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Chapter Ten

So Deep

1

"Split up."

A world of total darkness. I can't see Miles' dress. A rope ties around my waist, out to the aether of shadows, where he rests on the other end. Elsewhere, a voice taunts after a devilish laugh:

Come and find me, Master Blaster!

Damned fiend. I am invincible to these threats! But my partner is not so lucky. He is scared, and rightfully so.

"Rodney! Master Blaster!" he cries. "Where are you?!"

"Stay right there!" I shout heroically, tugging the creaking rope bound between our waists. "We will stay together!"

"No! Please! He's here!"

"Yes, and I can't have him hurt you! Steady, now. Darkness never clouds the field of love!"

Nothing said, so I march onward. My footsteps echo forever. I feel like an ice cube rattling in a glass of water.

Suddenly, in front of me, a pair of eyes look at me. No whites, just red crescents that disappear the second I put my sword through them. My tail curls in wait. Something cries in the deep.

"Miles?!"

"I'm okay!"

So he says. I turn and feel a slight tug on the rope into the darkness. The grip on my tie tightens. My mind aches, as if to warn me something's coming. To my side, I see it. A pair of glowing eyes, all red, no whites; so I fire another shot, but it dissipates like a dying Pod, and just then I feel another yank of the rope and a metallic, brick-tunnel bang.

"Are you all right?!"

"Y-yeah! I'm fine! You grazed me!"

I turn.

Eyes. I flinch, and it feels as though I am lurching forward into a realm of darkness. A deep redness clouds my sight as a blaring screech cries from Miles' direction. My muscles give, while the tie slips out between uncurled fingers. Numb in the head, I have just enough strength to throw my knee forward.

It all dissolves, and it feels as though I have regained my body.

"Where are you, fiend?!"

The silence is deafening.

"Show yourself!"

The line snaps, and the dread comes forth, "Miles, where are-

"Rod?"

--

Three blinks had thrown him off his trance. Stumbling, the raccoon whirled, pupils bulging at the square of blue light in the distance, spotting the silhouette of Benny's head in the center. The phrase, "Uh huh?" creaked and stammered out his maw in the last few seconds of his reverie, as if the column of light was the sunlight passing through a pool of wet cement.

Rodney felt a trickle of dread as he climbed the ladder. Benny's eyebrow was up and seemed to look beyond him. "'S-go."

On the surface, the moonlight cut like a knife; only a crescent, like the mark in the sky. Benny, himself, still hadn't said a word on their walk, and to say it unnerved Rodney was both an insult and an understatement. Coyotes had a rough gaze with those black scleras, so Rodney stayed to his left, where his blue eye seemed to shimmer in a calming parallel to his brown eye. It also seemed to focus better. Rodney heard of surgeons in District Five that regularly rebuilt body parts to perfection and assumed this was the depth perception he needed for his job, but that was only a guess. Besides, they always charged more for those out-of-District patients. That was the guessing game with him. A back and forth telegram of anxiety with no answers, so it grew for the both of them.

"Are you gonna spill the beans on those lights?" Rodney asked.

Benny shrugged. Sixth time in a row. Suddenly, Rodney felt like a hypocrite.

A wind tunnel pushed them along. The sweat on his clothes grew cold. There, between the shade of two buildings, an image, a bit lighter, stood out. Something shimmered on the bald tip of a bulbous object; a head, perhaps. Five pitch black short tentacles emerged beneath it and seemed to push it upward. Rodney's chest thudded as he made out its humanoid features. Dark shades under the cheek, but not as much on the eyes.

He blinked and it was gone. Or maybe it wasn't. Benny's paw was suddenly at Rodney's shoulder, hustling him along.

When they arrived home, he felt his Pod ring. He picked it up and answered.

"Hi babe," It was Miles. "I need to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"Dad knows about you. They're gonna be tracking us."

Silence.

"We need to be careful from now on."

More silence.

"I just wanted you to know that."

Rodney couldn't cry. He didn't have the strength for it.

