and left me in no illusion at all that Wang Chao meant business.

Be a model Citizen! Tell the Cardinals where this woman is! Reunite the Chief Overseer and his beautiful bride.

It was marginally better than the message attached to Trent's picture. The one that showed him carrying an Elite woman dressed in a formal black and white ball gown out of the
Ohrikee
, the Chief Overseer's Palace. The woman had black and white striped hair as well, like a zebra, and lay unconscious in the rebel's arms.

Be a model Citizen! Tell the Cardinals where this man is! Help us bring justice to Wánměi.

Treason was a serious offence. Both Trent and I had performed it, along with those revolutionaries who had survived. But the campaign to reunite me with Wang Chao was subtle, whereas the one to bring Trent down lacked all finesse.

The billboard flashed to a new scene; a stoic faced Wang Chao being sworn in as Chief Overseer. The pain of his father's death was evident on his now scarred face. In his hand he carried two orchids. A vibrant red one for General Chew-wen. A pure white one for his fiancée.

An incredulous sound emerged from the back of my throat and I turned my back on the farcical display. Devoting my attention to the laundry room set into the corner of the balcony, adjacent to my old apartment. Not many Elite do their own laundry, but it's considered déclassé to be caught without every available piece of technology known to man.

Including a Shiloh unit. None of my new found acquaintances wanted to touch Shiloh with a barge pole, but we needed a unit we could trust. Some of our group were still official Citizens, requiring fortnightly testing and tracking with the Overseers. We needed to protect their identities. Being legitimate made certain things easier to obtain. Right now Trent and I were classless. Nameless. Exiles in our own country.

I had hopes we could purchase new identities once the fallout from the celebration ball calmed down. But so far it appeared that security in our city-state was only increasing. sPol and iPol drones on every corner, even in the quiet residential suburbs.
Wáikěiton
suffered the most, though. Elliott Street deserted but for the machines.

It didn't matter, that's not where we were currently based. But how long it would take the Cardinals to turn their attention to Little D'awa I did not know. For now we needed a trustworthy Shiloh, and I knew exactly where I could get one.

The lock on the laundry door snapped under the force of the blade I used to jimmy it. The sound drowned out by the thunderous rain. Late night rainstorms were my modus operandi. I never ventured out on a night time cat-walk without a little lightning to guide my way.

I slipped inside the opened door, my skin-tight black flight-suit soundless as I moved, the soft soles on my shoes making the barest hint of a squeak on the slick concrete surface of the balcony. The door clicked shut at my back, but I could still see. The open grille that allowed the dryer to vent heated air into the outside also let the multiple colours of the Cardinals' giant electronic billboard display flash across every surface in here.

For a moment the whiteware looked evil; deep reds alternating to vibrant blues.

I assessed the grille and pulled a handheld battery operated drill out of a vest pocket. Using the illumination from the billboard to guide me, I set about removing each screw. Within minutes I had the grille off and resting to the side of the washing machine, and in its place was an open hole large enough for me to climb through.

I hoisted my body up onto the edge, balancing precariously, and glanced down at the thirty floor drop. I'm not particular afraid of heights, much of what I do has been achieved from the roofs of skyscrapers, but there was something
real
about this one. Maybe because it was the height from my own penthouse apartment, the place I have officially called home for seven years.

I swallowed thickly and lifted my gaze to the grille covering my laundry room just across the way. My apartment, thankfully, a mirror image of this one. But this was still going to be tricky.

Leaning out as far as I could, I realised I couldn't reach the other side. The bars just far enough away to be useless. I'd have to jump, attach myself to the grille itself and then somehow remove it while not plummeting to my death.

I sucked in a deep breath of air and replaced the battery operated screwdriver with carabiners and ultra light-weight climbing rope instead. My heartbeat went into overdrive, a thrill rushing through me making the hairs on my arms stand on end and my skin to tingle. I swiped at the sweat beading on my brow, hooked myself into the safety line and then concentrated on my goal.

The first throw missed, but also created a God-awful racket as it clanked against the metal grille itself. I stretched my neck, held my breath, and then prepared to retry. The spring-loaded carabiner heavy in my hand as I weighed it, estimated the force and trajectory needed, and then let it fly.

It seemed to take forever, but finally hooked itself around a metal bar in the middle of the grille. I tugged it to check its strength and then gingerly moved to climb out of the gap on this side.

Telling myself not to look down was impossible, so I used the moment to see if I could detect movement down on the ground. The tell-tail glint of machine metal, the flashing red light of a drone. Visibility was poor. That's why I liked working at night in the middle of a storm. But nothing stood out below.

