by Lisa Jade
Rain on Neptune
Published in 2018 by Lisa Jade via lulu.com
Copyright © Lisa Jade, 2018
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored digitally, or transmitted in any form without prior permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.
www.lisajade.net
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
One
It feels like I’ve been running for hours.
My legs throb and sweat streams down my face – but he won’t ease up. The treadmill must be on its highest setting, forcing me to run just to stay upright.
The Examiner watches me closely, clipboard in hand. It’s clear that he's taking some small pleasure in my struggles. Perhaps it's funny to see me gasp for air. Maybe he just likes to watch people suffer. I don't know.
The tests for the Companion Scheme seem endless. I’ve been scrutinised to within an inch of my life – my heart rate, my weight, my blood pressure, even my IQ. Each time, I count myself lucky to scarcely meet their requirements.
The Examiner looks me up and down. To him, I'm just the latest plaything. Level Four scum, unworthy of his time and attention. He reaches out a pudgy hand and taps a button on the machine. Somehow, the surface underfoot moves even faster.
“Come on,” he says, “this isn’t even the fastest this thing can go.”
His voice is almost taunting. Still, I push forward.
“You want to pass, right? The Scheme’s the only way someone like you could leave the planet. If you fail now, I’ll have to decline your application.”
Suddenly, the thought of not being able to board the Neptune – of not breaking away – terrifies me. I scrape up whatever energy I have left and throw everything I have into the simple motion of running. The muscles in my legs scream in protest, but I ignore them. This is more important.
The man’s expression falters.
“Woah, kid. Pace yourself. You've passed.”
As the treadmill finally slows to a stop, I heave a sigh of relief. My legs aren’t burning anymore, but there’s an intense ache running from my ankles to my thighs. I wish there were a test centre back on Four; taking the Elevator doesn’t sound appealing right now.
The Examiner taps at his Infopad, which lets out a small beep.
“Nicely done, considering. Your results have been submitted. You'll hear about the next test in a few days via paper mail.”
“Thanks.”
He pulls away from me as I pass, eager to avoid my sweaty body. I glance down; my skin is slick and shiny, my shorts and tank thoroughly drenched. Nice.
Stepping out of the test centre is always a relief. It’s wonderful to leave behind the narrow hallways and restrictive feel of the building. The streets on Level Two are wide, lined by buildings that resemble tall, glass spires. It’s not quite as fancy as One, of course – but it’s positively luxurious compared to my home on Four. I glance up. I can see the underside of Level One overhead, delicate clouds painted onto the metal to help it blend with the sky.
As I approach the Elevator, I feel people watching me. It’s clear that I’m out of place; someone like me doesn’t belong here, amongst the geniuses and entrepreneurs of Pyre. Still, I don’t mind. I regard them with the barest amount of respect, biting back on the bitter taste of my own judgement. Something in my head urges me to fire their glares back at them. Snobs. I shake the thought away. However I may feel about them, I must show respect.
Suddenly, I realise why it seems so quiet here. I can’t feel the purr of the engines underfoot, like I always can on Four.
Pyre is often called The Floating Nation; four circular levels, growing larger towards the base, hovering somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean. An easy enough solution, they say, to the overpopulation that’s slowly destroying Earth. Last I heard, humanity was pushing 20 billion. I suppose that’s why we’ve been slowly migrating to new planets. There can’t be more than ten thousand years left on this dusty rock.
As I approach the Elevator, I flash my ID at the nearest Operator.
“Level Four, please.”
He eyes me curiously for a moment, but to my surprise, he doesn’t fire the regular questions at me. He just steps aside and allows me into the crowd.
The Elevator can only hold about a hundred people at a time – but it’s the only way to change Levels. Everyone from tourists to government officials, and even haulage, must be lowered down on the great glass platform. In spite of myself, I look down. Each Level has a circular hole carved in its centre to allow the Elevator to pass through. All except Four, which is closest to the sea. We don’t need the Elevator to go through. No – the smaller hole in the Level is used for a different, far more insidious purpose. Still, it’s nice to see the blue-grey ocean swirling below us.
Someone calls out and finally, the Elevator begins its descent. I take a quick look at the people around me. We’re a strange mix, today. Several strangers stand across from me, wearing suits, clutching clipboards. Members of the Council on One, I’m sure of it. They seem wide-eyed and slightly nervous, and I wonder if this is the first time they’ve ever been on the Elevator.
Nearby, a strongly-built woman talks into her shabby-looking Infotab. Her voice is strange and clipped, like mine. She must be from Four, too.
“Yeah,” she says, “get the sky fisher ready for me. I’ll be back soon.”
So she’s a fisher. It would have been my first guess. Fishery is an art all its own on Pyre. It involves small airships that sink to the water and float just above its surface. Not to mention the small submarines used for deep-sea fishing. It’s something I’ve never been too interested in – but it’s part of Four’s trade deal with One, so I respect it nonetheless. The woman catches my eye and winks. I resist the urge to respond in kind.
