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The city splays out under their feet, dangling through the rusted metal bars of the balcony. Lights have started going out, and the sky seems ever so slightly darker. Pollution hasn’t filtered out, that’ll take a long time. Maybe more than Luka’ll be alive. Sky still has a grey cast most days, and if not that, the sickly sulphur yellow promising acid rain slicks overhead like a chemical spill. She wonders if people’ll protest at the Kamui building again. They’re there most days now, begging for domes like the CEO has over his mega-mansion that have clean air inside. Like before the war. Before the megacities.
The protests about the war stopped a few months back.
Her arms have been covered in goosebumps for a while now, but she can deal. One blanket, the one gone mostly to rags, is the only one she’ll allow herself, despite protest from Miku, whose warm head is resting on her shoulder. She’s got the rest, covered in a faded rainbow motley of blankets and bedsheets.
There’s been noise downstairs, but not close enough to bother with. Still a few flights down from their place. It’s not too bad yet, the looting, and those guys are a target anyway. Luka knows they’ve been dealing as long as they’ve lived here—drugs, stolen tech, black-market cyber enhancements. She’d always promised they’d move out, eventually. Get out of city, live in some nowhere town on a coast, build their own damn house if they had to. Always obvious to the both of them that it couldn’t happen. The air would get them even faster than it would here. Miku would smile every time she’d say it though, chip in with her own ideas. A garden, she’d say. A garden would be nice, with real green grass and some veggies, not synth shit but real ones that grew from a tiny seed into something they’d made all by themselves. And maybe a real hen too, not to eat but she’d lay eggs and live in a little coop and peck around the garden. They always look so cute in the holos, Miku would say.
Luka would try and be pragmatic, say they’d need to travel for supplies, and she couldn’t leave her by herself. Miku would laugh again, that smile lighting up her already bright, beautiful face. Don’t worry, she’d say. You gave me that peashooter for a reason.
The peashooter, a modded pistol with basic homing tech, is lay on top of the kitchen counter, fully loaded. Luka’s stash is better, tucked under a modified compartment in the wall behind thick metal, but Miku can’t handle any of those. So the peashooter it is, though it’s never been used.
A rustle by her side. Luka’s arm tightens around Miku, pulling her closer, feeling her thin body through the layers of fabric. Those deep eyes, so serious now, meeting her own and still managing to take her breath away. Miku points, a slim finger with a recently painted turquoise nail from some nail polish they’d forgotten about, hand hovering like a goddess holding Apex city in her grasp. ‘I always loved how you could see the Glade from here.’
‘Maybe that’s why we never moved,’ Luka says, resting her head atop Miku’s gently. A sigh from underneath her, happy, content.
‘Oh, definitely, my love,’ Miku says laughing, then coughing.
Luka holds tight until she stops shuddering.
They got married there. Not officially. Officially was in some dump of a ‘church,’ an abandoned warehouse turned into a place for official gatherings. The back end of it a giant wall of endless grey screens with a clinical blue name scrolling by, then date of death, and epitaph paid by the letter. And this was for a private gravesite. The big one out at the edge of the city was where most went. You weren’t allowed to have a private site. If you weren’t some bigshot corporate type, anyway.
But the Glade was a dream. Most couldn’t book a spot there, even to walk around meant you had some serious cash and connections. But Luka had had her own ways, own friends, own favours to cash in back then. So one night they’d snuck in, cameras blind for a couple hours and eyes turned away for a while. Miku in a summer dress, running bare foot in the grass, laughing and smiling without a cough in sight. They sat and fed the ducks, throwing synth-peas into a pond after Miku had painstakingly researched if they were safe for real ducks. They were so used to humans that they’d walked right up to the pair of them, skittering their beaks all over Miku’s hand in their cute, frantic search for more peas. They’d sat under a cherry tree afterwards, both trying to remember if they’d seen one back home in Japan when they were little. Neither remembered. Both had immigrated with their family to Apex, a city full of promises and an equal amount of bullshit.
‘Do you think they’ll bother with security there anymore?’ Miku says. Her breath mists out into the night air.
‘Somewhere like the Glade? Nah. Got too much power behind it. ‘Specially since the city’s still lit up, mostly.’
‘It won’t be. Soon.’ Miku says. Her voice is calm, grating against the burning red flaring in Luka’s heart.
