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  The Cleanway

  Copyright © 2018 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 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 (Short Story) The Mangrove Suite (Start here!) The Bright Image (Coming April 2018)

  Other Stories Stolen Parts Rem’s Dream

  Invisibles: Dark Work

  Tenlyres

  Ilsa and Blue The Gray Lector The Lyre War

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

  This series is for Peggy, my first great fan.

  Book two is for every friend I’ve been absent from for too long.

  I’m looking at you, Mike.

  Clean Book Two

  Tim Niederriter

  I tried not to make a habit of dwelling on the past, but ever since Rebecca Malik reentered my life, that proved easier said than done. She sat beside me in the aeon administration building's registration waiting room, legs folded together, wearing a borrowed women's suit. Her eyes were dark and intense the way a clean's never could be. She focused on the clerk behind the desk ahead of us in the immaculate room, which smelled faintly of fresh flowers.

  Neither of us were on a dose of ichor. It was Saturday, so I tried to get my head out of the network and actually spend time with my friends. Working double hours during the week as I tried to do my part to launch a new network meant I had not seen Rebecca for five days, which was not easy.

  The way I cared about her combined with my feelings of responsibility for her situation to create guilt. Sure, I’d been the one to motivate restoring her memory when she was clean, but that made me directly responsible for her need to acquire a new identity. No one would believe she was really Rebecca Malik, who had been cleaned. Nobody came back from that, or such was accepted knowledge.

  She raised her eyebrows at me. “Jeth, what’s on your mind?”

  “Nothing, I—”

  “That’s not true.”

  I sighed. “You know? You’re right. Sorry. It’s been a few years since I registered with the city.”

  “New people come in from the west all the time,” said Rebecca. “We’ve both been through this before. And we both did it alone.” She gripped my hand gently. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  I put my hand on hers, feeling it the natural thing to do. “I’m glad to help.”

  She nodded, dark hair shining in the early light.

  The clerk behind the desk waved for us to approach.

  “So much for relaxing on Saturday morning,” Rebecca said. “Here we go again.”

  We both stood. Rebecca smoothed the thighs of her suit with her palms. I followed her to the desk.

  The desk clerk, a thickly built older woman whose name-tag read “Zoe,” gave us a tight smile. “Good morning, Miss Waters, Mister Gall.” She used the fake last name Rebecca had given on her application papers.

  Rebecca smiled. “Good morning, Zoe.”

  The older woman stifled a yawn. “Pardon me. Thank you for arriving on time, given the hour.”

  “I’m eager to start,” said Rebecca.

  Zoe pushed a sheet of paper with questions on it across the table to Rebecca. “Here is the exam. I am required to inform you that no communication will be allowed with anyone until you have completed the exam. You may not leave the building during the exam. Please, have a seat, get started, and good luck.”

  “I understand.” Rebecca took the sheet of paper and a pen.

  Though the city possessed all kinds of information technology more powerful and efficient than written questions, the citizenship test was always given via paper, as most new arrivals would not have ichor or an aeon patron to live under while they adjusted to the city. I had been grateful when I first arrived and found this to be the case, years ago.

  Zoe turned to me. “I recommend you wait over there, Mister Gall.” She motioned to the far side of the lobby, where another cluster of chairs sat around a low table. A man and a woman already sat in a two of the chairs. “Remember, interference on the exam is prohibited.”

  I gave Zoe a nod, then clapped Rebecca on the shoulder. She patted my hand.

  The man and the woman at the table stopped talking as I approached. Their voices had been soft before, but nothing always sounds a little different from something. They were positioned across one short end of the table from each other. I sat down in one of the chairs on the side of the cluster opposite them.

  She looked to be mid-twenties, black hair, pale skin. He could have been her brother, but instead of black, his hair was a deep red, probably dyed. They wore similar styles of black jackets. Beyond that, and given the winter chill outside, they both seemed lightly dressed. His wrists were visible, so short sleeves there. She wore a dress, an actual pale pink dress with a long skirt, despite the weather. They both wore high-ankled hiking boots.

  I hoped they had not been traveling too long to get here, but both had definitely arrived recently. I could tell by the tiredness in their eyes, the wariness in their movements, and the dark spots of dirt on their boots.

  “Welcome to the city,” I said, hoping I did not come off as obnoxious for speaking first.

  They both turned toward me.

  “Thanks,” said the woman.

  The man nodded.

  “Been traveling long?” I asked.

  “You could say that,” he said. “It’s rough out there.”

  “I’d say so. Good thing you arrived now. In another few weeks, the snow will start.”

  “Oh it started already, out west of the city,” she said.

  I frowned. “You get caught in it?”

  “For a while.” She shivered, seemingly at the memory. “But we’re here now.”

  “That’s the truth,” he said.

  “My name’s Jethro,” I said. “Glad you made it.”

