Pollen

Shunka ran through the roses, the thorns scratching at her arms. She’d left Pres far behind and with him, her last moments of feeling safe. She knew this. She’d made a pact with herself that for at least an hour, she would allow herself to believe that she had made the right choice. After that, she would succumb to the inevitable question: What the hell am I doing?

The dark sepia cloud above her head and crackle of distant gunfire had her off to a shaky start. A few bugs hopped off the flowers and landed on her and then took off again, like birds fleeing a brewing storm.

Approaching the cavernous gash in the earth where the wall had been ripped from its roots, Shunka scanned an exposed two meter-wide tear of metal opening up a small tunnel beneath. It seemed the explosions had detonated in the tunnels below the wall and up an access shaft, to create a rip in the seam. The wall had been constructed in segments, like a giant flat-pack assembly grid. She studied the knotted and gnarled cross-section of cable and carbon that had been torn asunder. At its base about twenty meters down she could make out part of the tunnel walkway, scorched from the force of the blast, still smoldering.

She scrambled down the blackened earth on her backside and realized that even her honed sense of balance had deserted her. She felt like she’d lose her footing and go cascading down, impaling herself on a sharp piece of metal, a ridiculous end to her mission. Her throat dried as she slid faster toward the hot plastic-fused steel. The thick acrid smell began to choke her as she finally reached the tunnel hole.

Her breathing became labored, as though she was breathing through a straw wedged in her gullet. Her mind was tricked into thinking it had taken full breaths, and she panicked as the oxygen didn’t enter. Then she realized it wasn’t the smell that was choking her, it was the air. The air had become so thick that only threads of oxygen entered her lungs. She opened her left forearm app port and plugged in Cheng’s stolen syringe. The nanomachines in her system ran a scan of the chemical and pumped it into her blood. She sat on the warm wet ground gasping for air. Her vision blurred slightly, then refocused. After a few seconds, the air loosened and she could breathe normally again. Stunned but determined, she pushed some wreckage aside and peered into the tunnel.

Above her, ten stories of fallen steel and carbon was still crumbling. She used her sword to cut away the sharp twisted edges the tunnel roof, and slipped down into a cramped two-meter-tall, one meter-wide walkway. The lights had been destroyed by the blast, and there was a deep, still darkness that echoed with a creaking sound. She looked up again; it seemed that the weight of the world was above her head. She heard the cracks of gunfire increase and rolled her eyes. The kids had started the inevitable war. A war manufactured and tailored for them.

Shunka stretched her arms out to touch the walls and made her way quickly forward. The walls were smooth and the walkway true; then she saw a blur of light ahead. She jogged uncertainly forward. Sensing her presence, an entire section of the walkway ahead lit up for her. On the walls were signs bearing numbers and arrows: You are in the green zone Sectors D12-D14, Ahead red zone D8-D9. She assumed the lower numbers would be closer to the City Center and exploded into a run. Her impulsiveness had defeated her logic, and with that realization, a small smile crept across her mouth.

She’d only stolen one vial of the serum, and she had no way of knowing how long it might last. She was certain that the farther she pushed into the belly of the monster the more deadly her world would become. Her EEG signal began to fade, blinking in and out of clarity, but she didn’t stop running. She needed this. She needed knowledge. She needed to understand why she’d never felt home. Then the call she’d been waiting for came in. It was Cheng.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Under the tunnels, my love.”

“What did I tell you about rushing in headstrong like a bullet?”

“But that’s why you adore me so, right?”

“No, not today.” He paused. “You’ve got the serum, haven’t you?”

“Of course. I only stole one and I am sorry about that. I knew if I’d told you what I was doing you’d try and reason with me about it for a hundred years and nothing would ever get done.”

“No Shunka, it would get done, and it would have gotten done right. That serum, if it even works, will only last you about seven hours. Then you’ll need more, and where are you going to get it if you’re not here? If you’re going to steal something, at least steal plenty of it.”

