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Five years. It seems like a lifetime ago. Back when a “Corporate Government” sounded like something new. Something that would save humanity.
The ground-level plague had already taken our housepets. Then, we found out it was infecting the low-econs. For years, in fact. Turns out, they might have been patient zero. The loss of our pets, we learned, was on their shoulders.
So, the CG lifted us off the planet’s surface. The “Lifting” we called it at the time, though no one really mentions it now. Only five years later, and no one remembers much about life on ground-level anymore.
Only the loss of our housepets. And the low-economic viabilities who scavenged a system they refused to contribute to. Their tents infested the outskirts of our old Megacity, the massive ground-level metropolis we used to call home. It once had a name, though that now escapes me. Somewhere far below the skyplatform, our old homes are collecting the waste from our new ones upon their rooftops.
As for me and anyone else over 13 years old, we were old enough to work. We got task assignments, our own skypartments and credit accounts to earn and purchase whatever we might want from junction shops and product catalogs.
For many of the younger ones, it meant saying goodbye to our parents. To my parents. My mother and father.
I still remember my parents.
SkyCorp sent them into paper-filing because of their age. They said they’d visit, but their credit-earning potential makes it near impossible for them to pay the sector crossing fee. It’s for the best. For all of us. They were always struggling to keep up with my needs financially, which meant they often neglected them emotionally as well. At least now, I no longer deal with their nagging.
Always on my case, my parents were. Something about the work I used to do pre-platform, though I can’t quite think of what that was. In any case, it was never enough for… odd, I can’t remember their names, either.
Still, I’ll never forget how often I disappointed them. I had the luxury of only ever knowing the MCity, they’d say. Anyone born into its 20 years of peace could never truly understand suffering, they told me. They had to survive in the remains of a global catastrophe. My generation has it so easy.
After the Lifting, I think they may have been right.
Now, our work keeps SkyCity thriving.
The Corporate Government assigns us work tasks that suit our skills. I was young and fit so naturally I ended up as an energy generator. Sector 3, Junction L. The task fit like a glove. More importantly, en-gens, as we call ourselves, have more opportunities to earn SkyCorp credits.
The biggest payouts come from the SCEGA. These are official SkyCorp Competitive Energy-Generating Activities, CG-sponsored and held in the most elaborate arenas of the Scale Stadiums, which take up Junctions A through G of the en-gen sectors. The credit return from one event can land some primo products. Even if it means going into the red every now and again for a major purchase, one big SCEGA win is all it would take to eliminate a sizable debt.
But making it to the SCEGA stadiums is a long shot. En-gens are among the most competitive Skycitizens in SkyCity. And the SCEGA brutes don’t make it easy to enter their ranks.
Instead, most of us focus on unofficial activity events throughout the outer junctions. We call them OJEGA, or “OJs” for short. Entrepreneurial en-gens organize them and use participant buy-ins to offer credit prizes. Less energy output and not CG-sanctioned, but SkyCorp hasn’t shut ‘em down yet. The payoff is smaller than a sponsored event and, for those on the losing end, not always guaranteed. But in quantity, most en-gens can pull in enough through unofficial activities to live more than comfortably.
Everything is perfect. almost.
My new name is the only element of Skycitizenship that has taken some getting used to. On the one hand, it’s unique. I can’t quite remember it now, but I know my name as an MCitizen was common. Someone always knew a friend or relative by the same name.
I also used to have a second name. One that I shared with my parents. When we got our SkyCity welcome pack in the weeks leading up to the Lifting, it came with some PharmaDoses to help accommodate us to certain changes. Among those was the nixing of the family name: everyone admitted would be assigned a first name only.
Those well off enough to afford the fee could make up any name they wanted. We had the option to keep our old names, of course, unless someone else before us in line had already claimed it. The cost to sign-up for a SkyChip implant date got higher the closer it got to the Lifting. If my parents had splurged for one place earlier in line, it might have made a difference. But by the time it was my turn to register for Skycitizenship, there weren’t many real names left. And without enough to pay for any degree of customization, I got autoassigned the nearest derivative of my MCity name to ensure that, as a Skycitizen, I ended up with a unique one.
