No-Mod (The First Two Chapters)

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No-Mod (Book 1 of the Mute-Cat Chronicles)

Chapter 1

The afternoon sun cut through the tall buildings and alleyways around Aberthene and had reached a headache-inducing angle in the sky. It cast an unpleasantly harsh glare on every part of the city and Addeleigh raised a hand against the light to look down the block at the remainder of her work day.

Six more booths and she would be done. If Nateli pulled his weight, they could be back in the dorms before dinner was served up. The twelve year old boy was working at the opposite corner and waved to Addie, believing her raised hand was directed at him. He had an obvious affection for her, despite her being 5 years older than him. She smiled and waved back, before moving down the road with her bags and shovel.

She pressed a button that opened the door of the suicide booth and squinted into the dark interior.

Everyone claims you get used to the smell.

They are lying.

The suits were safe enough, though, Addie believed the material could be thicker, and the gloves always felt a tad too large. Still, there was so very little to be done about the smell.

A senior girl had given Addie an aromatic gel to put under her nose and beneath the respirator but it didn’t help. Day-old dead people will choke up even the anosmic. It’s a permeating scent that consumes whatever faculties the body once controlled.

Inside the booth was a man of about forty. Greying hair matted and bloody with the small chunks of bone and flesh that are best left inside your head. He’d chosen a gun. Effective, and less messy than some alternatives, but still a pain in the ass to wipe up. 

Earlier models of booths had offered several assistance options. All of them had ended with incineration, which made the cleanup pretty straight forward. The clergy would come to sweep up the ash and wipe down the seat. Then the small cube would be ready and waiting for the next poor chap that wanted to take the express train to heaven’s gates, or hell’s fury or whatever. 

As with any such government program, budget cuts dictated a change. Incinerators cost money to run and require maintenance. When balancing a federal budget, bodily autonomy programs are the first to see adjustment. The inelegant solution from Lord Bantham was to install spring activated spikes. Like a bizarre photo booth, but when they say cheese, their face is impaled with a sharpened steel rod. Most chose to bring their own gun to the booth. A government spike can fail and, Addie had seen the more gruesome parts of those failures. Bantham’s booth initiative effectively reduced the monetary burden on the state by half. This efficient dispatching of the sad and poor had earned him a state award’s dinner, and left Addie, the lowest rung on the church’s ladder, scraping up chunks of human and trying to hold her breath.

She picked up the dead man’s limp body and tried to position it in her bag. After maneuvering half of the body in, she pressed the compression switch and the material constricted hard around his frame. Bones cracked with the squeeze, leaving the body much smaller. Addie hated this part. She balanced the opening of the bag in such a way that the more disgusting parts of the man wouldn’t fall out while she pushed the rest of him inside. Another compression and she dragged the bag over to the side of the street for waste management to pick up.

Five more booths.

Though she was supposed to hose down the inside and spray antiseptic everywhere, no one did. Not much point really, all things considered.

An old man was across the street, passionately preaching doctrine of the sort that encouraged buying enhancements. A street level mod-merchant turned proselytizer.

“The text says: Ye knoweth the Lord grants us innate gifts. But dost thou foster your talents and enhance yourselves for his glory?”

He got the verse wrong but no one was listening. Addie moved towards the next booth, the man’s voice ringing out and making her think that, perhaps, if she had to listen to him every single day, she would choose the booth too.

“Young lass!” the man called out to her.

She turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Surely you could use your talents more effectively for God! Some muscle enhancements would make your job a sight easier I would think!” 

She waved him off and kept moving.

He knew what she was. 

No one with modifications worked the booths. It was the job you did if you served no other useful function. Everyone she knew had integrated comms at the very least. She had nothing. A couple of years in and she might could earn some low level enhancements. Nothing fancy, but nothing blackmarket either. It would be done by the church directly. She would finally have something. But not now. Now she was a resource. A human tool.

And really, that’s the value of fostering poverty. If someone is hungry enough, there’s very few things they won’t do to be fed.

The sun sunk lower and Addie continued to clean the booths and use up the rest of her compression bags. When they were finished, she and Nateli headed back to the dormitories in relative quiet.  Conversation is always better before the booths.

There wasn’t much time to clean up before dinner and Addeleigh hurried through her shower and rushed to the dining hall to snag a bite with her friend, Jen. 

Jennifer didn’t live in the dorms, her family had the kind of money that made people laugh differently at parties. The kind of laugh that reveals how far away from worry and hunger you’ve been your whole life. But Jen was Addie’s very best friend. They had played together at church before either of them understood the vast difference in their wealth and though they saw each other less now, they tried to have occasional dinners in order to catch up.

