String City

“You just go. Remember, the higher up, the better the life,” her father said, buckling her into the harness.

“But, what about you?”

Carolina’s father looked over at the wall, they had opened a small hole and were continuing to pound on the concrete. “I’ll find you. Just keeping going up, don’t worry ‘bout me.”

She nodded, tears blurring her vision.

“Here, put your arm inside, like we practiced,” he said, pushing her right arm up over her head and into the gauntlet.

She looked over at the wire spanning the length of their workshop, where they had tested the devices, it collapsed to the floor as the wall began to give way. The machine clasped her hand, forming around her forearm, wrist and fingers. Wiggling them, she saw it respond in kind, as the wheels embedded in each finger spun up.

“Grab on.”

They broke through the wall.

“Go,” her father shouted, kicking the winch and sending their weighted raft into freefall.

It only took a second, then Carolina was rocketing upward. As she looked down, she watched her father grab the other gauntlet as someone tackled him. They went over the edge together. Her father reached out and grabbed onto the wire with his gauntlet. Not her end, though, the raft’s end. She accelerated even faster, as he disappeared into the fog below, a man tumbling through the air after him.

Tin, tin, tin . . . tonn. The unsteady beat of water on metal washed away the nightmare, waking Caro. A ping of guilt reverberated through her, if she had not been scared and jumped into the gauntlet right away, her father might still be alive. The sound of rain encompassed her, pushing the thought away. She let the peace permeate her, until interrupted by the water collecting somewhere above and dripping down irregularly. Tin . . . tonn.

It had been over five years. She still recalled being vaulted upwards twenty or so stories to a ledge, where the first string she would ride awaited, taking her both up and away from the building she had called home her entire life.

Her father used to tell her that reality had not lived up to the future promised. There were no flying cars, no cities floating in the air. Yet, there had been a miracle, an invention by Michael Gaunt. An engine that halved gravity for whatever it was attached to, one someone could turn on and off at will. Working with Legasse’ Elevation and Transport, a company specializing in materials and filaments, the Gaunt.L.E.T had been born.

When the sea swept into the city, breaching the walls, it changed everything. It had been expected at some point, that is why the walls had been built in the first place. No one thought so soon, though. The sea had washed away her mother, before she was even old enough to know her, along with a hundred thousand others. Some said it was terrorism, others an attack, even more a cleansing, from those far above.

For a long time, there had been no where left to build but up, so that was where the future went. Even before the sea came, it had been planned, strong buildings able to withstand the waters for centuries, each built to be self-sustaining with power and food. There had been twelve in all, some now reaching nearly three-hundred stories high. Sure, there were plenty of other buildings that stood above the waters, people still lived in them, but few made it even half as high as the Twelve.

The first dozen stories belonged to the ocean. Those who lived off the sea, like her father and her, were on the floors closest to the water. Their building had been a solid seventy stories, they had lived near the middle. Two rooms, one for living, one for the workshop. Just about every day, they’d lower their raft to fish and scavenge. It was fate that had changed things, a barge crashing through their living space, while they were coming up from the water.

A string had failed, it was rare, but it happened. The gauntlets were still intact, but needed repair. Only one of the Gaunt drives was functional, but the barge had been hauling electronic waste, so they had scavenged what spare parts they could before anyone else arrived. After that, it was a matter of remaining hidden in the workshop, everyone had assumed they were dead, somewhere under the wreckage. It was over a week before anyone ignored the barge and went after their workshop, not quite enough time.

Caro opened her pack and grabbed a bar, a ration made for workers on the lower floors of the Twelve. She missed fishing, even if those above called them ‘street fish’ and refused to eat them. There were few strings below fifty stories, and none that allowed traversing across that boundary. The last time she had touched the sea, it had been with her father.

Now she hung below floor 97, against the West side of the Trilar building, hidden just beneath a decorative alcove that all but covered her. She had deployed her umbrella more for camouflage than anything, but it also helped with the morning rain. It kept her dry, but she was going to have to do something about that dripping.

An older string, mostly unused, ran within snagging distance of the alcove. Caro had installed an anchor for her gauntlet over a year ago, it was one of a few secret hiding spots she had made around the city. Twisting around in her hammock, she looked at the display embedded in the side of her gauntlet. No alarms had been sounded, no one had touched the string last night. Pulling her cuff out from charging, she strapped it to her left forearm.