  “So are we,” said the woman. “I’m Carol. This is Damien.” She motioned to the man.

  He extended an arm toward me. He held himself with precision, which made the way turned his arm sideways seem strange to me. “Good to meet you, Jethro.” We shook hands, his dry, mine probably on the sweaty side. When we finished, his arm immediately folded back with the other. “I take it you aren’t new to the city?”

  “No,” I said, “I’m here to help my friend with her test.” I indicated Rebecca by tipping my folded hands toward her.

  “Are you from out west originally?” Carol asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Most people haven’t heard of the Green Valley.”

  Carol kept smiling at me, but Damien inhaled noticeably at the mention of the valley.

  “You’re from there?” he asked.

  “Haven’t been there in years,” I said. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “We passed through the northern part of the valley on our way here,” said Carol.

  “You really came a long way then,” I said.

  “We did,” said Damien. “It is a dangerous journey.”

  “Congratulations,” I said. “You’re now in probably the safest city left in the world.”

  “Thank you.” Carol turned to Damien. He nodded. She glanced at me. “I hope you’re right.�
�

  I decided not mention my encounter with the Rogue Star called Yashelia a couple months back. Any reminder of the terrifying, blood-crazed aeon made my skin crawl. I hoped never to see her kind again, no matter how often one came into the city. Time to change the subject, I decided.

  “So, is it just you two traveling together?”

  Carol shook her head. Shiny black hair flicked around her neck. “We’re waiting for another of our friends to pass customs.” Even as she spoke, a woman with light brown hair and the same kind of dark jacket as Carol and Damien appeared at the turnstile. She looked about the same age as the two of them, and wore a short-sleeved t-shirt, and a set of jeans that went down to the tops of her boots.

  “There she is now,” said Carol. She and Damien stood up. Reflexively, I did the same.

  She walked over to our set of chairs.

  “How was it?” asked Damien.

  “Easy, man. Real easy.” She smiled at him brightly, and in the process seemed to spot me. “You two make a new friend?”

  “I guess you could say that,” said Carol. “Miranda. This is Jethro.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said and offered her my hand to shake.

  She turned and gripped my wrist, surprising me with the power in her hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Jethro. I’m Miranda, and it’s good to finally get here.”

  “We’ve heard a lot about this place,” Carol said.

  “The Eastern Megalopolis,” said Miranda, “A place for all humanity to feel safe.” She sounded somehow distant as if recalling some legendary place. “Hopefully it will be good to us.”

  “Give me a glass and I’ll drink to that,” said Damien with a small smile, the first expression I’d seen on his face.

  “Here’s to us, and our new friend here.” Miranda hoisted an invisible glass between herself and Damien. She mimed drinking deeply, then looked at Damien and Carol. “Shit, people. Don’t let me drink alone.”

  Carol laughed. Damien copied Miranda’s drinking gesture.

  Miranda stifled a giggle. “Well, people, time to start our new lives.”

  “It was good to meet you, Jethro,” said Carol. “See you around.”

  “You too,” I said and smiled at the three of them.

  They left the cluster of chairs and started toward the doors, talking with each other in not-so-hushed tones. Miranda laughed loud, then the doors swung shut, cutting off the sound. I turned from watching them, a smile still on my face, and found Rebecca walking toward me, grinning.

  “I’m official now,” she said. “And it looks like you weren’t bored.”

  I chuckled. “I guess not. Want to get breakfast before we meet up with Elizabeth?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Time to celebrate.”

  “You said it.” I thought my smile could become permanent at that point. I almost forgot the sinister presence of the two aeons, Yashelia and Sudhatho, behind our whole situation. I wished I could.

  Unregistered Memory, Ryan Carter, Military Command Center Alpha

  The building looked like any of the other mega-skyscrapers in the city. A behemoth of glass and steel loomed overhead. Ryan felt even smaller than usual, knowing what happened inside the structure and sensing the information rushing in and out of its walls via the mental network.

  Command Center Alpha served as management for all of the megalopolis’ external forces, the soldiers, and other combat units deployed outside the city to keep battles from spreading eastward. Ryan speculated on why he had been called in, being a simple security analyst for the local security forces of the city as he rode the elevator up.

  From what he knew about the military, he could guess they did not require his intelligence for the war, as he possessed little knowledge in that field. It had been decades since the military deployed anywhere near the city. Teloites and purifiers served as the main armed units outside smaller police jurisdictions. The soldiers of the external force were not only more heavily equipped than the city’s armed units, many of them were biologically modified for their combat roles. Ryan hoped nothing had gone wrong with that side of things, in particular.

  He had seen too many well-meaning people ripped apart by the Rogue Star called Yashelia already. Granted, even one would be too many. Before the insane aeon had been trapped in her garden, she had murdered an entire strike team of purifiers. Ryan shuddered at the memory.

