Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  'This is where our future lies, ya know. With a bit of hard work, we could set up a-'

  'Nah, I'll be settling in the countryside somewhere, living the easy life once I've made my millions!' I interrupt.

  'Yeah and where do ya think ya gonna make that sort of money? All the daydreaming about Sky City is a waste of time. That bloke you're working for will have connections. It's a good start. If you're serious about setting up a business, this is the place to do it,' Killow suggests.

  'Aye, you're right. We'd never be short of customers, even if they are all skint,' I reply as we drift along, seemingly unnoticed by the public traversing pavements.

  Beyond this haggling district we come face to face with a Level Three social housing block, gazing into smoke-tinged windows during our protracted ascent. The sparse box-rooms are unremarkable until, much to our delight, we spot a wide-mouthed woman in a bra frantically drawing her curtains.

  'Get them out!' Killow yells.

  Antennae sprout from nearby square islands as we land the Delos Pod on the rooftop next to a large satellite dish. Getting out, we approach the edge of the tower block, joined by a pigeon who somehow had the energy to reach this altitude. An updraft blasts my face as I crouch to observe our over-populated urban environment. The most notable feature is greyness, or graininess, like static in a broadcast and if it was a truly smoggy day we would not be able to see silhouettes swarming at ground level.

  Our tour of these lofty heights confirms the people are small not by distance, but by reality. It is like looking through an alien telescope from another world. Disconnected in body and mind from the biological scum on a tentatively habitable rock supporting a species which is insignificant, cumbersome and driven by selfish instinct.

  The people are boxed up. Up, because there is no room left to go outwards. An unsustainable problem, because they multiply too quickly. In fairness the elites could not provide better if they wanted to, where would the people go? But it is clear they are provided grudgingly, to keep them rested before returning to their duties, their sacrifice for the colony. Forever being told it is a test, but also an investment. The hereafter will be better. We are all equal in the eyes of the goddess, just not on this world. And it has never been made clear why she feels this life of exploitation is a worthwhile exercise.

  'Weird to think how many of us there are. Too many,' I murmur, my voice barely audible in the bluster.

  'Of us? I dunno about you, but I'm definitely one of a kind!' Killow yells and the startled pigeon flies groundwards. 'How many floors you reckon this building has?'

  'About twenty.'

  'Nah, must be double that. Look how small the people look. You reckon I'd kill someone if I spat on them?' Killow coughs up phlegm and hangs fire.

  'No, but you'd disgust them, you weirdo.'

  'It's windy, eh? Apparently, when it's like this you can jump off and the updraft slows you down so much you land on your feet! If I jumped, do you reckon you could fly down and catch me before I hit the ground?' Killow asks.

  'The terminal velocity of a falling man is over one hundred and thirty miles an hour. The top speed of a Delos Pod is ten miles an hour. One break in the wind and they'll be shovelling you off the pavement. Feel free to give it a try!'

  'Look how filthy those windows are, they could seriously do with a cleaning droid... This is too cool, mate. Let's leave the city and see what we find,' Killow suggests.

  'Sounds good to me, but where did the bloody sun go?' I say as acid rainfall commences.

  Drizzle becomes a downpour as we re-enter the pod and when I turn the ignition key, nothing happens. Rain blows into windows which do not appear to be closable and the engine hums as I turn the key again. The Delos Pod jumps into the air, but crashes back down and jars my neck muscles, possibly damaging the chassis in the process.

  Rubbing my neck, I try again - unsure if this is a good idea due to the risk of us breaking down mid-air, but the Delos Pod does not respond regardless. I bash the dashboard as the right half of my t-shirt becomes increasingly wet due to the gust direction.

  'What the hell? I thought this thing had a backup,' I growl.

  'Looks like that's not working either. Good job we weren't flying! Best start looking for a way down. Let's try the door of that cabin,' Killow suggests.

  Already soaked, we brave precipitation to try the cabin door which is locked and refuses to give way to my frustrated kicks. Killow shoulder barges the full surface metal panel, under the foolish belief he could succeed where I failed. The door does not give way so we hammer our fists, but they barely make a thud.

  'Hey, someone open up! We're stuck on the roof... Come on... Somebody!' I yell.

