Grey

“Despite the official declarations,” she said, “they exist. I doubt there are more than a hundred, but it’s impossible to tell. They live off the system, completely beyond the laws. Forty years ago, though, they helped defeat the Pharmaceutical Warlords and allowed the families to take control of the cities. At that time they were admired. They were the artisans of anarchy.” She stopped fiddling with my shirt, straightened, and faced me. “The slubbers and the warlords are the official enemy, but the freeboots are worst. And from all the information I’ve been able to gather, I believe your shooting was an act of retaliation.”

“What did I do?”

“I don’t think it was about you in particular—although RiverGroup’s role in security and identity is fundamental to the families—you were just a high-level target in retribution for a series of fierce attacks on the freeboots last year.” She exhaled and her eyes fell again. “I am sorry.”

“Well,” I said, not quite sure what all of this meant besides a huge nuisance, “what happened to the freeboot?”

“At first, the reports were that the freeboot was killed by family satins, but now it seems he escaped.”

“How?”

She shook her head. “They’re very elusive. And no one was prepared.”

Whipping a hand around the room—the awful images and the now black therapy screen, I said, “I want out of here. I want to see Nora.”

She didn’t move.

I waited several seconds for her to speak then began to panic. “She wasn’t shot was she? Please don’t tell me that!”

“No! She’s fine. She’s perfectly fine…” Her voice trailed off. Joelene was not usually this reticent.

“Is there something bad?”

She took a breath, looked me in the eyes, and said, “The marriage is off.”

My marriage to Nora was to signify the merger between RiverGroup and her family’s company, MKG. Father had invented the scheme a couple of months ago. Although RiverGroup was still number one, we were losing customers because we hadn’t introduced anything new in years and our market share had slipped to just below fifty percent. Our biggest rival, MKG, had an innovative approach, and Father’s idea was that together, RiverGroup and MKG would dominate the market. As for me: I didn’t care for business, or code, or promotions, or money, or any of it. And in the beginning, I didn’t want anything to do with his marriage-merger scheme, but when Joelene and I began to research Nora, I couldn’t believe how intelligent, beautiful, and serene she was. And then we met and I learned that she was colorless, that she was the epicenter of grey, that she was my conclusion. “Well,” I said, saddened, but not devastated, “that’s not good, but when can I see her?”

“The marriage-merger is off,” she repeated.

“I heard you! I just want to see her as soon as I can.”

She spoke slowly, as if reluctant. “You cannot.”

“I have to see her!” I laughed because I was so unused to Joelene not understanding. “Marriage or not. Nora and I are one. You saw what she did with her hand. We’re grey. We’re perfect together!”

“Let’s get you dressed,” she said, with a sigh. “We’re going to meet your father back at the company compound.”

“I demand to see her immediately!”

“The merger is off!” She spoke louder than she ever had before. An instant later, I thought she was going to cry again. “Sorry,” she said, dabbing her eyes, “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just very difficult. And please understand that we won’t be able to monitor her on the channels, send messages, or communicate in any way. Her family’s company is now RiverGroup’s enemy.”

When what she said sunk in, I felt like I might weep. I had survived the bullets, only to find my world ruined. An old photo^S7 from Pure H came to mind. It was of a man suspended in a vat of clear balls and his whole body was held in place and dimpled like a giant golf ball.

“I’m very sorry, Michael,” she said, softly. She started to reach toward my foot, as if to stroke it, but then pulled back, probably because I was still undressed. “Listen,” she continued, “after such a devastating security breach, MKG can’t merge with us. It would be a public relations disaster. Frankly, RiverGroup is in great trouble. The company’s stock has fallen from 63,000 a share to less than 300. We’re teetering on collapse.” After pursing her lips, she added, “As for MKG, there is no communication between the two family companies. Nora’s father, Mr. Gonzalez-Matsu, held a press conference just minutes ago and announced their new direction.”

I met Nora’s father for a few seconds before our train-date. He was like my father—one of those loud, old- fashioned men who was almost impossible to embarrass, obsessed with volume, speed, money, and the culmination of everything bright, garish, and vulgar. He wore a glowing violet suit, a shirt that blinked green and gold, and large, gold, oil-burning earrings that left smoke contrails when he moved.

“He did this!” I said, sure. “Before we got on the Bee Train, I bowed my head to him, but he just glared back like he hates me. He had the freeboot shoot me!”

“I don’t see it,” she said, shaking her head. “There must be a weakness in RiverGroup security code. After all, it is supposed to track and monitor information that should have prevented this very thing.”

Slapping a hand onto the bed, I said, “I just want Nora.”

Joelene lifted my legs and spun me on my butt like a mother maneuvering a baby. Picking up the black underwear, she said, “Your tailor has improved the cloth’s temperature control system.” Joelene slipped my underwear over my left foot and then the right.

“No, it can’t be,” I said, imagining Nora floating away.

“It can change from indoor temperatures to outdoor heat in one point three seconds,” she continued. “That’s a third of last year’s model, and for the wearer, it means complete comfort.” She sounded like a brochure. Respectfully turning her head, she pulled up the shorts and simultaneously flicked the color spa’s green logo-cloth away. “He’s also improved the wrinkle control.”

“I want to see Nora!” I said, as if mounting one last attack. “I want to be with her, Joelene, I have to see her now!”

She glanced toward the system camera in the far corner of the room. “We’re going to survive,” she said, soothingly. “Things will work out, Michael. I promise.”

Although I didn’t know how things could work without Nora, I trusted Joelene. She was the reason I was in a position to meet Nora and understand her significance and brilliance. Until my heart attack when I was fourteen, I was barely a person, let alone a fashionable and grey one. Until then, I danced at the PartyHaus every night before the cameras and what were said to be ten billion fans. Then, on one particular Saturday night, while performing my famous routine, I died.

Wearing gold leaf pants and a hunter green, sheer shirt with gold epithets and ice buttons, I rode an elevator to the center of the polished dance floor. When a spotlight hit me, I began by slowly raising my hands and face to the burning light.

As the massive crowd cheered, the DJ transitioned to my anthem, Adjoining Tissue, by HammorHeds. During the intro, I rolled my arms, legs, and head like I was a bit of seaweed undulating in a gentle current. It was a tease and the tens of thousands of partiers on the fifteen balconies of the PartyHaus knew it. They screamed my name as if they couldn’t wait. Finally, when the cannon drums started firing, I began.

Back then I had a choreographer, two wardrobe consultants, several hair and makeup stylists, and a team of strength and agility trainers. Because of the forces from the massive, fifty-foot Cold-Flame speakers on the dance floor, the untrained were regularly knocked unconscious, maimed, and even killed by the percussive blasts. I had mastered the beats like a karate-surfer riding tsunami waves.

In my routine, I did splits, hand-twirls, punch backs, double-triples, and my own triple and a half front. Before Adjoining Tissue finished, the DJ started transitioning into Kuts by Dr. Ooooo. The FX for this part of the routine called for a shower of razors, like deadly snowflakes from far above, and as I deftly avoided them both in the air and on the floor, a few other brave partiers began to join me.

One, a young woman known as Elinor W, wore a brilliant blue costume that covered her from head to toe except for cutouts for her eyes, chest, and crotch. I remember how she got into her groove, then looked up to smile at me. In that split second, she lost her concentration, and like an ax cleaving a block of wood, a razor sliced into