Mistrunner - Chapter 6 - The Bazaar

Please be aware that, in preparation for the Kindle and Audible release (on Nov. 29), I've removed the first 53 chapters of Death: Genesis.  

When I first obtained my Nexus Implant, I thought I had become a superhero, like in the comics I read growing up. But strength is relative. When I realized that the rest of the universe had power on a level I couldn’t even conceive, it put everything into perspective. That’s when I realized that the war – if it ever even was that - was lost.

Jeremiah Braddock III

I was a little annoyed when, after all that build-up, my uncle looked out the window, saw that night had truly fallen, and said, “We’ll go in the morning. Get some rest.”

“But…”

He cut my complaint off with a hard-edged glance, and I went silent. Even before I’d agreed to follow his guidance, he’d had that look that felt like a slap in the face. Some people need physical violence to make a point. My uncle, though? He could do more with a shift of his eyes than most people could accomplish with both fists. Still, that didn’t stop me from huffing in annoyance as I pushed myself to my feet and dragged my way back to my bedroom.

When I got there and the door slid shut behind me, I collapsed onto my bed. For quite some time, I’d been sleeping on a discarded, old couch, so suddenly having a bed beneath me was a welcome change. However, I was too worked up to even think about sleeping. After all, my life had just changed. I’d expected that – everyone got a Nexus Implant at my age, and that didn’t come without significantly altering your life – but I had not expected things to turn so dramatically. Suddenly, I started to come to terms with the fact that, in a single night, I’d become one of most powerful people in the city.

I was a Tier-7. Even my uncle couldn’t claim that, and literally everyone was terrified of him. But then I started to wonder why I didn’t feel any stronger. After all, I’d seen Tier-3’s punch through brick walls, and I was more than twice as powerful as them, now. Shouldn’t I be able to do something similar, even without any significant training?

I was just gearing up to do something stupid in order to test out my new strength when there was a knock at my door. With a sigh, I said, “Open.”

The door obeyed my verbal command, sliding into the wall to reveal Heather, who was standing there and holding a tray of food. A wide, blisteringly white smile decorated her face, and I could see that the tray contained all my favorites. Jambalaya, and judging by the smell, it wasn’t the kind with clumps of soy in the shape of shrimp and sausage. It was the real stuff. There was also a pile of seasoned fries made from real potatoes. And a glass bottle containing dark, fizzing NuCola. It was jam-packed with artificial sweeteners, but it had always been my favorite drink.

“You hungry?” she asked.

I sighed. “Sure,” was my response. I’d never liked Heather, but it wasn’t really her fault. She’d never been anything but kind to me, and she’d always made every effort to ingratiate herself to me. In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t because she liked me or wanted to be my friend. I was important to Jeremiah, and despite looking like a prototypical dumb, blond bimbo, she was smart enough to know that we came in a package deal. If she pushed me into truly hating her – as opposed to simple annoyance – I could easily turn my uncle against her. She knew that, and so, she tried her best to make sure we got along.

We didn’t. I’d made my dislike abundantly clear. But she still tried, and for that, she’d at least earned some modicum of respect. Not a lot, mind you, but enough that I didn’t shove the tray back into her face. Plus, you know – real jambalaya. I couldn’t waste something that precious.

So, predictably, I took the tray and, after sitting at my desk – which was covered in all sorts of stickers, most of which were logos of various bands I followed – I tucked in. And it was just as delightful as I’d expected it to be. Whatever other faults she might have had, the woman could cook. Maybe that was why my uncle kept her around.

Right, I thought with a mental roll of my eyes as I glanced in her direction and seeing all her other assets, which were barely contained in a tight tank top and a pair of shorts. That was totally the reason. But who knew? Maybe he actually liked talking to her or something. Stranger things had happened.

“How are you doing? Getting settled back in?” she asked.

“Uh…sure,” I said between mouthfuls of delicious jambalaya. I shoved a few fries into my mouth. “It’s a lot more comfortable here than in the sewers. It’s the rats and the sewer vipers, you know? Oh, and all the human waste, of course.”

As I continued happily munching on the food, I saw Heather’s face go even paler than usual. “Oh,” she said. “That must have been horrible.”

