2- Devi
“Hey, Les,” I greet as we exit the liquor store simultaneously, me coming down the apartment stairs and him carrying out a new sampler tray. Varik is the owner, a waifish man who dreads speaking but, thanks to splurging early on tech upgrades, makes some of the best liquor in this part of the city. He’s a staple. Les, his energetic counterpart, has been his assistant as long as I’ve lived upstairs. And they’re probably a bit more than business partners based on the lingering touches they exchange. Les smiles, all dimples and blond curls. “Hey baby D. Headed in?”
“Like I can afford to skip shifts. Are you paying my rent this month without telling me? You know I love a good gift.”
He laughs and shoos me away as I wave goodbye. The walk to work is short, but when it’s cold, the walk feels longer. Fishing out my phone, I slide it into auxiliary mode, sending the feed straight to my eye imbed. A zing of warmth flushes my body as the news begins to scroll.
At the intersection, a beam of red illuminates the ground so I start to walk but halfway through my trot across the street, the light floods green and a blaring automatic horn makes me stumble. The small metal transport cells are autonomous so I feel safe enough cursing one out before returning to the news.
City calls for a new human appointment after rumors of illegal dealings.
Of course… I blink the screen from political news to hot headlines. Who cares about the next human voice on the ruling council? Middle management to “fight for human interests”. Psh, please. Everyone knows whoever it is only sits on the seat for the optics. New Eden is always watching from across the ocean, and seeing a human sitting on the council seems to keep them from waging an all-out war.
My eye pings with an incoming message from Ry but I don’t have time to check it over. Of all the body mods the girls at Mid have gotten, I think mine is the most useful. Gabby is a close second with imbedded knee plates that provide support when servicing clients, and Audra has alloy ankle sleeves for hours spent standing behind the bar. Those are both more useful than boobs that auto-size based on preference like Lillia or a stomach mod that pops gas bubbles before they can cause bloat like Sinth.
Thur tech powers every modern advancement, the necessary as well as the superficial, but the physical mods are the worst money drain. Maybe that’s a compelling reason not to have a mod at all, but when the difference in Thur preference means a good night in tips or a bad night, mods become mandatory.
Mine was always mandatory because I’m blind in one eye and partially deaf in one ear. There’s nothing wrong with having a disability, let alone two, but I work a job where, ninety percent of the time, it’s too dark to see well, even with perfect vision. So I went for the eye imbed first. The clients don’t make enough conversation for my partial deafness to matter. I’m maybe two years from enough money to afford that mod, assuming I have two more years left before my desirability is gone.
Maybe if things with the Institute work out like I want them to…
Rare Settled sighting in Cachis bar in Upper Tres City. City abuzz with rumors.
I make a disbelieving sound. The Settled are never seen. Settled Thur, both Darkmire and Lightfleck, are so rare that aside from Jack and Ry, no one else I know has claimed to see one and I half think Jack is lying to get me to suck his dick.
How much did Cachis pay for that clickbait marketing ploy? I scroll to the next one.
Advancements in peril. Is there an economic crisis on the horizon? The headline makes me squint. Every day, they bleat about the decline of society. Tech starts fritzing, and suddenly, the recharges are “getting weaker.” Or Thur are “running out of power” to sustain all their tech.
I think they’re all just trying to stunt the effectiveness so their profits will rise. Of course, the Darkmires and Lightflecks on the council have yet to comment. Thur never feel like they owe us anything, least of all answers.
I blink away the display, returing my full vision of the sidewalk. Ahead, the flashing sign and dull bass give way to a crowded sidewalk. The entry line stretches for several buildings, but I easily move around the flood of faces.
Along the path, Lightfleck eyes follow me. Their tell-tale ears are pearlescent and pretty, but there’s coldness in their eyes. Rumor is that their flat silver eyes turn molten, glowing like silver moons when their magic settles. Doesn’t seem fair that things so pretty are so cruel.
Their decorative mods all catch my eye. A metallic plate over a shoulder. A female with an alloyed collarbone that’s chained to the wrist of the Thur beside her. A half sleeve of components that make a faint buzzing sound. And some are covered by a different kind of modification. A male nearby has both biceps wrapped in twisted bright crystals, sinking under his skin like a tattoo in places. Another has ruby shards protruding down his nose. A female lingers at the wall with a crown of onyx crystals near her temple.
I don’t claim to know more than what I learned through re-education but even their females are imposing. War followed their arrival in our world and every day I see why we were sorely outmatched. They’re larger, bulkier, and fitted with technology that enhances all their biological advantages. Somehow they have the power to pry the metal from beneath our feet, gemstones too, twisting and braiding them into projectiles or fitting them into tech.
And I know we’re still in the first generation of true peace. The first generation to adopt their modifications as our own. To coexist.
A Lightfleck bumps my shoulder hard as she jokes with her friends, disrupting my thoughts. When I turn back to her, she makes a crude gesture, and I want to return it. But they're a sensitive lot, and Jack disciplined me enough times for making a scene.
Ry would understand. He would tell me not to let Unsettled bastards get the best of me.
That’s the funny thing about Unsettled Thur. As strong as their abilities can be, they’re wild and unpredictable. Their powers are not always available to them or at peak performance. And every bit of flesh they haven’t modded allows a human punch to hurt all the same. I’ve tested that assertion firsthand and can confirm. I can also confirm Jack punished me so hard after the last one that I couldn’t sit for a week.
So, no more starting or finishing. No more anything. The female shoots me a grin I know spells trouble, so I turn away.
If the Unsettled act like this, I’m not convinced Settled means sane.