Heroes - prologue and ch1
Today is not a day for heroes.
But today might be the day that you realise there is someone inside you, someone whose existence you never before suspected. Someone who, given the right circumstances, might be a hero. Even if they would rather not be and would rather join you in hiding under the bed.
The question is, how do you find this person? Can you discover them ahead of the crisis that will call them forth into action? Or is that crisis itself the only thing that will generate their existence?
And what happens when the crisis is over? Will you be able to recover your inner hero on demand when a future crisis strikes, or will you have to hope that they will somehow know that you need them?
Today is not a day for heroes.
Today is a day for living the only way you can, one breath at a time.
News Bulletin - the society wedding of the year took place earlier today between screen starlet Hellia Darphage and music idol Sidlock Wetlaw. Hellia was radiant in gold and emerald, her hair dyed to match her gown. Her five bridesmaids included three of her sisters, and Danita Sumpton, Sidlock’s previous wife. There were more than a few tears shed, and not all of them were tears of joy. The streets were lined with fans of both stars, devastated that their idol was tying the knot. There have been three reported suicides, directly linked to the wedding, and one person was…
‘Technician! My office! Now!’
The unwelcome voice of Captain Callistan blasted out of the speaker above the bank of terminals, penetrating even Jewel’s sound protective head phones, and she removed them with a sigh. What on earth could the old witch have to complain about today?
Jewel left her small work station, making sure that the lock on the door snapped shut behind her. The Captain’s office was two floors above, and she decided to take the stairs. Her boots scraped against each step, as she steadily ascended the first flight. On the landing, she had to wait to allow two other technicians wheeling a trolley containing various pieces of equipment to pass her on their way to the lift.
She seemed to climb the next flight even more quickly. Half way up, an insistent buzzingn in her pocket made her pause. Cursing silently, she drew her self built pocket-com out of her pocket.
News Bulletin - in financial news, stocks in Wetlaw Music Inc rose sharply today, following the marriage of the son of the founder. An ecstatic Saul Wetlaw told reporters, ‘This day just can’t get any better! My son has finally settled down, and the markets just love a good wedding.’
Elsewhere on the stock exchange, however, the news is not so good. Darphage Cleavage, the lingerie line designed by Hellia Darphage, Wetlaw’s newest daughter in law, took a tumble, following revelations that Hellia’s involvement in the company is largely restricted to appearing in the underwear, and not much else…
Rolling her eyes, Jewel flicked the compact unit closed.
‘Really, Esthar! This is not the time…’
‘Technician Jewel! Report to Captain Callistan’s office immediately!’ boomed out the Captain’s voice from every speaker in the building. A couple of Citadel Guards who were passing her on the stairs paused in their conversation to throw her a glance. She was almost sure it was not a sympathetic one.
‘Great! Now she’s really pissed. Thanks, oh, electronic buddy,’ she thought, scowling back at the Guards.
Taking the remaining stairs two at a time, she reached the top and hurried down the corridor. She paused for a moment outside the Captain’s office to make sure that she was reasonably tidy, and then tapped lightly on the door.
‘Come in!’ Callistan barked from within. Taking a deep breath, Jewel turned the handle of the door and entered the lion’s den.
Captain Callistan wore her uniform like a second skin. In fact, it looked more a part of her than her hair, which perched uncertainly on top of her head. A good sneeze, and it would end up on the other side of the room, Jewel thought. She buried the thought quickly. The expression on her superior’s face suggested that she was not in the mood for humour.
‘What in the name of all the Worlds do you think you’ve been doing?’ the monster demanded.
Making sure that her expression was perfectly neutral, Jewel began, ‘I’m sorry I took so long getting here. The lift…’
‘I’m not talking about getting your sorry backside into my office in three times the length of time it should have taken, idiot! I mean, what were you doing earlier today?’
‘I was doing my job, Ma’am,’ replied Jewel, by now thoroughly confused.
‘Your job?! Your job is to do what you’re told!’
‘Ma’am… I really don’t know…’
‘Specifically, you over-stepped the boundaries of your role, Technician!’
