This is the introductory chapter from my debut novel, CALLED, self-published in August of 2024. Gearing up to promote and release the sequel, I will be publishing the first few chapters on Substack without a paywall over the next month or so. If you’d like to keep reading, please visit gillianfletcherbooks.com to find a retailer that suits your wallet and conscience!
If you don’t enjoy what you read, please forward this to an enemy as they are likely to have better taste.
With a sickening jolt, my connection to the Conglomerate Hive severed, and I was back in my own head. It's hard to describe the feeling exactly, but it's most like that moment right before you slip into sleep and your body suddenly jerks.
Even after three solarii as a Processor, I’m still not used to it.
I disengaged the kinetic exerciser that keeps my limbs in gentle motion while my mind is elsewhere. Just these few septads of using it are already making a difference. I'm still trying to justify the amount I spent on it, but it is all part of the promise I made to myself. My promotion and the transfer back to Jericho were the wake-up call I needed. Still, any victory is a victory and completing another nine chrons of service brings me some measure of satisfaction. I’m trying to remember how good it feels to be productive. I flexed my arms and legs, relishing the lack of stiffness. I’ve come a long way since Antioch.
My new residential unit is significantly larger than the bedsit I had after I graduated from Academy, though even that was a welcome change after five solarii with a roommate. Living alone was nice, but this was the first time I’ve had more than one room and now I have three: a cookery, a lounge, a sleep-suite plus a commode. The sleek surfaces and recessed lighting are opulent compared to the drafty attic bedroom I had on my grandparents' farm.
I came to the digital world late because our farm had no technology. Grandma Marya was absolute in her rejection of all things Conglomerate and they make all the tech. Even though I had no real access, I was interested. What we had on the farm were simple machines which were absolutely essential to our staying alive. Still, I found places to stash tools and stole moments to take things apart and put them back together again.
A few times they ended up performing better and I thought for sure Jeb would say something, but he never did.
Stepping down from the exerciser, I checked the messages on my personal digital link as I went to change my apparel. There were a few adverts for digital entertainment and one for a new premium meal plan. In addition to residential priority selections, as a Senior Processor I also qualify for higher benefit tiers and received a significant increase in my discretionary credits. They've been trying to entice me with all the new things I can afford but I am not spending my surplus on just anything. Besides what I budgeted for the exerciser, I have been saving every bit I can.
Speaking of, they got it, right?
With a few strokes on the touchscreen, I confirmed the drone delivery had been two sols prior.
They don’t have tech, Clementine; they might take a while to get back to you. Without a digital link, they’re unable to access the entitlement benefits due a citizen of the Souvern Conglomerate. If you take a position in service, you are guaranteed access to utilities, sustenance, and a residential lottery; if you don't, you only get the “as-is” access I knew as a child. Even without enough food, Marya said she’d rather die than take what the Conglomerate had to offer.
I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
I began cleaning and drying the connections for my neural link; two long fingers of tungsten that insert into the ports surgically implanted into my neck. There's a bio-conductive fluid in the neural link, and if you don't at least wipe them clean, it gets gross and sticky. There are tons of urban legends about students who got blood poisoning or brain fever from infected ports or dirty prongs. Like anything else, the way you treat something matters. I'm deliberate in caring for my equipment, which has always performed well. Since this tech connects directly to my body, I like to be extra careful.
I gritted my teeth, ignoring the impulse to scratch my port. It still itches whenever I think about the surgery: I was barely off the Expressway when a nurse pulled me aside. I woke up in recovery a few chrons later, with one of my vertebrae replaced by the housing for the neural link and my skin anchored around the external port. The medical team has learned that more than a few students fear the port installation process, so they jump on them as soon as possible to avoid a struggle. By the time I was in the upper classes, I realized why everyone turns out to see the new arrivals. It’s not to welcome them, it’s to make bets on who gets picked off.
