Gain: Feedback Serial Book Five: Feedback Dystopia, #5

GAIN

Episode Five of the Feedback Serial

Shane Hall

Editing by Sandy Ngyuen, a Fresh Set of Eyes

This e‐book copy is for your enjoyment only. Please support the author by purchasing additional copies as needed.

The Feedback Serial is a bizarre story, and entirely a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to real‐life events, persons, etc. are entirely coincidental and unintentional.

DRAINAGE

Then And Now

By all accounts, the household looked acceptable as an orphaned child’s new home. A gray but upkept interior contained two attractive parents who were happy—but not too happy—to accept a dependent. It all looked just right to the orphanage workers.

That was what Leonardo heard them say, and standing in front of the door to his new home, he was seeing the fruits of their indifference. The workers didn’t even stay to see him inside.

He heard the wet roll of the tires as the car went away down the street, and just as he turned, a gloved hand yanked him inside. The door had been opened at the loudest point of the tires’ rolling.

Over a year of brutal training flooded to his limbs. Planting his feet, Leonardo dropped his suitcase and jabbed with a straightened palm, his middle and index fingers hitting the man’s elbow on the inside.

The man reflexively pulled his arm back. He blocked the way out, now at the other side of the beige door. Sharp and high cheekbones would have made him look half-dead, if he hadn’t been carrying extra weight.

There is no need to wait at the door, the man said with a clenched jaw. Simply enter from now on.

Leonardo picked up his little tan briefcase again. It seemed to be the right sign for peace. There were no guarantees. Leonardo only knew that he would live here now. After being sent out of the Hub, and living in an orphanage for two years, these Birds were to be his foster parents.

I suppose I should have predicted you being confused and jumpy, the man said, standing up straight and intentionally keeping his head level. He was twice the boy’s height, and built well enough behind the fat, but Leonardo was shocked to think one of his order could have such an obvious physical flaw. My code name is Orion. But you will call me Stan in private, and ‘Dad’ in public.

Okay.

Just like the orphanage workers, something about the eight-year-old’s poise and uncanny listening skills disturbed Stan, Leonardo could tell. The boy kept up appearances as best he could, but he would never behave like the wide-eyed animal to which most children his age amounted.

Your room is upstairs. Follow me.

The stairwell went up along the right side of the house, which seemed narrower than it should be from the inside. Windows on the left shone like spotlights in two places along the wall, like the eyes of a giant head turned askew. It still rained despite the sunlight, as a heavy wind carried the drops from distant clouds. They ran down the shining windows, causing their impressions to quiver on the wall.

Despite Stan’s weight, he ascended the stairs with no noise at all. Leonardo tried to match his steps.

You have almost no silence in your step. We’re going to have to fix that.

I wasn’t trained to be a Bird.

Doesn’t matter. My house, my rules.

Oh, goodie. Please tell me you haven’t urinated in my room already, as an act of dominance.

The upper level contained a room with the same gray diamond print wallpaper, a bed, a nightstand that would supposedly double as a very small dresser, and a window.

My ‘wife’ will get some other things for this room, Stan said. The social workers were lax this time, but we need them to leave with good marks when they show up again. They will.

Leonardo set his suitcase on the bed and looked out at the circular window. Beyond it he saw the rainy street, steaming from the heat of the sun. Beyond that, the climbing skyscrapers of the inner sector three were barely visible.

Dinner is at seven, Stan said. Do you have dietary needs?

Leonardo turned back to his suitcase, unclipped it, and lifted the top. A single sheet of folded paper, dark with the mass of writing all over it, lay atop his extra shirts and pants. He handed the paper to Stan, who carefully unfolded it like a priceless artifact. The pudgy man’s amazement at feeling such aged paper faded from his visage once he started reading.

Seriously? he asked, looking up from the list and directions.

You said you wanted to look good for the social workers. Well, this will certainly do that. More importantly, this type of nutrition is necessary for my exercise regimen.

Fair enough, he said, handing it back. I’ll get a copy on my TCS. Fortunately, we’re having vegetarian pasta. Now, how educated are you?

I am four grades ahead in math, four ahead in science, six ahead in history, and six in language arts. As for athletics–

I get the point. Try not to overdo it. The more bizarrely developed you come across, the more eyes on this house.

Understood.

Bedtime is nine. You’ll get up at four to train, and we’ll leave for school at six-thirty. You will go to school at Sector Three Elementary. I teach there, and I got it set up so that I’ll be your teacher for most subjects. Remember, expose anything about the Nexus, and you will be executed. Blackbird’s not willing to accept second chances.