‘If you would be kind enough to explain…’
‘Who told you to repair every single security system on every single gate around the Citadel?
‘The Manual states…’
The older woman snorted. ‘The Manual! What does the Manual have to do with anything?’
Completely speechless, now, Jewel could only stare back at her. The only specific instructions she had ever received had been to follow the Manual explicitly, and the Manual said that any broken or damaged equipment was to be repaired or replace immediately.
‘I understood,’ the Captain continued, speaking slowly and deliberately, ‘that you were a person of intelligence. I did not expect you to be a petty follower of written rules and regulations.’
‘I can only follow the instructions that I have been given, Ma’am.’
‘And what about using initiative? Are you not capable of that?’
‘Given the correct circumstances…’
‘Which leads us back to the reason you are standing in front of me, instead of monitoring your terminals as you should be.’
Jewel took a deep breath. The conversation was making less and less sense the longer it continued. ‘Ma’am, if you could just explain what it is that I’ve done wrong, then I can correct it. Is there a camera that I left mis-aligned, or…’
‘Oh, no! You’ve repaired the entire system single handedly, and left it in the best condition it’s ever been in! That is the problem.’
‘I am employed as a hardware technician, Ma’am. My job is to fix the parts of the Citadel’s security system that are broken. I really don’t understand how doing my job well is a problem.’
‘You really are a Slummer aren’t you, Technician? You really have no idea what life in the Citadel is about. How did they ever choose you?’
‘I was not chosen, Ma’am, I won the competition run by the Tech Guild.’
‘Yes, of course you did. How silly of me to suggest otherwise,’ the Captain said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Storing this comment away for later, Jewel tried again to understand exactly what she had done to upset the Captain so much. ‘If my job is to repair the security system when parts of it are broken, and if I’ve done my job as well as possible, how is it…’ she trailed off, unsure of how best to finish the sentence.
‘How is it that I’m hauling you over the carpet? Oh you poor little innocent. OK, let me spell this out for you. And please, pay attention, Technician. I do not wish to have to repeat myself.
‘The Citadel is populated by rich and powerful people who can get anything they want at the drop of a hat. Those people have children, who are pampered and cosseted from the moment they are born. Some of those children occasionally require a little excitement in their lives. They find that excitement in the Slums. You must be aware of this? I mean, you did not live exclusively in your basement, or wherever you came from, did you? You did sometimes put your nose out of doors?’
‘Yes, of course, Ma’am. And yes, I did see Citadwellers visiting the Slums.’
‘And how exactly did you think they got there? Oh, never mind, I’ll tell you. You clearly didn’t think about it at all, did you? They find a gate whose security is down! Easy, eh?’
‘But isn’t there a Visa system, or something…’
‘Oh, yes, if you’re prepared to wait three weeks for your application to be processed. Do you think some poor little rich boy who wants to score a bit of illicit fun is really going to bother with a Visa? No, he isn’t.’
‘I see, Ma’am. What would you like me to do, then?’
The Captain’s face contorted, and for a moment Jewel thought she was in pain. ‘That’s a dangerous question, Technician,’ Castillan replied, quietly. ‘What I’d like you to do is to get yourself a proper Citadweller name, rather than clinging to your Slummer tag. Then I wouldn’t have to keep referring to you as “Technician”, would I? I’d also like it if you covered up that tattoo on your neck. We all know you’re a Slummer - you don’t have to flaunt it in front of us!
‘But most of all, what I’d really like, is for you to crawl back under the rock where you used to live. Does that answer your question?’
Jewel took a step backwards, as stunned as if the Captain had struck her. She knew the other woman disliked her, but she had not realised the extent of her distaste. ‘I… I meant…’
Castillan’s face suddenly reverted to its usual mask of indifferent distain. ‘You meant, “What would you like me to do about the almighty mess I’ve made”, didn’t you?’
All Jewel could manage was a silent nod.
‘Well, how about we test your initiative? What do you think would be a suitable solution to this situation?’
‘I suppose…’
‘Yes? What do you suppose?’