It’s not that I don’t feel the camaraderie between us – I do. We’re the same. I have nothing but respect for the woman before me. If it were just the two of us, I’d strike up a conversation.
But those suited guys from One are still watching, their salty expressions settling on our silent exchange. I can feel their eyes tracing the lines of my body, their judgement filling the air as they mutter to one another. I shouldn’t care what they think; but they could be involved with the Neptune or the Companion Scheme. It’s not worth irritating them.
Most people jump off at Three, so by the time we reach Four there are only a handful of us left. The woman doesn’t try to catch my eye again, and I fear I might have offended her. She knows who I am, after all. They all do.
I step off the platform. Here, the glass spires fall away to reveal identical-looking concrete houses. The previously broad streets are suddenly narrow and winding, lined with greyish cobbles that sink a little under my weight. The whole place is cramped and dull and kind of dirty – but it’s home.
There’s a bounce in my step as I stride d
own the road. I feel much more comfortable here. The streets are lined with familiar faces. Many of them look just like me; plainly dressed, a little exhausted. The same look of beaten-down hope playing behind their eyes. I don’t blame them. No doubt One is withholding our agreed supplies yet again, or demanding more fish for the trade of basic goods.
Despite my jovial attitude, I can feel eyes lingering on me as I pass. Everyone knows who I am, for good reasons or bad. Some notice my resemblance to Dad. Others remember me from that rainy night in the town square, years ago. The rest likely know me as that weird girl who wants to go to space. I don’t mind. The result is always the same. Interest in my every word and movement, though there’s nothing interesting there. Some look at me as though I’m a lunatic – but even they wave as I pass. After all, if Four shunned everyone who was a little out of sorts, there’d be nobody left.
I find myself jogging - not because I enjoy it, but because it seems like a good habit to keep up. I can’t risk any failings in my upcoming tests. Frankly, it’s a miracle I’ve made it this far.
Someone grabs my arm as I pass, promptly sending me sprawling onto the cobblestones.
“Oops. Sorry about that, Quinn. Are you okay?”
I look up from the floor and glare at my attacker.
“You did that on purpose.”
Gray laughs.
“I didn’t, I swear. Funny, though.”
I stand quickly, brushing myself down. Admittedly, that was rather a spectacular fall. I can see laughter playing in his eyes.
“Did you want something?”
My voice comes across a little harder than intended and his expression falters. I didn’t mean to do that. Gray has been my neighbour for as long as I can remember, and he’s always been most girl’s favourite; heavy brows, broad chest. Dark hair tied into a knot at the nape of his neck. He looks even better when he smiles.
While I shake the thought away, he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
“Where have you been?”
“Testing,” I say, “on Two.”
“What was it today?”
“Treadmill.”
He barely reacts; just keeps staring at me. I know what he’s thinking. He’s trying to figure me out, like everyone else here. Level Four is fine. People are happy here. Why isn’t that enough for me?
“Did you pass?” he finally asks.
“Of course.”
“You really will be leaving Earth, then.”
“If I can pass the rest of the tests. They keep getting harder.”
His smile widens.
“I’m sure you’ll do your best. Though maybe you should save your energy, huh? No need to run around when you’re back here.”
“It can’t hurt, right? Just as long as nobody tries to grab me while I’m running!”
I try to seem nonchalant, like there isn’t sweat streaming from my chin and pooling at the base of my spine. Like I don’t feel like sleeping for a week. I’m not as fit as they think I am – but I can’t help trying.
I want it so much.
I wave goodbye to Gray and head down the nearest side street.
As I jog, I can feel the ground shifting underfoot. It’s only very slight - most people likely wouldn’t notice it. But this is where I grew up. The vast hinges holding the levels together are designed to allow for a little sway in the breeze.
As I near the edge of Four I close my eyes and inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the delightful scent of saltwater. I’m not much of a fisher myself, but I’ve still been down to the water’s surface. Like everyone on Four, I learned how to swim in the crystal depths of the Atlantic Ocean. Pyre moves to whichever patch of ocean is least polluted, so at least the water is mostly safe.
Friends and neighbours stroll by with carts of produce; crabs and seaweed, great stacks of codfish that make the air stink. But just like the smell of the sea and the way the salt air pulls my hair into knots, I don’t mind. It’s all just part of being home.
Finally, I arrive. 48 Calypso Fold – a perfect grey square tucked into a mass of other perfect grey squares. It’s a cladded two-up two-down that would blend perfectly with the rest of Four, if not for the homely touches Dad and I have put in place over the years.
I take a moment to smile at the honeysuckle growing over the door, the fairy lights still left from Christmas, and the tiny wooden cuckoo clock taking pride of place in the kitchen window.
