Pollen

Rome did not sleep. He had work to do but frequently gazed out of his window at the thick bloom of smoke rising from beyond the walls. He knew now that New Hanoi was one of many pawns in play. Perhaps it was a violent uprising for freedom, perhaps it was a civil war? His most pressing concern, however, was Mae. Claypool had his men remove her in the night to his bar. In Rome’s living room, Cookie sat on the couch, watching movies and eating the kitchen bare. There was no way that Rome could get to her. He’d asked several times to get an update, but he was refused. Cookie nodded at him to keep working.

Rome’s throat tightened as he called in every favor and used all his power credits in attempt to create the biggest event buzz New Hanoi had ever witnessed. It was clear to him that history was about to be written, yet all he wanted was Mae back with him safe; he didn’t care about everyone else. His books had taught him that every significant moment in history where life fundamentally changed for a group of people meant hardship for those pushing the movement forward. It meant sacrifice and blood. When he was younger, he would have been the first to stand atop a fallen wall and rip chunks out of it for a souvenir, but when he was young he had nothing to lose. He laughed quietly to himself. Life is all about the timing. This opportunity had come ten years too late.

A sharp focus stabbed at him and kept him alert as he worked through the muggy night—Mae at the forefront of his thoughts. He knew he needed to reach everyone; he needed a movement, a galvanized hive to come with him to the walls, to bear witness to their freedom or their demise. The district woke at 6 a.m., the heat waking everyone who didn’t have air conditioning. And when the people woke, the headline on every news site, every gossip forum, and every gaming network would be simple. A chance to choose! We will see what’s the over the walls. 8 a.m. and a location marker. He knew they’d come, but he didn’t know what they’d see.

As the sun rose, wisps of clouds floated like smoke. The humidity soaked his skin. Wondering what life would be like if seasons existed, he rolled a cigarette and stood by his window, peering out to the skyscrapers. For the first time in his life he looked at them with pity. Whoever was in there, they were losing control—first of the sky, then underground, and today, they’d lose control of the people, too.

“You got one of those for me?” Cookie said, leaning against the door frame. Rome, startled, was amazed Cookie’s broad shoulders could fit through.

“Sure.” Rome rolled another.

“So you know this ain’t gonna end well.”

“Maybe.” Rome gestured to the filters, Cookie shook his head.

“Claypool wants to know what you know, but he’s not a stupid man, he knows that he needs you fully functional. You’re important to the factions involved, so he can’t let me do my usual work or it’ll come back on him.”

Cookie involuntarily cocked his head toward the kitchen knives and continued. “Which is a shame, but you’re a marked man and he’s happy to watch the story unfold for now. So the way it plays is: you don’t help Claypool, bad move, you continue doing what you’re doing, bad move.”

“You know, you’re not exactly a great motivator.”

“Not my job.”

“What is your job?”

“Whatever my employer says it is.”

“So you’re simply some hard man for hire?” Rome passed him the cigarette to dampen his hostile remark.

“Nah. I got my principles and I only take jobs that are in line with my thinking on things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the Rottos and their slums.”

“What about them?”

“You been there?”

“No. The Lanes is as far as I go.”

“You should. I mean there’s a bunch of people picked on and bullied and uprooted every two or three years. What did they do?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, nothin’ at all. They look a bit different, don’t they? I mean really, who gives a fuck? Now they live in their own shit and hate everythin’ outside their neighborhood. Thing is, they’re all right. I thought they’d be fucking perverts and rapists everywhere, but there ain’t, just a bunch of people trying to make some power and carve out a space for a family. Most the jobs I take these days are related to them.” He paused, aware that he’d been disarmed by Rome’s casual questioning.

“Why the fuck am I telling you this? You slipped somethin’ in this?” he gestured with the cig.

“Nope, but hell, if you’re gonna stay on my ass with a remit to murder me, it’s good to know you’re not a total prick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I make it my business to not know someone, makes my job easier, but you got some of the heaviest shit coming down on you I ever seen. You even got the Flower Factory aiming at your head. What I’m lovin’ is I can’t figure out why.”

“I’ll tell you why. Because an idea is the most dangerous thing in the world. It can’t be attacked, destroyed, or controlled, and you know what everyone is thinking? Those walls are unfair; those walls are preventing me from living a life of choice. Ask yourself this: what is your life if you have no choice?”

Cookie remained silent.

“Today I will present people with a choice. A hard choice, but it’ll be theirs to make.”