The unfairness of the whole situation suddenly settled on Jewel. She straightened her shoulders and looked the Captain directly in the eye. ‘I will go and undo the work I did on one of the gates. That will provide all of the Citadel’s rich boys and girls with a way in and out that will not involve them bothering the authorities in any way.’
‘Hmmm… That would appear to be a workable solution. You’d better get on with it, then, hadn’t you?’
Nodding briefly, Jewel turned on her heel and left the room. Outside in the corridor, she hesitated, wondering whether she should do her act of sabotage immediately. Better to get it over with, she decided, although it went against everything she had ever believed in. However, first she needed to retrieve her tools.
She returned to her work station, taking the lift, this time. The code on the door was one she had programmed herself. There was no particular reason - she was hiding no secrets in there - but the atmosphere of distrust that pervaded the Security Building of the Citadel Guard had got to her. If, or when, she left, she would have to return it to its original combination; or maybe she would leave it as it was, she thought, in a sudden surge of rebellious feeling.
Inside the work station, she grabbed her tool box and turned to leave. Suddenly, something caught her eye. Thoughtfully, she picked it up from its place on her shelf unit. It was one of the random objects that she had inherited with the room. The previous occupant had clearly been something of a magpie, and had amassed a curious collection of techy odds and ends. For some reason, he or she had chosen to leave it all behind when they moved on.
Or perhaps they had not had time to clear the room, she thought, suddenly.
Shoving the object deep in one of the many pockets in her work pants, she left quickly before she could follow her last thought any further.
Outside the building, she took a breath of the scented air. However horrible her work day might be, she could never regret making the move to the Citadel. Everywhere there were sights and sounds and smells that enticed her with their exoticness. Some things just never got old.
Swinging her small tool box, she chose a random direction to walk in. She still attracted curiosity from those around her, mostly because she made no effort at all to blend in. Living in the Citadel might be everything she had ever hoped and dreamed it would be, but she refused to forget where she had come from. That was why she had never changed her tag, the single nickname ‘Jewel’ that had been granted to her by her Clan. It was also why she didn’t cover the tat on her neck, a single drop of blood appearing to ooze from a narrow cut. And she had bought no new clothes since she had moved.
News Bulletin - sports news, next. Last night’s sky hockey game was struck by tragedy when the jet pack of one of the players back fired, throwing him out of the court and sending him hurtling to the ground. The player has been named as Bladez, last year’s winner of the golden hockey stick for his amazing total of fifty goals scored in a single season. Bladez, originally a Slummer, refused to drop his ‘tag’ when he won the Hockey Guild’s competition three seasons ago. His jet pack was brand new, the latest design to come out of Uncle’s work shop. Suggestions that the pack had not been thoroughly tested…
With an exasperated sigh, Jewel stabbed at the ‘off’ button on her pocket-com, making a mental note to check its circuits when she got back to her work station. She had it programmed to check for news bulletins, but not to shout them out loud at full volume at random moments. Slipping the hand sized com back into her pocket, her thoughts returned to her clothes.
Perhaps it really was time to get something new to wear. There was no way she wanted to disappear completely into the crowd, but she did not have to stand out quite so much, either. She had taken to carrying her tool box and wearing her Citadel Guard Civilian Employee badge all the time to avoid being mistaken for an escapee from the Guard House’s cells. Some Citadel Guards thumped first and checked personal transmitters later. It would definitely be worth spending a few credits to escape that kind of attention.
She was passing through a less fashionable section of the citadel, its streets lined with cut priced boutiques, tech shops, and junk shops, and filled with fewer people. There was bound to be something here, and she slowed her pace to peer in to the windows. The shop she was passing at that moment had three dummies behind its plate glass, each dressed in a skimpy, neon coloured, ensemble. Uncle’s work, she realised, as one of them suddenly changed position, holding its jacket open to show the gold lining.
There was no way she could imagine herself wearing anything like that. Perhaps she would do better in a men’s clothing shop. There was one across the street, its window also filled with its compliment of robot dummies. At least they were more or less completely clothed, and less garishly, too.
