Short Story: Lower

Street rats. Vermin that live off the pain of others. They swarm like a locust plague through the city; the police are swamped, the authorities too disinterested to care. Why spend time and resources on those that can't afford to grease the wheels of the system? Let them fight it out in their squalor and desperation; as long as it's contained below the Open Sectors, it's not their problem. It doesn't exist.

They make me want to vomit.

It's cold down here, the Dark Sectors plunging away to a cavernous depth all around, sunlight unable to penetrate in even the smallest measure. No morning, no sunrise, just an unending blanket of darkness, punctuated daily by the thumping rain of the sprinklers as the Uppers graciously douse the fetid mess that lurks below them.

No amount of water could wash away the despair and injustice we wallow in. Sirens blare constantly, screams and shouts punctuate the inky blackness, all too often cut abruptly short. All pervavsive is the staccato rhythm of a million machines, whirring and clanking away for the betterment of the Uppers. The main walkways are bathed in the pallid light of a thousand blinking and broken neon signs, people scurrying with their heads down, avoiding eye contact and always, always, staying in the light. It's the first lesson you learn here, and one you usually only get one chance to remember.

Pools of lights from passing aircars and speeders–ancient, worn and belching smoke–briefly illuminate alleyways and crevices in the buildings. Malformed shapes and dark figures swiftly duck back into the darkness, their world momentarily exposed by the hated light.

I stand here in the shadows. Still. Barely breathing. Watching. Listening. Waiting. I'm not bothered by the dark shapes that hustle past in the cloying murk. I doubt they even know I'm there.

The rain begins again. Barely a trickle at first, then suddenly a rushing downpour that fills the air with thunderous reverberation as it bounces of walls and windows. Even the thumps rumbles of the factories and mines in the industrial sector are masked. The roaring of the nightly monsoon fills my senses, briefly providing a respite from the cold and wretched air. Something else for the sense to focus on.

They come through the rain, thudding dully along the walkway, the booming rain masking the whine of their motors and pouring in rivulets from their gigantic limbs. Their crimson steel hides glisten slickly in the wetness. Searching with beams and sensors, looking for an excuse. Guardians. Metallic enforcers and executioners. Heaven forbid the Uppers should have to risk their own necks keeping the law down here. Hell, who would want to? No one that wants to outlive the week, that’s for damn certain.

I finger the safety on the grapple-gun and silently take the cylinder from the pouch on my belt, sliding its switch from green to red. They're close now, nearly close enough. Just a few seconds more, too soon and they'll cut me in half. Heart pounding, not daring to breathe. Grip tightening. Thump. A little closer. Thump. Thump.

I leap out, roll in flooded street and fire the grapple-gun, hooking the shoulder of the steel-monster nearest to me. The motor in the gun whines in complaint as it hauls me swiftly through the air onto the thing's shoulder. A split second later cannon fire turns the spot were I was standing into a glowing crater. I've got to move swiftly. I take the vibra-blade from my belt and hammer it home, right between the beast's shoulder blades. It bucks and twists clumsily, hands uselessly grasping for me, just out of reach. It's booming mechanical voice orders me to stop. Tells me I'm under arrest. Contravening some damned law or other. Funny, I’m planning to contravene a few more before the night’s out. One hand gripping the steel plates on its back, I use the blade to prise them slightly apart and wedge the cylinder into the gap.

By now the monster's companion has lumbered around within reach of me. Clanking and clumsy, it brings its massive hand down into my side. Feels like I've been hit by a train. I drop to the floor, ducking and rolling, gulping to catch the breath that's been knocked from me. No time for this. No time for breathing. Get it done or die, you idiot.

I fire the grapple again, hauling myself onto the second beast's lower back, stabbing and hacking at it's primary cortex shielding. It's getting hard to hold on. Hands bleeding, cut by the rusting, sharp-edged skin of these steel behemoths. Wrenching back the broken shielding, the cluster of wires are exposed. One quick stabbing slash and the giant collapses to its knees, the walkway shuddering and groaning in protest. I grab another cylinder from my belt, flick the switch to red, ram it home and run.

