“Meet at 308 Altura Lane. 2:35, 29.03.66. Don’t be late, don’t bring friends.”
He clicked the button again.
“Meet at 308 Altura Lane. 2:35, 29.03.66. Don’t be late, don’t bring friends.”
Listening to it over and over didn’t help. “Meet at 308 Altura Lane…”
It wasn’t so much fear, but rather uncertainty. What’s out there is an unknown, Malcolm thought. A complete wildcard. He would never hesitate to take an opportunity but this couldn’t be right. He never thought he would find himself associated with those kinds of people. Cloud Nine, Red Velvet, whoever you named. I always saw them as entities that were more out there, rather than in here, he thought. Nothing good ever happened to those kinds of people.
Malcolm was now nearly back at his apartment. After that encounter, he didn’t think there was much left to look for. Whatever it was that he wanted, he’d found. Or more appropriately, it found him. He clutched his pistol closer in his pocket as he approached the hallway to his door. There was a section before he got to his house that was almost unlit, and although he’d never seen it happen, it seemed a perfect place for a robbery. He swiftly hurried past the hallway and into the main lobby of the apartment. Obviously it was empty. Europa was always active at night, but no one would stay anywhere near their homes. It was dangerous to have anything leading back to your personal life. He walked past the broken elevator, and up the staircase, arriving at his floor swiftly. Just as he was about to open the door, he remembered Selene. He had been gone for the majority of the early morning, and it was almost the time where she would begin to wake. He opened the door with care, moving gently throughout the house, finally returning to his room. She was still there, lying still on the right side of their bed. She was asleep, until the moment Malcolm lay down.
“Where’ve you been,” She whispered, still enveloped in a layer of sleep.
“Just the bathroom, don’t worry,” Malcolm responded.
As Malcolm returned to his side of the bed, she turned to face him, pulling herself towards his chest. Despite the inherent comfort, Malcolm grimaced. What have I done to deserve her, he thought, despite his efforts to console himself. Malcolm still couldn’t decide whether this all came as an act of necessity, forced to change due to unforeseen circumstances, or whether this had always been Malcolm’s destination. At what point does it turn from a necessity of survival, to a simple greed. The image of the woman’s body, limp ,once again flashed across his mind’s eye. Seemingly the work of his new employers. If this was the standard they held to, what was he to expect? Of course, this doesn’t count as greed, he thought. If I don’t comply they’re going to kill me. An unwelcome thought came into his head. One which he knew he couldn’t think, one which he knew he had to try not to.
I’m going to die anyway.
. . .
Unlike Europa, the light in the Vents came in waves. Flashing in and out; police cars, late parties, search lights. As Malcolm waded through crowds of bodies their faces shifted from light to dark, each person’s detailed features only visible for a few moments. It was impossible to keep track.
Malcolm had tried working for the day. He had to make it seem just like any other day for the others. He was as normal as he could be, considering he had a metaphorical gun plastered to his temple at all times, and a blast pack of C4 strapped to the insides of his most vital organ. He was a timebomb in more ways than one.
“Dante, are you sure about this!” Malcolm shouted through the crowd.
“Come on man, you just need to take your mind off things,” Dante said. “It works for me every time.”
Somehow they seemed to be going in deeper and deeper with each new step, even without any incline. The walls seemed to get tighter, the darkness more inviting. Dante stopped at an elevator, the two circular buttons — up and down — the only light sources in the vicinity.
“Not a chance,” Malcolm said, inspecting the metal cage in front of him. He touched the vertical bars, though he was gentle as it looked like it would break if he breathed too hard.
“Come on, everyone takes these all the time, they're completely safe.”
“Where’s it go?”
Dante smiled.
“The real Vents.”
Malcolm clutched at the pistol in his right pocket, which clattered against his robotic leg. Malcolm’s face was stone straight, neither a smile nor a frown present. He had mastered the art of feigned composure. He’d never tried, but he knew he’d have been good at poker. Dante would certainly have no idea of the turmoil turning in Malcolm’s stomach at the thought of coming down here. The regular Vents were already too much for him, he couldn’t imagine what Dante was implying with his statement.
