Level 43 was famous for having the best bakery in the south quarter of the Penta-tower complex. Even people from the premium levels (70 and above) would deign to go down to level 43, taking selfies and streaming live updates as they waited in line for a fresh batch of cheese buns. P’tit Cochon was even featured three times in Neon-C’s Top City Grubs List. No mean feat for being a food provider located far beneath the C-star tier of the city.
This season, the matcha caramel tarts were going viral, much to Berta’s chagrin. The cost of sugar was going up again and she didn’t want to increase prices to cover the costs. CS Bank had called her the night before, offering yet another loan that she felt genuinely tempted to take.
“It shouldn’t be a problem, Ms Rashidi.” The Loans Agent practically squeaked as she spoke “We can stretch out the loan life so you can make smaller repayments”. If Berta was a betting woman, she was positive the Agent was just an AI construct. No one in their right mind could be this chipper while working at CS Bank. It was a shame, winning this bet would have really helped her financially.
She had refused the extra loan. She and Halima had agreed. They owed too much of their already small lives to CS Corp, and they would not get another inch more. Instead, Halima made a few calls to her cousins who worked at the docks. By next week, Berta would receive 23 gallons of BuzzFuzz (lemon flavor) which she’d be able to reduce and reconstitute a decent supply of sugar until the trend for matcha caramel tart died down. She’d probably even have enough left over for the next season, as well as an unfortunate amount of lemon citric extract to use for something else.
Berta grinned to herself, as she folded the 32nd layer of filo pastry into itself. She and Halima had already tried the lemon extract in a new experimental recipe, and the results were explosive. For now, she would suffer the umpteenth Taki-Taki influencer batting their butterfly wing lashes in front of her display window as they did their best to sensually bite into their tarts in a dignified way. She knew which customers came from the C-star tier and above (to be fair, no one from B or A tier would ever come down here anyway), so she made sure to sell them the runnier tarts to ensure maximum mess on their absurdly contoured faces.
It was still morning, so the warmth from the oven was not strong enough to heat up the rest of the bakery yet. Nevertheless, the solar panels installed on the wall outside of the Penta-tower were already at capacity. There was a small line already queueing outside the door. Thankfully, it comprised of lower level locals waiting for the bakery’s coffee kiosk to open before their work shifts began.
Halima brushed past Berta. Her dreadlocks were tied up with a small army of pencils and markers, most of which would be used to mark the shreddable fibre coffee cups. Berta snickered as she felt her wife playfully smack her bottom on the way to the kiosk. “Miguel is going to be late this morning, so we’ll just switch shifts today.” She explained, grunting as she pushed up the mini roller door and waved at the patrons in the line. She leaned over the kiosk counter, pencils threatening to slide out of the locks in her bun. “Morning Rufus!” She called down at the older man huddled underneath the window.
Rufus snorted and opened one bleary eye up at Halima. “M’rn grl” he mumbled before coughing out a thick globule of black phlegm on the floor behind the rubbish bin. Some of the people in line rolled their eyes, but otherwise didn’t protest. Most locals were familiar with the dishevelled figure of Rufus, the local vagrant who slept anywhere, except in his obscenely small government housing unit that was no bigger than a broom cupboard. He had fought in two resource wars, lost one of his legs and most of his mind. As a reward for winning over the water rights of the Freehold Basin over to CS Corp, he was summarily discharged with a cybernetic leg, but no insurance to cover the costs of its maintenance.
“Door’s already open, sweetie.” Berta called from her worktable in the back. “I’m afraid breakfast is the same as yesterday.”
Rufus groaned as he used his good leg (the cybernetic leg, that is) to prop his body and pushed up from the floor. One of the men in line offered him a hand, only to be grumpily batted away. “Be nice.” Halima chided as she pulled out a pencil to take the first coffee order of the day. The old veteran stumbled his way into the bakery, taking his hat off out of habit before sitting down by the work table in the back. Berta had already laid out a small tray with a cup of black tea and a ham stuffed cheese bun. His fingers trembled slightly as he wrapped them around the ceramic mug, allowing the gentle warmth to seep into his stiff fingers. He nodded at the small photo on the wall by the window, paying his respects to the subject in the frame before taking a sip.
Berta smiled at the grizzled veteran, before her gaze slipped past him to the photo he had acknowledged. Surrounded by stickers, artificial flowers and a couple of brightly painted ex votos donated by Miguel, Berta and Halima’s son, Angel, smiled down onto their bakery. The grey morning light painted his dark curls in a light blue sheen. His expression remained frozen in the serene countenance of a son indulging his overexcited parents who wanted to take a thousand photos of him at his graduation.