“Well I’ve got good news: it does work. I was choking up the closer I got to the walls, but now I’m running. So will you forgive me?”

“I’ll forgive you when you get back here.”

“Well, that’ll be in about seven hours.”

“What are you going to do even if you can reach the Center?”

“I’m gonna find someone and ring their necks till they give me some answers, then I’m gonna go for a climb, right to the top of one of those towers and I’m gonna see with my eyes, and cam-app everything. I’m sorry Cheng, I didn’t want to leave you hanging like this, but I’ve got to, I’ve got to know.” She took a breath, “Did you get him? The foreigner?”

“Yes. His name is Rome, he’s the same as you or me. It seems we have all been used in a power struggle, and now the real battle has begun.” He paused, and sadness crept into his voice. “I can’t help you where you are going.”

“I know.” She slowed to a light jog. “Listen, my EEG signal is failing. We make a good team, you and I, don’t we? You’re cooking me crispy prawn dumplings when I get back. I’ll see you in seven hours.”

Cheng lost the signal as she began running again. He turned his back and composed himself. He knew the chances of her making it back were slim, but if there was ever a day to have a little faith, to leave the logic of science to one side, it was today. He calmly placed the translator in the middle of his long office table next to a pot of burning yellow incense sticks. He remembered his manners, and sat gracefully. So too did Rome, Pres and Mana.

“Mr. Rome, as you are our guest, you may have the first question.” He gestured with an open hand.

“My first thought isn’t a question; it’s a concern about the walls. It wasn’t us. I came here to tell you all that we did not blow them up. I’m here because I don’t want anyone to die—I don’t want a war to break out.”

“I can assure you that your sentiment is shared with those in this room and our respective organizations, but there are those in Little Tokyo who are aggressively looking to expand beyond our borders. May I ask you, if you did not fell the walls, then who did?”

“The Traders, they work in tunnels . . .”

“Yes, we are aware of the Traders,” Cheng interrupted gravely. “I am sorry, I did not mean to interrupt you, please continue.”

“The Traders are employed by the Flower Factory, but there’s a rebellious sect among them who see our lives as a global injustice and are trying to free us. I have been enlisted to help lead the people of Little Hanoi, to lead them out of our district and into the world. These Traders, our allies, have been working on a vaccine. However, as you said, I’m no scientist, and I don’t fully understand it.” Rome laid out a vial on the table. Cheng gestured to his staff outside.

“With your permission, we’d like to run a scan. We too have developed a serum.”

“Of course, please.” Rome nodded to the staff and returned his questioning gaze to Cheng, realizing the huge implications of this conversation. He felt like he was outside himself looking at a movie on a big screen. “Wait, did you say you’ve got a serum, too?” It was suddenly clear to Rome that Cheng had been preparing for this day, while Rome felt like the new kid at school.

“Yes,” Cheng said calmly.

“What does it actually do? No one has actually told me anything, I’ve had to put bits and piece together.” Said Rome.

“What do you mean you don’t know what it does? You are the leader of your people aren’t you?”

“No I am not. I guess you could say I have some level of notoriety. I run big events at my café and once a year the entire district talks about me. Not sure how that qualifies me as a leader, though.”

“These Traders certainly do.”

“So what does the serum do?”

“The walls separate many districts from each other. We live in a giant honeycomb of up to 14 districts. The walls aren’t the only thing that keep us apart. The Flower Factory ships in millions of flowers a day, all packed with a genetically modified strain of bacteria in the pollen that you need to breathe in to survive. Without you’d choke, your lungs are now dependent on it. The serum allows you to breathe our air. It’s created a shield for you, but only for a limited time. However, I am more interested in why you are here and not a leader of your people?”

“I was given instructions to go to a set of coordinates at a specific time. I organized an event out of it, but I’m afraid I had no idea what would happen.”

“So why do you believe the wall was attacked?”