Internal computing ports can only operate for nine continuous chrons. Still, the connection to digital signals is stronger if you leave the prongs in. Some Processors never disconnect; they simply live their lives virtually rather than only physically. If you spend time in the virtual world, you consume Conglomerate media. The system is wicked sophisticated; the more time you spend viewing, the more personal and appealing the recommendations become. There's everything you could imagine, from short episodic programs and full-length films to live studio broadcasts, plus endless music, and audio-only options. If you searched for a specific type of content repeatedly, I suspect it would only be a matter of time before the algorithms generated it.
Part of the appeal for me was a way to learn how Conglomerate society works. When I showed up at Academy, I had no idea how to exist in a Citadel center. I was clearly an outsider and had no frame of reference, but all my peers had these programs in common. I wanted desperately to be part of that shared history and hoped watching might help me fit in. While in Antioch, I had to steal time. Once I lived alone, however, I found it far too easy to spend all my time watching entertainments while barely making a dent in what was available. In my little Antioch bedsit, I worked through all twenty series of The Valtarans, catching me up on more than two decennia of culturally relevant scandal and romance. I’ve watched documentaries on the mining transports in Maelstrom, cried over the beauty of the endangered Ilios hawks as they circle the norvern plains, and fallen in love over and over again with Geoffrey Lyons and Melisandre Ballinger in ever-increasingly banal romantic comedies.
The trouble started when I was halfway through the complete run of New Takoda Test Kitchen. I had gotten used to spending all my free chrons on the sleep shelf. The bedsit made it easy: my sustenance reconstitutor was already next to the shelf, so that was work, sleep, relaxation, and dining all in one. If I didn't take a lot of sustenance, I had little use of the commode. The nox that I knew everything needed to change was the night that I couldn't stand up. I could sit up, but when I swung my legs to the floor to stand on them, they buckled, and I collapsed.
And then I wet myself.
My urine was dark and pungent and soon grew cold. Looking back, I don’t know how long it had been since I last got off the shelf, but I suspect close to a septad. My legs were prickling like they were asleep, and after what felt like five sols, I massaged them enough to be able to crawl my way to the commode. The next sol, I set up a complex password on my entertainment portal. Still, I did not save it, meaning I would have to recall and enter it every time I tried to access the system.
I quickly realized how little I had outside of service and entertainment. Mercifully, Processors only have a few chrons to fill. Still, without the comfort of the virtual world, I had no idea what to do with myself. The bedsit felt much smaller once I was more mobile. As soon as I felt strong enough, I explored beyond my residential unit.
Jericho residentials have all the latest amenities on the inside, but the exteriors are dirty and pitted from the fug generated by so many neural links nearby. In my building alone, there are more than five hundred Processors, and we are in one of more than three dozen buildings in this ward and there are fifteen more wards just like this one. The halls of the Academy at Antioch are laid out throughout the center of that Citadel, surrounded by open quads all connected by loggia. I took the open, clean, green spaces between them for granted when I had them.
At least it is a new place to explore.
Since my relocation, I've been for an outdoor constitutional every sol after my service chrons. In the aftermath of the Novarican Civil War and the fall of the Souvern Republic, the Conglomerate built biospheres to protect citizens from the noxious gasses left by the weapons. These invisible screens protect from ultraviolet rays and gamma waves without distorting the experience of the “natural” world. Even with its protection, the air in Antioch was hazy when I started exploring the real world around me. Walking through the streets, I’m reminded of how strange it is to be this close to so many other people at once when I grew up with so much space, all to myself.
My grandparents’ farm is on the souf corner of Exurb 32, right on the border with 31. The two communities are separated by what was once a river flowing down from the Elysian Mountains. When there were regular rainy seasons, the river carved a ravine out of the red dirt and rock. My parents died just after I was born, so my grandparents are the only family I have. Talking about them upset Jeb and Marya, so I stopped asking. Most orphans become Conglomerate wards, but my Gramma was determined to keep them from finding out about me.
