Suddenly they were past the birch forest and zooming over desolate suburbs. Marcus’s eyes were drawn to what could only be the center of Moscow, a thicket of immensely tall skyscrapers reaching to the gray clouds. As they drew closer, he could see a veritable web of moving walkways strung between the buildings at all different levels.
«It’s amazing, Papa,» Marcus said. «Such decay and misery and then…such fantastic wealth and modernity. The vids I watched didn’t do it justice.»
«Here the wealthy live in the clouds,» Javier said, «while the poor can only stare up at them.»
«So many people. All those air cars. I haven’t seen a city this full of life since I was a child.»
They passed the rest of the trip in silence, as Marcus absorbed the various views of this strange city. He was struck hardest by the sheer amount of activity he saw. He recalled only dimly when Phoenix had been filled with millions of impatient commuters, before Meshing took hold and turned the city into a ghost town. He hadn’t read much about the effects of Mesh addiction on other countries; he’d assumed it was similar everywhere. Apparently he was wrong, at least in Russia.
The air car began descending into lower lanes of traffic as it drew close to their destination.
«Papa, does Meshing not affect them here?»
«Of course it does. But you must understand, Marcus…it’s an addiction of the rich and middle classes. The poor usually cannot afford upgraded slots or Web subscriptions. Russia doesn’t have much of a middle class, and America, even after the civil wars, has very few who are truly poor.»
The air car slowed to a hovering descent near a row of ancient concrete apartment blocks. Across a wide avenue from the buildings was a vast park that was clearly a refugee camp.
«We’re here, Papa.» The door of the air car slid up to allow Marcus to clamber out. Three boys kicking a soccer ball stopped to stare at him.
«Shouldn’t have ordered such an expensive car.» He studied the row of twelve-story buildings. «This is a really bad area. I wish you could smell this stench. Must be the refugee camp.»
«Find the building marked with a six.»
«We landed right in front of it.» The autodriver’s maps were accurate, at least. Marcus walked up to the door set in a small arch. On the wall to the right of the door was a metal pad with numbered buttons. «Wow, this is really ancient stuff. How do we get in?»
«It’s not connected to the Web. Is there a buzzer?»
A rectangle of dirty plastic served as a window in the door. Marcus peered through it and saw a hallway tiled in yellow and white. An obviously broken elevator stood open near a stairwell. To the left was a small desk and a wooden chair, but there was no one to be seen.
Marcus backed up a couple of steps and looked around. His eyes alit on a wide open second floor window, jagged bits of glass along the top and sides of the frame.
«Strange. There’s a shattered window here, looks like it happened recently. What floor was your address?»
«Tenth.»
«Oh. This place is giving me the creeps.» Marcus kept feeling as if someone was sneaking up on him, but no one was there each time he turned to look.
«Can you climb through the window?»
Marcus walked closer to the broken window and peered up. «Nah, it’s too high.» He glanced down at the scattering of glass. The soil near the wall looked like someone had landed in it. He knelt down to examine the area.
«Looks like someone fell or dropped out of the window. Lucky they didn’t cut themselves badly.» A bit of black with a clean white patch caught his eye, and he reached out to pluck an unusually long slot card from the dirt. Marcus was about to comment on it when the door swung open and a middle-aged couple emerged. They didn’t see Marcus as he leapt to catch the door before it shut.
«I’m in, Papa. Someone opened the door. And I found a slot card…though it’s weird, too long.» He held it up to look at the white label. «Three letters and a date. Friday. Whatever it is, it’s very recent.»
«Get up to the tenth floor. I’m dying to know why such important data was accessed in such a run-down neighborhood.»
«Okay, but I’ll have to take the stairs.» He stuck the card into a pocket of his coat.
Javier’s laughter filled Marcus’s head. «Bet you wish you’d done those exercise sims now, eh?»
Marcus ignored his father and set off up the first flight of stairs. He was huffing badly when he reached the third floor. «I’ve gotta rest.» He put his hands to his knees and bent over.
«Twenty-six years old and you can’t climb three stories without half dying.» Javier sounded like he was trying to make a joke, but Marcus heard the undercurrent of concern.
«I’ll be all right in a minute.» He wiped sweat from his brow with his coat sleeve. Marcus thanked God for whomever had invented the solar coat. It used the same microscopic layer of solar cells that were used on cars, and the energy was used by the coat to provide heat or cooling as needed.
Ten minutes and several rest stops later, he reached the tenth floor and walked down the thinly carpeted hallway to the burgundy door marked ‘1012’. He pushed the buzzer and waited. A minute passed and he pushed it again. «No one’s home.»
He put a hand on the cool metal of the door, and it opened with a click. «Hey, it’s not locked.»
«Be careful. That doesn’t seem right.»
«Tell me about it.»
The tiny entrance hall had warped wooden flooring. The coat and shoe racks held only women’s apparel. A flowery umbrella hung from the end of the coat rack. Straight ahead was an open doorway to what was clearly a kitchen. Marcus’s gaze was drawn to a picture of a young woman on the opposite wall. She was pretty, though not in a classical sense. She had long black hair and high Slavic cheekbones. Her prominent nose told him she likely had some Jewish blood. Her eyes were very slightly turned down in the corners, and though she was smiling, the eyes and mouth together gave her a sad look. Marcus knew he could never be bold enough to approach such a woman, but there was a primal part of him that wanted to hold her, to tell her everything would be all right.
«Marcus…?»
Marcus forced his eyes away from the captivating portrait. A door on the left led to a dark bedroom, while the hall to the right led to a well-lit living room. Marcus took two steps in that direction and froze.
“Madre de Dios!” he said aloud, clutching at his suddenly heaving stomach.
«What is it! Are you all right?»
Marcus started panting in order to stop himself from retching.
«Marcus, you’re scaring me!»
Marcus tried to collect himself. «Sorry. What have you gotten us into?»
«I can’t see!»
«There’s a dead woman seated at a table.»
«You sure she’s dead?»
«Her…» Marcus fought down bile again. His forehead was slicked with cold sweat. «Her head is twisted around backwards. She’s dead.»
The only time he had ever seen a dead person was after his father’s sudden, massive stroke.
«Marcus, you need to—»
«No!» Marcus spun and trotted into the corridor, closing the door behind him. «I’ve got to get out of here. You’re gonna get me killed.»
«Marcus—»
«No!» It took all his willpower not to run to the stairwell. Marcus breathed heavily and forced one foot in front of the other. He felt dizzy and stopped with one hand on the wall to steady himself.
«It’s okay,» Javier said. «It’s going to be okay.»
«No,» Marcus said. «It’s not.» He took another step and froze, as a bulky man with a crew-cut, a fleshy red face, and a coat that no one should be wearing in summer stepped through the doorway from the stairs. The man paused a moment and glared at Marcus, then clomped forward on heavy-soled boots.