“I’ve gone over it in my head and I really don’t know. The way out would be to use the tunnels, but they were bombed yesterday, so we’re stuck.”

“I see.” Cheng used his little finger to scratch his eyebrow. “I think I know who destroyed the walls. It wasn’t you; it was us.”

“What?”

“We have learned that the Transport Union, an organization here responsible for the shipping of goods into and around Little Tokyo, has been working with the Flower Factory. They are in possession of a bacteria serum similar to yours, but they have altered it; they have made it aggressive, and they are looking to wage a hidden war on you. Knocking the walls down gave them a delivery system, and secondly, as you wisely noted, it looks like your attempt to lead the people was intended to appear to everyone here in Little Tokyo that you were trying to lead an army to our doorstep. The hostility that has already broken out will increase, which will give the Union an excuse to attack you, in ‘defense’ of our people. They would have no trouble gaining popular support.” Cheng shook his head at the cruel cunning of the Union’s plan.

“I don’t understand. If the Flower Factory is at the heart of both plots, why don’t they just stop shipping flowers to us? Without the flowers delivering the pollen, we’d die just as surely as we would crossing the border, wouldn’t we?”

“Because the Flower Factory is looking to distance itself from the conflict. If you know who the enemy is, you organize and attack; if you are unsure, that drive and rage turns inward. They want to start a war but don’t want anyone to know they are responsible for it. It’s how any superpower acts: in their own self-interest.” Said Cheng

“So they want to rule you, which I understand, but why do they want us? Looking around here I can see what they have to gain from your side, but our side of the wall, my home, it’s a slum compared to here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where I come from, the streets aren’t made out of concrete and lights, they are made out of dirt. The walls of people’s homes are built from mud brick and clay. There’s disease and overcrowding, and poverty. There’s too many of us and we’ve been falling apart for years, but here, this place, it’s amazing. I don’t even know what materials you use to build your homes, and the streets have lights coming out of the ground. If I was looking down on all of this, I know which side I’d like to live on. It’s social engineering on a grand scale.”

“But the Factory doesn’t gain anything from us,” Cheng said. “We grow all our own food, synthesize our water, and the only contact we have with the Traders is our daily import of flowers. The Union handles all the raw materials.”

“You grow all your own food?” Rome was baffled.

“Yes.”

“If we have a food crisis, we are dependent on food from the Traders to survive.” Rome said. A sudden sickness came over him as he began to realize they had been involved in a game, a game that New Hanoi had lost. “Let me ask you something, all your technology—that must require a huge amount of power generation. Do you ever have outages?”

“Ha! All the time. The grid can’t cope with it. Our focus has always been food production and gadgets. There has never been a concerted effort to fix our power needs, a short-sightedness that costs us almost daily. The trouble is, even with a fission power station we couldn’t satisfy the demand we’d need. It would take years of ideas and inventions to develop and implement power generators, and no one wants to do that work; it’s too dull. I too am guilty of this.” He laughed again, but soon stopped as he saw a deathly glow in Rome’s face.

“You need power? We have so much power in Little Hanoi that we use it for currency. Our entire district is one huge power station. We’ve spent decades creating the most sophisticated systems for power generation and delivery. Years ago the district united in a project to fix the power problem. This has all been a game, a battle between silent neighbors who didn’t even know they were in a war. I’ve no doubt the Factory has infiltrated both our districts and they’ve been guiding us down specific roads—us to address the problem of power generation and you, technology-driven food generation. Between us we have solutions that could change the world.”

Cheng grasped the severity of this plot immediately. “Let me ask you something. We have had a ban on food imports for decades now. Do you have any items banned?”

“We can get food, but they limit our supplies—of food and everything else. We hardly receive enough raw materials to keep the district from falling down. We have very little and have had to improvise our power systems.”

