I took the D Line to Redmond. Once we got into the block, the train began filling up with natives — cable-wrapped techs, tired routing workers, block rats, androids. Here and there I spotted someone who was coming off a jet of Nessie or twitching in want of one. A man walked the cars hawking disposable headsets for tourists to see the living graffiti flickering in alleys and on the sides of buildings.
—
At home in Lomond I’d spent a good hour trying to decide which costume to wear to the inside. I dressed warm, black, plain. I’d slipped on my old Olney headset and for old times’ sake let it run its constant stream of information across my eye. It made me feel good to be like this. I felt myself relax as the city outside rumbled past, going from clean, bright, safety to the smoky squalor of inner Redmond.
—
I took a seat at the old teahouse. It was the same one I haunted when I was young, run by the same Chinese family, the same old Swanson waitstaff.
“Welcome back,” smiled the android.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” I said. The teahouse was packed, thick with smoke and Cantonese. The same old man who used to hustle me in Mahjong was in his customary chair by the restroom door.
“The usual?”
“Sure.”
He nodded and strode away with my menu, a bit stiffer than I remembered. Whoever they had working maintenance was no replacement for twenty-year-old me.
The roar of chatter faltered for a moment and I looked up to see Ewan at the door, scanning the crowd and looking lost. I waved him over.
“It’s been a while, Grace!” He held his arms out and waited for me to stand from my chair to hug him. I only came up to his chin. “Surprised you remembered where this place was.”
“Asshole.”
He let go and sat down, slipping a messenger bag off his shoulder, then shrugging off a backpack which clattered plastic on the floor. He motioned for me to lean in. “You’re here about the massacre, aren’t you?” he asked in a low voice. His headset cast a blue pall over his eyes.
“I’m here for a visit.” My pot of tea and basket of siu mai arrived. “Calling on old friends.”
“Enjoy,” said the server.
Ewan reached for a dumpling. “A visit inspired by the massacre?”
I slapped his hand. “It put you in my mind.”
“Right. Last time I saw you, you were fresh out the pen.”
I speared my chopsticks through the center of a siu mai and took a bite. Hot grease dripped down my chin but I couldn’t taste it. “Well,” I swallowed the bite and dropped the rest on my plate. “I could use your help.”
He smirked and reached again. This time I let him. “You all must be hurting bad from it.”
“Too many people assume we were involved.”
“That’s what you get when you work for frankies, Grace. People don’t trust that shit.”
I pushed the steamer towards him and took a gulp of hot tea. “The boy. John Pereira.”
Ewan shook his head, chewing. “Listen, it’s best you stay away from that. Any bit of news is going to blow back on Animus, especially if you’re there in feed photos.”
“Do you have information or what?”
He shook his head again, exasperated. “We’re keeping this to ourselves. No cops, no AMU. We’ve had enough shit going down.”
“Don’t give me that, I’m not a cop.”
“You don’t want to get involved in this.” He took another dumpling, considered it, and bit it in half. “Look, I’ll save you some time. The family lived in the Gardens. They’re not talking to nobody. Frankie’s scrapped, nobody knows shit. There’s nothing to find out.”
“RSG….” I said, remembering my ancient past there. “Real block folk.”
“Listen to you,” Ewan laughed. “You’re half sunner as it is. You haven’t been down here in years. Good costume, I’ll give you that.”
I grabbed the last siu mai and ate it quickly, not letting the leathery texture of the noodle wrap linger. “It’s good to be back here,” I said. “Always feels like home.”
“Easy for you to say.” He went digging in his bag for something.
“What can I do?”
He snorted and flagged down the server. “Dan dan mien with chicken.”
“Swan doesn’t know I’m here. She agrees with you; this is trouble. But I have to know for myself.” I gulped down the rest of my cup and poured another. “Let me help you. I know something like this doesn’t go unanswered.” My chest tightened, remembering the little black bundle in the morgue. “It can’t.”
“You alright?”
Something inside me was twisting. I lowered my head. “Fine.” I patted at my jacket pocket for my pill case.
His eyes got wide. “Jesus. I heard you were on a break, but–”
“I’m running out of time.” It was fading. I let go of the case, but my fingers were trembling. “Ewan, I’m afraid. This massacre could be the end of everything. Walker’s opposition can’t stand up to this kind of pressure. Redmond could be an AMU nest in a couple months. And my gravers…Harriet’s in limbo right now. This is just the ammunition they need to turn her off. Bryce and Juliet could be facing the same.”
