FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

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

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Chapter Nine

Some Currency

1

"And you're okay, Mister Turner?"

"I am. It's Rodney...."

"Look, I'll mingle with him, but-"

"No. Do better than that."

"What?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Thank you."

"Sure thing." An eerie pause. "Have a good night."

That was the last thing Harvey said before he ended the call. Miles set the Pod flat on the table, and then waited. Night had fallen; in his bedroom, twice as much. He scratched himself again and again. Before he'd just drag his claws across his palm, but now the coat was off, sleeves rolled up, streaks across his fur, a little blood. His eyes were stained and dry, crusty on the edges. Three drawers of metal parts were open and littered at his desk, but no inventions; just a priceless obstacle to keep him from banging on it.

A muffle from his Dad's Pod in the other room was deadpan and serious; to Miles, demonic.

"Miles Turner, seen here sprinting outside the District Thirteen hospital, is seen escaping with an unnamed Tier Five raccoon by the name of Rodney Bennett. Witnesses who have called him do not yet know of Turner's incentive, but rumors range from a complicated misunderstanding to a purposeful sway from Bennett's medical help. More on The Blacklist at nine."

It shattered him. The Blacklist was a news program that alerted other people of suspicious activities from the same tier. It was only available to Tiers Two and One. And that meant everybody knew what he'd done.

vrr, vrr

Not again. The seventy-third time this evening, but he didn't have the balls to do the counting. In the mirror above, all he saw was Rodney's wet eyes staring back at him. And then beyond that, he saw the fur in his face that'd been matted and frizzy; he fixed that up with a brush for no reason.

vrr, vrr

Right. The Pod. He answered it.

"Mister Turner?" Clifford, not sounding his best.

"Yes?"

"Are you done humiliating yourself?"

He began to pace.

Clifford went on, "I don't even know where to start. Was that man sick?"

Miles groaned, "It was an emergency."

"An old lady needing to cross the street is not an emergency. There are no records of a medical emergency; not even in the scanners of the taxi. What are you talking about?"

This made him shiver in rage. It made him wonder what he'd do if someone showed him that level of disrespect in person. Well, nothing; but take the Social Credit away and watch him fly off the handle. In a state like this, that was certain. And here he was, covering both their asses instead.

"I just had a rough outing."

"Do not be vague. Tell me what happened, or else."

"Ambassador, please-"

"I'm closing the deal."

"No, wait!"

"I've had better negotiations with ambassadors of corner districts. Goodbye."

"No, no, no, no, wait!" Miles stared up at the skylight pleadingly. "Yours! Yours! We'll switch to your idea."

For a moment, silence. "What?"

"Your idea. The heart rate monitor, the one with the automatic heart rate scanner. We'll do that, instead."

"Don't be daft. I can get it done twice as quickly with someone else."

"You know that's bullshit," instantly cringing at the cuss. "District Thirteen is the only District that has this much agency over the Pods' production. I'm the only guy you're ever gonna get."

"What about your father?"

That made him stop. "The same reason you didn't go to him in the first place. You trusted me."

"And now, you've lost it. How hard is this to understand?"

"Ambassador, please, I can gain it back. I'm in charge of the currency distribution department, I can give you connections like you'd never imagine. I'll help District Seven's heart rate project at any cost. Deal?"

"Seventy-thirty."

"Sixty-five, thirty-five."

"No."

"Fine, fine, seventy-thirty!"

"Deal." Clifford grumbled. "You better be ready to take orders. You waste my time for one more instance, and I will poison your name for the rest of your existence. Do not fail me."

The waves of panic surged as the line went dead. For a moment, he forgot that he could move. Sorrow stung, but no tears came out; only a trembling jaw. A cloud moved in front of the waning crescent above, killing the light from it, so he sat on the bed and finally let himself weep.

Though all the while, he collected himself. Panic rationalized to calm, and therein came a ghost of a next step. Miles was good at that. A man who couldn't bounce back was fifty percent of the worker he could be - that's what his father always told him through Tier Four. And that's exactly who he'd have to confront next.

Neil was relaxing on the couch as Miles walked into the den. He had a glass of wine by the counter-a drink so exclusive to Tier Ones they came in opaque metal tubes that could only be open with a Pod scan. Typical Neil.

