World Above: The Three Cities Series, #1

One

Green Flames

Russel Remington threw off his sweat-soaked sheets, fed up with twisting and turning. He was tired and knew he needed sleep, but his mind was wide awake with worry. He kicked his feet over the edge of his bed, thinking of going somewhere, but unable to think of anywhere to go.

Are you all right, R?

The white wristband on Russel’s arm vibrated, transferring the question’s sound through his bones. Instead of a whisper slipping into the air, he heard it as plainly as anything inside his skull.

A glowing, gently-spinning orb appeared before him, projected from the wristband. Kanen—his artificially intelligent companion and caretaker; it was he that had asked the question, and the familiar sight of his projection was calming.

I can’t sleep, Russel said.

Why not? the AI asked.

I guess—I guess I’m nervous about tomorrow. The Assignment.

Russel was tentative about saying this; he knew Kanen would have to report it to a Federation psychologist and then he would probably have to undergo a psych-eval. Common enough, but never very fun.

Why are you nervous about that?

I’m just, He swallowed hard, Just concerned that maybe the Federation can’t find the right job for me.

Are you worried they’ll assign you the wrong task? Kanen asked, his voice compassionately curious.

Well, maybe a little, but it’s something else too; I have a feeling there isn’t a right task for me, that I don’t really have a place to be assigned to.

Russel caught a sharp gleam to his left and looked that way. From what little light was in his room, he could make out an eye bulging from the surface of the wall, up in the very corner, silently watching him. He looked in the other corners and saw they too had eyes peering down at him, their moist surfaces reflecting the scant light put off from the AI’s projection.

They’re watching me right now, aren’t they? he whispered to the glowing orb, sweat drooling off his forehead, his heart speeding up steadily.

Yes, Kanen answered.

Russel could hear a noise coming from the open door of his bathroom, just behind him. There was something in there. He looked again for the gleaming eyes in the corners of his room but found nothing. They knew he had spotted them, and they were hiding now.

Kanen, Russel asked, pointing his face at the projected orb but stealthily rolling his eyes toward the corner of his room, You’re supposed to help me with whatever problems I have, aren’t you?

The eye was back, staring at him, unblinking, unmoving. It didn’t know he was looking again.

You know I am, R.

Russel’s eyes came back to rest on Kanen.

Then help me run.

He heard the something in the bathroom rush for his back.

The rail pod! Kanen directed.

Russel pushed off his bed for the nearest corner of his room, rushing at the tall glass cylinder which stood there, doors open. He wasn’t fast enough. Fingers wrapped around his ankle and jerked backward, bringing him down and dragging him toward the bathroom’s shadows. He frantically kicked and must have hit something; the fingers released, and he was running. He dived into the cylinder, slamming against its far side as it dropped through the floor, too quickly gone to glimpse what had grabbed him.

The cylinder followed steel rails down a round shaft before the rails curved, leading the pod on a smooth transition from vertical travel to horizontal. It passed out the wall of the Habitation building and into the city’s air, traveling between the tall buildings, their lights flashing by angrily at this high speed.

What was that? Russel asked, lungs heaving.

"Not what; who. It was a member of the Guard. You were right Russel; there is no right place for you, and they know it. There’s nowhere inside the walls of Alpha where you belong."

What about Beta, or Gamma? Couldn’t I find a place to be left alone in one of them?

The Guard is present in each of the Tri-Cities. It doesn’t matter which you go to, you’ll never be safe; you just don’t belong.

But, but…that’s not my fault! I didn’t ask to not—

Before he could finish, an impact slammed him backward against the glass of the cylinder. He fell to the floor of the pod and slowly rose, head spinning, eyes not wanting to focus on what he was seeing.

Another rail pod had rammed his from behind. It was occupied by a Guardsman, dressed in his gray military uniform, face concealed behind his helmet’s frosted visor, holding an energy rifle aimed right at Russel’s head. The Guardsman squeezed the trigger, the barrel lit up, and Russel flinched.

Rather than the beam melting through his forehead, two glowing, red-hot circles pierced the pod’s glass, straight across from each other, hardly an inch from his ear. Kanen had directed the pod down an off-shoot rail, barely keeping him from getting the beam between the eyes.

The pursuing pod hadn’t been able to make the turn, and Russel jubilantly exclaimed, We lost him!

Don’t gloat yet—look.

Russel turned. Headed straight for the rail he was traveling were no less than twenty rail pods, filled with Guardsmen. If they arrived first, he was trapped.

Brace yourself, the AI commanded.

Russel spread his arms and pushed against the glass. The rail pod accelerated, speeding faster than he’d ever seen one go.

