16 Fitful sleep

Saturday, August 14, 2257. 0232

Riley's eyes shot open. It was still dark outside. He checked the time. 2:32. He was sweaty, his damp shirt felt cold against his skin, and his body ached all over.

He remembered having a nightmare. Out of morbid curiosity he tried to remember what it was about but it was like trying to grab sand. The memory kept lingering at the edge of his mind and fading by the seconds. It was probably for the best, he decided with a sigh.

Next to him, Ivanka was snoring softly and mumbling something about her "silly brother." Earlier she had requested to sleep on his bed and he had complied to appease her. His little sister tried not to show it, but he knew she was terrified. He basically went missing for more than half a day, much longer than it should take for a regular team-based examination. If something happened to him, she would be all by herself, which was not an optimistic prospective for a wheelchair-bound 12-year old with no relative. Not to mention a big debt over her head.

Riley wasn't one to fool himself, and he knew that him dying last night down at the sewer was a very real possibility. They were already pushing their luck with the mission (which he noticed had been bumped up again from G+ to E-) after the drone went down, but the scorpion's appearance caught everyone by surprise and almost spelled their doom. They were saved thanks to a combination of good training, decent equipment, a foresight to lay down some traps that fortunately broke the encirclement, and an extra team member. That's right. If it wasn't for an extra gun, they probably wouldn't have made it out alive. Either that or they would have retreated after the third nest and failed the mission.

He quietly got out of bed. Ivanka shifted around uncomfortably, clearly unused to sleeping on the hard mattress. He lifted her up, frowning at how light she was, then carried her back to her bed. Setting her down, he covered her with a light blanket and brushed her hair away from her eyes. She opened her eyes, muttered something then went back to sleep.

Under the gentle glow of the night light Riley made his way to the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of water. He looked around the apartment. Wally and Gordon were resting in their spots, the robotic arms and machines and equipment that aided Ivanka with her projects were all powered down. The room was quiet save for the slight hum of the refrigerator.

A blinking light caught Riley's attention and he find himself looking at Ivanka's computer. Then he remembered the hostile faces that threatened him yesterday. Time to find out about this "Mr. Jack."

He lied down on his own bed, closed his eyes and initiated connection with the computer. Instead of using the monitors, it would display information on his cornea implant.

After entering the authorization code to get pass the lock screen, Riley was dizzy when his vision was filled with no less than a hundred windows and screens for different programs, applications and processes. Several years ago, Riley was more than a little shocked when Ivanka demonstrated to him she could read several books at the same time by "compartmentalizing her brain and senses" - her words, which he translated to "using magic." As Ivanka didn't have corneal implants - she was yet to be of age - he had to hooked up a dozen monitors to the computer just so it could keep up with her pace.

About a third of the screens are compiling programs for the AI routines or simulations of mechanical designs. Another third of the screens were technical documents and video demonstrations. She didn't have that many commissions, she just loved learning and experimenting.

About a dozen screens showed books that Ivanka was in the middle of reading, half of them non-fictions and half were fictions. Riley couldn't make heads or tails of the highly technical books, so he glanced at the fictions. This week's theme seemed to be vampire fictions. To his amusement, he saw a 1897 Bram Stoker novel next to some sloppily written book titled "Midnight Sun" and also some obscure novella named "Chloe & Owen."

Belatedly realizing he was invading her privacy, Riley chided himself for prying and focused on the main task. He opened up the client for the civilian's central database.

> Enter citizen ID

> RR-18290-AF81

> Enter password

> ***************

> Welcome to the Civilian's Central Database. Please specify your request.

Riley selected the option to search for people, then uploaded the pictures of Fat Baldy and Lean Man he took yesterday with the corneal implants. He made sure to select the snapshots from multiple angles to make it easy for the system to construct 3D models of the faces.

Besides acting as a display screen, the corneal implants could also capture images and, in later model, videos. The resulting files had a very distinct signature, virtually impossible to forge and were acceptable as criminal evidence.

There was plenty of outrage when that feature was revealed to the public a decade ago. Its detractors claimed it would be a significant source of paranoia and distrust among the citizens, not to mention an undermining of people's privacy. On the other hand, its supporters lauded it as a good deterrent for citizens to behave themselves; if they did nothing wrong, they had nothing to fear. The conspiracy theorists swore that the authority were able to access those camera remotely and turn everyone into their personal spy. The authority, of course, vehemently denied it, and that fact was never proved.

The debate was just a drop in the sea of controversy on the subject of Neural and Corneal Implants (NCI) since their unveiling. A Neural Implant could always be tracked by the System, and having it was considered by many to be giving up one's rights to remain anonymous and unseen. On the other hand, many considered having NCI make the individual more accountable and less prone to committing crimes. Further exacerbating matters was the fact that all personnels holding vital jobs were required to be "In the System" - have NCI installed. As the authority put it, NCI was not legally required, only encouraged, and that was an extremely effective incentive. That fact alone swayed most people to the pro-NCI camp, while the detractors seethed and protested to no avail.

At the moment, roughly 95% of Arcology-1 workforce - consisting of citizens over 13 years of age - had NCI installed. The anti-NCI camp might have shrunk considerably over the years, but were just as vehement and paranoid, if not more. Numbering several millions, the OtS (Out of the System) ,or outliers, had set up their own self-governing areas within the megacity. They minimized their dependence on the system and focused on building their strengths. They still dealt with the ItS, but were highly hostile toward ItS's setting foot onto their turf. Only the most well-armed peace-keeping forces would dare set foot in these areas, and with great hesitation.

While waiting for the search to complete, Riley turned off the display on his HUD and dozed off. He was awoken later by the notification that matches were found. Still lying with his eyes closed, he focused on the two profiles spread out in front of him.

Fat Baldy's name was Ned Naylor, and the other's was Gustav Krupp.

These two are both outliers. No surprise there. Over the years, legitimate businesses big and small have imitated the authority and favored people with NCIs, who were more trackable and accountable. The rest were either unemployed, self-employed, or worked for other OtS's. Their choice of occupations are much more limited, more dangerous and less rewarding: either hard labor, bounties or criminal activities. Debt collection, like these two were doing, was actually among the more savory jobs.

Scrolling through the two lists of petty crimes, Riley saw nothing that caught his eye. He then moved to their known associates and cross referenced the two list. Then he found what he was looking for.

The screen showed a man with a gaunt face, thin lips and piercing blue eyes. The type of face that made it abundantly clear at first glance that this was not the man one wants to mess with. The name wasn't Jack, but Jacques. Jacques Laurent. A small-time businessman, entrepreneur, banker and loan shark operating in one of the OtS's turfs. He was linked to dozens of cases of racketeerings, bribery and violent repossessions but none was proved.

"That old prick! Why the hell did he tangle with this shady bastard?" Riley muttered, feeling his stomach twisting into knots. He never liked to be in debt, and now that he knew who the debtor is, he liked it much less.

Disconnecting from the computer, Riley tossed and turned for a long time before sleep finally claimed him.