Cracking my eyes open to be hit with a headache was not part of my weekend plans. I came home from work yesterday to find Mel baking bread. A sure sign something was on her mind. We opened a bottle of wine while we made small talk.

  After a glass of the dry red, Mel broke down about how getting her big break was tearing down her confidence and how the wait to find out about the audition was making her anxious. It’d been two weeks and there’s been no news so far. I complained about trading and told Mel about my conversation with Robert. Her mouth had fallen open, face aghast.

  In the few days since I had listed it, there had been no traction on the bot charger. Truth be told, I was scared of any traction after what Robert had said. Prism had people everywhere. They had been the reason I found the fish bowl.

  We were each waiting and suffering. One bottle turned to two, and amidst our drunken dancing, we sent the bot charging trade listing to a bunch of big organizations. Such an idiotic thing in the light of soberness.

  In retrospection, it was apparent Robert had gotten under my skin. In the moment, I needed to get away from him, but when my racing heart quieted down, I went back to confront him to find him gone. And he took all the answers to my questions with him.

  There’s nothing to do but be careful.

  And I’m not very good at that.

  I roll over and groan, my head pounding. My knees join in, thumping to their own musical beat. My elbows yell their discomfort, and pressure does a two-step down my spine. I fumble on the floor, knocking my holo into Az, and find the pain pill bottle. Az wakes with a soft azure glow that mimics the color of the bottle. I struggle past the cap and land two pink pills in my hand. They’re down my throat in seconds.

  Az climbs onto the bed while I fumble my holo on. He snuggles in, his metal bod cool against the burn of my chest. I lay my head on him and beg the coolness to seep into my headache. In the contorted position, the random notifications that came in through the night are still readable.

  A small shopping cart notification draws my thumb. Oh no. Before last night, it would have been a cause for joy. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s an upset message from someone who wasn’t expecting drunken yelling in their DMs. The app opens to the market listing for the bot charger. The tiny projector on the bracelet splays the listing across my rumpled sheets. It’s not from any organization. It’s from a person. Thank God. A notification for a message sits near my pillow. I open it.

  FashionLyfe

  Good evening, I am interested in trading for your charger. You will get two tickets to a tech party. Would you be willing to meet up at a trade point?

  It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to a party. And they didn’t specify what type. Still, it may be a good trade. Worth getting more information anyways. My message to FashionLyfe asking for more info is quick.

  A small vibration from my holo shivers along my arm. I press the screen, freeing the notification to send to Az, who projects it against the ceiling. It’s a new message. This one from Gen.

  “Open,” I murmur.

  It flickers once.

  Asshole Boss <3

  What r u up to? Want food?

  I groan, half dead from the stupor of the hangover. “Are you paying? Send.”

  The words type out in the little bright green box and sends with a small buzz across my wrist. The notification for the shopping app pops up.

  FashionLyfe

  Tickets to Dom Higgs party. Interested?

  Holy shit. I sit up in the bed, dislodging Az, who makes a grumpy noise and rolls over. Dom Higgs built a medical bot company from the ground up, and, from all the different articles I’ve read about her, she spends her days adding different inventions to her already gigantic portfolio of innovations. She’s a prodigy.

  And I could meet her.

  But no, I’m supposed to trade these away.

  I fall back on the pillows. Az doesn’t respond. I should still take the tickets even though I’ll have to give them up. It’s a much better trade option than a portable charger.

  I tap Az, and the blank message waits for me to speak. “I’ll take them.”

  The message sends with a tap.

  I’m not expecting a response soon, but a ping chimes while I’m brushing my teeth and wondering if drowning myself in the sink is a good next step.

  FashionLyfe

  Meet at the following location in an hour?

  There’s a location tag below the message. It’s a cafe not too far from work. I tell them I’ll be there. Another ping. I’m popular all of a sudden.

  Asshole Boss <3

  If I pay, isn’t that paying u to hang w/ me?

  Shit, Gen. Brunch doesn’t mesh with meeting FashionLyfe. I press the call icon next to Gen’s message. She picks up on the second ring.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you calling?”

  I laugh. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Then what the hell Jaqs?”

  Not an actual question. An accusation of breaking the silent contract to always text.

