Impervious Read online

  IMPERVIOUS

  THE ASCENSION SERIES

  BOOK ONE

  Heather Letto

  Copyright © 2014 by Heather Letto

  Editor: Whitney Evans, Sun’s Golden Ray Publishing

  Cover Design: Anita B. Carroll @race-point.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1507860076

  ISBN-10: 1507860072

  “If anyone has ears to hear, let them hear.”

  Mark 4:23

  Chapter One

  A late night at the unsanctioned gaming hubs equaled an early-morning skull-crusher. Because the holographic acquaintances known as Graphies had kept Fran entertained well into the wee hours, her parboiled brain now begged for more shut eye. However, hunger trumped headache.

  Always.

  With a yawn followed by a raspy wince, Fran rolled onto her side, lifted onto all fours, and began her morning crawl through the familiar maze of the ventilation system. As she turned her head, the ends of her dreadlocks scraped canvas clad shoulders and she smiled into the darkness. The grime spoke of who she was.

  A Rebel.

  Sure, she had choices. One—live within the guidelines of an Accountable resident and permit Superior eyes to monitor her every move like a true sellout, or Two—exist off the grid. Accountable to no one.

  Fran considered the monthly check-ins and sharing of residential stats. Who are you? What is your parentage and classification? Where do you live? Daily agenda? How many credits remaining?

  Nope. The Impervious authorities did not need to be in her business. Then again, as far as the Council was concerned, an Unaccountable Rebel didn’t need a daily allowance.

  Like food. Or shelter.

  Whatever. Just a mindless system for mindless sellouts anyway. Fran moved through gritty shadows remembering what her old mentor, Chan, had shared back when he first took her under his wing.

  “You just don’t run with the pack, do you, Fran? Careful, life can be tricky for a lone wolf.”

  She snickered as the image of a mangy, rabid canine gnawing on the leftovers of a dead carcass flashed in her mind. I’m on the prowl. Dinner will soon be served.

  Safe from the prying eyes of security, hidden in her own dark world, she trekked toward the Agora―the nucleus of the underground city of Impervious. She approached a T-junction with caution and pounded the side of the vent to announce her arrival. Didn’t want to careen into a fellow Rebel moving in from the other direction. The ensuing silence indicated all clear, and she rounded the turn. At the next juncture, she peeked left and noticed Folsom’s niche illuminated in a murky yellow light. A clinking sound told her he was hard at work creating gadgets. Although he opted not to discuss his pre-Rebel life, rumors heralded Folsom to have been a wizard of an inventor. He certainly had the look of a crazy scientist with his untamed hair and weird, shifty eyes. Fran sometimes wondered what happened in his life to send him off the grid.

  She whooped down his shaft to send a greeting and kept moving. Before long, she saw the familiar glow from the tunnel’s end. Just the same, she could have closed her eyes and followed her nose the rest of the way. During the dynamic hours, while the residents fed their impulsive lifestyles and incessant cravings, the spicy smell of society spilled out from the heart of the city and wafted through the vents. And since every resident hurried through the hub at least once during their hectic day armed with a hungry appetite, Fran deemed the Agora a perfect hunting ground.

  She chose an exit―her favorite―cloaked behind a line of potted palms. Thanks to her Rebel training under Chan’s expert tutelage, she knew just where the Council hid the sensor panel. Amongst other things, her mentor was an HVAC pro. Therefore, he knew everything from schematics and layout of this convoluted air system to the magic of shutting out the prying eyes of security.

  She waved a hand over a beam emitting from a corner of the vent, and the sliver of light morphed into a holographic 3D keypad. After swiping in the code and remembering to execute the covert override keys, she sighed and waited for the screen to hum open.

  Her thoughts turned again to Chan. She missed him. But like so many others, he had succumbed to the Beast through the dreaded decline a few weeks prior. Even worse, he’d rejected Rebel status and reemerged—Accountable—for treatment. Fran still wrestled with the concept of Chan departing from the Rebel pack. On one hand, he did need the care as he declined. On the other hand, his whereabouts haunted her. At least Chan had passed on superior training of the tunnel systems before he’d gone under.

