Impervious (The Ascension Series Book 1) (5 page)

But then she remembered what had startled her awake. Ted in a velvety robe. The whisper of slippers. A spasm of death. A nightmare, filled with color and emotion so real…

Fran reached up to brush away the pesky bug, but found no dancing intruder. Just a trickle of tear down her cheek. And a desire to shed a million more.

Chapter Five

An unexpected sob ripped through her throat, and she placed her hands over her face, hoping no one had heard the sound. Clamping her jaw, she ground her teeth until the taste of salty blood filled her mouth and remained in the darkness until she was sure the weakness had departed. After stowing the reader back into the folds of her jacket, Fran rose onto all fours. She crawled and tapped, mentally mapping out her movements. When she arrived at the “T” separating east from west, she hesitated. Before allowing time to put the conscious thought together, her body propelled her along a westward shaft—away from the OE—into the West Wing.

Despite the fact Rebel instincts told her to stay away from the sellout wing, she had to see Ted with her own eyes. Just to be sure. It might take a day, or maybe even a week, to search every living quarter, but she had to bear witness to what she only assumed up to this point.

Had he sold out? Had he turned cold to the notion of hope?

She shook her head in an effort to disperse the nagging thoughts and, like a creepy peeper, stole glimpses inside the residents’ personal living spaces. Every pod looked the same with white epoxy-coated floors and matching stark walls. In an effort to mark originality, however, each owner outfitted his little slice of Impervious with artistic sculptures, shimmery wall hangings, and colorful pillows onto the trendy, acrylic furniture. But layouts were the same, each residence equipped with a communication room, kitchenette/living room combo, bedrooms, and spa-like bathrooms.

One couple sat in the com quarter with a trio of Graphies who reported the morning news. Another pod housed a couple still slumbering under a silky coverlet. Smells of fresh coffee and newly-delivered breakfast foods put Fran’s belly into a neurotic state of hunger. For a moment, she even considered a quick break ’n’ snatch to curb her grumblings.

Every single pod on this side of the city belonged to somebody important. And, as Fran had already witnessed, strict surveillance equipment guarded these prized properties. She knew if she dared open the grating, a Graphie would be on the scene before she could bite into a puffed pastry or swallow a gulp of a frothy latte.

She moved and peeped, gawked and sighed. Blurs of side tables, vases of fresh flowers, video display units, and holographic children’s toys filled her vision. Mothers clothed fat babies and stuffed them into electronic walkers while fathers carried readers in trendy side satchels. As people moved on with their day, the living pods began to empty and soon, the West Wing grew still.

Fran continued searching for traces of Ted, knowing she would settle for anything that might indicate his presence in one of these upscale spaces. She zigged and zagged, checking out a portion of each unit with practiced calculation. After hours of tedious peeping and with dwindling adrenaline, boredom began to settle it. Every pod began to look like the next and she yawned as she noted:

Living area, kitchenette, com-quarter.

Living area, kitchenette, com-quarter.

Living area, kitchenette… whoa.
This one was different. With hardcore electronics resting on shelves, video screens of varying sizes built right into the walls, and a flagship, high-tech, gaming chair in the center of the room, the space looked more like a gaming chamber than a com-quarter. She discerned faint sounds, like faraway explosions and growls of otherworldly beasts. Maybe the sound of a gaming headset with the volume set on high? Although she couldn’t see anyone, the leather chair jiggled, and the metallic clicking of gaming gloves indicated intense tactile maneuvering.

Every Gen-Four considered themselves an amateur gamer. Gaming hubs lined the walls of the city, and minor viewing screens perched on short poles around the Agora. Not only that, readers always carried at least a few games on them. But an entire room
dedicated
to gaming? That smelled professional.

Like anyone her age, Fran knew the big name avatars. Broadcast on the super-screen at the Agora, tournament games manned by the experts pulled in quite the crowd. The last competition between Queen Xyphon and Trekkor II had been a real nail-biter. Fran snorted. Of course, the Queen had won, but Trekkor made a worthy opponent. But because they—pixilated heroes and heroines—commanded the show and received all the glory, no one really gave much thought to the intelligence behind the characters. Fran had never met a pro gamer—not in person anyway.

