A Cause for One

A Cause for One

  by

  The Numbered Entity Project

  Text copyright © 2013 The Numbered Entity Project

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  A Cause for One

  Prologue

  Status updating…Time and Space breached…Data leak detected…

  The archives of The Numbered Entity Project have opened in this membrane of existence for the very first time. Inside the, at once both infinitesimal and infinity-spanning, data stores wait the tale of rogues, outcasts and 'others.' Those whose time was numbered but refused to 'know their place.' Those who tried, for better or worse, to change their respective worlds of swords and magic, steam and musket, or nanotechnology. The Project records all, in tribute to Time and Space.

  Jaime has waited his whole life for the chance to change the world. Armed with a discrete bio-weapon, he prepares to assassinate the Great Sir of the Seven Systems and free millions from industrial serfdom. But Jaime is on a one way trip, a journey that forces him to sever his ties to the one he loves most. His ideals will be tested to breaking when brought to bear against that love, a love which could tear Seven Systems apart.

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  A Cause for One

  Footsteps echoed through the tunnels, bouncing a rhythm Jaime used to steady his racing heart. It didn't work. Every step brought death closer, ratcheted his nerves nearer the lip of boiling-over. But he wouldn't turn back. He couldn't douse the admiration shining from the eyes under his comrades' flat caps.

  They patted his back, whooped support. "Don't worry about the girl. Roz'll be proud of you. She'll be gutted to miss the making of a martyr, brother" said a man offering a swig from his hipflask.

  "Time for ascension," said another, winking and pointing to a ladder.

  Alcohol-warmth flushed steel through Jaime's convictions. "I'm ready." He gripped a rung, felt it slippery from humidity, and started to climb. Proximity mines blinked blue-red above, exposed rust patches getting larger as the rungs of the ladder got higher. Scanning Jaime's 'state-chip-status' as blank the mines reset with a beep once he was safely past.

  At the top of the ladder, just under a manhole cover, Jaime ruffled through a pocket and took out his bio-chip. Oval, slightly pointed at one end, filaments wriggling around the edges. Something specially prepared by the boys in the deep-under labs, coded to grow a weapon that would pass any security check.

  Sucking at stale air, he tensed every fibre of his being. Then, quick and hard, slammed the chip into his left temple. Pain exploded behind his eyes, simmering into a dull-ache while the chip-filaments burrowed into his skull and interlaced with synapses. Nerves clenched like a fist behind his left eyeball as his entire personality downloaded at speed. A blind spot fuzzed his peripheral vision, a signal that the weapon remained safely dormant. Well, at least until stage two of the plan. If everything went to plan. All for the Cause. For the many not the one.

  "You're a hero, brother. Swallow your fear. Do it for the poor sods. Give that blue-blooded bastard a bullet from me," yelled a voice from the tunnel below. Yes, kill the Great Sir. Kill him. Another deep breath. Jaime slid the manhole cover, winced at the noise of metal scraping gravel. The manhole opened like a lazy-eyelid to a morning of treacle-coloured smog.

  Just to think, an hour ago he was a different person, a man in love.

  Hiding in a warehouse, surrounded by an orange sleet of dust moats, Jaime had watched Roz leave. Barely making-out the shuttlecraft's runway flare through the outside smog, the metal slats of the warehouse's loading bay door creaked at the aftershock of take-off. Like a shadow puppet through a pollution screen, bright lights and dark silhouette rose up and up into the sky.

  Everything about that instant had seared into Jaime's mind, even the smell. Burnt fuel cut through the usual sulphurous-synthetic stink and Jamie had sniffed deep until his head tingled, a distraction to insides all churned-up on emptiness. But now he had to pull all thoughts of 'her' from his mind.

  I was always privileged to look at you when I woke up, Roz. I thought, surely you can't be that sublime. Then I would check again and the weakness seeped through, the neediness took hold. Now you're gone and I can do what I must. After all, it had been he who persuaded her to go, told her how he loved her far too much to see the Struggle bring her down. Told her that she could serve the Cause better by mingling with elites, fighting with media-banks and footnotes instead of with weapons. Lies.

  Really, Jaime needed to remove the fetters of attachment. The 'Cause' was, always and forever, his first love. Love the many, not the one. Nothing could hold him back now. I'm going to be a martyr, Roz. Going to take it all down with me. You'll read about it somewhere, in libraries and databases. You'll remember me. Everyone will remember me. Conscious that the wet sliver running down his cheek would be the last tear he ever shed, Jaime internally embraced the new 'him.'

  She should be in the upper atmosphere now. Safe and sound, he thought, before poking his head up through the manhole and out into the world above. For the first time he actually savoured the flavour of pollution. It tasted like revolution.

  Jaime found himself amidst a manufactory complex bristling with funnels. Rust-red buildings imposed from every direction, all blocky air-vents and spikey piping. Slow-wind carried the overwhelming funk of burning rubber which tickled the back of his throat.

  About fifty metres ahead a crowd of workers grumbled in protest. An opportunistic strike on the day of the Great Sir's visit, against production targets, shortages and the caste system An ideal time for the Cause to strike, the reason we chose this very moment. Picket signs swayed over the tight mob, fenced off with barriers of red and white and illuminated by the flashing orange lights of security services. Enforcers stood off to one side, a smudge of black with glints coming off visors and riot shields.

  Undoubtedly Marjorie, the rabble-rouser, was in the middle of the industrial action. Jaime could already hear her impassioned screeching amplified by a megaphone.

  "We never chose our path, to make the trinkets for richer worlds. Each of us stamped into place regardless of whether we fit. We scurry between machines, risking our fingers and lives. At least give us dignity if we must work in such a hell. Fill our plates, give us at least a room to each family, and make sure the beer flows plentiful and cheap. The Supervisor will hear us today and I will tell the Great Sir myself." Beds, beer and bread. Placebos to real change. Respected by even some of the authorities for her hold over the workers, Marjorie was too moderate for the Cause.

  Tension clenched in Jaime's temple, a light sweat broke out across his face. Instinctively he wiped his brow to find fresh blood from the bio-chip wound. I'm a hero, a martyr to the Cause. Yet the pull of regret and guilt at what he was about to do could not be denied. Sorry Marjorie. I promise I'll give you back to yourself when all's said and done.

  Counting another second, another breath, and then Jaime sprung into full sprint. The whine and ratchet of security hardware instantly followed, trailing the new heat signature. But Jaime cleared the distance, vaulted over the barriers into the bustle of protestors before the bewildered security enforcers had a chance to move.

  Snatches of radio chatter flittered amongst shouted slogans. "Trespasser sighted… on the move…" O
range light flashed against transparent riot shields. Ominous dark shapes moved in. Standard tactics; form a perimeter with a tiny breach, then crush the centre.

  Pushing through the heap of bodies and confused faces Jaime followed the noise of the megaphone toward a wooden platform, where Marjorie cut a scraggy figure. Malnourished from shortages like all the others and dressed in baggy brown overalls, nonetheless her rousing gestures and passion cast her as a titan. Her grey-brown hair and sharp, worn face, when enlivened with purpose, still carried hints of the handsome girl she must once had been.

  Chaos erupted. People squashed against each other, a stampede caught in tight confines. Jaime barged over the soft crunch of falling bodies. Still Marjorie continued to scream through her megaphone "Please, everyone, calm down. Do not