FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

As usual, thanks to DukeFerret and psydrosis for proofreading and editing.

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Chapter Seven

If the Mood's Right

1

My name is Rodney Bennett.

I'm a new man.

That day of Sun's wake was a catalyst. Like Dad always said: horizon doesn't come without the dark. We've suffered enough. Ten thousand years of suffering in silence, distractions, flashing lights and colors on a screen that mean nothing at all. At least, that's what you'd say. They mean something to me. I gave my eyes up and brought them back anew.

Born from the steam of a waterfall. I wear a cape of water; the water of life itself. I wear a suit of armor: a sapphire sport coat, a topaz tie. I may not have a friend, or a team, or a posse of conglomerate cheeses. But I have something most people could only dream about. The power of passion. The passion of power.

My name is Rodney Bennett.

And I...

...am the Master Blaster!

Defender of Uquaria! Zero by day, hero by night! Imbued with the power of the sacred fountain, I stand as the sole survivor of a deadly apocalypse that ruined my great city! And tonight, I have one heck of a rescue mission. To save Miles Turner! Will you be there? Will you help me? Stay tuned!

Rubble surrounds me. Chunks of buildings. The city's in ruins. In the center, a giant tower of darkness that stretches to the red sky. I knew that all the way at the top was Miles, and I would sever my left arm to save him from the nasty jaws of evil. With no time to waste, I run right inside!

I see a spiral staircase that climbs to the heavens. Cobwebs, cracks, creepy crawlies, crikey! I whip off my tie and swing it, the length straightening to a brilliant blade. No bat nor ghoul nor skeleton warrior could withstand the might of Rodney Bennett! Minutes? Hah! You mean seconds! Is what it took to make it to the top, where I see him there, gripping the bars of his cage. I was aghast. How dare they demean him with that sleek red dress?!

"Save me, Rodney!" he yells. "I'm dying of boredom!"

I slice through the bars with ease, which fall to the ground diagonally, like the way I cut my PB&J's. But the only thing I was hungry for was him. Then I heard a strong cackling behind me. I scowled as I turned. Before me, at the end of this great room, stood a tall, hooded figure with eyes of fire beneath his thick glasses, a metal S shone onto his robe.

"General Swan!"

"You're too late, Rodney Bennett!" he said, raising his hand to the ceiling as the floor began to shake. Just then, the ceiling opened up, and my body felt light! All the walls exploded outward in pieces, the windows shattering to dust, all of it soaring into the updraft to the giant black hole above us!

"Whoooooa!" Miles yelled, and grabbed onto my leg just in time. Luckily, my suit of armor kept us bound to the ground.

I thought we'd seen the worst, but the vile, vehement villain kept vlaughing all the vsame.

"General Swan!" I yelled, raising my sword. "What are you doing here?!"

His red eyes looked amused: "NYA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! You're too late, Rodney Bennett! Soon the black hole will swallow your country into a bite-sized pretzel of blackness, and move on to infinity!!"

I grip my sword with fury. "The only thing that's infinite is my duty to stop you!" Then I raised it to the sky. "Go! Light power!"

The beam shoots up to the sky, smashing into the hole, but it had little effect!

"It's...not enough!" I cry. "Miles! You have to help me!"

"What?!" he asked. "But how?!"

"Quickly!" I said. "Grab onto my sword! We'll beat back this fiend with the power of love!"

"But I can't do that!" I..."

"Believe in yourself, Miles! It's the only way!"

At first, he was reluctant. The stakes were too much for him. But soon, he smiled, and wrapped his hands around the hilt. At once, the beam pulsed into a brilliant fuschia, crushing the hole above.

"Nooooooo!" General Swan wailed. "My beautiful black hole! How could this be?! I spent _days_on that! How could you do this to my beautiful creation?! Are you insane?! Some kind of psychopath?!"

"Suck it up, princess!" I roared. "This day does not belong to you! Now! My queen! Let's finish this!"

