“Yeah. I’m healed enough.”
Jarin pulled him closer, pretending to hug him. “Don’t bother Becker. You’ll just go and die and that won’t save anyone.”
Becker clenched his teeth, but nodded when they pulled apart.
“Becker, welcome back,” Kurt said cheerily, slapping him on the shoulder, making his back twinge in pain. “Timber would like to see you.”
Kurt pointed and Becker obeyed. He kept his eyes averted to the floor and waited for Timber to acknowledge him.
“Well! Look who’s back. What was your name again? Never mind, I think we should call him Bacon. As in cooked.”
Everyone around them laughed.
“Now, I don’t think I need to tell you that I don’t give second chances. Are we going to have any more trouble with you?”
“No, sir.”
“I didn’t think so. What did you do before C47?”
For a moment, Becker was somewhere else. In another lifetime. The sounds and images came back to him in a rush. Children laughing at his lame jokes. Some had their problems, but they had it really good back then and none of them even knew it. The laughter and images faded as Timber cleared his throat.
“A teacher, sir. I was a history teacher.”
“History, really? Well, that won’t be needed anymore, will it? We’re making our own story now. Our own world. No, I think, Mr. Teacher, from now on, you will be in charge of the generators. I hear you’re the one that got them up and running.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, and if that doesn’t keep you busy enough, I’m certain there are a million other things you could do in this town to make yourself useful. Oh, and one more thing.”
Becker started to look up, but remembered not to.
“Look at me.”
He wasn’t sure if he meant it, but he looked as high as his chest, studying the tattoo there.
“Don’t ever test me again, or the pain you suffered up to this point, will only be a drop of what I can make a man feel before he dies.”
Becker visibly shivered.
“Good. Now, go get to it . . . Bacon.”
Everyone laughed again and Becker practically ran out.
As soon as he was outside, he took in great big gulps of air. Hyperventilating. It was over now.
He was officially a member of the gang known as, the Wolves.
Also by Brea Behn
Find more Wolves, including four books
in the Wolves Series at:
www.amazon.com/author/breabehn
Other books by Brea Behn:
Wolves Series 1-4
Vaxxers
The Colors of a Mind
Death Sucks, Life Doesn’t Have To
Anthologies:
Prep For Doom
Undead Worlds
Tricks, Treats & Zombies
Blank Tapes 2
About Brea Behn
Brea Behn started writing at the age of fifteen, when she wrote a memoir for her twin brother. Brea has seven books published and writes dystopian, children’s fiction, nonfiction, and is building her career as an author and public speaker. Brea speaks on topics ranging from social media, being a hybrid author, and on the more personal topic of grieving as a teen. Brea is currently pursuing a degree in digital marketing with a certificate in graphic design. Brea lives in Wisconsin with her husband, their two children and their many animals.
You can follow Brea’s journey at www.Breasbooks.com or find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorbreabehn.
Revelation
A Divided Elements origin story
Mikhaeyla Kopievsky
Once known as Paris, the walled city-state of Otpor is enjoying a new Golden Age.
The horrors of the Singularity and Emancipation forgotten, citizens now revel in a veritable utopia of ubiquitous drugs, alcohol, and entertainment, washed down with full employment, universal healthcare, and affordable housing. All made possible by the Orthodoxy—a new world order where everything is engineered to maximum efficiency, including identities.
But, Lira—conditioned to be a Cleaner—wants something more. Risking detention by the authorities, her thieving ways have put her in contact with an opportunistic Water Elemental and both of them in the path of dangerous secrets about Otpor's history and its dominant ideology, the Orthodoxy.
Part I
Lira
Chapter 1
It is easy to hate the flashy opulence of the apartments in Precinct 4. Their white bricks seem too pure under the brown Otpor sun, their large balconies and windows ostentatious in flaunting their riverside views. Still, Lira’s gaze lingers on them. She doesn’t have much of an imagination—Earth Elementals are bred to be useful, not creative—but it doesn’t take an Air Elemental’s mind to picture herself living in one of them. It’s not imagination that makes it easy, but desire; simple, pure, burning desire for something she doesn’t have, will never have, but wants nonetheless.
Slowly, she lowers her gaze from the upper-level apartments and turns back to the streetscape beyond. While the riverside apartments no doubt hold lucrative treasures to lift, they are too well-protected—by nearby Infrastructure Protectors, by patrolling Peacekeepers, and by the scores of Elementals that swell in the nearby streets and laneways. The better option is the row of apartments six blocks to the east.
Adjusting her backpack straps and hefting the weight into a more comfortable position, Lira heads south instead. She doesn’t need to case the apartments in nearby Precinct 12; she has been stealing from them since she was a Trainee. And besides, it is too early to return—she has already chanced her arm by hitting the apartments three times in the last week.
She will return to them in a few weeks’ time. Now, she needs to collect.
