Chapter 2- Borders

  Qonni and I take a closer examination of the foreign device. My heart is outpacing the ticking, one second less. Then another. Then another before it hit 300 seconds.

  “Maybe,” Qonni starts, hovering her hand over the intricate wires. “Cerena left us a test. An extra credit.”

  I stop her finger from making contact. “Are you insane?” Is all I can blurt before dragging the two of us out of the room.

  We have merely minutes to leave the premises. Whether the bomb is real or just a prank, I don’t stay to find out, and apparently, neither did Cerena. Once I announce our findings, we abandon everything and head for the exit. A few classmates exchange uncertain chuckles before they see me head for the door, then they’re right on my tail, if not bumping my shoulder to get ahead. We all jog out, avoiding tripping over each other.

  Within the same minute, we flood inside the bus parked near the entrance. The vehicle hums alive with Cerena in the driver's seat, and the wheels begin turning before the door entirely shuts.

  “Wait—” Qonni exclaims. She pivots, but the closed door blocks her passage, her fingertips on the window. “My Govon purse!”

  The luxury brand where the G is silent. She pronounces the word perfectly in its Blancé language. She panics hard, eyes glued to the shrinking mall as we roll out of its parking lot. Who can blame her? The Govon purse she has isn’t available for purchase by just anyone. You need a long history of shopping with the brand to receive an offer, and ten years of a clean background check. Though the latter might be a stretch, it’s not an easily obtainable item for the average individual, and Qonni’s the only girl in the academy who has one—well, had.

  She tugs on the roots of her hair as we hit the road, accepting her loss.

  “Oh, no,” Raven wails in feigning sympathy. “I still think you have time to go back in and get it!”

  Qonni clenches her jaw, her death glare so gripping I fear she might just pounce onto Raven the next moment. But that moment doesn’t come as most of our attention shifts through the window at the back of the bus, at the mall with the alleged bomb.

  Another minute drags by, and we’re all seated by now, embracing the incoming explosion. The building is almost out of sight as Cerena drives us toward the border of North Bowen. No flashes, no light, no indication of anything happening inside the mall. Then all eyes slowly gravitate toward me, the one who cried bomb.

  My mind races, scrambling for an explanation. Had it been a prank? Is the prankster going to burst out laughing any second now and reveal their tricks? Cerena gives me a glimpse in her rearview mirror. Everyone is quiet, waiting for an answer.

  Perhaps, now that the heat died, I could’ve mistaken—

  A crack pops in the distance, a snap of a twig. Then all at once, they all snap, as if a giant made its way across a forest. It’s all slow at first; the bright flashes through the windows, the muffled blast. Then it all comes down at once, the sides of the building cave in, collapsing on top of one another, bringing it all down. We’re far from the site, but we can still feel the reverberation under the wheels, echoing from our feet to our spine.

  No one can take their eyes off the disaster until the giant gray cloud obscures our view. When the fumes eventually clear, all that’s left is the empty sky where the building once stood.

  *

  No one utters a single word for the entire duration of the ride until we finally come to a stop at North Bowen’s outer border, the Grandwall. A fortress of a wall that scales up 250 meters into the sky, a quarter as thick, stretching down both ends of the horizon as far as the eyes allow, with watch towers in between every 5 miles. The first line of defense, inside and out.

  A single soldier stomps onto the bus, swaying the floor in his heavy-suited weight, jolting us out of our disconnected daze. In the formal military manner, he barks orders for us to present our wrists to be scanned. His roaring voice wakes me up, serving as a reminder that the earth continues to spin outside of my head.

  I lift my sleeve as he arrives in my row.

  “Lavoran,” he greets, as my profile pops up on his panel. “Welcome back.”