‘Sure, eventually,’ Luka says, trying to force through a voice of reason into Miku’s head. ‘But I reckon things’ll keep going, y’know? Takes a lot to stop a city like Apex. Takes even more for the world to come to a standstill. Before, like twenty-first century before, it’d be a snap of your fingers. But now, everything’s automated, right?’
‘But not us,’ Miku says, quietly, calmly, like her words don’t eat away at Luka like acid. ‘Well, not me. You’ve got some extra parts.’
‘If I could give you them—’
‘You would. But you can’t. You know I couldn’t take it.’ Miku says, robotic even though nothing in her is. ‘Did you sort that last favour with Prima?’
‘I don’t wanna talk about this right now. Please, Miku.’
Carefully, Luka extracts herself from their position, holding Miku all the while so she can’t slip. She picks her up, hating the effortlessness, and takes them both back inside. She shuts the door and switches on the air purifier, letting it take out the smog and stench of the city. Even for a brief exposure to the outdoors, it’s needed. One thing worth paying a good amount for. Doesn’t help Miku, not really, but Miku pretends it does. She’s not sure whether that’s better or worse, but doesn’t poke at the question.
With Miku deposited on the couch, Luka heads over to the cramped kitchen area, taking pills out of the cupboard. Setting each bottle out in a row, dispensing the right amount, one of the white, two of the blue, half of the orange…
They call it a lot of things. All Luka cares about is that there’s no cure. At least, not for people like them. Sure, some corp rat can get in his fancy-ass car and drive out to his country mansion, kept specially green with a reinforced dome and real trees inside. That’s them. Then the ones who don’t have that, but cash runs through ‘em all the same, they can go and pay for treatments. Cybernetic lungs.
Before she met Miku, Luka had a career. Of sorts. She still does shit on the side, but she was never technically minded like some of the ones she worked with. The ones who’d set up the missions, the ones who coordinated cameras, networks, information. And with Miku here, she can’t afford to piss anyone off.
But it means she’s got cybernetic parts. A lot of them. She knew the right people and favours. Now her doc is dead, all too easy in Apex, and no favours left. Not for a long while.
So Miku sits on the sofa, swaddled in blankets. Coughing.
She sits on the floor, looking up into that face that’s too tired to smile most days, and presses a tall glass of water in her hands. Holding the pills, rolling around the coloured capsules in her palm, handing them over and watching them disappear one by one.
Miku’s exhausted after that, and it doesn’t look like she’ll broach the conversation again. So Luka sits there a while, holding her head when Miku starts to slump over, deeply asleep. She stays like that, hand under her head, the other stroking the long, long strands of hair, brushing away the ones stuck to her forehead, sweaty. She slips off one of the blankets, and takes it to the bedroom, coming back with a pillow to prop her head. Miku doesn’t stir.
It’s probably annoying for Miku, being coddled like this. Luka never used to do this. But since the news stories started rolling in, since the lights started going out and the gangs roam more freely than ever, she’s gotten…. protective.
A noise. Her mobile implant, Luka thinks belatedly. It’s been so long since anyone called, for a moment she thinks an internal diagnostic is pinging.
‘Luka,’ she says, in her head. It’s an odd sound, tinny almost. Not too dissimilar to her thoughts. She’s forgotten how weird it sounds.
‘Good evening, Luka,’ Prima says. ‘I trust you’re well? I’m calling about our last contract.’
‘All business, huh, Prima? Never a how’s it going, or a how is everyone at home.’ Luka huffs a quiet laugh, knowing it’ll come through on the line. Prima is silent, but Luka can clearly see her rolling her eyes even though she can’t see her face.
‘Was good evening not enough? I did ask how you were,’ Prima says.
‘Yeah, but you didn’t wait for an answer,’ Luka replies. Prima sighs. ‘Look… can we talk about this later? Another day, even? I don’t think I’m up for discussing this right now.’
‘I know,’ Prima says. ‘Which is why I’m calling you. Since you ignored my many emails, and you know I do hate talking on the phone. Fortunately, your wife has been receptive to my emails. I thought I’d let you know.’
Luka swears out loud. Miku stirs but doesn’t wake, and Luka has to force herself to breathe. ‘Miku did? I mean, she talked to you?’
