The Mangrove Suite (Clean Book 1) Read online

  The Mangrove Suite

  A Clean Universe Novel

  By Tim Niederriter

  The Mangrove Suite

  Copyright © 2017 Tim Niederriter http://timniederriter.com/

  https://dwellerofthedeep.wordpress.com/

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written consent of the author. Unauthorized duplication in any media is a violation of international copyright laws and will be prosecuted.

  Published by Mental Cellar Publications Cover Art By Tim Niederriter.

  This is a work of fiction People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual people, places, and events is purely coincidental.

  Also by Tim Niederriter The Maker Mythos

  Hunter and Seed

  Soul Art

  Clean Universe

  Ludosensitivity

  Other Stories

  Stolen Parts

  Rem’s Dream

  Tenlyres

  Find all Tim’s books and serials at www.mentalcellarpublications.com

  Dedication

  This series is for Peggy, my first great fan.

  Market 2078

  The metro’s main canal sparkled with light as the ferry carried my friend Thomas and I down the waterway just after daybreak. Sunlight, I reminded myself, is no more real than the light veins provided by the aeons, though the sun has been around longer. I stood at the bow of the ferry, watching the water in the cold light of autumn. There was no ice on the canal yet, but even with my heavy overcoat and the stubborn fat around my gut, I felt a bit of a chill from the approaching winter.

  We passed a large garden ringed by trees which bordered the canal, probably one belonging to a local aeon. Concealing foliage remained on the outside, but most of the leaves had turned red or orange already. Deeper inside the garden a glimmer of green confirmed my guess it belonged to an aeon. The central trees of an aeon’s garden stayed both green and in flower longer than other trees. It also reminded me of the valley where I grew up, far west of the megalopolis.

  I yawned, one hand in front of my mouth. Thomas insisted we leave early before the sun rose where we lived in the eastern city. Regardless of those plans, I had been up much of the night talking with Elizabeth about our strategy to break out with our own private network. I was tired. Elizabeth had a way of getting me focused on the future.

  Just like when we had initially planned to live together four years ago. Even after our romantic relationship ended we remained each other’s’ best hope for striking it rich. From our positions with existing networks, the two of us could become the first mental network not run by aeons higher up, though someone would still have to invest in us, of course.

  Thomas walked along the side of the ferry, a piece of toast in one hand and a thermos of coffee in the other. He looked as he always did, in a bit better shape than me and about the same height, dark hair and pale skin with black-rimmed glasses. He wore a small beard, which already showed a few strands of gray, and a dark coat. He stuffed the toast into his mouth and put his hand on the railing as he chewed.

  I glanced at him. “Getting ready for a big buy?”

  Thomas chewed a little more and then swallowed. “We’ll see,” he said, “but the right goods have to be there, or I won’t buy.”

  The goods he referred to had once been people, but I never mentioned that to him anymore. Besides, they were all clean. Human slavery was wiped out over two hundred years ago. The aeons would not have allowed it once they took control of the cities, regardless. But cleans weren’t people, however human they might appear.

  I nodded. “Didn’t you hire the ferry for a round trip?”

  Thomas smirked. “I have a good feeling about the market today.”

  “Where’d you get the tip?”

  He grinned. “Jeth, I’d almost think you were ready to get into this business.”

  “Not a chance.” I smelled the coffee as he unscrewed the lid and let steam waft out of his thermos.

  “Not a chance? You mean even once you and Elizabeth have your new network set up?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not just because I don’t have the money.”

  He looked out over the water, avoiding my eyes. “They creep you out, don’t they? The cleans?”

  “Isn’t it kind of strange, how they look at you?”

  Thomas took a sip from his thermos. “It’s too early in the morning for this conversation.”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Never mind. Just take your ichor and you’ll cheer up.”

  “You know I don’t drink ichor on my days off.”

  “No wonder you’re so grumpy. You cut your own network. How demanding is making shows all week?”

  “It’s not that.” My job as a memeotect mostly involved building network programs like the old world’s television programs but for projection directly into people’s minds. “I’ve seen the problems with overusing ichor. That’s all.”

  He got a far off, clouded look in his eyes as he accessed a network, telling me implicitly he had definitely taken a dose of ichor that morning. Thomas only connected for a moment. He disconnected and his eyes returned to normal. “One dose a day isn’t gonna get you cleaned, you know?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think like that. But I’ve seen too many people overdo it.” Like Rebecca, from back home in the Green Valley. I hoped the signs of memories of the girl I once thought I loved didn’t register on my face.

  “Some day you’re gonna have to tell me why you’re so conservative.”

  “Maybe I will. Someday.” Too much ichor could be poison to the mind even if it didn’t transform you into a literal monster. And it did turn humans into beasts if overused.

  “But not today, grumpy guts. I got it.” Thomas turned from the water but then paused. “If they bother you that much, you didn’t have to come with me.”

  I smiled out over the lapping waters of the bright canal. “We haven’t seen each other enough lately.”

