The Green Ones

Episode 3, Part 5

This time the silence lasts for several blocks. Anything I think of saying would only raise my hopes. And I’m too fragile to survive another back and forth with nothing less than my life’s dreams at stake.

Centavo stops a block shy of the sprawling government complex. The multifaceted building clings to the gently sloping base of the Palace Tower like coral vine on the trunk of an ahuehuete. Its patchwork of iron-foam, stone and adobe combines with the Palace Tower to create a sort of throwback to the early pyramids of my people—from a time before the twitch virus and domed cities like New Teo.

After we stop, I realize Centavo still hasn’t mentioned what he wants in return. It doesn’t matter. He knows I’ll accept his help, and then he’ll own me. “You can really access our records?”

“Even better. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I scan the public square for figures lurking in shadow.

“Not out here.” Centavo points with his chin, “In there.”

I eye the old man suspiciously. “You’re not turning me in, are you?”

He snorts. “Now that you mention it, that would be easier. Perhaps then I wouldn’t need to leave town.”

I shift my weight onto my heels.

“Apologies. I suppose that was an old man’s failed attempt at a joke. Come, I have a friend inside who can help us.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Instead of walking toward the complex, Centavo walks away. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

It’s my turn to snort. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor completely.”

Centavo leads me down an alley where he opens a nondescript, wooden door. The two of us step into a small entryway buzzing with fluorescent lights and barred by a second door. This one is metal, secured by an official government braid scanner.

“I hope you weren’t relying on me for access.”

“An unfortunate joke indeed.”

I gasp as Centavo threads his braid through the scanner. Before I can stop him, the door clicks open. “How—”

He glares at me, his finger to his lips.

I nod and follow him through the door, my mind racing. For the first time since feeling the hot pinch of Huatiani removing my braid, I allow myself hope. If Centavo has the ability to copy a braid with security clearance, maybe he can copy mine.

The lights turn on with our entrance. A cursory glance reveals we’ve entered a storage facility. Shelves full of file boxes crowd the walkway.

Quickly, we weave our way toward an addition on the back of what appears to have originally been a residence. A set of stairs leads down. At the bottom we find another door and scanner. Centavo clicks it open using his prosthetic braid. On the other side, no automatic lights flicker on to greet us.

Closing the door, Centavo blocks out the last shred of sight and sound. “Even the government has an underground.” He sparks a green flame from his fingers, illuminating a narrow tunnel. The air inside is dry and sterile, like that of Izel’s apartment building in Immortal City.

“Meaning we’re off the map?”

He nods while leading the way. “Officially, the place we are headed doesn’t exist.”

I swallow. “So nothing that happens there officially happens?”

“Its current use is much less nefarious than in the old days.”

The tunnel continues for over a hundred meters in a straight line without interruption—no openings, no sounds from the outside world. Even our own muffled footsteps are barely audible. The silence rattles me. “You really used to work in the Palace Tower?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve held many positions, requiring all sorts of work. Some in the tower, yes.”

I cluck my tongue. “Why can’t you speak like a normal person?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the only person I know who can take a simple one word answer and turn it into an essay.” I shake my head. “If you think it adds to your mystique, it doesn’t. It’s just really annoying.”

“My mystique?”

“Don’t pretend it’s not intentional. You know, the whole ‘I’m just like you, only more powerful, connected and fascinating in every way’ bit that you do.” Loosening up, I find my sarcastic rhythm. “I mean, seriously. You can’t even enter a room normally. You have to just, appear. Like on the roof earlier, I bet you even planned to have the sun at your back.”

Finally we reach a door built into the end of the tunnel. It’s iron, with two giant hinges but no handle or scanner. “Hmmm. I suppose you’re right. That was pretty melodramatic on the roof. This time, shall we try something more straight forward?” Still looking at me, he extends an arm and knocks—three steady raps on the heavily armored hatch.

“Well, I mean, that wasn’t exactly what I—” a loud scraping reverberates from the other side of the door. A few seconds later it swings open, releasing a rush of conditioned air.