It took Halima over a year to build up the courage to hang his picture up after his death. Just looking at his silhouette would bring Berta to tears, and Halima to clench her fist so hard, her nails broke the skin.
Angel contracted rotlung in the war. Like Rufus, the insurance funds dried up after the peace treaty was signed, and the treatment was put on pause until they could cough up the equivalent of a mortgage to restart it again. The CS Corp In Bellum Healthcare Provision Act legislated that expenses for any and all conditions inflicted or diagnosed on any Free State military personnel would be covered by CS Corp (and of course, the State). The fine print however stated that CS Corp would only cover said expenses for the duration of the war. As soon as it was over, like Rufus, Berta and Halima were on their own. Not even those living on premium levels could afford rotlung treatment.
Berta shook herself and turned back to the caramelising vat. She didn’t need to relive Angel’s last moments, remembering how his dry and cracked lips blackened as the rot blossomed up his throat. Instead, she set the oven timer and gave the caramel one last stir before letting it simmer. She had caramel tarts to make and even more citric extract to separate from the BuzzFuzz bucket.
The day passed on in relative peace. There were fewer influencers blocking the doors while streaming and Rufus had only scared one customer. Miguel arrived on time with the day’s post and replaced Halima at the coffee counter, regaling Berta with their exploits from last night’s bike race over the MEG-7 overpass. It earned them a scolding from Berta, who reminded them that CS Corp had increased biometric surveillance and that their trademark Yamaguchi Jacket was likely already tagged in some database for them to recognise them with.
“Relax, Tita!” Miguel grinned, swirling the oat milk into a trendy pattern for one of the last coffee orders of the day. “The new deflectors we got from the Kaotiks actually scramble footage and autogenerates images to replace all moving figures to look like anime characters. It would take them weeks, and the help of a Viper engine to decode the overlay. Which they absolutely do not have the time, money or willpower to do.” They slapped their knee as they cackled, “Imagine trying to release an arrest warrant for Sailor Kuyper! Ha!”
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Despite her worry, Berta smiled. Law enforcement in district 6 and 7 was inconsistent at best, and they had been quite distracted by the recent sabotage runs at the docks and at the construction of the new skyway. The C Tier Mayor’s office was pumping every ounce of city funding onto the absurd vanity project that was the skyway. It was a useless overpass, designed with newfangled glasscarbon and dotted with pristine manicured gardens. It was advertised as a new access point to the higher level tiers (Halima rolled her eyes so hard the first time the vidfeeds advertised it); it would increase accessibility between the tiers and usher in harmony in the south-western quarter. Halima said Mayor Sieverson was using the funds to gain brownie points with the upper tiers in the hopes of a promotion.
Meanwhile, the promise to replenish the metrofilters for lower level air circulation had stalled yet again. Red asthma diagnoses had spiked and riots were breaking out across the lower finance district as more and more people were turned down for medical loans and insurance. As far as Berta and Halima had surmised, the more people died, the faster CS could seize residential units to convert into commercial holdings, or even demolish to clear up space for the skyway.
At this rate, anything below C-tier would not have access to sunlight. Which spelt disaster for the bakery, but also for all the lower level schools. It was bad enough that kids needed to get a permit just to play on the skyway parks. Soon, they would need to pay money just to look at the sky.
Halima snorted to herself, tale as old as time, greed only grows to grime.
She waved away the last customer and rolled the window roller shut. Sighing as she slid off her workstool and dragged herself to the dining area behind the counter. She stepped over Miguel, who grunted as they twisted the last screw back into place on Rufu’s ankle, having rewired the servomechanism that managed the pressure plate under his tibia. Miguel looked up at the old man and grinned, slapping their knee in victory as the metal bone hissed back into place. “We did it! Ang galing ko!”
Berta clapped indulgently as Rufus tested his weight on the leg before standing up with a burble. “Unks” he mumbled as he ambled towards the door. Berta held out an arm, which he took quietly, and led him to the door. Miguel sidled into the booth where Rufus had sat, wrinkling their nose slightly at the remaining whiff of the old man’s body odor and rancid breath that permeated the area. Halima chuckled and fanned their face with a menu.