Soon, the clicking ceased, and the faraway sounds muted. Gloves landed on the floor, a green light surrounded the chair, and a femme’s very loud voice filled the silence.

“Hey, can you come here?” The green light blinked twice.

“Right here, Nis.”

Nis?

“No, you lazy cretin. I mean really come here!”

“Give me a sec.”

Ted?  

A moment later, Fran heard the whoosh of an unseen door. The chair whirled around, revealing her sister in law decked out in a white tank and purple Lycra pants that hugged her body like a second skin.

“It’s about time,” Nissa whined.

“So where’s the fire?” The sarcastic comment sounded so Ted. Fran envisioned his lopsided smile—the same smirk he’d always worn when he’d teased her back in the day.

“Sit down. You have to check this out, mate.” Nissa’s voice trembled.

“Sure. Wow me.”

A chair scraped against the floor as the lights dimmed, and much like the virtual experience in her old classroom, the gaming quarter transformed into a rocky, desert-like terrain. Holographic zombies roamed about the room, and although Fran knew Nissa still sat in the gaming chair, both the chair and the master had all but disappeared into the landscape.

Suddenly, the room filled with a deafening roar, and a fanged reptilian-like creature arrived on the scene. Fran sucked in her breath as she looked upon Behemoth―a well-known avatar who’d been rising through the gaming ranks. As the animal stood on its hind legs, leathery wings unfolded from slick, fibrous skin.

Frightening, yet majestic.

Even crouched outside of the pixilated landscape, Fran felt dwarfed by Behemoth’s presence and recoiled deeper into her hidden space. Secretions oozed from his nostrils, dripping from the corners of his mouth while his serpentine neck rotated his head a hundred-eighty degrees. Seeming satisfied with the surroundings, Behemoth released one last snarl and took to the sky.

Although Fran had to crane her neck to watch him move about the room, she could see he sailed with the grace of a hawk—quite odd for such a ghastly creature. He gained speed as he soared, and gargantuan claws clattered as he descended low to the ground scraping a boulder. The scene looked so convincing, when he reversed direction, Fran’s knee jerk reaction was to duck right before Behemoth spewed a thunderous war-cry and dove into a large rift in the rock.

“MAN DOWN!” The words lit up on a large video display, followed by the status of Queen Xyphon and Behemoth. Even score. An electronic voice permeated the speakers.

“Five-minute time out.”

Realizing she’d been holding her breath, Fran exhaled.

The landscape faded. The yellowish glow of the room transformed to a bright luminance, and Nissa swiveled around.

“So? What do you think?”

Fran pressed her cheek onto the mesh just like Pete, hoping to get a glimpse of her brother. A moment later, Ted moved into view wearing a pair of canvas trousers similar to Fran’s along with white mesh vest. His clothing sported half a dozen pockets housing a myriad of hand-held gadgets. A ringlet dangled over his left eye, and his mouth rested in a lopsided grin. He sauntered toward Nissa in silence and loomed over her chair as if his emotions had tongue-tied him.

His wife stood with a catlike stretch and wound her fingers through the stray curl before she brushed Ted’s cheek with generous lips.

“What do you think, Teddy-Bear?” she purred.

“Such a lovely beast.” Ted’s gentle voice held a wealth of emotion. “And to be honest, I’m grateful the world has no idea what a knockout
my
Behemoth is.” He paused and gazed at his wife. “So, are we ready for the
real
Queen?”

“You bet I am.” Nissa tossed her head back and let out a whoop, morphing from a purring kitten to gloating lion. “I smoked that old woman!”

“Old woman?” Ted’s amusement rumbled from deep within. “For all you know, she is a ten-year-old boy.”

“No. I know my players, Ted. She is definitely a fully grown queen.” Nissa lifted a brow, and her nostrils flared. “And I’ve got her number.”