  Before Cerena exits the vehicle to speak to someone in charge, she passes a box of our wristlets for us to reclaim. The only thing salvageable from today’s event. I clasp my golden wristlet, sculpted in the shape of a dragon, to let it sync with my chip, and am disappointed to find only a weak bar signal that keeps disappearing. Without the insurable amount of Lotic-fuels to power our electronics, our wristlet might as well be useless.

  I shoot Ama a text anyway, whenever it delivers. Other than us, no one knows the event had happened in the Void. It’s only a matter of time before the news spreads, and I wonder if anyone will do anything about it.

  Cerena confirms it when she returns to drive us back through the wall. The authorities have been notified, but it’s unlikely they’ll open a case. It’s the Void, as we all understand. No country has any jurisdiction outside its borders. As the Act of Exilium, any deserted land deemed unsafe for civil habitation will be added to the Void, mainly after a failed attempt at retaking the land from an Outbreak. It becomes a barren and lawless place reserved only for the doomed.

  “That’s bullshit,” Raven huffs, the first to speak in an hour. “We almost died!”

  “Lavoran Vikson is aware of the situation,” Cerena replies. “He might look into it.”

  I highly doubt that. My great uncle has too much on his plate to pay any attention to what’s happening in the Void. But Raven’s right. Now that the shock has somewhat settled, I feel the urge to seek repercussions. I’ve never felt more threatened for my life in those minutes in between the discovery and the demolition. I imagine another instance where I hadn’t found the device in time, it would’ve been us crushed beneath those rubbles.

  Someone will pay.

  But for now, I sink into my seat, still trying to digest the traumatic events as I stare out the window into the gray city of Offeno. There’s not much Lotic-fuel in the city. Even the main roads are dimly lit due to the lack of human activity. So the wheels of our bus won’t retract yet. Yet, another hour until we arrive home.

  The outer cities contain most, if not all, the non-carrier citizens. They live under strict guidelines and regulations to control any spread of Bonculeus. This virus has almost wiped out all of humanity and continues to do so for the last three centuries. Every inhabitant here is accounted for. They can only work remote jobs, occupations that do not require physical contact. Any social activities are scheduled after checkups and limited to two hours per. Every building is the same gray block stretching across the land. Drunes perch upon the rooftops, fluttering their charcoal metallic wings and hopping from one edge to in the same shape and manner as a crow, their red eyes forever reminding everyone below that the city is always watching.

  Qonni sighs loudly and shuts the blinds on her side of the window. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re the ones who planted that bomb,” she says to no one in general. She never fails to express her contempt for the outer cities, their gridded, mundane infrastructure, and their never-ending state of gray. “Kill a bunch of nepo babies with one bomb. Can’t get any easier than that.”

  Everyone focuses on her. Though they might not like her, they agree with her statement. There have been protests against us, that we’re not doing enough as Hilatus-Carriers—the only gene immune to the virus.

  “You shouldn’t point fingers without any evidence,” Raven says. “If I recall correctly, you were the last person in the room.”

  Qonni drops her jaw. “I was ten feet away, minutes before I could’ve been killed. If anything, I was the target. Who’s to say you weren’t the one who planted it for me?”

  “I wish I did.”

  Qonni scoffs and speaks louder, “So is that a confession?”

  “Dear lord,” Viper grumbles in her seat. She’s been crunched up into a ball the whole ride, silently sobbing in her arms. “Give it a break, you two.”

  We’re all still mildly in shock. Grim and blank-faced. Even Bison is tensed up in his row, staring unfocused out the window.

  I shut my eyes to revisit the morning when I was setting up the drill. Music was blasting in my ears while I configured the last room. So if there was ticking, I couldn’t hear it.

  At the next border, a much friendlier officer greets us as he scans our wrist to keep a record of who goes in and out of the border. Some Non-carriers are granted access in between cities if they have an essential purpose like visiting family or attending a life event—weddings and funerals.

  Raven asks if she can be dropped off here in Gong Woon, a mixed city that allows both Hilatus-Carriers and Non-carriers to inhabit. Her family lives in a city away, and this will be a better commute than Van Sing. We’ve been friends for years, and I only remember she’s not from Van Sing whenever she mentions her family.

