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Stolen Clouds

Andrew Evans

    The bombay black cat brushed up against her legs, mewing and pawing for attention.
    She did not need attention at this moment.
    “Go on, shoo.. I can’t.. go on now..” She whispered and pulled her scarf about her face.
    The cat flicked its tail in nonchalant defiance, hissed and sauntered off towards a food stall.
    Makena had hidden her sense of dread and rushing adrenaline well as she had stolen away from the citadel with the document. The streets were as cramped as ever with tradespeople and protesters in equal measure.
    She blended expertly among the people crowding doorways and hustling at stalls. Partly due to her training, partly because she had found her natural craft.
    Still though, she knew the garrison would be swarming soon. Razaba would be enraged at the theft of the document and Makena knew that if she was spotted that she was walking dead.
    She was an infiltrator and worked for the framework. A faction opposed to the citadel and corporations of simalar ilk.
    They were fed up of the domination of manipulation, suggestion, advertisements, leading questions and algorithms.
    Barcoding had started a decade earlier. Now they were developing sensor cams which were to be inserted in every human. For their own safety of course.
    The choice the human race had been given was ‘You have no choice.’
    The frameworks manifesto was to change that. They wanted to start the shutdown. Take it back to the start.
    We had already messed up the moon trying to direct operations ftom there.
    It all enraged Makena. So she signed up.
    Her belief in righting the moral wrongdoings had prompted her to become an infiltrator, despite the protestations of her friends.
    “You will die.” Zuri had told her simply, when they last ate together.
    “The odds are stacked against us. That is the way it works Makena. Keep what you have and walk away. Stop trying to save them. They will not come to your funeral.” Zuri dug into her noodle bowl.
    “We will all die Zuri.” Makena groaned. “I wish to die making a difference. So what about the odds. I do not care about the odds.
    I care about my soul, your soul. And what they are doing does not sit comfortably in my soul.”
    Zuri looked at her friend. “Martyrdom also will not bring people to your funeral Makena.” She went on, concerned.
    Makena pushed her plate away, frowning.
    “And rank pessimism makes you feel happy does it Zuri? The satisfaction of waiting for others to fail so while you are sat scrolling away, with your dinner, you can share ‘I told you so.’ and see how many likes you can get?”
    Zuri was prickled by Makena’s defensive attack.
    “So you see me as somebody who sits around playing in the cloud all day? Liking and sharing and shrugging at the misfortune of others Makena? Is this what you are saying?

    I, my friend am simply a modern day realist. Whether that is sad or unfair in the grand scheme of things or whether it sits right with your moral compass or not...
    Well, I am sorry. I work, I come home, I shower, I eat and I sleep. I do not have to want to become an infiltrator just because you do, or just because of our friendship. Which you are now testing.”
    Zuri made to get up but Makena put her hand over her friend’s in apology.
    “I did not mean to upset you Zuri. I just know I can get it and start the shut down. Imagine. Unlearning all of this and replacing it with that which was meant to be. All of this playing god. It makes me sick. I am joining them.”
    “Join them with my blessing Makena and no, you did not upset me. I am just not going to risk my life and that of my family on an organised suicide mission. I agree with your theories, I admire your passion and I wish it was that we could achieve the shut down.
    But I will not be going. My life is here, doing what I do and I am not unhappy with it. You know not to bang your drum at me Makena. Go to the people with whom need your voice and your actions. Me? I just want to finish my dinner in peace.”
    “That’s just it Zuri. There is no peace. Not while Razaba and all of those allied with him and his vision are being left to get away with anything and everything while we just lie in our pods every night unquestioning.
    Everything we do, see, say, eat, where we go. It is subliminally controlled by the citadel. You must see this Zuri even if you feel no injustice. What of the injustice that is happening to our unborn children?”
    “I have no unborn children Makena. Screw the shutdown and screw the citadel. We live, we die. Who really cares in the end?”
    She scanned her hand to pay for her dinner and left a pensive Makena before they fell out.
    Zuri never saw Makena again but knew she would have trained to be an infiltrator.
    Getting near the citadel without suspicion was nigh on impossible. Getting into it was considered a miracle by the silent people of the framework.
    News had fed back to them that Makena had succeeded and was loose but any celebrations were put on ice. She had yet to return back to the hub and Razaba had posted garrison everywhere.
    Makena pulled her robe about her. Eyes darting right and left. She spotted the plain framework vehicle and clasped the document.
    The adrenaline hit again, so much so that saliva filled her mouth causing her to swallow several times.
    Garrison were sweeping the area now. Checking peoples neck and hand-codes. If they caught up to her and she was scanned she could expect a bullet.
    “Shit.” She whispered.
    She could see Naybey motioning in coded hand signals from the plain car. He was telling her to walk slowly over and get in.
    More garrison now, sweeping closer. Scanning peoples codes for validity to be in the premises.
    More adrenaline.
    Makena stuffed the document into her ice case , threw caution to the wind and ran.

    They saw her.
    “She is there!

    Makena DeSalle, you stay right where you are.”
    Lasers trained on the centre of Makena’s forehead.
    Naybey drove away in the framework car and saw Makena fall in his rear view mirror.
    She had tried to run. She died trying to make a difference and soon the ‘RIP’s and ‘Sorely missed’s’ lit up the citadel network.
    Three of those scrollers went to Makena’s funeral.
    Razaba poured himself a brandy, put the document back in the safe and logged in.

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