They passed the first converging rail, missing the pod upon it by only a few feet. The second was closer, the third closer yet. Each time, they had less and less room to spare. Only the last pod was left ahead, and Russel was certain they would collide with it. He turned his head, closed his eyes, and prepared to wreck.

There was a tremendous shock, and he heard the glass crack. A hiss, and airbags shot down from the roof all around him, catching him so he didn’t hit the sides. There was a loud screech, a violent shake, but somehow, the pod kept going. He opened his eyes and looked backward through the small spaces between the airbags. The pod they had collided with had been knocked off the rails and was plummeting down toward the floor of the city. The rest had slammed on the brakes, and sparks erupted beneath them.

Why are they stopping? Russel asked, his momentary relief becoming dread as he struggled to turn within the airbags and see what was ahead. He turned just in time to see the pod blast through a plastic warning barricade and then slide off the end of an unfinished rail. Russel became weightless, and his body went stiff with shock.

There was another impact, and the speed of the fall began to slow. The pod stopped and then began a short cycle of gentle rising and descending, every time traveling less and less until it became still.

Russel panted, so shocked he couldn’t move. The airbags deflated, and he gradually sank until he was lying on the side of the pod. He pulled away the deflated bag from under himself, and saw through the cracked glass that the pod had been caught in some sort of elastic safety net.

No time for sight-seeing, you have to go. Get out, quickly, Kanen urged.

The rail pod’s doors slid open, and Russel rolled out onto the bouncy net, sick as soon as he looked down through it. Miles below, he could see the city’s floor.

Climb to that building! You’re still in range here! Kanen urged, indicating the building to which a corner of the net was anchored.

Russel glanced over his shoulder to the end of the rail, a good sixty feet overhead. There was a pod at the very edge and a Guardsman leaning out its open door, sighting in on him.

Russel took off, floundering across the net as it rose and sank beneath him. An energy beam sliced one of the strands by his hand, and he moved faster. The net rose upward until he was nearly climbing vertically, white-hot beams missing him by ever decreasing margins. He reached the metal anchoring point attaching the net to the building and saw a walkway to his left, perhaps ten feet away, and a little below.

Jump! Kanen shouted at him.

Russel hesitated, his whole body shaking. A beam barely missed his chest, and his fear of falling suddenly dissipated enough for him to launch outward. He made it onto the walkway, stumbled, and began running. The path followed the curve of the building’s side, soon taking him out of sight of the Guardsman and into safety.

Take that door, Kanen directed.

Russel rushed through the large glass entryway on his right, breathing heavily, and found himself in a business’s abandoned foyer. He leaned against the wall and caught his breath, legs still shaking from the terrifying height.

Where are we? he asked, standing once he was a bit recovered.

The Museum of the Final War.

Oh.

He’d been here on many occasions and hated it every time. There was something about it he couldn’t quite name that put him off.

In front of him, there were two large glass doors that led within, sandwiching a ticket-vending machine. Each door said closed.

Do you think we’re safe here? he asked Kanen, swiping his hand in front of the door’s sensor and finding, like he suspected, that it was locked.

Not at all, was the answer. I’m sorry R, but you can’t run any farther. They’ve already deactivated the building’s rail pod system. All you can do is wait for them to come.

A chill struck Russel as he peered through the glass. Why, he wondered, had he always hated this place?

This is wrong, Kanen; this shouldn’t be happening, he said, turning his back to the door and sitting down on the carpeted floor. He could see the building’s rail pod docking platform right outside, and wondered how long before the Guardsmen would arrive. I don’t even know what I did, or what it is about me that makes me not belong here, and they’re trying to kill me! For something I don’t even know about!

He couldn’t remember having ever been this afraid before.

Are you sure you don’t know why you don’t belong? the AI asked.

What are you saying? I’m secretly a law breaker? Come on, Kanen, you’re around me 24/7, you know I don’t do illegal things!

Of course I know that; I just mean, are you sure you’re not aware of something about yourself that doesn’t sit well with them, some characteristic or attribute? Some quality?

Russel thought hard and deep. He could think of nothing at all, but he knew, or more precisely, felt, that there was something.

Suddenly, a group of rail pods descended onto the platform outside.

Panic seized him and he stood, passing his hand rapidly back and forth across the door’s sensor, again to no avail. He slipped his fingers over the door’s edge and pulled in the direction it was supposed to slide, but it refused to move. He spotted a potted plant in the corner and ran for it, even as he saw Guardsmen dash toward the outer doors. He grabbed it up and hurled it at the locked door, but the only thing that broke was the pot.