  Genetics plays a complex and often tragic role in this day and age. Hilatus is a recessive trait in our DNA. A desirable trait, and in rare cases, both Carrier parents might not even be able to pass on to their child. Sometimes the gene might bounce around and skip a generation. Somehow, in Raven’s rare case—both her parents are Non-carriers—Hilatus miraculously found a way into her blood.

  So those families like hers are allocated to mixed cities. Three of them are in North Bowen, a small number compared to the rest of the world. There are still strict regulations and maximum control, but not as suffocating as the outer cities. A variety of buildings serve numerous purposes, including skyscrapers and monuments. It even has a nightlife as vibrant as that of a normal city.

  Regrettably, Cerena denies her. “Police are waiting at the academy,” she explains. “Even though they can’t do much about the explosion, they still want to ask some questions. For the record.”

  Raven can argue that she’ll make a statement another day. But as usual, the small girl plays by the rules, follows her own principles, and does what’s right most of the time. That and her cleverness are what granted her a full scholarship to Lotus Academy. So she solemnly nods and returns to her seat.

  Surprisingly, many people don’t like her because of her character. Like Qonni, who wrinkles her nose and fans the air as Raven passes her, muttering “Peasant.”

  Raven stops in her tracks. “Come again?”

  “Do you need a hearing aid or is the muck from your city stuck in your ears?” Qonni crosses her legs and arms. “Whatever it is, I don’t mind repeating myself, but let it be the last time. I said—”

  “Who do you think you are?” Raven claps back. “What gives you the right to insult these people who've done nothing to you? What makes you think you’re better than them?”

  “Is that even a question?” Qonni chortles loudly. “I live on a Gaia, while the rest of you poor people leech off my scraps, living in…caves made of…dirt?”

  It’s hard to tell from her attitude if it’s just an insult or if Qonni is entirely out of touch with what goes on outside of Van Sing. My intuition says it’s both.

  I can’t pinpoint exactly where on the timeline their beef began, or why, only that shortly after Raven transferred in with her scholarship, Qonni’s been picking on her. Not only Qonni, but other students join as well. Without a powerful family behind her or money to her name, Raven is an easy target for bullies.

  Lotus Academy grants a single scholarship each year. Cerena had been very impressed with Raven’s academic history, so she allowed her to skip a grade and join our class. Raven’s smart, so everyone assumes Qonni feels threatened by her, another person out to get her spot.

  “I’m not poor,” Raven retorts. “My family works for a living. They work harder than any of you and your parents.”

  A bite at the rest of us, but nothing we’ve never heard over the years.

  “Work,” Qonni spits the word as if it tastes bitter on her tongue. “Only the poor work for their money.”

  “So you’re telling me your mother didn’t work for hers?” Raven points out.

  If the students on the bus ignored their raucousness before, they do now. No one, and I mean traumatically, no one mentions Qonni’s late mother.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Raven continues before anyone can stop her, “Didn’t Dr. Lena work for Lotus for about half her life, or do you not remember exactly where your fortune came from?”

  By the end of our first year, we learned first-hand to never mention Dr. Lena outside of her academic research and history, and you definitely don’t add Lotus in the same sentence. Raven is informed, of course, but she never experienced Qonni’s wild anger and violent reaction; she was only told she shouldn’t bring it up. And Raven likes to dip her toes into infested water every chance she gets, the same way Qonni seizes every opportunity to demean her.

  Viper takes Raven by the arm and sits her down. Instinctively, I occupy the aisle seat of Qonni’s row, dividing the two.

  No matter how much Qonni yaps and belittles her, we all know Raven won’t do so much as lift a fist. She’s smart enough not to jeopardize her scholarship. We can’t say the same for Qonni.

