Two Kinds Of People

Io

The smog was pressed thick against the filthy window. Io shifted in her chair and sighed. She hated this part of Mendax, far below the sparkling apartments of the rich, the shops, the theatres, even below the cramped housing of the working class. She was at the bottom of the many towerblocks that made up the city. The city covered the entire planet and she hated it. She missed the sunlit fields where she'd grown up, the thick forests, the streams. Mendax was a city made of skyscrapers, and the richer you were, the higher you lived, the clearer the air. Down here, it was so thick, diseased and dark that you couldn't even see the skyships of the wealthy sailing high above. Io had always wondered what Mendax looked like from so high up, but she would never be able to afford it. Still, this would be the last job she had to take on. She could get a cheap shuttle, somewhere wide and green and wild. Her home moon had been destroyed years ago, but she was sure there was someplace she would like. More than this city, anyway. 

The man opposite her wore a purple suit and a huge earring, his thick, carroty mustache almost reaching his ears. He steepled his long, white hands. Io had been doing work for him almost since she had arrived, and he had always reminded her uncomfortably of an insect. 

'You can't mess this up, Io.' He leaned forwards and smiled at her. Then he frowned. 'Are you even listening to me?' 

'Of course, boss,' Io said with a lack of sincerity a Conservative politician would have admired. 

'There's a lot resting on this.' He leaned back and smiled again. A trickster's smile, like everyone in this city. No one told the truth here. Honesty, apparently, was not a word in anyone's vocabulary. Fortunately, years of practice had made Io an excellent liar, one of the best in the trade, but it was a skill she sometimes wished she didn't have. Lying was too easy. It was too easy to lie and lie and lie and never stop.

'Like always, sir.' Her reply was casual, her accent smoothing the sharp vowels.

They spoke almost as if they were equals, but Io knew that she would be killed and her body stuffed in a beer barrel if this went wrong. The insect had a lot of lackeys, who killed and stole and lied every day. What terrified Io was that if she'd been just a bit more desperate, she might have joined them. 

'You can go,' he said, his voice clipped. Io dipped her head in respect and left the dingy office for her last assassination. She closed the door quietly behind her. 

Outside, the corridor was thronged with people. Vendors yelled their wares and people spilled out of rundown cafes, talking and laughing and drinking. 'Hey, gorgeous! Want to come for a drink with us?' yelled a group of young men from a nearby doorway. Io made the rudest gesture she knew and ignored them all. She walked purposefully over to the lift. A queue of people stood outside. She joined them, letting their conversations wash over her.

'Ten crass,' said the automated voice when she reached the front. Io stuffed a note into the machine and squashed into the lift. It was one of the busiest times of day. When the air on Mendax became too polluted to breathe, the government had solved the problem by building the huge skyscrapers. Inside, each corridor became a street, lifts and staircases replaced trains and buses. It was an indoor city, and it made Io claustrophobic. The press of the bodies around her didn't help. This is the last one, she told herself. One more job and you'll be out. 

The lift dinged and people started to pile out. Io kept going up, until she was one of the only ones still going. She got out around the hundredth floor-high enough to appear respectable, but not so high as to arouse suspicion. Io walked through the corridor, which wasn't as crowded but not deserted-two small children walked with who might have been their older sister or nanny. Their noses were pressed to the shop windows, their eyes ogling the goods inside. Io wondered what it would be like to be a child with such plenty, looking upon toys that their parents could afford, not having to save every scrap for food and rent. Not that Io had minded that growing up-her mother had been the best parent a kid could wish for. A wave of homesickness and grief washed over Io, catching her off guard. You don't know that she's dead, Io told herself. She might have survived. You did.  Even as she thought it, Io knew it was unlikely.