prompt: Write a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically.
available at Reedsy
The Squiggles sprawled out from the edges of the city; an array of bright colors that covered the hand-built cinderblock, concrete, and wood buildings without making it seem any less dire than it was. Ed felt blind without his collar plugged in, feeding from the net towers that blanketed the city in bandwidth and provided his “inner voice” that had long ago replaced whatever instinct he might have had.
Most people that ended up in the Squiggles never planned it. Those who moved there on purpose, like Ed, only did so because they were avoiding something worse. In Ed’s case, the worse things were the VL — the Virtual Lords — and the cops they had in their digital wallet. Ed had never met a police officer that wasn’t in the VL’s wallet.
The VL were a cartel of hackers, jackers, cybernetic strong-arms, assassins, thieves, spies, pimps, e-stim and drug dealers, and assorted low-life scum. There were very few places one could go to escape their gaze. Ed should know, as he used to jack for them.
Here, Ed was well protected from police, as they were loath to risk their life by wandering into the winding, narrow, dirt roads through the multistory shanties that gave the Squiggles their name. He was not as protected from the VL, though. Many a cartel member would lie low in a place like this when the heat was on them. There were, however, so few net connections and of such poor quality, that the state surveillance the cartel used for their own purposes was of no use here.
The first thing he’d done on arrival was trade his clothes for others that were drying on a line or wall. Not all at the same place, just a piece here, a piece there. He made sure the sleeves were long enough and collars high enough to hide his ports. He finally traded his big suitcase for a backpack, duffle bag, and four of the locally minted brass coins at one of the trade shops.
When all the “official” money is just ones and zeros in a computer, it has no use in a place like the Squiggles. The brass coins, though, were finely made, with an intricate design and unique, off-center balance. The swirling designs and off-kilter feel of them in the hand were a perfect embodiment of the Squiggles.
Even in local clothes, Ed would stand out to a resident. His skin, a pale beige, was unblemished by exposure to the elements. His dishwater-blond hair was close cropped but would grow out to an acceptable length soon enough. The only thing about his countenance that marked him as possibly belonging in the Squiggles was the trauma he suppressed, that showed in the eyes. It always showed in the eyes.
Ed continued deeper in. The heavy bags wore him down, but it was everything important to him. Somewhere in the sixty-odd square kilometers and over four million inhabitants he would find a place to hide for a while. He thought about how nice it would be to rest, but he doubted he’d ever be able to again. When the VL wants someone as much as they wanted Ed, the only end to their hunt is death.
He found himself in an informal square. A restaurant serving food out the missing window of a cinderblock building on one corner of the widened street, a trade shop on the other, surrounded by tall cinderblock and concrete buildings all built around a central well. The square hummed with the sounds and energy of people doing what they needed to in order to survive.
He estimated it to be six kilometers in a straight line to the last net antenna he’d seen, but there might be another closer. The smell of rice in chicken broth drew him to the “restaurant” on the corner.
“How much?” he asked.
“One coin for breakfast and dinner, but you missed breakfast,” the short woman in the window said. Her complexion reminded him of rich, brown silk: vibrant in color, strong as iron, yet — probably — soft to the touch. The wrinkles around her mouth and eyes only added to the image. She had a single streak of yellow-grey making up one of her many small braids of brown hair verging on black.
“How about I give you a coin for dinner and some information?”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “Information’s a dangerous thing,” she said.
Ed laid the coin on the window sill. “What’s the nearest net ’tenna?”
She took the coin, practiced fingers feeling the balance of it. She pointed back the way he’d come. “’Bout nine K’s that way, if you don’t get lost.”
He nodded.
She pushed a bowl of rice out to him. “Simple question like that, you coulda’ just asked. Bring the bowl and spoon back when you’re done.”
He sat on the well’s edge and ate his rice. The ports on his neck itched and he fought the urge to scratch at them. It wasn’t the turtleneck. The itch was deep, not at the surface…withdrawals. Not like coming off drugs or e-stims, but the lack of input to his ports over time would cause the nerves to fire louder and louder. It was only a matter of time before his arms would join in and the itch would turn to burning pain.
Ed carried the empty bowl back to the window. “Thank you, that was delicious.”
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “You ain’t from around here but you got manners. If you can keep ’em, they’ll serve you well.”
“If I can find a place to stay,” Ed said.
“What’s your name?”
“Ed. Yours?”
“Leeza. Can you push a broom as well as you jack?”
Ed stiffened. “Yeah, I…how did you—”
“Turtleneck in this weather, and I can see you twitchin’. You ain’t jacked in a while, have you?”
“No. Too busy trying to stay alive.”
“Ain’t we all. The only reason you’d be in the Squiggles is to hide out from the VL…which means you musta’ been a decent jacker or they’d’ve ended you before you got this far.”