  “This is quicker. I can’t do,” dammit, what’s the word. Lunch and break—oh, “brunch today; I’m meeting up with someone to trade the bot charger.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. Someone is interested. They just messaged.”

  Gen is silent for a moment, chewing through words, picking which ones to use to mother me. Sar and Ben laugh in the background, a showcase of their happiness while living with their sister, because Gen, even with all her faults, is a good sibling and friend. “I’m going to say it again, this is dangerous. You could get scammed, taken advantage of, or injured if people think you have cost. Did you get a name or anything?”

  If this person is anything like Robert, she may be correct. But they could be a regular person wanting a portable bot charger because they’re super busy. It’s too early to tell. “I got their screenname.”

  “Jaqs,” she deadpans, disappointed in me.

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll text you later, we’ll do dinner or something with the kids?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She hangs up without a goodbye.

  I scoop Az up off the bed where he’s playing bird videos on the ceiling for his own amusement. The battery sits on the kitchen table. I trade it for Az to stuff it in my pack. My elbows complain, knees joining in, but I ignore them. Upon rising, my head swims, vision going black. Az blinks yellow, over and over.

  “What?” I groan.

  He blinks slower and pulls up a scene from an action video from last summer. It’s a form of communication that takes a lot of his battery; therefore, he does it when he needs to communicate something important. Pulling the audio is less difficult, and Az does that often. I pull to a stop and stare at his small orb.

  In the video, two men zoom down a street in a car. One’s face set in determination. One in fear.

  “Too fast! Too fast!” the scared man screams.

  The video switches to an action film where the two leads are embracing. “You have to be careful.”

  Then a medical drama. “She's very ill.”

  “Oh, alright, I’ll slow down.” My heart slams against my chest, a sure sign I’m on my way to my vision going black. He’s right, but it’s annoying to be lectured by your own bot. Getting tickets to Dom Higgs’ party had sent me into a frenzy. The prospect of owning something that amazing, even for a day, overrode the care I try to take with my body. My heart slows, leaving my ears free of rushing. A softer, more persistent noise replaces it.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Rain.

  I unpack a cig. Az is right. I hadn’t even smoked my morning cig. I would have gotten downstairs, seen it was raining, and would have had to wait in the cold. Here, I stay warm and smoke while I send for an e-car. Take a moment for myself. And let the pain pills take effect. At least there will be one less annoyance in this body today.

  I crack the patio door and breathe in the rain, sans smoke. It wraps around me, sharp and clean, allowing the first fingers of autumn to curl into the fabric of the city. My next breath in contains nicotine. It’s too quick for it to take effect, but my shoulders drop anyway. A placebo effect in full force. Or Stockholm syndrome. More correct, considering the damage I’m doing to my lungs.

  The electric green cylinder burns down with the minutes. Time is lost to strangers running from the rain, cars sloshing through puddles, my worries about the unknown future of the trades, and the slow crawl of the clouds across the sky. The birds have all taken sanctuary, and even the din of traffic is muted, almost quiet. I take in the final drag and send for a car. In the space between smoke and car ride, the moment pauses. Leaves me standing in the cool day, staring at water dripping off Mel’s outdoor plants, and never having to worry about anything ever again. There is no sickness plaguing my life and dreams. No work worries. I exist in the liminal space between the has been and the never will be. The not-quite-autumn, but too late for summertime time of year we’re in. Forever captured and not having to wish for a life uninterrupted. Caught between the lull in the waves of grief. Peaceful, for a time.

  Time doesn’t care for the wants of anyone.

  A horn blares through the rain, creating a mechanical yell at a pedestrian who crossed too soon. And with it, the worries race through my mind. I shut out the day from the unit, scoop Az up with care, and lock the door behind me. Emerging from the lift, a black e-car waits for me against the curb. I run to the door, confirm it’s mine, and fall into a seat.

  It’s a quiet drive, punctuated by the roll of tires over rain slick streets and the too new car scent that threatens to restart my headache. The clouds smother the garden tops of the higher buildings, and rain mutes the greens of the gardens that are visible until everything is shades of gray. Nature steals the neon from the city. Reminds it that the city is a part of it, not the other way around.

  The car stops before a subdued yellow building, and I’m dumped out into the rage of the storm. I run for the small cafe, shielding Az.

  “Run, Jim, run!” Az quotes from some sci-fi movie.