“Precisely why your power generation solutions are so valuable. I fear we have reached the end of a test, and it seems my people have passed. The next phase, logically speaking, would be to eliminate the losers and take the rewards—your power systems. Combining our technologies would create a very powerful society indeed. Rome, this war that has been brought to us will not be a long one. The serum the Union possesses will attack and kill your people. And the people of Little Tokyo will see that as a victory. The word has spread about the fall of the wall; the media has reached the population and it tells us one thing—invasion.”

Rome ran his hands over his head. He could feel the pressure behind his eyes leaning like a felled tree on his forehead. The weight of the responsibility was immense. Yet in this moment, with the lives of tens of thousands of people under threat, his only thought was of Mae. For a second he smiled. He was proud to know love, to feel it in such terrible times.

“Rome.” Cheng leaned forward and placed his hand on Rome’s shoulder. “Do not fear. We have the truth, and we still have a little time. We have someone on their way to the City Center. She is going to bring us answers to our questions.”

“Honestly, the only question I have now is how do I save the woman I love?”

“Pres,” Cheng’s voice suddenly shifted deeper, cut with authority. “Assemble every one of our allies. Take them to the wall, clear the area, and hold a defensive line. I don’t want anyone taking shots at our new neighbors.”

“Of course.” Pres bowed to Rome and began giving orders on his EEG.

Cheng turned to the reporter. “Mana, it’s time for a story. Tell the people everything. Tell them this was what Hanako died fighting for.”

Mana nodded silently and exited.

“What about Mae?” Rome’s voice trembled for the first time today.

“Okay, Rome, one step at a time. Let’s look at your strain of bacteria and we can think about your situation a little more clearly. There is a solution here; we need to search for it.”

They left the office and entered the laboratory. Cheng was handed a report and his eyes darted across the data.

“Ah, most ingenious! This bacteria your Traders have crafted, it is fantastic work.”

“What is it?”

“It seems the serum you have presented to us has some incredible defensive capabilities. How much do you have?”

“I’ve got more at work, fifty vials perhaps.” Rome scratched his head and felt a wave of exhaustion sucking him under.

“I see.”

“I think the plan would have been to get this into production for the masses.”

“I would assume so.”

“I’m guessing from your tone that the aggressive bacteria the Union has . . .” Rome took a deep breath and remembered friends, the kid who won the ice cream competition, Hazel, Danny, and Mae. Cheng could see he was struggling.

“We believe they have enough to launch an assault,” said Cheng.

“How much do I have?”

“You’ve got enough serum to keep you and maybe a handful of others alive for a couple of weeks.”

“Will it hurt when they attack?”

“It will, but it will be brief. We have already begun tests to replicate your strain; perhaps if we can delay the assault we could produce enough to save more lives.”

“How long would you need?”

“We would have to hold them off for a few weeks; we’d have enough by then to save hundreds.”

“That’s pretty damn noble. You’d do this to save a stranger’s life?” Rome’s heart beat so hard he could feel it in his ears, the throbbing noise almost deafening.

“Of course. Rome, you have enough bacteria to stay here in Little Tokyo, tell our people what you and your home is like. Perhaps we can change the public’s opinion, force a civil war against the Union.”

“More bloodshed? No.” A grim reality flooded over Rome. If he stayed, Mae would most certainly be raped, abused, and murdered. If he went to rescue her, he’d be endorsing the death of everyone in New Hanoi. “I appreciate the optimism, but, let’s face it. We are totally fucked. I’m heading back to save Mae from a bunch of sick, twisted assholes and make some peace with the world. I’ll leave you enough of my serum to replicate it. Do what you can.”

“Rome, we have a common purpose, and a common enemy. If we work together, we can overcome them.”

“And leave Mae in the hands of rapists and murderers? No, I’m sorry; there is no greater good this time.”

Cheng considered Rome for a moment. “Very well. And how will you deal with your problem?”

“That’s my mob at the walls, my army, I’ll lead them.”

“Rome”—Cheng inhaled and pulled back his shoulders, increasing his stature—“it’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

“Pres, take our guest to the front line.”