First of all, though, she had a job to do. A job that was apparently part of her job, although she had never been informed of it until today. The nearest gate was just a few streets away, and she headed in its direction. It was one of the minor gates, easily overlooked by a busy technician with many demands on her time, and attractive to the hypothetical ‘poor little rich boy’ of Callistan’s imagination due to the quietness of the streets around it. Perhaps she did not need to create such an elaborate scenario to justify breaking the security system on this gate rather than that on any other gate, but it helped to smother her natural resistance to what she was about to do.
Around her, the crowds continued to thin out, and, as she came to the gate, they disappeared completely. The only people passing her were in a hurry, using that route because it was quiet and would get them to their destination more quickly. Two girls walked past her, obviously patrons of the boutique she had passed earlier. They looked like two of the dummies brought to full life, and she shuddered at the thought of looking the same.
The gate itself was a metal arch that pierced the wall that encircled the Citadel. One either side, closed circuit cameras kept a constant watch, and a scanner backed them up, sending an invisible beam across the gap. Beyond it was a dusty car park that contained a few battered mag-cars. Vehicles were not allowed within the Citadel, so people parked them in the various car parks next to the gates. The car park you parked in indicated not only where you lived, but also a person’s status. Only Consuls, Pro-Consuls, and Senators could park next to the main gate. However, since any Citadweller could be chosen by lot to become a Senator, there was quite a range of ‘cars parked there. The car park led, in turn, to the Circle, a road that encircled the Citadel before joining the Highway, which created an elegant arc over the Slums far below.
When she was sure there was nobody in view, she picked a tool at random from her box and flung it precisely at the camera on the left of the gate. The lens shattered, and went dark. She repeated the process on the other camera. Now, anyone could pass through the gate unseen, but not yet undetected. The next step was to disable the scanner.
This went even harder against the grain. She had spent almost an hour re-wiring that very scanner only that morning. Gritting her teeth, she threw her metal tool through the beam. There was a flash of sparks as the metal short circuited the scanner, sending the beam back on itself, and blowing up the projector.
As she bent down to retrieve her spanner, something bumped against her leg. It was the object she had retrieved from her work station before she left. Pulling open the velcroed flap of the pocket in her thigh, she brought the object out, and studied it for a moment.
It was a miniature camera, that much she could see at a glance. However, beneath it there was another component that looked very much like a scanner projector. Before she could fully analyse what she was doing, she quickly unscrewed the grill covering the projector that she had just destroyed. Removing the burned out projector, she tucked it into her pocket, and then hooked the new camera and scanner combination unit into its wiring, and into the security system as a whole. She would have to isolate it when she got back to her work station so that none of the other technicians received its data. Until then, she would just have to hope that nobody noticed it. It only took a moment to replace the grill, which had a hole in the centre designed to allow the scanner beam through, but which would also give her hidden camera a clear view of anyone passing through the gate. In order to give the impression that the scanner was still broken, she knocked her plastic spanner against the grill covering the receiver on the opposite side of the gate until it hung, dented and useless, from a single screw.
She retraced her steps as quickly as she could, avoiding the more crowded streets, which were thronged with people making their way home for the evening. Her own home, a one roomed flat provided rent free by the Citadel Guard as part of her employment contract, called to her, but she needed to make sure her secret surveillance system stayed that way. She arrived back at the Security Building of the Citadel Guard in the middle of the shift change. Too many people were closing their terminals down, or starting them up, for anyone to be paying any attention to the number of active scanners on the system.
Holding her breath, she identified the scanner that she had just installed, and removed its identifying number from the system. Releasing the breath slowly, she sat still for a moment, absorbing the enormity of what she had done. She had not only sabotaged the Citadel’s security system, the system she was employed to repair, she had also set up a secret camera and scanner. Whilst she could argue that she had received instructions to perform the first action, she had no defence at all for the second.
Her train of thought was broken by the sudden flashing of one of the buttons on her terminal. Spex was calling her. In the stresses of the afternoon, she had completely forgotten that they had not spoken all day. She had not even had time to worry about his silence. Clicking the button quickly, she plastered what she hoped looked like a cheerful grin on her face.