I swipe my ID and the door beeps to allow access. My details appear on the screen, including a photo of a teenage me beaming into the camera. It registers me as Quinn Hart, twenty years old, legal citizen of Pyre. For a moment I stare at the blank spot under ‘Occupation’, and imagine the word ‘Companion’ written there. The day I see that, everything will fall into place.
“Hello?”
I kick off my sneakers at the door and stretch one arm overhead, feeling my shoulders crack. In the enclosed hallway, my nose is filled with the stench of my own sweat. No wonder people kept their distance in the Elevator.
Something shuffles in the kitchen and a moment later, someone steps out.
“How did it go?” Alice beams, her hazel eyes filled with expectation. For a moment I consider playing a joke and saying I failed, but decide against it. She punched me in the arm last time I teased her like that.
So I just draw my lips into a broad smile.
“Passed, luckily. I thought the Examiner was trying to kill me.”
“See? I told you it would be okay.”
She returns my smile, but there’s a hint of smugness in her expression. It’s true. Just last night I’d been whining about my nerves – but Alice doesn’t take any of my nonsense. She’d scolded me for my hesitation and proceeded to send me to bed early. When I’d protested, reminding her that I’m technically older, she just told me I could go without dinner, too.
“Why are you here, anyway?” I ask, dropping my bag on the floor, “I thought you had work today.”
“The weather’s too nice. The boss didn’t even want to be in today. So he sent us home.”
“Won’t the restaurant lose business?”
She shrugs.
“Who cares? It’s only a matter of time, anyway. A fine dining place on Level Four was always going to be economic suicide. Considering that the Council only pays us pennies for huge shipments of fish, nobody has that kind of money to spend. Besides, I figured I’d come over and help sort this place out. How you and Dad survive in this chaos, I’ll never know.”
I look her up and down. I hadn’t noticed that her copper curls have been pulled back into a bandana, or that her plump frame is drowned in one of Dad’s old woodworking aprons. I definitely hadn’t noticed the marigold gloves.
“Seriously?” I ask, “you get a day off and you spend it cleaning?”
She puffs out her cheeks.
“Someone has to. You’re always off training for the Companion Scheme, and Dad’s always tinkering… this place is an absolute sty.”
I can’t deny that. Casting a cursory glance around the living room, I catch sight of dishes that haven’t been washed in days and clothes that haven’t been washed in even longer. Since we don’t use this room much, we do admittedly abuse it. The only thing we take any care of is the projector on the far wall, but even that sits under a thick layer of dust.
“Talking about tinkering,” I say, “I take it Dad’s in the cellar?”
“Yep. Today, he swears blind that he’s come up with a new invention.”
“So he’s making another cuckoo clock?”
“Bingo.”
We both laugh, but a small voice warns me it’s no laughing matter. Dad’s been spending more and more time down there lately, and he inevitably builds a clock out of loose parts, I can only imagine out of sheer boredom. He’s quite good at it, considering - but that’s not what concerns me.
Alice catches my eye.
“Don’t worry about him.”
“But he’s always down there lately.”
>
“You know why, right? He has to find some kind of hobby. Some way to fill his time for four years while you’re…”
She trails off suddenly, her mouth hanging open like she wishes she could pull the words back in. But they’re already out. They linger oddly in the air between us, inviting us both into a debate we’ve had more times than I can count. Neither of us take the bait, though; we’re sick of the same argument.
“Are you hungry?” she asks suddenly, “you’ve been out all morning.”
“Starving.”
“Good. Hop in the shower and I’ll throw something together. The weather’s nice too, so I’ll get you-know-who from downstairs and we’ll eat on the balcony, okay?”
I nod, suddenly grateful that Alice is around to look out for us. I don’t know the first thing about cooking or taking care of myself – honestly, the day I have to fend for myself might just be my last day altogether.
I let the shower run for a few minutes. We don’t have the luxury of clean water on the lower levels; we make do with liquid pumped straight from the sea. There are salt filters in the system, so it’s not too horrible, but I still don’t relish the thought of hopping right in.
As the water filters, I peel off my wet clothes and toss them into the hamper. I glance in the steamed-up mirror, catching sight of rich olive skin, a slim build and long black hair.
After my shower I tug on my favourite outfit; a pair of leggings six inches too short for me, and an oversized sweater Alice gave me years ago. It might look somewhat ridiculous, but it’s comfortable. I’ll have plenty opportunities to get dolled up and paraded around for the amusement of others when I’m on the Neptune.
Alice is already outside when I step out. I always felt it was a stretch to call this space a balcony – it’s cramped and creaky, more like an overhang. But there’s enough space for a couple of lawn chairs and a pretty good view of the Level, so it’s still one of my favourite places.
As I sink into the seat next to her, Alice pushes a bowl of something hot into my hands. Fish and pasta, with a sauce that I can only assume was made with a number of half-finished jars of stuff. She sees my expression and frowns.
