The sky howled as torrents of rain and wind buffeted Ben Woodward as he left the premises of his small establishment. He nodded to his bodyguard Mike, a perk his franchisor had afforded him that should allow him to commute unmolested. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the otherwise black visor of his featureless helmet.

As they joined the milling crowd and blended in with the masses, the neon signage of his  franchise did likewise amongst the visual cacophony of a hundred others, the only source of color in the drab gray world caught between the stark duracrete of the overpass and the dark sky with its wrathful, roiling thunderstorm contained therein.

“Sir, I must notify you that Security Cartel is raising the fees as of...” Mike began.

“Fengyueda will cover it, as stipulated in the contract,” Ben answered absently.

“Yes sir,” Mike replied, his droning voice equally absent and uncaring. Ben was certain the man was not going to see any increase in his personal remuneration.

It had been a bad day, with his business barely breaking even. The season had been difficult. Despite there being no shortage of candidates, their potential employers had become increasingly stringent, turning down hopeful applicants by the hundreds, often with no reason given.

Other franchises in the Human Resources Cartel were doing better, Ben knew. Rehabilitation was making a killing, rounding up indebted and selling them off into contracted labor. No shortage of indebted with the economic conditions as they were, Ben grumbled. He wondered how any of his candidates were supposed to compete with a man that is only afforded basic subsistence.

Still, he had been lucky, he reminded himself. The divorce settlement had favored him, smooching enough from his considerably more well-off ex-partner to acquire a franchise license and cling to the lower rungs of the midscale segment of the population. Without this good fortune, he would have crashed downscale and ended as dependent on barely existent corporate good graces, just as Mike.

Ben made his way out of the crowded overpass and through a plaza, the giant black tarpaulin overhead shielding him from the rain and the clouds, but not the relentless biting wind. Picking his way along the pedestrian walkway, the poncho he wore over his coat flapping like a sail behind him. He had not seen his daughter for nearly a month, as she had undergone intensive training and assessment at the off-world department, which supplied the candidates to the various space-based cartels.

The thunder rumbled overhead, and Ben knew what he was coming home to. The absence of a message was all that he needed to know. His daughter had been rejected. It had been the expected outcome, as the odds of acceptance were multiple orders of magnitude worse than the placement rates of his firm’s candidates.

Still, it was yet another blow to him. He was aware that there was no such thing as security in the uncertain universe of human endeavor. Yet when it was too much to bear, one often found some consolation in believing that things could be different—that somehow, something better would come of it all. If not for himself, then for his child.

He was turning into an old fool, Ben thought, in his bitter moment of self-pity. All he had done was work himself towards an early demise, giving his all to the franchisor, and for what? For a few more months of the same. But the worst part of this was the loss of the sweet illusion of hope, that perhaps, after all this time, his daughter would be accepted and make it to a better place amongst the stars. In just two weeks time, the outbound transit ship to Proxima would fire its engines, and then there would be nothing, no more opportunities until the next ship would be commissioned, which was something for another generation.

"How is your kid doing?", he asked Mike as they left the plaza and plodded along the pavement and the rain was onto them once more. While he wasn't the person for small talk, at least Mike occasionally possessed some quick wit or quirky comment that he enjoyed, which made him appreciate his conversations with Mike over those with his employees.

“She got contracted into accountancy. I wish I could get her into university, but you know how that goes...", he sighed. "I should have sent her to Milops boot camp. Then she would have had certification by now...”

The thunder boomed again, louder than before. Ben did not like storms. The torrential rains were a fitting symbol of his life. They poured down relentlessly, never ceasing, and he knew no end to them. They walked down, into a partially flooding tunnel. The waters were murky, the world was dirty. He walked in the dark, amongst the drenched and filthy, while his eyes were open to the wretched, the miserables that stared into his, their gaze as soulless as the environment.

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As they had almost cleared the tunnel, slogging up a flight of stairs against the current of the cascading water, they heard a woman screaming. They both turned their heads, searching for the source, Mike already having his small sidearm at the ready. Behind them, three men had latched on a woman, pushing and pulling, the third prying an object from her arm. The woman screamed and struggled, but none came to her aid.

"Help her," Ben implored Mike, but found himself grabbed by the collar and pulled up the stairs.