Aleksandi.
I guess it could be worse. I met a guy online who got “Schteve.” A girl my age got stuck with “Marlanne.” Though, I’m not sure Aleksandi is much of an improvement.
In any case, I must be getting used to it because I don’t hate “Aleks” so much anymore. I still cringe, however, when someone decides to call me “Sandi.” In any event, whatever my name used to be as an MCitizen is gone. And good riddance. Those memories are better left at ground level with the trash.
My neighbor, on the other hand, was lucky.
She must’ve been able to pay for her own name, or at least, get a good spot in line. Hers, at least, looked and sounded like a name I remember: Kylie. Plain and homespun, like the MCity names used to be. But she, however, was not.
Her face was more lovely than any other en-gen I’ve come across in our junction. Even without the holo-cosmetics and skin holo-mod tinting it purple, anyone could see right away she was born a natural beauty.
She was also a top en-gen. Her OJ performance had already earned her two invites to SCEGA: one in Junction G and another all the way in C. Everyone in 3L loved her, especially our boss.
Being neighbors usually means working together, so it was no surprise to find out that many Skycitizens surrounding my skypartment unit, including Kylie, ended up in the same workplace. There, we work with peers and mentors to train and scrimmage, improving our skills for OJs and, of course, generating energy.
Beyond the SCEGA, en-gen in Sectors 3 and 4 is organized into pyramids. Climbing to the top of a team pyramid takes wins. Once they do, an en-gen has two choices: stay there overseeing and motivating the others on their team, or take a work task in a higher-performing office, or even an inner-Junction. The boss at the top of our pyramid sets quotas and coordinates entries into big OJs and SCEGA, but at the pace she’d been going, Kylie was on track to take over.
Not like Charlz would hold it against her. That’s our boss. I think he has a crush on her. I suspect he’s been marking up her output every term, giving her an advantage.
But despite living in the same building and working in the same pyramid, we’d hardly ever spoken. Or rather, she had hardly ever spoken to me. I’d dreamt about her, tried to sync up our commute schedules for a chance to glimpse her, and caught whiffs of her scent-spray as she left me in the dust on the skypath.
But I only ever worked up the courage to talk to her once. Yesterday. It was my first and last attempt.
We would have been pretty compatible.
If she’d have given me a chance, she would have found out. We both excel at the same activities, like ramp-kour and vertical climbs. Sometimes, I would hear her through the walls loading the same VR programs I do. The other week, I saw her throw the wrapper of what looked like my favorite flavor SkyFuel Bars through a wasteway chute.
Instead, her arrogance was on full display. I get that she’s beautiful and successful, but she treated me like ground-level garbage. We pull in the same credit per en-gen hour turned in, and yet she spoke to me as though I were some kind of paper filer. No worse, a low-econ.
But I get it. She figured she had to act that way. She acted toward others the way others acted toward her. I saw how some of the male en-gens used to treat her. How they berated her performances, even her wins; how they’d grab her when they thought no one was looking. But she ignored me, pretended like she didn’t know me. I would have an easier time stepping in to help if she, at least, considered me a friend.
She never even gave me a chance. She’s probably hated me ever since the Lifting. Why else would she treat me this way? She was in the wrong. She was the one who made it a problem. She deserved everything that came to her.
At least I won’t have to worry about her anymore, I guess. But still, it bothers me to know she got away with it.
> PLAYBACK PAUSED
> SCANNING EVENT-LINKED DATABASE
> EXPANDING SEARCH PARAMETERS: -24 hours
> FILE 2 RETRIEVED :: Initializing archive playback . . .
“Oh, no!”
The wallscreen alarm is blaring. The color strobe washes the room in a rapid fire of pink, blue, green, and yellow. When I open my eyes, its speed has already doubled. That means at least ten minutes have passed since it was supposed to have woken me up.