  Her jaw is now tense, nose flared, eyes locked onto Raven.

  “Must you always instigate a fight?” I ask, blocking her view with my body.

  Her glare shifts up to me, wide and livid. My body tenses slightly. It could be a mistake to body-block her. I only wanted to diffuse the tension, not become Raven’s scapegoat and Qonni’s punching bag. I always reassure myself that Qonni won’t touch a strand of hair on my head, but at times like this, I’m not so sure.

  Eventually, Qonni comes to her senses and drops her shoulders, her attention forward again, muttering curses under her breath at all of us.

  *

  At the final border into Van Sing, Andra, in a police uniform and badge, greets us at the front of the row. His eyes dilate before a red light scans us all from left to right—an older android model from his stiff and cranky body.

  “All chips have been accounted for,” he chirps as his optics return to their socket. “Thank you for your cooperation!”

  Then we’re given the green light to enter the innermost city, only accessible to Hilatus carriers without exception. Van Sing occupies one of the densest populations in the world, with ten of the tallest skyscrapers in the world, and the only city that supports Gaias. Home to the best engineers and critically acclaimed architects and infrastructure, some might say it’s the most advanced city in the world.

  We ride on wheels for about ten minutes in the complete dark before the lotic-fuel from the city finally picks up, and we’re slowly lifted into the air. We skip the base of Van Sing, where half the population is crammed into a quarter of the space.

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  The whole land used to be a fortress. As the Bonucleus threat rises, it felt necessary to strengthen the fort. Layering walls and floors throughout the century until the threat eventually wanes as we build larger and sturdier walls, we call borders today.

  So, the foundation is now just a blocky maze. Similar to the gridded structures of the Outer cities, except every building is piled atop and stitched tenements to one another, precariously held together like bricks to an ancient tomb. The neo city is built over them, using them as the foundation, so for the last two centuries, no light from the sky has touched the ground. And when you glimpse down from the top long enough, the dark glimpses back, so it was eventually named The Abyss.

  And the Abyss is nothing but bad news. Because of its complex and deceptive infrastructure, anyone not familiar with its territory can easily get lost, and even the police won’t set foot in unless they enter as an armed squad. So without adequate governance, things get messy down there. Muggings, stabbings, murders, armed deals, illegal exchange of banned products, you name it.

  Luckily, once we reach the top of the Abyss, the police force has opened for us the express aerial lane. The bus immediately gets sucked into the air tunnel, skipping the busiest intersections of the Aquarium, the Drunes, and projected ads plastered across the city. We quickly arrive a little before we reach the Nebula, at Lotus Academy.

  The school occupies the top third of the whole building from the ground, enough to house over five thousand students in total. With the invention of hover vehicles, my great uncle, Vikson, an architect from an early age, designed platforms on rooftops, a place for vehicles to land. He personally designed the Lotus Academy’s roof with ten petals from the inspiration of the flower itself.

  The bus drops onto one of the empty petals, and we spill out, feet touching the ground after hours of sitting. The sun sets early at this time of the year, but at this altitude—2,000 feet from the ground—I can still see the small rays of light dying in the west, Gaia’s floating above, the winds shoving me towards the edge.

  Police flood the school lobby to question us. Everyone is out within five minutes. However, Qonni and I are taken into separate offices, where they begin the interrogations. I answer them as best as I can, and they leave me there, returning in ten minutes with more detailed questions. They must’ve asked Qonni the same ones to make sure our responses align. It continues for over an hour before they finally release us.

  Back on the windy roof where the sun has completely set, and the sky glows blue from the Aquarium below, my mother greets me on one of the petals. It’s an expected surprise to see her, and the sight of her. The last time I saw her was a little more than half a year ago, when I came home to grab an old motor to race Bison with.

  I hadn’t seen her, my father, or my little sister in over a year before that.