As soon as I was old enough to walk and leave the house, Marya became convinced that neighbors would spot me and leap at the chance to turn us over to the Guardians. Jeb knew better than to argue with her so when it became clear she meant for me to stay hidden, he built a series of bolt holes around the farm at her request. There was a trap door I could use to get into the basement of the house, a little cave in the barn. Honestly, it was rather impressive how he snuck them in alongside existing spaces in such a way you’d never notice.
Having them wasn’t enough and not only was I restricted to the fields behind the house, but Marya also made me run drills. If her proximity alarm tripped, I had to hide as quickly as possible. Obviously, attending school was out of the question. Even if she had agreed with what they taught at the Exurb schools, it would have meant my leaving the farm and being in public. Instead of a Conglomerate education, I learned how to read and write the old-fashioned way: by hand, on paper.
It sounds terrible now, but I remember having a happy childhood. I didn’t know any different than what Marya and Jeb taught me then and I believed what they told me when I was young. I loved living on the farm, but I couldn’t stop wondering what lay beyond it. At the point where Exurbs meet, the Conglomerate builds Junctions. They're just a small district where citizens can serve, attend school, purchase goods or sustenance, and gain access to Conglomerate services like identity, residential, or healthcare lotteries. I wanted to learn more about my options, but I knew I'd never sneak by Jeb and Marya via the front drive. Instead, I found a path down to the old riverbed at the far back end of our fields.
Descending down, the thick walls that mark the Citadel’s boundary loomed high in one direction but in the other, a trickle of river running for terraspans to the norf. At first, I only meant to explore the riverbed, but once I'd gone a little way, it was easy to convince myself it was okay to go a little further. My resolve crumbled at the sight of the Exurb Junction at the far end of the riverbed. The river divides the 31 from 32, and at the edge of the Junction, there's a large bridge overlooking it. The first few times, I was too scared to do anything but loiter nervously in the brush.
The park didn’t seem too popular; it was usually deserted. After a few visits, I started to see a man. The first time I noticed him, I turned around. Even though I tried to vary the time of sol when I returned, more often than not, he popped up. If he saw me, he would never let on, though. He had a kind-looking face and bushy white hair. He wore a faded suit and came to the park to read an old-fashioned book, occasionally nipping off a flask. I grew accustomed to him being there and spent time studying him from the brush until one sol when I felt that electric shock of knowing when our eyes met.
“Not many folks live down that way. Are you lost by any chance?”
My heart beat like crazy - Marya is going to kill me!
“Not lost, just…exploring.”
“Oh, good. You enjoy yourself, then.” He smiled. “I am in the Junction often and frequently make a point to enjoy this park. Perhaps we will meet here again.”
I turned and ran, not stopping until I climbed the ravine to the back fields. It all felt so exciting and dangerous. I was only thirteen, I felt invincible, but I knew I couldn't risk being caught. Still, over the next septad, I thought of nothing else. He seemed kind enough. Surely, he would know about the world beyond the farm or Jericho, even.
The funny thing about confidence is you don't have it until you do.
He wasn't there when I returned to the park the next time. I pushed myself to leave the safety of the bushes. I danced near the edge of the park's open space, eventually making my way onto one of the benches. With each trip back, I grew more comfortable. The green space wasn't that wide but very deep, so I was shielded from anyone passing by as long as I stayed near the overlook. There was also a breeze, so the air was a little clearer.
“Hello again.”
My eyes flew open; he sensed my fear and smiled reassuringly. It had been more than a lunaris and he surprised me.
“You are right to be afraid of strangers, though I promise I mean no harm to you. I worried you might be roughing it down by what passes for a riverbed when I first saw you, but you look clean and to be eating well enough. You have a home somewhere?”
I nodded again.
“Good, good. You have people to look after you at home? Food and clean water?”
All I could do was nod a third time.