Not like I’ll be late or anything. I was just hoping to be early. I’ve lived in this skypartment for five years now and spent as much time doing everything I can to work my way into the SCEGA, maybe even earn a skypartment in the Scales. Every morning, I try to be the first to our pyramid gyms to generate some low-level energy. This warms me up for my first scheduled activity and chips away at my quotas. Wins might get me a higher position in my work pyramid, but it takes credit to afford an inner-junction skypartment. And a fuck-ton of credit to afford one in the Scales.
But it’s my dream. One I’m only lucky enough to have thanks to SkyCity and the Corporate Government. I remember little about life in the Megacity, only that it was hard. I was the youngest of four kids, and we all worked to keep up the lifestyle our parents wanted to live. They would go to high-society events, “for our benefit” they always said, but we never got a chance to enjoy it.
Their generation had it hard, I know. And we’re here only because they survived the Global Crisis long enough to see the rise of the seven Megacities. I try not to hold anything they did before the Lifting against them.
Now, as a Skycitizen, I have a chance to earn my own way and contribute to the survival of our society. It’s a gift I don’t plan to take for granted. So, I sign up for as many activities as I can schedule, stay as late as I can muster, and always try to arrive early.
Only today, that extra ten minutes I set on my alarm was supposed to help me leave even earlier. Despite all the benefits of SkyCity, my current skypartment has been a bit of an issue. Not the skypartment, itself, mind you. But, my neighbor.
He hasn’t done anything wrong. Not really. But he makes me uncomfortable. He leaves at nearly the same time as me every morning. Sometimes, when the skypath traffic gets backed up with pedestrians, I can feel him leaning close; hear him sniffing me. Our pyramid includes over 60 en-gens and occupies two floors of our building, and yet I always see him over my shoulder or staring at me across the floorplan. Lately, it’s gotten weirder. Sometimes, I hear him brushing up against my skypartment walls, like he might be listening.
Odd thing is he never tries to speak to me. I guess I’m grateful. After five years of this, I’ve learned to pretend I don’t see him or know who he is.
I print up some new workout gear knowing that two of today’s OJs will be featured on a top SkyWeb feed. After applying a quick-wash mask and a three-in-one face primer, I select a holo-cosmetic pack with colors to match. The cut of my top is low on my chest and my shorts are tight on my ass: a benefit to drawing viewers to my profile, not necessarily my chances of a win. To cut-back on time, I print up a Nutri-Cap and a bottle of synth-water and swig my breakfast down the hatch before leaving my skypartment.
Too late.
“Wow, you really are beautiful.” The voice is behind me.
I swipe my wrist over the door’s lock panel to secure it before turning. “Excuse me?”
“I said you’re gorgeous,” the man says, his first words to me since the Lifting. It’s my neighbor. He grins and looks at me from under his brows.
I try to avoid a visible reaction. “I appreciate that,” I say and step aside to make my way down the hallway.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, jogging after me, “play it cool. Man, why do women always do this?”
“Do what?” I reply, cringing inside as he boards the elevator with me.
“Pretend like that. Come on, you know you’re hot. The act is so transparent.”
I force a smile. “Well, then you’re free to just look right through me.”
The elevator opens with ding and I exit into the skypartment lobby. I walk faster. Through the lobby doors, amidst the bustling morning commuters, I hope I can lose him. But just he shoves his way through to keep pace beside me.
“So, you’re funny, huh?” he asks. “I like a woman with a sense of humor. We should get drinks sometime.”
“I’m not interested.”
A notification pops into my visual display screen, my VIZ, that a new user is viewing my SkyWeb profile.
He laughs. “Looks like you haven’t heard about the monetized SkyWeb.”
“The what?” I say, still trying to lose him. At the skypath entrance, I get in line for the fast-track, hoping he won’t be willing to pay extra.
