The Rule of Luck (4 page)

I'm not sure what should have happened next. One moment, I reached for Arbiter Black's hand. The next, I felt a sharp twinge in my gut telling me to forget the hand and move away. So I did. And after that…

The wall exploded. Not just the office. The whole building. Through a haze of dust and smoke, I could see clear to the outside.

Arbiter Black was gone.

Well, not gone, given the red smear on the far wall and the scattering of bricks and mortar. Just not among the living anymore.

I backed away, hand shaking, my whole body shaking, in fact, and a scream locked in my throat. I tripped on an overturned chair and came to rest on the edge of the conference table, which had been blown clean across the room. I couldn't hear anything except the ringing in my ears. I covered and uncovered them with my hands, as if that would help. There were people rushing through the hole in the wall. Some looked like they were screaming, but I couldn't hear them. Then I noticed security outside, subduing the crowd. Oh gods, the crowd…the protesters…It took a moment for my brain to piece it together in a way that made sense. The protesters must have decided to do more than voice their displeasure. They bombed the clinic.

Movement caught my attention. Mr. Pennyworth rose from where he'd crouched on the floor. Aside from a dusting of rubble, he looked unscathed. He hesitated. Looked at me. Looked at the hole. And proceeded to make his way toward it. He was
leaving
me?

“Where the hell are you going?” I could barely hear myself though I was probably screaming. I saw his lips move, but couldn't make out the words. “What? I can't hear you!” Dust coated my throat when I breathed, and I fought to keep from coughing.

He took the handful of steps in my direction and stopped so close his lips brushed my left ear. “One Gov hooahs are on their way, and only one of us needs to take the fall. My advice is to cover your eyes and shut your mouth when they spray the gas.”

Then he moved in a burst of speed, using the dust and confusion for cover as he slipped through the hole in the wall. Panicked, I shuffled after him, but my rubbery legs failed and I hit the debris-littered floor. I tried crawling, pulling myself with desperate arms when my legs wouldn't work. Beneath me, I felt the ground thundering, and when I reached the shattered office wall, I understood why.

A squad of hooahs charged down the corridor, dressed in full riot gear—face shields, gas masks, and body armor. They looked like shiny black beetles walking on their hind legs, ready to crush anything in their path. But the only thing in their path was me.

When I saw the gas cannon pointed in my direction, I screamed. It fired, I ducked, and it hit the wall over my right shoulder. A cloud of smoke later, I did the only thing I could—took Mr. Pennyworth's advice and prayed to all the gods in the pantheon that I lived long enough to explain everything to Roy so he could arrest that freak's androgynous ass.

I caught a whiff of the sickly sweet gas. Immediately, my body seized. My thoughts just sort of…stopped. Panic doubled. Tripled. I wasn't even sure I knew my own name.

“What do we do with this one?” I heard someone say. Couldn't tell if they were male or female, but they must have been leaning right over me if I could hear them. “She's not with the scum outside.”

“Filters detected a foreign substance while in the Arbiter's presence. That makes her garbage too. Let's see how much she likes twenty years in a Soweto East holding pen shoveling out shit pockets.”

That was when they did…something. Rolled me over. Pressed the base of my skull. And darkness descended in a smothering wave.

It's never pleasant to wake up somewhere and not know where you are. It's doubly unpleasant to realize you're exactly where you thought you'd be—jail.

I sat up on a lumpy cot, wincing at the kinks in my neck and back. I tried stretching, but the pinching sensation I felt made it impossible. I'd never been someone who suffered from muscle cramps, so this was a horrible first. At least it seemed like my hearing had returned, so I thanked the gods for that tiny blessing. As I massaged my aches, I studied my cell.

Overhead, dim halogen bulbs struggled to illuminate the gloom. The walls were a dingy gray concrete covered with stains and scuffmarks, the air chill and dank. There were no windows, not even in the solid metal door. Eight cots were attached to the walls. Mine contained a mattress zipped into a white plastic case that crinkled when I moved.

