Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  As we near the exit we come to a pen where a grumpy-eyed bulldog with a white and tan face lies on a mini-sofa, beside a chewed up rubber toy. The canine flaps cheeks with every snort, looking fed up with lack of running space and companionship. A walk in the park would no doubt cheer him up but he seems to have given up hope of expending pent up energy and adopted the lifestyle of a spud.

  'Funny looking guy.' I observe stumpy legs, wrinkled hide and protruding lower canines, wondering what function such absurd proportions could serve.

  'Hey, you're no oil painting yourself,' the bulldog growls.

  'A talking dog!' Mila stumbles back, her gaze flittering between myself and the dog pen.

  'Are you gonna take me home? You do realise that if no-one takes me soon, they're gonna put me down,' the bulldog pleads.

  'Aw, that's terrible. Can we take him home, Arturo? He'd make a brilliant pet, just think how happy the gang'd be.'

  'Don't be silly. We can barely look after ourselves, let alone a dog.'

  'You can't leave me like this. I have a CQ of one hundred. I am smarter than the average Level Three Citizen! This is inhumane.'

  'You keep scaring away customers, Jenkins. I think we may have to bring forward your termination before you put us out of business,' the droid interrupts.

  'Hey, you can't do that! I'll buy him. I can't right now, but I'll come back, Jenkins. I promise!' Mila insists.

  I drag the bleeding heart from the pet shop, feeling equally alarmed by the canine's intelligence but we cannot afford to have a conscience right now and this was possibly the sales ploy of a mechanical imitation anyway. Although self-indulgence is difficult to resist, Mila must be reined in so we can fulfil our objective without complication because I do not wish to discover how Jardine would react to failure.

  'You do realise we're here on a mission?'

  'Yeah, but we have a couple of days. Why don't we get a room so we can dump the bags? Laser thingy, lead us to the nearest hotel,' Mila instructs and another magical message appears: Zobe Hotel this way.

  Zobe Hotel

  A ten minute walk and elevator ride takes us into a hotel lobby of burgundy marble, adorned with golden ornaments and snake statues. I feel every ounce of filth on my bottom level skin as we gawp at a ceiling lavished with crystal light fittings; the value of which must exceed the average annual salary.

  Approaching a cash point I swipe the Citicard and place my fingertips onto the scanner. The touchscreen displays Zain Gilfoid's bank balance: C4120.99 and I withdraw every last credit with an earlobe-joining grin. Mila watches keenly as I slot notes into an underused wallet which now contains over ten grand and I pat my pocket to double-check the reality of my new-found wealth.

  'You said you only got three thousand credits on your last job.'

  Mila glares at Ana King's bank balance and snatches notes from the dispenser, despite having more cash than ever before, which at her current spending rate might just last the weekend.

  'How come I only have one thousand nine hundred credits? I want half of yours, it's not fair.'

  'You spent yours on clothes!' My laughter is tainted by an element of contempt. 'See how attractive you feel when you're broke again.'

  The elegant reception desk has leafy pot plants at each end and a shark tank behind, which could either be real or a holographic fake. A neatly groomed receptionist welcomes us with a pretty smile and I am momentarily taken aback. Friendly customer service is not something a lad, who would otherwise be perceived as a lowlife, comes to expect. I could easily be offended by the hypothetical prejudice but I smile back at the receptionist feeling grown up for the first time in my youth.

  'How can I help you today?' the receptionist asks.

  'Can I have a room for two please?' I proudly ask in reply.

  The receptionist taps away at her touchscreen to check availability and replies, 'Our double-rooms are eighty credits a night. They contain one queen-sized bed and one single-bed. Could I please take your Citicards?'

  'I'm sleeping in the queen bed.' Mila triumphantly grins like the payer has no say in the matter.

  'Actually, we're paying in cash,' I say to the receptionist.

  'Yes, but I still need your Citicards so we have your details on record,' the receptionist replies and we continue to leave a trail with every card swipe and biometric scan. 'Room three five eight, the elevator is just there. Just swipe your cards to open the door.'