Gauntlets were not commonly owned by individuals, they were very expensive. It was a lesson she learned early, hiding in their workshop, it was also the reason she no longer had a father. Now days, older models were sometimes traded and sold, even below a hundred stories, just not with the Gaunt drives. She and her father had disabled the tracking devices. Beyond that, they had made a few modifications to set them up for personal use, like the harness and some storage.

What Legasse’ brought to the table was the materials. Gaunt had most of the press, but the strings themselves were just as miraculous as his drive. The greater the tension on the strings, the stronger they became, eventually becoming a one-inch unbending bar when taut. A two-inch version of the string also existed, but was mainly used to connect the foundations of the Twelve to one another. The frame of the gauntlets was also impressive, made of materials stronger than steel, the entire apparatus weighing in at only 53 lbs. Toss in the Gaunt engine, and it was down to 26.5 lbs, easily maneuverable with one arm by an adult, even given its size.

Dad used to say the gauntlets and strings were nothing more than a modern forklift and pallet system, which he had to explain to Caro, because she had never seen a warehouse. The gauntlet was a little larger than the average human, but you could walk with one, put it into place, and attach it to a container. Once attached to the container, the Gaunt drive made it easier to maneuver, to get it attached to a string. For a slinger, like herself, it was her life, often times her home. Everything of value she kept on herself or her gauntlet.

There were a lot of strings between stories 50 and 200. Things became more sparse above 200, she was told. Her father had been right about one thing, the higher you went, the better the life. The problem was being accepted, those above 100 were not interested in adopting a slinger kid, and even getting close to 150 could get you in serious trouble. Rumors were rampant of people being stripped of their gauntlets and returned to the water, sometimes rather quickly. Caro had seen people falling before, both from the surface of the water and while hanging high.

Untangling her tether and reclasping it to her harness, Caro undid the hammock and rolled it up before stowing it. Scavenging was easier on the water, living on the strings meant working. Luckily, she had found her niche’, as a cartographer. Caro travelled the strings, deploying a device similar to the alarms she used, to determine the various levels of traffic on different strings. The data was valuable to slingers, and she kept it updated consistently enough to make a living. From 50 to 150, no one knew the strings as well as she did.

From 50 to 100, the amount of strings made things seem more like a web. But, it made sense, given the vast amount of buildings within that range, stretching out for miles away from the Twelve. Space had become premium after the waters came, so strings had been used to create more. Containers and barges were lined from one building to another along strings, holes cut through their walls to allow people to move across the makeshift bridges. It was easy enough to pull more strings alongside them, and build out housing from the bridges.

Others remained mobile, living and trading out of old barges. Shen’s father had fashioned a small barge to look like an old Chinese ship, selling noodles back and forth between several buildings on a daily run, and he had continued the business. There were some taxi services, but they were expensive, especially depending on the destination. One needed a gauntlet to be mobile.

100 to 150 was a bit harder. People that high began to protect their buildings, monitor who came in on strings, at times charge tolls, and send away those they did not want. There were still quite a few strings, but far fewer than those below. Buildings above 100 could even be connected to the Twelve, establishing commerce. Some people even raided garbage barges, especially those coming down from high elevations, to trade below.

Slingers were the minority, the few that remained free from the buildings, living on the strings. Never nailed down, they moved constantly. If a slinger wasn’t careful, they wouldn’t keep their gauntlet for long. Caro made a point of being irregular, doing her best to keep from forming patterns that people could use to set a trap for her. There was freedom for slingers, but it was not without fear.

Pushing a button, the metal umbrella rotated back into itself and then folded down into the backside of the gauntlet. Caro pulled a wire from the winch, coiling it carefully in her hand. When she had enough slack, she swung it up and out, looping it over the string a mere fifteen feet from the building. The weight of the clasp pulled it down over the string, catching and latching as the winch drew in the slack. Putting her hand up into the gauntlet, she tested to make sure wire was secure, then let go of the anchor.

Swinging out below the string, the winch reeled her up, until she was able to grab on with her gauntlet. Reaching up, she unclasped the wire and wound it back in completely. Every slinger modified their gauntlet for their own needs. Some even had comfortable seats, but Caro preferred to remain standing, with only a pull down bar to sit on or lean up against, should she want. It made her more mobile, especially when it came to navigating on and off strings, or between them.