The caged rattle opened with a clank. For how many people surrounded them at street level, it seemed relatively empty down below. If they weren’t even coming down, why the hell was I, thought Malcolm. Stepping out the elevator, the short hallway opened into a far larger atrium, filled with the people. The tops of the ceilings and the far reaches of the walls were invisible, covered in a veil of shadow, hiding the true scale of the room. Despite the height of the place, it seemed the activity was taking place on ground level. Between them and the atrium stood a small security check, equipped with a single man and a metal detector. The guard looked bored, to the point of almost falling asleep.
“Hey, Ky,” Dante said, walking through the checkpoint without trouble. Malcolm followed in his footsteps, until a firm palm was placed upon his chest. “Ky, don’t worry about it, he's with me.”
“I ain’t seen him before,” Ky said, his rough voice barely higher than a grumble.
“Nah, nah, he was with me last time, man.” Dante said.
“Don’t even try, you know I’ve got an SSD.” Ky said. He turned to face Malcolm. “I’d remember seeing him before.”
“Alright just make it quick,” Dante said
The guard pulled out his metal detector and began scanning Malcolm’s entire body. The machine eventually landed on his bottom trouser pockets. It started beeping rapidly.
“What you got in there,” Ky said.
Malcolm lifted up his pant leg, showing him the metal prosthetic.
“Fair enough,” the guard said, waving him through. If that was the level of security, Malcolm was worried what kind of things real Venters would be carrying.
The low-light level was mostly attributed to the fact that no set lights were actually in the building. The only sources came mostly from holo-projections and screens, those of which only illuminated either the area around them or simply the face of the user. Additionally, towards the centre there was a larger holographic display, with what Malcolm assumed to be some sort of dance performance. Gaggles of people stood around it, entranced.
“You ever been down the Delta before?” Dante asked
“No…,” Malcolm responded, glancing around, “No.”
“You’ll learn to love it,” Dante began.
He led them through the crowd, shuffling past people of all kinds. Malcolm felt the eyes of each person they passed linger on him just slightly longer than they should have. He didn’t know how, but they knew he didn’t belong. He felt a chill as he walked out through the second wave of the crowd. Not a chill of temperature, or fear, but rather realisation. 308 Altura Lane wouldn’t be in main Europa. On inspection it seemed rather a simple thought, but it was also one with great consequence. The last time he had come down here alone he’d almost died; and significantly, he was almost killed by the very people he now seemed to work for.
The crowd seemed to thin out, as Dante led him towards his objective.
“How much longer are we planning to be down here,” Malcolm asked, fidgeting with his fingers, and scanning the room.
“Would you just relax?” Dante responded. “We’ll be down here however long it takes your ass to loosen up.”
Malcolm grimaced. He wasn’t sure Dante understood his idea of relaxing. As they continued walking, Dante moved forward into what seemed to be a more private section of the Delta. This section slowed their movements significantly; Not due to the crowds, but rather Dante being patted on the back or greeted by most people that they passed. This area was significantly darker, with less people using devices, and less light fixtures placed around. Groups of people gathered in sleek paneled glass booths, some of them frosted over, so as to make it impossible to see inside. Others chose to keep it open, and Malcolm couldn’t decide if they were doing it by choice, or were simply too high to even stand up. Some used more standard supplements, ones even Malcom had seen before. Trick, Herb Spikes, Nitrous. But as they continued walking, their methods seemed to get gradually more exotic.
One man lay completely still on the floor. Just from looking, Malcolm couldn’t decide if he was still alive. Tubes connected him to the room, the long thin strips pumping some type of gas into his bloodstream. Subconsciously, Malcolm slowed down to look, resulting in Dante rushing off without him, clearly either not looking, or not phased.
The image had an odd familiarity to Malcolm. The stillness, flickering between dead and alive, unsure if it was either. Bodies on the streets, limp and broken. But this man wasn’t dead. Or he couldn’t be, Malcolm thought, how could they leave him to be dead under supervision? He was close, but not there. Maybe that was the point.
. . .
Booth Number 42.
It stood in front of Malcolm, the exterior seeming larger than some of the others they had just passed. Dante swiped his card along the reader next to the door, the lock opening with a click.
“Rox, you in?” Dante shouted inside, the room disappearing further back than Malcolm had expected.