  The rigid mesh slid to the right and disappeared into the wall. Fran slithered out, stretched her cramped back, and merged into the stream of residents. While wiping dirty fingers onto her canvas pants, she assumed the swagger of a mid-lifer—proud to have outgrown the juvie years and not yet having to consider the awful decline. In this little universe, fifteen was golden. Although the stodgy Council had no appetite for all the glitter and sparkle, music and games, of mid-lifers, they knew how to purchase the hearts of this generation.

  Her generation.

  Gen Four.

  Fran couldn’t decide if she admired or despised their slick shenanigans. Maybe a little of both.

  She passed a trio of holographic mimes begging for attention as she moved toward the center of the hub. Pixilated billboards rose every few feet, and clusters of mid-lifers hovered around their preferred gaming board cheering on crowd-pleasing avatars. Fran peeked over the heads of the gamers at the band de jour as it rocked synthetic tunes on a three-dimensional video screen suspended dead center over the Agora. The mammoth video could be seen from just about any location in the hub, and below it a herculean center stage boasted live dancers moving through a well-choreographed routine.

  The Council’s piéce de résistance towered in the background. Shimmering with six stories of upscale retailers, executive offices, and cybernetic vacation pods, the free-standing high-rise dwarfed the residents with affluent magnitude. Probably fashioned to keep Accountable eyes facing the sliver dome, Fran figured, as she scanned the crowd on the lookout for food.

  Residents treasured food credits, yet spent them like ravenous gluttons. Because of that, her conscience remained unfettered while snatching crumbs from their super-sized appetite. She hoped for an unwatched nibbler packet or discarded meal carton—even better if still warm. Maybe today she’d get lucky and snag a fresh, unopened tin. Her own greedy taste buds danced in anticipation.

  Graphies—holographs tasked with everything from advertising and food service to security detail— wandered the periphery as shoulders bumped and elbows jabbed in the congested flow of humanity. Their invisible power currents itched Fran’s skin, and she scraped at her arms to ward off their insult. Most folks didn’t think twice about the pixilated presence, but because of the roaming holographic city patrols, Fran always did. With these security Graphies, the Council monitored every heart that beat out of time and noticed every locked door that opened. To stay a step ahead, successful Rebels perfected the art of invisibility—speed and camouflage.

  She could practically hear Chan’s warning. “Get out and blend in, Wolf.”

  Which she always did.

  Sometimes, however, the idea of 3-D image patrols doing the work of real men sent a wave of frustration through her gut. In reality, a geek squad ran the whole show from a well-protected office like a bunch of cowards. While munching on salty snacks, they could swipe an icon and bag a lawbreaker before brushing the crumbs from their bloated fingers. Then again, the last time she gazed into the very life-like sockets of a patrol had been mere moments before a high voltage electromagnetic pulse shot through her body. Fran cringed with the memory.

  While she roamed, she scanned the faces in the crowd, half hoping she might see a familiar set of brown eyes. Would he b
e sipping an espresso at a café table? Laughing it up with his new bride? Although Accountable residents considered Rebels to be traitors and deserters, from Fran’s point of view, her Accountable brother had thrown in the towel long before she’d gone off the grid. And right after the invisible Beast stole their mother, no less. Cold, Ted. Definitely, cold.

  The hurt was like an old wound with a crusty scab—never healing because of the perpetual picking. She remembered the look of confusion and pain on her mother’s face the day before they brought Mom to the Ranch. Fran’s eyes watered. Nope. Don’t go there. Chan taught her not to dwell on the season of life that sent her to the land of the Unaccountable. He saw how mad she got. “Keep your focus on today,” he would say.

  Even still…

  How long had it been since she’d seen Ted? Were he and Nissa nearing their first anniversary already? Fran’s jaw tightened, and the muscles in her neck seized up. She assumed her brother would have been jarred with a little wake-up call to find his baby sister missing upon return from his cyber-moon escape. Wrong. Fran drew in a breath and held it tight in her lungs. And to add insult to injury, when Fran temporarily gave up on the air vents and returned home after a harrowing first month as a Rebel, she’d been met with a vacated residence. Ted and Nissa? Nowhere to be found.