2

Nine o'clock sunlight orbs flare off the distant steel beacon like the eyes of somebody they'd never see. Miles gazed longingly out the window, coffee in hand, deadpan with the jitters. Behind him, Neil stood with a similar expression, but not from outside. That man was too old to be nervous. These days, anything counted as a panic attack; what with the thrum of business constantly at odds with his personal schedule. All he could think about was how much his son had to learn. How piteous it was to see him struggle in so many different hands. And how frustrating it was when he'd say something so foolish it flipped all that pity on its head.

"Miles?" he breathed. "Have you had enough time to think about it?"

Miles turned only his head. "Enough."

"I've passed your name over to a number of top companies in Districts Four through Six. I told them the beacon project is going quite well, and if you have ties with Clifford, you should expand your efforts."

Miles scowled back at the window. "Not yet."

"You aren't going to make any friends this way. I suggest you just return to your workstation and invent something spectacular like you always do."

He didn't respond.

Neil sighed. "I will respect your ambition yet again. But as your father, I have to tell you," he cleared his throat, "that if Mister Bennett ever becomes a threat, we will do what needs to be done."

You didn't need to finish that sentence, Miles thought. "There will be no such trouble."

"There shouldn't be," Neil said. "Good luck."

Miles slowly nodded as he heard him walk away. He brought the last swig of his coffee with him to Martin's desk and looked him straight in the eye.

"Pack up your things. We have a meeting to catch."

"What for?"

"Because I said so."

3

The milky white, gargantuan building in the center of District Nine was what they called "The Proud One", whose mighty floors stood thin as bamboo sticks rising a hundred feet in the air with a huge translucent glass bulb at its cloudy tip. Once a week at night, the bulb would flash with blazing magentas, yellows and greens across the District and inundate the plantlife with a molecular-level nutrient radiation which optimized its oxygen conversion. Subsequently, their trees were emerald green year round, and the plant life was like no other. Some flowers mutated to shades of indigo and violet, gradients of red and yellow like an early sunset, and rarely, flowers that grew flowers; straight from the bulb.

If only the inside was as inviting. Outside, the metal was so fine that if you touched the brass handles without gloves on, the guards would fine you a hundred credits and knock fifty points off your Social Credit. Cleanliness was a necessity in the office and a cultural statement in the District. Thankfully Martin was enough of a prude to convince them to pass. What he didn't expect was for Miles to storm through, past the concierge to the elevator at the end, people asking questions all the way. The lobby itself was a blinding white fit for a greenhouse, save for the desks and chairs.

"Miles?" Martin called out. "Miles, wait! We need to inform Ms. Destiny that we're-"

"I don't care, didn't you hear me?"

"What makes you think she'll talk to you?"

"She will."

"You're being absurd!"

"Absurdity is necessary. Stay back."

Martin stopped just outside the elevator, scowling as the guards tapped his shoulder for questions. His father always had a business attitude, but never seemed to be busy. It wasn't hard to imagine this being the same.

4

_ _ The petite red squirrel Ambassador pumped the small bottle of hand sanitizer into her palm. That and the sting of bleach was the smell of her office. A chromelike desk and a huge perimeter of golden awards for reflections on reflections. Her Pod was all glass, its mechanical contents visible. She wore a sleek white work dress which matched her tie and had coiflike hot pink hair that matched almost nothing. She heard a buzz by her door and swayed to it.

"And who might that be?" she asked. Her lips rarely slipped above her teeth as she talked, and a smile so everlasting it would outlast her lifespan.

"Miles Turner. I'm from District Thirteen, and I'd like to talk."

"Mister Turner," she hummed. " We didn't schedule a meeting, sweetie. How'd you get in the building?"

"Credentials. You know how this works"

"Not enough, it seems." She sighed long and loud, using another bleach wipe on the counter.