  She’s different now. Her brown curls, longer and lush, are better maintained. Skin is brighter with fewer stress lines around her eyes. But she still has that motherly worried look, piercing my chest with guilt as she rushes toward me with arms out to wrap over my waist. Her head lies against my chest. If the smell of rot on my person repulses her, she doesn’t show. Underneath her scented lotions and perfumes, she still smells like Ama, the same way I remember; that much hasn’t changed. And the sudden realization in the middle of our reunion: I’ve gotten taller since I last hugged her.

  “Ama, what are you doing here?” I ask. Dumb question; Isn’t it obvious?

  “I’m here to take you home,” she replies. She peers up at me, her slender hands cup my face, then squeezes my arms through my leather jacket, inspecting for any signs of hurt or malnourishment, but doesn't find any. “You’ve been eating well?”

  “Yes, I’ve been taking care of myself.”

  Ama forces a grin. Glad to see that I am well, but heartbroken at the same time. Her eyes hold mine for a second before they slide down behind me and light up at another person.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” she says to Qonni, and rushes to her for a hug. “I almost didn’t recognize you. Your hair—”

  Qonni warmly accepts it. I remember when Qonni barely reached her hips, and now they’re both the same height, embracing fondly. Out of all the people in the world, my mother is the only one Qonni doesn’t loathe. And sometimes, I think she might even love my mother.

  “My goodness, look how big and beautiful you’ve gotten,” Ama exclaims, giving her another sweep up and down, then around searching for another person. “Where’s Haiko?”

  Qonni blinks. “Aba’s busy today.”

  “Too busy for his own daughter? You could’ve been seriously hurt!”

  Qonni smiles politely. “I already told him I’m fine. And I am. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Ama grins back. “You must be hungry after a long day. Do you want to come over for dinner? With us?”

  It’s a quick motion; a glance my way, not even directly in my eyes, and Qonni politely declines. “My cab is here.”

  An unsuspecting black hovercraft descends onto a petal platform, and the door pops up for her.

  “It’s nice seeing you again, Auntie.” Qonni waves her goodbye. “I’ll see you next weekend.”

  Ama bids her farewell, watches her ride spew into the Nebula, leaving just the two of us again. She attempts to coax me home.

  “I made your favorite dishes,” she says.

  It sounds wonderful after a horrible day, but home is the last place I want to return. I wouldn’t risk anything bumping into that sorry excuse for a father.

  “I have to speak to Vikson,” I reply. “Open a case and find out who’s behind today’s attack. If it’s targeted to…one of us.”

  “Well, he’s not in Van Sing right now. Why don’t you eat first, then you can discuss it with him tomorrow?”

  “He’s not here? Where is he?”

  She sighs. “Shortly after he received the news of your drill, he took his team out to the Void, to the location your principal specified.”

  “He’s there now?”

  I have to go immediately. Maybe he already uncovered some evidence that’ll lead us to the suspect. I’m dying to know who’s behind the attack.

  Ama pulls me by the arm, her eyes begging me to stay. “I haven’t seen you in…so long. Why don’t you just come home for a night?”

  Her grip on me is firm, pleading.

  She probably roasted pork skin in the electric fryer and simmered her ginseng soup for hours. Maybe I can stay for a bowl of rice and a few bites of her dishes. I owe her that much.

  Then a vehicle stops on the platform. A motor—my motor, I ordered the moment I stepped out of the interrogation room. My wristlet dings, notifying me of my auto-delivery.

  “Sorry, Ama,” I say heavily with my heart, knowing I’m breaking hers. “Maybe next time. But I’ll see you next weekend.”

  I unfurl my velm, the parts enveloping my head, the screen lights up, syncing with my motor. I get on the seat and floor the pedal.

  *

  The stars up here are especially bright without the light pollution. But I can’t admire them for too long when Ama’s eyes are still on my back. I give the Nebula and its Gaia one last sweep before I dive back down into the Aquarium.