  Hot breath hissed through clamped teeth, and her hands balled into tight fists. Chan was right. Enough reminiscing. Time to chow down.

  As she neared the food hub, Fran spied a trio of mid-life femmes flaunting mock-maturity at the Bistro. The rookie-wives heralded their novel marital status with a wave of slim hands—the wedding tattoos so fresh Fran could have sworn she smelled wet ink. Unopened meals sat ignored on the small café table, and a nearby Graphie made a game of miming their actions.

  Although nauseated by the hollow laughter, Fran sashayed a little closer. The allure of fresh, oily chips hung thick in the air, and primal urges moved her forward with the hopes of finding a burger hidden in the aluminum packet.

  She felt the squeeze of her stomach, followed by another lengthy rumble. Her mouth watered. With a well-trained hand, she snatched the bounty and slipped the packet into her front pouch. Then, like a Graphie, she evaporated back into the crowd before she heard the shriek.

  “Rebel! A Rebel snatched my food portion!”

  Game on! Eyes to the ground and move.

  Hot adrenaline shot through Fran’s veins, and she jumped into the synchronous human river which encircled the hub. Human camouflage was good. However, while concealed within the throng of humanity, the flow moved her farther away from her exit venting.

  An itchy electromagnescence heralded a nearby Graphie. A small panic rose in Fran’s chest. To get back to the flue for escape, she would need to circle the entire Agora with this stream of residents. Judging from the rise of the fine hairs on her arms, she didn’t have time for that. She needed a new exit—pronto. Her gaze flicked right and left on the hunt for an alternative outlet. She spied one about two-hundred paces out.

  A hum in her ears came a moment prior to a full-body buzz announcing the arrival of the holograph.

  Stay calm. Eyes down.

  Anxious strides propelled her forward, and she unleashed an elbow into the soft middle of a slow-walker. As the air heaved from his lungs, he stepped aside with a grimace and an eye roll. Fran felt another current ripple down her spine. She stared at her second-hand boots and held her breath. Soon a set of rugged footwear, similar to the ones she wore, glimmered beside her own. Her gaze meandered up the thin legs of the Graphie, and she came face-to-face with a walking billboard for sporty apparel. Far-too-white, pixelated teeth flashed Fran a counterfeit smile.

  “I just love my new walking-fit mesh pants. You should try a pair. They’re on sale at Fresno’s until sixteen hundred!”

  Fran’s eyes dipped back to her feet, hopeful a patrol hadn’t nailed her while the Graphie advertiser had pitched the sale. She flicked a look toward a nearby vent which she now guessed to be about thirty paces out.

  Suddenly, an intense jolt rippled through her core, and as if an invisible net had been dropped, she—as well as the surrounding residents—became locked in a weighty electromagnetic field. A shimmery translucence began to buzz and pop. A head taller than the tallest resident a security guard pixilated to life. His form rippled as waves of energy rolled from head to toe. As if drawn to his presence, each resident lifted their face for a quick flash of a laser and automatically linked to the system.

  Fran kept her eyes down, hoping to buy herself a few extra moments. Experience had taught her the initial paralysis only had a ten second hold before a quick release. Maybe the geek upstairs in HQ could only hold the icon steady for ten second intervals, or maybe that was just the way the system worked. Whatever. What she did know for sure was that the microcosm of release would mark her exit.

  She counted down the seconds and sized up her path, envisioning the foot placement of her boots and every obstacle that might hinder a swift exit. As she felt the gradual dissipation of the paralysis, she clenched and released her fists, waking her hands from their momentary incapacitation. Life tingled back into her legs, and she wiggled her toes and hips getting ready for the sprint.

  Thirty paces? Not a problem. Fran swallowed an extra-large gulp of air.

  Go!