I lay on a bottom cot, close to the door. Across from me, a dented metal bowl jutted from the wall—the toilet. In two of the ceiling's corners hung cameras, meaning should I use the bowl, it would be a fine show for anyone watching. It was also antiquated tech. Cameras were essentially obsolete given how easily images could be manipulated. I shifted uncomfortably, bladder straining, and sighed. Someone would be getting a show today.

I scurried to the bowl on shaky legs. I won't bother describing the treasure I found inside as I made my own deposit. When I reached for the handle with my bare foot—gods, not my hand—horror filled me when the thing wouldn't flush. Shake, rattle the handle…Nothing. I swore and hurried back to my cot, away from the offending bowl.

That's when I felt eyes on me. On the cot above mine was my cellmate.

The woman smirked. “Nice floor act. Can't wait for the encore.”

She looked older than me by several years, meaning for some reason she hadn't kept up her basic Renew treatments. Dirty brown hair pulled into a messy topknot, thin to the point of unhealthy, dark skin turned sickly green under the harsh florescent lights—she had a hardness to her face that came from years of anger, drugs, and general neglect. I'd seen that look before—I'm a Tarot card reader; I've witnessed plenty of desperation.

“I'm not here for your entertainment.” I hovered in the center of the cell. I didn't want to go back to my cot; it would put me too close to the woman. Then again, I didn't want to spend any more time near the bowl. “You going to keep watching?”

“No point. Show's over.” She cackled with laughter. “First time in the pit? You was out so long, I thought the guards'd tag you DNR.”

“DNR?”

“ ‘Do Not Resuscitate.' Then again, the dead don't pee.” She laughed again before offering an appraising look. “They let you shim anyone yet? If not, better think long and hard, sweetie. Whoever you shim's gonna need magic up his sleeve to get you outta the pit.”

I looked at my wrist. No c-tex bracelet. Fear gripped me as the woman's words sank in. I was in prison gods only knew where, in a situation I might never escape. My shady, tech-adverse family could do nothing. Hell, half of them would be arrested themselves if they so much as sent helpful thoughts in my direction. I took a breath. I'd have to shim Roy. He had MPLE contacts he could use. Yet even if he bailed me out, how could I explain the magnitude of what I'd done? I'd been caught in the presence of an Arbiter with a foreign substance. Damn that Mr. Pennyworth. How could I have known others had tried the same gambit before and that sensors existed to scan for it? Never mind that I hadn't even had a chance to do anything—One Gov's justice system would automatically consider me guilty.

“Funny, you being in here,” the woman continued, oblivious to my dilemma. “You seem the type who could afford decent t-mods.”

That made me pause. “I don't understand.”

She made a vague gesture with her thin arm. “Only regulars get the pit. One Gov doesn't have to worry we'll go all chain-breaker with some jumped up MH Factor for strength and smash our way out They got a special hate on for our particular kinda rat—spooks. Can't read 'em. Can't control 'em. And we all know One Gov loves control.”

“Except for spooks,” I echoed.

“Grifters outside the CN-net,” she clarified.

“I know what they are,” I snapped, then crossed to the other side of the cell away from the woman. She was right; I was a spook. Hell, I came from a long line of spooks. The Romani were a rare breed who patently refused to enroll in the free technological modifications and genetic enhancement birthing programs One Gov sponsored. Private sector adjustments were frowned on as well. My family was determined to remain pure human, whatever the hell that meant anymore. Still, that's what made my card reading abilities so unique. No gimmicks or cheats; the talent I had to predict future events was real. My family had always been proud they hadn't gone tech. Now I wondered if we were all suspected criminals on a watch list somewhere.

I looked up at her. “You're a spook too?”

“Only one in the group.”

“What group is that?”

