Dark sands blew over eroded monoliths. The sliver of a pale moon in the sky. Even in the depths of night, the view was unobstructed: rocks and rocks and rocks as far as the eye could see.
A low growl woke her up. Something was pressing against her belly and chest: it was warm, covered in hair, pulsing with life. She knew she was safe.
The growl got louder, as if trying to pull her out of her dream. She replied with an annoyed hiss and snuggled further. A snout bumped into her shoulder softly. Come on, five more minutes!
Before she could plunge back into the depths, a bird started singing nearby. She knew the song. It was the Time Bird celebrating the day.
Val opened her eyes. Her alarm clock was ringing. She was only hugging herself.
She stretched and thought back to the dream, turning ragged and distant already. "Huh. I gotta write this one," she groaned. Her shoulder answered with a pop.
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It was twenty-five past seven in an unremarkable neighborhood of Middle, and Val was humming a tune in the brisk morning air.
Valerie Marredine looked like 1.82 meters of good girl. Neat clothes, subdued makeup, glossy dark hair tied in a bun, intense blue eyes and a freckled light brown face that had yet to loose all of its baby fat. The kind of woman you would accompany home out of worry even when she was sober. What was Val so cheerful about, you might ask? Why, she was going to work.
The crowd of the trolley station did not share her joy. It was mostly office workers and barely-awake high schoolers swaying like a wheat field in the spring dawn. Bleary eyes, steaming disposable coffee cups, there was a comforting familiarity in the washed-out silence of the people reading the papers or drowsily working a pager.
There were a good twenty to thirty people waiting this morning. The numbers rarely went down at commuting times, as almost no one had a car in Middle. Thanks the Founders for that! It would have been an immense waste of space in an already cramped area. Most middlers just took the Ring, the trolleys circling the city Tier.
As the black and red trolley entered the station, Val's mind wandered. Working at an Upper company still felts like a dream. Sure, she had graduated with decent marks, but without her father's help she would have never gotten the job. She felt kind of dirty about that. Like this "help" was something she was supposed to pay for down the line, like he was gonna use it to make her more compliant somehow. It was an actual possibility. But she had gotten a Junior Accounting contract at Arrow Bionics, and she would sell a bit of her freedom for that, no questions asked.
Arrow Bionics, or just Arrow for most people, was the company behind the wide-spread biochips. They made a lot of other things, from vehicles to drones, but that was their best-known product. It was directed by Augustus Blanciel, patriarch of one of Nosanges' Founding families. Was he a tech genius, or too rich to fail? No one could tell for sure, but the prestige of working for him was real. Unless she really screwed up, Val was guaranteed a resume that put her ahead of all the alumni of Middle College.
You had to really want it, though. Even with a recommandation, the administration at Middle Town Hall had made her jump through so many hoops to get the Upper work visa, not to mention the NDC. Her bosses made the damn chip! As the rails carried her to her destination, she glanced at her right wrist: no trace of the surgery. The scar had completely disappeared in the two weeks since she started working in Upper. The old one would have left a crescent scar and carried a risk of rejection. The new version was such an improvement!
She sent a quick voice update to Jeanet and Desiree, pushing the old copper switch until the magnetic band turned. "Hey pals! On my way to work, today is gonna be sunny and beautiful! Don't forget to wear your glasses, Jeanet, or even your scissors aren't gonna cut straight! Desiree, babe, get your own pager if you want the spicy updates! Good luck with your students!"
The band clicked, stopped and wound itself back, broadcasting to Jeanet's salon, the NB & Hairy. The three of them had been friends since college. An essential support system for Val as she went through some of the biggest changes of her life. Too bad they were all so busy these days.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Thinking about her friends, she hopped out of the trolley and clicked her low heels towards the Upper East gate. She held her head high, unhurried. She knew she looked good in her business suit and took the time to indulge. Tingly warmth and more than a bit of shame swirled together in her abdomen as she had, as Jeanet called it, "one of her girlboss moments". She didn't have a thing for uniforms, but a tailored suit and she'd be on her knees - metaphorically, of course.
She was quickly brought down from her corporate high by the frown of the gate officer. He didn't like his job, and he liked having to crane his neck to look up at an upstart even less. No matter. People had though much worse of her.