  We head up an old-styled mechanical elevator and trot across a plush carpet with classical paintings lining the walls, arriving at room three five eight. My trembling hand unlocks the mahogany door and we run inside, flinging our bags down, then crashing onto the queen-sized bed and gazing at a chandelier.

  'Can you believe we're finally here?' I ask and those words initiate another bout of dizziness. 'Sky City, wow.'

  'Imagine the look on their faces if they discovered bottom levellers had infiltrated their perfect hotel! And to think this is normality to some. There are spoilt kids like Zain Gilfoid and Ana King who've got no idea how lucky they are,' Mila replies.

  'I'm sure their time in a cell will help them assess their priorities. Poor kids'll be terrified, but that's not our problem right now. I've got two days with my best friend and they are gonna be the best two days of our lives. Forget the mission, it can wait,' I insist.

  'Actually, let's call room service!'

  Mila watches the holoscreen built into the wall opposite the bed which displays a girl playing a golden harp but before she can say the words to activate the multipurpose device another message appears: Room service - please state your order.

  'Hello, room service. I would like to order some wine, make that two bottles. And I'm hungry, bring food.' A holographic menu appears and Mila continues, 'Just bring us something fun... and different.'

  Five minutes later there is a knock at the door which Mila answers and a human waiter in a black suit and bow tie places a tray onto the sidetable. 'This is not what it seems, enjoy your meals.' The posh-voiced waiter smiles and exits the room, leaving two bottles of wine and dishes labelled main course and dessert.

  I lift the main course lid to see octopus tentacles, shellfish and seaweed in a cloud of what looks like dry ice. Resting hot plates on laps, we grab silver cutlery to start our late lunch and every mouthful provides an unexpected flavour intermingling with the texture of the suckers.

  'So this is what real food tastes like?' I mumble with a stuffed mouth as sauce dribbles down my chin. 'Weird.'

  Oysters prove difficult to stab with a fork so I use my fingers and each one takes about a hundred chews before it becomes swallowable. When we have devoured everything bar the shells, I lift the dessert lid to unveil a swan covered in berries which appears to have been sculpted from coloured ice. Mila digs a silver spoon into the swan's wing and takes a mouthful with a stretch of eyelids.

  'It's so cold my teeth hurt, but yummy. I dunno whether I can continue, this is a cruel joke! What on Eryx is it?' Mila asks.

  A message replies: The swan is sculpted ice cream and the berries are moulded jelly.

  Digging into berries, I shove a spoonful onto my tongue which is met with a sweet, wobbly sensation like nothing I have tasted before. Mila and I stuff our sticky faces and each piece of jelly has a different flavour, which I presume is in accordance with the berry it imitates.

  'It's melting,' Mila says as ice cream starts to sludgify. We reel back as the plate is enveloped by flame but when the plasma disappears the swan and flowers are perfectly set, only smaller. We quickly devour the remaining dessert and I have a satisfied but unbloated belly so we turn our attention to the alcohol.

  'Why didn't you order beer? Wine is for girls!' I protest.

  Mila selects a music channel on the holoscreen and green lights shift across the darkened walls and ceiling as we open this girly drink which tastes rancid, but will at least help us get drunk. We finish the first wine bottle after twenty minutes of giggling, then Mila Bounces off th
e bed to press her nose against the wall-sized window as an airship drifts over the cityscape.

  'Open,' Mila says and I join her to access the curving balcony where red tiles meet turquoise water. Bypassing deckchairs and dainty trees, we remove our shoes and plunge into the horizon pool fully clothed. The window swooshes shut as we paddle to the edge, somewhat restricted by our saturated clothing and we watch from our soothing vantage, floating above the turmoil in our own idyllic heaven.

  A message appears: Do you require bathing costumes?

  'Maybe later.' I spit blue water from my mouth. 'Check out that view...'

  'Those rotten outskirts, that's home. Filthy isn't it?' Mila murmurs.

  'This is how they must perceive us. Right now, this is how I perceive us - scurrying in the shadows and intruding on their world to take what's theirs.'

  'I wonder what the gang are doing.' Mila's arms dangle over the balcony. 'They seem so far away.'