Then we aimed the sword at him, the blade glowing with dazzlement, and with the last of our energy, fired one last ray of light. But no...the beam pierced the air behind him, as the scaly, sinister serpentine disappeared into a smog of smoke. That's when Miles fell to the ground. I took a knee to him.

His voice was weak: "Wh-where did he go?"

"Away," I said stoically.

"What if he comes back?"

"He will," I nodded. "Evil never sleeps." I looked to the bleeding sky. "But we'll never have to worry so long as we have each other. We'll blossom our hearts and reach out to the helpless. We'll rebuild this city with our hands and our minds. We'll streak across the stars and rewrite the constellations. Because if there's anything your touch has taught me, it's that love will carry us through every battle. Right, Miles?"

No answer. I thought he'd passed out. After all, no mortal should be used to such power.

"Right?"

I turned to my right and found an empty seat on the couch.

2

Every door has seven locks. One for the gravity that anchors you to the bed. Another for the shower to wash away the bad dreams, before they mix with the real ones. Third, for the hasty breakfast gone in seconds. One for the chores you left for the morning, two if it's more than you can stand. The sixth, the keypad that activated the metal chunk in the front door. And while you make your first steps out the door to the railway to call a taxi, you might feel something. Like a jingle on the back of your shoe. The feeling that something's left behind. You can't quite shake the feeling, but you can push it aside just to focus on the day, knowing full well what horrors you may allow back inside. The heat from the stove. An open window. That's the last lock. Then, and only then, can you leave to go to work.

The bell above The Warp's front door jingled. "Harvey, what do you do about life?"

Harvey's back was to him, giving a "thank you, talk to you later" before he greeted him with an impatient scowl. "Hush up, man, I'm busy." So unlike him.

"No, no, no, seriously," Rodney said, elbows on the front table. "I'm bored as heck. What do you do all day?" Work stuff. Right. Prying, now, but softer: "What'd we used to do?"

"Man, I dunno, we ran around and did whatever we wanted."

Rodney was taken aback by that. "I guess we did."

The somber, mousey tone of his voice struck a note in that koala. His Pod vibrated, but he put it flat on the table, instead. "Sorry, sorry. You know how yesterday you came in here and looked at the shirts?"

"Uh huh."

"And I told you to go to the train station?"

"Yup."

"Well, there ya go. Truth is, s'not about the stuff you do, s'about doing the things that matter."

Picking up the Pod, he turned. Then a wolf approached the cash register, and just like that, his time was cuffed. But he'd done enough of it to last.

"Thanks, Harvey. You're the best."

3

That walk would've made better cloud watching had he not taken the railway taxi. As he stepped out, that second whiff brought a hiss and a lesson: there was no difference between treading into District Thirteen and emerging from a meeting room to an auditorium. Billboards lined the streets at three times the frequency, the collective light becoming a second sun under the myriad of buildings bright enough to burn a hole in a retina. The tallest ones were lined with solar panels that powered all the businesses around it. From train stations and private meetups, the streets were humid with crowds and waves of voices, from store to table to corner store, every food court, fur stylist, even unconventional activities like axe throwing and casinos, all tailored towards the contribution of their credits. That Pod always flew open in a place like this. Rodney felt it, too. No more heads in the clouds. All the minor details, now major: every block had a row of tables out in front, filled with armchair meetings and handshakes, the brown suited District Twenty-Twos crossing with the blues of District One, and everything in between. To him, he was a tourist, but so was everyone else, and they all blended together in one implied goal: talk. Rodney wondered if Miles ever saw it like that.

Barely got through half of them in his head before he found himself at the park bench, a sub sandwich in his hand; ham and cheese. That lazy eye at the counter got his order wrong, but taking bites was easier than talking. So, he took one. Cold. The bread was like smashing some thyme and pesto in your fist and then slapping it across the face. Kind of a District Fourteen style kick to it, he reasoned. Fifteen? Who knows. It was the first time in a while he'd considered how other Districts make them. Fascinating that so little distance could result in such a shit sandwich.