  The doors of the elevator opened. A junior officer in uniform met Ryan in the hall outside. “Mister Carter, the colonel is waiting.”

  Ryan nodded. “Let’s go. Maybe he can tell me why I’m here.”

  The young officer, who couldn’t be older than twenty-five, gave a shaky smile, then motioned down the hall toward a conference room. Ryan was on the dose and noted the young man’s presence, exaggerated by ichor, felt as unsteady as his smile. He followed the directions and then opened the door.

  Inside, with his back to the door, stood Colonel Justin Cannwald. Short, thick-set and balding, the colonel gazed at the city below. He did not turn as Ryan approached the table.

  “Colonel,” he said.

  “Carter,” said Cannwald, “I suppose it’s time I told you why I called you here.”

  The colonel turned. He wore a pinched expression on his broad, heavily-jowled face. He looked the worse for wear since Ryan had seen his picture in the back of a tactical manual at the academy. Cannwald’s return to active service a few years before had left him pallid, sweaty, and heavier than he had been when Ryan had read his book. He waited as Cannwald took a deep breath.

  “No doubt you heard about the battle we recently fought in the old Midwest.”

  “Everyone did, sir.” Ryan did not mention he had guessed the recent engagement to be just north of the place called the Green Valley, where his friend Jethro had grown up. Ryan knew better than to let on what was not asked of him without good reason.

  Cannwald’s voice was exhausted, hoarse to the point of failure, and spoke of a man with far too much on his plate.

  “Well, they didn’t hear the whole truth. You see, Carter, we weren’t engaged with our usual enemies this time.”

  “Then who? Foreign troops?” Ryan let his excitement get the better of him. “Someone, or something from across the sea?”

  “Easy, Carter, and no. They were renegade elements of my own division.”

  “Rebels?” Ryan frowned. His excitement ran down the drain, leaving him only cold dread. “Rebel soldiers?”

  “Yes,” said Cannwald. “They disappeared on a forward mission to scout the enemy in the forests. When we tracked them down, they engaged the rest of the division north of a colony in a long river valley. Our forces suffered heavy losses, and we failed to apprehend several members of this rogue unit.”

  “Several? How many are unaccounted for?”

  “Four.”

  “Four?” Relief flooded Ryan, replacing the dread from before. He began to see why he had been called in. “Do you think they’ll return to the city?”

  “There is no doubt, based on report memories from my officers on site.” Cannwald mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Carter, you and your partners were recommended to me as sense hunters. The renegades could arrive in the city any day now.”

  “First let me say, I’m glad you came to me, and I accept. But let me ask, respectfully, Colonel,” said Ryan, “what level of threat are four rebels, even rebel soldiers, against the entire city’s purifiers?”

  “Not much on their own, perhaps.” Cannwald stuffed his handkerchief into his pants-pocket and blinked several times in rapid succession. “I will send you their full files, but in summary, I can say they are not ordinary soldiers or even modified soldiers. They are control commandos.”

  “Control commandos? Excuse my ignorance, please.”

  “Of course. I have been cleared to share the nature of the threat. What I’m about to tell you is classified information, Carter. I take it I can trust your discretion.”

  Ryan took a deep b
reath. “You can trust me, sir.” But don’t make me regret trusting you, he added mentally.

  “The military does not advertise one of our most key forms of combat operators. We call them our controllers.” He inhaled sharply. “Officially, cleans are not employed in combat situations. Our control operators require three-fold skill sets in combat, memeotecture, and sensocycling. Using a specially modified form of ichor, a controller can mentally act as one with a large number of cleans.” He coughed into his handkerchief, a long hacking sound. When he finished, the handkerchief looked gooey with phlegm. He looked up at Ryan. “Those cleans are typically heavily armed in a combat situation, and there can be dozens of them under the power of a single commander, all fighting with the expert skills of their control.”

  The cold returned. Damn, but the colonel looked sicker than Ryan felt.

  “How many cleans made it out of the battle with these four renegade controls?” he asked.

  “Probably none. We were unable to confirm one-hundred percent killed or captured, but we got eighty-percent at least.”

  Ryan folded his hands together, in case they started shaking. “Four renegades with who-knows-how-many remote-controlled soldiers at their command. Is that about the size of it?”

  “That is the situation as it stands now,” said Cannwald. “Even apprehending one of them should hopefully inhibit their plans. For now, though, we must keep things quiet from the public to prevent a panic as well as lure the renegades in.”

  “I understand.” Ryan frowned but did not voice his worries. What if the public was in jeopardy because they didn’t know what was coming? What if the rebels were already here? What if an aeon was helping them?

  Ryan knew to leave these questions unspoken, especially the last one. Most citizens relied on aeons for too much of their lives to afford questioning them. Until the massacre in Yashelia’s garden, Ryan would not have had that one on the list, but someone had sent those purifiers to their deaths, unequipped to fight the monster they faced.