“That’s the spirit to take into the game tomorrow, Nis.”

“Can you believe your wife made it to the stage, mate?” Her whisper reeked of standard Nissa melodrama, and

Fran had seen enough. She knew where they lived, so she could always come back. For now, however, she had to either get out or get sick.

As she shimmied backwards, the zipper of Fran’s boot caught on a screw. She gave a quick shake of her leg to release the hold.

Bad move.

Her toe hit the pipe and the reverberations caught Ted’s attention. His eyes shot to the vent opening and locked onto Fran.

Chapter Six

Fran didn’t bother with a quiet getaway. Instead, she scampered through the pipe leaving a wake of vibrations as an automated voice sounded off the intruder alert inside of Ted’s pod.

Did he see me? Ted wouldn’t betray me, would he?

Even if Nissa notified the authorities, Fran figured she’d be back on her old turf before security arrived. Nevertheless, even after crossing into OE, she kept a stealthy pace, tapping and mapping with one side of her brain while the other side managed her emotions.

Nissa? A pro gamer? No wonder they live on the West side.
For some reason that fact made Fran hate her sister-in-law even more.
She’d
stolen Ted from the OE.
She’d
turned him into a sellout.

Fran grunted and shook her head. Her brain ached as if every spongy cell of grey matter had been stretched beyond capacity. She welcomed the darkness as she snaked toward her sleeping niche. Maybe tomorrow she’d read more of the first-gen diary, but right now, she just needed to power down and shut the world out.

.~.

“Come on, Wolf,” Pete begged in his usual annoying manner. “It’ll be fun. And I bet with everyone watching the big screen, we’ll be able to snag some great chow.” He tugged on the end of a dread with a gentle, “Toot-toot.”

Fran smacked his hand away, as she swallowed a mouthful of hard cheese. Pete had been kind enough to wake her with a miniature slice of cold pizza, so she didn’t feel right asking him to leave. Then again, watching the tournament today ranked somewhere below slow dancing with a Superior.

“Not in the mood, Pete. Besides, remember last time? The sour smell of The Council wafted down from their viewing loft, and the whole Agora smelled like old cabbage.”

“Whew!” Pete held his nose and waved a hand in front of his face. “Eau de Cronies!”

Fran fought the urge to laugh. Doing so only encouraged his annoyingness.

“Come on, please?”

“No. Go on without me, Pete.” She held up the last bite of pizza. “But, bring me back something more to eat, would you?”

Pete cocked an eyebrow. He excelled at facials and arched one eyebrow high on his forehead while the other dove down toward his nose. Sometimes he’d even flip from left to right brow, adding a whipping sound through his teeth… just for laughs. This time, however, Fran could see he disapproved of her request.

“What?” She acted oblivious to her rudeness.

Pete maintained the eyebrow-pose and then, with precision and ease, lifted the top one a little higher. “What’s it worth?”

“Whatever I got.” Fran held up the crust of pizza. “Although grateful, this scrap only whet my appetite.” She dropped her brows and hugged the reader to her chest. “Except for this, of course—not for sale.”

The corner of Pete’s mouth lifted to join the extended brow. “How about--” He somersaulted away and maneuvered until his back was to Fran. Then, he wrapped his arms around his midsection and exposed his hands to look like those of another person. He wiggled his head and added obnoxious kissing sounds.

Unsophisticated.

Gross.

Fran refused to answer. Pete wasn’t her type. He was a clown. Hardly the stud. Then again, if he brought back food…

She let out a sigh.

“One kiss.”

Pete whooped and rolled back to where she sat. He scooted into her personal space, but Fran held up her hand.

“
First…
bring me the goods.”

He chuckled as he inched backwards. “Wolf, when you see what I bag for you, you’re going to beg for the biggest smooch ever.”

“Great, Pete. Wow me.” She added an eye roll and waved him off. Once he slithered out of sight, Fran momentarily considered the big game in the Agora. She snorted and rolled her eyes into the darkness before waving a hand over the reader. While nibbling last bit of crust, she continued reading.