He heard them enter the foyer and whirled around to find them all pointing guns at him, screaming orders, so many and so loud he wasn’t sure what to do. He started to back up and tripped over the broken pot.

Through the maelstrom of commands, he heard a yell to put his hands up, so he raised them slowly. Immediately, his wristband exploded into a fit of wild, strobing lights and ear-splitting sirens that confused the Guardsmen.

It’s his AI! Deactivate his AI! one of them shouted.

A group lowered their guns and rushed Russel, dog-piling on top of him before he could do anything to resist. He saw one of them jab a short, round object—something like a remote—against his wristband, instantly making it crackle with electricity.

Goodbye, Russel. I’ll miss you, Kanen said over the noise of the sirens. The glowing projection blinked out of sight, and the lights and noise stopped. Someone struck Russel in the face before they flipped him over, wrestling his arms behind his back painfully.

Why are you doing this? What did I do? he screamed, struggling against them. A powerful hand blasted his face hard down against the floor and his nose cracked, spurting blood. Restraining cuffs clicked down until they bit into his wrists. He was dragged across the floor by his feet, through a trail of potting soil and pot shards. They opened the outer door and began to yank him outside, and that’s when he saw it.

There was light coming from inside the museum; a dim green light, far within the inner doors. It flickered and was drawing nearer. Somehow, he knew that dim green light held the answers to why this was happening, to why he didn’t belong, even why he hated the museum.

He struggled wildly, kicking and flopping and jerking. One of the hands dragging him lost its grip and he pulled away, jumped to his feet, and ran back inside.

He charged the door, slamming into it with his shoulder, but it was impervious. He heard the Guardsmen running toward him, and as he stared through the doors, finally identifying the light’s source as strange, green flames, their gruff, gloved hands crimped down on him.

The fire, climbing up the walls inside, leapt outward, billowing into an angry green bomb-blast. The glass doors cracked when it hit them, but they held together, halting the flames. The Guardsmen’s hands jerked away from him and their voices descended to fear-filled whispers as they backed away. But Russel was unafraid, watching the fire whirl and twist and rage inside; maybe it was the uncanny color of the flames, but something made him believe it was no danger to him.

He turned sideways, awkwardly reaching his hands (still cuffed behind him) out, and grasping the door’s edge. He could see the locking and sliding mechanisms inside, glowing bright red from the heat, parts of them even melting or warping, and this time when he tugged, the door slid open easily. Fire whipped out onto him as he entered.

As Russel expected, it didn’t hurt him, and he tried to move forward, but could see nothing except the green fire that climbed his clothes, brushed his skin, and whipped in his hair.

The answers are in here, aren’t they? he asked in a whisper, almost expecting the fire to answer.

The fire’s roaring died away, and everything became silent. There was no answer, only the warmth of the flames as they danced around him. The museum was gone now, and soon, he was oblivious even of his own condition or location. Everything was lost in the wreathing, billowing green.

Russel Remington came awake, throwing off his sweat-soaked sheets and breathing hard.

Two

Cheesecake

What? What…why? he was unsure of what he was trying to say. It took him a moment to understand he was awake and safe.

Are you alright, R? Kanen asked, his projection appearing.

I, I, I had… he stuttered, again finding it difficult to speak.

Try and calm yourself, R, Kanen urged. A bad dream? Try to take some deep breaths.

Russel took his advice, gently rolling back onto his bed to stare at the ceiling.

What was it about? Kanen asked.

I can’t really remember. I just recall green flames, Russel said, finally able to speak coherently.

His olive-skinned hand reached up and ran itself through his hair, then down the left side of his face before he yawned. His heartbeat was returning to a normal pace now.

I guess it’s not too important, if I can’t remember it.

Past the foot of his bed, there was a screen that covered his whole wall. It was just beginning to light up in a beautiful sunrise. Looking at it was almost like looking out a window facing onto a wild forest of tropical trees, with a white, sandy beach below and a perfectly round, red sun rising over an ocean so clear it must have been made of liquid glass.

He sat up and swung his sweltering feet out over the edge of his king-sized bed, setting them upon the black carpet in his room, letting them sink into its deep pile and cool.

What I do recall, is that it was so real, Russel said, putting his head in his hands, Almost more real than being awake. I think that’s why it was so disturbing.

Sometimes if you keep trying to remember, it will come back.

Russel shook his head, trying to pull out of the delirium.

I’m not sure I want it to.

He stood and walked around the foot of his bed, past the table in the right corner of his room, past the televised view of the ocean paradise, and past the kitchen counter that occupied part of the left wall, before turning right and passing through the bathroom door.