  Minutes tick by without response and our shoes squelch through puddles as we search the roof ledge for an escape ladder, but there is none. Nor is there any sort of comms system. My impatience grows at the lack of contingency for a scenario which should have been anticipated when they built this place one hundred years ago. If it was not for my holowatch we would have no way of contacting the outside world and would be stuck up here until goodness knows when.

  'We could climb down the drain pipe!' Killow suggests.

  'It's three hundred feet high and soaking wet, genius. I'll send our co-ordinates to Bailey. He'll have to come and get us. I better get my deposit back.'

  Upon re-entering the Delos Pod, I send Bailey a message via my holowatch and my co-pilot sparks a joint as the sun re-emerges to gradually dry our sodden clothes. I monitor my inbox without reply as we chill on this jungle plateau and enjoy the peaceful sense of isolation from the vermin below.

  'You fancy climbing down yet?' Killow asks.

  'No chance mate, it's still wet out there. Looks like we could be spending the night up here,' I reply.

  'So what about them girls then? It's about time you found someone, rather than pining for you know who. I exchanged online IDs with one of them, not much of a looker, can't remember her name come to think of it. She said she rarely gets online, but if I message her she can get back to me next week. May as well give it a go,' Killow says.

  'Yeah that Lexi girl seemed keen... Until I shoved her out the Delos Pod to save your arse! Those lads are the ones I robbed, the imaginatively titled Auster Hill Gang. Bunch of dopey bastards who've been carrying knives ever since Dynah scared the shit out of them! I've dealt with far bigger men and the only weapons I've ever needed are right here.'

  'Aye and one of them is broken!'

  'If I took the army on, I can take anyone on. Those idiots are nowt, I'm moving to the big time.' I sneer in the knowledge my natural attributes are near unassailable.

  'And with all your credits, now is the perfect time to invest. You could buy a couple of pounds of BMG. Guaranteed profit if you think you can cope with the added danger. We'd be getting mixed up with all sorts of dodgy characters,' Killow cautions.

  'Danger isn't a problem. I couldn't trust the gang to resist dipping into our own supply and could you imagine that lot trying to keep track of who owes what? I don't think it's practical right now, but it's an option. This Jardine guy should have more work. It's risky, but pays well and we've got nothing to lose. If I impress him I can try to get you involved.' Pausing, I look into Killow's steady, but glazed eyes. 'If you have the balls...'

  'Ya know me, I'm up for anything.'

  The Disappearance

  Awoken by a slap on the temple I witness a tattooed visage in twilight, accompanied by drill breath. The sight of another Delos Pod amongst columns of stone and glass confuses my waking brain until I remember we are marooned on a skyscraper. A one-freak rescue party has arrived but Killow remains unconscious with his mouth leaking drool and an awkward resting position has stiffened my neck.

  'Fancy getting stuck up here. Should've known better than to entrust my baby to a pair of tearaways.'

  'Wh-what? Hey, it's not our fault, Bailey, it's your stupid pod. You said it has a backup,' I snap.

  'It does, but th
e Delos Pod's grounded. It's not going to start with only one working perpetuator. That'd be way too dangerous,' Bailey explains.

  Killow mutters incomprehensibly, gathering his bearings and we sit like a pair of plebs as Bailey places a toolbox onto asphalt. Opening a side panel on the Delos Pod, he tampers with its mechanical innards for half an hour or so, occasionally cracking ill-judged racist jokes. The risk to our lives has provided an anti-climax to the fulfilment of an unlikely ambition and his casual attitude is testing my patience; especially given that we were stranded due to his unreliable machine.

  'Aha, fixed it. Okay, you two numpties better fly back to mine before you have an accident,' Bailey says.

  'This thing better not break down mid-air. Let's just descend and stick as close to ground level as possible,' I reply as Bailey climbs aboard the other Delos Pod with toolbox in hand.

  The merchant guides us across the restless city which seems to have accumulated a layer of charcoal due to the increasing dimness. He activates the headlights of his Delos Pod to little effect and after a short duration they unveil a familiar street of flaky blue paint, bare cement and strewn rubbish. Fly posters cling to a telegraph pole and we pass bashed up motorcycles standing near a brightly coloured banner. The door of the garage, which earlier provided the location of many virtual fights, opens on approach. The moment we park I exit the Delos Pod and stand face to skull with Bailey.