“Very good. I don’t need to worry about you then. My name is Pauly. I’m the librarian here in the Junction.” He pointed vaguely norfward. “Do you explore beyond the park?”
I shook my head.
“I understand; it can be overwhelming, with all the hustle and bustle. Were you born here in the Exurb?”
I nodded again, figuring it was better for him to think I belonged.
“Nothing like the quiet of Exurb life. Well, should your exploration ever take you beyond the park, you might enjoy visiting me at the library.”
He smiled, and I stayed still.
“Only if you want to, of course.” I looked towards the edge of the park and the Junction. “It's only a few square blocks; you won't get lost. The library is one street from the station, on the est side,” he gestured to a placard at one end of the bridge. “All the signs direct you to 31-2 Station, and then you just turn…”
Before I knew it, I was off the bench and running.
He stopped appearing in the park and I didn't see him again until I finally got up the courage to cross it and enter the Junction proper. Like Pauly said, it was only a few rows of Conglomerate offices for benefits and local branches interspersed with public houses and several seemingly identical low-quality canteens and shops.
The moment I set foot inside the library, everything changed.
An Exurb library will naturally be outdated but I didn’t mind one bit. It was one big room, arranged like a compass around a central desk where Pauly worked. Each of the quadrants had shelves of Conglomerate policy manuals and technical theory textbooks arranged around a worn study table. It wasn’t popular but I saw others there now and again.
Being able to read on paper came in handy and I found more and more excuses to sneak off the farm. Pauly was happy to help and soon observed just how voracious of a reader I was. All too quickly, I exhausted the library's supply. Not willing to see a patron want for education, Pauly got a pair of ancient but functional digital terminals.
Once I was introduced to the digital world, I quickly learned that Conglomerate society offered much more than Marya and Jeb ever could. I might have easily gotten a groundling position or attended a trade school and been apprenticed, but I set my sights higher: the Conglomerate Academy at Antioch. If you complete a course of study with honors, you are guaranteed a higher-level Conglomerate position. That meant more benefits for me which might in turn be enough to help Marya and Jeb somehow.
“Pauly, what would it take to get Conglomerate Academy?”
“Entrance exams, kiddo.”
We were alone in one of the library's study rooms. When he got the digital terminals, Pauly cleared out two rooms near the back of the building next to the basement stairs. I usually made for one and hid out until Pauly came to check on me before closing up.
“And if I pass, I can go to Academy in Antioch?”
“At Antioch. 'The Academy at Antioch,' they used to call it Triple-A. But no, you won't go, not right away. Entrance exams give you access to virtual classrooms where you must qualify for Academy. You haven't had any schooling, right?”
I shook my head.
“You will need to earn a few knowledge credits before being eligible to apply.”
“Are there scholarships?”
“Anyone who studies at Antioch can repay their tuition directly from their future discretionary credits.”
“Discretionary credits?”
“Whatever is left over after you pay the Conglomerate for all the benefits they provide you. Your service pays a salary, but then they deduct the fees for things like your residential and sustenance.”
“How many knowledge credits would I need?”
“Twenty or so. You could earn that in a couple of solarii easily.”
“I need more time… I mean, it’s not like I can study back at—” I clamped my mouth shut. Pauly glared at me. For all his help, he never pried. Despite flaunting my grandmother’s rules, I never told him where I lived or my name.
He always called me kiddo.
“Now, I suppose if someone who shows great promise were to ask their librarian for assistance in gaining admission to the prestigious Triple A, said librarian would be duty-bound to assist.”
“Really?” I smiled.
“It’s in the code of ethics, I’m sure of it.” His eyes twinkled.
Within a few sols, Pauly set me up with a workshop in the library’s basement.
“I know it isn’t much, but it is better than nothing.”
“Pauly, this is wonderful! I've never much of anything.” There was an old study table, a sink, and cabinets. None of it was new but someone had done it for me.