The narrow bridge over the Syn River leads Lira to the maze of streets and laneways in Precinct 5. The early morning sun seems hotter here, heating the oppressive concrete and steel and amplifying the stench of the nearby canals. She scrubs at the sweat pricking her brow, pushes up the sleeves of her grease-stained shirt and picks up her pace. Ahead, the streets splinter into a smaller maze of alleys and arcades, reminding her of the cracks that creep across the plaster ceiling of her apartment.
“You’re late.”
The voice murmurs to her from the shadows of an empty arcade. Lira slows her pace and steps inside. Yvgeny stands at the far end against the service door of an abandoned nutrient store, his fingers tapping against his thighs in that way of his when he’s anxious or frustrated or both. Yvgeny shares her love of the money, but his nerves don’t handle the risks as well.
Despite his weak constitution, his greedy eyes light up like wallscreens when he sees the next-gen, fully optimized glass screen she pulls from her polyprop satchel.
He reaches for it, but she pulls it back.
“Nuh-uh. I want to renegotiate our deal.”
“No renegotiation,” he says, gaze still firmly pinned to the screen. “We agreed on a two-day wage equivalent.”
Lira pulls the screen in tighter, tucking it under her arm. “For a second-gen, two terabyte model. This demands more respect. And by respect, I mean money.”
“Three-day wage equivalent,” he says, folding his arms.
“Five-day,” she counters.
He scowls, eyes twitching to the laneway beyond. His nerves are getting the better of him; these trade sessions are usually over by now—every extra minute increases the chances of getting caught. If she were an Air Elemental, Lira would almost see him calculating the probability, weighing up the risk variables and offsetting them against the profits that were destined for his own account. But, as an Earth Elemental, all she sees are his greedy eyes and twitchy hands.
“Fine,” he says, reaching again for the device.
This time she relents, letting him pull the glass screen to his chest.
“But, I want more,” he continues. “If you can get me more, I’ll pay six-day equivalent.”
&nbs
p; It is a better offer than she had hoped for. She nods slowly, not trusting her mouth to contain her enthusiasm. Earth Elementals are terrible liars—all raw honesty with no grasp of subtlety or manipulation. She needn’t have worried—Water Elementals, with their blinkered, microscopic focus and disinterest in all things social, are just as bad at reading emotional cues.
“Good,” Yvgeny says, stashing the screen away in his own satchel. “Meet me back here next week. And don’t be late.”
Chapter 2
“You’re late.” Jandah doesn’t look up from the wallscreen as Lira enters their modest one-bedroom apartment. ‘Modest’ is how she describes it to her friends. But in truth, it is small, old, smelly, and small. So small. Too small. If her useless, but very attractive, husband didn’t squander his wages at the drinking hall or betting on avatar sports they could have upgraded to one of the sixth-floor, two-bedroom apartments by now.
“Subworm line was down,” she says, walking straight to the small laminate table and pouring herself a Voybee from the scarred glass bottle. Small table, small glass, small bottle. She is sick of everything being small.
Jandah doesn’t pick up on her lie—not because he is socially clueless like her Water contact, but because he is incapable of any intelligence (social or otherwise) with a belly full of alcohol and a three-hour ava-rugby marathon on the wallscreen.
“You rostered on packing duties tonight?” she asks, sinking down into their worn, polyester lounge and leaning into his strong frame.
“Nope,” he mumbles, not engaging, but not moving away either. “Two days off, six days on.”
“Lucky you,” she says, taking a sip of her drink and racking her brain to come up with another lie she can slip past him.
“Mm-hmm.”
It’s easy to fall into this routine. This half-hearted, distracted small talk used as a basic subterfuge for just hanging out. It’s the way all Earth Elementals are conditioned—simple thoughts, simple pleasures, simple needs. They don’t crave adrenalin like Fire Elementals, yet still succumb to the same aggression and random outbursts of violence. They don’t have the same appreciation of artistic ideals as Air Elementals, but still fall victim to the mindless entertainment and need for excitement. They lack the discipline and singularity of focus of Water Elementals, but are slaves to the technological developments that wile away their days. Like wallscreens, and synth alcohols, and betting algorithms, and avatar sports.
“I’ve scored another shift tonight,” she murmurs. It is a basic lie, but a believable one. Yvgeny’s offer of a six-day equivalent payment has made her restless and it is hard to think of anything but next-gen screens out there for the taking.
“You’re never going to afford that sixth-floor apartment, Li-li.” He doesn’t say it with sarcasm or scorn—Earth Elementals don’t have the subtle skills for those either. But it still grates.
“Maybe,” she replies, sitting up straighter. Putting more space between them.
Jandah doesn’t react, draining the rest of his Voybee and resting a hand on her thigh. He won’t really notice her missing until the marathon is over and by then he will be too smashed to remember this conversation and too sleepy to care.
She rolls her eyes, but leans back in; savoring the comfort of this indelible routine as much as the physical connection. The flashing images on the wallscreen draw her attention—La Tigres are dominating their Lei Bleu opponents and she wonders how much of his paycheque Jandah has wagered on the outcome, how much violence she can expect if the result doesn’t go his way. Some routines are more comforting than others.