  She owned the next twelve seconds. If timing proved accurate, by the time the ghostly guards reached scanning range, she would be back in the belly of the underground city, hidden from the eyes of the Council.

  In spite of her heavy boots, she reached her exit in less than eight seconds. She brushed the beam, entered the code, and drummed her fingers on the stiff screen. Her heart thumped twice for each second that passed as she ticked off the time in her head.

  Nine. Ten…

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. A hum preceded the body buzz.

  Come on.

  Eleven.

  A popping and crackling sound danced at the edges of her brain, and a semi-pixilated human figure ordered Fran to halt.

  Twelve!

  Chapter Two

  Fran dove through the opening and scurried off on hands and knees like a rat through a maze. The Graphie’s field must have nipped her toes and her feet tingled as she crawled.

  Too close.

  On an exhale, she shook her ratty dreads.

  Sixty paces to the ‘T’ and take a left.

  Fran moved to the beat of the loud pulsations in her head as the muffled chaos from the Agora faded, and her heart settled. With her mind still in the Agora, she rounded the ‘T’ and ran headlong into another Rebel. The air woofed from her lungs as their bodies collided.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Derrick. You?”

  “Wolf.”

  Most Rebels knew the Wolf. She’d been Chan’s right hand man for the past six months earning her due respect.

  “Sorry, Wolf. I’ll try to be more careful.”

  “No worries, Derrick. But, hey, the Agora’s hot right now. Remember—Get out and blend in.”

  “Thanks, for the heads up, Wolf.”

  After a clumsy shift of positions, Fran continued moving away from the Agora and Derrick thumped his way to the hub. While she crawled through the vent, she whispered the sequence of strides, and the map embedded in her head came to life. The complex configuration wasn’t a place for the fainthearted, and if not careful, a Rebel could get turned around and slink through this maze to her death.

  She continued creeping through the network of pipes with a cool seventy-two-degree draft at her back until she came to her usual resting place where she kept her canvas blanket and a Light-Genie.

  With a wave of her hand, the Genie came to life and while illuminated in its pale light, Fran pulled out the food pack and peeled back the aluminum. She inhaled the heady aroma, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. No burger, but it looked like a double order of fries lay in her near future.

  Fran snatched a fistful of the greasy
gems and proceeded to chomp and slurp her way to the bottom of the tin. After licking the last granule of salt from her fingers, she leaned back into the metal wall and let out a hearty belch. With her belly now satiated, she allowed her head to rest. Ketchup encrusted the corners of her mouth, and Fran’s eyes drooped with sleep. Soon, the Genie faded to dark.

  .~.

  What seemed like only a few minutes later, Fran bolted awake and, on instinct, smacked at the hand touching her arm.

  “Whoa, Wolf.” Pete recoiled.

  He smelled like dirty hair and yesterday’s cologne sample, which somehow soothed Fran’s racing heart. She smiled a secret smile, almost sorry she’d slapped his hand away.

  “What’s the matter with you, Pete? You’ve been a Rebel long enough to know, ‘Sleep light, wired tight.’ For crying out loud, we’re survivalists!”

  “Yeah, sorry, Fran… Lost my head.”

  Although glad Pete had aligned himself with the Rebels, Fran wondered if he understood the arrangement. After all, with him now Unaccountable, Pete’s greedy big sis had full claim to the family coin. She shrugged and powered up the Light Genie. Pete’s stupid grin greeted her from the shadows.

  “What do you want?” Her nerves bristled—partly because of the interrupted sleep and partly because of Pete’s moronic expression. He clasped his hands and their silhouette resembled a gaping mouth on the overhead pipe. He moved the shadow to the edge of shadowy frizz that rose from Fran’s head while making chomping and growling sounds.

  “Pete!” She glared hoping to look intimidating. Maybe even ruthless.

  Pete’s eyes remained lit with amusement. “You don’t know what day it is, do you?” He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back into the pipe before giving Fran a sideways glance and adding, “It’s Procession Day.”

  Fran bit her lip. “Seriously? Today's the fifth?”