“I figure you can hole up down here after I leave for the sol. The doors will still let you out after they’re locked. As long as you’re gone before the following sol, there shouldn’t be any problem.”
“How can I repay you?”
“Go out there and make something of yourself. There are plenty of things I wish I hadn’t done, but going after what I wanted was never one of them.”
“I will make you proud, my friend.”
It wasn’t like it was all easy but the stuff in the classes came fairly naturally. The challenge was keeping everything a secret: I had to sneak out more often and brought tech back onto the farm. Still, I managed to earn the credits, I went to Academy, and now, eight solarii later, I think my old friend would be pleased.
Looking around at everything in my residential, I felt pride. I started with nothing, and now I have different outfits to wear to sleep or serve, plus items I can wear on my walks to protect my face, hands, and hair from the fug. I have three rooms, an endless sustenance supply, and more discretionary credits than I know what to do with. So long as I stick to my plan and occupy myself against the temptation of Conglomerate media, I should be golden.
Fortunately, my new unit is large enough to have a neural link port near the sleep shelf as well as another in the lounge. Because I am connected through the exerciser, I have a little workbench to play with tech again. It's been really nice to return to something I enjoy so much. Most Conglomerate tech is well-regulated, but there are ways around the protocols if you're subtle enough. That's how my mind works with tech, anyway. If I focus and observe, I see the system at work and what I can do to repair or augment it. I think I could do just about anything with access to specs and the right tools.
When I was relocated to Jericho, I read my residential agreement out of boredom, but I also learned that nothing said I was prohibited from modifying the systems inside my unit. It wasn't clearly permitted, but it wasn't explicitly forbidden…so I took apart and reconfigured the air filtration panel. I held my breath for a full sol, waiting for something bad to happen: a knock at the door, something.
Nothing did.
Well, the unit’s efficiency stats increased by more than fifty percent.
Buoyed by my success, my next project was the lighting. Despite being in a tower, the building has no exterior windows. Instead, the walls are outfitted with screens that simulate a sol and provide vitamin-enriched light. The cycles of the light help maintain a circadian rhythm consistent with my service schedule. Because the Hive must always be available, no two Processors have the same schedule. What could be the middle of the nox in my unit might be first light on the other side of the wall. The nine chron limit on Hive connections isn’t arbitrary: after nine chrons, the components of the neural link can overheat. Once ports disengage after nine chrons, they cannot be activated again for a subsequent nine chrons. This fact is well-known; however, deep in the Processor service agreement, I found that it no longer applies to me. Junior Processors are only eligible for nine chrons, but Senior Processors are entitled to a maximum of twelve before reporting back to service. I would never have known if I hadn't been bored enough to read those agreements. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t change the length of my unit’s sol/nox cycle because there is no control panel in my unit.
Well, there wasn’t…
I’ve been operating on nine-on and twelve-off for more than a septad, which has made a dramatic difference in regaining my strength. I still have the same number of chrons of rest, but I have more time outside of service for walking or working on my tech projects. I was lucky to discover that my unit’s sol/nox cycle aligned fairly closely with a “real” sol in the world outside of my building.
With the lights sorted, I've started working on my oculars. The flagship of wearable technologies, oculars enhance the wearer's experience of both the virtual and physical worlds. Like Processors who keep their ports connected, many ocular wearers have them on indefinitely since they are bio-energetic: they draw body heat and run off the electrical signals in the nervous system. The thin lenses can transport you to inside the entertainment. I bought mine at the height of my entertainment mania, intending to fully immerse myself in those magical worlds.
When you're not engaged in a virtual world, oculars can provide a fully indexed and searchable repository of everything you have ever seen. No more forgetting a password or how the light played across someone's face in a special moment. It seemed highly likely that something designed with those two modes could be manipulated to engage them simultaneously.
I was right.