The further out I went, the more the wind buffeted me, but my hair was tied back in a neat braid. Non-model appropriate, of course, but that would be the least of my problems if I was caught. Praying to any god who would listen, I pushed off from the side of the balcony and swung across the space, bracing myself feet first against the wall to halt my momentum.

The safety line held. The carabiner didn't unhook itself or bend. Things were looking up.

I hauled myself up the rope using an ascender, then quickly replaced the carabiner with a quick draw at the top of the grille, leaving the rest of the grille available for removal. The screws that held it all in place were only accessible from inside the balcony, so I pulled out a small handheld blowtorch, firing it up and setting to work on each metal bar.

It took long minutes to cut a hole big enough for me to push through, while also ensuring I didn't weaken the integrity of the upper part of the grille where I was attached. By the time I finished, the bar I was hanging off, thirty floors above Parnell Rise, had started to bend. Weakened by the missing portion of the slatted cover.

I frantically began to haul my upper body through the opening, not waiting the requisite time for the metal to cool. The smell of burned nylon and lycra met my nose, stinging my eyes as it worked its way to the ceiling. But I slipped through without sticking, even though a quick assessment on the other side showed multiple little burn holes in my suit.

I made sure I wasn't on fire, and then released the quick draw, allowing the rope to fall to the balcony floor. For a second I just lay there, feeling bizarrely like a stranger in my own home. I hadn't used the balcony laundry much, but did store miscellaneous items here from time to time. My eyes took in the stacked plastic boxes, the dust that had begun to coat all the surfaces, blown in through the grille above the drier.

Pushing past the lump that had formed in my throat I moved to my feet, remaining in a crouch with my head cocked, trying to determine if there was any incongruous sound on the other side of the door. All I could hear was rain and distant thunder, and the buzz of the electronic billboard.

I slipped my knife blade into the lock and forced it open, letting the door only gape a mere inch. The balcony on the other side was devoid of movement, just pot plants that needed attention and slightly damp outdoor furniture. I slipped through and shut the door at my back, my eyes darting to the shadowed corners, reds and blues and whites lighting up the space intermittently.

The inside of my apartment appeared dark, but there was no way to know if someone waited for me. Wang Chao had definitely been concentrating on Elliott Street, but did he show the same dedication here? Or had he thought my dislike of all things Elite would mean I'd stay away from my Parnell home?

I could only hope he didn't realise my Shiloh unit was doctored. If he did, he'd expect me to return.

I moved silently to the keypad and entered my code. No eScanner needed for balcony access, one assumed you'd already passed the test to enter the apartment through the front door. The ranch-slider slid open with a faint hiss and before I could think better, I slipped through the opening onto plush white carpet and into an ominous silence.

For a second I couldn't figure out what was wrong, but as my eyes adjusted, and my ears stopped ringing from the incessant buzz of that blasted billboard, I noticed it was too quiet.

Shiloh didn't greet me. The refrigerator didn't offer its low hum. The air-con was switched off, making the air stale and thick. And oppressive.

I stood still, taking it all in, and then said softly, "Override, Lena Carr, 241386."

Nothing.

I let a slow breath of air out, my eyes scanning the lounge, into the hall, and then back towards the open plan kitchen.

"Reinstate, Selena Carstairs, 624138," I tried.

Nothing.

An emptiness settled inside my stomach, making my footsteps heavy as I approached the kitchen and the main Shiloh interface there.

A gap appeared in the wall where my Shiloh used to be, stripped and disconnected wires hung out haphazardly. She'd been taken and I could guess by whom.

I scanned the area to see if a message had been left, but nothing stood out. Nothing other than my missing Shiloh.

How long before Wang Chao broke her safeguards? How long before he knew what my father had given me?

I shouldn't have felt so attached to a robotic household assistance programme. Like my given name and the alias he had gifted me, the Shiloh unit was simply gone. I should have just turned my back and walked out. But still I stood there, staring at a hole that represented a gaping maw in my heart.

My hands fisted, my chest rose and fell too quickly with my rage, and finally I let out a wretched scream of frustration. Bending at the waist, curling in on myself, trying futilely to hold something of my father inside, close. Gripping frantically as I felt it all slip away.

The door to the apartment suddenly unlocked, a slither of light washed inside, bathing the hallway beside the kitchen in yellow.

I stood upright, started to turn towards the balcony, my flight-suit wings engaging as I snapped my arms out at my sides.

I'd taken two steps when he spoke and halted my trajectory.

"Honourable Selena Carstairs," a familiar voice announced. "I wondered how long it would take you to come home."

"Citizen Augustine," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

The old concierge smiled, pleased I remembered his name. Then the smile dimmed.

"The reward is substantial," he said as though asking for forgiveness.

I spun on my heel and started to run.

"Please forgive me," the old man called from further back in the apartment. "But I failed my test. I had to have something to bargain with."