A Musing
Entry updated 01-19-2008 2226hrs
The setting sun over the harbor and the glow of the barely-lit sodium lamps bathed the streets in hues of pale yellows and oranges, having no effect on the hustle and bustle of daily life. The city didn’t sleep, it cared not for the time of day. It continued to live and breathe, the people cascading through the streets, traffic flowing like arterial blood.
It was through these streets that Corso drifted, making his way along the stream of people towards the light-rail train that would carry him from the trendy uptown section, with it’s glimmering towers of glass, climbing into the sky like liquid diamond, to the downtrodden slums where the dregs of society conglomerated, unable to afford the glamour of high society. But that was the way of corporations. Control the population, make their money, work them to the bone, bleed them out, and leave them out to dry.
That was life.
He held onto the loop of plastic that hung from the ceiling as the train sped around a corner, gazing out over the skyscrapers and harbor, shielding his eyes with his free hand against the glare of the setting sun. He sighed softly and fished a cigarette from the pack in his worn jacket pocket. The leather, once glossy and new, now faded from years of wear. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything. He was just lighting it when his ear chimed.
Not in the mood to take the call, he blinked, activating the display, layering over his field of vision and watched the text scroll by. That girl again. He wasn’t in the mood to go out tonight. All she ever wanted to do was hit one of the many downtown clubs anyway, and that wasn’t his scene anymore. Ten years ago perhaps, but not now. He took a long pull from the cigarette, exhaling softly towards an open window.
Someone nearby coughed. He paid it no mind, keeping his attention focused elsewhere until the train pulled into the station.
He composed a short message to Kysta and send it off. “Thanks but not tonight.” He wanted a shower, a shave, and perhaps some time with his book. Unlike so many these days, in a society where everything existed in cyberspace, he still liked the feel of paper between his fingers. Just one of many things that set him apart.
He stepped off the train, heel clacking on the concrete. The sun was set fully now, the street ahead of him lit by the myriad of neon signs advertising everything from “cheap safe love” to “read your aura” and then some. He still marveled at the sight.
His ear chimed again. Damn but that girl was fast.
He smile, finding himself still caught in twentieth-century thinking. Of course she was fast. All she had to do was think the damn message. It wasn’t as though she needed to physically do anything. “Suit yourself.” It said. “I’m sure I’ll find someone who wants my company.”
Guilt, he thought to himself and sighed. It never worked.
Davlan Corso just turned 30 last week. He was not what he would consider an attractive man. He had a young face, still appearing to be in his early-to-mid twenties. His red hair was slicked straight back and his glasses were scratched and well worn, much like his jacket, and in so many ways, much like he, himself. He still managed to draw his share of would-be girlfriends. He’d also never had what he would consider to be a stable relationship. This didn’t bother him. He considered faulty relationships a stability at this point. Take that, deductive reasoning, he thought bemusingly.
The foot traffic was as dense at it always was, a steady stream of people who Corso couldn’t help but feel were just mindlessly pushing their way through the concrete and neon world that they occupied. Strangely, he felt comfort in this as well. He passed a noodle stand and briefly considered getting supper before he remembered he had a cupboard full of instant noodles at home. That was integration for you.
When his ear chimed again he was a mere moment away from answering angrily when he realized it wasn’t Kysta this time. He decided to take this call, even though it was audio only.
“Kai. What’s up?”
“Stocks mate, stocks, that’s what up. Dynasty went up 22 points today. You should sell, mate, make yourself a cool $30k if you do it now, and I’ve got some leads that’ll have you sky-high in no time, mate.”
Great, Corso thought. Doped up again. Mental note, he thought. Fire elderly, hippy, drug-abusing stock-broker. He sighed. “Alright Kai, go ahead and do it, but you’d better be right about this one.”
Last time he followed Kai’s big lead he lost more money than he cared to admit, and nearly his apartment. Still, this was a marked improvement, and if everything kept going this well, he’d be able to move off-planet and up to the orbital colonies by the end of the year. That was provided of course that SysArm, his company, would be willing to transfer him to their space warfare security division. He was pretty sure about that though.
“Awesome mate, you won’t regret this. I’ll re-invest in the new prospects and wire you the leftover cash, mate.” Kai signed off before Corso could respond. Probably a good thing, too. He reached to pull out another cigarette before he realized he was half a block from home. He sighed and slipped the pack back into his jacket pocket. He waved the back of his hand over the access panel on the doorway to his building, the led flickering from red to green in acceptance.