His aggressive streak had been more attractive when she had first met him three years’ ago, back when they were just one year shy of graduating from their Traineeships. Not that they were really Trainees, not by that stage. Traineeships were for the other Elements—a way to learn the discipline of, and become fully capable in, one’s designated competency. Fire Peacekeepers perfected their free-running, Water Technicians improved their precision, Air Choreographers deepened their inspiration or whatever it took for them to shift from a mediocre talent to something else.
But Earth Elementals, they were Trainees for the first six months and unpaid labor for the next two and a half years. After all, how much training do you need to learn how to clean scum from walls or lift boxes from a truck?
She glances up at Jandah, his perfectly angled face relaxed in the kind of stupor that comes from a growing blood alcohol level and no concern but where the next drink is coming from. Maybe he hasn’t bet on this game or maybe his money is on Le Tigres. Maybe there won’t be violence tonight.
Glass shatters on impact with the wall, missing her head by at least half a meter. Either Jandah didn’t really want the empty bottle to hit her or the alcohol has denied him what little precision he has. In the end, it had only taken him two hours to turn from blissed-out drunk to violent.
“Lira. Wait. Wait. I’m sorry.” His words are thick and raspy. “Please Li-li. Give me another chance.”
She pauses at the doorframe, but only for a second. She’s learned that giving someone a second chance is like giving them another bottle to throw at you.
Slamming the door behind her, she hurries down the staircase. Reaching the lobby, she glances over her shoulder. No Jandah. She sighs, relieved and disappointed. It is as easy to want her husband as it is to want to be away from him.
In moments like this, she understands why Fire and Water Elementals think marriage is an insane concept. She and Jandah shouldn’t have married; like all the big decisions she has ever made and the consequences that followed, her circumstance was borne from a rush of blood and desire, and remained because she didn’t have the rational, good-judgment to exit a toxic situation.
Like her foray into stealing.
It wasn’t like there had been a plan. Not that first time. It had just been an open window and the glimpse of an unattended glass screen. After five nights of Cleaning shifts—of scrubbing at rank, sticky chemical residues with even harsher, stickier chemicals—she had stared at the impossibly thin, very expensive Liebler polymer and grumbled that careless, distracted Air Elementals could be so cavalier with things worth three times her weekly wage. That they should have the nice things while she found herself ten stories above street level, wiping away the stains of Otpor’s synthetic manufacturing only to go home to her small apartment with its cheap furnishings.
She knew it was Unorthodox to reach through the window, knew that the greater offense of stealing the screen would strip her of her measly savings and deny her freedom for at least three years. But working on Otpor’s skyline hid her movements from prying eyes and careless Air Elementals were as unlikely to remember where they last saw their ‘lost’ possessions as they were to report them missing to the city’s Peacekeepers. And besides, why should she not have the beautiful, shiny things that she was otherwise refused?
Only after she had lifted the screen and made it halfway back to her apartment had she realized she couldn’t keep it. Even without the theft being reported, the good stuff was always protected against unauthorized lifeline attachment. She’d never be able to use it without her own lifeline giving her away—the device would send an alert to Peacekeepers the second any lifeline but the registered owner’s plugged into the activation port.
So, in another quintessential moment of poor judgment and rash decision making, she had concluded that if she couldn’t have the luxury of the glass screen, no one could. That night she detoured to the south-western reaches of the Syn River. Hidden away in the Edges, the kilometer-wide buffer zone that encircled the city and separated it from the Border Wall and Wasteland beyond, she readied herself to throw the device into the inky current below and be done with it.
Not that she had been quiet about it. Over-confident in her isolation, she had shouted a string of colorful curses at the device, the river, the stupid Air Elemental who had left their window open, and her stupid lifeline that was the key to using the de
vice and to her inevitable detention if she attempted it.
And that was how she had met Yvgeny 672.
“I’ll take that off your hands if you’re determined to dispose of it.”
She hesitated and slowly turned around. The Water Elemental—and it was obvious he was a Water Elemental, with his too-starched suit and his too-clipped voice—seemed to materialize from the shadows of the air recyclers. Switching on her wristplate diode had splashed a bright pool of light over him and the recycler, his small frame appearing even reedier against the backdrop of the concrete behemoth.
“It’s not really mine to dispose of,” she said, dangling the screen over the river’s rampart.
“All the more reason for me to take it off your hands.” His voice held a confidence that didn’t match his shifty movements.
“I’d rather it sink to the bottom of the Syn.”
“The polymer won’t allow it to sink, it’s not dense enough, the current will only keep it afloat.” He stopped and shook his head and with tentative feet, stepped forward. “I can give you money.”
She pulled back the glass screen and stared at him, weighing him up. “How much money?”
And just like that, everything shifted. And the strangest thing about it was that it wasn’t strange. The risk of colluding with this Water Elemental was no greater than the risk of stealing the screen in the first place. If anything, it was a better option because it at least came with the offer of compensation.
“Can you get more?”
On the Brink Page 41