"I've come with a request, Ambassador," Miles said. "I'd like to extend the beacon project towards the commonwealth of District Nine. I understand your District hasn't had a big lucrative opportunity in decades. Well, you and I are both underdogs up and coming, am I correct? Then let's make this move together. I'll allow as much scheduling time with you as possible, as this is quite the leap, but it's better for the country and it's better for the both of us."

She considered it. Her ears always wiggled as she did. They hadn't done the oath, and that irked her. The meeting was off schedule, and that irked her. She paced slowly to the mic on the door, smiling through every word.

"First off, Mister Turner, I believe it's rude to give your elevator pitch without asking your partner's name, so let me take that off the table. My name is Jill Destiny, and with all due respect, you've just presented me with the worst idea I've ever heard. It's a gamble on a prototype, which hasn't been done in about, hmm...three decades, I think...the budgeting is historically disproportionate to District Thirteen's annual steel and mica imports on top of the damage this will do to District Two and Twenty-Three's retailers' consumption-that's a few lost Tier Two's on your paws-and also, it's completely divorced from reality."

"It is not what you-"

"Ah, ah! See, I've researched some of your project, and it's not health care you're selling, it's ads. If you want to improve your people's rights, then perhaps you should start with something smaller. Like their welfare! Let's see, uh, there's been three known glitches in the Taxi currency operators gone unchecked since you released it, about six incidents of using the sirens for faster transit since your accident, and-oh! I've just received word that an intruder snuck their way to the top of my building! I could've been badly hurt! Thank goodness for this wall. But listen. You're a startup business. You've still got your share of projects to destroy. I know you mean well, so...why don't we talk when you have a little more," she was right up against the mic, "status?"

Miles grew enraged, but didn't show it. A truly disgusting amount of this was beyond his control. Plus, no one pronounced it "stay-tus".

He said, "If status is your concern, then perhaps you'd like to speak with the project lead, Ambassador Steiner."

"I think Ambassador Steiner should take a shower, instead. Right hand man of your own project...I have to say, Mister Turner, not the best look."

"Startups are startups. This is the most well funded one in the country."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. It is status that moves us. It's only logical that credits find their way. After that incident of yours, I doubt anyone wants to work with you. I'll ask the guards to do their job."

"The guards won't throw me out. My Social Credit is too high. I'm not leaving this place until you open up."

"Well, then make yourself at home!"

The table beside Miles whirred. A slat in the wall opened for a white mug, and a stream of brown fluid poured from the roof above it. It moved outside the cubby where it met Miles's paw.

"I already drank coffee today."

"It's hot chocolate. There's marshmallows in the cabinet in the corner. Pleasure speaking to you, Mister Turner!"

He left with a bitter sneer and a belly full of hot chocolate which was way too delicious for its own good. The Pod rang halfway down the elevator shaft, and a bitter Clifford spoke through.

"District Nine's Ambassador called, what the hell did you do?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"You better not have screwed anything up."

"I didn't, it's fine" Miles said. "Now we know what game to play."

"You call this a game?!"

"We're the only ones playing it."

A shared disdain hung as he exited the call. It was the first in a long line of absurd ideas; none of which Miles would feel any regret for.

5

"Shut up, Rodney, you don't understand the lucrative opportunities of dakimakuras!"

Admittedly, Simon was right. Rodney was so dumbfounded at the gray cat's intelligence he didn't notice the tomato slice slip out of his sandwich. Were his glasses always circular? Did he always wear a black tuxedo over a casual suit? These were the real questions.

"Think about it,' Simon said, "there is not a single vessel in this country unengaged with the act of intercourse. An infinite market means infinite power, and infinite power means infinite orgasms. The moment I perfect the patent, I will promptly cease all production so that their rareness increases their value. Then! I will begin again! And repeat the process! Until they become so expensive, I become a Tier One in a single purchase! Don't you see, Rodney? The market is merely a slut that's begging to be dominated! What do you say? Can I put you on my special edition?"

"Man, all I asked was how you're doing."

Simon banged on the counter. Albums fell off nearby shelves. It was terrifying. "I'm doing business, Rodney. Just you wait."