Manipulating her hand, she began accelerating up the string, which had a slight incline. It had been some time, so Caro needed to update the string data she sold to other slingers, not to mention collecting her cut of the subscriptions from Dawn, who ran Station B. It wasn’t easy to get to, that was the point, a place hidden where stringers could trade, a black market of sorts. Quite a few stringers were smugglers, taking from above and selling below. Occasionally, goods would go up, but it was rare.

Most slingers came into Station B from below, but Caro preferred to come in from above, there were more options to reroute, should something go wrong. It was on floor 95 of the Avalon building, which had once been its top. The building wanted to be connected to the Twelve, so they built upwards, mainly farms, and then a new trading platform on 105.

Barges coming down from the Twelve were monitored, it was why most slingers came in from below. Caro used her umbrella, with its nanocamo, to blend in after slipping onto the freight. Her father used to tell her stories about her grandfather, who as a child supposedly had a pet chameleon he would wear around his neck on a leash. She liked to think she was channeling him.

Once she was close to Avalon, she would slip out, winch down to a lower string, using it to swing over to an old string left behind from the construction, and slink into 95, which only handled automated barges going farther down. Climbing onto the back of one of those barges kept her hidden, and allowed for an easier dismount. Station B was an old repair shop, mostly stripped, and left with just the necessary electronics to ensure things ran smoothly. There were no personnel assigned, and only one camera, conveniently covering only the barges coming in.

Caro jumped from the barge, landing on a causeway. The bottom half of her gauntlet rotated to always stay behind her, no matter the angle of her arm, as she ran away from the incoming barges. She kept the Gaunt engine on, just in case, but as soon as she ran into Station B, she acted as if her gauntlet was heavy. A string had been pulled from one end of the large room to the other, and nearly two dozen other gauntlets hung from it. To the right was where people gathered, and to the left a large opening and a long drop down. Nodding at Dawn, she made an effort out of anchoring her own gauntlet and slipped out.

She always enjoyed looking at other gauntlets. Most stringers spent nearly everything they made on modifications and upgrades. Everything from comfort and entertainment, to storage and tools were available. Even luxury was possible, one of the gauntlets had a reclining chair with a built-in Alternate Reality rig. Many rigs had various automation features, mainly related to the handling of strings and transitioning from one to another. Safety was a necessity. Although, most slingers forewent the safety of a parachute, they were considered bad luck. Who would want to return to swimming after having their wings ripped from them, anyway?

The one thing most gauntlets had in common was a lack of bright colors, there was no point in giving away your position. The only time she had even seen one different was when a former fighter escaped the pits with his trophy gauntlet, it had been designed brazenly with colors that were quickly painted over. Brian’s rig was hanging next to the door. Like her own, it was simple and efficient. She had heard fighters sometimes affixed weapons to their gauntlets, but if he had any, he had disposed of them a long time ago. Beyond that, it made sense to keep them lean, given that wielding them in combat was not easy.

Dawn was behind the bar, same as always. A doorway behind her led to a small room she called home. To the left of the door was a poster of some superhero. Beyond that, there were no decorations, just parts to trade. Whatever was too expensive was hidden from plain view, but somehow she could get her hands on nearly anything. The nanocamo umbrella had cost Caro more than anything else she had, and she had to get it installed on the other side of the city, which cost even more than the device. Modifications were not cheap, and there was only so much one could do on their own.

“Long time, how ya been, kiddo?”

“That depends,” Caro replied with a smirk.

“I got your money, don’t worry. It’s always business first with you, I like that. But, you could also use a polishin’ up on the ole politeness.”

“Being polite never really got me anywhere.”

“That’s cause ya never tried. Anyway, what can I do for ya today?”

“Not sure. It rained last night, so the bladder is full, no need for water. Just replaced the filter last time, so good there. Have plenty of bars to eat.”

“You always have the necessities covered, the question is when are ya gonna spend some of that money you’re hoarding?”

Caro smiled. “What, your cut of my hard work isn’t enough for you?”

“Rent is expensive when it’s all about keeping people quiet. You think it’s easy?”