  'I'd like my deposit back please.' I hold out my upfacing palm.

  'Are you kidding? I just had to hire a Delos Pod to retrieve my own Delos Pod!'

  'It was the fault of your stupid pod. If the damn thing worked properly...' I fight the urge to grab his studded jacket collar.

  'Well, if you weren't daft enough to park on a roof we wouldn't have had a problem.' The skullface laughs mockingly.

  'We hired a flying pod, what did you think we were gonna do? And anyways you would've had to come and pick us up, regardless of where we parked.'

  'But I wouldn't have had to fly. I tell you what, it cost me eighty credits to hire this thing. I'll deduct that from your deposit, that's fair.'

  Bailey casually offers me an insufficient seventy credits but Killow does not seem remotely bothered as he stares around the dust thick, yet tidier garage with clutter neatly piled or shoved to one side. Bailey flicks his money-holding hand and I snatch the cash, tempted to challenge him further, but it would not be worthwhile falling out with our main supplier of everything that is useful.

  'I'll drop you two off home. Come on.'

  As Bailey enters his antiquated burgundy car with spoked wheels I am tempted to refuse the ride, but I grudgingly climb aboard and settle into a wax-leather seat. Feeling ripped off by a so-called friend, I rest trainers on a dashboard of wooden panels and dials. Restrained animosity consumes my thoughts as I glare at the skullface in the rear-view mirror, but Bailey remains unconcerned about the credits held captive in his pocket so I channel agitation into mockery as we chug over cobblestones.

  'Bailey, how come you're flying around in a Delos Pod one minute and the next, you're driving around in a pile of rust like this?' I ask.

  'This thing's a collector's item, I restored it myself. Show some respect!'

  'Sorry Bailey, no offence intended. I was just concerned. It's looking a little old and frail, might not cope with the strain... having three whole passengers at once!'

  'Enough of your insolence or you two are walking!'

  'With me having a few extra credits nowadays, I think it's time we stepped up security at home. Seeing as you stole eighty credits from me, the least you can do is give me a good deal.'

  'I can sort out a couple of standard security cameras for one hundred credits. Or if you like, I can install a smart system which recognises faces and body language. It can tell when someone's up to no good and it'll direct agonising soundwaves at the intruder. Guaranteed to make them flee, but that'll cost five hundred credits. I can replace your doors with reinforced ones with electronic locks. Again they're five hundred credits.'

  'Standard cameras and reinforced doors will do, but I expect a twenty percent discount. I could just imagine the smart system turning against us. The gang are up to no good all the time!' I reply.

  'I'll have to get the stock in. It'll be six hundred credits. I'll come over next week. This is your stop lads, bye. Oh and stop sulking, Arturo.'

  Disillusionment taints the curtailment of our voyage as Bailey's antique heads off, the exhaust pipe spluttering. Sliding doors are unlocked by a starey, muted Oscar, but he can be overly-sensitive at the soberest of times so his fidgety presence does not cause concern. Bex has probably hidden his hair gel or something. We stroll into the main room and my eyeballs roll at the sight of Lel and Sylvie flapping arms as they stand between couches seating a nervous audience.

  'This is what happens when they run out of happy pills,' I mutter to a pair of unimpressed scowls.

  'She's disappeared! Dynah. We saw two weirdoes through the window and when we stepped outside she was gone. What are we gonna do? They better not hurt her!' Sylvie shrieks.

  'Dynah can look after herself, remember? Did she say anything?' I ask as Sylvie prowls back and forth with clenched teeth. A few others sit blankly on the edges of cushions, wary of any input which may cause their heads to be torn off. Meanwhile, Scoop is snoozing behind the rabble and Mila seems unconcerned but respectfully low-key. A missing super-human would not normally be considered panic worthy.

  'We've got to go and look for her. We can split up, ask people in the streets. Someone'll know something,' Sylvie blurts out.

  'Don't worry, I'm sure she's fine. It's them who should be worried, not us! We'll find her,' I reassure with partial sincerity.

