The methodic whirr of the transport train drowns out the worst of my thoughts, but it doesn’t help with the migraine blooming behind my eye. You’d think for a magnetic train, the ride wouldn’t be so bumpy, but for middling transport, all expense is definitely spared. Even at the station, I saw how badly the tracks were displaced. Ry didn’t seem to notice, but then again, he always has a work vehicle, so he doesn’t need to take public transport. The rest of us know the risks since these things aren’t serviced until they break or crash.
Another jump on the track makes my head throb, and nausea comes with it. I feel chewed up. Life’s got to spit me out eventually. No way can it keep taking bites out of me until I’m gone… right?
Then I pull up my social feed. The posts and photos fill up my modded eye while I keep watch of the landscape we pass with the other eye. One image of a feminine middle finger pops up on the screen. The caption catches my eye.
_\*Anonymouseee2: Heard New Eden has free housing for any refugees. A job program. Socialization clubs to reacclimate us to normal HUMAN society.\*_
_\_\_\*reply: housemade12: Please everyone knows they’re starving over there, wishing they had our resources.\*_
_\_\_\_\*reply: Anonyal5: Trueeeee I can’t go back to the dark ages. #Thurbroughttech\*_
_\_\*Anonymouseee2: You’re all sheep. I bet you believe everything the council tells you about the war. It’s not over! Peace talks or not.\*_
The comments continue the arguing over whether life is better among the Thur or our own people. Humans. It’s a foreign word to most of us born after the war. We learned it in school and through conversations overheard from adults nearby, but it’s not who we know ourselves as. We’re middlings. Our purpose is to keep a balance between the Thur races. Our efforts involve proving ourselves useful by entertaining our hosts.
Humanity isn’t something I feel like I have much experience with. And the talk of another war just makes my stomach curdle.
We skid to a jerky stop, and when the doors open, several middlings slide into the seats near mine, and I slink further into the hard surface. It’s some sort of metal-stone hybrid that rubs painfully against my wounds until I can’t get comfortable. Maybe I should’ve just let Ry give me a ride home in his fancy hoverscor. That thing is bulky and armored, which is always an odd sight in the middle of the city bustle. But at least it looks like a smooth ride.
When else would I have an opportunity to ride in the lap of luxury?
Does he work in acquisitions? There are only so many jobs that middlings are allowed to do, but sometimes, Thur bond houses will contract middling acquirers to do their “shopping” under the table. That way, if they’re stopped by Truceguards, the fault will belong to the middling. The days of Thur sticking their necks out are long gone, and this is their decadent death: money, power, and complete access are at their fingertips.
Who cares about the cost, right?
At the Mid, Jack funnels acquirers through the back entrance. I remember the years before he owned the bar when he used to be in acquisitions. They were some of my most terrifying years and some of my most loved. It’s hard to remember them without a pang of longing that I hate. Every day, he would return to the apartment more stressed than ever, more liable to take his anger out on me when jobs went badly, but when would jobs go well? It’s tough to remember how much I craved his gifts and doting, how precious little we had before that.
Either way, I guess that soft spot makes for discretion on his part these days. Or maybe he likes money more than anything, and repeat business is the best way to get it.
His motivations have never made a ton of sense to me, and I stopped trying to understand him a long time ago. But being in acquisitions would make sense for how Ry discovered what I really do.
Steam hisses as the doors slide open again, letting off a load of passengers. I’m sure that in the fancier Thur part of town, they don’t need water cooling on their tech. They probably have specialized wheels and gears that don’t overheat like ours. A display projection appears over the doors as they slide closed, showing the map of where we are along the train’s route and a slideshow of all the latest tech coming out this year. The modified ear caps catch my eye, turning a rounded middling ear into a pointed Lightfleck one. Some have metal spikes through them, while others have gemstones or iridescence.
It’s not like they would fool anyone into believing a delicate human body looks anything like a Thur’s muscular exterior, but the look would be pretty either way. Maybe they really do make mods addictive because I seem to always find another addition that would be pretty. If I could afford them, that is.
Technically, thanks to the bribe, I almost have enough to finally get my ear imbed.
I think of Ry’s expression when I scanned into the station. Did he notice my eye? He isn’t one for small talk, so the influx of questions because he knows what I do for a living rubs at me. A loud hiss turns into a bang, then the train jolts, jumping the track. A few passengers scream as we skid to a screeching stop and crash into a guard wall. I can’t help but groan as the mechanical-sounding message plays. \*_We’re sorry for the inconvenience, but the train is experiencing technical difficulty. Please be patient while we correct the issue.\*_
A man and three women nearby all head for the doors, and I follow. The others hang back, still deciding whether they will wait for the train to be moved or not. Be patient? Please. That crash has at least two melted wheels from the heat, and then there’s whatever track damage the skid caused. The crumpled metal from the wall impact… Looking at the door’s map, I see I’m at least another thirty-minute walk from home. Hiking my bag over my shoulder, I wait for the man to force the automated doors open and file out behind everyone else.
Checking the display time on my imbed, I settle for exhaustion. There won’t be time for a nap before work. I plug in my home address and curse when it says it’ll actually take forty-five minutes to walk home. For the first time in forever, I actually consider calling out. Hell, for the first time ever I think of texting Ry for help.
Then I think of Jack’s irate messages, which I still haven’t responded to, and I think better of it. He’s already pissed enough, better to leave my sparring partner out of it.
Trudging through the less familiar part of the city, a rough set of hands grab and spin me around. I hiss, then all I see is a thick black armor piece and glossy dark boots. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by the pissed-off faces of several Truceguards as I glance around. “I said stop, middling female. Are you hard of hearing?”
He’s glaring at me while the two nearest Truceguards unstrap their shockers. Considering it looks like they came from the right, the answer is yes, but he’s enough of an asshole that I just stare at the ground. They prefer docile… submissive.
“Where are you coming from? We’ve received a recent report of a theft by a middling in this part of town.” My shoulders slump.
“The transport train,” I mumble, nodding toward the train station that’s at least a ten-minute walk. “The train malfunctioned, crashed, and I was forced to walk.”
The one pinning my arms down grunts. “And do you have information on the theft? Where is your identification?” He asks it in a certain way that makes my skin crawl as I fish out the holocard and hand it over. His hands tighten as the others close into a closer circle around us. Someone takes the holocard. I refuse to look up to see who.
They didn’t even say whether the theft was committed by a man or a woman so how the hell would I know anything one way or another? What reason do they even have to stop me?
Other than playing their Thur games and jerking us around by our strings.
“Looks fake,” one of the others says. I now know exactly what kind of night I’m about to have. Devi:0, Life in the last twenty-four hours: 5
“Verify with a scanner,” the one holding me orders, twisting my scraped-up arm toward the tech. Someone pinches the cut until it bleeds anew then reads me.
A mechanical buzz crackles before the males around me start shifting nervously. The one holding me drops one arm to answer a call on his comms. “Sir? A simple st— Understood, Sir. She’s being released. N-no sir, there was a recent theft— y-yes, sir, I understand. Not a problem at all, sir, and may I say—”
His voice cuts off with an abruptness that says he was just disconnected in the middle of his call.
I risk a glance up at cold, flat eyes. His other hand releases me. “Get to your destination quickly, middling,” he snaps, shoving me away, and that unease follows me all the way home. I have no idea what just happened.