He saw the blue bin to his right, crumpled up the foil around it, and tried to push the heavy flap open. Had to push hard until he got it through, but the flap closed around his wrist. Pulling and pulling, it was stuck in there good, so he tugged harder, putting his back into it without a single budge. And it wasn't until someone pushed the button beside it when the hinge folded back, freeing his arm.

"Tsch."

Whoever it was, they were amused. The shadow cast was the first clue. Rodney turned to his right, and immediately learned the best way to face his old pal Benny was to look straight up. That coyote must have grown at least seven or eight inches ever since they broke loose from Tier Four. Brown speckled his otherwise white, fluffy cheeks like someone flicked a paintbrush at them, and it matched well with the chestnut ears, face and white-dotted scalp. One iris blue, the other one yellow, and a soda bottle snout that could best a fencer in the gallows. He stared down with that warm half-smile; an itch of calm, but not quite. A nice touch with the cotton rips and tears on his brown, cross-patterned overcoat, yellow undershirt wrinkled like a ten-year-old bedsheet.

"How's it?" he asked.

Rodney didn't answer. That height. Goodness, that height. Benny caught the drift and laughed it off.

"Watch this."

When he raised up his Pod, it emitted a blue laser that hit the wall of the building, a three-pronged spiral showing from the base. When it faded, a projection of its rows of windows showed up, each numbered from one to eighty. The third one on the thirty-second floor was colored in red, so he jabbed a finger into it. Instantly, another beam shot from the center, high in the sky until it squashed into the window in its placement, removing the microscopic grime, before it faded with the red marking on the grid.

"Cool, huh?" he beamed. "S'like throwing bricks. 'Cept you clean them."

Rodney chuckled. Benny always had that sort-of-gives-a-fuck-but-not-really sort of vibe. He'd draw dicks in the vocabulary blanks of his homework, and when the teacher yelled at him for a re-do, he'd turn it in perfectly. He used to talk a lot back then - mostly about cars, bikes, boring textbooks and what he'd give to be in Tier One again. Rodney figured he had a lot to say now.

"So, is that your new job?" Rodney asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Far out."

"Hm." He tilted his head an inch. "What's got you here?"

"Um," he looked back up. "Just waiting for someone."

The longer Benny looked with him, the more puzzled he got. "They coming out?"

Rodney shrugged. "Eventually."

And he kept looking up at the tower. Partly to see if Benny would go away. Instead, he snickered awkwardly and swiped his Pod to the "Tasks" section, checkmarking the last job off the list.

"What's he like?"

Rodney hesitated. "He's just...pretty cool. Leader of some company up there. It's real important. And I bet you right now he's real, real busy. But he's nice. And put together. Hey, he might even like you." Chuckled to himself. "Might not think the Tier Four thing's so rad, but you can make amends." He whirled. "Benny?"

That's when he found him sitting on a park bench, rubber ball in hand, bouncing it against the wall of Wyred, Inc. to the ground beneath it, and back to his paw.

Rodney approached him. "What are you doing?"

All he got was a shrug: "Chilling." Bounce, bounce.

"You're probably bugging the heck out 'em."

"Nah."

Anxiety burrowed in Rodney, yet nobody came to stop them. He watched it bounce in triangles. Checking the Pod, it was 1:29 PM. Long ways until Miles came out. When he sat down with him, Benny still had another ball. Rodney hesitated, but bounced it, too. It came back, and he fumbled it clumsily. It made him laugh awkwardly.

"How do you do it?"

Benny again shrugged half-heartedly. "Just do it."

Rodney wasn't sure what to make of it. Still, he tried.

4

"O, to be a nomad in a field of circuits! The building block of the self! The iron fist hyper individualist! But most importantly, the face of border markets in our country. Small business owners. Tier Threes who can't find a way. Inside, they can be brutal and cunning, shy and broken, but in the end, the sacrifice of Social Credit is worth the punch. And then, they trip and fall. Sprain their ankle. They cry out for help, but no one is there. Is this the fate they asked for? I'd call them half-correct. The other half is on us. The tragic irony of Wyred, of all the days I've worked here, is that we've failed to answer the most obvious question: how do we connect with the people?"