Since I have kept my promise to walk and added the extra chrons to my sleep/wake cycle, I plan to use my oculars during service to treat myself to a little entertainment. If everything goes according to my plan, the mod I've made will be undetectable, and it will appear as though I'm downloading media for offline use while I am in the Hive. There's nothing unusual about wearing oculars during service, and if the Conglomerate were to audit my feed, they would only see the broadcast of the inside of my residential unit.
I set the oculars up to run a final set of tests, which I would review when I returned from my constitutional. Before suiting up, I hit up the cookery for one of my new Saxon banquets. After literally farming, it's a marvel to have a machine like my reconstitutor that can respond to my every need, and most wants if I’m being honest. The automation in my residential unit keeps necessities available, but if I want something not on hand, it can be summoned with the click of a button.
I checked my messages; still nothing.
Being back in Jericho, I've been thinking about the farm more. It's strange to be this close to Jeb and Marya but feel so far away from them. It's been almost a decennium since I saw them last, and they were old for grandparents then. I know they are both still alive because I have news alerts for their names, but neither is particularly suited for the modern age. They preferred a way of life that didn't include the Conglomerate.
But that's the government.
It is a very real part of our world: unless you want to forgo the protection of the Citadel’s biosphere and thick walls to live on the Outside, you abide by the Conglomerate’s rules.
Marya always seemed unwilling to accept that.
Sitting here in my comfortable residential, I’ve been asking myself how they’re managing without me there to run the canning press when Jeb’s shoulder acts up. Thinking of the two of them in that sad clap-board house, barely surviving on whatever they could store in the barn, I regret leaving. I know they suffered so I could grow up, but I don't regret making something of myself.
To repay them for all they went without, I bought several thousand credits' worth of scrip and had it dispatched by drone out to the farm. If they're smart with it, it could easily last them a couple of solarii.
I thought maybe they’d be happy to hear from me or even grateful. But two sols now and nothing. I don't know what I was expecting, but I think silence is worse.
The reconstitutor chimed, and I retrieved my banquet. Conglomerate sustenance is really just flavoring applied to textured sorghum protein. As with entertainment, millions of electable options exist beyond the “as-is” offerings. Depending on your role in service, your diet will be modified to include additional nutrients. For example, sustenance for a Processor is fortified with beta-blockers to reduce cardiac strain from the neural link and additional nutrients that can't be delivered through climate control.
A sudden thumping made me jump.
What was that?
It sounded like a knock.
Who could be knocking?
The sound came again: definitely a knock and firmer this time.
Sweat broke out on my brow.
Have they come about the lights?
Deep breath.
I slunk out of the cookery and called, “Identify yourself.”
There was a mumbling, but I was distracted, canceling the ocular's test run and kicking myself for not paying for the door upgrades so I had a video feed to show me who was there. With my kit stowed inside, I closed the workbench, which retracted into the wall.
Approaching the door, I repeated. “Identify yourself.”
“Child, let me in!”
I threw open the door, and Jeb rushed in, pulling the door closed behind him.
“How did you even…” I stopped, retching at the scent of rot rolling off of his apparel.
“We don’t have long, Clem. I'm not as good at blending in as I used to be.” He unzipped the coveralls, using them to wipe his hands clean before wadding them up on the floor. Leaving his outwear and the worst of the stench behind, Jeb approached me.
Seeing him properly was a shock: he looked so much older. His hair was wispy and thinning, his tall broad frame narrowed and stooping. I could see his smile was still there, it had simply receded among the folds of his cheeks. When he hugged me, the warmth in his arms felt like home.
“You need not have sent us anything, Clem,” he whispered, kissing my head.
“I don’t see why I can’t share my good fortune with you,” I said, pulling back from the embrace. “You need scrip to get by!”
“We are just fine.” He shook his head, “You have no debt to repay. It was our job to keep you safe and our great honor.”
“Look around, Jeb! I have been on my own since I left the farm and did all of this myself. I'm sorry if it hurts your pride, but I was only trying to thank you.”
