Compatible

9.10.2217

He recalls to this day the first time he caught sight of her and noticed her in the crowd—pulling his collar up and looking around quickly as he exited the hovercab in front of his block.

The rain fell dispiritedly from dark violet-gray skies. October weather at its worst. It was a chilly time of year, when the skies turned a seemingly unending dingy gray; when wet pavement glistened with freshly fallen rain; when the bright lights of the city shimmered dully beneath a perpetual blanket of fog; when getting out of bed took as much tenacity as leaving one’s home.

It had been a long day, pre-reading through a script for a car commercial, signing fan mail, attending a museum gala, and ending with his daily routine at the gym. The ride home in sluggish traffic felt just as long as the blanket of fog and pollution overhead turned dark. Overhead, bright neon lights and the softer glow of towering apartment buildings blurred as rain slowly trickled down the hovercab glass.

As he emerged, yet again he regretted forgetting his umbrella. Lifting his collar and pulling his coat more securely about him, he looked about quickly. The upper loft’s pavement was relatively quiet. The hovercab silently moved forward.

Most people would have darted inside from the uncomfortable damp immediately, but Alan was not most people. An actor, an artist dedicated to the study of people, he caught sight of the girl and paused.

That girl. . .

Earlier that afternoon, Alan relaxed with his usual gym routine. After stretching exercises and a half hour run on the treadmill, Alan ended up wrestling on the mats. Usually, his wrestling partner would be able to trounce the tall, wiry actor. Today was different. Alan’s blue eyes were fixed on XiaoLin in a surprisingly focused kind of way. The stocky and powerful boxer found it difficult to pin down his slender, lightly muscled partner. The two men paused, sweating and panting, after a particularly long match. Lin chugged down several gulps of water, wiping the sweat off his face. Alan collapsed on a thin bench by the mat.

Lin is already bouncing back. Alan stifled a groan. He’ll be ready for another round in a few minutes. I guess that is just one more difference between a professional and a casual.

“I think that’s all I can manage for today,” Lin said, thumping down on the bench next to Alan.

“Uh, huh.” Alan groaned as he reached for his bottle. “You said it wrong. I think you meant to say ’I think that’s all you can manage for today’.”

“You don’t look that bad.”

“Stiff upper lip.”

“Ah, yes,” Lin grinned. “How very English of you.”

“I’ve been tenderized,” Alan found it hard to lift his bottled water. “I’m going to feel it all week.”

“You fought well today,” The MMA fighter took a seat by Alan and studied the actor thoughtfully. “But you lost the battle, getting distracted by the war. You were angry.”

“Hm,” Alan said, refusing to say anything.

“I saw the interview last night.” Lin added. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing for you to be sorry for,” grunted Alan, wishing people would stop talking about the interview.

“The questions at that interview were unfortunate.”

“Yeah. My PA wasn’t happy about that either.”

“I understand though.” Lin tipped his head. “It is hard to believe.”

“Understand what?” Alan asked.

“Nothing,” Lin finally said after a long pause. “It made me think. It made me think a lot about everything. About the Program. . . and, well, everything.”

For a second, the two men didn’t say anything. For many, talking about the Program was like talking about the latest football season, or the last sports gaming league at the XG-Con. Turn on the TV, and you’d hear any reporter or late night talk show host blabbing about the Program. It was understandable. After all, the world of the Program was a mysterious one, filled with gladiators and superheroes. In the flashing lights of stardom, it was all too easy for the onlookers to get dazzled.

Perhaps even the participants, Alan thought. We are all in danger of losing sight of what is really going on, but... It is a battle that I refuse to lose. I won’t ever forget what the Program is really all about.

“Ten years,” Alan mused aloud, slowly. “We have been going at this for ten years and then some. . . The whispers of a brand new world, where our ideas about conflict would be forever transformed. One day, it was suddenly our reality, and the Program was here, as though it had always been. And then the madness began.”

“Especially in your home country,” Lin said. “I suppose you thought that NorthAm would be safer than the Accord. In the end, though, it seems that even NorthAm can’t help but get swept up in the hype.”

“You think I can’t escape?” Alan asked curiously. “I suppose I can’t, but I’m going to do my damnedest.”

“Aren’t you in the Databooks?” Lin shot back. A rhetorical question. They both knew the answer. “At any rate, no matter where you go, everyone will know what you are capable of.”

“Yeah. . .” Alan stared at the bottle in his hand. “Remember last year? They took my blood in the first citizenship interview. Probably to double check.” He stared at his arm. “Nothing has really happened for a long time, but now the questions seem to come out of nowhere. . .”

“Nothing happens in a vacuum,” Lin said. “Does that make sense? Did I say that right?”

“I dunno, but I think I get what you mean,” Alan mused. “Change is in the air. I don’t know if it is for the better.”

The girl stood, back to the railings. Her face was cast in shadows, but the light of the lamp, scoured gray by the rain, caught the faint glint of green eyes. Dark clothing, Alan noted, and a hunched posture. Nothing that stood out, and yet. . .

She did not fit—like a jarring, black, fire-edged puzzle piece in a box of riotous colors. Not that riotous can aptly describe The Heights, Alan mused absent-mindedly later that night. The memory lingered freshly in his mind. He had turned and was leaning forward to swipe his palm over the scanner. His fingers had been cold and damp; he had had to swipe twice.

Bob, the block guard, was passing by and noticed the tall actor. A few hovercars hummed past, and a couple hurried into another apartment block across the way, huddled in vinyl retro-anoraks.

“Somethin’ up, Alan?” he had asked curiously.

“Oh-” Alan had paused, noting that the guard looked somewhere between curious and anxious. “Just. . . having trouble with the scanner.”

“The mist,” Bob nodded. “It gets everywhere.”

“Yeah. . .”

Bob had frowned, noticing that the usually cheerful actor seemed off. “Them tabs showing up? Because—”

“Oh no, no.” Alan had hastened to reassure the man. “I just. . .”

He glanced back at the opening of the small lane which formed the T intersection right before the walk and iron fence of Mountain Heights. On either side of the lane, mile high buildings rose, offering a gentle glow of gold through the partially opened curtains. Beneath the shade of the buildings and the limp-leafed, partially bared trees, there was—

Alan blinked.

The girl was gone.