Miles could feel they weren't buying it. Six of the tigers seemed to look past him, while the other fourteen looked confused. Apparently the agents of District Seven didn't have a sense of intrigue. All day, just mark up on everybody's Pod usage, report the glitches, fix them up, locate lost Pods, like that ever happened. Boring stuff. Yet they all connected to Wyred, and that meant they were intertwined.

"Well," he went on, "your answer is, we do it with advertisements. See, billboards are distant, seven second intervals. You do it here-" he tapped his own Pod, "-you reach everybody. Give that to the health insurance, and you have a knockout. Now, here's a few ways to get them interested. Here, we have-"

He swiped the Pod in the table to the next slide, which showed an array of bubble font of numbers of one through nine, and all twenty-six letters, to which all the optimistic energy drained from his face.

"Now, we only have the color blue to work with, so..." Miles looked for his agent. "Martin, will you tell us what these are?"

He went to the projector, disgruntled. It occurred to Miles that he hadn't prepared for that part.

"These designs are picked up from the data of shops we've discovered," he said. "These amorphous shapes have a very balloon-like look to them. I asked Harvey and he said they're based on lava lamps."

Miles cleared his throat. "Tell them what a lava lamp is." It was really a statement for his sake.

"It's a decorative lamp you put on your desk full of fluid with a wax ball in the middle."

"Improve the serifs."

All the room looked to Miles.

"It looks childish."

"If you don't approve, we can move on to the next."

"No," Miles said, shaking his head. "No. Meeting adjourned. We need to work more on this. Thank you, Martin. "

They all rose from their chairs, their lack of expectation clear in their faces as they exchanged looks with each other. Only two remembered to X the calendar event on their Pods. Miles raced out of his seat as Martin stayed silently fuming, reminding him of the one thing children had over adults: they'd tell you why they're angry. Even if doing so would embarrass them. Without their Pods before eighteen, their Social Credit didn't exist, and any outbursts had no effect on their reputation. They never have to hold it in like Martin. Instead, he took his crooked scowl and his Pod off the crevice and made it clear all in his evil eye: "Don't fuck this up again." Childish.

He'll say it in the next meeting, he thought to himself, hesitating by the door, feeling like banging his head against the wall. Colorful ideas for innovations losing headspace; in its place, that moving, grey block of "business" taking shape, overshadowing his days of tinkering with personal projects that meant nothing at all. Looming over it all, the last topic: "lava lamp"._ _

Huh. What is lava, anyway?

He hardly got out of the meeting room before his father approached him.

"Hey," Neil said. "You got a minute?"

"Sure."

They found themselves in the closed quarters of Neil's office where it was quieter. Neil's sigh rocked the room as he sat down.

"Frankly, I don't believe this. You want to start an advertisement chain through the Pods?"

Even hearing it back made the second thought in his head flash. The awards around the room made it harder. Clifford had agreed, though-he was aware of that, right?

"Okay, I know it looks strange, but I had to make a deal with the guy," Miles bargained. "It wasn't my original plan, but I think a lot of people are gonna benefit from a direct way to speak to their needs."

"What you're asking for is a fundamental change in the way our operation handles itself."

"The Pods are whatever you want them to be, Dad, I'm just filling in the blanks. If we have a means of reaching these people through Wyred's network, why wouldn't we?"

"Because there are rules to this game, Miles," Neil leaned in. "Candidly, the way you're conducting this operation is like you own the Pods. Do you have any idea of the scope of changing every single Pod's function to something like this? This is the pantheon of creative and productive integrity, and you're using it like a portable billboard. I wish you would've talked to me about this beforehand."

The last one stung. "No, I-"

"It's," sighing, "what's done is done. Here's the bottom line. That's my energy you're using. I've already spoken with Ambassador Steiner about this. I will be taking eighty-five percent of the profit."