Caro shook her head. “Nah, I get it. A lot of people here today, too.” A large group had assembled at the far end, around some old couches and chairs surrounding a holographic campfire.

Dawn nodded.

“What is everyone gathered over there for?”

“Robby got caught going too high.”

“No shit? He take a dive?”

She shook her head. “He’s over there tellin’ his story.”

Caro pursed her lips inquisitively. “Be right back.” She wandered over to the group. Robby was younger like her, but a lot bigger. His back had been turned to them, so she hadn’t noticed it was him until she heard his voice.

“They caught me, pulled me out of my gauntlet.”

“Bullshit,” someone replied.

“I’m serious. I thought they were going to throw me to the water, but they said they didn’t do that, anymore.”

“Who said?”

“I don’t know, some guy they kept calling ‘Duke.’”

Brian spoke up. “The Duke?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You never heard of him, have ya?”

“Um. No,” Robby stammered. “Who is he?”

“If he’s the same guy, he was one of the greatest fighters in the pits. Hell, he’s the reason I ran.”

“Why?” someone else asked.

“He came out of no where and started fighting his way up. It didn’t matter who he fought, he always won. Didn’t matter whether they had an engine or not, one gauntlet or two, he took them down. If ya kill someone in the pits, you get their gauntlet, but he never did. He would only take a small part here or there, and let everyone live. It pissed some people off early on, but he won the respect of the fighters.

As he worked his way up, they tried a lot of dirty tricks to take him out, those running the pits. Nothing seemed to work, and he won the crowd, too. Eventually, they brought in Mac, the most notorious of pit fighters, who had killed more fighters than anyone. They let the Duke watch him kill a few people, even after he had challenged Mac to a fight, just to piss him off. The fight between the two of them was brutal. Something in him changed, he killed Mac and took both his gauntlets, weapons and all.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, you said it, that’s why I ran. I was supposed to fight him next. I hadn’t made enough to buy my freedom, but I had enough to pay people to ignore me while I slipped out. Over the years, I had collected the parts to rebuild the mechanics in the fingers to grip the string and propel the gauntlet. So, nothin’ was holdin’ me back. Even if they catch me and return me to the pits, lived longer than I would’ve.”

Robby broke the silence that crept in. “Well, he seemed nice to me. He told me that them catching me was about ensuring safety. They inspected my rig, said they were looking for older, more dangerous rigs, ones that might fail. He said they would take those that endangered the owners and others, but that mine was good so I was free to go.”

“Sounds like he could be the same guy,” Brian said.

Caro put her hand on Robby’s shoulder. “Wait, what do you mean they inspected your rig?”

“While he talked to me, there were a few engineers inspecting the rig. It took them less than an hour, and I was free to go.”

Caro’s cuff vibrated warning, confirming what her gut already knew. Several of the strings coming into Station B began showing activity, not just the barge string. “You led them to us.”

Running toward Dawn, Caro yelled, “Money, now.”

Dawn held out her cuff and as Caro ran by she held out her arm, the money transferring as she turned toward her gauntlet. Someone she had never seen before was already coming through the door. Sliding into her gauntlet, she removed it from the anchor and ran as more people poured through the door. Several other stringers had grabbed their rigs and began to fight, but Caro had little interest in joining the melee.

Running toward the open wall, she powered up her Gaunt engine. Someone was behind her, closing in, she could feel it. When she hit the ledge, she didn’t hesitate, jumping and rotating the side of her gauntlet between her and her pursuer. Something scraped the metal of her gauntlet, bouncing off, unable to grasp her, as she fell. A yell escaped the lips of whomever it was, but her screen showed them catching themselves before they fell.

Caro activated her umbrella, unfolding it into wing mode, allowing her to glide, even though she was still falling too fast to snag a string. A few barges with security forces were waiting for anyone to leave Station B on the strings. Luckily, there were quite a few strings below. Activating her drogue shoots, she slowed to a comfortable pace, and began looking around. At this rate, she could be blocks away from Station B, comfortably around the side of another building, before even needing to find a string.

She almost wished she could see the faces of everyone in Station B, friend and unknown. Caro had worked on these modifications for a long time, and no one knew about them. She had tested them, but didn’t want to draw any attention, so she kept to the strings. It was safer than gliding, anyway.