He sighed softly to himself as he accessed the evening newsfeed, downloaded via the cybernet and opened in his optical implant. It was his daily ritual, something to keep him occupied during the long elevator ride up to his sixtieth-floor apartment. Like every day it was the same old news. The same countries at war, the same corporations waging their own version thereof. The same gangs killing each other in the streets.
Stability in the unstable. It was an amusing trend.
He opened the door to his home in the same was as he had gained access to the building. This high up a faint orange glow could still be seen just over the horizon of the Pacific Ocean. He smiled, looking out the wall-length windows on the west side of the apartment. Tomorrow was another day, even if change never came.
* * * * *
Sunlight filtered in through dirty glass, breaking through the morning clouds and casting itself across Orianna’s face. She frowned and turned over with a soft sigh. Morning. Again.
Of course it’s morning again. It does come every day you know. She thought to herself.
She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the light. The layover display on her field of vision told her it was just past 9 o’clock. She frowned deeper. She’d gone to bed at 4am, this was too early to be up. She reached her hands back under her head and turned to stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. It took a few moments for feeling to register in her legs, the batteries coming out of their powerdown state and charging for use. The only downside of bionics, she mused, was the odd dead-limb feeling they gave you first thing in the morning.
She smiled and swung her legs over the side of the bed, casting the sheets aside. Noting that the windows were wide open she grabbed her robe off of the back of a nearby chair and quickly covered herself. No sense in giving the neighbors a free show, even if they were the equivalent of several city blocks away. Definitely one of the advantages of living on an upper-level apartment. She was lucky her income allowed her to do so.
Then again, she was one of the best in her field, even if she was freelance.
She stood, quickly and almost automatically correcting her balance. She remembered what she’d heard somewhere, that when you slept your body forgot how to walk, and even if it was instinctual, you had to teach yourself how to do it again every time you woke and got up. It was different with bionics. The mind may forget but the legs servo-motors didn’t.
So they remembered sure, but that didn’t mean she did. It was always awkward for the first few seconds. She stretched a bit and went to put on some coffee.
The setting sun over the harbor and the glow of the barely-lit sodium lamps bathed the streets in hues of pale yellows and oranges, having no effect on the hustle and bustle of daily life. The city didn’t sleep, it cared not for the time of day. It continued to live and breathe, the people cascading through the streets, traffic flowing like arterial blood.
It was through these streets that Corso drifted, making his way along the stream of people towards the light-rail train that would carry him from the trendy uptown section, with it’s glimmering towers of glass, climbing into the sky like liquid diamond, to the downtrodden slums where the dregs of society conglomerated, unable to afford the glamour of high society. But that was the way of corporations. Control the population, make their money, work them to the bone, bleed them out, and leave them out to dry.
That was life.
He held onto the loop of plastic that hung from the ceiling as the train sped around a corner, gazing out over the skyscrapers and harbor, shielding his eyes with his free hand against the glare of the setting sun. He sighed softly and fished a cigarette from the pack in his worn jacket pocket. The leather, once glossy and new, now faded from years of wear. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything. He was just lighting it when his ear chimed.
Not in the mood to take the call, he blinked, activating the display, layering over his field of vision and watched the text scroll by. That girl again. He wasn’t in the mood to go out tonight. All she ever wanted to do was hit one of the many downtown clubs anyway, and that wasn’t his scene anymore. Ten years ago perhaps, but not now. He took a long pull from the cigarette, exhaling softly towards an open window.
Someone nearby coughed. He paid it no mind, keeping his attention focused elsewhere until the train pulled into the station.
He composed a short message to Kysta and send it off. “Thanks but not tonight.” He wanted a shower, a shave, and perhaps some time with his book. Unlike so many these days, in a society where everything existed in cyberspace, he still liked the feel of paper between his fingers. Just one of many things that set him apart.
He stepped off the train, heel clacking on the concrete. The sun was set fully now, the street ahead of him lit by the myriad of neon signs advertising everything from “cheap safe love” to “read your aura” and then some. He still marveled at the sight.
His ear chimed again. Damn but that girl was fast.