Twenty-two years underground and I managed to persuade Marcus to head up a scouting mission. He said it was suicide. I convinced him that, with the proper outfitting and breathing apparatus, we’d have no reason to fret. He agreed. Although somewhat reluctantly.

Only one exit portal exists and for good reason: The Psychology of Captivity. Because of our innate compulsion to escape anything our brain defines as confinement, humanity wouldn’t have been able to resist a doorway. Obviously, a mass exodus before assuring safe air quality would warrant extinction. Therefore, outside of Marcus and myself, no one knows how to get out. Does it sound heavy handed? Perhaps now it does. However, due to the catastrophic political climate of the earth at that time, anonymity was a minor demand and readily agreed to by each patron as they were blindly ushered in to their new habitat.

I have an odd feeling about the mission. You know, like when you feel like someone is holding back info, but you can’t quite put your finger on the cause? Anyway, Ema, Second-Gen botanist, will be making the trek. Am I worried for her safety? Not really. Ema’s made up of brick and mortar. She’ll hold up just fine.

Fran leaned against the hard, metal wall. The reader dimmed to sleep-mode as she considered the idea. An exit portal? The History of Impervious always taught that the city was sealed, soldered, and reinforced from the inside to keep citizens safe. The History of Impervious had always taught that when the Epoch arrived, the metal dome that made up their air-tight silver sky would be demolished using diamond tipped drills and high efficiency laser slicing.

But
this
… This idea of a doorway leading to the open air. The concept both enlightened and frightened her, and her heart drummed with anticipation, eager to unlock more mysteries within the rest of the story. She waved an impatient hand over the reader to wake it from sleep mode. Every fiber in her body hummed as she waited for the glow to illuminate her niche.

“Come on.”  She urged the reader with a shaky hand, but it remained lifeless. She waved her hand again and waited.

Nothing.

Seriously?
She needed a charging station… pronto. She stuffed the device down her shirt, and started toward the Agora, but soon halted.

The Game.

The Agora would be flanked with thousands of game-watchers. An available charging station would be next to impossible to find. Not to mention, Security Graphies would hover in every corner. Fran moved back to the niche and leaned into the pipe with a disappointed sigh. As she sat in the darkness and chewed on her lip, she considered where the portal might be located. She had branded the schematics of the entire ventilation system in her head, but she had never committed a map of the entire city to memory.

It only made sense that the portal would be at the Surface. Armed with that theory, she eliminated floors eleven through one. Fran did some quick calculations in her head. Because the diameter of each floor measured two miles, the radius would stretch a mile. With the aid of good old Archimedes, Fran deduced that the area of the floor be as simple as Pi; 3.14 square miles.

I’m such a geek
.

She smiled and reflected on her school days remembering the look of surprise on Professor Englehardt’s face when she garnered a perfect calculation for the
Collision Impact Rate of Plasma Energy
. Freddie, her annoying nemesis, had whispered “geek” from his seat behind her in class. That, of course, made her cheeks heat up, but the project had garnered her an “A.”  After another rude comment from Freddie, she proceeded to tell him to knock it off or she’d use the calculation on his face. The moron must have figured she could do it, because it shut him up. Definitely wolf-in-training. Whatever.

Fran pictured the graph in her head and decided to slice the Pi into quarter-mile square plots. Once she felt confident of the layout, she overlaid the venting schematic in her mind’s eye and visualized the two together. No doubt, she had a lot of ground to cover, but what the heck? What else did she have going on?

Closing her eyes, she allowed her brain to focus and brand the diagram into her frontal lobe. She opened her eyes and released the memory before closing her eyes and pulling up the drawing, allowing her mind’s eye to ‘see’ it again. This time, she held the vision while tapping her finger on the metal floor.

Open eyes, rinse, and repeat. Fran continued the training until she could ‘see’ the mission diagram with open eyes. A short while later, she scurried off to make the trek to the surface level, employing the same passage used just a few days ago when she had gone looking for Chan.