"You can't be serious."

Neil ignored his ghastliness. "No matter what, you're still using my product. If you're going to do this, then do it for yourself. Think less about the money and more for what you can do for Uquaria."

"I've already locked my account off to a personal one."

"Doesn't matter. You're under my roof, you live by my rules. Get back to work."

That's when Miles stormed out of the office. He found himself near a window. Looking out to the cities beyond, it was hard to draw an argument. Not even a petty one. One thing did come to mind, though:

One tier.

5

"So, uh," Rodney said. "You still around District Nine?"

Benny nodded.

"That's cool."

They could hear a door open from around the corner. In an instant, Benny got up and walked the other way. "See ya around." Rodney watched him go. He couldn't even ask him for answers; he was just off. Around the corner, Miles turned and saw Rodney at the park bench, as glazed in the eyes at Benny.

The second he saw him, he rocketed to his feet. "Hey, look who's out early! Been waiting all day for you, man!"

He blinked. "You've been waiting all day for me?"

"I got nothin' else to do!" Rodney smiled. "Wanna grab a sub?"

Calm overcame Miles. This casualness was always the best thing about Rodney. The way it contrasted with all the seriousness that followed him.

"Sure."

6

_ _

There's a saying that went around Uquaria: if the walls ever fell too thick, it means you've worked too long. The problem is, the only place to go was outside. Every table was full inside the guarded rail outside the store. Not the most authentic place, but the moment Miles heard the news that Rodney was outside waiting, he went to the first one he could find.

"You know, I never understood how you could work up there," Rodney said after swallowing a mouthful. "I remember my first job, and I couldn't stand it!"

Miles nodded slowly. "Uh huh." Looking now, Rodney's tie was uneven. Dammit, so was his. Now he looked around, fingers drumming. It drove him nuts. Though the smell of vegetable entrees and cooked beets was pleasant. What's a good meal to a nice suit? Well, that's just it. He spilled something on his tie, he thought.That's why it's uneven, he thought. _They'll treat me like that, too,_he thought.

"And by my first job, I mean the only job I ever had. I was a telemarketer for Conduit, Inc.. That means I answered the Pod for someone who wanted to order a shirt. BOR-ING! I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed. They had the Pod chained to a desk like it was a rat - uh, no offense to the rats, I mean the smaller, more irritating kind. And they controlled my money, my Social Credit, my life...I mean, c'mon! You might as well chain me to the desk too, right?"

A waiter came by with a lukewarm smile to Miles and interrupted Rodney: "Would you and your friend here like a refill?"

"Uh-"

"Yes sir! My compliments to the chef!" Rodney beamed, holding out his glass of ice cubes. When he walked away, he continued. "So, anyway, that job was most definitely shitty. I don't like shitty jobs. But then again, that's what you'd expect, right? One job asks you to do stuff for some guy at the top, the better ones tell you to do the same thing. Who's gonna step in and be like, 'Hey, why don't we let the little guys do stuff for themselves, without all that Social Credit junk?' It's like everything's gotta be this long line of buy-buy-buy for what-what-what? Why can't we just, I dunno, not do that for a little while?"

Miles repositioned the napkin on his lap, looking distant. "Hey," he said, "um, do you wanna...?"

7

The taste of his lips was safest between two buildings. Two vats of indigo and tan wax sinking into each other, mixing together, the heat between them, tantalizing. A camera scouted the sidewalk outside; at least, what they figured to be a camera. They could never be sure. Their lips quieted the thought of any cameras in the crevice.

Miles stepped away. "Sorry, I got carried away."

"You seemed like you needed it."

"Well, you're damn right. How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Like, where did you learn that? The way you just touch me in all the right places."

