by S. B. Divya
“I’m Ardha’s father,” he explained. “I’m calling you because I discovered that not only do we need to thank you for helping our child, we need to apologize for zir behavior. Ardha was gravely injured, and zie has been unconscious until today. They can’t save zir natural legs, but zie is lucky to have so many enhancements already. They say they can integrate artificial muscle and bone into what’s left.”
Marmeg nodded, unsure how to respond. At least now she knew why the name and face were familiar. She could see the family resemblance.
“I’m sorry. I’m talking on and on. My child became lucid only yesterday. Zie confessed to my wife—zir mother—what zie had done to you earlier in the race. And yet you were kind enough to save zir at the cost of the race itself. You are truly selfless, and you have been very badly rewarded. My family and my colleagues who supported Ardha in the race—we would like to extend a credit to you.”
“Can’t take it.”
“Please, you must. It’s not a great deal of credit, but we feel badly about what our child has done.”
Marmeg forced herself to speak in slow, full sentences. “Can’t take it, sir, but thank you.” She took a deep breath and decided she might as well tell him the whole truth; a confession for a confession. “I didn’t win the race fairly. Got help from some . . . mountain people who took me to shortcuts. One of them brought me to Ardha, else I never would’ve found zir. And then—” She broke off, looked away from the kind brown eyes on the screen, and lapsed into familiar rhythms. “Did what was right. Tried to make up for cheats, you know?”
Ardha’s father sighed. “You were sabotaged and you were aided, but that was the work of others. It is you who saved our child. Forget the race and think of the credit as a token of our gratitude. Please. My wife will not forgive me if I accept your refusal.”
Marmeg’s face flushed with suppressed tears. Don’t be an idiot. This money can only help, and why shouldn’t you get something for all that you went through? But the thought didn’t sit right. A different idea nibbled around the edges of her mind.
“You got any pay gigs?”
“Sorry?”
“Paid work. A job I could do,” Marmeg clarified. “Got a college admit but can’t pay for it. That’s partly why I raced. Want to get an embed design degree. Get myself out of this hole. Make a better life, you know? I can code for you.”
“I see.”
Sachiv’s expression was distant, and Marmeg wondered if she’d blown her chance. Her school contests were too far in the past to count, but she had her own designs, the illegal ones.
“Custom built the ’ware for my own rig.” She pulled her screen from her cargo pocket and sent him the source code. “Take a look. Steady pay beats a credit dump, you catch me?”
Sachiv smiled at her. “Quite right. Yes, quite right. Unfortunately, we cannot hire you until you have at least the bachelor’s degree. Let me think about it some more. Perhaps I can find a happy solution. I’ll get back to you.”
The call ended. Marmeg leaned back against the hard curve of the seat. She looked around at an unfamiliar world, noise buzzing around her. Her heart raced and her hands shook as she took a bite of the fries. They were cold. She couldn’t care. Her fate stood poised on a pinnacle, its balance as precarious as her footing during the race. Which way would it land?
Marmeg dumped the unappetizing food in the compost bin and walked outside. A hot, dry breeze whispered through her hair as she strolled along the uneven cement sidewalk and waited for the call. And walked. And waited some more. Sweat itched on the back of her neck. The afternoon wore on and the sun beat down from a cloudless sky, but sitting still proved impossible.
She was gulping water from a tepid public fountain when her cuff zapped. The message came from Ardha’s father, all text: NO JOB OFFER. SORRY! BUT WE CAN PAY TUITION AND IF YOU KEEP UP YOUR GRADES, YOU’LL HAVE A REMOTE INTERNSHIP OFFER FOR NEXT SUMMER.
Marmeg didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she sat on the sidewalk and did both. Getting a fully paid college education was monumental. Even her mother couldn’t deny that. She could save all her money from the job at the used gear shop. Get her chips back. Get Felix’s license. Race again next summer. She could go home.
She sent a reply to Ardha’s dad with an electronic signature and the address to her empty credit account. Marmeg’s mind reeled as she limped her way back to the shelter to collect her bag. In a few weeks, she’d be a college freshman, surrounded by hordes of licensed, well-groomed kids who took for granted three meals and a bed and hot showers. Life was about to get real different.
A half-dead pine tree grew in the empty lot to her left. She recalled the scent of alpine air and melting snowflakes, of cold stone tunnels and wet earth, and she hatched a plan: for another year, another race. She would win on her own merits. Trap the Mountain Mikes into revealing their hand. But most of all, she wanted to dance like the wind over granite mountaintops.
About the Author
Photograph by Susan Yoon
S. B. DIVYA is a lover of science, math, fiction, and the Oxford comma. She enjoys subverting expectations and breaking stereotypes whenever she can. In her past, she’s used a telescope to find the Orion nebula, scuba dived with manta rays, and climbed to the top of a thousand-year-old stupa. You can find more of her writing at www.eff-words.com. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Begin Reading
About the Author
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
RUNTIME
Copyright © 2016 by Divya Srinivasan Breed
Cover art by Juan Pablo Roldan
Cover design by Christine Foltzer
Edited by Carl Engle-Laird
All rights reserved.
A Tor.com Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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New York, NY 10010
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8978-7 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8979-4 (trade paperback)
First Edition: May 2016
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