“Of course, you have done very well! I never doubted you would. I hope you know how proud of you I am…we both are. We simply wish we could have remained a part of your life.”
“I never said you couldn’t be.”
“Clem, there is so much we didn’t get to tell you before…you left.”
“Left? I don’t remember it being my decision to go.”
I walked further away, leaving him awkwardly by the door.
“There’s so much I want to say,” he said sadly. “But I promised your grandmother I wouldn’t tell you any of it. I’ve broken one promise by coming here, I’m not breaking that one.”
“Marya likes to be in control,” I scoffed.
“Always has,” he smiled, approaching me again. He stopped to admire the exerciser, running his weathered hands along its curved steel gyroscopic frame.
“Marya made her feelings clear: if I went to Academy, I was no longer welcome with you.”
He looked as though he were going to try to explain something but changed his mind, smiling sadly. “I understand.” He stepped closer, reaching into his pocket. I breathed through my mouth; whatever the smell was still lingered on him.
“I had to give this to you.” He drew out a thin rectangle of metal the length of a screwdriver. It had a male plug on one end, and the other was mottled with a digital touch sensor. “This is a URL bar. They were invented by a man called Jonas Carlton. Have you ever heard of him?”
“Subject Number One? Yes, I have heard of him, Grandpa.”
“Don't believe all of what the Conglomerate has told you. It's important not only to know who invented something but also to know why they were trying to invent the thing in the first place. Do you know why Jonas Carlton invented the URL bar?”
“Is this a test? Am I back at Academy?”
“Perhaps. Humor your grandfather, young lady.”
“Subject Number One's URL bars were designed, like most inventions, out of necessity,” I said smugly. “As his rebellion against the Conglomerate grew, Carlton and his network needed safe ways to transmit information. A URL bar delivers content locally but can only do so once. After whatever was stored on it has been retrieved, the data is destroyed.”
He smiled and pointed to the mottled end. “And the genetic lock ensures security…”
“But Jeb, a URL bar relies on a device with a bar port. It won’t work with any of my current tech.”
“You will find a way, I am sure.” He held it out to me. “This one contains a message for you, coded to your genetic signature. Go ahead, put your thumb on the pad.” When I touched it, it lit up a bright green. “I promised I would get that to you. I wasn't sure how I was going to, but when I heard that drone coming, I knew the time had come.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How could you? Find a way to access what is on there, and it will tell you far more than I ever could.”
“If there’s so much to say, can’t I come see you?”
“Sweetheart, it’s not a good idea.”
My eyes began to sting.
“What reason would a big city girl have for visiting an Exurb farm?”
“But it’s my home!”
“Not as far as they know. The Conglomerate doesn’t know there is a Clementine Jones. This unit is registered to River Mason.”
“How did you—”
“None of that matters. The important part is that I found you, didn't I? I was a great many things before I became a farmer, Clem. I was even rather interesting once.”
He reached into another pocket, pulling out a package of scrip. He extracted a few of the bills and held it out to me.
I shook my head. “That was for you. No one in the center uses scrip.”
“You might want to start. The Conglomerate can't track you if you don't use digital currency. If you use scrip, they don't require identity, so there is no record of who was traveling.”
A piercing security alarm rang out. That type of alarm triggers a building sweep, which are extremely thorough digital scans of everything. Literally everything. The Conglomerate has strict rules about occupancy and which organic materials can be kept in residential units, especially in the Citadel centers. Sweeps aren't that common now, but there were plenty at Academy. My first-solaris roommate was rather fond of illicit terramalt.
My eyes widened. “Jeb, if anything or anyone prohibited is discovered, the whole building will be locked down while Guardian units investigate.”
He closed my hand around the scrip.
“I hoped we would have longer, but I can’t be caught with you! If I run, they will follow me.”
He kissed the top of my head and disappeared out the door.
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