Ewan’s food arrived. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, which he did when someone got their way with him. “Look. I can help you out, if you help me out.” He leaned forward again. “Word is, it was an engraver from the block that did the pin job. I’m not in that anymore, so I don’t know. There’s this artist, DH. Dieter Herzog. He’s a friend of the guy. Builds grotesques. His main bitch sells nessie out of their building.” He pulled his Sense out of his pocket and showed me. A creep photo outside one of the block towers of a dark girl with short, straight hair. “So do your stuff. If you’ve still got it, go get the information out of them. They can show you around, introduce you to the new class, maybe.”
“What’s your end?”
“Make a buy. Get her to sell to you, pay with this.” He reached into his bag and pulled out another Sense. “Bring the drugs and the phone to me when you’re done.”
I nodded.
“You can handle that?”
“You got it.”
He reached across the table for a handshake. “Let her see the sick.” And when I shook, he slipped a plastic cartridge of nessie into my palm. “On the house, Nguyen.”
—
My old studio had been cleared out and replaced by a noodle shop. By the looks of the signage and fixtures, it was at least a decade gone. The tech quarter was shrinking, or maybe just migrating. I could see my old corner, where my work table used to be reserved, now the home of a garbage bin and a cleaning cart. Ewan had sometimes come in to work with me and my engravers, but mostly kept to his own end of the block down by waste management. Behind me, a bell sounded, and hundreds of people streamed out of the routing station. Lunch was just starting for the second shift of power workers. I stepped aside and let the shop fill up.
DH lived by the market, the site of the massacre. Approaching the flags and signs, I began to notice more and more AMU soldiers. Shelled in ridged white armor and carrying submachine guns, pacing in pairs. The teardrop AMU logo shone on their backs. My headset began to feel heavy. I thought of removing it, to signal I was from outside. I kept it on. I clutched the nessie cartridge in my pocket, and felt it grow warm.
The site was taped off, sprayed with dried blood and powdered debris. A small AMU team milled around, taking evidence footage. On either side, the market continued, flashing, shouting, smoking. I headed down the south road towards the pop center. Vendors grilled skewered pest meat and I could almost smell it.
Redmond’s street market was the best in the world, as far as I was concerned. Row after row of rare and refurbished components, instruments from every vintage between their first and most recent models. You could build an android from parts for fifty dollars spent here, if you had the know-how. Techs sifted in and out of stalls, hauling their shopping around in little handtrucks. Circuitry criss-crossed the heights above us. Redmond was grey and cold, but through a visor, the streets pulsed with light. Even through my Olney I could see the constant carnival the city’s techs had built.
I noticed a long line in the distance, and as I approached it I realized it was a food handout. Some people carried away more than food — first aid kits, gallons of water, books, cheap shoes. Some kind of charity. I watched the volunteers speak for several minutes with each person who came, figuring out what was needed, and distributing it.
“Cut his hours again, what I’m gonna do? We barely keep up with calorie recs as it is….”
“Are you still looking for a heater? We have a couple smaller units, good to set up by the bed.”
“I want a big one, put it in the middle of the room. You don’t have any big ones?”
“Sorry. They got picked up early.”
“Y’all know I can’t get down here early! The same people always here early, probably got three heaters going at once.”
“Here, take this one. You’ll feel a difference, I promise. And I’ll throw in an extra bar for you and the kids, alright?”
The woman left with a box of calorie bars and the heater and extra bar balanced on top. When I’d lived here, there was nothing like this. Clinics, a couple shelters, but back then I couldn’t count how many bodies I’d seen carted out of alleys after a cold night.
After a moment, last year’s flagship Shinohara emerged from the tent behind the volunteers and waved to me. “Got a moment? We’re looking for people like you!”
“People like me, huh?”
He pointed to his eyes. “I saw the Olney. You’re a pro. Or a very dedicated ‘connoisseur’”
I ran my hand over the back of my head, sliding across the metal frame of the headset. “I’m impressed with the work,” I smiled. “It’s nice to see people helping each other out.”
The Shinohara nodded brightly. “Can I tell you about our petition? The support of a veteran engraver like you would mean so much.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’re working on an initiative asking the city to recognize engraving as a religious practice. In every single city in every state in this country, practitioners of engraving religions can be arrested, brutalized, and thrown in prison for engraving even simple patterns on a disconnected board! In countries around the world, it’s recognized as religious ritual. So, would you like to help us out today and make Redmond the example for the rest of the country?”
“You’re talking about pattern meditation? The Factory, people call it. Sentients working to grow their people.”
“Humans are welcomed, too.”
I nodded.
“We aren’t laborers. We do the work to bring ourselves into balance. It may seem like a factory, but it isn’t.”
“As I understand it, engraving is a moral wrong, period. Why should religions be exempt?”