He stopped before a wide mirror and drew his face within a few inches of it. With a hum, the mirror, which had appeared whole, split into several pieces that slid outward, unveiling slender mechanical arms that reached out and did a multitude of things in a minimal amount of time: his face was washed and shaved in only a few seconds, his hair brushed, his mouth injected with a minty oral rinse.

Finished, the devices retracted into the mirror, which itself slid back into a single, seamless piece, showing him his new, fresh appearance. A yawn broke forth and gave the lie to it, but Russel stepped out of the bathroom with his mouth nonetheless tasting far better.

What time is it? he asked the AI, stumbling toward the rail pod in the corner of his room.

Nine o’ clock.

"Nine? Since when do I sleep ‘til nine?" he asked, boarding the glass cylinder.

Before the pod could depart, a digital voice, patterned like a woman’s, called after him from the room.

Are you ready to begin the Recitation?

Whoa, nearly forgot.

He walked back to the screen at the foot of his bed and held his hand on it flat. Immediately, the scenery changed, crumbling like the colors in a kaleidoscope, morphing from the tropical paradise to the symbol of the Tri-Cities: three circles colored red, black, and white, aligned in a vertical row with edges touching. The very same symbol began to glow on his wristband the moment he touched the screen.

I avow belief that time and space came from nothing, by random accident, he began solemnly, "and that humanity, likewise, evolved by chance, becoming the first and only sentience.

"I avow belief that only reason and order bring meaning to existence, and that the Federation of All Humanity has always and ever will defend that meaning.

And because of these truths, I likewise avow undying obedience as a loyal citizen to the Federation.

Avowal recognized. Thank you, Russel Remington, the screen said, blinking back to the tropical scene as the three glowing circles on his wristband faded.

Russel had always liked the Recitation; the morning ritual made him feel a part of something bigger than himself, a small-but-necessary cog in the machine that gave things meaning, efficiently implanting them with reason and order.

Did Charlton call, asking why I’m late? he asked Kanen, getting back in the rail pod.

No. I would presume he was occupied with his other significant duties today. Would you like me to send him a message?

Russel wondered what significant duties Charlton had ever had besides training, and unable to summon any answers to mind, he defaulted to Kanen’s question, for which he already had an answer.

Sure. Tell him we’ll be at the pool in ten.

Done. Do you want the standard flavor for breakfast?

Um…no, let’s try something different. You pick. Maybe some variety will wake me up, Russel replied, rubbing his eyes as the rail pod dropped downward with its usual zippiness.

Immediately, a slim pillar of steel rose out of the floor to half of Russel’s height. On top of it sat the first meal of the day: a pink-and-white bar in a clear wrapper, one end of which had been pealed back.

Russel took the bar and the pillar retracted again into the floor. Stuffing in a large bite and chewing it up with bulged cheeks, a flavor invaded his mouth so sweet he could almost feel the grit of sugar rubbing against his teeth as he ate.

What’s the flavor? He struggled to ask, eyebrows wrinkling incredulously, Strawberry cheesecake?

You don’t like it? I tried to pick something as different from fruit-and-nut as I could find.

Well—I guess it is different.

I knew. The AI hesitated. There was another flavor, and I knew I should have picked that. But it’s not too late—does ‘marinated chicken and carrots’ interest you?

Russel gave the projection a questioning look, unsure whether the suggestion was a joke or just Kanen’s inability to understand what made a good breakfast.

Are you— Russel aborted his sentence midway through. He didn’t want to offend Kanen.

What? Am I what?

Nothing, nothing, it’s fine. This flavor’s fine.

He stuffed the last bite of it in and tossed the wrapper toward the floor, a panel of which slid away, swallowing it up before returning to its position. He chewed on the sickeningly-sweet bar for a little while before the AI spoke again.

I was being facetious, if that’s what you were going to ask.

Russel forced his face to remain straight and answered coolly, "Hmm. Maybe next time, I’ll make you eat the bar."

Ah. Well, good luck finding my mouth.

A smile slid onto his face and Russel laughed. He leaned back against the cylinder’s wall, carefully tracing with his foot the symbol of the Tri-Cities, still fresh in his mind.

Kanen, do you dream? he asked, serious once more.

Do I dream? I am grateful to say, that activity is relegated only to you humans. I don’t think I’d want to, from all I see.

It’s not always bad, Russel said, struggling to summon any memory of a good dream as vividly as he could recollect the bad one he’d just had. "Sometimes they’re nice. But I’ve noticed one thing, over and over in my dreams lately—it’s usually all I can remember about them—there are always green flames at some point. I can’t tell if it’s supposed to mean something, or