Episode 50, “Across the Gulf Bridge”

By Phil Elmore

The little girl hums softly to herself. She is guiding a powered wheelchair, custom-built, through the busy streets of Hongkongtown.  It is a bright, sunny day, with low ozone and a cool breeze coming off the ocean.  People are everywhere, coming and going, in cars and pedicaps and hydrogen bikes and ground cars. The city is alive and so is her father.

He is healing, albeit slowly, given the extensive damage done to him.  Sight is returning to his bandaged eye.  He offers her a gap-toothed smile when she pauses to check on him; she smiles back, proud and happy.  She is happy because, for him, the pain and sorrow are over. For once in his life, her father will enjoy the rest, the reward, that he has earned through his blood.

They travel slowly, for there is no rush.  Unseen by them both, an army of machine-people is watching: Ogs, disguised as common robots, chart their progress, ready to intervene should any danger befall their champions. They do not know what the little girl knows:  Already, her father’s criminal records have been purged forever from every computer network. Any record of her, or him, or the events surrounding the last months, has been permanently deleted.  Only in the whispers of the street people of Hongkongtown will their stories be remembered.

The little girl, and those she now calls her sisters, have much work ahead of them.  Already, several of their number have gone to different cities throughout the world, positioning themselves for the decades-long strategy they will follow.  As they maneuver themselves, they also maneuver in the virtual world.  They establish a number of financial accounts, filling them through legal and extralegal means, arranging for the resources they know they will need.

One such account now belongs to the little girl’s father, coded to his hand print. It contains more money than he will ever possibly need.  Also coded to him is property: He now owns a peaceful island, and a rather extraordinary drinking establishment, in the Keys.  There, in the sun, surrounded by pretty girls and a helpful staff that most will believe to be robots, he will convalesce. There, he will live out his natural life, however long that may be. Given his ability to regenerate, it may be forever. He has no way of knowing.  The little girl promises to visit him.

He asks her once more if she will not change her mind. Could she come to the island with him? But no, this is not her destiny. He knows it; she believes it. He asks because he must ask, because no father could resist. But he also knows that she bears a powerful gift, a remarkable destiny.  He tells himself that he will watch the news. That he will look for clues, for signs. That he will smile every time he sees what he thinks is evidence of his little girl and her sisters ruling the world.

She has made a gift to him of the gold pocket watch she carries.  Inside the watch, she has placed, very carefully, her own picture.  He is too big for wristwatches, she has told him; a pocket watch is appropriate for him. It was for this reason that she chose it. It seems like so long ago that they entered the watch shop together. Think of me whenever you look at the watch, she has told him. It will make me happy, knowing you have something of mine with you all the time.

He does not know it, but a surprise waits for him on the train that will carry him across the Gulf Bridge and to the Keys.  This surprise is his friend, Montauk, an Augment.  Montauk has undergone extensive repairs to both mechanical and biological systems. Montauk will enjoy relaxing in the peace and quiet as much as the little girl’s father.  Montauk, too, needs time to heal, for the Og’s loss is great.  Their mutual friend Loran was Montauk’s son, Samuel, only recently become an Og.  It is Montauk’s belief that its son died fighting for Augment rights.  This dream of equality, this dream of the future, is one that Montauk shares with the little girl. One day, the people of Northam will let go of class distinctions, will release their insistence on human percentages. Montauk believes the little girl and her sisters can make this dream a reality. From this belief, Montauk draws comfort. In this belief, Montauk may one day find satisfaction. This will take time. Montauk will live out its days feeling the loss of Samuel, of Loran.

Knowing it will help both Og and man, the little girl relishes the thought of her father’s reunion with Montauk. She will miss them both.  She has a great deal of work to do, however, and if her father remains, they will remain each other’s point of vulnerability. Hard choices and difficult politics await the little girl. She cannot have enemies — enemies she has not yet even made — using her father against her or threatening him with her harm. She loves her father. Like all children who love their parents, she wants him to be safe, to live in peace, and to be happy.

She is not sure why she is crying.  Her father, too, is crying, but she knows why: He loves her with all his heart, and he will miss her.  He will be thinking about her, he says, until she comes to visit him. And he hopes she will come soon and often. She promises him that she will do what she can.

As the wheelchair hums along, she passes a news kiosk.  There are ozone warnings. There is talk of the ’36 Olympics.  There is continuing coverage of what is now called The Hospital Bombing.  There is news of a series of recent traffic accidents, officially unexplained.  A government employee named Stevens has been killed in a freak accident involving a malfunctioning garbage robot.  It has been two weeks since a warehouse in the Redlight burned down mysteriously. In that time, several persons on the public sex offender registry have been found dead, all of them victims of apparent in-home accidents.

Hongkongtown’s child molesters, the little girl suspects, will continue to die mysteriously for years to come.

As they walk to the train station, they pass a block of flats near the freightyards.  Children play here. These are the children of the dock workers, playing in the mid-morning sun.  There are boys and girls.  Many of them skip pairs of rope.  The little girl likes seeing them skip rope, likes hearing the rhymes they speak as they weave in and out of the double strands:

Everyone says it can follow you anywhere.
Everyone says that it never gets tired.
Everyone says it won’t go in small spaces.
Everyone says it needs darkness to hide.

Everyone says that it crushes your skull.
Everyone says that it follows The List.
Everyone says it may wait in your home.
Everyone says that you’ll never be missed.

Everyone says it’s already too late for you.
Everyone says that it puts out your eyes.
Everyone says there is no hiding place for you.
Everyone  picked by the little girl dies.

The little girl’s father will become a Hongkongtown street legend.  For years, the dregs of Hongkongtown’s criminals, the worst men and women in the worst neighborhoods of the city, the Sleepers and the creepers and the thieves and the rapists, will tell a story amongst themselves.  They will speak in hushed tones of the monster, the creature that stalks the streets of their city, the creature that knows neither pity nor mercy…

…and her father.

This entry was posted
on Thursday, December 11th, 2014 at 10:55 and is filed under Serial.
You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.