The Upper East gate itself was impressive. Cut into the twenty meters steel Tier wall, it was wide enough to let in two trucks side-by-side. The pedestrian gate was much smaller, a white prefab booth interrupting the sidewalk to Upper just long enough to set up a little counter and a visa-operated portal. The officer waved her through with a grunt. Not much of a crowd at this hour as most of the middlers working in Upper were cleaners and supply workers. They would be out by the time the sun hit the gleaming towers.
On the other side, Val took a short escalator to the Upper walkways. As always, the view was breathtaking. In between the shadows of many towers, vast suspended plazas opened up into cosy spaces, populated with farmer markets, climate-controlled cafés, sometimes full-on suspended gardens thriving on hydroponics. The stalls and boutiques all had a delicately crafted small town vibe, as if she had wandered in a giant countryside fair. Life was good in Upper - for a price.
Val couldn't afford much here. She brought in her own lunch from Middle, and was already preparing a budget for the monthly company dinners. Asking HR how much of the event was covered by Arrow had been a humiliating experience. Middlers stayed middlers, no matter where they went. Somehow, working with uppers didn't grant her the respect they were given, or the same career opportunities.
As she crested a bridge crossing over an artificial brook, she was welcomed by the awe-inspiring sight of the Arrow building, one of the tallest towers in Upper, and she beamed with pride as she made for the entrance.
The tower was a graceful behemoth of white stone and glass, intricately carved, a hundred and twenty-two floors supported by high arcing ceilings. Nothing like the brick of Middle: this was as much of a statement as it was a building, probably raised by a dedicated Storm with very fine kinetic control. Her chip let her through the stained-glass doors with a chime.
From time to time, a Vigil probably perched up there in the towers to watch over the mundanes of the inner city. At least, that's the image the League wanted to convey, even though she knew they relied mostly on camera surveillance now. She huffed at the thought of her sister posing on a rooftop. The woman could slip and hit her ass on the pavement for all she cared.
After a long ride in the wood-paneled cabin, the main elevator opened smoothly at the forty-third floor, the Junior Accounting department. While some other floors were richly decorated, this one was mostly an open space with wicker partitions to give the desks some peace and quiet.
It was all she needed, along with a big desk to stack documents, which she has been supplied with. A fancy new computer station sat on a console nearby, the square machine switched on and ready to be consulted. Val avoided it as much as she could: no matter how much they spoke of "mundanization", talking to machines still felt like a Cyber's job to her. But here she was. Her own desk space, in one of the most prestigious companies in all of Nosanges.
She sighed with satisfaction. Was this why she was so excited to go to work? Well, to be honest, not really. Just as she was thinking about it, the "reason" for her good mood greeted her by leaning over a partition. Her stomach gave a happy little jump.
"Miss Marredine. Ten minutes early as usual."
Damian White was carved just as finely as the building. A chiseled face, light brown curls slicked back diligently over thundering green eyes and alabaster skin. His well-tailored pinstripe suit held a pin signaling manager status, and - yes! He was her manager! She needed to stop this line of thinking immediately. No pining over a direct supervisor. Bad Val.
"Thank you sir, it's no trouble sir," she managed, hoping against all odds that he hadn't noticed her staring. Founders, she fell exactly for all the bad romance novel cliches! She wanted to be noticed for her work, not show off in hopes of getting a rich upper spouse!
Mr. White just nodded in acknowledgement. Val had never seen him smile. "Keep up the good work," he said, returning to his separate office at the back of the large room.
Those simple words should not have lit up her insides with hope the way they did. Come on Val, get it together.
She stowed away her lunch bag and opened her ledgers. Her crush was probably not going to lead anywhere. Mr. White had been nothing but professional with Val, which made her even sweeter on him, damn it! Unless he was waiting near her booth on purpose? No, surely not.
It was just an air he gave off. An aura of sorts. Sure, at first glance, he seemed uptight, even severe. He didn't mince his words, he could be obnoxious and demanding, he had scolded her and her colleagues harshly when necessary. They didn't call him the "Ice King" for nothing. But even through his cold attitude, a core of serenity and reliability radiated.
There was just something about him that made you want to trust him.