"Huh. Oh, I don't know, I just pucker my lips and do my thing, it's-it's weird, I've never even had a boyfriend or something, I just hear a lot about it-I mean, except, I don't, I hear the good parts, the parts that are most fun, like sex, and how you do it, and they're not all that accurate 'cause they've got castles and princes and that's not, like...yeah, I guess I'm pretty rad with that." Rodney smiled meekly. "You know what? Forget it! You're far out."

Miles wouldn't forget that. Especially not the dumb, lovesick look on his face. You never get more than a row of teeth showing at the office. Here, the excitement radiated off of him and etched beneath his fur to provide another warm blanket for his skin. It made him smile. It was new in every way. And in the end, what he said still felt off-tremendously off-but he smiled, and that's all that mattered.

"You can tell me your secrets if you want to," Miles laughed.

"I'm good!"

"Well, here's one of mine. I want more moments like this, no matter what's the cost. You're a great guy."

"And you're a swell guy, too! Gives me a good excuse for me to see your crib," Rodney smiled.

He chuckled. "The hell is that?"

"The place where you take off all your clothes and throw your face on the couch."

As soon as it hit him, he chuckled again. "Why do you call it that? Apologies for asking."

"I watch eighties movies all the time. Cartoons and all that. It's kinda why I talk like this."

"It's...cute. That's the word. I just don't know how Dad would react."

Rodney raised his eyebrow, and it didn't take Miles long to decode why. The social dichotomy of Tier One and Five was so thick you could feel your spinal cord collapse just picturing it. Still, it was nice to see Rodney react as though a fly had buzzed around him.

"I'd probably just bring a movie. Everybody likes movies."

"You'd have to talk with them, first."

"Sure, I'm good with people skills. Look how I met you."

"That's," Miles half smiled. "That's nice of you and all, but I don't think they'd like it."

"Why? Am I not hip enough?"

Miles snickered at that, not knowing why. "You're making this excruciatingly easy, Rodney."

"Man, you're so tense, I just wanna bond," Rodney reached to Miles' shoulder. "You wanna save the world at work? Fine. But you gotta do something in between. Last thing I want is for some bozos like your parents to get in the way of what we've been building up to. Sure they're all high and mighty, and that's cool, maybe we can talk it out, or-look, I don't know squat about solving problems, but I know darn well it's not waiting for them to leave. Think about it, man, what's that gonna lead to? You know? You know. And as for me, I'll wait for you, I will-for real, I'd spend every hour with you if I could. I'm just saying, you don't have to talk yourself out of happy days. Do you get what I'm saying? Please tell me you get what I'm saying."

He did, but that wasn't what he felt. Beneath that stone cold straight face, he was happy. And despite the weight of work and corporations on his back, there's still that aura lingering. Happiness. He nuzzled his cheek against Rodney's paw; his one expression for it.

"I get it," he muttered. "If the mood's right, it must be right. But Rodney. I need you to do one thing for me."

"What's up?"

"Show me your Social Credit. I just want to be sure it's decent."

The wind picked up, and the chatter slightly died, but they hardly felt either. Rodney pulled away, reaching into his pocket. "Sure thing, Kiddo,' his words channeling the slow motion action of a G.I. Joe figure's final line; a direct quote he knew Miles wouldn't pick up.

He held it up and tapped the center.

Scrolled once to the left.

*"Social Credit: 32" *

His blood crashed like earthquakes.

"What?!" Miles yelled, the entire force of that stressful month forced out. A nearby taxi whistled by; punishment impending.

Somewhere, a howling bell was struck. Mind in disarray, Rodney thought of his employers, his colleagues, everyone; Mr. Swanson. He still had control. That's why it went down. It had to be. He wanted to torture him. Find out at the worst possible place. Staying meant surrender. Leaving, none the wiser.

Aghast, Rodney puked up his lunch twice, thrice, but the whites in his eyes stayed bright as that unassuming day. In a shock, the Pod began to vibrate. The ID in the hologram showed nothing, glacial goosebumps trailing down his wrist.

Miles' fingers twitched. "Don't pick it up."

No explanation why, he tapped the top.