“Well we both know it’s got somethin’ to do with what or who is over the walls. It’s us versus them. Fucking trouble if you ask me, I bet ya they got some heavy artillery pointed at us and their finger on the trigger.”

“We’ve got to stop thinking about us as people and them as monsters, or vice versa. We are all people, people in different situations with different problems but similar desires. Both sides have a need, a desire for a safe life for themselves and their families. But fear and survival instincts breed paranoia, prejudice, and hate. Not knowing who is on the other side has fed into our fear and made us hostile. It is our basic human instinct turned in on itself. We seek to protect ourselves and our families from an unknown force, so to give that force some form, we try to imagine what it is, but guess what? We don’t know, and that only makes it worse. But we are about to find out. The Flower Factory made a fatal error trying to terrorize us with bombs underground; they think they can turn us against each other. We’ve suffered a continuous campaign of attrition, but we know who is threatening us now, the Flower Factory, so we have a figurehead to target.”

“End game?” Cookie asked, finishing a cup of coffee.

“Mae and I running the shop and living our life, that’s the end game. Claypool will see: we’re on the same side; we just have different ideas about how we get what we want.”

“But what you’re forgettin’ is that Claypool is the leader of a paramilitary organization. In a second he could call up ’undreds of area boys to pick you apart—bone by bone.”

“I know. But they are a handful of extremists, in among thousands of normal, good people. Can you tell a terrorist resident from a peaceful one? Could you tell me who’s the bad guy and who’s the good guy? For every brainwashed area boy, or Flower Factory employee, there are a thousand of us. And I’m sick of being intimidated.”

“Looks like it. Most people don’t talk to me like you do. I generally pull out their fuckin’ tongue. I got my orders; I’m gonna look out for ya. But you try to slip me, I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”

“Why would I try and ‘slip’ you? You’ve got Mae.”

Rome stubbed out his cigarette. The more danger and instability, the more Rome felt at ease. It’s hard to stay objective and unprejudiced when you and your family are in immediate danger. And it’s hard to escape that mind-set once you’ve grown used to it. He was shaking with rage and frustration. He wanted to take a gun and shoot Cookie and Claypool in the head and forget he’d ever met them. Rome looked out the window and focused on Little Tokyo. He had no idea what to expect, but suddenly he was sure he could pull this off.

“So what’s the plan for the day? You think you’re gonna get a mob of people to go with you to the walls?”

“No,” Rome said slowly. “An army.”

Rome packed his bag and smuggled a pack of needles and some bottles of serum, along with a small knife and a camera that had all been stored in his safe. Rome placed his pocket watch carefully into his waistcoat pocket. He buttoned up his classic gray wool double-breasted blazer with peaked lapels and matching slim-legged trousers.

As they left the apartment the street was oddly quiet. Instead of thousands of people all flocking toward the center, there were a few hundred, some waiting on the curb idly chatting, others on the mills putting in some miles for their accounts. As Rome entered the street, they all stopped what they were doing and nodded at him. Rome and Cookie led the way south as the people fell in step behind them. A vast collection of circular housing complexes dotted the main road in and out of the heart of New Hanoi. They housed tens of thousands of families, and each had scores of people waiting for him outside their wooden gates. They left their homes, called their friends, took their children with them, and walked behind Rome. Quiet, some a little nervous, but all of them knew that they were in for a show. Even Cookie started to look impressed.

The sun hung low and lit their dusty path. A thick haze of pollen rushed about them like a sandstorm. The homes they passed grew ever more shoddy, packed with increasingly large families—a sprawl of poor building materials, rickety wooden beams, and sheets of filthy cloth for roofs that had collapsed in the rain fall. Bits of clay brick lay strewn across the dirt road, full of potholes filled with broken pieces of glass and wood. Patches of grass sprung up at the roadside, dry and brown, but the sides of the homes had crawling vines tightening their grip as they reached for the sky. They passed little mud brick walls that divided yam sellers from rag sellers. Their old wheeled stalls with their tatty umbrellas were all empty this morning.

Finally Rome could see in the distance, down the long narrow road, the looming walls. Black and still like a firing squad. It had taken almost an hour, but the long march was filled with nostalgia for him. He’d almost forgotten what the walls looked like, but the blood from his youth flowed again through his veins and his limp seemed to disappear.

