After the Red Rain (19 page)

After a shift, she headed for the abandoned building where she and Rose had encountered Jaron and, luckily, a passing drone. She heaved herself up the makeshift ramp to the very top again. The ugly sprawl of the Territory lay splayed out all around her. In the distance was the Broken Bubble, which somehow seemed sadder and more neglected than ever, even though it had not changed at all.

The clouds gathered. The clouds always gathered. A little sunlight in the morning, then tufts and gatherings of slate gray until nightfall, when the sun filtered through at the horizon line long enough to dapple the bellies of the clouds before sinking behind the western skyline.

But there was enough light to read, and so Deedra curled up against a section of wall that still retained enough integrity to support her weight. She’d packed up some rations—fruit discs and some leftover scraps of dried synthetic turkey and a small bottle of water. It was three days until Ration Day, and she could ill-afford such a snack, but she munched mindlessly as she delved back into the book. Far from being bored reading it a second time, she found a new urgency, a special kind of kinship with the story. This time, she saw layers she’d missed before, and the characters’ struggles took on new dimensions. She knew what would happen already but found herself just as invested, as if the story could change, like a wiki, at any moment.

But it couldn’t. It was already set. And that thrilled her. She was powerless in the hands of the person who’d written the story.

Snack finished, she shifted position and kept reading.

I’ve found that I can always do the things that people do in books
, Amory said.

Deedra couldn’t. But, she realized, now she
wanted
to.

She fished her pendant out from under her poncho and ran it back and forth along its chain as she read. The touch of it made her think of Rose, and the only antidote was to submerge herself back in the story. She could do nothing for Rose but miss him. And remember him. The penalty for murder was often death itself, but for the killer of Jaron Ludo, she imagined the Magistrate wouldn’t wait for a trial. There were dozens of ways to eliminate Rose before he ever had his day in court, and no one would dare speak up.

Not even me.

The thought made her sad. It was cowardly, but realistic. What could she do? What was within her power?

Nothing. She had no power.

As the sky darkened to night, she tucked her pendant under her poncho again, put the book in her backpack, and scrambled down to street level. She had just enough time to get home before curfew. She was depressed and exhausted, even though she’d done nothing.

Nothing but read. And maybe that was something. Maybe tomorrow she could figure out what to do next. Figure out what her next step could be. She couldn’t just slip back into her old life. Not after Rose. Not after his arrest. Not after reading the book. There had to be
something
she could do. And she would figure it out. No matter how long it took.

“Ms. Ward?” The voice came from behind her as she darted out into the street, meaning it came from someone who had been lurking in the building.

Waiting for her.

She froze.

“Ms. Ward, we need to talk.”

I
t was, she saw with relief, Dr. Dimbali. He stepped out of the shadows of the building and kept his distance, standing a nonthreatening ten feet from her. He was old and out of shape. If she had to, she could outrun him.

Something about his bearing now seemed almost powerful. He seemed regal, haughty as he stood ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back. Even the cracked-lens SmartSpex perched atop his nose was glaringly cyclopean, the unblemished lens wide and all-seeing, the other dark and glowering.

“What do we have to talk about?” she asked. Maybe he knew about the book. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to have it. Why else would he have followed her here?

And… ugh! He
must
have followed her. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise. There were damn few good reasons for men to follow women, and all too many bad ones. This place still bore the memories of Jaron’s hands on her, under her poncho. She put one hand behind her back to touch her knife. For reassurance.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, and held out both hands, palms
facing her. She wondered what the SmartSpex were doing. Was he recording her? Analyzing her somehow? “I just want to talk.”

“Well, it’s almost curfew. Maybe tomorrow.”

“I think it’s best we speak now. In private.” He smiled. She’d seen that smile any number of times, and now it suddenly seemed dangerous.

“I really don’t want to be out after curfew.” Would he suggest he follow her back home? There was no way in the world she would let Dr. Dimbali into her apartment.

Clasping his hands at his waist, he chewed on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going to hurt you. The very notion is anathema to me. I want to talk about Rose.”

Overhead, a drone silently glided by, its underside pulsating a gentle blue. Ten minutes to curfew. Just enough time to get home. She turned to go.

“Please come with me,” he said. “I think we can help each other, and maybe help Rose. You do know his secret, don’t you?”

That made her pause. Rose’s secret. Which secret did he mean?

“He can do things,” Dr. Dimbali said, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. Even so, he lowered his voice and leaned significantly toward her. “He can do things no one else can do. Am I right?”