"Good afternoon, Mister Bennett." A voice that sounded impossibly deep with effects. "It seems you've noticed the curfew exchange. I do hope you're enjoying your wakeup call."

_"...whuhh-whuu-wh..." _

He coughed up more vomit. "What did you do to my Social Credit?!"

"It's not what I've done. It's what you've done to yourself."

Rodney's eyes clenched in agony. "Y-you don't, you don't, I-"

"You of all people should know. It's already happened to you twice. You did it voluntarily."

A rush shuddered through his fingertips. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything! I didn't steal-"

"Shut up! The sooner you accept it, the quicker I'll tell you."

Fear shot through his body, looked to Miles, found nothing but a wide-eyed, stone cold straight face. He dropped the Pod, pacing back and forth, mumbling "oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh" before the inaudible words from the other end forced him back. And in that moment, the biggest horror of Tier Five had hit him: the fact that nothing about Tier Five made sense at all, by the nature of its being. Why bother to learn about someone you'll never be?

"Okay! Okay!" he gasped, pacing still. "You win! I'm an idiot and it's all my fault! Just please change it back!"

"You're unemployed. That means you can't leave your District. If you do, your Social Credit drains by one for every minute you're out."

"When does it stop?!"

"Once it reaches zero."

His hand was shaking, lungs tough and raw. The agonizing question slithered out:

"So that's when they come for me?"

Everything paused.

Far too long. Cruel.

Teeth chattered.

A drip off his chin.

Needles poked like scissors.

The clouds eclipsed the sun.

In came the shade, the chill, the shivers,

and in its ugly wake, the hiss:

"Who said it had to be zero?"

Hung up, and Miles yanked him by the arm, jamming his thumb in the Pod for a taxi. An empty road of ghosts would soon be filled with people; couldn't risk being seen. Not in this panic. Had to get out. Eyelids ached, pacing back and forth, a wait of thirty seconds was pure agony, so Rodney couldn't do it, broke free and ran, but Miles grabbed him by the collar just in time for the ride to slow to a stop behind them.

They instantly ran inside, Rodney throwing himself on the cushions. "I'll pay for the ride, it's all my fault!"

"You're not wasting a fucking credit on this thing!" Miles took the transaction, punched in the code for the nearest District Nine block and banged his fist against it. "Come on, come on, move!"

The doors sheathed and the taxi whirred to life, picking up to thirty-five miles per hour, sure to slow if anybody was detected in its path. Destination time: fourteen minutes, not nearly enough time.

Rodney cried, "What if it's too late?"

"What?"

"Even if I make it back, they could still-"

"Don't talk like that!" Miles shot a look. "You can't afford to think that way!"

The agony of standing still was shooting at them, the suits outside unaware. Miles hoped beyond all reasonable measure the line wasn't full. If all the nearby taxis were filled, this one could stop. He didn't say it out loud. Hugging Rodney was better.

ETA: Nine minutes.

_ _ The panel flashed red, and so did the road before it. A white-suited bluejay outside crossed the road a block down, made it across a few seconds later. Miles cursed as he felt the taxi slow, crawl, then pick up its speed again. Outside the purple windows, a cheetah with a black suit and black shades seemed to stare straight inside, a step in its direction. Taxi windows weren't seethrough from out there.

"You're gonna make it out," Miles promised.

And it flashed red again, picking up on another body, which stood for far too long. It was forced to reroute.

ETA: Thirteen minutes.

Cussing over and over again under his breath, Miles looked at Rodney, who began to weep. Then he could feel it again. The vehicle was slowing to a crawl. Someone else was coming on.

Rodney opened his Pod again.

"Social Credit: 13"

He gasped hard as rocks and swallowed it all back. Squinting through blurry eyes, he saw Miles scanning his Pod again, rapidly tapping the center button.

"What are you doing?!"

"Inputting an emergency. It'll ignore all safety measures and take you to the closest possible hospital. Next one's three blocks away from District Nine and puts our E.T.A. at three minutes. We'll run out before the doctors get here and make a run for it." He held back another curse and banged his fist again. "I'm not gonna lose you!"