"Sealed another deal?" he asked, half-smiling.

Miles took his seat on the other couch. "Yeah. Ambassador Steiner wants to re-negotiate the deal. We're going to install a heart rate monitor instead. He's low on his trust in me due to the events I've caused."" He studied his father's expression. "Are you mad? About what happened, I mean."

"First, let me ask, are you feeling better?"

"No."

One last sip before he set the glass down. "That's understandable. It's been a rough day for you." He pursed his lips and gave a contemplative nod. "You've got guts, you know. I never trusted Clifford, myself."

"What?"

"Indeed, he has a good work ethic, but the man is not built to take a deal. He will insist that everything has to be done his way or it's a no-go, even when it's someone else's project. Frankly, I was surprised when he could compromise with you. Every other person I've talked to-Randy Culmer of District One, Dennis Freyer of District Twenty, the list goes on and on-all these Districts with terrible production outputs, and we could still find middle ground. Clifford and I can't agree on the best shade of grey. He is the most bullheaded person I've ever met, and frankly, have you seen him? That's not a surprise."

It was rare to see his Dad this angry about a co-worker, but the way he expressed it made it seem like a joke; a mask of perfect form. Impressive things about parents happened in bursts between all the gripes that now looked petty in comparison. The lasting impression always triumphs until the first word they say brings it all out of place.

"I'm surprised you didn't warn me."

"I wanted to see what you would do. And you didn't disappoint. If this guy you brought to the hospital didn't set you into a panic, it would've all been okay."

Miles bit his tongue. "You said we wouldn't talk about this."

"I'm not interested in what happened. I want to talk about what it all means."

It was shocking, to say the least. With all his heart, Miles expected to be blamed for every ounce of this, but it seemed as though the mere act of him panicking with a Tier Five was enough. For Miles, it was hard not to be mad about how he viewed them as people. He looked at a picture frame just above the "fireplace" of his father and mother in their thirties, both in hard hats, half-smiles in front of a wasteland with stacked metal beams. The truth was, they were both diseased, and it'd be a decade before it was fully cured, but that didn't stop them from doing the dirty work. Those battered, blistered hands built from the ground up so he could live all the way at the top; not a single moment had he considered the darkest ending-or perhaps he had, but he buried that story beneath the floorboards like a time capsule of tears.

That's the man he was. A man who'd be stricken with illness and still construct the great District Thirteen towers . It would make sense to put most of the blame on Rodney if he didn't just walk into the hospital and treat himself. It would make sense, in his state with a weak left arm and aging physical state, that he'd cut less slack for the Tier Threes of today. But Neil had plenty of patience to get to where he is today. Why wouldn't he treat his son the same?

Neil went on, "We all have coping mechanisms. Some are better than others. In reality, there's no reason to let your emotions get to you. And yet, sometimes, they do. Culmer was like that. Sure enough, the affairs of his own District became more important than that of the country, and within three months, he had cut ties with me out of stress."

"I thought that's why you didn't like Ambassador Steiner. He's bullheaded."

"I don't like Clifford, but I respect him. He can get a job done no matter what. Culmer didn't have that. At least, not for where it mattered."

But if self-sufficiency for your own District isn't "where it mattered", what did? Miles guessed this was a District Thirteen thing. What happened here could easily trigger a ripple across any District, being the main distributor of the nightly exports. And still, he wouldn't get any closer to learning about Rodney, or the hole in his heart that lingered on.

"So, then where do I matter?" Miles asked. "Why does it matter if I do something personal?" He decided to let it out. "You know, Dad, sometimes it feels like I'm not fit for this position. I don't know what it is, but lately, I just screw everything up. I don't want to be like that. If I could give up this job but still take another position, I swear I'd become a Tier One."

"You swear?"

"Yes." A drop of hope snuck in. "I'd do it for you. For the country."

Neil nodded. "Well, it's not about me. It's not about the country, either. You've made that very clear. And Miles, I'll be candid with you: that has its consequences."

Miles swallowed. One Tier.

