2-134 - 13th December–Age 17

Our front door opened, then banged shut. Low cries wafted down the hallway.

I waited a fraction of a minute longer, slid my holey boots on, then padded up the few steps leading to our primary living quarters.

Mom sat with her head in her hands, her gray-streaked hair damp from a cold shower, no doubt, flat to her head.

“Mom,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

With wet, stained cheeks and red, raw eyes, she looked up at me. “Rus,” she said, then apologized, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Mom wiped the tears with the back of her hand and extended a hand for me. I approached, and she immediately threw her arms around me, hugging me tight. “You know how he is,” she muttered. “The injury . . .”

Sadly, I did. I knew all too well.

In the past several weeks, Mom had started working a new job, and I had been racing on the street, doing whatever I could to earn some extra money.

Even though it had been a successful week, tonight’s race was the one that counted most. I was desperate for a number one victory.

Mom gave me another squeeze and pushed back, fixing her hair.

I sat, then poured myself some water. The growl from my stomach was audible enough for her to hear.

“I can fix you some eggs?”

I nodded, and my stomach growled again. “Thanks, Mom.”

It didn’t take her long, the fat splashing and eggs crackling in the pan as she gently fried them. The burnt smell of long-overused fat stung my nostrils.

I gulped down my water in the vain hope it would satisfy my appetite. It did not. When she finally put the eggs in front of me, I was already too hungry to eat them, and nausea spread through my body. I would eat them, though.

“What if I lose?” I asked her, picking up my spork and taking a bite of egg white first. We might not have had any money, but she always made perfect eggs. The fat, though old, tasted of bacon, and the slightly sweet and peppery taste caught me by surprise, as usual.

Mom turned to the sink and ran just enough water to wipe the pan clean before returning to the table and saying, “If you lose, we can’t pay the rent, and we’re out.” Her shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Mom, it’s January,” I cautioned, beginning to sense the most trying months of the year. “Where would we go?”

“Back to Roterdon,” she suggested.

I finished the last bite of eggs, wishing there had been more, and then I went to give her another embrace. “We’ll be okay,” I said. “You’ll see.”

“Call at the market on your way home,” she said and turned back to the table to steady herself. “Pick us up something nice.”

I nodded, but she couldn’t see. “I will. I’ll head out now, see if I can grab some work with Tsomak.”

“Go easy on him,” my mom begged. “This isn’t his fault.”

I didn’t answer her. Of course, it was his fault—stupid injury. I grabbed my coat off of the back door before I left, slipping it on.

My coat was far too thin for the weather, and it was too short in the arms. The wind was biting. I had sprouted up over the course of the previous year, but due to the lack of food, I was tall and slender. That was good, however, for racing. The majority of my friends in this area were considerably more muscular, and the added weight slowed them down ever so slightly during a race. I was always one step ahead of the competition due to my size. I cinched the coat around me even more tightly, put my arms into alternative sleeves to keep them warm, and walked a little faster. Our home was only thirty minutes away from the city’s job boards, and my HUD showed me Tsomak’s flashing, moving icon; he had a significant head start.

***

It took me some time walking and sprinting to catch up to him. That was fine. When I came upon him, he was standing by the roadside and kicking the curb. I was able to catch his attention. Only two or three other men were in the area at this time of the morning. Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention, and the bus had already come and gone. That would be terrible.

I knew he wanted the work; we needed it, and we were all up well before time.

I stood next to him, and he cast a glance in my direction. Those eyes . . . I’d never seen him show such strong feelings before. It caused me to take a step back. His shoulders sagged forward, and he asked in a hushed tone, “Why on earth did you follow me?”

“Thought we’d have a better chance to work together,” I answered honestly. It was the truth. The board’s job list flickered from one display to the next. I might have had no credits left for AW, but the city made it so normal people could see things, jobs, ads . . . sales.

The two of us together, a worker and a laborer, meant that, even if the pay was low, we’d be more likely to be taken on as a team for a job than someone else who was working alone. “They been yet?”

“Bus is late,” someone else moaned beside me.

When I looked around, I saw Lex, who was one of our neighbors. His glum expression conveyed he was much more aware than most were about our situation.

“Unusual,” I said, my eyes drifting down the street. Wonder what was holding it up?

It wasn’t only unusual; it was so late that the second lot of drifters made an appearance. The work queue was huge. Tsomak’s face fell as the manager picked all the other crews but us. It was becoming increasingly unlikely that we would get anything for the day.

