Technomancer 13: The Price of a Man

***Mentions of nonconsensual relations, mentions of war***

The price of a man was defined by what he wanted most, thought Leron, staring grimly at the antibiotics in Ms. Brent’s hand. They were the only thing that helped; that held back the infection still festering in his arm even after a month. The doctor had said it was almost gone which brought him hope. It wouldn’t be much longer and he could begin to search for Masa. He snatched the pills up and downed them.

“Now that’s a good boy,” Ms. Brents said, brushing her hands across his shoulders in a sickening display of affection. She began kissing him, leading him towards her bed. She knew his price and he dreaded the payment. His information on the Monterrey Group’s location was useless now that she had failed in her mission, but she still expected payment to be made. While she did her thing, his mind drifted elsewhere, shutting itself away for protection.

Leron dreamed of Masa while he responded to Brents' movements, thinking of her dark eyes and long black hair. The way her body felt against his. He longed to hold her in his arms. Had she survived the massacre on the bridge? What had she been doing all this time? Had she forgotten him? Would she forgive him if she knew what he had done to survive? Perhaps it would be better if she thought he was dead.

When Ms. Brents was done, he lay on the bed, while she dressed, “Now, I’ve discovered a way to get back in the graces of the Governor of Texas,” she said, “It will be your final task and then I’ll give you the rest of the antibiotics and you can go free.”

“And what would that be?” Leron asked, feeling exhausted. He wiped the sweat from his brow and longed to wash her filth from him. The shower he longed for would have to wait until early morning when the houses and apartments were permitted to use water for a few hours.

“I intend to blackmail him,” she said, the corners of her mouth twisting into a wicked smile as she paced across the floor. You are going to work in one of his tech factories. One of my other little helpers has informed me that the governor visits the factory every night and disappears below ground. I want you to find out exactly what he has going on down there. You can follow the governor and try to slip in with his entourage.”

“Why would they let me? Why not have your helper do it?”

“My helper has tried and failed,” Ms. Brents said, “She was found dead this morning. That is why I am sending you.”

“Then what makes you think I will succeed? They already know someone is trying to find out. They'll be on the lookout for anyone out of place.”

“You’re very resourceful, I’m sure you will do fine,” she said, reclining in the chair beside the open window and sharpening her nails.

Leron sighed and lay flat on the bed, rubbing his aching brow. What she had asked of him was suicide. He determined he would check it out and if it was a lost cause, he would take his chance and escape, even if it did mean losing his arm. He’d had enough of her and had come to the point where keeping his arm wasn’t worth it.

For the next few weeks, Leron left the apartment where Ms. Brents lived and walked across town to the electronics factory, dressed in the clothes she provided. He felt like a doll. Her own personal puppet doing whatever it was she wanted. "Is this really what I've come to?" he muttered as military jets roared across the sky above him. Along the road, a never-ending line of coal trucks passed by him. They were there when he went to work and returned, forever keeping San Antonio in power.

The tall buildings gave way to houses which transformed into factories. They became a blur while the thoughts churned in his mind. They circled in on himself, a never-ending war between staying to survive and longing to leave. He hated what he was becoming. His parents would have been livid to know that their son had become a slave. It was all because he wanted to live long enough to see Masa and give all of himself to her, not just a part of him, but sometimes he wondered if he hadn't given away too much to Ms. Brents already.

Leron joined the line of men and entered the concrete factory, its smokestacks towering high into the sky. Smoke from them drifted to the ground making the air almost unbreathable. He coughed, trying to breathe as little as possible. Many of the older men who worked here had developed a permanent cough, their skin was grey-tinged and they had grown weak. It was likely they would not live much longer.

Inside the factory, he made his way to his cubicle; a small square area with a desk and a lamp, surrounded by electronic equipment, piled high and wide. Beside his desk, was a large crate for repaired and altered items, and several tiny boxes for him to salvage unrepairable tech. It wasn’t hard. The first few days, he had watched the other men, learning to salvage items from old toys and put them back together in more useful forms – battery-powered toasters, ovens, radios, and more. He had done it all before, not that it had helped him much since the world had changed. His skills in taking apart electronics had been all but useless to him in the last six months.

Cracking his knuckles, Leron sat at the desk, adjusting the projectiles he had made on his wrists before beginning work. He grinned with satisfaction, knowing he was finally capable of defending himself now. He might not be able to fire a gun without wincing and closing his eyes, but he could certainly use these to injure anyone who came at him. He picked up a tiny screwdriver and undid the screws on an old toy truck, catching his finger between two metal parts and yelping.

“You doin’ alright, Leron?” asked his neighbor, in a strong Texas drawl.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, sucking on his finger. His arm was still weak. In response, his finger occasionally failed to do what he intended. He had learned to cope with this, using his other hand to do the finer work.