Neil laced his fingers. "The reality is, every minute you leave the office is another productive moment you sacrifice for yourself and the country. You're in charge of the welfare of the entire country's currency. If I were to replace you, who's to say a robber or a vigilante wouldn't take over and instantly crash the economy? Even if they didn't, what would that say about the legitimacy of Wyred, Inc., if our reputation was suddenly squandered by a sudden leave? All for an emotional misfire at the hospital? I know you want to go over the wall, Miles. I want you over there, too. There's no easy way to say this: do your job."

It stung because he was right. Another minute without going over the wall. Miles felt torn; Rodney could never go with him. Maybe he could, though, but leaving would only be shredding the tear further. A dream eclipses a dream instead of holding hands in the sunset.

Neil stood up and spoke, "Authority speaks in iambic pentameter. We must act in lockstep or it all falls apart."

"Dad, I'm still working."

"I know. But you have the rarest competence of them all. All I ask of you is to try your best." He patted him on the shoulder. "We'll talk more in the morning. Get some rest."

The room hung in an eerie silence when Neil's footsteps turned the corner to his room. Under his breath, he muttered, "I'll numb to it," and the taste it left on his tongue was like a message from the future he wouldn't dare to look in its eye.

When Miles returned to his room, the Pod had stopped buzzing. He paused, held his breath, taking in the nothing that surrounded him. The glowing green potion sat in the hole next to the bed. The clock said it was ten minutes after bedtime. A perfect eight hours' sleep would overshoot him ten minutes.

He'd take another ten.

The silence was too nice.

2.

Rodney stared at the yellow sunlight gleaming off the front door. It was as if its blank face represented the nothing that was Rodney's dream last night.

"You going?"

Startled, he turned; turns out, Benny was leaning on the wall, the blue-and-brown striped tie he was fastening as the last touch on his suit. Right, of course; he had to go to work.

"I'll head on home, then," Rodney whimpered. "Thank you, Benny."

The sun was blinding, but somehow, he still felt indoors.

3

Voices made the whole floor feel hot. Shuffling rummaged through every office, every cabinet, every cubicle; the cadence of a mismatched plan. All plans were delayed or cancelled; some were happy, most were confused, but all of them got the memo: the deal with Clifford was off.

The truth was, Miles hadn't found the time to thoroughly explain. He'd sent a quick Pod message and tinkered away at the device on his desk.

Martin, apparently, didn't take the news well. "You want me to stop all campaigning efforts?"

"Yes," He didn't look up. "At least, for the project at hand. I want all of them archived for future use, but there's no sense in keeping them around."

"So much for the big break, huh?" Martin sighed, taking his seat. "Must've been fun while it lasted. I know we're still working for Ambassador Steiner, but since the office is on fucking fire, I'd take this as a warning. Too many people here put too much blood and sweat into their craft to have it slip away like this. At least give us warning in the future."

"If you had any idea of the stress I've been under as your leader-"

"We don't. That's the point."

Miles nodded, considering it. "We work in the currency distribution department, anyway. It was way out of our league."

There was a sudden placid look on Martin's face, as if Miles had said the one thing that would make him calm.

"Welcome to the business," he said. "Crazy people make the world go 'round, right?"

"No, and I would give you anything to never utter that phrase again."

"You never used to talk to me like that. I haven't even had lunch with you since September. When you can't even set aside your work to have a bite to eat, I'd say that maybe it's best we just give Clifford the reins. For now, anyway. You'll come around, and when you do, I'm sure you'll get over the wall."

Miles stopped. Sometimes, the people who care about you speak at such a slug's pace that you know they're fighting to omit certain words. Fear was the culprit; high tier Uquarian disgust was a silent game that slithered into their Social Credit like tapeworms in a sink faucet. There were only two types of consequences for speaking ill: that which harmed Martin in the wrath, or that which harmed Miles simply by staying silent and unassuming. One was the sign of a weak leader...the other was worry. That's when the dissection began. He studied Martin's posture. His tie. His suit. Fur kept neat, no scratches, none like the ones in his palm. Though a subtle tremor in his tone implied there was anger beneath it. But why? Martin didn't want to offend him, that was clear, but it wasn't entirely frustration, was it? _Worry,_Miles concluded. Worry for him. Worry and frustration, all from the sudden graphic design position to his inability to mingle. Just like that, all the past days of his distant mind became clear like sweeping condensation off a rainy window. Criticism is a dance of trust that can only ever work through punctual self awareness; something his status let him practice, but never master. Finally, he stood, knowing the only winning response was sympathy.