  I laugh and push open the door.

  Inside, warmth caresses my cheek, desiccating the rain that drips down it in slow intervals. The special table for trades and sales tucked into an otherwise unused corner sits empty. I drop into the seat, Az on my lap, and await FashionLyfe.

  Gen has a point that there is an inherent danger in doing trades. But it’s one of the reasons that trade points exist. So that a stranger isn’t coming to your house. They’re important when you’re a small person. Or sick. Mel and I took a self-defense class once because even though our socialist society is peaceful and people are taken care of, the odd crime does happen. But that class, that information, exists in the before sick time. Year 3 BS. Fitting that the initials also stand for bullshit.

  The cafe is quaint with citrine booths and turquoise tables huddled over white tiles. Pendant lights hang over each booth, their yellow bodies hanging stars of white light. The choice is unusual, but the owner must want the food to be a focal point. A bot server in the shape of a turquoise box blinks at me, but doesn’t come over.

  A femme presenting person alights in the chair across from me. My mouth drops. Their pale skin is offset by an electric blue coat and pumpkin pants. Tall black boots trap most of the pants, offering a nice contrast. Long white hair sits in a bun on top of their head, and soft makeup lines pale eyes above a danger-laced smile that slips to one side. As if daring me to ask a hidden, forbidden question. Confidence radiates off of them, brighter than the sun, but it doesn’t lean towards cockiness. Instead, the sharp jut of their shoulders, the clasp of their long-fingered hands, and the sharp intelligence of their eyes turn magnetic. She’s pulled me in since I first laid eyes on her years ago.

  “Evangeline,” I say, taken aback. “You’re FashionLyfe?”

  She nods. “It’s an old username. I forget that not everyone knows that it’s me. Sorry, but I needed to talk to you.”

  My heart skips a beat. I tuck Az by my feet to escape those pale, stormy eyes that threaten to lock mine to them forever. Drown me while I whisper thank you.

  I lift my head to find Evangeline studying me. She sighs and drops her eyes to her hands clasped on the table. “I owe you an apology, Jaqs. It has come to my attention that an acquaintance of mine, Robert, traded you a bot charger for the fish bowl. I hoped to keep Prism far away from you, and in trying to do so, I led them right to you. You and your dream to walk among the stars. So, for all of that, my apologies.”

  My head swims. Evangeline knows. About Robert. About my dream. “I—what—how?”

  I shake my head and steal a shaky breath from the oppressive atmosphere. Every neuron is ready to fire. To flee. But I can’t escape the dread spreading like a disease from the desecrated dream rooted in my heart. I need answers.

  “How do you know about my dream?” I ask.

  Evangeline frowns. Pity storms into her eyes. “Due to Robert. I had no clue what your dream was. He was taunting me after trading you and let it slip. I’m not sure how he knows. Did you tell him?”

  “No,” I breathe out. “The only people who know are Gen and my roommate.”

  “You told Gen at the shop?”

  “Yes, it’s where we came up with the list.” I pause. “Are you saying the shop is bugged?”

  The server bot comes over, and in unison, we wave it away. It beeps once and zooms towards a table on the other side of the cafe.

  Evangeline laces her fingers together under her chin. “If it is, no one has told me. But it’s possible.”

  “Why tell me all of this?”

  “Because you deserve to know. I didn’t want Prism to try and use you,” Evangeline heaves a deep sigh. “But my opinion no longer matters. Since that is the case, I want to make sure you have all the information you need.”

  “All the info I need? What for?”

  “To make the best choices. Prism will continue to tempt you.”

  I drag a hand through my hair. What the hell is happening? This was supposed to be a simple trade. “Robert said Prism was watching me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you understand what Prism is?” Evangeline asks.

  I shake my head. Az demands to be held, and I pick him up, cradling him in my arms. He offers a small measure of reassurance.

  “Prism seeks out people or corps that need something, or want something to the point they think they need it. Prism doesn’t take money. They help people get what they want in exchange for help with something else. It’s a trade of services.”

  “People use Prism as a shortcut,” I state.

  Evangeline nods.

  I stroke Az’s central orb, thinking. Az blinks pink in response. “Robert said he didn’t want me to give up on my dream.”

  “He said that to use your wants against you. If it seems like he’s on your side, then maybe you’d trust him.”