  “True that,” he said. “But you can come upstairs and play cards any night. Elizabeth probably wouldn’t mind that every now and then. Shit, man, you two can’t work every night, am I right?”

  “We’re preparing for a network launch, but I see what you mean. I’ll clear a time.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He walked back down the length of the ferry. When he neared the tower that formed the helm, he turned and called out to me, “Looks like we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  I looked up from the water and glimpsed the dock carved into the side of the canal’s concrete wall. “Got it,” I called back. The sun poured down over the megalopolis, making skyscrapers gleam and shine. To the west the slender citadel towers of Aeon Heights rose even higher than the buildings constructed below for ordinary citizens, catching more than their share of sunlight. I turned from their brilliance and walked down the ferry’s length to the raised bridge where Thomas waited to disembark.

  The market on the south side of the canal was alive with countless people and cleans. Thomas and I arrived at the far end of the line and made our way along it to the mouth of the large auditorium repossessed from some sports team of times past. It now served as the showing area of the market. I didn’t like the overall feel of the place. The veins that lined the ceiling glowed too bright in unhealthy white, and the cleans wore gaudy clothing that dazzled with reds and pinks and yellows.

  Thomas marched down the center of our line into the mess of twirling, dancing cleans who displayed bodies perfected by pure endorphin-hunting days where nothing else mattered b
ut the pleasure of the moment. I followed him, trying to remember why I had wanted to come to this place, even with a friend. We passed near-naked men and women with figures in suits hunched around them, inspecting nooks and crannies, cleans being examined by potential buyers.

  I tried not to imagine Thomas doing the same thing because I didn’t want to hate him. I didn’t mean to hate him. What I wanted at that moment was to be anywhere but there. As if on cue, he stopped ten meters ahead of me and turned to a seller with two scantily clad women on either side of him. I made a face and turned to look into the center of the room where the dancers twirled and cavorted.

  In the center of the dance, a woman whirled in a violet gown with a skirt riding high on her thighs and a trailing strand of golden cloth, flowing from her hair. Her skin was dark, though not as dark as mine, and perfect in the lights falling from the ceiling. I watched her enraptured for a moment, forgetting where I was. She reminded me of times past, back before I came to the megalopolis.

  Back in the Green Valley. Years ago. Back with Rebecca, before she left to travel to the east.

  Then my eyes narrowed. That dark haired, fine-skinned woman… eyes closed in gentle concentration, one leg raised in a frozen-seeming spin, was more than familiar to me.

  “It can’t be,” I said under my breath. Rebecca, what has become of you?

  No one paid any heed to my words. I took a step from the path, leaving Thomas to his business. Things needed to be seen. The truth needed to be found. Rebecca had probably been an addict of ichor when she left the valley, but what could have happened to her to place her among the cleans?

  Could this really be her? I stood for what felt like several minutes, gazing at her, then tore my eyes away. After more than twelve years, she looked almost exactly as I remembered, sleek limbs and perfect curves. I fought the urge to return to staring, and instead, directed my attention to searching for Thomas. I had to tell someone.

  A giant man stood beside the market stall closest to where Rebecca danced. As he talked to a buyer his massive arms folded, muscles rippling beneath the tattoos of intertwined snakes on both arms. My eyes passed over him twice before I realized the snakes on his arms had fanged, eyeless mouths on both ends.

  Part of me knew not to feel intimidated by the giant’s fearsome appearance. Another part of me did not like the idea of talking to him without knowing more about the woman on the stage. No matter how much she looked like Rebecca, the vast population of the megalopolis made it impossible for me to be certain she was really the girl I had known as a young man in the Green Valley. Without ichor, though, I had no networking ability so I could not even begin to search for any information I could use to identify Rebecca.

  I glimpsed Thomas moving through the crowd a way down the path from me. He might have some ichor left from his morning. Most people carried a flask of it with them if they had business to attend to, and his management of the Mangrove Suite put him in demand during the day even when out on other business. I slipped through the crowd and caught up with Thomas.

  “There you are, Jeth.” He grinned. “I thought you might have gotten lost.”

  “Thomas, do you have any ichor left?”

  “Woah, man. What happened?”

  “I need to use the network.”

  “Sorry. I’m out, but there should be a supplier here you can buy a few drops from.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to go look.”

  “First of all, tell me what happened. I thought you didn’t use on your off days?”

  I shook my head. “I need to find something out. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Alright.” He nodded. His eyes seemed understanding despite his confusion. “I’ll be making my way around the market. The ferry leaves a little after nightfall.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll make sure I catch up with you before that.” I turned and went back down the path toward the exit, my eyes peeled and searching for someone hawking ichor.

  Aeons produce ichor, and they give it to the humans under their management. That’s the most common way to get ichor in the megalopolis, but because the city is divided into the domains of different aeons there are other ways for those away from home. Vendors, like the one I found in the outer circle a few dozen yards from the entrance, filled that role in the market. For a price.