Soon they caught up with a long, snaking tail of people, all on their way to the walls. The chatter was light, but they all recognized Rome and made way for him as his pace quickened. Rome didn’t notice their faces; he was fixed on the walls. He still had no idea what was going to happen at 8 o’clock, but he knew that he was safer with an army at his side than he was with his wits alone. A small smile passed his lips as he started to make his way through the thick of the masses before the fields began. Cookie was useless here, he couldn’t touch Rome now.

Rome took out his pocket watch. A glance told him the time, yet he studied the minute and hour hands carefully, absorbing their detail. He watched the second hand tick by, short sharp movements. He wished Mae was with him.

The crowds continued to swell, some even bringing seats and sandwiches. A wide ring road of dirt separated the mud brick of New Hanoi from the fields before the wall. The fields were a vast open plain of lilies grown so long that they reached past six feet tall in places. The cacophony of colors blinded Rome; it seemed there was no order in nature here. Lilies of all species climbed and cannibalized each other in their struggle for sunlight. It was a daily fight for those who lived nearby; they waged war against the lilies’ approach and it seemed the people were losing.

Turk’s-cap-red bulb lilies hung from their stems like lights above a prostitute’s door, their stamens swinging in the breeze. Mixed with them were the bright yellow Asiatic hybrids clustered together, setting mini fires among the dense green stems. These fields were a living organism, throbbing in the heat. Rome walked to the edge of the vines. His pocket watch ticked over the 7:50 a.m. mark.

“So what’s the plan now?” asked Cookie.

“We wait.” Rome sniffed the pollen so strong it sparked his long-repressed hay fever. He turned round to look at the faces in the huge crowd. Feeling their anticipation, the breathing, the twitching movement of the mass, he tried to speak but his throat was dry. He took a drink of cool water and suddenly his voice boomed out.

“Thank you all for coming. I promised you that today something incredible will happen. And it will. This isn’t a cheap parlor trick, or a flight of fancy. This is our world and it’s about to change. Behind those walls are our neighbors; they live in a district called Little Tokyo. It seems a battle has been brewing beneath our noses, but Little Tokyo is not the enemy. Whatever happens, do not become hostile. We must remain calm; we must be the best we can be.” Rome smiled and turned back to focus on the walls. A great wave of conversation started behind him.

“That’s it?” Cookie whispered.

“You try ad-libbing to a crowd of thousands. The less you say, the better.”

“I could have done better than that.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“Listen up,” Cookie shouted, but no one stopped their conversation. He looked back at Rome. “Well it’s only ’cause you’re some sort of celebrity to ’em, that’s why. I’m just a broken-faced thug.”

“I’m not a celebrity. I’m not even a hothead anymore, but I’ve learned there’s always safety in numbers.”

“So come on then, what you expecting to ’appen?”

“I’m expecting either for someone to visit us, something to fly over the walls, or further instruction. Whatever happens, it’ll be a message that will be shared by all of us.”

“So you don’t know?”

“No.”

“And you drag all these people here?”

“If one person sees something extraordinary they are dismissed as a nut. If someone films something extraordinary, the film is a hoax. But if thousands of people see something extraordinary, it’s real, it’s written in history, and it’s told to their kids. It becomes a moment, a movement. If I’ve learned one thing in this world it’s that people will believe anything if they’ve seen it themselves.”

“So they’re all here to make sure you’re not dismissed as a nutter?”

“They are all here to see for themselves that there is a world outside these walls and it’s been denied to them.”

“There ain’t nothing getting over, under, or through them walls. Look at ’em.”

“Those walls are made from plastic fibers woven through steel and concrete, reinforced with carbon nanotubes. They could be knocked down with enough force, but of course, we haven’t got access to anything near that magnitude of firepower. And I’ll tell you this now. You see those giant painted letters D-12?”

“Yeah of course.”

“We all took a guess a long time ago that meant District 12. Well, on the other side is D-14, and it’s called Little Tokyo. You know how I know that?”

Cookie shook his head.

“I’ve got a rose, and in its DNA is the code D-14. Whatever happens at 8 a.m. will be huge, trust me. We are all pawns in this and we are right where we should be.”

“Aren’t pawns used for a sacrifice?”

“Why do you think there’s so many of us? Safety in numbers, remember? I didn’t mean safety from you; I meant safety from whatever is coming for us.”

A collective agreement started to rise through the crowd that 8 a.m. was more or less a minute away; it had turned into a carnival. Rome had turned his back on them and focused only on the wall. The sun smashed down on his head; he wiped the sweat from his hair. He could make out snippets of conversation; huge speculation reigned, ramping up the excitement and the tension. Rome could feel his leg seizing up into wood.