Prima is quiet for a moment. ‘She did. She didn’t want me to call just yet, but with things as they are I think it’s pertinent to speed up the process.’
Luka gets up, lurching slightly as she does so, eyes blurring from the threat of tears. She staggers over to the balcony door, shutting it behind her a little more forcefully than she means to. But now she can speak out loud. In her head won’t get the smoking mess of anger across.
‘Speed up the damn process ? Like you’re not even talking about a fucking person. Just as big a bitch as ever, huh, Prima. So, enlighten me. What process are we talkin’ about here? Say it, Prima, and I swear to whatever god is left you won’t ever say it again.’
‘Does the fact that your wife arranged this not change your tone, Luka?’ Prima replies calmly, sidestepping Luka’s anger as easily as a shark smells blood. ‘She wants this.’
‘Of course she does!’ Luka explodes. ‘She thinks it’ll make it easier for me. I won’t have any extra baggage when it all goes to shit . You’re like everyone else in this damn city. She’s just another contract to you. Like I was. You can’t get it, not with most of you being machine. Doesn’t matter to you. Never had a family, did you? Never had a lover you didn’t dump when they got too close.’
‘It’s how the world functions—’
‘It’s why it’s dying,’ Luka hisses. She hangs up before Prima can say another word.
She rests her head on the balcony, the freezing metal a balm to her raging head. There’s a clunk behind her, and she whirls around to see Miku standing there, hands clutching her blankets.
‘You shouldn’t be out here,’ Luka starts, but Miku shakes her head, leaning heavily on the closed door.
‘That was Prima, right?’ Miku says. Luka doesn’t reply, doesn’t let anything show on her face. Miku sighs, breath misting in the air. ‘Did she explain everything?’
‘I didn’t let her.’
Miku doesn’t say anything, instead wobbling over to Luka. She embraces her without even thinking, gathering her up and holding her so close, wishing she could hold her even closer. Finally, Luka starts shaking, her throat tight and stomach knotted, trying so hard not to cry, but it finally beats her.
‘I can’t.’ The words fall out, small and weak. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I know—’
‘Shh,’ Miku says, then she’s quiet.
Pottering around the kitchen. Miku has switched on the television. The holo-display is on a news channel, showing fires, tear gas, shields, gunfire. Yellow skies. Rain sizzling on pockmarked tarmac. Luka plates up two burgers—her favourite. Tries to arrange the lettuce so it looks less wilted. Changes the channel when she sits down.
More pills. Some water. They’re going to run out of the blue ones soon. Someone will have them, somewhere. Another one of the apartments on the floor below was vacated recently. No one noticed the guy hadn’t left in weeks until he came out in a body bag. Sick, too strapped for cash to afford cybernetic implants. Glad it wasn’t me, said the neighbours. Some were worried. What are the symptoms again? The paramedics didn’t bother to answer. They weren’t paid for that. The guy didn’t even have a healthcare plan.
Brushing her teeth. Smiling at her reflection to make sure it doesn’t look awkward on her face, but knows they both see through it. Not much talking. Miku’s reading on the bed. Going through news reports. There’s riots at the Apex power plant. Another at Kamui Industries, both at their warehouses and at the giant skyscraper that dominates Apex. Others over London, Tokyo, Beijing, Paris… it doesn’t end.
Later. Luka holds her from behind, always in awe of how easily they fit together. Her hand traces small circles on Miku’s bare stomach, tracing the ride of her tank top where it’s ridden up. Her skin’s so soft, and Luka’s pleased to note she’s even put a bit of weight on. Probably because she can’t exercise much, but it counts.
‘It’ll be okay,’ Luka says, words almost too loud in the silent room. ‘I’ll look after you. That matters more than anything else, okay?’
Too silent. Other than her and Miku’s breathing, it’s quiet. Almost too quiet.
Her neural-implant pings. The network’s gone down. The holo-pad Miku was reading earlier beeps, connecting to an emergency broadcast on a sub-network that’s still working.
Miku pulls herself out of Luka’s grasp. The cold blue glow reflects in her eyes. She looks up at Luka, and they stare at each other for a moment. Luka gives her a long, sweet kiss before getting up. The few steps to the window make her feel like she’s a dead woman walking.
With a press of a button, the industrial blinds whir open.
Below, the city is dark.