  No matter how many times I embrace the drop, I can never get used to the vertigo and the rush of adrenaline. At least now I can forget my growling stomach. Too late to regret turning Ama down now.

  I plunge through the misty clouds, and droplets cling onto my jacket and motor. The first wave of holograms and projectiles blinds my screen, reminding me to turn on my glare guard.

  The Aquarium is the most prominent intersection in Van Sing, clenched by high-rises scraping the sky, its own labyrinth in the air. It doesn’t help that every direction a hologram or projectile advertisement flashes in your face. Have you met our newest Andra? She now has more mobility, with extra-long legs, and even more…A female Andra—her pair of jello breasts bouncing next to me—walks across the side of a building, swaying her swollen hips left and right. By Lotus Inc., I note at the bottom right, followed by the company’s famous slogan, “We Make Life Better.” Tired of your wife listening to your and your mistress's conversation? Fear no more when you install our new temple chip. You can now listen to music, listen to your sports team, and even enjoy ASMR in your brain! Lotus INC. After today’s incident, I regret installing it, though I can always remove it easily with a physician. Can’t find your glasses again? Vision Drop is here! A single drop in each eye can repair your vision for a total of eight hours! Lotus INC.

  Lotus buys up all the most prominent billboards, illuminating the night into day with its blue and violet neon lights, the company insignia plastered in every direction. No one in their commute can miss it.

  Finally, towards the midsection, I carefully merge myself into the aerial highway, joining the other crafts—hover sedans, vans, delivery Andras, motors. Their lotic-fuels of neon red, green, and blue encircle the sides of their vehicle. Inside the air tunnel, my motor is on autopilot, going twice the speed. With the blue hue background, we’re nothing more than a school of fish swimming alongside the current in the Aquarium.

  Even on the highway, the medium-sized ads don’t miss us. A projectile fork jabs itself as if we’re meat, and lifts a juicy steak in the air; the smoked aroma lingers under my nostrils. That’s a new one.

  Then comes the Drunes, targeted ads—the worst ads of all. They were made initially to track people, specifically to track their chips, following them in the air and wherever they go. But it’s easy to get someone’s chip number these days—buying something on the internet or linking a social media account with your chip, these companies will sell your information to third parties. So some genius bought all the Drunes, and now they’ll chase you the moment they have your chip synced. Two Drunes hover by my left side, a panel clamped between their beaks showing me antique guns and motor modifications on the other. Both of which are recent purchases, they serve no purpose now but remind me to clear my cache.

  Keeping the search history clean will easily eliminate them. Unfortunately, some older folks who aren't caught up with the program will have their porn preferences plastered for everyone to see.

  Descending between multiple aerial highways and skipping large traffic areas, I find myself skidding just above the Abyss. If not for the dim red neon lights blinking under me, I would’ve wandered into treacherous territory. I’ve never been down there, but the horror stories are enough to keep me and the Drunes away. But in the limbo between the two worlds—the Abyss and the Aquarium—I’ll be just fine, so long as I skirt over the redlight district.

  With every passing border, my motor slows down the farther I am from Van Sing, until my wheels eventually hit the ground just before the Grandwall. Now I have to drive on the ground all the way into the Void. If I’d known Vikson would investigate the explosion himself, I would’ve stayed there and saved myself the trouble.

  Any light emitted from my motor is immediately swallowed by the dark Void. I rely on the GPS on my screen to guide me across the land, and after what seems like a dragging hour, I finally return to the scene of the crime.

  The forensic team has set up floodlights around the perimeter. Bright tents sprang open with dozens of staff collecting their findings, all laid out onto tables for examination.

  It’s a surprise someone as busy as Vikson will show up in the Void, but I would’ve never suspected that three other executives of Lotus, the Chairs, would also be present. I say executives, because they are their title before they are my aunts and uncles. They’re huddled in a circle under a large tent, watching the staff retrieve each item.

