“While few reflect on it, everything you do in an arcology is watched. Human operatives, Deputies or similar personnel watch people. Subroutines and lesser artificial consciousnesses keep the lights on. And then we have the Administrators, who see all.” - extract from the Information Era, pamphlet, forbidden in 15 arcologies.

“It’s not that they’re wrong…”

“Nazis…”

“Someone call the police…”

The artist raised the middle finger to the crowd. A bandana covered their eyes yet all the same, Martin thought he could feel the gaze.

The figure turned their back to the crowd, bulky green overalls flared wide around the hips. “The old world fell through disorder and chaos. This world,” and they swung one hand, the better to encompass the street, the crowd, the arcology itself,”doesn’t have to fall.”

“It could last forever. It was made to.”

She pointed. Two nearby disc-shaped droned marked in yellow and blue - police drones - crashed to ground. Some in the crowd nodded.

If, Martin thought, she had shown any kind of smugness, be it a smile and something more overt, like a cry, then the crowd would have turned on her. But the humble, almost bowing posture she had adapted earned her a certain esteem. Nobody, not even Twos liked somebody who bragged. Then, the absence of the thing was in itself a scream.

‘Look how they try to silence me,’ her bearing suggested. ‘I, who am but a simple spokesperson’.

“Yes,” they said eventually.”The arcologies could last forever.” The repetition then, was the means by the Made hammered their points down. Martin had seen a dozen of these rallies back in Sala. Difference being that this one definitely was more civil than he was used to.

They continued.

“But not with leadership who seeks to silence voices of dissent. Who fears. Is this not the case, young Proxy?”

The figure pointed, the crowd swerved around and I’m in big fucking trouble.

Martin swallowed. Cleared his throat. Kicked the ground, his mind working overtime. It was if there was lightning contained within his skull, branching in a thousand different directions.

“I’m not sure.” He paused a beat. Raja Sviratham would have a thousand Regials sit on him even if only he tacitly underscored the Made’s doctrine. “Like you said, I’m quite young.”

“And humble!”

Light clothed Martin’s body and bandages like a mummified corpse covered him. The white appendages fell on and over his legs, creating the illusion that he had none. He rotated his head, and some of the less brave people in the crowd shied away.”Not too humble,” he said and bowed.

“Young to wear a Chassis, but a Chassis is always earned. Tell us, humble friend, what did you do to earn it?”

Martin’s tongue stuck to his palate. The trap was neat, wasn’t it? A pointer to his youth, and then to his supposedly ‘humble’ attitude.

Any way to tell the story of how he had earned his Chassis would serve to make the speaker’s point. The Made held the superiority of those wearing Chassis and any way you cut it…

“Would you believe me if I said I ran?”

“From your enemies?”

“From my enemies.” The trick, he figured, was to use lawyer-speak, to tell the bare necessities.

“That is curious.” The speaker strode the crowd and gestured.”This, dear friends, is Martin Solieri. Late of Camp Sala and picked up on arrival for a proxyhood by no other than Chiyo Moymoto.”

Murmurs.

“…he ran, he says! Well, what did he run from?”

A pause.

“He ran from his enemies, but doubt not my friends, he ran for a good purpose!”

“He ran with a comrade,” they said, lowering the volume of their voice, inciting people to draw closer,”and when their situation seemed like it couldn’t get worse, he sacrificed himself, to save a friend.”

Good sources, and light on the details, the better to suggest the picture they want to create. Had she picked his face out the moment he moved through the crowd? It doesn’t matter. The crowd’s noises were suitably supporting, but he noticed they had left out the end.

“Indeed-“the roar blotted out whatever she had intended to say. Before the last syllable had died on the wind, turquoise covered the crowd. The…jelly pushed back against Martin’s hand; and even that minor action was more than most of crowd could summon.

“Disperse,” came the call. Martin’s shoulders fell, until they rose again. Would they arrest him too?

Martin spotted a manform Chassis hover centimetres over the ground, silhouetted by two figures he knew, and one who was unfamiliar. It was the Deputies; Sara and Andreas. The other woman, who by the cut of the clothes she wore - the same brown skinsuit - had to be a unsmiling Deputy.

He focused on her face…and directly queried the Net. Normally he’d have to use a pad or another device, but while wearing a Chassis, such a direct contact was possible.

The face floated in Martin’s vision as the crowd broke into fractions. Nina Abrukha. Senior Deputy. The scars on her face…were from some sort of old disease that predated the Devastation. Curious that she never had them removed for they gave her the appearance of a monster. Blue eyes crowned by black hair walked through the vision only he could see.

“Are you alright?”

Martin nodded. Interesting- that accent on her Trade was Russian. Andreas sided up to him. His twined beard shook as he laughed.”You met a Proxy on your first day, and now it hasn’t even been a month, and you’ve met our very favourite preacher!”

The man laughed.

It would be so easy to discount you, wouldn’t it? Big guy, big beard, bet people are surprised when they realise you’re twice as clever as they are. Martin thought of the implication of Andreas’ words, and the fact that he had been given errand priority to the Vänern Arcology. Chiyo had been unable to find out who had marked his profile, which in itself was telling.

“I’m nobody special.”

Andreas made a sound.

Sara smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise.”

The four of them watched as the Proxy with a Chassis like a granite boulder moved the preacher away.”What,” Martin said,”will happen to them?”