Prologe

Everyone has a dream. For most kids Samantha’s age it was to get into a college in the capitol or to get out of the slums or even just to pass the fast upcoming final. But Sam (as she liked to be called) was different. All she wanted was to get away. Away from her dad. Away from her mom. Away from the ridiculous Global Peace Corps propaganda that they spouted. Away from all the stupid ideas that she knew just weren’t right and just away from what she considered to be the worst possible place to grow up. But there was no escape from the fortified walls of Sector T311 district, a 200,000 acre slum in the North American district. So Sam had been forced to look for other ways to get away. And one day, whilst walking in an alleyway (which in Sector T311 were often safer than the main roads) cluttered with black market vendors, she got handed the solution.

Chapter 1: Puddles and Packages

I’m walking along the road against the constant, albeit limited, bustle of consumers, lingering to avoid getting to my destination… home. It wasn’t that my parents were mean or anything. They were just too gullible, believing all the crap that the GPC (Global Peace Corps) propaganda devision told them. I had tried to go along with it for a little while and accept the common ideology, but I just couldn’t deal with the “fact” that me being in a slum was a good thing and my place in the world. After a couple years I stopped pretending altogether and started avoiding my parents whenever I cou-“splash”

My sector issue boots and pants soaked up to the knees, I angrily turn to the offending wooden wheelbarrow that had veered into a puddle directly to my left and then a sewer grate which had smashed one of the wheels to splinters and cracked the frame. Interesting. It had wheels as opposed to the electromagnets that most vehicles used today.

“oh sorrysorrysorry” said a small portly man dressed in tan pants and a white shirt who was rushing to me. “Someone bumped into me and I fell, pushing the cart as I went.”

“Whatever” I mutter, already trying to wring out the soaked cotton-polyester blend of my pants.

“no no really” he insists “I can’t offer you much, but I know that it’ll be a month until you can wash those. How about you take the box in the wheelbarrow. That is a valuable piece of equipment, never mind, just take it. I can’t carry it without the cart anyway.”

I look up questioningly and immediately see that his left arm is in a sling. How didn’t I notice before? Oh no, he said something. Get your head back in the conversation. “what did you say?”

“I said it’s free and just take it”

There was a note of panic in his voice now, he had probably taken my look of skepticism like I didn’t know whether it was a good idea to take it, but I wasn’t stupid. If it was free then I could make a profit by selling it or I could use it, though I can’t imagine what he could have that I would rather have than a few credits. He had said it was valuable before hadn’t he. Based on his tone he wanted to get rid of it and if that was his wish than who am I to deny him. Back when I was younger my father had told me an expression that his father before him had told him. What was it? Don’t look a gift horse, whatever that was, in the mouth.

I turn to the spot where the man had been standing to accept, but the only sight that greeted me was the damp cobble on the ally and the haggling of 2 woman at the stall across the street. Dang, I had wanted to ask him more about what it was that he had given me. Well, I guess it’s mine now. I walk over to the broken wheelbarrow leaning on its side and the brown cardboard box that lay within.

The box itself didn’t seem too odd. It was a standard 2-1-1 that was found everywhere and used to transport everything from food to firearms for the wall guards. The only interesting thing about it was that it had none of the identifying tags that official ones did. I pick it up and as I'm doing so wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Sure I could sell it and make some money which is always helpful, but, come to think of it the strange man did seem to want to get rid of it pretty badly. I could just put it down and- no. If this was worth something then maybe I could get closer to my goal of escape. I start walking with the package in my arms.

Back when I had just given up on trying to please my parents I had gone to my hideout and come up with a plan to get outside the gates. Bribe some of the guards. Of course after looking that up on a jailbroken computer (bought from a dubious seller in an alleyway similar to the one I was walking along) that could search the underworld web, my dreams of waltzing out of sector T311 that night were shattered. It would cost between 2 and 4 thousand credits to get out. Still I had saved about 50% of the allowance that my parents were obliged to give me for about 6 weeks until I had given up on it, totaling just over 300 credits in savings. Depending on the value of this… whatever, I could maybe even double that