  I yield my motor and furl my velm to greet them. They’re appalled at first, insulted that a strange boy would come up to them, and searched for security until they noticed my eyes. The same ones that mirror theirs.

  The Lavoran family has been around for longer than the city of Van Sing. So after many generations, the bloodline has branched out thin. I can’t say precisely how many of us are there, but enough for my family household to be reconsidered for an invitation to the annual New Year gathering. And of course, my father doesn’t fight for his spot and never attends, even when he does receive the invitation. So it’s my duty now to keep our place within the business, within the family.

  Though it’s never been stated which specific family is granted a position, only that your history of success will speak for itself, even a nobody like me from a forgotten branch can land a spot on the executive chair one day if I prove my worth.

  “Ah, you’re here,” Uncle Mannet says to me. “The weapon tester.”

  Despite them forgetting my name, I still respectfully address them as Aunt and Uncle. And that’s the end of the conversation. They’re too busy to ask how I’m doing or what I’m even doing here. Everyone in the family has a strict role to play. And for me, at this moment, is to get out of their way.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?” Vikson acknowledges me with a hand on my shoulder. The man who solely brought the world into a new age, the Neon Era. Should I be so lucky as to even speak to him on a daily basis. Even in the dark, his bed of white hair shines clean and soft. He stands tall and proud, his bulging belly out from his maroon suit. He has natural, smiley eyes and wrinkly leather face from all the years out in the field squinting from the beating sun, orchestrating the birth of many of his buildings.

  “I’m fine,” I reply. Still a little shocked, but I would rather keep myself busy than sit idle, letting today’s traumatic events eat me up inside. “Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing until the lab results come out,” the CEO replies, gesturing to his team of forensics.

  The brims are filled with trucks and people in white hazard suits, flashlights beaming from their velms. They already filed numerous objects into contamination boxes, and I excuse myself from Vikson to check them out. And to find Dr. Breena.

  It doesn’t take long to locate her. You can always hear her jubilant laughter after cracking a joke no one else seems to understand, and then she continues to make another one. She’s by one of the trucks, chatting up one of the forensic guys, tallying the incoming items.

  A hairband slicks back her poofy brown curls. She dons circular glasses with obscenely thick lenses that magnify her emerald eyes tenfold. The harsh floodlights above aren't doing the wrinkles and sunspots on her face any favor, though I doubt she prioritizes her appearance very much.

  She glances up as I approach, her large eyes bulging out. “Step on my toe, you’re in one piece!”

  “Why does everyone assume I got blown up?”

  Despite three decades between our ages, we get along surprisingly well. Better than most staff in the headquarters, anyway. I like her wild and blunt personality, free expression of her mind, even when the situation doesn’t call for it. It annoys Vikson sometimes, but Dr. Breena is too much of an asset to Lotus for him to dismiss her over slight displeasure.

  He often tells her to get a husband. Not interested in men, I’m afraid, was her response. Then he tells her to get a wife. Not interested in women either, and I’ve tested both theories, FYI. My response was an audible gag, in which she laughs, and tells me sex is normal, and in which I leave the room before she says another word.

  Most of all, I like her never-ending monologues that always end up informing me more than I should learn—confidential information, the subsequent Lotus launches, and leaks.

  She circles me as if I’m one of her newly innovative tech, picking apart my coat, and studying the veins of my eyes by directly shining a flashlight into my pupils. “Did you see the explosion? Was it big? Did anyone get hurt?”

  “It’s not flashy like the movies,” I answer, and brush her off. “Honestly, it’s quite upsetting. I could’ve died. The planter would’ve got what they wanted.”

  Dr. Breena furrows her brow. “You think this was a targeted attack toward you?”

  “Well, one of us is it not?”

  She shrugs.

  “We’ve read your police reports and all.” She dials her wristlets, and her panels project in the open. Images of the scene and salvaged items show up, all burnt to char if not melted out of shape. “You and your classmate mentioned seeing only a single device, but we found many more explosives on the site. We suspect it was planted on the basement pillars and walls. Funny how none of your classmates caught anything.”