“How can you eat smelling like that?” Jen asked as Addie took an indelicate bite of fresh pepperoni pizza.

“I showered!” she said over a mouthful of food.

“I’d hit it again before class, Adds.” she winced and took a drink. “So what’s up? I’ve been traveling off-world with dad and feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Honestly I feel so boring, Jen. I work, I study and hang with Bruce. There’s a grav-ball game this weekend if you can make it.”

“I’ll be out again. Dad has some big deal with the law-makers on Yerta. I honestly don’t get why we have to meet in person.”

“Why do you have to go?”

“He wants me to run that side of the business for him. Says it’ll get me better connected. I don’t know though. I honestly hate it” she frowned. “But that’s boring! Tell me about Jaks.” Jen smiled wryly. 

“He’s cute and I’m chicken and that’s it!” Addie flushed a bit.

“You’re cute, and he’s lucky. You should talk to him, Adds.”

Jen was always better with boys. She had a raw confidence about her that made Addie jealous.

A bell rang in the dining hall and interrupted the nervous silence.

“We have to do this when we have more time, Jen. When you get back!” Addie stood up.

Jen moved to hug her and pulled up short, patting her on the back and scrunching her nose. “Seriously, Addie, you gotta shower. We will absolutely get together when I get home. I promise!”

They parted ways and Addeleigh took her second quick shower of the evening before gathering her books for class.

Tonight was Universal Theory and she was struggling to stay awake. Mrs. Tormande had a voice with just enough treble to keep it from being pleasant to listen to. She paced in tall black heels in front of a massive LED wall displaying some version of the solar system from centuries ago. 

“We have always known of black holes, but were unable to study them with any sort of impact until only a few hundred years ago. Does anyone know the lead scientist responsible for our deep space exploration projects?” The teacher was looking around, as though for a victim, and Addie was careful to avert her eyes. She hated this class. But she hated Mrs. Tormande more.

“Addie? I’m certain you’ve done your reading. Please, what is the name of the deep space pioneer responsible for our better understanding of black holes?”

The class looked back at Addie. She hated the weight of their attention. She hated the way they smirked and their relaxation at having not been chosen. Her face was growing hot and she was thankful for the low light in the room.

“Uh, it was Allen Phares. He died in C.R. 1708 before being able to fully understand the value of his research. Phares was also a known sex addict, with a penchant for the robotic brothels pioneered by Triones Von Lichten in 1657.” Addie grinned as her classmates snickered around her. “One could argue this was another black hole of which the great explorer was quite fond.”

Mrs. Tormande glared angrily in Addie’s direction. “The name alone would have sufficed, Miss Simmons. Detention this evening for your unnecessarily crass tone.” The teacher, self-satisfied, turned back to the LED panel and pressed on the side to reveal a zoomed in view of their planet.

Addie slumped in her seat. Teachers were just people enthusiastically grateful for the limitations academia could place on building knowledge. Measuring one’s intellect is made simple within the constraints of testing and focused study. Education, Addie thought, had never once occurred in a classroom. Schools were for memorization, and cultural homogeny. If ever they found a wild or free roaming thought, they were quick snuff it out.

Detention was immediately following class. She read aloud from a tattered text book about the value of simplicity and the benefits of automation. This particular chapter focused rather heavily on the draw that no-mods created on the system by adding less value and taking up space.  It was pointedly directed at her, and she could feel the hateful eyes of Mrs. Tormande cutting into her as she read. The unspoken truth between them was heavy. Addie didn't belong. She was a waste of perfectly good flesh. She read for almost an hour and Mrs. Tormande dismissed her to the dormitories. It was eight PM.

She walked past the large gymnasium where some of the upper-level bishops were playing a pickup game of grav-ball. It was a furiously fast-paced game and incredibly physical. Bare minimum requirement to step on the field would involve reflex enhancements, and a whole slew of strength mods. Addie loved the sport, and in particular enjoyed watching Jaks. 

Jaks was a grade higher than Addie and had perfect, brown hair that fell around his face in the impossible ways that hair moves in storybooks and movies. His green eyes were outrageously vibrant. Probably a modification, but still. She watched him throw one of the metal discs across the court and into one of the members of the other team. The force of it knocked the boy back and into a large pillar. There was some argument about who could score a point while the teammate was down and Addie could swear she saw Jaks look up at her briefly during the scuffle. She blushed and moved down the hallway back to her dorm.

The halls were oddly quiet as she opened the door to her room.

“Hey, Bruce! You miss me?” she asked the small animal laying on the end of her unkempt bed.

The mute-cat opened its mouth in a yawn, pawed lightly at the patchwork blanket, and set about falling asleep again. 

The comm on the far wall buzzed three times. 