  'Wow, look at that,' I whisper as a flying lizard perches on a flower box, amongst petals with swirling patterns of pink and white pigment. It watches as we wade close enough to see emerald and black merging like liquids inside gleaming irises. Our movement is minimised to avoid scaring our visitor away and every twitch of this simple-brained creature makes me pause. On first inspection it seems not far beyond insect level of complexity, an empty mind with no concept of self-awareness but when its head tilts in an endearing manner our reptilian friend appears to smile. 'Hey little guy? What you doing all the way up here?'

  'Arturo,' the lizard squeaks, revealing rows of tiny teeth.

  'You know my name? What do the other lizards call you then?'

  'Arturo, please stop talking to yourself. It's really creepy when you do that!'

  The lizard glides away, startled by a rising hoverbot which causes us to instinctively freeze but nerves settle due to the knowledge this mechanical helper can do no harm. It swoops across the balcony to target a mark on the window, squirting fluid from a notch on the stripe which dissects its spherical body. In seconds it has covered the entire window in a light blue film and it whizzes around, scrubbing glass with spongy hands which leave a sparkling sheen.

  'Robots are awesome, even the crappy ones! If only we could get Ivor to work,' I lament.

  'Then why don't you use your money to fix him?' Mila suggests.

  'Actually, that's a good idea!' I go cock-eyed as possibilities invade my mind. 'We could get Bailey round to inspect him and order the required parts. We could even upgrade him with weapon systems…'

  'It always gets back to violence with you boys. Why couldn't we just do something fun like teach him to dance?'

  Appalled by the thought of robot feminisation, I swim to the tiled edge and haul myself from the horizon pool with a splash as Mila uses the unnecessary ladder. Cool air meets skin, rattling our teeth as dripping clothes leave wet trails during and we return indoors to start the second bottle of wine, soaking the bed sheets.

  'Remember that time when we were playing truth or dare and you dressed in my clothes and ran around the streets?' Mila wails out laughing.

  'No, I don't remember that because it only happened inside your imagination!'

  'Arturo, you've done plenty of embarrassing things in your time, rem-'

  'Can we stop this conversation now please? Let's just finish this wine and get out of here.'

  With music blasting at full volume we drink the second bottle of sparkling wine, holding hands and bouncing on the bed which is so springy we almost reach the domed ceiling. My thumb covers the top to stem splashes but froth seeps out regardless and somehow we have not had a warning from the hotel staff.

  'Why don't we go to a nightclub? After all, we're eighteen and rich! I'm gonna order another bottle of wine and you are gonna get ready,' Mila shouts.

  I grab a fluffy towel from a slit in the bathroom wall and Mila looks away as I strip clothes and dry skin, changing into corded trousers with eight useless pockets and a t-shirt with the words: I Follow No Man repeated across the front several times. Taking a bottle of aftershave from the cabinet, I splash my neck and the alpine fragrance irritates my nostrils as Mila takes a pink towel.

  'Wait in the bathroom until I say you can come out,' Mila instructs.

  Closing the bathroom door, I sit on the toilet seat staring at white lights twinkling like stars on the ceiling for twenty seven bloody minutes, before her majesty finally yells, 'You can come out now.'

  I swing the door open and Mila twirls to show off her semi-transparent black dress with silver specks, which combines with her restyled hair and green eye make-up to transform the pretty girl into a lady who exudes class and sexuality. The frock clings to curves in a manner designed to reduce admirers to slobbering wrecks like a model on a catwalk or a star on the red carpet but tipsiness makes her speak loudly, gasping between words and spoiling the illusion of perfection.

  Our Magical Night

  'We're ready weird machine thing. I need you to show us where the bars are. Do you understand? Lead the way,' Mila instructs.

  A message appears: Please follow the directional arrows.

  Mila stumbles towards the hotel lift, almost knocking a painting off the wall and digging fingernails into my shoulder, cackling. And she has only had one and a half bottles of wine... Actually that is a lot for a girl, I must ensure she slows down. Glowing arrows lead us from the lobby to another fluctuating indentation which rapidly transports a gentleman and a drunkard and when we come to a stop, I have no idea how many floors we have climbed.