Being that the Ranch took up most of the surface floor, it was the most logical place to start the search. However, her stomach churned with fresh memories from the last outing, and the stench of the Beast filled her senses.

She zigzagged through the step-like concourse, stopping midway to catch her breath on the sixth floor landing. She closed her eyes for a brief reprieve, and rubbed her lids. Her eyeballs always seemed to burn or itch. Perils of a Rebel. As she luxuriated in the moment, Ted’s face blossomed in her mind and she remembered how he would make up stories for her when they were kids. On nights when she couldn’t sleep, he, being the older, smarter brother, would fashion a picture of the new earth. He’d talk of butterflies and soft green grass, and after a while, she would drift off to sleep.

Fran snorted at the last picture of him in the gaming chamber sporting gadgetry in his shirt pockets and drooling over his idiot wife.
Seriously bro? A sellout?
Fran blew out a hard breath, enraged by this new version of her brother.
That’s it. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.

Turning away from the climb, she took off through the diagonal shaft leading to his neighborhood. As she moved past the gaming chamber, the roar of Behemoth blended with the whistle of a rocket launcher. Good, Nissa was still manning the game, which meant she wouldn’t get in the way. Fran’s stomach got all tingly thinking of Behemoth, and she cursed herself for caring.

Moving forward, she peeked into the next room. The simplicity of the décor surprised her. She thought for certain Nissa would be all sparkles and glam, but it actually looked tasteful. Did she dare say cozy?

Ted sprawled on a lounger with a reader in his lap. He looked so comfortable. So at peace with his life. A feeling akin to homesickness wafted through her insides—warm, but painful in a longing sort of way. She watched him and let the gnawing fester. Before she knew it, memories of Mom flooded her soul—not specific outings, or even mind pictures, but recollections of happiness and joy. Feelings so deep she thought she might drown, so bright they could blind her if she looked into their center. Before she could even begin to paint them with sarcasm and darken their luminescence, a knife tore through her core. She clapped a hand over her mouth to shut out all sound, but a sob launched from her depths and shot right through her fingers.

Tears of weakness spilled from her eyes, making her wonder how long they'd waited on the precipice. With her mind trapped in a morass of emotions, she didn't think of the danger as her brother’s name rolled off her tongue.

“Ted.”

Her voice came out choked and raspy, but the sound was enough. His head lifted.

Fran brushed a hand over the light and configured her whereabouts―sixth floor, second hallway, fourth pod. The holographic key pad danced in front of her eyes, daring her to swipe the code.

*6*2*4*

The cover lifted. Ted leapt to his feet. Fran slithered through the opening. He waited three steps away. She jumped onto the epoxy coated floor. His arms opened wide. She stepped forward, and he pulled her into his embrace.

“Wickworm.” He whispered her childhood name, and she smelled his sweet cologne. So afraid to lose the moment, she stood unmoving, eyes closed, and listened to every beat of his heart. She would have been content just to take in Ted’s essence and draw from his strength but soon felt a buzz in the air.

Her skin prickled. A current of power flooded the room. How did security already know? Were the trendy pods equipped with 24-7, big brother surveillance?

“Ted, I can’t stay.” She peeled herself away from her brother. The air became prickly with the static electricity that preceded the arrival of a Graphie, and Fran ticked off the twelve seconds in her brain. She moved back two steps and watched his face. It read like a story book of emotions: confusion, love, fear, and anger, all bottled up into one goofy expression.

Down to nine seconds
. A tingling sensation rippled down her spine.

Five seconds.
She reached for the opening, scrambled up the wall, slithered into the awaiting cavity, and waved a hand over the sensor.

*6*2*4*

The venting slid shut, and Fran watched as a holograph pixelated. The Graphie flashed red into Ted’s iris and then meandered to the corners of the room. Ted stood in the center of his pod with a confused, tortured expression.

After seeming satisfied with the situation, the shimmering holograph abated, but Fran remained for an extra moment to watch her brother and his funny look.