He thought of Mae, he needed her next to him right now; he needed her strength. The day he tried to scale the walls was born out of his personal anger and frustration, but it was also for the added bonus of impressing Mae. They were only friends at the time and it took years more heartache before she realized what he already knew. And now he knew she’d love this moment.

“What happens,” said Cookie, “if we go over to their side, then what?”

“Then we pool our knowledge, understand our lives a little better and we keep knocking down walls till we have a passage out.”

The crowd had reached rabid proportions of euphoria and began to count down. Rome looked at Cookie and rolled his eyes. This was a moment of caution, not celebration. The crowd grew louder as they reached three seconds; they screamed “Two,” and with all their might bellowed out, “One!”

Whoever was in charge of the operation must have been watching, of that Rome was sure. The ground started to rumble, like a giant network of pistons had set off an engine in the earth. The fields shook violently; the ratty homes behind them collapsed almost instantly. Some people scattered, but almost everyone took a few steps forward; the crush set some into the field—their faces dotted among the flowers.

Like the vibration of a giant cello string, the earth shifted beneath them; a grounded wooden noise of a fine deep note rippled up through them. Rome’s hand trembled. His heart rattled. The chord stretched forward to the walls, and with a blast of fire, the earth ruptured, a catastrophic swell of mud and flowers flung into the air high above their heads. Then a second explosion shot through the swell and hurled upward with such great force the shockwave threw plant and rock debris into the terrified crowd. Rome closed his eyes but couldn’t react quickly enough to shield his face.

People had thrown themselves to the ground, and some had pushed others out of the way to flee. Some jumped on loved ones to protect them. Rocks flung high now began to cascade like meteorites, whistling earthward with nightmarish speed. Rome opened his eyes to watch helplessly as a rock cracked down on the shoulder of a mother sheltering her children; she stumbled and screamed in pain but kept her frame hunched over her two kids.

The crowd did not dissipate, though. They’d pushed themselves in all directions. The dust and dirt began to gently drizzle down, and a colossal rib of earth now flicked up before the walls. Then there was a groan. It was a groan that ran the length of the wall, a creaking sound. Rome understood immediately what was happening.

“It’s coming down,” he murmured, and turned to Cookie. “It’s coming down.” Rome started to believe the words he was saying. Cookie’s face, dusted in dirt, looked at Rome with rage and excitement. Rome turned and shouted in every direction, “Everyone back, the walls are coming down. They’re coming down.” The panic in his voice was clear. The ten story high walls were creaking in their direction. “RUN!” he hollered with all his strength.

People started to back away slowly at first, taking a few steps back, bewildered by the power of the explosions. Some lay motionless on the ground. Some cried out. Rome saw one man staggering in shock with a gash that ran the length of his crown to his neck. The creak of the wall turned slowly to a cracking sound and for a second blocked out the sun as it rose slightly like a crest of a wave before its break. It was like a huge black wave, ten stories high of reinforced plastic, steel, and concrete—the border of their prison. Everyone ran now. They ran for their lives back down the long shanty road. Even Rome ran.

When the wall hit the ground, a hurricane shockwave of dirt knocked almost everyone off their feet. The dust, thick like ash, hung in the air, blocking out the sun. The sound deafened them all; a muffled cough was the first noise Rome heard when he stumbled to his feet. People scratched about, trying to maintain their balance on their hands and knees, but with so many people, it was a matter of untangling limbs. Rome led a mob of them back toward the wall, stumbling like refugees after months of fleeing without food or water. His limp was worse than ever.

The sunlight diffused by dust, a sepia tint to the world, was all Rome could make out. The shadows of zombie-like men and women staggered aimlessly. Sometimes, he tripped over the sprawling limb of a dead man. He saw at least ten motionless bodies through the murk. He felt selfish and responsible but his guilt was a problem for tomorrow. Right now, he was only full of purpose. The small group reached the torn up field. The main structure of the wall was intact and formed a bridge—a bridge to Little Tokyo. The cross-section that was once the top of the wall was exposed to reveal a latticed structure of carbon cables and plastic steel wires running through, around ten meters tall. It was a perfect climbing wall.