I shrugged. “I guess,” I said. “But it all worked out.”

She sat on the bed next to me, and for a moment, she was silent, fidgeting with her fingernails. Finally, after a few seconds, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked, mouth full of rice, shrimp, and sausage.

“For driving you away,” she said. “I never meant to make you feel unwelcome. I’ve only ever wanted to be your friend. The whole time you were gone, I just…I hardly slept. I barely ate. I was so worried about you.”

That’s when I really looked at her, and what I saw wasn’t nearly as pretty as I remembered. She was skinnier than she’d ever been, and I had a feeling that if she lifted her shirt, I would be able to see her ribs. More than that, there were dark circles beneath her eyes that no amount of makeup could conceal. She’d made an effort, but there was a definite limit to what even modern cosmetics could do.  Even her blonde hair had lost some of its luster.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“What?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s nothing,” I said. “Just starting to realize that I’m the asshole in this situation.”

“What? No!” she said, looking panicked. “I pushed too hard. It’s my fault. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to push you away. I’m sorry. I knew it was too soon to talk to you about this. Stupid. I’m always so stupid.”

If I hadn’t felt bad before, I did after that little outburst. Suddenly, I saw my actions for what they were – the tantrum of a spoiled child. Sure, I’d felt justified at the time, but running away had been a stupid decision. A hundred horrible things could have happened, and as a result, the people who cared about me would suffer. I’d never even considered how my actions would affect Jeremiah or Heather.

“Look,” I said, reaching out to grip her hand. She was shaking. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? It’s me. I just wanted to…I don’t know…everything here just felt so oppressive. And I needed to get away for a little while.”

It wasn’t really more complicated than that. Sure, it had been an argument about Jeremiah refusing to let me attend a Leviathan concert in Algiers, but that hadn’t been the real issue. When I chose to run away, I’d only intended to do so for long enough to go to the concert. However, the freedom had gotten to me, and I had chosen to stay away for an extra day. One day turned into two, and two days turned into a week. Before long, I was living in that abandoned cistern and stealing in order to survive. Like that, I’d felt more alive than I ever had cooped up in my customary gilded cage.

“I just wanted to be free for a little bit,” I said. “That’s it. I just needed to get out on my own.”

She looked up, and my heart broke when I saw the tears gathering around her blue eyes. “I thought it was me,” she said. “You…y-you never liked me. I know that. I just…I never wanted to replace your mother or anything. I just wanted to be your friend. Like a sister. Or a cool aunt.”

I gave her hands a squeeze. She really wasn’t that much older than me. A decade seemed like a lot, but when compared to how old my uncle was, it was nothing. At that moment, it occurred to me that she was probably just as lonely as I ever was. After all, she left the building even less frequently than I ever had.

Heather wiped her eyes and sniffed loudly before saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put this kind of thing on you when you first got back. I know you’re probably tired.”

“Uh…yeah,” I said. “It’s…it’s fine.”

I didn’t really know what else to say or, even if I did, how I was supposed to say it. So, after a few more awkward moments, she stood and left the room. I sat there, barely even remembering the food on my tray. I knew I needed to be better. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten the day’s lesson. I needed to think about how my actions affected other people. Those innocents who’d been slaughtered by overzealous Enforcers. The three men my uncle had been forced to kill, lest the disrespect end up destabilizing his position and resulting in even more deaths. Heather, who had been so worried about me that she’d stopped eating or sleeping properly.

I’d thought I was an island, that my actions happened in a vacuum. But they didn’t. Nobody’s did. Often, they had unexpected consequences. And now that I was on the verge of getting real power, I needed to think even more about the ripples of cause and effect.

As I went over it all in my head, I mechanically finished my meal. I barely tasted it, and when I was finished, I crawled into bed and fell asleep far more quickly than I could have anticipated. It felt like only a second passed before I awakened to a rough nudge on my shoulder. I looked up to see my uncle standing over me.

He said, “Up and at ‘em. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

I groaned, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I threw off my synthetic cotton blankets – even we couldn’t afford the real thing – and sat up. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I said, “Like what?”