…

Peering around the corner of a stall a portly man named Kyle let out a sigh of relief, glad that he had finally managed to get rid of the package. His loyalty to his boss hadn’t let him just leave something of that value in a dumpster somewhere, but the temptation to use it would have gotten the better of him if he had kept it. And though it was supposedly safe you never can tell for sure.

~~~

After a couple more minutes of walking with the box under my arm, I duck into the alley that leads to a rarely used, underground parking garage and the storage closet within it: My hideout. I found it 4 years ago when I was just 12. I was bored and decided to go exploring and had found the keys in the lock. Privacy. True privacy, is hard to come by and I had known this then as well, so I never told anyone about it.

I had furnished it sparsely with a desk, a chair, a lamp, the aforementioned computer and even a sleeping bag, although it was too cold in the winter to sleep there and right now it wouldn’t be very pleasant at all.

Well, time to open this up and see what all the fuss is about. The lid cracks open and inside there is a small metal box about 5 in by 5 in by 8 in, 2 big thick cables that look like protected Fiber Optics, a collapsible antenna that looks like it might be able to connect to the satellites reserved for the rich sectors, and a huge, full face helmet with no visor that must be 3 inches thick at its broadest point. None of the Items have labels that I can see.

Time to plod over to the computer and search… and search… and search.

Ok, that’s it, I’m not going to find an answer there. How about a more direct, hands on approach.

I get out of the chair and walk over to the parts which are still in the box. I give it a look over once more and getting the same result (which is completely and utterly baffled) I pick up the bundle of cables. Here’s something. There is another, smaller cable nestled right in between these other ones. I must have missed it before because the big ones were blocking it from view.

I’ve seen this type before too. A teacher used it at school once to power a machine that processes food. Whatever the other things in there are, they must draw a lot of power. Not enough to draw attention if someone was careful though. For instance, to mask the constant power draw of charging my computer, I cut the power cable on one of the lights in a corner near me and charged my computer at the outlet in the closet.

One of the only interesting things (in my opinion) I have ever managed to get out of my basic electrical science text book, that we are reading in science class this year, (oh the joys of being 16) is that the suits that monitor electricity use can only detect the power draw of a certain floor. So as long as it stays within a certain range they won’t know anything is up. This means that all you have to do to get power to something you need is take power away from something else.

Wow, got really side tracked there. Anyway, I’m going to plug it in. Just the cord I mean not everything. Not yet anyway.

Ok… A power cable that is attached to nothing. This is clearly not going to help me. I need to get a little more serious. Lets see what does this attach to. The box thingy has an outlet for this on the bottom, along with two more that look like they probably go to the big ones that I think are fiber optic. Okayyyy plug it in and - I duck down and cover my head - …nothing.

Well that’s not technically true, but I don’t think a very quiet humming that I only heard because I wasn’t moving is really a thing worth mentioning.

Ok, only one thing to do now… plug in one of the other things. The antenna seems a little dangerous, I don’t know what or even If it will transmit if I plug it in so the helmet it is.

“Wow you would think that fiber optics would be lighter.” I mutter to myself as I lug one of the cables over to the box and plug it in.

Ok that’s done, now what to do about the helmet.

I drag it over to the cord and start examining the helmet. It seems like it doesn’t have any openings for a cord to go into… but here on the 3 inch thick part at the back of the area a neck would go is a tiny little seam.

If I can just push my fingernail into it and use that as a lever then - voila! the hatch opens and reveals a socket that is just the right size for my cord. Fit it in the slot and…

Nothing is happening. Again. I growl in frustration. You would think that it would at do something. A little beep maybe, or a LED would blink. Anything except this endless nothing.

Wait a minute not everything is plugged in yet. There is the giant antenna that I was worried about earlier. I am still a little apprehensive about using it, but my curiosity has gotten the best of me. Besides, If I want to sell this I am going to need to know what it is. Now why can’t I open this up.

After almost 10 minutes of fruitlessly tugging on the joints of the antenna I finally figured out that you need to push in a tiny little pin in order to actually extend it and get it set up.

Ok, now its judgement day (or second if you want to get technical). I plug in one end of the fiber optic cable to the metal box and carefully walk the other end to the antenna as though it could break at any second. Sliding the metal end of the line into the slot on the underside of the tripod that is holding it up (it was a lot easier to find the cover the second time) I give an involuntary gasp as something finally does happen.

A small lighted sign that until now was invisible glows into existence on the front of the visor and starts flashing the words READY FOR USE.

Excitement and curiosity wage a full on war against the caution that comes with living in a poor sector where you could be mugged for 10 credits. Guess which one won?

I slowly walk over to the helmet and gently place it on my head. There are no screens as I would have expected just silicone pads that conform to my head.

“Scan ready” says a cold and metalic voice suddenly.

“What? Hello?” I say twisting my head this way and that as though I could see the person who is talking through all the metal silicone and whatever else is in this helmet.

I bring my hands up and try to remove it, only to find that the silicone pads that were keeping my head comfortable by conforming to it were also preventing me from removing the helmet.

“Scan initializing” the cold voice says.

“WAIT!” I scream banging at the machine that is keeping me confined “STOP! I DON’T WANT TO CONTINUE.”

A strange sensation comes over my head and my cries, while they would seem just as loud as before to anyone else in the room, start becoming muffled and far away.

I stop screaming and banging, but it isn’t for lack of trying, I simply can’t anymore.

“Scan 1 complete: motor and language skills” says the voice “Now initializing scan 2: Active thought.

Then everything goes black.

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