"You know, you might be on to something. I'll help you with the deconstructing. You've been busy lately."

Martin put his paw out. "No, no. You're still working."

"No, it's not important," he said, even though that was a lie. There were still agents of District Seven to contact for the changes at hand. Letting the coffee go cold on the table was only the consequence.

4

Later that day, Benny heard a knock on his door. He answered it and saw Rodney on the other side, pale as a ghost.

"Hi," he squeaked. "District Thirteen medic came by. Taxed me some currency for wasting his time. I paid, but..." He gulped, "I can't. I'm scared. I can't stay home. I'm sorry, can I...?"

None of it came as a surprise.

Much more a relief.

5

A whole month already, huh? Miles thought.

It was now October, and the night was crisp as it was foreboding. He was wide awake in bed, lost in thought enough to ignore the sleep potion by the nightstand. One thing was still stuck with him. Rodney's experience with sex. What had he said? Castles. Princesses. What even were those?

That's when it hit him.

He went for his desk and rummaged through the parts, shifting through the bottom drawer for a blueprint. Tonight would be an all nighter.

6

"Good afternoon, miss! My name is Miles Turner, and I am officially apologizing for what I had done! I completely wasted the time of these great nurses and doctors, and I am terribly sorry for having done so."

The red panda in the white gown at the front desk leaned with her arm against the table, fingers drumming. Her grimace hurt. "You're not allowed here."

"I understand that quite well. The man had left the refrigerator open at home and needed a ride back as quickly as possible. As usual, I'm sorry, all if you could just pass the word along to the manager, I would be-"

"Get out."

A job well done, he left and started for the border. He'd thought it all out ahead of time: meet Rodney at the border, give him the gift, scram at the last second. Harvey passed the note along. All of that would work perfectly.First step complete: sure enough, Rodney was waiting patiently. And he seemed to smile smoothly, a little broken inside, but still intact as ever.

"Hello," Miles said nervously.

"It's great to see you," Rodney said. "How's it been?"

"Tough, without you."

"Ditto."

They paused. Miles shifted, caught by his lover's tone. There was no light in it, but there was no darkness, either; simply drifting in between by a creaking rope, each creak spelling out a letter to the message he was hiding. Rodney was always a bit bubblier than this; certainly enough to bolt across this border into a hug, but the circumstances were so dire. And so, as times do tell, that comforting, warm haze was interrupted with the dark icicle in his stomach.

"I'm chilling with Benny now," Rodney said. "It's a little tough, but he'll help me get my Social Credit back."

"What's that?"

Rodney looked away.

Miles smiled meekly. "It's fine." He cleared his throat. "You know, you inspired me the other day. The way you held me. All this time, I was still curious where your experience came from. Long story short, I deduced you've been taking a walk on the wild side." He half-smiled. "I, uh, liked that. A lot."

Rodney's pupils bulged. "Okay."

"So, I got you something, but you'll have to keep it a secret."Miles reached into his coat and handed over a small metal box to Rodney. "Inside's a transmitter. It goes on the underside of your Pod. When it's attached, you can talk right to me through our own little dark line. That way, the Tier Ones won't see us talking and do anything to our Social Credit. We'll stay in touch. I promise."

Rodney nodded. "Makes sense." Hastily, he looked to his right and swung the transmitter behind his back. A taxi came swooping along the railway between them, a panda and a sloth getting out. He watched them go intently and said, "I got you something, too."

"Really?" Miles was surprised. He'd hardly noticed the bag at Rodney's side, and took it instantly when he handed it over. But when he saw the logo, his heart dropped.

"The Warp"

"It's a lava lamp," Rodney said, then grit his teeth. "Sorry. I spoiled the surprise. Anyway, I thought I'd grab it for you. They were hella popular in the sixties, but they kinda dropped off for a while before picking up steam in the eighties. It looked really cool."