"Hey, man, are you gonna buy something or what?" Harvey asked, elbows on the table. "We're closing shop soon."

"No. Talking garners currency."

"That's literally not true."

"Money is power."

"Yeah?"

"Harvey. Look at me." Simon jabbed a finger in his face with a menacing glare. "People die." His intense grimace burrowed into every fold of their brains even as he backed away. Until he kicked the door behind him open and ran out, leaving the two of them alone. Several minutes passed. Rodney coughed.

"Wanna go eat?"

5

_ _ The claw machine was Rodney's favorite. He loved hearing the mechanism whirr above the sea of ambiguous black boxes. It was the best place to distract himself. It's strange-The Drunken Wolf was a restaurant, but its hangout room looked like a basement. The neon lights strewn on the outside contrasted with the bone-dry, scarce interior of broken chairs and zero windows. It was like the owner didn't know how socializing worked. The message here was "Make it work." Harvey didn't let it phase him; that's the Tier Three's mindset: distraction.

"So, like, Rodney, you remember that one part in Rise of the Ferrets where Michael's totally about to die, but then he doesn't 'cause that pocket watch activates right at the last second?"

"Right, right, that's when the guy comes down, he's like...oh, who is it...white beard, massive, looks like Mrs. Cassi-"

"-Mrs. Cassidy in a red suit! Yeah, that's the guy. Dude goes up to my desk, totally straight-faced, like, 'Hey, buddy, why don't you have The Sneepleheads?'"

"The who?"

"No, The Sneepleheads! I go, 'Never heard of 'em,' and he goes on and on for like, ten minutes before finally he says it's some jazz rock album. So I say 'Maybe I have 'em in the back, lemme show you', and I'm wondering whether or not these guys even exist, and when he gets there, he blows through 'em one by one. Doesn't find squat. So then he gets all angry and goes, 'I wanna see the manager!'"

Harvey's brow furled as he reeled back. "'Buddy, I am the manager!' And he goes, 'No, the manager-manager!' Oh! That's when it hit me-this dude expects me to have some Tier One on speed dial just 'cause I don't have some seven-sixteen time signature jazz rock song in the back of the store. I'm like, 'All right, catch me in one of those flying taxis, I'll meet you halfway!'"

Rodney didn't respond. His paw fidgeted the joystick, and the claw lowered down on a specific box. He lightened up when it dragged one to the chute, and into Rodney's paw.

"Rodney?" Harvey asked.

"Oh, right, it's...wait, that's how it ends, right? The movie?"

"Yeah, dude, that's the joke!"

"Oh!" Rodney stammered, snatching the box. "Right. Okay."

"Nah, but I just told him we're out," Harvey said, "Makes me appreciate you, y'know; you're in and out in like, five minutes."

A red panda approached them from the door. "Hey, I'm sorry, but Mister Bennett can't be here."

The two of them were stunned. "Why's that?" Rodney asked.

"You're on a block list."

Rodney flinched on the inside. "Well, okay, let me just grab a sandwich first-"

"Perhaps you didn't hear me. Get out."

Rodney felt the fur on his arms bristle. He kept a tight lip when they were back on the streets, but he knew it wouldn't last. Harvey and a look of concern were two things that never went together.

"What was that all about?" Harvey asked.

"Just did some weird things," Rodney said. "Nothing shady, right?"

"Right."

Rodney didn't want to tell him how many places he'd tried. Rodney didn't want to tell him how hard he'd tried to network, to get this thing off his chest. Silence is better than a lie, so he stuck to it, instead, as they walked.

"Something doesn't add up, man," Harvey said.

"What's up?"

"Look, I know about that Social Credit scare you had the other day. Mister Turner told me. Oh, Miles, I mean. You remember that guy? You gotta; he's lookin' out for ya. But word got around of you wiggin' out, and hell, I was worried for you. You okay?"

Rodney stared awkwardly. "I'm just going through a rough time."

