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“My mother,” he says. “She was one of the first fully-trained workers in the Colony. Before they initiated the drone training, workers were just normal people. That’s why all that area down at the docks exists. People used to live their lives there. They shopped, they drank, they socialized. They had families. That all changed once the Elites realized that allowing their workers to have social lives and familial bonds made them less effective.”
Shah’s smart, legitimately intelligent. He doesn’t always come across that way because he’s usually too busy coming across as aggressive and sexy.
“When I was fifteen or so, my mom went to work one day and came back a different person,” he says. “She stopped loving me. She stopped caring about what happened in the home. My dad had died in a factory accident a few years earlier, so I was left to fend for myself. About three days later, she told me she was going to send me to the boarding facilities. I ran away instead. She didn’t notice. And that’s when and how I learned to look after myself. That’s when I started my gang. A lot of people in it now have been in it from the beginning. I met Malik when I broke into his home.”
I laugh.
“I wish I could have seen that.”
“You really don’t,” he says. Then he laughs as well.
Shah
Years ago…
I’m hungry. And angry. And I’m going to take what is mine. They’ve started to build a wall separating the Elite homes from the worker apartments. They say it’s for security. I guess it is. It’s designed to keep people like me out.
There’s a house that could fit about fifty workers in it, but I bet it only houses four at most. Mom, Dad, and two kids. That’s how Elites live. Always two kids. Workers get to have one. Or they did, until the recent birth control act.
Once you get past the wall there’s no real security anymore. Elites don’t like to be reminded that they’re oppressing everybody else, and they definitely don’t like seeing armed men walking around. Makes them feel like they’re in prison, and they can’t have that.
There’s grass outside the house, space for kids to run and play. Worker kids play in the street. It’s hard not to compare every single instance of unfairness I see. When I come to these privileged places my only regret is that I can’t steal everything they have at once. I’m reduced to what I can carry and what will sell down at the docks.
The good news is, one haul from a house like this will keep me fed for a month, and it’ll help take care of the small but growing number of kids getting kicked out as obsolete. I’ve been thieving for almost three years now, making a name for myself. They come and find me to help them survive. I do what I can, but there's more all the time.
The worst crime a worker can be accused of is being useless. A lot of us are useless to the Colony. Especially boys. Women make better workers.
Nothing about this house was designed with keeping an intruder out in mind. I scale the wall easily and clamber through an open window. This time of day, the houses are usually empty.
This room isn’t empty. There’s a woman around my mom’s age in there. She’s wearing a chemise and trying on earrings. She sees me right away, a worker climbing in the window. Her scream carries easily outside the house. She whirls around and throws a tissue box at me. She thinks I’m here to ravage her. She should be so fucking lucky. I’ve never had to force myself on a woman, and I’m not going to start now.
I bounce back out the window. This is a fuck up. She’s going to call security, and they are going to light the wall up. I can’t get back to the docks now. I’m going to have to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere in very unfriendly territory. Anybody who sees me is going to turn me in.
I run, not exactly sure where I’m going, just knowing that I need to put some distance between me and the house.
“Hey!”
Someone reaches out and grabs at my arm. It’s not a Colony authority, it’s an Elite kid. Maybe not a kid. Maybe my age. Eighteen or so. He’s got dark hair, dark skin, and gold eyes. He looks like he’s fit and strong. I wonder if he’s about to fight me.
"You can hide in our basement,” he says.
I don’t ask twice. I can hear the electricity on the wall surging from here. There’s no way out and hiding inside an Elite house is pretty much my only option.
He pulls me in a back door and then down a flight of stairs to an underground room painted blue and festooned with various Elite paraphernalia. Paintings and pictures of what I guess must be family.
“My name’s Malik,” he says. “You’re Shah. We all know who you are. You’re the boy who ran away. You’re famous. You’re all anybody talks about, on either side of the wall. You ripped off that transport. Took everything on it. Fucking awesome. Never been a score that big. Ever.”
He’s a fan. I heard I was getting some traction with spoiled Elite kids. I guess that’s true. Never thought I’d have an Elite fanbase, but it just came in handy.
“That’s… yeah.”
“I can’t believe it’s you,” he says. “I want to run away. I don’t want to be an Elite. I don’t even know what the fuck that means. I want to live my life how I want to live it. I’ve saved up all my birthday money.”
“Fucking adorable.” I don’t know what the fuck birthday money is, but the idea of some Elite kid saving up the free money he gets just for existing to run away from the people who give him free money just for existing has to be funny.
“I’m serious,” he says. “I can help you. I have money. I have some connections, and I don’t want to go into the Elite service. I don’t want to run a factory. I want to go out and have adventures. I want to see the universe and do whatever the fuck I want in it. I have enough money to buy a ship. Not a big one, but one big enough for a dozen people to get off the planet.”
“You want to run away and be a pirate?”