  The vendor wore a heavy coat and stood by a low cart that carried a cooler. A security officer stood off to one side, bulletproof vest, triangular badge, but no visible weapons. This kind of vendor usually paid for extra security, and it looked like it cost her a hefty amount of credit. The vendor’s hair was long and frizzy, and though the aeons kept most people in good health, she hunched, looking old and weary despite her smooth features.

  She nodded to me, teeth bared in a grimy smile as I approached. “You need some ichor, sir?”

  “Yes,” I said. “How much for a single dose?”

  “You from the canal districts?” she asked.

  “Lotdel Tower. East of here.”

  “Canal. Got it. Fifty for a dose.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  The vendor held out her hand. “Show me some cred, and I’ll hook you up.”

  “Thanks.” I dropped my card into her palm. The card’s light cell glowed in the dimness away from the central market lights. She swiped it on the side of her cooler and it opened a crack. Then she returned my card and lifted the cooler’s lid. Golden liquid in clear plastic bags topped by sealed tubes that when opened could be used to drink the precious contents, lined the cooler. She reached in and retrieved one of the tiniest bags. I took it from her.

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  “For now.” I might have to return if I used up this ichor before I could locate the memories and information I needed. I turned away from the cooler and the dirty vendor and popped the cap of the tube on the ichor bag.

  Most people try not drink ichor straight to dilute the taste. I don’t usually mind how it tastes, which differs by the aeon from whom it flows. I put the tube to my lips and drained the bag with a single long pull.

  At that moment, my senses heightened and the light gleamed even more bright and sickly. The smells of perfume and the sounds of bartering ran amplified through my mind. Ichor usually does that to people when taken fast. Trained sensocyclers can control this rush of senses and keep the enhanced perception for as long as a memeotect like me can maintain network access. My senses quickly dulled some but still remained sharper than normal.

  I paced to a bench, perhaps leftover from the stadium’s past, and sat down. I checked to see if the security officer working the ichor stand was in view and found him close enough to put my mind at ease a little. But still, if I dove into the network for any stretch of time the chance of getting my card stolen went up dramatically. I left the market, walked along the canal to the ferry and boarded. Nobody but the captain would even be watching.

  I stood on the deck, near the center of the ship, and looked out at the sunlit canal waters. I took a deep breath, and then set my mind to sail through the network with a mental push.

  The network appears to the mind’s eye as a variety of things, but most of us notice how bright it seems. The threads of my consciousness unwound, spreading out through the mindscape like skinny tree branches. The minds of others connected to the network drifted around me at a distance. I was at once both aware of them and uninterested. I sent my thoughts through the market where not many were using. Cleans never used ichor so they were invisible to the light network approach I had at the moment. With enough ichor in my system, I could detect the minds of anyone in the region.

  I worked through the minds of these people slowly, searching for any facts that would prove to me that the woman was Rebecca.

  Rebecca, with her laughter, head thrown back, and shawl tossed to the ground. Rebecca with her ambition to go east from the Green Valley where the two of us had grown up. Rebecca who gave me hope when I was a geeky kid who always finished behind his older brot
her.

  I sighed at the thoughts but kept looking. The network helped me ignore the cold of the day, but it wasn’t until I turned my thoughts to the memories I kept within me that I lost all perception of the outside world.

  Unregistered Memory, Spring 2063

  In the Green Valley in the center of the wildlands between the great cities of the east coast and west coast spring brought rain that swelled the river and turned the dirt of country roads into mud. I lived in a town a few hours from nowhere. There was one aeon in the whole county where I grew up, a member of the first generation named Kedhos. I never met him, but like everyone, I had a daily relationship with his blood, his ichor.

  I was walking a forested path, trying to not get my sneakers too filthy with the mud that sucked at them with every step. To avoid the worst of the mud, I walked along the side where the leaves provided a thin covering for the pitch-black mixture of dirt and water. Birds chirped in the trees, sometimes startling me.

  I had a messenger bag tucked under one arm. I’d had that bag for years, and at thirteen, there wasn’t a lot more important to me in the world than its contents, a worn blue folder containing photographs of people and places from before the rise of the aeons. I had brought it with me that day to see if I could find some of the landmarks it mentioned from the city closest to my hometown.

  As I walked, I considered how it was too bad that aeons had needed to tear apart the world I saw in those images. Once, there had been cities in and around the Green Valley, but now they were dust, swept under the roots of tall trees.

  Those trees and their stubborn frost-resistant leaves gave the valley its new name. I picked up my feet and pressed forward to climb a trail of mud up the hillside to a place where the path met a paved highway. The road’s asphalt surface was pocked with craters and split with cracks, but it wasn’t muddy, and it pointed the way back to town.

  I walked along the road for a mile before town came into view, spread over a slope that formed one of the earliest foothills of the valley’s edge. Once, my brother and I climbed to the top of the tower that stood on the hill’s peak and looked east to see the route the trains still used to get between the coasts, cutting across plains of waving grass.