It was a protective instinct. Rodney knew this guessing game ever since he was a kid; if someone knew a problem, that means they'd form an opinion. An opinion of moving in with some gargantuan Harvey never knew. An opinion on Miles embracing him from an entire District over. Vulnerable was good, but at the end of the day, there was work to do; Harvey and him both. The only way to avoid the guessing game was not to guess.

Harvey said, "Well, what about your Social Credit?"

"It's fine."

"Well, lemme see."

Rodney did, and the Pod read, " Social Credit: 196"

Harvey shook his head, his smile fading. "Not great, man, not great." He patted Rodney's shoulder. "How 'bout you and I just keep walking?"

"Sure."

Something occurred to him. He'd increased his Social Credit beyond the abysmal "3". So why was he suddenly on a block list? Was this not progress?

"Hey, you remember that art fair we used to chill at?" Harvey asked out of nowhere.

"Oh, that takes me back."

"Yeah, yeah, you and I were like, tots, and they'd only put it on once a year. There was so much cool stuff there, and-y'know, I was thinkin'-maybe you got some networking to do. It happened in the fall, right? You should go check."

"I think I'd rather go home."

Harvey's head tilted. "What?"

"I don't know."

"That's the greatest sign that you do know, man." Harvey patted his shoulder. "There's a monster in you, Rodney. You gotta reach into your chest and pull it out like some big, slimy serpent that's been eating you inside. You gotta show it for everybody to see. C'mon, now, let it out."

Rodney fell silent.

"Well, I'll walk you home," Harvey said at last. "How's that?"

"Sure."

He didn't mean to say that. Now, there was no going back. The guessing game from the elevator ride up to his apartment building. The images of Harvey leaving in tears or a scowl or a tomb of nasty silence. The end of their friendship as he knew it.

There he was, in front of Benny's door. No key. No luck. Knock knock.

It opened up, and Harvey took a step back. Same with Benny.

"Hey there, big guy!" Harvey said.

There was silence. Benny looked at Rodney and pointed at Harvey. "Friend?"

"Yeah!" Rodney blurted.

Harvey's smile came back. "Friends for life, you know how it is!'

Benny seemed confused at that. But the longer he looked at Harvey, the less he could take him seriously.

"Kay," he said.

They were all smiling for a moment, but Benny's faded last. It visually upset Harvey,

"You okay?"

Rodney was tired of hearing that phrase.

"Yeah," Benny said.

"You sure?"

Benny said nothing.

"Aight, big guy," Harvey patted his shoulder, "get that smile back for me. Everybody needs it. Hey, I'll see ya around, Rodney!"

Rodney wiggled the fingers of his parting hand at him. He still felt stressed. Because even with a good answer, the guessing game had begun.

6

"Big, slimy serpent." That's what stuck with him at night. He implied it was hurting, but silence wasn't pain. It was understanding the present. It doesn't matter if it twinkles or it burns: a hole is a hole, and until you stack the soil high enough to climb out, it will remain a hole. Harvey was far enough away to not get it, and secretly, Rodney hated that. It was jealousy. He didn't lust for work, but he was jealous, anyway.

He thought about it as he sank into the couch, the crack of light under Benny's door finally going out. The soft cushions, surprisingly ergonomic. The spare blanket was hot and homely. The refrigerator snored softly. Is this what Harvey called corrosion?. No. It was comfort-that bastion which hid whenever he went outside.

He opened the Pod and swiped the hologram thrice; now, the dark line shined red in his eager eyes.

Hopefully Miles won't mind, he thought.

It shocked him to feel it vibrate.

"Hello?" Rodney answered loud enough for Benny to go, "Shh!"

"Hey Rodney." Miles' voice was soothing. "How are you feeling?"

"Good!"--He cleared his throat-"Good. Benny let me clean a window today."

"Oh, is he a window cleaner? I've seen those guys before. How was it?"

"Far out."

"Sure is. Is it hard to get the right angle?"

