No. “Of course I can.”
Chapter 3
The beeping at her wrist draws Lira’s gaze to her wristplate. Tapping on the screen brings up the payment confirmation—true to his word, Yvgeny has transferred the money to her account under the guise of contracted cleaning duties. It is the perfect set-up—Yvgeny using his mundane and poorly paid role as a Property Manager to set up the fake invoices for his criminal enterprise. She wonders how many other Elementals are receiving ad-hoc payments—Air Elementals for interior design and architectural plans that don’t exist, Water Elementals for coding work and technology patches that never occur.
Not that it matters. She is happy to steal the goods if Yvgeny can move them. Theirs is an unlikely partnership—Earths and Waters are as incompatible as Fires and Airs—but somehow it works. They keep each other in balance; both of them only able to profit from their Unorthodoxy with the other’s help.
And she will profit again if she can just get her hands on some more next-gen screens.
Looking up, she surveys the roofline. The buildings in the southern part of Precinct 14 are tall and sprawling—a testament to the wealth and privilege that occupies them. She hasn’t had as much time as she would like to properly case the area—only a few brief visits to confirm lucrative targets and sporadic protection.
Her heart hammers in her chest. As always, the prospect of scaling the walls without the support scaffolding is more daunting than she is willing to admit, but not so daunting that she doesn’t attempt it. Five years of working at heights has eroded the sharper points of her fear and taught her enough tricks about climbing erratic infrastructure to reach difficult spaces.
Unlike a Peacekeeper, who would attack the nearest facade with a rush of adrenaline, authority, and athleticism, Lira takes a more strategic approach—not because she is smarter or more controlled, but because she has no option. She walks past all of the fancy residential buildings and into the mixed commercial and industrial quarter. Taking advantage of the darkened windows and lack of nearby Elementals, she squeezes into the narrow chasm between two warehouses and uses the tiny space and uneven bricks to scale higher.
She reaches the top of the storage warehouse and glances around for watchful eyes. With the Air Elementals out in the entertainment precincts and no Infrastructure Protectors needed to guard the lower-level facilities, there is no one to watch her as she makes her way to the back of the building, away from the street front, and uses the more convenient access ladder to climb to the top of the adjoining warehouse.
At six stories above the ground, the whole cityscape opens up to her. But, being on the roofline of Otpor offers her no thrill—there is no beauty in the towering architecture and sprinkling of distant lights—only a mundane reminder that, in another twelve hours, she'll be on a similar building in the Eastern Area scraping the chemical residue from its facade.
She hurries along the flat roofs of the warehouses; if she can find at least three screens tonight, she will rest easy dreaming of the money siphoning into her account. Only when she reaches the slanting roofs of the residential area does she slow, her eyes casting nervously about as the light from occupied apartments spills out on to tiny, ornate balconies and beyond.
Finally, she finds one that is far enough from the music, chatter, and light of its neighbors. Dropping to the balcony below, she steps through the doorway, undoubtedly left open to admit the weak, cooling breeze into the darkened room beyond. Her hands hover over her wristplate, ready to activate the diode. Noises murmur nearby—from the next room? Her heart leaps to her throat and she casts about the silhouetted shadows for a place to hide. Stepping forward, her shin connects with something hard.
A bed? The realization disorients her. Bedrooms are typically placed at the back of apartments, away from the noise and odors that come in from the street.
The voices are louder now, closer. Silently cursing, Lira crouches down and squirms against the soft, luxurious carpet until she is hidden under the bed. Tapping furiously, she silences her wristplate and tries desperately to calm her breathing.
Light spills into the room as the door creaks open. The heavy carpet masks the footsteps, but a high-pitched giggle and low, throaty chuckle announce the two visitors.
“What fantasy would you prefer tonight, Commissioner?” the deep, male voice rumbles.
Panic blooms hot and fast in Lira’s chest. The realization—that she has stumbled into an alternative-reality simulation—has come too late.
“I want you to film it,” the female says, the Commissioner.
Of the four Elemental Commissioners, only the Fire and Water Commissioners are female, and she can’t imagine either wanting the act to be recorded.
“As you wish, la riviere.”
It is a double entendre—an intimate reference to the Water Commissioner as much as the vulgar term for her—
“Not on your wristplate,” the Commissioner says. “On my glass screen.”
Lira stays still as murmurs grow to shouts, the role playing quickly morphing into stifled cries of desperation.
“That’s right pretty face, turn blue. Bluer.”
The bed is creaks, balking under what sounds and feels like thrashing. Lira is still, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.
“You stupid, brainless Air—all style, no substance.” The Commissioner barks a husky laugh, finding amusement in a rejoinder only a Water Elemental would find funny.
The quaking is subsiding, the noises and thrashing growing quieter, until all that is left is the soft, maniacal laughing of the Commissioner. She murmurs to herself as the bed creaks one last time. “Earths to shoulder the burden, Airs to entertain, Fires to play hero, and Waters to rule them all.”