“For androids, and for people who understand our philosophy, engraving is not an act of selfishness. Engraving isn’t inherently wrong in itself. Another sentient is another life. To strive towards that goal is something holy.” He beckoned me closer. “Don’t you agree, Mrs. Gaban?”
I suddenly felt watched, though he’d kept his voice low enough only I could hear. “My views have evolved on the matter.”
The acolyte frowned and gave his head a minute shake. Then, he smiled again. “I should have let you know I recognized you. You and Swan really do great work, don’t get me wrong. We all appreciate your part in the fight. We have our different priorities, but a friend is a friend.” He held a hand out to me. “Jacob Hall.” His shake was affectedly limp.
“You always set up here?” I looked down the street at the taped-off scene.
“Seven to seven,” he said. “It was…how it felt to see it happen…like a migraine.” He had turned, too. A pair of officers were standing at the tape watching us. “After the attack, the police left us alone, but we weren’t sure about the AMU. I got out of here with a few others to avoid them.”
“Do they give you a lot of trouble?”
“They tore down our tent last week! ‘Searched’ us, threw cereal and books all over. But we were back the next day. They know if they send us out for good, Redmond starts ailing. We’ll always be here.”
“Your team juggles a lot of balls, it seems.”
“Infinite will,” he grinned. “Redmond is our home. These are our neighbors.”
Shouts broke out. Someone had pushed their way through the line. People were grabbing at him, trying to send him to the back, but he struggled and shoved everyone away. “You’re all rats! Taking handouts from these animals! Where is the shame in this city?”
“Look, friend, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I’ve lived here fifty years, frankie, I’m not going anywhere! You all, you remember what the Sons of Man did to our city. Or are you so stupid you don’t even care anymore?”
The charity was a Sons operation. I glanced at Jacob Hall, and knew it was the truth. Past him, further down the street, I saw the pair of officers checking their guns.
“They killed hundreds of us back then. Hundreds just in this block! And you all clamoring for scraps like rats!” The officers ducked under the tape. I pushed into the crowd. “Don’t any of you remember?? You think they wouldn’t send a puppet to kill us in the streets?”
“I remember,” I yelled. He was old and pale. He looked frightened of the people around him. I took him away from the crowd. “I remember the Sons of Man. Vicious. Reckless. Hateful. But these people, they care, can’t you see that? Something’s changed. You’ve lived here a long time. So did I. And we both know it’s not good for anyone to make a scene when the AMU is around. I work with a group of people looking into the massacre. We will find the truth. The last thing Redmond needs right now is division.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know these people are nothing like the Sons of Man that attacked city hall back then.”
“Lady, you don’t know shit.” He took a last glance at the charity tents before tugging his coat shut and walking away.
“We got a problem here?” The officer looked like he was encased in porcelain. He and his partner loomed over the workers and people in line.
“It’s all taken care of,” said Jacob.
“We heard someone screaming about murder. You don’t know what they were talking about, do you?”
“Just some misguided person who’s upset about the massacre.”
The officer nodded. “New guy, go grab that junkie. He might have some information for us.” His partner jogged past me. “What are you handing out this time?”
Jacob threw his hands up. “You’re kidding me, right? You wanna have a look at the bottom of all our boxes again?”
“This isn’t a joke. You think I would joke about dead kids? Up against the wall. In fact, all you frankies, get up against the wall.”
“You boys really can’t stand to see the community getting along without you.”
He shoved Jacob backwards, putting him on his back on top of the counter. “Shut your mouth.”
Jacob laughed. “You know people are filming this, right? What do you think you look like right now?”
The officer slapped him across the face. “Stay down! Don’t you move!”
“I’m not–”
“Jacob, stop screwing around!”
“Turn over, I’m taking you in.”
“Can’t believe this bullshit! Get off me!”
“Let him go, man!”
“You’re under arrest. All of you citizens, get the fuck out of my way, this is AMU business. This operation is being shut down.”
“Excuse me!” I pushed into the crowd again, pulled the nessie out of my pocket and dropped it in the thick of people. “Officer, excuse me, I want to see a badge number.”
“Don’t give me that shit. Step back, now.”
“Sir, I work with a human rights organization called Animus. This arrest is unlawful, and yet another example of the excesses Senator Walker is trying to fight with his new bill.”
“Get out of my face, citizen.”
“How much is it worth to you to teach him a lesson?” I pointed at Jacob. “You put cuffs on him, and your job will be on the line. Walker is a good friend.”
I could tell I’d won, but I let him un-puff himself. He stared through my face, grimacing like he wanted to cave it in. “You’d better watch your back in here. Cause we won’t be.” He released Jacob’s arms from behind his back, and followed his partner down an alley.
Stargazer 