Miles felt numb with disturbance. Rodney was a liar. No...not that dirty word. "Hypocrite". That's it. And it almost got him right back to disaster.

"You stepped out of bounds for this."

Shrugging, "Well, I built up enough Social Credit to spare. All it took was one trip. I did! I even timed myself, was there and back in seven minutes. No biggie!"

Miles was apprehensive, a hole in his stomach growing larger. "You can't do that."

Rodney shrugged. "Anything for you, babe."

"No! Please. Anything but that."

Now, Rodney's heart sank. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Thank you. It's lovely." He looked back, the road looking emptier than ever. "I'm going home now."

He turned before he even saw his reaction. The thoughts already brought the storm. Like walking underwater.

No. Seven steps, and he whirled back around.

"Why would you do that?! You know that's dangerous!"

"Why do I need a reason?!" Rodney exploded, yelping, shaking all over. "Why do I have to explain why I do the things that I do?! Why can't you just accept them as genuine?!" Stammering, now: "Look, I'm sorry it's a lava lamp and not the key to all our problems, but I'm having trouble even leaving the house! There, I said it! I can't go outside, or talk to friends, or eat, or sing, all for some dumb number, and I..."

A gasp and a whimper.

"it's fine, it's..."

And a deep, shaky breath.

"I hate this. I hate all of it so much! Just give me one day where we get together and it's not so bad! I don't care if I have to make a fool of myself, I just want to spend time with you!" His voice was fully broken by now, "I'm sorry. Just take it and go." He sobbed and turned. "Don't see me like this."

The final creak in his voice brought Miles to turn. He didn't even look both ways before he crossed the street, hugging Rodney the moment he got beside him.

"I'm sorry," Miles whispered in his ear. "It's not in my control." He squeezed tighter. "We'll find a way."

For once, it felt like the world wasn't staring back. As far as they were concerned, that was time lost forever.

6

Saliva and tears on his lips came along with Rodney's gift. The jobs had let out, and the streets were filled with tired animals. The clouds covered the sun, a blueish-grey tint on everything, and the air was chilling and moist. Just on the border between District Seven and Thirteen, Miles stood, collecting himself. Within the crowd on the other side of the road, a familiar face. He blinked. A taxi zoomed past.

And there he was.

Neil.

When the road cleared, they met on his side. There's that steely gaze again. Miles resisted to ask why he wouldn't stay in his damn office and said, "Good to see you around."

He peered back. "Likewise."

"I apologized to the nurses today. They seemed to accept it."

"Good." Still, that look. "Why'd you approach the border?"

Miles squinted. "I didn't. I was at the hospital."

"You approached the border."

Miles recoiled. But he didn't show it. "One of them was going home. I wasn't done clearing things up."

Neil nodded. "Okay. That's fine."

No, it isn't. The heart in his chest throbbed with a new anxiety. The city burned with flares in the metal. Everything was just a blur of what it used to be. The walk home was long. Too long.

Neverending.

7

_ _ Midnight. No moon in the skylight. The lava lamp glowed scarlet on his nightstand, its dark blob undulating. Miles learned its appeal this way. The waiting game before its mass splits in two, and then, when it comes back as one. When he did, he felt its pain, but didn't know why. Numbness was all that talked.

Before, there was nothing but panic. Now, there was nothing at all. Nothing but thoughts of his raccoon and where they should be. What secrets he'd tell. How Rodney's light and bouncy attitude should last from a decade to the end of time. How if walls didn't exist, he'd be holding him tight in this bed; clutching his pillow tight wasn't good enough. When a kiss left a scar on his lips that screamed, "goodbye", it left an illusion within an illusion of pain that was yet to be quelled by his actions. It should've been love and love alone. And yet, it was the confusion that lingered.

Maybe Dad knows about Rodney, he thought.

No. Why would he? They've never met outside of a glance. In fact, Miles hadn't even said he was the same "client" as the first meetup they had. To him, he was just a guy.

Maybe an alarm goes off when I cross the border.

_ _ Probably not. Tier Twos and Ones do that too often as it stands. Doing it for a moment wouldn't raise an alarm.