“Don’t forget” came Berta’s melodious voice from the doorway. “Halima will pick you up after dinner on Thursday to take you to the clinic.” She paused to tighten the old man’s dirty scarf, and pulled up a drooping sleeve for him. “That’s Thursday. Not tomorrow, but the day after, ok?” She said loudly, his eyes were starting to cloud from exhaustion. Rufus nodded and turned, limping off into the pale afternoon light. Hopefully, he’d come back tomorrow, but there was no way of knowing where his rambling took him.
Berta sighed and finished closing up before sitting down next to her wife in the eating booth. Halima rested a palm on her wife’s short curls and ruffled them affectionately. “Finish your tea and then we’ll go, yeah?” Halima asked as Berta swallowed a leftover biscuit whole. She hadn’t eaten lunch and was starving. Berta nodded in between gulps of cold tea, waving Miguel goodbye as they ascended the auxiliary fire escape to access their apartment upstairs.
The drive to the docks was spent in relative silence as both women mulled over the day’s events. The exhaustion deepened the lines on their faces as the garish glare of orange light and shadow swept over them during the drive. By the time they parked by the warehouse, Berta was half-asleep. “Habie”, Halima murmured into her shoulder. “We’re here”.
Berta blinked, clearing the fog from her mind as they stepped out into the salty night air. They quickly walked into the warehouse, scanning the keycard on the sidedoor. Halima let Berta in first, then quickly scanned the dockyard before shutting the door.
“Remember when the kids used to come here to skate?” Berta reminisced, flicking switches on her computer and waving at the people sitting at their own stations along the back wall. “Heya, Tomasz!” She called at the person furthest from her workstation.
“Excited for today’s test?”
Tomasz nodded enthusiastically as he held the item that was going to be tested aloft.
Halima nodded at her wife as she walked towards the others. Angel’s little skate crew had reclaimed their old playground, the reinforced flooring had been ripped up to line the walls of the warehouse. Years had passed since anyone used the place to skate. Instead, it became the crew’s workshop. Instead of grinding rails, they were engineering weapons.
Tomasz and Apple looked over the final seals on the casing before handing the small cylinder to Halima. Berta passed by every desk, distributing earmuffs and goggles as everyone set themselves up for the first test.
“It still smells like burnt candy in here.” She complained.
“Wait till after the test, Auntie” Tomasz replied. “It almost feels like it laminates your nostrils.”
The 7 of them lined up outside of the test area, facing the far end of the warehouse. There, the walls were lined with additional reinforcement. The blackened panels were pockmarked and gashed from past tests. Most with varying degrees of disappointing failure.
Tonight’s test, however…
Tomasz wasn’t lying. Berta laughed even as she choked on the acrid smell of burning lemon BuzzFuzz. “I can’t believe,” she wheezed as her wife amiably patted her back. “That kids drink this stuff!”
The rest of the old skate team nodded, bent over in various degrees of respiratory distress. The plexiglass barrier they had all stood behind was slightly corroded and tinted with an unpleasant crust of pale orange. As far as unconventional weapons went, this one seemed to be the most festive.
“Ok, then” Halima clapped her hands with glee. “I’ll message Miguel and tell him that the test worked. They’re planning something on the 3rd Street Bank next month.”
“No”. Berta interrupted, pulling off her goggles. “We use it next week. At the main CSH Branch on Market Street.”
“Hun, don’t you want to test-” Halima protested.
“No” her wife interrupted. “Next week. Who’s in?”
The crew stared at the short, soft silhouette of Berta Rashidi. Her Hair had frizzed upwards and her cheeks were ruddy from the residual heat from the explosion. Apple shuffled nervously as she looked to the rest of the crew, then looked over at Halima, who was gazing at her wife from across the worktable.
“Habie” She breathed. “You sure?”
Berta nodded. “Rufus got a transfer notice to level 12. There’s no elevator for five floors.” Her face darkened in barely controlled rage. “They know he can’t climb stairs.” Her expression twisted into something ugly. “I’m tired of these corpos. I’m tired of having to scamper for crumbs. I’m tired of having to ask permission just to breathe.” She looked at Halima, before turning to look at everyone else in the room.
“This solves nothing. But I just want to be fucking angry and resentful. Just this once.” She bit out. Apple sniffed back her tears, and nodded in determination. Everyone else joined her, squaring their shoulders as they shuffled into a huddle. Halima rested her hand on Berta’s shoulder and smiled. It was an old smile, built brick by brick with stubborn resilience in the face of loss.
“Ok y’all.” Halima agreed. “Next week.”