“We’ve got to get you kitted out,” he said. “That means weapons. Armor. Cybernetics. And to do that, we’ve got to go the Bazaar. So, get up, and get dressed. This should be an interesting day for you.” He started to leave the room, but stopped halfway out the door and said, “And eat something. I made cheese grits. Real cheese, too.”

“You had me at cheese grits,” was my grinning reply.

“That’s literally the last thing…you know what? Whatever,” he said. “Just hurry up.”

As he left the room, the doors lid shut behind him and I pushed myself to my feet. After partaking of said cheese grits – and savoring every last bite – I hopped in the shower, then got dressed. I chose a pair of synth-leather pants, ripped and torn in all sorts of interesting places and a loose tank top that left a bit of my stomach bare. Over that, I wore a short synth-leather jacket, studded with metal rivets. Topping off the outfit were my new boots, as much for a sense of fashion as for the reminder that I needed to be wary of the consequences of my actions.

Finally, I was forced to do…something…with my hair. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of it or anything. When everything went right, I loved it. But it was just that things rarely went right, and it ended up too frizzy, too big, or just too…everything. It was almost enough to make me regret getting rid of my braids.

After a lot of effort and way more fiddling than I wanted, I ended up just tying it back. Anything else would take too much time, and I was eager to experience the Bazaar. I’d heard stories about it – everyone had – but I was sure that actually experiencing what it had to offer was going to be far different than hearing a few stories.

What I did know was that it was the commercial hub of our entire world, where people bought and sold all sorts of interesting things. Without it, everyone would go without even the basic necessities – or that’s what we’d learned in school. Based on my uncle’s attitude, though, I had a sneaking suspicion that its usefulness in terms of the survival of everyday people had been exaggerated.

After I was finished dressing, I joined my uncle in the kitchen, where he was drinking a cup of coffee. He looked me up and down and just shook his head.

“What?” I asked, gearing up for an argument. “Something the matter with my clothes?”

He chuckled. “You’re lucky you live in a climate-controlled city,” he said.

“What’s that mean?” I asked. “Everyone lives in the city.”

“Even you don’t believe that’s true, do you?” he asked. “I know they pump you full of propaganda at that poor excuse for a school, but still…I thought you were more discerning than that. Maybe I’m giving you too much credit, though.” He downed the last of his coffee, then set the cup aside as he said, “Let’s go. Daylight’s burning.”

As I followed him out of the apartment and to the elevator, he made a point to stop and talk to everyone we passed. Most were just normal people – not even fighters – but he didn’t care. To him, a local maintenance worker was just as important as one of the tribe’s Operators, and Jeremiah wanted them to know how much he valued them. For my part, having seen the same thing a hundred times before, I was lost in my own thoughts. Specifically, I found myself wondering how much of what I’d learned in school I could actually trust.

My uncle had implied that it was all just propaganda, but that couldn’t be true, could it? Someone would have said something, if that was the case. Jeremiah would have told me the truth, I felt sure. But looking back, was that really the case?

Eventually, we made our way through the village-like top floor of our megabuilding and entered the elevator. It took us to the parking structure, where we quickly dismounted the elevator and went to the waiting car. Jeremiah had a whole fleet of vehicles, but he’d chosen the same sedan we’d taken the day before. After I slid into the backseat, my uncle joined me, and a moment later, we were off.

In the bright light of morning, the Garden looked different than it had the previous evening. Steam rose from the grates lining the sides of the street – the climate controllers hard at work – and there was a distinct lack of garishly dressed people. Instead, almost everyone – even the ones with wild hairstyles and multiple piercings – wore outfits appropriate for a day in the Silo or one of the factories in Algiers. It wasn’t surprising. That was how almost everyone in the Garden earned a living. After all, they didn’t have the advantages afforded to the people in other, wealthier districts.

Of course, the Operators were still a ubiquitous presence. I could see my uncle’s people, recognizable because of their predatory gaits and the bits of bright orange in their outfits. But there were other tribes represented as well. The Bengals, with their purple and gold. The Hurricanes in green. The Cyberdogs, with their penchant for visible cybernetics. On and on it went; there were as many gangs and tribes within Nova City as there were buildings. And there were a lot of buildings, each one housing some group wanting to make a name for themselves as the city’s next big thing. Most failed, and usually, explosively. But that didn’t stop people from trying because the alternative was a life spent in drudgery.