The manager’s eyes fell on him. “You run top rope?” he asked.

Tsomak’s eyes came my way. “Rusty can.”

What? He used my nickname! He never called me Rusty, only Rus or Ruslan.

“What level?”

“Seven, I think,” he replied.

What? Crap, he’d volunteered me. Why? He needed the work. That was a stupid move.

I met the manager’s eyes with mine. “Sir,” I said. “Yes, sir, level seven.”

“Get on,” he commanded, waving his hand at the doorway.

I turned to Tsomak for help. “Go,” he ordered and shoved something in my hand. His knife. “Your mother has probably asked you to get something nice to eat for dinner, so put in some extra effort at work. Tonight, we’ll talk about it.”

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At a loss for words, all I could do was nod and hurry to catch the bus before it drove away without me. There were no seats available, so I had no choice but to stand in the back and watch Tsomak leave, having suffered yet another defeat.

The bus jerked hard, and up into the air we went. A couple of the surrounding guys groaned, but not me. The higher we went, the better I felt.

Running rope, on the other hand. I heaved a sigh. It was a slang term for people who ran on high-altitude tracks. Shuttles would bring the materials up to the higher levels, and the workers running rope would unload the materials, also known as hand-balling, for the others who needed them. It was the most efficient and cost-effective method of transporting supplies to the higher floors of a building. Today was going to be hard, very hard.

Staring through the front windows of the bus, I could see our destination: the most popular structure in the High Roller Hotelier’s portfolio spanned the skyline. This was the Duan Leeatre. I’d been here before. Most of us had. It was the “job” that was most convenient for us, and it had been going on for a good number of months.

The Duan Leeatre vanished from view as we drew in closer. The dirty streets went with it as it turned to rough, patchy ground. We slowed, entering the one-way system around the bottom of the tower. The bus stopped, and several crews got off. When the bus set off again, it was in a circular rotation around the central tower. It stopped at every job site going up before it got anywhere near where I’d be. At least when the bus was empty, I got to sit and look out the window.

Even a hundred stories up, I stared yet even higher at the marvel she was. Her info popped up in the corner of my HUD. I flicked over it quickly, already knowing the details by heart.

M-Corp

Construction = Duan Leeatre

Luxury Military Complex

Height = 830 Meters

Stories = 160

Min worker level = 5

Cost: 4.5 Billion

It was for the middle/first-class officers within M-Corp’s Military.

SITE SAFETY

Safety protocols and building regulations will be adhered to at all times. Strict punishments will be dealt out, including removal from the workers site registry if you do not comply.

I dismissed the message. She might not have been the largest structure around, but she certainly was a luxury.

The internal spire that extended high into our atmosphere was made of one of the most visually appealing substances known to man, harvested and carved by M-Corp’s finest craftsmen. In the soft light of the early morning, it reflected gorgeous hues of orange, yellow, and even pink as the rays of our sun bounced off of it.

This, this is what I was made for.

Finally, the bus came to a complete stop. There were only four of us left, and I went to get off with the others. I followed them to the exit. The manager held a hand up, stopping me. “You’ll be on the next floor.”

“Next floor?” I was more than confused.

This was the last one. I was sure of it. Yet the doors closed, and we went up again.

“VIP,” he said. “I checked your file. Best runner out there. You’re here for the day.”

When he stopped this time, the open doorway was not the same as it had been before. He instructed me, “Report to Velas. He’ll make sure you’re settled in for the day.”

I took a moment to catch my breath before alighting. “Do I get anything extra, being up here?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Extra?” Then his eyes traced over my frame. “Been a tough few weeks, kid?”

I merely gave him a simple nod, fully aware of what he was seeing: a scrawny youngster who hadn’t eaten properly in weeks.

“I’ll make sure you’re on the roster for food. You’ll eat with the others today.”

My stomach growled at this already. “Appreciated.”

I stepped off the bus onto the open ramp. “Good luck,” he called after me.

After they had gone, I turned my head to gaze at my surroundings. The vast majority of people would never do this. For me, it was well worth it to get to this height to see the views. As I looked down, there was a gentle procession of puffy clouds passing me by. Even though it was still early in the morning, the sun managed to catch them with its dazzling rays. I had only been watching for a short while when I noticed the first shuttle approaching the landing pad below us.

