Fridays meant work again right at seven in the morning, because Saturday and Sunday were beach days, the massive freighters coming into the harbor and most everyone went to help unload. Two days a week, food and drink brought in on freighters, everyone paid cash and if you were lucky you could steal stuff from the containers. Some of the bigger freighters were larger than her skyrise, reaching eighty stories into the air and blocking out the sun. It was abandoned, sure, but at least Christina and Mer had a place with a view. J, who even had money enough to pay for a one bedroom, had moved last month and had ended up on an underground floor, no sun in sight.
The first 24 floors of their building were actually underground, since the construction on the roads had slowly built up over the years to several metres above sea level. The underground tunnels and roads -- cars whizzing past around cement columns holding up the tunnel-sky, nothing but more cement and more layers of urban life -- stretched for miles and miles and miles. When she needed space to think, Christina took the bike and rode forever along those perpetually dark streets.
ALARM's entrance was above-ground, right by the water and in the shadow of those immense skyrise apartments, but half the club actually extended beneath the street. The back entrance, opening onto a side street right by the docks, was the one Christina used if she was trying to avoid fans in the morning. Saturdays were different.
Friday nights always bled into Saturday mornings, no one going home and no one stopping. Christina, selling tabs and taking tips, was fairly crinkling with money by the time four am rolled around. She made a hundred and fifty bucks, still had two tabs left, so went to find herself someone to share with.
Skirting the edge of the mash of people, she saw familiar pink hair. Pink, yeah, Pink was different, a slum kid who didn't think the world was going to end, someone who fought and sang and fought and worked. Hell of a fuck. "Yo, you up at the docks today?"
"Same as always," and Pink looked at her. "You want something?"
"Offerin'," and she held out the tab, a lite tab so by the time six thirty rolled around and it was time to haul crates for twelve hours they'd be sober enough to work but stoned enough to not notice time pass. "If you're working this'll help."
Pink had a bruise along the side of her neck, and Christina couldn't help but stare at it. "Do I have to do something in return?"
A little grin said she wouldn't necessarily mind, but wanted to know before hand, wanted to know the rules and what was being traded. Yeah, Pink was slum, through and through. Christina put the tab on the end of her tongue, around it answered, "Nope."
"If you say so," and she sucked it off delicately, swallowed, and held her own tongue out. Christina put the second tab on Pink's tongue, and then sucked it off gently, swallowing just as a song came on.
Pink moved a bit closer. "Hey."
Christina draped both arms around her. "Dance."
~
People milled around everywhere on the thick metal dock, all waiting for the bored voice to call out their work number and dock assignment. Christina was sitting on a crate, knees tucked up against the back of the building. Having a 70-class work number was a real bitch; all the prime food shipments always went to the 50 and 60's and by the time she got around to hauling crates nothing was left except spices and maybe breathmints.
"Another saturday, huh?" Christina glanced over, and J looked back at her, added, "I can't believe I'm here again."
"You'n me both."
J sat down mournfully beside her. "At least you've got a chance at something worthwhile. By the time they get around to calling the 90's, there'll be nothing but air in those fucking crates."
"Heard this whole ship was food, straight from the boat to the classy restaurants. If we're lucky they won't have locked the containers." She shifted around, as the voice over the huge announcement speaker called another set of work numbers to dock 227-f. "Christ, we're gonna be sitting here all morning without any work."
He closed his eyes, wiped his face off. The sun, low in the sky, was still intensely bright and giving off more heat than it had the right. The two of them were dressed in light shorts and nothing else, a soaked bikini sticking to Christina's back already. J said, "it's times like these I kinda miss the high life."
She shoved him lightly. "All those good meals of steak, wine, and whores?"
"Still get the whores if I wanted." He moved around, and scowled at the speaker across the alley from them, which was just now getting onto calling for 60-44556a through 60-44656z. "The steak though? Yeah. I miss it."
"Your parents won't take you back?"
"Dunno." He shrugged, and Christina stared dully out at the people sitting around, waiting to hear where they were supposed to be. "Hey, where's Pink, anyway?"
"She started right at six. Got a 10 number."
J sat up and stared. "How the fuck did she get 10 digits? She can't be older than I am."
"Had an affair with one of the recruiting officials when she was fifteen. The recruiting official. I don't remember. When some old fucker died last year he made it so Pink got his number."
"She ever get stuff for you?"
Christina rubbed her face. Exausted, a little bit, the stim was mostly mellow now and she could feel her body settling, relaxing. "Once and a while."
"Man, I gotta have an affair with one of the recruiting officials. I'd be happy with a 70, like you."
"Go back to your parents, I'm sure they can organize it for you."
"Even if they could."
"so," and there was no reason to ask this, no reason and so why was she asking anyway, but it came out naturally. "who's the girl that was looking for you?"
"uh." Justin shifted around. it was obvious he didn't want to answer. "Y'know."
"Thought you and that bleached-blond kid were getting together." She shoved him again. "Didn't he even buy you dinner last week?"
A group dressed all in white robes passed them, hoods up to keep out the sun. "Fuck you," he said. "Do I ask you why you took Pink home last morning?"
Fighters were supposed to be available to the masses, open, hot. There for everyone -- that's why people bet on them. J, even though he didn't really get with many of the fans, still gave an air of being available, which meant people bet on the slight chance he might favor them some day.
She stood. "That's my number." He nodded, obviously wasn't going to push it which was good. She liked Pink, he liked the blond kid; as long as no one knew about it, it was harmless. "See you in training later."
~
They worked all morning, Christina's muscles protesting desperately. She got a nap in at lunch, a full hour leaning against one of the low-grav lifts and strapped in so she didn't fall, and another fifteen minutes the hour after. At home, collapsing for three hours sounded like heaven.
Of course, the message light on their Connect panel had to be flashing about sixteen fucking times. The first three were Mer's butler, all shit like "how are you" and "do you need any more money, baby?" Her parents told the butler to be nice to her so that they didn't have to admit their youngest child was fucking for a living.
Christina shucked her clothing -- the air cooling unit was still on the fritz and fucking Mer hadn't paid their Connect bill. Another thing she had to do before ALARM tonight, drop by the office on the top floor of their building and pay their rent, pay their Connect before the building managers cut their Messenger and electricity off.
She slept for two and a half hours, just conked out on the mattress on the floor naked. When Nick came by with their work schedules for next week she answered the door with no clothes on, and he looked away, throat working.
"What's the matter, Nicky?" and Christina rubbed her stomach. "Don't like the scars?"
Operations, a lot of them, left little scars criss-crossing her stomach and breasts, hips. They weren't often visible, even in what she wore, because the darkness of their world faded them to skin-tone. In their apartment, with the summery sunshine flooding the room, it was all too apparent that she'd been stitched back together piece by piece, numerous times.
"I have your schedule," and he handed her the disk. "make sure you're on time."
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Say hi to your boy from me," and shut the door, dropped the disk on their desk. Work could wait. it all could wait.