There is a faint click of what sounds like another door shutting and then the familiar sound of water hitting tiles. This is Lira’s opportunity; she needs to move. Tentatively, she wriggles out of her hiding space. Her eyes have adjusted to the dark and it is easier to make out her surroundings; the chaise lounge by the far wall, the spill of light from the bathroom. She stands up and turns back to the bed, startling at the motionless, naked male sprawled on top of the sheets.
Get out, Lira. Move.
The desperation of the situation finally overpowers the inertia set by her fear. She takes a step towards the balcony door, unable to help herself from turning back for one last glance. And then she notices the faint glow of the dormant glass screen on the bedside table, still propped up against the lamp to record whatever twisted scene unfolded just moments before.
The red light is still blinking. The device is still recording.
In a moment of panic and desperation, she races back to grab it, stashing the screen away in her hoodie, before hurrying to the balcony.
The air outside is still warm; it feels like a smothering hand against her lips. She bites back the bile rising in her throat and surveys her exit options. The balcony below is lit brightly; her only option is to climb back to the roof.
With shaking hands, she clambers atop the railing. Adrenalin pushes her back to the roofline and before she can fully grasp what is happening, her mind still in a hectic fog of half-thoughts and confusion, she speeds across the roof tiles.
The slip of her foot spears a sharper adrenaline to her gut and sends her scrabbling to regain her balance. She teeters against the grime covered tiles and silently curses the Cleaner who did such a poor job.
The relief at stabilizing her center of gravity is short-lived; she slips again, her body crashing to the tiles and sliding down the steep pitch. Her hands grab at the guttering, the corroded metal cutting into skin and sending pain screaming from her palm to her brain.
She begs her hand to keep purchase, but her grip—now slick with blood—betrays her. And then there is nothing to stop her fall but the hard stones of the laneway below.
Chapter 4
“If you experience any major cramping in the next forty-eight hours, bleeding fro
m the ears or nose, or paralysis for more than two minutes, patch a call to the paramedic number and quote your lifeline number.” The Water Nurse glances down at his glass screen and all Lira can think of is how much Yvgeny would give her if she could find a way to lift it.
Her fall had caused more damage than she had anticipated, landing her in the Infirmary for a month with multiple fractures, serious lacerations, and a brain contusion. While most of the fractures and lacerations had been easy fixes for the Biomechanical Specialists, they hadn’t worried about bringing her to one hundred percent recovery. Unlike Peacekeepers, Border Protectors or Surgeons, her body is expendable beyond what is required for her Cleaning duties.
“You’ll likely experience a ringing sensation in the ears, some mild headaches, and light pins and needles in your extremities,” the Nurse continues. “The medication should help with that.”
Lira glances down at the medibag attached to her forearm and grimaces at the wires running from her wristplate to its administration panel, her skin itching with the fine tubing that runs from the bag and buries into her veins. Every four hours she feels the rush of warmth as her wristplate coding triggers the release of recovery serums and heavy painkillers.
The silence stretches and looking up she sees the Nurse has already turned back to the ward’s wallscreen. Happy to be free of the imperious Nurse and the sterile infirmary, she strides over to the elevator and takes it down to the lobby. Exiting into the street, she stumbles. The dull, brown daylight is a comfort after the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, but still her brain throbs in her skull.
Looking down at her wristplate, she swipes across its face, searching for any new messages from Jandah. But there are only the five she received weeks ago. She taps at the first one. As the message flashes open, she startles at the feeling of synthflies in her belly.
Just the medication. Just the surgery side-effects.
Even so, her fingers tremble as they scroll through the message she has already read dozens of times during her recovery.
Li. Come back. I miss you.
She smiles sadly, the synthflies in her belly melting with a strange kind of warmth, even though she knows what’s still to come. She taps on the next one.
Youv made your point. Where r you?
He thinks she has left him—is letting him stew about the fight, is laying a guilt trip. She opens the next message, eyes flashing straight to the insults.
You cant leave me you stupid whore. Who else would want you and your dirty hands?
Her fingers are shaking again as she scrolls to the next message.
Who do u think u r leaving me? Your nothing without me. Your just a dirty useless—
She closes the message, not wanting to read anymore. The synthflies in her belly have turned to ash. It was delusional to think she could find a different interpretation, hear a different tone, in the messages after so many weeks. She deletes them before she can second-guess herself, pausing only briefly as her finger hovers over the last unopened one.
Her mind is throbbing, like her thoughts are vague echoes of the real thing. Everything feels too fuzzy, too surreal.
Surreal. What does she know of surreal? She is an Earth Elemental with no imagination, no concept of anything but simple reality, no interest in anything but fulfilling the most basic desires—like money, sex, alcohol, oblivion.
She deletes the last message and closes her eyes. Around her, she hears the movement and chatter of other Elementals, smells the dust and chemical residues, feels the growing warmth of the day pressing against her skin.
And still, her brain screams like it is wrapped in polysilk and drowning under a river of water.
The heat of the morning sun is sending an itchy trail of sweat down her back, forcing her to move, to make a decision, to do anything but stay still. Pressing a shaky hand to her temple to relieve the thudding of her brain, she makes her way through the crowds of Elementals towards the nearest subworm station. She just needs to get home. Everything will be righted with a bottle of Karasu, some sex, and a good sleep.