From here it was even easier to see the big four. M-Corps mega structure towered over everything. One of the major researchers and powerhouses in the city, glass, steel and chrome rose higher and higher, much higher than the Duan.

M-Corp didn't hide anything, neon lights adorned large stretches of the tower with their symbol everywhere, the Laughing Cat. Everyone knew that the sleekness to that building was just a cover. I didn’t need to guess they had weapons, defences and AIs hidden everywhere, that was a given. They would punish anyone trying to defy their strength and power. What I loved to see more than anything though were the even higher towers, several flat areas, helopads, from whence M-Corp sent helicopters and drone pilots out to dominate the skies of the city and beyond. That was the job I’d die for, that was everything I ever wanted since the first day I heard them and then saw them flying overhead with my father.

I knew from this angle I could barely see the other structures, but they were there. The Armed Brigade and Takemoto Towers. I’d seen many pictures of them in Aug-World too. What I never understood though was the Living Earth. I’d never met an Elf, but they were apparently everywhere. Hidden in plain sight or something. Their building had plants all over it, plants that actually grew. I’d love to see that building up close it fascinated me more than M-Corps.

“Hey, kid,” someone shouted, and I heard footsteps behind me. It brought me out of my daydreaming of flying around the big four.

I whirled around to see who had approached. I could only speculate it was Velas. He wore no shirt, and his muscles, tattoos, and tech were all out on show. His long dark hair was tied back, and he had a slight graying beard to match. He wore cargo pants and a utility belt fit to bursting. It was clear he was some type of carver.

“Always something delivered late. You’re working with me,” he said. “In a few minutes, a shuttle will arrive; you know the drill, quicker to get it up here than by service shaft. Even if we hate using shuttles. She’s got another delivery to be made, and we have to make sure she stays on schedule. Even if we’re behind. Get her cargo out as soon as possible, as safe as possible. I don’t need to tell you how expensive stuff is, right?”

“No, sir. On it,” I said, moving to stand before him on the small gangway. “Rus,” I greeted him, giving both of his metallic arms a glance while extending my hand.

“Velas,” he said and shook it, his grip light and cold. “Master marble-layer.”

I cast my eyes around. Everything really was made from marble. I let out a low whistle.

“Exactly,” he said. “You can get the heavier items in with the help of drones, but this is the kind of goods that require a human touch. Dro—”

“This high, they fail too often.”

“Exactly.” He frowned, one of his hands running fingers through his beard. “Been running long?”

“No, sir. Just when I can’t race.”

At this point, the engine of the shuttle could be heard, and he retreated. “Go get her.”

I moved off, then squeaked past him and onto the next set of tracks, down to where the shuttle would dock.

It wasn’t a massive shuttle—it couldn’t be around this delicate material. But when I saw the cargo, it was a box eight feet in length, spanning about the same in width. He hadn’t been kidding. This was richer than rich.

The money to get it up here via lift, or any other method, wouldn’t be cost-effective. This was reinforced by the continual use of rope runners so high up, and rightly so; whoever was going to be up here in this suite wanted luxury, but luxury that still stayed within budget.

The running tracks on the scaffolding that was on the side of the hotel were wide, but I noticed the incoming package was even wider. Shit, how was I supposed to even think about getting it in here? The shuttle pilot just watched. He had no intention of doing anything to help me. Asshole.

At the end of the track sat the control for the drones. I grabbed a hold of it and made my way over to the shuttle, bringing the drones with me. I paused to use Appraisal:

M-Corp

Delivery

Calcutta Marble Slabs x 4

Measurements: 5 ft x 12 ft, 3 inches thick

Weight: 10,200 pounds/1157 kilograms

Import and Transportation Costs - Added

Min Worker Level = 7

Cost: 8,400

The drones were capable of handling the weight, but because of its size, I’d need to maneuver the packaged item above the track, and above the safety rails; there was no other way.

Hooking the drones securely on the outer parcel wrapping, I clicked for them to lift. The whole thing slipped; they just managed to keep hold before it smashed into the shuttle deck. No, no, no. That wouldn’t do. If I tried that outside, the whole thing could fall.

I pulled out Tsomak’s knife and did the one thing I knew I shouldn’t. I slit the package open, exposing the precious cargo to the elements and to a much higher chance of falling.

I swallowed. Looking down never did anything for me. I loved heights, but now . . . now I looked down and thought of nothing but this slab hitting the ground or—shit—someone.