*It is now nine PM. All citizens should be indoors. Lights off in 5 minutes. All citizens should be inside in accordance with curfew ruling 587. Repeat…*

The voice droned again, echoing off the dull concrete walls Addie had called home for the last 6 years. She was lucky, really. Though it was hard at times to remember the luck. She was in a religious building. Everyone here had made a pledge of abstinence and assisted in the maintenance of street level machinery. Dumpster bots, incinerator bins, and perhaps most notably and terribly, the suicide booths. 

Why this cleanup was relegated to those of faith was beyond Addie. She had asked before, and was told by the high priest that only those that walk with God could see such a death as something softer than blood. It was another soul going to heaven.

Bullshit.

But, despite the necessity of cleaning guts out of the booths during her days, the accommodations for those of the cloth we're much nicer than those afforded to anyone working other lower tier professions. She had a clean room, free food and a decent, if aggressively religious, education. 

Really the only downside was the people in her classes who disliked her for being a "drain on society" or "not utilizing her GodGifts more efficiently" or whatever. It all sounded like propaganda, but most people don’t care enough to break from whatever they’re told on the tele or the readers. They were told to hate Addie; so they did.

The mute-cat stirred again and Addeleigh moved to the bed. The lights in her district abruptly shut off and the only thing illuminating her small bedroom was the glow of the solar command bridge, floating just outside the breathable atmosphere and always overlooking the settlements. Wisps of the artificial light leaked in around her room, falling in a patterned, soft glow next to her leg on the quilt. This was the same light she had read her books by when she was younger. The light whose presence had provided such comfort as she had drawn in her sketch pad long after her parents had fallen asleep and the hum of batteries kicked on in the alleyways all around the city. 

She glanced at her watch, wishing that she had an integrated bio-comm like her friend, Jennifer. Her teacher should have left a message an hour ago outlining her lessons in sub-textual moralism for the following day. Likely writing essays on the power of forgiveness or something. 

One new message.

She pressed the button on her watch, hopeful it was from Jaks, who had yet to come to the many study sessions she'd attended in the hopes he might be there full of suave and infinite charm. He’d seen her on the court. She knew it.

She closed her eyes and sent the text to display on her ceiling above the bed and blinked hopefully up at the message:

“Addie, you must get out of the apartments this evening! Find me at the cross and scepter. Make sure you’re not followed. -Jennifer”

“The hell?” Addie said, glancing at her mute-cat who was now wide awake and staring intently at the door.

There was a distant sound, perhaps five floors above her. Shuffling feet, a sudden *thud*. Was someone yelling? Then, just silence.

Addie flipped on the monitor in the corner. She had spent long months rigging this into the cameras throughout the complex and familiarizing herself with the security systems. She affectionately referred to the computer as , Walter. Illuminated figures appeared on the small screen and she watched as Sentries were moving quickly down the hallways, breaching doorways completely unannounced.

“Bruce, we gotta go.” Addie whispered. She flipped off the monitor and touched lightly at the deadman switch, hesitating briefly before hitting the button that would destroy her months of clever hacks and scavenged computer parts. She pressed it, and the “pop” inside the machine echoed hollowly in the small room.

"Bye, Walter."

Her bag was mostly packed, as she owned so very little anyway. She grabbed her essentials, and a small, gemstone necklace she’d gotten years ago from her dad. She threw on her jacket. It wasn’t cute, but it was full of utility and she preferred it that way. It’s defining feature was the many hidden pockets that her younger self would have spent elated afternoons showing the neighbors. Hiding makeup and mirrors in all the cleverly sewn compartments.

“Climb in, Bruce.” She motioned the mute-cat into the largest of her inner pouches, the cloak disguising how much she was carrying.

Always be able to leave with only a backpack and a coat, and there is no place that isn’t your home.

Her father’s words echoed through her mind as she quietly neared the door, slowing her breathing and resting her ear against the frame.

Another message from Jennifer:

“Hurry Adds, please. Answer your damn comm!”

There was no time, she had to get outside first, away from the immediate threat. 

The footsteps moved closer to her doorway, she felt Bruce clawing anxiously at her side.

Okay, breathe. This is the third story. That kind of fall won’t kill you if you do it right.

She stepped out onto the window’s ledge, and reached in to touch Bruce.

“Hold on, buddy”

She took one last look around the apartment, a tinge of emotion in the edges of her eyes right before she took in a deep breath, and thrust herself and her mute-cat out the third story window of Religion Proper 146.

CHAPTER 2

There were few things Kel enjoyed more than fresh coffee, a warm brownie, and the amenable company of the latest news reports on his aging, but still completely functional, light-reader. This quiet evening ritual had afforded him the decompression necessary to life at street level. 