“You want to help him?” she asked.

“Ms. Ward, if my suppositions are correct, I can help
everyone
.”

Dr. Dimbali’s apartment was just far enough that curfew fell as they entered the building—the sky lit flashing red with crisscrossing drones as he thumbed open the door. Deedra’s stomach lurched and clenched with curfew panic, but also with the knowledge that she had committed herself to spending the night there. Dr. Dimbali had assured her that he had room for her, but she had already decided that—if she had
to—she would break curfew and take the ration hit. Her record was relatively clean, and if it meant more scavenging, so be it. She had just escaped forever the clutches of one molester—she wouldn’t willingly give herself to another.

Dr. Dimbali’s apartment was massive—at least four separate rooms, each beyond a rough-hewn archway. He had several tabs of different sizes scattered around, as well as something she recognized as a near-ancient portable computer. It seemed massive and clumsy, its lid hinged like the book in her backpack, its keyboard chunky and too textured. The lighting in each room was dim, weak, naked bulbs strung along the ceiling. Dr. Dimbali went straight to a room that looked as though it was exclusively used to cook in.

“How did you get such a—” Was it rude to ask? But she couldn’t help it.

He chuckled. “Do you merely accept what you’re given, Ms. Ward?” He puttered at the stove. “Tea?”

She didn’t know what the stove had to do with tea, but she accepted his offer. While she waited, she paced the length of the apartment, in awe of its size.

“I knocked down the walls myself,” he told her. “And made what poor improvements my skills allowed.”

He definitely had enough room for her to stay the night. He had a bed, of course, but in another room she saw a spare. It boggled the mind. He’d taken over other apartments.

“You can
do
that? What about the people who lived there?”

Another chuckle. She looked back to see him sprinkling something into mugs, then pouring boiling water over it. This was how he made tea? Where were his TeaPaks?

“What makes you think there was anyone
in
those apartments? This Territory once held in excess of two million people. It now has a
population of slightly under one million. There are huge amounts of wasted space to be taken advantage of.”

“But you just
did
it? You didn’t have to ask someone—”

“Ask whom?” He stirred the contents of the mugs. “Did you ask permission before you went into that building I found you at earlier? No. It was abandoned and so you went there as you pleased.”

Dizzy with sudden possibility, Deedra felt around herself, found a chair, and sank into it. How many people lived in her building? She didn’t even know. She’d been assigned her unit when the orphanage had surrendered her. She knew none of her neighbors, and she had never even considered the idea that the spaces surrounding her own might be empty. That she could capture them for herself.

“It never occurred to me.”

“Of course not.” Dr. Dimbali approached her with both mugs, one of them held out to her. She accepted it. It smelled wonderful. Better than the perfume Rose had brought to her apartment. “It’s hot—don’t drink it right away.”

He pulled a chair over and sat across from her. He blew gently on his tea. She inspected the mug. She’d had tea before but not like this. “Why are there things floating in it?” she asked.

“Those are… well, tea leaves.”

“I don’t understand. Like from a tree?” She’d seen trees before. Even grass. They were rare, but they did exist. She wasn’t sure what their purpose was, but there they were anyway.

Dr. Dimbali sighed and shook his head sadly. “And this brings us back to the earlier topic: You’ve never contemplated, well,
modifying
your circumstances because nothing in your world, nothing in your experience, tells you that you
could
do so. From the moment you were born, you’ve known only one world, one system, one way of life. And as far as you can tell from what little history bleeds through the wikinets,
the world has
always
been thus. So why would you try to change or improve things? There’s no evidence anyone ever has.”

It was the very conversation she’d had with herself since talking to Rose—was the world in decline or getting better? According to the Magistrate and the rest of the government, things were improving all the time. No more riots. No more mass starvations. Fewer wars over the Territories. But if things continued on this path, would the world ever resemble the one in the book she’d read? She didn’t think so.

“Now,” Dr. Dimbali said, leaning forward, “I understand that you and Rose have become close since he joined us here in the beautiful, Edenic Ludo Territory.”

“We’re friends.” Something about the way he said
close
jabbed at her and made her heart jerk at the same time.

“Yes. Friends.” He grinned and sipped at his tea. “Fine. Whatever. I need to know: Did he leave you anything before he… left?”

The book. The book that even now was in her backpack, resting on the floor near her feet.

What could he possibly want with the book?

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Let us not be coy, Ms. Ward. I know Rose’s secret. I know of his…” He gestured with a finger in the air, as though fishing for a word.

“Powers,” she supplied.