The immediate self-organization of the masses created human pyramids, pushing people up into the structure to climb. Rome glanced to either side of him and already seven or eight people were almost at the top. There must have been many more, but the dirt had hidden them from sight. Soon there was a human ladder to the top. Rome and several others began to climb onto the latticed carbon and hauled themselves over to upper edge. Up here the dust had almost completely settled. Behind him, hundreds of people were inching their way up, unsteady but determined.

Before him lay the broken path of the fallen wall, seams fissured across it, smoking still, and on the other side a brilliant field of red, lush and vivid. The buildings on the edge of Little Tokyo seemed much the same, small and compact, but they were built in a uniform manner. He could make out a clear grid system with straight streets of gray tarmac, unlike New Hanoi’s yellow twisting dirt roads.

At the center of New Tokyo, far in the distance, he saw a collection of monoliths crunched together—yet it seemed none of them were over New Hanoi’s maximum height of five stories. There were so many of them; the bright light at their heart could be seen even in the morning. Temple spires jutted out like spears through the right angles of concrete and steel, glowing with warm red roofs. Rome allowed himself a small smile.

From what he could see, the town looked like it was a hybrid of technology and tradition. Immediately, he could tell they had more resources than their neighbors. They must have been richer, and possibly smarter too. He thought it should be intimidating, but it wasn’t. It felt warm and inviting—a place of knowledge. More people streamed up the wall behind him and now they were moving en masse, walking toward this new world. There was no crowd waiting for them on the other side. Rome’s thoughts began to worry him. If the people of Little Tokyo didn’t know the walls were coming down, then all they would have seen was a colossal explosion and now a wave of ragged, dirty aliens walking toward them.

Then suddenly he saw the first face on the other side. He was too far away to decipher any features, but it seemed that the person’s clothes were brighter and longer.

“Wait!” he said breathless. “Wait, everyone, please wait.” He shouted, but no one was listening. “Think about it! They have no idea we’re coming. We look like an invading army. Everyone wait. Wait!” He cried out with all he had. Those around him slowed, but a handful walked on. “This needs to be taken slowly. Spread the word. They didn’t know this was happening. Tell everyone!” he shouted.

The first intrepid few had already reached the end of the wall that fell away into roses. Rome and many others ran forward to try and call them back but it was too late. They picked their way down the crumbled path of the wall’s shattered base, but already the air was getting thicker. Rome took out the needle and the serum from his pack and played a hunch. He injected it into his arm; he had no time to find a vein so he just plunged it in as those around him seemed to be suffering mild asthma attacks. Ahead he heard coughing and the wrenching lungs of those struggling to breathe. Those who had made it to the rose fields of Little Tokyo were holding their throats; their steps faltered. One by one, they fell to their knees, then collapsed. Those around him stopped, they were coughing but still able to breathe. For Rome, the air began to clear. His hands shook; he’d never been more terrified in his life. Suddenly an iron force grabbed his arm and he was tugged back.

“We need to talk.” Cookie coughed.

“We have one opportunity to make sure people don’t die. You need to stop anyone going farther than this point. Do whatever you have to. No one crosses this line,” said Rome.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he coughed. “Not if you want to see Mae in one piece ever again.”

“None of us will be safe if I don’t go.”

Cookie’s lungs erupted into spasm as he coughed again and Rome took his opportunity to move forward. Cookie tried to keep up, but the air was as heavy as a brick. He pulled back and caught his breath. Rome picked a path down into the roses. They were thorny but beautiful. He pushed through. His suit tore but the thickness of the wool stopped any scratching at his skin. His hand took a few nasty hits but he wiped the blood on his trousers. He passed one of those who had made it in. He was dead, suffocated. Rome pushed farther forward. He could barely see above the roses. A crowd had now developed at the opposite edge of the field. He felt useless; any one of them could pull a gun and shoot him. He’d placed all his faith in people he didn’t know.

The strangers had pale skin, wider cheekbones, but otherwise they looked the same. They weren’t monsters, they weren’t cannibal warlords, and they looked as scared and curious as he did. The roses thinned and he made his way out of the tangle onto a paved path. Before him stood hundreds of people. He stopped, and his self-consciousness tripped him into embarrassment as he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Hi,” he said softly, but loud enough to be heard. He raised his hand and motioned a slow wave.

The crowd’s collective jaw hit the concrete and chatter erupted. Some smiled, others grimaced, but none of them seemed hostile. He tried to pick out what they were saying, but it was clear that they spoke a different language. Two men drew swords and approached him but the men were stopped by the crowd. Arguments broke out; a debate raged. Rome crossed his fingers. This was Little Tokyo.