Neron Rising

Illegal transactions should never occur this early in the morning.

I shove my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them up, because that requires brainpower, and I don’t have enough of that when the sun hasn’t even begun to think about touching the tips of the elite towers. But I do have to think about walking quietly. Dad is still sleeping, and considering what I’m heading to do, I need him to stay that way.

The thick smog hits my lungs as soon as I step out of our tiny cube of a home. It’s one of thousands in the Stacks, the low-income corner of this city we call home. I cough, my lungs trying to adjust to all the pollution in the air, and I set down the weaving walkway that zigzags down past the same neighbors I’ve had for my entire life, before connecting to the skywalk that aims me toward the south end of town.

My connect-link beeps and I hold up my wrist, illuminating a screen against my forearm. A message from “The Mole” displays. You’re late.

I speak to my wrist and the words appear on the screen. That’s what you get for scheduling this so early.

Her response displays as an expletive and a searing strike of electricity in my wrist.

Despite the pain, I smirk and shake my head.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, knobhead!”

Someone yells the words at me as I bump shoulders with another individual on the skywalk. I turn, making eye contact, glaring and daring them to cause even more of a scene.

“Share the walkway, you cack!” I yell back.

I turn and blend back into the crowd of people walking to and from work.

There are so many bodies I can hardly breathe without taking in the scent of an unwashed worker, or the potent perfume of the next space hog. I’m jostled and bumped into, and no one, except for the cack back there, seems to notice or mind.

It’s just a part of life here on Korpillion.

When you’re just one of twenty-eight point one billion people, you learn to share the road.

I aim for the alley coming up, but I don’t even cast my eyes toward it. I shift to that side of the skywalk and raise my left hand a little.

Just as I pass it, another hand reaches out from the alley, and hooks the straps of a bag over my fingers. A quick and seamless handoff.

It’s the reason I pay Crag. I give him the credits he needs to buy his drugs and swill, he hides certain packages around the underbelly of the city until I am ready for them—no one knows the dark and hidden places of Korpillion better than him.

Being a homeless addict on this planet will eat you alive, body and soul, but he gets the job done.

I slip a few blocks further down the skywalk and then duck down a side street, dropping down five flights of stairs until my feet touch the concrete ground of terra level. I slip past dingy, solid steel buildings, tucking around corners.

It smells like metal and rust down this low. The air tastes damp, even though there probably hasn’t been a drop of natural rain to hit this ground in over a hundred solars.

It’s quieter down here. No one wants to come down this far, so far away from the sun. It’s all metal frames, the roots of the towering buildings that are constantly being built taller and taller. Our planet is in a constant race to reach new heights and find the sun through the smog.

So I really don’t worry too much as I carry my bag through the silent streets and finally round into a wide opening beneath one of the city’s oldest buildings.

Once upon a time, they would have parked transport vehicles here. But that was before they outlawed those on account of their pollution factor and deemed the common man had to walk everywhere.

Our entire lives are now lived within five square kilometers, or however far our legs can carry us.

Now this space is used to store old pipes and broken welding tools.

From the soot that covers everything, I don’t think anyone beside our little operation has stepped foot in here in at least fifty solars.

“Told you she’d be at least fifteen minutes late.”

I see the man standing beside her reach over and bump his wrist to hers, and hear a small ting, signaling he just transferred her some credits.

She bet the man I’d be late.

“Haven’t you heard?” I ask, stepping inside and weaving my way through the abandoned equipment. “It’s been scientifically proven that those who sleep in longer are actually smarter than those who are early risers.”

I smirk at Reena as I set the bag on an oversized length of pipe that comes up to my waist in height.

Her lips are set thin and she just glares at me, clearly not amused.

But I smile and turn to the bag, unzipping it.

The man beside Reena steps forward, and his eyes fill with the manic gleam of excitement.

“It’s exactly as you asked, fit to the measurements you gave me, and it’s ready for use,” I say, slipping into work mode. I reach inside the bag and pull the gun from it.

The man reaches forward, gently taking the weapon from me, looking it over with what I swear is reverence. Which is actually a relief to me. He doesn’t have that malevolent look in his eye like some of the others do. I can only hope he ordered it as a defensive weapon, and not an offensive one.

“With the budget you presented me with, you get two shards of Neron,” Reena explains. “Given average use of zero shots fired per lunar, it will last you a lifetime.” She looks the man over as she places two, three-inch long shards of glowing blue crystal in his palm. “But if you find yourself in a desperate situation of need, you will get continuous shots for two weeks.”