Part 2 of 3
Today’s post is my second 500-word attempt to begin the story outlined in my previous post.
Elise was enjoying a celebratory light caramel macchiato when her implant pinged with Marco’s tone. She swallowed, clicked her tongue to open the line, said, “Yes?”
“Did you find out yet?”
“Yes. How about you?”
“Skank! You first.”
“Okay.” Her joy threatened to bubble out every orifice in her body. She couldn’t have held out long anyway. “I’m in.”
“At FMI? Shut up.”
“Yes, at FMI. I already have all the docs, but I haven’t downloaded them yet.”
“What about your upgrade?”
“They’re messengering that to the apartment. Should be there in the next couple of hours.”
“Shit. You better get there before someone lifts it. You don’t want to miss your big chance to join our Uno overlords.”
Elise laughed. She’d learned about ten years earlier—courtesy of the business etiquette class her mother arranged for her when she was still in middle school—that none of the one-percenters ever referred to themselves as Unos. It was déclassé, and if she’d done it, she would either have betrayed her common origins or been seen as too irreverent to be taken seriously. But Marco could get away with it.
“Just finishing a coffee, then I’m on my way. You want to come?”
“Does [insert futuristic Pope Catholic thing here]? I want to see that implant.”
“Let’s meet up and take the bus back. Where are you?”
“Just picked up my own shiny new upgrade.”
Elise knew someone would hire Marco. From the sound of his voice he was happy about his offer, but he’d never said who he wanted to work for. He’d mentioned some private corps, the university, even a couple of non-profits, but he’d never given her any indication of his top pick. He was like that. He worked his ass off all four years—just like she had—but where Elise had only ever wanted to work at FMI after graduation, Marco had good things to say about several different paths.
“Spill. Who took you?”
“Elise. It’s a good thing. We don’t all want to rule our inferiors.”
“That’s not what FMI is about.”
“I’m sure you’ll explain it all to me once you get through brainwashing—uh, orientation.”
“Let’s not fight about it, Marco. Can’t you be happy for me?”
“If you can be happy for me.”
“Of course I can.”
And suddenly he was across the metal table from her, his backpack making a hard thunk as it landed, causing her cup to shudder and jump. Thank god she’d left the lid on.
“Glad to hear it, ’Lise.” He grinned and picked up her cup, taking a large swig from it. “Are we going now, or what?”
She shook her head, stood, and settled her shoulder bag crossways on her body. She wrested the cup away from him. “We’d better. I don’t want any of the little delinquents or their more professional parents getting ideas about my package.”
An aubergine sedan with a silver FMI logo on the driver’s door was just pulling around the corner as they approached Elise’s building.