He smile, finding himself still caught in twentieth-century thinking. Of course she was fast. All she had to do was think the damn message. It wasn’t as though she needed to physically do anything. “Suit yourself.” It said. “I’m sure I’ll find someone who wants my company.”
Guilt, he thought to himself and sighed. It never worked.
Davlan Corso just turned 30 last week. He was not what he would consider an attractive man. He had a young face, still appearing to be in his early-to-mid twenties. His red hair was slicked straight back and his glasses were scratched and well worn, much like his jacket, and in so many ways, much like he, himself. He still managed to draw his share of would-be girlfriends. He’d also never had what he would consider to be a stable relationship. This didn’t bother him. He considered faulty relationships a stability at this point. Take that, deductive reasoning, he thought bemusingly.
The foot traffic was as dense at it always was, a steady stream of people who Corso couldn’t help but feel were just mindlessly pushing their way through the concrete and neon world that they occupied. Strangely, he felt comfort in this as well. He passed a noodle stand and briefly considered getting supper before he remembered he had a cupboard full of instant noodles at home. That was integration for you.
When his ear chimed again he was a mere moment away from answering angrily when he realized it wasn’t Kysta this time. He decided to take this call, even though it was audio only.
“Kai. What’s up?”
“Stocks mate, stocks, that’s what up. Dynasty went up 22 points today. You should sell, mate, make yourself a cool $30k if you do it now, and I’ve got some leads that’ll have you sky-high in no time, mate.”
Great, Corso thought. Doped up again. Mental note, he thought. Fire elderly, hippy, drug-abusing stock-broker. He sighed. “Alright Kai, go ahead and do it, but you’d better be right about this one.”
Last time he followed Kai’s big lead he lost more money than he cared to admit, and nearly his apartment. Still, this was a marked improvement, and if everything kept going this well, he’d be able to move off-planet and up to the orbital colonies by the end of the year. That was provided of course that SysArm, his company, would be willing to transfer him to their space warfare security division. He was pretty sure about that though.
“Awesome mate, you won’t regret this. I’ll re-invest in the new prospects and wire you the leftover cash, mate.” Kai signed off before Corso could respond. Probably a good thing, too. He reached to pull out another cigarette before he realized he was half a block from home. He sighed and slipped the pack back into his jacket pocket. He waved the back of his hand over the access panel on the doorway to his building, the led flickering from red to green in acceptance.
He sighed softly to himself as he accessed the evening newsfeed, downloaded via the cybernet and opened in his optical implant. It was his daily ritual, something to keep him occupied during the long elevator ride up to his sixtieth-floor apartment. Like every day it was the same old news. The same countries at war, the same corporations waging their own version thereof. The same gangs killing each other in the streets.
Stability in the unstable. It was an amusing trend.
He opened the door to his home in the same was as he had gained access to the building. This high up a faint orange glow could still be seen just over the horizon of the Pacific Ocean. He smiled, looking out the wall-length windows on the west side of the apartment. Tomorrow was another day, even if change never came.
* * * * *
Sunlight filtered in through dirty glass, breaking through the morning clouds and casting itself across Orianna’s face. She frowned and turned over with a soft sigh. Morning. Again.
Of course it’s morning again. It does come every day you know. She thought to herself.
She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the light. The layover display on her field of vision told her it was just past 9 o’clock. She frowned deeper. She’d gone to bed at 4am, this was too early to be up. She reached her hands back under her head and turned to stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. It took a few moments for feeling to register in her legs, the batteries coming out of their powerdown state and charging for use. The only downside of bionics, she mused, was the odd dead-limb feeling they gave you first thing in the morning.
She smiled and swung her legs over the side of the bed, casting the sheets aside. Noting that the windows were wide open she grabbed her robe off of the back of a nearby chair and quickly covered herself. No sense in giving the neighbors a free show, even if they were the equivalent of several city blocks away. Definitely one of the advantages of living on an upper-level apartment. She was lucky her income allowed her to do so.
Then again, she was one of the best in her field, even if she was freelance.
She stood, quickly and almost automatically correcting her balance. She remembered what she’d heard somewhere, that when you slept your body forgot how to walk, and even if it was instinctual, you had to teach yourself how to do it again every time you woke and got up. It was different with bionics. The mind may forget but the legs servo-motors didn’t.
So they remembered sure, but that didn’t mean she did. It was always awkward for the first few seconds. She stretched a bit and went to put on some coffee.