And yet, she doesn’t take the worm to Precinct 19 and her apartment on Rue Janssen. Instead, she takes the south-bound worm to Precinct 5. To Yvgeny.
Chapter 5
“Where have you been?”
Yvgeny’s voice is low and husky. He still hides in the shadows of the laneway, but he doesn’t seem to stoop like he used to. Doesn’t seem as fidgety or twitchy.
Is that him or is that me?
In the last few hours, everything has seemed different. Not radically different, just different enough to question whether it is her mind that is broken or everything around her. Like the incessant rumble of the subworm; once annoying, now soothing.
“I’ve been distracted. Do you still need more screens?”
Yvgeny frowns and leans back against the wall, the movement causing his starched, buttoned shirt to ride up and show some flesh. It kind of turns her on.
Get a grip, Lira.
“What happened to you? You look like shit.”
“Your compliments won’t get you into my pants, Yvgeny,” she says, self-consciously pulling at her own crimped threads.
His frown deepens. Waters don’t get attempts at humor. Or maybe they do; maybe they just don’t expect it from Earth Elementals.
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Here,” she says, pulling the cracked glass screen from her backpack and holding it out to him.
And still, his frown deepens. “Well, it’s a next-gen screen. But, it’s not in any condition I can sell.”
“Six-wage equivalent,” she says, raking fingers through her unruly hair and straightening her dress.
“Ha,” he scoffs, turning the screen over and handing it out to her. “That was our previous deal, for multiple, undamaged screens. One-wage equivalent.”
How had she ever thought of him as weak? He is sharp and ruthless. She straightens her dress again.
“Not happening,” she says, pulling the screen back. She isn’t here to argue or negotiate or get flustered by his new confidence. “But, you should know—it’s not the screen that holds the value. It’s the content.”
He frowns at that, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms. “What kind of content?”
“The lucrative kind.”
Behind her, the sounds of Water Elementals making their way to the nearby tech markets start to grow. Yvgeny looks nervous again.
“I can’t pay six-day equivalent for something I can’t see,” he says, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he is about to race from the alley at any second.
“Then look at it,” she says.
He reaches for the screen.
“Nuh-uh,” she says, pulling it tighter into her side. “I can’t just hand it over.”
“Those chemical fumes have got to you, Cleaner.”
She laughs, not caring that the sound may attract attention, and pulls up her sleeves. The white tracks look like ghost rats have crawled along her arms and left jagged footprints.
“Not chemicals,” she says. “Six-days, or I find someone else who will happily pay nine.”
Yvgeny frowns at her and she wonders whether he is weighing up the offer or wondering whether she is hypoxic. They are at an impasse—he unwilling to pay until he sees the content, she unwilling to give him the screen until he pays. The noise in the street is growing louder, more Waters arriving, all of them drawing closer.
Eventually, he nods. “Fine. Meet me at 2300 hours in the Edges where we first met. I’ll access the content then. If it’s as lucrative as you think it is, you can have your six-day equivalent.”
The dark shadows of the Edges seem more menacing tonight. Lira’s heart shivers and she folds her arms across her chest to quieten the anxiety.
“This had better be worth it.” Yvgeny’s soft voice floats to her, rippling as it reverberates off the concrete recyclers.
“Or what?” she replies, activating her wristplate diode and lighting up
the barren space around her. Yvegeny steps around one of the rumbling behemoths, shielding his eyes against the brightness.
“Or I’ll seek out something that is.”
Is he threatening her or flirting with her? Do Water Elementals even know how to flirt?
“It’s worth it,” she says, her heart still racing.
“Well, let’s find out.” He holds out a strip of cloth.
“What’s that for?”
“I want to view the content somewhere secure and I don’t want you knowing where it is.” He steps past her, his shoulder brushing hers. “No blindfold, no viewing. No viewing, no payment.”
“Fine,” she murmurs, her skin rippling like fresh-plucked pigeon flesh as he ties the blindfold over her eyes.
They walk slowly, but even so, she grips his arm tightly.
“Is it far?” she asks, every footstep tentative with no way of knowing whether she will stumble into a pothole or over a loose rock.
“Not so far that you can’t make it.”
There is the faint click of a door shutting. Yvgeny disentangles himself from her grip, his hands burying into her hair as he unties the blindfold.
Warm light floods her vision as the fabric falls and slowly the details of the room emerge. It is as sparse and functional as she would expect from a Water Elemental—stark white walls, devoid of any color or decoration save the three large wallscreens that dominate the far wall; a long, sleek carbonite-topped desk inlaid with very expensive looking Liebler polymer; and a very ordered collection of five chairs around a low-lying glass table.
“Shall we?” Yvgeny asks, walking over to the glass table and sitting down on one of the steel and plastic chairs.
Lira pulls the glass screen from the inside pocket of her hoodie and joins him. The chair is as uncomfortable as she imagined it would be. Sighing, she slides the glass screen over to him.
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