‘What in the name of Hades is up with you?’ her friend and Clan mate demanded as soon as he appeared on screen.
Flustered by his perceptiveness, but unwilling to burden him with her troubles, she tried to bluff it out. ‘Nothing’s up with me! What are you talking about?’
‘Save your breath, Jewel. You always were a hopeless liar. Now, just tell me what’s the matter.’
‘I can’t Spex, at least, not now. I’m already late clocking off, and I’ve got no overtime authorised. If I don’t leave soon, someone will be round asking questions.’
Clearly unsatisfied, Spex peered at her through his trademark glasses. ‘Alright, I’ll let you go. But I’m calling you first thing tomorrow, right?’
‘Right. You can also explain why you’ve been quiet all day, today, too.’
He grinned, a little sheepishly, she thought. ‘Yeah, I will. Laters, dudette!’
He stretched his right fist forward, and she copied the gesture so that their fists met on the screen. ‘Laters, dude,’ she replied, before closing down her terminal for the night.
She had been right to hurry. Her immediate superior, Senior Technician Weldon Cartonian, was stamping along the corridor outside her work station as she emerged.
‘Oh, there you are! I thought you might be engaged in a little unauthorised overtime, Technician. That would be a bad move, considering the amount of trouble you’ve already got yourself into today, wouldn’t it?’
Jewel did not bother to reply. Cartonian was the only reason she had got into trouble, and they both knew it. Part of his job was to brief her thoroughly on her job, the official parts and the unofficial parts. Castillan had not even mentioned her induction training, she realised suddenly. Maybe they really were conspiring to make her life so miserable that she had to leave?
Keeping her head down, she moved purposefully towards the building’s exit, but Cartonian placed a sweaty hand on her arm, holding her back.
‘Why do you make life so difficult for yourself, Technician?’ he asked, suddenly, his voice a little less harsh than usual. She looked up, surprised, but was unable to read the expression on his face.
‘I, er, I’m going to get myself some new threads, tomorrow,’ she blurted.
‘I’m not just talking about the outward things, like clothes and names. Keep your tag - it suits you. I could make things much nicer for you around here - if you were nice to me, of course.’
Now there was no mistaking the leer in his voice, and she backed away, totally repulsed. ‘If you say anything like that to me again, I’ll report you to Castillan,’ she spat.
‘Do you really think she’d be bothered by anything you told her? You’re an embarrassment to her, Slummer. Most of your kind, the ones who refuse to integrate, don’t last long in the Citadel. They either give in, adopt proper names, have their tats lasered off, dress appropriately, or they give up and go back where they came from. Which way will you go?’
‘I’m not going anywhere! I won the competition fair and square; I have every right to be here. But I won’t disown my Clan by hiding my tat, or dishonour them by denying the tag they gave me. If that makes me an embarrassment to other ex-Slummers like you and Castillan, that isn’t my problem.’
Her last comment, actually a blind stab in the dark, apparently went home. His eyes were suddenly wary, and he lowered his voice. ‘How… how did you find out?’ he demanded, thrusting his face a little too close.
She shrugged, carelessly. ‘That’s for me to know. However, if you’re really so keen on nobody else finding out, how about authorising a little overtime for me? Say a couple of hours, tomorrow night?’
‘It’s yours! And er, no hard feelings, eh, Jewel?’
‘None at all,’ she replied, between gritted teeth.
News Bulletin - weather. Well, it’s a balmy evening, once again, folks. Warm enough for a gentle stroll in one of the Citadel’s parks, with just enough breeze to make it comfortable. It looks like being another glorious day in the Alexandria Citadel, tomorrow. Bright blue skies are predicted, with the odd fluffy cloud passing overhead for a little variety. There will be a full fourteen hours of sunlight, so make sure they all count, OK? For those travelling further afield, Athena Citadel will experience light showers throughout the day, whilst Babylon Citadel will be suffering from sandstorms. Also, please be aware of the heavy magnetic storms…
Jewel entered her flat using her magkey, the door whispering open just enough to allow her to slip through before sliding closed again. She pressed the ‘Lock’ button on the inside, and then leaned back against the door. The stresses of the day flowed over her, and she closed her eyes in a vain effort to shut them out. Rather than the welcome blackness of forgetfulness, the faces of Castillan and Cartonian floated before her.
