Outside World

I sit on the ledge, roughly about a kilometre above sea level, if that would have had any significance on this godforsaken planet. Any god. Take your pick, if you’ve some strange inclination towards the religious. I leaned back against the hard wall of the corporation arcology, and kicked my legs out into the artificial windless calm between buildings. The zubei in my system made it feel as if I was floating, in some strange sea, in the middle of some intricate coral reef. Little luminiscent fish darted all around me, in their own patterns. Little fish that blurred and spun and formed patterns that only made sense with the aid of zubei. Of course - I’ve never seen a sea before in my life, but I’ve heard stories.

The noise of the city, thrumming hovers, strange groaning noises from the building behind melted into the dull throb of the air-conditioning outlet behind, everything blurred into one huge wave of sound. A wave of some twenty billion people, if the official figures are to be believed.

Twenty billion people. The figure staggered the mind, and challenged the imagination. Offworlders never want to believe that, for some odd reason. Until they set foot here, on the planet-city, Rythwellan. Buildings towered kilometres into the sky, reaching for the stars. Babylon, some call it. You could call it that, not that there would be many people that would make the connection with the biblical stories of Earth. With the striving towards the stars came the multitude of tongues, as people of thousands of cultural and ethnic groups mingle with each other. Mingle and trade and kill and form gangs and hurt and... The list is endless.

Fifteen billion people. And yet they all lived inside. Inside their designer homes, inside the arcologies, inside the cheap hotels, and inside the squallid poor areas in their millions. Breathing recycled air, eating recycled crap. I wondered at the condition of your standerd tourist. People who come here of their own free will amazed me. Unlike many of my contacts I’ve never developed much of a taste for gambling, or whoring, so I could not really see the attraction of this whole planet. But it was famous, that I’ll concede. Maybe I should pick my words more carefully. Notorious might be better suited in this application. Anything could be bought in this city, anything if you had the resources at your disposal. Bodyparts for some poor sick relative? Easy. Cyborgs? The damn things walked free in some parts of the city. Want something implanted or grafted onto your precious body? Just visit the black clinics. Testing some new product? Use the kids from the mobile slavers. This place was basically a blackmarket economy, even if it was the capitol of the little human Empire.

I hate this place, and yet I need it. The freedom of movement I have here does not exist anywhere else. The city was like a huge coral reef. All the life was inside, with only the hovers flitting past like tiny fish. And me? I suppose you could call me a parasite, of sorts. I am a product of this damn place, and I am not alone.

I stand up, feel the zubei really hit me, and adjust the two skintight bracelets to lessen the flow somewhat. These two babies cost a hellavu lot of money. Worn on your arms, you have a permanent drug supply almost at your fingertips. Tiny micro-needles slide through your skin and into your veins the first time you put these on. And zubei was good. It did not put you on a artificial high, like other drugs. It cuts you loose from your surroundings, made colours brighter, and sounds sharper. Every sense was improved, and you became more aware of yourself. It killed you in the end, as your body slowly adapts, and you have to gradually increase your dose to poison levels. About ten years, give or take. But what the hell? It made life sharper, and I don’t love this place enough to want to stay here. Not anymore. Besides, the city would probably kill me before my ten years was up. Sometimes, when the memories hurts too bad, I almost think I’ll welcome it.