Rodney snorted in laughter. "Yeah, kinda. They've got this little targeting grid for that, but it isn't like walking the goose."

"How's so?"

"Well, you gotta hold your arm out like, way out, and then keep it there for like, five seconds straight. You should see Benny do it. He makes it look so easy. He's like, taller than the building you work in. It's hilarious."

Miles was flattered. "Well, picture this. Imagine me holding your arm, guiding the way..." He cleared his throat. "And then I, um...."

Amused, Rodney asked, "Are you trying to roleplay?"

"Perhaps." He fell silent. "Hey. What we did caused a lot of trouble. If anybody asks you to go with them, you shouldn't. Just start searching for a job instead."

"Miles, please. I'm fine."

"Well, we'll see about that in three months, and the one after that, until it becomes a habit of misery."

"Chill, man. I see this with you a ton. Unless we're televised on the billboards, everybody will just move on, like we were somethin' out of a kooky action flick."

"I jumped in front of a taxi! You think they'll all just move on? Most of this country is under constant surveillance looking for the one guy who's crazy enough to smash a window or the upside of a poor citizen''s head. The way it's going, it'll only get worse. People don't forget, Rodney. They just don't."

"No. But they do forgive."

A heavy sigh broke the flow. "That's not the way I see it." It dawned on him then. "Why are you so calm about this, babe?"

"Just processing it."

"But your Social Credit was so low."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"We have to."

"No!"

"Rodney. Please. I don't want to hurt you.."

He paused for a while. "I just walked over there and back. That's all."

"How?"

"I just...I got a little Social Credit help. That's all."

"From who?"

Rodney sighed, too. He was cornered. And Miles already knew there were no such thing as minor consequences.

"I went into a trapdoor," he admitted. "And I shot at lights."

An eerie silence.

"And what?"

"And that's it. That's all I know."

Miles shook his head. "No. You're not telling me something."

"That's all I know."

Miles caught on quickly. If Social Credit was decided by your employers, then whoever was in charge of those lights didn't want themselves to be seen. A single fang in the dark dripped with blood and metal. That's when he got real with himself. This was knowledge no one was supposed to know. Knowledge that was off limits to Tier Twos, because it would ruin their reputation. Rodney didn't have the power to drag him into this, but you learn to understand that in a country of status. Sympathy was another thing.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you need to stay away from that place." Miles said at last. "I want you in line with something better."

"Me too, man. Me too. But I've got no other choice." He squeaked: "Sorry. I'm sorry. What do I do?"

"Get a job."

He smashed against a pillow mouth first: "I tried! I tried, okay?! None of them want me. They all told me to get out! Harvey told me to go to an art fair like it's even gonna matter, but why?!"

"Shhhhhh."

Rodney sat up and saw Benny's huge figure, and that one glimmering blue eye. The door creaked back to a close.

"You mean the New Age Fair?" Miles asked.

Still distraught, he said, "I don't know. It's some annual thing where they show off all the cool stuff 'round the pike. I don't know much about it, but it's Harvey, right? He knows everything."

Everything, huh? Miles considered it. "I'll call you back." Then he swiped his Pod to the 'Events" calendar, looking under District Nine. "That's no art fair..."

Calling him back, he spoke with passion, "Hey, hey. That fair's been upgraded. It's a Tier Two to One only fair. Only the best prototypes are being shown from the country's finest inventors."

"Oh."

"I can get you in."

"What?!"

"The only way out is through, Rodney. You have to make connections somehow. I know you wouldn't be comfortable. What with all that happened. But I can make them trust you. I'm extremely good at this. I've been doing it my whole life. I'll do it for you, too. I just don't want you to wait. We can only go in so deep."

Rodney considered that. He also considered the likelihood they'd come if he stayed put. That earthquake in the gut wasn't sealing. Nor was the headache. Nor was the hunger as more and more he relied on Benny's credits. Nor was the fear of being home. His actual home.

"You don't have to worry about that, babe," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm going to that fair with you. And I'm gonna get that job."

---