“Earning credits from other users to view content on your profile? Don’t tell me a top en-gen like you hasn’t heard about it yet. Guess you’re not as hot as you pretend.” He swipes his wrist and passes through the turnstile behind me.
I barely suppress a groan. “I’m not pretending anything. I just haven’t heard of it.”
“Yeah, well, you should. The Sector 1 celebrities are already raking in millions, but here, it’s just getting started. I’ve become kind of a big deal in Sector 3, outranking the best performers through SkyWeb earnings after only one week of monetization.”
As little as I want to keep talking with this guy, even I have a hard time resisting that.
“How?”
“Easy: positive engagements and upvotes on your profile. That’s it. Then, those interactions cause the algo to push your content. New users find it, react positively and,” as he says this, he upticks her avatar update and most recent reel, “more credit. You sign up for an app within the SkyWeb that allows for the transactions. Users become subscribers and, for a nominal portion of their daily earned credit, get access to your exclusive feeds.”
I slow down so he can comfortably stride beside me. “And what about downvotes?”
Indicators in my VIZ let me know that our exit is coming up on the right. We step off the moving platform and make our way down the stairs to platform level.
“Negative interactions take credit away. But keeping viewers positive should be a piece of cake for someone in your position.”
“And what position is that?”
“The top. Standing on the backs of those in your pyramid,” he snaps. His lips curl into a diabolical grin. “Or maybe lying on your own?”
I freeze in place. Across the 3L courtyard, I can see the entrance to the building where our pyramid meets. Rushing bodies around me bump against my shoulders. When I turn, the man is still behind me. My face is stricken as I speak.
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I work as hard as any other Skycitizen to contribute to the pyramid and SkyCity. Whatever position I assume, I’ve earned it through merit.”
“Sure,” he says, eyeing me up and down, lingering in places that now feel overexposed. “Merit. You’re just a team player, right? Pfft. I bet you couldn’t name three other en-gens below you in our pyramid. I doubt you even know my name.”
He steps toward me, but I back away. I know the answer to the first question better than I do the second but I decide to go with the answer I think will most calm him.
“It’s Alex,” I say matter of factly. Despite five years of avoiding him, which now seem justified, I’m pretty sure I’m right.
He scoffs. “Did you say Alex? Or Aleks?” He steps closer again. I keep moving backward.
“Those are the same name,” I grumble, no longer holding back my irritation. I roll my eyes. “What does it matter?”
“What does it matter? What does it matter!?” His face is red. I suddenly realize he’s backed me out of the junction courtyard, back beyond the skypath tower where two buildings split into an alley.
“Look,” I say, voice quavering, “maybe we should get back to the office. We can settle this there on one of the en-gen courses. I’ll even put credit on it.”
“What, I make you nervous? All I did was tell you that I thought you were beautiful. You should be happy I noticed. That I know your name, Kylie. Lucky Kylie with a name-sounding name. I bet no one calls you ‘Sandi’ to get a laugh. Don’t you get it? Our name as a Skycitizen is all we have. And you don’t even bother to learn mine? Your neighbor!?”
He grabs at my hips and pulls me into his body. I feel him, hard on my thigh.
“Come on,” he says, “we all know the kind of en-gen you’ve been up to. Anything to top the pyramid, am I right? Should I ask Charlz how you like it?”
Anger pulses in my heart. So does fear. With all the force I can manage, I lift my knee and slam it into his groin. He keels over in pain, loosening his grip around me.
I stumble back. One of my feet lands firmly on the ground. Landing the other other should be enough to recover my balance.
Only, it never lands. My right foot searches for a surface, but finds the empty space of an open wasteway chute. I look down to find the caution tape that I backed through still dangling around my legs.
I hear my shin snap before I feel it. With no other leg to stand on, my weight shifts onto the falling leg, which yanks me down through the chute with it. Weightlessness and pain embrace me. I plummet into darkness.
> END PLAYBACK :: Delete . . .
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