Ed nodded. “Just good enough to get myself in trouble, I guess.”
Leeza leaned partway out the window. Ed saw the scars on her neck where ports had once been. “I know that song. See that yellow door over there? Ask for Little Meg, she’ll set you up.”
Ed crossed the square to the yellow door and knocked. It opened to reveal a strong-arm; two meters tall, cybernetic limbs exposed, an armor vest over her human torso, with a bright yellow left eye augment and a natural, brown, right eye. Her skin was sun-darkened, the color of terra-cotta, with a black mohawk spiked above, adding a few centimeters to her already impressive height.
“Can I help you, outsider?” she asked, her mellifluous voice incongruous with her looks.
“I’m looking for Little Meg. Ms. Leeza said she might have a rooming situation for me.”
“Mama Lee sent you, huh? I’m Meg.” She scanned him with her cybernetic eye. “Plenty of jacks, but you’re not wearing a collar, not carrying a key-comm, and no weapons. Running from the VL?”
“I am.” He figured at this point, honesty would be the safer bet.
Meg raised her left hand, made a fist, and turned it heel up for him to see. What at first glance were decorative swirls combined to make an eye on a tower…the sign of the Virtual Lords. Ed felt his stomach drop.
“Relax, jacker, I’m persona-non-grata myself.”
Ed took a shaky breath. “I—I’m Ed.”
“Ed?” She looked him over again. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ed ‘The Edge’ Landry, would you?”
He nodded. “I am—was. Now, I’m just Ed.”
She put her hand out. “Hand me the bags.”
He did, and she held them as though they weighed nothing. She turned her back on him and stepped inside. He hesitated for a moment, until she asked, “You coming?”
Ed followed her up eight flights of stairs with some floors not lining up with the landings, as though they hadn’t been planned out. The fifth floor had a low ceiling, with Meg’s mohawk barely brushing against the ceiling.
“Last I heard, your bounty was a million and a half. Probably more by now.”
“What should I—”
“Don’t worry about it. As long you’re with me and Mama Lee, you’re off-limits.” She opened a door in the middle of the hallway. “Here’s your room, bathroom’s at the end of the hall. Cleaning supplies are in the closet by the bathroom. Clean up after yourself. As long as you keep your room, this hallway and bathroom, the stairs all the way down, and your nose clean, you’ve got a bed and two meals a day at Mama Lee’s kitchen.”
Meg ducked in the door and dropped his bags on the small cot. “Any questions?”
“If you’re Little Meg, then who…?”
“Big Meg is parked out back, in a mech dugout. I haven’t needed to pilot her since the corpo wars, but I keep her maintained and ready.”
“A strong-arm and a mech pilot…wow.” He thought for a moment. “But if you fought in the corpo wars, how did you end up in VL?”
“Post-war recruiting program. Not much call for mech pilots or cybernetic soldiers once the state stripped the corporations of their armies.” She shrugged. “I did it until it got even worse than working for the corpos and left. Retired here and fixed up this old building to make it livable.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Meg.”
Within the week, Ed had settled into a routine, and Leeza had become Mama Lee. Breakfast, followed by cleaning everything but the bathroom, then cleaning the bathroom, leaving the shower for last, after he’d showered. That left him most of the day to sit at the window and get used to the comings and goings of the square before grabbing dinner.
Breakfast was eggs from Leeza’s chickens with whatever grain she happened to have that day. Dinner was that same grain with canned chicken broth and bits of meat. She didn’t say what the meat was, but he was fairly certain that he found a rat bone one day. He made sure to tell her how good it was, and not mention — or think too hard about —the bone.
After a month, Ed was making the evening run for Mama Lee, picking up two bags of grain on her trike for a coin a day. The first couple times were nerve-wracking, not knowing who or what he would run into as he followed the byzantine route to the supplier’s truck and back. After a while, it became old hat, though.
It was on one of those runs when something felt off. He wished he had his collar. Not just because the pain still bothered him off and on, but because he felt blind.
The supplier was her usual dour self, though, and the exchange of Mama Lee’s coins for the grain went normally. It was only after he’d set off to return that the alarm bells went off. He’d been hearing faint radio chatter. It couldn’t be the police, because they wouldn’t dare set foot in the Squiggles, but it could be VL coming to call.
He gunned the bike for all it was worth, which wasn’t much, and ran headlong into a roadblock. The state had “disarmed” the corporations, but not entirely. This was a corpo squad with body armor, combat rifles, pistols, and a bullet-proof car.
A tall man stepped out of the car in an elegant, grey suit. He lifted his sunglasses to show the black-brown eyes beneath. “Mister Landry. We need your assistance.”
“I’m just Ed,” he said. He raised his voice, “I live in the Squiggles and I’m with Mama Lee and Little Meg.”
