The Rebel Code

Chapter Nine - Part Two

We do, eventually, find food. It's strange passing through all these tunnels and walkways as we go deeper into the mall, expecting to see windows. But there are no windows like the mall in Cape Town. I have to refuse to let myself think about how deep into the structure I must be, because there's this eerie, smothering claustrophobia that seems to be waiting in the back of my mind, even if there are no small spaces. It's more the thought that, if I needed to get out, it would take hours of walking to even see the sky again, to feel fresh air on my face.

Just a short tunnel train ride from the terminal is a cafeteria. Arrows on the floor and service androids in uniform direct us through a labyrinth of lanes for lunch, drinks, and dessert, all on perfect plates in little glass cases. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I smell the chicken wings and pie. John pays with cash, since any sort of card would have to be traced back to the citizen database, and we eat together, watching a digital aquarium of fish move at random on a wall projection.

"We studied this kind of thing in school," says Mo between bites of cake. "Apparently people used to go insane if they didn't see the outside for too long, so Criterion built museums and indoor gardens to simulate nature. They also have some kind of sun chamber, I think. It's practically indistinguishable from regular sunlight."

"Why not just hop on a train and take a vacation in actual nature?" I ask, laughing.

"Vacations aren't efficient," replies John.

After we've eaten and used the bathroom, we follow John around for another hour or so, looking at all the shops on this level. After a while, I start to notice a pattern. We are on level twenty, and all the stores here are technology-related. Video games. Virtual reality. Service android repair. When we pass an interactive directory wall, I explore for a while, tapping buttons that let you virtually navigate all two hundred floors. One touch opens up an entire floor plan, showing the other floors' themes. Level twenty-one is furniture. Twenty-two is lighting and other electric fixtures. The bottom ten must just be maintenance, since they're off-limits to the public. There are levels for all sorts of things, like clothes, food from all around the world, train stations, and entertainment. Just as I'm admiring the floor that's almost entirely movie theaters, I feel John touch my shoulder.

"Do you want a new lesson in being a freeboot?" he asks in a hushed voice. "I have something to show you."

He leads me over to a mural one wall over, a colorful image depicting some people on work uniforms smiling and holding hands. Below the image, in laser-cut lettering lit with little glowing lights, a quote I recognize from the cover of a lot of school textbooks, Lysander Nkosi's own words.

"Imagine a society running as flawlessly as a computer program, with a place for every person. Together we can reach this dream, if we all do our part."

"It's a corny art installation," I whisper. "What does this have to do with freeboots?"

John points to the side of the big letter I in Imagine. There, just barely visible in the glow of the lights, is a scratch. The tiniest, most imperceptible flaw.

"Look closer," he says. "That's not a mistake. What do you see?"

I glance around to make sure no one's looking and peer at the little mark. What could have been easily brushed off as a scrape from an android accidentally bumping its knee is actually a little symbol. It looks like the bottom part of a sun in a preschool kid's drawing, with one downward curve and little lines extending from its underside. Then, under that, a mess of little scratches and dots.

"It's cute," I say, confused, "but what is it? Why would someone put this here?"

John smiles knowingly. "Because it's freeboot code. I haven't seen symbols like this since before you were born. You don't see them much in Port Carina, but in urban areas where there's so much security, freeboots have a special way of looking out for each other. These symbols started out in Criterion's school, with the original 5,000." He lowers his voice even more, as if what he's about to say is somehow more secret than our previous secret. "It didn't take us long to figure out that we couldn't send messages to each other without Criterion knowing, so this one artist girl made a system of symbols. They just look like little doodles, but they have meanings. There wouldn't have been any uprising or escape without these symbols."