He laughed. “Yes. Let’s call them
powers
. That will do nicely. I know of his
powers
. His abilities.”

She gazed down into the murky water of the tea. Such a lovely scent from such a bland-looking liquid. “I don’t know if we should be talking about this,” she said quietly. “Inside. Or anywhere, really.”

“Are you worried about surveillance?” He waved it away. “We’re quite safe here. There are vulnerabilities to every system, Ms. Ward. Every system has security flaws. Don’t believe everything you’re
told. The drones are not infallible. Your apartment’s security is not undefeatable.”

She thought back to the heat map TI Markard had shown her. Maybe Dr. Dimbali was right, but “not undefeatable” was a long way from useless.

“They watch me—”

“Don’t be absurd. Of course they’re not watching you.”

“But they showed me a heat map of my apartment. And—”

He sniffed as though offended by the mere mention. “There are in excess of fifty billion people on this planet. To watch everyone, fully half of those people would have to work for the government, watching the other half. And then someone would have to watch the ones doing the watching to make sure no one falls down on the job. You see how ridiculous this is?”

“They had a heat map. They knew exactly what I was—”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong—they have… systems that monitor everything we do, everywhere we go. But no one is watching those systems. Unless you give them a reason to. And then they can go back and check and see where you were and what you were doing. So they wondered what you were doing the night of Mr. Ludo’s murder and they checked. But if they’d never suspected you, nothing would have alerted them to your activities. And if they’d waited two or three more days, the files would have been gone, automatically purged to make room for new ones.” He grinned at her with what she supposed was intended to be a reassuring expression, but she didn’t quite believe him, so the assurance went unappreciated. “It’s valuable to know how things work. There are a million people living in Ludo Territory alone. Do you really think Max Ludo and his contingent stay up nights watching you sleep?”

He was right. She’d always known it, she supposed. After all, a drone had witnessed Jaron threatening her on the rooftop, but no one
had ever done anything about it. No one had ever seen that video, and now it was gone.

She sipped at the tea, which had cooled by now. It was delicious, possibly the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted in her life. Sweet and pungent and so very strong, its flavor smooth on her tongue. With great restraint, she resisted the overwhelming urge to gulp it down at one go. Better to make it last. She sipped again, savoring it.

“In fact,” Dr. Dimbali went on, “I could take you home right now. Despite curfew. There are ways. And if you wish, I’ll do so. But first: Rose.”

“He didn’t leave me anything,” she said, and then immediately regretted the lie. “Except for a book.”

Dr. Dimbali’s eyes lit up at that. “A book! Wonderful. For you. I hope someday, perhaps, you will allow me to see it. But I didn’t mean something like a book. I meant…” He trailed off. “Something more personal.”

She sipped again, thinking of the metal flower he’d brought to her. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Dr. Dimbali. Maybe if you just told me what you want…”

He leaned back and drank his tea and stared at her uncomfortably long. “Did he leave anything
of himself
?”

That was unexpected. When he said
personal
, she thought he meant a note or a picture. “Like what?”

“Like what you’re drinking, for example.”

The mug was already at her lips for another lingering, savoring sip. She froze and stared into the liquid’s depths, at the swimming leaves.

She swallowed hard and put the mug aside.

“Do you understand?” Dr. Dimbali asked quietly.

On her leg, an itch. From the healing scab where Rose had inadvertently cut her the night he’d spun her around her apartment. She’d known then. She’d known and she’d denied it. But she remembered what she’d read about roses.

About their thorns.

That’s what had been on Rose’s tendrils: Thorns. And roses
smelled good
. And so did Rose.

It was insane, but now she would say it anyway.

“I was thinking about his name,” she said slowly, staring at the floor. “And what he can do. I went on the wikis and I looked up
rose
. They said they were mythical flowers, but Rose saw them, he said.” She looked up at him. “He said he saw them, and I believe him.”

Dr. Dimbali nodded approvingly over his mug. “Go on.”

“And, well…” She shook her head. It was foolish. And stupid. She couldn’t say it out loud. And yet, she would. She knew it. Because she’d been thinking it for a while now, and to say it to someone else—someone who would laugh and mock her and make her feel foolish—was the best possible idea. The humiliation would flush this absurd notion from her head for good.

“I was thinking… what if Rose, well, what if he
was
a rose?”

The humiliation she so craved did not come. Instead, Dr. Dimbali drank his tea down to the dregs and then stood, hands clasped with no-nonsense intent. “Come with me, Ms. Ward. I have something to show you.”