  Mila drags me through an area of semi-reflective tiles to a bar called Savana which is full of pouting metrosexuals and wanna-be pop-stars bearing designer labels, extravagant hair and glittering makeup. The occasional under-dressed male stands out from the superficiality like a sore thumb and it occurs I am one of them.

  'I hope you understand you're paying for everything. You've got way more money than I do.' Mila barges through the relatively sparse crowd to a bar where glowing blue and red screens refract in rows of upturned glasses. 'Over here,' she yells over loud music and slams her hand onto a marble surface. A barman wearing a black shirt with rolled up sleeves and a shaved head comes over. 'I want six Simakas.'

  The barman pours green liquid, placing our order down with a shrug and I pay cash then we link arms, grabbing a shot each. Mila counts, 'One, two, three,' and we swallow bitter drinks in single gulps, slamming glasses onto marble. My throat tingles as Mila coughs, thumping her chest and I down three shots in quick succession, bending over with forearm across belly in my struggle to retain stomach acid.

  'What did you do that for?' Mila barks.

  'You're already drunk, young lady.' Laughter causes puke to rise to my throat. 'I'm looking out for you!

  'Well, I don't need you looking out for me. I'm having fun.'

  Mila downs the last shot as a beautiful young couple walk in and stand next to us at the bar. She introduces herself to the athletic male with a chiselled jawline and white suit jacket - and the elegantly poised amazonian with sleek dark hair, simple black dress and red lipstick. The commotion means I cannot hear as Mila talks into the guy's ear for several minutes. Politely nodding he leans across to my face when Mila pauses for breath.

  'She can't half talk, mate! I think she might've had a few. You better keep an eye on her.'

  'Tell me about it, I have to live with her! I'll make sure she slows down. No more shots for Ana,' I insist.

  'I'm Vytali. This is my girlfriend Eyris.'

  'You're a couple? So are we! Let's have a drink together.'

  Nudging Mila, I mumble from the corner of my mouth: 'Oh, so we're a couple now? When did this happen?'

  The four of us sit at a secluded table on a semi-circular sofa bathed in red light, fixed to partitions which subdue the noise level. Lightning bolts surge through the drinks Vytali has bought as we bask in the cool atmosphere with a growing sense of elitism in the first non-sleazy drinking venue I have been in. Every sound and im
age encourages a self-image of virtuosity; this place is for people who are better and I may well be the stupid looking one, but I will prove to be their intellectual equal despite my lack of formal education.

  'We've just enrolled at Nimbis College,' Mila proudly announces.

  'Oh, we've been attending for a year now. What are you studying?' Vytali asks.

  There is a momentary silence as Eyris and Vytali stare with partially restrained frowns, awaiting a credible reply. Mila shuffles on the leather seat until my inebriated brain realises this is my cue to step in.

  'I'm studying palaeontology. I've always been fascinated by dinosaurs and pre-history. When they resurrected mammoths and sabre-tooth tigers I was hooked,' I say as Mila breathes deeply and a smile reappears on her face.

  'That's pretty cool, so what do you think of the new additions to the mutant enclosure at Huryzen Park?' Eyris asks like I am supposed to be aware of such happenings.

  'New additions?'

  'The dinosaurs! Apparently, they've spliced DNA extracted from mosquitoes with junk bird DNA and they're putting them on public display tomorrow. There was a big news announcement,' Eyris replies.

  'Don't be silly! Dinosaur DNA is so sparse and jumbled that it would be impossible. Terror birds, short-faced bears and Haast eagles are scientifically plausible but the so-called dinosaurs must be holograms,' I explain.

  'Haast eagles? Can't say I've heard of them.' Eyris shuffles forward with elbows on the table.

  'Haast eagles are a species which existed a million years ago and evolved to prey on the giant moa bird, but when protohumans arrived on the island of Couizza, they started to prey on women and children. Their talons were bigger than a man's hands and more powerful than a lion's jaws.'

  We chat for hours, about college, about our aspirations and I fill the blanks as Mila nods along, willing to accept any fanciful suggestion. She is studying to be a vet and her embarrassing mishap, describing horses as: 'The ones with horns,' is of course, just a joke. Our friends' nervously confused faces glance at each other, then burst out laughing to let Mila off the hook.