“At the clinic. Who you think arranged that mess? Every group needs a mix of tech and spook, depending on the job. Funny you're in here though, given who I seen you with. Always thought he had more finesse.”

“Saw me with?”

“When you walked into the clinic, I seen you at the first checkpoint. You and your friend.”

That brought me up short. She knew Mr. Pennyworth? That seemed unlikely. Then again, what did I know about the world of organized crime? I knew enough to land my ass in jail and not much else. I wanted to curse my own stupidity. Yet my gut said something was going on and I needed to figure it out in a hurry.

“How exactly do you know my…friend?”

“Nairobi's a small town. Your friend's got lots of aliases. Not sure who he really is, but I know who he's linked with and it goes way up the food chain. That's a chain I'd like a piece of.”

I looked at the camera, then back to the woman. She returned the stare, unblinking yet somehow anxious. Her body language spoke nonchalance as she reclined on her cot, but the way her eyes darted to the cameras said something else.

“You're a plant, aren't you?” I guessed. “They want him, I'm the most obvious connection, and you're here to figure out what I know. They're probably feeding you enough information to draw me in and get me to confide in you, thinking I'll be so concerned with protecting my own neck, I'll give them anything they want.” I looked up at the camera, addressing my comments to the unseen viewer. “Considering how I've just been screwed over, I'd like to help, but I have no idea who he is. Until this morning, or yesterday, or whatever day this is, I'd never seen him before. I can't even tell you the chain of connection between us because I don't know how anyone got in touch with him either. Further, I'm guessing you've seized my client list, my business partner's name, and are looking up my family members to decide who to arrest next. Have fun with that. It'll be like beating your head against a brick wall. Now, do I get my shim or not?”

Even though I didn't have a clue what I was talking about, I sounded incredibly savvy to my own ears—like I breezed through these types of situations every day.

The woman's head cocked to the side as if listening to something I couldn't hear. Then she leaped up from her cot, padded barefoot across the cell, and pounded on the door.

“Spook don't got the goods. Let me out!” she yelled as she pounded.

Nothing happened. She pounded harder, but the door didn't open. She pounded a good five minutes to no avail. At first I thought it was a show for my benefit, designed to manipulate me. But as I watched, I revised my opinion. Her frustration grew and her pounding became more desperate. She tore out an earpiece and hurled it to the floor.

“Let me out!” she screeched until she was in tears, wild with rage. She whirled on me. “Tell 'em what they want! Tell 'em about the hopped-up t-mod git. I gotta get out! I can't take more time in here! Do it, or…or I'll hurt you real good!”

She looked like she could too, but what could I offer when I didn't know anything? She advanced. I stood my ground and held up a hand as if that might stop her. “If you touch me, any confession I make will be suspect. No one will believe what I say if it's under duress. Beating me up may make you feel better, but you won't get out any quicker and you'll have another charge against you. Besides—if you really were one of the protesters—we were at the clinic for the same reason.”

“What reason's that?” she asked suspiciously, voice hoarse.

“We're both women denied a basic right for reasons we don't understand, and we want that to stop.” I wasn't sure on that last part, but it couldn't hurt to appeal to some sort of sisterhood if it kept her from punching my lights out. Besides, I felt sorry for her. “You picked your way to protest. I picked mine.”

“Give 'em the name,” she said, but sounded less certain. “I got people waiting on me. I can't spend time in here again. The hooahs got no problem forgetting you're here. Don't care much about basic human rights either. No such thing as that in here.”

“I don't have anything to tell,” I lied. Maybe I'd feel different if left in the pit a few more days, but right now, all I had were my convictions and I'd stand by them.

The woman went back to her cot. She looked defeated, but I still wondered if it was an act. I sat on one of the vacant cots, tucked my legs against my chest again, and rested my chin on my knees. The woman lay down and sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead, then her belly. The plastic mattress cover crinkled under her.