  My stomach begins to spoil. It’d been sour from hunger before, but now I want to find a corner and retch. The longer I sit with the realization that we were running with those bombs underneath our feet, the harder it becomes to breathe. I search for a plastic chair to sit in.

  “The same metallic strand as the other ones,” Dr. Breena says to herself, zooming in on each photo. “Just like the other place.”

  “The other place?” I echo.

  She quickly purses her lips, an indication that she’s said one too many.

  “No, tell me,” I push. “I almost died today, I deserve to know something.”

  She makes a “hmm” sound in consideration as she glances at Vikson, still in deep conversation with his executives. “Alright, you puck, but you didn’t hear from me.”

  Apparently, the mall wasn’t the first property to be blown up. From the spring of last year, there’s been about five or six fallen buildings, specifically Lotus properties. We assume it’s those hooligans from the outer cities, their way to express their disapproval. Since the properties in the Void no longer produce much value, we just turn a blind eye. Until today, they've gone too far and put students in danger. Too many children of Lotus’s partners were put at risk, dying in a place that used to be the corporation's property, a scandal that’ll destroy the public and investors’ trust. So Vikson is putting an end to it now.

  Other than that, Dr. Breena won’t tell me anymore, so I decide to search the grounds on my own.

  The aftermath is nothing short of what I witnessed today. I’ve been warned by many of the investigators to be mindful of the air pockets that might cave under my weight, so I merely skirt around the rubble. Treading over the beige stones of the exterior wall, plaster, planks, pipelines, various cords, shattered glass, and the fractured pieces of Lotic-shards, many of which are still embedded in cement.

  I’ve seen the last of these before I turned five, never again since. Before Lotic-fuels, the modern-day energy supply, we used the original source. The shards, despite their small size, contain massive amounts of energy. Clean and durable. You put a few of them into cemented walls, and every electronic within the space would work for decades. The only problem was accessibility. They were hard to import and immalleable to serve the variety of techs we have today.

  It was Lotus’s discovery over two centuries ago where my forefather found a vein to a mine, and to this day, it’s still a secret as to where or how to find it. Not even Breena or Ama knows. The knowledge is only passed down to the CEO and the Chairs—strictly family business.

  I scavenge the wreckage a little more before I head back to find two things: A Govon purse. The Govon purse Qonni was whining about earlier today. I almost missed it if not for that shiny V logo.

  The second thing I find is a pair of eyes, or what I assume is a Drune in the sky. Upon further inspection, I realize it’s a surveillance camera at the top of a streetlight. The closest one to the mall, probably still active with the proximity of Lotic-shards, even after it's been abandoned a little less than a century ago.

  I report my findings to Vikson, whose sole focus is on the purse in my arm while his security team retrieves the camera. The camera is protected with a glass dome. So there’s faith we’ll extract clear footage.

  “Good job, Raze,” Vikson says to me, a tap on the shoulder as he gets into his craft with the other executives. Packing up for the night.

  My aunts and uncles also applaud me, finally addressing me by my name. The same relatives I ask for advice, but I was always brushed off. Despite what I’ve been taught to believe —that family always comes first —I soon learned that only Ama believes it. Everyone else in the family puts the family business at the top of their priorities, always in competition with one another, fighting for an executive spot.

  You have to be the best, with a resume of successful investments, projects, and visions brought to life. And something as small as a graduation plaque will make all the difference. Everyone in the family was the Valedictorian in their academy, and the Golden Plaque hung on their wall, among their many other achievements. It’s the size of a book, as thin as cardboard, but no one can miss the shine and luster of the 24k gold.

  So graduating at the top of the class isn't so much of an accomplishment, but the first stepping stone. A mere requirement. The family standard. The bar. And I’ll be damned if I fall short in this family.