  I scoff. “He’s slimy. I’d never trust him.”

  “Good. Don’t.” She sighs and tilts her head back, staring at the pendant light. “I looked into your dream a bit. Did you know you have to be healthy to go to space?”

  I grit my teeth, and my arms around Az tighten. “Yeah.”

  “Robert was hoping to tempt you with that. That Prism could help you hide whatever illnesses make you use your cane. But you left before he could.”

  A pang goes through my heart. The downfall in my dream I’ve been ignoring. Part of me longs for the easy solution Prism offers, even if it is dangerous. It’s an answer to everything. I’m tired of fighting to get what I want. Tired of not being who I once was. Tired of the pills and tests and doctors’ appointments, all of which I will have until I die. And, though it hurts to admit it, I’m tired of being a failure.

  I want something to be easy. Something to ease the gloom of time running out from my shoulders.

  “He said he was trying to get back at someone. You?”

  Evangeline snorts and meets my eyes. “Yes. I’m on Prism’s shit list at the moment, and he sees himself as an attack dog doing a good thing.”

  “Don’t you work for Prism?” I ask.

  “I see Gen’s been gossiping,” Evangeline says with a quirk of her lips. “Is it working for something if you never had a choice? I was born into Prism, as much as someone can be. My family is a part of it. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “Like a cult?”

  Evangeline laughs. “More like an old school mafia. Prism got started during the war and climate moves. They helped families resettle when those people had nothing. In return, they asked the families to do things for them. It’s built from there.”

  I scowl. Of course someone took advantage of the destitute during the Seed Wars and the climate crisis. That was almost a hundred years ago. Prism has been around longer than I realized.

  “But why are you on the shit list?” I ask.

  “A truly stupid reason that shouldn’t have gotten anyone in trouble. I told someone high up in the organization I didn’t want to see them anymore.”

  “See them?”

  “Romantically,” Evangeline says with a shrug.

  Oh. Oh. Could that mean Evangeline is single? No. Focus. Pay attention past the pretty face.

  I take a deep breath in.

  “So, what? You’re here to try and recruit me where Robert failed?”

  Az asks to get down, but I hold on to him. The chill of his body presses into my chest to constrict the anxiety desperate to seep into my blood and find home in the deepest recesses of my body until I’m a wreck of rumination and regret.

  Evangeline’s face falls. "Unfortunately, yes. Prism has its sights set on you. They won’t stop chasing you until you give in. They wear people down and use those people to get more power. To get to other people. It’s terrible. Robert is cunning. He rips people to shreds and destroys them while they thank him. I don’t want that to happen to you. I can shield you from all of that.”

  She pauses and takes in a deep breath. “But there’s something else. I need—”

  Her voice cracks. Evangeline picks at a crack in the table and refuses to meet my eyes while she searches for words. “I need help.”

  “With what?”

  “I want to leave Prism. I can’t do it anymore. I hate what they’re doing to people; to our society. I’ve made excuses for years, but they’ve crossed so many boundaries I need out. But I can’t leave unless I have leverage. They’ll…they’ll kill me before they let me leave. I know and have been involved in too much. But they revoked my access to everything and shunned me. And I wasn’t quick enough to get info.”

  I want to tell her yes without a second thought. Whatever she needs. Although we haven’t exactly become friends, Evangeline has been the shining star of every daydream. Something that’s brought me joy even before I got sick. And no one should have to be in a situation they don’t want to be in. But there are too many questions. Too many unknowns. Gen’s words to be careful echo in my head.

  “Can’t you go to the cops or some politician?”

  “I’d have to find one not on Prism’s payroll. And I need information for them to want to work with me and not arrest me on sight.”

  “A lawyer?”

  “Same thing, and I don’t know who to trust.”

  I heave a sigh. Of course. “I may know one, but she’s not exactly easy to get along with.”

  That was putting Mel’s mom lightly.

  Evangeline licks her lips. The motion draws me in. “I need to seem like a good member of Prism and bring them someone they think they can use. Meanwhile, you get some trades that help you get to your dream of walking among the stars. Together we’ll get dirt on Prism.”

  She pauses, lips parted to continue.

  I squeeze Az, waiting for the bomb.

  A fierce grin slices across Evangeline’s face. “Jaqs, let me make you a trade.”