“Yeah, just coming!”
The artificial, plastic, smell that filled Malcolm nostrils throughout the building was even more intense in this room, as if the scent had been condensed into its purest form. He rested his hand on the doorframe as Dante walked in. It was oddly damp.
“Who’s that?” Malcolm asked.
“Just a friend.” Dante said, emptying his pockets. A few coins rolled out, along with a business card, a packet of pills, and a set of keycards.
Malcolm’s eye’s alerted with realisation.
“Do you live here? He asked.
Dante turned around
“Live? No, no, I’m just staying here. It’s more convenient for work.”
Malcolm looked at him with a glance.
“Closer, I mean.” Dante said quickly. “I don’t work down here.”
Malcolm heard banging from the other side of one of the walls. From the outside none of these looked like they could be something anyone lived in; more like somewhere you would visit for a couple hours at a time. But seeing this, he realised that the others could be just like this, meaning there would be hundreds of people living down here. Hundreds of people, barely conscious, for hours, days, or weeks, at a time.
Looking in the darkened corner of the room, Malcolm accidentally startled himself. A man laid there, crumpled in a heap in the corner, eyes staring blankly. His arm was electronically enhanced —like Malcolm’s — and it was plugged into some sort of device on the wall.
“This guy’s not breathing.” Malcolm said.
“He doesn’t need to,” a female voice answered. Roxy. The woman came from behind a sliding door. The first thing Malcolm noticed about her was that she was all flesh, and Malcolm couldn’t spot any aesthetic transplants either. She was clean. She tapped on the side of the wall, producing a keyboard, before swiftly typing away, staring at the display next to the man.
“He’s in LIMBO. The computer sustains his life for him.”
A variety of statistics and charts popped up, among them his heart rate. Thirty beats per minute. Malcolm reached down and touched the tip of his hand. Cold.
“Is he okay?”
“Of course he is, it was his choice. He just prefers dreaming to being awake.”
He didn’t say it, but a thought immediately entered his mind. How certain could you ever be that he was alive. Malcolm thought. Sure, he was breathing, yet somehow it doesn’t feel like being alive. It’s experiencing life, but not living it. He has no worth, no weight, no impact. He’s watching the movie of life, without being in it.
Malcolm turned to Dante. He looked at his arm, and noticed him pulling out a wire from his port. The adapter for the LIMBO was already fitted.
“Why are we here?” Malcolm said.
“I’m just showing you around—”
“No.” Malcolm firmly stated. “You’re not. Why are we here, Dante.”
“I’ve already told you, we need something to get you to relax man, it’s not that deep.”
Malcolm looked around the room, frowning. He struggled to think of a place less relaxing.
“I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all. I think we’re here to get you something to relax, Dante.”
“Leave then,” he said. “Do whatever you want man I couldn’t give a fuck.” He waved his hand dismissively as he sat back down. His leg was jittering. “Just trying to do something nice for you, and then you act like this. This ain’t even my house, look at Roxy, look what you’ve done to the poor girl.”
To Malcolm she hardly looked phased, maybe distracted from the noise, but besides that she continued maintaining the dreaming man. He turned back to face Dante, and noticed that he had drawn his body into himself.
“Fine,” Dante finally said “I’m sorry, we can go if you want.”
“What?” Malcolm responded, his face scrunched into a perplexed frown,
“I don’t want to fight you over this, that isn’t fair. Out of all the times to give you peace of mind this is certainly one of them.” He stood up and pushed his chair back into the table. “Rox, I’ll see you tonight.”
“Just stay here, I can make my own way back,” Malcolm said, placing a hand to stop Dante. “You’ve done enough today.”
He grabbed the sliding door, pushing it open and leaving without acknowledging Roxy, or even properly saying goodbye to Dante. He knew this trip wasn’t anything to do with him. Dante always seemed to try his best to please him, and even when doing something for himself, he somehow tried disguising it as a gift. Sometimes, Malcolm couldn’t bear to be around him.
The journey out felt much quicker than the one in, Malcolm quickly guiding his way through the thinning crowds, as it got either too late or too early to stay out — Malcolm had no clue which one. The message was suddenly ringing in his ears, as he realised how soon he would have to face his meeting,