  Scoop kindly offers to wait behind and guard the warehouse as we head into the derelict industrial estate, hoping we have not lost our secret weapon for good. Our gang split up to investigate the disappearance of an ingenuous outsider who could be in any one of a million slums. I jog into a lane of chipboard huts stacked like a pack of cards, where I spot a pair of prancing scamps who are unsafe to be outdoors past what should be their bed time.

  'Hey, you two!' I run up to the rag-wearing lads as they walk past blankets hanging from windows of a three-tier hut. Wary of a potential mugger, they freeze on the spot and a gap-toothed boy subtly slips a yoyo into his pocket, taking a half-step back as his cheeks droop. 'Y... yeah?'

  'Have you seen a girl? She's this tall, blonde hair, about thirteen years old. She may have been with a couple of weirdoes. Have you seen them?'

  Scruffy faces exchange glances and then the gap-toothed boy answers: 'No, we left home five minutes ago. We haven't seen anyone.'

  My search for the supergirl continues for maybe an hour, but yelling: 'Dynah,' and randomly stopping strangers seems pointless. Upon reaching the shoddiest part of the shanty town, I tread along a huge slippery pipe which doubles as a walkway with puddles either side bridged by metal panels. Narrow ledges along the sides of the conduit are crammed with sandbags and barrels which rest against huts. And given the stench of the milky water I do not envy the inhabitants.

  I stop a whiskered man wearing a baggy vest who is maybe in his forties, which is old in these parts. A rapidly shifting squint and flaring nostrils confirm it was a mistake to ask him. 'Girrrl? I dunno any girl. Whatcha talking about?' the man grunts, losing balance and his left leg splashes knee deep into stagnant water as his elbow thuds painfully on metal. Just when I think he has been spared a full soaking, he rolls over and his scrawny body plunges into the pollutant cocktail. I hurry on.

  On the verge of giving up I cross the highway to stop a couple of workmen standing against the wall of a factory building, smoking cigarettes. Both have not seen anything and even if someone has seen a blonde girl, they are hardly a rarity in Medio city. I return home feeling guilty of my initial complacency as I fear Dynah is being tortured in a laboratory and we may never know her fate. One by one the gang return with shoulders drooped,
shaking their heads and twenty minutes after everyone else, Sylvie strolls in looking exhausted. The entire group are now home and we sit in a circle.

  'Does anybody have any sort of clue? There must be something. I must've asked thirty people and we've looked everywhere now,' Sylvie says.

  'That kid can take care of herself. She'll come back when she wants to. Maybe she's went off with somebody she knows,' Killow suggests.

  'Maybe they took her back to the lab,' Scoop unhelpfully adds.

  'No, the lads she was talking to were not much older than us and they were wearing strange robes. And she can't know them, she doesn't know anybody,' Lel replies.

  'Well, all I know is she went willingly. There's no way they could force her, not after what I've seen. Anyway, there could be all sorts of things Dynah's not told us,' I say.

  'She's told me everything there is to tell. The only friends she's ever had are the ones in the lab. And they're all either locked up or dead, apart from the ones who es... Hang on, what if she does know them? What if they escaped? That's it. That's why they've been coming here. She said she can sense things. They all can. They were expecting her to be here. It must be a power they have,' Sylvie suggests.

  'If you're right, that means she's probably safe. It makes sense for her to be with her friends. If she wants to come back here, she will. Or maybe she'll choose not to,' I reply.

  'But we're her friends, she wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye,' Sylvie laments.

  As the speculation continues, hours pass and nervous energy has me strumming my fingers. Short, sharp bursts of air whistle through my pursed lips and I cannot help but picture how helpless Dynah appears. Eyelids become heavy through mental exhaustion but concern is no longer the over-riding emotion, rather sadness that our amazing little friend may never return. She is likely where she belongs now.

  When I am close to the point of sleeping in an upright position, the tattered furniture and surrounding grimaces are illuminated by an inexplicable glow which spreads to four walls. Shadows are cast outwards, indicating the lightsource is directly above us. With elbows resting on thighs, I look up to see a phoenix of swirling plasma with a three-pronged tail which descends to head-height.