Oh good, Leonardo said, I was under the impression that obvious fact had suddenly changed. Thanks.

Sarcasm is the idiot’s form of wit.

It’s all I need for you.

The man stepped back for a moment. You’ve never even seen your ‘father,’ Blackbird, have you? If you did, you’d understand the absurdity of all of this.

I’m sure another Bird could be doing this job, Leonardo said. And yet it falls to you. Don’t blame me if you’re too incompetent to go back into the field.

A swift hand stung Leonardo under the eye. It was a light blow, one that wouldn’t bruise, but would alarm and silence. He knew blows like this from his mother. His short body and limited reach couldn’t stop them yet, but he had his hands up anyway, in a pointless fighting pose, hyperventilating.

Blackbird is a fool for making you, Stan said, nursing his hand. His mother had never done that. The things he’s done, all to bring some privileged successor in place that he doesn’t need. It really makes me question where our organization is going.

I can’t comment, Leonardo said, forcing himself to stand still and keep his hands relaxed. But I do know this: do not push me with words, or I will use them to gut you.

Stan’s face lit up with something delightfully fearful. He was about to really attack, to pull out something even Leonardo wasn’t prepared for, and the boy had no time or chance to counter.

Your father–

A hand landed on Stan’s shoulder. Though it was feminine, it gave a thud and tightening grip. Stan turned and made way for a glowing, pale redhead. She couldn’t be much older than twenty, that special kind of youthful adult that intrigued Leonardo the most, although they also came across as the most intimidating.

So, she said, with bizarrely level upper eyelids and a trance-like smile. This is our little boy, huh?

And you are? Leonardo asked. Though he had never seen his father, Blackbird, he knew for a fact who his mother was. This half-asleep ex-teenager definitely wasn’t her.

Alessandra, she said, walking closer and sitting on the edge of the bed. Stan had apparently left. My code name is Crane. I’m more comfortable with that, just so you know.

She watched him, and then yawned. Awkward silence filled the room up right to its triangular roof.

So, you’re his wife? Leonardo asked.

Only for show. I overheard your education, so I’ll speak plainly: I would never let the man touch me. I gladly accepted this role, and Stan was forced into it for his failures.

So what is your role?

For one thing, I’m the housewife. We’ve been operating from this home and have been technically married almost since you were born, in order to make this believable. I go on missions as well from time to time.

Are you a trained bird, like the others?

I’m a different kind, what you call a songbird. Would you like to know what that is?

…sure.

Follow me, it’s best to show you.

Back down the stairs and through the hallway, Crane and Leonardo passed the living room and kitchen, where they got a glimpse of Stan chopping ingredients. The air was thick with a savory, yet herbal aroma. A door at the far end led down some concrete steps, and Crane pulled the string to a lightbulb shining the way to the basement.

Close the door behind you, Crane said, and he did so, following her down to about sea level, only fifteen steps. At the bottom was an ordinary basement. The old tables, armoires, and chairs pushed to the sides had enough cobwebs to shine in the limited light from the stairs.

He couldn’t see the end of this basement, more long than wide. Then a neon green glow flowed out from Crane’s hand. She held a small sphere, the luminosity of which also exposed the bones and tendons down to about her elbow as she held it out.

You know what these are? Crane asked, walking ahead without looking back at the boy.

Yeah, it’s a glow-ball.

Then do you know why I’m using it?

Leonardo didn’t answer. She stopped at a bare patch of wall between two tables.

See it? she asked, and Leonardo looked closer, beyond the cinder-block, thanks to the penetrating light. It exposed a portion that was much narrower. Go ahead, push. Leonardo pushed the lighter block and pulled his hand back. It swiveled around and revealed a switch on the opposite side, which when flipped, lifted a section of wall at the end of the room with a gritty rumble.

That’s how you open the way, she said, moving on.

The way to what?

Once at the end, Leonardo had his answer, another stairwell awaited beyond an open passageway, but the walls and roof were rougher, made from a cheap molded cement. The wall had slid all the way down into a recess below it, and beyond were the hints of chaotic sound. Wind musical instruments of some kind, a saw scraping through wood or metal, and shouts in a dozen emotional flavors.

No way, Leonardo’s stomach tensed, along with his toes. Though he had never experienced the fear of heights, he would have compared it to that if he had, looking down those steps at some sort of blocking object.