“My baby died,” she said softly. “Real good boy. Always did what he was told. Giving everybody kisses. So happy and smiling. Knew he'd grow up to be somebody. Just knew it. Then one day…there was an accident. He died. I held him, bleeding all over me…I wanted to die too.” She stopped and I heard a sniff followed by a rattling cough and the ever-present mattress crinkle. “I applied to have another baby, but they wouldn't let me. Said I'd used my start-up allocation on my boy. Not enough resources left. Not enough calories. Shared Hope's only one baby for every two people. Wasn't allowed to have another. Then, they stopped my Renew treatments 'cuz they said I was becoming a problem. Figured I may as well give 'em what they expected.”

Another sniff and cough. No more words came after that. Nothing but the sound of her muffled cries. Maybe she was playing me, but no one could manufacture that kind of grief—the kind that wore a person right down to the bone until nothing remained.

“I'm blacklisted,” I said after she'd settled a little. “I'm not allowed to have a baby and I don't know why. I've appealed a dozen times and haven't gotten anywhere, so I thought I could get around the system, but…guess not.”

“Then I'm sorry I tried to make you give up a name.”

“And I'm sorry they tried to use your pain in this way.”

“You're the Night Alley card reader, ain't ya? Bet you didn't see this coming.” She laughed humorlessly. “My name's Bahati. Means ‘luck' in Swahili. Guess I didn't see it either.”

I thought of my last card reading and the identical reading I'd gotten for Petriv. I shivered. “I think I did. I just didn't know it until it was too late.”

“If we ever get out of here, I'll get you to tell my fortune. Maybe it'll help me figure what to do next.”

“It'll be on the house,” I agreed lavishly. To be honest, I doubted we'd see each other again, but to say those words and give voice to the implications would be too terrible.

I crept back to my original cot under hers and we each huddled on our mattresses in the chilly cell. I hated to be so callous, but I didn't have time to dwell on Bahati's plight. Her story was sad and I raged at the injustice, but I couldn't help but circle back to my own problem.

At some point, I fell back asleep. It was a restless sleep, full of awful dreams I couldn't remember. I woke up huddled in a fetal position, my arms tucked against my chest for warmth. It took me a moment to realize I was alone. While I slept, Bahati had been removed. I hated to think her story was a lie used to manipulate me, but I'd probably never know.

I sat up with slow, aching movements. There was no way to know how much time had passed, but I was dizzy, I had to pee again, and my stomach cramped with hunger. Worse, I was so thirsty, my tongue felt swollen in my mouth. I leaned forward and let my legs dangle over the cot's edge, in no hurry to use that disgusting toilet a second time.

Then the cell door opened. My eyes burned at the sudden brightness. I flinched and covered my face.

“You are free to go,” said a heavily accented male voice I didn't recognize. “The charges have been dropped.”

I paused, face still covered, thinking. Charges dropped? But I was guilty! I couldn't imagine any court in the tri-system would find me otherwise and yet…Roy must have pulled off a miracle. It was the only logical explanation. Maybe when he realized I was missing he'd put out feelers and tracked me down. That didn't quite make sense, but I didn't care. I just wanted the hell out in case someone realized they'd made a clerical error and changed their mind.

I slipped from the cot, one hand shielding my eyes as I hobbled barefoot out the door. It closed behind me with the click of an electronic lock. We progressed down a long corridor. The harsh overhead light showed a collection of gray doors, identical to the one I'd just left. I heard faint shouts from behind each. It made me curious, but now wasn't the time.

As my eyes adjusted, I glanced up at the One Gov officer, or “hooah,” was the derogatory term. Young male, dark skinned, dressed in the standard One Gov uniform of gray pants and shirt, insignia crest featuring a yellow sun and three white dots to represent the tri-system of Mars, Earth, and Venus over his left breast, a black beret on his head. Around his waist hung a regulation sidearm, a Sudanese mind spring that could stun the tech quiet in any t-mod, and a decorative dagger which was more for local custom than practical use.