"Caedum?" The woman's eyes glazed over for a moment as she checked her feed. Then her eyebrows shot up. She peered at Ricardia far more closely than she had before. "That's a full-Factor world. A body-type Factor. You really had your head up your ass, eh?"
Ricardia felt twin spots of pressure on her face, and knew it was tears building. Onyx was supposed to be separate from the cult, but she should have known better. And with her physically-visible Factor, her genetic origins... she wouldn't last a second if she boarded one of their ships.
"I've heard the stories," Ricardia mumbled. "The labor sites."
"They'd flag your application for passage in a second. Hopefully you're not that naive."
"Are there any other options? Something else I can do?"
The harbormaster gave her a long, hard look. "This is not a place that welcomes mistakes, but you have two choices ahead of you." She held up a finger. "You could beg your way onto a ship, or trade your labor for passage. However, I doubt you have the skills." Up went the second digit. "Or, you could find work on the station, and stick to it until you have enough to leave."
"But wait, isn't there anything-"
"Good bye, Miss," the harbormaster drawled, eyes half-lidded in disinterest. "Wish I could be of more service." She rose to her feet, her bulk easily ellipsing Ricardia's own. "Let me do the honors of escorting you out of my office.
Left with nothing but a few, brusque well-wishes, Ricardia found herself dumped in a spot eerily close to where she stood upon her initial arrival to the station. The glitzy promenade that thrusted out from the harbor was sinister in a way it hadn't been before. Ricardia now knew how fragile the illusion was that surrounded her: the too-warm, shrieked-greetings of shopkeepers and hawkers, the neon displays and holo-artwork depicting huge, anthropomorphized playing cards and gambling chips. The mascots swirled together, their movement erratic and terrible over the heads of the crowd.
It was a veil that hid the true grit of Onyx. Ricardia had once thought that the people passing her were tourists, adventurers. But they were gamblers, sex-addicts, tycoons seeking an outlet far from home. They knew the truth about a place like this, expected and thrived in it.
Onyx had become a maw, one that yawned, eager to consume her with the slightest slip-up.
Sink or swim, Ricardia thought, battling the pangs of homesickness, the fear and abandonment. Still, she'd find a way to tamp it all down, to find it in herself to step back into Onyx. Because what other choice did she have?
She knew she could have spent her time wandering the port, hoping for some charity. She could have even tried her hand at infiltration, taking the stowaway route. But Onyx had her in a chokehold now, and she was very much aware of her position now; the kinds of people she'd be asking for help - or the things they'd do to her if she were caught sneaking around.
So instead she found herself being pulled back into the maw, engulfed by one of the bright, electric avenues. The side-streets weren't an option after what she'd just gone through, but maybe there was something on the main thoroughfares that could help her.
Ricardia toyed with the idea of gambling, briefly, but she had no money and no experience. So what else could she do but find some work, and earn enough to pay her way off this forsaken hulk of rock and steel?
She ignored the huge, sprawling casinos, but stopped periodically at the peacock-bright restaurants that flanked them.
It was often dark inside these spaces, the air spiced and heavy. She navigated massive, rowdy tables, sidled up the waiters that circled them like vultures. But when she would inquire about employment, Ricardia was either ignored or brushed off. These slick, elegant men and women wanted no part of her; she was a spectacle: a strange, silly tourist asking to work? She felt ridiculous, and Ricarida was sure that every maître'd she approached, every host, assumed she was joking.
More and more, she felt the utter ridiculousness of her plan. Was someone just going to hire her on the spot? Shed a tear or two after listening to her tale? The harbormaster's tone had been sarcastic, she had seen that now. Anything to get the woman with a Factor out of her office, and avert political disaster.
Walking along the street, Ricardia came to a stop. She didn't care about the crowds jostling her, or the leering of passing faces. She was truly stuck, and the thought was going to crush her. She hesitated for a long moment, then allowed her feed to flicker on.
Of the various icons arrayed before her, one stood out, tauting - the feed's communication feature. She eyed the prompt that hovered in front of her, itching to press it, to select a name from the list that would appear. But she couldn't do it.
Her half-baked plan so far was to try return to the place she had run away from in the first place. But it wasn't as if she wanted to; calling her family would mean embarrassment and failure, and everything they had said about her. An adventure, she scoffed to herself. That's what she had called this. And that couldn't be further from the truth.
But maybe... they'd come to Onyx if she did call, and take her home. And she'd be humiliated, and face up to what she'd done, but she'd be safe at least. Ricardia skin prickled, and she remembered how it felt to have the hacker's rough hands pressed against her, viselike.
It was time to stop running, wasn't it? Ricardia, with clawed, locked-up fingers, moved to establish the comm link. But then, seeping through the din, she heard a song.
Its melody was light; it floated atop the sea of guttural street noise. String instruments weaved together, slotting like bricks into a fast-paced rhythm. Ricardia was frozen. She knew that jangly triplet-beat, the warring blend of simple chords and high, screeching improv. It was Caedish music.
So for the second time in less than twelve hours, Ricardia found herself running through Onyx in a full-on sprint.
...
Jasper's first experience with the ocean had been terrifying. The world was supposed to be steadfast, eternal - not unsteady, shifting, wet.
These days, he spent long days by its violent, frenzied texture, and in melancholy moments it resonated with him.
But it had been a long time since then, and Jasper found that the past slipped through his fingers a little easier these days. Even some particularly balmy mornings, like the one he was currently enjoying, could hold those memories almost completely at bay.
The air against his skin was a humid-warm soup, and so that once-dreaded water was quite cool and refreshing, honestly. The drink in his hand and the towel wedged under him certainly didn't hurt things.
The tide had been steadily creeping up towards him all morning, and now the water lapped against his ankles, flowed between his toes. It was a lovely sensation, and so he made no move to scramble higher up the beach.
Jasper craned his neck, tilting his face towards the blue sky. From above, he must look like a castaway, a little blip of sentience nestled on the edge of a pristine island. It was a good thought, and Jasper warmed at the idea of being the planet's only inhabitant.
But the image was misleading; although most of Alto II's precious little landmasses were bereft of development, the planet's colony site had still grown in recent years, sprawling across the seafloor. Anything above was built for the tourists - and foreigners like Jasper. A curated wilderness.
Eventually, he'd have to make his way over to the resort, resume his post. But the thought of leaving his island hideout to serve rich folks and their bratty children all day was a rancid one.
You just keep getting lazier, interjected Jasper's thoughts. He flinched, almost spilling his drink.
"Holy stones," he grumbled. "I hate when you do that!"
I'm sorry, the Old One retorted, her voice filling his head, I didn't come with a bell attached, unfortunately.
Yeah, I'm aware. Jasper responded. He'd slipped into that same strange headspace that the Old One existed in. You also didn't come with an off-switch, but who's complaining?
I am. You seem to have grown happy with this stagnant lifestyle. And here I thought you had goals.
He snorted. Not ones you've ever agreed with.
I don't, she answered. But I can appreciate the ambition. But who am I to say anything? Everything I've been working towards ended the moment I was trapped with you.
You really gotta get some new material, honey, Jasper answered. I've heard this shtick a million times.
Because it's the truth.
Jasper rolled his eyes, but he languidly rose to his feet and headed deeper into the water, where his little dinghy bobbed.
Long way or short way? He asked.
There was a beat of silence, then: the long way. I don't dislike seeing the reefs.
Jasper grinned, climbing aboard. "I guess even you can appreciate beauty," he said aloud, over the hum of the solar engine. And then they were off, the little dinghy gliding through the water.