Maybe he can see into my mind.

If that were true, surely by now he would've brought up his simple, brutal infatuation. And then...chaos. Miles swore he could already hear the confused, rampant words of all his relatives burrowing in his skull. All the trust would've rolled away like broken fragments of a shoestring. Then, what? Eviction? Tier Five? Captivity? His head grew tight, staring to nowhere; a painting with an ugly face splattered with powder, blood, salt, sawdust and metal shards as its eyes turned over to blank wisps and-

He reminded himself to breathe. Even so, even when every outcome seemed possible, the fact is, it was just an illusion. Today was today; a world where he hadn't confessed anything out loud. When demons tap their foot at the doorstep, your response is simply to not answer.

It doesn't make sense. Dad found me at Rodney's place, then he found me at the border, then I told him exactly what I was doing and went to the hospital, and somehow, he still knew that I left for the border again. I double checked every corner. Everything, dammit! The only way that was possible is if...."

He looked to his own Pod.

No. No, he wouldn't.

_ _ He was shaking his head.

Dad wouldn't.

_ _ Then again...

A knock came at his door. Miles rolled up, feeling nervous.

"Come in."

In walked his mother.

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked. "You always come back for seconds."

Miles sighed. "I'm okay. Just a rough day at work."

Her unassuming guize was a breath of fresh air as she hugged and kissed him on the forehead. "That's fine. It's late, though. Get some sleep. Have a good night, sweetie."

And he was back there in an instant. His heartbeat banged against the sheets, back to staring blankly into the red abyss.

Merge.

Split.

Merge.

Split.

Merge...

No. I need answers.

_ _ He stormed to the den and saw his father in his usual place on the couch.

"Dad, I have a question," he gulped. "How did you know I was at the border?"

Miles waited for a response. No. It was Neil who was waiting. And he was glancing between his son and the Pod as if it had something to add.

"Come on," Neil said calmly. "You know how."

"No, I don't!" Miles took his seat on the recliner straight across from it. "I've been stressed all day and I want answers."

Neil scowled. "You don't want to have this conversation with me."

"Yes! Yes I do!" Miles pleaded. "Please, I can't take it!"

Neil nodded slowly. "Fine," he said at last. "You're about to learn one of many responsibilities the Tier Ones have. I have to trust you not to repeat this. Rest assured, you cannot go back once you hear this."

Miles agreed.

And Neil spoke:

"We've installed a tracking device in your Pod that allows us to know wherever you go."

Miles jolted, a three second montage of his life flashing before him. "Why wouldn't you tell me this sooner?!"

"Because it's how it works for everyone." Neil gazed. "No one goes anywhere without surveillance. I told you before that authority is lockstep. So, too, are the people. If we are not knowledgeable of their identity, occupation, home address and currency, all of it hangs in jeopardy. This is how it's always been and always will be."

Neil leaned in, growing colder.

"With that said, we noticed a particular trend with you and your leaves from Wyred, Inc."

Miles began to tremble. He gripped the cushions of the couch while maintaining some amount of composure.

"Do you know what it is, Miles?"

He did, but he shook his head. "No."

"Are you sure?"

No. No, he wasn't.

"You can't think of any pattern at all?"

Miles shuddered. "There is one."

And Neil paused again. Just to see what would happen.

"Miles," Neil's evil eye burned into his skull. "Who is Rodney Bennett?"

Instinctively, his claws extended and poked holes into the cushions while his pupils dilated. Deep in his head, Rodney's words echoed: "Just go. Just go. Just go." Go where? He suddenly realized he was holding his breath. Had to focus. Had to get on track. A ghost of an idea formed that would have to be a string. And what then would be a shadow that loomed rather than followed in the wake.

"I may have struck a rather," he started, paws together, "unconventional deal..."

A once-warm room grew cold and faithless.

Microscopic sheddings of couch fell to the rug.

A beetle crawled across them to the mopped floorboards,

antennas twitching.

Light shone off the clean floor like a new sun,

pouring to the upstairs

where all the doors remained dark.

Except for one.

The room that glowed red with patience.

Merge.

Split.

Merge.

Split.

Merge.

Split.

Merge...