Days down here were tiresome, and full of moronic encounters with all manner of folk. He’d been on the police force for twenty years, five of those as a detective. He relished in trying to fit every “weathered-cop” cliché in the book while carrying himself in a seemingly endless state of exhaustion. He had joined up in the naive hope of making the world safer. Just out of boot camp, he had the wide-eyed optimism of any twenty-something chasing a dream. He graduated not quite head of the class (but certainly not far off). The most modded cadet always places first and Kel’s family could only afford the basics: a re-breather, comm integration, and of course, lightly modified musculature. He’d begged for more, but the money was never there. Despite this, he was ready to make a difference. Hungry.

It was after the first year that things felt different. He was focused so heavily on no-mod segregation and revenue generation that safety rarely came up. In fact, these many years later, he’d almost forgotten what his younger self had once valued. Besides coffee, of course. He still valued that.

The coffee today was perfect. Jet black, bitter as his ex-wife and hotter than the man that she’d left him for. He sipped it gingerly while mindlessly flipping through the reader of propaganda intermixed with snip-its of real news.

The robot serving here was an asshole and Kel loved it. Curt, to the point and cheap as hell. 

The bot’s voice echoed in the nearly empty bar. “Closing time. Tab out. Get out.”

He tapped his wrist on the side of his table and it illuminated green, then asked for a tip amount.

He quickly selected $0, just like he always did, and the robot made what he assumed was a disgruntled machine noise before shutting off the lights and leaving Kel to finish gathering his things in the darkness.

“Don’t ever change, Bettes,” he yelled.

“Get out, Kel,” Betty echoed metallically from the back.

He gathered his reader and coffee, and stood to walk out the double doors just as the sound of shattered glass and a girl’s cry outside startled him from his routine.

Around the corner from the shop, he spotted a lump of what was probably a human, groaning in pain just below a broken window in the Religious Apartments. Kel was always spooked by the god-folk. They were too smiley amidst all the bad. Made him uneasy. 

“You alright?” He asked in a calmly inquisitive, and yet still, disinterested police tone that he’d mastered over the last couple of decades.

“....hrrrrmph” The bundled cloak replied.

He came close and pulled the hood back to reveal a bloodied, young girl, maybe 16-years-old.

“Don’t move, I’m calling medical. Are you okay?” he glanced up at the window and into the vacant, red mask of a sentry soldier.

“BLUE. THAT NO-MOD IS HIGH PRIEST PROPERTY. STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

Kel hated Sentries. He hated being called “blue”. He also REALLY hated knowing that his coffee was getting cold.

“Please…” the girl looked at him, strikingly absent of fear. All that was in her face was cold resolve. 

He glanced up, and the sentry was gone. It would be less than two minutes until they were here. He could leave, get back to his coffee, and enjoy a quiet night in. He still had time to save his simple evening.

But this moment, something about this girl reached at the parts of him he had left behind as a cadet. The desire to protect. What was that code of honor they had to recite? 

Something stupid that rhymed, annoyingly close to a children’s song.

He sighed, set down his coffee, and pocketed his reader. He motioned for the girl to be quiet, but she moved into her cloak pulling out what was assuredly a gun. 

Kel was so stupid. 

He jumped back, reaching for his own weapon as she revealed a tiny, young, mute-cat. He had never seen one alive. It was remarkable, all porcelain white except for its face and the very edges of its wings which were tinged black, as though burnt by flame. Myths had claimed they flew in large packs nearer the mountains, but they were rumored to be extinct long ago.

The girl met Kel’s eyes, and glanced at his gun. She whispered to the cat and the sounds around them completely stopped. It wasn’t even quiet. It was...nothing. Nothing at all.

He tried to ask the girl a question but the silence had taken his vocal cords, paralyzing the noise in the air. He picked up the injured girl and her cat, and quickly dodged down the alleyway to a small door, one block over. 

He knocked. 

He knocked again.

He rolled his eyes and motioned to the mute cat in the girl’s arms.

Wide eyed with realization, she touched the mute-cat lightly on its left wing tip and Kel felt his ears pop with the pressure and sound rushing back all at once.

The girl started to speak but he made clear with a glance it was not yet the time. The footsteps of eager sentries were just up the block. 

Kel knocked.

“It’s after curfew, come back tomorrow or I’ll report ya, I swear to god!” a voice somewhere behind the door yelled.

Kel took a breath. “Traves, It’s Kel, hurry, damnit.”

The door swung open not even a full second later, but no one was behind it. They walked in, lightly shut the door, and latched it behind them as the footsteps down the alley grew louder, louder, and then quiet once more.

_____

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