The man looked around at the shuttered windows and empty street. “It doesn’t seem like anyone cares. This isn’t a request you can turn down. Either you do this for us, or we hand your corpse over for the bounty. Either way, we win.”
“And I lose?” Ed leaned forward on the handlebars of the trike. “Screw it, kill me now, save the effort.”
“There is a way you don’t lose,” the man said.
Ed looked up, “What do you want?”
He nodded to one of the goons holding a briefcase. “I’ve got a net repeater in the car. You’ll jack in to the coordinates my associate gives you and open the door for our jackers and hackers that are waiting. That’s it. We don’t care how noisy you are, just give us a little opening and we’ll take it from there.”
“You don’t care how noisy…It’s not your DNA that’ll be registered in the logs, so of course you don’t care. I piss off another corp and how long do you think I’ll live?” Ed shook his head. “At least VL has the decency to not hunt someone that’s retired in the slums.”
The man laughed. “Retired? You’re still ported up. There’re at least a dozen street surgeons that’d pull those out and pay you for the privilege of selling them on to the next person.”
“I haven’t gotten around to it. Been busy.”
“You spend your days staring out the window.”
Ed didn’t know who had been spying for them, but in his mind, he swore he’d sic Little Meg on them when he found out.
The briefcase bearer, indistinguishable from the other goons in heavy black armor and full-face, mirrored black helmet, opened the briefcase to display a collar and portable jack terminal. There were a set of net coordinates on a slip of paper taped to the terminal.
“Mr. Landry, or do you prefer, Edge?”
“Just Ed.”
“Ed.” The man stepped closer. “We know it was you that dumped all the corporate war strategies, deployments, and every bit of militarily useful information, bringing the government down on all our heads and ending the wars.
“I’m not certain whether the Virtual Lords have figured it out yet — your falsified DNA trace was very well done — but they will, just as we have. When they figure out that you cost them billions in weapons sales, they will hunt you here.”
He smiled the cold, unfeeling smile of a predator. “This is your one and only chance. Do this, and we’ll keep you safe from the Virtual Lords.”
“How?”
“Do those coordinates look familiar?”
Ed looked at the sixty-four-character coordinates again. Something niggled at the back of his mind. “I’m not quite sure.”
The briefcase bearer motioned toward him with it. Ed let out a deep sigh and jacked the collar on. There was a moment of vertigo, followed by the kind of information he’d been missing for so long.
The man was Alfonse Worth, COO of Ritter Heavy Industries. The weapons the corporate soldiers carried were Ritter M-74s; 6.5 millimeter, select fire, combat rifles, likely loaded with armor-piercing rounds. The repeater in the car provided him with twenty-four terabits of bandwidth, satellite bounced several times. Not great, but usable. The coordinates were ones he’d seen in the VL. Not that he’d ever accessed it, as it was heavily guarded.
Ed pulled up his sleeves and jacked into the portable terminal. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped over the bike.
He started out nearby. A data vault for a defunct gang that the VL had wiped out long ago. He knew he already had bots on his trail, trying to track his location, so he didn’t have a lot of time.
Ed opened the data vault, keyed to his DNA, and attached the stored code to his avatar. If Alfonse Worth wanted noisy, he’d get it.
Rather than trying to run from the bots, he plowed straight through them, setting off alarms everywhere. He just hoped he’d be done before the backtrace was complete.
He found himself at another data vault; this one owned by the VL. Multiple levels of security and cognitive traps. He hoped the payload he had worked. In theory, it should set off the traps, and keep the guardian programs busy while it attempted to brute-force the encryption. Meanwhile, the secondary code would write a backdoor into one of the guardian programs, creating a direct tunnel inside the vault.
As soon as the tunnel was open, Ed saw the corporate jackers stream through. What felt like hours later, he sat up, unplugged, and removed the collar. He was once again blind. “It’s done.”
Alfonse still smiled the same cold, dead smile. “Indeed. By the time you get that grain wherever it’s going, the bounty on your head — every Virtual Lords bounty — will be null and void.”
He stepped back toward the car. “We’re taking over their operations in full, starting with the police. In sixty days, the Virtual Lords will exist in name only, as a private extension of our company. I’m sure you understand what would happen to you if this got out. But, if you ever decide to leave the slums, you’ll find twelve million in an account in your name. Just so we don’t leave you here with nothing for the next sixty days, I’m told a thousand coins is a lot.”
Alfonse reached into the car and pulled out a box, trading it for the briefcase. The briefcase bearer set the heavy box in the basket of the trike with the sacks of grain and gave him a nod.
Once Alfonse Worth was safely back inside the vehicle, the soldiers relaxed their guns and melted through the side passages to a waiting truck somewhere. Ed was left sitting in the middle of the road, his head spinning.
There was no way they’d get every VL member, and the ones that remained would be out to put his head on a pike. He sighed and gunned the trike. He was never leaving the Squiggles.