"She's not my concern, you are," Mike answered, his voice emotionless, his grip relentless, his training kicking in. Ben tried to fight back against him, but failed in a matter of moments, Mike dragging him up to a point where Ben felt he could hardly move any longer and still keep balance on the stairway. Mike's other hand held his gun high, steady and trained on the trio of perpetrators and their victim.

The thug who had assaulted the lady had snatched the bracelet from her wrist, another one simultaneously hit her on the back of the head. The body became quiet and slumped down onto the ground, the thieves running off towards the far end of the tunnel. The last Ben could see were the bystanders that crowded around the women and began to unload the contents of her bag.

“You’re a coward,” Ben snarled, when they had reached the street level. Mike looked at him, his visor impassive, a dark face without expression. Ben stopped and turned around, making an attempt to rush back down the stairwell, but Mike blocked his move.

“Sir, I must ask you to step away. Your attitude is unbecoming of you,” he said in his mechanical voice.

“She'll likely die..."

“Sir, a reminder: as your designated escort, I may not respond to unrelated emergencies. She has coverage. The incident has been reported.”

Ben drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his rage cooling, his features relaxing, his shoulders sinking. A dark vehicle had arrived and drawn up alongside the curb. The side door opened and out popped a squad of Security Cartel officers. They scanned the area, then nodded to Mike, and rushed down the stairs.

“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” Ben said.

Mike released his grip while Ben took a look at the scene he had caused. The crowd of people that plowed past all averted their gazes and avoided eye contact with him.

Embarrassed, Ben resumed his walk home, Mike following on his heels.

"Some unsolicited remark: That attitude of yours is going to get you killed one day," Mike said, his voice having returned to normal, as casually as if a switch had been flipped.

"What, trying to help others?"

"This season alone, there have been a dozen reported cases in which the principal got themself wasted during circumstances like these," Mike explained quietly. "It could just as easily have been a distraction, with you as the real target. There are a lot of people out there, sir, and some of them can do serious harm to you."

Ben did not reply. The rain fell harder, a stead, tick-droplet downpour that soaked through his coat and the plastic under-poncho. He knew it was true. He had seen it happen. It was better to let things pass, though, to avoid unnecessary arguments. Mike had a job to do. He had a duty.

They passed through a security checkpoint, with Ben absently holding up his badge for inspection as he passed through the guarded gate into his midscale compound. While the grime, filth and crowded masses were absent, the tall, cubic formations of duracrete architecture were no less intimidating and the warrens of tight corridors no less claustrophobic.

An elevator took Ben to his floor. As he paused in front of his door to remove his wet coat, the panel slid open. Standing on the other side was his daughter, her cheeks stained by tears, hair disheveled, skin pale and her green eyes dark.

"Dad...", she cried.

His arms went round her, his chin resting on the top of her head. She was far shorter than he was, but she was a good girl, she was strong, she was brave. She was his. And he loved her.

He made his way into the room and shut the door behind him, seeing Mike already trailing off to his next client. They shuffled around in the cramped confines of the tiny apartment and went to sit on the edge of Elisa's bunk, their face illuminated blue by the window screen that was currently displaying a glowing blue ocean under a starlit sky.

"I am proud of you, Elisa," Ben said. "It doesn't matter that you didn't make it. You got in, went through the training…”

"I'll never go to space..." Elisa sobbed. "Never, never, never, never…”

Her sobs seemed to come from a great distance. Ben stroked her silky dark red locks, which were always cropped short to minimize the time spent cleaning the long strands out of her eyes.

"Why did they reject me? I was so close, dad! I made it to the final selection..." she cried, the tears spilling over and pouring down her cheeks. "Only to fail at the last moment..."

Ben was caught by surprise. "You made it all the way to the final selection? That means you were in the top promille... Did you get a certificate?"

Elisa bit through her tears and nodded.

"Elisa, do you know what that means? I can get you fast-tracked into a corp internship... You can start any career you want..."

"I don't want an internship," Elisa sniffed. "I don't belong in a big corp and I don't want to boss people around. I hate all those soft jobs that don't mean anything and just perpetuate this dumb system we live in. This world is slowly killing us all, dad. If I go work for a cartel, I might as well be dead."

"Don't say that, darling, please, it's not worth it. Come, let's go and find a place to eat. I know how much you like that salad bar. My treat," Ben said, patting his pocket.