On the other side of Trilar, she leveled out next to a string and grasped on. The drogue shoots reeled back inside, the umbrella folding in quickly after them. Keeping one barge or another between her and anyone that might be following, she swung down below 70 and lost herself in the container slums stretching between the Core Seven of the Twelve.

The slums were a different world, entirely. The Twelve, with their massive foundations, stretching stories above the water, were built with the strings in mind, with hundreds of anchor points on each side of the massive octagonal buildings. Many of these connected one of the Twelve to another between stories twenty and fifty with the more massive two-inch version of the strings, strengthening the foundations of all together.

Early on, some of the buildings closer to the Twelve cleared entire floors, weaving strings through them from multiple directions to allow makeshift transit hubs, but any building between the Core Seven simply became engulfed in the slums. Large portions of the slums were contiguous, and there were people who had likely never seen the inside of a real building before inhabiting them. Paths had been naturally woven between the slums for transportation.

Zippers, people who used harnesses and gravity to move along the strings through the slums, were quite common. They were the transportation, couriers, and messengers of the slums, and knew the slum strings better than anyone. Here, a gauntlet was rare, but slingers were also relatively safe, no one wanted the risk of having something so expensive that was impossible to hide or move. There were even stories of slingers being thrown from the slums, gauntlet and all. Respect was requisite, running a gauntlet up a string used solely for going down was not a good idea, and pulling zippers along with you back to the top was expected.

Caro had spent a good bit of time in the slums, she felt more at home there, closer to the water. The smell was more stagnant, but also more of the sea than far above. Everything was more organic, less industrial. Vines and fruit grew all over the slums, and the rain was elaborately channeled through makeshift plumbing, delivering potable water to fountains and carrying waste away. Disease threatened exodus to the adjacent buildings, including the Core Seven, so they invested in providing the basics to the slums. It also contained one of her best hiding spots.

Caro had found a path down beneath the slums, not an easy feat for someone with a gauntlet. It required swinging from one string to another. After enough practice, she was able to use her wire to swing past to the next string, grabbing ahold of it with her gauntlet. Unclasping it, she could swing it down and catch the next string, repeating the process. It put more tension on the winch, but she modified it with an additional roller to help. It cut the time traversing a dozen such strings by more than two thirds, without the need to reel herself up to grab onto every string. At the last string, she lowered herself down fifty feet, to one of the lowest foundation strings between the Seven.

Beneath the slums was one of the calmest areas in the entire city. Still a hundred feet above the sea, it was too high for nearly anyone in the slums to access the water. Many buildings still existed below the slums, quite a few even reaching to join them. Not many people lived below. There was little access to anything, including sunlight, so it had been abandoned. Without the sun, there was no power, which the slums at least provided to the people in centralized locations, much like the fountains with water. Down here, little moved, it was calm.

Glowing green and blue algae stretched through the water between the buildings, showing the streets where her father said her mother and he used to walk. A few windows were dimly lit, showing some presence, but they were far and few between, like the stars from most of the city. It was strange to think about, that here, beneath everything, there was less artificial light than above.

Finally feeling safe, sure that she had not been followed, Caro thought about Station B. What would become of it? Dawn had talked about a Station A before, would she escape and found a Station C somewhere? And, who had tried to grab her?

Caro looked over at her gauntlet’s screen. She turned it on, dimming the brightness so not to attract attention. Every gauntlet had one of these screens, it was important for diagnostics and reports, but also had a side view mirror. The side of every gauntlet blocked vision, most gauntlets were about four feet wide. A camera on the other side gave the pilot an image of what they could not see. It also had a recording feature.

Messing with the time, Caro easily found when she had been in Station B. She heard the commotion and saw Dawn running into her back room as Caro grabbed her gauntlet and turned to run. When she jumped, she turned to place the gauntlet between herself and her pursuer. The man reached out for her, yelling. But, he had not stumbled like she thought. He just grasped the edge of the ledge and looked down after her, screaming again.

Rewinding, she turned up the volume. ‘Carrrrooollliiinna,’ he shouted. She knew the voice, looking away and across the water as he shouted. Caro smiled. Rewinding again, she zoomed in on his face, confirming her father had found her, just as he had promised.

• Short Story
• Distopian
• Science Fiction