The bear-sized man who was his neighbor rounded the corner, and leaned against one of the piles, resting his arm on the top. “I’d offer you a band-aid, but I ain’t got one.”

“It's fine. Larry, right?”

“Yeah. You sure filled up that crate fast. How did you figure this all out? I’m still struggling with the basic toys they want us to salvage.”

Leron frowned at the almost full crate, releasing his finger. Could he trust Larry? Did his past in Mexico really matter? “I….ah…when I lived in Mexico I used to take my cellphone apart. I’d mess with the programming and parts so I could call my old friends in Baltimore.”

“That’s how you stick it to em’,” Larry laughed, “Say…if you keep filling the crates up like that, they’ll take you downstairs. That’s where all the best of us go.”

“What’s down there?”

“I dunno,” he grumbled, “I’m still stuck on toys.”

Leron ignored the pain in his finger while he continued to work. As the hours passed, Leron lost himself in the machinery and was surprised when the alarm went off, sounding the end of his shift. If it weren’t for the sense of urgency he felt to find Masa, part of him would be content to stay forever. He collected his bag from the locker room and was about to follow the other men outside when the shift supervisor pulled him over.

“I’ve seen how you work. We could use a man of your talents elsewhere,” his supervisor said. The way the man stood, reminded him of Filipe. Ex-Military or even current? It was written all over him, despite his civilian clothes. “Come with me and I’ll show you where you will work tomorrow.”

Leron followed him towards the stairs and downwards. After several turns, he was certain they were far below ground. He hadn’t followed the governor down here as Ms. Brents said he should, but he was about to learn what was hidden below the electronics factory. Through a large metal door, the supervisor showed him into a room filled with top-of-the-line electronics, leading him to a brightly lit table in the center.

“I am assuming you know what this is?” the supervisor asked, lifting an old drone.

“It’s a drone,” Leron replied.

“Very good. Have you ever worked on one?”

“Yes,” he replied. He and his friends had got a hold of one and taken it apart for fun. They had used his cell phone to control it. The programming was similar and compatible.

“But can you fix it?”

Leron studied it, looking at the different pieces. Some parts were broken, and it looked like the chip had been fried. It would need a new chip and something similar in shape to the broken parts so it could function. “Perhaps, but I would need parts,” he replied.

“There are plenty of parts in this room and more coming down from upstairs,” said his supervisor, “We need people like yourself who can get as many of these things up and running as possible.”

“Why so many?” Leron asked, excited by the prospect of working on drones. He had not seen one since the bombs dropped. At one point, they had filled the air making deliveries almost as numerous as flies. He had thought his skills with electronics would be useless. He had lived for months without running water and electricity and it had seemed like there wasn’t a place for him in this new world. He had made do learning other skills – leadership, and politics, but now there was a chance to return to what he knew... his convictions began to waiver.

The supervisor leaned toward him from the other side of the table, “We’re not supposed to know this, but you’ll find out soon enough anyway. We’re still at war.”

“We are? But the bombs...”

“I agree. The bombs should have caused a reset, but they didn't. The Chinese Liberation Army fleet and Russia’s navy have been continuing to skirt the coastline since the bombs dropped. They invaded the northern US which is why DC set off the bombs. It was a last-ditch effort to even the odds in the war but it failed and everyone else with Nukes bombed us. They have bases running along the east coast and have been continuing to move inland. Their fleets have continued to move down the coast and now they are sitting a few miles off the Texas Coast."

“Why are you telling me this? I'm no one. Wait....you want to fight with drones?”

“Yes.”

Leron grinned, thinking of all the different possibilities of installing weaponry. The lightweight projectiles on his wrist would be an ideal adjustment. He offered his supervisor his good hand and the man shook it. “I will do what I can to help," he agreed, delaying his escape once more.

“I’m Major Andrew, it will be good to have you working with us.”

Leron left the factory, heading towards Ms. Brent’s apartment. He considered whether to tell her about what he had discovered. What he had learned would not help her blackmail the governor and she would be disappointed that all her efforts were a waste of time. He stopped in the street and froze. She would be livid that he had nothing useful to tell her. He considered his options. Perhaps he could tell her he was still working on it and buy himself some time to enjoy working on the drones before he needed to escape. By then, his arm would be fully healed and he wouldn't need the antibiotics.

But why hadn’t she known of the war? She was supposed to be a diplomat for the government of Texas. He determined, they must have considered her a security risk and sent her down south to the border to keep her quiet and out of the way. It was what he would have done. She should have been able to guess by the Air Force patrols that something was wrong, which meant others had too, but why hadn’t she?

He thought of Masa and at once felt guilty. He knew he should be out searching for her. They were engaged and he had left her behind and not even tried to escape. He had wanted to survive and to be there for her in the future, but now he wanted something even more - A chance to serve a purpose in this new world. He had been bought once more.