The interior shined with a calming blue, the flashing red and blue lights danced around the ceiling outside. The road ahead turned red, railings on either side spiking up. Seat belt hooks dispatched from between the cushions, but they grabbed what cushion they could instead, the loud hum erupting as the taxi went speeding off in the distance.

And now everybody was looking. Miles was sure. Any minute now they'd call their bluff and shut the taxi off. What would they do with him? Meanwhile Rodney dropped his Pod to the seat beside him, expecting a shock or a poison that would paralyze him in his seat, then wake up in a world he was never supposed to know.

You have arrived at your destination.

_ _ Three lab coated cheetahs and an avian with a stretcher were ready outside, but Miles plowed straight through them. Rodney did, as well, the commotion stirring between them as Miles pleaded he'd explain it later. One of them tried to follow, but got half down the block before he stopped in confusion.

Fuck that. They were sprinting. Rodney wasn't even trying to hold composure, except for trying not to bump into the few that were on the sidewalk. Two blocks left. Both were gulping breaths, but Rodney was huffing them harder. With one block left, he was looking to give out, physically and mentally. Miles took one look at the Pod in his hand and snatched it himself.

Then he sprinted for the edge of District Nine. Another taxi came around the corner. It didn't faze him. Miles leapt in front, knowing it would slam the brakes, an inch of space between life and death before he landed through the border.

It took a while for Rodney to catch up, his spirit as broken as ever. He hesitated before he took the Pod back, still gasping for breath. Though he had to check eventually. So he opened it up.

"Social Credit: 3"

Earthquake in the core. "I'm not safe," he whimpered, pacing to nowhere. "I'm not safe, I'm not safe, I'm not safe, I'm not safe...."

"We'll get out of this," Miles said, hands to his shoulders. "Please. Look at me. Please."

Tears inundated his cheeks, pitch rising, "I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, I-"

"You will get out of this! I promise! You're strong. You're the smartest goddamn person I've ever met, and we're gonna find a way out of this no matter how long it takes!"

"Who?"

It was a different voice. One that was all too familiar. The ghost that lingered on him had swooped in like a vulture. Miles turned around. It was Neil. His steely gaze was tantalizing. A taxi sitting dormant behind him, its doors ajar.

"What are you doing here?"

Miles went stiff. "Nothing."

"Who is this?"

He was slow to respond. "A client." His voice was now as steely as his father's. "He just needed a pep talk."

Neil glazed an eye over to him. He saw all the imperfections in his coat and his tie. Then he turned back to Miles. "Get in."

Miles scowled. "I would like to continue negotia-"

"Get in."

A father's prying voice can falter any confidence. Any structure. Any point. And in a moment, everything flashed in his eyes: the meeting with the board, and with Cliford, every call he'd ever had, every risk he'd taken at work, all thrown away for nothing. The more he thought about it, the more his heart ached. But the truth was that the moment he saw those double digits, he thought nothing of solutions. Nothing at all.

Miles forced himself not to look back as he walked away, disturbed as ever, hopping into the taxi. The doors behind him closed like a guillotine. He mouthed "I'm so sorry" in the window and felt his heart split in half. Then he remembered the windows were one sided, and his heart split in quarters. Just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.

Rodney saw the transparent world of grey around him and quickly lost control of his breath. Call Harvey. He'd know what to do. He'd fix everything. He's an employer, so he'd be sure to give some Social Credit.

Before he even did, he clasped his wrist. The Warp was in the District over. That Pod stayed in his hand, laughing in its implication. Did the drainage count? Did they have a rule for that?

Do they have a rule for that?

"Harvey," he said aloud, the wavering dread of a dying woman.

"Harvey?"

Maybe he'd hear.

"Harvey?"

The pale sky echoed the nameless answer.

Now his cry became a shriek:

"Harvey?!"

Pleading eyes, corner to corner.

"Harvey?!"

And the world stared back.