Or worse, somewhere like Bourbon Street. I’d never been there. Jeremiah wouldn’t allow that. But I’d heard plenty of stories, and what I’d heard – even if it was exaggerated – made me want to avoid the place at all costs.

“You alright?” my uncle asked as the car skated through the streets on a cushion of Mist.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just nervous, I guess.”

“It’s just the Bazaar,” he said. “You’ll be fine. This is a good day. Remember that.”

I nodded, but I remained silent as we traversed the city, eventually leaving The Garden and passing into Bywater. Finally, we reached our destination – a giant, circular behemoth of a building made of steel, glass, and concrete. It had a footprint to match any of the megabuildings, but, at only a dozen stories tall, it was much shorter. Atop a glittering, glass dome was a huge antenna.

“The Dome,” I muttered. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen the building, but I’d never been inside. It occurred to me then that it was my sixteenth birthday, and that, if Jeremiah hadn’t given me the Tier-7 Nexus Implant, I’d have had to report to this building to receive something more mundane. Would I have qualified for something special? Or would I have been relegated to getting a Tier-2 or worse? If that had happened, would I have ended up as one of those dead-eyed pleasure slaves on Bourbon Street? Or maybe I would have been one of the mindless factory workers over in Algiers. I might have even ended up like my mother, a weak and nameless street vendor. My uncle had saved me from having to confront those possibilities, and for that, I would be eternally grateful.

“Come on,” he said, sliding out of the driver’s side door. I opened mine and joined him on the sidewalk, which abutted the huge, concrete courtyard populated with various fountains and statues. Each one depicted a mythological deity. Zeus. Buddha. Athena. Thor. And a hundred others, all on their knees and with their arms stretched toward the sky in a welcoming posture. I heard Jeremiah mutter, “Propaganda. Fucking aliens.”

“What?” I asked.

“Those are humanity’s gods,” he said, gesturing to the statues. “And they’re practically worshipping the beings in the sky. That’s what they want from us. When they come back, they want us down on our knees and ready to worship them. Otherwise, they might have to work for their profits.” He spat on the sidewalk, then added, “Come on. Quit gawking.”

He practically dragged me through the courtyard and into one of the building’s comparatively tiny entrances. I couldn’t help but stare at the expansive, airy place, and I was reminded of the stories I’d heard of giant sports stadiums from the old world. Apparently, the Dome was a recreation of one of those stadiums, though I couldn’t help but wonder how those comparatively unadvanced people had built such a structure. They hadn’t even had Mist back then.

Finally, Jeremiah led me through the lobby, which was decorated with actual, living plants, and to a hall which led into the interior of the building. There was a line, so we had to wait a few minutes before getting our turn. When we did, a bored-looking attendant took one look at us, and after Jeremiah explained that it was my first time, the woman scanned the both of us with a short, black wand before waving us through.

A few minutes, a dozen twists and turns, and a steadily rising heartrate saw us standing in front of a red-and-black obelisk. It was decorated with various carvings, the origin or meaning of which were a mystery to me, but Jeremiah didn’t hesitate to place his hand on one. He said, “Put your hand next to mine.”

I did.

“And don’t scream,” he said.

I tried not to, but the moment the words left his mouth, I felt something snatch me around the middle and drag me away. A scream escaped my mouth, especially when I saw myself still standing there with my hand on the obelisk. Not that I had much time to study the scene, because I was very quickly pulled up and out of the Dome and into the sky. A few seconds later, I was in the upper atmosphere, and only a few seconds after that, I crashed onto a polished floor.

I hadn’t stopped screaming the entire time.

Jeremiah chuckled, and, looking down at me, he said, “I thought I told you not to scream.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I muttered, rising to all fours.

“That’d be a neat trick, considering you don’t have a physical body here,” he said. “But I suppose you see new things every day. Welcome to the Bazaar. Now, get up. We’ve got a lot to get done, and I don’t want to have to pay for an extra span of access.”