The Captain she felt happy to ignore. The woman might or might not be an ex-Slummer who felt that her exalted position protected her from someone finding out about her past, but either way she was a mean-spirited, spiteful person. Avoiding her notice was the best way to deal with her, at least for the present.
Cartonian was a different matter. She had to forge some kind of working relationship with him, surely? If only for the sake of her own sanity. Blackmail was, she felt, the worst way to go about that, even if, from now on, the potential of it occurring was only in his head. It might make him nicer to her on the surface, but it would surely make him seek to remove her completely all the more quickly.
Pushing both issues aside as tomorrow’s problems, she opened her eyes and scanned her tiny quarters. The flat was a single room barely five meters by three, and everything in it was a different shade of yellow. The cumulative effect was to set her teeth on edge, which she doubted was the original intention. However, the flat came ready furnished and decorated, and nothing was to be altered without permission.
In the very centre of the floor was a circular table surrounded by four flexi-chairs, all of which were fixed to the floor. The remains of her breakfast still lay on the table, reminding her of the scramble to get to work on time that morning. The holo-player in the middle winked a small red light at her, indicating that a programme was about to start. She had no idea what it might be, as she never watched the scheduled programmes. It must be yet another relic of her predecessor.
Passing her bed, which was still in its ‘down’ position, since she had not had time to make it and push it back into its indent in the wall that morning, she selected a music disc and slipped it into the ‘player. It was the last disc that Spex had cut for her before she left the Slums. The memories it generated of ‘home’ were probably unrealistic and over sentimental, but they comforted her for the moment.
Opposite the racks of music, vids, and games that surrounded the room’s window was a kitchenette containing a freezer, a micro-oven, and a sanitiser. She loaded the last of these with her breakfast dishes, and whilst it went through its cycle, placed a frozen pasta meal into the micro’. Both machines pinged at almost the same moment, and she ladled hot food onto clean plate, then carried it over to the bed. She sat on it cross-legged rather than using one of the flexi-chairs, which reminded her of hospital scanners from particularly lurid horror vids. They might well provide the best way of hearing her music with their built-in speakers, and of watching vids with the personalised screens that slid in and out of a slot in one side, but she preferred the imperfect version she got from her bed.
The only exception was gaming. There really was no substitute for the full-body experience, with its jolts, scents, and other more subtle sensations. She had almost given up gaming, since she moved to the Citadel.
Finishing the last few mouthfuls of food, she placed the utensils back into the sanitiser. The plate was deep enough to use as a bowl, and the single eating utensil had three prongs, a bowl, and a dull blade along the edge opposite the mouth.
She stripped off, throwing her clothes into the laundro-bin, lifting her bed just enough to reach it. Once the unit was full, the clothes would be chemically cleansed automatically. Next to the laundro-bin were three drawers containing her clothes, and she pulled out a set of light cotton pyjamas, which she left on the bed.
Just beyond the table was an opaque glass screen behind which was the wet room. Inside, she stepped into the sonic shower, closing her eyes and just enjoying the feeling of doing nothing. A low beep told her that the process had finished, and she returned to the main room, and put on her pyjamas.
Spex’ disc had finished, and she clicked the play button again. Esthar lay on the table where she had left it after removing it from her pocket. The news bulletins were annoying, and a potential embarrassment. Only Uncle branded comps, gadgets and general gizmos were used officially in the Citadel. Esthar was her own work, although largely based on Uncle components she had gleaned whilst living in the Slums. Whilst they indicated that the pocket-com was tuned into the entertainment and news channels as she intended, she only wanted them to play when she specifically requested them. She suspected that their random appearance hinted at some problem with Esthar’s circuitry.
It was another of tomorrow’s problems, however, she decided. Worn out by all of the cares that she could not deal with immediately, she slipped into bed and sank into sleep.