It goes down to the kitchen of an abandoned restaurant, she said, in the Tunnels.

Why does this home have a direct connection to the Tunnels? I thought that wasn’t allowed.

Nothing’s ‘not allowed’ if it assists our goals. So, do you get it? Do you understand what a songbird is?

You’re a bird who can handle going down into the tunnels? One that can handle noise?

Perfect. That’s right. Crane walked down the steps and motioned for him to follow. Come on, no one will find us.

She pushed the object at the end of these much-longer stairs to the side, but that didn’t allow in any more light. Only the grayish-green, infinitely revealing aura of the glow-ball lit the way.

They were in a lost and looted restaurant. Display cases had nothing but shattered glass, and there was a pile of broken plates and bowls in one corner: the remnants of material that had to be replaced with plastic in above-ground, silent society. The signage up above was all burnt beyond legibility. They were at a dead end, one of several businesses around the sunken streets, which rose up in a snake-like curve toward countless other tubes in the earth, maintained through minimal supports and a complex pumping system that kept the below-sea-level soil dry and hard.

The Tunnels are so new, Leonardo said. What happened?

What happens in any government project for the poor and disenfranchised, she said, tilting her head down. It’s like a roll of the dice, living here.

Most adults were as easy to read as a child’s joke book to Leonardo. But he couldn’t tell what Crane meant, only that she felt sorrow toward whoever had once worked and likely lived here.

Little wars, Crane said. Gang disputes. Territory destruction to make a point. Oh well. This loss is our gain. No one comes here since it’s far from the rest of the Sector Three Tunnels.

So it’s the perfect place to slip in and out of the Tunnels undetected, Leonardo said, slamming his teeth together when he heard the echo of a distant scream. How could anyone handle this? he wondered. Every little sound someone makes from afar… you think it’s meant for you.

That’s right. A songbird has the skills of any other Bird, she said. Stealth, subterfuge, combat. But I am one of the few that can handle going down here. Someone has to be able to handle sound, for a variety of reasons. Do you know what my main role was, before I got this task?

No.

Come on, think. She picked up a long brown object from a secret clip under a customer table. It had a black opaque handle, but there was little else to see in the glow-ball light. It took a moment for Leonardo’s eyes to adjust. It was a four-foot sword in a sheath.

You taught other Birds to swordfight?

Very good! Crane set the sword back on the table, and carefully set the glow-ball into an ashtray. I taught skills in using and defending against all non-firearm weapons. Lots of clanking, metal on metal, you understand. But it’s a skill that must be learned. So it’s tasked to me, because I’m known for getting quick results out of my students, and I work in an enclosed space, one student at a time.

You know what I think? Leonardo asked. I think you’re the real teacher in this house.

Aww, I just want to pinch your cheek.

Come at me and try.

She grinned and zoomed toward him with the speed and grace of some ethereal being. Leonardo had no chance. He didn’t even notice her pick up the sword again, scabbard and all. The blunt pole whacked his shoulder and sent him to the ground. His eyes were closed while briefly stunned, and then he felt the pinch and sassy wiggle of two fingers at his face.

Gotcha.

The boy found it hard to breathe, but that made no sense. She hadn’t hit his lungs or diaphragm.

You alright, little man?

Little man?

Uh, yeah. He started to get up, but found her hand open and willing to help.Who is this woman? Why does she act this way? My mother never helped me up when she knocked me down. If she’s supposed to train me, and harden me further, what’s the point of… whatever this is?

You look distracted, Crane said. Hungry?

Oh… When she merely asked, his stomach gurgled and she snickered.

I was just showing you where we’ll be training, she said. Come on, back we go. I’m sure dinner’s almost ready.

Dinner was a silent and simple affair. Crane was much more serious when eating at a table with Stan, and Leonardo was thankful for that. Whatever she had shown him, he didn’t want it spoiled by that man.

Later that night, in the master bedroom, the middle-aged man and young woman sat on two queen beds, several feet apart. Stan was sitting up in the dark, and looked at the redhead in her light-pink slip. She was sitting up as well, with one long leg out and holding open a stout book. The moon lit her side well enough from the window.

What are you doing? Stan asked.

Reading a book. Though direct, she didn’t seem chiding.

Someone’s journal?

No, an actual published book. I found one down in the Tunnels.

Really? The real thing?

Binding, cover, the whole thing. She hadn’t moved an inch during the conversation, still absorbed in the fanned