They might be wounded, but they're still deadly. High-powered canons hack the walkway to pieces around me as I weave and dodge. A shop doorway - it's enough. I throw myself in. All I need is a second of shelter. Pulling the transmitter from my coat, I hammer the trigger. Instantly, the beasts erupt from within, the plasma cylinders pouring a ghoulish green fire through their every joint. Bolts of electricity firing out wildly momentarily bring a cold, harsh daylight to this dungeon world. A secondary explosion rips through one of them, tearing it in half and flinging its tortured remains high into the dark. It falls, streaming flame, to the depths. The walkway finally collapses and drops what remains of the beasts into the darkness below. The crashes echo from the towers all around as burning debris drifts down around me, like fireflies dancing in the darkness.

I gasp for air, lungs burning, hands on my knees. Adrenaline and stubbornness the only things keeping me upright. The whole episode lasted less than twenty seconds, but I know I need to get away as quickly as possible. Already, the sirens sound closer. The Guardians are a clumsy yet powerful symbol of the Uppers' might and rule, but there are far more effective, far more dangerous agents of the Uppers out there, in the dark. And they'll all be headed my way now.

Quickly, I break into a headlong run, hurling myself across the void the walkway once spanned, landing messily and painfully on the other side, the flaming wreckage of the beasts all around me. With any luck, what I'm after will still be here. I scour the wreckage. There it is, glowing cobalt blue in the wreckage - a power core. The practically indestructible and unending power supply of a Guardian. It's tiny, little bigger than my fist, but worth a thousand times its weight in gold.

For a moment, her voice rings through my head, clear as if she’s standing next to me. “You always did bite off more than you could chew”.

Yeah. Always did. Probably have now, but what else could I do? Stand by the sides and watch? Complain and do nothing? See another family broken, someone else cradling the lifeless shell of someone they loved? I’d rather die.

Shouldering aside a piece of twisted metal, I wrench the power core free, careful to hold it by its inlet valve and thrust it into the shielded pocket in the lining of my coat. Touching the actual core would paralyse my arm for a week. I learnt that little nugget the hard way.

All at once, the adrenaline ebbs away and the pain hits me in great rolling waves. Blood is pouring from my hands, hot streaks of agony race through my back, side and legs as I pull my coat tight about me and limp away into a nearby alley. The rain hammers down still, masking my escape as I slip into the shadows. Merging, disappearing. Just another Lower.

------------------------

Damned alarm. It's still dark. It's always dark. The memory of the previous night comes back like a sledgehammer to my joints. Back complaining like a rusty hinge, I drag myself out of bed. I can't do that again. Frontal attack on two Guardians? What the hell was I thinking? Stupid. Stupid and lucky. Very lucky. Head's ringing like a damn bell. She was right. Some fights are beyond you. You need to know your limits.

What have we learnt today? That we're human after all. But I can’t let a small detail like that stop me. Things have gotta change. Don’t see anyone else doing anything about it. Just a lot of moaning and bellyaching from folk that don’t want to risk anything themselves. Well, like I said, things have gotta change.

Pain lances through my side as I stretch. Feels like a couple of broken ribs. I better take it easy for a day or two. I'll be no use to anyone dead.

They'll be searching for me already, of that I've no doubt. Up until now I've been able to get what I need from the streets - you can acquire almost anything, even in the Dark Sectors, if you know where to look. And if you've enough money. Or are prepared to fight for it.

Last night... Well, that was more of a test than anything else, to see if I could get what I needed and stick one in the Uppers’ eye while I was at it. I didn't know if it was even possible. I'm still alive, if a little sore, so I guess it was. I'm gonna have to get smarter though.

The coffee's hot and strong, that's about all I can say about it. We don't get anything decent in the Dark Sectors, just the rubbish that the Uppers won't pollute themselves with. I inspect the bandages on my hands. I did a better job than I thought. Cuts weren't so bad. Bled like swines, but they weren't too deep. Nothing some Bio-glue couldn't fix.

Food. When did I last eat? Hell, I can't remember. Belly thinks my throat's been cut. Not sure I've even got anything in. I slump down at the table just as the door explodes inwards and the air fills with the sound of gunfire.

Agents. How the hell did they find me? Tracers. The cores must have tracers. Idiot. Stupid mistake to make. Ruined everything. Try to get up, but my legs don’t seem to want to work. That’s when I notice the blood spilling from my chest. Strange. There’s no pain.

I hear her voice again. I laugh, coughing blood as I echo her sentiments. “Yeah, I always did bite off too much...”

A single shot echoes out. I never hear her again.